It's the Lime-a-paloozza Concert Tour!

I stole this from Akelamalu

Here's how it goes. You are about to have your own band's CD cover. Follow these directions to the letter. It's fun and requires no thought at all. Go to......

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random

The first article title on the page is the name of your band.

2. http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3

The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

3. http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/

The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4. Use your graphics program of choice to throw them together, and post the result as a comment in this post. Also, pass it along in your own journal because it’s more amusing that way.

Ladies and Gentlemen, as the opening act for Mamaya (the Birkenstock and sarong clad folk duo of Lime and Cosima), who is followed by Ferikked, Feraikled, and Ferhoodled (the tie dyed punkmeisters of Keyser and Lime), please put your hands together to welcome Ariwara no Narihira to the stage!

After the show you can buy their latest CD Too Big to Attempt in the lobby (No snickering at the name now, this is serious art. And never mind the fact that I have no photoshopping skill whatsever so I trotted over to lolcatz to use their text adding doohickey).







So a rock band needs a kick ass guitarist. I wonder who I should channel?

What Bad Ass Rock Legend Are you? *with pictures* created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Slash You are SLASH! What more is there to say.......Keep on Rockin! Slash 70% Jimi Hendrix 50% James Hetfield 40% Kurt Cobain 40% Tommy Lee 40% Ozzy Osbourne! 35% Billie Joe Armstrong 30%

I think the results here were based on the wild hair Slash and I both have. Now I need someone who can sing too. Who might my inner rock chick be?

You Are Ani Difranco!
Honest, real, and well liked. (Well, I hope so!) You're not limited by any boundaries. (Only gravity) "And you can call me crazy But I think you're as lazy as white paint on the wall" (I wonder if other colors are less lazy?)

Who's Your Inner Rock Chick?




Ok, so now I need a hit song, something deep and brooding... I'll just use the Alanis Morrisette Lyric Generator.

"Will to Live"

I feel miserable
Dirty forks make me ill
I feel miserable
Smeared plates tear at my foundations
I feel miserable
Rotting leftovers are dragging me down to the depths of misery
I want to die

Is it because of people who can't clear the table
that I feel this way?
With the red rays of misery pounding on my brain?
Or am I lost in tales of Pablo Neruda, adrift far from home
I don't think so, I don't think so.

Mr. Lime Broke My Will to Live
Mr. Lime Broke My Will to Live
Mr. Lime Broke My Will to Live
I was getting better but then
Mr. Lime Broke My Will to Live

I feel miserable
Crumbs rot the flesh from my bones
I feel miserable
Half empty glasses defeat my purpose
I feel miserable
Messy tables are doing their best to impale my soul
I want to die

Is it because of people who can't clear the table
that I feel this way?
With the red rays of misery pounding on my brain?
Am I lost in tales of Pablo Neruda, adrift far from home
I don't think so, I don't think so.

Mr. Lime Broke My Will to Live
Mr. Lime Broke My Will to Live
Oh God, Mr. Lime Broke My Will to Live
I was getting better but then
Mr. Lime Broke My Will to Live

That Mr. Lime, at least his inability to clear a table and put food away might make me millions if I sing about it. Seems only fair.

Pennsylvannia German Tuesday-Sweets and Salts

UPDATE: Thanks to all who sent well wishes for my mother-in-law. Surgery to put a rod in her forearm to stabilize the bone went well. It's important to give her wrist and arm strength so she can use the walker while her pelvis is healing. I spoke to her and there has been some talk of going to a nursing home for a couple weeks instead of a rehab hospital for some reason. This is more upsetting to her than it would be to most people because of some very protracted and unpleasant history with nursing homes. Continued prayers and good thoughts are most appreciated. Now onto the post...

*image taken from http://www.all-about-dessert-sauces.com/jamsandpreserves.html

I'm back in my grandparent's tiny kitchen. It was just big enough to hold the refrigerator, sink, a small cabinet, and stove on one wall. There was no dining room so the table and four chairs were squeezed next to the opposite wall. Once the table was pulled out and everyone sat they stayed put. One had their back against the wall, one against the cabinet opposite the stove, one against the sink, and one with their back to the doorway. Only the one in the doorway could make an escape but no one wanted to. This was Mom-mom and Pop-pop's kitchen.

Tiny as it was, countless meals, baked goods, preserves and canned goods were made there. Mom-mom and Pop-pop both cooked. After his mother died and his stepmother kicked him out of his father's house he bounced around between other family members and eventually lived with his grandmother who was a cook at a local mansion. He learned cooking and sewing from her and whether he was producing something in the kitchen or by needle his end results were as fine or finer than that of many women.

