Wild Things

First one to name all the insects or animals that recorded these hits gets an internet Yankee Dime!

1. Happy Together
2. Turn, Turn
3. Gee
4. In-A-Godda-Da-Vida
5. Last Train To Clarksville
6. Day Tripper
7. Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood
8. The Still of the Night
9. You’re So Fine
10. I Only Have Eyes for You

Man About Down

Calling all friends, neighbors, acquaintances, blog buddies with pools! My poor overworked bod, sore from too much ballet, too much taking care of sick kiddies, and too few margaritas, needs some spa time. Hopefully something less expensive than a day at an actual spa.

Swimming pools just make so many activities more enjoyable. What better way to spend some time than at a boozy weekend throwdown for those of us who can’t afford a weekend in the Hamp’s? Okay, okay. You supply the pool, I’ll supply the booze. Hell, I’ll even supply the guests.

So, call me. I’m waiting to hear from you. Swimsuit and towel in hand.

Fluffier Than a Bluetick Hound

There's a very special cemetery five miles off Highway 247 in Northwest Alabama. It's beautiful, well kept and isolated. They like to say you have to be hunting for this place to find it. You'd expect that, for this isn't your ordinary graveyard. It's Coon Dog Cemetery, the final resting place for dogs who spent their lives tracking raccoons all over the Deep South.

It all started in September of 1937 when Troop, Key Underwood's best coon dog, died and Mr. Underwood gave him a proper burial on this quiet piece of land. One by one, other beloved hunting dogs were laid to rest beside Troop as word of this hallowed ground spread. By the way, there's a standard for admission to the Coon Dog Cemetery--if your dog couldn't tree a coon, he need not apply. I'll leave you with an anecdote from The Montgomery Advertiser. In it Mr. Underwood is telling the story of a woman from California who wrote him wanting to know why only coon dogs were buried in his cemetery.

"Ma'am," Mr. Underwood responded, "you must not know much about coon hunters and their dogs, if you think we'd contaminate this burial place with poodles!"

Observations from a Stationary Bike

What is it about the gym and men? Just this morning, there, on either side of me, were two rather smelly guys. The one to the right was pedalling at such a slow rate that it surprised me that he had broken a sweat. However, when the guy took the bike to my left, whoo, you could smell him a mile away, the kind of which made me debate whether to cut my workout short and move onto another machine.

To keep my mind on something other than the stench emanating from both sides of me, my eyes wandered across the main floor. On the row of weight machines were five older women who kept preening for each other when they finished a set.

I'm better at this than you are.

Well I look better than you do.

Moving on... on the elliptical was a teddy bear of a guy. You know the look, shaggy three-day beard, full head of hair, big round belly.

Not much there either. On the weight machine in the middle of the floor, finally! Something to look at! A gym rat. Complete with a tee-shirt with the sleeves cut out to expose muscular upper arms, and tight biceps while he was doing his curls. Too old to be a college kid home from school. Not one of the local public servants like police or firefighter who work out there. Hard to pinpoint his story.

But enough of a distraction to keep me occupied until smelly guy on the left finished up. But his leaving brought my mind back to the bike. And the conclusion that it wasn't worth it having to be next to smelly guy on the right. Time to move on to the lone, solitary, isolated but very aerobically effective rowing machine.

Nope, nothing to look at there to keep me going after the first 500 metres.

Moving on again to the stretching area... One of the personal trainers was chastising a client for not stretching. He complained about travelling too much, and hiking, and biking. If anyone needed a personal trainer, he did.

Okay then... let's just finish the stretching and get out of here. Until a firefighter acquaintance stopped to talk on his way out. That led to an opportunity to have the fire department talk to the Girl Scout leaders' meeting sometime next year.

Perhaps if the Messrs. Smellies hadn't forced me away from my workout, then a Roundtable talk for the Girl Scout leaders wouldn't have been planned. Serendipity. Don't you love it?

The $1000 Birthday Dinner

The birthday girl accused me of using her birthday as an excuse to attend the Winemaker’s Dinner at a winery about an hour, hour and a half’s drive away. The vineyard hosts a Winemaker’s Dinner every couple of months or so. There are only seats for 40 people and the dinners book very quickly.

When the kids turn thirteen, they no longer get birthday parties; they get special dinners out with just Mom and Dad at the restaurant of their choice, sans siblings. The birthday girl originally requested Russian as her restaurant of choice. But Mom and Dad were just at a Russian restaurant for Dad’s birthday dinner with another couple, mainly because we wanted to try the flight of vodkas – nine four-ounce glasses of different vodkas of your choice from all over the world. So when the email arrived in my inbox about the May Winemaker’s Dinner, my fingers frantically dialed the reservation number to procure our seats.

Heading out three hours before the reception hour gave us a chance to explore the mountain back roads. One narrow curvy road led past a turnoff towards an estate sale at a farm. With time to kill before the first glass of wine was poured and the first hors d’œuvre was passed, we turned up the winding path to discover an herb farm with a note of the front door saying to “Come on in”. Which we did.

My mother was a voracious antique collector. Her motto was that if you saw it and liked it, you should buy it because you would end up regretting not getting it. That lesson sunk in. And is sinking in for the third generation as well. The cargo area of the SUV was loaded down with a late 1800’s American chestnut drop-leaf table, an early Twentieth Century French walnut and rose-colored marble-topped square washstand, and a hickory custom-made tabletop that was designed for cutting fabric. It has an ingenious movable piece that makes a straightedge to cut the fabric evenly.

Top off the evening with a five-course meal with wine pairings for each course and a discussion of the wines during the meal followed by a Q&A time with the chef afterwards. Birthday girl got plenty of practice driving out and plenty of private attention and conversation with the ‘rents. Treat ‘em like young adults and they rise to the occasion. And surprise you with their interests and conversation topics. Worth every last cent!

Light a Candle

For those of you who haven't seen this elsewhere, it's very powerful. Check out the video here. Then check out the website here.

Smells Like Teen Embarrassment

Last night was the annual fashion show. My girls and I have modeled the past four years for the show. It's a five-hour commitment when you add in time for hair and makeup. Especially this year when there were many more stores and outfits to model.

Our outfits ran the gamut of a shabby-chic Juicy Couture jacket to a black illusion cocktail dress. Unfortunately, no wedding dresses like the one I modeled last year. The two teenagers' had one set of outfits that were both very boho. By the time those outfits came around, both the teenagers had loosened up from their first pass down the catwalk. It was good that they wore the pajamas for the first round and got them out of the way early.

Following the boho outfits, they split stores. While one modeled an adorable Kay Unger pink tweed suit and red peep-toe heels, the other modeled a strapless maxi dress that could be worn day or evening. As she finished up her last turn ready to leave the stage, the emcee announced that it was her seventeenth birthday.

Can you believe it? She didn't turn red or die of embarrassment right there. Can you believe it? My eldest baby is Seventeen! That makes me... oh, dear.

Writer's Vamps

Ever had one of those days when the universe seems to be throwing so many monkey wrenches into your meticulously planned schedule that nothing will get done when you thought it would? Welcome to my world!

A nice aerobic workout following by my arabesque and pirouette turns at the gym was first up on the agenda, followed by errands, and possibly a leisurely lunch outside before picking up the kids from school for tonight's activities.

