Reading More Into It

2010-04-14T14:28:00.000-07:00

The Lotus Eaters ~ Tatjana Soli

Oh how this book took me by surprise and hooked me in. I have always enjoyed stories set in Vietnam. Must come from being a Vet's daughter. I loved Nelson DeMille's Up Country and spent much of the book calling my father to ask if he had been there, done that. This book was an accident. I literally tripped over a review flipping through a magazine. It sounded interesting so I downloaded it to my Kindle. The rest they say is history. I have been up way too late the past two nights absorbed by the characters and story. The writing is so visually smart it is like watching a movie. In fact I feel sure we will see the adaptation on the big screen one day. I am glad Soli began with an older, wiser Helen then moved back through time. The younger, less seasoned Helen can be a bit annoying. I am only half of the way through it but look forward to reading more tonight.

2010-04-13T13:15:00.000-07:00

I miss this cat so much I feel as if there is a physical hole in my heart that one could look right through. What made him perfect?

How cute he was when we first brought him home...hiding under the bedside table every time we walked in his room, sleeping spread out across my neck, bathing my face in the middle of the night.

He became such a dog lover... grabbing Isaac's face and licking him, curling up in the smallest of balls with his back touching Isaac's sleeping body, meowing like crazy when the dog returned from anywhere no matter how short an absence.

Some of his favorite things:
Chasing anything that moved. Stalking birds. Rolling in dirt and sand. His fuzzy blanket on his red chair. His donut bed upstairs. Jumping out from behind clothes while you try to get dressed in the morning. Beating up his older sister. WET FOOD! Cat nip.

I know one day these memories will fade and I will think of him fondly without obsessing on every detail but it is too fresh now. So be warned: you do not want to ask me how I am doing.

2009-03-15T16:56:00.000-07:00

From John Updike's "Spirit of '76"

Be with me, words, a little longer; you
have given me my quitclaim in the sun,
sealed shut my adolescent wounds, made light
of growing troubles, turned to my advantage
what in most lives would be pure deficit,
and formed, of those I loved, more solid ghosts.

Don't know why but those words hit me and stuck. Love them!

2009-03-10T19:33:00.000-07:00

Go Speed Racer

When I got home today there in my garage with the sweetest card was this:

And the card that was on top of the seat was the sweetest ever. Extra bonus....

A Bell!!!!!

2009-03-09T15:58:00.001-07:00

A Not So Drinkin Drinkin Song

On a walk this evening to blow off some steam (and try to forget about how badly I wanted to immerse myself in a cocktail to forget about my day) this song came on my iPod. Yes I know not all of the words apply but if you knew how I felt right now you would know how much this song meant to me while I walked. Thanks God for sending it to me. I needed it now more than ever.

I'm learning how to live without you in my life.
I'm learning how to live without you in my life.
I'll take the best of what you had to give.
I'll make the most of what you left me with.
I'm learning how to live.
They say the best is still yet to come but the taste of you is still on my tongue.
I can't forget and I won't even try to erase your image and the way you made me cry.
I'm learning how to live.
All I have left is this dime store ring but I wouldn't trade it for anything.
The days ahead will never be the same.
For you I might have even changed my name.
I'm learning how to live.
I'm learning how to live without you in my life.
I'll take the best of what you had to give.
I'll make the most of what you left me with.
I'm learning how to live.

Lucinda Williams

2009-03-05T20:00:00.000-08:00

Of Detox and Disappointment

Last Friday was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Or shall I say the hangover that broke my spirit. Carrie did some research and found a place in Houston that helps alcoholics like us but out patient. They also do so without a higher power (I have always had a problem with AA claiming your higher power can be door knob or whatever you choose. When was the last time you went to the First Church of Knob on a Sunday?). What led us to this conclusion? Or better yet what led me because if there is one thing I know it is I am only accountable for myself and no one else. As those well thought out magazine articles pushing the latest drugs say if you have one or more of the following symptoms you have a problem:

1. You sleep (translate pass out) on your couch more nights than you do in your bed.
Sure your friends see you drink 6-8 drinks during happy hour but do they see you down the other 6-8 at home?
2.You alternate liquor stores because you are too embarrassed that you were just there for a JUG of vodka two days prior (you are welcome children of my local liquor stores for those quality educations I am paying for).
3. Have you become a master at pretending you remember a conversation you had the night before. Smiling, shaking your head and hoping to God the other person will give you the slightest clue as to what you said.
4. Fighting in public with strangers. After all this is your party and you will yell if you want to.
Waking up naked with your clothes in a pile next to the bed. Or better yet waking up in the closet naked with a friend trying to console you because you forgot how you got there in the first place.
5. Mystery bruises.
6. The first thing you grab for in the morning is your Clear Eyes not a glass of water.
7. A co-worker telling you that you still have sleepy face but you have been awake for hours. Not wanting to admit that you are swollen from consumption.
7. Breakfast: Diet Coke and a cigarette. Break: cigarette. Lunch: Greasy hamburger, wings, whatever will soak up remaining alcohol. Evening: Repeat steps 1-8. Morning: repeat steps 8-10

Such was my life when I walked into this program on Friday. My own personal Dr. Drew (I won’t name names until permission is granted) went through the program. No higher power, no group whine sessions (I am not knocking AA but for some this makes us more uncomfortable). Just a simple medical based detox that if we follow for one year, God willing, we will be able to beat the beast.

Like a dead man walking we decided to take the weekend to fulfill those last three wishes. The genie in the vodka bottle granted us a margarita, a few (term used loosely) vodkas, and our favorite mimosa on Sunday.

The program started Monday. Take your blood pressure in the morning. Don’t expect too much as there is still alcohol in your system driving your vitals. When the blood pressure and heart rate begin to sky rocket take a small dose of Valium to replace the effects of alcohol. So far so good. I can tell you that Monday at work was one of the few days in a long time I have been less uptight than a long tailed cat in a room full of rockers. That night was great. Except I couldn’t sleep despite the prescription of a sleep aid. This is nothing new since I really couldn’t remember the last time I slept completely through the night.

Tuesday was good in the morning but as is typical around 3:30-4:00 I start thinking where are we going to dinner. I sure would like a drink after work. Another Valium and the craving was for the most part sated. However that night my partner in this endeavor drank and the more I watched her drink the harder it was for me to convince myself that just one wouldn’t hurt. It doesn’t mean I’ll go back to the way it was before. It only means we slipped. I called my counselor who explained that he knew it was hard but to stick to the program. Let the Valium replace the alcohol until the detox stage is over. I did so and made it through. Proud!

Wednesday. We had dinner plans with friends who have been out of town for quite awhile. We had not wanted to tell them over the phone so arranged to meet for dinner. We arrived on the front deck and took a seat. Realizing they were late we called at which point they informed us they were on the back deck and to grab our drinks and come on back. If this were Deal or No Deal I would have gone for whatever case was marked that we would come out back with our typical vodka sodas. We didn’t. Carrying nothing but an ice tea and a water we calmly sat down to two very bewildered stares. It was time to let the cat out of the bag. What amazes me most about this process is just how supportive every single one of our friends has been and continue to be.

You know you have made the right decision when not one person says “I didn’t think you had that big of a problem.”

So here we are on day four. Four days I almost went without a drink but tonight I had two cocktails. Sure it is approximately 10 less than normal but still I have disappointed myself. Tomorrow is a new day and I will climb back on that horse. I will get back in the saddle, place my feet firmly in the stirrups and jump any hurdle that comes my way. My horse? Not only is it my sobriety but it is the backs of all the friends I am relying on to get me through this difficult time. Lucky for me I will be riding champions (all of them).

2009-01-28T13:38:00.000-08:00

Ranting

Since I listed my top ten favorites that begin with “R” yesterday. I have decided to reverse the process and list my ten least favorite things that begin with “R”. So again here goes….

Race Card- I don’t like this expression. Nor do I like how often it is attached to something for which it doesn’t apply.

Red Lipstick- Notice I said red. Not a nice cabernet color. Red. Bright red. Very few women can pull this off yet so many think they can.

Running- This probably has more to do with my pack a day habit rather than the act itself. Or it could be that I run like a dork. Think Forrest Gump with braces.

Rap- Sorry if you are a fan of this genre but I really don’t see anything redeeming about it and as for those people who pull up next to you at a stop light and vibrate your car with their music- F_ _ _ Off!

Riding in the Back Seat- I can’t think of too many people who like this one. I tend to get sick.
Republicans- I love a few but hate their politics.

Running Late- I have a few friends (who will go unnamed) that could not get to an event or appointment on time if their lives depended on it. To me it shows a lack of respect for other people.

Raisins- Yep, I know. Nature’s Candy and all but they give me the creeps.

Roaches- Again, I can’t think of anyone who likes these. They are so gross and to think they will outlive us in a nuclear war.

Rate of Return- I don’t always hate this one but with current market conditions and my job ROR’s have been a thorn in my side of late.

2009-01-27T11:15:00.000-08:00

Rolling With It

Alison assigned me the letter “R” at dinner last night. The challenge is to name my ten favorite things that start with the letter “R”. So here goes…

Reading – Anyone who knows me knows this is a given. I read constantly. I love books. They are an escape you can find no where else. Many friendships have bonded over books including my friendship with Alison so it’s fitting this is number one.

Riding- If they weren’t so expensive I would have ten horses (also if I didn’t live in the city and had a place to keep them). There really is no better smell than the smell of horse sweat. When I had my last horse I would love to bring her blanket home, rest it on a chair in the bedroom and sleep so soundly with that sweet musty smell.

Ruining Surprises- This is a fault of mine but one that I love to do. I can never give a gift without spoiling the surprise. It’s always “Want a hint?”, “Want to open it early?”, “Want to shake the box?”, Want to guess?”. So sad but it is true. I must work on this one.

Rubbing Bellies- I am an equal opportunity belly rubber. Whether my victim is canine, feline, bovine or equine bellies make me crazy. Unfortunately my own belly has become big enough to get a good rubbing now and then.

Rain in the Summer Time- The smell of ozone as the rain is moving in. The smell of freshly moistened concrete. The sound of raindrops hitting the window. Or at the ranch when you can sit under a tin roofed porch listening, the smell of fresh hay and grass mixing with the rain.

Rodrique- I love George Rodrique. I love his Blue Dog series but most of all I love his Cajun series. For my birthday one year Carrie bought me a signed print he did of his son holding up a fish wearing a Kiss Me I’m Cajun t-shirt. It hangs in our dining room. A dream vacation is to go on his river boat tour.

Rice- I could get very Bubba Gump on this one. Rice with butter. Rice with Shrimp Etoufee. Rice with meatballs and Cream of Mushroom soup. Rice with round steak. Rice with anything really. But no brown rice. It tastes weird.

Rising the Corporate Ladder- I am currently only a few rungs up but can see the top from where I stand. This is a major goal in 2009. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

Rolling in Dough- See number 8.

Reeling with Laughter- There is no better feeling than the kind of laugh that makes tears roll down your face. One of the things that cements Carrie and I to one another is the ability to laugh with each other and often.

2009-01-14T11:40:00.000-08:00

Wicked Wintry Weather Leaving Me Wary and Warm

I should know better living in Houston for 30 years. When the weather man says it will be 34 degrees in the morning he doesn’t mean it will be 34 degrees in the afternoon. This morning however I woke up and as if preparing for battle put on thick black tights, fully lined wool pants, an undershirt and a big fluffy 100% wool turtle neck sweater.

First cigarette this morning ~ thinking how smart I am to have dressed for the weather.

Second cigarette at lunch ~ thinking it is a bit warm in the sun.

Cigarette just now ~ WTF was I thinking?

This leaves me with a decision to make:

1. Tough it out and sweat out every liquid in my body.
2. Scare the hell out of my co-workers by finishing the day in nothing but an undershirt and tights.

2009-01-07T13:06:00.000-08:00

Time Warp or Twilight Zone?

It all started with an acquaintance of a friend who said; “Sure, come on down to the beach for New Years Eve. We have two rooms. One has a queen bed the other two full beds. It’ll be fun. I might not be here because I may be at my husband’s house.”

And so began our plans for New Years Eve. Six of us were going. I agreed to get the food. Football food. Hangover food. Chips, salsa, spicy crackers, pre-cooked shrimp and flank steak. All the fixings for a lazy New Years Eve at the beach. Friends brought breakfast casseroles, cards, booze, champagne, sketch pads and magazines. We were ready.

On NYE we piled into two cars and made the hour and a half trip to the beach. Stopping off once to purchase $200 worth of firecrackers. Talk about kids in a candy store. We went hog wild. Artillery shells in different colors? Check. Chickens that shoot sparks out of their ass? Check. Sparklers in three colors? Check. Big and small bottle rockets? Check. You get the idea.

Arriving at the beach we were so excited. We began unpacking as our hostess showed us around. Bedrooms? Only one with an unmade queen size bed. The other beds? Futons in the living room. Okay we all thought, the sleeping arrangements aren’t what we thought but we can roll with this. As we were getting to know each other our hostess poured herself a big old glass of vodka on ice then added just a splash of soda. Apparently she was not going to let any mixer get in her way. As the night progressed we saw her pour about fifteen more of these each one increasingly light on the soda. The next morning our friends found six of these drinks forgotten in various places.

With the sleeping arrangements settled it was time to turn off Casablanca on the t.v. and put on some football. Football? Our hostess informs us that she has Direct TV but cuts it off in the winter to save money. Huh? What? Carrie at this point had just enough liquid encouragement in her to inform the room “THIS IS BULLSHIT! What do mean they don’t have TV?”. We know at this point we are at DEFCON 1 so we suggest Carrie come to the beach with us to set off fireworks.

A few collisions between Carrie’s ass and a sand dune later and we had her properly planted in the sand so we could proceed into pyrotechnic nirvana. Amazingly it all went well. This despite one of our party not being familiar with Carrie’s stages of “tipsy” handing her a lit bottle rocket which she proceeded to shoot a foot or two just above a box of the unlit firecrackers.

With the smell of sulfur lingering on our clothes we went back to the house. Carrie by this time has forgotten there is not t.v. and is continually asking us to put the game on. Instead (and this is where I started pouring my own drinks a might stronger) our hostess puts in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It is her favorite and she knows every word. Just after The Time Warp (which we all danced in the living room- how could you not at this point?) she plops into a chair then proceeds to plop right out of it onto the floor.

At this point Carrie is “napping” on a futon in the living room. The neighbors have come over to visit and another friend is making one of them recite the Whataburger commercial convinced he is the voice of Whataburger. Still another friend who flew in from Paris has retired to the bedroom. And that my friends is how I ended up in bed, legs wrapped around and snoring contentedly with a French man as the clocks ticked towards 2009.

