The Year in Quiz.

Try this one for size.

It Takes a Village

I resisted the urge to post a different point the first time my DS2 posted "It does not take a village."

I resisted the urge the second time he said it.

Before I disagree, I hasten to comfort all my readers, well, both of them, well, I hasten to comfort myself, that DS2 and I have reached a higher plain on disagreeing. We have discussed it. We both understand that we can gently disagree and the other will shrug, and say, well, that's my boy. ..Or in his case, well, that's my crazy mom.

In our case it does take a village. I am older as a pseudo-mom for our 13-year-old granddaughter, and I wish I had had this perspective when I was a younger mom to my own children.

I was so anxious to be the perfect mom, all self-sufficient, I would not let anyone help. Hardly let anyone enjoy holding the babies. Felt I would be imposing.

Nowadays I impose all over the danged place. I have agreements with two other moms of girls in LO's circle: if you hear anything dangerous about my child, call me. If I hear anything, I will call you. In the meanwhile, we have called each other on occasion when we thought something was going on, but were not sure. Example. One mom called me, concerned her child was not socializing adequately. She asked me to discreetly ask LO how the girl was getting along.

It does take a village.

An adult advisor in LO's Sunday School let on that LO is texting during Confirmation Class. Very un-cool.

Another adult had a talk with me about LO's behavior. I won't share what sort of behavior it was, as it's our private business. But the tipoff allowed me to have a meaningful chat with LO. Not a wrath of God chat, but a, how's-it-going-how-does-this-feel, chat that led to responses, behaviors, and greater understanding on both sides.

LO's band director has had great influence in both her musical development and her self-esteem. He has encouraged her, praised her, and taught her a ton that we aren't qualified to teach.

Her principal has given her a new way to look at things. He named a room for her. Talk about self-esteem.

Her music teacher talks with her about friendships and her thoughts in addition to showing her how to play the piano.

Our neighbors all watch out for each other's kids. I myself have ratted kids out before for riding without a helmet, and their parents appreciated it. The kids had helmets on the next time, I sure noticed.

Her Confirmation sponsor spent 2 hours on a hot afternoon with a broken leg watching LO play, and win, a tennis match.

The mom of another tennis player spent 5 afternoons a week, 3 hours an afternoon, coaching the top 6 players on the team. For free. The tennis team this year was huge. This freed up the tennis coach to teach the other 14 girls how to play. LO loves her and runs to kiss her when she sees her. She worked hard on her tennis this year, paid greater attention, chatted less, practiced more. At first I think she wanted to please the tennis mom. Through it she learned discipline, and actually saw great improvement in her game. It all turned into wanting to do better, for herself.

Her demanding, strict, AG English teacher scared her to death in the 6th grade. LO resented her in the 7th grade. This year, she has grown to love her and appreciate all she has learned from her. She has mentioned to me that this teacher is preparing her for high school with her high demands.

Other positive adults have lots of influence on LO, and we encourage it. We keep an eye on it, but we encourage it.

In our home, it does take a village.

NY Times Year in Photos

I haven't blogged for a few days... mostly because I haven't been doing anything interesting. DH had a terrible cold and then LO got it. She has been sort of slugging about the house, reading or listening to a book on tape.

She has a major English project due upon her return to school: a scrapbook compiled of items from a historical novel. She is working hard on it. Of course my dear printer quit working over the weekend so I spent 2 hours on the phone with Dell last night to get it going again. That's a story for another day.

Please take a look at the NY Times' 'Year in Photos' that came out today. Click on the first picture and you will get the slide show of all 160 photos. They are amazing; some of them actually took my breath. You'll see why.

Merry Christmas

We had a lovely Christmas with lots of trips but we are home, home, home, even if it is the day after.

Please notice my new photo to your left there on the screen. The bowl was our Christmas gift to MIL and FIL, a large piece made by a local potter. We bought it at a local gallery. MIL applied her magic touch to it and sent me a great pic of it. I cropped the photo a tad and there it is on my blog.

DH has had a cold for a week. That didn't keep us from going to see dear MIL and FIL. The day after we returned, we spent a day at Big Mall in Nearby City. We love to go shopping as a family for 1 day at Christmastime, walking through the stores, looking at the decorations, people-watching, and buying last minute stocking stuffers. This is my favorite mall around here, offering Macy's, Sephora (aka heaven), Abercrombies, all the biggies. Quite the contrast to local small-town mall where the anchor stores used to be Belk's and Goodies, but alas, we couldn't even keep a Goodies up so it is now vacant. As you walk through the little mall, vacant storefronts alternate with filled ones. But I digress. On our Big Mall trip, LO spent time alternately with DH and me, so she could spend her hard-earned dog-sitting bucks on secret gifts for each of us.

Some people have the gift of selecting The Perfect Gift, and LO is one of those people. For me she purchased a delightful book on writing the novel. DH reported she purposefully drug him through the book store, declaring her intention for my gift. When they found the books for writers, they laid them side-by-side on the floor, perused them all, and returned them one-by-one to the shelf as they were ruled out. The one she gave me is perfect and I know I will enjoy reading it. For DH she bought a cordless razor. Perhaps she has tired of his rubbing his nubbly face on hers and laughing when she squeals at the roughness.

Alas, we found we needed to run to Target the next day, and the half-hour travel expanded to almost an hour in the ribbon of headlights down I-85. We knew what we needed, though, and made our selections in short accord. Our shopping took less time than the actual commute to the nearby town.

That takes us to Christmas Day. One of our relatives is a sweet young man who was deployed to Iraq and returned home to find no one waiting at the plane for him. In his absence his wife had taken up with another serviceman. Gee, don't people do things tastelessly? We traveled yesterday to spend Christmas Day with him and his precious little girls, who were visiting for the holiday.

So DH returns to work tonight after driving us out of town each and every day of his short time off. He still has a cold but has not yet run a fever.

I did not mention that all the trips were carefully timed so as to fit in between church, work, baking, and all the thousand things that had to be done. You have them in your holiday, too.

I am off to work this morning but will spend the afternoon in my continued efforts to Learn To Draw. The NY Times has a neat article on how light in the City provides opportunities for artists. I plan to print off one or two of the accompanying photos and give it a try.

LO was given a 'credit card' for Christmas, pre-loaded with $50. On Christmas Eve, she finished book 3 of the Twilight series, (thank you, Gramma and Grandpa) and just couldn't live without #4. With the book stores closed for the holiday, she resourcefully went to iTunes and bought the audio version with her little credit card. She spent the 5 hours in the car yesterday blissfully enjoying her "book." I hope she finishes it up today as she has two major projects due when she returns to school.

I am pleased to say we got mostly good, old fashioned gifts this year. I got drawing pencils and pens, books, and jewelry. DH commissioned an artist friend to do a picture of "The Writer." The framed drawing was one of my gifts. We have 2 of her works already; this one is the same style. It is delightful and certainly a gift to cherish.

DH got a new chinrest for his violin. His old one clipped to the side of the violin's end. He wanted a new one designed to clip to the exact end of the violin, directing his gaze straight up the neck. There are all sorts of chinrests out there -- it's a very complicated process to select one -- and his violin teacher advised me to pick a wood that matches the keys of his violin. So I picked a lovely rosewood one. The wood is smooth and satiny, and seemed to please him.

LO predictably got clothing and makeup. We had a ring made for her with her birthstone and white gold, which should never go out of style. Her first piece of grown up jewelry.

So that's the report. I hope you all had a meaningful and happy Christmas. I look forward to the New Year.