But no! First my Girl Scout co-manager stopped by to drop off 75 letters of appreciation that needed to be signed for the leaders' meeting tonight. Then my dog's best doggie friend stopped by while I was outside bringing in the trash cans from the street. The doggie's human and I spent the doggie play time catching up on life. Then another doggie friend stopped by for doggie day care - uninvited. Unfortunately, I wasn't outside when the other dog's human dropped him off or I would have told the human that my doggie day care center is closed until after the fall harvest.

Sitting down to sign the 75 letters, what better way to help fill the monotony than with Facebook and some Pandora playlists? That's when Facebook Former pinged me with the morning news, gossip, and just plain chitchat. He was flattering me with compliments of brains and..., well, just brains; and contended that if I had stayed in the state I could have been on the Supreme Court by now and every lawyer and lower-court judge would have the fear of God in them.

Yeah, right. Me as a justice? Don't think so. Until I get all those f'n letters signed, I'll take it under advisement. But me in long black flowing robes? What color lipstick would go with that?

Maharishi Robinson

No more Frau Robinson. The exchange student went home. And my taste in men is nudging slightly older. Who is he?

He's tall and thin, shiny black hair, chocolate brown eyes, tanned complexion. Speaks impeccable British English and fluent Hindi. We'll call him Mr. Patel.

I'll just have to look and keep my lascivious thoughts to myself. But I'm definitely getting better. He's 19! Just two years older than my eldest daughter and three years older than the exchange student.

Excuse My (Southern) French

I love country music. I hate country music. Both of those statements are correct. And it all started with a band that originated not far from my childhood hometown.

During my elementary school days, there was a contest among all the PTAs in the local school system to see which PTA could get the highest membership percentage. The prize? A new band, Alabama, would play at the school. They were a country band that had wanted to make it in the rock-and-roll world but couldn't. So they shifted gears and reinvented themselves as a country band.

[Editor's disclaimer: The author knows and likes Randy Owen.]

Over the years, country music began to feel and sound less like country music and more like rock. And it all started, or so I think, with Alabama. Take away the hats and boots and most country music today would fit in just fine in L.A.

Most. Not all.

Enter the progeny of some of the greats - Shooter (Waylon) and Hank III (Hank Jr. and Hank Sr.). Add a dash of established but shunned musicians - Loretta (with Jack). Serve it up with attitude - Dolly and the Chix. And you've got what country music should have sounded like if it had stayed true to its roots.

The most recent addition to our music library was Hank III's Straight to Hell. Besides the fact that he looks and sounds just like his granddaddy, and got more of the talent than his daddy did, he hit a nerve with his indictment of pop country in "Dick in Dixie".

Just a sampling:

So I'm here to put the d*ck in Dixie
And the c*nt back in country
'Cause the kind of country I hear nowadays
Is a bunch of f*ckin' sh*t to me
And they say that I'm ill-mannered
That I'm gonna self-destruct
But if you know what I'm thinkin'
You'll know that pop country really sucks

Perhaps there's a reason you don't hear Hank III or Shooter or Loretta or Dolly on the radio. As politicians are fond of saying about why they switch parties, "I didn't leave the party; the party left me." Maybe that's what happened to real country musicians. They didn't leave country music; country music left them.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to serve myself a heapin' helpin' of some Louvin Brothers, a little June Carter Cash, plenty of The Highwaymen, a dash of David Allan Coe, a sprinkling of Johnny Paycheck, and loads and loads of Johnny and Willie. My roots need some retouching.

How Awkward Was That?

Women have it easy. Padded bras help. Huh? If it's cold outside or we're working out hard at the gym, the girls are "happy".

Guys, on the other hand, have a harder time concealing their "happies". Pun intended. Sometimes it's understandable rather than just plain awkward. Even so, cameras pick up too many examples of embarrassing moments. Then your so-called friends post pictures of you on the web for everyone to see.

So far I don't know any of the guys at this "awkward" site. Do you?

Thank Heaven That I've Got Girls

Am I like the only person in America who hasn't seen this yet?

Sleepless (not) in Seattle

The problem with being so tired is that the doctor thinks it might have something to do with the sleep cycle. Or lack thereof. That was one of the possibilities she offered. And ordered up a sleep study.

Great, but in the meantime, even with having the bed all to myself, sleep is very elusive. Last night (or this morning, depending on how you want to look at it) was one of those times. After two hours of staring at the darkness, a change of venue was in order. If I'm awake, let's see who else is. And is online at the same time.

Facebook Former was online, nursing his own off-kilter sleep cycle brought on by too many late nights at work. In talking online, he mentioned some events in my hometown's history that hadn't been taught me. With deeper discussion, the events involved people that were a part of my childhood days. Even talk of my father's funeral brought up a discussion of a synagogue bombing, my former church which stood watch at the synagogue, church bells, attorneys who find the fake bells cheesy, wives of attorneys who also happen to be my cousins as well as my former pediatric dental hygienists, and orthodontists. All from my hometown.

As he located the characters of his story on the actual streets, my mind's eye pictured the exact building and the 360° view from there, including the mountain just off past the second set of railroad tracks, the oversized flag at the Ford dealership and the ornate house used as the Women's Club. That longing returned. The longing for a simpler, slower life, looking out my window at the mountains, having people know me because of my genealogy.

Perhaps my love-hate relationship of my adopted hometown teetering more on the hate side is bringing on that sense of nostalgia. Perhaps it's the realization of all the things that I wish my father had told me. Perhaps it's the fact that my adopted hometown feels meteorologically more like the Pacific Northwest. Whatever the cause, perhaps some good long days of sunshine will take care of what ills you. However, those damn birds outside my window refuse to roost for the night, chirping all night long to that artificial sun affectionately known as a streetlight.

Catch-22 mg tid

If you’ve been reading my blogs for a while, you know that there's a tear in my disc which chemically irritates the nerve causing back pain that radiates down my leg. Of all the treatments that the back doctor has tried, I’ve tolerated them fairly well – the epidural steroid shots, the schedule C pain meds, the nerve medicine. Until recently.

The fatigue has been getting worse during the last month. Calling in sick hasn’t been helping as much as it did. The most concerning symptom was on Tuesday on the way to the DAR meeting.

The car started drifting into other lanes. Even a stop for a Krispy Kreme full-caff latte didn’t clear the webs in the head. It was like driving in a mental fog. Even after the meeting and lunch with the ladies, the drive home was no different. I’m forgetting things – like my cell phone, or the grocery list, or words.

While visiting with a friend who’s a nurse, she pulled out her trusty pill book and checked my meds to see what the side effects are. Here are the side effects of my nerve medicine:

drowsiness – yep, got it
tiredness or weakness – got that
dizziness – got that one
headache – ditto
shaking of a part of your body that you cannot control – nope
double or blurred vision – I thought I was just tired
unsteadiness – oh yeah
anxiety – in not knowing what’s wrong with me
memory problems – especially short term
strange or unusual thoughts – um, apparently
unwanted eye movements – does that twitch count?
nausea – not really
vomiting – no
heartburn – yep
diarrhea – nope
dry mouth – very, I drink water like it’s going out of style
constipation – nope
weight gain – that’s what the scale says, I thought I was developing muscle
swelling of the hands, feet, ankles, or lower legs – no
back or joint pain – isn’t it supposed to help with the pain?
fever – no
runny nose, sneezing, cough, sore throat, or flu-like symptoms – for the past four days
ear pain – I thought it was associated with the sore throat
red, itchy eyes (sometimes with swelling or discharge) – I thought it was the pollen

Her diagnosis is that since I’m at the highest dosage for the medicine I’m close to overdosing. Since I’m a single mother again while my husband is on a business trip, I asked a friend to drive me to the internist. My concern lies in what will alleviate the back pain without knocking me off my feet. I can’t spend my life in bed. Unless there’s room service. And cabana boys.

