Best Friends For Life

She was my best friend and I told her everything.  When she would laugh, her whole body would shake, the good kind of laugh, the most real of all, and Lord did we laugh.

She gave me the gift of reading and my love for books. She had books all over her house and most summers at least one day was dedicated to romping thru used book stores; the kind you could bring books in and trade/swap as well. 

She taught me how to cross-stitch and we made pot holders with that ropey looking stuff you tied on a frame, and she also taught me how to iron. I don't know how many other people are aware, but back in the day, every man's undershirt, handkerchiefs and undershorts were ironed. That was one of my favorite things to do and it sounds a little unreal since that is the thing I hate most to do now.

I never went to her house that she didn't have Fig Newton cookies, ice cream and the best oatmeal ever made. We would make homemade milkshakes using ice cream, milk, vanilla flavoring, sugar and a blender. She had these tin cups in all different colors that kept those shakes so cold, you had to wrap your cup with a paper towel to keep your fingers from sticking to the sides like tongue to ice.

She made real cinnamon toast too, not that fake cinnamon-sugar you buy now. She made her own with real sugar and cinnamon mixed. Every now and again a morning will come along that I make my own cinnamon-sugar toast, drink my cup of coffee and sit quietly thinking about her for a little while.

You could always find some kind of real homemade soup in her refrigerator.  My Granddaddy came home for lunch every day and had a bowl of soup and a sandwich every single day.

There was no dishwasher in their home and I loved washing her dishes. Her kitchen windows went almost all the way across the back of their house; they were huge, wide open windows. I would stand there and wash dishes and look out over her yard and right smack in the middle was a big, beautiful Sycamore tree.

The redwood deck that was on the back of their house went all the way across the back of the house. We would sit out there a lot, early mornings and later in the evenings after supper.  She was the hero of stray/wild cats. They all knew where to come for scraps and food, and her beautiful soul never let them down.

This week two of my favorite people in this world will celebrate birthdays, my grandmother in heaven and my oldest child Joshua will turn thirty years old. How perfect that when one best friend would be called to leave me, I would gain another beautiful person who would be another best friend for me one day.

Happy Birthday MaMa Eloise and Joshua, how fitting that your beautiful days of birth are so close together, just like your place in my heart.

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

Hometown Girls

I walked through those doors for the third time in less than a month. My knees were shakier than before, my stomach was in knots, and my nerves were completely shot.

I would give my name and take a seat next to my husband who had come with me that day as my much-needed support system. As I looked around the room filled with chairs and other people occupying those chairs, I couldn’t help but wonder about their journeys that day.  

Five minutes or so passed and suddenly I heard my name being shouted from the end of the hallway. I began to rise to a standing position, my husband squeezed my hand, and I walked towards the noise of my name like I was walking out a sentencing of some kind.

The nurse led me to a room, told me how to change my clothes – what to leave on and what to change out with another garment; she had no idea that I now knew that routine by heart.

Now this is where this story becomes a special one, so play close attention. I came out and took a seat with two other women – one was flipping through her cell phone and one was looking at a magazine; no one was talking.

I had been sitting there less than two minutes when the young lady closest to me begin to speak. She was talking about one thing or another – a garden they were trying to give a go again this year even though it didn’t go well last year, her son who was autistic which was the reason for the garden – she was hoping to be able to sell the vegetables for extra money for the special schooling he may require.

At some point the other lady also begin to talk, and before you know it, I was asking them both where they were from – because although we were sitting slap on the other side of Tallahassee – I knew those accents as good as I knew my own. One turned out to be originally from Quincy, and one lived in Hosford. I continued to let them ramble because Lord knows, I needed the distraction.

Soon my name would be called again, the nurse technician would explain everything that was about to happen to me, and again, her accent was also all too familiar. I was too nervous before the procedure, but afterwards I asked her where she was from, and she too was originally from Quincy Florida. All those stories go deeper than just hometown acquaintance’s – and would take too long to tell, but we would all know some of the same people – and we would all be in awe of the strange coincidence that found us together that day.

Three and a half weeks, two mammograms and a biopsy later, I am blessed to say that my end results were benign; and those three women were a gift from God that day – of that I am convinced. I can only hope that I was the same comfort for them.

Ladies – get your annual mammograms – always.


copyright Michelle Mount Mims
Also previously published @ The Havana Herald

Birds and Blooms

Well, true to my word, this weekend we did exactly what I told you needed to be done last week – our yard got a much over-due manicure.  

Late Saturday afternoon, my husband and I piled-up in the truck and headed out to Lowes for all the things it takes to create a spring landscape, plus everything else I managed to put my eyes and hands on and sneak onto the cart.

