(Sigh) A Night to Remember

Tonight, about 15 or 20 friends and neighbors came to the house to surprise me with a 50th birthday pary.

It was perfect.

We had a house full of family people, kids running everywhere, babies toddling, folks talking. The oldest was 79 and the youngest, 15 months.

Turns out, Little One proposed to DH last week, "Papaw, we've got to throw Nana a party for her birthday!!" ... And, turns out, he agreed. Imagine that.

She wrote up an invitation. Haven't seen one yet but I hear it's priceless. He made copies on our scanner/faxer/printer/copier (if you don't have one of these, you must get one. They are IT.)

Both of them distributed them to whomever they thought should come.

I have been in house-cleaning mode last couple of days, trying to clear the Christmas clutter out. Little One actually helped today, voluntarily. It was pretty fishy, come to think of it. DH said he was in a mood to BBQ some wings tonight. Sure, I said.

He was outside cooking. He said, why don't you go take a load off your feet. I said, sure. We had a fire in the fireplace and candles going on, so I turned on the TV and sat down with a beer. I was actually dozing off when a neighbor stopped by and chatted with me. We were talking away when in ran DH, the pizza man, and a dozen or so neighbors.

"Surprise!" they shouted.

This all happened about 6pm. It's 9pm now and they are all home. Sounds like a short party to you, but it was perfect for me. They came, we cleaned out a crapload of wings and 10 pizzas, a good bit of beer and a couple bottles of wine. Good talk, hugs and kisses, cake and ice cream. When the babies started fussing for bedtime, the younger adults said their goodnights, and soon thereafter, those without babies followed.

I feel loved, cherished, and, fifty.

If you are one of the dear friends who came by,

THANK YOU.

Post-Christmas

The day after Christmas. We have already stepped into that territory my mother never had to: limits.

Santa brought Little One a Nintendo DS for Christmas. She also received 3 games for it: Nintendogs, The Incredibles, and Luna White Dragon. Her friend also has a Nintendo DS and when they have a play date, they can play together on them, wireless-ly. Pretty cool. The friend also has Nintendogs and it was highly recommended.

The device has dual screens: one with the game graphics on it and the other with icons for control. It comes with a stylus for using the touch screen to control it. The graphics are photograph quality. It "hears" your voice and can play it back to you, not so remarkable, until you realize that it performs commands based on your voice commands. DS2's phone does that, too, and I find it really neat. Closed, it's about 3x6" and maybe 1/2" thick.

She expressed some frustration with the game last night and I remarked, "If you had read the directions and were having trouble, I'd help you. But as it is, I believe your next course is to try the directions." She grumbled, read the directions, and thanked me. Imagine that.

Nintendogs has a variety of dogs you can adopt -- animated photographs of real dogs. You train them with your voice to sit, lie down, shake, wag tail, jump, and catch the Frisbee. Little One adopted a Yellow Lab and named him Shadow. So as she is playing this game, she is yelling into the game, "Shadow, sit!" "Lie down!" "Yes!" "Jump! ...Jump! ...Jump! ...Jump!" In the background, you can hear the tiniest barks and the sound of cars rolling by (if she is in backyard mode) or the crowds cheering (if she is in Dog Show mode.)

Fortunately she read a new book, The Giraffe, The Pelican and Me, by Roald Dahl, tyvm DS1 and DIL, this morning. Then it started. "Sit! Sit! Sit! Good job. Roll over. Roll over... Roll over... Roll over...."

I have established a one hour limit. I hope that's fair. There are lots of other things to play with, and I may allow a little extra time later in the day if she becomes bored. However, it does seem a tad addictive and I am just trying to be careful.

Her friend's mom allows her to earn Screen Time (TV, pc, and handheld) by reading, with a 1:1 ratio. One hour of reading earns one hour of Screen Time. DH and I have discussed this and we hate to make a chore out of reading as she loves to read so much.

Other gifts she received for Christmas: a Learn to Draw kit that contains a wooden articulated man, sketch pads, step-by-step books, different kinds of pencils, etc. She drew for about an hour and a half yesterday and did some amazing stuff. I may scan some later to post here. A beautiful sterling chain from great-grandparents; several books including Narnia, Guinness Book of World Records, Wizardology (if you have not seen this cool book, plz check it out. In person really beats online as it is tactile. Other books in the same line are Dragonnology, which she already had; Fairyopolis, which she also received yesterday, and Egyptology, which she does not yet have.) Two cd's, both sound tracks: Narnia and Harry Potter Goblet of Fire. She had asked for these but not asked for any pop music. Yea! A new bathrobe and slippers. Two journals; a 1000-piece puzzle and an American Girls puzzle kit in which you complete the puzzle to solve a mystery (also from DS1 and DIL). One other gift so small it hardly merits mention, but is pretty neat, eight tubes of lip balm, in all sorts of flavors: Reese's, Hershey's chocolate, SweetTarts, Twizzlers, Jelly Belly, Dairy Queen, and two others we can't remember. These things smell just like the real thing. I believe her favorite is SweetTarts. Handy as her lips chap really easily and I always have to coax her to use some lip balm. Now maybe she will remember on her own.

In years past, we have given Little One a gown for Christmas, from American Girl, with a matching gown for one of her dolls. This year she is in the largest little girls' size, and if we were to buy one for her, it wouldn't last a year -- she is growing so tall, so fast. This is a consideration as they are a bit pricey. So I purchased a sewing pattern for a beautiful, detailed nightgown in a women's small, and made her one out of white batiste. Yards and yards of eyelet trim and "beading," which is an eyelet with little buttonholes down it, through which you weave satin ribbon. I used pale blue satin ribbon. The gown has long sleeves with elastic and more eyelet at the ends. I constructed the whole thing with french seams, so that there are no raw edges, on the inside or the outside. It came out fine and I was so glad that she really appreciated it. I told someone on the phone that her "big" gift was her Nintendo DS and she called, "No, Nana, -- my big gift was the gown."

I know we will look back on this Christmas with some nostalgia. It was her last appearance in the church Pageant. Ten is such a cool age as they are interested in everything, and not too old or too cool to really play anymore. Those days are soon coming to an end. Ten-year-olds are very creative, and curious, and energetic.

I had worried if we'd be sitting around the house missing DH while he worked on Christmas Day. I had even called the Shelter to see if we could work there, only to find out that the local Temple takes Christmas Day as a gift to the Christians. How cool is that.

The day actually passed by quickly. We fixed a big breakfast, then got ready and went to church. When we came home, it was already afternoon and I spent the remainder of the day cleaning and preparing a big Christmas dinner. Ironed special table linens, made a coconut cake with Little One. The time went by quickly and soon he was home.

After dinner, he built a fire and we sat in the living room. I finally got time to look at my Learn to Knit book and give knitting a try. I practiced for about an hour. I think I have a basic understanding now, and can do the basic garter stitch, but I unravelled all I had done as it had a gap or two in it. We will un-decorate a little today and then I hope to try again.

Christmas Eve

At this point, I, like many other Americans, just have one thing to say: "Well, it's almost over."

Don't get me wrong. Christmas is a sacred holiday to me. However, I like to think I celebrate Christ all year long.

The baking, the school festivities, the shopping, parties, caroling, trying to appreciate the poor overworked store workers (that is NOT minimum work -- but they make minimum wage.) It's frazzling and I prefer normalcy. Also, as I get older I have begun to like social situations less and less. I just like being home by the fire.

If shopping for gifts were all there was to it, I believe that'd be fine. It's the shopping for cards, added touches to decorations, ingredients for baking, cool containers in which to pack the baked goods, etc, etc, that takes it over the top.

I know I sound like a humbug.

Here's what I DO like about Christmas.

People are more humane. They wave you ahead in traffic. They wear goofy hats they wouldn't be caught dead in, the rest of the year. Houses look better. In addition to the lights and paralyzed reindeer, the yards are raked and the porches swept. People care about children during Christmas. They give to the poor. We use our good china. We wear festive clothing. We smile. And...we sing beautiful songs, no matter how well or how poorly we sing.

Cool line from "Mary Did You Know?" a song that came out last year (I think). Every artist is rushing to record it but it still has a very cool line:

"Did you know the baby you delivered, would one day deliver you?"

Happy Birthday Little Brother

Well, I guess I am officially getting OLD, because I almost, almost began this posting with "My little brother was born 37 years ago today, and I remember it like it was yesterday."

But I will not.

But, yes, I do. We were shipped to friends of the family to spend the night, a very uncommon occurrence in our family. I was twelve, and my parents did not share any knowledge of the nuances of pregnancy. I knew my mother was expecting. I knew she ate Rolaids like popcorn. I had a vague notion of how the baby was created. And I knew my dad was acting all cocky and proud of expecting a baby and being over forty.

Earlier in the summer and fall, my mom was busy sending copies of my dad's new book to those people who mailed in their checks and order forms. She would sit on the living room floor and wrap the books in brown paper, carefully copying the addresses on the front. We would gather the wrapped books into the car and take them to the post office to mail. I remember solicitously carrying the books for her, so protective already of the baby inside.