In all this was one of the funnest, funniest New Years Eves I have had in a long time. Will we be going back? Probably not. Or at least until The Rocky Horror Picture Show DVD spontaneously combusts and Direct TV is installed year round.

Disclaimer: Friend of hostess had no idea what she was getting us into. Said friend is off the hook for any and everything that happened. No worries!

2009-01-06T08:16:00.000-08:00

My Own Soapbox

For Christmas my co-worker and friend gave me the book “Pure Soapbox” by Kimerlie Dykeman. The tag line reads “…. a cleansing jolt of perspective, motivation, and humor”. There are 65 small inspirational entries to the book and I intend to read one daily as a motivator rather than plow through all 65 in one day as I would with any other book.

Today’s entry was on Enthusiasm with this great quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson:

“Enthusiasm is one of the most powerful engines of success. When you do a thing, do it with your might. Put your whole soul into it. Stamp it with your own personality. Be active, be energetic, be enthusiastic and faithful, and you will accomplish your object. Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.”

This was perfect for today. I awoke this morning with so much enthusiasm for a new year. Yes, I know it is the sixth but what can I say I’m a procrastinator. So far today I have tackled waking up early, playing with my cat, loving on my dog, fixing my hair rather than the uniform ponytail, putting on my favorite perfume over a cashmere sweater with one of my favorite scarves. It is indeed a brand new year and I am tackling the breaking of old habits with all of the enthusiasm they deserve. Will I succeed in holding onto this new found enthusiasm? Who knows. Only time can tell but today I will pour my heart into all I do. I know the results will be rewarding. I hope tomorrow’s entry is on perseverance or I am afraid I’ll lose all this enthusiasm then where will I be?

2008-12-24T07:58:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-22T12:01:00.001-08:00

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.

2008-12-19T09:50:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-11T13:49:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-05T11:28:00.001-08:00

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.

2008-12-03T12:04:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-11-14T08:47:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-10-23T13:40:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-22T12:26:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-10-21T14:42:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-05-20T13:03:00.000-07:00

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.....

2008-05-16T06:48:00.001-07:00

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.

2008-02-14T11:31:00.000-08:00

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 a new addition to our happy home who has a big, soft place in my heart already:

2008-01-08T13:31:00.001-08:00

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.

2008-01-07T11:45:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-12-26T19:16:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2007

It was a great time. Grandmother got mean and testy. Laurie's hair has started falling out because of the chemo but she was in good spirits. Morgan is wearing her new glasses like a badge of honor. My dad forgot the ham and had to drive back to Katy to pick it up then back to our house. My mom stayed and visited into the night. Jesse looked great! Ty loved his painting we bought him. My dad loved his kitchen gadgets. All in all it was a great time!

2007-12-21T13:18:00.000-08:00

You’ve Been Talkin’ In Your Sleep

Carrie has been talking in her sleep a lot lately. Mostly she acts as if she is at work, answering phones, taking orders. I try to engage her in conversation but my knowledge of the products she sells is limited so she usually ends up laughing in her sleep at my inability to ask for anything other than a ladder. Occasionally something is so funny in her sleep she will sit up laughing hysterically but by the time morning rolls around she can’t tell me what was so funny.

This morning while we were snoozing, for the fiftieth time, she rolled over and pet my arm. Then she called it a “ham”. A HAM?! That is what I call my thighs when I am feeling fat. Ham comes from PIGS and PIGS are big and fat. I would have cried if I weren’t trying to squeeze an extra sixty seconds of slumber out of the morning. She must pay for the comment however. I don’t care if she was asleep. Only I can call myself a pig, fat, piggy, ham resembling, hog.

2007-12-20T20:41:00.000-08:00

What I Miss

2007-12-19T10:13:00.001-08:00

There’s One Every Year

We don’t send out Christmas cards most years but boy do I love receiving them. Every year there is at least one that is a real doozy. Two years ago it was my grandmother’s announcing she had a flasher at her window and in response bought a “pretty” gun. This year’s winner is from my uncle in Colorado. First let me explain that he is the sweetest man you will ever meet. He is mild mannered until you get him talking about politics or any tenet of the Catholic Church. He is very religious signing his letters “God Bless” or “Peace be with you”. He is everything the rest of this family is not so it came as no surprise to me when I looked through the mail yesterday that he had written us a Christmas card on a postcard he had leftover from a trip he and his wife took this summer. The postcard is from Virginia. Not your traditional Christmas scene but with a traditional Christmas message written in green to the left of the address. I have yet to receive my grandmother’s annual newsletter but if there are any juicy details I’ll be sure to share.

2007-12-14T12:49:00.000-08:00

Happy National Bouillabaisse Day!

Actually it is my birthday but if you look on Wikipedia, you will also find that it is indeed National Bouillabaisse Day. A celebration of a Mediterranean soup or stew. Who knew? I turned 37 today. Here are some interesting (trivial) bits of information on the number 37:

It is a prime number (I am in the prime of my life).
The normal human body temperature is 37 degrees Celsius.
The number of slots in European Roulette (I love roulette).
Thirty-seven is the number of men that Dante Hicks’ girlfriend Veronica Loughran had fellated in the film Clerks (This little tidbit pops up on a lot of 37 sites. I’ve never seen the movie and now I may be too old if this is what it’s about).
Shakespeare wrote 37 plays.
Nixon was the 37th president (He was also president when I was born and the only president to resign from office)
Abe Lincoln was elected to the House of Representatives at age 37 (I work for a company named Lincoln...hmmm)
Amelia Earhart disappeared in 1937.

Enough about thirty-seven, what about December 14th?

In 1903 the Wright brothers made their first attempt at flight at Kitty Hawk on December 14th (I have a photo of Carrie and I on the very site).
In 1959 the Motown Record Label was founded.
Oh, and it is National Bouillabaisse Day. Have a bowl and celebrate!

2007-12-13T07:21:00.001-08:00

My Gift to You

Found this in some old photos last night. Since so few people see this blog I figure I can post it without too much humiliation. Not sure what I was doing but I did come up with a few captions that might work with this photo:

"Why, why must I have mushroom hair?!"

"The Holidays Give Me a Headache"

"My Belly Button is Freezing"

"Please, Please Santa Bring Me an Easy Bake Oven"

If you have any captions let me know.

2007-12-05T13:05:00.000-08:00

South of the Border Torture Order

I keep getting e-mails from Classmates.com to inform me that someone new has signed my guestbook. I don’t subscribe so I have no idea who has tried to contact me nor do I really care since I didn’t have all that many friends in high school. I was the class dork. The girl who never had the right clothes, I never had a Laura Ashley dress or parachute pants. I didn’t stand at the lockers chatting between classes instead I would walk and read from one class to another. So, it goes without saying that I have no idea why anyone would want to contact me twenty years later. Perhaps it is all the buzz about our upcoming twentieth reunion.

Next year we will be gathering again to see what/who/how everyone turned out. I went to my ten year. Morbid curiosity I guess. As we pulled up to the hotel where the reunion was taking place Carrie asked me who my friends were in high school, who was I excited to see again? I could not come up with one single name. She pried some more then finally let out a big sigh and asked “Am I going to the reunion with the class dork?” I had to tell her the truth. We went in anyway where, to add insult to injury, more of my classmates knew her from her mother’s modeling classes or church. Half of them probably forgot I went to school with them and thought Carrie did instead.

I received notification of the twenty year reunion a month or so ago. I mulled it over, obsessively, because I couldn’t decide if I wanted to put myself through another night of humiliation. Today when I received my most recent “guestbook” tease I went back on Classmates to see if there was a reunion update. Our class (or at least the one person brave enough to take the reins of organization) has decided to have the reunion at a Mexican food restaurant downtown. It could not be worse for me. First, I hate smelling like a fried chip when we eat at Mexican food restaurants. Second, I am forced to eat Mexican food approximately three times a week by my cheese/guac/beef addicted girlfriend. It is as if the Fates decided that since everyone really liked Carrie more at these reunions they would arrange for her to have a grand ole time and leave me to sulk in a corner like a wet tortilla chip.

2007-12-04T14:04:00.000-08:00

More Christmas Memories

While we’re on the subject of family and drinking (or family driving us to drink), I have been reminiscing on Christmas nights spent at my grandmother’s house. These days Carrie and I have everyone over to our house to avoid the divorce crawl all over the city to visit each of our divorced parents. We have been having family to our house for the last three years and have become quite expert at getting the food on the table then getting everyone the hell out of the house (although I am usually too drunk to notice what time this actually occurs).

My grandmother used to have Christmas dinner at her house. She cooked the entire meal by herself while the rest of the family found quiet corners to read the books they just received as gifts. Conversation was kept to a minimum at best. After dinner we would all play the latest games we received or our fall back standard, Boggle. I don’t have to tell anyone who knows my family that playing a word game with the whole “PHD/Masters in English” bunch is akin to attending an aerospace engineer’s conference and trying to fit in. Unless you are good. Really good.

We would play at the dining room table as my grandmother did every single dish by herself. She would whistle while she worked except for the frequent interruptions to take a sip or two of wine. By the time the dishes were done grandmother would be loaded and ready to rejoin the group. Problem was she really didn’t know how to play so she would peer over our shoulders and yell out words that weren’t on the dice. When we would yell at her to stop ruining our concentration she would smack her lips and laugh like crazy. It could have been revenge for having to do everything on her own or perhaps just good old fashioned fun watching someone blow their top out of frustration. I don’t know what her reason but it happened every year.

She doesn’t drink as much wine these days. She doesn’t drink any less either but her outbursts have tapered off a bit. As I write this I am reminded of her joining us for Mother’s Day brunch. The waiter filled her wine glass about half way which is pretty standard in a restaurant. My grandmother looked at the glass and said; “I want a full glass of wine. That’s only half a glass”. The waiter chuckled and was about to walk away when I quietly let him know that “She is not kidding. Fill her up”. A decision I deeply regretted when she grabbed me by the waist and told me I was getting fat.

2007-12-03T12:31:00.000-08:00

Ghost of Christmas Past

The holidays are fast approaching. We have only just begun our shopping. I think there are four or five gifts waiting to be wrapped. The remainder is yet to be purchased. Carrie and I stayed home from the ranch this weekend and hung Christmas lights. The weather was 80 degrees when we started which did nothing to put us in the spirit of the season. An hour or so into the process it began raining which really put a damper on any spirit we started with. Just as we were finishing up one of the trees we had just wrapped strand after strand of lights around went dark. We tried every plug, contraption, “three tap” but every time we plugged it in the breaker would trip. In a desperate effort to be done with the whole thing we ended up wrapping new lights over the ones that wouldn’t work. Not a perfect solution but at least at night you can’t see the dead stands.

My mother came by to visit while we were decorating. We were telling stories about all of the “drinkers” in our family. Who passed out in a chair, who holed up in a hotel, etc. Just the thing everyone discusses when decorating to celebrate the birth of Christ. Anyway, she was telling Carrie about a relative passing out in a chair. Mouth open, head back eyes to the sky. Mom was saying no one realized she was passed out at first and everyone kept looking at the ceiling to see what she was looking at that was so interesting. Carrie asked if we took pictures and/or put stuff on her which brings me to the subject of this post.

You see, we are kind of a strange family. We don’t really have any mercy for people who fall asleep during family functions. Before my grandfather died, my mother would bring him to her house for the holidays. She and my stepfather would get him set up in the recliner in the living room and hand him a glass or two of white zin (no taste in wine either). Granddaddy would make it approximately two seconds into gift wrapping before falling dead asleep with his mouth wide open. When we would laugh he would smile in his sleep. This led to hours of fake laughing really loud to see if he would smile every time. He did. Must have been the wine. This one Christmas he fell asleep with his hand in a gift bag full of socks (I know, I know, but he didn’t NEED anything).

The laughing game became a little boring so we decided to take family photos. Carrie was a bit appalled being new in the family and not used to our sick sense of humor. At first she refused to take the photos until we all told her to come on and get with the program. Mom, my stepfather and myself all posed around granddaddy’s sleeping form. We gave him bunny ears. We sat on the arm rests and acted goofy. He never woke up. Every once in awhile I think about that Christmas and it makes me smile to have such a sick, but fun, family.

2007-06-29T07:39:00.000-07:00

Wrapped up a like a........

I want to know how many people get this particular lyric wrong. In Blinded By The Light by Manfred Mann's Earth Band after "Blinded by the light..." what do you/did you think the next line is/was?

2007-06-25T19:45:00.000-07:00

Dog Scramble

It started out innocently enough. The twins (twin heifers that saw Isaac as the perfect target):

Then they decided to aproach him for a meet and greet:

Then we heard the cry "Get Him!!!":

Game was on:

Satisfied they had made their mark, the girls stood smuggly in the lane:

2007-06-06T12:37:00.000-07:00

Diving for Dollars

I haven't felt like writing lately. I didn't really have anything to say and the things I thought about saying I really didn't want anyone reading so this blog has been dormant. That is until today. My father called me a couple of days ago and informed me that my sister is trying to raise funds to get herself to the National Fencing Tournament in Miami at the end of June and would I help. I said sure but she would need to ask me and if he wanted me to solicit the help of friends he better have her write a letter. Who can resist handwritten childlike scribble asking for money? He had her sit down to write the letter and this morning when I got to the office the following was waiting for me:

Hi,
My name is MD and I am raising money to go to the United States national fencing tournament in Miami. I am 9 years old but have qualified to fence in the Y10 epee category because of my point scores in regional youth tournament so I will be fencing against twenty-seven other girls aged 9 to 11 from all across the country.
Thank You for your Help! (emphais on help hers not mine)
MD

I guess she threw that whole I am 9 but competing against older girls because I am so fantastic line because she knows people want to back a winner. I'm glad these girls are aged, it may work in her favor.

The whole experience got me thinking to when I was her age and decided I wanted to raise some money of my own. Mind you my efforts were not for some lofty goal like winning a National tournament. I wanted candy from 7-Eleven and knew the only way I was getting it was paying for it myself. I looked around our apartment and tried to think of what in the world I could sell and get me some candy. My mother's clothes? Probably not a good idea. The dog? Again not such a good idea. Then a light bulb lit up above my big mushroom haired head and I had the best idea. I would paint the oyster shells that made up our patio floor. Who wouldn't want a painted oyster shell?! I set about water coloring the shells one by one. At first I tried doing flowers or something fancy but it was taking too long so I moved on to more abstract form. Stripes I told myself was the ticket.

