Gallon of Ambition and my Pint Glass of Life

My DH knows for sure: I am in love with another man. A man I've never met. Who knows? He might snore and leave his drawers on the floor, too.

I'm talking about Danny Gregory, a self-taught artist who lives in NYC. Ever read the words of someone else and think, "Wow, that's EXACTLY how I feel, but he said it BETTER than I ever could have, if I had thought to say it at all.." For me, that's Danny.

Some years ago, Danny and his wife were a young, upwardly mobile couple with dynamic careers in NYC. They had just had a baby. Things looked good. The wife was on her way to work when she fell over the edge of the subway station. She. was. run. over. by. a. subway. train. Her spine was severed. She lived, but was paralyzed.I am probably botching the details; Danny says it all really well in his first book, Everyday Matters. Please read it.

She was in the hospital for weeks, maybe months, and Danny was left to care for the baby and try to figure out how they would go on when she came home in the wheelchair. I'm sure it was life-changing for her, but it was he who wrote the book, so I only know his side.

Finally, he began to draw. As an adult. It was his therapy.

Now he has a website and has written books promoting the philosophy that anyone can draw-- you just have to start. And draw. And draw and draw and draw. Now he is friggin' good. I love to draw and aspire to be decent at it one day, so I follow this guy on his website, have most of his books (but I have a birthday coming up! The titles I do not have are "Me Time" and "Change Your Underwear Twice a Week.")

Today by chance I read a post of his that had to do with ambition and accomplishing one's goals. I read it right here at the dawn of a new year, a time when I always think of my "gallon of ambition and my pint glass of life." It was meaningful for me. I am posting an excerpt here and hope that by crediting him -- I'll even post the hyperlink -- this is legal enough.

Here it is. The link is: http://www.dannygregory.com/?cat=28

My grandfather died last winter at 98 so I’m not even half his age yet. Maybe
I’m only approaching the midpoint of my life, or maybe I’ll have massive heart
attack and keel over at my desk this afternoon. There’s no telling. Regardless,
I know each day and hour are precious. But it’s hard to keep the relentless
tsunami of stuff, or responsibilities, of things I want to do, from swiftly
wiping each day off the board before I can even wipe the sleep out of my eyes.
Life moves quickly and the further along the road I get, the faster the pages
fly off the calendar. Knowing this, trying to hold it on my mind, can help me to
prioritize. But it’s still tough to keep the world at bay and to decided how to
spend my time well. Often I lie in bed and think, damn, when am I going to get
to read all those books I want to read or spend more time drawing with Jack or
more time cooking dinner with Patti. When am I going to get to live in
Micronesia or the South of France or in that little house in the meadow? When
will I get to spend two hours a day at the gym or four hours a day doing oil
paintings or six hours a day reading Proust? When will I learn Italian? Learn to
drive a motorcycle? Defend my heavyweight boxing title? I’m not filled with
regret because I somehow feel I will get to do these things. I’m just not sure
how or when. Perhaps my appetite is just larger than my calendar. Fortunately I
am often insomniac so I get to spend 3 to 4 a.m. thinking about stuff I didn’t
fit in during the day (most of it actually just anxious nonsense). Anyway, this
consideration of my gallon of ambition and my pint glass of life set me on the
way to a new project. It’s something I’ve mulled over for a while and finally
out into action. It’s an effort to really think about the things I wished I
could have fit into a day and then an attempt to fit one of them into the next
day.

The TV in the Room

CAN YOU FIND the TV in this picture of our Living Room?















Can you find it now?













How about now?

















You are VERY warm...

















Were you right?

Years ago, we bought a case of old books at an estate auction --$7.50 for the case. Sweet husband cut them on the bandsaw. I arranged them the way I wanted them, and he glued them on. Note the faux shelf in the middle, with bookmarks hanging over.

For years, the books were glued on a plain white piece of plywood. Hubby said over and over, "Surely someone can paint some shading to make this look real."

Last month I suggested my friend Mimi.

Hubby drove to her house and asked if she might be willing to take on the project in trade for some handyman work. (She is a recent widow.)

(By the way, check out the first picture. The bookshelves themselves were built by talented husband. ~i glow with pride~)

New Kitchen Door

Here is the old kitchen door, a louvered monster that we can't believe was original to the house. We imagine it was put in, for some ungodly reason, in the 80's. It was beige, and no matter how hard I scrubbed it, it looked like 20 years of nicotine. I. hate. beige.





Beside it are the carcasses of the old cabinets. At one point I had the bright idea to paint the back of a cabinet red and remove the cabinet doors to make a display of my crystal. DH hated the idea, so I put the doors back on and left the red inside. It does look like a hemorrhage, doesn't it?






Here is the new, old door, a six-panel in the basement. It was too short and too wide for the DR-kitchen door, but no fear.

It also had had doorknobs, and is now destined to be a swinging door. Hubby had to fill holes on each face of the door, and on the edge, as well.

Another view of original door.

Hubby removes the trim from panel #2 so I could take it to the glassmakers.






















Almost gave us a vision of what it would look like at the end.











Here is the door as he is working on the width and height. He cut the bottom off another basement door and, using dowels, added to the length of this one. He also trimmed width from each edge of this door to make it narrow enough for the doorway.

Look to the right! The new kitchen cabinets are miraculously in!

Dry-fitting it from the DR side.















Sanding for paint.

























Here you can see the notch for the swinging-door mechanism.













Ta-daa! Final product! I am loving it. TY, sweet hubby!

Check out that chrome at bottom of door! The hinge was originally chrome on kitchen side, brass on DR side. Alas, the brass was only plated, so he painted DR side, but polished up the chrome on kitchen side.

Ouch

I had thought my recent case of poison ivy was painful until yesterday, when I got the doctor's bill.

Ouch.

It wasn't a bill, per se, but an explanation of benefits from the insurance company. I had paid my $40 copay and moved on. Yesterday I saw the real costs.

The medical portion is listed as $12: cheaper, actually, than I had anticipated, and well worth the price. I would say it's easily worth more than $12 to me. I am allergic to poison ivy and swell up like a blowfish. Last time I had it, I wasted about $100 trying this OTC cure and that one from the local drugstore, before finally giving up and going in for a cortizone shot. The shot gives me almost instant relief. It stops the spread of the rash, and within 2 or 3 days, the rash begins to dry up.

This time I did waste a day or two with Ivy Dry (momentary relief from the pain, then more intense pain within 5 minutes of application) and Caladryl (some pain relief but continued spread of the gross, oozy rash). Finally I surrendered and called the physician's office. Because I was a work-in, I asked for the nurse practitioner.

My paperwork from yesterday shows that we were charged $94 for the office visit. I waited 42 minutes in the waiting room, and waited 10 minutes in the exam room. She examined my arm for about 2 minutes, and left to get the shot for me. I heard her in another exam room, examining another patient while I waited 20 minutes for the shot.

It took about 2 minutes to expose my bum to her and receive the shot.

When I try to imagine how my doctor, who is a heck of a nice guy, would justify $100 for 5 minutes of attention, I guess he would attribute parts of it to the billing clerk who took my check, the nurse who weighed me, the lights, the walnut furniture, and so on.

I wish I were normal and could just use the Ivy Dry.

I caught the poison ivy from a bale of pine straw from Lowe's. I did wear gloves, but the rash began on my upper wrist, just beyond the rim of the glove.

I have one more bale still in the garden, waiting to be spread. DH has suggested I tuck long sleeves into the gloves and wrap duct tape around the edge of the gloves. Somewhere along the way, I lost my enthusiasm for the whole thing.

She Sat and LOOKED at the Cookie

A year or so ago, our 10-year-old dog began NOT responding when I called her in.

First thing every morning, I let her run out in the yard to peepee. In the fall, spring and summer, I stand on the porch. I water my flowers, bring in the paper, pull a weed.

In the winter, I stand in the LR and watch Little Dog through the window.

After she is finished relieving herself, she likes to wander the yard and smell the smells. We get a good bit of foot traffic here in the Avenues, and it's my understanding that everyone who walks down our sidewalk leaves a teensy business card of odor along the way. I can't smell it, but LD can.

But I have other things to accomplish in the early morning. I have to fix breakfast. Dress. Do my hair. Make coffee. Wind the clocks. Take my vitamin. Take LO to school.

