I have been writing on this blog for nearly two months now, and I have nearly 650 pageviews. That could be seen as not bad, but compared to my old blog, it's a laugh.
My old blog, which has been discontinued because the subject matter no longer applies to me (although I really wish it did, and maybe one day it will again), still gets up to three times the daily pageviews that my active blog does. It's hovering at around 3,365 pageviews. It had around 2,500 when I stopped writing on it two months ago.
Sometimes, even when I update this blog, I get no pageviews that day. On the flip side, ABGFL gets a dozen or more pageviews. It's a really interesting observation.
I suppose this is because the other blog had a point and a purpose. It had slightly-educational things on there. I talked about my experiences. I talked about what was going to happen in the coming months. I had a plan, I had several blog series going, and I knew what my life was going to be like.
This blog is simply a rambling collection of short stories and life experiences. I don't really have anything to do with it; it just kind of writes its own self after a while. And now that I've run out of "scheduled posts," I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to be writing. I know I'm going to attempt to keep posting a short story every Tuesday, but I don't know how long that will last. I won't run out of stories to post on Wednesdays, that's for sure (TreeTop is never boring, let me tell you). I'll still be doing my Monthly Resolutions and linking up with Kelli at She Learns As She Goes.
I guess I should be excited that I've managed to get nearly 700 pageviews in just two months. That doesn't normally happen, does it? Especially for little-known, rambling personal blogs. Maybe once I get this novel published, I'll have to figure out actual content to put on the blog, because I'll have people Googling me like crazy. (Hopefully.)
Anyway. That's just my little observation for today. I'm going to finish getting ready for the day now. My dad's taking us out shooting, and I finally get to fire the gun he bought for me last October! (I'm so excited. Plus, I can legally concealed-carry it in less than a month!)
Allonsy!
Friday, July 19, 2013
Thursday, July 18, 2013
A Second Opinion
So, Mrs. Carolyn is still in the hospital. Still unresponsive.
And now her family will probably have to make a choice.
A second neurologist came in yesterday to have a look at her. (The first neurologist said things were...inconclusive.) 2N said that there was little to no brain activity. In effect, Mrs. Carolyn is probably brain dead.
So, pending a miracle, Mr. Randy and his sons may have to make the choice to take her off life support.
It's just...horrendous. They shouldn't have to be making that decision. And I know they're going to be guilting themselves for the rest of their lives. If they'd noticed she'd stopped breathing sooner, maybe she would've been okay. (I'm not sure if they can sue the hospital or not; they didn't have Mrs. Carolyn hooked up to ANY monitors in the recovery room.)
It's just going to be hard.
And to think, just two weeks ago, she was laughing and carrying on and entertaining at her Fourth of July party.
And now her family will probably have to make a choice.
A second neurologist came in yesterday to have a look at her. (The first neurologist said things were...inconclusive.) 2N said that there was little to no brain activity. In effect, Mrs. Carolyn is probably brain dead.
So, pending a miracle, Mr. Randy and his sons may have to make the choice to take her off life support.
It's just...horrendous. They shouldn't have to be making that decision. And I know they're going to be guilting themselves for the rest of their lives. If they'd noticed she'd stopped breathing sooner, maybe she would've been okay. (I'm not sure if they can sue the hospital or not; they didn't have Mrs. Carolyn hooked up to ANY monitors in the recovery room.)
It's just going to be hard.
And to think, just two weeks ago, she was laughing and carrying on and entertaining at her Fourth of July party.
She is an amazing woman, and to have this happen now, when there's still so much she had in front of her (she has a four-month-old grandson, for one thing)... It's just mind-blowing.
Short of a miracle, there's nothing else that can be done.
I may be going to a funeral before this weekend is over. And I don't know if I can handle that. It's going to be even tougher than going to Breanna's funeral Junior Year.
Please keep her in your prayers. We need a miracle. Or at least some comfort for her family. This isn't going to be easy...
"Excuse Me, but Can You Wash Your Hands?"
Disclaimer: I'm not normally snippish. However, add in rude customers and a pinch of PMS, and you've got a recipe for absolute disaster.
Case in point: What happened in café a few weeks ago (June 30).
First of all, this particular customer wasn't very nice to begin with. I'm going to call him Baldy (because he was bald.)
Baldy walks up to the register, which Cullen is manning, and orders a pepperoni pizza, sixteen-inch.
