This morning when I checked one of my favorite networking sites it was all about one person.

This individual had posted 13 lengthy updates leaving no space left to read what others had written.

So I did the only thing I know to do when someone takes over a site...I removed this person from my list and instantly posts from a large number of people were visible.

Unfortunately this lack of consideration has also been embraced by some businesses/media sites - in my opinion they would be wise to remember less can be more.

Everyone has their own agenda and that's great..some use it for work, some for personal connections and some like myself for both. But common sense is needed.

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I am posting Chapters one and two of a memoir I have written. If you would care to critique it, I want to know what you think. I'm wondering if you saw this book or ebook, would you want to read more after reading these two chapters? Thank you.

Growing Up Crazy - a memoir
by Mary Thurman Yuhas

Chapter One
It was not until I was four that not that my mother’s moods began to evolve from dark to nightmarish although I was too young to understand at the time. On this particular day Mom was cleaning the tarnish from the silverware. "Can I help? Can I? Can I?" I begged.
"Pull up a chair to the sink," she softly said smiling sweetly as she removed the hissing, black teapot from the stove, steam roaring from its spout warning of its boiling innards.
What happened next will always be a mystery to me. Maybe it did not occur to her that I might place my hands in the sink or perhaps she suffered from poor judgment. Whatever happened, my hands were suddenly covered with water that felt like it was on fire and thankfully, after that everything went black and the memory of that horrible day did not resurface until years later.

