A Patchwork Pastiche

Thanksgiving Chronicle

2008-12-01T01:01:00.000-08:00

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. I've been reading various blogs and I've read some lovely accounts of how people spent the holiday. Extraordinary food. Lovely tables. Beautiful homes. Family and friends. Very pleasant reading indeed. Not exactly how I'd describe the day around here though.

As is the custom, we had Thanksgiving at my house. My parents came and all of my girls were there, along with one of the boyfriends. So the family and friend thing? Definitely had that covered. The rest of the trappings? Maybe not so much.

Wednesday I was fortunate to spend a lovely afternoon with Clarice and Angie , both unbelievable hostesses and cooks. An afternoon that in hindsight I probably should have forgone given the amount of work that I left for myself that night and the next day. Honestly though? I can't imagine any instance that I would choose not to go to Angie's on any given Wednesday. That visit truly lifts my spirits week in and week out. Besides, had I not gone I would never have tried Angie's Pumpkin Dinner Rolls and never had the brilliant idea to make them for our own dinner.

Huh. You know, now that I think of it, had I not gone to Angie's and tasted those scrumptious rolls, that would have shaved nearly 5 hours of Thanksgiving dinner prep time. Note to self: If planning to spend the afternoon before a major holiday visiting with dear friends, do not be tempted by new recipes that will take hours to accomplish no matter how tasty. (yeah, like Self will ever listen)

And that's generally the problem around here. I love to make holidays special. I really do enjoy cooking, decorating and all the various and sundry activities that go along with celebrating. What I struggle with is doing it in a timely manner. Some of that's pure food snobbery. I don't often do many shortcuts (although I have to admit that over the past 10 years I don't do my own stock much anymore. I still feel horribly guilty every time I used that boxed stuff though. Clearly I'm not only a food snob, I'm a food hypocrite. Nice.) and I worry that the flavor and integrity of the food might be damaged by too much "make ahead" prep. Part of it, it pains me to say, is simply procrastinationitis. In other words? Pure, unadulterated laziness.

When things run smoothly, even with a late start, everything ultimately works out fairly well. When they don't? Like this year's Thanksgiving?

Pure panic sets in.

The biggest horror (and the casualty of the dinner roll prep the night before) was the pumpkin pie. I've made pie crusts for over 20 years. Good pie crusts. I can do them with my eyes closed. That's why I was beyond puzzled by the failure of three successive pie crusts. I mean those babies simply crumbled right in my hand. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. I went through all the stages of Pie Panic. Confusion. Annoyance. Alarm. Terror. Not only did I have the pumpkin, I had two custard pies (chocolate and butterscotch) to make as well. I simply couldn't give in to Resignation. Eventually after a heated argument with my husband over what flour he'd purchased when last at the market, I simply opened a brand new bag and within minutes had all three of my crusts done and ready to go. I knew it was all his fault.

All that time spent making crust, after crust, after blasted crust set me way back, giving me next to no wiggle room. A person like me needs serious wiggle room. Big time. Between the pies, "my" sausage cornbread stuffing that Caroline insisted I make even though my mother was also making stuffing, and the rolls, by the time my guests arrived, I was truly spent. Which is why it makes next to no sense that Rebecca was the one who conked out after dinner. Out cold, I tell you.

There apparently is no justice in the land of holidays and their preparation.

Gadget Challenged

2008-11-21T01:39:00.000-08:00

Picture if you will this scene.

Husband and myself sitting companionably side by side and enjoying yet another viewing of Notting Hill. Controllers necessary for said viewing are placed somewhat haphazardly on the arm of the sofa. As is likely to happen in such an instance, the controllers get pushed off the arm of the sofa and end up somewhere under the sofa. Thankfully husband has long arms as well as total disdain of the spiders that I'm sure lurk under the sofa biding their time waiting for an unsuspecting appendage to present itself and retrieves the controller so we can pause the film and make some popcorn. That's when things went horribly wrong.

Controller before epic journey:

Controller after rescuing:

(Sorry about the quality of the photo. Terror will do this to you)

Honestly I had no idea what he'd pushed, but I was convinced that one or all of the following would, or had, happen/ed:

1. We would immediately be charged for every single option available via pay-per-view.
2. The controller would intone a message and say that it was planning to self-destruct, taking most of Western WA with it.
3. The spiders had enacted revenge for every one of their kind that I'd captured and put outside during the winter, utilizing the controller as a method for implementing their nefarious plan.
4. We would forever be doomed to watch "My Big Redneck Wedding" and "Mythbusters" for all eternity. (Fare you well my beloved HGTV)

So, okay, I know. Common sense says: "Wow. That's interesting. Lighted keys so you can see in total darkness." Honestly though? Our initial reaction truly was a "What the HELL is going on with this thing?!" I kid you not. You know, we're really not dolts, but the last thing either of us thought was that the stupid controller would light up. I mean, who thinks of these things? And who decides on RED as the color?? Green is so much more soothing and non-scary. Red's just so, well, RED.

I'm sure we'll eventually adapt to all these newfangled gadgets, but in the meantime, just in case, check to make sure yours aren't glowing red in solidarity with mine, signaling an unpleasant future for us all.

Musical Memories

2008-11-09T23:29:00.000-08:00

Despite not being at all musical or even caring all that much about music (I can hear Rebecca gasp from here) I've been thinking a lot about the memories certain songs or bands evoke. I know I've spoken a bit about how the Beach Boys conjure all sorts of summertime images the minute you hear them, but they're nothing compared to the images and sheer thrill this guy prompts the minute you hear him - well, at least for anyone near my age.
Yes, the Norelco Santa. The very guy. The one who heralded the holiday season by hawking razors. This ad is a bit older than the ones I remember, but the feeling is the same. I don't know what it is about this ad, but when I saw it just a couple of days ago, I was seized by the exact same feeling I had when I was 6 or so and nearly hysterical with anticipation of the big day. That giddy thrill. That absolute certainty that life just couldn't get any better than life during the holiday season. Who couldn't use a bit of that joy, expectation and excitement? So it comes in the form of a razor ridin' Santa. Big deal.

Oh wow. Not that I really think about it, that's fairly pathetic. It's clear that my Empty, Consumer Driven childhood has warped my sense of what is right and good in the world.

. . .

Whatever. Give me a Norelco Ridin' Santa any day of the week.

Not all songs bring such nice memories. Not only is our next selection another trip down memory lane, it's cheesy to boot. It's even a song that my old high school boyfriend used to sing in a soulful voice to me before he headed back to college. Bad enough, but what's worse is that he apparently teared up when he heard it at a concert. Not so terribly odd given the ridiculousness of teenage boys, you say? Ahh, but a crucial bit of info is missing for you. You see he was at the concert with another girl.

Given this song's history and the bad blood associated with it, when it came on the radio tonight on the way home from a dinner with my parents, I immediately switched the channel. Only to be met with howls of protest from my husband. Okay, so I know the guy likes some goofy stuff. Stuff that I wouldn't be caught dead listening to. But this?? This, without a doubt, is a low point in our relationship. I'm not sure we can recover. I'm willing to try, but if more of this type of thing happens again . . .

Without further ado, so you can be as disgusted as I was tonight, here you go:

And finally, in the "This is ABSOLUTELY CRIMINAL" category, I have some truly upsetting news to report. Like most areas of the country, we have a radio station that plays "oldies". Not "classic rock" like Zeppelin, Petty, AC/DC, etc. No. We're talking Chubby Checker, Buddy Holly (who, it has to be admitted, is seriously amazing, no matter the era), and Frankie Valley. That kind of oldies. Well, at least I thought it was that kind of oldies station. Since this isn't music that I listen to often, I haven't heard the station in a while. Twice now, twice I tell you, I've been flipping through stations and heard this guy. Twice. This an oldie?

Surely not? Really?

Yes, I'm aware it's from the early '80s, that still doesn't mean that it belongs on the OLDIES station!

Please. Show Mr. Mellencamp some respect. He has had a heart attack, you know.

Dear God, he does belong on the oldies station. I'm not going to think about what that means about me.

Not tonight anyway.

Election Day

2008-11-04T00:15:00.000-08:00

It's been a long, tough slog through the muck, hasn't it? My mother, the erstwhile politics junkie (as long as it's all about the Democrats, of course) was overheard sighing at dinner Sunday and saying, "You know what I'm looking forward to? It being all over!" I think it's a sentiment that many of us could wholeheartedly agree with.

While it's been disheartening to be so frustrated, and occasionally disgusted, by the machinations of the parties and their candidates, I still find myself feeling deeply connected to the system and to my country, as flawed as I may find it and its government at times. From something as simple as watching John Adams and being moved, to something more profound like the thrill I still have when casting my own vote, it's clear that despite my often cynical and disappointed harping, I'm still bound to my country and the ideals that drove its creation.

I hope we all take a moment tomorrow and make our voices heard. Not only is our country worth that effort, so are we.

(Okay, so maybe a '40's pinup girl isn't the first thing we think about when exercising our right to vote, but you've got to admit she was probably effective. Besides, you try to find vintage, interesting "vote!" clip art when you have zero patience wading through the morass that is Google.)

Growing Up Fast

2008-10-28T23:18:00.000-07:00

I've never been the type of parent who mourns the lost babyhood of her progeny. While it's true that I love children of all ages, and each stage of their growth has its own unique pleasure, it's always been with teenagers that I've felt most comfortable. They're so bright, interesting and full of opinions. Granted, not all opinions held by the teenagers who have frequented my domain have been equally welcome, but it remains true that they are all pretty interesting. So, while it's fun going through each stage with my children, I've always awaited the next stage with eagerness.

As I've mentioned before, my youngest daughter will be twelve very soon.

Twelve.

This hardly seems possible. My eldest daughter just turned 24, my middle 19, and while it's true that I find myself marveling the fact that they are indeed adults, this last one . . . well, it's just different. She seems so much younger at this age than my other girls, although in reality she's clearly much older. More precocious. More worldly. I have a friend who has taught elementary aged children for over 20 years now. She says that she can tell the moment a child enters her classroom whether that child is an eldest or a youngest. The eldest child of a family often is just as a child should be. Naive, unaware and childlike. Those children born last? The babies of the family? Well, let's just say if they swept into their first grade classroom wearing a smoking jacket, swilling a martini, and magnanimously offering dating advice gained from watching elder siblings, no one would be surprised.

I know all of this. I also know my daughter. That's why it's a bit of a puzzle how thrown I was by my "baby" this weekend.

Scene: Local fire station. A birthday party. One that, after having received the invitation, my daughter declared would probably be lame. The party that she thought she might be a bit "too old" for at the ripe old age of nearly 12. I expected my daughter to be excited when we picked her up since we were headed to a close friend's house to play with their new puppy. What I didn't expect was her mile-a-minute chatter about the party at the fire station. Thrilled that she was able to transcend her blase' attitude, be a child and enjoy the party, I started to ask questions about what they'd seen and done. Sure she had a detail or two about the fire trucks, the work the firefighters did, etc. but would you like to know what most of her animated discussion was about?

Well, let's just say that while she was definitely interested in and admiring of the work firefighters do, she was equally enamored of how they looked doing it. (Not to mention trying to figure out a way to set one up with either of her older sisters). As I said earlier, I was a bit thrown. Why I was is beyond me. This is the girl who at 4, looking a gift given (not by me or my husband) to her oldest sister (then 16), a calendar entitled"The Men of Hawaii", casually declared how "hot" several men were. After stern looks at her older sister for not being a bit more careful with her dialogue around her baby sister, I corrected my 4 year old told her that the men should more correctly be termed "attractive", "happy", "healthy" and "handsome". She nodded solemnly and said "You're right, mommy. They are certainly handsome." She then paused for a long moment before adding matter of factly "And they're hot too." Apparently that logic applies not only to the men of Hawaii, but also to firefighters.

Growing up a bit too fast? Yeah, maybe.

But then again . . .
Who can argue with her?

Excess? You Decide

2008-10-19T13:38:00.000-07:00

Most of the time I'm pretty content with the stage of life that I'm at. Fairly comfortable with being a woman of a "certain age" with the responsibilities I've maintained for over 20 years. Sure, there's a pang or two of nostalgia when the older girls (24 and 19) discuss exciting early adulthood experiences, but nothing terribly painful.

Most of the time.

The other day my middle daughter was chatting with me while folding her laundry. She mentioned that it had been a while since she'd done laundry, giving a completely logical reason as to why she was folding TWENTY-FIVE pairs of underwear.

TWENTY-FIVE. Nice pairs. Not an "emergency" pair in the bunch. Adorable, lacy little nothings. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. (As a visual aid, I've added a representative photo from Victoria's Secret) Now many of you might be saying: "Twenty-five pairs? Big deal. I've got fifty in the drawer at home." To those of you saying this, I say "Pfft! I have nothing to say to you other than turn in your Mother Martyr card immediately."

But wait. There's more.

She came home from work (she works at an upscale-ish department store) on Friday with TEN. More. Pairs!

Seriously. I'm so not kidding.

Now, I know I'm from New England, am thrifty, practical, pragmatic and all that, but honestly? It's clearly time to go shopping.

Unknown Perils of Online Viewing

2008-10-12T22:25:00.000-07:00

So, here it is, Sunday night. I'm alone (everyone in the house is either in bed or being churlish). I'm bored. Nothing to do. Super Text Twist works for a minute until I realize that I might as well have someone sit next to me with a sign that says "Verbal Dullard" since I can't seem to get words like "sierra" and "disdains". Obviously Text Twist isn't exactly a self esteem booster tonight. Not only that, but I've eaten far too many of the chocolate/vanilla swirl marshmallows my mother bought me. Mom, I love you and you were a sweetheart to pick up a bag for me when you bought one for yourself, but since it's clear I have no willpower at all against them, I think it's best to eschew them all together in the future since they are clearly tools of the devil.

Normally, since I'm an American and all that, I would generally pick this time to turn on the television instead of doing something productive like work on the baby sweater. Sadly though, since we ditched cable and pretty much turned off the television to "regular" viewing when my oldest (now 24) was around 8 or 9, all those fun new shows are unavailable to me until they come out on DVD. (Full Disclosure Notice: Well, that was then, this is almost now - we're getting cable again in a couple of weeks. Price for the phone/cable internet/tv bundle was too good to pass up) So, I decide to see which new shows are available to watch online. I particularly wanted to see Life on Mars and Fringe.

Life on Mars wasn't bad, lots of fun music and appealing actors. but it's Fringe that I really wanted to check out. I'm definitely not much of a police procedural person, but Fringe still interests me because of J. J. Abrams and my Lost addiction. Off I go to the Fox Network.

I click on the "Watch Full Episode" tab, then "Fringe" and . . .

I get this:

A blank page with the ominous words "FATAL ERROR" and lots of intimidating code at the top.

??

Fatal Error?

What exactly does this mean? My fatal error? The computer? The network? I don't know about you, but if I hear the words "fatal error" after an attempt at anything, I think it's likely that I'm pretty much, sorry there's just not a delicate way to put this, screwed. I quickly hit the "back" button (like that's really going to help in a true "fatal error" situation) and closed out the entire browser. Since I'm here and able to write this post, I think it might be safe to assume that I luckily got out in time.

While it's clear there are obvious benefits to an existence without "real" TV, there appear to be significant perils too. To avoid any potential Fatal Errors in the future, I think I'll just be patient until the cable's hooked up to the television instead of just the computer.

I guess it's back to Text Twist and more humiliation.

Crafty Endeavors

2008-10-08T11:53:00.000-07:00

If you spend too much time online perusing blogs, you could potentially find yourself feeling a bit, shall we say, inadequate.