I overhear this, wash my hands, put on my gloves, and start making the pizza right away. (All of our food is cooked-to-order. The cashiers even say, "We'll bring your food right out when it comes up. It'll be about (estimated amount of time here." The estimated time for this particular pizza is around ten to fifteen minutes.) Cullen then comes over and puts the receipt on my board.
Three minutes later, I've sauced the pizza, put on the cheese and pepperoni, and I bend over to place it in the over, when I hear someone behind me.
"Excuse me!"
I turn around, sweating from the 500º temperature. "Yes, Sir?"
Baldy narrows his eyes at me. "Are you just now putting my pizza in the oven?"
I calm down before I snap at him, smile, and say, "Yes, Sir. I apologize, but all of our food is cooked-to-order. It takes a few minutes to make the pizza, but not very long to cook it in the bottom oven. It'll be out in about ten minutes."
He sniffs, and goes to sit down with his wife and kid. I brush it off and go stand next to the register, where Cullen needs me to fill drink orders while he takes orders.
There's a line of about three people in front of Cullen (they're only ordering drinks, thank goodness!), when Baldy gets up, walks over to the ice cream cooler, pulls out an ice cream sandwich, and proceeds to open it up, split it in half, and walk back to his table, where he then hands half to his son and swallows the other half.
Cullen and I look at each other in absolute shock.
"He didn't pay for that?" I ask tentatively as I hand three small Dr. Peppers and a bottle of water to the last customer.
"No..."
By this time, the line's gone. All of two minutes, IF THAT, have elapsed. Cullen's a bit goofy-looking, but he can be imposing if he wants.
"Sir?!" He waves at Baldy. "Sir, you have to pay for that."
Baldy sniffs again, walks up and hands us $2.00. "Sorry," he growls. "Didn't want to wait in the line."
Cullen and I exchange looks after he leaves, so that he doesn't catch us. Then we both go and watch the pizza cooking in the oven.
Almost absent-mindedly, I touch my nose with the back of my RIGHT wrist, just past the bone. Not two seconds later, Baldy's back at the counter.
"Excuse me!"
I turn around. "Yes, Sir?" I'm really starting to not like this guy.
"Will you wash your hands before you touch my pizza? I don't want you getting your germs all over it! It's disgusting. You're in food service. You shouldn't be doing that!"
I put my left hand (THIS IS IMPORTANT) on the cash register monitor. "Yes...sir? I always wash my hands, sir, before I touch the food. It's company policy." (Plus, I wouldn't be the one touching his pizza. I don't take pizzas out, cut them up, or deliver them to tables. I'm mostly cashier and burgers/fries/hot dogs. I only made the pizza because Cullen had taken register because he was closer.)
"Well, now you've gone and touched the register, and you've been ringing people up and handing out drinks!"
I vaguely hear Cullen calling for a manger through the radio through the bursts of ARE YOU KIDDING ME ringing through my head. I apologize again, grab a sanitary wipe, wipe down the register, the counter, and anything I might've touched before going to the back before I absolutely lose my cool.
A few minutes later, Heather comes to the back (she's one of the managers) and asks for my side of the story. I tell her what happened, demonstrated what I did, and tell her what the guy's done to me already.
She says, "Just remember not to snap at the customers." She then told me that he said I'd been handing out drinks and touching the register and food with my bare, germy hands. Cullen stepped in then and backed me up, saying I'd been washing my hands raw all day (I had, because I'd been cleaning all day, plus I wash my hands every time I pass that little sink, which is about 10 times an hour!) and the guy was lying through his teeth. Then he also told the story of "Are you just now putting my pizza in?!" and "SIR! YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR THAT!"
Heather looks astonished, and Russia just goes, "Snap at him all you want, sister. He's an expletive and doesn't need to treat you like that. Don't worry about it. It's your first customer I've ever seen you get pissed at."
We all exit the back of the kitchen, pausing to wash our hands at the sink. For the rest of the time that Baldy's in café, everybody who witnessed the incident goes to the sink about every minute to wash their hands. If they touch something, they wash their hands. If something touches them, they wash their hands. If the buzzer dings, they wash their hands. I think Baldy may have complained to Heather again about us rubbing it in his face, but Heather just smiled and said, "Sir, we're simply adhering to our hand-washing policies. Now, there are other people waiting on that table. If you would be so kind..."
There wasn't another soul in the restaurant.
It just irks me, though. The guy was behaving as if I'd sneezed all over myself and then rubbed it EVERYWHERE. That didn't happen.
May all your customers be sane (and not germaphobic).
