Fun Monday - Websites That Changed My Life (or at least a few hours of it)

Ann over at For The Long Run is this week's hostess for Fun Monday, and she wants to hear about a web site, and not just about any old web site... no, she wants to hear about a web site that's changed your life! A web site that you can't live without. A web site whose inventor you'd like to see win a McArthur Genius Grant....

Well, OK Ann, but that's going to take some thinking. I mean sure we can all say 'what in the world would we do without Google?' But that's just the point, we can all say that... We're doing this so we can learn something new - so we can find the link to some hidden e-fountain of youth, or secret to untold i-treasures! Well, I don't have the links to either of those things, but I took a look at my Favorites list and while no one website on that list has actually changed my life, I'm pretty sure a few of them affected significant alterations. I also have a terrible time limiting myself to just one anything, so here are a few websites I frequent that may not actually change your life, but could be useful:

Susan Miller's Forecasts at Astrology Zone. Ok, this is going to sound all "woo woo" and maybe last year was a case of a 'self fulfilling prophecy' but Susan's two page free monthly horoscopes, for me anyway, have been eerily right on. She explained in January 2007, that for Saggitarians, the alignment of the planets would be extremely fortuitous, and if we Sags played our cards right we would get just about anything we asked for. Any by golly, if she wasn't right, for me anyway.

Ancestry.com, along with Downtown Dad's membership there and his patient genealogical tutoring, helped me track down some elusive relatives on my paternal grandmother's side of the family. Tracing the women in your family is infinitely harder than the men, since their names tend to change, and they don't always read or write, and sometimes they have secrets they don't want told....

The first Blog I ever read "This Fish Needs A Bicycle" and this beautiful entry inspired me to start my own blog, and to write every day in hopes of coming up with something close. I haven't made it yet, but I keep trying.

If you are looking for something that will suck up hours of your time, go to Wordlab. I'm not sure I have that many things in my life need naming so badly, but if you need a word, or a group of words for something, you can find it there. They also have a quirky intelligent voice in their writing style, with links to all things linguistic. Plus, they have a blogroll to die for that opens up links to more languagey sites, with more blogrolls that link to more wordish people, who link to more, and so on and so on.

Like I said, hours of your time....

And I Still Haven't Found.... OK, maybe I have...

I was at a loss for a post so I stole this from Maui Girl. I suppose I've always wanted to have a band - though I can't carry a tune in a bucket, and lord knows if I was in a band I'd be ALL OVER making the Cover Art! Here's how it goes:

You are about to create your own band's CD cover. Follow these directions to the letter. It's fun and requires no thought at all.

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random The first article title on the page is the name of your band.

2. http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3 The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

3. http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7daysThe third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4. Use your graphics program of choice to throw them together, and post the result as a comment in this post. Also, post it in your own blog because it’s more amusing that way.

Steal this if you want - and have fun... I'm OK with the fact that I have a Celtic Woman sort of band name with a socially conscious album title taken from an Eleanor Roosevelt quote... maybe we'd do covers of U2 songs.... Ah, I can see the negotiations with Bono now.....

For Men - The Nine Phrases Women Use, Explained

1. "Fine" This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you just need to shut up.
2. "Five Minutes" If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour. "Five Minutes" is only "five" minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.
3. "Nothing" This is the calm before the storm. This means "Something," and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with "Nothing" usually end in "Fine."
4. "Go Ahead" This is a dare, not permission. Do NOT Do It!
5. "A Loud Sigh" This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A Loud Sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here arguing with you about "Nothing." (See # 3 for the meaning of "Nothing.")
6. "That's Okay" This is one of the most dangerous statements a women can make to a man. "That's Okay" means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.
7. "Thanks" A woman is thanking you, do not question it. Just say You're Welcome. (Disclaimer: This is true, unless she says "Thanks A Lot," which is PURE sarcasm, and she is not thanking you at all. In this case, DO NOT say "You're Welcome" that will only bring on a "Whatever" See #8).
8. "Whatever" This is a women's way of saying "Are You That Incredibly Stupid?" You have made a fatal error!
9. "Don't Worry About It, I've Got It" Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in the man asking "What's Wrong?" to which the woman's understandable response would be "Nothing" (See # 3).

Thanks for this post goes to my BFF and fellow fifty-year-old Kimisue, who does not have a blog, but does read this one, but rarely, if ever, comments - to which I say "That's Okay"

Interesting

Delurkers Thank You. It was really good to hear from you.
But if you really want comments - post about pets.

Delurk, ya jerk!

Some dude I just clicked on named Rude Cactus decided that today is Delurking Day, but after doing some quick research I realized that according to some other blogs, it's actually Delurking Week! And according to Dad2twins - if you don't delurk - you're a commie! Greeblemonkey picked up the thread and made this graphic. Well, it was so cute I just had to put it up!

Its funny, I've been thinking about lurkers recently, so this is very timely! Just the other day, I hit 3,000 views, and today it's 100 more, but do I have 100 comments? No. Are my posts so unfriendly that I repel your comments? I look at my feed traffic stats and see familiar towns and cities, but nary a note from a long lost friend or even a whassup from a new acquaintance. Why, Santa Barbara, California don't you say hello? I grew up there, we might even know each other! Bothell, Washington - who are you? Do you live anywhere near the first house I bought at 18% interest back in 1980? Cedar Rapids, Iowa - we have relatives there, are you one of them? Edinburgh, Scotland - hi! We're coming to visit you this summer... we should talk! Irmo, South Carolina - if you are not my niece Michelle, then you certainly must know her!

As usual for me, when I am inspired, a limerick is usually not far behind, so I'll leave you all tonight with some spur of the moment, homemade delurking culture, and honestly, I think it's pretty good, but - what do you think?

If blogging’s a real line of work
And comments, the ultimate perk
Then get off of the fence
Put in your two cents
But please don’t continually lurk!

Essential Oils

Because it is now way too late to write anything... I'm going to give a plug to my baby sister who, actually, in all honesty, probably saved my mother's life with her knowlege of aromatherapy and the pharmaceutical use of essential oils. I'm talking things like shingles, eye disorders, acid reflux, brittle bones... you name it - my mom had it, and Vicki cured it.... well, maybe she didn't exactly cure it, but she eased the symptoms to the point where they weren't as debillitating as they had been to my elderly mom. Here's her website Healing With Essential Oils. Take a look if you have some time.

Tuesday Tribute #2 - Take a Dip in the Ceement Pond Paw

This is the second installment of weekly offerings here at Straight Up and Slightly Dirty called Tuesday Tributes. I asked all my bloggy friends to write a tribute post to one of the characters in their lives. Outrageous characters, incorrigible scoundrels, or just ordinary people. Please visit the links here and take the opportunity to meet some interesting characters!

Here is Susan, from A Slice of Life. She seems pretty normal, but I just found out she has some pretty scary critters she calls pets. I can't wait to see what other "characters" she writes about!

And this is my Sister-in-law, Barb. Her tribute is to one of the more incorrgible scoundrels in her life. She has cleverly shrouded this horrible person in the guise of a story - to which I say, Brilliant!

Josie from C'est La Vie may or may not be participating - she's taking a little break this week to catch up on her beautiful drawings. Although she did write a pretty darn funny "tribute" to a Black Widow. That's gotta count for something!

And here's my Tribute for this week. I'ts a repost about a couple I showed some houses to back in 2005. Maybe that's cheating, but like I said yesterday - I'm celebrating!

