Life Is Good

The Return of Schedule Woman, Part 1

2012-02-08T23:29:00.001-07:00

To MyDearest Blog,

Hellomy sweet “Life is Good”! I'd like to apologize for leaving youstranded, all alone, while I was out chasing dreams. Yes, that's myexcuse. I'll explain. Dreams.

As myfirst-born child, you do know that I had no blogging experiencebefore you came along. You alone know how much I've learned and howfar I've come. You know how exciting I think it is to meet newpeople and you do have to admit, don't you like it when new friendsstop by to say hello, right? And then they promise to come back! That they don't want to miss anything we have to say!

Yes,it's a we. Without you, I don't have a voice. Without me,you don't have a source. Together we're making this gig work.

Yes,the dream thing. OK, was just trying a little spin-doctoringthing on you to see if you'd fall for it, and be all “buttered up”for what I'm about to say. OOPS. You're just too smart for thatsort of stuff now. I should have realized it. But here's the deal. My dream is to write a book that people will read. To be able to dothat, I have to practice writing a LOT. Finding stuff to write abouteach day while you're in your own little corner of the Blogworld canbe very hard. That's why the A-Z Challenge was born – to getpeople to write! Well that, and learn the alphabet ;-) Sorry fortricking you into thinking I'd finally shut UP already about April. I refuse.

However,I do have some new promises. To get in shape for April, I'm puttingus on a stricter schedule than we're used to. No more waiting toblog when the mood should (if?)strike. We are going to be workingout every other day. It will be fun! Really! At least try, that'sall I'm asking.

Tina@ Life is Good

P.S What?? You don't know about April and the challenge? No worries. Click the badge over there to get to the host blog. There are 13 co-hosts and I'm one of them. The Blogging A to Z April 2012 Challenge blog is full of tips, ideas, hints, explanations, banners, buttons, etc. Grab some bling to dress up your place, sign onto the linky to join the challenge. You can do that all over the world since it's a blog-hop. That means that if you sign up here (click on the tab between the header and the start of this post) and then later when you go to the A-Z blog, you'll see your name there, too. A truly remarkable little gadget, and each of the co-hosts has it on their blog.

A-Z Sign-ups are OPEN!

2012-01-30T03:00:00.000-07:00

Sign-uptime is finally here! The Blogging from A to Z April Challenge wasstarted two years ago by Arlee Bird of Tossing it Out. It grew byleaps and bounds to 1282 participants last year, and we areanticipating a lot more folks this year!

Rulesare simple. On April 1^st, post about something thatstarts with the letter A. On the 2^nd, something on B, andso on. You get Sundays off, except for the 1^st. Whateverstyle blog you have, this is a challenge you can do! Some freestyleit (like I did last year) some go with a theme (a lot of folks didthat, and I've decided to go that way this year). Whatever yourstyle, you'll fit in fine. So sign-up on the linky below, grab thebadge from my side-bar, check out the other co-hosts (right overthere under the badge) and start planning! April will be here beforeyou know it!

Onemore thing, don't freak out about having to visit everyone. All weask is that you visit five new blogs a day, starting with the oneafter yours on the list. Five! That's totally doable, and by theend of the month, you'll have met at least 150 new blogs!

Ifyou still have questions, you can ask me in the comments or by email,or you can check out our official blog which has hints, survivaltips, and general information. On the contact us tab you'll find ouremails, and the general info email which is 2012AZinfo@gmail.com. Lots of ways to find us, so ask away!

The Real Skinny (I Promise!)

2012-01-28T23:26:00.000-07:00

Suredidn't mean to upset so many ;-) with yesterday's tease. I thoughtit was funny to lead you on like that...but many do not appreciate mysense of humor. Sigh. Today's story does involve actual nudity. And actual police. And is totally true. (My parents sometimes readmy blog, but mostly not. I'm hoping this is one of the “not”times since it might shatter their image of me as “the compliantchild.” Don't laugh! My mother actually STILL calls me that.)

Inother tales of my high school life, I've talked about how I didn'tfit in at all at my new, small, conservative, Dutch-Reformed Churchbased, Christian high school. We moved to CO just in time for mysenior year. (I have forgiven my Dad. But it took several years. And weekly ski-trips (must admit, a pretty good bribe)). I had thechoice of Fancy Neighborhood Large High School (population, ohthousands) or the school my Swissie was going to be attending, andcould use a ride to. I complied.

Ididn't fit in, and have many of those stories to tell, as I wasn'table to infiltrate the ONE clique of girls. Finally, about twomonths into school, I made friends with another outcast, a junior,who though she'd attended this school since kindergarden (well, therewas an elementary, and then our school building which housed themiddle school and the high school) but you know what I mean, aroundthese people her whole life, still didn't have friends. That wasmainly because she also didn't fit the required mold – skirts anddresses, hose and heels. Every day. In high school. As in yourSunday best. I've always been a beacon of fashion: jeans and at-shirt. Mostly black t-shirts. (So that beacon is a warningbeacon, as in “don't do this” if you want friends.) “Heather”wore jeans and shirts. And lots of make-up. Wouldn't surprise me ifshe were a make-up artist to the stars now, she was really quitegood. We became friends.

I hadsomehow gotten the reputation of a party girl (probably because I'dnever attended a Christian school, ergo I must be a major sinner). Idecided that if I was going to have that rep, and the scarlet letterand shunning that came with it,thendammit, why not BE the party girl? Heather's older brother (by sevenyears) still lived at home, and gladly supplied us with alcohol. Healso had a lot of friends who liked to, shall we say, take risks. You can probably see how the set-up for this story differs in manyways from yesterday's. I know you're feeling like, “Yes, I can seenaked fitting in here.”

Onenight while drinking cheap, bad, sickly sweet wine, “Todd” andhis friends invited us to go sneak into the city's popular recreationspot, a reservoir where people swam, jet skied, boated, etc. It wasclosed for the season, with chains across the entrances. Instead ofcutting the chains and driving to the beach, he just left his carsorta near the entrance, but parked for a quick get-away, alreadyturned around to just punch it and drive away. I have no idea whyTodd and his friends decided to be gentlemen, but they waited in thecar for a few minutes while Heather and I got naked, hid our clotheswhere no one would ever find them should that prank be on the agenda,and waded into the water. The temperature didn't bother me at all. I grew up in Sweden swimming in frigid lakes and a temperature like that was totallynormal to me. (It's October in this story...) Heather, however, wasa popsicle right away and as the boys came running, screaming,chasing each other and generally begging for a security guard to comefind us, she was running naked towards them and her clothes. Sheasked them to close their eyes. They laughed as they headed into thewater. More screaming, choice words about how cold the water was,and immediately they were hightailing it back to their own clothes.

Meanwhile,Toddand I were in the water, about 20 feet apart, talking like normalpeople. Well, if swimming in October, naked, with your best friend'sbrother, while trespassing is normal. Then we see lights comingtowards us. At first we think car, but as we huddle there in horror,we realize it's a flashlight. Belonging not to a security guard, buta police officer. I'm trying not to imagine what my parents wouldsay if they were to have to bail me out of jail, as Todd tells me“the plan”. He's going to walk up to the cop and pretend hedidn't know he was trespassing, thereby giving me the chance to movefurther down the beach, exit silently, and get my clothes.

Allis working just fine, I'm almost to my clothes, when I hear Heather,and Todd's friends calling me in very loud whispers. They're leavingand if I want to come, I've got to hightail it to the car. I lookdown the beach where Todd is talking to the officer, and make thewimpy decision to leave him and try to make it to the car. So nowI'm running, while crouching, dodging trees, stepping on who knowswhat, carrying my clothes. I'm really not able to not freakout anymore, and I just jump into the car. Naked. The guys push thecar as far as they have energy for, then jump in and start theengine. We speed out of there, and off the property, and hide thecar again.

Ofcourse we're worried about Todd. Heather cooks up a plan. She andone of the friends are going to pretend that Todd is mentallychallenged and that they've been looking all over for him. Is thereany chance officer thatyou've seen him? He likes swimming. Their acting skills are nevercalled upon, though, because as they're heading back, they meet himabout half-way.

Nowthat the danger was over, we all start talking at once. Our storiesare tumbling all over each other's, and pretty soon we're laughinghysterically. Turns out the officer was a fairly new cop, and Toddhad him wishing he hadn't missed the naked girls, and they did theman-talk thing about boobs or whatever and the cop wished him luckgetting some tonight and let him go.

Dumbluck. I'm glad we didn't get caught, but I probably would have beenbetter off considering the other adventures Heather and Iparticipated in with these guys. That night I experienced somethingI'd never experienced before. The adrenaline rush of being naughty. Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes had turned a corner, and it would takeseveral more trespassing adventures until I learned my lesson andstarted flying right again. Years and years later.

All the Skinny

2012-01-27T17:30:00.000-07:00

So Ipromised you a skinny-dipping story. I keep my promises. In caseyou missed that promise, it's on my new “about me” page,accessible from the “about me” tab right up there. While I haveyou checking out my tabs, I was wondering if anyone knows how to makethem stand out a bit more, as in maybe have a box around them, orsome such other thing besides just floating there in space. I've tried playing with the templates, but then I don't get my other elements looking the way I like. I have beenlearning a lot of blogger stuff getting ready for the April A-Zchallenge. Don't tell me you haven't heard? Skedaddle right over there (AFTER you're done reading this post) and get thescoop. Ok, let's get naked.

WhenI was a junior in high school, I dated a wonderful guy named GeorgeGlass. (Not his real name, obviously, and if you can tell me whyGeorge Glass sounds so familiar to those of us in our forties...I'llbuy you a drink). I was what you might call a serial-dater. All myrelationships lasted three months. I usually had someone waiting inthe wings at that point, which made the whole breaking up thingeasier. Well, for me at least. Of course I was the dumpee plenty oftimes too. The worst was when I had a broken arm, but that's a whole'nother post someday. I think it just takes three months to reallyget to know somebody, for me at least.

Soback to George. He and I had been friends several years, each datingother people, but always hanging out with each other, too. We werefellow band members, so yes, band-nerds. Lots of people thought wewere dating, but it was truly one of those amazing opposite-sexfriendships that Harry says don't exist. “Because the sex partalways gets in the way.” Harry is probably right, because therecame a time when we were both unattached and I was dropping him infront of his house after some band function. He stalled, talking tome, for about 45 minutes, then laid a big kiss on me. Totallyshocked me. Not that I hadn't been thinking about it (OK, for awhile) but because he was a very shy, conservative Jewish boy, and Ididn't think he ever would actually do it.

Wehad a great relationship. He was a true gentleman, and verygenerous, and we just plain had fun together, since the wholefriendship thing was so firmly cemented before we dated. Many of ourdates were group ones, which I didn't mind at all. We had the samecircle of friends, so this wasn't really all that different from lifebefore, except the kisses at the end of the day.

OK! Yes! I'm getting to the skinny-dipping part. Sheesh. Patience! Agood story is told with lots of build-up. Or so I've been told. George volunteered at the Boys' Club. He was a tennis ace, our highschool's #1 ranked player, and taught younger boys tennis. Onenight, on a whim, we decided to see if we could sneak into the poolfor a late night swim. It was me and George and 2 buddies of ours,and it was probably ½ hour from my curfew. No problem, it was cold,so it was more of a polar bear club sorta thing, and I lived tenminutes away. Plenty of time. A chain link fence surrounded thepool, and there was a padlock on the gate. No problem. I was stilla gymnast at the time, so I was up and over the 8' foot fence in ajiffy. Not so much the boys. Their larger feet didn't slide intothe holes between the links like mine did, and they were quitehysterical as they tried over and over again, and also tried topretend that there wasn't a problem. I mean, they were not about tolet a GIRL beat them at fence climbing. “Wow, that's a sharp spotthere. I'll try over here.” “Man, my shoelace caught. Let mefix it.”

Allof a sudden, the motion-sensor lights came on and put the gentlemenin full spotlight. A dog barked. They ran. I snuck to the otherside of the pool and climbed back over the fence in the dark, backcorner and hid behind a pine tree. I don't see the scattered guys, Idon't see a security guard, so I start looking for them. They're allbehind the utility shed in the parking lot. I'm laughing.

I tryto convince them that there's no danger, no one is coming, and let'sget ON with this. But responsible George checks the time and insistson driving me home by curfew. I was actually pretty mad. As far asteenage pranks, this was a harmless one. No drugs. No sex. Noviolence. No graffiti. He worked there. But alas, there is areason band-nerds are band-NERDS. All talk. No swim. Sigh. However, when I moved to Colorado, I did meet some not so nerdyfolks. And almost got arrested. Naked. But you'll have to wait forthat story, because it's time for this forty-something mother of twoto make dinner. But it's with a grin, remembering.

What Did You Say?

2012-01-24T17:19:00.000-07:00

Iused to have a great memory. Poetry, phone numbers, names withfaces, song lyrics, equations, definitions, Bible verses, addresses. Lots and lots of useful and some useless stuff rattled around in mybrain, within easy reach for when I needed something. Then I hadkids, sleep deprivation, serious illnesses, injury, chronic pain,depression, stress, and then the inevitable entrance into my 40s. The stuff was still there, but the files were dusty, and some of thedrawers were hard to open, and some of the file cabinets had beenmoved. But there. Today? Not so much.

Ifirst noticed the change when I started working as an office manager. I had a lot of new stuff to learn. Procedures, definitions,operating various office machines I had never used before, more phonenumbers and FAX numbers, account numbers and part numbers. An entirevocabulary of words related to the industry of measuring flow throughpipes for industrial processes. Our products had names thatconsisted of a string of code descriptors, ten in a name, manychoices for each category. I'll spare you a detailed example, but itwas understanding that whole string that made the bookwork mucheasier, and I got it. It made me feel incredibly empowered. After ashort while, I no longer had to look up part numbers, or wonder whythe customer hadn't chosen a diameter size. He had ordered aninsertion meter, rather than one integrated into the line, and Ididn't need to know the size. I was good at my job.

Mymemory now? Shot to hell. When I first was fired, I held onto thatinfo like it was a life-raft and soon someone would recognize thehideous mistake they'd made and would rescue me and say, “You'rethe only one who has all that memorized. No one can replace you. We're so sorry. We have to have you back.” This wasn't arealistic fantasy, mind you, but since when are fantasies realistic? Kinda ruins the whole “fantasy” part of it, right?

Iwasn't just forgetting stuff that I could look up if I couldn'tremember. I was forgetting whole conversations. Stuff I'd promisedmy kids I'd do. “But MOOO-om, you promised us Dairy Queen!” Iwas, shall we say, frighteningly forgetful. Until the day I came toterms with the fact that even IF they offered me my wonderful jobback, I was not going to take it. My kids needed me at home. Theyare my life priority. I had (painfully) realized that while I waschasing the dream job that would give The Engineer HIS dream job, ourboys had been left in the dust. To fend for themselves. Notliterally, we were there, they were only alone about an hour a daydue to flex time, but in reality. I was too tired to patientlylisten to YellowBoy explain how he'd finally beaten the 4^thboss on the really high level and Jake hadn't. I was spent, anddidn't have patience to help with homework. I dropped into bed theminute I'd put them to bed.

Idon't remember (ha, now that's funny!) exactly how long I'd been homewhen I decided to purge {name of company}'s entire existence from myiPhone. I think it must have asked me ten times if I reallywanted to actually delete 85% of my contacts, two email accounts,half my notes, and the ability to connect with their wi-fi. Yes. I.Do. Pushed the button. My phone moaned and groaned as all that datawas ripped out, then lay quietly waiting for me. I lifted my glassof chardonnay in salute, and told my brain to do the same dump. Justforget it all.

Itactually worked. Me dumping those files from my brain. The Engineerhad (seriously) thought I was having mental problems with all theforgetting, and was worried. Suddenly, I was back to being a walkingrolodex, managing the family affairs without gaffes, or, “Did Ireally say that?” I wasn'tlosing my mind. My job had just taken up all the bandwidth.

Soyou're great now, you ask. Well. No. I'm somewhere in the middle. I'm glad my precious iPhone remembers so much for me, and has alarmsand alerts and a calendar that syncs with my mac. I do rememberconversations, just not always all the content. Saw my doctor, whoassured me that I was normal. Well, normal for a person with mylevel of stress. My age. Raising teenagers. And taking on toomuch. But that's OK with me. I just dumped data. Not willing todump my personality.

About Me Tab

2012-01-23T05:48:00.000-07:00

I'vebeen visiting a lot of new places lately as more and more bloggersjoin the April A-Z Challenge. Many of those blogs have “about me”tabs, with a bit more about themselves than in their profile page. Since I'm competitive, I want one too! So I figured out how to dotabs! Go me! (Yeah, not just competitive, also rather prone to bragabout any accomplishment when it comes to technological tricks.)

Solook up there, do you see the tab? Click it. Then you can leaveyour comment there, OR come back here and comment. What? Youweren't going to comment? Don't you like me?

Are You Game?

2012-01-15T11:15:00.000-07:00

HappySunday to you all! My Sunday would be better if my Broncos hadn'tjust been forced to realize that though we have Mile High Magic, andan unpredictable, exciting quarterback, we still have a long ways togo until we can stop The Patriots. We've proved that twice thisseason. Sigh.

Didyour team make it to the playoffs? Are they still in the running? Regardless, I've got something to distract you from you blues, orfrom the agony of waiting for the next game, if you're lucky enoughto be moving on. It's a challenge. And you know how competitive Iam...so without further ado, I hereby invite you to stop by at theofficial Blogging from A to Z April Challenge Blog for the details.

Weare asking participants, future and past, to contribute posts thereuntil April. The thirteen member team has first-come, first-servestatus, because we do have some issues and guidelines to address, aswell as ideas to get your creativity jump-started. If you haven'tdecided whether or not you'll be participating in April, then this isthe blog (well, I mean the A-Z blog, but yes, mine, too...) to visitdaily. So sign up to follow the A-Z blog! (Of course, I'dappreciate you following me, as well). Before you go, if you haven't met this year's co-host, they're all in A-Z blog's sidebar, so check them out and follow them, too. Yes, that's a lot to follow, but it's no blogging secret that the more you follow, the higher your own traffic and followers.

Self-Esteem, Anyone?

2012-01-09T19:52:00.001-07:00

Whatmakes you feel good about yourself? Is it when you've worked outhard, and have that satisfied feeling of sore-but-well-used muscles? Is it when you finish a project at work? When your house isun-cluttered and clean? When you finally lost those last ten pounds? For me, it can be any of the above. Though I'm just recoveringenough orthopedically to do stairs, that by itself is not really aworkout. I lost my job a while back. My house, though lesscluttered than before, is still cluttered, and I can't lose weightbecause I destroyed my metabolism in college (see Careless Words if you're curious). I have to look elsewhere for that feeling. Ifound it today.

TheEngineer's mother and I do share some common traits, though we arevery, very different people. Right now she's recovering from adevastating injury (and is a very private person so that's all I'llsay about it). This event has her limited in mobility and stamina. I'm taking care of her in a way that I'm probably the only familymember with the time (and experience) to do so.

Ascatch up for new followers, (Hi!! I tried to make it around to allof you! What an exciting weekend!) I worked as an office manager ata very small manufacturing firm where there were eleven employees,and I was the only female. It was heaven. However, all good things(at least this is what I've found in my life) soon come to an end andthey kicked me out the door. (If you'd like that story, see Abrupt U-Turn) Afterthree years there, I'd learned some serious accounting skills, how tomulti-task even further than what's required for being a mom, and the pleasure of all theducks in a row, everything accounted for, and no mistakes. Ha. Butat least some of those skills are now showing themselves to quitehelpful.

TheBoss has done the books for The Advocate's law firm for 26 years. Right now it's not just month end, and quarter end, it's alsoyear-end. Lots of paperwork, lots of accounting to catch up on. Sheneeds help. My help. I'm finally using what I learned, and forsomething so satisfying. So it's grinning ear to ear that I pushpublish and head off to accounting land again.

I'llrepeat my original question: What makes you feel good aboutyourself?

