Somewhere between Kraft Macaroni Cheese and Cheetos

I really wanted to paint something in my house orange. Over the weekend, I decided on the walk-in closet off my new studio office. The color is Behr's "Orange Spice" but reminds me of the cheese packets that come with Kraft Macaroni or perhaps Cheetos. Painting it burnt my retnas and gave me the munchies.

Dogs on a couch

It's a good thing I work by myself. I might drive my coworkers nuts. My latest fun has been taking the film title "Snakes on a Plane" and changing the nouns. Dogs on a Couch. (snicker). Cats in a Hamper. (snicker snicker). Eggs in a Pan. (I crack myself up).

This isn't the first time this has happened to me. Some fellow mooseheads and I used to do this to a song. It's an infectious little tune from a Northern Exposure episode called "Toy Cows in Africa" by Chance. So we were replacing the lyrics with random things. Spare Rolls of Toliet Paper, Spare Rolls.

It's like an earworm -- a little song that gets stuck in your head. Try it. It's fun. Computers on a Desk. Squirrels on a Fence.

Bats in the Belfry.

In celebration of a short but happy dog life

This past weekend one of my nephews (a two-legged one) tried to come into the world a little too early. Labor was stopped, his mom was pumped with steroids to get his little lungs to be fully cooked, and she was prescribed rest for about another week. So far he’s behaving himself and staying put.

At the same time, another nephew (a four-legged one) left this world for the great doggie Beyond. Gunner was a big, goofy German Shorthair that my youngest sister adopted from the breed rescue. He had been returned twice (once by a prominent, well-known business man/politician in Colorado whom we don't like, mainly because he returned a rescued dog). It may have been because Gunner was not a hunting dog, even though that was he was bred to do. He was a big, loveable couch potato except when it came walks.

Gunner came to my sister and her husband defective. He had tumors. They found this out after he was adopted, but follow the same philosophy that I subscribe: you adopt a four-legged for life. They gave him lots of love and vet treatments. He won out over the tumors then and has had a happy and spoiled three years. But recently a tumor came back -- this time on his liver. It cut off his stomach and he was unable to eat. There was nothing that could be done, and they had to make the heart-wrenching decision to end his pain and suffering and let him go.

Mollie, his English Pointer sister, loved to tease him, but also loved to snuggle with him. The family bought a new home last Fall. The first winter proved the older house was colder than the rental they had before. Gunner made do by sleeping in front of one of the large floor vents in the dining room. Mollie, wanting that same primo spot would pretend to see something of great interest out the large front window. Eventually Gunner would lumber over to see what the fuss was about. Then speedy Mollie would steal his heated spot.

Gunner had a rough life his first several years, but my sister, her husband and Mollie gave him the best three years in the end. They adopted him "as is" and gave him the best life possible. Three years with them was not enough but in return, he gave them lots of stubborn, goofy, happy dogness. We will all miss him dearly.

Snakes vs. Chapstick

The new film, Snakes on a Plane (a good example of “name it exactly what it is”) shows what happens when a cargo of live snakes breaks loose and they slither havoc all over the plane. Seems pretty far-fetched but given recent events since 2001, you have to wonder. Maybe snakes wouldn’t be so bad.

First it was the frightful “Eyelash Curlers on a Plane,” immediately following September 11th. Okay. There was a long list of items you could no longer bring aboard, but eyelash curlers really stuck out to me. Granted I’ve pinched an eyelid or two with those torture contraptions but trying to attack someone else -- how do you get them to stand still long enough?

Now it’s the ultimate terror, “Chapstick on a Plane.” Okay. Again, I do understand why and I understand the immediate response. But all I can think about is a flight without my chapstick and my water bottle. I have a touch of Monk (and a sensitive tummy). I can’t do the shared water bottle thing -- especially if the rumors are true that some airlines just refill that bottle from the airplane tap. My tummy is grumbling and my lips are chapping just thinking about this. Dude, I need my chapstick.

It will always be something. I think that terrorists’ ultimate goal is to slowly drive us insane. Maybe kill us with chapped lips. Only then can we be converted from our evil ways.

Aren’t we all just a little famous?

Fellow blogger and friend, Nichelle, posted her brushes with fame and asked for readers’ stories. I have thought about the many brief encounters I’ve had with “famous” people.

