My Family

I have finally decided (ya I've known this for a long time) that my family is dysfunctional, inappropriate, crazy, and sometimes disturbed, but I love them with every fiber of my being and wouldn't trade them for anything in the world!

I have always wanted a big family. I had a family that I was very close to when I was in my early 20's. There were people in and out of that house all the time. We never knocked on the door, helped ourselves to whatever was in the fridge; made ourselves at home. I knew that was how I wanted my house to be someday. A place where my kid's friends were comfortable, a home away from home. I am very happy that my home is that place. There are usually, at least, 10- 12 kids (counting my own) at my house at any given time. I love it! I love how friends will come over even when my kids aren't here. They sit and talk or grab something to eat. They have become our extended family. They will carry in groceries, sweep the floor, take the trash out, etc. I treat them like I treat my own... There have been many times when Rich and I have gotten up to have coffee early on a Saturday morning and as I am stepping over sleeping bodies in the living room, I will ask, "Who the hell is that?" to which Rich replies, "I have no idea."

Now, those of you who know me, know that I am not the "Leave it to Beaver" mom...I am not the "Brady Bunch" mom...I am more like Roseanne...

I love to tease my kids. In fact there is a lot of teasing that goes on in this house. I have a mouth like a truck driver (not proud of this, but its me, take it or leave it). I love to laugh! Sometimes the laughter comes from something being said that is totally inappropriate, but its funny!

Let me correct that...most of the time the laughter is from something completely inappropriate! My kids know that they are loved beyond measure! Through all of the joking and teasing, they know that there is nothing I wouldn't do for them. They know that I will always have their back. They know that they can come to me about anything and we will work it out. They know that I will always be their biggest fan.

Josh will be a senior this year. He plans to go to college next fall, so it looks like we have about a year left with him at home. You know what this means right? Yup, you guessed it. We are running out of time to give him shit! To tease him! We better get busy!

Anyway, if you are not familiar with my house and decide to stop by one day, there are a few things you should probably know.
First off, and this is probably the most important, DO NOT RING THE DOORBELL! Nobody rings the doorbell. Everyone walks in.

The second thing you should know is that our house is lived in. It is not spotless. It looks like a lot of people are in and out of here daily. If clutter bothers you, then you probably shouldn't come over.

Number three: Make yourself at home. You will not be given special treatment. If you are hungry or thirsty, get it yourself. I will not wait on you. There are too many people in this house for em to do that and like I said earlier, I am not June Cleaver.

I wouldn't change my family for anything in the world. We may be dysfunctional, but we are a family that loves each other, supports each other, argues, fights, and teases. They may be crazy and inappropriate, but you know what? They are MINE! And I love them with all that I am and all that I have. They are my greatest accomplishment! They are my biggest success!

Thought of the Day

It feels like there has been a lot of death in my life lately. I lost my dad a year ago. My children's Godmother, Roxey Ellingford in March, my sister and brother, Shar and Steve, lost Steve's brother Bill in June. Bobbi Meyer in July, and there have been high school friends of my husband's and parents of friends.

I know that as I get older, it is expected that there will be more loss of life because as I get older, so do others. Time marches on. My parents both died fairly young and as time passes, I know that I will hear of the passing of the parents of childhood friends. Regardless of who it is, that death will undoubtedly bring sorrow into the lives of loved ones. Death is a fact of life and something that we will all experience through losing those we love and through experiencing it first hand one day, but that doesn't make it any easier to handle. It is still hard, sad, and at times absolutely unbearable.

A couple weeks ago, I attended the funeral of Bobbi Meyer. Bobbi fought a long, hard battle with cancer. She kicked its ass! I didn't know Bobbi very well, but am very close to her parents Terry and Neta Jenkins and absolutely love to tease her brother, Chris! Chris and I seem to have that sibling relationship of giving each other shit, but I know that Chris would be there for me if I needed him and vice versa! Anyway, as I sat at Bobbi's funeral listening to people speak about her, looking around seeing all of the people who were there, it is so obvious that Bobbi made a huge impact on those around her. Not once did I ever hear her complain about her illness; not one pity party. She was and still is an inspiration to so many.

