Sunday Morning Alone

It is a cold, grey and rainy Sunday morning.

And I am alone. I did not go to church. I got up at 7:15 (late for me), enjoyed a slow cup of coffee, and read the paper.

I have gotten out of the habit of blogging my articles in the local paper, but there is one today. You can see it here.

DH and LO went on the twice-a-year, Daddy-and-child camping trip. Friends from church have 100 acres in the mountains about 2 hours from here and they invite 6 or 8 daddies to bring their children for a long weekend of camping, cooking over a fire, and random outdoor adventures. They take a trip in the fall and one in the spring. I believe this is the 3rd or 4th trip for DH and LO.

I hear they have a zipline about 30 feet long. The land features a good big creek for splashing, building dams, and general wet fun.

One time the dads brought shotguns, ear protection and hay bales for shooting lessons. They taught the children gun safety and let them shoot under supervision. (Shudder. "Gun Safety" is the biggest oxymoron I can think of.)

DH sometimes lets LO drive his old Mercedes, whom we have nicknamed Mr. Edison (for reasons to be shared in some other blog entry), across the fields. It's good practice and quite the confidence-builder.

Kids of all ages come, beginning at about age 5 and going up to high school. Regardless of age, the kids play together and have adventures.

They often take pictures. All the pictures have 3 things in common.

1. The kids ALL have a bad case of bed-head.
2. They typically have dirty faces and fingernails.
3. Every one of them is wearing the same thing: A BIG SMILE.

I am off to clean house. I know they will bring home a huge pile of muddy clothes and shoes. I need a clean slate so I can keep up.

I Wish I Could Write Like Her

Subtle and not-so, acutely intelligent, she spins a word like no one else. I envy her writing.

Heating Pad Required

"Hey, Nana, where you going?"
"I have a mammogram scheduled this morning."
"What's that?"
"It's a test to see if you have breast cancer. They put your boob on a plate and.."
"Eww. NO! STOP!"
"...And then another plate comes down and smashes it flat so it can take a picture of the insides.."
"EWWW. NO!" (Putting hands over ears.)
"...And the lady always has cold hands. She always apologizes, though. 'Sorry, my hands are cold...' "
"Stop it, Nana!"
"...And wouldn't you think, if you were a professional boob-handler, you'd keep your hands on a heating pad? I mean, that's your total job, moving boobs around..."
(LO runs from room)
"...What? I was just saying..."

Grammar Geek

It's a heavy burden to be such a grammar geek. I'm not even that well-spoken, yet a split infinitive, comma blunder, or misuse of a word can send me into a real funk, or paroxysms, depending on the day.
Yesterday. Easter day. We are in church. DH is up front playing some of the finest backup guitar it's ever been my privilege to hear. The pre-church announcements are showing up on the big screen, keeping the congregation attentive until the service starts. And...there it is.

"Habitat for Humanity BBQ Dinner.

I cringe. I look away. I look back. Yep, it's still there.
I can wait all day for the other shoe to drop. It's not going to.
Finally the fellow in front of me is looking around to see who is coming in to church on time. It is Easter, after all. "Why the frown?" he asks. I point at the big screen. By this time the slide has advanced to another announcement. He reads it and turns to me with a puzzled look.
"It's already gone," I whisper. "Habitat for Humanity." I make air quotes with only one hand. "They did not close the quotation marks."
Uncomfortable pause.
"It makes me crazy."
He smiles. "It bothers me, too," he sympathizes. Yet deep inside I resent him. "I know you are not as crazy on it as I am," I am thinking.

It's church. Charity begins at home. It's Easter, for Heaven's sake. Can't I just let it go?

But I can't.

Listening to NPR today. On Fresh Air, Terri is interviewing the author of a new book, "The Ten Year Nap." She reads from her book and says the young woman looks around at all her baby gifts and the 'detritus from the shower.' She pronounced it, "de-TRITE-us." Hm. I never really knew, but I've always pronounced it, "DEH-tritus." Short "i" in the middle. Came home and actually looked it up. Not because I was sure I was right, but because I wasn't. And I needed to know. Had to.

