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 |   You never know what you'll find - humor, ramblings, rants, randomness- it's all me! |
This description part is challenging. I never know what I will blog about until I start typing. I do know there will be typos. I don't reread or correct my blog. Otherwise it turns technical instead of my feelings and thoughts. Trust me, on stories and poems I'm a grammaraholic, but this is freedom. Sometimes to keep it from getting too personal, I even turn my head away while I type. Weird, right?. I hope you find this somewhat entertaining, thought-provoking, and humorous.   A little about me. The most important things in my life are family, especially my son, Reese, and my husband, Bruce, my walk with God, and making a positive impact in some way. I am a teacher, currently teaching 6th grade Language Arts. While at times my job can be trying, overall, it is one of the most rewarding passions in my life.   This is my wonderful son, Reese. He is now 20 and and a junior at Oklahoma State University. I may be partial, but he is an exceptional kid with the best heart I've ever known. He makes me laugh, think, and want to be a better person. We are both huge Oklahoma State Cowboy fans - Gooooooo Pokes!  This is Reese's dog, Betty. She shares a name with my mother. Reese named her that because she was beautiful and kind just like his Nanny (my mom). I'm not sure my mom is quite convinced it is a compliment though. Betty is a huge part of our family. She even had her own blog for awhile. Poke around at your leisure and shake your head at some of things that go through mine. I always return reviews/comments, though admittedly, sometimes it does take me awhile depending on what life is serving me at that point. Keeping the faith, Audra  |
| Barry Manilow is Distracting Me If I am unable to blog coherently tonight, I am putting the blame on Barry Manilow. He is currently singing "Even Now" on the seventies station. Retro Saturday, ya'll. I'm not saying I don't enjoy a little Barry now and then, it's just this song is distracting me. See, I was going to write on the complex issue of why my dog, Laynie, enjoys rolling in huge horse poopies - otherwise known as manure, feces, excrement, shit, horse marbles, the brown grapefruit. (You get the picture.) But, how can I attempt such a serious issue with Barry belting out Evvvvvveeeennnn NOOOOOOWW! I found myself wondering if he feels as passionate as he is making it sound. And then my mind wonders what I feel that passionate about if provided he's not faking it; which, hey, haven't we all at one time or another. Oh my gosh, where is the remote?! Now it's the Jackson 5 sounding like they are on crack talking about going back to Indiana. I'm pretty sure Michael wasn't in support of that song. I don't think Indiana times were necessarily his happiest. What can't Ike Turner say his 'r's on the word turning in Rolling on the River. I'm sorry to be so critical tonight. Trust me, I'm not singer and I do enjoy the seventies but give me some Kansas or Styx or the Guess Who. Maybe, my creative mind is just rebelling because it didn't want to write about my dog smelling like the backside of a stallion with dysentery. My thoughts are so fickle. . . and slightly disturbing as I try to think of myself as semi-normal. It's Manilow's fault I tell you. Seriously, if he had been singing about the Copa Cabana, it would have been your average my dog smells like horse hiney and seems quite proud of it. Speaking of dogs, I guess I should feed them. Plus, I have a feeling I'm going to look back on this blog and . . . well, not think it was exactly profound. I can't smile without you, Audra |
| When I was a little girl...okay maybe not so little. I had this weird bedtime routine. I would kiss everyone goodnight, go to the stairs, count to four and then exclaim 'Goodnight, to the Great Walt Disney!'. I have no idea why or what started it; in fact, I'm not sure if I would even remember doing it if my family didn't enjoy reminding me of it every so often. But it's late at least for me and I'm tired. Soooo... Goodnight to the Great Walt Disney, Audra |
