Embarrassing Moments - Part Duex

Many years ago we were camping up in Michigan in our tent camper. Our kids were little at the time. The campsites were pretty close together. The site next to us had their fire pit directly across from where Jim and I slept. We had turned in early, while they were sitting around a campfire. I let out a big, honking snore. Not just a snore, but an all-out tent sides sucking in, hold everything down or it will fly away, SNORT, SNORT, SNORT, kind of snore. It must have scared the bejesus out of our fellow campers because I heard the woman ask her husband in a small voice, "WHAT was THAT?"

"Oh, that's just the people next door!"

At that point I yelled out, "Jim! Wake up! You're SNORING!" (Quick thinking on my part, don't you think?)


When my daughter, Jessica, was little, I used to make her stuffed animals come to life by moving their arms, head, and sometimes legs, all the while talking in a funny voice. I particularly liked talking like Elmo. As Jess grew older, the playing with the stuffed animals stopped, but I never dropped the Elmo voice. Even through high school, I would kid around with her and talk in an Elmo voice. Jessica graduated high school and moved on to college. But I didn't grow older. Nope. One day I called her dorm room, and thinking it was Jess that answered the phone, I did my best Elmo imitation and asked, "Is Jessica there?"

I heard the young woman let out a sigh, and say, "Jessica, it's your MOM!" Then she put the phone down. How she knew it was me, I'll never know because I NEVER did my Elmo imitation outside of the house!


I fell down on the job (literally!) and hurt my knee and had to have an MRI to see what kind of damage was done and what surgery was necessary. I was on crutches and had my knee wrapped up in an ace bandage with those metal clips to hold it together. I was under the impression AND people had told me that no metal was allowed when having an MRI done. I entered the room, and of course there had to be a young, good looking technician working the machine. He instructed me to remove the ace bandage and to slip on a robe. I could keep on my underclothes. I was worried about my underwire bra and thought I should mention it for fear that my boobs would be suddenly magnetically drawn to the top of the machine and I would literally be hanging by my boobs.

With that in mind, I timidly said to this young stud muffin, "Um, I am wearing an underwire bra."

His reply? "I am so happy for you. Now get up on the table, please."

Did I want to die of embarrassment? You betcha!


Anything you'd like to share with us? I'm all ears!





(Click here to read Part One of Embarrassing Moments)

Shiny Chrome

This week's contribution for Weekend Reflections is a photo of our 5th wheel trailer reflected in the fender of our big blue truck. You can see the awning out on our trailer, and the sunny blue Arizona sky. This is our home - we've be traveling for just about five years in this baby!



For more reflections, see James at Newton Area Photo.

TMI Thursday - I came, I sat, I peed

I thought I would jump in this week on TMI Thursday sponsored by Lilu at Livitluvit. Click her button to read more TMI stories.





sign hung over a public toilet

At my recent doctor's visit, I was asked to give a urine sample. I would rather be pricked by a dull needle. No, wait. I would rather have bamboo sticks shoved under my nails. No, no, wait. I'd rather by strung up by my toes. Anypiss, you get the idea - I abhor the idea of peeing in a cup.

Now, you might think this is such a simple request. Why do I hate it so much?

I'LL TELL YOU WHY!

Cause I'm a woman.

Yes. Men? They have it easy. They have a hose, they can direct it right into the cup. Badda bing, badda boom. Done.

Women? Not so easy. Well, okay, I'll speak for myself. I have a helluva time. Let me give you the gory details.

The "proper" way to givee a urine sample is to wash your "private" area with an alcohol wipe. Then you are supposed to pee just a little bit, stop peeing, then start peeing again and put the cup under the stream. Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong.

First off, who can stop peeing once they start? This, in itself, is very hard to do.

Secondly, I can never pee in the specimen cup without peeing all over my hand. And there's nothing like the feeling of warm pee going everywhere BUT the cup.

So I entered the bathroom to donate the dreaded sample. There was a small table up against the wall that was stacked with alcohol wipes, plastic containers with lids, and cardboard cups that looked very similar to coffee cups. A revelation came over me that I could pee in the coffee cup FIRST, THEN pour it into the plastic container.





I gathered all the necessary accoutrements and set them on the floor in front of the toilet. Then I thought I'd better open up the lidded jar, so I cracked the seal, opened the jar, and placed both of them on the sink.

Next I pulled my pants down, opened the wipe, did what I was supposed to do, then started to pee, just a little bit all the while saying, STOP, STOP, STOP!