So I call her in. A year ago, as I said, she started not coming. I would call. I would clap my hands. I would say her name peppy--I would say it loudly--I would call it sing-song. She hummed along, sniffing the grass or the sidewalk. Was she ignoring me? or had she lost her hearing? I determined to find out.

So I bought dog cookies. We weren't in the habit of giving her treats at the time, so I surveyed the offering at the store, and selected Bac'n Beggin' Strips. Flavored with cheese.

It wasn't her hearing.

Now when she finishes up, she runs to the door. Sits on the mat and waits for me. Smiles.
The funny thing is, she and the cats are demonstrating Learned Behavior.
When LD comes promptly, I tell her, "Good Girl!"
So now, she thinks, "good girl" means, cookie.
Of course, she knows, "Cookie" means, cookie.

When LD goes out in the morning, the cats cluster by the front door, waiting for her to finish up. As she comes in and runs to the kitchen, they run with her.

You see, some months ago, I felt badly for them. She gets a cookie. They did not.

So I bought Kitty Cookies.

Now, All God's Children get cookies after LD peepees.

They all run to the kitchen and prowl around beside the cupboard where I keep the cookies.

Little Dog has to sit as I get the cookies out. When I have one in my hand, I ask her to Sit Up.

She does.

Today, I dropped her cookie. She was sitting, waiting, as usual.

She remained sitting, and looked at the cookie. Then she looked at me. The cats stopped their circling and looked at me.

This isn't how we do it, they were thinking.

So of course, I petted her, held up the cookie, and gave it to her.

Good dog.

Girlfriends

The three of us got together last night for the first time in forever. Ever since one of us moved to a larger city 40 miles away, it's been a struggle to maintain our gf time.

The two of us who remain in town have continued to support each other with irregular but consistent get-togethers: wine after the kids are in bed, coffee in the morning.

My gf here in town sadly lost her stepdad on Sunday. I called gf #3 to let her know. She came to town last night for the visitation, mostly to support our friend. At the funeral home, I offered to take her little girls home for reading and getting ready for bed; they had been there for an hour already. More than an hour at a funeral home is hard for anyone -- especially children.

So I whisked the little girls back to their house and the other 2 gf's came in by 8:30. We talked and laughed into the night: commiserating about the loss, hearing about a new job, and reviewing details about my campaign.

I came home a happy woman, thankful again for the gift of girlfriends.

Running for Office with a Teenager in the House

At first, I thought LO would be all gung-ho, helping me on the campaign.

When that didn't happen, I thought she would be all embarrassed. Why can't you be like other parents, and all that.

When that didn't happen, either, I realized you just can't predict this one. She's her own person, and that's that. I just accept whatever the MOD (mood of the day) is, and roll on.

So I was somewhat surprised, and more than a little pleased, last night at PTA when we saw a not-too-close neighbor.

"My Nana's running for City Council," LO said. "And she would appreciate your vote."

Afterwards, she saw me staring at her with my mouth gaping just a teeny bit.

"What?" she said. "You forgot to say it."

Water

Every day this summer, since 31.May, I have emptied my small dehumidifier in the basement THREE times a day. Its capacity is 2.5 gallons.
So for 117 days, I've emptied 7.5 gallons a day; total: 877.5 gallons of water. Where does it all come from? ...and where does it go?

Notes from the Laundry Room

It was years ago when I made the rule, "What the laundry lady finds, she keeps."

I had just washed a frog, and dried him, too, from a jeans pocket. Alas. He was dead.

I never mentioned him, until now. I made the rule so that everyone would worry about losing their money, and clean out their own pockets before throwing their clothing in the hamper. Maybe that way, they'd keep their frogs to themselves.

I never came across another frog, but I have washed lots of money. Hairbows, gummy worms, bubble gum, personal notes, matchbox cars, small dolls. DH is famous for leaving a Sharpie in the long, narrow pocket at the knee of his bib overalls. Last night I handed him an adjustable wrench and said, "Here. I washed it for you."

So when I found a $10 bill this morning, it was a great surprise. It's pretty likely that it was my own $10 to start with. But - just the chance that I scored an extra 10 from someone else, makes me smile.

A Simple Life

In a small house. Beans, and rice, and vegetables from the garden. A kitchen table beside a large window that overlooks the stream. A dog at my feet and a cat who comes in and goes out as if she were a person with a schedule.

Books, and music. Well-worn floors and a rug or two. A good fireplace. A good quilt.

No TV. And a black telephone that sits up high, with a heavy receiver and a coiled cord.

Campaigning is HARD Work

The first meeting was at 7am and I have been on the go since!

Just got home for the day -- and have to sell tickets at the ball game @ 6pm. :)

But it's been an amazing day --
Planning Board committee first thing,
then zoomed to Fireman's Memorial,
then appointments for ads.
Lunch with a supporter,
followed by coffee with another (a former mayor); OOPS! coffeehouse was out of campaign cards!
then picked up materials at the printer,
dropped by office supply,
scooped up LO to have eyebrows done,
dropped off more campaign cards by coffeehouse,
then HOME sweet HOME!

My Cat Walks on the Sidewalk

...but he walks right across my sleeping body as if I weren't even there.

Flintstones > Jetsons

DH and I sat on our newly-waxed porch this evening and discussed the movie we watched last night.
"Did you notice the parallels in their lives?" I asked.
Both embarked on food as a release. Both had adoring husbands. Both husbands suggested the Js' media: Paul suggested TV to Julia; Eric suggested blogging to Julie. Both Julie and Julia moaned, "They HATE me!" when faced with rejection. Both husbands listened rationally and explained what was actually happening.
Later I asked DH what his favorite cartoon was when he was a boy. The question was on a Facebook quiz and I wondered what his favorite was. He was unprepared to answer. "Hmm," he said. "I liked Tom & Jerry..."
Me, I was ready. First, when I was little, I loved Yogi Bear. As I got older, I really liked the Jetsons. At age 8 or 9, close to the end of my cartoon times, I liked The Archies. Sang their songs all week at Girl Scout camp that summer.
"Did you ever notice the parallels between the Flintstones and the Jetsons?" I asked. They were the same, just at opposite ends of history.
Yes, he said, but the Jetsons did not have neighbors like Barney and Betty. I like it when we have these sophisticated conversations!

Weather= Mood

So it is a totally gray, still, day. Temp: 83. Humidity: 99%. Not kidding.

I checked the weather website before waxing the outside edge of the front porch this morning. It promised me the chance of rain is only 10% all day long. Yet, I doubt. I waxed on faith, but I doubt.

All of us are droopy. Cats, dog, me. I took my Energy Drink, outside on the lovely, waxed porch, even. Did 45 minutes on the treadmill. Woopee. Still droopy. I think even the birds are droopy; they have not sung all morning.

Oh. I think I'll go put a sign on the porch just in case the mailman comes early. I'd hate for him to slip and mail goes everywhere....

Julie & Julia

DH and I went to see this movie tonight. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. IF you are a foodie, or a Julia buff, or a writer, or a woman. Or a guy who secretly loves Julia (as does my dear DH.) And who can't love some Nora Ephron? She is actually the only screenwriter/director/producer I pay attention to.

The movie (and the book) are about cooking. And aspirations. And BLOGGING. Which is why I am here.

I haven't blogged in so long, my website-filler-inner did not even fill in the words. It has never done that before.

So, yes, I am running for public office. And have a high-schooler who has extra activities every evening but Tuesday. And I'm terrifically busy. Running a campaign and vacuuming pounds of cat hair. Hey! This weekend I stripped and waxed the front porch. For two days. After campaigning AND working the homeless shelter. Whew.

But too busy to BLOG? I should be flogged.

Teensy little writing joke there.

I actually liked the movie, Julie & Julia better than the book, which I have almost never done! but I think it is because it offered insights into Julia's life as well. The movie was a melange of Julie Powell's book by the same name, and Julia Child's book, My Life in France.

So, after countless promises and commitments, to you, dear reader, and to myself, I pledge to blog. No matter how inane, how mundane, how insane, or profane. I. Will. Blog.

Til tomorrow.

63 Days til Election

With only 63 days to election, and only a week to Labor Day, things are heating up in the Blackwell household!