The earliest I can remember is meeting Walt Morey in the fifth grade. He wrote a book called “Kavik the Wolf Dog” which was high on my list then. He signed my book.

In junior high, the band Three Dog Night came to my school to tell us not to do drugs and did a concert. I got to interview them for the school newspaper. (A sidenote, the only drug issue at my junior high was chewing tobacco). This moment begun my dream of writing for Rolling Stone.

In high school, I was in a dance company and quite often a famous dance troupe came to town. I got to do a lot of master classes with the Royal Canadian, the American Ballet, and many others. Definitely showed me I had a much better chance of writing for Rolling Stone than prancing on my toes. But it was fun.

At graduation, my aunt and a family friend took me to Chicago. While there we tailed Oprah Winfrey through the stock exchange. We took in a show at the Second City where a young comedian named Mike Myers was a hoot singing a lawnmower revolution. I got to meet him after the show. About six months or so later saw him on SNL for the first time.

When I hit college, my love of music and the Rolling Stone goal led me to the program council to work security at the campus concerts. I was personally flipped off by John Lydon, one of the other members of PiL tried to get up my skirt. I hung out with That Petrol Emotion and their opening band at a bar on the Hill in a raging blizzard. I denied Flea’s request for a blow job (apparently the reason some women go back stage??). I was roped into pretending I was the lead singer’s fiance of a band whose name escapes me. (Ah, the golden years). I had a pleasant conversation with the B-52s. In my 4+ years of college concerts, I met dozens of popular musicians (and got autographs) from Butthole Surfers to Pete Townsend.

(If you haven’t figured it by now, that Rolling Stone gig never happened. No worries. Life changes constantly.)

Working concerts taught me how to try to meet bands at other concerts. Once I took my then 11-year-old sister Annie to her favorite singer’s show – Randy Newman. After the show, I talked our way backstage and had a long conversation with the singer. Along the way he offered me a job to be a PR assistant. "Does that require moving to LA?" I asked. Of course it did, and I politely declined. I wouldn't have been able to breath there.

I took another sister to a Howard Jones concert and talked our way back stage there. After a fantastic show, it was wonderful to meet one of my favorite singers. I animatedly talked with him about his Macintosh computer used on stage. My sister stood there with her mouth hanging open. Later she told me I was a geek. I mentioned that yes, but I had a long conversation beyond “can you sign this, please?” Other times it was pure luck, accidentally walking in on a meet and greet of my current favorite, the Barenaked Ladies last December (except Kevin). I got a couple of sentences exchanged and had them all sign my BNL santa hat.

In the past 10 years I have been a fan(atic) of the tv show Northern Exposure. Since 1997, I’ve attended a fan festival in Roslyn, Washington. I've gotten to meet at length several of the show's stars. One of the most intresting contacts: I've had many pitchers of beer with Barry Corbin, and listened to many stories in his Texas drawl. Many other of the stars, guest stars and extras have come to the fest.

The past four years, my husband has worked for a local culinary festival group. I’ve been able to meet up with many celebrity and up-and-coming chefs. It’s a hoot to hang out with someone, have some drinks, really get to know them, buy their cookbook, then see them on the Food Network or Travel Channel.

But probably the best encounter I ever had was two minutes with author Maya Angelou (after four hours of standing in line). An incredible writier and speaker, Maya exudes class and positive energy. I was the second to the last person she would sign. I got to touch her hand, feel her energy and thank her for everything she does. That one rules out all the others.

Get your girl on?

Okay... so let me get this straight. If I buy and drive a Hummer, people won't cut in front of me on the slide? Ah, if it were only so easy.

Seriously, do I run over the mean bitch's mini van with the Hummer? Or is it just a Hummer aura that I wear about me? Perhaps Hummer pheramones that frighten people from even consider crossing me path. [oooh, smell that, she's got a hummer. Step lightly!]

I think the only good thing about owning a Hummer is that my car would finally be visible. I don't know how a red Saturn with daytime running lights can be invisible but it is. A hummer would make people think twice about cutting me off in traffic.

In the meantime, I guess I'll just let people cut in front of me at the slide. The funds I save in gas money and car payments I'll take with me to Hawaii ... Twice.

Pencils, pens and highlighters … oh my!

It all started with an innocent trip to Office Depot for one item – a package of printer-ready postcard paper. But I walked in the door to one of my favorite times of the year: Back to School! Yes, it is still July, which is technically the middle of the summer but in the increased pace of the retail world calendar ... it's Back to School time.

