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Showing posts from August, 2011

Things I know.

• Dentist offices should send out a notice with giant bold font announcing when they move to a new location.

• Dentist offices should answer the phone to explain why their office building has been abandoned at some point in the last 6 months.

• People check their daughters out of school to visit dentist offices in the middle of the day.

• Days on which one misses a dentist appointment because the dentist moved and failed to send announcements in bold font should not include any other appointments.

• One who makes 2 appointments for the same day should take care when entering the 2nd appointment into the smart phone calendar app so as not to show up precisely 30 minutes later than the appointed time.

• Smart phone calendar apps are only as smart as their operators.

• Days that include 2 scheduled dentist/doctor appointments should not also include a parent/teacher conference. And track practice.

• If enough time passes (say, 10 months), the pharmacy will actually get the correct birth…

Wordless Wednesday: Library day.

We all have wings but some of us don't know why.

While observing my offspring agonize over subtleties in relationships, I am vividly reminded of my first love. We fuss and fought over which movies to watch, how to get from one place to another, how much money to spend, what to wear and when Harry met Sally. Not realizing that there was a price to pay, lovin' words flowed freely. He expressed what he didn't understand, perspiring poetry. I said what I wanted to hear. Tumbled dry and buttoned down.

He says I don't even know.

He'd pull. Dream along with me. I'd push. Run faster. The duck park was our sanctuary. He was afraid and I was ashamed but we hurled ourselves further still.

He says I don't even know.

We took a trip. I insisted that we visit Andrew Jackson's Hermitage but I didn't have to because he was a lovin' boy. I didn't even know. The butterflies landed on us in Andrew's garden. He held one while I watched.

I do know butterflies like to land gently and not be caught.


In deep, dark recesses of my bathroom drawers, I find a 30 year old bottle of perfume. It has a French name and a rounded white cap. A beautiful daughter might see a relic but it smells like my mother once smelled. Rosy. And, like I smelled, some 30 years ago, until I decided it was not worth the irritation caused to my allergies.

Just like that. I am one who has a 30 year old bottle of perfume about. I tried a squirt or two. Just for fun.

Suddenly, several items with multiple decades to their credit materialize:
• Books, of course.
• Stuffed elephants.
• Milk crates with the warning label: Theft of this case is a crime.
• Several pairs of glasses.
• Tiny dollhouse cutlery.
• Oven mitts.
• A couple of bracelets.
• A reformed milk crate Thief.

Some of these items I actually use. Just like that, I am one who retrieves hot, fresh treats from the oven with a dingy, 30 year old oven glove.

The perfume has given me a headache. I ponder, for a few moments, my former obsession with …

"People are always ruining things for you." - Salinger

Freddy isn't bothered by every noisy nuisance like Bella. She just can't relax. Take it easy, B. Watch some PBS.

Freddy likes to let a person sleep in of a morning. No need to wake the whole house to empty his bladder. Besides, it might be chilly out. Or drizzly. Or hot. Or mildly unpleasant.

Freddy enjoys a nice romp around the neighborhood, free and easy, when neighborhood children leave the gate open. He'll even indulge you in a fun game of tag. (He's a cheater.)

Freddy does not find a car an acceptable form of travel unless there's an element of danger involved. He's content only in the driver's lap, obstructing views and impeding movement.

Freddy feels strongly that the cats should remain fit and tidy, dutifully stationing himself by their empty food bowls and waiting to gobble up their intentions. (Freddy believes Bella could also stand to drop a few.)

And Freddy is firm on personal space.

Every time I look into Freddy's eyes, it's like we&#…

Up where the air is clear.

When feeling discouraged, I wanna be in the Magic Kingdom. It's a thrill just to ride the monorail with the knowledge of what the day holds.

When feeling frustrated, I wanna be in the Magic Kingdom. Smallest of details delight me everywhere I look and the streets are swept clean.