OFFICIAL Blogging from A to Z April Challenge Blog Announcement

2012-01-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

Hellodear bloggy friends! Today is a special day in Blogland. Today isthe first OFFICIAL announcement of the Blogging A-Z Challengeco-hosts! Who will it be? To whomwill we turn with questions? What's all this about anyway? Noworries. You haven't missed the boat. You haven't lost your invite. You haven't been dropped from my Christmas card list (I just nolonger send them). In fact, THIS is your official invitation to theofficial challenge which I am officially co-hosting.

Yourother co-hosts for this adventure are:

ArleeBird Tossing It Out

AlexJ. Cavanaugh Alex J. Cavanaugh

StephenTremp Break Through Blogs

TinaDowney (that's me!) Life is Good

D.L.Hammons Cruising Altitude 2.O

Jeremy Hawkins Retro-Zombie

ShannonLawrence The Warrior Muse

MatthewMacNish (Rush) The QQQE

ElizabethMueller Author Elizabeth Mueller

JennyPearson Pearson Report

KonstanzSilverbow No Thought 2 Small
Damyanti Writing on Writing: Amlokiblogs

Weare going to be working tirelessly to get you ready for thischallenge. Not quite ready to do an ironman triathlon? Not sure ifyou can swim the English Channel? Never climbed a 14-er? (For younon-Colorado types, that means hiking to the top of a mountain thatmeasures more than 14,000 feet) Not a even a marathon runner? Thischallenge is for you. The only requirement is that you TRY to postonce a day, on the letter of the alphabet for the day, throughout April. That's it. No penalties if you don't finish, but take a look at the benefits, ifyou participate:

Yourblog will have more traffic

You'lllearn from your fellow challenge mates

You'llfind new blogs that entertain and encourage you

Ican't guarantee more followers, but last year, at final count at the end of April, I'dgained 27. When all the post-challenge Challenge visiting was done, I'd gained a total of 72. SEVENTY-TWO! That's not a dyslexic number thing. It's true!

Ifyou're a seasoned blogger, there are benefits for you, too. You'llhave the golden chance to encourage others and help them navigatetheir blogging career by sharing your triumphs (and tragedies, if you dare).

Soundgood to you? The linky list opens on January 30^that the OFFICIAL (that's the word of the day, by the way) Blogging From A to Z April Challenge Blog.

Throughthe coming months, we'll be sharing tips and ideas and working hardto get you all excited for April. Feel free to contact any of uswith questions or concerns. That's what we're getting paid the bigbucks for. Well, not really, I'm exaggerating as I tend to do. Hyperbole is a favorite literary device of mine...
I'm excited to be a co-host on this adventure. Never promised that I was a blogging expert. I'm just a girl who likes to write.

P.S Got a good question in the comments: Is it OK to join if you're not a writer? Of course! One part of what made last year so much fun was that when I was out visiting, I never knew what kind of blog I was headed to! If you blog, you can join this challenge. So to the artists, musicians, table-scapers, scrapbookers, as well as you whose blog defies categorization - hop aboard! We're an equal opportunity bunch.

Guest Posting @ Blogging from A to Z April Challenge

2011-12-29T10:45:00.003-07:00

Good morning! This is the post that was supposed to go up yesterday morning...but there are days when technology and I don't play well together.

I'm excited to let you know that I'm guest-posting at the new, official A-Z Challenge blog! If you head over there, you can check out what I learned last year, and then catch what Shannon @ The Warrior Muse has to say about her participation in the challenge last year. If I'm speaking Klingon, let me briefly remind you what that was all about.

Last April, 1282 of us participated in the month long blog party. We posted everyday except Sundays, each day's post built around that day's letter of the alphabet. It was a lot of fun to meet new bloggers (not all writer blogs, by the way, we also had photoblogs, music blogs, poetry blogs, and random other delightful but uncharacterizable blogs. (Open office says “uncharacterizable “ is not a word, but I'm a writer and hereby declare it a real word. Feel free to use as you wish!)

We will officially introduce this year's challenge hosts on January 6, and open the linky-list for participants to register on January 30, 2012. So check back here and meet all the hosts! (Pssst...I'm one of them.)

Of course you don't have to wait until January! Feel free to come back when ever you wish. If I've been too busy sledding with the kids, or hosting sleep-overs, or a house full of teenagers in a 36 hour marathon's of Xbox 360 live, or trying to keep enough food in the house for a multitude of teenage boys, and therefore haven't posted anything new, there are over 260 other posts you may read ;-) You might try April 2011 to see what sorts of posts I did last year.

One last thing! Sign-up to follow the AZ Challenge blog when you're over there reading what I wrote, and if you're here from the AZ Challenge blog, welcome, and of course I'd be delighted if you followed me.

To Save, or Not to Save

2011-12-22T16:39:00.003-07:00

Haveyou seen the show “Clean Sweep” or “Hoarders”? I'm not quitethat bad, but I'm a clutter-bug, a girl with many piles in manyplaces. There's never enough time to finish whatever project I'mworking on, but then I need the table for something (say, servingdinner) so I sweep the paper storm into a pile and put it somewhere. This event then repeats itself over and over. Pretty soon all thechairs in the “pretty room” (that's what my boys called it whenthey were young and it stuck, it's just a living room, but no toysallowed, those go to the family room, or their own room) are stackedwith precariously perched piles of paper. Deciding what to save, towhat to file, what to shred and what to just recycle seems like adaunting task when you survey the scenery.

Theproblem isn't so much lack of motivation (because clutter drives menuts and makes me feel even more claustrophobic) or time (I'm nolonger homeschooling {yippee yippee joy joy dance}) it's thedeciding. Am I ever going to look at this program again (like theone I got from attending The Nutcracker where my friends daughter wasdancing)? No, I'm not. But suppose her mother is making a scrapbookfor her when she becomes a prima ballerina one day. She mightneed it if she lost hers. So give it to her, you say. No! She hasone! She doesn't need mine now, but boy would I be the hero if sheneeded one later and I still had mine!

I'mthinking you're catching on to my dilemma here. Why save that letterfrom Grandma? It's just taking up space. You know she loves you,and you love her. Now fast forward to her funeral, and you're makingthose posters of the deceased's life, and there is a letter she wroteto her granddaughter. In fact, it's the last letter she everwrote because very shortly after that, Alzheimers stole her brain. It's now a precious keepsake, and you're so happy to have it.

Whatshould I save of mine? I have ticket stubs: first time I saw BruceSpringsteen in concert, front row at the downtown historic movietheater where my uncle took us to the premiere of “The EmpireStrikes Back.” I know I don't need them. I have the memories. Well, for know. With my medical issues, I don't know how long untilsomeone steals MY brain.

ThenI fast -forward to some future relative of mine, sorting through allmy piles, and finding those ticket stubs and thinking, “Wow, shewas around for THAT!” I know it's not a moon landing or anythingof that scope, but it was an occasion that was important to me.

For my last point, I do have a counter-example. I write poetry. Have since I was in about 5^thgrade. I have journal after journal with poems and rants and ravesand excited to just be alive entries when love was in full bloom. Those I'd rather others not see. As a human person, I'm not perfect,and some of the events described in detail aren’t for consumptionby family members. Skeletons in the closet, described in thejournal.

Ok, just one more example. When my mother was in college, a frienddragged her to hear some poet read his poems in one of the lecturehalls on campus. I really wish she'd saved the program. It was inthe early 60s, and the poet was Robert Frost.

Howdo you handle this issue? What do you save? What never makes ithome? How do you store the treasures? I'd love to hear what you do.

Swedish Christmas Part 3 ~ Advent

2011-12-18T01:47:00.000-07:00

Oneof my strongest memories from childhood Christmas celebrations is theadvent calendar. Farmor (“father's mother”) spent an inordinateamount of time each year making this tradition really special for hergrandkids.

Adventis from the Latin adventus which means “coming”. Scandinavians (if you're new around here, you need to know I'mSwedish, immigrated here when I was 9) have celebrated this traditionfor centuries, and it's becoming more well-known in America as timegoes by. Our church's denomination (Evangelical Free Church,where evangelical means our main goal is to let others know about thesaving grace of Jesus, free means that though we're affiliated withour denomination, we answer to no higher authority. Well, besidesGod. He's a big authority ;-) has Swedish roots, so these churches havecelebrated advent much longer than most folks in this country. Ok,history lesson over.

Theadvent calendar is only one facet of the advent celebration though, so ifyou want to hear more, remind me about the candle-lighting and thethe fire that resulted. (Wood burns, by the way.) Back to today's programming: The adventcalendar Farmor used was hand-embroidered. There were tiny Christmaspictures numbered 1-24 (tree, presents, santa – see this post for more on Swedish santa) and 24 little brass rings, one for eachday. (I would of course take a picture, but this is Swissie's yearto use it so I can't.) Farmor shopped for or made tiny gifts, wrapped them, andattached them to the embroidered wall-hanging by those rings. Sincewe lived very close to Farmor and Farfar (by now, you should be ableto translate those – but I'll give it to you one more time:father's mother, father's father) (Which just gave me a great idea! In your comment, tell me what maternal grandmother and maternalgrandfather would be, and I'll {not kidding} send you a Swedishprize) we just hiked into the forest at the end of our street,climbed the hill, and then back down on the other side, and we wereat their house.

Itwas very exciting to get a small gift each day. Sometimes it was acandy,

sometimes an ornament, and sometimes it was a tiny decoration,some that I still use today as in the above photo. (I have NO idea why editing it counter clockwise, though successful in the iPhoto file, does not translate to the uploaded-to-blogger-file. I guess you'll have to turn your head)

Cherishingthis countdown to His birth as a child, I wanted my boys to have thesame wonderful experience as I had. This American piece,

a gift fromAunt Risky, has the boys as excited about opening those doors eachmorning as I was. The gifts have varied over the years, butSaturday's surprise is always a bit more than the rest of the week. Lately, what they look forward to are the privilege cards. Skip achore. Stay up an hour more. Go out to breakfast with a parent. Choose what's for dinner and who has to clean up. Jake cracks me up,because he has from time to time handed me one of those cherishedcards in say June, but from two Christmases ago, and I've had to follow through. He's a saver. YellowBoy, on the other hand, “spends” most of his right away.

Iappreciate you sticking around for these posts. Preparing for thecelebration of Jesus' birthday takes many forms and familytraditions. I'd love to hear yours.

Swedish Christmas Part 2

2011-12-12T16:56:00.001-07:00

Thispost is a sequel to Swedish Christmas Part 1.

Swedescelebrate Christmas for three days in a row. What kid wouldn't lovethat? My parents did a great job of each sharing their family'sfavorite traditions. What resulted was a wonderful and uniquecombination of celebrations. Now we've come to the next iteration ofthat plan. Our boys have the chance to celebrate Christmas with twosets of grandparents, in two ways, while each of those celebrationsare in turn derived from what their parents, as in me and TheEngineer, celebrated as children. Are you following? Today I'mgoing to share a bit about the Swedish version of santa –Jultomten. (Jul is Swedish for Christmas.)

Asparents, The Engineer and I decided that we weren't going to tell ourkids about Santa, The Tooth Fairy, The Easter Bunny, or The GreatPumpkin. Since we were already teaching them about Jesus, we didn'twant Him to be lumped into the category of, “My parents said these peopleexisted, but I now know that {insert fake holiday icon here} isn’t'real, then why am I to believe that Jesus is true? I mean, all therest of that pack is pretend. Jesus must be, too.” We did ourbest to “let them in on the secret” since we didn't want them togo around spreading any “heresy”, or spilling the beans and inturn cause trouble for those kids who were taught differently. Myboys were told not to share what we believe to be truth, and to justlet those kids have their fun. I'm not so silly that I believe theynever told anyone, but I do believe that what they took away from thewhole situation is that their parents are truthful, and sometimesit's fun to pretend so we don't hurt anyone's feelings.

Americankids grow up with Santa dressed in red and white, big white beard,sleigh, flying reindeer, and presents to everyone in one evening. Swedish kids of yesteryear grew up with santa looking more like the(completely annoying) Travelocity gnome. (I used to watch TheAmazing Race and the worst product placement ever was making themcarry around that &*^% gnome all over some country.) Swedishkids today are exposed to a Santa closely resembling thecommercialized “American” version. I'm a history buff and wasjust fascinated with the story (which is most easily accessed atwikipedia) of the “evolution” of the Norse santa. Since I knowall of you have time to spare this season, here's the link to Wikipedia if youcare to explore.

There'sa lot more to tell, including The Swede's dad dressing up as tomtenwhen I was a kid. However, I tend to get long-winded, so I'll pausethe story here and share some of my favorite Swedish tomte decorations. Iinherited these from Farmor (“father's mother”) and am proud todisplay a piece of my heritage.

These little ones are hand-knit by my Farmor. The guy jumping out of the candle holder is knitted and stuffed with scraps. The short little guy is like a hat, and slipped over a cardboard toilet paper roll. She made a lot of these, all to be donated to the church's yearly craft fair. Remind me to post about that. You crafty types might enjoy that. The runner and the wall hanging you are seeing a piece of were made by my Farfar ("father's father")

This tomte is hand-made glass. I have him hanging from my (hideous and I'm dying to replace) dining room chandelier as seen in the following picture.

This whimsical little fellow looks more like American santa. A good transitional piece from history to what we have today.

This little girl is my favorite. I have no idea how old she is, but she and her brother (who lives at Swissie's house) decorated Farmor's childhood home.

What Christmas objects are special to you? Did you believe in santa as a child? Did you tell your kids about santa? I enjoyed the comments on my last Christmas post. Always nice to hear how others celebrate.

Magic Maxalt

2011-12-04T21:39:00.001-07:00

Why the sledge hammer,

in my head?

Spotty vision,

I'll go back to bed.

Sleep so elusive,

light too intrusive

Magic pill, do your best

ease the migraine

so I can rest...

It's Sunday 160, hosted by Monkey Man. He's taking a break, so go visit him and say "come back soon!"

Failure to Yield

2011-12-01T16:46:00.000-07:00

Rude, selfish behavior makes my blood boil. It's a virus, quickly spreading, and parents are teaching it to their children by their example. I'm not going to talk airplane travel, because that one is so obvious. No, I'm talking about carline. Pick-up and drop-off of kids at school. There you'll find even more rude, selfish behavior, and done in plain view of a multitude of children. It's gotta stop.

I realize some of you are blessed with never having to experience this ritual. For your sake, I'll fill you in on the “courtesy guidelines” provided by YellowBoy's middle school. Those of you who do have to endure this torture, please chime in. Knowing that there are others out there also outraged by their particular version of this situation will make me feel a bit better. I hope.

Like many schools, his has a long, circular driveway/loop dedicated to the purpose of making it easy to drop or pick-up your child. You enter this single lane and inch forward as those in front of you pull up as far as they can, discharge the student, and go on their merry way. It's a lovely theory, and quite easy to understand.

Along come the special parents. They are the ones who instead of crawling towards the drop-off, single file, squeeze their vehicles past all the politely waiting parents and zoom to the open place that the car now behind them can no longer pull into. At least the kid gets out on the sidewalk.

Not all parents are so rude that they'd sneak forward in line like that, so they just pull up next to you, discharge their child to walk in front of your car so that you can't pull out and go on your merry way because you're waiting to not drive over their child, and you can't get going anyway because they are still beside you blocking you in. If you've been trapped a while between the “get out here” and the “I'm moving to the front of the line” folks, then there seems to be some sort of conspiracy to leave you trapped there. It's as if they're saying, “Oh just ignore that Volvo, she hasn't moved for 5 minutes, must be staying a while.” Chicken? Egg? As you can tell, by now it's a traffic jam, kids everywhere, parents hurrying, holding their Starbucks in one hand, their Blackberry in the other, driving like idiots.

You think the kids don't notice? They do. YellowBoy decided that he's not wanting any part of the pick-up in that “death-trap”. (That's an exact quote, by the way) Instead he walks through the pedestrian tunnel to the other side of the two-lanes each way major thoroughfare, and then three blocks to my waiting car. I park at a nearby park. Not another parent in sight. He makes it there eventually, and my blood pressure is in much better shape.

So why not do this in the mornings, too? I would. Except YellowBoy is a procrastinator, and even though we have a five minute timer and final buzzer, he still manages to make us just off schedule enough that he no longer has time to walk from the park. Set the timer earlier you say? Maybe. But look at all the fun we'd miss.

Swedish Christmas, Part 1

2011-11-30T06:20:00.000-07:00

We've been in full swing with traditional Christmas preparations around here this weekend, and I thought I'd share. We're a mix of Swedish and American traditions, so it's rather a hodge-podge sorta blend of his, mine, and ours. I love it. But don't worry, I'm not going to bore you (I hope) with too many details, but share a few things you might not know about since (I'm guessing) all of you aren't Swedish.

I think the most Swedish thing we do is our real Christmas tree. Unless things have changed in my home country since my 1974 emigration, no Swede has an artificial tree. (I even called The Swede to confirm this.) My Sissie and Mr. Clean head up into the mountains for trees for the whole family each year. I'm so grateful for this service, and eagerly await my delivered tree. We usually get a wonderful Charlie Brown tree of which we are very proud. This year though, they hit the jackpot because our tree is just absolutely gorgeous. I might show you a picture, but as of this minute, it's only half decorated.

The Engineer has, with a sigh of relief, yet great difficulty, delegated the placing of the lights to YellowBoy. This is no small passing of the torch. He's famous for using a ridiculous amount of lights to wrap each individual branch as he moves up the tree. Very slowly. We're talking 500+ lights on a seven foot tree and it takes FOREVER. Not kidding. Engineers don't idle well, and he's all engineer. Idle you say? How could putting up lights be idle? Yeah, you're asking the wrong person.

I've never been one for theme trees. You've seen them. Perfectly coordinated, balls, beads, garland, ribbons, etc. Not at my house. You'll find the Spiderman that Jake drew as a young child, precariously still hanging from a piece of yarn. The glitter-dosed popsicle stars with the school picture at the center. The stale marshmallow snowmen holding an “I love you, Mom!” sign. Yes, it's hard for me to have all the ornaments clustered in one place, with crooked lights, and the top half of the tree bare. But my focus isn't on decorating, it's on my kids and the traditions they cherish. We had a great time listening to Christmas music and working together. As we get closer to celebrating our Savior's birth, I'll share more about Swedish Christmas. What are your family's favorite traditions?

My Latest Project

2011-11-22T12:24:00.001-07:00

It's good to be back! I feel like I owe an explanation...but I'm not quite ready to do that. Life is not just “Good”, sometimes, it's hard. I've been in “hard” for a while. But I do have a blessing to share. I'm soon to be published!

The book I'm involved with is called Until They Have Faces. I'm one of over 40 or so authors to contribute to this fundraising project. The purpose is to raise awareness about and tell the stories of the homeless in our county. Each section includes a professional portrait of the subject, and then his or her story, each one from a different author. We also interviewed and photographed people whose careers intersect with the homeless community. I interviewed Ian Engle who is the director of Center for People with Disabilities in Boulder, CO.

I'm thrilled to be part of this group effort! This coffee table book release will be in February, and I'll share the info should you want to buy a copy for yourself and in so doing, help the efforts to raise funds and awareness. If you feel like checking it out, this is the blog chronicling the process of the project.

Flash Friday 55: Until They Have Faces

2011-11-18T16:01:00.000-07:00

He isn't invisible

holding the sign, but

he probably wants

anonymity

since he won't meet my eyes

Easier, to hide in the stereotype

Pan-handling bum, flying the

“God Bless Anything Helps”

than speak truth

his story

I wave him over, hand him my ashtray

ten bucks in change,

now a grin,

and I see.

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

Flash Friday 55 is hosted by the g-man over at Mr.Knowitall

Place your link and play along.

Yes, I've been gone a while...and you'll hear the story someday. Today is not that day.

