Ah, yes, that time of year that one takes stock of all that was and wasn't accomplished and then resolves to make that change. Well, not this girl, not this year. I am not resolving, I am revolting. Revolting against all that I hate or despise in my day. In the words of creepy Micheal Jackson, I'm gonna "make that change." Because I am officially middle aged and I have no intention of wasting any more of my days with any of the following...
1. A lousy relationship with God. Oh, He is so there for me all the time, but I am not very good about being there for Him. Most of my prayers are for my needs, not my thanks. Most of my visits are, who are we kidding, there really aren't any visits.
I will attend Mass or another service each week. If I cannot attend a service, then I will find myself a place of prayer and get at it.
2. A checkbook that is more red than black. Ok, it really isn't that bad, but there are several times a year (a week) where I ask myself out loud if I paid that bill.
Get my bills on auto pay or better yet, get them paid off!
3. A piss poor attitude at work. No big secret here folks, I am not a fan of the current position I am in. But there really isn't much alternative until #2 is true, so it is time to accept the fact that big time drug store job is not so terrible and I can certainly make a better go of it!
Work well.
4. A belly that has never had a six pack but now resembles a keg.
I know what to do here, and I have the tools. Simple as that. There is going to be a lot less of me.
5. Friendships that are sinking instead of sailing. I turn down invites. I don't ever have get togethers. Blah, Blah, Blah.
Accept invitations and extend them.
I am not easing into 2012. I am revolting against all that was (well, some of what was) and am going to take advantage of this year. Or least I will be on good terms with the Lord, with less debt, less waist, more friends and a better job when the aliens come on December 21st.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
You are not my Lorax
Ah, the Occupiers are in the news again. Good for them. I think it is great when people are put in the newspaper for not doing much of anything but being a pain in the ass. Oh, and I am all for protests with a purpose, but no one has yet to explain to me what the purpose is of these Occupiers. If you are a fan of these folks and the folks like them, stop reading now because I will only piss you off.
Yesterday's Des Moines Register showed a video of DMPD arresting a few Occupiers. It also showed one young lady with duct tape over her mouth and a sign that stated that she represented the children who's fathers died in war, the children who were sick and had no health care and some other stuff. Though I give this girl a thumbs up for being out there and doing something she believes in instead of trolling the mall, she could find a more productive way to affect change. Being arrested is probably not it. And it is quite possible that in her non protesting time, she is doing something more productive. She may help military organizations and raise funds for children's hospitals. I really don't know, the article didn't say. I hope she is taking off the duct tape and using her voice to promote positive change.
If she is, then she appears to be in the minority. First of all, preventing me from walking down the street because your group wants to take up the whole sidewalk and will not yield is rude. I am not one of the super rich, if I were, I would have a private sidewalk to use and I wouldn't give a rat's ass about you. I am just a regular jane trying to make a living, pay most of my bills, enjoy my life and not have to walk in the freakin grass so you can make a scene. I wouldn't even mind walking in the grass if you were making a point, but so far, I haven't heard one. Also, how in the world does it benefit anyone for at least six police officers to be pulled away from real crime to haul your ass into the paddy wagon? Seriously, I suppose if you lived in a house and not a tent in the park, you might have some concerns about the safety of your neighborhoods. But that doesn't seem to be the case. You would rather have the police deal with you and your problems then be part of a solution and allow the police to do something more beneficial to the entire community.
Hey, here's another one for you. Where are your clothes from? Made here or in China? Supporting the big business that ships jobs overseas or are you all wearing socks made in Wisconsin? Are your t-shirts made by No Nonsense? Hey, girl with the pink hair! Did you buy that dye from a big box store or mass drugstore? Tell me that none of you shop at Wal Mart. Tell me that you didn't steal the guitar riffs from the Violent Femmes and that they were paid for the use of their song. Because if that is not the case, then you are acting much like the people you so dislike. And your point was what again? Because here comes mine...
Get off your whiney ass and look for a job. McDonalds had a hiring sign up much of December. Is it glamorous? Probably not, but it will pay your bills. Want your student loans paid off? See my previous sentence. I know one girl that went through some serious medical issues and did not get a free ride. She studies hard, gets good grades and is rewarded scholarships. I know another girl that made the hard decision to revamp her college career to save money. She will miss some really fun times but is willing to do so to work more and save some serious dough. I know three young men that joined the National Guard. They will earn money for college but will also serve a nation that they love and care about. I am sure that some of you have paid off loans, have served your country in a positive way and have worked hard, but it is difficult to see that through all your bull.
And if you want to impress me with your protesting skills- jump a plane to the middle eastern country of your choice. Start protesting there where no camera crew will document your very gentle escort into the paddy. No, go shout about how unfair the 1% is in a country that will shoot you and leave you dead in the street. Maybe don't even protest, but take a walk around and try to grasp what hard times really looks like. Downtown Des Moines, Iowa is not it.
My son, who is so wrong so often has it right on this one. If these Occupiers really speak for the 99%, then why don't they have a candidate? He or she would surely win. With the support of the 99%, how could one fail? Well, because there really isn't a 99%. People stealing Violent Femmes songs, blocking sidewalks, wasting law enforcement resources, chanting unclever(I looked it up, its a word) slogans in no way speak for me. I am my own Lorax. Though I do not participate in much of the political process, I do vote. I donate my time, talents and cash to organizations that are working for the greater good. I spread my money to businesses, big and small. I pay the appropriate fees for use of parks while camping.
This same son of mine wants to put on his finest t-shirt, emblazoned with the slogan I AM THE 1%. He would like to shake a few hands, hand out a few silver dollars, show them that the 1% aren't all bad. I think it would be funny. I think he would be smart enough to disperse when advised to and I doubt he would end up in cuffs. On the other hand, he has been known to shoot from the hip with his lip and would probably end up in some sort of fistacuffs with an unshowered hippie. Let the Des Moines Register put that in the paper!
Yesterday's Des Moines Register showed a video of DMPD arresting a few Occupiers. It also showed one young lady with duct tape over her mouth and a sign that stated that she represented the children who's fathers died in war, the children who were sick and had no health care and some other stuff. Though I give this girl a thumbs up for being out there and doing something she believes in instead of trolling the mall, she could find a more productive way to affect change. Being arrested is probably not it. And it is quite possible that in her non protesting time, she is doing something more productive. She may help military organizations and raise funds for children's hospitals. I really don't know, the article didn't say. I hope she is taking off the duct tape and using her voice to promote positive change.
If she is, then she appears to be in the minority. First of all, preventing me from walking down the street because your group wants to take up the whole sidewalk and will not yield is rude. I am not one of the super rich, if I were, I would have a private sidewalk to use and I wouldn't give a rat's ass about you. I am just a regular jane trying to make a living, pay most of my bills, enjoy my life and not have to walk in the freakin grass so you can make a scene. I wouldn't even mind walking in the grass if you were making a point, but so far, I haven't heard one. Also, how in the world does it benefit anyone for at least six police officers to be pulled away from real crime to haul your ass into the paddy wagon? Seriously, I suppose if you lived in a house and not a tent in the park, you might have some concerns about the safety of your neighborhoods. But that doesn't seem to be the case. You would rather have the police deal with you and your problems then be part of a solution and allow the police to do something more beneficial to the entire community.
Hey, here's another one for you. Where are your clothes from? Made here or in China? Supporting the big business that ships jobs overseas or are you all wearing socks made in Wisconsin? Are your t-shirts made by No Nonsense? Hey, girl with the pink hair! Did you buy that dye from a big box store or mass drugstore? Tell me that none of you shop at Wal Mart. Tell me that you didn't steal the guitar riffs from the Violent Femmes and that they were paid for the use of their song. Because if that is not the case, then you are acting much like the people you so dislike. And your point was what again? Because here comes mine...
Get off your whiney ass and look for a job. McDonalds had a hiring sign up much of December. Is it glamorous? Probably not, but it will pay your bills. Want your student loans paid off? See my previous sentence. I know one girl that went through some serious medical issues and did not get a free ride. She studies hard, gets good grades and is rewarded scholarships. I know another girl that made the hard decision to revamp her college career to save money. She will miss some really fun times but is willing to do so to work more and save some serious dough. I know three young men that joined the National Guard. They will earn money for college but will also serve a nation that they love and care about. I am sure that some of you have paid off loans, have served your country in a positive way and have worked hard, but it is difficult to see that through all your bull.
And if you want to impress me with your protesting skills- jump a plane to the middle eastern country of your choice. Start protesting there where no camera crew will document your very gentle escort into the paddy. No, go shout about how unfair the 1% is in a country that will shoot you and leave you dead in the street. Maybe don't even protest, but take a walk around and try to grasp what hard times really looks like. Downtown Des Moines, Iowa is not it.
My son, who is so wrong so often has it right on this one. If these Occupiers really speak for the 99%, then why don't they have a candidate? He or she would surely win. With the support of the 99%, how could one fail? Well, because there really isn't a 99%. People stealing Violent Femmes songs, blocking sidewalks, wasting law enforcement resources, chanting unclever(I looked it up, its a word) slogans in no way speak for me. I am my own Lorax. Though I do not participate in much of the political process, I do vote. I donate my time, talents and cash to organizations that are working for the greater good. I spread my money to businesses, big and small. I pay the appropriate fees for use of parks while camping.
This same son of mine wants to put on his finest t-shirt, emblazoned with the slogan I AM THE 1%. He would like to shake a few hands, hand out a few silver dollars, show them that the 1% aren't all bad. I think it would be funny. I think he would be smart enough to disperse when advised to and I doubt he would end up in cuffs. On the other hand, he has been known to shoot from the hip with his lip and would probably end up in some sort of fistacuffs with an unshowered hippie. Let the Des Moines Register put that in the paper!
Thursday, December 29, 2011
The White Family Show
I love to watch my family life through the french doors. Being out on the deck with the doors closed, I can only imagine what is being said. It is best when the lights are off and I can only see the cats running about by the glow of the street light. Then there is a block of light while Harlow lumbers by. Sometimes she stops at the front door and peers out the side window. It is best when Sophie is also looking out. This giant sitting so gently next to this itty little kitty. I imagine Sophie is, in her mind, preparing to hunt rabbits or chipmunks. In Harlow's mind, probably only crickets chirping.
So last night, Jacob got off work at ten. Danny and I were all settled in to watch the White Family from the deck. Harlow perked up a bit when she heard Jacob's car door. Then she actually got up and walked to the back door when she heard the gate. But Jacob wasn't coming. She walked into the kitchen. Ashlyn talked to her a bit. Her ears perked and she got that look on her face. It is the look of confusion and recognition. An odd combo, I realize, but we are talking about Harlow after all. She heard Jacob. He was out on the deck with us. She searched for him in the blackness to no avail. She gave up and walked off. Her body language showed defeat. Her boy was home, but she could not find him. Then Jacob went into the house. Harlow lurched to her feet, trotted to him and rammed her head into his belly. Jacob, after years of Harlow, knows to direct Harlow's massive snout above the belt line. She is going to give a thorough sniff over no matter what, so it is best to just keep her above the belt and let her sniff. Her tail was agoing, her ears were up, she was almost smiling. Jacob was mugging her face, scruffing her ears. All was right in the world.
Harlow followed him around the kitchen. He almost went to the basement so she looked down the stairs in the hopes that he would return. He did return from an entirely different direction which confused the hell out of her. Out of nowhere, Sophie came side galloping by. There was a brief scuffle between Ashlyn and Jacob. That ended quickly with no declared winner.
Emmitt, from down the hall, sprinted up the stairs. Elsa was in hot pursuit until she reached the stairs, then she stopped and sat. Later in the show, Emmitt came tearing down the stairs with absolutely no one in pursuit unless Jacob and Hayley's haunting theory is true.
Harlow went to the watering hole then was admonished by Ashlyn. We couldn't hear her, but the hand signals were clear. The straight arm to the Harlow snout is a diversionary tactic to avoid any drips, drops or full on smears of Harlow goob. Then there was the repeated pointing to the floor. That was a perfect "lay down" hand signal that Harlow always ignores. Finally, in an act of desperation, Ashlyn got up from the kitchen counter and marched, yes, she marched, into the family room with Harlow right behind her. I imagine that there was much jostling but Harlow finally (after a four to seven turn pirouette) laid down.
By that point, we were ready to come in, but the show was so good that I hated to have it end. No worries though, it plays nearly every night and is always good for a laugh!
So last night, Jacob got off work at ten. Danny and I were all settled in to watch the White Family from the deck. Harlow perked up a bit when she heard Jacob's car door. Then she actually got up and walked to the back door when she heard the gate. But Jacob wasn't coming. She walked into the kitchen. Ashlyn talked to her a bit. Her ears perked and she got that look on her face. It is the look of confusion and recognition. An odd combo, I realize, but we are talking about Harlow after all. She heard Jacob. He was out on the deck with us. She searched for him in the blackness to no avail. She gave up and walked off. Her body language showed defeat. Her boy was home, but she could not find him. Then Jacob went into the house. Harlow lurched to her feet, trotted to him and rammed her head into his belly. Jacob, after years of Harlow, knows to direct Harlow's massive snout above the belt line. She is going to give a thorough sniff over no matter what, so it is best to just keep her above the belt and let her sniff. Her tail was agoing, her ears were up, she was almost smiling. Jacob was mugging her face, scruffing her ears. All was right in the world.
Harlow followed him around the kitchen. He almost went to the basement so she looked down the stairs in the hopes that he would return. He did return from an entirely different direction which confused the hell out of her. Out of nowhere, Sophie came side galloping by. There was a brief scuffle between Ashlyn and Jacob. That ended quickly with no declared winner.
Emmitt, from down the hall, sprinted up the stairs. Elsa was in hot pursuit until she reached the stairs, then she stopped and sat. Later in the show, Emmitt came tearing down the stairs with absolutely no one in pursuit unless Jacob and Hayley's haunting theory is true.
Harlow went to the watering hole then was admonished by Ashlyn. We couldn't hear her, but the hand signals were clear. The straight arm to the Harlow snout is a diversionary tactic to avoid any drips, drops or full on smears of Harlow goob. Then there was the repeated pointing to the floor. That was a perfect "lay down" hand signal that Harlow always ignores. Finally, in an act of desperation, Ashlyn got up from the kitchen counter and marched, yes, she marched, into the family room with Harlow right behind her. I imagine that there was much jostling but Harlow finally (after a four to seven turn pirouette) laid down.
By that point, we were ready to come in, but the show was so good that I hated to have it end. No worries though, it plays nearly every night and is always good for a laugh!
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
We Bought a Zoo Movie Review
Ashlyn, Danny and I just got back from watching We Bought A Zoo. Go. Your heart and soul will thank you. Matt Damon is charming. Thomas Haden Church is the right kind of sarcastic. The daughter is adorable, the son is moody, the tiger is quite amazing.
It is one of those movies that entertains and touches and makes me think about the choices I make and the choices I choose not to make. I have never had twenty seconds of insane courage. I don't know that I ever will, but I have certainly had courage and insanity. Maybe that is what I identified with.
Or maybe it was the ragtag group of zoo workers. I like ragtag groups. I definitely have been ragtag.
Or maybe it was the relationships that were trying. Trying to start, trying to fix themselves, trying to change. I am always trying in a relationship and sometimes I try at the relationship (insert rimshot here).
Or maybe it was all those things thrown together in this movie like they are in life. Insane ragtag relationships that require courage and faith and money. Ah, that is it. And that is what my life and hopefully your life is like.
So, see this movie. I recommend it on the big screen because there are close up shots of lions and tigers and bears. Oh, my they look so amazing on the big screen. If you wait to see it at home, devote yourself to it. Put down your phone or laptop, snuggle in and really engage yourself with this movie. I promise you, it will be worth it.
It is one of those movies that entertains and touches and makes me think about the choices I make and the choices I choose not to make. I have never had twenty seconds of insane courage. I don't know that I ever will, but I have certainly had courage and insanity. Maybe that is what I identified with.