Take A Dip in the Ceement Pond, Paw

I am lucky enough to show houses for a living. I am lucky in that while doing this, I get to know people from all walks of life by listening to their stories and we usually become friends in the process. At closing I usually give my new friends a small gift to thank them for doing business with me based on something I’ve learned about them. Last year I helped a young couple purchase a monster of a house courtesy of Microsoft’s obscenely high salaries. I helped another couple purchase an ancient farm house with 11 acres and a barn they couldn’t wait to paint red. A young man wisely invested his inheritance in a home with room for his pool table, and a single mom bought her first home with the solid wood floors she’d always dreamed of.Last week I spent the day showing rural houses to a couple whose price range tops out at $40,000 – if they can find a family member who will co-sign. Nelly and Norman are in their 50s. They currently live in a trailer court where they and the other residents are being bullied out so the owner can clear the land and build condos. Norman is a Native American Viet Nam vet on disability. Nelly is a short, round diabetic with a mother complex and has not only adopted all of the animals in the trailer park, but also the various disabled and otherwise affected residents. Nelly adores Norman; it says so on her cell phone screen. Norman is tall, with a shambling gait, has few teeth, and tends to mutter with his deep low voice. They are, without much imagination at all, Maw and Paw Rugg of the 1965 Hillbilly Bears cartoon.When we go on our tour of homes, it’s usually for most of the day. Maw Nelly sits in front and navigates, equipped with her travel mug and a steel thermos of black coffee, the screw-off cup of which she gives to Norman, who sits in the back. I have learned more than I need to know about the cast of characters who populate their trailer court from Nelly’s tales of woeful abuse, punctuated occasionally by Paw Norman’s wheezy laugh. Sometimes Paw will be inspired to string together a few words, such as when a house is just too ridiculously small. He will continue to comment on the fatal flaw, his garbled comments apparently directed to the back of the seat or out the window, not requiring any response from me. But after a while he’ll return to his silence interrupted only by that raspy chuckle and an unintelligible word or two. Somehow, a memory sparked in Norman and he began an epicurean expose’ worthy of the food channel. Since I did not have a schedule of Paw Norman’s train of thought, his sudden departure took me by surprise. I thought he was still commenting on the last house we’d been in and I had been nodding blankly into the rear view mirror for quite a while before I realized the subject of his impassioned account. “…Better’n dat stuff from t’ grocery…. Harrup! Yup, could eat it all day,” Paw chortled. “Not too hard, y’ know? Heeeweeeweee!” He muttered to his coffee cup. “But not too soft neither!” he declared, directly to my eyes in the rear view mirror. “What?” “Tasty too, Mmmm mmmm. Harrup! Kinda smooth-like, ya smooooooth. Mmm mmm.”“What is?’“You ain’t never had none? Ohhhh its gooooood. Heeweewee!”“Had what?”“Dat gummintchee! Harrupp! Heeeweewee!”“I beg your pardon?” I snapped, thinking for some reason he was cussing at me.“Gummintcheese!” he carefully said leaning forward.He was talking about Government Cheese. That unearthly orange brick of surplus pasteurized “cheese-product” doled out to welfare recipients. No I hadn’t ever had any, preferring instead its overpriced substitute, Velveeta.“Oh” I bit my lip and tried hard to think of something nice to say about Government Cheese, but Nelly stepped in to save me from lying.“We’re just about done looking for today Paw, when we get home I’ll make up some grilled cheese sandwiches.”“Harrup! Harrup! Mmmm mmmm.” He mumbled happily. “Smoooooth.”A smile crept over me as I drove silently on, planning how I would score a couple boxes of Government Cheese for their closing gift.

Happy Days Are Here Again!

There is cause for celebration - on many accounts today!

First, and obviously - Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert will be returning to the airwaves to help the rest of us make sense of what's been happening since the long dark ages of the writer's strike began. Ahhhhhhh! I know my family will not be alone, as we once again gather around the warm blue glow of the Comedy Channel!



Secondly, I think I'm getting a new car! I have been systematically looking for something that might somehow combine the ability to haul around my Realtor clients, and my kids, and yet be cooler than a minivan (OK, well, really anything is cooler than a minivan, so than one's a gimme), and still have the three things I really need in a vehicle. It has to be silver, black, or white, it has to have a CD player, and it has to have an autostart. Well, yeah, it has to have low mileage, and it has to run, but really other than that, I still go back to those three things. I searched through CarSoup.com using the year, the mileage, the color and the autostart feature, and voila! This is what I found....

The bank is working out all the details, meanwhile, I continue to drive my ancient minivan that has no door to the gas tank, practically invisible headlights, a stupid am/fm radio, and a happy meal toy lodged forever in petrified Coke in the back seat cupholder.

Next, Downtown Dad is the featured speaker at my Realtor's meeting tomorrow and I get to introduce him. OK, maybe this isn't cause for celebration... actually this is cause for panic if you really want to know.... yikes!

OK, another thing I'm excited about is that tomorrow is the first time I will be hosting a group event here at Straight Up and Slightly Dirty! If you haven't read it already, in last Tuesday's post, I announced that I would hold Tuesday Tributes. If you've got a character in your life, I want you to share them with us. It doesn't have to be long, just stop ripping off the human race by keeping these characters to yourself! Let me know if you'd like to participate and I will link to you so we can all share! I have heard from a stalwart few, but it's not too late to give it a go - at least for one week anyway.

The last thing I'm excited about is this - The hilarious Bossy is taking a road trip across the US this summer, and wants to visit her bloggy friends in their natural habitats. If you'd like be a stop on her most excellent road trip, email Bossy. In that email be sure to provide your name and blog name if you have one—along with your address. Let her know if you have a sofa for Bossy to crash on, or if you’re just interested in meeting for a quick cup of coffee. In turn, she'll send you this cool little button thingy -

We'll see if Fargo is intriguing enough to garner a stop off. I'm pretty sure the snow will be melted by then.

Oh, and one more thing - look to your left there in the sidebar - sometime today - Straight Up and Slightly Dirty had it's 3,000th visitor! Woot!

Gee, all that celebratin' and nary a champagne glass in sight.... I must be slipping!

Birds and Dogs and Furballs - Oh My!

I must be needing some ideas for posts I guess, so I joined up with Fun Monday.


This week's host is Lisa's Chaos she says: Let’s meet your pets. I think most of us have at least one pet and I would like to see your fluffy or scaly pal. If you don’t have a camera you can tell us about him/her/them. If you don’t have a pet tell us about a pet you had or a pet you want. If for some weird reason you hate all animals we want to know why gosh-dang-it.



OK... pets? Did you say pets? Boy howdy do we have pets!




First of all there are our cockatiels, Tizzy and Rascal. That's them on Downtown Dad's shoulder.

These birds LOVE their Downtown Dad. All he has to do is clear his throat and both birds go wild, cheeping and peeping and calling him with wolf whistles so he'll come let them out of their cage so they can climb all over his head.


Next is Chako. He is our purebred 6 year old Samoyed... with white fur....lots of white fur.


His full name is Cheechako which is what Downtown Dad's nickname was when he was a lobbyist in Alaska - it means 'greenhorn' or 'the new guy.' Did I mention he has lots of white fur?



Then there is Zoey, a 3 year old Sheltie. Her fur is brown on top, but it's white underneath.
Between the feathers, and seeds and white furballs, we keep the lint roller companies in business!

Apostrophy's Debut

In my day... or should I say... 'back in the day' ...garage bands played loud music that our parents hated and if they were lucky enough to ever play in public, it was in smoky bars for 5 or 6 drunk patrons.... NOT in a high school auditorium with more than 250 people - and lighting, and sound! Oh, and the band member's parents were NEVER sitting in the back taking pictures for heaven's sake!

My 14 year old son, Bear on the right playing bass ... with 'bare' feet (that you can't see because he's behind the speaker) Trevor, Cage and Bjorn make up the rest of the band.

Now you can say you knew them when!

The Theatre That Is A Funeral

It isn't often that you walk into a church funeral and hear Disney show tunes being played on the piano. It's even rarer to hear the once familiar, but now archaic clicking whirr of a film projector, but that's what we heard today. We didn't know Rusty, the man who passed away the day before New Year's Eve, very well, but we knew his daughters and his wife. We had assumed they were just theatre parents like us, and also well loved teachers at the local college. It turns out he was a world reknown film editor and speaker on film studies. Thus the reason for the sweetly melancholy, but decidedly film oriented music, and the projector flickering away with snippets of the black and white silent films he loved. The musical accompaniment helping to augment and convey the emotion as only live music can.

Our family doesn't go to church regularly. And while we are deeply spiritual, as a family, and in service to our neighbors and fellow humans, we reject the pervasive flim flam and hucksters of today's popular evangelicals. So, when we do enter other people's houses of worship for the occasional bumps and turns in lifes path, we do so in sort of a hyper observant manner. Maybe it was the overwhelming number people from the theatre and arts community who were there that caused me to think of it this way, but it started to dawn on me that there is actually quite a bit of theatre that goes into a funeral. It's all there, the flawless orchestration of choirs and organists, the heartfelt personal anecdotes, and carefully selected bible verses, and, probably most awe inspiring, the respectful, but efficient crowd choreography/management. There is also high drama in the tense moments when you wonder if the emotional speaker will get through their reading of the gospel without sobbing, or that the bereaved niece with the beautiful voice will be able to finish her solo, and then the urge to applaud them, when they do. And of course, there is the pastor who officiates, and their ability to deliver the message, which, to me, can make or break the fragile mood or atmosphere the grieving family have tried to create.

We had a little extra helping of drama this morning when, just as they were pushing the casket up the aisle, and the congregation was singing, the young lady behind us began having an epileptic seizure. Again, amazed, I watched as her mother vaulted over the pew to lay her on the floor and hold her head, Downtown Dad wadded up his jacket to use as a cushion, the young man next to her called 911, someone brought a plastic bag of ice, and a doctor from two rows up, slipped in near her feet. The seizure subsided, and she was able to walk out with the help of two people on either side of her - all within the space of time it took to sing four verses of whatever song it was we were singing - because I frankly wasn't paying attention!

