Maggie's Attic

Back to School Shopping

2010-08-22T14:19:00.004-04:00

Little One announced to me last week we needed to shop for school clothes. I was a little surprised at this, since her high school allows students to wear jeans. We bought 1,000,000 new tops last year and I honestly thought I was done for the high school career.

But, no. Varsity cheerleaders are required to wear dresses on Fridays (football players must wear shirt and tie). And, all her tops are sooo last year. But her shoe stock is plentiful (read that plen-ti-FULL), and her accessories, handbags are all in order. As a (grand) parent I feel underwear is our responsibility, and I'm happy to provide that end of things. (pun intended)

In years past I have served many roles on shopping trips: chauffeur, dressing room organizer, runner for other sizes, opinion giver, one who keeps her mouth shut on occasion, and censor. I've not often had to serve as censor as LO is quite modest and doesn't often look at inappropriate clothing. Usually I just have to ask her to consider the long-term usefulness of a given garment. Most of all I serve as the Almighty Wallet. I pay and pay until I finally draw the line.

This year I am aware it's only a few short years until she goes to college. I haven't really been fair to her by allowing her to be unaware how much things cost.

Because she only needed some tops and a couple of dresses, I set the budget at $200. Yesterday I gave her 2 crisp $100 bills and explained to her I will serve as chauffeur, dressing room runner, and opinion-giver, when I am asked. She is to select what she needs, what she wants, and budget it all within her clothing allowance.

I chose to give her $100 bills so the limitation would not be lost. It's easy to think you have lots of money with a fistful of $20s. I wanted her to see the $100s spend away a bit at a time.

On the way to Nearby City for the mall, Little One realized she had forgotten to bring her handbag and asked me to keep her money for her. No, sorry, I replied, the money is your responsibility. If I held it, her awareness of how much she had left might get lost.

She coped. Fortunately her shorts had pockets with buttons. So we were off.

We. had. a. blast.

Although she never said, so, I think LO really enjoyed having to manage her own money. I think she enjoyed the freedom to spend on what she felt was important, without my influence. I will say we were closer on this trip than on any other, because, I think, she was the Decider.

LO has never been one to look at sale racks. Did I say never? Never.

This time, she bee-lined to sales. She considered the relative value of the items she bought: "I can buy ONE of these, or with the same money, I could get TWO of those. But I like this one better. Hmm." It was truly a pleasure to observe her deliberating.

At the very end, she about $70 left. She tried on two dresses marked down to $23 each, but they required sweaters as one dress had spaghetti straps, and the other was strapless, neither of which is allowed at school without a sweater or jacket. She tried them on with cute sweaters, which of course, were not on sale, priced at $37.50 each.

Both dresses looked great on her. The sweaters were perfect for the respective dresses, as well.

Both dresses were certainly affordable with her remaining money. But the sweaters, cute as they were, were not. And to make it more challenging, the colors were so diverse that one sweater could not suffice for both dresses.

She considered and re-considered. Tried on both outfits again. Finally, and without drama, she selected the dress-sweater that looked the best and would serve the most occasions, and pleasantly returned the other dress and sweater to their racks in the store.

For her money, LO bought:

o 3 very cute tops from American Eagle, a pricey teen store where everything was 40% off.
o 1 little black dress, sheath style and a black-and-white sweater. Both on sale at Charlotte Rousse.
o 1 dressy spaghetti-strap dress from Aeropostale, ditto remarks on American Eagle. Sort of sheer with tiny floral print. Ruffle tiers down its length. Started at over $100, was marked down to $46, but everything in store was 1/2 off. Price: $23.
o 1 ivory cardigan with 3/4 sleeves, also from Aeropostale. $37.50
o 1 white cotton dirndl skirt with Battenburg lace at the hem.
o 1 navy peasant blouse with white embroidery.

Result: she has a comfy, casual skirt-and-top, a grown-up looking black dress, and a dressy, flirty dress. 3 tops for jeans or shorts plus the peasant top which can go with the skirt or jeans.

The experiment exceeded even my own best hopes and I daresay this is how we'll shop in the future.

Quick Update

2010-07-04T11:56:00.003-04:00

TY to all of you for calls and love. I am somewhat better today. My head still pounds and aches when I stand up or sit down or lie down, but it is quite diminished. Before, it pounded so hard I was actually afraid I would die -- just fall down dead. Now, that is gone and the pounding, while still painful, is much milder.

And my appetite has returned. Remember when that was not a concern? I am glad that I want a bit to eat; I have been forcing myself to eat just a bit every day despite not wanting it; not fueling one's body can lead to headaches, and I've had enough of that for now. I did track how much I ate and it ranged from 200 to 420 calories/day, but that was all I could take.

I am still not eating much, but I do get a little hungry before I eat, and I am glad to have that back.

TY again for your thoughts and prayers. I have an MRA, which is like an MRI of your arteries, I think, on Wednesday, to continue to see why this all started to begin with.

Tuesday will be a challenge as I have a meeting in the morning and City Council in the afternoon. I need to look well and "on the ball."

My older son and his fam are arriving any day now, and DH and I are getting ready for their visit. I so look forward to it. My red wagon from Traci's infancy is cleaned out and ready for little riders. :) We are taking an outing today to stock up on sippy cups. My first outing in almost 2 weeks. DH questioned the wisdom of going out today, and I posed the choice: go out today and possibly ruin a good day, or I go ALONE tomorrow while he is at work. He went for option A.

Noggin

2010-07-03T03:23:00.003-04:00

It's 3:20 in the morning and I still can't get to sleep. I didn't nap today, except for that blissful moment when I did fall asleep and my gf, who has been on vacay, promptly rang the bell -- so that didn't count.

I'm guessing my system is telling me the 10 days I've spent in bed is plenty of rest and hey! we aren't tired anymore!

But I haven't been lying down because I'm tired, but because getting up gives me the damnedest headache you ever saw. It's a sudden and intense pounding and intense pressure inside my head, very painful, and very scary.

I usually avoid blogging when I'm angry, or sad, or don't feel well, as those who read it will think of me that way until I blog again, which sometimes could be quite some time.

Most of you know, though, that I haven't been well lately, so this posting won't come as a surprise.

It all started with a sort of normal headache, not like these, but a sudden, intense, severe pain that quickly caused puking, lots of it, and one, then another trip to the ER. Over the course of the two trips, they gave me a CT scan, 2 spinal taps, and finally an MRI. At first they were checking for an aneurysm, then for a mass, and both were ruled out with these tests.

Finally, coming home with a clean bill of health (sort of --but why do I get these headaches??) I should be ready and able to function normally. But for a week I could not get up without this pounding and pain. A trip to the neurologist diagnosed me with a spinal tap headache.

Ironically, they have renamed spinal tap to "lumbar puncture" to reduce the horror associated with it, but the headache is still called, spinal tap headache.

A spinal tap headache happens after, duh, a spinal tap. 1 in 20 people don't heal up right away, and the spinal fluid leaks into the body, leaving the brain sitting slap against the skull, instead of in a nice fluid sac that cushions it. This causes a nasty headache.

The cure for a spinal tap headache is called a blood patch. They inject your own blood into the site of the spinal tap; the blood clots, thereby plugging up the hole where the spinal fluid was leaking out. The body makes more spinal fluid and voila! the brain has its nice cushion again.

I had this done on Wednesday and should be feeling fine by now.

Of course, I'm special, and typically don't ever follow the rules set out for normal people.

The amount of time I can sit up or stand has gotten longer, we're talking 10 to 30 minutes at a time, but eventually, this pounding and pain starts and I have to scurry for bed to lie down. So I can do mini-tasks, like fold the laundry, or put in another load. Last night, um, make that, Thursday night, I even cleaned out and organized the freezer. The one in our refrigerator, not the chest freezer.

I had a particularly bad day today, whining and fretting and worrying that they'll never figure out what's wrong and I'll have to live this way forever. At one point, I told DH, "I love our bed, but this is getting crazy."

While I'm lying down, what do I think about? All the things I wish I were doing. And I have to admit, I have "asked" DH to do quite a bit today, to the point that he really seemed to get tired of it. Check. Lesson learned. Don't ask for something unless you really need it, dingbat.

My iPod has been my saving grace, and tomorrow I plan to ask LO to play cards with me. Anything to keep my brain occupied and my head healing.

Oops, I have been up too long, and must scurry off to bed. I promise to blog again with updates. Love to all.

The Clock

2010-07-03T03:03:00.003-04:00

It's 3am and our crazy clock just struck 33 times. No, that's not a typo. 33 times. Don't mistake the number as having anything wildly related to the actual time; it might well have struck 9 times, or 22, or 3. The record number of strikes at one time so far, is 38.

At one time, this would've driven me bat-sh*t crazy, but clockmakers are highly overpaid, IMHO, and I'm too cheap to drive this old clock 22 miles to the nearest clock repairman (make that 44 miles, round trip, and another 44 miles to go fetch the thing) and fork over another $50 so he can make it strike the correct number of times, when I generally know what time it is, anyway, since we have another clock that plays well with others and strikes the correct time. And, although this clock strikes like mad, it keeps perfect time, so nothing really needs fixed.

I remember when we bought this clock. A local auctioneer used to have auctions at the VFW Post around the corner every couple of months or so, and DH and I considered it a night out. We'd gather up LO and a quilt and some toys for her to play with, and go sit and look at stuff and watch people vie for it and sometimes we'd vie for it, too. That's how we got our English banker's chair, a swivel one, for $12 -- and odd tables around the house, and our brass bed for $60, and some of our Depression glass, and lots of my linens, and our church pew, now proudly, beautifully refinished by yours truly -- and the clock.

