Jekyll Island Beach 2012

Jekyll Island Beach 2012

Saturday, July 28, 2012


The Rogue Speaks:

I was hoping that I could work this post into Jenny's prompt, "Please remit your payment promptly," for Saturday Centus, but anything  I got out of my chickens for their spa treatment would be mere chicken feed. 

Rod pulled the chickens down from their roost in the kitchen.  I was disgusted by the amount of dust and grime they had collected over the years, so I decided they needed a spa treatment before they headed off to their new home.

Waiting to be de-grimed

All bright and shiny clean,
and waiting to go to a new home!

Baby-daddy Rooster's feathers
 are still a little damp.

3:37 p.m.:  "What are you doing, Judie?" asked Rod.  "Bathing the chickens.”  "Why????"
“Um, I, um…”   “Take a break, Judie!”

Thursday, July 26, 2012


The Rogue Speaks:

Remember those nice photos of my house in Tucson?  The ones that showed such neat and tidy rooms?  It was great while it lasted, but there are only two rooms that have been left unscathed in the packing frenzy.  The REAL packers are coming next Thursday, but in the meantime, I am doing a little "cleaning and sorting."  Rod pulled all the boxes out of the attic so I could sort out all the Christmas decorations, especially the ones that have not seen the light of day since I called a moratorium on decking the halls several years ago.  Someone is going to have a field day with some of this stuff.  Rod asked what I wanted to do with all the gifts that were in the attic.  Do you have presents stashed away in your attic?  No, I didn't think so.  There is something a little unfinished about a decorated tree with no presents underneath, so 14 years ago, I wrapped up empty gift boxes in paper and ribbon, for that finished look. The same presents for 14 years!  Time to say good bye.

I put the Christmas stuff to be sold in boxes and placed them beside the other STACK of boxes that I have filled up with dishes, stemware, glassware, cooking utensils, books, various art objects, prints, etc., and a couple of furniture items. There are LOTS more boxes in the garage!!!

Now for the meat of this post:

"Who was on the phone?" your husband asks you.  "Oh, just a friend," you reply.  I've had lots of "just friends" over the years, and I'm sure you have, too.  Today I want to tell you about a very dear friend, who is way more than "just a friend."  We haven't been friends for years and years, but you know how sometimes when you meet someone for the first time, something sort of clicks?   We clicked.  So when I was completely overwhelmed with trying to have a garage sale before we move, I called her.  I called her because I was just about to cry in wearyness.  I knew she'd understand., because she is just that kind of woman--understanding, loving, and non-judgemental.  I wanted to hear someone say, "There, there! Everything will turn out! You just need to rest for a while."

We planned to get together, husbands included, and have dinner  or lunch before Rod and I moved away.  She and her husband are coming here on Sunday.  They are bringing a truck.  The four of us are loading up that truck with all the garage sale items, packed up in boxes, and my friend--my sweet, cosmic sister friend--is taking all that stuff to her storage unit, and when the dust settles (literally!) she is going to hold a garage sale FOR ME!!!  Friends like she is only come along once in a lifetime.  I just wanted someone who loves me to give me a little sympathy, and a little encouragement.  My sweet friend went far and above the call of duty.  I love her.

Thank you, Miss Jenny.  I am truly blessed to have a friend like you.

"And in the sweetness of friendship let
 there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
 For in the dew of little things the heart
finds its morning and is refreshed."

Kahlil Gibran

Monday, July 23, 2012


The Rogue Speaks:

I was hunting around on Etsy, trying to find a gift that our granddaughter Kaitlin could take with her to Spain.  She leaves in the fall to work on her Master's! Last week was her birthday, but she was celebrating it in Vegas with friends.  So anyway, I found a really cool key chain!  I'm not going to show it to you because you might try to steal it away from me, and I SAW IT FIRST!!!

The Etsy shop, LJewelryDesign, has some fabulous pieces that I know you will just love.  Here are just a few:

To go to the LJewelryDesign shop at Etsy,  just click on the name of the jewelry piece, and browse through the wonderful selection that Linda, the artist, has created.

I wanted to put these pieces on my sidebar with all the other fabulous art, but Blogger is messing with my head again, so I thought I'd just post them!!!  Works for me!

Some of us have had some rough days lately.  We deserve to treat ourselves to a little bling,  right???  I thought you'd like that idea!!!  LET'S SHOP!!!

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Do Me A Flavor--A True Story

The Rogue Speaks:

Do Me A Flavor

This prompt for Saturday Centus brought back some sweet and tender memories.  That phrase, or at least part of it, is one that is very familiar to me, because it was used by one of my dearest friends ever.  “Hey, can you do me a flavor?”  “Sure!  What is it?”  I heard that so often in our relationship over the years.  I never heard “a birthday party flavor” but it could have been spoken at some point, had he not died young.