40 Daysies' Crazies

Remember way back in Sunday School, or summer camp for those of us who were camp counselors, all the songs we'd sing? If I could figure out how to upload a .wav file, today's blog would be an audioblog. But I can't, so it's not.

There was one song that's been stuck in my head for quite a while now. Let me hum a few bars for you...

The Lord said to Noah, There's gonna be a floody, floody.
Lord said to Noah, There's gonna be a floody, floody,
Get those animals out of the muddy, muddy, children of the Lord...

Everyone I talk to, whether they're in Seattle or Chicago or Texarkana or near Chattanooga, is starting to mold behind the ears because of all the rain. Our friend in the Southwest is complaining about the cacti not blooming for lack of water. I'd be more than happy to send her some of ours. What's up with the weather?

My backyard has become a haven for robins. Why? you ask? Because all the worms have been forced to the surface by all the rain and the birds are having a field day feeding their youngun's. They're the one creature that is loving this weather. The rest of us are exhibiting the same tendencies of Noah and his brood...

It rained and poured for forty daysies, daysies.
Rained and poured for forty daysies, daysies,
Nearly drove those people crazies, crazies, children of the Lord...

Finger-Tied

On the advice of my lawyer, I have changed some of my blogs. My lawyer has decided to edit (whenever he gets around to reading all of them) my blogs for content.

I'm still as opinionated as ever. Just maybe more tactful.

For T. and B. and Me

This is dedicated to T. and B. from me, well, because the three of us know what it's like to lose a mother, which makes this coming Sunday all the more poignant. So if you have a mother, or ever had one, whether biological or adopted, take a moment to watch the clip and pee in your pants with Ruth.

Oh Vodka Mom... Can I Join You in a Martini?

The middle daughter is now living under the jailhouse. In the past 72 hours, she:

• Brought home a report card in which the highest grade was a B, which was in PE, and the core classes weren't up to her fullest potential.
• Didn't attend her sister's recital.
• Slept through church, when her sister played the voluntary to close two services. And the pièce de résistance...
• Got kicked out of the church youth group last night.

The repercussions?

• No cell phone
• No computer access (all passwords were changed last night) except for schoolwork which will be proctored by Yours Truly
• No walking home from school with friends
• If she stays after school with a teacher, she brings a note from the teacher.

For how long?

• Until the next progress report showing improvement in her grades, or
• Until the next report card showing improvement in her grades, or
• Until her rude behavior towards parental units changes, or
• Until her 21st birthday.

Whichever comes first.

As I told the youth minister last night after he called me to pick her up, I could really use one of his Mint Juleps.

Hermaphroditically Sealed

There was a vine in the middle of our fence.
The prettiest vine, it was lush and green.
Well, the vine on the fence
And the green leaves grew all around and around.
Without a bloom to be found.

Now that you have the tune stuck in your head, about that vine....

It's supposedly a wisteria. It's been growing on our front fence since before we bought the house eighteen years ago. In the summer, it gets so full of leaves that it blocks our view of the sidewalk and the street. Which, depending on my mood and my love-hate relationship with the city, ain't a bad thing.

But in all the years that we've lived here, that wisteria has only bloomed once. And then with only four blossoms. I tried everything - fertilizing it, not fertilizing it, cutting it back, not cutting it at all, just giving it a little shaping. The year it bloomed was a fluke. I didn't do anything to it that year. In fact, I'd given up on ever having blossoms on the vine. That attitude hasn't had the same effect twice.

As my eldest daughter and I were walking near our church yesterday, we walked under a purple canopy of wisteria blossoms on one of the oldest blocks in town near the river. After pointing out what wisteria blossoms look like, she commented that perhaps ours is a male vine. I rebutted that it has bloomed once so it can't be a male, maybe it's androgynous. To which she corrected me. "No, Mom, our wisteria is a hermaphrodite."

Everyone now...

And the green leaves grew all around and around,
And the green leaves grew all around.

A Complete 179

After yesterday, the only way things could go was up. And up they did. But it didn't look like it would at the start of my day.

You know how you set a time for service "professionals" to be at your house. Regardless of what service they provide - be it the cable guy, the plumber, the refrigerator delivery man, you name it - and that time isn't a hard and fast rule. It's more of a suggestion.

Which means that the roofers putting a new roof on our garage were over an hour late. I rejiggered my schedule and voila! My day wasn't a complete and total disaster.

Around noon-ish, I got to have an awesome workout. My heart rate was in the cardio zone for a sustained period; I didn't have any pressure on my knees so no pain from yesterday. The air in the space was cool so that as my body temperature went up I didn't end up a complete mess.

I talked to a friend who I hadn't been able to connect with in quite a while. Since I expended so many calories, I treated myself to a healthy lunch of McDonald's topped off with a sweet tea.

Life is good.

Mulligan Goo

I'm taking a do-over on today. Complete with crawling back into bed with the covers over my head. Let's recap the day so far:

• It's raining.
• While on the phone, I walked out to get in the car not remembering that I was on the land line not my cell phone. I promised my husband I'd call him back on the cell phone when I was in the car.
• At ballet on the first plié, my tights ripped in the crotch seam.
• On the second plié, my knee popped and I ended up wearing a knee brace during the rest of class.
• After class in checking my email on the Blackberry, my lech of an archery coach wants me to deliver his Girl Scout cookies tomorrow morning.
• I finally remembered to call my husband back while running errands.
• On the way home, I drove right past the pharmacy and forgot to drop off my daughter's prescription.
• As I was changing from my ballet outfit back to my civvies, the cat pushed the door open right when I was buck naked and the three guys working on the gardening next door got a cheap thrill.

Methinks I should stop while I'm behind.

Emoticon?

In place of words, today's blog will be in pictures.

Today's mood around here...

Old Lady Disease

My husband will be speaking at a conference in Tuscon and needed a head shot for the bios on the group's website. Since he doesn't have professional head shots and needed them like last week, he asked me to take a few pictures of him against a neutral background at home.

I zoomed in with the digital camera and counted to three. FLASH! ZIP! I looked at the proof quickly. He blinked.

"Let me try another one."

FLASH! ZIP! He blinked again.

"Don't blink!"

FLASH! ZIP! Again!

I broke down laughing. "Don't do that!"

FLASH! ZIP! Again!

My laughing became hysterical. "Don't blink!"

FLASH! ZIP! Again!

I couldn't stand up straight, doubled over guffawing. Tears began to run down my cheeks and my sides hurt.

We tried more, each time with the same results. I could barely steady the camera anymore. I doubled over with such laughter. I was scared that I might wet myself I was laughing so hard. But, thankfully, I'm not THAT old yet!

Lunching the Numbers

Several airlines have announced that they'll start charging passengers who are angularly challenged for two seats if the passenger is too large to fasten the seat belt. [Disclaimer from the editor: The author has several close friends who are angularly challenged and hopes that after posting this blog she will continue to have said friends.]

