MWD is helping me set up my new website. I just spend days transferring all my blogs over. Lost my comments and views, but this will be better I think.
Checkity Check It:
http://www.clairdevers.com/
6405 - Passo Pordoi I
1 day ago
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Still working . . and stuff
I think I'll start to post my assignments via twitter (and maybe here) going forward. It probably won't catch on right away, but maybe eventually someone else can write something based on the same picture and we can compare notes. Seems fun.
I actually started a short story today with a woman character for a change (assignment picture below). It's dark as usual. I should acquiesce and start writing true crime stories, since MWD thinks I would be good at it. Anyways - this story is a little creepy. It will be Wednesday before I finish it since I have the newsletter to work on tomorrow then right back on it.
Reading seems important, but it is distracting me from writing. Kind of frustrating. I have always looked at reading as relaxing and winding down, so I feel guilty reading for some reason. I’m trying to read Stephen King's book right now On Writing. And I am also reading a book MWD got for me on building a process. I am taking some and leaving some. The proper method for me, will need to be one I come up with not someone with a formula.
I have started trying to find and follow other writers through twitter. I read a cool short story today. A good distraction, oops I mean good research. Heh.
We are paying someone to paint the common areas in the house. It means we can’t buy the kids a playscape yet, but it will save some serious marital issues. MWD doesn’t want me to do it, so dragging it out for months with the house torn up will annoy him. And in turn I will be annoyed that he is not appreciating me for painting or helping me. We like to like each other, so this will help us to avoid the opposite. Painters come tomorrow. May have to do some writing in MWD’s office, since mine is a common area (which sometimes sucks when I am writing while someone is watching TV, so close I can hear every word).
Here is the picture I am using for today's assignment:
I actually started a short story today with a woman character for a change (assignment picture below). It's dark as usual. I should acquiesce and start writing true crime stories, since MWD thinks I would be good at it. Anyways - this story is a little creepy. It will be Wednesday before I finish it since I have the newsletter to work on tomorrow then right back on it.
Reading seems important, but it is distracting me from writing. Kind of frustrating. I have always looked at reading as relaxing and winding down, so I feel guilty reading for some reason. I’m trying to read Stephen King's book right now On Writing. And I am also reading a book MWD got for me on building a process. I am taking some and leaving some. The proper method for me, will need to be one I come up with not someone with a formula.
I have started trying to find and follow other writers through twitter. I read a cool short story today. A good distraction, oops I mean good research. Heh.
We are paying someone to paint the common areas in the house. It means we can’t buy the kids a playscape yet, but it will save some serious marital issues. MWD doesn’t want me to do it, so dragging it out for months with the house torn up will annoy him. And in turn I will be annoyed that he is not appreciating me for painting or helping me. We like to like each other, so this will help us to avoid the opposite. Painters come tomorrow. May have to do some writing in MWD’s office, since mine is a common area (which sometimes sucks when I am writing while someone is watching TV, so close I can hear every word).
Here is the picture I am using for today's assignment:
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Music brings us together?
I have heard many times that music is what brings us together. Really? Are you sure? When I think about it, I’m conflicted. I turn to music constantly in my life and I do bond with the other people who like or listen to things that I like. But, it’s much more complicated than that though. I won’t even go into the music “business” side of this discussion. I don’t think I am ready for that blog yet (oh, it’s coming). But, I see so many ways in which music has driven a wedge between people.
In high school there are always cliques. And people (me included) stereotype these groups. When I was in high school it was the skaters/punks, the goths, the preps, the stoners, the jocks, the kickers, the gangstas, the nerds and more. Surely there are versions of this now that are pretty similar. There are a lot of factors that place people into their appropriate groups like style interests and more. But really it always boils down to music.
You weren’t going to see a skater guy driving down the street listening to Celine Dion or Whitney Houston. Not too many preps were listening to Black Flag or Minor Threat. But, why not? This has really bothered me over the years, since I listed to such a range of music, but specifically two things have really bothered me lately about this.
#1 – My good friend J.Ball came to visit recently and I knew he was a Texas Music fan so I took him to our recently sold store. He was in heaven. I made a comment about how I never thought I would have been selling country music or something along those lines and that I never would have pictured him listening to this stuff (our crowd was mostly the skater punk crowd). And he told me that he really liked country music as a teenager, but there is no way he would have told his friends. WHAT? WHY?
#2 – My daughter loves the worst music. No really. Noah (and even Jack) has some sweet taste (Pixies, White Stripes), but Emily is the Bubble Gum Queen. She loves Hannah and Jonas and all that typical little kid stuff. She does like a few good things (Foo Fighters – w00t), but she listens to the evil top 40 station. I don’t even know what to call the music they play, but in my mind it is AWFUL. And for a while I told her that. I wouldn’t play it in the car for her. I wanted to rid her of this infliction. I wanted to help her. And then one day during the move, I was walking past her bedroom and I caught a glimpse of her in her room packing. She had her radio on and she was groovin’ (to some real crap) and movin’ and singin’. Man, she was so happy. She knew every word and every note was bringing her joy.
At that moment I couldn’t believe I would try to deprive her of that joy. I truly realized what the word SUBJECTIVE means. She wasn’t showing off or trying to be cool for anyone, she was just happy.
And that’s what it is really supposed to be about right? You listen to what you like. It is so personal. I am not all the way better yet, but I am working on my musical tolerance. One man’s crap is another man’s love ballad.
In high school there are always cliques. And people (me included) stereotype these groups. When I was in high school it was the skaters/punks, the goths, the preps, the stoners, the jocks, the kickers, the gangstas, the nerds and more. Surely there are versions of this now that are pretty similar. There are a lot of factors that place people into their appropriate groups like style interests and more. But really it always boils down to music.
You weren’t going to see a skater guy driving down the street listening to Celine Dion or Whitney Houston. Not too many preps were listening to Black Flag or Minor Threat. But, why not? This has really bothered me over the years, since I listed to such a range of music, but specifically two things have really bothered me lately about this.
#1 – My good friend J.Ball came to visit recently and I knew he was a Texas Music fan so I took him to our recently sold store. He was in heaven. I made a comment about how I never thought I would have been selling country music or something along those lines and that I never would have pictured him listening to this stuff (our crowd was mostly the skater punk crowd). And he told me that he really liked country music as a teenager, but there is no way he would have told his friends. WHAT? WHY?
#2 – My daughter loves the worst music. No really. Noah (and even Jack) has some sweet taste (Pixies, White Stripes), but Emily is the Bubble Gum Queen. She loves Hannah and Jonas and all that typical little kid stuff. She does like a few good things (Foo Fighters – w00t), but she listens to the evil top 40 station. I don’t even know what to call the music they play, but in my mind it is AWFUL. And for a while I told her that. I wouldn’t play it in the car for her. I wanted to rid her of this infliction. I wanted to help her. And then one day during the move, I was walking past her bedroom and I caught a glimpse of her in her room packing. She had her radio on and she was groovin’ (to some real crap) and movin’ and singin’. Man, she was so happy. She knew every word and every note was bringing her joy.
At that moment I couldn’t believe I would try to deprive her of that joy. I truly realized what the word SUBJECTIVE means. She wasn’t showing off or trying to be cool for anyone, she was just happy.
And that’s what it is really supposed to be about right? You listen to what you like. It is so personal. I am not all the way better yet, but I am working on my musical tolerance. One man’s crap is another man’s love ballad.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I'm Looking Through You
Sheeeww. I have a plan and I’m gonna try to follow my own rules. Even if I am not writing on my book (paused for tweaking my complicated outline). . .
I. Am. Writing. Every. Day.
So – I made up my own assignment. Based on my true hobby – photography. I take a ton of pictures. I try to keep a handle on how many I post, because it could overwhelm the 3-4 people that follow what I am up to. No one is going to look through 240 pictures of one event, so I usually try to sum thing up in 15-40 pictures. That leaves quite a few left overs. I love to take pictures of the random details I notice in life and I rarely capture how beautiful or interesting (or disgusting) they look in my mind.
I plan on going into my photo hard drive and randomly selecting a photo. Then I will try to create a moment to write about. Maybe not a complete story. Who knows? It was simple for me to come up with this assignment, because I do this all day long. Every day.
While I drive down the street and I happen to notice some guy sitting on the curb with his kid and a car seat – I make up a story. Usually a tragedy. In reality, he probably dropped his car off to be fixed and was waiting for a ride. In reality, his wife was probably at work. But in my mind he had found his wife murdered in their house when he arrived home late last night while his little boy was in bed asleep. His name was Sergio and he had a long criminal record and was afraid he would be blamed, even though he had turned his life around. So he took off. He loved his son more than anything and refused to have him raised by his wife’s family, so he grabbed a few essential things and loaded his son in the car. Then the damn car broke down 100 miles into his escape. Now here he was sitting on the side of the road trying to figure out his next move.
It's not a gift. It’s annoying as hell. When I want to veg out, I have to turn the music up really loud and sometimes I still make up stories about the piece of trash or the broken brick or the jogger with the ripped pant leg. Or I call you while I am driving. And you distract me from these details.
OK, Folks. Here I go. I’ll post some of them here, don’t worry I will try not to post them all. I’m trying to make something of this annoying habit. I can’t deny it any longer. Even if I'm not good at it, I'm going to write some of this messed up stuff that goes through my head and hope someone receives a level of entertainment or something. Of course if they do, I will probably make up a story about how messed up they are too!
--------------------------------------
Here is my first assignment to myself for today. Strangely enough, it turns out that this was the first picture I clicked on that wasn’t one of my kids. But I didn’t even take it – MWD did. Weird . . .
