Heart Condition

Au Revoir, Pee Wee

2012-02-02T18:05:00.000-08:00

I know, I know. I just left without saying a word.
I thought that I might come back, and I tried. Really. I did try.
But, I think you and me and this blog are over.
I have pondered what happened and why. And yesterday it came to me.
It has to do with friendships, a need for deep connection, and change.

I moved to the middle of the woods 4 years ago.
I didn't know anyone here and at the same time, many of my friends from my former life began falling away.
I soon found myself so lonely that I didn't even recognize it.
Out of this emptiness and pain, I began to write.
And my writing became my friend.
I was able to write about everything that I would share with a true friend. The type of friendship that I craved, one that was deeper than drinks once a month or conversations while everyone texts.

Don't get me wrong here. There is a place for casual friendships, drinks and even texting. But, I learned that I wanted more than that. And I learned that through the silence, through the loneliness, through writing and through time spent only with my Creator.

And through all of those things, I became comfortable with myself and what I really wanted. I became comfortable being transparent and winnowing out the things that were poisoning me. Much like a farmer burning a field or pruning back trees or vines.

And then something happened. I began making friends in my new home.
It began with one or two. Then more.
My heart filled to the bursting point.
And my old friend, writing, just didn't call me and want to have coffee with me anymore.
I will always write, but probably not as a blogger.
But who knows?
Writing this blog saved me, along with the people that extended kindness to me along the way.

I was going to close this baby on up with a final stand on my soapbox.
But instead, I'll leave you with that other side of my personality.
Au revoir.

I Love You, Man

2011-12-06T10:52:00.000-08:00

God's definition of what matters is pretty straightforward. He measures our lives by how we love. — Francis Chan

There you go.

I read this today on Facebook, where I get 50% of my information. Okay, who am I fooling? 75%.

Anyhow, the absolute truth of it continues to resonate deep within me, sending waves to every cell within my body and then deeper to my soul.

Love.

In word and in deed.

Indeed.

When I match up the things that I say and do up to the standard of love, how do I fare?

If my beliefs and my values do not speak love, they should be discarded as worthless. As trash. As lies.

Love.

So simple, yet we try to make it so much more complicated.

Love.

Cure-all

2011-12-04T11:57:00.000-08:00

'Tis the season for it. You know what I am talking about - getting run down.
Too many late nights. Too much rushing here and then there.
It takes a toll on us, wears us down.
And then, BAM! Next thing you know, you have a sore throat or stuffy nose.
Miserable.

What if I told you about a little secret?
And I'm not talking about swigging some nasty green pharmaceutical and then falling into a medicine stupor.
My little Cure-All Remedy comes from my grandma, Gladys Bell Ennis Verquin.
Now, before I fill you in on the secret remedy, I need to tell you about my grandma.
She was born in 1902 and lived in Frank, Alberta where a mountain fell on top of her. But she survived.
She was a tough little bird.
And little she was, hitting a maximum height of 4'11" (she always said 5'0", but she was just fudging).
At the age of 16, she became the bride of a 44 year old rancher, by way of an arranged marriage. Not long after the birth of their first and only child, her husband died, leaving her to run the ranch alone.
Now, I am not going to give you all the blow-by-blow details, but I think you get the idea about what kind of woman my grandma was. She was tough, she knew what was good for ya, but she was also tender and sweet.

My cousins and I recently were together on Thanksgiving, and we reminisced about the remedy that our grandmother gave us for various ailments. We all agreed that it worked for pretty much everything from colds and flu to stomach aches. I have been known to drink it before riding in the car over an icy and snowy mountain pass.
It doesn't have a formal name, so you can just call it Grandma's Recipe.

2 T local honey
2 T fresh squeezed lemon juice
2 shots Irish whiskey
Boiling water

Mix together with your face over the steam, inhaling as you stir.
Adjust amounts to taste, but it should be strong.
Go to bed and you'll wake up well.

*Note* My cousin recalls butter in the recipe. It couldn't hurt.

Thankful

2011-11-23T08:21:00.000-08:00

I love Thanksgiving. Just love it.
I love the family, friends, food, and the idea that as a nation we are collectively being thankful.
Now, it is pretty easy to be thankful for the standard things. And I am. Supremely thankful.
But, can you also be thankful for the more, uh, odd things?
Let's see...

Family
I thank God every day for my husband and sons. They are easy to be thankful for.
How about my mother-in-law? Yup. Thankful for her too.
Even though she has refused to come to Thanksgiving at our house and will instead stay home alone.
Why?
Bears.
She is afraid of bears.
According to her, they can break down doors, you know.
I think someone has watched a little too much Animal Planet.

Am I thankful for my own mother? Eh, okay.
This one is a little tougher.
I am thankful that I'm not like her.
Oh wait, I am trying to be thankful for her.
How about, I am thankful for her occasional reminder of how I am not like her?
Heh.

Health
I am one healthy person. I am always thankful that I don't get colds or the flu. Seriously, once I went 10 years without getting a cold. That is some record. Thankful.

But let me tell you, you don't know thankful until you've had some Herpes 1 (that's on your lips, people) clear up. For crying out loud, I don't know how people that have the other kind stop from castrating themselves. It must be horrible (if you do happen to have it, you have my sincerest of sympathies and all the compassion I can muster up).

Now, back to being thankful.
I had an outbreak for 9 MONTHS, with the exception of the time we were in Costa Rica, where it magically went away. Except for 9 months, I had no idea what it was. I had had it once before a long time ago. Back in the day of wearing blood red, matte lipstick. I had just thought that I developed an allergy to the lipstick.
But then 20 years later it shows up again.
For 9 months I endured blisters, pus, cracking and the most chapped lips of all time.
And for those of you that saw me and wondered what was up with those nasty chapped lips, well now you know.
Then I finally went to see my doctor.
Herpes.
Got some meds and BAM! Cleared up.
I am so thankful that I could cry.
P.S. I am pretty sure that I know where I got it, and if I ever see you again, sucker, I will kick you in the balls.
P.P.S. Also thankful that no one else in my family got it.

Food, Shelter, Clothing
This Thanksgiving, I am especially thankful for these things. We came thisclose to losing our house, and I know that many people out there cannot say the same thing. I am thankful that we have enough good, healthy food and warm clothing. Especially knowing that there are people in this world that do not. Ever.

I am even thankful for my fat jeans that I am currently wearing because they make me feel less guilty about the eggnog that I have in my coffee or the fact that Jillian Michaels and I are on a temporary break-up.

Then there are the skinny jeans that I bought at the consignment store that I am trying to be thankful for. I guess I'll be thankful for how cute they are when they are not on me.

Place That I Live
I am blessed to not only live in a country that is free (well, barely), safe (mostly), and prosperous (yikes, getting less so), but I live in one of the absolute best places within that country.
The beauty here is astounding. I am thankful every single day when I look out my front door.
I am thankful for the seasons. Even the pristine, white snow.

Remind me of this 5 months from now when I will be ready to ram my skull into a tree because of all that endless, pristine, white snow.

Happy Thanksgiving.
I am thankful for you, too.

P.S. One last thing. In reading my post, I realize that I must also be thankful for italics.

Memories

2011-11-13T15:31:00.000-08:00

Her memory was incomparable.
One could ask why? Or how? And she could answer them confidently.
Because everything matters to me.
The words, the smells, the feelings, the environment.
All of it.

Her earliest memory was around the age of one.
She tried to dig back deeper. And she did find some.
But were they real? Or were they stories turned into pictures, turned into faded slides, that sometimes masquerade as an actual memory? This was always a mystery to her. She could say with stern assurance though, that she could feel the memory of feeling from birth. Does this count as memory? To her it did. After all, what does one have at birth? Feeling.

At one, she sat in her highchair in the kitchen.
She could hear the metal-on-metal sound of the tray being attached, and then the smooth feel of the cool tray beneath her pudgy, dimpled hands. She could smell her mother, dish soap, and the vinyl of the seat of her chair.
What went wrong?
This part of the memory has been lost. Perhaps eaten by time, perhaps sent to a different file.
The memory suddenly changes to one of an angry mother.
Why was she crying? Why was the mother angry?
She remembers not being able to stop. She remembers crying loudly.
Her mother was standing in front of her, soap suds clinging to her hands. Her mother's face contorted by rage. Was it rage? Or was it frustration?
A one year old cannot distinguish the difference.

Then the mother takes a small glass and fills it with water.
She knows this glass. It is the one with a pretty shape, the one that a shrimp cocktail from the A&P comes in. The A&P where that nice man with the black, bushy mustache works. The man that always pinches her cheeks and laughs with sparkling eyes.
The mother puts this glass of water under her highchair and looks at her levelly. She says, with a controlled voice in her lower register, "If you do not stop crying, I will throw this water in your face."

She did not stop crying. Not for 30 years.
And her mother did throw the water in her face.
Over and over and over.

Memory. It is a complicated thing, isn't it?

I Believe

2011-11-11T10:45:00.000-08:00

If you have read my blog for any length of time, you will know that I sometimes will include a disclaimer. It is difficult to put words into cyberspace without any body language or tone of voice to make the meaning of the words more exact or precise. So, my disclaimers, more often than not, try to make sure that you, my lone reader (no, not you, the other one), know that I am not crazy, rude or just plain moronic.
This is one of those disclaimer type of bloggings. Here they are:
1. My family would all like you to know that they think I am funny and not serious. They do not believe.
2. I never believed or didn't believe before this thing happened. Completely neutral.
3. I had not been drinking, eating mushrooms, licking toads, or in a sweat house on this day.

Okay, now that that is out of the way, we can get on with it.

I was driving the North Cascades Highway with my kids. It was twilight and just at freezing. And the highway was deserted. We drove about 70 miles without seeing a soul. Just the three of us rambling along at a quick, but very safe pace. We were admiring the changing leaves and wondering if it was going to begin snowing. Okay, I was admiring the leaves. The kids were bickering and touching each other.

Oh, and they were enthralled with the forbidden treat that I let them have in order to buy myself a little peace. Cheetos and Fritos. Yes, sons. Eat this friendly and oh-so-crinkly bag of GMO's.
I know, I know. I go over to the dark side all for 30 minutes of quiet crunching. Sue me.
It was very amusing listening to their conversation in the back seat:
#1: "This one doesn't seem so big."
#2: "I know. Mine aren't so big either."
#1: "Yeah, I don't know what they are talking about."
#2: "Look! This one is a fatty."
#1 "Oh! That is a new bigger size!"
Now it all made sense. The bag said NEW! BIGGER SIZE!

So, while we are driving along and I am making sure that no one is touching anything with those orange, touchy little fingers, I see something that strikes me as not normal. It is about 1/4 mile up the highway on the side of the road. At first, I think that it is a large man wearing dark, winter clothing. This sort of freaks me out, because there is seriously no one around. What if it is a man? What if he flags me down? What will I do? Anxiety wells up.

As I got closer, I had no need to worry. It was clearly not a man.
But just before I got a better look, it slipped down the side of the road into the ravine.
And that was when I knew what I had just seen.
The way it moved was sylphe-like. Almost as if it shimmered away.
I looked back to where it had been, and it had completely disappeared.
So, what was it?
Bigfoot. Or Sasquatch, if you prefer.

Now, if that isn't enough for you, there's more.
About two miles further up the mountain pass, I saw another.
It was a little smaller, but moved in the same graceful manner as it quickly went down the side of the mountain out of my view. The leaves on the tree that it had been next to still gently shook as I drove by.

Are you laughing at me? My husband is.
He says it was probably a bear.
Bears don't just randomly stand up and walk around. And also, very few bears were this big.
He also says that if there were such things, we would have found evidence of them.
I say that if he had seen the way it moved, he might just believe it possible for them to stay completely hidden.

Do I believe? I guess I have to now.
Or I am crazy?

P.S. Did you know that there are many, many stories of a Sasquatch or Skookum among Native American tribes? Particularly those from the Pacific Northwest. If I am crazy, at least I am among good company.

The Problem With Wolverines Can Be Solved With a Honey Badger

2011-11-01T13:03:00.000-07:00

So, I opened it.

It was nothing that a good Silkwood Shower and scrubdown with some steel wool couldn't fix.
What? You know not of the Silkwood Shower? Well, watch the award winning movie Silkwood for the full effect.
Too busy? Here, read this. Not quite as uh, violent as the real deal. And by violent, I mean thoroughly cleansing in a highly aggressive and vigorous manner

Now that I am raw and a little bloody, but cleansed, I can share with you another method of dealing with that wolverine that showed up on my otherwise pleasant doorstep.
This one comes via my good friend, Jessi.
Jessi and I have been friends for a veeeryyy long time. In fact, if I told you how long, you would fall over. Then you would ask how that is even possible, as we both don't even look that old. We're not. It's magic.

Jessi knows about the wolverine. Probably better than anyone. And she has helped me deal with the wolverine many times before. Like the time I ran away. Sort of. Or the time she pretended to be the wolverine on the phone to keep me out of trouble with the real deal. Or just the good method of making me laugh. Because as Reader's Digest tells us "laughter is the best medicine".

What does Jessi do? She sends me a link to the Honey Badger video. Sure, I had seen it floating around on the internet, but I never watched it. Until last night. And I'm glad that I did. The honey badger will eat the wolverine.
It doesn't give a s***.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know I have to deal with it, but laughing helps.
Having a less than stellar day? Google honey badger video.
Not appropriate for kids or those sensitive to language.

The Problem With Wolverines

2011-10-31T11:23:00.000-07:00

It is sitting there on the counter. Much like a severed hand would.
Okay, that was a little too dramatic.
How about...
It is sitting there on the counter. Much like a ticking time bomb?
Nope.
It is sitting there on the counter. Like an overdue bill.
Not scary enough.
It is sitting there on the counter. Like a rabid wolverine that made its way into my house. And then jumped (do wolverines jump?) onto my kitchen counter and is now hissing (growling?) at me.
I know I have to do something about it, but really I just want it to go away.
Perfect.

What did my husband bring home from the mailbox this morning?
Saturday's mail.
Scary, huh?
It is if it includes a letter with my mom's unmistakeable handwriting on the envelope.
My husband asks me if I want him to open it.
Not yet.
So, there it sits.
Hissing at me every time I walk by it.

I circle it carefully, like a dog.
Watching it warily, but not exactly backing down either.
I'm considering.
Testing.
Waiting.

It is just a letter. I know this. But to open it, means to go to that place.
The place where my thorn resides.
It is deep down inside. It is mostly healed, mostly forgotten. Mostly forgiven.

What does one do with a wolverine?
Something, obviously.
This would be one of those things that a person can't just ignore.
So, like the dog that I am, I'm going to grab it by the neck and shake it a bit.
Or at least open the envelope.

I'll let you know what happens.
Because I'm pretty sure that whatever happens, I am meant to write about it.
Everyone loves a good wolverine story.

Go Ahead and Judge

2011-10-29T14:38:00.001-07:00

I am taking a break from my usual healthy eating to eat this thing that I have been craving for days.
Fall always does this to me. All of a sudden, the thought of eating lettuce makes me nauseous. All I want is something warm, substantial and full of fat. I think this is all because this is the time of year when my dosha gets all out of whack. According to Ayurveda, India's 5,000 year old science of life, my dosha is vata.
Now, I am no Hindu, but I have found a lot of truth in this ancient science.
Right now, my cold vata body wants something to make me warm.
Mmmm... yams, squash, curries, eggnog in my coffee.
And the occasional white trash treat that I just ate.
It has no specific name. And the thought of it yanks me straight back to my childhood.

You see, I learned two types of eating from my mom.
The first was healthy. I didn't have a drink of Coke until I was in 4th grade. That was also my 1st trip to McDonald's. Both were a horrid shock, by the way.
No, for all the cockamamie ideas that my mom put in my sponge of a brain, she actually did okay here. We ate pretty healthy meals and even ate bread from a bakery that baked multi-grain bread in a coffee can. And this was in the heyday of Wonderbread. Eating brown bread was just flat out weird.

This lasted right up until my parents lost it and never came home except to throw some frozen food, a sack of potatoes, and a block of cheese at my brother and I and then drive away again not to be seen for days. Often, that was how we knew that either of them had been home - there was a fresh supply of food.
This was the second type of eating that I learned from my mother - WT (that's white trash).

You see, after my brother and I gobbled up the easy to prepare foods dropped off to us, we had to get a little more creative. My brother's specialty was using hotdogs. He was famous for a boiled hot dog sandwich. Well, famous among the other boys in our neighborhood. He also used cut up hotdogs in his version of spaghetti.
Oh, and they were turkey dogs. Because somewhere, my parents were still pretending to be healthy. That's a bit of sarcasm, in case you couldn't smell it from where you sit.

Hot dogs have always made me want to puke, so I developed my own creative specialty. And this, my friends is the nasty, but so tasty treat that I crave from time to time.
When all that is left in your house to eat are some potatoes (and you have already eaten baked potatoes for days on end), cheese, sour cream, and Bernstein's Cheese Fantastico salad dressing, you create this delight:
1. slice potatoes as thin as you possibly can without slicing off your fingers
2. pour some salad dressing into a large frying pan and heat
3. add sliced potatoes
4. cook until crispy or until a small fire breaks out
5. add more salad dressing as needed to make potatoes extra crispy
5. top with grated cheese and sour cream

What did I call this? Duh. Sour Cream and Cheese Potato Chips.

Today, I tried to replicate this by mixing sour cream with some Italian salad dressing and eating it with some Kettle Chips. Not quite the same, but it worked in a pinch.
Go ahead and judge. I'm cool with it.

Dark Into Light

2011-10-29T11:13:00.000-07:00

Have you ever read a book by Mary Karr? She wrote Liar's Club, Cherry and Lit. I think also a few books of poetry. She is very well regarded among literary sorts, as she is a Guggenheim Fellow (I, being uneducated and unrefined, don't even know what this actually is, but it sounds impressive), a Pushcart Award winner (again, I have no idea), and New York Times bestseller author (ah, now we are speaking my language).
I first read Liar's Club and was often moved to tears because of some striking similarities between her life and mine.
And I felt like I could understand her because I knew the place from where she wrote. This is a place of deep pain and wound, one that may get covered up, but always remains a little open.
Like a thorn that remains in our side, but possibly for our benefit.

I am now reading Lit, and again, her story moves me. Our similarities diverge at this point in her memoirs. I am not an alcoholic, despite my great love for wine and margaritas. I have never been divorced. My father, while old, is not bed-ridden. Oh, and I don't live in the educated and highbrow circles that she lives in. But there are still some undeniable similarities even beyond our last names. However, as much as you might want to give me that extra R at the end of my name, it isn't mine. Just one R, please. The Persian spelling. It means "work", FYI. My grandfather-in-law chose it himself after the Revolution when all Iranians were forced to pick last names for themselves instead of being known by their tribe. Mohammed chose to be called Mohammed Work. Interesting, huh? This has absolutely nothing to do with this post though.

Mary Karr has this incredible knack for making me want to write. She stirs up that pain deep, deep inside of me. The kind of pain that is useful for creativity. Pain has a way of doing that. It can make you stronger, it can make you more passionate, it can make you more compassionate, it can make you more thankful, it can make you much more whole. And creativity is part of being whole. Of course, you must be willing to allow the pain for good. Because the flip side of all of that is bitter, vile, small, angry and fragmented.

What I am trying to say here is that I want to write from that place of pain. Not in a poor, pitiful me sort of way. But in a healing and cathartic way. One that puts my story out there to become just ashes in the wind. Floating away into nothingness. Please don't misunderstand me here. I am not sad, depressed, hurting, etc. I just have a story to tell. Mary Karr has made me re-realize this.

Sometimes words just flow out. Sometimes all you need to do is open a valve and out they pour. I started writing with three different subjects in mind, not really knowing what would come out. Maybe for some people it is visual art, for others it is movement, or cooking, or building. Do you need to look inwardly today and find that place in you which needs to come out? Turn on your creative faucet. See what comes out. It might turn something not so pretty into a work of art.

And possibly you too can be a Guggenheim Fellow. Not like me, but like that other Karr. With both R's.

Darkly and Realistically Optimistic

2011-10-22T11:54:00.000-07:00

I'm going to tell you a little dark secret of mine.
I am an optimist.
Oh, I have tried and tried to be dark and pessimistic since preteen years.
If you knew me in high school, you might remember my days of wearing only black. This was before emo was even a word (and for the record, Scrabble does not recognize it as a word still). Yes, black trench coats stolen from Value Village, black make-up around my eyes and Peter Murphy on the stereo. Black.
I tried to say that I hated dogs because they were so happy.
I wrote poetry about death and killing myself.
I tried to sleep in a cemetery (but instead, I chickened out).
And I claimed that I would never allow myself to love anyone, because that just leads to pain.

Oh, brother.

Then I decided that I was really a realist.
Just in the middle.
And I hate the middle.

But the hard truth is that I'm an optimist.
I'm not black and dark. I am orange.
I always really believe that things are going to work out.
I believe wholeheartedly in love.
And dogs? I am a bonafide sucker for 'em.
(Are you catching my little plays on words there? Love=wholeheartedly, dogs=bonafide. I amuse myself to no end.)
And while I still enjoy a little 80's music, I prefer to listen to The Cure's Love Song or Love Cats to their more funereal Just One Kiss or Primary.

Really? Who cares?
I am only writing all of this drivel to tell you something very optimistic.

One good thing about getting grey (yes, I can use this spelling because my mom is Canadian, eh) hair is that when hairs pop out in the most strange of spots, they are barely visible.
There you have it.
Optimistic.

P.S. I stole the picture used in this blog from my absolutely beautiful and optimistic second cousin.

Part 2

2011-10-10T20:44:00.000-07:00

so, if my heart were ripped open

if that tenuous little string
that bound me
to You
became nothing but ashes
that floated on the wind

if the thin membrane of my heart
had a gash
that were as wide and deep
as the amazon,
what would you see?
what would spill out for the world
to mock, to scorn, to judge?

would it be as a looking glass, alice?

would you see anything of worth
anything of beauty?
anything pure?

only the space that held you.

but in the moment
that the string

that tenuous string
that binds
my heart
to You

succumbs to the fire
and my heart, alone and desperate,
begins to swallow the world,

it stops.
all the universe takes pause.

as You
hold my heart
in your hand.

with your breath upon me,
my heart is healed and whole

You alone knows what it holds

with such tenderness
that I can barely stand
You
who holds my heart in Your hand
weave a string
a tenuous string
made from tears

glistening and as salty as all of the oceans

that binds my heart
to
You.

Part 1

2011-10-10T20:32:00.000-07:00

shall my heart be ripped open?

for the tenuous string that binds
my heart
to you

is being held over the raging fire.

hungry flames leap and dance
with a feverish pitch.

coals from the black depths
of Hell
sparked this fire
that seeks to devour
that tenuous string that binds
my heart
to you.

shall my heart be ripped open?

Good Things

2011-10-04T09:10:00.000-07:00

There are some things that fill my heart to the bursting point. Here they are in no particular order:

My sons.
These are some good boys. Good. Solid good.
I love watching them ride their bikes to the bus stop in the mornings, backpacks on and a violin case sticking out of the top of Sebastian's.
I love that my self-proclaimed tough boy sleeps with a little stuffed bunny that his 3 year old cousin didn't want.
I love that Bellamy tells me "thank you" for dinner every night, without fail.
I love that he also was thankful and grateful that I bought him 2 packs of new socks.
I love reading A Wrinkle in Time to them and Sebastian asking more about different dimensions.
I love that they both unashamedly kiss me on the lips even in front of their friends.
I love that Sebastian reads labels of containers and knows that high fructose corn syrup is no good. Or that he has playground conversations with his friend about the reasons why we should not buy so many things that are from China.
I love that Bellamy tries and keeps on trying in everything he does.

My husband.
He is a good man.
He wants to improve.
He is strong enough to rethink his position on things.
He is building our sons that best tree house ever.
He adores me.
He knows what is important.

My home and community.
This is a special place.
It is safe.
People care about one another.
It is accepting.
We share knowledge.
The beauty that I see just out my door is staggering.

These are all Good Things.

I originally started out this blog post by writing about Martha Stewart. Because I always think of her when I think of the term "Good Things". And my writing turned quite snarky. It entailed the cult of perfectionism and some funny, but pretty mean examples. You know - perfectly staged parties, perfectly decorated cookies and cupcakes, perfectly seasonal home decor, perfect family, perfect lives. I know all of this because I used to be a disciple of Martha and all of her perfect ways. But I can tell you now, those are not Good Things.
Ask Martha's daughter.
Apparently she wrote a book that ripped Martha a new one.
No big surprise there.
But maybe Martha can fix that new one with her hot glue gun.
Okay, I know that was snarky. Sorry. But it was funny, yes?

What's my point with all of this?
There is so much goodness all around you that you don't need to go creating it.
It is already there. You just need to see it.

