The Wedding That Didn't Happen

Gary rockin' in his room, trying to look tough.

I am going to delve into my past and tell you a very well-kept secret. I don’t know that I have ever shared this story with anyone. A few of my high school friends and family may know about it but it hasn't been spoken of since 1983.

I have been married more than once, and the first time I was very young, seventeen to be exact. Many say that is too young. In most cases, they would be right. But not this time, even knowing what I know now, I wouldn't have traded that experience for all the riches of the world.

In 1982, dressed in flash dance fashion, I met a guy. I'd seen him around, he was friends with a friend of mine. I'd had a crush on him since I was a freshman. He didn't know I was alive, or so I thought, until one night outside of a convenience store, three years later. I was acting out and being stupid, I was finally a senior and had no idea what the future held for me.

Blond and bouncy, he was full of life and energy; he wanted to be a rock star and played a sweet vintage Gibson Les Paul guitar. He was unlike anyone I had dated. He wanted to be wild, but he was too good for the wild life. It was love at first sight and he changed my life forever.

As with most teenage love stories, we were instantly inseparable. He was like oxygen and if he wasn't near I couldn't breathe.

Being your typical teenager, I had to push the limits, one night in March, I broke my 10:30 p.m. curfew. Yes, that’s right, 10:30 p.m., not 11, not midnight, 10:30 (and kids now think they have it rough). My mom, in true parental fashion, deemed my punishment was no phone, no outside contact. I was only allowed to go to church and school (which was right across the street from my house and the family business), for 6 months!

I thought my world had ended. As any warden would do, my mom allowed me one last phone call. In that phone call, two young lovebirds began to hatch a plan. Gary and I would see each other at church, but since he had been a senior when I was a freshman, that would be our only contact. I couldn't wait to go to church on Wednesday and Sunday.

During Bible class and service Gary and I sat together and whispered or passed notes. In a Bible study on a note passed between us, he asked me to marry him. I couldn't react; I could only nod my head and sniffle to keep from crying. I was thrilled, and that made the punishment seem all the more unbearable.

I knew my mom would never let me get married, I was seventeen. I had already been accepted at the Art Institute and we were planning a bright future. I didn't see why marriage had to put an end to that. I knew Gary was meant to be in my life. There seemed to be such a feeling of urgency about it and I knew that if I went away to college alone, Gary and I would never be together. To the very core of my being I knew I had to do this. Now I know it was God winking at me, but then, I prayed and I cried and Gary and I covertly began planning an elopement.

Gary told his sister Tracy of our plight and this is where the story gets interesting…

From the moment I met Tracy I felt at ease with her, I could tell her anything and she would understand. I think Gary and I spent more time at her house than we did anywhere else. Tracy married her high school sweetheart Tim at around the same age. She understood the sway of young love and believed in its power. To this day, I believe she felt the same sense of urgency I did. She was always in Gary's corner, and would do anything for him.

After Gary’s proposal, we began to skip church services and go to Tracy’s to plan our elopement. I know, it sounds so bad to say it, but it was a little easier than trying to skip school. At the time my mom didn't go to church with me. (I’m not advocating skipping school or church at all, I’m just saying, I’m not perfect.)

Tracy was instrumental in helping us concoct a plan to run away together. She was a great planner, too. She told us how we could go across the border to Jellico, Tennessee and get married; we just needed copies of our birth certificates and to get a blood test.

We put the plan in motion. She and Gary took the day off from work and I skipped school. Let me tell you, skipping school when you live right across the street is no small feat!

Tracy helping me with my garter.
Little did they know this was the
2nd wedding we had planned.

Tracy drove because we were so nervous. We got our blood test, (back then you had to do that) and we headed to the courthouse. Well because I was underage, and Tracy couldn't pass as my guardian, the covert operation failed.

We were all devastated. I had to go home as if I had come from school and act as if nothing had happened, but I couldn't stop crying.

As soon as I got home I went to my room and closed my door. My mom came to see what was the matter and when I couldn't quit crying I had to tell her what had happened. I was scared to death, but I figured the punishment couldn't have been much worse than what I was feeling already.

I told her how I felt and the way I felt without him. We talked for a long time. I told her about the proposal the sense of need I felt. There were lots of questions. With every answer, she could see my resolve. I assured her that I would still attend art school and that I was certain of my feelings. Then, I took a deep breath and then I told her what we had tried to do that day.

