julielayne

New blogs reminder

2009-07-01T14:33:00.001-05:00

Don't forget to move your links or feeds over to the new blogs. (This maybe your first hint on this blog. Oops!)

Julie Kibler

What Women Write

I'm not a very persistent blogger yet at my personal blog, but my first post is up today at What Women Write, a group blog of North Texas women writers: Signs you MIGHT be a writer!

Funny kid. Implied.

2009-03-09T16:27:00.004-05:00

My writer buddy, Pamela, is always posting funny things her third child says, and I think it must be a syndrome. She cracked me up today, and it reminded me it was time for another Kristen says ...

Sunday afternoons have turned into a kind of tradition for my middle child. Several of her friends are driving -- including Aaron, the boyfriend. Between the time we go out to eat after church and before youth group, their little cluster always wants to go to the park and hang out.

Each Sunday, it's the same conversation: Have you finished your homework? Have you done your chores? What's your specific plan and who's driving? And so on. We always try to emphasize that she ASK and not TELL. (Hmm, kind of sounds like a writerly problem, doesn't it? You know, show, don't tell.)

So, last Sunday, Emilie was peeking her head into the window of the car and the following conversation ensued:

Emilie: We're gonna go to the park, and ...
Me: We're gonna? Yeah?
Emilie: Asking. Implied.
Me: Just checking. Okay.
Kristen: Can I go? And can we fly our kite?
Emilie: (Sighhhhhh.) Maybe. (Walking away from car, out of hearing.)
Kristen: Without Aaron. Implied.
Me and Todd: (Cracking up.)

She must be missing Sister/Sister time.

Stories that go down in family history

2009-02-21T01:08:00.002-06:00

It really has been a month since I popped in here, hasn't it? I'm trying to refocus and think through my blogging time.

BUT ... of course, I couldn't pass up a good opportunity for a Kristen says, right?

Tonight, at the Olive Garden. Kristen was puzzled when the waiter brought her a new drink before she'd even half finished the first one. I explained he was probably busy and thought he'd bring one while he had a minute rather than make her wait later. (Which is mostly unimportant and non-relative to the punchline, but gives you a little context and makes this longer and more worth your time for clicking, right?)

So, she couldn't find her straw when she was ready to move on to the new glass. I think it just took her a few seconds to remember it was in the old glass. We weren't really paying much attention to her mutterings until she found it in the old glass and said ...

"Oh, there it is. We'll be laughing about that in forty years."

HUH?

But, I bet we will now.

Ready or not, change is here!

2009-01-20T13:25:00.004-06:00

We have a new president. Whether you voted for President Obama or not, the day is here, and I hope we'll all join together in showing respect and support for the democratic process and the man we have elected to lead our country in a strange and often terrifying time.

I'm a big believer in personal responsibility. Don't just jump on the truck that has your party emblazoned on its side. Please, please, take the time to read, study the issues (all views), and make informed decisions before you speak.

The election season and time leading up to the inauguration have been stressful for me because I do that, and it's hard sometimes to stand in the middle of the great divide. I'm staunchly bipartisan, though I did have particularly strong preferences in this election. While waiting for election day and inauguration day, my stomach has knotted and ached at times while reading the hatefulness spewed from my fellow citizens (from both parties), while deleting emails I am fairly certain people didn't read all the way to the bottom or check out for validity before clicking "forward," and when listening to small children spout the views of their parents--because kids are honest if easily misled. They'll repeat what their parents say at home, and not only repeat it loud and clear, but more often than not grow to embrace it.

But now the election is over, the swearing in has been accomplished without chaos. I read something this morning about how amazing that is. So many people watching around the world live in countries where change of power almost guarantees violence and chaos. (I can't remember where I read that -- sorry for the lack of attribution.)

We are a country who can embrace our political differences (not to mention all the other kinds of differences! Wow!) and still, at the end of the work day, get on the highways, the railways, and in the air, and feel confident that we will be safe nearly 100% of the time as we rub shoulders -- in spite of those differences. What great privilege -- and what great responsibility.

Change we can believe in. That was the platform. President Barack Obama is one man and we're expecting a lot of change from him.

But change also happens one citizen at a time. What about you?

Guard Kitteh

2009-01-03T00:11:00.004-06:00

Back 'way from presents, u can keep face

A veritable goldmine opportunity

2008-12-18T23:52:00.004-06:00

I'm mostly blogging over at my other blog these days, but still keeping it barely alive here. Mainly with random stuff like the much requested Kristen Says.

She's growing older, yet she still keeps us laughing.

Last night, for instance.

I'm sitting on the couch looking at Facebook, as usual. I'm viewing the page of a former neighbor we keep in touch with who's moving back here. By chance, the house next door is for sale. We're crossing our fingers she and her husband and their three little girls might actually get the timing right with the sale of their house and move in next door.

Kristen: Watcha lookin' at?
Me: Heather's page.
Kristen: Are they moving in next door?
Me: I have no idea. If the timing is right, wouldn't that be fun?
Kristen: Yeah, think of the babysitting opportunities.
(short pause while wheels turn in head)
Kristen: PLATINUM ...

Smart girl, her.

Will it make me look like her?

2008-12-10T18:59:00.004-06:00

Gotta love advertising, right?

While perusing the article about Ford refusing the bailout money (Thanks, Paul. I knew there was at least one thing I liked about Ford), I happened to see this ad:

I guess if you shop here at this online shop, you'll look like the size two model even if you really wear a size 12W to 44W.

I'm so on that.

It's beginning to sound a lot like Christmas

2008-12-02T23:01:00.006-06:00

I'm still blogging my trip over at an audience of me and posting photos on flickr.

If you've got a hankering for some Christmas tunes, check out this little project my son's friends put together for the holidays. It'll make you smile! Bunch of talented kids, they are. I can't swear to it, but I'd imagine all the instrumentation is original, nothing canned. A little traditional stuff, a little funky stuff (I Saw Three Ships like you've never heard it, maybe!). Ryan's friend Kristin does an absolutely gorgeous O Come, O Come Emmanuel, too.

Ryan sings number 4 -- You Gotta Get Up, a cover of a Rich Mullins song, also recorded by the immortal Five Iron Frenzy. (Well, I guess logically Rich Mullins is the immortal one now, may he rest in peace!) We used to pull out the Mullins recording to wake the kids up on Christmas morning. (YES ... we had to wake the kids up. We are a bunch of undying night owls in this family, even as little children.) I can almost picture Ryan's three or four-year-old wonder at Christmastime when I listen to him sing here.

2008-11-19T00:17:00.003-06:00

I'm back from my trip to the UK and I'm blogging it over at my other blog.

Hope you'll take a peek now and then. It'll take me a while to get all my thoughts down since I spent all my time there walking, looking, shooting photos, and not writing a bit!

Joe who?

2008-10-15T20:21:00.002-05:00

If I make more than $250K per year, I am not Joe the Plumber.

I am Joe the Plumbing Executive.

Just saying.

Kristen and Mom show their respective ages

2008-10-04T00:18:00.004-05:00

While traveling to On the Border for Friday night dinner with Todd, Kristen, and my mom, we were talking about the vice presidential debates, and what's been said today among family, friends, and frenemies.

The space of nearly 60 years between two of the female species became apparent.

Mom: My beauty operator said the same thing.

Kristen: Your what? Your BEAUTY OPERATOR??????

To bail or not to bail ...

2008-10-01T01:31:00.005-05:00

If you want to read slightly lighter, more exciting stuff, go read my review of the Swell Season (Glen Hansard of the Frames/Marketa Irglova) concert at my other blog.

If you are worried about the state of our economy, this will just take a minute.

I've been receiving various plugs in my inbox for different ways to approach the financial crisis as a taxpayer, citizen, voter, little person. It's still unclear what the best solution is to me, but reading through these is at least educating me. I'm still not sure I'll understand it in time to have any real influence. Sigh.

Dave Ramsey's 3 Steps to Change the Nation's Future

John Mauldin's Who's afraid of a big, bad bailout? (reprinted with permission on Meg Tilly's blog)

These two opinions seem to have common goals through quite different solutions.

What about you? Have you come across anything that make sense to you?

Kristen says ...

2008-09-19T22:06:00.002-05:00

In a true demonstration of the pitfalls of the electronic age and its effect on families ...

As Todd, Julie, and Emilie sit with their laptops playing on FaceBook on a Friday night ...

Julie comments that Kristen is the only normal member of the family remaining. She has no laptop, no FaceBook, thus, no 21st century life. Todd chuckles. Emilie mumbles (after having wisdom tooth extraction earlier in the day). Kristen says ...

"Can't y'all just talk on FaceBook?"

Apparently, we were interrupting her movie.

Kitty Kup Sob Story

2008-09-17T21:43:00.005-05:00

I was born with a plastic cup in my mouth.

Apparently, so was my cat.

How does one train a cat who is obsessed with drinking out of a tall, plastic Khaki's cup to drink out of the nice, clean, white, ceramic, PRETTY square bowl I purchased for her? She's made the transfer from the old food dish to the new (matches the square water bowl) food dish, but the water seemingly is just not the same.

I understand, really. I don't like drinking from glass glasses unless I have a straw. They smell kinda fishy, if you know what I mean. Give me a good old cheap plastic cup any day. (And my mom gets irritated with me when I call them cups, but I tell her if they're plastic, they can't be glasses, right?) But this is a cat, people. And they don't make cat straws.

So Yentl, she stands pitifully at the bathroom counter, sticking her head way down inside the empty Khaki's cup, hoping beyond hope there will be a few drops she missed the last time she checked. (Hmm, maybe it would help if I got rid of the cup. That was the point.)

I've carried her to the food and drink spot, a short three feet away, even dunked her finicky little nose in the new dish to be sure she KNOWS it's water (Because she's kind of dumb like that sometimes. She also finishes her business, then swishes her paws OUTSIDE the litter box inside of inside where they might actually cover the evidence.)

She condescended to drink from the dishy dish one time--when I fetched two ice cubes from the kitchen and dropped them in, because she loves ice water (she's a kidney disease kitty, and loves water cold, cold, cold). I thought it would clue her in that it's her new watering hole, but no, and we're not going to start THAT every day. I know, I know, some of you over-the-top animal lovers think I'm mean, but we do give her ice in the kitchen bowl. Ahem, the BOWL she drinks from there (that is, NOT A CUP).

By now, you're probably wondering, "What are Khaki's cups?" If so, you ain't from around here, are ya? Khaki's Fresh Food is this wonderful dress-your-own-burger joint that serves drinks in tall plastic tumblers imprinted with their logo. If you live in Arlington, chances are, you have a full set in the cabinet. The way you know it's been too long since you went to Khaki's is when you realize you need new cups. You know, when the old ones are kinda faded? Cracking in spots or overly dishwasher warped? And they are so much better than the four for a dollar crap cups you get at WallyWorld. You can bend them to fit in the dishwasher top rack, the one that's always a fraction of an inch too narrow for things you purchase.

But I digress. Yentl, she needs to move up a notch. What do I do with the plastic cup lovin' kitty??

To she who keeps us all organized

2008-09-04T01:01:00.004-05:00

Dadgummit, I'm an hour too late to officially say Happy Birthday to Emilie on my blog!

But she got all kinds of attention today anyway. She went to the doctor last night with fever and coughing and came home with antibiotics and a possible diagnosis of p-u-monia. Yep, two doctors arguing over a chest xray--Is it pneumonia or not?--decided to treat her as if it is so. Because she had "all kinds of squeaking and squacking" going on in her lungs, so they said.

Too much stuff going on in combination with heavy duty allergies=a day off from school for your birthday. Not a bad deal. I know, right? (Just had to say it, after all Emilie says it 100 times a day these days.)

I even heated up leftover taco soup for her lunch when she finally woke up at 2 p.m. after going to bed at 9 last night. I told her never to forget I did this for her and never to say I never fed her when she was sick. ;-)

Because I felt so bad for her, even though I said we'd probably wait to celebrate until the weekend, Kristen and I made a pit stop at Target after piano lessons and bought a little cake and the rest of her heart's desires for her birthday--the sequel to Gregory Maguire's Wicked, and another book he's written about the ugly stepsister or some such character.

I was already in possession of the requested Across the Universe DVD and a few other random movies I thought she'd enjoy after an unfortunate trip yesterday to Blockbuster's previously-viewed-movies-for-sale section. (It's always unfortunate, because I always buy a lot of movies there when they're four for $20. Many I've seen and enjoyed. The pitiful part is I often never rewatch them. I just have some kind of weird emotional attachment to movies I liked. Let's just say this was a *highly* unfortunate visit because I kind of hit the jackpot.)

If we can score tickets for the David Wilcox concert at Bend Studio in November, including one for Emilie, I will be Mom of the Year, except for that minor matter of driver's ed ...

Sorry, sweetie, you don't have time for driver's ed. The only possible time slot in your busy, busy schedule is really already filled. With sleep. Maybe when you're 20.

BUT ARE YOU SERIOUSLY 15!!!!! O.M.G.

Look ma, no hands!

2008-08-25T23:36:00.007-05:00

It's pitiful that I haven't updated in more than three weeks, I know. If you're still reading, thanks for checking in faithfully anyway! I guess I'm going to have to start jabbing Kristen in the side to get her to say something new and hilarious, huh? ;-)

Seems like I always post on the first day of school, though, so I must keep up the tradition.

Fall is not in the air here. Not at all. I didn't even get that weird little rush that usually comes with the first day of school, where you can somehow imagine fall is coming, even when it's still blazing hot. Now, if school had started LAST week, in the midst of some cooler, rainy days, maybe.

Today was surprisingly easy for day 1. I'd estimate about 15%, or 10 of the requisite forms are filled out (with exactly the SAME FREAKING INFO as last year! Can we just get a computer generated form to check off "all info the same as last year" puleeeze?!?!).

One started 6th grade, and bopped off with her friends for her second year in a school she likes. One started high school, and I have to admit that Julie of the non-teary first days of school (Can anyone shout, "FREEDOM!" with me?) had just the tiniest little lump in her throat as she drove away from dropping her oldest girl off. (First day privilege. She'll be waiting for the bus at 6:30 a.m. tomorrow with all the other freshmen whose parents believe in building character, saving gas and the environment, and the statistics that say it's safer to rider the school bus anyway.)

I simply had a quick realization that this is child two of three to start high school, and that really makes the remaining years of my hands-on job as a parent seem short. Even more considering how easily she jumped out of the car (well, not really jumped, but she wasn't nervous at all and neither was I). I must be doing something either really right or really wrong for her to be so confident. :)

My consolation is I had my children fairly far apart (five years between 1 and 2, and four years between 2 and 3). Originally, I said it was so I'd never have two in diapers at once, but more to the point, I realized how much I'd enjoy getting to know each one of my kids individually for a pretty long period of time and that I'd be a much better mom that way. We are not all wired the same as moms. (It was also nice having older kids who could tote the stinky diapers to the garage.)

So, Kristen will be a while in coming to this day of starting high school, but I'm sure it'll be here in a flash. And she'll be the one sitting in the car, clinging to my hand, saying, "Noooo! I'm not ready!"

Or maybe she won't, and I'll shake my head again.

Now, if I could just figure out the second-year college student and exactly where my responsibilities lie in helping him become an adult, I might sleep at night. This is harder than I thought it would be.

(photo credit: macwagen, creative commons)

Ding ding ding!

2008-08-03T23:14:00.004-05:00

Haven't done a Kristen says in a while ... so.

We've been trying to get her to bed earlier the last few nights so we can start gearing up for the new school year. She's nearly as bad a night owl as me, which is not a good thing come school time. So, about five minutes ago, I gave her instructions to get her teeth brushed, etc.

