This Week's Column

It's so hot that...
In case you haven’t noticed, it’s been pretty hot around these parts lately.
It’s been hard to cool off for anyone. Just the other day I found a neighbor’s dog hanging out in my pond to cool off. It was 7 a.m.
There’s not a lot to consider funny when it’s this hot out, especially with no rain and farmers' crops in danger. So, to find some humor in the heat, I searched the Web for some “How hot is it?” jokes.
Many I found were not the type of jokes that are fit for the paper, but here are a few that could be printed.
I’m not saying they’re all hilariously funny. They’re just what I found, and they might leave you a bit cold. Da da da ching. That’s a rim shot, in case you were wondering.
So, how hot is it? It's so hot ...
Today I saw a chicken lay a fried egg.
Potatoes cook underground, so just pull one out and add butter.
Farmers are feeding their chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying hard-boiled eggs.
Cows are giving evaporated milk.
A seat belt buckle could be used as a branding iron.
When the temperature drops below 95, you feel a bit chilly.
The best parking place is determined by shade instead of distance.
You break a sweat the instant you step outside at 7:30 a.m.
All the corn on the stalks started popping and flying through the air.
All the water buffalo at the zoo have evaporated.
Campbell Soup Company has changed the directions on its cans to "just pour and eat."
The chocolate factory became a milkshake.
You can attend any function wearing shorts and a tank top.
Your electric bill is higher than your house payment.
You start putting ice cubes in your water bed.
You realize asphalt has a liquid state.
You keep your refrigerator open just to feel the cool air.
By walking for three seconds you lose 100 pounds.
You keep humming the song, "Heat Wave."
You cancel your Hotmail account because you didn't like the name of it.
Your dream house is any house in Alaska.
You’re not even sure how hot it is because your heat thermometer only goes up to 120.
I hope you brought the champagne glasses because it is toasty out.
And then there are the "It's hotter than" jokes.
It's hotter than ...
A $2 pistol on the Fourth of July.
A firecracker lit at both ends.
Georgia asphalt.
High noon in Death Valley.
A hen laying eggs.
How about ...It's so hot I could spit fire.
Or ... It's hot enough to cure tobacco.
And, finally ... It’s Africa hot.
I’m not sure I know what any of that means, but I’ve heard people say a few of them.
Maybe this will give a little comfort for the crazy heat.
Or, you could just get back inside, pump up the air conditioning and drink a tall glass of lemonade. You deserve it.
After all, with the weather these days, you can break a sweat getting the mail.

This week's column

Oh, the things we do
I recently finished writing an article about the health risks of wearing high-heeled shoes and began to wonder why we, as women, do these things to ourselves?
Seriously. Do we realize all the things — sometimes painful — we do to ourselves just to look halfway decent during the day?
There’s plucking and waxing — and I don’t care how you do it, ripping hair off of someone’s face doesn’t feel good. Then there’s the crazy stuff we do to our hair: perming, curling and ironing. How many of us have been burned more than once by a curling or flat iron?
Shaving one’s legs is no picnic either, and one really must develop some skill in doing it just right, especially in the shower.
The torture of all tortures has to be shoes. High heeled shoes are complete torture to the feet. And let’s be honest, they also make us walk funny. First there’s the clomping noise we make as we cross the floor and then the awkward steps we take to try not to break something while balancing ourselves so we don’t fall over. In reality, no matter how tall they make us, is that really attractive?
Let’s not forget the diets. They come in every shape and form and most of us have tried them all. When they don’t work we do tortuous exercising to get a quick result. If we stop and think about it, that isn’t always the healthiest way to treat our bodies.
And some of the fashions we attempt to wear — they’re not comfortable. Skinny jeans only really work on skinny people, which reverts back to the crazy diets.
Throughout the history of fashion, very few trends for women have ever resulted in anything resembling comfort. The flip flop may be one exception and a welcome escape from the high-heeled shoe.
Curling eyelashes, coloring hair, makeup — it all takes effort. Then there are those who go to the extreme and have permanent makeup and cosmetic surgery.
And who are we doing all this for? Do we do it to make ourselves feel better or to make sure we remain attractive to men?
Men have it a bit easier, don't they? Yes, they go on diets, too. But how many women out there have gone on a diet the same time as a man, who, with minimal effort, loses 30 pounds when you’ve barely lost 10? And what about fashion?
Sure, occasionally men have to tuck in their shirts, but how much effort does that really take? For a woman to be considered dressed up, she has to do most of the above — plus put on a fancy outfit. Men just have to throw on a pair of khakis, put on a belt and tuck in a shirt and suddenly they're considered dressed up. Most of them don’t even bother with a tie anymore.
Does this mean I think men should try to do the crazy things we do? Even if just to sympathize? No. That would just be weird.
This column isn’t an attempt to bash men. It’s just me venting frustration about all it takes for a woman — well, most women I know, anyway — to feel attractive.
Will the realization of the torture we inflict on ourselves make me or any of the rest of us stop doing it? Probably not.
I’ll still fire up the flat iron every morning to straighten the kinks out of my hair, suffer through my current diet and pluck whatever needs to be plucked. After all, I do want to feel like a lady at the end of the day.
It would just be nice if there were a few less-painful ways to feel that way.
I'm thinking now would be a good time for a pedicure just to recuperate.