I know that Neta is grieving and as a mom, I cannot imagine the pain she is feeling by having to bury a child. This is not the "natural" order of things. Neta was at Bobbi's side through this whole fight which was difficult enough, but to have this outcome on top of it, is unbearable. Neta is a very strong woman and I wish I could take away her pain.

Some of you know the special bond I shared with my father, regarding the beach. I remember being a little girl and looking out at the ocean from the end of the pier. It is really strange how certain conversations and occurrences burn a spot in your brain, not allowing you to ever forget.

I was looking at the horizon and was curious about how the ocean just ends. It stops. I asked my dad about it.

"Daddy, out there where the ocean ends, is there a wall or does the water just fall off?"
" The water doesn't stop. It looks like it stops because that is as far as your eye can see,
but it keeps going."
"Keeps going where? What is out there?"
"More water, more land, and probably another little girl with her daddy, standing on
a pier looking at the same water. She is probably wondering the same thing you are.
About what happens where the ocean ends."

Not really an earth shattering conversation, but it wasn't until years later that I received a pamphlet from a hospice nurse with a story written by Henry Van Dyke that brought that conversation back as clear as day.

SIDE NOTE: Before I post that story, I have to say that I don't believe in coincidence. I believe things happen for a reason. I believe that I get signs from my parents all the time. I believe that I get signs from God, in subtle ways and when He is irritated because I am not listening, he "thumps" me on the forehead to get my attention.

When the hospice nurse handed me the pamphlets and information, I glanced at them and pushed them aside. My dad didn't seem sick and it he certainly didn't look like he needed hospice. (He was eventually taken off of hospice because he was doing so well).

It wasn't until after he died that I really looked at the information. When I cam across the story by Henry Van Dyke, I read it and sobbed (I remembered liking it the first time I glanced at it, but this time it had a much bigger affect) because I knew that this story was not "just a story". It was a reminder, maybe from my dad, maybe from God, that my dad was okay. But it is the topic of the story that made such an impact with me....you will understand why...

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says:
"There she is gone!"
"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at that moment when someone at my side says, "There she is gone!" there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
"HERE SHE COMES!"
And that is dying.

Henry Van Dyke

So, when we lose a loved one, they are not gone. They are simply out of our sight. Of course, this is not the same and it would be much better if they never left in the first place, but this was so comforting to me. I truly believe that my mom, my uncle, and many others were there waiting for my dad, and when he appeared they all shouted, "HERE HE COMES!" What an amazing reunion that must have been!

I will continue to miss the ones we have lost. I will continue to pray for the ones who are hurting. And I will definitely continue to believe that we will see them again someday. We will have that glorious reunion. So for now it sucks being apart and not having them here to share our lives, but they are okay...they are much better than okay! On my down days, I find comfort in this knowledge. I hope that you do too.

The Trial of the Year

Yesterday a jury in Florida found Casey Anthony not guilty of the murder of her two year old daughter, Caylee. Minutes after the verdict was read, there were feelings of shock, disgust, anger, and elation (mainly by the defense team). It is important to point out that not guilty and innocent are not the same thing. Not guilty can mean that the jury believes the defendant, but it can also mean that the case was "not proven". I am in no way going to bad mouth the jury of this trial. It would be very hard to be on jury where I am responsible for determining the life of a young woman. Regardless of what my gut told me, I would have to abide by the law.

As I was watching the news yesterday, an alternate juror was speaking to a news reporter over the phone. He stated that the prosecution never gave them a motive as to why she would kill her child. The body was also badly decomposed and little evidence was found. Had they found the body earlier, maybe things would have been different. It is very difficult to win a case with circumstantial evidence and little to no hard proof.

Regardless, all I know is that Casey Anthony did not behave like a mother who had a missing child. I think this is the main part of this whole situation that is so troubling to me. I once lost Sam at Disneyland for about 30 seconds. In those 30 seconds, I was completely panicked and about to have a nervous breakdown! 30 SECONDS!!! This little girl was missing for 30 days before Casey Anthony told anybody. During those 30 days, she lied about her daughter's whereabouts, partied with friends, got a tattoo... If your daughter was missing, wouldn't you report it immediately? "Hmmm...I wonder where Caylee is? Maybe I'll go get drunk and give her some time to find her way home." Holy shit lady she's not a puppy! "Well, she's still not home, so I think I'll go get a tattoo." Finally, she admits that Caylee is missing and then its one bullshit lie after another.