So on 17.December, we spent the night at the friends' house. One of their bedrooms had captains' beds, really high up, with drawers below, and I thought that was the coolest. A couple of times during the evening, they would get phone calls, from Dad, I guess, and would say our mom was doing fine. Of course she was doing fine. She was always fine. Why wouldn't she? I truly had no clue as to how a baby arrived.

At about 9pm we were informed that it was a baby boy. We were thrilled! A boy! I looked forward to holding him, to caring for him, in the way that most preteen girls do.

The next morning I attended my Junior High behind the home of said friends. That day, I performed in a Christmas play in my speech and drama class. This was my third of six years of taking speech and drama, and it was my favorite class of all. I remember we had written a silly version of Clements' "Twas the Night Before Christmas." Mother would typically be seated in the same area of the auditorium whenever I performed and on this day, she was not there. I remember feeling all un-centered about that.

Following the play, our principal Mr. Knight took the stage. He was a huge man -- the kind whose belly precedes him into the room by a full minute. He love to orate! Pontificate! He spoke slowly and with great deliberation. He thanked us for our play and made comments that my mother had just had a new baby.

The day was a flurry of congratulations over having a new brother. I could not wait to see him. He was so loved before I ever even met him.

Medium Small Ice Storm

Ice storm last night / this morning. School cancelled. It's warm and toasty in the house -- and we have power, unlike three years ago, when an ice storm knocked us out for 9 days.

Little One is out of school and has been creative all day -- drawing, dancing with the little girl from next door, now practicing piano.

Limbs are frozen. This is the view from upstairs window.

First Swim Meet

Little One had her first swim meet today. The facility we went to was also hosting a basketball tournament, and they won the lottery to have the bleachers, so we were advised to bring our own chairs. I also knew to pack a cooler full of food and drinks. Swimmers get hungry!!

I regret to say that in the process of packing, cooking breakfast, etc, I forgot the camera, so I do not have pictures to post. Ok, she was in a blue swimsuit, blue swim cap, and she was wet. Can you visualize it?

Because it was her first meet, we had realistic goals. 1) To finish her events. 2) To not get disqualified on all her events (getting dq'ed on a few would be fine; and is very normal.) 3) To make it through the day with no tears. (Did not verbalize this goal with her but it was there, just the same.)

1.) She finished all her events. She was signed up for a 50m freestyle, 50m backstroke, and 50m butterfly. She also got pulled for two relay races. In both relays, her team came in first, which means the "new kid" did not hold them back.
2.) Jury is still out on the dq's. We did not hear for sure but we believe she may have been dq'ed in one of her events. Will post this later in the week when we find out for sure.
3.) She did not cry; was happy all day. When we woke up this morning, I asked, "Is there anything you need today?" (meaning -- pack more conditioner for my hair, etc) and she said, "I need not to get disqualified today!" So clearly she was a little apprehensive. Understandable. After her first event, she cheered up and had a fun day with her friends. However, old Nana did cry.
She was right behind the starting block before her first event. I thought, "If I can just make eye contact with her, she'll be fine. I just need to connect with her." From my location all the way across the pool, I was looking for her. At the same time, she was looking for me, and we found each other at the same moment. Our eyes connected, and I threw her an "ILY" in sign language and she shot one back to me. Then she mounted the starting block and took her mark. Wow-I cried. I was so thankful for the connection -- thankful we had that nanosecond before her start.
Her day was so good that, when we got in the car after it was all over, she actually forgot she doesn't like swim team, that we made her join, that she doesn't want to do it, and she bubbled over, "Wow! That was so much fun!!"

So, all in all, she met or exceeded her goals for the day. And now, The Dreaded First Meet is officially ........behind us.

Autistic Cat

Several weeks, I blogged about our cat Francie. To make a long story short, she was found and adopted by DS2, who is now 29. He brought her home when she was a tiny kitten, truly too young to be weaned, when he was about 10 or 11 yrs old. For all the math prodigies out there, that makes Francie about 18 or 19 now.

You can't really tell she's elderly. She has always kept her figure youthful and trim. She has a little graying around her muzzle (do cats have muzzles?) -- but it's not easily noticed as she is a gray cat anyway. She had pneumonia when we got her, but once we nursed her to health, she hasn't been sick a day since.

Francie was never the primus cat in the household until about 8 years ago. When we got her, we already had a larger black cat named Jennifer. Jennifer was not unkind to Francie, but by rights she ate first and got first dibs on anything in the house. Cats seem to work these things out for themselves and the "new kid on the block" knows somehow to defer to the alpha cat.

Jennifer died 2 days after DS2 left for basic training -- 11 years ago. Francie was the sole cat for a month until I married DH, who had a very large and very dominant cat named Molly. Molly had always been an only child, and resented this scrap of a cat entering her kingdom. She growled and hissed and otherwise terrorized Francie. I vividly remember Francie crawling across the room to the food bowls on her belly.

Molly's demise came a few months after we moved into this house and Francie was Sole Cat for about 5 years, until Little One saved her allowance for a cat of her own. Daniel. Daniel is a pretty good sport and would love to be friends with Francie, but she is Elder Emeritus now and has no use for Daniel.

All these years, either due to her blindness, or her rank in the social system, Francie has been reluctant, make that refusing, to mix with the other animals, or anyone other than family. If she's on the bed and Dan hops up, she leaves. If she's on the stairs and Tucker barks, "Hey, let's play!!" she arches her back and hisses.

Friday night, a miracle happened. We don't know why. When it happened, every member of the family froze, at least until I ran for the camera. Words can't explain it -- but it happened. Here it is.

All Hail to the Decorating Diva

The old neighborhood was host to the Symphony Guild Christmas Tour of Homes this past weekend. We weren't on the Tour, but our NDN's were, and we definitely did not want to be the Scabs Next Door.

So we cleaned up the old place and it looked okay. We usually go for Simple but Tasteful, however, this year Little One asked if we could put up lights. Hmm? Lights? On the house? Yes, she replied, and on the bushes as well.

This was a New Idea. Of course, we enjoy driving around and looking at all the houses that are Brightly Lit, but to do so ourselves? We had to think, or, ponder, as our pastor says, on this one.

We came up with the idea to place greenery, boughs, on the archway leading to our porch, with lights in them. This presented a subtle touch, yet, had lights, which of course, we must do, now that Little One is an Independent Thinker. We didn't like the idea of lights on our bushes, so we didn't mention it, and she hasn't mentioned it again, so we are hoping that part is Over.

So. How to mount boughs to brick without boring a zillion holes in our elderly brick or mortar. So we placed a call to dear MIL in Tennessee. She....IS....the....Decorating....Diva. (Of the Earth.)

Simple! She gaily sang. Hot glue!

We tried it / it worked.

All Hail to the Decorating Diva. (Of the earth.)

It wasn't quite late enough in this shot to show the spotlighting effect.


Looks a little as if some lights are out on the greenery over the archway. Not. Lights were just sort of tucked behind greenery so they didn't show for this pic. They have been rearranged now.











The light you see here is not the flash, but DH's ingenious spotlight. (On a timer, no less. On at 4m, off at 11.)





















This is the front door before I added lights and holly berries. Tried to get rid of flash spot with the "red-eye" feature in software, but it made it look even worse, so here it is in its untouched state. I will try to get a shot with lights/berries soon.

Catching Up

I have taken quite a long respite from blogdom in order to neaten up the appearance of our home. The Symphony Guild is having their Christmas Tour of Homes in our dear old neighborhood, and one of the homes on the tour is next door. Well, we could NOT be the Scabs Who Live Next Door so we have been working our proverbial (if not literal) butts off. Raked, picked up about 4 gallons of pecans (that's the easy part -- now to crack and shell), got wreaths, made bows, installed hangers, hung, made tiny wreath for my little studio window, raked more, loaded flowerbeds with pine straw, hot-glued hangers to entryway for greenery & lights (thank you mother-and-father-in-law for the scoop on how to hang things onto brick.)

Whew. That's not all. The exterior light to the upstairs entryway (which faces said next-door-neighbors) was broken so DH had to get new lampparts and rewire and reinstall. Took down my Thanksgiving grapevine from around front door and installed greenery/lights. Called City to vacuum streets on Friday so they would be clean for The Tour. (They even sent the street washers to follow the vacuum trucks. Love this town sometimes.)

So. Now we look -- well, not great enough to BE on the tour, but good enough to be next door to the tour. 8-}

Took a trip out of town on Tuesday for training on how to be on the Zoning Board of Adjustments, which I've served on all summer and fall, with no training. Very glad to get that. Our City staff person offered to take a van. I figured he was saving me the trouble of getting lost, so I took him up on the offer. All in all, there were three men and me. We arrived there in time, had the training, dinner and Q&A. I was anxious to return home before the finale of The Biggest Loser, this great show about fat people who go to a spa for 12 weeks and compete to see who can lose the most weight. Anyhoo, as we left the building, each and every one of the men was confused and could not remember where on earth we had parked the van. Sooo gratifying.

Well, all week as I have been un-blogging, I have been making mental notes, "When I do get to blog, I need to put this or that in..." and now that I am actually online, I'm suffering the old Brain Freeze. What are the insurgents putting in our water?

Til next time..........

Happy Tday

Thank you to all our friends, family, and ~illegitmate Blog readers~ for the roles you play in our lives. We are so rich and each of you contributes to our list of blessings. May you have a happy holiday and God bless.