I started to rove amongst the displays of colorful notebooks, pens, locker shelves – hey, where were those when I had a locker. I had to build my own (and I feel it’s made me a better person). My heart starts to beat faster at all the cool new things. The smell of new pens and Elmer’s Glue makes me giddy.

Oh look, Sharpie has a collection of cool highlighters (need them for my “old fashioned time sheets”). I must have them. Oh look, cool new mechanical pencils, and a small scissors with a cover (perfect for card class). And a softsided Mead pencil case you can open, fold over and make stand up like a can (another thing perfect for card class to haul my gluesticks and scissors).

I started to hyperventilate. Luckily I was roaming the aisles sans basket. I do less damage at checkout when I can only carry so much. I made it out of the store with some fun new things and nothing frivolous... no, really, everything purchased has a job to do in my hectic life.

I went on with my errands that were fairly uneventful until I hit the SuperTarget…. Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy!

From Rico to Chico (part 2)

After leaving the Telluride Bluegrass Festival on Sunday night, we arrived at the Best Western in Montrose at 1 am Monday. It was a really nice place and would have liked to spend more time there – at least a full night!

The sun and 6 am came a bit too quickly. My hubby took me to the Montrose airport so I could catch the first of three flights to get me to my next destination – Chico, California. I was running late and was reprimanded by the counter person/gate person. Montrose has one gate (I think), maybe two? I buzzed through the mini-security and then onto the mini-plane (an Embraer Brasilia EMB-120 turboprop). My carry-on bag had to go underneath and my laptop barely fit under the seat in front of me.

Our bathroom apparently was out of commission (not a problem since the flight was only about an hour), but there was the wafting odor of pee through out the mini-cabin. The view outside the window was fantastic -- well the opposite window from me. My shade was jammed shut. Our flight attendant, Jessica, was a fiery redhead with a fierce scowl. She sat in the front of the plane and glared the entire flight. If there were to be snacks and drinks, that was just too bad. We were on our own.

The flight was quick but the landing at DIA made my heart skip a few beats. Denver’s almost-to-Kansas airport location provides some interesting wind currents in a larger plane. We made it safely on to the ground at the mini-terminal arm branched off of the B terminal. It was a short wait and then on to plane number 2 – this time a large, roomy Airbus to San Francisco.

Another short wait and then on to plane number 3, another Brasilia Turboprop. This time I had the single seat and my laptop almost didn’t fit under the seat. I really had to wedge it under there. The seat I was supposed to be in was the first one and my laptop did not fit into the overhead compartment so I took the next one back and made a new friend with the woman who's seat I swapped with. She was headed to the same workshop I was, as was half the plane.

This time my window shade worked and after flying out of the clouds of San Francisco, I watched the rolling fields and patchworks of Northern California pass below me. Less than an hour later, we landed in Chico. I realized that I really didn’t know where I was on a map (but looked it up later). A short taxi ride to the Hotel Diamond and I was at my home away from home for the week.

I was in Chico for a business workshop/certificate in my field at the university. Chico is a small college town. My hotel was about two blocks from campus. The first afternoon I decided to walk around the town and get the lay of the land, and also to get my legs unfolded from all those plane rides. It was stifling hot but there were plenty of shady spots to walk about – especially on campus.

I ran into my friend Hannah from the plane and we chatted a bit. She mentioned a natural food store several blocks away. We continued on separate paths only to run into each other at the store awhile later. I stocked up on studying munchies, and picked up a refreshing looking juice. Later I discovered that you really should read the label in health food stores. This one had some odd ingredient in it that made it taste like feet with a slight bit of mango on top.

I crashed early that night after walking about in the heat, the three plane rides, lack of sleep and the fun weekend before.

The workshop was interesting but not so much to include it here in the blog. I passed the ceritficate test with 100% (whew! “self-paced” online classes in my book seems to be “wait to the last minute”). I also met and heard many great folks in the business.

One great thing in Chico was the Pita Pit. You pick a pita sandwich and add all the fixings (like a Subway). It was so good, I had it two nights in a row and would have done a third had I not talked Hannah into dinner at the Tres Hombres. One great thing about Hannah is she thought I was in my late 20s.

