Bits and Pieces

2005-08-29T15:11:00.000-05:00

2005-08-25T11:25:00.000-05:00

I like these people. The question is, do I have their chutzpah?

2005-08-16T21:33:00.000-05:00

I was sent a “Get to know you” survey for Shannon, so I thought I’d share her answers here for your enjoyment.

First name? "Shannon."
Were you named after anyone? "I don't know."
Do you wish on stars? "Sometimes."
When did you last cry? "I don't remember."
Do you like your handwriting? "Well, everybody likes their *own* handwriting!" (In a perfect Scarlett O'Hara imitation.)
What is your favorite lunch meat? "Lunch meat? Probably be...you said, meat? Um...what's the kind I have on my ham and cheese sandwich? That's my favorite, I think."
What is your birthday? "April 2nd." and then "Is someone going to be sending me something?"
What is your favorite CD? "That silly one with 'Wash your face in orange juice'." [The Absolutely Very Best of Peter Combe]
If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you? (After several minutes of existential discussion on how this might be possible, I gave up and moved on.)
Do you have a journal? "I don't know."
What are your nicknames? "Shannon-Bananan-Hanan, that's what Auntie Carol calls me."
Would you bungee jump? "What is a bungee jump?" (After an explanation) "No! ......... Well, it sounds silly. Hmm, I don't *think* I would do it."
Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? "Sometimes."
Do you think that you are strong? "Well, I don't know. It's hard to say."
What is your favorite ice cream flavor? "That's a yummy thought. Chocolate and strawberry. Not together, just apart."
Shoe Size? "I'll be right back." (went to check...) "10." (I just bought her size 12's. I guess she didn't find those.)
Red or Pink? "I have some shoes that are pinkish red..." (When I said it wasn't about shoes) "Oh, I like red more than pink."
What is your favorite thing about yourself? "That I live."
Who do you miss most? "I miss lots of people. But the most I guess is Grandma and Grandpa and Bobbie, cuz we don't see them very much." (They also don't call very often...but I digress.)
Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it back? "If it has a picture, they should make a different one to send back to me."
What color pants and shoes are you wearing right now? "Well, I"m not wearing any shoes. I'm wearing capri's with flowers on them that are turquoise, light green, pink and purple with really light purple underneath."
What are you listening to right now? "The fan."
Last thing you ate? "Kolachi. I'm eating it now."
If you were a crayon, what color would you be? "I would be, hmmm, magenta."
What is the weather like right now? "Cloudy and hot."
Last person you talked to on the phone? "Grandad. "
Favorite drink? "Strawberry smoothies and strawberry lemonades."
Favorite Sport to watch? "I do not know. I haven't seen ALL the sports, so I can't say." (BUT, I say, nor has she tried ALL the drinks, and yet she CAN say...)
Hair Color? "Really dark brown." (She's a liar. Even Miss Clairol wouldn't call it that. It's more of a medium brown with golden highlights.)
Do you wear glasses? "No." (But it's not for lack of nagging at the glasses store, believe-you-me.)
Favorite Food? "That's a yummy thought just like ice cream. Strawberries."
Last Movie You Watched? "I don't remember."
Scary Movies Or Happy Ending? "Well, it could be a Scary Movie WITH a Happy Ending..." (UGH! Is this *supposed* to take three years to complete???)(After several moments of hemming and hawing during which I surf the web for hair replacement products...) "I guess both."
Summer or winter? (Not another one!) "Well, I like cold, and I'd rather it be in winter. But if you mean about movies, I'd rather it be in summer."
Hugs OR Kisses? "Which would I prefer giving to someone? Well.........." Ponders for several moments...."I don't really know what this means." (I say just to choose which she likes best.) "To get?" (sure) "Um, well, it depends on who it is. If it's my brother..." (Moving right along....)
What Is Your Favorite Dessert? "ooooh, I like for dessert Ice Cream sandwiches, Ice cream in a cone, any kind of ice cream, really."
Who lives in your house? "My family."
What books are you reading? "I'm not reading any book right now."
What's On Your Mouse Pad? "I don't think I really have a mouse pad."
What Did You Watch Last night on TV? "Monster House."
Favorite Smells? "Smell of roses."
Favorite Sounds? "I don't know."
What's the furthest you've been from home? "Grandpa and Grandma's?" (She's also been to Australia - when we lived in Seattle, and to the UK when we lived in Denver.) (Grandpa and Grandma live in WA State.)

Ok, I can see we have some work to do on decision-making and the whole idea of 'what if...' and, obviously, high drama and being RIGHT is critical. But you have to admit, if she can't argue her way out of anything, she can probably use some other charm... "What's the meat on my ham and cheese...?" Oh deary me, oh deary me!

2005-08-10T16:51:00.000-05:00

Soldiering on, I saw an(other) insightful piece by Wendy McElroy in the news this morning. Sort of preaching to the choir, I suppose, but she’s able to speak with so much more clarity than I, I thought I’d share.

My pals over at Literary Chicks are holding an auction for fellow author Marianne Mancusi who lost her house to a lightning fire while she was at the RWA conference in Reno. If you read or write or are just plain curious, check out some of the really cool stuff up for grabs. Personally, I'm bidding on a manuscript critique by an agent. I have ZERO qualms about buying my way onto a desk wherein lies the power of publishing. (Donations accepted.)

And, if you haven’t already made a donation to sponsor me for the 3 Day walk, my donations need to be in by the end of the month, so get your hiney over to my donation page and JUST DO IT! You can use a credit card online, download and print a form to send in a check or credit card payment, or even do monthly installments for up to a year! How much easier can a tax deduction get? The life you save might be your own. Or my daughter’s. Or both. I’m not going to beg, but, honestly, my life, as you know, is hell. And I’m still willing to walk 60 miles in a weekend, PLUS do as much training as I can. Any double digit donation is wonderful, a triple digit one is that much better. I thank your kind and generous hearts in advance.

On a lighter note, as Shannon and I were making our way to the pharmacy counter yesterday to pick up more drugs to add to our little collection, these items gave me pause. I wonder if these are made by the company that gave us Psssssssst back in the 70’s. I mean, I suppose it’s a good idea. Kind of like the “you never appreciate how gross carpet is until you have hard floors” scenario. And I don’t guess too many men want to use butt wipes, er, I mean, baby wipes, on their heads. I thought it was funny how they had to give the guy on the shampoo box (isn’t this a line for ‘Bald Guyz’???) hair, though. Just in case their niche was a teensy bit too small, I suppose. I wonder where one stops with the ‘head’ sunscreen and starts with the Coppertone. Maybe at the gold chain.

2005-08-09T23:29:00.000-05:00

Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go eat worms…

I am thankful today for those who value honesty and truth and who love me for who I am.

When I left home in May I had several good friends. Or so I thought. Instead it seems some sour grapes have been eaten at some point. I didn’t know it was possible to put a bowl of FRIENDs in the fridge and come back three months later and find it changed into PARIAH. Ah, chemistry.

Have I confused you, yet? If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been trying to figure it out for a week and I have yet to come to a conclusion that holds water.

Let me try again.

When I got home, I emailed and left phone messages for friends to let them know we were home and that we were anxious to catch up as soon as possible. I got no reply. I tried again. Finally one replied saying that her children didn’t want to hang around my children anymore. Soon another brought by the house every item I’d ever loaned or given her and left it on the front porch. There was no note. She didn’t even knock. After several emails and phone messages I got an email back saying she didn’t have time to be friends with me.
The third was more puzzling. The last email I got from her, aside from condolences about the wreck, said, in part, “I am looking forward to getting out of the house and doing some fun things when you get back and so are the girls. Enjoy your time away and we look forward to seeing you when you all get home.” I sent her a couple of emails and finally got a response today which read, “I have since changed my mind about our families getting together at future times (to further a friendship). Please respect my decision and discontinue further contact. Should we meet at events, etc. we are acquaintances and can act as such.”

So, there you go. Three friendships shot to hell and I don’t even have a clue how I did it.
But, see, here’s where it all falls apart. I took the high road. I didn’t stomp my feet or demand a chance to defend myself or anything. I simply said I’m sad you feel that way, I respect your decision, and I wish you well. So, how come I’m the one crying my eyes out? How come I’m the one left with the challenge of explaining to my children why none of their friends are available anymore? How come I’m the one building the fortress around my family? We don’t need this. Where did I go wrong?

2005-07-22T09:18:00.000-05:00

WE'RE ALMOST HOME!!!!
We spent last night in Pueblo and hope to be home tonight. I'll try to get a decent account of our misadventures written before I leave for RWA nationals on Wednesday morning... UGH!

2005-06-23T10:39:00.000-05:00

Here's the thing about having pride. See I used to didn't. I didn't used to. In my younger days, I had no feelings of self-worth. And I didn't attempt things because I only saw failure ahead. But, as the years passed I slowly found there were some good things about me, some things that were worthwhile and some things I could do, and some I could even do well (or at least fake well enough). I learned to enjoy a can-do attitude; an I'll-give-it-a-go mind-set. I took on a Positive Outlook. I managed to accomplish some pretty big things, and lots of little things. People seemed to genuinely like me (though I never stopped asking myself why). I was still (am still) quite fragile in the self-worth department. Those early lessons are so hard to unlearn. I've gotten really good at looking like the cuts and scrapes of life and miscues of relationships are easily deflected, but I'm just a big liar. And, naturally, I assume the worst scenario first. I am positive I cease to exist to others when I am not in their presence. If someone doesn't return a call, they must dislike me. In fact, I am loathe even to make phone calls, for fear the callee won't want to talk to me. My brain knows this is not rational. But my ego is too fragile to take it, just in case my brain is wrong.

Buuuuuuuuuuut, this blog was supposed to be about the pride before the fall or the wreck...and as usual, I got side-tracked. Everybody, shift back, one step left should do it...Ready...Go.

So, here I was, feeling really bent out of shape, pride-wise, having to hear (even if it was only in my head) that I shouldn't have tried pulling the trailer, and that it could have been so much worse and we were so lucky and I was about ready to ask for a do-over so I wouldn't be here to have to listen to this garbage when Auntie Chris (the bestest Auntie Chris in all the world, hands down) pointed out that I might have had to come crawling back without one or more of my children.
Ah. Well. Yes.
No. Not in this life.
I guess it's not so much about me, after all.
At least not this time.

2005-06-22T09:53:00.000-05:00

From inside, you couldn't tell it was windy. The sky was a deep summer blue against the chaff beside the road. "American Baby" played on the radio and the kids sat silently in their seats behind me, until a police cruiser with lights flashing came over the hill and pulled off in front of us. Then Shannon asked, "Are we all going to go to jail?" No, not jail, and we definitely aren't in Kansas anymore. We have just entered The Twilight Zone. We didn't get here by way of the rabbit hole or the wardrobe. It was the West Wind. The West Wind that pushed the trailer. The West Wind that pushed the trailer into the semi. The West Wind that pushed the trailer into the semi so that the trailer bounced off and I couldn't regain control of it, but, by GOD, I would not let go or slam on the brakes or let the skid take the car, too. The West Wind that made the trailer roll, over and over, still attached to the car, while I watched the sweet summer blue sky in the windshield, and held my hands at ten and two, because that's what Mr. Neisen taught me to do, with some strength I found on sale at Big Lots last week and forgot in the car, I guess, because it surprised me. And when the West Wind had had it's fun, and moved on to other things, and we parked, inconveniently, on the dirty embankment facing the traffic we had only just been swimming with, and my glasses, anxious for more adventure, I suppose, followed the wind, I said, "Shit." and then, turning to the children, "Everyone ok?" As soon as I heard the three of them answer, that's when I started down the slippery slope.
It's been an interesting ride, let me tell ya. One you won't prob'ly see at Six Flags. Unless... Reality Theme Parks, anyone? For $5 you could choose between the Crash Aftermath Insomnivator or the Whiplash Traumatron. For only another $1.75 you could add 2 hours of hold time listening to Muzak on Insurance Adjuster Island. Think anyone'd buy it? Of course, there's the whole part about crawling home with your tail between your legs in shame...
I'm sure I heard people saying I was crazy to have even tried to pull the trailer in the first place. Maybe I was. Maybe I should learn there are things I just can't do. There are limits to the possibilities. The world is not my oyster and yada, yada, yada. Does anyone have a cave I can crawl into?
I got the call yesterday that the car wasn't totaled. Only $4,500 in damage. Just tweaked the frame, as they say. More damage than that to my frame, but that will have to wait until I get home to my own doctors. Until then, I'll deal with the numbness, weakness, temperature oddities (the backs of my upper arms have cold streaks), and pains in my arms, legs, back and neck in addition to the headache from the concussion. I'm not up to dealing with new doctors at the moment. So shoot me. Might be doing me a favor.

2005-05-12T09:00:00.000-05:00

Ah, rejection. But by any other name doth smell so sweetly putrid? Veto, nix, denial, refusal, exclusion, ostracism, criticism, failure, defeat. Of course. It’s my greatest fear and it’s the thing that has kept me from so many things I can’t even begin to count them. I’m sure that’s true for lots of people (but, let’s face it, this isn’t about lots of people, this is about me: all me, all the time). (You want lots of people, go see Dr. Phil or Psychology Today.)

The kids and I are on our way to Washington to visit friends and family and I decided we’d go through Nebraska so we could meet my brother, Richard, and his family. In the last few days before we left home, I was nearly paralyzed by my fear of rejection. I kept finding myself stewing over it, my heart aching and tears rolling down my cheeks. It was oddly illogical to me (I seem to have a little Jiminy Cricket analyst who pops in during times like these.) because I didn’t react this way when I was going to meet my father. I only had a moment of panic on the plane right at the last.
Anyway, here we are at Richard’s. We’ve been here since Tuesday night. I don’t feel rejected. Just not completely accepted. But I guess I shouldn’t expect too much. I’d like to feel like when we leave he’d want to make an effort to be sure we remain part of his life. I’d like not to have to feel like I’m forcing myself on him by being the one always making contact. Maybe not rejection. Maybe just ambivalence. Still probably worth a tear or two, but I’ll save them for when I cross the bridge. In the meantime, the cousins are getting along famously and, if I get permission, I’ll post some pictures.