Although we filed for office in July, the campaign "proper" doesn't start in earnest until Labor Day, which is only a week away. Yikes! Here we go! I have that feeling you get at the start of a major roller coaster. What is in store for me on this ride?

In a town where the incumbents rarely have opposition, we have one encumbent stepping down, and a hearty field of 9 new candidates jockeying for his place. Yet the whole council could be ousted, as our local election is "at large," with the top five vote-getters being elected to council. Once elected, the new council appoints the mayor and mayor pro-tem. By tradition, but not by law, they select the person with the most votes for mayor and #2 for mayor pro-tem. But this tradition has never been broken. With a total of 13 candidates for 5 positions, it does indeed promise to be a wild ride.

I've already been overwhelmed by generous donors. By patient mentors. By encouraging friends, and encouraging strangers, who, oddly, know my name but I don't know them.

I've met neighborhood leaders, pastors, police officers, teachers, retired folks, and young folks.

I've attended conferences, meetings, committees, and neighborhood groups -- all in an effort to educate myself on the issues facing every corner of the city..

Some issues I hear over and over. Some are particular to one case or another. What I have learned is that folks are passionate about their city, and they all are eager to talk about it.

If you haven't dropped by my campaign website, take a minute to do so: www.MaggieBlackwellforCouncil.com. It's going to be a wild ride!

Thinking Deep Thoughts...

Well, I have gone and done it again, or should I say, NOT done it again. Too, too much time has passed since my last posting.

After years of intermittent checking on the website, I finally subscribed to The Writer's Almanac, a delightful daily brief written by Garrison Keillor.

I have listened faithfully to Keillor on Saturday nights for about 30 years. He is a tender spirit, a gracious man, and an excellent writer. Although, I must say he must not be the best husband, as he seems to have a string of ex-wives in his wake.

In the mornings I let the doggie out for a tinkle, wind all the clocks, pour my coffee, and then curl up in front of the PC to check my email.

Having only subscribed a few weeks ago, I am still a little surprised every morning when I see the email from them. "Oh!" and I anxiously click on it. I am never disappointed.

Reading The Writer's Almanac is a little like a vacation from the world. He takes me into a world of great people who wrote great things. Or of tragic people who wrote tragic things. Or of painters or scientists with great imaginations. He always includes some little-known fact about them and some trauma or joy or idiosyncracy.

The entire trip takes me about 2 minutes and I feel more literate, more in touch with people who wrote well and accomplished great things.

Here are some things I learned recently:

Alexis de Tocqueville was only 25 when he visited America. His first book was a collaboration with Gustave de Beaumont, whose work was not quite as successful as de Tocqueville's. Their book explored our prison system in the early 19th century, gee, I know nothing about that -- I wonder what they were like? ... and then returned back to Britain to continue to write about the States. Beaumont wrote about slavery and our hypocrisy, Land of the Free vs. slaves, and de Tocqueville wrote about, well, about everything American. At one time, he said,

"An American will build a house in which to pass his old age and sell it before
the roof is on; he will plant a garden and rent it just as the trees are coming
into bearing … he will take up a profession and leave it, settle in one place
and soon go off elsewhere."

And I just about believe he was right. I am trying not to be such a Now Girl.

Lawrence Raab wrote an achingly poignant poem about Ralph Waldo Emerson, who apparently suffered from Alzheimer's in his later years. The poem is entitled, "A Friend's Umbrella," and is definitely worth the time. It appeared in TWA on Wednesday, 29.July.2009.

Astronomer Maria Mitchell discovered a comet in 1847. She was a professor of astronomy at Vassar College. She wrote, "The more we see, the more we are capable of seeing." Take this thought out of astronomy and to the philosphic realm, and it makes perfect sense. The more insight you use into what people are really saying and thinking, the more you can see. It makes perfect sense to me. I wonder which way she really meant it?

And Francis Scott Key, whose birthday is today, wrote a beautiful, and sadly optimistic verse of the national anthem which we never sing:

"And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wiped out their foul footstep's pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. "

Please visit the site and subscribe for yourself. --OR-- you can subscribe to the podcast and listen to Keillor read it for you himself, in his deep and doleful voice. As I said earlier, I am never disappointed.

The Good New Days

We've all received emails remembering "The Good Old Days," when you could ride your bike to the corner store, drop it on the sidewalk, and go in and buy a brown bag of goodies -- for a quarter. Alone. Without fear of peril.

I have complained, myself, about the Thumb Generation. They don't go outside and play. Everything they want to do is electronic: texting, MySpace, Wii.

What happened to the Good Ol' Days?

Well I was thinking this morning about the Good NEW Days. Here are a few things I came up with.

PHOTOS. Having photographs processed used to take 2 trips to the drugstore: one to drop the film off, one to pick up the prints.
Now I go to Walgreens.com, upload my photo, and pick it up in an hour. One trip. One photo costs me 19 cents.

RX. Ditto that on prescriptions.
Now my physician sends it in to the drugstore via his laptop, and I drive through and pick it up on the way home. Pretty nice if you (or a cranky toddler) are running a fever.

MAIL. When I was little, the postman came twice a day: once at 9 and again at 2. We often received letters in the morning mail and replied with the evening mail. That doesn't happen anymore.
Now we send letters all day, every day. 2 am. 9 pm. Billions, who know how many, of notes, letters, words of encouragement, fly through space every day. Gives a whole new meaning to the term, "air mail."

NEIGHBORS. True, we don't chat over the back yard fence anymore while we hang out our clothes.
Now we gather at Starbucks or our local coffee house for weekly chats. Or gather on porches after the kids' bedtime for a glass of wine and the latest gossip.

FOOD. There are all sorts of conveniences today we just didn't have before. I remember it was a big deal when you could buy a chicken already cut up. When Jiffy Pop came out, we thought it was magic. Then came a device just for popping corn, basically a hot plate with a lid. Then the air poppers came out. Now, of course, we throw a bag in the microwave and eat it within 5 minutes.
I remember when the "tea" section at the grocery was about 1 foot square. Our choices were Tetley, Lipton, and the new Constant Comment. Now our grocery has a half an aisle dedicated to tea, from Africa or India; teas, tisanes, and herbals; teas that turn colors and teas that bloom.
Ditto that on bread. In my town, it was a choice of Wholesum or Colonial. Now we can buy organic, whole wheat, 5-grain, 7-grain, white, white whole wheat, berry, oat, the list goes on and on.

So the next time one of us middle-agers grumbles and remembers the Good Ol' Days, help him remember the Good New Days. Life is sweet.

The Garden

Packing

So, DH walks in and says, "Talk to me about packing."

"Packing?"

"Yeah," he says. "If you were leaving for a week, how would you pack?"

"Hmm," I say. "I guess I would put 'like' things together. I would not pack by outfit."

He stomps off, muttering about outfits.

What'd I say?

YOU in YOUR SPACE

I have an amazing dear friend named Marguerite. She, our other dear friend Mandy, and I have been known to spend hours over coffee or wine, depending on the hour of the day. We talk about all sorts of things, and, having cleared our souls, can re-emerge out into the world, brighter, lighter beings.

Marguerite's son gave her a mug last Christmas with the inscription: "Queen of F***ing Everything" and it's just so funny because it's just so TRUE. When our neighborhood had an auction to raise funds for the park, oh, so happens she trained in auctions at Christy's. When she and her brother had to evacuate Norleans, and the Saab failed, she slid underneath and stitched the rubber boot together with needle and wire so it would drive them to safety. She's smart, she's industrious, and she's funny, a holy triumvirate.

Today she brought a friend who happens to be a famous photographer from Chicago. They are taking a 10-day trip through the South, taking pics of people in their places. They shot Little One on her bed, listening to the iPod, texting away. They took pics of Little Dog dancing, sitting, sneezing (although not all at once.) They shot me at my desk, and standing with a book, and at the dinner table working on a jigsaw puzzle with DH. Finally, they got closeups of my feet in my bunny slippers. I may use that one for my profile on Facebook.

Marguerite had asked us to save this afternoon for the photo shoot. We had gladly done so for our dear friend, but did not at all look forward to posing.

