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 |   You never know what you'll find - humor, ramblings, rants, randomness- it's all me! |
This description part is challenging. I never know what I will blog about until I start typing. I do know there will be typos. I don't reread or correct my blog. Otherwise it turns technical instead of my feelings and thoughts. Trust me, on stories and poems I'm a grammaraholic, but this is freedom. Sometimes to keep it from getting too personal, I even turn my head away while I type. Weird, right?. I hope you find this somewhat entertaining, thought-provoking, and humorous.   A little about me. The most important things in my life are family, especially my son, Reese, and my husband, Bruce, my walk with God, and making a positive impact in some way. I am a teacher, currently teaching 6th grade Language Arts. While at times my job can be trying, overall, it is one of the most rewarding passions in my life.   This is my wonderful son, Reese. He is now 20 and and a junior at Oklahoma State University. I may be partial, but he is an exceptional kid with the best heart I've ever known. He makes me laugh, think, and want to be a better person. We are both huge Oklahoma State Cowboy fans - Gooooooo Pokes!  This is Reese's dog, Betty. She shares a name with my mother. Reese named her that because she was beautiful and kind just like his Nanny (my mom). I'm not sure my mom is quite convinced it is a compliment though. Betty is a huge part of our family. She even had her own blog for awhile. Poke around at your leisure and shake your head at some of things that go through mine. I always return reviews/comments, though admittedly, sometimes it does take me awhile depending on what life is serving me at that point. Keeping the faith, Audra  |
| I was told not to write this - which if you know me at all - made me want to write it even more. If you haven't heard of the book 50 Shades of Grey or the 2 books that follow it - give yourself a big hug -- you must be a hermit without access to media but go ahead hug yourself - well, if you are a hermit i'm sure you could use a hug. First, I almost NEVER read books overpublicized by the media - no Twilight, Potter, etc. It's just a thing with me - i like to discover my own reading material not have it shoved down my throat. But alas, I was weak during Spring Break and thought - hey - i'll see what all the hoopla is about - i could use an easy read. I'd admit it I caved. Which is why I generally don't have principle's that way i don't disappoint myself. To be clear - this is not a book review - it is a ty-RANT. The book is overtly sexual which i'm sure some had a problem with - I however did not. The writing is pretty good - it's smooth, understandable, transitions well. And I HATED IT. First of all, I'm not a romance reader - my days of danielle steele ended before i reached my 20's. and this romance story is less realistic than Disney's Beauty and the Beast. I won't give any spoiler alerts here because honestly, when you are reading it if you don't see what's coming you either aren't paying attention or you've had one too many shots of tequila. here comes the RANT part. The guy in the book, Christian Grey, has well let's just say an unconvential appetite in the bedroom. - i honestly don't know if you would consider it unconvential - it depends what you do behind closed doors - but just for the sake of clarification let's just call it eccentric. Anyway his knew love is not so 'adventurous'. Completely understandable - we all like what we like -- i like my potatoes fried you might like the baked. But here's my probably with the whole damn book -- we go on to learn Christian is the way he is because of a bad childhood -- dun dun dun - something from his past . . . This freakin' (you know the word I want to say) pissed me off. Why? Why? Why? Why when something is different does there ALWAYS have to be an underlying cause. I'm not saying there never is, but it's to the point we will make one up if there isn't one. I mean I like mustard on my crackers -- that's different - but i'm pretty damn sure my mom never abused me by making me drink excessive amounts of condiments. It's not like I have this great need to stand up for the bondage, slave/master community - but my point is if they like it and it works for them - why can't that just be enough? The book was publicized almost like it would open the minds of people and bedrooms around the country would be a-rockin'. And then they blew it - by making him "twisted" "damaged" if you will. We can't just like what we like - there has to be a reason. DO NOT MISUNDERSTAND - about the first time a man tells me to call him Master and assume the position he has a new whip to try out - I'll be borrowing my real daddy's smith and wesson and preaching a little sermon about who is my one and only MASTER. But hey that's just me. let