The foods my grandparents made were very unlike what my mother served. Mom-mom made chicken potpie the Pennsylvania Dutch way. This was no pastry covered pie dish with chicken and vegetables floating underneath. What heresy! Any Dutchman knows Chicken Pot Pie has big, square, homemade egg noodles, potato chunks, corn, and the chicken, all together and swimming in a sea of gravy. It's really more of a stew. Other dishes were fresh peas cooked in milk, apie cakes, rice pudding, a pickled bean and vegetable dish called Chow-chow, and endless jams and jellies.

The canned goods alone were astonishing. Their basement, which was clean enough for surgery, had row upon row of canned goods they'd put up themselves. Everything was lined up and labeled in the most orderly fashion, a library of cans and jars indexed by date and contents. That's the meticulous Pennsylvania Dutch way. There was an array of jams, jellies, and preserves. You could easily find the obvious and expected flavors like grape, strawberry, and peach. Amongst those fruits you'd also find crab apple jelly, elderberry jam, and whatever other interesting things they could find. I'd seen many canning sessions when Mom-mom boiled the fruits and pectins and then watched as Pop-pop squeezed it all through many layers of cheese cloth, warm juices running down his forearms, sweet aromas taunting my nose. If there was a fruit to be harvested locally it was turned into something you'd want to spread on a slice of bread. And as far as a Dutchman is concerned, dinner has not been proper unless there is buttered bread at the table and something else to smear on top of it. You also have to keep a balance between sweet flavors and salty flavors. Seven sweets and seven salts is the official rule though some things like chow-chow pull double duty since they are both sweet and salty.

In their final years my grandparents did much less canning as Mom-mom's heart weakened and she could spend less and less time on her feet. Pop-pop also slipped into deep depression. They let a couple seasons pass by as they struggled. Mom-mom left us during the June Diana was a baby. Pop-pop was never good for sitting still and without her to take care of he suddenly had much more time on his hands and needed activity to keep his mind off missing his wife. He decided to put up a batch of preserves by himself. One weekend at the end of summer when I came for a visit he loaded me up with jars of strawberry and peach preserves. We sat at the little table enjoying buttered bread and preserves. He smiled a smile I hadn't seen in a long time and it sweetened my soul like the jam on the bread. In November he was gone too.

It was February and my husband and I had gone through all but one last half-pint jar of peach preserves. He was at work, the baby was sleeping, and I was hungry for toast. I reached for the final jar and found just the last remains of preserves clinging to the sides and bottom. I scraped out every last molecule and spread it slowly over the surface like it was some ancient ritual. I think it took about 15 minutes to eat that one piece of toast. Each mouthful felt sacred. I had a hard time getting the last bite over the lump in my throat. The sweetness went to my belly as salty tears ran down my cheek to my lips. I half cried and half laughed because a proper PA dutch meal has to have its bread and it has to taste of both sweets and salts.

Bits and Pieces

Cue the music..Queen's We Are the Champions. If you recall this post you'll know that waaay back in October Yahoo arbitrarily terminated my account, which included my access to Flickr. It took 3 months, many calls, and finally having a bit of a freak out on both the lowly peon in the pits of the customer disservice department and on the voice mail of someone at corporate offices. Yesterday I actually got a return call from someone who seemed interested in fixing the problem and did so in short order.


Diana's boyfriend broke up with her this past week and she wanted to retrieve one of her items from the ex. I told her to text him and ask him to bring it to youth group when you'll both be there.

She huffed, "He doesn't have a cellphone... or a job, or a life, or looks, or self respect, or a life, or a brain..."

Calypso added, "or a girlfriend."


Yesterday, Isaac was watching some ridiculous Z-grade movie about man-eating locusts and came upstairs to tell me about it. He even gave his own rendition of death by locust, several times as a matter of fact, just so I could record it and share his brief but powerful performance with all of you.




Finally, in much more serious matters, my mother-in-law fell over the weekend (just tripped on the final step in a flight) and broke her arm and her pelvis. She lives several states away from us and is supposed to be having surgery to set the arm either today or tomorrow. She will likely spend 2 or 3 weeks in a rehabilitation hospital until she is able to walk. Any prayers or good thoughts you'd like to send her way would be much appreciated.

Friday 55 & Da Count-The Arts

*recycling this 55 from September '06 because I am bereft of inspiration and just tired.

Old Guitarist by Pablo Picasso

People pass by me on the street, never daring eye contact. Occasionally, young lovers stop to twirl momentarily before they run along giggling. I close my eyes, gently hold the neck, and tenderly strum. I lean into the familiar curve as my fingers softly pluck the passionate song that reminds me of you, my love.



Da Count

There's an old theater around here. It sat empty for probably about 20 years. A couple years ago a fellow bought and restored it. He has this vision of it being a venue not only for big name performers but being accessible to the local arts community and schools in order to further whatever artistic goals they may have. He's promised to set aside a certain number of dates each month to meet the local needs and he doesn't just use whatever dates no one else would want. I feel more comfortable having my kids go see concerts here than schlepping them off someplace that is an hour or two away and they've enjoyed that freedom as well. Tonight we are supposed to go to some benefit put on by local performers (provided we all feel healthy enough...I feel like I may be starting the downward spiral now that everyone else is on the upswing). So today I'm counting a guy who is doing what he can to nourish the arts in our area by making sure we have a decent venue.