Sometimes rejection is so slow to come it is almost a non-event and that which might have stung hard is merely a pinprick. But it is still an end to hope. Last year at the Romance Writers of America National Conference in July, I met with an agent who requested a partial and synopsis of Can of Corn. Yesterday I got an email saying the agent that requested it has since left the agency and “although the story sounds interesting, the plot and the baseball backdrop just don’t catch fire for me”. Fine, but did it have to take a week for her to write each damning syllable?
They say writers need to be thick-skinned. I doubt I’ll ever be. Which is probably why I’ll never be another Jennie Crusie. I would like to do it, though. At least once. Because I know I can write better than some of the stuff that’s out there. I think.

2005-04-25T08:58:00.000-05:00

Was Friday the 13th or a full moon or something? Maybe I woke up on the wrong side of the Karma. Whatever it was, it wasn’t my day. The first thing was an appointment with my gastroenterologist, Dr. Gonz. She’s a great doctor and I like her a lot. Usually her office runs very smoothly. This particular morning, however… My appointment was at 9:40. I arrived on time and sat down to wait. And wait and wait. I didn’t get to see Dr. Gonz until half past 11! Turns out, she had some sort of emergency patient, but it would be the one day I had some urgent things to work on at home.
Anyway, Dr. Gonz and I had a little talk and it sounds like I can minimize my reflux by avoiding tea, coffee, alcohol, chocolate, tomatoes, spices, tea, chocolate, anything good, bending over, life in general, alcohol, dairy products, citrus fruits, chocolate, tea, food, and by making some simple lifestyle changes. I will also have to take medication for the rest of my life, once we find a medication that works. With luck, that will be soon.

Then I went home, had time for a piece of Nutella toast for lunch before getting Kieran to his Chemistry class by 1. Then I had an appointment with my Pain Management Doctor. He’s the guy that’s taking care of my neck. This time I was a little bit late, so another patient got in ahead of me so I had to wait again. When it was my turn with Dr. Hede, we talked, and he told me he didn’t think there was much to be gained by doing more epidural injections, and I agreed. I suggested traction, so we’re going to try that, and then I got him to give me a shot of muscle relaxant in the most knotted muscle in my shoulder. (This was the high point of my day.) So, another status quo appointment.

At this point, I was about 15 minutes late and 10 away from picking up Kieran. Luckily, he is an understanding person. I picked him up at 2:55 and drove him to his 3:00 appointment at the chiropractor. Luckily, they are understanding people, too, since it’s a 15 minute drive.
Kieran hurt his back a few weeks ago, and it just wasn’t getting better, so I decided it was time to take him in. Dr. Hanson examined him and discovered that his spine was curving a bit. Of course, she used the word ‘scoliosis’ and I freaked out (only internally – I have the best poker face). She adjusted his back and asked to see him one or two more times. If it’s not straightening out, she’ll take an x-ray to see if it’s idiopathic. And my brain is screaming, “NO! There can’t be anything wrong with my baby!!!” (Not the rational part, of course. The mother part.) (And another part is hearing a tune growing louder and louder…Until, I realize, by golly, it IS 5 o’clock somewhere!)

But before we can go home, we have a few things we need to pick up at Hobby Lobby. Kieran really doesn’t like shopping, but he helped me pick out some beads for a present I’m making. When I get around to it. Soon. One of these days. Eventually. Really.
Ok, now it’s past 5 o’clock right here in Texas. Which means every cowboy and his golfing buddy are heading home. We took our place in the queue and inched along. Finally, we turned off the main drag. Only one more turn, a four-way stop, and we’ll be home… But wait. That man in that truck behind me is driving very strangely. He’s coming very fast and weaving back and forth. It’s almost as if he means to smash into me. Maybe he’s in a hurry. I guess I’ll make my turn quickly and get out of his way. But now he’s turned behind me. And he’s still doing that. This is a narrow residential street. You can’t do that, you’ll kill someone. Or run into me. What are you doing, you crazy person? He’s gesturing wildly at me. And zooming up at me and almost next to me, but he can’t because the street is narrow and there is a turn and cars parked. Here’s the stop sign. He almost rammed me. I can see the house. It looks so inviting and safe, but I can’t go home, can I? Not with a lunatic following me. I can’t go further down our street because it’s a cul de sac. So I turn and head out of the neighborhood. He starts to follow me again, but gives up and turns around, making deep donut tracks in the grass on both sides of the road. As he roars away, I try to think what I could possibly have done to piss him off, but can’t think of anything. I’m just glad he didn’t shoot me.

When I eventually got home (I had to come around the back way and make sure he wasn’t sitting at the intersection waiting for me), I had chocolate AND wine. And deserved them both, thank you.

2005-04-21T09:41:00.000-05:00

Oi! I had the first three sentences of a blog open in Word on my computer for several days and no one came by and finished it for me. Even India who greets me with a sleepy “Myip?” when I come to my desk. I guess Myip is the feline equivalent of Roger’s absurd necessity to erase any hint of sleep from his voice when answering the phone, no matter what odd hour it may ring. As if anyone should think less of him to find him sleeping at 2:47 a.m. Especially if I am. The male ego is truly beyond my understanding.
But the next time the phone rings during normal sleeping hours, I think I’ll answer with a “Myip?” and see what happens. Of course, normal sleeping hours for me these days are midnight to 5 a.m. with a couple of catatonic stares mid to late afternoon as required. Sharp as a raw egg yolk, that’s me. Hoo, boy!

Speaking of catatonic, I’ve been doing some training and I find it’s nice to get out and just WALK. If only I could do that. The problem is, my mind tends to want to use the time to do things. Like write blogs, for instance. This could be hazardous as twice now I’ve been caught unawares when someone came up from behind and startled me. It’s not safe to be so lost in thought one isn’t aware of who or what (there’s snakes in them thar bushes) is nearby. Not only that, but, well, it could get one into trouble, too. This morning, for instance, I was thinking about how y’all might like an update on the $12.50 (BEFORE tax) underwear. (Thumbs down, BTW.)
So, there I was, walking along, blissfully unaware of snakes and serial killers while pondering panties. Eh, I can walk and chew gum…
When suddenly I was startled to see a hulking orange blob, no, t-shirt, huff, no, the shirt didn’t huff, it was worn by a huffer, er, huffing pair of legs attached to the feet that carried it… Whoa, deep breath. I better be careful. One of these times I might be startled out of a reverie and blurt out something that’ll get me arrested. (This is the Bible Belt folks. And it’s a ‘community’.) What if, when the Orange-Shirted Phantom had blown by me this morning, I’d shouted, “Low-Rise Thong in Passionate Purple mesh?” I bet you there’d be several constables, a sheriff, a couple of Texas Rangers, and maybe even one or two of the horse patrols from the mall come to arrest me. Hmmmmm….

2005-04-07T11:32:00.000-05:00

You know, over the years, I’ve read, heard, and even said myself some pretty far out reasons for and against homeschooling. Frequently, of course, as with any passionate argument, one side argues without true benefit of knowledge and at least one side argues mostly with their heart. Not necessarily wrong, just not the most efficient way to get your point across.

The usual arguments against homeschooling are education and socialization, but yesterday I heard one I’d never heard before. A friend of mine who is new to homeschooling and hasn’t had a lot of support from her family writes:

“On a humorous note, a well meaning relative advised me that the biggest element that Nathaniel would miss by homeschooling is boredom. She wanted to know how he would learn to be bored if he didn't have to sit through boring, meaningless classes, and then as an adult, how would he be able to sit through boring, meaningless meetings? Her recommendation was to assign random, boring lessons (e.g. coloring or projects that he would not be interested in). I'm having trouble coming up with a serious response to this well-meant advise.”

So, Boredom 101. Yeah, I guess I do remember taking that class in school. Seems to me it was one I had to take repeatedly. I wonder what would happen if a whole generation never took that class…

2005-04-05T20:07:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, I got a Free Panty card in the mail from Victoria’s Secret. Pretty cool. So yesterday I went to the mall to collect on it. The (what are they called? Surely not ‘salesgirls’…) female (should I need to point out gender?) (GAH!) (Hey! Maybe THAT’S the secret!) attendant pointed me to the available panties and said I could choose white, beige, tan, nude, or black. Of course, I coveted the turquoise. Really, truly, drooly, coveted. I actually almost had myself convinced I could buy the turquoise and they would be two for the price of one. But then I looked at the price. And I decided even turquoise underwear probably wasn’t worth twelve dollars and fifty cents plus tax. Shoot, I wasn’t wearing a single piece of clothing that cost me that much. My t-shirt cost 8 bucks at Costco, my linen capri’s cost me 12 at Target, my bra was 9 at Wal-Mart, the underwear were from a sale at Nordstrom and, if I recall correctly, cost me somewhere around $2. My shoes are about 6 years old, and I don’t have a clue where I bought them, but I guarantee I bought them on sale. Okay, they probably were more than $12.50, but with depreciation and all, well… give me a break.
My point? Oh, yeah. My point is, who in the hell NEEDS underwear that cost nearly $13 a pair? Can they possibly be WORTH it? HOW??? Granted, they are great underwear. I made a special trip to the mall to get my pair. I wouldn’t have made a special trip to Wal-Mart for a free pair of their underwear.
Eh, who knows, maybe I’m just a cynical old woman.

Speaking of money, I have to share with you something funny Shannon said to me. She got a birthday card from her Great Grandma Nettie and inside was a five-dollar bill. Her knowledge of the Presidents is based on those she sees on our currency, so I said, “Look, it’s Lincoln.”

“Really?”

“Yep, right there.”

“Major Ham Lincoln?”

(I hope you don’t think I was going to CORRECT her!)

2005-04-03T22:35:00.000-05:00

So, baby Shannon turned six yesterday. We had a party, inviting her friends and their families. We invited 5 families, but only three were able to make it. I made lots of goodies to eat, we rented a bouncy thing (they’re called moonwalks here, but I’ve never heard them called that anywhere else), and turned the heater up on the pool a little bit. The kids ranged in age from 3 – 15, and most of them were girls (and some that weren’t still screamed as if they were). The big boys (Tudor and Kieran and their friends) played upstairs on the game cube or the computer or something most of the afternoon. The dads disappeared into the den for a good portion of the time and us moms sat near the chocolate and the chips and homemade salsa. We could see the kids through the windows and hear if there was a change in the general pitch of their noise, but we could also speak to each other in normal tones and eat all the brownies we wanted with out having to make any justification whatever. It was A Good Thing.
Then it was time to do the piñata. It looked like Hello Kitty and was supposed to burst open when the ‘right’ ribbon was pulled from the bottom. Roger fashioned a hook on the end of a 2x4 and held it above the kids. They all grabbed a ribbon and pulled. Nothing happened. There were a few remaining ribbons. They grabbed those and YANKED. Hello Kitty came loose from the 2x4 and fell to the floor, whereupon the children dove and began ripping her flesh apart like so many voracious piranhas. I tried to take pictures, but I was laughing too hard. As soon as they got all the goodies and tossed aside the carcass, they set about dividing up the loot evenly. Poor Hello Kitty.
The kids got a little freaked out by the real flowers I used to decorate the cake. Kudos to Shannon for eating one. She decided she didn’t particularly care for it, so she stuck to chocolate cake after that, though.
It was a good day and there were no tears, so I’m declaring it a success. For everyone except Miss Kitty.

2005-04-03T11:24:00.000-05:00

Okay, well... There may or may not be some extraneous text in the previous post. It shows up only on the web, not in my preview or edit modes, so I can't take it out. You may or may not be able to see it, therefore. I'll put it to you this way: Picture me waving my hand in front of you, a la Ewan McGregor (or was it Liam Neeson? Let's face it, they were the only reasons to actually watch Episode 1), saying, "These are not the words you are looking for..."

2005-04-02T23:26:00.000-06:00

In celebration of Shannon’s 6th birthday today, I’m going to recall the story of her birth for your reading pleasure. Enjoy.

I woke up at 1:30 in the morning on the 2nd of April for my usual potty run and had a really strong contraction. I was able to go back to sleep until 2:30 when another one woke me up. I decided to get up and see if there was anything to these. I wandered around, read some email, and timed the contractions until 3:15 when I decided it was time to wake Roger. The contractions were a lot stronger than they had been and were now getting closer together. I wasn’t in any hurry to start calling people, but agreed to at five when the contractions were 3-4 minutes apart. (Remember, my previous labor, with Kieran, had lasted 33 hours, and I didn’t want to get labeled FTP – Failure to Progress – THE most common reason given for c-sections.)
The plan had been to labor at home with the doula for as long as possible, but when I rang the mid-wife and told her my contractions were 3-4 minutes apart, she said she wanted us to go to the hospital. We called the doula and arrived at the hospital about seven.

After the requisite 15 minutes of monitoring, and an internal exam (I was at 5 cms!), I got in the Jacuzzi. Unfortunately, the hot water wasn’t working so I got out again. Oddly enough, I didn’t find it terribly relaxing sitting in 98-degree water. So, we walked the halls for a few minutes while the maintenance crew fixed the hot water. While we were walking, the mid-wife arrived, so we went back to the room for a check. She said I was at seven. (For those of you who have no reference, one needs to dilate to 10 cms before one can deliver. I was at 7/10 at this point.) I could hardly believe I was so far into it. With the boys’ labors, it had been such hard work and such a long time to get to seven and with both of them; my labor had stalled out at this point, resulting in a c-section with Tudor and an epidural with Kieran. I really felt too good to be so far into it. I felt I had only had a few contractions and that I must be dreaming. During the exam, the mid-wife accidentally ruptured my membranes (they were obviously ready to pop). I expected things to get a bit hairy after that, but it never really happened.