people be different and let them enjoy their differences. there does not have to be something wrong with them because they are not like you. You know different things do it for different people. hell - what's wrong with a little car wash fetish here and there. And you know what if you are someone that is different - sexually or any other way -- freakin' embrace it -- you don't have to label yourself a freak. My son likes Burger King - I like McDonalds - he's wrong and i'm right but i'm not going to call him a freak over it or wonder how I screwed up during his formative years. Basically, the book pissed me off. Go ahead, bring on the tirade - i'm ready. You don't have to agree with me to love me, Ralls ** Image ID #1529452 Unavailable ** |
I'm going to ramble here a bit, so if you want to skip down to the "good" stuff go right ahead. Writing something like this has been in my mind for a long time (I mean even longer than a day), but i didn't know quite how to form it so I decided to just blog the crap out of it. Plus, yesterday I read a poem by Sil   (check her port out - it's a trip worth making), and it said to me - Yeah, what you have to say is worth saying. it could be lying to me, who knows?Before I interpret your teenage daughter, I would like to proclaim myself an expert. Not because I have a degree in psychology, not because i have teenage daughters (I don't - Thank you, God for giving me the son I prayed for -- it proved to me you love me more than you love my ex-husband who was praying for a girl -- j/k God- kinda lol), but I am an expert on them because I have taught in some fashion whether it be in school or when i taught dance thousands of teenage girls. You pick up on a few things after awhile. When I tell people I teach middle school, I get a look of pity and that I must be slightly off my rocker. I don't teach middle school because I can't get another job - I teach it because I LOVE this age. People say, "Ohhhhh, they are awful, mean, hormonal, etc." - I nod and say, "Yeah, sometimes - but aren't we all?" I think it is as much us as them - they are changing and we aren't ready for it. I don't even think it's the hormones, their brains are just changing/adapting at such a rate that they are lost. They don't know whether to embrace it or fight it - hence comes the erratic behavior. One minute they want to be a grown up and treated like such and the next they want to be that little girl whose biggest issue is what dress to put on Barbie. One more thing and I'll get to the good stuff. I have a student, we will call her Molly. She is the sweetest, most respectful, helpful, hard worker that has passed through my door. She will be in 8th grade this year. I met her as a 6th grader. Last year, she came to my room at lunch and wanted to know if she could talk to me. I welcomed her in. I love being around this girl; she makes me want to be a better person. I could tell Molly was confused. She let it spill out. "Ms. Ralls, something is wrong with me. Lately, when my mom asks me to do something, it aggravates me- and last night I even talked back to her!" This conversation is kind of what really opened my eyes to what they are going through. Molly had only known herself as respectful, happy, helpful and now a creature in her was looming its head. She was smart enough (this was impressive) to know her mother's behavior hadn't changed so it must be her. So, I know there are days when they aren't real 'likable', and their verbal skills seem to have diminished to sarcasm and negativity, but in there is a person just trying to find their way. Here is a guide of things to expect to hear and have to interpret OMG Mom, learn today's lingo - it is impossible to even talk to you - what she really means though - is don't ever use it when you talk though because no way are you cool enough to pull it off and you are emabarrassing enough as it is. I mean have you seen the way you dress? Monday: You NEVER come to any of my games/events. Shelly's mom is there every time! Tuesday: Why did you come to my softball game?! you are so loud and how could you call me 'sweetie' in front of the whole world. Oh disgusting! Did you two seriously just kiss at the breakfast table - get a room -- ughh - i can't even eat now. Nice job parenting there - make your daughter naseuas You should see Kimmy's folks - they are sooo cute - they do everything together. When we went to pick up some snacks at the store - they even held hands. It was adorable. They really love each other Mom: Your face looks so pretty when you pull your hair back like that. Daughter: So you are saying I'm fat? Great! Thanks, Mom. This homework is too hard! It would be nice is someone would give me a little help! 5 minutes later: that is not how you do it. Are you stupid? you are going to make me fail In the morning: I can't believe what that skank, Rebecca, posted on MY facebook page. I