It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas
The presents are all wrapped. I have returned the mounds of paper, ribbon, bows and tape to the closet upstairs. We can again see our dining room table which has served as the “wrapping room” for the past month. Tomorrow thirteen people (both friends and family alike) will descend on our house to celebrate the season. I can’t wait!
A few of the things I’m looking forward to:
x My grandmother’s laughter.
x My father’s wit and cynicism.
x Seeing my sister’s face when she opens the footlocker we bought her for her first summer camp and all the wrapped gifts inside the footlocker.
x My mother’s face when she reads the poem I wrote her inside her card. Oh, and of course everyone else’s face when she performs her newest dance routine with her dog.
x Carrie’s face when she sees that I actually bought a gift that she couldn’t guess.
x Christmas music playing all day long.
x The smell of turkey and gravy.
x Falling into bed exhausted and ten pounds heavier.
I hope that whoever you are and whatever you do tomorrow that your day be filled with joy and happiness.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Her Cup Runneth Over
My grandmother loves wine. There is not a family get together that I can remember where she did not get tipsy. For years her favorite was Ernest & Julio Gallo Chablis. The empty green jugs are all over her house, verigated ivy growing from the top. Then her taste buds changed and suddenly the Chablis wasn’t sweet enough?!
Four years ago at our Mother’s Day brunch the waiter asked what she would like to drink. She asked for a sweet wine. The waiter brought her what he felt was sufficiently sweet. She took a sip. Smacked her bright pink lips together a few times. Took another sip and declared it not sweet enough. He brought her another wine. No, still not sweet. It was some kind of sommelier version of Goldilocks. Only Goldilocks was more like Silverlocks and instead of beds we were fast running out of options on wine. At last he brought in a bottle of dessert wine. It was thick and sugary. The color of Caro Syrup. One taste however and she was hooked.
Last night we all met for dinner. Aunts, mother, friends, and grandmother. This was a Mexican restaurant without an array of dessert wine so we ordered her the White Zin (why is it not called Pink Zin?). Her first sip she said she thought they might have watered down the wine. My dear, gracious friend tasted it for her and declared it “good”. Bless her heart. I owe her a big one for that. Then grandmother started complaining because they had not poured her a full glass. The waiter had in fact poured the customary amount into her glass it was just that she couldn’t get over all that empty space between the wine and the rim of the glass. Not wanting to listen to her complain all night, Carrie very discreetly met the waiter at the bar as he was ordering her second glass. In no uncertain terms she let him know that no matter the cost he was to fill that glass to the brim. This is the second waiter we have had to coach in this manner. When her second glass arrived she squealed with delight. As in every aspect of her life, my grandmother’s glass is never half full.
My grandmother loves wine. There is not a family get together that I can remember where she did not get tipsy. For years her favorite was Ernest & Julio Gallo Chablis. The empty green jugs are all over her house, verigated ivy growing from the top. Then her taste buds changed and suddenly the Chablis wasn’t sweet enough?!
Four years ago at our Mother’s Day brunch the waiter asked what she would like to drink. She asked for a sweet wine. The waiter brought her what he felt was sufficiently sweet. She took a sip. Smacked her bright pink lips together a few times. Took another sip and declared it not sweet enough. He brought her another wine. No, still not sweet. It was some kind of sommelier version of Goldilocks. Only Goldilocks was more like Silverlocks and instead of beds we were fast running out of options on wine. At last he brought in a bottle of dessert wine. It was thick and sugary. The color of Caro Syrup. One taste however and she was hooked.
Last night we all met for dinner. Aunts, mother, friends, and grandmother. This was a Mexican restaurant without an array of dessert wine so we ordered her the White Zin (why is it not called Pink Zin?). Her first sip she said she thought they might have watered down the wine. My dear, gracious friend tasted it for her and declared it “good”. Bless her heart. I owe her a big one for that. Then grandmother started complaining because they had not poured her a full glass. The waiter had in fact poured the customary amount into her glass it was just that she couldn’t get over all that empty space between the wine and the rim of the glass. Not wanting to listen to her complain all night, Carrie very discreetly met the waiter at the bar as he was ordering her second glass. In no uncertain terms she let him know that no matter the cost he was to fill that glass to the brim. This is the second waiter we have had to coach in this manner. When her second glass arrived she squealed with delight. As in every aspect of her life, my grandmother’s glass is never half full.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Candy Analysis
How do you eat your candy? If it is a lemon drop do you suck on it until it is the tiniest of disks and finally dissolves? Do you bite into it immediately and crunch the sugary sweet pieces?
Gum is particularly hard for me. I chew a piece for a few minutes then get the uncontrollable urge to swallow it and get another. Carrie will chew a piece of gum after lunch and walk through our door at 5:00 with the same piece of gum. How she does it I will never understand. What makes my little issue worse is that every time I swallow a piece of gum I get anxious remembering how they told us in grade school that it takes something along the lines of 100 years to digest. I imagine one corner of my stomach filled with half chewed gum waiting to disintegrate.
A friend and I were talking about candy canes this morning. Tis the season. I asked if she remembered sucking the end of the candy cane until it came to the sharpest of points. A point to be tested on ones arm or the arms and eyeballs of others. We talked about how your lips turned that sugary sticky pink. The wrapper that you so carefully left on the bottom half of the candy cane got all squishy and sticky. While you were finely tuning your point you would fiddle with the hook. This seems to be a universal practice among children as a few minutes later she and her co-worker had the same conversation.
