Jo’s Fundraising Page

Jo Warlick is my sister-in-law’s sister. I guess that makes her my sister-in-law-in-law or something like that. Anyway, Jo is participating in the Team in Training program that raises money for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. It is a given that we should all try to help her in her efforts to fight cancer by at least making a donation.

For those of you who don’t run, there are few things that teach you to endure suffering the way that running does. I run a little. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 12 to 15 miles a week or so. The suffering starts about two minutes into the run and doesn’t stop until several minutes after the run ends. I typically run a little over three miles each time out. It is always hard. Always. I can barely fathom running a marathon.

Jo has been running for an even shorter period of time than me and for her to commit to run 26.2 miles is incredible. To do it for this cause makes it beautiful. My goal is to run a half-marathon sometime in the next few months. I want to do it so I can say I’ve done it and get some sort of medal or something. Jo will go twice that far for some people that she knows and, more importantly, for many that she doesn’t know at all and will never meet. It’s a sacrifice worthy of noting and certainly worthy of supporting.

If you would like to support Jo in her efforts, you can simply click on this link and go make a donation right on her fundraising page. You can also find out more about Team in Training and the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. We all have been touched in one way or another by the tragedy of cancer. Here is your chance to support the the LLS in their quest to find a cure! If Jo were here, I’m sure she’d say, “pretty please!”

Also, be sure to check back here often as Jo will be keeping us up to date on how her training is going! Trust me, it’s a lot easier to read about someone running than actually running yourself. Reading about someone else suffering through runs can actually be quite entertaining! Be watching for her first post soon!

Who was the first person to dress themselves and their husband/boyfriend in a white, gauzy shirt and khaki pants and get someone to take their picture on the beach? Is it possible that my home is the only one in the state that doesn’t have one of these pictures of my family? Funny thing is, I actually have pictures on my PC that my wife has taken of other people’s families in this attire. And, it’s not always at the beach. In someone’s flower garden, at a park, but the beach seems to be the most common.

Not that there’s anything wrong with these pictures. They look very nice and everyone, especially dad, looks very comfortable in their loose-fitting white shirt and khakis rolled about halfway up to their knees. I wish I could dress like that all the time. I think it’s called the “I’m chillin'” look.

I’m being serious here, is this a fad that has just become popular over the last several years or have I simply been unaware of how common it was to have a picture like this? If you walk out onto the beach just before sunset do you see roving bands of barefoot, comfortably dressed people intimidating other more scantily clad beach-goers? “Take off that swimsuit and put on this puffy shirt and these Dockers right now or you’ll be sorry! I don’t care how hot it is out here!” “I don’t care if you get your pants wet or not, STAND IN THE EDGE OF THE WATER AND SMILE FAINTLY, NOW!”

Most of these pictures really are beautiful. I love photography and can appreciate how difficult it must be getting everyone to cooperate so that you can get a good shot, especially if there are kids involved. I’m just thinking it may be time for someone to start a new photography fad.

Who’s up for bikinis and speedos with flip-flops standing by the fountain at the mall?

http://www.metacafe.com/fplayer/yt-k4fj5B24rSk/afv_carseat_singer_baby_barry_manilow.swf
AFV Carseat Singer – Baby Barry Manilow – The best bloopers are here

I’ve taken a lot of heat over the years for being a Barry Manilow fan, or Fanilow as we are sometimes called. I’ve been to two of his concerts and would go to Vegas for another if it didn’t cost so much to fly across the country. I suppose it’s understandable, though. It’s not every day that a guy who grew up in Slapout, Alabama can sing all the words to just about every hit Barry’s ever had.

In fact, a gay friend actually made fun of me for being a Fanilow! He said, “I don’t even like Barry Manilow.” What can I say? I love a good love song and there are none better than Barry’s! Someone is raising this kid right. I just hope they are teaching him not to be too thin-skinned! Had we had anything but an AM radio in our LTD when I was four years old, this might have been me. Singing to static just isn’t as cute as this.

I feel sad when you’re sad. I feel glad when you’re glad. If you only knew what I’m going through…

By: Nicky Donghia

I have two dads. One who supplied the some of the DNA that made me who I am on the outside, and one who provided the environment that made me who I am on the inside.