First you have those clever, adept and cerebral wordsmiths who offer food for the not only the brain, but also the spirit. Whether it's offering deep, critical analysis of extraordinary books they've read (or written!), witty observations on culture, or amusing anecdotes of their lives, each day there's something fresh and new to look forward to.

But that's not enough.

Then you find those who are so accomplished and clever with their hands that their homes boast a cornucopia of creations, each more creative and detailed than the last, each one alternately inspiring me and sending me into a shame spiral when viewing my own feeble attempts at handwork.

My dear friend Kristin just welcomed a sweet new granddaughter. She's absolutely beautiful. Those of us around Kristin (and faithful readers of her blog) have known for some time of this grandchild. I tell you this not to offer a refresher course in basic reproductive biology, but to illuminate a basic flaw in my character.

Not only can I not seem to finish anything in a timely manner, nothing I create is in any way similar to the cozy homemaker/crafter bloggers' creations.

I decided, in my infinite wisdom, despite all evidence being contrary to any good outcome, to knit the expected grandchild a sweater. Since my previous knitting accomplishments include a handful a scarves and several botched attempts at socks, this was ambitious, but hey, there was 7 months to complete the sweater, right?

That's right. Seven months. A looong time. Lots of time to find the right yarn, the right pattern and the right talent necessary for such an endeavor.

Yarn? Fairly easy to find.

Pattern? Ditto.

Talent? Apparently missing in action if my progress on the sweater is anything to go by.

Yeah, that looks about right.

Friendship

2008-10-03T02:05:00.000-07:00

"If a man does not make new acquaintance as he advances through life, he will soon find himself left alone. A man, Sir, should keep his friendship in constant repair."
Samuel Johnson

As I just wrote to a friend, and as I've mentioned here, I occasionally have a love/hate relationship with the blogging world. So much of it feels intimate and cozy, warm and open. I feel pulled into people's lives through their blogs, experiencing with them the ins and outs of their lives, generally celebrating the good but sometimes experiencing the unthinkable with them. Or at least it feels that way. Sometimes though that cuddly feeling masks an empty intimacy. Something that lacks substance, context and true depth.

At times we are fortunate to truly share in each other's lives via the 'net and even form acquaintances that turn into something deeper and richer. Often though it has felt to me that we just seem to skim along the surface of each other's existence without the burden of the more difficult practice of maintaining relationships through hard work, effort and contact. We don't really know each other and have no idea what we're all really like. We're missing that essential nitty gritty contact that mandates the bad to be seen along with the good and allows someone to love you anyway.

Out of such thoughts and experiences was born my love/hate relationship with the blogging community. Until I realized something.

The 'net and its active blogging community doesn't have a lock on superficiality with regards to human interaction. "Real" life and its accompanying relationships can be just as fleeting, just as empty of true intimacy as any online relationship. Even deeply held and cherished friendships can fade without the effort necessary to sustain them. "Real" life and its accompanying stresses can erode away the time and will necessary to maintain and strengthen friendships. I'm truly fortunate to have some lovely friends, something for which I'm grateful every day. Surprisingly though, via a medium that I sometimes feel uncertain about or even antagonistic toward, I've rediscovered some old friends. Seen their blogs and read the details of their lives, details that I should have been aware and cognizant of. That experience definitely made me think and brought home to me how lax I've been in maintaining those lovely friendships and how much I've missed them. It also brought home to me how fortunate I feel being able to see these blogs, to connect via this medium. Something I truly wasn't prepared for.

The moral of this ramble? Well, there really isn't one. Other than to say . . . umm . . . I guess I was wrong.

Again.

Cherish your friends - online or off. Real world or cyber world. However you found them and however you connect. The world's a pretty nice place with them in it.

"I do not wish to treat friendships daintily, but with the roughest courage. When they are real, they are not glass threads or frost-work, but the solidest thing we know."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sharing Small Pleasures

2008-09-27T00:34:00.000-07:00

I had the pleasure last night of watching, for what has to be the 100th time, While You Were Sleeping, one of my favorite romantic comedies. I truly never get tired of it. Ever. It's one of my "comfort" films. You know, those films you put in the DVD player when you simply want or need something that makes you feel good. One that you know you'll enjoy regardless of what's going on in your life at the time.

What made this time special was that I watched it with what's becoming my "go to" girl to watch films with - my nearly 12 year old. Despite having to explain what a "testicle" was, the film's pretty tame and comes by its PG rating with little difficulty. (As a side note, it's a sad day in America when my youngest daughter understands what a "ball" is and not a "testicle". Sad, sad.) Sweet, tender and funny, it's perfect for the budding romantic that she's becoming.

Ever since Rebecca left home there's been a vast, yawning void in movie watching companionship. Gone indeed are the days when I could easily suggest an impromptu sing-a-long of Buffy the Vampire Slayer's "Once More With Feeling" episode or a "Fast Forward the Film Until We Get to a Dr. Evil Scene That We Can Quote" look at Autin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me. While my husband is generally an acceptable, if not inventive, Movie Watching Partner, it's just not the same as watching with Rebecca.

My middle daughter? Well, her film watching habits mirror her reading habits, which means of course that any suggestion for lighter fare is often met with The Look. This is not a look that is designed to say "Wow. My mom sure has superior intelligence and I certainly need to emulate her in every way.". No indeed. That is not what The Look says. Trust me.

So that leaves me with the little one - the wee one - who somehow isn't so little or wee any longer. The one who doesn't roll her eyes when I suggest that it's surely time to watch Pride and Prejudice again or make me feel a bit silly that I think Viva Las Vegas might be just the ticket for the evening. She even, get this, wants to watch the special features on the DVDs with me! Not even Bec would do that.

It's absolutely lovely that she's now old enough to stay up a little too late and watch some of my favorite films with me. I can't wait until she's a bit older and we can watch all of my favorite films.

Well . . . almost.

I saw this post tonight and while my heart is so full of joy for my dear friend Kristin and her gorgeous daughter and granddaughter, those sweet pictures had me thinking of my own three daughters at the time of their birth and how it's impossible to imagine so much time has passed.

So while it's tempting to hurry time so I'll be able to watch The Matrix with my youngest, I think I'll just savor the time I have now.

(BTW: If you're interested in a great, in-depth discussion/analysis of While You Were Sleeping, check out The Sheila Variations' post on it. Great stuff.)

Just in Time for Your Workout Today

2008-09-22T23:39:00.001-07:00

Seeing LoLCats on Bec's blog and reading Shallow Gal's comment on LOL Walrus and the Bucket led me to this:

Given the fact that my idea of exercise in the past has been generally how quickly I can turn the pages of the book I'm reading while sprawled on the sofa and the new knowledge that . . . umm . . . yeah . . exercise hurts -

I hear ya, Walrus. I seriously hear ya.

BTW, you can totally see that Walrus just wants to punch Perky Personal Trainer there, can't you?

Okay, so that's really just me and my pesky transference issues. Admit it though, the woman is enjoying her exercise just a bit too much for tolerance.

One more for good measure:

more animals

Monday, Monday

2008-09-21T23:41:00.000-07:00

As is typical for us all here, yesterday was a useful and productive day.

Oh wait. That's right. That's in my other world.

I'm not going to bore you with my plans to tackle all of the mundane, desperately needed cleaning chores. As a general rule, I'm fairly tidy, but every now and then things (umm . . . my bathroom for instance) gets a bit, shall we say, neglected. Yesterday was the day that I was going to address that neglect.

100%.

At first anyway.

My main effort at order and cleanliness yesterday? How to best attempt to persuade my husband to clean our bath. Despite my best efforts, which of course you understand had to be subtle given the fact that he'd already cleaned one bathroom in the house, my bath remains untidy. Unclean. Unwashed. Deeply unpalatable. Also, apparently, inescapable. Damn the man for being so helpful that I couldn't feel righteously justified in asking him to tackle another bathroom.

Given the fact that I didn't clean my bathroom, one would expect, despite my convoluted and protracted efforts to escape the chore, that I'd had plenty of time to tackle the other job on my fairly small "to-do" list.

You would be mistaken.

In the corner of my dining room sits a little corner cupboard. Since I'm not too much of a seasonal "around the house" decorator, I generally confine seasonal offerings to my corner cupboard. Which works well. When I actually do it. The china on the shelves of the cupboard now includes the blue, white, and silver pieces that are specifically meant for my "winter" cupboard. No, I'm not getting a jump on the coming season - this is from last winter. I kid you not. Last winter.

Sitting forlornly as a small sign of hope never realized rests a sweet little vase my daughter purchased for my spring cupboard. A splash of vibrant green amongst all the pale winter colors. A constant reminder of my decorative inattention this year.

Time finally to rectify this decorating disaster!

Right away.

I'm committed 100% to getting this done.

Right after I clean the bathroom.

Title Trauma

2008-09-19T00:49:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else have difficulty in thinking of a title for posts?

I thought of "Holy Crap, Look How Long It's Been Since I Posted!", but that seemed a bit silly given the fact that it's clear how long it's been since I posted. Pointing it out, particularly in a title, simply emphasizes the fact that I have absolutely no clue what I'm going to write about. The fact that statement is absolutely true has no bearing on the issue.

Maybe "Hi Again, It's Me"?

Yeah, I know. Trite. Silly. And, once again, clearly indicative of a lack of creative thought and an inability to produce purposeful prose.

"On My Bookshelf/Nightstand/Coffee Table"?

Well, that one might be okay if it wasn't a blatant rip-off of others' more insightful blogs. Then again, I could possibly live with unethical title poaching if I were reading something incredibly edifying and intellectual. I'm thinking that the chick lit fare that I've been reading lately doesn't quite qualify. In fact I recently spent precious moments before heading out to an appointment, late since I'm always late, desperately searching for something that at least looked like I might have a brain cell or two left to read in a waiting room where I was expected to spend some time. I ended up poaching my middle daughter's bookshelf where one can always find something thought provoking, intellectual and acceptable to carry in public.

You know, I don't even think she knows what 'chick lit' is. Although, let's be frank with each other - just how many books can we be expected to read to suitably enrich our understanding of the downtrodden, oppressed, or otherwise endangered peoples of the world in any given month?

Yeah. You know I ditched the book for the People magazine with Brad and Angelina on the cover the second I got in the office.

"I'd Love to Write But Things Have Been "Challenging" Here to Say the Least"?

Wordy and, come on, what a clunker of a downer. Who wants to read that? And, from an author's standpoint, who wants to be on the other end of the fallout that would surely ensue after "challenges" have been duly noted and explored? No. The "tell-all" blog and its variously easily written titles are not for me.

Well, I guess it'll just have to be . . . umm . . .

Hell. I have absolutely no idea. I'll think of something. Someday.

Thursday Thoughts

2008-05-01T18:33:00.000-07:00

1. Lost is on tonight. Seriously. I haven't been this excited about a show since . . . well . . . since a very long time.

Whatever. You get the idea.

The show is absolutely killer right now. On a related note, if you're into the show and haven't yet seen these Lost recaps, check out Ack Attack. Hilarious stuff.

2. Emergency Room docs that look like your daughter's old boyfriend are a bit disconcerting for all, especially when you make him uncomfortable staring at him and muttering "Who the hell does this guy look like??" under your breath every time he comes into the room. Fortunately Supernaturally Talented Middle Daughter When It Comes to Figuring out People and Where They Come From (there for a respiratory distress episode - 'tis the season for ugly allergens - damn spring) finally figured out who he looked like, saving her mother from a trip upstairs to the pysch ward for "observation" or to the police station.

3. Shopping with middle daughter a month or so ago and begging like a little girl for her to shell out the bucks for the newest Sims 2 expansion because you're too cheap apparently pays off. *Bonus: Acting like Mother's Day is simply an excuse for children and others to use the holiday as a "Get Out of Jail" free card and "honor" their mothers for years means you get the present way earlier.

4. Having The Lives of Others for nearly 2 months from Netflix and still not watching it is appalling. Even more shameful than not watching what I know will be an exceptional film is what I have watched instead. Here's a sampling:
Legally Blonde 2
That Thing You Do
Galaxy Quest
While You Were Sleeping

Yeah, I'm an intellectual giant.

5. Posts that you try to write because your eldest daughter has not yet given you the masterpiece of art necessary for the piece you had expected to post by this time are not always the most shining example of any literary competence.

Come on, Bec - it's time to face your fear and get mommy the picture she needs. :p

Against Type

2008-04-28T12:52:00.000-07:00

I watched the first disc of Ultraviolet (the BBC television mini series from 1998) recently. While watching it I was struck by the familiarity of the actors playing various roles. Try as I might though I couldn't pinpoint where I'd seen the actors in the past. This always happens to me. If I don't have my middle daughter around, who has some supernatural ability to pull actor identities and their various characters out of thin air, I'm sunk. Often I totally lose the narrative of the film attempting to figure out where on earth I've seen these people before.

One character in particular stood out for me. I absolutely could not place her at first.

After a bit I finally figured out where I'd seen this actor before.

Dear God, it's Miss Jane Bennett! In a vampire mini series, playing a character that I'm not entirely sure is - gulp - good, honest or ethical.

If you're interested, Ultraviolet, even with the shock of seeing Miss Jane Bennet acting the way Angie Marsh does, is definitely worth a look. Dark, atmospheric and complicated, at least during the first disc, I've seen it described as "more mature" than Buffy the Vampire Slayer even though it deals with much the same premise. So far the program hasn't attempted to be black and white in it's approach to the idea of "good" or "evil", opting instead for a more realistic exploration of the concepts and the conceit that comes with being in power. The blurring of any defining characteristics from either side is well done, giving you plenty of "human" characteristics from the "leeches" and monstrous actions from the humans.

Great stuff - even if my memory of Miss Jane Bennet (Susannah Harker) from the 1995 version of Pride and Prejudice (my favorite adaptation by far) has been forever impacted and altered.

You know though now that I think of it, while it's true that Jane's "goodness and disinterestedness does her credit", there was always something about that smile that had me wondering . . .

Baby Love

2008-04-25T01:45:00.000-07:00

Babies.

Just the word makes me happy.

When they aren't mine that is.

I've been a parent now for nearly 25 years. During my tenure as a breeder, I've been many things to many different people, worn many different hats and been called many different things. I've been called the "cool" mom at times. I've been called the "good listener" mom. I'd also be willing to bet that I've been called a Not Nice Name mom on occasion as well. What I have not been called - ever - is Laid Back Mom.

Easygoing Mom.

Relaxed Mom.

Not now with daughters aged 23, 18 and 11 and certainly not when there were tiny.

A quick glance into my past will give you a clue as to why.

One evening when Rebecca was just a month or two old I had a sudden, insistent suspicion that she was deaf. Why? Well, because as she lay sleeping at my parent's house, I determined that she hadn't reacted as I thought she should to a noise. What's a concerned mother to do? I took her loudest rattle and shook it hard to see if she could hear it.

I'm serious. I shook the hell out of that thing.

Poor little thing looked like she was having a seizure she was so startled. Needless to say, I settled back, secure in the knowledge that she could indeed hear. Of course the rest of us couldn't hear over her ear piercing shrieks, but that's apparently the price you pay for peace of mind.

My middle? My youngest? I hesitate to tell you how anxious and concerned I've been over inconsequential things. From calling Poison Control because a baby might have, maybe, just possibly put an infinitesimal amount of a Gerbera Daisy petal somewhere near her lips to worrying that my 11 month old with chicken pox was always going to have a face that only a mother could love, it's safe to say that I've not always been comfortable as my daughters have grown up.