| You Know the Feeling When You Finish Your First Half Marathon? Yeah, me neither. But I couldn't think of a title for this blog entry because I have no idea what I'm writing about. This, folks, is what we call winging it. I'm drinking a glass of wine. . . wine from a box - don't judge. It's cheaper and lasts longer and if I never drink the good stuff, I don't realize it tastes like cat piss. I'm not buzzed or stressed. It just seemed like a better idea than going out to the car and carrying in the bottled water. Well, maybe not better, but definitely more convenient. Last summer we drove to Montana for vacation. This summer we are driving to the Bahamas. . . I mean New Mexico. Any suggestions for things we should see or do? Why do I keep having dreams about school during summer break? Honestly, it seems unfair. I mean technically if I'm in school when I sleep that's taking almost a half of my vacation away. Oh, and to clarify these aren't amazing dreams like everyone actually understanding what a pronoun is or maybe the whole class turns in all their work. They are nightmares akin to dreaming of being in college and realizing you've forgotten to go to a class all semester and it's time for the final. Plus, I hold conversations in my sleep, so it's just a matter of time until my husband requests I sleep in the other room. Nah, he wouldn't do that; I might, but he wouldn't. I just realized that alcohol must not be required to put the caloric intake information on the box. No one regulates boxed wine! What kind of an atrocity is this!? Come on, USDA! You make them put it on Oreos, and you have to be in some pretty great denial to think those aren't bad for you. Let's be real, you eat too many of them and they turn your poop black. Or so I've heard. And on those Styrofoam Rice Cakes which seriously if you chose those over Oreos you are a saint anyway and shouldn't read the fine print. I'm pretty sure they NEVER expire before or after you've eaten them. I think my mom still has some next to her 1978 box of Triscuits with Bruce Jenner on the back holding his decathlon medal in one hand and a triscuit in the other. Yes, kiddos, Bruce Jenner used to be a male. I think I've written enough and apparently had enough wine since I've run the gamut of subjects from transgender, USDA regulations, black poop, and the unfairness of job-related nightmares. You are welcome, Audra |
| 'Never Look Back" - you hear that said often and I'm sure it has various messages depending on time, life, speaker, situations. I think, however, I know at least two circumstances where it is true. 1. If a Freddy Kruger type monster is chasing you, NEVER LOOK BACK! It doesn't end well. I have yet to see a movie, where the character running looks back and the monster says, "Man, you are way too far ahead; I give. Thanks for the cardio workout." It just doesn't happen. 2. Looking back on your blog - at least for me. I reread some of my blogs from when I started blogging; I don't even recognize me and/or remember much of the junk I'm rambling about. The thing that rattled me a little I guess, is I'm sure at that time those things were huge to me and maybe why I wrote them is because I had the foresight to realize I would forget them. But, hey, some of them are worthy of wiping from my mind and everyone else's. It's not like I'm going to delete them. I recognize they are a part of me. I guess what floors me is I remember believing as a kid that when you became an adult you don't change much after that. You see grownups go to work and take care of family, and I guess as kids we are so into ourselves that we don't see the change in others. Except, for my dad balding; we always noticed that - we had to have at least one thing to tease him about. Obviously, I was mistaken in my youth; I dare say I have changed more in the last twenty years of my life than I did in the first. Which may be an exaggeration since in my first 20 I learned not to pee on myself, talk, walk, etc. But then again, some days I feel as if I'm still working on those. Go ahead look back if you want; just don't forget to keep looking forward. Time for zzzzzzzz, Audra |
| Holy Hat! What a morning (or I guess just a couple of hours aka eternity)! At 8:26 a.m., I'm going through my basic morning routine for summer - letting dogs out, watching the Today show, chillin', ya know? I get a call from my neighbor that our horses are in the other neighbor's pasture. I have come to learn this is REALLY not a good thing. But for some reason my stomach didn't drop; I woke Bruce up and told him we had to get the horses. I need your to remember four things (there is really just three, but I hate odd numbers so I will come up with a fourth). 1. I AM NOT A COUNTRY/OUTDOORS/PHYSICAL LABOR TYPE OF PERSON. 2. Since my husband's stroke, his mobility is limited though it has made great strides. 