As a mother, I would die for my kids. I would kill for my kids. Not kill as in "my daughter didn't make the cheerleading squad so I'm gonna murder the girl's mother who did", like that crazy bitch in Texas a few years back. But as in, if my kids were in grave danger, I would have no problem. I have two very big fears (besides skunks). The first one is losing one of my kids. I would never get over it and it would destroy me. My biggest fear is that one of my kids would go missing and I would never know what happened. Not knowing if they are alive, not knowing where they are...it would be unbearable. This is where I have the huge issue with Casey Anthony. Your daughter is "supposedly" missing and you don't tell anyone? Your choice was to party and have a good time? Who would do that? She knew exactly where her little girl was. Now I am not here to say whether she killed her or not, but I do believe she knows exactly what happened to little Caylee.

The trial is now over, the jury has made their decision and more than likely, Casey Anthony will walk out of the courtroom Thursday morning a free woman. Free to sell her story to the many organizations anxiously waiting to offer her large sums of money. And, people will be waiting to buy the book, watch the made for TV movie in the hopes of finding out what happened to this little girl. Well, we will never know what really happened. Not only has Casey lied repeatedly, but so has her family. What would be nice is for everyone to walk away and not give this family anymore media attention, but let's face it that is never going to happen. I can say that I will not put one penny towards a tell all book or even a magazine article.

May Caylee Marie Anthony rest in peace. She did not die in vain because one day someone will have to answer for what they did. I am so sorry that the people that should have protected you didn't. I am so sorry that justice has not been served because whoever harmed you is walking free. I am so sorry that you will never grow up. I am so sorry that you will never experience the wonderful things life has to offer. And I am so sorry that you were not loved and cherished the way you should have been. Fly with the angels little one...you are gone, but may you never be forgotten.

Nik's Rant of the Day

Skunks...I fear them...I seriously fear them...Along with this fear comes a deep hatred down in the bottom of my soul. First and foremost, I will state that a skunk is not one of God's creatures; it has no soul. It is of the devil. The God I know, would never torture His children by creating this smelly, disgusting night dwelling weasel with the ability to spray oily stinky shit out of its ass (I know it doesn't actually come from their ass, but it sounded better than saying, "spray oily stinky shit out of the scent sacks that are near their anus").

I have personal experiences with skunks. My beloved dog, Jack, killed two skunks during his lifetime. Each time he killed one, it turned to spray him right before he shook it to pieces, thus spraying him in the process. The last skunk he killed, sprayed not only him, but the house too. The horrible odor woke me up out of a sound sleep. The stench permeated the walls and seeped into the house! It was awful! I remember putting a ton of Vicks above my upper lip to try and drown out that smell.

The amazing thing to me is that my family slept through it! Really? I remember waking Rich up.
Me :"Rich, Rich do you smell that? Oh my God do you smell that?"
Rich: "What?"
Me: "That awful stench, do you smell it?"
Rich: "Well, now I do."

Okay, okay, so waking him up to ask him if he could smell the skunk was not one of the smartest things I have ever done, but luckily he forgave me. I did moan and whine for the rest of the night so he didn't get much sleep.

The smell from the skunk took a really long time to go away. For months afterwards, there were certain things that kept the smell on them. I picked up a pen one day and my hand smelled like skunk ass after that.

So you see, I have a reason for hating skunks. Every time I see one dead in the road, I have to give a thumbs up to whoever killed the stinky son of a bitch. Dead skunks=cheers when we are on road trips! I lost all respect for the Hogle Zoo when I saw that they have a skunk on exhibit. Seriously? A skunk is not a zoo animal! Lions, tigers, elephants, giraffes; those are zoo animals; not the vermin that can spray stinky oil out their ass! YUCK! Who thought that was a great idea anyway? Again proving that they have no soul! God wouldn't come up with such a bad idea!

Thank you for tuning into my rant on Skunks. I am not quite sure what my next rant will be....hmmmm...maybe toe socks, techno music, something about throwing rocks in glass houses built in the sand on a side of a hill, the silver war, teaching new dogs old tricks...who knows? I only write about what the little voices in my head tell me to...

So, if I ever get my way, I will rid this beautiful world that we live in of skunks and seagulls. They are of the devil and serve no good purpose here on earth. Please do not send me hate mail or mkae nasty comments if you are an animal lover because quite frankly, this is my blog so I can say whatever I want.