The Jacuzzi was fixed then, so we went back and I sat back and relaxed. It was amazingly easy to relax. I felt very much in control and had complete confidence in my body’s ability to deliver this baby. It was a terrific feeling. I wasn’t in any hurry to have it over with. But soon enough I started to feel like I wanted to push. Someone got the mid-wife who checked me and said I was at nine. I said that if we were going to go back to the room we should do it NOW; otherwise, Shannon was going to be born underwater. (I think maybe they didn’t really take me seriously, but I don’t know what they thought they were going to do with me, stark naked and soaking wet, if I decided NOT to get out of the damn Jacuzzi.)
When we got back to the room, and got me on to the bed (a nice big double bed), I was still feeling very calm and relaxed. I pushed for about 20 minutes (they tell me, but it seemed like about five to me). About halfway through the pushing I asked that someone get the boys from the waiting room. I remember saying once, “I can’t do it.” And the mid-wife saying, “You can, because you are doing it.” I thought, “Oh, well, I guess I can then.” I was thinking very logically and clinically about the whole thing, and sort of got lost in thought and forgot why I was there, but when the mid-wife (who was sitting cross-legged on the bed behind me – I was lying on my side with the nurse holding my left leg up) asked if I wanted to feel her head as she was crowning, that kind of brought my focus back. One more push and her shoulders were out and she was all purply pink on my belly. The boys were immediately at the side of the bed and she and Kieran locked eyes right away. When it was time, the boys were given the scissors and cut the cord. They were fascinated.
All in all, it was a truly amazing and wonderful experience and I still can’t believe how well it went. There isn’t a think I would change about it. I have no regrets at all. The only pain I experienced was the local anesthetic the mid-wife gave me when she stitched up a small tear.

So, at 12:08 on Friday April 2, 1999, Shannon Elisabeth Billings joined our family. She weighed 6 pounds 10 ounces and was 19 inches long. She was contemplative and quiet, which we mistook for placid. Silly us. Since that day, she has certainly given us a run for our money. But, of course, we love her to pieces. Happy birthday, sweetheart! Have fun being six!

See how she's grown! (But she's still in the water...)

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2005-03-30T15:27:00.000-06:00

I need to add a caveat to the previous post. Some names were changed to protect the innocent. If your name was not changed, I think you can figure out what that means.

2005-03-30T12:55:00.000-06:00

Twice a year our friends Richard and Holly Heffelfinger throw a party. They are the kind of parties where everybody brings food and drink to share, but leaves their kids at home. We’ve been enough times that we know people outside our common friends, people we see only twice a year, but it’s fun to catch up with. Most everyone is between 35 and 55, and it’s very casual.
This year something special happened. And, as a result of that, something else. Another friend, Rick, is in a band. The first special thing is that Rick’s band played at the party. Honestly, they are really quite good. And amplified. Holly was supposed to get a noise permit. She invited all the neighbors, but the people directly behind declined. (Can you see the train wreck before it happens?)

Picture, dear reader, a pleasant suburban neighborhood. Well-kept homes nestle comfortably behind double-plus good landscaped front yards. There is a certain comfort in the repetition, like the motion of a train. It’s just 8:30 on a Saturday, but many of the houses are dark. You round a bend to find cars lining both sides of the street and lights and music spilling into the night. This must be the place.
You enter by way of the driveway, which has been given rows of table-bones now warty with crawfish remains and forgotten half-empty cups. The music is definitely loud. It’s genuine rock and roll. The good stuff. And it sounds good. Well practiced. The audience seems to have been produced mostly in the same era. Holly and Richard are charming people, so they have lots of friends to invite. The backyard is filled with shiny, happy people, the majority of whom are able to pull off socially acceptable manners when required, but are slightly left of center deep down. Almost before you know what hit you, friendly hands reach out, pulling you into a hug, a greeting, an assimilation. It’s party time.

Other people arrive and are given the same greeting, but then two pretty shiny-but-not-so-happy people round the corner into the backyard. They wear matching dark blue suits and try to cover matching looks of surprise with scowls. Neither succeeds terribly well. They do succeed in getting the band to stop: “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Absolutely, sir. Have a good evening, sir.” ………………….. “We’ll take a break and get something to eat, have a couple beers and then play some more.”
On their way out of the driveway, the officers’ conversation is overheard.
“Man, when we got this call, that was NOT what I was expecting to see.”
“Me either. And that band was really good.”
“Yeah, maybe we should stick around a while.”
“Dude, we just shut ‘em down.”
“But you know they’re gonna start up again.”
“Yeah….I know.”

The hands on the clock speed forward to 10 and the band is playing its finale. Pushing the amps. The people are happy still, but the shining has mostly gone to their eyes, as will happen from time to time. They are cheering and shouting and clapping for the band and the party and a warm spring night and life and health and means and friends and love and the crawfish that had the chutzpah to claw their way out of the cooking pot and find their way into the pool. Again, two uninvited guests in blue round the gate. Holly is there and assures them this is truly the bands’ last song. They are pulling down the marquee as soon as the last drumbeat sounds. One of the officers starts to say something, but Holly gets a better look at him and says, “Hey, I know you… I went to high school with you. You used to live across from the Bookman’s. Dave … Whitmore?” “Dan. Dave’s my brother. Yeah… The Bookman’s. My mom and dad still live in that house.” “I still tell the cat story.” “Oh my god! No, way! I’d forgotten all about that. You gotta stop tellin’ that. I’ll get in trouble for that.” “It’s alright; I don’t use your name.” “Man, that was the funniest thing ever.” “It was!”
“You guys shoulda got a permit for this band. They’re good, by the way.”
“I tried to get one online, but the site kept screwing up on me. Next year I’ll be sure to get one.”
“Ok. Next year.”
“And next year, I’ll invite you, and you can tell the cat story yourself.”
“Well, I don’t know about telling that story… but thanks.”
“Good to see you, Dan. Say hi to your folks.”
“Good to see you, too. Have a good party.”

So, dear reader, tune in next year when you’ll hear Dan say, “So, there was this cat, see…”

2005-03-25T14:21:00.000-06:00

Well, Paul’s yesterday might have seemed trouble free, but mine wasn’t. I was chuffed to figure out how to put the picture on the blog. Chuffed even that I managed to blog at all, really. The only things we had to do were attend chess club and pick up some peat pots to transplant the tomato seedlings into. We were a few minutes late getting into the car for chess, but not ridiculously so, so I wasn’t panicking. Yet. When I turned the car on I remembered I needed to get gas before we headed out. Ok, fine. It would delay us a few minutes, but we couldn’t escape it. We were about a mile down the road when I remembered I hadn’t taken my medications. We returned to the house, I went in, took them and got back in the car. Tudor said to me, “Just out of curiosity, what’s the best way to stop a car from the passenger seat?” It’s nice to know he’s thinking… But kinda sad to know he needs to.

Out we go again. To the gas station. I get out to pump the gas and when I pass my card back through the window for Tudor to put away for me, Shannon says, “I know what I forgot! I don’t have any shoes on!” (Insert very loud groaning here.)

After all that we ended up being “only” about 20 minutes late. Maybe we should have stayed home.

I didn’t want to take the kids to Home Depot with me to get the peat pots, so I dropped them at home and went out again. Good lord! The traffic! The Home Depot is usually about a 5-8 minute drive. Yesterday it took nearly 40 minutes. AND THEN THEY DIDN’T HAVE ANY!!! Aye yi yi! I asked an employee, just in case I was looking in the wrong place and he thought I said “cheap pots”. He had no clue. He shouted out to another guy. Also without clue. “Thanks.” I said. And gave them a cheery smile. “I’ll check back later.” Because everybody starts seeds in Texas once the temperature hits 90. The better to rot them with, my dear. I remembered to be sure my back was to them before I started rolling my eyes.

I had another mission (cord covers) and on my way to electrical, I made the huge mistake of stopping by customer service to ask if they knew when they might be getting some in. This was a mistake because I was “treated” to service by the manager himself, rather than an apathetic underling. Which meant he was helping 7 people at once, handling 3 phone calls, looking for peat pots on the computer, calling a local store to see if they had peat pots, and so on and so on and so on, ad naseum for about 15 minutes. The end result was, “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know why we don’t have any. We ought to be getting some in here pretty quick. When you come back in, check with me. I’m Steve.” (pats nametag on chest) “Ok, I’ll do that. Thank you, Steve. You’ve been really helpful.” (wonders if she’d get away with justifiable homicide)

But in the end, I decided Home Depot isn’t all bad. On my way through the parking lot to the car, I (me, moi, yo) garnered a wolf whistle! Roger had the nards to ask if I wasn’t a little pissed off at that sort of chauvinism. I said, “Honey, I’m over 40. What kind of fool do you think I am?”

2005-03-24T10:33:00.000-06:00

Um, I guess it would be nice to point out that the lovely lady on the right in the picture is Cin. Silly me.

2005-03-24T09:40:00.000-06:00

Let me give you a word of advice. Barium is not the breakfast of champions. No matter how it’s marketed, don’t go for it. It goes down alright (nothing that heavy could defy gravity!), but then it gets stuck in your bowels and, let me tell ya, you won’t need no concrete galoshes to go swimmin’ wit da fishes.
I was going to boast about losing a further 3 pounds, but I think the barium has put all 18 and then some back on. I just can’t win. …sigh…

And another thing, my local RWA chapter sponsored a workshop the other day. It was fabulous! By the time it was over, I felt like a writer again. This is a good thing. So, I came home and decided to send Can of Corn out and see what happens. I was spiffing up my synopsis when I discovered, lo and behold! The book has no climax! That’s worse than sex with no climax! (Trust me, folks, I’ve experienced both, and I know of what I speak.)
So it looks like Boner Bob and I have to find us a climax. And quick!

One more thing before Bob and I sneak off. It must be the month for news from old friends. I spoke to my friend John who is ready to retire after 20+ years in the Air Force and he tells me he’s being deployed to Bahrain in August! I guess this war is nothing like Vietnam where the average age was 19, cuz if it is, they must have a whole lot of 5 year olds over there to make up for the old guys like John! (Just kiddin’ buddy!)

Here we are at our 20th class reunion a couple of years ago. If you think we look like trouble now, you should have seen us THEN!

Posted by Hello

2005-03-16T18:26:00.000-06:00

Mascara will be the death of me yet. I can’t put the stupid stuff on without making a complete mess. I wonder if there is an Idiot’s Guide to Mascara. Even if there were, it probably wouldn’t help me. I have tried every different kind you can imagine and still I manage to get it in the most unlikely of places. On a good day, I only get unsightly clumps and smudges around my lashes. On a bad day, I get it in my hair, on the mirror, on my clothing… I even got it on my sock the other day. Way back when I could buy Seventeen magazine for myself, I read that mascara should be applied after everything else. I soon decided that rule applied to everyone save me. (That rule and a few others…but that’s a whole ‘nuther story.) I not only have to put on my mascara before I put on my other eye make-up, I have to put it on before I dry my hair, lest a lock drift down and be brown-blacked and clumped along with my lashes. And, sadly, I’ve decided it’s safer to do the lashes before I even get dressed. I’ve ruined more shirts with a wayward wand than I care to admit.

…sigh…

In other news, I called my brother the other day in honor of his birthday. I’m not sure how old he is. About 35, I think. This is the first year I’ve had him. As a brother, I mean. I might get to meet him in late May. I’ve spoken to him on the phone twice and we both seem to have the ability to chatterbox to a good extent, so, um, that’s good, right?

Speaking of genes, I’ve discovered another possible congenital defect in myself. A herniated disk (C6-7). Just exactly what I needed right now was the inability to turn my freakin’ head! I’m starting to wonder if somebody let another bird in here.

With that thought, I saw the funniest thing the other day. Shannon was watching a pet performance show on Animal Planet and there was this singing parrot. This bird could sing waaaay better than I could ever hope to (which, in reality, isn’t saying a whole lot, but, well, anyway, the bird was good). So, the bird sings Yankee Doodle and Camptown Races and a few other tunes. He gets lots of applause and ends up winning the competition. But then for his finale he sings Allouette. I didn’t have the heart to explain to Shannon why I thought that was funny.

2005-03-05T10:09:00.000-06:00

I’m such a loser! No, really. But it’s ok. I’m the kind of loser I want to be. Since December I’ve lost 15 pounds! And I eat all the carbs I want. So, BITE ME, Atkins! (I won’t ruin this shiny, happy blog with how that idiot, er, faux-doctor has ruined nutrition in this country and beyond.)

And (yes, there’s more good news!), Cymbalta is a wonder drug! It is used to treat depression and peripheral neuropathic pain in diabetics. Since patients with fibromyalgia also present with PNP, it would make sense that it might be beneficial to them, however it isn’t approved for that use, yet. So, technically, it is prescribed to me for depression. But, man oh man does it make my joints feel better! When I wake up in the morning, I can bend my fingers! And I can walk down the stairs without stumbling. I feel closer to 40 than to 70. It’s such an amazing improvement. Granted, it doesn’t take away the headaches and the pelvic pain and some of the other issues, but I’ll take any improvement I’m given and be thankful.

I’ve taken on a writing project. Well, she’s not exactly a project. More of a protégé. Actually, she’s a kind of new friend whom I dragged out of the closet. I took her along to the local chapter meeting of Romance Writers of America and she was thrilled and amazed. She decided to join RWA and go with me to the National Conference in July. She thinks this is all for her benefit, me kicking her in the butt. But in reality, it’s all about me (as usual). See, I can’t talk the talk with walking the walk, or whatever that saying is. If I’m going to be a mentor, I can’t be a hypocrite. I have to write. So, kicking her butt is kicking my butt. Which is a good thing. Amen and pass the peas.