Whoever you are, when death comes to your family, it's hard. This hit me and the others in our social group because Rusty and his wife and kids WERE US. I guess what I learned today is that fate gives you only what you can handle - plus, the people in your life to help you along. If you are part of some greater community, tradition, and human spirit takes over and helps you keep your head above the emotional rip-tide. As I listened to the piano play Jiminy Cricket's themesong, When You Wish Upon A Star, I took to heart the words:

"Like a bolt out of the blue
Fate steps in and sees you through."

AAAAAaaaarrrrrrggggghhhh

**ok, I panicked too soon. I just clicked on update or something, and it all came back.**

I have been quietly fiddle farting around with my layout here at Straight Up, in hopes of switching to a new "snazzy" layout. I must have fiddled when I should have farted though, somewhere along the line, because I have the same layout, but I lost all of my links and buttons and lists. AND, what's worse, I think I may have switched back to the Old Version of Blogger, which everyone knows doesn't exist any more! Aaarrrggghhh!

So, sorry for no "interesting" post today. I'll be deep in the throes of Shock -- Guilt -- Fear -- Depression – Denial -- Anger – and hopefully, finally Acceptance.

Remember to "stop ripping of the rest of the human race" and let me know if you'd like to participate in next week's Tuesday Tribute!

Lunchroom Star

The following is my tribute to the lunch lady from the cafeteria in the hospital where I used to work. This work is based on Edgar Allen Poe's "Evening Star" - printed below for your comparison.

LUNCHROOM STAR
by Straight Up And Slightly Dirty

'Twas noontime on Wednesday,
And halfway thro’ lunch;
And you in your hairnet
Stand out from the bunch.
‘Midst the clever, cool beggars,
Of the work-a-day throng,
Lunch Lady Ethel,
Rules all the daylong.
I gawk for a time
On your soufflé of lime;
Too rich- too rich for me-
Then you wielded the ladle,
A heavenly cradle,
For soup of Asparagus Pea.
Oh doler of food,
In your querulous mood,
How lonely this lunchroom would be;
Without crumbs from your hand
Fried, curried or canned
All served with cantankerous grace.
Your liver and onions,
Creamed corn, and bunions
Endear me to you and this place.

-THE END-



EVENING STAR
by Edgar Allan Poe

'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.

-THE END-

Tuesday Tributes #1 - The Space Between Two Summers

_______________________________________________________________

This is the first installment of what will be weekly offerings here at Straight Up and Slightly Dirty. I'm calling it Tuesday Tributes.

It seems to me, that all of us have the privilege of knowing a few extraordinary individuals. Some are outrageous characters, some are incorrigible scoundrels, some are ordinary people, but all have the ability to elicit in us a strong emotion, either with their gifts... or lack of gifts, or by their quirky or different slant on life. It also seems to me that we are ripping off the rest of the human race by not sharing these characters, at least a description of them, with others.

I figure I've got nearly enough characters in my life to fill up a year of Tuesday Tribute posts, since I have committed to Blog 365, I hope you enjoy reading about them. However, I would also like to know about the characters in your lives. Who do you love? Who cracks you up by just thinking about them? Who is a scourge to the Universe, and deserves to have their dastardly deeds enshrined forever on the Internet? This Tuesday, January 8th, I invite anyone who reads this, (and/or has also committed to Blog 365, and needs post fodder and a little linky love) to write a tribute to the character in your life. Let me know if you would like to participate and I will link to you on Tuesday morning...early. Stop rippin' off the rest of the human race already!

________________________________________________________________


He was much more than a teacher, in fact, the words "to teach" sometimes imply only the giving side of give-and-take. Bob Medley's sixth grade classrooms always had both sides. He had a joy for experiencing life, and a talent for sharing his life experiences, with his students. He served them up, conversation style, as an accompaniment to our required lessons. His conversations with those of us lucky enough to occupy his classroom, allowed us insights into the world beyond those four walls, and beyond our short time between two summers with him. This is evidenced by the many former students with whom he had amazing long-lasting relationships over the years. I was one of those students.

Always take the opportunity to travel, and always take the time for conversation.

If you boiled down his wisdom into words, that sentence just might sum up what I learned from Mr. Medley. But every day, I realize there was so much more than that. Whether it was serving in the Air Force as a pilot during World War II, collecting ethnic masks while traveling to far-flung locales, teaching sixth graders for 20 years at La Patera Elementary School, or working as a guide at California's Hearst Castle, Bob Medley had a story, or a bit of wisdom, he'd gleaned from every experience. His gift, was the ability to weave those experiences and stories and lessons he'd learned, into the conversation at just the right time, and in so doing, allow whoever he was talking to, to learn as well.

One of my aspirations, as early as 3rd grade, was hoping with all my might to be in Mr. Medley’s 6th grade class. His reputation was that significant. Despite the nickname Deadly Medley, he was always kind on his watch at Recess Duty, even to me, a clumsy, shy third grade girl who even then, noticed his hidden smirk and jovial eye rolling after he’d bellowed out for the third time to the school bullies “Searl, off the monkey bars!” or “Lindsey, stop chasing the girls!”

As the years steadily marched toward my 6th grade year, I often passed Mr. Medley's darkened classroom on my way home after school. Sometimes I would press my forehead against the tinted windows and cup my hands around my eyes to peer in. Mostly, I remember the masks. 25 or so giant paper mache heads, molded on 'punch ball' balloons, painted and shellacked, hanging from the center beam of the room. Mr. Medley’s students' trademark yearly art project, which he dutifully recorded for posterity on his 8 mm movie camera, as his students paraded their slightly scary selves annually around the school.

The shine of excitement, when I actually did finally take my place in his classroom, did rub off slightly, as I witnessed the business side of Deadly Medley. Gum chewing was certainly NOT allowed. An offense punishable by the dreaded assignment of “150 States!” This was the tedious task of writing, in Palmer Method longhand, each state, and its capital, three times on notebook paper, and turning it in the next day. If it was not turned in on time, the assignment doubled, and doubled again, until it was received, completed. There were times when, as a teacher, he must have been frustrated by the misbehavior and antics of 20 years of sixth graders. We saw, however, that he knew how to regain lost control, as well as how to dole out a punishment, when necessary, to fit the crime. Once, after catching one of his students spitting at someone, Mr. Medley made the perpetrator sit outside the classroom and spit into a bottle for the rest of the day.

We may not have known it at the time, but we learned things in Mr. Medley's classroom that led us to the paths we are on today. He died peacefully, on a Sunday morning in 2005 at age 82. The pain of loss that gripped and shook me after learning of his death has now subsided, leaving in its wake the dry leaves of memory that float in and out of my conscious thoughts. One of the fondest was a visit from him soon after my marriage in 1976. I had invited him to the wedding, but he was working at Hearst Castle that summer so was unable to attend. He later called on me in my tiny apartment, bearing a gift and a message I still hold dear today. The gift was a china teapot - pretty, but otherwise ordinary in nature. He told me, as I opened it, that I might not see the value in a teapot, but this was his way of helping me start my new life with a habit of having tea and conversation with friends regularly. Conversation, he said, was the most precious gift a person could give. Those of us who maintained Bob Medley’s friendship received a precious gift indeed.

A guid New Year to ane an` a` and mony may ye see!

The two things I can accurately predict for 2008 is that 1) I will be getting a new car, and 2) my family will be heavily involved in raising funds and making preparations for a trip to Scotland. The car part is easy, I just have to bite the bullet and pick one out. The Scotland trip though, that involves lots of other people, and lots of planning, lots of drinking, oh... and lots of money!

If all things Scottish hadn't already taken over much of my brain, I've got a growing list of websites in my favorites that have to do with Scotland and travel and fundraising. In my web surfing and blog reading research, I learned that in Scotland, Hogmanay is the word for the last day of the year and is synonymous with a celebration of the new year. During Hogmanay, it is traditional to go first-footing, which, like a lot of Scottish things, sounds like an excuse to go out visiting friends and, I dare say, an excuse to drink! First footing is literally, the first foot in the house after midnight. According to tradition, in order to ensure good luck for the house, the owner of the first foot should be a tall, dark, handsome male. Apparently this stems from the days when the Vikings invaded Scotland. Of course then, if a blonde stranger came to your door it was probably trouble. Here in Lutheran Scandahooviaville, we are hard pressed to find anything but blondes. So anyway, this antithesis of a Viking, must be a male and must come bearing gifts, and these symbolic gifts are coal, shortbread, salt, black bun and whisky. Symbolising, I guess, warmth, sweets, spice in your life and... uh, an excuse to drink!

