The Hokey Pokey IS What It's All About

Hosting

2010-12-14T15:13:00.000-08:00

We’ve been hosting exchange students for over six years – we’re on student number seven right now.

Our first was a wonderful girl from Germany. We had a great year with her and it was simply heartbreaking to send her home at the end of her stay with us. She was frighteningly intelligent, a perfectionist in all she did, a wonderful cook and so very much at home with us that it felt she had been part of the family forever. A bit of my heart went back to Germany when she left.

Our second was a girl from China. Also a very sweet girl. Not as much fun to host, but I think a lot of that was due to cultural differences. She was a pleasure to have around when she was participating with the family, but she spent so much time in her room with the door closed that I was pretty frustrated by the time she left. It’s hard to host someone who treats your house and family like a hotel, restaurant and cab service, and that’s what it felt like a great deal of the time. Not always, but enough that the year was difficult at times.

Number three was another girl from Germany (since we’d had such good luck with the first German girl). She was also a pleasure to host. She was much quieter than both of the previous students, but had a sharp wit and we really bonded during our year together.

The next year, we hosted a sweet little gal from Italy. Perennially cheerful (except on the day she left, when we were all teary-eyed), she was a joy to host. She was a tiny little thing and nearly every time we went out to eat, she was given a kid’s menu. She carried her Italian-English dictionary around with her for quite a while – but always tried out the Italian word first when she didn’t know the English version, just in case we might know it. Of all of the students we hosted, she came with the least fluency in English. By the time she went home, however, she (like all exchange students at the end of their year) was thinking and dreaming in our language.

Since my daughter was leaving to join the service, year five we decided to host our first boy. He was a great kid, but did need a bit more attention than the other students. I think he was more used to being the center of attention at home. We have to spread ourselves a bit thinner at our house as my husband and I both work and do a lot of volunteer work with our kids. His need to be in the limelight so much was difficult at times. And we discovered that my husband has a bit more patience for girls and their idiosyncrasies than boys and theirs. Still, not a horrible year.

This brings us to last year.

Last year we chose another girl – this one from Norway. Tall, blond and simply lovely, she seemed to fit in pretty well. Oh, there were differences of opinion, but there always are. We express our opinion and are open to listening to theirs. She seemed to take offense when our opinions didn’t mesh, unlike our other students. She also didn’t enjoy being corrected, but no teenager does. All in all, we thought the year was going relatively well. She and our son got along great and we thought we were working through any issues like we always had in the past. No hosting experience is without its bumps in the road, but our suspension has been sufficient to handle them up until last year.

This post is already too darn long, so I won’t whine my way through every detail. Suffice it to say that she started complaining about us to her family, to the organization and to all of her friends in about October. Not to us, mind you, so we were clueless as to her dissatisfaction. In January, over the course of a couple of weeks, she just about quit talking to me and when I discussed it with the program head to find out if she had mentioned any problems to them, I was immediately asked if we wanted to have her moved out. Which we didn’t want to do without trying to figure out what was wrong. But our student simply refused to discuss it with us. By the time we got home from work the day after my first discussion with AFS (the program we used to host through), our student was gone.

It was a horrible experience. At every host family orientation we attended, the AFS representatives had gone over the steps that would be taken in the event of problems between a student and a family. In our case, those steps were skipped and we had no idea what was wrong. As a host family, we all put our hearts and souls into making our student’s year one they will remember forever. It was devastating to have all that thrown aside and no effort made to rectify any perceived problems. Every time I think I am finally over it, I’ll talk about our hosting experiences with someone and when I get to last year, I realize I’m still having an incredibly hard time dealing with the hurt and rejection. Not to mention the shabby way our family felt treated by AFS after we had hosted for them for so many years successfully.

We were tempted to quit hosting. But then we decided we didn’t’ want to quit on a bad note, so we’re hosting again this year. We found another exchange student program and tried to carefully pick a student we thought would fit in better than our Norwegian had.

I think we succeeded. We’re hosting another girl from Germany (since we have had great luck with German girls!). She’s simply wonderful and I think this year will go down in the positive column.

Wordless Wednesday

2010-12-08T14:09:00.000-08:00

Last August, I took a trip to Colorado to visit family and join them for the burial of my Dad's ashes (why, yes, it has been over two years since he died - but that's the way we roll). I had a car full of kids - my son, my niece (who is now living with us until she graduates from high school in 2012), a former exchange student of ours and another former exchange student who, while she wasn't officially "ours" became ours when her original family asked her to move out at the end of the school year. So now we claim her.

Whilst perusing the map for the trip home, I realized that I'd be driving quite close to Arches National Park (taking the scenic route home to Idaho from Colorado since we took the faster route through Wyoming on the way there). After polling the car to make sure everyone was okay with arriving back home in the wee hours of the morning, I took a detour down to the park. Well, I'm not the most fabulous map reader in the world and it looked to me like exiting Highway 70 on 128 would get us to the park just about as fast as if we drove a bit further on 70 and exited on 191. WRONG!

I think that little detour added at least a couple of hours, if not more, to our trip as 128 was a narrow, winding road for much of the way. On the other hand, I doubt that I'll ever go to Arches without driving on 128 because it was so very, very beautiful.

For miles and miles, the road passes along the Colorado River through an area filled with sheer red cliffs and wonderful rock formations. It took us an especially long time to get to our destination because every time we drove around another bend, we would all gasp in amazement and have to stop for a photo. The views would leave an ordinary person speechless.

But not me, as you can tell from my inability to provide a wordless post!

Huh?

2010-12-07T12:37:00.001-08:00

So, I expected that about, oh, zero people would have come to my blog on purpose in the past six months or so due to there being no posting (ah, that Facebook is such a TIMESUCK).

Sometimes folks wind up here because of a search, so I figured there would be an occasional visitor who was interested in knowing about the lyrics to the Hokey Pokey or some such information.

Imagine my surprise when I checked my feed and found that quite a few folks have been visiting lately. Through Blogger and via a wide range of websites.

Why? I have no idea. Especially since I don't appear to have visited any of those blogs until today when I was trying to figure out the whys and wherefores of my traffic.

Can anyone making such a visit enlighten me? Inquiring minds want to know, and all that.

I'm Still Alive...

2010-12-06T17:06:00.000-08:00

And, although I don't have much to say these days, I really just had to share how very hard I laughed when I heard one of the attorneys at my office explaining to his adorable grade-school-aged son (who had just suggested in his ever-so-slight lisp how they should purchase a cockroach to put in their restaurant meal so they could get it free) the concept of contributory negligence and unclean hands.

That's all for now!

The Onion Strikes Again

2009-11-17T06:33:00.000-08:00

I don't care who (socialites) or what (ketchup) they're lampooning, the Onion always provides funny stuff! This one made me LOL - it really did!

Obama's Home Teleprompter Malfunctions During Family Dinner

The Gratitude Campaign

2009-11-11T11:30:00.000-08:00

I've been entirely too busy lately, but with a daughter in the service now, couldn't miss the opportunity on Veteran's Day to pass along this video by The Gratitude Campaign.

I try to thank soldiers for their service whenever I can - either by a verbal thanks or by buying a meal when I can get to the cashier before they do - but if you find it difficult to make an overt thank you, and really want to express your gratitude, this is a nice option.

A thing that makes me cranky

2009-07-28T16:57:00.000-07:00

We had a pretty fun weekend. Saw a movie on Friday (Sandra Bullock is adorable as always in "The Proposal"), volunteered at the Idaho Shakespeare Festival on Saturday ("The Mystery of Edwin Drood" was delightful) and nearly lost our hearing at the Heart/Journey concert on Sunday (the lead singer Journey found on You-Tube really does sound just like Steve Perry - I kid you not. Only with 100% more manic. Which is not a bad thing, just a thing that makes you wonder if he gets paid by the gallon of sweat he produces or something.).

Then last night I went with a friend to see the Indigo Girls perform at an outdoor venue. They were wonderful (I truly adore their harmonies).

The audience was another story. It seemed that my friend and I were just about the only folks there who came to see the concert. The vast majority of the audience acted as though the folks performing on the stage were merely background noise at a gathering in their back yards.

Here's a hint: If you actually have to shout to make yourself heard by the guy sitting in a lawn chair 2 feet from you? Shut the *%@& up. The folks you actually PAID to listen to are performing. And although you may enjoy throwing your money down a toilet, somebody else might actually have intended to listen to the concert they paid to hear.

I know, novel thought.

Just because there haven't been enough links on my blog lately, here's another one (and since I'm not going to yap, yap, yap AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS while you watch it, you can hear the lovely harmonies of the Indigo Girls - lucky you!):

I'm baaaaack!

2009-07-24T15:46:00.000-07:00

No, I didn't disappear. I've just been incredibly busy. Had a change of attorneys at my office so now I support two REALLY BUSY partners and one associate instead of one REALLY BUSY partner, one partner who didn't utilize me as much and one associate. Has kept me hoppin'. Then, my amazingly fabulous daughter sent me to Europe to visit all of our former exchange students (except the one currently residing in Australia - a little too out of the way!). So, travelogues and photos to follow. But I saw this today and wanted to share with whoever might have missed it (although with over 3 million views, that may not be too many!):

I think it's better than the original '80s version by Toto (and, I will admit it, I was a Toto fan way back then).

Enjoy!

Wordless (NOT) Wednesday

2009-05-06T19:49:00.000-07:00

Took my new (well, a couple months old) camera to one of our local parks to try some digital portraiture. I have a wonderful medium format camera that I used for years to shoot weddings, family portraits and senior portraits - but no one wants to hire someone who is still so old fashioned as to use *gasp* film. So, I upgraded in February when we were getting ready to fly to Chicago to see our sailor girl graduate.

When I'm shooting senior portraits, I typically start out at Kathryn Albertson Park - a lovely natural park with lots of wetlands for nesting water fowl. And since the weather is getting nicer every day, the park was full of Canada geese guarding little flocks of goslings.

You have never seen anyone - human or animal - who can give a better stink eye than a Canada goose with little ones who thinks you are getting entirely too close for comfort. What do you mean, you don't know what stink eye is?

Take a gander (ha! goose joke!):

Give that goose a wiiiiide berth. Or else.

E-mail hijinks

2009-04-30T13:57:00.000-07:00

Sometimes folks get a little wacky in the e-mail exchanges around our office. Behold:

So, a few of us were discussing the idea of creating a summer celebration of the 13 weeks of wings. For the 13 weeks of June through August we will select a restaurant to sample and rate their wings each Wednesday at noon. We are currently seeking the level of interest to have a general idea for planning purposes, understanding this is not a 13-week commitment; attendees will vary from week to week depending on one’s availability. Takers?

Wings? You eat the wings of little birds?

Whenever we can. We're cruel - it's how we roll.

Yep! And sometimes their little beaks too!! A little ranch dressing....yummy!

No, big birds. And we should figure out how to incorporate the consumption of that certain liquid refreshment commonly known as "Beer"!

So, we should keep you far, far away from the World Center for Birds of Prey?

Yes, unless there is a Beer Garden in the vicinity.

Does keep things interesting, though.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-04-22T13:37:00.001-07:00

Okay, I promise there will be actual words soon, but in the meantime, here's one of my favorite pictures:

I took this last year during a spring break vacation that took us on a loop from Boise to Portland to the Oregon coast to the California Redwoods to San Francisco to the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains (California side) to Lake Tahoe and back to Boise. A whirlwind trip, but very fun. This shot was at a beach below Heceta Head. A, ahem, rest break - yep, that's what we'll call it, a rest break - was needed so I pulled into the parking lot above this beach. While other inhabitants of the car were "resting" I wandered down and took this photo. I just loved the way the rocks reflected in the wet sand.

And, after getting back on the highway and down the road aways, we looked back and saw the lighthouse that was a little hike from the parking lot we had been in and totally hidden from view when we were on the beach:

Oh heavens, this is soooo familiar

2009-04-21T16:22:00.000-07:00

This is the same gal who sang the hilarious list of "mom sayings" to the William Tell Overture tune. Hysterical!

Wordless Wednesday

2009-04-15T11:21:00.001-07:00

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahah!

Whew, the thought of me actually being “wordless” is pretty darn hysterical.

But I did want to share one of my favorite photos from our trip to Chicago. This sculpture, located at Millennium Park, is called “Cloud Gate” - although the locals apparently refer to it as the “Bean.” Which totally makes sense given its kidney-bean shape. A highly polished metal, it perfectly reflects the Chicago skyline.

So, clue me in...

2009-04-13T13:44:00.000-07:00

What is Indiana.rivals.com and why is my tiny little corner of the interwebs attracting so very many people to visit from there?

Inquiring minds would LOVE to know.

Now THIS is how it should be sung

2009-04-13T12:33:00.000-07:00

I'm probably the last person on the planet to have seen this video and y'all are gonna be all "Oh, THAT old thing," but just in case I'm not, I wanted to share a You-Tube video sent to me recently. Really puts to shame just about every other version of our national anthem I've ever heard sung. Rosanne, take note - not a single crotch grab during the entire song. THIS is how is should always be sung!

Up, up and away!

2009-04-09T17:23:00.000-07:00

Nope, no beautiful balloons here (please tell me I’m not the only person who gets that reference).

But there are rockets!

My son, along with the rest of his Team American Rocketry Challenge (TARC) team has spent the last 7 or so months designing and building a rocket that can launch an egg (nestled sideways in the body of the rocket) 750 feet in the air and return to ground within 45 seconds - without scrambling the egg.

Last weekend was the deadline for completing a qualified launch (one timed and verified by an official). Points are awarded thusly: 1 point for each foot above or below the 750 feet goal and 2 points for every second slower or faster than the 45 second goal. A scrambled egg automatically disqualifies the flight. Obviously, the goal is a number as close to 0 as possible. We spent a day at the Swan Falls launch site of the Tripoli Idaho Rocket Club (members of which launch high powered model rockets – making the kind my kids used to build look downright puny). Pretty scenery as a backdrop for the flights:

My son’s team set their rocket up on one of the launch pads and it failed to take off twice. Turns out it was nothing to do with the rocket – the person who set up the launch pad didn’t connect the pad to the launch controller’s station.

The next launch was successful:

Successful in that it took off and landed without breaking the egg. But something went wrong with the altimeter, which was a special kind that also had some fancy breaking mechanism. So the team then had to revamp its rocket so that it wouldn’t need to employ a breaking mechanism to keep from flying far beyond 750 feet. They got close, but not close enough to ask for a qualifying launch. The next weekend (the last weekend to qualify) the team went out and launched without all of the spectators. After a lot of adjustments, the rocket made 743 feet in 42 seconds, for a score of 24. Hopefully that’ll be good enough! If they’re in the top 100 teams (out of approximately 600), they’ll head to Virginia for the national competition – with the top team from that competition not only winning a large cash prize, but also a trip to Paris for the international competition.

