TV

I've never considered myself much of a TV watcher until recently. In fact, for several years in my 20's and 30's, I prided myself on not even having a TV.

As we've crept into our 50's my dear hubby has morphed into this TV-watching beast, flipping from manshow to manshow, abandoning ALL pretense of watching anything remotely woman-friendly. From How That's Made to the true story of the Atlanta kidnappings, he seems fascinated by murder, mayhem, and science.

I've responded by a parallel retreat into all things estrogen. I follow every Housewives, from Atlanta to Orange County to NY and NJ. I love to chance upon a Dear Genevieve on HGTV, and will watch pretty much anything on Bravo.

Except Top Chef. I hate it. They're too over-the-top dramatic for me. Background drum rolls heighten the tension as the judges insult the poor contestants. "You burned the eggs." I fold a shirt and think, "Who cares?" -- pick up the clicker and check out what's on QVC. Meanwhile in the next room I hear bombs exploding and gunfire.

I wistfully remember the days when DH and I watched -- and discussed-- things together. Real World on MTV. Survivor. Movies. It was such fun!

There are a few things we still watch together: American Idol is one, although he has been disparaging it lately, and I think those days are coming to an end. Currently we watch So You Think You Can Dance as a family. LO loves dance, and I enjoy our togetherness as much as I enjoy the show itself.

I have recently "discovered" a new show that I can't seem to interest DH in. The show is called, Nine by Design, and it came on Bravo. I think it's over for now but I hope it will return next year.

It's a reality show about a real-life couple in NYC who discovered they had a talent for design. Every time they design a home for themselves, someone comes along and offers them zillions of dollars for it, and they have to move again.

They have 7 kids, all with unusual names: Major, Wolfie, Bellamy, Tallula, Breaker, Five (yes, they have a child named Five!), and Holleder.

The parents, Cortney and Bob, stray for the norm by being, well, extremely normal, on a reality show. They don't yell at their kids, they don't yell at each other, they care about others, they work to contribute to the well-being of others, and they work hard at their work.

In-between the adventures (getting lost in London, scheduling 2 charitable events in the same week,) we get glimpses of their extraordinary and unique design. I love this show and have been known to watch it over and over on Hulu. Check it out.

So yes, I'm over 50 and my days of disparaging TV are long gone. Nowadays I notice what days various shows come on and plan my time accordingly. It's a huge waste of time, doesn't make anyone's world any better, and I do it anyway. Welcome to America.

Duality

I receive a daily email from Writer's Almanac, a digest of sorts of writers who were perhaps born on this day, or wrote something noteworthy on this day. The email features a poem to start, then explores writers and gives a brief but witty history of their accomplishments.

Sunday's poem was especially poignant for me, so much so that I forwarded it to my MIL. She hasn't slept well in months and I thought she would identify. She must have. She replied, "I loved the story too. But too bad, I do most of the guard duty. Love, Mom."

I think about duality a lot, as I clean house or go about my day. "I think about DH in this way. What if he thinks about me in that way?"

Or inversion: I see LO in this way, and she sees me in exactly the opposite way.

And then I wonder, "Do other people think in this way? Do other people wonder about the wondering, itself?"

Clearly. I have too much time for thinking.

Those Red Shoes

I promised a few days ago to post the pics of LO with Mr. Red Shoes at the production of Wicked we attended in Nearby Big City.

I completely forgot said promise until I was cruising her Facebook page tonight, saw the pics, and gave a little gasp.

Enjoy!

End of School

In years past, the end of school was marked with a flurry of dance recitals and sports banquets. Now that we're in High School, these festive events are replaced with Studying for Exams.

We left church yesterday and skipped Sunday School so LO could come home and study for her Biology exam. She felt a little too stressed to wait out another hour. Her exam is on Wednesday.

In our state, high school students must pass state tests on some key subjects in order to graduate. One is biology.

We spent about an hour making flash cards: Who discovered the double helix? What is mitochondria?

She studied all morning and afternoon, stopping at 3pm to wash, dry and straighten her hair, then back at it.

At about 7pm she moved from the kitchen to her room, where she listened to her iPod and continued to study. I would hear her singing one moment, and the next, hear her muttering about CO2 and H2O.