2005-03-02T08:55:00.000-06:00

I talked to my dad the other day. We talk about once a week. (Just typing that sort of freaks me out, but makes me happy at the same time. See how damn wishy-washy I am!) Anyway, I mentioned to him (we both tend to ramble down these tangential paths…at least now I know where I get it from) that last year during the Super Bowl, we had not one, but two birds (one during the first half and a different one during the second half) fly into the house. He’s lived on the Yakima Indian Reservation for many years and he told me the people around there feel a bird in the house is a very bad omen. If a bird flew in one of their houses, they would burn the house to the ground straight away and they would do everything in their power to counteract the negative influence. This makes a lot of sense to me in hindsight considering what a roller-coaster ride this last year was. I don’t know that I could have gotten away with burning the house down what with insurance fraud being frowned upon like it is and all. I’ve never been a very good liar. Heck, I can’t even keep Christmas presents much of a secret. Which is my excuse for not buying them. Works out better that way. That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.

After this subject we were talking about books and he mentioned he was midway through Mark Levine’s Men In Black. He said it was a good book and if I get a chance, as long as I’m not a “communist or a socialist or one o’ them” I should read it. “Oh?” I said. “What’s it about?” “Well, it’s about how the Supreme Court is messing with The Constitution and it’s pissing me off. I don’t what I can do about it, but it’s pissing me off!”
This from my never had nothin’, trailer-livin’, log truck-drivin’ dad. He could spend his evenings watching reality TV. This year will be the first time I get to celebrate Father’s Day having a father. I think I know what to get him. BOOKS! And, boy, don’t I love shopping for books!

2005-02-22T10:46:00.000-06:00

I got a call today from my oldest friend. We’ve been friends since the day she walked into Washington State History class in junior high. For more than a quarter century, mostly in a long distance, but pick up where we left off sort of way, she’s been the kind of friend I could truly call in the middle of the night and ask anything of and she would not turn me down. I have family members I can’t say this of with this kind of surety. Even if I hadn’t talked to her for 5 years. Anyway, we don’t talk often. She recently married a wonderful man and they have been trying to start a family. She will be 41 in July, he’s a little younger, but nature’s clock is against them. So far, they’ve suffered some losses, but today she told me it looks like they are 9 weeks into a pregnancy that will ‘stick’. They’ve observed not only a fetal sac, but also a tiny heart beating. A new life is stirring. What is it now? About the size of a kidney bean, I think. But with a heart and bones and life. It’s such an amazing thing, isn’t it?

And I’m struck by, while our lives have more parallels than not, she is starting down the parenting path within months of my first baby turning 16. If we lived another’s life, he could be a father. I could be a grandmother. And not unusually so. But then she has siblings who are, I believe, in elementary school. The generations blend until the tree becomes a vine, or more of a strawberry plant. Each offshoot is an independent family unit. The tie to the original parent plant can be severed without harm to either, once maturity is reached, which is fairly early in this type of plant. The fruit is often spectacular, but isn’t necessary for the survival of the species. (Ok, all you botanists, correct me on this one.)

But this isn’t about botany. This is about the wonderful promise of a new life and the joy and happiness it will bring to two of the most deserving people in the world. I’ve been waiting for this ever since I’ve known the wonder of a tiny life growing inside myself. I’ve waited knowing there was no way to share that joy until she knew it herself and now I can. So, please, join with me in raising a toast, saying a prayer, thinking a good thought, or whatever you do for Cin and Rick and the happiest, healthiest, most loved baby ever.

(Oh, and, she wanted to keep this quiet for now, so if you happen to know them, don’t tell anyone, ok? Thanks.)

2005-01-27T16:01:00.000-06:00

What with my whole life being ruined and all, apparently I’ve signed the kids up for their Junior Kevorkian badges. A couple nights ago, I had my nightly migraine and it was sufficiently nagging so I asked Shannon to go get Tudor to get me some Imitrex (migraine pill) and some tea. She went to the living room and announced, “Tudor, Mommy wants some anthrax tea!”

Shortly thereafter she came in to show Roger a picture she’d drawn and was explaining it to him. “It’s about a rhinoceros and a tick bird living in a symbiotic relationship.” But of course.

Yesterday I got to make a brief cameo return to Standardized Patient land. It was reprise of my very first role, Janet the Smoker. As I was getting ready to go, it occurred to me how much more difficult it is for me to look believably 33 (to me at least) now than it was when I started doing this two years ago. It was good to be back, but it was also truly exhausting being there testing students for 6 hours. They’re all so young and earnest…makes me want to pull ‘em into a dark alley and give a dose of cynicism. Er, I mean, pat them on the back and tell them to go out and save the world.

So, I’m getting all excited for my surgery on Monday. And then the appointment the next morning to remove the 63.5 feet of “packing” from my head. And a week later, the splint (?!?!?!?) (popsicle sticks? tongue depressors? do I want to know?) removal. All I can say is, there better be some damn good drugs involved. My doctor is Dr. Chimenti. He’s this handsome, young, but not too young, mysteriously aloof, charmingly sexy doctor. You know. The kind that in the first chapter of the romance is the jack-ass that is unbearably handsome and indispensable, but conceited and boorish and has the personality of cardboard. But in the book the guy turns out to really be Mr. Wonderful. Dr. Chimenti, I’m afraid, really is a jack-ass with the personality of cardboard. He looks awful cute in his little scrubs, but I’m afraid he uses his little doctor/miner reflector thingy to remind himself of the fact. And the man is terminally late. I hate that in a ‘professional’. (Although it is de rigueur for homeschoolers.) But, anyway, I will allow him to roto-root my nose, because he is, according to many people I trust, a terrific surgeon. And because he looks awfully cute in his little scrubs.

Anyway, I’m telling you all this in a blatant plea for sympathy, good thoughts, emails, cards, gifts, flowers, chocolates, hard liquor, or whatever cheer you might fancy sending my way. Hell, I’m not proud. And, apparently not above begging. Dr. C tells me I should only feel really awful for the first two or three days after. Then it will just be like having a very bad cold for about a week. And after about 10 days I should be able to tell if there is any improvement over my current condition. Eh, what’s a week and a half of hell? I mean, it’s not like I’m not going to have a migraine anyway, and everything else. Bring it on, baby. Bring it on. (Why do I sound like The Cowardly Lion?) (Well, Bert Lahr got some nice perks, I’m sure…)

How do I get from anthrax tea to The Wizard of Oz? Sheer and utter genius, my friends. Sheer and utter genius. (Also, it’s a to z…)

2005-01-24T22:09:00.000-06:00

Ugh! People. People drive me crazy. Everything drives me crazy. Wait a minute. I can’t say that, can I? Well, anyway. Some people have no sense of humor. That I can say with certainty. And I am not one of them, I assure you. Because even when I was playing the human pincushion today I managed to elicit a smile from the phlebotomist. But more on that later.

Yesterday I woke up as I usually do, right there in my bed, clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right… oh, no, I mean CATS to the on top of me, husband curled behind me (it was the 22nd anniversary of our meeting yesterday, isn’t that the sweetest thing?)… Anyway, I was lying there in bed, wondering whether it would be more painful to get up or to continue lying in bed, which, I admit is a truly unpleasant way to start each day, but, eh, I’m getting used to it. Although, it does tend to make me rather, shall we say, a touch on the crabby side until the overdose of Tylenol kicks in. That and the Irish Breakfast shooters. And I don’t mean Harp, folks. Really. (Oh, those truly were the days…sigh…but, once again, I digress. Could you really read this blog if I didn’t?)

So, yesterday. Right. Woke up, yadda, yadda yadda. Did my oh-so graceful, glad-no-one’s-looking, stumble-falling-with-style, walk down the stairs and head straight for the kitchen and the teapot. And the Tylenol. The sink is full of stuff. Pots and pans and…and…water. To the top. With water. And the floor. Not the sink is full of the floor. The floor is full of water. Or at least the throw rug is. And now my right sock. Have I ever mentioned the thing I have about socks? Wet, dirty, worn. Yeuuuuch!

I called up the stairs to Roger who was packing up to head to Harlingen (about 30 miles from Mexico) to tell him to get Tudor up so he could empty the pans out of the sink so Roger could unclog it before he left. I sulked in to read some email, tea-less and sans humor, to boot. Tudor was no more jocular when he was roused several hours before he is wont, but, as you might have guessed, I can out-grumpy him, or just about anyone, any day of the week. Soon enough, Roger had used his power tool snake thing to get it to drain and broken the snake thing in the process. He left for Harlingen, I made tea, and Tudor glowered some more. It wasn’t long before I heard the dreaded words, “Mommy, we have a problem…” The drain was clogged again. So, I did what any sensible person would do. I went shopping.

Well, we needed milk. And it really is highway robbery for the grocery store to expect over $3.50 for a gallon. So, I had to go shopping. Really. And the cheapest milk nearby is at Sam’s. Generally, I try to avoid any of Sam Walton’s stores because I think his standards of customer service stink. But, c’mon. I just needed milk. And, apparently, 14 other things. Eh, it happens. Of course, there was a half-hour checkout snafu involving perhaps THE worst example of customer interaction I’ve ever personally experienced.

But this isn’t about that. This is about people with no sense of humor. Which, if you recall, I am not one. Of. Of which I am not one. One of which I am not. Whatever.

So, I get home from a stellar adventure in retail therapy and have to face the clog from hell. I look up some local plumber numbers. The local Roto-Rooter number is disconnected. A ‘neighborhood’ guy’s answering machine said he was booked up until sometime Thursday afternoon, but if I could wait until then, he’d be happy to give me a call. So, I called the city number for Roto-Rooter. When the woman answered with, “Roto-Rooter, how can I help you?” I said, “Hi. I’d like to order a pizza.” She didn’t even crack a smile. “You have the wrong number.” “I was joking…I thought you’d probably know I had a plumbing problem…um, I…have a clogged sink.” (And better not give up my day job, apparently.)

The really funny part was when the guy came to fix the sink and I related the story to him, he smiled and explained the reason to me. “When you call that number, the people who answer are all in Chicago.”

Ahhhhhhhh……….

Right. I should have guessed.

2005-01-15T18:48:00.000-06:00

Hoo-Boy. Well, you know, there are some truly evil people in the world; whomever decided the Rubenesque female form was ‘out’, the inventor of support hose, and makers of Hip-Hop “music”, for example. But my Family Practice doctor takes the cake. Well, at least the chocolate cake. She had the audacity to tell me to stay away from chocolate and on the very worst day of the month to utter such blasphemies at that! I may be burning from the inside out, but she’ll suffer eternal hellfire, I’m sure. In all truth, she acquiesced to just staying away from it later in the day, so I’ve decided I can limit my consumption to the morning hours only. Chocolate is, after all, the Breakfast of Champions. Since I’m also not supposed to consume alcohol before bed, I’ll have to substitute my grape nuts and milk with chocolate chips and chardonnay. Eh, I’m sure I’ll get used to it.

In other news, I took a cooking class at Sur La Table with the lovely Miss Suneeta the other night. It was terrific. After I got there. Man, I hate when I don’t read the fine print and end up going to the wrong place and find out I’m a half hour from the right place five minutes from the start. Especially when it was supposed to be an “all about me” thing. Anyway, if you have any interest whatsoever in cooking Indian food, I highly recommend Easy Indian Cooking.

And in the Things That Make You Go ‘Hmm’ category: I bought some cat litter the other day and noticed that the label prominently declared it was safe for use around animals….

Hmm…….

2005-01-04T20:29:00.000-06:00

OOOOOH! I can but wait! And hardly that.

I was going to treat you to a blog regarding my spin on current events, but I'll save that for tomorrow. I can't stop thinking of Kiefer now... ...sigh...

2005-01-03T21:37:00.000-06:00

Being the egocentric sort (don’t blame me, I’m a Leo) (and, really, aren’t all bloggers, by definition, a bit narcissistic?), I think you want to know what makes me laugh. These made me laugh. In fact, so much I had to describe them to people. Mostly Roger, but I did manage to slip a few into New Year’s Eve conversations. It’s kind of like when you have a particularly odd or intriguing dream. You feel compelled to share it, but it never comes out sounding interesting or amusing no matter how good your narrative skills. Drives me nuts, this infraction against my hubris.

Speaking of New Year’s Eve, I’m sure you also have been waiting with bated breath to hear about my fun. Well, it WAS fun. Usually, we don’t do much. This year we have friends! Well, we always have friends (if that surprises you, you are reading the wrong blog Mister!) (or Ma’am…), but this year we have friends who are local and social-minded. So, it went like this: Stacia thought to have a party and suggested it be held at Laurie’s house. I invited myself and then catered it. Laurie, it being her house and all, invited Pam. So, it ended up being our family of five, Smith family of four, Taylor family of five, and Munson family of four. The kids are mostly middle-school aged, aside from the husbands who are 35-40. The kids, middle-school and upper 30’s, had fun lighting off a couple of hundred dollars worth of fireworks in the street. The most exciting part of the fireworks display for me was the part where Laurie’s husband lit my hair on fire. Luckily, Pam was on the ball enough to whap me upside the head and put it out. Then again, perhaps she just wanted to whap me upside the head… One never really knows, does one? Did you ever notice how quickly a bottle of wine is emptied when it’s divided amongst four desperate housewives? It’s truly unbelievable.

Well, that’s enough narcissistic reflection for one day, don’t you agree?

2004-12-31T16:17:00.000-06:00

Let me just say, my husband is my hero. My computer died. I mean, crash and burn died. Beyond toast. But he resurrected it by some mystic combination of turning the computer upside down while banging on one side and freezing the hard drive. (I suspect the placement between the fish sticks and the organic peas had something critical to do with the success, although I am not privy to the liturgical practices involved.)

So, now I have my life back AND it’s backed up, just in case. PHEW! Put your hands together for the newest superhero! (And I’m not telling if he looks good in tights or how he kisses upside down!)

I think it’s important to stay current on scientific research of all kinds, particularly anthropological studies. With that in mind, here’s an item near the top of the ‘not-to-be-missed’ list…

I spent the day updating my website. I put pictures from our trip to Washington in May for my mother’s funeral, pictures of meeting my sister (on the Smith Family page), four from the RWA conference on the Writing page, and some from our trip to Florida at Thanksgiving. Let me know what you think.