Or maybe it was the ragtag group of zoo workers. I like ragtag groups. I definitely have been ragtag.
Or maybe it was the relationships that were trying. Trying to start, trying to fix themselves, trying to change. I am always trying in a relationship and sometimes I try at the relationship (insert rimshot here).
Or maybe it was all those things thrown together in this movie like they are in life. Insane ragtag relationships that require courage and faith and money. Ah, that is it. And that is what my life and hopefully your life is like.
So, see this movie. I recommend it on the big screen because there are close up shots of lions and tigers and bears. Oh, my they look so amazing on the big screen. If you wait to see it at home, devote yourself to it. Put down your phone or laptop, snuggle in and really engage yourself with this movie. I promise you, it will be worth it.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Living in Iowa in an election year
It is almost election year! Hurray! Politics are awesome. Seriously, I can think of no better way to spend millions of dollars than on oversized fliers that I get to recycle, on TV ads that I fast forward through and on phone calls that I send to voice mail. And it is not because I don't care about what happens in this country, because I do. It is because no one is going to tell me the God's Honest Truth ever in an election year.
I had the conversation once with an Obama supporter prior to the last election. He was working very hard trying to sway me to see his point of view. But I am more conservative than Obama and seeing that point of view wasn't happening very easily. Once Obama became president though, I hoped that he wouldn't fail. I also hoped that all those people running around in HOPE shirts listening to the man say "Yes we can!" were going to be part of the "we". Unfortunately, I think there were a great number of people that voted for Obama based solely on the color of his skin and his party affiliation and when the election was over, they had no intention of being part of the solution. I am sorry for that. I don't blame Obama and his administration for all that is wrong with our nation today. I think it took a lot of screw ups, in politics, business and elsewhere, to create the cluster that we have now. I don't think one person, regardless of political party, can fix all that is broken. It really is going to take us all. Or at the least, most of us!
So as 2012 begins, I dread the endless commercials and mailings and billboards. I think we will reach November no more the wiser on what the issues really are and where the candidates stand on them. I think people will get caught up in gay marriage because it can be a dramatic topic, but will forget that families are falling apart, not because the parents are of the same sex, but because the parents are out of work, or have lost their home or cannot get adequate medical coverage. There are the real issues. Not if Adam loves Steve. I don't care who Adam loves, he can love the Eiffel Tower for all I care, I just want Adam to be able to make a decent wage, buy American made products at a fair price, get a good education for his children and know that the military that is protecting him is well trained and well funded.
I do not know who I would vote for if the elections were held today. According to the Yahoo quiz, Mitt Romney is my guy. I like Mitt. I like how he ran the Olympics in Utah. I don't care that he is a Morman. If he is like the other members of LSD that I have known over the years, then he knows how to work hard. But I get the impression that he may think one thing personally and another politically and won't take the true stand. I am not very political and in no way do I pretend to understand any of it. I just know that there has to be someone that is capable of leading us back to prosperity. I want o be part of that positive move forward. I want to leave the United States a better place for my children. I think we owe them that.
I had the conversation once with an Obama supporter prior to the last election. He was working very hard trying to sway me to see his point of view. But I am more conservative than Obama and seeing that point of view wasn't happening very easily. Once Obama became president though, I hoped that he wouldn't fail. I also hoped that all those people running around in HOPE shirts listening to the man say "Yes we can!" were going to be part of the "we". Unfortunately, I think there were a great number of people that voted for Obama based solely on the color of his skin and his party affiliation and when the election was over, they had no intention of being part of the solution. I am sorry for that. I don't blame Obama and his administration for all that is wrong with our nation today. I think it took a lot of screw ups, in politics, business and elsewhere, to create the cluster that we have now. I don't think one person, regardless of political party, can fix all that is broken. It really is going to take us all. Or at the least, most of us!
So as 2012 begins, I dread the endless commercials and mailings and billboards. I think we will reach November no more the wiser on what the issues really are and where the candidates stand on them. I think people will get caught up in gay marriage because it can be a dramatic topic, but will forget that families are falling apart, not because the parents are of the same sex, but because the parents are out of work, or have lost their home or cannot get adequate medical coverage. There are the real issues. Not if Adam loves Steve. I don't care who Adam loves, he can love the Eiffel Tower for all I care, I just want Adam to be able to make a decent wage, buy American made products at a fair price, get a good education for his children and know that the military that is protecting him is well trained and well funded.
I do not know who I would vote for if the elections were held today. According to the Yahoo quiz, Mitt Romney is my guy. I like Mitt. I like how he ran the Olympics in Utah. I don't care that he is a Morman. If he is like the other members of LSD that I have known over the years, then he knows how to work hard. But I get the impression that he may think one thing personally and another politically and won't take the true stand. I am not very political and in no way do I pretend to understand any of it. I just know that there has to be someone that is capable of leading us back to prosperity. I want o be part of that positive move forward. I want to leave the United States a better place for my children. I think we owe them that.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Boyfriends
This was the second Snow family Christmas that included Hayley's boyfriend. Even more impressive, Jake, the boyfriend, attended the surprise birthday/wedding and was subjected to meeting many relatives. That is no easy feat and he muddled his way through quite nicely. Luckily, he already knew Hayley's cousins so he had support, but still, no easy feat.
I remember when Danny started coming around to family functions. We were this ridiculous pair with cool 80s hair. I don't recall my family going too easy on him either, in my family, you either hold your own or get out of the way. Danny held his own. He joined in the badminton games, gave out hugs, loved my mom's cooking (which was pretty easy to do!). Danny was the first boyfriend that I brought home or that went to family get togethers. I remember one night being the designated driver for my brother. Dickie was pretty drunk. At some point in the evening, Dickie slapped me in the forehead and told me he gave Danny his seal of approval. That hurt and meant a lot.
Now the story repeats itself with Hayley and Jake. The family dynamics are a little different, but the expectation is the same. We expected Jake to hold his own or get out of the way and he usually held his own. Jake is figuring out how we work and is making himself at home around here.
Jake has now been around for year and a half or so. He loves Ashlyn and Jacob. He understands the peculiar ways of Harlow. He treats Hayley with kindness. He has great 2011 hair. And now, he has successfully made it through two Snow family Christmas's. The boy is alright!
I remember when Danny started coming around to family functions. We were this ridiculous pair with cool 80s hair. I don't recall my family going too easy on him either, in my family, you either hold your own or get out of the way. Danny held his own. He joined in the badminton games, gave out hugs, loved my mom's cooking (which was pretty easy to do!). Danny was the first boyfriend that I brought home or that went to family get togethers. I remember one night being the designated driver for my brother. Dickie was pretty drunk. At some point in the evening, Dickie slapped me in the forehead and told me he gave Danny his seal of approval. That hurt and meant a lot.
Now the story repeats itself with Hayley and Jake. The family dynamics are a little different, but the expectation is the same. We expected Jake to hold his own or get out of the way and he usually held his own. Jake is figuring out how we work and is making himself at home around here.
Jake has now been around for year and a half or so. He loves Ashlyn and Jacob. He understands the peculiar ways of Harlow. He treats Hayley with kindness. He has great 2011 hair. And now, he has successfully made it through two Snow family Christmas's. The boy is alright!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Been in a similar pair
If you have ever worked in the drug or big box store at this time of year, then you know that these last few days before Christmas are stocking stuffer days. The stocking stuffer shopper is generally easy to pick out, a lot of candy and stuff under five bucks. In my department, it is common to have pony tail holders, new combs and brushes, fuzzy socks along with nail polish and lip gloss. So when I saw the woman with a perplexed look on her face and fuzzy socks in her basket, I figured she was in need of some direction to more stuff to stuff.
She was looking for hair detangler and a wide comb. As I always do, I asked her if she had a brand preference, she said no that she just needed something she could spray on her daughter’s hair to get the tangles out. Then she added “she’s in the ICU.” Her adult daughter is in a coma. The prognosis is not great. While all the rest of the store was busy finding the perfect trinket for their stockings, this mom was trying to find what she could to help her daughter maintain her dignity and beauty in a hospital bed.
Though I have never worn this mom’s shoes, I have had my feet in a similar pair. And it does not matter if it is a little baby, a teen or an adult child, mothers and fathers just want to make it all ok. They do not want to give up the right to take care of their baby. Here was this mom, away from the hospital, maybe by force, but she could not step away from her daughter’s care. And there I was, knowing nothing more than this woman’s story and her daughter’s name. Julie.
There is really very little that I can say to this mom. I know this from experience. When Ashlyn was sick, there wasn’t much you could say to me. I just wanted to talk. I really wanted someone that wasn’t so intimately connected to me and to her to just hear what I had to say. So this is what I was for Julie’s mom today. I was just listening, and crying with her and offering hugs and Kleenex and prayers. And this isn’t the first time that I have been fortunate enough to be in that place for someone. Paying forward the kindness and empathy that was shown to me three years ago.
For the rest of the afternoon, I gave thought to every customer that I encountered. Everyone has something. No one would have guessed what was going on in our lives three years ago when Ashlyn was going through treatment, or seven years ago when Danny was in Iraq. Just like I would have never known the pain that this woman was enduring today.
So tonight, in keeping with the promise that I made to Julie’s mom, I ask you to say a prayer, send positive energy, and think good thoughts for this family. She is a reminder to me of how fortunate I am. Life is sweet and fleeting. Be caring, be kind, be gentle to those around you that are wearing horrible shoes.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Christmas Treats
Cookies, fudge, peanut clusters, Carmel corn, chocolate covered pretzels, more cookies, divinity, puppy chow. That's my list of Christmas Treats. It is not set in stone like a lot of my other very reasonable Christmas lists. I am willing to try new treats and have discarded a few of them over the years.
I am not a sugar cookie maker. For so many years I never had a proper place to roll and cut cookies. My mom had this big wooden board just for this purpose (and pie crust). I did not have such a board or a decent counter top. This tradition just never took hold with us. I am sorry because i love to decorate sugar cookies even when one considers the cookie decorating environment that I grew up in. Sugar cookie time at my house got a little heated. Mom was in charge of the rolling and most of the cutting. She had a system that required her to put one foot up on a pulled out chair. She was very frugal with the cookie dough, squeezing a cookie out of every last bit. There were trees and wreathes, some bells and ornaments. I think she even got a little freestyling going on and made a snowman or two out of regular round shapes that she joined. The rolling, cutting and baking were done one evening with the decorating to follow the next.
I don't remember Mom making frosting as much as she made icing. Icing was thinner and sweeter than frosting. She would ice the cookie then pass it off to one of us kids to decorate. Mom had a Red Wing shoe box full of cinnamon dots, silver balls, red, green, blue, yellow sugars, multicolored little balls that looked like they came out of the old Tylenol capsules, and chocolate sprinkles. Sheila and I were pretty free flowing with the decorations. Dick, on the other hand, was a bit of a perfectionist and had a penchant for calling our cookies gaudy. That usually led to some tears, some pouting and the end of cookie decorating joy. Sheila continues to make Christmas cookies and makes one special one for her brother each year. The cookie mentioned usually has all the spilled off decorations from all the other cookies on it. He eats it with joy!
Fudge. Oh, fudge. The mother of all Christmas candy! I had never made it on my own until Danny and I lived in Vista. I either survived Christmas on what Mom had sent me, or found some poor substitute to get me by. But we were celebrating our very first Christmas together in our own home. The two previous Christmas's were spent either apart or at my parents house. So I was going to make fudge using my mom's recipe. I knew she made fudge every year, but I had no idea what was required. It was the first and last time. I followed the directions, I dropped the fudge in the water until it formed a ball, I stirred until it lost its shine. Well, I stirred until my arm was on fire then I called in Danny who stirred until the wooden spoon broke in the pan and he announced that the fudge was done. The following Christmas, we were back in Cedar Rapids and I was able to enjoy Mom's fudge again. The following four years, we were in Germany where Christmas treats are on a whole different level of incredible. We were then in Cedar Rapids again for a couple of years so it wasn't until 2000 that I was faced with a Christmas without fudge. I finally broke down and followed the recipe on the marshmallow fluff jar and found it to be a very good knock off of my mom's. No wooden spoons were injured in the making of this fudge!
Peanut clusters and chocolate covered pretzels are usually made at the same time. I don't make a lot of them, just enough for Danny and the kids to get their fix! My fondest memories of making anything dipped in chocolate are with my sister, Sheila. Sheila has a real talent for chocolate dipping and will make mounds of it. I probably won't be doing much dipping this year, but everyone did dip into Sheila's Christmas tin of peanut clusters this year! Carmel corn is also Sheila's specialty. I have never attempted it, never will. That is all Sheila.
Puppy Chow was a treat brought to our family from my mom's coworkers. Chocolate and peanut butter covered cereal doused with powdered sugar. Looks a lot like dog food but tastes like joy! We have no problem polishing off a big bowl of it each Christmas.
And last and least is divinity. Ashlyn and I made it once for my sister, Crissy. We slaved all day over a hot stove, we dirtied every dish in the kitchen, we wiped the sweat off our brows. We made divinity! We thought we would try just a bit so we could see what all the fuss was about, it was about marshmallow fluff. After all the hard work, Ashlyn, the bright girl that she is, read the ingredient list on Marshmallow fluff. It was exactly the same as the ingredient list that we just measured and stirred and dropped on wax paper. Crissy loved it though!
The baking and dipping and decorating brings back the memories from all the Christmas seasons gone by. Mom making fudge to send to Bobby or Dickie when they were in the Corps. They got all the perfectly cut pieces and we got all the edge pieces. That was ok with me, I will take fudge in any shape! I remember my dad painting the icing on the cookies shaped like the bells. He would paint the ribbons on with colored icing. Those cookies went to Sr. Lenore after midnight Mass.
There is so much about Christmas that connects me to my youth. But I think gaudy cookies and fudge are probably the sweetest memories that I have. Now that I have a big counter in which to roll and cut out cookies, I think there is a tradition that I will start with my grandchildren.
I am not a sugar cookie maker. For so many years I never had a proper place to roll and cut cookies. My mom had this big wooden board just for this purpose (and pie crust). I did not have such a board or a decent counter top. This tradition just never took hold with us. I am sorry because i love to decorate sugar cookies even when one considers the cookie decorating environment that I grew up in. Sugar cookie time at my house got a little heated. Mom was in charge of the rolling and most of the cutting. She had a system that required her to put one foot up on a pulled out chair. She was very frugal with the cookie dough, squeezing a cookie out of every last bit. There were trees and wreathes, some bells and ornaments. I think she even got a little freestyling going on and made a snowman or two out of regular round shapes that she joined. The rolling, cutting and baking were done one evening with the decorating to follow the next.
I don't remember Mom making frosting as much as she made icing. Icing was thinner and sweeter than frosting. She would ice the cookie then pass it off to one of us kids to decorate. Mom had a Red Wing shoe box full of cinnamon dots, silver balls, red, green, blue, yellow sugars, multicolored little balls that looked like they came out of the old Tylenol capsules, and chocolate sprinkles. Sheila and I were pretty free flowing with the decorations. Dick, on the other hand, was a bit of a perfectionist and had a penchant for calling our cookies gaudy. That usually led to some tears, some pouting and the end of cookie decorating joy. Sheila continues to make Christmas cookies and makes one special one for her brother each year. The cookie mentioned usually has all the spilled off decorations from all the other cookies on it. He eats it with joy!
Fudge. Oh, fudge. The mother of all Christmas candy! I had never made it on my own until Danny and I lived in Vista. I either survived Christmas on what Mom had sent me, or found some poor substitute to get me by. But we were celebrating our very first Christmas together in our own home. The two previous Christmas's were spent either apart or at my parents house. So I was going to make fudge using my mom's recipe. I knew she made fudge every year, but I had no idea what was required. It was the first and last time. I followed the directions, I dropped the fudge in the water until it formed a ball, I stirred until it lost its shine. Well, I stirred until my arm was on fire then I called in Danny who stirred until the wooden spoon broke in the pan and he announced that the fudge was done. The following Christmas, we were back in Cedar Rapids and I was able to enjoy Mom's fudge again. The following four years, we were in Germany where Christmas treats are on a whole different level of incredible. We were then in Cedar Rapids again for a couple of years so it wasn't until 2000 that I was faced with a Christmas without fudge. I finally broke down and followed the recipe on the marshmallow fluff jar and found it to be a very good knock off of my mom's. No wooden spoons were injured in the making of this fudge!