She was shocked speechless for a few minutes. As I sat there in the silence, I prayed she wouldn't kill me. Amazingly, she was much more understanding than I would have ever imagined. She told me if I finished high school and stayed on task for art school that she would give me her blessing and we could start planning a wedding in July.

I was so thankful that God had made a way where I saw no way and had given me this opportunity. My first call was to Gary, but my next call was to Tracy to ask her to be my Matron of Honor.

Through it all, Tracy gave me the courage to stand up and fight for what I believed in, to step out on faith and I will be forever thankful. Gary and I were married on July 16th, 1983. We were only married for two years and eleven days before God called him home. Our time here may have been short but it was priceless.

Gary and Tracy taught me to be strong, stronger than I ever realized I could be. Gary died 27 years ago. This year he and much of his family welcomed Tracy at the gates of heaven.

The Hatchet Lady

Picture of a hatchet: Microsoft Clipart

Running a business can be full of life lessons. Shortly after I became the managing editor of the Knoxville Focus Newspaper, I learned a very valuable lesson. A great team is worth more than gold, and that one bad apple, can spoil the whole basket.

It was a hard lesson to learn, but it has served me well over the years. I had been in management roles before, but I was never in control of who to hire and who to fire. This was my first foray into that aspect of Human Resources. I inherited a good team and everything went great for a while; but as we grew and things changed, people left for one reason or another and I found myself needing to replace team members.

After a long time employee left the front desk position, I had to begin the search for someone to fill that very important position. The person had to be good with people, able to multitask, take classified ads, invoice customers, do collections and work with route carriers, all with a pleasant attitude.

After going through countless resumes, I thought I had found the perfect candidate. On paper she had the skills, her background came back clean, she interviewed wonderfully. I thought I had found the missing piece of the puzzle.

Sometimes, what seems to be, and what actually are, can be very different things. After training was complete and a few months of settling into the position, she became comfortable, too comfortable. The nice portion of her facade began to crack away and something witchy, this way came.

At first I tried to be tactful and ask if there was a problem, then I tried to counsel, finally a write up. Other members of my team were complaining about invoices and tearsheets going to the wrong people, messages not getting to them and worse, leads not getting to them. The writing was on the wall, I was going to have to lower the ax.

It was just after Thanksgiving, and being the nice person I am, I felt that if I could just hold off until after the holidays it wouldn't be so hard on the lady. I mean who wants to get fired at Christmas?

It just wasn't meant to be. After walking in the office and hearing a very loud, rude conversation with a customer, I fired her on the spot and escorted her from the building. I felt horrible. I was Ebeneezer Scrooge!

Thankfully, the rest of my team breathed a collective sigh of relief and rallied around me. It was then, that I knew I had done the right thing for the business and the team.

It wasn't until Christmas week that I knew how deeply this bad apple had actually effected everyone else.I believe in open and honest communication, so I encouraged dialog. I needed to know where I had gone wrong. Things came to light that no one wanted to talk about before, I learned a few things. we cleared the air and started fresh.

Christmas eve, my sales manager walked into my office with a gift from her and her husband. She snickered as she handed me the box. She had an air of childish mischief about her and I knew it couldn't be good. Much to my surprise, I opened the box to find a gleaming hatchet with a huge red bow on it. Seems she had told her husband about it all and he figured that if I was going to have to give people the ax, I needed the proper equipment.

I laughed so hard I cried.

Then I hung it on the wall above my desk.

For my next 4 years at the paper, everyone I interviewed had sit across the desk from me and look at that hatchet adorned with a big red bow.

It was a constant reminder to me that sometimes you have to do the hard things, prune the deadwood from an organization, for the good of the whole vine, too keep things growing and going in the right direction.

When a prospective employee would eventually look up on the wall, I could literally see the question forming. "Why do you have a hatchet with a big red bow hanging on your wall?"

I would smile and say with a giggle, "I'm the hatchet lady." Then in the way of explanation I told them something along the lines of, "With business management comes responsibility, and if a person's actions harm the business the team is trying to grow, they have to be cut, regardless of the season."

They either got the symbolism in the conversation or they left thinking I was an ax murder. Since things went really smooth after that, I'd like to think they got the symbolism.

I'm way too nice to be an ax murder, I'm just the hatchet lady.


Sidebar: For those of you who don't know me. I'm harmless, really, with a nerdy sense of humor. Honest. :)

The Deviled Egg Debacle of 2011

By Charmin Foth

For those of you who know me, housewifery is not my strong suit.