Observations on Crime

As some of you may know, I have recently been helping in the local paper's newsroom, completing the most mundane of tasks: writing the local crime blotter. It goes like this: the captain faxes or emails in a summary of crimes. We print it off and I try to make heads or tails of it, keeping it succinct but interesting.
Example.
Jones, John (WM31) 10.28.1977, 413 Easy Street: DWLR, DWI, PI, DLC. $500.
....becomes:
John Henry Jones, 31, 413 Easy St. was arrested on charges of driving while license revoked, driving while impaired, parole infractions, and driving left of center; $500 bond, Dec. 17.
I get the middle name from the police website while grabbing John Henry's mug shot. I translate the infractions from memory; there does not exist a table of definitions, not in our newsroom, anyway, and I get the date from the header on the police sheet.

BTW, it's amazing how many people who are arrested live on Easy Street.

I have written about 4 zillion of these in only 7 weeks. I sit in the newsroom among the remaining journalists and listen to them or tune them out. I listen to the police scanner in the background or tune it out. I type like the wind and think about these poor sad people and what their lives must be like.

The 17 year old who was arrested for shoplifting a pregnancy test from Wal-Mart. Her troubles have only just begun.

The 17 year old who was arrested for driving after consuming alcohol with only a provisional license. I hope his parents grounded him for a year.

The hapless drug salesman who was found to have 17 bags of marijuana, a pipe and scales on his person when he was questioned for shoplifting. I hope he gets a brain transplant.

The 100 various people who have stolen a beer, or two, or three, or a case, or two, or three from a certain gas station in town: wow. Steal beer? Doesn't that sort of suck the fun out of drinking it? Or does it add to it?

The folks who broke into a small, make that very small, grocery on the edge of a college campus and stole beer, canned items, chips, cigarettes, and gum. Hope the party was fun.

The men who beat up on women. Grr.

As you can see, I think of each one. In some cases I pray for the criminals and in some cases, I pray for their victims. I am in a privileged position to see it all.

We do not print crimes involving minors, arrests for failure to appear in court (they are too numerous to run), bad checks less than $25, traffic infractions unless they involve other infractions, and many others. I do have a list of these.

They say in the newsroom the list has more than doubled this fall. I get paid to write it all. Lucky me. Really: lucky me.

Christmas with Girlfriends

Tonight was the annual Christmas party with girlfriends. My two friends, M and M, and I have gotten together with the spouses and children for the past several years. However many years it's been since Hurricane Katrina, that's how many years we have been getting together, as M came to town as a Kat refugee. She swooped into town and took it by storm, enchanting everyone she met. A neighbor asked me to give her a call as she thought we would hit it off, so I did. We made a coffee date and I lugged along M as I thought the three of us would make a good trio. We did -- met for coffee every week for a year, then transitioned to weekly evening wine when one or the other of us had a job. 

We meet at M's house, the M with two Asian girls, and we all bring in food and wine. We bring gifties for the other gfs and for the children. We have wine, the kids have Jones soda, and we chat and eat while the kids flip and play and make tunes on the piano. Then we eat, and then at the end, we all open gifts. The husbands eat and observe. One of the M's does not have a husband and fortunately M's husband and mine get along well. They are both the sorts who could get along with anyone. M's husband. R.  is a copyright attorney, and works mostly with musicians; his own father was a professional musician in NYC as R was growing up. R himself is a bit of a musician, so of course he and DH have much in common. 

Tonight due to scheduling we had h'ors deuvres instead of dinner, and M had to leave early. Our fam stayed on and we all talked and laughed. It got late and M made pasta and garlic and we ate like starving people. DH and R made music, DH alternating between violin, guitar and harmonica, and R alternating betw piano and guitar. Oh, it was grand. M actually said her home has never been so alive. The men played blues and rock & roll and R&B. I never knew they could sound so great together. 

M is a writer as well, and I gave her "The Courage to Write" by Ralph Keyes. She gave me a gift basket from Dean & Deluca including a great apron to wear on photography days. 

At 9 we said our goodbyes and stepped into the quiet outdoors.  Her gay Chinese lanterns in the front yard lighted our way out her picket fence and we headed home. 

The Visit

We just returned from a great visit with dear MIL and FIL in lovely Tennessee. The drive was great, the weather, well, was ok, could have been worse. The folks were wonderful, so happy to see us, as we were happy to see them. Little Dog was spoiled only a wee bit less than Little One was and we all were so, so, content to be with each other.

No one knows how to decorate for Christmas like MIL. It's truly worthy of a spread in Southern Living. She has such a touch! to add this bit here, and that bit there. Even the ram statue on the sofa table in the family room has a French horn about his neck with just a bit of holly.

Alas, our visit was short due to DH's very inconvenient but very much appreciated job. We buzzed in, ate the parents out of house and home, exchanged gifts, hugs and tears, and buzzed out again.

We made use of a rental car as our own aging cars need to save their miles for about town. I requested a car with an iPod jack and downloaded lots of stories to my iPod for us to listen to. It's 6 hours each way, so we had plenty of time to converse, tire of each other, and then get lost in the stories drifting to us in the dark.

LO had watched one of the Harry Potter movies on the way up. I must say I by far prefer the audio stories. There is something so magical, and so old-fashioned, about listening to the spoken word. I appreciate the writing more. I appreciate the sounds more. And I understand nuances more.

The stories were wonderful. They are all podcasts, free, that I downloaded from iTunes. Here are a few of our favorites.

1. The Moth. This is a highly-rated podcast that features non-professionals sharing 5 minute-long stories from their lives. I only got one of these, a story called, "Elna Baker: The Funny One." As I said, it's only 5 minutes long. We laughed out loud on this one. I will definitely subscribe to the Moth.

2. Hearing Voices. This podcast spins non-fiction stories that always include the recorded voices of the people featured; hence the name. We listened to two of these. One is called, "Paintbrush." It is a mini-biography and features the voice of his second wife reading from her book, "Living with Picasso." The second is called, "Soapbox," and includes recordings of presidents' inaugural addresses, from Coolidge to W. This was great. Not to be missed is the song entitled, "WMD Waltz."

3. Youth Radio. These are shorties -- 3 to 5 minutes each. We listened to several of these. Always interesting.

4. PRI: Selected Shorts. For the uninitiated, it's Public Radio International. By far and away, these were our favorites. We listened to them late in the trip, as we returned to Little Town, NC. The sun was setting over the mountains and then it was dark. We sat wordlessly as the stories wound from the speakers. We smiled, we frowned, we laughed, as each of us sat with our thoughts and the magical stories in the air. Each is about an hour long. Here are the ones we heard tonight.

Tales? Short, long, folk, fairy and fierce. Included the following stories: "A Pair of Silk Stockings," by Kate Chopin, "The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveros County," by Mark Twain, the classic fairy tale called, "Pudducky," two funny letters from Truman Capote, and a dark tale called, "Soul Murder," by David Mamet.

Afterglow: More Christmas Memories. This selection included three stories: "One Christmas," written by Truman Capote, George Shephard's "Occurrence on the Six-Seventeen," and "Homecoming," by William Maxwell. The Capote story made us laugh out loud. Poignant, angry, wistful, and heartbreakingly real. LO enjoyed them all and we dare not tell her they are literature.

The trip was highly anticipated and I sometimes fear that it can never meet our expectations. It always does, though, and as always it was hard to leave. DH has promised he will not wait so long to visit again.

Tomatoes in December

DH picked the last of the tomatoes from the garden in October and put them in the basement to ripen. He brought them upstairs today so we can have mater sammies for lunch. I made the homemade bread just yesterday.

The Big Day

I am a bit tardy in posting The Big Day. It occurred last week, after two years of high anticipation. Here are the Before and After.

The Ikea Orgasm

The first time DH and I visited Ikea, we were in northern VA visiting DS2 and his little family. For me, t was love at first sight. For LO, it was love at first sight. Amazingly, for DH, it was love at first sight.