Todd saw her dawdling on the stairs on her way up.

Todd: Are you going to bed?
Kristen: No.
Todd: Wrong answer.
Kristen: No, sir.

Are you my mother?

2008-07-25T12:47:00.005-05:00

I got the call last night. The one every parent dreads when their children learn to drive, or go off to college, or spend the summer in their first rental house.

Well, not really a call. It's 2008; it was a text message. Four a.m. and I was sound asleep for a change. But, even when "sound" asleep, I'm still a light sleeper, which is why, I'm sure, my son sent me a message. He knew I'd hear the phone. And here was the bone-chilling, earth-shattering text conversation that followed:
(Pardon the language, or hint of such. Tough times call for tough language.)

Ryan: I just woke up to a possum crawling on my back in my bedroom. What the f?

Me: Wow. Are you ok?

Me: Are you alone?

Ryan: Yes, it just scared the mess out of me. Ben and I caught it in a laundry basket. It was small. Only like a foot long.

Me: Ok, good. Did you scream? LOL. I can't stop laughing picturing it. How did it get in, I wonder?

Ryan: I jumped up, yelled OH S&%#! Turned on the light grabbed a laundry basket and a shoe. i had him cornered and stuck. I called Ben on my cell phone in the next room.

Me: Ok. I'm going back to sleep if I can stop laughing now. Glad you're ok.

Ryan: Yeah thanks. I think I found the line between a college house and roughing it! Good night.

I have never laughed so hard at 4 a.m. in my life. Every time I started to relax and think I might be able to fall back asleep, I started again and had to grab a tissue to mop up the tears. I, personally, would never be able to fall asleep in the house again. You know, the amazing house.

(photo credit foreversouls'/creative commons license)

Products you can't live without

2008-07-23T12:46:00.002-05:00

I can see why these are at overstock dot com.

Oh, how they grow

2008-07-23T00:18:00.003-05:00

It amazes me to realize this is the fourth year I've blogged on the birthday of my baby girl, who is not so much a baby any more. I just broke my middle child's heart, though, by commenting that I haven't been so faithful about blogging on her birthday. In typical middle child fashion, she hung her head and slunk into her room, then giggled. Then I reminded her she gets a national holiday and a three day weekend around her b-day every year. Blog schmog. Of course, then the younger daughter announced she gets a whole summer vacation.

For her birthday this year, we plan to remove the sign we put up over the window last year. Every now and then we notice it and comment, "We should probably take that sign down sometime. Naw, maybe next year after Kristen's birthday. Why waste a good sign?"

So, here she is, my blue-eyed beauty, another year older, another year bolder, eating our national family food, fresh pineapple, and sporting a hairdo of her own making. I told her when she's 16 or 17 and going to prom, her friends are going to hate her for that curly hair. Let's hear it for the girl.

Sorry for the photo quality. I'm loving taking pics with my cell phone and sending them right to my inbox and have gotten quite lazy.

Thank you ... thank you very much

2008-07-20T23:13:00.002-05:00

For exciting news about my alter life, check this out on my other blog!

Expired, more or less

2008-07-17T16:58:00.003-05:00

We are not the best at scanning the pantry for expired items. In fact, I've been known to use items if they're within reasonable reach of the expiration date. (Like, you know, a couple of years if it's not obviously perishable. Or sometimes, within a few weeks for cold stuff. Case in point, we are all still alive.) I tend to think of those dates as "guidelines." And don't worry, if you're a guest in my home for a meal, I'll serve you only the freshest food.

But it came to my attention this afternoon that we've been overly lax. My daughter was digging through the pantry and stopped to stare at a box of Hamburger Helper Lasagna. Now, I've scanned this same package many times (I shudder now to think how many) and never found an expiration date, but the thought of making lasagna from Hamburger Helper just doesn't appeal. So, I pass it over, but leave it alone ... just in case.

I heard an exclamation from the kitchen: "GROSS!"

After a few minutes, when I was ready, I responded: "What?"

"Mom, this box of Hamburger Helper has a Jurassic Park sweepstakes that ended October 31, 1997!"

Dang.

I told her to throw the sauce mix away, stick the box on the recycle shelf, and put the pasta bag back in the pantry. I'm pretty sure pasta doesn't ever die, but I'll check to be sure in a few years.

Bow to the Queen in Charge of the Cat's Delicate Stomach

2008-07-08T14:30:00.005-05:00

At 7:30 a.m., I dragged myself out of bed to take the middle kid to colorguard camp, which she has ~~every day all summer~~. nearly every week all summer. (It feels like every day.) As we walked through the front hallway, she asked, "You know there's cat barf there?" and pointed to the very edge of the carpet--the half inch that comes right before the tile, because that's how our cat rolls.

She has kidney disease and frequent hairballs and pukes a lot. We're not sure from which affliction, but at least a few times a week.

A few minutes ago, my younger daughter passed through and pointed to the same spot. "You know there's cat barf there?"

I predict that before the day is out, my mother or husband will point to the same spot and say, "You know there's cat barf there?" Well, maybe my husband won't. He might actually clean it up because he's cool like that.

If my son hadn't already absconded after only one year of college, he'd probably stroll through and say, "You know there's cat barf there, right?" (He'd add the "right," just for kicks.)

And I even know what you're saying. "Julie, you know there's cat barf there, right? And you haven't cleaned it up a full seven hours later?"

To all of you (minus my reading audience, unless you are one of the other mentioned parties), I say, "YES! I KNOW THERE IS CAT BARF THERE. BUT IF I AM APPARENTLY IN CHARGE OF CLEANING UP THE *FAMILY* CAT'S BARF, I WILL CHOOSE WHEN AND HOW TO CLEAN IT UP. IF I FEEL LIKE PASSING IT BY AND CLEANING IT UP LATER, DAG NABBIT, I WILL. AND ... BESIDES ... HOW AM I ANY DIFFERENT FROM YOU?"

Hmm?

Really, I'm not bitter. I'm not rebelling. It honestly just cleans up better after it dries and gets hard and crusty. Then you can just scoop it up, spray a little Oxy miracle spray on it, and voila! No cat barf or nasty stain from scooping it while it's ... okay, never mind that detail.

But, still. I'm just saying.

Bored already?

2008-07-07T15:40:00.003-05:00

Here is a sign that summer vacation may already have gone on too long. While I work and ignore them, the children are practicing piano. In their pajamas. At 3:45 p.m.

While balancing footballs on their heads.

Redirect

2008-06-23T21:57:00.001-05:00

If you're yearning for an update, check out the latest over at my other blog, where I share about our star sighting on the way OUT of Los Angeles.

Two things that disturb me

2008-06-20T14:00:00.002-05:00

1) I hear birds chirping in my chimney.
2) I am the only person in the house, the tv is on, and I am staring at the Hannah Montana show.

This cannot be good.

Just saying

2008-06-17T02:29:00.001-05:00

I'm still alive, I'm just in ...

Where my brother just escaped ...

Just kidding. He's really a pretty normal guy.

Spending time with him and a few more of my favorite guys ...

And one of my favorite girls ...

Not to mention the scenery.

See you when I get back.

You know your kid's a nerd when ...

2008-06-05T00:34:00.003-05:00

... she's been groaning endlessly about school for the last two weeks, especially considering we got out of school two weeks later than usual because of the new later start, and then, when the big day comes ...

She comes home, celebrates, goes swimming, invites girls to sleep over, and ...

Asks if it's okay if they go back up to the school in the morning to help teachers clean up.

Kerrville, at last

2008-06-03T23:33:00.005-05:00

I was waiting to post "the next day" until I maybe got the energy up to transfer video to my computer and upload a bit of the Kerrville performance to youtube, but ... I'm still waiting. It takes a lot of energy to do file transfers, you know.

So, until then, maybe this'll hold you:

Ryan playing at Kerrville.
I think his eyes were shut because of the sweat
rolling into them and burning. It was just a tad warm.

Check out those birkies.

Kicking back after his turn.
The outdoor theatre leads straight out the side
to the campgrounds and Texas Hill Country.

With his fellow songwriting competition winners,
from Texas A&M, UT, Texas State, and of course, UNT.
Guys in the middle are festival peoples.
Note: It appears the rolled up brown pants are part of some uniform??
The others didn't get the memo, apparently.
The other guy's were missing the holes in the backside, too.
(I forgot to make a note of the names of the other musicians. I do know the cute girl next to Ryan is HalleyAnna, and the guy with the shades is her string bass player, and they are called Starboat.)

Proud sistern. Before hippie chick transformation later that evening.
(Tie-dye dresses and airbrush tattoos.)

Next up, San Antonio. And maybe one day, video.

A travelogue in several parts

2008-05-29T00:35:00.005-05:00

We took a little family trip down to the Hill Country over Memorial Day weekend, mainly to see Ryan play in the Kerrville Folk Festival, but also just to hang out together and make each other crazy for three days, because that's how we roll.

There was much eating, fighting amongst ourselves, sweat, and also many laughs. I had my trusty camera, so I thought I'd share a trip report over the next several days, or however long it takes me to get the pictures posted, depending on Blogger's mood. (She was not pms'ing tonight, and I uploaded 10 shots!!! Wowsers. That's a record.)

So, day one was a fun look at the "real" Texas. We live in fake Texas. In DFW, we are a pretty accurate microcosm of the rest of the world. Other parts, well, they're more Texas, if you know what I mean. If not, well, you've come to the right place.

The blue highways are long and winding, but there are lots of pretty wildflowers to entertain. And fence posts, and poles. (Click on pics to see full-size)

You might have heard we don't have hills in Texas. That is unequivocally untrue. See? Here's one:

And here's the backside:

I guess the Christians weren't too crazy about Cheap Charlies. He must have been a little too bizarre. (You have to click.)

In Texas, we even have outlet malls for RVs.

Nothing like downtown, Main Street Texas. Every business serves two purposes, at a minimum. The restaurant has its own ATM--they probably don't take credit cards.

All are welcome at the Koffee Kup. Bring your Harley, definitely.

Ribeye cookoff? I'm there. Oh, darn, it was LAST weekend. That's an awfully big sign to forget to take down, guys.

Little house on the prairie

We do deer meat? I'm not even going to ask.

Tomorrow, the great festival.

Nine

2008-05-20T21:54:00.002-05:00

OnlyninemorenightsofdidyoudoyourhomeworkdidyouputupyourlaundrydidyoudothedishesdidyoubrushyourteethisyourswimsuitreadyisyourtowelreadydidyoupracticedoyouneedlunchmoneywhattimedoIneedtowakeyouupwhattimedoweneedtoleavearewetakinganyoneelsewhattimeshouldIpickyouuptomorrowdoyouhavesectionalsdoyouhavecolorguardpracticeareyoureallywearingthat?

And then I can go quietly insane on my own schedule for the summer.

Overheard in Podunk

2008-05-11T00:14:00.002-05:00

I won't give the name of the town. That would be tacky.

Todd and I went to see Made of Honor tonight. I, personally, thought it was really cute and pretty dang funny. I laughed out loud a number of times, and that doesn't always happen. I didn't laugh nearly as much watching Baby Mama a few weeks ago, and the reviews for it were better. But, whatever. (And thanks, Gail, for the recommendation. Todd and I were going to save it for DVD, but I'm glad we went.) The on-location in Scotland scenes helped a wee bit, too.

Anyway ... this couple filed in after we were seated, leaving the requisite open seat between us. We always try to sit in the row with the railing in stadium seating theatres so we can prop our feet up. I know, I know, we are very uncouth. But, perhaps not as uncouth as ...

Right after Made of Honor scene where Tom (Patrick McDreamy Dempsey) has just been introduced to Hannah (Michelle Monaghan), and he says, "Hannah. That's a palindrome."

Podunk guy: What's a palindrome?
Podunk chick: I dunno.

I don't know why I thought this was so funny. But I did. Maybe it was because five minutes before the movie started, this couple sat down with the biggest bucket of popcorn I have ever seen in my life, a ginormous movie size soda, a couple packs of movie candy, and what looked like a 1.5 liter bottle of water. For some reason, I thought that was funny, too. I mean, how on earth do you eat and drink that much during a movie without having to ... excuse yourself?

My favorite line in the movie was "He has mad cow disease." You had to be there. And this isn't even my kind of movie humor usually, but I couldn't help it.

That is all.

Kids these days

2008-05-08T22:30:00.004-05:00

It's been a while since I did a Kristen says, and I can't resist.

We have a policy in our house that if you want someone to sleep over, you have to clean your room before you receive permission. Otherwise, you can be a pig for as long as we can stand it. (I obviously never need to clean my room, because Todd lives here.)

Well, Kristen wanted to have a friend spend the night this weekend, so she called me on one of my numerous chauffeur runs this afternoon to ask. I reminded her she had to clean her room first. (Because, of course, they never remember the rules.) So, she called back about five minutes later to see if she could go play at a friend's house.

Me: Did you clean your room yet?
K: No, it won't take that long later.
Me: Hmm. I think you better decide now. Play now, no sleepover. Clean now, maybe play later, have sleepover.
K: Uh. Okay. I'm cleaning.

10 minutes later.

K: Can I go play now?
Me: Did you clean?
K: Yes.
Me: That wasn't very long ... are you sure? It's really clean? And the floor between your room and the stairs?
K: Yes! To my preference it is!
(You: HAHA!)
Me: You mean to your standards? How about mine?
K: I think so ...
Me: Okay, go play, we'll see when I get home.

3 hours later. Inspector Todd has ascended and removed wadded clothes and towels and papers and toys from strategic hiding places and deposited in the middle of floor. We go up to tuck Kristen in after having reminded her a couple of times to clean it up.

Me: I thought you said you cleaned!?!?!
K: I did, to my extent anyway.
(You: HAHAHA!)
Me: It's still a mess though.
K: Todd pulled all this stuff out!
Todd: But you said you cleaned it up again.
Kristen: (Pulls blanket over head.) I have no response.

That girl.

(I'm gonna cry when she turns 11. This age is freakin' hilarious. Of course, with her, I've been saying that every year.)

He shot the Tambourine Man

2008-05-08T00:08:00.007-05:00

Well, it's offical (Edit: THAT was on purpose...click the link), old blue eyes, ~~Jaston~~ (EDIT! HAHA! JASTON!) Jason Castro, didn't make the last cut on AI. Finally. While I admit I was gaga over him for the first ten (??) weeks or so, it was definitely time. As proud as I am of our Texas folkie boy, he had reached his peak in AI territory.

I laughed tonight when he said he was relieved because he just wasn't sure how he was going to do three songs next week. He's nothing if not honest. And a little blonde, in spite of those brown dreds. I'm sure he will do well, nevertheless. (I love how that word just rolls off my tongue. What movie was it where the female character painted a thousand words with just that one?)

And not to worry -- David Cook has been my offical AI boyfriend for quite some time now. I'd be quite satisfied with him and Syesha as first and second place winners. David A just freaks me out for reasons I can't articulate, in spite of his oodles of 16-year-old talent. I'm just not a member of his adoring middle-aged mom and teenybopper fan base. (I have to go against the flow, do I not?)

From the trenches

2008-04-25T18:02:00.001-05:00

We're in the midst of Texas tornado season. When it's tornado season in Texas, you've gotta be prepared, right?

I have this little O/C routine when the television radar says bad weather is approaching. You can't miss it--it's like a national crisis. All the tv stations go to special weather reports. Usually, the radio stations igore it, though. I haven't figured that out. Oh, and the sirens don't always sound, as I've mentioned. Perhaps the always elusive "they" figure the world is glued to American Idol, anyway, so other warning systems are irrelevant.