How weird can one person be?

BTW. It is: de-TRITE-us. I feel better, just knowing. I knew you would, too. :)

Easter 2008

Sigh. Four, count 'em FOUR of LO's lunchboxes are AWOL at the middle school. I packed lunches in paper bags until I ran out. She doesn't like paper bags as her frozen juice pack gets the bag all wet; she likes me to put the juice pack in a ziplock. I hate using even more ziplocks so the last week or two, she has actually purchased school lunches. Ick. Several days she has gotten in the car and reported that she did not eat. Anything.













So I searched for a really cute lunchbox. One she will not want to lose. One her peers might recognize as being hers, when they see it wherever it is that lunchboxes go. I wanted to make The New Lunchbox an Event, not wanting to just integrate it into the normal landscape. All this is in an effort to keep it around for a while. We just have one more quarter left in this school year.













So, I packed Easter in it. Totally ignored the whole traditional basket thing, and used the lunchbox instead. Here's a pic:

What's amazing is how much I got into the thing: Three new headbands, 2 new watches, 2 nightgowns, a pair of new sunglasses, a box of Peeps, a dark chocolate egg 5" high by 3" diameter, and a ton of jellybeans and Reese's eggs.

She totally made the Easter Bunny cake. Here are a pic and her story:

Hey, Evry1!!! Its me LO... (as i am called on here)

I made a cake!!! ik what ur thinking, yea right she got a little help like getting it out of the oven or something, nope no help at all TEE HEE!!! Well nana gets some credit, she did the eyes, nose, whiskers(in which i dont really like the idea of dental floss on a cake but....), and mouth. I dont know what else to say so... i gtg do w/e i gtg do... C u l8ter ppls

Im out...

No Catch!

For the record, there was absolutely no catch. Exchanging the glasses was as simple as returning a pair of shoes, except that I had to wander the mall for an hour while they made the new ones up. Cheerful, courteous, and absolutely no judging of me for not liking the glasses I seemed to like 2 weeks ago. The new ones cost $8 more and, as I emailed my DMIL, I couldn't pay it fast enough, to be rid of those BLUE glasses.
I rarely, make that, never, go to malls alone. If I have to go, and I usually prefer not to, I have LO with me and we are looking at size 5 trendy outfits or Rocket Dogs. Ha! It occurs to me that name could really be misread if someone did not know what RD's are. They are the latest adolescent trend around here in shoes. So I strolled the mall in perfect silence and just looked and looked. Did not buy a thing. Did not fall in love with malls, either.
It's nice to be home. To have glasses I don't hate.
It's the simple things in life that make it worth the living. If that's not a line in a song, it should be.

The Busy Week

The 3rd week of every month is The Busy Week. It seems all my planets collide on this week; all sorts of monthly meetings are scheduled for this week and invariably we have a band concert of some sort as well as a deadline for an article. This week we had the All-County Band Concert last night, not one but TWO deadlines, and all the meetings that fall during this week.
My editor last week mentioned that she was working on 9 or 10 articles. No wonder she is having memory problems.

Writing a blog is a funny thing. I love writing in it and try to do so several times a week. However, I directed an old, old friend to it last week and suddenly had Blog Anxiety.

This fellow was my sweetheart when I was 12, 13, 14 and a lttle when I was 15. We have kept touch over the years, off and on, and we "found" each other and emailed last week. In the course of "what have you been up to" I included a couple of links to blog entries of note: the day DH had the accident that took a finger, and maybe one or two others. Probably garbage day. I haven't heard from him since. Yikes!

All this has caused me to wonder: What causes me, and others, to keep a blog? My DIL keeps a lovely blog, mostly photos of her children. It helps all the grandparents to feel in touch with them despite being so far away.