Worst Movies Ever Blogfest

2011-09-19T18:29:00.000-06:00

My good buddy Alex J. Cavanaugh is hosting another party. Simple ~ list your 10 worst movies. It's sorta like a public service announcement: watch out for these. Legions of bloggers have found them to be so bad that they're not even worthy of making fun of. Sci-fi fans know that is a category of movies all of its own. For that list, we need a different party. (But I do have to say that one of the very best of these is Tremors. C'mon, it's got KEVIN BACON, AND giant, man-eating worms. and we all now how relevant the Kevin Bacon degree is...) So without further yammering, or ado, I present:

Two of a Kind with John Travolta and Olivia Newton John.
We actually walked out, even though we were on a first date, doubling with my best friend and his best friend, who coincidentally were dating. If this sounds familiar, you must have read, “The Tuba Player and the Clarinetist”. This was my first date with The Engineer. We've been married 19 years.
Speed 2.
If you've seen it, this needs no explanation. If you haven't, DON'T.
Labyrinth.
I was completely inebriated, and still couldn't sit through it.
Any of the numerous Pokemon movies my children have made me watch. Yes, they have that power. It's called Boys' Night and you can learn more about why I would subject myself to such atrocities in that post.
Ponyo
Any movie where you fall asleep of boredom while watching a boy and his goldfish, only to wake-up and find that the goldfish has now transformed into a toddler girl is just too freaky for me.
Mission Impossible 2 Too many masks, Tom's hair is too long, and I lost ten years of my life watching him free climb that big rock.

Six is what you're getting from me. I blew out my knee this weekend (that would be the knee I already had scoped in college from a skiing accident but have been relying on as my “good” side while my “bad” side awaits hip replacement) and am feeling sorry for myself here in my bed. Going to go drown myself in Hell's Kitchen. At least there someone else is in pain...

If you'd like more warnings of hazardous to your movie-watching time sorry flicks, check out the rest of the lists over at Alex's.

Friends Indeed

2011-08-23T23:37:00.000-06:00

At this moment, I'm totally stressed out, and don't quite know which of the many crises du jour (du week? du month?) is the worst. Of course, some of these are only crises because of my own depression and waning ability to move forward at anything other than a snail's pace. But in my world, they feel huge and important. And then there are those crises that are real. As in capital REAL.

When I'm feeling like this, I love to look at pictures. That slice of a moment, captured in time for all eternity. {Provided you don't lose the negatives (in the past) or jpeg files (now the norm)}. I'm a visual learner, and that's how I process my world. Show me. That will tell me. And comfort me.

I've been very blessed to have generous friends who have shared their photography with me. I follow a lot of blogs, and no, I don't get to each one every day, but to me, follow means, “I really like this and I want to come back.” These friends' photos have now become my screen saver. I've put all the wonderful images on rotation, and as I sit at my computer, not able to do anything but sit there, I get to slip away to India, to the East Coast, to the Carolinas, to Coastal New England. I've been a witness to amazing sights that in my life-time I most likely will not see in person. Each of these bloggers has enriched my vision of our world, and I'm eternally grateful.

Today I'd like to introduce you to two of my friends.

Cheryl of Deckside Thoughts is a “don't miss” on my blog travels. She is genuine, and not only a photographer, but also a wonderful writer. Most importantly to me, though, is her honest feedback. I value that immensely.

H of Little Sealed Packages has given me not only a glimpse into the moors of England, but many other places I'm now wanting to visit. She doesn't just put up photos, her narration helps you understand the history behind her images. If you're looking for someone to write your tourist brochures, she's you gal. When she does a post, I immediately want to go there. As in TODAY.

How do you choose to follow a blog? What is your interpretation of "follow"? I'd love to know. I'm still fairly new to this world. Have only been here since 2009. Would love to hear your feedback on this subject. (After you visit my amazing friends, of course!)

In Darkness Hides

2011-08-12T11:26:00.000-06:00

I used to know the way

Traveled it often,

with joy-anticipation

A sunny path, with

enough obstacles

for an interesting

journey

Now, light fades

darkness cloaks the way

while

trees who danced,

arms swaying to honor

bird's song, grasp-reach

ominous arms

seeking to snag-drag

at my will

while fear

snakes up my spine

The path

long forgotten,

overgrown, unused

where happy feet

once

in circles danced,

squishing the delicate

blossoming flowers

in their joyous

ballet travels

now tangled

with neglect

Won't you shine your light?

To guide

just need a tiny

sliver-glimmer

hope,courage

to travel on

the road not traveled

in so long.

Novel Film Blogfest 2010, Day 3

2011-08-03T23:37:00.001-06:00

As this short but sweet book-to-movie blog-hop comes to its close, I want to share with you what I would do were I the casting director for the film adaptation of one of my favorite books. Yes, its already a movie, three of them, in fact, but they did it so wrong with the 1974 edition, I just have to jump in with my ideas.

The Great Gatsby. Don't know how many times I've read the book, but my first time I do remember well. (Don't we all.) (..oops, sorry, been a long, hot summer...)This classic was assigned reading for my junior year English class. I think it would help you to know that the teacher of junior and senior English was NOTORIOUS for being strict. She didn't give As. You might be lucky to pull a B. (For more about her, read one of my first blog posts where I tell you why I'm even here, doing this blog thing.) (It's her.) She made us read the book, talk about the book, write about the book, and pretty much live and breathe F. Scott Fitzgerald for over a month. I was in heaven.

Because of all that work with the novel, the picture in my head of what each character looked like was pretty firmly implanted by the time I read it again. And again. As an adult, I discovered the 1974 Robert Redford version of the movie adaptation. I tried to enjoy it, I really did. But as some of my long-time readers know, I'm a bit of a control freak. It was hard to watch it when the wrong people were on the screen.

Were I casting it, Jay Gatsby would be played by Aaron Eckhart. He totally charmed me in Erin Brockovitch. Yes, it's a crush. Have you seen his eyes? When they are all on you...Where was I? Ok, Jay is set.

Daisy Buchanan. I don't know why, but I've never been a fan of Mia Farrow (who played Daisy in the 1974 edition). Instead I'd pick Renee Zellweger. She'd made a great debut in Jerry Maguire, then continued to show us her range in other films. Have you seen Chicago? How many Hollywood actresses can actually act, sing, and dance all at the same time? Not many, in my opinion. Not that they're not trying...but Renee has the chops. And the delicate, waif-like look. And in my head IS Daisy.

For Nick Caraway, I'd pick Jake Gyllenhaal. He also has great range, and I think he's right to capture Nick's “trying-to-fit-in-but-do-I-really” conflicts. And, um, some rather pleasing physical attributes.

The rest of the characters can stay as they are. They didn't in any way stand out as “wrong”. So if you're looking for a casting agent, feel free to give me a call. I'd love to have a useful outlet for all the images floating around in my head...

If you could re-cast a movie, who would you choose? I'd love to know. And a big thanks for hanging around for the last day of Novel Films Blogfest 10. Click the button in my sidebar for more entries. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled program tomorrow.

Novel Film Blogfest 2010, Day 2

2011-08-03T00:03:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I wrote about my worst book-to-movie disappointment. Today I'm going to be positive and talk about a successful adaptation. Ok, I'm at least going to try to be positive. I don't know if others have this same problem, but when I'm reading a book, there is a whole other world inside my head. I see it clearly, in color, and then Hollywood comes along and messes it all up. There is an exception, though. They've really done a great job with the Harry Potter movies.

I read all the books, trying to stay just a step ahead of my now 14 year-old book worm son. I was hooked almost from the first sentence and found her style so refreshingly engaging and no-nonsense. Her work is very accessible for those just beginning to enjoy reading for its own sake, and with enough funny twists and odd characters to keep the attention of video-game addicts and adults alike. (Pretty sure she even reeled in the video-game addicted adults as well...)

Adapting books so widely read by so many had to be a daunting task. I mean, one wrong step and you might have rioting crowds of kids to deal with. I was therefore very happy to see that they'd taken great care to follow the books so closely. And oh what a world they created.

I was just enthralled watching Hogwarts come to life. The dining hall, the head table of professors, the floating candles, the crazy staircases, the swooping owls...it was just so magical to see it just like I'd imagined it. And they didn't cast a single lead wrong!

It's been a joy to watch those kids grow up and learn acting right before our very eyes! We've watched all of the movies too many times to count, and eagerly awaited the finale.

Yes, of course they changed some things. They couldn't possibly put everything in a movie that only last two or three hours. But the screen plays did such a nice job of showing characters' internal struggles as well as the major events. To me, that is why most book adaptations disappoint. When I'm reading, I'm privy to the personal struggles and thoughts of each character. That's hard to pull off in a movie without narration, and without using long, clunky, expository dialogue.

Just give me my Quidditch, my snarling, angry books, and some every flavor beans. I'll visit that world whenever I want. Look out though, I'm after your invisibility cloak, so keep that hidden. Couldn't resist.

What movies do you think have done justice to their book beginnings? Chime in! There's still tomorrow to go, so it's not too late to join the party! Come back tomorrow when I share my dream casting for some of my favorite books.

Novel Films Blogfest 10

2011-08-01T23:03:00.001-06:00

I've been having such fun with Life is Good lately! In striving to visit all the A-Z Challenge participants by the end of the summer, I've met some wonderful new people and have found great new blogs to follow. That hasn't (as you've probably noticed) left me much time for writing. I decided to shake things up and jumped into this blog-hop. These community events tend to motivate me, and what can I say, I do like a good party ;-) For the next three days many of us (42 at last count) are going to be writing about the connection between books and movies.

I'm always, always disappointed when a book I've enjoyed is made into a movie. They start by casting the wrong lead. I know it's wrong because I've been "looking" at that character the whole book, and he/she doesn't look like that! Then they change the plot, sometimes completely destroying the story I so enjoyed. I understand a bit about the Hollywood scene, after all, I read tabloid headlines in the check-out line ;-) but sometimes it baffles me what they get away with.

In my opinion, the worst offender in the book butchering category is “The Horse Whisperer”. I loved the book by Nicholas Evans. It had shifting points of view, a unique story, and the easy writing style all combined to please me. I grieved with Grace. I understood Annie's feelings. The subtle undercurrents of attraction to someone inappropriate, the drive to “fix” whatever problem comes her way. The worry about her only child.

Don't get me wrong, The Horse Whisper wasn't a bad movie. If I hadn't read the book, I probably would have really enjoyed it. But how on earth can you get away with letting the main character live, when in the book, he dies? That's not a minor change. That turns the story upside down and forever alters its impact. And in my opinion, not for the better.

What's the worst offender in this category, in your opinion? Whose book got butchered the most? Please chime in! Tomorrow I'll be talking about the best movie adaptation. (And it's NOT “Adaptation”, I guarantee you that ;-) I'd love to have you come back and chime in with your opinion. AND you could even use the button in the side-bar and hop aboard this party train. After all, it's only three days. Madeleine of Scribble and Edit is waiting!

Love Like Lead

2011-07-27T18:08:00.000-06:00

Heartbreak is heavy

like wearing lead clothes

weight so immense, it's hard to

just even stand

that robe of burdens

too big to

wear

bear

alone

You've left me

with a sweet kiss

and a smile of pity

at my (hidden) tears,

I lack the strength

to stop the (silent) stream,

making tracks

down the disappointment

etched so plainly

on my gaze

I smile the last

of my love, then

stagger drowning

without

an anchor

back to my life.

Random Bits'n'Pieces

2011-07-25T15:06:00.000-06:00

My brain seems to be on vacation this summer. Not thinking that's totally bad though. After all, at least some part of me is on vacation. It just that lately I haven't finished anything I've been writing. It's just sitting there. That's when it occurred to me that I could do a “random quarter” post with these unfinished pieces.

“What's a random quarter?” It's a post with 25 items. These items, or entries, or whatever you wanna call them, can be anything. Ideas, rants, stories, secrets, etc. RANDOM, if you will ;-) (I totally stole this idea from jenn over at Quirky Pickings. She's smart, snarky, funny, a great writer and supportive bloggy friend. You should visit. After you read the rest of this post, though.)

You know that little stand on restaurant tables? It usually has sweeteners, salt and pepper, maybe a drink or dessert menu, etc. They need to put magnifying glasses there for when people of a certain age forget their reading glasses and can't see what's on the menu because her arms have gotten too short...not that I've experienced this personally, or anything. Just an idea that came to me when I was last out to dinner...ahem.

I have a DMV story...my parents moved to CO when Jake, now 14, was only 8 months old. Dad went to get Colorado plates for his big, GREEN pick-up. "Needs a VIN verification. Don't show your face around these parts 'til ya'll got that sucker verified." Or some such words. I went with Dad to the emissions/VIN verification place because it was on the way to where we were playing golf, and we sure didn't think it would be any big deal. We get in line, get the guy to come out, and he checks the VIN. (By the way, why is it that some dude who does emissions tests is more accurate at reading a number than, say, the owner? Or the lady behind the counter at the DMV? Just asking.) Anyway, guy says, "What color is your truck?" While standing in front of it. Dad is puzzled but says “...green?” Guy says, "Looks like a blue truck to me!" And proceeds to fill out the paperwork for a BLUE truck. So folks, as you can imagine, we had some trouble BACK at the DMV since, "Obviously, you took a different truck. This other paperwork all says GREEN...)

Are you a “leave the tag in” person, or are you a “cut the tag out before wearing or it will drive me insane molecule by molecule as it cuts into my skin, brushes by my skin, or tickles-like-a-spider-my skin.” Guess which one I am...But I do read them before I cut them out. Some of them I save, because I'm such a total dork about clothes and mostly (seriously) buy them at Walmart...(Don't tell Best, she's trying to reform me, one gorgeous wardrobe piece at a time...with little success...I still haven't spend any regular amount of money on clothes, though I cherish the boutique pieces she has found for me and then bought for me...) So if there's a tag that's a real brand-name, I save those. Really. They're in my jewelry box. Both of them.

Is it obnoxious to provide your own laugh track to ramblings, like I did above? Yeah, I thought so. Sigh.

Ok, so another tag thing. This one was from my bathing suit. The first new suit I've bought in 12 years. Yes, really. I have witnesses! Anyway, it said “wash in cold, gentle cycle, hang dry, iron if necessary.” Ok, first of all, why would I need to wash it in cold water if it's already been in a hot tub? And c'mon, how many of you have ever ironed a bathing suit? I mean that, if you have, please speak up. I promise I won't hassle you. Very much.

Why does my pharmacy have signs for a blind person (blue background, white “walking man” holding cane) and another one that says, “Braille instructions available.” Not sure the market they're aiming for are able to um, read, those signs.

Why do so many customer service workers hate customers and don't want to provide service? Seriously. If you hate people, work in some other sector. We'd all appreciate it. And you managers? If your aforementioned employee screwed up my order, just give me what I actually ordered, don't reach into my bag, grab the one that was wrong, and throw it in the trash can next to me. What does that accomplish? I mean, which story would you like repeated for millions (I wish ;-) of blog readers? A: Arby's is so great, they gave me a free NON-cheese-slopped sandwich, or B: Arby's can't get anything right and wastes food.

Some faithful readers might remember “Ketchup Packet in the Compost”. Goes well with the previous tidbit. Only better written, I hope ;-)

Why do plants you want in your flower bed slide out of the dirt like a knife through butter, while weeds that you don't want have to be dug out with great effort, and even if you manage to get them out, just return in less than a week. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Oh wait, it was. And then they ate the apple...

Why is it that kids will spend HOURS using a computer program that builds Lego models with an auto-cad type interface, instead of with the MILLIONS of actual Lego bricks gathering dust and creating road hazards all over the floor?

If I were going to be stranded on a deserted island, I'd want Sawyer instead of Jack. I know I'd be out a doctor, but I'd never be bored with the con-man. And no, his perfect physique and gorgeous eyes have nothing to do with this issue. Really. Now if I could have two people, the other would have to be Locke. He's the most McGyverish of the bunch. Yes, I'm one of those Lost fanatics. And no, I didn't understand the ending. But I've certainly spent enough time trying to figure it out.

We moved into this house eleven years ago. I have several boxes and a huge hope chest still packed full that I've never opened since then. Not curious enough to take on this project in this heat. Maybe ever. I haven't needed that stuff yet, so why now?

Yes, you counted right. There aren't 25 items. There are 12. When I said I was stealing her idea, I of course have to tweak it a bit. Not to mention the fact that YellowBoy wants to watch Lost re-runs. I miss Sawyer, so I'm ditching you guys and heading for netflix streaming. One of the best inventions ever!

Exploding Pasta, Anyone?

2011-07-16T00:42:00.001-06:00

They used to joke that I couldn't even boil water. They did have grounds for that accusation, but that's a story all by itself. If I forget to write it, remind me by saying, “Tell us the one where you made your own molten lava.” This week, I learned that I also can't boil oil. It explodes.

I've only been cooking for about nine years, which when you're 46, isn't really that long. I've mostly learned how from cookbooks and cooking shows. I'm a complete Food Network addict, and I've learned chopping techniques, how to bloom spices, why dips and guacamole and the like need to “marry” and how to perform that ceremony, and I have a lot of fun, easy recipes that are staples. But about once a week I like to try something new. This week I wanted to make aglio olio sauce. I've had it in the legendary Blue Parrot in Lafayette, CO (nearby town, only about a ½ hour drive.) It's an olive oil and garlic sauce, so I figured it would be pretty simple, but I didn't know the ratios.

I read several recipes, but settled on one from cooking.com. Not Joe Blow's recipes, but kitchen tested, expert approved REAL recipes. I read the directions and thought, huh, pour water into boiling oil, that doesn't sound right. After all, when I'm done with the griddle after cooking bacon and then pour the grease into a ceramic bowl (once it's completely cool, emphasis on COMPLETELY cool) it will splatter and hop around if there are ANY drops of water anywhere near it. So I'm DOUBLE checking the recipe, and it truly does say, “Remove oil from heat. Gradually stir in one cup of water.” Well, alrighty, I'm no expert, so let's try just a ½ teaspoon of water. It bubbles, it bubbles over, it catches the gas stove flame on fire (we're talking CONFLAGRATION here folks) and I reach for the lid to cover it up, and then it EXPLODES. Garlic slices flying, oil taking off for outer space, splitter-splatter ALL over my kitchen. I'm up against the fridge, still waiting for that chance to cover the, um, problem. That time doesn't come. About ten minutes later, after nothing has exploded for a while, I reach over, turn off the burner, and cover the pot.

I will say, it was a damn good dinner, all things considered. We didn't need the full cup of “sauce” at all, I just poured about a half of the half that was left, and the pasta (angel hair) was just fine. The zucchini I'd steam/stir fried with Vidalia onions was equally delish, and the grated asiago over all of the above mentioned parts sealed the deal.

After doing the dishes, I wrote a scathing review of the “Sure To Explode” Pasta. My unfortunate cleaning teenager had to deal with the grease spot on every cabinet, counter, and floor space. Yes, I tipped her.

The motto my friends is, “Trust your instincts” and certainly NOT cooking.com. Just sayin'.

What's your worst kitchen disaster? Please share. I'll be back with more, because though this one was entertaining, it certainly wasn't the worst thing I did in a kitchen.

Guest Post @ Tossing It Out

2011-07-13T07:37:00.000-06:00

I'm thrilled to have been invited to guest blog at “Tossing It Out”. Arlee is the originator of the April A-Z Challenge, and along with a faithful group of fellow bloggers, made this such a successful endeavor. Please head on over there and say “hi”. AND, there's a totally serious sorta-challenge/give-away for those not opposed to waxing mathematical in cyber space.

Playing Hooky

2011-07-02T00:01:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I took the day off. It was lovely, and I'm considering making it a weekly treat. How can a mother take a day off? Not easily. It requires sticking to the plan no matter what, firmly and consistently saying, “No. Sorry. It's my day off.” It also requires that the mommy-guilt switch must be disabled. After that, it's a breeze.

The idea came to me yesterday morning as my migraine was pounding while I was bending down to load the dishwasher. Fellow migraine sufferers know that to change the position/orientation of your head causes even more pain than just sitting there trying not to barf. I thought to myself, “Wouldn't it be great just to crawl back in bed? So I took a shower, and did just that. As my boys went about their business, which in the summer is Halo, Halo, and begging for just one more level of Halo, they soon discovered me in my room.

“Whatcha doing in bed, Mom?”

“I'm taking a day off.”