Amazingly, it was fun, great fun, and she and he were so accommodating. They asked every time they moved a lamp, or un-mounted a picture from the wall. Before they left, they replaced every little thing (even though they did not need to) and left the house just as it was before.

It was great to see our pictures, even if it was only on the camera view-finder. They have promised to send copies digitally. I declare, we all looked just like ourselves, just better.

What a lovely adventure it was.

Crazy

DH has been home on a staycation for the past week-and-half and it's been a godsend. I have been on the go from morn til night, interviewing people for articles, sitting through boring meetings for articles, meeting with people about running for public office, and fulfilling volunteer obligations. It's been insane.

He has busied himself with running electricity and water to our little building in the back yard. A fellow came by last night and used a Ditch Witch to dig a furrow from the house to the shed. He charged DH less than it would cost to rent one from the home improvement store.

DH worked past dark burying the conduit and water lines, and refilling the hole. Today he has been fitting the circuit box and faucets. He's happy when he has a little project. Not so happy when he has a major one.

Our garden is lovely this year. We don't have tomatoes yet, but we truly enjoy watching the beans' progress up the trellis. Some days they are 5" higher than the day prior. We are amazed.

I have always loved observing the little bat-ropes the beanstalks throw to pull themselves up. Nature is much more elegant than men's devices.

LO is busily reading the novels for her Honors English assignments. After completing the two novels, she must write essays and complete questions. The work is due on July 13, her second day at Band Camp, so I will turn it in for her.

I am a Mean Old Nana who restricted her from All Things Electronic when I realized she doesn't do much of anything other than watch TV, play on the computer, and text friends on her telephone. For one week she is being asked to Do Other Things. It is my fervent hope she can discover other fun things to do for a fuller and more rewarding life.

Understandably, the first day was officially No Fun. For any of us.

Today it got a little better. She called a zillion friends to set up a kickball game at a nearby elementary school. I was proud of her ingenuity. We'll see how it turns out...

Gotta Love IKEA!

On a recent trip to Ikea, I picked up a booklet showing these cool, sturdy shelves that have a diamond grid surface. In-between the diamonds, is open air. I had thought it might be nice to install these shelves in our office closet, for our computer and associated gear. They will be unlikely to overheat, sitting on the mesh-like shelves.

We did have a melange of little tables stuck in there to hold everything, as I did not want it sitting on the floor. The little tables served well, but it was messy and cramped. The printer faced sideways, and opening it to scan something was not easy.

DH liked the idea and we ran to Ikea Saturday to pick up the pieces we needed. We (well, HE) installed the shelves yesterday. We re-connected all the computer stuff last night and everything is in place.

While we had the computer out and disconnected from everything, DH took it outside, opened it, and blasted it with air from the air compressor. VOILA! Nice and clean inside and out.

I am so pleased. Not even a cable is on the floor; I can vacuum all the way under it all, keeping our stuff nice and clean.

DH has velcro wraps and will straighten all the cables today. :)

The Beach

Short post here. At beach with two girlfriends.

Our hotel room is sort of amazing: two bedrooms, living room, kitchen. Dishwasher, washer/dryer. Beachfront. The hotel has a pool and hot tub outside. It's very nicely furnished and kept up quite well.

We ate last night at Crab Catchers, a restaurant on the marsh in Little River. We sat on the deck overlooking the water at sunset. We watched people drink and laugh and we talked and talked. There was a live band; the music was Jimmy Buffett and related songs.

We have talked and talked. Both the gf's are well-read, articulate women. It's a blast and I fantasize about staying forever.

Graduation

It's not something I would actually choose to do for fun, but I attended four graduations in the past week-and-a-half: one college and 3 high schools.

I have come to some conclusions about graduations.

1.) Crying baby required. The mom always has a bottle handy, but she allows the crying baby to pretty much ruin things before stepping over 20 people and scurrying out the door. A few of the babies I observed were blowing snot bubbles out their noses by the time they were seen to.

2.) America's economy must not be hurting too badly when 2,000 people in the same room all have digital cameras.

3.) Wardrobe. Not the graduates -- they all wear pretty much the same thing. The parents, however, geez louise. The gamut ran from prom dresses to profane Tshirts.

4.) IF THERE WAS EVER AN OCCASION TO MUTE YOUR CELL PHONE, THIS IS IT.

5.) Despite the provost/principal/superintendent's best request, people cannot contain themselves when a relative graduates. The nicer people silently stood, as requested. The rest hollered, whooped, whistled, and yowled. There was one comment that made me smile. One sheepish, very tall boy loped across the stage with a broad grin, and his mom yelled, "Prraise God!" I could only imagine.

6.)America is in serious need of original valedictorian speeches.

7.) Plan ahead. The graduation is at x:00. Arrive at w:00 so you can find a parking space. And there is no need to yell at the organization/superintendents/policemen that there is not enough parking. They can't do anything about it. Come early and grab a spot, or come early enough to park a few blocks and walk over before it begins.

8.) Let your young child bring the Nintendo, the CD viewer, or whatever he needs to be entertained. It's a long time to sit and he just can't pay attention that long. If you must, rouse him from his concentration for the split-second that Junior gets his diploma.

9.) Even if you are in the South, wait til you get home to have that Mountain Dew. This is a nice event.

First Day of Summer

Today was LO's first day of summer.

She slept til 11am.

She wrote thank-you's to the three teachers she had for all three years of middle school.

She watched TV, took a walk with Papaw, and cooked supper. Fettucini Alfredo, her favorite.

A friend-boy stopped by at 1pm. Another came over at 7pm, ate with us, and watched a movie with us. As we ate, he spilled a whole bag of frozen green peas all over the kitchen floor. We laughed til we cried.

She went to bed at 11.

Tomorrow we run the notes to the school and give three last hugs.

End of the Year

It has been a crazy, crazy day.

Because LO is "graduating" from middle school on Wednesday, she attended a banquet at the local Holiday Inn today with the other eighth graders. It was great to pull up to the school this morning and see them all decked out in dresses, heels, and neckties.

She seemed to have had a good time. I did not tell her that eating at a Holiday Inn is torture for me and certainly would not be a reward in my book. :)

DH is back at his home plant. He seems generally happy but is having a bit of an adjustment to waking up at 4am once again.

I am crazily running around for this doggone secret project plus my work. I can disclose the details in less than 30 days now. :)

That's two insipid smiley faces in a row. Time for bed.

Pops at the Post

We went as a family last night to the Pops @ the Post. This free outdoor symphony concert was begun five years ago to celebrate the 100th anniversary of our local newspaper. The public enjoyed it so much they clamored for the Post to make it an annual event. So they did.

The Post has a covered loading dock sort of tucked into the side of its building. The back and one side of the dock are walls of the building, and the roof extends above. This makes sort an excellent orchestra shell for the musicians... except that it faces west, and with the concert in June, the players sort of slow-bake in the concrete. Some years they have gotten 'way too hot. But they were fine last night as it was downright chilly.

The concert proper runs from 8 to 10. We arrived at 6:30 loaded with chairs, cooler and picnic bag. Tailgating is allowed, but alcohol is not. (although I did see lots of ppl with beer in their stadium cups. I guess as long as one keeps it discreet...)

The company was wonderful, and the music was delightful. Each year's concert has a theme, and this one was no different. Our clever conductor developed a program of "Fantasy and Finance." The music ranged from "The Scheherezade" to "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?".

Most of the music was just the orchestra, with 3 or 4 vocals. Two locals, a man and a woman, sang a duet of, "Money Makes the World Go 'Round" from Cabaret.

A local woman I never saw before sang, "God Bless the Child," and just took our breath away.

The planners had erected 3 or 4 huge screens so that all the people sitting through parking lots downtown could see the orchestra, the conductor, the narrator, or the vocalists.

The whole town looks forward to this event every year, and last night surely did not disappoint us.

Art

Went tonight to an opening at a local arts center. What fun!! FIVE artists. Clay, representational art, abstract art, sculpture, illustrations. Lots of ppl there loving art. What great energy!

Reality Check

I have to admit it's a bit jarring.

I am in Room A.

The 13 year old is in Room B, beside Room A, where I am working. I can hear the telephone conversation clearly, but I am not eavesdropping.

I call to her. "Say your good-byes and get a shower, please!"