Once the shells were painted it was time to hit the road and peddle my wares. Without the benefit of a fancy display case and wanting to give my customers the benefit of choosing the painted shell that best suited their personal taste, I cleared off my mother's rolling butler cart. The fanciest shells went on the top shelf while lesser, smudgy shells were relegated to the bottom to be used as replacements when the cream of the crop ran dry. I knocked on every first story door in the complex. I can't remember the response I elicited but I do know it felt good to make my own money. Which I promptly blew on pixie sticks and giant Sweet Tarts at the 7-Eleven.

2007-04-23T07:09:00.000-07:00

Tagged.

Inspired tagged me and I actually had a moment to breathe this morning so I decided to play along. I never imagined it would be that hard to answer in three words only.

01. Where is your cell phone? In my car.
02. Boyfriend/girlfriend? Nine years.
03. Hair? Way too thick.
04. Your mother? Dances with dog.
05. Your father? Wrote a book.
06. Your favorite item(s)? My wedding ring.
07. Your dream last night? Don’t remember.
08. Your favorite drink? Diet Coke.
09. Your dream guy/girl? Married her.
10. The room you are in? Teeny tiny office.
11. Your fear? Getting in trouble.
12. What do you want to be in 10 years? Successful, thinner, happy.
13. Who did you hang out with last night? Friends.
14. What are you not? Wanting to work.
15. Are you in love? Very much so.
16. One of your wish list items? Country cottage.
17. What time is it? Three After Nine.
18. The last thing you did? Called my boss.
19. What are you wearing? Work clothes. Ugh.
20. Your favorite book? Too many. Wildfire?
21. The last thing you ate? Gouda orzo.
22. Your life? Work to play.
23. Your mood? Ever changing.
24. Your friends? Funny, caring, supportive.
25. What are you thinking about right now? Going home.
26. Your car? Cups, Cans, Paper.
27. What are you doing at this moment? On hold.
28. Your summer? Cows, farmer tan.
29. Your relationship status? Told you. Married.
30. What is on your TV screen? Ask the dog.
31. When is the last time you laughed? Last night.
32. Last time you cried? Saturday morning.
33. School? Miss Spring Break.

2007-04-10T18:45:00.000-07:00

Baltimore Bound

I don’t know if I ever told you this but there was one arrangement at my grandfather’s funeral that touched me most. The chapel in Colorado Springs was small and impersonal. Only a few friends and family attended. A snow storm blew through the night before; the entire world wore a bright white blanket. There, next to the open coffin, was an upside down horseshoe covered in Black Eyed Susan’s.

Later as Carrie and I waited to leave for the airport my grandfather’s friend told me why he chose that particular arrangement. Years and years ago he went to the Preakness Stakes with my grandfather and grandmother. They had a table in the stands where they sat drinking, anticipating the race. My grandfather, a liquor distributor at the time, saw some friends of his and went over to talk to them. He came back to the table, turned to his friend and said “Those are some friends of mine and you are going to watch the race with them. At the finish line”. This friend never forgot that day. That moment in a lifetime of moments stuck out. When my grandfather died, the Black Eyed Susan arrangement was a natural tribute to the man he knew.

Before my grandfather’s coffin was closed, a Kentucky quarter and a fifth of bourbon was placed in his pocket. Call it lagniappe to get him through to his final resting place. A fitting gift indeed for the man who watched as Secretariat crossed the finish line to win the Triple Crown. A man who was always up for the races no matter what time of day or night.

May 18th I will be flying to Baltimore with my stepmother who is taking me to the Preakness Stakes. Live and in person. I will see the track, listen to the beat of hooves, and bask in the history that is my grandfather’s. This will be a shining moment. The only thing that will dull it is not having my one and only by my side but she has been understanding that this is the chance of a lifetime. An opportunity to be with my grandfather again.

2007-04-09T14:03:00.000-07:00

Summing Up My Last Few Months

2007-02-06T13:35:00.000-08:00

Cold Sweats Turkey Hell

So Carrie gets nose surgery and can’t smoke. Great time for us to quit right? I’m not sure if the past four days could be described as a great time. Little did I know when I smoked my last cigarette Friday morning at 8:30 a.m. that I was standing at the Gates of Hell. This being my own Divine Comedy (or Tragedy depending what non-smoking personality you are talking to) I have outlined below the results of quitting smoking cold turkey:

Circle One~ Driving alone seems to bring about the worst cravings. When I smoked I would light a cigarette the instant after turning the key in the ignition whether I was driving a block or a hundred miles. Friday, I sat at stop signs and traffic lights wanting to jump out of my window and grab the cigarette casually hanging between the driver’s fingers next to me.

Circle Two~ Cold sweats all night long Friday and well into Saturday. I could not stay awake and slept for almost 18 hours. It was not a restful sleep but a lot like the foggy headed, dizzy sleep you have after a few too many doses of NyQuil. Standing outside myself and surveying my condition I looked a lot like a lifetime special on a junkie.

Circle Three~ Food Glorious Food!!!! My mouth which was used to the motions of sucking on a cig every hour or so has nothing to do. It misses its little friend and has gone in search of any food substitute that might sate the cravings. To avoid having to kick the next habit and keep myself from being the next reality t.v. star, I try to snack on baby carrots and fat free sorbet but Sunday proves too much and eat apple pie ala mode. Biggest Loser IX here I come!

Circle Four~ Nervous energy. This is your body’s idea of punishment / blackmail. You won’t need to rearrange the closet (AGAIN) if you just go downstairs and smoke. The linen closet never bothered you before, so just go downstairs and smoke and quit rearranging the hand towels.

Circle Five~ Life is like a box of……. cigarettes? Everywhere I turn there is a box. Empty. Full. Half smoked. It took some serious will power to take the boxes I had in my purse and put them away. Those were like security blankets ready to soothe me should I fall off the smoke free wagon. Did I throw them away? Hell no! I may still fail at this and cigarettes are just too expensive to keep replacing.

I would love to continue, because believe me this whole life change is consuming me. I am obsessed, but for now I need to walk around the office and burn off some nervous energy before I run downstairs to smoke. One hundred and three hours and counting……

2007-02-05T13:47:00.000-08:00

Who Nose What Tomorrow Will Bring

Carrie underwent her surgery on Friday. All went well according to the doctor. Of course how it went is a pretty relative question? For instance, if you ask Carrie how it went she is liable to tell you that it’s possible the surgery went well as she slept through it all but that the recovery really sucks. She might ask you why those members of the medical establishment who said this would not be painful lied to her. She would probably also go on to say that when they mention they will be leaving “Teflon strips” in your nose you somehow picture a small, flat strip along either side of the septum and never once would it cross your mind that anyone would use the word “strip” to define a thick “Teflon” rubber tube with the circumference of a Big Gulp straw shoved up, sewed on, and effectively holding open your nostrils. No, “strips” make them sound small.

All of the information they give you pre-op stresses the importance of staying ahead of the pain. After her discharge from the hospital, we dropped off Carrie’s prescriptions then I got her all settled at home before returning to the pharmacy to pick them up. Detour to the grocery store for grill cheese fixins, the ultimate sick food and I was back at the house fast ready to whip up a sandwich and administer the first dose. Ah, but the pain Gods had conspired against us so when I got out the prescriptions I noticed the pharmacy had given me someone else’s stuff. A cursory inspection of the primary uses and side effects led me to the conclusion that yes, I would have to go back to the pharmacy because this stuff would in no way begin to ease Carrie's pain and that someone in our neighborhood has a very nasty rash.

The rest of the afternoon went smoothly. Carrie mostly nodded in and out of a pain induced sleep. The post-op directions I was forced to sign as her caregiver for the next 24 hours AND the pre-op instructions on what to expect said that saline nasal spray should begin “the day after surgery” but Dr. Carrie did not think this could be right so began spraying a full 24 hours early. Nothing bad happened but I write this because it goes to demonstrate again how different we are when it comes to following the advice of an authority figure. Carrie is her own authority figure where as if I were to start spraying harmless saline up my nose early I would need to be rushed to the emergency room before nightfall as a result of a massive anxiety attack that I broke “the rules”.

Sometime around 4:30 a.m. Saturday, Carrie asked if I would help her get set up downstairs on the couch because the pain was just simply too much for her to bear and the two doses of painkillers she took in the night weren’t working. I gathered her pillows, her tissues, her water with the bendy straw hanging over the top and her bottle of pills. Walking down the stairs I noticed the label said Levaquin not Hydrocodone. Hmmm? Side effects of Levaquin (as published by our friendly neighborhood give-your-prescription-to-someone-else-and-let-them-know-your-deepest-secrets pharmacist) are joint pain and severe headaches. The two very symptoms that had kept Carrie awake all night and had me up at 4:30 a.m. helping her move positions. So much for staying ahead of the pain.

It’s Monday now and although she isn’t feeling much better, her nose is starting to look better. Wednesday they will remove the “strips” and hopefully she will be able to breath a lot easier. Tomorrow I’ll try to share some words of wisdom from the seven circles of trying-to-stop-smoking-cold-turkey hell I have visited this past weekend.

2007-01-29T12:49:00.000-08:00

Telecrack

At my annual conference last year, I stayed in my hotel bed late one morning trying desperately to recover from the new town, new bars jaunt of the previous night. Replacing my Lifetime mindless television ritual on days like this one was a “24” marathon on TBS. I watched episode after episode until I eventually crawled to the bathroom to clean up before our afternoon session. Six episodes into it I realized this show is great!

I came home with a new love for Jack Bauer and his Jack Ryanesque abilities. I NEEDED to see the whole season. I NEEDED to know what happened before and after those six hangover soaked episodes so my father gave me the season one box set. Home from work one day with all the motivation of a sloth I popped in disk one. Eight hours later when Carrie got home I was on disk four with no end in sight. How could I stop now in the middle of the season? What would happen to Senator Palmer? What would happen to Jack’s family in particular his stupid daughter Kim who has an incredible knack for making the worst decision in any situation?

It didn’t take long before Carrie became just as hooked. Our normal lights out, in bed at 9:30, her snoring beside me as I increase the volume on the television routine turned into a stay up until 10:30 so we can squeeze in one more episode of our “24” marathon. We started watching it religiously and when that season was over we immediately started talking about our next fix. Should we watch season six which was just beginning on Fox? Should we go in order? Would it matter? For the love of God what happens next!

Yesterday we went and bought season two and three with the intention of watching them while Carrie recuperates from her surgery this weekend. Any gamblers want to make a bet on how long those precious boxes were in our house before we popped that baby in the DVD? We were like crack addicts that had just been handed a twenty dollar bill. Four disks later it was lights out at 11:00 (a new record on a school night). If you haven’t watched “24” but need a new vice let us know. I’m pretty sure by the end of the weekend we’ll be ready for season four and five. Like a pusher on the school yard, I say “Try it. You’ll like it. Trust me”.

2007-01-18T14:57:00.000-08:00

This Will Go Down on Your Permanent Record

From my e-mail a few minutes ago (which was copied to both of my bosses, the office manager, and our managing principal):

Jacqui,

Today I noticed you had a candle burning in your office. Please note that this is in violation of the XXXX XXXX Building Rules and Regulations and such devices must be removed immediately. These rules and regulations are set and regulated by the Houston Fire Marshall, Life Safety Bureau.
Non-Compliance of this rule may results in a citation and/or fine.
Please let me know if you have any questions and thank you for making our suite a safer place.

Seriously! I was tattled on and in a very public manner. Oh, don’t think I didn’t consider firing an e-mail back. Something along the lines of:

Sorry about the candle. No questions except did you mean to write “Non-Compliance of this rule may result in a citation and/or fine"? Don’t worry I won’t be e-mailing your grade school English teacher or your bosses because I’m not a tattle tale.

2007-01-17T14:29:00.000-08:00

Snow Day

It is cold here today. So cold I want to sleep, hibernate like a bear, until spring brings better weather. My sister’s school was cancelled this morning but that didn’t stop my father from going into her room and waking her up at 8:30. You see she worries about everything including her highly coveted perfect attendance record at school. When my father woke her this morning she went into sheer panic that she was late for school. Oh the horror!

I was just the opposite of my sister. I didn’t worry about missing school. I worried if it was too soon since my last absence to use the stomach ache, period, food poisoning, or headache excuse. You have to keep track otherwise you are labeled a liar (which you are but just don’t want to labeled as such) by both parents and teachers. I cannot think of one single solitary time we had a snow day when I was her age. Or ice storm day. Whatever they’re calling it on the news.

When I went off to college I had lots of snow days. Not necessarily school sanctioned. These were more self imposed snow days. I know my limits. If there was a class I really liked I would brave the weather to attend. I had this system worked out where I would skip from building to building, entering one side then exiting the other, until I arrived at the one housing my class. I was a sight to behold in fifty layers. Long johns, jeans, wool socks, boots, long john top, long sleeve t-shirt, sweater, coat, gloves, scarf, hat. Not an inch of skin showing means not an inch of frostbite.

Speaking of frost bite, I have never understood people who will purposefully put themselves in this kind of weather and worse. To add insult to injury they chose to add physical exertion to the mix by climbing a mountain where oxygen is in such rare supply and the air is so thin a rescue helicopter can’t even land. Why? I know you will say it is to test their limits, expand their horizons, or the great sense of accomplishment they feel but I will never understand. I am perfectly happy to test my limits by seeing if my feet sting if I go outside barefoot for just a minute in this weather to get the paper. As for my horizons, if there is a new restaurant in town with a big, toasty fire I am willing to expand my repertoire. Oh, and I came to work today despite the temperature so I already feel a great sense of accomplishment. Aim low my friends and you will never disappoint.

2007-01-10T07:50:00.000-08:00

A Light at the End of a Very Loud Tunnel

February 2nd Carrie is having the nose surgery I have long been begging her to have which we’re hoping will reduce her snoring. Okay, maybe I’m the only one hoping it will reduce her snoring. She is hoping it will reduce my bitching about her snoring. I believe the saying is “one less thing to bitch about”. Just so we’re all clear that I am not capable of stopping my bitching all together. There’s not a surgery in the world for that unless you consider euthanasia a surgery.

Although I’m thrilled about the possibility of quiet nights, I have started down my OCD path of aimless worry. What if something goes wrong? What if this doctor is a quack or worse he has an addiction that impairs his ability to perform surgery? What if the power goes out during surgery and no one has checked the backup generators in years? What if she gets an infection afterwards? What will I do when she refuses to call 911 and go to the hospital? These are the milder scenarios I’ve been spinning about but you get the idea.

In addition to the torture inside my head, I think Carrie is trying desperately to think of some of her own. She keeps saying she is doing this for me and that I had better plan to take good care of her post op. I keep trying to lessen the blow by saying telling her not to think of this as doing it for me but about how much better she will breathe afterwards. I have two things going for me at this point. One, there are no bells in our house that she could ring to summon me and two, we did not install intercoms so it is quite possible that someone upstairs could not hear the screams of someone laying on the couch with a drip pad beneath their nose.