When the baby isn't mine however, I'm able to relax and truly enjoy him or her. Laugh indulgently at their antics, even when they include gerbera daisies. React without drama to circumstances that require quick and prompt attention. Calmly remove whatever foreign substance has found it's way despite vigilance into a mouth, nose or ear. Bask in the knowledge that I am Laid Back Mom - or at least Laid Back Woman Who Is Relaxed Around Any Child Other Than Her Own.

My friend brought her grandson over on Monday. 14 months old, just about the age that my middle and her youngest child was when we met, and I fell in love all over again with babies. He was utterly adorable. Chubby arms and legs, a grin that split his face (and reminded me so strongly of his father who was 6 when I met my friend), slobbery kisses and garbled words, all impossible to resist. My youngest thought so too.

Well, when she relaxed that is. She spent most of the visit hoovering and worrying. Gasping aloud in shock twice over what a baby can get into. Gesturing incredulously when neither his grandmother or myself acted with what she considered appropriate concern. Noting repeatedly that the baby was "making her nervous". All the while nearly melting when he turned his face toward her, hugged her or even whacked her with a block. When he and his grandmother left after nearly 2 hours though, she collapsed in exhaustion. A mere rag doll drained after her ordeal.

Guess the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree.

Poor thing.

Adventures in Reading

2008-04-21T02:01:00.000-07:00

I'm a voracious reader. One who will, most of the time, enjoy reading a wide variety of books from an equally eclectic mix of genres.

Well, except for horror.

Horror, frankly, scares me. While I appreciate that the aim of horror is in fact to frighten people, I've learned that I don't much care for intentional terror. It's true that some who know me well will express some surprise at that statement and suggest that since they know I'm a total sucker for vampires, particularly ones that look like this, it's a bit disingenuous to say that I don't like horror.

I must scoff at this view because, come on, even if you're not into Billy Idol lookalikes, does this look like something you'd run away from? Totally doesn't count.

Nor do most books that deal with zombies. Again, it's true that some will assert that zombies are pretty scary things. I would have agreed with this view 10 years ago, but being forever attached to Rebecca means that I learned long ago to squelch any creeping feelings of dread, terror and general ickiness when faced with any number of films, graphic novels or books dealing with the walking dead.

So they don't count either.

Anything else in the horror grab bag of tricks? Absolutely out of my comfort zone.

Lately however, I've revisited my self imposed ban on horror novels because of Stephen King. Quite some time ago Mental Multivitamin mentioned Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft and I thought I'd take a look at it. Having read Dance Macabre years ago, I was fairly comfortable reading King's nonfiction and not too worried about any emotional repercussions from reading more. Besides I had been reading and enjoying him as the best part of Entertainment Weekly for a while, so what was there to be afraid of?

The book was, as are most of the books recommended by Mental Multivitamin, well worth reading. Having grown up near the area that Mr. King spent a portion of his childhood simply added to the appeal of this book for me. After finishing it, I decided to give his fiction another try. I say "another try", because the first time I read a Stephen King novel was Salem's Lot at age 14.

Let's just say that I struggled a bit with it.

As in I slept with a cross on my windowsill and begged anyone I thought might be Catholic for holy water for over a year. What can I say? This happened way before Spike made his prime time appearance and vampires still scared me.

Why potentially subject myself to this again, even so many years later? It's a good question. Honestly, after reading On Writing, I was really curious to take a look at his novels. So recently I read Christine. I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about this book. On the one hand, it was difficult to put down. It also caused some uneasiness, actually to the point where I didn't want to read it while in bed. I truly thought I was beyond being scared by a novel, but apparently I can still be unsettled by the written word. It was interesting to see themes in Christine that were discussed in On Writing, particularly those dealing with teen alienation and cliques. On the other hand though, the ending was deeply dissatisfying to me, although I'm not sure it should be. While we all want characters in a book to act in a superhuman way, with clear insight into how to solve a problem, real life simply isn't that way. So maybe the ending makes sense given the characters involved. Ultimately it was definitely worth a read.

Will I try another King novel? I'm not sure. I'm truly surprised at the reluctance I feel when thinking of attempting another. It's certainly not because I feel Christine was poorly written or plotted, it really is just that I'm uneasy at the thought of being frightened.

Guess that 14 yr. old is still there.

Wishes and Dreams

2008-04-14T22:30:00.000-07:00

Tonight I took the youngest of my three girls (11) off to dinner and Dancing With the Stars at Grandma and Grandpa's place. (Don't even ask my why I'm still watching this. I'm obviously a total glutton for punishment) Distracted a bit by the swirl of barely there costumes and truly traumatic music selections, I nearly missed a statement my youngest made during the numerous and unending commercials.

"Oh man, I would truly like to have one of those."

Wistful, yearning and nearly desperate came this plea, voiced just above a murmur.

What is it that could cause such desire in a young one's heart?

Was it this?Not on your life.

How 'bout this?
Uh-huh. Not even close.

Surely this?

Umm . . . actually that's my Heart's Desire. Right. Now.

Okay then. This has got to be it, right?

On any other day? Absolutely. Tonight? Nope.

This is what my dear one wished for tonight: I kid you not.

If ever I thought I understood and knew my daughters after nearly a quarter of a century of parenting, I was obviously deluded.

A tractor?!

Housewifery Horrors

2008-04-11T12:44:00.000-07:00

I realize that Rebecca has had her troubles with keeping a neat and tidy house. Those of us who have the great good fortune to live near Rebecca know this not only because she wrote about it or even because Wonder Woman couldn't wait to gossip about it, but because she, more often than not, threatens us with bodily harm if we dare to suggest an unexpected visit to her place might be a congenial way to spend an afternoon.

To borrow an expression from Rebecca that she uses frequently - pffft!

You ain't got nothin' on me, sister.

One day, nearly 2 weeks ago now, I had gotten up fairly early, but had not yet showered. I was expecting a quick visit from a friend who planned to drop off a few films for me to return to the video store for his family since they were on their way to a family vacation. Let me carefully say that again. I was expecting a child to pop up at the door, hand over the films, accept a hearty "Have a great time!" and leave.

Instead of my usual morning tidy-up, I decide to while away the time spent waiting for my friends playing the absolutely riveting game of Supercow. I hold my head up high and offer no apologies for this use of leisure time. However, given what happened, it would have at least been nice to be deeply involved in something that required more brain cells than stomping on numerous nefarious possessed farm criminals in order to fulfill my mission as savior of the barnyard. Picture if you will this scene:

Two large baskets overflowing with clean, unfolded laundry atop the sofa - partly because one does have to admit the sofa is a handy surface to set things upon and partly because the stupid dog will not stop jumping on the sofa for a comfy nap spot when I'm out of the room necessitating the use of barriers.

Said sofa with rip in the arm because of the above mentioned stupid dog (which, if I'm honest, I have to say I'm not terribly broken up about because we're buying a new sofa).

Books piled haphazardly all through the room - tables, bookcases, various other available surfaces.

Kitchen. Well, let's just say that it was looking a bit used.

Hall bathroom. Dear God. It doesn't even bear thinking about.

And me . . . playing Supercow.

Pulling me away from my vital barnyard mission, I answer the expected knock on the door. Did I see the sweet face of a child waiting to hand me a couple of DVDs? Well, yes. But that's not all I saw. I saw every damn one of the vacation party on my doorstep. All 6 of them. The four that I know extremely well and two that I know little about other than the mother keeps an immaculate house. Immaculate. As in no unfolded laundry. No dirty dishes. And, God help us, no bathroom that looks like it was recently used by a rugby team just off a muddy field.

Great.

At first I thought everything was going to be okay. Foolish of me given the fact that within a second or two of my startled greeting, I was told everyone needed to use the bathroom. Yes, that bathroom. Of course there are two other bathrooms in the house. While my bathroom was indeed actually clean, one had to tramp through the bedroom to get to it - something no one other than someone training for an Everest expedition relishes. The remaining one was utilized by the children, but given the fact that it's always utilized by children it's state of cleanliness was as questionable as the hall bath.

I need to stop relating this horror to you all now. The memory of this is obviously far too fresh to allow any more detail. My only solace then, and now, was the planning of a prodigious amount of innovative punishments for my middle daughter whose job it was to attend to both the kitchen and bath before she left for the day.

Comfort and solace comes in odd places sometimes.

Changes

2008-04-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

Just a housekeeping note.

I'm trying out new blogger templates so if the blog looks more scattered than usual, you know why.

Now if I could just figure out how to fix the bugs in this template . . .

War, Loss and Sacrifice Hollywood Style

2008-04-03T22:10:00.000-07:00

After rereading yesterday's post, I got a bit concerned that my disdain for the film Stop-Loss could potentially be interpreted as a lack of empathy or concern for anyone associated with our involvement with Iraq or Afghanistan. I'm not going to dissemble - I absolutely opposed our preemptive strike from the beginning. Regardless of my feelings about the war and occupation, I do care about the human toll. Deeply.

I've seen two films lately on veterans and the impact combat can have on them. Both of them, In the Valley of Elah and the aforementioned Stop-Loss, left me cold. Elah was written and directed by Paul Haggis of Crash fame, another film that I really disliked. I don't appreciate as a rule having a "good message" slam down on my head with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. Crash could have been a much better film, and forced more of us to truly examine ourselves, if it had shown more clearly the subtle forms of racism that exist in our world. As it was, it gave people a free pass simply because the examples of racism were so hamfisted that most people could breathe a sigh of relief and say "Well, of course I would never do that." It let us off the hook.

I see echoes of that approach to a message in both Elah and Stop-Loss. The examples of trauma experienced after combat are so extreme that they cause us to perhaps question whether someone who isn't digging a fox hole in the front yard, committing suicide, murdering fellow soldiers, or beating the woman in their life truly suffers any ill effect from their experiences in a combat zone. They allow us to avert our gaze from the returning soldier who shows more subtly in his or her reaction to the incredible stress, strain, terror or even extreme boredom they've experienced for 12 to 15 months at a time for sometimes 2 or 3 tours of duty. These films give us another free pass. Ostensibly they show us what the occupation is doing to our soldiers, but in reality they perhaps allow us to miss the true toll that the war demands from its participants. If we don't see the reality of that cost, then we don't have to examine whether or not the occupation is worth it. And, if it is, whether or not we're willing to make an equal sacrifice.

Then again, maybe there remains some merit to Stop-Loss. Apparently, according to a review by Entertainment Weekly, the film is an MTV Films production marketed primarily at teenage girls. I definitely see that. The stars of the film are gorgeous and, even at their worst, still sympathetic. The film infuses the issue with just enough of a romantic sensibility to appeal to girls swooning for a noble, tortured poet hero. All of that said, and all of that noted for its manipulative qualities, it did one thing for this decidedly not teen aged person. It made me truly stop for a second and really think about what is happening to the soldiers over there. What they bring back with them. What their families struggle to work through.

I've been so opposed to this war and occupation, so distressed with the whole "we'll kick your ass 'cause we're cowboys and the rules don't apply to us" mentality that I don't think that I've given enough thought to our soldiers. It's easy these days in America if you're not fighting over in Iraq or Afghanistan, or have someone you love over there, to simply not think too much about it. I can argue a lot about the philosophical and moral issues of preemptive strikes. I can talk knowledgeably about the amount of funding this occupation has cost. I can cite how each of my legislators voted on issues surrounding the terrorist attacks and subsequent actions in Iraq and Afghanistan. As I stated above, I've cared deeply about the human toll of the conflict but if I'm truly honest, it's been more in the abstract. Worse, at times it's been tempered by a frustration with our country and its armed forces fueled by Abu Ghraib, rendition and other allegations of torture. The scenes at the beginning of the film, even given the preponderance of an attitude expressed about Iraq that distresses me, did make me see soldiers a bit differently. Something Elah, a far better acted and shot film, didn't do.

So, I guess even with the hackneyed plot lines, the stereotypes, and the ridiculous acting, the film attempts to force Americans to do something that most Americans resist. It works hard to make us come out of our comfortable, affluent existence and realize that, despite the fact that we make no sacrifices over here in the name of a war, those who are over there certainly do.

Wisdom For Your Wednesday

2008-04-03T00:25:00.000-07:00

Coercion rears its ugly head and I cower under its gaze.

Well . . . okay. So there's that flattery thing too. We all know that's really what I'm unable to resist.

What, you might ask, has been going on here since November when I last posted? What extraordinary insight do I have into the affairs of the day? Where is the eloquence and depth that you clamor for?

Brace yourselves.

For starters, Dancing With the Stars is utterly appalling this year. The reasons are legion, but I remain particularly traumatized by the Dancing With the Stars orchestra and singers butchering Roxanne as a couple (which one? It's impossible to tell - they are all interchangeable) danced the Tango. Yes, you heard me. The Tango. It simply doesn't bear thinking about another second.

Btw, who ever knew there were Wikipedia entries for songs??

Moving on.

It's always wise to double check resources being utilized while exploring Ancient Greece with an 11 and 12 year old (girl and boy respectively). Otherwise awkward moments could potentially ensue when reading about the Minoan culture - specifically the Minoan woman's choice of attire. Trying to act utterly nonchalant about bare-breasted Minoan women in the face of just-on-the-cusp-of-adolescence children is . . . oh who am I kidding? It's utterly impossible. Trust me.

Sitting in a theater with Kristin and Rebecca is quite clearly a mistake when a film like Stop-Loss is in the offing. I tell you this so that you may avoid the specter of potential social suicide. It's true that snorting hysterical laughter during a burial scene is indeed a social faux pas, but I maintain that there was no other reaction available to anyone watching that film.

When friends, relatives and total strangers on the street are aware of your oft repeated revulsion for country music, it's best not to be seen belting out the lyrics to Shania Twain's Any Man of Mine:

We all muck out stables in a midriff baring top. Ask anyone.

Oh yeah, there's that other song too - Coal Mine by Sara Evans

Damn you, husband o' mine for leaving that disc in the car.

Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Program

2007-11-03T12:07:00.000-07:00

It's no surprise to anyone that I haven't been much in a blogging mood. There are complicated reasons for that. Some relating to the nature of the Internet and online communities which I feel have the potential to negatively impacting our local, "real life" communities, some related to simple stress and activity, and some related to the idea that if I don't have something profound to impart, I shouldn't post. I've decided if I'm going to continue with this blog though, I'll just post whatever content I choose, controversial or not, informative or not, funny or not, relevant or - oh, you get the idea. So, with that in mind - I will now reenter the world of blogging . . .

. . .

Okay, so that's not as easy as I thought it would be. There's just no help for it. I'll have to rely on a meme.

This is a meme (sort -of) that I found once upon a time, copied and pasted, but completely forgot to bookmark the site so it could be referenced. So, sadly, I have no idea where this movie meme came from but here are the rules:

Pick out ten favorite movies, then look them up at IMDb. In the overview at the top of each movie's page, there are "Plot Keywords," usually five of them. (Plus more, if you click the link.) Take the first five, and post them. Then the rest of us get to play movie buff and see if we can guess them.

Here are my 10 picks. It was hard to narrow down which ones to pick and frankly, I'm a bit taken aback at the plot keywords for some of them. Trust me, they're all real movies - ones that, despite the key words, you probably could watch in respectable company . . . well, mostly.

1. 19th Century / Sense / Intimacy / Lyrical / Colonel
2. Extramarital Affair / Transformation / Rough Sex / Battle Of The Sexes / Fiancee
3. Stabbed In The Leg / Attack / Stabbed In The Chest / Fantasy World / Fantasy Life
4. Public Domain / Death Of Daughter / Baby / Christmas / Adoption
5. Card Game / Male Female Relationship / Heart Condition / Love / Shoes
6. Class Differences / Fall From Height / Dog / Voyeur / Beautiful Woman
7. Exploding Body / Spoon / Altered Version Of Studio Logo / Mentor / Blown To Pieces
8. England / Sister / Britain / Male Female Relationship / Sister Sister Relationship
9. Shot In The Shoulder / Narration / Black Comedy / Corpse / Breasts
10. Critically Acclaimed / Disturbing / Blood On Shirt / Racism / Brawl

So, there we have it. Not only a new post, but a quiz! What luck for the three of you reading.