Chapter Two
Six years later - summer of 1954
As I peek through the living room window from behind the long, black draperies where I am hiding I spot Verbena Moore and her husband, Albert walking down the street towards our green, stucco house. Our heavy dark drapes are always a good refuge when I don’t want Mom to notice me. She is wandering around in the living room screaming and swearing at “the voices,” which she has been doing nonstop since before the sun came up today. When she is like this, my Dad and I say she is really having a bad day. But the truth is every day is a bad day and I don’t know why but some days it just drives me crazier than others.
Dad is out of town this week. He is gone a lot because he is a traveling salesman and travels all over Illinois selling boilers. When he is not home, I have to watch my little brother, Frog. and I am looking out the window to make sure he is okay.
Frog just turned four so he is not nearly old enough to take care of himself but I am ten, actually ten and one-half years old. It is my unspoken responsibility to make sure my little brother stays safe when Dad is not here. Frog’s real name is Stevie, but he likes Frogs so much that sometimes he even pretends to be one. One day to be more frog-like he colored his face and arms and legs as dark green he could with a green crayon. Mom didn’t notice but my dad blew up when he came home and saw him. Dad scrubbed and scrubbed him to remove the green color but none the less, Frog walked around with what seemed to be a green hue for the new few days. Since that time, we have called him Frog.
Frog is laying under a big Elm tree in our front yard playing with his favorite toy, a red fire truck he got for Christmas last year and Verbena and her husband are almost standing next to him now. I don’t like her because I know she makes fun of our family and I wonder if her husband is just like her.
“What the hell is that?" Albert asks his wife in a rusty, bellowing voice as he stares at our house.
Unlike her husband, Verbena hasn't looked over. Every day on her morning walk she passes by our house so she is accustomed to the constant, feverishly-pitched screaming and cursing that in the summer continually flows through our open windows...sometimes even when the windows are closed.
"It's that crazy Mrs. Thurman” she snorts shaking her head back and forth. “She's always on a rampage. It never ends."
Albert raises one of his bushy, gray eyebrows higher than the other. Perhaps if
he had he not noticed Frog making vroom. vroom noises in as deep a voice as a four-
year-old can, he would have responded to her tug on his arm and moved along.
"Oh my God. He lives here," Albert gasped, his face taking on a look of surprise and pain.
A big smile covers Frog’s little face when he finally notices the pair. "Hi. See
my big fire truck .”
"That sure is a nice truck little guy,” Albert softly says to my brother whose
skinny little body makes his blue eyes appear even larger.
"Just keep walking," Verbena half whispers and half hisses to Albert. To make sure he does
she grabs his hand but he drops her hand and instead turns around.
Peering at him from the front door with hollow, wild looking blue eyes is
Frog’s mother…and mine. Albert draws in a quick breath when he sees her.
Mom is in her early thirties and old photographs prove she was once a
beautiful, smiling, young woman. But that was then. Now her brown hair is so dirty
it is stiff and sticks up in clumps all over her head. Her pale skin is streaked with dirt
from going for who knows how long without bathing. And the white sleeveless
blouse and blue shorts she is wearing are limp with dirt and grime and cling to her like an
additional layer of skin. With the crazed look in her eyes and the filth that consumes her,
she looks part human, part wild animal..
When she realizes Albert is looking at her, she explodes with rage and races out
on to the front porch. Her eyes seem to pierce through Albert as she screams at him,
"White trash. White trash. You aren't as good, as," when inexplicably she turned in the
other direction and without missing a beat continues to vent her fury. This time with
someone she calls Harold. He is one of “the voices.”
"Yeow. Yeow. I told them you dumb bastard. Get the hell out of here," she
screams while flaying her arms in the air before letting out a maniacal laugh and spitting in
Harold’s direction.
"Bitch, I'm not going anywhere," she answers herself in a deep, menacing,
somewhat male sounding voice.
Looking shocked, Mom pulls back as if someone hit her. Speaking in a female
voice again she says, "Yeow. Yeow," followd by a pitiful wail and collapses to the
floor sobbing and kicking in Harold's direction while screaming, “Why? Why won’t you
leave me alone? Why?”
Albert's stands trance-like as he watches Mom fighting
as if her life depends on winning this battle although absolutely no one is any where around other than my brother and me and Verbena and him.
Verbena on the other hand appears to have had enough and through her pursed, thin lips snarls, "I told you," while all the time furiously pulling on his shoulder.
Again he ignores Verbena and this time pushes her arm away and walks over to Frog
He stares at my brother and I can see he s wiping something away from his face with his broad hands. Leaning down he speaks softly to Frog but loud enough for me to hear "I'm sorry little guy. I don't know what to do," he says before he leaves.
A disgusted Verbena has walked on and is already two houses ahead with no
signs of slowing down but before Albert picks up his pace to catch up with her he yells,
"Bye," to Frog who smiles and waves back.
Mom's crying ends as abruptly as it began and she is up and marching soldier fashion round and round the porch
laughing and screeching her version of, "Glory, Glory Hallelujah," at the top of her lungs.
When she finally comes back into the house, I am hugely relieved. I would much rather
have her screaming inside the house rather than outside where the entire neighborhood can see and hear
her. Every day I am embarrassed by her completely ridiculous behavior and angry that it never changes and I try to stay as far away from her as I can.
Leaving my hiding place, I scamper to the kitchen and quickly grab a half-full
box of Cheerios from the nearly empty pantry. Clutching them, I run outside to join my
little brother and skip down the stairs cheerfully shouting, ”Hey Frog. Want some breakfast?”

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Mid-morning on Friday, I was filling my car with gas - fortunately not usually a memorable experience other than the large amount of cash it slurps from my bank account.

As I waited, a car roared in and pulled in to a gas pump across from me. The driver jumped out of his older car swearing and yelling at the man ahead of him.

The recipient of his wrath was not parked the way he thought he should be or in other words, the unstable, youngish, tattooed man had found a place to vent his rage.

The aggressor - possibly high on drugs - continued to yell and swear until he went to pay cash for his gas. When he returned, he was as angry as before or maybe even more so. Now he was talking about kicking the guy's sorry-you-know-what.

The other man remained calm and said nothing to escalate the fight but did not cower or try to leave. He appeared to be a middle-aged businessman, was slightly overweight and did not look like someone who gets into fights. But he had a certain air of self-assuredness..that made me think he might be carrying a weapon.

Everyone at the gas station was getting nervous. I called 911 worried that fists and bullets would soon be flying - all I wanted to do was get out of there.

I finished my business as quickly as I could but when I left I had to stop for a red light at the exit and you-know-who came charging up behind me. He momentarily paused before driving around my car and then racing down the road.

I wondered who else he encountered that day.

I saw a sheriff drive by but she stopped a speeder. I don't know if the police ever showed up or not. I do know that without warning any of us can suddenly find ourselves in the middle of a potentially dangerous situation that makes absolutely no sense.

