Susan Spess Shay

Still playing make believe.


Shopping Fleas

Running late this morning, but I have a great excuse. I was out with the dry cattle last night. (Grandmother’s saying. It means I was out late.)

I was busy taking beautiful pictures for you. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)

Sister Debbie, my shopping guru, her beautiful daughter, Mel, and her sweet baby girl.

 This is a baby that you’d dance for, just to see her smile.

 After work yesterday, the four of us drove to a town that’s not too far away to a flea market sale. I’ll give you a hint about where it is. It’s the home of Oklahoma Spess University.

We walked in the gate and here’s the first thing I saw.

Just like the windows in an adorable potting shed I coveted recently.

I thought, “I want those! I could build that potting shed in my yard.” Okay, I couldn’t really build a potting shed, but I’d have them for someone else to use. 🙂

Deb came up behind me. “I’ve always wanted a pair of those to go beside my patio door.”

But we’d just walked in the gate, so we moved on.

 So many cute ideas.

So many “I wants!”

I even wanted something for my friend. Wish I’d bought it. 😦

And this!

 Just like one Sister Debbie and I had when we were small.

The hardest part was checking out with our fantastic buys.

Isn’t this an adorable jacket?

 “Giddy Up or Go Home”.

Loved this jacket. But I complimented the woman (a bunch) and she didn’t offer to sell it, which I would have if I’d had them for sale.

So I decided to wrestle her for it. Warning: Never try to wrestle a woman for an adorable jacket. They’ll kick your hiney.

Surveying all the fun.

And so, as the sun set in the west, we loaded up and headed for home.

Actually, the loading up is the funny part. I’ll fill you in on that tomorrow.

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When I have to fill out paperwork and I have to put down my title at work, I write LMOTP. If someone calls and asks for my job title, I tell them the same thing.

And the thing is, there’s hardly been anyone who asked what that stands for. If I have to tell someone face to face, I answer and watch very closely. They never so much as blink.

Maybe it’s because they have to talk to people all the time and get really tired of us. Maybe they stop listening and just write. Maybe they’re so professional, they already know what it stands for. *snort*

Maybe they just don’t care.

Rarely has anyone asked me what it stands for except my coworkers. My kids. My dad (and boss.)


I’ve had coworkers argue with me, tell me they deserve the title now that they’re in residence. But I grit my teeth and hang on to it just as tight as I can, because it’s mine. I made it up and I deserve it. No one can take it from me. Ever.

So what is my title? Low Man On the Totum Pole. 🙂

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Sunday Morning

1967 Elcona Mobile Home

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Hey guys!

It’s Sunday morning. I have exciting news–for the Shay clan, anyway. We sold the mobile home our boys lived in while going to OK State. Finally!

After the last son moved out, we were doing a few touch ups when a group of kids from our mobile home park decided to trash the place. After that it took some time to get it back in good enough shape to think about selling.

Finally I put a “For Sale” sign in the window and a notice on Craig’s List. (Now I have to remember to take it off CL. LOL)

We got a call on Thursday, met the buyer, he made an offer, then another one and we shouted, “Sold!” I met him the next day to do the title transfer and get the check. 🙂

The new owner wants to move it on October 5 or 6, so we had to get everything–all tools, residual furniture and junk–out this weekend. With the help of the two youngest kiddos, we got it all out in one day.

I’m exhausted but happy!

I’ll try to tell you more about and maybe even post a few pics later today. Right now, I’m late for church!



"Modhesh", Arabic for amazing, is th...

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I used to think I loved surprises. It was so much fun to get something I totally didn’t expect–a gift. A new friend. Surprise weather. Anything that I wasn’t waiting for made me grin.

Then I realized . . . there are some surprises I really don’t like. LOL. Like the gilflirted finger I got from feeding the hummers. And the air conditioner that died THE DAY we finally rented out our other house. And my laptop that suddenly gave up the ghost. (Fingers crossed it’ll also give up my stuff when I get a new one.) Or the water AND electric bills this summer. Oy!

But there are still happy surprises. For instance, I was going through files the other day, searching for something I didn’t find 😦 and ran onto some stuff I downloaded from the internet and “put away”. I found some great pictures I forgot I’d borrowed, too.