This week's column

And in other news...

While recently watching a television commercial that parodied Facebook updates calling them "breaking news," I wondered: What would life look like if random status updates from "friends" on Facebook made up the sum of a person's day?
By using actual status updates posted by my friends, a day in my life might go a little bit like this:
I am still in the bed. Do I have to get up? I watched heat lightning on our porch last night along with music and popcorn saying, “Moon, you are so full and so close, I could almost reach out and touch you.”
So, let's see how this day goes without any sleep last night. It should be interesting.
I’m making lists, checking things off and doing the cross fit "thang" again today … I’m scared.
After two cups of Venetian coffee and half a Diet Coke, I'm still sleepy. The doctor just came in and they are keeping her another day, but I got a kitty.
There was crying in baseball last night. Owen got stung by a bee. But there's no laughing in journalism.
I’m somewhere in Tennessee listening to '80s on 8 on Sirius radio. Only five and a half more hours to go, but sitting in the Seattle airport gets me ticked off.
The artist who aims at perfection in everything achieves it in nothing, which is why Mickey is a butterfly killer.
I officially watched every episode of “Star Trek: Deep Space 9” twice and am now exhausted and ready for a break.
A friend’s fortune cookie said, "good news will come to you from far away," which is why she’s having a yard sale, because you know she rolls diva style.
Looking at the five-day forecast and the biggest number I see is 85 — cold front — but remember some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.
I’m in a food rut and never making popcorn ever again.
I can’t get Randy Travis’s “Diggin’ Up Bones” out of my head, and no, I don’t know why it’s there in the first place.
I’m wishing I could be a little kid again; life was so much easier and fun.
You know you're getting old when it takes the whole week to recoup from the weekend.
Hollie Sexton wears a raspberry beret and walks in through the out door.
I thought yesterday was the most beautiful day outside ever. Then I saw today.
I climbed into the lion cage today. No big deal, but I went rogue a long time ago.
It was such a fat day of disappointments but what a beautiful day. Oh, and there's a snake in my boot.
I just finished my column and it's a random bunch of nothingness, but I hope you enjoy it …Oh wait, that one’s mine.