We brought the clock home and proudly set it atop something in the kitchen. It worked from the day we got it. The face and pendulum are fronted by a glass door with folk art painted on the inside of the glass. But one can't see the painting from the inside, as it's painted over with black paint. It's old, probably pretty old, and is made of walnut. The backside of the clock is made from some pretty rough wood, and has the remains of an old label inside, although not enough of it remains to be read.

Within a month, moths had infested our kitchen. At first, we had one or two lazily taking a circuit during dinnertime, and we thought nothing of it. Later, though, I found their larvae in everything -- flour, sugar, teabags, even a can of Campbell's soup, even though I never figured how the momma got inside to lay her eggs. That was some kind of maternal determination. They had come from a teeny web-like thing in the corner of the wooden box that I never noticed then, but would carefully search for if we got it today, now that I'm older and wiser.

I threw stuff out and threw stuff out for a year or two, assiduously cleaned, and finally, ahh. It was over. We never had moths again. (Find some wood to knock on, quick.)

In the meanwhile, DH had built a proper shelf for it from walnut he had purchased at a woodcrafter's estate sale. He got a truckload of wood pieces for $1 at the very end of the auction, and we loaded armload after armload into the bed of his little green truck. This piece was from an old bowfront dresser, and the cove molding made a beautiful shelf for the clock.

The erratic striking would once have made me crazy, as I said, but now I listen to it with a sense of humor. After all, who else has such a crazy clock? It only seems more dear to me now.

TV

2010-06-17T08:41:00.003-04:00

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

2010-06-11T07:43:00.004-04:00

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

2010-06-08T21:47:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-07T07:25:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-05T22:56:00.003-04:00

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

2010-06-04T08:15:00.005-04:00

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

2010-06-03T08:03:00.003-04:00

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

2010-06-01T14:11:00.004-04:00

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.

The Vacuum

2010-05-31T07:22:00.004-04:00

It's an intimidating feeling when one sits down to write something, and nothing, nothing comes to mind.

I committed to writing more on my blog, and doggone it, I intend to follow through.

But nothing comes to mind.

I could write about having seen in the newspaper yesterday that I am supposed to speak at a Memorial Day event today, but had not been notified. I called our efficient and able City Clerk and she, too, had not heard anything about it. She dutifully went in to the office, on a Sunday, on a holiday weekend, and emailed me a proclamation to read today. Day saved. Thank you, MH.

I don't know who failed to contact us, but if I were not to show up for the event, the audience would think it was I who had dropped the ball. We can't have that.

I could write that we're having friends over tonight for a cookout. Just a married couple, laid back, easy.

I could write that LO wants so badly to work this summer. She has looked into the few contacts she has, but has been told over and over that they are trying to hire adults this year, as they really need work.

I wrote the exec direc of our children's theater, meaning well, and offered her services as an intern to the summer drama camps for children. She could use the experience next year on her resume.

Now she's ticked off that I have potentially gotten her a non-paying job and she won't be able to secure a paid one. I should have asked her first.

But all these things are so mundane, you wouldn't want to read them. I'll try to do better next entry.

Deep Thoughts on... Poison Ivy

2010-05-29T08:50:00.003-04:00

I must say I was so relieved last night when my DH said, "I don't know how on earth you get poison ivy every year. We just do not have any to be seen in our yard."

So many people ask me accusingly, "Don't you know what it looks like? You just need to stay away from it!"

It makes me feel a little like an idiot.

DH mowed Wednesday and I worked the periphery, pulling the tall blades of grass from between my impatiens, and thinning the mint that tries to dominate my flower bed.

I can see the headlines now : Mint: The New Kudzu.

But that's off-topic.

So I did those two things, and now I have red patches with high yellow-filled blisters on my arms, face, and behind an ear. Another red patch has sprouted in the little hollow at my throat.

I sponged makeup on the portion of my face last night, so I could greet at the Youth Theater. When I got home, it was really hot and angry. Obviously did not like makeup.

DH was annoyed that I had not headed straightaway for a shot. Now the dr. office is closed and I'm sprouting more postules by the hour.

I called the doctor's office and had the service page the doctor on call. I explained my predicament, and told him I can waste money on all the bottles at the drug store, but the only thing that relieves poison ivy for me is a shot. Because their office is closed, he offered to call in a prescription of Prednizone for me.

Then I approached the vanity issue.

"Um, doctor, in addition to the pain and discomfort, I, uh, wonder about the appearance. You see, I serve on City Council. I have to be on TV Tuesday, and don't want to look like, uh, like a Freak of Nature. Are there any old-time poultices I can use that might work?"

He laughed. and laughed. and laughed.

I got a little defensive. "You'd be sensitive about it, too, if it were you!"

"Yes, I would," he acknowledged. "In my opinion, none of those things work. I recommend Calamine and makeup, ma'am."

At least he called in the meds.

Blog.

2010-05-28T10:02:00.002-04:00

To the family and friends who follow my blog: I blogged today and encourage you to nag me to continue.

In 2005, I posted 89 times.
In 2006, 80.
In 2007, 54 times.
In 2008, I made a NY resolution and posted 229 times.
In 2009, 78.

This year, I have posted 3 times.

Yikes.

I tell myself I'm too busy to write or draw.

But I'm not too busy. In addition to working, I choose to do other things that waste my time. Websudoku. Organizing cabinets that are already organized. Going to coffee. Facebook.

But life is short. The blog is my way of chronicling what we're doing, and trying to communicate in a pretty non-communicative family. Other than my mother-in-law, pretty much no one else really stays in touch. So I blog.

So, (sigh) as of today, I'm back in the saddle again. I encourage you to Hold Me Accountable. I. will. blog.

Every Day Matters

2010-05-28T09:22:00.002-04:00

I've not blogged in forever, mostly because I delude myself that I'm too busy.

I'm not too busy. I choose to do other things that waste my time.

I'm finally prompted to post because of an artist I admire, Danny Gregory. His writing and drawing really, really make me think. You know how sometimes you just "click" with someone? The things they say, the things they notice -- they are the same things you notice, and you feel that you relate? ...even though maybe you've never met? That's how I am with this guy I never met. Not in a creepy-stalky way, but in a platonic, from-far-away, sort of way.

Danny started drawing as an adult in 2002 when his wife fell from the platform at the subway station. The train ran over her and severed her spine. She survived, and was a paraplegic. Through the experience, they realized every day matters. Danny struggled with the loss of his wife's well-being, and drew to cope. As his talent amazingly developed, he began to write books encouraging others to just draw. He said the more you draw, the better you get, regardless of whether you think you have talent or not.

This idea truly appeals to me, and I became a follower of his books and website.

So his wife passed away a few months ago, and he has faithfully posted about what it's been like for him and his son. Although Danny considers himself an artist, I have to admit his writing is top-notch. And, (although I know it's totally politically-incorrect to say this) for a guy, he is amazingly articulate with his feelings.

It hurts to read what he is going through. I avoid visiting his site. Then, after days and days, or weeks and weeks of not reading it, I must.

Today I asked myself why it's so hard.

First it's probably hard because his site has always been such a happy place for me. "You (yes, you!) can draw! All you have to do is try!" Now, it's not so happy.

Am I that shallow? I had to ask myself. Can I not roll along with this guy who is competely and legitimately hurting?

Then I realized why I can't bear his pain.

It's my pain. His losing his wife brought home the reality that one day I will lose J or he will lose me. It. will. happen. And I just can't bear to think about it.

I'll continue to procrastinate on visiting his site, and inevitably visit it, and voraciously read it. Just because I have to. In the meantime, I. must. create. Every Day Matters.

Time Goes By

2010-02-04T19:11:00.004-05:00

Little One has been on hiatus from piano lessons as her days are filled with studies, cheerleading practice, basketball games, and practice for the Youth Play at the local little theatre. The kids are doing Midsummer Night's Dream this year, and she is a fairy. She's also in the church youth choir and attends Young Life every week.
She clearly misses piano lessons, and has played her piano as much as ever during this break, missing only the lessons themselves. It's two less chauffeur trips a week for me, thankfully..

Lately she's been playing and singing an old favorite of hers, "100 Years" by Five for Fighting.
Here are the lyrics:

I'm fifteen for a moment
Caught in between ten and twenty
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

I'm twenty two for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars

Fifteen… there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
Fifteen…there's never a wish better than this
When you only got a hundred years to live…

I'm thirty three for a moment
Still the man but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way
A family on my mind

I'm forty five for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life

Fifteen… there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose yourself
Within a morning star

Fifteen… I'm all right with you
Fifteen… there's never a wish better than this
When you only got a hundred years to live…
Half time goes by
Suddenly you’re wise
Another blink of an eye
Sixty seven is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...

I'm ninety nine for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are...

Fifteen… there's still time for you
Twenty two… I feel her too
Thirty three… you’re on your way
Every day's a new day

Fifteen… there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey fifteen… there's never a wish better than this
When you only got a hundred years to live...

Little One has sung this song before and, while I noticed how lovely the words are, I've never been so moved by the words.. and her.. and me.

She's almost fifteen now! And she sits, and plays piano so beautifully, and sings the words with pure spirit and a heart just bursting with love for her music.

I'm on the other end of the cycle, past the halfway mark in my own life, just now beginning to reach my prime, just now beginning to serve in a way I'd like to serve, and thinking back on how I've spent my own life. "Capture your moments!" I want to say. "Hold on! Don't rush it!" and finally, "I am so proud of you! Please keep singing -- no matter what, please... just... sing."

But I say nothing. And she moves on to another song.

Fifteen -- there's still time for you
And you've only got a hundred years to live...

04.January.2010

2010-01-04T09:53:00.003-05:00

It's a cold day outside, a really cold day, and I am still in my robe and slippers with a space heater nearby. Little One is still in bed; it's her last day of Christmas break. Next week she has exams for the very first time, and she has studied every day.

