Number 21 - On A Balance Beam

I found this list on a blog this morning. I bolded the things I have done, just as the person before me. I've still left quite a list undone, so there's lots to look forward to. I haven't yet grown my own vegetables... but the tomatoes go in the soil in a couple of weeks!


1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band (Does Rock Band count?)
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland (DisneyWorld)
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea (from the beach)
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child (She lives in Africa and I live here, but they called it "adopting.")
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty (The line was too long - but I've stood at the foot.)
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied (in general)
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Read an entire book in one day

Happy Birthday To My Smokin' (Hot) Man

This boy is 33 today.

I love you Sparky.

Little Pink Feet

Rest was good.  To tell the truth, this year's NaBloPoMo has gotten the best of me.  It was an honest effort in the beginning.  I could have mailed in a one-liner each evening but I didn't really want to do that.  Instead, I chose just to go on to bed and leave the blog for another day...or as it turned out - another 9 days.  

The first baby shower I've ever thrown was no more than I could have asked of myself or of the guests.  Everything was a tasteful, adult pink.  I decorated with flowers, balloons and food.  The centerpiece: Cheesy Grits and Spanish Style Grillades.  Mmm.  I went a little far though - making a sound track for the event.  Every song on the pink CD was either named "Baby" or had the word "baby" repeated throughout.  It was the prize for the only game we played.  

Glass punch cups, silverware and china were set off by the white napkins stamped with small, fushia baby feet.  It was fun and fabulous.  And I'm glad it's over.

Cramming Until 2:30am

The shower was a success. I'm looking forward to returning to sleep (I took a wonderful nap this afternoon). My bed is calling. More details forthcoming.

Everything Will Be Pink In The Morning

I'm throwing a baby shower mid-morning tomorrow.  She's having a girl.  At this moment, there are lots of things on the stove and in the oven and on the cutting board...all waiting to either get cooked, chopped, mixed, cooled or put away.  

I must dash.

Familiar Faces In Unexpected Places

Uncle Rico was one of today's episodes of 90210. 

 

I Can Sit In A Hot Tub Until My Fingers And Toes Pucker

I've come back from the gym late this evening, sweaty and icky. When I keep my sweaty gym clothes on long past the point of cooling down from the work out, I usually by-pass the cooling down and move directly to cold. Once I'm cold, it is supremely hard for me to get warm...unless I take a hot bath (which I will do as soon as I can wrap this up).

I can't really get totally warm again unless I take it to the other extreme...and sweat. I like to turn the bathroom heater on, close the door and turn the water on as hot as can be enjoyed without crossing the threshold into pain. Once I'm sweating, it's great. Give me a book to enjoy in the heat and I'm a happy girl.

The heat is only enjoyable when you know that as soon as you choose to open the bathroom door a burst of cool air awaits you. When our power was out for a few days at the end of a Louisiana August because of a destructive hurricane, the heat wasn't enjoyable to any degree - because I couldn't just open a door and feel refreshed. I suffer from a classic ailment: I want to have my cake and eat it too (and possibly have a bit of yours).

Next up: A bath and a book, then a warm, soft bed filled with Eddie.

"Going To Church Doesn't Make You A Christian Any More Than Going To A Garage Makes You An Automobile." --Billy Sunday

"Being good is commendable, but only when it is combined with doing good is it useful. -- Author Unknown

November Second Plus Eight

For the past few years here on this blog, November 2 has been an opportunity to remember my sister, Katheryn. It is her birthday. I usually call my parents to talk a little about nothing in particular on November 2. Neither of us brings up the subject and we talk just like we talked the week before but they always know why I'm calling that day and I know they appreciate the thought. On those calls the strength of the unspoken "we all know we're in this together" reassures them. And me. This year I didn't mark the occasion. I didn't call and I didn't write.

In truth, for the first time, I forgot about it until this evening, a mere 8 days late. I heard a friend discussing some dates and when she named November 2, it clicked. I couldn't show the realization on my face because then I'd have to explain what I just realized. I usually avoid those situations. The sudden awareness strangely hurt and containing it was an exercise in control --especially when all you want from the person next to you is to listen while you plead your case, then reassurance that you're not a bad person.

Most of me feels guilty for forgetting that particular day. A teeny part of me is treating the omission as a sign of some kind of growth, even if that slant is a way of alleviating the guilt. There are more days I live a memory than those days that I forget.

I can rationalize that simply because I remember, it won't change anything.
Forgetting changes something.

Please Read The Following In An Australian Accent

"Everything that Man designs carries within it the seeds of its own destruction."

Eddie and I were watching an interesting documentary on the History channel this evening... until we paused the show just after that sentence was uttered by some geologist.  Then we laughed and laughed.  

If I had written his name down, I'd try to send him a Care Bear.  

And On The Way Home We Bought More Milk

Last week during dinner with three of my married girlfriends, I asked them how their mothers treat their husbands when their husbands come to visit. Every response was the same. During a visit from the son-in-law, each mother tried to feed him. Not just the "can I offer you something" type of courteous attempt but a more pushy "well, if you don't want any of that then how about some of this...or this...or THIS?" type of undertaking. Such is the same with my mother. She stocks some of Eddie's favorites.

This evening Eddie and I attended a housewarming for a newly married couple. Housewarmings in the South are the perfect opportunity to share casual, tasty food. There was Ville Platte gumbo, perfectly seasoned potato salad, cheese in its various forms, my favorite dark beer and decadent brownies. We met some of the extended family and even found common connections, commenting on the smallness of this world. Near the end of the party, Eddie and I were the last two guests still in conversation with the hosts. I was talking, turned one way and Eddie was talking, turned another. When I turned around, Eddie was holding a to-go container filled with brownies, an offer we had refused just moments before. But there they were, brownies wrapped for travel - my friend's mother the culprit.

Granted, she didn't have to force Eddie to take them and since I was the one who led the "No, thank you" charge when offered the treat the first time, I had second thoughts once said brownies were in hand. After we said our good-byes and each closed our doors to the car for the ride home, I requested an equal share of the brownies.

"You know I'll be having some of these, right?"

That's a request, isn't it?

Two And A Half Hours

It is noteworthy that years from now I want to be able to look back on this day and know that I sat in traffic for two and a half hours trying to get home from work.  It is important to know that the usual total drive time home is now HALF an hour.  I did not physically harm any other drivers on the road, as it is my secret desire in situations such as that.  I would like two gold stars please.  I did, however, eat many pieces of pizza once I arrived home.    

I will also not want to forget the car that I sat behind for 20 minutes before she changed lanes.  It is comforting to know that I can find her easily to thank her for the laughs I got at her expense.  The license plate I stared at: SHYGIRL.

In a small conversation with my husband about SHYGIRL, he would like documented the 40 minutes he spent behind a school bus this evening.  School bus #1726.  He is convinced that number is actually, physically burned into his brain.  He's not just 99% sure about that number. He knows it by heart.  We may have to take a line from George Costanza, but instead of Seven, we'll have to name our first born Seventeen Twenty Six. 

***The interstate was closed for several hours this evening during peak traffic hours on this lovely Friday night.*** 

  

He's Beginning To Understand Women

Last week, my most recent obsession, Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, came to a peak. I read the book. Again. I watched the BBC mini series AND the theater release AND Bridget Jones's Diary. Bridget Jones wasn't really planned, I just happened to run across it playing on one of the channels we get. Fate.  

I love it when stuff like that happens. One morning last month, while I was getting ready for work, I told Eddie about the most random song that kept turning in my head, from the movie Teen Wolf.  The song jumped in completely out of the blue because I can't remember the last time I saw that movie or heard it referenced.  Rather late THAT NIGHT, I was scanning channels and I saw that Teen Wolf was on.  So I flipped to it.  The song was playing.  It only plays at one point in the movie, near the end.  I couldn't believe it.  This had to be more than a coincidence.  I got so excited at the circumstance that I just knew Eddie would be as caught up in the amazement of the moment as I was.  He was on the other side of the house, so it was natural that I run.  I didn't realize that he was asleep and that my quick pace down the hall would wake him up, alerting him to my urgent need to share.  Except for the fact that he mistook my excited urgency for scared urgency and woke up a little startled.  He was ready to battle the obvious army of intruders chasing me down the hall.  Communication between husband and wife is harder in moments like this.  He's focused and groggy and a little scared I might be in danger, but I NEED him to understand this, my moment and to share it with me.