Pro-Tip: Wash your hands whenever possible. You never want to be on the receiving end of a stuck-up, whiny, germaphobic customer. It's not pretty. (And okay, yes. So I might've snapped a little. I just couldn't believe what he was saying. I hadn't touched anything.)
Case in point: What happened in café a few weeks ago (June 30).
First of all, this particular customer wasn't very nice to begin with. I'm going to call him Baldy (because he was bald.)
Baldy walks up to the register, which Cullen is manning, and orders a pepperoni pizza, sixteen-inch.
I overhear this, wash my hands, put on my gloves, and start making the pizza right away. (All of our food is cooked-to-order. The cashiers even say, "We'll bring your food right out when it comes up. It'll be about (estimated amount of time here." The estimated time for this particular pizza is around ten to fifteen minutes.) Cullen then comes over and puts the receipt on my board.
Three minutes later, I've sauced the pizza, put on the cheese and pepperoni, and I bend over to place it in the over, when I hear someone behind me.
"Excuse me!"
I turn around, sweating from the 500º temperature. "Yes, Sir?"
Baldy narrows his eyes at me. "Are you just now putting my pizza in the oven?"
I calm down before I snap at him, smile, and say, "Yes, Sir. I apologize, but all of our food is cooked-to-order. It takes a few minutes to make the pizza, but not very long to cook it in the bottom oven. It'll be out in about ten minutes."
He sniffs, and goes to sit down with his wife and kid. I brush it off and go stand next to the register, where Cullen needs me to fill drink orders while he takes orders.
There's a line of about three people in front of Cullen (they're only ordering drinks, thank goodness!), when Baldy gets up, walks over to the ice cream cooler, pulls out an ice cream sandwich, and proceeds to open it up, split it in half, and walk back to his table, where he then hands half to his son and swallows the other half.
Cullen and I look at each other in absolute shock.
"He didn't pay for that?" I ask tentatively as I hand three small Dr. Peppers and a bottle of water to the last customer.
"No..."
By this time, the line's gone. All of two minutes, IF THAT, have elapsed. Cullen's a bit goofy-looking, but he can be imposing if he wants.
"Sir?!" He waves at Baldy. "Sir, you have to pay for that."
Baldy sniffs again, walks up and hands us $2.00. "Sorry," he growls. "Didn't want to wait in the line."
Cullen and I exchange looks after he leaves, so that he doesn't catch us. Then we both go and watch the pizza cooking in the oven.
Almost absent-mindedly, I touch my nose with the back of my RIGHT wrist, just past the bone. Not two seconds later, Baldy's back at the counter.
"Excuse me!"
I turn around. "Yes, Sir?" I'm really starting to not like this guy.
"Will you wash your hands before you touch my pizza? I don't want you getting your germs all over it! It's disgusting. You're in food service. You shouldn't be doing that!"
I put my left hand (THIS IS IMPORTANT) on the cash register monitor. "Yes...sir? I always wash my hands, sir, before I touch the food. It's company policy." (Plus, I wouldn't be the one touching his pizza. I don't take pizzas out, cut them up, or deliver them to tables. I'm mostly cashier and burgers/fries/hot dogs. I only made the pizza because Cullen had taken register because he was closer.)
"Well, now you've gone and touched the register, and you've been ringing people up and handing out drinks!"
I vaguely hear Cullen calling for a manger through the radio through the bursts of ARE YOU KIDDING ME ringing through my head. I apologize again, grab a sanitary wipe, wipe down the register, the counter, and anything I might've touched before going to the back before I absolutely lose my cool.
A few minutes later, Heather comes to the back (she's one of the managers) and asks for my side of the story. I tell her what happened, demonstrated what I did, and tell her what the guy's done to me already.
She says, "Just remember not to snap at the customers." She then told me that he said I'd been handing out drinks and touching the register and food with my bare, germy hands. Cullen stepped in then and backed me up, saying I'd been washing my hands raw all day (I had, because I'd been cleaning all day, plus I wash my hands every time I pass that little sink, which is about 10 times an hour!) and the guy was lying through his teeth. Then he also told the story of "Are you just now putting my pizza in?!" and "SIR! YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR THAT!"
Heather looks astonished, and Russia just goes, "Snap at him all you want, sister. He's an expletive and doesn't need to treat you like that. Don't worry about it. It's your first customer I've ever seen you get pissed at."