Quite honestly, it's been a long time coming. But the airlines have it all wrong. Most people know that the more weight you're carrying, the more fuel it takes, whether you're in a car, on a plane, or just expending your own calories to walk up the stairs. During the recent soaring prices for oil, it became much too expensive to haul around extra weight. The AAA suggested that people remove all that junk from their cars to lighten the load and reduce the need for gas. Airlines began charging for any checked baggage. Anything over fifty pounds incurred an additional fee.

But that was just checked luggage. On a recent flight, I checked my bag because I didn't want to have to lift it into the overhead compartment due to my back injury. I paid the extra cost for the convenience even though the bag was carry-on size and low in weight. Yet the man seated next to me brought on his carry-on suitcase and his computer bag, one of which was stuffed with much more than I carried in my suitcase and purse combined. Then he fought to lower himself between the armrests and fasten the seat belt around his girth. He would have been the perfect candidate for the two-seat rule.

I realized that I am subsidizing his weight because the airline offsets the cost of the extra fuel needed for flights carrying more weight by charging more for their tickets all around. If I were the Empress of the World, airlines would have people stand on those big scales at the ticket counter with all their luggage. The airfare would be based on the person's and their luggage's total weight. No more need to charge extra for a second seat if the person couldn't fasten the seat belt.

Airlines could be more honest with customers about the cost of flying. People would realize their environmental impact of using more fuel to fly the planes. People wouldn't sneak all the heavy purchases into their carry-on luggage so as to not have to pay the premium for overweight checked bags. Maybe then the airlines could afford to give us real food rather than a bagel and cream cheese and call it dinner.

Better Off Said

There’s an old home movie that plays in my head. In the scene, the little redheaded girl wears a short dress, dating the movie from the late ‘60s. There’s a dirt road with nothing but brushes alongside. Down the edge of the road runs a small trickle of a stream. The little girl stoops down and scoops up a pebble which she quickly pops in her mouth. The father just as quickly sweeps her little mouth with his finger.

I’m not sure why that particular scene keeps running through my thoughts.

The past week has been almost a blur, fuzzy, snippets of life caught between lucidity and la-la-land. A friend who dropped by unannounced one day was stunned by the number of meds in my pill caddy. There’re enough narcotics in my house to bring the wrath of Nancy Reagan excepting that they all have labels slapped on the front with the prescribers’ DEA numbers.

My back injury and the accompanying meds to relieve the discomfort prevent me from fulfilling my duties in my chosen profession, homemaker – the third oldest according to Erma Brombeck, immediately following prostitution and motherhood. It’s an invisible injury, unlike a broken leg, and it’s one without a definite timeline for recovery, unlike a broken leg. Regardless, I beat myself up for not being able to do the work I chose to do. There’s guilt for having muddy paw prints on my wooden floors, for not meeting my youngest at the bus stop every day, for not having supper on the table when my husband gets home, and for being so off-schedule on my sleep cycle that my routines no longer seem to coincide with anyone who means anything to me.

It’s not as easy as removing a pebble from a child’s mouth. Although it’s as hard to chew as a pebble. It was simpler then, in the ridges of the mountains. It was more comforting then, in the arms of my father. The loop begins again. The little hand reaches into the cold water and pulls out a shiny round rock. It’s frozen in time. And in my mind.

Belated Earth Day

With the warmth of the sun returning to my part of the universe, today feels like a day to celebrate my Mother Earth. Here to help in that celebration are some websites.

Enjoy. And always remember that...

The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month. ~Henry Van Dyke

http://www.earthalbum.com/

http://www.breathingearth.net/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ESHjYat9rk

Behind the Curtain

"Forgive me Father. It's been too long since my last confession."

"What brings you here today?"

"I caught myself wanting to shoplift just this morning."

"What did you intend to steal?"

"I saw this little ditty on a friend's Facebook page, and well, it was early and I hadn't even finished eating breakfast, and I thought it would be a fast way to blog."

"Tell me, my child. Is that any way to treat your readers? To stolen merchandise?"

"Oh, I was going to change all the answers to my answers, just use the questions."

"And does that make it right?"

"Maybe not. But it does make it fast and easy."

"And do you want to be known to your readers as a fast and easy girl?"

"Well, no, sir."

"So do you repent and promise to return to the fold of originality?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then write with conviction, stay off Facebook, and go out and experience life so that you'll have your own thoughts and experiences to blog about."

"Thank you, sir. So am I forgiven?"

"Don't ask me. Ask your readers."

Hunt of the Litter

Devotees of Flylady know how to clean thoroughly. She breaks your house into five Zones that you focus on deep cleaning for one week a month. Okay, not every month has that fifth week; so Zone 5 isn’t hit very often. Each day of the week for each Zone is a different part of the room(s) so that everything doesn’t have to be finished in one day.

When the Zone for the main bathroom rolled around recently, it got a major once-over. One day was scrubbing the toilet and around the base. One day was scrubbing the sink. Another day was washing out the trash cans. The day for washing out the trash cans is a good day to wash out the kitty litter pan and wipe down the wall near the pan.

It just happened to be a really nice day; so after scrubbing the pan, I left it outside in the sun to dry. And proceeded to run my errands.

Hmm, must have been gone too long because the cats greeted me at the door with a scolding meow. Quickly retrieving the litter pan and putting a liner in, I discovered that no one had put kitty litter on the grocery list and we were out. By the time we got back from the store with litter there was already a yellow puddle in the liner.

Such good cats! Waiting for their litter pan to be returned. But not caring if there was litter or not. At least my floors don’t smell like cat pee.

Strip on the Radar

Headlines need to grab a person’s attention. If you see a tidbit of something of interest, you’ll want to read more. A good deal of my news comes from reading things online – the newspaper, news blogs, friends’ blogs and just plain gossip. Most of the gossip comes from reading Facebook rather than Blogger.

As with most social websites, you post a profile picture. However, I for one do not take good photos. I’m not a bad photographer. I’m a very poor subject. I dislike the way I look in pictures something fierce.

When it came time to upload a picture for the profile, the least of all evils made the cut. Just barely. Then the most perfect idea sprang into my head. Profile pictures don’t have to be of the person they’re profiling. They could be expressive of the person’s mood or activity at any given time.

What better way to express my fiercely non-PC ways but with vintage pinup girls in various poses! So far, the girls in my profile have warmed themselves by the fire, wished visitors a Happy Easter, luxuriated in a field of flowers, swung on a gate, gone on a picnic, played with a puppy, and many other activities.

Maybe a daily or weekly pinup girl would spruce things up around here and catch more people’s attention. Finally put me on the map. What d’ya think?

The Good, The Dad, and The Ugly

What is it about men? When they help out around the house, do they all only do the barest minimum to squeak by? Do they all subconsciously sabotage our organizational systems by trying to be "helpful"? Do they all unwittingly instruct the next generation in half-hearted attempts at housework?

How many times have I come home to smiling faces and been greeted with "Daddy helped us clean house today" only to find dust still on the coffee tables and dust bunnies mating in the corners?

Just this morning I grabbed a set of sheets from the linen closet to change the only twin bed in the house when I realized it wasn't a twin set but a full set that had been mixed in with all the twin sets. When I got flustered and started quizzing the only other person who folds the linens, he retorted that the closet was too full with all the new towels I've bought. The last time I got new towels was almost three years ago.

