Time can be measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades and centuries.
Time steals youth, while simultaneously granting entry into the golden years.

Everybody has a “time card.”  When it’s punched, your time is up.

There are the familiar phrases such as “I don’t have time…if only I had time…give me time” as if it’s something tangible but you can’t touch time.

Losers’ explanation (in the after time) for not stopping at Krispy Kreme was “I never felt like I had time.
When I asked my daddy if he would come to see me, he always said “one of these first few days, when I have time.
Do those statements actually mean “you weren’t/aren’t worth the time?

We can’t travel backward or forward in time, except in dreams.  We can’t buy time on the corner.  We can’t order time on Ebay.
Time can’t be awarded in divorce decrees.  Time can’t be wrapped up as a gift and put under the Christmas tree.  Time can’t be a birthday present.  Time can’t be won in a weekly drawing.

Loved ones can be denied time due to selfish behavior.

Time that has passed can never be retrieved.

Timeout is used as punishment.

Time can be your friend and it can be your enemy.

Time reflects its ravages on a face in a mirror.

Time can be taken for granted.

Time can be apportioned and spent wisely.  Time can be unforgivably wasted.

Time spent with somebody you love can be exhilarating.  Time spent alone can be excruciatingly painful.

Time can seem like an eternity while waiting.

Time is supposed to heal all wounds but often, it only serves to prolong the agony.

Time is fickle.  It can grant a long life or it can grant but a brief stay.

Time.  Technically, it’s just another four letter word.

WOW – A Nomination

love blog award

Yesterday I was completely blown away when I found out that I had been nominated for the “One Lovely Blog Award” by the wonderful “survivednarc.”
She has been a staunch supporter and has offered genuine (not cultured) pearls of wisdom, unlimited encouragement and heartfelt sympathy.  I couldn’t be more honored for this nomination and to also call her my friend…so thank you Alex.




  1.  Thank the person who nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
  2.   List the rules.
  3.   Display the award on your post.
  4.   List seven facts about yourself.
  5.   Nominate 15 bloggers for this award and comment on one of their posts to let them know that you have nominated them.


  1.   After surviving a brutal childhood, I jumped into a marriage to a neglectful, selfish, narcissistic man and wasted forty-one years of my life with him….but I have four wonderful children who I virtually raised by myself.  A few of them have stumbled more than once and one of them has fallen more than once but they are my children and I am so very proud of them.  Now, I’m trying to work through having been lied to, cheated on repeatedly and given an incurable disease from the one person I trusted more than anybody.
  2.   I used to suffer from the “I can do anything” disease so I tackled everything that interested me, including quilting, painting, woodworking, upholstery, moving my kitchen by myself (including re-wiring and re-plumbing), starting to play soccer when I was forty and becoming familiar with power tools including running a chain saw.
  3.   I am a true blue and loyal friend and have more often than not, been disappointed that it was not reciprocated.
  4.   I went to EMT school when I was 53 and was 1st in my class.  I was the only person in history to ever have a perfect score in the clinicals.
  5.   I am Southern by birth and although I have lived in six different states, my heart never left North Carolina.  I love the gentility of days gone past, when women were ladies, men were gentlemen and your word was your bond.
  6.   I am naive…but not naive enough to “pick up and hold” $25,000,000.00 for a poor Marine who is stuck in Afghanistan.  (He must have read my “I hope this makes you laugh” post and thought he had found the perfect mark!)
  7.   I started my blog because people used to tell me that I needed to write a book about my dark and twisty life.  I don’t know what prompted me to start but it has proven to be invaluable in many ways.  I have acquired so many fabulous supporters and have also learned that I am not alone.  It is gut-wrenching to read what others have gone through but there is a common bond that we all share.  Some of us are further along in the healing process and it’s wonderful to watch the progress and see them come out on the other side.  Some day, I hope to join THAT club.



We’re supposed to nominate 15 bloggers but most of the ones I would nominate have either already been nominated or have made it clear that they do not wish to be nominated…so my list will fall severely short…by 15.


Sitting At A Red Light

I had to go to the bank today.  It is quite a distance from my house and takes a while to get there.  I have to go through a quaint, little town and today I got caught by a red light right in front of the old train station.

I could see the railroad tracks.  They were rusted and overgrown with weeds.  The once, probably busy train station had long ago been occupied by antique shops and hardware stores.