Thanksgiving when I was little

When I was little, my parents had a grand mahogany table and high sideboard. They were beautiful. My mother kept her great-grandmother's Haviland soup tureen out on top of the sideboard. It was huge.

When I was about 10 or 12, they got rid of the mahogany and got this terrible pecan modernistic crap with artificial caning in the chairs. I always missed the old, darker furniture. It was "real."

When I was little, Mother used real linens for Thanksgiving, and her crystal glasses. She made the pink parfait recipe she learned from her best friend, Rose.

When I was little, Thanksgiving always smelled the same. Mother worked by herself for days and got everything ready without a word of complaint. She never said she was tired. She rarely asked us to help.

We had turkey and dressing and rice and gravy and LeSeur peas with canned mushrooms in them. We had roasted pecans and pickled beets and pickled vegetables from the grocery. We had sweet potatoes with fat brown marshmallows on top. We had black olives and pimento-stuffed green olives. We had celery with pimento cheese or cream cheese in it. We had lots of desserts, but I liked the pink parfait best. She made it with strawberry jello, canned crushed pineapple, and vanilla ice cream. She blended it all up with her mixer and served it in her beautiful crystal glasses.

Most dads in the 60's didn't help, I guess, and ours was no different. Mother shopped, polished the silver, got out the china and crystal, prepared the linens, chopped, cooked, and served the food, and did all the cleaning. With a smile. For the following week, she creatively recycled the leftovers.

Daddy carved the turkey, watched TV, and took a nap. When I was little, it was just the way things were, but looking back, she really had a raw deal there.

I remember swiping the black olives out of the cup before dinner. I remember the lovely smell of pecans roasting. I remember the blessing and holding hands around the table. And most of all, I remember Mama's smile.

When Mom died, my sister and I opened card after card from the sack or two of mail that arrived. One well-meaning friend had written, "When she smiled, she suddenly became beautiful." Sister and I laughed and laughed at the left-handed compliment, but he was right: when she smiled, she suddenly became beautiful.

Miss Alice

If you've read this blog at all, you know that I rarely disclose people's names in here, except for mine ....my own name is in the name of the blog. It's kind of fun, thinking up pseudonyms for the people in my life. Little One is not so little anymore, and has commented that she won't be Little One much longer. (She'll always be Little One to me.)

Today we are breaking that tradition to talk about Miss Alice.

Miss Alice lives across the street in a white frame house, with a perfect yard, and hedges whose leaves are never out of place.

I would eat off Miss Alice's kitchen floor.

When our neighborhood held our membership drive last month, Miss Alice's check was the first to arrive at the PO Box.

Miss Alice celebrated her 91st birthday on Saturday.

Four years ago, when her son-in-law insisted on taking over the mowing of her lawn, she agreed: "Well, you may mow, but you may not trim with the WeedEater. You don't do it right." She weed-ate her sidewalk edges just last week. When she finished, she used the weed whacker as a cane to help her up the porch steps.

I went to Alice's house on many occasions -- usually to seek her guidance. She was a gifted seamstress in her day, and if I were making something complicated, she would advise me as to how to keep the lining from showing, or how to roll the facings inward, or what color thread to use.

When I became President of the neighborhood, I began visiting for her counsel. After 40 years in the neighborhood, she knew the history about as well as anyone. She could predict what the reactions of the neighbors might be if we took this or that action, and she supported my decisions like a trouper.

I loved, respected, and appreciated Miss Alice, and she passed away this morning.

I am sad.

The good news is that it happened quickly. Fiercely independent, Alice would never have wanted to be a burden on anyone. She would never have wanted to be dependent on anyone, and for heaven's sake, she wouldn't want to be sick or incapacitated in any way.

She didn't feel well this morning, and called her daughter in a neighboring town. The daughter asked Alice if she could go on and call 911. She did so as the daughter sped to town.

When first responders arrived, Alice had fallen down with a stroke and they were unable to revive her.

Thank you, Alice, for all your wisdom, your sage advice, your time and caring, and your gentle sense of humor.

I loved you.

The Cup

A hundred years ago, when I was nine, I gained unilateral permission to ride my bike to the local shopping center. It was about a mile-and-a-half from the house. (Those were different days. Very different days.)

Mother's birthday was the nineteenth of November. By the week prior, I had saved eight dollars (A fortune!) and on Saturday, set out on my bike to buy her a birthday gift.

The shopping center had forty or so stores, all quite nice. My favorite, after the bakery, (everything there made right there) was Loveman's department store. It smelled great. The clothing was downstairs and the furniture, appliances, and of course, Santaland, were upstairs. They had everything! Sometimes I fantasized about living there. It was the location of my first -- and only -- "getting lost," but that's a story for another day.

I headed straight for Loveman's, dropped my bike on the bike rack (no bike locks in those days; no helmets, either...) and stepped inside.

Loveman's was ethereal. You could hear the muted "ding-ding" of the elevator through the whole store. The lights were subtle. And, of course, as I mentioned, it smelled so good.

I browsed a little downstairs, but little or nothing caught my interest, and nothing could be had for eight dollars.

I took the escalator upstairs, and soon I saw a set of four mugs. Picture is above. This was so "mother." Mom loved autumn colors. Mom loved her coffee. I loved the Jacobean design, still do, even though at that time I had no clue that it might be a classic design, much less something called, "Jacobean."

I bought the mugs, and had money left for a card.

I was thrilled. Never before had I saved so much money. Never before had I shopped independently for a gift.

The ride home on my bike was a little precarious. Plastic shopping bags wouldn't be invented for about eight more years. The wide box corners began cutting through the thin paper bag before I even left the center. By the time I reached the busy avenue, I had decided to walk my bike all the way home. Even at that, the bag swung back and forth in my hand and the split grew quite large by the time I reached the house. I made it, though, and hid the package under my bed.

When Mother opened my gift, I could tell she truly liked it. I was so excited, so proud, that I burst in tears.

Through the years Mother drank her coffee from these cups. After I grew older and moved away from home, my visits to her always included a cup of coffee -- in one of these cups.

The original set of four dwindled to three, then two. By the time I came home to be with Mother during her illness, there was one cup left.

Daddy sort of flipped after Mama left. Even though she had painstakingly written our names on the back of paintings and memorabilia, even though she had left clear instructions as to who should receive which items, Daddy couldn't let go of one thing.

My sister and I communicated a lot during those days. We mourned Mother and we mourned those material things, just because having something of hers would allow us to feel that a piece of her was still near. I called Daddy and tried to persuade him to let Sister have the Haviland china. Mother had often told us of her great-grandmother receiving them in barrels from England.

All this transpired over the course of about two years. During the same time, I had endured a divorce, the loss of a job (downsizing!) and a move to another state. The kids and I lived in a small apartment here in Smalltown, USA.

About two weeks before Christmas, a small box arrived in the mail with directions written on top: Early Christmas gift: Open Now.

Curious, I tore into the box. There, inside, was the lone remaining cup. Sister had traveled to Hometown to check on Dad, and in a fit of human kindness, had filched the mug from the cabinet, tucked it into her handbag, and dashed for the car.

It is my prized possession. It sits in the safest spot in the mug cabinet. The family all treat it with kid gloves. I drink from it rarely -- twice a month or so -- just when I need a cup of warmth and comfort along with my coffee.

It brings up memories of my adventure, my love for Mama, and the Sister who loved me enough to steal the cup.

News from the Homefront

My brother and I talk not-too-often. He is really busy with a wife, new house, and a new consulting business. He lives in our hometown, where he knows everyone, and keeps up with all the hometown news. I have plenty of time, and sometimes call him, and that has been about the extent of our relationship until recently, when we have begun emailing.

I received this bit of news from him via email today:

Wayne Greenhaw and the guy who salvaged the Rosa Parks bus have written a new book about the Boycott. As you would expect from Wayne, there are 25 pages about Dad in it. He also references Mom. Here's the link in case you're interested in it:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1556525907/103-8692639-6128669?v=glance&n=283155&n=507846&s=books&v=glance

Hope all is well -

David

He adds a "ps.":

P.S. - Have been reading your blog. Sad to read you're still a Democrat and don't like W. Our family is freakin' FULL of opposites, isn't it?

This is my bro's way of saying "I love you anyway," although he would never actually say that. Ain't life grand??

Finding Trash

Yesterday, I pointed some new friends to this blog to see the story of working as a trash lady.

If you look on this page, and scroll through the entries, you will not find it. These are recent entries and the blog only shows so many at a time.

To find the trash story, look to your left, and down a little, and click on, "September." Trash is the third or so entry on that screen.

Hope you enjoy it. :)

Oxymorons

I met today with a group of the loveliest ladies. They are a book group here in Smallville, USA, and their group is comprised of many of the leaders of our small town. Several years ago, they worked successfully to bring an Authors' Symposium to our Small College, and it has thrived ever since.

This year, they are hosting an author whose work I love, and hate, at the same time.

I love her work. I love her insights. I love her skill. I love the way she weaves normalcy into the most bizarre situations. I love the way she speaks from the heart of characters who are nothing like her.