She says into the phone, "I gotta go.... Yeah..... I love you, too."

...................................................

.....................HUH?

Reality Check.

The Director's Award

As promised, LO's band concert was Tuesday night, outside. It was great.

Once a year, the band director awards one student with "The Director's Award." He gives it to the student who has shown consistent, excellent musicianship. This year the award was given to LO. Her name was added to a large plaque that hangs at school, and a personalized plaque was given to her to keep at home.

We are quite proud.

The Master Photographer tried to capture it all on video but alas, it did not work. Sigh. Don't ask me why.

I was proud of her receiving the award, but I must confess I was proudest of her band-mates yelling, clapping, and cheering when her name was announced.

...forgive me...

It has been forever since I posted.

In 2008, one of my resolutions was to post more frequently and more consistently. I believe I accomplished it, and stuck with it all year long.

Boy, when 2008 was over, I dropped it like a hot poker. My erratic posting has been unintentional, I assure you. (Whoever you are, dear reader.)

I will share that I am working on a mammoth project, which I cannot disclose until July 8. It has eaten up all my spare time and some of my not-so-spare time, taking up time when I really should be doing fun stuff like vacuuming, cleaning up a hideously messy room, finding the floor of my closet, and other thrills.

I commit now to posting more frequently, and more consistently, although perhaps not with the volume of 2008, certainly with more than of late. That could be a poem, if I worked on it.

To give you a quick catch up:

LO is doing well. Her principal allowed 8th-graders to wear casual clothing, rather than uniforms, for the last 2 months of school, to get ready for high school. I hear our superintendent smacked his hands over that one. But the eighth graders did not. She acclimated to no uniforms immediately.
In temperament, she is definitely 13-almost-14. In intellect, she is sometimes 21 and sometimes, well, to be kind, I'll just say, significantly younger than 13. In appearance, she is definitely 17.
Some recent changes. She cannot go swimming at the neighborhood pool. It messes up her hair. She cannot go running or exercise in any way, other than to practice her dancing and/or cheerleading.
She has worked hard on tumbling for cheerleading, and achieved her roundoff/back handspring/back tuck. She already had the first two and has now added the third. She does them all in one long maneuver.
She auditioned for high school cheerleading and made the JV team. But the high school does not yet have a JV coach, so all is on hold.
She can text 100 words a minute, without looking, all with thumbs.
Her choral concert was lovely. Band concert is tonight. The spring concert is always outside, and we love it.
She now borrows all my cosmetic supplies, except perhaps my "age-defying" skin products. She has her own skin care products. And her own makeup, which she applies quite well.

DH worked at a neighboring plant for three months. The travel got old for him, but I loved the hours. He worked days only, weekdays only. I could definitely get used to that. He is off this week and seems to be resting up nicely. He isn't making as much music as he used to, but no one can be the same, every day, forever.

I am still helping at the local paper. I look forward to the end of school next week. Daily trips take about an hour overall, sometimes more. Band boosters, PTA board, and school improvement team will be over, giving me more time. I actively sought serving on the neighborhood pool board in order to save the $325 membership fee. Only to find out she doesn't really want to swim. Sigh. Maybe she will change her mind when the long summer days set in.
I am attending a class in 2 weeks on getting national magazines to buy my articles. I hope to participate in a writing residency in July.

Pets are well, and as quirky as ever.

My car is in the shop having the AC fixed. I did shudder to spend $1,400 on a car with 310,000 miles on it, but they say it will go 500,000 miles. If that is true, I would rather be cool for the next 200,000.

Bro

Well, I found out, on FACEBOOK of all places, that my little brother and his wife are expecting a baby.

He's 40. The baby is due sometime near his birthday, when he will be 41.

It's ironic, b/c our dad was 41 when bro was born. He was the last of our siblings to be born, and was totally spoiled by both dad and mom, altho mom denied it, and blamed it all on dad.

Best wishes, brother, and I hope your baby is the legacy to you, that you are to dad. I mean that in a totally good way, really.

AC

If you were fast enough to read the story about my car's broken AC before I removed it, here is the rest of the story.

It's the evaporator.

"Not the evaporator!?"

"What's the evaporator?"

I never got a clear answer. It costs $1000 and "there goes your beautiful wood dash."

It doesn't sound like my AC will be fixed. WW III is brewing.

I believe I'll get another buzz. At least it will always look fixed after a trip with the windows open.

Oh, now I get why they used so much hair spray in the 60's...

Clues

Our dog, who is usually a Little White Rug with a Pulse, comes alive when she thinks we are going on a walk. She runs into the room, tongue out, tail wagging, dancing, acting all happy.

Years ago, she figured out that the leash indicated a walk was coming up. It's plastic and makes a clunking sound when we remove it from the coat hook on the wall.

Now, she has figured out many more clues. She's so smart!

I tie a plastic bag from bread or newspaper onto the leash before walking so I can scoop her poop. Now she comes running when she hears plastic bags rustling -- even if it means DH has just come home from the grocery. (I use cloth bags for groceries.)

When I put sneakers on, I often sit on the side of the tub. This excites her as sneakers often indicate a potential walk. Heels don't excite her -- only sneakers.

In similar fashion, socks might indicate a walk. Obviously, I only wear socks with sneakers, not with dress shoes. Nowadays she comes running if I open the sock drawer.

The undies drawer is just below the sock drawer. She does not react to my opening the undies drawer every morning. Just the occasional sock drawer. These are heavy wooden drawers in my armoire, not screechy plastic things. They rumble, and to my ears, they rumble identically. How does she tell the difference?

On a related note, I have recently begun putting the crusts from LO's sandwich on the floor near the pet bowls in the mornings when I pack the lunchbox. The crusts have the tiniest smidge of luncheon meat that gets trimmed when I cut the crusts from the sandwich.

Little Dog has just lately figured out the sound of LO's lunchbox unzipping, and comes running. Food?

Storm Brewing

My little brother posted this photo on Facebook with the caption, "As usual, there's a storm brewing over the Capitol."

I thought it was a great double entendre' and asked permission to post it.

He shot the photo with his iPhone from a parking deck, I think...

The Week

I have been thinking about our week. I would not really call us a busy family; there are only three of us and it's not like we are always gone. Yet, I feel I am in the car quite a bit, and the times I am home are short spurts, when I accomplish little.

So here is our life:

Sunday (day of rest)
7:30 DH leaves for band practice
8:30 LO and I leave for church
10:00 Sunday School
11:00 Return home, often stopping by Taco Bell on the way
-- This is LO's normal time to clean her room
-- This is my normal time to get laundry done
2:00 (not every Sunday) LO has tennis w/friends
4:30 LO choir
5:00 Prepare dinner
5:30 Pick up LO
6:00 Dinner
7:00 to 9:00 DH and I enjoy TV on Sunday night
LO washes hair, dries, and straightens


Monday
4:30 DH arises
6:00 DH leaves for work, LO and I get up
Shower, dress, makeup, walk dog, pack LO's lunch, fix breakfast
7:15 Drive LO to school
8:15 I go to work (this is my one day at a location away from home)
1:30 Home
3:15 Pick up LO
3:50 Home; LO has snack and starts homework
Some Mondays I cover School Board meetings for paper, 5-8, then write article til 9:30
6:00 DH home
6:30 Dinner
7:00 DH leaves for his Man Group
8:00 Long walk with Little Dog
9:30 DH returns
(Some Mondays we have PTA 5-6)

Tuesday
Same as above, but no Man Group and I don't work away from home
Add:
8:15 Dry Cleaner
9-11 Vacuum
12-3 Interview for articles
3:30 Recycling and garbage out to curb for tomorrow morning
Some Tuesdays, I attend Planning board 4-6pm, sometimes as late as 7:30
6:00 LO to tutor
8:00 LO home from tutor
(One Tuesday a month I have Band Boosters (secretary) 5-6 or so)

Wednesday
Same as Tuesday, but no tutor
Bring in recycling bins and garbage can
9-1 Work on novel
Sometimes but not often I have interviews on Wednesdays
6:00 LO to piano
6:45 LO home from piano (I just wait there for her. If I came home, it would be time to go back and get her)
7:00 DH to violin
8:15 DH home from violin
In addition to our Sunday TV shows, we try to watch Idol on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Thursday this is a quiet day.
Same as other days, but no music lessons
Most Thursdays, I have interviews in all parts of the county much of the day
7:00 LO to tumbling
8:15 LO home

Friday
Same as other days, but no tumbling
9:00am I go to grocery, vacuum, do laundry, fill up car
One or two times a month we go downtown together or call in supper.