Because of this conversation I think I will buy some candy canes to adorn the Christmas dinner table. I will be watching my eleven year old sister closely to see if she too carries on this childhood tradition. If she doesn’t I may have to eat one myself for old times sake.
How do you eat your candy? If it is a lemon drop do you suck on it until it is the tiniest of disks and finally dissolves? Do you bite into it immediately and crunch the sugary sweet pieces?
Gum is particularly hard for me. I chew a piece for a few minutes then get the uncontrollable urge to swallow it and get another. Carrie will chew a piece of gum after lunch and walk through our door at 5:00 with the same piece of gum. How she does it I will never understand. What makes my little issue worse is that every time I swallow a piece of gum I get anxious remembering how they told us in grade school that it takes something along the lines of 100 years to digest. I imagine one corner of my stomach filled with half chewed gum waiting to disintegrate.
A friend and I were talking about candy canes this morning. Tis the season. I asked if she remembered sucking the end of the candy cane until it came to the sharpest of points. A point to be tested on ones arm or the arms and eyeballs of others. We talked about how your lips turned that sugary sticky pink. The wrapper that you so carefully left on the bottom half of the candy cane got all squishy and sticky. While you were finely tuning your point you would fiddle with the hook. This seems to be a universal practice among children as a few minutes later she and her co-worker had the same conversation.
Because of this conversation I think I will buy some candy canes to adorn the Christmas dinner table. I will be watching my eleven year old sister closely to see if she too carries on this childhood tradition. If she doesn’t I may have to eat one myself for old times sake.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Polly Want a Prozac
After my parents separated, my father began seeing a woman named Polly. While I was in New Jersey with my mother they moved into a two bedroom two story townhome. Polly wanted our first impression to be a good one so she decorated a room for me with rainbows and wind socks. Hmm….. Prior to my arrival for my first visit, Polly became very insecure. She was the poster child for why alcohol and insecurity don’t mix. Add in a few pills and you have yourself a serious mind fuck. So one night Polly’s drunk, pissed, insecure and ultimately out of her mind. She decides to pick a fight with my father. He won’t take the bait so she switches gears to the old “you don’t love me so I’ll kill myself” routine and puts her hand through a glass door. That got his attention. She was bleeding all over. My father immediately rushes her to the hospital where they wait for hours to have her hand stitched up.
In the meantime, the neighbors have heard screaming and items being thrown against walls all night. They decide to take a peak and see blood and broken glass all over. Concerned citizens that they are the call the police who also come to inspect the scene. The police are still on the scene when my father returns with a passed out on pain meds Polly who he is carrying from the car when the cops pounce on him. No one can wake her to find out if my father did this. Eventually they believe him and leave.
Skip to my first visit. Dad thought it would be a nice bonding experience for the three of us to drive to San Marcos and stay at Aquarina Springs. On the way he stopped and picked up a six pack of Michelob Light. Polly, having not learned her lesson, proceeded to drink four of the six. By the time we hit San Marcos she was good and ready for a fight. We checked into the hotel and went up to the room. My father told me to go in the bathroom, lock the door and not come out until he told me to. I spent the next hour and a half making all of the little coffee packets. Cleaning the sink with the tiny bar of soap. Counting the tiles on the floor. Laying on the floor ear to cold tile, one eye squinting under the door to see the fight.
At last he had enough and released me from my captivity in the bathroom. We were going to see the tic-tac-toe chickens and swimming pigs and no one was going to spoil the fun. Or so we thought. A walk down the corridor, an elevator ride to the first floor and out the door of the hotel we went. Senior citizens were playing checkers and chess at the tables in front of the hotel. We walked by them smiling. Enjoying the fact that we were at last getting to spend time together after a long separation. That is when we heard it;
“Beee-ullll”
“Jack-a-lynnnn”
“Beee-ullll”
“Jack-a-lynnnn”
Looking up what did we see? Polly on the roof screaming down at me. Other guests began to notice and now the crowd was all abuzz with “there’s a lady on the roof and she says she’s going to jump”. My father sprinted back to the hotel and to the roof. He and a bell hop were able to wrestle her away from the edge and get her safely back in the room. She was told to call her brother to pick her up, pack her things, get out of our room and wait in the lobby for her ride.
Crisis averted my father and I spent a few hours playing. There is an old timey sepia tone photo in my library taken that day. Dad is dressed as an outlaw and me a western bar maiden. Odd I know but I have a feeling I chose the costumes and he simply went along. Upon returning to the hotel we spied Polly sulking in a chair in the lobby. Something was different. Oh yeah, she had beat her face to black and blue with the phone in their room and had been telling anyone who walked by that my father was the culprit. Her brother did pick her up that day. I thought for sure she I would never see her again but alas the next time we met I was crawling through a window of her parent’s beach house because she wouldn’t wake up to answer the door. That however is another story for another day.