I hate the situations she writes about. In one book, an Amish girl gives birth to a baby who is murdered. In another, a father abducts his own child and establishes new identities for himself and the child in another state. When the child is a woman, he is arrested for the abduction and the woman is faced with realizing that her whole life has been a lie. The most recent one I read is about an assistant DA who has specialized in prosecuting child molestation cases. Her world is turned upside down when her own child becomes a victim of this devestating crime.

I hate her books, and I can't put them down.

Now, that's a real....writer.

The local book group (please don't think it's the only one; there are 35 or 40 in Smallville, USA) discussed her work today.

The first order of business at their meeting was, well, their business: old business and new. They discussed and discussed. They couldn't remember how they did this or that, last year. They didn't have last month's minutes to remember what they decided last month. Some couldn't remember what their dues were this year.

Several of them mentioned to me how embarrassed they were at their disorganization.

It "so" totally did not matter. Here's why: in the process, they approved sending money to Pascagoula, MS to re-start a library for the flood-torn high school. They approved sending money to the Christmas Happiness Fund, a local charity that provides Christmas for needy familes. They are doing this for the nth year. (They've done it forever.) They approved sending money to their Symposium, which is really under the auspices of Small College, but they continue to support it.

Then to top it all off, they really discussed the author and her books. Many had been online to research her and her style. They really read. I've been to many other book groups. Most discuss the story. This group, thankyouverymuch, discussed the style. The depth of characters. The voices of the book. The interplay. They contrasted one book to the other.

This is what a book group should be!!! How, how, how, do you make that happen? I guess it's a combination of education, intellect, energy, and a short dose of luck. They've got it going on, and it was such a pleasure to visit.

If any of you from the book group are reading this: Thank You for having me. It was a delight.

PS. Quick addition. I titled today's entry, "Oxymoron," then did not explain why. I was the guest host. (Oxymoron.) Other favorites of mine: jumbo shrimp, military intelligence.

Our Nation

Friday November 04, 2005--Forty-three percent (43%) of American adults now approve of the way George W. Bush is performing his role as President.
Overall, 55% of Americans Disapprove of the President's performance including 40% who strongly disapprove.

NPR this morning said that W's approval rating had fallen to 39%, but when I did a Google search on "bush approval lowest" this was the first of the over 1,000,000 hits produced.

Most of you know I am a Democrat. I like to believe I'm an independent thinker as well.

Many of you may have observed that as Democrats, we have missed some Golden Opportunities in the past couple of Presidential elections.

I'd just like to say, here and now, that: if we miss out on the next presidential election, we are complete and total morons, and should just DISBAND the Democratic party.

W has done more for us than we EVER could have done for ourselves.

Halloween

Halloween is a big day in our neighborhood. Small Town, USA has 2 or 3 neighborhoods where all the kids from rural areas, and kids from the projects, come, and ours is one of them.

In recognition of the day, I decided to put on a little makeup.
Took an hour.

Reactions were mixed. Some little ones cried.

A few said, "I like your face," but they said it in a very quiet voice, as if they were not quite sure if they did, or not. It was fun to put it on and fun to wear. A few friends did not recognize me -- until I spoke.





Our neighborhood has a Halloween parade at 5pm on Halloween Day, every year. We've been doing it forever. We get a permit from the city and a policeman comes to lead the parade. We gather in the median on our street (there are 4 other avenues in the neighborhood; it's always held on our street, which is the main one.) For a half-hour, we hold the costume contest, and people straggle in. Finally, at 5:30, the policeman leads the parade of kids. They troop behind the police car down one side of the median, one block only, and around the median and back up to where they started. The whole thing takes about 4 nanoseconds. The kids love it. The winners of the costume contest get to walk in front, right behind the police car. The policeman turns on his blue lights, but not the siren. (It makes the babies cry.)
This year, kids came from the local college and painted faces and took Polaroid shots of the kids. They collected canned goods throughout the neighborhood for the local Shelter. I hope they come back for future parades. They added a lot.

I guess DH took this shot. I was talking to somebody's child. My friend TC, is to the left and her husband, a relocated Newfie, can be seen just behind my head. Our next-door-neighbor is to the right, holding her little girl, who is also named Maggie. The house in the background is where the college kids set up their facepainting in the driveway.

Here are some more neighbors gathering. You can see Captain Hook and Peter pan in the foreground. They won in their age group this year. Judges were identified by their funny tall pink hats. You can see one to the left.

This is the 3 to 5 year old category. The judges had asked them to raise their hands. Some of them were a little overwhelmed, and could not understand the request, or comply with it. The princess in the middle seems to be one of those. To the right you can see the tip of a float. We have a float competition, too, and kids (and dads) decorate their wagons, scooters, bikes and strollers, to go with the theme of the costume. Our NDN's made Cinderella's coach from their wagon. The green & gold float you see here was a tiki roof for a Hawaiian girl. The girl won her category so the parents did not enter the float into the float contest. They did not want to take 2 prizes. Thoughtful!

More of same.

Little One carved this pumpkin herself -- freehand. We had a few pumpkin-carving parties to attend on Friday night. I washed and gutted the pumpkin before going. She did the face at the first party and the "hair" at the second party. She had decided she wanted to do an "anime" pumpkin. She can draw anime designs for hours on the weekends -- has a folder full of them. Last night as people came for Trick or Treat, many commented on what a good pumpkin it is. Some took pics. We thought she did pretty well, too.

Won't be too long til she is too grown-up for the festivities. Of course, maybe she'll just choose not to outgrow it -- as I have. Particularly in our n'hood, it's the coolest holiday.

superquick entry

Super-quick entry here. Talked last night with TPKM, who is in Morocco. He always shares so much wisdom just in his natural course of conversation. Friends are so valuable!

Cruised three ~very different~ Halloween parties last night. One with little kids, outside, carving pumpkins with a fire in the chimnea (warmest and best pumpkins). One with older kids, carving pumpkins, keg available (most fun one), one at pastor's house in honor of his wife's 50th birthday (best conversation).

Helping friend with her business today -- gotta run for a quick shower. More later.

Cooper

DS2 is visiting for a quick overnight; drove his "new" old Mini-Cooper down. HIS DS1 came with. They arrived just before time to pick up Little One from school. Sooo we took the Coop. Of course. Man, that is one fun car. This is a pic of it.

We have been sitting around on the floor building Lego spaceships and searching for cool parts in my 3 giant buckets of Legos. (Thank you, Ebay.)

Note to reader: If you buy Legos on Ebay, it's a really good idea to put them into net bags and wash them in the washing machine. Twice. Once with a weak bleach solution, then in clear water.

So today, I was the Gust of Honor at a luncheon with the local Garbage Men. Hmm. That was a typo. I swear.

They bbq'ed chicken and one of them made homemade sweet potato pies. Slaw, beans, venison, and bread. I took a pound cake. It was great fun and they keep telling me anytime I want a job, I've got one with them.

So between lunch with Solid Waste and seeing DS2, it's been a terrific day. *_*

Correction!

Correction! Just checked once more and now the NCSSM story IS online....

More on NCSSM

The story ran today on the School of Science & Math. For the first time since I have been writing for the paper, the story is not available on the website. That's a shame as the kids are all out of town and I had emailed them directions as to how to access the story online.

I was interrupted several days ago when I was describing the school. Of the 6 local students, I got to meet with 4, and I could not have asked for more articulate, polite, and bright kids to work with.

Annie, a senior, is an artist, loves Japanese, and has a free spirit -- you can feel it. Her heart is on her face and she was easy to like -- immediately. Her load at school -- get this -- consists of Intermediate Japanese; Genetics, AP Calculus; AP Statistics; acrylic painting, Asia I and Microeconomics. Gee, now that I think of it, she must not be as laid back as she seems, to be doing ok in all that stuff.

Kellie, a junior, does seem a little bit driven. When I asked her if she were OCD, she smiled and said, "We ALL are." Her sense of humor is great and she hopes to become a neonatalogist.

I felt as if I got to know Brian best of all because I met his parents, and thus kind of knew him before I met him. Brian takes his being there really seriously. He and his parents are great folks and all of them made me feel quite at home.

Taylor is a little bit like me. He enjoys everything and is involved in 'way too much...just like me. It's a character flaw I've been struggling with for about 30 years, BUT I will say this: people like us have the most fun; we are exposed to more experiences; and can write more diverse things, because we have tried so many things rather that being focused on only one thing all the time. Taylor plays IM sports, is on Student Council, is into Art, and is in several clubs. All this in addition to taking a load of subjects at the toughest school in the state.

Unfortunately, I did not get to meet Alison or Britany personally as their schedules did not permit an interview on the day I visited. Both girls sent me good emails that allowed me to write about them as if I had gotten to meet them.

In case anyone thinks this is the Geek School of the Earth, check out the gallery section at www.ncssm.edu, and visit the art section. These kids create. They are in an environment that encourages them to create, think, and be all they can be. They are not wasting a minute on video games, TV, or any of the other crap we indulge in and waste our brain cells.

I am proud to have met them and I appreciate all their help in getting a good article out.

Here is 1 more of Taylor's photos:
He sent me one more but I am having technical trouble with it. There are 2 others in the earlier post about NCSSM.

Creating

It's been several days since I last posted. Sometimes I think we forget to appreciate normal. We have had what closely approximates normalcy around here -- with the exception of DH's being home all the time.