I also caught my first Bookcrossing book at a local coffee shop, Has Beans. Unfortunately it really wasn’t something I wanted to read (and that the original reader had repurposed into a vegan cookbook). None the less, but I’ll have fun passing it on, maybe into Boulder or the freebox in Telluride when I head back there for another event in August.

The bad thing about Chico is that it was an oven the whole time I was there – above 100 degrees F. Uhg. I was very happy to arrive home back to cooler weather in Colorado.

From Rico to Chico (part 1)

Summer brings a schedule full of things, including travel and concerts. A couple of weeks ago, we loaded up the car and headed for the Telluride Bluegrass Festival. Telluride is about an eight-hour drive from Denver. It’s a really pretty one that goes through many different landscapes. You have the front range and the Rocky Mountain views of Vail, and Glenwood Springs, which morphs into the desert like landscape of Grand Junction. Driving south on highway 50 brings you to the Alps-like San Juan mountains of the Dallas Divide and the peaks around Telluride.

We stayed with friends just outside of Telluride in the old mining town of Rico. With a summer population of about 500 and a winter population of 200, it is a small town where everyone knows everyone else and dogs run free. It’s a lot like Cicely, Alaska – complete with it’s own cast of characters. We had lunch at the Enterprise Bar & Grill on the main street and were treated to tastings of the bar owner's new supply of really hot! sauces. That evening as the sun when down, so did the temperature -- a welcome relief from the 100+ days in Denver the previous week. We spent the evening at friends of our friends with a bonfire, good food, beer and good chatting.

Sunday morning, after a good meal of bagels and fixin’s, we caravaned into Telluride for the Bluegrass Festival. Telluride is an awesome place for a show. The scenery is incredible. Plus the people watching is pretty interesting. We staked out a spot and set up our day camping gear, chairs and all and were soon joined by other friends.

Telluride is at 8750 feet in altitude, but many of the concert-goers were much higher than that. If you ever wonder what happened to the Deadheads when the Grateful Dead stopped touring, just look in the Town Park camping. Lots of dreadlocks, tie-die, really dirty feet and a lack of soap. Ah, the life of the nomad. I itch just thinking of it.

During the day, we took a break from the high-altitude sun (too much can make me grouchy) and took the pups of the group with us up the gondola. Sheena was thrilled to join the ride. Sya would have preferred staying on ground level and tried to burrow herself in the humans’ laps. It’s a palm-sweaty view for me, especially when there’s a strong cross breeze. At the top of the hill (approximately 10,000 feet) we had a fantastic, although steep view. Our friends informed us this was one of the ski runs. Wow, definitely a Warren Miller kind of run -- straight down.

In spite of the days’ heat in the ozone-deprived sun, the night can cool down quickly. As the sun rounded the mountains, folks started to add layers. Out came the fleece, the wool socks, gloves and more.

The headliner of the Sunday show was my favorite band, the Barenaked Ladies. Most people would not think of them as Bluegrass but they have a very folksy feel to their music. They did a mostly acoustic set with the banjos, accordian, and more. They also played many songs from their new album coming out on September. With their usual offbeat humor, they commented on the "dirty" dancing (of the nomad folks I mentioned before), the ride into the Telluride airport (a tricky one, and the nation's highest airport), and various other "Only in Telluride" quips.
After the show, we bade hasty goodbyes and booked it out of town an hour and a half north to Montrose, where I had an 8 am flight Monday morning.

That story in part 2!

Could be pilot error?

Computers have made our lives easier but sometimes I wonder if it is making humans more stupid. There seems to be a human element of just plain common sense in a lot of computer generated work these days.

My aunt, the one who just lost her husband has been mired down with paperwork. It’s the little things that stick out. She just received a letter addressed to her, mailed to her current address (not forwarded) from the Social Security Administration. It stated that they were unable to mail her social security check because they didn’t have a current address for her.

My husband and I just refinanced. My previous mortgage was in my former married name and my ex-husband’s name. When I realized I was getting a check back for the remaining escrow amount, I asked how I could get the check to just me and in my current name. Simple, Chase replied. Just send a letter and a copy of the divorce agreement. So I sent a letter, a copy of the divorce agreement, the Quit Claim deed and a couple of other supporting documents.

Yesterday I received the check made out to my ex-husband and my former married name.

Today I received two letters from Chase, my former mortgage company. The first stated that they had received my letter and would forward it to the appropriate department. The second said that they had received my letter but needed the approproate documentation – a copy of the divorce settlement (which of course was stapled to the letter).