2006-12-20T09:09:00.000-08:00

Tis the Season

Ah, another holiday season. As I looked out the window of our office building yesterday it filled my heart with anger to see all those shoppers clogging up my commute home. Must they leave the mall at 5:00 when the rest of us schmucks who have worked all day just want to get home to some Christmas cheer?! Preferably cheer that comes from a bottle with a cork on top.

Speaking of shopping…. who are you people that drag your kids shopping with you? Have you never heard of a babysitter? Great idea bringing them along to clog up the aisles and of course we all love to hear you tell them no less than 1,000,000 times not to touch anything. Lady, if you’re going to bitch at them the entire time why not tie their hands to their thighs with duct tape? It would make the whole experience much more pleasant for the rest of us, not to mention cut down on the copious amount of germs they are undoubtedly spreading from their snot nose friends at school.

When did gift wrapping become advertising? These days stores want to charge you $12.00 to stick paper with their name all over it on your package. Give me the good old days of department store gift wrap departments. You know the ones with their generic boxes wrapped in hideous red and green paper on the wall. “I’d like this wrapped in #14 please” Truthfully, the only stores to get away with this shameless self promotion are Hermes, Tiffany’s and Cartier. Those are classics. Everyone knows the orange, blue or red box but these new guys need to keep their name off my boxes.

Also what is with stores that “run out” of boxes? You knew it was the holiday season. You sell merchandise that needs a box, yet you ordered enough for the first 50 customers? Short people on the giveaways, short them on service (which you do anyway by hiring kids who should have their high school diplomas ripped from their hands), short them on the hottest new toy (what would the season be without a few totally panicky parents) but don’t short them on boxes. Boxes are an essential part of gifts. Without them you have a wrinkly blob under the tree leading everyone to believe you wrap like a one handed chimp.

One way gifts. I am the first to jump at any fun stuff coming my way but I find it incredibly irritating when I get a gift from someone with which I have no relationship. This does not lead to good will. This leads to guilt and embarrassment and I have enough of that in my life. I do however accept these gifts because after all they went to the trouble. I’ll work it out in therapy later. The flip side of the one way gift coin is the “you are new to the family and I haven’t a clue what you like” side. Fun! I have trouble buying for people I know inside and out let alone someone I just met.

If you haven’t picked up on it yet I am gearing myself up to finish our Christmas shopping this afternoon. I thought if I ranted now I wouldn’t have any left when I hit the stores. Time (and the level of champagne left in the bottle in my fridge when I go to bed) will tell.

2006-12-14T11:37:00.000-08:00

Another year older, another year closer to middle age.

Today is my birthday. My thirty sixth birthday to be exact. I am officially closer to 40 than 30 and although I sat and cried as 30 approached, I feel oddly at peace today. Carrie let me sleep in this morning and Isaac crawled in next to me to keep me warm until it was time to get up. Every time I stirred, I heard the soft thump thump of his tail on the comforter. Carrie’s dad woke me up to tell me happy birthday then my mother called as I was pouring my first cup of coffee to sing me Happy Birthday. I made the grave mistake of interrupting her midway through, prompting her to start all over again. Not wanting to endure hours of cheerful singing before I finished my first cup of coffee, I let her roll with it the second time. My co-worker brought me white cake with raspberry icing which is the best breakfast I could have hoped for on my birthday. She also brought me egg nog waffle mix and butter maple syrup. Yum! No, you cannot have her.

So far thirty six is proving to be quite nice. Sure I have had moments when inwardly I think, shit, soon I’ll start with hot flashes, night sweats, hormonal hell, ass sagging, wrinkle accumulation and everything else that comes with age but I’m thinking that is a longer ways off than I once believed. How foolish I was to begrudge aging. With age comes the realization that the older you get the more control you have over your life. Ah, the old control issue. But seriously, I can spend all day on a Sunday in my pajamas doing nothing but watching a Real World marathon and no one can tell me to get dressed. I can watch the entire Grammy Awards and count on one hand (maybe even half of that) how many bands I’ve actually heard of let alone name one of their songs. I officially listen to the oldie station now and can sing along to any Rick Astley tune they play. “Never gonna give you up, never gonna make you cry…” Take that Nickelback! Sure, I still look at current fashion trends and think I wish I were young enough to wear that, but I had my time. Remember boxer shorts over leggings and rubber bracelets? Thank you Madonna. Glad to see you grew out of it also.

The best thing I have received this birthday was a card from Carrie. Yes, she gave me a wonderful, beautiful gift also but this card. This card, this card. Every once in awhile someone gives you a card that is worded so perfectly it brings tears to your eyes. The moment I read her card, standing in our kitchen in my nightgown with barely enough caffeine in my system to function, I realized that I have found someone to grow old with. That makes the aging pill a little less difficult to swallow.

2006-12-11T13:49:00.000-08:00

It’s Not What You Think Moment

It started out with my co-worker innocently fishing for a birthday/Christmas gift to get me. A couple of probing questions that I answered without much thought, then later as I am standing outside his office at the copier he asks me; “Have you ever tried Opium?”

I wasn’t entirely sure why he was asking except that he recently had surgery so I immediately piped up with; “Yes. It was prescribed to me once. Belladonna. Good stuff.”

He looked at me. He looked at me harder then said; “I was talking about the perfume.”

Oh, that Opium. The one they sell without a prescription. I thought you said “opiate”.

2006-11-21T10:49:00.000-08:00

Winston

I think we knew something was wrong when he didn’t come home Sunday night but Carrie and I never imagined the worst. We kept telling each other that, although out of character, in his younger days Winston sometimes went out catting around for a day or so then showed up on the front porch singing for his supper.

Last night while I walked our street, flashlight in one hand, shaking a can of Pounce in the other, our neighbors informed me that another neighbor down the street found our kitty, Winston dead in a driveway on Sunday morning. He was on the losing end of a fight with a wild animal. Sobbing I knocked on the man’s door who found him to ask if he still had Winston. He took him to the SPCA, not knowing it was our cat without a collar to identify him. We tried in the past to get Winston to wear a collar. Early attempts resulted in his getting it halfway off with his bottom jaw stuck until someone got home and helped. Then we tried break away collars which he learned very quickly are easy to break away.

My heart is heavy today. I am sad. I am angry. I want to go home and curl up in a ball and take a nap but I know I will only miss his insistent meowing to wake up and feed him yet again. I will miss the thump of his paws hitting the cabinet each morning when he jumped up to eat. I will miss the dramatic way he would rear up with paws flat on the glass door asking to come in. I would give anything to have him sit next to me on the couch kneading my legs and purring despite the fact that in the past this behavior often sent me over the edge.

I am sure this is all too dramatic for a cat but I really don’t care right now. I am sure I will be better tomorrow and better still the next day but again I don’t care right now. Right now I want to mourn my cat. I want to miss him. I want to cry. If he’s up there in Heaven and I know he is I want him to know he was loved and missed.

2006-11-02T14:13:00.000-08:00

Pandora’s Pill Box

Went to my GP today to see if he could give me something to help me sleep and take the edge off my anxiety. I really didn’t think this was such a big deal in this day and age of a medication for everything and everyone on medication. I hadn’t been to this particular doctor for years choosing instead to hit the local clinic around the corner for common colds and the like. He was my GP through Junior High and High School as well as my grandfather’s doctor after he moved to Houston. In fact, this is the man who had my grandfather briefly committed to a psych ward. How would you like to put that on your family medical history?

He tells me he doesn’t want to prescribe anything until I have seen the psychologist upstairs because he doesn’t want to give me something that in six months we realize wasn’t correct. Okay, but all I really want is something to help me sleep. We’re not talking Lithium or Haldol here just a mild sleep aid. His nurse called the man upstairs and sets me up to go back at 1:30 to see him. The whole thing was starting to have a dream like quality at this point.

I go back at 1:30 sit down with the shrink and let him know I am having trouble sleeping. I haven’t always. In fact, I used to sleep like the dead. He wants more. Do I have mood swings? Yes, but again this not a new thing. Do I drink? Yes, socially and we are very social animals. Family history of depression? Yes, several members, almost too many to count, are currently taking one antidepressant or another. Appetite? Yes, too much of one as a matter of fact, which is one reason I do have to be depressed. Do I think I’m overweight? No, I think I weigh as much now as I did when I finished my first semester of college and quite frankly it sucks. On and on the questions went. Where did we live? Why did my parents divorce? What are their moods like?

At the end of the forty minute speed session he tells me he can’t make a diagnosis without more information. He thinks I may not be a black and white case of bipolar disorder but clearly my universal reference points are skewed. Why is it I have friends who have been prescribed Lexapro, Zoloft, Paxil, Ambien and everything else under the sun when they’ve gone to their doctor with similar problems but I feel like I’m being led by the nose towards a padded room? I just want to sleep but now I’ll have to lie awake wondering if I do in fact have a gray case of bipolar disorder although I know damn well I don’t.

2006-11-01T14:51:00.000-08:00

Maybe I think too much but somthings wrong.......

I’ve been putting off this post for a few days. In fact, I’ve gone over and over it a million times in my head. What do I want to say? What am I feeling? My emotions are all over the map. A friend called Friday night at 12:30 a.m. She was at a bar with her husband and had run into another friend that we haven’t spoken to since March and the last correspondence received was back in July. Friend A was calling to tell us Friend B is now engaged.

The call only lasted about 5 minutes but I’ll be damned if I didn’t lay there in bed for another hour, staring into the dark, thinking how hurt my feelings were that I learned this from a third party. I thought of things we have done together in the past; vacations, sitting by the pool with a stash of cheesy entertainment rags, going out, staying in, births, deaths, holidays and camping trips. I was overwhelmed with sadness that we no longer qualify as friends you would call with news of an engagement.

Quickly I moved on to the why emotions, then the anger and now it’s just this resolve that I/we have been dismissed. Erased. I know this is all part of life, growing together, growing apart but does it have to hurt so bad when it happens? Maybe I am making a bigger deal of it than I should. Can you really be that close to someone you haven’t seen since last December, spoken to since March and e-mailed since July? If you asked me right now I would say no, but give me another few minutes to get back on my emotional roller coaster then ask me.

2006-10-27T08:01:00.000-07:00

Let Me Call You Sweetheart

Yesterday was the anniversary of my grandfather’s death. I did not remember, terrible as I am with dates but my mother reminded me this morning. It was three years ago, on a Friday and my mother called me at the office to tell me to come by the hospital on the way home. I didn’t even know he was in the hospital. I was still getting over the sudden death of my father’s father who died on the 8th. I also didn’t take it too seriously when my mother said this may be the end. Maybe I didn’t want to believe it or maybe I just couldn’t fathom another loss so soon.

Carrie came with me to the hospital. He was in the hospice ward. If you’ve never been in one, hope you never will. They tried to dress it up like a park. A porch swing with fake vines crawling up lattice behind it sat in the hallway. It was a nice gesture but plastic greenery on hospital walls makes the whole experience somehow sadder than the sterile white of a regular ward.

I was not prepared. I don’t think anyone could be prepared for what we saw. My grandfather unconscious with one leg cocked at the knee, every breath rattling like bubbles in a fish tank. I lasted approximately half a minute before running to the porch swing, reduced to great heaping sobs. My mother said she was staying the night. I told her I couldn’t. I don’t have the constitution to watch a loved one die. So I went out and got as drunk as I could. I woke up the next morning to the sound of my mother leaving me a message on our answering machine that he died.

I don’t think about those minutes at the hospital when I think of him. I think of how he always slept under an electric blanket. When I would stay with him I would crawl in under the blanket with him and we would watch The Odd Couple together, laughing our hearts out. He was obsessed with a bargain, clipping coupons weeks ahead of my visits so we could walk to Peoples Drugstore to buy twenty four packs of toilet paper on sale. It was one per customer so I would stand in line by myself with my money and coupon then wait for him to make his purchase after me. When we returned to his apartment we would have to wrestle the new purchases into the hall closet filled to the brim with past bargains.

He loved horse racing. Anyone who knows me and reads this knows that his love for the races is alive and well in my mother and me. The day that Secretariat won the Triple Crown my grandfather and my uncle were there at the finish line. At my grandfather’s funeral I couldn’t help but smile at the horseshoe shaped arrangement covered in Blackeyed Susans. He and Margo, my grandmother, had taken one of there friends to The Preakness Stakes. They were sitting at a table when my grandfather saw some friends of his from the liquor distributing business. He went and chatted with them for a moment then came back to the table and told his friend he had arranged for him to watch the race from the finish line.

My grandfather loved life. He loved cocktail hour, pretty women, dirty jokes and music. One of my favorite photos of us is me sitting in his lap, both of our mouths opened in song. We were performing for anyone in the room. It is a song we sang countless number of times to countless people at countless gatherings. The tune is from “Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you…” but we are singing about a Chevy. “Let me call you Chevy, I’m in debt for you…” I have no idea where this version came from. I don’t know if he made it up or heard it somewhere, but he taught me every word and I loved sitting on his lap and belting out the words, my screechy eight year old voice competing with his.

Wherever he is now he is sipping a tumbler of Scotch, telling dirty jokes to anyone who will listen and singing. One day I will stand at his side and we will do it together but for now I will make due with seeing his face in my own features when I look in the mirror.

2006-10-25T13:47:00.000-07:00

Harder Than a Rubik’s Cube to Figure Out

When I brought the mail in yesterday I was so excited to see cards and a letter mixed in with the junk mail. I opened the cards first as they were addressed to Carrie and me and that way I could read them then pass them on. The letter was, curiously, addressed only to me. More curious was the name and return address was no one I recognized. I opened it thinking it was a piece of mass mail that was printed to look like a hand written letter.

No. Not exactly. It was a letter from a girl I went to high school with apologizing for mean things she said to me SEVENTEEN years ago. She wrote that recent events led her to think about what she did and she wanted to apologize in case she hurt me. I was more than a little shook up. For starters how was I supposed to remember her amongst the 500 or so other students who taunted me in high school? I was the class reading-while-walking-open-about-my-homosexuality outcast. Maybe if she’d poured pig’s blood on me at the prom I would remember her but saying a few ugly comments isn’t going to stick out.

I couldn’t let it go. Who was this person? I got on classmates.com. No photo but her name listed under my high school did confirm that she indeed go to my high school. I googled her. I image googled her. I looked through archives of the local paper by her maiden and married name. No luck. Finally, I called her. She seemed a little shocked that I was calling. I guess other victims of her apologies have received the letter and moved on with their lives in silence feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

I wanted to know what she said back then but she never let on and I was too chicken to ask. What happened isn’t really what’s bothering me. It’s the fact that I can’t even conjure up the slightest guess as to who she is or what she looks like. Or how she got my address for that matter. That’s a lie. I am dieing to know what happened but am also too afraid to ask for fear that memories of my four hellish years of high school will come rushing back. I lived through them once. I don’t think I could do it twice. Still, I’m going to have to find my yearbooks and look her up because the suspense is killing me.