I don't give a shit about seagulls, skunks, the environment or the size of my carbon footprint. I would gladly kill Flipper to eat a tuna fish sandwich. I think that letting all of the crops in CA die to save some stupid guppy fish is ridiculous. I think we should drill for oil wherever we can find it...wait wait wait...this was not the subject for my rant...hmmmm...maybe I have found my topic for next time....

So, until then....I am off to buy my hubby and kids ice cream in my giant gas guzzling, environment hating, Ford Excursion! I am also going to fart as much as possible while outside to increase the methane in the air....and litter! Ya maybe I'll litter too!!!

Already a Year

I have tried all week to not think about where I was last year on the 4th of July, but of course that hasn't happened. I don't know why it should matter when someone dies, why I keep the date in my head. It doesn't change anything, that person is still gone so why should it matter when the anniversary of his death comes around?

One year ago today, I was headed to CA with my brother and my dad. My dad wanted one last trip to CA after he was diagnosed with brain tumors. He had been in the hospital for a few days earlier in the week with diverticulitis. My brother and I didn't think he was going to be able to make the trip, but he decided that he felt up to it and the morning of July 2nd we were on our way.

We were having a great time, laughing and talking. We met one of my dad's old friends from high school in St. George for dinner. It was so nice for my dad to see this friend again as it had been many years since they had seen each other. After dinner, we headed on our way. Our destination was Las Vegas where Doreen, Jeff, Brandon, and Abigail were waiting for us. We made it to Vegas and got into our hotel room. We were all chatting when my dad felt a really bad pain in his stomach. He asked me to call the ambulance because the pain was so severe. This is where the nightmare started...

The ambulance arrived and took forever to get him out of the hotel. The EMT's were more concerned with getting his insurance information than helping him. By this time he was in an incredible amount of pain and it was horrible to watch him and be completely helpless to do anything to make him feel better. They finally took him and informed us that they were taking him to Spring Valley Hospital. Alan, Doreen, and I followed the ambulance to the hospital.

Now before I go any further, I want to say that I will never set foot in Spring Valley Hospital again. I wouldn't take my dog to Spring Valley Hospital. I have been in a lot of hospitals over my 40 years and this was the worst hospital I have ever seen. Patient care was horrible. If I am ever in Las Vegas and need a hospital, I will refuse Spring Valley...if it was the only hospital left in the city and I had two severed legs, I would crawl across the barren, hot ass desert until I reached another town!

The next 8 hours were unbelievable. After about 4 1/2 hours, I threw a huge fit, made a scene and demanded to see a doctor (we had not seen a doctor yet! 4 1/2 hours WTF?) The nurse was pissed at me because I told her that she was not going to lay another finger on my father until I saw a doctor. The following conversation took place...

Me: We have been here for 4 1/2 hours and the only thing you have done is draw blood, give him a CAT scan and load my dad up on morphine. I have given the nurse his history. I have explained that he was in the hospital at the beginning of this week with diverticulitis. It has been almost 5 hours and you haven't even seen him yet. It's not like you are super busy, you have been sitting at that desk for 4 hours. Does it take over 4 hours to get the results of a CAT scan?

Doctor: Ma'am I see a lot of patients everyday and

Me: This man is not just another patient! He is my father! You are not giving him the care he needs! (Now I am yelling and crying)

Doctor: I realize that and as I was saying, I see a lot of patients who are drug seeking and I think he needs to be admitted and...

Me: Wait, wait, wait (At this point, I think that Alan could see I was about to go postal so he attempted to calm me down)

Alan: Look, we have five hours to drive to get him to my house. If we drive those five hours and he ends up in the hospital there, then so be it. At least there, he has support from family and friends. We just need enough pain killers to get him home.

The doctor informed us that he didn't see anything on the CAT scan or in his blood work and had no idea why my dad was in pain! (Keep in mind the cause of death on the death certificate was septic shock due to diverticulitis). The doctor gave in and wrote a prescription for Lortab. We were finally released about 5 in the morning. Now, I am sure that the tumors in my dad's brain were causing the morphine to be extra potent. This is the only explanation I can think of because he was so confused and so out of it. His right side had started to shake and was not working properly. He couldn't get in and out of his wheelchair or in and out of the car.