Don't get me wrong, I can clean and do laundry with the best of them, but when it comes to all things kitchen, it's scary. I'm not saying I can't cook. I can, and generally the things I make are edible, even tasty. I would say I'm better at baking, but that's not entirely true either. And sharp objects, don't even get me started. They banned me from the kitchen of the church where I used to attend, because of a little accident cutting apples at a church sleepover. Let's just say, life with me is never boring.

The church where we attend was having a church picnic and someone suggested that I make deviled eggs. Since we have chickens and usually an abundance of eggs, I thought, "cool, I can do that, no problem." Ha, I should have known better.

My wonderful hubby, helped me out by boiling the eggs and putting them in the fridge for me. That way I could make the deviled eggs at my convenience after I got home from work. (I really think he is afraid for me to use the stove.)

Well, after a day of crazy work and errands, I open the door and see the pesky boiled eggs staring at me when I open the refrigerator door. So I sigh, and set myself about the task of making deviled eggs. I get all my ingredients out, a mixing bowl, a big wooden spoon and then I spy a long forgotten gadget hiding in the drawer with the mixer, my cookie gun. Yes, I said, cookie gun.

I thought, "Oh! That will make fancy work of these eggs, I'll be done in no time." Ha, again.

I prep the eggs, mix all the ingredients and I'm ready to fill the cookie gun with the yummy egg filling. There are several different options for how I want the mix to fill the eggs. there is an attachment for making Christmas tree cookies, stars and all sorts of cookie shapes and then there are attachments for cake decorating, like rose petals and ribbons and such. So I thought, "Hmmm, egg filling is kind of thick so lets go with the one that has a wide star shaped opening."

 Sounds easy enough, so I set it up, and load the egg filling into the gun. Here's where it gets interesting...
The first few eggs looked beautiful, and then nothing so I keep pressing the trigger on the gun. Rapid fire, is never a good idea.

Before I knew it, so much pressure had built up in the cookie gun, that it exploded deviled egg filling across the kitchen counter top and it ricocheted all over me. I was covered in deviled eggs. I looked like I had been spackling a very colored ugly room.

Not all of the egg concoction fit into the gun, I still had enough to fill the eggs I had, so I thought, "all is not lost, I can still make this work." So I wiped the egg off the counter and me. For some reason, I still thought the cookie gun was a good idea. All I can say, looking back, is duh. Anyway, I changed the decorating tip on the cookie gun to different tip, thinking the star pattern was the problem.

It wasn't. The problem is that pickle relish gets stuck in the little prongs of the decorating tips and causes a huge back up in the gun. And it has serious repercussions to the one wielding the weapon. I don't know if I will ever get all the egg out of my spiky hair. It is now brown, silver and yolk colored.

Ah, but alas, I am not one to give up. I must have a persistence gene that just won't allow me to give up on things. I think it has plagued me all of my life, now that I think about it. At any rate, I still had egg goo left and I was determined I was going to get the gun to work or die trying.

I did get the gun to work. I took the decorator tip off all together and it worked like a charm, and I had just enough egg filling left to fill all the eggs. However, there was a drawback to this methodology, without the pretty decorator edges, my eggs looked like little yellow piles of dog poop. Yumm! How appetizing is that?!

So I'm home all alone, looking at these eggs, and laughing my butt off. I have truly lost it. I can't serve dog poop eggs to the people at church, or can I? Hummmm. So I got a little spoon and smashed all the little piles down and swirled them around and covered them with paprika. Maybe, maybe not, I can't decide, take them don't take them? I'm the only one who knows they looked like dog poop for a short time in their lives. Andy may get to eat a lot of deviled eggs, and then he's going to have to sleep in the barn.

The moral of the story is, use a spoon, unless you are authorized to use the gun.


Thanks for reading.

This Roller Coaster Life...

Well, I must apologize for being slack in my blogging for the past few months. The only excuse I can give is life. It seems that lately I have had an over abundance of life coming at me from all directions. I know I am not the only person in the world that feels this way. But sometimes don't you just want to scream, "hey, slow this planet down, I want to get off now." As if life were a ride at an amusement park, and you had too much funnel cake for your own good.