After my parents separated, my father began seeing a woman named Polly. While I was in New Jersey with my mother they moved into a two bedroom two story townhome. Polly wanted our first impression to be a good one so she decorated a room for me with rainbows and wind socks. Hmm….. Prior to my arrival for my first visit, Polly became very insecure. She was the poster child for why alcohol and insecurity don’t mix. Add in a few pills and you have yourself a serious mind fuck. So one night Polly’s drunk, pissed, insecure and ultimately out of her mind. She decides to pick a fight with my father. He won’t take the bait so she switches gears to the old “you don’t love me so I’ll kill myself” routine and puts her hand through a glass door. That got his attention. She was bleeding all over. My father immediately rushes her to the hospital where they wait for hours to have her hand stitched up.
In the meantime, the neighbors have heard screaming and items being thrown against walls all night. They decide to take a peak and see blood and broken glass all over. Concerned citizens that they are the call the police who also come to inspect the scene. The police are still on the scene when my father returns with a passed out on pain meds Polly who he is carrying from the car when the cops pounce on him. No one can wake her to find out if my father did this. Eventually they believe him and leave.
Skip to my first visit. Dad thought it would be a nice bonding experience for the three of us to drive to San Marcos and stay at Aquarina Springs. On the way he stopped and picked up a six pack of Michelob Light. Polly, having not learned her lesson, proceeded to drink four of the six. By the time we hit San Marcos she was good and ready for a fight. We checked into the hotel and went up to the room. My father told me to go in the bathroom, lock the door and not come out until he told me to. I spent the next hour and a half making all of the little coffee packets. Cleaning the sink with the tiny bar of soap. Counting the tiles on the floor. Laying on the floor ear to cold tile, one eye squinting under the door to see the fight.
At last he had enough and released me from my captivity in the bathroom. We were going to see the tic-tac-toe chickens and swimming pigs and no one was going to spoil the fun. Or so we thought. A walk down the corridor, an elevator ride to the first floor and out the door of the hotel we went. Senior citizens were playing checkers and chess at the tables in front of the hotel. We walked by them smiling. Enjoying the fact that we were at last getting to spend time together after a long separation. That is when we heard it;
“Beee-ullll”
“Jack-a-lynnnn”
“Beee-ullll”
“Jack-a-lynnnn”
Looking up what did we see? Polly on the roof screaming down at me. Other guests began to notice and now the crowd was all abuzz with “there’s a lady on the roof and she says she’s going to jump”. My father sprinted back to the hotel and to the roof. He and a bell hop were able to wrestle her away from the edge and get her safely back in the room. She was told to call her brother to pick her up, pack her things, get out of our room and wait in the lobby for her ride.
Crisis averted my father and I spent a few hours playing. There is an old timey sepia tone photo in my library taken that day. Dad is dressed as an outlaw and me a western bar maiden. Odd I know but I have a feeling I chose the costumes and he simply went along. Upon returning to the hotel we spied Polly sulking in a chair in the lobby. Something was different. Oh yeah, she had beat her face to black and blue with the phone in their room and had been telling anyone who walked by that my father was the culprit. Her brother did pick her up that day. I thought for sure she I would never see her again but alas the next time we met I was crawling through a window of her parent’s beach house because she wouldn’t wake up to answer the door. That however is another story for another day.
Friday, December 05, 2008
Heather I
When I was young we had a Great Dane named Heather. This dog had the patience of a saint. There are photos of me as an infant crawling on her, pulling her ears, and generally sprawled all over her. She never growled. Never nipped at me. She took each transgression in stride, staring up at my mother as if to say; “Really, did you have to bring her home?”. Heather had 18 puppies in one litter. My father built an enclosed pin with a trough to feed them after they were weaned. At this time I also had three ducks. The ducks and puppies and I would play in back yard for hours. Always under the watchful eye of Heather.
All of this changed when we moved from a house to an apartment. The ducks couldn’t make the move. The puppies were all sold. The apartment was a two bedroom with a patio covered in oyster shells. Heather was miserable but I couldn’t see it. However my parents could and one day that sat me down to tell me Heather was going to live on a farm. This news went over like a lead balloon. I didn’t want her to live somewhere else. She was my dog. A farm? Sounded fishy.
They let the news soak in for a week before telling me it was time. I insisted on going with them to get a look at this “farm”. I don’t know why I was convinced they were lying to me and were sending her to Heaven or the pound. We loaded up in my parent’s Torino with Heather taking up most of the backseat which was fine because in those days I liked to ride standing on the hump in middle, hanging my head over the seat to stare out the windshield. The windshield I would be flying through had they made a sudden stop. I don’t remember how I acted in the car but knowing myself like I do I’ll bet I laid on the guilt four feet thick.
We did in fact go to a farm that day. The owners had a son who was mentally challenged. He immediately fell in love with Heather. I immediately felt guilty for wanting to snatch my dog away from him and take her home. We stayed for a couple of hours while Heather got comfortable. Then we left. I cannot imagine the confusion this caused for my dog. I still cannot imagine what my parents were thinking giving away a living creature after having her for five years. I wish I could contact the owners of the farm today and see how she did as she lived out the remainder of her days.
When I was young we had a Great Dane named Heather. This dog had the patience of a saint. There are photos of me as an infant crawling on her, pulling her ears, and generally sprawled all over her. She never growled. Never nipped at me. She took each transgression in stride, staring up at my mother as if to say; “Really, did you have to bring her home?”. Heather had 18 puppies in one litter. My father built an enclosed pin with a trough to feed them after they were weaned. At this time I also had three ducks. The ducks and puppies and I would play in back yard for hours. Always under the watchful eye of Heather.