hate her! She always starts crap Phone call at noon: Mom, can Rebecca spend the weekend with us. I know we were going to the cabin. But it's so much more fun when I have a best friend with me Dylan is so gross, mom. He wears the same clothes almost every day -- I can't believe you made me play with him when we were babies - Seriously, what were you thinking? Next day Mom! We have to go shopping for a spring formal dress! Dylan asked me to the dance! Be right back, he's texting me The mall (my advice - just don't go) You're joking, right? that is the ugliest dress I've ever seen. Do you want me to be the ugliest girl at the dance? Uh. . Ruffles? Just go sit down somewhere, Mom. that is hideous. After the dance: Mom, you should have seen Jamie's dress. It was beautiful. Everyone was talking about it. It had these cool ruffles on it. It made her look so skinny! maybe next year we will be able to find something like that Dad, can you give us a ride to the movies. I can pay; we just need a ride. Pleeeeeeeassseeeeee, Dadddy  Pulling up to the movies, she reaches her hand out. Dad: I thought you said you could pay. Duh. Of course I can, after you give me the allowance you owe me from like the last 15 years. Don't embarrass me like this, Father. Why can't you be more like Carrie's parents - they let her do whatever she wants. They actually TRUST her to make decisions It is your fault I'm so tired. I'm going to fail this bio test now. How could you have let me stay up so late. Gawwwdddd - your the parents. Do you not watch Dr. Phil? we need boundaries. Dad, you can always make me laugh with those goofy jokes. they always make me feel better. have you lost your mind???? telling those stupid jokes when my friends were in the car! Your goal is to make me a social outcast, isn't it? You have no idea what it's like to be a teen. 4:00 p.m. ARE YOU KIDDDING ME, MOTHER! YOU ACTUALLY WENT IN MY ROOM! YOU ARE NEVER, EVER ALLOWED IN MY ROOM. IT'S MY SPACE - IT'S MY CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT. slamming of the door. 10:00 p.m. Mom! Mom!!!! Mommmmmmmmmmmmm!!!!! Come here!!!! Mom standing at the bedroom door (probably with her 4th glass of wine) Mom, could you tuck me in and lay with me like you used to. tell me that story about how you and dad met on the hiking trip because you both got lost and ended up in the same group. And could you play with my hair a little too? I'm sure I could think of more but well I don't want to scare you too much. Just remember they are kids - like us -- they are just trying to figure out the world - like us -- the only difference is we have more experience to draw from - they'll get there - like us. Hug a teen today, Audra |
| Okay, I've been thinking about this awhile -- well, all right, about a day and half, but for a person with a short attention span that's pretty long. To try to get you to understand the chaos that exists in my brain, think of this: Remember the first time you heard your voice on a recording? it sounded weird, right? Not at all how you heard your voice. I think most of us didn't even like the way we sounded not because we think we have a beautiful voice, but just because it wasn't what we were hearing when we spoke. So, what if all perceptions are kind of like that? Do we see ourselves as others see us? The more I think about it the trickier it becomes for a few reasons. It reminds me of a country song by Blake Shelton, "Who are you when I'm not looking?" http://www.cowboylyrics.com/lyrics/shelton-blake/who-are-you-when-im-not-looking... Let's face it, to some degree we wear masks - not necessarily mask to hide who we are, but in various parts of our lives we behave differently, accordingly. For example, I think most people when asked to describe themselves would mention funny or good sense of humor. I realized this when I was helping a friend feel out a dating profile and she put down 'funny'. I stopped myself right before I blurted out, "Since when?" I mean we can't all be funny, can we? Maybe we can depending who we are with. I mean funny is pretty subjective. I'll be honest I think I can be hilarious - I mean I make myself laugh, that counts, right? lol. But when i asked one of my closest friends to describe me - funny didn't come up. I was like - WHAAATTTT? I am more sweet than funny? who have you been hanging out with? I did a facebook poll - research per se - asking people to honestly describe me in 3 words - i told them i was fine with the negative (of course, they were smarter than that lol). What I found interesting is that not many of them described me the same way. At first i was concerned maybe I had multi-personality disorder or was never my real self with anyone, but I think what it really is - is we look for qualities that we value. For example, my mom was the only one that mentioned smart (thanks, mom!) - but education is extremely important to her. Am I making