She feels that she did well Friday on her Honors Geometry exam; plz send out good vibes for her on Wednesday.

Pops @ Post

Tonight we attended the Pops at the Post, which I wrote about a few days ago.

Rain and thunder teased us off and on from 5pm to about 6:30. Showtime is 8. We scurried to an unusually empty parking at 6:15 and began unfolding our camp chairs, table, and picnic.

We had our choice of real estate there on the parking lot. The real tailgaters, those with the 10x10 tents and grills, had been on the perimeter since about 2pm. But the most of us, those who roll in a small meal, blanket for babies, that kind of thing, were mostly missing.

The family was confused. "Where do we set up?" they asked. With so much space to choose from, nothing really stood out. "There." I pointed to a spot with "no parking" painted on it. "But we'll be out in the middle," they said. "Folks will show up and come in all around us," I said, and sure enough, they did.

I took this photo during the 1812 Overture. You can see the large screen erected on our parking lot; there were 2 others on other parking lots. Just past the screen on the right, you can see the loading dock, where the symphony was actually located.

From this vantage point, the crowd appears small. We were quite near the front, with many, many people behind us, and there is another very large parking lot to the north.

The event was well-attended, after all, and the music was delightful. Good time had by all.

Weekend

I'm not usually a person who highly anticipates the weekend Even when I had a 5-day, 9-to-5 job, I tried not to. I've always felt you can waste 5 days only cherishing the 2. That's 71% of your life you can waste, only appreciating the remaining 29%.

But this weekend is a biggie.

Several years, our local newspaper celebrated its 150th anniversary by hosting a free concert by our local symphony -- outside.

Turns out the loading dock of the newspaper building, there in the middle of downtown, made a great "shell" to resound the music.

Who knew?

It was a huge, extravagant event, complete with large screens and speakers in parking lots for viewers who couldn't locate their camp chairs close enough to see. Cardboard fans on wooden paddles also served as the program for the music.

That first concert had a patriotic theme, and the paper arranged for 2 Black Hawk helicopters to fly over downtown. The finale was the 1812 Overture, complete with cannon.

The city went mad for it! Loved it! Begged the paper to repeat it the next year.

So they did. And they repeated it the next, and the next. The music, helicopters and Overture became tradition.

The first weekend in June has become the traditional Pops at the Post weekend, and people now organize tailgating parties starting as early as 2pm. Streets are blocked off and it's a free, family-friendly, see-people-you-haven't-run-into kind of thing.

We love to go. We carry our canvas chairs and pull our rolling cooler along behind us, filled with picnic goodies. We eat in our laps and chat, get up and wander around and talk with friends. The blocked streets also host vending booths where restaurants offer food to those who don't pack their own. Our local soda pop company, Cheerwine, offers free drinks to all. Our local grocery chain, Food Lion, has coolers of free water for the taking.

Little One typically brings a friend or two and they wander around, meeting up with their other friends. We are nearby and check in from time to time on her cell phone: "Where are you now?" -- just for safety. She is not allowed to be out of the company of friends.

Then, when the sun is just about to go down, the magic begins. By the time the Overture starts, LO returns and sits with us.

At the very end of the 1812 overture, when all the bells ring, is the most magical moment of all. People are stationed in the bell towers of all our downtown churches (including ours.) At just the right moment, they all clang away like mad. It's so exciting and fun. And it happens tomorrow night.

Hope to see you there.

Wicked

Little One and I spent an enchanted evening last night in our nearby Big City, attending the touring Broadway production of Wicked.

To cut to the best quote of the night, she confessed at intermission, "Nana, I almost cried. It isn't scary; it's just overwhelming."

She was right.

The event started for us, I guess, at about 3pm when she dedicated 1.5 hours of her time to coaxing my hair into a French twist for the occasion. Then we threw on clothes, drove to a nearby restaurant for a quick meal, and proceeded to the City for the show.