:-)

Answers to follow soon.

Great New Blog!

2007-07-22T20:03:00.000-07:00

Go take a look at Island Hearth and Handicrafts. It's my friend Angie's new blog and I know you'll find it as terrific as I do.

Angie is a wonderfully talented woman, creating absolutely phenomenal works of art out of many different mediums. Several needle felted creations are pictured now. I can't tell you how detailed and amazing these pieces are. I've watched her create several of these pieces and it never fails to astonish me how a simple piece of wool roving and a barbed needle can become such beautifully realized pieces of art.

In addition to being so talented with a needle, Angie also creates the kind of home that many of us wish we'd created. Weekly visits to her home (along with a couple of other friends and their children) are a staple in my life. One that I wouldn't give up for anything. It almost feels like we've slipped back in time there - all sitting around with handwork, not only recreating the kind of supportive network for ourselves that has existed in decades past for women and children, but finding simple joy and beauty in what our hands create.

Angie's definitely been an inspiration to me and I know she'll be one to you too.

As I said in a comment on your blog, Angie: Welcome to the world of blogging. The Blogsphere is a better place with you in it!

Back Among the Semi-Coherent and Almost Relaxed

2007-07-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the prolonged absence. To say that things have been "busy", "chaotic" or "stressful" really doesn't even begin to explain how life's been around our neck of the woods lately. My mother recently underwent heart valve replacement surgery and the build up to the surgery, as well as the very long two weeks after surgery, were stressful and occasionally frightening. I'm very pleased to say though that things seem to be looking up. I think we'd all agree that it's about time. We're all looking forward to relaxing and enjoying the remainder of our summer.

Many, many thanks to those of you who have been such good friends to me, both online and in real life. Your support has meant the absolute world to me and my family.

Oh, and Mom? I can't tell you how grateful I am to have my best friend back home and ready for a chick flick marathon. Love you.

A Heartfelt Thanks . . .

2007-06-10T12:33:00.000-07:00

to the emergency room workers across the country, but most especially here in my little corner of the world. In nearly 23 years of parenting my husband and I have never had to utilize the services of any hospital emergency room for any of our children.

That changed last night.

Thanks to quick treatment leavened with humor and kindness, my nearly 18 year old daughter, who has suffered with asthma for the first time in her life this spring, was treated and sent home in far better shape than when she arrived.

Thank you from the depths of this mother's heart.

Full Disclosure

2007-05-31T01:44:00.001-07:00

Well, it's killing me, but I'm going to have to come clean. In my previous post I noted that I was pleased that Lost had finished up its season before I became one of those sad, waif-like creatures desperately searching the web for some guidance, nay some inspired assistance, in navigating the strange and fearsomely fascinating layers of the Lost universe.

I lied. I apparently am neither glad that Lost has ended its season nor am I as free from obsession as I'd like to pretend.

I have just spent the last hour or so on the web reading blogs and following link after link in a futile effort to come to some understanding of Lost and where its headed. Surfing Lost sites when I should have been reading. When I should have been working on handwork. When I should have been doing the dishes. Heck, when I should have been sleeping.

But, there it is. I am a Lostaholic.

Truth can be ugly sometimes.

Thinking Happy Thoughts

2007-05-28T15:57:00.000-07:00

Things have been pretty hectic around here and it's challenging to find a moment when I'm not obsessing, fretting or otherwise behaving like a MOC - that's "Mom Outta Control" for the uninitiated. You know, it was pretty much okay to want to dress my daughters and fix their hair when they were toddlers. In their late teens and early 20s? . . . Eh, not so much.

In a desperate act of attempting to distract myself from the encroaching and insidious effects of MOC syndrome, I've decided to share with you all a few things that are making me happy and keeping me from thinking about whether my daughters are dating axe murderers, wearing the right shade of eyeliner, reacting badly to the amount of pollen or pollutants in the air, or styling their hair in the nice way I showed them.

Without further ado:

1. My new toothbrush. It's pink and green. When you've gone to school in New England during the early eighties and utilized The Official Preppy Handbook by Lisa Birnbach as a guideline for all that is good and beautiful, the toothbrush matters. Seriously.

2. Watching favorite old movies and musicals like The Band Wagon, Meet Me in St. Louis and Friendly Persuasion with my youngest daughter.

Okay, who am I kidding? Yes, the films are fun, but it's the fact that the youngest is still only ten and I don't have to fret over who she's dating that's the true appeal. It's also true that she still lets me comb her hair and even occasionally style it as long as it's an appropriate style for any combat that might come the way of an elven warrior.

3. The Gilmore Girls seasons on DVD were inexpensive at Target recently.

4. I still remember how to crochet a granny square.

5. The laundry is all folded.

6. Lost is over for the season. Finally. It was shocking how much mental energy I have spent lately on this show. Now I can finally rest easy in the knowledge that I will not become one of those people who spend hours with Google trying to determine if an obscure reference on 'Lost" means something profound or is just a throw-away line by the writers. Just in time . . .

7. I have a stack of my favorite magazines waiting to be read. We will not dwell on the fact that so many remained unread because I was too busy obsessing about a. the daughters, b. Lost, or c. who will win on Dancing With the Stars and just revel in the glory that they exist to be read.

8. How lovely the backyard and garden are thanks to the hard work my husband has put in this spring. The roses on climbing over the little arch are particularly gorgeous. It's soothing just to look out there.

Off to enjoy the day!

2007-05-12T13:38:00.000-07:00

Mother's Day

You know, I was all set to do somewhat of an anti-Mother's Day post. I'm not a big fan of Mother's Day and I felt it was my obligation to share with you all my indignation of the "Get Out of Jail Free" card that many families use Mother's (and Father's ) Day as. Then something changed. Kristin sent an email to several of us which included a link to say la vee's post of a piece by Anna Quindlen, a writer I've always enjoyed. Reading through this entry, I had tears in my eyes - something not often found on my face whenever and wherever Mother's Day is discussed. Then I popped over to The Sheila Variations and read her entry on Penny Serenade, one of my all time favorite films and I lost, for just a second anyway, all of my cynicism about Mother's Day and parenting in general.

I'm waiting now for my own mother and father to come for dinner, joining my three daughters and husband. Surrounded by so much evidence of how I'm loved and cherished, and how much I love and cherish my own mother, who can remain cynical?

2007-04-28T00:56:00.000-07:00

Updates, Information and Other Fascinating Tidbits

*S is still wearing the sleeveless shirt to our weekly get-together with friends. Still starting buttoned. Still ending up unbuttoned over a, sadly now stained, white sleeveless t-shirt. We're thinking that a CB radio should be her next gift to help prepare her for her future career.

*The desktop computer continues to give us fits. Serious ones. Friends and neighbors will most likely not be surprised to find the computer trying out its new occupation as a lawn ornament. The Company Which Shall Not Be Named that made the computer is not a favorite of mine right now either. We've given said company *hours* of our time. Hours, I tell you. Next time Blue Screen comes to call, they're going to have to pick up this thing and work out their differences with Computer themselves. Blue Screen may be having the time of its life, but we certainly aren't.

*Disappointing movie news:
I watched The Curse of the Golden Flower the other night. If you're looking for something to provide an opportunity for existential musing, this is your ticket. Gorgeous, utterly over-the-top set design and completely ridiculous story line. Stunning actors mouthing silly dialogue. Responsible adults acting on reasonable assertions? People simply drawn up in the web of fate and unable to change their lives? Like it? Hate it? Love it? Who knows?

The Last King of Scotland was an unbelievable disappointment. Lurid storytelling with very little attention paid to character development. We never fully understood any of the characters and what drove them. I adore Forest Whittaker, but I'm sad to say, I just don't quite see this as an extraordinary performance. I'm looking for something other than mimicry when I see a biographical portrayal of someone on the stage or screen. Two dimensional caricature I can find easily. Fully realized portraits of a real human being are a bit tougher to locate. I couldn't help but compare this to The Queen, a far superior film that doesn't stoop to simple imitation but appears to strive for something deeper.

*East Wind Melts the Ice by Liza Dalby is phenomenal. While primarily a naturalist's journal, it's also a personal memoir as well as an introduction to ancient Chinese and Japanese culture. Absolutely lovely. I'm enjoying every page.

I'm still reading The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. It's surprising that I haven't finished it since I am enjoying it, but it's one of those books that languishes on the night stand while others get picked up. It's a bit dense, a little too wordy and somewhat self-consciously "educational". That said however, it's intensely atmospheric and there's a palpable sense of dread to the pages. I will definitely finish it.

I've picked up Spook: Science Tackles the Afterlife by Mary Roach again. I'm finding it great fun but a bit thin so far. We'll see how I feel once I've finished it.

*I've discovered that handwork actually takes work. Grueling labor. Intensive stitching and equally vigorous ripping out of stitches. This is work I'm not terribly sure I'm cut out for. There's a reason that children started working on embroidery when they were preschool aged once upon a time. This stuff is hard. I'm definitely feeling nostalgic for the amiability of Knitted Dishcloth.

*I've also discovered a perplexing reaction that I have when someone is booted off of Dancing With the Stars. I always think I'll be pleased to have someone off the show that I've found irritating, but instead I always feel desperately sorry for them. This is my first experience watching a show that 'eliminates' contestants. It's pretty darn brutal. Who knew I'd have such a soft spot for those the other viewers have forsaken? You learn something new about yourself every day, I guess.

Enjoy your weekend everyone!

2007-04-20T02:00:00.000-07:00

Needing to be Inspired

I just finished watching Bobby, an ensemble film revolving around the Ambassador Hotel and the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy. It's not the greatest film ever, probably not even all that wonderful, but there was certainly something that kept me riveted. Not so much the whole Camelot nostalgia; I was far too young to even have a clue about the Kennedys when Robert F. Kennedy was shot. What the film did instead was force me to acknowledge that behind my cynical take on politics there still beats the heart of a idealistic person who desperately yearns to find a political or social leader to truly believe in.

Someone who truly believes in social justice. Someone who will speak for those who have been disenfranchised in our society. Who stands up for the common man instead of corporate heads. Someone who speaks the truth. Someone who stands up for peace. Someone who makes us really look at ourselves and resolve to be better. Someone to make us feel proud to be Americans.

I guess what I saw that film capture on the faces of RFK's supporters in archival footage was the certainty that this man, Robert F. Kennedy, embodied all of those characteristics that I want to see now. The certainty that this man could make things better for all Americans. A certainty that I want desperately to feel.

Take a moment to read this speech given by RFK on April 5, 1968, used to great effect by the filmmaker in Bobby. A speech that is perhaps even more pertinent today then when he first gave it. I've pulled a few excerpts from this speech and posted them below.

What an amazing man.

On the Mindless Menace of Violence
City Club of Cleveland, Cleveland, Ohio
April 5, 1968

This is a time of shame and sorrow. It is not a day for politics. I have saved this one opportunity, my only event of today, to speak briefly to you about the mindless menace of violence in America which again stains our land and every one of our lives.

. . . Yet we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike. We calmly accept newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far-off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire whatever weapons and ammunition they desire.

. . . For there is another kind of violence, slower but just as deadly destructive as the shot or the bomb in the night. This is the violence of institutions; indifference and inaction and slow decay. This is the violence that afflicts the poor, that poisons relations between men because their skin has different colors. This is the slow destruction of a child by hunger, and schools without books and homes without heat in the winter.

. . . I have not come here to propose a set of specific remedies nor is there a single set. For a broad and adequate outline we know what must be done. When you teach a man to hate and fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies, to be met not with cooperation but with conquest; to be subjugated and mastered.

We learn, at the last, to look at our brothers as aliens, men with whom we share a city, but not a community; men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in common effort. We learn to share only a common fear, only a common desire to retreat from each other, only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this, there are no final answers.

. . . Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence.

We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our own children's future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.

2007-04-12T17:28:00.000-07:00

That "6 Weird Things About Me" Meme

Yep, it's still around. Kristin wrote up a list of the oddities that make Kristin, Kristin and Rebecca followed suit. Reading their posts was supremely enlightening. Who knew for instance that light bulbs could cause such angst? Or that mouths and teeth, or mouths full of teeth, could inspire such revulsion? Or even that people trying to helpful by unloading a dishwasher may be consigning themselves to a week's worth of enmity if they put the silverware in the drawer incorrectly?

Thankfully, I share none of the weirdness that Rebecca and Kristin have related. I am completely, utterly and, without a doubt, normal as can be.

For instance, I know that everyone eats a Three Musketeers candy bar slowly, inching off the chocolate layer bit by bit until there's nothing left but the soft nougat center, which you take tiny nibbles of until you can't stand your sticky fingers any longer and shove the remainder into your mouth in one spongy mess.

And surely everyone else purchases items like brown rice syrup, gallon jugs of honey and other useful foodstuffs in massive quantities because your friend is ordering from the co-op and you're most definitely sure you're about to become a healthy-treat-baking-fiend any day now. If one jar of brown rice syrup is a good thing, then a whole case must be better, right? One must have one's pantry ready for anything, including a post-apocalyptic world without sweeteners.

It's also quite well known that all people sing songs about whatever game is being played during game play. From 'Bye Bye UNO' (sung when someone says "UNO" but then has to draw on their next turn) to "Ha, Ha, Ha! You're Going Down" (sung when someone bids zero and takes a trick during a game of Oh Hell), all folks know these songs and sing them frequently.

All across America and beyond, people are savoring that sublime moment that occurs after you've squirted dish liquid into the water for dishes. You know that moment? The one that makes you silly and happy? After the bottle is upright, you do a quick squeeze and little, tiny adorable bubbles pop out and float around your head. They're just so cute and cheerful and . . . umm, honestly I just do it to make my middle daughter happy.

Sociological studies across the country have concluded that the proliferation of "talk" radio is simply for folks, who are in the midst of driving to complete whatever errands the day has presented, to turn on and get consequently furious at the idiocy presented therein. It's documented. Really. It's not just me.

And finally , in an unfortunate turn of events for the baking industry, people are turning away from cake in droves. Cake batter seems to be greatly enjoyed, but the actual cake leaves many cold. Sad but true.

See? I'm normal as can be. Just another member of the herd.

2007-04-11T23:54:00.000-07:00

Another Motherhood Low Point

You know it's not going to be a good day when you resort to making threats against your 10 yr. old daughter's new shirt.

That's right.

I said "her new shirt".

Here's how it all played out:

Me - Are you going to wear that shirt? It's supposed to be, I don't know, something like 65 degrees out there today and that thing's sleeveless.
S- Yes. I'll be fine. I wore it yesterday and it was even colder than today. I'll wear a jacket outside.
Me- Wait. That's right! You did wear that yesterday. Is that even clean???
S- Yes. Daddy put it in the wash for me when you asked that he throw a load of laundry in while he was feeding the cat.
Me- Oh yeah. That's right, I remember. Wait. Weren't you supposed to be feeding the cat?
S- Umm . . .well . . . uhh . . . anyway. Look. The shirt's fine. Clean and everything.
Me- Wait. It's unbuttoned.
S - Yeah? I like it that way. It's okay. See? I have that white, sleeveless undershirt thing on too.
Me - *groan*. A sleeveless button down shirt over a white undershirt?! You look like a truck driver.
S-I like the way it looks. Besides, what's wrong with truck drivers?
Me - (rushing to instill respect for all professions) Nothing at all. Driving a truck is a fine and noble thing to do. *sigh* Just button it up.
S- I LIKE it this way. It's comfortable and it looks like a vest.
Me - Yeah, in some alternate universe maybe.
Me - Look. We're going out today. Just button the thing up while we're out.
S - I LIKE it this way.
Me - Okay, fine. Like it that way. You're entitled to like all sorts of things. However, you're just also expected to BUTTON THAT SHIRT when we're headed out for the day!
S - *stubborn silence*
Me - S?
S - *stubborn silence coupled with arms crossed over chest*
Me - S!?
S - *stubborn silence, arms crossed over chest and eyes raised to the ceiling*
*Tick Tock goes the clock*
Me - Look, (and here's where I hit my low point. Yeah, I know. I hit it way back, but it was here that it was finally clear to me) IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR SHIRT AGAIN, YOU'D BETTER BUTTON IT UP.