It’s strange how a phrase, when heard years later, can bring on a smile, or a tear.  What an amazing thing our memory is!

Short but sweet, Centusians!  Jenny really came up with a winner this week, so start writing!  I'm coming over to check on you!!

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

IS IT hooterville? I THINK NOT!!!

The Rogue Speaks:

When I wrote and told my 8th grade sweetheart, Henry Strozier,  the OceanSpray guy on t.v., that we were moving to Brunswick, Georgia, his response  referred to that town of only 30,000 people as "Hooterville," and told me I was moving to a cultural wasteland.  He was in St. Augustine at the time--close enough to Brunswick that we can get together the next time he and his wife are at their vacation home there for a few days.

O.k, so I am moving into a hotbed of conservative Republicanism, but it couldn't be any worse than Tucson, where the state legislature voted to allow people to carry guns everywhere, even in restaurants, and Sheriff Joe Arpaio has "proof" positive that Obama's birth certificate is a forgery.   I told Henry that if I was quizzed on my political stance by anyone in "hooterville," that I would simply say, "I am an artist--we don't do politics."  Of course, you all know that that is a LIE.  I do politics, but only with those of my own kind.  Yes, I know that some of my readers are not of my political persuasion, but they are NICE about it.  Hmmm, well ONE wasn't--but that's another story.

Does our new home look like hooterville?
I think not!!

Brunswick may be small, but it has a LOT to offer!  It has that deep south charm that many people dream about, but it is a progressive city.  Tourism is always big in any coastal area, and Brunswick has many fine restaurants and hotels.  The shrimping business is very big there, and until one has tasted Georgia wild shrimp, straight off the boat, one has not truly lived.  The same holds true for crabs.  No! Not THOSE  crabs!  Shame on you!!!

THESE crabs!!!  Yum!!!

The architecture of Brunswick is NOTHING like the architecture of hooterville.

Brunswick, Glynn County Courthouse

old home in Brunswick--we looked at several
before we decided.

Can you blame me for wanting to live in a place where views like these abound?

Sidney Lanier Memorial Bridge

Brunswick Marina

Brunswick shrimp boats at sunset

Brunswick salt marshes

So you see,  we're not moving to hooterville--we're moving to the place of our dreams.

We'll soon be "Gone With The Wind!"   Hahahahaha!!!

Miss Jenny has lots more students in her Alphabe-Thursday class, so hop on over and read their homework papers!!!

Saturday, July 14, 2012

The Snuggie

The Rogue Speaks:

ARRGH!!! Blogger's messing with my head again, so please click on the title of my Snuggie post so you can leave a comment.  Thanks!!!!

Saturday, already?  With trying to get ready to move, I have really lost count of the days!  I have been cleaning out closets and bagging up stuff for Rod to take to Good Will.  When our son, Jeff, whose funny remarks you've read here before, was little, he called it Uncle Will!  So here is my offering for Saturday Centus--it fits in perfectly with my life right now.

“The Snuggie"

I know you know "The Snuggie,"
that flimsy piece of fleece,
that's touted on the t.v.
by a guy as slick as grease.
"I know Mum would love one!"
Rod chortled with a grin.
"She loves a warm and cozy robe
to sit and daydream in."
I eyed him quite suspiciously.
“He’s joking” s’what I thought.
He seemed so very happy
With the ugly thing he bought.
He listened as the hawker said
In glee, “But wait!  There’s more!”
And did they send us two of those?
Those morons sent us FOUR!!!
Good Will’s around the corner.
I loaded up my car.
Let someone else discover
How cheap those Snuggies are!

Thursday, July 12, 2012


The Rogue Speaks:

Time to lay your HOE down!!

When I was a little girl, my grandparents lived on a farm.  It wasn't a working farm per se--my grandfather was retired as a civil engineer, and the farm was his relaxation.  He did have a corn field, with a mule and a plow, and he hired someone to plow the field.  He had a couple of pigs, and some wonderful goats, and a few laying hens that lived in his barn.

That barn was a fascination to me.  Usually the cars were parked there, along with the animals,  but about once a year, everything would get cleaned out, and my grandparents would have a barndance for all their friends.  They had some fiddlers, and a caller, and the entire barn was decorated with crepe paper.

 This is NOT our barn!

I was pretty little--maybe four years old--the last time they had a barndance.  My grandfather died the following year, when I was five.  But I will never forget that last big barndance, because the caller called a HOEDOWN.