We all exit the back of the kitchen, pausing to wash our hands at the sink. For the rest of the time that Baldy's in café, everybody who witnessed the incident goes to the sink about every minute to wash their hands. If they touch something, they wash their hands. If something touches them, they wash their hands. If the buzzer dings, they wash their hands. I think Baldy may have complained to Heather again about us rubbing it in his face, but Heather just smiled and said, "Sir, we're simply adhering to our hand-washing policies. Now, there are other people waiting on that table. If you would be so kind..."
There wasn't another soul in the restaurant.
It just irks me, though. The guy was behaving as if I'd sneezed all over myself and then rubbed it EVERYWHERE. That didn't happen.
May all your customers be sane (and not germaphobic).
Pro-Tip: Wash your hands whenever possible. You never want to be on the receiving end of a stuck-up, whiny, germaphobic customer. It's not pretty. (And okay, yes. So I might've snapped a little. I just couldn't believe what he was saying. I hadn't touched anything.)
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Mid-July Resolution Checkup
Let's see how we're getting along with the resolutions, shall we?
Put $300 into Savings
July 2: Earned: $138.58. Saved: $75.00.
July 9: Earned: $163.38. Saved: $75.00.
It's a lot easier to save $75 than I thought it was. This is going to be a very easy resolution to keep. Maybe I can continue doing $300 a month instead of $200. (At least during the summer, May, June, July, and part of August. Maybe December. It all depends on my work schedule, after all.)
July 9: Earned: $163.38. Saved: $75.00.
It's a lot easier to save $75 than I thought it was. This is going to be a very easy resolution to keep. Maybe I can continue doing $300 a month instead of $200. (At least during the summer, May, June, July, and part of August. Maybe December. It all depends on my work schedule, after all.)
Keep My Room Clean
Um....My floor is clean, but not my closet. And now my chair is full of stuff, too. Ugh.
Read Four Books
I'm working my way through the books! So far, I've completed:
The Alchemyst, by Michael Scott
The Magician, by Michael Scott
And I'm working on reading:
The Sorceress, by Michael Scott
The Complete Sherlock Holmes, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Gone With the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell
The Alchemyst, by Michael Scott
The Magician, by Michael Scott
And I'm working on reading:
The Sorceress, by Michael Scott
The Complete Sherlock Holmes, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Gone With the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell
WALK
The only walking I've been doing is pacing and work and walking the mall with my sister. I've really got to pick up on this.
Write!
I haven't been able to work on this much.
Graphics...?
I've been working on reopening my review site on Neopets. Of course, before I do that, I have to have a nice layout. Tina's doing the layout, but hopefully I'll be able to make a decent button! Who knows?
Sunday, July 14, 2013
The Zimmerman Trial & Its Consequences
I realize that I'm a day late in weighing in on this debate, and I probably have no qualifications whatsoever to be doing so, but I'm doing it anyways.
For those of you who have been living under a rock recently, look up the story online. There's so much out there, and I don't want to color your perspective of it by giving you mine.
But now this case has affected me directly, and I need to speak out about it.
Yesterday, George Zimmerman was found "not guilty" in the murder of Trayvon Martin. (This doesn't mean he's innocent; he's just not guilty of murder. He did kill the man, but the court ruled that it was in self-defense.)
Last night, somebody in my friend's neighborhood went on a crime spree. (They live in Birmingham.)
My friend Andy's car was trashed. All four tires were slashed, there was ketchup and eggs all over it, and the letters "TM" were written in ketchup on top of the car. This car was parked in front of their house.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that those letters stand for "Trayvon Martin."
My friends are white. So are at least five other people on the street, because those six people had their cars treated the exact same way.
It's absolutely terrifying, y'all. And completely unnecessary.
Zimmerman's now getting death threats by the hundreds on twitter (the hashtag #killzimmerman, for instance), he's contemplating buying bulletproof vests for him and his wife, and he's going to be looking over his shoulder constantly. I doubt he'll last a year, unless he has some sort of court protection and relocation, like Casey Anthony did.
It's just so ridiculous. Martin's lawyer stood up after the verdict and told the public that they should act like Dr. King (meaning Dr. Martin Luther King) did, and not resort to violence. Unfortunately, so many people have. I know Oregon had some riots, and I think Chicago did, too. I know of at least one person in Birmingham who did as well (Andy's car is proof of that).
It's horrifying that people will turn to violence and hate because of what one man did. And we don't even have the whole story. We have things pieced together, yes, but what if that's what actually happened? What if Trayvon was a thug? (The picture they kept showing on the news was several years old; the newest pictures from his Facebook show him dressed as a thug, flipping off the camera, with his pants slung low and his underwear showing.) What if this was self-defense?