"If you ever want to see your shirt again, you'd better button it up"?

To make this threat more credible, I suppose I should have snipped various sized letters from the newspaper and assembled them to form the threat on another piece of paper. I could have even added a snip of fabric as added incentive.

Next time I'll be a bit more prepared.

2007-04-10T21:31:00.000-07:00

Community Service Bulletin

Heed my warning.

If you have elementary aged children, flee while you can.

No one is safe.

Still around? More the fool you.

Now the terror will most certainly spread.

It is with great sadness that I acknowledge our part in spreading this epidemic, for Webkinz has invaded our home.

No, I must be completely honest with you all. We were not "invaded". In a moment of weakness, swayed by the beseeching eyes of a 10 year old, I actually invited Webkinz in.

Looks innocent enough, doesn't it? Just another insipid stuffed animal? That's what I thought. A harmless diversion.

Well, looks are undeniably deceiving in this instance.

Trust me.

Please. Do your utmost to avoid the glassy eyed stare of these instruments of chaos posing as harmless, if odd looking, stuffed animals.

Just in case it's too late or in the interest of assisting those around you, here are some signs of infection:

Increasingly impassioned and desperate cries from the elementary set for access to the computer to care for their "pet".
Increased tension in the house from battles over whether or not "I need to finish this game before I feed our real dog/cat/fish to earn money in order to feed/house/clothe my virtual pet" is a valid reason for not doing said chore.
Increased tension in the house due to computer withdrawal. This affects all ages in the house.
Increased guest traffic in the house as every child in the neighborhood needs to view the virtual pet and offer suggestions for its keeping.
Headaches caused by all those damn children in the house.
Tears. Again, this symptom has no respect for age. Everyone is susceptible.

Heaven help us all.

2007-04-04T18:22:00.000-07:00

Rushing Summer

I defy anyone to remain out of sorts, ill-tempered or cantankerous while listening to the Beach Boys.

I appreciate that there's definitely some nostalgia inherent in my affection for the boys since the Beach Boys were the first band I ever saw in concert. While my husband spent time in Detroit concert venues listening to everyone worth listening to in the early to mid 70s, I was in Maine in 1980 rockin' out to. . . the Beach Boys.

Yeah, I know. I was totally a rebel, just skirting the edge of rabble-rouser.

Really though, it's more than simple nostalgia. Much of the music is just happy. Cheerful. Upbeat. With a nod to Tom Hanks in That Thing You Do, it's "snappy".

Regardless of the reason, you simply have to love them, even with Kokomo being part of their discography.

Honestly? After crying two nights in a row thanks to films (Children of Men night before last and Mrs. Miniver last night), I'll take feeling happy however I can get it.

2007-04-03T14:01:00.000-07:00

Things Which Have Made Me Ponder, Think and Otherwise Mull Over

When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it.
Winnie the Pooh
The House at Pooh Corner

With that in mind, here are a few things that have made me think over the past month or so:

The End of Faith: Religion, Terror and the Future of Reason by Sam Harris.
I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about this book. Initially I found the author to be abrasive and significantly off putting. After really considering it though, I'm wondering if it's less an issue of personality than an issue of the author stating very bluntly opposing viewpoints on several issues (religious tolerance, pacifism, and Israel to name a few) that I've felt strongly about for years. Even though I am distinctly non-religious, this book challenged me on several levels.

Trident Cool Colada Chewing Gum: Why, when I was so horrified by my experience of chewing said gum that I felt compelled to offer a public service announcement, did I find myself chewing the gum all week?

NPR (National Public Radio): Yes, I realize this is a bit cliche, but I really appreciate the depth with which topics are covered. Far, far different from the 30 second sound bites I've seen on network television. We gave up 'regular' television over 15 years ago and it absolutely amazes me what passes for "news" on the network channels. Not to mention the scare tactic methods used to "cover" stories that are designed simply to boost ratings. If I've had one call from my mother warning me about killer meningitis, flesh eating bacteria, or dastardly terrorist plots, I've had a million. For this reason alone I give thanks to NPR.

Jonathan Rhys Meyers in Showtime's The Tudors: How is it possible that short, dark, Irish JRM gets picked to play the very tall, ruddy and red-gold haired Henry VIII? I watched the first two episodes (offered as streaming video on Netflix as a special promo) and he was completely distracting. Then again, it's not like anyone is watching this hoping for an hour of unparalleled historical accuracy. Still . . . couldn't they have at least found a Sean Bean type?

And finally . . . will Billy Ray Cyrus make it through another round of Dancing With the Stars?

Question of the Day

2007-03-30T16:35:00.000-07:00

Is it possible to have any pretensions to intelligence when you've watched Dancing With the Stars twice now?

Yeah.

I thought you'd say that.

In my defense, I watch it after it's aired on the computer (we don't do regular television, just rent a few shows via Netflix or watch via the 'net) and I can't vote. Even for Billy Ray Cyrus who is trying so hard.

Not that I would vote, of course.

Absolutely not.

Oh, just be quiet.

Desert Island Books

2007-03-26T12:48:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to write about this ever since I saw Under a Blue Moon tackle this question a while ago.

The question is: "What three books would you choose to take on a desert island?"

This is difficult. What exactly would one take if one could only have three books ever? Aside from the fact that it's difficult to imagine being limited to three books for the rest of my life, there is the worrisome fact that I will actually be on a desert island. Forever. I've seen Castaway. I know how ugly things can get. Then again, if Tom Hanks' character had the foresight to bring along his three favorite books maybe he wouldn't have gotten so attached to Wilson. Of course, if he knew enough to remember to pack his three favorite books, that simply begs the question of why on earth he stepped on that plane in the first place?

We'll just accept that by some miraculous circumstance I managed to have the foresight to bring my three favorite books on what was supposed to be a three hour tour. (Hmm, maybe I should check out the other passengers? It's possible that they knew about this whole desert island/favorite book thing and they brought along their own favorites. It could totally happen.)

Without further ado, here are my three choices:
*My Jane Austen Anthology. I realize this is cheating, but officially this is a single bound volume containing all of Ms. Austen's novels and correspondence.
*My Complete Works of Shakespeare. I know, I know. More cheating, but really it is, again, a single bound volume. Of course after living on a desert island and eating only roots and berries, I won't be able to lift either volume, but at least at first I'll be able to.
*You know, I think I'm going to have to go for the Complete Calvin and Hobbes, a huge treasury that came out last year. It'll be perfect for those days when I can't face another tortured prince, mischievous sprite, star-crossed lover, murdering king, or Marriage Minded Miss.

Well, that's my list. Not terribly intellectual, but I think it will suffice, especially if the skipper from the tour boat survives as well and wants a mutual read aloud or Wilson washes up on my beach.

2007-03-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

Things Not to do When the Computer Crashes

1. Stare uncomprehendingly at the "Blue Screen of Death".
2. Decide that the BSoD the computer sent to you is obviously just its way of kidding around.
3. Since the computer has developed a sense of humor, pretend that nothing has happened. Keep restarting and Scarlett O'Hara the instructions on the page, as in: "if this is the first time this screen has appeared, restart. If it isn't, you're screwed" (or some such techno speak to that effect). Simply restart the computer over and over.
4. Presume that since the computer is just fine, you've got plenty of time to back up all the stuff that needs to be backed up.
5. Swear colorfully and with deep conviction when it becomes obvious that the computer isn't kidding. Wait, that's fine. Just make sure that the 10 year old isn't around to tell you that the language you're using "doesn't sound like words a mother would use."
6. Assume that your stay with the friendly folks at tech support will be relaxing and rejuvenating.
7. Assume that the friendly folks at tech support have a clue about what they are doing.
8. Stand corrected in your assumption that the friendly folks at tech support (who you now loathe on a deep, visceral level) know nothing since they appear to have just fixed your computer.
9. Cry when it becomes obvious that they didn't. Wait, that's okay. Just don't cry in front of the 17 yr. old, who rolls her eyes and wonders aloud why we all call her the drama queen.

A few things to do when the computer crashes:
1. Eventually get wise and hand the phone over to your husband so he can talk about the BSoD to tech support.
2. Laugh when he starts looking like he's fraying at the edges. Sweet, sweet vindication for all the times he's said words of wisdom like: "It's just a computer, honey; an inanimate object. It's not out to get you. Really. Just relax. It'll be fixed soon."
3. Finally get a technician to come out and replace hard drive and system memory, both of which checked out fine in diagnostics.
4. Be completely assured that will most definitely not address the problem.
5. Decide the hell with it and buy a new laptop while the other waits for repairs.

I will leave you with this public service announcement:

If, while standing in line at Target to purchase the *second* copy of Norton Internet Security in a month, you think the Trident "Cool Colada" gum looks tasty, don't buy it. It isn't.

2007-03-19T02:08:00.000-07:00

More Movie Talk

I really love movies, so when I saw this movie meme at The Sheila Variations I couldn't resist.

1. Name a movie that you have seen more than 10 times.
Impossible to name just one. Here's a short list (I've restrained myself):
Sense and Sensibility
The Matrix
A&E's Pride and Prejudice
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

While You Were Sleeping (what can I say? Chick flicks are completely underrated)

2. Name a movie that you’ve seen multiple times in the theater.
Star Wars
Lord of the Rings Trilogy
The Matrix

Looking over this list of films I see that it was completely unnecessary to tell you that I was an RPG geek in my "about me" section.

3. Name an actor that would make you more inclined to see a movie.
Clive Owen
Meryl Streep
Helen Mirren
Leonardo DiCaprio

4. Name an actor that would make you less likely to see a movie.
Russell Crowe
Angelina Jolie

5. Name a movie that you can and do quote from.
Oh, the list is extensive.
The Matrix -

~"No" (make sure you use the appropriate physical gesture of hand held out in front of you)
~"Mr. Anderson" drawled in a seriously bad approximation of Hugo Weaving's voice. Poor guy. Elrond doesn't stand a chance with us in the room. Typecast forever.
~"I know what you're thinking . . . why oh why didn't I take the *blue* pill?" -used whenever a choice has been made that perhaps didn't have quite the outcome hoped for - like having children.
Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me:
~"How 'bout no, Scott?" - a seriously handy phrase for mothers
~"We don't gnaw on our kitties" - Don't worry, kitties are in no danger in my house. Well, not too much anyway.
Dirty Dancing:
~"No one puts Baby in the corner." - used extensively when moving furniture.
The Exorcist:
~"The power of Christ compels you!" - used whenever and wherever obstinate, stubborn children reside.
Okay, now I'm bored so I'll stop even though there are numerous films we quote from on a daily basis. I'm sure you're bored too. Looking back over this list, one thing I notice is that the films I list are awfully lowbrow. Not a Shakespeare or even an Orson Wells in the bunch. Sad commentary on all of us, but apparently true.

6. Name a movie musical that you know all of the lyrics to all of the songs
This is truly pathetic, but the only musical that I know all the lyrics to is Grease.
Does the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer count?

7. Name a movie that you have been known to sing along with
Anything with a song that I know a handful of words to. From State Fair to Chicago.

8. Name a movie that you would recommend everyone see.
My Father's Glory
and its sequel,
My Mother's Castle
Absolutely sublime films. Beautifully filmed and acted.

9. Name a movie that you own.
Only one? Okay. Signs

10. Name an actor that launched his/her entertainment career in another medium but who has surprised you with his/her acting chops.
I think Denis Leary would probably be high on my list. I was never a big fan of his when he was a stand up comic, but I think he's amazing before the camera. His work on Rescue Me is terrific. And, please. Someone do M. Night Shyamalan a favor and sign him up for an acting class or two. Cameos are good, but big roles? Um . . . how 'bout no, Scott?

11. Have you ever seen a movie in a drive-in? If so, what?
Sadly, I think answering this question in the affirmative dates me significantly. Truth however, must win out. So, yes, I've seen numerous films at the drive-in.

12. Ever made out in a movie?
Well, yeah. That was the whole point of going to the drive-in.

13. Name a movie that you keep meaning to see but just haven’t yet gotten around to it.
Any Ingmar Bergman film, especially The Seventh Seal.

14. Ever walked out of a movie?
Only one. The Entity with Barbara Hershey. Dear God, what an appalling film.

I just checked Netflix to see if it's out on DVD and it is. What's more shocking is that it gets nearly unanimous good reviews from everyone. Huh. The mind boggles.

I came close to walking out on Pulp Fiction. The S&M scene was just too intense for me. I was terrified for everyone. If I hadn't felt the need to fake blase' sophistication with the friend I viewed it with, I probably would have walked. Interestingly, this scene felt like it lasted *forever* when I saw the film in the theater. When my husband watched it after it came out on video, I was shocked to see how short the scene really was.

15. Name a movie that made you cry in the theater.
I get teary often, but since I hate to really cry, especially in public, I generally keep things pretty contained. There are a few flicks though that just slayed me.
Little Women (the new one) - that scatter of rose petals over Beth's dolls does it every time.
Sophie's Choice - Bad enough before you have children. After? No way.
The Green Mile - I can't even describe for you the sobbing the ensued at the end of this film
Whale Rider - This was interesting. I'm not sure why I cried, but I could barely breathe through the deep, gulping sobs at the end. I wasn't sad, just emotional. Seeing it the second time though barely raised a ripple of emotion from me.

16. Popcorn?
Almost never. I hate to eat during films.

17. How often do you go to the movies (as opposed to renting them or watching them at home)?
As often as I can. Scheduling issues are a challenge.

18. What’s the last movie you saw in the theater?
The Queen. Phenomenal. I'm seriously in love with Helen Mirren.

19. What’s your favorite/preferred genre of movie?
Like the books I read, I'm very eclectic in my taste. I'll generally watch nearly anything. I love documentaries, dramas, romances, historical epics, and witty romantic comedies. I'm also pretty fond of sci-fi and have a terminal weakness for nearly any disaster flick. I can't wait for Cillian Murphy's Sunshine. I'm thinkin' that this one will rival The Core in its plausibility and complexity. We're talking some serious excitement here. Oh yeah, I almost forgot! Any zombie flick that comes out must be viewed as well. We can thank my oldest for that obsession.

20. What’s the first movie you remember seeing in the theater?
I remember Mary Poppins at the drive-in. I must have been preschool aged.

21. What movie do you wish you had never seen?
There have been films I really dislike, Babel was the latest, but I can't think of one that I wish I'd never seen. For a while I guess I was sorry that I'd seen a snippet of Nightmare on Elm Street. The imagery of Freddy stayed with me for a while. Ridiculous now, but at the time it really stuck with me. Once I had children, as I said before, Sophie's Choice haunted me.

22. What is the weirdest movie you enjoyed?
Not exactly a film, but The Kingdom, originally made for Danish television, struck me as bizarre when I first saw it.