Here's hoping your experiences at the gas station are less memorable.

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To say these last few weeks have been overwhelming is an understatement. First, the unexpected death of my dear friend's son and following shortly behind that, the unexpected loss of my brother - my only sibling.

Add to that the constant stress of being a freelance writer combined with the uncertainty of media today. And Christmas is nearly here.

The thing about loss is it makes abundantly clear what is important and what is not. What we can change and what we cannot.

Like many people, I am cutting back this year on holiday spending. It dawned on me this morning that I am going to have to cut way, way back. All of my traveling back and forth to the Midwest this month has eaten all of the money I had saved for the holidays.

That means I cannot take my family out for dinner or buy my grandchildren the small electronic gift I had planned on giving each of them.

But we will be together and there is no better gift - I knew that all along.

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After a week of heroic efforts made by the medical team at St. Francis and prayers from everyone we know, on Wednesday, my brother, Steve, lost his battle with cancer.

Although it was incredibly difficult, I was glad that his wife, daughters and I could be with him in his last moments. He was heavily sedated, but I think he knew we were there.

He was a really good guy, and I have learned that is not all that common.

Knowing that we won't be able to hear his laughter or see his broad smile is going to be very difficult. Knowing that he is reunited with our other departed family members is a good feeling.

All of us will miss him forever and are grateful he was in our lives as long as he was. Rest in peace little brother - we will always love you.

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While much of the country has been embracing the start of the holidays, this year has not been a joyous one for my family.

Last week I attended the funeral of a young man who was killed in a freak accident. His mother is close friend of mine, and our families have been friends forever.

Now, I am unexpectedly spending my days at the hospital where my brother is fighting for his life. He has a tumor in his chest that is preventing him from breathing, and he is on a ventilator

Walking through the intensive care ward past person after person who is critically ill is humbling experience. Watching my brother hooked up to machines and tubes perform every bodily function we take for granted is devastating.

My brother's wife told the nursing staff that he likes music so even though he is sedated, they brought in a radio. That means instead of listening to the deadly quiet or the whir and beeps of the machines that surround him, we hope floating through the medically induced fog he is in, he can hear the country and western music he so enjoys.

All of this has been a stark reminder of what we already know - life is fragile and can change in an instant.

As the new week begins, we are on high alert looking for any positive change and relying on prayer and the caring and capable medical staff to deliver a Christmas miracle to our family.

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The news you've been waiting to hear finally arrives and it's good. In fact, it's great, and you can hardly wait to let everyone important to you know.

So, you start calling - but absolutely no one answers their phone. It's not possible you think - how can everyone be gone all at the same time?

It happened to me last Saturday. If it happened only once or twice before, it'd be a coincidence, but there is definitely a correlation between having good news and no one being anywhere near their cell phone.

You know what it's like. You're bubbling over with joy and want to spread your good news with close friends and family. After all, who wants to run into Target or Wal Mart or Publix and shout, "Hey everyone. I found a job (who'd believe you in this economy) or I lost ten pounds."

No enthusiasm there. Chances are, all you'll get is escorted out.

So you wait and wait and wait for the phone to ring checking it frequently in case you missed hear the ring.

Do they all meet up at the same place so they can miss your call?

Eventually, they all call back...ho hum...but your enthusiasm has waned by then.

Maybe I just have to chalk it up as one more of life's little mysteries...such as, where do those missing socks go after you've done the laundry?

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It happens to everyone, and recently I had my turn.

After a routine physical and an EKG, the doctor said, "You have an inverted q wave."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It could mean nothing or you could have had a heart attack," he calmly replied.

I was stunned. "I don't feel sick. Surely I'd have some kind of symptom."

He just looked at me. "We'll schedule some more tests," he said before leaving.

I felt like I'd been kicked in the head.

Later, I learned I was lucky. He called the next day and explained that the equipment they had used was defective. I repeated the test, and this time the EKG was normal.

Still, the experience was a huge wake up call.

I am doing some things I should have done long ago - but always planned to do later when I"m not so busy -like adding names to my checking account and safe deposit box and updating my will.