LOL! With Apologies to Lynne Truss

*inspired by a conversation about posts I've unintentionally stumbled across, not by reading any of the people on my sidebar.


My dear readers it is time for a little lesson regarding a certain informal usage. Admittedly, I am in no position to lecture anyone about the fine points of punctuation. I have a tendency to either sprinkle commas too liberally or hoard them as if they may soon be sold at $100 a barrel. In emails I tend to completely omit capitalization. I could defend myself by reminding you of the spill I took that caused bones to protrude from my left arm and mangled the limb severely enough that I had little use of the hand for months. I could tell you that bringing my poor, injured pinkie to the shift key was impossible and that would be true. However, my laziness with a shift key predates the accident by some years. If you have ever chatted with me in IM or even read any of the comments I may leave on your respective blogs you know I am quite possibly the world's sloppiest typist and the reigning Typo Queen, Her Royal Highness of Informality. Since Diana acquired a cell phone I have even learned to decipher and send messages such as "whr r u?" I am decidedly relaxed about the particulars in such situations.

The punctuation (though I will state my preference for the Oxford comma and my love for the interrobang even as I have an internal monologue over this usage of parenthesis), subject/verb agreement, capitalization, and even the concept of parallelism I will leave (let? leave? Oh my stars, I'm becoming angst-ridden now...and there go the parenthesis AND the ellipses!) to the E.B. Whites, the William Safires, and the Lynne Trusses of the world. I will set my sights on "LOL" as it is applied to formal writing (not to informal writing or to comments left on this post, mind you).

Now I must certainly admit I am known to use LOL as well as the myriad related expressions of amusement all the way up to and including ROFLMAO. There are certain standards I apply to their usage though and I am here to sort out any misunderstanding. On the occasions when I stumble across a blog entry composed by someone who seems to think LOL is some sort of punctuation mark I sit stony faced through the reading of their post, defiantly refusing to obey their command. When LOL and her kin are interspersed in a post as frequently as a Valley Girl includes 'like' or 'you know' during what passes for conversation I want to drive an ice pick right through the center of each O in LOL. I refrain since monitors don't work too well once you've done that a few dozen times over the course of a post.

An example: The kids did the cutest thing last weekend, lol. We got a new puppy and she is just so adorable, hehe. So we brought the puppy home and got her all set up in the kitchen because it's tile in there and I sure don't want her having accidents on the carpet, lol. So my littlest one who just got potty trained (thank God, LOL) decided since she didn't need her diapers anymore the puppy could use them until SHE was potty trained. LMAO!!!

Right now I want to kidnap the toddler and the puppy and hold them hostage until the author promises to banish LOL and its variants from her blog entries because she is dropping them more often than the puppy is likely to be depositing doo-doos on the floor. If I cannot find the humor in the anecdote without the neon sign of LOL then either I am bereft of a funny bone or it just isn't that amusing in the first place. It's also a bit immodest and distracting to be chortling through your own piece even if it is funny. Think of Pam Anderson in a swimsuit saying, "I have great tits, don't I?" You are now compelled to either answer truthfully and tell her the silicone in her chest at least distracts from the collagen in her lips and the air in her head or you are forced to stand there slack jawed at the enormous indiscretion.

Next allow us to consider the problem of contradictory tones.

An example: Some cold-hearted, pedantic lady kidnapped my puppy and my toddler, lol.

Were this to actually take place would those in proximity actually hear mirthful giggles escape your mouth or would they more likely endure your wails of anguish? I suppose if the puppy were especially prolific in pooping and indiscriminate in placement of said excrement, and if the toddler were particularly prone to epic tantrums, and you had some rather sociopathic tendencies yourself it is entirely possible such a situation may give rise to a gleeful cackle but it seems an unlikely convergence of conditions. In the first example you've insulted my ability to identify humorous situations. Now you try to confuse me by suggesting tragedy is comedy. Or are you the one who is confused?

Finally, I'd like to address the question of degrees as we cover the full range of titters to guffaws expressed by everything from "lol" to "ROFPMSLMAO!!!!" (rolling on the floor pissing myself laughing my ass off for those requiring translation of this extreme form). Frankly, if you need the most extreme form I intend to lock your incontinent self into a room with both the puppy and the toddler until you all manage to gain some bladder control and broaden your respective vocabularies. "ROFPMSLMAO" just seems like a band of chimpanzees got at your keyboard and tried to type out the Great American Novel. The very bland "lol" seems hardly worth using. It's like the sort of response some country club wife from old money would give through a plastic smile when she is trying desperately to be civil to Pamela Anderson during small talk regarding other synthetic attributes. With regard to "lmao" it would seem we are again faced with a problem of mismatched moods. If you were to truly be laughing hard enough for your ass to become detached or at the very least to be expending enough calories so as to diminish its size, I should think this would be a situation in which capital letters are warranted. If you are going to employ hyperbole do so appropriately.