Okay. Now came the part I hate. Try to get the pee in the cup. The problem is, when I bend over, I have a lot of business hanging that prevents me from seeing exactly what I am doing. (Business being boobs, belly, etc.) So I have to rely on feel. The larger mouth cup worked a lot better. I had a bigger target I guess. Pretty soon I felt the cup getting warm like when you order a cup of coffee from a vending machine.





I thought I filled the cup high enough so I quickly pulled it out from underneath me, and as I was ever-so-gently setting the cup of liquid gold on the sink so it wouldn't spill, I stood up, AND CONTINUED PEEING. SAY WHAT? It shot out of me and luckily missed my clothes bunched up at my ankles. I had a small puddle at the base of the toilet between my shoes. What the hell just happened? On one hand I was quite embarrassed. I obviously wasn't done going. But on the other hand? Man, all this time I'm worried about collecting my pee and that's all I had to do was put a cup on the floor and I could hit it dead on! Who knew?

Watery Wednesday #70 - Sea Lions

On our trip up the West coast two years ago, we stopped at Sea Lion Caves, in Florence, Oregon. These sea lions, called "Steller" sea lions, can be found from central California all the way to the Bering Sea. This is the only mainland rookery. Otherwise their homes are on rocks off shore. The sea lions call this home year-round. They live in the cave during the fall and winter stormy season, and use the rock ledges during the spring and summer.

It cost $12.00 to view the sea lions. There is a gift shop to browse in. Then you can walk outside and look down the cliff to see the sea lions gathered on the rocks. Here's a photo from high up on the cliff looking down. You can hear the lions bellowing from this distance, AND smell them if the wind is right (or wrong, really!)




Here's with the zoom lens.





These are cormorants on the edge of the cliff.




You can also go down to "the cave" and see the sea lions in their natural habitat. They are quite loud in there AND beware because it DOES stink! But it is pretty cool.



There is a large opening on the side of the cave. This is the view.



This is Heceta Head Lighthouse just north of Sea Lion Caves.



For more Watery Wednesday images, click HERE.

Wherever you go - there you are

I wanted to share with all of you some of the photos I snapped from our recent trip back to Illinois and Minnesota. Some are beautiful, some are odd, and some make you want to go....HUH?

This is a silhouette of a bridge caught in the rising sun on the cold morning we left Minnesota.



Here's another one of the sunrise through the naked trees.



I guess it's true when they say "every man's home is his castle." This is someone's home in Illinois. Don't know if it comes with a dragon or not. Come to think of it, I didn't see a knight in shining armour, either.



We passed these two farms that had quilted patterns painted on their barns.





Speaking of barns, how this one is even standing is a wonder. I guess because the wind can blow right through it. Why doesn't the farmer just knock it down?



I was able to snap a photo of these geese coming in for a landing in a field with the sun low in the sky. Remember - all photos are shot from a moving vehicle!



And of course, this moving vehicle is an airplane. Doesn't this look like a slice of heaven?



How about this one?



In case you're in need of a job, this here's a good place to start. This road is in Minnesota. I bet you'd have good luck with a job here!



I had a good laugh when I saw this barn.




It's too bad we were speeding by AND I didn't have my zoom lens. Otherwise I might have seen these underneath the house.

I didn't see, GO HOME DOROTHY written in the sky, either.

Do you remember those old TV ads for Honda motorcyles? It went something like, "You meet the nicest people on a Honda!" Well, maybe Kawasaki should have something about odd people riding them! Take a look a this person! We came upon him/her at a stoplight. I told Jim to stop the truck a little behind so I could snap a picture with my phone.



Then we pulled up next to the bike and I took another shot. Then the person turned to us, smiled, and waved. Not sure if it was a man or a woman. Whatever it was, it DID stand out with that pink mohawk on it's zebra helmet, lime green bike, and lime green/black outfit!

I was beat up by a nun!

What you are about to read is a true story. It happened in 1979. August. On Wednesday, the 22nd, around 2:00 pm. It obviously scarred me for life. Why I didn't leave the Catholic Church after this incident is beyond me.

My sister, Linda, and I were pregnant at the same time, but five months apart. We both saw the same doctor. We were going to have our babies at the same hospital. Linda thought she was helping me by describing everything possible involved in having a baby. Every detail including things about a c-section, how I'd feel afterward, anything you could think of, but she left out one major detail.

The crazy nun.