Wednesday night, we got the radar reports and I started my routine. I am convinced if I follow it to the letter, the bad weather will pass, leaving us unscathed. So far, it's worked, so I say it's a good routine, even if my husband thinks I'm a little off.

Here's how it works. I fill a small laundry basket with the things I would miss most if my house fell down around me. Into the basket goes my laptop computer and charger, my external hard drive with old files and photos, my purse with my i.d., cards, and cell phone, my old cell phone that functions like a tiny flashlight, and, of course, my wedding and honeymoon albums.

I place the basket in the floor of the laundry room. (The amount of faith I put in the laundry room is nothing to be sneezed at. If it's in the laundry room, it will be fine, okay?) I have an additional plastic tub full of other family pictures, and it slides in beside the laundry basket. If these things survive, along with my husband and children, all will be well. Nearly everything else can be replaced.

Well, this year, I've started adding additional items to the basket as time allows. I mean, if you've got 20 minutes until the storm arrives, why not add a pair of tennies? Socks? Favorite pillow. Water bottle. All practical stuff, right?

When the warnings pass, I unpack everything, and life goes on. If the weather is iffy for the next day or so, I'll sometimes leave the things I don't immediately need in the basket. Takes less energy to pack the next time.

So, we had that kind of night Wednesday. Todd was out of town, and we talked on the phone about how everything had calmed down again, but the rest of the week was sketchy. I went back to my regularly programmed computer surfing and eventually headed for bed. I usually read for a while before I go to sleep, but couldn't remember where I'd put my books.

I'd taken them along to the girls' piano lessons earlier that afternoon, and thought I remembered bringing them in the house along with the fast food we always get when Todd's out of town. Alas, they weren't in the usual spots I drop things.

Oh, well, I thought, I'll get them out of the car tomorrow.

I grabbed another book (after all, I'm reading about 30) and read it instead.

Yesterday, I never made it to my car. Didn't have carpool duty at any time of the day for a change, so never emerged from the house. Late last night, I wanted to read again, and was so frustrated with myself for waiting until it was too dark and creepy outside again to check the car.

Oh, well, I thought, I'll get them out of the car tomorrow.

A few minutes later, I was distracted by other things, but walked by my little emergency laundry basket. Huh, I thought. I had never unpacked the extras. Tennies ... socks ... hard drive ... bottle of water ... yep ... all there. And ...

Pat Conroy's Beach Music. Donald Maass's Writing the Breakout Novel.

I would like to flatter these two men by saying theirs are the two most important books in my life. Unfortunately, it would be a lie. What it boils down to is I get bored sitting anywhere with nothing to do. I always take a book. I guess in my reasoning the other night, I figured if the house fell down around us, I'd be happy to have the two books I was most engrossed in while we were sitting in a shelter.

Or maybe if the tornado was only an F1 or F2, I'd read until it was over.

Extra, extra, read all about it

2008-04-21T09:02:00.004-05:00

Just so's ya know I was telling the truth, here's the press! ;-)

Songwriters compete for festival spot (from North Texas Daily)
Arlington freshman Ryan Pickop won this year's contest and a spot to perform alongside more than 100 singer/songwriters like Ray Wylie Hubbard and Terri Hendrix in the festival. Teresa Zacharias, a Houston freshman, was runner-up. The 18-day festival is scheduled to begin May 22....

I also came across this neato article about Seeds of Change (also from NT Daily):

Denton homeless ministry serves poor with food, time
... Seeds of Change held a benefit concert at Art Six Coffee House Friday night to raise money for the shelter, which moved to a house on Fort Worth Drive last week. Nearly 100 people packed into Art Six to hear singers and songwriters Ashley Gatta, Ryan Pickop and The Fitz, while Seeds of Change founder Andrew Walsh collected donations for the shelter in a plastic biscotti jar....

Next up, NYT and USA Today ...

Well, maybe not this week.

All the dirt

2008-04-17T22:57:00.007-05:00

Last night, Todd and I drove up to Ryan’s university (about an hour away) to hear him compete in a songwriter’s contest. We have a three-week long folk music festival down in south Texas each year in May and June (Kerrville Folk Festival, like an annual Woodstock, only maybe less drugs. :) Anyway, each year they do a Songwriters in the Universities contest at four (I think) campuses across the state, and one of the contests was at Ryan’s college this year.

So, he submitted his prerequisite CD of two songs a few months ago, and a few weeks ago was notified he was one of the top 10 finalists who got to perform tonight. Each played three songs, and the winner will get to play along with the other university winners at the Kerrville Festival. The winner also received prize money. (Which they didn’t tell ahead of time!)

WELL … MY BOY WON!!!

I am so, so proud. I think there were about 50 original entries for his school, and the announcer said Ryan was hands down the unanimous choice among all the judges, and that the hard decision was the runner up. We were all so excited. He had a big crowd of friends there cheering for him, and I told Todd on the way home that whether or not Ryan ever does another thing in his life with his music (as if), this memory will always be his shining moment. He has played at coffee shops and fundraisers, etc., for several years, but has never entered a contest.

Before we went to the competition, he showed us the ~~ghastly~~ unique house he will be renting with his buddies this summer and next year. Typical college boy digs. Old and saggy and ~~nasty, nasty~~ lovely, lovely carpet. I’m so glad I’m not in college anymore. But, *he* thinks it’s an amazing house, and that's what matters, right?.

The greatest thing about the house to Ryan is the garden in the backyard they have already started (other guys they know live there now). It’s actually one of two gardens he’s working on—there’s another behind the Catholic student center they frequent. He and his friend have been composting and learning all about organic gardening this spring, and planted up all kinds of stuff. (Hopefully, all legal. Ha.) And this is the boy who hardly touched vegetables until this year.

Last Saturday, he and the same boy arranged and emceed a “Bare Your Soles” rally around the Denton’s downtown to raise awareness about homelessness in their area, and got all kinds of businesses to donate food for the event, and entertainment, etc. The rally attendees walked around five blocks barefoot. In his own blog, Ryan said someone stopped in a car and asked if they were promoting socialism, and he answered, "No, just love."

So, his grades aren’t too spiffy this year, but you know what? He is happy, and he is already following his bliss in so many ways. And that makes me happy. It makes me cry. I can learn so many lessons from him.

If you get a hankering to listen to some winning tunes, you can listen to Ryan on his Myspace here. And I will leave you with a few more pictures from our outing! You should be able to click on each to see them bigger.

Garden at the Catholic Student Center

Ryan showing off bikes they collect and fix up for the folks at the shelter to use.

The Amazing House

Ryan chatting with Dave Stoddard after the contest. Dave won the Kerrville New Folk Award at the festival in 2005 and was one of the judges and the guest musician last night. (and that is the backside of another judge, in case you wondered! :)

Dreams can come true

2008-04-17T02:16:00.004-05:00

Too tired to say more, but too giddy to sleep, so for now, I'll leave you with this:

So proud.

My bad habit

2008-04-15T00:52:00.004-05:00

Should I say this out loud? If I do, you will know about my other reality tv addiction. You will know that I am now firmly entrenched, Monday nights from 9-10 p.m. (formerly 8:30-10, but no more).

Oh, I can't help it. I have to say it!

THANK GOODNESS MATT FINALLY GOT RID OF MARCHANA AND ROBIN!!!!!!

Those girls were just on there for the dramatics.

Now Matt can get down to the real business of finding himself a sweet American girl to take back to London. I vote for Chelsea or Noelle, but I'm leaning toward Noelle. She reminds me a little of Alexis Bledel in looks and personality, only a little less wry. I like how she kind of stays quietly in the background waiting for the right time to make herself known.

Okay, so, now you know. I've been watching the Bachelor. Sorry.

I tell my husband and children it's complete stress relief. I have a love/hate relationship with the show, and I can take it seriously and completely not seriously all at the same time, and forget about it 20 minutes later. (Unless, of course, I blog about it.) I can laugh and yell and roll my eyes. I can pretend to gag myself when Matt kisses three different girls in five minutes. Tonight, I was going to have to jump up and do a war dance if Marchana or Robin got roses.

And Todd was ready to jump up and dance, too. And I think I saw the girls peeking down the stairs through the banister a few times.

This is seriously bad. Oh, but please, don't think less of me. The other 23 hours of my Mondays are completely intellectually appropriate.

Jake joins The Cult of Sincerity

2008-04-10T01:23:00.005-05:00

Speaking of Jake Armerding, check out my blog post on An audience of me about The Cult of Sincerity, a full-length independent feature film that premiered on youtube April 8, which features two songs by Jake himself.

Yep, youtube. I watched the whole thing. I liked it. And, like American Idol, if you support it, it even "gives back!"

Embracing the present

2008-04-09T22:47:00.004-05:00

And we've come a long way. One of my favorite singer/songwriters now is Jake Armerding.

And he has a fun show on Acoustic Long Island that was podcast(ed?) here. (I think you can even watch a bit of video, too.)

I tend to plan travels around concert dates for the (relatively) obscure musicians I listen to. Sad, but true. Todd and I saw Jake at the Somerville Theatre near Harvard when we went to Boston a few years back. Together with two other folky/bluegrassy combos who were wonderful, but whose names are failing me at the moment.

This was the trip where we drove down to Newport, RI, for a few days, then back for the concert and our flight out the next morning. Seemed easy enough when we bought all the tickets.

We learned our lesson about driving in Boston that night. Don't. Do. It. Ever. Driving into or out of Boston is ok, but don't bother to drive in town, and heaven forbid, NEVER TRY TO PARK.

We finally found a parking space when the concert was half over. After driving past a million and one "parking for residents only" signs, we ended up sitting in the tiny public parking lot waiting for somebody to leave. But, we walked in just in time for Jake to perform, and the other two groups each did a few more songs, so it was still a great experience.

I had never seen him live, and it was worth the headache ... and the drive back to the hotel. It was about six miles, and took us about two hours. I can't even remember why now. But it had something to do with those reasons you shouldn't. ever. bother. to drive in Boston.

We checked into our hotel at about 1:30 a.m., slept for about 2 hours, then got up to catch our 6 a.m. flight make it home in time for Kristen's one and only ever cheerleading competition. Eesh!

Embracing the past

2008-04-05T00:47:00.005-05:00

If you'd like to guess my approximate age, but can't because I look soooo young, here's a broad hint.

When I was in junior high school, my best friend and I played this song (on a RECORD PLAYER) over and over (and over again), and cried over the boyfriends we'd never had who had just broken up with us. ?? Yeah, that's confusing to me, too. It must have made sense at the time, though, because there were a lot of tears.

(Thanks to Gabrielle, who got me started and reminded me of my age by posting a Rick Springfield video on her blog.)

EDIT: And also thanks to Gabrielle, who pointed out that this video wouldn't work. Never fear, you can link to it on youtube here!

Middle child

2008-04-01T21:43:00.004-05:00

Poor Emilie, I think I don't blog about her enough. She is an easy kid, so dependable, and such a joiner. We have given up trying to keep up with her activities. She has to tell us where and when she needs to be all the millions of places she goes.

She doesn't have a shy bone in her body--at least not that we can find. Saturday night, she and three of her (girl) friends attended the church youth group's annual Thrift Store Prom. The four of them went to Goodwill ahead of time and purchased two suits and two evening gowns. They were each other's dates. Resourceful little chickadees.

She earns a ton of money babysitting, and is in great demand because she actually plays with the kids and does the dishes (like we were expected to do when we were babysitters years ago). She frequently offers to pay for extra items she needs for band or winterguard or school out of her earnings. Sometimes we let her--I think it makes her proud, and she's learning the value of budgeting her money.

Today, however, I got a little worried she might be experiencing middle child syndrome. The mail came, and we had a packet hand addressed to her from the Thomas Jefferson School in St. Louis. A private boarding school.

Should I be concerned? Hmm?

What's in the water?

2008-03-28T21:18:00.005-05:00

Back when I was a kid, the last place you ever expected to see your parents was in the school cafeteria, unless it was a PTA meeting or program ... or you were in big trouble.

Not so anymore. It seems the latest badge of a "cool kid" is to have your mom or dad show up at lunchtime to eat with you. Even cooler when they come bearing fast food. It buys you the privilege of sitting at a special table with the 'rents and even picking one or two friends to come along if you are so moved.

So, my youngest wants to be cool, of course. (And maybe, just maybe, she actually likes to see us in the middle of the day for an extra hug and kiss as well.) She laid the heavy guilt on me last night. "Whennn are you going to come eat lunch with me? Todd does it alllll the time and he even has to do it on his day off and you don't even go to work anywhere!"

I told her he was just good at it--better at it than me, obviously. But of course, I showed up today. Fun was had by all, the food was even pretty good. No, I didn't take fast food. Can anyone imagine me getting there in time for lunch AND scheduling it so I managed to buy fast food on the way? Right.

There were only a few questionable situations.

First, the kids in this 5th/6th grade school have been SO BAD at lunch they had silent lunch several days this week. Including today! Yay! I asked Kristen when I got there if she wanted me to stay or come back another day when we could actually talk. She thought I was pretty silly and said you're allowed to talk when you're with your parent at the special table.

It was awkward, however, being one of about 10 people allowed to talk in a cafeteria stuffed with 300 silent 5th and 6th graders staring at you pitifully. Especially the kid sitting across from us (because apparently the special parent table is only the special parent *side* of the table in certain areas). He had long, stringy hair, glasses, loads of uncomfortable looking freckles, appeared to be about 15 instead of 12, and glared at us the whole time we ate and tried to make normal conversation.

We managed reasonably well, though, which leads to questionable situation number two. I picked up a bottle of water in the lunch line because (as I mentioned recently) I am not a fan of milk as a general rule. Especially not school milk. Ew. So, we were eating our pizza, corn on the cob, applesauce, and mandarin oranges, and Kristen asked if she could have a drink of my water. She was out of milk and the pizza was making her verrrry thirsty.

She studied the bottle, took a few swigs, then looked at it again and started reading the label out loud.

Kristen: "Water with fluoride. Isn't that the stuff they use for dead people?"
Me: "No, you must be thinking of formaldehyde." (For today, only, I was apparently smarter than a fifth grader.)
Kristen: "Oh, yeah."

But she pushed it back my way anyway.

The bell rang soon after and thus ended our lunch together. But, if Kristen and I start looking pickled any time in the near future, you'll know why.

Hey, Ryan

2008-03-27T22:55:00.002-05:00

You said it had been a while since I blogged. I blogged today.

This one's for you. :-)

Meme about Me Me

2008-03-24T18:21:00.004-05:00

I'm not very good about filling out those surveys people send by email or following through on blog memes (right, Bungi?), but I'm suffering from a severe lack of blog topic today, so I will do it.

My little sister, Brittany, tagged me. She and her hubby, Mark, just found out they are going to be teaching in a private Christian school in Saipan for a year. Saipan? Huh? You can read more about it in her blog.

So here are the rules for Brit's meme:

Link to your tagger and post these 3 rules on your blog.
1. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
2. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
3. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

And here are my facts:
1. I eat my cereal with milk ... and ice. I am not a big milk fan, and I always put a cube or two in it when I drink it straight. It has to be really, really cold for me to tolerate it. (And preferably skim. So, yeah, can you see that what I really prefer over milk is water?) So, even with cereal, I have to have ice.

2. I have lived in 29 different homes/apartments in my life. Those are the ones I can remember. I'm not planning on making it 30 any time soon. When June arrives, I will have passed more June firsts in a row in my current house than I have ever in any other house--six.