All of this changed when we moved from a house to an apartment. The ducks couldn’t make the move. The puppies were all sold. The apartment was a two bedroom with a patio covered in oyster shells. Heather was miserable but I couldn’t see it. However my parents could and one day that sat me down to tell me Heather was going to live on a farm. This news went over like a lead balloon. I didn’t want her to live somewhere else. She was my dog. A farm? Sounded fishy.
They let the news soak in for a week before telling me it was time. I insisted on going with them to get a look at this “farm”. I don’t know why I was convinced they were lying to me and were sending her to Heaven or the pound. We loaded up in my parent’s Torino with Heather taking up most of the backseat which was fine because in those days I liked to ride standing on the hump in middle, hanging my head over the seat to stare out the windshield. The windshield I would be flying through had they made a sudden stop. I don’t remember how I acted in the car but knowing myself like I do I’ll bet I laid on the guilt four feet thick.
We did in fact go to a farm that day. The owners had a son who was mentally challenged. He immediately fell in love with Heather. I immediately felt guilty for wanting to snatch my dog away from him and take her home. We stayed for a couple of hours while Heather got comfortable. Then we left. I cannot imagine the confusion this caused for my dog. I still cannot imagine what my parents were thinking giving away a living creature after having her for five years. I wish I could contact the owners of the farm today and see how she did as she lived out the remainder of her days.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
A Little Bit of Laughter in an Otherwise Boring Day
I left work early yesterday to take the cat to the vet. In my absence, my co-worker decided to have a little fun. She knows how scary I find the Duggar family. Twenty-one children? Come on! This is much different from my facination in the FLDS. While I find it interesting (if not a bit disturbing) that a cult can in effect live and thrive practicing polygamy in this country, the Duggar’s make my uterus cringe every time I see them.
So imagine my surprise when I walked into the office this morning and there after my last name on the plate outside my door was a Post-It Note with Duggar written on it and a photo of the whole clan beneath. I giggled and left it there and proceeded to my desk. On my chair? Another Duggar photo. Peeking out of the plant on my file cabinet, taped to my phone mouthpiece, under my mouse, under my keyboard, in my top drawer, in the chocolate covered espresso bean box I keep in another drawer, and in the Christmas card box. I have so far found 10 miniature Duggar clan photos in my office and have been promised by same co-worker there are many more to be found. That equals 10 laughs in an otherwise boring day. I am on a Duggar hunt until I find the rest. Then I think I will plaster her monitor with them after she leaves.
I left work early yesterday to take the cat to the vet. In my absence, my co-worker decided to have a little fun. She knows how scary I find the Duggar family. Twenty-one children? Come on! This is much different from my facination in the FLDS. While I find it interesting (if not a bit disturbing) that a cult can in effect live and thrive practicing polygamy in this country, the Duggar’s make my uterus cringe every time I see them.
So imagine my surprise when I walked into the office this morning and there after my last name on the plate outside my door was a Post-It Note with Duggar written on it and a photo of the whole clan beneath. I giggled and left it there and proceeded to my desk. On my chair? Another Duggar photo. Peeking out of the plant on my file cabinet, taped to my phone mouthpiece, under my mouse, under my keyboard, in my top drawer, in the chocolate covered espresso bean box I keep in another drawer, and in the Christmas card box. I have so far found 10 miniature Duggar clan photos in my office and have been promised by same co-worker there are many more to be found. That equals 10 laughs in an otherwise boring day. I am on a Duggar hunt until I find the rest. Then I think I will plaster her monitor with them after she leaves.
Friday, November 14, 2008
And they called it Puppy Love…
I have never been a fan of Starbucks. For one I love weak, watery coffee and theirs is just too strong. For another it seems ridiculous to me for anyone to order a venti, extra hot (extra hot?) two shot soy milk one raw sugar no whip bold…. You get the idea. I’m also cheap and a four dollar cup of coffee seems pretty steep to me. Ah, but I have gone to the dark side. I have been at Starbucks more in the last three weeks than in the last three years. My girlfriend is addicted to venti mocha lattes. It is her crack and she demands a fix every morning. Mind you I do not bring her one every morning, but the days I do her face lights up when I walk through the door carrying the steaming red cup.
At first this exercise was solely for her benefit. A cup of coffee and a slice of banana nut loaf. Then one morning I noticed the section of the menu that contains non-coffee drinks. Hmmm. Yes, I’ll try a grande strawberry and cream. Big mistake! I am now addicted as well but to an ass widening, calorie loaded, sugar infested milk shake. I can down a grande in five minutes flat on my way to work. This is amazing because I hate milk. It gives me the creeps. This however is heaven in a plastic cup.
This morning I swung by my local Starbucks on the way to take the dog to Carrie’s work. He goes to work on Fridays because otherwise he would eat our maid and the house would quickly become a pig sty. So there he was with his head hanging out of the back window watching me as I stood in line like a junky at a Methadone clinic. I remembered that a good friend of ours who is also addicted to high dollar coffee gets her dog a puppy latte. This is no more than whipped cream in a cup but the name is too cute not to use. So I ordered Isaac a puppy latte. When I got back to the car I set down our drinks, took the lid off his puppy latte and let Isaac go to town. If you have a dog and you’ve never tried this you must! I swear his eyes rolled back in his head and I could hear him humming. Whipped cream was all over his tiny muzzle hairs. He really got into it and the cream started flying. On his head, my car, everywhere. Yep, now our entire family is addicted.