My other DIL keeps a blog that is mostly text-based. She shares lessons from their home-schooling, the ups and downs of military life, and quotables from her three precious children.

My DS2 keeps a blog, mostly text, with an occasional film entry, chronicling his zany outlook on life. BTW, he sent me an email yesterday with a wonderful quote:

"He attacked everything in life with a mix of extraordinary genius and naive
incompetence, and it was often difficult to tell which was which." -
Douglas Adams

What a lovely quote. I would fancy having it on my gravestone one day.. .

So, why do I blog? I guess it is primarily a form of self-expression. In much the same way a painter paints to express himself, I blog. Sometimes I am writing for my children and in-laws to see what is going on in the family. Sometimes I just vent on the injustices I observe, or my pet peeves. One key peeve has the middle initial "W." Heh, heh, my brother emailed me today and said,

"I check your blog daily and enjoy it, despite the left-wing Democrat propaganda
that sometimes finds its way into your posts."

Sometimes I blog just because it's a handy place to write and thoughts come to mind in such a perfect stream that I feel, "I've got to write that down." And the blog is the most convenient format to do that. It beats having papers scattered about. Or having Word Docs that no one will ever read...that will be lost when this computer ultimately crashes (as they all ultimately do.)

So. I am off to nearby Small-Town-That's-a-Tad-Larger-than-This-One, the one with a nationally-known NASCAR track. I bought glasses there at a chain eyeglass store, and the more I wear them, the more I think the glasses are all you can see when I walk in a room. They promise if you don't like your glasses, you can return them anytime within 30 days of purchase. I just called to ask what's the catch. She assured me that there is none. So I am off to pick out another pair. Wish me luck.

Invention Nation

DH introduced me to a cool new show on TV tonight: Invention Nation, shown on the Science Channel. 3 guys travel in a van powered by biodiesel (restaurant grease) to see innovations in power, generated by natural sources. Tonight was an Invention Nation fest of sorts, with several episodes linked back-to-back, so it was a great rainy night to curl up by the fire and discover a new show. We saw several houses heated and cooled purely with ingenious construction designs, a solar-powered pickup truck, a community here in NC called Earthaven, that produces its own power and has many other cool features, and much, much more. If you have access to the Science Channel, I highly recommend it. In fact, I recommend it even if you don't. Go to someone elses' house and watch it. :)

Our Fallen Heroes

Baby I Will Wait for You

Last year, Little One played piano for the school talent show.

The show is a big deal at the school. Kids have to have signed permission slips to audition for it. Those who are chosen stay after school every day for three weeks to practice. The EmCee position is a hotly contested spot, and kids vie for it. Last year it was shared by two girls.

After all this work, the hour-long variety show is shown to the student body at large in an assembly-type presentation, and that night the efforts culminate in a dress-up show for the community. It's a free event, but quite a night for these kids.

Last year, the acts included her piano piece and one other -- a highly gifted 8th grade boy who played Chopin with beauty, skill, and grace. LO played the theme from the Young & the Restless -- although she did not know at the time that that was what it was. To her, it was just a song in her piano book. I forget what the real name of the piece is. But to you and me, it's the theme to Y&R. Other acts were a girl playing the guitar, boys on skateboards doing tricks set to music from a CD, and several girl groups singing to CD's. A boy told original jokes, jokes on teachers, students, all in good fun. Nothing hurtful. That's all I remember from last year.

LO did fine. She did not practice except for the after-school sessions. At the evening performance, she missed a couple of notes and was quite upset about.

I wondered at the time if she would participate again.

Well, it's Talent Show time again. Two weeks ago, she asked me to find the sheet music to Elliot Yamin's song, Baby I will Wait for You. I googled it and found a service that will download it for printing for only a few dollars on your credit card. How cool! Much better than a drive to Nearby Large City's music stores, or a US Mail transaction.

So we downloaded the sheet music and printed it. She literally took it from the printer to the piano and began playing. I was shocked!! ...and so proud.