2006-10-24T08:01:00.000-07:00

When Nothing is Black and White Anymore

First came the knowledge that I need to wear magnifying glasses at work and while reading. Then to add insult to injury I am washing my hands at the sink this morning and what do I see? A gray strand of hair staring back at me. Anyone who knows me will ask, how did you see it through the highlights? To this I say, it’s been since July since my last touch up and gray hair stands out against dark roots. Ugh!

I dug out a tuft of hair and separated the offending strand. Pluck! There in my hand was my first gray hair. I held it up to light, turning it this way and that, making sure it was indeed what I thought it was before I rushed out of the bathroom to tell my coworker. She hated to point out with the recent recommendation of glasses and now a gray hair it is time I face my aging. Ugh!

I came back in my office to call my mother. I’m not sure why since she is still laughing and calling me four eyes. She seems to take great pleasure in my age anxiety. This little tidbit of news started her laughing all over again as I sat there on the phone holding up the hair to anything black in my office, willing it to be blond not gray. Mother reminded me that when I was four years old or so she would sit on the floor in front of the couch while we watched television and I would scour her head plucking any gray hair I found. Well now it’s her turn.

The symbol of my rite of passage now rests in an envelope in my desk. I thought about labeling it in the event anyone goes looking for an envelope to send correspondence to an unsuspecting client but I couldn’t think of label that wasn’t too weird. “Jacqui’s First Gray- Do Not Open”. “Personal and Not So Confidential-Do Not Touch”. I’ll need to throw it away before days end but I’m just not ready. First I’m going to call my hairdresser and make an appointment to get these roots done. Any longer and who knows how many of the suckers I’ll find.

2006-10-20T12:40:00.000-07:00

Dilateus Permanitis

Yesterday I went to the eye doctor for the first time EVER. It was a bit like Disney World in that they are constantly moving you from one room to another so you never quite feel like you’re being made to wait. I almost cried when they put the numbing drops in my eye (BEFORE THEY TOUCHED IT!) but I didn’t which I had to remind Carrie of lest she feel the need to further cement everyone’s view of me as a wimp.

I was dreading this appointment because no matter what routine exam I’m going to have I invent 100 different freak accidents that could occur. So when the doctor was walking us to the counter and I asked if anyone’s eyes have ever stuck this way, it was no wonder she looked at me a bit cross eyed.

“Like how?”

“You know. Dilated. They never went back to being undilated.”

“No. Not to my knowledge.”

What you don’t see in the above exchange is the completely mortified look on Carrie’s face that I asked the question or the look of sympathy the doctor gave her when she revealed that I was indeed serious.

2006-10-17T14:40:00.000-07:00

Tootsie Roll Pups

I walked in today to find the equivalent of a Labrador Kegger. First were the guilty faces staring back at me. Then, barely visible over the brown and blond fur, an EMPTY brownie pan. Blood pressure: Elevated. One step into the sun room revealed what was left of THE UNTOUCHED BY HUMAN HANDS pound cake that last I saw it was resting nicely on the kitchen counter this morning. Blood pressure: High. To add insult to injury when I rounded the corner there on the bathroom floor, as if they were looking for a tissue to wipe their choclately, sugary snouts, were the contents of the bathroom trash can. Blood pressure: Somewhere over the rainbow.

As a side note, the photos you are about to see in NO way absolve my dog from guilt. He's just too stupid to look at me with a guilty face!

2006-10-13T19:54:00.000-07:00

LBD

She's sleek and a vixen. My girlfriend and my dog love her but who loves her the most? Her mother who has to keep herself from calling in any 24 hour period to ask how she's doing. Our answer has always been the same: "She's fine. Driving Isaac crazy. Kicking all of the pillows off the couch. Well, tonight we all say see for yourself......

Ed would be proud of the last two. I am personally jealous of how good she looks in my fur wrap. See you next week.
J, C & C

2006-10-08T16:44:00.000-07:00

The Ranch

Carrie and I go to the ranch almost every weekend. We have been doing this for almost the past two years. It is a place full of everything. Hope: every sunrise brings the promise of a new day and an unsurpassed view of cattle waking to the new day to begin to graze. Anticipation: each calf crop brings with it the excitement of speckled babies bedded down in the grass as new mothers stand guard nearby. Love: the love we bring for each other to this environment as well as the love of animals who trust you to feed them and scratch them behind the horns now and then. Trust: they trust us to care for them, we trust them to provide that love mentioned above. Dread: when a calf falls ill and you spend the following days hoping it will make it through. Thanks: for the rain, for the wind, for a cloud covering the beating sun, for fresh air, for the ability to bask in the joy that is the ranch. Regret: I would love to say there is none but at times we all think we waited too late or did too little. As a part of human nature and mother nature I feel the need to include regret although we all try not to dwell on the past. The ranch is the circle of life in its purest, most basic form and every Friday night I am hopeful, full of anticipation, in love, and trusting there will be no dread or regret. If there is I accept that it is the circle of life and we all have to sit back and enjoy what we can. There is also sharing. Share in my experience with the photos below:

2006-10-06T14:27:00.000-07:00

Who Is That Masked Girl?

We are heading out of town this afternoon (again). We worked half the cows on the ranch last weekend saving the really mean ones for this weekend. I thought I should pick up on this blog again since after tomorrow I may be short an arm from one of them slinging their heads in a tight space making future blogging highly unlikely.

Carrie had four new tires put on her car yesterday. She had taken it in for a routine tire rotation and balancing. Routine for A-type anal retentive people like her, rare occurrence for change your oil only when told to people like me. They called to tell her all of her tires had splits in the sidewalls and would need to be replaced. I immediately attributed this to her careless, break neck speed, driving but apparently it was just a defect. The tire man did say however that it could have been really dangerous if she had had a blow out. “Really dangerous” because we would have been going 95 to 100 miles per hour. That is miles per hour not miles per day.

This very scenario is what I think about for two hours and fifteen minutes every weekend on the way to and from the ranch. I imagine the sound of the blow out and then my life flashing in front of my eyes in my final moments. My stomach is a hard ball of wax the entire trip, flipping and turning circles. Carrie says there’s medication for my condition. In lieu of medication she and Alison have also suggested putting a dog mask on my face for the duration of the trip that they found in, thank you, Bark magazine.

2006-09-04T19:03:00.000-07:00

Young at Heart

2006-08-31T13:51:00.000-07:00

Striking Her Silent

From time to time our office receives marketing, promotional items from companies that we deal with. Today we received two large golf umbrellas. My first thought was we could pass these along to a couple of clients who play golf regularly. Then for no reason at all I started thinking that having an umbrella that large on a golf course on a wide open fairway is like having your own personal lightening rod.

Only once have I been on a course when it started raining and all teams were brought inside to the cart barn to wait out the thunder and lightening. I was part of a foursome which included Carrie and two of our best friends at the time. None of us are all that spectacular at golf but our bags contained a full bar so we were happy. After a few minutes of sitting around waiting everyone was getting restless.

The caddy for the course insisted that we did not want to go back out until all threat of lightening was gone. He went so far as to say that a lightening strike was how he lost his own leg. Not one to be taken advantage of easily, one of my teammates told him “Suuure you did. Prove it.” He promptly pulled up one pants leg on his coveralls revealing a metal prosthesis. She turned as red as the Bloody Mary she had been sipping and didn’t say another word. Back on the course we could hear her muttering to herself every time she teed off “Suuure you did. Prove it. Ugh!”

2006-08-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

Times They are a Changin’

My sister turns 9 on Sunday (if you don’t know already she is my half sister and there are 27 years between us). My parents are having what they refer to as the family party that day and then on the ninth she will have another slumber party. The family party consists of my father, my stepmother, my grandmother and me. Sometimes I think he separates the two so he can have two cakes. I feel for my stepmother because my father tends to go a little overboard every year. Year before last he planned make overs, panning for gold, swimming, make your own pizza, and movies among other things as activities for the slumber party. Are kids that much more difficult to entertain these days? When I was ten I had a slumber party but all we did was eat pizza and sit around giggling. No make up, no panning for gold, no swimming. Last year it was rock climbing then swimming then on to the house for cake and ice cream before the slumber party started.

I called her Monday night to see what she wants for her birthday. Last year it was Neopets. If you don’t know, look them up. They are these creepy Pokeymon looking things with the weirdest names and they are hard to find. This year she tells me that she has made a list of movies for family members to buy her. Her friends it seems have another list. So I asked which movies. My dad maintains the family gift list so he got on the phone and gave me the following:

“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”

“The original?” I ask.

“No the new one”

“Shaggy the Dog”

“The original?” I ask again.

“No the new one”

At this point I am beginning to see a pattern and I can honestly say I do not like it very much. These are classics! I guess much like everything else her generation needs more special effects to enjoy. What are we teaching them by over sating their desire to be entertained? I can’t help but think that imagination is going to be loser in the long run.

2006-08-29T12:33:00.000-07:00

Lend Me Your Ear

2006-08-28T15:35:00.000-07:00

Love Letter

Dear Nola,

Sorry to have not written sooner. It’s not that I’ve forgotten you but things have been crazy here this last year. Just after tragedy befell you, we dodged a bullet of our own. I thought of you as we awaited Rita’s visit. We knew we would probably lose power so we started cooking everything in the refrigerator in preparation. I was able to throw together your famous barbeque shrimp. Knowing what it is like to evacuate via water, we blew up all of our pool floats just in case the boats took awhile to get to us again. In the end our preparations were all for naught as Rita chose to visit our neighbors in the East instead.

I am thinking of visiting again for my birthday. I miss your food, your music and your culture. I want to wake up to sounds of laughter outside my window from people intoxicated on your never ending entertainment. I want to sit at Café Du Monde licking sticky, sweet powdered sugar from my fingers. I have thought of having Central Grocery UPS me muffalettas but know that eating them on a bench in Jackson Square cannot be beat. Later maybe we’ll stuff ourselves on oysters at Desire. Last time I visited the shucker behind the counter kept them coming until we finally surrendered, unable to eat another bite.

When I get there can you arrange street musicians to welcome me? In particular make sure the little boy who always stood outside of the drug store in the Quarter is there playing his spoons. Oh how I love to watch him dance and play. If he’s not available don’t worry, I’ll take any jazz or Dixieland band you can find. I promise to be generous with my tips.

I hope the weather is nice because I am really looking forward to strolling through Audubon Park and visiting the zoo. I heard how the animals were lonely for awhile so I am ready to lend them my ear for a few hours at least. When we leave we’ll be taking the streetcar from the Garden District back to the Quarter. I hope that it too is up and running.

Nola, do you remember the time Mom and I brought Uncle Phippy for Mardi Gras? I remember sitting on her shoulders screaming “Mister, throw me some beads”. I remember standing in line at Popeye’s to get free chicken with the doubloons we caught. Mother and I still laugh about her forgetting I was on her shoulders and grabbing at beads on the ground. I thank God that police officer grabbed me before I was crushed by a float.

Now I know you think I have lived in Texas so long I have all but abandoned you but I assure you my roots stretch from my home here in Houston to Zachary, Daddy’s birthplace, to Baton Rouge, the city of my own birth and right to your doorstep. To me you are a bloom on a big Magnolia. Your petals may be a bit bruised and brown by last year's events but you still smell just as sweet. I’ll see you soon.

Love,
Jacqui

2006-08-24T15:21:00.000-07:00

Special Delivery

My magazine arrived yesterday and by the way it did come in a slender, brown cardboard box stuffed full of Holly, Bridget and Kendra. No identifying marks on the return address. No averting my eyes from the mailman every time I see him. First thing I did was plop down on the couch with my magazine on my lap. I was awed by the sheer masculinity of it all, the ads, the music and movie reviews and obviously the pictures. I think the last time I looked at a Playboy magazine I had taken it from the stack my father had under his bed. Safely locked in the bathroom at my grandmother's house, I did a comparison study between my flat as a board body and the buxom blonds. This time I read the articles.

2006-08-23T14:52:00.000-07:00

Ghosts of Friendships Past

Old friends have been visiting me in my dreams. It has happened a few times the past week. I have been racking my brain to figure out what is triggering these visits. Am I repressing a need to relive my past and that need gets its only release when I lose consciousness? I wouldn’t mind so much if these dreams didn’t leave me with the most profound sense of loss the next day when I realize that I truly miss them.

My first ghost was the girl I called my “best friend” for years. Back when everyone had a “best friend”. Back when we weren’t too old to use the expression “best friend”. We met when I was thirteen after she stole my boyfriend and formed a close friendship that continued until I was twenty-five at which point we grew apart. Occasionally we call each other and catch up but ever increasing amounts of time have been wedging themselves between those calls. Before long I fear we will only see each other at funerals. What I miss about her is how well she knew me. It was a bond that had no need for verbal communication.

My second ghost was the opposite. We met when I began seeing Carrie eight years ago and for the first year she didn’t like me. It is always hard when your friends break up to see someone replace one partner or the other and besides, I am not the easiest person to get to know. Our friendship moved in baby steps until eventually we arrived at a comfortable spot. She has a wit that awes me and a sense of style I always envied. We didn’t so much grow apart as she went in a new direction. A journey she didn’t want to take too many of us from her past on with her. I miss her and the little ones she brought into this world. I consider calling but feel disappointed when we make plans that are canceled or changed or only promised that I shield myself from the possibility. Instead I wait to see them in a store or at a restaurant or any number of places you run into people in passing. If I never see them again at least they are visiting in my dreams and I guess that will just have to do for now.

2006-08-22T15:51:00.000-07:00

Weekend Wonders

The Bull Pen

Missing Fatty Lumpkin

Our New Flock

2006-08-21T14:44:00.000-07:00

Snakes in the Water

It is too hot these days to do any big projects at the ranch. Lately we’ve been thinking of a couple of small things that need to be done, things that don’t take too much effort in the broiling sun. This weekend one of our projects was to remove the hay ring that has been sticking out of the pond for the past two months. I was selected to perform the task because I am a veteran in pond retrievals having recovered a skull from its murky water this time last year.

With no rain and the pond at a record low, the water is a greenish brown that you absolutely cannot see an inch into. I stepped in wearing my rubber boots, took a few steps then panic rose in a giant wave inside me. I ran back to Carrie who was waiting on the banks saying, “I can’t do it, I’m scared.” She gave me sufficient encouragement that I entered the water again. This time I tried to throw a ratchet strap with a hook on the end from about three feet away. Instead of hooking the ring, I released the whole thing watching as the strap sank from the weight of the metal hook. Turning around Carrie informed me that now I would be expected to get the sunken strap out as well. I once again retreated to the dry bank to regroup.