My biological father is an attractive man, with cutting wit and an intelligence level that I think might border on genius. He is, however, an emotional half-wit.
My parents divorced when I was four and my sister was nine. Dear old dad took off. And by that I mean he told my mom he needed to pick someone up from the bus stop, had her drive him there, went inside, and did not come back out.
So here we were, in Alabama all the way across the country from where we belonged, in a town we did not know. We had no friends, no family. Nothing. Just us and a house that had apparently never even belonged to us. Soon we were almost homeless.

My mom is a beautiful woman. Some might say too beautiful. I think maybe things had come easily to her because of that. Now here we were. She had never worked a day in her life. She had no idea what to do. A congregation in Prattville helped us find a place to live and we moved in with another single lady and her children while mom tried to find a way to get us back to Arizona without causing my grandparents to have a stroke and perhaps order a hit out on my dad.

My mom got a job and she bought a car. She did the best she could, but we were living on such a small budget that there was no money for anything unexpected. During this time, she met my step-dad. Just coming out of a horrible relationship, I don’t think she was too keen on starting anything new. Besides he was twenty-one and she was a good bit older than that.

Well, it just so happens that we got a flat tire on that car that we could barely afford, so we had to walk everywhere. I can’t count the times I have walked to TG&Y from Bridge Street, but somehow when you have to do it with a load of groceries and you are five it’s a bit worse. One morning we woke up and the car had new tires. Soon to be step-dad had replaced them in the night. So, I guess she decided she would give the guy a chance. When they got married, everyone said it would not last. That he was too young and that raising my mother’s two bratty girls would run him right off! Well, he stuck around and it was probably the best thing that ever happened to my family.

My real dad is one of those men who will always be rich, but you never see him working. My step dad was one of those men who was always working and was never rich. As my real dad tried to amend his relationship with my sister and I, we resented the fact that my mom and her husband couldn’t give us the things that my dad could. We loved his giant house and his pool and his money. And the freedom he gave us when we were there. It’s amazing how much you will let a kid do on their own when it doesn’t really matter to you if they ever come back. His interest in us was fleeting. Sometimes it would be months between visits, sometimes it would be a year or more.

But my step dad loved us everyday.

He worked hard to provide for us and make our lives meaningful. He never once called us his step-children. We were always his daughters. Always.

It was my step dad who worked extra hours so I could get the cabbage patch doll with the red hair and horn-rimmed glasses my dad promised to buy me. He said that he knew if I didn’t get that one, I wouldn’t find one like her again.

It was he who pulled my loose teeth and showed me how to spit watermelon seeds through the gaps.

It was he who explained to my mother that making me wear an eye patch in the third grade was cruel and unusual punishment.

It was my step dad who tried to teach me to break dance.

It was he who nailed my bedroom window shut when I kept sneaking out.

It was he who saw me graduate kindergarten and high school, who stood at my weddings, who cried when my babies were born.

He tells goofy jokes that aren’t funny, threatens to give my kids a “swirly” every time I see him and has made me watch way too many slide shows of his vacation photos. But those are just the things that make him all of what he is. And what he is, is one of the most kind-hearted, honest, genuine people I have ever known.

I don’t know how much of who we are is shaped by genetics and how much is shaped by environment. My sister got my dad’s wit and intelligence and I got his stocky legs. She got red hair and I got blue eyes. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell you what came from him and what didn’t. But sometimes, I see some of his characteristics in the way I behave. They are always the qualities I like least in myself. I am glad that two people that were kind and giving and caring raised me. People who tried their very best to teach me and parent me, instead of just allowing me to muddle through on my own. I don’t think I would have turned out too great without that kind of guidance.

I always wondered when I was little what my life would have been like if my dad had never left. I am so thankful that I never had to know.

I love my step-dad and I admire him so much . I know my sister and I were tough little chicks to raise. I have great respect for ALL step parents who STEP in and PARENT.

I woke up this morning at about 3:45. I got up and had a sip of a Diet Dr. Pepper and laid back down. As anyone who ever finds themselves flipping through the 945 channels on cable that early in the morning, about 927 of those channels are playing infomercials. I scanned through the plethora of offerings of such cutting edge products as pads that remove the toxins from your body through the bottoms of your feet, the “magic bullet”(it’s a blender), various devices that can get healthy juice out of a watermelon rind(shouldn’t that be thrown in the garbage?), and spray-on hair among others.