Think before you act, guys, because things might have far-reaching consequences.
I'm not saying that you should watch who you murder (although you certainly should); I'm saying that you need to be careful what you do in the name of "Justice."
Leave Justice to the lawyers and the judges. Even though our Supreme Court has let us down in the past few months (what with DOMA being repealed and the Don't Ask, Don't Tell being swept under the carpet as well), they are still one of the highest laws in the land.
Don't go around slashing up white peoples' cars just because someone killed a guy. (Also, Zimmerman? He's not white. He's hispanic.) They have nothing to do with the case.
Plus, Andy's dad? He's got mesothelioma. (It might be in remission, though.) Andy can't get to work without a car, his mother's car's in the shop, and his sister doesn't have a car. (His dad can't drive.) His other brother recently got married and is still on his honeymoon. By taking out that one car, the little thug has prevented at least three people from going to their jobs. (Andy would take his mother, then drop his sister off on his way to work. His mother's a nurse.)
Think before you act, guys.
It may be worse than you think.
For those of you who have been living under a rock recently, look up the story online. There's so much out there, and I don't want to color your perspective of it by giving you mine.
But now this case has affected me directly, and I need to speak out about it.
Yesterday, George Zimmerman was found "not guilty" in the murder of Trayvon Martin. (This doesn't mean he's innocent; he's just not guilty of murder. He did kill the man, but the court ruled that it was in self-defense.)
Last night, somebody in my friend's neighborhood went on a crime spree. (They live in Birmingham.)
My friend Andy's car was trashed. All four tires were slashed, there was ketchup and eggs all over it, and the letters "TM" were written in ketchup on top of the car. This car was parked in front of their house.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that those letters stand for "Trayvon Martin."
My friends are white. So are at least five other people on the street, because those six people had their cars treated the exact same way.
It's absolutely terrifying, y'all. And completely unnecessary.
Zimmerman's now getting death threats by the hundreds on twitter (the hashtag #killzimmerman, for instance), he's contemplating buying bulletproof vests for him and his wife, and he's going to be looking over his shoulder constantly. I doubt he'll last a year, unless he has some sort of court protection and relocation, like Casey Anthony did.
It's just so ridiculous. Martin's lawyer stood up after the verdict and told the public that they should act like Dr. King (meaning Dr. Martin Luther King) did, and not resort to violence. Unfortunately, so many people have. I know Oregon had some riots, and I think Chicago did, too. I know of at least one person in Birmingham who did as well (Andy's car is proof of that).
It's horrifying that people will turn to violence and hate because of what one man did. And we don't even have the whole story. We have things pieced together, yes, but what if that's what actually happened? What if Trayvon was a thug? (The picture they kept showing on the news was several years old; the newest pictures from his Facebook show him dressed as a thug, flipping off the camera, with his pants slung low and his underwear showing.) What if this was self-defense?
Think before you act, guys, because things might have far-reaching consequences.
I'm not saying that you should watch who you murder (although you certainly should); I'm saying that you need to be careful what you do in the name of "Justice."
Leave Justice to the lawyers and the judges. Even though our Supreme Court has let us down in the past few months (what with DOMA being repealed and the Don't Ask, Don't Tell being swept under the carpet as well), they are still one of the highest laws in the land.
Don't go around slashing up white peoples' cars just because someone killed a guy. (Also, Zimmerman? He's not white. He's hispanic.) They have nothing to do with the case.
Plus, Andy's dad? He's got mesothelioma. (It might be in remission, though.) Andy can't get to work without a car, his mother's car's in the shop, and his sister doesn't have a car. (His dad can't drive.) His other brother recently got married and is still on his honeymoon. By taking out that one car, the little thug has prevented at least three people from going to their jobs. (Andy would take his mother, then drop his sister off on his way to work. His mother's a nurse.)
Think before you act, guys.
It may be worse than you think.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Donuts, Y'all!
Doughnuts. Donuts. However you spell it, the word means the same thing: DEEP-FRIED DELICIOUSNESS. (I mean, you can bake them if you want, but the only way to make these things as delicious as possible is to dump them in a pot of boiling oil.)
Now, I'm going to share my fool-proof donut-making recipe. We figured it out by trial and error, but I'm sure it's already on the internet somewhere.
Ready?
Here...we...go!
What you'll need:
All right. You got your biscuits. They're cold and refrigerated. So, we open up the can. (The kind I get has ten biscuits in a tin.)