Since we'll be spending New Year's Eve tonight with one or more sets of "Scotland Bound" parents like ourselves, I decided to try out this old new tradition - heck, we can all use a little luck right? I did a little more time wasting blog surfing research and I found a recipe for Black Bun, which is pretty much a deep dish raisin and currant and brandy pie. So I made that, and some shortbread, got some sea salt - coz its prettier, and more earthy looking than table salt. I couldn't find any coal, so I got some briquettes, and I found out that real Scottish whisky is spelled without the e in front of the y, and never says Scottish on the label, but rather Scotch.

I doubt that I'll find a non-blonde male to be our first footer among the Larsons, Hansons, and Andersons tonight, but it will be fun to do something new! And as they say in Scotland: A good New Year to one and all, and many may ye see!

Frankly Scarlett, I Don't Have Time to Give a Damn

I'm writing this today, or should I say tomorrow... no, if you're reading this, then it's today - but anyway I'm writing this today, or rather yesterday, and using the "post it later" feature. But it's 11:39 p.m. right now, and if I take much longer writing this it's going to be tomorrow for real!

I'm doing this to make sure it actually works because, blogaholic that I am, I signed up for this crazy challenge! I couldn't resist, I just find so many new blogs to read this way. And there are only so many blogs you can read in a day and then still find time to write something to post - right? So, blogaholic, optimist that I am, I figured that I could pre-write like, oh say, a weeks worth of posts (in my free time....) and then schedule them, like little orderly soldiers, to fall into place daily (....insert crazy maniacal laugh here...) Oh, I can't think about that now, I'll think about it tomorrow.... After all, tomorrow is another day!

'Snot Fair

It wasn't enough that I turned 50 two weeks ago....

It wasn't enough that we've been cooped up with two dogs and two teenagers in a car for 15 hours....

No, it wasn't even enough when I got hit with the mother of all snot-rendering, throat searing colds within the first of those 15 hours - and was laid a-bed for the next two-days....

Now this has to arrive.

Magical Christmas Memories

Once upon a Christmas season, 20 plus years ago, a radio station in Seattle - KEZX - used to play an ecclectic mix of adult jazz and local artists. One of the songs they played this particular season and then never again, was Stop the Cavalry by the Cory Band. It was one of those songs where you absolutely cannot sit still while it's playing! I recorded it on a cassette tape and every year we take it out and play the heck out of it. Every year, I worry that the very fragile old tape will wear out and I won't be able to find the song again. That same year, Beez was three years old, and after listening to me read him "The Night Before Christmas" umpteen million times, he'd memorized it pretty well - even if he did have a killer lisp, and tended to creatively misquote Clement Moore, such as, instead of "away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter and threw up the sash" his very funny interpretation was "tore open the shutter and threw out the trash!" This, I also recorded on a fragile cassette tape, which is taken out to be played every year - worrying, each time we push the play button that it will be our last.


This year, Grandpa G, our families' resident technical wizard, took both those fragile treasures and lovingly burned them onto a semi-durable CD. Now, both of those precious sound memories can be confindently played for years and years to come! And today, through the durable magic of the Internet, I share them, as my gift to you, my invisible friends. Merry Christmas!

Gotta Stop The Cavalry

Twatha Night Before Cwiimith

"Tis The Day Before..."

After a 12 hour drive with two teenagers and two dogs in the SUV, Downtown Dad and I made it to his parents' house in Southern Missouri understandably feeling a little bedraggled! Even without snow this year, their house IS Christmas for us - every wall and flat surface cozied up with a familiary reminder of the season. After the hugs and hellos and the butt sniffing (c'mon, the dogs, not us) and the preliminary catching up - we fell into our beds - sans kerchief and cap - and drifted off for a long winter's nap!


It's Christmas Eve morning and I'm trying to get this post written and published before the whole house wakes up. While the old hubub of coordinating Santa's arrival has lessened some as the kids have gotten older, the familiar patterns will soon take over and the comfort foods will be set out and consumed until we are all groaning. Familiar sounds, like our favorite Chistmas music, and "turn down that TV!" and of course we'll have ceremonious dragging out of the cassette of three-year old Beez reciting "Twatha Night Before Cwiimith." I'm going to see if Grandpa G, with all of his technological wizardry, will burn that 20 year old cassette onto something more permanent and then I can post it here! If we can break away from the talking and the eating and the butt-sniffing!

Christmas Newsletter

It has been a while since I posted. I must explain... you see I've been fighting, er writing the annual Christmas Letter.

I see you out there, nodding your heads. You know what its like. You don't want yours to be that two-page yawner about each and every place you've traveled, or the compendium of your family's accomplishments and kids' grades. But this IS your once a year opportunity to let Auntie Edna in Portland know that your kids DID turn out better than your creepy cousin Johnny's... even though you learned through her letter that they've each mastered a foreign language, earned Eagle Scout badges, made mission trips to help rebuild New Orleans, all that AND they volunteer at the soup kitchen every day after school. OK, not bad for 6 and 8 year olds, but really, how are they going to top that next year? I mean really.

You want your letter to be amusing, or at the very least, readable to the end. If, perhaps you've had a messy divorce in the family, or your sister-in-law was sent to prison, or the child you've been raising for your deceased daughter suddenly decided to go live with her estranged father, well lucky you! There are so many things that happen in the space of a year, and so few of them, good, dramatic Christmas letter fodder! Trouble is, the people to whom those things happen, rarely have the literary skills to express the intrinsic drama and humor of those situations.

No, this year, I opted to keep our letter short, and rather traditional. And whether or not some or all of those things actually happened in our family, well, I'm saving THAT for my novel!

A Plug for A New Blog

Downtown Dad has a blog! Revival of Conscience . Stop by and say hey!

Naked In Public

For a long time now I’ve been fighting an internal battle about what I post here. I started posting initially to ‘find my voice’ thinking that by forming the daily habit of writing, I could somehow make writing easier. I have a file folder on my computer full of fits and starts of pieces that fashioned themselves in my head and were able to meander their way out my fingers and onto the keyboard, but then, they failed to thrive past the series of filters I impose on what I actually put out there. This, in itself, is good – we all know there are just some things that don’t make good blog writing or reading. But then, there are some things in that file that probably are worth posting, only, they can’t seem to traverse the mine field of filters I herd them through.

The other day I was having a glass of wine after work with some fellow Realtors. Conversation, as it does, became animated, and I made a comment phrased very similarly to something I must have said that is posted here. One of my friends piped up and said “Oh by the way, I really enjoy reading your blog.” I stopped, my face grew red, and I had that naked-in-public feeling, gripped with the fear of what I may have posted, what I may have said in the pseudo anonymity of the Internet. Conversation stopped dead. “You have a blog?”

It's true, I've only told a select few that I have a blog … that I blog … that I write stuff and I throw it out there for anyone to see. I don’t know why I don’t tell other people I know. Most of them know that I write. Most of them know I’m tactless sometimes, and brutally honest all the time... hence the name Straight Up and Slightly Dirty. Although as Kwach and Ev over at Nowhere IL say, I’m not nearly dirty enough. Touche girls! Touche! The dream interpretation of naked-in-public is representative of vulnerability or shamefulness. Maybe I fear that people will see through to my true self and I will be exposed as a fraud or a phony. Maybe I fear that I'll be ridculed or disgraced, or worse - challenged on something I write! The truth is I’m not trying hard enough. I'm not courageous enough. And so my writing isn't good nor powerful. And that's not me, and it's certainly not why I take the time to write something, hit publish post and hope that some anonymous person will take the time to read it. That naked-in-public moment taught me a lesson.

Oddly enough, in my blog-surfing today I found a site where they encourage and celebrate good, powerful writing on the Internet/blogosphere, in fact, they award prizes! The name says it all - it's called Shameless Lions writing circle. It just made me think about all of the inspiring, good and powerful writers writing posts every day. Every one of them, shameless, truthful, courageous and naked-in-public.

December 5 Because It's ALL About ME!

Happy Birthday To ME! What better day than this to take advantage of the fact that Grandy at Functional Schmunctional tagged me with this meme! So here are the rules: "List a word that describes you for every letter of the alphabet. Offer as much or as little explanation as you wish. Please keep the words positive (for example, don’t use “fat” for F or “lame” for L), and feel free to get creative. Tag as many or as few people as you wish. Link back to your tagger and forward to your taggees." So... here we go!

A. Articulate. Oh I do like me some piles o’ words.

B. Biotch! Yes, that is a positive word - ask my friends, we all call each other that! Some of us even have numbers! I'm B3.

