McDREAMY - McGONE

I know ya’ll have been waiting with bated-breathe to find out which show I’ve spent the lost weeks between the end of football and the beginning of baseball season, binging on. Trying to absorb the trembles of addiction isn’t easy; but with the discovery of Netflix last year, I have learned to survive.

The show I’ve been watching is going to shock you. Mostly because this show has been on for TWELVE YEARS – and not once – not one single time in any of those twelve years have I been moved to want to watch it; and believe me, I have heard about it and its characters for years.

I am currently on Season 11 and unfortunately, because of all the prior gasps and gossip crashing through my Face Book newsfeed – I already kind of know how this season will end. And I’m going to tell you right now, I’m already not very happy about it.

And even though I loathe to repeat his catch name – how in the heck could they kill-off McDreamy? I mean seriously?! Everybody knows that Grey’s Anatomy is not really about Meredith Grey – it’s about her soft-spoken, scruffy-bearded, chiseled-jawed, blue-eyed, beautiful-haired, sweet kisser-on-the-cheek-man; one of the most beautiful men in the history of television series.

I have already read all about his supposed real-life diva-ness, and the clash between he and creator Shonda Rhimes – but you know what Shonda - deal with it. Actually, I think because of the popularity of How to Get Away with Murder, Scandal, and Grey’s Anatomy – maybe Ms. Rhimes is a bit of a diva. Maybe SHE is the power freak, wielding the clapperboard and hollering CUT!

I’ve watched the demise of so many characters in these last few weeks. And nobody can just leave, move away, or find another job – so many of our favorites have died catastrophic, horrible deaths; plane crashes, getting hit by buses, and a mad gunman wreaking havoc and killing-off about five different characters in one mean sweep. Just crazy, over the top deaths that don’t really happen to that many people at one place of employment.

I’m telling you right now, how the heck Seattle Grace/Grey-Sloane Hospital has any employees left in its fictional building is curious to me. Even the characters talk among themselves about the curses and all the deaths that have come under its umbrella of unemployment.

Maybe the whole deal is when Ms. Rhimes is done with you – you can expect a national disaster of some kind to take place – and somebody we have loved for months on end is going down.

But McDreamy? I don’t even know how the show can feel complete anymore after he’s gone. Can Meredith continue to lead the show that carries her name? I mean she has some children, and while they are cute, they are no McDreamy’s. Neither are any of the other male characters on the show. Not even close.

I’m going to keep watching of course, because I’m hooked - but I’m just telling you right now, Shonda lost a big fan – and Grey’s Anatomy will never be the same.


copyright 2016 Michelle Mount Mims
Also previously published @ The Havana Herald

Tick - Tock

As my lids cracked open, my eyes skittered side-ways trying to read the numbers on the clock; struggling without my glasses, but I could barely make out that it read 8:25am. I automatically began to do that thing in my head that I do with every time change, which is to mentally calculate what time it REALLY should be.

So of course in my mind, it was only 7:25, because I had been robbed of an hour with all that spring-forward mess just a few hours before – and it was certainly NOT time to get up yet. So I rolled back over on my left side, IGNORING the clock, closed my eyes once more, and escaped back into dreamland.

The next time I would wake the clock would read 9:45 – much more acceptable for a weekend morning, or so I thought. I climbed out of bed and automatically reached for my glasses and my cell phone, opened my phone to see what had already happened in the world after my own shutdown at midnight, and lo and behold, the time on my cell phone read 10:45!

MY ALARM CLOCK HAD NOT AUTOMATICALLY CHANGED! So all morning as I lay there continuing to wallow in the satisfaction that by golly, nobody was stealing that hour from me, and that I REALLY had a whole “extra” hour to lay there – well – I certainly did not.

SEE! See what problems all this time-swapping around causes! Because now not only am I up, but I’m flinging around, trying to get woke-up, stumbling to the bathroom to throw some water on my face and brush my teeth – because half of my day is now gone and I had so much planned!

I expect this whole next week will much of the same, except of course, my clocks will be properly set with the correct time. But I will still be mentally calculating that stolen hour back into my whole day, especially when the alarm clock actually goes off in the morning.

And I’ll be thinking about it again at night when I’m waiting for the blessed sun to go down, so it appears acceptable to crawl back into my PJ’s, because after all, I’ll be tired and worn out from the extra daylight AND that dang stolen hour that I’ll still be griping about.

I don’t know what happened to me, I really don’t. I used to LIVE for this time of year, the extra daylight, and the extra activity-time outdoors. Now it seems I just look for ways to ignore it and act like it’s not happening.

But in my children, I can see my old self, my younger self. They both talk about how much they love the time change and all it affords them. One likes to take long hikes after work, the other likes to grab a game of golf here and there, and extra light ensures they won’t be trekking around in the dark.