Yes. You see, there was a retired, senile nun that lived on the maternity ward. (It was a Catholic hospital.) She buzzed around in her motorized wheel chair. She spoke with a soft voice and prattled on and on about various things. It was hard to get her to leave once she came to visit you. My sister learned quick enough to pretend that she was sleeping when she heard the wheelchair approach her door. And back in those days, if you had a c-section, you were kept in the hospital for a full 7 days. So Linda did a lot of pretending.

Let me set up the scene of the crime. The night before I went into labor, my husband and I visited my parents. When I walked out the back door, I stubbed my baby toe on the railing running along the back porch. I broke my toe. Have you ever broken a toe? I'm talking extreme pain.

Anytoe, early the next morning I went into labor. Fourteen hours later I had only dilated to 4 (should be 10), the baby was in distress, and they opted to yank my son out via c-section. This is when they split ya belly button to pubes.

This particular hospital recommended that new moms of c-sections wear "binders", a long piece of material with velcro that you pull and fold around your middle section. It felt tight like a girdle and helped hold the stomach muscles in. It felt pretty good, actually. I was able to move around right away with that sucker on.

Two days after giving birth, I was lying in bed, minding my own "bidness", honestly. I remember that my hands were behind my head, so my belly was all exposed (not literally) but you'll see what I mean.

In buzzes old crazy nun. Remember, I knew NOTHING about her.

"Hello," I said, ever the friendly, Catholic girl.

Wham! The nun slapped my stomach with all her might and said, "Look at that flat stomach for just having a baby!" She packed quite a punch for being all senile and in a wheel chair and shit. I should have just slugged her right then and there. Either that or just puked on her.

Jesus, Mary, and bald-headed Joseph! I yelled, "I just had a cesarean!" Thank the LORD I had on that binder because she could have ripped open my cut OR pushed my staples through to my spine.

But she wasn't through. Oh no she wasn't.

My eyeballs went back into their sockets and I managed to wipe the tears away. For some unknown reason Senile Sista started talking about her feet. She described the problems she was having with them, and how her toes were all bunched up together. (DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE???) My eyes must have glazed over a minute because she felt the need to demonstrate what her toes looked like in case I couldn't get a clear picture. So she grabbed MY foot. Stop the film right here. Do I need to rewind to the previous night when I BROKE MY TOE? Yeah. You know where I'm going with this. Oh yes she did. She grabbed my broken toe, along with the rest of them on my left foot, and crushed them together to give me a "clearer" picture of what her effing foot looked like!

Not only was this nun obviously deaf to my screams of, "My toe! My toe! It's broken!", but she must also have been blind since she didn't see the baby toe sticking out SIDEWAYS and the nice blue and green color it had turned.

I don't remember too much of the conversation after that. I just lay in my bed whimpering and promising God that I would go to church every Sunday if he would just get SATAN out of my room. A few minutes later she left.

After I collected myself, I limped up to the nurse's station and said, "I just got beat up by a nun!"

I relayed the story to them, and after they picked themselves up off the floor from laughing hysterically, they said, "You'd better behave yourself or we'll send her in there to express your milk!"

I was the best patient they ever had.

I say Whoa! to horse back riding

I have a love/hate relationship with horses. I love to look at them; but hate to ride them. I was 19 years old when I got on my first horse. I was on my honeymoon. (That sounded a little derogatory, didn't it?) We signed up to ride a trail with a bunch of riders. It was an hour long ride. What was I thinking? Obviously I wasn't. I was fearless, young, and in-love. I could do anything. Boy was I wrong. It scared the bejesus out of me. We rode up hills, we rode down hills. Very steep hills. Hills that were so steep that I thought I was going to fall head first over the horse. Luckily I wasn't on the horse that my husband rode on. He was warned that when his horse wanted the rider to get off, it would immediately drop to the ground and roll over; the rider had to scramble off before getting flattened like a pancake. All went well till we were just about at the end of the trail. Then - bam! The horse dropped, my husband jumped off, and the ride was over.

Ten years passed until I got on another horse. My life had changed somewhat. I now had two children, one less husband, and was dating my current husband, Jim. We went horseback riding with a group of friends. I signed up as a "novice" rider. They gave me an old nag named "Dotty."

"You don't have to worry about Dotty," the woman assured me. "She's an old gal. She won't even trot!" Then she laughed.

Jim got a bigger, and younger horse. I don't remember it's name, but I know it was male and he was fast.