Earlier this week I received a water bill from the city. I pay a budget billing program that pulls the same amount out each month (until month 12 where it reconciles the difference) and also have auto pay - where it withdraws from my bank automatically. The bill was past due and appeared to have been so for two months. So I called. This person did have common sense and explained to me their new computer system had a few bugs. One of those bugs was that it was now pulling $25 a month rather than $31, even though my water usage had increased in 2005 from 2004. The computer should have calculated a larger amount based on the actual usage. The other problem is that it randomly decided not to pull auto pays each month. Thankfully this was understood about the new system and that it would all work out in the end. Nothing was my fault, she assured me, and my water would not be suddenly turned off.

I had a similar thing happen with the new Dell laptop lease I have. For some reason, I had a past due of $2.64 and no payment had been pulled for April. Ends up what happened was that I had received notice that my autopay wouldn’t start for 30 days, so I wrote a check for the March amount. The autopay pulled two days later. Since the $2.64 was a monthly tax imposed by the state, the computer had to show it in the month of April - even though I had paid it twice in March. After a 20 minute phone call, I was told not to worry, it would catch up with the May payment. I understand it need to show up monthy but why the heck didn't it just give me a credit for the extra $2.64 for April instead of a past due.

Don’t worry Hal, I don’t blame computers. They only do what stupid humans tell them to do. But I think we are seriously becoming dumb and dumber by the minute. The more we rely on computers to calculate/automate/distribute based on what we tell them to do, the less common sense we have as a race. I can see why the cylons took over the twelve colonies.

As the old saying goes, seriously people, pull your head out of your …

Saying goodbye when you have the chance

Is knowing someone is going to die better than having someone die suddenly? When you know someone is going to die, you have your chance to say goodbye and to meet with them one last time. When someone dies suddenly, you may have regrets about not being able to say goodbye.

My mother’s older brother died this morning of cancer. He went into hospice in January -- the doctor giving him two weeks. I knew he had cancer a year ago, when right around my wedding they moved from Arizona to Salem, Oregon to be near one of their sons and grandchildren.

My mother went to visit him in March. She encouraged me to do the same but when I found a flight about 10 days out, she thought maybe not. Who knew if it would be in time. So I didn’t go. Life got in the way. She gave me their phone number. For whatever stupid reason, I didn’t call. I have stupid phones and most of the time I can’t hear on them. It was a dumb excuse and one I now regret because it is too late.

It’s been more than 20 years since I have seen my uncle Bob and his wife. I think the last time was when I was in high school. They came through town in their RV which I thought was the coolest thing on the planet. When I first met my uncle and his wife, I think they lived next door to my grandparents on Long Island, NY. I say "I think" because I was really young. My mom is the baby of three kids and there's about 13 years between her and her brother. She was kind of a surprise (but a good one in my opinion).

In 1977, my grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary and we went back to New York to celebrate. There also was a trip to New York in 1981 after my sister Annie was born. I think it was this second trip, that my uncle and aunt had moved from the house to a houseboat on the Hudson. I have pictures of us tooling around in a rowboat. I was small then and thought the houseboat was really cool. Now it might be a little small – but then it was really cool. My uncle also took us to where he worked in one of the tallest building in the United States – one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. We got to go to the top and I still have pictures from my little Kodak 126 of the Statue of Liberty and lots of clouds.

He retired not long after that and they traded the houseboat for a camper van and begun traveling around the country. Around the time I got into the book “Blue Highways” by William Least Heat Moon from a reading contest at school. I always thought of my uncle in Least Heat Moon’s stories. Later they traded up to the nice RV with a bit more room and indoor plumbing. It had two TVs and two VCRs, which was pretty cool in the mid-80s.

At one point, they got into an accident. I don’t remember what happened exactly but it seems my aunt had a lot of neck and back injuries. Around then, they decided to stop traveling and settled down in Arizona into a house on the ground without any wheels.

The amount of times I met my uncle Bob I can count on one hand. It was more the distance between New York and Colorado than anything. Email made it a little better the past couple of years. But the times I did meet him were good and fun.

He was a really wonderful man and I am sorry I didn’t know him as well as I should have. He has two sons I really don’t know at all, as well as a handful of grandkids. I got into geneology awhile back and got everyone’s names and birthdates but I don’t know them.