sense? I've had many of talks with distraught middle school girls over someone "judging" them different than how they want to be seen. I always ask them why it matters so much what others think? One rather smart girl threw it back at me - Don't you care what people think? I had to be honest (I stink at lying) - to a degree what others think matters but not to the point where i will change who i am or let it upset me. I told her I know I have faults and if that's all they can see - than that is their choosing and in reality no matter how I try to force my "good" qualities on them it won't help. So when you look in the mirror the reflection looking back may not be the same as the those around you see - but really it is you who must accept yourself faults and all. For instance, I have a terrible flaw - one I doubt I'll ever be rid of - I'm the type of person who likes to help- - I'll do almost anything to lend a hand if i can - yes, to the point where some take advantage of it -- but i'm not a person to be walked over -- i know it's wrong but I'll let the little things go but when i reach my breaking point i don't just push back - I chuck norris round house kick your ass out of my life and don't look back. is it wrong? well, yeah. Is it something I'm proud of? no - - I mean when the preacher does a sermon on forgiveness I just cringe because I may forgive, i mean i try to but i'm not welcoming you back in my life. I guess i'm lucky not many people see this side of me even though i just put it on the world wide web - lol. How do you see yourself? Let me tell you how i see you -- DETERMINED - you've made it through this rambling! my mind is a scary place - but i kinda like it. Here's "looking" at you, kid Audra |
| For those of you who are unclear as to what an adverb is -- it describes a verb, adjective, or other adverb - answers the questions what, where, when, why, or how - and often end in 'ly Let's see if you get this clearly. Recently, I have been told by several authors that adverbs are a thing of the past, frowned upon by editors. Apparently, they weaken your writing. By putting more emphasis on verbs you can obviously create a more active sentence. Thus, bringing the reader along on your journey more brilliantly. Sadly, I'm perplexed. I love my adverbs dearly. I recognize and even understand the trend to delete my treasured adverb from stories completely. After all, the adverb is one of the 8 parts of speech that has existed up until now quite happily in the grammar world. Will it become like Pluto - once taught a planet now simply referred to as once thought of as a planet? Will adverbs melt unwillingly away into obsoletion? Stephen King heartily said, "Adverbs pave the way to hell." Admittedly, he is one of my favorite authors. And i would hate to go to hell because I stubbornly used an 'ly word. But, Stephen oh Stephen, why must we kill a part of speech so mercilessly? As a teacher, my world is confusing enough with new trends involving state standards, methodology of teaching, and getting through the day sanely. Now, I face the fact that I may have to eventually break the news to students that Adverbs are of the devil. My inner soul is tortured unmercifully. I miss you, Adverbs, greatly. You will definitely always have a place in my heart, if not my writing. Sincerely, (oh dear an 'ly word) Audra grieving deeply over Adverbs |
| If I were in your shoes . . . . I'd kick 'em off and tell you to give me my own damn shoes back. Or better yet let me go barefoot. It's 100 degrees outside I don't need any accessories on. Why do we say this? If I were in your shoes I'd blah blah blah. Well, guess what? You're not me. You may know the concrete facts but not the abstract part of what's going on within me. I mean advice is fine - when the intent is well-meaning and the advice is wanted -- but quite honestly, I have enough on my plate and know I make my share of mistakes without putting myself in other people's shoes all the time. I don't even like shoes. Well, not true - I like to buy them but not so much wear them. And then there is: Don't judge a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes/mocassins (depending on what part of the country you are from) Okay, I get I'm being too literal here but walking a mile in a man's shoe attire does not give you judgement rights. For one thing, maybe they fit you differently. Maybe you like Nike, and they rub blisters on my feet. And really, a mile? It doesn't show you the 20 miles it took me to get to this spot - the good, bad, and ugly of it - nor can you say what the next step is going to bring. Plus, once again I point out - it is damn hot outside - what kind of person wants to walk a mile in even the most comfortable shoes? How about we just shorten it to "Don't judge a man." mocassins, sandals, heels, tennis shoes, or God help us, barefoot! What do we get from judging? Does it make us feel better? Superior? Helpful? Righteous? Is its purpose really to give the person true insight and help? I'm sure it is sometimes, but I'm thinking many of us just need to keep our own shoes on and not share any foot fungi, because we have a life of our own and ultimately God will judge us on it. I'm pretty sure all shoes fit Him. In fact, sometimes I could swear I feel Him walking with me in mine. Not trying to step on toes, Audra |