My third time in the water I reached the hay ring. The water was up to my chest and I was shaking from fear. My rubber boots were full of nasty water and all I could think was in a second I am going to feel something crawling into my boot. I grabbed the hay ring and started to rock it towards me trying to get it to roll along the muddy bottom. When the first couple of inches were exposed, on the other side of the ring, there were two snakes coiled around the metal staring directly at me. I began running for the banks screaming “SNAKES IN THE WATER! SNAKES IN THE WATER!”, while Carrie for her part started laughing so hard I thought she would pass out.

It took me two more attempts to shake off my fear and the snakes but eventually the task was accomplished. I don’t know if there is any truth to “they’re more afraid of me than I am of them” but at least they had the decency to swim away from me after uncoiling. If anything else goes in that pond it’s going to have to stay there. I am not tempting fate another time.

2006-08-17T10:37:00.000-07:00

Hello from Kampala!

We are opposites. She has a creativity and talent for writing I have never processed. She would write my grandfather poetry books that she illustrated herself with colorful paintings sharing the pages with her words. She is quiet at family gatherings while I consume too much wine and debate with the others. She graduated Princeton last month with highest honors from her department. Five mentions in the official programs. Five! All were properly tagged by her mother for easy identification.

I called her last month to say congratulations on her graduation and to see what we could buy her as a gift. She had not sent out announcements because she doesn’t like to be the center of attention. A friend told me on the phone yesterday when I told her about the lack of any formal announcement, “If I had graduated from Princeton I would have taken an ad out in every newspaper in the nation.” No doubt I would have done the same. That congratulatory phone call was my first real conversation with her. During the call I realized that I had let jealousy come between us for all of these years. I wanted to impress my grandfather the way she did. She in turn wanted to be close to my grandmother the way I am.

She asked for a water bottle to carry fresh water in because she was leaving for Uganda to work with the CDC and World AIDS Organization for a year beginning August. We bought her two and a couple of shirts that are supposed to keep the sweat away from your body. It was more than she asked for but again she is the type who won’t ask. She and I agreed that once she was overseas she would e-mail me every month. I would print them out and mail them to grandmother who refuses to get e-mail and make it easy on us all to stay in touch.

Today I received her first e-mail. Hello from Kampala! is the subject. There was a mix up with her fellowship while she was in Spain hiking the week before she flew to Uganda. It seems the CDC no longer has the funds to employ her but they are working that out so she can stay. While they work it out, she is exploring the city. There are women in brightly colored African dresses carrying plantains and tomatoes and storks which are as common as squirrels resting on top of her apartment building. She feels full of color and sound at the end of each day. I in turn feel full of pride and love for this cousin I have neglected for far too long.

2006-08-14T08:55:00.000-07:00

Reaching an All Time Reality Low

Friday night, as we sat around with a group of friends visiting, the conversation turned to guilty television pleasures. One most unexpected revelation from a friend was her obsession with Dog the Bounty Hunter’s recent wedding. Should she watch the wedding or Rock Star Supernova? Rock Star won out on the logic that the Dog episode would likely be replayed soon. Other favorites among friends included Lock Down: Life in Maximum Security, American Idol, Big Brother All Stars and Intervention.

Feeling safe with the conversation I put it out there that I am obsessed with The Girls Next Door, the reality show chronicling the lives of Hugh Heffner’s three girlfriends Holly, Bridget and Kendra. So much so that I had Carrie DVR all new episodes in the event I miss one and consequently don’t know what’s going on the next week. Carrie groaned when I admitted this but was soon comforted in the sympathizing faces of our friends that she has to put up with me at all.

Last night was an all new episode centered on The Girls second photo shoot for Playboy. I know you would think there would be more but apparently dating Hef doesn’t get you too much special treatment. So I’m watching thinking I must have that issue of the magazine. Why? Not sure but it must have something to do with my absolute fascination with these girls who live with a man my grandfather’s age and seem to really love him. It is a fascination I can’t quite explain myself but it is what it is and I am positive it won’t last like my fascination with all things Asian didn’t last. This obsession is so much more tawdry than wanting to learn calligraphy and wear a kimono. At the end of the episode I found myself online at Playboy.com ordering the upcoming issue. Oh how I hope that sucker comes in a brown paper wrapper.

2006-08-11T12:55:00.000-07:00

When The Mind Takes An Unannounced Vacation

A good friend is having to care for her mother who in addition to a stroke is now suffering dementia. I speak to her every morning and my heart goes out to her as she recounts the previous evening’s events. Fortunate to have parents that are very young, I have not idea what it feels like to care for one of them. What her stories have brought to mind however is memories of my grandfather when dementia settled inside his head like an unwelcome visitor. One who moves all of your furniture and places things out of reach where no amount of searching yields the desired object.

Before we knew Parkinson Disease was taking a neurological toll, we assumed he had gone a little nuts. Common variety craziness is what we thought. He had other thoughts. For a long time he was convinced of the knowledge that the FBI was after him. His crime? Transporting a typewriter over state lines. You didn’t know it was a illegal did you? It’s not. The trash men? My father sent them to spy on him. Why? Not sure since my parents had been divorced for nine years at this point. The smoke detectors in his apartment? Listening devices. He would call the apartment manager to ask that she do something about the residents upstairs who were so obviously spies sent to listen in on his conversations via the smoke detectors.

The first time Carrie met him he showed her his emergency kit. He kept it nearby in the event he had to flee at a moments notice. Inside were the essentials; clean underwear, clean socks and lottery tickets. Yep! He was going to run away from home with nothing but underwear, socks and lottery tickets.

Eventually it became clear that he could not live alone so my mother moved him in with her. She would wake up to him crawling in the dark into her room to let her know “they were out there”. A few times he actually got out the front door before she woke up and convinced him to come back inside to safety. We laugh about it now. Not because it wasn’t serious but because sometimes life throws stuff your way you can’t do a damn thing about. It sucks and you find yourself mourning a person who is living and breathing right in front of you but you know it’s not really them. What was that line in Steel Magnolias? Laughter through tears.

2006-08-07T14:10:00.000-07:00

A Conversation I Would Have Never Had Prior to Turning 30

Her: "You're hungry already?"

Me: "Yes, I'm starving. What are we eating tonight?"

Her: "You have worms."

Me: "I know but not the good kind because I'm not losing any weight!"

2006-08-07T08:17:00.000-07:00

Happy New School Year

The Yorktown News View and the Schulemberg Sticker both published school supply list this week for returning students. What joy it gave me to read through the lists and remember how much I loved buying supplies for back to school. Spiral notebooks with their covers and pages clean. Ready to be filled with class notes, doodles and notes to friends when I should have been paying attention. The smell of No. 2 pencils being sharpened. Brand new colored pencils standing at attention in the yellow Crayola box.

One year my mother bought me a folder with a picture of Nadia Comaneci on the front doing a back bend on a balance beam. Oh how I coveted that folder. Unlike the others that sported stains and drawings, this one remained perfect the entire school year. In fact I saved it for years in my closet. Nothing it in just sitting on a shelf like a shrine.

School supplies embodied hope for a new beginning every year. It was a do over wrapped up in a three ring binder. This year I will make friends. This year I will try playing a sport. This year I will make all A’s. How could I fail with all of these tools at my disposal? Most school years ended the same. I didn’t make many new friends because I was too afraid to make the first move. I tried a couple of times to play a sport always with the same disastrous conclusion. As for the all A’s, never did happen until my fourth year of college. Still I look at these lists of school supplies for kids I will never know and I think how lucky they are to be getting a do over once again.

2006-07-24T14:58:00.000-07:00

The Jury’s Still Out

I don’t know about anyone else, but from time to time I read a book and so relate to the character it feels as if I have found the missing link in our family tree. My long lost twin. You get the idea. So this weekend I started ‘Just Checking ~ scenes from the life of an obsessive compulsive” by Emily Colas and I am starting to have that old familiar feeling.

She:
Worries incessantly about contracting any and every illness.
Won’t eat out for fear someone has slipped drugs into her food.
Drives her husband nuts with her constant worry.

Me:
Have at one time or another believed I have a brain tumor, breast cancer, lung cancer, among other life threatening illnesses.
Will eat out but don’t like my foods to touch on the plate (not one word about "what do you think it does in your stomach?").
Drive Carrie crazy with the fact that if we leave through the front door I MUST click the handle THREE times to make sure it is locked, cannot sleep at night without asking if she has set the alarm (I’ve been really working on this one), and am always touching the tips of my thumbs to each finger's tip then first knuckle. Once the finger tapping has begun it MUST go one full round (all five fingers) then back the opposite direction. Stopping, I am certain, would be fatal.

I am beginning to believe I have OCD but can’t decide if it I really do or if it is just another imagined illness. Hmmm?

2006-07-21T12:26:00.000-07:00

Over The Ledge

My father has at last finished his novel. I finished reading it last night. The really fun thing about reading his book is that I recognize so many of the characters. One in particular was almost my stepmother until she went completely nuts. We’re talking about loony bin nuts here. I won’t mention her name but bear with me while I tell you my favorite episode. The three of us, my father, me and Nutso, packed up for a weekend at Aquarina Springs in San Marcos. It is no longer there but if you visited it as a child you remember it well. There was the old west depot with the dusty saloon that housed the tic-tac-toe playing chickens. You would put a quarter in the slot then push the square you wanted for your X on and the chicken would scratch a square in response. I was much too young to suffer the humiliation that should come from losing to a chicken so this was one of my favorite games. You could also dress up in old west style clothes and take a sepia tone photo next to the long bar. I have one of these to this day that shows my father smiling in a confederate soldier uniform with me sitting on a saddle mounted on a saw horse next to him in bar maid garb, my right hand pointing a small pistol to the sky. In addition to the wonders of the old west there was Ralph the swimming pig and glass bottom boats. Ah, the fun.

So we get to Aquarina Springs and I am busting a gut to get to the chicken. First we check into the hotel and that is when all hell broke loose. I was sent to the bathroom and told not to come out until my father told me. I could hear them arguing so I laid my cheek against the cold tile and tried peeking beneath the door. No going. The room had carpet that elevated over the tile bathroom floor. I made an individual pot of coffee since really there isn’t much else to do sitting in a bathroom by oneself. At last my father opened the door and said let’s go glaring at Nutso sitting on the bed crying.

My father and I exited the building hand in hand when we heard our names being called. We turned around to see if it was someone behind us. No, no one there, but why is everyone looking up? Leaning over the ledge yelling our names was Nutso telling us to look so we could see her jump. My father sprinted back into the hotel as I stood there contemplating if I had enough quarters to get in a couple of mean games of tic-tac-toe before anyone noticed I was gone. I ended up waiting in the lobby watching hotel staff run around in a panic. It was my father who pulled her off of the ledge and dragged her straight back to our room to call someone to pick her up. This was not the beginning of the end but the end of the end. It was but one episode in a long line of insanity that my father had put up with for months. We didn’t wait to see her off but she was still waiting for her ride when we returned. There she was in the lobby with a big old shiner covering one eye that she was telling anyone who would listen my father had given her. He didn’t. She gave it to herself with the handset of the phone in the room. At least this time the police didn’t think he had murdered her but that is another story for another time.

2006-07-20T07:23:00.000-07:00

Jolly Green Lab

2006-07-19T13:55:00.000-07:00

A Musical Collection No Thief Would Bother To Steal

I have found a radio station that plays old rock (well, okay mostly oldies) and have been having a ball while I work. The occupant of the cubicle outside my door must want to throw a stapler at my head but that’s okay because I love some of the songs they play. For instance today I was working on this incredibly boring, long spread sheet that not only doesn’t challenge my brain but I am pretty sure if you took a look inside right now you would find nothing but mush. So, I have my radio at a modest volume listening to my new favorite station when what should come on…… Bad Bad Leroy Brown. I ask you who would be able to resist turning it up and singing along…”Leroy looked like a jig saw puzzle with a couple a pieces gone”! Oh yeah, I was jammin. Then as a follow up they played Cats in the Cradle. What a tear jerker when the dad calls his son who doesn’t have time for him anymore. So, if you are reading this from home be thankful you are not C and married to the biggest musical dork in the world. If you are reading this from work thank your lucky stars you won’t need to use that stapler as an instrument of death.

2006-07-18T14:36:00.000-07:00

What would you do?

Reading this article I have a couple of questions:

1) If you were going to die would you want it quick and painless or drawn out?

2) If Dr.'s and nurses who stayed to care for the ill for four days without electricity in over 100 degree heat are being arrested do you think we could arrest the assholes at the top who left them there in the first place (Brownie? Bush? Nagin? Blanco?) and charge them with second degree murder?

2006-07-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

Walk Tall, Carry a Big Stick, and Scream Real Loud

Growing up in Baton Rouge, my father and I would go bass fishing at my Maw-Maw’s pond. Her nickname would lead you to believe she was of some relation but Maw-Maw was the mother of a boy my father had mentored in Big Brothers. She and her husband, Doc, welcomed us into the family, sharing their lives including the pond on a piece of land they owned close by.

Dad and I would pack up our tackle box, a bucket of worms, our rods, and a cooler then head off in the green Torino. You had to park quite a ways from the pond and walk through thick, tall grass. My father would gather up all of our gear and begin to head off. It didn’t take long for him to realize I was frozen at the edge of the grass, too afraid to proceed. “Come on, Jacqueline” he would say “walk right where I walk.” Thus began my pleading for him to carry me. I was terrified a cotton mouth would bite me if I walked through that grass. I don’t know why I thought the snake would leave him alone and bite me but it made perfect sense at the time.

Back he would walk to where I was standing and explain that it was impossible to carry me and everything else we brought with us for the outing. I could ride piggyback I argued. It was too hot, I was too big and nothing was going to get me in the grass he said but he did have the answer. Sharing with me a word passed down from generation to generation, he taught me how to say “go away snake” in ancient Indian. “Geeeee ya” I screamed walking through the grass. “Geeeee ya”! We never caught many fish and in hindsight it is easy to see why they fled to the cool waters of the bottom when they heard an insane child approaching screaming gibberish.

That was twenty-seven years ago but when I walk through the woods at the ranch I still mutter “geeeee ya” under my breath. It can’t hurt and its kept me alive this long.

2006-07-11T14:59:00.000-07:00

Recently Read

How you see a country depends on whether you are driving through it, or living in it.

How you see a country depends on whether or not you can leave it, if you have to.