She did an extraordinary job of caring for the dogs for a week for the down-the-street neighbors, who visit family in Connecticut every year between Christmas and New Year's. Sure, there were a day or two when we had to remind her, but after that, she took it seriously and considered the weather when going down there. She made 2 trips a day -- evening to take them inside and morning to feed them and take them out. It was bitter-cold and she would go early in the evening if she thought the dogs would appreciate being inside a little extra. She asked me to come along the last day so we could gather all the dog food cans and take them to wash and recycle. The dogs wagged tails and were very quiet and respectful of her when we came in; I could tell they appreciate her.

DH gave me a book of short stories with my Christmas and it is haunting me. All the stories are set in the 70's; each story includes a character who saw the guy walking on a tightrope between the towers of the World Trade Center. It's similar to the new book Olive Kitteridge in that way; in that book, each story stands on its own, but each one includes a character who knows Olive.
This book is named Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann. It won the National Book Award and has been on the NY Times best seller list for 4 weeks now. (Olive has been on for 29.)
The stories are compelling. The writing is tight yet descriptive. Lots of fragmented sentences. Yet the stories are about noble people, people with hearts, to whom LIFE happens. The stories are heartbreaking -- they give me bad dreams -- and yet I cannot stop reading. This guy is a Good Writer, and already I dread finishing the book.

I have been studying the Harlem Children's Zone. I first heard of it a few years ago when my favorite radio show, This American Life, did a feature on Baby College. I was intrigued.

During the campaign when my mentor mentioned the northeast quadrant of our city -- what can we do about the crime? the poverty? I googled the Harlem Baby College and realized it's a component of the larger program, the Children's Zone. I am continuing to study it. Last night I listened to more interviews of the founder, Geoffrey Canada. Today I am getting the book about it, Whatever it Takes, by NY Times editor Paul Tough.

During his campaign Barack Obama committed to implementing programs modeled after the HCZ in 20 cities around the US. This program is called "20 Promise Neighborhoods." I am intrigued, and looking into it.

So for LO's last of holiday -- we are : getting her eyebrows done, taking her new dress to the alterationist, buying new flats, getting our nails done, and calling for an appointment for new retainers. The old ones are lost, but these lasted a year, a new record.

Sigh. Shower. Dress. and, Out!

Gallon of Ambition and my Pint Glass of Life

2009-12-27T10:54:00.001-05:00

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

2009-12-22T13:08:00.004-05:00

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

2009-11-20T10:39:00.008-05:00

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

2009-09-29T07:38:00.003-04:00

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

2009-09-21T06:48:00.002-04:00

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

2009-09-17T10:19:00.002-04:00

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

2009-09-16T10:36:00.002-04:00

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

2009-09-15T22:57:00.003-04:00

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

2009-09-14T08:36:00.002-04:00

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

2009-09-12T13:05:00.003-04:00

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

2009-09-11T17:28:00.002-04:00

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

2009-09-10T06:02:00.001-04:00

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

Flintstones > Jetsons

2009-09-08T22:23:00.002-04:00

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

2009-09-08T10:48:00.003-04:00

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

2009-09-07T22:14:00.002-04:00

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

2009-08-30T09:37:00.003-04:00

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...

2009-08-01T08:35:00.004-04:00

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

2009-07-18T10:38:00.004-04:00

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

2009-07-12T21:15:00.003-04:00

Packing

2009-07-11T12:10:00.002-04:00

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

2009-07-05T23:32:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-30T21:25:00.002-04:00

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!

2009-06-29T10:45:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-20T10:13:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-16T22:35:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-11T23:49:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-08T21:47:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-07T11:34:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-05T20:23:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-04T22:52:00.004-04:00

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.

2009-06-04T22:52:00.001-04:00

The Director's Award

2009-06-04T22:48:00.002-04:00

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...

2009-06-02T11:15:00.002-04:00

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

2009-05-18T22:56:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-13T09:17:00.004-04:00

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

2009-05-07T06:53:00.002-04:00

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

2009-05-06T16:54:00.002-04:00

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

2009-05-06T12:07:00.004-04:00

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

2009-05-05T08:22:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-02T10:55:00.003-04:00

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

2009-04-30T23:21:00.003-04:00

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

2009-04-29T22:06:00.003-04:00

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

2009-04-29T08:24:00.003-04:00

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

2009-04-27T13:46:00.003-04:00

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

2009-04-26T08:39:00.004-04:00

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

2009-04-23T07:27:00.005-04:00

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...

2009-04-21T23:16:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-16T13:19:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-15T08:26:00.005-04:00

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

2009-04-14T09:43:00.005-04:00

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

2009-04-11T13:13:00.003-04:00

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"

2009-04-10T21:23:00.004-04:00

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.

Crawling Out

2009-04-08T11:04:00.003-04:00

It is Wednesday and I have already wasted much of a week lying around in my jammies. I finally visited the doctor yesterday, and she said it likely started as the flu, but progressed into a sinus infection. A really bad sinus infection. When I asked why I have mucus coming from my eyes, well, you figure it out. It's really too gross to put into words here. They gave me a shot in the butt and emailed my prescription for antibiotics to my pharmacy, which I very much appreciated. That way I was able to drive there, pick it right up and go home to bed.

LO and I rented "Yes Man" on our cable movie thingie, and laughed out loud. It was quite good.

I am trying to plan activities for her for the remaining days of Spring Break, since we are not taking a trip this year. Today we are doing manicures. Unsure about tomorrow, but DH is off on Friday and we are all going to the Levine Museum of the New South, then to a nice lunch. The exhibits look great -- will post afterwards. You can read about the museum here. We are scheduled to have rain on Friday, so a museum works out nicely.

The luncheon on Sunday was wonderful by all accounts. We had 48 guests, and they flowed well between living room, dining room, kitchen and front porch. We had plenty of food, and all the plates we dumped were totally clean -- they seemed to enjoy it all.

Received many compliments on the $40 cake we got in lieu of the $400 one at the chi-chi bakery. I plan to go get some of my $40 back as the middle layer was supposed to be chocolate but it was all white.

I was concerned about the gaping black hole that is our fireplace, nice and toasty in the winter but not too attractive in spring. I had sent DH in search of a colorful planter filled with pansies and such, but he came back empty-handed, saying he could tell I would not be satisfied with anything he saw. My co-hostess was present while all this transpired, and she ran to her landscaper and came back with beautiful bloom-laden pink azaleas, which looked wonderful in the fireplace.

We were so busy serving we totally forgot to take pics until the end, when we just shot the girls. Here they are.

Confirmation Luncheon

2009-04-04T12:33:00.005-04:00

We are in the midst of preparing for LO's confirmation luncheon. Here are pics of the flowers.

I told DMIL about waxing the porch floor this morning in my jammies, and so I took a pic of how lovely it looks, too.

Porcupines

2009-04-04T08:52:00.003-04:00

It has been a totally insane week.

As I shared earlier, our neighborhood Easter Egg Hunt is today and LO's Confirmation and luncheon are tomorrow.

No one had volunteered to organize the egg hunt this year and we were in danger of not having one, so like an idiot, I stepped up to the plate.

Yesterday I left home at 10:30 and got home at 4pm. I picked up dry cleaning, where all my clothes were. Went to Target for stuff for the luncheon. Did not have, but there was a great coffeepot on sale, and we have been needing one really badly. I promise this was my only impulse purchase of the day.

Went to Party City, Hobby Lobby, Kohl's, and finally, Sam's Club. I know. I have committed not to support that exploiter of humankind, but when you're in a pinch you -- you scrap your morals? Well. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

On the way home I stopped by the rental shop and picked up the silver punch bowl.

At 4 I got home and began unloading the car. Came upstairs and began to straighten up.

Asked LO to unpack the boxes that arrived last week from Oriental Trading. I did not want to arrive at the park today at noon only to find the eggs were locked in some plastic thing I could not open.

The first box seemed to be in order: about 300 pre-filled plastic eggs, and 150 temporary tattoos.

We opened the second box expecting to find the remaining 400 eggs. What we found was,

THIS.

FIFTY BAGS of rubbery porcupines, 36 to a bag. 1,800 porcupines in all.

By this time it was about 5:30. I called customer service. There was no way they c ould get me 400 more eggs by noon today. "So what do I do with these porcupines?" I asked. "Can you use them?" Rodney asked. "Well, I guess I'll have to hide them!"

They are crediting my card with the money for the other 400 eggs.

What a life.

Swiffer Wet Jet

2009-04-01T10:30:00.002-04:00

DH gives me total crap every time I buy a new mop, and I do have to admit I have bought a few. Perhaps I unconciously believe that buying a mop will make the floor clean, in much the same manner that I believe buying workout clothes will make me thin. Who knows.

So I have bought the sponge mop that folds in half to squeeze itself, the self-wringing string mop (it uses a slider on the handle to make it wring), a mop handle with three washable mop heads that you can throw in the washer (they get so tangled in the washer that you can't get them back on the handle ever again) and the plain old cotton string mop.

He uses the latter.

It gets so nasty I just abhor it.

I have watched the commercials for Swiffer Wet Jet for years and at first I thought, who wants a mop that sneezes a teensy bit of cleaner on the floor? -- but I have become more and more interested.

Maybe they have improved the ad.

So I finally bought one this weekend. I had a coupon and it was triple coupon week. $20 for the mop and $3 coupon, tripled, so I got it for $11.

When I got home I realized it uses batteries, and I was a bit disheartened. I mean, what kind of mop uses batteries?

And then of course there was the issue of DH giving me total crap. I cringed when I put the mop in the shopping cart, knowing ahead of time, what kind of crap I would get for buying it.

But I gave it a shot.

Wow.

It really cleans the floor. We had recently mopped, and yet the pad I removed was black. Black.

The best part is, there is no bucket. No slopping water. No wet gross mop to squeeze with your hands.

I am mopping the floor in just a few seconds. And I actually look forward to it.