| As I'm sure like much of the nation and world, Colorado weighs heavy on my mind. A tragedy such as this exposes us to the evil and the pure goodness in human nature. But with both comes a multitude of questions and few concrete answers. My son and I talked about this at great legnth on an hour car ride to my parents'. We differ on some thoughts, while agreeing on others. He is convinced that the shooter must be mentally ill, because otherwise how could the thought of gunning down that many people even come into mind much less be carried out. i don't see him as mentally ill. So much thought, planning, and attention to detail went into it - I find it too calculated to not be completely having control of your actions. I think he is someone who doesn't feel he needs to play by society's rules. Or he's simply tired of working for nothing and is seeking noteriety. Truthfully, I don't know which of us is correct - maybe neither. I do find it miraculous that more people didn't lose their lives. Though even the senseless death of one person is too much, considering the amount of ammunition, the mulititude of people in such a confined space, and the element of surprise it is a amazing the death toll was not higher. I listen to the account of the survivors, and ache for what they will carry with them all their lives. Seeing the pictures of those lost and the devasting expressions on their family and friends' faces is almost too much to comprehend. How do you take that next step in life? Especially, with a nation looking on. Does it make it easier or more difficult that a world is watching? Does the support outweigh the need for privacy during this time? We want there to be answers to why this happened. We want to know that there was something that caused him to do this. Somehow we innately think understanding will bring comfort and security. But can we really know what exists or what causes such an effect? President Obama mentioned he would hug his daughters a little tighter, as I'm sure many of us always took the time to contemplate how much those in our lives mean to us. It saddens me in a way that it takes such a tragedy for us to do this -- When will breaking news of a wonderful miracle, make us do the same? Colorado and the world in my thoughts and prayers, Audra |
| I had a dream . . . No, this is not a dissertation on the great Martin Luther King, Jr.'s dream, but it's a pretty memorable dream too. The thing is when I don't have insominia, I dream A LOT, and most the time I remember them. So you have to realize for me to actually blog about one of my dreams, it has to be a doozie. Okay, grab some popcorn and a soda, recline your chair, and get ready to be confused. It began in the old farm house I grew up in it's not there anymore, a tornado demolished it in 1999. About 8 of us were there, mostly my family. I know for sure my dad and my older brother were there, the rest is just kind of a mass. Apparently, we had discovered the government was corrupt (imagine that), and they had found out that we knew - so of course, logically, they were going to kill us before we could spread the news. My dad was in charge, barking out orders. We needed to split up so we wouldn't be so easily spotted by the high-tech helicopters. He said, "Audra, you take the semi." "Dad, I don't know how to drive a semi." We don't have a semi so i have no idea what this represents "Audra, it's time you embrace the family motto 'The tougher it is, the better i like it'." "That's not the family motto. that's your motto. Who has a family motto?" This is the point where I got a short lecture on being sassy. Being 43 and gettting a lesson about having a smart mouth, took my mind off of our impending death for a moment. Like a good daughter, I climbed into the red semi. "Try to stay on the back roads so you aren't easily spotted." I thought, but was smart enough to not verbalize, I'll be lucky if I can keep this thing on any road. Dad continued. "Here is $8.75 for the week. You will need to use this for gas and food. I'm not sure how much gas is in it now so spend wisely." I looked at the money in my hand and thought I had to be missing something here. Dad sensing my confusion, explained,"If you buy a plug of tobacco and chew on it, you won't need to eat as much." This was the plan? To make me barf continually so I wouldn't need food for a week? But I didn't say anything, I just started to climb in the monster semi truck. With a 'good