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Sunday, August 31, 2014

adios . . .

August . . .

Hello, September!

If you're an American, and you've been "laboring" this weekend, you're in trouble. Stop immediately and get thee to the nearest davenport/couch/divan/sofa/bed/loungechair/chaiselongue (And, no, I didn't type that last one wrong. That is the correct way to spell what I thought was chaise lounge. Who knew?). It will be Labor Day in a few hours. We are NOT to labor.

That is all...
smooches from--
The Leighton Gals

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Oh. Yes. I did.

Yesterday (Saturday), I headed into town early. I left our casa at 6:45 a.m. I needed to go to Walmart (aka Wally World aka Hellmart) to pick up a few things. I arrived at my destination at 7:10. When we lived in town (it’s been over fourteen years now that we’ve lived in the country), it only took us about three minutes to get to our Walmart. I often went early in the morning or late-ish (9:30 or 10:00 p.m.) in the evening to do my shopping. It was never crowded at those times. So much less stressful.

If one has to go to Hellmart around these here parts during the lunch hour or anywhere near 5:00 p.m.? It is HORRIBLE. Seriously. You just want to slap yourself for not being a better planner and finding a way to go at an “off” hour.

My Sweet Hubby (MSH) and I have been seeing commercials for Jalapeno Cheddar Biscuits at Whataburger. MSH is all about jalapenos. I mean the man eats them straight off the vine. The hotter the better. He puts them in lots o’ dishes. Eggs. Salads. On sammiches. In rice. In taters—mashed or baked. In burger patties. In sauces. On nachos, of course. He is My Jalapeno Man. So I told him I’d treat him to a Jalapeno Cheddar Biscuit! I’d do my shopping and then hit the Whataburger down the street. He was very excited. Very grateful. Almost giddy. Yes. That is sad. I know.

It only took me about fifteen minutes to get my groceries/supplies/necessities at Wally World. Praise the Lord. I got in line at the drive-thru at Whataburger by 7:35ish. I wasn’t sure I was going to order myself a Jalapeno Cheddar Biscuit. And then I saw exactly what I wanted—needed: A Honey Butter Chicken Biscuit! Wwhhhaaaattttt? (May I remind y’all—at this point—how much I love biscuits? I’ve called Little Leighton “Biscuit” from the time she was about five days old. Because I adore biscuits almost as much as I adore her.)

A biscuit…with a fried chicken tender…and honey butter on it. Oh. My. Goodness. Gracious. Sakes.

I ordered MSH two Jalapeno Cheddar Biscuits with sausage and myself one Honey Butter Chicken Biscuit. I also ordered a Diet Coke—something I don’t do all that often lately. Their drink machine was broken. It just couldn’t be the perfect morning/trip to town, could it?

I had that Chicken Biscuit eaten in no time. I typically try not to eat while driving. I couldn’t wait. I’d had nothing but water before I left for town. I needed that biscuit.

Perhaps I should have looked at the App on my cell that tells me the calories of all foods—including fast. I think I might have decided I didn’t need anything except an English muffin, once I got home. Had I known my Honey Butter Chicken Biscuit was going to have 590 calories—FIVE HUNDRED AND NINETY CALORIES—I might have passed it up.

One of my talents—and TLC will agree I’m right-on about this—is that I can make a “calorie” guess of food I’m/we’re eating and come within about 50 calories of the actual number. It’s a gift. That comes from counting calories for almost fifty years.  I would have been shocked if you’d told me that biscuit was over 500 calories. I was figuring about 450. So 590? Y.I.K.E.S.

Funny, too, because I was telling TLC the other day I hadn’t had a donut or a pancake in about eight months. Yet I look like I eat donuts and/or pancakes every single day of my life for breakfast. So what is the point? Why don’t I reward myself with a donut, pancakes, or a Honey Butter Chicken Biscuit about once a week? Or even every other week?

I just might start doing that. Right. I will. Who am I kidding? No one.


Monday, August 18, 2014

The Next-to-the-Last Mascara...

For an explanation of my title, please check this link out!

Y’all knew we couldn’t go more than a few months without a new mascara recommendation. I mean, seriously.

Drum roll, please…

I discovered this one. (And I'm overwhelmingly compelled to say "Duh.") TLC agrees with me, though, that, of all the mascaras we’ve tried and liked in the past three and a half years of doing our blog, this is by far our FAVOURITE mascara!!!

Maybelline outdid themselves on this one. We like the name. Very scandalous-ish. We like the wand. We like the texture. We like that it doesn’t clump. We like everything about it—most especially the price. (It’s approximately $10…I’m sure you could find it cheaper with a coupon.)