Peanut clusters and chocolate covered pretzels are usually made at the same time. I don't make a lot of them, just enough for Danny and the kids to get their fix! My fondest memories of making anything dipped in chocolate are with my sister, Sheila. Sheila has a real talent for chocolate dipping and will make mounds of it. I probably won't be doing much dipping this year, but everyone did dip into Sheila's Christmas tin of peanut clusters this year! Carmel corn is also Sheila's specialty. I have never attempted it, never will. That is all Sheila.
Puppy Chow was a treat brought to our family from my mom's coworkers. Chocolate and peanut butter covered cereal doused with powdered sugar. Looks a lot like dog food but tastes like joy! We have no problem polishing off a big bowl of it each Christmas.
And last and least is divinity. Ashlyn and I made it once for my sister, Crissy. We slaved all day over a hot stove, we dirtied every dish in the kitchen, we wiped the sweat off our brows. We made divinity! We thought we would try just a bit so we could see what all the fuss was about, it was about marshmallow fluff. After all the hard work, Ashlyn, the bright girl that she is, read the ingredient list on Marshmallow fluff. It was exactly the same as the ingredient list that we just measured and stirred and dropped on wax paper. Crissy loved it though!
The baking and dipping and decorating brings back the memories from all the Christmas seasons gone by. Mom making fudge to send to Bobby or Dickie when they were in the Corps. They got all the perfectly cut pieces and we got all the edge pieces. That was ok with me, I will take fudge in any shape! I remember my dad painting the icing on the cookies shaped like the bells. He would paint the ribbons on with colored icing. Those cookies went to Sr. Lenore after midnight Mass.
There is so much about Christmas that connects me to my youth. But I think gaudy cookies and fudge are probably the sweetest memories that I have. Now that I have a big counter in which to roll and cut out cookies, I think there is a tradition that I will start with my grandchildren.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Christmas Past
I am having bloggers block tonight. I have a lot on my mind, but none of it is flowing out in prose form. Here is is, five days until Christmas and I thinking of the Christmas's past. There have been a lot of them, 43 to be exact. The memories may be muddled up a bit, but they are still warm and fond in me. So indulge me as I take this trip...
There was the Christmas that I had asked for a Corningwear dish set and baking set. When I was little, my letter to Santa often included a detailed list from the JCPenny catalog. I am sure that he just used the catalog as a guide. Anyway, I had asked for these two sets and they were not under the tree. I don't remember being disappointed that Santa didn't deliver but I do remember Mom giving Dad a look. Dad disappeared upstairs and returned with a couple of unwrapped cardboard boxes with JCPenny labels clearly on them. Apparently Santa DID used the catalog. Anyway, my dad presented me with these two boxes and explained that Santa had left them in my parents bedroom by accident. Now, you may wonder why Santa was in my parents bedroom, but it made perfect sense to me. My sisters and I would sleep in my parents bed on Christmas eve as my parents went to midnight mass. We would fall asleep in there and they would put us in our own beds when they got home. Well, I am sure that Santa peaked in on us and the two boxes slipped out of his bag.
I remember the year that I got the Fisher Price Hospital and an additional Fisher Price playset. In this playset, there was a one seater airplane. I put one of the people in the plane and crashed it into the Hospital box. Mom was a little appalled at that until she saw that I had the ambulance come from the hospital and pick up the injured pilot. The Fisher Price Hospital was really topnotch and world reknown in treating airplane accident injuries. I am sure that the pilot went on to have a fine life with a lovely wife, a nice cabin and a black eared dog. For the record, Fisher Price toys from my youth were the greatest toys ever. Sheila had the school with the wooden people. I was younger so I got in on the plastic people. I had the Castle with purple dragon, two horses, royal family, knight and huntsman. The A Frame house came with bunk beds and a jeep. The hospital had an ambulance and a baby. My friend Susan and I would set up entire towns on her front porch. She had the airport and the house.
There was the year that I got roller skates and it was so nice outside, I was able to roller skate in the backyard with only my blue IC windbreaker on. I wiped out pretty nicely that day.
Christmas Mass at Immaculate Conception was always kind of magical. IC was what I thought the Pope's church must look like. I had seen pictures of the Pope's church (and that's what I thought it was called, too) and IC looked pretty similar. There were pillars on the altar and paintings on the ceiling. Coincidence? I think not. Anyway, Christmas at IC was magical. The choir was up in the choir loft singing, the church smelled of incense, the altar was all decked out in its finery, the priest, in his best vestments. The Nativity was nearly life sized compared to my size. My mom and dad were in the choir so I was in the pew with my sisters and brothers. I don't think we paid a lot of attention to the mass, but we sang along with the chior, especially when they belted out the Hallelujah Chorus at the end. We had been listening to Mom and Dad practicing thier parts for weeks so we could sing along to those parts. I still only know the alto part. King of Kings (Hallelujah Hallelujah) And Lord of Lords (Hallelujah Hallelujah) And he shall reign forever and ever (and he shall reign for ever and ever) Hallelujah Hallelujah. After that, Sheila, Crissy and I would get a little carried away and try to sing all the parts at once.
So there is it, a small trip down the Christmas lane. I expect a couple more before the season has passed.
There was the Christmas that I had asked for a Corningwear dish set and baking set. When I was little, my letter to Santa often included a detailed list from the JCPenny catalog. I am sure that he just used the catalog as a guide. Anyway, I had asked for these two sets and they were not under the tree. I don't remember being disappointed that Santa didn't deliver but I do remember Mom giving Dad a look. Dad disappeared upstairs and returned with a couple of unwrapped cardboard boxes with JCPenny labels clearly on them. Apparently Santa DID used the catalog. Anyway, my dad presented me with these two boxes and explained that Santa had left them in my parents bedroom by accident. Now, you may wonder why Santa was in my parents bedroom, but it made perfect sense to me. My sisters and I would sleep in my parents bed on Christmas eve as my parents went to midnight mass. We would fall asleep in there and they would put us in our own beds when they got home. Well, I am sure that Santa peaked in on us and the two boxes slipped out of his bag.
I remember the year that I got the Fisher Price Hospital and an additional Fisher Price playset. In this playset, there was a one seater airplane. I put one of the people in the plane and crashed it into the Hospital box. Mom was a little appalled at that until she saw that I had the ambulance come from the hospital and pick up the injured pilot. The Fisher Price Hospital was really topnotch and world reknown in treating airplane accident injuries. I am sure that the pilot went on to have a fine life with a lovely wife, a nice cabin and a black eared dog. For the record, Fisher Price toys from my youth were the greatest toys ever. Sheila had the school with the wooden people. I was younger so I got in on the plastic people. I had the Castle with purple dragon, two horses, royal family, knight and huntsman. The A Frame house came with bunk beds and a jeep. The hospital had an ambulance and a baby. My friend Susan and I would set up entire towns on her front porch. She had the airport and the house.
There was the year that I got roller skates and it was so nice outside, I was able to roller skate in the backyard with only my blue IC windbreaker on. I wiped out pretty nicely that day.
Christmas Mass at Immaculate Conception was always kind of magical. IC was what I thought the Pope's church must look like. I had seen pictures of the Pope's church (and that's what I thought it was called, too) and IC looked pretty similar. There were pillars on the altar and paintings on the ceiling. Coincidence? I think not. Anyway, Christmas at IC was magical. The choir was up in the choir loft singing, the church smelled of incense, the altar was all decked out in its finery, the priest, in his best vestments. The Nativity was nearly life sized compared to my size. My mom and dad were in the choir so I was in the pew with my sisters and brothers. I don't think we paid a lot of attention to the mass, but we sang along with the chior, especially when they belted out the Hallelujah Chorus at the end. We had been listening to Mom and Dad practicing thier parts for weeks so we could sing along to those parts. I still only know the alto part. King of Kings (Hallelujah Hallelujah) And Lord of Lords (Hallelujah Hallelujah) And he shall reign forever and ever (and he shall reign for ever and ever) Hallelujah Hallelujah. After that, Sheila, Crissy and I would get a little carried away and try to sing all the parts at once.
So there is it, a small trip down the Christmas lane. I expect a couple more before the season has passed.
Monday, December 19, 2011
How Lucky We Are
So last night after we got home from Cedar Rapids, but before we had gone to the grocery store, we were hungry. Bakers Square does a pretty good dinner so that's where we went. The night was still young but not young enough for Jolly Holiday Lights so we just drove around and looked at the lights.
I was in the front seat with Danny. Ashlyn, Hayley and Jacob were in the back. I don't know who was stuck in the middle, I think they switched off. Christmas music was on. Ashlyn decided to add her own creative touch to many of the songs. She would throw in a little bit of scat or an unnecessary repeat of a word. There might be some doo be doo's that didn't belong. The more Jacob said her name through gritted teeth, the more creative Ashlyn became.
And my heart was warm with holiday cheer. They weren't really fighting. They were really enjoying each other and Danny and I are so fortunate that our children really like each other. Whoa! A lot of really's in those sentences, but I am really really happy about all of the tidings of love and joy that my children have for each other.
It wasn't always that way. They have loved each other, obviously. But their like for each other has wavered some what over the years. That is to be expected as they each when through their different stages. Now we are all at a place where we all seem to enjoy each other. It is quite nice.
I smile when I hear them laugh together. I cringe when I say something stupid and know that they will gang up on me and make me feel all the more stupid. I smile again when I hear them laugh at their own cleverness at my expense.
I want to save these moments, like so many of the moments before these. I want to be able to open this box of great times and relish in Danny and my good fortune to have kids that truly enjoy each other. We feel so blessed that they rely on each other for laughter and life.
I think ahead, to when they are all adults and we are lucky enough to have a full house with spouses and grandkids and dogs. I imagine those evenings that will drag out around the kitchen counter. The stories that they will tell. The truths that will come out. And I will look at Danny, like I did last night and know how lucky we are.
I was in the front seat with Danny. Ashlyn, Hayley and Jacob were in the back. I don't know who was stuck in the middle, I think they switched off. Christmas music was on. Ashlyn decided to add her own creative touch to many of the songs. She would throw in a little bit of scat or an unnecessary repeat of a word. There might be some doo be doo's that didn't belong. The more Jacob said her name through gritted teeth, the more creative Ashlyn became.
And my heart was warm with holiday cheer. They weren't really fighting. They were really enjoying each other and Danny and I are so fortunate that our children really like each other. Whoa! A lot of really's in those sentences, but I am really really happy about all of the tidings of love and joy that my children have for each other.
It wasn't always that way. They have loved each other, obviously. But their like for each other has wavered some what over the years. That is to be expected as they each when through their different stages. Now we are all at a place where we all seem to enjoy each other. It is quite nice.
I smile when I hear them laugh together. I cringe when I say something stupid and know that they will gang up on me and make me feel all the more stupid. I smile again when I hear them laugh at their own cleverness at my expense.
I want to save these moments, like so many of the moments before these. I want to be able to open this box of great times and relish in Danny and my good fortune to have kids that truly enjoy each other. We feel so blessed that they rely on each other for laughter and life.
I think ahead, to when they are all adults and we are lucky enough to have a full house with spouses and grandkids and dogs. I imagine those evenings that will drag out around the kitchen counter. The stories that they will tell. The truths that will come out. And I will look at Danny, like I did last night and know how lucky we are.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Happy Surprise!
This past Saturday was the scheduled surprise party for my sister Crissy's boyfriend, Duncan. Duncan has been a part of our family for well over ten years. He is a really good guy and we all love him. So going to Cedar Rapids this weekend to help Duncan celebrate his fiftieth birthday was a trip we all looked forward to!
So there we all were, at the Knights of Columbus Hall. The KCs has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up there were steak frys and fish frys, Christmas parties and so many wedding receptions. I remember going there one time for a Polish meal with a polka band and dancing with Jimmy Pavik. On the bulletin board there is a photo of my dad and Bill Derby from their younger days. Bill Derby, Don Fagan and my dad amongst others are where my KC memories begin. Going to steak frys, getting to sit up at the bar drinking Shirley Temples with extra cherries. Running amok in the big open area where the statue of Mary stands.
So there we were on Saturday night, the place smelled the same, grease and beer and good times. Crissy had already decorated the hall. She was going to bring Duncan in at five, we were all going to yell SURPRISE. Until then, we got to drink beer and catch up with old friends. My oldest brother, Bobby was in from New Zealand. I hadn't seen him for over five years. My sister, Sheila was at the door, filling everyone in on the plan. The keg was tapped, it was just after five. Duncan walks in sans Crissy. We all gave out a cheer of surprise, but it really was a bit of a let down...
Duncan was in a suit, odd. Duncan was in a suit and wasn't acting surprised at all, very odd. Wait a minute. Then he spoke. "Thanks for coming blah blah blah Bob? (meaning my dad) Bob, you need to go get Crissy out of the bar." Bar is through the door behind me. I turn. My dad says "What the hell is going on?" I look and all I can see of Crissy is a bouquet. Son of a bitch, is all I can say. To my right is Danny and my other brother, Dick. They cannot say anything because their chins are resting comfortably on the floor. Ashlyn comes toward me with tears in her eyes, then Hayley comes behind her with tears everywhere. Sheila is repeating "Oh My God! Oh My God!" And there is Crissy. Beaming, absolutely beaming. She wore black, which just might have been an homage to my grandmother who wore navy blue to her own wedding. She carried a small bouquet of red roses with white accents. On her head was my own mother's veil. The music, the wedding march from Sound of Music. Sheila and her husband, Rick stood up with them. It took all of three minutes and they were married. I've known Crissy for 42 years and I cannot recall a time when she ever looked more happy. It sprang forth from her, this smile, this glow. And Duncan, with his sheepish little grin looked just as pleased.
There is was, the surprise of the year! I cannot think of a more fitting way to wrap up this year than be present for the union of two of my favorite people. And it pleased me that they did it on their own terms. No outside pressure, no expectations from anyone. Just two people assembling as many of the people that they love in one place for good Mexican food, keg beer and a wedding.
We all spent the rest of the evening drinking beer, eating food and catching up with all these people that love Duncan and Crissy. My dad, kept in the dark for months wondered aloud if he was responsible for the bill. My oldest brother bragged that he knew all along. Dick and Danny were still trying to process what just happened. The nieces and nephews sang along to Meatloaf and Queen. And I added one more memory of the KC hall to my very happy heart.
So there we all were, at the Knights of Columbus Hall. The KCs has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up there were steak frys and fish frys, Christmas parties and so many wedding receptions. I remember going there one time for a Polish meal with a polka band and dancing with Jimmy Pavik. On the bulletin board there is a photo of my dad and Bill Derby from their younger days. Bill Derby, Don Fagan and my dad amongst others are where my KC memories begin. Going to steak frys, getting to sit up at the bar drinking Shirley Temples with extra cherries. Running amok in the big open area where the statue of Mary stands.
So there we were on Saturday night, the place smelled the same, grease and beer and good times. Crissy had already decorated the hall. She was going to bring Duncan in at five, we were all going to yell SURPRISE. Until then, we got to drink beer and catch up with old friends. My oldest brother, Bobby was in from New Zealand. I hadn't seen him for over five years. My sister, Sheila was at the door, filling everyone in on the plan. The keg was tapped, it was just after five. Duncan walks in sans Crissy. We all gave out a cheer of surprise, but it really was a bit of a let down...