When feeling down, I wanna be in the Magic Kingdom. Troubles melt like lemon drops upon first sight of balloon bouquets on Main Street USA.

When feeling jolly, I wanna be in the Magic Kingdom. Celebrate all the live long day because a fantastically amazing parade is always on the way.

When feeling hopeful, I wanna be in the Magic Kingdom. Be among world travelers, recognizing an evolving vision memorialized with a mouse.

When feeling wistful, I wanna be in the Magic Kingdom. The sweet ache of my feet resting aboard the People Mover contrasts with the sharp longing of unspoken dreams.

Disney is to dreamers what sea is to sand.

Wordless Wednesday: You can fly.

Who knew this was smack in the middle of Downtown Disney? Just looking at it makes me homesick for Fantasyland.

Waiting for a girl like you.

Dear Young Self:

• Good instincts are not the same as wisdom.

• Wisdom requires patience so pray for that first.,

• Patience requires character development, inevitable, despite your prayers.

• The list of Things That Matter is longer than you think.

• Try not to beat yourself up when you finally figure out what really mattered because you can't know until you do.

• Your pride will create circumstances you don't know how to maneuver.

• Wallowing in said circumstances is unwise and lacks character.

• Under no circumstances should you attempt to proceed alone. That is how you created the first mess.

• Just because you can't see a way doesn't mean it's not there.

• Lack of vision may induce panic which is not recommended. Wait for a Good word, not the very next word, to ensure fresh strength for running without weariness and walking without fainting.

• The benefit of the doubt is always the perfect gift.

• Your instincts are sharp and still need tuning.

I'll be …

I look around but it's you I can't explain.

Lovin' Man watches youtube in his spare time. Elvis, aliens and Big Foot. Rockers and such. Youtube is where it's at. He can't get enough of that stuff. Some girls have boys who follow sports or play golf. Some girls have boys who go out drinking with the guys. Not me. My guy is a Sasquatch Man.

I try and deny his preoccupation because it's not right. It's odd, at best. He may seem an average and reasonable man. Please just don't mention the aliens. Or the Nessie. At this point, he becomes animatedly unrecognizable. To me. I'm consistently surprised to find the related data stored inside his brain. My guy is a Sasquatch Man.

It's impractical. Illogical. Unmanageable. I walk away clean so as not to encourage or enable.

He's a lovin' man. He loves Golem and that strawberry bear from Toy Story 3. He loves an underdog. He had Robin underoos, not Batman. Given proper time and analysis, I'm certain of a silver lining. Maybe once the kids are rai…

Get your texty on.

My mother is a reluctant facebooker. She likes keeping up with her people, grands and out of towners but resents the pressure of timely replies and insignificant status updates. She doesn't have anything important to say that requires an online audience. Why can't she just call someone if she wants to talk to them? She can do without dozens of daily game requests. Just when you think you're getting a meaningful notification...

She has, however, proven altogether adamant against texting, despite my determined attempts. Neither charming giraffe photos taken with smartphone apps sent while on vacation nor charming grandchildren photos dressed for success in smart uniforms can convince her to embrace such frivolous forms of technology. She refuses to read even the most succinct text messages. Strictly informative. She'll take her communication antiquated via digital cordless land line or perhaps email. Hmph.

Furthermore, she hates those automated check out lines at the gr…

You make beautiful things.

If you would prefer a nervous wreck of a mother, go on out without reporting your whereabouts so that she must call your phone (that she got specifically for this purpose and not so you can stay up into the wee hours talking to that questionable person from the mall while you should be sleeping so you'll be fresh for work tomorrow) and when you don't answer because you let the battery run down while chatting up said person from the mall all the live long night, she must send your brother around the neighborhood knocking on doors in his pajamas because he refuses to wear real clothes all the live long day until he finds you chatting up and borrowing coffee from the people next door who work at Starbucks which seems to her socially inappropriate and gives her one more thing to fret over.