The porch creaked under Luther’s weight as he sat on the top step with one leg perched under him for support and the other lazily stretched out spanning the other four steps. He was a tall, thick man and he made everything around him look miniature as he now did with the stairs and porch. It had been about 30 minutes since he arrived and he hoped to avoid going inside a bit longer. The guilt was overwhelming and everything in him told him to race back to his rented car and drive right back to the airport.
He passed some time by nervously picking at a spot on his right knuckle. Jenny, his wife, called that his worry spot. If she were here now, she would gently cover this spot with her hand to stop him from messing with it, but he had not allowed her to come. This was his responsibility. This was his family. Luther turned his hands over and looked at the palms, comparing how much lighter and tan they were to the dark sable skin on the other side. He looked beyond his hands out into Granny Byrd’s small yard. This little patch of earth was her favorite spot to be. Now the grass was so overgrown that it didn’t look like a yard, it looked like a tiny wheat field. It bothered him that no one had mowed it for her and that her last days were probably spent wishing she had her lawn mowed. It was hard for him to criticize anyone since he had not been to this porch in seven years and hadn’t mowed this yard himself in nine years.
Seven years ago he sat in this same spot and visited with Byrdie. At that time she was 84 years old and Luther was in a hurry. He was always in a hurry and Byrdie never was. He sat and visited with her and he now wished he would have given her his full attention instead of thinking about how much work he had to do and about the plans he and Jenny had for that evening. They seemed so important that day, but he couldn’t even remember what they were now. Byrdie spent all of her time on this porch. As soon as there was daylight, she would rush outside to sit and soak up the sunshine. She had a few tin bowls out on the porch that she scooped cat food into for all the cats she visited with as they stopped by to grab a bite throughout the day. The neighbors complained that she was attracting strays to the area that were multiplying and infesting the place with dirty cats, but she never stopped. Luther assumed this cat food baking in the sun all day with dried little bits from the day before was the reason it smelled so bad on her porch. Even though he loved Granny Bryd, he hated to sit out on this porch. All he could think about while he was there was everywhere else he was supposed to be.
Now she was gone and things seemed different. He was here now to watch her be placed in the ground and Luther wished he could have one more conversation with her. He wished he had been a better grandson. It was probably hard for anyone else to understand, but he really did love the woman. She was a light to him. Someone that loved him regardless of the stupid choices he made or how little he showed that he loved her back. Even if he only saw her for a moment, she always told him how proud she was. Byrdie had great stories to tell that would capture his attention away from his rushed life even if it were only for a moment. Once she started into a tale of days past, he was hooked. He really loved it when she told stories of her life with his Grandpa Earl. She met Earl Ramsey in the factory that they both worked at when she was 24 and they both continued to work at the same place for almost 40 years. He couldn’t imagine having Byrdie’s life. The same job, the same town and even the same house for almost 70 years. Grandpa Earl died when Luther was only 10 years old. Byrdie seemed like an old woman to him even then, but she still lived another 25 years without him. There was no chance Byrdie was going to love another man. Grandpa Earl was the only man for her.
She had lived through a time of great intolerance and she barely seemed to notice. She simply sat on her porch feeding cats and chatting with people who walked down the street. It was hard to picture her as the young mother of three kids. In the pictures she looked like a very plain woman with an intense sparkle in her eye. She always wore her hair smoothed down and squeezed into a little ponytail that barely fit into the black rubber band that held it in place. Little jagged spikes of hair shot out of it with varying lengths that never were longer than an inch. He imagined that if she were to wear it loose, she would have hundred of tiny curls, but they were glued down causing little waves along her head. He had never seen her or even a picture of her with her hair another way. Luther was only 35 and he now had such short hair that he might as well shave it off, but he had many hairstyles in his life. Thinking about the giant afro he sported when he was in his early twenties made him smile. His girlfriend talked him into dreading it up after a few weeks, but it was a fun while it lasted. At one time he thought he could never be that unchanged, he could never commit to the same thing everyday for the rest of his life. Jenny was the most consistent thing in his life and they had been together for nine years now. She had moved around with him for the first few years, but now they had lived in the same house for 6 years and she was going to have his baby in only a few weeks.
He had meant to call and tell Byrdie about the baby coming, but he never had time. It was going to be her first great grand baby and he knew she would have been thrilled. Now that he was here and taking his time about going inside he realized there were plenty of chances he could have called and talked to her, but it was too late. She was gone.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, “Luther Ramsey, how long you been here, Baby? Come inside, we’ve got all kinds of good food cookin’ and your mama is here too.” His aunt Carmen had discovered him, so his hope for escape was gone. Now Luther would have to go in and face these people he had not made time for in seven years.
I. Am. Writing. Every. Day.
So – I made up my own assignment. Based on my true hobby – photography. I take a ton of pictures. I try to keep a handle on how many I post, because it could overwhelm the 3-4 people that follow what I am up to. No one is going to look through 240 pictures of one event, so I usually try to sum thing up in 15-40 pictures. That leaves quite a few left overs. I love to take pictures of the random details I notice in life and I rarely capture how beautiful or interesting (or disgusting) they look in my mind.
I plan on going into my photo hard drive and randomly selecting a photo. Then I will try to create a moment to write about. Maybe not a complete story. Who knows? It was simple for me to come up with this assignment, because I do this all day long. Every day.
While I drive down the street and I happen to notice some guy sitting on the curb with his kid and a car seat – I make up a story. Usually a tragedy. In reality, he probably dropped his car off to be fixed and was waiting for a ride. In reality, his wife was probably at work. But in my mind he had found his wife murdered in their house when he arrived home late last night while his little boy was in bed asleep. His name was Sergio and he had a long criminal record and was afraid he would be blamed, even though he had turned his life around. So he took off. He loved his son more than anything and refused to have him raised by his wife’s family, so he grabbed a few essential things and loaded his son in the car. Then the damn car broke down 100 miles into his escape. Now here he was sitting on the side of the road trying to figure out his next move.
It's not a gift. It’s annoying as hell. When I want to veg out, I have to turn the music up really loud and sometimes I still make up stories about the piece of trash or the broken brick or the jogger with the ripped pant leg. Or I call you while I am driving. And you distract me from these details.
OK, Folks. Here I go. I’ll post some of them here, don’t worry I will try not to post them all. I’m trying to make something of this annoying habit. I can’t deny it any longer. Even if I'm not good at it, I'm going to write some of this messed up stuff that goes through my head and hope someone receives a level of entertainment or something. Of course if they do, I will probably make up a story about how messed up they are too!
--------------------------------------
Here is my first assignment to myself for today. Strangely enough, it turns out that this was the first picture I clicked on that wasn’t one of my kids. But I didn’t even take it – MWD did. Weird . . .
The porch creaked under Luther’s weight as he sat on the top step with one leg perched under him for support and the other lazily stretched out spanning the other four steps. He was a tall, thick man and he made everything around him look miniature as he now did with the stairs and porch. It had been about 30 minutes since he arrived and he hoped to avoid going inside a bit longer. The guilt was overwhelming and everything in him told him to race back to his rented car and drive right back to the airport.
He passed some time by nervously picking at a spot on his right knuckle. Jenny, his wife, called that his worry spot. If she were here now, she would gently cover this spot with her hand to stop him from messing with it, but he had not allowed her to come. This was his responsibility. This was his family. Luther turned his hands over and looked at the palms, comparing how much lighter and tan they were to the dark sable skin on the other side. He looked beyond his hands out into Granny Byrd’s small yard. This little patch of earth was her favorite spot to be. Now the grass was so overgrown that it didn’t look like a yard, it looked like a tiny wheat field. It bothered him that no one had mowed it for her and that her last days were probably spent wishing she had her lawn mowed. It was hard for him to criticize anyone since he had not been to this porch in seven years and hadn’t mowed this yard himself in nine years.
Seven years ago he sat in this same spot and visited with Byrdie. At that time she was 84 years old and Luther was in a hurry. He was always in a hurry and Byrdie never was. He sat and visited with her and he now wished he would have given her his full attention instead of thinking about how much work he had to do and about the plans he and Jenny had for that evening. They seemed so important that day, but he couldn’t even remember what they were now. Byrdie spent all of her time on this porch. As soon as there was daylight, she would rush outside to sit and soak up the sunshine. She had a few tin bowls out on the porch that she scooped cat food into for all the cats she visited with as they stopped by to grab a bite throughout the day. The neighbors complained that she was attracting strays to the area that were multiplying and infesting the place with dirty cats, but she never stopped. Luther assumed this cat food baking in the sun all day with dried little bits from the day before was the reason it smelled so bad on her porch. Even though he loved Granny Bryd, he hated to sit out on this porch. All he could think about while he was there was everywhere else he was supposed to be.
Now she was gone and things seemed different. He was here now to watch her be placed in the ground and Luther wished he could have one more conversation with her. He wished he had been a better grandson. It was probably hard for anyone else to understand, but he really did love the woman. She was a light to him. Someone that loved him regardless of the stupid choices he made or how little he showed that he loved her back. Even if he only saw her for a moment, she always told him how proud she was. Byrdie had great stories to tell that would capture his attention away from his rushed life even if it were only for a moment. Once she started into a tale of days past, he was hooked. He really loved it when she told stories of her life with his Grandpa Earl. She met Earl Ramsey in the factory that they both worked at when she was 24 and they both continued to work at the same place for almost 40 years. He couldn’t imagine having Byrdie’s life. The same job, the same town and even the same house for almost 70 years. Grandpa Earl died when Luther was only 10 years old. Byrdie seemed like an old woman to him even then, but she still lived another 25 years without him. There was no chance Byrdie was going to love another man. Grandpa Earl was the only man for her.