Duncan was in a suit, odd. Duncan was in a suit and wasn't acting surprised at all, very odd. Wait a minute. Then he spoke. "Thanks for coming blah blah blah Bob? (meaning my dad) Bob, you need to go get Crissy out of the bar." Bar is through the door behind me. I turn. My dad says "What the hell is going on?" I look and all I can see of Crissy is a bouquet. Son of a bitch, is all I can say. To my right is Danny and my other brother, Dick. They cannot say anything because their chins are resting comfortably on the floor. Ashlyn comes toward me with tears in her eyes, then Hayley comes behind her with tears everywhere. Sheila is repeating "Oh My God! Oh My God!" And there is Crissy. Beaming, absolutely beaming. She wore black, which just might have been an homage to my grandmother who wore navy blue to her own wedding. She carried a small bouquet of red roses with white accents. On her head was my own mother's veil. The music, the wedding march from Sound of Music. Sheila and her husband, Rick stood up with them. It took all of three minutes and they were married. I've known Crissy for 42 years and I cannot recall a time when she ever looked more happy. It sprang forth from her, this smile, this glow. And Duncan, with his sheepish little grin looked just as pleased.
There is was, the surprise of the year! I cannot think of a more fitting way to wrap up this year than be present for the union of two of my favorite people. And it pleased me that they did it on their own terms. No outside pressure, no expectations from anyone. Just two people assembling as many of the people that they love in one place for good Mexican food, keg beer and a wedding.
We all spent the rest of the evening drinking beer, eating food and catching up with all these people that love Duncan and Crissy. My dad, kept in the dark for months wondered aloud if he was responsible for the bill. My oldest brother bragged that he knew all along. Dick and Danny were still trying to process what just happened. The nieces and nephews sang along to Meatloaf and Queen. And I added one more memory of the KC hall to my very happy heart.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Emmitt Leopold
Shortly after Danny got home from Iraq, we decided that we wanted a third kitty. Our goal was to replace the sweet little kitty that we had gotten for Hayley and had to return because she was not using the litter box. She was not using the litter box because Elsa Janie would sit outside of the box and beat the little kitty up when she came out. We felt that we needed to keep Elsa, and returned the little kitty. I don't think that Hayley has ever really forgiven any of us for the decision.
So, back to this story. We went to the kitty store to adopt a kitty. We knew that we needed an adult and one that was big enough to take on Elsa if need be. We found a handsome tabby of the most unusual shade of peach. He had a white belly. He had a white chin. Most importantly, he had four white paws . He was very lovey at the adoption center. We put our money down, boxed up our cat and headed home. Once home, we did not see our new family member for two days.
Emmitt, as we had named him, had found himself a corner to hide in. And hid, he did. Ashlyn patiently waited him out and they became the best of friends. He was not going to be a replacement for Hayley's long ago kitty. He was going to be Ashlyn's best friend.
At that time, Ashlyn had long hair and Emmitt had the pecular habit for burrowing into it, kneeding her hair, purring in her ear. He would hug and hold on around her neck. He was so very lovey. He was so very sweet.
And loud. This cat had something to say about everything. He would come into a room yelling. He would leave the room yelling. He would yell and yell and yell. My favorite is when he busts into a room, yells loudly and busts back out. I often think that there is some type of serious incident that we should attend to, but we don't. That might be why he busts into the room yelling so frequently.
Emmitt is a bust open the door kind of cat. Any door that is slightly closed is wide open when he is around. And he likes to be the first one in the room. More often than not, I will be walking toward a room only to have Emmitt race in before me. When I get into the room, I find Emmitt laying on the floor with a "what took you so long?" expression on his face. Emmitt's other mode of operation when entering a room, is playing the hot lava game. Remember that game from your youth, you know the one when you cannot touch the floor, well Emmitt is a Hot Lava champion. He can enter the family room and traverse the room by going from chair to chair to couch to fire place mantel and back out the room. It is pretty impressive considering he weighs 20 pounds and has a larger waist circumference then Vera Ellen had in the movie classic, White Christmas.
Emmitt Leopold, named for Emmitt Smith, one of the greatest Dallas Cowboys ever and Emmet Otter, one of the greatest Christmas characters ever. The Leopold flows nicely from the Emmitt and Leopold has a nice royal ring to it. Of course, our Emmitt Leopold is neither much of a football player, jug band member or royal. But he is fat and furry like Emmet Otter and can juke like a running back. He does enjoy a leisurely nap much like royalty.
Emmitt has proven himself to be a true and faithful friend to Ashlyn. Many days during treatment, we would find him keeping watch over her as she napped. He was her guardian, he was her warmth, he was hers. On the darkest of days, he was hers. With his little white paws and his ever so loud purr.
So, Hayley did not get her replacement kitty. But she had Sophie so why we ever got her a second kitty is beyond me. But Ashlyn got her buddy and he was there for her when things got tough. He was and is a good friend. Loud, often obnoxious, sometimes cantankerous.
So, back to this story. We went to the kitty store to adopt a kitty. We knew that we needed an adult and one that was big enough to take on Elsa if need be. We found a handsome tabby of the most unusual shade of peach. He had a white belly. He had a white chin. Most importantly, he had four white paws . He was very lovey at the adoption center. We put our money down, boxed up our cat and headed home. Once home, we did not see our new family member for two days.
Emmitt, as we had named him, had found himself a corner to hide in. And hid, he did. Ashlyn patiently waited him out and they became the best of friends. He was not going to be a replacement for Hayley's long ago kitty. He was going to be Ashlyn's best friend.
At that time, Ashlyn had long hair and Emmitt had the pecular habit for burrowing into it, kneeding her hair, purring in her ear. He would hug and hold on around her neck. He was so very lovey. He was so very sweet.
And loud. This cat had something to say about everything. He would come into a room yelling. He would leave the room yelling. He would yell and yell and yell. My favorite is when he busts into a room, yells loudly and busts back out. I often think that there is some type of serious incident that we should attend to, but we don't. That might be why he busts into the room yelling so frequently.
Emmitt is a bust open the door kind of cat. Any door that is slightly closed is wide open when he is around. And he likes to be the first one in the room. More often than not, I will be walking toward a room only to have Emmitt race in before me. When I get into the room, I find Emmitt laying on the floor with a "what took you so long?" expression on his face. Emmitt's other mode of operation when entering a room, is playing the hot lava game. Remember that game from your youth, you know the one when you cannot touch the floor, well Emmitt is a Hot Lava champion. He can enter the family room and traverse the room by going from chair to chair to couch to fire place mantel and back out the room. It is pretty impressive considering he weighs 20 pounds and has a larger waist circumference then Vera Ellen had in the movie classic, White Christmas.
Emmitt Leopold, named for Emmitt Smith, one of the greatest Dallas Cowboys ever and Emmet Otter, one of the greatest Christmas characters ever. The Leopold flows nicely from the Emmitt and Leopold has a nice royal ring to it. Of course, our Emmitt Leopold is neither much of a football player, jug band member or royal. But he is fat and furry like Emmet Otter and can juke like a running back. He does enjoy a leisurely nap much like royalty.
Emmitt has proven himself to be a true and faithful friend to Ashlyn. Many days during treatment, we would find him keeping watch over her as she napped. He was her guardian, he was her warmth, he was hers. On the darkest of days, he was hers. With his little white paws and his ever so loud purr.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
A Well Place Thank You
I love mail. I love letters and charity solicitations. I love Christmas cards and birthday cards, any kind of card. But I think my most favorite is the Thank You note. I love to know that the present arrived, that it was perfect and that the recipient was overjoyed! When my nephew was little, he would send these pre filled out cards that only required him to fill in the present name and sign his name. At the tender age of three, he was already part taking in the act of gratitude. I tried to be good about having my own children write thank you notes. Sometimes I think pulling teeth would have been easier.
when I was a newly married woman, I was not much for thank you notes, yet. I had never really been the giver of gifts at this point so I didn't really understand that people expected notes in a timely manner. And by timely, I was thinking the twelve months that the wedding magazine said. By timely, my mom was thinking, now. She hounded me daily until those notes were in the mail. After that embarrassing start, I have tried to be more prompt with my notes.
After Ashlyn was born, I wrote that note immediately. I was smart enough to know that with a new baby in the house, putting something off til later was not a good idea. My laters were usually pretty full of cooing and such so thank yous were done on the spot!
After Ashlyn got sick, it became nearly impossible to keep up with the thank yous. It is really hard to thank the anonymous donor of money and donut holes in between the front doors. So we did the best we could, but often had to resort to blanket thanks yous at the end of the Ashlyn Alert emails that I sent out. Though not quite what Emily Post had in mind, given the circumstances, I hoped it was ok.
Now that my own children are older and two are on their own, I pray that my mother in heaven sends angelic reminders to write thank you notes. I hope this one still at home understands that no one is obligated to send him gas money, so a thank you note in the mail goes a long way towards more unexpected gas money. I hope they all realize that gratitude is such an important trait. And being able to sincerely express that is appreciated by the recipient.
I had mentioned this story in a previous blog, but it ties in well here, too. I had made a cake for a young woman at the shelter during the same time that Ashlyn was going through treatment. This young woman found out about Ashlyn and sent me a thank you note for the cake. She was so appreciative of the cake, especially considering the circumstances in my life. That note meant so much. Yep, my most favorite is the Thank You note.
when I was a newly married woman, I was not much for thank you notes, yet. I had never really been the giver of gifts at this point so I didn't really understand that people expected notes in a timely manner. And by timely, I was thinking the twelve months that the wedding magazine said. By timely, my mom was thinking, now. She hounded me daily until those notes were in the mail. After that embarrassing start, I have tried to be more prompt with my notes.
After Ashlyn was born, I wrote that note immediately. I was smart enough to know that with a new baby in the house, putting something off til later was not a good idea. My laters were usually pretty full of cooing and such so thank yous were done on the spot!
After Ashlyn got sick, it became nearly impossible to keep up with the thank yous. It is really hard to thank the anonymous donor of money and donut holes in between the front doors. So we did the best we could, but often had to resort to blanket thanks yous at the end of the Ashlyn Alert emails that I sent out. Though not quite what Emily Post had in mind, given the circumstances, I hoped it was ok.
Now that my own children are older and two are on their own, I pray that my mother in heaven sends angelic reminders to write thank you notes. I hope this one still at home understands that no one is obligated to send him gas money, so a thank you note in the mail goes a long way towards more unexpected gas money. I hope they all realize that gratitude is such an important trait. And being able to sincerely express that is appreciated by the recipient.
I had mentioned this story in a previous blog, but it ties in well here, too. I had made a cake for a young woman at the shelter during the same time that Ashlyn was going through treatment. This young woman found out about Ashlyn and sent me a thank you note for the cake. She was so appreciative of the cake, especially considering the circumstances in my life. That note meant so much. Yep, my most favorite is the Thank You note.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Sunday Mornings and Stuff
When I was little, very little, I did not have to go to Sunday Mass. I suppose my parents didn't want to be too outnumbered so they left me at home. Everyone but Bobby went to the ten o'clock Mass. Bobby would have already had been to the eight o'clock Mass, probably alter boying for Father Hess. He would be back home before Mom and Dad had to leave with Crissy, Dick and Sheila. I imagine trying to keep my brother in line for an entire hour was work enough, leaving me home until I could appreciate Mass was just easier.
I have some very clear memories of those Sunday mornings with my brother, Bobby. We had three channels, plus PBS so the pickings were slim for television shows on a Sunday morning. I am guessing that there was some sort of news show and maybe a religious show but the channel we always tuned into was the channel that aired the Skogman Reality Show. In between slide shows of homes for sale, the Skogman Reality Show was actually the Laurel and Hardy / Abbott and Costello show. For one solid hour, I watched slapstick humor at its finest along side my best big brother, Bobby. I am pretty sure that it was closer to heaven than church would have been.
Oh, but it wasn't always perfect. There was the one time, and this is the only time I can really recall Bobby being anything less than kind to me, that he put a noose around Jeffery's neck and lowered him into the furnace. Ok, it wasn't really the furnace, it was the cold air exchange duct and Jeffery was my teddy bear. I may have overreacted, but, seriously, who hangs a little girl's bear?
I recently had the opportunity to watch old home movies and there are very few frames that contain me that don't contain my brother carrying me, kissing me or in some other way, taking care of me. In fact, there are a few times when my little girl face clearly shows some slight irritation at Bobby moving in on my camera time!
Bobby left home when I was nearly eight. He stopped back in a few times while on leave from the Marine Corps and since moving to New Zealand, I have seen him three or four times. We have daughters nearly the same age and he was in the military and I was married to it, but that is where our common ground ends. It is strange how someone I have not known for most of my life occupies so many of my earliest memories. It was Bobby that took me to Tot Lot on his bike. An hour later, he was there to pick me up. Early Sunday mornings hanging bears was spent with him. I learned to roller skate on the other half of his room while listening to Barry Manilow, amongst others, on the radio. And so many of my memories involve nothing more than watching him paint models in his room. I also remember that when he was home on leave and a war movie was on TV, there was no watching it with him. He would point out every weapon and uniform flaw that was on screen. It was maddening to know that someone could have that much odd military knowledge crammed into their brain.
I remember one of the times when Bobby was home on leave and I had come home pretty drunk. I sat out on the front step trying really hard not to throw up all of the night's libations. And Bobby decided that this was the ideal time to impart some brotherly wisdom on me. As I recall, and things were a bit fuzzy, this was not the ideal time for me to hear anything from him. A lot of time had passed and Bobby wasn't my Sunday morning buddy anymore. I remember that making me feel worse than the cheap beer I had drank. I doubt I listened to what he had to say. I was not very open to any one's words, no matter how wise they were during those years and Bobby just wasted his breath.
I clearly remember January 15th, 1991. The air offensive had begun in Kuwait. I was a Marine wife of just over eleven months. I had no idea what was going on with my husband. I only knew that he was over there and I was terrified. Bobby called. From New Zealand, he reached out to me with words of wisdom once again. Bobby's advice and knowledge of all things military set my mind at ease. He was able to define terms for me and break down so much of the military language that was so foreign to me. It was good. We had a common interest again and it felt an awful lot like a Sunday morning.
I have some very clear memories of those Sunday mornings with my brother, Bobby. We had three channels, plus PBS so the pickings were slim for television shows on a Sunday morning. I am guessing that there was some sort of news show and maybe a religious show but the channel we always tuned into was the channel that aired the Skogman Reality Show. In between slide shows of homes for sale, the Skogman Reality Show was actually the Laurel and Hardy / Abbott and Costello show. For one solid hour, I watched slapstick humor at its finest along side my best big brother, Bobby. I am pretty sure that it was closer to heaven than church would have been.
Oh, but it wasn't always perfect. There was the one time, and this is the only time I can really recall Bobby being anything less than kind to me, that he put a noose around Jeffery's neck and lowered him into the furnace. Ok, it wasn't really the furnace, it was the cold air exchange duct and Jeffery was my teddy bear. I may have overreacted, but, seriously, who hangs a little girl's bear?
I recently had the opportunity to watch old home movies and there are very few frames that contain me that don't contain my brother carrying me, kissing me or in some other way, taking care of me. In fact, there are a few times when my little girl face clearly shows some slight irritation at Bobby moving in on my camera time!
Bobby left home when I was nearly eight. He stopped back in a few times while on leave from the Marine Corps and since moving to New Zealand, I have seen him three or four times. We have daughters nearly the same age and he was in the military and I was married to it, but that is where our common ground ends. It is strange how someone I have not known for most of my life occupies so many of my earliest memories. It was Bobby that took me to Tot Lot on his bike. An hour later, he was there to pick me up. Early Sunday mornings hanging bears was spent with him. I learned to roller skate on the other half of his room while listening to Barry Manilow, amongst others, on the radio. And so many of my memories involve nothing more than watching him paint models in his room. I also remember that when he was home on leave and a war movie was on TV, there was no watching it with him. He would point out every weapon and uniform flaw that was on screen. It was maddening to know that someone could have that much odd military knowledge crammed into their brain.