This week life has been just like that. A roller coaster of ups and downs so severe they take your breath away and knock you back in your seat. My work life is always hectic, but when our office manager quit, work became more intense. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, I am a public relations and marketing manager for a manufacturer of specialized therapy equipment for people with mobility issues. It is an amazing piece of technology called the Quadriciser Motorized Therapy System. My job is multi-faceted, I get to travel and meet some truly amazing people in my work, I get the opportunity to be creative and steer our marketing into the 21st century, but when you work for a small company, you wear many hats and sometimes it can be overwhelming.

If work were the only part of my struggle, there would be some stress but I could deal with it. I was a military wife for years, and as long as no one is shooting at my husband, I've always felt I could roll with just about anything. So work stress would be the kiddie version of the roller coaster. It looks intimidating when you 5, not when your 8. Do you know what I mean?

But then, you add the stress of an aging mother, (who I love greatly, but is as stubborn as the day is long, and no matter how you explain it, she still won't take the medication she is suppose to, like it's prescribed), the stress of your own health scare and a need to get healthy before things get out of control, the stress of a leaky roof, (that will have to be completely replaced), a lawn mower that decided it wanted to be separated from its gas tank, so it just fell apart, (and we really need a tractor to cut the grass on a farm not a mower) and as of tonight, a refrigerator that just went kaput, all those things in very close proximity to each other, and none of the money to do anything about any of it...well that has put me on the Big Daddy of Roller Coasters this week. All those downs make me want to get off this ride and run screaming from the park. Not to mention, they are exhausting. I need a nap just writing about it.

However, without the downs of my roller coaster ride, I could never truly appreciate the ups of my roller coaster ride. The ups are like soaring on eagle's wings. Without the troubles, I would never appreciate the positive aspects of my life. I have a Father who loves me regardless of troubles and in spite of all I have done wrong in this world, I have a husband who is my best friend who cares what I think and appreciates me for who I am and loves me even when I am rotten, I have a mother who I get the privilege of embracing as she imparts her wisdom and love on me and I cherish these times because I know she won't be here forever, I have a church family and friends who will pray with me when I'm scared, confused and when I cry out to God for guidance or grace, I have a good job and boss who appreciates the work I do, I have a home with a warm bed and food to eat. Wow, not a bad life. How many people have less than that at this very moment?

Without the perspective the of the Ups, the Downs look devastating with no end in site. We can't always be on the Up, but we can know that when the Downs happen, an Up can't be far behind. I hope my trials and tribulations this week can encourage you to know you are not alone in your daily struggles. We all are on this ride together. Some days its the kiddie roller coaster and others its the Big Daddy roller coaster. Whichever it is, appreciate it, throw your hands up and laugh, this ride goes by to fast.

Thanks for reading. HUGS!

Celebrate when you can...

By Charmin Foth

With Valentine's Day almost upon us, I am reminded of my first Valentine's Day married to Andy.

When we met and for 8 years after Andy was a seargent in the U.S. Army. Being an Army wife wasn't always easy and sometimes it was downright hard. But the struggles we faced together made us stronger as individuals and as a couple.

Most couples find that the first year of marriage is always hard because you are getting used to one another's habits and traits. Sometimes finding common ground can seem almost impossible. That wasn't the case for us. We seemed to have that part down, we have always been able to finish each other's sentences, sometimes to the point that we read each other's thoughts and say what the other is thinking.

But, the first year Andy and I were married was still a difficult one. We were married the last day of May and in September he was sent to school for training and we were separated for a year almost to the day.

Our first Valentine's Day didn't happen on February 14th. On February 14th I was alone, working 14 hour days and I knew Andy wasn't going to get to come home during that time. We didn't have any money, so I couldn't afford to send him something expensive to let him know I was thinking of him. So, I did something a little unconventional and something I do well, I wrote him notes.

I took one of those little "while you were out" pink message pads that offices sometimes use, and for every day he was gone, I wrote a note. "While you were out... Today the dog got out and I had to chase him down the street, I wish you were here to see it." "While you were out... Today was Saturday and I had to watch cartoons without you." "While you were out... I missed you really bad today."

You get the picture. Every day I wrote one of these notes. Some days that was my only way of communicating with him and he didn't even know it. Somedays were funny, some days were mushy, some days were sad. It was just a little glimpse at how my life was going that day, set aside just for him. We had a set of French doors at the back of the house and each day taped one of those notes on the door unitl I had one big heart outlined on the door. But Andy still didn't get to come home, so I kept adding notes every day, with just little bits of how I felt while he was away. I filled in the heart with at least 100 notes.

