Conflict of Interest – Update

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Sometimes I have a conflict of interest with my husband of nearly 20 years. Today he wants to go to a knife and gun show. I don’t. Now in earlier times that would not have been a conflict of interest, because he could have just gone on and done what he wished and I could have snuggled up with a good book.

These days, with his disability, he can’t go to the gun show alone. I have to take him. It creates a conflict for us both. He never wants to do anything that goes against my wishes. I never want to do anything that goes against his. So, you see, this has the makings of an interesting day.

If he still wants to, we’ll go to the show. I’ll probably have fun, since I’m a tom-boy from the get-go. I may even find a little curved bladed knife like I’ve been wanting for so long.

Yep, I think I can talk myself into going and having fun. Maybe it won’t be a conflict of interest after all.


The cold weather we are having has made the outing a no-go. It’s just too cold for our old bones.




I was talking to a friend of mine who needed diapers. Money is tight for all of us and the cost of disposable diapers just keeps going up, like everything else.

The conversation set me to thinking (not always a good thing) about when I had my babies and diapers. I have not been to a baby shower in a long time, but one thing I got for my first-born was a package of disposable diapers. It was the only package of disposable diapers I used with her.

Back in the olden-days when I had my babies we still mainly used cloth diapers. We had those super neat little rubber panties that went over the diapers to prevent leaks. They could also cause severe diaper rash, and little diaper-rash rings around the baby’s upper thighs if you let the elastic leg band get soaked with urine. We new mothers learned soon enough that babies had to be changed often and every part of their apparel kept dry to prevent the rash and the tears that accompanied it.

The diapers I used on my first-born were once again used with the next child. Remnants of the original supply were even used some years later upon the birth of the third. (Hey, I was a fertile heifer.) When my fourth and last baby was born, (how many did you think I had?) all the cloth diapers had been worn out and used up. It was then that I made the switch to disposables. I had an excuse however; I had a job and was working un-Godly hours.

Worn out cloth diapers were extremely useful items to have in a household. When worn to the point of being useless on the baby’s bottom they made great cleaning and polishing cloths for furniture. They were super car washing rags. Their absorbency was excellent for cleaning up the spills that are inevitable with toddlers. The list could go on and on.

With the economy in a spiral and the cash-crunch hitting us all; maybe it is time to revisit cloth diapers. You can even make them yourself. My mother lived through the Great Depression, and bore 3 babies during that time period. She told me stories of tearing up old sheets to make diapers. I never had to go to those lengths, but it goes to show that in hard times, people learn to be resourceful.

Now-a-days, young mothers only seem to know about disposable diapers. Use them once and toss in the trash. From baby’s bottom, to trash can, to landfill in a matter of days. Cloth diapers could still be around a decade later, filling some other roll; remaining useful. While the diaper pail and the stinky job of cleaning and washing diapers can be awful, the end result has its upside. In addition, you only have to cough up the cash once, not every few days.

I’m glad my “diapering days” are behind me. If I did have a baby now, I’d be trying to find cloth diapers, do the extra work involved, and save the money. Of course, you all know I’m old fashioned. I guess it just goes with the territory.


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My granddaughter has decided to do some genealogical research into her background.

That creates a few problems because I was adopted. I told her I have no clue about my biological parents. Her blood line begins with me in that regard. However, since I was legally adopted as an infant into the family that raised me, she should include that family history as mine.

I was adopted by a couple in their 50’s. All are long gone except for one of my brother’s and he is in his 80’s. My adoptive parents had already raised their own, biological family, before adopting little WalksAlone.

This morning she sent me a listing of all those souls buried at the church I attended as a child. I went down the list, copying and pasting names and adding an explanation about who each was and how they were related. Then, like a good grandmother, I emailed it back to her.

That list, while it did not include some of the most recent passing’s, was like a walk down memory lane for me. I read names and remembered faces. I remembered days of Sunday school and Church as a child when some of these people were my teachers, and others my friends. Some had lived to be old. Some had died so frightfully young.

The names and dates listed on grave markers give the bare facts of a life. Born on this date and died on this one. Maybe, on the old stones, there will be a Bible verse or saying. Maybe a line telling who’s son or daughter they were. The dates say nothing of the time in between.

The two most important dates to us all, I suppose, are the ones on which we enter this world and the one on which we leave. Life is what happens in-between those dates. Life is the trials and tribulations, joys and triumphs, love and laughter that occur as we walk our path from the first date to the last.

As a child I took many trips to graveyards with my parents to check on the resting places of their loved ones. I was told who lay here or there and was told stories about the person. I enjoyed the stories; some funny, some serious. I see now that it was my mom and dad keeping the memories alive, by telling those stories they assured these people lived on in one more memory.

When I am also a memory, I hope someone will tell the stories of me. May someone tell the funny stories, the stories that tell of my successes and failures and of the little things that make me who I am. After all, that’s what counts; the time and events between the dates.


New Years Resolutions

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It is the time of year to make New Year’s Resolutions. Most people make several and by the end of the week have slipped back into their old habits. I feel that I have gained enough age and experience to have the solution to the “breaking resolutions” problem. I don’t make any.

Once upon a time I would resolve to lose weight, stop smoking, stop yelling at the kids, stop letting certain family members get under my skin. . . the list could go on, but you get the idea.

I’ve come to the realization that my weight goes up and down in spite of what I want. . . my body has its own ideas about those things. I’ll probably stop smoking when I’m completely too broke to buy them, or they pry my last one from my cold dead fingers. I stopped yelling at the kids, they are adults and on their own. No need to yell at them anymore; it never did any good anyway. The family members who used to get under my skin have crossed the Veil to a better place. Sometimes I miss them and the stupid arguments that would swirl around them. But, time passes.

I guess that’s what I’ve learned as one of the primary lessons of life. . . time passes and all things flow away from us, toward us or change in some way. It doesn’t matter what we do or don’t do. At times change occurs so slowly and in such tiny increments that we don’t notice until later. Sometimes its quick and drastic and shakes us to our core. Change is the only constant, the only thing that never changes.

So I haven’t made any resolutions. I will just continue to try to be “me” and walk my path to whatever the Goddess has in store for me. She wrote the play, I’m just an actress on the stage.