This week's column

My grandfather's things...
Last week my grandfather, Richard Baughman, passed away.
As the family gathered, I and my cousin's 11-year-old son, Chase, found some things my grandfather had tucked away in drawers and boxes. Some were sweet, some were significant and some were just a bit curious.
Papaw was a man of great faith, heart and constant humor. This was evident in the collection Chase found.
He has lists tucked in every Bible, book and drawer of people he had prayed for all his life. Bible tracts scattered throughout, which he used when he would share his faith with others. His faith was his passion, and it was one of the things I admired most about him.
We found a name badge from the days when he was a meat cutter at Kroger. We found random newspaper clippings — why he kept some of these clippings we may never know, but they must have been things he wanted to remember.
There were a few articles written about him. One was about his retirement from Kroger and the beginning of his many years volunteering at the hospital. Another was about the many hours of cardiac rehab exercise he logged.
In one box were medals from his military service during World War II: a bronze star, a good conduct medal, and ribbons from European and North African campaigns. He did not display his medals; they were tucked inside a drawer. His service was never about him. It was about his country.
We also found photos and other mementos from his service in his box of treasures.
Chase spent a lot of time with those treasures — antique items he’d never seen before that caught his fascination.
There were cards made for Papaw or given to him by loved ones. Some were homemade cards, given to him by his daughters and granddaughters, that had yellowed with time.
They were special to him.
Among the collections that held significant memories were bits and pieces of his humor. We found a plastic finger with an electric chord attached to it called an electric nose cleaner, some plastic vampire teeth and a few other goofy things.
There also were tons of watches, the time on them now standing still. It seemed he never threw one away.
Chase found pocketknives, including one with his dad’s business name on it. Random items such as stamps, coins, pins and other items were discovered, as well.
For Chase, three of these items reminded him most of Papaw: the electric nose cleaner, the Army medals and the Kroger name tag.
The nose cleaner reminded him that Papaw, or Poppy as he called him, was always funny. The medals showed his support for our country, and the Kroger name tag was a remnant from the place where he worked for so long and where so many people came to know him. He was famous, you might say.
Regardless of what the items are, they all are pieces of his life before we knew him and during the time we were fortunate enough to experience his love and charm. Pieces of who he was: a great man who left great memories and a legacy of faith, humor and love to his family.

This week's column

Mind games and a life well lived
The mind. Throughout our life we count on it for reason, knowledge, memory and everyday bodily control.
The mind can help people sort out problems, learn new things, remember critical life events and keep us moving on a daily basis.
We take pride in our abilities and all the mind accomplishes — great plans, productivity and progress.
As we grow older, the mind also can be cruel. Bits of memory seem to fade into oblivion, never to return. Things once learned are lost as if they were never studied. Reason gives way to paranoia and it often loses control of the body.
This is the life of someone suffering from dementia.
It not only affects their mood but also their personality, social skills, interest and ability to perform simple tasks. Sleep is disrupted, hallucinations occur and violent behavior often erupts.
Basically, the person you once knew disappears.
Recently I’ve experienced watching someone go through this. A man who had lived more than 90 years in good health suddenly is struggling with his own mind.
There are brief moments when he resurfaces again, especially in his humor — small glimpses of the man he is, still deep inside. In those brief moments the family can laugh again; it is those moments that give them something to hold onto when dementia has its cruel hold on him.
It is difficult for his family to watch someone who was once so vibrant, so active and so social deal with dementia. They are not seeing the man they’ve known all their lives as husband, father and grandfather. He’s almost a stranger to them with the face of the man they love.
But to live more than 90 years and only recently reach these difficult times is amazing. To have served with distinction in World War II. To have had a faith to raise a family strong in their Christian beliefs. To have been known to all those around him as a man of good character and humor.
Those things the family can cling to, knowing he has had a good life and is loved not only by his family but also by the many lives he has touched.
The memories of recent times will not be the lasting ones. The memories of the other decades of his life will be.
The jokes, the one song he knows (“Old Joe Clark”), the stories of his youth and war. The physical strength he had to go through heart surgery and live many years beyond what most others would without much complication.
But most of all his love — a love for his family, a great love for his country and a love for his God.
The pain and confusion of dementia will be just a fleeting moment in light of an amazing life lived.