I sometimes feel like I'm living with the Bill Cosby-"Chocolate Cake for Breakfast"-style of father whose mantra is "Do it wrong the first time and they'll never ask you to help them out again."

Two Conversations

"If you're running errands today, can you pick up some bourbon at the liquor store? If I'm having a drink every night, I don't want to go through a $50 bottle of scotch too quickly."

"Sure."

********

"I'll take you over here."

[Sound of bourbon bottle being put on the counter.]

"May I see your I.D.?"

"Really?"

"I need to see your I.D." his voice flattens.

"Do you card everyone?" as I whip out my driver's license.

Looking at the birth date, "No, ma'am."

He just made my day, my week, my year!

Caught on Kitty-Cam

Stupid bird.

She nested on the outside transom above our front door. You can see her plainly through the fanlight as you come downstairs. To get a really good look at her, you need to stand on tippy-toe on the bottom stair. It's a good nest, dry, out of the weather, not in a tree where it could be bothered by squirrels or other forms of local fauna. But she's stupid to build it there.

Every time anyone opens the door she flies away, dive bombing you on her way to the front fence where she sits and scolds you and tries to divert your attention from her nest. Like you're not going to notice a nest above the front door. Everyone notices the nest. The kids next door, the mailman who hates the bird but loves our big dog, everyone. Even our cats. Who are indoor cats. Never-go-outside cats. Ever.

They can see her through the fanlight from the stairs. One cat is intent on getting the bird for himself. He just has to figure out how. He has taken to jumping up on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs and standing up on his haunches to see the bird. He'll meow constantly wanting to get to the bird.

Yesterday I was in the living room doing housework when the cat was coming down the stairs. He stopped halfway to look at the bird. I know what must have been running through his head.

"If I jump up on the handrail, I can be even higher."

Stupid cat.

He jumps up on the rail and immediately his legs land on either side of the rail, straddling it with his chest and belly, his chin landing on the rail itself. With only fur touching the polished wood, his little body slides down towards the curved newel. BAM! His chin rams into the curve of the wood. Unfazed, he hops up on his hind legs and stretches his long, lean body to eye the bird and starts mrowing again. Mrow, mrow, mrow.

In fact he just reprised the entire scene for my benefit this morning. Unfortunately, I'm the only one who's seen this spectacle. If only I had a kitty-cam so I could post it on America's Stupid Pet Tricks.

God Help Us

Make sure your car insurance is up to date and your will has been written and signed. My second daughter got her learner’s permit over the weekend. God help us all.

Bloody Fantastic!

It was posted on YouTube three days ago and has already logged over 2.6 MILLION views. As the friend who shared it with me said, "If this doesn't inspire you, nothing will."

It's in the Can

So much for writing blogs and holding them for when my muse decides to sleep in or take a long weekend. I copied a friend's Facebook posting yesterday to hold until needed. I needed it today.

Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. My muse has flown the coop. Again.

So I pulled up yesterday's copied Song Game blog. Checked it again to see how it looked. And hit Publish.

AHN! Since I started copying it BEFORE I began the post that I actually posted last night, Blogger threw it on my site down the list under last night's post. So much for saving things for later use. They don't end up at the top of the blog list. Does this bother anyone else or is it just me?

What's in Your Basket?

The Easter Bunny didn't stop at our house last night. My youngest agreed to give him this year off. Not that she doesn't believe in him, mind you. We just opted to fill our Easter baskets with something more meaningful this year.

Easter baskets? Meaningful?

Yep. A friend of a friend who is Eastern Orthodox told me of the tradition. Remember way back in February? Ash Wednesday? The beginning of Lent? Remember we all gave up something for Lent? Well, if Easter heralds their return to our lives, what better place for them to appear than in our Easter baskets?

My husband's Easter basket was filled with two different single malts. Mine had a Starbucks gift card. The eldest child's had Anime books. The second's had teenage fashion magazines. And the youngest's? Her basket was brimming with candy. All sorts. Runts, jelly beans, fudge, Air Heads, Starburst, SweeTarts, and chocolate!

It was very hard seeing those baskets sitting on the bookcase in the dining room just waiting for Easter. Knowing that our baskets would be individualized made Lent and the baskets themselves more meaningful to all of us. Even those of us who have been jaded about the Easter Bunny. I think that we'll give the Easter Bunny his gold watch. Our Lenten Easter baskets are here to stay.

Song Game

So I ripped this off a Facebook friend. Anyway... Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on to 10 people and include me!

Pick Your Artist: David Bowie

Are you male or female: Queen Bitch

Describe yourself: Rebel Rebel

How do you feel about yourself: It Ain’t Easy

Describe where you currently live: Suffragette City

If you could go anywhere, where would you go to: African Night Flight

Your best friend is: All the Young Dudes

Your favorite color is: Red Sails

You know that: Dancing in the Street

What's the weather like: She Shook Me Cold

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called?: Brilliant Adventure

What is life to you: Modern Love

What is the best advice you have to give: Hang Onto Yourself

If you could change your name, what would it be: Blue Jean

Your favorite food is: Drive-In Saturday

Harder than it sounds, no?

Peep Show

OMG! Can you believe what some peeps are doing? What will they think of next? You've got to see THIS.

Q&A&A

To answer the burning questions of last week...

1) What did I learn to drive in?
a) 1965 green Mustang convertible
b) 1980 Chevy Chevette
c) 1972 green AMC Gremlin - 2-door 3-on-the-floor hatchback
d) 1979 white Cadillac convertible

2) What is my favorite season?
a) Spring
b) Summer
c) Winter
d) Fall - preferably in the mountains

3) If I were diagnosed with a terminal disease, what would I do?
a) Cash out my life insurance and go climb Mt. Everest - if I'm gonna die, better have some fun beforehand
b) Enroll in every clinical trial I could find
c) Write a book
d) Throw a pity party and invite everyone I know

4) What do I snack on at a movie?
a) Junior mints
b) Popcorn - with butter
c) Nachos
d) Sour patch kids

5) What am I scared of?
a) Spiders
b) Heights
c) Snakes - even pictures in books and on TV or movies
d) The dark

6) What color predominates my closet?
a) Navy
b) Black
c) Brown - like the colors of Autumn
d) Beige

7) What is my favorite store to shop in?
a) Abercrombie & Fitch
b) Gap
c) Target
d) Nordstrom's - I didn't say I do it often

8) How many years did it take me to graduate from university?
a) 3 - Miss Smartypants - thanks to testing out of history, French and calculus
b) 4 - Right on time!
c) 5 - I missed one credit hour
d) Um - Don't tell my parents that I didn't

9) My favorite chip flavor is _________.
a) Barbecue
b) Ruffles Original
c) Salt and Vinegar - makes me pucker
d) Sour cream and Onion

10) What was my first pet's name?
a) Marmalade
b) Tiger
c) Calico
d) Sunshine - an orange tabby

11) What is my favorite Disney movie?
a) Beauty and the Beast
b) Mulan - strong female lead who doesn't do everything in hopes of a man
c) Cars
d) Toy Story

12) Favorite childhood game is ___________.
a) Tag
b) Hide and go seek - the pro of hiding
c) Monopoly
d) Chutes and ladders

13) I secretly would like to be a ______ for a day?
a) Famous Singer/Actor
b) CIA Agent - thanks to my academic advisor who was a recruiter
c) President
d) Dictator

14) My favorite sport to watch is ________.
a) Football - any SEC team
b) Baseball
c) Soccer
d) Basketball

15) If I had to eat the same kind of food for a month what type would it be?
a) Mexican
b) Chinese
c) Indian
d) Italian - so many to choose from

16) My favorite drink is _______?
a) Pinot noir
b) Guinness
c) Cosmopolitan
d) Old Fashioned - love my bourbon

17) Where would I spend my vacation?
a) The mountains - reminds me of home
b) The beach
c) The Big Apple
d) The Big Easy

18) If I was running out of my burning house, what item would I grab?
a) Purse/wallet
b) Photos - reminds me of family
c) Shoes
d) Cell phone

19) What perfume do I wear?
a) Nuit de Noho - Bond No. 9 - because my other fav only sells in Europe
b) Chanel No. 5 - Chanel
c) Beautiful - Estee Lauder
d) Opium - Yves Saint Laurent

20) What did I want to be when I was little?
a) Ballerina - my teacher told me I was too tall to dance professionally
b) Teacher
c) Spy
d) Lawyer

How'd everyone do?