“Will you still be my mom? Like make me lunch?”

“Yes, if you need help. Try to do it yourself, though.”

“Fine, whatever, can DearFriendWhoMovedAcrossTown come over? He broke his arm and can't ride his bike will you pick him up?”

Now technically, that would not be included in the “taking a day off”. Taxi service was supposed to be suspended for the day. But I love this kid, and I of all people know what a total pain a broken arm is, so I relent. I leave my PJ's on, since I'm not getting out of the car. Fetch wounded child. Go back to bed.

“Mom, will you make us lunch?”

“No, sorry. You traded taxi service for lunch service. Go away.”

“Are you OK, Mom? You never take the day off.”

I was rather surprised by that statement, because as you know, in the last 18 months, I've spent plenty of time on doctor ordered bed-rest. But I think instinctively, they realize, like I did, that CHOOSING to stay in bed and be lazy for a day is way different than being FORCED to stay in bed. Besides, mandated bed-rest usually comes because of some nasty ailment far worse than a migraine. Yes, such a thing does exist.

I watched a movie. I knitted. (I'm two baby blankets behind. All of a sudden three friends were having babies, and three friends' KIDS were having babies. Yes, I guess I'm that old...but it's a bit freaky, let me tell you. I don't feel ready to be a grandma. They didn't either, but at least their kids were married and ready, whereas Jake is 14...I think I have a few years left to get used to it. But I digress, as usual.) I napped. Lovely nap during a lightning storm. Safe and cozy. I visited blogs, I wrote the beginning of this post.

Of course, all good things come to an end, and I did have to get up and presentable for a family function. But it was a refreshing day, both physically and mentally. I think I'll have to do it again soon.

What would you do with a day all to yourself?

For a Season

2011-06-22T18:01:00.001-06:00

Hello Faithful Followers,

Wow. Summer has really re-arranged my priorities. not only the BuNoWriMo challenge, but my blog life in general. Silly me, I had imagined the summers when I was a single teacher. Lying out by the pool (this was before skin cancer was everywhere), working out, hot tub, popcorn for dinner, sappy chick-flicks into the night. Sleep in. With that schedule, I could have fit writing and blogging into any of the mentioned time slots. Well, not really. There was no internet back then. I am NOT kidding.

It doesn't go that way now. It goes like this: “Mom, get UP! You promised you'd make bacon today!” Make bacon. Feed children. Go garden until fused wrist and needing-to-be-replaced hip protest loud enough for me to hear. Shower. Oh look, it's lunch time. Lunch. Wow, I'm so totally tired from that gardening, I need a nap. Nap. Wow, it's dinner time already??? Make dinner. Dishes. Family sci-fi event du jour. We're currently watched all the old Star Trek episodes.

Kinda hard to fit blogging into that schedule. No nap you say? Blasphemy. I'm a napper, always have been, always will. Greatest luxury on the planet. Besides, it's like a re-charge for the evening ahead.

Yes, I could of course fit what I want to do into what I'm currently doing. I've always said that you have time for what you want to have time for. Lately the urge to write hasn't overtaken my urge to spend time with my kids. So instead of them grabbing a granola bar and heading out on their bikes, we sit down for breakfast. They help with the gardening. Fourteen-year-old boys are mighty strong and that's what you need when that pesky root just won't give up. My particular eleven-year-old boy like to cook, so we make lunch together frequently. Another time to sit down and connect. By the time I'm napping, their neighborhood friends have been freed from their chores and homework. Oh, and did I mention that both boys are still in school? That's what happens when Mom says, “Oh, it's fine if you don't want to do that now. We have access to the online school all summer long!” I didn't really think they were going to take me up on it. But dammit, they did.

Yes, I want to write. Yes, I'm co-hosting a challenge. I am out there visiting a lot of blogs, but I'm not writing so much. I realized earlier in the month that this wasn't the month for me to do 50k words. A month for that will come. But for now, I'm sitting here smelling of chlorine and sunscreen from a day at the pool with my boys and their two closest cousins. It was a good day. Life is Good.

If you're here visiting from the AZ Challenge, the linky list is first in my sidebar. If you're new and not familiar with the AZ, there's a button for that too. Happy visiting!

Deep Cover, Shallow Graves

2011-06-12T13:03:00.000-06:00

2065

The dark clad man hiding behind the dumpster doesn't see the other dark clad figure approaching, or notice the “drunk” undercover operative stumbling down the sidewalk. The streets are slick with icy drizzle. His muscles are cramped from crouching, the burn becoming almost unbearable. The teen years of biathlon training which have helped him on other assignments is of no use in this gravity. Lungs searing from the decreased oxygen on this God-forsaken planet, he tries to gasp for air inaudibly. Silently cursing himself for failing, for losing his edge, for ending up in this hazardous position, he sends one more thought to her. “I'm so sorry, Leah. So sorry.”

It's over in a few seconds. The operative slumps all the way to the ground as the assailant calmly walks away from the scene, nods to the “drunk”. Mission accomplished.

@@@

When the body of the European terrorist hits the humble cop's car, Leah jolts to attention. John has been trying to convince the police that he isn't an insane pranker, and the only one who believes him is Abe Lincoln. But not until that body crunches the hood do others believe. Leah's been trying to convince the whole world that she's a trained soldier whose mission is to serve and protect colony residents, and the only one who knows the truth is Ian. Is he really the only one? Now that she's gotten her groove on, she starts humming. It's a nameless tune, and she's mostly unaware of this habit. Only one person ever asked about it.

“What song is that? You hum that when you're thinking hard.”

“I do? What are you talking about?”

Lon hums the tune. She smiles.

“I guess it's my thinking song. My Grandma used to hum when she worked. It made me feel safe. Even when I couldn't see her, I could hear her in the apartment, and I wasn't so scared.”

Why is she telling him? She never reveals personal information. She's been undercover so long it's an ingrained habit. This bit about the tune just slipped out. She has to be careful. Instead of going back to her work, she heads to the kitchen.

“Need anything?”

“Nah, I'm fine.”

Leah isn't fine. As she did then, she needs a shot. Grabbing the soy sauce bottle out of the fridge door, she guzzles some smuggled in Jack Daniel's. Surveying the meager inventory available, she also grabs the tub of cheese product and the imitation wheat crackers from the cabinet above the cook top. Tomorrow, supplies.

She moves to the floor between the coffee table and the couch, downs several snack packs. Cracker-cheese goop-cracker. Shot. Cracker-cheese goop-cracker. Shot. As the familiar warmth slithers into her system, she grabs the timeline.

If someone else did find out the truth, when could that have happened?

@@@

Ian is worried. More worried than he's been since Leah left for Spartan, and that's saying a lot. They “met” just briefly, over closed chat, way back when she first began her undercover work.

“So I hear you're my new ward.”

“Yeah. Just so you know, I don't like this. I don't like the daily reporting requirement. At all. I can take care of myself. How 'bout I contact you when I need you? Wouldn't that save everyone a lot of hassle not to mention budget credits? Don't you have more important things to do than babysit me?”

“Your mission is of high importance. And since you're new, and in a level 4 OP, you get daily. SOP. Nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal is just fine by me.”

“Ok then, I'll either hear, “I'd like a beer” or “I'd like a shot.” You do remember which is which, right?”

“Don't appreciate the sarcasm, your supreme highness, but yes I do remember. Beer means trouble. Shot means fine. I'm not stupid you know. Many cadets drink during training camp. It ought to be allowed. Would save the agency a hell of a lot of money in enforcement.”

“Well believe it or not, the agency values human life over regulations. We'd prefer that all personnel have self-discipline. It was a one-time blunder, right?”

“How many times do I need to grovel? I've lost count. You'd think no one around here went to school, got stupid, puked on someone important, and embarrassed themselves.”

“Point taken. Good luck, Leah. You'll need it.”

“Ok, Ian.”

She'd have to get used to the Leah.

@@@

She knows Ian is worried, but that's nothing new. She doesn't understand how he can hold this job and be such a worry-wart at the same time. Throughout her training, she never came across a man who cared. Sure, there were men who cared about the mission, or the expensive equipment, or their covers, but that's not the same as caring for a person as, well, a person. A person who can get hurt or killed at any time during the OP. With whom they're going after, she's lucky to have gotten this far in one piece. Well, a put back together piece. She rubs her shin where the titanium tibia aches, despite it's lack of nerves. Stupid phantom pain. The irritation gets her back on track, though. She was lucky to have made it out of there alive. Aches and pains can be tolerated. Failure cannot.

@@@

Some of you might recognize the characters of Leah and Ian. For BuNoWriMo, I'm working on the sci-fi piece I started in February. If you care to go back and read, it starts here. I'm finding this challenge quite challenging. But the way I figure it, even if I don't make it to 50,000 words, I'll at least be further along then I was in May. Oh, and keep in mind, this is me spitting out words, no editing done yet. I hesitate to put raw stuff in Bloggyville, so I keep reminding myself of my purpose. It's in the header: Wanna be writer seeks place to vent, practice, and share.

Back to Reality

2011-06-09T10:54:00.000-06:00

Prologue:

My idea was to jot down events and such as triggers so that once I had the chance, I could pull them together into cohesive posts which captured our vacation. This is how I started:

Vacation is:

Road trip part 1:

(and here would go those pieces)

Ocean City, Part 1, Part 2

late night “watch just one more” on YouTube

swollen feet, with ice-cubes and arnica therapy

Star Wars, the real ones, made before the digital age

cousins n cousins

cousins tolerating cousins

cousins helping cousins

cousins ENJOYING their cousins

popcorn (but it's pretty much the all-popcorn all-the-time channel if I'm along)

sand

sweat

sunscreen

sunburn

people watching

sand

Thrasherfriesfunnelcakespopcornpepsicottoncandydeepfriedoreos (I kid you not on the oreos)

sharing drinks

realizing that we're getting old. They all look like kids

Did I mention sand?

Wedding

um, yeah, never put anything here

Briarpatch

memories

countless memories

same view, bigger trees

a new generation of crabbers

a new generation of crab pickers

teaching the next gen how to pick be the next generation of crab pickers

policing them while picking the crab so as not to waste a single morsel of Maryland Blue Crab goodness

eating crab, hour four

showering at night, not in the morning

kids old enough to shower themselves, thank God and at last!

though those kids still haven't quit mastered the arts of wet clothes rinsing and then hanging up those clothes AND the towel

sigh of contentment

this gentle breeze through this perfect view, I'm alone, and my man is busy catching me my dinner for a second night

looking forward to seeing a long lost friend (not so much lost-lost, just as in we lost touch through the marriage-family-kid thing, aided by the 1700 miles of separation, but through the magic of facebook, have “found” each other again)

And that's all the further I got. Silly me, once again I thought that while on vacation I'd be able to catch up on all things: reading, knitting, writing, journaling. Every year I forget that even though it's vacation, I'm still the mom who needs to cook, launder, referee and do dishes, all in unfamiliar environments, and also while trying to keep track of four people's possessions in 8 different overnight places. Kinda funny (but not!) that the most important thing lost was MY iPhone charger. Grrr. That's a whole post by itself, in that it illustrates not only what sleep deprivation can cause, but also the consequences of bad training, so that customer service employees understand neither customers nor service...another sigh.

We've been back three days now, and I'm still hopelessly behind in every aspect of life, motherhood, and all those assorted associated tasks. To top it all off, I have gone insane and not only created that challenge where I visit 1282 blogs over the summer, but also am participating in BuNoWriMo. Yup, gonna finally write that book. First draft. Just spit it out. That's what they said...and my competitive nature cannot back away from a challenge. Wish me luck and stop by to see my word count. If I can get that gadget started...having issues.

On the Road Again

2011-05-21T06:32:00.000-06:00

We're heading out in about an hour for our family vacation. I'm so grateful that school is over. (Well, officially at least. Some students made some poor choices during the school year which will necessitate work throughout the summer. A research paper needs to be written, and the failing grade in spelling (due, not to lack of ability, but lack of completion) will need to be revisited.) Sigh. But first, the beach!

We will be driving to Waterford, VA to visit DataBoy and YogaGirl. Then it's on to Ocean City, MD and our aunt's oceanfront condo. Then to Annapolis, MD for our cousin's wedding on my family's waterfront property. My mother and her two siblings own this legacy. It's named The Briarpatch, and if you plug that into my search thingie-ma-bob you'll find stories about the place.

My internet access will be sporadic, but I will throw a few posts up there from the road. We'll be back June 5, and I'll have stories to tell. Hoping that one of them isn't involving a kayak, like last year.

Embarrassing Story du Jour

2011-05-18T19:13:00.003-06:00

We all have embarrassing stories we'd rather not tell. However, I'm pretty used to embarrassing myself frequently, so in some sort of self-defense, I've learned how to tell those stories in full, gory detail. For the entertainment of others. I'm generous that way. My amazing Aunt Risky taught me how. You've heard about the kayak, the prayer chain, and the bar stool. I think it's about time for me to tell another.

My late, beloved Grandma had some strange ideas. You know about the jello obsession, and about her teaching me to drink and gamble. Do you know that she used to set me up on dates? She was terrible at it, but this didn't deter her in the slightest. One of the more memorable date fiascos occurred at THE National Theatre. We're talking downtown Washington D.C. (we lived in the suburb of Silver Spring), senators and other politicians and famous people in attendance. We went there to see Evita. I was almost 16.

Grandma's best friend since kindergarden had a 20 year old grandson and the grandmas cooked up this idea that I would go on a date with him while he was visiting from Kansas City, MO. Now why they thought that cultivating a relationship with that age difference, a situation that should it get “out of control", was also illegal, I'll never know. And that's not even considering the geographical difference, should things go well. But she was determined. I was to go with him “to the theater.” I wasn't interested. I had a boyfriend (of course, the fact that my parents didn't know about him kinda complicated the situation.) And I didn't have a dress.

I was a jeans and t-shirt girl back then, too. Oh, I had a few embarrassing dresses picked out by others, but I didn't wear them. I did have an amazing Aunt Risky (yes, I'll probably always use amazing to describe her, perhaps I should capitalize it and incorporate it into her nickname...) so Amazing Aunt Risky was also compassionate Aunt Risky. She had a great dress to let me borrow. (You need to understand that my jeans and t-shirt persona was a direct result of weekly time spent with her. That's another post, though.) This was a soft, drapy jersey dress, very simple, but very elegant. I actually liked it, and I felt OK wearing it because it was hers. All that was needed was shoes. Oh how I wish I'd bought a different pair.

Don't get me wrong, I loved the shoes. They were sexy, black, strappy, high-heeled sandals. Gorgeous. Wrong. Don't ever put a person who breaks her ankle on the take-off for a split leap (another post, you keep track of what stories I owe you) in high heels. You're just inviting what eventually happened. I did practice walking in them, but apparently not long enough.

It's intermission. He takes me to the refreshment stand. (I guess I should throw in that he was a very nice man, and had from when he picked me up made me feel at ease and joked about how happy we were making our grandmothers) “What would you like?” said the bartender. There were beers on tap, wine, and mixed drinks. Drinking age at this time was 18, and I did look the part. However, I hadn't had a drink before, so I was a bit flustered. He ordered. Two cokes. Sigh of relief. I can drink coke. (I didn't think this was the time to mention that what I really wanted was a diet pepsi. I was just so glad he took care of it.)

I decided that a restroom break would be appropriate at this time and proceeded up the Tara style winding staircase to the upper floor. Carpeted, winding staircase with lots of people going up and down. He said he'd be at the bottom waiting for me. When I returned I saw him at the bottom and smiled. And then proceeded to trip, somersault, and roll down the stairs. Head over heels in it's literal sense. Dress flapping, panties and hose showing, spectacular fall down the stairs. Gasps from the onlookers, snickers from the not so polite onlookers. Me wanting to just be swallowed by the floor never to have to show my face again.

It turned out OK though. He was truly classy because he lightened the mood and made everyone laugh. “I thought I told you not to fall head over heels for me!”

Throwing Down the Gauntlet

2011-05-17T18:37:00.001-06:00

Throwing Down the Gauntlet

One of the blogger buddies I met while completing the April AZ Challenge is the amazing Shannon Lawrence of The Warrior Muse. We've joined forces to encourage each other and keep the momentum of the challenge going. Our goal is to visit each of the 1282 participants by the end of the summer. If you're looking at 100 days, that means 12.82 blogs a day. I'm the math nerd, so I don't like weird decimals like that and will be aiming for 13 new blogs a day.

If you were a challenge participant, we'd love to have you join us. We've asked for permission from the challenge hosts at Tossing it Out to help advertise what we're proposing, and are looking forward to seeing what they say. We are also looking for someone with the talent and time to design a badge for displaying on our blogs, something along the lines of “Not only did I survive, but I visited everyone else!” to be earned for completing the challenge-challenge ;-)

My personal attack plan is to first visit each of the bloggers who wrote a reflections post which was to summarize the experience they had during the challenge. Then I will move onto the rest of the list. Wanna play? Hop on board. The linky list is on the right in my sidebar.

P.S Can't leave until I introduce you to another friend of mine. Her fantastically talented family is Amber Waves Band. She just started a new blog called Parenting From the Stage. Her writing style is highly enjoyable, and I love learning all that goes on behind stage.

Wine (Whine?) Club

2011-05-14T16:22:00.001-06:00

Last month my Wine Club met in our camper. We really should have thought of it long ago, because it turned out to be one of our favorite nights. Not that there's ever been a bad Wine Club, because c'mon, wine, friends and fancy food, what could be wrong with that? I think the difference was that we could really let loose, with no eavesdroppers.

What's a wine club, you ask? It's like a book club, only the focus is WINE, not books. Best and I started it a few years ago when we returned from our wine country trip. We had so much fun tasting all the different varieties and styles, but our budgets go more in the wino direction as opposed to wineaux. How could we keep trying new wines without breaking the bank? Best and I each chose a friend who wasn't a mutual friend to join us and Wine Club was born.

We took this fun seriously. Matching t-shirts.

Little notebooks for, you know, notes.

We take turns hosting this monthly gathering. What's wonderful is that three of us live within a half block of each other. Really convenient because driving home after wine club is not usually a good choice. The fourth is about a mile and half away, and teaches Jazzercise at 8 am. She's usually the most restrained, and leaves first anyway.

The hostess picks the theme. We each choose a wine which follows the theme, and then bring a dish that pairs with the wine. Some previous themes have been summer, anger, Italian, decadent. When I hosted in my camper, the theme was, “You are stuck camping for a day longer than expected, what will you eat and drink?”

Regardless of theme, we approach our tasting the same way. We number the bottles #1 to #4. Each of us has four mini-glasses (these are my late grandmother's cordial glasses, meant for an after dinner sherry, port, or some sort of luscious libation, perfect for a taste)

Once we've debated the merits of each, laughed at the ridiculous label descriptions, then we pick a wine for our big glass. I should say first big glass. We try to stick to wines we could actually afford for a special occasion, as opposed to going nuts and buying something we could probably not buy again. In my notebook, I keep track of what I think it tastes like, what the price was, and where it places among the four in ranking. This works for the most part, but how do you compare one evening's #2 with another evening's #3? That is hard. Sometimes we really like all four, and some nights we actually don't finish one of the bottles. Believe me, wine has to be pretty stinkin' bad for me to leave an open bottle. We consider that alcohol abuse ;-)

We really have fun with the food. Three of us still have picky kids in the house, so getting to cook something fancy that people will actually appreciate is a treat. We don't usually plan out our menu ahead of time, at all. Makes it truly potluck. However, we must have some 6^th wine-sense, because we have never ended up with more than one dessert, and we've never been salad-less. One night we ended up with a full, four course meal. Appetizer, salad, entree, dessert. YUM!

On camper night, I didn't set the table as above. Instead, it was paper plates, plastic silverware, ceramic coffee mugs for wine, and dixie cups for the tasting glasses. We had a blast! I sorta cheated on the food, though. I'd been to a bridal shower the week before and had a fabulous appetizer. I made a croissant roll crust veggie pizza. (Bake the crust according to roll directions, then top with flavored cream cheese and assorted veggies.)