When we got back to the hotel, we were exhausted, emotionally and physically. We got my dad to bed and Alan and I crashed. We got up the next day ( I should say afternoon) to finish the drive to Ventura. When we were saying goodbye, Doreen and I knew that this was their final goodbye. We didn't talk about it, but we know each other so well that we can communicate without even saying a word. She did tell me at a later time that she knew the tumors were bad because when he looked at her, his eyes had that same look that her dad's did right before he died.

The next 5 + hours were awful. We kept my dad drugged up. To give you an idea of how sick and out of it he was, he wanted to move to the back seat of the Excursion, so Alan pulled over and it took us 20 minutes to get him into the backseat. We finally made it to Ventura and should have went straight to the hospital, but we went to Alan's house and put him to bed. I was up all night giving him meds and woke Alan early on the morning of the 4th and told him he needed to call the ambulance.

The sixth floor of Community Memorial Hospital is where my dad would spend the last 20 hours of his life. He was coherent enough to tell the doctor that he didn't want anything done to try and make him better. He wanted to be kept comfortable and he wanted them to let him die. I am very thankful that he was able to tell this to the doctor because it did make his wishes easier to follow.

For the next 20 or so hours, Alan and I stayed with my dad. There was no way I was going to leave. As the end was getting near, his breathing slowed and we knew it wouldn't be long. I told my dad it was okay to go, that mom was waiting for him. Alan kissed my dad on the forehead and said goodbye. My dad opened his eyes (for the first time in many hours), looked up at the ceiling, smiled, closed his eyes, and took his last breath. I like to think that he was looking at my mom who had come for him. It was one of the most peaceful moments of my life.

The day of the funeral, I practiced and practiced and finally got through my eulogy without crying. But, of course when I began reading it at the funeral, I cried like a baby. Most people have heard it or have read it, but I am going to post it again anyway.

I cannot believe that it has been a year since I said goodbye. I miss you so very much and would love nothing more than to share one more pot of coffee with you, or listen to you scream at the TV. Life is not the same without you here, but I know you are so much better off and that gives me comfort. I do have a small request though. If its possible, could you maybe put an idea in the Big Guy's head about getting rid of skunks and seagulls? I'd really appreciate it!

Eulogy for George S. Ballinger

When I was asked by my brother to speak today, I sat and thought about what I could say about my dad. I could tell you that he was one of the most loving, kind hearted and generous men I’ve ever known and that his family and friends were the most precious things in his life, but you already know that.

When the doctor told my dad that the MRI showed tumors in his brain, he had a great attitude about it. He was hoping the tumors came from his lungs and not his colon because he said it would make all those people right that called him shit for brains all those years. He was quite relieved when they found a spot on his lung.

He told me that he wanted to take one last trip to California and see some family, old friends and the ocean. We arrived in California and my dad was immediately admitted into the hospital. He was in a room on the sixth floor of Community Memorial Hospital in Ventura. I only mention this because at the end of the hallway was a huge window with an amazing view of the palm trees, green hills and the ocean. It was absolutely beautiful. As I stood there realizing that this was it, the time was coming, I thought of my dad wanting that last trip to the beach and felt sad that the trip he wanted so badly wasn’t going to happen. You see my dad and I had a special relationship with the ocean.

When I was in kindergarten, he would pick me up every day on his motorcycle and our routine was the same. I would climb in front of him and hold on. I would always yell, “Faster daddy, faster. He would head directly to the beach where we would swing on the swings and take a walk on the pier. I would look at the ground through the opening between the boards on the pier as we walked. When I could see the water underneath me, dad would have to carry me. I was afraid of the water and knew that if the pier collapsed, my dad was holding me so I would be safe. We would walk out to the end of the pier and on the way back I would let him put me down when I could see the sand beneath the pier once again. I don’t remember how long this daily ritual lasted, but I can tell you that I remember it like it was yesterday.

It is extremely special to me that when the time came to let him go, the tables had turned and it was me holding him, telling him he was safe and that it was okay to let go. It was one of the most precious moments of my life and I will cherish it forever.

Thank you all for coming today. This last week has been a roller coaster ride. I am in awe of the support and love that my family has been given through this difficult time. I am proud of my father and the many lives he touched throughout his life. I refuse to say goodbye because I will see him again. Maybe when my time comes he will pick me up on a motorcycle and once again I can say to him, “Faster daddy, faster.