3. I would like to be a published writer someday. I just finished a good first draft of a manuscript I hope to send out to agents one day soon. I consider this my full-time job, even though I'm not getting paid for it yet.

4. I once worked a job for a year where I spoke Spanish all day. It was kind of fun.

5. When I was a kid, I loved peanut butter, American cheese, and Miracle Whip sandwiches. Yes, together. One day I realized how gross it was, and never ate another.

6. When I was in high school, I played softball for one season, and that is the extent of my team sports experience. (Well, other than two other failed attempts at church softball.) We were not a recognized team, but we challenged other schools and beat every one. We wore rings in our back pockets with bubblegum chew boxes so they would think we were tough, and apparently, it worked. I played right field, which should come as no surprise. I prefer individual sports where it doesn't matter how much of a klutz I am. :-)

7. I have been keeping this blog for nearly three years. I wasn't sure blogs would be around that long when I started.

I tag...
Gail, Bungi, Donna, Heather, hmm....trying to think of others who might actually do it. Most of the blogs I read are writer blogs and they might not do a meme as a general rule. But, what the heck, Carleen, Diane, and Kathy. No offense if you don't play. You other lurkers might have to come out of hiding if you want to have this kind of fun. You know who you are. If you feel like it, you are tagged, too. ;)

Do you AI?

2008-03-19T01:01:00.000-05:00

I do. Go read why over at my other blog.

Your Blues Ain't Like Mine

2008-03-17T23:43:00.001-05:00

I have read more books this year that have really, really made me think. More than in who knows how long--maybe ever. I've double posted a few times lately on both my blogs,and I'm going to have to do it again tonight.

Over the weekend, I finished the latest--Your Blues Ain't Like Mine, by Bebe Moore Campbell. I happened to see this while browsing at the library a few weeks ago, and remembered a reference to the author in a blurb on Carleen's book, Orange Mint & Honey, of course! And I did not know until just this minute when I went searching for a book link that Campbell is deceased, having died of a brain tumor in 2006.

If you've known me very well in "real life" for long, you know racism (i.e., trying to eliminate it) is one of my soapboxes. And yet, my eyes were opened even a bit wider reading this book. I felt such a mixture of anger, shame, and hope while reading. I think the premise behind the book is that we all have our burdens to bear, and that it's far too easy to judge others, believing that our own burden is just a little bit heavier because of what or who we are. You might come away with something altogether different if you read it. And, of course, there are so many big ideas in the book, and that's just one.

But, I want to talk about those emotions a little more here.

Anger. If you can read this story without feeling anger, I am afraid for you. The fictional events are based on a true story, where a young African American man in the deep South, right at the beginning of the civil rights era, was lynched for allegedly speaking inappropriately to a white woman. Lip service was paid to justice, almost making it worse than if it had never been brought up at all. The rest of the story entails the unfolding of the lives of those surrounding the event over the next 30 years--African American, white, and mixed-race characters.

Shame. I had to ask my mom over dinner Saturday evening what happened in our own family to stall racism. I loved my maternal grandma--she was truly one of my favorite people when I was growing up--yet I cringed and felt physically ill every time I heard her or one of her generation in my family use that horrible word you can guess at here.

For some reason, though, my mother wasn't like that. Over dinner, she told me that when she was growing up in New Mexico, they were beginning to talk in the public schools about civil rights and putting a stop to racism, and she guesses she just took it to heart. This suprises me--it was in the 40s and 50s, and that seems pretty progressive to me! She remembers a time when her father was furious with her for accepting a ride home from camp from the family of an African American girl, and another when she went on a date with a Hispanic boy.

Unfortunately, others in my extended family of her same generation weren't influenced like she was, and I am sorry to say some are no different all the way down to my generation. You could say we are not close today. :-D

On the other hand, my father's family was a strange contrast. I was under the impression my paternal grandmother was racist, too, although I did not know her well, but it turns out she was selective--she was prejudiced against Hispanics, but not African Americans.

This could be because, as it turns out, she fell deeply in love with an African American boy when she was in her late teens, and her father forced an end to that relationship, sometime in the 1920s, I guess. Grandma was an unhappy person as long as I knew her, and that went a long way in explaining her personality to me. She also bore the stigma of being one quarter Cherokee. At least, we think it was Cherokee. The family never talked much about it back in those days. It was a stigma, after all, and the guy responsible for that quarter was never publicly in the picture. I think there is a great story idea in there somewhere, and in fact, did a character sketch for a writing class last year based on the few details I knew.

Anyway, all I knew was the story I heard for years--when my father called to tell her he was engaged to a girl at the university he attended in New Mexico, Grandma's first question was, "Is she a Mexican?" And yet, she also sponsored a Jewish family in the displacement camps after WWII to come to the United States--including their grandbaby who had been fathered by a Nazi soldier who was in love with the daughter.

So, shame because I hate the way people related to me acted sometimes, and how some probably act to this day. But also hope.

Hope because I saw how my parents were able to stop this cycle in one family, in one generation, simply by saying to themselves and to us, their children, "This is never, ever acceptable." My dad worked with international students at the University of Colorado when I was a kid, and we had visitors of every race and religion in our house from the earliest time I can remember. It was just the norm.

My brother's best friend called my mom "Mom," too, and frequently asked my mom to give him and his bike a ride home from our house when it got too dark. He said, "White people don't like to see me riding my bike in your neighborhood after dark, sometimes they shoot at my bike license with BB guns." He was my brother's best man in his wedding. I spent the day I came home from the hospital with my middle baby with a broken heart. Alan had tried really hard to build a good life for himself, serving in the military, and trying to raise his son right, eventually as a single parent. Yet, somehow things went seriously awry. We learned that day I came home with my new baby that Alan, a victim of severe poverty and a childhood home in Five Points filled with crime, drugs, and despair, had cracked--he had murdered his own 10-year-old son, whom we had held as a baby, because the little guy had become involved in a gang. At least that was his reasoning.

The story was more horrible than we ever could have imagined, and yet, he wasn't just another statistic to us, he was our big brother, our son, our best friend. And I don't mean that in the sense of those who say, "I love black people. Some of my best friends are black." I admire your intention, but really, are they your best friends? On the other hand, I am not tooting my own horn here. I am sometimes reminded of the instances where I am myself racist, in some form or another. You know how I know? That still, small voice in my heart that whispers to me.

It occurred to me as I wrote that paragraph that one of the overriding themes in the manuscript I'm currently revising comes directly from my experiences. Several of my characters have a big "difference"--they are deaf. In my story, my main protagonist is deaf, but some of the other deaf characters do bad things. It is impossible to identify the "good guys" or "bad guys" simply based on their physical characteristics. In one scene, my character's granddad reminds him that in the world, there are really only two types of people--those who really care and those who really don't. I know that's pretty broad, but it's also pretty true if you think about it.

Anyway, I encourage you to locate this book. I think this would be an excellent book for a mandatory high school reading list. It's quite graphic, but probably no more graphic than they see every day on television and in movies, if more disturbing.

Sorry for going on so long, but this was on my heart. And how appropriate, the following quote just showed up on an email digest I get.

"People are like stained glass windows: they sparkle and shine when the sun's out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is light within."

—Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

Scotch tape and glue sticks

2008-03-16T22:38:00.001-05:00

Here's a shameless plug. My son posted new recordings of some of his songs on MySpace this weekend, and you can listen to them here. His friend Jarod, who's attending sound recording school and is also a fine musician, did the recording and he did a fantastic job.

Ryan and I definitely have our moments--you know the ones, I don't have to go into detail, do I? But, overall, he is such an amazing (almost 20-year-old) kid, and makes me so proud I could spit.

His writing skilz are impressive, in my oh-so-humble-even-if-I'm-the-mom opinion. Here are lyrics to one song--an older one, maybe two or three years, which would have made him about 16 or 17 at the time, but it remains one of my favorites. As a writer and a mom, the pictures he paints in this song make me get all teary-eyed. It's poetry.

Scotch tape and glue sticks
(This is one of the recordings, and you may listen to it here)

You see me
but it's not me, collapsing beneath my feet
I'm falling
faster and faster, picking up the speed
This takedown
spill my ashes, share me with someone new
This old town
resembles a time that I spent with someone who ...

You loved this
spot beneath the willows, buried by the sound of sea
I will miss
every chance I got to make you so angry with me
And we know that
every part of the sky is a secret
We'll show that
we'll open her up, and reveal the missing thing

The cold wind
inhibits the joints, and makes it so hard to move
We'll speak then
when voices are heard and seen, when traveling between two
It's so quiet
but the wind's indecision will fly, and we'll all change moons
So tell me
So tell me

And I don't want you to fake this
But I'm sure that I will break this
And I really want to shake this
But I'm so alone

And I'm trying to fly away
But these wings won't carry me
They were made in the first grade
When love was easy

And I'm trying to fly away
But these wings won't carry me
They were made in the first grade
When Scotch tape and glue sticks would fix everything

You see me
but it's not me, collapsing beneath my feet
I'm falling
faster and faster, picking up the speed
This takedown
spill my ashes, share me with someone new
This old town
resembles a time that I spent with someone I

Love

© Ryan Pickop

Putting the burger back in burgers

2008-03-14T00:13:00.004-05:00

If you're a newer reader, you might not know that I live by the Murphy's Law of Fast Food Experiences. Can I get a witness?

Tonight was no different. My friend Gail and I drove to Dallas to hear Anne Lamott speak as part of the Dallas Arts and Letters series. We stopped at Sonic on the way back to grab a bite to eat--everything else closes at 10 here in Texas, and it was 10:01. (I love that in some other parts of the world, places stay open a wee bit later.)

I decided to go fully leaded and ordered the Combo #5: Bacon Cheeseburger Toaster, Tots, and a Diet Cherry Limeade. (Because the diet drink cancelled the fat and calories in the other items, right?) I mentioned I didn't want onions, but I did want the onion RING. Weird, I know.

I ended up with two sandwiches. You want to know why? (Sure you do.)

They forgot to put the burger in the bacon cheeseburger.

???

I would have gladly traded in the original. I'm not completely sure they believed me when I reported that my burger appeared to be missing the burger. The manager got on the intercom and said, "I understand you have a problem with your cheeseburger?" Gail (because she was on the side by the intercom) said, "She's missing the hamburger patty from her--" and the guy cut in. He said, "Just a second." Alas, he never came back.

But, a few minutes later, voila, I was presented with a hot, fresh BCT, including the burger. The mutant was in plain site on the dash, but they didn't want it back.

So, I guess for lunch tomorrow I'm having a Bacon Cheeseburger, hold the burger.

Just when you think truth can't possibly get any stranger than fiction ...

2008-03-13T00:15:00.003-05:00

There's this.

(If you have delicate sensitivies, do not click on that link. I warned ya.)

It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase $%#& or get off the pot, doesn't it?

Thanks, Heather, for pointing me in the direction of this article. ;) We obviously have nothing better to do at midnight than laugh together at news of the strange. (And yes, it is also sad. Please don't think I'm a totally warped person and don't also see the tragedy in this situation.)

rAWfl catz

2008-03-11T00:20:00.008-05:00

Heather insisted it was time to do a new post, but I'm not going to write about what she wanted me to. Oh, no, I'm not.

Instead, I thought I'd do a little tribute to my kitty, Yentl. (No, you may not buy a vowel.) She was diagnosed with kidney failure almost four years ago, and at the time, we really thought we'd be saying goodbye soon, but with the help of a special food, she has maintained a steady weight, a good appetite, and a dang high level of orneriness since.

Unfortunately, she is showing signs now of declining, and that makes me sad. She is being especially affectionate these days, and if you have ever heard stories of Yentl, you know this was not always true.

Anyway, we have taken lots and lots of photos of her in the last few years, and lately, we've been in the lolcats phase. Only, we like to call our shots rAWfl catz. :-) I'll leave you with a few.

Cat'n Jack Spidey

Can cat-ch fur, can do anything

Air cat-tar

Enough with the camera already ...

I know I'm purdy, but geez

Welcome to the Hotel Texas ...

2008-03-03T22:44:00.006-06:00

You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave.

That's my theme song tonight, along with good ol' Macy Grey--Though I try to hide it, it's clear, my world crumbles when you are not here.

When Todd leaves town for a few days, we realize just how much we depend on him. Even things that shouldn't logically fall apart without him do.

For instance, on this, one of the coldest days in Texas this year, with temperatures in the low 30s, largish snowflakes falling, and kids needing chauffered here and there all day, my car heater has gone on strike. Yes, it's cold in there. We have to run the defogger for about a minute to see out the window, then QUICK turn it back off before we freeze ourselves to death.

Then, in the middle of the night last night, it was super windy, and it sounded like something fell off our roof and hit the back of the house. All I could see out the windows was one of our patio chairs lying on it's side. I don't think it fell of the roof, but you never know. The girls seem to think their halloween candy buckets were flying around the yard in the wind. Halloween buckets? Huh? Since when do we store those in the back yard, that's what I want to know.

But, back to the Hotel Texas. Tonight, our front door knob fell off. Second time it's happened when Todd's been out of town. I can't figure out how to reinstall it, so we simply stuff a sock in the hole (through which the wind cooled by the low 30s temperatures flows freely!). The outside handle is fine, so you can unlock it and get in, you just can't leave. :-) Thank goodness for garage doors.

I can't wait to see what else happens before Todd gets back home.

Who'd a thunk it?

2008-03-02T00:31:00.002-06:00

Happy Birthday, Bungi!

Who would have imagined I'd have a friend clear on the other side of the world to wish a happy birthday to just a few short months ago? This blog stuff can be such fun!

(Happy Birthday, even though I am still mad at you for giving up Scrabulous for Lent. But, I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, huh?)

My life as a double agent

2008-02-28T22:14:00.003-06:00

Did you know I have another blog? I've maintained two for nearly two years now. (And this one for nearly three, wow!) This blog, julielayne, is what my friend Gail calls my "life blog." It's where I rant or brag or post general silliness. But you already knew that, right?

Maybe you didn't know that my other blog, An audience of me, is a journal of sorts about my journey to become a published author. Maybe one day soon it will be a blog about my journey as a published author. For now, that's still a dream, but I'm making progress.

I started my writing blog when I realized how lonely life could be as a full-time writer. Physically, because I am generally working at home alone, but also emotionally, because in the end, the only person who really must be happy with my writing is me. If I chase writer's markets, I'll always be one step behind. If I write to please a certain faction, I'll always be frustrated or making someone mad.

I came across a quote by one of my favorite authors, Eudora Welty, and put it at the top of An audience of me as a reminder:

Each writer must find out for himself, I imagine, on what strange basis he lives with his own stories.
(From One Writer's Beginnings)

Anyway, I've noticed I have two fairly distinct groups of readers, and I thought I might point you in the direction of my other blog, because today, I have some really exciting news.

Well, it was exciting for me, anyway, and I guess that's what counts. :-)

Academy Awards highlights

2008-02-24T21:55:00.006-06:00

Of course, our family's most exciting moment--Falling Slowly for Best Song from the movie Once. Amazing! What a boost for independent musicians and film makers. My family screamed when they announced this award. Congratulations, Glen and Marketa! (You do read my blog, right?)

Diablo Cody's award for best original screenplay for Juno was also a pleasant surprise.

And then, Kristen says . . .

After various awards for a certain film, which you must figure out for yourself:

"What is a born-old tomato?"

and

When Nicole Kidman came out with her 1,400 carats:

"That is some necklace."

Proud ... again

2008-02-22T00:18:00.004-06:00

You know, I'm always bragging on my kids (swan farts and all), but sometimes I just can't help it. They make me proud, and that's a fact.