Our Jazzercize member, however, really stuck with the theme and brought cold fried chicken. I have this thing about fried chicken. I'll eat it like green eggs and ham: anywhere, anytime, any style. My neighbor across the street came in her bathrobe and husband's slippers and told stories of childhood camping trips where she'd steal her brother's shoes and robe, not bothering to look for her own. Best got in the spirit by bringing two 1.5 L bottles, “When you're camping, you don't want to run out!”

You saw the “group therapy” shirts, and probably snickered, but it truly is group therapy. After three years, we are so comfortable with each other that everything gets said. We have a confidentiality agreement, too. It's been tremendously helpful for me to have listeners as I've fought my way through the last year of challenges. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

I started this with, “it's all about the wine” but what it's really about is friendship. Whatever form it takes, true friendship is something we all need and can all provide. It just takes some figuring out what's going to work for you. As for me, I'll take my friendship with a glass of wine and good conversation.

Awesome Award

2011-05-06T00:13:00.010-06:00

You all know already that I'm a total dork when it comes to prizes. And I'm competitive. (Yes. That's my picture there in the dictionary as reference.) I don't like games that are totally chance (say, stupid BUNKO). I like games where brains and strategy are all that's required. Please leave out all those things I can't control m'kay? No dice, no draw a card. I need a game where when I win, no one can say, “You got lucky.”

Therefore, I'm also a total dork about blog awards. As I was writing more, and getting around the blogosphere more and more, I noticed awards on people's blogs. And wondered where to enter the contest! What do I need to do to win? Then I began seeing, “This is an award free blog”. Huh? Who wouldn't want an award? I totally didn't get it, and still really don't. If someone wants to recognize you and appreciate you, what's so bad about that? I do understand about blog clutter, and yes, some people have too much stuff everywhere, making finding even the post, or the follow button time-consuming, but personally, I think awards shouldn't be the first items to go.

I do understand the time thing, though. I know that some awards “require” you linking back, and promoting someone else's blog as you pick your own “winners” to pass it along to. But then they in turn promote your blog. Aren't we all in this together?

That said, I got an award a while back from a wonderful bloggy friend, Rayna, of Coffee Rings Everywhere. She writes in drabbles ~ exactly 100 word stories. I was thrilled to get it, but a bit shy to put it up after seeing all the award-free blogs. Is that some secret club that I won't be able to join if I have one? Cuz I sure wouldn’t want to be excluded from somewhere because I was proud of myself, you know, in a braggy way. Sigh. Maybe I over-analyze.

Rayna gave me this award.

Adorable, right? What she wrote about me here really made me smile.

I'm passing it on to six bloggers who I find awesome, as instructed. Choosing was quite hard because I've met so many really gifted and unique bloggers. I'm putting these in alphabetical order by first name since it was hard enough choosing just six, let alone putting them in order...smiles (as a friend would say)

Amanda @ House Revivals and Redemption by Beauty Everlasting: We met at church, and she's the reason I have any followers at all. I'd been blogging sporadically for over a year, and she was my only visitor. Then she invited me to Alphabe-Thursday (button in side bar) which let me begin my journey through blogland. I will forever be in her debt. Plus, she's the McGyver of crafts. Seriously.

Barbara @ signed...bkm: She's one of my favorite poets, and a very encouraging blogger. Her poems make me think, feel, question, and smile. A visit there is always worth it.

Brian Miller @ WaystationOne: Immensely talented and such an encouragement to writers of all levels. I find his comments all over blogland. How he has time to do that I have no idea, but wherever I find myself, he has usually boldly gone before and left a footprint. (Also, got to admit it was a kick when he asked me to do a two-part story with him.)

Cheryl @ Deckside Thoughts: We have a lot in common, and I just love her honest “just put it out there” attitude. I appreciate her sincere comments, and that she takes the time to give me constructive feedback. She's also a tireless crusader for the underdog, and funny as hell.

H @ Little Sealed Packages: She's supported me from the beginning, and has a stunning photo blog with wonderful narration. When I read her posts, I can almost taste the salt mist on my tongue or feel the wind sweeping across the moors as I gaze at what she captures with her lens.

Polly @ 5^th Sister: She's real, amazingly talented, and a wonderful, open friend. And this woman can Haiku, let me tell you. Also, how she can make one post fit three memes at the same time baffles me. Completely.

I encourage you to take the time to visit my friends.

How to Fix Your Sex Life: AZ Challenge Reflections

2011-05-02T09:50:00.005-06:00

I'm so blessed to have found the AZ Challenge through my bloggy-buddy Rayna at Coffee Rings Everywhere. This challenge, as I told you in my A ~ A New Beginning post, came at a pivotal point in my writing. And as I promised in my V ~ Very post, I'll now give you the full scoop of why participating in this challenge was, for me at least, like trying to fix your sex life.

Ah, I see I have your attention! As my dear, faithful readers know, I'm a walking, talking, medical worst-case scenario. If health insurance was priced like car insurance, I'd be paying the just-got-out-of-juvie-drive-a-red-sports car-not-so-spectacular-grades-but-would-you-please-insure-me-anyway rate. I go to a lot of doctor's appointments. (Just try my nifty search gadget in the side-bar and type “doctor” to get more stories.)

So I'm in a waiting room, forgot my book, and am therefore paging through, oh, probably Family Circle or Good Housekeeping or some other such magazine. In this issue, the regular marriage counseling article is about long-married couples trying to recapture the spark in their sex life. There were three case studies. Yes, you get to hear them all because strangely enough, I think that each of these solutions can be applied to struggling writers.

One couple decided that they'd take turns initiating sex. To writers, this translates as, “You give me a prompt, we'll both write something. Then next time, I'll give the prompt, and again, we both have to participate.” You still with me?

Another couple decided that they would only make-out. For a week. Then they'd see what happened after that week of, ahem, restraint. Writers: If I start to feel the beginning of a slowly smoldering fire, I'll have to wait to write. Until next week. Anticipation makes everything sweeter. No fair scribbling notes on napkins or jotting down ideas in your notes app. You have to WAIT to write. Waiting makes the want grow fonder.

The last couple solved their, um, issues, with the equivalent of the AZ Challenge. Sex every 24 hours, come hell or high water or up the creek without a paddle. Once. Every 24 hours. If some unforeseen complication prevented this, then they had to do it twice in another 24 hour period. I probably don't need to translate this one...because...

That last scenario is what happened to me in this challenge. I hadn't foreseen it, but like what I read in the article, knowing that I had to put SOMETHING up every day just kinda freed my brain and my inhibitions. I was thinking, “Well OK, it just has to be something. It doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't have to be long.” Some days all I managed was just a quick couple of observations, but then on other days, I was in the mood for a longer story. Some days I wrote about something I'd already written about. One day, I had no time time to write at all. To complete the challenge, I wrote two posts on the last day. I'll leave the translation from writing to sex up to you on this one :-)

Big thanks to my 27 new followers. I am honored. Also thanks to all who stopped by and left their footprints. My intent was to visit all of you in return, but if I missed you, please let me know. I really do want to meet you. As for the flip-side, I'm now following 23 more blogs, and I'm looking forward to continuing to build more inspiring bloggy relationships. I had a blast doing this, and hope our faithful and seemingly tireless hosts are willing to do it again. I knew I couldn't homeschool, write a post each day, and get to each of the 1282 bloggers participating during this event. It's like Santa. Not really realistic. But as long as the linky is alive, I will keep going until I hit 1282. I'm just too damn stubborn, not to mention competitive, to back down now.

This post was prompted by our challenge sponsors. They asked all of us to reflect on this month of writing, and then link up back at Tossing It Out, our host blog. AND, last but not least...I got the groovy badge over there in the sidebar for completing the challenge. Go me! (I'm such a dork...)

P.S My html prowess continues to grow...check me out! I successfully got the linky on MY blog, so no need to link up at Tossing It Out. You can link right here! Wow. Feeling really smart right now. (Yeah, I know, copy/paste has been around a long time...but whenever I get some new widgie thingie to work, I celebrate!)

Z ~ Zesty Martini

2011-04-30T15:20:00.000-06:00

I'm a martini drinker. I've mentioned this before, but this is the last post of the AZ Challenge, I'm brain dead, and zest is what came to mind. I like my martinis with a zesty twist, as in the rind of the lemon, cut into a pretty little sliver, rubbed around the rim of the glass, then tossed in. Some bartenders don't understand this. OR, more likely, some wait staff don't know what I'm talking about.

Have you noticed that the trend lately is for the wait person to take your order without writing anything down? Why is that? Does it make them look smarter? More experienced? I don't get it. Because here's a typical me ordering a martini interaction from one of these paperless folks.

“I'd like an extra dry, Beefeaters martini, UP, with a twist, NO olives.”

“Oh. Let me get something to write that down on.”

Do they not know that martini drinkers are some of THE most individual folks out there? You can't just say martini. There are too many variations. And the language that we order in is a code. So if they don't write it down, and aren't martini drinkers themselves, they will get it wrong. I don't have enough time to get into the translation of this code at this time, but don't worry, I'll keep drinking them, and will have more stories ;-)

I'll leave you with this. I recently learned that gins are going to the way of microbrews. Small, boutique “gineries” (I forgot what they're really called) are making small batches of really yummy new gin. I tasted a local one just this week. “If you have the means, I highly recommend it.” (That's a movie quote. First one to get it right, I'll buy you any martini you like :-)

Y ~ Yummy Yams

2011-04-30T14:55:00.000-06:00

I love yams. Of course, I used to think they were sweet potatoes. There seems to be some confusion in the foodie world about what constitutes a real yam or a real sweet potato, not to mention that cultural traditions from various parts of the country also contribute to the confusion of what to call these delicious veggies. Or root crops. Or whatever. The orange potato looking things.

For today's post I'm going to give you a recipe. And then I'm going to post again on the letter Z. Because by golly, I WILL finish this challenge. I only missed one day. I will not quit! Even though I'm tired, and I have to leave for the evening in about ten minutes. Sigh.

We're a big meat eaters in this family. The Engineer hunts so we do a lot of venison. Friends have a farm. We buy half a cow. We are by no means vegetarians, but we do eat meatless from time to time. This concoction I'm about to tell you about came from a vegetarian friend of mine and has become a family favorite. It can be ready to eat in 15 minutes.

Yams (about 2/3 per person)

black beans (refried, whole, whatever variety you like)

tortillas (corn or wheat, whatever you like. We buy ours from one of the many authentic tortillerias in our little town)

Wash, poke, and nuke the yams until soft. Scoop out flesh, mash with butter and milk making them the consistency you like in mashed regular potatoes.

Take tortilla, throw in some beans and some yam mash. Nuke to warm through. That's it! I like to add various other yummies, like chopped tomatillos, shredded cheese, diced red pepper, etc. The Engineer and the boys are purists and don't add anything to theirs. The leftovers last about a week, and are delicious for breakfast, too. Try it! There's something magical about the combination which just screams comfort food. Bon apetit!

X ~ Xylophone

2011-04-29T06:36:00.005-06:00

Before you get all bent out of shape about me employing such a cliché, let me explain that as a teacher, I get to use this cliché. Now mind you, I wasn't an elementary teacher with the alphabet and its corresponding words as a border around the ceiling of my room, but I was a math teacher with a bulletin board of hysterical math jokes. And I played the xylophone. In front of the entire student body. Because I lost a bet. Does that sound more like something you'd like to read? Tina, sitting on the stage floor, cross-legged, green Christmas bow on my head, playing my little heart out? Thought so. Or bye. Whatever! I'm telling this story. You may read, or not read.

When I joined the faculty of, let's call it Ryder Middle School, I was a brand new teacher, fresh out of college, full of enthusiasm and ideas. It would take eight years to squash all that, but squashed it was, eventually. One of the ways I stayed sane enough to make it even that long in a broken system was that I had friends. Good friends with whom I could rant and rave my little heart out about the crap that is government bureaucracy applied to a system that's barely functioning. (I know some of you dear readers are teachers ~ this is in no way meant to demean what you do. I mean to applaud you for keeping at it. I only lasted eight years. If you're still out there in the trenches then you have that something that I lacked. And you have my admiration and awe. You rock.)

Without really planning it, five of us ended up really bonding. Let me introduce you to the group. It started with me and the veteran eighth grade math teacher. (I taught 7^th grade math.) Without being asked or assigned in any sort of official way, she became my mentor. “Ms. K” had it dialed in; she'd been at this job her entire career, and she was damn good at it. I don't know what sort of teacher I would have become had it not been for her guidance.

“Ms. K” was good friends with “Ms. L” the “consumer and family studies instructor” (who refused to say, “I teach home ec.”) She was also nearing the end of her career, but didn't “need” to work; she and her hubby owned a very successful business. She taught because she loves kids.

“Ms. M” worked in my classroom everyday. Back then, they “tracked” kids in math, as in I had a class of pre-algebra smarty pants kids, a class of “I hate math and I don't get it and I never will” remedial kids, and three classes of “we're so average no one notices us at all” kids. The third member of our group was one of the resource teachers. That means “Ms. M” devoted her life to helping the kids burdened with learning disabilities, both in her own classroom, and if enough of them were all in the same class at the same time, in the “regular” classrooms. We hit it off right away. What's not to love about a woman with enough patience to explain for the millionth time what subtraction means, rides her Harley to school, and teaches her students poker to hone their math and logic skills? All that, and with a sense of humor so strong that we had to be careful not to dissolve into hysterics. Daily. (If you're into humor, read T is for Teacher . She was in the room that day)

The fifth member of our posse was the guidance counselor. “Ms. N” was a pastor's wife with two grown boys, and the voice of reason we all needed. (Her boys played baseball, one of them for the Rockies. One of my most cherished souvenirs is his baseball card. Signed, of course.)

Most Friday afternoons we met at Ms. K's house, two blocks from the school. We drank. Believe me, by Friday, we needed the release. Ms. N was a martini drinker. I'd never tried one, but now I am a martini drinker. Yes, I still chug chardonnay, but when in a bar or restaurant, it's Beefeaters, extra dry, up, with a twist, NO olives. Ms. L wasn't much of a drinker, but when she drank, it was shots of tequila. I know, right? With all the libations floating around, It wasn't long before we came up with THE perfect name for our group. 4 + 1. Yup, mathy-nerdy, but 40% of our group were math teachers!

Let me explain. You pick a category, four of us would fit, one would be left out. For example, four of us owned homes, one rented. Four of us drove American cars. One drove a Volvo. Four of us were heterosexual. One of us was not. Four of us had siblings, one did not. I could go on and on and on. Because that's what we did when lubed up enough, but I know you're all wondering, “Where's the damn xylophone?” so I'll go there now.

Middle school kids are bright. Bright, and insanely curious about the private lives of their teachers. They knew we were all friends, they knew what we called ourselves (because I cracked. And no, I never heard the end of it from the other four...) and they tried to break the code. Day after day after day of categories were bantered about, everyone trying to find SOMETHING that all five of us did/had/were. Can you see where this is going? Finally, to shut them up, I made a bet. “If you can find something all five of know how to do, we'll do it for the school talent show, BUT whoever finds that answer, also has to be in the talent show.”

So there you have it. The last act of the talent show that year was the five of us, playing xylophone. Bows on our heads. The song? Jingle bells. And no, thank GOD, I have no video.

P.S Yes. This was supposed to be posted yesterday. Yes, technically, I failed to complete the AZ Challenge. But in my defense, what I was doing instead was helping Best with the latest marketing for her debut novel. See Family Secrets. Then go buy her book!

W ~ Wingardium Leviosa

2011-04-27T21:55:00.000-06:00

Are you a Harry Potter fan? I am. And I'm very glad for that. The whole process of becoming one was a journey of great importance in my faith and in my life. The lesson goes far deeper than Harry and his invisibility cloak (which by the way, is THE item I most want from that world.) It speaks to the whole “look before you leap”, “investigate before you judge”, and “walk a mile in his shoes”. I wish I'd learned this lesson sooner, and applied it more appropriately after I finally DID learn it.

When the Harry Potter phenomenon hit the world, I had a three month old boy, but much older nephews and nieces. I remember my mother-in-law reading the first Harry book. That wasn't strange, she's an avid and varied reader. What struck me was why she was reading it. “I want to know if I should give this to my grandchildren, or not, and the only way to know is to read it myself.” Made sense to me, though I was a new mother and therefore hadn't yet put a lot of thought into what I would and would not let this tiny child of mine read. One of the panicked thoughts screaming through my brain was, “I'M A MOM! I NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THIS!” The other was, “Hmm...reading it myself sure would bring a more accurate opinion than searching out reviews and opinions of others.”

So I picked up JK Rowling's masterpiece and was instantly hooked. This woman can tell a tale, and I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear at how she hooked kids just learning to read with the joy and wonder of escaping to another world in the pages of a book. She accomplished all that while still making her tale interesting enough to engage an adult reader. Very remarkable, actually. But for some reason, the Christian community was in an uproar about it. “Magic.” “Spells.” “Wizards.” Hmmm. Somehow “Gandalf”, “The Ring”, and “Isengard” or even, “He's the answer to bring balance back to the Force”,“Jedi” or “Aslan is on the move again” were OK. Why?

I don't know why. Maybe it was because those other authors either didn't cause enough broo-haha with “just some space saga”, or were certified “Christian authors.” I approached Harry with an open mind. Devoured the books. Of course, my son became a much faster reader than I am, finished all of them before me, and I had to about duct-tape his mouth to keep him from divulging plot points.

Some of my friends loved Harry. Some TRIED to love Harry, but didn't get sucked in. Some of my very dearest friends wouldn't even so much as pick up the book because “it's not something my family will involve ourselves in.” I respect your right to censor your children, but increasingly I was becoming uncomfortable with friends censoring their children WITHOUT reading the book. Because if you ask me, it's as powerful an allegory as the Chronicles of Narnia.

This post's purpose is not to debate my theories of why Harry had to die, or why the ending of the book was perfect in my opinion. (Which I'd be glad to do at some other time. Seriously.) The real purpose of this post is to confess my failings. I took the same, “Judge without a shred of evidence” when it came to the video game Halo. And I'm sorry for it.

I try to know the latest movies, music, and games to make intelligent decisions about what my boys should and should not be exposed to at certain ages. And for as vocal (and judgmental) as I was about the Harry Haters, I must admit I was just as obnoxious (in the other direction) about parents allowing Halo. How could they? Then I started learning about it. Hmm. Outer space. Soldiers. Epic battle of good vs. evil. Hmm...Star Wars-esque? Good and bad on both sides of conflict? Wow. What an idiot I am.

So now my boys play Halo. And I watch, and we discuss strategy, and technology. And my YellowBoy says, “I know America is in a war in Afghanistan and Iraq. I think I might want to join the army. We need to help. I know I might die. But people do have to be willing to die. I'm scared. But I think I could be a soldier and help others.” So before we get into a debate about recruiting and young men going off to war, let me clarify what I'm saying:

Playing this video game caused my eleven year-old to think about our troops and appreciate their sacrifice and to then think about joining the fight. I submit that something which fosters patriotism, debate, and action can't be all bad. Bottom line? Don't judge a book by its cover, and NEVER by what others say about it. READ. IT. YOURSELF.

P.S Wingardium Leviosa is the spell to make things float in the air at the direction of your wand. I'd love to use that on the smelly socks which accumulate around here..

V ~ Very...

2011-04-26T18:27:00.011-06:00

...blessed, let me never stop counting the ways. Out loud, in prayer, on paper. On line. In person to the blesser.

...glad that this school year is almost over. Homeschooling is by far THE most challenging adventure I've ever accepted. And you know this acceptance was reluctant.

...excited for our road-trip back East at the end of May. GorgeousGirl and The Marine (who is one of the most wonderful people I've met lately) are getting married! But that's not all. I also get Ocean City and Annapolis. Bliss.

...excited to plant this year's garden. Love my veggies. Love my flowers. Some of you know what a departure from personality this journey to gardening truly is.

...content right now. This week's laundry is put away. The Engineer and I are going out to our favorite restaurant (see R ~ Restaurant).