Many people think that a hoedown is a party, but it is actually a kind of dance competition at the barndance.  The dance is fast--usually 2/4 time--and is related to a jig, or a reel (many times The Virginia Reel was used for the competition), or a clog dance.  Each dancer tries to outdance the last.  The caller uses "patter call,"  which is a call that is spoken or chanted, rather than sung.

I will always remember that last barndance at my grandparents' farm, and the wonderful hoedowns that I witnessed that night!  Now head on over to Jenny's Alphabe-Thursday and read some of the other lessons the students have prepared for Jenny's class!

Sunday, July 8, 2012


The Rogue Speaks:

This Saturday Centus is taken from real life--just not MY life, thank goodness.  The prompt(s) are in bold type.


“You’re drunk again,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Why do you have to be so critical!” he said, “I’m doing the best I can!  I’m trying!  But it’s hard!  The pressure at work—well, you just don’t understand!”
“Stop making excuses!  Other people have pressures, and they don’t come home and get blasted!  I have pressures!  I have frustrations!”
“Just don’t leave me here alone, and maybe I wouldn’t be tempted!!”
“Do you hear yourself??  You want me to stay with you constantly when you are at home??  Don’t you dare put this all on me!!!  Stop it!!!!  You’re an adult, for God’s sake!!

Now, head on over to Jenny's and read the rest of the offerings!  Happy weekend!!!

Friday, July 6, 2012

G is for GRIPING!

The Rogue Speaks:


I wish Blogger would get it's act together and realize that some things are best left alone!  Now if you want to leave a comment here, you have to click on the title of my post!  One more silly step to take! Or maybe not!  Maybe they've changed their minds again!  Who knows??? Why do they have to make things so hard????

Hey!  That's it!!  I'll title this post Griping!  My head is spinning these days and my body aches because we are selling our house and moving back to the southeast.  I am way too old for these HOT temperatures!  Tucson is a beautiful place, and the mountains and the desert have been a comfort for me for 14 years.  I love being able to see the horizon, and being able to navigate my way around town by keeping my eyes on the Catalinas.  I've made some wonderful friends, too, both in the art world and the world of golfing, bridge, and bunco, but it's time for a change.

Now for the gripes:  Did you know that if you want your possessions protected on the trek across the country, you now have to buy insurance from the moving companies?  Kind of like buying an appliance or electronics.  They tell us their product is Great!  Superior in every way!  and then they suggest that we buy their insurance "just in case."  Of course, if the van has a wreck on the interstate and burns up all your belongings, then the trucker has to pay for everything since he was driving.  Yeah, like THAT's gonna happen!  BUT if we don't buy the movers' insurance, and they break my grandmother's china, oops! Too bad.

In the documents for selling a house, there's one called "disclosure" in which we must tell, among other things, if we have had an issue with snakes, bees, scorpions, Gila monsters, and other manner of desert creatures.  We had to answer "Yes" to that one, even though each one of those things was a one time incident in fourteen years.  Of course, there isn't a line to write in that little fact.

My main gripe is really about myself.  Why on earth did I save all those artsy items I thought I might use sometime in the future?  Why did I store it in a 10 x 10 room?  How did that room suddenly turn into fodder for "Hoarders--Buried Alive?"  Now I know how some of those people feel when they have to clean.  It is overwhelming!  Toward the end, during the 6th Waste Management big green garbage can full of "stuff,"  I am kicking myself and making a firm decision to live a cleaner life in the future. HA!  We shall see!!!

Here's another gripe:  We really have been working our asses off here, and falling into bed half-dead at eight o'clock every night, only to wake up at 3 a.m., not being able to sleep.  I have turned into a raging fanatic of cleanliness--scrubbing the dust off the top of the baseboards with a toothbrush and picking stubborn stuff out of the corners with a toothpick.  How sick is that????  Rod has been asking me "what should I do next?"  You have to ASK????  Finally, I said, "FIND SOMETHING THAT NEEDS TO BE DONE AND DO IT."

Here's my final "gripe of the day:"  We paid landscape men to spruce up our back yard, because we'd rather a stranger drop dead from working in the searing heat than one of us.  It looked pretty good when they finished.  Two days later, we have what my son Jeff used to call, "a belly washer" that dropped 3.3 inches of rain in less than an hour and a half, washing debris into our pool, and dirt out of our giant flower pots and onto the patio.  Rod had to go out into the searing heat to clean up the mess.  I held my breath.

Everything looks pretty darned good, and the agents tell us our house should sell quickly.  Now we can rest, go to bed at an adult-type hour, and sleep until at least 7 a.m.  BUT, NOOOOOOO!  We had gotten so used to not sleeping, that we were awake and up at 5 a.m.  There's no justice.