I hang out on Facebook. Mainly I do this because most of my extended family hangs out there, and that's really the only way we keep in touch. I have a lot of cousins. Even before I was born, they were working on my second cousins, and now it's as though the entire state of Ohio is related to me. I try to keep up with as many as I can. It's nice to get to virtually visit without having to remember to send a Christmas card.
I read everyone's status and look at everyone's pictures. What I don't do is post any comment about politics or religion on anyone else's status. If someone's status is something like "Obama sux!" I'll ignore it. Why? Because that is their opinion. I may or may not agree with their opinion, and I may find their opinions offensive, but I respect their right to have an opinion. I don't respond to their comment in a nasty way, because I'm not a troll. I also know that if someone has an opinion that strong, my making a comment about it isn't going to change a thing.
Not. A. Darn. Thing.
If one of my FB friends is convinced that the government is trying to take away his AK-47 so he can't use it to hunt tiny mammals, nothing I say is going to convince him otherwise, no matter how reasonable my comment might be. In the past, when I've prefaced my comment with something along the lines of 'maybe you don't have all the facts' or 'maybe there's more to the story', the conflagration from the flame war is hot enough to roast weinies. I don't go on Facebook to read negative crap or to argue about negative crap, so I learned to just not even bother.
Not everyone gives me the same consideration, and it annoys the bejeebers out of me. If I post a funny picture, I don't want a comment about how that picture is offensive to Jesus. (Have you ever noticed that nobody ever thinks that Jesus ever laughed or told jokes?) I don't want a comment about how this or that particular internet meme just goes to show that the liberals own the media. When I read tripe like that, it makes me want to scream loudly while I hit the delete button.
But I don't. I ignore it. Most of the people I associate with on FB are pretty smart, well-read, and educated people. Educated people tend to get the funny. Well-read people tend to get the funny. Smart people tend to get the funny. Those same people are also going to understand that the person making the intolerant comment did not get the funny. It becomes a sort of in-joke among those of us who did get the funny. Maybe that makes me a snob in some way. Or an elitest.
But if I didn't laugh about it, I'd cry about the intolerance of people, and the hatred, and the general tendency to troll everything, even the funny stuff. That's not funny, and I wish it would stop. What can be solved by insulting people who disagree with you? Maybe if such comments were automatically met with a blank stare and the sound of crickets, eventually even the most ignorant sorts would get the message. Maybe. It's a tricky thing with ignorance. Sometimes the light bulb burns itself out with the intensity of the epiphany.
Still, we should make an effort.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
RemembeRED: A Little Wine
Prompt: You are to write a 400 word memoir piece in which one of the following features prominently:
Wine, coffee, or chocolate. Or, as I like to call it, The Holy Trinity.
Memoir involves crafting a true story. So, please conjure a moment for us….include dialogue, body language, and/or conflict. Set the scene using vivid word choices, or perhaps a metaphor.
Focus on the feeling you’re attempting to convey.
I would sometimes travel to Dallas to visit my friend Laura. We would generally hang out at blues bars, go to the movies, and eat tons of good food. This time was different. We got into her car and drove in an easterly direction, into the midst of the Piney Woods, to Tyler. We were on a mission. We were going to a winery with two friends we had met online.
Tyler, Texas is not exactly what one would call Wine Country. As we pulled into the drive leading up to the winery, I could see a few small hills undulating away from the winery, but only one of those hills was covered with grapevines. We ended up sitting on the deck outside, to accommodate our smoker friend Melanie. There we sat, laughing about the last time we had met for drinks, sipping a cabernet laced with ginger and snacking on a variety of cheeses Melanie had brought with us. Melanie was a very animated talker, waving her cigarette in a small circle to illustrate her story and pointing to add emphasis like punctuation. Then Silvia would tell a story of her own, her own hands conducting an unseen orchestra. I have no idea what we talked about, specifically; that is the way it is sometimes. We laughed our way through one bottle pretty quickly, and then started giggling through another.
The weather was chillier than I had expected, and I did not bring a jacket. In the middle of a story requiring adagio, Silvia suddenly paused.
"I cannot think with your nipples going in two different directions!" she said, giggling "You're distracting me!"
Of course we all looked, and she was absolutely right. One nipple was pointing up, and one was pointing in a more southeasterly direction. As I adjusted the girls, it popped into my slightly inebriated state that my breasts had a a Mad Eye Moody thing going on. I thought it, and then I said it. I immediately wanted to take it back; because it was a weird thing to say. But it was also a Me thing to say.
Maybe too Me?
For a second we all looked at each other, measuring. Then Laura snorted, and the rest of us dissolved into laughter as Melanie refilled our glasses.
Maybe not.
Wine, coffee, or chocolate. Or, as I like to call it, The Holy Trinity.
Memoir involves crafting a true story. So, please conjure a moment for us….include dialogue, body language, and/or conflict. Set the scene using vivid word choices, or perhaps a metaphor.
Focus on the feeling you’re attempting to convey.
Image courtesy of stock.xchng
I would sometimes travel to Dallas to visit my friend Laura. We would generally hang out at blues bars, go to the movies, and eat tons of good food. This time was different. We got into her car and drove in an easterly direction, into the midst of the Piney Woods, to Tyler. We were on a mission. We were going to a winery with two friends we had met online.
Tyler, Texas is not exactly what one would call Wine Country. As we pulled into the drive leading up to the winery, I could see a few small hills undulating away from the winery, but only one of those hills was covered with grapevines. We ended up sitting on the deck outside, to accommodate our smoker friend Melanie. There we sat, laughing about the last time we had met for drinks, sipping a cabernet laced with ginger and snacking on a variety of cheeses Melanie had brought with us. Melanie was a very animated talker, waving her cigarette in a small circle to illustrate her story and pointing to add emphasis like punctuation. Then Silvia would tell a story of her own, her own hands conducting an unseen orchestra. I have no idea what we talked about, specifically; that is the way it is sometimes. We laughed our way through one bottle pretty quickly, and then started giggling through another.
The weather was chillier than I had expected, and I did not bring a jacket. In the middle of a story requiring adagio, Silvia suddenly paused.
"I cannot think with your nipples going in two different directions!" she said, giggling "You're distracting me!"
Of course we all looked, and she was absolutely right. One nipple was pointing up, and one was pointing in a more southeasterly direction. As I adjusted the girls, it popped into my slightly inebriated state that my breasts had a a Mad Eye Moody thing going on. I thought it, and then I said it. I immediately wanted to take it back; because it was a weird thing to say. But it was also a Me thing to say.
Maybe too Me?
For a second we all looked at each other, measuring. Then Laura snorted, and the rest of us dissolved into laughter as Melanie refilled our glasses.
Maybe not.
Monday, February 27, 2012
The A-List: Five Favorite Movies
When I was a kid, we lived on an Army base in Germany. Less than a quarter mile walk from our building was the base theater. It cost thirty-five cents for a ticket. They played kid's features on Monday nights, so my mother would give my brother and I each a dollar and we would head out with the other kids from the apartments. A dollar each got us a ticket to the movies, popcorn, and a drink. We all fought good-naturedly to sit in the front row, and we all stood respectfully when the National Anthem played. And then we were all transported somewhere else for two hours.
Out of my nostalgia for that time, and since the Oscars were on last night, I sat down to write about my favorite movies. Unfortunately, I can't remember every single movie I've ever seen, at least not enough to say that it is my favorite. I could be all superior-sounding and write about a bunch of obscure films, but since I tend to avoid obscure films on general principle(at up to ten bucks a ticket, I have to be extra picky). These are movies that firmly identify me as a bit of a dork, but since I'm not in high school, I don't care about that anymore. So feel free to point ant laugh at your leisure.
My Fair Lady I admit that I was forced to watch this movie the first time. My high school had a really nice auditorium that could also be used as a small theater. So for one grading period we read Pygmalion and then we all trooped into the theater to see My Fair Lady. The entire movie was a dance, I thought. I fell in love with Audrey Hepburn right there. Oh, I know that it wasn't actually her singing, but darned if that woman didn't look absolutely gorgeous. I love that movie so much that I actually have a Barbie dressed in Hepburn's dress from the Ascot Opening Day scene.
Tommy I actually saw this film in the base theater when it was first released. I was ten and, well...whoa. Talk about an education! Eric Clapton? Elton John? Arthur Brown? And for cryin' out loud...Tina Turner? Brilliant! Oh, yeah, and there were those guys who called themselves the Who. Roger Daltrey was dreamy, and he did a pretty fair job of playing a deaf, dumb, and blind kid. I didn't know what a rock opera was, but I had a great time learning. Oh, and the really cool thing? I actually spent a semester with Arthur Brown when I was in grad school. He was getting his master's in counseling. We had a class together.
Wrath of Khan My husband and I have had lengthy discussions of this movie over the years. He thinks that it was the best of all the Star Trek movies. He may be right. Even if this movie is your first introduction to the Star Trek universe, the characters will grab your attention. Ricardo Montalban was stunning in the role of Khan, and for once Shatner's tendency to overact did not detract from the plot. The story of a man seeking revenge is as old as the hills, and the parallels to Moby Dick are valid, but when Spock says "I am, and will always be, your friend." I bawled my fool head off and didn't care a bit who saw me. And no, me saying that will not ruin the movie for you.
Pride and Prejudice Greer Garson and Sir Lawrence Oliver. I have no idea where I got this movie or why I decided to watch it, but I loved it. The genteel language and the back-and-forth banter between the characters was fascinating, and would be completely foreign to most kids today. Conversations at that time did not include "lol", like, every five seconds. There's a chemistry between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy that nobody can deny, and it made me wonder if there was more than flirting going on between the two actors. I also liked the affection conveyed between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, even though Mrs. Bennet was sort of a shrew. Okay, no 'sort of' about it.
The Three Musketeers Not the one with Keifer Sutherland. That was horrid. No, the one with Michael York, Richard Chamberlain, and Oliver Reed. Not to mention Charlton Heston, Faye Dunaway and Raquel Welch. This 1973 version was true to the spirit of the novel, I felt. The characters were having a good time. The fight scenes were very different from what I was used to seeing. No movie ever seems to show the characters tiring out quickly, which is probably what actually happens in sword fights. This was swashbuckling at it's finest, and I loved it.
Okay, those are my current favorites. What are yours?
Out of my nostalgia for that time, and since the Oscars were on last night, I sat down to write about my favorite movies. Unfortunately, I can't remember every single movie I've ever seen, at least not enough to say that it is my favorite. I could be all superior-sounding and write about a bunch of obscure films, but since I tend to avoid obscure films on general principle(at up to ten bucks a ticket, I have to be extra picky). These are movies that firmly identify me as a bit of a dork, but since I'm not in high school, I don't care about that anymore. So feel free to point ant laugh at your leisure.
My Fair Lady I admit that I was forced to watch this movie the first time. My high school had a really nice auditorium that could also be used as a small theater. So for one grading period we read Pygmalion and then we all trooped into the theater to see My Fair Lady. The entire movie was a dance, I thought. I fell in love with Audrey Hepburn right there. Oh, I know that it wasn't actually her singing, but darned if that woman didn't look absolutely gorgeous. I love that movie so much that I actually have a Barbie dressed in Hepburn's dress from the Ascot Opening Day scene.
Tommy I actually saw this film in the base theater when it was first released. I was ten and, well...whoa. Talk about an education! Eric Clapton? Elton John? Arthur Brown? And for cryin' out loud...Tina Turner? Brilliant! Oh, yeah, and there were those guys who called themselves the Who. Roger Daltrey was dreamy, and he did a pretty fair job of playing a deaf, dumb, and blind kid. I didn't know what a rock opera was, but I had a great time learning. Oh, and the really cool thing? I actually spent a semester with Arthur Brown when I was in grad school. He was getting his master's in counseling. We had a class together.
Wrath of Khan My husband and I have had lengthy discussions of this movie over the years. He thinks that it was the best of all the Star Trek movies. He may be right. Even if this movie is your first introduction to the Star Trek universe, the characters will grab your attention. Ricardo Montalban was stunning in the role of Khan, and for once Shatner's tendency to overact did not detract from the plot. The story of a man seeking revenge is as old as the hills, and the parallels to Moby Dick are valid, but when Spock says "I am, and will always be, your friend." I bawled my fool head off and didn't care a bit who saw me. And no, me saying that will not ruin the movie for you.
Pride and Prejudice Greer Garson and Sir Lawrence Oliver. I have no idea where I got this movie or why I decided to watch it, but I loved it. The genteel language and the back-and-forth banter between the characters was fascinating, and would be completely foreign to most kids today. Conversations at that time did not include "lol", like, every five seconds. There's a chemistry between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy that nobody can deny, and it made me wonder if there was more than flirting going on between the two actors. I also liked the affection conveyed between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, even though Mrs. Bennet was sort of a shrew. Okay, no 'sort of' about it.