...very glad I participated in this challenge. Actually reminds me of the answer to a therapy question I read about in one of the tattered magazines I paged through in the countless rooms I've spent far too many hours waiting in...but we already passed S ~ Sex, so I'll write about that later (in case you're not coming back, if you want to get your (insert desire here) back on track, do it once every 24 hours. I've been posting once every 24 hours. Seems that ___________ every 24 hours helped this particular couple...)

Thanks to all my readers for still traveling along.

P.S To my “never miss reads”: I WILL be back. You can count on it. You're a big part of what has grown me so far this year. And yes, I will admit I'm counting down to the end of this April challenge. After all, I'm human, and

...I'm very tired.

U ~ Unveiling

2011-04-25T20:11:00.001-06:00

This blogging journey (that I feel like I'm still on the first lap of) has brought a lot of growth to my self-esteem. Before you get all blustery thinking I'm bragging, let me explain. I'm a recoverING anorexic (like alcoholism, it's always with you, and unlike alcoholics who can just quit completely, those of us who struggle with food, can't quit food completely. Well, not anymore. I already did that, and therein lay my problem ;-) But writing, and even being brave enough to write about that , has brought healing. I'm still pretty hesitant out there, though.

That might not make sense to those of you dear readers who've been with me since 2009. I come across as rather arrogant and self-confident at times. But have you seen my face? It's on my blog once, hidden behind my YellowBoy, in Alaska, and I only included it because it had almost our entire group AND the glacier. Not only was there safety in numbers, it was on an Alphabe-Thursday where everyone is running hell bent for leather all over cyberland trying to visit as many blogs as possible, so I thought I was pretty safe. One or two people commented. And that's how I wanted it.

Now I'm feeling better. Don't know if it's being over a year removed from the job loss which sent me spinning into a pit of despair, or also a year removed from the whooping cough which left me winded and on the side-lines. I am still dealing with the hip thing, but I thank God that the pain is down to a 3 or 4 (out of 10) and that's a place where I can live for a while. After all, I've lived with my fused wrist and its chronic regional pain syndrome for eleven years now, and on a good day, it's a 6. But I'm not just talking physically better. I feel better on the depression scale, too. (Chronic pain and depression have one of those chicken/egg relationships...) So without further ado, I give you: me.

I took no less than 47 self-portraits. I'm willing for you to see this one. I'm a work in progress. If you're interested in the other stories I alluded to...help yourself.

T ~ Thankful

2011-04-23T23:18:00.000-06:00

On this resurrection weekend, I want to say how thankful I am that I have a Saviour who died for me. Because of my sin, I owe a debt I cannot pay. By His mercy, He paid the penalty for my sins, a debt He did not owe. Thank you Jesus. You are the Way and the Truth and the Life.

S ~ Silly Limerick

2011-04-22T15:57:00.000-06:00

There once was a girl from Sweden,

who was writer, and searched for meanin'

but on a Friday

the wind blew away

All her drive to share with those readin'

Hello friends. I have spring fever to the nth degree here and am going to go enjoy the weather instead of writing a long post. Feeling itchy to be out there...

P.S New readers. Yes, I'm Swedish. First gen immigrant who came to the US in 1974.

R ~ Restaurant

2011-04-21T23:22:00.000-06:00

I love eating out. I've blogged about this topic already, but I just can't say enough about going to a place where you sit down, relax, and then they bring you fabulous food. The Engineer and I have differing opinions on what makes a good restaurant experience. He likes: go in, get table, eat GREAT food, get out. I like: go in, squeeze up to bar, secure libations, crowd into a well, crowd, people watch. Get table. More libations. Appetizer. Order dinner. Linger over dinner. Make up stories about the people sitting at the other tables. And no, I did NOT steal that from the Steve Carell/Tina Fey movie. I've always done that.

One of the marriage-building catch-phrases of the last, oh, decade, has been “date night”. One should date one's spouse. I'm all for that. But when you've dated for nine, been married for 19, “date” takes on a whole new connotation. For the first few years, our boys were young and baby-sitters were expensive so we made do with eating a bit fancier of a dinner after the boys had their mac-n-cheese. Lately, however, we've actually started leaving the house, and eating at a restaurant. Considering how The Engineer is the definition of frugal, and eating out makes him a bit uncomfortable, this is nothing short of a miracle. But it's completely understandable if you've ever eaten at “our place.”

Las Palmeras is a family owned business. There are probably at least six or seven other restaurants that would fit this description in our 40% Hispanic town. We've tried most of them. And yes, we do Taco Bell. I mean c'mon, five bucks for a box of three entree items, cinnamon twists, and a drink? I try to stay on budget.

If you ever get to Longmont, you must visit Las Palmeras. I usually get #26, five small tortillas with either beef or chicken chunks, grilled, then pico de gallo, avocado slices, lime wedges, and you put together wonderful little bites, each one slightly different as you work your way through five or so napkins. I've eaten a lot of refried beans in my life, but these are the best. Regardless of entree, I always order a side of beans. The service is friendly, and they appreciate their regulars. Most Wednesdays (that's our night) they “run out of smaller glasses” and bring me my margarita in a tankard twice as large, no extra charge. Their portions are huge – I can usually get three MORE meals from my left-overs. That's my definition of a good value. But then again, anytime you bring me food I didn't cook, I'm happy.

AZ Challenge for the month of April. Button and navigation in side-bar.

Q ~ The Ultimate Question

2011-04-20T18:15:00.002-06:00

What's the answer to life, the universe, and everything? If you're familiar with The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy you know the answer. This sci-fi phenomenon has had numerous incarnations: radio show, TV shows, of course the books, and in 2005 they made a movie. It's one of my all-time favorites, and it's hard to get on that list because I watch about four movies a week. I like indie the best, but also tend to gravitate toward sci-fi, post-apocalyse being a favorite setting, adventure, action (Terminator combines all of those interests quite well), and the occasional chick flick. Today you get a Quick review since you made it through the long tale of my rise and fall from power the past two days and deserve something short and sweet. Well, the five of you who stopped by ;-)

I love this movie for it's sheer whimsical nature, its dry-wit narration, and for the good old-fashioned love story. I mean, what's not to love about Vogon poetry, almost eaten by monsters, smacked in the head with shovels for having ideas, and the ultimate weapon of all time, the POV gun.

The inventions are great, too. A knife that toasts bread while it slices. A device where you stick your head in, it senses what you're craving, and makes it for you. Instantly. It also has the most creative use of a lemon juicer EVER. Not to get all political on you because of my sheer hatred of politics, but every single elected official could use a lemon juicer. Watch the movie and you'll see what I'm talking about.

If you're feeling blue, or stressed out, or bored, go rent this movie. I dare you not to laugh. This member of the third smartest race on the planet sure did. And no, the first isn't dolphins. Though they do say, “Thanks for all the fish.”

P.S 42

P ~ Patrol Woe's

2011-04-19T16:21:00.001-06:00

This is the continued tale about my career in law enforcement. Part 1 was yesterday.

So there I was, queen of my domain, all the little minions obediently obeying every,

“Sally, get your foot out of the aisle. You know someone could trip and get hurt.”

“Gerald, we're at a light. There is no talking at a light so that the driver can concentrate.”

“Tommy, stop poking Sam in the back of the head. If you can't keep your hands to yourself you have to sit in the demerit seat for a week!”

I was, well, a real hard-ass. Power corrupts even the well intentioned. No worries though, soon powers greater than I were to come to my kingdom. High schoolers. Not just any high schoolers. Delinquent high schoolers. I thought I was ready for them. After all, everyone always did whatever I said, therefore I must have by my own actions conjured good respect of the authority I wielded, and everything would be fine. No. Not so much.

We picked this rag-tag bunch of kids up from the alternative school. As a former teacher, I now know a lot more about what sorts of behaviors can land you there. Not all of them are criminal, far from it. But we middle schoolers were scared of them. Really scared. We hadn't considered that some just had learning disabilities and didn't thrive in traditional school, or were teen mothers and attended that program. Nor did we know about the vocational section of the school where they were getting their auto-mechanic certs and a lucrative career upon graduation. Nope, we had them stereotyped right off. Scary criminals. Sigh. I was such a snob, it just makes me cringe sometimes.

Mind you, they were loud, and lewd (some of them) and kept their feet in the aisle, wandered the bus, and stole items from the scared, younger riders. You know, to toss around for keep-away but return later. It didn't take more than two or at most three of:

“Shut up little policewoman, you're not the boss of me!

Until I gave up. I didn't even bother patrolling the younger riders.

“Why should I, when they don't have to?”

Yeah, that was a good question. And though misguided, I wasn't completely stupid.

I don't know what would have happened to our relationship on this shared bus if it hadn't been for the ice incident. That adventure cemented us as ONE bus of kids, all in it together, and all needing to come together right then to get out of a rather dangerous situation.

On an icy, snowy day, our wonderful, regular bus driver was ill. I can best describe her as a blond, smaller Roseanne Arnold, complete with attitude and strident voice. She took some getting used to, but we all loved her. She knew us by name, asked about our lives, gave us candy on Fridays if there had been no infractions, and genuinely loved her job. Her sub was an idiot. Probably only the minimum age of 21, he had no business driving a school bus, let alone in ice and snow in the Nation's Capital where ice and snow send everyone into a frenzy. We're not talking Colorado where you need a foot or more for them to start thinking about closing. We got out two hours early that day.

One of the hard parts of sharing the bus with the high schoolers was that they each got dropped at their own house. I'm pretty sure that wasn't how it was supposed to be, I think “Florence” probably did that out of her own kindness. If there was only one kid per stop, might as well make that stop easy for them. That's the kind of lady she was. The sub? He was not so thrilled about this. But he listened to their directions and managed to take about half of them home before disaster struck. One girl lived in the last building at the bottom of a hill. A hill that was very icy that day. He dropped her off, managed to turn around, and tried the hill. No going. The wheels just kept spinning and spinning.

“Ok you kids, get off the bus and push!”

We thought he was joking, but he wasn't. He started pulling us out of our seats and shoving us off. All of us. I know I'm not the only one who was scared. At least he didn't know I was the patrol. I'd given up my prestigious uniform not long after the high schoolers joined us. What was the point? With no authority, why bother?

So we're pushing and pushing, and grunting, and finally, the bus actually gets some traction and guns up the hill. Without us. Well of course, one of the guys says, if he stops he'll be stuck again and we have to push again. Don't worry, he'll be waiting at the top of the hill. So we trudged up, and were just in time to see him take-off. As in leave a group of 20 or so elementary and middle school students, and about 7 of the high schoolers standing in dumbfounded shock as our ride disappeared.

Little girls were crying. Big girls (like me) were trying not to cry. The high schoolers? They sprang into action. Arms around little kids. “It will be OK.” “Let's go to “Mary's” house. She'll let us use the phone.” One of the girls still “on the bus” was “Mary's” friend, and knew which apartment in the building to go to. She took the kindergarten girls with her, while the rest of us waited in the snow.

Eventually a substitute bus came and got us and drove each of US to our own house. Never heard what happened to that idiot driver, or what he was even thinking about just leaving us like that. I can't imagine he ever worked with kids again.

As to our bus? We were now a team, and after that, when we picked up our beloved high school heros, we were excited to learn to play poker for grapes and listen to their music on their walkman, or even get to sit by one of them. I didn't so much mind I couldn't patrol them. We had older friends, and that made us cool. Cooler even than being a safety patrol.

AZ challenge for the month of April. Button and navigation in the side-bar.

O ~ On the Job!

2011-04-18T17:53:00.001-06:00

Did you have safety patrols at your elementary school? We did. It was a big deal for us Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes type of folks to be chosen. I was chosen. Then I was hit by a car in the street in front of my house, broke my hip, and then was in a body cast for four months. This was third grade; we had just moved to Silver Spring, MD from Gothenburg, Sweden that summer. The accident was December 13, 1974. I was in an enormous amount of pain, stuck in a cast, at home, with a tutor. And I couldn't accept my post as Safety Patrol. That, more than anything, bothered me immensely. (Yes, perfectionist even then. From birth.)

But as most of you were probably thinking while reading this, after all you're adults (I think ;-), I'd get my chance as soon as I was sufficiently healed to not need crutches and could then run like a maniac, tackle the offender, hand-cuff him,(yes him, we girls don't break rules!) and send him to school bus jail. Ok, not. But I could tattle. I loved my job. Yes, I was the teacher's pet too. And relished it.

Being the patrol on a bus was the coveted assignment. If you were an outside patrol, there was a teacher with you at all times, and you played back-up. On the bus, only the driver had more authority, and they left it all up to us. Our buses were full, so there were three of us fantastically important officers on each bus. Of course, our uniforms were impressive: we had day-glo orange belt-harness contraptions that went from the belt, over one shoulder and down the back, again connecting to the waist strap. They had adjustments like bike helmets with that snapping lock mechanism thingie, and we spent hours adjusting ours for maximum placement. AND, if you made it through your rookie year, you got a BADGE to go on your belt. By the time I was in fifth grade, I was a sergeant. My badge was green to show my immense status, and I was in charge of ALL the bus patrols, on ALL the buses. Oh, the power. As you've probably deduced, my bus riders were perfectly well behaved, and my driver loved me. Or, I probably drove her nuts but she tolerated me because the kids sat still, didn't speak, and didn't leave trash.

All was smooth sailing in my little kingdom, um, on my bus, until it was chosen for special duty. We now had the privilege of transporting the high school kids who went to “a special school for kids who need more discipline.” Little did I know it, but my reign was soon to be over. Big time.

This riveting tale will be continued tomorrow in P ~ Patrolling Woes. See you then!

P.S Just FYI, I didn't end up pre-scheduling my Saturday post. I schlepped it from the woods, down the hill, into town, to the McDonald's parking lot, and posted from there. Just keeping it honest ;-)

N ~ Noodles

2011-04-16T11:43:00.000-06:00

I love noodles. LOVE noodles. I could probably eat pasta everyday and not get bored. Think about the almost infinite combinations:

Shape of pasta (fettuccine, angel hair, shells, corkscrew, bow-tie...)

Ingredients of pasta (whole wheat, potato, organic, gluten-free, rice, those awesome Japanese noodles that when you add the dry brick to screaming hot oil in a frying pan, they explode into a nest-style mess of pasta)

Sauce! I'm not even going to begin to list these. I'm good with anything that has garlic and DOES NOT have an olive of any style anywhere near it. My pasta is an olive-free zone, just like the peanut thing on airplanes.

Add-ins chicken, sausage, beef, shrimp, tofu... The choices limited only by the strength of your imagination (or how many cookbooks you have read) (Yes, I read cookbooks. For pleasure. But that will have to be another post. P ~ Pleasure Reading?)

I've had many delectably scrumptious pasta meals, but there's one that stands out from all the others. I've never enjoyed a pasta dinner as much as the one The Engineer and I had late one November night, 1994.

We were living in our 1925 Old Town bungalow at that time, and as I've mentioned before, it was a steal, needed work, and was quite small. One of our major projects was remodeling the kitchen. The Pepto-Bismal pink kitchen. With the Pepto-Bismal pink rolling dishwasher. With asbestos-laced ancient linoleum. I know, we're picky. But we think color does matter, as do cancer-causing components. The Engineer had estimated a week or two. Fortunately, after nine years of dating and two of marriage, I knew that time estimates from The Engineer are rarely accurate, and a week becomes a summer, a weekend a year, and in the case of the kitchen, a month became five.

At first, I thought it was awesome. No cooking or dishes to worry about. Chances to try new restaurants. I'm a foodie, and thought that I would NEVER get tired of going out. But his was also before I learned to cook, before I was even remotely interested in cooking and I actually did get tired of going out.

So one evening, kitchen not yet done, but done enough for cooking, we decided to inaugurate our beautiful new digs by making pasta. From scratch. Using our newest kitchen gadget, the Pasta Queen. Though I didn't know how to nor like cooking, The Engineer always has. He's a great cook. Can you see why I wasn't motivated to learn? I had no need.

Cooking together that night with light-hearted banter and some a splurged on expensive wine, was quite a celebration. As we sat down to enjoy our fettuccine with garlicky parmesan sauce, we were content.

I've told this story to my boys, both of whom are into cooking, and Jake's comment still cracks me up. “So you'd been waiting and waiting for the kitchen to be done and then you make macaroni and cheese? I don't get it.” Yes, Jacob, I guess you could call it Mac-n-Cheese. Perhaps you need to learn some marketing techniques ;-) It was a great meal.

AZ Challenge for the month of April. Button and navigation in side-bar. Thank you for taking this journey with me.

M ~ Maybe I'm Cheating

2011-04-15T14:33:00.002-06:00

Maybe...it's cheating. But this IS a post. You're at my blog, reading what I wrote. That's pretty much the definition, right? It's what I'm going with today, anyway because I'm out of time. We're leaving for our camping trip in about an hour and a half. I'm almost done packing, but I also send to push “send” and “print” on my taxes, go to the bank, and post something. Oh, and figure out how to do the auto-post for tomorrow, when we will be off-grid...

I solemnly promise that next week, the posts will be real. However, I did forewarn you that the topics would be random and think you'll agree I've already kept that promise ;-)

I hope you have a fantastic weekend as well! I'm looking forward to some good writing time, all the better to provide more interesting reading for you next week.

Thanks for bearing with me!

AZ Challenge for the month of April. Button and navigation in sidebar.

L ~ Life is a Highway

2011-04-14T21:04:00.000-06:00

Life is a Highway...I wanna ride it, all night long...

I've long been a fan of kids' movies. I guess it started with all the babysitting I did as a teenager (starting at 50 cents an hour...)when I'd watch those movies with the kids I was entertaining. Back at our house, TV was strictly monitored to two hours a week. I know, right? HOW did we survive??? So at home, I didn't use my precious time on kids' movies. I saved it for Charlie's Angels, Love Boat, and Fantasy Island. (Why my mother censored The Brady Bunch and let us loose on Aaron Spellling shows still baffles me...) (I love you Mom!)

I've enjoyed many movies with my boys as they have been growing up. Not just Pixar's amazing advances in animation and story-telling, but all the good old classic Disney movies, you know the ones where they actually drew each picture. That still boggles me, the work involved. And they didn't give it up that long ago, really. My neighbors, husband and wife, were both Disney animators. He's a cartoonist, and one of his best know pieces is the scene from Tarzan where the young Tarzan swims with the elephants. Apparently bubbles are hard to do right. She was a colorist, yet she poo-poo'd her talent, calling it “paint-by-number-with-a-mouse.” Yeah well, that's her mouse click up there making Jane's dress yellow.

One of my favorite movies of the last decade (I've been a mom for 14 years) is Cars. I was just blown away with the world they created where cars were the people, and the world was turned on edge to accommodate this idea. For me, it just worked. Then of course, there was the catchy sound track. My boys have enjoyed it as well. I think at one point we probably had Lightning McQueen in at least ten incarnations, from towels to bathing suits, toy CARS, lunch boxes, and crocs. Yes, they made Lightning McQueen crocs. Ok, knock-off crocs. But with the front part of him as the toe! What's cooler than that?

But lately I've been wondering about the whole marketing machine we've created. It scares me a little to think of the influence the entertainment world has on our lives. You only need to go to the toy aisle at a Walmart of Target to know which movie is about to be released. The shelves will be filled with every conceivable tie-in toy available just in time for the movie's release. Then we go to the fast-food toys. They are also strategically timed to coincide with the young child's latest obsession. “Mom, let's go to McDonald's cuz they have Lightning McQueen keepsake cups!” And off we go. I mean, if we're going to harm our kids anyway with fast food, why not get ½ hour's worth of free entertainment at the same time?

All these have come to my attention lately as I'm continuing my de-cluttering journey with FlyLady. What was once a must-have is now, “Just a stupid McDonald's toy, Mom.” Yeah, that would be all fine and good. Toss it. But then we have The Engineer. Mr. Ebay. “But isn't someone collecting those (Bionicles, Dalmations, Beanie Babies...)? Maybe we could sell these. Sigh. It's an uphill battle. But I've got the soundtrack.

“I wanna ride it, all night long...”

AZ Challenge for the month of April. Button and navigation in the sidebar.