So this morning after my mom called, the first thing on my mind is that I never called him. Why? I don't know. Distance, time, my own crazy life in the way. None are good excuses. It’s my own fault. I didn’t get that chance to say goodbye and I knew his death was near. Perhaps in mind, I thought that he would just surprise everyone and stick around for awhile.

So here’s to my Uncle Bob, a great man. I’ll miss you.

You’re unfinanceable ?! -- music in advertising

When did catchy ad jingles change to popular songs rewritten into maybe not-so-intended ways. Did Madness really see a coffee commercial when they first penned “Our House”? Naked Eyes must really love Foley’s version of “Always There to Remind Me.”

Some songs work really well for ads. Sheryl Crow’s “Everyday is A Winding Road” is used in a car commercial. Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction" would be great for an ED drug (Cialis, Viagra), although not actually used in a commercial right now. Peter Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill” tune is used by Cingular (not sure if that is a perfect fit but I like the song). MC Hammer’s “Can’t Touch This” works well for the germ-infested daycare center ad for Lysol.

Maybe it’s the lure of extra money. When Bob Dylan showed up in a Victoria’s Secret commercial, many were surprised and some said it was the end of the world. Dylan had sold out. In 1987, when Nike used the Beatles song “Revolution” (rights then owned by Michael Jackson), Paul McCartney complained that the song was about a revolution, “not bloody tennis shoes.” Yet more recently in 2005, he appeared in an Fidelity Investments ad, along with his Wing’s song “Band on the Run.”

Sometimes money isn’t much of a lure and personal values rule out. Hummer had a hard time buying rights to songs for their commercials – even from small indie bands who couldn’t fathom supporting the very un-ecological gas-guzzler.

Many songs used in commercials have helped more obscure up-and-coming, indie bands hit the limelight. Apple’s I-Pod campaign has introduced Gorillaz, Jet, Rinôçérôse and others to a wider audience. Toyota got me hooked on Fisher ("It's a Beautiful Life").

I don’t mind the use of songs but in the original format, not with the lyrics rewritten. But it's almost laziness on the part of advertisers -- a lack of creativity -- that few use original written lyrics to catchy jingles. They don't even need words. Vonage’s “Whoo Hoo” tune is pretty catchy and memorable. So is United Airlines’ grandiose classical theme song.

But really, the local car commercial that has butchered EMF’s “Unbelievable" into "You're unfinanceable". Argh! It hurts my ears. It’s unbelievable! It's not even a word.

[Note: in my googling (research) found a lot of interesting things on AdTunes – another bookmarked site helping me avoid work.]

urban bastardization of otherwise harmless words

Okay - seems that the treat "dilly bar" I referred to in a previous post no longer only refers to an ice cream treat. Incidentally an ice cream treat that is not available through the ice cream man (and this is the actual, original ice cream-only treat I refer to) but through Dairy Queen.

Sometimes you say something and someone giggles. You wonder why. This started when I began teaching courses at a local college. Even though I think I am not a day over 21, these kids that I was teaching apparently were still in Junior High School, masquarading as college students.

The assignment was to come up with a name for their group projects. I was trying to teach brainstorming and that no idea was a bad one as it could lead to more good ones. The project was a collection of many different subjects into one publication. One of the group members offered "Tossed Salad." Seems harmless and not too bad for a collection of different things thrown together.

Then there was the snickering. One older, non-traditional student informed me she would not be a part of such filth (although she couldn’t define the filth, but knew that the snickering boys were up to something). So I googled it. Lovely.

So that’s great that there's slang and urban terms for whatever floats your boat. But maybe when a very unhip, thirty-something klutz utters or writes something, perhaps it would be wise to assume they mean the original meaning. Just a suggestion.

If you ever want to know, here's a helpful reference. I looked up “steamy beef hand” and thankfully no one has stolen that one yet.

Steamy Beef Hand

You ever wonder where some band names come from. I think this could be a good one. It started as I prepared one of my fabulous dinners (okay – took the ingredients out of the ziploc freezer bag and followed the directions from Dinner by the Dozen) —beef and broccoli. As I was browning my hamburger in a large pot the steam was bouncing off my stirring hand. I walked into the other room where the dogs became very interested in that hand.

mmmmm, steamy beef hand, I said aloud.

And a new band name was born. Now where did I put my drumsticks...

ICE CREAM MAN!!!!