The first time we saw an Ikea orgasm, a lady was standing in the middle of kitchenwares. "I LOVE IKEA!" She yelled it over and over. Her gf stood by and laughed.

Needless to say, we were quite excited 18 months ago when a blue-and-yellow billboard appeared beside the interstate 32 miles away from our home: IKEA Coming Soon.

We waited anxiously for the opening date. Occasionally I googled, "Charlotte Ikea open date."

At first the open date was announced for Spring, 2009. Then it became, March, 2009. It must have been about September when we saw a news item that the open date had been moved up to Feb. 18, 2009.

I began studying Ikeaware online. I was especially interested in a new desk: I have been using DH's gramma's kitchen table, a charming little wooden table with porcelain top. DH has fond memories of making sugar cookies with his paternal grandmother, now deceased, at this little table.

While charming, it is not practical for a desk. For one thing, it has one teensy drawer. Just big enough for pens and scissors.

The tabletop is about 24x40". With my laptop and a light on it, there is absolutely NO ROOM to spread out papers. I had to research on the guest bed, or at the dining room table 2 rooms away, then return to the laptop to write. Or take the laptop to the dining room. Hence, why do I have a little desk at all?

When using the DR table, I had to complete all the work in one sitting or have papers strewn on the table for several days. Not pretty.

As Feb. 18 got closer and closer, I studied more and more. While Ikea does offer traditional desks, I was interested in the separate desktops that you can match to the base of your dreams. Sort of a mix-and-match setup.

The desktop I selected is called a shadowbox desktop. It's actually two desktops in one: a wooden desktop with a piece of glass suspended 2 inches above it. This would allow me to keep my paperclips, pens, stamps, etc. at hand while keeping my worktop (the glass) free and clear so I can spread my work out when I need to. When I don't have work spread out, voila! the desk is clean. No clutter.

The base I had selected was a metal bank of drawers. One on each side, supporting the desktop, would create the optimal desk.

The day drew nearer and nearer...

Breakfast

I hate to admit it publicly, but I usually eat my breakfast while I look at the computer. Bowl of cereal in one hand, mouse in the other. I hunch over the keyboard and bowl, alternately clicking and spooning. Usually. Make that, if I eat breakfast, that's how I eat it. If I'm in a rush, I grab a piece of fruit on the way to the car.

Today LO was on the computer with the gf who slept over last night. They are working together on their science fair project this year, and needed to do some research together.

It was my breakfast time.

Having the computer occupado made me stop and think. I had the option to use the laptop, as I am now, but, hey, I thought, eating while computing might not be the best habit. I started to get the newspaper so I could do the crossword and Sudoku. Then I stopped. Had a radical idea. Hmm. I think I will just. eat. breakfast. Consider it an experiment.

So I did. I learned a lot about myself.

First of all, I noticed I was wolfing my cereal down, hunched over my bowl, like a doggone animal. Hm. So I straightened up and took my time.

The cat came in and drank her water. I actually watched her, and listened to that lovely little sound. I looked around. I saw a lot of dirt from this vantage point that I never notice when I breeze in to throw together a meal. The birds sang. My plant needs watering.

It really was interesting. I think I'll do it again -- soon.

Another Viewpoint

A 13-year-old's take on Christmas.

"Ok, so I get the whole thing about dressing up and trying to make little kids happy. But, really, who wants a bunch of strange kids sitting on their lap? Is that not a little creepy?? Like, Michael Jackson??

And what about that song? 'He sees you when you're sleeping; he knows when you're awake'? Is Santa my own personal stalker?

The whole thing creeps me out -- just like the Chik-Fil-A cow. Creepy." (Shudder)

Regrets

I cannot see this word without having that very annoying song echo somewhere in the back of my brain. "Regrets, I've had a few...." It's a barroom song popular in the 60's and not a good one at all. Andy Williams? Lorne Greene? Cannot recall. DH suggests Frank Sinatra; I believe he is correct.

I read a captivating editorial today that held this line:

"No one can reach my age with their eyes even partly open and not have hundreds of regrets."

How true is that.

Withdrawal

A gf mentioned to me recently that she is having withdrawal from the political season; she finds herself still toggling between CNN and MSNBC. I have to admit I am guilty on both counts, as well.
I did not realize how depressed I was at the state of our nation until I saw a ray of Hope. Only then did I realize how deep my valley was. I have come to realize that that's often the case. When I have been in bad times, I sometimes didn't realize just how bad they were, til I began to pull out of them.
Our Man will be on Meet the Press this Sunday. We've already programmed the TiVo as we will be at church.

You're Not Down a Mine

Every now and then, writing affords me to see life with a new perspective. That's why I love it so: it's not the gerunds or the self-expression or even the flexible schedule. It's the life experiences I get to have.
I swear to this day the best day I ever had was the day I emptied garbage.
Today I had another eye-opening experience.
On the surface, it seemed simple enough. The editor of our small-town paper emailed me a day or two ago and asked if I might cover a speaker at the local Parkinson's Support Group. Sure, I said.
At this point it might be helpful if I explain my relationship with the paper has changed a bit in recent days. Four years ago, I started by writing, for free, features on the zillion book groups in this tiny town, for the Sunday book page. I had pitched the idea to the book page editor and she went for it, but had no budget money for freelancers. I just wanted my foot in the door. ...and I wanted to write. So I did it.
After a few months, the Lifestyles editor asked if I'd be interested in doing some things for her -- for pay. She had no idea I had been comping the articles for books. She had assumed I was paid for them. I jumped at the chance, and have been writing features for her for the past 3 years or so. She's great to work with and I get to meet the nicest people.
Recently our paper, like all others, is having a bit of a downturn. It seems the bigger advertisers are the car dealers. They aren't making money. Gone are the full-page spreads, because there's no money for loans at the banks.
So our local paper is not replacing people when they leave. They offered early retirement to their staff and several took it. Those who remain are now like jugglers -- but having been deft at juggling 3 or 4 balls, now they have 6 or 8 in the air at any given time.
It's prime time for contractors. So I am helping out onsite 2 or 3 days a week and now am picking up the occasional news article, in addition to the features and food pages I have been doing.
My favorite articles to write are profiles of people. Like the bank president who delivered milk as a kid. The sanitation worker who never took a day off, in twenty-five years. The mayor, daughter of a mayor, who became mayor overnight, literally, by accident, and has served this town, served it well, for ten years. The pastor who, at 70, is still running foot races. Trains with a high school coach and sets records through the state.
I always, always learn something from these people. It's sort of intimate to sit with them and get their stories. People love to talk about themselves, and I love to be in on it. It's a privilege. Who else gets this opportunity?
So today I went to the thing for Parkinson's. I was a tad irritated. The meeting was from 1 to 2. The people hosting the speaker invited me to lunch (btw at a restaurant that offers NO veggie food. Yes, they still do that, around here, anyway. ). I had to shoot photos of the speaker afterward, so what might have been a 1-hour assignment somehow turned into a 3 1/2 hour assignment, 11:30 to 3pm. After that I had to listen to the tapes and write the story.
So I went.
The folks hosting the speaker are struggling with living with Parkinson's. The husband, a retired dentist, has been diagnosed for a year or so now. His tremor was only noticable when he folded his hands on the table and all the water glasses jingled. He's quite self-effacing, takes no credit for the absolute class he has shown through this ordeal. He has volunteered his time and dental talents at the local free medical clinic for the poor, only stopped this month when he became concerned for his precision in someone's mouth. He was a pilot -- just quit that, too. He handled it all with grace and humor. He wonders if his exposure to Agent Orange in VietNam years ago set this disease in his system.
The speaker is a social worker from Duke University who helps patients and caregivers figure the whole thing out. How to afford medications. How to convince a husband a walker is not a sign of weakness. What to do for the wife with osteoperosis who has to lift her larger husband out of the chair. How to understand Medicare, Social Security. How Parkinson's affects the 45-year-old differently than the 65-year-old. She's seen it all.
After lunch, we walked over to the church where the meeting was held. The social worker involved all the group members in discussion about living with Parkinson's. I got a first-hand glimpse of the challenges, the discouragement, and the love between husband and wife. It's hard to watch him button his shirt; it takes him 20 minutes, one wife said. It's hard to see her do things I should be doing for her, one husband said.
I felt almost voyeur-like as I peeked into their lives and frustrations. I don't mind that it took over 3 hours. It was time well spent. I learned so much in that time.