The ones that really jumped out at me, though, were the ones that promised to make me skinny quickly and easily no matter what I ate or how little I exercised. One guy said he took this little pill, which had been “clinically tested”, and he was able to lose weight while eating whatever he wanted. Another woman on the same commercial said, “You can’t do it on your own! You just can’t!” They lie.

I’m no health nut, but I am healthier than I was six years ago. Six years ago, I weighed 240 lbs. I ate what I wanted, when I wanted and I was miserable. I finally woke up one day, probably after passing out from tying my shoes, and decided to do something about it. A friend talked me into buying a bicycle and all of a sudden, exercise became fun! Then, in March of 2008, I ran into my high school tennis coach at an ice-cream shop. She told me she had just run her first marathon at Disney World. She never thought she could do it, but she did. Two days later, I bought a pair of running shoes. I started off by running for one minute and walking for two. After a week or so, I began running for two minutes and walking for one. Within a month or so, I was able to run a mile without stopping! In May of that year I ran my first race, slowly! It was the Jubilee Cityfest 2-mile fun run in Montgomery and a guy who was running in brown loafers and blue-jeans stayed right with me almost the whole race. At least I looked like a runner. It took me almost 24 minutes to finish but at least I did it and got the t-shirt! It felt great!

Today, I’m 40 years old and my weight hovers between 195 and 200 lbs. I run at least 3.1 miles every other day and cycle as much as 40 to 50 miles on the weekends. Last summer I rode 62 miles through some of the hilliest country I had ever been through. It took about 4 hours to ride the whole 62 miles. It was hard, but so much fun! I’m not saying these things to brag. I have lots of friends who run and ride a lot further than that and one who will be doing his first full Ironman Triathlon in the next couple of months. 200 lbs. is still quite a bit heavier than I need to be and when I run, I’m painfully slow. My wife can attest to this fact. But the simple fact is this: I lost weight and got in better shape because I made up my mind to. I got my big, fat rear-end off the couch, started being more careful about what I ate, and I simply did it. There is no proverbial magic bullet that can make you lose weight without changing your lifestyle. Not one that is safe, at least. I always thought Hydroxycut might be good to try. I never did, thank goodness, because the FDA said just a few weeks ago that Hydroxycut has been linked to liver damage and the product has been recalled.

There are things that can help. I know there are various surgeries and supplements that can help someone lose weight. But even these things require lifestyle changes. You can have gastric bypass surgery and lose a lot of weight quickly, but if you start eating the same way you were eating before surgery, you’re just going to end up fat again. What a giant waste of time that would be.

If you want to lose weight and be healthier, you have to understand that it takes hard work and at least a modicum of discipline. It takes a little suffering, too. Actually, maybe a bit more than a little. I haven’t been on a run yet where I didn’t wonder to myself, sometimes aloud, “Why am I doing this? This is not fun!” But when I’m done I feel incredible! That’s one reason why I continue to do it. To know that I can push myself through the suffering and finish a run or a ride when I want to quit gives me a tremendous sense of accomplishment. It motivates me to continue when I feel my pants not so tight around my waist and I have to tighten my belt up a notch or two. The day I realized that an XL t-shirt was too big for me was a liberating one!

I’ve still got work to do and I’m not yet where I want to be. But I’m setting goals and reaching them, albeit slowly sometimes. There are ups and downs and days when I don’t feel like getting off the couch. Sometimes the couch wins. But most of the time, even when the couch seems to be winning, I force myself to lace up my running shoes and walk out the door and run. I haven’t regretted it one, single, solitary time. As a result, I’m probably in better shape now, at 40, than I have been for the better part of the last 20 years.

The hardest part is starting, just getting out the door. Just remember that you don’t have to run a half-marathon your first time out. Maybe you just put on your old sneakers instead of your flip-flops and jog to the mailbox rather than walk. That’s more than you did yesterday. Perhaps that’s the key. Do a little bit more today than you did yesterday. Maybe in a few weeks you’ll run a lap around your neighborhood without stopping. Heck, you might even find yourself actually paying someone to let you run 5 kilometers early on a Saturday morning for a t-shirt and some post-race fruit and cookies. Don’t laugh, it happened to me! It also happened to my wife and now we look forward to running together(she is much faster than me). Set goals and work to reach them. It won’t be easy but I promise you that you can do it and you won’t regret it.