Little One is thriving at school and at home. Her piano is going well. She is playing "Love Me Tender," "Rock Around the Clock," and my own favorite, "Beauty and the Beast." She enjoys playing and practices beyond the requisite thirty minutes.

She had a research project last week. Each of the kids was given the name of an inventor, and they had to write reports, prepare posters, and finally, dress as the inventor and give his biography in first person. LO was assigned Galileo. The required components of the poster were a timeline, pictures of the inventor, pictures of inventions, and a biopoem. The biopoem had to include his loves, his disappointments, and his general emotion. LO happily worked on this project and became acquainted with his legitimate and illegitimate children's names, his concurrence with Copernicus' theories, and his ultimate excommunication from the Church.

In the past two weeks I have finished refinishing a bookshelf for the kitchen, finished my first crocheting project, made an Indian dress, complete with leather fringe, for LO, and begun the floorcloth.

I began the crocheting on the Monday after DH's accident. Realizing I would be sitting at PT and Dr. offices quite a bit, I went to the library for a book on crochet. Fortunately the supplies were extremely inexpensive: $3 for a ball of cotton string and $1.67 for a crochet needle. The beginning project was a shopping bag resembling fishing net. Although it was a large project, and involved zillions of stitches, I believe they made it the first project because of its simplicity. Chain 5 and connect -- 4 zillion times. I made it in red and added a white horizontal stripe so I could figure out how to add a color. I worked really hard on it the past week or so as I was getting really sick of chain 5 and connect -- and needed to get it DONE. I finished it during Survivor this week and proudly tossed it across the room to DH. Now it's in the "bring your own" collection of grocery bags we have. A word to anyone reading this blog: Please accumulate your own cloth bags and use them instead of the markets cheesy plastic bags. Plastic bags are such a blight on this planet and we can all save a lot by each saving a little.

The floorcloth is 24" x 36". Last night, I completed drawing the design and painted the border. The design is six squares, two squares by three squares, and each square is a traditional American quilt block. I researched the quilt blocks on the Internet. I used all "nine-square" patterns, meaning each design is based on a tic-tac-toe type pattern. I have already thought about what colors to use, but today I will assign colors to areas for contrast and complementing.

DH is a guitar-playing maniac. It's so peaceful to be working on creative projects while he is playing his guitar or LO is playing the piano. This is what a home should be!

He has two weeks before returning to work. He is anxious to go, for a number of reasons. I really would have thought we would have gotten on each other's nerves by this time and I am pleased and surprised to report that the opposite has happened -- we are even closer through all this.

I am writing constantly now -- when I'm not in front of one of the computers, I am composing in my head so that I can put it down when I am. The process is quite consuming, and I find I am in a fog much of the time because I am so present in the imaginary world I am writing about. As I finish keying some in, I always email it to my yahoo account so that I can open a current copy of it regardless of my location. LO is very supportive of my writing and has a myriad of suggestions as to my stories: "You need to elaborate more, Nana," - "Be sure I understand the 'who,' 'what,' 'where,' 'when,' and 'why', Nana," and best of all, researches good illustrators to recommend to me. (smiling) Nice to have support!

Observation

I just think it's so great that our town jail is on Liberty Street.

Home Alone

I alluded yesterday to having a challenge with my routine around the house. This morning, I stayed home from DH's PT to finish a story for the paper. I am all alone in the house. At last.

The silence has many sounds. There is a train in the distance. I can hear the rush of the movement and the horn wailing in the distance. There was a great noise of birds singing a few moments ago, but now the sun is well up and their praise is diminished -- only the spontaneous burst of joy from a random bird every now and again.

The interstate highway is a mile away and in the morning there is a loud hum of cars rushing to work. At times like this I really thank God I am out of that race.

We have a few antique clocks in the house and, although you don't notice it when there are people in the house, they tick quite loudly. Then on the hour they all compete for accuracy with their striking.

The dog is on my lap, her favorite place to be. When I type, she keeps her chin on my left arm so that her nose is pointed upward. Seems to me to be quite uncomfortable, but she chooses her position. Her head bobbles up and down as my arm moves. I whisper her name, and she raises her eyebrows -- very humanlike.

One mockingbird is singing all his calls now. They are so boastful. I have to wonder if there are other, more humble, birds who can mimick, but keep their talents to themselves. Our mockingbird likes to perch on the highest point he can find to show off his reportoire. Sometimes he will stop singing and perform a little back flip in midair, just out of sheer joy at his brilliance, then resume singing again.

We will take a short trip to the mountains this weekend. I would love to blog from there but I do not believe the retreat facility has any internet connection. They don't have TV, either, except in the lobby. I guess the whole point is to get away from all technology -- but my blog has become my journal. Guess I'll have to find a leatherbound replacement for the weekend. There are enough of them around the house.
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Little One is discovering Robert Frost. She asks me often to recite what I know of him -- which isn't much -- only The Road Less Traveled and Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening. This leads me to remember Thanatopsis, and The Daffodils, and Annabel Lee, oh, and The Raven!!, and the Mercy Sililoquoy (sp??) from Merchant of Venice. O Captain! My Captain!; the prologue to Canterbury Tales, in Old English; snippets of Tennyson, Mallory, Keats, more Shakespeare, Kipling, and of course, James Thurber. Most of these other recitations leave her bored and cold, but she loves to hear Frost over and over. Soon, I'm sure, she'll want to memorize him herself, and will begin to love Poe, too.

Hibernating

I wonder so many things about the life cycle of a trauma. It's been five weeks since The Accident. Although it happened to DH, I feel as if I am going through it, too. In reality, I guess I am... by way of "feeling his pain," trying to be supportive, being concerned, trying to be sure he doesn't fall into depression, et al.

A few days after we got home from the hospital, I explained about the four phases of loss: denial, anger, sadness, and acceptance. I wonder if I did that too soon. He has bouts of sadness now and seems so shocked that big old He could succomb to sadness. He seems to feel embarassed about being sad, which makes it that much harder to work through. I encourage him to feel it, to examine that sadness, to go through it. Only by going through it can he get to the other side.

As for me, my calendar last week was so full I couldn't squeeze anything else in the little squares. Actually ran to the market late in the evening a couple of times -- unheard of in the past year since I quit working outside the home.

So this week, I deliberately, and somewhat belligerently (sp?) kept my calendar open. The only writing on the calendar for this week are PT appts, piano lesson, swim practice, church, and the church retreat this weekend.

Today I am beginning a new project that requires the use of an opaque projector -- I am making two floorcloths (24x36) for the kitchen floor. The design is a quilt sampler. I have a teeny-tiny template of what I want to do -- maybe 2x3", and need to hang my blank, primed floorcloth on the wall and project the image onto it so I can pencil it in. The place with an opaque projector I can use, opens at 9am, and it's near Little One's school. So I am at the nearby coffee house for an hour -- an hour to myself!! Saving gas by dropping her, hanging here, then to the place with the projector.

A friend has a wonderful gift shop out in the country on the grounds of her house, with lush gardens to stroll through and areas to have tea or luncheons (she caters them). I gave her a hand a week or two ago, and one of the other girls there makes these floorcloths. Rather than making them on canvas, as I have done before, she uses the back of vinyl flooring. Lasts forever, and doesn't scoot across the floor as badly. I've got plenty of acrylic paint, and got vinyl remnants for $1 from a nearby shop. She charges $25 for hers, and I can do this virtually free. We even have plenty of poly on hand, which is nice -- I have to put on about 6 coats after painting. It's for time like this that I blocked out my calendar this week. I think our adrenalin was so high during and following the Accident, that we just need a little time to crash.

However, we have been going to the Y in the mornings, and I think it has helped DH. Well, helped both of us. Yesterday we played racquetball, well, sort of -- we hit the ball around and had a blast. I think this is a really good way to get out frustrations. It didn't seem to hurt his hand, so I plan to play again soon.

My household schedule is totally out the window. Although he does not intrude in any way, just having him around changes the whole tenor of my day. I don't know why. I have finally come to the realization that being off my normal schedule just doesn't matter in the big picture.

Success today

It's been four weeks since The Accident. DH has diligently worked on his PT and works his injured finger constantly. Already, his progress has amazed his therapists and surgeon.

When The Accident happened, it seemed he would never be able to play again. The damage, exposed bone, his hand was cut completely open -- it was inconceivable to me that he could ever play again like he had before.

In an earlier blog, I chronicled the day he slipped upstairs to see if he could do it, and came down the stairs, proudly playing.

Today was another milestone in the progress. He played lead guitar at church, even playing a solo on his Strat. The entire congregation was smiling ear-to-ear, except me. I was crying and crying. Had to step out afterwards to mop up my poor old wet face.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

In another bit of excitement, we had LOST KEYS before church. DH had left early to set up and practice. He specifically asked me to get there a little early so I could catch a seat near the musicians. (Seats fill up quickly in this new service.) I had gladly agreed, and then...we could not find the keys to my car.

I typically put my keys in the same place all the time. I felt DH had probably picked them up by accident, but he had not taken his cell phone with him, and usually no one answers the phone at church on Sundays; the office is locked up.

Finally, we were reaching a point in time where we had to take action if we were going to get there in time for a good seat. "Go get the bikes," I told Little One. "I'll change clothes." Thrilled, she ran to the basement and got out the bikes. I changed out of the dress and into pants.