He just couldn't grasp it.

Back to my Mr. Darcy, I mean my Jane Austen fix.  Eddie decided that if he wanted to spend any time with me during that little phase that he would have to do it in my new world.  So, my dear husband braved a viewing of Keira Knightley's Elizabeth Bennett with me one evening.  He calls those "Carriage Movies."  He's grouped all movies that have a carriage on screen at some point into a greater category of movies he has no interest in watching.  Ever.  This is how I know he loves me.  We watched the carriage movie together and I got closer to him on the couch...and we kissed...and we got closer...until we were sharing a cushion...  

This week I came home from work to my husband on the same couch, relaxing with a smile on his face.  He said, "Look.  I've got a surprise for you."  He picks up the remote control and pulls up the DVR menu.  One new addition.  The Notebook.        

Whew!

Just made it.

I promise. No more of these little, just-in-the-nick-of-time posts. I totally fell asleep on the couch watching the evening's DVR'd Top Design. In fact, I fell asleep before the winner was announced. The last thing I remember was thinking that Nathan's necklace was a little bit much. (I can't believe someone hasn't posted a picture yet...or I'd link it. Maybe it's too early.) I'll have to watch the end tomorrow evening.

However, I DID stay on track with my 90210 episode watching for tonight. Priorities.

A Heartache And A Hope

I am far less eloquent about politics than I am about anything else.

Moments ago I watched John McCain's concession speech.  I cried.  His concession was graceful, gracious and grateful.  I feel for him tonight.  I believe he is a faithful public servant.     

As glad as I am for these campaigns to have come to a close, I am uneasy about the future.

President-Elect Obama has a fair weight on his shoulders.  A lot is expected of him and he has my prayers and hopes that he succeeds on every charge.  He also had my vote. 

I'm listening to his victory speech now.  He's pleading for unity.  I'll vote for that too.

  

 

  

  

Not Quite A Haiku

It is better left to the imagination what conversation preceded this:

"I just don't feel comfortable thinking about your dad's poo.  Poo is personal."

Almost.

The Egg Table

Yesterday afternoon Eddie and I attended an outdoor southern wedding. The weather was perfect, the bride was beautiful and the food was tasty. After a short ceremony, all of the wedding guests were invited to start eating while the wedding party finished the obligatory pictures. From my perspective, I can not think of a more considerate way to treat your guests. At almost every wedding I've attended there is that awkward waiting period between the ending of the ceremony and the moment the newly married couple enters the reception. Once the couple joins the party, there is no question about whether or not it is polite to eat. However, before the couple arrives, one can conduct an interesting study of wedding guest behavior if guests are not provided proper instruction since most southern wedding receptions are buffets. There is no barrier to the food save decorum.

Most wedding guests are connected in one way or another to the couple or their family so this is not an anonymous social situation. Attempting to "get away" with misbehavior is less advisable. People are cautious not wanting to offend or to be referred to as "that guy" for the rest of the evening. They practice restraint for the most part. This is hard when you walk into a room full of beautiful food knowing you'll have to stand in a longer line the longer you wait to form one. Everyone is looking to everyone else for permission to grab a plate. No one wants to be the first to foul. But no one wants to miss the GO signal, to miss out on the last of the sage mashed potatoes or a place to sit down and eat them.

If it is impolite to fill a plate with goodies before the couple makes their grand entrance, then I have some advice for future brides: Do not make your guests wait an hour while you take every combination of family pictures imaginable back at the ceremony site. We don't like it and we'll like you less for it. I've experienced this. Waiting for the couple while staring at food they weren't allowed to touch NEAR a meal time had an adverse effect on the guests. I thought of almost nothing else during the photos just after my own wedding that I forgot to organize a few in my haste (The one with us and Eddie's grandparents? It doesn't exist. I was in a hurry). I think we even beat a few of our guests to the reception site. I couldn't stand the idea of making my guests feel a tenth of the awkwardness I felt on that day, a few years before my wedding.

The invitation to eat yesterday while the wedding party finished pictures was a welcome one. The guests filed into lines in a well planned food maze throughout the historic home. There was a tasty variety and southern flair to the food. The jambalaya, bread pudding and deviled eggs stood out among my favorites. The deviled eggs are a prize at every church and family function I attend and are often eaten before the event starts under the premise that each guest that eyes them stops to "just take one." My mother's deviled eggs are gone before every holiday meal. At this wedding, the bride and groom or the caterer must have known this because there was one entire table devoted to the deviled egg. It sat near the center of one of the rooms filled with food. There were platters and cake stands full of them, all at different heights. It was art. Egg art. Tasty egg art. There were more than enough deviled eggs at this shindig - a feat hard to accomplish.

In passing, I heard a guest ask one of the uniformed servers for a fork as they seemed scarce at one point during the reception (also a no-no). The server directed her to "The Egg Table."

When a platter isn't enough...

Round Two

It's day one of this year's NaBloPoMo and boy have I got a story for you. Tomorrow. This day is almost over and hit me a little hard. I want to commit to this and don't want to miss a day so today is... build up.

A Downside To True Love

I love shoes. I love them. I've had a lot of catching up to do with the other shoe-obsessed girls as I fell in love a little later in life. I only had about 5 pairs of shoes until I was 25, then something snapped. Gradually my black Doc boots, blue Converse and Birkenstocks from college weren't good enough. My shoes got fancier and sassier and people started to notice. I'm not really that big on attention, but having someone compliment your taste is nice...

...except when you are easily recognized by only your shoes when anonymity is important. We should all be able to check our shoes at the bathroom door and don some sort of uniform slipper. Right ladies?

Shameful

I think about writing every day.  Those thoughts don't always bring me all the way here.  Those little moments each day where you catch yourself and think, "I want to remember this." are too often buried under the pieces of life that keep on happening.  I'm lucky that I can, if even only sometimes, pause to appreciate the funny, the absurd and the lovely in my life.  To know that I've known those moments often has to be enough.

It is certainly sad that every exchange can't possibly have its own well crafted story or polished memory.  Some stay in your head so long that you can't ignore the significance and they push their way into print.  Like this one:

I have been teased, ribbed and mocked by my husband for my most recent obsession - watching every episode of Beverly Hills 90210 while they are in re-runs on the SOAP network.  I didn't watch the show when it originally aired and thought it would be a fun little diversion to turn to on the DVR when the mood struck.  Unfortunately, I forget myself.  I just can't let the episodes stack up on the DVR list.  I have to get rid of them.  It's a little pet peeve I have.  If you recorded it - watch it.  Delete it.  Let's move on.  I can't stand the clutter.  

So this little diversion has become somewhat of an unpleasant obligation, with two shows airing daily.  I wanted to watch the show, now I HAVE to watch the show - partly to clear the clutter and partly to see what happens to these people.  I will never reveal which part carries the most weight.  Foolishly, I thought I was the only person in this house I was affecting.  I can subject the dog to bad acting, high waisted jeans and uncomfortable 'setting the mood' electric guitar solos.  The dog can take it, but I didn't think it could ever hurt my husband.  

That is, until the day he woke up from a nap on the couch and groggily told me that he had just been dreaming about playing golf with Dylan McKay.  

I'm sorry Sparky.  It'll all be over soon.   

Things We Couldn't Do Without Electricity

I was in the kitchen cooking a couple of evenings ago and Eddie was in the living room watching the end of a movie. From the kitchen, I'm able to listen to the television and carry on a conversation with my husband who was relaxing on the couch, even if at the stove I cannot see either. Near the movie's end we were comparing and contrasting it to other movies we've seen by the same director and at an appropriate point, our conversation had naturally come to a close.