I am reading Alexandra Fuller’s “Scribbling the Cat”. The words are hers but I liked them so much and they made me think of really great countryside (here and elsewhere) seen from a car window.

2006-06-30T07:47:00.000-07:00

What’s with this hair on my chinny chin chin?

A month or so ago while driving to work my hand brushed against something on my chin. After further, frantic inspection, I found I had a rogue whisker on my chin. A long, blond, whisker! As soon as I stopped at the next light I yanked down the cosmetic mirror on my visor to inspect the interloper. Yep, it was a whisker where none had been for the past THIRTY FIVE years of my life. Where did this bugger come from? Without the benefit of a set of tweezers in the console I began frantically plucking at it with my fingernails. When the offender was successfully extracted, I sat there holding it up to the light inspecting it as if it were a diamond. Realizing I was not the only car sitting at this light I began to look around to see if anyone was looking. I could not have been more embarrassed if I were caught picking my nose.

For the couple of weeks following my discovery I constantly checked for another unusually long hair on my face. Was this going to become commonplace? Had my hormones gone crazy? Was this the beginning of early onset menopause? How long before I looked like George Michael with his five oÃ’clock shadow? Should I immediately begin waxing? Why had no one seen that sucker?

Months have passed without incident since that hair-raising revelation, until this morning. Standing in front of the mirror putting on my make up something caught my eye and there on my chin was a long blond whisker shimmering in the light. This time with tweezers in hand I eradicated the freaky follicle, taking out a few of his friends who had the unfortunate fate of growing too close. WhatÃ’s next hot flashes? Clearly these things crop up overnight and I will just need to be more diligent in my weed control efforts.

2006-06-26T14:57:00.000-07:00

Carrio Andretti

Carrie drives like a woman trying to outrun a nuclear mushroom cloud. I lose seventy five percent of my water weight every trip we take to and from the ranch, from my sweating palms. I try to read, I try to listen to music, I try to imagine the impact of the air bags, but nothing really soothes my safety first nerves. Yesterday’s trip home was no exception. Seeing that the car in front of us had slowed to a modest 86 miles per hour, Carrie decided some passing was in order. She moved to the right hand lane which lo and behold was ending. That’s right it was ending, merging with other moving traffic. She could have slowed down, accepting her place behind ole pokey who at this point had slowed to a 75 mph crawl or she could do the very Carrie thing which was punching it so when the lane ended she could be the first to merge and consequently the first to slam on her brakes to avoid the cars taking a Sunday drive in the fast lane.

For my part, during the actual passing I sucked in the biggest breath I could, curled my toes, gripped the arm rest with my sweaty palms and shut my eyes as tight as they would go. As soon as we were safely in the fast lane I let loose a tirade of insults about her driving. At one point letting her know that in all the time we have been together I wanted to ring her neck more at that moment than any other. Sure, she could have apologized for endangering me and poor innocent Isaac sleeping in the back, unaware of his impending doom. She could have even argued her point. Instead she put us in danger once again because I am sure there is no way she could have seen through the tears of laughter in her eyes. As an insult to injury she laughed about it all night. Next week I think I’ll drive and see if she doesn’t want to strangle me.

2006-06-21T12:50:00.000-07:00

Owning Up

Reflecting on the degree of drunkenness she achieved last night C said the following at lunch:

"Someone must have slipped something in my seventeenth vodka."

2006-06-15T14:02:00.000-07:00

Nighttime is for Day Dreaming

This morning over our normal breakfast of coffee and cigarettes, C asked if I had slept well. I told her I guessed but I wasn’t sure because I remembered having trouble getting to sleep and the next thing I knew the alarm was going off. I usually wake up several times during the night but last night was like those nights when you drink too much and the last thing you remember is saying “sure I’ll have one more but then I really am going home.” I turned out my light last night and rolled over to C, spooning her back. That lasted all of two minutes before my legs were restless and the need to turn on my stomach was too great. Onto my stomach it was but which way to face? Left didn’t feel right, right was hurting my neck and so it went as I tried to think of something to keep my mind off the fact that thirty minutes had elapsed and I was still wide awake.

I tried thinking about what I had ahead of me today at work. Ugh! That only made me more agitated. I tried counting which works sometimes but once you get past two hundred you simply have to surrender to the fact that by the time you go to sleep you will have counted dollar for dollar the size of the national debt. So I turned to method three. Where would I be if I could be anywhere? What would I be doing? What would my surroundings look like?

Soon I was sitting on the back porch of our tiny cottage by the water. Its exterior is wood plank painted mint green with white trim. We bought the plans from the back of Southern Living and built it ourselves. Inside the antique iron beds are covered with white chenille spreads. C is watering the garden we can see from the kitchen window. She is standing over rows of tomatoes, purple hulls, and tall stalks of corn smiling with the possibility of fresh vegetables. I am on the back porch watching her taking slow sips from a cold glass of champagne. There is a ring of condensation on the table in front of me from the glass. I move my book so the cover doesn’t get wet. At my feet is our dog, stretched out on his side, his legs straight in front of him. I am rolling my ankle back and forth mushing my toes into his downy fur. His tail makes a soft thump thump on the boards that rises to my ears where it mixes with the trill trill of cicadas in the trees. The alarms sounds and I am immediately cranky from the dreamless night sleep until I remember my dreams played out in my mind before I even nodded off.

2006-06-14T14:24:00.000-07:00

A Mother of Invention

My friends and I have always joked about the odd combinations of businesses you find across the border. Is there a great need in Mexico to have your bicycle repaired while getting a root canal? Did some unnamed man go out one day armed with a list of to-dos: 1) pick up prescription at pharmacy 2) pick up bottle of tequila for later 3) stop by tailor to order custom made shirt 4) get new car battery 5) laser hair removal on chest and back. Wouldn’t it be nice to do one stop shopping for all of the above he thought and an idea was born. Again, I admit I have always found the combinations odd but on the other hand all very practical tasks. Ingenuity I think it’s called.

Necessity is the mother of all invention after all and no one I have seen can top the woman in front of me at the convenient store this weekend. When I stepped in line behind her to purchase cigarettes, my eyes were immediately drawn to the little boy at her side. He was adorable, small perfectly round head with a white bandana do rag on top, white wife beater tucked into his dark denim shorts and tennis shoes. Cute as a future rap star button! Mom was desperately trying to keep him from pulling one of every candy for purchase. When she bent down to point to a few choices he could have, it was then that I noticed mom had her very own fashion sense. Flip flops showing off painted toes, denim Capri pants, tank top, all very common trends these days. Ah, but look above the neck and there, there is where her true ingenuity shined through. Junior must have borrowed mom’s bandana and not wanting her hair to frizz in our humid weather mom wasn’t about to go out without covering the mop. So, she put his underwear on her head. It is one thing to do this in the privacy of one’s bedroom with enough wine in one’s system to kill an elephant. It is quite another to wear underwear on one’s head in public. Took everything I had not to burst out laughing at the tufts of pink toned hair sticking out of the leg holes on either side of her crown.

2006-06-05T14:52:00.000-07:00

Two Weddings, Four Funerals and a Host of Other Painful Events

My cousin is getting married at the end of July in Denver. My mother, the queen of family functions, the woman who uses every vacation day to see her family has started hammering me on whether I will be attending. Last week she called me at work to have what I thought was a perfectly normal “how is your day” conversation then out of the left field drops the “Are you and C going to your cousin’s wedding? It is really going to hurt my feelings if you don’t go” bomb in my lap. I told her we haven’t decided which led to the run down of every wrong I have ever committed. I did not:

Go to my great aunt’s funeral at a convent in Pennsylvania.

Go to my other great aunt’s funeral in Washington.

Go to my other great aunt’s funeral in Washington.

Go to my cousin’s wedding who I have no more than two words to say to at any given time. Nor does he have much more to say to me.

Go to my cousin’s graduation in Denver. This was a toughy because he graduated Mother’s Day weekend and I STILL didn’t go.

I did:

Go on vacation with my father last summer (it must be added that this was the first vacation I have gone on with my father since I was eight)

Go to Belize with C’s father (this is how my mother says it but in reality I went with C for her 30th birthday which her father and four other friends joined her to celebrate therefore this does not technically count as a vacation with C’s father).

You get the idea. I went home fuming. How could she try to guilt me into going? If she was going to bring up places I went eight years ago I should be allowed to go back as far as possible to dredge up enough places I went with her to counter those she was mentioning. I could have ended the cycle of abuse right there but instead chose to hammer C all the way to Yorktown that I want her to go with me in July. If you are wondering, yes, I started listing all of the places I have gone with her, trying to fill my column with enough selfless attendance that she will come with me in July. Like mother like daughter. It pains me to admit that.

2006-06-02T13:03:00.000-07:00

A Tomato for your Thoughts

This morning when I got to work, I noticed plump, red, home grown tomatoes on my boss’s desks. I knew they were from a gentleman in our office whose past gifts have included homemade jelly and other fresh vegetables. I went into my office feeling dejected but talked myself off the ledge by reasoning that he must have only given his peers the tomatoes. I am for all intents and purposes a rung or two down the ladder and therefore didn’t warrant a tomato at this time.

Come lunch time I ventured into the kitchen for a cup of water. I hate office kitchens. There seems to be no way to make people realize that parmesan cheese should NEVER be heated in a public microwave. Or broccoli for that matter. You who drain your tuna can in the sink leaving slimy pink chunks marinating in fish juice for the rest of us to smell- you are the reason I hate our kitchen. So, I am holding my nose and getting my water when I see two women who hold close to the same status around here as I do cutting up fresh ripe tomatoes. Coincidence that they too brought in fresh tomatoes? I don’t think so.

Back to my office again and now I begin wondering. Did I say something inappropriate to this fellow? Was it at a happy hour? Because if you get me around a bar and a corporate card at the same time I can become very happy. No, couldn’t think (remember) a thing. Hours pass with me letting this push me deeper into a funk. I will never get ahead. I will never be on the same level as the tomato recipients. (At this point I think it is only fair to point out that this week I am a bit more hormonal than usual which results in a bottomless pit of need to feel worthy).

Tomato man walked into my office a few minutes ago to see if my boss would be in because he had put a tomato on her desk from his garden (saw it, thanks). He said he ran out but would bring me some next week. What’s that you say? I am vegetable worthy? This is excellent news. I am leaving now to get my weekend started a red tomato in hand. My boss is out today so I figured I would take hers and she can have mine next week.

2006-05-16T14:47:00.000-07:00

Internet Palm Reading

Duly Inspired tagged me with this and seeing as it is the end of a LONG day and I just got out of LONG appointment, I decided to give it a go.

Jacqui needs to ensure she has saved enough during the first twenty-years to have this.
Jacqui needs to open and sing.
Jacqui needs eye drops to help her vision.
Jacqui needs more bread…
Jacqui needs to talk about someone named Jack.
Jacqui needs to improve her speed around the field.
Jacqui needs more help with fundraising committee.
Jacqui needs help solving a baffling public folder calendar.
Jacqui needs Bert and John.

Jacqui wants her Virgins and saints on shelves facing her bed.
Jacqui wants to write a book
Jacqui wants a Darwin show bag
Jacqui wants to suggest a joint event with local scouts…
Jacqui wants a tummy tuck
Jacqui wants to go shop for yarn…
Jacqui wants to study vet science…
Jacqui wants to find out more about alternative therapies…
Jacqui wants to believe Patrick but she is unsure therefore keeps this from Phil.
Jacqui wants to sue a major company.

A bit like having your palm read except I don’t know a Jack, Bert, Patrick or Phil. I do however need to increase speed on the field, need help with a fund raising committee, want to write a book, and want a tummy tuck

2006-05-01T14:25:00.000-07:00

Like Chinese Water Torture Only Worse

My father called while C was watching the NFL draft this weekend and when he found out she had it on he began asking me question after question about who was picking who. Does this man know me at all? Not only do I not know, I am not going to ask C every two seconds and relay an entire conversation (about football no less) back and forth over the phone. So he asked which station it was on. This too I had to ask C. Before I got off the phone with him he walked into his living room where my 8 year old sister was watching Discovery Kids or something similar and said; “Hey Morgan, I’ve got something better to watch.” I would have given anything to see the look on her face when he changed the channel.

2006-04-26T14:17:00.000-07:00

Too bad it wasn’t a prayer chain.

I’m not sure how James Carville and Mary Matalin do it but I’ll bet it can’t be easy. In our house I am the bald little man with the crazy eyebrows screaming that The Conservative Movement is RUINING THE WORLD. Only I’m not bald or a man. I take great pleasure in repeating newscasters (aloud for the Compassionate Conservative in the red leather chair next to me) when they report Bush’s approval ratings at an all time low. Dick Cheney does remind me of Darth Vader and I will not call Condi anything less than Condosleeza.

C for her part is partially to blame for all that ails the world or at least that is what I tell her when I remind her who she voted for in the past two elections. I say you’ve got to learn from your mistakes or all is naught. She either disagrees or it was too late to take back that second one. I have most of our friends on my side of the fence but not all. One friend in particular has been the target of many, many, many drunken political rages of mine. In the beginning it was a bleeding heart Liberal's dream come true, a real live person that will fight back while you bleed all over her. Not so anymore. I must have made the mistake once of giving up too soon and as they say an elephant never forgets because these days it’s harder and harder to get her to bite when I really need a good political bloodletting.

Today it was me with the hook in my mouth swimming in a sea of hell. C forwarded an e-mail to me and Duly Inspired . They were both Duly Inspired to Make Me Crazy. I could feel the shared glee they took in raising my blood pressure. Just so you both know you have bought yourselves a very long night listening to why that e-mail was all wrong. Duly Inspired this does not replace your grand prize of a good slap.

2006-04-24T14:18:00.000-07:00

Suburban Cowgirl

For awhile when I lived with my father he insisted on hiring live-in housekeepers through an agency. The first go round was a very sweet lady from Brazil who I liked enough, with the exception of her insistence on trying to read me the Bible every night, in Spanish. He left it up to my stepmother the second go round and she hired a sweet, elderly woman named Esther. Her theory must have been that an old Southern woman would cook dishes for my father more reminiscent of what he was used to instead of the fried tofu he was turning his nose up to when she would cook. Esther did try to cook but her toast always ended up looking like a freshly polished black loafer.

Once (and only once) on her night off, Esther decided to drive from my father’s house in Katy all the way to Gilley’s for a hair raising good time. It must have been a doosy because at around 3:00 a.m. my father awoke to our neighbor, one that he had been feuding with for years, pounding on our door. Esther who had been in the house all of three seconds came running down the stairs screaming “It wasn’t me. He’s a liar!” Note to readers: Wait until you are accused to deny.

