The flower of Midlife sifted through faith, family and heaping helping of southern fried chicken.

John Michael Robinette helps with the Hang Up effort.

Halley Hudson, a freshman from Pepperell HS in Floyd County signed the pledge and wanted to take a sheet home for her mother to sign, ”Because she won’t stop texting and driving. She drives with her knee,” said Halley.      

Drives with her knees. Okay. I’ve never done that. Well, maybe a few times when my cell phone rang while I was holding a cup of coffee. All of a sudden, it’s uh oh ~ I’ve got a cup in one hand and a phone in the other…Just how am I going to steer this 2 ton piece of motorized machinery?         

Yesterday, my son was helping with the effort when I showed up a little before noon.         

My son. I wonder if he looks this interested in class?

I read over the document very carefully, and signed.            

“I understand that driving while distracted is dangerous to me and to others on the road.   

Understand: “To perceive and comprehend the nature and significance of.”  

Now, I didn’t get to talk to many Morgan County students because I got there just as a herd of freshman had been ordered to class,  but here is another quote from a Pepperell HS student. Sophomore Dayne Elrod admitted he won’t stop texting and driving. When asked how much he texts while driving he said, “about everyday on my cell.” He said he pretty much does it the whole time he’s driving.    

Unfortunately, MCHS know all too well, the consequences. Last December, a 2009 graduate of Morgan County, Caleb Sorohan was killed in an accident caused while he was texting. The school is selling bumper stickers in Caleb’s memory to help all remember how tragic the consequences can be.  

So I signed and did really well yesterday. Though my hand was itching as I approached the square with all the after school traffic backing up.  

 Green rubber bands serve as a reminder…NO TEXTING or CALLS while driving.         

Now I know it’s hard.  Waiting in my driveway to pull out I see semi-truck drivers holding out their phones texting. This morning I saw a guy in an Expedition turning by the post office looking at his phone extended — texting. I’ve seen many of you driving with that cell up to your ear.   

I’m a writer ~ not a talker. I don’t talk a lot on my cell, but this texting, tweeting stuff is near and dear to my heart.    

As a parent, with this issue — and any issue — if you’re gonna talk the talk, you’ve got to walk the walk.  My children are watching ~ our children are watching.         

The stakes are so high.  Is any message, email, phone call that important that it can’t wait 5 minutes? And if the answer is “yes,” take the time to drive 50 yards and pull off the road. Is this that hard?         

Remember if you’re gonna talk the talk…just be sure to not to do it while in DRIVE.         

I only tell you this because I care.

I want you all to be here for a long time.

I filed a complaint. 

Master groundperson, you put yourself out as an expert causing thousands of Morgan Country residents to actually think about cleaning some drawer space for shorts and t-shirts. (Or  boxing up some of the colder weather play clothes so you can find the shorts and t-shirts in the bottoms of the crammed drawers you never put up last fall.) 

February 2. It was CLOUDY in Madtown. A reasonable woman as myself (Well, when I’m not in the down-slide to hormonal hell-part of my cycle), would have concluded you did not see a shadow. 

Conclusion. Spring in six weeks. 

March 2, four weeks later, I sit watching a very wet snow falling outside my window. 

This is a deal-breaker groundroundrodent! 

Yes, it is hard enough to get up every morning in the cold and step outside to walk the dog. This morning 4:20 a.m. I awake to the sound of rain… 

These steps were covered in all manner of pastel chalk yesterday. 

Yesterday when the sun shone, the wine flowed and I flirted with my sunroof. 

All gone.

All that chalk being tracked into the house yesterday started to peeve me. Now I yearn for pink and green puppy prints on our carpet. The mud returns.  

I dashed out of the car today at the gym at 6 a.m. (Well, 6:15 because an entire cup of coffee spilled on said floor as I was leaving house). This is what I saw. 

Bravo, Jamie.

I did Emily Buck’s cardio-interval class this morning in my L.L.Bean lumberjack boots. My shins are joining the class action suit as well.  

When will the insanity end?

Oh Groundperson, I’ve got a very big shovel. Don’t make me use it.

It’s cold here. It’s pretty much cold everywhere.

I don’t do cold. It’s not that I’m being flip, snotty or sarcastically flip and snotty. I can’t do extreme cold without  severe physical reactions such as weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Yesterday mid-morning, the house was cold. The thermostat read 62. I turned it up to 69 the minute I got out of bed.

PANIC!!

The heater had been running since 6 a.m. (a late wake up for me, since I waited up for son’s arrival from soccer game in some county in the state’s nether regions) and the house wasn’t warm.

I called a heating and cooling professional. The second time I called a repair person to our house in as many days.  

The nice gentleman from B&H came in with his flashlight looked at the thermostat. Then he went outside under the house. He went back and forth by my window. Then I heard the back door squeak…

“Mrs. Miles?”

Sigh.

I got up and prepared myself for bad news. The nice man that has been walking back and forth in front of my window held up a 2×2 foot square of the floor from King Tutankhamun’s tomb. A solid 2×2 square foot of black tar.

Okay, it was really an air filter, but it was unrecognizable. It looked like the lung of King Tut if he had been alive for the last 3,300 years and a 6 pack a day smoker.

GROSS!! (This wasn’t ours. Ours was far worse and I child might stumble upon this post.)

We forgot to change the filter and the warm air kept bouncing back so the heater thought it was toasty in our house.

Over time, grit and grime ~ layer upon layer of grit and grime built up and shuts down our heating system. Well, the motor still worked but it was getting completely the wrong signal. It wasn’t dead, it was just utterly ineffective.

We can’t let that happen to our heart or to our minds.

Don’t let layer upon layer of dirt slowly build up rendering you functioning yet completely useless and in no way fulfilling your purpose on this earth as a heater to warm a very cold woman’s house.

As I type this I am very warm, thank goodness. 

Just remember…keep those filters clean, y’all.