Crazy Week

2009-03-30T11:08:00.004-04:00

Oh, it's been a crazy, crazy week. I usually prefer to post according to topic, what's hot for us that day or few days, but I am so far behind, this posting will relate to the week at large and I will try to use subtitles to break it up.

Work. You've heard on the news that journalism at large is struggling. Several large papers reduced to 5 or even 3 days off, and laid off many staff.
Our little town paper is no different. It relies on wire service for national and international news, and focuses on what no one else can replicate-- local news of our small town. Staff have been advised they have to take 5 days off between now and June -- with no pay. With such a small staff, it will be even harder for the editors to get the paper out. Freelancers like me have capitalized on the short staffing situation until now, stepping in to cover the empty spots. Now we are in the second phase -- cutting back freelancers. My food page is over, for now. I am focusing on education, and writing maybe 5 or so articles a month.
***
Little One. All-county band was this week, and she played like a trouper, even though her band Director has had her solely playing the baritone sax for the past 4 months. She qualified for All-County on her flute, and had to play flute Tuesday night. He even told her, "This is all my fault." She practiced a bit and I daresay she lip-synched the rest. But she made it through, 4th chair of 16 flautists.
Her confirmation ceremony is this coming Sunday, and we are having a "do" mostly for family that afternoon. The church had a lovely banquet for the confirmands Saturday night and each one read his or her statement of faith. One of the boys has Down's Syndrome and his dad helped him read his statement. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. All the girls wore new dresses and were so happy. The boys wore suit and tie and looked miserable -- until they had free time and the girls gave them attention. Then they seemed to brighten up.
Youth Sunday was yesterday and all the high school and middle school kids did the whole church service -- sermon, music, prayers, all of it. Well, adults accompanied them but the kids sang. It was amazing. LO has been discovering her voice this year and is, well, she has become quite good. A new choir director has taught them how to harmonize and she is loving it. She had two gfs visit Sunday evening and they sang for hours.
***
DH. We had thought electricity was recession-proof, but it seems demand is down what with all the store closures and industry cutbacks. Thankfully his unit did not lay anyone off, but sent them out to other plants with higher demands. This means DH is driving about an hour each way, now, for a while. The good side is, he is off weekends for now. And, he is day-shift only, so we can have family dinners. Yay.
Some of you may know he has suffered with plantar fasciitis since October, when he was running an hour at a go. He has been to doctors and doctors and doctors and has suffered a great deal of pain. Finally a friend told us of someone who had gone to Nearby Town where you put your foot on a computer thing and it tells you which over-the-counter insert you need for your feet. DH called the person and went to the place and amazing! after hundreds of dollars in medical fees, he is seeing relief from a pair of $50 orthotics. Yay.
***
Me. I had a terrible cold last week and finally spent a day at home, lying around to try and beat it. I am still all snoggy but feeling much better. At least I can climb the stairs without getting dizzy! It was terrible timing with Planning Board, All-County Band, progressive women's group and a host of other things.
The novel is coming along well. My class ended last Wednesday and we were all sad to say goodbye. It seems if you share your writing with someone, you feel quite intimate. I will not miss the drive -- an hour each way -- but the class was wonderful and I learned so, so much.
This week is crazy as I am heading up the neighborhood Easter Egg Hunt on Saturday and hosting folks for a luncheon on Sunday, following LO's Confirmation. We're talking major cleaning, folks, and it's crazy.
I went to a nearby bakery with an awesome reputation to order a cake for the luncheon. Chose a lovely "Mad Hatter" cake with tons of fondant icing. One hitch: it came to $400. My co-host (we are having it here and sharing responsibility) looked at me with wide eyes and asked, "Did you buy it?" I had to laugh as I said, "No, I would not do that without talking to you first. I found it a bit steep."
DD. Started a new job last Monday and is happy. She is a mechanic at a local auto shop. Her boss is a Christian and a former Army guy. She trained as a diesel mechanic in the Army and wanted to learn internal-combustion, and he gave her this opportunity.
This allows me to pick up LB from school every day and help her with her schoolwork. DD arrives at 5:30, covered in grease from head to foot. She seems quite happy and fulfilled. We are so thankful she found work, spesh in this economy.

It's Reality season and our family is absorbed in Idol, Amazing Race and The Celebrity Apprentice. Saturday we did not even turn on the TV and it was so refreshing. It's all good. :)

The Knickerbocker

2009-03-25T06:38:00.005-04:00

About a hundred years ago I knew someone who owned restaurants. I spent a bit of time in one of them, and observed "the regulars," who provoked a lot of thought on my part.

I had the idea to write a series of short stories about them, weaving in their personalities as I saw them, with my fantasies of their home life.

I had once visited the Knickerbocker bar in downtown Atlanta and I decided to set them in that place. It had these leering caricatures painted on the wall, likenesses of local politicians, I think, and in my story I imagined them to be muses of sorts, observing the bar patrons and discussing them there amongst themselves.

I ran into a box full of these stories yesterday as I was home with a bad cold or the flu, who knows. Anyway, I thought I might put one up here on the blog.

Barbie looks down when people ask her name.
“Barbie Hooper,” she whispers.
Her short fingernails dig into her palms and she hesitates before looking the polite inquirer in the eye.
How could her mother name her Barbie – such perfection to live up to! A perfectly molded body, firm, upright breasts, flat tummy, round, high fanny. Tiny little rosebud mouth. Blue eyes. Blonde hair.
Barbie’s brown hair always looks frazzled and on rainy days: it puffs out, tiny hairs forming a kind of halo around the other, heavier ones.
She never can find her tweezers – last time they were in the kitchen where she’d used them to pull dried spaghetti from the colander. One giant eyebrow crawls across the top of her face.
Her complexion is rosy and her monthly pimple is always prominent, on her chin, or her nose.
She can’t help that it’s so hard to find cute clothing, cheap, in her size.
The only thing she’s really self-conscious about is the tiny line of very fine, dark hairs across the top of her upper lip.
“Don’t be silly,” Mama always said. “You can’t even see it.”
Yet she often brought Barbie chemicals to lighten, remove, or peel away what she insisted no one could see.
Barbie works in an office building two or three blocks from the Knickerbocker. She’s a file clerk for a title company and doesn’t often go to the bar simply because she can’t afford to. She goes when she can, to find a guy who makes more money than she does. Then she could be happy, if she found a guy with money.
When she goes, she returns to work with a story or two to show those girls at the office that she does, too, have a social life. Of course, she might exaggerate just a little, romanticizes reality just a bit. Her details usually involve a little more interest from a man than he actually showed. Sometimes it’s a bartender. Sometimes it’s an attractive, slightly older businessman. She tries to vary the lines to give the stories more credibility. She is sure her stories make her seem desirable.
Barbie’s pushing thirty and all she wants from life is to marry someone and have his baby. Stay at home like Mama did. Be a good cook. Tiny white house with a very green lawn.
Barbie thought once she would go to school and become a dental hygienist. She heard somewhere they make good money. She’s never come up with the tuition and so files for Hayes, Moore and Moore.
She hates it.
At night, she returns to her apartment to cook a Lean Cuisine, then eats potato chips and microwave brownies as she watches the sitcoms. She’d really like to get a flat screen TV one day.
Her furniture is used—gifts she received as Mama’s bridge club remodeled their homes. The afghan was made for her by an aunt. Barbie kept it in her Hope chest for the longest time, but one night as she lay on the sofa watching TV, her feet were cold and she thought, “Why not?” and pulled it from the chest. It’s been draped over the back of the sofa ever since.
Flowerpots sit in the windowsill, full of dirt with a single dead stump in the center. Plants she buys on impulse at the first sign of spring, waters for a week.
Beside the sofa is a basket with a needlepoint inside. It says, “HOME SWEE” in three colors. It’s waited for a year or two now, but she’ll get back to it. The colors in her living room don’t match the yarns, anyway.
So every month or so, Barbie splurges and takes herself out to the Knickerbocker. She feels pretty there, especially after her second glass of wine. She tosses her hair and uses her hands a lot; catches glimpses of herself in the mirror behind the bar and thinks to herself, “I look pretty good.”
As the people begin to filter out, Barbie realizes she has no one left to talk with. The bartender is beginning to look a little drawn around the eyes.
“Well, I guess I’ll head out now. I actually have a late date tonight. Hate to make him wait too long.”
The bartender gives her an understanding smile. “Bet you’ve got ‘em lined out the door, Barbs.”
“Well, not really.” Barbie smiles at him over her shoulder on the way out. She’s sure that looks really good, smiling over her shoulder that way.
“You have a good un, now, doll” she says, and breezes out the door.
Outside, she glances in her reflection in the window. Her mascara has run all below her right eye, and the middle button on her dress has popped open.
Barbie slides into her car, feeling so, so empty inside.
Maybe if she had a cat…

The Ultimate

2009-03-24T08:17:00.003-04:00

I sniffled, snorted and coughed my way through a Board of Education meeting, came home, and wrote the article. Emailed it in.

We were settling down for bed.

"I'm not going to Ikea tomorrow, honey. I think I need to stay home and feel better."

DH sat up in bed and looked at me.

"You really ARE sick, aren't you?"

Burnt Tacos and Beyonce'

2009-03-20T21:39:00.002-04:00

For some reason, my kids love and adore to remember when I was the most fallible. Like the night I burned taco shells not once, not twice, but three times. We lived in Virginia at the time, and our home was 3 blocks away from an aged IGA. DS2 pedalled his bike 3 times for fresh taco shells.

Ever since, I have been given to burning taco shells. Lately I have been using Azteca tortilla shells, a cool kind of tortilla that you drape over little boxes that come in the package. Bake them for 8 minutes and voila! Crispy shells shaped like little bowls for your salad and taco fixin's.

Alas, our nearby grocery has STOPPED CARRYING these gems and I had to resort to normal taco shells for dinner tonight.