If you prefer a frustrated mother, by all means, stay in your pajamas all day so that when she asks you to, say, go and find your missing brother or take the trash can to the curb because Tuesd…

Bought with a kiss.

There's a hotel in Russia that has Day of the Week rugs in the elevator. This is for jet lagged foreigners. I assume. I don't exactly know as the furthest I've been is west to California and south to the Bahamas. But that was only for the day when we visited the orphans.

Some are small of body and have bright smiles for visiting Americans. Some are small of heart and have no smiles at all. The caregivers smile less than the caretaker. Hopelessness looms. My arms hold a tiny baby whose name now escapes me. His grin is the only one I can remember. I am scared when he grimaces at his luke warm bath but that was his lot so we pull ourselves up by the bootstraps then sigh relief when it is over. I am rewarded for my courage as his face lights up again inside the thin, dry towel. He was even given clean socks there in the beautiful Bahamas and I delight at his warm toes this day. He watches my face as I fuss with his undershirt. Out of practice.

Would you like to feed him now? …

Gratuitous self indulgence.

Having a truly great movie experience is challenging. Among my favorite genres are biopics, documentaries and character studies. Walk the Line and The Fighter. Grey Gardens, Spellbound and Supersize Me. Baby Boy and What's Eating Gilbert Grape. Although I initially dismiss them, I tend to enjoy those comic book flicks. Iron Man and that Wolverine stuff.

Movie consumption must be an aesthetic experience. Emotion and thought provoking. Those independents please provided the themes are not too wacky, politics not too liberal, philosophy not too nihilistic. Gratuitous sex or violence just irritate. Amadeus, Magnolia, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

When comedy becomes a necessity, let it be of the cerebral variety or a mockumentary. The Grinch is the only, albeit immensely, enjoyable Jim Carrey. That Zach Galifisomething amazes albeit slightly gritty for my taste. Mission accomplished, I suspect. Waiting For Guffman and his pals, Best in Show and For Your Consideration. Genius …

Wordless Wednesday: It came from Memphis.

What'll they say about me.

Grandaddy loves to recount stories of his lady and her sassy ways. She demanded and it was understood Every one would do Any thing to maintain her happiness because when she wasn't, there was None. He got himself a Tennessee farm girl with a store bought bedroom suite and a fancy coat so he picked up where her daddy left off.

She was the Fun One in the floor for hours playing dozens of games purchased at yard sales because she loved a bargain. She swallowed handfuls of vitamins and substituted honey for sugar in homemade ice cream because it was the seventies. She giggled and feigned innocence when we teased her. A health nut the likes of which you kids today have never seen.

Once, for Christmas, she bought me some XXXL, maroon, organza pants with a silver sequined tank top because she loved a bargain. I was ten.

She stayed up all night with a homesick mama's girl but I didn't know it was her fourth night in a row. She said she never told a lie and I panicked a little. &…

Time makes bolder.

Usually, this time of year, I am nose deep in lesson planning.
Usually, I run into discouragement quickly as I am jaded enough to understand the discrepancy between what the schedule says and reality's voice.
Usually, I squeeze at least a half a glass from my depleting inspiration stores.
Usually, I dredge up some semblance of enthusiasm because, otherwise, I can't keep swimming and who wants to drown in a sea of grammar and math?
Usually, I am privately dreadful, feeling inadequate and unfit.
Usually, I am wondering how I will make it to Christmas and May is fuzzy at best.
Usually, I have guilt about said feelings and am not that good of a person.

Currently, I am peaceful.
Currently, I am proud of the Getting Here and Validation beckons.
Currently, I am savoring the hours Until and look forward to the In Betweens.
Currently, hope floats above the melancholy.
Currently, I see myself emerging and it ain't so bad.
Currently, I am certain of God's hand and answered pray…

Sharp shooters.

My High Maintenance Boy does impressions. It's kinda his special skill. It started with "Hi, kids, and welcome to Veggie Tales. I'm Bob the Tomato", quickly advancing to early Bill Cosby and the Sham Wow guy.