She had lived through a time of great intolerance and she barely seemed to notice. She simply sat on her porch feeding cats and chatting with people who walked down the street. It was hard to picture her as the young mother of three kids. In the pictures she looked like a very plain woman with an intense sparkle in her eye. She always wore her hair smoothed down and squeezed into a little ponytail that barely fit into the black rubber band that held it in place. Little jagged spikes of hair shot out of it with varying lengths that never were longer than an inch. He imagined that if she were to wear it loose, she would have hundred of tiny curls, but they were glued down causing little waves along her head. He had never seen her or even a picture of her with her hair another way. Luther was only 35 and he now had such short hair that he might as well shave it off, but he had many hairstyles in his life. Thinking about the giant afro he sported when he was in his early twenties made him smile. His girlfriend talked him into dreading it up after a few weeks, but it was a fun while it lasted. At one time he thought he could never be that unchanged, he could never commit to the same thing everyday for the rest of his life. Jenny was the most consistent thing in his life and they had been together for nine years now. She had moved around with him for the first few years, but now they had lived in the same house for 6 years and she was going to have his baby in only a few weeks.
He had meant to call and tell Byrdie about the baby coming, but he never had time. It was going to be her first great grand baby and he knew she would have been thrilled. Now that he was here and taking his time about going inside he realized there were plenty of chances he could have called and talked to her, but it was too late. She was gone.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, “Luther Ramsey, how long you been here, Baby? Come inside, we’ve got all kinds of good food cookin’ and your mama is here too.” His aunt Carmen had discovered him, so his hope for escape was gone. Now Luther would have to go in and face these people he had not made time for in seven years.
Monday, November 9, 2009
processing . . . processing . . .
Apparently everything has a process. I’m not very patient (shut up) and I jumped right into writing this book. This is my first actual written material over a few pages and I decide it should be a book? Technically it is a 3-book story. WTF? So I started it and I am finished with the first 7 chapters and now I have a mess!
A little more than a decade ago, I worked on databases while I was in corporate training. I was the go between for the users and the programmer. And I even designed a few easier ones myself. I had basic knowledge in both areas (understanding what people want and basic database design). The reason that job is important is that you have to design the entire database (or most of it) before you can start making tables and linking them together. It is really quite complicated and if you don’t know what you want in the beginning then you can create a ton of extra work in the end.
The process I used was starting at the end result. I used to say “tell me every report you could ever want to print” then from that I would work backwards and figure out what tables should be included and information should be collected and entered. It was so much easier to make adjustments when you start that way.
This is what I need to do. I need to figure out my process on this book. I need to quit writing for a few days and map this damn thing out on paper before I have more mess than I can clean up. Damn. Crap. Damn. Well . . at least I know now instead of 3 months from now.
BTW – I did not type the word “just” even once in here. Now that is progress.
A little more than a decade ago, I worked on databases while I was in corporate training. I was the go between for the users and the programmer. And I even designed a few easier ones myself. I had basic knowledge in both areas (understanding what people want and basic database design). The reason that job is important is that you have to design the entire database (or most of it) before you can start making tables and linking them together. It is really quite complicated and if you don’t know what you want in the beginning then you can create a ton of extra work in the end.
The process I used was starting at the end result. I used to say “tell me every report you could ever want to print” then from that I would work backwards and figure out what tables should be included and information should be collected and entered. It was so much easier to make adjustments when you start that way.
This is what I need to do. I need to figure out my process on this book. I need to quit writing for a few days and map this damn thing out on paper before I have more mess than I can clean up. Damn. Crap. Damn. Well . . at least I know now instead of 3 months from now.
BTW – I did not type the word “just” even once in here. Now that is progress.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
You're so vain
I am. Really. I wasn’t always this way. Up until my early teen years, I was convinced I was a tomboy. All I thought about was riding my bike with the neighborhood guys. I guess I almost always enjoy the company of guys over girls. They are easier to be around. Less judgmental and more funny. When they aren’t trying to hump you that is. Being dirty and smelly from climbing around the Amarillo sewer drains under the town never really bothered me. I wore jeans everyday and had my ratty perm (thanks Dad) in a ponytail.
There is further proof in the slip ‘n slide incident. My Mom took me out and bought me a brand new dress for Sunday school when I was about six. It was pretty, I liked the dress, with white and yellow frilly parts. I did enjoy the feeling of girly things, but the tomboy inside me got over it quickly and I went out to play while my parents got ready for church. It just so happened that at 9am on that Sunday morning, my little buddies who had heathen parents (like me now) already had their slip ‘n slide set up. There isn’t much that feels better than a cold, wet dive in on the yellow tarp on a hot summer day, when you weight less than 40 pounds that is. I couldn’t resist and it really never occurred to me that it mattered that I was wearing a dress. I think it broke my Dad’s heart a little to give me that spanking.
In trying to find the point in my life where I switched to caring about my appearance, I decided I really blame my brother. When I was 12, he was 7 and I was usually in charge of him. Latchkey kids for sure. One day as I was lounging on the couch avoiding my homework and watching after school crap TV, I made a huge mistake. I fell asleep. When I initially woke up, I knew it was because my brother was messing with me. I jumped up swatting at my face and initially I was confused. There he was with a smile on his face, a pair of scissors in one hand and a handful of hair in the other. Once I connected the dots and my sleepy fog had cleared, I screamed and ran to the bathroom. Oh yeah. While I dozed, He had cut a handful of my hair almost to the scalp. This is when I realized I did care about my appearance. I never had to put to much effort into being comfortable with it before that. After 2 months of beng mortified and covering with serious headbands right on the forehead, I learned to live with bangs. I still hate bangs. Stupid bangs. Usually when I see someone trying to be trendy with the ultra short page girl bangs – I groan internally. I’m sure I am jealous that it was a choice for her and not an “incident”.
Hair defines a woman. Some don’t know it and some won’t admit it, but it is the truth. All of the incidents in my life that have brought my vanity into focus were related to hair. This last March I had a horrible incident occur to my mane. I won’t bore you with all the details, but the short version is that I had tried being a red head for a while. It was fun, but I was ready to go back to blonde. Hair girl (nice version of her name) did not explain to me that it’s better to do this gradually and instead colored my hair 6 times in one day. I left with my hair totally fried and a little purple. We tried to repair it, I went to someone else and eventually had to cut my hair short. I hate it. I don’t feel like me. It has been short since April. You can tell me how becoming you think it is and try to make me feel better, but it is useless. I’m too vain and I will never like it this way. I need vanity counseling.
But tears over hair, really? What kind of tomboy am I? Please! “It is only hair, it will grow back.” I really want to punch the person who made up that saying. It must have been a guy. A guy with a smile on his face, scissors in one hand and a handful of hair in the other.
There is further proof in the slip ‘n slide incident. My Mom took me out and bought me a brand new dress for Sunday school when I was about six. It was pretty, I liked the dress, with white and yellow frilly parts. I did enjoy the feeling of girly things, but the tomboy inside me got over it quickly and I went out to play while my parents got ready for church. It just so happened that at 9am on that Sunday morning, my little buddies who had heathen parents (like me now) already had their slip ‘n slide set up. There isn’t much that feels better than a cold, wet dive in on the yellow tarp on a hot summer day, when you weight less than 40 pounds that is. I couldn’t resist and it really never occurred to me that it mattered that I was wearing a dress. I think it broke my Dad’s heart a little to give me that spanking.
In trying to find the point in my life where I switched to caring about my appearance, I decided I really blame my brother. When I was 12, he was 7 and I was usually in charge of him. Latchkey kids for sure. One day as I was lounging on the couch avoiding my homework and watching after school crap TV, I made a huge mistake. I fell asleep. When I initially woke up, I knew it was because my brother was messing with me. I jumped up swatting at my face and initially I was confused. There he was with a smile on his face, a pair of scissors in one hand and a handful of hair in the other. Once I connected the dots and my sleepy fog had cleared, I screamed and ran to the bathroom. Oh yeah. While I dozed, He had cut a handful of my hair almost to the scalp. This is when I realized I did care about my appearance. I never had to put to much effort into being comfortable with it before that. After 2 months of beng mortified and covering with serious headbands right on the forehead, I learned to live with bangs. I still hate bangs. Stupid bangs. Usually when I see someone trying to be trendy with the ultra short page girl bangs – I groan internally. I’m sure I am jealous that it was a choice for her and not an “incident”.
Hair defines a woman. Some don’t know it and some won’t admit it, but it is the truth. All of the incidents in my life that have brought my vanity into focus were related to hair. This last March I had a horrible incident occur to my mane. I won’t bore you with all the details, but the short version is that I had tried being a red head for a while. It was fun, but I was ready to go back to blonde. Hair girl (nice version of her name) did not explain to me that it’s better to do this gradually and instead colored my hair 6 times in one day. I left with my hair totally fried and a little purple. We tried to repair it, I went to someone else and eventually had to cut my hair short. I hate it. I don’t feel like me. It has been short since April. You can tell me how becoming you think it is and try to make me feel better, but it is useless. I’m too vain and I will never like it this way. I need vanity counseling.
But tears over hair, really? What kind of tomboy am I? Please! “It is only hair, it will grow back.” I really want to punch the person who made up that saying. It must have been a guy. A guy with a smile on his face, scissors in one hand and a handful of hair in the other.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
And then I cried. Big baby.
Today was kind of a breakthrough writing day for me. Mentally had some interesting new character developments (part of the planning), I got some specific research done on underground creatures AND I wrote the first thing that made me cry. I had to write a really sad scene and I have been kind of putting it off. I wrote it pretty quick since I had it all worked out already, but when I got to the middle of it, I just started crying. It’s funny, because someone else will probably read it and think it's not that pivotal or ultra important, but it really got to me. I guess that means I'm getting into this.