It's only a mile-and-a-half, but uphill most of the way. I was damp and breathless upon arrival. So by the time I broke out in tears, I was pretty damp all over.

About halfway through the service, DH reached into his pocket and abashedly pulled my car keys out.

I shared this tale with a GF who is in my Sunday School class as we made coffee in the nanosecond betw church and SS. "HE OWES YOU BIG TIME!!" she proclaimed. Conveniently, DH walked into the kitchen about that time. "You OWE her!!" she squealed. "You take this girl out to dinner Monday night, and Tuesday night, and Wednesday night..." she counted off on her fingers. "By the end of the week, you might be about paid up." With that, she flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder, and pranced out of the kitchen. "Thanks!" I called out behind her.

NCSSM

Traveled yesterday to Big City to see the School of Science & Math. Drove straight to it -- did not get lost as I had feared.

Campus has grown significantly since we visited it with DS2 in 1992. Wow. Very, very cool place.

I interviewed four students, all from this county, who are there. Met two girls who are both taking Japanese -- one is an artist, one a musician. The artist wants to be a Japanese professor and the musician wants to be a neonatalogist. Talked with two boys. One seems not to have much going on in the extracurricular arena -- coping with his advanced studies. The other loves his photography class. He gave me permission to post some of his pics here:
Blue-Eyed Photographer Boy is amazing. First of all, of course, are his blue eyes. He has handled this transition amazingly. Went from living at home with mom in small-town high school, where he knew everyone from kindergarten on, to out-of-town residential high school where he knew only one student, lives on campus, has tremendous pressures, very VERY tough classes, and handles it all with ease. Calm, content, at peace.

Oops got to run. Time to pick up Little One from school. More later.........

Not by name

For some reason, this Sunday's article cannot be pulled by searching on my name. Hmm. Not sure why. The title of the article is, "They trust me to do a good job," or you can search on garbage. If you search on garbage, you have to sift through several "garbage pickup days changed due to holidays" notices, but you can still find it.

Tomorrow I travel to Durham to cover the NCSSM. Photographer will come up later in the morning and, despite some differing opinions on how this all should be approached, I am confident it will all come out well.

In order to be there by 8:30 am, I am leaving at 5:45 (yikes!). I drove to this same location about 12 years ago, and I got lost then. So my trepidation at making a deadline tomorrow is understandable. Mapquest estimates the trip at 1:48. I am hoping that by giving myself 2:45, I can get lost and recover in plenty of time.

On another note, our dear friend, Kentucky Trumpet Man, has been in Morocco for several months now. He has changed his return ticket with the airlines so many times that his options ran out: fly back now or the return ticket is dead. He shared this with us on the phone last Thursday and when we hung up, I said, "He'll stay." DH said, "He'll come back."

We heard from KTM today via email. Here is a snippet:

As to my staying, it's funny Maggie, your tag line "Maius opus moveo. -- Accept the greater challenge!"
was a key motivator at that momentus decision time when the question was 'stay - or go?'
You are both such good role models for me in the sense that you do not duck the challenging
things in life, and I see how rich your lives are because of it. So, when I saw that line,
I knew I had to go through with staying even though the future is totally blind.

He goes on:

Although I knew it was going to be harder here, I knew that I needed to be and was needed here. Amazingly, I see that people are placed stragegically in my path here - just random people that I meet become v important players in my life, and me in theirs. It's as if I am a part of a giant, yet intricate clockworks, but a cog, but without me the clock would tick a radically different story of time. Maggie, it was/IS very scary being here with no material means of support and limited funds. but this is so great - look what I just THIS MOMENT got via email - a long lost client, a horse farm hopelessly in debt - I hung in there and did work even when they couldn't pay me. Just recently they started sending me payments on the debt owed...

We are so honored to have this man as our friend and even more honored that he finds some value in our friendship. Africa is fortunate to have him.

Garbage Story Ran Today

Please note. This photo is copyrighted and belongs to Local Paper. I believe as long as I am not making profit on it, I can post it here...

The garbage story (heavily edited for space) ran today in the local paper. To read it, click on www.salisburypost.com. In the "search" window, key in my first and last name, and click on "find." A whole list of my articles will come up -- click on the garbage story to read it.

To DH's mom & stepdad: you have a copy in the mail. It should arrive by Tuesday. If you'd rather read it on paper, you can wait for the real thing.

Many of my words were left out. I am in the process of trying to compare my original version with the edited one to see what I can learn from the editing. My usual editor typically edits very little if anything at all. Her co-editor did it this time and she really moved things around and omitted not only isolated words, but entire paragraphs and concepts. Yet, this is the first article I've written that prompted a call from Usual Editor just to say what a good job it was. Sigh. I am a little confused but trying to learn from it all.

Maybe I need to just roll along. Trip to NCSSM is on Wednesday. Yea!

Technology Trouble

My deadline for the garbage article was 8 minutes ago. I emailed it to my editor, who has been having email trouble for a week or two now. Even though I made my deadline, I am unsure if she will receive it, so I may have to drive it over, or email it to someone else there in the building who can save it to their computer system for her to edit.

Technology trouble is so threatening. After blogging about my news stories (we use the term, 'news,' here very loosely) I remembered an article I had written, that I had left out of my blog. After completing my article this morning, I tried to insert a paragraph into my blog describing that forgotten article. Typed the paragraph, clicked on "Publish" and an error message popped up. "Cannot locate the blog requested." Hmm. Pulled up the entry once again to insert the paragraph. "This isn't so bad," I thought. On writing it the second time, I re-worded some sentences so they were clearer or better written, or more descriptive. In good humor, I faithfully clicked once more on, "Publish." Error message. "Cannot locate the blog requested." Pleaseohpleaseohplease don't let my blog be gone. Logged off and back on. Looked at my blog. It's there, with yesterday's entry, but not today's improvements. Went through to edit again. Third time to write the silly paragraph and I was not as good a sport as the second time. Had the distinct feeling there were some good words I used earlier, that I was not remembering this time. Publish. "Cannot locate the blog requested."

Editor just called. She did *not* receive my garbage story yet and asked me to send it to her co-editor. Did so. Now I am here, mostly to see if it will take a new posting, even though it won't update a prior one. Deep breath, click Publish, and....

Stories

DIL1 posted a comment earlier today asking if I have other stories lined up. I decided to blog about the stories I've done and those I am doing.

I have only been free-lancing since about July. The first story was about the cherry orchard in the mountains. It's owned and run by a couple I admire who have written several books about living simply. I had already read their books when the opportunity to free-lance came along. The editor who asked me if I wanted to free-lance had mentioned that day-trips would be good articles to write in the summer. So when I asked about the cherry orchard, she readily approved it.

In August, she suggested that I do a "home and garden" story about my next-door neighbors. They renovated a house a block down the street, then moved next door and started over. In her words, "They must love it." It was easy enough to research and write, being just next door, but the pressure of writing about friends/neighbors is horrific. I read and re-read my copy before sending it in to see if any little thing could be misread and thus hurt their feelings. I personally think they've done a great job on their house but sometimes print can be misread.

Also around that time, DH suggested I do an article on the streetcar that used to come through our neighborhood. We know several 80 to 90-year-olds who remember riding on it. One of our neighbors' father was a streetcar and he still has his dad's money-changer, the little chrome device that hung from his belt so he could readily give back nickels, dimes and quarters.

To do that article, I met with seven 80-to-90-year-olds at the library in a meeting room. I cannot count the times I had to say, "Back to the streetcar..." They really need to get together once in a while. They loved seeing each other again, and recounted many, many stories. "That boy was so good-looking, and he was a good kisser, too." "I never liked him. His chicken used to chase me every time I came down the street." "....Getting back to the streetcars...."

I am working on two articles right now, the garbage thing and a story on NCSSM, the North Carolina School of Science and Math. It is a residential school for high school juniors and seniors who excel in, oddly enough, science and math. They are accepted by invitation only, after applying, taking tests and rigorous interviews. Interviewed parents of one of our town's students this week, and will travel to the school next week.

I'm on deadline for the garbage thing -- it will print in Sunday's paper. The NCSSM thing is out there as I don't even go to the school til next week.

I have not come up with any more ideas for stories. I always despair that I'll never have another idea, and then at the unlikeliest moment, one comes along. How about a story on bloggers.........

Riding the Garbage Truck

It's 2:30 and I've been in the chair for an hour. I don't see how they do it.

The route we ran today has 640 homes on it and we ran 2 trucks, the one I rode on, and one other. At the end of the day, we followed the other truck to the dumping station, where each truck was weighed on the way in, and again on the way out, empty. Each truck picked up about 6 tons of garbage today. Typically, each truck is driven and operated by ONE man.

Today, I was a helper. I rode the back of the truck, hopped down and emptied garbage cans, and hopped back up. The driver usually does all this in addition to driving. To empty a can, you roll it to the back of the truck (sounds easy, but when they are heavy, is sometimes difficult.) Then you hook the bar at the front of the can over the lip of the lifter, and press down on the lever. The lifter lifts the can up in the air over the bay of the truck, and the garbage falls into it. You press the lever down and the can returns to the ground. When the bay is full, there is another lever to make the jaws come out and compact the garbage up into the front of the truck. The bay fills up about every 4 or 5 stops.