P.S. Apparently I have already written about Martha and perfectionism before - here .
What can I say?

A Helpful Tip

2011-09-26T11:01:00.000-07:00

Every now and then I remember that my hokey little byline on my hokey little blog here says something about tips. I have been lax in the tip department. I realize this. I think that I have been pretty lax in the funny story department too. In order to remedy this (because I have standards to keep up, you know), I will attempt to give you a two-in-one. Yes, both a tip and a funny. Simultaneously. Get ready. Drumroll, please....

If you have sons, never vigorously reach into their dirty clothes basket and grab a big armful.
Instead, be very careful, knowing that dirty underwear lurks in and among the shirts and shorts.
Dirty underwear in which an eight year old boy might have crossed the line between skid and all-out accident.

What? Everyone thinks poop is funny.
Just not on your hands. Gack.

More On That F Word

2011-09-25T13:38:00.000-07:00

Do you see themes running through your life?
If you do, what do you attribute them to?
And if you don't, why do you suppose not? Are you just hurtling all willy nilly through time and space? The ultimate in go with the flow? I'm not saying one is right and one is wrong, because who am I that I could make such judgment? But, I do ponder how one could live and not wrestle with large scale themes.
You know the ones: anger, bitterness, justice, love, forgiveness, trust, acceptance, pride.
Did I leave any out?
Perhaps that real biggie... Eggnog - delicious seasonal treat or disgusting chicken embryo mixed with breast milk from bovine? For the record, I've wrestled with this. Verdict: Eggnog for the win!

In all seriousness, there has been this theme of forgiveness that has been a constant flow through my life. And the strangest thing is that I really have never been one to harbor a grudge. I might cut you off like a rotten foot, but I won't wish for a swarm of yellow jackets to smell your rotten meat and go after you. You know what I mean? Maybe you don't.

So, if you are with me about life themes (wow, I feel like I might be sounding a little Oprahmatic here), what do you attribute them to? God, Universe, Allah, Karma, Flying Spaghetti Monster? Is there something bigger than yourself out there that is weaving that one beautiful thread through your life that you cannot ignore?
When I look at that thread, all I can see is God. Don't tune me out now. I am not going to thump you on the noggin. All I want to do is share. Take it, leave it. But if we fear sharing our beliefs - about important things - have we not lost an important pillar in our society?

Here is an example for you. I used to be Pro Death Penalty. And now I am not. In fact, it now brings me to tears when I think about it. So, what changed? How did I flip 180 degrees in my beliefs? Because people that I respected shared their thoughts with me. My mind is open and I received what they had to say, then I thought about it. It sunk deep into my heart and it changed.
Of course it helped that the discussions were not hostile and were non-accusatory. Name calling closes people's minds faster than those yellow jackets would find that rotten foot that I previously mentioned.

Forgiveness.
I have been forgiven much. How can I not forgive much? And then more?
When I wrote about Facing the Dragon, that was where my forgiveness grew from.
I have been forgiven much.
And here is the kicker. The punchline, if you will.
Several days before my opportunity to forgive, in that story about Mrs. Kim, a friend of mine sent me this verse completely out of the blue. Yes, from the bible.

"Listen to me, you who know right from wrong you who cherish my law in your hearts. Do not be afraid of people's scorn, nor fear their insults."

When thinking about Mrs. Kim, I also thought about this verse. And I knew what it meant for me. At that particular moment in time. Because I do know right from wrong, and I do cherish the law to love and to forgive in my heart. And I knew to not be afraid, and just do what I knew was right.

Forgiveness.

How I wrote about forgiveness, eggnog, yellow jackets and a rotten foot all in one post, I have no idea.
Life is weird. And then some.

Facing the Dragon

2011-09-09T11:59:00.000-07:00

I read something really good the other day.
It went something like this - Forgive the sins of others. After all, what are YOU going to do with them?
How true is that?
Sometimes forgiveness takes a long time.
Sometimes it goes through a bunch of layers.
Most of the time it is an ongoing process and struggle. Because let's face it, it can be enjoyable to hold a grudge.
But it can also be toxic.
I have written quite a few posts about forgiveness. Probably because I think that life boils down to two things:
Love and Forgiveness.
Maybe that is oversimplifying things just a bit. But simple is good.

I have been trying to write this blog post for days. But the right words just weren't coming. I want to tell you about something really, really good. Something hugely liberating. And something that to some might seem backwards and weird, but to me seems like the rightest thing ever. And all at the same time, I am trying to keep within my subject that I had previously said that I was going to write about. Are you following me?
Then I just re-read what I just wrote - simple is good.
So, I will just keep it simple and you can connect the dots.

If you have been reading my blog, you might know about some of these lawsuits that people have brought against us. One lawsuit in particular had been going on for years and was for a lot of money. Money that we do not have. It finally came to an end in June, with the jury finding us in favor of 2 of the 3 claims. This is good. Not exactly what we had hoped for, but still good.

Now, one of the strangest things about this lawsuit is that the people that were suing us, were still our wholesale customers. They never quit and we never stopped supplying them. Weird, huh?
Over the last couple of years, they fell behind on their payments and eventually racked up a pretty decent sized balance. It was nothing close to what we owe them or their attorneys, but it was still a large amount for them to get behind. Yet, we still continued to supply them.

A few weeks ago, I had to return to working in our busines s. One of my first tasks was to dig into the accounts receivable and start shaking people down that owed us money. Including these people that sued us. It had been my plan to really put the screws to them. So, I make my first call to the wife. We'll call her Mrs. Kim.
I knew that her English was not very good, but I had no idea that it was really not very good. And it is hard to put the screws to someone when you have no idea what they are saying. Especially over the phone.

But luckily for me, she picks her orders up herself instead of having them delivered. And she had an order sitting at Will Call. So, I put the word out that I should be notified when Mrs. Kim was picking up her order.
The day ended - no Mrs. Kim.
At least not in person. She had been on my mind all day. And I had turned her into a giant dragon in my mind.
Scary, vicious, fire-breathing.

Then the next morning, as I was getting ready to head in to the office, I just knew I was going to see her that day. And I knew that instead of putting the screws to her, I was going to do some bridge building. She was still going to have to pay up, but she could at least walk across the nice little bridge that I was building to hand over the cash. Heh.

Afternoon came. I was in a heated, emotional meeting. The meeting ended, I walked out of the conference room and smack into Mrs. Kim.

Was she a dragon? Hardly.
And here is what happened...
I smiled, greeted her, and took her to a meeting area.
There, Mrs Kim and I talked, held hands and cried.
She told me she was sorry, I told her that I forgave her.
Unlike what I had thought, they had been going through some similar hard times too.
Including having to sell their house on a short sale.
I told her that I would help her and help her improve her business.

Then I talked to my husband and we decided to forgive their debt to us.
So we did.

Three years ago, I would never have done that.
Today I can tell you that the saying "It is more blessed to give than to receive" is hugely true.
You go ahead and connect the dots.

Roadkill

2011-09-01T14:20:00.000-07:00

This is the time of the year where we switch from trying to miss deer on the road, to trying to miss squirrels (or are they chipmunks)? And not just squirrels running all zigzaggedly back and forth, but the dead ones that have already met their demise.

Today, while driving on my little mountain road, I had to swerve to miss one of the passed on squirrels.
There he was - on his back, white tummy showing, four legs sticking straight up.
And next to him were two large pine cones.
And it became quite obvious how Mr. Squirrel met his end.

He had grabbed too much. He was greedy. He might have made it with those two pine cones. But then a car came upon him. He should have dropped them both and ran for his life on a straight course right across the road into the safety of the trees. But he got confused. He ran one way, then the other. Then he froze completely, paralyzed by the indecision. And greed won. Thump - thump.

Aw, sorry little buddy. I know what it is like. I've been there myself.
I'm just grateful that God gave me another chance to do the right thing.
Drop the pine cones, man.

Sleeping Zen

2011-08-28T13:41:00.000-07:00

I often write blog posts in my sleep. That would probably explain some of the herky-jerky switching around between 1st person and 3rd person that happens when one writes posts for this blog. See what I mean? It would also account for too many commas or lack of things such as : or ;. And no, I am not trying to be cute. I really mean colons or semi colons. Apparently I was asleep on the day that the use of them was discussed in school.
Asleep and not writing blog posts.

But sadly, when I say that I write blog posts in my sleep, I really don't mean that I sleepwalk to my computer and pump out this drivel. I just mean that it all forms in my mind, and then sometimes when I wake up, I will actually write it. But sometimes it disappears right around the time that I drink my second cup of coffee. And that might be for the best.

Last night though, in my Excedrin PM induced slumber, I wrote something on the computer of my mind. And it had to do with tying together the last two posts that I wrote. Because the 1st post in August was about telling a testimony. And then the 2nd was about a ridiculous car break down and some naked bicyclists. Now, to me this makes perfect sense, but in my sleep I realized that to everyone else, it makes no sense. Especially because I did not actually see naked cyclists. So, here are some things that I remember from last night:

I learned some valuable things on top of a mountain with a broken down car.
1. Sometimes it is good to set aside an agenda to do what is right in front of you. HELP OTHERS
2. People have become so afraid of other people that they let fear rule them. FEAR NOT
3. Something as simple as a broken down car can send a family into the abyss of losing everything and not being able to ever get ahead. PRACTICE COMPASSION
4. Most things are not really that big of a deal as we make them. LIVE IN THE PRESENT

These are things that link together the story of my life. Of the journey that began way over there and is now right here. The evolving and changing of a heart and a soul. Making something shiny and lovely out of something hard and dirty. Something that I absolutely could not do on my own.
But a journey it is. Wrong side paths are taken, but how can they be wrong if on the doubling back, something is eventually learned?

I'm pretty zen.
Or tired.

Anyhow, yesterday I picked up a hitchhiker and took him as far as I could.

I Solemnly Swear To Tell the Truth

2011-08-24T15:09:00.000-07:00

Look! It is the second day in a row that I have written something! It almost didn't happen.
Let me tell you the story.
Due to circumstances that I will probably write about at some point soon, I have had to go back to work in our coffee roasting business. I have not worked in the business for over 11 years. So, stepping back in after being a housewife is crazy.
And then to be wearing a number of different hats that don't quite fit right is as crazy as if I were wearing one of those yodeler hats on top of a top hat while walking down the freeway in the pouring rain with my two kids hanging on my legs. All while being chased by a pack of wolves.
Are you getting a picture yet?

So, I am working back in the business, but did I mention that we live about 200 miles away from our business? This wouldn't be such a major issue,as I can do a lot of work from home, except that we have 2 young children and a dog. It isn't like I can just jump in the car and go. However today, was going to be one of the days that we jump in the car and go. This is why I almost didn't have an opportunity to write today. But, that hardly matters. Anyhow.

We make all the necessary plans - someone to watch the kids, someone to watch the dog, a place to stay, packing for everyone. We get up early this morning and get ready to leave. My husband is putting everything in the car and I say, "we're going to take that car?" (this is the miracle Volvo with 250,000 miles that we just got back from the shop). He says that we are, because it gets better gas mileage and is the car we don't mind loading up with miles obviously. I ask him if he is sure and he says he is. Ooooo-kaay.

This is the part of my story where you would hear ominous music, if this were a movie and not a blog. Since it is just a blog, you'll just have to imagine for now. Now back to my story.

We get to driving. Did I mention that we live across a mountain pass from our business? We do.
On our way up the pass, the fan/radiator light deal comes on. This is bad news because the repair that the car just had done was a new fan. But we drive on until it just pretty much conks out. We're on the side of the road, so it isn't that big of a deal. I figure that we will just have to fill the radiator with water and be good to go.
While we were at it, my husband puts in some oil and even some gas performance stuff into the tank.
We all get back in and start 'er up. Aaaannnd... nothing except a wheeze.

Did I mention that there isn't cell phone reception for about 40 miles from where we are? There's not.
We try to start multiple more times, we pray, my nervous son cries and freaks out, and we then decide to hitchhike back home and get the other car. But remember there are four of us and a large dog. Probably not the most conducive for getting a ride. So, I decide to stay at the car with my calmer son and the dog. My husband goes onto the road and starts trying to get a ride. I thought it would be easy. It was not. We were there for close to two hours while many people with empty cars drove by, a few people stopped but wouldn't give them a ride, and a motorcyclist stopped to just try to help.

Finally a nice family in a large SUV stops. They weren't really planning on driving as far as we needed to go, but they had nothing else going on, so they offer to take them all the way. Then they see that there are two more of us plus the dog. And they practically force us to get in too. Did I mention that they were nice?

And now, we are back at home. While this was not the way we thought things were going to go, it certainly could have been worse. And it all turned out for the best anyhow. The place that my husband and I were going to stay at (on trade for coffee) turned out to be all full. One of the tasks that we were planning on doing over at our offices was to do a major clean and reorganize party with our staff. Well, it turned out that not everyone was going to be able to help out anyhow. And, I got to write this blog post after all. Which maybe isn't such a big deal, but maybe to someone it just might be. I am learning that things are not always as they appear.

Was this boring? Here, I'll tell you one last thing that might spice it up some.
While we were waiting for a ride at the top of the pass, a whole slew of bicyclists came by. I'm talking 50 or so.
And they were all naked.

That part didn't actually happen, but I bet you thought my story was at least a little more interesting for a second, didn't you?

I'm Back and I've Got Something to Say

2011-08-23T14:46:00.000-07:00

Well now. I imagine that you might be rolling your eyes or perhaps snorting or even saying "pshaw". Although I don't know anyone that actually says pshaw. You would think that with a bevy of short-permed, grey-haired ladies with names such as Gladys, Ruth, Marion, Carol-Ann, and Hazel lurking in my family tree, pshaw would be a common word. But it is not.
In any case, after four-ish months of not writing anything more significant than a grocery list, I'm back.
And I've got a bunch to say.
It is my testimony.
Not my testimony at any number of depositions or court appearances that my husband has to deal with. Fortunately I have been spared most of that nonsense. And nonsense it definitely is.
Here's a little ranting sidenote... did you know that anyone can sue anyone for really any reason and that the person being sued has to defend themselves? If that doesn't strike fear in your hearts, I don't know what does. Oh, and attorneys are really expensive. So, if you don't win the lawsuit, you are pretty much hosed because you have to pay your attorney's fees as well as the Plaintiff's attorney's fees? Yeah, that sucks, huh?

Anyhow. I have a testimony to share.
Here is the definition of testimony:

a. A declaration by a witness under oath, as that given before a court or deliberative body.

b. All such declarations, spoken or written, offered in a legal case or deliberative hearing.

2. Evidence in support of a fact or assertion; proof.

3. A public declaration regarding a religious experience.

a. The stone tablets inscribed with the Law of Moses.

b. The ark containing these tablets.

So, I am not in possession of any ark or stone tablets. Obviously.
And I am not going to appear in court unless I absolutely had to.
That leaves #2 or #3.
And if you know a single thing about me, you'd know that I am not "religious". Oh, I have faith, all right. And yes, that faith is in Jesus. But religious? Not it.
So, I guess that leaves #2 -evidence in support of a fact or assertion; proof.

And that is what I've got to say. It is my evidence, take it or leave it.
I've missed you and I hope you'll stick around to continue reading my blog.
It might not be what you expect.

Recalibrate

2011-04-18T12:33:00.000-07:00

Did my last post leave you wondering how on earth I was calibrating?
I left that pretty vague, I know. Were you thinking of some strange device that perhaps I wore around my waist while it vibrated? Or maybe a weird blood switching machine?
No, no, no. The answer is that it is a sort of two-sided approach.
Diet and exercise.
I know, shocking.
The deal is though that I am not on a diet, nor am I exercising solely to lose weight.

I'll start with the food part. Mostly because I just ate lunch and the taste is still lingering in my mouth.
Avocado tacos.
Liberally sprinkled with my best friend, Senor Tapatio.
On an unrelated sidenote, have you ever thought that Senor Tapatio should get married to Senorita Cholula? Look at what a nice couple they make...

Anyhow.

I eat very healthy foods. And I have for a pretty long time. But make no mistake, you can gain plenty of weight and eat too much of organic, local and sustainable foods.
So, for me, calibration means mostly paying attention to the quantities of food that I eat, when I eat them, the ratios of food groups and noticing when I am full.

I use a system, or a plan, that consists of only whole and natural foods.
Limited salt and sugar. No alcohol.
I weigh and measure so that I am conscious of my portions.

What has this taught me and how has it helped me to calibrate?
For one, I now know that I was eating way too much protein.
What can I say? I like meat.
After doing this for 3+ months though, I now feel satisfied with 3 ounces of protein. Whereas before, I could easily (and quite happily) eat a nice 8 ounce steak. Grass-fed and local, but still way too much.
Before my calibration, I would have a goat cheese and kale omelet for breakfast almost every morning.
Sound healthy? Oh it was. Except it was 3 eggs instead of one. And I am sure that my "sprinkle" of goat cheese was a little more than a sprinkle. Again, organic and local, but still too much.
See what I mean?

My point is not that I want to always deny myself something. But more that I want to realize my baseline. So when I do decide to have that steak or have a 3 egg omelet, my body recognizes it as a splurge and not the norm. Same with wine or margaritas, which are my huge downfalls. A serving of wine is 5 ounces.
Five ounces?! Please.

Now the exercise part.
I had never really thought of myself as athletic.
I was never in team sports because I am not a very good team player. But I had been in track. At least until I called the coach a pig and got kicked out (he was a pig and deserved to be called out for his pig-like behavior). But until then, I was actually a pretty good runner. But to call myself an athlete? Nah.
I also skied, biked and swam. None with particularly good form.
So, here I am in my bloody 40's. And I want to get back to what I enjoyed thoughtlessly as a child.
It seems easy enough, right? Go out and run and swim, ski and hike. After all, I live in the absolute most perfect place to do those things. They are right out my front door. Literally.

So what has been my problem?
First, just plain old inertia.
Second, go back to those old messages that I am not good enough and something is wrong with me.
Where I live, there are probably more Olympians (past, present and future) per capita than any place in the world. And if Olympians aren't enough, there are other medalists, record-holders and just all-around superathletes. And there they are - running, biking, skate-skiing, skiing, and hiking.
So, when I think that I might go out for a little run, fear takes over. Because what if I am running my paltry, pathetic amount and I happen to see one of the superathletes?
Me: "Oh, hey. What's going on?"
Olympian: "Oh, I just finished up my 50 miler across the pass. How about you?"
Me: "Yeah, I just ran from over there by those mailboxes. And now I am walking."

Or what if I decide to ride my bike to the store and I get mowed down by one, or worse yet a pod, of the super bicyclists? The ones in their correct, slick clothing and accessories. The ones going very quickly and smoothly, making barely a sound. And there I am, not in lycra, bungling up the pedaling, and in completely the wrong bicycle gear. I don't think that I will ever figure out the right way to shift.

I realize the stupidity in this.
Which is why I am calibrating.
As a kid, who really cared?
You just rode your bike.
Or you just ran down the road, or into the woods.
It was fun.
Someone might have been better than you, but it was more about just having fun.
I'd like these things to be purely for fun again.
Even doing that lunatic, Jillian's workout.
Can that ever be fun?
My sons think so.
I want to too.

Calibrate

2011-04-18T09:44:00.000-07:00

Calibrate is a good word, no? It feels good in the mouth, combining all those nice, strong letters.
By definition calibrate means:

1. To check, adjust, or determine by comparison with a standard (the graduations of a quantitative measuring instrument): calibrate a thermometer.

I have been spending the 1st four months of this year calibrating myself.
Yes, myself. Not so much my inner self, my heart and soul, but my outer self and my relationship to that self.
But here is the rub - how do you check or adjust by comparison with a standard, on yourself?
And that is what I figured out was the problem. I needed to calibrate because of my constant comparison to something that was not the standard because only you are the standard of yourself. Did you get that?
Only you are you.
And I wanted to get back to me.

I started out as most little kids do, oblivious to my body and the size of it. I ate when I was hungry and I stopped eating when I was full. I ran, swam and played all day. I never thought about it. There was no measuring, weighing, counting, or even thinking about it.
I was naturally very thin. Here is a fabulous picture of me taken when I was probably about 8 or 9. No comments on the hair or outfit, please.
I didn't hit 100 pounds until 8th grade.
And I never thought too much about it.
That was until, in a strange and very brief moment of parenting, my parents called the school to ask if someone could check to make sure that I was eating my lunch. Because they were concerned that I was too thin.
And there was my first message that there was something wrong with me, with who I was. Because somehow, I was too thin.
Who I was, was not good enough.

Around 8th grade, my best friend also decides that I needed to fatten up.
There it is again, I am not okay. Something must be done to remedy who I am.
So, she designs all types of things to help me on my journey of gaining weight.
There was the eating marathon.
I had to constantly eat. All day.
So, she cooked food for me all day long. And if we went somewhere, I brought a thermos of soup with me. I ate macaroni & cheese, smoked oysters on crackers, cookies, chips, and every other food that was either taboo in my home or was considered a treat.

Then there were the eating contests. How many McDonald's cheeseburgers could I eat?
Answer:12 + 1 fry.

Don't get me wrong. While this was all happening, I thought it was funny and fun. It wasn't until much later that I realized the messages that were being given to me that I wholeheartedly believed.
But what wasn't funny or fun was the day that my friend and I were at my house eating bread during one of the eating marathons, and my mother breezes in. Her comment, "Erika, if you keep eating bread like that, your butt is going to be as wide as the television." And then she breezes right back out.
Eat? Don't eat? Too skinny? Too fat?
All of these together meant one thing: something is wrong with me.

From then on, I had this strange relationship with food and with myself.
One summer in high school I ate almost nothing except frozen strawberries and beer. Not together.
Then I went on the beer diet. Don't even ask what that was, because it was wrong on all levels.
After high school, when I began working and had my own money, I began even worse eating habits.
While living in California, I ended up weighing more than I ever had.
It was probably 25 or 30 pounds over my ideal weight, but my self-hatred weighed much more than that.
And so I began my descent into anorexia.

That was 20 years ago and there have been many ups and downs since then.
I have exercised ridiculously, I have not exercised at all.
I have weighed too little, I have weighed too much.
Many messages through the media have been poured in, as well as many messages from other people - both intentional and unintentional. All of this leaving me at this point of realizing my need to calibrate.
Get back to my own baseline of who I am. How I was created.
Without the messages of my mother.
Without the messages of the Victoria's Secret catalog.
Without the messages of hurt.

Calibrate.

This post is dedicated to my friend, Kathy. With much love.

Vancouver Hates Me, Day 2

2011-04-13T15:15:00.000-07:00

Day Two begins rainier and greyer than Day One.
And despite promises by all family members that this will be a much better day, things aren't looking so good.
We decide to remedy the lack of swimming pool at our hotel by going to the Vancouver Aquatic Center.
Sounds good, right? We are told that it is a great big pool complete with diving boards. There is also a hot tub and sauna. Perfect. What better place to let my kids blow off some steam and some of their boundless energy (always accompanied by the world's loudest voices) than a swimming pool. And it is cheap. Bonus.

We get there, pay to park (because there is not one itsy bitsy parking space in this city in which you do not have to pay. Believe me, if there was, my husband would have found it.), and go in. After figuring out the whole changing room scene, we meet out at the pool. Okay, it is big, but most of it is cordoned off into lanes. But that's okay, we can still deal with it. Besides, no bad attitudes today. We promised.
And then it began.
The Stupid American Family Sideshow.
Out of the gate was our first performer, Sebastian, running towards the slide.
*Tweet*
And Lifeguard #1 breaks the quiet stillness of the Aquatic Center, yelling "NO RUNNING!".
All eyes are now on us. Complete with raised eyebrows all around.
Sebastian has gone down the slide and is happily in the water doing his hybrid dogpaddle/breaststroke.

Our second performer queues up. First he must wait for American Dad to exit stage left. Which he does, leaving me, American Mom reluctantly standing there in my bikini with my pale, winter skin blinding all.
Bellamy, performer number two, follows his brother to the slide.
Without a thought, he climbs up, slides down, and drops into the water.
Oh yeah, he can't swim!
I mean, he sort of can. But he apparently forgot that.
So, now every person in the place is staring at us.
Performer number 2 completes his act, by going under. And staying there.
And ladies and gentlemen, American Mom does some improv.
I jump in and get Bellamy's head above water and try to swim him to the side.
"Crap, this water is cold." That was my 1st thought after "For crying out loud.".

It is just a couple of feet, but he is not the most helpful of drowning victims. He keeps thrashing and pushing me under. All the while crying. Him, not me.
Our performance, including the surprise ending, ends with me pushing Bellamy up and out of the pool. I look up and standing there is the Lifeguard. Boy, is she mad.
I get scolded, Bellamy gets a lifejacket, and American Dad saunters back in.