K ~ Keepsake, Handmade

2011-04-13T21:06:00.000-06:00

Keepsakes. I'd love to keep almost everything since I'm a sentimental girl, and a hell of a pack-rat. Let me tell you, the combination of those can be a major strain on your square footprint. However, I have been slowly and surely working on that...shall we say...ISSUE...for a while now. I thought I'd share with you my progress.

It all starts with, “You can't make something hand-made for everyone. Maybe you should give away all those, 'But it would be great if I were making a...'" Maybe, someone else can make the..., and that resulting transaction blesses everyone involved.

One of my dear friends moved away from our small, Colorado town to Michigan. It's been a complete blessing to me that this latest technology of facebook has kept us in touch and close over the last many years. I was dragged to fb kicking and screaming...but now have even conscripted several others to come over to the dark side... And I have begun to appreciate what great tools we have available to us as we seek to follow our dreams. I want to share “Momma's Hands” newest dream with you.

I'd never heard of Etsy, but my bloggie friend PJ introduced me to many wonderful artisans. (And for the record, I'm eagerly awaiting my personalized, sterling silver, stacking rings.) It was fun to see that my Michigan friend was jumping in head first, and I could at least say, “Oh, Etsy. Yup. Heard of it.”

Lori of “Momma's Hands” is a master crochet artist. She's the mother of five, a homeschooling-mama and pastor's wife all rolled into one fun package of outgoing charm. I encourage you to take the time to visit her Etsy shop. Her work is exquisite, and in my opinion, completely under-priced.

I bought this gorgeous set for the daughter of a dear friend. Ok. Not this exact set...cuz I got it first! But it was this pattern, in my fave turquoise. I do think YellowBoy would approve of this version, though ;-)

This one reminds me of camo, all the rage with teens these days. Might as well start them early ;-)

Cranberry is a great color, especially on her darling daughter

I love scarves, and this one is just so fun. I'd never heard of the circle scarf concept before!

In today's fast-paced, disposable society, I find great comfort in the old-fashioned, hand-made, pass-on-to-the-next-generation, crafts of our great-grandmothers. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to my knitting. After all, this baby whose blanket I'm still working on was born 2 1/2 weeks early and his blanket still needs two weeks of work.

So I encourage you to get out there and browse, check out Lori's shop and others. Handmade doesn't have to go by the wayside in today's technology age. Technology just gives us the means to connect with others who are doing the wonderful tradition of handmade. Happy shopping!

AZ Challenge for April. Buttons and navigation in side-bar

J ~ Just in Time

2011-04-12T21:45:00.000-06:00

When I started this challenge, I pledged to blog every day in April except Sunday. I never promised these posts would be thought provoking, entertaining, or significant. I promised they would exist. It is in that spirit that I submit the following.

I finished my taxes today! So Best and I went out for happy hour and free chips and salsa. (I left the boys for “PE” at the rec center.)

Then The Engineer and I took The Boss and The Advocate (his parents) out for her 75^th birthday dinner. I had my first blueberry martini and an amazing gorgonzola/spinach/bacon wrapped swordfish.

I did not write today. I am now going to bed pleasantly buzzed and with the relief of just having to push “send” and “print” at TurboTax tomorrow. I feel like it's been a good day. Hope yours was also.

AZ Challenge for April. Button and navigation in sidebar.

I ~ I'm SO Excited!

2011-04-11T13:34:00.001-06:00

I'm so excited! We do have some fun plans in place for the beginning of our summer, but this weekend we will take our first camping trip of the season! It comes at a very good time. I need some serenity right now, and my favorite place to get it is in nature, away from all the modern hassles, that though they make life convenient, don't make life necessarily peaceful.

We camp with our 1968 Forester camping trailer. It's 21' feet long, sleeps six, has a shower, toilet, and sink in the bathroom, and a three-burner stove with oven, and another sink in the kitchen section. We adore our camper. Originally, The Engineer and two of his hunting buddies bought it dirt cheap. I'm talking real dirt, it was a steal, accomplished by The Salesman, with cash in hand. Of the three of them, it was perfect that he did the negotiating. I don't think the The Rocket Scientist or my Engineer would even have dared to offer less than half of what they were asking. Which they promptly took.

The initial intent was to have a shell for them to duck into while hunting. None of the systems (electrical, plumbing, heat) were in good condition. Various repair scenarios were discussed, and the final decision was that if one of the families felt like putting time, money, and considerable effort into repairs, they would do so with no expectation of those expenses to be shared by the other two families. Can you feel the trouble brewing?

The Engineer and I both grew up camping. Hard-core tent camping. Rain, shine, sleet, hail, snow, we experienced them all. We had dreamed of being able to offer our boys that same childhood pleasure, and were prepared to do it in a tent. Which we did for the first seven years of parenthood. We hadn't seen it possible to afford a camper until it was almost time for them to go off to college, though. When given the chance to have a camper already, we were elated. We repaired.

The Engineer redid the plumbing, the electricity, the undercarriage (which we discovered was hanging on by a few nails, and had to be reinforced not to mention reconfigured to allow for the new grey water and black water tanks,) the ceiling, and he also put a bunk over the dining table to add sleeping for two more small campers, or one more large hunter. (The dining table collapses into a queen size bed, and sofa opposite the kitchen counter pulls out to make a full bed.)

That summer we camped a lot. One of the other families took it for one overnight trip. It went hunting. Words were exchanged about the camper. Let's just say that The Engineer's hunting buddies since that trip do not include The Rocket Scientist, nor The Salesman. We bought them out, and became sole owners of the treasure. Thankfully, their friendship has mended over the years, but it did take a while.

Come Friday morning, the boys and I will head to the hills, Rocky Mountain National Park's Moraine Park campground, to stake our claim on a spot. (No reservations are accepted until the season officially starts on May 25.) Once The Engineer gets off work, he'll hook up the camper to our new tow vehicle and come join us. Speaking of tow vehicle...up until this year, we've had to borrow the truck from Swissie. Though sturdy and reliable, our ancient Volvos don't have the towing capacity needed to pull this rig. We've been saving and hunting a good long while, and last fall, we found the perfect solution. We bought a used, 15 passenger van with removable bench seats. It's basically a full ton (or whatever they call it...) pick-up chassis with a van on top. And it's perfect. You see, it used to belong to the Colorado Department of Corrections. If you look on the doors, you can see the faint outline of where the sticker used to be. It goes well with the bullet hole in the oldest Volvo :-)

(Click on picture to enlarge)

AZ Challenge in April. Navigation in side-bar.

H ~ Here's Where I Am

2011-04-09T19:28:00.002-06:00

We're at the end of the first week of the AZ Challenge, and I feel like it would be good to step back and assess what's happened so far. I realize that I failed to follow through on my Fact of Fiction answer, and for that I apologize. Thanks, faithful follower H of Little Sealed Packages for reminding me. So without further ado...

#3 is a lie. I CANNOT WHISTLE, nor sing. The Engineer, who has almost perfect pitch and went quite far in his pursuit of music with a prestigious symphony and his tuba (see music in my search gadget and you'll catch that AND our courtship... high school sweethearts...) will be glad to vouch for my non-abilities in these two areas. But what I think is worse than lacking those abilities is that after 14 years of pursuing music in it's choir, handbell, and multi-instrument ways, I'm oh so painfully aware that I lack those abilities. I'm NOT done deaf. I cringe when I hear myself sing.

Trust me on this one. I know it doesn't make sense. I can tune most instruments. As in tell you what to do to tune your instrument. The mechanics of said instrument might not be familiar, but I do know when the pitch is wrong. “You're sharp. You're flat. You're still flat.” You'd think (I mean, wouldn't you?) that if I could hear that I am, like I can hear it in others, off tone, that surely I could CORRECT what is off. After all, I can say to the clarinet next to me, “Pull it out a bit, you're sharp.” I just can't seem to do that with my voice. So yes, if you guessed #3, you were right. Next time you're in CO, I owe you a drink.

I'd like to take this time to thank all of you who have hopped on as followers, and all the new readers who have left supportive comments. THANK YOU. It means a lot to me that you take the time to leave a footprint before you go. I know that each of us has a different protocol for celebrating new visitors and new readers. I so appreciate you taking the time to let me know you were here. I've have had a great time visiting so many of you and am excited to have new blogs to follow, as well as several more in my list yet to visit.

Here's to three more weeks of joining together in this challenge! Buttons and navigation in my sidebar.

G ~ GOD (I'm a Believer!)

2011-04-08T16:34:00.000-06:00

I believe in God, the Father Almighty,

maker of heaven and earth.

And in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord,

who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,

and born of the virgin Mary,

suffered under Pontius Pilate,

was crucified, died and was buried.

He descended into hell.

On the third day He rose again from the dead.

He ascended into heaven

and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty.

From thence He will come to judge the living and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit,

the holy Christian church,

the communion of saints,

the forgiveness of sins,

the resurrection of the body,

and the life everlasting. Amen

One of my favorite bands does a rockin', guitar shreddin' version of this. Third Day, live. Happy Friday Friends!

AZ Challenge for the month of April. Button in sidebar ! And NEW! Navigation buttons. I may just end up learning some HTML through this...

F ~ Fact of Fiction?

2011-04-07T15:55:00.000-06:00

Remember that game where you say things about yourself and people have to guess which one isn't true? Can't remember the name of it, or if it even has a name, but since today is the letter F, I'm calling it Fact or Fiction. Here's how it's going to work. I'm going to tell you five (again, for the letter F) random things about me. These will be like Cliff Clavin's little known facts, as in totally useless. One will be a complete whopper of a lie. Now I know what of some of you're thinking. “I just found this blog yesterday. How am I supposed to know these things?” Well, to make it fair (because we all know that all mothers are fair all the time, and IT'S THE LETTER F TODAY) these are facts that I haven't blogged about, OK? Sheesh. Calm DOWN you competitive people! (Wait, that's me...ya'll are yawning...)

I had a secret boyfriend in my sophomore year in high school. A real “bad boy” my parents wouldn't have approved of (not that I was allowed to date, mind you...) He played guitar in a band, smoked, and boy could he kiss. My mother would drive me over to his house. For guitar lessons.
I taught myself calligraphy. I'm not half bad. It just takes practice, and the right tools.
I'm a champion whistler. Can't sing worth anything, but for some reason I can whistle. Maybe all those years of clarinet, piano, and guitar lessons did me some good after all.
My worst fear as a child was running into Stephen Kings' Carrie, covered in blood. We were at a campground with a store and the book was on a rack, and I kept looking at the pictures from the movies every time I was in there, even though I thought she was after me. This lasted until well into adulthood, where the creep from Silence of the Lambs took her place.
I learned to swim in freezing lakes in Sweden, but I taught my boys to swim using crocs on their hands and in one of those quick-set pools with the inflatable ring around the rim. In the backyard.

Tomorrow I'll let you know which one is false. Good luck! Fame and Fortune await! Nah, just bragging rights.

AZ Challenge all month. Button in sidebar!

E ~ Expressive Language

2011-04-06T12:55:00.001-06:00

Since we were talking about YellowBoy being a late talker yesterday ...this next story fits perfectly here. Not only did he finally start talking, he hasn't stopped. The boy talks NON-STOP. Random question. Intricate descriptions. Long movie quotes. Extensive explanations of how things work that he learned about from watching Modern Marvels. His design ideas for his latest Lego Digital Designer project. (The boy can “auto-cad” like an experienced engineer. Kinda creepy-cool in a child prodigy sort of way.) And like any good hypochondriac, he describes his symptoms. Over and over and over and over again.

I've tried various methods of curtailing the complaining. I've given him “one full minute to list all your symptoms as fast as you can”. I've had him write them out on a notecard and hand them to me for future reference, to “save him” from having to repeat himself. And I've banned whining in my pretty room. But it was the YellowBoy himself who solved the problem. Elegantly. And for school credit.

During the fifth grade, kids at my boys' former school took keyboarding and learned to type quite well by the end of the year. Well, at least Jake did. Can't actually speak for the others. So since YellowBoy is in fifth, we've casually been working with him to improve his skills, while at the same time teaching him how to organize and save files, how to make the most of the word processor's features, and how to save to a USB drive to move files to a different computer. He catches on fast and isn't afraid to poke around and try to figure it out on his own. (By the way, that's my theory of why kids are so much better at electronics and technology: They aren't afraid to try. We, on the other hand, worry about screwing something up, so we don't try anything.)

So there we are, I've just gone in to wake him up for the day of school and am snuggling in his queen sized water bed with him.

“Mom, I feel like flip.”

“Oh, what's flip?”

“Allergies as usual, but not a bad allergy day. Just an average allergy day.”

“Ok, then what about a bad allergy day?”

“Flep. Cuz I just want to flep out."

I think he's onto something. If I can condense his complaining to one or two exactly chosen words, I won't have to listen to the whole, long recital.

“That's brilliant. Why don't you go write the definitions down for me, and then print it out and we'll put it on the fridge for us all to learn.”

And off he goes. I head to the store, knowing that he won't need me for his English lesson that day. When I get back, this is on the fridge.

Not bad, eh? Pretty stinkin' clever, in fact, using suffixes to tweak the meaning. AND he figured out how to do the colors. And then put the file on the USB drive and took it to the computer that has the color printer. Not bad for a day's worth of “English”.

I'm happy to report that so far it's working. That's a good thing, because while I'm not needing the “y” much these days, I am most definitely flapp-ing. Going to go take a nap....

AZ Challenge for the month of April. Button in side-bar.

P.S If you're new, and wondering why I call him YellowBoy, you can read about him here.

D ~ Don't You Talk?

2011-04-05T13:47:00.003-06:00

YellowBoy (now 11) has always been special. He's a prayed for boy, the survivor of a high-risk pregnancy, born three weeks early (to avoid the difficulties that resulted from his older brother being 9 pounds 10.5 ounces and his mother being 5'4”. Enough said on that topic here. It's in "Just Call me Jake". ) He still checked in at 7 pounds 10 ounces, even though technically a preemie. Everything was fine (if you don't count that he never really slept much, and instead screamed much, as in 24/7 ) until he was a toddler. While most of his peer group had their “normal” 20 or so words, Luke could say “Mama.” That's all. Just “Mama.” This of course sent the healthcare system into an overdrive of “preventative and proactive” services.

We were referred to Child Find, which operates out of local school districts to identify kids who might benefit from intervention NOW as opposed to only dealing with their particular handicap or disability once they have begun school, when it might even be too late to accomplish as much. It's really a great program, and I don't mean to be complaining, I just feel that freaking out about a 2 year old not talking is not really helpful to the mothers who might have shared the struggles I had, from conception to delivery, only to now be told that something's really wrong.

So off we went, eye screening, hearing screening. (Just wondering, um, if he can't talk, how can you tell if he can hear you when you hold up an apple and say, “What is this?”) Interviews. Home study. No one could find a cause for his not talking. We got a year of free speech therapy. Do you know what speech therapy looks like with a toddler? Here, I'll show you.

“YellowBoy, let's play with the train! Can you say train? TTRRAAIINN?”

Yabbadabbadooba-da! (Or like in this video...Seriously, you don't have to watch the whole thing, just take a peak to get the idea of what I mean. But if you watch to the end, know that it just gets sweeter and sweeter...if you're in need of something sweet to make you smile, spend the two minutes ;-)

Ok, so like I was saying, speech therapy is nothing different than a normal mother playing with her child. We instinctively do those language building kinds of activities all day! Narrating what we're doing, asking their preferences. We probably don't think about it, most of us. But whatever. If you want to provide free, in-home experts twice a week for a year, be my guest.

At the end of that year, no change. He was still talking up a storm, but not English. Again, like the video. They sure look like they know what they're saying, don't they?

I would tuck him in, and pray with him. And then stand at the foot of his (now big boy bed) and wonder if I'd ever hear him say, “I love you Mommy!” I needn't have worried. We had a family, dear friends of ours from the other side of the country come visit us for a week. They had two kids at that time, same ages as my two. Second day, YellowBoy is running around speaking in full sentences. FULL SENTENCES. It was quite the shock, let me tell you. And of course one of those precious sentences was the long awaited declaration of love.

It all goes to show that kids develop at their own speed, to their own level, and when they're ready. Wish I'd realized that when I was potty training Jake. For a year. But that's another story. P ~ Pee? We'll see.

It's AZ challenge all of April. Button is side-bar!

C ~ Contentment

2011-04-04T06:38:00.000-06:00

What does contentment mean to you? It's a fairly common term, but I've found that we don't all define it in the same way. In my view, contentment has nothing to do with WHAT you have, or don't have. Contentment is an attitude we can choose to have, or not to have. I choose to be content.

Maybe you're thinking, “Wait a minute. This whiny girl with all her chronic pain is saying she's content? I don't buy it. She writes all this poetry about pain and heartache. Complains about homeschooling. That is NOT what I call content.” And you're right. But that happens to be exactly my point. I HAVEN'T been choosing contentment. I HAVE been wallowing in self-pity. I'm done now. Going to try to be done now.

In my A post, A New Beginning, I mentioned that the past year or so has been rough. The slide began with me being canned from my dream job, and as I sit here writing, I have the flu. In between, I had whooping cough (with almost a month, total, of bedrest). I had complications from whooping cough. I tore the labrum in my hip. I found out that I need that arthritic hip replaced, not scoped. My grandmother died. My dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's.

But in 2010, I also went on a cruise. My relationship with my sons changed dramatically (that would be the result homeschooling.) I was able to be there for a friend during her major life-changing crisis. I went on a road trip to my favorite vacation spot, Annapolis, MD. I went to the beach, the same beach where we honeymooned. I became a blogger. I am able to knit again. I got to go on three separate snowboarding trips with my boys, and my Best got to join us for one of those. The Engineer and I established a REAL date night, where we LEAVE THE HOUSE once a week. Even got two weekends in a row without the boys, so as a result, a trip to Glenwood Springs. And we finally, finally, finally, paid off our last credit card.

Those two different descriptions of this past year make for a sharp contrast. Seems painfully obvious which description is more pleasant. Yet they both are an accurate depiction of the events. So this day I am choosing contentment, and when someone asks me, “So how was your 2010?” I'm going to say, I got to go on a cruise...

How about you? Are you content?

By now, you're probably catching on. A ~ Z for the month of April. 1200+ participants and counting! Climb aboard, it's going to be a great ride!

B ~ Brother

2011-04-02T15:47:00.002-06:00

I've written a lot about my family, both my immediate family, as well as the wonderful extended family I'm blessed with. But I've never written about my brother more than in passing. It's his turn, and long overdue. I'd like you to meet DataBoy.

I was seven when he was born, and it was very hard being patient, waiting for him to be born. Not only was I excited to have another sibling, but I was more than ready for my mother to quit barfing everywhere. You might recall that I'm vomit-phobic (V ~ Vomit? Hmm...will have to consider that...) so I didn't really want to be anywhere near her. For nine months.

My parents had two girls, and were praying for a boy. I remember my mother (who does NOT subscribe to there being any such thing asTMI, EVER) explaining in great detail about how to stack the odds in the male direction. I was SEVEN. I didn't need that information. Then.

The night he was born I awoke to the sounds of my mother barfing (of course) and then taking a shower. Hmm. I went to investigate. She was getting dressed! In the middle of the night! “The baby is coming soon!” I didn't get any more sleep after that, and it was with open arms and happy heart that I got to hold him a few days later when they brought him home. My very own, living doll.

As a toddler, he had to put up with a lot. Imagine two sisters whose favorite game is playing house, who own numerous dolls, and who spend a LOT of time building the house set-up, and THEN playing for hours and hours. Now we had a real doll! Who moved and talked and hugged! But he didn't lie down. He would NOT lie down for his “nap”. Or for bed. We hadn't really expected that. A doll that resisted our directing was something new. So the challenge became getting him to lie down. We built an amazing assortment of “cribs” for him, hoping that something would cause him to want to REALLY play with us. I think he may have consented once or twice. But no worries, by then we'd found something far more interesting to do with (to?) him.