We're Leaving in Ten Minutes!

After meeting my Austrian exchange student at the subway stop, he informs me he and his best friend want to go to a store before going to the Farewell Dinner.

"Sure."

"We'll walk home."

"Where's the store?"

"[Rhymes with stove] Street."

"Do you mean [rhymes with love] Street?"

If English is your second language, sometimes you have trouble with street names when there's no context. So I offer to drive them to the store then to my house to hang out before the dinner. As my car pulls around the curve I ask them if they're sure there's a store back here.

"Ja, there it is," the friend points to an army supply store.

For the size of the store, they sure are in there a long time. But they bring out their purchases and we head home. At some point, my house became inhabited by four American teenage girls. When I drive up with three Austrian teenage boys, I wonder if I should read them the Riot Act. But they settle into the family room in front of the TV.

I putter around the kitchen gathering the snack foods for the dinner. The music is loud coming from the library. The TV blares on the other side of the kitchen from the family room. Concern slips out of my mind until I realize that the TV and the stereo are both on but not a single person is to be found downstairs.

Upstairs I go with the pretense of getting ready for the dinner. One bedroom with an open door has three American girls and one Austrian boy. I inquire where my other daughter is. "In her room," is the answer. Two deep voices are heard from behind the second closed door. About that time she peeps out of her room to see what's going on. Aha! She not in there with them.

Having two teenager daughters is a full-time job. Having four teenage girls and three teenage boys under the same roof is daunting. Countdown to Dinner time has begun!

How Well Do You Know Me?

This may be difficult for all but a handful of folks. But try your hand at it and I'll give you the answers at a later date.

1) What did I learn to drive in?
a) 1965 green Mustang convertible
b) 1980 Chevy Chevette
c) 1972 green AMC Gremlin
d) 1979 white Cadillac convertible

2) What is my favorite season?
a) Spring
b) Summer
c) Winter
d) Fall

3) If I were diagnosed with a terminal disease, what would I do?
a) Cash out my life insurance and go climb Mt. Everest
b) Enroll in every clinical trial I could find
c) Write a book
d) Throw a pity party and invite everyone I know

4) What do I snack on at a movie?
a) Junior mints
b) Popcorn
c) Nachos
d) Sour patch kids

5) What am I scared of?
a) Spiders
b) Heights
c) Snakes
d) The dark

6) What color predominates my closet?
a) Navy
b) Black
c) Brown
d) Beige

7) What is my favorite store to shop in?
a) Abercrombie & Fitch
b) Gap
c) Target
d) Nordstrom's

8) How many years did it take me to graduate from university?
a) 3 - Miss Smartypants
b) 4 - Right on time!
c) 5 - I missed one credit hour
d) Um - Don't tell my parents that I didn't

9) My favorite chip flavor is _________.
a) Barbeque
b) Ruffles Original
c) Salt and Vinegar
d) Sour cream and Onion

10) What was my first pet's name?
a) Marmalade
b) Tiger
c) Calico
d) Sunshine

11) What is my favorite Disney movie?
a) Beauty and the Beast
b) Mulan
c) Cars
d) Toy Story

12) Favorite childhood game is ___________.
a) Tag
b) Hide and go seek
c) Monopoly
d) Chutes and ladders

13) I secretly would like to be a ______ for a day?
a) Famous Singer/Actor
b) CIA Agent
c) President
d) Dictator

14) My favorite sport to watch is ________.
a) Football
b) Baseball
c) Soccer
d) Basketball

15) If I had to eat the same kind of food for a month what type would it be?
a) Mexican
b) Chinese
c) Indian
d) Italian

16) My favorite drink is _______?
a) Pinot noir
b) Guiness
c) Cosmopolitan
d) Old Fashioned

17) Where would I spend my vacation?
a) The mountains
b) The beach
c) The Big Apple
d) The Big Easy

18) If I was running out of my burning house, what item would I grab?
a) Purse/wallet
b) Photos
c) Shoes
d) Cell phone

19) What perfume do I wear?
a) Nuit de Noho - Bond No. 9
b) Chanel No. 5 - Chanel
c) Beautiful - Estee Lauder
d) Opium - Yves Saint Laurent

20) What did I want to be when I was little?
a) Ballerina
b) Teacher
c) Spy
d) Lawyer

Down the Habit Hole

Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a very exclusive gated community. A gated community with only one house, one dog, and one apple tree. The girl was an empress whose empire stretched far and wide, all the way to the brick wall and the iron gate. The girl reigned over her dominion with a velvet glove which she also used to test for dust on the mantle.

The boy, er, emperor was happy. Their supreme highnesses were happy. The dog was happy. The girl had a soul that couldn't be held within a brick-and-iron enclosure. The girl longed for the open spaces of her youth spent in a foreign land. A youth of bare feet and mockingbirds and the warm tilled soil of a garden patch on the side of the mountain ridge.

The girl's soul flitted from one project to another, each an artistic expression of who she thought she was. Each one had its roots in her childhood at her mother's knee, all except the lone expression with its roots at the end of Julie Child's pen.

The girl's fascination and adoration of the pen itself prodded her to fill countless blank-page books and empty gigabytes with her prose. Stories were everywhere, in the frozen pose of a delicate porcelain figurine, in her everyday life, in her vivid imagination of the world when she would be restored to her throne. Writing for the girl was a pleasure that flowed from her fingertips so effortlessly that whole days spent writing could pass by in the blink of an eye.

One day, the girl awoke to find that her emoting needed an eloquent pacemaker. A doctor was called. He took a look at the girl's elan and determined it needed more than a etymological pacemaker; she needed an idiomatic defibrillator until a solecismic transplant could be found.

Alas, the girl finally relented to the doctor's orders to keep quiet. She retrieved her buckskin gloves from the carriage house and began to tend to her other projects while she waited for Francis de Sales to resurrect her elegiac heart.

As she plunged her spade underneath the expanding roots of an invasive weed, her eyes caught something moving over in the distance by the brick wall. A small rounded tuft of fur stopped and twitched its nose at her as their eyes met. A smile crossed the furball's lips as it produced a pocket watch from its breast pocket, winked at the girl, and hopped away.