The Three Musketeers Not the one with Keifer Sutherland. That was horrid. No, the one with Michael York, Richard Chamberlain, and Oliver Reed. Not to mention Charlton Heston, Faye Dunaway and Raquel Welch. This 1973 version was true to the spirit of the novel, I felt. The characters were having a good time. The fight scenes were very different from what I was used to seeing. No movie ever seems to show the characters tiring out quickly, which is probably what actually happens in sword fights. This was swashbuckling at it's finest, and I loved it.
Okay, those are my current favorites. What are yours?
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Zane's Sister
We have never said anything to our son about the sister he would have
had if I hadn't miscarried. It would be difficult to explain pre
eclampsia. It would be difficult talking about death. Etc. Maybe some day when he's older, we will sit him down and tell him about her. Maybe not. I don't know. I'm making this parenting stuff up as I go.
There was a unit on Family at his school; Zane had to bring in a picture of himself with his family. We expected him to learn about sisters and brothers. But imagine our surprise to hear Z talking to 'My sister'. Huh? Zane has long, convoluted conversations with his sister while playing. He tells us that 'his sister' told him variously random things. He even blames things that happen when he is into mischief on his sister. And Darth Maul. But that's another blog post.
I'll admit that I
was a little creeped out at the idea of Zane's sister Zoe sticking around. I've read way too many of those scary books at night before bed, and I'm a Catholic. The Exorcist and Poltergeist pretty much sealed in all those sorts of fears. Could the spirit of a never-born sibling still be hovering about our house? I would hope that if she were about, that she would be protective of her little brother, but why wasn't she in a better place? If she were actually hovering, were her motives malicious? Was I going to get pushed down the stairs one day?
It's like a bad horror movie that goes straight to dvd, and it was completely ridiculous, I know that. But still, I worried. Because that is what I do. Finally, I had worried enough.
"Zane, what is your sister's name?" I hunched up my shoulders a little, just in case.
"Loretta the First."
That response was so totally left field that a relieved laugh escaped before I could stop it. Once I didn't have to worry about disembodied spirits pushing me down the stairs, I was over it. Yet Zane is like every kid out there; what gets a laugh will be repeated. So he keeps talking about his sister. He's changed her name several times, however. The last time I asked, her name was Fred.
I can deal with Fred.
There was a unit on Family at his school; Zane had to bring in a picture of himself with his family. We expected him to learn about sisters and brothers. But imagine our surprise to hear Z talking to 'My sister'. Huh? Zane has long, convoluted conversations with his sister while playing. He tells us that 'his sister' told him variously random things. He even blames things that happen when he is into mischief on his sister. And Darth Maul. But that's another blog post.
"Loretta the First."
That response was so totally left field that a relieved laugh escaped before I could stop it. Once I didn't have to worry about disembodied spirits pushing me down the stairs, I was over it. Yet Zane is like every kid out there; what gets a laugh will be repeated. So he keeps talking about his sister. He's changed her name several times, however. The last time I asked, her name was Fred.
I can deal with Fred.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Get Down, Funk
I've been in a bit of a funk lately. Not a funk as in stinky. A funk as in a general feeling of malaise. It's not Winston Churchill's version, which he called his Black Dog. It's more like a Gray Duck, just floating along beside me. I am not normally the sort of person who is always chipper, always smiling. I tend to be neutral most of the time. I'm not Tigger, but I'm not Eeyore, either. I just feel sort of 'meh' about everything right now.
Maybe it is just the time of the year, the lack of warmth and sunlight that is part of winter. I seem to have the most funks during the winter months. It could also be one of those hormonal roller coasters that women often find themselves riding.
Or it could just be that I'm under stress.
I feel stressed by a number of recent happenings, including having to put one of my cats to sleep(I'll talk about that in another post, when I can type without bawling my head off). It's like dropping marbles into a cup with water in it; sooner or later the water is displaced by the marbles and overflows the cup. Each tiny stressor by itself may be easy to deal with, but when they all pile on, it's an overwhelming, downhill slide. Stressors don't tend to show up as loners, either. They often show up in ravening packs, to chew you up in small bites. Death by a thousand bites.
I've been told that stress is a choice, and that if I can't deal with it now, it's sure not going to get better. After I calmed down, I thought about it. Is stress really a choice? Do I have a choice to say that I'd rather not have a root canal? Yes, but then I have to deal with the completely mind numbing pain, the costs of oral surgery, and several other consequences. Technically, those are choices, true. However, I'm really only trading one stressor for another. How is that a good thing?
I've also been told that I can choose my attitude, and that is true. I can choose to be positive. If I had the most positive attitude on the planet, would I feel less stressed? Take that root canal--would it be any less painful if I were cheerful about it? Somehow, I don't think so. Unless the dentist has some really good drugs that I don't know about.
I know how to deal with funks. I try to get a little more sleep, or I so some yoga, or I may take my son out and go someplace fun. I just have to ride it out. There's really only one cure for funks, and that is time. And maybe a little sunshine.
Maybe it is just the time of the year, the lack of warmth and sunlight that is part of winter. I seem to have the most funks during the winter months. It could also be one of those hormonal roller coasters that women often find themselves riding.
Or it could just be that I'm under stress.
I feel stressed by a number of recent happenings, including having to put one of my cats to sleep(I'll talk about that in another post, when I can type without bawling my head off). It's like dropping marbles into a cup with water in it; sooner or later the water is displaced by the marbles and overflows the cup. Each tiny stressor by itself may be easy to deal with, but when they all pile on, it's an overwhelming, downhill slide. Stressors don't tend to show up as loners, either. They often show up in ravening packs, to chew you up in small bites. Death by a thousand bites.
I've been told that stress is a choice, and that if I can't deal with it now, it's sure not going to get better. After I calmed down, I thought about it. Is stress really a choice? Do I have a choice to say that I'd rather not have a root canal? Yes, but then I have to deal with the completely mind numbing pain, the costs of oral surgery, and several other consequences. Technically, those are choices, true. However, I'm really only trading one stressor for another. How is that a good thing?
I've also been told that I can choose my attitude, and that is true. I can choose to be positive. If I had the most positive attitude on the planet, would I feel less stressed? Take that root canal--would it be any less painful if I were cheerful about it? Somehow, I don't think so. Unless the dentist has some really good drugs that I don't know about.
I know how to deal with funks. I try to get a little more sleep, or I so some yoga, or I may take my son out and go someplace fun. I just have to ride it out. There's really only one cure for funks, and that is time. And maybe a little sunshine.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Write on Edge: Violence
Prompt: As writers, we fall in love with our characters and shield them from
negative events. But effective plot development demands conflict. This week we’d like you to stir up some conflict, using the following quote as inspiration.
"You owe me a new stereo, Andy."
I stood in the middle of my living room, panting from my exertion and my outrage, my hands curled into fists. I wanted to punch something. Somebody. I realized that Andy was talking to me; I hadn't been listening.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Zenna?" Andy's voice was raised, his face red.
"Excuse me?" I managed to keep my voice level.
"You've been standing there with your mouth hanging open, not listening to a thing I've said! How could you be so rude?"
"You're going to have to do better than this." Andy continued. "I have clients to impress."
I faced him. My anger had been smelted into a white hot element composed of all the hurtful comments, the snide insults, all the little snips and cuts that had happened throughout our entire relationship.
"Maybe if you weren't so hideously boring," I heard myself say, "you wouldn't need me to impress your clients."
The right side of my face seemed to burst into flame and then I was falling. I put my hands out, and the sound of my collarbone breaking was a shot in the sudden quiet. The pain careened through my nervous system to collide with my brain. Panting, I pushed myself into a sitting position.
"Oh my God, Zenna! Oh my God!" I glared at him with the eye that wasn't swelling shut. His face was white, his eyes huge and round.
"You can't tell anybody about this, Zenna! I'll be arrested--I'll lose my job!" His voice had that wheedling quality that I loathed.
"Get out." I had to clench my teeth to speak, which made the side of my face throb even more. "Get out of my house. Right. Now."
It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence.This is continuation of this storyline. I kind of felt that they went together.
Mahatma Gandhi (1869 – 1948)
"You owe me a new stereo, Andy."
I stood in the middle of my living room, panting from my exertion and my outrage, my hands curled into fists. I wanted to punch something. Somebody. I realized that Andy was talking to me; I hadn't been listening.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Zenna?" Andy's voice was raised, his face red.
"Excuse me?" I managed to keep my voice level.
"You've been standing there with your mouth hanging open, not listening to a thing I've said! How could you be so rude?"
"You're going to have to do better than this." Andy continued. "I have clients to impress."
I faced him. My anger had been smelted into a white hot element composed of all the hurtful comments, the snide insults, all the little snips and cuts that had happened throughout our entire relationship.
"Maybe if you weren't so hideously boring," I heard myself say, "you wouldn't need me to impress your clients."
The right side of my face seemed to burst into flame and then I was falling. I put my hands out, and the sound of my collarbone breaking was a shot in the sudden quiet. The pain careened through my nervous system to collide with my brain. Panting, I pushed myself into a sitting position.
"Oh my God, Zenna! Oh my God!" I glared at him with the eye that wasn't swelling shut. His face was white, his eyes huge and round.
"You can't tell anybody about this, Zenna! I'll be arrested--I'll lose my job!" His voice had that wheedling quality that I loathed.
"Get out." I had to clench my teeth to speak, which made the side of my face throb even more. "Get out of my house. Right. Now."
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Mamakat: Vices
Mamakat's Prompt: What is the one vice you can't give up?
I used to have a lot of vices. Chocolate. Drinking. Pens. Dancing. Fried food. Loud music. Mosh pits. One by one, either by choice, or by the recommendation of my physician, I've put aside most of these overindulgences. I may have the occasional chocolate binge, but I can mostly walk by the candy aisle without a glance. Moderation is my mantra these days, and if I can't be moderate, then I have just gone cold turkey.
Except for buying books.
I am a book junkie. I simply love the feel of books in my hands. The feel of the hard edges, the binding. Sliding my finger across the text. The smell of the paper. The ruffling sounds of the pages as I turn them. It really doesn't matter what the book is about. I just have to have it. I have travel books. Foreign language books. Graphic novels. Cookbooks. Textbooks. I have purchased Fix-it and Do-It-Yourself manuals-as if! I have enough books for a small town library. Just in case. Screw looking stuff up on the internet--I want to hold the secret to building the perfect insect collection in my own hot little hands.
All those books cost money, of course. Finances were thin for awhile in our house, so I tried to just go to the library. I thought perhaps it was having things to read that was the fix for me. Nope. Then I tried going to the half price store, until I realized that I was buying twice as many books because they were cheaper. Eeek!
I finally had to face it: I cannot go into a store without buying at least one book. I tried to stop. I tried to just not go to bookstores at all. Borders probably went out of business because I banned myself. It was tough love. And it was pure futility. Do you know how many stores have books? Home Depot has books. Best Buy has books. Pet Smart has books. The grocery store has books, too! They're like magnets, pulling me inexorably toward them, even if I've never been in that store before.
In the grand scheme of things, however, are books such a horrible vice to have? I've thought about it for quite some time. I can't see myself in a 12-step program for bibliophiles. If one even exists. I can't see my doctor telling me to stop reading books because they are bad for my health. He actually even recommended that I buy a book when I was there for my last visit. He even wrote it down on a prescription pad. I wonder if my insurance covers Sugar Busters.
My addiction to books is just something that I have to learn to accept about myself, instead of feeling guilty. Moderation is the key. I need to set a goal for myself, just like a diet, and work on getting there as best as I can. Slow steps, perhaps some visualization exercises, some yoga, or meditation might help.
Wait--aren't there books on that?
I used to have a lot of vices. Chocolate. Drinking. Pens. Dancing. Fried food. Loud music. Mosh pits. One by one, either by choice, or by the recommendation of my physician, I've put aside most of these overindulgences. I may have the occasional chocolate binge, but I can mostly walk by the candy aisle without a glance. Moderation is my mantra these days, and if I can't be moderate, then I have just gone cold turkey.
Except for buying books.
I am a book junkie. I simply love the feel of books in my hands. The feel of the hard edges, the binding. Sliding my finger across the text. The smell of the paper. The ruffling sounds of the pages as I turn them. It really doesn't matter what the book is about. I just have to have it. I have travel books. Foreign language books. Graphic novels. Cookbooks. Textbooks. I have purchased Fix-it and Do-It-Yourself manuals-as if! I have enough books for a small town library. Just in case. Screw looking stuff up on the internet--I want to hold the secret to building the perfect insect collection in my own hot little hands.