Are You Kidding Me?

So this morning I got on FB like I always do and saw a link that one of my friends had posted. A "reporter" had gone out to the beach in So. California and was asking people why we celebrate the 4th of July. As I'm watching this video, I go from laughing to actual disgust and anger. I am sitting there amazed that so many people had no idea why the 4th of July is important! Now, let me point out that it wasn't just teenagers, there were people as old as my parents, people my age and younger. One guy even had the nerve to say that when he thinks of the 4th of July, he doesn't think of patriotism! Really? Well guess what douchebag? I'm sure that all of the soldiers that have died over the years for your sorry ass just to give you the right to be stupid are really happy right about now.

As I am watching this, my son comes upstairs to go to work. So I decide to ask him,

Me: "Matthew, why do we celebrate the 4th of July?"
Matthew: "Because its Independence Day"
Me: "Yay! Our independence from who?" (Now he's looking at me like I have gone insane)
Matthew: "Britain"
Me: "YAY!!!"

I was very excited that he knew which shows me that all of those history lessons with grandpa paid off. My dad loved history which is where I get my love for it too. We would have long conversations about it and I was always flabbergasted by the knowledge he had in that brain of his. He always talked about how he was uneducated and should have finished college, but that he just hated school so much and quit to go back home and marry my mom. Although he didn't have a degree, my dad was one of the most educated people I know. He educated himself. My older brother is the same way. Alan has the same love for history that I do and I always call him first when I have an historical or political question. Alan would have been an excellent history teacher. He would have been one of those teachers that makes learning fun and his students would have wanted to be in his class. History wouldn't have been boring. Which brings me back to Matthew, he had a social studies teacher in 8th grade that he really liked and therefore enjoyed the class and worked hard.

My oldest son, Josh, just finished his junior year of high school and had an amazing history teacher. I was or should say am so pleased with his knowledge of history. I think a lot of people think that history is boring and I remember hating it when I was younger, but looking back it wasn't the history I hated , but the way it was taught.

When I was finishing my degree, I had to take a public speaking class (which after listening to people speak in public over the years, everyone should have to take one. But that's a different rant for another day) Anyway, I don't even remember the topic. I think it was supposed to be a persuasive speech and this girl started speaking about how war is wrong. Then as she is stammering and blabbing on making very little sense, she makes this profound statement...

"All war is wrong. Killing is wrong. Well, uh wait, I guess not all war is wrong, cuz what was that war? Hmmm...what was it called again? Oh ya the silver war. That is the only war that was okay because slavery is wrong. Nobody should be allowed to do that to people. People shouldn't be owned or forced to do things they don't wanna do. But that is the only war that is okay. All other war is wrong."

Really? WTF? I think YOU should be FORCED to take a history class. I remember coming home and telling my dad and he just shook his head in disgust. That became a running joke over the last few years of his life. The silver war...I was always taught in school that the Civil War was all about slavery (or that's what I remember because the slavery issue was so emphasized) I remember a long afternoon with dad where he set me straight on that one!

So, as you celebrate July 4th by drinking beer, having a BBQ, and blowing shit up, please take a moment to think about WHY our country celebrates it. Why we have the freedoms that we do. Think about all of the men and women that have sacrificed their time, months, even years away from their families; and especially those that gave their life so that WE can have the amazing freedoms and wonderful lives that we do. This is truly the greatest country in the world. Do we have problems? Sure we do! But overall I cannot imagine a better place to live in.

I am very patriotic and love my country. I get that from my mom. My brother always said that she was the Marine Corps mom without the Marine Corps son. I know that Monday she would be flying the flag, wearing her patriotic clothing, and humming God Bless America while preparing food for the massive BBQ we would be having. And she definitely knew why we celebrate the 4th of July. I am sure that if there is a celebration in Heaven, she will be there with her hand over her heart, tears in her eyes, and loudly singing God Bless America!

So, please enjoy the 4th! Celebrate! Have a great time! And remember...alcohol and fireworks can be a deadly combination. Never let the drunk guy light the flaming fountain! (Have I ever told you that story?) hahahaha

God Bless America!!! Let freedom ring!!!