When the movie concluded and the credit music began to play, I was still in the kitchen chopping and stirring and listening and Eddie was still in the living room. Then I noticed that the credit music kept playing. Usually, unless you've been so moved by the film into a state of emotion that can only be healed by experiencing the entirety of the credit music, you'd be changing the channel. The changing of the channel is what usually happens and when it didn't, the flow of life was interrupted for a moment. I noticed it and got curious.

So I asked him, "Hey. Whatcha doin' in there?" It was innocent enough, the kind of phrasing you'd use when you walk into a room and someone is involved in an activity that isn't immediately apparent.

"You're not going to believe me."

"What?"

"You're not going to believe me when I tell you what I've been doing. I've been watching ice melt."

He almost couldn't finish the sentence because he found his admission so funny. We both laughed for a while and he came into the kitchen to share it with me. I kept my smile after the laughter was finished because this man is mine. He takes the time to observe, the patience to recognize the small and the humor to find the funny in it.

And if we ever can't afford cable, we'll always have something to do together on a Friday night.

I Used To Collect Them

On a continuous journey to thin my life of clutter, I am always seeking different and better ways to store the things I've decided to keep.

I've been holding on to a couple of pages ripped out of a high school journal. For a time, I would record a quote as it struck me. I can't seem to discard the papers until I find a way to keep the words... So here are a few.

"All our loves are first loves." --Susan Fromberg Schaeffer
"You can be hurt only if you care a lot." --Andy Warhol
"Courage is being scared to death - and saddling up anyway." --John Wayne
"Sometimes a majority simply means that all the fools are on the same side." --Claude McDonald
"You can't have everything. Where would you put it?" --Steven Wright
"Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm." --Publilius Syrus
"The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do." --Galileo

I added one:

"I threw a rock in a mirror-smooth lake and never felt so much power as when I broke the sky." --ktm

On Seeing Being Me

It's late. I'm up and it is definitely time to go to bed. I'm just checking a few sites and e-mail addresses before I climb into the bed next to my husband. Just as I'm directing the mouse to close out the last browser window, he crosses the threshold of this room by a foot length. He claps two times very quickly, waits a split second for a reaction or response then says on his way out of the room, "Sorry. I was you for a second."

Then he giggled.

Haiku Wednesday Strikes Again

Cody barked loudly

it echoed in the kitchen

furry, furry turd

Excuse Me, Sir.

Sir Mix-A-Lot, that is.

I've totally got "Baby Got Back" stuck in my head right now. I can't help it.

And on a similar note, if you haven't seen this, then you should.

It's A Haiku Kind Of Wednesday

I can't kiss you now
because I ate too much cake
forgive me, my love

Managing Quality Time Effectively

You can't really tell if you don't know me in person, but I like to change the subject. A lot. It's not something I do on purpose all of the time and it's not that I'm even trying to hide that fact here but when I'm writing and get a chance to read it back, I like to fix anything that might be confusing. Or misconstrued as "a little off."

My husband - he laughs at me. He laughs when I change the subject abruptly. Instead of wasting time to explain to him how, in my mind, I move from one subject to another (logically), I just go there. To him it seems like I'm JUMPING. To him it seems disconnected and often funny. I would love to hear what line of logic he could invent to explain some of the subject changes in conversation with me. I can see how it must go in his head:

She was talking about this cabinet and how much she wants to remove the door because I keep hearing something about a barn...and in the same breath about how she may want to make the leap from glasses to contact lenses. Let's see. Cabinets-Doors-Barns--Eye wear. The cabinets...she doesn't like the cabinets because they remind her of a barn door...a door that trapped her in a barn...where she couldn't find her glasses and she couldn't see the door...so wouldn't it be great to finally have those contacts?

No.

Piece of a conversation we had this evening:

"...so I think I'm going to paint that lamp white."

"O.k."

"I don't like to look around here and see things unfinished. I don't like living in a barn with those cabinets. I wish I didn't have to buy new cabinet doors. Do you know what we should do?"

"What?"

"We should have a plan. We should draw it out and we should organize the closets - installing shelves and drawers and different levels of bars. We should do it. Together."

"Right now?"

"No. But we should plan it."

"Right now?"

"No. Not right now."

"Then yeah. Let's do it. I'm good with that."

That train of thought is SO evident.

Jumping Back In

Eddie and I are having a tough time adjusting to the fact that we both will have to return to a normal schedule tomorrow morning. It is fast approaching. We've ordered dinner in this evening just to prolong the vacation-y feel. It's not working very well.

Looking at these helps a bit.

Chivalry

When we arrived, one of the first things on our To Do list was a trip to the local super store for food for the week, things we knew we forgot as well as a few things we discovered we forgot soon after we arrived.  Once at the store, we purchased the food, the forgotten items and one special find I just HAD to have.  A noodle.  

Later on in the ocean, I was using said noodle to float and enjoy the waves alongside my husband.  He looked a little envious of my fun, floaty toy so I offered it to him.  

"No, thank you.  You keep your noodle.  I've got my own noodle."

Indeed.

    

Vay-Kay-Shun

I've just finished cooking and eating dinner in my swim suit.  The glass door that leads to the balcony is open and I can hear the waves.  That noise is a constant in the background as I listen to Eddie's breathing deepen.  He's stretched out on the couch so relaxed he's falling into sleep.

We're both waiting for the cookies to cool that I've pulled out of the oven.  

I'm sitting here, thinking back on the day and am in awe of how effortless it is to be with him...that sunburned man over there on the couch.

  

Mini Vacation

This afternoon after work, I began my vacation.  I stopped at an outlet mall on my way home to look for more vacation-ish type clothes.  Eddie and I are headed away for the coming week...away from everything.

I left the store with a mini skirt.  It looks like I've started the vacation from myself in a timely manner.     

The last time I wore a mini skirt I was eleven.  

Boys

*Thwap*

*Thwap*

*Thwap*

"What IS that?"
"Uh. Nothing. I'm just trying to turn off the light in here.....with my socks."

*Thwap/Click*

"There."

I Teach Him The Important Things

Read no further if you are squeamish about any married couple revealing too much information about their relationship, because here it comes: Eddie and I take showers together sometimes.

When we're maneuvering around each other, even after six years, the poking, prodding and giggling haven't subsided in that environment.  I don't think we'll ever really grow up and I'm relishing in this when the giggling stops.  There's a moment of silence when Eddie reaches for the shampoo.  I'm taking my turn to wet my hair and I hear Eddie ask me: 

 

"Do you know what I learned from you?" (He holds the shampoo bottle inverted.)

"No.  What?"

"This."  (He demonstrates a swift shake of the shampoo bottle to hurry the remaining shampoo down to the neck of the bottle for an easier squeeze into his palm.)

"Yeah?"

"Before, I would just wait for it.  I would just wait patiently for the rest of the shampoo to ooze down into the top.  But you, you taught me that you can shake it like this (he demonstrates the swift shake again).  You taught me that it's shampoo.  You don't have to be nice to it."

No Sparky.  No you don't.

    

Found Objects

I recently cleaned out my husband's car because life necessitates that I drive it for a while.  I knew what would happen if I asked him to clean it out.  I'd still want to go behind him with a CSI kit, micro-vacuum and a pair of tweezers to MAKE SURE it was clean.  I knew that if I just went ahead and cleaned it myself that I would be satisfied with the job and he wouldn't be made to feel like some sub-standard car cleaner.  I know us both so well.

I cleared out all of the trash, wiped down all of the surfaces and extracted some of the things he keeps in his car, which I divided into manageable sections for him to "do something about."  One of the objects I excavated removed from the car was a hibachi grill.  Still in the box.  I put it aside to ask him about it.

This morning, I got the chance.

"Hey, what's with this hibachi grill?  Who gave it to you?"