Then my clogged up ear and migraine rendered me useless for about 3 hours. Thanks for that.
There are several blogs I am planning to write. One blog about red flags and how oblivious I am to them. And another one about my vanity. It’s way more huge than I thought. Hopefully I can get to these as “warm ups” soon.
News at the house – Noah’s new room is finished. He is pumped. Which means he moved out of the playroom. So we now have a playroom. Fun! MWD got the Beatles Rock Band for our Wii and he has been dominating that space for a few nights. He’s so cute with new toys.
MWD’s brother TJ and his sweet wife Elzora came to stay for the weekend. We rocked Wurstfest and they fixed up the TV situation – with the wires and the speakers and blah blah. MWD is happy. All that matters.
Halloween was fun. Kids costumes were quite amusing. MWD scaring trick-or-treaters was even more amusing. I am easily amused though.
Then my clogged up ear and migraine rendered me useless for about 3 hours. Thanks for that.
There are several blogs I am planning to write. One blog about red flags and how oblivious I am to them. And another one about my vanity. It’s way more huge than I thought. Hopefully I can get to these as “warm ups” soon.
News at the house – Noah’s new room is finished. He is pumped. Which means he moved out of the playroom. So we now have a playroom. Fun! MWD got the Beatles Rock Band for our Wii and he has been dominating that space for a few nights. He’s so cute with new toys.
MWD’s brother TJ and his sweet wife Elzora came to stay for the weekend. We rocked Wurstfest and they fixed up the TV situation – with the wires and the speakers and blah blah. MWD is happy. All that matters.
Halloween was fun. Kids costumes were quite amusing. MWD scaring trick-or-treaters was even more amusing. I am easily amused though.
Maleficent, Zombie & Flying Monkey
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The Mama, the Mama! Tradition!
This is an especially fun week around the Devers house, because both Halloween & Wurstfest (two of my favorites) take place. Personally, I am pretty big on traditions. I’m not sure why I care about it since we didn’t have very many when I was a kid, but the few we had really did it for me. Little things – like the fact that my Mom would always make a big spread of random unrelated snack food items on Superbowl Sunday. I didn’t even like football, but I loved the Superbowl. It was something I could always count on. I also enjoyed celebrating Christmas with my Dad on Christmas Eve and even though we didn’t do anything too extraordinary, I came to count on it and it made it all that more fun (for me – the person who NEEDS a plan).
We have many traditions in our household. For instance on the week of Halloween, the kids and I always take time after school one day to make a “scary” treat to enjoy the rest of the week. This week we make skull cupcakes. I had big fun with my little monsters. On the Wednesday (which is “Family Night” – another Devers tradition of making sure we do something together each week) before Halloween we always carve pumpkins. I really enjoy going back through my pictures of when the big kids were little and Emily thought it was sooo gross to scoop the pumpkin guts.
Attending opening night of Wurstfest is a grown up tradition for us. We decided it would be our one thing (well - there is also Vegas) that we will never take the kids to. And even though there is always fun stuff for kids to do, we thought that drunkfest could be just for us. We rarely drink (Especially MWD), but on this is one night that we cut loose and drink a ton of beer and eat a bunch of crap. No kids allowed. Overnight babysitter is a must. Michael calls it our “No Apologies” night. Which means if we see you and we make asses of ourselves – oh well. We always have a blast and we usually remember it (thanks to my camera). This year MWD’s brother, TJ and his wife, Elzora, are coming. I hope we don’t scare them off for good. But if we do – there are no apologies.
We have more traditions than I could even name. And I like it that way. My kids may even carry some of those on to their families, but even if they don’t I think it will create fun and secure environment for them. But, mostly it’s all for me. Remember – the world revolves around me.
This year turned out well!
Wurstfest 2003
We have many traditions in our household. For instance on the week of Halloween, the kids and I always take time after school one day to make a “scary” treat to enjoy the rest of the week. This week we make skull cupcakes. I had big fun with my little monsters. On the Wednesday (which is “Family Night” – another Devers tradition of making sure we do something together each week) before Halloween we always carve pumpkins. I really enjoy going back through my pictures of when the big kids were little and Emily thought it was sooo gross to scoop the pumpkin guts.
Attending opening night of Wurstfest is a grown up tradition for us. We decided it would be our one thing (well - there is also Vegas) that we will never take the kids to. And even though there is always fun stuff for kids to do, we thought that drunkfest could be just for us. We rarely drink (Especially MWD), but on this is one night that we cut loose and drink a ton of beer and eat a bunch of crap. No kids allowed. Overnight babysitter is a must. Michael calls it our “No Apologies” night. Which means if we see you and we make asses of ourselves – oh well. We always have a blast and we usually remember it (thanks to my camera). This year MWD’s brother, TJ and his wife, Elzora, are coming. I hope we don’t scare them off for good. But if we do – there are no apologies.
We have more traditions than I could even name. And I like it that way. My kids may even carry some of those on to their families, but even if they don’t I think it will create fun and secure environment for them. But, mostly it’s all for me. Remember – the world revolves around me.
Cupcakes!
This year turned out well! Emily & Daddy 2003
Wurstfest 2003 Tuesday, October 27, 2009
It's a new life for me . . . and I'm feelin' good
I don't think I'll even try to cover all the changes that have happened since I last blogged. Amazing. My life and the life of my family is so different now. The really short version is that we sold the business and moved to a new house (same town). I am no longer employed. Taking care of the new house and my family is for sure something that could occupy every minute of my day, but I have another venture in mind . . .
On the morning of Friday July 24th, I woke up in the middle of the night with an idea. It was kind of an idea for a young reader book. Something my pre-teen kids would read, but they would call it a “chapter book.” Basically it was based on a dream I had. I got up and put the first chapter in a document and lay awake in bed continuing to write in my head. By the time morning came I was sure it was just silly. I had MWD read the chapter as soon as he was up and he went crazy for it. He was way more excited than I was and he insisted I had to finish the story.
Later that day we went to look at houses with our realtor. We had looked at quite a few houses and nothing really hit us. I pulled one out of the pile that had never been convenient timing for us to look at (per the owners) and asked her to try again.
The outside of the house was nothing exciting, but I had a feeling that we needed to go inside. Even though the décor was not anything like my taste (very French cottage), almost immediately I was attached to this house. As I looked through the kitchen and opened the pantry, my jaw dropped. I had written about this exact pantry and it was a crucial part of my story. I told MWD – “this is James’ pantry”. Not sure he believed me. But I was so pumped. When we got to the last room the owner was in there working. The room had torn out carpet with paint all over the subfloor and the lady was hunched over a giant art desk. When I realized what she was doing, it was kismet. She was a children’s book illustrator. No Way.
We live in this house now. And I am writing my book. My husband is the real writer of our house, but he is incredibly supportive of this project that he keeps trying to spend my first advance check before I even get through the first 10 chapters. He proofs and discusses and remains interested in the story. I’m a lucky gal.
I am going to try to write something here every day that I can manage. It will be my warm up time. My practice so to speak. Staying home is busier than I thought. I have a big house to keep clean and a family to care for. But I hope to write at least 5 days a week.
Here I go new life. Wish me luck.
On the morning of Friday July 24th, I woke up in the middle of the night with an idea. It was kind of an idea for a young reader book. Something my pre-teen kids would read, but they would call it a “chapter book.” Basically it was based on a dream I had. I got up and put the first chapter in a document and lay awake in bed continuing to write in my head. By the time morning came I was sure it was just silly. I had MWD read the chapter as soon as he was up and he went crazy for it. He was way more excited than I was and he insisted I had to finish the story.
Later that day we went to look at houses with our realtor. We had looked at quite a few houses and nothing really hit us. I pulled one out of the pile that had never been convenient timing for us to look at (per the owners) and asked her to try again.
The outside of the house was nothing exciting, but I had a feeling that we needed to go inside. Even though the décor was not anything like my taste (very French cottage), almost immediately I was attached to this house. As I looked through the kitchen and opened the pantry, my jaw dropped. I had written about this exact pantry and it was a crucial part of my story. I told MWD – “this is James’ pantry”. Not sure he believed me. But I was so pumped. When we got to the last room the owner was in there working. The room had torn out carpet with paint all over the subfloor and the lady was hunched over a giant art desk. When I realized what she was doing, it was kismet. She was a children’s book illustrator. No Way.
We live in this house now. And I am writing my book. My husband is the real writer of our house, but he is incredibly supportive of this project that he keeps trying to spend my first advance check before I even get through the first 10 chapters. He proofs and discusses and remains interested in the story. I’m a lucky gal.
I am going to try to write something here every day that I can manage. It will be my warm up time. My practice so to speak. Staying home is busier than I thought. I have a big house to keep clean and a family to care for. But I hope to write at least 5 days a week.
Here I go new life. Wish me luck.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Now this is real.
It took a little effort, but I copied all my old blogs over. Now this is real time. Kinda. I haven't worked all day - whoop! Took the kids to a birthday party, made taco soup and surfed the internet. It was nice. I think I'll go play Wii with my shorties.
Here is a video I found while surfing the web. I like. Especially the way they represent the value of photos:
Here is a video I found while surfing the web. I like. Especially the way they represent the value of photos:
The Hippies and the Freaks
Originally posted on Myspace Monday, January 26, 2009 :
I took my kids to the park by my house today (Sunday). It’s a little neighborhood park with a climb-o-rama, a couple of swings and a backstop in a field. We’ve been going up there more lately, since Jack loves to be outside and we don’t have much of a yard. Usually, we are the only ones there, but today was different. There was a crowd of roughly fifteen kids hanging out by some grills they obviously brought. As we settled in, with my shorties screaming (and chasing and climbing) and me with my Ipod perching near to watch over, I couldn’t stop from studying them.