Keep your fingers crossed!

I know he misses her, but this is ridiculous

2009-03-19T21:59:00.001-07:00

We all miss our sailor girl. My son misses her. Our exchange student misses her. Her friends miss her. My husband and I miss her.

But do we yowl about it every night? No. We do not.

Morton isn't a really friendly cat. In fact, he can be rather standoffish - especially with strangers.

But oh, how he loves my daughter.

And EVERY SINGLE NIGHT SINCE SHE LEFT we have been serenaded with a veritable cat yowl concerto in C minor.

Or something like that.

He has the courtesy to go downstairs before he starts his yowling, so at least he's not right in my face with his little kitty broken heart.

But the yowling goes on. If he wasn't a boy, I'd think he was in heat. It's THAT kind of obnoxious yowling. Then he'll come back upstairs, hop up on the bed next to me and meow right at me for a bit.

OMG, what I wouldn't give for ONE NIGHT of silence.

The other night he headed downstairs and commenced with cat yowl concerto, apparently unaware that our beagle had not yet retired for the evening.

Yowling begins. Joined by a bit of howling. So, now we have a very short duet of animal noise.

Morton headed back upstairs rather rapidly, then joined us on the bed. All calm - like "Hey, I really intended to sing a duet this evening." If you have a cat, you know the routine. They NEVER admit to being startled in the slightest. They were ALWAYS in total control of the situation.

All I know is that if he doesn't start controlling his vocal cords, we may well discover whether cat tastes like chicken soon.

Pass in Review

2009-03-06T10:25:00.000-08:00

Since my husband did such a beautiful job recapping our experience at our daughter’s Pass in Review (graduation from Navy boot camp) last weekend, I’m going to steal his post and reprint it here. It’s written for folks who have kids in the Navy (either in boot camp or at a different stage of their career), so some of it is geared to help folks who might be headed for their own PIR in the future, but I didn’t want to make too many edits. Nevertheless, I feel that soon all two of my readers will be begging for more “guest posts.” But you’re stuck with me!! Muahhaaaahaaaahaaaa!

The weather in Chicago was terrible on Thursday, February 26th, so it was difficult to get there. We left Boise, Idaho, at 9:51 in the morning and finally got to bed in our hotel room at about 1:00 a.m. But we did make it and I would have gone through much worse for our girl. We had decided to rent a car from O’Hare, since I’m pretty good at navigating around new places. It also gave us a little more flexibility. I won’t go into the whole plane canceled, sitting on the ramp and bumpy flight story. Just believe me when I say there are better times to fly to Chicago.

We stayed at the La Quinta Inn out on Grand Avenue, which was a quick 10 minute or so drive from RTC [Recruit Training Command]. The hotel was very good, with a Continental Breakfast that we took advantage of every day, even the first day when they started serving at 6:00 a.m. and we left the hotel at about 6:15. As we were leaving the hotel I noticed how very cold it was. Our car said it was 17 degrees, but between the humidity and the wind it felt like 10 below.

We got to the front gate at just about 6:30 and I believe there were less than 20 cars ahead of us. Make sure you know where you’re going, because you pass about three gates on Buckley before you get to the right one. The proper gate is east of the VA hospital and is on the corner of Buckley and Illinois Streets. They waved us right through the gate after checking our parking pass and directed us to a small parking lot nearby. There they put us in rows and checked everyone’s I.D.s. That was it. They were patrolling around with a dog, so it’s possible they were doing spot checks on car contents. The dogs were even wearing coats. Did I mention the cold?

After the first parking lot they directed us to the large lot near the chapel. I was tempted to drop my wife and mother-in-law off at MCPON Hall on the way by, since it was blisteringly cold, but I was afraid to stop and mess up the traffic flow. As it was, since we were early, we parked at the far end of the parking lot and had to walk back about 3 or 400 yards. Did I mention it was cold?

We trooped into MCPON hall and got to the front of the line very quickly. Our names were checked off a list and we asked about the fifth member of our group, our German exchange student. We had brought him thinking he would have to wait in the visitor’s center until he could be seated. They just told us to keep him with us, stamped all our hands and waved us along. You do only have four names on the list, so be aware if you bring more they might be disappointed. It worked for us, but ours was a fairly small class with only eight Divisions.

We then walked from MCPON hall to the Drill Hall. If I knew its name I’ve forgotten. The walk was maybe 200 yards. I think I mentioned before that it was cold. We entered the Drill Hall and immediately you can tell where to sit, because there are signs out on the floor for each Division. We found Division 109's seats and proceeded to wait for about two hours. It wasn’t too bad, because you could get up and walk around if you wanted to and they were showing films if you could concentrate. The bathrooms are large, clean and located under the bleachers. They also were selling water at a little stand.

We asked about buying a Division T-shirt, since we heard they sold them during graduation. They said they weren’t selling them. We only found out later our daughter already had hers, so we didn’t have to make sure and get her one. I’ve heard other people say that they sell them while you’re waiting for PIR, but not this time.

I apologize for forgetting what order things happen in, but a few things happen before our Sailors are in the hall. The Navy band plays, a band from the 900 Division plays and they present the colors and all the State Flags. Make sure and cheer when they name your state (you know who you are Rhode Island). If you’re wondering, the flags are presented in the order your state entered the Union. Sorry Alaska and Hawaii, that’s just the way it is.

Then the moment we’d all been waiting for. The large garage doors in the northeast corner (far left, across from the stands) open, and the first Division marches in. They stop immediately and strip off all their watch caps and scarves, then they start moving again. You can hear the excitement as families start recognizing their Sailors. The Divisions all parade in front of the stands then reverse direction and come to a halt in their positions. Don’t be surprised if your Division is not right in front of you, it just works out that way.

We saw our girl fairly early on, but we weren’t sure it was her, because her blond hair looked dark against the Navy Blue Dress uniform. At this point I was getting a little emotional so maybe I wasn’t seeing so well. When they did their turning maneuver that put all their guidon and flag bearers at the front, she went to the back, since she was the tallest girl in the Division. I could see her with binoculars and my wife was able to get her picture with her telephoto lens.

The ceremony is surprisingly short. The main part of it is giving out the Honors to the Honor Recruits and Honor Divisions. A Rear Admiral, who works at the Pentagon, was the honorary graduate inspector, and he gave a speech. It was a rousing dedication to “The most powerful Navy in the world” and our Sailors. At one point he mentioned that this class means a lot to him, since he had a new Sailor out on the floor. I thought he was going to lose it then and I almost did myself.

I can still hear in my head the moment they called, “Now Hear This, Liberty Call, Liberty Call.” If the three little old ladies and the Chief RDC [Recruit Division Commander – what in other branches of the military might be known as a drill sergeant] I ran over getting to my girl are reading this, I’m really sorry. I have to blame extenuating circumstances. I’m sure you understand.

I’m about 6’ 4” tall and my girl is 5’ 8” so we didn’t have much trouble finding each other. The big grins we each had on our faces would probably have lit up a dark room anyway. I caught her and gave her a big “Bravo Zulu” hug. The rest of the family caught up and we all stood around congratulating ourselves on a job well done. There wasn’t a dry eye in the group. Even our crusty new Sailor showed a little emotion.

We spent the next three days catching up and trying to stay warm. It was very hard to take her back Sunday night, but she was able to call and leave a message on my cell phone Monday. She called Wednesday from O’Hare, where she was waiting to catch the plane to San Francisco and then to Monterey.

She’s getting settled in in Monterey right now, waiting to “class up” and begin learning Arabic – a process that’s scheduled to last at least 63 weeks. Once she’s mastered her language, that’ll be the last we know of her job as everything from there on out will be classified. She could tell us, but then she’d have to kill us.

Success!

2009-03-03T16:47:00.000-08:00

Nope, I didn't disappear off the face of the planet. I've just been using all of my spare writing time to correspond with A NEW SAILOR IN THE U.S. NAVY!!!

Suweeeet!

Nope, not proud at all.

Details to follow when I've recovered from our trip to the Chicago (which isn't nicknamed "The Windy City" for nothin'!).

She still has a sense of humor

2009-01-20T15:07:00.000-08:00

Well, they may be doing their utmost to torment her in the best of military boot camp style, but we have trained her well - my daughter still has her sense of humor!

When your kid heads off to Navy boot camp, you'll get a 30 second call when they arrive, a box full of their civilian clothes about a week later, and a form letter from the Department of the Navy in about another week.

The form letter expresses appreciation for your support of your recruit, gives you the official address for sending mail to your recruit (as well as letting you know what is and is not acceptable to mail), discusses telephone calls (you can't call 'em), emergency leave (strongly discouraged), visiting (not until PIR - Pass in Review, the official graduation ceremony), and various and sundry other form-letter-type stuff. There are also two lines available for your kid to write a message.

This didn't stop my daughter from cramming eight lines of writing in the "Recruit's Comments" area as well as little notes or a drawing on each of the other three pages of the letter.

Her illustration let us know that the bitter cold (boot camp is in Great Lakes, Illinois) was being compensated for by what she referred to as cold-weather ~~Astronaut suit~~ clothing. She drew an arrow to what she called "totally hot Navy-issue glasses I will soon receive" (apparently, the black-plastic rimmed glasses are referred to in Navy lingo as "BCG" or "birth control glasses" because they are not exactly stylin').

Her note indicated that the RDCs (Recruit Division Commanders) aren't as scary as she thought they would be because she hasn't "done anything completely moronic ... yet." And that one of the things that keeps her going is knowing "whatever comes after this canNOT POSSIBLY suck this bad. It's inconceivable."

And then she broke my heart by saying that she barely laughs for fear of getting yelled at. My daughter has an absolutely delightful, infectious laugh and it's one of the things I miss the most.

But if the kid who's going through the boot camp ordeal can tell me to "Be strong - I'm okay" - well, it's the least I can do.

Bookaholic

2009-01-15T16:13:00.000-08:00

My name is Sharon and I'm a bookaholic.

I don't think there are any 12 step programs for my ailment.

But then, I doubt I'd deem myself in need of rehabilitation if there were any programs, so it's probably a good thing they're not available. Without rehab, there can be no interventions. So, I'm safe to read to my heart's content.

Even when that means I'm completely ignoring many other obligations - like sweeping, mopping, dusting, laundry, etc.

Yes, sometimes I get into a really good book and pretty much couch potato until I've finished it (betcha didn't know you could use "couch potato" as a verb, did you?).

Over the past six months, I've taken part in two reading log swaps on Swap-Bot. It's the first time I've ever actually kept track of my reading. I've always said that I read to escape and my logs sure showed that! I had a grand total of one nonfiction book during six months of reading!

For kicks, here's my log (sans all of the descriptions):

Title	Author
False Memory	Dean Koontz
Confessions of a Shopaholic	Sophie Kinsella
Shopaholic Ties the Knot	Sophie Kinsella
Cold Case	Stephen White
The Golden Compass The Subtle Knife The Amber Spyglass (His Dark Materials Trilogy)	Phillip Pullman
Desperate Hours (The Epic Rescue of the Andrea Doria)	Richard Goldstein
Murder Suicide	Keith Ablow
Breaking Dawn	Stephenie Meyer
Blaze	Stephen King writing as Richard Bachman
Manhunt	Janet Evanovich
Everyone Worth Knowing	Laura Weisberger
Power Play	Joseph Finder
A TV Guide to Life (How I Leaned Everything I Needed to Know from Watching Television)	Jeff Alexander
Confessions of a Nervous Shiksa	Tracy McArdle
Murder in Volume	D.R. Meredith
Too Late for Angels	Mignon F. Ballard
Breach of Promise	Perri O’Shaughnessy
Unfit to Practice	Perri O’Shaughnessy
Hush	Anne Frasier
The Host	Stephenie Meyer
SisterWife	Natalie R. Collins
Then We Came to the End	Joshua Ferris
I Am Legend	Richard Matheson
The Woods	Harlan Coben
Coronado	Dennis Lehane
Killer Instinct	Joseph Finder
Angela’s Ashes	Frank McCourt
Teacher Man	Frank McCourt
A Thousand Splendid Suns	Khaled Hosseini
Nobody’s Safe	Richard Steinberg
Daddy’s Girl	Lisa Scottoline
Brotherhood of the Rose	David Morrell
Creepers	David Morrell
Saving Fish From Drowning	Amy Tan
Are you There, Vodka, It’s Me, Chelsea.	Chelsea Handler
Cold Sassy Tree	Olive Ann Burns
Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister	Gregory Maguire
Ender’s Game Speaker of the Dead Xenocide Children of the Mind	Orson Scott Card
Hide	Lisa Gardner
‘Tis	Frank McCourt
Every Boy’s Got One	Meg Cabot
After Sunset	Stephen King
Change of Heart	Jodi Picoult
Retribution	Jilliane Hoffman
Veil of Roses	Laura Fitzgerald
The Hour I First Believed	Wally Lamb

I've decided to keep a log of everything I read this year. Maybe I'll try to sneak in more than one nonfiction!

Where's my heart? In Illinois, that's where

2009-01-14T11:07:00.000-08:00

And it's cold, darn it!

Actually, only part of my heart is in Illinois. I do still have family here. But the lovely young lady who is my daughter headed off for Navy boot camp Tuesday, January 6, and it certainly felt like my heart was being ripped out at the time.

I knew it would be hard. She's left home before - for a semester at a prep school in Southern California, for a couple of weeks to attend Summer Seminars for both the Naval Academy and the Air Force Academy, for a week to attend Girls' State, three weeks in Europe, and various and sundry time spent with out-of-town friends and family.

But this time was different - this time I knew she wouldn't be coming back to live at home when she was finished. Plus, this time there would be 100% more yelling at her where she was going!

I started the waterworks a couple of weeks before she left - trying to restrict myself to crying when she was not around. In the shower, in bed, in the pantry huddled over the trash can ('cause it's a nice sized pantry, but it's not big enough to wallow in without huddling over the trash can). The day we took her to the hotel where she spent her last night in town before shipping out, I broke the no-crying-in-front-of-her rule. But she wiped away a tear or two herself, so that was okay.

I'm doing a little better than I expected. Sure, I was a hot mess for awhile, but I've bucked up and am doing the ol' stiff upper lip thing. When we got "the box" (they sent back all of her civilian clothes in a box right away), I didn't weep hysterically as I had assumed I would. Seeing the hurriedly scrawled "love you" inside the box was wonderful - we probably won't get any actual correspondence for another week or so.