All those books cost money, of course. Finances were thin for awhile in our house, so I tried to just go to the library. I thought perhaps it was having things to read that was the fix for me. Nope. Then I tried going to the half price store, until I realized that I was buying twice as many books because they were cheaper. Eeek!
I finally had to face it: I cannot go into a store without buying at least one book. I tried to stop. I tried to just not go to bookstores at all. Borders probably went out of business because I banned myself. It was tough love. And it was pure futility. Do you know how many stores have books? Home Depot has books. Best Buy has books. Pet Smart has books. The grocery store has books, too! They're like magnets, pulling me inexorably toward them, even if I've never been in that store before.
In the grand scheme of things, however, are books such a horrible vice to have? I've thought about it for quite some time. I can't see myself in a 12-step program for bibliophiles. If one even exists. I can't see my doctor telling me to stop reading books because they are bad for my health. He actually even recommended that I buy a book when I was there for my last visit. He even wrote it down on a prescription pad. I wonder if my insurance covers Sugar Busters.
My addiction to books is just something that I have to learn to accept about myself, instead of feeling guilty. Moderation is the key. I need to set a goal for myself, just like a diet, and work on getting there as best as I can. Slow steps, perhaps some visualization exercises, some yoga, or meditation might help.
Wait--aren't there books on that?
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Signs of Spring
I have two mountain laurels in my front yard. One of them is blooming, and I have been loving it. There is nothing like the smell of a mountain laurel tree in bloom. It's sort of a grape kool-aid smell, but underneath that are notes of something else. I have yet to identify what it is, even after all these years, but I am in no hurry. I may figure it out, I may not. Still, I feel that it is necessary to stop and smell the mountain laurel while you can.
It means that spring is about to show up here in these parts. The arrival of the barn swallows outside our front door will clinch it.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
RemembeRED: Mentors
Prompt: Do you have a mentor, or are you a mentor for someone else? Now write about an experience with your mentor (or the person to whom
you are a mentor) that shows us what that relationship means to you.
Abnormal psychology is one of the required classes for a psychology major, but I would have taken the class even if it wasn't my major. The professor sort of reminded me of a larger version of Teddy Roosevelt, with the mustache and the little round glasses. His name was Ed. He not only talked about the disorders of the mind, he talked about actual people with those disorders, such as the artist Louis Wain. Somehow, that made the symptoms we learned seem more real than they would have been with just a text book and a lecture. I thought that Ed was a great professor, then I moved on to the next class.
After I graduated and taught high school for a year, I realized that I didn't want to be a teacher. I impulsively quit my job. Then I freaked out a little, because I had never done anything quite that impulsive before. I didn't have a clue what I was going to do from that point on. I flailed about, looking for a job, but really I was looking for a direction. Then I ran into Ed. I don't remember where. But he remembered me, and since he was the kind of person that people told all their problems to, I found myself unloading about my lack of a career goal and my seemingly directionless life. It was as if I opened my mouth and an avalanche of words that I had never spoken came pouring out. I may have even cried. Ed listened to it all, although he must have had other things to do.
Ed suggested that I look into a post graduate degree in school psychology, and explained a little about the field when I looked puzzled. I could work with kids who had disabilities, Ed told me. He said that it would be the perfect career for me. I was intrigued by the idea, but I needed to think about it. Ed gave me his card and told me to call if I was interested.
I called. I had to jump through all of the hoops to get into the graduate program, but Ed was always there, pointing me in the right direction. He guided me through my first administration of an IQ test and made sure that my reports were not too long-winded. He even helped me get my job. I could always talk to him during those years, and he always listened.
I miss that.
Abnormal psychology is one of the required classes for a psychology major, but I would have taken the class even if it wasn't my major. The professor sort of reminded me of a larger version of Teddy Roosevelt, with the mustache and the little round glasses. His name was Ed. He not only talked about the disorders of the mind, he talked about actual people with those disorders, such as the artist Louis Wain. Somehow, that made the symptoms we learned seem more real than they would have been with just a text book and a lecture. I thought that Ed was a great professor, then I moved on to the next class.
After I graduated and taught high school for a year, I realized that I didn't want to be a teacher. I impulsively quit my job. Then I freaked out a little, because I had never done anything quite that impulsive before. I didn't have a clue what I was going to do from that point on. I flailed about, looking for a job, but really I was looking for a direction. Then I ran into Ed. I don't remember where. But he remembered me, and since he was the kind of person that people told all their problems to, I found myself unloading about my lack of a career goal and my seemingly directionless life. It was as if I opened my mouth and an avalanche of words that I had never spoken came pouring out. I may have even cried. Ed listened to it all, although he must have had other things to do.
Ed suggested that I look into a post graduate degree in school psychology, and explained a little about the field when I looked puzzled. I could work with kids who had disabilities, Ed told me. He said that it would be the perfect career for me. I was intrigued by the idea, but I needed to think about it. Ed gave me his card and told me to call if I was interested.
I called. I had to jump through all of the hoops to get into the graduate program, but Ed was always there, pointing me in the right direction. He guided me through my first administration of an IQ test and made sure that my reports were not too long-winded. He even helped me get my job. I could always talk to him during those years, and he always listened.
I miss that.
Monday, February 20, 2012
The A-List: Five Things Every Dream House Should Have
Most everyone I know has a picture in their heads. Their dream house. It's the perfect size. It's the perfect color. It's just plain perfect. Most of all, it is extremely cheap. Free is pretty cheap, right? We can have it all in the corridors of our imagination, and it doesn't cost us a dime. And daydreaming is healthy for brain function, I read somewhere.
I have a dream house in my head, just like everyone else. It is usually painted a cool white on the outside; something that I would never do in real life in this Texas sun. It sits high up on a hill, overlooking fields of green grass. Never mind that I would die of boredom out in the middle of nowhere--it's a dream house!
Over the years, I've decided that there are things that all dream houses should have. Non-negotiables. Things that I don't currently have. The lack of these particular things is irritating enough that I notice their absence. If I were Empress of the Universe, I would decree that all houses had to have these things. Since that will never happen, I am just going to share today and leave it at that.
1. Walk-in shower with a bench We have a nice walk-in shower. It has good hot water with enough pressure to do what a shower was made to do. I love it most of the time. I do not love it when I am trying to shave my legs. I have to essentially hold my leg at a certain angle that defies my general gravitational field in order to do what I need to do. If I had a built-in bench of some sort in the shower, I could just put my foot on that bench, and shaving my legs would not involve complex yoga poses.
2. A porch Every house should have a porch. It's a place to play on rainy days. It's a place for telling ghost stories. It's a place to sit with your sweetie and hold hands. It's a place to watch the world pass by on summer evenings. A wrap around porch, or a porch that extends to the side of a house, allows for some privacy when a person wants to curl up with a book or take a nap.
3. Built-in bookcases/shelves I don't know why builders don't do this. As far as I know, setting shelves into the walls does not significantly add to the cost of the house, and it increases storage space. While I have enough books for a small town library, other people might choose to use their shelves for other things. A collection of Lego mini-figures, maybe.
4. Large picture window with a window seat I envy people who have these. The best window seats are those that are sort of recessed, with a curtain to hide behind. They are perfect, when cushioned, for curling with a book or other quiet activity. Or just for daydreaming. We adults don't do enough daydreaming, I think. We've fallen out of practice. Maybe if we had this spot in our houses, we would be reminded.
5. Garden room/Play room/Rumpus Room I want to have a patio that is enclosed in some way with glass. That way the sunlight can come in, but not the bugs. I would fill up this room with plants that I cannot kill, and I would probably have exercise equipment in there. I am not sure, but I have lots of fun thinking about it. While I would like a garden room, other people might want to create a space for their own amusement. Way back, such a place was called a Rumpus room. I am not exactly sure what 'rumpus' is, but maybe the equivalent would be what is called a "Man Cave" these days?
If in the dream world, houses represent our personalities, perhaps the dream houses we build in our head represent what we would like our personality to be. Although I am not really sure what having a Rumpus Room says about an individual's personality.
Anything anyone wants to add to the list?
I have a dream house in my head, just like everyone else. It is usually painted a cool white on the outside; something that I would never do in real life in this Texas sun. It sits high up on a hill, overlooking fields of green grass. Never mind that I would die of boredom out in the middle of nowhere--it's a dream house!
Over the years, I've decided that there are things that all dream houses should have. Non-negotiables. Things that I don't currently have. The lack of these particular things is irritating enough that I notice their absence. If I were Empress of the Universe, I would decree that all houses had to have these things. Since that will never happen, I am just going to share today and leave it at that.
1. Walk-in shower with a bench We have a nice walk-in shower. It has good hot water with enough pressure to do what a shower was made to do. I love it most of the time. I do not love it when I am trying to shave my legs. I have to essentially hold my leg at a certain angle that defies my general gravitational field in order to do what I need to do. If I had a built-in bench of some sort in the shower, I could just put my foot on that bench, and shaving my legs would not involve complex yoga poses.
2. A porch Every house should have a porch. It's a place to play on rainy days. It's a place for telling ghost stories. It's a place to sit with your sweetie and hold hands. It's a place to watch the world pass by on summer evenings. A wrap around porch, or a porch that extends to the side of a house, allows for some privacy when a person wants to curl up with a book or take a nap.
3. Built-in bookcases/shelves I don't know why builders don't do this. As far as I know, setting shelves into the walls does not significantly add to the cost of the house, and it increases storage space. While I have enough books for a small town library, other people might choose to use their shelves for other things. A collection of Lego mini-figures, maybe.
4. Large picture window with a window seat I envy people who have these. The best window seats are those that are sort of recessed, with a curtain to hide behind. They are perfect, when cushioned, for curling with a book or other quiet activity. Or just for daydreaming. We adults don't do enough daydreaming, I think. We've fallen out of practice. Maybe if we had this spot in our houses, we would be reminded.
5. Garden room/Play room/Rumpus Room I want to have a patio that is enclosed in some way with glass. That way the sunlight can come in, but not the bugs. I would fill up this room with plants that I cannot kill, and I would probably have exercise equipment in there. I am not sure, but I have lots of fun thinking about it. While I would like a garden room, other people might want to create a space for their own amusement. Way back, such a place was called a Rumpus room. I am not exactly sure what 'rumpus' is, but maybe the equivalent would be what is called a "Man Cave" these days?
If in the dream world, houses represent our personalities, perhaps the dream houses we build in our head represent what we would like our personality to be. Although I am not really sure what having a Rumpus Room says about an individual's personality.
Anything anyone wants to add to the list?
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Train Obsessions
Zane loves trains. Big or small, fast or slow, the boy loves them. Down the road from us is a spot where Union Pacific has tons of tracks; the different trains passing through stop there for various reasons. Whenever I can, I drive by there so he can see them. It makes him happy. The fact that there's a Dairy Queen there does NOT factor into my doing this for my son. Not at all.
We also try to hit the train shows as often as we can. We usually make it to this room, where the Garden Railroad dudes hang out. I had no idea that you can actually put a train in your garden, but that is what these particular trains are supposed to be used for. Zane likes to sit and watch these trains.
His father likes to go into the main room, where the Lego trains are set up, and the AFOLs congregate. AFOL stands for Adult Fans of Legos. (It is a guy thing, or a geek thing, to throw down some initials to demonstrate the significance of something. Either that or to shorten the name, as in ComiCon. I have no idea why.) Zane likes the Lego trains, particularly now that he has one of his own set up in half of my living room. Larry likes to talk to the other AFOLs about how they set their Legos up, what sort of modifications they have implemented, etc. After about five minutes of this, when my eyes have glazed over, I take Zane around to see all the other trains. The garden trains are the biggest model trains; there are many smaller models, all laid out within little miniature cities with tiny people waving at you. It's all very interesting, although in my mind I am calculating just how much of these train parts I would vacuum up accidentally and how quickly.
But the garden trains are Zane's first love. They are the perfect size for a boy to play with. They are not, however, the perfect size for setting up in my living room. I've mentioned that Larry could set the trains up in the garage after it was cleaned out. He's not buying it so far.
We also try to hit the train shows as often as we can. We usually make it to this room, where the Garden Railroad dudes hang out. I had no idea that you can actually put a train in your garden, but that is what these particular trains are supposed to be used for. Zane likes to sit and watch these trains.
His father likes to go into the main room, where the Lego trains are set up, and the AFOLs congregate. AFOL stands for Adult Fans of Legos. (It is a guy thing, or a geek thing, to throw down some initials to demonstrate the significance of something. Either that or to shorten the name, as in ComiCon. I have no idea why.) Zane likes the Lego trains, particularly now that he has one of his own set up in half of my living room. Larry likes to talk to the other AFOLs about how they set their Legos up, what sort of modifications they have implemented, etc. After about five minutes of this, when my eyes have glazed over, I take Zane around to see all the other trains. The garden trains are the biggest model trains; there are many smaller models, all laid out within little miniature cities with tiny people waving at you. It's all very interesting, although in my mind I am calculating just how much of these train parts I would vacuum up accidentally and how quickly.