luck' he turned and walked away. As I watched him leave I couldn't believe my eyes. He was getting in a normal truck with my very in shape, rough and tumble older brother. I couldn't help myself. I yelled, "Hey, why does Will get to go with you? And in a normal vehicle!" I just got the glare. So, apparently even in my dreams, my brother is the golden child. I began driving on the dirt roads, but I found that too hard so I just started driving through pastures. I had no idea where I was going, but heck I was driving this damn thing. Eventually, I came to a small town that I deemed safe to stop at for gas and my plug of tobacco. When I came out of the store, my childhood friend, Tammy, whom I literally haven't spoken to in 25 years, but she is a facebook friend so I guess that counts for something ranout grabbing my arm telling me I was to follow her that the government was looking for the semi. So we ran and ran and ran - you get the picture. She explained to me that parts of the chase had been televised. Many of the citizens were on our side and willing to help us, but we had to be careful because others were just pretending to help and would turn us in for the reward money. We were still running. In fact, we ran right into a professional football game. As the running back dodged between us I assume it was a running back - he had the ball and was running, we realized we must have made a wrong turn and were horrified to realize it was a nationally televised game. We dashed to the locker rooms which turned out to be a maze of corriders. We turned a corner and came face to face with 2 scientists their 2 assistants and a person on a gurney. The scientists pretended to be on our side but the assistants ratted them out. They injected the guy on the gurney with a new drug that would make you bleed out from your eyes. They had the only antidote, and if the scientists wouldn't let us by, they would not give it to the patient. Blood started foaming down the guy's face. Eventually, the scientists relented and let us by. When we found our way outside, the crowds were cheering. At which time I remembered I had forgotten to take my final exam in science 20 years ago was when I was in college, of course - so this makes tons of sense. I told Tammy she was on her own, and went searching for someone's notes to borrow for the test. And then I woke up --- hey, freud - good luck with this one, On the run, Audra |
| Reader Beware: Thoughts will be scattered and unconnected. All my life all I've ever wanted . . . . I freaking don't know! but here's the deal, lately - okay not lately - for a long time now this intro to a thought keeps nagging my brain - like I'm suppose to write something in that direction. I know some of you will call that a muse. For some reason that word just creeps me out - i'm weird that way - so can we call it herman or something. here's the thing - I write quite a bit - but there are 3 basic ways I come up with my writing: 1. a prompt 2. an actual event in my life that I throw lies into it so it is not so personal that it makes me feel vulnerable 3. I'm dared (thus the erotica and dark section of my portfolio -- even though I admt I pretty much enjoyed it) Really, there is only one time I can truly remember writing about something that just kept popping in my mind -- I finally did it thinking no one would understand it because i wasn't even sure I did. . . . I just had to get it out. You know? Ironically, it was later asked to be published in a short story anthology. It kinda leaves me shaking my head. So back to "All my life all I've ever wanted . . . . First of all, it is not even a sentence I would use structurally because it uses "all" twice. Yet it is the mantra in my mind. I don't know what I've wanted all my life --it changes, like your taste buds. How could I want the same thing ALL my life? I'm not the same person with the same interests and philosophies that I was at 6 or 16 or 25 or for that matter last year. Now, I can remember even as a little girl, praying to God to please let me live until I was old enough to have a child of my own. That prayer continued until i had one in which it changed to a prayer of thanks and asking to let me live to experience life with him. Dont' get me wrong, I don't have some weird phobia of death. I mean I'm not like counting down the days until it; but I don't close my eyes freaked out that they will never open. For awhile i thought maybe it was: All my live all I've ever wanted was to make people happy - but then I laughed out loud - because I think most of us go through that "screw others - it's about me phase" = and though that didn't last long for me - I do still hold on to a part of it on occasion. So strike that one. I've never been one that dreamed of fame. or money for that matter -- I mean I wouldn't turn down a little more but it isn't something that fits into the sentence. Love? yeah, I've