Meanwhile, DD called this afternoon and asked if we would be home tonight about 6. Sure, I said, why don't you just stay for dinner? Um, ok, she said, but there will be three of us.

I was thrilled. DD and LO's sister, Little Bit, moved back to town in October from Hawaii, and a third, and a surprise, surely meant their little brother was visiting from Nearby City.

He was, and when he came in the front door, he ran all the way to the kitchen to tackle me with hugs and kisses. Wow. What a great reunion. GJ was named for DH; the G is the same as DH's middle name.

I had baked my last pkg of Azteca tortilla shells and then turned the oven off and ran in the shells -- or so I thought. As I chopped and shredded for tacos, I smell something very, very familiar. Something like -- like burnt tacos.

Alas, I had not turned the oven off, but the wrong way to "broil." And broil they did. Crispeeee.

I tossed the black ones and saved the sienna ones. Burnt sienna, that is. No one complained, and every one was eaten; must not have been too gross.

DH built a bonfire in the back yard and we roasted marshmallows. Gee, we are used to girls. GJ, the grandson, ran around with the metal roasting tool on the long pole, poked sticks in the fire, slung marshmallow on the dog, and otherwise acted like a true boy. It was great. I believe every person in the family at some point in the night said, "Don't run in the FIRE!"

Finally we came inside for a game of spoons. It was a hard-fought game. Everyone lost about equally so no one's feelings were hurt.

At one point, we were all counting in Espanol. We passed nueve, dies, then went on to once, doce, trece, and GJ piped up. "Beyonce' ! "

It was great to see him. They will be back tomorrow.

Gray day

2009-03-13T07:04:00.002-04:00

It's a cold and rainy day, to be followed by another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another beyond that.

We had 3 blissful verdant days of sun and 70-degree weather. I thought this crap was over.

I have realized that as I age, I am more and more dependent on the sunshine for a steady mood. Hold on, Maggie, it's gonna be a loong week.

I had begun refinishing two pieces of furniture this week, and have only the final coat to go. They are locked safely in the outbuilding awaiting another sunny day.

Yesterday, in addition to the rain, I had another problem. I. have. lost. parts. of. my. novel.

Then as I was leaving the friendly neighborhood grocery, the little twerp of a checkout girl (hasn't she gained weight?) said, "Well, ma'am, you saved $3.40 on coupons and $2.62 on your senior discount.

Hmph.

Yep, it's gonna be a long week.

And the winner is.........

2009-03-04T04:04:00.003-05:00

I wish I could say we built this lovely lady. I wish I could say I am this talented.

We have neighbors whose kids are so, so, talented. Well, the whole darn family is. Mom and Dad sing like nobody's business. Mom used to act on Broadway. Kids sing, dance, act, play instruments amazingly, son is a talented gymnast.

Apparently they are quite the sculptors, too. After driving by their house today and noticing the diva in the front yard, I happened to run into the girls at a downtown shop. I pitifully begged them to email me their pics.

Please take a second to study this lady. (Notice the abs!)

Snow and Refrigerator Poetry

2009-03-03T11:43:00.002-05:00

We have had two blissful days locked in the house with about 5" of snow outside. I have not heard the actual official figure, but there appears to be about an index-card depth piled on the bird feeder, the handrails, and the stairs.

LO has been out of school, and the holiday has coincided with her freedom from having been grounded for what seemed like an awfully long time. She spent a happy evening on Facebook with her cell phone in hand, texting with both the right hand and the left.

Little Dog hates to poop in the snow. I am sure she feels as I do, that it is so very unsightly to have the dark turds perched atop the pristine snow. She will waddle back and forth, legs very bowed, and even whimper a little, looking for a more obscure spot. Finally, she can't stand it any more and has to just let loose. She glances over her shoulder at me accusingly, "Can't you find me a good spot of grass? What sort of owner are you, anyway?"

I don't have to answer her.

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

I think it's a shame that more people don't write refrigerator poetry. I got a set of words about 7 years ago and have enjoyed it immensely. I don't remember who gave them to me but it was so so thoughtful.

We still have two poems I wrote a long time ago, but the impact of slamming an 80-pound door 100 times a day has been rough on the poetry.

What used to say,

"Spring and summer are the dear friends I think of all winter long"

now says,

"Spring and summer friend I think winter."

And...

"You whisper to me / of love and eternity / and my heart sings"

now reads,

"You me eternity my heart sing"

..... I keep them around because my original sentiment is still there.

The kit has about 300 words printed on tiny magnets, and they even have suffixes and prefixes so you can make the words the way you need them. This is how "sings" became "sing" -- the S got lost.

The box of words long ago got lost. I think someone got tired of picking up the 300 pieces of half-inch magnet every time they fell off the closet shelf, and chucked them.

But it was a lovely gift. If you gave them to me, and you are reading this, thank you.

If I ever get another set, I will keep them in a drawer.

Quit While You're Ahead

2009-02-24T05:43:00.000-05:00

A guy and his son go into a bar. The son is a miracle of nature and is just a head.

The man asks the bartender for two shots. The man takes one shot and gives the other one to his son.

The son swallows down the drink and out pops an arm.

The man thinks, "Hey this is good."

So he asks for two more shots.

He drinks one and gives the other to his son again, and out pops another arm.

The man the asks for a double and gives it to his son. The son throws it down and suddenly explodes.

The bartender looks over at the man and says, "Looks like you should have quit while he was ahead."

Ikea Orgasm, Part II

2009-02-20T11:22:00.004-05:00

I heard that Ikea will deliver as much as you can purchase for $69 total if you live within 40 miles of the store. I googled the map. We're 32 miles away. I announced my intention to DH. He was shocked that I would consider delivery.

"I'll just put the roof rack on the car and you can get someone to tie your boxes on it."

I shuddered.

If they deliver it and drop it, they give me a new one. Remember, it's glass. If it flies off the roof as I zoom down the interstate, no one gives me a new one. I'm out the money AND the desk.

As The Big Day approached, I began to telephone gf's in search of a chum to accompany me. One evening, DH remarked, "Remember how much we enjoyed going to Ikea together in DC?"

Ah. "Do YOU want to go to the opening with me?"

He did. So I stopped trying to cajole my gf's into going on this crazy excursion with me. Good. He can handle the roof rack.

The idea began to seem even crazier when we read in the local paper (a fine publication, btw) that Ikea was going to allow people to camp on the doorstep two days ahead of the opening.

Really.

So the day approached. DH had the day off. We had to drop LO at the theater uptown that morning at 8am. She is in the kids' production of The Tempest and gets to miss school for a few days. I'm pretty sure that's why she goes out for plays. To miss school.

So we planned to drop her and get on the road at 8. The store would open at 9.

The night before, I commented, "Do you think we'll sit in the car for an hour?"

"Nah!" DH replied.

The day dawned cold, gray, and wet. Drizzling rain and cold winds. Our trip was pleasant enough and we exited the interstate at 9 straight up. Cold wet police directed us to turn away from the store to join the line of cars waiting for entry. "They're going to be out of meatballs," DH muttered.

I noticed my cell phone was almost dead. Dang. Why didn't I think to charge it last night? If we got separated, I couldn't call DH.

It took us an hour to reach the bridge across the interstate. As we neared the store, we saw police cars parked across the entry. The parking lot was full and they were turning cars away.

As we drove past the store, we saw pedestrians valiantly pushing babies in strollers in the cold and rain to the store. Ikea diehards. I identified. I rolled down the window. "WHERE'D YOU PARK?" I yelled. "Turn right up ahead! There's a strip mall down the road! Park there!"

We were off.

We found the strip mall, 2.5 short miles from Ikea. The rain cleared up. All we had to do was walk in the cold. Red clay mud medians were covered in straw. The mud tried to suck the shoes off my feet as we crossed. Another red clay hill, covered in straw, lay between us and the store. "Walk sideways so you won't fall into traffic," DH advised me. He held my hand to keep me steady. Aw. This is why I married this man. Remind me next time I grumble.

It was cold. Damp. Yucky. I was undaunted. "They're going to be out of meatballs," DH said.

As we crossed to the parking lot, the cops were once again letting cars in. "By the time you go for yours, we'll have it closed again!" The traffic cop was unusually perky for a cold and wet day.

We entered with streams of likewise Ikea-crazy patrons. Made use of the facilities. The paper-towel trash can in the ladies room was already almost full, and they had been open only 1.5 hours. The trash can was the huge kind, 4' tall and about 2.5' across.

We received "random gift cards" as we entered. Typically the Door Prize Queen, I excitedly ripped mine open. I fully expected to see a $1,000 shopping spree.

One free cinnamon roll. Hmph.

DH got, buy one yogurt, get one free. Hmph.

For the uninitiated, I'll explain that Ikea has one path for shopping. You have to follow the circuit. They have integrated a few shortcuts to this department or that one, but overall, you have to follow the yellow brick road.

"They're gonna be out of meatballs," he said.

When we finally made it to the office section, the drawer units I had studied online were not at all what I thought they were. A salesman showed me a much, much better option, and I made my decision. I walked away with two pieces of paper; one for getting my desktop from the self-serve section and one for getting the drawer units from the place where the workers get them for you.

We wound through the store to find the stairs down so we could check out. On the way, we came to the cafe. "AH! It's not full! Let's go get you some meatballs!"

"I don't want any meatballs."

Remind me again why I ...? Oh yeah, he helped me in the mud.

DH helped me find the desktop in the appropriate "bin" downstairs and load it on the flatbed buggy. I lined up to check out. Gazing out the windows, he was dubious about getting into the parking lot to load up the cartons.

"Just sweet-talk the cop and tell him you have to load purchases," I smiled at him.

He did not seem at all comfortable with this plan. It made perfect sense to me.

We suffered through an uncomfortable 5 minutes when it seemed my desk, so near now, was not going to happen.