"My grandmother..."

"Oh.  O.k."

"...like... a LONG time ago."

 

I keep looking at him.

"...like...before we were married.  It was in my office and I didn't want to take it home...so when I moved it out of my office and into the car...it was progress."

Blink.  Blink.

"And yes.  I deserve that look."

*Just as a point of reference for those who may happen upon this: We've been married almost SIX years.

 

A Rose By Any Other Name

To navigate outside of our homes we have named streets, towns, states, countries, rivers and oceans.  These names help us to communicate with each other about these places or about their relationship to other places.  It is the same system within the home.  We name rooms within the home, generally according to their use.  We eat in the dining room, we bathe in the bathroom and so on.  Eddie and I have a home office, one that we call The Computer Room.  That name just kind of evolved.  I suppose it was unintentional, but I don't think we wanted to associate that room with work so neither of us used the word "office" when referring to it, the room with the computer.  So, it was The Computer Room.

A couple of evenings ago, Eddie asked me to retrieve something for him from a room in our house that HE named, a name I had not yet heard.  

"Sparky, can you find that thing for me in the Toilet Paper Room?"

The Toilet Paper Room.

The Toilet Paper Room is not the bathroom.  Since one room in our new house has essentially been used for storage since we moved in, it really hasn't received a name.  Neither one of us wants to refer to it as The Storage Room and I suppose that calling it The Spare Bedroom wouldn't have been a bad idea, but who wants normal?

One day, we brought home an exceptionally large purchase of toilet paper.  Instead of opening the entire thing and dividing the rolls between bathrooms (and taking up a lot of storage space), it wound up in the 'other' bedroom.  I knew exactly where my Sparky wanted me to go to get the thing he needed - the room with the toilet paper.  The Toilet Paper Room.

When we go to sell this house, that will be a special feature.  

    

 

Naive Is Evian Spelled Backwards

Every single day since January 1 of this year, I've been religiously registering to win the HGTV Dream Home.  (You can totally register every day until February 19th!)  I love the idea that I COULD win.  I like daydreaming about what we'd do with it, when we'd go and how much easier it would make our lives, you know, when we win.  (After we sell it for the cash.)

So, one of the days that I entered while at work (it literally takes 30 seconds), I came home and started talking to Eddie about it.  I started planning out loud what we'd do when we won.  He was quiet for a while and then his facial expression started to change from "just listening" to "a little concerned."  At this point, I stopped my optimistic, out-loud planning for our future dream home and asked him what else he was thinking about.

He hesitates.

"You know, we're not going to win this thing."

Blink.  Blink.  Blink.

"You just seem a little too sure about this and I don't want your feelings to get hurt when we don't win."

Not wanting to give up: "But we COULD win.  Right?"

"We're NOT going to win.  Do you even know what the odds are?"

"O.k.  WE'RE not going to win.  I'M going to win.  When I win, YOU'LL have to admit you were wrong.  And you won't be invited to MY house."

"O.k, O.k, O.k.  I take it back.  You're going to win and when you do, I'll go around saying, 'I was wrong.'  I want to come to the house."

When we win, we're totally getting a new desk and a new chair.

He Could Write A Tips Column For A Men's Magazine

We had an engagement that evening and neither one of us wanted to get up off the couch, off of each other, leaving a comfortable cuddle to get appropriately dressed. I knew I had to leave the cocoon first because getting ready to go, for me, doesn't end with a shower. That's where it begins. After I bathed myself and washed my hair, I was spending time in the mirror on hair and make-up when Eddie passes my bathroom fully dressed.

"You know, it's not really fair. It takes you so much less time to get dressed to go out. I'm jealous."

"Yeah. But no matter how long I'd spend, I'd never look as good as you."





Smooth.

They Call That "Business Naked"

This is a term Eddie coined after seeing me in a stage of undress after work.  

Eddie, let's trademark it.

12.18.79

Happy Birthday Russell.

Russell would have been 28 today. He was/is my little brother.

Last month I wrote a bit about my sister.  My brother was the middle child, my sister was the youngest.  Ever since I started this blog, I wanted to write about each of them, but I never thought I could sit down long enough, reach deep, and do their memories justice.  One day I will.  

Russell died twelve years ago, just ten days after his 16th birthday.  Car accident.

I miss his laugh.  It was contagious.  

For My Sparky

Happy Birthday my love. Oh so glad you were born.

This Comes Highly Recommended

A Sunday afternoon nap on a comfy couch with a warm, cuddly dog in a living room lit by only a Christmas tree.

mmmmmm.

Some People Have To Shovel Snow...

While others have to rake. In December.

Our front yard this morning:

Our Christmas Tree Has Crabs

Yes, that's real popcorn that I strung for the tree. It's become a tradition for us to adorn the tree with exploded corn since we've been married. Six bags of microwave popcorn. Six. That's how much popcorn it takes to adequately cover a seven and a half foot tree. I don't want to flock the tree, but in the south it's a little taste of something like snow on the large green thing in the living room. Except the corn is a little butterier I would imagine.

Eddie and I have also collected Christmas ornaments each year of our marriage. If we travel, we'll try to pick up something interesting that reminds us of our adventure. Below is an ornament we picked up when I took Eddie on a tour of the town where I work (I commute an hour). Yes, that's a real crab shell painted with a wintry scene. The Quintessential Louisiana Christmas ornament. We would have paid almost any price.

Discover The Hidden Value Of Your Purchases By Reading The Instructions

When Eddie and I moved into this house, there was a list of things I wanted to change.  Notice I didn't type, "...we wanted to change."  I believe this is a fundamental difference between most of the men I know and most of the women I know.  Eddie is generally thankful to have a place to lay his head.  He needs very little.  For him, a comfortable bed and a fan in a room with pink walls provides a relaxing sanctuary for a night of good sleep.  The same bed and fan and walls for me is a pink prison that must be changed.  Immediately.  I will dwell on the pinkness of the pink and how it ugli-fies my comfortable bed until I paint it.  Eddie will pass the walls and only see cool pillows and soft sheets.  It astounds me that happiness can exist with so much less work than I seem to have to put into it.  (In our previous house, the master bedroom was PINK when we moved in.  Not pink when we moved out.)      

We began the changes in this house by ripping out the carpet in a majority of the rooms and replacing it with wood.  This was priority one for me.  Notice I typed, "We began the changes..." because it took more than one of us to pay for it.

Next on the list of affordable improvements was the sink/faucet combo in the kitchen.  After many trips to the local home improvement store, we (I) decided on exactly what would replace our way-too-small, hard-to-turn-on-and-off sink and faucet.  We bought and brought home to install.  We loved everything about them.  

Except one thing.

Our faucet would only run as a sprayer.  When we would do dishes or get a drink of water, more of the spray would bounce off of a dish or the bottom of the sink to DRENCH us EVERY TIME we used it.  But it was pretty and it was what I wanted, so I didn't want to complain.  I didn't want to complain to Eddie about the rather expensive faucet that I picked out.  Dangerous territory.

So we lived with it.  For about seven months.  

Last week, I've gotten another grand idea for more organization in the house and am cataloguing and storing all of our instruction manuals we've collected over the years.  I'm discarding those that are no longer necessary and perusing those that are still applicable when I stop at the one with pictures of our faucet on the front and I started to read.

There it was.  Right under the heading: YES, YOU ARE A MORON.  YOU SHOULD HAVE READ THESE INSTRUCTIONS WHEN YOU GOT THE FAUCET TO AVOID GETTING WET EVERY TIME YOU USE IT. 

The key to removing the barrier to my almost-perfect faucet's perfection was before me:  The instructions for switching the spray on the nozzle.  There were even diagrams.  I swear an untouched light bulb turned on somewhere in the house at that very moment.

It took 1 second to change from get-me-wet spray to flowing-stream-of-lovely-dryness.  

I ran to show Eddie my genius.  I left the water running.  

It wasn't going to drench the counter (and the floor and the rug) this time. 