Our friend, Matt, had never been on a horse, so he was even more inexperienced than me. Altogether there were about seven in our group. Things started off well enough; we rode slow and stayed together in a pack. Matt's horse wouldn't stay on the path; she kept wondering off the trail to the tall grass growing alongside the fence. Matt couldn't control his horse. Either Jim or one of the other riders (not me) would ride over to Matt, take his horse's reins, and lead it back to the trail. This happened a few times. Then all of a sudden Matt's horse turned around and started galloping back towards the barn. That's all we saw was Matt's receding back as he held on for dear life with one hand, and waved goodbye with the other one. We didn't see him for the whole hour we were on the trail.

Pretty soon our horses began to pick up speed. The spaces widened between all of us. I brought up the rear, and followed Jim's horse. All of a sudden it was as if his horse got a bug up his butt. He took off across the field like a bat out of hell. And guess what? Ole Dotty wasn't so old after all! She started trotting/galloping after Jim's horse like nobody's business! Okay. Nobody told me about posting. And I'm not talking about blogging. I'm talking where you lift your butt off the saddle and set it back down, in an up and down motion, in conjunction with the horse's movement. This makes for a comfortable ride for both the rider and the horse. Nope, nope, nope. Never heard of such a word. I was a novice rider, remember? So there I was, holding on to Dotty for dear life, cussing her out like a sailor, all the while my ass was slapping that saddle. I thought for sure by the time Dottie caught up with Jim that he would find me hanging underneath the horse, clinging to Dottie's belly! I barely made it to Jim in one piece. By the time I caught up with him, tears streaked down my face, my throat was raw from screaming, and my ass felt like it had been paddled by spanking machine! Jim's horse finally slowed down to a walk and then so did Dottie.

Jim took one look at me and asked incredulously, "What happened to you?"

I explained what happened and vowed that it would be a long time before I got on a horse again.

Flash forward about 15 years - Jim, our daughter, and I went to Wisconsin Dells for a free weekend of camping. That's all we had to do was listen to a sales pitch to buy into a condo or time share. Anyway, the weekend included horseback riding. I thought to myself, "Why not give it a try. Enough time had passed since the last bad incident." So the three of us walked down to the stables to get our horses. All the horses were tied up outside in a line. The man would look you up and down and then assign a horse to you. He put my daughter on a nice small horse. He looked at Jim, then at me. I saw him look over to this honking tall, wide-ass horse. Then he looked at me. Shit. And he waved me over. Now - My husband is almost a foot taller than me. Okay I exaggerate. He's 10 inches taller. And a good 50 pounds heavier. So explain to me again why I'm getting the effing stallion? I stood next to the horse and looked up, and up, and swallowed. I had a hard time getting up on him, AND a hard time spreading my legs over his girth. (SHUT UP). The guy finished assigning the horses. I noticed Jim's horse wasn't as big as mine. What was up with that? The guy then got on his horse and gave us some basic lessons, like pull right on the reins to go right, left to go left, and back to stop. He warned us to keep a little distance between horses because they didn't like another horse near their own rear end. Good to know. We all lined up and started on the trail.

Not ten feet from the corral stood two horses that were loose. As soon as my horse passed them, one of the horses came over to my horse, and my horse kicked up his hind legs! With me on him! I let out a blood-curdling scream! C'mon, we haven't even left the grounds yet and already I'm in trouble? This cannot be good.

This set the tone for the rest of the ride. I gripped this horse so hard with my knees. I was tense the complete ride. Let's just say that I did NOT enjoy the ride whatsoever. I kept praying for it to be over. It was the longest hour of my life.

Finally we rounded a bend and I could see the barn. Yes! The horses slowed down and started bunching up. I pulled on the reins so my horse wouldn't get too close to the horse in front of me. I didn't want any kind of trouble. Nosiree Bob! I didn't notice the gap getting bigger and bigger in front of me. Unbeknown to me, I had continued to pull back on the reins. There were about six horses behind me. They were all backing up. The leader happened to turn around and saw the large gap and the mess I was creating.

He yelled, "Hey! You've got your horse stuck in REVERSE!"

Oh. Yeah. So if you continuously pull on the reins, the horse backs up. Who knew?

By the time we reached the stable, I could barely get off the horse. My legs were stiff from clenching them so hard. I was so bow legged when I walked that I looked like Yosemite Sam, only without the guns. Oh. And my mustache isn't quite that long.



And so, folks, due to my past experiences with horse back riding, I say nay, nay to trying it again. So, unfortunately, this picture is more appropriate for this post than the top one.

I exercise - I run my mouth, push my luck, and jump to conclusions!