I'm sharing this as reminder to everyone that these things happen fast and can come out of the blue regardless of your age or health. I was not prepared. Are you?

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Considering what's going on with the market and the economy, I imagine like myself, the rest of you are spending as little as possible. I'm always on the lookout for freebies or close to it and here are a few I like:

To save huge on your grocery - some say as much as half - visit couponmom.com It is a great site.

Youtube has free tutorials for software such as Photoshop So if you've been waiting for extra cash to take a class to learn some new skills - no more excuses.

Want some free flowering trees for your yard? Charylne V. Schaub, editor of the Sun-Sentinel's Home & Garden tells how to receive five free gorgeous Crape myrtle trees ($10 shipping and handling.) Send your check to Five Crape-myrtles, Arbor Day Foundation, 100 Arbor Ave., Nebraska City, NE 68410

Overwhelmed by dental costs? Okay, it's not free but costs way less than a private practice. The Hialeah Dental Clinic in Hialeah is staffed by University of Florida dental students and residents who are carefully watched by instructor dentists. Phone number is 305.694.5400.

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Excitement at the national convention began as soon as I stepped off the plane. Instant bonding was common among the throngs of like-minded individuals who had come together with one goal in mind - before we even left the airport.

Adding to the camaraderie, hotel arrangements are made by the party so delegates from each state stay at the same hotel(s.) Small states share hotels. Does never-ending party come to mind for some reason?

Delegates are easy to spot because they wear a ton of mandatory badges around their necks (including photo ID) throughout the convention. You can’t get in anywhere in the convention or official areas without your badge.

All the townsfolk in the convention center city went out of their way to be nice to us - regardless of their party affiliation.

Delegates are bussed everywhere - to the convention center, to planned excursions and planned dinners and parties - and security is incredibly high. Tough looking security people go through the bus identifying everyone at least twice before it takes off.

The most unnerving check to me was when they used a mirror, which looks like a large version of the one the dentist uses in your mouth, to check for bombs under the bus. It had never occurred to me that someone might want to blow us up.

Once we minions arrived at the convention center, the whole goal was to get the excitement level high (after of course passing through more security.) Music, Las Vegas style lighting and fabulous speakers did the trick - we were already hyped.

But without a doubt the most exciting part for me was walking down the halls and passing so close to news makers that you could touch them. Some of them even acknowledged us. And no I didn’t run over and shake their hands, but I sure wanted to.

Parties, sighting seeing and did I mention parties…plus all he work that gets done day and night in the convention hall go on nearly 24-hours a day before the big night when the president elect is officially nominated and gives his big talk. Day attendance at the convention is sparse.

More to follow…

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And they are a blast! I went to the Presidential Inauguration and Inaugural Ball too and I'll share those memories with you when we inaugurate our next president.

Because we are not supposed to write our political opinions on national politics on this blog, I won't say which party - but the truth is they both run their conventions pretty much the same.

Everyone asks me how I became a delegate or in my case an alternate delegate. Most people think you have to be rich and famous and that is not true. I am proof.

I worked for the party a lot. I did things such as making phone calls asking for money and worked at the phone bank reminding others to vote. I attended monthly meetings, attended local and state conventions and when national election time drew near volunteered to put up signs.

Putting up the at least 30 signs they left me was a challenge because they were all over town...so I bribed a friend and told him if he would help me, afterwards I would make him a dinner of homemade vegetable soup and homemade cinnamon rolls.

He went for it so you might say I went to the convention because of my country style cooking. He went to the convention too and we did dance together at the inaugural ball. Just friends though - unfortunately he's too young for me.

Tomorrow I'll write what it's like when you arrive at the convention city and experience a convention up live and personal.

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Last week while I was working, I heard my dogs barking. When they didn't quit I went outside to quiet them.

Before I even stepped outside, I saw why. A brilliantly colored snake was crawling along side the neighbor's house.

I was sure it was a coral snake and I was terrified it might bite them.

I tried to remember that poem about yellow on red or whatever as I worked to get my dogs to retreat. I did take a mental photograph of it (should have grabbed my phone.)