C. Chop. That’s my other nickname, but only among my very closest coon-ass friends.

D. Domestic. I totally love ironing and grocery shopping. Really – go figure!

E. Effervescent. Yep, that describes me. And, much to the consternation of my friends, that describes me in the morning.

F. Family. Because that’s what I'm all about lately.

G. Guzzler. I am not a sipper. Give me tea, give me fine wine or liquor, give me water... I will guzzle it.

H. Hot. But intermittently so, in a menopausal way.

I. Imaginative. Like Tequila with a jockstrap in a pie, fixing furnaces for the world with Jello.

J. Joker. I’m a joker, not a smoker, nor a midnight toker.

K. Knock-off. I think that if it looks real, then hell honey, it is real. But nevah evah pay full-price!

L. Liberal. I admit it, I’m a Gawtdam, Leftist, broad minded, humanitarian, libertarian, free thinker.

M. Mother. Probably the finest thing I will ever have had the privilege to have done.

N. Neat. A place for everything and everything in its place – DAMMIT!

O. Old. See the beginning of this post.

P. Persuasive. If you are still reading this far into my list then I am totally persuasive. If not, then I am a prevaricator.

Q. Quarrelsome. Especially if I am Hot (see above).

R. Raucous. Rowdy. Rambunctious. Especially when I’m on my cell phone in a public place.

S. Sagittarius. Adventurous, brave, and wise, extroverted, straightforward, benevolent, ardent, idealistic, sincere, intellectual, knowledgeable, creative, philosophical, broad-minded, sexual, funny and free-spirited.

T. Tactless. Oh, honey no! You’re not gonna wear THAT?!?

U. Utopian: In my world, we all speak Esperanto.

V. Verbal. I can’t think of the exact wordage, but I’m sure I can express the correct essence of my love of lingual verbiage without being palaverous, I mean, don’t take me literally, but in the oral tradition – ok not being too rhetorical here, but really, it must be said that as I stated above, I know I can be somewhat verbose, but it can’t be over stated, I can totally use a lot of words to say very little.

W. Writer. Yes. I AM A WRITER.

X. X-husbandry. I am an expert in choosing them. I have two. One on video.

Y. Yoga. Try it. It will change your life.

Z. Zippy. Because doesn’t everyone want to know someone who is zippy?

A Roomette For Two

Ette is the feminine form of the French suffix –et. Adding ette to the end of a word describes a smaller version of an inanimate object such as cigarette, kitchenette, novelette. It seems to imbue these everyday nouns with a fancy romanticism or modern allure. On the other hand, the same suffix ette has also been used to describe something imitation or inferior such as leatherette. Still adding that Frenchified aire, but really puffing up something that might not be able to live up to it’s name without that precious suffix.

On our recent train trip, Downtown Dad and I opted for an upgrade from our coach seats to a Roomette. With seating for just two, our own private picture window, and meals, plus a wine tasting event included, this Roomette would be the perfect venue for our romantic time alone, a getaway-ette. Having made the trip once before in a coach seat – or the Fart Compartment as I called it, I was all for having our own space where we could shut the door and pull the curtains – if not for privacy reasons, for the aromatic ones.

The westbound Empire Builder train, departs from the Fargo station at 3:25 a.m., so after a full day of fulfilling other obligations, an obligatory appearance at a cocktail party, packing, repacking, last minute lectures and instructions, and an 11th hour call to the doctor for antibiotics for one of the kids’ newly discovered bronchial infection, we settled into what would be our home away from home for the next 31 hours. According to the description on Amtrak’s website, this Roomette is “ideal for one or two passengers, with two comfortable reclining seats on either side of a big picture window. At night, the seats convert to a comfortable bed, and the upper berth folds down from above.”

Technically, yes, the two seats do convert to a comfortable bed…but no matter how romantic you are, it's only wide enough for one! And yes, once your porter has performed the acrobatics necessary to accomplish this mechanical magic, the second occupant of the Roomette, can climb the 6 inch wide stairs that serve double duty as shelves alongside one chair, to the windowless top bunk, a cozy 24 inches from the roof of the car - not so comfortable. So much for the romance.

Once entombed therein, the occupant of the upper berth must ask the occupant of the lower berth (the one that drew the longer straw, or the one that all of a sudden has bad knees and can’t climb up there) to hand up her chapstick, oh, and her book, and her sleeping pills – oh and some water … all of which are efficiently stowed under the lower bunk, and cannot be accessed with the cabin doors shut. After much wriggling and grunting and bumping, and after the lucky occupant of the lower berth has whumpped his pillow-ette for the fifteenth time, it is inevitible that the upper berther must now pee. Of course to do that requires leaving the Roomette, and thus more wriggling and grunting, and bumping - again, not even a little bit the romantic kind, but just maybe it sounds that way to the Roomette next door!

Glad to be off the train

Here it is the last day of NABLOPOMO and I am FINALLY in a non moving room with Internet access! No cell service, but Internet access - go figure!

I would hate to quickly summarize the train trip and ensuing hilarity... it just wouldn't do the trip justice. But I just don't have the time right now. Suffice it to say that we have arrived at our destination. The Izaak Walton Lodge "a place where time stands still" says their brochure. Reasons why that phrase may just be another way to say boredom, to follow!

Uhg! more typing... :o( hee hee

Tessie again.
Even though my mom is not typing, she is still here in spirit (I am her daughter after all)
So, off to do some homework!
Later!

Hola! Tessie here!

This Kelsie (aka Tessie) I am posting a blog for my mom tonight because she is off on a train somewhere. Since I have never done this before I am just going to make this short and sweet. Well... I guess that's about it... I'm off to bed so I can be rested up for school tomorrow.

Adios!
Tessie

Tada

No Time - Gotta Pack!

I only have a couple of minutes to write this. I'm trying to clean house, and get my wardrobe in order to pack for our train trip! I'm really looking forward to this as a source of relaxation and some much needed 'grown up' time. I am worried though about Internet connection for my laptop along the route. I've tried posting from my web enabled phone but so far no luck... well, we shall see.

Show's Over

Well, tonight was the final show of Moorhead High School's "High School Musical." It really was a great show. We had two cameras video taping the last two shows and those tapes will be edited into the master "file" video. That's the one that the kids are supposed to watch and critique then give back to the Director... but if some copies get made, and kept, well none's the wiser! We had a little extra drama today since the boy who played Troy Bolton, the lead, started loosing his voice. It was starting to crack at the end of the matinee, and by the end of tonight's show he sounded like Bobby Brady when he hit puberty! The girl that played the female lead, Gabriella, stepped in and sang with him, covering up the notes he couldn't hit tonight. It seems a little romance has cropped up over the run of the show and by this time they aren't just playing boyfriend and girlfriend - they are living the part - making her heroic vocal rescue tonight all the more poignant.

I'm just amazed at the parents that pitch in to help and actually run everything that goes on besides the show! We do have a pretty sophisticated parent group though, since we are running year long fundraisers to defray the costs for our trip to the Scotland Fringe Festival next summer. Yeah, there are some "theatre moms" in the mix that raise my hackles every now and then, but there are also some very cool parents there too that even things out - rolling their eyes right along with me, or smiling and nodding when I know they'd really like to smack some of these people upside the head, V8 style.

Poor Bear is feeling the let-down that is so common at the end of a show. It's tougher for him this time because some of the parts have to be recast since some of the cast aren't going to Scotland. He loved playing a yell leader, and is feeling a little trepidation at relearning a new part. Ah, but such is life in the theatre!

Well, once again, I'm posting at 11:30, scrambling to write something before the day is over. I love this NABLOPOMO thing for keeping me on task, but man does it kill creativity! I had this great inspiration this morning - once again - in the shower - about the fact that this show is a Disney show and I've always wanted to work for Disney, and the fact that I wear my show-tee-shirt that has the Disney logo on it makes me sort of a Disney representative, right? I had some connection between me being able to tolerate the "theatre-moms" because I was beholden to the Disney creed, and something or other... and thats where it all fell apart. Anyway, that's blog fodder for another day..... Gnite!

Misspent Youth

Inspired by a prompt from Sunday Scribblings

Misspent Youth. It implies a youth wasted, or worthless.

Well, even though I may have spent (or misspent as it were) a part of my youth getting wasted, I wouldn’t say all of those experiences were worthless. I learned from them and I always say (despite the dangling participle) a bad example is the best example to learn from. For example, despite all my best efforts at not going to class, I did actually learn some stuff, stuff I actually remember – like conjugating verbs in Spanish, and the definition of an isosceles triangle, and the capitals of all 50 states. Not stuff you need to know every day, but hey, I do pretty well at Trivial Pursuit.

Misspent. That word sounds to me like if you could go back and do it all again, you’d do it differently. Well I wouldn’t. I took some wrong turns, and I burnt some bridges, and I hardly ever answered the door when Ol’ Mr. Opportunity was knocking. But then some of those wrong turns led to other roads that turned out OK, and when the bridge is out, you go around, and even Ol’ Mr. Opportunity eventually came calling at my door again.

I tell my kids that nothing is a mistake if you learn from it… well, OK, nothing that doesn’t involve spilled blood, or broken bones, or the next door neighbor’s cat… but pretty much anything you live through you can learn from (except dangling participles). I lived through my youth, and I learned some valuable lessons. I hope my kids don’t have to learn the hard way like I did, but part of me knows they will – they’ll have to, if they’re going to be a bad example for my grandkids!