When you raise a toast at midnight tonight, may I suggest a sober moment of reflection for those lost in the last year, followed by a rousing cheer as we rush out of the gates toward all the challenges that might be coming in these next 12 months? Here’s to a happy, healthy, and hilarious 2005!

2004-12-29T13:51:00.000-06:00

First a quote from Kieran: I have a joke for you… I know a man with a wooden leg named Smith…But what’s the leg of his other name?

Note to Kieran: Don’t give up your day job.

Ah, so here we are. Finally nearing the end of this annus horribilus. Time for stiffening upper lips and resolves all ‘round. As for turning the other cheek, I think I’ll refrain from comment. Some things are better left behind closed doors, don’t you think?

So, I’ve signed up for another 3-Day walk to support breast cancer research. It’s only 60 miles, want to join me? Or, instead, you can help me toward my fundraising goal. Keep an eye on this space for stumping and discourse on the subject.

I hope any holidays recently celebrated by readers were merry, bright, happy, or whatever adjective might apply. Around here, we just stick to Christmas. Frankly, it’s more than enough for me. The big hit around here was Robosapien. Honestly, the appeal of an 18” tall plastic contraption that farts with a touch of a remote escapes me, but the rest of my household finds it endlessly amusing. I am more impressed with my gift to myself.

Best of all, though, was a box of apples with the tag “Love, Dad.” A close second in the tear-jerker category was a card from my little brother, which held pictures of my three nieces. When Roger saw it he said, “They all have your chin!” And, last, but not least, was a Christmas letter from the person who was the key to reuniting me with my paternal side. It was one of those “To one and all/Year in review” letters. The first part of the page was mostly an account of her travels and exploits at cribbage. Then came the part where she wrote about the “one very worthwhile thing” she did. (Together now, everyone: “Awww….”)

Thank you to all who have stuck with me through this last year. I am looking forward to the challenges ahead in the new year, but trusting the worst is behind for now. And, with that, I am making a new commitment to writing in general, but to blogging in particular. As I said to Kieran the other day, “I’ll be back.” (To which he responded, “Don’t you mean, ‘I shall return’?”) What would I ever do without him?

2004-12-09T10:02:00.000-06:00

What does it mean when your husband and your dog snore in a rhythm? Errrrrrrrrrg, khnk-hmmm, errrrrrrrrrg, khnk-hmmm, errrrrrrrrrg, khnk-hmmm…
(And did you ever notice there really isn’t any way to spell the sounds of snoring?)

The other day I bought Shannon a little dolly from the dollar store. As is usual, I got what I paid for, as the arms kept falling off. Kieran tried valiantly to restore the doll, but finally got frustrated and said to Shannon, “They won’t stay on. You’ll just have to play with it that way. She’s handicapped.” To which Shannon exclaimed, “Well, she’s not very handy to ME!”

While we were in Key West we ate at Alice’s. It was a terrific meal, and Alice herself stopped by our table to make sure we were enjoying it. She was bussing tables at the time, which I thought rocked. We did have to wait a while for our table, even though we had reservations. But it was a lovely evening so we didn’t mind hanging about on the sidewalk. While we waited, Roger wandered over to the display case at the real estate office next door. He came back to report that for $325,000 we could buy a two bedroom, two bath………trailer. Well, if ya gotta be trailer trash…

All those days in the car gave rise to many and varied conversations. Mostly between Shannon and anyone who would listen. At one point, she asked me, “Why don’t we separate all the holidays?” “Pardon?” (Even though I’d heard her, I was stalling while I tried to contrive an acceptable answer.) “Why don’t we separate all the holidays?” She was starting to get annoyed, and I really wanted to keep the relative and momentary peace, so I, ever so cheerfully, asked, “Can you tell me what you mean?” “You know, we separate Thanksgiving and Christmas-“At which point Tudor insinuated himself to the fray and the illusion of peace deteriorated. “Well, actually…” he started, as he is wont to do. “People start the Christmas season the day after Thanksgiving, so they aren’t really separated.” “NoooOOOO!” she wailed and I gathered my strength for the upcoming war. Number 7,692, if my count was correct. I channeled Mary Poppins and said, “Tudor, will you please stay out of it.” “Yeah, Tudor, I was asking MOMMY!” “But she wasn’t answering you.” Moving right along to Dr. Laura… “Thank you Tudor, but I think, perhaps, you should READ YOUR BOOK for a while. Shannon can you be a little more specific?” “You know, like on Blue’s Holiday Surprise? Some people separate different holidays than we do. Why don’t we separate all of them?” “Oooooooohhh. Because we don’t.” “Ok, can I watch a DVD?”

2004-11-23T13:13:00.000-06:00

Greetings from The Sunshine State, where, so far, we haven’t seen much sun. Here’s hoping it gets better and soon. My impression of Florida so far? There are far too many law enforcement vehicles on the roads. How are you ever supposed to get where you’re going if you are stuck going the speed limit the entire time? And they have an odd affinity for blue tarp roofs. Hmmm…

I was amused yesterday when I went into a Walgreen’s in order to get some diuretic tablets to ease the swelling in my feet. I asked the pharmacist if they would interact with any of the other medications I’m currently taking. It is rather a long list at present, and by the time I got to number 5 or 6, he was looking incredulous. I love the irony of that.

When Roger called his grandmother to tell her when we’d be in Tampa to see her. She asked where we were planning to stay and he told her. “Homeless Streets????” she said. “No, no. The HOMEWOOD SUITES,” Roger reassured her with a laugh.

So, there you have it. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Next stop, Key West and the poolside bar. (Are you kidding me? Where else would we go after 5 days in a Taurus with three kids in the back seat?)

2004-11-12T19:10:00.000-06:00

"How are you?" Three little words. Three syllables and nine letters. But the answer can indicate absolutely nothing or everything.
In America we relexively say, "Fine, and you?"
In Australia, the appropriate resposne was "I'm well, thanks, and you?"
(You see, "fine" was a reference to the weather, meaning sunny and cloudless, as per usual.)
When we lived there I spent a long time struggling because I would start to answer with "well......" but they would think that was the sum total of it. Which, of course, in this case it isn't.

The real answer is that this is as good as it gets. It's all relative, of course, just like anything. For me, normal is to experience pain on the same intensity as labor every day. So, today I am as "good" as I was yesterday. But if pain were quantified, my normal might be "really awful" to one, but "really good" to another.

So pain is like color. I see a blade of grass. It is labelled "green". You see the same grass and so we agree that the electromagnetic response created by the grass is to be called "green". It's all fairly arbitrary, isn't it? A third person, without any prior knowledge of "green" may call the grass "orange" or "red".

So, here I am. Me and my pain. My chronic and undiagnosed pain. Daily, pressing, needing-attention pain. All over, all the time. I've been "soldiering on" for so many years now, I don't remember what it's like to have a pain-free day. And I accepted this as normal. For me.
Today my doctor (one of a large and sundry team) came to the conclusion that I have Fibromyalgia. The term basically means "fibrous muscle pain which we have no idea what to do about". Or, as I am inclined to interpret as "my life is hell and this is as good as it gets."

Be glad mine is a gun-free home, readers, because I am in the deepest pits. I need some hope that it WILL get better than this. Otherwise, what is the point?

2004-11-10T08:45:00.000-06:00

Is Freedom of Speech something which can be uneaqually applied? Michael Moore's movie, which many found "morally offensive or distasteful" was screened in cinemas throughout the country. This movie is available on a much smaller scale, with almost no media push.
To me, the most important part of the article is:

"It is important to note that selling or owning the Buried in the Sand DVD, no matter how distasteful the beheadings may seem to some, is not illegal. The video comes with a warning on the cover that should prevent it from being sold to anyone under 18.

At least one customer felt that the station was within its rights to sell the video.

"No, I don't like it. Do I think it should be available? Yes," M.T. Jaureguizar observed. "Do I think a gas station is kind of an odd place to have it? Yeah." "

I mean, who buys movies from the between the pretzels and the corn nuts at the Shell station?

2004-11-09T13:43:00.000-06:00

You know how, sometimes, when you are having a really rotten day/week/month/year/life, something unexpected can make you giggle? Well, I’ve been have one of those rotten epochs, and today I went in to Petco to pick up some plants for our goldfish tank. (We have a ten gallon tank with two 7” 5 year old feeder fish.) In order to get to the aquatic area of the store, I had to pass through the aviary. I was strolling purposely past a cage with a grey parrot in it when the bird turned to look at me (which is to say, he turned away from me to look askance) and gave a very loud ‘wolf whistle’. I replied with ‘thank you’ and he gave a guttural trill, like a playful or friendly growl.

Eh, it’s not much, but sometimes ya just takes what ya can get, y’know?

2004-11-04T08:28:00.000-06:00

I am just amazed. NaNoWriMo is not "just" about encouraging people to write the novel that everyone says they have in them, although, so far over 52 million words have been written and logged in since midnight on Halloween. It's also about spreading literacy. This year's project is the building of libraries in Cambodia. The goal is to raise $60,000 and I see on the meter today that already over $45,000 has been raised! Way to go, NaNoWriMo's! If you want to share the love, pop over to the site and put some change in the cookie jar. There is no greater empowerment than literacy.

2004-11-04T08:07:00.000-06:00

Funny, and I've always blamed the Romans for putting Christians in with lions. Maybe there's another side to the story. Just goes to show how current views of events long past can be misguided.

2004-11-03T14:02:00.000-06:00

Hmmm... I guess they'll have to try somewhere with more open borders. Dang, and I was all set to say "Bon Voyage!"

2004-11-02T21:35:00.000-06:00

Ok, I probably should have given up when I discovered I was wearing my underwear inside out. Instead, I went on with my day. Looking back on it, the foundation issue was the least of my worries. By the time I was finished waiting over two hours for two separate doctor appointments, another hour at the Chinese consulate, and entertaining Shannon for two hours to keep her from interfering with the math tutor that was working with the boys, I was ready to call it a day. But, wait! There’s more! Call before midnight tonight and you can get not one, but two nasty burns. First, I was reaching across the roasting pan for the gravy pan and touched the tenderest part of my right forearm to the handle, hot from the oven. This resulted in a nice two-inch welt. Later that same meal, I was serving Kieran and when I poured the gravy on his mashed potatoes, it overflowed onto my hand. Before I could set the plate down, the gravy that was immediately before boiling away on the stove graced me with another welt on my left hand. I had planned on working on my NaNo for a while after dinner, but considered it in my better interest to retire to bed while I was still alive.

Today was much less painful, all in all.

And now a paraphrase from Tom Wolfe, author of, among other things, The Bonfire of The Vanities: I would vote for George Bush if for no other reason than to stand at the airport waving good-bye to all those who say they will leave the country if he is re-elected. Someone has to stay behind, after all.

Happy Election Day. May the most popular man win!

2004-10-17T13:12:00.000-05:00

Roger and I are off to the Astro's game. Look for us on TV! And pray for the Sox, cuz I don't want to go to the World Series with the Yankees.

2004-10-16T23:37:00.000-05:00

I have two words for you (and if you believe that, well, god save you because you are beyond all other hope) : Free Cycle. We cleaned the garage (well, admittedly it was only about a third of it, but who’s counting?) and got rid of so much stuff, all because of the Free Cycle program. I had three people interested in a USED cat box, people. We found new homes for a fondue pot from the 70’s missing its’ skewers, the broken down hutch from a piece o’ crap desk, and a pair of rubber boots that Tudor outgrew, among other things. These are things we would have otherwise had to pay to dump at the county landfill, which is almost an hours’ drive from home. Not to mention the bags and bags and bags of outgrown kids clothes, worn out rugs, flattened pillows, mismatched sheets, and nasty, dirty dog beds we found new homes for. All at the stroke of a few keys. If you don’t sign up for your local list, you have only yourself to blame for the accumulation of clutter around your house.

I talked to my little brother tonight. I was okay on the phone, but now I just want to cry with the emotion I feel about it all. We talked for, I don’t know, probably an hour or more. Close to two, really. You know, it really sucks to find new people to love. It gives your heart all the more reason to feel pain. How can that be a good thing? Funny enough, out of me and five siblings, four of us currently homeschool and another used to, before her son moved out of state to live with his dad.

The kids and I are going to meet my sister Melissa in Colorado next week and Richard said tonight that he might come down from Nebraska to meet us. That would be incredible.

Roger and I are going to the game tomorrow. I am SO psyched! Now, if we could just get those BoSox to pull it together and knock the Yankees out, the world would be a better place. New York is a great place, but I really could do without their baseball franchise.

And one more NaNo note before I go. You know how I said I’d signed up as a Municipal Liaison for my area? Well, what if you threw a party and nobody came? No wonder it feels like high school…

2004-10-16T23:11:00.000-05:00

Look! We made the "real" news...

2004-10-13T22:21:00.000-05:00

Does anybody know where the STOP button is for this thing we call “life”? It’s making me crazy. Oh, wait a minute, I’m not sure that’s a causal relationship… Pity I flunked Logic. Or something. Whatever.

I went to the Medical Center today to train first year students the head, ears, eyes, nose and throat exam. (Or is that “head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes”? No, I think that was last week.) Anyway, when I arrived there, I happened to brush my hand against my abdomen as I released my seatbelt. I was horrified to realize how close I’d come to being in public with my pants unzipped. It was reminiscent of those dreams I used to have about turning up naked at Homecoming and no one noticing me, even then. But I’ve moved on. Glad to hear that, aren’t you? Yeah, I’ve moved on to the really scary stuff, like being marooned on a deserted island with no internet access. ---SHUDDER---

We’ve been following the Astros for the past few weeks. Usually we’d have watched all season, but what with my high blood pressure, and the passion I direct at baseball, it seemed prudent to wait until the meds kicked in. Would that it will be ‘Stros v Sox in the World Series. And I didn’t realize until yesterday that one of my favorite Mariners had gone to the dark side. That’s right, folks, John Olerud is a (strike me down for saying it) Yankee. I’m so conflicted. The very marrow of my being is horrified with the thought of wishing any member of that evil organization well, but, gee, this is Johnny Boy. We even share a birthday. What to do, what to do?