Next:  The counters.  

You Broke The Thermometer?

Being sick isn't frustrating enough.  Eddie's got the ick.  This evening he wanted to confirm he had a fever.  We still have one of those old school thermometers (not digital), so Eddie rinsed it off and tried to shake it before he used it.  

He shook it against the side of the sink.  It busted.  Shiny, watery metallic stuff flew all over the kitchen along with bits and pieces of sharp, broken glass.  Some reflective liquid landed on his feet, the floor, the counter and the rug in the kitchen.  It eventually transferred onto his shirt, a bathroom towel, his forearm and valuable electronic devices.  

Some time was spent accessing information on the Internet about what to do in this case.

All is well now.  We killed it.  Thanks Internet.    

But I NEED It

I arrived home from work this afternoon a little tired and weary from the week.  I've looked forward to the freedom of Friday night since late Sunday evening.  The freedom to stay awake until sleep comes to get me is a luxury I can't often indulge as a natural night owl who has to get up quite early for work.  When I can stay awake as long as I want, into the wee hours of the morning, it's like I'm stealing time.  In the winter, when the night creeps more and more into the day, I feel like I have less time to do everything I need and want to do.  I hate that.

Now that I'm hosting Christmas dinner, I feel like I have to do more stuff with less time.  This evening, my Friday evening, I came home from work with a well constructed To Do list for the weekend in my head.  I walked in the door, poured a glass of wine and decided to procrastinate.  Later on in the evening, I got the energy to get some of the shopping out of the way and after a few stops made my way over to Michaels.  I meandered through all of the Christmas decor, picture frames and art supplies with nearly nothing in my basket until I stumbled upon it.  The ceiling of the store opened up and the street lights turned toward it to reveal that... Martha Stewart has a craft collection at Michaels. 

I wanted everything.

I'm not really a crafter, but I could find an excuse to purchase a kit for hand puppets.  BECAUSE IT WAS PRETTY.  I NEED a bird stamp and a leaf sticker and a pair of beige scissors and paper flowers and a photo album and patterned ribbon.  

Because they're pretty.  

The packaging made me want to EAT everything.  It was all just the right color and shape and texture, but I knew better than to go too near.  Just like I know better than to go down the office/school supply aisle in any store.  It's bad news for all involved.  First, I'll waste time examining everything, imagining how I'll use it and what new furniture I'll need to keep it at its best.  Next, I'll pick up everything just to hold it.  I'll even carry it around for a while.  

It's a great way to spend a Friday night.  I need those.

Christmas Decorating Decision

This is how I will be presenting the napkins.

I've rolled the napkin, (my grey that will be masquerading as silver) tied it with a ribbon that was threaded through a Christmas ornament (4 for $0.79 at Target) and knotted in the back. That's one decision down. On to the next three hundred forty seven.

My First Time

When Eddie and I moved into this house, a house that would fit more than just the two of us and the dog without sitting in shifts, I offered it up to the family as a holiday mecca for all that I knew it could be. I offered it nonchalantly because I knew it would take years for the mothers to relinquish their hold on the "Family Christmas," which would be the same amount of time it would take for me to feel like this house was ready for anything like that. A mere ten months later, I'm not fit to host braille tutoring.

This weekend I found out (1) my family listens when I say things I almost mean... and they remember and (2) I would be hosting Christmas this year. In my house. Christmas is usually hosted by one of the matriarchs of the family, a person with an abundance of serving dishes, silverware and Christmas decorations. It takes cabinets full of take-home Tupperware, wine glasses and napkin rings. I don't have themed dishes or a bread basket or more than three dishtowels (none of which match any other).

I've always wanted to host something like this because it's for both sides of our family. Eddie's family and my family will both feel like Christmas is on their turf, which works for everyone. It makes the most sense, really. BUT I do this thing to myself where I go and put on all kinds of pressure to make everything perfect except I don't even know what perfect is in this case, because we're trying to make something new. I've been spending this week worrying about what that is and how to achieve it.

We're excited because it's a chance to start traditions and embrace the holiday in a new way while giving others a chance to enjoy themselves without the worry of, "Is everyone ELSE happy? Does everyone ELSE have what they need?"

Eddie's just excited because it'll be impossible for me to make us late arriving (because it'll be here) and we'll be having roasted duck (at his request). He does not realize that hosting this holiday means that we'll have to start cleaning immediately. And we won't stop until the duck is done.

Looking Back

Eddie and I cleaned out a closet this past weekend and I've unearthed some old gems. I was looking through some middle school yearbooks. I have learned something in all these years. I'm older and wiser. I will spread the wisdom:

Don't do perms. Ever.

Piece Of A Journal

Excerpt from 9.19.2000

Brave does not equal fearless. In fact, the mere definition of brave implies that some amount of fear must come first. Brave is being afraid but getting on a plane anyway. Brave is closing your eyes and jumping from the platform and into the water. Brave is getting in the car after the accidents.

I am scared.

I am brave.

Childhood Memories

This sits on a shelf in my living room. It's a piece of pop culture and a piece of my childhood. I "made" this in Vacation Bible School during the summer before my third grade year. All we had to do was paint the form with glazes that would run when fired in the kiln. I made sure my E.T.'s right index finger was glowing red, you know, just like in the movie.

I hope I'm not the only one that puts third grade art up in her living room.

Haiku

You'll need to turn left
So get in the left lane now
Now. I'm not kidding

Because It's Pretty

This evening, my coughing is suppressed by a few well chosen medications and a prescription of sushi with friends.

I haven't been out for pleasure in a little while, so I went through my closet and chose something I've been meaning to wear. It's a beautiful sweater I bought a hundred years ago and I've been waiting for the right weather, the right feeling and the right fit (depends on the day) to wear it out on the town.

I put it on after choosing the appropriate shoes and pants. I think it looks smashing. But it's itchy. And uncomfortable. I'm not really sure how long I'll be able to stand it, frankly.

However. I will suffer because it's pretty. I'm a girl and I took an oath.

I Am Thankful For...

My husband because he finds a way to love me in a new way every day.

My family because their love is unconditional.

My dog because he is always honest and true (and cuddly.)

Nyquil because it will allow me to recharge before I work tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving all.

We Have A Dog

Sometimes I can't believe I live with an animal.

He has opinions.

He likes it under our bed. That's where I found him for this shot.

Found

Check this out.

Need Rock-Hard Abs?

Get a cold. Cough a lot. You'll be bikini-ready in no time.




*Little slice of life from here: Eddie made me some "feel good" brownies (not the kind with the "special ingredient." These were made just because I'm sick, to make me feel better about being sick because when I'm sick, he makes me brownies) and we ate them while we watched the end of The Biggest Loser, the part where they weighed in. That's the only portion of the show we watched. And we watched it while we ate brownies.

I'll cough them off tomorrow.

If You Know What's Good

--"You need to get a hair cut this week."

"I know. Today was a particularly interesting hair day for me."

--"Seriously, call Bennett tomorrow and make an appointment."

(half-hearted) "Yeah."

--"No. If you don't want ME to cut it while you're sleeping, then call Bennett. Tomorrow."

Blink. Blink. (a little scared)

--(giggles malevolently. then coughs.)

Way Under The Weather

*Sniff

*Sniff

*Cough, Cough

...complaining about headaches and swollen lymph nodes.

...complaining about the fact that I've got to be at work tomorrow at 5am.

Ew.

Pity Eddie.

Discrimination

When I am in the check-out line, my eyes often wander to the sides where all of the impulse purchase candy and gum live. On more than one occasion, I've tried to buy gum at the last minute but I can't seem to find any gum that I can enjoy. It's all sugarless. I don't do sugarless.

If you can't tell whether or not your soft drink is diet, pass it to me. I can tell instantly. Or, YOU can tell instantly by the face I make when I confirm that it is, in fact, sugar free.