23. What is the scariest movie you’ve seen?
Totally The Birds. I still view robins with deep suspicion. And sparrows? Starlings? Forget it. I still won't watch that film as an adult. Give me Scream, The Others, or any other slasher flick/villain and I'm okay. But don't give me those damn birds!

24. What is the funniest movie you’ve seen?
I have no idea. I must just not watch many films that are classified as "comedies". I can think of several films that make me laugh out loud (Kevin Smith films, Christopher Guest films and Much Ado About Nothing for instance), but nothing that I'd characterize as "the funniest movie I've ever seen".

2007-03-19T01:18:00.000-07:00

Just Watched . . .

Shut up and Sing.

Whether or not you agree with the group, the film or what the group members have to say, the fact that they can say it means something to me. The fact that we can discuss it means something to me. The fervent wish that we can discuss even inflammatory topics without issuing death threats to one another and attempt to come to some respectful knowledge and understanding of each other is something that I have to believe we can still do.

This Most-Definitely-Not-A-Country-Fan is off to buy the Dixie Chicks latest album . . .

2007-03-15T21:11:00.000-07:00

Crafting? Well, Maybe . . .

I've written here in the past about my lack of creative drive. I become interested in a project, but lose steam before really starting it. I'm surrounded by crafty women who constantly create (try saying that three times fast) but have remained uninspired. Part of my problem is the absolute chaos that reigns downstairs, where all of my crafting materials abide. One is never quite sure what one will find when exploring a drawer or a cupboard. Occasionally it's a lovely surprise. More often than not it's an environment that the CDC would insist on hazardous material garb being donned before entry.

That was last week. This is the dawning of a new age. The dawning of the Age of Organization, which will of course give way soon to the Age of Creativity. I spent hours last weekend going through all of my craft supplies. Now I already did this once this year, or so I said to my husband. Obviously I was mistaken. I must have dreamed my craft supply purge since the disorder that met my attempts at organization was significant. No matter. I rose to the challenge and actually organized my supplies.

I bought this large '30s/'40s era kitchen cupboard a while ago. For some time it resided in my kitchen. My children were distinctly less than thrilled that it had taken up residence there. They quickly christened it "The Ugliness", which I found startlingly unfair and inapt. No amount of attempting to awaken a spirit of appreciation for retro-chic worked. They remained appalling prejudiced against it. The final nail in the coffin of the attempt to engender goodwill was when it "attacked" my youngest daughter, apparently seeking revenge for past slights. It, according to her, jumped right on her. Whether it jumped or not, it's true that it ended up right on top of her - along with all the china and glassware that it housed. Fortunately, other than a couple of bruises and scratches from the frosted glass doors that shattered on impact, my daughter was fine. Shaken, although not as much as her mother, but fine.

After that, it was relegated to the downstairs, firmly anchored to the wall. Now, it houses some of my craft supplies. Even though it has a bit of a checkered past and could use a measure of cosmetic attention, I still love it. I love it's yellow and aqua paint, it's little red capped spice jars and it's drop down "table". I have to admit as well that It still gives me a thrill that the mother in A Christmas Story has one that is very like it in her kitchen. Regardless of it's appearance, I'd love it for the space alone it provides to me for my supplies. Along with several other cupboards, sets of roll away drawers and bins, I've finally gotten everything in one place.

Let the creative process begin!

2007-03-11T22:08:00.000-07:00

Computers

Like I imagine most of us do, I have a love/hate relationship with my computer. While I admit to some level of fondness on occasion for it, last week I could cheerfully have pitched the idiotic, not-even-one-year-old machine right straight out the window.

In the interest of total disclosure and fairness toward the electronic monster sharing my family room with me, the problem that crashed my computer wasn't of its making. This basic fact wasn't readily apparent to me, or to Carmen, my helpful tech support person until we'd spent serious quality time together doing various exciting and thrilling diagnostics. What this basic fact was irrefutable proof of though was that my software was irredeemably corrupted. Totally unusable. Carmen told me in an appropriately somber tone that the computer had apparently given me the blue screen of death in order to protect itself. She then went on to suggest in an encouraging tone that we would now try and start the computer in "Safe" mode, thereby attempting to preserve all of my data. I'm sure you can guess how that went. If I had any question about the diagnosis, Carmen's sorrowful tone as she gave me the bad "we've done everything we can, but it's simply not enough" spiel was enough. I had to do a factory restore. Wipe everything. Start clean. Yippee.

So, here I am with most of my important stuff gone. Address book? Nope. Links? Nada. Vast amounts of clip art culled for all over the 'net? Yeah, right. I will now repeat 50 times to myself "Back-up tools are my friends".

After having to pull apart my entire desk in order to access the computer's innards, I actually decided to clean the space up as well. Not generally my reaction, but hey, I was on with tech support for hours. What else was I going to do? Mari-Nanci over at SMILNSIGH posted ages ago a fun entry showing where she blogs. I told her when I was brave enough I'd post the pic from the dungeon that I spend my time blogging from. Unfortunately, you'll never get the full effect of the pit that I work from simply because that space and its documentation is gone forever. So, while looking at these pictures, remember - it was way worse before the computer crash.
I've included helpful numbers drawn in with paint to facilitate easier navigation and understanding of the space.

1. Firefighters calendar given to me by my middle daughter. Hey, it's for a good cause
2.Numerous RPG games that I waste time with instead of writing scintillating, erudite and fascinating prose.
3. Dear God. Filthy monitor. What can I say? This is probably the last item in my house that I would clean. Look though, Kristin! I think that's the view from our tropical island. We'll find a firefighter or two from my calendar and head off any day now.
4. Sustenance. In the form of chocolate. There is nothing else that need be said about that.
5. Yet more games. Did you think I was kidding about my RPG gaming addiction? Thank goodness Bob has forgotten that he lent us those Diablo discs 2 years ago!

Just in case you needed one more shot of the space. There's more to the left, but I'll spare you.

2007-02-28T18:08:00.000-08:00

Oscar Re-Cap

Well, when I saw Rebecca's post reviewing the Oscars I saw no point at all in posting another one. Hers is spot on (for the most part anyway) and hilariously funny. I disagree on several incredibly important counts though. Issues that I feel compelled to bring to light given the seriousness of the occasion.

Jessica Biel's dress: No, Bec, this is not a good look. I know you feel kindly toward Ms. Biel on account of her example of How to Get Ready For Your Own Action Flick, but really? This dress? This color? No.
Gwyneth Paltrow's Acting Ability: Shame on you. I know you dismiss the likes of Shakespeare in Love and Emma as "chick flicks" and therefore only suitable for occasional viewing with your mother when she's mad at you and you want to extend the olive branch , but I feel you are far too dismissive of Ms. Paltrow's acting ability. AND while you may not appreciate her acting ability, it's beyond the pale to assert that she is an alien out to wreak havoc on humanity. I have it on good authority that she is not one of the Pod People. She just had the misfortune to employ one of the Pod People's hairdressers for the occasion. How silly of you to have fallen for their ploy.
Penelope Cruz's dress: I know I'm in a minority among the family Oscar viewers (and probably among many fashion critics) but I liked Penelope's dress. I loved the color and while I agree that the train on the dress was a bit much, I thought she looked lovely. So there.

Since Rebecca did such a nice job with the Oscar review/recap, there's little more I can say other than to fill you all in on what she left about about the evening.

She showed up late. Shameful.
Because she and Bob showed up just as the show was starting they opted to share one ballot for their selections instead of taking the extra 3 minutes to make a copy. Apparently a mistake given the remainder of the evening.
Because they shared a ballot, there were appalling altercations between the two of them throughout the night. Moral of the story? Don't attempt to fill out a ballot with another person, especially when a Barnes and Noble gift card for the person who correctly predicts the most winners is on the line.
She found it necessary to ruffle her sister's hair numerous times throughout the night. This is definitely not a recommended practice. It annoys the heck out of Caroline, which means that the rest of us get annoyed at her annoyance, her sister's glee and Bob's egging on. Rebecca ended up getting kicked in the head though, so I guess they're even. (Caroline insists that the kick was an "accident". None of us are fooled. She's little, and looks lovely and sweet, but we all know better.)
She and Bob drove well out of their way to bring me my glasses that I left at my parents' house.
Bob purchased a darling little primrose for me to make up for his part in the Caroline Incident
Spending time with my mother and daughters (and Bob too), even with the altercations and mussed hair, is absolutely one of my favorite things in the world to do.

Already looking forward to next year!

2007-02-25T11:44:00.000-08:00

Oscar Anticipation

Ooh . . . tonight's Oscar night! I know, I know. Hollywood's superficial, artificial and Botoxed to the hilt, but I love it anyway. Well, except for the Botox. Lately every time I see actual laugh lines, crow's feet, or forehead wrinkles on an actor, male or female, I practically stand up and cheer. It's not just because I'm in my 40s now either, although that probably has something to do with it. I just appreciate seeing people who don't look like they've been abducted by Plastic-faced Pod People aliens in the middle of the night and set back down to star in the latest motion picture for a $20 million price tag.

While I love the Oscars, it isn't often that I get to see all of the nominated performances. This year was a particularly bad year for me. I only saw 4 of the 5 films nominated for Best Picture and few others. Regardless of my dismal movie-going habits this year, I will make my predictions for tonight's winners. With a bow of gratitude to Entertainment Weekly (my weekly Hollywood fix), here are my predictions for the "big" ones:

Actor - Leading:
Forest Whitaker
Actor Supporting:
Eddie Murphy
Actress- Leading:
Helen Mirren
Actress- Supporting:
Jennifer Hudson
Directing:
Martin Scorsese
Documentary Feature:
An Inconvenient Truth
Best Picture:
The Departed (please, please not Babel - what has to be the most dreadful film of the year)
Screenplay - Adapted:
Children of Men
Screenplay Original:
Little Miss Sunshine

Well, I'm off to get ready for a chocolate-laden Oscarfest with my mother and my girls. I'll check back in and give you my terribly biased and opinionated take on the evening's winners.

Have fun at your own Oscar party!

2007-02-23T19:58:00.000-08:00

Old Friends and New Blogs

I wanted to take a moment and let you all know about my friend Kristin's new blog. Not only is she a lovely friend, quick with a warm smile and a ready ear to listen, she's an absolutely terrific writer. Kristin's equally at home writing insightful commentaries and laugh-out-loud anecdotes. Many's the time I've sat at my computer desk completely helpless with belly laughs.

Wondering why I used a vintage chocolate ad to showcase Kristin's new blog? Take a look at her blog and wonder no more. Country Mouse Comes Unhinged

A few other blogs that I've been really enjoying lately are:

SmilnSigh
A Happy Miscellany
Under a Blue Moon

Sooo many blogs out there to read! What a pleasure! I just wish I had the whole comment etiquette down. It still puzzles me. It's that New England Yankee reserve I think. I love getting comments so why I hesitate to comment on other's blogs never ceases to amaze me.

Off to read some more blogs . . .

2007-02-20T00:56:00.000-08:00

GRRR!!!

What on earth is up with Blogger not letting me have paragraph breaks? This is unacceptable.

First it takes me forever to find time to post. Time where I'm not being badgered incessantly for something or another by someone or another. Then I have to find artwork. Why is it that I seem to have masses of clip art/image books and can never find what I'm looking for? I won't even tell you about my forays into Googleland for images. Those tales would raise the hair on your neck. Just a note. Don't attempt to look for "1940-50s Housewife images". Trust me.

Then, once that's done, I actually have to write the post. All very time consuming and labor intensive. Well, whether it is or not is beside the point. Blogger should make sure that the actual "new" Blogger actually works.

Sheesh.

2007-02-17T15:41:00.000-08:00

Bliss

It's been a quiet day. One that has, for once, afforded me completely uninterrupted time. All of my children were busy and away from home. A rarity for this stay-at-home, homeschooling mother. My middle daughter worked today. My youngest daughter enjoyed the rare treat of time alone with my oldest daughter, watching a film at her apartment and playing with her kitten. Bliss for a 10 year old. Which allows bliss for the 40 something - time alone in a completely silent house.

Well, not completely since the dog WOULD. NOT. STOP. BARKING. TODAY. Of course, she might defend herself by saying that she was alerting me to (and of course, defending me from) terrifying and alarming things. Like the cat from two houses over. Or the car that had the audacity to pull into its driveway. Or, most infuriating of all, the beagle from next door. So, it was kind of, sort of blissfully quiet for me . . . Kind of . . . Oh well, I'll take what I can get.

Most of my friends would spend that time productively. Baking something luscious or crafting something amazing. I've told you all before how much I love those homey, crafty blogs out there. Those blogs filled with writings from those women filled with creative energy. I imagine myself in their homes. Seeing the moment that they arise to the lilt of songbirds. Watching them craft with the assistance of charming children and assorted animated animals who rush in with needle, thread or the perfect button. That is not me, I'm afraid. I might have the idea that I'd like to craft something, but the will to do so is often sadly lacking these days. Then again, if I had the assistance of charming children and darling animated creatures to do my bidding, I might feel a bit more inclined. No such luck, I'm afraid. The crafty, homey, cozy blogwomen, who look so nice, but obviously have nefarious intent, have absconded with all of the cheerful chipmunks, busy beavers, persevering porcupines (who also double as pincushions), and diligent doggies and have locked them away in their cottages. Probably keeping them from forming unions to protect their rights too. Ha! No wonder they craft so beautifully and prolifically!

Okay, so I'm reaching a bit for a reason that explains why they are crafting and I'm not. Time to put resentful Walt Disney images of little cottages scattered throughout the country with hard working animals and humans out of my head and concentrate on motivating myself.

It would still be easier though with a handy animal or two around to help though, wouldn't it?

2007-01-24T23:27:00.000-08:00

Reading Challenges

Well, as difficult as this is, I have a confession to make to you all. I feel I need to come clean to you. For I have failed. Failed in a humiliating and deeply distressing way. A way that sincerely calls into question my intellect, level of conviction, and even my character.

It is with deep, abiding shame that I inform you of my neglect in completing my Autumn Reading Challenge. There I have said it. Failed. Such an ugly word.

Honestly, I'm not entirely sure why I decided it was a good idea to share with my readers that I was going to read books that, while edifying in the extreme, apparently held little interest for me in the first place. I could have just been reasonable and whispered the challenge to myself and been spared this public humiliation. As I did not do this eminently wise thing, I now am forced to announce my shame. If I am to be completely honest with you, not only did I not "complete" the challenge, I didn't read most of the books on that list. I did read several and I think I plan to read several more, but the full truth is that I am guilty of neglecting my brain.

I do read a lot. All the time. Voraciously. I'm an equal opportunity reader as well and read just about anything. Well, okay. That's a bit of an overstatement. I'm not terribly keen on comic books, westerns, bodice rippers, quantum physics manuals, or 20th century war chronicles. Other than that, I'm fairly open minded about what I'll read. I generally read a bit more nonfiction than fiction, but really enjoy a wide variety of fiction as well. So, while this whole paragraph sounds like a desperate attempt to redeem anyone's perception of my intelligence in the face of my obvious recent intellectual shortcomings, it is true. Really. Romances? Vampire novels? Some light travelogues? Well, sure. Yeah, I've spent a bit of time with those genres lately, but still. There are other things I've read to. Like that book on string theory. Of course, the author lost me on that one in the first chapter, but I did read it. Kind of. Well, I told you I didn't like quantum physics manuals. String theory's sort of connected with quantum physics, right?

Oh my. This is sounding just pathetic . . .

Here's hoping that the winter will hold many intellectual challenges for me in the guise of fabulous books. Here's hoping that I figure out what the definition of "quantum physics" entails. Here's also hoping that, at the very least, I'm wise enough not to issue challenges to myself publicly that myself likely won't complete.