I’ve been in email contact with both my ‘new’ brother and my ‘new’ sister. The kids and I are going to Colorado next week to meet Melissa (and visit Kira and the boys). And tomorrow I’m going to bite the bullet and call Richard. Y’know, I always wanted “little” siblings, and now I’ve got them and I’m terrified. Talk about conflicted!

And, finally, I volunteered as a Municipal Liaison for NaNo, and no one has expressed interest. Suddenly, I’m right back there at Homecoming… …sigh… I guess some things never change.

2004-10-12T08:51:00.000-05:00

Well, gee, at least they weren't beheaded.

2004-10-11T22:40:00.000-05:00

YAHOO!!!! And the truly beautiful thing is Roger and I have tickets to next Sunday's game. Woohoo!

2004-10-07T11:44:00.000-05:00

Well, since everyone has stopped answering my emails, I suppose I’ll blog. Actually, this is the first coherent moment I’ve had to think about blogging in I don’t know how long. I feel like I’ve been going 17 directions at once this week. Which may explain why I needed to visit the chiropractor… My back is feeling much better. I wonder what chiropractor worship is called. Perhaps I’m a chirophile. A follower of Chiroism? Whatever. My back is better. Even more importantly, I can suck my stomach in without having spinal spasms.

By the time NaNo rolls around, I’ll be fixed enough to sit for 50,000 words without agony. Well, at least not back related agony. Speaking of NaNo, not only am I idiot enough to sign up again, but, in a fit of delusions of too much time on my hands, I volunteered to be a Municipal Liaison. It’s a grandiose title which means Bigger Fool than the rest of the Local Fools. I think it may be Baty-ese, but I’m not entirely sure. Check your dictionary.

I’m so glad I got Lani’s book read before the NaNo crunch. I still don’t get the title, but, eh, what are you gonna do? “Nah, never mind. Don’t publish my book or sign me up for 40 gazillion more. I like my title and I’m stickin’ with it.” I don’t think so. (But it will always be Boom to me.)

I think I’ve got something of a smidgen of an idea what I’ll write for NaNo (can you tell I’ve had nada but NaNo on my mind lately?) this year. I don’t think it’s humor. It’s about a woman trying to get through life after losing her family in a senseless accident. And I think a sailing trip in the Caribbean is required as research. I wonder if I can write that off. I suppose only after the damn thing’s published. Pfft. Auditors are such spoilsports. I’ll bet they’re the ones that made up silly things like speed limits and Prohibition. Nasty people, the lot of them.

Moving right along, this has me a bit worried. What if the snake gets tired of eating popcorn and leaves the theatre in search of who-knows-what? If it misses the turn to Cheesecake Factory (do pythons eat cheesecake? Being from Burma, I’m guessing not. I don’t think cheesecake is a typical Burmese dish.) and wanders about 2 miles due west and winds up at my house? That would not be a good thing. Not a good thing at all. Rather a bad thing, really. Maybe I should go back to thinking about NaNo…

Before I go, I just have to say, “Go ASTROS!!!

2004-10-02T23:36:00.000-05:00

I updated my website with a few pictures of my "new" family (Smith family link) and some writing stuff (Writing link, oddly enough). Go have a look and let me know what you think.

2004-10-02T13:37:00.000-05:00

Here's an interesting argument against the Iraq = Vietnam train of thought.

2004-10-01T21:26:00.000-05:00

Check out the picture of my dad and me on my website.

2004-10-01T19:33:00.000-05:00

Okay. Well, it’s been a heck of a ride since I last blogged. Last Wednesday, I flew to Pasco, Washington. I got up before the crack of dawn in order to arrive at the airport here in Houston in time for a 7:30 flight to Dallas. In Dallas, I had to change airlines (at antipodal gates, naturally). From there I flew to Seattle where I not only changed airlines, but concourses as well. (This is the “shoe” flight…) Out of Seattle I flew on Horizon to Pasco. (Horizon has to be commended for serving complimentary beer and wine on board, as I was in need of a shot of courage as the flight wore on.) I thought I was doing just fine, but as we left the Cascades behind and the green and brown landscape of Eastern Washington came into view, I could feel my chest start to constrict. I downed my chardonnay in record time, but it didn’t really help much. I busied myself with refreshing my make-up (might I add that it is extremely difficult to effectively apply a thin streak of eye-liner while bouncing around in a teensy weensy airplane…but I digress). I thought I was still doing okay, but then the plane landed and I couldn’t get out of my seat. I was frozen and alone. I called Roger from the tarmac to tell him I just couldn’t do it. He gave me a little pep talk, and not TOO long after the last of the other 10 or so passengers disembarked, I sucked it up and, with a deep breath and quaking body, stepped off the plane. I went out of the secure area and found my incredible, terrific, best-in-the-world, Aunt Carol (did I mention how much I love this woman?) waiting there. I also saw him. My dad. But Carol was in line first and as I hugged her, she whispered, “I don’t know which one he is.” “I think he’s standing right behind you.” And then I hugged him. With that, all my nerves calmed and I was ‘home’. It didn’t hurt that he looks so much like me it’s amazing. For the first 34 years of my life, I wondered and obsessed over the fact that I didn’t look like anyone in my family. Well, I DID look like my family, I just didn’t know it!
We had lunch and then went to a park for a visit before he headed home to White Swan and Carol and I went to her house in Hermiston. Before we parted ways, we arranged for him to come over to Hermiston on Saturday.
On Saturday, he got to Carol’s at about 11. When he got there he asked if I’d like to go meet his sister and her daughter. Sure I would. It was about a 4-hour drive there, but we chatted about all sorts of things, so it went by quickly. We pulled up to cousin Shannon’s house and were greeted with open arms. Honestly, I couldn’t have dreamed I’d be so welcome in this family. My newfound aunt (knew to me, but she had known me and my mother and sisters when I was a baby) asked me all about me and mine and, in turn answering all my questions and even sketching out a family tree for me so I could keep all my cousins straight. We had dinner with them and then headed back to Hermiston. We said our good-byes around midnight and he headed home. It was hard to say good-bye after waiting so long to meet him, but I think we’re pretty stuck together. Life is good. Having a loving family (on both sides) is great.

2004-09-24T23:41:00.000-05:00

Well! That's more like it.

Just a blog before I go...

2004-09-22T14:17:00.000-05:00

So, here I am… Just over an hour from the big moment. Boy do I feel nervousexcitedanxioushopeful. I’m trying so hard to keep my expectations low, so as to ward off disappointment, but I’ve never been very good at that, even under normal circumstances, and this is hardly normal.
Damn. I should have called Oprah. Ah, never mind. I hear TV adds ten pounds to you and that’s the last thing I need. I wonder if that’s a cumulative effect…

I was hoping for some sort of cathartic benefit from writing this, but I have a feeling I am neither being clear, nor clearing my head… I will post again post-Big Moment.

Oh, my god, I am such an idiot. I wrote the above and then decided to go to the restroom to see if perhaps clarity would be enhanced with an empty bladder. Apparently not, as I discovered when I was in the restroom that I had my shoes on the wrong feet. On the one hand, that’s a testament to the comfort of my Munro America sandals. On the other hand, well, let’s not go there…

2004-09-21T21:28:00.000-05:00

Now, this just pisses me off. Homeschoolers as terrorists? C'mon, people, get a friggin' life!

2004-09-19T11:34:00.000-05:00

WAAAAH! It's official. Kieran is taller than me. He's just turned 12 at the end of July and he's got about a half inch on me. My babies are growing up... It's so not fair.

We got word this morning that Roger's grandmother, who is in town visiting Roger's aunt and just celebrated her 85th birthday, fell this morning on the knee she recently had replaced. In addition, she's showing an erratic heartbeat. Good thoughts appreciated.

Only four days until I meet my dad. If I get some time to think between now and then, I'll be pretty nervous. In addition to meeting him, I also feel a bit nervous about how other family members will react. I'm hoping they can see him as my father and accept him for that, rather than only seeing the estranged part and judging him thusly. Personally, I don't give a damn about what happened 40 years ago, or what his station in life is. He is my father and that's that.

2004-09-19T11:21:00.000-05:00

Right. Like I said...

2004-09-16T07:59:00.000-05:00

Maybe I'm showing my ignorance here, but is it the norm for criminals to get to choose when and where to serve their sentences? This is just wrong.

In other news, there isn't any other news. That's why I'm sitting here, blogging in my pj's with my eyes propped open with toothpicks. I'm waiting for news from Jennifer, who recently moved to Mobile. I'm sure you can understand when I say I hope she and her family are fine, but follow it up with if they aren't it's not my fault (because sure as hell somebody would blame me). I not only told her my door was open, but even put in a half-assed attempt at cleaning the spare room. (My logic being, of course, that people displaced by natural disasters are so thankful for shelter, they don't mind a wee mess.) And even after all that work on my part, she and Dave decided to sleep in their closet, instead. Sheesh! I guess I know where I stand.

2004-09-14T15:47:00.000-05:00

Mmm... May hold an element of truth if the last line were instead to read: "Margaret W. "Peggy" Boyce is not only ignorant about homeschooling, but apparently about public school in America, as well."
She states, for example that "the school day is only six hours long...that leaves many hours during the week and summer for the parent". I have many friends whose children began kindergarten this year and their children are gone as many as 10 hours each weekday. This is KINDERGARTEN, people. What about when the kids are, say, in 5th or 8th grade. They will be gone that many hours, plus three or four more if they engage in sports or band or cheerleading. Then those exhausted kids will come home with at least three more hours of homework to complete. Those of you with math skills may note that we are now up to 16 hours. This leaves 8 hours for eating, being part of the family, resting and sleeping (the average 12 year old needs at least 10 hours sleep each night). Hmm...something is wrong here.
Ms. Boyce also states that homeschooling is "an ego trip for a parent -- to be all things to your children, to control every thought, every concept that enters their world." I'm sorry, but that only deserves outright hysterical laughter. Unless…Can an ego trip be taken in a negative sense? Because far and away the most humbling thing I’ve ever done is be a homeschooling parent.
She goes on to liken homeschooling to programming, but I argue that an American public school education is FAR more like programming than any homeschooling situation I've ever heard of. Mostly because one of the basic tenets of homeschooling is to allow the child to be an individual. In public school, there are many forces working against individuality; arbitrary age ranges for grades, nonsensical curricula, large class sizes, peers, etc. The goal, it seems, is for sameness.
Well, I could go on, but, since I don’t want to piss off ALL of my readers, I won’t. I will say one more thing, though. I don’t mean to imply that I think homeschooling is right for everyone. It’s a tough row to hoe. But I do want every parent to think about what is best for each one of their children and for their families and make an educated decision. And don’t base your opinions on unfounded rubbish such as Ms. Boyce writes that attempts to perpetuate outlandish stereotypes. It’s just not what sentient and responsible people do.

2004-09-14T10:18:00.000-05:00

Shannon is singing a song of her own creation in which a few lines in particular bear repeating:

"I don't like it when unexpected things happen to the babies"
"When it's their birthday everyone celebrates and the kings are happy and the queens take care of the babies"
"You are not a soldier, you are my slave"
“She’s going to have a baby any minute and the baby is always smart and the baby isn’t dumb, and the baby is always good and does what I tell it to do and it’s always a little cutie”

Oh dear, oh dear...

2004-09-13T22:12:00.000-05:00

From The Daily Show: The question remains – do you really want a president who wasn’t smart enough to avoid serving in Vietnam…

Well, do ya punk?

2004-09-13T21:28:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Roger was working on rescreening our screened porch, but he was a little short of supplies, so I dashed up to Lowes for him. Except I didn’t dash. Can I just say there is something fundamentally wrong with a church so big it needs a park and ride? And/or an “Express Tram”? Or two off-duty sheriffs and traffic cones to direct traffic? It’s just crazy. I know this is part of the Bible belt, but when the congregation exceeds the number of people in many small cities, it’s time to rethink the whole thing. Where’s the community, the fellowship? I dunno. Just seems wrong to me.

I had a great conversation with my dad on Saturday evening. We talked for nearly two hours. He makes me feel good. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel like I belong. He told me about his memories of the last time he saw me. He said, “I held you and cuddled you and wiped your nose.” Isn’t that the sweetest thing? He said my mother broke his heart when she went back to her husband because they’d been making plans for staying together and about ‘the baby’ (me) and everything. He was heartbroken, but there really wasn’t anything he could do. I’m thinking he’s probably better off having been axed from the script when he was. My life was one soap opera that wasn’t ever going to steal Susan Lucci’s Emmy. Anyway, he tells me he’s getting “nervouser and nervouser” (now doesn’t that just sound like something I’d say?) as next Wednesday approaches and we lay eyes on each other.

I have just one thing to say to those who might be contemplating adding some “dimension” to their hair by doing some at-home highlighting. Don’t.

2004-09-11T10:33:00.000-05:00

It didn’t really begin as a normal day. I got up early, with a very long list of things to do. You see, we were leaving the next morning to drive to Washington State from our home in Denver. We were planning to attend Roger’s 20 year high school reunion on the following Saturday. Roger left early because he had to stop off to have his car serviced before working a half day and coming home to help me pack and prepare the house for our absence.