I say they were kids, because they were early 20s and I am now 35 (uggh). The scene reminded me so much of my youth. They were dressed in smart thrift store finds and funky layers. A couple of them had handmade musical instruments and they had three dogs running in circles around the group. I kept drifting back to the days of hacky sac at the tennis courts with so many of my A-Town friends or football in the park with Brad, Ricky and some of my Lubbock peeps. To giant stop-and-go soft drinks and good Thai food. To Randall kids and Canyon kids and Einstein’s and Denny’s. To the skate park and the parking lot across from high school. To Tara Holt’s house or my back house.
I continued my unabashed people watching while listening to music. I always have these heightened sentimental moments in connection with music. Citizen Cope was playing and he (Clarence Gatewood) is probably the same age as these “kids”, so it couldn’t have been that (maybe though - d'artagnan's theme). The group drifted over to the backstop and started a game of kickball. A few of them were smoking and chatting – some were really playing. All of the sudden I felt invisible. Like they didn’t realize I was once like them. At first I wanted them to know. “Hey, I was once like you. I didn’t always dress sensible and shout for children to be careful or they might impair their vision by swinging upside down (can you even do that?).” I got over that urge though and I enjoyed my secret identity.
It seems that until today, I always thought I would go back to that. You know, in the back of my mind. That I was just “taking a break” from those things. I realized today that I am in a new phase of my life now. I’m ok with that. Of course I will have cookouts or go to parks and shows with my friends, but it’s not the same.
These memories serve me well. The guy with the shaved head and the army jacket was Brad Hoover for just a second. And the big head of fuzzy red hair and freckled cheeks had Timmy’s profile. The girl in the colorful beanie was so close to Lauren Moore it was uncanny. That one guy wearing baggy long shorts on a cold day could have easily been Justin Able. That smiling-shy chick with the tattoos and black hair was so similar to Becci Brewer. One by one they all reminded me of someone and sometime. I wonder about these people sometimes. Where they are and what they are doing. I even wonder if they wonder about me.
Now I have park adventures with my family and I enjoy these days just like the ones many years ago. I don’t long for those days (how exhausting that would be). It is nice though. It’s nice to have a reminder of my youth.
Currently listening: The Clarence Greenwood Recordings By Citizen Cope
I took my kids to the park by my house today (Sunday). It’s a little neighborhood park with a climb-o-rama, a couple of swings and a backstop in a field. We’ve been going up there more lately, since Jack loves to be outside and we don’t have much of a yard. Usually, we are the only ones there, but today was different. There was a crowd of roughly fifteen kids hanging out by some grills they obviously brought. As we settled in, with my shorties screaming (and chasing and climbing) and me with my Ipod perching near to watch over, I couldn’t stop from studying them.
I say they were kids, because they were early 20s and I am now 35 (uggh). The scene reminded me so much of my youth. They were dressed in smart thrift store finds and funky layers. A couple of them had handmade musical instruments and they had three dogs running in circles around the group. I kept drifting back to the days of hacky sac at the tennis courts with so many of my A-Town friends or football in the park with Brad, Ricky and some of my Lubbock peeps. To giant stop-and-go soft drinks and good Thai food. To Randall kids and Canyon kids and Einstein’s and Denny’s. To the skate park and the parking lot across from high school. To Tara Holt’s house or my back house.
I continued my unabashed people watching while listening to music. I always have these heightened sentimental moments in connection with music. Citizen Cope was playing and he (Clarence Gatewood) is probably the same age as these “kids”, so it couldn’t have been that (maybe though - d'artagnan's theme). The group drifted over to the backstop and started a game of kickball. A few of them were smoking and chatting – some were really playing. All of the sudden I felt invisible. Like they didn’t realize I was once like them. At first I wanted them to know. “Hey, I was once like you. I didn’t always dress sensible and shout for children to be careful or they might impair their vision by swinging upside down (can you even do that?).” I got over that urge though and I enjoyed my secret identity.
It seems that until today, I always thought I would go back to that. You know, in the back of my mind. That I was just “taking a break” from those things. I realized today that I am in a new phase of my life now. I’m ok with that. Of course I will have cookouts or go to parks and shows with my friends, but it’s not the same.
These memories serve me well. The guy with the shaved head and the army jacket was Brad Hoover for just a second. And the big head of fuzzy red hair and freckled cheeks had Timmy’s profile. The girl in the colorful beanie was so close to Lauren Moore it was uncanny. That one guy wearing baggy long shorts on a cold day could have easily been Justin Able. That smiling-shy chick with the tattoos and black hair was so similar to Becci Brewer. One by one they all reminded me of someone and sometime. I wonder about these people sometimes. Where they are and what they are doing. I even wonder if they wonder about me.
Now I have park adventures with my family and I enjoy these days just like the ones many years ago. I don’t long for those days (how exhausting that would be). It is nice though. It’s nice to have a reminder of my youth.
Currently listening: The Clarence Greenwood Recordings By Citizen Cope
A Family Business
Originally posted on Myspace Monday, November 17, 2008 :
I was listening to Whiskeytown on my way home from an exhausting weekend with all three shorties in the back. That CD (Pneumonia) always makes me contemplative and sentimental.
We are moving the warehouse back to the store, since it is kind of redundant without any other locations. Trying to tighten up until the economy gets a little better. MWD and I have been working on it for days (him even more than me). It is a lot more work than one would think. We have sooo many CDs and "stuff" to get them shipped. We had all three kids up there all weekend and they were really helping us out. Well mostly the "bigs" were. They were actually taking it pretty serious when I told them it was a "family business" and I was proud of them. Jack wanted to help, but other than putting things in the trash (including things that don't go there) he isn't quite there. My babies are growing up (right).
I'm a lucky gal. My little family is exactly what I had always hoped for.
The store is pretty sweet these days too. All my gals are excited about the changes, pitching in and seem happy to be working there. It's a good feeling.
Currently listening: Pneumonia By Whiskeytown
I was listening to Whiskeytown on my way home from an exhausting weekend with all three shorties in the back. That CD (Pneumonia) always makes me contemplative and sentimental.
We are moving the warehouse back to the store, since it is kind of redundant without any other locations. Trying to tighten up until the economy gets a little better. MWD and I have been working on it for days (him even more than me). It is a lot more work than one would think. We have sooo many CDs and "stuff" to get them shipped. We had all three kids up there all weekend and they were really helping us out. Well mostly the "bigs" were. They were actually taking it pretty serious when I told them it was a "family business" and I was proud of them. Jack wanted to help, but other than putting things in the trash (including things that don't go there) he isn't quite there. My babies are growing up (right).
I'm a lucky gal. My little family is exactly what I had always hoped for.
The store is pretty sweet these days too. All my gals are excited about the changes, pitching in and seem happy to be working there. It's a good feeling.
Currently listening: Pneumonia By Whiskeytown
Gone but not forgotten (sensory overload)
Originally posted on myspace Monday, July 14, 2008:
I had a sensory overload moment this weekend. I have pretty heightened senses. Usually I can find a memory in a song (ask Carra). Michael and the kids call me rabbit ears, because I hear every little comment even when I'm in another room. It's impossible not to overhear most conversations in a restaurant. My true super-power is my sense of smell. Each scent seems to take me to a person, place or thing.
This weekend, I bought a pair of boots. My first pair of actual cowgirl boots since I was a youngster. Like most things I pick for myself, the boots are plain. Nothing fancy, just some boots to call my own. As soon as I got in the car I pulled them from the bag and had my "Mary-Catherine" moment. I put the new leather to my nose and huffed at it like a teenager in a drain tunnel.
Immediately I was filled with memories. Memories that were my own, but completely forgotten. I have three paternal Grandfathers. One that I never knew (met once) and he means nothing really to me. My current one, Papa, that I consider my closest Grandfather figure. He has been constant in my life since my early teens and he loves me and really loves my Grandmother. He's a good man that entered the picture with some serious resentment, because he had big shoes to fill. Those shoes were boots and they belonged to my Grandpa Bill. He was the head of our family and he died when I was about 8.
Grandpa Bill married my Grams when she already had 4 kids. He raised them as his own and added two more to the family. All six of those kids still love that man. Obviously he influenced them in ways that lasted for generations. Some kids in our family that were born after he died, speak of him as if they knew him. He grew up in Minnesota and he and Grandma moved the family to Sunday Canyon (outside Amarillo) after Grandma fell in love with the area on a visit in the early 70s. Grandpa built a house, with his own two hands that was amazing. Really it should have been part of his legacy, but it's not in our family anymore.
Until this weekend, I didn't have very many memories of Grandpa Bill that I trusted as real. No memories that I didn't feel were placed there by stories family had told me. Now I do. While smelling the new leather boot, I had a sensory overload! It was like in the movies when your life flashes before your eyes in snapshots and moments. First it was a saddle. My Grandparents had horses. Actually they had their own stable. They also owned a place called Six Gun City outside Palo Duro Canyon. We all had chances to be part of the background of the simulated gunslinger town. There was everything from my cousins and I riding bareback horses around town to our parents participating in gunfights. Good times.
Most of those memories, I will keep to myself, but I have to admit it was great to remember the feel of his enormous hand enveloping my tiny fingers. He was a big man. We are talking more than size here. Grandpa Bill and I had a special bond. My Dad says Grandpa liked that I had such an attitude already at a young age. I don't know what he means though. I don't have an attitude. I do have some pretty cool boots, though.