She's a strong gal. And this is what she has wanted to do since middle school - serve her country in the U.S. Navy. So, holding it together and being cheerfully supportive is the least I can do for her. I know she can do anything for 8 weeks as long as she knows she's got love and support from her friends and family.

And I'm right - she called home today (I'm soooo jealous that my husband was home sick and that he was able to talk to her!). She needs information so the Navy can complete her security clearance (she'll be in an intelligence job when she finishes school after boot camp). She had enough time to tell him that she's doing great and everything is going fine with her basic training.

That's my gal!

I left a little bit less of my heart in San Francisco

2009-01-07T17:28:00.000-08:00

But 100% more luggage.

As I’ve mentioned before, we are currently hosting our 5th exchange student. Now, when students first find out they’re placed with our family, they have to look up where exactly Idaho is in relation to the parts of the U.S. they’ve actually heard of. So while they’re here, we make every attempt to show them at least one thing their friends and family will be able to relate to. Over the years, we’ve made trips to Yellowstone National Park, the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas and, one of our favorite cities, San Francisco.

For some exchange students, there’s nothing quite like walking across the Golden Gate Bridge and riding a cable car. And the hilly streets - the scene of so very many exciting car chases in so very many movies - are always a hit!

This year’s trip was over the Christmas holidays. We piled in the car Christmas afternoon and headed for my sister-in-law’s house in Reno, and then on to California the next day. My father-in-law lives only a couple of hours from the City (as San Franciscans like to call it – never, ever “Frisco”), so we got up bright and early on the 28th and drove down to the City by the Bay.

We spent a couple of days doing all of the typical, touristy things: walking across the Golden Gate Bridge and back, having ice cream at the Ben & Jerry’s at the corner of Haight and Ashbury, letting the kids dip their toes in the Pacific Ocean, driving down the crooked part of Lombard Street, roving around Fisherman’s Wharf watching the street performers and buying postcards, and (of course) riding the famous cable cars. We got off of our cable car in Chinatown, wandered around and then headed back to the area where we always park our car when we’re in that end of town. My knees wimped out during the mile and a half walk (so very, very frustrating), so my husband and daughter left the boys and me in a park in Little Italy and jogged off to bring the car back.

Unfortunately, someone beat them to the car.

No, it wasn’t stolen. However, the rear driver’s side window had been smashed to bits, my purse was on the ground beside the car and both my suitcase and a backpack belonging to our exchange student were gone.

Coulda been worse, I guess. My suitcase had nothing but clothing in it (albeit clothing that I loved!) and the backpack contained only a few, inexpensive items. It looked as though the thieves had merely broken the window, grabbed the items closest to them, and run off (after rifling through my purse and abandoning it for its sheer boringness, I guess). They didn’t unlock the rest of the car, or even look closely at the rear seat area. My daughter’s purse was in the center section of seats and held her digital camera. We had nearly every CD we own in the front of the van. And, strangest of all, our exchange student’s iPod was in plain sight in the back of the car. So, we were thanking our lucky stars that it wasn’t worse.

It did, however, put a damper on what had been a nice little trip. And an unexpected dent in our pocketbook in the form of window replacement.

But I’ve got to wonder what the heck our incompetent thieves were thinking. I mean - breaking into a minivan with Idaho plates? A minivan belonging to folks who couldn’t even afford to fly to the City? What exactly did they think they’d be hauling out of that van? I have a feeling they were terribly disappointed with their haul!

I, for one, was glad to be back home when the trip was over.

Oh yeah, one great reason to live in Idaho? A headline in the Idaho Business Review: “Idaho energy czar Kjellander aims to harness cow pie power.”

Couldn’t get that anywhere else.

Holiday tradition

2008-12-22T15:10:00.000-08:00

Last weekend we had our annual Holiday Open House. We started hosting an open house the year we became homeowners. This year was our 13th annual holiday party.

So, you’d think I would have prep down to a well-organized science. Or at least an art.

Instead, the night before the big event, the living room looked like this:
>

And, I had done not a bit of cooking. In fact, grocery shopping had not even taken place until I left work the night before the party.

Nothin’ like leaving EVERYTHING to the last minute. Well, not everything. The tree was up and the kids had decorated it.

Not a big deal if we were expecting a few folks over for hot chocolate and cookies.

But we were expecting over 40 people and the menu was as follows: Pineapple Nutty Cheese Ball, Pesto Provolone Terrine, Veggies and Dip, Brown Sugar Smokies, Savory Herb Shortbread, Nutty Gorgonzola Roasted Potato Slices, Asiago Dip, Brie Cherry Pastry Cups, Miniature Cheesecakes, Brownies, Russian Tea Cakes, Cherry Almond Cookies and Cranberry Bars.

Luckily, there’s nothing like a little Wild-Eyed and Stressed-Out Mom to spur the family into action. My daughter was a huge help in the cooking department and my boys (both the kid I gave birth to and the one we’re borrowing from Germany this year) and husband helped with cleaning and decorating. Our first guests were early and I even put them to work!

After the last-minute hustle, everything turned out great. The food was (as always) fabulous and the house looked great:

May you take part in many wonderful, stress-free, holiday traditions this year!

Now THESE are Christmas lights

2008-12-20T06:07:00.000-08:00

Co-worker sent the following in an e-mail:

I forwarded (of course) to my family:

Me: We SO need to do this next year.

Stepmom: Absolutely!!! You first.

Hubby: Don’t like our neighbors? And what do you mean we? I don’t remember seeing you up on that ladder this year.

Me: Well, naturally, in this case the "we" means "you." You know that!

Son: Dad, want me to get the ladder out? If we start now we might be done by next year!

For more information on the above light display, you can check out the owner’s website: Holdman Christmas Lights

Scrooge is alive and well

2008-12-17T12:49:00.000-08:00

My daughter was downtown during the lunch hour today, so I suggested that we grab a bite to eat together (she leaves for Navy boot camp in three weeks – gulp! – and I’m taking every opportunity to spend time together while trying not to be tooooo clingy). We headed over to the Old Spaghetti Factory and ordered up our favorites.

I noticed that a couple of crotchety women seated nearby seemed to be unhappy with our mutual waitress. They had her send the manager to their table where they harangued him for quite some time. Seems the restaurant ran out of the cheese and broccoli specialty soup for the day and they couldn’t get any refills after they’d finished their first bowl.

This was cause not only to give the waitress a hard time (“Can’t they make anything besides minestrone?”), but they apparently felt it warranted letting the manager know not only how unhappy they were with the waitress’s apparently inability to wiggle her nose all Bewitched-like and produce the desired soup, but also how they received much better service and more food at various restaurants around town.

Seriously. For at least 15 minutes. Reinforced my fervent desire never to have a customer-service related job ever again.

My daughter and I were plenty happy with our very attentive waitress, so I asked her to send the manager to our table when he was done with the crabby gals.

We told him the waitress was fabulous, the food was wonderful and we loved his restaurant.

Then we left a $10.00 tip for an $18.00 check.

Heck, we knew the gal was going to get stiffed by at least one table!

On the lookout for winged pigs ...

2008-12-10T15:08:00.000-08:00

Our local Costco is selling gas for $1.46 per gallon (here's where you can find the lowest gas price in your area). I truly NEVER expected to see gas for less than $2.00 per gallon again, so I am now keeping a close eye out for flying pigs. 'Cause you know those will be coming next.

And, just to get you in the holiday mood, one of my favorite You Tube videos ever:

A lovely dog who, sadly, passed away in a house fire. At least his owners will always have this joyous video to remember him with.

You never know

2008-12-01T17:06:00.000-08:00

Holy cow! Where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday I was bemoaning the fact that there were Christmas trees being serenaded by carols in the stores and it was not yet Halloween and now those things are actually seasonally appropriate.

Remember when it seemed like it took F O R E V E R for Christmas to arrive?

Now? Not so much.

We took part in our communities’ annual Rake Up Boise – an event that we’ve participated in since our daughter was in middle school. We’ve raked with a middle school team, a Mensa team, a Civil Air Patrol team, an AFS team and a team from my office. Some years we’ve gone out with more than one team if they were raking on different days. This year’s team was from the office and I was the coordinator. Counting kids, we had 55 participants. And we raked up about 150 bags of leaves.

When you have a big group like that, it goes very quickly! And is accompanied by much frivolity. We’ve been known to rake not only the yards assigned to us (4 this year), but sometimes the neighboring yards. Since one of our houses had a neighboring yard FULL of leaves, we decided to rake them up as well so that they wouldn’t get blown into the yard we had just cleaned up. Sometimes when we do that, we have a lot of fun with the reactions of the occupants of the “extra” house (since they’re not expecting a huge group of people to attack their leaves). This year, we had a more sobering experience. In the words of one of our rakers from an e-mail she sent to the office the Monday after we raked:

As those of you who were there may recall, after we finished our four "assigned" houses we decided to do an additional house, almost as an after-thought. As I was helping rake up the leaves, I noticed an elderly gentleman walk out of this house and he looked perplexed, but also sad. He walked over to my boyfriend and spoke to him for a long while. Afterwards, [BF] walked up to me and shared their conversation.

The man asked [BF] what was going on, who were we? After [BF] explained that we were all from [lawfirm] (and/or friends and family members) and we were participating in Rake Up Boise as a community event the man asked if he could pay us. [BF] reassured him that no, we wouldn’t accept anything from the man and just wanted to help out people like him for Rake Up Boise. At that point, the man got teary eyed and told [BF] that our timing was amazing because at 3 am last night his daughter-in-law passed away and his family was going to be showing up at his home later than morning. So, he really appreciated our help and couldn't believe the timing. Later, the man and his wife left the house and stopped to talk to a group and reiterated his sincere thanks. Again, he was teary eyed in giving his heart-felt thanks. Looks like we happened to be in the right place at the right time.

I just wanted to share this with all of you . . . You never know how much a kind gesture means to its recipient until something like this happens.

You really do never know.

A wee bit cranky ...

2008-11-13T09:52:00.000-08:00

My life is boring.

That’s why no posts lately. Just work, home to fix dinner, watch the appropriately named boob tube, then bed.

But that’s not why I’m cranky.

About this time last year, I started having a strange problem. Rather than reinvent the wheel, here’s what I posted on my Livejournal about the whole situation:

Well, my brain is normal.

No, really. That’s what the doctor said.

Lots of folks might have a difficult time believing it. But the scan said so.

I had been smelling cigarette smoke even when there was no way it could be present. In my non-smoking office. In my very non-smoking house. In my also very non-smoking minivan. (Yes, that’s what I drive. What’s it to ya?) If I were to walk past someone actually smoking while smelling the phantom odor, I could tell the difference between the real and the illusion, but other than that it was incredibly real. And this was no little whiff of smoke. It was as though someone were sitting next to me smoking and blowing it in my face. And I couldn’t even smack him.

Got real old, real fast. So, I went to the doc-in-the-box. Who said he couldn’t find anything, but here, take these antibiotics just in case. And schedule an appointment with an ENT specialist. Which I did. He also didn’t see anything, but prescribed a steroid burst, after promising it wouldn’t make me go nuts and kill my family. Well, not any more than the general desire to murderize them when the house is trashed and no one can see it but me – apparently I have problems with my nose, but some kind of extrasensory power of sight that can see mess where no one else can. And dirty laundry. And available food for meal prep. What eyes!

Smell was still there.

So the ENT guy scheduled a CT scan. Of the brain. Couple that with the silly internet research on phantom odors which suggested that one potential cause was a brain tumor and you have a very nervous, cigarette-smoke-smelling gal.

But my brain is normal. So they say.

The smell disappeared all on its own a couple of weeks ago. Perhaps it felt that $700 spent on doctor stuff (damn $2,000 deductible) was sufficient. Knock on wood it stays gone.

Well, it’s back. It’s been back for a couple of months now. It made a brief appearance several months after its original disappearance and when I called the ENT doc, he said there was nothing else he could do for me.

Gee, thanks.

I’ve been putting off trying to figure out what kind of doctor I should call next because we already spent a buttload of money on knee doctors. And, well, I hate going to the doctor. And I was hoping it would just go away on its own again.

It hasn’t. And since cigarette smoke is one of my all-time least favorite smells (ranks right up there with the smell of our dog when he’s been rolling in poop), I’ve been somewhat cranky lately. So I guess I’ll have to break down and find a doctor who won’t just throw up his hands in defeat.

In the meantime, if any of you have ever heard of this phantom odor thing and have any idea how to get rid of it, PLEASE let me know. I’ll send cookies! And my family, who is no doubt tired of my cranky butt, will help bake them.

Well, at least THIS is funny ...

2008-11-05T14:16:00.000-08:00

Since a lot of the folks I know need something to laugh at today, here's this (from The Onion via Hot Air):

Obama Win Causes Obsessive Supporters To Realize How Empty Their Lives Are

OMG

2008-11-03T21:47:00.000-08:00

I went to the grocery store tonight.

Was greeted by a CHRISTMAS TREE in the entrance.

And Christmas music. (When my jaw dropped and I expressed the appropriate horror, my son told me that my daughter had predicted I would respond thusly.)

It's NOVEMBER 3.

It's going to be a long holiday season.

Are your loins girded?

2008-11-03T12:36:00.001-08:00

I'm feeling like this is the loooooooonnnnnnggggggeeeeesssstttt day in history. Until tomorrow. Which is bound to be just as long. And maybe drunk. Well, me, that is, not the day.

In the meantime, to help you fellow Red Staters gird your loins, you can check out this post on Hot Air.

I've got mix CDs for either eventuality:

McCain/Palin win: Right as Rain, Happy Endings, Looks Like We Made It, I Feel Fine, Picture Perfect Morning, We Are the Champions, Who's Crying Now, etc.

Obama/Biden win: Bad Day, Wreck of the Day, Numb, Wasted, Help!, Hopeless, Heaven Forbid, etc. Oh, and Mozart's Requiem. I think it'll be appropriate.

Gird up!

Old fogie

2008-11-02T20:17:00.000-08:00

Have you ever seen the movie The Big Chill? You know how the Kevin Kline character is stuck in the past musically - pretty much listening only to music he listened to in college?

Well, I'm married to his brother. Or at least it feels that way.

Our kids can instantly tell who is singing pretty much any oldie on the radio. And there are pop quizzes from their dad. "Who's singing this?" "The Mammas and the Pappas" or "AC/DC"

Now, they do like to listen to modern music (though, thankfully, neither one of them is into rap or rap-like music). And I also enjoy music that was released in the last decade.

But whenever we're listening to a CD that was released any time after the kids were born, my husband's usual response is "What is this crap?"