This week's column

Just let them be kids!
Recently I saw a segment on a morning news show about a dance competition in Los Angeles where 8-year-old girls were, for lack of a better expression, bumping and grinding on stage to Beyonce’s “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It.”
The girls were dressed in outfits similar to what strippers might wear and performing very adult dance moves.
Before I go any further, I should say the girls were very good dancers. But the outfits and style of dance were completely inappropriate for their age and now, thanks in part to that morning show, the video has gone viral and can be seen all over the world via YouTube.
I intentionally did not include a link to the video because I don’t think these girls need to be further exposed.
Why can’t we just let little girls be little girls?
In what warped world do parents think they have to dress their darling daughters in skimpy outfits and let them dance like they belong on a pole to win a dance competition for 8-year-olds?
Eight-year-olds should be playing with Barbies and dressing up for tea parties or playing ball in the yard.
Which leads me to a second question. If the competition is so stiff that shock value is what makes an 8-year-old dance team win, does an 8-year-old belong in that competition?
Have we completely taken away their childhood? When do they get to be kids?
Parents and others defended the outfits saying they were skimpy so they would not restrict body movement and to allow the judges to better see the movements. Seriously?
I’m sorry, but those types of body movements should be restricted for 8-year-olds. If you are a good dancer, and these girls were, an outfit doesn’t restrict movement. I’ve seen good dancers do amazing dance routines dressed in much more.
I appreciated one comment I read on a Web site that was posted by a 17-year-old who has participated in dance competitions for years. She appreciated the dance skills of the girls but said the outfits and movements to the songs were inappropriate.
Her plea: “They aren’t even teenagers, yet. They are 8. Please keep them innocent.”
And that came from a teenager. I agree with her.
Granted, when I was a little girl, I sang and danced along to all my favorite pop songs. I listened to Olivia Newton John on my mom’s record player. (Yes, I said record player.) But my mom didn’t put me on stage in a skimpy outfit or encourage risque dance moves and later post the video on the Internet. The Internet!
Don’t these parents know that now the whole world can see their little darlings?
Now that the video has gone viral, it is open season for viewing by pedophiles, which grosses me out beyond words.
I beg you, please let your little girls be little girls.
As a former childhood educator, I can't even begin to explain how this type of treatment can negatively affect a young girl’s development and body image.
I think we need to see more little girls in pigtails instead of fishnet stockings. I just don’t know why people are in such a rush for these little ones to grow up so fast and introduce them to such promiscuous ideas so early in their lives.
Treasure these young girls while you can, and protect them.
That’s just my two cents' worth.

This week's Column: Enough, Jonathan Sullivan!

Did you ever notice that the simple utterance of a phrase can make you feel old? While some are words that are intended to show respect, you just don’t want to admit you are at an age that necessitates that respect.
For example, a high school kid at my church in the youth group, Jonathan Sullivan, insists on calling me Ms. Owsley. It makes me want to turn around and see if my mom is behind me. Ms Owsley? When did I become Ms. Owsley?
The first few times he did it I let it pass, understanding his mom probably told him to show respect to adults around him.
After a while I finally told him he could just call me Becca. That is the point when his attempt for respect turned into annoyance. I noticed he would say Ms. Owsley and grin because he knew it bugged me.
He knew it pushed my buttons and, like any teenager, he used the formal utterance of my name as a way to bug me.
It is strange how things like that can bug you. Like when you get ma'ammed. You like it when young people show respect towards someone, but when they say it to you somehow it’s weird. You think “whoa, am I old enough to be called ma’am?”
I want people to call my mom and grandmothers ma’am, but me? I guess I have to come to terms when the fact that I am now a ma’am. When did it happen? Was it when I turned 30 or 35? When?
It’s amazing the things that make us feel old.
Back pain when you’re younger usually means you did something active to injure it. You can at least pinpoint what you did to hurt it. As you get older, you can wake up with back pain and may have no real reason for it. You just got out of bed that way. As I write this, I have a heating pad in my chair to ease my current random back pain.
Everything pops and cracks these days.
And what’s with the music. Why is it suddenly I can’t understand a word they are saying in music today. Sometimes I’m not even sure they are using actual words in their songs.
And when did they start playing '80s music on the oldies stations? Seriously? I don’t think Sting, M.J. and Cyndi Lauper can really be classified as oldies just yet. I hope not at least.
But back to Jonathan and his habit of calling me Ms. Owsley. I asked him what I could do to get him to stop calling me Ms. Owsley. He said if I wrote a column about how it bugged me he would stop.
So here ya go Jonathan, no more Ms. Owsley. It will be one less thing that makes me feel like I’m getting older.