Yesterday, Ryan attended a rally at UNT where Chelsea Clinton spoke. He managed to worm his way up close to the front (I wonder if he was wearing his super stealth mocassins?), and asked her what her mother intended to do about poverty and homelessness if she were elected.

He was semi-impressed by her answer, although I'm fairly sure Clinton is not his choice of candidates.

I was completely impressed by him. What was I doing at age 19? I certainly wasn't attending political rallies or questioning the candidates, and I'm sure I was more worried about what I was wearing to the next "foot function" (yeah, I went to a Baptist college. We didn't actually dance, you know) than homelessness or poverty.

That's my boy. These young people are showing us up in many ways. And people are worried about the state of our youth in America.

First place

2008-02-17T23:16:00.003-06:00

I told the the people in my own small world I was going to bed a little while ago, but I have to post about something before I do that. (Not like anyone believes me anyway when I say I'm going to retire for the night before 1 a.m.)

Tonight at church, we had a Youth Family Talent Show/Potluck. Good food (I LOVE POTLUCKS.) and the talent was, shall we say, interesting.

I was so proud when Emilie got up on the stage and did stupid bassoon tricks. She blew up rubber gloves at the beginning and end of her act with the words "Hi" and "Bye" written on them. (Yeah, with her bassoon.) She made sound effects. Bumble bees, Ryan after he's eaten an entire bowl of ice cream, and, um, swan farts.

One lady wiggled her ears. A high school boy did 100 pushups in his wrestling shoes and singlet on a dare. Ewww. A girl picked things up with her toes. Baby Jake sang his ABCs. One kid, in a truly amazing feat, solved a Rubik's cube in 1 minute, 35 seconds.

Then there was Raika. This blog is for her. She is a beautiful young lady with Down Syndrome. I think she's 14. She is the apple of our church's eye. She got up there in a cute outfit and performed a dance routine, complete with sparkly silver pompons, to a hip hoppy song. She was the star of the show. While she was dancing (and she is a better dancer than me by a longshot), everyone was clapping along and cheering, and none of it was humoring her. At the end, she came back to her seat, and whispered to her mom, "How did I do?" and her mom told her she was perfect and they kissed each other on the nose. And she was perfect. She never missed a beat.

Tonight, she was my hero, and so were all her peers in our youth group who encouraged her and made her feel like the Queen of the show. Which she was.

House of ages

2008-02-16T23:36:00.005-06:00

A old house on a busy thoroughfare near our house was sold and became a business about the same time my son was born. It occurred to me the other day when I drove by that the little house has grown up with him, following the stages of his life, and it made me a little sentimental.

When he was a toddler and small child, it was "Chelsea's Tea Room," a shop that sold clothing and trendy supplies for kids and hosted birthday parties and tea parties. He never would have wanted to dress up and eat with his pinky crooked at one of their parties, but he went in there plenty of times in his stroller, waiting patiently while I looked around at the cute things they sold.

By the time he was old enough to be lovestruck, Chelsea's had changed locations, and a flower shop opened in its place. Just in time to create the corsages he needed for homecomings and proms, and always happy to accommodate him at the last minute, as is the habit of our family.

Now, I see it has become a tatoo and piercing parlor. He's counting the days until he has enough of his own money to get his body painted with a tiny needle. I'm not too worried about it happening any time soon, because last time I asked, he had six dollars.

What'll it be next? An insurance agency or mortgage broker? Maybe one day, a daycare center? Hopefully never a bail bondsman. :-)

I'll be watching . . . and hoping the next 19 years don't go by as quickly as the last 19.

Overheard in Texas

2008-02-11T20:36:00.000-06:00

At the local movie theater, in the ladies' room, 2 little girls . . . age 12, maybe 13 tops. Lots and lots of makeup. I specifically refer to the short girl as the short girl because the taller girl affectionately called her "Midget," and it was true that she was very, very tiny. Maybe the size of an 8-year-old, but I'm confvinced she was older because, well . . . read on.

Short girl: It was, like, my longest relationship ever.
Taller girl: What, two days?
Short girl: No, two months, two weeks, and two days.

Apparently, it is far easier to commit to a long-term relationship when you are 12 than when you are, say, 25.

This wasn't as disturbing as the 11 or 12-year-old girl inside the theater wearing Uggs, tights, and a denim skirt that barely covered her, um, anything.

Where are their mommies?

Yeah. I know.

2008-02-07T00:15:00.001-06:00

Please don't anyone go into cardiac arrest, but ...

... in light of the Writer's Guild strike and my persistent vegetative state (i.e., mid-winter couch potato), and in the interest of trying to do something new, I watched my first ever episode of Seinfeld tonight.

I'm not sure if it's because I missed the first ten minutes of the show, or maybe because I missed the entire ten (?) years of the run, but I was completely lost.

My friends often don't believe me when I tell them I didn't watch much tv for about 20 years. (And Barney and Sesame Street don't count.) I dunno, maybe they do believe me.

Anyway, I laughed a few times, so I might try it again from the beginning another night.

What about you?

2008-02-05T13:04:00.001-06:00

Life's little irritations:

1) Wind. Not just a pleasant breeze. Really windy wind.
2) Pumping gasoline.
3) Leaky gas nozzle.
4) Standing downwind, pumping gasoline with leaky gas nozzle.

Life's little pleasures:

1) Eating a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich. (It would be perfect if you didn't have to clean the peanut butter covered knife or spoon when you're finished, huh? You can't just rinse it off like you can most foods--you have to really get your hands messy. Messy hands phobia here shall go unmentioned.)

2) Flower beds full of brilliant red-leafed shrubs and purple pansies, together. In the winter. The only other time red and purple seem to work together is, in a word, PAISLEY. And that's only if paisley works for you. I know people with paisley phobias, too.

3) Making a small donation to the ICRC to help with the troubles in Kenya. We had a small discussion in the comments of my post from a few days back, and I'm going to try out the tipping point theory here. It wasn't a huge gift, and I normally wouldn't mention my gifts to a charity--it seems wrong and self-righteous--but I'd like to challenge you to do the same, or make a donation to another organization helping there. Perhaps we can make a bigger difference than we did in Rwanda by reacting early, while the situation is perhaps more containable. See Paul's post about how you can help.

What says the peanut gallery?

2008-02-01T13:38:00.000-06:00

Should I be concerned if:

a) Our two recycle bins disappeared yesterday after the truck came. Now, granted the wind was blowing like crazy. For example, I had to get out of the car after I'd already gotten in and started it (durnit.) to retrieve various (large) pieces of styrofoam from boxes we had placed in the trash. They were decorating the neighbor's yards and I didn't think they would like that. So, yeah, the bins probably just blew away and someone else got lucky.

But in combination with ...

b) Last night, our neighbors across the street had a smallish moving truck parked in their driveway for the second time this month emblazoned with the logo http://www.mortuarycontainers.com/ ?

Hmm?

Kenya

2008-01-28T00:48:00.002-06:00

My friends Heather and Paul returned from a two-year assignment in Nairobi, Kenya only six months ago. I am relieved beyond words that they are safe here in the U.S.

Paul is diligent to keep the political situation in front of his blog readers--a situation that has now resulted in at least 800 deaths. I asked him tonight what we can do differently as Americans than we did during the Rwandan genocide. The scale is "small" right now, and perhaps not as aggressive as it was in Rwanda, but who's to say that couldn't change overnight?

Sure, it's all the way over on the other side of the world, and doesn't affect our every day lives here in the states. BUT...the thing that sobers me, and you may call me crazy if you like, but who's to say it couldn't happen overnight in our very own country? I'm not convinced we don't have it in us. What could we be doing now to help solve the current crisis in Kenya, and prevent the very same from happening some day on our own soil?

This is not what I intended to post in regard to the article about peace that Carleen linked to last week, but it fits.

I was somewhat stunned last night in a movie theater when the crowd was filing out and a gentleman behind me had a sudden leg cramp that basically flattened him in his seat. At first, i wasn't sure what was wrong, I thought perhaps he was having a seizure of some kind, but after a minute, we figured out between what he was gasping and what his wife was saying that it was a leg cramp, it was something that happened to him on occasion, and that we shouldn't worry.

The amazing thing was nobody else in the packed theater besides our small group noticed. Nobody asked if he needed help, or even stopped to gawk. They just went on out talking about the movie, Untraceable--which was a pretty scary statement on human nature itself.

We take it for granted that if we need help, it will come.

Whistling a tuneless tune and looking around casually

2008-01-23T22:38:00.000-06:00

Yeah, so it's two days later and I never added more, but I hope you read the article and found it as illuminating as I did, and maybe even acted on it. I may still do that soon. (Post more ... I actually did try to act on it in a small way, which could possibly be part of that post. Maybe. Or maybe I'll just keep it to myself and feel good about it.)

I also need to post about the blog award I got from Bungi--The Roar for Powerful Words. Thanks, Bungi. She actually thinks I'm funny. *BIG SMILE*

She'll definitely be getting the award back. She's also introduced me to something that could take up way too much time in the near future, I fear. Scrabilicious . . . No, wait, it's SCRABULOUS on Facebook. I was really good at Scrabble back in the day. Watch out world.

And let it begin with me

2008-01-20T23:40:00.000-06:00

In honor of the MLK holiday tomorrow, I'm going to follow Carleen Brice's lead and link to Susan Skog's article, 10 Ways to Bring Peace to the World, which I sorely needed to read tonight.

I think I'll add more to this post tomorrow, but wanted to get this link up tonight.

Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing, there is a field, I'll meet you there...
--Rumi

Another evening to remember

2008-01-12T23:24:00.001-06:00

I'm going to balance out this blog by posting something short. Want to think you died and went to heaven early?

Three words:

Buca di Beppo

An evening to remember

2008-01-10T00:22:00.000-06:00

So, I left the coffee shop where I'd been working today at 5:30 with every intention of going home as usual, cooking dinner, and doing the regular Wednesday night stuff.

Ha.

I finally made it home an hour and a half later (and this is only a 10 minute commute). Todd called me on my way home and said he had to stay late and then go eat dinner with the boss, so I could grab fast food for the rest of us on the way home if I didn’t feel like cooking. (And do I ever? Really? Well, maybe once or twice a year.) So, sure, I decided to run by McDonald’s and grab salads for me and mom and burgers for the girls.

As someone else once said, easier said than done.

One of my tires has had a slow leak we’ve been babying and pumping up periodically. I’m supposed to remember to check it whenever I get in the car to drive. Only tonight, I kinda forgot. (I’m sure this surprises most of you.) As I left the coffee shop, I thought it sounded a little low, but then promptly forgot about it again. Until I was in the line at McDonald’s. Every time I scooted forward, I could hear that suspicious crunchy/squeaky sound echoing off the brick that clues one in to the dreaded tire flatness problem.

So, while I waited for the folks to deliver my food (had to pull forward because something wasn’t ready and I was holding up the line), I peeked out, and sure enough that tire, she was flat. I went ahead and pulled ALL the way forward, straight into a parking space, and then the manager freaked out, thinking I’d gotten mad about waiting. She came out while the teenager was delivering what he thought was the rest of my food and griped him out in front of me. I love when that happens. So professional. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise until she was gone, then told the kid I was just up there because I had a flat and was waiting for someone to come help. (Had already called my son-in-law…because of course, Todd was across town in a meeting with the boss, remember?)

Well, he kindly asked if I needed help anyway, and I assured him I had it under control. Then he came back with the rest of the food a few minutes later (because they had forgotten one entire combo). So, not long after that, the manager comes back out and starts to get in the truck next to me, and then freaks out again when she sees me. She runs over and says “They STILL didn’t bring your food?” and I said, “No, I have my food, please note the flat tire for which I am awaiting assistance.” (Or something like that in plainer English.) I told her the employee was very polite and had even offered assistance, and that she should chill. (Thinking back, I didn’t actually say the chill part out loud.)

So, eventually Fabian shows up to help with the tire. In the meantime, I have opened the trunk to check my spare at Todd’s suggestion. He was in contact by phone, because of course, in our family it takes seven or eight people to solve a crisis. Well, this is the weirdest part of the evening. Spare looks okay, except … underneath and crawling up the sides of it, there are (is?) about three inches of water.

HUH? No other evidence of water in the trunk. No damp spots on the carpet ,or really even on the board covering the spare, other than some condensation from the puddle under the tire. Once Fabian lifted the spare out and we examined the indention from whence it came, we were truly scratching our heads. There aren’t any apparent holes in my car, and if you think about it, if water ran into a hole, the law of gravity says it should also run out, right? Fabian says he can’t wait to ask the maintenance gurus at his workplace tomorrow if they’ve ever seen such craziness.

So, we get the tire changed after much maneuvering with the stupid jack provided with the car that only cranks on the first half of the turn. Unfortunately, the little donut, bearing the weight of my car, looks flat, too. Well, what luck! There is a gas station next door and they have air. I said, “No problem, we can drive it right over there and fill ‘er up. Can I borrow fifty cents?” That’s right, folks, I had only 14 cents to my name, so there is an argument for the whole “mad money” theory. Luckily, Fabian had five dimes to his name and we were prepared to beg for an exchange for quarters from the nice convenience store clerk. I’m sure they would have been nice, but unfortunately, I never had the opportunity to find out.

I went to start up the engine, but remembered right before I turned the ignition that my car has multiple personalities lately—she only starts two out of three or so times, and the mechanics are completely baffled. New battery a few weeks ago didn’t solve the problem, nor did the $500 dollar brake job we ended up paying for when we took her in to get the problem checked out. (How does that happen?)

I casually mentioned to Fabian that the car might not start, but that it would start right up in another five minutes or so if not. Usually if I baby her, make sure no other single electrical item is running when I turn the switch, she eventually plays nice. Well, not this time. After about 20 minutes, we gave up. I put the cold hamburgers and room temperature salads in Fabian’s truck and he drove me home.

And here’s the punchline—
When I got home, the salad trimmings I pulled forward to wait for were missing.

Good thing I only drive about ten miles a week. Imagine my life otherwise.

You take my breath away

2008-01-03T21:55:00.000-06:00

There there's my other hero. The one who literally wiggled and squirmed his way into my life a little more than 19 years ago, and challenges me each and every day.

Ryan's latest blog

I can only hope to write as well as this one day.

My 2007 Super Hero

2008-01-01T23:33:00.000-06:00

It only took a 30-minute phone call with my brother on New Year’s Eve to remember that he’s ... well, he’s my brother, and he’s not perfect. Our friendly banter led to the usual rolling of eyes and concessions with casually shrugged shoulders. Important details like, say, the setting for the movie Juno. (Not Texas, as he thought for sure. Minnesota, doofus. I told him so.)

And yet, in spite of all that, I am here to name my hero for the year 2007. It’s my big brother. You can call him Tom, or like me, you can call him Raymy, but never, never, never call him a wimp.

Five months ago this past weekend, his life as he knew it fell apart. I won’t go into the specifics of how things happened, but suffice it to say that when I flew out to stay with him on July 30, he was broken. And, we honestly weren’t sure he could be “fixed.” As a family surrounding this devastated man, we were really scared, to be frank.

But, you could say, in the words of David Wilcox (of course), that my brother is “stronger than ever now, in the broken places.”

Here is a man who was already a great dad. He was, in fact, a most unusual dad for our generation. He was that almost unheard of entity, even in California—a stay-at-home dad. He had been the full-time caregiver for his little son for more than five years. And yet, he also endeavored to keep his own passions burning. He wrote full fiction manuscripts and screenplays and submitted them frequently. He led a stay-at-home dads group when he wasn’t changing diapers or cleaning up puke.