I get out of the pool, recite all of the rules that I was just given by Lifeguard #1 (who looks a little like that coach from Glee),to my husband and decide that I am getting the heck out of there and decide to escape to the sauna. This is when I notice that there are no children in the pool, no one is having fun, 65% of the people in the pool are old Chinese men, and no one is wearing a bikini - serious competition swimwear only.
We stick out like sore thumbs and are so obviously not Canadian.

Thinking that I will get some relief in the sauna, I open the door. Only to be faced with 50 men in the sauna wedged in like sweaty Vienna Sausages. Uh, nevermind.
Turn around, shut the door, leave.

I peek in the hot tub. Too full.
With nothing else to do, I go back to the pool.
Just in time to see my two sons swimming with no parent in sight.
Red Alert! That is Rule #2, after NO RUNNING.
A parent must be with all children under the age of 8.
I walk quickly(not run) to the edge of the pool where the boys are swimming, and then I glance around to make sure that we weren't busted again. The coast was clear. And I then tried to find my husband. Oh yes, there he is at the other end of the pool swimming laps. Why not?
Don't get me wrong. My husband wasn't doing anything that I wouldn't have done if I didn't have this pesky mother, nurturing , genetic thing bungling my free-wheeling lifestyle up. Heh.

In order to give my husband a break to swim some laps without Lifeguard #1 bearing down on him, I take the kids to the hot tub. Before we go into the hot tub room, I tell them that our act as Stupid American Family Sideshow is over (okay, I didn't use those exact words) and when they sit in the hot tub there is to be no moving around, no talking, no splashing. We are to act like we are from Vancouver. We will be silent, obedient, rule-followers.

And the frightening twitch in my eye must have done the trick, because those kids were angels.
Yet, as quiet and non-offensive as we were, we still got the stinkeye from the sourpuss 70 year old sitting across from us. I tried smiling at her. Nothing. I made sure that none of my sons' limbs were touching her. Nope. I looked down to insure that somehow I wasn't accidentally exposing myself. All in.
What was it?
We were the Stupid American Family Sideshow.

I had it. We were done.
I send the kids back to the pool with dad for one more swim before we get out of there.
I go to change (somehow getting lost in the labyrinth of changing rooms, because well, I am American) and then head to the stands to wait for my family. And there was Sebastian getting a stern shakedown from Lifeguard #2.
Could he swim? Prove it.
Did he know that he couldn't be in the pool without a parent?
How old was he?
Everyone in proximity was staring.
Oh, and Stupid American Family Sideshow Dad was within the regulation 10 feet of said son.
Not a single rule was being broken. Lifeguard #2 just couldn't tell that we were all together.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is where the finale of our act comes in.
You don't mess with my family like that.
I jumped down from the stands.
Whistles were blowing all over the place.
Strobe lights started flashing.
All elderly Chinese men got out of the pool.
And a banner was unfurled above my head proclaiming my title, Stupid American Family Sideshow Mom.
Then we were all rounded up and driven directly to the edge of the city and booted out.
But not before I kicked Lifeguard #2 in the balls.

This last paragraph is not completely true.
But close enough.

Magnet

2011-04-12T09:37:00.000-07:00

Remember that Seinfeld episode where Jerry dated that woman that got everything she wanted?
Movie was sold out, she goes and talks to the manager and BAM! Gets tickets.
Jerry is gets pulled over by the cops for speeding, she gives the cop the car registration, and no ticket.
She even got Jerry to walk her dog for her after she broke up with him (Jerry, not the dog).

Sometimes, I feel like that woman.
Except in the manner that things just come to me.
I am a magnet.
Let me give you an example and then you can decide for yourself.

Yesterday I must have been extra magnetic.
I got these things from Soap.com:

3 bottles of Seventh Generation Dish Soap FREE
a 4 pack of Scott Naturals T.P. FREE
Dropps laundry soap FREE
Mrs. Meyers Hand Soap for 50% off
a case of Larabars for 50% off
all shipped for FREE

Then I got a pair of $160 jeans for $2 (including shipping).

I placed an order with Bob's Red Mill using the $25 gift card that I won.

I found a replacement baseball cap for my old trusty cap that is no longer wearable, but they no longer make that same style. I know that this seems dumb, but I have a strangely small head (you can read about that here) and this cap was the only style that fit just right.
(Found as in I found mixed in with a bunch of old winter clothes, and I didn't even know that I had it).

Then I used one of my Groupons to get some travel games for our upcoming trip this summer. The Groupon made them 50% off, then I found that if I signed up for the company's newsletter, I'd get an extra 25% off.

I sold something on Craigslist that we no longer needed for $300. Then later on that evening, I got $50 in my Paypal account for some of Bellamy's clothes that he had outgrown.

Last, and by no means least, I used some free lip balm that I got in the mail on my horribly chapped lips.

See what I mean? Things just come to me.
Sure, I had to sign up for a few things. Maybe post some stuff on Craigslist. Surf around a bit on eBay.
But seriously, I am a magnet.

P.S. Since I know that you want things to start coming to you too, here's a good way to get started:

use code ERIK8417

Not valid for existing Diapers.com, Soap.com or BeautyBar.com customers. Some restrictions apply.

Consider the Lilies

2011-04-10T13:47:00.000-07:00

The night was silent and black. No sound other than the movie on the television.
Lonely, but in the best kind of way.
My husband was out of town, the boys tucked safely in their beds and fast asleep.
Even the dog had ended his nervous click-clicking around the house and went to bed.
It was just me laying on the couch. My mind had quit the endless searching and pacing, searching and pacing, searching and pacing.
There is no reasonable explanation for what happened next.
Unless of course you have come to find the unreasonable perfectly reasonable.

Without warning and without sound, a subtle flowery scent floated through the air.
My senses heightened and my brain re-engaged.
I breathed in again, and there it was.
What was it?
I could not put my finger on the fragrance.
Night-blooming jasmine on a sultry humid evening? No.
Lilacs on the wind in the early summer? No.
The ground here is still covered with old, rotting snow.
The house is sealed up tight against the below freezing night-time temperatures.
There are no flowers blooming, there is nowhere for the softest of breezes to come from.
Yet, there it was now hanging in the air beckoning me.
My mind, my memory follows the path.
Lilies.
The most faint possible scent of lilies.
And then, it was gone.
Leaving me to wonder what it was and what it meant.

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin..."

Before falling asleep, I earnestly asked what this meant for me right now at this moment in time.
And I was answered with vivid dreams that soothed and calmed every anxious thought in the corners of my mind and heart. Consider the lilies.

Vancouver Hates Me, Day 1

2011-04-08T11:20:00.000-07:00

Before I get started here, I need to add my usual disclaimers.
1. I know plenty of people from Vancouver that are very nice. Okay, I am already starting out with a lie. This is not true. However, I imagine it could be true.
2. My mother is from B.C. This is not a disclaimer nor does it have anything to do with #1. I'm just throwing it out there because maybe it makes me seem like I have a little bit more of a right to say the things that are brewing in my head.
3. I love my family like crazy. And just because I might refer to them as a circus sideshow does not mean anything. We are a circus sideshow and I am the ringleader.
4. I love my sons with an equal ferocious kind of love and just because I get a good laugh out of some things doesn't mean anything except that I find pretty much most things funny.

Okay, now that all that is out of the way, I can tell you my story.
My family and I just got back from a little mini Spring Break trip from Vancouver B.C.
Why Vancouver? Because it is within reasonable driving distance and there was a decent hotel available on trade. And the Kokanee beer. Joking. I don't even like beer.

I do the driving, so that my husband can make his phone calls and check his emails without killing us all.
This is all well and good until we get to the border. You see, I have a few irrational phobias. One is driving onto a ferry, the other is driving across the border. And there we were in line to cross the border.
All of a sudden I became like a 16 year old with beer in the car (I know I just said that I didn't like beer, but what do 16 year olds know?) trying to fool the cops. As if I had something to hide. Heck, I didn't even try to smuggle in an apple. But there I was hissing to the hooligans in the back seat, "Don't even say the word 'weapons' or you'll be in more trouble than you've ever been in!", and we certainly didn't have any weapons.
Well, maybe a Leatherman in the glove box.
Before I knew it though, we were through and into Canada. And we didn't even get asked anything interesting.
I guess I can scratch this irrational phobia off of my list.

We make it to our hotel. Although it was grey and drizzly, we were optimistic. The hotel used to be an apartment building, so our room was like a small little apartment, complete with kitchen and two bedrooms.
And then our half full glass of optimism sprung a leak.
The pool was closed for renovation. The neighboring hotel whose facilities we could use did not have a pool.
Uh-oh. The grey clouds started to look a little greyer and more ominous.

Then we head to the grocery store to stock up our little kitchen. You see, I am on my usual Spring Plan. Which means that eating out is not a good idea. And unlike last year's Spring Vacation, where I threw my plan out the window the second I had a chance to order a margarita, this time I was sticking to it. For sure. For real.
What? Are you snickering? Let me fast forward for a second here to wipe that smirk off your face, partner. For the record, I didn't blow it. Not once. Not one fry, not one sip of wine, not one candy, not even one speck of butter. Nothing but the plan.

Back to the grocery store. With the world's most narrow aisles. Which was okay until my two hooligan sons came into the store to find me. Did I mention that they were the only children in the store? Did I mention that it was at this point that I noticed that there was not a single child over the age of two in this whole part of the city? Did I mention that all of a sudden every raised eyebrow in the entire perfect store was now raising at me? And did I mention that it was at this precise moment that my two wild animals, ahem, sons decided to act as if they had never been in a grocery store before? It was horrible. Every metrosexual in the place looked at me with more disdain and distaste than that strange Victoria Beckham looks at the rest of the world.
What was I to do except make a few quick, irrational shopping decisions and bug the heck out of there all while whispering threats to my children about what the future would hold for them if they didn't settle down this very second! And where was my husband? Oh, he was in the store too. Pretending that none of this chaos belonged to him. He even looked a little metrosexual himself, and may have thrown a raised eyebrow my way once or twice while he was ensconced in the safe little herb section of the tiny store.

And with this, I end Day One.

Friendship and Loyalty

2011-03-17T08:40:00.000-07:00

Have you watched this video that is making the rounds on YouTube and Facebook? The one about the two dogs in Japan that had gone through the tsunami? I admit, it made me cry a little. Here, watch it if you haven't already...

See what I mean? It's okay if your eyes leaked a little.
The odd thing is that I had been thinking about writing about something that has been on my heart - friendship. I even had my blog open and was getting ready to start when I saw this video. It summed up what is traffic-jammed up in my brain, but I just wasn't finding the right words. Friendship and loyalty go hand-in-hand. Without loyalty, can you even call it friendship? If the dog had jumped up and ran to the humans, leaving the other dog to just lay there and suffer, would we marvel at their seeming friendship?

How do you define friendship? Are you satisfied with just staying on the smooth, glossy surface?
Or are you willing to dive deep to the murky, yet fascinating, depths?
Are your friendships ones of convenience or are they based on truth and trust?
Do they grow and mature through time or do they remain the same, eventually stagnating?
Do you throw out the word "friend" casually, making every one you meet a friend?
Or is that word held only for the ones that you know would remain loyal through most anything.

When the tsunamis of life come at you, and you lay hurting and afraid on a lonely beach, who will be there at your side? Who will stand guard protecting you and refusing to leave you? Who will do for you what you cannot do for yourself? These are your friends.
Loyal and true.

The Red String

2011-03-16T13:49:00.000-07:00

My story begins as it ends.
With a red string.
It seemed to be a day much like any other day. I was busy cleaning a cabin, somewhat muttering to myself about the copious amounts of dog hair everywhere. Like I said, a day like pretty much any other.
As I was vacuuming, vacuuming and re-vacuuming, I noticed a red thread. Strange that it caught my eye.
Then I noticed another.
What did this mean, these red threads?
Was it remnants of a dog's toy?
Perhaps one of the guests was wearing a red shirt that had a few loose threads.
Somewhere though, in the very basement of my mind, something rattled at me like wind blowing through the creaks of my old house. But I pushed the feeling aside and went about my work.

When I got into my car to drive home, there was a piece of red string. Just innocently sitting on the seat of my car. Maybe it was me? Maybe I had some red threads and strings stuck to me and they were just shedding. Looking on my shirt and jeans, I saw nothing.
Strange.

At home, there was one on the counter. Then in the sink in the bathroom.
What could this mean?
I knew now that there was some meaning to this.
Was it a reminder? Was I forgetting something?
What was God trying to tell me? Please don't allow my mention of God stop you from reading this story. If you are uncomfortable, feel free to insert whatever you choose there - Universe, Cosmos, Allah. Although I must insist, since it is my story, that you set aside any preconceived notions and opinions that you may have. Just for now. Please let me continue.

What could it be?
I sorted through my mind, like a file.
Did it have something to do with Japan?
Maybe Haiti?
Earthquakes, storms, floods?
My family. That must be it. My friends? Maybe.
I prayed and asked God to tell me what it meant.

Days went by and I thought I might be going crazy.
I saw them everywhere.
On the snow, in the laundry, even on the dog.
Some were thick, some were thin.
Some were short, some were long.
The only things that they had in common were that they were red, they were showing up everywhere and they were making me think. What does it mean?!

Should I be praying for someone or something?
Does someone need my help?
Am I doing something wrong? Something right?
Should I go here? Should I go there?
I just didn't know.

My family all thought I was nuts until one evening at a restaurant, I pulled a long, red string from my salad.
And I couldn't even say, "I told you so!". All I could do was think.
Was my family in danger? Did I show them my love in a tangible way?
What did it mean?

I sorted, sifted, shuffled through my heart next, having fully searched my mind. Even those creepy places that I never want to visit. As I opened the door of my heart, the threads began showing up even more frequently. And very soon I feared that it would never stop. I would drown in these red strings - a reminder of something that God only knew.

I dug around in my heart, opening up dusty and musty boxes. Always just looking, looking for the answer.
Some boxes were painful to pry open and even more painful to think about their contents. But I couldn't quit until I knew what the red strings meant.

One morning, I opened up my eyes and looked out the window.
Hanging from a tree were hundreds of red threads.
I ran out into the snow in my bare feet, tipped my head back and in agony shouted to God, "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? WHAT DO YOU WANT? WHY DO YOU KEEP MAKING ME THINK?!"
And at that very moment, it was as if the Heavens themselves opened up and God spoke, "You just found your answer." A gust of wind swirled by, picking up the red strings that had hung from the trees, and left behind the tinkling of bells. One lone string drifted to the ground, laying on the snow like a scratch of blood. A tiny chickadee flew down from the tree and picked it up with its beak before flying away after the wind.

You Deserve It

2011-03-08T09:03:00.000-08:00

Winter has been dragging on here for four months and it is showing no sign of letting up. In fact it is snowing right now. Check the date.
Yes, it is March 8. And all I see is white.
Some of my friends rejoice at this. They are the skiiers.
Me? I am not a skiier (although my son informed me last night that I might like Winter a little more if I was a skiier. Or at least a sledder.).

So, right now I am at the point of trying to decide which of the following is my best option:

Ramming a pencil in my eye
Looking at Mexican resort websites until I weep
Going back to bed for another month
Putting on red lipstick outside of the lines and pretending I am at the Queen's Tea
Bucking up.

Yesterday I went with Option #2. Today I will try Door #5, Monty!
But Winter is not the subject of my post.
I just wanted to shed a little light on the reason why I may be a bit caustic. Blame it on the snow.
At least I am not trying to blame it on the rain and listening to that dreadful Milli Vanilli. That would be how you would know that I really lost my marbles. Anyhow.

Recently there has been a phrase that I have been seeing all over that is really chapping my hide.
"You deserve it."
As in, "I am having a spa day today."
Response: "You deserve it!"

Really? And all the people not at the spa don't deserve it?
How about the people that have never been to the spa? They must really suck.
Or how about people in Africa or Haiti or Tibet or India? They really must suck even worse.

How about back in my former life, when I got to do all kinds of fabulous things?
I deserved it then, but not now?
Or maybe I never really deserved it then, and certainly not now.
According to a so-called friend of mine that must be the case.
When we were talking about my reversal of fortune, her comment was, "Well, now you get to live like everyone else." See, I must not have deserved it.

Buy the newest cell phone - you deserve it!
Go out to dinner - you deserve it!
Have that dessert - you deserve it!
Buy a new car - you deserve it!
Drink another drink - you deserve it!
Just go shopping - you deserve it!

See what I mean?
Here's the thing. None of us deserve anything.
Why should we? What have we done to deserve?
Be born?
Work?
Have kids?
Aren't these all things that humans just do? And have always done since the beginning of time?
We live in the absolute cushiest place and time in all of history.
And yet we feel that we deserve a reward for doing what people have always done, but we have an easier time doing it. Except maybe, just maybe, we have made it more difficult than it has to be.
But that is a different subject.

There is nothing inherently wrong with little luxuries.
But when we develop an entitlement state of mind, we suck our own happiness out of these luxuries.
"Heck, I deserved it."
Instead of an attitude of gratitude.
Which I am now going to apply to my own life and be thankful for the snow and for Winter.
Some people never even see snow their entire lives.
And I get to have all I want and more.
And even more.

I Learned My Lesson

2011-03-02T11:30:00.000-08:00

Is it too much to ask for things to just go smoothly?
Do you ever have one of those days, weeks, years where absolutely nothing just flows?
I like flowing. I like smooth. I like easy.
Cramming, ramming, forcing, bungling? Not so much.

It all started with dogs. Particularly one dog.
We have an old Weimaraner, Gunther. He has been our boy since he was just the sweetest little pup ever.
And he has been the best dog. Mostly because he is half human. Ask him, he is.
I had to beg my husband to get a dog, those 12 years ago. Beg.
Because I have a dog problem. I love dogs. But they also drive me in-SANE.

My dog problem started in my early 20's and I thought that a Dalmatian puppy was the right choice for me.
Of course it was! I lived in a tiny apartment and worked 4 jobs. What a perfect match!
Well, Elvis was a perfect match for my black and white apartment and my black clothing.
Elvis lasted about 3 weeks before I found him a much better home.
In those 3 weeks he ate the arm off my couch, ate an entire dining room chair, stained the carpet, and went into the fireplace - coming out all black just like in 101 Dalmatians.

So when my husband finally relented those 12 years ago and we found our perfect puppy, Gunther Wolfgang von Kar, I was thrilled. And I vowed to do everything right. Which we did. And Gunther has been the greatest of companions. For 12 years. And now he is starting to decline.
Which is why my dog craziness overtook my brain once again.
And I thought it would be a smart idea to get a second dog. You know, to bridge the gap.
I should have known better. I really should have.
See, we had got a second dog once before.
A sweet German Shorthair Pointer named Willie.

Willie came from a shelter and he came with some baggage.
Both Willie and his baggage were packed and booted out the door to a better home shortly after I threw a bowl at poor Willie. Now, before you go all crazy and call the ASPCA on me, please realize that I had two infants in addition to two dogs roaming through the neighborhood and through mud and creeks. I was just a leetle on edge. Okay, a lot.
(I see that my sentence up there made it sound like my infants were roaming through the neighborhood too. I can assure you that they weren't. It is just poor sentence structure on my part. I could fix it, but it is a little funny. So, I'll leave it.)

I should have thought more rationally this time around. This is where my whimsy usually gets brought back down to earth by my husband. Remember him? Straight-line thinker, both feet firmly on the ground, the tether to my bouquet of balloons.

Sidenote: I don't know why I referred to myself as a bouquet of balloons, of all things. I cannot stand balloons. In fact, we have a rule in our home of no balloons in the house. While I am at it, I also cannot stand yarn either. Anyhow.

But my husband was too weary from his ongoing battles to try to bring me down to earth. I was free, free, free to make whatever idiotic mistakes I felt like making. Whoopee!!
And that resulted in bringing home another Weimaraner.

Kaiser, like Willie, was a sweet dog. He just hadn't been trained very well.
And he was fat.
But in my dog-crazy sickness, I just knew I could cure all of those things.
At least I didn't move the Goddesses in and rename our home Sober Valley Lodge. Duh.
Dog-crazy sickness isn't that bad.

Here it is in a nutshell: Kaiser was a barking, crazy, garbage-eating maniac.
He had to go.
This is where the part of wishing things could just go smoothly comes in.
How hard is it to find a good home for a beautiful, AKC, housebroken dog?
Apparently it is very hard.

1st we had a woman that wanted him, she met all our requirements and we were ready to give him to her.
But then she went and got another dog from a shelter after putting us off for a month.
Then we found another woman that wanted him, then flaked out.
Then another woman. This one actually came and picked him up.
And then brought him back a few days later.
See what I mean about things not going smoothly?

Finally, we got an email from yet another woman that wanted him.
Sure you do, lady. We'll believe it when we see it.
The day came that she was to email us about meeting partway. She lived five hours from us and we agreed to meet in a hotel parking lot about an hour and a half or so from our home.
I waited all day and nothing.
Then she calls at 5 PM and says they are getting ready to leave.
Seriously? I know that I am getting old, but driving a 3 hour round trip in 0 degree weather at 10 PM just isn't really my idea of something I want to do.
Unless it means finding Kaiser a better home and it means me not going crazy from my soap-eating dog that has an eardrum piercing bark that just won't be controlled. For that, I'll do it.
Well, I mean my husband will do it.
But I will support him.
Which means... nevermind.

The people are supposed to call us when they are an hour and a half away, so my husband can get on the road.
Nothing.
Then after we have fallen asleep, the phone rings.
The people are in the hospital two hours from us. The wife had a terrible flare-up (while on the road) of her endometriosis . Nothing is going smoothly.

My story here is getting long and pretty boring.
The end result was that they stayed in the hospital overnight.
The next morning, after an argument, some slamming of doors, some tears and some making up, my husband took the boys and Kaiser on a five hour round trip. Well, Kaiser never returned. So, his trip was just one way.

My dog sickness has gone away.
And I have learned that sometimes things cannot go smoothly. They must be difficult, frustrating and completely bungled up in order for a lesson to be driven home. If things were too easy, we'd never learn.
Hopefully in his new home, Kaiser will learn that driving his people crazy isn't a good idea.

P.S. If I sound like I hated Kaiser, I didn't. I loved him.

Sweden

2011-02-24T09:09:00.000-08:00

Do you ever think about Sweden?
Who does?
I certainly never did. And on my giant list of places that I would like to travel to in the whole world, Sweden ranked close to the bottom near Germany, Ireland, Scotland and Great Britain.
Obviously I am not even considering or including Yemen, Libya or any of those gonzo places.
Only places that a normal human without a death wish might want to visit.

And I can't stand meatballs, pickled herring or IKEA.
So, why would I think about Sweden? The cookies? Well, maybe.

But then I read The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and the other books that followed in the series.
And somehow Sweden seemed much more interesting.
And not because of that, gutter-thinkers.
(If you did not read the book, I apologize for the reference and that you have no idea what I am even talking about. And that might just be for the best.)

Do you ever read a book and somehow you get so into it that you take on some of the characteristics of a character? That happens to me occasionally and my husband has to remind me that his name is not Shep nor do we live on a ranch or in Louisiana.
I decided that I might just like Sweden because of these things:

They seem to drink coffee all the time.

They eat gravlox sandwiches with cheese.

They have summer cabins on islands.

They have good style sense

I admit that all of my new perceptions are based on this particular author's writing. So maybe I am way off base. But for a brief period of time I became Swedish, driving our Volvo in the ice and snow without a care. Well, until I slid into a snowbank and got stuck. That seemed very un-Swedish. Perhaps if I had had a thermos of coffee tucked alongside me, that never would have happened.

Now, here's the weird thing. Until a few years ago, I was led to believe that my biological mother was half Swedish and half German. Which always felt kind of wrong. Who would lead me to believe this? Oh, just a crazy person that pretended to raise me while I actually raised myself. But that is beside the point.

Then I found out the truth, which was that my biological mother was half German and half British.
Which seems even more wrong.
I should have stuck with being part Swedish while I had the chance.

Dogs, Dogs, Dogs

2011-02-18T10:00:00.000-08:00

Dogs to the left of me,
Dogs to the right.
In, out, in, out
Barfing in the night.

Dogs eating garbage,
Dogs eating soap.
Dogs making me crazy,
I just can't cope.

Dogs and their licking,
Dogs barking too.
Dogs making me crazy,
Why did I want two?

If you need me, I'll be in the mental hospital. I'm the one wearing a Dr. Seuss hat and missing my dog.
Yes, singular. Because that one I won't be missing.
You know who you are, Kaiser Soze.
Usual suspects is right.

Simple

2011-02-16T13:38:00.000-08:00

We fight too much, you and I.
And you and you too.
What if we have put too much stock in being warriors, fighters and survivors?
And not enough stock in being simple be-ers.
No, not beers. That would be weird.
Be - ers.
The act of being.
Simply being.
Allowing opinions, consciousness, noise, scents and feelings to wash over us like a gentle wave.
Yet standing firmly as to not tumble along with the tide.