But the garden trains are Zane's first love. They are the perfect size for a boy to play with. They are not, however, the perfect size for setting up in my living room. I've mentioned that Larry could set the trains up in the garage after it was cleaned out. He's not buying it so far.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Zombie Love
In this house, we love us some zombies. Shaun of the Dead was a big hit, as was Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. In theory, I am opposed to the idea of reanimated corpses wandering about. The idea of a mindless eating machine stumbling around indiscriminately chowing down on the citizenry is not pleasant to contemplate, really. Certainly it's not appetizing. However, I can certainly participate in the 'fun' that is the current zombie trend.
Zombies seem to show up more in times of economic or other sorts of unrest, I've decided. Times are very uncertain now, so we have had a surge of zombies stumbling through our culture. There is a sort of logic to that--when times are tough, we all feel like we are out of control. Like someone ate our brains right out of our head. Also, being a parent makes me feel like that. So perhaps if there's a zombie apocalypse, I won't notice.
Way back before The Walking Dead(an awesome show), we were playing a harmless game called Plants vs. Zombies on the PC. It's your classic castle defense game. I know that because my husband said so. You have plants defending your house from omnivorous zombies. The zombies try to eat your plants to get into your house. If they eat all your plants, they get to eat your brains.
The original version had a Michael Jackson zombie in a little Thriller costume. That is how old the game is. That little MJ zombie was adorable, and I was sad that they removed it. The zombie who replaced MJ is a disco zombie in a white suit and platform shoes. Cute, but no thriller. There's a Yeti zombie, but I've only seen that one one time. He's shy. I've played through the game a couple of times, mostly while waiting in lines in various places.
Zombies seem to show up more in times of economic or other sorts of unrest, I've decided. Times are very uncertain now, so we have had a surge of zombies stumbling through our culture. There is a sort of logic to that--when times are tough, we all feel like we are out of control. Like someone ate our brains right out of our head. Also, being a parent makes me feel like that. So perhaps if there's a zombie apocalypse, I won't notice.
Way back before The Walking Dead(an awesome show), we were playing a harmless game called Plants vs. Zombies on the PC. It's your classic castle defense game. I know that because my husband said so. You have plants defending your house from omnivorous zombies. The zombies try to eat your plants to get into your house. If they eat all your plants, they get to eat your brains.
The original version had a Michael Jackson zombie in a little Thriller costume. That is how old the game is. That little MJ zombie was adorable, and I was sad that they removed it. The zombie who replaced MJ is a disco zombie in a white suit and platform shoes. Cute, but no thriller. There's a Yeti zombie, but I've only seen that one one time. He's shy. I've played through the game a couple of times, mostly while waiting in lines in various places.
Zane likes to do anything that we are doing, so he of course wanted to play Plants vs. Zombies. So we let him try on our phone, just to see what he would do. He was able to pick up an iPad and meander his way around the touch screen without anything bursting into flame, so why not? Zane's first attempts were to try and pick up all the 'suns' that pop up for energy. He didn't really care about the zombies at all. Then he discovered Walnut Bowling. You roll the walnuts so they knock over the zombies. He particularly loves the walnuts that explode, and he will "boom" the zombies up. There is really nothing better than Walnut Bowling to keep a kid occupied in the doctor's office. Or at restaurants. Or in church. Just kidding about the church.
This game play is all part of my Master Plan. (okay, I don't actually have a Master Plan, but it sounds really awesome to say that I do) Plants vs. Zombies is going to train Zane to associate bad landscaping with zombies! Lots of good plants equals no zombies, son! In about two years, I'll have that boy out in the yard weeding and planting. In seven years, he'll be out there with the lawn mower, just in case the tiny zombies try to move in through the tall grass.
This game play is all part of my Master Plan. (okay, I don't actually have a Master Plan, but it sounds really awesome to say that I do) Plants vs. Zombies is going to train Zane to associate bad landscaping with zombies! Lots of good plants equals no zombies, son! In about two years, I'll have that boy out in the yard weeding and planting. In seven years, he'll be out there with the lawn mower, just in case the tiny zombies try to move in through the tall grass.
Friday, February 17, 2012
WOE: Between Two Slices
Prompt: Plump tomatoes, salty bacon, crisp lettuce, soft bread, this week we
want you to be inspired by the BLT. Write a piece of either fiction or
creative non-fiction based on this photo. This is fiction; my gallbladder and I have never been separated, throughout an extended love-hate relationship.
It had been eight weeks since my gallbladder surgery. Eight weeks of bland oatmeal, of tasteless broth, of saltine crackers. And then this morning, the doctor had finally decided that I was ready to return to my regular diet. I practically kissed him on the mouth, I was so overcome!
I immediately ran to my favorite deli and to order what I had been craving for two torturous months. They were closed until 10 am. In my eagerness, I sat right down on the ground in front of the door to wait.
The sound of the back seam of my pencil skirt separating was an explosion in the silence of the town square. I quickly scanned the area around me for passerby, my face scarlet, and found the three members of the Historical Society staring in my direction. I raised my hand and feigned a cheerful wave at them. When they were gone, I waited, visualizing the bright red of the ripe tomatoes, the crispness of the green lettuce. My clothing issues were forgotten. The smell of bacon wafted in and out of my daydream. I drooled a bit at the thought.
The deli was finally open!!! Yay! Now I can get my hands around that gorgeously mouthwatering sandwich.
Except...I could not get up. My legs had fallen asleep in their folded position. I reached out and grabbed the handle of the deli door and tried to pull myself into a standing position. I succeeded in sliding myself close enough to be a doorstop. I screamed. I let go of the handle and sagged against the door.
I could not get into my favorite deli! My very own BLT sandwich was in there! I pressed my face against the coolness of the glass and closed my eyes. Tears fell off my face and slid down the glass.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" "Ma'am?" Two gentle male voices bring me out of my reverie. I turn and look up into their smiling faces.
"Aren't you the mayor?"
It had been eight weeks since my gallbladder surgery. Eight weeks of bland oatmeal, of tasteless broth, of saltine crackers. And then this morning, the doctor had finally decided that I was ready to return to my regular diet. I practically kissed him on the mouth, I was so overcome!
I immediately ran to my favorite deli and to order what I had been craving for two torturous months. They were closed until 10 am. In my eagerness, I sat right down on the ground in front of the door to wait.
The sound of the back seam of my pencil skirt separating was an explosion in the silence of the town square. I quickly scanned the area around me for passerby, my face scarlet, and found the three members of the Historical Society staring in my direction. I raised my hand and feigned a cheerful wave at them. When they were gone, I waited, visualizing the bright red of the ripe tomatoes, the crispness of the green lettuce. My clothing issues were forgotten. The smell of bacon wafted in and out of my daydream. I drooled a bit at the thought.
The deli was finally open!!! Yay! Now I can get my hands around that gorgeously mouthwatering sandwich.
Except...I could not get up. My legs had fallen asleep in their folded position. I reached out and grabbed the handle of the deli door and tried to pull myself into a standing position. I succeeded in sliding myself close enough to be a doorstop. I screamed. I let go of the handle and sagged against the door.
I could not get into my favorite deli! My very own BLT sandwich was in there! I pressed my face against the coolness of the glass and closed my eyes. Tears fell off my face and slid down the glass.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" "Ma'am?" Two gentle male voices bring me out of my reverie. I turn and look up into their smiling faces.
"Aren't you the mayor?"
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Reverse Bucket List
Mamakat's Prompt: Create a reverse bucket list that names the top ten things you never want to do.
I don't know that I actually have a bucket list. I have probably the shortest attention span in the universe(okay, probably not), so I may want to backpack Europe one day, and the next day...not so much. I used to follow the "Grandma" rule, which stipulates that if my grandmother does anything exciting, I have to try it as well. That's how I ended up getting my ears pierced. Luckily, that was the extent of my Grandmother's wild oat sowing.
Where was I? Essentially, I want to do everything, so why write it down? A reverse bucket list, however, is just the thing I need. I may not know the things I want to do, but I certainly know the things that I NEVER want to do.
1. Jump out of an airplane. I know that there are people who think that it is the height of thrilling to leap from an airplane and drop down to the earth. I happen to think that these people are in serious need of medication. I have no need of such stimulation. In fact, I am pretty sure that if I were to attempt to jump out of an airplane, my body would surgically fuse with the the metal of the airplane to prevent such an occurrence. I am content to have my feet planted firmly on the floor of the airplane with my seat in the upright position.
2. Run a marathon. I see no good reason to run anywhere unless I am being chased. If you are running, everything goes by in a blur. You miss a lot, running, and you miss a lot more when you're curled up into the fetal position for a cramp or waiting for your asthma inhaler to work. I prefer to walk from place to place. I like to look around. I like to perambulate. Perambulate is such a relaxing word!
3. Be president. I could be the Queen. I have the wave down pat, and the current Queen and I are similarly shaped, so it's assured that the crown would fit. There is no way in hell that I would ever consider being the President of this country. That man is supposed to be the leader of our country, of course. He's supposed to be in charge of running things. Instead, he is constantly forced to listen to whining. 24/7, nothing but whining. If whining is not happening that minute, then there are demonstrators outside of where ever the POTUS is, screaming and whining about something else. Even if the people whining get what they want, they still whine about it. I loathe whining. I would go nuts! Don't even get me started on the whining done by Congress.
4. Perform open-heart surgery The surgeon must cut throuth the skin on the chest, then cut through the bone. Then the chest must be cracked, opened wide enough to offer the heart up for repairs. The idea of being up to my elbows in anyone's innards is the stuff of my nightmares. Ick.
5. Spend any time in a room full of cockroaches I know that God made all things on the earth for a purpose. Everything exists for a reason. Great. Stay the eff away from me with your icky colored wings and your slithering between things and your showing up in obscure places.
6. Camp out in Africa. I would love to see Africa. I would love to spend time exploring Africa. From the safety of a motel room. Truly, I do not need to sleep with the lion pride 20 feet off to my left in order to appreciate their magnificence. I'll take your word for it.
7. Live in a submarine When I had an MRI, I discovered that I was claustrophobic. Very claustrophobic. I even have trouble getting into elevators and sitting in backseats. And it has become worse. More that 20 minutes on a sub would result in many casualties as I clawed my way through the bulkhead.
8. Walk barefoot in Australia I know that people live in Australia. Everyone loves Australia. Yay! Australia! It is perfect in every way. Except for the snakes. And the spiders. All of them extremely...poisonous. Yay! Why would anyone want to wander about without shoes on? Shoes and really, really think leather pants.
9. Travel in space Space looks exciting, with all that vast nothingness happening. But I don't want to go. It is bad enough to be on a boat and look around and see nothingness. If the window on your cabin cracks, you'll be sucked out of the ship like a straw. And if you manage to make it to your destination, it may be time to call out the Calvary.
10. Be probed by an alien. There may be some poor schlub, sitting in his parent's basement, , thinking that an alien abduction would be a great way to meet chicks. Not this chick! If you're not going to take me out on the town, feed me, and get me drunk, no probing for you!
I don't know that I actually have a bucket list. I have probably the shortest attention span in the universe(okay, probably not), so I may want to backpack Europe one day, and the next day...not so much. I used to follow the "Grandma" rule, which stipulates that if my grandmother does anything exciting, I have to try it as well. That's how I ended up getting my ears pierced. Luckily, that was the extent of my Grandmother's wild oat sowing.
Where was I? Essentially, I want to do everything, so why write it down? A reverse bucket list, however, is just the thing I need. I may not know the things I want to do, but I certainly know the things that I NEVER want to do.
1. Jump out of an airplane. I know that there are people who think that it is the height of thrilling to leap from an airplane and drop down to the earth. I happen to think that these people are in serious need of medication. I have no need of such stimulation. In fact, I am pretty sure that if I were to attempt to jump out of an airplane, my body would surgically fuse with the the metal of the airplane to prevent such an occurrence. I am content to have my feet planted firmly on the floor of the airplane with my seat in the upright position.
2. Run a marathon. I see no good reason to run anywhere unless I am being chased. If you are running, everything goes by in a blur. You miss a lot, running, and you miss a lot more when you're curled up into the fetal position for a cramp or waiting for your asthma inhaler to work. I prefer to walk from place to place. I like to look around. I like to perambulate. Perambulate is such a relaxing word!