In the last several years, he even took stand-up comedy classes and began performing frequently in comedy clubs around LA as the “Stay-At-Home Dad Comic.” One of the cutest things I ever saw was when my brother asked his little boy to do his own “routine” for me. My four-year-old nephew climbed up on top of the concrete picnic table where we were hanging out in La Jolla and said, “Hi, I’m Aaron, and I’m a stay-at-home kid!”

But as my brother and I trudged around LA last August, trying to take care of all the details of his new life, I took many deep breaths, and said as many prayers under my breath in the space of a week as I had probably said in a year. Please God, let him survive this.

God answered those prayers and more. My big brother is not only surviving, but he is, shall we say, kicking butt.

In an ironic stereotypical role reversal, it was unclear whether he would be able to manage the details of a budget. He’d never had to be the one to do it. And yet, he’s not only been able to manage, but comes up with inventive ways to economize. (You should see the voodoo doll-slash-toothpick holder we got for Christmas. What, you think I’m kidding?)

He knew he’d need an advanced degree to eventually obtain the kind of employment it’ll take to continue to live and raise his son in the place they have called home for years. Yet, I breathed a little sigh of relief when the Master's in Urban Planning program details he’d already been checking out for months showed it was too late to sign up for the fall semester. It’s okay, I said. Take a few months, get on your feet...

Instead, he showed up the first day of the semester unregistered, petitioned the professors to take the classes, was accepted not only to the classes, but eventually to the program, and proceeded to take a full load with final grades higher than most of his classmates. In fact, two-thirds of the others dropped out before the semester ended.

I hoped he might eventually return to his stand-up comic engagements, but thought it might not be a bad idea for him to take a break. After all, his identity as a stay-at-home dad had been shredded to pieces overnight. He’d have to write all new routines, right?

Nope. He didn’t miss a show. He kept delivering the same jokes and callbacks with the same shrugs and pauses, waiting for the laughter of his audience to assure him he was still alive. As we talked Monday, he was preparing to leave for a show at a place he’d performed before—a physical rehab facility where people understand pain. He anticipated a good show—his last one there a few months ago had been one of the best he ever did. His routines have gradually morphed into a representation of who he is today, and he says they’re even better now. He’s got an edge he didn’t have before, after all.

Oh, yeah. Somewhere in between, he has rediscovered his talent and passion for drawing. Over the holidays, we’ve received a nearly daily dose of the black paper and chalk “LA Noir” drawings he’s done to prevent boredom and loneliness while the rest of us have gained 10 pounds watching movies and eating junk.

There is one area he hasn’t changed at all, unless you consider going from amazing stay-at-home dad to amazing single dad and not losing his mind a change. Then again, getting a five-year-old to kindergarten several days a week and then getting yourself to class for the rest of the afternoon and evening and doing a full load of graduate-level homework somewhere in between might be a change from six months ago. Yeah.

So, one other thing. For the last several years, my brother has made an annual Christmas CD and sent it out to parents and siblings, and who knows who else. (Maybe even the president.) In spite of all the great excuses he had, this year was no exception.

He shamelessly ripped the voices of the big guys—Nat King Cole, Burt Bacharach, and the Captain and Tenille (Huh?)—from the originals and crooned, doubled up, and maybe even harmonized himself in recordings that made us smile, laugh, and sing along. He recorded his little guy singing 20 repeats of the dreidel song before he whispered “ENOUGH!”, and then Aaron’s self-written and titled “Banana Boy.” Something about a scary Christmas tree and a robot in perpetual battle?

But, what ultimately made me cry and solidified my brother’s status as my hero of 2007 was his acapella version of a song—sung before by one of his own heroes, Elvis Presley, and often by our dad when we were children. Sung this time by my big brother in a brave, unwavering voice.

There’s a sweet, sweet spirit in this place,
And I know that it’s the spirit of the Lord.
There are sweet expressions on each face,
And I know that it’s the presence of the Lord.

Sweet, holy spirit,
Sweet, heavenly Dove,
Stay right here with us,
Filling us with your love.

And for these blessings,
We lift our heart in praise,
Without a doubt we’ll know,
That we have been revived,
When we shall leave this place.

(Sweet Sweet Spirit/Original, Doris Akers, 1962)

I love you, Raymy. You are my hero, my brother, and my friend.

Movie-induced daze

2007-12-30T23:02:00.000-06:00

Just so you won't wonder if I'm still alive, and to thank you for regularly checking for new posts (all 2 or 3 of you, that is), I'll give you a small taste of what my last five or six days have consisted of, in chronological order. I fear it would be difficult to order them any other way, for they are so very different from each other.

1) Enchanted (So stupid it worked. I laughed my head off.)
2) Paris, Je T'aime (Pretty good ... not as good as I hoped.)
3) Juno (Even my husband said, "Hilarious," which is big coming from him. Tears, too ... well, at least from me.)
4) Ratatouille (The parts I was awake for, I enjoyed.)
5) P. S. I Love You (More laughter, more tears. Deserves more credit than the chick-flick -hating critics gave it.)
6) The Great Debaters (Can I just say, "Wow"? And dadgummit, more tears.)

Six down, six to go. (And that doesn't count the additional DVDs on tap.)

I'm working on another post of a more serious nature, so keep your eyes peeled. (That started out as "pealed," but I checked and it's peeled, indeed, as painful as that sounds.)

Here we come a-yelling?

2007-12-22T14:35:00.000-06:00

Kristen and I were out doing some holiday errands and stopped for hamburgers at the Burger King drive-through. While we were there, an incident happened that reminded me not only of who we are, and who we are to be, but also that it's better to go postal vicariously through other people.

The lady ahead of us had great difficulty placing her order. She repeated the whole thing several times, and the poor employee kept getting it wrong. The last time he repeated it back to her, the lady simply yelled at the top of her lungs, "TWO NUMBER ONES!!!!" (and although she didn't say it, you could hear the rest of it in her voice, "... you $%#$ %$%*@!!"

To his credit, the employee replied calmly. "Okay, two number ones, and what drink would you like with the second one?" And amazingly, she answered him calmly.

I have to say that after she yelled, I laughed my head off. She really didn't sound like she was about to go to the window and do anything violent, she was just fed up--not only with the BK employee, but with holiday stress in general. It was her moment to let it all go. (I hope, but then again, perhaps this is her usual M.O.)

In the long run, it was not only a release for her, but for me, too, and it reminded me of how hard it is to keep your cool during this time of year. We are supposed to be thinking about peace and love and all the good stuff, but instead are running around like headless chickens trying to get everything finished. It all seems so critical in the days leading up to Christmas, but so unimportant when it's all over.

In these last few days of the season, temember who you are to be, and let someone else do the yelling.

Here we come a-wassailing
Among the leaves so green,
Here we come a-wand'ring
So fair to be seen.
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail, too,
And God bless you, and send you
A Happy New Year,
And God send you a Happy New Year.

We are not daily beggers
That beg from door to door,
But we are neighbors' children
Whom you have seen before
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail, too,
And God bless you, and send you
A Happy New Year,
And God send you a Happy New Year.

Good master and good mistress,
As you sit beside the fire,
Pray think of us poor children
Who wander in the mire.
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail, too,
And God bless you, and send you
A Happy New Year,
And God send you a Happy New Year

Fun things

2007-12-18T14:09:00.000-06:00

Just a couple of quick things.

First, Blogger announced Dec. 13 you can now use Open ID here, which is nice for those who don't use Blogger accounts. You can make comments using your ID from certain other services. Check it out!

Second, a couple of quick, fun plugs for my faves.

Here's a short promo video made when David Wilcox played at Blue Rock Studios in Wimberley, Texas. (Which sadly, I missed.)

And ... drumroll, please!

Once is available on DVD today. Woo hoo!

Another note to self

2007-12-14T00:34:00.000-06:00

Buy Deep Dark Chocolate Cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory instead of making it.

6 measuring cups and spoons, 5 bowls, 4 pans, 3 knives, 2 cutting boards, and a mixer in a partridge tree later...

The cake is cooked. The topping is not.

The back, she is broken.

Putting it all in perspective

2007-12-12T22:48:00.000-06:00

The easy stuff:
1) Dealing with kids and dismal grades
2) Broken down car
3) Going to the ER to have stitches removed from daughter's face (caused by falling flag in color guard practice last week)

Otherwise known as "my life."

The hard stuff:
Being the parents of LaSharon Powell, a 17-year-old girl killed in an auto accident in our school district this afternoon, or the parents of the other four injured, two critically.

Not my life. Just a reminder to myself.

Please pray for these students and their families. I can't imagine a more horrible way to experience the holiday season than this.

Drowning in Christmas Stuff

2007-12-10T17:48:00.001-06:00

EDIT: I removed the image I had on this post. Quite by accident, I figured out a way to increase your blog traffic in amazing numbers, but it's not necessarily the way I wanted to increase it. :-) Just imagine a cozy Christmas scene with stockings hung by the chimney with care, a purdy decorated tree, and lots and lots of other "Christmas stuff."

I've come to the conclusion that I simply have too much "stuff" for Christmas decorating. I used to really look forward to it, and would spend a few days cleaning up the house good, then put the decorations out, and even then I got a little carried away at times. Let's just say one tree has never been enough, shall we?

So, the last few years, Todd gets the boxes down from the attic, and the stuff sits. And sits. And sits. I had grand plans this year to start early, get a box or two at a time down, sort through it, get RID of the "too much stuff" stuff, and it would be easy as pie, right?

Then I got sick, and now it's December 10, and I'm back to the "too much stuff" thing. When I'm out shopping, the shiny, glittery "new stuff" calls me, but mostly, I've resisted this year.

Well, except for that rug. And ... those Christmas tree skirts. (Which now join the two I bought on clearance last year that I totally forgot about until I opened the boxes of too much stuff.) I'm having to give away skirts, and this is the first time ever it's not because I lost or gained weight. (Although that's a story for another day.)

But, yeah, too much Christmas stuff, and thus, a flagging Christmas spirit.

Something's not quite right, don't you think? I'd venture to say it's more than just me with a "too much stuff" problem at Christmas these days.

The soapbox inscribed with the golden compass

2007-12-05T16:16:00.000-06:00

MY DEAR WORMWOOD

The ways in which we have managed to take the patient’s eye off preparations for celebrating his savior’s birth are simply delightful.

That whole Golden Compass movie hoopla is by far the best plan we have laid in years. Forget boycotting Disneyland, Johnson and Johnson, Barack Obama, (or Kingdom Below forbid, Harry Potter!), or any of the minor scuffles we’ve managed to create over the years. This one is supreme.

If we can keep him indignant about our claims that there is no Enemy Above, he will surely forget to talk about such silliness as the “Enemy Above’s love” for him.

Do remember you are there to fuddle him.

One of our greatest allies at present is the Church itself.

Your affectionate uncle
SCREWTAPE

Yep, that’s a little tongue in cheek, if I do say so myself, and not nearly as good as C.S. Lewis would have done it (except for the parts in italics, which I ripped off from him).

I'm watching the whole Golden Compass movie hoopla unfold, and wondering which of the promoters had the amazing marketing idea of tipping off the Christians.

You see all the rush to boycott the movie? You see how that may just make it the biggest movie of the season? Come on people. This trick has been done before. Forbidden fruit only makes the kids hungrier, and only makes the grownups look more stupid.

I don’t have a huge issue with the emails that describe what the movie’s about, but they are often accompanied by MESSAGES IN CAPITAL LETTERS TELLING ME I SHOULD BOYCOTT THIS MOVIE. Oh, yeah, now my interest is really piqued, along with that of my kids.

If your child wants to see the Golden Compass, I say take her while you still have the opportunity to be a part of her decisionmaking process. If you’ve brought her up believing in God, in whichever faith you subscribe to, have honest conversation with her about what Phillip Pullman might want her to believe. If she’s too young to understand that, she’s too young to see the movie anyway. It doesn’t look like it’s filled with singing dwarfs or rosy-cheeked maidens.

My daughter came home from school the other day and said, “My friend isn’t allowed to go see the Golden Compass.”

“Really?” I said. “If you want to see it, I don’t mind. You are old enough to understand what the author’s trying to get people to believe, aren’t you? That God doesn’t exist. And in the movie, they ‘kill’ God, who turns out to be a phony?” (Which is a kind of strange dichotomy if you think about it. Why kill something that doesn’t exist?)

She said, “Yeah, I know. Well, my friend’s mom doesn’t really care if she sees it, but her church said she isn’t allowed.” (And my daughter is 10. And she’s heard that. And she gets it.)

Who are we kidding? Do you really think the church started this? Hollywood has been playing previews of this movie for months now in the theater, and the books have been out for who knows how long before that. But, why, suddenly, a week or two before the release, is it suddenly an issue for Christians.

Well, we aren’t that quick to start stuff, but we are sure good at jumping on the bandwagon when someone pulls it up to the circle.

Imagine the hoopla if someone had tried to start a boycott against Narnia because it glorified God? Who knows, maybe they (whoever they are) thought about it, but then just laughed at the ridiculousness.

Supposedly, the “plot” is that kids will watch the movie and be drawn into reading the books, which are allegedly more overtly atheistic and anti-Christian. (I'll be honest--I don’t know, I haven’t read them. I can't stand fantasy, but if I need to eventually, I will.)

Again, the crux of the matter is, if you’re not looking at what your kids are reading or watching, and talking about it with them honestly, and hoping and praying they will make good decisions when they can truly think for themselves, then what difference does it make anyway? It’s a free for all.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

(However, be warned that if things get ugly, I’ll delete your comments. I’d just like to hear some honest, heartfelt, yet adult discussion about this debacle.)

Kristen says ...

2007-12-02T18:32:00.000-06:00

Gail's blog about her witty grandson Sam reminded me of "Kristen says the darnedst things"--a category I've neglected for a while. :-) Either she's getting older, or I'm getting less observant. I fear it is both. So, to that end, I will regale you of a recent tale.

You know there are two givens when you have kids. (At least.) The first is they will follow you into the bathroom and it will be at least 18 years before you have the assurance you will be able to do your business alone again. Maybe more. Anyway. The second is when you hear a suspicious noise, or silence, whichever the case may be (and often scarier in the second incarnation), and you ask, "What are you doing?" you know what the answer will be, right? Exactly. "Nothing."

Well, this morning Kristen proved one of these points, but she's wised up on the second. I was in the shower and could hear little noises coming from the other side of the (frosted) door. So, in good mom form, I said, "What are you doing?"

She said, "Just standing here. Breathing."

Dadgummit. Just when you think you've got them trained.

And just so the other two won't feel left out:

Ryan texted me the other night, very excited, from college. "Mom, I just found the Denton Piggly Wiggly!" That, my friends, is scary. He's apparently been missing his small town grocery shopping exeriences from East Texas and Alabama.

And Emilie? She is quite the wise one. She recently dumped her boyfriend of more than two years (yeah, she's 14, but I think it's easy to stay committed for two years when you only see them five minutes a day during passing periods). We were talking about it in the car and she said, "I just wasn't interested in such a serious relationship at age 14." Go, girl. And if she kills me for this, it will mysteriously disappear from this blog without warning. :-D (You may wonder, but the kids are always asking me if I'm going to blog things they say, and they almost look happy about it. Watch out, Jerry Springer.)

What would I do without my kids to make me laugh?

Overheard in Austin

2007-11-26T22:31:00.000-06:00

I almost forgot ... when we were there a few weekends ago at the Nickel Creek concert at Stubb's, about an hour before the concert actually started.