By the time I finally got Bark and Lolli safely on the porch, the snake had disappeared. Immediately I got on the computer and started reading about them on National Geograhic. This is what I learned:

* The coral snake is in the cobra family...same as cobra, mamba and sea snake. Scary.

* Forget the poem. In our part of the world a coral snake has a black head...the nonvenomous one has a red one. Coral snakes have round eyes too - if you like to look snakes in the face.

* Coral snakes are 20 to 30 inches long. They can live for up to 7 years.

* They are not aggressive meaning they won't chase you or strike at you but you don't want to step on one or pick it up. Or stand there and bark at it.

* Coral snakes don't strike because they don't have long fangs. Their fangs are more like short teeth but they do bite. Their poison can kill a human.

* They live in the ground, are nocturnal and reclusive. They hide under things like wood chips.

* When their young hatch, they are fully loaded with venom.

* Coral snakes eat other snakes and small reptiles.

* Their bite doesn't hurt or cause distress at first but within a few hours, it can kill so it is important to immediately go to a hospital if you are bit.

A man who works for a pest company probably gave me the best advise. He said if you see it again, it's living here. Otherwise it was just passing through...sure hope that's the case.

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Whenever the lottery reaches a certain point, I feel compelled to play.

For me, $14 million does the trick.

Wednesday I'll buy two tickets from my lucky store...a gas station in Delray. Another part of my lottery routine is tickets must be purchased on the day of the drawing. Preferably later in the day.

Then I look over my numbers to see if they look like lucky ones. And they always do (until after the drawing.)

With all of the strategies I have in place, you probably think I've won a lot.

Wrong.

I don't think I've ever won more than $5.

But there's always the possibility, which brings me to my point.

If Florida were like 29 other states in the country, we'd be in the Multi-State Lottery (powerball) on Wednesday night. And instead of a $14 million jackpot, we'd be playing for $95 million.

Unlike Florida's lottery, which starts out at $3 million after someone wins the jackpot, powerball resumes at $15 million.

So why isn't Florida in the multi-state lottery?

I know others complain about this because ads promoting the Florida lottery poke fun at people who say the jackpots aren't large enough.

Do they really believe making fun of us will change our minds?

I looked up the history of both lottos to see if I could understand why Florida has elected not to participate in powerball. This is what I learned.

The state of Florida gives part of the money earned from the lottery to an fund education. But they could do the same thing with the multi-state lottery.

According to the multi-state lottery web site, states that have powerball versus a state run lottery take in more money.

That's because more people play when the jackpots are larger. Florida schools would benefit if the state changed to powerball.

In January of 1999, Florida was invited to join the multi-state lottery but Gov. Jeb Bush declined. No reason was given for this decision.

Given these few facts, there doesn't seem to be any logic behind Florida maintaining it's own lottery.

Are we to believe it's okay to gamble...as long as we gamble for less?

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It happened during my most recent trip to Minnesota. For me it was an epiphany.

To my amazement the things I used to complain about endlessly (ad nauseum) when I lived there were the things I enjoyed the most.

For the first time the cold was not something something I merely endured – it actually felt good .

People bundled up with boots, scarves, and thick coats didn't look dorky – they looked comfortable.

Phrases such as uff dah and you betcha didn't make me grimace - they made me smile.

Smoke curling from the chimneys wasn't just another sign of winter – it looked inviting.

Instead of dread when snow flurries arrived - I felt excitement.

And although the trees had already surrendered their bounty, the leaf covered lawns and sidewalks looked like a patchwork quilt of color. Magical comes to mind.

It was all I could do not to scoop them up.

I asked my son if it seemed as glorious to him. He looked at me like I was crazy.

But there was too much splendor to just ignore it. And it was everywhere...drop-dead, outrageous, wondrous beauty.

How could all of this have escaped me the many years I had lived there?

Unfortunately I know the answer and I don't like it.

The ocean, the graceful palms and the warm weather in Delray are harder to take for granted. But with a little effort it can be done. I talk to people everyday who can't wait to leave here for greener pastures.

I doubt I will ever again experience such a childlike appreciation of my surroundings. And I wish this learning experience had come to me a little sooner in life.

But now I know. Where ever I am – paradise is right in front of me. All I have to do is see it.

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