I got up about the time he left and went downstairs to check email and read the news. I don’t recall there being anything of note in my email that morning, but I do recall a great deal of frustration as I went from news site to news site and couldn’t get on any of them. But I’m as persistent as I am stubborn (that isn’t the same thing, is it?), so I kept trying, adding a bit of swearing under my breath. After a little while, the phone rang. It was Roger. “Are you watching TV?” “No!” I scoffed at his inane question. I don’t ‘do’ TV unless it’s a baseball game or 24 or a movie. And certainly not before breakfast. “Turn it on,” he said. “Turn it ON? To what channel?” “Any one, it doesn’t matter.” “How can it not matter?” I was thinking of 70 gazillion channels we get on the DirecTV. I was getting rather frustrated with him by this point, and said, “Just tell me what you want me to look at.” “Just turn it on. I’ll wait.” “Fine.” I stomped into the living room wondering why he felt the need to ignite my wrath.
I turned on the TV, which happened to be tuned to one of the ‘morning shows’. “What am I looking at? All I see is smoke coming from a building… Is that New York? There’s a plane. What’s ha…Oh my god! That plane is going to…It did! It hit the building! What the hell is going on?”
My heart started a decline it has yet to recover from completely. It was at that moment that I became patriotic. Until then, I had been rather disenchanted with America. I hadn’t really understood nor appreciated the spirit that is its greatness.
But then, at that moment (7:03 am, MDT, September 11, 2001), I experienced a visceral change. At first, there was shock and horror. This was quickly replaced by utter indignance. Where before I had been an apathetic teen-ager, rebellious and perturbed by my mother (country), I was now the angry and protective mother bear herself.
I remember sitting there, glued to the television, my mind at once vacant and overflowing with the imaginings of what was yet to come. Eventually the boys got up and joined me on the couch. I tried to explain to them what the images represented. When Shannon got up, I finally turned it off. She was, after all, not yet two and a half. Far too young to be soiled with hate and killing. At least as long as there was breath in my body.
I remember I had some planting to do before we left. I had bought some plants that wouldn’t survive without watering while we were gone, so I had to get them in the ground, under the care of the sprinkler system. We lived about 60 miles as the crow flies SW of Denver International Airport and about 20 miles from the Air Force Academy so there was usually a fair amount of air traffic in the skies above our house. We also lived in a growing subdivision, so there was much truck traffic on our street and on the bigger county road a quarter mile across the valley. Yet, there I was out in the front yard, planting in absolute uninterrupted silence. It was several minutes of that agonizing moment when you realize your children have been too quiet and, therefore, trouble awaits. I was standing there, on our exposed front walk when the first of the military patrol planes started circling overhead. I knew that all planes had been grounded, so to say I was concerned is an understatement. Something I wouldn’t even have noticed 12 hours before suddenly was cause for rapt attention and worry.
We left, as planned, the next morning. I was so thankful to have my children and husband within arms’ reach over the next couple of days, as we drove along, listening to Lee Greenwood sing “God Bless the USA” so many times we knew all the words before we got to Salt Lake City. My throat closed up every time we passed under a flag-draped overpass.

Today marks three years from that cataclysmic day; the day that changed the world forever. Every one of us was affected, in one way or another, by those events, and we won’t forget.
So, it is with a sad heart, a thoughtful mind, and a changed spirit that I honor the 2,749 heroes of that day when I say, “God Bless the USA

2004-09-07T21:24:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, I guess. Today I made Shepherd’s Pie with leftover lamb roast, a Greek salad and some baklava. Kieran was helping me cook and he said, “It’s funny to think that it wasn’t that long ago that even a King wouldn’t have all these spices and we just get them at the grocery store.” Apparently, something is sinking in.
A bit later, though, Shannon asked what was for dinner and when I said we were having a Greek dinner, she was horrified and wailed, “But didn’t that kill all of the Gweeks?”
And speaking of the Drama Queen, she spied the control box for the intercom in the coat closet today (which was inordinately empty owing to it’s needing fumigating as a result of a naughty cat), and she called me in to ask me with urgency, “Is that a bomb?”
Oh, deary me… While I hate to think that she and Michael Moore could win an Oscar in the same year, she certainly has at least as much “drama-bility” as Renee Zellweger.

2004-09-07T20:34:00.000-05:00

Now this is just wrong. I was 15 before I wore so much a smidgen of mascara. Then again, perhaps I was just a geek. I'm sure that's it. Never mind. But I still don't want Shannon even thinking about make-up in less than two years. There'll be none of that hoochie-mama stuff around here!

2004-09-07T19:41:00.000-05:00

Tut, tut... Looks like rain...

2004-09-07T07:16:00.000-05:00

Ha! Take that, all ye ungrateful morons!

2004-09-07T06:43:00.000-05:00

When my mother died, there was some discussion regarding what I might want that had belonged to her. As it happens, the two things that would have meant the most to me, had already been designated to my nieces, although I’m not sure why I, being first generation, didn’t take precedence, but, well, that is the story of my life. I didn’t get my great-grandmother’s bed that I slept in for the first 12 years of my life, and I didn’t get my mother’s childhood doll. What I did get was her zillions of pictures. On the one hand, I did request them, hoping to find some wheat amongst the chaff. I wanted pictures of her grandparents and family, since they were all I had to connect me to the past.
Anyway, I started sorting through the dozen or so shoeboxes yesterday. Well, the boys filled the shredder three times with chaff, and I’m down to one shoebox-sized plastic box so far. There are still some to sort through, but how I wish I had a dollar for every blurry out-the-car window scene or each shot of the table laid for Christmas Dinner I tossed. I’d be able to buy a green dress (but not a real green dress, that’s cruel). The things we do…
(Meanwhile, while perusing the BNL website, I came across this entry by Ed Robertson (he of “they make pre-wrapped sausages, but they don’t make pre-wrapped bacon” fame) that had me laughing aloud. Check it out, if you aren’t queasy.)
Where was I before Ed distracted me… (not that I minded, exactly…)? Oh yeah, pictures. So, I found some pictures I sent her when we lived in Mount Isa. I got all melancholy thinking of how good life was then. We had such good friends there and life was much simpler. The weekends started at 5 on Friday and ended at midnight Sunday. We often spent one day doing jobs around the house and the other doing something as a family. We’d go four-wheel driving, looking for unusual rocks (like Maltese Crosses) or inviting water holes. We’d take a picnic of fresh bread rolls, ham, tomato, and avocado, some crisps, beers, a box of wine, and milk (to put in the tea, of course). Or we’d spend the day at the home of our friends Sue and Henry. We’d hang out, kids playing in the back garden or in the pool, while we wiled away the afternoon. We’d have some dinner and then play a game or two of Scrabble or Upwords. As the evening wore on, the list of allowable words would expand as the alcohol dwindled. Life was comfortable then. We were expats in the Time of Clinton. Expats in the outback. You can’t get a whole lot further from strife than that. At least not within the bounds of civilization. That is, we had a K-Mart and electricity and all that. …sigh…
Coincidentally, I got an email from Sue yesterday. She’s in need of friends in their new location, but everyone she meets already seems to have enough friends. Boy, have I been there! The moral of the story, folks, is that good friends are hard to find, so if you have them, keep them close, but always be open to new ones.

2004-09-03T07:41:00.000-05:00

Okay, I'm old and falling apart, but I'm not desperate! ewwwwwwww!

2004-09-02T21:45:00.000-05:00

Well, I guess it’s time for a little update on the minutiae of my life. Shannon is excited about starting ”Daily Scouts”.
Kieran is suffering through Robotics, but will stick it out a bit longer. Next week he starts two classes at the local community college. They are chemistry and astrobiology. He’s not sure he’s too excited about that either, but I’m sure he’ll like it once he gets used to it.
Tudor is 15. There is nothing more to say about that.
Roger is working too hard and too long and we are all feeling the strain. But I will forgive his short temper eventually, I’m sure.
For my part, well, I’m still feeling discouraged and overwhelmed. I can’t really see a cure, aside from some kind of long-term amnesia, but I doubt that is forthcoming. I am really looking forward to the 22nd, when I will look on my father’s face for the first time. In fact, his weekly call is, at the moment, the highlight of my week. Actually, just this afternoon, I entertained the thought of running away and spending the next several years cooking dinner for him, away from the strains and demands of my current life.
I wrote a letter to my “little brother” Richard last week, and am working on one for my “little sister” Melissa. Until early in August, I was the baby in the family, and now I have three younger siblings. It is an odd feeling indeed.

In the meantime, we’ve been watching the Republican National Convention. The speeches have been entertaining, if nothing else. Earlier this evening Tudor asked me, “What’s with the elephant?” I replied, “I don’t know, but the Democrats are jackasses…er, I mean, donkeys.”

2004-09-01T21:52:00.000-05:00

"Spitballs"??? Go Zell!

2004-08-31T17:11:00.000-05:00

A couple of nights ago, I was sautéing some vegetables and asked Shannon to get me a lemon from the bar fridge. She found one and ran back to the kitchen excitedly pointing at the green Sunkist stamp on the side. “Look, mommy! The mold made a word!”

…sigh…

2004-08-27T08:14:00.000-05:00

Fascinating! And I thought my jaw was interesting...

2004-08-26T20:35:00.000-05:00

Oooh…I guess *someone* was a little moody yesterday. Don’t worry, I’ve put my happy face back on. (Although if Shannon doesn’t eat her dinner in about the next 30 seconds, it’s going to be something other than “happy”…)(She asked me yesterday if she could have a puppy for her next birthday and I told her she couldn’t have a puppy until she could keep her room clean, which should be sometime around the turn of the century…)(Did I say 15 was hard? Five is not exactly a walk in the park either.)(We had Sake Salmon for dinner and she lamented about it being a “real” fish and what if it had friends and so forth. Funny, she never worries about the feelings of chickens, pigs, or cows…)
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, happy face… I was reading my niece and nephew’s blogs. It’s nice to see there are other “wordies” in the family. And, speaking of family, when I talked to my father the last time, he told me he loved me. I was so astounded I didn’t answer but, geez. He loves me. He doesn’t even really know me (uh-oh!), and yet, because I am his daughter, he loves me. I can’t even get my head around it, let alone put my feelings into words that make sense. How can he say that without spending years ignoring me, letting me feel worthless, and giving me no compliments that were unqualified? Isn’t that how parents are supposed to act? Wait, I don’t do that to my children, do you? Maybe it was just my mother… What a concept. He said he was so sorry he hadn’t been able to care for me when I was growing up. Even though it was not his fault at all, I appreciate the thought. This is my light in the current storm of my life.
Here’s one more article you should read. Sometimes we need to be reminded of the things our forebears endured to give us the freedoms we so take for granted.

2004-08-26T12:41:00.000-05:00

Things that make you go"hmm"...

2004-08-25T21:38:00.000-05:00

Life is such a mish-mash. I feel so Sybil-like. I go between mom, trying to teach and guide and provide, and wife, trying to best friend and hand hold and ‘June Cleaver’ it, and ‘Professional’ standardized patient, trying to teach and learn and be a grown up. Oh, and then there’s the writer me, trying to finish my synopsis and write seriously for publication. All of that, and then there’s friend me, sister me, daughter me, niece me, aunt me, and list-mate me. And somewhere in there, I think there is a me-me. The one who deals with all of the above, and keeps her worries inside so as not to upset anyone else, and at the same time is overwhelmed with multiple new physical problems and a sudden shift in parentage, which in some ways is so positive, but at the same time needs dealing with nonetheless. Is it any wonder I just want to escape to some deserted isle somewhere?

So, I think I’m sinking into a bit of a depression here. Or maybe just an identity crisis. Did I tell you about when I was at the neurologists office the other day and he started to do a cranial nerve exam (which I’ve done a million times as an SP, with varying success, according to the case) and I had a moment of panic about my identity.

I really think I need a vacation, but not the kind prescribed by one of my minions, who all have a different idea about what I *need*. And, frankly, at this point, if I went on vacation, I’m not altogether sure I’d come back. …sigh…

2004-08-23T14:47:00.000-05:00

We had a great time in Austin. I got to spend an afternoon and evening with my friend Laura, who has two girls – Amber could be Shannon’s twin and is a few weeks older, and Emily is a dear 8 month old with creamy soft cheeks, just ripe for kissing. Laura is pretty special, too, as she understands my strange and quirky view of life.
The next evening we went for a boat ride and dinner, and then an after-dark swim in Lake Travis. Normally I don’t “do” lake swimming, as my imagination tends to run a little wild, but the water felt so cool and refreshing. It was almost enough for me not to visualize a sinister something silently sucking Shannon from the surface. (How’s that for alliteration!)

When we got back, there was a message from Wayne (at what point do I start calling him “Dad”, I wonder…). So, I called him back and told him about my flight plans and so on. He said he was a little nervous to meet me, so I guess we are in the same boat. He also said he told the other kids (brothers Keith and Richard and sister Melissa) about me. It sounds like the reception was mixed. I do have to cut them a little slack, though, since I was somewhat astounded to learn about the whole situation when I found out six years ago. He said he wants to meet me at the airport. Wow.

In other news, I went to the neurologist today and while my latest EEG was within normal range (but ‘interesting’), I’m still having headaches 4-5 times a week. He will probably up my anti-seizure medication to help with the headaches, but didn’t want to do it today because gave me a prescription for my newly diagnosed high blood pressure! I’m falling to pieces here, folks! The funny part, though, was when he did a cranial nerve exam, which I’ve been performing ‘wrong’ for my latest role in Standardized Patient Land, and I had to remind myself who I am and that my neurological deficits aren’t the same as the person I’ve been portraying. I wonder if I’m wearing too many hats…

2004-08-19T11:59:00.000-05:00

Seen on a bumper sticker on the way to Austin this morning:
Invest in America - Buy a congressman.

2004-08-18T08:14:00.000-05:00

Okay, since I live for feedback, well, the positive kind anyway, here's the deal: I'll keep blogging as long as people are reading - BUT - I can't tell if anyone is reading (and more importantly liking what they are reading) if no one so much as 'signs the guestbook', so to speak. From here on out, no comments, no blog. Got it? (I really hate to play tough, so somebody, please, let me off the hook here!) If you don't want to leave a public note through the comments link, send me a 'Kilroy was here' email using the link on the bottom right. Feed me people, before I starve!

Completely aside: I find it so ironic that Bloggers' spell check wants to change blogging to flogging. But, perhaps today, it's appropriate.