Wow - just barely past 55 degrees out there and the ice cream man is out... (on a Friday at 1pm - although I think it is Spring Break for the neigborhood kids). There's still a patch of snow in the yard but summer must be just around the corner...

Not sure about him - it's a cute truck but things aren't the same today as they were when I was a kid.

Really want a [edited] bomb pop now...

The Klutz's Guide to Neighborhood Watch

The other morning my neighbor from across the street rang the doorbell. It was about 10 am and since it wasn't yet noon, I was still in my pjs and a sweatshirt (one of the perks of working from home office). I opened the door expecting him to hand me a package as the UPS guy is always delivering my stuff to him across the street.

Al: Are you okay?
Me: I'm fine, how are you?
[Al looks a bit confused.]

Al: Well I thought I'd just check on you since you were banging on the window...
[Now I look confused... scanning back through my previous 10 minutes...]

I realize that I had been banging on the window trying to get the squirrel out of the bird feeder. The squirrel completely ignored me, didn't even flinch. Al, across the street, who I was completely unaware of standing by his mailbox , heard me. I explain this to Al, who chuckles and moves on with his day.

I'm pretty sure the neighbors already think I am nuts ... but nice that they're keeping an eye on me none the less!

Birthdays, life, death and random thoughts in between

"...The important thing is not to be bitter over life's disappointments. Learn to let go of the past. And recognize that everyday won't be sunny. And when you find yourself in the darkness of despair, remember ... it's only in the black of night you can see the stars. And those stars lead you back home. So don't be afraid to make mistakes, to stumble, fall. Because most of the time, the greatest rewards will come from doing the things that scare you the most. Maybe you'll get everything you wished for. Maybe you'll get more than you ever could have imagined. Who knows where life will take you. The road is long and in the end, the journey is the destination." - Coach Whitey Durham (Barry Corbin) in One Tree Hill

I quietly turned 36 the other day. I didn’t mean for it to be quiet – I’d much prefer fanfare and celebration. But it seems you pass “a certain age” and birthdays get lost in the rigamarole of everyday.

With the passing of each birthday, thoughts turn to life. Am I where I wanted to be at this age? Where is it that I wanted to be? What is the meaning of life? 42 ... well, in this case, 36. It seems around my birthday, I am more aware of the fact life changes so much. Just when you think you might be in a pattern or a rut, if you step back, you'll feel the wind on your face as the world spins around you.

My grandmother is 77 – a fact that she brings up a lot lately. Perhaps it is a way to justify the whirlwind of changes she has just made. She moved from her house of 20-plus years into a stylish new place. It’s not assisted living, or a retirement building. It’s actually a pretty coo loft. But it is about one-quarter the size of her house – much more manageable for a 77 year old, albeit a fairly healthy one. She also sold the family cabin, as you may have read in previous posts. She's made these changes sort of as a way of getting her affairs together. Not that she is going anywhere. But she is 77, she will remind you this if you mention anything.

As I was contemplating the “when” of having a child, not the if, I suddenly was gripped with a fear that I might not be around for grandchildren. Then I realized that it is foolish to think that way. You really can't plan for anything in life. It doesn't work out that way. I am definitely a planner. My husband is a fly-by-the-seat-of-the pants-er. He’s been calling me type A lately. He’s right. He’s a B. So we complement each other by sometimes meeting in between. So I end up putting in place the financials, the schedules, the what-ifs, and he provides the why-nots, the let’s-gos, and the better-now-than-laters. Sometimes we flip when I suggest we run off to Paris next weekend and he reminds me we have to pay taxes.

Back to life’s changes. My mother’s brother is in the late stages of prostate cancer. He is in Salem, Oregon. I haven’t seen him in 20 years but have kept in touch on and off by email. I’d like to visit him but am having trouble getting the where-with-all to do so. True the cheaper fares are two weeks out. But life is so busy. There's a loan closing, a book club meeting, work, class to teach, taxes to do, dogs to board. All that can be rescheduled and taken care of pretty easily. I’m afraid to book a trip and end up being too late, but at the same time, afraid not to give it a chance.

On the other end of the spectrum, my sister is bringing new life into the world – due in September. For most people this is a joyous event and something I hope to do myself in the near future. But my sister wears blinders. She really flies-by-the-seat-of-her-pants. She’s a good person but just not a planner like her older sister. Her son has just turned 15. He’s a good kid but medicated and has a host of disorders defined by letters. This is mostly genetic. My sister herself is bipolar.