3. Be president. I could be the Queen. I have the wave down pat, and the current Queen and I are similarly shaped, so it's assured that the crown would fit. There is no way in hell that I would ever consider being the President of this country. That man is supposed to be the leader of our country, of course. He's supposed to be in charge of running things. Instead, he is constantly forced to listen to whining. 24/7, nothing but whining. If whining is not happening that minute, then there are demonstrators outside of where ever the POTUS is, screaming and whining about something else. Even if the people whining get what they want, they still whine about it. I loathe whining. I would go nuts! Don't even get me started on the whining done by Congress.
4. Perform open-heart surgery The surgeon must cut throuth the skin on the chest, then cut through the bone. Then the chest must be cracked, opened wide enough to offer the heart up for repairs. The idea of being up to my elbows in anyone's innards is the stuff of my nightmares. Ick.
5. Spend any time in a room full of cockroaches I know that God made all things on the earth for a purpose. Everything exists for a reason. Great. Stay the eff away from me with your icky colored wings and your slithering between things and your showing up in obscure places.
6. Camp out in Africa. I would love to see Africa. I would love to spend time exploring Africa. From the safety of a motel room. Truly, I do not need to sleep with the lion pride 20 feet off to my left in order to appreciate their magnificence. I'll take your word for it.
7. Live in a submarine When I had an MRI, I discovered that I was claustrophobic. Very claustrophobic. I even have trouble getting into elevators and sitting in backseats. And it has become worse. More that 20 minutes on a sub would result in many casualties as I clawed my way through the bulkhead.
8. Walk barefoot in Australia I know that people live in Australia. Everyone loves Australia. Yay! Australia! It is perfect in every way. Except for the snakes. And the spiders. All of them extremely...poisonous. Yay! Why would anyone want to wander about without shoes on? Shoes and really, really think leather pants.
9. Travel in space Space looks exciting, with all that vast nothingness happening. But I don't want to go. It is bad enough to be on a boat and look around and see nothingness. If the window on your cabin cracks, you'll be sucked out of the ship like a straw. And if you manage to make it to your destination, it may be time to call out the Calvary.
10. Be probed by an alien. There may be some poor schlub, sitting in his parent's basement, , thinking that an alien abduction would be a great way to meet chicks. Not this chick! If you're not going to take me out on the town, feed me, and get me drunk, no probing for you!
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Handwriting is a Lost Art
This is Zane's first independent attempt to write his name. I'm so excited! Look at that letter formation. You can clearly see a Z and a captial E.
And in the middle is a 4 and an 11.
Still, it's a good first try. I hope that it is not the last.
I know that schools don't teach handwriting anymore, and that is just sad. When you are forming a letter with a pencil or pen, the very act of moving the writing utensil in a specific way reinforces memory. Probably there's even research that shows I'm not talking out of my backside. I just find it odd that there is so much emphasis on standardized writing tests when nobody teaches handwriting. To me, they kind of go hand in hand, the ability to create a sentence in the brain and translate it into motor activity. Nothing beats the pen and paper.
So write.
Don't give me that tripe about how some people just can't write, or they don't want to be embarrassed by what they write. Who said anything about letting anyone see what you wrote? Write a grocery list. Nobody ever said that every word written has to be profound to anybody but the person doing the writing.
Pick up the pen and write something. Anything.
When I get bored, for instance, I write down the names of the Presidents. (I can never remember that Millard Fillmore dude!) Nothing earth-shattering there. Sometimes I'll put the pen in my left hand and try to write the alphabet, and people in staff meetings look at me funny. My hand gets a workout just the same.
Just write.
I understand that there are people out there who cannot perform the motor activity of writing, and accommodations must be made for those people. Those who can write, however, should write. As often as possible. Even if you are only practicing your signature. That motor activity is important, I just know it. If it goes away, who is to say that anything approximate will replace it? What will those neural pathways become, if they aren't dedicated to handwriting?
It's probably those lazy neural pathways that lead to zombies!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
RemembeRED: Buy This Book!
Prompt: Memoir can be intimidating for writers. You’re relating actual
events, portraying real people, and there are years of material to sift
through. This week pretend we have a book contract here just waiting for
someone to sign (and we wish we did, believe me!) Pitch your memoir in
200 words or less and come back this Tuesday to link up.
It is the story of a woman who spent her childhood wandering, never fitting in. She drifted through life, searching. She found the right man, and together they battled the world, even through cancer. She then risked everything, even death, to bring her son into the world. Now she has everything she ever wanted, except for the vacation home on the coast of Spain.
It is the story of a woman who spent her childhood wandering, never fitting in. She drifted through life, searching. She found the right man, and together they battled the world, even through cancer. She then risked everything, even death, to bring her son into the world. Now she has everything she ever wanted, except for the vacation home on the coast of Spain.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Happy Valentine's Day?
They're having a party in Z's class tomorrow, and we were given a list of the names of the kids so he(me) can make sure that they all have a valentine. The cards that Zane picked out are supposed to have a button put on them, a little trinket that does not contain any sugar. I opened the package and got out the cards...and actually looked at where I was supposed to be putting the buttons.
Can anyone else see why I was a bit disconcerted? No wonder those characters are smiling!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Girls Night Out
As most of you are aware from my blog posts, I don't get out as much as I used to. Let's just say that there were once a cubic megaton of wild oats sown, and leave it at that. However, I still like to hang out with the girls. Unfortunately, most of the 'girls' I know have children, and just like I do, tend to use every spare moment for sleeping.
Except for last night. Last night, we rodeo'd. This does not mean what you think it means, of course. THE rodeo is actually in San Antonio at this time, and Keith Urban happened to be the performer du jour. So we all met up at the local Applebee's, had a few, and piled in the Mom-mobile(the designated driver's van) and headed to the stadium or whatever they call it this week.
It is some weird sort of law that when the rodeo is in town we get extremely cold weather at least once, and this just happened to be the night. Luckily, I brought my actual winter coat, so I wasn't completely frozen. As we walked by a large number of cows parked outside the livestock barn, I wondered aloud if they meant to keep the cows outside for the night. Yes, they did, I was told. Poor cows!
We got inside and walked for miles until we found our seats. This allowed me the opportunity to laugh privately at some of the fashion faux pas (Dude--a straw hat? Before Easter?). Yes, it was childish, but I kept it to myself. Our seats were pretty high up; in fact, several birds flew by before they dimmed the lights. I also noticed that we were almost eye level with the guy running the spotlight in the rafters. Still, the view was unobstructed, and that is a pretty good deal for 10$.
We first watched some guys try to stay on horses who did their best to throw them off. Next, we watched a bunch of kids chase some calves and try to rope them;
the calves won that round. There was barrel racing, where girls have to
race their horses around three barrels as fast as possible without
knocking any of the barrels over. And then...bull riding.
Yes. I know that it seems to be counterproductive, trying to ride a bull. But it is true. Someone will pay good money to watch men try to stay on a bull for 8 seconds. I was happy to see that many of the idi--cowboys participating in this were wearing some form of protective head gear. I was annoyed that all of the bulls had the pointy parts of their horn cut off. Sure it looks safer, but it's not. Only two guys were able to stay on their bull for the required time. I thought that they both should have won, but they only give the money to one. And then...
It was time for the main event...Keith Urban. While I knew that Keith Urban is married to Nicole Kidman, and I knew that he was a performer, I was unfamiliar with his particular music. I may have heard a couple of his songs before. Maybe. The music that I call country is stuff like Tammy Wynette, George Jones, Loretta Lynn, Hank Williams, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, etc. Oh, and I am required by state law to like George Strait. However, I stopped listening to country music somewhere after Garth Brooks because it started to annoy me. Plus, it's just not a party without a mosh pit.
Never let it be said that I am averse to trying new things.
I did enjoy the concert, and not just because Keith Urban is sort of good looking. Actually, the general consensus of the people in our section was that he was "hot"; one guy in front of us was especially complementary of Mr. Urban's hair. He does have nice hair. And Keith Urban did a couple of things that made me "squee" with the rest of the audience, like pulling some random girl from the audience and getting her to sing that she wanted to kiss a girl. Also, it appeared that he gave some little girl a guitar.
After the show, we walked miles and miles, past the now frozen cows contorted into various poses of misery, got into the Mom-mobile...and waited in line. At one point, a jerk of a guy in a blue F-150 cut us off, and then mimicked shooting a gun at us. I actually got out my phone to dial 911, since he was making shooting gestures at a van full of women, one of them a teenager. That sort of shot the whole myth of the polite Texas cowboy all to hell, and lowered our general goodwill toward humanity. Still, it was nice to get out of the house and be in female company for an evening. I hope that it's not another year before we get to do it again. In the meantime, I might even see if I can download some of Keith Urban's music to my phone.
Except for last night. Last night, we rodeo'd. This does not mean what you think it means, of course. THE rodeo is actually in San Antonio at this time, and Keith Urban happened to be the performer du jour. So we all met up at the local Applebee's, had a few, and piled in the Mom-mobile(the designated driver's van) and headed to the stadium or whatever they call it this week.
It is some weird sort of law that when the rodeo is in town we get extremely cold weather at least once, and this just happened to be the night. Luckily, I brought my actual winter coat, so I wasn't completely frozen. As we walked by a large number of cows parked outside the livestock barn, I wondered aloud if they meant to keep the cows outside for the night. Yes, they did, I was told. Poor cows!
We got inside and walked for miles until we found our seats. This allowed me the opportunity to laugh privately at some of the fashion faux pas (Dude--a straw hat? Before Easter?). Yes, it was childish, but I kept it to myself. Our seats were pretty high up; in fact, several birds flew by before they dimmed the lights. I also noticed that we were almost eye level with the guy running the spotlight in the rafters. Still, the view was unobstructed, and that is a pretty good deal for 10$.
 | ||
| This is the 'rodeo' part of the rodeo--see the horse? |
Yes. I know that it seems to be counterproductive, trying to ride a bull. But it is true. Someone will pay good money to watch men try to stay on a bull for 8 seconds. I was happy to see that many of the idi--cowboys participating in this were wearing some form of protective head gear. I was annoyed that all of the bulls had the pointy parts of their horn cut off. Sure it looks safer, but it's not. Only two guys were able to stay on their bull for the required time. I thought that they both should have won, but they only give the money to one. And then...
 |
| They drag the stage and all the extras onto the dirt with a tractor. |
It was time for the main event...Keith Urban. While I knew that Keith Urban is married to Nicole Kidman, and I knew that he was a performer, I was unfamiliar with his particular music. I may have heard a couple of his songs before. Maybe. The music that I call country is stuff like Tammy Wynette, George Jones, Loretta Lynn, Hank Williams, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, etc. Oh, and I am required by state law to like George Strait. However, I stopped listening to country music somewhere after Garth Brooks because it started to annoy me. Plus, it's just not a party without a mosh pit.
Never let it be said that I am averse to trying new things.
I did enjoy the concert, and not just because Keith Urban is sort of good looking. Actually, the general consensus of the people in our section was that he was "hot"; one guy in front of us was especially complementary of Mr. Urban's hair. He does have nice hair. And Keith Urban did a couple of things that made me "squee" with the rest of the audience, like pulling some random girl from the audience and getting her to sing that she wanted to kiss a girl. Also, it appeared that he gave some little girl a guitar.
 |
| GAH!!! Who brought that Cabbage Patch Kid to a Keith Urban concert? |
After the show, we walked miles and miles, past the now frozen cows contorted into various poses of misery, got into the Mom-mobile...and waited in line. At one point, a jerk of a guy in a blue F-150 cut us off, and then mimicked shooting a gun at us. I actually got out my phone to dial 911, since he was making shooting gestures at a van full of women, one of them a teenager. That sort of shot the whole myth of the polite Texas cowboy all to hell, and lowered our general goodwill toward humanity. Still, it was nice to get out of the house and be in female company for an evening. I hope that it's not another year before we get to do it again. In the meantime, I might even see if I can download some of Keith Urban's music to my phone.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Cats Are Also Con Artists
When I was at a training one day, the psychologist leading the workshop told us that all cats have Aspergers. There's even a book about it. I don't know about that, since one of the criteria for Aspergers involves unusual speech and language, but who am I to argue with a PhD? He's the professional. After all, I paid to hear what he had to say in order to get continuing education hours, so he has to be right. Right?
Cats do have their idiosyncrasies, however. We call it idiosyncratic, I've noticed, when we have no idea what the heck is going on. But I can admit that my cats certainly meet the definition of idiosyncratic. But there's a method to their madness, I've noticed.
For instance, our youngest cat, Zena, seems to adore Morris, the oldest cat. As soon as she sees the old guy, she runs right up to him and rubs her head under his chin. He tries to pull back, but she manages to rub his chin three or four times before his 'lightning fast' reflexes process it. When I saw that, I thought "Awwww! She loves Morris. How sweet!"
Except it's not really.