Since then, she has practiced it tirelessly. Took it to her piano teacher for help. He advised her to sing with it as it is really a vocal-type song, not a performance-type song. There is quite a bit of repitition in it.

Tryouts were today. She practiced over an hour last night. DH and I were upstairs watching Idol. (NOTE: She voluntarily missed Idol to practice..? hmm. Serious. ) "I can't do this!" she lamented. "I don't want to do it. I'm no good."

DH and I exchanged glances, trying not to look confused. Did she need support, or permission not to do it? We took the easy way.

"You sound great. I am so proud of you." This was my contribution.
"You don't have to do it. If you don't enjoy it, don't do it." This from DH.

Finally we suggested she video herself playing and singing. Look at it objectively. Decide for yourself if it's what you want it to be at this point.

She bought the idea. Moments later, we heard her practice again, then...the thin repeat of it, coming from her video cam.

Apparently she was happy enough with it. She auditioned today, and made it. Said she shook. Said her stomach hurt. Said she does not want to do it, might fail.

I listened. "You don't have to do it," I told her. Waited a few minutes.

Then I said, as offhandedly as I could, "Am I brave when I brush my teeth?"
Startled, she looked up. "Uh, no?" Wondered where it was headed.
"Am I brave when I tie my shoes?"
"When I load the dishwasher?"

"No, no, no."

"Right. Courage doesn't mean NOT being afraid. It's pushing on when you ARE."

So. She's practicing. Into her 2nd hour today. She just dropped into the office here where I am typing. "Get ready, Nana." I looked up. "You are going to get sick of this song."

Smiled, ducked out. Back to the piano.

We'll YouTube the performance.

New Article

Working on an article for the local paper that I'm really excited about -- NOT because the news is earth-shattering, in fact, NOT that it's news at all. It's about creativity. The pictures will be a key element.

I am so psyched about the visuals that I am putting together a film. More to come later...

Hail to the Chief

You know how you sometimes mindlessly whistle a tune while you work? That's what LO is doing right, now as she works on her Reading Project.

This is a major project. The students had to read a biography of their choice and then select one item from each of three areas: Visual, Class Participation, and Written.

The options for Visual were such items as "create a video of a scene in the book"; "create a scuplture of the character -- use any combination of soap, wood, clay, sticks, wire, etc." "build a miniature stage setting of a scene in the book. Include a written explanation of the scene." LO chose, "Make three pictures about the book using two or more of the following media: paint, crayons, chalk, paper, ink, real materials."

There were 6 options for the Written component. One of them was, "Select a national issue. Compose a speech to be given on that topic by the character in the book. Be sure the contents of the speech reflect the character's personality and beliefs." LO chose the option, "Write a multiple-choice quiz of the book: 30 questions. Develop them from the beginning, middle and end of the book."

Finally, the Class Participation component offers 6 components from which to choose. One of them is, "Create a board game based on events and characters in the book. By playing the game, members of the class should learn what happened in the book. Your game should include: a game board, a rule sheet and clear directions, events and characters from the story on cards or on the game board." LO chose to "Imagine that you are about to make a feature-length film of the biography you've read. You have been instructed to select your cast from members of your Language Arts class and tell why you selected each person for a given part. Consider both appearance and personality. Write a short script and have them act their part."

Whew.

It's pretty interesting which biography LO selected to read: Stalin. She is 12. Other kids chose to read about sports heroes, movie icons, legendary heroes of the past. I was with LO when she asked the librarian for help. "I'd like to read about a dictator, please," she said in her sweet voice. The librarian tried to guide her to more wholesome lives. "How about Helen Keller, dear?" "No, thank you," she asserted. "I'd like to read about a dictator."

So. She read about Stalin.

It caused a pretty big rift with one of her closest gfs. The girlfriend comes from a pretty conservative family where everything is black-and-white. She confronted LO after school about choosing Stalin. "He was so bad. Why are you reading about him?" LO had read just enough of the book at that point to recognize Stalin's humanity. "He was a bad leader. He killed people. But don't you think it's fascinating that he was born into a poor family and took over all of Russia? How did he do that?" The argument escalated. Shouting. "Shut UP!" Fingers were pointed.