There is such an incredible beauty in the quiet faith of a man that cannot be swayed, yet is not threatened by another's opinion or desire. There is beauty in the woman that breathes her beliefs as if they are her air, yet says not a word.

What if we all laid down our swords and closed our mouths so that our tongues could not be unsheathed?
What if we put on the garment of love?
What if for just one day, we simply were. And we simply loved?

Postscript...
Perhaps I have been drinking too much Zen tea. It is possible, but green tea is good for you.

Post-postscript...
I have quite a crush on Albert Einstein. Smart + funny gets me every time. This has nothing to do with anything.

Promised Land

2011-02-16T10:59:00.000-08:00

It has been said that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.
This is a true statement - which is probably why every single person on earth from Charlie Brown to Sun Tzo to Chief Joseph to Jay Z. has tried to take credit for it.
I am going to amend this quote and then make it my own.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step or else a push out the door.

Here...
"A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step or else a push out the door" ~ E.A. Kar

Now it is official. You can copy and paste that as your Facebook status.

My current journey, which began with a shove out the door of my comfy, cozy little home of self-righteousness, is coming to an end. I can feel it like a dog can feel when his people are coming home. Maybe there is a vibration, a scent, or some extra sensory perception. How? I can't say with any sort of proof. But I know.

We are all on a journey of some sort. And just because this current journey that I have been on for years is nearing its end, doesn't mean that my traveling days are over. No. We are all just sojourners here, never really completely belonging. I say this is by design. You may disagree with me if you like.

Every journey contains some pain. How else could we learn?
And if we are not learning, we are not growing. If we are not growing, we are dying.
I know, I know. I'm still drinking the tea.

The journey began in a raging river. Deep and wide, my friends. Deep and wide.
The river had to be crossed. There was no going around it or building a bridge.
Crossing was perilous.
Rushing, tumbling, angry water up to my chin. And at times, over my head.
I would have to gulp a breath of air before going under again.
It was easy to slip and almost get carried away by the flow. The undercurrent often grabbed my feet and pulled them out from under me. But every time I almost gave up and let myself succumb to the water, I felt a hand clasp onto mine and right me. Setting me on a rock that gave me rest.
Weary and shivering, I reached the other side. Thinking this was it, my journey was over, I lay on the riverbank to rest. Looking back at how far I had come, tears stung my eyes. I could not even see the other side of that river and the beginning of the journey was such a faint memory.

The time came to climb up the bank. The bank was steep and severe, and to my horror, muddy and slick.
Clawing my way, I tried to climb. For every 2 steps up I made it, I slid back down one.
By the time I reached the top of the bank, my fingers were raw and bloody. I was covered in in the viscous mess, and it was in my mouth and nose. But I had made it.

Pulling myself up and standing tall, I scanned my new horizon.
As far as the eye could see was desert. Rocky, sandy, barren desert.
What could I do, but begin walking.
I walked and walked. With dust in my eyes, with a parched mouth, with a sunburned soul.
Rest came sporadically, in a spot of shade. Or were those just mirages?
I cannot tell my right from my left anymore. But I know that I must keep walking.
I dragged myself along, and when I could not, I felt a push from behind.
With my thoughts as a constant companion, I have had much time to reflect.
Somehow the grit that infests my eyes has helped me to see much more clearly.
And now, here I am.

I am standing on the precipice. I can see before me a promise fulfilled.
A warm wind swirls around me, enveloping me like a swath of silk. I know this wind, it is the wind of change.
I stand here waiting with hope bursting out of my heart.
The hope is palpable, exploding its way into being.
I wait for the right time to run down to take what is mine.
What has always been for me.
I just had to make the journey to find it.

Jump

2011-02-13T12:06:00.000-08:00

Have you ever jumped off of a cliff or a bridge?
Or even more importantly, have you ever thought you were going to jump?
Maybe you kind of wanted to do it. You might have been with a group of friends and they are all taking turns jumping. You are with the crowd - laughing, joking, and letting everyone go before you. Then it is the moment of do or die. Everyone else has jumped. You must go. Or look like a weenie.
So you stand there, looking down, torn between your fear and your desire.
What do you do?
If you jumped, you know the exhilaration of not only the jump, but the knowledge that you did it. That you overcame your fear and allowed yourself a victory.

I am not the jumping sort. But I have jumped off of a cliff, a bridge and a telephone pole.
Once was because of some liquid courage, once was because of peer pressure and once was for myself.
And I can tell you that the most exquisite feeling ever was the one where I did it for myself.

It was an exercise at a Tony Robbins event in Kona.
Yes, I know. Tony Robbins. Go ahead and laugh. It is funny.
The exercise was to get up early in the morning, climb up a telephone pole, stand on the very top of it and then jump out to grab onto a trapeze. Of course we were harnessed, but still.

A Tony Robbins event is so far out of my comfort zone it is ridiculous.
I only went to these things for one reason.
Love.
My husband-to-be was a big A-Rob fan.
There you have it.
Otherwise these events would be almost the last thing on earth that I would ever want to go to. Just above Monster Truck Shows, McDonalds or Taco Bell, a lecture on chemistry, and Hell.
But there I was, amid thousands of pumped up, cheering, hugging Tony Clonies.

And there I was on that early morning standing in my harness, facing a telephone pole.
So I started climbing. And climbing.
It is actually pretty easy to climb the pole. But it is getting yourself to stand on the top that is a challenge.
But, I did it.
And once I was on the top, I was forever changed.
Standing 50 feet in the air on 12 inches, looking out over the palm trees and feeling the breeze on my face as the pole swayed, is something I will never forget. I could have stood there forever.
Or at least until I had to go to the bathroom.
But now I had to jump.

For some people the jumping is the big victory. For others, they only felt gratification if they were able to grab the trapeze bar. My victory was in the knowledge that I had climbed and was standing on the top.
It took me awhile to jump.
I stood up there so long that my team members were yelling encouragement from far below.
Yes, I was afraid of the jump. But I stood there so long because I didn't want the moment of standing on the mountaintop to end. I wanted to savor every single moment, ever single sight, sound, scent and feeling.
After I had soaked in every second, I launched out and touched the bar.
It slipped through my hands, but I didn't care.
I had already won.

Perspective and Priorities

2011-02-10T08:42:00.000-08:00

Where will you be in July?
You wanna know where I will be?
Probably not. I'm sure that you weren't even thinking about it.
But I am going to tell you anyway, because this is my blog and I get to do what I want.
Are you ready?
Drumroll, please...
Costa Rica and a little Panama!

In honor of our upcoming trip, my husband has introduced our sons to Van Halen.
So now I get the joy of three boys jumping around the house, playing air guitars and singing like David Lee Roth.
Panama! Panama-ha-ho-ha-ha-ha...

Our whole family is just jacked up on the anticipation.
For the boys, they are excited about the ocean, the jungle and most importantly no phone calls or computers sucking away their father's time.
For my husband and I, it is all of those same things and more.
It is a month of being away from the pressure cooker.
And it is a line drawn in the sand.
Old and new.

I know what some of you may be thinking. Because until I had gone through this long journey of change and refinement, I would have been thinking the same thing.
The exact same thing.
Let's just get it out in the open.
You are thinking, "What the heck are they doing going on a month-long trip while their house is in foreclosure?!"
And then you might be attaching other adjectives too. Like irresponsible, dumb, selfish, greedy... or worse.
And here is where perspective comes into play. And using some of the things that I have learned during my journey. A person can never truly know another person's perspective. Each human has their own path. Their path is filled with their own experiences, sacrifices, failures, challenges, wins, pains, joys and desires. Creating a unique perspective that is like no other. And although it is a process, I try to remember this and not be hyper-critical of choices that another person makes.
It is their path.

But since we're talking candidly here, I'll give you some answers.

You probably don't know this unless your home has been in the foreclosure process, but here is a crazy deal that banks do: they will not accept a payment anymore unless it is the full amount that you are behind (including penalties). So, we are not taking this vacation in lieu of paying our mortgage. We are not doing a "strategic default". We tried diligently to pay our mortgage.
I have been working my a** off (figuratively, not literally), doing something that I have grown to despise in order to make this happen.
We need this break so very badly, that I would walk to Costa Rica with my entire family on my back if I had to. And don't doubt that I could do it either.
The sacrifices we have made, may not be the sacrifices you would make. And that brings me to priorities.

It is a priority to give my sons adventure, life and possibilities. To teach them that there is a huge, exciting world out there to explore and to give to. We are aspiring to NOT place on them the shackles of "the man".
I realize that I am digging pretty deeply into my hippie side here, but maybe those crazy long-hairs were right.

Come to think of it, David Lee Roth was a crazy long-haired dude at one time too.
Maybe my whole family should grow their hair long and drop out to Panama.
I might be onto something.
But a month in Costa Rica with a side trip to Panama will more than suffice for now.

Here Ya Go

2011-02-03T09:03:00.001-08:00

Today's post will be short, sweet and direct.
I have some tips for you.
And I would like you to pretend that you are your great-grandmother while reading them.
If it helps you to get into her frame of mind, put a used kleenex in your sleeve.
Ready?

Do not eat meat from a test tube.
Do not eat something that is not called corn, yet is almost all corn.
Do not eat something called corn that is actually NOT corn.
Do not eat chicken that has never felt sunlight.
Do not eat salmon that was raised in a pen and is forced to eat feces.
Do not eat beef that has been force-fed something called corn, but is not really real corn.
Do not eat strawberries (or blueberries or raspberries) that have been shipped from halfway across the globe.
Do not eat food that was grown with fertilizer made from human waste.
Do not eat your meals from a box, a drive-thru or in your car.
If your body feels sick, follow tips 1 - 9 before taking a pill.

If your great-grandmother saw this list, she might think that these things are quite obvious and no one would really do such strange and horrid things. Yet, here we are. Think about it. Something is not right.

And just so I am not such a downer, for your laughing pleasure, here is Stephen Colbert's take on it

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Righteous

2011-01-31T09:56:00.000-08:00

I've always been one to work my butt off.
Yes, that was where I left off on my last post.
It is true, I've been a reluctant worker since I have been 12.
Reluctant is the key word.
Because while I am a hard worker and I am your person to get a job done, I really don't want to be.
No, I wish to be lounging about all my days in the sun and sand.
Ha. That is funny because I am currently working far too much in the 0 degree weather and 4 feet of snow.
Okay, I exaggerated. It was actually 3 degrees this morning. I just said 0 for dramatic effect.

There was a time in my early 20's that I was working like crazy and then I had what I refer to as my "Quarter Life Crisis". Much like Picasso's Blue Period, but with less artistic angst and a lot more destructive angst.
It was a minor little breakdown which included kicking a 4-way of leather coats around a store, quitting my job, breaking up with my boyfriend and moving out of state.

The other day, I felt dangerously close to another of those kind of breakdowns.
During this.
And then as I was going out the door to work some more, my husband said this to me:
"You are a righteous wife."
Me? Righteous?
And he didn't mean "Whoa. Righteous, dude" a la Spicoli.
He meant righteous.
Which was almost the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me.
And it kept me from going over the edge into one of those breakdowns.

But here is my secret.
It is pretty easy to be a decent wife if you surrender.
I know, I know. The feminists are gonna use a cat o' nine tails on me for saying that, but hear me out.

Many years ago I read this book called The Surrendered Wife.
No one recommended it to me, I just stumbled upon it and bought it because both my husband and I have pretty strong personalities and we both like to be right. And we all know how that can work out.
The premise of the book is pretty much summed up in the title - surrendering.
Listen, I am no doormat nor am I the picture of the simpering, mousy wife.
But I also do my best to not not try to rule my husband or control him.
And in the end, that makes everyone much happier.
There is much more power in choosing to surrender than demanding to have your way. Feminists, you can back offa me now. Because it is power that you are really after, right?

But power isn't my motive. My motive is really just to have a happy, loving marriage. Which I do.
And that is pretty righteous, dude.

P.S. Here's my handy-dandy little disclaimer: I d o not subscribe to every single thing written in this book. As with everything, eat the meat or spit out the bones. Or for you vegetarians, eat the apple, throw away the core.

Pez and Stuff

2011-01-29T08:59:00.000-08:00

Well, sorry about my lack of posts.
I had a crazy, busy week. One where I could say that I worked my a** off.
Between laughing my a** off and working it off, my a** should be pretty much gone.
It is not.
In fact, it seems to be growing.
Which is why I am embarking on yet another "plan" (that is code word for diet).
This one started out with 5 days of eating only these 5 foods:

Spinach
Eggs
Plain 0% Fat Yogurt
Raspberries
Almonds

I am not going to bore you with the blow-by-blow details, but let's just say that it was a very dumb idea on my part to begin this plan at the same time that I was working my a** off (figuratively, not literally). Because these 5 foods don't provide much satisfaction or comfort or carbs. And this combined with an insane amount of work just made me pretty crabby and a little melancholy.
But it also made me think a lot about single mothers and how they deserve some kudos.

Then the word kudos made my skin prickle. One of the worst words ever.
Who thought that they should name a granola bar Kudos?
"Here, you deserve this. Good job. Why don't you eat this fake granola bar loaded with garbage?"
On second thought, I guess that a gross granola bar does deserve a creepy name.

Anyhow, I am getting way off track. I could have said, "But, I digress". However, digress is another word that I don't like very much. So, I refuse to use it. Like a boycott.
And there I go traveling down the wrong path again.

During the middle of my very icky week, two really special things happened.
The first happened on Wednesday. There was a half day at school. Which makes me so thankful that I have a husband that works mostly from home. How do single moms do it? More kudos.
So, while I was working my a** off, my husband was able to be there when the kids got home from school.
He got them all organized, and they cleaned both bathrooms. Including cleaning the toilets, washing the floor and wiping out the mint-flavored Pez factory that the boys had going in their bathroom.

What? You don't know what I refer to when I speak of the Pez factory?
My sons leave little globs of toothpaste all over the bathroom - in the sink, on the counter, sometimes on the floor, the mirror, and even the lightswitch. When toothpaste hardens, it is very similar to a Pez.
I could chip these off and market them as some dentist friendly candy.

But I came home to find two sparklingly clean and nice smelling bathrooms - without Pez!
One might ask what my sons wanted - more Legos? a dirtbike? to go to Disneyland?
Nope. All they wanted was to make me happy.
Those are some good boys.
And this is where I get to have one of those proud parenting moments. Because kids like this just aren't born, they are molded and nurtured and guided and taught and sometimes disciplined into greatness.

Now, if this wasn't enough, there is more. Because after they cleaned the bathroom, my husband took them into town for hockey practice. And when they returned home, one of my sons came up to me with some roses and a hug. After talking to my husband about it, he told me that it was all my son's idea.
That will be a great husband one day.
And that is because I have a great husband that taught my sons well.

The other really good thing that happened?
I'll have to tell you tomorrow.
It is time to go eat some spinach and egg (singular, because that is all that is on the plan).
But hopefully tomorrow I will have a little less a** to sit on while I write about it.

P.S. Pez are not on the plan.

Meow

2011-01-21T13:18:00.000-08:00

If you only saw what I just saw.
Yikes!
I just saw a picture of someone with a VERY LARGE tattoo of Hello Kitty...
across her chest!
And the script "Mrs ______" (I don't want to completely call this person out) over the top.

Sister, you are gonna regret that one day.
Big time.

And what does Mr. _______ think about being associated with sweet little mute Hello Kitty?

Is he afraid that people will think that Kitty is his portrait?

Listen, I get it.
You want to show your undying and eternal love to Mr. _________.
And what better way than a tattoo? Right?
I was there once too, Mrs. Kitty. Really.
I was 15 and in love.
Also a little bit of a rebel and a bad girl all wrapped up in my sweet candy-coated shell.
What does all of that equal?
A trip to Seattle Tattoo Emporium with my equally naughty friend (who shall remain nameless).
We were driven down there by her super bad boy boyfriend in his Corvair.
This was well before tattoos were trendy. So, it wasn't like we had some meaningful designs all drawn up.
Nope. We looked on the wall and picked one out.
We got matching ones - roses, to be exact. What did you expect? I was 15.
And because I was in love, I got the initial "D" next to my ever-so-delicate rose.

Guess what? Here it is, shock of the century. It didn't last.
And a collective gasp is heard around cyber space.

My tattoo is very small (I only had $20) and on my ankle.
So when I was in love again and needed to deal with that pesky D, I just had a leaf tattooed over it.
But, you, Mrs ________? What on earth are you going to do?
I am certainly not saying that you will not be Mrs _______ forever. Especially seeing how well you obviously think things through. However, what will happen when you are 75 and cute, Japanese cartoons are no longer in vogue? Or how about when you are 50 and your body starts, uh, shifting? Hello Kitty could very well end up looking like a lump of misshapen Play-Doh with a cute little pink bow on top.

I am not being superior, Mrs _________. Not at all.
I just speak from experience. After being on my bony ankle for 27 years, my ever-so-lovely rose that used to be red with green leaves, now it just looks like 2 mating horseflies landed on me.

P.S. When I was searching for a picture of Hello Kitty, I found pages and pages of people with Hello Kitty tattoos. Apparently there is a cult.

The Adventurous Life of a Turk

2011-01-21T08:06:00.000-08:00

Remember when at the beginning of the year I had said that I was going to live a life of adventure?
So far, so good.
The 1st adventurous thing that I have done is...
Wait, a second.
Before I tell you, I need to put out my fancy Disclaimer A-Board in front of my shop here.
The one that says, What may be adventurous to me, might not be adventurous to you.
Look, my sign is even a nice, pretty color.

So, here it is.
I joined a Book Club.
Yes, I know. On the surface that seems pretty mundane.
I had been part of a Book Club before. For 10 years!
My husband claims that it really should have been called a Wine Club.
Perhaps.

The reason why joining this Book Club is out of the box for me is because I don't really know the people in the group. I know a few of them as acquaintances, but no one very well. Now, maybe that is not a big deal to some of you extroverts, but for me it is huge. And scary. But worth the risk, because I would like to have some friends where I now live. And being an introvert, it is hard for me to make friends.

You didn't know that I am an introvert? Oh, I used to be able to hide it pretty good. Much better than I can now. For instance, in high school I was the mascot for wrestling. And that is allll kinds of weird, isn't it?
We were the Turks. So, I dressed up as a Turk. What is a Turk, you ask? Apparently someone that wears a satiny one-piece outfit with a sash and should wear a turban that got conveniently lost because 80's hair and turbans don't mix. And what do Turk mascots do? In my case, not a whole lot except check out boys. Which was my main motivation for many things relating to pretending to not be an introvert. But, let's not go there.

Now though, checking out boys is no motivation at all But having a friend or two definitely is.
So, I went to my first Book Club meeting here and I think it went okay.
I didn't pit out (but I wore a black shirt just in case).
I didn't turn red.
And I didn't do any wrestling chants. That would have been awkward.

The 2nd adventurous thing that I have done is plan a month-long trip once my kidlets are out of school for the summer. A whole month! In Costa Rica! With howler monkeys, toucans, and butterflies. Oh, and beach. Did I mention the beach? Bliss. Pure bliss. No cell phones, no computers. It is my dream. And it fulfills something that I had wanted to do many years ago. You can read about it here.
It is pretty funny and doesn't have anything to do with turbans, pitting out or wine.

P.S. I think that Turks really wear a fez and not a turban. What can I say? It was back in the 80's, we didn't know such things. And besides, when I am in Costa Rica, I won't be wearing either.

English Muffin and That Poor Donkey

2011-01-19T08:29:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I promised you something not depressing or maudlin.
And what is funnier than kids? Not much.

I have two sons.
They are as different as night and day.
In every single thing.

First, just in appearances.
One is a giant. He is very tall, very muscular, very solid.
His feet are like freighter ships and his hands are the same size as mine. And in a pinch, I have been known to wear one of his sweatshirts or jackets.
His hair is curly and dark brown.
His skin is the color of a latte and is dry and smooth.

The other is very slight. Both in height and in weight.
His arms and legs are so very skinny that you can see the bones.
His feet are like slender little canoes.
His hair is blond and straight.
And his skin is pale and, well, quite sweaty.

These two eat differently - one would subsist off of chips and candy if we let him, the other gets the salad bar for lunch at school. By choice.

They sleep differently - one needs Melatonin and Valerian to help him "turn off" and sleep, the other conks out and nothing wakes him up until that blasted Pirates of the Carribbean alarm clock goes off.

One is incredibly social. I will meet a new person and when they find out who my children are, I always hear "Oh, I know Sebastian!" Every time.
Bellamy takes awhile to warm up and prefers to stay quietly in the background until he knows you.

Despite his confidence and bravado, Sebastian is terrified of the dark. Bellamy will walk home through the woods in the dark without a care.

One soaks in every single thing like a thirsty sponge. The other obliviously goes along his merry way.
Yet because of this, one has anxiety and the other is content.

Sebastian is Skipper, Bellamy is Gilligan.

Are you catching my drift here? Night. And. Day.
So, a few days ago, each of them comes out with his own little hilarious nugget.

We were all at the dinner table talking about birthdays. My husband asks one of them if he remembers going out to his birthday breakfast a few years ago when they had a minor little car accident. This son claims to remember and so we ask him if he remembers what restaurant it was.
He stammers about and finally says "It was Raven That Store." This is not a typo.
1. My husband erupts in laughter.
2. The other son is completely confused.
3. I translate, as I have become proficient in English Muffin. The language that Bellamy speaks.
(There is a restaurant here that has a giant raven's head over the door. And just for the record, it is around 175 miles from the restaurant that was in question).

Now just when we finish up laughing about Raven That Store, my other son asks if at his next birthday party they can play "Yank the Tail Off the Donkey". Causing us all to start laughing again.

These two things sum up their personalities perfectly.
Both completely unique, but equally funny.
And I say that laughter is a glue that bonds people together.

Here is something else to make you laugh.
More? How about this?

Long Dusty Walks

2011-01-18T08:06:00.000-08:00

I think that this long, strange journey that my husband and I have been on is coming to an end.
Everything is coming to a head and has to finish up.
One way or another.

We have this long-standing joke between us about our tradition of a long, dusty walk on every vacation that we have ever taken. Not that this particular journey that we are on is a vacation. Hardly.

Our long, dusty walk (from here on out known as "LDW") tradition began in Cancun around 16 years ago.
The LDW is usually not a planned event. It seems to occur because of some misfortune or some poor planning or being tricked by a shyster.
We have had our LDW in the complete darkness on a road through a jungle in Vieques - by far the eeriest LDW of all time.
We have had it on a dirt road in Negril - the most pleasant of them all, as we shared a coconut with some random guy that stumbled out of the bushes smoking a joint. Ahem. I said we shared a coconut with him, not a joint.
We have walked in Fiji, in Belize, in the Dominican Republic.
The worst was one of our many LDW's in Mexico. The one where it was 100 degrees and we had to wheel our suitcases along behind us in the gravel and dust (obviously, hence the "D" in LDW).

This journey that we are on now is not a vacation. A trip, for sure.
It is long, but not really dusty.
It feels more like drowning.
And although you can probably drown in dust, I liken it more to a traditional drowning in water.
Sound pleasant? It is not.
But I am not looking for sympathy. Just stating the facts.

If this is your first time reading my little blog, I apologize. You have come on bad day. I ask that you give me another shot. Maybe tomorrow, hmm? Oh, I am not giving you the boot. No, please keep reading. I just acknowledge that this is an awkward jumping in point. Anyway.
If you care to get a little background, you can start here.
You don't have to, I am not the boss of you. And I certainly don't think myself so fascinating that you would even want to.
But, let's face it. You are traveling on the old Superinformation Highway probably putting off something that you really should be doing. Reading my blog can help you put off your task just that much longer.
It is either that or cruising around Craigslist or Facebook for an hour or so.

Let's get back to it, shall we?
I began by telling you that I think our journey of sucking wind is almost over.
What more could possibly happen?

Everyone that could sue us already has. The biggie is going to court next month and will not accept a continuance. Oh, and the court date is Valentine's Day. Just a cherry on top of the piece of crap pie that we have been served. So, one way or another, it will end.

Our old house where we used to live will be sold at auction in March unless it sells first.
So, one way or another, that noose will be off our necks.

Our 4th loan modification request for the house we live in is currently in the office of the underwriters.
One way or another, our file will be closed.

And there is more. Much, much more. But I won't depress you with it all.
Instead, I will leave you with this:
I wouldn't trade this horrid journey for anything.
Don't get me wrong, it has been hard, depressing, frustrating beyond belief, maddening and confusing.
But it has changed me. It has changed my husband.
All for the better.
And if we end up with nothing, we still have ended up with everything.
For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?

Okie dokie. Come back tomorrow and I promise I won't talk of anything dusty, drowning, or depressing.
Dingy? Maybe.
Delightful? Possibly.
Dull? Hopefully not.