EVERYTHING has gone sugar free. I had to throw away yogurt, purchased in haste (didn't have time to read the entire label). What I had read of the label, in the first few ingredients I found sugar. When I got it home and tasted my first spoonful, I instantly knew something was wrong, so I read the entire ingredient statement. There it was, in the last few ingredients. Why would you need to put artificial sweetener in something that ALREADY has sugar in it?

I don't do sugarless. Bubbalicious, where are you?

I've Just Taken Two Nyquil

Now I'm headed to bed. They've kicked in.

How To End An Argument With A Not-So-Technical Win

Expose your sparring partner's buttocks. This will end any argument abruptly, especially those silly ones where you can sense the tide is beginning to turn against you and you've realized your position is weak.

This gives you the upper hand immediately. Covered butt beats exposed butt. You usually wind up laughing together. Because butts are funny anytime.

How I Begin My Day

This morning around 4:00am Cody vomited in the bed. Where we were sleeping.

4:00am.

That'd be the time I got up this morning.

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions

This evening just after work and walking the dog, Eddie and Cody and I all snuggled in the bed for a bit. It was such a nice little moment. Our little family. Until I teased the dog so much that he couldn't stand it and we all wound up on the floor wrestling with a quilt. After our wrestling match, Eddie and Cody settled in on the bed while I got changed for my trip to the gym.

I was searching for my running shoes when I hear my cell ringing in the kitchen. I run to catch it because that's what you do when your phone rings from the other end of the house. I answered knowing full well what would happen if I did.

On the other end of the line my friend begged us to meet her for dinner. I balked. I was going to the gym. I was dressed, my hair was already up and ugly. I suppose I shouldn't have had her on speaker phone for Eddie to hear when she threw out Fleur de Lis as an option. He groaned. All I had to do was say, "let's go."

So I did. And we did. I ate pizza in my gym clothes.

Little White Lie

This evening I met with my girls group. My friend and I agreed almost four years ago that we'd take on this challenge. We have 7 girls (they were all 12-13 when we started) that are part of our circle. Each week, we have dinner, talk and focus on a "lesson" of some sort that usually jolts us out of the routine of our lives for a bit. It makes us think a little more about how we choose to live our lives, or about why we've chosen to live our lives pointed in a certain direction. As the leaders, we are ever aware that we do not have any of the answers and make it alarmingly clear each week, whether intended or not. While the group is based out of our common church, we tackle more than just Jesus. Neither of us who lead wanted another poorly attended Sunday School class during the week.

I'd say it's going well in year four. Our girls (I love calling them "our girls") are maturing and it's easier to have a conversational type "lesson" without being simply a moderator between stories about their grandmothers or their dogs. We can participate in the group discussion and have to direct it back toward the original topic less and less. Now, if there are tangents, the questions they birth will often prove more thoughtful than we could have hoped. The girls (our girls) are bringing the discussions into their lives and bringing their lives back into the discussions.

This evening, nearing the end of our time together, we decided to go around the group, each giving one high and one low for their week since we last met. I listened to highs of upcoming Thanksgiving break and lows of painful dental surgery. I would be the last to contribute. I was thinking about it. I had to THINK about my high for the week. I already had a low. My parents aren't doing so well at the moment. I thought about how much I loved my husband and how much I enjoy being with him, but immediately felt guilty because I take him for granted sometimes. I couldn't come up with a high right away. That's not usually like me. I can find the humor in anything. Especially if it's inappropriate for 16 yr olds.

Then it was my turn.

I decided to go ahead and start with the high. I told them something that I was proud of for the week, but it wasn't a high. I lied. It was just too pathetic NOT to have a high for the week. I'm a little low.

I kept the smile on, we all hugged and parted and I was on my way home. My usual go-to talk radio stations had been taken over with sports so I hit "scan." I stopped at a dj's story that caught my ear. She hadn't had a great week either. I was in the mood to take comfort in another's pain. Wait. That came out wrong. I was in the mood to take comfort in the fact that there are others out there, others like me, who have crappy days and live to tell about it.

Don't tell me you don't do it.

So, I'm listening to this story about how she's in a hurry to get something in a store, about how she's frustrated because she can't find the item and is carrying around her 9 month old, about how she finally gets to the check-out where this little old lady and some kids are in front of her and she's late for where she needs to be. Then she stops because the kids in front of her are playing with their new toys, their prizes from the trip to the store. She watches them and loses track of just how long she'd been in line (like when you get a juicy magazine and suddenly don't care about how long the person in front of you is taking to move on - even though you hunted for the shortest line). When she realized she'd been there for longer than she'd expected, she looked up to see the old lady was stalling, digging in the bottom of her purse for the change she needed to pay the entire bill for those prizes. When she caught on to what was happening, she dug in her purse and helped meet the bill.

While still late, she said it was the highlight of her day.

I have things to learn this week.

Not Just For Special Occasions

First, let it be known that I hate shopping for food. I have to do that quite frequently for work and while I love to cook, I'd rather have this list of things that I need and give that to another person who would then bring me everything on that list and put it away neatly in my house.

The problem with that scenario is the fact that I almost never shop with a list. I get inspired by what I see in the store and there's dinner. I'm still working on a solution for that. I won't give up.

I've also gotten a little too good at the whole letting the dishes wait thing. This combination could only have resulted with the following admission:

A couple of evenings ago, I had a bowl of cereal for dinner. On my wedding china.

Ongoing Home Projects

In February, I posted about closing on this house. Since that time I haven't really posted any pictures. We've managed to do quite a bit of painting, staining and new floor and sink installation. Still, I haven't been so gung-ho.

It was really rough for me when we didn't get the first house, especially when we went so far in the process. After that, no house measured up. In the end, when we decided to purchase this house, it was a lot to do with the fact that it was definitely time to buy and because it was a killer deal. With the other house, it was move-in ready. I wouldn't change the cabinets or the floor or the colors on the walls.

This house is a different story.

We'll be replacing this tomorrow.



(The fan and not the popcorn ceiling. THAT'S another project altogether.)

Sweet Smelling Update

Earlier this week, I shared a little story that gave a peek into the extent of my neurosis. A majority of the time I can keep the minor things under control. I can recognize when I start to obsess over something, like when we first got married, I had to have the dishes and laundry done before we went to bed each night...except I'd put it off until later and at bedtime, I'd choose cleaning over sleep. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't ME that recognized it. It was Eddie. It wasn't that he minded me staying up to clean, it was the attitude I had when it was time. I wanted to be together, with my new husband, so it made total sense to ask him to help.

It wasn't his idea of together time.

I've made progress. There are dishes in the sink that will stay there until the morning and I've generally run out of time to do laundry during the week. It gets done on the weekends.

I wasn't kidding about worrying about whether or not I was beginning to smell. I checked each day, several times a day for the rest of the work week. I applied the deodorant in the morning after drying my underarms meticulously. I used a different towel. I didn't change deodorant or anything because I'm limited in a deodorant choice, which is an entirely different post altogether. I don't do scented.

My week of intense observation has confirmed that I, in fact, do not smell. My body has not built up an immunity to deodorant and flowers do not fall as I pass (as I turn around to check one more time, just in case).

At The Speed of Retail

On Halloween this year, I waited until the last minute to pick up some candy. I went into a local store just after work to search through what was left on the Halloween aisle in an effort to get a bargain and still compete for the 'good house' on the block.

I was in such a hurry to pick through the bags of Butterfingers and KitKats that I didn't slow down until I was forced to stop at the check-out. I glanced at the week's gossip and debated on picking up one of those magazines, but I still have that fear of "getting caught" with one.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I totally check the MSN entertainment section most mornings on the web BUT before I could reach my hand out to pick up the latest on Britney, I noticed it. I heard the CHRISTMAS music playing in the store. Halloween wasn't even OVER yet. In fact, it hadn't even started.