Thankful For Friday and Leftovers and MJ!

Of the nearly 50 Thanksgiving turkey's I have had the pleasure of sampling in my life, there are exactly three that I remember....

The first was in the late 1980s when my parents first purchased a Weber Grill. The novelty of barbecuing a turkey was part of it, but it did have a wonderful flavor.

The second was years later when Downtown Dad and I purchased a deep fryer, along with the gallons of peanut oil, a turkey syringe, and the cajun spices required so that we could take our life in our fireproof mitted hands, and hope to God our fire insurance was up to date, in order to deep fry a turkey - in the snow. Quick, and tasty, but IMHO, not worth the trouble.

The third one, was yesterday when we used an old roasting pan, handed down from one of our grandmas, and the syringe from the back of the utensil drawer, and a recipe from our friend MJ. We mixed a cup of boiling water with a cup of lemon juice, 1/4 cup of salt, 2 Tablespoons of liquid garlic, 1 1/2 Tablespoons of liquid smoke, and 2 Tablespoons of Tabasco sauce, injecting that into our humble store brand 12 pounder the night before. Mmmmmmmm Mmmmmmm! That was THE yummiest, most moist - even the white meat - turkey ever! Even today's leftovers are still great!

Omigod You Guys!

While we cooked, we watched Legally Blonde-The Musical, and if you haven't seen it, you really can't know the perky goodness of the really clever songs and the freakishly sweet way they worm thier way into your brain and never leave! Anyway, and so, the fabulous food that took all day to create was devoured as usual, in 17.8 minutes. Then, since we do not have a functioning dishwasher - the automatic kind - we worked off some calories by cleaning up, and then collapsed into a heap on the couch in an L-Tryptophan induced coma... and since everyone was too sleepy to reach the remote, guess what we watched again? Legally Blonde-The Musical for the second time ... Omigod You Guys!

Who's Your Candidate?

Are you as confused as I am about the whole Presidential campaign? Are the issues really blurry, and the candidates' stand on the issues even blurrier? Well, this may help. Here's a link to a survey I found on the Minnesota Public Radio site. By answering a series of questions about major issues, you can quickly learn which candidates are most closely aligned with your views. You'll be able to learn more about each candidate, hear his/her positions on many issues, and find out how your results compare with those of others who take the survey. And heck, if it doesn't help, at least you may learn something!

The Collector

This is dedicated to my genealogist husband:

At family gatherings you collect them,
Names, dates, distant memories, pictures of people long passed,
Quickly, carefully - before they scatter with the winds of time.
Dried leaves, rattling across the roads that once were farms.

Collected and catalogued, they accumulate, almost palpable,
Percolating, like coffee on an ancient cookstove.
Just beneath the motes and swirls of day to day dust,
as fertile as compost in a long forgotten cornfield

Finally, the congregation is assembled, drawn together
Once again with the places that gave them life.
To anyone else, just old photos, dates and maps.
To you, the family – gathering.


Inspired by #77 Sunday Scribblings - Collector Personality

Pachelbel - Who Knew?

Because I'm not really smart enough to figure out how to post this video right on my site, I'm going to put in a link because if you haven't seen this guy, you really must! This is such a great example of really intellegent humor! Enjoy Pachelbel's Canon in D - for the first time - all over again!

*EDIT* OK so it turns out that it really is very simple to imbed the video, and I have now done so based on the kindness of Mary Alice of From The Frontlines

Blue Sunday

It's Sunday evening, I can't think of anything to write about so once again, I dip into my endless stash of pictures from 1967. This was taken I'm quite sure on a Sunday, Easter Sunday quite probably. My sister and I are modeling our matching coats - made, as most of our clothes were at the time, by my mother. I'm quite sure there were very few occasions that occured before I reached the age of 12 that did not include matching outfits for my sister and me. That's me, on the left, holding the lovely aqua purse that matches my lovely aqua coat, which coincidentally matches my sisters lovely aqua coat. I can't imagine what I would have had in the purse - quite possibly white gloves, or maybe two more inches of fabric so the sleeves would reach my wrists.

Notice the lady-like stance my mother, my grandmother and I have assumed - my little sister just has to go to the bathroom - she always had to go to the bathroom.

Daughters

One of the most fabulous things about having a teenaged daughter is hearing her laugh.

There is a stage in female adolescent development that causes her mouth muscles to pull downward quite often and her eyes tend to roll at the slightest hint of a parental opinion. Almost all communication on her part whithers to a grunt or, if you're lucky, a tirade in which you, or parents as a species, bear the brunt of anything non-Fall Out Boy that has ever happened in the fullness of civilisation. Her apparal of choice is the absolute opposite of anything you'd choose now, or would have chosen when you were that age, (God forbid you should ever mention the words: "when I was your age"), and food, must be once again in the orange category that was so popular in her toddler years (i.e. macaroni and cheese, carrots, orange juice or Orange Crush). During this time, the female hormones - so prone to coordinate cycles in earlier years, tend to ebb in the opposite direction now, causing even the most transcendental mom to pop off a few well aimed verbal whallops, while the teenaged girl explores her newfound world of expletives.

All of this becomes blissfully insignificant, when quite by chance, you walk by an open door where she is watching an old favorite Disney movie and you are lucky enough to hear a beautifully matured version of that three-year old giggle.

La la la...something And Noodles With String...

Mrs. G, over at Derfwad Manor sent out an invitation for we NABLOPOMO-ites to post our "Favorite Things" today. A welcome inspiration, I must say, for those of us who are 15 days into this daily post challenge with nary a clue as to what we will write the next day!

Today also marks the day that The Sound of Music opened on Broadway 48 years ago. Amazing then, don't you think, that Mrs. G should orchestrate a group post based on the hit song from that musical? ... something tells me this ISN'T a coincidence!

So, now without further ado - well... one ado (what is an ado anyway?) These are My Favorite Things, based on sensory experiences, the things that give me chills, or make me smile at the thought - or some things that are irreplaceable, mine alone. It goes without saying that Downtown Dad and my family are absolutely my favorite things. They already know they are irreplaceable, and just because they are not in the list doesn't mean they don't give me chills or make me smile!

These Are A Few of My Favorite Things

The cherry red hood of my ’67 Firebird at 65 miles an hour
A Summer cloudburst on the tin roof outside my window
The first whiff of the tire department at Sears
Ice cold milk, first thing in the morning
Putting on warm jeans right out of the dryer
The lavender Santa Ynez mountains against blue sky
Cobalt blue and white willow patterned porcelain
Apricot colored Hibiscus blooms
The tang of salt sea spray
Incense burning
Spanish guitar music
Colm Wilkerson as Jean ValJean in Les Miserables
Jim Croce’s Photographs and Memories
Flaky, salty, sweet pie crust
Cool sheets on a hot night
Warm sun on skin
Green tea Frappaccinos
A Taco Bell Enchirito
Freshly shampooed hair
Wind in the trees and waves on the sand
Deep backrubs
20 minute hot showers
Eucalyptus bark
Red canyons and rocky creeks
My first pair of high heels
Jafra’s Almond Oil
Reeses Peanut Butter Cups
My 10-speed Motobecane bicycle
My hammered silver unicorn necklace
My ninth grade journals
My Inheritance poem
My Captain Kitty book
Palm trees
A full moon
1973

Lost in the past....

Tessie and I got lost in looking at old photo albums tonight and all of a sudden it got to be 11:35! I'm working on the list of My Favorite Things to be posted tomorrow!

I Am From...

I read this over at Dyane's Words of a Witchy Woman and just had to try it out. There is a form to guide you in creating your own version here. I think this is still a work in progress, but I've run out of time to work on it tonight!

I am from The Church in Cove, from Crayola Crayons and California.
I am from the identical tract house 6th from the corner with it’s back to the mountains, and my hand print in the patio cement.
I am from the bougainvilla, the hibiscus and the palm tree, the iceplant, the eucalyptus and oak.
I am from devout believers and hard workers and coffee drinkers, from Richards and Roberts and Lania.
I am from the winsome smilers and the long goodbye-ers.
From people who don’t divorce and people who are silent while daddy naps.
I am from my mother who taught me to sew and a father who took us to church on Sunday. White gloves to hide the dirty fingernails – turn the pages, mouth the words.
I'm from Escondido and County Cork – Tuna Casserole and Tacos.
From the child who could recite John 3:16 at two and a half, the girl who hitchhiked to school, and the same one who married the wrong man for the wrong reasons.
I am from the cedar chest Grandma’s brother made, the stories Uncle David told, from the hummingbird’s nest in the kumquat tree outside Mungio’s window and the lessons that hang like choir robes.