3. I have a fear of ticks, snakes, bob cats, biting insects, rats - basically things I've witnessed on our farm. 4. Today is our 2nd Wedding Anniversary. It's a farm, right? In the country. I knew the neighbors weren't home; therefore, I just went in my sleep attire which is a tattered t-shirt and cut off sweat pants. Just to throw it out there... That is ALL I had on besides my trashed out sneakers. We get in the truck and begin this adventure. First, I opened a gate, then I opened another where we know for a fact ticks have taken over that part of the land. I'm honestly still positive and ready to do what needs to be done (I don't know what has taken over me. Aliens, perhaps?) The truck has gone as far as it can get. I need to follow a 'horse trail' along the fence line to see if I can see where they got out and/or where the horses are. A horse trail, I come to find out, is not a people trail. It has not been cleared or blazed (not that I really know what that means). I have with me a rope - that's it. This trail goes forever and gets thicker and thicker and more narrow. I trip once but get up - seriously, who I am? - this has got to be my giving up point. I need to thank Mrs. McConnell, my 5th grade Sunday School teacher, who made us memorize the 23rd Psalm. At this point, the only part I can remember to recite as my country mantra is 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no evil.' The terrain looks like Vietnam war movies I've seen. I wondering which will be a more painless death - bobcat mutilation, snake bite, lyme disease, or unknown evil. Eventually, the trail ends. . .no hole in the gate, no horses. Yep, so I get to go back up the trail. I am a person who sweats a lot (yes, I know sooooo attractive). So now my contacts are burning from sweat. I'm convinced ticks are crawling up my legs and since I don't have underwear on that they are going to nest in my woo! I beg the ticks I see on my shirt to please tell their friends along for the ride to retreat. And then I say Psalm 23 again. Back at the truck, we drive to another area. Bruce sees the horses over a hill and sees where they got through. I get to open another gate - barbed wire this time. I grab my rope to hope to lead the stallion in and the others will follow. I walk about 1/2 a mile thinking if my Fitbit battery is out and these steps aren't going to count, heads will roll (I don't know whose, but someone). Scooter lets me lead him and the 3 girls. I'm calm, dare I say content? Then he rears, the not-knotted well rope comes off and away they go. This happens several times. One where the rope didn't come untied but Scooter was pissed by now and I was stubbornly determined. So...when he reared; I didn't let go. Apparently, I had tick fever because I figured I could keep an 1100 pound horse from doing what he wanted. This resulted in me doing an impression of a flying Wonder Woman (she does fly in the comic books; she got her invisible jet later in her career). I flew for about .3 of a second but I was airborne before I did a belly buster in the pasture. And do you know what I did? I got right up!!! No cursing (aloud anyway); no crying. Seriously, I don't know what got into me. Maybe it was the Spark I drank in the morning. Two more barbed wire gates later, somehow the pregnant mare decided to lead the crew through the open gate to our land. I got the gate that had provided their escape to hold with a rope. Bruce picked several ticks off my shirt as we headed for the hacienda. I know we took at least 6 off without even looking. When I got to our front door, I stripped clean down OUTSIDE- butt-white naked. Those clothes weren't coming in the house. I walked to the shower stepping in cat puke on the way. And then I had a fabulous anniversary. However, at the moment (12 hour post-horse rustling) I hurt so much I'm wondering if maybe I wasn't run over by the horses and just have blocked that part out as a survival mechanism. My husband and I said our own vows at our wedding and they were wonderful and I still mean all of them; however, I feel the need to add to them after 2 years of relocating to the farm. I, Audra, take you, Bruce, for my husband, to mend fences and be dragged my animals from this day forward, in 100 degree weather, or 30 below, during mice in the tub, possible ticks on my woo, narrow paths reminiscent of Ninja Warrior, hand in hand forever and forever. Because, truth be told, there is no where else (except possible a hot tub) I'd rather be. Do they still make Bengay?, Audra |