2007-01-14T23:45:00.000-08:00

The Perfidy of Weather Forecasters

Things are not at their best in my household lately. I'm at turns snappish and anguished. I'm frustrated and angry. In short, I feel betrayed. I've tried to ignore this desperate feeling, but it simply won't go away. I've tried to be reasonable and understanding, but it's no use. It's not a man that inspires such feelings in me, it's those damn weather forecasters. Oh, I know. It's a difficult profession. They can't be perfect. I get that. Intellectually I appreciate that the weather is a challenge to predict, especially here. Emotionally though, it's another story.

Last week was the absolute straw that broke the camel's back. The forecasters were sure that we'd have snow. Nice amounts of snow for this area. It wasn't a question of "if", it was a question of "how much". Bet you can guess how much we got. Nothing. Not a thing. Zip. The forecasters scurried about and published elaborate explanations as to why the "can't miss" snow missed, but their real reason for such hurried explanations was clear. They were concerned that the numerous disappointed residents of the state would revolt and storm the television and radio studios, demanding that someone, somewhere attain god status and accurately predict the weather.

I thought I was over my disappointment. I thought I was finally able to accept the bald truth. I live in an area that just doesn't get much snow. There. I've said it. The days of my youth spent in ice skates and on sleds are not going to be duplicated by my own children. Hot chocolate with marshmallows drank while your nose is red and your fingers begin to tingle as they warm up is just a nice story for my children. I've bravely opted to pretend that I like seeing all this green in January. Just as I felt secure in my acceptance, they did it again. They're calling for snow again on Tuesday. Ha. Yeah right. Sure. It'll happen. They won't get me to hope again. I'm rock solid.

Maybe though, just in case, I ought to make sure we have enough hot chocolate in the house . . .

2007-01-01T14:03:00.000-08:00

Remembrances of Times Past
Or
What I Learned Over Christmas Vacation

1. Waiting until Christmas week to make Christmas treats (so they are nice and fresh naturally) is a recipe for a nervous breakdown. A breakdown with lots of tasty, fresh nibbles, but a breakdown nonetheless.

2. Nearly 10 yr. old child + American Girl requests = serious expenses.

3. Golden Retrievers never mature - no matter what the breeder tells you.

4. Blown glass ornaments are no match for a 4 yr. old "mature" Golden Retriever.

5. Elderly, portly cats often are displeased when baby cats come to visit and endeavor to show their displeasure in unpleasant ways.

6. Smoking chimneys need firefighters' attention.

7. Children, adult or not, who live in houses with smoking chimneys scare mothers.

8. Origami ornament kits meant to be made with nearly 10 yr. old child as gifts for the family that say "8 and up with supervision - 10 and up alone" lie.

9. Viewing A Christmas Story for the umpteenth time still makes me happy. Watching it with the nearly 10 year old baby of the family (who you know is taking notes on how to be precocious) for the first time is more than a bit terrifying. I'm expecting to be "triple dog dared" any day now on some consequence I've given.

10. East, West, Home is Best - especially one de-Christmased and clean!

2006-12-30T02:13:00.000-08:00

We look forward to the time when the Power of Love will replace the Love of Power. Then will our world know the blessings of peace.
William Gladstone (1809-1898)

Global Observance of Peace
Before heading off to bed tonight, I decided to take the opportunity to catch up on some blog reading. I started off with Mrs. Staggs' A Happy Miscellany , always a pleasant interlude to my day. There I read of the What if For Just One Day . . . blog and was immediately compelled to write my own post in support of the effort to observe two minutes of silence on 12/30 in recognition of the desperate need for peace in our world. So, please take two minutes tonight and silently consider the need for peace, tolerance and understanding among us all. It's a small step for each of us individually, but collectively what amazing possibilities lie before us!

Better than a thousand hollow words is one word that brings peace.
Buddha (560-483 B.C.)

2006-12-28T01:18:00.000-08:00

Inexcusable Absence

Well, it's been a while since I posted and I'm afraid I have no acceptable reason to explain my absence. If I were Anne of Anne of Green Gables, I might be able to come up with a somewhat implausible, but highly entertaining, reason why I haven't. As you might have guessed though, I am not Anne so it will have to remain a mystery as to why I have not posted. (*hint - It might have just a little, tiny bit to do with laziness)

While I absolutely love the wonderful homemaking and craft blogs out there, and I do mean love, there are times when I feel like I have a bit more in common with the women in an Anne Taintor image than I do with Martha Stewart. So, I will leave you with a couple of images that are truly speaking to me during this festive, holiday season while I try and think of a decent blog entry to post next.

Enjoy.

2006-10-16T23:43:00.000-07:00

King Kitty

My parents have been carousing out east coast way for over a week now and expect to be gone for another two. While I'm thrilled they are kicking up their heels at various east coast hot spots (you know how those relatives can party!), I'll be just as thrilled when they return. For one, I miss them terribly. I speak with my mother every day and it's hard to not be able to pick up the phone and chat. I do have to admit that my parents have called often since they left 10 days ago, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it's not just to check and see how we or the children are doing. It's primarily to see how their very pampered pet cat is doing while visiting us.

We're familiar with pets around here. We have had a multitude over the years and currently house 1 fish, 2 gerbils, 2 cats, and a dog (you'll recall I discussed her here). We're terribly fond of our pets, most of the time anyway, but we're not what I would call pet obsessed. While I have to be honest and say that pet baby talk does often pass my lips, that's the extent of the pet pampering that goes on in this house. My parents and their cat however are another story.

You could tell when they brought him over that they had many things to say. Far more I might add than I did when I left my oldest daughter with them for the first time. First, he likes only one kind of litter. My parents didn't elaborate much here and frankly, I'm not willing to test this. He also likes his litter scooped right away (who can blame him?) and then smoothed out carefully. He likes his canned food damped slightly with a bit of water; just a drop or two. He also is very fond of running water and would appreciate it if we'd run some for him often. He loves hair elastics, paper balls and, despises most humans - when he deigns to notice them that is. My husband refused to believe this even after repeated cautions. One evening soon after Tigger was dropped off, my husband tried to cuddle and pet him. Tigger allowed this at first but kept up a continuous yowl and growl. I warned my husband that this meant he wasn't happy, but he blithely ignored me and insisted that even though he sounded vicious, he was obviously enjoying being petted. The next thing I heard out of my husband's mouth was - yeah, you guessed it - "OW!". While I acknowledge that it was unkind of me, I could barely breathe because I was laughing so hard at Tigger's show of "appreciation" and "enjoyment".

While Tigger is indeed large of girth, he's no match for our portly pooch, Layla. This however doesn't stop him from asserting his superiority and demanding acknowledgement of his illustriousness. This acknowledgement hasn't come easily to Tigger, but he is undaunted in his quest. When clear submission wasn't forthcoming, he waited until she was in her crate for the night, went up to the grilled door and lambasted her. The fact that she was sleeping was unimportant. He hissed. He growled. He batted at the door of the crate. This seemed to satisfy him, although to all who have witnessed this battle, Layla remains unimpressed and unlikely to call Tigger "Your Majesty" any time soon.

As Tom Petty said on his album "Wildflowers", it's apparently good to be king, even if only in your own mind.

2006-10-08T18:19:00.000-07:00

Sisterly Affection - Part Two

Cast:
R- eldest daughter - 22
C- middle daughter - 17
M - delightful, engaging, and intelligent family matriarch

The Scene: Evening at a typical American family home. Light filters down over 3 people playing UNO at a dinner table while waiting for expected guests. Joyous laughter is heard and giddy happiness is evident on their faces.

R: C, it's your turn to shuffle.
C: I hate to shuffle.
R: Okay, it's still your turn to shuffle.
C: No. I hate to shuffle.
R (groans in an exaggerated fashion): Oh, please. Give me a break! It's your turn to shuffle!
C: (stubbornly) I hate to shuffle.
M (reaching for cards): Here. I'll do it.

M shuffles the cards in a graceful as well as adroit fashion and deals a hand for each player. Being that R is the next person clockwise from C, it's her turn.

M: R, go ahead. It's your turn.
R: No it isn't. C didn't shuffle, you did. It's C's turn.
C: I'm not going. Mom shuffled for me.
R: It was your turn to shuffle! You didn't. Mom did. Therefore, it's your turn to go first.
C: Mom shuffled for me, therefore it's your turn to go first.
R: No it isn't! You did not shuffle. Since you did not shuffle and mom did, YOU go next!
C: I'm not going to go next.

Let it be clear at this point that there is an innocuous UNO card showing. No "Wild Card Draw Four", no "Skip", no "Reverse" or "Draw Two". There is no harm evident for the player going first.

R: (R has what appears to be a teasing grin on her face, but it is belied by the cool, steely look in her eyes.) Fine. I'm leaving if you're not going to play properly.
C: (shrugging) Okay, go ahead. Whatever. I'm not going first.
M (Calm, collected demeanor starting to crack): What are you two going on about? Someone go next!
R: I'm not going next.
C: I'm not going either.
M: Who cares who goes first? Someone take your turn!
(M takes a look around the table at her daughters. She looks a bit wild and honestly can't even remember why they wanted to play this foolish game in the first place. She takes a calculated risk and, crossing her fingers behind her back, asks C for her cooperation) C? Why don't you go ahead?
C: (C looks over to her mother and decides to be helpful and gracious) Okay.

Play resumes - finally.

Scene closes (thankfully!!)

2006-10-07T10:15:00.000-07:00

Finally!

Well, after weeks of procrastination, half pint jars of apple butter now grace my shelves. The house smelled lovely all day yesterday as the apple butter simmered. Quite a change from the smells I'm normally accustomed to facing each day. As a small sample of the olfactory goodness that is my home I give you two examples: the dog (please tell me why their breath smells the way it does?) and the shoes of the youngest (I'm sure I need say nothing else about that scent). Suffice to say, neither smell is quite as nice as the apple butter.

There's something so incredibly satisfying seeing those jars lined up on a shelf, isn't there? I've still got close to 20 lbs. of apples to deal with. I'm thinking that canned apple pie filling is next on the agenda. If I'm not ready to start chucking the apples out the back door for the raccoons later, I might try my hand at some applesauce too.

Laziness, as appealing as it generally is to me on a daily basis, might not be an option tomorrow.

2006-10-01T19:18:00.000-07:00

Sibling Rivalry

Oh, how lovely the children at right are. Such a picture of sisterly love, affection and assistance! Of course, the minute the illustrator's back was turned, they began arguing over who had turned the rope enough times, who had the prettiest dress, who was spoiled and indulged, who worked the hardest, who never worked at all, and, of course, that perennial favorite - who was mother's favorite. At least, ignoring the jump rope for the moment, those are the arguments that I've heard my own three daughters engage in on occasion.

Early last week, I left my youngest at home with my husband and headed off with my middle daughter to visit the eldest, who has lived away from home for over a year now. It seemed like a good idea at the time. We'd head off to the local market, pick up something yummy for dinner and dessert, and head over to her place for a fun DVD. It sounds good in theory but . . well, you'll see.

First the market. We spent what felt like hours searching the market for something that everyone wanted to eat. While it didn't help that we were there around 7:30-8:00 pm and many of the "hot buffet" and soups were being put away for the evening, it still took far longer than it should have to agree on something to eat. Finally settling on fresh pasta, fresh alfredo sauce, and salad, we headed out, happy at last. That is, until we actually got there. Once we arrived, my oldest and middle decided to argue over who was actually going to cook the pasta and warm up the sauce. I kid you not, 10 minutes tops to "cook" dinner and they argued over who had to do it. Once I put the pot of water on the stove, difficult task that it was, we spent a blissful 30 minutes or so of argument free companionship. Of course, we completely forgot that the water had been boiling for the same 30 minutes - all alone, without pasta. Upon that realization, I, once again, put the pasta in the water. This made me somewhat churlish and irritated since I'd already cooked dinner at home for my husband and daughter. Heading back to the living room with the girls to await the pasta, I cuddled my oldest on the sofa. My middle daughter took one insulted look and insisted that it had been "ages" since I'd held her that way. Keep in mind we're talking about a 22 yr. old and a 17 yr. old, who, BTW, I cuddle and hug every single day. While arguing about who got the most of my attention, the pasta boiled merrily on, completely forgotten. No one had thought to set the timer.

With the preparation of dinner out of the way, (if that's what it could be called - tortellini that was practically bursting it was so overcooked) it was time to check out Rebecca's assortment of movies and make a selection suitable for dinnertime viewing. The girls insisted that the choice of "Resident Evil", "Resident Evil: Apocolypse", "28 Days Later" and other assorted zombie films were indeed appropriate for viewing while eating pasta and salad. I found myself less than enthusiastic at the prospect of such stellar storytelling and visual mayhem. I suggested "Die Hard". Now, at first this may seem like an unlikely choice, given that there is indeed mayhem, visual and otherwise. However, the film does have a decided lack of zombies - a significant plus in my view. No deal. Caroline was adamantly against Bruce Willis and Alan Rickman at their finest. Maybe "The Ref"? Nope. Bec had already seen it with her boyfriend recently. "The Matrix" (always a crowd pleaser)? Bec and Andrew just saw it recently as well (sheesh, don't these two ever do anything other than watch films that I want to watch???). How about "Monsoon Wedding"? Are you kidding? Subtitles . . . tonight?? And so on and so on. We finally agreed on - drumroll please - a Joquain Phoenix film called "Clay Pigeons". A sigh of relief was had by all . . . that is until we actually attempted to watch the film. Oh my. A worse film you couldn't hope to find. Ever.

With dinner completed and a film partially watched before being abandoned in disgust, it was time to head home. To say I was drained and cranky is an understatement. It appeared that the stars were simply not aligned for a stress-free evening with my girls. To add insult to utter injury, the following morning, my youngest daughter informed me that the dinner I'd made sure I cooked for her and her father the night before went uneaten. The two of them decided that they'd eat out.

Life remains seriously unfair.

2006-09-22T11:40:00.000-07:00

Autumn Reading Challenge Update

It is with heavy heart and shame that I admit the "progress" I have made this autumn with my reading challenge. Apparently I have descended into whatever level of hell it is that takes away the ability to focus on anything edifying for any decent length of time but still allows you to devour a Nora Roberts book in an afternoon. With that insight into my brain (what's left of it), you'll understand why Devil in the White City is no longer one of my "current reads". While I know that my daughter and husband found the book highly enjoyable and interesting, I'm not feelin' it (as my oldest would say). The Portable Dorothy Parker is a better choice for me right now and I'm getting ready to start on Sailing the Wine Dark Sea.

Did I really say I'd read Walden???

2006-09-14T11:48:00.000-07:00

Another Birthday!

We've been fortunate enough to celebrate another wonderful year in the life of my oldest daughter, now 22. 22! I still can't believe that number. I remember holding her in my arms like it was yesterday. I vividly remember all those feelings of being a brand new parent. Pride, worry, and confusion were rampant. Most of all though was the sheer sense of wonder that this small being had made her arrival and was now part of our lives. Forever. In our hearts, our minds, every fiber of our beings.

She's grown into quite a woman. Unbelieveably accomplished and competent, she's a bedrock for the small company she works for. I continually remain in awe of the scope and range of her abilities, both in the workplace and without. She has a wonderful sense of humor and fun hidden (only slightly for anyone who knows her) beneath a more serious demeanor. Her very tender heart is evident to anyone who spends longer than a few minutes in her company and her sense of loyalty and consideration run deep. She's extremely talented and creative, but has a strong streak of pragmatism running through her that keeps her grounded. She makes the world a better place simply by her existance.