Hope Y’all have had a Marvelous Monday!



Thursday, August 14, 2014

Old Man Winter...

We Texans typically don’t mind winter. In fact, right about now, as we face day after day of 100-degree weather, we dream of winter! September is usually not much better than July or August. October? It begins to get “Fall-ish.” I don’t personally know One Texas Soul who doesn’t love Fall in Texas!

Last November and December in North Central Texas? BRUTAL. I think I told y’all about being marooned on the top of our hill for seven (that is 7!) nights. Unable to go down our road due to a major, bitter, unbelievably harsh ice storm. My Sweet Hubby (MSH) and I survived. Well, obviously. We didn’t run out of bread or milk until Day 5. We had plenty of food in our pantry and freezer to last us another month.

TLC worried about us. A lot. Being two hours north and east of us, their roads were not ever quite as bad as our private, country road from our gate to the top of our hill.

Long about Day 3, she asked me: What will I do if something happens to one of you? Who will I call? How will they rescue you? We’d joke about a helicopter landing on our driveway. MSH did, in fact, fall a few times on his way to our Barn to see about our cat, Mortimer. I fell on Day 7. Because I got downright cocky. I was actually laughing at our Chocolate Lab, Buddy Bear, who was doing unintentional donuts down the steepest part of our hill. He’d gotten a teensy cocky himself. Karma got my tailbone—I hurt for days.

Twice a year, we have a delightful young Landscape Man (LM) come to our home—with a small crew. They do cleanup, fertilizing, trimming, etc. Spring and Fall. (Have faith—this does relate to what I’ve been talking about!) He was a tidbit late this year and came towards the end of May. MSH and I were certain we’d lost two garden sections of jasmine groundcover. LM and his company had actually been The Peeps who had planted it fourteen years ago when we moved into our home. This is what one section of jasmine looked like when he was here:

LM assured MSH and me it would be fine. It’d come back—no worries. Here is what it looks like as of today—August 14, 2014:

MSH and I are, in fact, worried. Sigh. As we long for the crisp, cool days and nights of October, November and December, we gaze at our garden every day and are reminded how happy we'd be to do without a repeat of the heartless ice and snow we witnessed last winter.

These pictures also make me think of what Little Leighton (LL) has been through in the past six weeks. Her tiny body was so sick. She’s slowly healing…every hour of every day. For this blessing, I shout:


Friday is almost here, Friends…Have a Wonderful Weekend!!!

Monday, August 11, 2014

when it rains . . .

…it pours…

But not, of course, in North Central Texas. We are still desperate for relief from this horrid drought. If we think about it too long, we get very, VERY worried. Fearful. Sad. Discouraged. Confused.

What does "rain" at Our Casa in the Country is bad luck. When bad luck rains down on us…it sure enough does pour.

TLC and Little Leighton (LL) came for a short visit Friday. (LL has been improving every day. Thank You, Lord God Almighty. Thank You.) TLC had been invited to a lunch on Saturday afternoon at the home of an “old” friend—they’ve known each other since they were two years old! Elizabeth was having several other “old” friends for a Mini Reunion.

Although TLC woke up feeling a little puny Saturday morn, she rallied and got herself out our door for a fun, 3-hour visit with some great young women. A few hours after she got back, she started feeling yucky again. Cold? Sinus infection? Strep? She ruled out strep. Dr. ELC was thinking bad cold. Possibly mono. TLC’s intentions to head back home were squashed by Sunday mid-morning. She felt too horrible. Had some fever. Knew she couldn’t safely drive herself and LL on the two-hour trip back to her home.

Meanwhile, I started having major trouble with my right knee. I first injured it several months ago when I tried to pretend I was some kind of strong athlete and walked our “hill” three mornings in a row with My Sweet Hubby (MSH). This was my first experience with hideous knee pain. At that time, it entailed lots of sitting (Okay. I’ll admit it. I don’t mind sitting. Alot.), lots of ibuprofen and tons o’ ice. I’d  gotten myself "healed" and had been doing good for several months when I simply turned wrong and/or too fast Friday morning, while cleaning house, starting this dadgum issue right back up again. (This is the thanks one gets for trying to have a clean home.) Sheesh.

Sooo…TLC has been mostly bedridden since Saturday night. I’ve been doing my best to care for and entertain LL without making my knee worse. MSH has been the Amazing Man he truly is—picking up TLC’s slack and mine, too.

Then, this morning, LL woke up with sniffles. Sneezies. Lots of drippings from her teeny-tiny-precious-little nose. She hasn’t been too cranky. We’re about 95% certain TLC has a lovely summer cold. Now so does Little Leighton. MSH and I are praying we don't inherit it from Our Sweet Girls.