He also has issues with the way today's fashions appear to be just goin' right down the ol' tube.

So, that sets up the following conversation during Saturday Night Live's musical guest's performance last night:

Husband: "I guess I don't understand today's style. He should take a bath, comb his hair, shave ..."

Me: "Tuck his shirt in."

Husband: "The least he can do is get some nice clothes ..."

Son: "And a powdered wig."

What's that football team doing on the marching field?

2008-10-30T21:02:00.000-07:00

I spent last Saturday completely away from the Internet and unable to feed my addiction to political blogs – or any kind of political talk for that matter. It was actually quite nice and a little taste of what my life will return to after next Tuesday. Not that I’m going to give up some of the new blogs I’ve discovered during this election cycle – I just won’t be as obsessive about checking them every 15 ~~seconds~~minutes.

Where, you might ask, can someone completely escape politics just over a week before the most contentious election I can remember?

At the Idaho District Three Marching Festival.

I’m the kind of gal who goes to the football games solely to watch the halftime entertainment. In sixth grade, when confronted with the choice of choir, orchestra, musical history or band, both of my kids chose band. My daughter stuck with it until she graduated from high school and my son is currently in his first year as a member of his high school marching band.

Man, I had no idea how hard band kids work to learn the short programs they perform during halftime at the football game! They spend two weeks in the summer at “band camp” – which, in Meridian, is NOTHING like American Pie: Band Camp. They spend the vast majority of their time the first week just learning the basics of marching (it’s a lot harder than it looks) and, if they’re lucky, they might learn part of their show during the second week of camp after they’ve learned to combine music playing with the marching.

Then there is the twice-weekly evening practices – at least 2-1/2 hours each. Plus the time they spend in class learning the music.

By the time the first football games rolls around, the band usually only knows a couple of minutes of the show. The first time I watched my daughter march, I was completely confused. Like “Is that it? Is that what they spent two full weeks of camp, at least one week of practices and class time learning? THAT’s the show?” kind of confused.

Well, no, it isn’t. Our band usually doesn’t have the entire show memorized until right before they head out of town to their first competition. And one or two weeks later is District III – the event they’ve spent two months preparing for. Because if you think the marching band does all that work for the football game halftimes, you’re so very wrong. Until I had a marcher, I never realized how completely the band is ignored during halftime. (How pissed off that makes me is another story for another blog – because I don’t think the language I’d have to use to describe my irritation is appropriate here!)

Nope, they’re preparing for District III – when 25 bands from the district come together to strut their stuff on the blue Smurf Turf at Boise State University. Because THAT audience knows how much sweat and effort has gone into the show they make look so effortless.

Our school has a fabulous director – she came straight from college to a brand new high school and in her first teaching job, turned her students into an award winning band in two years’ time. We are so very lucky to have her.

I’ve been a complete band geek since the first year my daughter marched and I have a hard time understanding parents who don’t come to every single performance and volunteer for the myriad of behind-the-scenes jobs that keep the band director and students able to focus on the job they have to do. Both my husband and I travel to the away competitions – usually driving the equipment truck. We also help at any local competitions – loading and unloading the equipment truck and helping get the front ensemble instruments on and off the field. I served as the Band Booster president for one year and the secretary for the last three years (even during the “gap” year when I had no student actually in the marching band – since our school doesn’t march its Freshman students).

I love hanging with the band kids – they’re a refreshing reminder that all teenagers aren’t like those depicted on television or in the movies. Band kids are, for the most part, just nice kids.

My “Marching Band Parent” t-shirt says it all:

You Know You’re a Marching Band Parent When …

You know the difference between the pit and the battery

All your friends are other band parents

People ask about your social life and you say, “Oh, you mean the Marching Band?”

You know what a shako is

Your idea of a fun weekend is to watch teenagers stop the heck out of a football field

You judge time by the marching band schedule

You don’t question taking time off work to help the band

You are crazy enough to travel to who knows where with a bunch of high school kids

You feel like a band “groupie”

A well done program sends chills down your spine

You’re at the school at odd hours picking up, dropping off your student or helping the band

The highlight of the Friday night football game is the marching band

You have so much fun for free and work long hours for no pay all for the simple act of saying “it’s for the kids”

Now THAT'S rush hour traffic

2008-10-24T21:34:00.001-07:00

Media alert from our local station just when Friday rush hour was getting started:

CALDWELL - Police have finally corralled a bull that was running the wrong way down Interstate 84.

It happened at about 4:15 p.m. on the freeway between Nampa and Caldwell. The animal got loose and started running east in the westbound lanes near milepost 29.

Crews were able to rope and contain the bull about 40 minutes later.

It isn't known where the bull came from or how it got loose.

No one was injured by the runaway animal. It is unclear if the bull had any impact on the evening commute.

Now, lest you think this is out in the boonies somewhere, Nampa is about 20 miles from Boise - the largest city in the state of Idaho - and Caldwell is just a wee bit further west. This'll probably make the front page of the paper tomorrow.

Oh, and in case you've thought about going to see the movie "Max Payne"? Don't. I can't remember if I've ever seen a movie quite so bad. I can think of no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I want those two hours back right now.

If you've seen it already, I'm terribly sorry.

Obsessed, I tell you

2008-10-23T15:16:00.000-07:00

Well, as much as I would like to stay out of the political fray (just ask my husband – I just about post “No Politics Zone” signs on the door before we host a Mensa event at our house because I hate it so), I’ve been e-mailing back and forth with an old friend of mine all day on the topic.

Started with an innocent “What’s up with you?” kind of e-mail that segued into the fact that he was filling in on a local radio station in a Blue State, was strangely the only host who was an Obama fan, and ended with a little rant about being sick of hearing about Ayers.

I replied:

It might be best if you and I don't discuss politics.

Now, most of the time, I would just STOP THERE so as to avoid getting into a back and forth that would have me so irritated I would have a difficult time remaining friendly.

But not this time. This whole election cycle has me worked up to the point that I am CONSTANTLY checking blogs and news sites, reading the paper even more vociferously than usual and just generally unable to tear myself away from the whole train wreck. So, I ended up sending this reply:

I personally think that the Ayers issue is very valid. Not only because of the kickoff in the guy's living room (are you disputing that?), but also because of the ongoing relationship they have had (oh, wait a minute - he was "just a guy in the neighborhood." Or maybe their kids went to school together. Oops, served on boards together. Oh and Obama just happened to publicly endorse a book by Ayers in which he is mentioned - not very close, eh? But he thought he was reformed! Gosh, must have missed it when Ayers said on 9/11 that his regret was that the Weather Undergound hadn't done more. Really not the kind of guy I'd be interested in working with). Maybe if that were the only hinky relationship. But add in Odingo, Rezko and ACORN, etc., and I'm just not too impressed with the guy. I'd probably be able to overlook that a bit more if he espoused the same beliefs I have, but I'm not a spread-the-wealth, government-should-be-in-charge-of-EVERYTHING kind of gal. Thank goodness I live in a red state. I only wish it were one with more electoral votes.

Why, precisely, are you enamored with Obama? What, besides promising HopeandChange, has he actually done?

And, really, I would be interested in hearing an answer to that question from just about anyone. Because no one seems to have one. Just what he’s going to do for us. Oh, uh, like spread the wealth? I’m kinda with Joe the Plumber on that issue.

Was there an answer? Nope. Just a lot of Bush-Cheney babble.

To which I responded:

Dude, McCain IS NOT BUSH. Was a time when the Democrats realized that fact. So what if he "wants that base." It's the freaking Republican base. How the hell else is he going to get elected? And, for what it's worth, Bush has not single-handedly gotten us into the current mess.

Response? Something about how Palin would have to shut the hell up if they were to ever have sex.

Sigh….

Being as he’s a radio dude, I thought he would find this interesting. Because it kind of scares me. Mostly because of where else that might lead:

No response yet.

I’ll tell you what, if the “Fairness Doctrine” is put into play again, I demand equal time every time some dumb celebrity (Pamela Anderson, I’m talking to YOU) opens his or her mouth.

Fairy Tale for the Assertive Woman

2008-10-22T09:55:00.000-07:00

I have this posted on my refrigerator and it always makes me giggle, so I thought I'd share on the off chance it hasn't reached your in-box:

Once upon a time,
in a land far away,
A beautiful, independent,
self assured princess,
Happened upon a frog as she sat
contemplating ecological issues
on the shores of an unpolluted
pond in a verdant meadow near
her castle.

The frog hopped into the
Princess' lap
and said: "Elegant Lady,
I was once a handsome Prince,
until an evil witch cast a spell
upon me.

One kiss from you, however,
and I will turn back
into the dapper, young Prince
that I am and then, my sweet,
we can marry and set up
housekeeping in your castle
with my Mother,
where you can prepare my meals,
clean my clothes, bear my
children, and forever feel
grateful and happy doing so."

That night,
while dining on lightly sautéed
frog legs
seasoned in a white wine
and onion cream sauce,
she chuckled to herself and thought:
"I don't fucking think so."

Not a political blog, but ...

2008-10-17T15:29:00.000-07:00

Is this one of the most contentious election cycles we’ve ever lived through, or am I just paying more attention this time?

And I’m not talking about the negative television ads, although they are plentiful – from both sides of the spectrum at all levels of political office sought.

I’m talking about the vitriol pouring out of regular folks – verbally, in letters to the editor, on message boards and on blogs. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I’m noticing the contention – because I’m reading a lot more blogs this time around.

And I’m amazed to read the nasty name-calling.

Referring to folks in the audience at one of the conventions as “smiling, clapping idiots.”

Actually typing something like this: “You're even bigger losers than I thought. I can see you now, sitting there dressed in your underwear in your dirty little run-down room with the empty pizza boxes, jars of Cheez-Whiz and wrinkled copies of Playboy and Hustler, posting your ridiculous rants on-line about how much you hate Americans who work for a living and live normal lives.” And maybe even believing it.

Shouting vile things at political rallies. Wearing disgusting t-shirts.

It hurts my heart.

To the dismay of many members of my family, I’m not a religious person. But I do take “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” rather seriously. Because I think that’s the best way to get along and really the best way to behave.

I’m not averse to giving my opinion. I have one – and it’s a strong opinion.

I do, however, try to do it in a reasonable, thoughtful way. Without saying, or implying, that anyone who holds the opposite view must be a complete idiot. Because I don’t feel that way. I believe that most people have the best interests of our country at heart. Even folks who disagree with my views. We all want what’s best for America and her citizens. We just differ on the best way to accomplish that goal.

I’ll be so glad when this election is over and I can go back to being amused by bloggers who are not normally political. Naturally, I’m hoping my candidate wins the election. But I’m not threatening to leave the country, or have my head explode, or vomit on my own t*ts (as someone so crassly put it in a comment I read) if the opposition wins.

We really will muddle through the next four years no matter who is in office.

Daughter of a son of a sailor man

2008-10-09T20:59:00.000-07:00

I mentioned, waaaaay back in the first entry of this silly little blog, that my daughter had applied to the Naval Academy for the second time. Once again, she was not accepted. I think she found it harder the second time and we tried to console her as best we could.

I admit that many times I wondered if her wish to attend the Academy was more due to a desire to please her father, and less due to a sincere desire to join the service. And I also admit that I selfishly hoped that if she started college locally, she'd decide she loved it and would stay close to home FOREVER. I mean, she's my favorite, er, only, daughter and the thought of her leaving home kinda freaked me out.

She had been talking about meeting with a Naval recruiter for awhile, and she up and did it in mid-September. She took the ASVAB (the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) and scored pretty darn high, so her recruiter said she could pick just about any career in the Navy (excepting one that would put her in a submarine). Before she took the physical and met with a Naval career counselor, my husband counseled her not to sign anything before coming home to discuss it with us.

You know where this is going, don't you?

She came home with a done deal - all sworn in and signed on the dotted line. So, she's going to be a sailor. For six years.

Saying I needed some time to get over the shock is putting it quite mildly. In fact, I admit to some tears.

Don't get me wrong - I'm incredibly proud of my daughter for wanting to serve our country. And I don't think that everyone's kid BUT MINE should do so. I'm just going to miss her so very much when she's gone.

She initially decided to be a sonar operator/technician since she would have a marketable skill (electronics) should she decide to leave the service after her initial inlistment term, but she'd be able to spend a goodly amount of time on ships during her enlistment. She loves learning languages (she's picked up a little bit from each of our exchange students, and speaks German relatively fluently after two years of high school and one semester of college study), so she decided to take the DLAB (the Defense Language Aptitude Battery). She rocked that test too (the guy who administered it said he had never seen a score as high as hers).

So now she'll be attending the Defense Language Institute after graduating from basic training. Her score qualified her for one of the "strategic" languages. She'll learn either Russian, Korean, Arabic or Chinese. She won't know which until she arrives at DLI.

I'm still not totally sure what she'll be doing when she graduates from DLI. I think she could tell me. But then she'd have to kill me.

Or something like that.

Oh yeah, we're patriotic

2008-09-08T20:09:00.000-07:00

Our fifth year of hosting is going pretty well. I do, however, feel a bit sorry for our student. He arrived during the all-Americans, all-the-time Olympics (except when they were showing teensy little gymnasts who probably had milk, cookies and a nap right after they did their parallel bar exercises).

Have you ever noticed that no events that Americans are not expected to excel in are shown during prime-time network television? I never noticed that phenomenon until we started hosting exchange students. This year I’d be all: “Hey, there’s a German swimming in this race – come watch!” ‘Cause it’s a rare occurrence. Unless the German was in a race in which Michael Phelps was also swimming. I personally could have done with a little bit less volleyball in bikinis and a little bit more of, say, archery. But my husband would probably disagree!

I guess we’re not alone, though. My daughter was in Europe during most of the Olympics and she saw nary an American on the small bit of television she watched. Of course, she was entirely too busy touring castles, taking gondola rides across the Grand Canal in Venice and visiting the Brandenburg Gate to watch too much television.

Not that I’m jealous or anything. But I’ve mentioned my lack of jealousy before, I think. I’m sure that really impresses upon you the sincerity of my lack of jealousy. My mentioning it all the time, that is.

As soon as the Olympics were over, we launched into two weeks of political conventions. Do you have any idea how many times speakers inform the viewing audience that we live in the BEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD during both political conventions?? Lots. Again, not anything I’d noticed until we were hosting someone not actually from our country. A speaker would launch into the BEST COUNTRY portion of his or her speech and I’d just have to kind of sheepishly say “Yep, we’re kinda arrogant here.”

Of course, I believe we live in the best country in the world, too.