November 13, 1981

Twenty six years ago today, my firstborn came into this world. Without the aid of prenatal classes, Lamaze, or any drugs or sugical aid. I was 23. He changed my life. Happy Birthday Beez.

Driving to See The Snow

Once upon a time, a long long time ago, (1967) in a land far far away (from here), there were two little girls who lived on the beach and had never seen snow. One day, they looked up from their sunny patio toward the Sierra Madres behind their house and saw that the tip tops were white. "Mommy," they said, "why are the mountains all dusty?" Their mother, who had spent most of her life on the west coast also, told them about a magical substance that once in a while came down from the clouds called snow. The girls were very excited and begged their mother to let them go see this wonderous sight. Their mother bundled them up in their warmest plastic rain galoshes, and knee high socks, piled them into the Chevy station wagon, along with the camera and a 1.5 pound bag of rock salt she bought for making ice cream (because she'd heard you needed to salt the roads if they were icy), and drove them 35 minutes up the pass to the frigid snowline, where minutes earlier a torrent of snow had left giant drifts of up to an inch in places. The girls begged to get out of the car to make snowmen and snow angels like they'd seen in foreign travelogs, but their mother kept driving. Past the Jeeps, and Pickup trucks that had brought their own rambunctious children to experience this rare delight. Their mother wanted to find a private patch of pristine snow so she could record this moment for the family album, which was otherwise filled with sandy, splashy, shorts clad people. Finally, as the sun sank low in the sky and the temperature dropped to a frigid 45 degrees, their mother told the girls they could get out of the car and stand under that pine tree - 'be careful not to mess up the snow before I take this snapshot!' Once the picture was taken, the girls piled handfulls of the white stuff together, but dirt and leaves mixed in, and it didn't stick together, and they didn't have mittens, just some old white sunday school gloves that were instantly soaked. They lay down in the snow and waved their arms and legs, but they just ended up sweeping the snow off of the dirt and rocks underneath, giving their snow angels a sadly tarnished look. After 5 long minutes of frolicking, the girls were wet and cold and tired and ready to go home. Once safely back to sea-level, the girls ran shivvering into the house, ready for some hot chocolate! The End.

Introvert Behaving Badly

Two posts ago I said that I felt like an introvert pretenting to be an extrovert. I decided to retake the Myers Briggs Personality test to see if it would reveal, as Urban Pedestrian suggested, that I was perhaps harboring two personalities. She made me think I should create a name for this alter-ego so my posts don't get confusing. I actually gave it some thought, but then decided, no, that would just be enabling the questionably existant other personality, and an enabler I am NOT!

Now, while I don't think Myers Briggs is really meant to uncover dissociative identity disorders, I did find that I am still an ENFJ (see results in the left sidebar). Extrovert. Not Introvert. One Linda. Not Two. Whew.

So why all the retreating to dark corners, and my new preference for the fetal position? According to some of the explanations of the ENFJ Type, under extreme stress, or fatigue - which I totally kind of am right now - the "shadow" or opposite of what I am may appear. Uh, duh, isn't that like Newton's third law or something? But it is interesting to read that, and sort of understand those feelings as a natural reaction of my personality to stress.

So, cool. I want to embrace this newfound *permission* to go to the dark side. I want it to be like a built-in excuse for bad behavior. But, how would an introvert exhibit bad behavior? What would be the Hyde to my Jekyll? Would I think my honest opinion about someone, rather than blurting it out to their face as I normally do? Would I actually consider the consequences of telling someone the truth (for their own good of course) before I actually do it? Will I retreat so far into myself that I resort to self-psychoanalysis, based on free Internet tests and then hypothosize myself into oblivion? .... maybe...

No Time

Play went til ten. Exhausted parents are going to have a drink!
G'night!

True Confessions

The last couple of posts have been half-assed, citing my lack of energy. Well honestly, that's what I *thought* was the reason.

Turns out - I can trace it back to the fact that unbeknowst to anyone else, I'm basically a very shy introverted person with a serious lack of self esteem, stemming from my inability to get approval from my father, which manifested itself in thinking I'm not worthy of compliments or of anything good that happens in my life. This, caused me to compensate by putting on the outer facade of confident-woman/super-mom, thus giving others the false impression that I am a talented, outgoing, vivacious person who can accomplish anything, which, of course, manifested itself (a la The Secret) in me having a super fabulous year, accomplishing everything I wanted, since apparently my subconscious believed the impression I was projecting to everyone else.

So, here I am with an embarrassment of accomplishments and opportunities, and with what feels like an endless number of things to blog about - something akin to the old addage "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it!" At the same time though, the shy introvert in me just wants to crawl under the covers and dissapear into a book because I'm overwhelmed by the endless number of things to blog about!

Tired...Again.

Today was friends and family night for High School Musical - or dress rehearsal. WOW! None of us has seen it all the way through before - and it was AMAZING! We are all pretty tired, so this is the extent of my post. I haven't even had the energy to read anyone elses posts either. Tomorrow should be a little less hectic.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste...

It is the middle of *Hell Week* as the High School Musical is set to start it's 11 show run on Friday. We, the parents, serve potluck dinners to our actors during their rehearsals which last till 10:30 or 11, we do their... er, um, help them with their homework into the wee hours, and coax, drag, and cajole them off to school again in the morning.

It is the first really cold day we've had. Probably in the low 30s. We were all happy to have a night off from late rehearsals, and to get home to our cozy house after our busy day... but for some reason, it wasn't so cozy - in fact it was downright cold! Ah yes, it's 8:40 p.m and the furnace is not working!

And all is as it should be.

Kids!

I'm out of creativity today and Blogger has a scheduled outage at 11 p.m., so I need to post something quick. Here is a series of pics of my kids that took 13 years to stage....

The first one was really Beez taking his best friend, AG Bear for a ride, on his preferred mode of transportation, wearing his favorite article of clothing, his cowboy boots!

For the next one, I noticed that Tessie's hood fur matched a bear she had, and, remembering the now 10 year old picture of her big brother, I suggested she take the bear for a ride, which she did posing, and flashing her smile, once she noticed I had the camera in my hand.

The last one, took a bit more cajoling, and several shots to find one that did not have Bearly scowling, or throwing the bear... once I convinced him to actually sit on the trike - which he hated.


Beez 3 1/2 years old 1984


Tessie 3 1/2 years old 1994


Bearly 3 1/2 years old 1997

Warrior Woman: Vera Vedrasna

A couple of years ago, several of the women in my office and I put together an after work yoga class once a week. We *tried out* a few teachers before we found our ideal mix of someone who was a certified instructor, who could lead us through our practice with enough authenticity to make it worthwhile, but at the same time, someone who would not have us chanting and ohming or worse, offend the Lutherans! We finally found a fabulous female. (Nice alliteration!) One of those elf-like people who look ageless, even with her naturally gray hair. Just her presence speaks volumes about the benefits of yoga! And the things she can do with her body - all the while, talking us through our *asanas* or poses with the quiet, mindful voice of someone who's words seem to come from another time.

I especially like it when she uses the pose's proper or Sanskrit name, like Tadasana for Mountain Pose, or the lyrical Adho Mukha Svanasana instead of the awkward sounding Downward Facing Dog. For the longest time I thought the Sanskrit word for my favorite pose - Warrior Pose - was the name of a mythological woman warrior - Vera Vedrasna....

Until I looked it up for this post!

Sure it sounds like Vera Vedrasna, toned, tanned, flexible ancient desert warrior, but look how it is spelled: Virabhadrasana. Oy, that looks like something you'd see under a 10th Grade Biology microscope!

Well, no matter - after not going for almost 6 months because of my toe surgery, I've started up again - and its amazing what a little stretching and twisting, will do for you! There's a little Vera Vedrasna in me after all!

Absolutely Nothing

I held two open houses today. One in a freezing house where only three people showed up, the other house had so many people I lost count after 30! If you've never tried to be nice to 30+ strangers for two hours, let me tell you, it takes a lot outta ya! Just as the last open was almost over, and I was looking forward to the relative peace and quiet of home, one of my fellow Realtor girlfriends called to remind me that tonight was a girls only dinner at her house celebrating my 50th birthday.

Wheee.

The 50th birthday is a cover for one of the girls who recently left our brokerage for another one. We haven't gotten together for a while and this was pretty much the only day all 5 of us could get together. She lives in a rural town some miles away and her husband literally screens the events she can go to... no, really, he does.

There's really no point to this post except to say that I'm just tired and I need to get it posted before midnight.

Gnight!

Hello, My Name Is Linda And...

Alright! I'll admit it! I'm a Cleanaholic!

"Hello Linda."

Mind you that doesn't mean I clean well. After all, an alcoholic doesn't necessarily drink the finest, most expensive wine. But I do THINK about cleaning pretty much all the time! I was thinking about cleaning today as a matter of fact, but I got distracted by this and this. I even found myself a themesong.