Every night, Morris gets a treat. We've been doing this for years. It's his version of a bedtime snack; he eats his three little squares and then he heads off to find a spot to snooze. On this particular night, I put Morris' treats out for him, and waited for him to eat them. Suddenly Zena is there, swooping underneath that fuzzy yellow chin, once, twice, three times. Then she runs off.
And the treats were gone, too. I didn't even see her take them! Neither did Morris--he actually had his mouth open to bite for them. He might have thought that he ate them himself. You never know with Morris; he has never been very sharp.
Still, my illusions about how my kitties all love each other dies hard. That's what I get for putting human feelings onto feline form!
Cats do have their idiosyncrasies, however. We call it idiosyncratic, I've noticed, when we have no idea what the heck is going on. But I can admit that my cats certainly meet the definition of idiosyncratic. But there's a method to their madness, I've noticed.
For instance, our youngest cat, Zena, seems to adore Morris, the oldest cat. As soon as she sees the old guy, she runs right up to him and rubs her head under his chin. He tries to pull back, but she manages to rub his chin three or four times before his 'lightning fast' reflexes process it. When I saw that, I thought "Awwww! She loves Morris. How sweet!"
Except it's not really.
Every night, Morris gets a treat. We've been doing this for years. It's his version of a bedtime snack; he eats his three little squares and then he heads off to find a spot to snooze. On this particular night, I put Morris' treats out for him, and waited for him to eat them. Suddenly Zena is there, swooping underneath that fuzzy yellow chin, once, twice, three times. Then she runs off.
And the treats were gone, too. I didn't even see her take them! Neither did Morris--he actually had his mouth open to bite for them. He might have thought that he ate them himself. You never know with Morris; he has never been very sharp.
Still, my illusions about how my kitties all love each other dies hard. That's what I get for putting human feelings onto feline form!
Friday, February 10, 2012
WOE: 5-5-5-5
Prompt: We got this prompt from here. This could be a good way for us all to work on voice. And dialogue. And everything else. Pick four numbers, each between 1 and 10.
Write them down so you remember. The first number will be for your character, the second your setting, the third the time and the fourth will be the situation. Then take the four elements and combine them into a short story. All four you picked MUST be your main elements, but you can add in other characters, settings, times and situations.
We have Subway to thank for the numbers I chose this day--I must have heard that 5-Dollar Foot Long commercial too many times!
"I think I found something, Jernot!" yelled Xerb from below. I paused a moment to clear my air filters once again. My envirosuit was just this short of unbearable. The air of this planet Earth was just too polluted with oxygen; I was rapidly depleting my ammonia tanks. It made me wonder if Xerb had perhaps failed to place my tanks into the rejuvenation cycle after our last salvage trip. He was always forgetting to do that. He was always forgetting. I only kept him around because he could steer the ship.
I used my rockets to lower myself to where the Xerb was waiting. I admitted privately to some curiosity as I looked around at the orbs dangling above me among dusty signs. One of the words I recognized from my studies. Some sort of ritual, 'Christmas', that involved this building. My memory was hazy.
This strange building with the open space in the middle appeared to hold nothing upon our initial visit. Just acres of open space, surrounded by large compartments of items sorted in some manner. Yet it had been a treasure trove of historical items in pristine condition and ready to trade. Xerb had located a cache of 'shoes' on the previous trip, and we had already heard from several buyers interested in owning a piece of Earth history from before the Fall.
"What did you find?" As I touched down, I heard a rattle of movement, a sliding sound. My head rotated to locate the source, but Xerb distracted me with his excitement.
"Look at this!" His Analyzer in his hands, the Boss pointed a tentacle at a grouping of gray blobs around a dead tree covered in small objects. "It's silica! Food! Now we have proof that these creatures ate what we do!"
"Nonsense," I rolled my eye, my disdain rolling through my voice. "I don't know why I bother keeping you around, Xerb. The histories are clear that the dominant organism ate other animals. There were no carbon-based life forms who ingested silicon. If you'd paid attention in school all those arnts ago, you would know that."
"Never mind that!" Clucking submissively, Xerb pointed another tentacle.
There appeared to be a large seat in the center of the grayish blobs, next to the dead tree. A sign above the seat said "SANTA". There had been a minor deity worshiped by the dominant species with a similar name. My tentacles quivered in excitement, as that sliding/slithering sound came again. I ignored it in my eagerness. It took me a moment to realize that there was something seated on the throne, wearing threadbare fuzzy fabric once called the color 'red'. I moved closer, until I could see a face underneath a triangular floppy hat. A face?
Could this be the actual deity? My four hearts beat erratically.
"Xerb, this is astounding! This may be the biggest find we've ever located. We are going to be wealthy. An actual corpse will fetch--"
A low growl emanated from behind me. I rotated in time to watch four skeletal corpses crawling toward me. I felt a pulling sensation; the figure on the seat had grabbed a tentacle and was pulling me toward him. His head fell back as his mouth opened, and the floppy hat slid to the floor. I felt pressure building as a mouth full of teeth closed over my tentacle. I screamed as I heard my envirosuit tear.
"Xerb!!! Help me!!" I could see Xerb hovering above me, a malicious joy radiating from his entire being. The corpses were gnawing at my tentacles, chewing them off.
"These are called 'zombies', Jernot. They consume any flesh, and they do not die. They caused the Fall. If you'd paid attention in school all those arnts ago, you would know that."
As I suffocated, I watched my green blood splatter on the red velvet.
As always, constructive criticism is appreciated!!
Write them down so you remember. The first number will be for your character, the second your setting, the third the time and the fourth will be the situation. Then take the four elements and combine them into a short story. All four you picked MUST be your main elements, but you can add in other characters, settings, times and situations.
We have Subway to thank for the numbers I chose this day--I must have heard that 5-Dollar Foot Long commercial too many times!
"I think I found something, Jernot!" yelled Xerb from below. I paused a moment to clear my air filters once again. My envirosuit was just this short of unbearable. The air of this planet Earth was just too polluted with oxygen; I was rapidly depleting my ammonia tanks. It made me wonder if Xerb had perhaps failed to place my tanks into the rejuvenation cycle after our last salvage trip. He was always forgetting to do that. He was always forgetting. I only kept him around because he could steer the ship.
I used my rockets to lower myself to where the Xerb was waiting. I admitted privately to some curiosity as I looked around at the orbs dangling above me among dusty signs. One of the words I recognized from my studies. Some sort of ritual, 'Christmas', that involved this building. My memory was hazy.
This strange building with the open space in the middle appeared to hold nothing upon our initial visit. Just acres of open space, surrounded by large compartments of items sorted in some manner. Yet it had been a treasure trove of historical items in pristine condition and ready to trade. Xerb had located a cache of 'shoes' on the previous trip, and we had already heard from several buyers interested in owning a piece of Earth history from before the Fall.
"What did you find?" As I touched down, I heard a rattle of movement, a sliding sound. My head rotated to locate the source, but Xerb distracted me with his excitement.
"Look at this!" His Analyzer in his hands, the Boss pointed a tentacle at a grouping of gray blobs around a dead tree covered in small objects. "It's silica! Food! Now we have proof that these creatures ate what we do!"
"Nonsense," I rolled my eye, my disdain rolling through my voice. "I don't know why I bother keeping you around, Xerb. The histories are clear that the dominant organism ate other animals. There were no carbon-based life forms who ingested silicon. If you'd paid attention in school all those arnts ago, you would know that."
"Never mind that!" Clucking submissively, Xerb pointed another tentacle.
There appeared to be a large seat in the center of the grayish blobs, next to the dead tree. A sign above the seat said "SANTA". There had been a minor deity worshiped by the dominant species with a similar name. My tentacles quivered in excitement, as that sliding/slithering sound came again. I ignored it in my eagerness. It took me a moment to realize that there was something seated on the throne, wearing threadbare fuzzy fabric once called the color 'red'. I moved closer, until I could see a face underneath a triangular floppy hat. A face?
Could this be the actual deity? My four hearts beat erratically.
"Xerb, this is astounding! This may be the biggest find we've ever located. We are going to be wealthy. An actual corpse will fetch--"
A low growl emanated from behind me. I rotated in time to watch four skeletal corpses crawling toward me. I felt a pulling sensation; the figure on the seat had grabbed a tentacle and was pulling me toward him. His head fell back as his mouth opened, and the floppy hat slid to the floor. I felt pressure building as a mouth full of teeth closed over my tentacle. I screamed as I heard my envirosuit tear.
"Xerb!!! Help me!!" I could see Xerb hovering above me, a malicious joy radiating from his entire being. The corpses were gnawing at my tentacles, chewing them off.
"These are called 'zombies', Jernot. They consume any flesh, and they do not die. They caused the Fall. If you'd paid attention in school all those arnts ago, you would know that."
As I suffocated, I watched my green blood splatter on the red velvet.
As always, constructive criticism is appreciated!!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Mamakat: Valentine
Mamakat's prompt for the week: A poem for your valentine. I can't always stick with what I do reasonably well. I've written exactly ONE really good poem in my entire life, and this is not it. But one of the reasons that I write is to 'stretch' myself in various poses not found in yoga. If this were a ropes course, poetry would be my 'screamer'.
Love never happens when it's convenient
And ours has been forged in the fires
Of cancer, pain, heartbreak, and death.
We must laugh while we can, and live as large as we two are allowed.
For us, then, let love be a daily display of
Little kindnesses to keep love blooming
The hot cup of coffee on a cold morning
A tissue passed during allergy season
The spontaneous 'I love you' text message
These gifts are as thoughtful as
The sweeping gestures of the grand romance.
Ours should never be a love confined to expression on a single day.
Although a dozen chocolates on any day would certainly be divine.
Love never happens when it's convenient
And ours has been forged in the fires
Of cancer, pain, heartbreak, and death.
We must laugh while we can, and live as large as we two are allowed.
For us, then, let love be a daily display of
Little kindnesses to keep love blooming
The hot cup of coffee on a cold morning
A tissue passed during allergy season
The spontaneous 'I love you' text message
These gifts are as thoughtful as
The sweeping gestures of the grand romance.
Ours should never be a love confined to expression on a single day.
Although a dozen chocolates on any day would certainly be divine.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Nature Shows
We let Zane watch nature shows. Animal Planet, National Geographic, Discovery, etc., are on our channel rotation. Zane loves Monster Bug Wars! right now, but Planet Earth has had some heavy rotation, particularly the Cave episode. That episode featured the Texas Blind Salamander, who lives in caves under the San Marcos area. Zane loves that salamander. It is kind of cute, don't you think? Maybe it's just me.
Some people have hollered at me about letting Zane watch these shows. Zane is too young to watch lions stalking and killing things, I've heard. He shouldn't be watching terrible things like animals getting murdered and eaten! I'm off the Mother of the Year list, apparently. And I'm okay with that. Zane needs to learn that the world is not all about fluffy bunny slippers, and where best to learn that? I'm certainly not planning on a trip to Africa any time soon. There are many valuable life lessons to be gleaned from watching nature shows. Every living organism out there has to eat, for instance. As far as I know, Pizza Hut does not deliver to the Serengeti, so lions and other animals have to find their own food. See--valuable life lesson right there!
I've been more grossed out watching Monster Bug Wars! than what they show on the Nat Geo shows. I really would not want to be food for a giant scorpion, for instance. Or praying mantis(is plural 'mantises' or 'manti'?). Those bugs don't tend to wait for their dinner to die before they start ripping and chewing. Ew.
Zane and I have learned quite a bit from watching the insect shows. For instance, black widow spiders like to hang out in dark places. Scorpions like to hang out in dark places. Boots and most shoes have dark places. How do most bites by these critters happen? People sticking their feet in their boots and shoes without shaking them out first.
And YES!!!! Praying mantids will eat birds and small mammals! So if you ever get shrunk down to insect size, you are probably better off not venturing into the garden.
I have not had to say anything to Zane about leaving his shoes outside since we saw that episode. Not one word. See?
Some people have hollered at me about letting Zane watch these shows. Zane is too young to watch lions stalking and killing things, I've heard. He shouldn't be watching terrible things like animals getting murdered and eaten! I'm off the Mother of the Year list, apparently. And I'm okay with that. Zane needs to learn that the world is not all about fluffy bunny slippers, and where best to learn that? I'm certainly not planning on a trip to Africa any time soon. There are many valuable life lessons to be gleaned from watching nature shows. Every living organism out there has to eat, for instance. As far as I know, Pizza Hut does not deliver to the Serengeti, so lions and other animals have to find their own food. See--valuable life lesson right there!
I've been more grossed out watching Monster Bug Wars! than what they show on the Nat Geo shows. I really would not want to be food for a giant scorpion, for instance. Or praying mantis(is plural 'mantises' or 'manti'?). Those bugs don't tend to wait for their dinner to die before they start ripping and chewing. Ew.