Saturday
DH has been working most Saturdays lately...
Change sheets
This is our day to shop, run errands, go to nearby Larger City when we have to.

In addition,
Monthly:
Car wash
I call to renew LO's Rx, pick up scrip from MD, take to Walgreen's, pick it up.
LO gets checkup at orthodontist
LD goes to groomer
I attend Progressive Women group at gf's house
I attend Band Booster meetings, where I serve as Secretary
I attend neighborhood pool board meetings, where I serve as Secretary
I attend Planning Board meetings
I attend School Board meetings (4x a year there are 2 in a month)

Quarterly:
I renew my Rx on phone
DH changes oil in my car
Band concerts
Report cards
I take LO to nearby city to chemically straighten hair

Twice a year:
Each of us visits dentist

Annually:
Car inspections
Renew license plates
Taxes

Not listed here are social engagements, writing for pleasure, deadlines for articles (I average 2-4 articles a week), mending, brushing pets, more vacuuming, shopping, and home repair.

No wonder we never feel as if we have time.

The Novel

I cannot describe how ethereal it is to spend time with my novel.

You know how you feel transported to another world when you read a good book?

Well, writing one is similar, except that you're creating that other world.

I get so totally into it, when I stop, I am in a sort of fog, a daze, and it really takes me a few minutes to snap out of it.

When I start speaking conversational Latin, it's time to have me hauled off. :)

Letter from China

OK, so I mentioned a few days ago that I was ISO new hankies as I have donated many of mine to friends who cried about this or that.

When a friend starts to cry, I just love whipping out a beautiful hanky to give them. Oftentimes it makes them smile.

Most of the hankies on eBay average out to about a buck per hanky. Not bad. 25 hankies, $27. 32 hankies, $35.

I found an entry for not-vintage hankies, but new, vintage-looking, a lot of 100. The price at the time was at about $10. The designs were the sort I like, in fact, several in the pic match hankies I have on hand. This is the actual picture of them.

So I made a bid of $22 max. For 100 hankies.

I won. Turns out, shipping is more than I paid for the collection: $15.50 for the item, $20 for shipping. It's coming from China. Still, $35 for this little hobby of mine, and I haven't bought any in years.

Last night, DH read me the endearing email I got from the vendor. Here it is:

Thanks for buying my items, I am Cathy from China, I have already sent the package for you, the tracking number is xxx, I also put one more lovely hanky in your package as the gift, hope you really like them.

I shipped your items via the Chinese Post office and the US POSTAL SERVICE, I am living in Xi'an,the central part in China, your package will leaving China from Shanghai,that will takes about 3 days, so 2 or 3 days later, when your package leaving China, there will have an information about your package on the US POSTAL SERVICE website, then you may tracking your item from http://www.usps.com/.

Since this is the international mail, from China to USA is a long journey, the distance almost cover the half globe, so it will takes longer time than ship things in the US, usually shipping takes about two weeks, sometimes need longer time, but I hope you will get it soon.

When you get the package, please let me know,thank you! Sincerely, Cathy

Simple-Tasking

OK. As a programmer in the 80's, yes, I know some of you weren't BORN yet, but back then, we learned the term, "multi-tasking." It referred to the process of having the computer do multiple things at one time so it would run as quickly and efficiently as possible.

At some point, I began multi-tasking. It was simple enough when it started. Tying a child's shoe while talking on the phone. Stirring the spaghetti and calling out spelling words. Driving the car and yelling into the rearview mirror, "Don't make me stop this car!"

Then I really began multi-tasking. Mopping and watching TV and answering the cell phone. Eating and playing spades online. Walking the dog, listening to the iPod, and talking to neighbors. Writing and listening to NPR and answering emails.

I feel like I don't listen anymore. I don't complete tasks. I start working, flip over to FaceBook, flip back to the article. Listen to the recorder to get that quote just right. Oops, an email popped up. Answer that one. File it before I forget. Back to the article. Someone asks where I put the thermometer. In the cabinet, I think. Back to the article. Second shelf, I think, I call. Back to the article. Wait, why do you need the thermometer? Do you have a fever? Come here, let me feel you.

And on it goes.

I am making a conscious effort to stop multi-tasking. No more eating hunched over the keyboard. I. will. eat. at. the. table. Even if I am home, alone.

No more scanning the newspaper online and listening to NPR. I will read the tangible newspaper. It's delivered every day. I'll read it the old-fashioned way.

I will close the door when I write, and not scad about email and internet.

I will look people in the eye when they talk. I won't look about to see what else is going on. That's rude, anyway. No more thinking what I want to say next. That's rude, too. I will Listen. Listen. List-en.

I will play music on my new stereo. Walk the dog. Just walk her. No electronics. Sit on the porch.

After a week of this strange new world, I will make a report as to how well (or not) it went.

Stay tuned.

Hankies

Many of you may know I collect vintage hankies. I love 'em. I try to carry one or two on me at all times. If I have allergies, or feel emotional, or my makeup runs, or a kid scratches a mosquito bite, their uses are endless.

I was at school board meeting Monday night and met with someone out in the hallway to discuss a much-loved teacher who is battling cancer. She had just received a merit award and I was interested in perhaps featuring her in an article.

So I asked the assistant to meet me out in the hallway for a second. When I told her my intention, she began to cry -- quite hard. Fortunately I had a polka-dot hanky in my pocket.

I have offered a hanky to a crying friend several times over the years, and it never fails to cheer them up. The polka-dots are my favorites.

Sometimes when I am tired, I will pull up vintage hankies on eBay just to look at them. I love to see the various designs. What a lovely item that, sadly, has fallen out of favor.

I am shopping for more in earnest now b/c I have 'loaned' so many to friends that my stock is running low. If the idea appeals to you at all, I encourage you to browse on eBay just to see all the lovely choices. It takes you back to a simpler time. Enjoy!

Guns and Barbies

As a young mom, I made many mistakes. One in particular I remember is forbidding my children to have the things I didn't believe in.

The two boys were only 16 months apart. I did not allow them to have toy guns. It seemed at every birthday party, they would receive at least 2 or 3 toy guns. It was very frustrating. After the guest had gone, while the boys were distracted, I would slip the guns out of the room and hide them on top of the refrigerator until I could get them into the outside garbage can.

They were both fascinated with the concept of guns. Everything became a gun. Sticks in the yard, half-eaten sandwiches, stacks of Legos, anything that could remotely resemble a gun, became one. Bang, you're dead.

Finally I gave up. Once they were allowed to have them, the fascination seemed to wane. I still wonder, though, is that why DS2 joined the armed forces?

I was also opposed to the Barbie doll. Her physical perfection seems impractical to me. Does she have a good personality? A sense of humor? Is she sensitive? Smart? Self-reliant? I became anti-Barbie.

And so my daughter craved them. Being a cheap gift, she received scads of them as birthday gifts. They disappeared, similarly to the guns. She loved to go next door and play with the little girl whose mom encouraged Barbies. I distinctly remember the mom next door, out in the front yard at night with a flashlight, looking for a missing Barbie shoe.

Do you know how small a Barbie shoe is? It's not quite a half-inch long. By maybe a quarter-inch wide. Why on earth did she even know it was missing? I never understood.

Finally, I relented and let DD have Barbies.

By the time I raised LO, I was a wee bit older and wiser. Still opposed to Barbies, I allowed her to have them, but did not encourage them. When we played with them, I would say things like, this is her college interview outfit, this is what she wears to help at the shelter.

LO soon tired of Barbies and they languished in their box until I finally had her permission to throw them away.

Comparing 2 Books

There have been two books on the market lately that both have to do with a white guy coming upon an African-American street person, and the effect this has on both lives. I thought it might be neat to read both and compare them.

The two books are, Same Kind of Different as Me, by Ron Hall and Denver Moore (and Lynn Vincent), and The Soloist by Steve Lopez.