Usually the evening rush-hour traffic on our interstate is headed toward our town, not back into the City, so I had not been concerned. I was edgy, however, when all lanes of traffic came to a dead stop -- not once, not twice, but 4 or 5 times in a 10-mile stretch. We never did see an accident or signs of construction. Despite the stops, and the intermittent rain, we got to the auditorium, parked, ran through the rain, and arrived inside in plenty of time to have a refreshment and pick up a size S "Wicked" t-shirt before the seats opened.

During this time, LO spotted a merchandise fellow wearing red sequin shoes, and asked me to take her picture with him. "Sure," I replied. This child knows no strangers, and marched up to the guy. She announced that his shoes were screaming to be in a picture with her. He smiled and agreed. Please check this blog soon for inclusion of the photo -- it's on her phone and she's at school at the moment.

Now for the play: This will be very short.

I've seen only a few Broadway plays in my life -- a few in NYC and a few traveling productions.

Nothing I've ever seen pales to this production.

Sets: amazing.
Special effects: artful.
Costumes: oh my goodness.
Cast energy: over the top.
Talent: ......wow.
Script: clever.

And the music: we were still humming it this morning. Headed to iTunes after this post to see what I can download....

During the play I glanced at our girl a few times to see how she was reacting. I wondered if she heard more in the music than I did, seeing as she can truly sing, and I have a double-case of Tin Ear. Her eyes were just filled with wonder. I rarely see her totally, completely absorbed in anything, but last night, she was. She thanked me and hugged me several times since, and, I really feel it was worth every hard-earned penny.

We drove home in more intermittent rain and reached the house at about midnight. I am so thankful for this enchanted night.

Shredding

I have just spent 1.5 hours of my precious life opening, shredding, unclogging, and coaxing junk pieces of paper into bits for one reason -- FEAR.

I am afraid to put these papers in the trash. Someone might steal my trash and thus steal my life. My money. My identity. My good name.

This is crazy.

I thought there was a recession on. I thought no one could get credit. So would someone please tell me WHY we get 2 to 4 new credit card notices a day?

When I was little, our dad would watch TV and explain the marketing techniques to us during the commercials. I ate that stuff up.

Today as I was shredding (that was before I got the thing overheated AND jammed, the second and final time) I watched those marketing techniques go down the shredder.

"You've been selected" to pay our exorbitant interest rates.
"You deserve it!"

And, the bane of all my existence, the "checks." Sometimes Discover includes them with our bill and sometimes they just send them separately.

The checks are so nefarious because they would make you feel like you're doing something very normal -- writing a check. Except in this case, the money is not yours, so you will pay interest. But by their "normalizing" it -- making it seem just like an everyday occurrence, you may not remember it's going to cost you big time.

So I watched these papers go down the shredder, and the seconds ticked by on the clock. It was all one giant metaphor for my life going past.

When we buy a shredder, (and yes, we've bought more than one in our 15 years of marriage,) we always buy the best one we feel we can afford. That way, we haven't overspent, but maybe, maybe, we have gotten a good quality one that will serve us well and last a long time.

That's our general philosophy on buying everything we get.

This shredder is rated for 10 pages per pass. I say with any shredder, divide the number by 2 and subtract 1. This particular shredder sounds happiest when it's processing 4 sheets of paper.

R-r-r--r-r-r-r-r- it happily chews up the papers.

I tried putting in a whole pad of the Discover checks: the outside says there are 8 and there are papers on the front and back: 10 sheets of narrow paper all together.

Ng-ng-ng-ng the shredder is singing slowly and sotto voce.

Then it stops.

I hit "reverse" and "forward" as long as I can until it grinds to a total and complete stop.

I opened the bay (must unplug to get it to open, safety check, tyvm.) and find although the bin is not full, all the ditritus from the shredding is jammed up there in the blades.

So I dig it out with my bare fingers. Remember it's unplugged.

The first time DH ever did this, I was frightened. Worried that the blades could disengage and chew up more of his fingers.

But it did fine for him so now I dig in with impunity. (Forgot to check, but I do NOT think there is such a word as "punity." Just saying.)

Did this once, did not run through a whole book of checks again, but it clogged again and now that I've unclogged it again, it just won't run at all.

I tend to toss shred things onto the shredder and save them up just because I hate the noise of the thing. I think in the future I'll shred things day by day, one or two things at a time, and avoid the trauma of doing a huge job.