Just another time I wish I could wind the hands of the life-clock back to the days of youth and endless energy.


copyright 2016 Michelle Mount Mims
Also previously published @ The Havana Herald

Three-Ring Circus

Oh I know – all I seem to do is prattle on about women/menopause, how much I love food (obviously), my insanely funny family, and my children – I endlessly talk about my children.

I talk about all of those things on continual-repeat-mode because the rest of the world is just a crappy thing to talk about right now. Every now and again, I do a breaking-story-column, chockful of current events and one tragedy or another.

And although I have feelings about all of those things, and some are so strong that I can’t breathe unless I let them be aired – I really don’t like talking about those said events. Most of them are sad and depressing. And besides, what could I possibly have to contribute that hasn’t already been said around every water cooler and break room table in America?

So if you’re wondering why in the world, with all the obvious material available to rant, laugh, and repeat – if you’re just astounded why I have had absolutely nothing to say about the months behind and ahead of us – and the election conversation; well, I just really figured one more column about a bunch of clowns in a round-tent-circus would be one column too many.

Fact is, my views, my thoughts and beliefs are so diversified and scattered from one conscious end of the globe to the other – I’m not up for the arguments for or against me and my beliefs – nor do I care to hear about yours and your need to change my mind and walk your way.

I believe just as strongly as all of you, and like you, there is a reason for my rationale, and at 52 years of age, no one is likely to change my set-in-stone mind thoughts.

My problem is – because of the one-end-of-the-spectrum-to-another thoughts I have – this has been the most confusing and undeniably most difficult election year I have been a part of or been witness to in my lifetime.

My hope is this:

That the person who is elected president of this United States can make us whole again and make us proud once more to defend living here.

That it’s okay to believe in Jesus and to say so out loud, and that if you don’t, well that is your choice too – without passing judgement in either direction.

That our children can feel safe in school and church again, and that gun control doesn’t consist of taking guns away, but instead, teaching and certifying how they should be properly used by each owner.

That we can all learn to live together and love one another for who we are as human beings without hate and judgment of gender or color.  

My list goes on and on – but I have yet to see a single candidate who fits my full-length criteria or who doesn’t make me cringe every other time they speak.

I’m not sure that any present candidate can pull us all together and accomplish any of those things; but I’m still waiting and hoping for a miracle; because we sure need one.


copyright 2016 Michelle Mount Mims
Also previously published @ The Havana Herald

Legal And All

When a woman becomes pregnant with her second child, she begins to think of all the joys that lie ahead and the new adventures. She also thinks about the things she might do different this time. After all, she’s more experienced, less likely to panic over fevers, fussy babies, and painful vaccinations for baby and mama.

By the second time around, my first child had nine years on him, and so did I! I had learned all kinds of things by then; so you can imagine my surprise when nothing seemed to be the same after all; the challenges were totally different from the get-go, and as much as I thought I was ahead of the game – I soon learned I was really just a rookie, starting all over again.

Boy is it ever true, that no two children are alike. My first born was quiet, artistically motivated from an early age, and didn’t care much for outside activities.  My second born was high energy out of the birth- canal-gate; as a matter of fact – he stood-up the last two months of my pregnancy, and was born the same way.  I think if there had been some way to smuggle some wheels “on the inside” he would have came out peddling!

At two months he was fighting to sit-up and take a bottle; there was nothing that was going to happen that he didn’t know about it. And from five years of age and tee-ball – he played a sport of some kind all the way through to his senior year of high school.

Other than white-knuckling, white water-rafting and mountain climbing, every other hobby has been tried and learned; and I’m holding my breath on the two afore-mentioned – because there are just some things a mama’s heart can’t take. Heck some half-frozen bull-frogs leaping out at me from my freezer one early Sunday morning, almost made me see Jesus!

He’s always been full of life, spunk, adventure and heart. No matter the world we live in, he still picks-up strangers who need a ride, from one end of Quincy to another, and makes conversation with them like he’s known them his whole life. He always gives everyone the benefit of the doubt, a trait that I thought would wear-thin with time and age – but he’s still that person who believes in folks until they give him a reason otherwise.

He’ll be twenty-one years old in a few days, the age of all things legal. He’s a pretty amazing human being, an adult in every sense of the word. And he’s also very honest – as he told one of his best buddies whose birthday was a few weeks ago “We have done more stupid things together than I would like to admit, and something tells me that the good Lord had both of our 21^st birthdays planned for a Sunday since we were born”.  

Happy 21^st Birthday, Zachary David Helms – everybody in the village including myself and your dad, and your grandparents – are awfully proud of who you’ve become – and can’t wait to see where you’re going.


copyright Michelle Mount Mims
Previously published @ The Havana Herald