I had a sensory overload moment this weekend. I have pretty heightened senses. Usually I can find a memory in a song (ask Carra). Michael and the kids call me rabbit ears, because I hear every little comment even when I'm in another room. It's impossible not to overhear most conversations in a restaurant. My true super-power is my sense of smell. Each scent seems to take me to a person, place or thing.
This weekend, I bought a pair of boots. My first pair of actual cowgirl boots since I was a youngster. Like most things I pick for myself, the boots are plain. Nothing fancy, just some boots to call my own. As soon as I got in the car I pulled them from the bag and had my "Mary-Catherine" moment. I put the new leather to my nose and huffed at it like a teenager in a drain tunnel.
Immediately I was filled with memories. Memories that were my own, but completely forgotten. I have three paternal Grandfathers. One that I never knew (met once) and he means nothing really to me. My current one, Papa, that I consider my closest Grandfather figure. He has been constant in my life since my early teens and he loves me and really loves my Grandmother. He's a good man that entered the picture with some serious resentment, because he had big shoes to fill. Those shoes were boots and they belonged to my Grandpa Bill. He was the head of our family and he died when I was about 8.
Grandpa Bill married my Grams when she already had 4 kids. He raised them as his own and added two more to the family. All six of those kids still love that man. Obviously he influenced them in ways that lasted for generations. Some kids in our family that were born after he died, speak of him as if they knew him. He grew up in Minnesota and he and Grandma moved the family to Sunday Canyon (outside Amarillo) after Grandma fell in love with the area on a visit in the early 70s. Grandpa built a house, with his own two hands that was amazing. Really it should have been part of his legacy, but it's not in our family anymore.
Until this weekend, I didn't have very many memories of Grandpa Bill that I trusted as real. No memories that I didn't feel were placed there by stories family had told me. Now I do. While smelling the new leather boot, I had a sensory overload! It was like in the movies when your life flashes before your eyes in snapshots and moments. First it was a saddle. My Grandparents had horses. Actually they had their own stable. They also owned a place called Six Gun City outside Palo Duro Canyon. We all had chances to be part of the background of the simulated gunslinger town. There was everything from my cousins and I riding bareback horses around town to our parents participating in gunfights. Good times.
Most of those memories, I will keep to myself, but I have to admit it was great to remember the feel of his enormous hand enveloping my tiny fingers. He was a big man. We are talking more than size here. Grandpa Bill and I had a special bond. My Dad says Grandpa liked that I had such an attitude already at a young age. I don't know what he means though. I don't have an attitude. I do have some pretty cool boots, though.
Grandpa Bill
Grandpa Bill and Grandma (Circa Six Gun City)
Six Gun City Postcard
My Papa this year
No attitude from this Angel. . . 
My good smellin' boots
Currently listening: Ultimate Waylon Jennings By Waylon Jennings
Life is hard & I yelled at an old man in a wheelchair
Originally posted on Myspace Sunday, June 29, 2008:
I totally wigged out on this guy yesterday and it's been bothering me ever since. He was in a wheelchair and I thought I was having some kind of guilt for that, which isn't normal for me. I worked with "Handicapable" people for almost 4 years and I look at them the same as everyone else. They can be as good of a friend or as big of an asshole as anyone else.
The actual situation is irrelevant, but just to let me rant . . We took the kids to see WALL-E yesterday. It was really packed in the theater. The kids were all very well behaved (unlike some little shit behind us) and seemed to enjoy the movie. Jack drank about 25 of my 32 ounce soda and took full advantage of the pull up he was wearing (gross). I don't usually let him drink soda, but it was keeping him quiet - so I acquiesced. As usual we were the last ones out of the theater - you know we have to pay our respect to the people who made the movie and when that comes to a Pixar movie that's no small commitment. MWD took Noah and I took Jack and Emily. We hit the ladies room and I realized there was no "diaper changing station". So I went out in the hallway and noticed we were going to need to use the "family/handicapped" bathroom which is apparently the only place to change a diaper without laying your kid on the bathroom floor or trying to get him to step out and into a clean pull up. I could write a whole blog on my last movie theater/pull up changing experience from last time. This time I was using a designated area.
While in the process of relieving Jack of his 25 ounces, someone tried the door. Not too weird. The immediate silence led me to believe the person had moved on. A moment later there is a loud bang on the door, three actually. My reaction was just to say "occupied" loud enough for them to hear. Immediately I heard this nasty creature shout "well, I'm in a wheelchair, so get the HELL out of there." I put hell in all caps because he YELLED it. My first thought was guilt. Then all the sudden I realized that I hadn't done anything wrong. I was changing my kid in the designated area and the guy was cussing at me in front of my kids. "I'm changing a diaper, this is the only place, I will be right out" that was my only response. I put Jack back together & washed our hands as quick as I could. The whole time I can hear this guy mumbling about people using the handicapped bathroom and he is in a wheelchair and it is bullshit and on and on. At this point I was furious.
I flung the door open to this small man with a giant beard and no legs. He was kind of dirty and had this almost stereotypical look of a war veteran, military cap and all. He also had a giant thug in a poorly chosen red shirt standing behind his wheelchair looking like a bouncer for Red Robin. I looked the nasty little man directly in the eye and yelled at him. OK. I didn't yell, but I raised my voice and told him this was the only place for me to change a diaper and that I thought his cussing at me (in front of my children or not) was unnecessary and rude. His only response was even louder "well I'm in a wheelchair, so I have to use that damn bathroom." I was getting nowhere (except more pissed) so I stormed off and waited for Michael.
The whole thing only took place in a couple of minutes, but I was so angry. I couldn't figure out if I just felt sorry for him (for being such a hateful nasty person, not being in a wheelchair) or angry at him for taking his frustrations out on me. Then I came to a place where realized that I should be thankful for what I have: my health, my family, my LEGS. But, by the time I went to bed I decided "f**k that." The guy was just a jerk.
The moral of the story?
Life is hard for everyone. It's what you make of it. There are days when my life is easy and days when it is hard. All of those days are a result of choices I have made. When something bad happens to you regardless of the scale, you get to choose how you handle it. I know people who have (or had) major health issues and are the most positive people in the world (Bunny & Chad for example). They didn't choose to have the problems, but they did decide how they were going to handle it. So again - f**k that. The guy was just a prick.
Currently listening: Nothing’s Shocking By Jane’s Addiction
I totally wigged out on this guy yesterday and it's been bothering me ever since. He was in a wheelchair and I thought I was having some kind of guilt for that, which isn't normal for me. I worked with "Handicapable" people for almost 4 years and I look at them the same as everyone else. They can be as good of a friend or as big of an asshole as anyone else.
The actual situation is irrelevant, but just to let me rant . . We took the kids to see WALL-E yesterday. It was really packed in the theater. The kids were all very well behaved (unlike some little shit behind us) and seemed to enjoy the movie. Jack drank about 25 of my 32 ounce soda and took full advantage of the pull up he was wearing (gross). I don't usually let him drink soda, but it was keeping him quiet - so I acquiesced. As usual we were the last ones out of the theater - you know we have to pay our respect to the people who made the movie and when that comes to a Pixar movie that's no small commitment. MWD took Noah and I took Jack and Emily. We hit the ladies room and I realized there was no "diaper changing station". So I went out in the hallway and noticed we were going to need to use the "family/handicapped" bathroom which is apparently the only place to change a diaper without laying your kid on the bathroom floor or trying to get him to step out and into a clean pull up. I could write a whole blog on my last movie theater/pull up changing experience from last time. This time I was using a designated area.
While in the process of relieving Jack of his 25 ounces, someone tried the door. Not too weird. The immediate silence led me to believe the person had moved on. A moment later there is a loud bang on the door, three actually. My reaction was just to say "occupied" loud enough for them to hear. Immediately I heard this nasty creature shout "well, I'm in a wheelchair, so get the HELL out of there." I put hell in all caps because he YELLED it. My first thought was guilt. Then all the sudden I realized that I hadn't done anything wrong. I was changing my kid in the designated area and the guy was cussing at me in front of my kids. "I'm changing a diaper, this is the only place, I will be right out" that was my only response. I put Jack back together & washed our hands as quick as I could. The whole time I can hear this guy mumbling about people using the handicapped bathroom and he is in a wheelchair and it is bullshit and on and on. At this point I was furious.
I flung the door open to this small man with a giant beard and no legs. He was kind of dirty and had this almost stereotypical look of a war veteran, military cap and all. He also had a giant thug in a poorly chosen red shirt standing behind his wheelchair looking like a bouncer for Red Robin. I looked the nasty little man directly in the eye and yelled at him. OK. I didn't yell, but I raised my voice and told him this was the only place for me to change a diaper and that I thought his cussing at me (in front of my children or not) was unnecessary and rude. His only response was even louder "well I'm in a wheelchair, so I have to use that damn bathroom." I was getting nowhere (except more pissed) so I stormed off and waited for Michael.
The whole thing only took place in a couple of minutes, but I was so angry. I couldn't figure out if I just felt sorry for him (for being such a hateful nasty person, not being in a wheelchair) or angry at him for taking his frustrations out on me. Then I came to a place where realized that I should be thankful for what I have: my health, my family, my LEGS. But, by the time I went to bed I decided "f**k that." The guy was just a jerk.
The moral of the story?
Life is hard for everyone. It's what you make of it. There are days when my life is easy and days when it is hard. All of those days are a result of choices I have made. When something bad happens to you regardless of the scale, you get to choose how you handle it. I know people who have (or had) major health issues and are the most positive people in the world (Bunny & Chad for example). They didn't choose to have the problems, but they did decide how they were going to handle it. So again - f**k that. The guy was just a prick.