But I hope people in other countries feel equally adamantly that THEY live in the best country in the world. I think it would be rather sad to live somewhere, all the while yearning to be somewhere else "better." So I don't get offended if someone disagrees with me on the topic of BEST COUNTRY. It's subjective.

Plus, castles? Great Walls? Koala Bears? Grand Canals? CN Towers? Windmills? There are AWESOME things EVERYWHERE. I want to see it all! And then come home.

Googled

2008-09-03T13:18:00.000-07:00

It’s always interesting to see how people find my little corner of the internet.

The widget from Feedjit lets me know when my former exchange students have visited (little German, Italian and Australian flags herald their arrivals) or when someone clicks the link on my Swap-Bot profile page.

Folks from StumbledUpon who have expressed an interest in clothing sites, of all things, are occasionally directed to this entry. I’m not sure why, since the topic would seem to be the lack of clothes, but apparently someone else felt otherwise and added my site under that category.

And every now and then someone will perform a search and Google will send them here. I apologize if you’ve searched for “Ginger Hokey Pokey” and wound up at this site. I can’t help you with that recipe, but you can try these Ginger Snaps, if you like.

But the person who searched for “how Shakespeare would do the Hokey Pokey”? I can definitely help you!

Back in 2003, the Washington Post’s Style Invitational invited readers to “rewrite some banal instructions in the style of some famous writer.” Jeff Brechlin of Potomac Falls, Virginia, provided the winning entry with his sonnet version of the Hokey-Pokey in the style of William Shakespeare. So, according to Mr. Brechlin, THIS is how Shakespeare would do the Hokey Pokey:

O proud left foot, that ventures quick within
Then soon upon a backward journey lithe.
Anon, once more the gesture, then begin:
Command sinistral pedestal to writhe.
Commence thou then the fervid Hokey-Poke,
A mad gyration, hips in wanton swirl.
To spin! A wilde release from Heavens yoke.
Blessed dervish! Surely canst go, girl.
The Hoke, the poke -- banish now thy doubt
Verily, I say, 'tis what it's all about.

Blast from the past (reprise)

2008-08-29T22:36:00.000-07:00

It's an interesting time of year around our house. We're getting our 5th exchange student settled in and we're all still figuring out where we fit in this new family unit. This year we're hosting our first boy. He asked me the other day whether I’d noticed a difference -- well, besides the obvious. You know, tighty whities instead of pretty little panties and the like. Okay, so he didn’t mention underwear, but you know what I mean. No dramatic differences so far. One thing we've learned over our years of hosting is that kids are kids -- no matter where they're from. It's a wonderful thing!

My husband has been taking the boys to school and my daughter (recently returned from Europe -- nope, that's not a pretty shade of jealousy green I’ve turned -- not at all) and I share a ride to my office twice a week. Leaving the other three days for me to laze around in bed an EXTRA THIRTY MINUTES. Heaven on a pillow!

I was just getting ready to hop in the shower on Tuesday when the phone rang. I figured my husband had forgotten something, so you could have knocked me over with a feather when I answered it and it was our second exchange student. The answering machine was recording at the time, so I’ve been able to listen to the beginning of our conversation and you can clearly hear the shock in my voice when I said "HOLY COW!!" We lost touch a couple of years ago and I must admit that I figured she didn't remember her time with us very fondly. I'm paranoid that way.

But it was really wonderful to hear her sweet voice and we've exchanged e-mails and pictures. She's just as lovely as she ever was. She has graduated from high school in China and is now attending university in Australia. Which makes me feel -- repeat after me: old, old, old. Ugh. But very happy that we've reconnected. I hope this time for good! I don't like losing track of one of "my" kids. 'Cause once I've fed them, laughed with them, lugged them to school in the morning and home from extra curricular activities in the afternoon, taken them on vacations, and chewed them out for one reason or another, THEY'RE MINE FOREVER. Whether they like it or not.

Say what?

2008-08-12T11:00:00.000-07:00

I was in the closest coffee shop to my office yesterday (in DESPERATE need of caffeine and could WALK NO FURTHER without my fix), when I overheard a couple of women talking.

Woman One: Did your kids have a good week?

Woman Two: Yes they did. But I was sick of them by the end of it.

Woman One: Shocked silence.

And rightfully so.

I can’t recall a time when I’ve ever been “sick of” my kids. Frustrated with them, yes. Irritated by them, yes. Sick of them? Hardly. Seems a bit harsh to me. I sure hope those kids don’t realize that their mother was, or has ever been, or ever will be sick of them.

Mostly I’m just amazed that they originated from me (why, yes, I did have some help from my husband but this is NOT THAT KIND OF BLOG).

I enjoy talking to them about whatever they want to talk about. Laughing out loud because they can be so very, very witty. Dancing around the kitchen with them to the beat of whatever music they’re into at the time. Admitting that why, yes, I did just attempt to apply the passenger brake in the car – but I occasionally do that with your dad, too, so don’t feel so bad.

Ever feeling sick of them? I don’t think so.

Although …

Given the state of my son’s bedroom right now, perhaps I may be revisiting the whole matter of illness caused by child.

This morning I told him he needed to get it cleaned TODAY. Because we’re picking up our latest exchange student on Thursday and we don’t want him to realize the instant he enters our house that we are slobs at heart. We like to break them in slowly in the mess department so they don’t immediately run screaming to the exchange program coordinator begging to be placed with a family that doesn’t use their dining room table as a flat filing cabinet.

I told my son that if he didn’t get his room cleaned, I was going to post pictures of it on my blog. His horrified “WHAT?” indicated that he thinks I have more than one reader. I don’t think I’ll enlighten him until after the room is cleaned.

Volunteering

2008-07-30T10:52:00.000-07:00

I coordinate a group of volunteers for the Idaho Shakespeare Festival. I sign us up for one performance of each play during the season and we wipe down the tables and chairs, take tickets, hand out programs, usher, bounce, and collect recyclables and trash. In exchange, we get to stake out a spot in the hillside seating (the Festival performs in a lovely outdoor amphitheater) and watch the plays free.

And there you have my ulterior motive. I’d like to say that we volunteer at the Shakespeare Festival for purely altruistic motives. But that would be telling a fib.

We volunteer at the Shakespeare Festival because we love live theater. And even the unreserved hillside seats are almost $30 a pop on a Saturday night. Multiply that by the number of folks in my family and you get a hefty outlay of cash for a night of culture. So we volunteer.

And therein lies the problem: I have a hard time using the word “volunteer” for something like that. I mean, we do the work free. But I feel kind of guilty saying I volunteer for an organization that, well, pretty much caters to the folks in the community with money. I mean, the cheapest seats are $21 before tax on weekdays. If you don’t bring your own picnic meal, the least expensive meal in the café will set you back around $10.

Not exactly the kind of thing one usually associates with volunteer work.

Yes, the Shakespeare Festival is a non-profit organization and performs its own community service (including being very generous every time I've asked them to donate to any silent auction I've coordinated for my kids' schools).

But not what I think of as traditional volunteer work.

Oh, sure, we do other volunteer work in our community: the kids and I have served lunch at the rescue mission; we all participate in Rake Up Boise in the fall (raking leaves for the elderly and disabled); I have coordinated my company’s Christmas project the last two years (buying gifts for the residents of the Veteran’s Home and spending an evening there passing out homemade goodies and singing Christmas carols); my daughter and I helped when our company’s Community Service Committee provided dinner to Ronald McDonald House residents.

Since our bank account doesn’t lend a lot of opportunities to donate monetarily, we opt to help our community with our time when we can and those are what I think of as very legitimate volunteer activities.

Am I going to give up volunteering at the Festival? Oh, heck no. Let me see, incredible venue, wonderful and very professional productions, a great family evening of live theater … for free! Versus the slight inner cringe I feel when I say I’m “volunteering” there? The hand-scale weighing the pros and cons is definitely heavier on the pros side.

To the victor go the spoils

2008-07-25T09:48:00.000-07:00

Or at least, to the vacuumer goes the spare change.

Found in the couch last weekend.

Money found under the couch cushions or in the washer or dryer is mine. All MINE. Of course, that would be because I’m just about the only person who ever finds money in those places because I am the person who is most likely to be cleaning under the cushions or doing the laundry.

Is it just me or does anyone else get seriously irritated at the fact that if another family member is doing any cleaning up around the house they’re “helping” you? Who assigned the entire house as my personal job anyway? I certainly didn’t sign up for that. Ever.

Oh sure, I appreciate when a kid asks “Is there anything I can do to help you?” But why is it “helping”? Why don’t they ever say “I’m going to vacuum unless you think I should start with something else.” Why don’t they just look around and see that the place needs to be swept/vacuumed/dusted? Or that the bathroom needs swabbing out? Or the laundry done? And just do it.

Certainly I’m not so much more brilliant than every other person in my family that only I can see when cleaning needs to happen. And I can’t really envision a circumstance where someone else doing any housework would irritate me, so it’s not like they actually need my permission to clean or anything. The housework fairy isn’t going to do it and I’m fairly certain that everyone in my house knows that.

Which is why it’s so frustrating to, for instance, find a dirty dish in the sink. When a dirty dish is in the sink it’s clear that SOMEONE feels it’s not his or her job to clean up after him/herself. The most oft-used excuse? “The dishwasher is clean.” Um, okay. Did someone forbid you from emptying it? Nope. Must be because it’s MY JOB to empty it.

Can you tell the dust in my living room is thick enough to write in this morning?

I’ll get over it.

Cooking

2008-07-24T09:30:00.000-07:00

I love to cook. Oh sure, sometimes – let’s be honest here, many times – after working all day I don’t really want to slave over a hot stove for a couple of hours so we’ll hit the Wendy’s or the Panda Express (is there anything better than Panda’s Orange Chicken? I didn’t think so). And I have a few select frozen meals that my family loves (for instance, the Shrimp Scampi from Costco is fabulous). But for the most part, I cook “from scratch” and love finding new recipes to try out.

I was surprised when our first exchange student informed us that during her pre-departure orientation in Germany, she was told that Americans never cook. They eat fast food and microwave everything else. A sad commentary on how the world views us. Our exchange students have been pleasantly surprised to find that, at least at our house, cooking does happen.

Of course, it’s things like the following that probably add to our stereotype:

When you really NEED bacon, but none is handy, you can now make that chicken/fish/whatever taste like bacon. What??? I can get this stuff at 19 stores within a 30 minute drive from my house. But why???? So I can make such wonderful recipes as: Roasted Bacon Asparagus, Bacon Mayonnaise, and Bacon and Beer Steamed Clams. *shudder*

The website features rotating pictures of French fries, steak, grilled corn on the cob and hamburgers. I don’t know about you, but I’ve NEVER wanted my corn to taste like bacon. Not once. And I love bacon. A lot. Maybe not as much as this guy, though:

And because making pancakes is SO HARD, I give you Batter Blaster. Billed as “USDA Organic” no less. Okay, so the ingredients are allegedly organic, but doesn’t the whole shooting the batter out of the nozzle on an aerosol can sound like something distinctly not organic, notwithstanding the ingredients? The recipe I use is pretty darn simple. If I haven’t got time to whip up the real thing, I don’t have time to wait for these to cook, either. The little infomercial on the Batter Blaster site touts the neatness of the product: “No more cracking eggs or splattering ingredients.” Color me old fashioned, but still not a good enough reason for me to squirt my pancakes from a can. But do I wish I’d invented this little product (more than 400,000 sold from its release in October ‘til a review written in January)? Oh, yes indeedy.

I use my share of packaged goodies – Rice-a-Roni, boxed pasta mixes, spaghetti sauce from a jar – when I’m in a hurry (unlike pancakes, it takes hours to make a good spaghetti sauce). I’m usually a wee bit embarrassed when I resort to these shortcuts, though.

Not as embarrassed as I would be if I made pancakes from a can served with eggs flavored like bacon, though.

How to shower

2008-07-23T11:43:00.000-07:00

This cracks me up every time I read it.

I thought it might be appropriate to post today given that our latest arrangement for work transportation has caused some bathroom congestion lately and the showering differences (namely, my desire to have private time in the shower and my husband’s desire to wag his wiener at me) have arisen.

HOW TO SHOWER LIKE A WOMAN:

Take off clothing and place it in sectioned laundry hamper according to lights and darks.

Walk to bathroom wearing long dressing gown. If you see your husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas.

Look at your womanly physique in the mirror-make mental note-must do more sit-ups.

Get in the shower. Use face cloth, arm cloth, leg cloth, long loofah, wide loofah and pumice stone.

Wash your hair once with Cucumber and Sage shampoo with 43 added vitamins.

Wash your hair again to make sure it's clean.

Condition your hair with Grapefruit Mint conditioner enhanced with natural avocado oil. Leave on hair for fifteen minutes.

Wash your face with crushed apricot facial scrub for ten minutes until red.

Wash entire rest of body with Ginger Nut, Oatmeal and Brown Sugar soap. Complain bitterly when you realize that your husband has once again been eating your Ginger Nut, Oatmeal and Brown Sugar soap.

Rinse conditioner off hair (you must make sure that it has all come off).

Shave armpits and legs.

Scream loudly when your husband flushed the toilet and you lose the water pressure.

Turn off shower.

Squeegee off all wet surfaces in shower. Spray mold spots with Tilex.

Get out of shower. Dry with towel the size of a small country. Wrap hair in super absorbent second towel.

Check entire body for the remotest sign of a zit, tweeze hairs.

Return to bedroom wearing long dressing gown and towel on head.

If you see your husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas and then sashay to bedroom to spend an hour and a half getting dressed.

HOW TO SHOWER LIKE A MAN:

Take off clothes while sitting on the edge of the bed and leave them in a pile.

Walk naked to the bathroom. If you see your wife along the way, shake wiener at her making the "woo-woo" sound.

Look at your manly physique in the mirror and suck in your gut to see if you have pecs (no). Admire the size of your wiener in the mirror and scratch your ass.

Get in the shower.

Don't bother to look for a washcloth (you don't use one).

Wash your face.

Wash your armpits.

Take a bite out of that yummy thing that kinda tastes like ginger, oatmeal and brown sugar.

Blow your nose in your hands, then let the water just rinse it off.

Crack up at how loud your fart sounds in the shower.

Majority of time is spent washing your privates and surrounding area.

Wash your behind using wife’s loofah.

Shampoo your hair (do not use conditioner).

Make a shampoo Mohawk.

Peek out of shower curtain to look at yourself in the mirror again.

Pee (in the shower).

Rinse off and get out of the shower. Fail to notice water on the floor because you left the curtain hanging out of the tub the whole time.

Partially dry off.

Look at yourself in the mirror, flex muscles. Admire wiener size again.

Leave shower curtain open and wet bath mat on the floor.