Finally, I left the checkout line and found a manager. I explained that I was trying to purchase furniture and my DH was concerned that he could not get through to the parking lot to load it up.

"I was just out there. There are several parking places and they are letting people in. See?" He pointed out the window, and there were, in fact, moving cars across on the service road.

I returned to DH with the good news. He set off for the 2.5 mile hike as I paid for my purchases. I was wishing my phone had power.

The full-serve area already had my drawer units loaded on another flatbed buggy. Some very cute young men moved boxes from one flatbed buggy to another so I only had one buggy to navigate outside to the loading dock.

I sat inside the warm store on a bench facing windows and watched for DH to appear. Turned my phone on, called him. "Where are you now?" Turned it back off. Waited five minutes. Turned it on. "Where are you now?"

Finally I saw his car at the crossing, then on the service road, then in the parking lot.

I wheeled the cart outside and we loaded it up. Drove home and he unloaded my desktop from the car. EEeerk. Dropped it. I could envision shattered glass inside, but thank you God, when we opened it, we found one teensy chip on the edge, which we oriented to the rear of the desk.

DH assembled everything in record time and I love my new desk.

Reality Check at 5 Weeks

2009-02-09T20:32:00.003-05:00

Ok. So I have been reporting education for about a month now.

One reporter, a rather curmudgeon-y reporter, sauntered over to the desk where I work the other day, and growled, "So, ya sick of education beat yet?"

I looked up from my work and said, "Hey, in light of the economy, I'm happy for the work. I even feel that way when I type the crime blotter."

Her face assumed a look of total disgust. She gave a very short exhale through her teeth, sort of a "FTH!" and sauntered off.

I take it she did not care for my reply. She wanted negativity. She wanted me to complain, to whine.

Realizing that, I had to curb my enthusiasm.

But, between you and me, I love it.

Let's see what I've covered in 5 weeks.

12 girl basketball players from the high school tutor at-risk kids for 3 months
the public library is giving books to parents and teaching them to read to their 4-year-olds
our school system receives its report card on No Child Left Behind
the first African American college in the US (6 blocks from our house) celebrates Founder's Day
the first woman governor of NC visits Founder's Day at said AA college (with a press conference!)
recent college graduate returns from Kenya
drug addiction counselor speaks to middle school parents
inauguration day at LO's middle school
western day at local elementary school
local high school gets 200 iPod touch devices for freshmen to study with
school board meetings
12 dentists volunteer their time and materials to coat students' teeth with anti-decay material
100 hispanic parents learn English in elementary school. Local diverse church tutors them.

and, my favorite one yet...

Next week I visit a kindergarten class to attend the wedding of Q and U.
After the ceremony, we will go outside and throw birdseed, then attend a reception.

I am trying to think of an appropriate wedding gift.

Hey, how on earth could I BE sick of this gig? It's fun. I am learning a lot. I am not some young kid fresh out of college lamenting the absence of The Big Story. It's work, it's steady, I still work for myself, and I get to talk to kids a lot. It's local, it's safe, and I work it around my personal schedule.

Sounds like a dream to me.

Sick of the education beat? Fth!

Spring

2009-02-09T09:32:00.003-05:00

After 53 winters, one would guess that I might have a fundamental understanding that Spring Always Comes.

And while I seem to understand that intellectually, at some level, I seem to forget. Every year.

The temp today will climb to 64 degrees; Tuesday and Wednesday will bring 72. The weekend was sunny and balmy. The birds are singing and they don't have to flock to the birdfeeder as they have in weeks past; worms must be rising to the top of the soil.

Every year, this shocks me. It seems I resign myself to limited sunshine, cold temps, and gloomy skies.

We'll have a warm break and I'll see crocuses or hear birds, or see a flash of green, and I'll be shocked. "Spring is going to come!" It's always a lovely surprise, and in some way, I guess I am glad I get the annual amnesia. Without it, I wouldn't have such a lovely gift when the signs come.

Thursday

2009-02-05T08:08:00.002-05:00

OK, when you see my blog and the title is as unimaginative as what day of the week it is, you can pretty well know, yawn, that, um, you can surf on. Pass me by.

Not that things have been boring around here. Au contraire. I've been like the proverbial hamster, churning that squeaky exercise wheel. But interesting? Not so sure.

Yesterday I was once again tied to the computer to complete the articles about our school system's performance. It took all day. I developed spreadsheets from the state website, and forwarded them to the graphics guy to make them pretty enough to print.

Then, using the spreadsheets, I compared this school to that one, our system to other school systems, our system to the state average.

Yawn.

But, hey, it's work.

Little Bit slept over last night. Now that she's getting the hang of being at Nana's, she is settling right in. She knows where stuff belongs and helps herself. Speaks up. This morning, I asked her if she wanted eggs or pancakes. She didn't hesitate. "Pancakes!" she smiled.

She had not done her homework last night (I was at a class and did not get to see her til this morning,) so she got it done as she ate and finished it up in the car.

LO's cell phone bit the dust. She thought we'd run out and buy her the latest. Noop. I dug out my old flipper and gave it to her. I offered to buy her a skin for it online, but she told me it is so hideous there was absolutely no sense putting a skin on it; it would not help. "It has an antenna," she complained. "What kind of antique has an antenna?"

Oh, well.

I journeyed to a city an hour away last night for a writing workshop. The teacher has 3 children's novels in print, published by real publishers, not vanity presses. That's a big factor nowadays when so many ppl are self-publishing. As my gf said, "That's like having your trophy made without running the race."

We are emailing our Chapter 1s to each other today. Yikes!

Double Vision

2009-02-03T06:46:00.003-05:00

I am totally fried from working all day on spreadsheets detailing performance of our school system on End of Grade testing last year. End of Grade testing is our state's way of measuring if our students learned, and how much. It's one component of No Child Left Behind. It is my fondest hope that we can all Leave No Child Left Behind, Behind. I like to call it W's Folly.

The data was just released by the State: school by school, system-wide, and state-wide.

I entered data from each of our schools, comparing performance to the year prior. Also each school compared to our school system altogether, and to the State.

Our school system did not fare too well, but is making tiny steps of progress.

In-between studying all the data and posting it to spreadsheets, I was busy preparing Chocolate Lava Cakes for the Food Page in the local paper. The photographer came at 2pm and took pictures.

Girlfriends came at 7pm and had wine and chocolate. We gabbed for an hour and a half, and they headed home. DH was working nights but had thoughtfully laid a fire with a piece of newspaper prominently sticking out so all I had to do was strike a match and light the edge of it.

Soon as the gfs left, I headed back to the computer to finish up the spreadsheets. Emailed them to our graphics guy at 10:50. ps. I got up at 5 this morning to print it all out and get ready for a long day. Newsroom this morning, LO checkup in afternoon, take her to tutoring at 6, head across town to a middle school to cover an addictions speaker, slip out at 7:30, pick her up at 8. whew. I am tired just thinking of it.

Then LO (yes, she was up, lots of homework) and I stretched out and watched "Peter and the Wolf" on the iPod. Great Performances on PBS. They sell the DVD for $29.95, but you can download the same thing on iTunes for $1.99.

Definitely worth a watch if you can get it. Amaaazing.

Good to have a Pro in the Family

2009-02-02T06:31:00.002-05:00

So LO and I got in the car after church. We had not driven 1/2 block when I asked her, "Do you hear that noise?" She did.
It was coming from the right rear side. It sounded like a coffee can full of marbles. "Oh, no," I thought. "My brakes are messed up. Big money."
As we proceeded the mile home, I asked her to call DH. "Tell him to come outside. We are picking him up."
DH was waiting in the front yard when we pulled up. "What's wrong?"
I asked him to sit in the back seat and drove on. He heard it and asked me to drive back home.
In the driveway, he got out and went around to the back of the car. Went under the car. I was inside praying for his good shirt. "Please don't get grease on it..."
He came from under the car and went around to the right side. Went under again. ]
Victorious, he emerged. In his hand was a branch. It had been dragging on the street, making the suspicious noise.
Boy, it's nice to have a professional around.

Lovely Day

2009-01-31T20:04:00.003-05:00

So LO went home from the theater last night with a gf for a sleepover. DH invited me on a date, or I threatened him if he didn't, I don't quite remember which.
We dressed up and went to Restaurant 46, a delightful place in a nearby little town.

The little town was a textile village until it became an incorporated town in 1986. Until then, it was just a company village in the county. A huge textile company had a plant there, and virtually everyone worked there. Their grammas had worked there before them, and their parents before them.

Then NAFTA took all the textile business to China, and India, and even Sri Lanka, and all the textile mills in NC closed. It wasn't glamorous work, but it was work for generations of people.

One of the recent owners had been David Murdock, a multi, multi-millionaire who owns Dole foods and who knows what else.

He for some reason had some empathy for this little town whose only real revenue came from the now-closed textile mill.

He bought the closed mill, tore down all the gorgeous old brick buildings, and established a research center. Biotechnology. Dole foods has a lab there and the NC universities all have a presence there.

So now where the textile mills stood, beacons of the past, now stand labs, beacons of the future. All the buildings are red brick, as were their predecessors, four or five stories, all traditional architecture.

Scientists are moving into town. The campus is becoming quite lovely.

Murdock, although wealthy, is said to be a bit idiosyncratic. Quite the health nut. Rumor has it one of his contractors for the buildings was obese. Murdock offered the man $10,000 if he would lose 150 pounds. The man did and Murdock wrote him the check.

Someone in the little town told me DM doesn't want the scientists cranking up their cars to go across campus from one lab to another, so this fellow had to assemble 100 10-speed bikes for the employees to have available to travel around campus.

A restaurant opened there recently, named Restaurant 46. The number represents the strands in DNA.

I had been wanting to go for a while.

It's said to be pricey but healthy.