When he finally did get to come home for a visit, he pulled into the drive and made his way in through the French doors, where all he could see from the light burning inside the house was a hundred little pink "while you were out" notes. It was one of the best Valentine's day we ever had, and it wasn't any where near Feburary 14th and it didn't cost us hundreds of dollars. I can still remember him pulling each note off the door, reading them, laughing and his eyes tearing up as he made his way through each note. He read them all and he knew I had thought of him, every single day, even when we couldn't talk. He knew he was loved and I loved him all the more for taking the time to appreciate the small stuff.

That year I learned the hard way that the Army way of life meant celebrating when you can, not by the date on the calendar. It taught me that sometimes you can be separated for what seems like an eternity, but that doesn't mean you love each other any less. And, that if you can survive the heartache of being alone, you can celebrate the joy of being together, and it makes the moments you have together that much more special. Sometimes you don't get to hear the words "I love you," when you would like, but you keep the faith that the love is still there. 

Learning these lessons made my life as an Army wife easier, they made my life better. They weren't easy lessons to learn but I thank God every day that I was able to take those lessons to heart.

So, remember to celebrate the moments of life together, when you can, not based on the calendar. It's not about the quantity of time you have together or about the quality of the gifts you receive,  it's about the quality of time you have together, the meaning of the gifts you give and the depth of the love you share.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Thanks for reading.

Green Teeth

By Charmin Foth

It is almost Valentine's and everyone's thoughts turn to love. I met Andy, my hubby, 17 years ago on December 9th. At the time I didn't want a relationship. I didn't want to date, I was pretty much over romance all together. I had been in an abusive marriage for seven years and couldn't believe the person I had become in that time. 

I had lost my self esteem and my sense of who I was or what I wanted out of life. I was burned out and struggling with my faith and feeling like a failure. Years of being treated badly had led me to believe I deserved such treatment. I was just beginning to figure myself out again, thanks to the help of some great girlfriends who dragged me out of the house and into the world again. They took me to line dancing classes at the local skating rink and concerts, keeping me from drowning in self pity.

On December 9th, my friend Beth, did exactly that, she drug me out of the house. Living in Nashville at the time, there was always an opportunity for musical entertainment. On that night David Lee Murphy was playing at the Wild Horse Saloon, one of Nashville's hot, touristy spots on 2nd Avenue, and Beth suggested we go and try out our new line dancing skills. So, rather than sitting at home on a Friday night eating fish sticks and tater tots, I agreed.

When we got there, we found a table and ordered diet Cokes. Not my usual fare, I'm more a Mountain Dew connoisseur, and I know you thought I was going to say something else, but I am truly a wild woman hanging out at a saloon drinking diet Coke. Beth and I had fun people watching and dancing. The wonderful thing about line dancing is it doesn't require you to have a date, and no one has to be in your personal space. Both of which appealed to me at the time. I had a strict rule, I never slow danced with anyone. That was way too close for me.

While Beth and I were there I had noticed a cowboy in a fringed jacket, Resistol cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes, jeans and boots leaning up against the wall. He was cute, in that lone wolf kind of way. The place was packed with people and we were lucky to have a table with a pretty good view of everything. They were having a beauty contest before the concert so the dances were spread out between the contest events. The place was crawling with very pretty girls and all types of guys, trying to get their attention.

When the guys couldn't get the time of day from the pretty girls, they would begin to look around and ask the rest of us to dance. I wasn't particularly looking for a dance partner, but this young man came up to me and asked me to dance. Since it was a "Boot Scoot Boogie" it wasn't as if I had to get too close to the guy, so I said, "yes." It wasn't until he got on the dance floor, and started smiling at me, that I realized he had horrible green teeth. When he got close enough to where I could actually hear what he was trying to say, I realized he had horrible green breath to go along with it. This is exactly the reason I was against dating. UGGH!

Beth and I laughed over the green teeth once I got back to the table, and I was still keeping an eye on the cowboy holding up the wall across the way. Beth and I may have made a few comments amongst ourselves about him too.

The beauty contest continued for a little while and then they played a slow love song.  Beth and I were talking and minding our own business, when I looked up and saw "green teeth" headed straight for our table. The cowboy holding up the wall must have seen the look of sheer terror come across my face, because just before "green teeth" stepped up to ask me to dance, the cowboy stepped in front of "green teeth" and asked me to dance. In that moment the cowboy rescued me from certain awkwardness, and left "green teeth" standing there looking dazed and confused.