During the holidays, one of our local radio stations switches over to all Christmas music, all the time. I scanned my radio stations this afternoon and I ran across it. There it was. Christmas music. It's November 8th.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Our Middle Names Are The Same

I've been thinking about my cousin a lot this week. I've been struggling with feeling left out of her life for the past few years. Which makes me feel a little guilty. My uncle, her father, died two years ago this month. He was my father's only brother. His little brother.

When my uncle died, my father wanted to swoop in and help the family with everything, but he never wanted to intrude. He made it clear that he loved them and was there if they needed him, but he didn't push. He waited. I imagine that was pretty difficult. I'd never really know because my father has built a pretty good stone wall. It's been well crafted through the years of being the oldest, being The Dad and always having a good answer to any hard question I'd ask. I never really knew if he was scared of anything.

I followed his lead in loving them. I'd call and leave short messages on their answering machine to let them know I was thinking of them, or I'd just leave a little joke to make them laugh. It was easier not to push them when they were an 8 hour car ride away.

Then they moved a little closer. I'd have to ride only 3 hours to visit. They worked, I worked. Time passed. Fast. It passed so fast that Susan met, dated and became engaged to a man that I had never met. The first I heard of him was when we got a call from my aunt telling us to expect a wedding invitation in the mail. I couldn't believe it. All of a sudden I felt completely over-protective. My uncle was gone and totally out of the blue I felt like the self-appointed guard dog for his side of the family. If this guy was going to get to my cousin, he was going to have to get through ME.

Just in case you were wondering, it really wasn't helpful to have adopted this attitude when I met him for the first time. At his wedding. I introduced myself and my parents before the ceremony and waited for him to...I don't know, bow or something. I expected him to go on and on about how sorry he was that we hadn't met before and how he'd promise to love and cherish my cousin like the queen that she is, because he knows (from reputation) that I'd have to hurt him if he did otherwise.

But that didn't happen. He shook my hand and that was it. I can't say I warmed to him. Then he started treating Susan like she was HIS. I don't think he understood that she was MINE for 26 years. He didn't know me and that meant that he didn't know her. We grew up together.

Now we're both grown up. And she's married. And I feel guilty for not having been there. I feel guilty for not pushing harder. I feel selfish and I know it's unjustified. Frustrating.

It's frustrating because I love her and she seems so happy. I feel selfish because I had nothing to do with that.

How's that for honesty?

After Thirty Minutes This Afternoon

After work, after the workout, I was down on the mat for a bit of stretching. I was reaching far to my toes and turned my head to the side to reach a bit farther. And I smelled myself.

Yes, I had run hard and I was sweaty AND it was near the end of the day but the question ran through my mind, did I put on deodorant this morning? I went through my morning routine in my mind, the cell phone, the bath, the pill, the toothbrush, and yes - the deodorant. Maybe it was just too soon after the bath for such an application and I was a little too wet for the deodorant to, you know, stick.

I refuse to believe that my body's capacity for emitting smell has exceeded my deodorant's capacity to cover it up or stop it altogether. After 31 years and a savvy sense of smell, this can't be an unnoticed ongoing occurrence. That kind of thing can't just magically change overnight. Can it?

I don't look forward to the rest of the week when I'm compulsively checking to see if I smell. Or when I smell. At what point in the day do I need to reapply? Do I really want to publish this little event on the internet?

Yes. Neurosis is interesting. Isn't it?

Geez.

The Laws Of Attraction

Loudly, from down the hall while carrying clothes to hide in another room, I playfully ask: "Sparky, what will it take? What will I have to give you to change that light bulb before the girls get here?"

Do you know what he said? He said,"A light bulb."


THAT's why I love this man. He could have taken total advantage of me in my desperation to have the house ready before my guests arrived. But he didn't.

Opposites do attract.

The Inner Judgemental

My cousin Susan, 26, got married yesterday evening. She married a Pentecostal minister and joined a ready-made family. Her new husband is a widower with a little girl. I can't help but be a little afraid for what the future holds for her. I don't like admitting that, or thinking that my adult cousin isn't capable of making her own correct life choices. I also don't like admitting that the reason I don't think she's capable of making her own choices is because they aren't MY choices. You know, for her.

Like finishing her degree or the part in their vows where she had to say, "obey." OBEY. I didn't think we did that anymore. "WE" as in ALL WOMEN.

No matter our differences, nothing changes the fact that she was a beautiful, happy bride. I will work on that whole trust thing.

Curls And Bows

This evening I will be attending a Pentecostal wedding. The hairstyles are always interesting.

11.2.82

Happy Birthday Katheryn.


Katheryn would have been 25 today. She was/is my little sister.

I hated typing that sentence. Even after seven years, I haven't mastered the art of sharing a story about my siblings in a discussion where other people are sharing stories about their siblings without some kind of awkward confusion about tense. And death. I can't bring myself to say, "she was my little sister" because she is my little sister -- wherever she is. But if I tell some story and I don't clarify the fact that to some she was my little sister, inevitably questions like "So, where is she living now?" will be asked. Then I have to answer them. I've run out of euphemisms for "she died."

I don't like answering those kinds of questions because it makes people uncomfortable (me included) and then the mood of the conversation changes from sharing happy, funny stories to serious and concerned and suddenly all about me. There's got to be some unwritten social rule that says you can't smile or laugh within 10 minutes of someone mentioning death. Everyone seems to know that rule. In my experience they obey it more than any other social rule out there. I'm usually the first one to crack a joke if I've been put in that position.

I just want to tell the stories and laugh with the group that's sharing about their brother or sister. And for a minute, while I'm laughing and no one knows better, I can pretend she's still here.

Weekend Getaway

A couple of weekends ago, Eddie and I drove a few hours and wound up in Natchez, Mississippi. It wasn't really all that unplanned. Eddie's aunt has a second house there. Her first house is in New Orleans, which is why she decided to go ahead and purchase a second house just in case that first house is ever again...inaccessible. It also makes a great destination for her freeloading relatives looking for a manageable but lovely weekend escape. I guess it would be unfair to call us all freeloaders. She did invite us. Visitors help to keep the place lived in between the times she ventures up there. So, I guess you could say we were really helping out. That's right. We HAD to go. To help his aunt. And we didn't even charge her anything.

It was a completely stress-free trip. I was able to take quite a few pictures, which should make their way on my flickr page in due course. There's one I thought captured Natchez:



It's a beautiful, historic town that wasn't bustling with any familiar pace. I wouldn't call it neglected; it's just been there long enough to have the dirty turn into interesting. In my mind, there's "new dirty" and that's just dirty. It's supposed to be clean and it isn't. It's wrong. Then there's the "old dirty" which has had a chance to develop some character. It's like those wrinkles caused from squinting into the sunshine. They are in just the right places and show that your lips and eyes and cheeks follow familiar paths to a smile.




*The mansion in the background is Rosalie.
*Update (the set of Natchez photos on flickr can be seen here.)

This Is Not A Bill

So. This is getting a little out of hand. I began this blog a couple of years ago in an effort to write more, to feel better about writing more and because I can't really keep up with the scrapbook. I haven't posted in over a month and realizing this, I've decided to do something drastic. I've joined NaBloPoMo. Even with the ENTIRE month of November looming, I couldn't let October end without a post.

I've been a little afraid to sit down in front of a blank screen and a keyboard for fear of what inappropriate content may seep through my fingertips well-versed in type. I haven't been confident in my ability to edit myself. It was just easier to stay away than to feel like I was leaving something out or trying to type around the elephant in this room. Deciding to challenge myself by committing to post every day in November, I've basically decided to work a little harder in that editing effort. In the end, I know I'll feel better. I've missed this small, little outlet. I've missed contributing my pieces to the universe of useless data out there.

There are a few things in this world that I'll never understand. Instead of having them explained to me, I'd MUCH rather complain about the fact that I don't understand them. That's usually much more fun. And funny. I don't understand why, while on our daily walks, when Cody runs out of pee, he will still stop at everything he deems pee-worthy, lift his leg and wait for the pee that would have come. I don't understand why I'm only 5'2" and I don't understand why the doctor will send you something detailing a variety of costs, procedures and insurance information if above it all it states, "This Is Not A Bill." O.k. So, this is not a bill. This is not a lot of things. This Is Not A Shoe. This Is Not A Software Program. This is something that is useless to me.