I remember one of the times when Bobby was home on leave and I had come home pretty drunk. I sat out on the front step trying really hard not to throw up all of the night's libations. And Bobby decided that this was the ideal time to impart some brotherly wisdom on me. As I recall, and things were a bit fuzzy, this was not the ideal time for me to hear anything from him. A lot of time had passed and Bobby wasn't my Sunday morning buddy anymore. I remember that making me feel worse than the cheap beer I had drank. I doubt I listened to what he had to say. I was not very open to any one's words, no matter how wise they were during those years and Bobby just wasted his breath.
I clearly remember January 15th, 1991. The air offensive had begun in Kuwait. I was a Marine wife of just over eleven months. I had no idea what was going on with my husband. I only knew that he was over there and I was terrified. Bobby called. From New Zealand, he reached out to me with words of wisdom once again. Bobby's advice and knowledge of all things military set my mind at ease. He was able to define terms for me and break down so much of the military language that was so foreign to me. It was good. We had a common interest again and it felt an awful lot like a Sunday morning.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Birds fly home
In three days time, my house will be full again. Hayley and Ashlyn will be back from college. One will be back for quite a while. Hayley has decided it is in the best interest of her bank account, present and future, to go to DMACC for the next year and a half. She will return to UNI in the fall of 2013. The other, is back for break and then won't be back for quite some time. Ashlyn will be moving to London for the next semester.
Ask me how I feel about any of it and I will give you a lengthy one sided conversation. Oh, my dear Hayley. I am delighted that she is moving closer to me. I don't know that the next room was quite what I had in mind! But Hayley has made a tough but mature decision and I am very proud of her. I will help her in any way I can. That is true today and always. I am sad that money has made her decide to leave UNI. I believe that she was having a wonderful experience. But as she is eloquently stated "I want to be able to have great experiences when I am out of college, too. If I have so much debt, that may not be possible." Jacob is over the moon to have his cohort back.
I moved back in with my parents twice after I was married. Each time, I brought an extra person with me. They did not charge me rent, or make me buy my own food. I was not obligated to pay part of the electric or water bill. I was expected to be a responsible part of the family. I must have done a good job since they let me move in a second time! It could not have been easy on my parents. They were free of kids for a couple of years when I moved back in with Ashlyn. Then about two years later, I show up again with Hayley in tow, as well.
Hayley has only been gone for four months, and I have already adjusted to life without her. Thinking about her coming home is an adjustment as well. My sewing room is going to be her bedroom. My sewing room is now an unfinished corner of the basement (that will get finished in due time!). Danny and I have gotten used to reality shows NOT being on the television. We have adapted to eating less pasta. We have grown accustom to just Jacob.
London. That is in England which is a very long plane ride away. "How do you feel about that?" I think I am asked that question three to four times a week. I feel grateful. I feel sad. I feel ecstatic. The first and third mostly, but when I want to feel sorry for myself, I pick the second one. I am grateful that this opportunity is there for Ashlyn and am ecstatic that she is able to take advantage of it. I am sad because England is a very long plane ride away.
But she will be home this summer. I think she promised Emmitt that he could have her the whole summer! So I am counting on that, too. I would like that very much. I know that they will all be busy. There will be a lot of comings and goings, but there will be moments when everyone will be present and accounted for. Those are the days that I want to hold on to just a little longer.
And I expect that there may be a time when Ashlyn returns home for a while. She may need time to get on her feet. Or she may need time to rest her feet. Whatever her feet need, she can get it here. And no sooner will she be gone again and Jacob may just pop in for a bit. I won't mind. I really won't. I think it is a rip off that we only get them for 18 years or so. I want to have them around as they enter adulthood. I want those conversations at the kitchen table. I want that time that is so sweet between needing a parent and needing a really good friend.
So in three days time, the house will be full again. And I pray that that pattern will repeat itself whenever necessary. I would move my sewing room to the garage if that's what I had to do to have the nest full again!
Ask me how I feel about any of it and I will give you a lengthy one sided conversation. Oh, my dear Hayley. I am delighted that she is moving closer to me. I don't know that the next room was quite what I had in mind! But Hayley has made a tough but mature decision and I am very proud of her. I will help her in any way I can. That is true today and always. I am sad that money has made her decide to leave UNI. I believe that she was having a wonderful experience. But as she is eloquently stated "I want to be able to have great experiences when I am out of college, too. If I have so much debt, that may not be possible." Jacob is over the moon to have his cohort back.
I moved back in with my parents twice after I was married. Each time, I brought an extra person with me. They did not charge me rent, or make me buy my own food. I was not obligated to pay part of the electric or water bill. I was expected to be a responsible part of the family. I must have done a good job since they let me move in a second time! It could not have been easy on my parents. They were free of kids for a couple of years when I moved back in with Ashlyn. Then about two years later, I show up again with Hayley in tow, as well.
Hayley has only been gone for four months, and I have already adjusted to life without her. Thinking about her coming home is an adjustment as well. My sewing room is going to be her bedroom. My sewing room is now an unfinished corner of the basement (that will get finished in due time!). Danny and I have gotten used to reality shows NOT being on the television. We have adapted to eating less pasta. We have grown accustom to just Jacob.
London. That is in England which is a very long plane ride away. "How do you feel about that?" I think I am asked that question three to four times a week. I feel grateful. I feel sad. I feel ecstatic. The first and third mostly, but when I want to feel sorry for myself, I pick the second one. I am grateful that this opportunity is there for Ashlyn and am ecstatic that she is able to take advantage of it. I am sad because England is a very long plane ride away.
But she will be home this summer. I think she promised Emmitt that he could have her the whole summer! So I am counting on that, too. I would like that very much. I know that they will all be busy. There will be a lot of comings and goings, but there will be moments when everyone will be present and accounted for. Those are the days that I want to hold on to just a little longer.
And I expect that there may be a time when Ashlyn returns home for a while. She may need time to get on her feet. Or she may need time to rest her feet. Whatever her feet need, she can get it here. And no sooner will she be gone again and Jacob may just pop in for a bit. I won't mind. I really won't. I think it is a rip off that we only get them for 18 years or so. I want to have them around as they enter adulthood. I want those conversations at the kitchen table. I want that time that is so sweet between needing a parent and needing a really good friend.
So in three days time, the house will be full again. And I pray that that pattern will repeat itself whenever necessary. I would move my sewing room to the garage if that's what I had to do to have the nest full again!
Sunday, December 11, 2011
It's just a Job
I have no career. I have a job, and it is the same job that I will probably have for the rest of my working days, but it is not my career. I think of a career as something that defines a part of me. And by no means do I want this job to be any part of the definition, the essence of me.
I have been with the same company for eleven years. It was supposed to be a part time grocery money gig, but it quickly escalated into something so much more. I was full time shortly after I started. In retail, there is a lot of turn over and a lot of idiots. The idiot part is true of all industries. Anyway, someone quit or something like that and the next thing I knew, 32 hours. I was a cashier, but spent most of my time in the photo department. Since I wasn't getting paid the little bit extra, I bitched and got the slight promotion. Then the crackhead that was the gopher for the manager quit. (And she really was a crackhead at some point. She couldn't get promoted because of her police record for drug possession.) I moved into the gopher spot which was really nice. I don't remember what the actual title was, but it later became an inventory and pricing position. I had found my calling.
The manager got promoted to a new store and he was smart enough to take me along. I flourished in the new store. We were a great team. We were close in age, knew all the same movie quotes and both drank Dr. Pepper. I was loving my job. Then he got promoted to another store and did not take me with him. In his defense, there was someone already there in the same position. But that did not help my feelings at all.
I continued at that store until a new position opened up. I became a floating inventory specialist. I traveled from store to store in Des Moines. I covered vacations, I trained people, I became the answer to a lot of problems. I was good at it. When I walked into a store there was confetti and cheers. Sometimes a parade!
I held that gig for three years. Then like a cold wind, change was acoming. There was downsizing and my job was eliminated. The folks at corporate didn't know that I was the Mr. Wolfe of the district. (Pulp Fiction reference, watch the movie, Harvey Keitel character without the bloody car!). I got put into a store and settled down to a normal schedule.
Three weeks after that settling occurred, Ashlyn got diagnosed. My schedule was adjusted as needed and I did the best I could. Work was a nice distraction some days and other days, it was a wonder that I didn't stab someone with an ice pick. I had no problem keeping up with my job duties and managed to get a lot of things in right (Anne) order. The management staff was understanding about my needs outside of work and they left me alone to take care of the store as I saw fit. That lasted for two years and then my job was eliminated, again.
Well, that is a bit of an exaggeration, it was revamped to include some management type responsibilities. I did not want management type responsibilities. I pouted, I stomped my feet, I bought a lottery ticket. I took the job for a six week trial. Hated it. Absolutely hated it and I turned in my keys.
Now, my job is in the cosmetics department. I am not ideal for this position. Oh, I can make a department look fabulous. I have the most organized stockroom area ever. All my signs are correct and neatly hung. But I cannot sell you something you don't want. I cannot convince you or me that this wrinkle cream will undo 78 years of living. I cannot produce anything from a shelf that will turn back 50 years of sun worship. I will point you in the right direction. I will read books and magazines so I can offer suggestions. Hell, I will even google Dr. Oz to see what kind of gospel is spewing from of his mouth. But my heart won't be in it because I want to fix things (other then your face), I want to train people to do it right (my way), I want to have a career.
I have been with the same company for eleven years. It was supposed to be a part time grocery money gig, but it quickly escalated into something so much more. I was full time shortly after I started. In retail, there is a lot of turn over and a lot of idiots. The idiot part is true of all industries. Anyway, someone quit or something like that and the next thing I knew, 32 hours. I was a cashier, but spent most of my time in the photo department. Since I wasn't getting paid the little bit extra, I bitched and got the slight promotion. Then the crackhead that was the gopher for the manager quit. (And she really was a crackhead at some point. She couldn't get promoted because of her police record for drug possession.) I moved into the gopher spot which was really nice. I don't remember what the actual title was, but it later became an inventory and pricing position. I had found my calling.
The manager got promoted to a new store and he was smart enough to take me along. I flourished in the new store. We were a great team. We were close in age, knew all the same movie quotes and both drank Dr. Pepper. I was loving my job. Then he got promoted to another store and did not take me with him. In his defense, there was someone already there in the same position. But that did not help my feelings at all.
I continued at that store until a new position opened up. I became a floating inventory specialist. I traveled from store to store in Des Moines. I covered vacations, I trained people, I became the answer to a lot of problems. I was good at it. When I walked into a store there was confetti and cheers. Sometimes a parade!
I held that gig for three years. Then like a cold wind, change was acoming. There was downsizing and my job was eliminated. The folks at corporate didn't know that I was the Mr. Wolfe of the district. (Pulp Fiction reference, watch the movie, Harvey Keitel character without the bloody car!). I got put into a store and settled down to a normal schedule.
Three weeks after that settling occurred, Ashlyn got diagnosed. My schedule was adjusted as needed and I did the best I could. Work was a nice distraction some days and other days, it was a wonder that I didn't stab someone with an ice pick. I had no problem keeping up with my job duties and managed to get a lot of things in right (Anne) order. The management staff was understanding about my needs outside of work and they left me alone to take care of the store as I saw fit. That lasted for two years and then my job was eliminated, again.
Well, that is a bit of an exaggeration, it was revamped to include some management type responsibilities. I did not want management type responsibilities. I pouted, I stomped my feet, I bought a lottery ticket. I took the job for a six week trial. Hated it. Absolutely hated it and I turned in my keys.
Now, my job is in the cosmetics department. I am not ideal for this position. Oh, I can make a department look fabulous. I have the most organized stockroom area ever. All my signs are correct and neatly hung. But I cannot sell you something you don't want. I cannot convince you or me that this wrinkle cream will undo 78 years of living. I cannot produce anything from a shelf that will turn back 50 years of sun worship. I will point you in the right direction. I will read books and magazines so I can offer suggestions. Hell, I will even google Dr. Oz to see what kind of gospel is spewing from of his mouth. But my heart won't be in it because I want to fix things (other then your face), I want to train people to do it right (my way), I want to have a career.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
My Top Three, in no particular order
I don't think of myself as a very outspoken girl. I rather keep to myself, and my opinions as well. Too many times, I have expressed too much, been called a know it all (which I am), self absorbed (aren't we all?), full of shit (as if!). But there are a few things I cannot keep my mouth shut about. I have considered handing out business cards just to forewarn the idiot that really wants to go THERE...
The United States of America. Oh, she has her problems, that's for sure. But standing around the water cooler bitching about them generally does not get them solved. She's 235 years old, barely needs wrinkle cream compared to Great Britain or France and yet, she is out there busting butt on a regular basis doing the best she can. I would like to think that in her infancy, everyone pitched in to help her grow. Now there is an awful lot of naysayers and complainers. I don't know how that happened and I don't know what it will take to get her back the way she ought to be, but I am here to try. And if you aren't, leave. I know of no other country that is expected to respond to every crisis in the world and then is criticized for doing so. And if she does not respond, then she is called a cold, heartless capitalist, often by her own.
The United States Military. I don't think I need to elaborate on this one, but I will. Until you have humped ten miles in their boots with a 60 pound rucksack on your back with bullets whizzing by or EIDs blowing up along the road you march, you don't know. I have lived with the military for sixteen years and I have no idea what it is like to be a service member. I know that as a body of men and women that are willing and able to defend what I so dearly love, they deserve nothing less then my respect and admiration. If your opinion differs ever so slightly from mine, well, unfriend me now.
My husband. This is obvious. But it is amazing how often I have to defend. Oh, not him directly. I cannot imagine that would ever happen. But indirectly, quite often. My husband is a police officer. He is well trained. He is quite capable of taking you down to the ground and putting you in a non threatening position for your safety and the safety of others. Show him the slightest amount of respect, not because you fear him, but because you appreciate him. Appreciate the fact that he is out on the roads on the worst night of the year. He is giving your mouthy little sixteen year old a talking to because you cannot control the child that you didn't take the time to raise right. He is running like hell with a bullet proof vest and utility belt on and he still manages to catch up to the little gang banger with a gun. He is a professional. He is educated. He is not a cop, or the fuzz. He is not the POPO or a PIG. He is a police officer and if he is talking to you, you might just want to call him, Sir.
There, that is my weekly rant. If I have offended you, then it is probably a good thing that you can't read what I deleted.
The United States of America. Oh, she has her problems, that's for sure. But standing around the water cooler bitching about them generally does not get them solved. She's 235 years old, barely needs wrinkle cream compared to Great Britain or France and yet, she is out there busting butt on a regular basis doing the best she can. I would like to think that in her infancy, everyone pitched in to help her grow. Now there is an awful lot of naysayers and complainers. I don't know how that happened and I don't know what it will take to get her back the way she ought to be, but I am here to try. And if you aren't, leave. I know of no other country that is expected to respond to every crisis in the world and then is criticized for doing so. And if she does not respond, then she is called a cold, heartless capitalist, often by her own.
The United States Military. I don't think I need to elaborate on this one, but I will. Until you have humped ten miles in their boots with a 60 pound rucksack on your back with bullets whizzing by or EIDs blowing up along the road you march, you don't know. I have lived with the military for sixteen years and I have no idea what it is like to be a service member. I know that as a body of men and women that are willing and able to defend what I so dearly love, they deserve nothing less then my respect and admiration. If your opinion differs ever so slightly from mine, well, unfriend me now.
My husband. This is obvious. But it is amazing how often I have to defend. Oh, not him directly. I cannot imagine that would ever happen. But indirectly, quite often. My husband is a police officer. He is well trained. He is quite capable of taking you down to the ground and putting you in a non threatening position for your safety and the safety of others. Show him the slightest amount of respect, not because you fear him, but because you appreciate him. Appreciate the fact that he is out on the roads on the worst night of the year. He is giving your mouthy little sixteen year old a talking to because you cannot control the child that you didn't take the time to raise right. He is running like hell with a bullet proof vest and utility belt on and he still manages to catch up to the little gang banger with a gun. He is a professional. He is educated. He is not a cop, or the fuzz. He is not the POPO or a PIG. He is a police officer and if he is talking to you, you might just want to call him, Sir.