Girl behind us: My feet are killing me.
Guy behind us: Why?
Girl: These are my bar heels.
Guy: Okay ... ?
Girl: I'm usually drunk when I'm wearing them.

That makes perfect sense. I guess.

Let us pause...

2007-11-25T00:54:00.000-06:00

...to commemorate two momentous happenings.

1) It's Thanksgiving weekend, and I did not had a single bite of turkey for the first time ever in my whole entire life. We had a sumptuous garlic encrusted pork loin at my FIL's on the actual Turkey day. We actually bought a turkey to make today, but got lazy and stuck it back in the freezer last night (it wasn't at all thawed anyway) and heated up a ham instead. At the last minute, though, I started acting like a mom whose son was home from college for his first Thanksgiving, and we pulled out the ingredients we thought we might stash away for a traditional turkey dinner at Christmas. We made green bean casserole (Todd's dad's favorite. Or not.), creamed corn, smashed potatoes, fruit salad, rolls, and last, but certainly not least, Todd's creation--pumpkin cheesecake. My mom commented that it tasted just like Cheesecake Factory's, and Todd and I exclaimed, a little sarcastically, "How crazy!" It was, in fact, their recipe.

2) We have a Christmas tree up and decorated the Saturday following Thansgiving for the first time in about six or seven years. It's not the "real" tree--the one with crazy colored lights and ornaments handmade since age two by everyone in the household--that one will follow in a couple of weeks so it's not too dry by the 25th. No, this is the fancy schmancy one that gets to shine in the front window with white twinkly lights for passersby to admire and say "ooh! aah!" as they wistfully stare and wish they had theirs up already. Okay, so we finally finished at 12:30 a.m., but it is done. (And besides, when did we ever do anything early in the day?) I told Todd that this is what happens when I'm not stressed out and I'm doing the work I love. :-)

Ha. You thought I was going to say, ""Let us pause to give thanks," or something cheezy like that, huh?

(But yeah, let us. We have a lot to be thankful for.)

Tourists R Us

2007-11-18T22:26:00.000-06:00

How can you live in a place for years and not visit what tourists come for miles to see? We're pretty good at it. Nonetheless, we made several traditional Texas stops on our weekend trip.

First, it was Stubb's BBQ for an amazing concert Thursday night. We saw Glenn Hansard (of The Frames) and Marketa Irglova, who perform together as Swell Season, together with several other Frames band members. Glenn and Marketa are the pair who star in Once, the movie I raved over several times a few months ago. It's coming on DVD December 18. Get it! We're buying three copies so there will no bloodshed in the house.

They played several songs from the movie,

as well as songs from their Swell Season CD, and then some standard Frames' stuff, including my favorite, Star Star. (Blogged about it a few months ago.) Also, a cover of Justin Timberlake's Cry me a River. (No, really.)

We went to Katz's Deli after the concert, a favorite UT hangout, which is open 24 hours a day. We cleaned the kitchen out of egg salad on challah with four at the table ordering it. Jay, Gail, and Andy were along for most of the weekend, and Jay was adventurous with the cheese stuffed potato, but there was ewwwwy cole slaw left at every spot at the table, I believe.

Kristen was a little dismayed when we had to traipse through the attached bar to the shared ladies' room and kept her eyes averted from the waitresses dressed as cats. While I was holding Kristen's stall door shut to protect her from any accidental cat invasions, a dazed male customer ventured in. He just kind of looked at me puzzled for a moment.

"Wrong room," I said.
He responded, "Wowwwwwww," turned, and left to go across the hall, I presume.

Friday, we did a tour of Toy Joy, where I spent much too much on things simply for the nostalgia they conjured, but truly, they are CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. ;-) ;-) (To Julie, Love, Santa). Then, it was Buffalo Exchange, an UPscale thrift store with prices higher than I pay at Kohl's and a few other thrift and record stores. For lunch, we stopped for some amazing burgers and other fried delicacies at Dirty Martin's Place. The girls were fascinated by the turbo hand dryer in the restroom.

Then, it was on to Sixth Street and the tourist shops, including an oh-so-fun, yet incredibly expensive hatshop, Vertigo, a Hat for all Seasons:

(Is that a small animal on Kristen's head?)

Yeah, baby

(This girl really does belong in the country.)

... and Waterloo Records, before we finally collapsed at Shady Grove for tasty (without an "E") meat and potatoes and AMAZING peanut butter ice cream pie. I sulked and stared at Ryan and Kristen and Gail and Andy eating theirs while Emilie and I suffered through a plate with three pancake-sized chocolate chip cookies covered with five scoops of ice cream.

We kissed our friends goodbye in the parking lot, and sent them on their way with Emilie so she could make it to regional band competition playing her very large bassoon Saturday. (And she made the band this year. Woo hoo!)

Saturday, we wandered all the way down to Gruene (about 30 miles), and while I leisurely sampled my way through the Texas salsas and dips in all the gift and antique shops, Todd and the kids did whirlwind tours then sat in front on chairs like this:

And this:

And this:

Gruene is a tiny hamlet that has been "gently resisting change since 1872," and it shows. This little oasis makes you feel you've been magically transported to another world. It's peaceful and relaxing, and the weather was a little misty and 75 degrees. What more could you ask for?

Dinner at the Gristmill was beef tenderloin sandwiches and strawberry shortcake a mile or so tall. I drove everyone crazy with my usual photo stops every three inches. Have you ever seen a cluster of ~~china berries~~ oops, I mean firethorn (or pyracantha) berries this big?

And the effect of Christmas lights on a misty day is enough to drag even the most reluctant person into the holiday spirit.

We didn't stay for a concert in Gruene this time. Last time we were there, we saw Nickel Creek at Gruene Hall, Texas' oldest dance hall. Nope, this time, we were back in Austin--back at Stubb's--for Nickel Creek's "farewell (for now) tour." Nobody covers Toxic or the Jackson Five (Oh, Baby, give me one more chance) like Nickel Creek. Ryan was oh, so pumped because he got an over-21 wristband on his looks alone. It was a waste of a wristband, but still, good for his ego.

After the concert, we drove all the way home. We did a 2 a.m. potty break at Czech Stop in West, Texas (the town, not the region), which is open 24 hours a day (hey, just like Katz's!) and gave ourselves middle-of-the-night heartburn attacks with kolaches, sausage and cheese rolls, and the most amazing chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter frosting and a Hershey's kiss on top. Enough sugar to fuel the last 80 miles without sleeping and cause us to laugh hysterically at nothing in particular as we wound up on an FM road we'd never taken before.

Ryan came up with an idea for confusing his future children. He says whenever they ask, "Daddy, how much farther?" he'll answer, "I don't know. We're lost." For some reason, we found that funnier than anything we've ever heard.

That was a fun weekend.

New CDs: $60, and that's like SIX CDs!!! (including the live recording of the Old 97s concert we saw there in 2005)
Togetherness: Priceless. Except when we were deciding what to do and where to go every five minutes. ;-) I love my family.

Dang, it feels good to be a ...

2007-11-14T14:23:00.001-06:00

Check out Paul's blog on My Part of Colorado from November 14. Makes you feel so proud to be a Texan and/or Christian, if you are one, huh?

And I have no idea why that other stupid song started running through my head (see my blog title). If you can name that tune, keep it to yourself. LOL

"I like your Christ, but I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."
-Mahatma Gandhi

Somebody loved

2007-11-14T00:16:00.000-06:00

I ran across this song today on Julie Person's blog, and it jumped out and grabbed me. I had to look up the lyrics. I really like this group, but I'm not sure I've heard this song.

Somebody Loved/The Weepies

Rain turns the sand into mud
Wind turns the trees into bone
Stars turning high up above
You turn me into somebody loved

Nights when the heat had gone out
We danced together alone
Cold turned our breath into clouds
We never said what we were dreaming of
But you turned me into somebody loved

Someday when we're old and worn
Like two softened shoes
I will wonder on how I was born
The night I first ran away from you

Now my feet turn the corner back home
Sun turns the evening to rose
Stars turning high up above
You turn me into somebody loved

I'm going to make Todd blush here when he randomly picks a day to read my recent blog entries, as he does periodically. Because, yep, he turned me into somebody loved. Even when I get all weird-headed and doubtful, feeling like I am unlovable and unworthy, because my brain was trained to be that way for so long in my past, he just stays right there and waits, and I remember.

It is a blessing to be married to your best friend.

(I'm adding the song to my project playlist player at the bottom of the page if you want to listen.)

Small world, big difference

2007-11-08T22:36:00.000-06:00

Bungi has a meme on her blog today that sheds some interesting light on cultural differences. I commented that I had most of the material items her living space is missing. Is missing really the right word? Probably not. Maybe "free of" is a better word...she doesn't have to clean a bathtub or oven! But durnit, where's my househelper? ;-)

Bungi seems like she has higher financial status than I would guess a lot of her fellow citizens in India have, and yet, these things we take for granted in even the majority of the poorest homes in the U.S. are "extras" there. (Oven, bathtub, porch, for example.) On the other hand, here, mostly the wealthy are the ones with house help, although I think it's more common when both parents in a household have to work. (To support their multiple bathtub habit. Heh.)

And, wow, I am put to shame when she says her floors are swept five days a week. But, Bungi, I want to know--is it you or your helper doing all that sweeping!?

My favorite is the "Comet or Soft Scrub?" question. Or rather, her answer. "Uh?" Heh!

Captain Who? What?

2007-11-06T21:52:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I'm gonna have to create some self-imposed filters that don't allow me to blog after 1 a.m. It gives you, the reader, a far too realistic glimpse inside my actual brain.

It's a little frightening looking back.

These are a few of my favorite things

2007-11-05T23:51:00.000-06:00

Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens,
Movies and music and Ryan with mittens ... (I mean mocassins ... lalala )
Cheeseburger tacos with onnnion strings...

1) Todd and I saw Martian Child Saturday night. I really loved it. Me and only 22% of the movie reviewer population on rottentomatoes.com. Those people. What is so wrong with a movie full of schmaltz (read: people learning to love each other)? Who freakin' cares? If it makes you happy, it must be bad, they say.

John and Joan Cusack are full 'o fun, and this was quite a serious movie, but still fun. It had some (not-so-sly) political messages that kind of cracked me up. We've come a long way since the Dixie Chicks scandal of not so many years ago. I wonder if Hollywood could have gotten away then with panning into sharp focus--not once, but twice--a picture of George W behind a school principal explaining to David (John Cusack) "We're just not equipped to handle a child as different as Dennis here in our school." Whatever your politics, it was quite an overt message, I thought. Todd gives me a hard time and says I read too much into movies or music sometimes, but I dunno ... I kind of enjoy looking for the subtle and not-so-subtle messages sent through media.

2) Annual trek to see my fav-o-rite musician, singer/songwriter David Wilcox tonight. This year, I might add, I am proud to say I recommended to Dave's manager that he try to book him at the Bend Studio, and he did. I'm positively famous now, obviously. He was supposed to play their Ft. Worth venue, but ended up doing two Dallas shows instead at a place called Rock House Films. It was a smaller setting than we've seen him in the last few years, which was cool. He sang a hysterical new song I'm absolutely sure will lead to a new nickname spoken under the breath around the house (not in front of the children, of course) at certain times when people are acting like ... well, like Captain Wanker. :-O

3) Ryan joined us for a pre-birthday celebration at the concert. We were devastated to find that Tin Star, which was only a few short blocks from Rock House, and where we were going to enjoy the best ever cheesburger tacos, was gone. It's been replaced by a restaurant called Mooyah, which sounds suspiciously like Hooyah!, one of our favorite Denton restaurants, only it serves burgers instead of burritos. What is the world coming to when Tin Star goes away from Uptown Dallas? I almost cried. Instead, we had some pretty good pizza from I Fratelli, and luckily, there are four other Tin Star locations in the Metroplex.

Ryan is making his way toward the last stretch of his first semester in college. He mentioned it's interesting that he's the only one of his friends with a job, and also the only one who always owes his friends money. What's up with that?

Anyway, we enjoyed his hole-y mocassined company to celebrate another year of Ryan, and another year of David Wilcox. He sat in awe and got real excited when Dave sang "Leave it like it is," one of his favorites. I told him I'd start calling him Kitchen Blue if he'd like, because he is definitely "a unique." (Ten bucks for the reader who can identify the movie that line comes from.)

Now when the paint jar tipped
Off of the table
You watched as it started to fall
Glass popped, shattered and splattered
And paint spray hit the wall

Bright, blue glossy enamel
Across the kitchen floor
You said, "Good God, look at that pattern
I've never seen that before"

Leave it like it is
Never mind the turpentine
Leave it like it is
Its fine

Now when the paint dried
You gave it a title
You called it "Kitchen Blue"
A white frame painted around it
And gallery lighting, too

Rich folks come over to dinner
They all want one of their own
They say "How much? Who's the artist"
And, "My what a beautiful home"

Now most folks suffer in sorrow
Thinking they're just no good
They don't match the magazine model
As close as they think they should

They live just like the "paint by numbers"
The teacher would be impressed
A life-time of follow the lines
So it's just like all of the rest

Leave it like it is
Never mind the turpentine
Leave it like it is
Its fine

Wow, this is getting way too long, and I think it's because even though the clock says it's 12:41, a few days ago, it would have been 1:41. I think I'd best be going now.

You think I was grouchy?

2007-11-02T23:34:00.000-05:00

Lest anyone think I am some kind of Trick-or-Treat Scrooge, please don't think I had a problem with the dressed-up infants. One of my own little people made an especially cute Jerry to her older brother's Tom when she was less than three months old. He himself was a purple grape a week before his first birthday. Then, there was Toto (a/k/a my youngest) the year the kids all dressed up as Wizard of Oz characters. They were all so cute you wanted to gobble them up.

I only wrinkled my forehead at the mothers asking for candy on their infants' behalf. Bring those babies along, please, just leave the plastic pumpkin at home. Do like I do--go sneak candy out of your other children's loot bags when they're at school. ;-) Of course, there is also that half-price candy clearance they hold every year the next day ...

Anyway, I laughed right out loud when I read Elizabeth Berg's blog from November 1. Apparently, I wasn't the only cranky lady that night, but man, she one-upped me! That woman cracks me up every time.

Trick, treat, or ??

2007-10-31T22:18:00.000-05:00

Another year of tabulating which neighbors have taught their children manners has passed. After it was said and done, Todd and I had a few good ideas for next year:

For the moms who arrive holding out treat bags or plastic pumpkins on behalf of their dressed-up infants in strollers, we are buying jars of baby food. (I seriously almost asked a mom if she was gonna let her baby eat those Skittles.)

For the teenagers who don't bother to dress up, but still hold out pillowcases, we are buying school supplies.

Everyone else will still get candy.

We drove back up to the house after retrieving Emilie from a youth event, and some people were standing on our darkened porch ringing and knocking. We were like, Dudes, can't you see the lights are out, we're out of candy and we're not home?! Then we realized it was our friends and they just wanted to say hello and show off costumes. Hehe.

Just fodder

2007-10-28T22:37:00.000-05:00

Wow, no soapboxes, no salad tales, nothing exciting here for over a week. If you consider that other stuff exciting, that is.

(OH WAIT! THE CHICKEN IS BACK IN THE EXTRA BOX AND I FORGOT IT'S IN ITS OWN BAG TOO THAT'S 13 PIECES OF TRASH!)

Sorry, just had to throw that at you.

Nope, just been dealing with normal stuff. Life. Home improvement. Parenting woes. Certainly nothing huge, just the usual guilt over whether I'm "doing it right." Yeah. That alone can take all the energy right outta ya. You wouldn't think a stray dog could cause so much guilt, not would you?