Leave bathroom fan and light on.

Return to the bedroom with towel around your waist. If you pass your wife, pull off the towel, shake wiener at her, and make the "woo-woo" sound again.

Throw wet towel on the bed. Take 2 minutes to get dressed.

Old, old, old, ugh

2008-07-18T11:30:00.000-07:00

Remember my daughter? The one who made her first trip that was not to visit family, but to visit other friends unaccompanied by adults, just a couple of months ago? Well, she'll be flying to Germany ALL BY HERSELF in about two weeks. Freaks me out. 'Cause you know what that makes me? Old.

Very, very old.

When you have a kid who has earned enough money to buy airfare to Europe and is planning to get there all by her little lonesome, you are officially OLD. She's quite excited, of course, to be visiting our first and third exchange students (in Germany) and the one who just left (in Italy). Me? I'm having a hard time visualizing her:

flying across the ocean. Oh, I guess it would help if I tried visualizing her:

Nope, still not easy.

I've been doing a lot of swapping on Swap-Bot and through mix CD swaps discovered Camille. I can listen to this song all day long:

Yeah, I admit it looks strange. And some of it sounds strange. But it's just got something about it that I am lovin'. In spite of the fact that I have absolutely no idea what she's singing about.

Lest you think I have abandoned my old fogey-hood, I did take my daughter to see Boston in concert for her 19th birthday. I'm just trying to avoid the pitfalls of being stuck in the past musically. Mostly because during my high school years? Disco was popular. I'm still trying to scrub that from my memory.

Departure day

2008-07-01T10:59:00.000-07:00

Well, one of the saddest days of our year (not counting funerals) has come and gone. Our exchange student has packed up and gone home.

She had watched both a season of Survivor and some episodes of the game show “Password” with us during her stay and decided to incorporate some elements of both into our last evening together. First, she made fake money for each of us and then “auctioned” some of the items she was leaving behind (school supplies, last year’s calendar featuring the Dolomites, a fuzzy red Christmas stocking she received from a friend, etc.). My son enjoyed bidding items up that he had no desire to have simply so the rest of us would have to forfeit more of our money.

Next, she gave each of us a stack of passwords relating to her stay with us and a couple of clues we were forbidden from using for each password. For instance, I had the word “Wal-Mart” and was forbidden from using “store” or “groceries” when giving hints to my daughter. We live within walking distance from our closest Wal-Mart and it’s a family joke that we seem to wind up there nearly every day. So, all I had to say was “shopping” and “daily” and the word was abundantly clear!

When we had successfully guessed all of the passwords, she gave each of us a gift to remember her – I received a travel mug containing a photograph of the two of us taken during our last hike together; my husband received a mouse pad with a photo of the entire family together; my daughter got a t-shirt with a photo of the two of them together; and my son received a coffee mug with a photo of the two of them in a fountain in Portland. Then we had the cheesecake she had requested that I make for her last night at home.

AFS, the organization we usually host through, has changed their requirements for how long the students have to be separated from their host families before departure, so we were able to keep our student for an extra night this year. However, morning did come and we had no choice but to load her luggage and a big box of Kleenex into the car on Sunday and drop her off.

The Kleenex box was substantially less full on our return home, and we spent the rest of the day moping around our emptier home. No matter how I try to prepare myself for departure day, it’s always incredibly difficult.

The good, the bad and the ugly

2008-06-27T09:36:00.000-07:00

For the past few weeks, we were “hosting” an extra exchange student and her mother who was here visiting from Germany. The original host family asked her to leave when school was over so we invited them to stay with us. Some people just shouldn’t host! Although it turned out good for us, since they were an absolute pleasure to have around. Lots of fabulous German food was prepared (and I got some great recipes – mmmmmm, Mousse Chocolate) and they were ever so appreciative of anything we did for them.

Last weekend I made buttermilk pancakes – a quintessential American food – then we headed up to the Sawtooth Mountains for a hike. (Knee issues? What knee issues? Besides, the doctor told me I should be exercising, so it was kind of sanctioned by my medical provider, right?) The boys stayed home, my husband because he had a lot of things he wanted to get done around the house and my son because the last time he went on a road trip with a bunch of females he found himself having to say things like “My eyes can’t roll far enough back in my head to respond to that.”

On our way up to the mountains, we stopped for ice cream in Idaho City. On a whim, we went into the Rusty Spur Old Time Photo shop. We had an absolute blast dressing up as floozies and having our pictures taken. The business is run by Steve and Joyce Eason, who had their little granddaughter helping out that day. They were kind enough to let us take some shots with our own cameras after we had purchased the “official” picture, so we have quite a selection of silly pictures. Here’s the one taken by the Easons:

If you’re ever in Idaho City, I highly recommend a visit to the Rusty Spur. Worth every penny just for the giggles you get trying on the clothes!

The Sawtooths were absolutely beautiful, as always. We stopped by Redfish Lake for some pictures, went to the visitors’ center, and then headed for the Fishhook Creek trailhead. The two-mile-long Fishhook Creek trail is an easy hike, with a little bit of a climb at the beginning. The trail meanders along the creek through pine trees and an occasional aspen grove. There were plenty of wildflowers blooming – bright yellow mountain mules ear, lavender dwarf lupines and violets, delicate white phlox and blossoms on wild strawberry plants.

The trail ends at a lovely meadow at the foot of the mountains. We took the requisite pictures and then headed back – encouraged by a gang of mosquitoes that had taken up residence at the end of the trail. And us without our bug repellent! My knee held up pretty well until about the last half mile when it complained most vigorously about its overuse.

But the pretty? Was ever so worth the pain:

And getting to hear “Hakuna Matata” sung simultaneously in English, Italian and German was priceless.

We bid a sad farewell to our German guests. Hosting exchange students, be they your own for the year or someone else’s for an unexpected few weeks, is an awesome experience. Unfortunately, all that awesomeness just makes it so much harder to say goodbye. I am so not looking forward to next weekend’s departure of our sweet little Italian girl.

So, that’s the good and the bad. The ugly? Well, the MRI results are back and I apparently have a torn meniscus which requires surgery. Thankfully, it will only be an out-patient arthroscopic surgery. I’m hoping for a much easier recovery from this surgery than the last one, which involved not only ’scoping the front of my right knee, but opening up the back and removing a cyst. Arriving at the decision to leave the left knee’s cyst in place truly sucked, though. My doctor decided to inject painkiller into the front of my knee to determine whether I would still hurt in the back when the meniscus was taken care of. I’d feel a little pinch, he said. Liar, liar, pants on fire, I should have responded, in a very mature manner. HOLY CRAP THAT HURT. I cried like a baby. If you ever hear a doctor tell you an injection into your knee is not going to hurt very much, RUN AWAY AS FAST AS YOU CAN! Oh, but that would be the problem, right? The inability to run.

So, exchange student going home on Sunday, and knee surgery on Wednesday. I’m really not looking forward to next week. Send chocolate.

And nobody was chasing them!

2008-06-19T17:22:00.000-07:00

My husband and daughter ran the Sawtooth Relay last weekend:

They were part of a six-person team and each member of the team ran two legs. The significant other ran the shortest distance - but he had to crest the summit at 8,701 feet (rated as "Very Hard" - gee, ya think?). That leg was 5.35 miles and had an elevation gain of 1,331 feet. In exchange for that, he got to run the finishing leg, which was the easiest segment of the race. The kid ran two "Moderate" legs. I do not think that word means what they think it means.

The race organizers have this to say about the relay:

The daylight course and start times provide teams with a view of the Sawtooth Mountains at dawn. The Stanley to Ketchum course will also provide spectacular views of the White Cloud Mountains to the east as participants wind their way south along the Salmon River. Don't miss the meadows of multi-colored wild flowers on each side of the highway along the Salmon River valley floor. Half way through the 62-mile course, participants will crest Galena Summit and view the Big Wood River drainage with vistas of the Pioneer and Boulder Mountain ranges.

Personally, I would have been way too busy trying NOT TO DIE to look at the views.

The only thing having to do with legs that I've participated in lately is an MRI of my left knee this morning. It is truly amazing how difficult it is to hold perfectly still while the machine is buzzing, humming and making knocking noises. I kept worrying I was moving too much by breathing and they'd have to start all over again. But I managed to breathe in a motionless enough manner and should have the results on Monday. Ah, aging. What fun!

As the scale turns

2008-06-12T13:40:00.000-07:00

Holy cow! It looks like some folks have actually been checking in to see if there’s anything new here. And there’s been nothin’ but how many cannibals I can feed for over a week. Now, while that’s very helpful information for anyone who is looking to feed a bunch of cannibals, thought about traveling to Idaho to kidnap and cook me, and wanted to find out if it would be worth the effort, I guess it’s time I updated.

I’ve been avoiding discussing the whole Weight Watchers journey for awhile. Not only because I don’t want to turn this into some kind of food journal and description of every little bump in my journey (or giant mountain, as the case may be), but also because – well, I’ve been hiking up one of those giant mountains since I flew off to Colorado to visit my dad for the last time and it’s hard to admit it in writing for the world (*snort*) to see.

I’ve also been avoiding going to the meetings and getting on the scale so I don’t have to see either. Out of sight, out of mind, doncha know.

I've been eating pretty much whatever I want for the last six weeks, and I haven't been working out because of the arthritis in my left knee. It’s hard to work up any enthusiasm for climbing on the ol’ elliptical when it’s difficult to walk without limping. Never-you-mind that losing some weight might actually help diminish the pain. I’m not very logical when I’m cranky and hurting.

And yes, I would like some cheese with my whine, thankyouverymuch. Yummmmm, cheeeese.

You can see what I’m dealing with.

Well, since I’ve paid in advance for this session of the Weight Watchers at Work meetings, I decided it was time that I drag myself to the conference room for the weekly torture and get on the damn scale. I arrived a wee bit late so I had to wait until the end to get weighed. Now, Weight Watchers isn’t exactly like AA (“Hello, my name is Sharon and I’m a whale”), but we do have to go ‘round the table and talk during these meetings. I just couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm or positive outlook because I was simply dreading the number I was convinced I would see at the end of the meeting. I was downright petulant.

I’d only weighed in once since returning from Colorado and I had gained 1.6 pounds at that weigh-in. It’s been about three weeks since then and not a point has been counted in that time.

I actually lost .6 pounds. I was stunned. (In fact, I got off the scale and got back on because I was positive it had malfunctioned.) That means that I’m down a total of 15 pounds since I started this time around. Of course, if I’d been exercising and following the program I would be looking at a bigger loss now, but I’m just relieved I didn’t have a bigger gain. I may actually be motivated to start working the program again.

Beginning tomorrow.

Because today?

I had a sandwich to celebrate.

'Cause I know you wanted to know ...

2008-05-30T08:29:00.000-07:00

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets

A veritable Thanksgiving feast am I!

Blast from the past

2008-05-28T08:42:00.000-07:00

My spousal unit and I were out walking the dogs on Saturday. A new neighbor was outside doing yard work, so we stopped to welcome her to the neighborhood.

We chatted about random stuff, and then she said “I know you from somewhere.” I asked where her daughter goes to school to determine if we might have met through PTA or Band Boosters. “No,” she said. “I know you from a long time ago. Did you used to live in the North End and do you have a sister named Shelly?”

Yes, folks. She knew me when I was 13 years old! And I now worship her because she said: “You look just the same except your hair is darker.” SHE IS MY NEW BFF!

Sadly, I have photographic evidence that I no longer look 13. But as long as there is no mirror present, I can hang out with my BFF and pretend I’m young again. I can play my old Partridge Family albums on the turntable to set the tone. Do you think she still has any Barbies?

Back in the saddle

2008-05-27T19:00:00.000-07:00

We had a wonderful funeral service for Dad. There was a video featuring some of his favorite gospel music backing photos spanning his childhood, through his “Burt Reynolds” years (he was a dead ringer for Reynolds in his younger days) through his “father” years, to his “grandpa” years. The toughest part to watch was a relatively recent video of him describing his conversion to Christianity. We’d been through so much with him at the hospice that it was difficult watching the old dad. Then my brother and one of my nephews spoke and both speeches were eloquent and touching.

After the service, we headed back to my sister’s house for an old-fashioned wake. Complete with a VERY open bar. Oh yes, the booze was flowin’! A folk/country/gospel band was playing and there was a house full of folks telling stories, laughing and singing along with the band. And the grandkids were not quite sure what to make of their less-than-sober parents and aunts and uncles. There was much giggling, whispering and “Holy cow! Look at your mom!” It was a party Dad would have loved.

And since I had clearly not been through enough in the past week, I got to attend the whole shebang on crutches. Before I flew to Colorado, I had been having some trouble with my left knee. It was mirroring right knee troubles from 11 years ago that culminated in surgery and obnoxious physical therapy. I wasn’t looking forward to repeating that scenario and was practicing head-in-the-sand, if-I-don’t-see-a-doctor-then-nothing’s-wrong behavior. I had gotten to the point where I had decided to schedule an appointment as soon as I returned home, but I guess my knee wanted to make sure I lived up to my decision. I took all of the grandkids to Garden of the Gods so folks could finish getting my sister’s house ready for the wake. We were walking (well, I was limping) around the park when I must have set my foot wrong. I heard a popping/cracking noise and then couldn’t put any weight at all on my left leg. My kids and their cousins had to help me hop back to the car. Luckily, there were crutches back at my sister’s house! I had just enough time to get changed before we had to leave for the funeral. So, add crutches and alcohol together and you can picture me scooting on my butt up the stairs to where the band was playing, can’t you? Sure you can.

Yes, I have now seen a doctor. The verdict is arthritis. Apparently, I seriously aggravated it when I stepped wrong which led to a couple of days on crutches. I’m on anti-inflammatory medication and am hoping to avoid anything more invasive (can you say “needle in knee”?).

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks working on getting back in the swing of normal life. It’s truly amazing how exhausting hanging around a hospice can be. For something that is not physically grueling, it really takes a toll. Tonight is the first work night I haven’t felt like I needed to come home and just vegetate. Tunnel, meet light. Thank goodness!

I don't cry pretty

2008-05-06T21:49:00.001-07:00

You know those actresses in all the movies ... the ones who can cry whilst nary a speck of makeup leaves its original location? Well, I am not one of those kind of cryers. Of course, I'm not a big makeup wearer either, so at least I don't have any dripping down my face when I cry. However, I do make unseemly noises and do not look the least bit pretty.

And I've done a lot of crying lately.

On April 24, my brother-in-law called to let me know that my dad's doctors had given him only two to three weeks to live. Apparently, his liver decided it had had quite enough and was shutting down. Thus started the tears.