Zane and I have learned quite a bit from watching the insect shows. For instance, black widow spiders like to hang out in dark places. Scorpions like to hang out in dark places. Boots and most shoes have dark places. How do most bites by these critters happen? People sticking their feet in their boots and shoes without shaking them out first.
And YES!!!! Praying mantids will eat birds and small mammals! So if you ever get shrunk down to insect size, you are probably better off not venturing into the garden.
I have not had to say anything to Zane about leaving his shoes outside since we saw that episode. Not one word. See?
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
RemembeRED: Colloquialisms
Prompt: So, in the spirit of dialect, slang, and turns of phrase, this week’s
RemembeRED prompt is: Write a piece of creative non-fiction in which
turns of phrase, dialect, slang, or colloquialisms feature prominently.
As an Army brat, my family and I moved often. I was the new kid at school often, as such I was forced to develop some survival skills. Sort of like a chameleon tries to blend into their surroundings. I couldn't necessarily change my looks on a whim; my mother would have had an epic conniption. We didn't have the money for me to run out to buy new clothes, either. So how does an awkward kid try to fit in on that first day of school?
Language.
I became what I call a linguistic empath. I would listen to the language being spoken around me, in the cafeteria, the library, and the classroom. Many, many sounds from many mouths. I would close my eyes and my brain would begin to separate various words into their sounds. Then I would step out on to the social ledge and mingle, imitating the sounds and accents of the people I spoke to.
When I lived in Germany, my consonants became chips of stone, and my vowels developed a tendency toward spitting, which drove my mother insane. But I managed a passable German accent, even if I never got the language.
Then we moved to Texas, and no one seemed to have any weird words or colloquialism. There wasn't really much to master, I thought. Oh, there were a few people I knew who had thick Southern accents; when I hung out with them I ended up sounding like Scarlet O'Hara. But I didn't think that I had picked up much extra.
Until we moved to Silver Spring, Md. I was unprepared for the hoopla. The people I often spoke to were very quick to stop any conversation in which I had inserted any word or phrase that was 'foreign' to them.
"You're WHAT?" they would say.
"I said that I'm fixin' to," I would respond, not understanding their response. Apparently "fixin' to" was not indiginous to the language here, and so it was the subject of rigorous and repetitive study. The other unfamiliar word that I'd used, "y'all" was determined to be "cool". "Y'all" was actually my ticket into this new society. The kids began allowing me to ask questions about the local culture and to make new friends.
I was, at least until a new person came along, pretty cool.
As an Army brat, my family and I moved often. I was the new kid at school often, as such I was forced to develop some survival skills. Sort of like a chameleon tries to blend into their surroundings. I couldn't necessarily change my looks on a whim; my mother would have had an epic conniption. We didn't have the money for me to run out to buy new clothes, either. So how does an awkward kid try to fit in on that first day of school?
Language.
I became what I call a linguistic empath. I would listen to the language being spoken around me, in the cafeteria, the library, and the classroom. Many, many sounds from many mouths. I would close my eyes and my brain would begin to separate various words into their sounds. Then I would step out on to the social ledge and mingle, imitating the sounds and accents of the people I spoke to.
When I lived in Germany, my consonants became chips of stone, and my vowels developed a tendency toward spitting, which drove my mother insane. But I managed a passable German accent, even if I never got the language.
Then we moved to Texas, and no one seemed to have any weird words or colloquialism. There wasn't really much to master, I thought. Oh, there were a few people I knew who had thick Southern accents; when I hung out with them I ended up sounding like Scarlet O'Hara. But I didn't think that I had picked up much extra.
Until we moved to Silver Spring, Md. I was unprepared for the hoopla. The people I often spoke to were very quick to stop any conversation in which I had inserted any word or phrase that was 'foreign' to them.
"You're WHAT?" they would say.
"I said that I'm fixin' to," I would respond, not understanding their response. Apparently "fixin' to" was not indiginous to the language here, and so it was the subject of rigorous and repetitive study. The other unfamiliar word that I'd used, "y'all" was determined to be "cool". "Y'all" was actually my ticket into this new society. The kids began allowing me to ask questions about the local culture and to make new friends.
I was, at least until a new person came along, pretty cool.
Monday, February 6, 2012
The A-List: Comfort Foods
I am not, nor have I ever been, one of those people who will turn down a meal or --gasp!-- "forget" to eat. I love food. I may not be able to cook it without setting fire to my kitchen, but I can, and do, indulge. It's certainly a vice that I am paying for, in being a round and "fluffy" person, but it is not a vice that I am willing to completely give up. I have cut back significantly on fried foods. My cupcake consumption has gone way down, resulting in some businesses shuttering their doors forever. But I don't think that I should have to go cold turkey. If I am food deprived, the whole world begins to look less wonderful. Moderation is the key for me. While I am doing a better job of watching portions and eating more fruits and veggies, I still occasionally fall off of the wagon and into the mashed potatoes.
Here are my current favorite comfort foods:
1. Chicken-fried Steak. I never had this until I moved back here to college. It's not the same at every single restaurant here; some places add too much pepper to the batter or to the gravy. There is absolutely no way to look at this meal and think low calorie, especially not if there's cream gravy on it. This meal is proof that fat just tastes better sometimes. I usually only order this if I am in serious need of something sticking to my ribs for the duration, like if it's really cold outside.
2. Mac and cheese. Kraft, of course. Not the powdery box--the 'Deluxe' version of the gooey, cheesy goodness. I try not to buy more than a box at a time these days, but we eat this at least once a month. My mom used to mix it with ham or tuna and it was still awesome. I've loved this stuff since I was a kid, and even though I've had many other varieties of macaroni and cheese, I keep coming back to Kraft. I should get some sort of medal for that, right? Something to put on my heart monitor?
3. Meatloaf. I like the meatloaf with the tomato sauce on top. I can eat an entire pan by myself, cardiac arrest be damned. I also love meatloaf sandwiches, with a slice of cheddar cheese. My husband hates meatloaf. I am not sure why, but I think that it must involve some sort of childhood trauma that he refuses to confront. I just shake my head and watch him eat the hamburgers--which I make exactly the same way I make my meatloaf. What he doesn't know won't require years of therapy, I always say.
4. Brownies I know that there are people out there who are anti-nut brownie fans, and that fisticuffs have been known to break out at Betty Crocker conventions over approved brownie recipe variations. I am not partial. I am an equal opportunity brownie eater. I prefer them not to be on the dry side, as the milk required tends to dilute the flavor, but chocolate is chocolate.
5. Cheesy Tater Tots from Sonic It has been divulged in various places that Matthew MacConaughey owns an ice machine just like the one at the Sonic. And their ice is pretty awesome; it completely makes the Cherry-Limeades I get in the summer 'good delicious', as my son says. But it's the Cheesy Tater Tots that keep me returning all year. It's a simple recipe; tater tots with melted cheese all over them. You eat them with a fork. It's heavenly. I've tried making these at home, any you would think that they would be exactly the same, but it's not.
Honorable mention must be made for Frito Pie(fritos, chili, cheese!), just because it is kind of chilly today, and Frito Pie is very definitely a cold-weather sort of food.
What are YOUR comfort foods?
Here are my current favorite comfort foods:
1. Chicken-fried Steak. I never had this until I moved back here to college. It's not the same at every single restaurant here; some places add too much pepper to the batter or to the gravy. There is absolutely no way to look at this meal and think low calorie, especially not if there's cream gravy on it. This meal is proof that fat just tastes better sometimes. I usually only order this if I am in serious need of something sticking to my ribs for the duration, like if it's really cold outside.
2. Mac and cheese. Kraft, of course. Not the powdery box--the 'Deluxe' version of the gooey, cheesy goodness. I try not to buy more than a box at a time these days, but we eat this at least once a month. My mom used to mix it with ham or tuna and it was still awesome. I've loved this stuff since I was a kid, and even though I've had many other varieties of macaroni and cheese, I keep coming back to Kraft. I should get some sort of medal for that, right? Something to put on my heart monitor?
3. Meatloaf. I like the meatloaf with the tomato sauce on top. I can eat an entire pan by myself, cardiac arrest be damned. I also love meatloaf sandwiches, with a slice of cheddar cheese. My husband hates meatloaf. I am not sure why, but I think that it must involve some sort of childhood trauma that he refuses to confront. I just shake my head and watch him eat the hamburgers--which I make exactly the same way I make my meatloaf. What he doesn't know won't require years of therapy, I always say.
4. Brownies I know that there are people out there who are anti-nut brownie fans, and that fisticuffs have been known to break out at Betty Crocker conventions over approved brownie recipe variations. I am not partial. I am an equal opportunity brownie eater. I prefer them not to be on the dry side, as the milk required tends to dilute the flavor, but chocolate is chocolate.
5. Cheesy Tater Tots from Sonic It has been divulged in various places that Matthew MacConaughey owns an ice machine just like the one at the Sonic. And their ice is pretty awesome; it completely makes the Cherry-Limeades I get in the summer 'good delicious', as my son says. But it's the Cheesy Tater Tots that keep me returning all year. It's a simple recipe; tater tots with melted cheese all over them. You eat them with a fork. It's heavenly. I've tried making these at home, any you would think that they would be exactly the same, but it's not.
Honorable mention must be made for Frito Pie(fritos, chili, cheese!), just because it is kind of chilly today, and Frito Pie is very definitely a cold-weather sort of food.
What are YOUR comfort foods?
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Do I Really Care About The Super Bowl This Year?
No.
I do not care about the Super Bowl this year. Oh yeah, I so went there. I will likely have the game on, because I think that there's some clause in my homeowner's manual regarding that, but I probably won't be watching.
I used to care. When Dallas Cowboy Jackie Smith dropped that touchdown pass in the end zone to lose the game against Terry Bradshaw and the Pittsburgh Steelers(I think that was 1976), I remember that I cared. I think I cried. Actually, I think Jackie Smith cried as well.
In the state of Texas, it is not required that you love the sport of football. If you intend to live here, however, you must have at least a passing understanding of the game. And I do. My father, brother, and I spent many a pleasant Sunday bonding over NFL games. As a family, we often chose the Tom Landry method of watching the game in stone-faced silence rather than getting all emotional. I felt that it was more of a spiritual experience that way. As I've said before, football is the unofficial religion of Texas.
Over the past few years, however, something changed. Football on television has become more like...baseball. Every 30 seconds, there's a freakin' commercial, and the flow of the game just stops. The "big" game is jammy-packed with advertisements, and it sucks. I would actually pay to be able to watch a professional game without any commercials, but that's never going to happen. I would also rather see the commercials on MY terms, when I want to see them, not when some network guy making kajillions of dollars tells me that I am supposed to see them. So I will wait and watch them online, at my leisure. I still pull up this gem on occasion!
Another reason I don't care about the Super Bowl is that I've seen these two teams play before, and the Giants won. I predict that the Patriots will win tomorrow. I base that not on the skill of any player or the acumen of any coach, but because the Giants won last time. I think these 'contests' are decided long before the actual game is played. It's more than that, however. When I watched the Super Bowl of 1976, I remember that those players practically beat the ever-living crap out of each other trying to win that game. It was an actual battle, it seemed. Football was based on an 'after the battle' game, where actual heads were involved.
Also, I have to say this: Madonna! You look very well preserved for your age, and you certainly aren't ready for the old folks' home, but dammit! Quit trying to act like you just graduated from high school! You're starting to remind me of Joan Crawford, fer cryin' out loud. Don't make me send you some wire coat hangers.
And Tom Brady? Dude. Good looks don't win forever.
One thing that I WILL care about tomorrow? The food. That's how I roll. Mmmmm...rolls.
I do not care about the Super Bowl this year. Oh yeah, I so went there. I will likely have the game on, because I think that there's some clause in my homeowner's manual regarding that, but I probably won't be watching.
I used to care. When Dallas Cowboy Jackie Smith dropped that touchdown pass in the end zone to lose the game against Terry Bradshaw and the Pittsburgh Steelers(I think that was 1976), I remember that I cared. I think I cried. Actually, I think Jackie Smith cried as well.
In the state of Texas, it is not required that you love the sport of football. If you intend to live here, however, you must have at least a passing understanding of the game. And I do. My father, brother, and I spent many a pleasant Sunday bonding over NFL games. As a family, we often chose the Tom Landry method of watching the game in stone-faced silence rather than getting all emotional. I felt that it was more of a spiritual experience that way. As I've said before, football is the unofficial religion of Texas.