Thank you for joining me on this LDW today.
Now, go wash your feet. That is the 1st thing we always do when our LDW has come to an end.

Confessions of a Former Grammar Cop

2011-01-15T09:49:00.000-08:00

<-------That is not really me.

My apologies. I noticed a couple of errors in my post yesterday.
As a former grammar and spelling cop, I would like to take a moment to make things right.

Here "As the week has marched along, my husband and I have been getting more progressively bleary-eyed."
It should read "As the week has marched along, my husband and I have been getting progressively more bleary-eyed."

Here "All while I stumbled around with my eyes half cocked."
Can eyes be half-cocked? I don't really know.
This sounds better though, "All while I stumbled around with my eyes at half mast."

That feels much better. Listen, I know that there have been many errors throughout my blog.
And I am also not too proud to say that even though I am an Apostrophe Nazi, I am also an overuser of commas.
Probably just as bad.

While I am at it, I have more confessions. Ready?
I do not really know when to use a colon or semi-colon.
I like run-on sentences almost as much as I like short sentences without a subject. Like this.
I prefer to use only lower-case letters.
And here it is, the biggie... I am forgetting all kinds of things that I used to know.
Like words. And how to use them correctly.
Sometimes I will say something completely wrong and even a little redneckesque.
The other day, my husband mentioned that I was "slipping".
It is true.

Now, before you all go making jokes like "that's what happens when you go live in the wilderness, ma", I have a couple of other confessions to make that have nothing to do with my similarity to Half Pint Ingalls or the Unabomber (or is it Unibomber?). Anyhow, here they are:

1. I am losing my hearing.
2. My eyesight is declining very rapidly.
3. I can no longer safely drive at night.

Now, if you put all of my confessions together, I think you will come to the same conclusion that I have.
I am 85 years old.

So. Very. Tired.

2011-01-14T10:14:00.000-08:00

As the week has marched along, my husband and I have been getting more progressively bleary-eyed.
This morning was absolutely ridiculous.
It starts out at around 6:07 A.M.
This is when the tune of "yo-ho. yo-ho, a pirate's life for me" invades my little womb of sleep.
Yes, last year I cashed in my Disney Movie Rewards for a fancy little Pirates of the Caribbean alarm clock.
Not for me, you clown. For my sons.
Never mind that they have never seen the movie, nor will they for several more years.
What first grade boys wouldn't love an alarm clock with a chattering skull and flashing red eyes?
Here they are in second grade, and the skull no longer chatters, but it still plays the song.

Anyhow.
They don't need to wake up until 6:15, but every single clock in our house is set to a different time. And somehow their clock is the fastest. I could fix this problem, but I try to avoid their bedroom as much as possible.
1. It stinks.
2. It is booby-trapped with landmines of Legos.
3. There is paper, scraps of paper, and envelopes everywhere. And ever since their preschool years, I can't stand paper. But that is a whole different blog post.
4. The general clutter makes my skin crawl.
So, their clock will just stay as it is.

I can ignore the pirate song coming from upstairs, but Kaiser, our bad mannered Weimaraner cannot.
The second he hears that alarm, he is up.
Stretching, shaking, jingling, yawning, snurfling, whining.
Then Gunther, our shaky old Weimaraner gets up. Cuz you know, something might be happening.
Then there is more stretching, shaking and jingling.

And this does it. Now I have to get up.
And so does my husband.

He is usually much more of a morning person than I am. But this morning, he got up, let the dogs out and then laid back down on the couch with a blanket over his head. All while I stumbled around with my eyes half cocked.
Eventually, we get going. We have to. One of my sons wakes up like a rocket.
Every morning.
And this morning was no exception.

So, why were we so terrible groggy?
Parties?
All-night bouts of passion?
Late night Scrabble games?
No, my friends. Something far more sinister. And Asian sounding.
Roku.

You see, Netflix raised their prices. And I was thinking that I was going to have to scale back our plan to 2 DVD's out at a time. Then I looked into Roku. I did some research. I asked my friend, Mir, who is an oracle as well as a money-saving guru. And then, Amazon put the Roku on sale.
So, BAM! We changed our Netflix plan to Unlimited Streaming and saved $11/month. This savings will pay for the Roku in less than 6 months and our savings will just continue on. Genius. Right?
Oh, it is. Except there is one little problem.
Unlimited Law & Order SVU.

Oh Benson & Stabler, how I have missed you.
I can't get enough of you.
And even you, Ice-T.
Your acting isn't that great. You wear strange outfits. That scowl! But, I sort of heart you.

It is true. We have been staying up past our bedtime watching Law & Order SVU.
It's killing us.

Control Freak

2011-01-13T14:36:00.000-08:00

I live in the mountains.
And it snows a lot.
I like snow most of the time. Although five months of it does get a little old.
Now here's something really funny and weird. Well, it is funny and weird to me. You might not think so.
When we moved here, my A Number 1 biggest fear was driving in snow and ice.
Coming in at a close second was rats.
I suppose that I do have bigger fears than these, if I really think about it.
Like swimming in a tank full of Great White Sharks after I cut myself shaving.
Or maybe something having to do with lions or tigers.
But when I mention my biggest fears, I am really talking about fears of things that I possibly might have to face.

So, today when I was driving down the road after we had just got a pretty big dump of snow, and it hadn't even been plowed yet, I realized that I wasn't afraid of driving in snow or ice anymore. In fact, my old fear seems a little silly now. And I started thinking about what my major malfunction really was.
I mean, I wasn't actually afraid of the fluffy little white stuff itself.
So, let's call a spade a spade.
It was the fear of being out of control. Or fear of not having control.

I don't think that I qualify as a control freak. A neat freak, maybe. A freaky freak, probably.
But I know some control freaks.
People that try to manage and control every single little aspect of their lives.
And when that isn't feeling good enough, they move in on trying to control the lives of other people.
They might start with their kids or spouse.
Then maybe their friends.
They boss people around, telling others what to do and how to do it.
They might sugar coat it with a smile or some nice words, but scrape off the veneer and it is just plain ugly.
No one likes to be controlled.

Life is sort of like snow.
It comes at you however it wants.
It might be beautiful at times.
At times, you can't even see what is in front of you.
It can be ice cold or it can be refreshing.
And sometimes you just have to get out in it and take it how it comes.
Because you can try to manage it all you want, but you really can't control it.
Just get out and drive in it and let your fears go.

Besides, where did all that control get Janet Jackson, hmmm???
Get it? Control? Janet Jackson?
Here, this will help, in case you're not following me:

Pigs

2011-01-12T09:33:00.000-08:00

From dogs to pigs.
I have been accused of being a caninist. Which tinkles in my ears like a lovely little compliment. I love dogs.
Not all dogs though.
I do not love dogs that stink.
And I do not love the following dogs:
Honey - an Afghan Hound that would chase me home from the bus stop when I was a child. She once bit me. It was like being bit on the butt by a willowy, beautiful, yet vicious, super model. Like a blonde Naomi Campbell.
Spike - A dog that would sneak up on people and other dogs. Silently coming through the woods, stalking very menacingly. He once attacked my dog, Gunther, slicing his flank open. I am not sorry to say that Spike is now worm food.
Ralph - A dog that lived next door to us once and killed my cat, Shoobootie. Shoobootie was the best cat on earth. My dad and I once saw her walk on water. No joke. (P.S. Please note my positive comment about a cat. Ahem.)

But I said I was moving on from talking about dogs.
And on to pigs.

I don't really like pigs.
Sure, piglets are cute.
But they grow up into mammoth creatures with wiry, sparse hair and little feet.
They do not have sweat glands, they like to eat garbage, and did I mention wallowing in mud?
Okay, so they do make bacon. But still.

Despite my dislike of pigs, sometimes I feel like one. A big, fat 900 pound sow. One with 14 little piglets.
All wanting something from me, so that I must lay down and let all of them suck from me.
Is that too vivid a picture? Sorry, but that is how I feel at times.
Because you see, people are either drainers (suckling piglets) or they are givers (the momma pig).
Don't get me wrong here, I have, at times, been one of the greedy little piglets. Snuffling and rooting around to suck up my fair share. Snorting and wedging my way in, trying to get my needs met.
That sounds pretty selfish, huh? It is.

People are either givers or takers. They are either drainers or suppliers.
Just some food for thought.
Like a BLT for your soul.

The Hounds of Winter

2011-01-10T09:50:00.000-08:00

We come upon our heroine where we least expect her.
The sun has made its brief appearance, leaving the greedy clouds to consume the last of the day.
Where the scene was once awash with color, it now has faded to monotone.
And this is how we see her in the solitary wilderness.
She is a slash of red amongst the grey flannel.

We hear her ragged, quick breathing.
And can now see the icy crystals that balloon about her as she exhales.
Her eyes dart about and her panic is palpable.
She is weary. This much is clear.
Just when we think that she will lay down upon the vacant snow, like a curl clipped away from a maiden's head, she begins running again. Icy snow crunching beneath her feet. Her cloak tumbling behind her with no mind of its own.

And then we hear them. The ones giving chase.
They howl mournfully, hungrily.
Their stinking breath precedes them, rolling out like fog over their sharp, tearing teeth.

Who are these monsters? The ones that chase our heroine mercilessly through the stark and bitter cold.
The Hounds of Winter.
They harry her down.

The World According to Scooby Doo

2011-01-07T09:13:00.000-08:00

My kids have recently gotten into Scooby Doo.
Not that fake Scooby Doo with Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prinze.
And definitely not the Scooby Doo with that little doof, Scrappy Doo.
No, the real deal.
This thrills me to no end.
I loved this cartoon. In fact, it was really the only cartoon that I liked as a child. My 1st lunchbox was a Scooby Doo lunchbox. How I convinced my mom to buy that for me, I'll never know.

Scooby Doo must have done some shaping of my personality, because I know that I have referenced it more than once in my blog posts. How could a cartoon shape a person's personality? Besides that I have always liked a mystery? Well, here it is. I related to Velma, I wished that I was Daphne, and I liked Fred.
A little embarrassing, but true.
Part of me still wishes that I was at least a little more the Daphne type, but I have come to terms with my inner Velma. And even am sort of glad about it. But you won't ever catch me wearing that giant bulky turtleneck sweater. Especially not in orange! Jinkys!

I asked my sons who they liked best on Scooby Doo. Of course they both answer, Scooby. Then I ask them which girls. Bellamy said Daphne and Sebastian said Velma. When I asked them why, Bellamy clammed up and Sebastian said, "because she's smart."
Awww, warmed my heart.

Life is sort of like an episode of Scooby Doo. Here's how:

There are kinds of different personalities that can all work together.

It is a mystery.

Most of the time, things that are scary are nothing more than regular things when you unmask them.

Nothing really goes as planned.

We all need a little motivation (like a scooby snack) from time-to-time.

Clues are all around, we just need to pay closer attention.

It is better with a dog.

Well, now that I have solved that mystery, I should get going on making some breakfast. It is almost 10:30!
Zoiks, Scoob!

Arachnophobia

2011-01-06T08:31:00.000-08:00

I first noticed him on the computer speaker. He thought he was camouflaged.
And this is how we met.
I laughed at him because I could see him.
The speaker is black, but he was just a shade browner than true black.
When I laughed at him, his funny little telescopic eyes looked my way. And as sure as I am sitting here typing right now, he cocked a non-existent eyebrow at me and said, "Oh yeah? Game on, human."
Okay, I admit it. He did not speak.

I pointed him out to my husband. Who then flicked him off the speaker.
The spider saw this as a fair first strike.
And he then began plotting his retaliation.
He huddled in the shadows, waiting.
Waiting.

I did not see him for the rest of the day, and expected him to have died from the flick.
He was, after all, only a small spider. Perhaps a centimeter long, and a bit delicate in appearance.
I underestimated him.

The next day, I noticed a smallish bite on my wrist.
The spider's first attack.
He was a sporting little fellow, not to mention sneaky. The bite did not itch terribly or swell up like most spider bites do. My opponent was not looking to injure. Only play.

As I sat at my computer, moving my mouse, there he was.
Watching me. Studying my moves. Would I hurt him? Kill him? Or had I agreed to the rules of the game?
He ran sideways, quite crablike, toward my hand.
I wondered if he was going to run by and bite me.
I left my hand where it was, calling his bluff. And he stopped and just looked at me.
And this is how we became friends.

Throughout the day, whenever I sat down at my computer, he would come out from in between some files, or from behind a lamp. Then once he knew that it was me, he would run and sit next to my mousepad.
He seemed to understand English, and when I asked him if he wanted to play again, he scurried away. But then peeked out from his hiding spot to see what game I planned on playing. I drummed my fingers next to him, which he thought was quite a fun move. His joy over our game caused him to run back and forth and around my hand. I tell you, I heard him laugh.

I was very pleased with my little spider friend and wanted to share this with my son who is very interested in all things science. I called him over while he was getting ready for bed and asked him if he wanted to meet a special little spider. My son finished brushing his teeth and ran over.

I should have seen it coming.
As soon as we went to my computer, my little friend sensed me and ran out.
I smiled and pointed him out to my son.
He took one look and...
SPLAT!
He smashed him with a book.

The End

Cats, Dogs and Friends

2011-01-05T09:09:00.000-08:00

Have any of my predictions come to pass yet? Not, yet... but just wait!
There are two though that I would like to retract. The ones about Ann Coulter and Chris Gregoire. I mean maybe it might happen, I don't doubt anything anymore. However, I usually try not to pass judgment on someone based on their looks alone. Really, my comments about them weren't based solely on looks. More on demeanor. You know the saying, "If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck - it must be a duck."?
But in any case, I just don't feel right about my snarkiness there. What I am trying to say is that I am sorry, okay? And who knows? If I met either of them in real life, perhaps we would be friends.

If I call you "friend" however, I mean it. Friend is not a word that I toss around lightly.
Another way that I am like that crazy Doberman (or any dog, really) is that I am loyal and protective if you are part of my pack. I have learned though through some heartache that not everyone is like a dog. There are some people that are more like cats.

Cats come around when you are offering something or when they want something from you. Then it is all purring and rubbing up against you. Oh, how I love you!
But the second they get what they want, it is a scratch on your hand that draws thin lines of blood.
When you are feeding them salmon and heavy cream, they'll be around. But the minute the dry, stale Meow Mix comes out, they are down the road where the food is better.
Cats believe that their presence is so divine that you should be honored by it.
And if you are not, well there is always someone to replace you. After all, you never really counted anyway.
Cats leave you when they tire of you, turning around with their tail high in the air.

Hold on there, cat lovers. Don't get in a tizzy. I am aware that there are some cats that really aren't this way. And I am not anti-cat. I am just calling the generalities how I see them. Besides, I am like a dog. I have to be a little biased against cats. It's my job.

I have had my feelings hurt over friendship probably more than anything else. So, when something keeps popping up in my life, I take it as an indication that there is something that God wants me to see. Chances are good that it is multi-layered and there is more than just one lesson to be learned. But the one that I am learning right now is that sometimes people that you think are friends, really are not. So, when you come upon this realization you have to make a decision in your heart. And for me that means letting it go.
Cats and dogs are rarely friends.

Perhaps it is just different perspectives on what it means to be friends. And there is nothing wrong with that.
I just want to be friends with other dogs.
Loyal.
Giving.
Protective.
Faithful.

Come to think of it, both Ann Coulter and Chris Gregoire seem like cat people.
We probably could never be friends.

The Future

2011-01-04T09:27:00.000-08:00

"The future belongs to those that believe in the beauty of their dreams." - Eleanor Roosevelt

Personally, I have never been a big fan of Eleanor Roosevelt. Not that I knew her or anything. But in every picture that I have ever seen of her she looks pretty mean. Mean and sort of... incongruent. Which really throws me for a loop. She seemed to have always been wearing these flowery dresses and fancy little lady hats. But that just doesn't jibe with the stern, "straighten up or I'll box your ears" look that she had on her face. Even when she was smiling she looked like she was ready to grab you by the upper arm giving you the secret pinch. You know the one, right under your arm where it reaaallly hurts.

But this is not about Eleanor Roosevelt.
It is about the future.

Do you ever read new year predictions?
When I was little, I both loved to read and was scared out of my wits by reading predictions in the National Enquirer. My dear little grandma was a National Enquirer fiend and she would save them for me in big stacks.
I loved getting big grocery bags full of the smut. Juicy tidbits about Sophia Loren and Grace Kelly. Scandalous photos of Burt Reynolds and Loni Anderson.

***Unrelated sidenote time***
Back when I lived in Los Angeles, I once saw Loni Anderson in the mall. She was teetering on very high heels, her platinum hair looked like a teased puff of cotton candy and she looked about 100 years old. Certainly not my idea of glamorous or sexy. Yours?

Anyhow. Every January, the National Enquirer would have predictions for the new year from all the leading psychics. Jeanne Dixon was supposedly the most accurate. Some of the predictions were fun to read, but then there were always the ones that caused me terrible anxiety. They were usually about Russia or aliens.
I would go to bed at night after reading these and wait for either a nuclear war or else the aliens to make a stop at my home in order to abduct me.

Here we are 30 something years later and we haven't been nuked and as far as I know, no one has been abducted by aliens. Although I am positive that there are some that would argue that last point.
So, considering that Jeanne Dixon made a good living dispensing her predictions that were nothing more that possibilities, I think that I am going to give it a whirl. I certainly couldn't do any worse than her, could I?

Without further ado, here are my predictions for 2011...
1. President Obama's approval rating will drop to below 30%.
2. Sarah Palin will be involved in a scandal.
3. Rush Limbaugh will gain weight.
4. Chris Gregoire will announce that she is transgendered.
5. As will Ann Coulter.
6. It will be discovered that microwaves cause cancer.
7. A human will be cloned.
8. Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore will divorce.
9. Brangelina will separate becoming Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt once again.
10. John Travolta will finally come out of the closet. And no one will really care.
11. There will be an 8.0 magnitude earthquake in the U.S.
12. Millions of Americans will illegally immigrate to Mexico.
13. Elvis will be spotted living in France with Johnny Depp and his family.

Well, there you have it.
One final thought.
When I was 19 or 20, I went to a psychic two times. She was featured on a local radio station and also happened to be a customer of mine at a clothing store that I worked at. Every single thing that she told me was wrong. Just saying.

Mrs. Personality

2011-01-03T09:29:00.000-08:00

There is a personality test or quiz for almost everything. Just ask Facebook.
You can find out the color of your aura, what 1940's burlesque star you would have been, what
city/state/country you should live in, what breed of dog you are, and of course what celebrity is your perfect match.
If I remember correctly my aura is orange or red (in one quiz it turned out green, but I don't buy it).
I would never have been a burlesque star.
I should live in Walla Walla, Washington or Russia.
I am a Doberman (because my brain has grown so large that it is pressing against my skull making me vicious and unpredictable, but also very protective).
And my celebrity match was Gilbert Gottfried. Just kidding. If I was married to him, my inner Doberman would come out and I would end up attacking him while we were living in Russia and my aura turned from red to black.
Then I would end up in the slammer and my celebrity match would be Lindsey Lohan. And that is just wrong all the way around.

I'll admit it, I am a sucker for taking quizzes. Back in high school, I'd take every quiz that Cosmo printed.
But now that I am older and already know my sexual style or what astrological sign is best for me (this is a load of rubbish, btw), I prefer to take quizzes that are maybe a little deeper. Or at least with more serious names. Like the Jung Typology Test. According to this I am an INFP, which is under the temperament of Idealist and is The Healer personality type. I would agree with this assessment. But does make me sound a bit like a freak. Which leads to a suspicion that I have had for awhile.

After reading the book, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, I became convinced that I was perhaps a bit autistic. Just a smidge.
So, of course I went to the esteemed, hallowed halls of Google U to learn more.
Which involved taking more quizzes, obviously.
And then I stumbled upon it.
The Highly Sensitive Person.
Instead of being on the Autism Spectrum, I fall into this category of people.
This was a quiz that isn't as fun as taking the What Element are You quiz (water) but it made me feel good in a "I'm not alone" sort of way. But then it made me want to make up some cards that say:
I am a HSP, please forgive my strange behavior.
This way I could hand them out as needed. Like when I disappear into a bathroom to regroup. Or when my element turns from water to fire. Oh wait, that was another quiz.

New Year, Day 2

2011-01-02T11:17:00.000-08:00

So, the world did not end. Not that I expected it to, but you never know.
Let's check in on how things are going on those resolutions & goals.

I claimed that I was going to live a life of adventure.
So far, I have not gone skydiving (although someone sent me an email saying that my blog inspired him to do just that. Unless he was pulling my hairy leg). And just to let you know, I won't be going skydiving.
I have not eaten monkey brains.
I have not purchased tickets to Kathmandu (at least not yet)
I also have not done any sort of polar plunge.
I have however gone outside in below 0 temperatures and gone for a hike.
Yes, below 0. This explains why my leg is hairy. I need warmth, man!
I also went to an open house/dinner/potluck at someone's house. Someone that we didn't really know.
Maybe for you that is not particularly adventurous. For me, that is pretty far out there.

So, all things considered, on a scale of 1 - 10, I am at about a 7.5 on my resolution/goal for 2011.
I will give myself a 10 for form and a 5 for difficulty.
If extra credit were allowed, I would get 2 extra credit points for going back on my detox diet and riding the exercise bike. However no extra credit points are being given at this time. Plus, I would then have to take away a point for drinking a glass of wine last night after we got home from the dinner/open house/potluck.
Wine is not really on anyone's detox plan. I did, however feel that I earned it.
1. The dinner/potluck/open house deal was awkward.
2. It was waaayy out of my comfort zone.
3. We stayed longer than planned.
4. I had to keep saying no to eating dinner there (we were only there for the open house portion).
5. We walked about a mile there in 0 degrees.
6. We had to walk/run a mile home in below 0 temperatures and in the dark.

So, wine it was. Besides, maybe I am part French. That would negate any toxifying effects that wine might have on my body, oui?

How are you doing on any resolutions that you have made? Or do you not start until tomorrow? Because we all know that the official rule is that you get until Monday to start, if January 1st falls on the weekend. Right?

Don't worry. I am not going to bore you with a play-by-play of my puny adventures. If I do something really exciting, maybe. Like shave my legs. Joking. No, more like buy those tickets to Kathmandu.

New Year!

2010-12-31T10:06:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are. The end of 2010.
Tomorrow will be 2011.
Unless you are in Australia or Japan or Russia.
Then maybe it is already 2011. And if that is the case, then I guess it isn't the end of the world.
Or should I capitalize that?
The End of the World!
Or does that come next year?
2012 is it, according to the Mayans.
Of course there has been some spin on that in order to alleviate widespread panic. I read an article somewhere that claims that we have been reading the Mayan calendar all wrong and the end is really coming in 2021.
So, don't worry. You have a few more years left to straighten your act out. Besides, remember Y2K? All that hype and fear for nothin'. You are probably still eating cans of refried beans from your stockpile.

So, if you don't believe that world is going to end, do you make resolutions?
I used to. Every year. But then I realized that all of my resolutions were essentially the same every year.
You know the ones... work out more, eat less, be nicer, pray more, volunteer.
So now I just skip the formalities and figure that I should probably do this stuff. And if I don't, well there is always tomorrow. Unless the Mayans turn out to be right. And in that case, who cares?

But for the sake of this blog post, I am going to make one resolution.
Live a life of adventure.

What does that mean? It can mean pretty much anything.
Like go cross country skiing.
Rock climbing.
Ice skating.
All at the same time. Just joking. I'll leave that to my super athlete friends. You know who you are.

How about making new friends? That is pretty adventurous for me.
Or driving to Nicaragua?
Maybe go to Africa?

How about you? What do you want 2011 to look like for you?
Eat no more refried beans and tuna fish from 1999?
Go ahead and leave a comment. Make me happy.

Less of Me

2010-12-30T14:37:00.000-08:00

Back when I left you, dearest readers, I had been writing posts with a theme of "Less".
Apparently that included less of me.
So I disappeared for almost two months.
What happened?
Did I get attacked by a bear, severing my typing hand?
Was I caught in a blizzard, giving me snowblindness?
Did I embark on a crazy roadtrip adventure, driving the miracle Volvo to Patagonia?
No, no, no.

It was a combination of a few far more mundane things.
1. I had been plagued with terrible migraines that didn't allow me to think, let alone type out thoughts.
2. I felt very boring.
3. I just wasn't inspired to write anything.
4. I wanted to spend less time online.

But here we are, on the verge of a new year. I feel re-inspired, my migraines have mostly gone, and I have gotten my internet habits sort of under control. So, get ready. Because I am back!

Oh, you were wondering what a picture of Chuck Mangione has to do with anything? Yeah, me too.