There, that is my weekly rant. If I have offended you, then it is probably a good thing that you can't read what I deleted.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Traditions
They change, don't they. Traditions. And sometimes, that's ok. And sometimes, like now, it really isn't ok. Or maybe the times around the tradition have changed. We are feeling that quite a bit this Christmas season at our house. And no one is happy.
Obviously, we don't write letters to Santa anymore. And we don't get letters from the Elves. We have stopped putting out cookies and carrots. We don't read a new Christmas story any more though I still buy the book each year. Those traditions quietly fell to the wayside as the kids grew.
But this year has been different. Not only have the kids gotten older, but two of them have moved away. And the third one got a job. Adjustments had to be made. It all started with Thanksgiving Eve. Normally, i bake cookies while the kids and Danny play Monopoly. I had a horrible headache and the kitchen was a disaster. No one seemed particularly motivated to clean it up or get the game or do anything for that matter. Except Jacob. He was ready to play and was so frustrated that no one else was. We all went to see the Muppet Movie instead and may have started a new tradition of going to the movies. But who know what next year will bring. The next tradition to be shot down was putting the tree up the day after Thanksgiving. I worked during the day and Jacob worked that evening. He then worked Saturday evening as well and the girls left on Sunday. So the house sat treeless for a week until I couldn't take it anymore and started setting it up today.
I had a good plan. I cleaned the living room while Jacob was working and Danny was sleeping. Then I started assembling the tree. I thought that I could have it mostly up before Jacob got home and then we could decorate it. I hated that he was missing out on having the tree up just because the girls were gone. Or maybe that was how I was feeling. Either way, I was excited to finally have it up.
Jacob was not. It was not ok to put the tree up with out Ashlyn and Hayley. The last time, and only time that we did not decorate the tree as a family was the year that Danny was in Iraq. Jacob pointed this out to me today. He wanted to wait until the girls were home from school. But we are going away for that first weekend so we would not have the tree up until the 20th. Yeah, that is not going to happen. I will already be 12 days behind as it is. And I did not spend several years of traveling about to amass a super cool ornament collection just to leave it in the basement for another two weeks.
So, traditions change. That's a fact. And they will keep changing as family moves away and grows and dies. We have to accept that and do whatever it takes to make the Christmas present a happy one.
Obviously, we don't write letters to Santa anymore. And we don't get letters from the Elves. We have stopped putting out cookies and carrots. We don't read a new Christmas story any more though I still buy the book each year. Those traditions quietly fell to the wayside as the kids grew.
But this year has been different. Not only have the kids gotten older, but two of them have moved away. And the third one got a job. Adjustments had to be made. It all started with Thanksgiving Eve. Normally, i bake cookies while the kids and Danny play Monopoly. I had a horrible headache and the kitchen was a disaster. No one seemed particularly motivated to clean it up or get the game or do anything for that matter. Except Jacob. He was ready to play and was so frustrated that no one else was. We all went to see the Muppet Movie instead and may have started a new tradition of going to the movies. But who know what next year will bring. The next tradition to be shot down was putting the tree up the day after Thanksgiving. I worked during the day and Jacob worked that evening. He then worked Saturday evening as well and the girls left on Sunday. So the house sat treeless for a week until I couldn't take it anymore and started setting it up today.
I had a good plan. I cleaned the living room while Jacob was working and Danny was sleeping. Then I started assembling the tree. I thought that I could have it mostly up before Jacob got home and then we could decorate it. I hated that he was missing out on having the tree up just because the girls were gone. Or maybe that was how I was feeling. Either way, I was excited to finally have it up.
Jacob was not. It was not ok to put the tree up with out Ashlyn and Hayley. The last time, and only time that we did not decorate the tree as a family was the year that Danny was in Iraq. Jacob pointed this out to me today. He wanted to wait until the girls were home from school. But we are going away for that first weekend so we would not have the tree up until the 20th. Yeah, that is not going to happen. I will already be 12 days behind as it is. And I did not spend several years of traveling about to amass a super cool ornament collection just to leave it in the basement for another two weeks.
So, traditions change. That's a fact. And they will keep changing as family moves away and grows and dies. We have to accept that and do whatever it takes to make the Christmas present a happy one.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Apology Accepted
I have a hard time letting of go. If my feelings have been hurt, I will carry that grudge forever. Seriously, I am still bitter about being kissed by the big lipped kid when I was in second grade. That son of a bitch never said he was sorry for jumping off the merry go round and planting his big assed lips on my sweet little face. Phillip. I seethe when I say that name.
I don't get into a lot of arguments these days. And no one has big lipped kissed me for quite some time. But I still have a hard time letting go. I ask the Lord on a regular basis to help me stop being so petty. It is really unbecoming. I whine and try to justify my point of view. I really ought to just man up and get over it. People don't always intend to hurt when they do. Some people aren't any good at saying sorry, even when they are. Sometimes, making the mountain out of the mole hill just makes me miserable.
So as this season of Glad Tidings begins, I begin to let go. I must put into perspective the transgression. And I must accept an apology that I may never hear. At the same time, I must ask for forgiveness for all the transgressions that I have made. All those innocent remarks that were taken as hurtful. All the slights, intended and unintended. All those times that I could have, should have been there and wasn't. I am sorry that I have not been the kind of friend that I expected you to be. I am sorry that I can be a rotten person, but I am working on it. The Good Lord has not given up on me so I am asking you not to either. And I forgive you. You have your own set of problems and issues, just like all of us. Even as I write this, I find my mind wandering to specific events. And bitterness leaves an aftertaste that sometimes just won't go away. All I can really do is shake off the anger, the resentment, the frustration.
And as far as Phillip is concerned, well, I am a work in progress.
I don't get into a lot of arguments these days. And no one has big lipped kissed me for quite some time. But I still have a hard time letting go. I ask the Lord on a regular basis to help me stop being so petty. It is really unbecoming. I whine and try to justify my point of view. I really ought to just man up and get over it. People don't always intend to hurt when they do. Some people aren't any good at saying sorry, even when they are. Sometimes, making the mountain out of the mole hill just makes me miserable.
So as this season of Glad Tidings begins, I begin to let go. I must put into perspective the transgression. And I must accept an apology that I may never hear. At the same time, I must ask for forgiveness for all the transgressions that I have made. All those innocent remarks that were taken as hurtful. All the slights, intended and unintended. All those times that I could have, should have been there and wasn't. I am sorry that I have not been the kind of friend that I expected you to be. I am sorry that I can be a rotten person, but I am working on it. The Good Lord has not given up on me so I am asking you not to either. And I forgive you. You have your own set of problems and issues, just like all of us. Even as I write this, I find my mind wandering to specific events. And bitterness leaves an aftertaste that sometimes just won't go away. All I can really do is shake off the anger, the resentment, the frustration.
And as far as Phillip is concerned, well, I am a work in progress.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Form Letters and Charity Address Labels
Ah, it is that time of year again. Christmas card time! I love Christmas cards. I love the brag letter, the cute family photo, the warm wishes for a Merry Christmas.
Christmas card sales aren't what they used to be. People have switched to the simpler photo card and the form letter. Worse yet are those that have switched to the electronic holiday greeting. I am just not down with that. There is something so very wonderful about going to the mailbox and flipping through that stack of cards. I often have them read before I ever get my coat off. But I love letters and cards in general so Christmas time letters and cards are a feeding frenzy for me!
Growing up, (yes, another trip down my memory lane) my mom had quite a Christmas card system. It seems like she had a separate address book just for Christmas cards. And she would keep track of what card she sent to whom so that she didn't repeat two years in a row. Every card she sent had a personal letter in it. Hand written. And every letter was personal to the recipient. I would always prod her to do a form letter, but that was not her style. Many evenings she sat there at the dining room table, coffee cup within reach, writing and writing and writing. I remember at her funeral that so many people commented on her Christmas letters.
I am a form letter kind of girl. I can only be so clever each year and I feel like when I get something decent, I better mass produce it and stick it in envelopes. Along with the witty letter is a photo of our family at some exotic location smiling prettily in matching shirts! Actually, we have been very fortunate to take some pretty fantastic photos, but we usually look like some rag tag group that was kicked off the train!
My mom, in those pre-computer days, hand addressed the envelopes, but had a trillion preprinted address labels from every charity on earth. I don't remember who sent her the stack of labels made out to Ritz Snow, but they were not to go to waste, so on the envelopes they went. I, too, am starting a collection of charity address labels. Whereas Mom felt that she should send some money to the charity in thanks for the labels, I think not. And for many of the labels, I will be cutting off the offending charity. Seriously, I don't want people thinking that I support some human rights watch organization. But World Wildlife Fund, they get my money and I don't cut the hippo off the label!
So here I am, with address book in hand. To send or not to send, that is my question. Each year, I think that I will only send to those that I received from last year. But I want to share my holiday wishes with one and all! I want to brag about the kids, the dog, the husband. I want to send out the photo I so painstakingly photoshopped. I want to think that people are eager to rip open the envelope and devour my elegant prose as they walk from the mailbox. Because I am so excited to get the holiday wishes, happy family photos, newy letters.
Optimistically, I will address around 50 envelopes. I will stuff them with some magnificent prose, include a Life Magazine worthy photo, stick a charity label on the outside of the envelope and send out my sincerest wishes for a Very Merry Christmas and Much Happiness in the New Year!
Christmas card sales aren't what they used to be. People have switched to the simpler photo card and the form letter. Worse yet are those that have switched to the electronic holiday greeting. I am just not down with that. There is something so very wonderful about going to the mailbox and flipping through that stack of cards. I often have them read before I ever get my coat off. But I love letters and cards in general so Christmas time letters and cards are a feeding frenzy for me!
Growing up, (yes, another trip down my memory lane) my mom had quite a Christmas card system. It seems like she had a separate address book just for Christmas cards. And she would keep track of what card she sent to whom so that she didn't repeat two years in a row. Every card she sent had a personal letter in it. Hand written. And every letter was personal to the recipient. I would always prod her to do a form letter, but that was not her style. Many evenings she sat there at the dining room table, coffee cup within reach, writing and writing and writing. I remember at her funeral that so many people commented on her Christmas letters.
I am a form letter kind of girl. I can only be so clever each year and I feel like when I get something decent, I better mass produce it and stick it in envelopes. Along with the witty letter is a photo of our family at some exotic location smiling prettily in matching shirts! Actually, we have been very fortunate to take some pretty fantastic photos, but we usually look like some rag tag group that was kicked off the train!
My mom, in those pre-computer days, hand addressed the envelopes, but had a trillion preprinted address labels from every charity on earth. I don't remember who sent her the stack of labels made out to Ritz Snow, but they were not to go to waste, so on the envelopes they went. I, too, am starting a collection of charity address labels. Whereas Mom felt that she should send some money to the charity in thanks for the labels, I think not. And for many of the labels, I will be cutting off the offending charity. Seriously, I don't want people thinking that I support some human rights watch organization. But World Wildlife Fund, they get my money and I don't cut the hippo off the label!
So here I am, with address book in hand. To send or not to send, that is my question. Each year, I think that I will only send to those that I received from last year. But I want to share my holiday wishes with one and all! I want to brag about the kids, the dog, the husband. I want to send out the photo I so painstakingly photoshopped. I want to think that people are eager to rip open the envelope and devour my elegant prose as they walk from the mailbox. Because I am so excited to get the holiday wishes, happy family photos, newy letters.
Optimistically, I will address around 50 envelopes. I will stuff them with some magnificent prose, include a Life Magazine worthy photo, stick a charity label on the outside of the envelope and send out my sincerest wishes for a Very Merry Christmas and Much Happiness in the New Year!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Bing, Nat and Rosemary et al
Ok, I have held off long enough, but it is that time of year when I need to lay down my Christmas music rules. And I don't care if you agree or disagree, these are my rules and if you don't like them, don't ride in my car. Don't go caroling with me. Do mess with my CD collection.
There is a finite number of people that can sing a good Christmas song. There is the obvious, Bing, Dean and Frank. And all of those crooners that sound like those three. Johnny Mathis, he's got a mighty fine voice. Nat King Cole, let me say that one again, Nat King Cole. Rosemary Clooney. Burl Ives. Louis Armstrong. Boris Karloff. OK, that may be a stretch, but he does the best rendition of You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.
The Mormon Tabernacle Choir is an excellent choice for those big religious numbers especially the Hallelujah Chorus. They do a nice job with that one but so did The Immaculate Conception Catholic Church Adult Choir from my youth. I loved, loved, loved it when Mom and Dad practiced that at home. I need to take a moment to remember that.
For the most part, there is no one alive today that ought to make a Christmas album using new material. All the good ones have been done and going out on a limb to try something new is not necessary. The Michael Buble's of the world can sing the classics, but this new stuff...not needed. I will also suggest an end to all ridiculously sappy songs that are about Christmas shoes, Christmas pants, Christmas cardigan sweaters with elbow patches.
If you are so inclined to a search of all the artists that have made Christmas albums, you will find that Billy Idol has recorded his own version of the classics. I love Billy Idol and I love White Christmas. But this? This is what keeps Bing Crosby from resting in peace (that and some other child rearing issues). There is a whole CD of Monster Christmas Ballads. I don't think there was a need for this CD.
When it comes to country music and Christmas, I am on the fence. Gene Autry has one of the greatest songs ever, so great that a movie was made from it. And from that movie came all kinds of trinkets and figures, toys and villages that now fill my dad's and my own house at Christmas! Martina McBride, Faith Hill and Cary Underwood are remarkable. But then there is the other side of country music, the too twangy. When I feel like I should be knee deep in horse poop instead of reindeer poop, well, it's too country.
When I think about my collection of CDs, I think of what is missing. From my dad's collection is, and my memory will be fuzzy, an album with Jack Benny on the front. There is a bit where Jack Benny plays Jingle Bells on the violin, just a few opening notes. Dad had made me a cassette of that album, but who has a cassette player now days? I don't even have one in my car. And my How the Grinch Stole Christmas read along album. I remember putting that on the record player, already in my pj's, book in my lap. It was like having the movie on DVD!
I love the religious and the secular. The serious and the silly. I love how the CD's of the old classics kept the scratchy record sound. I love that I can hear my dad singing right along with Bing and Dean. Christmas music is such a gift. It takes me back to the record player and the red record. Yes, it was a red record. The cover of the album was kind of like a stain glass window. It was so exotic! And we could dance, but we couldn't jump because the needle would jump.
When we got M-TV, Bing Crosby and David Bowie's rendition of Little Drummer Boy was in high rotation. I don't know if I liked the song but I liked that my dad would tolerate David Bowie for a moment because he was singing with Bing Crosby. Now the song is just another Christmas warm fuzzy from my youth.
Another song from my youth that I DO LOVE is Christmas Bells. And it must be the version that has The Red Baron and Snoopy in it. Snoopy is battling The Red Baron over World War One France. It must have been Christmas, 1917. Terribly cold, Snoopy had ice on his wings. It didn't look good for him. The Baron, it was a Christmas miracle, did not shoot Snoopy even though he had him in his sights. Snoopy had to land behind enemy lines, a goner for sure, thought Snoopy. But the Baron had other plans. With a toast and a "Merry Christmas Mein Friend!" the Baron flew off. Oh, they would meet another day, but on Christmas, there was peace. What a freakin classic that song is.
And now, my own kids seek out the classics. The crooners and the Muppets are what classifies as classics to them! Ashlyn is a bit more of a purist and does not start listening to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving, but not Hayley, she is tuned into 104.1 as soon as they make theHoliday switch. My favorite is when all three of them sing the songs from Muppet Christmas Carol.