When he got hurt, he'd allow himself to be cuddled and swaddled, and rocked and comforted. So we made sure he got hurt. I'm NOT kidding, unfortunately, and I don't know why my mother didn't stop us, but we'd take turns being the one to hurt him, and then the other got to comfort him. I'm sad to say that we did this, but here at Life is Good, you do get the truth. (I try to respect the privacy of shy family members, but in this one I'm the bad guy, so I figure I'm safe...)(Sorry Swissie, but I'm here under the bus with you...) I don't know why he continued to play with us, but he did. Despite the pinching and indian burns and um, light punches.

He did grow up to be a perfectly normal man. Well, not normal. He's incredibly brilliant, has basically a photographic memory, and excels at whatever sport he chooses. He's generous, and forgiving, and fair. He works in the computer world, and does very, very well. (And would KILL me if I published the picture of the three of us siblings getting our very first computer. This was 1983, and it was the Atari 800. Tape drive. It's a very prophetic picture because he's grinning like a kid in a, well, computer store and so excited.) That excitement has taken him far. He now works for one of the giants. Pretty sure you have some of their software on you laptop. He's a security expert.

I guess you can tell how much I love him. He lives way too far away from Colorado, but he flies me out for “chill weekends” to enjoy his hospitality in Virginia. An added bonus is that he married one of my dearest friends, who is now my sister-in-law! Has made for an interesting dynamic at times...and we'll leave that one there. Ok, one story.

When they first met (I set them up. Ok, I gave him her email...) it was Thanksgiving. She was still a Colorado girl at the time, so when Christmas rolled around, he came to visit her (and me, and our parents). YogaGirl and I have very similar physical features, in height, body type, and hair color. Well, imagine a group of relatives, all hanging out in the same, small house (that was our Old Town bungalow, a whopping 760 square feet.) Imagine lots of frivolity, lots of libations, and lots of good night hugs. So DataBoy wraps me up in a big hug, and plants one on me. We both kinda freaked. “Oh, sorry. You're Tina. Oops.” Yeah, I love you and all, but keep your lips on your girlfriend!

I wish we could spend more time together. But for now it's nice to know he's there, and he loves me, and it won't be too long before we're chillin' again.

More A-Z posts found here. Hop on and join the challenge! 1190 participants, and counting!

P.S Doing what I promised, even though I'm sitting here thinking, "There's so much more you could say about him! This isn't nearly enough!" JUST. PUSH. PUBLISH POST. Sigh. It's a learning curve.

A ~ A New Beginning

2011-04-01T15:30:00.000-06:00

Let's re-boot.

Hello my friends, fellow bloggers, family members who don't know WHAT a blog is but are curious, and other wonderful writers I've met across the blogosphere in the last year. It's been a... different year than what I'd planned. That's pretty much the understatement of my life. And as a girl who learned at the feet of her amazingly talented story-telling Aunt Risky, I will be sharing tales of that, as well as what I predict will be an unpredictable stream of random posts. I'm taking the A-Z challenge with the wonderful folks over at Tossing It Out.

This challenge comes at a very good time in my life. I've been at a cross-roads of playing around with writing and writing for real and swimming in the big kids pool. I will admit I've gotten quite intimidated by the immense talent out there. But I've also learned a lot from those writers. I'll be writing about that journey, too.

It's rather a relief to have this post where I can just say all that's been on my mind for the last little while. I'd gotten to the point where I was part-way through a writing challenge and ran out of time. After that, I didn't really feel like I “should” write anything else until I finished that story. So there I sat, paralyzed. Haven't posted at even a 1/10 of my previous pace. Been paranoid about losing readers. And followers. Which led me to take a good look again at WHY I started this blog.

My tag line (as above) is: Wanna be writer seeks place to vent, practice, and share. I did that quite comfortably for a while. But the more I wrote, the more positive feedback I got, the more hesitant I became. I think it's the classic perfectionist sneaking out: wow, they think I'm OK. Better not do anything NOT OK. Sigh.

So on this first day of the challenge, I (in front of God and cyberspace) pledge to write all 26 posts in April, come hell or high water or all you get is my grocery list. I will write. Because I love to write. I want to write. And I lost that in seeking approval. But I'm back. Criticize at will.

The Faint Trace of Ambergris, Muse 5 of "Deep Cover, Shallow Graves"

2011-03-07T16:15:00.003-07:00

The Faint Trace of Ambergris

She sees the light and wakes up. Sees but doesn't feel. It's just not the same when the artificial sun sneaks through her window. Back at her grandmother's place on First Earth where she grew up, the sun would sneak between the blinds and warmly caress her face, and it was that warm caress, not the light itself, which woke her up. She doesn't want to think about that, though. She misses Nana, but is so thankful that she died comfortably, if there is such a thing, of old age. A life well lived. Thinking about Nana leads to thinking about her brother, and that's never a good way to start the day. But maybe it should be. If she began each day replaying the bullets flying, the traitors turning, and the look of horrid surprise on Jason's face, maybe she would be done with her mission by now. Wouldn't be here. Still here.

While fixing a traditional greasy breakfast to try to overcome her hangover, she plans her day. Titan Class operatives don't have to report for roll call. Don't have to wear a uniform. They are to be inconspicuous when in public, which on a station this large, is most of the time. With their mission to find, investigate, and infiltrate crime syndicates, their anonymity is of course highly important. They are the intelligence arm of the Off-Earth Army. And to serve and protect on a facility this large, that army comprises almost ten percent of the population. There's something about living “in outer space”, as they used to call it, that creates more criminals than in a similar sized town on any of the Earths.

The newest of the orbiting communities around Second Earth, Spartan is anything but. It can best be described as a cube, but with every conceivable convenience earthlings have become accustomed to, and the extreme luxury expected from a Class A community. But like cruise ships of old, the station is divided into classes. The government passed the Equal Opportunity to Off-Earth Communities Act just a few years before Spartan was constructed. Therefore it has the required 20% of it's residential floors devoted to “affordable housing” for the working class. The men and women who used to share what was more of a dorm experience can now actually can have a family and private quarters to return to when they're done working their asses off providing luxuries for the "real" residents.

She feels a bit better after inhaling her eggs (substitute), sausage (soy version) and toast (real bread, the one known luxury she allows herself). Yes, alcohol is a luxury, but in the quantities she consumes it, she'd be in a heap of trouble. Every monetary transaction on the station is log, categorized, and reported to, well, the Titans who are looking for the criminals. To operatives like her. Who have to report these “anomalies” to their superiors. That's why Leah has a rudimentary still in her walk-in closet. That's the one private place Titans have. Probably due to some sexual harassment suit somewhere a long time ago. Regardless, no one can demand to know the color of her underwear or question the homemade “water purification system” she insists on due to her highly sensitive nose. She can find a hint of the trace of ambergris when others, “Can't smell anything.”

She's grateful that so far there are no red flags popping up in the timeline she constructed. She doesn't need her investigation to go into dangerous territory. Well, at least not any more dangerous than infiltrating this intelligence agency which operates apart from all law (certainly not on paper, nor acknowledged by either the New United States or their neighbors in the rest of the galaxy, just in reality.) Everyone knows that Titans don't wait to shoot before asking questions, and will do about anything to get a suspect to talk. Even though such methods were outlawed on Earth two centuries before, they are common place away from terra firma these days.

Leah doesn't have time to see if the chip from the suspect interview is still in play before her shift begins. She's not looking forward to today. She drew the short straw of Titan assignments. She gets to play dress up and try to entrap one of the major power players on the station. He's suspected of running a good, old-fashioned pimp business in his casinos. Sigh. She hopes she has something clean and revealing to put on.

That just about blows the whole day. She now remembers what she did with her suitable clothes after she broke up with her latest lover. Well, that's not the right term, he was more like a machine she connected herself into to drown the stress and the monotony. As were her two previous partners. Ironic that she'll spend the day looking to catch the man who makes those connections ready and available and at an affordable rate, they say. She herself would like to use just such a service and skip the small talk and the boring dinners eating bland food to only then finally get what she's seeking. Straight to the point would suit her just fine. She's going to have a hard time though. She's thrown everything that she's worn when with him into her unit's incinerator. It was only way to stop smelling him whenever she got home.

She's aggravated and weary as she leaves her quarters for the shopping district. It's always the same. Whenever she thinks she's making progress in her mission, something like this comes along, and she has to waste her time doing the duties required of her post and not what she's really there for.

To be continued with:

Muse 6: "A Space Iliad"

Muse 7: “Threepenny bet”

Muse 8: "You Gotta Be Careful What You Wish For Here"

Muse 9: “Percocet and Pudding”

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

Hi. Long time. Life is not only Good, it's dang busy. Didn't have time finish the writing challenge. Haven't had any blogging time in what seems forever. This is the next segment of the sci-fi piece I was working on. I'm going to finish the challenge even though the winners were announced over a week ago. I'm stubborn like that. But I'm also posting this as my entry over at 10th Daughter of Memory. Button in side-bar. Come write with us!

To read the first four chapters, use these links.

Muse 0 here

Muse 1 here

Muse 2 here

Muse 3 here

Muse 4 here

To read the other entries in this challenge, go here.

River: 10thDOM February Challenge, Muse 4: En Plein Air

2011-02-16T14:03:00.002-07:00

“Where the hell have you been, Leah? I've been worried like some newborn baby's mother. You HAVE to contact me. Every day. Or I'm pulling you. Got it?”

“I'm sorry, Ian. I know. Believe me. It's just that...”

“You were drinking?”

“It's complicated.”

“Of course it's complicated if you're drinking again!”

“Ok, fine. I was drinking. But you told me to become “one of the guys” and it was a dare, and...”

“Do you know how many times I've heard this story?”

“Yes. OK! I do! But this time it was different.”

“Ok, so shall we go into how many times I've heard that follow-up? Leah. I was there once. I know. I KNOW. But there comes a time when you have to admit that you can't beat it alone. That you need people. Help. Help from people who love you.”

“Yeah well, you know my entire history, how many people who “loved” me actually helped?”

“Lon did. He was helping you. And I do know that you're in a pressure cooker, and I do know that it's been a long time in it, but do you really want to risk it all now? For a buzz?”

She really didn't have a snappy come-back now that the conversation had steered off a tad of its all too-familiar path.

“They origami'd me.” That ought to distract him away from her “problem”.

“Are you KIDDING me? They're already out there?”

“Yup. Folded itself up. I had to fish it out of the toilet bowl full of vomit.”

“That's not how it's supposed to be retrieved! It's supposed to stay in the victim indefinitely, or at least until they've got what they needed it to get.”

“Yeah well, they probably hadn't counted on this victim's gag reflex.”

“Is that what you call it these days?”

She ignored that. One of the problems of having your contact also be your best friend is that Ian knows too much. But it's almost unavoidable when your life's mission means that you have to sever contact with all previous relationships for the safety of all involved. Who else then can understand what she's going through without being put in extreme danger? Who else can she really talk to? She didn't mean for it to happen. It just did. Maybe one of these days they'll actually meet face to face. Although she has a pretty vivid mental image of him, maybe breaking the spell would ruin it all. Think kid finding out Santa isn't real. Maybe there isn't a man who understands her, listens well, and cares deeply. Maybe he's just doing it for the mission.

“I gotta go, Ian. Gotta check if the chip is still in play, and then try to fish what I can out of the origami and see what damage has been done to my cover.”

“Good. I expect an update tomorrow morning.”

“Ok, yes, sheesh.”

“Don't scare me again, you hear?”

“Yea yea. Quit nagging, grandma.”

Leah heads straight for the vodka, dumps a good couple ounces in a cup, adds the banana extract and water. She usually downs her poison straight, but she's had way too much throat trauma the last 24 hours. If it's coming back up, now it won't be quite as bad. She learned about the bananas from a fellow...patient. Even Ian doesn't know about that chapter. If he had any inkling, he wouldn't let her continue.

Having set the stage for max productivity, she hits the zone as usual. When she has something to chew on and plan, it's her habit to call up old movies from the late 19^th century, go on autopilot as far as the movie is concerned, and let it free her brain to free-style. All that damn ADHD crap from earlier society was such a joke. The ones who couldn't “concentrate” were the ones who were light years smarter than the others. Of course they couldn't prove it at the time...but hell. Wouldn't be the first time that later science shed more light. Leeches for example. Just because those affected could do ten things at once didn't make them any less capable of living in society. Hell, it made them better. And more employable. Who would you rather hire? The kid who can only follow steps in a row, or the kid who can do ten things at once and well, but he might be late. “Got distracted.”

How does John McClane's “wife beater” tank go from white with blood stains to all over puke green with blood stains? She tries to spot the change every time she watches. They probably lost that piece of continuity in the editing room, but it bugs her. Yeah, bugs. That's where she was. She'd been bugged. By whom? Maybe it's just the Feds. Testing their newest toy. Or maybe it's actually the manufacturer, still performing clandestine field testing. Or, maybe they found her. That she can barely tolerate considering.

As the retired ballet dancer pokes at the duct work where John is hiding, Leah construct what she can of a time-line for her last week. No telling how long she'd been bugged, but it's somewhere to start.

It's rather an eye-opener to see all the hours she puts into her work. And how little into herself. When was the last time she got to do what she really wanted? She's been on this station two years. Though the simulators are state of the art, you really can't substitute a computer program for the real deal. They try, but the programmers can't capture the scent of a forest or an open, windswept meadow. She's taken all the hikes available. What she really wants is real air. Fresh air. Air that tickles the tendrils of her hair escaping her pony tail and caresses her with familiar scents. But she can't leave the station until next year. Well, unless she gets sent to Olympia. At least the air there is real, even though not much else is.

Muse 0 here

Muse 1 here

Muse 2 here

Muse 3 here

To read the other entries in this challenge, go here.

River: 10thDOM February Challenge, Muse 3

2011-02-12T17:55:00.002-07:00

Parental Advisory: Rated R for language and sexual references. Gotta go with what they gave me. Muse 3 is "Fuck Origami".

It was a great relief to learn that her missing hours earned her only a slap on the wrist. Next mission involving Olympia, she has to take it. Of all the colonies the Titans patrol, Olympia has got to be the shittiest shit hole of them all. Think Las Vegas of Earth, early 20^th century. All glitzy and enticing on the outside. Corruption, greed, hedonism on the inside. And none of the newly created “Agencies of Protection” have been able to break the age old cycle of payola, looking the other way, and if no one gets hurt why the hell do you care. Then add the new wave of personalized drugs, enhanced virtual reality, and the trafficking in not just human flesh, but artificially intelligent almost human flesh for sordid purposes and you've got a hell of a, well, shit hole. With technology crimes on the front burner, the 20^st century crimes that still plague Olympia aren't usually worth their depleted staff's efforts. Fine. She'll go.

She'd been expecting stiffer consequences, actually. Jenkins thinks she's unaware, but Leah knows that every test, every simulation, every mind-numbing interview he has put her through, has been getting her further under cover. Shit, by now she really could use a playbook cataloguing who knows what and how and for how long. At least Jenkins doesn't have one either. Good thing. She started this assignment with him as an enemy to keep close, but he's earned her grudging respect. He really is caught between agencies just trying to wield his own brand of justice. When did it all become so fucking complicated?

Caffeine. She needs caffeine. Not to mention a shower. She's used to men checking her out. She's not used to them checking her out and getting off the glide while holding their breath. It's with quite a sigh of relief that she enters her private quarters at last. “Lights 50%.” Hastily she pulls off her high heeled boots and tosses her soiled jacket on the tile floor of the entry way. Heading for the kitchen area she contemplates caffeine choices. The patch would of course be the quickest. But what she really wants is to sit down. Think. Plan. Sip. Ok, shower sit think plan sip.

As a senior officer, her living area is equipped with more luxuries than most of this station's soldiers'. She slides the MorningJoe cartridge into the brew unit and gives up pretending she's going to be good. Grabbing the bottle of all-purpose cleaning fluid from under the sink, she dumps what's actually vodka into her coffee.

Feeling that first sip of caffeine-enhanced alcohol (not to be confused with alcohol-enhanced caffeine) all the way to her carefully manicured toenails, she heads for the shower. Even she can't stand the smell of herself anymore, and that's saying something. After all, she's the one who endured the olfactory-testing assignment at Ridel IV the longest. Just the thought of that hideous sense-assaulting endurance test sends her heaving into the commode. And that's when she finds it. Ha. They do float. She's heard about this new technology, but to see the Whisper Class recording device exit her person? A bit alarming. Funny though, it does fold up like some fucking origami creation when exiting it's host. Just like they said.

Leah's not sure when she's appreciated a shower more than this one. Fishing that tiny recorder from her own vomit was just the last straw. She never cries. Never. But stepping into the cubicle, under those forceful jets, she lets herself. She cries for her lost brother, she cries for her lost innocence at much too young an age, and she cries from the unrelenting strain of what she's been trying to accomplish.

As the sobs die down, she begins to plan. Determine if the chip is still hidden. Figure out how to play recording from origami bug. Contact Ian. Shit, that should be first. Where the hell is her drink?
Continued at Muse 4

Muse 0 here

Muse 1 here

Muse 2 here

To read the other entries in this challenge, go here.

River: 10thDOM February Challenge, Muse 2 "Reluctant Titans"

2011-02-10T15:48:00.005-07:00

“Report to my office immediately. This conversation will not take place in public.”

“Yes, sir.

Leah reluctantly follows him down the long hallways, past the guards, through the retinal scan security stations, and finally to his office's outer area. Death Row is what the enlisted call it. It's not a place a soldier wants to spend any time. Leah finds the name appropriate, considering that not only does she feel like she'd rather die, but also because if her cover's been compromised, she probably will actually die.

“Report your whereabouts for the last 48 hours.”

“Admiral Jenkins, sir, I wish I could. I may have been drugged. I have no recollection of any events following the completion of my assignment. I do have the suspect interview chip secured.”

She hopes it is secure. No sense in alerting him to the probability that it may have been...taken. She hasn't had time to check.

“I expect more from my senior officers. You're the first Titan Class operative I've ever had the need to trace. And the first one who appears to have spent her last few days in disgraceful debauchery.”

Leah almost cracks a smile on that one. If only he knew her true identity. But that sobering thought is also enough to stifle the smile. She's worked tirelessly to keep up with the men in her profession. Some societal mores don't change no matter how advanced the technology. There will always be the good ole' boys in her organization. Not to mention in the elite corps that she'd been steadily infiltrating for the last few years. Covers this deep take time to develop. It was for the sake of her cover that she'd taken her “shore” leave with some of those good ol' boys to the rec area and started drinking. She knows better. Ian has been drilling that into her daily.

“Leah, you can't drink. You know that. If you don't have the neutralizers with you, either spill that drink or taunt one of the others into taking it. Your mission is too important to risk anything. Promise?”

She always promised. But some vices are hard to give up. What could be the harm in just one Victorian? She used to down them by the six pack back on Earth.

Admiral Jenkins is actually worried under all the pissed off, and that's an emotion he rarely allows himself to feel. He's never seen one of his senior officers fall this far from grace. And so quickly. She has been doing well and passing all of the disguised training tests that even she herself hasn't been aware she's taking. Jenkins is grooming her to be his off-planet liaison for when the colony on Valdeen is ready for habitation. With her classic looks and smooth social manner, no one will suspect her Titan training, weapons techniques, or her brilliant scientific mind. She'll make an excellent operative.

Leah, on the other hand, isn't so sure about anything anymore. Is all of this worth it? At first she'd thought her motivation would give her the fortitude to persevere. But after five years, she doesn't feel like she's truly any closer to avenging his death.

Continued at Muse 3

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This is part 3 of a 10 piece story written for the River of Mnemosyne competition over at 10th Daughter of Memory. Button in side bar. I know you're questioning my math, but part 1 was anything we wanted, and then part 2 was muse 1 (a prompt provided by another participant, but more of a motivation rather than a line to be used intact) so this is muse 2, otherwise known as part 3. Confused? Yes, me too. But it sure is fun! And I got provide muse 8! (Which will be part 9, are you catching on yet?) I should give you some links for the first two parts...but I'm too tired from trying to understand the rules. Just look at my previous posts over there on the side. I haven't written anything besides this since it started...