Godless

2010-11-04T08:40:00.000-07:00

Despite my droll little posts ... wait a second, here. Hold on, I need to pick myself up off the floor from laughing myself off the exercise ball that I sit on in order to pretend that I am doing some form of workout while I sit in front of the computer. Okay, there.
Droll - best word ever.
Who uses the word droll anymore? Me, that's who.
Okay, as I was saying before my ball went awry... ack! there it goes again.
I have got to stop before I seriously harm myself.
Awry - another excellent word that does not get used nearly enough.
Seriously.
I was just trying to say that sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't.
No, no, no. That was not what I was trying to say.
Sheesh. I have got to get my self under control.
I am putting on my serious voice now.

Despite my jokes and ridiculous stories, there are some serious things that do come into my brain from time to time. And even though you might not expect it, I like to talk about serious matters and deep matters . Like God. And sometimes politics. Although the politics thing is wearing me out.
But that is a different post for a different day.

I like to talk and debate with atheists about God. Only online. Not because I am a chicken, but more because real life doesn't have a back space. And I need a back space. And also some space to think. Plus if I am debating online, no one sees it when I fall off the exercise ball. Which is a real pro.

I am a lousy debater when it comes to the rules and regulations of debating. It is too much like math. With all it's special words and strategies and such. And really, I never even finished a quarter of community college, so I am usually waaay out of my league. What am I doing trying to debate with people that have a degree in Philosophy? I couldn't tell you. I do know that I try to throw in words like droll and awry to make myself sound more educated. Or at least British.

But for some reason, even when I feel like a complete dummy, I can't stop. Even when this particular chap (see, there's a nice British sounding word) debates circles around me and I know he should be right because he's so darn smart, I can't help but throw my poorly put-together, far too emotional and fanciful argument out there. Why?

Because when I look outside my window, I can't for one second not see God.
And I guess that I want for him to see Him too.

When my heart feels like it is going to burst open and bleed all over the place because of a moment of tenderness in this hard, cold world - I feel God.
And I guess that I want him to feel Him too.

And when I can laugh at myself and not take myself so seriously because I am not the center of my universe, I can understand God a little better. Because some things are just funny and are meant to be funny.
Like the word droll.

Reckless

2010-11-01T15:08:00.000-07:00

I debated with myself about writing this.
"But it's fuunnnny", whined Personality #1.
Personality #2 sternly replied, "It is irresponsible.".
Then Joan Rivers piped up and said, "Oh, just write it, you hag."
Joan is mean. But she is usually right. But mean.

So, in order to placate Personality #2, I offer this disclaimer:
The following real-life drama which you are about to read is not meant to condone reckless or just plain dumb behavior. It is meant solely for the purpose of causing the reader to laugh. Please read it with this in mind, all the while realizing that I would not attempt any of these stunts today. Thank you.

I used to be quite reckless. Reckless is what happens when whimsical meets up with trying to fill a need and not getting it met. Reckless comes when one feels that the pain of life may just not be worth it. Reckless people do dumb things for a momentary thrill. Reckless for me included many dangerous behaviors which I am not going to outline for you, but there is one that I always think of around Halloween.

It was Halloween night and I had flown up to Washington from California to visit friends.
I stopped off at Value Village to put together a sailor costume.
Just a sailor, not a porn star sailor or a "sexy" sailor.
Seriously. Do all Halloween costumes for women need to be nasty? Just saying.
Anyway, these sailor pants were actual Navy pants. They were wool and had this weird button system.
All well and good when one is sober. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

We head to a party out in someone's barn. It was a cold, but clear night. And the beer was pouring.
This is very funny. Because I can't stand beer now. But back then, I could drink beer like there was no tomorrow. And after some of my recklessness, I am surprised that there was a tomorrow for me.
After awhile, someone brought out some mushroom tea. As in, magic mushroom. Groovy, man.
I had never done it before, but as I mentioned, I was reckless. So, why not?
And so Alice fell down the hole.

During this night of my mushroom escapades, many things were funny. I think most things are funny even when I am eating some plain old oatmeal, can you imagine what happens when drinking some hallucinogenic potion? And this is where the large buttons on thick wool pants that are arranged in a sort of U pattern while you have drank lots of alcohol and are outside in the dark and are tripping and laughing hysterically are a very bad idea.

Before I go one step further, I would just like to mention two things.
1. I know that was a humongous run-on sentence. I did it on purpose, grammar cops.
2. Again, I am not condoning any of my behaviors. Including wearing some Navy dude's old pants.

Back to the story.
I peed my pants. Full on. While laughing hysterically in a field.
That made me laugh even harder until something started changing and before I knew it, I was crying.

And thus begun the very bad portion of my adventure.
Which eventually ended with me seeing the Great Pumpkin.
It's true. In wet, wool sailor pants, I saw it.
It was enormous, orange, and quite menacing.

Moral of the story:
Wow, there's a lot to be said here.
Let's just go with the all-inclusive... Don't be reckless, lest you end up shivering in a field, stinking like beer and urine, bamboozled by some darn buttons, and then frightened by a larger-than-life Charlie Brown cartoon. And then try to deal with it all the next day.

Candyless

2010-11-01T09:44:00.000-07:00

All day yesterday my sons decorated their room to look like a haunted house.
Really the only thing scary about it is the crying and gnashing of teeth that will happen when I make them clean it up. Their haunted room consists mostly of string tied to everything and some drawings of faces that are supposed to be ghosts. They were totally into Halloween for the first time ever.
One of them even claimed that his middle name was Halloween. It's not, by the way. I don't even like Halloween myself. I certainly wouldn't name a child after it.

So the big moment came where they made their costumes.
They were ghosts. Because we are really creative around here.
And then we drove to the little community trick-or-treating through the woods gig.
It starts at one person's house where everyone gathers.
There is a pinata to blast things off. And then one kid leads the procession through the woods to the next house where someone is waiting with a bowl of candy. This continues for for a mile or so. Some of the participating homes have cider or hot chocolate, and one has set up a little haunted house. We continue through fields and woods while darkness falls.

One of my ghosts leads the pack and we never even see him until the end. The other ghost (the one whose middle name used to be Halloween, btw) is terrified. He cried once when he couldn't see because his ghost eye holes got all wonky. So I ripped them open until it was just one big hole. Then he looked like a Muslim woman wearing a white burqa. Either that or a ghost ninja.
Mr. Halloween was close to tears pretty much the entire time. Thereby revoking his name change idea.

The whole thing ends at the store.
One son tells me that he ate too much candy. Which for him was 5 or 6 bite-size pieces.
And the other ate 2 and was mostly done.
We hitch a ride back to our car, get home and I force them into a shower.
Once they are there, I quickly go through their bags, tallying up their miniscule haul.
I'm talking 15 tiny pieces between the two of them.
And then I confiscate it, hiding it way up in the cupboard to remain with last Halloween's leftovers.
The kids get out of the shower and never even ask where their candy is.
They get into bed and amidst goodnight kisses, they tell me that next year we should skip Halloween.

Heartless

2010-10-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

Well, hello there. And good Friday to you!
My post today is inspired by my friend, Becky.
Becky is someone that my husband went to school with. My path crossed hers when our kids went to the same preschool, but we never really knew each other until the magic of Facebook connected us. I think we were just meant to be friends.
Becky is a blogger and has 5 kids. How she has time to blog with 5 kids, I will never know. I am always very much in awe of her, her huge heart, her incredible patience, her spirited attitude, and her sense of humor. Plus, she is just very lovely.

Becky recently wrote about traveling with her five kids. And even though I only have two, I could completely relate to so much of what she said. After my eye stopped having sympathy twitch for her, I remembered one of my own airplane horror stories. Then I remembered another. Then another. But, I will only relate this one.

Traveling with two babies is terrible. I will just put that out there. Terrible. Any little thing could set them off. And in a plane, it isn't just your own frustration, terror, annoyance or discomfort that you have to be concerned with. No, it is also everyone around you. And most of those people are already annoyed to begin with. So, when they see that you are sitting next to them with not one, but two babies, the tension becomes pretty thick.

So there we were heading to Hawaii. All four of us with some nice 1st class upgraded seats. It was before the boys were 2, so we only had two seats. It was just before they could walk, so they must have been around 9 months and a little over a year. A very charming age...when they are happy. Not so much when they are not.

We got to get on the plane first because of the baby factor. That is always good. Because two babies means a whole mess of gear. And it is good to get all that junk situated and settled without other people in the way.
But it also meant that we got the ol' stinkeye from almost every other person getting on the plane.
Ha! Well, we are good strategists so we planned for this by having my husband sit on the aisle seat with the happy, social child to combat any anti-child sentiments. Muahhahahaha!

It was working quite well. Social boy was busy saying hi and waving at everyone, melting pretty much most everyone's cold little grinch heart. Except the lady sitting across the aisle from us. Of course.

She was tall, thin, perfect. And obviously paid to be in first class. Not like us losers.
She was perfectly coiffed and quite elegant in her beige cashmere turtleneck, perfectly cut slacks, Miu Miu pumps, vintage Vuitton bag, and simple jewelry. She was ice cold. Never had kids and certainly never wanted the sticky little creatures.

Our social child tried to give her his favorite toy. She didn't even crack a half fake smile. Her nose twitched slightly and she just looked away. But my sweet son was not giving up so easily. He tried talking to her. Sure, he couldn't say a ton, but look at his dimples! Still, her temperature didn't raise a bit. Frozen.
Whatever.

Now, while all of this was going on, our other son was becoming more and more disgruntled. About what? I never could figure it out. Too hot? Too cold? Hungry? Thirsty? Bad diaper? Believe me, I checked it all.
He was restless in my arms and doing a little bit of moaning (which he still does in his sleep to this day, but don't tell him that I told you). Between him and Mrs.Snow Miser, I was starting to get a little stressed out.
Then the plane finally took off. And my disgruntled son lost his marbles.

He screamed bloody murder. So I put a blanket over his head. What? It works for parrots.
Then he started kicking the seat in front of us because he had slid down my lap.
The flight attendant told me that while the seatbelt sign was illuminated, I needed to have my son on my lap.
Really? So, I shouldn't just let him fall on the ground? Thanks, lady.
I get him back on my lap and try giving him a bottle of water. He spits it out.
I try singing to him under the blanket. He rips the blanket off our heads and screams even louder.
Mrs. Icicle is shooting laser beams out of her lovely botoxed eyes at me.
I hold writhing baby close to me. He starts banging his head against the window.
I start crying. Just a little.
Mrs. Perfect leans over and in her perfect pitch asks if I couldn't get my son to quiet down. Please.

Heartless.

P.S. He eventually stopped crying. And no, I am not going to tell you how I did it.
My husband restrained himself from dumping a jar of baby food in the Ice Maven's $1000 purse.
And social, happy son waved bye-bye to her when we finally got off the plane.

Less

2010-10-28T09:10:00.000-07:00

I hear that there is some newish television show called Hoarders, or something like that.
The premise being...
Well, I guess I am not quite sure what the premise really is.
To showcase how gluttonous people are?
To mock people that may have a mental disorder?
Maybe to let the voyeurs have a peek at someone that is more out of control than they are?
I bet watching it makes some people feel justified in their rampant consumerism. "I'm not as bad as they are, so I must still be okay in my constant shopping trips to ________ ". Right? Right.

How about the people that can't park their cars in their garages because their garages are too full of stuff.
Or people that have garage sales twice a year to clear out their stuff.
Yet they keep shopping.
Snapping up things that they never knew they needed because it is such a great deal, or because it matches something else or because they fall prey to the ingenious marketing.
People become hypnotized.
You are getting very, very sleepy. Loook.... look how happy these people are in their brand new outdoor kitchen...their lives are now complete...yours will be too...

Am I hitting a little too close to home? I don't mean to make anyone squirm. Well, maybe just a little.
Listen, I am not pointing anything out that I don't point out to myself.
When we moved from our home in the suburbs, I had to clean out a few closets and have a few garage sales and Craigslist sessions. And I had myself wondering at some of the things I had bought and was now selling for pennies on the dollar. If that. You know, all that knick-knack paddy crap that fills every table, shelf and crevice of our picture perfect homes. In the end, it is mostly worthless.
All I am saying is that Americans could do with less.
I could do with less.

I'm gonna be one of those doom and gloom people for a second and say that I don't think the economy has hit the bottom yet. I think it will get worse. And I don't think that Americans are really ready for it. There are lots of people out there that have come upon some seriously hard times financially.
But have people really cut back and gone with less? Not really.
Otherwise why would Starbucks need stores across the street from each other just to deal with the amount of customers? Why would there be waiting lists for each new phone that comes out?
During the Great Depression people were thankful to have food, let alone a $5 Venti Crappaccino.
Extended families moved in together to survive, burning their furniture for heat.
When things got that bad, do you think that they sat around, shivering and hungry, and admired all of their stuff? Or instead, did they shake their heads, wishing they had back the money they had spent on it, and then wondering if it would burn well?

Maybe this soapbox that I am standing on would burn well. It probably would.
I'm going to get off of it now and put it away for later. I might need to burn it
Then I should go ride the exercise bike so there will be less. Of me, that is.
Then I will go to work to make some moolah.
But I can guarantee that I won't be spending it on any more stuff.
We need less, not more.

P.S. When I was looking for a picture to post, you would be amazed at how many hoarder pictures also had tons of cats in them. Really weird. I guess that sometimes when people are trying to fill some gaping hole within themselves, they want to fill it with something soft and fuzzy?

Love and Marriage - Opposites Attract

2010-10-27T10:22:00.000-07:00

Last night one of my sons tells me that they were late coming home from the bus stop because he had to go to the bathroom.
I am confused.
First, because in true 7 year old conversational style, this comes completely out of left field and has nothing to do with what we were last talking about. So, my mind scrambles to catch up and then I am still confused. Why would they be late coming home from the bus stop just because one of them has to pee? It is pretty standard - they get off the bus, they pee in the woods. How long can that take?

Though I am still a little foggy on what he is talking about, I begin to get the "uh-oh" feeling. Moms, you know the one. The one that tells you that something isn't quite right here. I'm getting worried. And then he explains.

He had the bus wait while he got out and went to the bathroom at the high school. Because he had to go.
I clarify, "You asked the bus driver to wait, while everyone is on the bus, for you to get off and go into the high school while you took a pee? Or was it...?"
Him: "Yes. Ha ha, mom, it was just pee."
Me: "Did he tell you that you should have thought of that before you left school?"
Him: (very nonchalantly) "Yes"

I am blown away, proud, and a little anxious all at once.
He is in 2nd grade.
And he knows what he wants, is not afraid to make his needs known, and is confident enough to follow through. Just wait until he is an adult!

Now to contrast that, here is a little story from my life.
I was about 16. I lived with my dad in an apartment in a town about 7 miles from where I went to school. This is because my mom kicked both of us out of the house. But that is a whole different story.
Because the apartment was in a different school district and because I still hadn't passed my driving test to get my license, I had to ride the transit bus.
Normally, the bus passed right by a bus stop by my school. But one morning, it just stayed on the highway.
When we drove by the turn, my stomach dropped. But, did I ring the bell? No.
I thought maybe he would just take another turn.
He didn't.
We started heading out of town.
I started to sweat.
Did I ring the bell? No.
We keep driving and driving.
I am the only person on the bus.
Do I ask the driver where we are going? No.
Do I ever ring the bell? No.
All the while, I am scared out of my mind. Where are we going? How am I going to get to school? What will I tell the school secretary when I finally do get there?
Finally, 30 miles up the highway, he turns into a town.
Phew. He's going to turn around.
Nope. He stops the bus, turns it off and gets out.
Do I say anything? No.
I wait there for 30 minutes.
Do I get off the bus? No.
He finally comes back from his break, still doesn't say a word to me, and starts the bus back up.
We turn around and head back the way we came. Just me and him.
And eventually I make it to school.
And what is my point? At 16, I was too afraid to pull the cord to ring the bell. My 7 year old son would have been yanking the cord and demanding front door service to the school.

It is my hope and prayer that my son finds the right wife for him. Someone that complements him. Someone that smooths over his fierceness just a little. Someone that maybe is like me, that needs someone to stand up for her and ring that darn bell instead of driving to who knows where. But will also stand quietly beside him and remind him that perhaps he should take care of business before getting on the bus.

Love and Marriage - 4th Times a Charm

2010-10-26T09:20:00.000-07:00

Quite a few years ago, when I was in the dating phase of my relationship with my husband, his father said,"If I was 20 years younger, I would marry you."
This is the portion of my blog where you have to use your imagination.
1st, imagine alarms going off. Loud, obnoxious ones.
2nd, imagine whatever picture you have in your mind to come to a screeching halt.
3rd, the screeching halt also comes with sound, as well as smoke.
Does the picture in your head look something like a cartoon? Maybe like Roadrunner and Wile. E. Coyote?
Good. That's what it should look like.
Now, in this portion Bugs Bunny walks onto the screen and points some things out.
I will play Bugs. Here I am, entering stage right.

Ahem.

Dear father-in-law-to-be, herein lies your problem.
You forgot one very important thing.
I would not marry you..
Not then, not now.
Not with a fox, not with a cow.
Whoops. Sorry. My Bugs is turning into Dr. Seuss.
I'll just go back to being me.

You see, my father-in-law has had four wives.
Four!
And until this 4th and last one, none of them really wanted to marry him.
He just came along, saw something he liked and decided that was that.

Two of them came from Iran and were sort of chosen for him. He traveled over there, checked them out, decided he liked what he saw and married them. Not at the same time. Although that wouldn't really have been out of the question.

The first wife is my husband's mother. She had agreed to marry him, but really, she never wanted him.
To be married? Yes.
To get away from her mother? Yes.
Stability? Yes.
But him? No. Yet she felt trapped and went along with it, regretting it all the while.

Fast forward 15 or 16 years to today.
My father-in-law can't stand me. Really. I don't exist for him.
Because apparently he got to know me a little and decided that he didn't like who I am. But back then all it took for him to say that he would marry me was how I looked and what he thought was passivity, but really was just shyness. Absolutely no discernment.

So, what's my point?
I don't think that it is anyone's dream to get married four times.
Maybe I am wrong, but I think that people hope to find one person to spend their lives with.
Before getting married, it is probably important to know that person well. Know their hopes and dreams. Know what makes them tick. Know their good and their bad. Know more than what they look like on the outside. And they should know you and want to marry you for all of those same reasons.
I am no expert on marriage. And I know that there are other factors too. But, I'm betting you wascally wabbits that these suggestions would help at least just a wittle.

And that's all folks!

Love and Marriage - Dysfunctional Style

2010-10-20T09:14:00.000-07:00

I'll tell you what, we could use some comic relief around here. This blog has become waaay to serious for me.
But it seems as though I have written myself into a corner with Love and Marriage. And now I can't seem to think of anything particularly funny having to do with that topic. That's a real pisser.
Not really, I just wanted to use that expression.

So, I have been trying to think of funny married couples. I came up with me and my husband, Peg and Al Bundy, and Art and Lily from the book Geek Love. Have you ever read that book? Definitely not for everyone, but it is one whacked out read if you can handle it. Art and Lily weren't funny, come to think of it, just really freaky.
As you can see, I am falling short on funny couples. Any suggestions?

But dysfunctional couples? Now, we're talking! Considering that my husband was raised by a pack of wolves (his words, not mine), and I was barely raised, I've got a whole whole slew of dysfunction to work with. I might change some names to protect the messed up. Really more like to protect myself. The last thing I need right now is my own parents or in-laws suing me. Although even that wouldn't surprise me at this point.

Dick and May got married in around 1956. Now, May had already been married before (so she claimed, although there was not a stitch of evidence to prove this) and Dick had recently gotten out of the Marines.
They were a good time couple - driving around in sporty cars, drinking martinis, going to Reno. They made a very handsome couple. Drunk, but handsome.

One time while May was waiting outside of a restaurant for Dick to pull up the car, the police thought she was a prostitute. Another time, she broke her ankle falling off her high heels. And then there was the time she made Dick buy a touch-up paint for their silver sports car so she could paint her fingernails to match the car.
And then there are the highly incriminating photos. Photos of Dick and May along with another couple in a hotel room in Reno. Photos found by Dick and May's children and were never properly explained.

As everyone knows, a marriage like this does not last forever. At least not peacefully.Through the years, Dick and May became less and less cool and more and more drunk. Martinis were replaced with boxed wine (with a convenient spigot so you just open the fridge and dispense the golden elixir) and cheap beer. Bouts of passion were topped off with bouts of violence and fights. Their handsome features began developing alcoholic characteristics - growing and reddening noses, toxic skin, puffy features. Conversations were mean-spirited and coldness set in. They had a few false starts on divorce, but it finally happened sometime in the 1990's.
The family home was sold and one moved to a clean, perfect condo in a growing community and the other moved to a strange little town of drop-outs, outcasts, hermits, and outdoorsy yuppies with 2nd homes.

But in pure dysfunctional style, they just couldn't quit one another. Divorced and living apart, Dick and May see each other a couple of times a week. Often dining together and even vacationing together. Dick found himself a girlfriend, but before he knew it, May weasled her way in becoming best friends and "soul sisters" (her words) with his girlfriend. Leaving Dick to squire them around in his Cadillac while they talk about him and his shortcomings. At least they all have each other and PBR. Ah, true love.

Love and Marriage and Trust

2010-10-19T10:59:00.000-07:00

Let's see, where were we?
Oh, yes.
When we left her, she had been alerted by her dreams of her husband's infidelity.
Wait, you say? Infidelity? Wasn't he just looking at online porn? That's not cheating.
Well, it was for her. And therein lies the issue of trust.
She gave him her heart and her trust. In return she expected to be the only woman that he thought of in that manner. No second looks at others, no celebrity freebies, no fantasies that didn't include her, no porn.
I suppose in this day and age many would consider that puritanical or just plain ridiculous. Even women. But the heart is a fearless hunter and it wants what it wants. So, back to the story...

She confronted her husband.
He was sorry.
She was angry.
There were tears.
There were threats of leaving.
There was despair.
There was hopelessness.

So, what happened?
They went to counseling, which was okay.
But counseling can't rebuild trust.
And here is where the story gets very interesting.

You see, 9/11 happened. In the middle of them trying to work things out, in the middle of trying to forgive, in the middle of trying to forget, something bigger than themselves occurred.
And this is where something that was bad was used for good. Because the story has a happy ending.
This is what happened after 9/11 and amidst their marital crisis.
And after that, she was able to forgive. Really forgive.
How? She made a decision in her heart. She gave the hurt away and decided not to try to take it back.
It was no longer between her and her husband any longer. It was between him and God. She was not in control of her husband and never would be. So why try? And it has worked ever since then.

As for him, something radical changed in him once he met God. He asked for his desire to view porn to be taken away, and it was. His wife now trusts him, and while the memory of what happened is still there, it no longer hurts either of them. Because they can look back upon it and see how getting through that crisis enabled them to have a deeper level of intimacy and trust than they had ever had before.

And it all started with a dream.

A Poem of Gratitude

2010-10-18T08:55:00.000-07:00

When I come to you
My hands empty and chapped,
You take them in yours
And soothe them with a fragrant balm.
You fill them with good things
Full to overflowing.
My laughter tinkles through the blue
Like a thousand bells
Rung by angels.
And in your delight,
You cannot resist
In joining me.

The Dream That Should Not Alarm You

2010-10-18T08:32:00.000-07:00

Gentle Readers (what the heck does that mean anyway?),
I did not mean to alarm anyone with my blog post yesterday. The story that I told is from the long ago past.
I do very much appreciate the concerned emails. And I will finish this little story up soon.
But right now I need to drink another cup of coffee, as Monday morning snuck up on me like a Ninja.
Then I really should go to my alma mater, Google U, and find out why readers are gentle. I have known some readers that were far from gentle.

The Dream That Changed Everything

2010-10-17T12:39:00.000-07:00

She awoke one morning, disturbed and haunted. Her dreams had been tormented and she was unsettled, to say the least. She rolled over, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and looked at her husband laying next to her. Something solid lay between them. Tangible, yet unseen. Could it really be? And yet there he lays, undisturbed.

Through the day, she tries to shake it off, it was just a bad dream. Wasn't it? She works, she cooks, she makes the motions that we call life. But there it stubbornly sticks, in that not real, yet so very real place where heart and mind meet. It won't let go. Calling like a siren's song. Telling her to check, to see, to verify, to know what she already knows. She knows.

The dream was her call. Her time. Is she brave enough? Tough enough? Willing enough? Was this what she had been born to do? To look at the depths and blindly dive in? Holding her breath, she does. She dives in without knowing. Knowing what it will mean - now and in the future.

Like a magnet drawing her, she goes to the computer. Without knowing what to look for, or how, it unfolds before her. Becoming worse with every discovery. She wants to rip her heart out. Betrayal like the kiss of Judas floods her very soul. For she gave him her most valuable possession and he chose to cast it aside for a cheap imitation. Love and trust was all that she had to give, and he chose instead to trade that in for an image, a thrill, but nothing real.