Much to my surprise, I said yes to the cowboy. "Green teeth" did not look happy, but I was so relieved that the cowboy was taking me in the opposite direction, I didn't care. It wasn't until I was on the dance floor that I realized I had broken my own rule. Here I was dancing close to a tall cowboy with a buzz cut, ooohh, this could be trouble.

Not wanting to waste time I figured I'd find out exactly what was wrong with this guy and then get back to the table and enjoy the rest of my evening. We exchanged names, I told him I didn't usually slow dance and apologized if I stepped on his feet. He told me if a horse could step on his feet, then me stepping on his feet wasn't anything to worry about. I found out he was a soldier at Fort Campbell. I also found out he was recently out of a bad marriage too.

I asked him at least twenty questions during the dance. I was determined I was not going to repeat the bad relationships of my past. So I had this checklist in my head and on the first wrong answer, this guy was going to be history. The only problem was, he was getting all the answers right, and from the way he answered, he seemed to be pretty honest. That was different.

I asked him if he did drugs? No. Did he drink a lot? Mountain Dew (at the time that was all I drank). Those were the big deal breakers, because I had been around those guys, and wasn't going down that road again. I asked him if he knew how to read, what was the name of the last book he read. You name it, I was straightforward, to  the point and a little obnoxious. I was sure I had put this guy off.

When the song ended, he followed me back to my table. He made me laugh and spent the rest of the evening at the table with Beth and I. He ordered a coke (they didn't serve Mountain Dew) and we talked until they closed, and he still got all the answers right. I was amazed. As he walked me to my car, he asked me out for the next night. The rest is history.

I have been with that cowboy for 17 years and I love him more every passing year. Amazingly, I owe it all to a guy with green teeth.

Isn't it amazing how God works in ways we could never imagine.

Thanks for reading.

Are you a toon?

By Charmin Foth

I love cartoons and puppets. I always have. Maybe it comes from my love art, drawing and doodling or from growing up on Sesame Street, but cartoons and puppets have always been able make me smile. On a dreary day or when I'm in a bad mood nothing can lift my spirits and bring me out of the dark places like an episode of the Muppets, Pinky and the Brain, Animaniacs or just good ole' Looney Tunes!

I have always been a bit of a toon myself. Over the years many of my friends have said so. Andy, my hubby, agrees with the statement too, he even thinks I'm part Muppet. He says he can tell when I'm really mad, because I get "Muppet lips." Except for Janice on the Muppets, they don't have lips. So I guess that means my lips disappear. He knows I can't stay mad when he tells me I have "Muppet lips." I can't seem to keep myself from laughing when he says it.

I am blessed that I have a husband that loves cartoons as much as I do. There have been many times when Andy and I were the only adults in the theater without children with us. We even had one little boy, barely able to see over the seat, turn around and say, "Where are your kids? What are you doing here?" He just couldn't wrap his little mind around the fact that we were there to see the movie with just as much excitement as he had. When asked what the last movie we saw together was, we received a strange look when Andy and I both said in stereo, "Despicable Me."

It wasn't until we moved with the Army to Germany in the late 90s that I realized I wasn't the only toon in the family. Most people don't see it, but my husband is quite the toon himself. If you have never met my husband, here is the visual... Andy is 6 feet tall and weighs about a buck forty-five soaking wet. He is lean and mean and still wears the same clothes he had in high school. He still wears his hair Army short. He never wears anything but cowboy boots and jeans. His idea of dressing up is a big silver belt buckle and a western shirt to go along with the boots and jeans. He tops it all off with a straw cowboy hat. I fell in love with that cowboy.

Can you see where I'm going with this? One afternoon we made our way across post housing in Bad Kreuznach, Germany were we lived at the time, to barbecue with friends. As we walked closer to playground where the barbecue area was, our friends 4-year-old son yells across the play ground in a crystal clear voice, "Woody!" At that time "Toy Story" was the latest Disney movie and 4-year-old Shane, thought Andy was the cartoon character come to life. Well, from that moment on every kid in the neighborhood and most of the adults called him "Woody." Sometimes, I still do. I even have a little Woody figurine that sits on my computer desk at home to remind me of the toon that I love the most.

Shane is all grown now, and probably doesn't even remember "Woody" but we will never forget that adorable little 4-year-old and the cartoon legacy he left with Andy.

Are you a toon, maybe you just need to let your inner toon free. Trust me, it will make you smile, even if you don't want to.

:)

Thanks for reading.