Oh, and the title? Last night the guest on James Lipton's Inside the Actor's Studio was Daniel Radcliffe, who played Harry Potter in all the movies. When he complains, his father tells him, "Oh, buck up. You're not down a mine." I couldn't help notice the irony in the timing: last night's show and today's meeting. Things happen like that for me.

It will be a long time before I complain again. I'm not down a mine.

Sooo Cool

So I read somewhere that a thin film of ketchup would clean copper. Shee-yeah, right. 

But it kept nagging at the back of my brain. ...And, metal polish isn't the cheapest. So I finally tried it. 

Proof is in the picture. How cool is that?

Please note: I tested a small area so we could see the 'before' and the 'after.' That's why you still see tarnish around it!

Charlie Bit Me

LO is quite the fan of YouTube. Last night as we were settling down, she said, "Nana, next time you go on YouTube, you've got to see the one about, 'Charlie bit me.' It's great."

So I looked up. Simple, short, and funny enough to share. Enjoy. 

Black Friday

Despite its ominous name, the term Black Friday only means that it's the day that takes retailers into the 'black,' accounting-wise, as opposed to being 'in the red.'

DH and I ventured out yesterday in search of a certain little something Santa whispered to us. They were on sale at our new Kohl's.

We didn't camp out on the sidewalk all night, or wait at the doors when they opened at 4am. We got up, had our coffee, got showers, and arrived at 10am. The parking lot, which is intended for a strip mall, was packed even though the Kohl's is the only store that has been built yet. 

We had agreed to tag-team, meaning, you drop me at the door, I'll go in and swoop up our items. You meet me here and we may have to stand in separate lines and see who gets to a register first. 

Once I was in, I realized we didn't need all our tactics. Although it was really nice to be dropped off at the door. :)

I had had fears that our little item would be gone; the store did open at 4 am, after all. But when I arrived at the site, there they were. We were able to locate the correct ones and, although the store was healthily busy, it was not a madhouse. Since DH had not yet visited our new Kohl's, (he has been to a Kohl's before, just not ours,) we decided to browse a bit. It was  fun. We looked at kitchen stuff. We looked at men's sweaters and he actually allowed us to buy him one. Seeing a stylin' mannequin, I pointed out the components of his outfit. "Do you look at mannequins or at magazines to see what's in style?" I asked him. "No." He just looked at me. "No," he repeated. I looked up at him. "I don't. I just don't." 

Hmm.

 

We visited the womenswear dept and I showed him a little blazer I had tried on a month ago. (in a size smaller than I had worn before!!) Yesterday it was 60% off; we bought it.

The line to check out threaded through the menswear department, shoes, and back to the edge of kitchenware. I staked out a place in line while DH searched for a not-to-be-missed deal on running shoes. Finding none, he joined me and in 5 or 6 short minutes we were next up for a register. A large person in a Santa cap was holding the line at the divider things and signaling which register to approach. "Are you the traffic cop?" I asked. "Sort of, I guess," and then we got a register. 

Sadly, the $10 off for every $50 purchased was not immediate; it came in the form of a coupon to be used next Thursday or afterwards. (They want us to come back.) Still, we got a gift done, and got each other a nice little something in addition. 

DH kindly stopped at a gas station and filled my car. From the station we could see the WalMart parking lot. Wow. Now that's packed. Cars were cruising in search of any place to park. I am sososo thankful we went to Kohl's. It was civilized, clean, and the employees were happy and well-treated. We didn't hear any screaming children. 

Here's a snippet from the NYT about the experience in Ohio. Notice irony in the lady's name. 

Walter Loeb, president of Loeb Associates, a retail consultancy, said there was shopping mania at Wal-Mart every year. But this year, he said, it seems “people are becoming irrational in their actions.”

At a Wal-Mart store in Columbus, Ohio, Nikki Nicely, 19, jumped onto a man’s back and pounded his shoulders when he tried to take a 40-inch Samsung flat-screen television to which she had laid claim. “That’s my TV!” Ms. Nicely shouted. “That’s my TV!”

A police officer and security guard intervened, but not before Ms. Nicely took an elbow in the face. In the end, she was the one with the $798 television, marked down from $1,000. “That’s right,” she cried as her adversary walked away. “This here is my TV!”

Tour of NYC Holiday Windows

Here is a delightful tour of the windows of four department stores: Lord & Taylor, Macy's, Bloomingdales, and Saks Fifth Avenue.

In addition to the gorgeous, colorful pics, are the stories of how they came up with the concepts and how they executed them. Just in time for your blossoming Christmas spirit.

Enjoy!

Thankful

I am thankful for laughter.Laughter has helped me to survive the tough times. It has stopped arguments. It has endeared me to friends and family. It is unanticipated.It's a lovely surprise.

I am thankful for variety. The smoothness of polished wood, the roughness of bark. Cold stormy days and the warmth of our fire at home. The complex tangle of life and the order of nicely folded laundry.

I am thankful to be a creative person. 'Cleanliness is next to godliness'? Cleanliness is always temporary. For me, creativity is next to godliness, as He is the original creator. He made me creative because I am made in His image.

I'm thankful I have a need to create. It makes me feel alive.

I am thankful for the creativity of others. It gives me joy to see what others can conceive. Their creativity inspires me to create.

I am thankful for time alone.

I am thankful for time with others.

I am thankful for water. I love to see it, to feel it, to hear it, and to touch it.

I am thankful for trees. For shade. For the shushing of leaves. For the microclimate they provide. For the dappled light on the ground beneath.

I am thankful for our pets.

I am thankful for children, their hope, their purity.

I am thankful for older people and the wisdom they have to offer.

I'm thankful for books. I'm thankful my parents taught me to love them.

I am thankful for the chances we have to help others. I don't deserve to be blessed. It's a gift, and helping others allows me to show my thanks.

Shocking report on Obama

from http://www.borowitzreport.com/: you gotta love it....

Obama’s Use of Complete Sentences Stirs Controversy

Stunning Break with Last Eight Years

In the first two weeks since the election, President-elect Barack Obama has broken with a tradition established over the past eight years through his controversial use of complete sentences, political observers say.

Millions of Americans who watched Mr. Obama's appearance on CBS' "Sixty Minutes" on Sunday witnessed the president-elect's unorthodox verbal tick, which had Mr. Obama employing grammatically correct sentences virtually every time he opened his mouth.

But Mr . Obama's decision to use complete sentences in his public pronouncements carries with it certain risks, since after the last eight years many Americans may find his odd speaking style jarring.

According to presidential historian Davis Logsdon of the University of Minnesota, some Americans might find it "alienating" to have a President who speaks English as if it were his first language.

"Every time Obama opens his mouth, his subjects and verbs are in agreement," says Mr. Logsdon.  "If he keeps it up, he is running the risk of sounding like an elitist."

The historian said that if Mr. Obama insists on using complete sentences in his speeches, the public may find itself saying, "Okay, subject, predicate, subject predicate - we get it, stop showing off."

The President-elect's stubborn insistence on using complete sentences has already attracted a rebuke from one of his harshest critics, Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska.