Fortunately it was at about that moment that I pulled up in the Mommy Line. Another moment or two and it may have come to blows. LO came to the car with her head bent; burst into tears as she approached the car. "Uh-oh," I thought. Got in the car, slammed the door. After just a moment of silence, she began to scream. The more she screamed, the angrier she got. Her face was contorted. Her jaw shook with rage. It was sort of scary to watch.

Half a block past the school, I pulled the car over. Gave her tissues. Found a bottle of water in the back seat and gave it to her. I never said a word.

She continued to rant as we drove home. She yelled about the girl not listening to her. About her putting her finger in her face. About her saying, "Shut up." (This is a bad word in our house.)

What she was really crying about was about being misunderstood. About her not understanding someone who wouldn't try to understand.

I did not say a word all the way home. Believe me -- I really did not.

LO went to the restroom soon as we got in. (She always does. There is no soap in the girls' rooms at school, so she does not use them.) She was still crying.

I grabbed 2 jackets and headed back downstairs. "LO, come down to the car when you are done..." I called. In the garage I grabbed her tennis racket and a bucket of balls.

She got in the car and we drove to City Park. "Hit them as hard as you can," I instructed her. Boy, she did. Spiked ball after ball out of the courts. I ran for them. Threw them back. She hit them. Over and over. Every now and then she would start to wear out and I would egg her on: "Hit harder!" And she did. At one point, the ball hit me square in the...chest. Ouch. I was saying the Pledge of Allegiance for several minutes. Still have a bruise.

The weather prior to that day had been sunny and warm. That particular day, the winds were about 40mph and definitely chilly. We were working hard but my hands were freezing. I know hers were, too.

We did not take a break. We did not talk. She hit. I threw them back.

After 35 minutes, we had several out in the field. I told her, "Hit these last few over the fence and we'll go pick them all up."

Finally, we got in the car and turned on the heat. Started the drive home. "Thanks, Nana," she said. "I thought you would probably buy me ice cream to make me feel better."
"You're welcome."
"I was already mad about that. I didn't want ice cream. I wanted to smash it in your face. But you did this. It was 'way better."

We began to laugh. We laughed. And laughed. And cried. And laughed some more.

The next day the gf and LO talked and came to an understanding.

And so, now she is in the dining room. She has completed one acrylic portrait of Stalin. She has written her script and her multiple-choice test. Now she is sketching his birthplace in pencil, and will finally do a portrait of his first wife.

And, she is whistling. The tune?

"Hail to the Chief."

They're Just Durn Birds

Before you watch this clip, I'd like to introduce the principals.

Jon Lakey is the mellow and strong photographer who visits our house every now and then to take pictures of bits of food on the plate. He tosses a grape here, makes crumbs there, and adjusts his mylar parasols to get the lighting just right. He's a good soul and truly cares about doing his best on everything he does.

Clyde Overcash is an... anomaly. At first I just knew him as the fellow who crashes your yard sale and tries to get everything for nothing so he can mark it up and put it in his antique shop. Later I realized he is a local institution. He writes letters to the paper. He visited City Council to have his 3-minute say on...nothing. He just sat there in total silence. When the timer rang, he stood up and walked out. He feels strongly about his opinions, as I guess we all do, but it seems to be of more importance to him, to take a stand on things. He's a talented painter with pieces hanging in most homes in town.

Now. Check out this piece. It's only 3 minutes long. How busy can you be?

Of Dust Bunnies and Other Things

Ah, it's spring. The birds are singing. Buds have appeared on the lifeless-looking limbs. Forsythia and daffodils are peeking out their heads. And -- the pets are shedding.