wanted to be loved, accepted for me. And I have experienced it -- and while love is a true blessing - through journeys I have realized sometimes loving and accepting yourself is just as important and gratifying. All my life all I've ever wanted . . . . was to be worth fighting for. I admit this one has a familiar ring to it. I don't mean "meet me in the back alley - I fight ya for good ole Audra". I mean a relationship that when it got a little tough - it was worth doing the tough thing and trying to make it work - fighting to have me in their life, not taking the easy way and just quitting. But then, I realized that's not a fair wish, because haven't I taken the easy road before too? A close friend and I sort of had this discussion this week. I think what was hard for both of us was that our goals for what we wanted in the future in each of our lives were very different - and because people are the way we are - we both thought we were 'right'. Though both of us our intelligent enough to know in that circumstance there isn't a right. but it is hard to see beyond oneself and situation, to really put yourself in someone else's place and the way they think, to realize what they want for themselves is right. So I'm back to All my life all I've ever wanted . . . . Such a qualifying phrase - i mean come on - ALL my life - that's a looooonnnnngggggg time. As i sit here, reflecting to when i was 6 and 18, and 22, and 35 and 42 and yesterday and tomorrow the only thread of similarity I can come up with is: All my life all I've ever wanted was to be a better person. Where am I supposed to go with that? Apparently, forward. Dazed and confused, Audra I ** Image ID #1529452 Unavailable ** |
| This is how it went: Betty (my mom, not my son's dog): Here, Audra, take some okra home with you. The garden is overflowing with it. Now, keep in mind while some of you are gagging, if you grow up with it, fried okra is a delicacy, especially in Oklahoma. Me: Mom, I don't know how to make fried okra. Betty: You've seen me do it a million times. (giggle giggle) Me: Yes, and Reese (my son) has seen me drive here a thousand times, yet I'm not giving him the keys and I'm pretty sure he couldn't even tell me how to get here. Betty: Well, it's easy. This is what you do. Get your corn meal. Me: What is that? I mean I can buy some but is it in a jar, box? What aisle might this be on. Betty: Ummm, near the flour, probably. Me: Okay. So, she goes on telling me in a about 5 steps how to make fried okra, but there was one thing she kept saying over and over. Betty: You have to make sure your oil is hot! Well, at first I thought she was talking about olive oil because that's all i've ever used. Which brought on a plethora of jokes on my part - okra is a vegatable thus vegatable, it's not an olive. . . . Do you even have a kitchen? . . . It's the one where the fridge is, I'm sure you know it now. . . . I know it's odd that i'm a 43 year old woman from the Midwest and I've never fried anything - but I just haven't. I grill, I bake, i make crap up, but I don't fry. But you know they've pushed my buttons with their teasing, so i'm bound and determined to make some damn good fried okra. Corn meal bought - check Cut tips off - check Soak in salt water - check VEGATABLE oil is hot - check Cover in corn meal - check (but it is gross) Pulling my head out of my butt - no check, sadly So i go to the hot grease and dump the okra in, and I know this is obvious to most of the living world, but it wasn't to me - this action causes the grease to splatter - all over the top of my bare feet (yes, you have my permission to make a joke about me being barefoot in the kitchen). You know what helps burns? NOTHING - it's just going to burn no matter how much you cuss or put ice on it - which is not easy while you are trying to fry okra to prove that you can do it despite lack of family support. This is how long the next event took -- I look down at my foot to see if I'm ever going to be able to wear shoes again, and when i look back up. . . My stove is on FIRE! I dont' mean sparks, we are talking flames. Somehow I don't remember this is the directions. But - school saftey classes from elementary click in and i remember not to throw water on a grease fire - the blonde part of me thinks for a minute but this is vegatable oil - is that grease?. I pushed her out of my mind. Hopping on my least burnt foot, I remove the skillet from burner, turn off the burner, and well, prayed. The flames said goodbye, sweet Audra. You would think I would give up at this point.. . No friggin' way - I will not be conquered. Or so I thought. When I finally deem the okra "done", it looks like something that has already gone through the digestive track. Besides that, I'm not really in the mood to eat - I'm in pain and my house smells like smoke. I look over and my son's dog, Betty (named after my mom by my