We rolled out of there with one of those big iron-dolly-carts stacked high. A huge bag of potting soil, another huge bag of bird feed, six Boston ferns, two big handle-trays of marigolds - one of them orange and yellow mixed, and one of them huge yellow blooms about the size of two half-dollar coins.

Three miniature multi-colored petunia baskets to hang on the beautiful three-pronged plant holder my

husband made for me about three years ago. A couple of pots of Gerber daisy’s – one red and one orange and a big pot of the newest Gerber creation called Lollipop. One huge red geranium – I try and have at least one of those every year as it’s one of my mama’s favorites and it always reminds me of her.

And last but not least, a new flag pole for our back yard shed, as the last one snapped in-two a couple of months ago and we had yet to replace it.  When we finally rolled up to the register, we looked like every cashier’s nightmare and every store owner’s dream.

The plan was to begin Makeover on Mims House – first thing Sunday morning. I knew it was supposed to be a nice, cool morning; perfect conditions for all the work we had ahead of us.

Complete with the services of Helms and Carter Lawncare and Landscaping – courtesy of our son Zach Helms - he pulled-in with their big-rig trailer full of everything one would need to bring a yard back to life. He cut the grass, edged the curbs and driveway, applied the weed eater to some much neglected areas, and then finished off with the spreading of fertilizer and weed killer.

My husband pulled all of the old pine straw off of all the lantana beds. The lantana in all three beds were already bursting-up through the straw, and the Amarillo’s around the mailbox are also about set to bloom as well.

Next, my husband and I cleaned out and refreshed pots of dirt, re-planting and transferring pretty flowers for hours – working off the tailgate of my truck. It’s the perfect height for me, no stooping and half-bending that would be sure to bring on a backache afterward, and most likely a couple of trips to the chiropractor next week. 

Before we could get our part finished, the birds were already enjoying the fresh food in their feeders. Cardinals flying in from all directions, poking their beaks in and out of the feeder and eying the fresh water that also filled their bird-bath nearby.

Now I can just sit on my glider and watch it all finish developing - in slow, beautiful motion.


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

Let It Rain

You wake-up to rain, you go about your day in the rain, and you lay down to sleep to the continuing sound of rain. Then you wake-up for the next three days and do it all over again.

I had such big plans for Good Friday. I was of course grocery shopping for our family dinner that was planned for Saturday. But I was also, planning a trip to Lowes to buy some spring flowers for all of my front porch planters, and maybe some new hanging ferns as well.

Everybody wants their lawns and home looking nice and spiffed-up for Easter weekend. My son and his business partner worked their selves like dogs last week trying to fertilize, lay straw beds, and manicure lawns for the big holiday and all the out of town company it was sure to bring in.

Their labored-doggedness continued into Saturday morning, through the pouring rain at times, all in the name of customer service and pleasing folk.

This was the first year I can remember in a very long time, that my own lawn and home was not Easter ready; but sometimes that’s just the way it works out.

We did however have my folks down for a visit, had our version of Easter dinner on Saturday, along with Zach and Hannah, myself and my husband. I fixed a huge pot roast with new potatoes and carrots, baby lima beans, fresh turnips and rolls. And of course, a family favorite – Dirt Pie for dessert.

The day was filled with lots of story-telling and laughter as my parents had not yet had the pleasure of meeting Hannah, but by the end of the day, everybody was smiling and laughing, and no one would have ever known that hours prior – they were meeting as strangers.

And today, Easter Sunday, the rain continues. The grass appears to have advanced three shades of green in the last 72 some odd hours, the jasmine around my front yard swing is popping with the beginning of blooms, and my pink fringe bushes have left literal bloom-drippings draped all over the ground below them.

The new leaves and limbs on my Drake Elms look as though they are hanging by a thread, totally drenched with water, and in desperate need of some sunlight, although they too, have grown in leaps and bounds.

The leaves on my Knock Out rose bushes are blush-red and beginning to extend into what are always the biggest and prettiest blooms.

But my porch still looks incredibly dreary, with no color or signs of life in sight. My macho ferns, the only ferns to make it through the winter this year, are still standing tall and majestic in their huge black planter urns, but even they look incredibly lonely with none of their flower-rooted-friends to flank their sides.

I’m hoping there are some sunny days ahead.  I’m ready to load-up my truck with marigolds, petunia’s and anything that brings beautiful splashes of color to the eyes.  I’m ready for my yard to come alive with flowers, birds and butterflies. I’m finally ready for spring. 


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

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