The plan is for me to take these sickie gals home tomorrow. If I can push the accelerator with my bum leg. MSH will come retrieve me Wednesday. That's The Plan. I don't expect much of anything, however, to go as planned lately. Sigh.

We’re quite anxious for some happy things to happen to The Leighton Gals…Just sayin'...

Hope Y'all have a Wonderful Week...Wherever in the World you are!

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

An Angel Named Roland...


I do not run. I was the kind of child that loved to sit. And read. Or watch television. I did like to be outdoors on a pretty Spring, Summer or Fall day. Playing. Playing that mostly included sitting. (I was a swimmer. Not a runner.)

When I was nine years old and in the 5th grade in Albuquerque, New Mexico (By the Way: I was almost two years younger than most of the kids I was in school with all of my life and this is a LONG story I won't tell now. You're welcome.), we were required to run, every day the weather permitted us to, around some baseball field backstops. Sometimes once around. Sometimes twice. Sometimes three times around those dadgum fences. This is when I began to have problems with asthma. A condition not completely understood over fifty years ago and certainly one that didn’t have a lot of good, safe medications to treat it. My (male) “Coach” thought I was just trying to get out of running—when I’d tell him I couldn’t breathe. He’d make me run an extra time or two around those lovely backstops. Because I complained. I loathed him. It was a tough year. The beginning of many tough years when it came to my asthma and other medical conditions/traumas I experienced.

So I do NOT run. Or jog. I can walk fast—if I must. When TLC, as a child, saw her Mama run? She would first beg me to stop. As she got older? She’d ORDER me to stop. I realized I was not a pretty sight.

Now to Roland—The Angel:

The day My Sweet Hubby (MSH) and I got the call that TLC and Her Hubby (HH) were taking Little Leighton (LL) to an emergency room, I threw many things into a couple of bags and then into my car: some clothes; my makeup; some shoes; jammies; a blanket and pillow (Us older peeps are too well aware of how cold and uncomfortable hospital rooms and the chairs/couches in them can be...); some of LL’s toys and stuffed animals I keep at our casa; and two or three of her favourite books.

When TLC realized their dog, Henry, would need to be fed and let out (they’d be about thirty minutes away from their home while in the Dallas hospital), and that I was the only one that had a key to their house (HH’s Dad had one—but he was out of state…), she asked me to drive to their home first. Although I was anxious to get to LL’s side, I understood this was important. Something that would help them focus 1000% on LL. Not to mention that LL loves her Henry.

A teensy bit over two hours later, I arrived at their home. Henry was happy to see me! He was hungry and obviously needed to go outside. I opened the back door into the yard. He flew out while I got his “supper” dish ready. As he ate (which takes approximately twenty seconds), I proceeded to go to LL’s room to pick up a few things TLC had asked me to bring. About two minutes later, I rounded the corner to go back into their kitchen/den and then on to TLC and HH’s room, to locate some items they were going to need. It was then I noticed the front door wide open. WIDE OPEN. A chill went down my spine.

Preface #2: 

It is imperative that one lock TLC’s front door upon entering or leaving her casa. Because it is probably not closed—if one doesn’t remember to do this.

A second chill went down my spine as I RAN to the front door, calling “Henry? Henry!”

Fortunately, he was standing in their front yard. Looking at me. Like he was thinking: “Yippee! Freedom! This old lady can’t possibly think I’m not going to take advantage of this opportunity.”

Off he went. Across the street. I told myself over and over: Stay calm. Act like you don’t care that he’s escaped. Don’t panic. Don’t run at him. Call his name with patience and kindness.

It occurred to me I needed a leash. I didn’t know exactly where it was in their house. And, even if I did know the leash’s location, I would risk losing sight of him if I didn’t stay right with him. They live one street away from a hugely busy street called, yep, get ready: Main Street. It is cRaZy busy. Tons o’ traffic. I was now getting constant chills down my spine. They were going to the top of my head, too. What if I couldn’t get him? What if he got hit by a car? How would I ever explain what I’d done? I simply could not allow myself to do anything but continually and calmly call him.

“Henry, do you want a treat? Here’s a treat!” I’d picked some grass from TLC's front lawn when he wasn’t looking at me and had tried to pretend it was something fabulous.

He was literally going nuts. He couldn’t decide which direction he wanted to go. Several times I thought I had him cornered. He’d run past me—with a look of complete mockery on his (feisty) face.

About six minutes had gone by. I’d been trying to walk—quickly—to keep up with him. Now he ran down the side of TLC’s home to the back alley. He ran in between houses to the next street over. I couldn’t stay calm and deliberate any more. I was going to lose him. I started running. And screaming at him with a note of frantic terror in my (very loud) high-pitched voice.