Currently listening: Nothing’s Shocking By Jane’s Addiction
My Kid Rocks - Part I
Oringinally posted on myspace Monday, January 21, 2008:
Let me tell you about my evening. . .
It actually started at the grocery store. For weeks (maybe a couple months) Noah has been begging me (really) to buy some octopus for him to try. Of course my first thought is to blow him off, he would never like it and on and on. Well, he wore me down and I have to admit I was a little impressed that he would dare to try something so out of the ordinary. I bought a freaking octopus. For Noah and only Noah. I mean really - whose kids tries octopus? My kids rocks.
Freaky looking, huh? It took a long time - boil it forever then saute it. Over an hour later. . . 
Let me tell you about my evening. . .
It actually started at the grocery store. For weeks (maybe a couple months) Noah has been begging me (really) to buy some octopus for him to try. Of course my first thought is to blow him off, he would never like it and on and on. Well, he wore me down and I have to admit I was a little impressed that he would dare to try something so out of the ordinary. I bought a freaking octopus. For Noah and only Noah. I mean really - whose kids tries octopus? My kids rocks.
Here we are cooking it. . .
Freaky looking, huh? It took a long time - boil it forever then saute it. Over an hour later. . . I could barely eat my dinner (chicken and broccoli) thinking about it.
He gave it a thumbs up initially. Then he coped to the fact that it was really chewy - this is what I hear from anyone who has tried it (including MWD). He ate the majority of it though! Wow!
He even inspired Jack to try a bite (picky eater). He said he liked it, but he did not want anymore.
Positive Things
Originally posted on Myspace Tuesday, September 18, 2007 :
My goal is to become more positive. Here is my start. . .
10 positive things
About my husband
1. He makes me laugh every single day, sometimes even when I'm mad.
2. He asked me slow dance to George Michael last night, during the newsletter. We did.
3. He is a fun Daddy - did your Dad ever paint his team's name on your belly?
4. He finds a way to tell me I am pretty almost every day.
5. He is smart, but don't tell him I said that.
6. He is sexy and handsome (you can tell him I said that).
7. He has his own cowbell and it has a purpose.
8. He always drives.
9. He respects my AUTHOR-IT-EYE.
10. He does the dishes (usually).
About my kids
1. They are so freakin' cute. I mean really pretty/handsome children.
2. They like to play while listening to movie soundtracks (it is funny).
3. Yesterday they asked me "what did you learn today?"
4. Jack says "OH MY GOD!"
5. They like to go on walks with me.
6. They tell me I'm a good cook. And they like to cook with me.
7. They invent things (scary things).
8. They love each other.
9. They make us say a prayer before dinner.
10. They are my excuse to watch movies with talking animals.
About my job
1. Are you kidding? I work at a record store. In the most beautiful town in Texas.
2. I meet the coolest, most interesting people. Sometimes they play music at my store. Billy Joe Shaver!
3. I learn about new good music EVERYDAY!
4. I now work on a Magazine (journalism - full circle).
5. I work with the funnest, craziest people.
6. Walt Wilkins is mandatory meeting night. BEAT THAT!
7. I have a personal assistant (think Karen Walker).
8. I help indie peeps get their start.
9. I work with my husband.
10. I can arrange my schedule to work for my family life.
Currently listening: The Californian By Bob Schneider
My goal is to become more positive. Here is my start. . .
10 positive things
About my husband
1. He makes me laugh every single day, sometimes even when I'm mad.
2. He asked me slow dance to George Michael last night, during the newsletter. We did.
3. He is a fun Daddy - did your Dad ever paint his team's name on your belly?
4. He finds a way to tell me I am pretty almost every day.
5. He is smart, but don't tell him I said that.
6. He is sexy and handsome (you can tell him I said that).
7. He has his own cowbell and it has a purpose.
8. He always drives.
9. He respects my AUTHOR-IT-EYE.
10. He does the dishes (usually).
About my kids
1. They are so freakin' cute. I mean really pretty/handsome children.
2. They like to play while listening to movie soundtracks (it is funny).
3. Yesterday they asked me "what did you learn today?"
4. Jack says "OH MY GOD!"
5. They like to go on walks with me.
6. They tell me I'm a good cook. And they like to cook with me.
7. They invent things (scary things).
8. They love each other.
9. They make us say a prayer before dinner.
10. They are my excuse to watch movies with talking animals.
About my job
1. Are you kidding? I work at a record store. In the most beautiful town in Texas.
2. I meet the coolest, most interesting people. Sometimes they play music at my store. Billy Joe Shaver!
3. I learn about new good music EVERYDAY!
4. I now work on a Magazine (journalism - full circle).
5. I work with the funnest, craziest people.
6. Walt Wilkins is mandatory meeting night. BEAT THAT!
7. I have a personal assistant (think Karen Walker).
8. I help indie peeps get their start.
9. I work with my husband.
10. I can arrange my schedule to work for my family life.
Currently listening: The Californian By Bob Schneider
Leopard Skin Pants
Originally posted on Myspace Friday, November 10, 2006:
So - I have had a few drinks.I am going to ramble and there is a good chance I will delete this in the AM. We went to see Ryan Bingham tonight at Gruene Hall. Yes, people I did get a babysitter twice in a week - woo-hoo. It was amazing.
Do you guys know that Michael has an amazing ability to notice talent? Seriously it goes way back. When he says someone has it, they do. A few weeks ago (maybe a little more), Michael started getting really excited about Ryan Bingham's unreleased CD. I listened to it. I LOVE IT. Even Noah loves it. After hearing only one song, he asked to borrow it and he sat on the couch and listened to the whole thing. He has a good ear too. Well - we (LSM) are helping Ryan get the CD pressed and in return we are getting exclusive sales. We would NEVER do this if we didn't absolutely love the CD.
So back to the show. I did miss my favorite song, but almost everything I heard was new to me. No matter what kind of music you listen to, there is probably that one country music song you love. Like for me it is a Willis Alan Ramsey song. I don't want to suggest anything - you know your song. Ryan could be that guy one day - he could write those songs. Also - he rocks. It is the best mesh of country and rock I can think of. It makes me think of perfect orange Play-doh. When Noah gets red and yellow play-doh and mixes it - there are just clumps of red and yellow, but when Emily does it she takes her time squishing it together until she has the perfect orange. This is the same thing. Just think of how good Ryan will be years from now. His sound is unique - not easy to duplicate. The lyrics are deeper than usual, but totally catchy and accessible to anyone. I always seem to enjoy blue collar, workin' man songs. You know - real people songs.
Matthew Smith play drums - he is cool to watch. There is no bass player, but I didn't notice it much, because Matt has the rhythm covered. He kind of has this serious stare that says "challenge me, just try to fuck me up!", he stares Ryan down like he could keep up with anything - which is good because Ryan plays the fastest acoustic guitar I have ever seen. Corby Schaub is the everything else sideman. He mostly plays mandolin, but there is much more to it. These guys are a great match for each other. We are selling the CDs now on LSM. Go listen to the sound files. Sunrise is my favorite, but the whole CD is good. There is not a bad song.
I got to see Ryan play in front of about 30 people tonight. I didn't even take a bathroom break, because I was afraid I would miss something (if you know me well, you are impressed). One day Ryan is going to be someone's Willis Alan Ramsey or Woody Guthrie. Maybe Noah's. If you get the chance to see him play or even just to shake his hand and say "hi" take it. It will be worth your investment.
So - I have had a few drinks.I am going to ramble and there is a good chance I will delete this in the AM. We went to see Ryan Bingham tonight at Gruene Hall. Yes, people I did get a babysitter twice in a week - woo-hoo. It was amazing.
Do you guys know that Michael has an amazing ability to notice talent? Seriously it goes way back. When he says someone has it, they do. A few weeks ago (maybe a little more), Michael started getting really excited about Ryan Bingham's unreleased CD. I listened to it. I LOVE IT. Even Noah loves it. After hearing only one song, he asked to borrow it and he sat on the couch and listened to the whole thing. He has a good ear too. Well - we (LSM) are helping Ryan get the CD pressed and in return we are getting exclusive sales. We would NEVER do this if we didn't absolutely love the CD.
So back to the show. I did miss my favorite song, but almost everything I heard was new to me. No matter what kind of music you listen to, there is probably that one country music song you love. Like for me it is a Willis Alan Ramsey song. I don't want to suggest anything - you know your song. Ryan could be that guy one day - he could write those songs. Also - he rocks. It is the best mesh of country and rock I can think of. It makes me think of perfect orange Play-doh. When Noah gets red and yellow play-doh and mixes it - there are just clumps of red and yellow, but when Emily does it she takes her time squishing it together until she has the perfect orange. This is the same thing. Just think of how good Ryan will be years from now. His sound is unique - not easy to duplicate. The lyrics are deeper than usual, but totally catchy and accessible to anyone. I always seem to enjoy blue collar, workin' man songs. You know - real people songs.
Matthew Smith play drums - he is cool to watch. There is no bass player, but I didn't notice it much, because Matt has the rhythm covered. He kind of has this serious stare that says "challenge me, just try to fuck me up!", he stares Ryan down like he could keep up with anything - which is good because Ryan plays the fastest acoustic guitar I have ever seen. Corby Schaub is the everything else sideman. He mostly plays mandolin, but there is much more to it. These guys are a great match for each other. We are selling the CDs now on LSM. Go listen to the sound files. Sunrise is my favorite, but the whole CD is good. There is not a bad song.