I know that I go on and on about my daughters, but I feel so incredibly fortunate to not only be so proud of my daughters, but enjoy their company so much. They are truly the most wonderful friends I could have. It is absolutely impossible to sum up the incredible human beings they are with mere words. I simply know that I am beyond grateful that they are a part of my life.

2006-09-08T11:54:00.000-07:00

Bad Days

The day before yesterday was a bad day. There are a myriad of reasons why that day was a bad day, but I'm convinced that it could have been nothing other than a bad day because of my choice of ill-fitting undergarments. I know of no woman who is happy the day she has to wear her "emergency" underwear.

Note to self: No matter how compelling "The Gilmore Girls" DVD appears to be the night before, it's important to put a load of laundry into the washing machine.

2006-09-07T20:35:00.000-07:00

Back to School Week - Decorated Notebooks

Well, I finally had a day to myself and was able to decorate the notebooks that I wrote about earlier. I started with this one:

Just a simple one to jot down plans, thoughts, or other insprirations.

Then came this one:

I'm not necessarily crazy about this one, but I wanted to do nature notebooks this year and this was my attempt at using what I had on hand instead of running out to the scrapbook store. Susannah's nature notebook was next:

This one I liked. I hope she does too. Finally I did one for her just to have:

I still need to do one for her copywork, but I was done for the day.

Don't forget to check out Clarice's finished project and also take a look at my daughter Rebecca's finished projects here and here. What a fun project!

2006-09-04T11:39:00.000-07:00

Not Back to School Week

We "school" year round here in our house, but as Clarice says about her family, even we feel the back-to-school vibe around this time of year. Generally this doesn't mean much more to me than I get to haul out the fall decorating things for the corner cupboard and heave a serious sigh of relief that the heat is over, but this year I want to make a few changes to our routine (or general lack of).

I don't often mark the beginning of the school year with any sort of tradition or celebration, but this year I'm thinking that a small gift or two might be a good way to help us incorporate some of those changes to our routine that I'm planning. Clarice has inspired many of us with her composition notebook redecorating. Since compiling and maintaining a nature notebook is high on my "to do" list for this year, I thought I'd decorate one of the many main lesson books that I have on hand for my youngest to use. Since learning cursive is high on her "to do" list this year, I thought I'd decorate a composition book for that purpose as well. How much nicer could it be than to do your work in beautifully decorated notebooks and composition books?

Now, if only my ideas for incorporating exercise, more vegetables and a cleaner house into our routine for the coming fall were as easy to implement, I'd be a happy woman.

2006-09-02T11:18:00.000-07:00

Autumn Reading Challenge

I'm sad to say that I've spent the summer reading books that aren't exactly what I'd call intelligent, stimulating or otherwise scholarly. They've been lots of fun, and I think there's definitely room in a reader's library for "fluff", but with the fall coming on, I'm looking for a reason to push myself a bit more intellectually. While poking around blogland this morning, I came across this reading challenge from Seasonal Surroundings. This definitely intrigued me. So, with an aim to challenge myself a bit and clear off my "to be read" shelf, here's my list:

One Hundred Years of Solitude Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Sense and Sensibility Jane Austen
Sailing the Wine Dark Sea: Why the Greeks Matter Thomas Cahill
The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair That Changed America Erik Larson
Lipstick Jihad: A Memoir of Growing up Iranian in America and American in Iran Azadeh Moaveni
The Secret Life of Bees Sue Monk Kidd
The Razor's Edge W. Somerset Maugham
The Portable Dorothy Parker Dorothy Parker, Marion Meade (editor)
Walden Henry David Thoreau

Well, there's some intellectual stimulation there. If I were really serious though, I'd add some Aristotle and Plato - something I've been meaning to read or reread for years. I'd even add George Elliot's Middlemarch, which I've been avoiding for even more years. Oh well, maybe for a winter challenge??? :-)

2006-08-27T15:14:00.000-07:00

Work in Progress News

It is with deep regret that I report the status of my work in progress. As you will recall, I have had my difficulties with my current work in progress. While the dyeing process actually worked (thanks again, Angie for the dyeing tips!), my attempts at stitching a passable motif were challenging at best. I was determined however to complete not only this project, but two more similar ones. That of course, was before the dog had her say in the matter.

I won't go too far into a description of my dog other than to say that she eats anything in sight, whether edible or not, which makes her not the most trustworthy of pets to leave alone. Textiles, including all of my throw pillows, have long been favorites of hers. Being a dog of eclectic tastes though, textiles are not her only choice of chew toys. Magazines, for instance, are another popular treasure. Of course, only certain magazines are deemed appropriate for total destruction. "Mother Jones" and "The Nation" are current destruction targets, making it obvious that the dog is frustrated to have her values as a conservative, right-wing, Republican thwarted in a house of left-wing liberals. Regardless of her taste in literature, she apparently developed a taste for my current work-in-progress, now the work-that-is-no-more, last week. Why she chose to take only that piece carefully out of my handwork basket, I don't know. There was nothing overtly liberal or Democratic that I can point to about the design of the embroidery, but perhaps she saw something subversive there that I missed. Regardless of the reason, the item is now gone. Truly and completely.

There it is. The whole, sad story of the work-that-is-no-more, once the work-that-had potential-even-though-it-was-a-pain-in-the-nether regions-at-times.

2006-08-22T16:47:00.000-07:00

Birthday Season

We're right in the middle of one of our "birthday seasons", those periods during the year where numerous members of the family celebrate the time of their birth. My middle daughter happens to be one of those celebrating this month. It seems impossible the little (relative since she was nearly 9 lbs at birth), helpless, and fragile newborn at left is now a beautiful, incredible, and capable young woman at seventeen. I have to admit, she's still as much of a clothes horse as she was at 2. Still as determined. Still as sure of herself and, most definitely, still as charming.

I wish I could tell you how proud we are of her. It's impossible though, since I simply can't express how deeply the woman she's becoming impresses me. She has a deep and caring heart, one that is touched often by the clear need evident in so many areas of our world. She fervently supports Doctors Without Borders, not only as an abstract concept, but financially with the money earned from her job. She's an amazing person, someone that I feel so privileged to know. Warm, caring, intelligent, loving and ethical. Oh -- the list goes on and on. There isn't enough room in this blog to detail how many ways she's special, miraculous and wonderful. A very happy, heartfelt birthday wish for a wonderful and exciting year ahead for this daughter of mine.

2006-08-12T22:14:00.000-07:00

Horror in a Small Town -- or Hazards of the Department of Licensing

I recently had to brave the wilds of the DOL in a humble quest to renew my driver's license. A request complete with impossible tasks, obsequious kowtowing, terrify officials, and intimidating fellow petitioners.

While I realize that the DOL isn't a favorite place for most of us, I have a particular revulsion for it. I'm not entirely sure why, but the mere site of the place as I'm driving by can make me shudder. Every five years though, I must conquer my terror and venture into the abyss to request a license renewal. Friday afternoon was such a day for me. One that I still hesitate to recall.

I started my afternoon adventure attempting to squeeze into the ridiculous area that they have set aside for parking. I will say no more of this part of the quest other than to note that this must simply be yet another sadistic attempt to determine worthiness. Having gathered my courage, I walked steadily, with head held high and eyes straight ahead, into the building and toward the "take a number" machine. Having gotten my number of "95", I looked up toward the 2 counters made available for the many and varied petitioners, hoping to determine the likelihood of escaping alive in time to cook dinner. The fearsome red numerical display and bored, but malevolent mechanical voice detailing which aspirant needed to head to which counter was terrifyingly clear -- 95's audience was some time away. Pizza was a likely dinner choice.

As I sat, hoping to look both accomplished and patient, I started to look around the building. As was to be expected, the place was devoid of anything remotely interesting. During my absent minded perusal, I happened to see a small, nearly invisible sign which read "Checks and Cash only. Checks may be made out to "DOL"". Oh no. I quickly looked through my bag and, sure enough, the checkbook was missing. Great. I searched again, fruitlessly. There was no help for it, I was going to have to add yet another labor to this quest. Off I went on my search for an ATM machine. I headed first toward an easily accessible bank. No good. Only a "drive-thru" ATM there. (an aside - who decided that *any* of these machines are "drive-thrus"?? My husband at 6'3" with chimpanzee arms has trouble reaching those things, much less the short stubby arms attached to my 5'4" frame) Okay, there was a market that might have a machine. Yes! There it was. I reached into my purse for my ATM card and . . . nothing. No card. There was a moment of panic before I remembered that I'd given the card to my daughter so she'd have some cash for a snack during a break at work. This was starting to look ominous. Were these signs? Was the universe trying to tell me something? I decided that I would not be faint hearted. I would persevere! Even if it meant traveling through our small town at the absolute worst time of day all the way to my house and back (checkbook safely ensconced in purse) to the DOL for another attempt at license renewal.

I marched in more confidently this time. I took yet another number - "111" this time. As it was much closer to closing time, everything and everyone in the building seemed more tense, agitated and shrill. The atmosphere was definitely deteriorating. The older couple seated next to me, newcomers to the area, suddenly realized the "cash or check only" sign. Panic ensued. The toddler, who had before been content to follow around his brother (albeit attached by a "leash" to his mother) had finally had enough. He attempted time and again to test the length of the leash, each time shrieking after failing to achieve any further distance. Scowls appeared on brows and girls whined to their father's about their test results. It was getting ugly.

To allay the mounting terror any of my readers, I will tell you that after much time and travail, I did indeed prove worthy of a license renewal. I will leave out the more harrowing elements of the quest, such as having to answer "add 10 lbs" to the question of whether height and weight were correct and the beauty advice of the person taking the photograph ("I like the red hair (my natural color) better from 5 years ago" and the more humiliating "no one even needs to see this picture ever"), and just leave you with the knowledge that I prevailed. It's over. The world is safe again.

2006-08-12T11:00:00.000-07:00

Ta Da

Well, here she is in all of her shorn glory. Would that my recent license renewal picture from the Department of Licensing picture turned out as nicely.

2006-08-04T13:07:00.000-07:00

Bosom Friends and Remembrances

My youngest daughter, now 9, has always been the one to challenge. The one voted most likely to break a limb at any moment. The one guaranteed to face the terrifying aspects of a child’s world like bees, sirens, our steep driveway (perfect for racing down on her scooter), and math with nary a flinch. Among many other things, at 3, she was a demon with scissors. Having seen what she was capable of with her sister’s Barbies and her own stuffed animals, we kept a careful eye on the numerous pairs of scissors lying around the house (not to mention eternal, watchful vigilance over the cat and dog's coats). She eluded us though on one particular occasion and, having tired of giving Barbie and her pals new ‘dos, she turned her sights to her own coiffure. Fortunately, we’d learned a lot by the time she was 3 and found her quickly enough to keep her from looking like Demi Moore in “G.I. Jane”.

I breathed a sigh of relief once that stage was passed. I figured that, while I’m sure many challenges faced us in the future with this one, another attempt at her own version of “Outrageous Makeover – Hair Edition” wouldn’t be one of them. I was mistaken. A few days ago, I was called in a hushed voice by my daughter’s young friend to my daughter’s bedroom. There I found a sobbing and inconsolable child curled in the fetal position on the bed. As I didn’t see limbs askew or blood, I wasn’t terribly worried, but it was obvious that something was wrong. After much gentle coaxing, I finally got the story. Although, really, once she sat up and looked at me, the reason for the tears was clear. A large, 3-4” section of hair was missing from her blonde locks. Right. From. The. Front. I was completely flummoxed. What on earth could have possessed this child (at 9 for goodness sake!) to cut her hair? The answer was simple – at least to her. One of her childhood storybook heroes is Anne Shirley, the plucky heroine of the “Anne of Green Gables” novels. In a moment of tenderness and generosity, she wanted to give her own bosom friend a lock of her hair just as Anne once snipped a lock of Diana’s hair. Once said lock was cut from the front however, they both panicked and attempted to rectify the horror by beginning to “even up” the rest of the hair. I’m sure that’s adequate enough of a visual that I needn’t say more.

I quake with fear for the future.

I’m getting too old for this.

2006-07-31T23:41:00.000-07:00

Work In Progress Update

Tangled strands of floss - numerous
Times stitching ripped out and tried again - too often
Amount of times lace has ripped from edge of handkerchief from strain of being pulled taut in embroidery hoops that are supposed to be keeping the work taut without you pulling on it - once
Amount of times color of floss has been deemed utterly and completely unacceptable - 3
Amount of times the recognition of the extra work involved in changing unacceptable floss has lead to new appreciation for previously unpalatable floss - 3
Times needle has pricked sensitive skin on thumb or forefinger - 4
Times unladylike exclamations were made about needle's character and ancestry - 4

Summation of work-in-progress? Difficult at best, rating an "orange" on the "Work-in-Progress Frustration Scale". Stay tuned for further updates . . .

2006-07-28T18:32:00.000-07:00

Needlework Frustration

Look at that cheerful, composed and confident countenance! This is a woman who knows her needlework. She isn't the least bit concerned about learning a new stitch or trying a new pattern. She is sublimely confident that no handwork is beyond her scope of experience or effort. While I endeavor to feel like this woman while attempting to work on some current project, it happens more than I'd like to admit that I end up frustrated and feeling incompetent.

I have friends who are able to begin a project at a moment's notice. I'm unfortunately not one of them. I like to take a bit of time and think about planning a project. Then I like to think a bit more about it. After I've had time to really consider a project, then I start to think about what I might ever, in the whole wide world, need for the project. Once I've determined what my project needs and compiled a list (often in my head instead of on the more logical piece of paper, where, of course, I forget essential items every single time), I will then spend some time thinking "I really need to get started on this." I realize that in the real world this is called "procrastination", but I like to think of it as being carefully and completely prepared.

I spent large chunks of today getting a project ready to work on. I took lovely old, lace trimmed linen handkerchiefs and dyed them with coffee to get just the right color of creamy ivory. I lovingly washed, dried and pressed them. Given that I rarely view anything to do with housework, and especially laundry, with anything remotely approaching "love", I think it's safe to assume that I felt very tenderly toward these embryonic projects masquerading as simple handkerchiefs. Getting that lovely creamy ivory shade right though was the last thing that went right today with this project. I won't go into the sordid details, I will just leave you with this sentiment: Don't feel too tenderly toward handkerchiefs that you are attempting to use as part of a larger project. The bitterness of their betrayal will haunt you forever.

2006-07-27T20:57:00.000-07:00

Menstrual Marketing Madness

Have you ever watched a commercial on television or seen an ad in print and wondered aloud to yourself why any company in their right mind would have paid good money for it? I realize companies paying money for insipid, insulting or just plain stupid ads isn’t an incredible revelation to anyone, but sometimes there appears an ad or a marketing campaign that just begs to be noticed for it’s sublime ridiculousness. I recently discovered such a marketing gem.

The other day I had occasion to utilize that marvel of modern female life, the sanitary napkin. As I am a woman of a “certain age”, this wasn’t the first time I’ve used such conveniences, nor will it be the last. However, this time was a bit different. I happened to glance down at the little piece of paper covering the “wings” of the pad and noticed some lovely script writing. At first, I assumed it was just a fanciful rendering of the company name. But lo, I was mistaken! Instead of the company logo or name, there was a sentiment expressed. You know, kind of like those foil wrapped chocolates with little sayings inside the foil? Tired statements that have lost whatever truth they might have contained due to overuse or just plain cheesiness. This however was different. No such warmed over nonsense for this company. Written in elegant and flowing script were the words: “Have a happy period.” Well now, isn’t that nice? I’m nearly certain my entire period would have been dismal and without hope but for this charming sentiment. Who knew it was this easy to make women happy?