"Talking with complete sentences there and also too talking in a way that ordinary Americans like Joe the Plumber and Tito the Builder can't really do there, I think needing to do that isn't tapping into what Americans are needing also," she said.

Dogs

My DS2 wrote a heartbreaking account of neighbors who totally ignore their dog. We had just such a sitch recently when our NDN's to the west kept a dog outside on a lead.
"Bones" is a beautiful dog, big and strong, with a sweet personality, well-hidden behind his fierce and sad exterior.
They don't have a fence, and I was surprised they had a dog at all, since their prior experience with ignoring dogs wound up with the gas meter reader suffering a nasty bite and the dog being euthanized.
So Bones was kept on a heavy chain in the backyard. He often wound it round things so that he, too, couldn't reach his food or water. When he could reach his water, he often flipped it so that he was in a huge puddle of mud, piss and dung.
He barked incessantly. He needed attention. Water. Food. Our summer days get long and hot and the 5-gallon bucket they filled with the hose was easily flipped. I longed to buy him a kiddie pool, totally unflippable, but hated to get involved. These neighbors are hostile and resentful.
About 2 weeks after he arrived, I approached the husband, the more approachable of the family, and shared that DH was having trouble sleeping during the day after working all night, as the barking was incessant. He said he'd take care of it.
Nothing happened.
Next I approached the adult son, who actually owned the dog. He had moved home after his trial with work/apartment/independence had not been so successful. He punctuated my every sentence with one statement: "It's temporary."
It was temporary for three years.
Undaunted, well, daunted but not yet beaten, I finally called the wife, who really resents me.
I called her on the phone, chicken that I am, and told her I really needed her help. I explained that DH works nights a lot and Bones' barking was interfering with his ability to sleep. "We don't hear a thing," she lied. "...and we don't even have nice storm windows like you do."
Hmm.
One Sunday afternoon Bones had barked for over an hour when I saw the husband on his front porch and mentioned it. He walked round to the back yard and ... KICKED THE DOG IN THE HEAD. The dog stopped barking. I never complained again.
The oddest thing we noticed over the three year sentence was that he had three distinct barks. He had the angry, I'll-eat-you-alive bark that he gave when he was trying to do his job for the owners.
He had the plaintive, look-at-me-I'm-just-a-playful-pup bark he gave when any of their family were outdoors. He'd flip the empty food bowl and it would bonk! back to earth. Bark! Bark! Look at me! Am I not the cutest? This bark was more of a cheerful, happy YIP!
And then there was just the normal bark, bark, bark, bark, please come outside and feed me, rub me, give me water, anything, just let me off this heavy chain for a minute.
During extremely rainy weeks they would chain him on their back porch, mounds of feces piling on the decking.
We endured, we fretted, we filled water and trembling, took it to him.
I never thought to offer to walk him. I can imagine the look I would have gotten if I had.
I admire DS for his ingenuity. It's a tough situation.
The adult son moved out about 6 months ago and Bones was sold to another family shortly thereafter. I hope they are taking care of him.
Good luck.

Biggest Doggone Sweet-Gum Ball You Ever Saw

God has a way of yanking me back to reality when I get a little too cocky.

I remember the day one of my divorces was final. I had been alternately distraught, confused, panic-ridden, lonely, and angry, for the past year. I had to go to my attorney's office to sign something and in return, got the final papers.

I walked out of the office and for some unforeseen reason, I suddenly felt relieved: it's over. There was no turning back. There was no should-we-turn-back, no could-we-turn-back. It was over.

This unexpected lightness of heart was so welcome after months of misery. Years, if you count the last portion of the marriage itself.

I remember I had on a new suit and it was a cold and cloudy day. But my heart was light.

I walked down the sidewalk tap, tap, tapping my umbrella on the sidewalk. Tap, tap. It was a long umbrella with a crook at the top. Tap, tap.

I wasn't watching where I was going. I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. I didn't know what lay ahead but I knew the divorce was complete and I had a new beginning ahead of me. Chin was up, shoulders were back, and I was walking quickly down the sidewalk. Tap, tap.

Suddenly, the tip of the umbrella caught in the metal grate in the sidewalk and it yanked me into a quick Louie there on the sidewalk. I spent the next 20 seconds or so pulling the umbrella until it ungracefully POPPED! out of the grate.

Without looking around to see who was looking at me, I humbly proceeded. Chin down. Eyes down. Shoulders rounded.

I never forgot it.

It all came back to me on Friday.

On Thursday, the state-wide glossy magazine had sent me a copy of the December issue, in which I have a small article. I had worked Friday morning at the newsroom at the paper, and walked afterward over to the local book store to see if the magazines were available for purchase yet. They were. I got two, one to send to someone special, and one to cut my article from, so it could be scanned for my upcoming website.

The world was my oyster as I walked the five blocks back to the car. It was sunny but horridly cold, with a biting wind. I clutched the magazines to my chest and walked as fast as I could. My mind was racing with possibilities: maybe I could write this for this magazine, or that for that magazine.

Only two blocks from the car, I stepped on the biggest doggone sweet-gum ball you ever saw. My right ankle rolled inward and I flew headlong to the sidewalk. Face-down, I slid along the concrete.

As is so often the case with a fall, my thoughts were amazingly lucid. "Jeez," I thought. "How long am I going to slide?" When I finally stopped moving, I lay there for a moment, face down, and took inventory. Nothing seemed broken. Slowly I got up. I was shaky but whole.

"You okay?" A young man stood at the door to the public library, across the street. "I'm fine," I waved to him as if I were only embarrassed, but in truth I was still badly shaken.

I picked up my magazines, now torn, and hobbled to the car. It wasn't until I got there that I realized I must have dropped my keys. I had to return to the scene and look in the leaves to find them.

I am so lucky not to be hurt. I scraped the tip of my nose; I look a tad like W.C. Fields. My chest was scraped through my silk turtleneck, my thighs scraped through my trousers. Three fingers on my right hand were bent backward and are still swollen, and my ankle is swollen but walkable.

If only I could remember not to get cocky to start with.

Legend of 1900

My DS2 is a movie expert. You name the movie, he can not only tell you who directed what, what reviewers said, and who's in it, he can also tell you if it's worth watching.

We sometimes skype in the mornings. He is 14 hours ahead of me in time, so at 6:30am when I go online to check the news, he is generally on the couch for the evening with his lovely wife. I often click in and say, hi. We usually use the chat feature on skype, rather than using the webcams. I feel more comfortable that way, as the keyboard is a very instinctive way to communicate for me, and I sometimes freeze up face-to-face, even if it is face-to-webcam.

Yesterday we were chatting and I asked for a movie recommendation. He recommended "Legend of 1900." Said there was some outstanding music in it. That was enough for me. It's directed by the same guy who did, "Cinema Paradiso," which I loved, so I checked it out.

I was worried this might be a challenge in our small town. We have a Redbox at the grocery, and while it's a great deal -- 99¢ a night --it only carries recent movies. DS had said he had to go to 4 Blockbusters to find the movie, so I was not optimistic. But I made the rare trip to Blockbuster, just in case. Surprisingly, they had it, and beat the Redbox price, charging me only 99¢ for 5 days.

LO went to the movies last night with her crowd, to see the opening of Twilight, a blog for another day. So, being home alone, DH and I built a fire and cuddled up for the movie.

• The opening dialogue was irresistible.
• The first two scenes totally sucked me in.
• I love the adoptive dad.
• The scenery was compelling.
• The sets were haunting.
• The story was totally unbelievable, but mind you, they SAID the story was unbelievable.

I resented it a tad when the guy was playing his most important piece of music and at that exact moment a breathtakingly lovely girl happened to linger outside the window, so that he made the most beautiful music of his life. There are other coincidences too unlikely to swallow, but I won't spoil the story for you.