Then maybe you can reward yourself by buying a George Foreman Grill or a Snuggie! Just stay away from the Lipozene! Because you can do it on your own. You just can!

Okay. I don’t post a lot of external links here but I couldn’t pass this one up. Ever heard of electronic cigarettes? Me either. Until now. I actually went to Junior High with the guy who distributes these. Just thought some of you would find this interesting and odd. Take a look…
Ozark Firm Distributes Electronic Cigarettes

We talked about this on my Facebook page for the blog a few weeks ago. If anyone is still interested, I’m going to be ordering some t-shirts in the next couple of weeks. It will just be a picture of the logo at the top of the blog page with the title of the blog. If you’d like one, they’ll be $10.00 which will cover the cost of producing the shirt. Specify the size you’d like and whether you’d like a black or a white shirt. The color that gets the most requests will be the color we’ll order. As far as paying for the shirts, If you are in the Wetumpka area, you can come by my work. I am at Bridgeway Wireless in downtown Wetumpka, directly across from the Wetumpmka Civic Center and City Hall. If that won’t work, just let me know and we’ll figure out another way to do it. Email your size and color preference to me at wetumpkanews@gmail.com. I will place the order in a couple of weeks so that anyone who might want one has a chance to order one. Not that anyone will. Thanks!

By: Thad Hankins

Who says the art of conversation is dead?

That is sarcasm. Last night, I was sitting at the computer blogging/Facebooking while Gigi sat on the couch watching TV. We were about 30 feet apart, maybe. Rather than have a conversation face-to-face, we texted each other. About 15-20 times.

Then, this morning before I left for work, I was sitting out on the back patio in the swing. I opened the back door and announced to my wife that I was sitting in the swing for a few minutes if she wanted to join me. She did and we both sat, blackberry in hand, perusing Facebook for ten minutes.

It’s kind of funny. But it’s also sort of sad. I love to talk. I often talk too much. But it has become so easy to simply email or text message or use Facebook or Myspace or even write on a blog that I find myself in situations like this all the time. Too much of my time is spent staring at the flickering screen of the computer when there are three other human beings in my house I could be interacting with. I’m pretty sure that is not a good thing.

If anyone has any suggestions on how to bring actual verbal exchanges between people back to the forefront as a primary means of communication, send me a text. TTYL!

By: Thad Hankins

I was at a family reunion yesterday for my wife’s family. Maybe forty or fifty people give or take a few. In the South, someone is always asked to say a blessing before eating. There was some discussion as to who it would be and when it was finally decided upon, my brother-in-law, Brad, began to pray. About five seconds into the prayer, some unfortunate soul decided that was the time to walk into the house through the front door. If you’ve never been the person who walks unaware into the midst of a group of hungry, praying southerners, all the while continuing the conversation you had started with someone outside, prior to the blessing, well, you don’t want to be. Trust me on this. I’ve been there. The voice that in reality may be only slightly louder than you might talk to someone in a library, becomes a scream in such a situation. Which got me to thinking about other embarrassing moments. Such as…

Waving at someone whom you think is waving at you, when they are actually waving at someone behind you. It can be tough turning a full-fledged wave into a stretch or a move to fix your hair. I never know how to react when this happens to me, regardless of whether I’m the waver or the faked-out wavee. If I’m the waver, I kind of want both people to think I was waving at them even if I’ve never met the guy I wasn’t waving at. If I’m the guy who waved incorrectly, I want to act like there is someone I’m waving at behind the guy who waved at the guy behind me. Whew. Turn the old tables on him!

This one may be unique to working in a phone store, but…answering a question that you think someone is asking you when they are actually asking someone on a bluetooth, wireless earpiece. I usually say out loud, “Well, I’m an idiot. You weren’t talking to me.” Luckily, they don’t hear that because they are so engrossed in the real conversation.