I have never been a fan of Starbucks. For one I love weak, watery coffee and theirs is just too strong. For another it seems ridiculous to me for anyone to order a venti, extra hot (extra hot?) two shot soy milk one raw sugar no whip bold…. You get the idea. I’m also cheap and a four dollar cup of coffee seems pretty steep to me. Ah, but I have gone to the dark side. I have been at Starbucks more in the last three weeks than in the last three years. My girlfriend is addicted to venti mocha lattes. It is her crack and she demands a fix every morning. Mind you I do not bring her one every morning, but the days I do her face lights up when I walk through the door carrying the steaming red cup.
At first this exercise was solely for her benefit. A cup of coffee and a slice of banana nut loaf. Then one morning I noticed the section of the menu that contains non-coffee drinks. Hmmm. Yes, I’ll try a grande strawberry and cream. Big mistake! I am now addicted as well but to an ass widening, calorie loaded, sugar infested milk shake. I can down a grande in five minutes flat on my way to work. This is amazing because I hate milk. It gives me the creeps. This however is heaven in a plastic cup.
This morning I swung by my local Starbucks on the way to take the dog to Carrie’s work. He goes to work on Fridays because otherwise he would eat our maid and the house would quickly become a pig sty. So there he was with his head hanging out of the back window watching me as I stood in line like a junky at a Methadone clinic. I remembered that a good friend of ours who is also addicted to high dollar coffee gets her dog a puppy latte. This is no more than whipped cream in a cup but the name is too cute not to use. So I ordered Isaac a puppy latte. When I got back to the car I set down our drinks, took the lid off his puppy latte and let Isaac go to town. If you have a dog and you’ve never tried this you must! I swear his eyes rolled back in his head and I could hear him humming. Whipped cream was all over his tiny muzzle hairs. He really got into it and the cream started flying. On his head, my car, everywhere. Yep, now our entire family is addicted.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Little Shop Girl
The only department she probably did not hit was furs. I hear she likes to shoot her own.
http://gawker.com/5067774/palins-real-american-shopping-spree
The only department she probably did not hit was furs. I hear she likes to shoot her own.
http://gawker.com/5067774/palins-real-american-shopping-spree
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
The Sweet Smell of Books
From time to time Carrie goes on Amazon.com and buys my entire wish list. It is always a great day when that box arrives full of shining book jackets, pressed pages waiting to be turned, stories waiting to unfold. Today is that day. I received the following:
Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer – I rented the movie a couple of weeks ago but didn’t get around to watching it but can’t wait to see it after a read the book.
Phantom Prey by John Sanford - I happened upon this series when I picked up a dusty old paperback in a used book store and was instantly hooked. I love Lucas Davenport the main character and each novel reads like an episode of Criminal Minds. After reading the first book I immediately gobbled up the rest in the series and now stalk his name for new editions.
The Brass Verdict by Michael Connelly - Another author I stalk! Love Harry Bosch and wish they would make a movie out of every novel in the series.
Havana Nocturne: How the Mob Owned Cuba and Then Lost It to the Revolution by T.J. English - I look forward to reading this one to get an image of Cuba pre-revolution. Ladies and Gentlemen dressed to the nines in casinos. Maybe some old fashioned Puzo style mob violence. A trip in time to be sure.
The Longest Trip Home: A Memoir by John Grogan- I had so much fun reading Marley and Me that I can't wait to see what Grogan comes up with in this memoir about growing up Catholic. Coming from an uber-Catholic family on my mother's side I am sure I will be able to relate.
The hardest thing is always what to read first. Do I read this one or save it for later since this author only publishes once every two years or so? Do I read this one first because I need to know what happened after the last novel? Truth or Fiction? Long or Short? The decision is agonizing. The great thing is if this was my only decision every day I would be in Heaven.
From time to time Carrie goes on Amazon.com and buys my entire wish list. It is always a great day when that box arrives full of shining book jackets, pressed pages waiting to be turned, stories waiting to unfold. Today is that day. I received the following:
Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer – I rented the movie a couple of weeks ago but didn’t get around to watching it but can’t wait to see it after a read the book.
Phantom Prey by John Sanford - I happened upon this series when I picked up a dusty old paperback in a used book store and was instantly hooked. I love Lucas Davenport the main character and each novel reads like an episode of Criminal Minds. After reading the first book I immediately gobbled up the rest in the series and now stalk his name for new editions.
The Brass Verdict by Michael Connelly - Another author I stalk! Love Harry Bosch and wish they would make a movie out of every novel in the series.
Havana Nocturne: How the Mob Owned Cuba and Then Lost It to the Revolution by T.J. English - I look forward to reading this one to get an image of Cuba pre-revolution. Ladies and Gentlemen dressed to the nines in casinos. Maybe some old fashioned Puzo style mob violence. A trip in time to be sure.