Maybe I should have named this blog, “Disorganized”, because some of my best surprises come from being disorganized.

I know people (G-Man could have been one if he’d married another kind of woman) who are extremely organized. So painfully organized, they know if someone has been at their desk and used a pen. Or moved a paper clip.

Everything is where it should be, and they can put their hand on it the first time they open a drawer.  Where’s the fun in that? (And what do they do with all their extra time they don’t spend hunting for stuff?)

Just think of everything they miss in life.

The thrill of the hunt. (Where are those legal papers? I just had them last week, and I know I left them on the kitchen counter. Have you seen them?)

The count down of the clock. (We’ve got to find those papers. Remember, there’s a big fine if we don’t get them in on time. They’ve got to be in the mail by midnight!)

And the thrilling drive to the post office/UPS store. (We only have an hour to get there. There’s not time to get pulled over, so don’t speed. Oh! We need gas. Well, we might have to speed just a little.)

That’s a fabrication, but not an exaggeration. While I’ve never made that midnight drive, my dad used to race into Tulsa every April 15th, then get in the long car line to get the company’s taxes in the mail on time.

So much excitement. So many surprises! (Made it! Yay!!!)

I honestly wish I were organized. I’m sure I’ve made more than one person around me nuts over the years with my disorganization. I blame it on my genes.

My mom was a great housekeeper, but when she was in a hurry (which was a lot of the time. She had six kids!) she put anything out of place in a drawer. (Or pocket.)

I have three sons, and one out of the three is very organized. The other two, not so much growing up. They might be better now. And I think their spouses are helping.

Maybe they can learn to be organized, if that’s possible. I’m not sure if being organized can be a learned behavior or not.

What do you think?

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♫♪ There’s a Hole in the Middle ♫♪

Watermelon with yellow flesh

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When I was a little girl just so high
Mama took a stick and made me cry
Now I’m a big girl and Mama can’t do it
But Daddy takes a stick and hops right to it.

Okay, I got that out of my system. (Mama used to say that little poem. I don’t remember why she said it or where it came from, but it always made me laugh.)

Grandad Ray was a fantastic gardener. He always had big gardens. (Yes, gardenS. He wasn’t one to put all his eggs in one basket–or tomatoes, as the case might be.)

One year when I was in grade school, Grandad Ray grew a bunch of watermelons–both red and yellow meated melons. One day he told Sister Debbie and me that we could sell them if we wanted to, and keep the money.

Naturally, we took him up on it!

Grandad and Grandmother lived right next door to us, and he stored his melons in the garage where it was a little cool. (They would have baked like potatoes if the weather had been as hot as it is now. Whew!)

Anyway, every morning Sister D and I would roll several watermelons up to our front yard, out next to the street and sit behind them. We charged twenty-five cents for red meated and thirty-five cents for yellow.

One day a young man pulled to a stop, rolled down his window and hollered, “How much for a yella watermelon?”

“Thirty-five cents!” I yelled back.

The price was right, so he climbed out of his car and picked one out. Before he left, he dropped a quarter and a dime into my palm, then he jumped into his car and screeched away.

When we looked at our money, Deb and I noticed the quarter had a hole in the middle. When Daddy got home that evening, we showed it to him. “Is a quarter with a hole in it still good?”

“Nope. You might spend it in a vending machine, though.”

I think we went out of the melon business after that. Even though we made 100% profit, getting money we couldn’t spend for sitting out in the sun wasn’t much fun. We decided we liked playing with friends much more than have a watermelon stand.

Today whenever someone mentions The Watermelon Stand, my dad sings,

♪♫ “Well, I walked around the corner and I walked around the block. I walked right in to a bakery shop. I picked up a donut right out of the grease and handed the lady a five cent piece.

“She looked at the nickel and she looked at me. She said this nickel ain’t no good to me. There’s a hole in the middle and it’s all the way through.”

“Says I, ‘There’s a hole in the middle of the donut, too.’ Shave and a hair cut, six bits.” ♫♪

I know my posts are kind of sporadic lately, and I’m sorry about that. Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you what’s going on. Ü Or  maybe you can guess.