There is one song that does not meet any of my criteria to be an acceptable Christmas song. It is not sung by any of the approved; it is sung by many of the unapproved. It's sappy. It's maudlin.
It's Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid
At christmas time, we let in light and we banish shade
And in our world of plenty, we can spread a smile of joy!
Throw your arms around the world at christmas time
But say a prayer - pray for the other ones
At christmas time
it's hard, but when you're having fun
There's a world outside your window
Go on, finish the song...you know you want to!
There is a finite number of people that can sing a good Christmas song. There is the obvious, Bing, Dean and Frank. And all of those crooners that sound like those three. Johnny Mathis, he's got a mighty fine voice. Nat King Cole, let me say that one again, Nat King Cole. Rosemary Clooney. Burl Ives. Louis Armstrong. Boris Karloff. OK, that may be a stretch, but he does the best rendition of You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.
The Mormon Tabernacle Choir is an excellent choice for those big religious numbers especially the Hallelujah Chorus. They do a nice job with that one but so did The Immaculate Conception Catholic Church Adult Choir from my youth. I loved, loved, loved it when Mom and Dad practiced that at home. I need to take a moment to remember that.
For the most part, there is no one alive today that ought to make a Christmas album using new material. All the good ones have been done and going out on a limb to try something new is not necessary. The Michael Buble's of the world can sing the classics, but this new stuff...not needed. I will also suggest an end to all ridiculously sappy songs that are about Christmas shoes, Christmas pants, Christmas cardigan sweaters with elbow patches.
If you are so inclined to a search of all the artists that have made Christmas albums, you will find that Billy Idol has recorded his own version of the classics. I love Billy Idol and I love White Christmas. But this? This is what keeps Bing Crosby from resting in peace (that and some other child rearing issues). There is a whole CD of Monster Christmas Ballads. I don't think there was a need for this CD.
When it comes to country music and Christmas, I am on the fence. Gene Autry has one of the greatest songs ever, so great that a movie was made from it. And from that movie came all kinds of trinkets and figures, toys and villages that now fill my dad's and my own house at Christmas! Martina McBride, Faith Hill and Cary Underwood are remarkable. But then there is the other side of country music, the too twangy. When I feel like I should be knee deep in horse poop instead of reindeer poop, well, it's too country.
When I think about my collection of CDs, I think of what is missing. From my dad's collection is, and my memory will be fuzzy, an album with Jack Benny on the front. There is a bit where Jack Benny plays Jingle Bells on the violin, just a few opening notes. Dad had made me a cassette of that album, but who has a cassette player now days? I don't even have one in my car. And my How the Grinch Stole Christmas read along album. I remember putting that on the record player, already in my pj's, book in my lap. It was like having the movie on DVD!
I love the religious and the secular. The serious and the silly. I love how the CD's of the old classics kept the scratchy record sound. I love that I can hear my dad singing right along with Bing and Dean. Christmas music is such a gift. It takes me back to the record player and the red record. Yes, it was a red record. The cover of the album was kind of like a stain glass window. It was so exotic! And we could dance, but we couldn't jump because the needle would jump.
When we got M-TV, Bing Crosby and David Bowie's rendition of Little Drummer Boy was in high rotation. I don't know if I liked the song but I liked that my dad would tolerate David Bowie for a moment because he was singing with Bing Crosby. Now the song is just another Christmas warm fuzzy from my youth.
Another song from my youth that I DO LOVE is Christmas Bells. And it must be the version that has The Red Baron and Snoopy in it. Snoopy is battling The Red Baron over World War One France. It must have been Christmas, 1917. Terribly cold, Snoopy had ice on his wings. It didn't look good for him. The Baron, it was a Christmas miracle, did not shoot Snoopy even though he had him in his sights. Snoopy had to land behind enemy lines, a goner for sure, thought Snoopy. But the Baron had other plans. With a toast and a "Merry Christmas Mein Friend!" the Baron flew off. Oh, they would meet another day, but on Christmas, there was peace. What a freakin classic that song is.
And now, my own kids seek out the classics. The crooners and the Muppets are what classifies as classics to them! Ashlyn is a bit more of a purist and does not start listening to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving, but not Hayley, she is tuned into 104.1 as soon as they make the
There is one song that does not meet any of my criteria to be an acceptable Christmas song. It is not sung by any of the approved; it is sung by many of the unapproved. It's sappy. It's maudlin.
It's Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid
At christmas time, we let in light and we banish shade
And in our world of plenty, we can spread a smile of joy!
Throw your arms around the world at christmas time
But say a prayer - pray for the other ones
At christmas time
it's hard, but when you're having fun
There's a world outside your window
Go on, finish the song...you know you want to!
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Harlow Louise
Tonight I want to talk about my big, little girl, Harlow. Harlow is an American Mastiff. She is six now and weighs 170 pounds. My road to Harlow was a bittersweet one. It all started when I was randomly dog searching online and came across The Flying W Farms. Flying W Farms breeds horses and dogs. The American Mastiff breed was originated here. The breeder bred English Mastiffs to Anatolian Shepards to create a massive drier mouthed dog. I announced to Danny that this was the next dog I wanted. And that was the end of that. Until December of 2003 when Danny's National Guard unit was called up to Iraq and Danny told me to "get my dog."
I began an email correspondence with the owner of the farm and was approved for adoption of a female. I had decided to name her LRS Louise. LRS was the acronym for Danny's Guard unit. It seemed appropriate. My sister and I drove out in June 2004 to pick her up from Ohio!
LRS was a beautiful little thing. She loved Barron, followed him everywhere. She was the joy we needed during Danny's deployment. We were awfully happy for those few weeks. Then LRS got sick, very sick. And her little body could not fight whatever it was that was attacking her. And she died in the night at the vet clinic. She is buried in the backyard.
The breeder offered me a refund or another puppy. I took the puppy. This was done as a pure act of kindness from the breeder because LRS's death had nothing to do with her breeding or care prior to her living with us. In fact, the cause of her death was probably due to poisoning. Our best guess was that someone in the neighborhood had put out poison. A wild animal got into it and then came through our yard. LRS may have shared a water dish, or sniffed something up in the yard.
Twice, we were notified that our puppy was ready. But both of those puppies were not meant to be ours. One turned out to be a boy and the other was accidentally killed by her mom. It wasn't until the fall of 2005 that we finally got Harlow.
Harlow is an Olde English word for troops on the hill. Danny's unit spent a great deal of time in the mountains of Northern Iraq. I wanted to keep her name in tradition with LRS's. And they share a middle name. LRS and Harlow were also cousins.
Harlow started out as a very social puppy. She went where we went as much as we could. Soccer games and Petsmart. Walks around the neighborhood, Cedar Rapids. She loved the attention and the new adventures. Then it got cold and she got too big to go easily to all those places. When spring arrived, Harlow did not want anything to do with new people or places. A walk was usually out of the question. She would do pretty good if Barron was with her, but on her own, she was a nervous wreck. I found some help in a dog trainer book and we could have some good walks, but all in all, Harlow was now home bound. There were even occassions where we would get to the corner and she would stop. Outweighed by 30 pounds, I didn't have much choice but to end the walk and go home.
When new people came around, there was a very long introduction process. Harlow did not want anyone to approach her. She would do the approaching, slow and unsure. There are some people that have seen her for six years and have never petted her. We have learned to accommodate her and it seems to work. She stays in our room if there is going to be a lot of activity. People respect her and make no sudden movements toward her or surprise her from behind. Harlow gets plenty of love from those that she knows and she seems completely satisfied with that.
Harlow and Barron were very good buddies and when Barron died, I was terrified that Harlow would be soon to follow. But she bounced back ok without him. We had several good months where Harlow did just fine. But recently, there have been episodes of I don't know what. She has freak outs over people she knows and loves. She has lost control of her bladder from time to time. Sometimes I don't think she hears me, I have to tap her butt to get her attention. There are days where she paces and paces. Days where she follows me everywhere. Sometimes, she reminds me of my mom when my mom was sick. Harlow just seems confused.
But this girl of mine. This great big little girl is so very sweet. Her head must weigh 20 pounds and she will rest all of it in my lap. She will put her nose ever so close to me, prickly whiskers tickling my cheek, moist exhale in my face. Harlow often has a furrowed brow, like she is deep in thought or confused. I go with the latter. Harlow likes to hold hands and sometimes, she likes to stand chest to chest. Only she is taller than me so her head rests on top of mine. Harlow is the only one in this family that can see what is on top of the refrigerator.
Harlow bounds about the back yard. She used to look like a horse when she ran, before she put on her weight. She looked like Scar from the Lion King when she walked. Harlow adores Jacob. She is his own personal pillow pet. Harlow loves to be there with him when he watches TV. With Ashlyn and Hayley, she just kind of presents herself for love and attention. They will be busy doing whatever it is that they are doing and Harlow will decide to get up, walk over and say hello.
Tonight, Harlow is sick. She cannot control her bladder. She whines a lot. She paces around and never seems comfortable. I thought about taking her to the emergency vet, but they don't know Harlow and Harlow does not know them. Unlike Barron, Harlow does not see a friend in everyone and she fears new and different places. So we are going to wait this out and go to the regular vet in the morning. I am nervous. I don't know what is wrong with my girl. I don't look forward to the list of tests that need to be run. My stomach flips at the thought of the bill. And I know that I shouldn't be thinking about the cost right now, but Barron's final bill in April ate up all the excess vet emergency fund that I had, and then some, so another hefty vet bill at Christmas time is weighing heavy on me, too. But it is the thought of something serious being wrong with this big headed girl of mine that is making me cry tonight. I know that I won't have her long as it is, a mastiff's life expectancy is around eight years. But I already lost Barron this year, I am not ready to even thing about losing her.
So my prayers are to Saint Francis tonight. For Harlow's health and well being. For my own good judgement tomorrow. And for a simple diagnosis with an easy treatment both for Harlow and me.
I began an email correspondence with the owner of the farm and was approved for adoption of a female. I had decided to name her LRS Louise. LRS was the acronym for Danny's Guard unit. It seemed appropriate. My sister and I drove out in June 2004 to pick her up from Ohio!
LRS was a beautiful little thing. She loved Barron, followed him everywhere. She was the joy we needed during Danny's deployment. We were awfully happy for those few weeks. Then LRS got sick, very sick. And her little body could not fight whatever it was that was attacking her. And she died in the night at the vet clinic. She is buried in the backyard.
The breeder offered me a refund or another puppy. I took the puppy. This was done as a pure act of kindness from the breeder because LRS's death had nothing to do with her breeding or care prior to her living with us. In fact, the cause of her death was probably due to poisoning. Our best guess was that someone in the neighborhood had put out poison. A wild animal got into it and then came through our yard. LRS may have shared a water dish, or sniffed something up in the yard.
Twice, we were notified that our puppy was ready. But both of those puppies were not meant to be ours. One turned out to be a boy and the other was accidentally killed by her mom. It wasn't until the fall of 2005 that we finally got Harlow.
Harlow is an Olde English word for troops on the hill. Danny's unit spent a great deal of time in the mountains of Northern Iraq. I wanted to keep her name in tradition with LRS's. And they share a middle name. LRS and Harlow were also cousins.
Harlow started out as a very social puppy. She went where we went as much as we could. Soccer games and Petsmart. Walks around the neighborhood, Cedar Rapids. She loved the attention and the new adventures. Then it got cold and she got too big to go easily to all those places. When spring arrived, Harlow did not want anything to do with new people or places. A walk was usually out of the question. She would do pretty good if Barron was with her, but on her own, she was a nervous wreck. I found some help in a dog trainer book and we could have some good walks, but all in all, Harlow was now home bound. There were even occassions where we would get to the corner and she would stop. Outweighed by 30 pounds, I didn't have much choice but to end the walk and go home.
When new people came around, there was a very long introduction process. Harlow did not want anyone to approach her. She would do the approaching, slow and unsure. There are some people that have seen her for six years and have never petted her. We have learned to accommodate her and it seems to work. She stays in our room if there is going to be a lot of activity. People respect her and make no sudden movements toward her or surprise her from behind. Harlow gets plenty of love from those that she knows and she seems completely satisfied with that.
Harlow and Barron were very good buddies and when Barron died, I was terrified that Harlow would be soon to follow. But she bounced back ok without him. We had several good months where Harlow did just fine. But recently, there have been episodes of I don't know what. She has freak outs over people she knows and loves. She has lost control of her bladder from time to time. Sometimes I don't think she hears me, I have to tap her butt to get her attention. There are days where she paces and paces. Days where she follows me everywhere. Sometimes, she reminds me of my mom when my mom was sick. Harlow just seems confused.
But this girl of mine. This great big little girl is so very sweet. Her head must weigh 20 pounds and she will rest all of it in my lap. She will put her nose ever so close to me, prickly whiskers tickling my cheek, moist exhale in my face. Harlow often has a furrowed brow, like she is deep in thought or confused. I go with the latter. Harlow likes to hold hands and sometimes, she likes to stand chest to chest. Only she is taller than me so her head rests on top of mine. Harlow is the only one in this family that can see what is on top of the refrigerator.
Harlow bounds about the back yard. She used to look like a horse when she ran, before she put on her weight. She looked like Scar from the Lion King when she walked. Harlow adores Jacob. She is his own personal pillow pet. Harlow loves to be there with him when he watches TV. With Ashlyn and Hayley, she just kind of presents herself for love and attention. They will be busy doing whatever it is that they are doing and Harlow will decide to get up, walk over and say hello.
So my prayers are to Saint Francis tonight. For Harlow's health and well being. For my own good judgement tomorrow. And for a simple diagnosis with an easy treatment both for Harlow and me.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
A Charlie Brown Christmas
Ashlyn is on the couch watching A Charlie Brown Christmas. I can hear it from the family room. 35 years ago, I would have been in there watching it, too. But I am spoiled now and with the slightest twitch of the wrist, I can slide that DVD in the player and enjoy the ridiculous antics of Snoopy on the ice rink any time I like.
But it wasn't always like that. When I was a kid, this time of year meant a lot of things, including knowing when the specials were on. With TV Guide in hand, I would sit on the couch and carefully page through to find A Charlie Brown Christmas, Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, How the Grinch Stole Christmas and if I were really lucky, A Year Without a Santa Claus. There were other specials, too. There was one with mice and a clock. There was The Little Matchgirl and The Little Drummer Boy, too. But these weren't as good as the first ones I mentioned. Luckily, they were usually aired back to back on Sunday nights. And with only three channels to check in the TV Guide, I never missed them!
I also had a softcover book of A Charlie Brown Christmas that my oldest brother gave me. I still have it. The cover is torn and the pages are dogeared, but it is one of my most favorite books. I also had the book and album of How The Grinch Stole Christmas. It was narrated by Boris Karloff and was fantastic.
There was also a random singer or movie star that would have a Christmas Special. There would be a few skits, a special guest or two and lovely music. Mom and Dad usually watched that show with me. I don't remember any specific shows, but Julie Andrews and Paul Williams come to mind.
After we got cable and HBO, I was introduced to Freddy the Freeloader starring Red Skelton and Emmit Otter's Jug Band Christmas created by Jim Henson. We watched Freddy the Freeloader for the first time in twenty years last year and it still is as sweet and warm as I remember.
My kids have added to the must see Christmas movies. There is now Elf and A Christmas Story. A Christmas Story is older, but somehow, I never saw that one as a kid. We also watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation quite faithfully. A Muppet Christmas Carol is the sweetest Christmas movie I know. Even after watching it a trillion times, knowing Tiny Tim makes it in the end makes me smile. I think the fact that Tiny Tim is played by a little frog makes it all the more appealing.
My first Christmas in Southern California, with Danny away and me and the kitties making the best of it, I bought my first holiday movie. White Christmas starring Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney. Two of the greatest Christmas crooners the God ever made. I watched this movie every day. I had it on constantly because it reminded me of home and of Danny far away. And Bing Crosby's rendition of White Christmas is my hands down favorite Christmas song ever.