I used to love to walk until my back, hips, knees, and feet had a say in the matter. Now I don't walk too far without them all complaining. My friend and I thought that maybe we should start walking every day on the tread mills in the gym.

"Okay, that sounds good. What time should we do it?" I asked.

Viv said, "How about 3:00?"

"Wait, that would interfere with 'Music in the Courtyard.'"

"What about 5:00?" Viv tried.

"No, that won't work either, because of the Watering Hole." (Both events consist of getting together with the group, listening to music, and drinking.)

This went back and forth a few more times until we settled on 8:00 am before our water aerobics class. But we've yet to go because we've both been sick.

I've talked about my water aerobics class before. While we're here in Arizona for the winter months, I usually attend the class five days a week. I don't attend the real physical one - just the medium one. I don't swim laps in the pool, because a) I am afraid of water; b) they don't make water wings for adults, and c) I almost drowned when I was in high school so it scarred me for life.

Jogging - now THERE's a sport for ya. Seriously. Have you EVER seen a happy jogger? When we used to live in a home, there was an older man who jogged in the neighborhood every day. He did NOT look happy. In fact, he looked like he was about to keel over any minute. He wasn't gaining any fans of the sport, I'll tell you!

I tried jogging once. Too hard on my shin splints. And if you are big breasted? Not gonna happen. a) It's not pretty b) It's distracting to people/traffic going by, and c) It left bruises on my cheeks from my boobs slapping me in the face. Yeah. So scratch jogging off the list.

You've read on previous posts that I played bocce ball here. And got beaten by a blind man. Do you get the feeling that I suck at anything athletic? Yeah. I was the one that was picked last for teams in school. I wasn't fat in high school. In fact, I had a great shape.

I was THRILLED the day I broke a bone in my foot in gym class. It was only the second day in Track and Field. The doctor said I had to be out of gym for six weeks! I practically fell onto my knees and shouted, "Praise be the Lord!" Track and Field only ran six weeks. Buh-bye! So sorry I had to miss it!

A few years ago I was thinking of trying roller blading. That was, until this woman came into the library where I was working. She had a cast on her arm. That wasn't so bad, except the fact that her arm jutted out at a 90 degree angle DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF HER BODY.

"Oh, boy, what happened to you?" I asked her sympathetically.

"Roller blading," She answered.

"Oh no!" I said, already deciding that I would NEVER try it!

"Yeah," she continued, "I didn't even leave the store. I put on the skates and skated over to the table to look at the knee and arm pads and just fell down. They had to call an ambulance for me right there in the store!"

"Oh my God!" I tried not to laugh, but it was pretty hard. This poor thing had to do EVERYTHING with her arm sticking out in front of her. It was quite comical, actually. Not for her, I'm sure. I can't imagine her lying down in bed and seeing her arm straight up in the air.

And THAT, my friends, is why I'll never roller blade.

Maybe I'll just get the Wii fit. This way, if I fall off that platform, it's only about an inch. How bad can that be? Course, I broke my foot doing a hop-step-and-a-jump off a one inch mat so it COULD be bad.

Why I don't like walking

Walking can add minutes to your life.
This enables you at 85 years old to spend
an additional 5 months in a nursing home
at $7000 per month.

My grandpa started walking
five miles a day when he was 60.
Now he's 97 years old and we
don't know where the hell he is.

I like long walks,
especially when they are taken
by people who annoy me.

The only reason I would take up walking
is so that I could hear heavy breathing again.

I have to walk early in the morning,
before my brain figures out what I'm doing.

I joined a health club last year ...
spent about 400 bucks.
Haven't lost a pound.
Apparently you have to go there.

Every time I hear the dirty word 'exercise',
I wash my mouth out with chocolate.

I do have flabby thighs,
but fortunately my stomach covers them.

The advantage of exercising every day
is so when you die, they'll say,
.....'Well, she looks good doesn't she.'

If you are going to try cross-country skiing,
start with a small country.

I know I got a lot of exercise the last few years,......
...... just getting over the hill.

We all get heavier as we get older,
because there's a lot more information in our heads.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

.... and

Every time I start thinking too much about how I look,
I just find a Happy Hour, and by the time I leave,
I look just fine.


ANY OF YOU BREAK YOUR NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS YET?

Stupid is as stupid does

Okay, see here's the thing. I do stupid things maybe once a month, week, day. I'm not proud of it, but as my sister, Linda, likes to say, "It is what it is."