As you may have guessed, we received a "This Is Not A Bill" sheet of paper in the mail this afternoon. It was accompanied by another sheet of paper marked, "This Is A Bill." The total was -$56.80.

I don't understand that.

I Like To Sweat

These are my running shoes.

About two weeks ago I began going to the gym. Again. Again. You see, we have never stopped our membership at the local gym. Every month I see that money (our dues) leave my checking account and I thought that simple fact would motivate me to "get my money's worth" because I'm totally that kind of person, but that psychology hasn't worked so well for the past 5 years. We haven't stopped our membership because of the fact that I MIGHT want to go or I'll eventually go AND because if you try to stop your membership they send Uncle Nunzio to your house to help you change your mind. That usually works.

Eddie and I get in little gym jags when the guilt of not going has built up to a point where we HAVE to go just to get rid of it. Kind of like the dentist. You pay for that torture too.

These past two weeks I've been going every day that I can (even on weekends) in an effort to feel better in general. IF I happen to lose a few pounds in the process, then I can find it in my heart to accept that.

Our gym recently opened up a satellite location just for us girls. Chicks are great and all but the fact that it opened almost DOWN THE STREET is a huge plus for me. It's really just one less excuse not to go. I've never been to a chick gym before. The biggest differences are that there are no sports magazines and there are more than enough fans circulating air everywhere. You can't be in any work out area without feeling the breeze of a nearby fan. I'm not worried about my hair; it's the fact that when I'm finished running I don't step off of the treadmill wearing the badge of having worked out - the extremely sweaty shirt. When I come home from the chick gym, Cody gives me the sniff-down and treats me like some sort of salt lick. I don't care for this.

For now I'll have to settle for the sweat-drenched sport bra and a nice, quick shower after the gym.

On Being Me

Two evenings ago I came home from work, walked the dog, rested a bit and changed into those clothes you change into when you know you're not going to be leaving the house anymore that evening. I put my hair up in a ponytail, put the fluffy socks on and got comfortable.

Then someone called. It was some of our friends and they were game for sushi. In like an hour. I LOVE sushi. Once Eddie got home from work and was excited to get out for the evening I actually had to get dressed. Again.

I threw on some pants from the work day and dressed them up with a few choice accessories and a shirt/sweater thingy. I wasn't confident so I turned to my loving husband and asked, "How do I look?" We were almost running late and I'd hate to think he took that into account when he answered, "You look great."

We get into the car and I have to check the second half-hearted make up job of the day in the flip down mirror on the passenger's side every five minutes on the way there. I still wasn't confident, so I asked Eddie that question again. I got the same answer. I wanted him to find something wrong so I could fix it. Anything.

We finally get to our destination. We get out of the car and are walking toward the restaurant through the parking lot. I ask him again. He smiles and gives me the same answer. Now, I know he loves me, but what did I really expect him to say? We were AT the restaurant. Even if he had found something wrong with the make up or the outfit or the... anything, what was I going to do about it then? I told him so and he laughed. He grabbed my hand and led me through a group of people blocking the entrance. He kept smiling.

I'm glad he loves me.

I'm glad the light wasn't very good in the restaurant.

The Donut Letter

So. I go to the mailbox this afternoon after a brisk walking-of-the-dog. The walk was short because Cody is irrationally afraid of rain. Or wind. Or of any discussion involving rain or wind. When it thunders, he crawls right under the bed and puts his paws directly over his shaggy eyebrows to block out the world.

I remove the mail and start to flip through the envelopes and flyers. There's an envelope from the holder of my student loans telling me that another month's worth has been electronically zapped from my checking account. There's an invitation to the Annual Red Apple Sale from some store, a letter from the church and an invitation for my husband to receive Playboy, delivered directly to our home, for one year for only ONE DOLLAR. I put that aside for his review. I decided then to open the letter from the church. Our address was hand written on the envelope. How often do you see that anymore? It deserved my attention.

Inside the envelope were two letters. Both began with, "Dear Volunteer." That's right. I volunteered for things. Things I would eventually have to do. It's really great to feel like you've done something already when you sign up to volunteer. It feels good to sign up. Then the letter comes.

I have obligated myself to bring donuts to the casual church service once every few weeks. I have to bring 3 dozen when it's my turn. I have volunteered to EAT donuts. That's what I've done. Those girls in Playboy, they eat donuts, don't they?

The Secret To A Happy Marriage

I think I've figured this one out and I'm gonna spill the beans. Get this:

Each person has to genuinely think that they got the better deal.

That's it. I think that attitude propels you toward being better for your husband or wife every day.

By the way, I TOTALLY got the better deal. I win. It is all about winning.

Some Things Should Come With A Warning Label

WARNING: Do not watch all available DVD seasons of "24" in a 5 week span. It's an emotional hazard.

I have recently finished the 5th season of "24." Now, I DID watch as many episodes as I could each evening and every chance I got until I HAD to sleep or eat or go to work. I watched them back to back to back, season after season until I hit the end of season 5. The entire season 6 isn't out yet or I'd have devoured that one too. Truth be told, I'm a little relieved that it isn't available for a while. I could stand to get off of the emotional roller coaster for a bit.

I have another confession. I left Eddie in the dust about 3 seasons ago. At first, the decision to begin the "24" adventure was made by the both of us. That first season was something we would look forward to enjoying together - until Eddie started with the dreams that someone was trying to kill him and that he was constantly in danger, which happened about mid-way through the second season.

He knew I was "involved" with the show and put up with my new addiction because he knew it would run its course. Eventually. I probably should have stopped watching with him because I got really involved. Too involved. It's all I wanted to do.

What's she doing?
She's watching "24."

Now that I'm at the end of a harsh season, having seen the little prequel clip on You Tube for the next seemingly harsher season, I've been down lately. Not just the kind of down you'd expect to experience from a t.v. show, but I think I've been just a little depressed. My empathy for this character is crippling. Can't this guy be allowed a little happiness? Just a little? AND they killed Edgar. That was exceedingly harsh. I didn't just get the television viewer's dose of harsh, weekly surprises, I got a concentrated pill that hit my stomach like a rock.

Now I'm in some sort of withdrawal to boot. Do they make a drug for that?

Maybe I can borrow some one's "Dawson's Creek" series or something. I hear there are fewer torture scenes.

Wit

Eddie: *Sneeze. *Sneeze. *Sneeze.

*Sneeze.

ktm: Are you alright?

Eddie: Apparently, I'm allergic to whatever time it is.

Still On The Crack

It's 11:33pm this evening. One of my co-workers has lent me the 4th season of 24. I'm up having watched the first 6 episodes this evening. So, I MAY have a little crush on Jack Bauer.

Is that so wrong?

It's Like Crack. Or So I've Heard.

Recently Eddie and I have been hooked on 24. Yes, I said, "recently." We didn't really find the time to watch it before. The truth is, to me, it didn't really look that interesting. But now, NOW I'm one of THOSE people. Except I'm like 6 years behind.

One of our friends has the DVD set so we've got this free, commercial-free source of entertainment. Right now, however, Eddie is not here. He's been 'not here' a lot this week in the evenings because of obligations at work. That's fine and all, but we kind of have this unspoken trust that neither of us will watch another episode without the other one. It's fun to watch it together. It's fun until one of us isn't here. Like now. Right now, when I NEED to know what's happened to Jack Bauer. Kim's gotten into some kind of dog trap in the woods and President Palmer is in danger. Somebody's lying to him. I've got to know who. Now.

There's the garage door. I sure hope you're not tired. We're gonna watch. I'll hold your eye lids open.

I love you.

No Expiration Date

I still mean to keep the promise that's engraved on our rings, "Mine." Five years and counting, my Sparky.