The platform I stood on, on the back of the truck, is about 32" off the ground. At one point, I was sweating and my jeans were soaked in sweat. Being wet, they had stretched a little and were falling down on my hips. With the crotch halfway to my knees, it was much harder to leap gracefully to the little platform.

There are eight garbage men and they make 10,558 stops a week. The drivers are an awesome bunch of guys: a deacon, a co-pastor, a former football running back (still holds the county record!!) 2 guys who love rebuilding old cars, a fisherman and a fellow who loves to barbecue.

After we all finished, we sat in the office and I interviewed them. They had some stories to tell!! One of the guys had a naked lady chasing him down the street. She had forgotten to take out her garbage before he came. One of the guys chats with the older people on his route. What season do they dread the most? Hunting season. Too much blood and guts in the garbage. What weather do they dread the most? Icy rain.

I learned many things today: for one thing, not all garbage stinks the same. In fact, it's not too awful in general, except when there is vomit in it. (Why do ppl put vomit in the garbage??) We encountered about 6 to 8 vomit-y stops. Another thing I learned was, I never want to get my hand caught in the compacting jaws on the truck. That thing smashed a sofa like it was a matchstick. Bicycles didn't even slow it down. Neither did patio umbrellas. I asked and was told it compacts at a 6:1 ratio. 300 cubic yards is smashed down to 50.

Each of the men was a total gentleman around me. They kidded, they laughed, and they never said an off-color word or made any innuendo. They even hesitated before telling me about the naked lady. The driver who took me along drove that truck like a baby. He went slowly over bumps so I wouldn't fall off the back. He watched for low hanging limbs so I wouldn't get slapped. He cautioned me to let him know when things were too heavy for me to lift. I couldn't have asked for a more thoughtful and kind driver.

DH found us three or four times through the morning and freely used one of the three cameras he had hanging around his neck: the videocam, the digital camera, and the SLR. We've got scads of pics of me hanging on the back of the truck, getting off the truck, getting on the truck, moving cans, raising cans, lowering cans. Pics of my driver, pics of the other driver on today's route. The other driver was a guy named James. Tall, black, attractive, and always smiling, James has been doing this for 32 years. He gets the Everlasting Award. DH told James, "Work her hard!" and James enjoyed repeating this several times.

Being a garbage man is a hazardous job -- not necessarily because of the garbage, the glass or the needles, the fumes or the dust or the puke, but because of the idiot drivers. People pass on the left. They pass on the right. When there are 6 or 8 cars backed up in a line behind the garbage truck, some nut will pass 'em all.

A garbage man was killed last year by a lady who was driving and putting on her makeup at the same time. (Please do not do this.) She did not see the 10-ton truck, the flashing lights, or the dayglo orange shirt. She plowed straight into the back of the truck -- through the man who was standing behind the truck at the time. His torso went into the bay of the truck. His legs lay on the street. These men are brave and tough and funny and very bright -- the one thing that makes them all go serious very fast is the issue of traffic.

Today was a day I'll never forget.

Garbage Day

TODAY is the day I work as a garbage man.

I had the idea about 6 weeks ago to do a story on our garbage men. Our little town has only 7 men and they make more than 10,000 stops a week. The only day that no one among them works is Christmas Day. They smile, wave, and work hard. I thought it'd be cool to write about the men and the work they do.

It was a rather hard sell to my editor. Although I never really knew why, she seemed reluctant to approve the story. I kept asking. Finally, she said yes.

At that point, I had to sell the concept to the City. They finally approved it with one caveat: I can work alongside the "other men," empty garbage, work as if I were a City employee for the day, but I cannot cross the street. Oh, I also have to sign a "hold harmless" waiver of liability.

No problem.

Today is the big day. I have to be there by 6:50, not too bad. I have already packed my bag lunch; at noon I will sit with the "other men" and get their personal stories. From 7 to noon, I will empty garbage. I believe I get to ride the back of the truck!! How cool is that??

More later....

Unbelievable

On Wednesday, I asked DH if maybe 6 weeks out of work were not long enough. His injured finger was sooo swollen; he was having new and unusual pain; his flexibility was not coming along at all.

On Friday, his stitches were out; his flexibility was drastically increased; he played guitar; and resumed driving.

Six weeks seems to be plenty now. What a difference a day or two can make!!

Today, we drove to Capital City to see DS2, who just returned from Iraq. Words cannot express what it's like to see your son after worrying over his being in war.

DH drove all the way. Visited, played with a house-full of grandbabies. Chatted with Nana-in-law and PopPop-in-law. Cheered on kids with pinata. Hung in there for four hours. When he said he was getting a little tired, I quickly packed up our stuff to go.

I tried to drive home -- drove 1 hour, 15 minutes. Whenever I drive into the sun, I get so hugely sleepy. I don't understand it, but I have learned by now that it always happens. Pulled into a gas station to walk around, visit RR. Came out, DH is at the wheel. (He hates my driving.)

So he drove the rest of the way home. I tried not to snore.

BTW, our church has begun a new service. At first we did not think it would be our preference, but now, I like it best of all. We try not to go to any one service all the time, new service sometimes, noontime sometimes, early morning traditional service sometimes. Today we went to new service so we could get on the road. Awesome service. DH is ready to return to music practice on Thursday night.

We might not see a lot of burning bushes around, or wives turning to salt, or giants to slay with slingshots, but miracles still happen. They really do.

Notes

The week wasn't the best. Then DH got his stitches out yesterday and got a good report. He has tried valiantly to be upbeat, but I keep catching him just staring at his hand with the most mournful expression on his face. I have said little. I realize I have to let him just be sad sometimes. When I do ask if he is sad, his reply is always the same: "I'm aight." In case you live on another planet, and don't know anyone who has a touch of MBS running through his veins, "Aight," is shorthand for, "All right," and it means anything BUT.

With the stitches out, today's PT went wonderfully. He flexed his injured finger almost against itself, bending at the middle joint so that the top part of the finger almost touched the bottom half of the finger. This is amazing. The PT's were astonished. And proud.

After running some errands, we came home. I was on the PC working on an article. DH went upstairs to his Music Room. He has had an interest in reorganizing it so I figured he was taking that initiative.

The phone rang and I took the call. As I was on the phone,

I......
heard......
NOTES.

DH came downstairs, playing the guitar all the way. Beautifully.

More beautiful was the look on his face. Pride, and ... amazement, and .... relief.

Things will be fine.

Bones

Went to Dr. today and the trip answered many, many questions. DH has experienced so much more pain this week, including a burning sensation in the wounded finger, that I was petrified that we had infection setting in.

This is not the case. Thank goodness. The nerves have suffered severe trauma, of course, and now that the swelling is going down just a little, they have room to "yell."

The thumb, forefinger, and "tall man" finger are all about down to normal. The back of his hand remains a little puffy, and the ring finger is still huge -- particularly at the 2nd joint, the middle of the finger.

The stitches were removed today and we learned that if everything goes well, the plate will remain in there indefinitely. The swelling should go down as PT continues, and the finger should straighten as the swelling subsides. The finger may remain somewhat crooked when healed, but the Dr. does not anticipate significant crookedness; we'll see as time goes by.

DH seems to feel the most pain if the bed where his pinkie used to live is touched, and if the ring finger moves laterally. Sometimes in therapy, he does move it laterally, and his reaction is rather extreme.

Altogether, we feel all this is good news as we can take any discomfort as long as we know it's not permanent.

In response to the burning and pain, the doctor prescribed a medicine that levels out nerve impulses. It was originally a seizure medication, and they have learned over time that, although it's not the best seizure medicine, it's really effective at levelling out hypersensitive nerve endings, which is what he has at the moment. We dropped the Rx off at the local drug store on the way to a neighboring town to shop for the grandchildren's birthdays. On the road we were listening to NPR (of course) , and they discussed this exact drug by name regarding the fact it has not been approved by the FDA. DH is reconsidering picking up or taking this drug and is calling the Dr. to discuss.

He is approved to drive if he is off pain medication and feels comfortable in doing so. At this time, both of these points are marginal -- but not far off.

We continue PT at 3x a week. The people there are awesome and it's a good chance to see people who are worse off than you are -- which is always good for your perspective. Although it does cause DH quite a bit of discomfort, we keep our eyes on the goal.

His next appt is in two weeks. The xray above was taken today and the doctor's comment was, "Excellent."

******

On a different subject, I ride the garbage truck on Wednesday. I believe I have already blogged about that opportunity, but it was originally Tuesday, and has been changed to Wednesday to accommodate photographers better.

I pitched an article to my editor featuring our county's students who attend the state's School of Science and Math. The school is for high school juniors and seniors, and is residential. It's located near the state's capital and is affiliated with the state university system. Of course, attendance is by nomination only, and even then the kids have to pass rigorous testing and interviews to be accepted. The editor loved the idea. I will go up and spend the day. Part of the article will look like a school schedule with times of day and the associated activities.

I spoke with DH about keeping Little One out of school on that day and taking her with us to see the campus and the great opportunity these kids have. Our school has an "educational trip" form we can fill out to ask for permission for the excused absence.