Facet Hound

A kiss on the hand

May be quite continental,

But…

Our latest excursion with our Austrian exchange student was the Natural History Museum. His choice. Once inside, the teenagers split from us old folks and the little one to parts unknown. The youngest child wanted to see the new Written in Bone exhibit. But we had to make a detour for Mama to see her favorite exhibit – the Hope Diamond. It’s more than just the diamonds that thrill me. There are rubies, and emeralds, and sapphires, and garnets, and opals, and, and, and.

Tiffany's!

Cartier!

Black Starr!

Frost Gorham!

Talk to me Harry Winston.

When I was dating my soon-to-be fiancé, a childhood friend admonished me “No yellow diamonds”. Blue, red, yellow, clear – the color isn’t that important. My one desire during high school wasn’t a backseat boogie with the star football player; it was that delicate necklace on display at the corner jewelry store. Every Friday evening as the high school crowd would gather for Friday-night “cruising”, my first stop was the corner window to covet what I couldn’t afford and, as a teenager, didn’t need.

But stiff back

Or stiff knees,

You stand straight at Tiffany's.

Nowadays, the resources are budgeted towards college tuition for the kids and retirement for my husband and me. Indulgences are limited to four-star restaurants, spa half-days, and Godfather trilogy Blu-Rays – things that don’t have to be financed. But every now and then, standing close and gazing at the sparkling ice is just what the doctor ordered.

But square-cut or pear-shaped,

These rocks don't loose their shape.

Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

The Teutonic Typewillow

As a good friend told me, sometimes you just have to tell people you don't have anything to write. My muse is taking her sabbatical without me. If anyone sees her, let me know. Without her, all I can do is my Lili Von Shtüpp impersonation.

"I'm tired... Zzzzzzzz...."

Going to Radio Silence

As Queen Elizabeth II said several years ago, this has been an annus horribilis. My friend's mother passed away in New York over the weekend. I'm heading up for a few days. My laptop is staying home. No new blogs will be posted for the next week.

Wines and Tigers and Pandas! Oh, my!

Do you come back from vacation needing a vacation to recover from your vacation? How about from the weekend needing another weekend to recover? Whew! What a weekend!

More accurately, whew! What a Sunday!

Our Austrian exchange student wanted to join us for church Sunday morning. He rolled up his sleeves with the EYC (Episcopal Youth in Community) to prepare a meal for the homeless shelter. Then came the service which was more formal and more musical and more populated than his small Lutheran church back home. He even managed to sing a few stanzas in the hymns but took Communion without touching the chalice. Our church is decidedly low-church on some things; we take the chalice from the server to drink.

We made plans with another exchange family in our parish to do a joint outing after lunch, something fun for everyone, kids and adults included. Some things are the same regardless of where you are. Take the zoo for instance. Wonder at the animals is universal. Off we went to the zoo all crammed in our gas-guzzler, one too many for the seatbelts. Thank goodness the father and son from the other family didn’t go with.

On the first really nice day of spring that just so happened to be a Sunday, everybody and their brother decided to go to the zoo. Parking was a bear. The premium of a $20 flat rate to park in the closest-in parking lot didn’t seem like an extravagance. If only they charged admission at the zoo! Maybe the number of bipeds and strollers and toddlers-on-leashes would have been lessened.

As it was, viewing the panda meant standing six deep and waiting for the batteries to run out on the front row’s digital cameras in order to move up to the rail. Oh the joys of living in a tourist mecca! But we made the pilgrimage. Good thing I can prop my feet up while I type this blog.

Chem Fatale

My eldest daughter has been having a difficult time deciding on her senior year classes. To receive an advanced diploma, she must take certain subjects and a certain number of AP classes. To remind those of us who haven't stepped foot in an AP class recently, they're basically college-level classes with the requisite college-level reading and writing. Last summer, for example, she had to read part of her regular textbook as well as part of a college-level book, finish a packet of questions based on the readings, and turn it in on the first day of school or receive an F for the first quarter. Brutal!

Some of her AP classes for next year were already givens. Currently she's taking German IV. German V is an AP class; no way around it. Since she has an A average in her English class as well as a 100 for the year in her creative writing class, she'll take the AP English next year. She also has an A average in her AP United States History class so AP United States Government is the next step. Now try to decide if four AP classes are too much.

She's currently taking chemistry and doing quite well. Her grade has alternated between an A and a B, depending on whether she missed a lot of school during some critical classroom time. She's been debating between AP chemistry and physics. My biggest concern was that four AP classes in one year, her senior year, might be too heavy of a load. Especially since we'll be visiting colleges and she'll be taking the SAT another time. (She took the SAT in October of her junior year and did very well. Taking it again in her senior year might increase her scores significantly.) She, her father and I discussed the pros and cons of AP chemistry versus a regular physics class.

She recently brought home a copy of her registration form. I scanned the form. AP English, AP German V, AP United States Government, Statistics, Trigonometry, Psychology, Art, and Physics. No fourth AP class. No more chemical equations. Now whenever I take the kids to the theme park and tell them about how roller coasters work, she'll be able to understand the decreasing circles in the corkscrew turns all the better.

Life Stinks

Baruch dayan emet (Blessed is the one true Judge). Into your hands, O Lord, we commend our brother (sister). Allaahumma ighfir lihaayina wa mayitina wa shaahidina wa ghaa’ibina wa sagheerina wa kabeerina wa dhakarina wa unthaana (O Allah, forgive our living and our dead, those who are present among us and those who are absent, our young and our old, our males and our females). Give rest, O Christ, to thy servant(s) with thy saints, where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting.

Those words, which should give comfort, have been spoken by me and too many of my friends recently. Within the last twelve months, we have lost a wife, a father, a mother, an actress, and are now close to losing another mother. In the last two years, I have sat Shiva with both a young mother of three six-year-old-and-under daughters and an older daughter who had an astonishing tale to tell about her extraordinary mother. I took food to homes and our fellowship hall for parishioners’ families’ meals and receptions.

Just yesterday a neighborhood friend walked up with her dog and my god-dog. I was surprised to see her with my dear friend’s dog. She informed me that the reason was that my friend and her family had gone to New York to see my friend’s mother who might not be with us as I type these words. It’s ironic how two Upper East Side transplants from across the Atlantic were/are both in hospital in New York and one is mourned by the world while the other will be mourned by only those who knew and loved her personally.

I will take food again and sit Shiva again and shed tears not only for my friend and her mother but for my neighbor and her mother and for me and my father. I will help her understand the pain and the labor that grieving requires of us. And I will be thankful that she has a strong synagogue community to support her.

My own thank you notes sit unwritten in a box from the funeral home which the funeral director topped with a picture of my father. Another friend told me that the thank you notes are the finality of death. Writing them is to acknowledge that your loved one is gone. I’m not to that point yet. I’m in limbo – that dreadfully depressing time after the casseroles stop coming, when everyone expects you to be “back to normal”.

There is no more normal for some of us. We are now widows and widowers, motherless daughters and adult orphans. We have been left alone by the world because we aren’t always up and happy. People don’t like to be reminded that there is sadness and grief and anger and any other emotion than happiness. Depending on your religious beliefs, our dearly departed are in a better place, free from pain, rejoicing in the Everlasting Light. But those of us left behind need nurturing and caring and checking in on.

Next time you ask us, “How are you,” look us in the eye and mean it. Ask it with conviction and a real desire to know how we’re doing. And don’t let time and society dictate when we’re supposed to be fine. Sit with us for a week. Pray for us for four months. And check up on us on holidays and birthdays and anniversaries. And slowly, hopefully, we’ll be able to answer you back is an honest “I’m okay.”