She had had no idea. No warning, no inkling. He knew how she felt about porn. Yet he did not resist. He thought she would never find out, never know. So, how did she? It came to her plainly and simply in her dreams. A voice telling her what she would find, and where she would find it . And it was all true.

Dreaming of Clean Water

2010-10-15T10:23:00.000-07:00

Did you know that today is Blog Action Day?
You didn't? Where have you been?
Ha ha. I didn't know either until I was asked to write a One Cup Project blog post as a participant.
It is a pretty cool deal and I am honored to participate.
Settle down, Beavis. Here's the link:
http://www.onecup.org/2010/10/happy-blog-action-day/

Read it and weep. No, don't weep. You could order some coffee though.
Then I might weep out of gratitude.

This Is Not About Dreams

2010-10-14T08:53:00.000-07:00

Sheesh. It has been a week since I have posted anything.
Not that anyone noticed.
If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it still make a sound?
Or is that, does a bear... nevermind.

Sometimes when there is a gray cloud on my head like grandma's bad wig, I can't seem to muster up any words to write. I tried, and it came out a sad little poem that I just deleted and walked away from. That seemed to be the best idea, lest I spread any of my boo-hoo-ness to you.

Does it seem to you like there is just a lot of sadness and hurt in the world right now? Seriously. If those Chilean miners weren't all rescued, I might have just chopped my head off and jumped in the ocean. Instead, I cried some hot tears of hope and wished that I was there to feel the jubilation. The world needed that.
Everywhere around me, there seems to be such brokenness. I know that I am way too sensitive sometimes, but don't you feel it too?

Someone in our community recently died by his own hand. The sadness of it seems to just hang in the trees.
Why? Is all I can form into words. Why? I understand sadness and I understand the feeling of not feeling like you were made for this world. But didn't he see his worth and beauty? Did he not know that he resonates still with every life that he touched by his sweet and kind spirit?

Then to contrast that, there is this other guy bent on doing harm. Again, why? I can't fathom how he can live with himself. He is purposely doing wrong and hurtful things all for his own gain and at the expense of people that are too trusting. How does he sleep at night? And why is there such injustice in the world that he would get away seemingly Scot free, while someone that has never harmed another person can't bear to live with himself? And so he doesn't.

What about the people all around me getting divorced, or living within terrible marriages refusing to bend an inch in order to move toward healing? A marriage is hard work sometimes, but isn't it worth it to have that oneness with someone? My husband and I have had a rough spot in the past. It was terrible and unbearable, but we only got through it by choosing to put down our swords and just let go of the unforgiveness. It makes me so sad when I see the hurt people are going through because of broken relationships.

I don't want to be such a downer. Because who likes someone that is such a bummer? I guess some people do, based upon the amount of people that buy Eeyore paraphernalia. But that is a whole other topic altogether.
I've never been a fan of Eeyore though, and despite my bits of sadness and tendency to wear black, I really am an optimist. Because I have the answer. I have the cure. This is where some of you might want to close your eyes if you are offended that I might write something that has to do with, here bend your ear a little closer to mine and I'll whisper it... Jesus.

He is the light of the world. He is the One that can give hope. He is the One that can put a balm on your wounds. In a dark world, He is the One that can lift you out of the pit. Much like the rescue of the miners.
He will do it, because He already has. So, if you have been feeling the weight of the world a little too heavily, there is a cure. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. And it isn't an oncoming train. Or that horrid Eeyore wearing a miner's helmet.

This post had nothing to do with dreams. Sorry.
Do I sometimes meander off topic? Does a bear... nevermind.

P.S. One final thing. Here is my hope as it was spoken by Jesus and recorded by Matthew the tax collector (there's some irony for me ) in chapter 11 of his book aptly named Matthew:

²⁸"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ²⁹Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

My sermon is over now. Mkay.Bye.

Dream On

2010-10-07T10:21:00.000-07:00

Who doesn't like Aerosmith?
Maybe not all of their songs, but I betcha that you can think of at least one of their songs that just hit the spot.
And you gotta love Steven Tyler.

We met Steven Tyler once in Palm Beach, where we were staying at the same hotel . He stopped to talk to us, well, mostly Sebastian who is the total people magnet. He seemed like a really nice guy and pretty darn genuine. Although very petite and very skinny. 125 lbs. Tops.

If you were expecting a better post than this, I am sorry to disappoint you. I am off for a weekend of fun with some friends and I gotta get going. It is my dream that this weekend will provide me with an opportunity to sleep past 7 or even 8. I don't ask for much.

Delusional Dreams

2010-10-04T11:50:00.000-07:00

There's this guy that I see walking on the road every now and then.
He wears a leather kilt and black beret with a feather stuck in it, carries a rucksack and walking stick, and he just generally looks like he probably lives in the woods.
I wave to him when I see him, and he waves back.

He fits in, yet he is also out of place. But couldn't that be said about everyone?

On a perfect Fall day, I stop at the store to buy some wine for later and a chocolate croissant for now (ssshhh...don't tell my kids). I negotiate the spandex-clad cyclists in the gravel parking lot and pull my car in between two Subarus. When I get out, I see that the front door is crowded with tourists making plans, so I head to the side door. It is there that I see my kilt-wearing friend. He is sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading a magazine.

He looks up at me, and I say hello.
All I expected was a greeting in return. Instead he shoves his magazine at me and tells me that our military helicopters are lacking but that our government keeps pouring money into manufacturing outdated models.

His magazine was some military mag, and not exactly light reading material. I politely look at the picture in the magazine, but in my head I am not thinking about helicopters. No, I am thinking that he smells like a mixture of campfire, B.O., and hair. Not particularly pleasant, but if he lives in the woods, what else would he smell like? Certainly not Drakkar Noir.
Then his rant continues...

Our Humvees are made of fiberglass

GM owns the helicopter manufacturer, which is why the military keeps spending money on them

Of course it is all Bush's fault

He was in Vietnam (shocking!) and earned his black beret

He broke up a child prostitution ring

He has everything archived in his wallet

During one of Bush's visits to Canada, 50 Russian helicopters descended on Vancouver

He blew the whistle on contaminated something - but no one cares

Girls are being kidnapped from small counties and are being sent to the Arabs

He should have been dead by now because of all his knowledge

He has been exposed to high levels of radiation and developed bleeding sores and gums

Neo-Nazis are riding their choppers into our small community and demanding pay-off (they are also kidnapping children)

And there is a pack of wild dogs roaming around with a deadly strain of distemper

At some point during this 15 minute soliloquy, I start wondering a few things.

What about me made him think I was the right person to tell all of this top secret info to? My pink baseball cap? My t-shirt that says "LOVE" on it?
Why doesn't someone in the store rescue me?
What do wild dogs with distemper have to do with GM?
How am I going to get away from him?

He eventually ran out of things to tell me, and there was a brief pause. Now, was my chance!
I kindly told him to be careful and take care. Then before he could tell me about the chip that was implanted in the back of his head, I skedaddled into the store.
Once I finished choosing me items, I waited in line among the Seattle-ites making their coffee choices. I paid for my items and quickly went out the front door, scanning the area for my pal. The coast was clear and I got into my car, first making sure that he wasn't hiding in the back.
I drove away, keeping my eyes peeled for helicopters in the sky and wild dogs hiding in the woods.

Some Dreams Are Better Than Others

2010-09-29T18:14:00.000-07:00

Especially if they include a dancing Mike Tyson.

Every Little Step with Mike Tyson & Wayne Brady from Mike Tyson

Follow Your Dreams. Or Don't.

2010-09-29T15:18:00.000-07:00

Don't think I've become sappy.
I haven't.

Follow Your Dreams

2010-09-29T14:10:00.000-07:00

Do you know someone that followed a childhood dream until it became a reality?
Someone that doggedly pursued maybe a vocation, or a way of life, or a passion?
I am always impressed with these people. How good it must be to have known yourself so well from so early on to be able to do this. I am sure there are some people that end up thinking "Wow! This isn't all that I dreamed it would be." and then bail out. But I bet that many people that have followed their dreams and are quite fulfilled.

Let's see... thinking back in high school, what were my dreams?
Go to Vidal Sassoon Hair Academy (hey! it was the 80's, don't judge) in London.
Become a cutting edge hair designer.
Open a salon in Los Angeles.
Become famous.

Phew! It is a good thing that I had absolutely no single-minded focus, no driving motivation and no steely fortitude to follow through on this fantastical dream that at one-time drifted through my fluffy little head.
Because in my *cough cough* 40 some odd years of meandering through life, I have realized a few pretty important things.
1. I cannot cut hair. Not bangs, not a trim, nothing.
2. I cannot color hair. Or eyebrows. Which I did try one time on myself. Bleaching them, to be exact. They turned orange. Not my best look ever. Don't even ask.
3. I did live in L.A. briefly. It wasn't for me.
4. How could I ever be famous? I can't be around crowds. People make me nervous. I can't stand to be photographed, videotaped or audiotaped. I pit out. There you have it. Not famous material.

So, how is it that I arrived home today and thought to myself, "I am living my dream"?
I started out my day driving the kids up to the bus stop. We saw how the sun illuminated the clouds, giving them a glow, even though the sun was below the mountains which are our backyard.
Then I got ready and drove to the school.
Along the way, I was mesmerized by the intense fall colors, the bright blue of the sky that is not tainted by pollution, and the vistas that rolled out before me. I also accidentally ran over a rattlesnake. This is not part of my "living the dream", but I just thought I would mention it. Anyhow...

I get to the school and head out to the garden where the kids are doing a Farmers Market.
Yes, in my sons' public school, they have a beautiful garden where every grade participates in every aspect of gardening. They compost, they weed, the plant, they stake, they harvest, and they eat. All the food grown is used in the school lunches. Oh, and at the end of the growing season, they have a pizza party using ingredients from the garden and supplemented by local farmers. And it is baked in the beautiful outdoor pizza oven within the garden. Everything is organic too.
While there, I talk with parents of my sons' classmates. These are my people. Their children and my children will grow up together in this unique place that we live.

On the way home, I am overwhelmed by a feeling of wholeness. Of being fulfilled.

There is a handwritten sign in the small general store where I live that proclaims:
Everything is the way it is supposed to be.
Somehow, through my meandering, I have arrived at my dream. The way it is supposed to be.

Golden

2010-09-28T09:57:00.000-07:00

There she lays
in a meadow
surrounded by grass
made golden by the sun.

She is firmly anchored
weighted
held
by a stone
resting upon her chest.

Dark hair splayed out,
arms limp at her side
breathing slowly
in
and out.
Feeling the weight of the stone.

Turning her head
from side
to side,
she is able to see nothing
but what is right in front of her face.

Slow crawling beetles,
leaves that have surrendered,
a twig,
a feather,
a bit of dandelion fuzz.

The tall grasses that sway
in the breeze
impeding her view
of anything more.

Her eyes are drawn upward.
Her vision becomes clear.
The arresting blue of sky,
The slowly undulating clouds.

The weight of the stone lifts.
And she is set free.
Yet there she remains.
Herself made golden by the sun.

Dreams - In Between Here and There

2010-09-28T09:40:00.000-07:00

There are times at night, in the space between sleep and wake, that things come to me.
Sometimes it is a solution to something, sometimes it is a reminder, sometimes it is something creative.
Like the beginning of a poem.
Occasionally the whole thing.
I often wonder where I am when this happens.
Because it sure doesn't seem like I am in my bed.
Maybe I am in the Twilight Zone.

The other night was one of those.
And a new poem was began.
I'll post it next.

Dreams - What In the World?

2010-09-27T09:32:00.000-07:00

Ever had that dream?
You know the one.
In your dream, you are going to the bathroom...
whoops!

Weird that almost everyone has had that dream at some point.
Do you think people in, say, the Amazon jungle, have that dream too?
I'm talking about one of those tribes that have not been touched by modern civilization.
I bet that they are not so bunched up to have had the dreaded bathroom dream.

Dreams have confounded humans since the beginning.
What are they?
Are they our fears playing themselves out?
Are they deep-rooted psychological issues?
Are they communications from God, your dead aunt Hazel, or aliens?
Are they nighttime entertainment?
Are they leftovers from the day?
Or all of the above?

What do you think?
I am looking for comments here.
I would like to know your opinion.
Yes, even yours.

Dreams - Interrupted By Love and Marriage

2010-09-24T11:06:00.000-07:00

For crying out loud. I am such a flip-flopping fool. Just when I decide that I am going to write about dreams, love and marriage clouds my mind. Really they are so intermixed - at least for me. Either that or I am really quite ADD. Which is definitely a distinct possibility.

I read something today about love and marriage that touched me so deeply that it brought tears to my eyes. I had to write something about it or it would cause my heart to explode.
This is from Pastor Mark Driscoll, who is the teaching pastor of Mars Hill Church:

"The most important day of your marriage is the last day. Prepare for that day. Repent for that day. Labor for that day. Be ready to preach your wife’s funeral. Write the sermon today and live every day in light of the last day."

Even if you do not subscribe to Christian beliefs, love is love, my friends. And truth is truth. So don't throw the baby out with the bathwater just because the guy is a Christian pastor. Alrighty?

I love my husband beyond the depths of my understanding. Truly. I cannot understand the love that I have for him. It eclipses romantic love. It is as close to complete as we can get on earth. Oh sure, sometimes he drives me bonkers. Like this morning when he did his maniacal coffee grinding which spews coffee grounds all over and is just waaayy too jarring for 6:15 AM. But that certainly doesn't change my love for him.

My husband and I have a deal. He can't die before me. That is our deal.
Personally, I plan on living until I am 120. So, he's got to stick around until then.
I can't imagine life without him. I would no longer be me.
And I will just go out on a limb here and say that he feels the same way.
Except about the whole coffee grinder deal.

On the last day of my life, I want to look back on my marriage and be able to rest peacefully knowing that I lived my life with my husband in the best way that I knew how. Which would be honestly, faithfully, spontaneously, with laughter, passion, adventure and true intimacy.
And then I want him to die the very next day so that he doesn't have to miss me and my jokes for too long.
Besides, he'll be 117. I'm not asking to take him out in the prime of his life or anything.

And at the risk of being much too cheesy, I will end this post by saying that my marriage is far more than I ever dreamed. I know, I know. Waaayy too hokey. But I had to tie it back into dreams somehow.

Love and Marriage - Interrupted By Dreams

2010-09-24T07:38:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just gotta go with the flow. I tell my kids this all the time. Plans are made to be broken.
While there is some positive to sticking with certain plans, I also don't like rigidity, nor do I want to teach that to my kids. Of course in the end, no parent really ever does it right. C'est la vie.

I thought that I was going to write a series about Love and Marriage. But dreams keep getting in the way. Why fight it? I'm just going to go with the flow and write more about dreams. However dreams will segue (there's that word again) nicely into Love and Marriage when the time is right. Because don't dreams and love go hand-in-hand? Of course they do, unless you are cynical and angry and disillusioned (pssst... and that is probably because your dreams about love have been shattered).

Dreams it is.

What do you think dreams are? I mean, I know what I think, but what about you?
That was a hint for you to comment, by the way.

And when you think about dreams, doesn't it just blow your mind to consider that at night when the human race is asleep, we all enter this different world? Just the idea of sleep blows my mind. Have you ever thought about it? That all living creatures close their eyes and sort of disappear into this state of rest and repair?
Weird. And definitely one of the little nuggets that I have collected in my basket labeled " Reasons Why I Cannot Accept That We Came From Mud".

You can dream when you are awake, but those are self-guided. But the dreams when you are asleep? Who can say what will turn up? I find it very exciting. Where will I go at night? Who will come to see me?
Sometimes my dreams are obviously based on things that have plopped into my brain during the day.
Sometimes my dreams are based on deep-seated fears or anxieties. Like in the past when I used to have those dreams that I mentioned about being chased. According to dream interpretations:

To dream of being chased means that your daily concerns are inescapable.
In dreams we confront our wishes and fears. Hopes and horrors.
Unresolved issues that cause stress to our conscious mind
find symbolic expression in our subconscious mind.
The act of being pursued is the culmination of our unending responsibilities dogging us even as we sleep.

I would agree with this interpretation and I am sure that Freud would chime in with something having to do with my mother. Which I probably agree with also. Doesn't everything lead back to the mother?

It does. So, I am sure that my teaching my kids to not be rigid will probably result in their terrible dreams when they are adults. Probably dreams of free-falling. Check back with them in 15 years or so.

Love and Marriage

2010-09-22T08:14:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about writing about dreams.
All kinds of dreams.

Dreams that you have at night ... or in the day if you happen to sleep during the day. I sometimes wish that I could sleep during the day, as in a nap. But that doesn't really happen for me.

Dreams that you may have had as a child. Or as an adult (like taking a nap).

What dreams mean.

Daydreams.

You know, all about dreams.

Like the dream I had last night. I'm telling you! Crazy.
I am a seriously vivid dreamer. I never wake up in the morning not remembering my dreams. And many times, I can't seem to shake them off of me. Almost like I am stuck between two realities. Which is very weird.
I often have dreams about people that I haven't seen in years. And usually they are people that I haven't even thought of for years. Yet, there they are showing up in my dreams.

I used to have the worst nightmares about chasing and being chased. I would wake up in the mornings exhausted from all of the running and chasing.
It was like a Scooby Doo cartoon (as a completely unrelated side note, I used to have a major crush on Fred when I was about 6. It must have been his natty scarf).
That hasn't happened for quite a long time. Until last night.

I'm not going to bore you with my whole dream. Because really, no one likes to hear about a dream that someone else had. True, huh? The minute someone says, "Last night I had this dream...", don't you instantly turn on the elevator muzak in your head?

All I'm going to say is that my dream involved:

People that I went to elementary school with.
Chasing in an old building
Nordstrom opening a new store
My best friend from school.

Sometimes I have dreams that come true. No one really wants to believe this. People always want some reasonable explanation. But sometimes there just aren't any. My dream last night is not one of those types of dreams that come true. But one time I had this very weird dream in which an Asian stock market crashed. And guess what happened the next day to the Nikkei Index?
I know, some of you are thinking that I must have heard something about the Nikkei Index on the news and it was lodged somewhere in my subconscious, thereby causing my dream. But sometimes you just know what you know. And this is one of those things that I just know.

Sometimes I have dreams about people that tells me something about them.
One time in high school I was in the bathroom and just as I was getting ready to walk out the door and I knew who I was going to see right when I opened the door. And I happened to have had a dream about that person the night before in which they were smoking.
Guess what? I opened the door and walking by was that person. And then I found out that day that that person had indeed started smoking.

So, what does any of this have to do with love and marriage?
Sometimes I have dreams about my husband.
Get your mind out of the gutter.
I'm not talking about those dreams.
What kind of blog do you think this is?!

I'm Lazy

2010-09-21T14:05:00.000-07:00

Looking for a blog post?
Look here.
What?
I wrote that. It is on a blog. It counts.
Right?

And while you are there, poke around a little.
Order some coffee.
Change the world.

I won't be so lazy tomorrow.

If...

2010-09-20T10:47:00.000-07:00

If I had another son, I'd name him Massimo.
If I was a man, my name would be Nigel.
If I were a dog, I'd be an Irish Wolfhound.
If I had a daughter, her name would be Anneke Paige.
If I were the President of the United States, I would call a do-over.
If I were an actress, I would be Cate Blanchett.
If I was a rock star, I'd be Mick Jagger.
If I could live anywhere, it would be on a beach.
If I could have a super power, it would be to be able to eat anything and never gain weight.
If I could make a law, it would be that everyone would have to learn when to use an apostrophe S before they could vote, drive a car, get married, or drink alcohol. Now there's some motivation for ya!

If I were you, I'd give me an idea about what to write about. Because I am stuck.

Media Sucks

2010-09-16T11:15:00.000-07:00

Here's some real mind-blowing news for you.
Are you sitting down?
The media tells you what to think, how to think, and how to feel.

I realize that you probably already know that.
But I am thinking that you really don't know to what extent.
Being the scientist that I am, I have conducted a little experiment.
Okay, this is not really true on any level.

I am no scientist. I didn't even make it through Chemistry.
I didn't really conduct an experiment. I just happened to notice something.
Whatever.

My husband and I decided six years ago to do away with cable and not watch t.v.
This was for a few reasons.

We had two small children and did not want them to see t.v.
We found that t.v. distracted us from parenting.
T.V sucked us in and even if we only intended to watch one show, we'd end up watching more.
Commercials are pure garbage.
Most t.v. shows are pure garbage.

This is a decision that we have never regretted. Ever.
However this is not to say that every now and then I don't like a little Law & Order.
I am just glad that it doesn't get piped into my house 24/7.

Not only do we not have cable, but we live in a remote area where there are no billboards. There are also no syndicated radio stations. There is a local station and one based out of another small town. And NPR.
And we do not receive a newspaper other than the VERY small local paper.
What I am trying to get at is that for a person living in the United States, I am pretty media-isolated.
Sure, I read a few magazines. But I have purposely stopped reading most women's magazines except for health related ones. The last thing I need is airbrushed photos of the already beautiful and skinny Megan Fox staring at me making me feel gross, fat, old and well, un-airbrushed.

So, now you know the parameters of my pseudo-experiment.
What happened?
After two years of living in this bubble, I entered the noisy world. Only for two days. But that was enough.

I drove over to the big city to get my hair fixed from my own cutting and coloring fiasco, and to run a few errands. Just some random stuff that I don't want to bother my husband with when he goes over to work.
And here are the messages I got over and over while I was there via billboards, radio ads, and commercials:

I am fat and should go on Jenny Craig
I am fat and should take these pills that some Kardashian amazon takes.
I am fat.
I am not fit enough and should use P90X.
I am not fit and should use this weird shaking vibrating weight that looks pornographic.
I need meds. For what? Everything, apparently.
And even though I am fat, out of shape and unhealthy, I should eat at McDonald's or Wendy's.
My kids should eat there too, because they need to get fat and unhealthy.
I better use vaginal cleansing cloths.
It is really cool and hip to swear.
It is also cool and hip to dress like a hooker and prowl around looking for hot, younger men.
Every person should buy new Fall furnishings, dishes and decor.

There are probably more. And I am not even going into the political trash that I heard and saw.
A person that is subjected to these messages over and over probably really buys into it. Crazy.
Are you worried that this is happening to you?
Worry no more! I am here to help.
Print out this blog post and then cut out the list of 12 things listed above.
Next cut out my responses to those 12 things. Here they are:

Comparing yourself to Angelina Jolie doesn't make you fat. She is skeletal.
Doing anything that a Kardashian does is not advisable.
If you really are fat, you probably know it and know what you should do about it.
P90X does work and it is really super hard. So maybe try something lighter 1st.
You should never use any device that make you look as though you are filming Boogie Nights.
If people stopped taking so many meds, they might actually get better. Duh.
Fast food is the devil.
Your kids only will know about these places if you take them there. Who is in charge, people?!
Just don't do it. Any explanation would be TMI.
Swearing is for people that can't find an appropriate word to describe how they really feel.
Maybe if you really ARE a hooker. And not married.
The thrill of new decor, furnishings, etc. only lasts a minute. The thrill of being debt free lasts forever.

Now the next time you feel blasted by the media, just pull out my handy dandy responses and say the appropriate answer out loud. You should try to say it in a sarcastic tone of voice.

Just say no to media. And say yes to having your own thoughts, ideas, solutions and opinions that come from yourself and no one else. Except me, of course. I am the voice of reason that comes from the wilderness.
And I am not airbrushed or using vaginal wipes.
TMI?
Probably.

Inspired By Billy Joel - Quran Burning?

2010-09-10T10:35:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, on the anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, a pastor of a small Pentecostal church somewhere in Florida is going to hold a Quran burning.
I would imagine that there have probably been other Quran burnings in the past few years. However none have made the national news. At least to my knowledge.
But this time it has turned into a really big deal.
And has cast a really crummy and unfavorable light upon Christianity.

Just like there are some nuts that do super nutty things in the name of Islam, there are also some nuts that do some super nutty things in the name of Christianity. We could list a whole bunch of them. And these are the people that cause many others to shake their heads at Christianity and think that they could never follow Christ.

Listen, I am no lover of Islam. And I do not believe that Allah is just another name for God.
You can say tomato, but I'm not gonna say tomahto.
But I am also not going to wave around my hate flag and burn all your spaghetti sauce.
You know what I mean?

There are a few things that some Christians could learn from some Muslims.
1. Devotion
2. Profession of faith
3. Priority of praying
4. Giving of alms
5. Fasting

Just as there is something very important that Muslims could learn from Christians, mainly that Jesus wasn't just another prophet. He was the Son of God and is God. Confusing, I know.
But does anyone really think that any Muslim is going to listen to any Christian if they are spewing a hate filled message? Does anyone think that burning a Muslim's holy book is going to do a lick of good?