Overall, the story will linger over your head like the little cloud that followed Pooh as he went about his day. This movie is unlike any other I've ever seen, and, despite the comedic ironies, I highly recommend it.

Keillor...Again

Oh, I wish I could say, "These are things I was already writing."

I wish I could say, "I write just like this guy."

I even wish I could say, "My thoughts were this articulate, but I had not jotted them down yet."

Aw, I cannot say any of these things. 

All I can do is read him and admire.

Sitting on top of the world

Garrison Keillor

November 12, 2008

 

Be happy, dear hearts, and allow yourselves a few more weeks of quiet exultation. It isn't gloating, it's satisfaction at a job well done. He was a superb candidate, serious, professorial but with a flashing grin and a buoyancy that comes from working out in the gym every morning. He spoke in a genuine voice, not senatorial at all. He relished campaigning. He accepted adulation gracefully. He brandished his sword against his opponents without mocking or belittling them. He was elegant, unaffected, utterly American, and now (Wow) suddenly America is cool. Chicago is cool. Chicago!!!

We threw the dice and we won the jackpot and elected a black guy with a Harvard degree, the middle name Hussein and a sense of humor—he said, "I've got relatives who look like Bernie Mac, and I've got relatives who look like Margaret Thatcher." The French junior minister for human rights said, "On this morning, we all want to be American so we can take a bite of this dream unfolding before our eyes." When was the last time you heard someone from France say they wanted to be American and take a bite of something of ours? Ponder that for a moment.

The world expects us to elect pompous yahoos, and instead we have us a 47-year-old prince from the prairie who cheerfully ran the race, and when his opponents threw sand at him, he just smiled back. He'll be the first president in history to look really good making a jump shot. He loves his classy wife and his sweet little daughters. At the same time, he knows pop music, American lit and constitutional law. I just can't imagine anybody cooler.

It feels good to be cool, and all of us can share in that, even sour old right-wingers and embittered blottoheads. Next time you fly to Heathrow and hand your passport to the man with the badge, he's going to see "United States of America" and look up and grin. Even if you worship in the church of Fox, everyone you meet overseas is going to ask you about Obama, and you may as well say you voted for him because, my friends, he is your line of credit over there. No need anymore to try to look Canadian.

And the coolest thing about him is the fact that back in the early '90s, given a book contract after the hoo-ha about his becoming the First Black Editor of The Harvard Law Review, instead of writing the basic exploitation book he could've written, he put his head down and worked hard for a few years and wrote a good book, an honest one, which, since his rise in politics, has earned the Obamas enough to buy a nice house and put money in the bank. A successful American entrepreneur.

Our hero who galloped to victory has inherited a gigantic mess. The country is sunk in debt. The Treasury announced it must borrow $550 billion to get the government through the fourth quarter, more than the entire deficit for 2008, so he will have to raise taxes and not only on bankers and lumber barons. His promise never to raise the retirement age is not a good idea. Whatever he promised the Iowa farmers about subsidizing ethanol is best forgotten at this point. We may not be getting our National Health Service cards anytime soon. And so on and so on.

So enjoy the afterglow of the election awhile longer. We all walk taller this fall. People in Copenhagen and Stockholm are sending congratulatory e-mails—imagine! We are being admired by Danes and Swedes! And Chicago becomes The First City. Step aside, San Francisco. Shut up, New York. The Midwest is cool now. The mind reels. Have a good day.



Garrison Keillor is a radio host and author.

The Ill-Fated Trip

DH walked up to me with a more-than-usual swagger the other day, and observed, "I see your calendar is free on Wednesday." When I agreed, he continued. "Would you like to go with me to the Southern Christmas Show?" I was delighted to be asked on a date, and looked forward to it.

The Southern Christmas Show is a huge event in nearby-large-city, held in the Merchandise Mart buildings. It lasts a couple of weeks and is open from, say, ten am to, say, eight pm. Plus or minus. It's retail plus decorating demonstrations plus food plus just getting in the mood for the holidays. You walk a million miles and that's just getting from your car to the door. Nine bucks a pop to enter the door and another $2.50 if at some point in the day you want a soda. Twenty minutes to use the ladies' room. Lots of folks from far away, even, have a tradition of visiting it each year. You'll see them explaining to vendors: They're my sisters. We've been meeting here for 10 years. Or, she was my college roommate. We've been doing this ever since college. Mother-daughter. Grandmother-mother-daughter. The variations are endless, and you see them all. Some folks dress alike. Some have matching Christmas shopping bags. Lots pull wheeled shopping bags. It has its own website; you'll have to google Southern Christmas Show to find it.

We have a long history of attending the Southern Christmas Show. We attended it before marrying, just the two of us, and bought each other Christmas stockings to fill. We attended it the next year, married, with neighbors from across the road. At one point in the evening, the fellows split off from the girls and we all purchased gifties for our spouses.

The next year found us in our new home. Just like this year, we set aside a date to attend. Alas, DH's dear white cat passed away that same day at the veteranarian's. We had sent her to be declawed. She did fine through the surgery but never woke from the anesthesia. DH insisted on taking me on to the SCS despite his grief. My oh my, we never saw so many pet portraits, pet gifts, cat statues and the like until that long, long day.

We laughed today as we recalled these and other trips to the SCS. The year my back was out. The time I got a migraine. The time we took LO. As we laughed, we little thought what the day  held for us.

The day dawned sunny but very cold. No matter, we smiled. Both of us pulled out our warmest coats for the trek from car to event. They offer coat check at the door; we won't be burdened with our coats as we stroll around. We piled into the car with only 2 contraband bottles of water in my pocketbook, and a ziplock of Craisins and pecans. Events like this never have vegan food; one has to eat. Cranked the car, opened the garage, and wa-a-ah DH backed the car out like a race car driver. Almost immediately the clash of metal and stone rang in the air and -- my dear little car careened off the driveway and over the tiny stone wall that separates it from the asparagus patch at the back of the yard.

We looked at each other in horror. DH gunned the motor. The left tire spun deeper into the gravel drive. The right wheel spun in midair, suspended out from the stone wall.

I said nothing. DH said nothing. He got out. Evaluated the situation. "Dang." He kicked a tire.

"Stay here," he muttered. Pulling his own keys from his pocket, he pulled Edison into the drive, in front of my car. Tied a rope from his rear bumper to my front one. Advised me to climb into the driver's seat and crank. He did the same -- in his car. Driving his own car forward, he tried to pull mine back onto the drive. No luck.

Undeterred, he hoisted a few of the massive granite rocks from the garden and stacked them beneath the wheels of my car. Tried again. 

Nothin'.

Got out, added more stones under tires. At this point, I was tiring of being a Good Sport. I rolled down the window and offered, "Do you have a really heavy board to use as a ramp?" I had seen such a plan work in a movie once, when motorists were stranded in the snow. "Yeah, I was going to do that anyway." He disappeared into the garage and came out with a lovely old 1x10, I mean old -- it was actually 1" x 10". (They aren't exact anymore. If you could find a 1x10 in real wood today, it'd be more like 9/16 x 9 and 5/8.) Propped it under the rear tire and returned to Edison. Slowly, slowly, he inched forward. I cranked the car and steered it the teeniest bit to the left. 

Tada. She was back on the drive. 

Encouraged, DH parked Edison. He raced to the rear of my car, picked up a large car part in his hand, and ran to toss it into the garage. Closed the garage door. (Do I need that on my car? I'm wondering...) He hopped into the driver's seat of my car. "Oh, Honey." I couldn't help myself. The legs of his jeans were spotted with dirt. Then I saw his face. He had snagged a sore finger on a rock or the wheel and it did not feel good. "Is your finger okay?" "I snagged it. It'll be fine." 