I read SKODAM first; it's the story of a rich, make that, very rich, white art dealer whose wife goads him into working at the homeless shelter after he outs his affair and she forgives him. At this point in their lives, she can pretty much call the shots.

While he is (reluctantly) working there, a black guy about the same age comes through the food line and the wife announces this is the guy she has seen in a dream. "You're supposed to be his friend," she says.

So White Guy attempts to befriend him. It takes a long time and finally they make friends and the black guy learns how to trust. The white guy does too, but in different ways. The black guy comes to know Christ and everything is peachy for a short while.

In the end, the wife dies and the two men are left mourning her.

The book is okay.

I most enjoyed the first half of the book, which tells, in alternating chapters, the stories of the black guy's childhood, and white guy's childhood.

The black guy grew up poor, I mean, really poor. He never attended school a day in his life. Never stepped inside one. This was the sixties, not the thirties, or the nineteenth century. His family and everyone he knew, were sharecroppers, working someone else's land in a borrowed house and working an acre or two that was loaned to them. At the end of the year, they would hypothetically be paid for the crops they raised for the other guy, but since they could not read or write or calculate, he always told them they did not turn any profit, and could not be paid.

The white guy says he grew up poor, too, although I could not reconcile his homemade flour-sack clothing with 'having to attend the cheapest college in the state.'

I did like the wife, though, when he made his first million and called her from the showroom floor of the Jaguar dealership. He excitedly told her he was about to buy a red Jag convertible. She told him to tell that salesman, 'never mind,' right now and get himself home. She wasn't about to have such an ostentatious show of wealth parked in front of her house every night.

Hmm. No wonder he had an affair. I mean, I loved what she said and all, but, hey, don't men like, hold a grudge about this kind of thing?

So, back to the book.

I did not like how they were kind of cocky, like, we are coming into this homeless shelter and we'll make their lives all right, they'll learn to eat with manners and live in a real house and look people in the eye when they speak.

Can't we just help for the sake of helping, and not be about changing people? Some people are there because they want to be, and some are mentally ill, and, we can't just assume that our way of life is for everyone. Some may want it, some may not.

Sort of like saying the whole world needs to be a democracy. It might not be for everyone.

I never understood how the friendship was such a big thing that she had this dream from God about it. I could see it if they had some effect on lots of people, if some foundation were chartered that made a huge difference in the world, but that's not really what happened.

So. . . It's clear that it's ghost-written, and the writing is okay. I mean, just okay. Barely. When the wife dies, the sound of violins leaps off the page and I could hardly hear myself think.

The Soloist was written by Steve Lopez, a columnist for the LA Times. He is a seasoned writer, and it shows. His punchy style and rhythm get more said in a paragraph than most ppl can say in a page-and-a-half.

He happens upon a street person in downtown LA on his lunch hour. The guy is playing a 2-stringed violin, and despite its drawbacks, sounds pretty darn great. Turns out he had gone to Julliard.

The writer smells a story. He realizes he has to warm up to the guy, and takes his time, even though it's hard. By the time he gets a story out of it, he has just fallen crazy about the guy and wants to help him just because he cares for him.

He goes through all sorts of self-questioning, like, "Am I helping him for the right reasons?" "What right do I have to presume what is best for him?" and "Am I jeopardizing him by giving him expensive instruments to carry on the street?"

He handles these issues with grace and wisdom and not a small amount of humor. These guys become real friends. The salvation here is not from Jesus, but it is spiritual just the same.

If the guy in Soloist had not written his concerns about presuming too much, I may never have realized how condescending the first book was.

Overall, I -- by far -- liked the soloist much better, and highly recommend it. Now that I've finished it, I may check out the movie.

Creative

Spent yesterday at a writers' conference and learned so, so much. Now to apply it!

Rode up with a gf whom I met at the writing class this winter. We gabbed all the way up and back, about writing, about people we know whose lives would make great stories, about this and that.

Most conferences include lunch, but this one did not. Unless you paid extra to eat lunch with an author. At this point in my life, I am past idolizing someone so I did not spring the extra $25. Hey, I am published, too, just in a different way.

The weather forecast was sunny and 82 degrees, so gf and I decided to pack a picnic. We ate outside in the shade and came back in totally refreshed.

The writers' network announced a summer residency in July. You send your manuscript ahead of time and arrive ready to work, work, work. I may go. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, I happened this morning on this lovely collection of books by one of my favorite people. Now I would pay to have lunch with him. Enjoy.

Foamy Thing: Cool

On our first adventure at the new Ikea, DH spotted this spinny thing that makes foam for your latte'. I resisted getting it because he teases me about being a gadget-aholic.

I think you could also use it to dissolve powder into drinks. Like Spiru-tein, another passion of mine.

Or Gatorade. Which is not.

On my second trip to the new Ikea, however, I succombed. It costs $2.99, takes one penlight battery, and is the BEST.

Here is the cream in my mug with a little cinnamon sprinkled on it. Actually, I use soy milk, but you can use cream. I warm the milk first. This helps the smell of the cinnamon really burst through, enhancing the flavor of the coffee.

Here is the spinny thing at work. The photo was turned the correct way on my computer, but somehow it uploaded at an angle. Oh, my.

Here is the finished product, coffee in, foam on top. I use the spinny thing every day and am constantly amazed at the pleasure I get from a $2.99 device.

My coffee has never been so delightful.

Aw, just the fan...

Despite my earlier aghast reaction to the price of refrigerators, I must say, once I started shopping for them, I quickly became warm to the idea of buying one. Oooh, shiny.

I studied them online. I visited several stores. I settled on two models, both counter-depth, stainless, freezer-on-the-bottom. I showed the prices to DH and showed him pics online. We settled on a date to purchase, based on the oldie holding out, so we did not have to use credit.

So I dug in and waited for said date.

As I've indicated earlier, I had swept, swiped, vacuumed, and blown the coils to be sure we weren't dealing with clogged fan.

This weekend, DH, probably responding, himself, to the cost of a new one, took it all seriously, finally, and took the back off the fridge, and cleaned it.

Ick.

Last night, he googled the issue and came up with a different set of options than I had. His diagnosis: burned out fan.

A new one costs $100.

So he is ordering a new one and installing it, himself.

Aw. I had really gotten used to the idea of a new one.

Oooh. Shiny.

Refrigerator Woes

If I want to know how to clean something, cook something, or grow something, I call my MIL. She is very gracious about giving tips and doesn't seem to mind at all.

I called her last night and we talked about our refrigerator.

It's been running warm for a week or so now, and only Tuesday did we put 2+2 together and realize it's fading fast.

It's a side-by-side. The wall that separates the freezer side from the refrigerator side is hot to the touch -- really hot.

On Monday our milk was sour, even though I had just bought it Saturday.

On Tuesday, LO opened a new pint of Ben & Jerry's: it was a milkshake inside.

That's when it dawned on me.

I had googled the words, hot wall refrigerator, and had read that the cause was likely one of two things: the coils beneath were dirty, impeding air flow, or the yoder loop, a part that lies in the wall, is out.

On SundayI vacuumed underneath the refrigerator really well. We have an extension thingie, about 30" long, made just for under the refrigerator.

It's still running hot.

After spending several hours yesterday shopping for refrigerators, I called my MIL. I hadn't emailed her in a few days and wanted to touch base.

I mentioned that refrigerators cost $2500. She did what I did: freaked out. WHAT, she said, THAT'S RIDICULOUS.

That's just what I said, I said.

She asked if I had cleaned beneath the refrigerator. I told her I had.

She said she ties a rag to a yardstick and goes under there. She said sometimes she uses the reverse on her vacuum and blows the dust out from under the fridge.

So today, I rubber-banded a rag to the yardstick and swiped and jabbed under the refrigerator.

I got a little dust, but no clumps or anything that looked nefarious.

Then I got out the vacuum and reversed it. Blew it under the refrigerator.

Nothing.

Now I'm headed out to the shed to get the leaf blower.

This is getting serious.

Will. Post. Later

Wednesday

In a rush to interview someone for a thing, stopping here only long enough to catch up on what's going on.

Between interviews today, I have to shop for a refrigerator.

DH is working his butt off at the power plant 30 miles away. He loves the people and the facility, but comes home pooped every day. He is working 10 or 12 days straight, too. Poor baby.