Then, there’s the time I extended my right hand to shake hands with a man who had no right hand. Awkward! The bad thing about that is I knew him, his name was Jim, and I was aware he didn’t have a right hand and I did it anyway. He kind of chuckled and grabbed my right hand with his left hand and that always feels really weird. Stupid me.

By the way, is it ever okay to shake someone’s hand as they are exiting the bathroom? Or worse, they have just turned around from doing their business and haven’t even made it to the sink to wash their hands yet? I have a friend who was at church one Sunday and had just finished his business at the urinal and turned around to head to the sink. He swears a guy said, “Hey Jojo(not his real name). How are you?” And reached out to shake his hand. My friend shook his hand. Gross.

Speaking of church, a friend and I once went to a revival service at his church which started at 7:00 p.m. We walked in while the congregation was singing and sat down about halfway to the front with some friends of ours. They finished the song and then the pastor called on someone to CLOSE the service in prayer and we left. Three minutes, tops. Apparently, church started at 6:00 p.m. I wondered why everyone was looking at us so funny.

And, of course, the old I’m walking along, I almost trip over an invisible rope, now I must jog for ten feet and look back to try and see the invisible guys who were holding the invisible rope.

I know this is sort of a pointless post but things have been kind of heavy here lately so I thought I’d try to lighten things up a bit. Ain’t life fun?!? Tell me some of your most embarrassing moments in the comments section below. Or, just laugh at me and say nothing, which is what most of you will do(minus the laughing, I suspect). Oh, and if anyone knows Steve Calloway, ask him about the time he and I were at McDonald’s one Sunday night after church and he ignored the elderly ladies who were trying to talk to him. He’ll know what you mean!

By: Kimberly Hays

The funeral that Thad wrote about earlier this week was actually my Dad’s. A little expected, a little unexpected, but nonetheless I have found myself displaced right back to Wetumpka for the next little while. In all the visits, cards, and calls we have received this week I have heard one thing repeatedly. My dad was proud of the independent women he raised and of the independent woman he married. He was proud that my sister and I not only had the opportunity to receive a college education, but that we both seized that opportunity. He was also proud that we recognized that intelligence did not always come from a college classroom or a text book, but sometimes comes when a little girl sits around a kitchen table with her dad, grandpa, and uncles.

Dad and I were alike in too many ways to name, but politics was definitely our thing. I have read news magazines for as long as I remember being able to read, Rush Limbaugh played on television as I got ready for elementary school, and the State of the Union was our own personal Superbowl. Even after I left home, Dad and I would talk pre and post State of the Union and spend the next few days breaking the speech down play by play. It didn’t matter who was giving the speech, we weighed and debated just the same.

Even though I could probably guess, my dad never told me who he voted for – ever. He loved the secret ballot; he saw beauty in the democratic process (even when it didn’t go his way) and in open debate. No topic was off limits in our house, but I was always expected to carry on these debates with grace and respect for the individuals involved. We talked abortion, immigration, torture, civic responsibility and the list goes on. I did make a conscious choice to avoid discussing the war. My dad, grandpa, and great uncles were all career military men. Between them they covered every branch, every major conflict, were practically their own Joint Chiefs of Staff and only by the grace of God not court-martialed a hundred times over for raising hell. I never wanted my father to think that I was not grateful for his service and the service of the men (and the women and children who loved them) in my family. My dad was never in a war, but he served this country in a time that wearing his uniform would get him spat upon and called a ‘baby killer’. He and millions of other men and women served this country so I could be a woman with a PhD, so I could voice dissent over a war and so-called enhanced interrogation techniques, so I can be a Christian with a roommate who was raised Buddhist and plenty of friends who are atheist, and so I could support a political candidate by volunteering for his campaign and putting a sticker with his funny sounding name on my car.

Burying my dad was obviously not something I looked forward to doing this week. However, being surrounded by people who love me and reminiscing about my dad and his quirks has made the week easier. Today, however, I was hurt by the actions of a stranger, actions that flew in the face of everything that my dad served this country for and spent his life trying to teach me. Maybe you think you just ripped an Obama sticker off a car in a church parking lot, but instead you reminded my of the ignorance that my dad promised me I would encounter in life. You also reminded me to treat you with grace and respect. I think my dad would be proud of me.

P.S. Confidential to the Sticker Ripper – I have another one =)