The Longest Trip Home: A Memoir by John Grogan- I had so much fun reading Marley and Me that I can't wait to see what Grogan comes up with in this memoir about growing up Catholic. Coming from an uber-Catholic family on my mother's side I am sure I will be able to relate.
The hardest thing is always what to read first. Do I read this one or save it for later since this author only publishes once every two years or so? Do I read this one first because I need to know what happened after the last novel? Truth or Fiction? Long or Short? The decision is agonizing. The great thing is if this was my only decision every day I would be in Heaven.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Directionally Challenged
Ask Carrie about any trip we have been on and she can tell you a tale of woe about getting lost due to my navigation skills. There was Tulsa, when trying to return to our hotel from the zoo, I turned the map upside down for a better perspective and we ended up on a turnpike heading to another state entirely.
Most recently we were driving from Taos, New Mexico to Blackwell, TX via Roswell. A pretty straight shot on the map but she turned when she should have gone straight (or as she tells it I did not tell her to stay straight and she was only following my directions). Again, we found ourselves on a highway in the wrong direction. Flustered by her anger I looked for an alternative route on the map and we headed South so we could head East then South again. The first leg South was okay. Two lane, paved. Then as we turned east the black top ended and we spent the better half of an hour on a bumpy dirt road with civilization no where in sight. She yelled. I cried. But in the end we pulled into Blackwell that evening safe and sound.
In recent days, weeks, months, years (you see I don’t know where to begin this journey) I have been traveling with a friend to the very depths of hell. Oh sure I have jumped off the path every now and again only to return with renewed hope that is quickly struck down. She has a disease my friend does. Her journey has taken her to the Hill Country, West, and East. Mentally and physically however she has gone South. In recent days she has tried to understand her needs, her actions and the effect they have on the world. I pray that she has turned. That her journey now may be on an emotionally bumpy, dirt road but soon she will be fly along smooth with the wind in her hair.
I’ve hit several bumps on my own journey. At times my inner voice tells me to look in the rear view mirror and regret, rue, hate myself for not avoiding the pot holes. It has taken years to realize this behavior does me no good. Only by looking forward can I move forward. I hope my friend comes to that realization and soon she begins to look at each new day as a new start. Several new starts and you have yourself a month, then a year, then years and before you know it you’ve traveled many miles that you would have never seen otherwise.
On a lighter note, I am going to ask someone for a Garmin Navigation system for Christmas. That way the next time we get lost Carrie can yell at the machine and I can sit comfortably in the passenger seat munching on beef jerky.
Ask Carrie about any trip we have been on and she can tell you a tale of woe about getting lost due to my navigation skills. There was Tulsa, when trying to return to our hotel from the zoo, I turned the map upside down for a better perspective and we ended up on a turnpike heading to another state entirely.
Most recently we were driving from Taos, New Mexico to Blackwell, TX via Roswell. A pretty straight shot on the map but she turned when she should have gone straight (or as she tells it I did not tell her to stay straight and she was only following my directions). Again, we found ourselves on a highway in the wrong direction. Flustered by her anger I looked for an alternative route on the map and we headed South so we could head East then South again. The first leg South was okay. Two lane, paved. Then as we turned east the black top ended and we spent the better half of an hour on a bumpy dirt road with civilization no where in sight. She yelled. I cried. But in the end we pulled into Blackwell that evening safe and sound.
In recent days, weeks, months, years (you see I don’t know where to begin this journey) I have been traveling with a friend to the very depths of hell. Oh sure I have jumped off the path every now and again only to return with renewed hope that is quickly struck down. She has a disease my friend does. Her journey has taken her to the Hill Country, West, and East. Mentally and physically however she has gone South. In recent days she has tried to understand her needs, her actions and the effect they have on the world. I pray that she has turned. That her journey now may be on an emotionally bumpy, dirt road but soon she will be fly along smooth with the wind in her hair.
I’ve hit several bumps on my own journey. At times my inner voice tells me to look in the rear view mirror and regret, rue, hate myself for not avoiding the pot holes. It has taken years to realize this behavior does me no good. Only by looking forward can I move forward. I hope my friend comes to that realization and soon she begins to look at each new day as a new start. Several new starts and you have yourself a month, then a year, then years and before you know it you’ve traveled many miles that you would have never seen otherwise.
On a lighter note, I am going to ask someone for a Garmin Navigation system for Christmas. That way the next time we get lost Carrie can yell at the machine and I can sit comfortably in the passenger seat munching on beef jerky.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Rikki Tiki Drunki
If you were me you could say the following about this past weekend:
Friday night while house sitting at a friend's your tipsy (ok drunk) ass walked three doors down to the neighbors because you heard screaming coming from the backyard. You were thinking serial killer which is why you knocked on the front door politely only to be informed it was the homeowner's teenage girl and her friend swimming out back. You could have apologized and walked away acting every bit the idiot you are but instead you notice they are playing Wii and ask for a few tips on how to hit a home run.
On Saturday you would have had a few too many before attending a birthday party. At the party you would have fallen on a tiki torch catching your hair on fire. That's what you get for buying not one but two sizes smaller than you were a month ago while shopping for jeans and celebrating all day long (granted the store they were purchased in clearly has sizing issues but just to looking at the tag makes it worth it).