I Can Talk About It, But Am I Ready To Write About It? Why would something be harder for me to write about than it is to talk about? I guess because there is no hiding behind a smile, or turning the conversation around to the other person, or cracking a joke so the other person isn't uncomfortable. I realize that writing can be a give and take between author and reader, but not this time. This time it is just me. I think I might be brutally honest in this entry, so flee if you must. I probably won't make it through in one entry. Too many feelings and events to reflect on. I'm not always as strong as I seem. I don't know, maybe I don't even seem strong. I am though, or I wouldn't have made it through. God gives me strength every day, hour, minute, second. . .in every breath. Tomorrow is my 2 year wedding anniversary. That is small in comparison to many, but each day I have with my husband I treasure as much as decades. On December 31, 2015 my husband had a massive stroke. He was 46 years old. We had been married 6 months. He lay on our bedroom floor for 6 hours before my father found him. (I was about 60 miles away when I realized something had happened. He didn't show up for work and wasn't answering his phone.) My son was with me as I was speeding, weeping to get to Bruce. My son called the ambulance upon learning Bruce was responsive but couldn't move. They met us at the house. The neurologist told me Bruce quite likely wouldn't live through the night. I told him he was wrong. I mean my husband was talking and we had only found each other again. I blogged that night because I didn't know what else to do. I was helpless. Not helpless - I begged people for prayers. And we received them. Bruce's left side was paralyzed and his speech was slurred some, but mentally he seemed okay. But here's the thing, when your brain has an acute bleed it's go some rewiring to do. After a month in inpatient rehab, he still couldn't transfer from the bed to the wheelchair without quite a bit of assistance. He had no feeling or movement in the left side. The 'case worker' told me I needed to look into nursing homes. I told her that would kill him...and me. She told me it was too much for me to be his caregiver. "That's fine, because I plan to continue to be his wife," I replied with certainty that I had no idea was in me. This isn't just a sad story; you have no idea what we have gained from this experience... I mean besides the debt, of course. We got 8 months without either one of us having to work at a job; trust me we were working. We would never have had that amount of time together. A farmer and a teacher don't equal much free time. We laughed and still look back and laugh at things that I would never have thought anyone could laugh at but you do. Just to be overtly truthful (hide your eyes if you are timid), at the beginning I laughed more than once when I was helping him go to the bathroom and somehow the stream hit my face instead the urine jug. I colored the jugs with sharpies because the nurses kept moving them, and you have to be able to find those suckers when they are needed. Apparently, when guys have to pee there is no'okay give me a second'. I wouldn't have gotten a text from my brother telling me I was Rock Star. I didn't understand at first, until later when my sister explained he had told her I had been feeding Bruce like it was no big deal. And feeding him wasn't a big deal, making sure he knew he was a person of value was a huge deal. If the stroke hadn't happened, he would be farming and I know that would make him happy. But at the same time, if it hadn't happened he wouldn't have been able to volunteer for 6 months in the severely handicapped room at the school I teach at also. Those kids needed him. And he needed them just as much. We would laugh in the night when he would pick my arm up and put it across his chest. When I asked if I could move it; he was puzzled. He replied, "Sorry, I thought that was my arm. I didn't want it to get stuck under me." The stroke was and is real. And it sucks, yeah it does. But so much good has come out of it. My heart is kinder. I treasure moments and small things so much, not because I'm afraid they won't happen again, but because I realize all things matter. The laughter, the tears, the prayers, tiredness to the point of losing yourself, the joke he tells for the 3rd time that wasn't that funny the first 2 times, but I freaking love it. Tomorrow, when we go to lunch...We will walk together, slowly, but I don't care I'm not in a rush because I have been blessed with going through this with him. I don't care if I push him in a wheel chair, walk, or run; I'm just going to soak in every nuance. I love you, Bruce. For richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. I meant it two years ago, and I will always mean it. All my love, Audra  |