We had fun. The flowers on the table were in a beaker, a real beaker, with cc's marked on it.

My wine was served in a beaker-like glass.

The walls had stenciled on them quotations from famous people, quotations that had to do with discovery, curiosity, and education.

The waitress was great. There really weren't any vegan items on the menu so she chatted with the chef and they came up with a dish that was out of this world: artichoke hearts, asparagus and tomatoes atop fettucini. With a little white wine splashed over it. mmm.

DH had seafood served over lobster risotto.

We did not order salads or dessert. I had one glass of wine and he had a glass of beer.

We were full as ticks as we waddled out of there, not our intention, but it was so good! Happy. I felt very coddled with my custom dish.

We came home and DH built a fire and we watched CNN and chatted. We spent all evening chatting.

When LO is around we can certainly chat. But being just the two of us felt special, it is in truth very rare, and we had a lovely time.

We slept in this morning. We worked together to get the house clean, quite necessary nowadays that I am a working girl more than usual. At about 3:30 he said, grab your coat, we are going out.

We ran to the thrift store to find a dresser for LO less than 43" wide, the space betw her closet and bedroom door. She has a teensy dresser there now, with only one drawer, and it is overloaded with makeup and keepsakes.

We found a perfect antique dresser with a big round mirror, very art deco, and paid $22.50 for it. When it is warmer, LO and I will take it outside and sand it and paint it white to match her bed and nightstand. For now it is black, but very charming. And. it. was. cheap. Solid wood, I might add, with dovetails and all. Even the drawer insides are not plywood, I daresay it was built before the onset of plywood.

So we had a lovely day. Missed LO and were glad when she returned. But it was fun to have a date. And I don't even feel guilty.

Bo-nanza

2009-01-30T08:01:00.003-05:00

Our little downtown has a gift shop filled with toys, gadgets, all sorts of things that you really don't need, but that make great gifts for others.

Outside the shop is a coin-operated horse for the children to ride. Stumbled upon this film today of the actual horse in our own little town. Enjoy.

Kinship

2009-01-30T04:58:00.008-05:00

Yesterday, I had to opportunity to be with like-minded women not once, but twice, in the same day.

To say our little town is conservative, is an understatement. Elizabeth Dole grew up here, and a few years ago, there was a billboard beside the interstate highway with a picture of her and her husband. The caption read: "(Small Town)'s Favorite Daughter and Son."

Um,

Ick?

So after a while you learn to go underground with your thoughts and ideals. Embrace them as you are accustomed to doing, and people just .... .... .... look at you.

Fortunately our neighborhood is quite eclectic, and has its share of progressives. But the town at large? Puh-leeze.

So I was glad a couple of months ago when a sweet friend who was very active in recruiting workers for Obama mentioned to me she was in a liberals' book club. "We rarely read any more," she said, "but it's great to get together and feel like we are not such a minority."

"It's a shame you're a working gal," she said. "We'd love to have you."

Hmm. What did that mean? It was like two opposing messages in the same sentence.

So I called her on it.

"I free lance so I can have a life, too," I declared. "I'd love to come."

Then I kicked myself around the block in my own head for a week. Why was I so rude?

Well, rude or not, she added me to her group email and I have enjoyed being privy to the electronically-transmitted insights shared in this group.

Yesterday I got to meet them all in person.

The same friend hosted everyone at her home. She had gone to the Inauguration and was ready to share. Her story of The Purple Tickets was a riot. I may email her and ask permission to post it on the blog.

I was, I believe, the only person, or perhaps one of two or three, who does not belong to the Country Club. Undaunted, I strolled in as if I were an Old Timer.

Everyone was just as cordial as could be, and treated me like an old friend. We talked and gabbed and regaled every detail we could think of in the inaugural process. After an hour or so, we picked up our pocketbooks and went home.

It was great.

Last night, on the very same day, I had kinship of a different sort.

To understand why it was meaningful, you have to realize how very isolating writing is.

Teachers teach a group. They work with other teachers. Social workers are intimate in others' lives. Factory workers, office workers, have people they love, or loathe, but they have people.

Writers? It's me and the screen. And the cat. And the bunny slippers. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a vacuum. I LOVE IT, would not trade it for the WORLD, but, yes, it is a solitary pursuit.

Last Sunday at church, I ran into a fellow parishioner whom I don't know very well, but have always liked. Both of us have girls in the local theater's children's play. I remarked how LO has enjoyed seeing her little girl, who is talented and articulate, and just a delight. We chatted for a minute and somehow, I don't even remember how, it came out that both she and I are writing a children's novel.

We were both shocked.

Then in walked our friend, the wife of one of our pastors. She is a pastor herself, although not of our own church. She has been quite busy of late, pursuing her own doctorate. Her Sweet Husband already has one.

She picked up on the conversation and confessed that, yes, she is writing a children's novel, herself.

Of all people, she, the pastor, said, "Isn't it a coincidence that the three of us came into this place and we're all writing a book?"

So we decided to email each other our Ch.1 and meet for feedback.

The meeting was last night. The three of us gathered at a local coffeehouse and remarked on each other's work. We used the sandwich method: say something nice, then a critical remark, then something nice.

I hope I was as nice to them as they were to me. I did not feel attacked at all. The book, of course, is my baby. But they made very helpful comments to me and I dreamed of my story all night long. You see it's 5:15am now and I have already been up an HOUR. I just could not lie in the bed any longer.

It was so affirming to meet with other women who know the solitude and ownership and satisfaction of writing.

At this point, we don't know if we will meet long-term, or regularly, or what. We're getting together again next week, to go over Ch. 2.

And I can't wait.

Notes on the Symphony by Someone Who Doesn't Know Anything About Anything

2009-01-25T18:28:00.004-05:00

It seems DH and I have officially reached the ages where we do not need Any More Stuff. I faced such a quandary at his birthday this year, that I gave him season tickets to the symphony for the entire family.

Yes, our little town has a symphony. They play in the huge auditorium at the local college. It's a nice facility with decent acoustics.

Last night they played two Copland selections and an Elgar. I rather liked it all, but then, I really don't know anything about music. In fact, when they were tuning up, I turned to DH and asked what note that is.

DH is such a gentleman. He did not roll his eyes, or sigh, or say, "you really ARE an idiot, aren't you?" He just smiled a teensy bit and whispered, "A."

"Oh."

I just love it in the beginning when they are all tuning up their own instruments, before the A, before anything. It's all just a cacophony of sounds, not music yet, really, and each person is so intent on his own sounds he is blocking out all the others. It's a melange of notes and screeches and each of them has a look of intense concentration on his face. Waves of energy are emanating from each person, and the waves are all colors and sizes and flying in all directions.

Then out walks out the Concertmaster. He stands there, patiently, and finally they all realize he is there, and, as one, they all give an A. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaa. All the multicolored waves hanging above their heads evaporate and the A is one large undulating wave over them. All the colors blend and all the energy becomes one large focused energy.

Then for the next hour or so, they share all their energy, their mission, working on the same pieces together. Coming in at just the right time. Playing at just the correct rate, the proper notes. DH shared with me that the Concertmaster even has the choice of how the violinists bow: up on this note, down on this one.

Last night, they played Fanfare for the Common Man, then an Elgar piece, I forget which one, but I love Elgar, and then Copland again, the 3rd symphony, which has phrases from the Fanfare for the Common Man. So the program opened and closed with the same theme. It all had such symmetry; quite satisfying.

Our little family sat in the dark and absorbed it all. After each piece, LO feels compelled to pronounce her opinion. "I liked that one." or, "I did not like that one." We are patient with this, and behave as if her pronouncement were just what we were waiting for. We make appropriate comments when she says it, like, "Aw, sorry," or "Oh Good!" accompanied by a bright smile. It must satisfy her when we are happy that she liked it or sad that she did not, because she continues to pronounce upon each piece.

Finally--- it was all over. The players packed up all their instruments, and we --- we had the energy they had given off, energy to take with us to our cars and to our homes and to enjoy throughout the rest of the night and most of the day today. In some ways we were nicer to each other, and discussed this piece or that one, and did you see the cellist, I thought of our DIL, or how does one learn to play the harp in a small town, are there really harp teachers. Didn't you love the undertones of that quiet, low violin in the first movement. That kind of thing.

I look forward to the next one: February 15.

* Wow. *

2009-01-23T19:16:00.000-05:00

Day of Hope

2009-01-21T07:13:00.002-05:00

I have just realized how inappropriate it is to begin a blog entry, "Words cannot express..." You might as well just stop right there, if that's the case.

So here we go. I struggled to find the words to express the joy that was burning in my heart all day yesterday.

We planned to host my dear gf and her family: husband and 2 daughers adopted from China. GF and her lawyer hubby home-school the girls. He owns his own firm, so he takes all day off on Thursdays and does the science circuit with them and some math; GF does social studies, English, Latin, culture, and the other half of the math.

They do not own a TV; gf says she observed her family's dysfunction go unnoticed because of the TV. Things would be just unbearable and her mother would say, "Oh, it's time for Dick Van Dyke," and nothing ever changed. I daresay our family suffered from that, too, only I was not smart enough to identify it until she said it just a month or so ago.

So in light of the Big Occasion, we invited them here to enjoy some conviviality and television.

As it turns out, the photo shoot for next Wednesday's food page was Monday, so we had a fridge full of real food: homemade clam chowder (thank you for your help, DS2; I did not realize when you made it for us that it costs a frigging fortune to make. You are sososo generous.), copycat Red Lobster cheese biscuits, and another choice of entree, BBQ Pork Sammies. I cautioned everyone NOT to partake of both entrees; guaranteed tummyache. But, they had options, and it was nice not to have to scurry around and really cook during the pre-festivities; all I had to do was warm it up.