Sunday you would have spent the majority of the day (six or so hours) watching reruns of America's Next Top Model your new obsession. That is until your friends who clearly weren't at the party and don't know you accosted their neighbor invite you for a margarita which six hours prior would have been out of the question but now.....
If you were me you could say the following about this past weekend:
Friday night while house sitting at a friend's your tipsy (ok drunk) ass walked three doors down to the neighbors because you heard screaming coming from the backyard. You were thinking serial killer which is why you knocked on the front door politely only to be informed it was the homeowner's teenage girl and her friend swimming out back. You could have apologized and walked away acting every bit the idiot you are but instead you notice they are playing Wii and ask for a few tips on how to hit a home run.
On Saturday you would have had a few too many before attending a birthday party. At the party you would have fallen on a tiki torch catching your hair on fire. That's what you get for buying not one but two sizes smaller than you were a month ago while shopping for jeans and celebrating all day long (granted the store they were purchased in clearly has sizing issues but just to looking at the tag makes it worth it).
Sunday you would have spent the majority of the day (six or so hours) watching reruns of America's Next Top Model your new obsession. That is until your friends who clearly weren't at the party and don't know you accosted their neighbor invite you for a margarita which six hours prior would have been out of the question but now.....
Friday, May 16, 2008
Tagged
It's been so long since I signed in. There was a question for a minute whether I would even remember my password. Inspired tagged me and since I clearly can't come up with anything worth writing about on my own decided to play.
Six random things about me:
1. I am a germaphobe. For the past month a co-worker has been walking the halls coughing like a TB patient. I have a really hard time touching anything she comes in contact with and have been working up the nerve to tell our office manager I think she should take a medical leave of absence until that nasty cough goes away.
2. My closet looks like a war zone. When I want to find a pair of shoes I have to dig through piles and piles to find a pair. I try to straighten it every once in awhile but it always goes back to looking like a bomb went off.
3. I also almost never clean my purses out. Essential things like wallet, keys, phone and lipstick are moved from purse to purse that is filled with receipts, business cards of people I can't remember meeting but won't throw away in case I ever need to contact:
The Wine Society of Texas
Embark Landscape Services for a Certified Arborist
Cheryl Polson- Self proclaimed Master of Dreads/Locks
Sales Manager (Oilfield)
Spectra Energy- Team Lead Communications Services
Columbia University- Assistant Professor School of Social Work
There also must be a pound of pennies in each purse.
4. When I was really young I stepped into a huge ant pile and had bites from foot to knee on one leg. My parents wanted to put a baking soda paste on the stings but I wouldn't let them so they renamed it "Surpise" and I did.
5. I have fat feet. Shoes have to be as wide as snow shoes to fit them. My toes are like sausages.
6. I sleep with a stuffed cat named "Cat Man Dude" because I am a very tactile person and he is really soft.
Hmmm. Six random things about me and I really do seem crazy.
It's been so long since I signed in. There was a question for a minute whether I would even remember my password. Inspired tagged me and since I clearly can't come up with anything worth writing about on my own decided to play.
Six random things about me:
1. I am a germaphobe. For the past month a co-worker has been walking the halls coughing like a TB patient. I have a really hard time touching anything she comes in contact with and have been working up the nerve to tell our office manager I think she should take a medical leave of absence until that nasty cough goes away.
2. My closet looks like a war zone. When I want to find a pair of shoes I have to dig through piles and piles to find a pair. I try to straighten it every once in awhile but it always goes back to looking like a bomb went off.
3. I also almost never clean my purses out. Essential things like wallet, keys, phone and lipstick are moved from purse to purse that is filled with receipts, business cards of people I can't remember meeting but won't throw away in case I ever need to contact:
The Wine Society of Texas
Embark Landscape Services for a Certified Arborist
Cheryl Polson- Self proclaimed Master of Dreads/Locks
Sales Manager (Oilfield)
Spectra Energy- Team Lead Communications Services
Columbia University- Assistant Professor School of Social Work
There also must be a pound of pennies in each purse.
4. When I was really young I stepped into a huge ant pile and had bites from foot to knee on one leg. My parents wanted to put a baking soda paste on the stings but I wouldn't let them so they renamed it "Surpise" and I did.
5. I have fat feet. Shoes have to be as wide as snow shoes to fit them. My toes are like sausages.
6. I sleep with a stuffed cat named "Cat Man Dude" because I am a very tactile person and he is really soft.
Hmmm. Six random things about me and I really do seem crazy.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Happy Valentine's Day!!!!
This is the woman who stole my heart over ten years ago:
This is the dog that stole my heart almost nine years ago:
This is Lucy who wants to rip my heart out for putting the catnip mouse on her:
This is the woman who stole my heart over ten years ago:
This is the dog that stole my heart almost nine years ago:This is Lucy who wants to rip my heart out for putting the catnip mouse on her:
This is a new addition to our happy home who has a big, soft place in my heart already:
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Day One (Again)
We cheated last night. A cigarette or two but I’m not going to beat myself up about it because this is day three after all and one or two is still twenty-eight or so less than normal. I packed what I call my “substitute cigarette” bag this morning with snacks galore. If I so choose I can eat yogurt with Grape Nuts, popcorn, Cheetos 100 Calorie Snack Pack, fresh cherries, celery sticks, baby carrots or Gummy Bears. Oh, or pastachios. Frightening isn’t it? I also clipped back on the pedometer to see if I will make the goal of taking 10,000 steps today. Hard to do in an office environment, here it is 3:30 p.m. and I have 6,382 steps to go.