Over the past few years, however, something changed. Football on television has become more like...baseball. Every 30 seconds, there's a freakin' commercial, and the flow of the game just stops. The "big" game is jammy-packed with advertisements, and it sucks. I would actually pay to be able to watch a professional game without any commercials, but that's never going to happen. I would also rather see the commercials on MY terms, when I want to see them, not when some network guy making kajillions of dollars tells me that I am supposed to see them. So I will wait and watch them online, at my leisure. I still pull up this gem on occasion!
Another reason I don't care about the Super Bowl is that I've seen these two teams play before, and the Giants won. I predict that the Patriots will win tomorrow. I base that not on the skill of any player or the acumen of any coach, but because the Giants won last time. I think these 'contests' are decided long before the actual game is played. It's more than that, however. When I watched the Super Bowl of 1976, I remember that those players practically beat the ever-living crap out of each other trying to win that game. It was an actual battle, it seemed. Football was based on an 'after the battle' game, where actual heads were involved.
Also, I have to say this: Madonna! You look very well preserved for your age, and you certainly aren't ready for the old folks' home, but dammit! Quit trying to act like you just graduated from high school! You're starting to remind me of Joan Crawford, fer cryin' out loud. Don't make me send you some wire coat hangers.
And Tom Brady? Dude. Good looks don't win forever.
One thing that I WILL care about tomorrow? The food. That's how I roll. Mmmmm...rolls.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Lax Saturday
This post is getting up and running late and will probably be sort of random. Well, it's not exactly running. More like flopping. Flopping like the sound that flip flops make, right before they completely lose traction and send you briefly airborne. Yeah, I've only had one cup of coffee!
We have a strict rule in this house. If the radar shows red, all computers that are plugged in must be turned off. Last night, a HUGE storm rolled in. I'm not knocking any and all rain that shows up here; we are still in an exceptional drought. Still, storms mean that I don't get my writing time in, since most of my blog posts are written after the boy is in bed.
My husband had to get up early this chilly, icky morning. He is a commissioner now. Of our son's soccer league. His new position as a soccer commissioner is further proof that when you utter the words "I can do a better job than that!", it is best to utter them when you are safely alone. Now he is in charge of all the coaches of the 3 and 4 year old soccer teams.
There was supposed to be a coaches' clinic this morning, so Larry had to get up early to be there. I wanted to be awake to taunt him unmercifully, but did I mention that it stormed last night? Yeah, I was too tired to taunt.
On the plus side, we got 3.5 inches of rain.
We have a strict rule in this house. If the radar shows red, all computers that are plugged in must be turned off. Last night, a HUGE storm rolled in. I'm not knocking any and all rain that shows up here; we are still in an exceptional drought. Still, storms mean that I don't get my writing time in, since most of my blog posts are written after the boy is in bed.
My husband had to get up early this chilly, icky morning. He is a commissioner now. Of our son's soccer league. His new position as a soccer commissioner is further proof that when you utter the words "I can do a better job than that!", it is best to utter them when you are safely alone. Now he is in charge of all the coaches of the 3 and 4 year old soccer teams.
There was supposed to be a coaches' clinic this morning, so Larry had to get up early to be there. I wanted to be awake to taunt him unmercifully, but did I mention that it stormed last night? Yeah, I was too tired to taunt.
On the plus side, we got 3.5 inches of rain.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Write On Edge: Sleep Now In The Fire
Prompt: let your character be inspired by music. It doesn’t have to be a
specific song or genre, it doesn’t even have to exist anywhere outside
your mind. Show us how your character reacts to a piece of music. It can advance a story line or provide a character sketch–or both! Okay, this is a prequel of this piece.
Andy slammed the door as he left for work; I actually sighed in relief. He was angry at me yet again, and I was glad to see his tiresome ass leave. The idea of being married to him was becoming less appealing by the second. I shrugged my shoulders and tried to relax.
It was Saturday morning.
I had no place to be.
Just me.
I made my way into the living room, intending to curl up on the sofa and read. Instead, the stereo caught my eye. How long had it been since I listened to my own stereo? I turned it on, and automatically turned it up. The bass line filled my blood with a second heartbeat.
The world is my expense, it's the cost of my desire...
My hips immediately began to sway to the beat, and I bounced on the balls of my feet.
So raise your fists and march around...
I swung my head so that my hair whirled around me. I pumped my fists into the air and skipped around in time to the song. Nothing like a little Rage Against the Machine, I giggled, remembering days long ago. I sang at the top of my lungs, my heart finally ready to protest months of silence. I wasn't really sure what the band was protesting, but I didn't really care.
I am the Nina, the Pinta, the Santa Maria...
I danced around madly. I hadn't felt so electrified by music...well, since...Andy.
The music stopped without warning, cut off. I spun around, to find Andy had returned unexpectedly. He shoved my stereo off of the stand onto the floor, and we both watched it break with a shower of sparks.
"For God's sake, Zenna! You're not a child anymore," the scorn in his voice was acid. "Go put some clothes on and clean this mess up!"
I didn't move. Andy was used to my obedience; I was done with that.
Andy slammed the door as he left for work; I actually sighed in relief. He was angry at me yet again, and I was glad to see his tiresome ass leave. The idea of being married to him was becoming less appealing by the second. I shrugged my shoulders and tried to relax.
It was Saturday morning.
I had no place to be.
Just me.
I made my way into the living room, intending to curl up on the sofa and read. Instead, the stereo caught my eye. How long had it been since I listened to my own stereo? I turned it on, and automatically turned it up. The bass line filled my blood with a second heartbeat.
The world is my expense, it's the cost of my desire...
My hips immediately began to sway to the beat, and I bounced on the balls of my feet.
So raise your fists and march around...
I swung my head so that my hair whirled around me. I pumped my fists into the air and skipped around in time to the song. Nothing like a little Rage Against the Machine, I giggled, remembering days long ago. I sang at the top of my lungs, my heart finally ready to protest months of silence. I wasn't really sure what the band was protesting, but I didn't really care.
I am the Nina, the Pinta, the Santa Maria...
I danced around madly. I hadn't felt so electrified by music...well, since...Andy.
The music stopped without warning, cut off. I spun around, to find Andy had returned unexpectedly. He shoved my stereo off of the stand onto the floor, and we both watched it break with a shower of sparks.
"For God's sake, Zenna! You're not a child anymore," the scorn in his voice was acid. "Go put some clothes on and clean this mess up!"
I didn't move. Andy was used to my obedience; I was done with that.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Mamakat: Life in High School
Mamakat's prompt: What were you like in high school? Pardon any spelling and grammatical errors--I can't find my glasses.
High school. That cesspool of hormones through which we all must pass on our way to adulthood. I entered the doors that first day with all the timidity, trepidation, and thinly-veiled excitement of a nun arriving at a nudist colony.
I had heard horror stories. Fights! Mayhem! Rampant Sex in the Hallways! Drugs! Ack!
Whether any of the horror stories were true, I was stuck at Montgomery Blair High School for the duration. I enjoyed quite a lot in those three years; met some awesome people, got into fights with a few. Looking back at myself, I would have to say that I was a big-time nerd. Huge. As in nose constantly in a book, obsession with pens, poorly dressed, bad hair...you name it. My outfits were hand-me-downs and often too big. A fashion plate, I was not.
I always had to be right all the time. When a cute boy told me that I was wrong about his cold sore, I spent the time to research the various strains of herpes and presented it to him in a lovely envelope with hearts all over it. I never did understand why that bothered him. Now I understand. That was pretty darn obnoxious! No wonder we never dated! I wanted to fit in, and in order to fit in, you have to be able to do something. I could write, so I joined the school paper. I could sing, so I joined the choir. I could read, so I hung out with the other nerds in the library in the mornings.
I was extremely literal, and took everything said to be serious. This meant that I was often the butt of jokes, most of which flew right over my head. I was the perfect straight man because I usually had no idea what was going on. As we all know, all boys think about sex with the single-minded determination of a jaguar hunting a small mammal. Unfortunately for them, I was just plain clueless when it came to social cues. Unless someone said something, I didn't even notice. Poor boys! Some of them even asked me out, and were hurt by my quizzical expression.
Girl friendships were extremely difficult; I was too trusting and unaware that some people would be haters. I never understood the whole political aspects of high school until later, so I had no clue why I even had haters. There really wasn't much to hate about me, come to think of it. I certainly wasn't Cindy Crawford. Unless Cindy was ever roundish, or as my friend says, "Fluffy". I never hung out with anybody's boyfriend, at least not on purpose. Some of the kids I hung out with were druggies/stoners, others were nerds like me with some Band nerds and Choir nerds thrown in. I was often mocked by the "Gifted" kids because I couldn't be in the AP English class due to a schedule conflict. That was a serious dent in my "nerd" cred, but I survived high school.
That's really all that matters.
High school. That cesspool of hormones through which we all must pass on our way to adulthood. I entered the doors that first day with all the timidity, trepidation, and thinly-veiled excitement of a nun arriving at a nudist colony.
I had heard horror stories. Fights! Mayhem! Rampant Sex in the Hallways! Drugs! Ack!
Whether any of the horror stories were true, I was stuck at Montgomery Blair High School for the duration. I enjoyed quite a lot in those three years; met some awesome people, got into fights with a few. Looking back at myself, I would have to say that I was a big-time nerd. Huge. As in nose constantly in a book, obsession with pens, poorly dressed, bad hair...you name it. My outfits were hand-me-downs and often too big. A fashion plate, I was not.
I always had to be right all the time. When a cute boy told me that I was wrong about his cold sore, I spent the time to research the various strains of herpes and presented it to him in a lovely envelope with hearts all over it. I never did understand why that bothered him. Now I understand. That was pretty darn obnoxious! No wonder we never dated! I wanted to fit in, and in order to fit in, you have to be able to do something. I could write, so I joined the school paper. I could sing, so I joined the choir. I could read, so I hung out with the other nerds in the library in the mornings.
I was extremely literal, and took everything said to be serious. This meant that I was often the butt of jokes, most of which flew right over my head. I was the perfect straight man because I usually had no idea what was going on. As we all know, all boys think about sex with the single-minded determination of a jaguar hunting a small mammal. Unfortunately for them, I was just plain clueless when it came to social cues. Unless someone said something, I didn't even notice. Poor boys! Some of them even asked me out, and were hurt by my quizzical expression.
Girl friendships were extremely difficult; I was too trusting and unaware that some people would be haters. I never understood the whole political aspects of high school until later, so I had no clue why I even had haters. There really wasn't much to hate about me, come to think of it. I certainly wasn't Cindy Crawford. Unless Cindy was ever roundish, or as my friend says, "Fluffy". I never hung out with anybody's boyfriend, at least not on purpose. Some of the kids I hung out with were druggies/stoners, others were nerds like me with some Band nerds and Choir nerds thrown in. I was often mocked by the "Gifted" kids because I couldn't be in the AP English class due to a schedule conflict. That was a serious dent in my "nerd" cred, but I survived high school.
That's really all that matters.
Just Another Tricky Day
And we wait to see who shows up.
A brief summary of my general workspace environment: Everyone in my office is married. All the women in my office have
at least one child. All the women in my office are over thirty. We
don't get out much. We're often too tired, and we often have way too much to do. We don't usually get time to sit around. This unexpected downtime was a chance for us to play a little. We were just standing around, after all. Yep. Just a bunch of tired, overworked mothers, standing around. Unsupervised.
(Loitering tends to make one feel all delinquent, have you noticed.? No wonder teenagers love it so!)
"I guess that we should move to the front of the building," one of us said(okay, that was me), as the fire truck pulled up. "We can at least check out the hot firemen who show up, since we're out here."
A collective sigh from the group, which included the women from the business office, too. They like firemen too, apparently.
"Why isn't there a calendar--the Hot Firemen of New Braunfels?" Someone asked. "Because that would totally sell out!"
The three of us pondered that possibility in silence as we walked toward the side of the building, where we had an unimpeded view of the fire truck. Then we just stared.
"I like to see the firemen carrying the big hose," Coworker #1 sighed. The three of us nodded dreamily.
"You know," I said. "You have to have a lot of stamina to carry that big of a hose."
We all shared a laugh, and continued our vigil.
Then one of the pretty firemen approached to speak to our boss, (because all the other bosses in the building were probably still out eating lunch.).
"Oooh...He has a tattoo!" Coworker #2 exclaimed. "And bulging arm muscles!"
Another collective sigh from us, little oohs and soft aahs.
For me, there was maybe a little wistfulness for days gone by, when the smile from a nice looking young man was gold, to be treasured on those days when the fat pants are required.
Suddenly our
"I'm the drool patrol," she said, "Wipe off your chins, ladies!"
We laughed for a bit, and then each of us texted our husbands to share the story while we made out way into the building. (There was no fire, just smoldering insulation from an ancient heating coil)
*My coworkers bribed me with cupcakes to preserve their anonymity. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good cupcake!
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| I am not a fireman, but I am a darn cute Lego! |
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