It seems our neighbor, who hears everything, (The feud was because he claimed to actually hear my cat walking around on his roof at night. So much so that he installed a tiny electric fence where the roof eave was close enough for Kitty to jump from the fence) claimed he heard a crash and that when he looked outside his white brick mailbox was gone. Esther was then seen fleeing her car for the safety of our house. My father calmly asked Esther if she had in fact run over the neighbor’s mailbox. Again Esther denied any involvement. It was then that the neighbor asked my father to step outside. Upon doing so he was faced with Esther’s brown, wood paneled station wagon parked in our driveway. The hood and roof were covered in brick and mortar.

Esther left us shortly after that night. She has probably since left this world for the big honky tonk in the sky. It is a shame she will never know just how much secret satisfaction we got out of her running over that mean man’s mailbox.

2006-04-21T08:20:00.000-07:00

April Showers

After our flaming mishap at the ranch last weekend I vowed I would find the Patron Saint of Rain. Well that's him, Saint Isidore of Madrid. His picture has been my desktop background for a week and every morning I've said a little prayer that he bless us with some rain. This morning the little guy answered my prayers and we woke up to thunder, lightening and a pouring rain. It didn't last long but beggars can't be choosers and I am just down right giddy over the storm. The ranch got an inch and a half last night. Let the green grass grow! Now, today I think I'll search for the Patron Saint of Weight Loss.

2006-04-20T14:25:00.000-07:00

Stop, Drop and Cry

I am not good in a crisis. That is to say that during a crisis my normal reaction is to drop to the fetal position and cry. Actually it is one, the other, or a combination of both. Now, so as not to confuse you, I deem a “crisis” anything remotely unpleasant. My definition ranges from cutting my finger to funerals. It is my Scarlett O’Hara syndrome and I have had it for as long as I can remember.

When I was seven or eight, my father took a night job to make ends meet. During the day he would sleep late then attend classes at LSU while my mother worked all day. I cannot remember why I was home with him one day, but can only assume it was spring break or teacher's in service. My mother had left for work and my father was sleeping in. I had the brilliant idea to clean the house. Not wanting to waste any time, I stuck a couple of barrettes in my hair to keep both sides of the mushroom back and rolled up my nightgown sleeves.

I decided to start with the dishes. Seemed easy enough since all this really requires is a good rinse, load said dish in the dishwasher, throw in some soap and push a button. Simple really. But we were out of soap. Thinking back I thought I recalled that this had happened once before and my mother used laundry soap. Considering the results, I think I probably made that memory up to spread some of the blame. I loaded the entire little door thingy with laundry soap then for good measure filled up that little cup next to the one with the door for really tough baked on dirt.

Dishwasher loaded and turned on I went about dusting the living room the entire time patting myself on the back. I was the perfect daughter. I was letting my father sleep after a hard nights work and helping my poor overworked mother at the same time. I was definitely in the running for special treat. Maybe my parents would buy me a Wonder Woman comic book or give me chocolate pudding for dessert. My mother would tell all of her co-workers the next day who would have no choice but to ooh and aah at what a great daughter Connie has. Yes, in my mind I was a star. That is when I noticed the four inches of white foamy bubbles escaping from the kitchen.

A person without the proclivity to freak out at the slightest bump in the road would have waded into the bubbles and shut off the dishwasher. I am not that person. Not even a shadow of someone that sane. No, I ran crying out the door, nightgown flying behind me, mushroom hair bouncing with every desperate step I took to find our apartment maintenance man. Who, by the way, upon accessing the situation, waded through the bubbles and shut off the dishwasher. My father was awakened from a dead sleep to the sight of his daughter staring into a kitchen buried two feet deep in bubbles, crying. For his part, he shook his head, and told me I could have just woken him up. Clearly I did not get my penchant for drama from him.

2006-04-17T17:49:00.000-07:00

There's nothing you can do about it Sugar!

The last time it rained in Yorktown was last Memorial Day. We had spent the afternoon following a cow in labor through the pastures waiting for her to lie down and calve. Thunderheads rolled in from the South and gray sheets of rain began falling. We watched from the front porch as the cows huddled in the pasture against the stinging rain.

Next month it will be one year since that storm. One year since any rain has blessed this part of the country. We are obsessed with news of this historic drought. Three months ago we watched a grass fire on the horizon. Yellow smoke filled the air like a thick curtain. The volunteer fire department's siren echoed through our pasture as men were called from their daily duties to offer assistance. Later, we prayed that they were able to contain the fire before it destroyed too much land. We prayed that whoever's pasture had burned did not lose livestock. Sadly it turned out he had.

Today Fate's wheel stopped and it was our turn. We had spent the early afternoon parked under an Oak tree in the back pasture taking photos of the cows. We sat with the wind whipping through the field and watched the new calves sleeping or playing. After awhile I said I smelled smoke but we didn't see any on the horizon so it was just a fleeting thought. A forgotten comment that later comes back to haunt you. How could we forget that "where there's smoke there's fire".

We were up at the house around thirty minutes later when the phone rang and a neighbor asked C's father what he was burning in the back pasture. Knowing there is a burn ban in effect and taking into consideration the strong wind, she couldn't fathom what he would be burning back there. As it turns out the catylitic converter on C's Suburban had ignited the grass underneath it and that was what we had smelled earlier. C's father called 911 while C and I raced to the back to make sure the cows were out of harms way. I have read articles on ranchers who lost cattle to fires. I always assumed it was because they had been trapped by a rapidly moving fire. Not so. When we arrived in the back pasture two of our favorite cows were standing less than three feet from flames that were rising two feet off the ground sniffing at it as if it were food.

C went into Mario Andretti mode as she did donuts in the pasture herding the cattle out of the gate with her car. I was running behind them screaming, waving my arms like a mad woman. We were able to get everyone we could see out of the pasture but until the fire was under control there was no way we could be sure we had moved everyone.

I can name at least three country songs that poke fun of the VFD but until the day comes that you need them you have no idea how dedicated these men are to do such a selfless job. In less than fifteen minutes three trucks were on the property fighting the fire. One man must have been out shopping for Easter Sunday because his wife and kids were in the car as he sped past me (having my first of a few miny breakdowns that day) to fight a fire on someone else's land. In addition to the volunteer fire department, two neighbors immediately came to help on their tractors, churning the fire line to dirt that wouldn't burn. This is what we lack inside the city limits. It is a sense of community where any one man's tragedy is a communal tragedy and therefore the community goes to all lengths to help.

In the end approximately fifteen acres burned. The fire department was able to extinguish the fire in two or so hours. We didn't lose any cattle. Now if it would just rain that patch will be the greenest reminder of a day that while traumatic taught me a very imprtant lesson. On the porch that evening still shaken from the day's events, I commented to C's father that he had kept amazing composure while this was all going on. He looked at me in all honesty and said "It's part of life. There's nothing you can do about it Sugar."

2006-04-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

Rounds 2-4
Beaten but Not Broken

Ah, two days later. Tuesday started out on the right foot. A walk in the morning for the Tasmanian devil then off to work. He and Isaac spent the first part of the day lazing in the sunshine in the backyard. Not a stick, pool cushion, garden glove, dog brush, or plant was chewed. No one escaped and we were pretty pleased with ourselves when we got home. After work it was time for another brisk walk then C and I went to dinner.

Now, a friend in need is a friend indeed, but a friend in need with a big backyard is the greatest! After dinner we went to a friend’s house around the corner dogs in tow to sit outside, solve the world’s problems, and let the dogs play. All was well until we got home. One second C was on her way up the garage stairs the next she was flying backwards, rolling down the concrete steps. It seems in his rush to get in the door for some more play time, crazy man clipped her just right. She hobbled up to bed while I sat downstairs waiting for him to go to sleep before I tiptoed up to our bedroom for some much needed rest.

With C injured it was up to me yesterday to run the ship. Dogs get breakfast, cats get breakfast, play time, then off to work. I was home early but too exhausted for an early walk so he of boundless energy was forced to wait until after dinner when we once again headed out the door. Me and my shin splints hobbling along, this big brown bouncing puppy taking a walk that was sure to make him sleepy. Not so. He laid down for a total of five seconds when we returned home then promptly picked up a tennis ball and began throwing it at me. Back to our friend’s house for more backyard ball play.

Again, when it was time for lights out I curled up on the couch as if I would be sleeping right there by him and waited for his breathing to become a slow, soothing rhythm. I think his sleeping from 10:00 p.m. to almost 7:00 a.m. on Tuesday had made me overly confident that last night would be much of the same. All went well until around 4:00 a.m. when the cat decided he would walk right up to the back door and meow at the dog through the glass. Lots of barking and whining later (on his part and mine) we again settled down with me back on the couch and him on his bed keeping a close eye on the porch through the door.

I should have just fallen back asleep but I’ll be damned if I didn’t need to go to the bathroom. Choosing to step over the dog bed to go to the bathroom in the sunroom, I felt all of this rubbery stuff under my feet. Again, if you find yourself in this position just go back to sleep. Do not turn on the light. Because if you do you will find you are walking on what is left of your girlfriend’s favorite sandals. You will want to spend the next two hours gluing tiny pieces of rubber back together because when she wakes up in a bad mood over her broken rib you don’t want to be the one to tell her that she can wear the sandals but only one heel will have something separating it from the ground.

There is a bright side to all of this. First, the sandals cost $9.99 a pair. Second, C has a couple of pairs. Third, it is only fair that their dog went after C’s shoes because when Isaac was a puppy he chewed a MUCH more expensive pair of loafers of said puppy’s mother. Fourth, tomorrow we will be heading down to the ranch, puppy and worry free.

2006-04-11T06:47:00.000-07:00

Round One:
Dog 1 ~ Dog Whisperer 0

It’s true that all of our friends call C the dog whisperer. When we go to people’s homes, dogs flock to her like cats in a room with someone they somehow know is allergic to them. She has an affinity for making dogs mind her and love her with little effort on her part. Sadly her reputation is now at stake. We are babysitting our friend’s puppy for the next four days while they toast margaritas in Cabo soaking up their sunny puppy free environment.

Yesterday was day one and it gave us just a taste of what’s to come in the next week. Sort of like tasting milk that expired in December. When we both got home from work it looked like the sunroom had been ransacked, the kind of Law and Order job where the perp is desperately looking for the one thing that could put him away for life. Not an inch of the floor was toy free. Okay, we can handle him playing all day if that exhausts some of his energy. It doesn’t.

Plan B: We’ll take him for a walk and expend just a little bit more of that energy. We took turns RUNNING with him on the walk. By the end of the second block C and I are panting messes where as he of boundless energy is just gearing up. Back at home after our walk and feeling pretty good about himself he took the opportunity to relieve himself on the sunroom floor. A pretty good size puddle I might add. It left us both asking; “What was wrong with the hundred trees we passed?” Water bowl picked up and clean up crew to the rescue and again we settle in for the night.

Or so we thought. When we moved into our house we babysat another friend’s dog who took it upon himself to claim our bed as his own with a hike of the leg and a little squirt. Well, you know the story one dog smells another dog and MUST reclaim the property in question as his own. So, we brought him downstairs to sleep in the room that he felt comfortable with ALL DAY LONG. A room free of other dogs previous markings. Turns out he only likes that room when we are gone. When we are home he doesn’t want to be in that room. He told us in no uncertain barking terms that either one of us was going to spend the night downstairs or he was coming up. Consequently while my dog and my girlfriend collapsed in exhaustion upstairs, I laid on the couch until said puppy went to sleep.

This morning when I would normally be loading up on coffee and cigarettes doing the crossword puzzle, I was out walking him again. Again his energy is no match for my sedentary self, but at least I tried. Who knows I may lose a pound or two this week. Tonight we revert to Plan C which is play ‘til he drops. Maybe at the very least we can even the score.

2006-04-06T07:59:00.000-07:00

7 Years 363 Days

C and I are a mere 48 hours away from celebrating our 8th anniversary. Up to now my relationships all seemed to follow a three year plan. The first year spent in the throes of honeymoon bliss. The second year in a state of utter complacency and the third year spent in a variation of the old Coyote Ugly metaphor where you would chew your own arm off just to get out.

This relationship has been different in every way. They say timing is everything and it is true. C and I met in 1992. Unfortunately at the time she wasn’t single. More unfortunate is the fact that when she was finally single I wasn’t. So, it took us 6 years but at last the timing was right.

A psychologist that spoke at our conference last week said every couple has 12 chronic unresolved issues at all times. I couldn’t help thinking is that 12 each? Because if you were to ask me to list my issues and ask C the same thing I am pretty sure we could come up with 24 easily. The trick however is to get past things like leaving your shoes under the coffee table despite the near death heart attack it causes when your partner sees them. The trick is laughter. If you don’t have a healthy dose of humor in your relationship I truly feel it will never work.

I think you know when something is right when 7 years and 363 days after you made a commitment you can still look at someone and be blown away by the love you feel for them. You want to go to lunch everyday, you want to fall asleep next to them every night and you can’t imagine a day when you won’t want these things.

I have always thought the term “soul mate” was a bit too hippy and touchy-feely for my taste but I can honestly say I have met mine. We don’t always like each other but we do always love each other. Eight years down and an infinite number to go!

2006-04-05T08:06:00.000-07:00

When Sally Met Chinatown

I have always been a picky eater. I see nothing wrong with dressing on the side, no beans, rice with a side of rice, no veggies, is there broccoli in that because I don't want broccoli, and so on. I despise most waiters who don't write down my order because if I'm ordering you can bet I've changed something and if you don't write it down odds are I'm going to be sending it back.

I also have weird ideas on cross contamination. Although I have been told that our mothers would wash a chicken in the same sink as the veggies and we all lived, I am sure that salmonella and e-coli are at all times lurking in my kitchen waiting to strike. One of the greatest inventions are those little Clorox wipes that kill 99.99% of germs.

On a recent business trip to Philadelphia, I went sightseeing with a co-worker through Chinatown. First it was this:

Now, what is so disturbing about this is not the Peking duck hanging in the window. It is the RAW duck hanging there contaminating the rest of the ducks. One might as well walk in and order up a plate of salmonella.

And if you're not in the mood for salmonella try the seafood.

I have no idea what some of this stuff is but apparently if it comes from the sea and it can be caught, you can buy it at this market. The creepy elephant clam thingy in the right back bin made my toes curl.

We didn't eat in Chinatown that night. Thankfully. I'm afraid I'd still be there ordering.

"Peking duck please and if you wouldn't mind can I have one that was far from the raw duck. I'd also like one with extra crispy skin. A brown sauce but I want it on the side. No broccoli. No bamboo shoots. No water chesnuts. No peas or carrots. Extra spicy. And an order of steamed rice. Are you writing this down?"