I think these movies offer a trip down memory lane, a sweet escape, an hour or two where the real world is shut off and a winter wonderland prevails. When the opening number starts to play, all of us gravitate to the family room. The couch gets a little more crowded. And our spirits get that needed holiday boost.
But it wasn't always like that. When I was a kid, this time of year meant a lot of things, including knowing when the specials were on. With TV Guide in hand, I would sit on the couch and carefully page through to find A Charlie Brown Christmas, Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, How the Grinch Stole Christmas and if I were really lucky, A Year Without a Santa Claus. There were other specials, too. There was one with mice and a clock. There was The Little Matchgirl and The Little Drummer Boy, too. But these weren't as good as the first ones I mentioned. Luckily, they were usually aired back to back on Sunday nights. And with only three channels to check in the TV Guide, I never missed them!
I also had a softcover book of A Charlie Brown Christmas that my oldest brother gave me. I still have it. The cover is torn and the pages are dogeared, but it is one of my most favorite books. I also had the book and album of How The Grinch Stole Christmas. It was narrated by Boris Karloff and was fantastic.
There was also a random singer or movie star that would have a Christmas Special. There would be a few skits, a special guest or two and lovely music. Mom and Dad usually watched that show with me. I don't remember any specific shows, but Julie Andrews and Paul Williams come to mind.
After we got cable and HBO, I was introduced to Freddy the Freeloader starring Red Skelton and Emmit Otter's Jug Band Christmas created by Jim Henson. We watched Freddy the Freeloader for the first time in twenty years last year and it still is as sweet and warm as I remember.
My kids have added to the must see Christmas movies. There is now Elf and A Christmas Story. A Christmas Story is older, but somehow, I never saw that one as a kid. We also watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation quite faithfully. A Muppet Christmas Carol is the sweetest Christmas movie I know. Even after watching it a trillion times, knowing Tiny Tim makes it in the end makes me smile. I think the fact that Tiny Tim is played by a little frog makes it all the more appealing.
My first Christmas in Southern California, with Danny away and me and the kitties making the best of it, I bought my first holiday movie. White Christmas starring Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney. Two of the greatest Christmas crooners the God ever made. I watched this movie every day. I had it on constantly because it reminded me of home and of Danny far away. And Bing Crosby's rendition of White Christmas is my hands down favorite Christmas song ever.
I think these movies offer a trip down memory lane, a sweet escape, an hour or two where the real world is shut off and a winter wonderland prevails. When the opening number starts to play, all of us gravitate to the family room. The couch gets a little more crowded. And our spirits get that needed holiday boost.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Dividing Ding Dongs
I am the youngest of five children. The oldest, a boy was born in 1960. He was followed by a girl, another boy and another girl in 1962, 1963 and 1965. In 1969, I was born. My birth really screwed things up for my family. The three bedroom house was no longer evenly divisible. The Ding Dong box was now divied up unfairly. The kitchen table got really crowded.
Sometimes being much younger than my siblings made me feel like the odd duck. I couldn't play with them because they were so much older. My nearest sister did play Barbies with me, but not for a really long time because she was nearly five years older. So just as I was really getting into Barbie, she was on her way out. My oldest sister might pop in to do Barbie's hair, but she never stopped in to play.
I used to hang out in my brothers' room when I was little. Their room was in the basement and before it was officially a room, just an area they goofed off in, I would roller skate on one side of the basement while they built models on the other. The old transistor radio would be on and I clearly remember doing an interpretive skate to Barry Manilow's I Write the Songs. They didn't seem to mind me too much, and later, in my early teens, hanging out with my brother was often a life saver. But again, the age difference was a big difference.
Being the youngest brought me a lot of extras. After everyone else moved out, Dad and Mom could pay attention to what I was doing and what I was usually doing was wrong. When the older ones would come home late, maybe slightly intoxicated, Dad would be asleep on the floor and I would be watching Creature Feature. They would come (stumble) in and go get something to eat in the kitchen. Then they would go upstairs. When they reached the top of the stairs is when they would tell me to wake up Dad. I had no idea what the real situation was. When I was older, Dad would be waiting up for me or worse, out looking for me. I got in trouble a lot, but it was because I got caught a lot. It is a lot easier for a dad to watch one kid than five!
But, I got the station wagon when Mom and Dad bought a new car. I also got a lot of other perks that the others missed out on. When it was just me at home, eating out became a more frequent option. I got to paint my room any color I wanted. I didn't have to share the TV with anyone unless a game was on.
I often asked my parents if I was planned. I know I wasn't. Who is crazy enough to want one more after almost five years and a pretty good balancing act. Dad tells me that none of us were planned and Mom would tell me that we were all a gift from God. I think they were just taking the kids as they came, but probably thought that they were done after the four.
The ruined Ding Dong division still comes up in conversation, but I never remember Mom buying Ding Dongs. Though the kitchen table was crowded. We had a perfectly fine dining room table that we never used, we just squeezed in around the too small kitchen table. And in all fairness, my oldest brother moved out when I was eight so I didn't screw things up for that long.
I think back and know that there were times when I really struggled with the idea that I was not wanted. That I was an accident instead of a surprise. I don't think my parents were ever unhappy about having me. I do think some of my siblings sometimes were! It's funny how those feeling can stay and how easily it is to fall back into those old roles.
My own children were sort of planned. Ashlyn was not not planned. We were going to take that first one whenever it happened. Hayley was the most planned. Jacob was planned, then shelved then SURPRISE! None of them ruined the Ding Dong box, in fact, I try to buy things that come in tens so we each get two!
Sometimes being much younger than my siblings made me feel like the odd duck. I couldn't play with them because they were so much older. My nearest sister did play Barbies with me, but not for a really long time because she was nearly five years older. So just as I was really getting into Barbie, she was on her way out. My oldest sister might pop in to do Barbie's hair, but she never stopped in to play.
I used to hang out in my brothers' room when I was little. Their room was in the basement and before it was officially a room, just an area they goofed off in, I would roller skate on one side of the basement while they built models on the other. The old transistor radio would be on and I clearly remember doing an interpretive skate to Barry Manilow's I Write the Songs. They didn't seem to mind me too much, and later, in my early teens, hanging out with my brother was often a life saver. But again, the age difference was a big difference.
Being the youngest brought me a lot of extras. After everyone else moved out, Dad and Mom could pay attention to what I was doing and what I was usually doing was wrong. When the older ones would come home late, maybe slightly intoxicated, Dad would be asleep on the floor and I would be watching Creature Feature. They would come (stumble) in and go get something to eat in the kitchen. Then they would go upstairs. When they reached the top of the stairs is when they would tell me to wake up Dad. I had no idea what the real situation was. When I was older, Dad would be waiting up for me or worse, out looking for me. I got in trouble a lot, but it was because I got caught a lot. It is a lot easier for a dad to watch one kid than five!
But, I got the station wagon when Mom and Dad bought a new car. I also got a lot of other perks that the others missed out on. When it was just me at home, eating out became a more frequent option. I got to paint my room any color I wanted. I didn't have to share the TV with anyone unless a game was on.
I often asked my parents if I was planned. I know I wasn't. Who is crazy enough to want one more after almost five years and a pretty good balancing act. Dad tells me that none of us were planned and Mom would tell me that we were all a gift from God. I think they were just taking the kids as they came, but probably thought that they were done after the four.
The ruined Ding Dong division still comes up in conversation, but I never remember Mom buying Ding Dongs. Though the kitchen table was crowded. We had a perfectly fine dining room table that we never used, we just squeezed in around the too small kitchen table. And in all fairness, my oldest brother moved out when I was eight so I didn't screw things up for that long.
I think back and know that there were times when I really struggled with the idea that I was not wanted. That I was an accident instead of a surprise. I don't think my parents were ever unhappy about having me. I do think some of my siblings sometimes were! It's funny how those feeling can stay and how easily it is to fall back into those old roles.
My own children were sort of planned. Ashlyn was not not planned. We were going to take that first one whenever it happened. Hayley was the most planned. Jacob was planned, then shelved then SURPRISE! None of them ruined the Ding Dong box, in fact, I try to buy things that come in tens so we each get two!
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thankful
Danny, who loves me in spite of and because of all my unique qualities.
Ashlyn, Hayley, Jacob, who entertain me immensely.
Barron, who was the bestest dog friend I ever had.
Harlow, who is the sweetest, most confused little girl I know.
Sophie, Elsa, Emmitt who add an element of ridiculous in my life that I thoroughly enjoy.
My family in Eastern Iowa and Western United States who support and tolerate me.
My friends, who find me terribly funny.
The police and firefighters et all, who keep me safe.
The military, who keep watch.
The Dallas Cowboys, who pulled out a win in the last three seconds.
Walgreens, who continue to employ me even though I am a pain in the ass.
Ashlyn, Hayley, Jacob, who entertain me immensely.
Barron, who was the bestest dog friend I ever had.
Harlow, who is the sweetest, most confused little girl I know.
Sophie, Elsa, Emmitt who add an element of ridiculous in my life that I thoroughly enjoy.
My family in Eastern Iowa and Western United States who support and tolerate me.
My friends, who find me terribly funny.
The police and firefighters et all, who keep me safe.
The military, who keep watch.
The Dallas Cowboys, who pulled out a win in the last three seconds.
Walgreens, who continue to employ me even though I am a pain in the ass.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
An Evening with Old Friends
Tonight we spent a couple of hours with some old friends. We all went to the new Muppet Movie and it was wonderful. There was singing and dancing and cameos and ill timed explosions. There were a few new friends like Walter and the cactus, but most importantly, there was Kermit.
Kermit the Frog has been a friend of mine for as long as I can remember. I wasn't a viewer of Sesame Street, but was a faithful follower of the Muppet Show. I used to watch it with my oldest brother, Bobby. I don't know who enjoyed it more! There was always the anticipation of what Gonzo would do in the opening number. It was never as planned, I am sure. And the guest hosts, that had to be the highlight of their careers.
Then there was the Muppet Movie. I recall seeing that in the theater, maybe the World downtown, but most likely the Plaza out at Linndale. The opening notes of the banjo are some of the sweetest notes ever written. Every time I hear those notes, I cannot help but smile. My heart is warmed and my soul is rejuvenated. Though in the Muppet Movie, I always felt so bad for Jack. He was just a moment too late to catch a ride to Hollywood. But he made it in the end!
There were other Muppet movies, but none that tugged at my heart like A Muppet Christmas Carol. It was the first Muppet production after the death of Jim Henson. I remember Jim Henson's death in 1990. It was like losing a true friend. Because losing Jim Henson also meant losing Kermit. Watching A Muppet Christmas Carol for the first time was hard because the voice was not quite the same. My kids couldn't tell the difference and enjoyed the movie as it was. But I knew that there was a different man behind the frog and it was bittersweet. But A Muppet Christmas Carol has now become such a favorite. I probably watch it a dozen times between Thanksgiving and Christmas. There is something about singing fruits and penguins that really cuts to the core of Charles Dickens message of love and friendship.
I have seen Kermit at the Smithsonian and last year in Chicago. I cannot describe what it was like to walk around the corner and see my old friend. And to share that with Danny, Ashlyn, Hayley and Jacob. At the exhibit in Chicago, it practically took my breath away to see him sitting there. And then turn another corner and see Rowlf, the Manamana Muppets, and Bert and Ernie.
Seeing the Muppets tonight on the big screen felt good. It brought back such a flood of happy times and was really what I needed as I head into such a busy period of the year. It is hard to be irritable when Animal is there ready to play the drums, breathing heavy, furrowing his brow. Or when Kermit rallies the gang with one of his amazing pet talks. I feel very lucky to have grown up with the Muppets and I think my kids feel the same way. In the words of Kenny Ascher and Paul Williams through the voice of Kermit the Frog...
Life's like a movie, write your own ending
Keep believing, keep pretending
We've done just what we set out to do.
Thanks to the lovers, the dreamers, and you.
Kermit the Frog has been a friend of mine for as long as I can remember. I wasn't a viewer of Sesame Street, but was a faithful follower of the Muppet Show. I used to watch it with my oldest brother, Bobby. I don't know who enjoyed it more! There was always the anticipation of what Gonzo would do in the opening number. It was never as planned, I am sure. And the guest hosts, that had to be the highlight of their careers.
Then there was the Muppet Movie. I recall seeing that in the theater, maybe the World downtown, but most likely the Plaza out at Linndale. The opening notes of the banjo are some of the sweetest notes ever written. Every time I hear those notes, I cannot help but smile. My heart is warmed and my soul is rejuvenated. Though in the Muppet Movie, I always felt so bad for Jack. He was just a moment too late to catch a ride to Hollywood. But he made it in the end!
There were other Muppet movies, but none that tugged at my heart like A Muppet Christmas Carol. It was the first Muppet production after the death of Jim Henson. I remember Jim Henson's death in 1990. It was like losing a true friend. Because losing Jim Henson also meant losing Kermit. Watching A Muppet Christmas Carol for the first time was hard because the voice was not quite the same. My kids couldn't tell the difference and enjoyed the movie as it was. But I knew that there was a different man behind the frog and it was bittersweet. But A Muppet Christmas Carol has now become such a favorite. I probably watch it a dozen times between Thanksgiving and Christmas. There is something about singing fruits and penguins that really cuts to the core of Charles Dickens message of love and friendship.
I have seen Kermit at the Smithsonian and last year in Chicago. I cannot describe what it was like to walk around the corner and see my old friend. And to share that with Danny, Ashlyn, Hayley and Jacob. At the exhibit in Chicago, it practically took my breath away to see him sitting there. And then turn another corner and see Rowlf, the Manamana Muppets, and Bert and Ernie.
Seeing the Muppets tonight on the big screen felt good. It brought back such a flood of happy times and was really what I needed as I head into such a busy period of the year. It is hard to be irritable when Animal is there ready to play the drums, breathing heavy, furrowing his brow. Or when Kermit rallies the gang with one of his amazing pet talks. I feel very lucky to have grown up with the Muppets and I think my kids feel the same way. In the words of Kenny Ascher and Paul Williams through the voice of Kermit the Frog...
Life's like a movie, write your own ending
Keep believing, keep pretending
We've done just what we set out to do.
Thanks to the lovers, the dreamers, and you.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Time Warp
It’s 10:24 at my house on Tuesday night. And it feels like old times. The kids are in the family room singing songs in odd voices, changing up the words, maybe dancing a bit. I am in the dining room, just listening and being thankful. Thankful that my kids are hanging out together. They could have all chosen to have gone their separate ways tonight. They could be with old friends, boyfriends or video games, but they have chosen to be together singing show tunes and Jason Mraz.
When you read the ‘about me’ portion of this blog, blessed is a word I use. And this is partly why. Danny and I had three kids in four years, three months. Danny was five when his sisters were born and my closest sister was four and a half when I was born. We were a little more ambitious, or crazy. Anyway, we wanted out family to be friends. There were times when that wasn’t the case, but as everyone has grown, they have grown closer. I envy the inside jokes, the secret language, the memorized songs. I didn’t have nearly enough of that with my own siblings.
Last night, the girls watched Sleeping Beauty. The Swan Princess will probably be put into rotation before the week is over. These are childhood moments that have stayed with them. A shared love of blonde princess’s and strikingly handsome prince’s with excellent archery skills.
They have always laughed more then they have loathed. They get on each other’s nerves, they pick fights, and they go off and pout. But they are bound to each other. There is this shared experience of making fun of Danny and me. Supporting each other when the going got tough. And in their lives, it has gotten tough a time or two. They have been there for each other through deployments, sicknesses and deaths.
I have three children who know all the words to “Time Warp” and they know most of the actions. And they are doing the time warp again two rooms over. Years from now, they will have this moment to fall back on. If their friendship should falter, they will always have these times. And years from now, at a Thanksgiving far in the future, this song just might get played. Kitchen towels will be set aside, babies will be passed to grandpas and the wishbone will have to wait…because it’s a step to the left and then a jump to the right…
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