Enough about me. What do YOU think about my parenting skills? Hehehe.

Saw a fun movie this weekend. Dan in Real Life. I've been waiting and waiting for this one. The previews just got me because yes, I am a sucker for a good, sappy, emotional family drama. The scene in the preview where Dan hugs his little girl and sighs? Yep, I got teary in the movie, too. It also had some good laugh lines. Todd and I have been telling each other "Put it on my tab" for weeks now.

I wouldn't give this movie five out of five stars, because it did have its flaws (and also one of those weird things where a scene in the preview is NOT in the actual movie. How does that happen? Don't those people in Hollywood realize we'll NOTICE?), but I certainly came away with that feel-good sense of peace a movie like this ought to bring you. There's not enough of that in the world. A little "ripped from the pages of Pottery Barn" (thanks, Chris Kelly) is ok now and then, don't you think?

It's going to be another crazy month coming up, but in a good way. (See my blog over at An audience of me if you're curious) Between writing, great concerts, and the start of what's sure to be a hectic (what other kind is there any more?), yet joyous holiday season , I am looking forward to November.

What's your November starting to look like?

She thinks my shipping container's sexy

2007-10-18T22:40:00.000-05:00

First, let me get this out of the way. Salad news! Mom brought the JITB salads today, and the chicken is back in the main container. I wonder if they've been reading my blog . . . . Nawwww.

They replaced the cardboard chicken container with a much smaller sticker on the plastic salad container that says, "Want your chicken on the side? Just ask!" So, I guess I was not the only consumer puzzled by the eco-guzzling, unfast fast food.

Next. Marylaine Block's Neat New Stuff newsletter (a must for librarians, but fun for us normal people, too) had a c-razy link today. Check this out. Another "Who knew?" moment. Is this for real?

I'm not sure how I feel about the long-term effects of making mass housing out of shipping containers. Yes, shipping containers. Now I know you're going to go back to that link after all. It reminds me of when people make homes out of old school buses. A few go a long way in terms of novelty and originality. A whole village of people living in school buses? Not so cute.

Now, I understand cute is not the point, but seriously, this is taking Habitat for Humanity to an entirely different level. Sounds like an insta-ghetto to me. "Hey, Johnny! Wanna come over to my shipping container to play?" And dude, have you seen what happens to those things during a tornado?

Yes, we need new options for the homeless, or for people who need temporary, inexpensive housing, and I am certainly not going to say it should never happen if someone needs a home and this is the only way.

But seriously? Someone please make me feel better about this.

Would you like a napkin with that?

2007-10-17T22:52:00.000-05:00

Remember me climbing up a soapbox about the millions of disposables that come along with Jack-in-the-Box-salads a few weeks ago, and how I bragged on McDonald's a little for their 8 or 9 pieces of paper or plastic as opposed to JITB's 11?

Well, here's bit of irony for you. Why is it you get all that extra paper and plastic with salads, but after you drive away from the window with a simple burger and fries at McDonalds, you realize you would have had to ask to get a napkin and receipt?

Huh?

While I was waiting

2007-10-15T04:41:00.000-05:00

I'm waiting for files to upload to a distant server for the project I've been doing for the last six weeks . . . trying to stay awake. (I am trying to stay awake. That is not the project, silly.)

When the files are there, I will be mostly finished, barring all natural or manmade catastrophes. For this, I am extremely grateful. I've clocked about 110 hours in the last 10 days, and I am exhausted, mentally and physically.

But, I'm proud of the effort I've made, and the resulting product for my customer.

If I only had a brain left.

Thanks to my readers for continuing to leave little comments here and there - sweet, snide, or otherwise - even though I've sadly neglected this thing for most of the last month. I promise more exciting things are in the works. I've gotten on and off the soapbox several times in the last few days! I only hope I can remember what irritated me, because I know you look forward to my rants.

I'll leave you with this funny story about my cute little nephew, the son of a stand-up comic. When my brother went for his show the other night, he took my five-year-old nephew with him. It was an early, family-friendly show. The emcee asked if the kid wanted to perform first, and of course, he obliged. You can tell he's been around my brother practicing his comedy for a while now. He's got the shtick down. His routine:

"You know what my favorite joke is, guys?!"

(pause for audience to yell back)

"Disneyland FREAKS ME OUT!"

~~~

He's got the right stuff. I only wish I could say I was as successful. The files are stuck in upload land. I think I'll take a nap here on the couch.

Jump with your eyes open

2007-09-29T23:48:00.000-05:00

Feast of Love? I liked it. (Chris Kelly, eat my socks ... as usual.)

And, of course, it didn't hurt that they used a Glenn Hansard/Marketa Irglova song in the soundtrack.

And, did I mention that we are going to see those lovely folks in Austin in November? Well, we are. Only 10 days after we get to see the one and only David Wilcox in Ft. Worth. November is Marvelous Music Month for Julie.

And, also, if you are the least bit sensitive to nudity, this is not the movie for you. We, obviously, will not be taking Kristen to see this one for, say, 10 years.

Gosh, a food and a soapbox 2-fer

2007-09-27T22:55:00.001-05:00

I'm going out on a limb tonight and visiting both of my recent ruts. Food and a soapbox, for your reading entertainment. And maybe something to think about.

Does anyone remember my post about my o/c tendencies and Salad Day from many moons ago? Well. We have carried on that tradition, my mother and I. Mom still picks up Southwest Chicken salads most Tuesdays for our lunches. We've expanded a bit. Some weeks, like this one, she gets it on other days. I know, it just doesn't seem right, but it does happen. Like today.

We've also expanded our menu a bit, and sometimes she gets the salads from McDonald's instead of Jack in the Box. They are enough different that it mixes things up a little.

So, today it was Jack in the Box. And I was thinking, as I finished off my salad and began to load up all the trash items and throw them out, of how they've changed in the last several months and how they've kind of let me down, to tell the truth. (It's okay, you can cry.)

Only a few months ago, that salad came in a plastic container with everything edible inside it except the dressing and some chip-type things. Some extra packaging there, but you can maybe understand how you might want to keep those things separate and fresh until you eat them. A fork and napkin came wrapped in a plastic sleeve, too. Then there's the plastic bag it all gets dropped in before it's handed to the customer. A lot of packaging and trash. Already. Container (2 pieces), fork, napkin, wrapper, plastic squishy dressing and chip holders, bag. Yep, that's 9 items. (And I'm gonna try to do the math right this time, Heather, but I might mess up. Heh.)

Now, if you know me well, you know I'm kind of Johnny-come-lately to all this green stuff, so please don't think I'm trying to act like someone I'm not. But yeah, I'm trying. Todd's got me trained on the recycling thing pretty well now. I panicked just a little this morning when I realized it was recycle day and my bag of plastic bottles hadn't gone out the door. But, phew, I got them out there before the truck came. (And yeah, I do have a lot of plastic bottles. Texas water and all, you know.)

But now Jack in the Box is having to keep up with the Joneses (a/k/a McDonald's SW Chicken Salad), and somehow they've decided to do that, they need to have the grilled chicken breast freshly cooked and in one piece instead of chopped up and thrown on top of the salad, and that it needs to be in its own separate container. Which, of course, necessitates tossing a plastic knife in the mix as well.

So, we've moved from 9 disposable items to 11. For one little (well, not that little) salad. It is tasty, for sure, but I have a few problems with that.

First, if you're buying a salad in a drive-through, chances are, you want to eat fast, and you don't really want to have to cut up your own chicken. Hence, the title "Fast Food." Call me lazy, but dudes.

Second, McDonald's has managed to convey their equally tasty, yet slightly different, SW Chicken Salad in a two-piece plastic container, with the wrapped napkin, knife, and fork, and the dressing in its plastic squishy thing, bag, and that's it. Sliced chicken and chips are thrown on top of salad in the container (still fresh and warm). So, they've managed to keep it at a still high, but certainly lower, 8 disposable items.

Now, I'm probably not going to stop eating these salads, nor is my mom going to stop buying them (crossing my fingers, anyway), but just maybe there's a better way for them to do this.

In a recent post, Paul from Colorado (who is also the super green husband of a friend I've known since high school in Denver, by the way) suggested taking your own plastic cups to fast food restaurants. I'm probably not going to take my own bowl for the salad (I think they'd look askance and throw me out on my ear right after they called the health department to report an unruly consumer.)

But, for my part, perhaps I can ask Mom to have them leave the plasticware out, and just maybe I will write Jack in the Box a nice, friendly email asking them why they didn't leave the chicken alone.

Four things about food

2007-09-25T21:26:00.000-05:00

Taking a break from home improvement for a few days, so I thought I'd talk about another favorite topic.

1) I discovered this week that Albertson's brand semi-sweet chocolate chips taste almost exactly like Dove Dark Chocolate. Oh, my. I snack on a few chocolate chips to keep the junk-food monster at bay sometimes, and I might have to make this my "brand" of choice.

3) oops 2) My next-door neighbors are Vietnamese, and always have interesting things growing in their backyard. Tonight, Sam peeked over the fence to talk to Todd while Todd was grilling burgers and showed him, and subsequently me, the things he's growing. They have a persimmon tree, and he said he'd like to have two, but doesn't have enough room, so we should get one. Hmm...I'll have to get back to him on that one. Then he has this arch close to the fence between our yards and I've always thought he was growing zuchinni, and that the ones that ended up over our fence had simply gone to seed. Turns out they are bitter melon. Who knew? He gave me one and showed me how to prepare it. Said many Asian and Indian people eat it or use it for tea, and have for centuries, and it controls blood sugar, which is why so few people of that ethnicity are diabetic. He told me to be sure NOT to let my mom eat any, because she is diabetic, and somehow a person who is taking medicine for diabetes can get sick from it. Maybe it lowers the blood sugar too much? Anyway, I took it in the house and sliced it up, added salt and lemon juice, as Sam told me, and ate a few bites. At this point, I can tell you it is definitely an acquired taste.

3) Speaking of trying different things, this summer while I was visiting my brother in California, I tried Indian food for the first time ever. I have to say I wasn't crazy about what I had, but I probably need to try something else. I had chicken tikka masala, and it didn't taste bad at all, but just didn't overwhelm me as it obviously did my brother and my five-year-old nephew. I have never seen that kid eat so much food! He was just shoveling the chicken into his mouth and sopping up the sauce with naan bread. This reminded me of pita bread, or flat bread, and I liked the taste, but each piece was a bit scorched on one side. Is it supposed to be like that? I'm the one who always guards the rolls in the oven and the pancakes on the griddle to keep them from getting very brown. They also brought something before the meal that kind of reminded me of a chips in a Mexican restaurant, but it tasted a little like fish to me, and I'm not a fish eater. At all. No, not at all. Anyway, my brother did comment that it wasn't the best Indian restaurant he'd been to, so someday, I'll have to try again. (Bungi, if you read this, you'll have to let me know about the bread. Is it supposed to be like that?)

4) Tomorrow, I'm doing a copy cat meal for dinner in the crock pot. When we were in Chicago last summer, we went to an Italian restaurant and had one of the best meals I've ever had. They called it "Mama's Gravy." It was basically pot roast cooked in red sauce and served over pasta with a little of either asiago or gorgonzola cheese melted over the top. Todd and I split it, and it was served in this huge bowl and could have fed four or five easily. I was sad because we had to leave some behind as we didn't have a fridge in the hotel room. So, I made it (or something like it...I'll never achieve the quality of that sauce, let me tell you) a few months ago, and I'm trying again tomorrow. Everyone liked it, and it's a fun twist on the traditional slow cooker pot roast.

You'd think I was a foodie and actually liked to cook or something, huh? I think it's growing on me.

Scoreboard

2007-09-22T12:32:00.000-05:00

Aesthetics and the Environment 1
Ease of Installation 0
Status Quo 00000000000000000000000000000

Yes.

(And lest anyone think I'm getting out of this easy while Todd's doing all that work, I'm removing old wallpaper border and the underlayer AND the primer that's covering up the texture. I wonder who will finish first?)

Isn't this pretty? You can click to see it larger. I like the porcelain accents on the ends because I like stuff that is simple and a little old-fashioned. Not ornate Victorian or angled Craftsman...can't ever quite find the right word to describe my style. Classic, I guess. Restoration Hardware on a budget.

And isn't it nicer than this? (Sorry, I just can't find a picture ugly enough. I could have used PhotoShop to add in the scratches and dust, but you'll have to use your imagination.)

Soapboxes R Us

2007-09-21T14:42:00.000-05:00

Well, I had one very pleasant post before I got back into complaining mode. I think I'm going to change the name of my blog to Soapboxes R Us. Too bad I don't have a plug-in to make the R backwards, or I'd be all set.

What kind of idiot installs a bathroom light fixture off-center? In fact, what kind installs all kinds of fixtures in the same house off-center? Probably the same idiot, I'd guess, but I'm still not sure what kind.

We are trying to replace the outdated "makeup lights" in our bathroom with some more modern fixtures. Perhaps the universe is trying to tell us to be content with those old ones. BUT WAIT! The old ones have EIGHT light bulbs each. That's 16 total bulbs, which cannot even be replaced with the new, energy-efficient bulbs. I'm sure you know what I mean by "makeup" lights. Flourescent bulbs wouldn't be very pretty in them. Kind of "Mork from Ork" style, perhaps, but that's just not what we're going for. (And if you don't know who Mork is, you're too young to be reading this.) At any rate, surely it would be very green of us to replace those power suckers with relatively inexpensive ones that have only 4-5 lights. You would think.

When we (as in the Todd part of we) removed the old fixture over one sink, it turns out the junction box is not centered. The STUD is not centered. I'm not talking an inch or so. I'm talking about six inches. The old fixture didn't connect the same way. The new fixture, thus, when installed, looks pretty dang goofy.

So, now we're faced with a dilemma. Redo the junction box, which involves adding some kind of horizontal brace, which involves cutting a large hole in the sheetrock, then replacing it, taping and bedding, repainting (which we're doing anyway, so that's not a big deal). All for a 80 dollar fixture. Or...find another ugly light fixture? Or, put the cheesy one back up and deal with the ugliness and the major sappage of energy?

C-R-A-P!!!!

Is that a pancake your wearing?

2007-09-20T00:27:00.000-05:00

We had breakfast for dinner tonight, always a favorite around our house. What's something you like to eat for dinner that's not quite the normal thing?

Barbara Samuel got me started thinking about family food traditions because of reading her fun post tonight about biscuits and wonderful home-cooked breakfasts.

Weird family food story--

Last Friday night I found a mix I bought on clearance at Target a month or so ago. Krusteez scones. Sounded like a good dessert with a handful of chocolate chips squished in on the kneading part. They were quite delicious, if I do say so myself. Light and fluffy and melt in your mouth good.

Well, my mom talked to my brother a few days later, and it turns out he took his little boy to a family potluck dinner at school one night last week. They were supposed to take an ethnic dish representing their family roots. Guess what he baked and took? Chocolate chip scones. From a mix, no less. How weird is that? I'm not sure either of us has ever eaten chocolate chip scones at the same time or in the same place, so it was a little eerie.

I guess those Scottish roots run deeper than I thought. (And being cooking-from-scratch challenged is hereditary as well, obviously.)

Yes, that, or no, actually. Maybe. Or not.

2007-09-18T22:54:00.001-05:00

I posted this on my writing blog, but thought it was so funny, I had to post it here as well.

Is it spring break yet?

2007-09-17T20:53:00.000-05:00

Fifth grade is hard. I have a lot of homework this year.
(And let me just say that it is good I am not a teacher. I am not a patient homework helper. My poor kids.)