Her choice to get pregnant was that it was finally time, and she was in a good financial place. But she chose not to notice that she is just barely financially stable and that she really can’t stand her husband, who has a host of things going on himself. In order to get pregnant, she went off the medication to treat her disease. Then through a series of unfortunate events, lost her job.

I will admit this has affected my choices to become pregnant. Since there’s so much going on there, it’s hard for me to do the same and be happy about it, or for the rest of the family to be happy about it. I’ve always been my sister’s keeper. As I love her dearly, at the same time I am tired. It’s also very hard on the rest of the family – three other sisters and our parents. My mom is a worrier and has the blood pressure to prove it. One other sister has been going through her own changes in life – most recently health issues. Thankfully it turned out not to be Leukemia, as was a possibility, but instead good old-fashioned mono. She mirrors her big sister in work hours – too many of them!

The last thing about my birthday is that each March brings a reminder of an old friend’s birthday – exactly two weeks before mine. His mother and mine were good friends before we were around. There are pictures of us as babies, toddlers and young kids. I moved to a different town in third grade and didn't see him as often after that. His mom still came to Bridge night but he typically stayed at home. When I was 17, he took his own life. I had a great deal of teen angst and often wondered if I could just give up. I could never have gone through it. In reality, I just needed a good vacation. I often wonder what happened for him to be at a point in his life to do this. There was speculation of many things: that a former teacher of his was accused of molesting students and he might have been involved. Or possibly he had received a lower grade than expected (I believe he had a 4.0 GPA and was already accepted to School of Mines as a high school junior). Or that he simply had a shortcircuit in his body chemestry. There were no other indications, no signs.

Several years later, his mother succumbed to cancer that slowly took over her whole body. She was a wonderful person. No one deserves to lose a child this way and then lose her own life to such a horrid disease, but she deserved it the least. I think of her daughter and her husband left behind. I don't think my mother is in touch anymore but I hope that their lives are really good to them now.

The quote at the beginning of this post struck a chord with all these thoughts swirling around in my head. It’s a WB show about teen angst but the script writer has it spot on. And it doesn’t hurt hearing it spoken in the deep Texas voice of one of my favorite actors.

Life is a journey. You might as well eat cheetos in the car, take lots of pictures along the way, and maybe have a birthday party or two at McDonalds.

It's March 18 - do you know where your snow shovel is?

It's that time of year and we're about due for a biggie. The setup is right - rain due to start this afternoon, turning to snow overnight. Okay mother nature - what's the plan?

Tuft-butt season

In many parts of the country, the Groundhog may signal the coming of Spring. Here, it’s big tufts of white and brown fur everywhere. Yup, it’s tuft-butt season when our brown dog/German Shepherd mix Sarah-dog blows her coat. She has gorgeous fur - a marble of red, brown, white, tan. The birds love it too, lining the nest with her brushing piles from the yard. The cats are not so fond of it —especially when I give them little dog hair wigs. Now there's a picture for "Stuff on my cat." BA HA HA HA! [Yes, they will smother me in my sleep...]

George Clooney and dreams

And now, on a lighter note... (I do have several blogs started but not finished - damn work ... damn taxes ... damn life).

I need to start writing down my dreams. This morning I dreamed I was watching a movie at someone's house and George Clooney slipped some drugs into my drink or food. It was speed but in the dream I was a slug. I decided I needed to walk it off and Jason Alexander was there. He was helping me and saying that was really uncool of George.

??!

I sometimes try to figure out where this comes from and if there is a message. In the past I have had dreams that are foretelling things to come. Years ago I dreamt my biological Dad had died but all I got was a phone call and wasn't able to find out where he was, only that I needed to come deal with it. In the real world, the next day he called me to tell me he was getting married (to a very nice woman and they've been married ten years). I also had a very vivid apocalyptic dream on Sept. 9, 2001.

Anyway, back to George Clooney, whom I sure is a very nice guy. The drugs are probably because I have new glasses and am getting used to them (prescription changed slightly, not to mention that they actually sit in the right place on my face, which I am not used to). They do make me a little dizzy. Mr. Clooney was on the Oscars the other night. Jason Alexander was in a movie I watched over the weekend. Still don't know what it all means but it's funny to see how the brain works.