son - a show of love), is looking at me like: Hey, you going to share or what? Me: Betty, is vegatables and corn meal you aren't going to like it. She cocks her head. Me: fine you can try it. I set it down; she sniffs at it, raises the side of her lip, sits back contemplating. I lose interest in watching her, so I begin to tend to my burnt stove. Later, I look down to see every drop of okra gone. About that time, my mother calls. Mom: How was the okra? Me: Well, every bit was eaten. Mom: See, I told you it was easy. We have plenty where that came from. Besides you know the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Rolling my eyes, Betty (the dog) begins to lick my burned feet. I think, I don't know about a man's stomach, but it sure makes a dog love you. Audra Over and out |
| Since I'm a teacher, you'd think my automatic response would be "OH HELL YES!". And for the most part that is my answer, but maybe not every minute. You see I've been doing some MAJOR (why am I using caps? I hate it when people do that?) cleaning, organizing, even some outdoor work which just doesn't even seem like me to me. I'd like to say that today I was going through a box of various papers, picturese, souveniers, leisurely reminiscing. But truth be told, I was frantically looking for a financial document my son needed for his future. (which by the way I did find, as well as about 10 copies of it. Apparently, I had the foresight to know I was going to misplace it, but not the intelligence to store the copies in various places). With each new thing I discovered, randoma questions kept popping into my head. Like, why are all the documents we have to keep somewhat negative - divorce papers, medical bills, you get the picture? Yes, I did find a birth certificate, which was a happy event, but then again it did make me realzie how fast time is - three years and the love of my life who is currently driving me insane by doing nothing but sleeping, eating, and talking about random things (gee I wonder where he gets that?)will be graduated and started his own life. I've never been one of these teary moms on the first day of school. But lately, it is killing me. I mean, I'm proud, of course, he is a great kid/person. But I now understand the selfishness my mom had with me as I got in high school. I was the youngest child; he's the only child. lol - i don't know which would be the toughest in this situation. So of course, in this box of madness are 5000 pictures from when he was little, and it kills me that many of the moments that I remember so clearly and treasure probably too much, he doesn't even remember. I mean I know realistically he shouldn't, he was a tiny kid, but the other part of me just can't comprehend how something i deem as monumental isn't in his memories. I mean I get that they are a part of him. Our life moments make us who we are. I guess I'm just kind of sad for him, that can't reexperience those as memories. But then I realize he will - when he has his own kids. Oh my gosh, I must have PMS or becoming some sort of bipolar menopausal tornado of emotions (actaully i haven't been diagnosed with any of that fyi -- it just sounded good). I just called my 70 year old mom (I'm 43) and apologized for being mean to her when I was in high school. Apparently, my son isn't the only one that loses memories. She couldn't figure out what I was talking about. She said I was the easy kid to raise. lol - and then she called me back wanting examples - she thought maybe I had gotten away with something and the guilt was finally consuming me. Continuing through my box discoveries (I'm wiping tears - I'm such a baby!), I found an essay I had written in college. By what I had written, I'm guessing the topic was something along the lines of What would you do if there were do overs or if you could have one day back. (yeah, that's right I don't REMEMBER lol - but to my credit - I'm an English teacher, I see lots of dang prompts). I definitely had my love of semicolons even back then. What got me thinking wasn't so much what I wrote about, but the way I wrote it. I don't mean grammatically or organization, but I guess more of the tone. It was like it was coming from an entirely different person, yet I can see myself writing it. The person that wrote that paper was cocky (different from confident) - the idea of another chance (or whatever it was) wasn't that interesting to her you could tell, but by damn she was going to make you think it was with her writing - she was getting an A. She still had in her those feelings of invinicibility that the future holds much more to it than the past does. Now that same person would love a few do overs - not to change anything mind you, but just to live them once more. Well, enough rambling - no one reads the long blogs anyway, huh? Reaching for the Midol or xanaax, Ralls |
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