I got to see Ryan play in front of about 30 people tonight. I didn't even take a bathroom break, because I was afraid I would miss something (if you know me well, you are impressed). One day Ryan is going to be someone's Willis Alan Ramsey or Woody Guthrie. Maybe Noah's. If you get the chance to see him play or even just to shake his hand and say "hi" take it. It will be worth your investment.
By Popular Demand
Originally posted on Myspace Tuesday, October 03, 2006 :
OK. I really have to say that this blog is up on a demand basis. A few of you have asked for it and here you go. . .
Grocery Store Etiquette
It seems to me like common sense. I realize that I have been domesticated in a way that some of you from way back find surprising. Even though I may be a little rough around the edges – I have hit my soccer Mom years and I am cool with that. But, I just don't understand why an hour of grocery shopping has to be so damn difficult! I thought I was a domestic queen, but apparently I am a magnet for grocery store drama.
STAY TO THE RIGHT
Traffic moves just like in the street, why is this so confusing to people once they walk inside a store?
PARK OUT OF THE WAY
Do you really need to park your cart in the middle of the aisle (sometimes across the aisle) to look at every package of chips? I know you have been buying the same kind for 4 years. If you have to look at (and touch! what's up with that?) every package then park out of the way. C'MON!
USE THE MANNERS YOUR MAMA TAUGHT YOU
Why are people so damn rude at the store? I do not understand. You got right in my way and just to be polite, I said "excuse me" and you don't even respond at all. Not even a "no problem". Nothing. Usually a few times of this leads to me responding to myself loudly in the middle of the aisle. Something like this (all me talking) "excuse me, sorry." (no response) (me - loudly) "oh, no problem – It was really my fault for standing right in you way and staring at the floor"
MOVE IT
You are standing right in front of what I need. Obviously you are in deep thought about getting your frozen green beans with the shell or not, but it is obvious I need something from right in front of you. Don't you see me hovering behind you?? Please stop ignoring me and move.
STOP TOUCHING EVERYTHING
Why do people have to touch everything? It really grosses me out. Stop it.
NOT SOCIAL HOUR
OK. We know each other and made eye contact so we have to say a quick "hi". I like you well enough, but I probably didn't shower and Michael is at home with all three kids, so this is "Clair Time". I am not feeling social so keep it quick.
THIS IS NOT A BAR
Look, creepy single guy, just because we passed each other four aisles in a row doesn't mean this is destiny.
There is much, much more.
Currently listening: Something Better By Austin Collins
OK. I really have to say that this blog is up on a demand basis. A few of you have asked for it and here you go. . .
Grocery Store Etiquette
It seems to me like common sense. I realize that I have been domesticated in a way that some of you from way back find surprising. Even though I may be a little rough around the edges – I have hit my soccer Mom years and I am cool with that. But, I just don't understand why an hour of grocery shopping has to be so damn difficult! I thought I was a domestic queen, but apparently I am a magnet for grocery store drama.
STAY TO THE RIGHT
Traffic moves just like in the street, why is this so confusing to people once they walk inside a store?
PARK OUT OF THE WAY
Do you really need to park your cart in the middle of the aisle (sometimes across the aisle) to look at every package of chips? I know you have been buying the same kind for 4 years. If you have to look at (and touch! what's up with that?) every package then park out of the way. C'MON!
USE THE MANNERS YOUR MAMA TAUGHT YOU
Why are people so damn rude at the store? I do not understand. You got right in my way and just to be polite, I said "excuse me" and you don't even respond at all. Not even a "no problem". Nothing. Usually a few times of this leads to me responding to myself loudly in the middle of the aisle. Something like this (all me talking) "excuse me, sorry." (no response) (me - loudly) "oh, no problem – It was really my fault for standing right in you way and staring at the floor"
MOVE IT
You are standing right in front of what I need. Obviously you are in deep thought about getting your frozen green beans with the shell or not, but it is obvious I need something from right in front of you. Don't you see me hovering behind you?? Please stop ignoring me and move.
STOP TOUCHING EVERYTHING
Why do people have to touch everything? It really grosses me out. Stop it.
NOT SOCIAL HOUR
OK. We know each other and made eye contact so we have to say a quick "hi". I like you well enough, but I probably didn't shower and Michael is at home with all three kids, so this is "Clair Time". I am not feeling social so keep it quick.
THIS IS NOT A BAR
Look, creepy single guy, just because we passed each other four aisles in a row doesn't mean this is destiny.
There is much, much more.
Currently listening: Something Better By Austin Collins
Friday, March 13, 2009
Change is Good
I originally posted this on Myspace Sunday, September 10, 2006 :
Oh my, how things change. No longer are my weekend plans filled with "how many people can I fit into this garage apartment, if I have a party tonight?" (it was a lot by the way) and I don't spend Sunday saying things like "I can't believe someone fell through my ceiling." Nope - way different now. Aside from work time - now I think about how "I can't believe how many people don't know grocery store etiquette" and I catch myself saying things on a Sunday afternoon like "I can't believe how much laundry I did today - I was on fire!"
I had a great weekend and I can just see how lame it would have seemed to me 15 years ago. . .Michael and I had a sweet anniversary date on Thursday and then we had a nice family weekend. We didn't go out and spend a ton of money entertaining them - we just went to SA to run a few errands and Karma took care of the rest. It was cool - everywhere we went presented all these nice family moments.
Tonight we spent a bunch of time discussing 9/11 with them, because we assume it is going to come up quite a bit this week and we wanted them to feel educated. They are smart kids. They were scared and sad about the things that happened, but the good thing is they know that it is normal to feel that way. I love my kiddos. I am lucky to have the family I do.
Enjoy. . .
My Little Freak Show
Oh my, how things change. No longer are my weekend plans filled with "how many people can I fit into this garage apartment, if I have a party tonight?" (it was a lot by the way) and I don't spend Sunday saying things like "I can't believe someone fell through my ceiling." Nope - way different now. Aside from work time - now I think about how "I can't believe how many people don't know grocery store etiquette" and I catch myself saying things on a Sunday afternoon like "I can't believe how much laundry I did today - I was on fire!"
I had a great weekend and I can just see how lame it would have seemed to me 15 years ago. . .Michael and I had a sweet anniversary date on Thursday and then we had a nice family weekend. We didn't go out and spend a ton of money entertaining them - we just went to SA to run a few errands and Karma took care of the rest. It was cool - everywhere we went presented all these nice family moments.
Tonight we spent a bunch of time discussing 9/11 with them, because we assume it is going to come up quite a bit this week and we wanted them to feel educated. They are smart kids. They were scared and sad about the things that happened, but the good thing is they know that it is normal to feel that way. I love my kiddos. I am lucky to have the family I do.
Enjoy. . .
My Little Freak Show
Lucky Ones
I originally posted this one on Myspace on Sunday, August 13, 2006:
It seems so silly now. I have spent the last couple of weeks saying things like "I am so ready for school to start" or "I am finished having company for the summer". The fact that the summer is our busiest time (and Christmas) makes me feel like I am neglecting work, but there is always more work. No matter what time of year it is. I am also starting a new "project" with a friend of mine (I will fill you in when it is closer to launch) and that is taking up more time. But I just remembered something. . .I am SO Lucky.
The past few days I have been updating my family website with pictures from our summer. Even though it seems like all I do is work - it isn't true. I do work hard, but I don't neglect my kids. I thought it was kind of a pain taking them to work with me this summer, but who gets to do that? I can stop what I am doing to eat lunch on the balcony with them or give them a hug (or send them to timeout). Can you do that at your job? We really can re-arrange our lives to make the kids a priority. That's nice. We get along well with the kids other parents. That is damn lucky. We have family that comes to visit and we get to visit them.
Maybe I am just being sentimental from looking at all these pictures. But, I'm a little sad now that summer is almost over. The visitors will stop trickling in and the kids will be at school all day. But, I can do it again next summer and maybe appreciate it more then. I really need to learn to enjoy every moment - this is my new goal. Kind of like this. . .
It seems so silly now. I have spent the last couple of weeks saying things like "I am so ready for school to start" or "I am finished having company for the summer". The fact that the summer is our busiest time (and Christmas) makes me feel like I am neglecting work, but there is always more work. No matter what time of year it is. I am also starting a new "project" with a friend of mine (I will fill you in when it is closer to launch) and that is taking up more time. But I just remembered something. . .I am SO Lucky.
The past few days I have been updating my family website with pictures from our summer. Even though it seems like all I do is work - it isn't true. I do work hard, but I don't neglect my kids. I thought it was kind of a pain taking them to work with me this summer, but who gets to do that? I can stop what I am doing to eat lunch on the balcony with them or give them a hug (or send them to timeout). Can you do that at your job? We really can re-arrange our lives to make the kids a priority. That's nice. We get along well with the kids other parents. That is damn lucky. We have family that comes to visit and we get to visit them.
Maybe I am just being sentimental from looking at all these pictures. But, I'm a little sad now that summer is almost over. The visitors will stop trickling in and the kids will be at school all day. But, I can do it again next summer and maybe appreciate it more then. I really need to learn to enjoy every moment - this is my new goal. Kind of like this. . .
Emily, Tessa (my Niece) & Noah in the rain
Currently listening: The Californian By Bob Schneider
What Up?
Everyone else is doing it, so why not me? I have decided that this would be a good place to ramble on endlessly and post some of my zillions of pictures. I'm pretty sure that other than Carra and MWD, no one else will even look at this. However - It will save me from spilling my every thought on facebook and give me something to do besides work (which I constantly feel I should be doing) and harassing my family (which I do plenty). I will probably copy my blogs from myspace over here, because I am going to delete that account soon. Eeeek. OK. Maybe not delete, but maybe quit using. I will do that first, so they will be at the bottom. Rock on.
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