Alas, the day dawned and gf had the flu. But her hubby came and the girls. Little Bit spent the night with us and I was so thankful we had a micron of snow on the ground so we were able to share The Moment with the girls rather than lose them to the Public School System.

Didn't you love it all? The song, the beautiful music, the poem that just painted pictures in your mind, both prayers, and the speech. The youthful buoyancy in Obama's step. The gravitas in his face. The beautiful daughters and the lovely First Lady. I loved it all. Nothing disappointed me, and I am so thankful I was allowed to share it with the people I love the most. Even DH did not have to work, wonder of wonders, and I was filled with gratitude and love and joy and, yes, HOPE.

I looked around the room as he spoke, at all the rapt faces. Even little Lucy, 5 years old, sat still as a statue, fascinated by his words. Little Bit and Little One cuddled up and watched, no one interrupting with questions or observations. I was amazed to notice that among the 7 of us, we had quite the diverse crowd ourselves: white, African-American, Jewish heritage, and Asian. Yet we all sat in silence and absorbed the historic day.

Obama empowers us by saying we have to do our part, and I believe we will work hard to help. Americans have always done this when asked. It helps to feel you can do something about a miserable situation.

He will have missteps. We need to realize this now, so that when he does, no one goes, "AHA! He's not perfect after all!" We know at the outset that no one is perfect. But I already love it that he unites us by course of purpose and we have to help in the undoing of the recent missteps.

I missed the parade as I had to get dressed up to go to another event. But the total day was one I'll never forget.

I am so thankful for this moment.

Covered Up!

2009-01-14T10:38:00.004-05:00

When the local paper asked me in November to start writing the crime blotter, I jumped at the chance for several reasons, despite the fact that blotter is drudge work and they called me b/c all the employees, who have clout as opposed to stringers (freelance writers) who have none, refused to do it. Here are the reasons I accepted:

It pays money
It's a regular gig, until they decide otherwise
It's work in the newsroom, which gives me exposure to them
It's work in the newsroom, which gives them exposure to me
It could evolve into more work
It allows me to keep my own schedule, which is important to me as I pursue other writing opportunities
Did I mention it pays?

Finally, and most importantly of all, they called the morning after I mentioned to DH "If only I could find regular work that paid $xxx a month, it would enable us to meet our goals faster." The money they offered is exactly $xxx a month, based on one morning a week. It was just too weird a coincidence to ignore. If I refused the opportunity, no telling what type jinxes might befall me.

So I took it. Initially, they indicated it would be one morning a week. I selected Monday. The second week, the managing editor called and asked if I would be coming in on Friday, as well. Hmm. Sure, I said. (The pay is based on how many mornings I work.) So by the second week I had doubled my pay. Yes, I doubled my work, too, but that's ok by me. The work is easy.

The third week they asked if I would do crime blotter for another paper they own. Hmm. Sure, I said, and added that to the mix. Started coming in three mornings a week. Likewise an increase in the pay.

DH and I had anticipated that my visibility in the newsroom might make me a likely candidate for more work as it arose, as opposed to the other free-lancers who are home in their bunny slippers working at their own computers.

The paper, like papers all over the country, is struggling for survival, and has had a hiring freeze on for some time. The freelance budget is flush to cover the overload.

So now it's the 8th week and I have been asked to carry the work left behind when the education reporter left to go work for the Raleigh News & Observer. Hmm. Sure, I said.

In the past, I have worked at 1 or 2 articles in a week, at home in my bunny slippers, sometimes having weeks with no articles to work on at all. This week I have 10 articles and am writing in calendars, making notes to myself, leaving voice mails to myself, and generally working hard. It's great.

We had thought it would happen but did not in a zillion years, realize it would be so soon.

So now I am at the newsroom twice or three times a week for sure, dropping in when I need to, and working from home in my bunny slippers otherwise. I can walk the dog when I want to, get my nails done, and generally meet the routine of the family, except when School Board meets or other stuff intrudes. So far DH has been extremely supportive, pitching in when I have to be out. This is good. It's not a hobby, after all, it's work, and there isn't a question of my covering everything while he is at work. It sort of grates on my nerves that I am appreciative at all. I should just take it for granted. I am going to try.

The education stuff is different. It's news. All the other articles I've written over the past five years have been Lifestyle stuff: light, airy. I talk of this and that. I wax rhapsodic. Sometimes I gab on.

In news, I have to be terse. I can't say, "The board decided that they would implement..." Nooo, I have to say, "The board will implement..." There are a zillion things like that, and I have to come up to speed on them. I can't say, 7%, but seven per cent. The first news article I did, Monday night, ran about 400 words, and it took me TWO HOURS. Really. Two hours. It's insane! I fretted over each and every word. Finally I turned it in at 10pm and stood behind the editor as he cut and cut and cut. I asked him if he minded my staying to watch. No, he said, but you can go on home if you want. It was late, after all. Thanks, I said, but if I go home now, I won't be any smarter when I go to sleep. I need to see what to do next time.

I did learn from the zillion edits he made, and when he finished, it was a much better article. Nothing fancy. No Pulitzers on the way. But I tried to learn from it all.

So yesterday, I sent another article. They ran it today. Same editor. Hmm. He modified my title a bit and removed one sentence. I am relieved -- quite an improvement over the zillion edits the night before.

So, one baby step at a time, I'll go on. Sigh. Nine more articles to go, for now. Bully Busters, a wedding festival on Saturday, reading scores, a food page, middle school inauguration observations, a young woman returns from Kenya with stars in her eyes, it's diverse and I am busy.

Guess I need to go write.

HB to Me

2009-01-03T17:56:00.005-05:00

This is very clearly NOT a vegan meal. So, what are these pics doing in my blog?

It was one of the best lunches I ever had. "So..." Little One began. "I'd like to take you out to lunch for your birthday. You pick the place."

"How can you afford to take me out to lunch?" I asked. "My dog-sitting money," she replied. I ran a fast calculation in my head. Sure, the senior citizens down the street give her $2 a day to walk little Gracie, but even at that...

"Mrs. S. gave me $60 for feeding her dogs last week."

"WHAT?!" She is so dead.

"So, pick your place."

I thought of several, none too much to her liking. I even suggested a not-burger at Burger King, to save on her cash. She dismissed the idea. Finally I suggested Olive Garden. She likes OG, and they serve a mean salad. She loved the idea.

We were driving to nearby-big-city to have her hair straightened. We go every 4 months or so. We usually make a day of it anyway, though it is usually I who treats her to lunch.

The beauty shop was not busy at all today, and we finished up in a record hour-and-a-half. Nothing like the normal four-hour marathons we're used to.

Not even thinking, I greeted the hostesses at Olive Garden with the same salutation I'd given everyone else today: "Happy Birthday!"

There was a bevvy of them -- four or five high school or early college girls, and one guy.
When they looked with puzzled faces, LO announced, "It's her birthday!"
"How old?" one of them asked.
"It's a prime number!" I winked at them.
"25?" asked one. sigh.
"51?" guessed a blonde. sigh.

"51 isn't prime-- it adds up to 6!" I replied. "Any number whose digits add up to 3, 6, or 9, is divisible by 3!"
"Are you a math teacher?" she asked.
Er, no, I just like numbers. I even calculate my change without a calculator...

So we were taken to a booth but alas, not offered anything for free.

LO ordered her favorite, Fettucini Alfredo. I asked for Endless Salad. I asked if the House Vignaigrette is vegan-friendly, and was surprised to learn it has milk in it. (I think it had it a few months ago on the assumption it would be safe. Oops me.)

We played a game of gin as we waited with my handy teeny deck of cards. I keep it in my bag for just such an occasion. She beat me. Twice.

So I had Endless Salad with balsamic vinegar and LO had the fettucini with minestrone as her appetizer. When the waitress served her a salad instead of the soup, LO was confused as to how to handle it. "Am I not paying for my soup?" she asked me. Odd how spending her own money gave her a new perspective on things.

We had a great discussion on getting what you pay for while thinking of the feelings of others. I left it to her to handle -- she, after all, was footing the bill.

When the waitress came by to ask how everything was, LO said, "Remember when I ordered the minestrone?" with a smile. And the waitress did remember, albeit a little late, and hurried some soup to LO's place. I was proud of her poise in taking care of it.

Another server came to grate cheese on LO's fettucini. She grated and grated. Finally, when Mount Romano stood proudly on LO's entree, she innocently asked, "Was I supposed to say, 'when'?" We all had a good laugh.

LO was a tad disappointed when I declined dessert. She wanted one only so they would sing to me. So she ordered a great chocolate tart with warm chocolate sauce inside, with vanilla sauce and strawberries on the outside. It looked great. They plunked a candle on it in my honor and sang away. It was hugely embarrassing but lots of fun.

On the ride home we hooked LO's iPod up to my car stereo and listened to her music and her podcasts. I felt privileged to have her share with me.

We arrived to a clean house. DH had gotten flowers, dark chocolate (anything else is tripe!) grapes, and organic Merlot. And a lovely card.

Family called and wished me a happy birthday. My cup ran over.

This evening he cooked me the grandest dinner. Toasted sourdough with tapenade. Brown rice with sauteed asparagus and leeks on top. Tahini topping. Broiled heirloom tomatoes with vegan pepper jack "cheese" melted on top.
Sigh. It was heavenly. There is more left for tomorrow.

We are going to watch Legends of the Fall tonight (again) -- on our new Surround Sound system.
So, I am a prime number for a whole year -- and it's NOT 25 or 51. It was a great day.

Happy Birthday to me.

The Year in Quiz.

2008-12-31T11:16:00.001-05:00

Try this one for size.

It Takes a Village

2008-12-31T10:51:00.002-05:00

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

I resisted the urge the second time he said it.

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

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

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

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

It does take a village.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In our home, it does take a village.

NY Times Year in Photos

2008-12-29T09:37:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

Merry Christmas

2008-12-26T09:01:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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