| I am typing this on my phone so I will probably have mucho errors to correct later. Sorry to be a whiny baby but my stomache has hurt for a week now. It's weird. I don't think I have felt this before. It feels kind of bruised inside up high, between the ribs I guess you would say. I don't feel as hungry as usual, but my mind tells me it will feel better if I eat. It doesn't. I mean I don't feel like I'm dying, but it isn't pleasant. I've had gall bladder removed and hysterectomy so that takes out about 1/2 the things I googled. It's not a burn like acid reflux. Maybe my stomach is just pissed off. Pissed off belly syndrome. Dr. Oz better not steal my modern diagnosis. Life is weird but good, Audta |
| Group Therapy for Obsession with Office Supplies? Anyone? Please? I admit it. I, Audra Lea Branson, have an obsession with office supplies, and I freely choose not to be healed. So, the group therapy brief thought is out the window. I'm kind of worn out tonight. I actually had to do outside farm work today. It wasn't bad, except it didn't kill me which a few times I was hoping it would. Like, when the mouse ran over my foot while I was moving a vehicle. Or when I was convincing myself that the pile of limbs I was moving to the burn pile would not be of interests to snakes. My nephew ruined that fantasy by pointing out the snake skin. I used to love my nephew. Anyway, so I'm tuckered out; therefore, my blog tonight will be a list of office supplies I want immediately when I see them. 1. Sharpies - all of them, every kind, highlighter sharpies, sparkly sharpies, 80's sharpies. 2. Notebooks - I'm going to steal I line I first heard when I was about 15 to describe them. 'Size doesn't matter.' It's true (in notebooks, at least j/k). They all do the trick: mini, pocket, one subject, 5 subject, white, color, etc. Ahhh, a nice new notebook. Heaven on Earth. 3. Pens - any color but red. They don't have to be expensive just have a nice smooth roll that makes my name look beautiful even when I chicken scratch it. Gel pens sometimes depending on the colors and again ability to create a smooth, no smudge signature. 4. Color Pencils - honestly, I hardly use these because I have my sharpies, but yet they still sing out to me. 5. Post-its! - love them - all shapes, colors; they are just fun. 6. Huge Paper Tablets (Like almost the size of poster board) - these are great in the classroom, and I feel kind of cool because I have something other people ask to borrow. There is much more to my obsession, but my eyes are drooping and my body is begging for a scrubbing. Thanks for reading! No Snakes or Mice In the Bathtub Please, Audra |
| Death by Essential Oils - Muhahahaha Wow! This is some come back to writing.com. Yesterday I was a virgin, and today I'm a murderer. . . and quite proud of it! You know how some days you just really can't come up with something you feel passionate to write about? But then there is Divine Intervention (which is way better than most interventions, from what I've seen on late night television at least)! That is today for me. I was opening up my laptop with no strong idea of what I was going to write, when I was hit by a lightning bolt - or more literally a tick trying to crawl under my Fit-bit! I can not explain the extent to which I hate ticks. I mean I don't think anyone really loves them. Well, there may be a group of Tick Lover's Anonymous somewhere, maybe Kentucky. I don't know why I said Kentucky; I apologize Kentuckians. But seriously, Ticks make me scream - literally, figuratively, gutterly! I live in the country. Not really by choice; well, maybe a little choice. It's where the man I love and married lives, so I thought - well, I suppose I should live there too. Some people (not the ones that know me well) may counter this by pointing out I was raised on a farm. But they are wrong. I was raised in a house that happened to be located on 160 acres of country farm. I was not Laura Ingalls (though I did and do love her). Anyway, let's get back to the insectual spawns of Hell! According to the news and everyone: This is an especially bad tick year! Do you know why that is? Because THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A GOOD YEAR IF THE FREAKIN' WORD TICK IS INCLUDED! I abhor them so much, that I had this weak moment of thinking of