I spoke with the Communications Director today. He emailed me the names of students from our county along with their parents' names and phone numbers. We have about six kids there from this county. This year is the 25th anniversary of the school, which is a nice slant on the article. He is quite enthusiastic about the article -- it seems the "outlying counties" don't get much press for the school.

The thing about writing like this is, I get to have all these adventures, meet people I wouldn't get to meet otherwise, hear all sorts of stories, see all different viewpoints on things, and it's all for.... work!! It has not felt like work, yet, and somehow, I believe it never will.

Centennial Park

Yesterday afternoon, we went to City Council to present the concept, partnership, and design for Centennial Park. The Director of Parks and Recreation and I presented together. Council's response was so positive. Each councilman spoke in turn and each of them praised the neighborhood for our initiative, for our willingness to raise the funds and do most of the labor, for having an idea and pursuing it. Then the Mayor spoke and her words, too, were very kind. They voted unanimously in favor of the Park.
Now the hard work begins. Phase I requires a total of about $26,000. Phase I includes the entry arbor, the sidewalk leading from that arbor down a little hill to another arbor which houses a kiosk for our newsletters, a sidewalk perpendicular to that sidewalk, to the left, to the playground structure. The playground structure alone costs $16,000, the bulk of the money. We are selling brick pavers, which border the sidewalk, and this will fund the sidewalk ($6,000) and the trash cans ($1,000), because, nobody is going to sponsor a sidewalk or trashcan. Other components of Phase I are the Mommy benches at the playground ($3,000 x 2) and a picnic area. Both of these items are sponsorship opportunities, as are the arbors.
I feel really good about all this. We are applying for four grants, and they are all due in February. Three of the four typically award amounts less than $5,000, and the fourth one can easily pay for the playground structure. If we win them.
Phase II is a formal garden with two circular areas, one housing a sculpture, the other is a sitting / meditation area. Without the art, the cost is about $6,000, most of which can be supported with the sale of more pavers.
Phase III is a wooded nature trail. This land is not in the City land, but adjacent to it. I called the owner and persuaded him to donate it. He will receive a hefty tax write-off and we get the coolest land, too marshy for building on, but a nice, natural setting, something we are short of around here. Phases II and III are separated by a small creek, which will provide Eagle scout candidates service opportunities -- we need two foot bridges to cross it.
I will try soon to scan in the plan for blog readers to see. Right now I gotta ------dash to take Little One to youth group at the church.
~Later.

Up Days and ... the Other Kind

Ok. We are 14 days out from The Accident. Overall, DH has been amazing. His outlook and optimism beat anything I ever imagined. His hand has given him very little pain. On occasion, he will bump it or move it in a way it doesn't like, and he will have about 45 seconds of excrutiating pain. HOW do you spell, "excrutiating"? Hold on -- I've got to look that up....

ex·cru·ci·ate ( P ) Pronunciation Key (k-skrsh-t)tr.v. ex·cru·ci·at·ed, ex·cru·ci·at·ing, ex·cru·ci·ates
To inflict severe pain on; torture.
To inflict great mental distress on.

OK. I didn't think that looked right~!

Anyhoo, overall, he has had great luck with this thing not being too painful, or too constantly painful.

I had worried about depression setting in because, well, because it's my job to worry about things. I think I read somewhere it's normal to grieve when you lose some part of your body, or if I didn't read it, then I made it up and came to believe I had read it. So I have been on my toes watching for any signs of depression.

Monday was Day 12 and It Was A Bad Day. DH was slept quite badly, reliving The Accident over and over in his mind. He couldn't put it out of his mind to get some rest. So on Monday morning, he was exhausted, and to make matters worse, his hand was uncharacteristically painful. To his credit, he tried so many tactics to feel better. He suited up and took a 3 mile run-walk. He spent an hour on the piano. He EVEN .....shared his feelings with me. Nothing seemed to help. I wondered if there is some normal timeframe at which all the adrenalin has receded, all the drugs are out of your system, all the tissue is finally trying to snap into place, and the mind just ... plummets.

I was considering our options, thinking of tactics to combat it, when, bing! He woke up on Tuesday feeling much, much better. Ironically enough, I had spent Monday night reliving it. The most upsetting scenes would flash, strobe style, through my brain, and I was helpless to make the slide show stop. Deep breathing didn't help. Going to another place (mentally) didn't help. Getting up and going on the internet didn't help. On Tuesday I was as crabby as he was on Monday -- with one exception. I had no physical pain and have not lost a finger. It was much easier for me to get over one night of poor sleep than it will be for him to adjust to this change in his life.

We were enlightened yesterday at our visit to Physical Therapy. He has been working too hard at his recovery. He is so motivated to play guitar again that he has done all the exercises to excess, and this is why he has had so much more pain of late. As the PT said, "I almost never have to tell my patients this: 'Back off.'" We both actually breathed a sigh of relief. Ok.

Never Mind

NM, I did *not* install the extrusion bolts -- DH did so, and so quickly I could not run for the camera in time. Did not call for a saw! Just a drill and he just did it.

Little One was invited to go to Carowinds for the day with a gf, so DH and I had the afternoon together. We drove around and looked at dining room furniture. I know this is not exciting to anyone else, but it felt good to get out of the house -- and not to my usual (school, doctor/pt, WalMart, Eckerd's.)

BTW, Bianca Jagger thinks US and Iran should find a way to get along?? Who cares??

More Progress

DH is recovering so well from the accident that took his little finger 10 days ago. In so many short days, he has drastically increased range of movement in his remaining, injured finger; he has decreased his use of pain medication to one pill a day (typically after a lengthy exercise session with that finger); become substantially independent; and increased his own activity. He is now preparing his own soak for his finger; re-wrapping it almost all by himself; playing the banjo for (very) short periods of time; and taking the dog for a walk again.

The stitches in the tip of his ring finger are floppy and loose; we look to have them removed this week. The remaining stitches are doing well and the seepage from the wound seems to be reduced somewhat. Due, we think, to his increased activity, the swelling is 'way down. His thumb seems entirely normal.

His outlook continues to be upbeat and he is interested in doing things. We are installing the extrusion bolts in the casement windows today, soon as I finish cleaning my car. I will also sand and prime the inside of the back door in the kitchen.

We heard from the thermostat-rebuilding company yesterday. They planned to ship it out late yesterday afternoon. DH looks for it to come in on Tuesday, the 20th.

First Day of PT

We went back to the Dr. today, and back to physical therapy. First visit to pt was just to assess his range of motion and build his splint. Today we got to work.

The Dr. had good things to say. The wound looks good. DH has some severe swelling in all his left hand's fingers, and the doctor said it does not appear to be due to infection -- the hand is "waking up." It's been through a lot!!

The physical therapist was much, much gentler than I had anticipated. She is really a sort of an angel -- in rather unconventional dress. She has long, wavy gray hair, and seems to like hair jewelry of one sort or another. She wore a little leash for her glasses today, around her neck, and it was composed of little different-shaped pieces of metal, each in a different color. Very vive.

She welcomed Little One and me to the table with DH. Seemed happy to have this be a family affair. She chatted with DH in a soft and soothing voice as she flexed his fingers over, and over, and still over. His range of motion has increased, incredibly, already. He can clench all his fingers, even the one with the plate inside, tightly enough so that a small ball could fit inside, smaller than a racquetball, perhaps a golf ball or a ping pong ball. This is amazing to me.

He winced and grimaced as they worked his fingers, but the change in his range of motion in only 2 days, is unbelievable. He has a long list of exercises to perform over the weekend and we go back early on Monday morning. The exercises include such things as using tweezers to pick up small objects, touching each finger to the thumb in turn, laying the hand flat on a paper towel and scrunching it up with the fingers, then, with the hand still on the table, using the fingers to smooth it back out. This one really worked DH hard. He succeeded at every turn and did not utter a word of complaint, -- although twice I did catch him making faces behind the pt's back! Before we went, I gave him a pain pill, and when we returned, we rested his hand on the ice pack.

His daily routine is almost completely independent. I did shave his face again today, but I have the feeling he could really do this himself, as well, and lets me do it to humor me. I do enjoy it. I do help him on with his socks and cut his food if needed. Everything else, he manages, and I think he'd much rather rise to a challenge than ask for help.

I finished painting the screen door yesterday, and installed it myself today. I had the bright idea of using shims underneath to keep it level while I screwed in the hinges. I was quite pleased with myself and DH patronized me just a little, but not near enough to suit my tastes. I touched up the main back door as well -- the shabby spots really showed up next to the newly painted screen door. The doorframe is all unpainted as DH rebuilt it a month ago, and the pressure-treated wood has been too green to paint yet. We are planning my doing that soon, and the back door has not been painted on the inside.

The very cool mullioned windows in the kitchen were rebuilt last week. He had just completed them when the accident happened. I had ordered the little brass "stays" to keep them shut and they arrived today. They are called extrusion latches, and you sometimes see them keeping one of two French doors stablized, at the top or bottom of the door. I believe DH is going to supervise me on installing them tomorrow.

The accident happened a week ago, today, and we have marked the day by saying, "This time last week, we were talking to the surgeon," or "This time last week, we were back in the room." The week has been quite long for me, but DH says it has flown past for him. I asked if he thought perhaps it was the Demerol?