The really great thing about quitting this time is Carrie and I are really trying to do this together. We laugh about how much we want a cigarette. We went to a party last night and upon realizing that we arrived way too early to make an entrance we decided to stay in the car and “fake smoke”. Carrie offered me a drag of her invisible cigarette but I turned her down, preferring instead to fake smoke a whole one of my own.
So here I am back to square one on this nicotine free, smoke free, tar lung free quest. Wish me luck.
We cheated last night. A cigarette or two but I’m not going to beat myself up about it because this is day three after all and one or two is still twenty-eight or so less than normal. I packed what I call my “substitute cigarette” bag this morning with snacks galore. If I so choose I can eat yogurt with Grape Nuts, popcorn, Cheetos 100 Calorie Snack Pack, fresh cherries, celery sticks, baby carrots or Gummy Bears. Oh, or pastachios. Frightening isn’t it? I also clipped back on the pedometer to see if I will make the goal of taking 10,000 steps today. Hard to do in an office environment, here it is 3:30 p.m. and I have 6,382 steps to go.
The really great thing about quitting this time is Carrie and I are really trying to do this together. We laugh about how much we want a cigarette. We went to a party last night and upon realizing that we arrived way too early to make an entrance we decided to stay in the car and “fake smoke”. Carrie offered me a drag of her invisible cigarette but I turned her down, preferring instead to fake smoke a whole one of my own.
So here I am back to square one on this nicotine free, smoke free, tar lung free quest. Wish me luck.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Day Two and Counting
Carrie and I have been away for the past week. A nice relaxing trip to the mountains filled with good food, laughter, stories, jokes, cocktails, cozy fireplaces, snow, sledding and shopping. We rang in the New Year with the knowledge that when we returned to reality we would quit smoking (again). We were supposed to come back last Wednesday but decided to stay an extra three days. I can’t help but wonder if it was a subconscious effort to put off the inevitable promise we made to ourselves.
Here we are however, day two of no smoking. This time around has not been as hard as the last. In lieu of cold turkey we decided to give the patch a go (again). We woke up yesterday with patches on the bedside table, urgently sticking them on lest we begin to crave a cigarette in our first three minutes of being awake. As on any other Sunday we went downstairs to have coffee and read the paper but that was not about to work. Sunday paper reading/coffee time is when we would sit and smoke. And smoke. And smoke. Then after the paper was read and we drank enough coffee to shake like leaves we would settle in for a trashy television marathon and you guessed it, smoke.
Yesterday was an entirely different animal. Most of the paper went unread as we took the Christmas tree down, rearranged furniture in the living room, cleaned out the fridge, did laundry, went to the grocery store for low cal snacks to satisfy our oral cravings, bought work out clothes (because we know we will feel so much healthier sometime soon) and generally did anything to keep our minds off of smoking. A couple of pluses to this non smoking thing:
1. We can sit inside restaurants instead of freezing our butts off on the patio just so we can smoke.
2. Our clothes don’t stink.
3. Our house doesn’t stink.
4. Our lungs just might heal before either of us gets lung cancer.
5. Next New Years we might be able to walk down the driveway at high altitude without feeling like we need an oxygen tank.
Hopefully this will all stick and we will both kick the habit for good. I hate setting myself up for disappointment so all I will say at this time is I’ll try.
Carrie and I have been away for the past week. A nice relaxing trip to the mountains filled with good food, laughter, stories, jokes, cocktails, cozy fireplaces, snow, sledding and shopping. We rang in the New Year with the knowledge that when we returned to reality we would quit smoking (again). We were supposed to come back last Wednesday but decided to stay an extra three days. I can’t help but wonder if it was a subconscious effort to put off the inevitable promise we made to ourselves.
Here we are however, day two of no smoking. This time around has not been as hard as the last. In lieu of cold turkey we decided to give the patch a go (again). We woke up yesterday with patches on the bedside table, urgently sticking them on lest we begin to crave a cigarette in our first three minutes of being awake. As on any other Sunday we went downstairs to have coffee and read the paper but that was not about to work. Sunday paper reading/coffee time is when we would sit and smoke. And smoke. And smoke. Then after the paper was read and we drank enough coffee to shake like leaves we would settle in for a trashy television marathon and you guessed it, smoke.
Yesterday was an entirely different animal. Most of the paper went unread as we took the Christmas tree down, rearranged furniture in the living room, cleaned out the fridge, did laundry, went to the grocery store for low cal snacks to satisfy our oral cravings, bought work out clothes (because we know we will feel so much healthier sometime soon) and generally did anything to keep our minds off of smoking. A couple of pluses to this non smoking thing:
1. We can sit inside restaurants instead of freezing our butts off on the patio just so we can smoke.
2. Our clothes don’t stink.
3. Our house doesn’t stink.
4. Our lungs just might heal before either of us gets lung cancer.
5. Next New Years we might be able to walk down the driveway at high altitude without feeling like we need an oxygen tank.
Hopefully this will all stick and we will both kick the habit for good. I hate setting myself up for disappointment so all I will say at this time is I’ll try.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)