Thankfully, the human resources gal at my office suggested--nay, insisted--that I immediately fly to Colorado to spend time with Dad while it was still available. She booked a flight for April 26 and I was supposed to return home tomorrow.

I arrived a few hours before Dad was transferred from the hospital to a hospice. One of the first things he said to me was "You realize I won't be going home." Cue waterworks again.

And not for the last time. Losing someone to pancreatic cancer sucks in ways I cannot even come close to describing. I can only quote my sister who, during a prayer, said it was "ridiculously painful." Suffice it to say that by the time it was all over, we were all relieved. Which is hard to believe.

Hospice workers are truly amazing. I cannot imagine what it would be like to work day after day in a place filled with people who are dying and the families of those people who cry every time they leave the room. Well, not everyone cried every time they left the room. In fact, I may have been one of the few who needed quite that many tissues. Some of my family members insisted that I drink lots of water since I was clearly the designated family cryer.

Some highlights of the hospice:

When Dad for some reason thought a CNA was a lesbian and went on at some length about how that would have bothered him 60 years ago, but that now he was okay with it. But he wasn't sure about raising kids in that environment. He was still lucid enough to be somewhat embarassed when I cleared up his misconception.

When the night nurses had to come up to our rather large gathering in a common area and say: "We hate to have to ask this, but could you keep it down a little - the patients are complaining." Yes, while we may not have been making enough noise to wake the dead, we were certainly making enough to annoy the dying.

Moving our gathering to Dad's room, where we had popcorn and sodas and told stories that had everyone laughing out loud. The hospice doctor reassured us that since Dad really loved family gatherings and since hearing is one of the last things to go, it was the best thing for him to hear us talking and laughing around him.

Dad died yesterday morning. We figured he wanted to spend Cinco de Mayo in a better place. He went peacefully, which was a blessing.

I'm going to miss him terribly.

Tug of war

2008-04-25T12:50:00.000-07:00

It’s mine.

I beg to differ. It’s clearly mine.

Well, it sure as hell isn’t YOURS! You just get back to watching
Deal or No Deal and leave this to us!

It’s not YOURS either!!! Don’t you have some laundry you could be doing?

We’ll settle this civilly.

One, two, three …

GO!

Such are the goings on around my house nowadays.

You can waste a lot of time with this

2008-04-18T13:42:00.000-07:00

But it can be slightly embarrassing!

Traveler IQ Challenge

Let me know how you did!

'Cause one is not enough

2008-04-17T08:05:00.000-07:00

Well, we’ve upset the cats again. Of course, that’s ridiculously easy. They’re cats. They think they rule the household and when we do something that gives them the slightest hint that that might not be the case, they tend to get upset. Like when we have the NERVE to leave town without their permission. They’re a little testy and standoffish when we get back. Just to prove we’re not the boss of them.

When the kids and I got back from our spring break vacation and I returned to work, there were copies of an e-mail posted in all of the kitchens. An e-mail with pictures of an adorable beagle who was in need of a new home. My daughter and I looked at those pictures for nearly a week before I caved and told my husband about them. He thought about it for all of a day before caving. He’s an even softer touch than I am when it comes to beagles, apparently. So the cats, who were JUST getting used to having Gus in the house, now have to put up with this:

They are not amused.

Back to your regularly scheduled programming

2008-04-16T09:46:00.000-07:00

Working with my daughter is fun:

From: Daughter
To: Mom
Subject: What's my name, again?

So far, it’s “Sharonsdaughter”, “Whatsername”, and “David”. Should I start wearing a nametag?

From: Mom
To: Daughter
Subject: RE: What's my name, again?

I vote for "Whatsyrname." The unique spelling gives it some panache.

From: Daughter
To: Mom
Subject: RE: What's my name, again?

Is that easier to spell than ~~Kaitlin~~ ~~Kaitlyn~~ ~~Caitlyn~~ ~~Catelyn~~ Caitlin? How about Siobhan? LOL

From: Mom

To: Daughter
Subject: RE: What's my name, again?

Hey, I got your name from Christmas party invitations I was doing for the firm I worked for when I was pregnant with you. Just thank your lucky stars that Siobhan was not on that list or you might have had to deal with that moniker your whole life. At least you only have to spell your name for people, not pronounce it.

From: Daughter
To: Mom
Subject: RE: What's my name, again?

So who am I named after? A cool, badass lady-attorney’s friend? Or someone’s grandma? Either is fine, I wouldn’t change it. Everyone else must conform to my non-conformity! >)

Good point… I’ll probably end up with a last name I have to pronounce for people… I mean, you know, another unpronounceable last name.

Yeah… how much would it suck for the beginning of every school year to be, “See-oh-buh-han? Soy-bann? Nope, I’m just not even gonna try…”

From: Mom
To: Daughter
Subject: RE: What's my name, again?

Someone near and dear to some architect. And I don't even know which of the 7 or so architects was inviting a Caitlin. So, it could have been someone near and dear to a fuddy duddy older guy or someone near and dear to an alternative rockin' younger dude. Who knows after all these years.

At least an unpronounceable last name won't be anything new for you. We have prepared you well, young master - er, young mistress.

From: Daughter
To: Mom
Subject: RE: What's my name, again?

“Young master” is fine. People still walk into my copy room and call me David before they peek around the corner and see, “Oh, hey, Whatsyrface is sitting there.”

Nuthin' funny here

2008-04-14T16:28:00.000-07:00

Long time no post, I know.

Went on a Spring Break vacation and was busy the week prior getting ready for the trip. So, that explains two weeks’ absence. The other two are a little harder to talk about.

My dad has had some health issues for the past couple of years. First the doctors would say it was cancer, then all the tests would come out negative and we’d be convinced it wasn’t. After a major surgery 20 months ago, we hoped he was on the road to recovery. When the road was a lot bumpier than expected, he decided to go to the Mayo Clinic to find out once and for all what the heck was wrong. Well, it turns out he has pancreatic cancer.

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks trying to come to grips with the diagnosis. It’s not easy and I don’t think I’m there yet.

I have a kind of convoluted family history. I like to say I have a family forest rather than a family tree. Dad and my mom lived in wedded bliss for a grand total of 56 days. And they’re not even celebrities. My dad moved around a lot due to his job and decided that since my mom remarried when I was an infant, it would be better for me not to be confused by having two dads and being bounced around between them. He allowed my mom’s second husband to adopt me when I was in 3^rd grade. When I was 19, I decided to track him down. I had no idea how I’d be received. Maybe he’d hang up in horror. Maybe he’d be distant. Maybe he’d let me know he wanted no further contact from a part of his past he regretted. I was a nervous wreck.

I’ll never forget that first phone call. I called him at work and introduced myself, thinking he might recognize the name. Not surprisingly, he didn’t (my maiden name was a very common name). I clarified, saying I was [mother’s maiden name]’s daughter. There was no hesitation. No feeling like I was a not-very-pleasant interruption. He just started talking to me like we’d seen each other moments before. I learned that I had two sisters and a brother and that, unlike my mom (for whom the third time was the charm), his second marriage was still going strong.

We spoke on the phone many times over the next 8 years and I corresponded frequently with one sister and occasionally with the other. I also corresponded with my paternal grandmother and aunt. In 1987, while on a trip back East, I arranged to spend a week of my vacation with Dad and meet my brother and sisters. When I got married and moved back East, we made regular trips to visit my “new” family. Dad and my newest mom were among the first visitors when I had my daughter, and New-Mom stayed with us for a week to take care of my daughter when I had my son.

In retrospect, I think that contacting Dad was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I feel incredibly close to that side of my family and, in fact, am much more like those sisters than I am like the ones I was raised with. Nature apparently trumped nurture big time in my case. Not only did I gain a great father, but I gained another incredible mother. And a fun bunch of siblings. Dad and New-Mom were instrumental in making sure their 10 grandkids grew up with close relationships to one another. Something I’ll be eternally grateful for.

I’ve only had Dad in my life for 20 years and I’m not ready to lose him. So far, he’s beaten the odds by surviving 20 months with his cancer (most folks live 3 to 18 months). Although we know it’s a long shot, I’m clinging to the belief that he’ll be his doctor’s longest-lived pancreatic cancer patient. I just can’t accept that he won’t.

Driving and cars

2008-03-12T08:11:00.000-07:00

Conversation in the car on the way to school/work:

Son: Cover the brake, cover the brake.

Me: What?

Son: You’re going downhill and there’s a light – cover the brake.

Me: My foot is fast. I don’t have to cover the brake.

Son and daughter in unison, sounding horrified: YOU DON’T COVER THE BRAKE?!?!?!

I love driving lessons from my kids. By the way, the light was green and there were no cars in front of me for quite a ways. I think I was relatively safe not covering the brake at that particular moment.

While walking to the parking lot at the end of the day, my daughter and I saw the strangest little car. I have no idea what it was, but it looked like a roller skate with a large man stuffed inside. It was TINY. I’m sure it was an environmentally friendly electrical car or something, but I’d be scared of being SMASHED LIKE A BUG in an accident (and not from lack of brake covering). My daughter and I determined that the car must belong to the man’s wife. Not only was it teeny tiny and funny looking, but the license plate read: SO CUTE. Yeah, no guy would have that license plate.

And speaking of license plates, what is this one all about?

BBYBNZ

Yummy baby bones? Soft baby buns? Any guesses? ‘Cause it’s driving me crazy.

Women and their closets

2008-03-04T21:04:00.000-08:00

I’ll let you in on a little secret. Women are rarely happy with the way they look. At least the women I know. They all want to be thinner or in better shape. And they NEVER get rid of any clothes that ever fit them when they WERE thinner or in better shape. NEVER.

So I, for instance, have a closet FULL of clothes that don’t fit me. Because I hate to buy clothes in a size I don’t want to be.

It’s been about ten years since I have been anywhere near a size that I actually wanted to be. Which means there are lots of clothes in my closet that haven’t seen the light of day in a very long time.

But do I get rid of them? NO. Why? Because SOMEDAY I WILL BE THAT SIZE AGAIN!

Strangely enough, I’m very quick to unload clothes that are too big for me. So when I did the Phen-Fenn “I don’t care if I EVER eat” diet and lost the most weight I ever lost as an adult, I was happy to offload my “big” clothes on someone else who could wear them.

Yeah, that made it even harder to deal with when I gained all that weight back and not only did I have to look at myself in the mirror every day and bemoan my lack of self control in the food department, but I also had next to nothing to wear.

Did I get rid of any of my “small” clothes? HECK NO. I have clothes whose styles will not come back for another 20 years (because eventually every bad clothing idea comes back). But I refuse to donate them to a thrift store. There is a minuscule chance that SOME DAY I’ll wear them again.

You notice that, even with a track history of gaining lost weight back, I still got rid of the big clothes.

And that’s why right now, I have the pants of Sharon’s past - recent enough past that I haven't had a chance to get rid of them yet. When I wear them, I need a belt to ensure I don’t resemble the teenage guys who seem to want to share their underwear with everyone.

And I have the pants of Sharon’s future, which I can manage to squeeze my ass into if I really try. But just because a person can get a pair of pants zipped that in no way means they should actually inflict them on the public.

The pants of Sharon’s present? Nowhere to be found.

They grow up too fast

2008-02-28T14:04:00.000-08:00

My baby is winging her way across the country right now. Okay, okay – she’s not really a baby. She’s 18 years old.

She’s flown solo many times. To attend a Civil Air Patrol powered flight encampment (where she was learning to fly airplanes, rather than just ride in them), to attend a CAP leadership encampment, and to attend Summer Seminar sessions at both the Naval Academy and Air Force Academy.

Still, this marks the first time she’s gotten on an airplane by herself and will be disembarking not into the able hands of a responsible adult, but into the hands of several other 18 year olds.

Me: Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.

Daughter: Of course I won’t.

Me: You know, that leaves you an awful lot of options.

Daughter: Stunned silence.

My personal horror story

2008-02-22T13:23:00.000-08:00

As I’ve mentioned in passing, I started Weight Watchers – again – about four weeks ago. Yesterday was the weekly weigh-in. Only a fellow non-svelte person can truly understand the horror of a weigh in. The horror that is present even when I KNOW I’ve been following the program somewhat religiously.

Oh, okay, I’m not journaling nor have I been very good about drinking my water. So I guess I’m not really being all that religious about it. But I’ve been pretty darn good. And I’m not stunned when the scale shows a loss (8.6 pounds so far – and only a fellow Weight Watcher can recite his or her weight loss to 2/10ths of a pound!).

And yet, when it’s time to weigh in and have someone else see the number? Music akin to that which might be heard in a Hitchcock movie starts playing in my head. Funky graphics like those accompanying Jimmy Stewart experiencing vertigo flash behind my eyes. And, of course, everything that might possibly affect the number on that scale is removed – sweater, shoes, heavy jewelry. And, yes, there is the requisite potty break immediately prior to stepping on the scale. Heck, if I could weigh in naked, I would. But it wouldn’t be fair to traumatize my fellow shoeless weighers like that.

My entire family belongs to Mensa (the club of good test-takers) and we have hosted the local group’s annual “chocolate” meeting at our house for the past two years. The 3rd annual Chocolate Challenge is this Saturday.

As Lloyd Bridges might have said in “Airplane” – it was a bad month to start a diet!

I’m fearful for my points-counting self at tomorrow’s meeting/chocolate fest. I mean, I will personally be baking a scrumptious chocolate cake. Decadent Fudge Cake to be precise. And there will be many, many other delicious chocolate items available for consumption.

Pray for me.

General warning to those who inhabit the planet Earth

2008-02-15T10:22:00.000-08:00

I took my son in to get his driver’s permit this morning. By the end of March, he will be behind the wheel of a car that does NOT have a brake on the passenger side. Let this be a warning to you all!

On another, less frightening, note, we’re perusing applications for next year’s exchange student. We’ve hosted four girls so far (two from Germany, one from China and one from Italy) and have, for the most part, thoroughly enjoyed the experience. We’re branching out to the other sex for next year and have received three applications from German boys to look over.

This is always a nerve-wracking time. We’re a pretty laid-back family and think we’re easy to get along with. So far, we’ve had great luck with our students. Of course, the beauty of hosting is that if the student is simply not working in your home, you can ask for him/her to be moved to torment another family. Don’t you sometimes wish that was an option with your own kids? YOU JUST SHAPE UP OR WE’RE DUMPING YOU ON SOMEONE ELSE!!! Yeah, I can see how that would be a useful tool.

But no matter how good previous experiences were, I’m always nervous during the choosing phase and while waiting for the student to arrive. What if the introductory letter they wrote was more about getting picked and less about what they’re truly like?