But he was disappointed that his jeans disappointed me. 

Sigh. 

"Let me go change." 

"No, it's not that bad." 

"I don't want you embarrassed." 

"You can  hardly see it. Let's just go."

So we went. 

He backed out of the drive a bit more sheepishly this time, and we proceeded through the neighborhood. 

I was aware that we were not communicating -- each of us was saying what we thought the other wanted to hear -- but was clueless as to how to fix it. 

We had gone about 2 and a half blocks when I announced, "The right rear tire is making a loud noise." "Yep," he agreed. Pulled over to investigate. "It's a flat," he called from the nether regions. So there on the nearby street, he changed the flat. 

We louied the block and headed home to switch cars. DH ran upstairs to change jeans and wash hands. I grabbed a scarf to keep my neck warm, necessary now that I have a mannish haircut. We had a conversation about whether we should really go, and decided we really should. Our time was limited as we had to be back in time to pick up LO from school. 

Finally. We sat in Edison, ready to go. Only an hour and 20 minutes later that we had intended. The car was warm and NPR was going strong. We smiled at each other and drove to NLC.

The drive was fine. As we neared the event, we saw lines of cars on the highway, waiting for their turn on the ramp to enter the parking. Smiling, DH remembered earlier trips to the event, bypassed them all, took the next exit -- without any wait -- turned back and got right into a parking lot. Jacketed attendants took our money -- yes, that costs, too -- and we got a great spot. DH opened my car door and helped me into my coat. Almost simultaneously, we said, "What's that hissing noise?"

The right front tire of Edison had a slice and it was visibly flattening before our very eyes. 

We laughed until we cried. 

"What are we going to do?" I asked. 

"Let's go enjoy the show and I'll change it when we get back."

So we held hands and went inside. Enjoyed the show. Didn't buy a thing. 

When we returned to the car, there was a note taped to the windshield: Right front tire FLAT.

Two flat tires in one day -- on two separate cars. Still, we felt badly for the young mother we saw in the pedestrian tunnel going into the event. "Sorry I can't talk right now," she said into her cell phone. Her face was worried as she brushed by, toddler in the stroller. "I'm at a Christmas show and I have lost my keys." DH looked at me. "Now that's a bad day."

Our total expenses:

Parking $6

2 tickets: $18

2 pretzels: $6

1 bag roasted almonds: $6

Water from home: free

Total cost without buying anything: $36.

Oh, and the cost of 2 new tires: $24

(we got road-hazard-insurance when we originally purchased them). 

We enjoyed the show and I think we truly enjoyed not feeling like we needed to buy a thing. I can't wait to see what next year's trip holds in store for us. 

Windy

It's days like this that I think of Marcel Marceau. I was walking downtown against the wind, leaning hard into it. It occurred to me that if the wind were to cease, I would fall upon my nose. 

School Project

LO had to prepare a project for Language Arts Class this weekend: display 6 items mentioned in the book, "Where the Lilies Bloom" that can be used in the modern world. She chose 6 herbs mentioned in the book. 

We went to the local natural foods store and bought the herbs from the bulk section, then got some teeny ziplock bags. I had a package of precut letters, ala bulletin board style, that I had seen at Dollar Tree and picked up in case she ever would need them.  She not only looked up the medicinal applications of each herb, but also got the botanical names for them.

DH and I went last night to a gathering for a friend who is moving to Washington state (note envy here.) Another friend, who owns an art gallery, hosted the going-away party at the gallery. It was delightful. We made an appearance and scooted away within a half-hour so as to catch Our Man on 60 Minutes. 

LO finished her project while we were gone. I thought it turned out well. Here's at a pic. 

An Illustrated Life

I have almost always journaled. When I was a kid I routinely journaled in the recognizable black-and-white speckled lined books. I saved all these journals as well as my filled-to-overflowing scrapbooks into my adult life. When the kids and I lived in Virginia, our town experienced a 100-year flood and our basement was filled. Alas, my journals and scrapbooks were all a sodden mess. The lovely little dolls my father brought from his travels were lost as well.
The loss of all my journals broke my heart and set my journaling backwards for several years.
Nowadays I journal on paper as well as online. And, yes, they are different.
I am intrigued by the need to journal. Some folks have it -- some don't.
I had a gf one time who was horrified when her brother read the journals of their deceased mother.
My journals are intended to be read. If I sound grumpy, then, hey, it was a grumpy day. I don't have any hidden mass-murder plans in there or any hate vendettas. I am a basically happy person and I would think the journals probably reflect that. Yes, there are situations in my life that I am frustrated with. They're in there, but then, if you are my family, you already know about them, anyway.
I love to see folks journaling in coffee houses. I sometimes take the time to do it, myself. Unfortunately the coffee houses in our town don't afford a cosy corner or overstuffed chair, my favorite settings for journaling.
The film is from Danny Gregory, a fellow in NYC who draws and journals. I have written about him before. Can't wait for the book!

New Song

One of the shows I enjoy on NPR is Marketplace. Aptly named, it recaps the day's activity in the markets.
The producers have a wry sense of humor. Depending on the economic news for the day, they play one of two songs. On a good day, they play, "We're in the Money." On a bad one, they play, "Stormy Weather."
Today, they mentioned the prime minister of Australia, who had commented that the resolution to the global economic woes was a sunny outlook.
They closed the show with a new song, first time ever.
It was Bobby McFerrin: "Don't Worry, Be Happy."

Lester Brown

I do admit I have conflicting feelings about celebrity.

I remember one day years ago, when I was married to a very different fellow. He owned four restaurants. One evening, there was a festival and I was outside the first, main, restaurant, at the podium admitting guests with reservations. XH came outside. "Guess what! Larry Czonka is inside! Would you like to come sit on his lap?" Apparently inside the restaurant legions of giggling females were lining up to sit on the man's lap.
Confused, I turned to look at XH. "Why would I sit on his lap?" I was truly bewildered.
"Well, he won the Super Bowl 12 years ago!"
In retrospect, I realize XH was confused at my own confusion.
"Er, has he done anything lately?"
XH clearly thought I was being mean. I really just didn't get it.

Although this retelling clarifies why he is X-H -- parallel lines of communication, never converging -- it demonstrates my own feelings about celebrity.

Last night the local college hosted a speaker who is known round the world: Lester Brown. Please click on that hyperlink! It is amazing.

I had made reservations to go, last month when the college hosted two speakers who rehabbed 60's-style rancher houses, both in "green" fashion.

Our little college has clearly made a commitment to distinguishing itself by being involved in the environmental movement. We have a lovely Center for the Environment. The building itself is amazing. Heated by geothermal. Bamboo floors. Recycled carpets. Dual-flush johns. I forget all the bells & whistles. The director is recognized pretty much nationally. So they sponsor speakers pretty much every month.

I was considering not attending as I have a wicked cold, the second in a month.

LO was sleeping over with a gf, as today is a school holiday. DH was working last night. It was actually the perfect evening for some Me Time. Still, I was thinking about staying home.

I worked all morning, writing, and cleaned the LR in the afternoon. We had had a fire in the fireplace recently and all the furniture had a fine film of ash. I had not yet gotten the shutters or bookshelves when DH asked me if I, in fact, planned to go to the presentation. I really just did not feel too great.

"I don't know," I demurred. "I'm really on a roll in the LR."

"Listen," DH said. "The LR will always be right here. You admire Lester Brown and he is only here once. Promise me you will go."

So, I went. It was crazy as a gf called me to come over and help her on the computer. Then I had to ferry LO's bag to her gf's house. All this was between 5 and 6. The doors for the presentation opened at 6. I had to hustle.

But I did. It was... wonderful.

When Lester came out, he was just as humble as could be. It was sort of amazing. Pressed shirt, signature bow tie, sport coat, khakis and running shoes. At 75 or so, he is trim and fit.