His current bits involve members of the Booze Fighters, Debate Club Spence, Aunt Gail and Hyde from That Seventies Show. Actually no one and nothing is off limits, including Uncle Ryan and even Freddy.

He has an additional stable of original characters created with his baby bro, Man Child. Although I admire their clever creativity and commitment to back story, The Janitor, The Pediatrician and Grampa take on a static noise quality after 16 hours a day.

Less Is More is NOT the mantra of heady teenaged boys. More so a Shoot 'Til Ya Hit. Apparently, I'm a tough crowd in a house full of clowns.

Dash it all.

• I make my daughter use the "nonsoft" brush under great protest.

• I pout when my husband points out grammatical errors in my blog instead of enthusiastically praising me.

• It is not Time To Go until I am ready.

• I strongly consider parenting advice from comedy bits.

• I suspect foul play in my neighbors when I suppose they deserve the benefit of the doubt.

• I make Kermit the Frog faces at boys who create duct tape boots, hats and ties.

• I totally hate sports.

Wordless Wednesday: So so wrong.

If dreams there be.

Stepping behind the pulpit, I became suddenly aware of the lack of security. No lyrics furiously scribbled on the back of the bulletin this day. I stood beside my guitar lovin' boy and he played to my cue. He went round again as I missed it but I was frozen in fear. This boy knew his way and pushed open the door so I could get my foot in. I still sang with uncertainty.

That ancient Sunday morning set an unpleasant precedent of performance anxiety. What had been relished in my bedroom mirror emerged with trepidation. Never again without a crutch.

I often wish I could connect with that boy in that way. While he engages and warms to a crowd, I suffer under it's glare. He will race ahead if you hesitate but patiently lead if you need. I'm hopeless without him.

Guitar lovin' boys approach life's other adventures with consternation. For him, it's only cozy with Guitarinhand. Give him a microphone. Otherwise, his song is uncertain. Patience can persuade him to see bey…

Scratch to sniff.

I miss the way the Swan's lobby smells. Sweet and clean, inspiring joy. For that matter, I miss the earthy scent trailing from the Swiss Family Treehouse and the smelly murk of the Pirate and Jungle waters. Orange groves in Soarin', fish and chips at the Rose and Crown. I welcome the alluring emitters after Mickey's Philharmagic to evoke blissful determination to shop for Donald hoodies and Mickey shaped ice trays. Do it to me one more time.

Amazingly absent is the smell of burning gun powder in spite of massive fireworks daily. Or rottenness in spite of massive garbage daily. Critters abound but their scents do not.

If all main streets smelled of cinnamon rolls and giant chocolate chip cookies, urban sprawl would end. The gift shops smell fantastically of overpriced rubber shoes and antennae ornaments. Aromatic cheeseburgers loom delicious at Pecos Bill's while even Tomorrowland misting stations trigger scent memories.

This is an enigma to be sure. I think I smell T…

Free of charge

The gift shop at the Swan Resort in Walt Disney World has Eeyore. The Eeyore. There's a good bit of pressure on this fellow to deliver the sentimentality we require. Lovin' Man would read A.A. Milne's classic aloud with me as we drank White Russians deep in the hundred acre wood.

2004. Beautiful Daughter is Beautiful Baby. We are gathered in Fantasyland, awaiting the nightly fireworks display over Cinderella's castle. There's music and possibly a cricket over the loud speaker. There was hot fudge and ice cream but that was before I knew Dole Whip. When the real show begins, it's loud and frightens baby ears. She cries out and we deflect by popping into the requisite shop catching Winnie the Pooh riders. Brilliant. I direct her attention to a wall of plush characters which I deem daughter sized assuming stripy Tigger will catch her eye. But it was Eeyore's long ears that fit cozily in her chubby fingers as her thumb served it's pacifying purpose. A gre…