Get out your apple corer. This is mine.
Flatten your biscuits out a slight bit, then punch the centers out of them. Carefully pop the centers out.
Wait for your oil to warm up, then pop the donut holes in them. (That's the centers of the biscuits you punched out, all right?) They'll float to the top when the oil's nice and hot, and then you'll watch them. When they're all brown, all over (keep turning them with your slotted spoon), take them out.
I've put my donut holes on the slotted spoon in the draining-plate so they'll drain. (I'm not going to use the spoon again.) I wait a few minutes, and then...
I dump the donut holes in sugar. And I roll them around until they're evenly coated. (Go ahead, have one. They're amazing.)
ALL RIGHT. Time for the donuts! Drop them into the oil (you can use the BBQ fork if you're leery) and wait for them to rise and brown, just like the donut holes. The first few donuts should take a little longer than the last few. Just be sure not to burn them!
Take your donuts out and put them on your draining plate again. Make sure all that oil drips off of them before you shove them in the sugar!
Now, I'm going to share my fool-proof donut-making recipe. We figured it out by trial and error, but I'm sure it's already on the internet somewhere.
Ready?
Here...we...go!
What you'll need:
- Pot of oil (vegetable or canola)
- Bowl of sugar
- Plate & paper towels (for draining the donuts)
- Slotted spoon
- Barbecue fork (two tines)
- Normal fork (for dipping the donuts in sugar)
- Pillsbury Country-Style Biscuits (they come in a can)
- Apple Corer
Got your stuff? Let's begin.
NOM NOM NOM! It's delicious donut time!
***
So, how'd your donuts come out? Were the fantastic? Did your family try them? (My family fights over the donut holes.)
I sincerely hope you enjoyed this, and that this was easy to follow! Please tell me what you thought of this!
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Prayers, Please!!
Y'all, I need some serious prayers.
And they're not for me.
My family is friends with this family named the Hammonds. My father rides motorcycles with both of them. (He's a part of the Soldiers of the Cross Motorcycle Ministry.)
The husband's name is Randy, and the wife is Carolyn.
Today, Mrs. Carolyn had some kind of precautionary surgery. She's had cancer, and this was supposed to help with the after-effects or something like that. I'm still not sure what the surgery was for.
Anyways, she had her surgery, and was in recovery. She asked for her medication, took it, and felt well afterwards.
Then her husband looked up not three minutes later, and her lips were blue. She flatlined then and there.
She was gone for five minutes before the doctors managed to bring her back.
She's now in the Critical Care Unit (CCU) at the hospital.
Since my dad is not only one of their good friends but also Mr. Randy's deacon, he jumped in his car and rushed to the hospital. He's still not back yet.
The hospital people don't know if she'll make it.
My mom's convinced that she will.
So, please pray for her. I know none of y'all know her, but she's an amazing woman. Just last week, I was at her Fourth of July party. She was laughing and carrying on and entertaining people. (You couldn't even tell she was wearing a wig.)
She's an amazing woman. Absolutely incredible. Her daughter just got married. She needs to live to see her grandchildren.
So pray. You don't know these people, but they'll appreciate it.
Thank you so much.
And they're not for me.
My family is friends with this family named the Hammonds. My father rides motorcycles with both of them. (He's a part of the Soldiers of the Cross Motorcycle Ministry.)
The husband's name is Randy, and the wife is Carolyn.
Today, Mrs. Carolyn had some kind of precautionary surgery. She's had cancer, and this was supposed to help with the after-effects or something like that. I'm still not sure what the surgery was for.
Anyways, she had her surgery, and was in recovery. She asked for her medication, took it, and felt well afterwards.
Then her husband looked up not three minutes later, and her lips were blue. She flatlined then and there.
She was gone for five minutes before the doctors managed to bring her back.
She's now in the Critical Care Unit (CCU) at the hospital.
Since my dad is not only one of their good friends but also Mr. Randy's deacon, he jumped in his car and rushed to the hospital. He's still not back yet.
The hospital people don't know if she'll make it.
My mom's convinced that she will.
So, please pray for her. I know none of y'all know her, but she's an amazing woman. Just last week, I was at her Fourth of July party. She was laughing and carrying on and entertaining people. (You couldn't even tell she was wearing a wig.)
She's an amazing woman. Absolutely incredible. Her daughter just got married. She needs to live to see her grandchildren.
So pray. You don't know these people, but they'll appreciate it.
Thank you so much.
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