You've probably read how people should "exercise" their brain, and although I hate exercise in any way, shape, OR form, I thought I'd give it a try.

I take a stab at Sudoku puzzles.



True, I can't get past a "3-star" (medium) one, (5 star being the hardest). What usually happens is that I ball the paper up in frustration and throw it across the room towards the wastepaper basket - and miss!

I do the daily crossword puzzles in the paper, in INK mind you. Monday starts easy and the puzzle gets progressively harder as the week goes on. Sometimes I finish Monday's puzzle.

We do keep a crossword puzzle book in the bathroom to make your shitting sitting pleasure more enjoyable. The first 30-50 pages are the simple puzzles that you can breeze through in one sitting.

My point to all of this is, I try folks. I really try to make the ole neurons in my brain connect like they are supposed to. But somewhere along the way, they are misfiring.

Take for instance this morning. I needed a mirror so I could see the back of my hair. My small hand mirror got broken (I know!) on our flight back to Arizona. So I've been walking around for days not knowing what my "do" looks like in the back. Totally frustrated, I started rummaging through my three bags of make up that I don't wear - thinking that there had to be a mirror in there. I scored! I found this.



Now - you all might be wondering, "What's so stupid about that?" Patience my children. This little make up item was a free gift from a clothing store. I have picked this up and looked at it SEVERAL times and wanted to used it. But I wasn't sure what the stuff inside of it was exactly. On the back it reads:



Again I am puzzled. Which row is the eye shadow, and which row is the lip gloss?



Today I was happy just to use the mirror. You noticed that two brushes were included with this kit. I turned the kit over to dump the brushes out and while I was turning the kit back over, this is what I found.



That's right. A secret compartment with the eyeshadow. Ta-da! So now I know. The eyeshadows are on the bottom compartment; lip glosses are on the top. How many times did I pick this up, turn it over and read it, turn it back and study it, then put it aside? At least 3. How stupid am I?


Stupid Incident No. 2

The other day I went to grab my toothbrush and my brain farted. I couldn't remember which brush was mine. I know this isn't earth shattering, but it's troubling nonetheless. I yelled to my husband, "Which toothbrush is yours?"

"Uh, the blue one?" He answered - not too assuredly.

"The BLUE one?" I shrieked knowing full well that this meant he used it that morning. "I think that's MINE!" I said with a sudden flash of memory. I mean, really, what are the chances that the both of us would forget which toothbrush we use? Seriously? And, eww, the thought of someone else using my toothbrush totally grosses me out. I don't care if it's the same mouth I stick my tongue in at night! I say the blue one is mine! That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Stupid Incident No. 3

One time I was walking out of a restroom in a restaurant and saw a glimpse of a woman walking towards me. I thought, "Wow! What a coincidence! She has on the same top that I do!" Yep, it was a mirror!

Stupid Incident No. 4

We played bocce ball over the weekend with a group of friends. One of them was blind. He played better than me. It would be funny if it were true. It's true. Go ahead and laugh. Got it out of your system? Good!

So now it's your turn to make ME laugh. What stupid things have YOU done lately? Come on, spill it.

Raindrops keep falling on my head

For our connecting flight to Chicago, we made a quick stop in Dallas. It was raining that day. Before the plane left the gate, I gazed out the window and saw the perfect photo for weekend reflections. I quick grabbed my camera and snapped it. I think this guy pushes the plane away from the gate. Yeah. He's pretty strong.



I was happy with that photo, then enter stage left (or is it stage right, I can never get that right!) Mr. I'm-feeling-like-a-Chiquita-banana-Guy here. Yowzer! There's no missing him!



For more reflection photos, join James here.

Watery Wednesday #69

I've been away for a couple of weeks so I've missed a few posts for Watery Wednesday. Today's pictures are from when we were in Nashville, TN. People told us that we HAD to visit the Gaylord Opryland Hotel and just walk around it. It truly was something to behold. One whole section, called the "Delta", is made up like the city of New Orleans.



Everything looks so lush - there are green plants every where. There is even a small river that winds around through the center of the hotel.



You could get on a small flat boat and take a ride on the river.



Remember. You are INSIDE a HOTEL! You will pass waterfalls!



There are shops and restaurants spread throughout the hotel. It was the Christmas season when we visited, so the decorations were phenomenal. Another section is called the Garden Conservatory. Again, there are more shops and restaurants. And plants, fountains, and waterfalls.





Here is a small video of the cute fountains....



For more Watery Wednesday photos, click HERE.