So, keep your fingers crossed for us. We’re just looking for someone who enjoys the outdoors, will eat my cooking and pretends our jokes are funny. How hard is that?

Home improvement

2008-02-11T11:58:00.000-08:00

Well, as bad as I felt, I must not have had a true Man Cold since even though I stayed home from work with a snuffley, achy, fevery illness, I still managed to do laundry, vacuum and wash dishes. No real Man Cold would have allowed anything beyond sleeping and whining.

Speaking of dishes, we recently got these dishes. I just love them. They look great with the new colors in our kitchen.

One very small problem. The dinner plate is just a wee bit too big for the standard kitchen cabinet. Which means that the cabinet door would not close completely when the dishes were placed inside it. Not really noticeable until you were standing right next to the barely open door, but it was DRIVING MY HUSBAND CRAZY.

So he emptied the entire contents of the cabinet onto the kitchen counter and proceeded to remove the cabinet from the wall so that he could add a quarter-inch of wood to the back thus rendering it deep enough for the new dishes. This involves cutting, gluing, clamping, nailing, painting and lots of waiting while stuff dries. And the entire process, no doubt, is accompanied by the requisite Tim Allen man grunts.

As you might imagine, this is not a five-minute job. Hey, it makes emptying the dishwasher much easier, though—just stack the clean dishes on top of the counter. No problem.

And it’s made for some fun times. My son, after pointing the stud finder (doesn’t that sound like something that should be issued to every girl upon obtaining maturity?) at his chest and hearing the reassuring “beep” exclaimed “Hey, it’s confirmed – I’m a stud!”

Like father, like son.

Rebelling body parts

2008-02-07T17:59:00.000-08:00

My entire head is driving me crazy. Let me count the ways …

The skin around my eyes is trying desperately to resemble a road map of everywhere I’ve ever been. Since Hawaii is the only state I’ve missed and I’ve been in 8 foreign countries, you can imagine the amount of moisturizers and other alleged face miracle workers I’m employing in an attempt to keep it from succeeding in its quest.

I can hardly operate the tweezers quickly enough to control my chin’s desire to grow a goatee.

My hair looks like I’ve highlighted it in front. I haven’t. Thankfully, my grey is more like blond (or at least my very, very nice friends tell me that – can you spell l-i-t-t-l-e w-h-i-t-e l-i-e?).

And on top of all that, although I am most assuredly not male, I seem to have caught a MAN COLD. (You can thank Average Jane for directing me to this hysterical video.)

Happy Super Fat Tuesday!

2008-02-05T07:32:00.000-08:00

Enjoy whatever primary caucusing pre-Lent fun you have planned!

I'm embarrassed to admit that although I was COMPLETELY AWARE that the sidewalk pictured below was a sheet of ice and I was walking VERY, VERY carefully, I still managed to slip and fall, not at all gracefully, on my ass yesterday. I guess I should be grateful for all the padding.

Send a little bit of that global warming my way

2008-02-02T14:41:00.000-08:00

My husband is hot. No, not THAT kind of hot. Well, I happen to think he is THAT kind of hot. But this is not THAT kind of post.

He’s like a heater. I will never have to have an electric blanket because sleeping next to my husband provides all of the heat necessary. I’m never warm in the winter. Probably explains my need to make those tied-together fleece blankets for everyone. I assume everyone needs a blankie in the winter or they’ll freeze to death watching TV in their own living rooms. I know I would if I were blankie-less.

The kids and I drove up to McCall last weekend for the annual McCall Winter Carnival. We stayed with friends in their cabin. There was LOTS of snow in McCall.

And I left my heater, er, husband at home. What was I thinking? I had to explain to the kids that there was no way I could sleep alone in the coldest room in the cabin because I was used to sleeping next to their hot dad. (EWWWW, Mom!! TMI!!!) Luckily, my daughter took pity on me and shared the double bed so I didn’t shiver my fillings loose trying to get to sleep.

And what’s with this?

I have to walk past this business every day on the way to and from the parking lot provided by my office. They don’t shovel their walk much.

I think they’re trying to drum up business.

I'm king of the world...my world

2008-01-30T20:56:00.000-08:00

On the way to work, singing along with Smashmouth:

Daughter: What?

Me: Oh, I was just starting to sing, but they broke into their little musical riff.

Daughter: Um, I think that’s called a bridge …

Me: I’ll call it whatever I want, 'cause I’m the mom.

Daughter: I don’t think that gives you jurisdiction over musical vocabulary.

Me: In this car, I have jurisdiction.

Daughter: Fair enough

New furniture

2008-01-24T21:38:00.000-08:00

So, as we all know, it’s a relatively new year. The time when many people make resolutions. You know, stop smoking, get more organized, quit drinking, exercise more. And, of course, lose weight.

I pretty much make that resolution every damn year.

I’ve actually succeeded a time or two.

Yep, I’ve lost weight. Only to find it once again. And when I find it, it’s told all of its friends and family members to follow it home. Because I’m a nice, friendly place for all that fat.

Sigh…

Well, this year is no different. Once again “lose weight” is at the top of my list of resolutions. So, I bought this:

It even came with a DVD of exercises. Which, I’m sad to say, has yet to see the light of day. I joined Weight Watchers (again) today. I may actually put the DVD in the player and use that ball.

Until then, well …

It makes a damn fine footrest.

It's raining cats and dog hair

2008-01-22T10:15:00.000-08:00

Please, please, PLEASE be my friend!

We got a dog last August. Don’t ask me why. I mean, he’s a really nice dog. But the hair. THE HAIR! It’s been awhile since we had a dog and I had forgotten about the HAIR THAT GETS INTO EVERYTHING.

We already had two cats. Yes, they also shed. But not in anywhere near the magnitude of Gus.

I figured it would take awhile before Morton and Molly warmed up to Gus. Morton’s always been a big wimp, so I assumed he would take longer. My husband, the kids and I were taking bets on how long it would be before Molly was snuggling with Gus.

Could not have been any more wrong.

Morton immediately asserted his alpha male status. He has the hiss and whack down to a fine art. Whenever Gus gets too close he gives a warning hiss and then, if the warning goes unheeded, the lightning-fast whack. And this is no sissy whack. You can hear the sound of Morton’s paw hitting Gus from across the room.

Not Interested

And Gus, being a dog, just wants to be BFF. The hissing and whacking has not put any kind of damper on his efforts to play. He’ll crawl towards Morton, flat on his belly – really illustrating a phrase my husband has used for years: “Lower than a snake on snowshoes” – whining in absolutely the friendliest way he knows how. Whack, Whack, WHACK is the response from Morton. Does this dissuade Gus from further efforts to achieve BFF status? No. Because he’s a dog.

Molly just avoids him. Sometimes this means jumping up on the couch, walking across whoever is there and jumping down on the other side so she can get from the living room to the laundry room and cat box. She might have to come WITHIN A FOOT OF THE DOG if she walked across the floor.

Am I far enough from the floor
to avoid the DOG!?! I THINK NOT!

This is, unfortunately, my life ...

2008-01-19T09:28:00.000-08:00

 
Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.

Life lessons

2008-01-19T08:25:00.000-08:00

My daughter, after spending a semester at a prep school in Southern California, will be attending a local college for the spring semester. In the meantime, and continuing part-time once school begins, she’s working as a clerk at the law firm where I am a secretary.

It’s fun working with my daughter. I have someone to ride to work with in the mornings and home with at the end of the day. We eat lunch together. Which she might view as not quite as much fun.

The other day we were in the lunch room chatting with some of the other secretaries. I don’t know how we got on the subject, but I related the fact that when I was in my early 20s I was unable to find a doctor who was willing to tie my tubes. At the time I was convinced I didn’t want kids.

The look on my daughter’s face was one of “Who is this strange woman?” I can understand that. I’m the mom who used to throw themed birthday parties and I taught myself to twist animal balloons for said parties. I graded papers for her 5^th grade teacher, was the room mom for more than one elementary school teacher, and chaperoned innumerable field trips. PTA president, Band Booster secretary, soccer coach – I’ve been what you would call an involved parent.

But before I met my husband, I was sure that I never wanted kids. I’m really grateful that doctors know 23-year-old girls shouldn’t make such major, nearly unchangeable decisions about their future. There’s no explaining to them (or at least there wasn’t to me) that the first time you hold your baby, you fall in love in a way you never do with anyone else in your life.

It’s a completely different love than the love you feel for your parents, siblings or husband. It changes you to the very core of your being. It’s the reason you don’t mind changing poopy diapers, wiping snotty noses or getting peed on as soon as you uncover a penis (THAT was a shock, I’ll tell you!).

It makes you do things like agree to coach the soccer team. Even though you’ve never laid a foot on a soccer ball in your life. And the reason you can’t help but run out on the field, pick your son up and swing him around when he scores his first goal.

It’s why you get a nearly painful feeling somewhere in your heart when your daughter gets up during a jazz band concert and kicks total ass at her improv solo on the saxophone. That’s YOUR kid up there and she’s amazing.

My kids are 18 and 14 now and sometimes I still look at them in wonder. THEY came out of ME???? How can that be?

If I knew when I was 23 what I know now, I never would have tried to convince my doctor to tie my tubes. I would have tracked down my husband and insisted that he impregnate me RIGHT THAT VERY MOMENT. Which might have been awkward.

Superpower vision - I has it

2008-01-15T13:40:00.000-08:00

Bathroom Update: My husband, desirous of having his bathroom cleaning efforts last longer than normal, swished the toilet and wiped off the counters this weekend.

I don’t believe he is a Flylady convert - although wouldn’t that be nice! He’s really not the kind to get up and put his shoes on. Much less do his face.

In celebration of the renewed cleanliness of the bathroom, I did a thorough cleanout of the refrigerator. I don’t mean just chucking out enough leftovers to fit the newest batch of soon-to-be-chucked leftovers in. I mean taking everything off of the shelves, pulling them out and really getting them cleaned. Doesn’t happen often, but I thought some reciprocal cleaning of the science experiments (really, what else could they have been?) was due on my part.

Which makes me wonder something: WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SEE LEFTOVERS? Do I have some hitherto unknown super vision powers? If so, I really wish they would kick in during night driving. Damn unreliable powers.

But really, I cook a nice meal. Sometimes I plan on leftovers - silly, silly me - and sometimes they just happen. Either way, there is enough Tupperware and Rubbermaid, etc., to store them handily in the refrigerator. Where typically they sit until one of two things happen. Either I throw them away to fit the aforementioned new leftovers in or I take a night off of cooking duty and force everyone to eat them. Even that doesn’t always work. Last night my daughter made a peanut butter and banana sandwich rather than having to consume the apparently dreaded leftovers. And here I thought I made a pretty tasty spaghetti.

But if I’m not around to point out the availability of the leftovers? Um, Wendy’s is the first choice. Followed closely by Micky D’s. I’m really ready to try this method of leftover management.

Gotta be because the leftovers are invisible and only I can see them.

Looks like we made it

2008-01-10T09:46:00.000-08:00

I was listening to Shania Twain in the car on the way to work this morning. (What? WHAT? I have an ECLECTIC taste in music.)

Whenever I hear “You’re Still the One” I think about the people who literally took bets on how long my marriage was going to last. None of them bet more than a year.

Why, you might ask, did they feel compelled to make bets on the longevity of my marriage?

Could have something to do with how quickly it happened. (I was also asked by a very dear friend whether I was expecting. I responded, “No. And even if I was, it would be too early to tell.”)

My husband and I worked at the same casino in Sparks, Nevada. We were working a jazz festival on July 5, 1987. I was selling tickets and he was selling popcorn and drinks right across the hall. I remember telling the gal I was working with that I thought he was really cute (it was 1987, folks -that was acceptable terminology even if you weren’t in grammar school). We flirted with each other through our whole shifts and before the day was over, he had asked me to dinner and a movie that night. Oh yes, I definitely accepted. We saw each other every single day for the next two weeks and then decided we should get married.

Yes, two weeks.

One small hitch: I had made the decision earlier in the summer to move to Philadelphia and had already had a yard sale and sold everything that wouldn’t fit in my car. Being without furniture and most everything except clothes, books and records (1987, remember?), I was pretty committed to the move. I had made plans to leave approximately 9 weeks from the day we met.

Being young (and stupid, some would assert), we not only decided to get married, we decided to move across the entire country immediately thereafter. And I do mean immediately.

We got married on September 5 – two months to the day after our first date. And then we hopped in our car directly after the reception and spent a week visiting my family in California before heading back to Nevada, fetching all of our worldly belongings and driving to Philly.

So: Got engaged 2 weeks after we met. Got married 2 months after we met. Spent the first month of our marriage driving around the country together. Arrived in a place where we had no jobs and we knew no one except the gal who was renting a room to us. And my husband didn’t even know her, she was an ex-girlfriend of a friend of mine and I had only met her twice myself.

That? Is the marriage version of trial by fire.

But it’s been over 20 years now and even though the road has not always been smooth, I cannot imagine being married to anyone else. Being single is something I can occasionally imagine because, after all, he is a man and I am a woman. Mars and Venus and all that. But married to anyone else? Not a chance.

Ain't nothin' better

We beat the odds together

I'm glad we didn't listen

Look at what we would be missin'

They said, "I bet they'll never make it"

But just look at us holding on

We're still together still going strong

You're still the one I run to

The one that I belong to

You're still the one I want for life

You're still the one that I love

The only one I dream of

You're still the one I kiss good night

Snow hides a multitude of sins

2008-01-08T16:05:00.000-08:00

See this:

It’s beautiful. No doggy leavings. No weedy flower beds. Hard to see that the rose bushes desperately need trimming. Well, now that you know they’re rose bushes, you can tell that they desperately need trimming. But whatever.

We were supposed to get another 2-4 inches today. Beginning during the morning rush hour. Such as it is in this neck of the woods. (We whine when it takes more than 20 minutes to get to work.) Since I get to work before the morning rush hour, that made me happy. Of course, it waited until about 30 minutes ago to start. Just the right time to impact my drive home.

Oh well. Rose bushes? What rose bushes?

On the bright side, my husband was very kind to me over the weekend. Since I had to work all weekend HE CLEANED THE BATHROOM. And did the laundry. But did you hear me? HE CLEANED THE BATHROOM.

Yes, in the same week that he sent me the "You were right and I was was wrong" e-mail. Wow. You think he wants hot monkey sex? I think so. Too bad I’m too old and tired for hot monkey sex. Oh yeah, I’ll put out. But not in the hot monkey category.

Forever, I say!

2008-01-02T13:37:00.000-08:00

Just got an e-mail from my husband.

Subject: You were right and I was wrong.

I’m keeping it FOREVER!