You know how, when you watch a Shakespeare play, you stay a line or two behind in the dialogue as your brain translates the lines into what you can understand? Or when you are speaking with someone in your second language? That's how I was last night.

He reeled numbers off the top of his head with facility. I am wishing now that I had taken notes. He spoke with passion about opportunities for wind-generated electricity. A nationwide power grid. The cost of nuclear vs. wind. The opportunity to drive hybrid cars with the optional additional battery and plug-in pack, powered with electricity from wind. No emissions! -- not even from the power generation~! 142 mpg vs. the normal 48. This is only one elementary example of his many concepts.

I guess it was actually part of a book tour, as he was speaking from his latest book, Plan B, 3.0. If you haven't read it, please do. If you haven't read it, please don't slam his concepts.

I chose to skip the reception and book-signing. I did not want to sniffle and cough on folks, and really wanted to just put on my jammies and have a cup of tea. So I headed home.

My head was reeling as I left. I was so energized, so inspired, so motivated, that I actually had a hard time settling down for bed.

This is a conservative town. Yet the auditorium was packed -- mostly with adults from town, not college students. The man got TWO standing ovations: one when he completed his remarks, and one when Q&A was over. He humbly waved us off.

The man has devoted his adult life to making our planet a better place. He looks into the future to see what can be, and works to make it happen. He challenges us to do our parts. He meets with heads of state to consult on resolutions to perplexing problems. He could have retired years ago. But his work isn't done. So, he keeps working.

Now, that's celebrity.

With the Wrench

I know you were dying to know: it was Miss Scarlet in the kitchen with the wrench. :)

Normalcy

DH and I took a half hour today together to go to the market together. I had a specific list, and typically zoom only to those aisles containing items on my list.

DH as always had another perspective. "I like to go up each aisle and see what they have." So we browsed the store and just enjoyed each other. President-elect Obama had just spoken and we were all comfy in our new-found happiness. So, we perused this and that.

Arriving at the checkout line with a buggy full of goodies, the young fellow asked us if we had a big Friday night planned. I pointed out our Redbox DVDs, popcorn, and taco shells. "Well, we have an extra 13-year-old tonight. We are making tacos, playing Clue, and watching movies."

At first he smirked at what a silly evening we had in store. Then he sobered up, and said, "Actually, a good game of Clue sounds like fun. I haven't played in forever."

While we were making tacos, another 13-year-old came over, so now we have 2 guests. We ate, played Clue and are preparing for movies.

It's been a great night. Normalcy. Highly underrated.

Sports Banquet

LO's sports banquet was tonight. Now, last night was Report Card Pickup and we had a hot dog supper. Tonight was a sports banquet. You'd expect it to be different from the hot dot supper, right? Well, life has its little ironies. 

Last year, they had one sports banquet and it took THREE HOURS to give recognition to all the athletes. Thank you! -- this year they decided to have a banquet for fall sports and then one in the spring. 

Each athlete received a certificate for participating, and a brass pin with the symbol for his sport. LO's pin is a tennis racquet. The cheerleaders got megaphones, and the football players got helmets. 

Each sport had awards for Most Improved, MVP, and best sportsmanship. In tennis, it was a given that the MVP would go to both our top two players, first and second seed. Both of them were unbeaten all season. I wondered if LO would receive Most Improved, as she did improve tremendously this season. This award was also given to two players, one 8th grader and one 7th grader.

I have to admit I teared up when she got the award for being the best sport on the team. She often gathered up her 8th-grade friends to go courtside and cheer for the 7th graders in their matches. She encouraged her opponents. She made a point to find them after the match and give them another 'good game.' And in the toughest match of the season, she had a 10-minute argument on the courts over the score. The opponent was misstating the score  -- in LO's favor -- and LO knew that it was incorrect. 

Finally the coaches came out onto court and finally agreed that LO was correct -- that her score was a bit lower than the opponent was saying. 

I. am. proud.

LO before the banquet with the 7th grade players. (LO is an 8th grader.)

Report Card Day

ROCK ON, Little One!!

...and yes, she got texting: the long-awaited reward!

A New Day

Deal o' the Day

Last night at a Gobama party, I promised some friends I would publish the address of the cool website where I ordered a free bluetooth device for my phone. Works great! I also got a cool set of speakers for my iPod. In both cases, I paid $2.99 shipping. I am happy with both gadgets more than $2.99 worth. 

Here is the address:

www.1saleaday.com

Today's offering is an 8gb SD for your camera, phone, or Palm. If you have followed the prices at the store, it generally averages about $10 a gigabyte, so that a 4gb card costs about $40. So an 8gb for $10 is not bad. Today's item is not the headline brand, but oftentimes they are. My bluetooth, for example, is a Jabra. The offering changes daily; bookmark it and check it daily.

Looks Like

It's early: 11:40 Eastern Time. They are calling it Obama. McCain just acceded the race to Obama.

Call me skeptical. I want Obama to win. I really do. I was not alive when Truman won, but I did see the photo in the history book of Truman holding the newspaper that proclaimed, Dewey Wins! As the child of a newsman, it made an impact. So I'm not taking anything for granted.

IF this is true. If it can be. IF some crazy person doesn't do something really, really stupid, I will be so happy.

btw, did you see the film of Jesse Jackson crying? Tears streaming down his face. Not a trickle. A stream.

I'm not black. I cannot say I truly understand how he -- and many black Americans -- feel.

I can only say I have hope for America for the first time in a long, long, time.

We are flying our flag tomorrow for the first time in eight long years.

:)

Election Day

It's finally Election Day.

It's none too soon. During this presidency, we have been lied to, disappointed, ripped off, and our young people have been put in danger, injured, and killed. Our VA has often let them down, put them through hoops, failed to recognize mental injuries, and provided inadequate facilities.

We have declined to work with other nations to save the earth.

Ironically during the presidential term of an oil company owner, oil companies have made record profits -- at our expense.

Unemployment is at record highs.

People have lost their homes.

The budget surplus has evaporated and been replaced with record deficits, largely caused by a war we entered based on a LIE.

Sigh. I pray God The Sham is almost over.

Don't Vote

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

Halloween 2008

The neighborhood Halloween parade was last night. This little girl wore her dad's costume from 22 years ago. Her mom added the pink bows to help in gender recognition.

My gf M and family dressed up as devils. They are good Episcopalians, btw. Costumes just for fun!

LO's math teacher is quite the seamstress. Her granddaughter, the butterfly, has placed in the contest every year. We awarded her last night, too.

The fellow with the gold face got first place in "storybook characters." We mistakenly called him the Statue of Liberty, but alas, he was Apollo. I guess the Statue of Liberty would have a green face. Whatever. His costume was simple, but elegant.

Another gf and I were judges and we gave Recycling Man an award in "most original."

Three brothers dressed as the Three Musketeers. They also won in "Storybook."

Not sure what the girl in white was, but she placed in "Prettiest."

Aww.

The little witch in purple shares my first name. She did not want compete in "Scariest" as she is a pretty witch. Needed a more rustic broom, though.

The girl in the coffin was the best costume overall. Her coffin hung from straps over her shoulders. The legs in the coffin are only a stuffed pair of tights. Her real legs are walking around under the skirted coffin. Ingenious! Notice the raven perched on her knee.

We used to get the same cop every year, but he has been promoted out of the parade beat. :) This guy mingled with the kids, handing out candy. He did a great job leading the parade. Lights, yes. Siren, no. It makes the babies cry.

A good night overall. We had far fewer participants this year. Possible reasons: Halloween being on a Friday this year, some parents ditched the kid thing to attend parties of their own. Also the biggest HS football game of the year was last night. Whatever the reason, I hope it picks back up next year.