Instead, maybe tomorrow on 9/11, Christians should find a Muslim in need and do something to support them and show love. Weed a garden, give a gift card, bring a bouquet of flowers, rake some leaves, run an errand.
The possibilities are endless.
And I am pretty sure that Jesus would approve.
The Quran burning?
Doubtful.

Too many kingdoms
Too many flags on the field
So many battles, so many wounds to be healed
Time is relentless
Only true love perseveres
It's been a long time and now I'm with you
After two thousand years. ~ Two Thousand Years Lyrics by Billy Joel

Inspired By Billy Joel - Easy Money

2010-09-09T09:42:00.000-07:00

On the little header on my little blog, it says
poetry, musings, tips, soapbox rantings, funny stories, and a little sarcasm

I have delved deep into pretty much all of these. But not really into the tips portion.
Oh sure, I have given you my smart alec-y tips. But never a real tip.
So, this is it. The tip portion of my blog.
How exciting.
(That falls under the sarcasm portion.)
Look! A 2 -for - 1 Special! Wow! Already getting more than you bargained for.

There are some incredible ways to save money.
Without compromising.
All it takes is a little retraining and forming some new habits.

The first one is Swagbucks.
Swagbucks is a search engine that randomly gives you "Swagbucks" when you search and in turn you can redeem your Swagbucks for prizes on their site. I always redeem mine for gift cards to Amazon.com.
Through just my regular searches, I have averaged a $10 gift card a month. That's $120 a year - or an iPod. For free.

Next is Ebates.
I do a ton of online shopping.
Obviously.
I live in the middle of nowhere.
It is two hours to the nearest stoplight.
Ebates gives you a rebate when you shop at an online store by clicking through their site.
Many, many, many stores are available on Ebates.
Nordstrom, Gap, Old Navy, Drugstore.com, you name it. And the rebate amounts vary. Sometimes it is not that much (2%). Sometimes it is quite a bit (10%). In the last 18 months, I have earned $196.18 just by clicking through their site to shop where I would normally shop.

There are a number of really great bloggers that scour the internet for great deals. These are people that make money through their blogs and are very good at what they do. I like to check their blogs for good bargains. Sometimes you need to buy things that you might not need right at that moment, but that you will eventually need. Like shoes for kids, laundry detergent, cereal.
Here are some of my favorite bloggers:
Want Not - Having It All With Less
The Thrifty Mama
Organic Deals and Coupons
and a great website:
Deal News - Where Every Day Is Black Friday

Finally, there are two new business models that are becoming popular.
One is the deal or coupon a day places.
Like Groupon or Eversave
These are deals based on your area. They feature great deals on all kinds of things. Restaurants, gyms, bakeries, museums, etc. Occasionally they will have nationwide deals too. If you refer people, you will receive credit in your account when they make their 1st purchase.
Two days ago, Groupon had a deal for an online organic grocer. $35 for a $75 gift card. It was a great deal, so I went to buy it. As I was checking out, I found that I had 3 referrals that amounted to a $30 credit.
I got $75 in organic groceries for $5!

The other newish business is so-called membership deals.
You have to be "invited" by another member to join. Click through my links and you will be "invited".
These are deals that are mostly fashion, home, or children related.
My favorites are Rue-La-La and HauteLook.
I have purchased a really cute Michael Stars dress for about 75% off besides seeing a ton of great deals on things that would be more suitable if you lived somewhere where dressing up is a little more important than it is for my lifestyle.

And here is a little dillyeo to get you started.

Go to Ebates and sign up.
Search on Ebates for Soap.com
Click thru the link
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You're welcome. I love you too. Oh, what's that? You are sending me a cake? And wine? Sheesh, you are really too kind. You don't have to do that. Just click through my links that I provided for you. I'll get some referral credits. That's all I ask. Really. Oh, okay, if you insist. I prefer red wine.

Oh, you thought I forgot about our dear friend Billy?
No, no, mon frere.
Billy had something to say about deals that inspired my post today.

I want the easy, easy money
Easy money, I could get lucky
Oh, things could go right
I want the easy, easy money
Easy money, maybe this one time
Maybe tonight.

Inspired By Billy Joel - Uncle Sam

2010-09-08T08:33:00.000-07:00

Wow. I am craving pumpkin right now.
That is weird.
Almost as weird as having that '80's song by Oran "Juice" Jones, The Rain, stuck in my head allll day yesterday.
Now it is going to be stuck in yours. Sorry.

These things have absolutely nada to do with what I was thinking of writing about.
I just wanted to share it because I'm a girl, and even though I am a girl of far less talking than most girls, I'm still a girl. And I like to share.
Now I am going to try to segue that into my real topic.
P.S. Segue is pronounced seg-way, not seg-goo.
And Segway is one of those funky two-wheeled riding deals.

The other night I woke up with a start. One second you are sound asleep, the next second, your eyes pop open and you are shaken up by whatever your brain was busy thinking about when you shouldn't have been thinking at all. That is a real problem, I tell you. One that I have been taking various pills, tablets and tinctures for. I even tried a little meditating, but I fell asleep. Imagine that.

What was on my mind in the middle of the night?
I think the IRS agent that I had my recovery/discovery interview with a few weeks ago may have asked my to send her copies of my personal bank account signature card. But I can't remember.
You would think that I would have remembered something really important like this.
But I can't.
Things like the IRS, money, chemistry, and how things fit together all fall into a category in my brain called
"Who Cares?". Now ask me about how people feel towards something or what something smelled like, and I am all over it. Maybe I am a dog.

See, we owe the IRS a motherlode of money. We're talking six figures, and then some.
But this all falls into my husband's job description. Not mine.
So, I do my job - cooking, cleaning and caretaking.
He does his - money-related stuff and things having to do with wood, rodents and barf.
So, when the IRS is making noise about lowering the boom, I don't really think about it too much. Until they say that I have to be interviewed for this recovery/discovery deal. Me? I don't know anything.
But, when Uncle Sam says you gotta, you gotta.

Our agent kindly allows me to have a phone interview so that I don't have to leave the woods.
The big day comes and I talk to her sitting out on our deck .
She asks all kinds of questions which I truthfully don't know the answers to.
I can tell that at first she doesn't believe me.
How could I not know anything about our situation?
And how do I tell her that I really don't care about money?
Sure, I like some nice stuff, but I don't need it to make me happy or complete my life.
Having a Pottery Barn existence is not for me. At least not anymore.
But I don't think she talks to many people like me.
Because when she asked me how long I have known about our gigantic outstanding debt to the IRS, and I say I guess a couple of weeks, she is surprised.
Then her follow up question is "And what did you do about it when you did find out?"
My answer, "I prayed."
Her reply, "Uh, what?"
My answer again, "I prayed."
Her response, "Oh, okay. No one has ever said that before."

Towards the end of the interview I start crying. This also throws her for a loop. She keeps saying that she is really sorry and I tell her that is is okay. But what I really want to tell her is that this is not what I am all about.
Billy Joel sings about it in his song, Movin' Out.
Except, I'm not moving out. But you probably catch the drift.

Anthony works in the grocery store
Savin' his pennies for some day
Mama Leone left a note on the door She said "Sonny move out to the country"
Ah but working too hard can give you
A heart attack, ack, ack, ack, ack, ack
You oughta know by now
Who needs a house out in Hackensack?
Is that all you get for your money?
And it seems such a waste of time
If that's what it's all about
Mama if that's movin' up then I'm movin' out
You should never argue with a crazy mi mi mi mi mi mind
You oughta know by now

You can pay Uncle Sam with the overtime
Is that all you get for your money
And if that's what you have in mind
Then that's what you're all about
Good luck movin' up cause I'm movin' out

Sergeant O'Leary is walkin' the beat
At night he becomes a bartender
He works at Mister Cacciatores
Down on Sullivan Street
Across from the medical center
And he's tradin' in his Chevy for A Cadillac ack ack ack ack ack
You oughta know by now
If he can't drive with a broken back At least he can polish the fenders

There. Now, you can have that song stuck in your mind instead of that other one that I mentioned earlier.
I think this one is at least a little better.
I'm going to go make something with pumpkin right now.

P.S. I don't know who that guy is in the picture. I just thought it was funny that I found a picture that had something to do with tax and pumpkins. Life is weird, man.

Inspired By Billy Joel - Religiosity

2010-09-07T09:10:00.000-07:00

My husband finally had the talk with the pastor of the church we were part of.
You know, the guy that randomly dropped by our house at 8:45 in the morning.
This one.
So now we just have a little family church.
Which is cool with me, for now.

Some churches I like.
Others are just too religious.
Religion is not the same as being a believer or follower of Jesus Christ.
In fact, it is the opposite.

Maybe this is confusing to some people.
But the bottom line is this - Jesus came to set people free.
So, if you are shackled up by your list of rules and regulations, if you are bunched up by your concept of what it means to be a "Christian", then you are religious. Sometimes I am religious. But I sure don't want to be.

Religion is being fake.
Religion is hiding your true feelings.
Religion is not talking about the deep stuff because well, true feelings might come out.
Religion is being putting up a curtain between you and those that don't subscribe to your personal list of rules and regulations. Or putting yourself in the place of God.
Religion is being self-righteous.

Who knew that Billy Joel would sum it up so well in a song about trying to get a girl to have sex?
But he did.

The stained glass curtain you're hidin' behind
Never lets in the sun...

Except I would change sun to Son.

Here's the deal.
Jesus hung out with prostitutes, tax collectors and some unsavory people.
He got angry, he got sad. He wasn't all sweetness and light.
And when asked what the greatest commandment was, he didn't say "Thou shalt not remove the permagrin from thou face." No. he said "Love the Lord God with all your heart and love your neighbor as yourself." Period.

So, in the words of the great Ben Harper (now he's a musician that I do, do, do love),

I'm kicking out stained glass windows and I'm tender to the touch

If you ever catch me being religious, you can pinch me super hard.
And if you ever catch me wearing churchy clothes (like a jumper or nude hose and pumps) just hit me over the head with a rolled up Blair catalog and then give me a margarita.

Inspired By Billy Joel - Say Goodbye to Hollywood

2010-09-03T10:00:00.000-07:00

It is hard to imagine now, but I used to live in Hollywood.
Not trendy West Hollywood, not the lovely Brentwood.
Hollywood.
On Highland right above Hollywood Boulevard.
Right where skank bumps up against beauty. But that is pretty true of most of L.A.

I lived in a very cool oasis amidst bums, glam rockers, druggies, hoodlums, and wannabes.
Right at the base of the hills that are filled with glamorous old homes.
My apartment used to be part of a movie sound studio back in the 1930's.
You could be walk right by it on Highland and never even know it was there because from the sidewalk all you saw was a black iron fence and all types of trees and flowering vines and shrubs..
But open the fence and you are instantly transported back to old Hollywood.

Did you ever watch Melrose Place?
It was a lot like that. But no pool.
Old beautiful buildings broken up into 2 or 4 apartments with a courtyard in the middle.
Banana trees mixed in with bougainvillea and night blooming jasmine lined the walkway.
It was filled with strippers, musicians, hopeful actors, gay men, and lots of waiters (I was none of these things, by the way, in case you were trying to figure that out).
Everyone's doors and windows were always open and everyone greeted one another.

The inside was equally as beautiful.
Not in a shiny, perfect way. But in an old, vintage, eccentrically swanky kind of way.
Painted fireplace, huge wood windows that opened up into the courtyard, original hard wood floors, original tile in the kitchen and bathroom, built-in buffet and cabinetry. It was huge. Like a cottage, really.

Does it sound like I loved it? I did.
But that was almost the only thing about Hollywood that I loved.
That and walking to Melrose, Thai delivery, and walking/running in the hills among the beautiful old homes.
But the rest? Not that much.

Try to drive anywhere. Just try.
On nights that there was a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, it was impossible to park within a mile of my apartment. In fact, even getting home at all was nearly impossible.
And when you drive out of the city, good luck on the freeway.
One broken down car and you are doomed for hours.
I worked in the Long Beach area for awhile. It was a 45 minute commute when all was going smoothly. 3 hours when they weren't. One time on the way home, the freeway was closed. I had to try to figure out how to get home and I ended up driving through Compton and Watts on my two hour journey home.
The next day, my co-worker who was from Compton told me, "Don't worry, the gangbangers have no use for a little white girl like you." Comforting, but not entirely true.

You see, the 1992 L.A. riots had recently happened.
People were completely on edge and everyone hated everyone else.
This is so true and partially why I finally moved back home to Washington.
No one trusted anyone else and races were all very suspicious of one another.
Add to that the height of gang activity, drive-by shootings, and rogue cops
You've got an entire city just waiting to explode.

One afternoon, I went for a walk like I did every day.
I would often walk down one side of the street down to Melrose and then walk the other side of the street back home. It was always interesting. Lots of shops, tourists, crackheads, and crazies to look at. Scientologists trying to get you to answer questions, people trying to sell you something - incense, drugs, jewelry, fake handbags, carvings from Africa, t-shirts, stolen goods, Jesus. There was always something going on.

On my walk back, I was about two blocks from home. I see a couple of hoods standing around on the sidewalk just ahead of me. My instinct tells me to cross the street. But I don't. Because in the argument going on in my head, I tell my instinct that I am not going to do that just because they happened to be black men with gang type clothes on. I was too young and too idealistic to know that trouble is trouble no matter what color it is wrapped up in. I shouldn't have been so naive. But I was.

As I get close to them, one of them starts talking to me. I answer back, politely, but keep walking.
Then he grabs my arm and the other guys scatter like rats in the light.
He begins pulling me by the arm into the alley, all the while saying things about me thinking I was too good for him. I knew what was coming. This is where the rubber meets the road. All a girl's life, she is taught what to do in situations like these. Scream, kick, fight. I didn't do any of these. What did I do?
I talked to him.
I asked him whether he would want something like this to happen to his sister, his mother.
I asked him if this was really what he wanted to do.
I calmly asked him to please not do this thing.
He looked me in the eyes and let me go.
I thanked him and walked out of the alley, then walked faster and faster until I was running.

A few weeks later, there was another situation similar to this, involving a man entering my apartment.
It also ended well, with me just being a little scared, a little shaky, but hating Hollywood even more.
Not that long after, I moved home.
In the words of Billy Joel, who also tried to make it in Hollywood and ended up moving home...

So many faces in and out of my life
Some will last
Some will just be now and then
Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes
I'm afraid it's time for goodbye again
Say Goodbye to Hollywood

Inspired By Billy Joel

2010-09-02T14:13:00.000-07:00

Two disclaimers here.
1. Don't go getting any ideas that I am a big fan of Billy Joel. The song, Uptown Girl, rates right up there in my list of top 10 worst songs ever (which also includes Hip To Be Square, The Power of Love, and The Heart of Rock 'n Roll all by the dreaded Huey Lewis).

2. Stop reading right here if you are under 16. And really, if you are under 16, why on earth would you be reading this anyway? Shouldn't you be out trying to trick your parents somewhere? Or at least texting your brains out?

Radio stations are few and far in between where I live. There is one local station that is pretty good, but it doesn't always come in very clear. Then there is an oldies staion that seems to come in when the other station doesn't. So, unfortunately I end up listening to the oldies station when I am working. I could bring my iPod, but then I'd have to put earbuds in and I just can't hang with that.

The oldies station is mostly passable. A little too much Paul Mc Cartney, not enough Stones. Every now and then they will play some Van Morrison and that makes up for the fact that I'll get that nauseating Hang On Sloopy song stuck in my head all day. Thankfully, the Billy Joel that they play is from the late '70's and very early '80's when he was a little angrier and edgier and not all happy-go-lucky like he got when he was 1st with Christie Brinkley.

So today, I hear the song My Life by Billy Joel. And these lyrics stuck with me:

"Got a call from an old friend
We used to be real close
Said he couldn't go on the American way
Closed the shop, sold the house
Bought a ticket to the West Coast
Now he gives them a stand-up routine in L.A.
I don't need you to worry for me cause I'm alright"

Then it made me think about the time my best friend told me that I should have been a stand-up comedian. Which sometimes I wonder if I could have. Except that I couldn't stand to be in front of a bunch of people. I'd have to sit behind a sheet or something. But maybe that could be my schtick. Because everyone needs a schtick.

Anyhow, that got me thinking about other Billy Joel songs that had lyrics that somehow stuck with me. So, I figured I would write about some of them.
In case you were wondering.
Which you might have been.
I realize that my thinking doesn't really go in a straight line. I like to call it abstract. My husband, who thinks in the straightest of lines ever, might call it something else. But he can because he gets to/has to live with me.

And speaking of my husband, here is my very 1st stand-up routine. Or at least what caused my friend to comment that I should have been a comedian.

Last year on my birthday, my husband planned a weekend trip for us to one of my favorite places ever. The Outlook Inn on Orcas Island. However, we were super broke at the time. You can read about that here. But he was able to get the hotel and restaurant on trade. The ferry is pretty spendy, so we decide to walk on to the ferry and hitchhike to the hotel. And of course it rains. There we are, hitchhiking in the rain with our luggage. We finally get to the hotel and my husband wants to immediately do what he wants to do every time we enter a hotel room. It.
And somehow this is my birthday present?
**badumbum**
Remember two drink minimum and be sure to tip your waitress on your way out.

Two postscripts to end this post.
1. I did love my birthday present from my husband. Yes, even the hitchhiking.
2. This was much funnier in person after some wine.

School Days - The Places You'll Go For Real

2010-09-01T16:12:00.001-07:00

I think this is going to be the last in my series about going to school in good ol' Sultan, Washington.
All this thinking about it is giving me some weird dreams.
And I have enough weird dreams without this added equation.

And really, as small-town as Sultan was and as not-so-great as some of the teachers were, there was a lot of good that came from there. You might really be surprised.

There are a number of teachers. Good teachers. And of course there are some cops and firemen.

You know that hand-held defribillator that all planes have on board in case someone has a heart attack in the air and Doc from the Love Boat isn't on board to save the day and then sweep some woman off her feet? Well, a guy from my class in school was on the team that developed it.

Then there is the super athlete, Mr. Adventureman, or something insane like that. Who also was a scientist, then owned a construction company and now is producing some crazy TV pilot.

There are incredible artists (Jessi, Kristin, Tracy, Erin and many more), restaurant owners, award-winning winemakers, a stuntman, home-schooling moms that haven't aged a single day, geologists, soldiers that fight and have fought for our freedom, Ivy League college professors, and so many more.

There are all of the people that became good, honest, salt-of-the-earth people. People that I am honored and humbled to have shared my life (and sometimes other things...ahem) with. These are people that even though I may not have seen them in 20 years, they are quick to offer encouragement, a joke, or a box of cupcake-making supplies when I need it.

Maybe going to school in this hillbilly town gave me a heck of a lot more than just an education.
It gave me experiences and people (however poor our grammar) that have filled my life.
And sometimes my dreams.

School Days - Oh, The Places You'll Go!

2010-08-26T10:57:00.000-07:00

Oh, the places you'll go... to party.
And how.

Sultan is a small town nestled in the western foothills of the Cascade Mountains.
A little too far from a city.
Lots of rivers, quarries, bushes, power lines.
Lots of square miles, not nearly enough law enforcement.

What do all of these things equal?
Parties.
Everywhere.

This is what a Sultan party consisted of:

Bonfire
Keg
Pickups

Sometimes we would get lucky and find say, a house that was under construction, then abandoned.
It got a name, The Mansion.
It was fun for awhile, but then the toilets overflowed and it got pretty nasty. Plus the cops knew about it and would send us all scurrying into the woods and blackberry bushes every time. So, we moved on.

Maybe to The Powerlines, The Basin, or Under the Bridge.

Then it happened. It was like a fairy tale.
During my senior year, a friend's parents left for Thailand for the whole year - leaving her the house.
We had our very own house for parties - and the toilets worked!
There are so many stories from this time.

Mass sleepover for months on end
Watching Strange Brew over and over and over...
Watching Pee Wee's Big Adventure over and over and over...
Feeding the fish beer and smoked oysters (they died)
Sleeping in the bed with flannel sheep sheets
People falling out of the shower (don't ask)
Drinking champagne milkshakes
Conversations in the closet

I shudder a little when I remember these times, knowing that one day my sons will be teenagers.
And when I used to read them the Dr. Seuss book, Oh!The Places You'll Go, I wasn't exactly envisioning a kegger in the middle of the woods. I am not sure about you, but I am going to be tuning up my parenting radar before they turn 15!

School Days - Lean and Rub

2010-08-25T10:58:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the front row of classes definitely had advantages with certain teachers.
Others, not so much.
No one wanted to sit in the front three rows of a class of a certain teacher.
One that taught Social Studies as well as Driver's Ed.
Driver's Ed?! Did anyone ever drive with that man before making him the instructor?

Our cars for Driver's Ed. were these giant, sloppy driving boats.
I am pretty good with cars. Meaning that I know all kinds of makes and models, not meaning changing the oil.
But, the make and model of these boats? Who knows? Galaxy? Maybe. Bayliner? Possibly.

So, you are a nervous 15 year old, sweating it out in the big blue boat on a bench seat with this lisping, spitting, high-waisted pants wearing, pocket-pool playing guy that was supposed to teach you to drive.
All I could think about had nothing to do with staying the speed limit, but more like "please don't let him touch me.".
It is no wonder I didn't pass my driving test until the 5th time. No comments, please.

This teacher was notorious for leaning against the desks of certain students and well, rubbing himself.
Not while driving.
This was in his class room.
When he wasn't doing the leaning rub, he was jingle-jangling his change in his pockets.
Among other, ahem, things.
And it wasn't just female students that got the pleasure of the lean.
No, there were certain males that also were so very lucky.
Not many, but a select few.

The lean and rub wasn't just horrific because your teacher was doin' his thang right there in front of you.
No, it was also horrific because he spit when he spoke, so you got a little shower while you and your desk were the object of his affection.

I am sure he was a nice guy. And perhaps he had a teaching certificate and therefore was a teacher. But I couldn't tell you a single thing that I learned from him except to beware of lisping, spitting pocket pool playing men.

School Days - Smoker's Corner

2010-08-23T18:05:00.000-07:00

Smoker's Corner.
Totally boggled my mind.
Smoking right out there in public?
Across the street from the school?
Gasp!

Ha! I wasn't exactly an angel, but at least I kept those sorts of things hidden from the eyes of adults.
These people on Smoker's Corner had cojones.
I mean really, their parents could see them out there.
Especially if their parents dropped them off there.

And sat out there smoking with them.
With people making out in the back of the car.

I know, you are thinking that I am purely making this up.
I'm not.

So, a big hooptie drives up to the corner. Loaded with people.
All missing at least one tooth.
When a door opens, smoke billows out, a la Jeff Spicoli.
The front seat is full of the dad, the mom, and some variation of offspring. Whose? I couldn't say.
The back seat was full of more offspring and possibly cousins or girlfriends or both. At the same time.
Again, I am not making this up.

Then all of them would proceed to smoke and make out until the bell rang.
Parents included.
These are the same people that lived in a trailer with their chickens.
So I hear.

True story.

School Days - Poor Shirley

2010-08-19T15:14:00.000-07:00

I have a really great husband.
He "gets" me.
He is always telling me to quit worrying so much about other people and what they think.
Like last weekend.
We were at a four way stop where there are tons of pedestrians. Normally we are drivers being annoyed by pedestrians. But this time we were the peds. And I was so stressed out and worried that we were causing anyone inconvenience while we stood at the corner deciding which way to go, that my husband stops me right there and tells me that it is okay for someone to have to wait for us. Right at that very moment, our friend took a picture of us. Now I know what a stress ball looks like. It's not pretty.

After my last two posts, I started worrying. Worried that somehow someone from Sultan would get offended. Or that people wouldn't know that when I joke about Sultan, I am joking about myself too.
Let's just get all of this out of the way, okay?
Funny is funny no matter how you slice it.
So, let's slice it up real good and get some good laughs. All the while remembering that no harm is intended.

There was a teacher at SHS that got teased, heckled, harassed and harangued more than any teacher possibly on the face of this planet. She had been teaching for a very long time and rumors about her ran rampant.
She used to be a model.
She had been engaged once and her fiance either died or left her and she never recovered.
She was a lesbian.
She didn't know how to drive.
She was afraid to drive.
She lived with way too many cats.
If you looked at her ankles, she would blush
I don't know if any of these rumors were true.
Then there were all the rumors of things that people did to her.
These people were usually the boys that grew mustaches way too early and were just more than a little mean.

I don't have any idea why she was so disliked. In my opinion, she was one of a very select few that actually taught me anything. Yes, she was a little quirky in an introvert sort of way. But, she really did have a sense of humor. You just had to ease it out of her.
I used to write notes to her when I was sitting in the class next door and pass them under the wall divider. They were funny notes and I may have written her a little comic book once.
I think I am starting to sound like either a stalker, a freak, or perhaps a lovestruck moron here.
I should stop while I'm ahead.