He took off to my right. If he stayed on this path, it was going to take him to the dreaded Main Street. Now I’m screaming:

“Henry! Stop!! Stop right now!!! I mean it!!!! I’m really getting mad at you!!!!!” Quietly, under my breath, I began praying:

“Please, Dear Lord God Almighty...Please help me capture this dog!! PLEASE!!! Please send an Angel to help me!!!! PLEASE!!!!!”

Now he had trapped himself between two houses—inside of an area that had a gate. I was getting sweaty. Tired. Out of breath. But very, very hopeful this ordeal was about to end. I tried talking to him in a sweet, encouraging way. He got past me and went in a different direction. This was better because he was heading away from Main Street. I asked God, again, to send me an Angel.

I was running as fast as a 60-year-old Geezette can, considering her circumstances (It was also about 95 degrees—a lovely July late afternoon day in Texas…) when, suddenly, out of literally nowhere, My Angel appeared! A man with a leash! Henry, being the obedient dog that he is, went right up to the man and stopped at his feet. I could have screamed—if I hadn’t been so deeply grateful. Henry stood there and let this Heavenly Neighbor Man put the leash on him.

“Oh, my goodness,” I cried. “You will never, ever, EVER know how much I appreciate you and your leash! Thank you so much for helping me! My 2-year-old granddaughter is in an ER in Dallas and I was to come feed this dog before going there. I live two hours from here. After I fed him, I didn’t have my daughter’s front door shut all the way and he got out. I didn’t know what I was going to do if I had to tell her and her husband what had happened. You have saved my life.”

He asked me where we needed to go. At this point, I was a bit confused as to which two houses Henry had originally passed through. The Heavenly Neighbor Man (45ish?) politely and kindly walked Henry behind me as I tried to figure out where we were! He was telling me he had two dogs and at least every two or three weeks at least one of them got out of their fence.

I found TLC’s backyard, opened the gate and asked My Angel if he’d wait there while I ran to the front of the house. I told him I was afraid the front door was wide open. It wasn’t. I let him into TLC’s home telling him I’d give him a million dollars—if I had it. He just laughed and said he was happy to help me.

At this point, I asked him his name and if he lived on that street we were on. “I’m Roland. Yes, I live at the end of that street. I’d gone out to my garage and heard you screaming. Then saw what was happening. Grabbed a leash.”

I told My Angel this:

“Roland, you are My Angel. I was praying to God that he send me an Angel. There you were. As I was getting exhausted and completely discouraged—there you were. I could never, ever thank you enough.”

He blushed and said he was glad he could help me and Henry. He went out the garage door and back to his home. Where I hope he had a lovely dinner waiting. Or a beer. Or both.

After lecturing Henry for about three solid minutes, telling him I’d be pushing his owners to enroll him in a minimum of six weeks in a TOUGH Obedience School—I headed to the hospital. I called MSH, who told me not to tell TLC and HH what had happened. At least not that night. I agreed it could be too much. As fate would have it, I had a chance, while we were waiting for LL to be transferred from the ER to a room on the Surgery floor, to confess what had happened. They were both extremely sorry I’d been through such drama. I repeated over and over: “I knew better. I knew to lock that door. I just didn’t. I made one of my many daily mistakes. Thank God for My Angel named Roland.”

We found moments, over the next few days, to laugh about the incident. I told TLC I wished she’d seen me running! She’d have loved it.

Thank you, again, Angel Roland. Thank you from the bottom of my unathletic heart. I won’t forget your kindness. I’ll be searching for a way to Pay It Forward. Soon.

Sunday, August 3, 2014


it's three days into August...How? Truly, how???

It's been cooler than usual for North Central Texas. Which is lovely. We still need beaucoups of rain. Not sure that will happen...August is not typically a big rain month around these here parts, don'tchaknow. We can always hope!

The next week or two could be important in learning what has been wrong with Little Leighton. We'll ask for your continued prayers on her behalf...

We're wishing everyone a Sweet Sunday and Wonderful Week, Wherever in the World Y'all Are!

We'll be in touch ASAP...

Hugs and Smooches...

P.S.: If you have a few minutes, check out our Blog Archive for August 3, 2011...I did a cRaZy alliteration for August...called "Awww...(or is it Aarrggghhhh?) August." You might enjoy it!
P.P.S.: I'd give you a link to it...but, as a lot of y'all know by now...that's not something this 60-year-old has ever learned how to do. Yes. I realize that's pretty pathetic. What can I say? I depend on TLC for technical stuff like that. Trust me--it's not hard to find it!