We love our pets, and greet them by name as they enter the room. "Hey, Dan," we call, as he walks in. "Yow," he tosses back, and thump! hurls himself on his side for a nap. "Hi, Precious!" I greet Spencer as she sidles in. "Mow?" she reaches up to tap my arm as I type. "Not now, darling," I regret as I work. We don't really get the chance to greet Tucker when she comes into a room, as she is always IN the room. As we move about the house, she tends to follow. Mostly we grant or deny permission for a lapsit, or agree to a quick spin about the neighborhood.

As we return from a walk, or come up from the garage, Spencer runs to the door to greet us. "You're back!" her eyes say, and she kisses Tucker's nose to welcome her.

We are a family of six and all six of us have always known it. That said, only three of us tend to leave our coats about the floor by the handful. Two longhair cats and a longhair dog are a sure recipe for frequent vacuuming -- make that perpetual vacuuming in the spring, as their winter coats fall out.

DH and I chat about this or that and pluck random bits of fur floating about in the air. Dust bunnies as big as your fist emanate from behind doors or under furniture, mere hours after I vacuum. And, yes, I do vacuum behind doors, and move all the furniture except the beds. It's just a quantity thing.

I just don't have the time to vacuum every day. I vacuum twice a week, and Swiffer in-between. Still, the dust bunnies prevail. But I wouldn't trade our three furry friends for the world. As with other family members, you recognize their negatives and love them all the more.

Infomercials

Swivel Sweeper, makeup, pet joint spray, organ enhancement drugs, exercise dvd's, weight machines, steam-a-way, juice machines, home businesses, wrinkle remover cream.

The tea did not work. Relaxation podcasts did not work. Waking up DH and asking him to cuddle did not work.

Infomercials did the trick.

We got a sample of Advil PM with our newspaper yesterday. I warmed our beanbag, got a glass of milk, took the Advil, curled up with a blanket and watched infomercials.

I was truly searching for something to watch. Hoped for an old society comedy with Billie Burke. All I could find was infomercials.

Four ladies on a couch, being interviewed by a young man. Prominently displayed cleavage.
"I dated a guy for four years. He was a wonderful guy. But we just did not DO IT very often. He was small."

"Would you have done it more often if he had been larger?"

"Oh, definitely."

Click.

"It picks up bolts. It gets rice. Other cleaners don't get under the furniture, around the legs. Watch how we..."

Click.

"One spray and see how she runs and plays like she hasn't in years."

Click.

You get the idea. I drifted off sometime after 4am and was delighted to hear LO and DH handling a morning without me at 6:30. Slept in til 8:00. Ahh.

Insomnia Bites

I have recently (past 2-3 years) begun to experience insomnia if I partake of wine. Two to three years ago it occurred if I had more than 2 glasses of wine. The phenomenon has increased so that about 6 months ago, I began to experience it if I drank more than a glass. Now it often happens if I have any wine at all.

Being a good-natured girl, I have pretty much given up wine. But we had a fantastic dinner tonight and I shared a beer with my DH.

Here I am. 1:45 am and I have listened to 3 strikings-of-the-clock: 12:30, 1:00, 1:30. Finally I got tired of rolling about in the bed and just got up.

This dinner was great. We had some of everything left so I called a single neighbor to see if she would like a free dinner to take home. She was skiing in Colorado but her roommate answered so I asked her. She brought over her bf, an Italian fellow, whom she met in Hungary. They brought a tiny bit of cheese from his region in Italy as a ty gift. We will enjoy that another night! I had them eat the appetizer here so it would be just perfectly warm, and gave them a go-plate of dinner to take home.

I did not regret the absence of a dessert as we would NOT be able to eat another bite.

If you are not yet asleep from this terribly compelling narrative, I will share one more random thought before I finish my tea and try sleep one more time.

NPR had a delightful interview with Van Cliburn yesterday morning which I just have to share. You can read the interview but if you click on "listen here" you will hear the love in the man's voice for what he does. It really can't be replicated in print. It's just 17 minutes long and it will make your life a tiny bit richer.