2004-08-17T21:09:00.000-05:00

So, how does one (as a parent) tell if your teen is depressed or just a teen? Or perhaps he's an alien sent to beat the entire human species into submission with his inane arguments... Would it be considered neglect for me to go live on an island alone until Tudor reaches the age of reason (is that 27, 33, or 59?)? What if I promised to come back for holidays? And at what point does my right to not be annoyed outweigh his right to annoy? Aye, yi, yi! How did PC and Democracy invade my Benevolent Dictatorship?

2004-08-17T18:04:00.000-05:00

Oh! What a naughty mommy I am! I forgot to broadcast the news that Shannon can now swim without any floatation devices. She's quite happy to jump in, knowing it's over her head, swim to the surface and then swim to the edge, climb out and do it all over again. She's an intrepid little thing, that's for sure.

2004-08-17T14:25:00.000-05:00

I have to confess. I’m a geek and I’m not ashamed to say it. As I write and post this, I’m sitting in the waiting room at the dentist waiting while Tudor has three fillings done. I am using a wireless card that connects to the internet via cell towers. I love it. Finally, a good use for technology.

So, I’ve decided to take a trip up to the Northwest in September and meet my father. Now I’m worried about it. Not whether he’ll like me or not, and not even whether I’ll like him or not, but, for starters, what do I call him? I’ve never called anyone “Dad” before, but “Wayne” seems a bit standoffish. And then, what if I do like him. Isn’t it somewhat stupid to establish a long distance relationship with someone with the idea of developing that relationship into one of caring and support? I mean, what if I get attached? Not only is he far away physically, but he’s also 68, fercryinoutloud. Am I setting myself up for sadness? Sometimes I think being a recluse isn’t such a bad idea. Rather than a social creature, I would be a rock, an island. Like Paul says, “a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.”
Then again, even I would get sick of listening to myself talk sooner or later. Probably sooner. I wonder, if you have a split personality and you kill yourself, is it a murder-suicide?

2004-08-17T09:00:00.000-05:00

I wonder if you have to buy them by the case...

2004-08-14T08:49:00.000-05:00

This is a teensy bit disturbing... I think I'll stick to the backyard pool for now, thanks.

2004-08-13T10:15:00.000-05:00

Now this is truly a tragedy. Thanks for all you've given me, Julia. You were truly an inspiration.

2004-08-13T09:35:00.000-05:00

My apologies, but this is a bit of a "cheater" blog, as it is mostly a copy of an email I sent to my March Moms list, but in light of the rant I was on yesterday, it seemed appropriate, so I'll share it with y'all.

First, one of the moms, whom I love dearly, posted the Blondestar clip with the caveat that it's "a riot, unless you're blonde" and I responded that I assumed she meant "blonde" in the behavior sense, rather than haircolor. I said this because I'm blonde, of course, but certainly didn't mean to insinuate that I was offended. However, she wasn't sure that I truly wasn't offended. (This is what writerly people refer to as "backstory" and is considered a definite "no-no", but this is MY blog and I'll write it however I damn well please! So there. Pfffft!)

So, my response to her was that I wasn't offended.
"As I said, I was born blonde, but I wasn't born dumb therefore the "logic" doesn't apply in my case, making it, as I understand the 'rules' of logic, to be an invalid assumption (ie, a = b can't be true if one instance of b does not = a). Mostly I was trying to explain the "logic" or "humour" of the joke to Mary Ann who asked what I meant when I jibed that you certainly weren't referring to hair colour, since I did find it funny and I'm blonde (again proving b (blonde) can not = not finding the Blondestar clip funny).
I do get a little annoyed by blonde jokes, but only in the sense that a
person of Hispanic heritage, for example, may find "lazy beano" jokes rather
stereotypical in nature. I guess it's more the hypocrisy of it being ok to
single out one group of people for mocking, but not ok to mock other groups
(any group, ethnic or otherwise other than WASP meat-eating affluent
capitalists). I'm not accusing you, it's just a part of our society as a
whole that I take issue with. Personally, I try very hard not to let
societal stereotypes influence my opinion of people before I give them a
chance. This doesn't mean I haven't been judged by stereotypes I had no
control over during my lifetime (besides my hair color, there is the fact
that I was from a single parent family, lived in a very low income manner
for the first 18 years of my life, followed two sisters through a small
school system, am not thin or "pretty", lived in a foreign country, am a US
citizen, am female, homeschool my children, am now what some consider "wealthy" etc.). So, it's the "victim" status unequally applied that bothers me, since the judgment hurt me even though I wasn't/am not black, Muslim, etc. The blondestar thing wouldn't be so funny if it were, say, 'Wongstar', now would it?

I must say, though, that it is very hard to offend me unless one attacks me
personally, the experience of which I've not had, to my recollection, on
this list in 6 years. No, Theresa, you didn't offend me, and I laughed out
loud at the clip. (Although, Roger did say he'd heard it before but didn't
share it with me because it was a blonde joke.)"

So there you are, blog readers. Shall I now tell you how I REALLY feel? :-)

2004-08-12T17:03:00.000-05:00

Maybe I should add this to my list of "improvements" along with botox treatments and a tummy tuck...

2004-08-12T12:30:00.000-05:00

Salvador Dali Melting clocks are not a problem in
your reality. You are an unschooler. You will
tolerate a textbook, but only as a last resort.
Mud is your friend. You prefer hands-on
everything. If your school had an anthem, it
would be Dont Worry, Be Happy.
What Type of Homeschooler Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

2004-08-12T11:02:00.000-05:00

What IS this world coming to? First I find Jesse Jackson repeating my thoughts (well, not my thoughts literally, I’m fairly certain he’s not channeling me or anything) when he countered the Democrats complaining of the raise in alert status, saying any threat must be taken seriously. Really, it’s a no-win situation. Raise the alert level and take flack for the absence of attack (or thwarting thereof) or don’t raise the alert level and take flack for not warning people when an attack happens. A real rock and hard place scenario.

And now…well, now I find Teresa Kerry (I refuse to add her middle name, as it is an affront to my evil and indignant mood) claiming to be African-American. Well, of course she is. Just like my friends Carla Kruger and Colleen Barker. They were both born and raised in Africa. Both have had family born and raised in Africa for generations. On the one hand, if your ancestors have lived in America for more than three generations, I challenge the use by anyone of a hyphen in their self-description. The descendants of Kunta Kinte are no more deserving of a hyphen than I am of claiming to be Irish-American (incidentally a group having been maligned and persecuted for many, many years). Both Carla and Colleen are women of color – a kind of a pinky-beige color. (I think Crayola calls this color “Peach”.)
On the other hand, if the people challenging Mrs. Kerry’s use of the term based on the lack of pigment in her skin, rather than her heritage, are insinuating she’s not black enough to warrant the claim, shouldn’t they just call it “Black”?
Make up your minds, people. You can’t have it both ways. That’s just wishy-washy.

At least I’m guaranteed of my first amendment rights on my blog. The voicing of such non-politically correct views elsewhere might be dangerous.

2004-08-11T09:37:00.000-05:00

I feel positively slim. But can you tell me what exactly is dignified about being weighed on a livestock scale? "Hoist 'im up, Bob, I got 'im all slung in tight."

2004-08-10T22:11:00.000-05:00

Ahhhhh, the power of the internet is vast and wonderful. It allows geeks such as myself and Roger to listen to hours of irreplaceable classics such as I like traffic lights and The Lumberjack Song on Musicmatch. Incredible. And who knew Weird Al was still hard at work?

2004-08-10T21:04:00.000-05:00

I have a couple of Shannon funnies to share. Today she asked when we were going to go to “Barnes and Normal” to get a “mookbark”. Then tonight after dinner, I knocked something over and she jumped to pick it up. While she was picking it up, she said, “How come I have to be the one who picks everything up?” (As IF!) She answered herself with, “Oh, yeah, I wanted to do it.” Right…whatever!
This afternoon the door was inadvertently left open. The boys captured Pekoe and Earl whilst they were on safari in the neighbor’s back yard, but India was nowhere to be found. We all searched high and low for at least a half hour. Finally, Tudor found her. She was sleeping soundly in the laundry room behind the hung-up clothes. What a stinker!

On another note, I was very disappointed to hear a fourth year medical student ask me about “number one and number two” rather than urination and defecation or bowel movements. No wonder they call it ‘practicing medicine’!!! But this was the same student who was intent on doing a breast exam when I was portraying a woman with weakness and numbness in my legs.

So, today I sent my father a letter and several pictures of me and mine. Fingers crossed it’s well received.

2004-08-10T11:08:00.000-05:00

I was lamenting to my buddies on my March Moms list about how incredibly unfair it is to be 40, with saggy boobs, butt, and belly, and then to also have zits on my chin like a 16 year old. I mean, if I gotta have pimply skin like a teenager, I should get to have the body of one, too, don’t you think?
Anyway, one of the March Moms (the inimitable Susan in Israel, whom long-time readers may remember as the one who wears drink charms as earrings – see archived post from 3/24/04) wrote back with a little poem that I’d like to share with you.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
AND TO YOUR CHIN ZITS TOO
YOUR BOOBS MAY BE SAAAAAAAGGY,
BUT WE STILL LOVE YOU!

Now, how can one feel bad about oneself when confronted with such love and friendship?

2004-08-09T09:51:00.000-05:00

Why Kerry Will Lose The Election

2004-08-09T00:10:00.000-05:00

So, I’m having a hard time categorizing this whole “Dad” thing. I mean, I like it, but it’s just so foreign to me to have a “dad”. I was deep in REM sleep this morning when the phone rang. Roger answered it and passed it to me. It was Wayne, er, my father. Er, my dad. He said, “I was making my weekly calls to my kids and you were on my list.” I can’t even begin to express how that makes me feel. It’s just so incredible to be so wanted. So welcomed. So accepted. Wow.

I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I have another sister and two brothers (Keith, Richard, and Melissa). Not to mention aunts (Stinky and Sis, apparently). And cousins and nieces and nephews and all that. My heart does flip-slops at the very thought. And, damn if I don’t have a dad. I never had one before, you see. The man that I assumed was my father for the first 34 years of my life was never my “Daddy”. He was very much a part of my feelings of inadequacy. He would come to visit and then spend time with my sisters, but brush me off. Or he would send presents to them and not to me. Now I understand why. I do comprehend that it may not have been the most mature way to deal with the situation, but at least it wasn’t as if he was excluding the product of his own loins. Let’s face it; all I really wanted to do was to blend into the ‘real fake wood’ paneling my entire childhood and adolescence.

Anyway, so Wayne called. I mean, my dad called this morning. He is looking forward to not only seeing me (he last saw me about 39 years ago.) but is anxious to start making up for lost hugs.

I don’t know of words or language that express how I feel. Totally inadequate concepts are things like:
Overwhelmed, loved, wanted, accepted, and longed for.

I’m sad for what I’ve missed out on, but looking forward to making up for lost time.

What an incredible week/year it’s been!

Oh, and, thanks so much for listening/reading and even that much more for caring. I can’t tell you what it means to me.

2004-08-07T00:55:00.000-05:00

Vive Lance!!! Vive America!!

2004-08-06T15:42:00.000-05:00

Shannon is sitting here playing with her Leapster with the new Disney Princess game. The Leapster says, "You need 12 more emeralds to become a Mistress Fair." And she replies, "I have to do that because I want to be a Mistress Bear!"

2004-08-06T01:00:00.000-05:00

Wow. It was a big day. I started the day pondering the fact that this was my first birthday without my mother. I ended the day engaged in an hour long conversation with my father.

It was totally amazing. Words fail me, and let me tell you (if you didn’t already know) this is extremely unusual.

As soon as I said who I was, he said he’d been looking for me for years. He said, “Happy Birthday, darlin’,” and I nearly cried.

I spent the day wondering what I’d write to him and then thought “what the hell?” and just dialed the phone. He was so glad to hear from me. I’ve never been met with so much welcome from a blood relative in all my life! Astonishing. Absolutely astonishing.

Wow.

2004-08-05T08:10:00.000-05:00

OH MY GOD!!!

Today is my birthday. The big Four Oh. I was awakened about a half hour ago to find Auntie Flo had brought an auspicious start to the day. Then I checked my email and the first one I read was from my sister. She was writing to tell me she had received, from a third party, my fathers address. My heart is racing and my head is spinning and every emotion you can imagine is vying for top spot.

Happy Birthday to me!

Phew. I think I need a cup of tea. I could probably use something stronger, but it is, after all, only 8:10 in the morning.

2004-08-04T19:18:00.000-05:00

What more can you expect from me, fresh from a romance writer’s conference, but a brag about my dear, romantic (though he would be chagrined) husband? On Sunday we celebrated the 17th anniversary of our wedding. We were actually married (any or all of the following definitions from dictionary.com apply: 3. Closely connected; united; 5. To unite in a close, usually permanent way: “His material marries the domestic and the exotic” (Clifton Fadiman) or 2. To combine or blend agreeably.) very soon after we met on the 22nd of January, 1983. (I was waiting for another guy, Bob Bergeron, to come back from the bathroom at a frat party when Roger picked me up, but that, my friends, is a tale for another day…)

So, long about last Thursday, he and I were engaged in an internet chat when he told me I should check at the front desk to see if they had anything for me. After a huge runaround for which the hotel from hell is completely to blame, I received a very nice present from him. Which I proceeded to brag about ad nauseum, but, heck, I loved it and felt it was just so damn romantic. I got a business card holder with a shell pattern and a money/card holder with palm trees, both of which had iridescent ‘peacock’ colored backgrounds. (My favorite colors…) They are incredibly beautiful and if you ever have need of a gift, I highly recommend the artist/company. Great product, great service.
He also drove up (3.5 hours each way) to relieve me of some of the 47 books I got from the conference. All together now, “Awwww….” This definitely verifies his nomination for the distinguished Husband of the Year award.

Perhaps the sweetest part was when we were IMing while I was writing this and he kept sending me sonnets. What a guy, even if he doesn’t clean the house.