recruiting a posse of possums because I read on Facebook that they eat ticks. But then I remembered how much I detested possums and figured they might actually form an alliance with ticks to see how quickly they could get the non-country girl out of the country. And I have blogged negatively about possums and if possums have read it, well, then I'm already on their shit list. Besides the fact, that my dog would just kill the possum and place it directly under my car door as a reminder of why the country wasn't my first choice of residence. But I love my husband. . . seriously, I do! I mean isn't facing ticks an act of evidence. Finally, THE MURDER: So I feel it on my wrist. Mind you, I'm now convinced everything is a tick: every freckle, mole, dirt, dropped piece of chocolate. Well, this time it was a freckle with 8 legs! I had enough. This was my writing time! In the house! So I yelled, "Mother fucker, I'm finished with you!" (I think my husband was relieved a little when he realized I had a tick and wasn't directing obscenities toward him.) I had purchased Rose Geranium Oil because I read it repelled them but hadn't mixed it with the other ingredients yet. But this tick wasn't getting the mercy of a diluted poison. He was going to take it like the hell-breathing, son-of-a-bitch sadist that he was. I got a paper plate, put the living freckle on it and started the death by rose geranium oil - drop by merciless drop. He tried to scurry. I felt no remorse; in fact, I'm pretty absolutely sure, that I cackled like a mad scientist in a 1950's movie. (I do look good in black and white). I thought about reviving him so he could go warn his friends that they better find another farmer's wife to screw with because this one is psycho in a way that can't be fixed. But then I realized I just really wanted him dead, no breathing, finished, burned, buried, with no memorial. I think I come by this evilness toward unwanted insects naturally. My father did once drown a scorpion that stung me on the ass in mouthwash. Green listerine if I remember correctly. We did eventually get it rid of it. We aren't keep in the cellar for the good company kind of crazy. We are just country crazy. Wait! Did I just use 'we'? Well, well - maybe I am becoming a little country after all. See ya'll later, Audra P.S. DON'T USE ROSE GERANIUM AROUND CATS; IT IS TOXIC TO THEM! |
Entry for "The Bard's Hall Contest"  . . .I feel like a Writing.com Virgin So let's just throw it out there. . .I haven't written or blogged for hmmmmm, let's say about a year and half; despite getting reminders from WDC: "Don't Forget to Blog. You haven't blogged since The Jetsons were on television". Seriously! Spellcheck doesn't recognize Jetsons?! Great, so now I'm officially old and a wdc virgin. I mean I have written just not blogs, stories, poems, etc. I've written tests for my students, letters, filled out numerous forms (and their word counts were way up there so I kind of think they should count). But, anyway. . . I'm trying to make a comeback, find time for me, make my brain work outside the essential parameters of life, yada yada yada. It's been so long though, I think I'm back to virgin status as far as WDC.com goes. I think technically it was/is referred to as a newbie. Where are my friends? (Yes, I know, part of friendship is fostering them and since I've taken a leave of absence from. . . thinking? writing? I don't know what to call it; anyway it's my doing.) I started returning the favors of reviews I've gotten since last on here. I can't remember how to pull up my cool little review form, but that's okay - it was just the beginning of me realizing I was a born again virgin. Trinkets? No idea what those things are. I could look it up, but, you know, I'm still working on returning the favor of reviews. Also, people put pictures on EVERYTHING! I'm jealous. Apparently, there must be an easier way than before because how do they have room in their profile for all those images? Or maybe, I have been doing it wrong all along. Either way, I want to pics everywhere. And links to songs, videos, etc. But, let's be honest, I'm basically proud I could figure out my password; so, I'm hanging on to that glory. Oh, Peas and Carrots! There are more things I've forgotten or just don't know, but my husband just pointed out that the dog got in the trash outside. I would post a picture of it, but, well, you know . . . Thanks for being here for me writing.com! I appreciate you, my old friend. Audra |
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