It's just that there's always so MUCH to clean and usually so LITTLE time! And even though they offer to help clean, the family doesn't do it the *right* way, the way I want it done, so if I don't do it, it doesn't get done. Thankfully, the household, knowing my addiction, usually can provide enough enablement for me. A typical week looks like this; The dogs track in leaves, and small tumbleweeds and deposit fur on every sitting surface; The birds - on purpose - have a secret birdcathalon where they throw seed hulls and feathers as far as they can from behind their bars; The dirty clothes, thown down the laundry chute, multiply, spilling out into the TV room; The dirty dishes teeter and balance in the sink, overflowing onto every counter and table within view of a TV; Food purchased from the Eyes-Bigger-Than-Your-Stomach-All-Night-Drive-Thru festers and furrs itself in the fridge, aided by the light always on because there is too much stuff in there for the door to close!

Thank goodness there is enough time in my day to post this blog!

A Teacher Appears

As I have mentioned previously, I am very involved in a non profit local youth theatre group.

Recently, the girl who wrote grants for this group decided that now - she wont.

As a result of this, a couple of other board members and I have decided that we will take this on.... 'cause, how hard can it be? Just the filling in of some forms......

ah, no....

Apparently you need training to write grants.

Also, apparently, quite a lot of time is involved in the writing of these grants.

Oh, and somewhere, there are lists of grant giving individuals.

Who knew?

So now three otherwise employed people are currenly searching the Web to find any and everything to do with grant writing and those who give grants ... which by the way if you look, you'll get about 1.5 million hits on Google. Why isn't there someone out there who can help us?!!?

This literally put me over the edge.

I went back to my safe Real Estate world, setting the grant writing notion aside in my mind, and I went on with my day, which involved a YWCA luncheon.

Arriving late, I sat in the only remaining seat at a table of 8. During the meal I chatted with the rest of the people seated there, and over the passing of salad dressing, I heard the girl seated next to me mention what she did for a living.

NO WAY!

She was the director of an organization that helped small non-profits learn how to write grants and find grant giving institutions!

I told her my story and we both were speechless for a couple of seconds, realizing the mangnatude of the situation! She gave me her card and I immediately emailed my cohorts.

But how amazing is that!?!

The Countdown Begins

In 35 days I turn the big 5 - 0.

Naturally with the impending milestone birthday like this breathing down my neck, my thoughts turn to things like Retirement, Social Security, and AARP. Mine and about 250,000,000 other aging baby boomers. It was ironic then this morning that two out of the three rotating screens on MSN greeted me with headlines of: 8 Money Moves To Make at 50! ... and Grey and Georgous! I can't even get old without falling into a pre-examined demographic!

At least this year I am going to celebrate by doing something I hope is unique. Kimisue, my BFF from a previous post, who also turns 5 - 0, will do so 20 days before me. She and her hubby, who live in Seattle will board the Empire Builder Amtrack train there, while Downtown dad and I, will board the same line here in Fargo, on November 25th - exactly midway between our birthdays. We we will simultaneously ride the train to our weekend destination, Glacier Park, Montana - more or less smack dab between our homes!

Nablopomo starts today! What a good excuse to chronicle the final remaining days of my first 1/2 century!

Don't Piss Off Da Mama

Today Beez got to shadow the photographer for our Brokerage as he took the interior shots of this week's new listings. He really enjoyed himself and learned a lot. I do so hope that he will focus on this as a career rather than being a waiter.

After his shadowing session, I tood him to lunch where some of his friends reinforced our communal thinking about his recent off-again-ness. The formerly-in-our-good-graces-Marci is now holding hostage Beez's framed art photos, the negatives from which they were made, his computer with the artful croppings, and 6 of my families' favorite kiddie videos. This disturbs not only me his mom, but I found out today, several of his friends.

I think that October 31st will hold some interesting developments.....

Amazed and Impressed

When he was 3 years old, I was pushing Beez in the grocery cart at QVC and as we passed the magazine section, he pointed his chubby little fingers at one of the fan mags where five boys in sunglasses with long curly locks, wearing identical sleeveless denim vests, posed under the Hollywood sign. Beez proudly announced, "Dat-th's Twithded Thithter!" I remember being both amazed and impressed that my pristine baby boy could identify a metal hair band on sight.

23 years later, well on his own, with his own well developed eclectic musical tastes that both mesh and collide with mine, he gave me another amazed and impressed moment today.

As a popular waiter at one of the uber-cool hotel-restaurants in town, he got a call to deliver a lunch order of fried tomatoes and scrambled eggs to a Mr. Black in one of the executive suites. The manager told Beez that Mr. Black was the code name for Ozzy Osbourne, who was staying there before his concert tonight at the Fargodome. Beez brought the food to the door and knocked. He waited. And then he knocked some more. Inside the room he heard Ozzy and his manager commenting on some TV show they were watching. He knocked yet again. Finally the manager answered the door and invited Beez in. There was Oz, chillin' on the couch. The manager went for his wallet and Beez took this opportunity to introduce himself to The Prince of Darkness by saying "Hey." The infamous Prince of Darkness responded by saying, "Hey." The manager returned with the money and tip and thanked Beez. Beez left.

Thats it.

Beez called me once his shift was over and told me about it. I have to tell you, I was pretty impressed! My son served lunch to the Prince of Darkness! I asked Beez if I could pose as a housekeeper and pick up Oz's dirty dishes.

"He's pretty much just an old guy mom. Don't get all Fan-stalker on me."

"Yeah, well, I'd have rather met Ozzy's wife Sharon anyway."

"Now SHE's a Twisted Sister!"

Doggy Sliding Door

We have had an ongoing problem with our two dogs and the doggy door we cut into the wall of our house. The doggy door, badly insulated, and not sturdily manufactured, plus the fact that it is at ground level and tends to let leaves blow in with the dogs, and just all the time lets in cold air, thus we have to close with the bendable tin door that comes with it, because the air lock flap does not seem to work either. The dogs, unable to get out the doggy door to go, end up going on new carpet. Going on = On going.

Yesterday Downtown Dad had a Whack Upside The Head moment while hanging out at the newly opened Menards 3/4 of a mile from our house, that may provide a fix to our Ongoing/going on problem!

He was wandering up and down the aisles, drooling... er, um, perusing all of the cool and groovy home improvement wares, when he came across a window. He stopped. He cocked his head to the side, and then, he saw it! The window was really a miniature sliding glass door for the dogs! He installed it about 3 inches from the ground and put an airlock flap on the outside and voilla! An airtight, doggy door that can stay open and remain relatively air tight, or be closed as easily as a window.

He's a genius!

In the Basement.... Alone...

I don't generally watch scary movies. Back in the 70's The Exorcist nearly did me in... couldn't sleep with the light off for weeks, and I shared a room with my sister, so it nearly did her in too. Although, truth be told, she was really the one that scared me. When she slept, she cleared her throat by making a gutteral sucking sound with her lips closed... try it... I know you want to.... yeah, that's it, scary huh? The scary thing is that I have a dog that makes that same sound, I guess I've learned to live with it now.

I've made a few attempts in the years since, to watch scary things every now and then, but I tend to stay away, only once in a while attempting a Stephen King event every now and then, but never by myself!

This evening, as I was ironing in the basement, watching... something... Tessie and her girlfriend were getting ready to go to a Halloween party. They were ready early and came downstairs to watch TV while they waited...

"Oh look mom, IT is just starting!"

"No, you guys, I don't like scary movies - go watch it upstairs."

"Aw c'mon mom, it's not scary - it's only Stephen King."

Oh, Stephen King... compared to Saw, and Hellraiser and whatever else is on today - Stephen King is like vanilla pudding!

So, as I'm ironing, and as the characters in the movie keep finding out that it's not so scary when you have other people around....the people in my house keep leaving. Pretty soon, the last one, my rock, my safe haven, Downtown Dad yells down the stairs, "I'm going to take Bear to the party, be back soon...."

I'm alone. And I'm in the basement watching a scary movie. And I can't stop. Every time there's a commercial I take my freshly ironed clothes upstairs and put them all away and then I go back down with every intention of turning off the TV or at least changing the channel, but no... it just sucks me right back in again. Spiders, Evil Clowns, dripping sewer castle buildings....

Well, true to form, Mr. Scary Vanilla Pudding King, really does keep you going right up until the end. The end in this case features John Boy and Olivia Hussey (Oh Olivia, have your Shakespearian talents fallen so far from Juliet to this?) straddling a bicycle in the middle of traffic.

I'm a little creeped out but, the flatness of the ending has eased my fears. I turn off the lights and head upstairs....when, the dog, starts to clear his throat by making that gutteral sucking sound......