Suddenly I am catapulted back in time and find myself stepping off the train with the assisting hand of the smiling conductor.

I am a true Southern lady, dressed in full couture.  I have on a large-brimmed hat, sprinkled with an array of colorful flowers around the band.  I am wearing a pink brocade, bustled dress which shows off my tiny waist, accented by my tight corset.

My small feet sport the latest in womens’ footwear and my hands are covered with dainty, white lace gloves.
I am accompanied by my husband, a proper Southern gentlemen.  He is a tall, handsome man.  He is dressed in his finest suit, which shows off his social standing and he wears a fashionable silk top hat.  He has a mustache that is framed by a crop of thick, curly hair.  He carries a silver-tipped walking cane which is purely for aesthetic value.

Our children are whisked away by the nanny, leaving us to obligingly speak with the other passengers until the horse and buggy arrives to take us and our wooden trunks, laden with our extensive wardrobes and accessories, to the elegant mansion up on the hill.

When we arrive, we are greeted by butlers and maids who are at the ready to perform any task necessary to insure our comfort.

In the afternoon, we are served a feast fit for a king in the elegant dining room.  The delicious crown roast is prepared to perfection and served on the finest bone china.  We eat with sterling silver utensils and our wine is poured into Waterford crystal glasses.
The chandelier that hangs over the table is five feet across and is adorned with almost a thousand shiny prisms.

After dinner, the men retreat to the smoking room to enjoy fine cigars and tell tall tales, while sipping warm brandy.
The women go to the parlor, where we sip mint juleps, talk about the latest Paris fashions and cool ourselves with hand-painted silk fans.  We make plans to go to the local dress shops the next day.

When we retire for the night, we are shown to our room.  There are heavy velvet drapes covering the numerous, massive windows.  There is a canopy bed with a thick, down-filled mattress and an exquisite hand-stitched quilt.
A bath is drawn, filled with lavender-scented water and lush towels are warmed over a brass pan that has been heated with hot coals.
The maidservant helps me out of my corset.  I am modest so she respectfully holds my robe like a shield as I step into the tub.  As she leaves, I instruct her as to which outfit I wish for her to carefully place on the chair for the next days’ activities.

Later, we lay in bed, exhausted from the long trip, ready to drift into a blissful sleep.
I close my eyes but I am suddenly startled by a loud noise.

A horn is blowing, signaling that the light has turned green.



I carefully ease my way around the corner of an abandoned building, my 44 magnum ready to fire

I see my partner in a choke-hold with a gun pointed to his head

“Drop your gun” the criminal demands

“No” I say

The criminal says, “I’m not kidding”

I look at him and sternly say, “neither am I”

The criminal says “I mean it…I’ll shoot him”

I say, “okay, shoot him.  He’s nothing to me…but while your bullet is going all the way through his brain, my bullet will be going all the way through yours…so, the way I see it, you have two choices.  Die today or walk out of here and live to see tomorrow.”

The criminal asks me if I really expect him to believe that I will let him walk away

“We’ll meet again”, I tell him

He slowly points his gun at me.


So, what do you think happened?

Happy New Year

January 1st, 2016.  It’s a new year.  I imaging there are lots of people who will be nursing hang-overs today and fretting about resolutions that will last for just about as long as it took to make them.
No resolutions for me.  No hang-over for me.
I have been awake all night…not because of partying or enjoying the company of family or friends.  If this is going to be an indication of how my year is going to go…I’m in deep shit.
I was thinking about New Years’ Day in 1975.  I had met Loser just five months before and he and I were out with a few of his friends.
The “right turn on red, if clear” had just been implemented.  D*** B***** was driving and drinking (of course…everybody was except me) and he pulled up to a red light.  He said “can you turn left on right, if clear?”  Everybody started laughing but I didn’t.
I wanted to go home.  All I could smell was beer breath and I was worried about how long it was going to be before we ended up in a ditch.  The radio started blasting the “countdown” and everybody was screaming the numbers down to zero.
Loser tried to kiss me and I recoiled.  He smelled like beer.
He kept a journal back then and the next day at the I*** R***, I saw the journal opened to the last nights’ page.  It said “one uncooperative kiss.  Fuck 1975…at least for the beginning.”
I guess I paid for that…for forty-one years.
I’m off to get my head shrunk.
Happy New Year to all!