LO found out Monday she is in the talent show today. Her audition got rescheduled a month ago and then when she showed up, none of the advisors did, so she (rightfully?) assumed she was not in it. On Monday they said, we are counting on you. She talked the twins into singing as she played the piano. They practiced Monday and Tuesday. Last night they called and said, it's too hard, too late, we are out.

She did the only thing a reasonable person could do in that sitch.

She went hysterical.

She came to me: what on earth do I do?
I offered alternatives:
Back out? ...no, I can't let the principal and Student Council down.
Play and sing, yourself? ...no, I can't manage both; both the music and vocals suffer.
Play only? ...the music is too simple and repetitive. It needs vocals too.
I finally ran out of options and just dispensed lots of hugs.

Okaaaay. Once that was over, she called them with compromises: what if you come over tonight and we practice? What if you select another song? No, no, and no.
Finally, she retreated to her room. Closed the door. Within minutes we heard her practicing on the keyboard. Within more minutes we heard her singing.

After practicing for 3 hours, she felt ready. Woke up all smiles today.

Good luck, girl.

The ULTIMATE Power

Even though LO has had the same chores for over 5 years now, it's been a battle to get them done. I have had to nag, or do them myself.





It's not that I mind doing them. The point is that we're trying to develop a disciplined, motivated person here.



We have tried lists, charts, monetary rewards.


Something was not working.





Last fall, I asked her to figure out a way to remind herself, so that I could get out of the nagging business.





Nothing. No attempts.





A month ago, I had an idea. I had these colored packaging tags on hand. I bought them a year or two ago, for a piece I did on packing creative school lunches. The tags were for notes from Mommy. I bought them for the photo spread.





Yes, I do deduct this kind of thing. It's a business expense.





So here it is, a couple of years later, and they're on hand.





I had an idea. I printed LO's chores on clear labels and stuck them onto the tags. Loaded the tags on a round key-ring-thingie.





Hung them on a cabinet knob near the refrigerator, where they are easily seen, not lost, and prominently displayed at all times.





The setup was easy. Complete them every day. Consequence if they are not done: texting is turned off for the day.





The first day we used them, the chores did not get done.





I turned off texting.





Tears. "I didn't understand."





Sigh. Okay. To be totally fair, we went over the rules in detail. Do you understand? Is anything not clear? I turned texting back on and warned I would never reverse it again.





That was 3 weeks ago.





The chores did not get done yesterday. I turned texting off.





Anger. Bordering on fury. I didn't mean to. I did them when I got home. I slept late, could not help it.

I stayed calm. They weren't done all day. Maybe you need to go to bed earlier so you can get up.




Last night I was at a school board meeting for my work. Forgot to mute my phone. Ding-dong. I had a text.





(DH and I are the two entries on her list: she can text us at any time despite parental controls. We can text her, too. This is a safety feature. For example, we have texting turned off during the school day. But if there were a terrorist on campus, or she really needed something from home, she can still text me. )





Embarrassed, I hurriedly muted my phone.





Here is the text I received:





"I am dissapointed (sic) in u. I proved u wrong and u still gave me punishment. Im very hurt and angry. DONT TXT ME BACK. If u do Im not reading it."





I did not mention the message.





Neither did she.





This morning, she woke up early. Cheerfully, she completed all her chores. Before we left for school, she asked, "Did I miss any chores?"





Yes, I replied. You have makeup and tissues all over your dresser.





I just checked it. It's clean.





Yay. For now, texting seems to be The Ultimate Weapon. For now.

Annual Peeps Contest

Hard to believe it's already in its THIRD year. Here are the top 40.

...will someone remind me next year I want to enter???

Getting Past "Us" and "Them"

If you've not had a 13-year-old in the house lately, you cannot realize what a dicey proposition it is to suggest a trip to a museum during Spring Break.

We had not planned a spring trip this year and, after recovering from the flu, I attempted to make a nice staycation for her.

We had our nails done. We went out to dinner. We brought in Chinese. We saw a movie.

Friday was coming up and I had been batting around the idea of visiting the Levine Museum of the New South.

I took a class in Davidson recently and on one of the long late-night commutes, I heard about a compelling exhibit there on WFAE's show, Charlotte Talks.

The exhibit deals with the transition from Charlotte from black & white to Technicolor. Charlotte's 1990 census stood at 500,000, and the projection for 2010 is a cool million. People have been moving to Charlotte by the truckload, drawn by the temperate climate, the relatively low cost of living and ... jobs. More than 60,000 newcomers move to the area each year.

For the first time in its history, Charlotte has had to learn to live with foreigners.

Not the kind who come from New York. They've been here for a while.

The kind who came across oceans to arrive here.

The Charlotte school system says it has students from 151 countries, speaking 25 languages.

The exhibit, titled, Changing Places, tried to foster understanding of different cultures and how it might feel to be from another country.

I was enthralled. I visited the website and studied the exhibits. I called the museum to find out how teen-friendly it might be. The docents told me that it's quite interactive.

We weren't disappointed.

For starters, I did not ask the family, as I usually do, when I plan an outing. I simply put it on the calendar.

When Friday came up in conversation, I casually said, "Oh, that's the day we're going to Charlotte," as if we had already discussed it.

When Friday morning rolled around, I knew I had to handle it delicately. I tiptoed into LO's room and whispered, "Good morning!" I rubbed her back just a bit.

"I don't feel good." She rolled away from me.

"Aw, why don't you take an extra five minutes?" I tucked the covers in around her and slipped out. Went upstairs for my shower.

When I came back downstairs, I gave it my best shot. "Would you like to drive through Biscuitville on the way to the museum?"

I had her. She smiled. "Yes, I would," and began to get out of bed.

Bingo.

We had a pleasant, if rainy, ride to Charlotte. Driving in the rain does not seem to make DH as cranky as it makes me.

We parked in the deck next door. I took the ticket in and asked if they would validate it for us, saving us the cost of parking. They smiled and said, "Absolutely."

Hey! Never hurts to ask!

The museum does charge admission. You can't beat the price: all three of us got in for under twenty bucks.

First of all I have to say this is a first-rate museum.

All of us have visited a second- or third-rate museum. You know, the kind with cobwebs and Aunt Patty's quilts a-moulderin' on the wall.

This place is bang-up. In 2005 one of their exhibits won an award from the American Association of Museums as one of the best in the nation.

My approach with LO and museums and art galleries has always been: don't overstay. As soon as she seems tired of it, LEAVE.

She never got tired.

Changing Places sharpens your curiousity. Various stations have 3-to-5 minute videos of people sharing their experiences.

We visited the kitchen of a family who moved here from India. We opened the cabinet doors and saw what they eat. Pots on the stove showed a typical meal. We even read the magnets on the refrigerator.

We approached a mannequin and put our feet in the footprints on the floor: stand HERE for personal space of people from the United States. Stand HERE for Japan. Stand HERE for Saudi countries.

At one point we were almost nose-to-nose with the mannequin.

We visited a taquiera, a Mexican shop, and explored their foods.

One section explored what an immigrant keeps, and what he discards, from his culture, as he assimilates into life in the US.

We watched a video of high school students who explained how they felt when we say this or that.

It was eye-opening.

We visited a park scene, and sat at a picnic table. A hopscotch on the floor showed each number in a different language. Cards on the picnic table posed questions for us to discuss: What makes a house a home for you? What is the most important issue facing the world today? What is more important: respecting parents, or respecting children?

We actually discussed them.

I could hardly withhold my excitement. This. was. working.

We viewed a video of a woman who exiled here from Niger. She struggles with English, and depends on her daughters for communication. Her high-school daughter shared her love of Charlotte and her dreams to one day be a doctor.

The exhibit ends with a flat-panel touch screen. Bubbles pass by with images of people who have also visited the exhibit. They had sat in the video room and shared their impressions of the exhibit. We touched a bubble and the person's video played. When it ended, we touched another video and saw that one.

LO actually became enthusiastic. "Let's make a video!"

So we did.

I have only hit a few of the points of the exhibit. It's much larger, took us almost two hours to go through, and provoked thought for each of us in the family

Our day ended with a late lunch and drive home.

She never complained.

Now that's success.