Mental Gymnastics

[Editor's note: Be sure to vote in the poll to the right of this blog.]

Facebook Former and I have been IM'ing each other on an almost nightly basis. He's been filling me in on the happenings in the political world of my birth state. For me, being involved in politics was a birthright.

My father was on the county party executive committee from before I was born, and the state party executive committee beginning in my teenage years. My mother was a voting inspector who worked the polls every election. My first memory of politics was when during the 1972 presidential election. She was working the polls as usual and I was with her. She told me to go outside and remove the bumper sticker from the back of our car since it was parked so close to the building and some people might consider that politicking.

Since I graduated from university a year early, my "gap year" was spent volunteering for a United States senatorial candidate. When he was elected, volunteering led to a paid position in his main district office which just so happened to be in the city where the university is located. It was the perfect opportunity because I had been accepted to the law school. My full-time position became part-time as torts and civil procedure and others filled my mornings; my afternoons were spent at the office, evenings studying. The senator wanted me in his Washington office, so off to DC I went.

After leaving the paid workforce to stay home with the kids, my ties to politics were reduced to nuggets gleaned from talks with my father. Without him, news from the state has dried up totally. Until the Facebook Former showed up and started peppering me with more information about the goings-on in state politics than I'd heard for years.

One thing I've noticed about IM'ing him is that he keeps me on my toes. He's very quick-witted and expects me to use parts of my brain that have lain dormant for a long time. Chatting online with him is both exhilarating and exhausting. Chatting with FF, I'm expected to know not only big words but nuances in labels and descriptions. After too many years of Big Bird, Anime, and Miley Cyrus, it's good to knock out the cobwebs and exercise the brain. Just slow down a little. After the other night I think I sprained my cerebellum.

Stolen from a Friend on Facebook

Kid questionnaire.

Ask your child(ren) to answer the questions and type their answers in.Tag other folks with older kids who might have fun with this. :)

( just type what the kids said...)

1. What is something Mommy always says to you?
* Clean your room.
2. What makes Mommy happy?
* When we help around the house.
3. What makes Mommy sad?
* When a pet dies.
4. How does your Mommy make you laugh?
* Tickle me.
5. What was your Mommy like as a child?
* How am I supposed to know?
6. How old is your Mommy?
* 43.
7. How tall is your Mommy?
* 6 feet, 3 inches.
8. What is her favorite thing to do?
* Relax.
9. What does your Mommy do when you're not around?
* Run errands and clean the house and cook.
10. If your Mommy becomes famous, what will it be for?
* Cooking.
11. What is your Mommy really good at?
* Being a mom.
12. What is your Mommy not very good at?
* Juggling.
13. What does your Mommy do for her job?
* Be a mom and sometimes teach ballet.
14. What is your Mommy's favorite food?
* Spaghetti.
15. What makes you proud of your Mommy?
* She keeps the whole entire house in check.
16. If your Mommy were a cartoon character, who would she be?
* Kyo’s mother from Alice 19.
17. What do you and your Mommy do together?
* Watch movies.
18. How are you and your Mommy the same?
* We both love to cook.
19. How are you and your Mommy different?
* Her eyes and partly her hair.
20. How do you know your Mommy loves you?
* She says it.
21. Where is your Mom's favorite place to go?
* The spa.

I asked my youngest. She got a lot of them right and some of them wrong. Hmm, which ones are wrong?

[Editor's note: The poll is still open. One person suggested New York City and even offered the use of her mother's Upper East Side apartment while the mother is out of pocket.]

Frau Robinson

[Editor's note: Don't forget to vote in the poll to the right of this blog.]

When you were in high school, didn't you look at other kids and think, Oh, s/he's cute? Even though you may be married, don't you see a stranger at the mall and think the same thing? As we age, do we stop appreciating good looks? Are we supposed to not acknowledge the fact that we think someone is cute/good looking/hot/beautiful/gorgeous? Perhaps if we're married and the person we think is cute is the same age as our eldest daughter?

She takes German in school and is participating in an exchange program with a group of kids from Austria. Even though the ratio of girls to boys in the German classes at her high school is fairly equal, for some reason there are more American girls than boys participating in the exchange this year. The Austrian class is split closer to 50/50. Which means that some of the girls need to host a boy. Even though we have only daughters, we moved the youngest in with another and offered to host a boy.

The Austrian students arrived yesterday and when we got a look at the young man who'll be staying with us both the teenagers' as well as mom's eyes widened. A quick glance at my two girls and I could see in their face what they were thinking.

When I privately told my husband about their reaction, I also mentioned that I thought he was cute. At which point my husband immediately starts in with "coo-coo-ca-choo".

Where in the World Should The Gaelic Wife Go?

One week. That's all the time you've got to vote in the poll on the top right side of my page. My husband and I decided that I needed some Me Time. Alone. Preferably in a different city. So, here are the pros and cons of each. Don't forget to vote!

London - Cons: It'll still be dark and cold and dreary. The dollar isn't doing too well against the pound. The last time I was in London was with my father who recently passed away. Pros: They speak English. There are great theatres and museums to keep me busy so I don't think too much about my troubles. The last time I was in London was with my father.

Paris - Cons: They speak French. The dollar isn't doing too well against the euro. The first time I was in Paris was with my father. Pros: I speak French. Lots of museums and restaurants. The first time I was in Paris was with my father.

San Juan - Cons: Not much to do except the beach and I'm fair skinned (Gaelic, remember). Getting to the resort you pass such abject poverty that you feel guilty indulging in such luxury. They speak Spanish. Pros: It's still in the US, so no passport or changing money. It'll be warm and sunny. El Yunque.

Remember, vote early, vote often! Polls close on Monday, March 23rd at noon Eastern Time.

Do You Want Cheese With That Whine?

The back pain began with a vengeance two years ago. Was it residual sciatica from my third pregnancy? Was my four-time-a-week running schedule creating a tight piriformis muscle or SI joint? Time to find out.

After numerous MRIs, x-rays, nerve tests, muscle tests, six months of physical therapy, deep-tissue massage, and two rounds of epidural steroids, the pain still radiated down my leg and tingled my toes. If my toes are going to be tingling, I’d prefer a different method. The doctor put me on a nerve medicine and two pain medicines which are enough to stop a horse. No wonder I feel like I’m walking in a fog all day that never lifts.

Today’s office visit was to discuss other options than living on meds the rest of my life. However, five minutes into the conversation and it was becoming clear to me that he wanted to do another round of epidural steroid shots. Thank goodness my husband was with me to drive me home.

So instead of heading off to the gym for some cardio and strength training, I ended up walking gingerly back to the car for a not-too-pleasant ride home. Um, did I say home? I made the unfortunate mistake of checking my email on the way home. My Girl Scout troop’s cookie manager needed me to pick up cookies for today’s cookie booth. (Yesterday was a wild goose chase for cookies in which I ended up driving two hours roundtrip and still didn’t come back with the two biggest selling cookies without which a cookie booth is basically useless – Thin Mints and Samoas (coconut and caramel with chocolate drizzle).)

Today calls for a medicinal latte. If it’s medicinal, then partaking won’t be breaking Lent. Ten o’clock was too early for anything harder. Although it’s four o’clock somewhere. Europe, perhaps? Stilton, anyone?