I hope I've been able to clear up this small matter. Now if you'll excuse me I have a derriere that needs to be laughed off in order to fit it into jeans that will not cause any of the aforementioned responses at first sight.

World Wide Meme

I stole this from Snavy.

[1.] Where was the first time you ever kissed the last person you kissed?

In the hospital when they placed him in my arms.

[2.] What’s the greatest thing that happened to you today (the day I actually filled this out)?

Being told I was loved.

[3.] What’s the number one thing that turns you on the most?

A sincere #2

[4.] Would you rather get up early or sleep in?

Do you really have to ask?

[5.] Tell me where you got each article of clothing you’re wearing?

Sweatshirt-center cabinet on my dresser, Yoga pants-bottom drawer of night stand. It's early, I haven't showered yet, hence the minimalist approach.

[6.] What’s the closest thing to you that is brown?

My eyes

[7.] What would you change about your life right now?

Probably the clothes I have on but it's laundry day and most of my stuff is dirty plus I need a shower first.

[8.] Would you rather smile over a lie or cry over the truth?

Truth, always truth

[9.] What’s on your bedroom floor right now?

Dustbunnies

[10.] Who was the last person you got into an argument with?

Diana

[11.] Do you trust people?

Depends on the people

[12.] If you could move away, no questions asked, where would you move?

Maybe a little to the left.

[13.] Have you ever been out of the country?

Have you not ever read this blog before?

[14.] Could you go a day without eating?

Oh yeah. And given what the scale says I should probably go many days without eating.

[15.] How much do looks matter to you?

Am I giving them or getting them? Are they dirty looks or flirty looks?

[17.] When was the last time you had your hair cut?

Gah! In September and the hairdresser HACKED it. I came out looking like I said, 'Listen, I have curly hair but I really don't want anyone to know I have curly hair. Please make me look as boring as possible. Take all the joy and fun out of my wild mop.' It was the kind of haircut that started my initial phobia of hairdressers. Respect the curls, man!

[18.] Would you rather be mad or sad?

Why do I have to be either?

[19.] Does it take a lot to make you cry?

It takes a lot for me to be willing to let you see or hear me cry.

[20.] What’s the best feeling in the world?

Being in the arms of a man who loves me.

[21.] Are you close with your mom?

About 90 miles

[22.] Are your parents strict?

I'm 39 years old for crying out loud, what are they going to do? Ground me?

[23.] Do you tell your parents everything?

Nope

[24.] Would you rather be a bird or a fish?

Bird

[25.] Name fears you have….?

Herbert, Cuthbert, Griselda, Bertine....I figured I'd give them names I don't like very much.

[26.] If you need to go to the store a block away, do you walk or drive?

Why on earth would I drive???

[27.] Does the thought of marriage scare you?

Depends upon the marriage.

[28.] How many kids do you want?

You mean more than the 3 I have now?

[29.] What’s your favourite colour to wear?

Tie dye, duh!

[30.] Who was the last person in your bedroom besides you?

You're assuming no one is there now...

[31.] What are you doing tonight?

What or who?

[32.] Would you rather be rich & sad or poor & happy?

Is there some rule against being rich and happy?

Hey, where did #33 go?

[34.] What would you do if you found a dragon egg?

Make a magical omelet!

[35.] Do you get bored easily?

I tend to avoid people with big needles and I have kind of thick skin. So I guess that means no.

[36.] What’s something that someone can do that really bothers you?

Admittedly this is very petty, but when someone eats loudly it makes me insane. How the hell do you eat applesauce, pudding, and yogurt LOUDLY? They are SOFT foods that don't even require teeth!

[37.] Did you ever want to change your name when you were younger?

Yes, I disliked having a name so common there were 4 of us in a class. I've never enjoyed being one of the herd. Not that it's a bad name or anything.

[38.] Do you wish you were famous?

Well, I guess it beats being infamous or notorious. I'm generally content with relative obscurity though.

[39.] Do you make a wish at 11:11?

Why would I do that?

[40.] When you’re at the beach, do you swim or lay out more?

I read until I am sweating to death, go in the water until I shiver, then go back to reading.

[41.] Who is the last text message you received from and what did it say?

None of your business, you nosy thing.

[42.] What are you freakishly obsessed with?

One woman's freakishness is another woman's normal.

[44.] Do you like going to the mall to shop or just shopping online?

I don't like shopping in any context really.

[45.] Can music affect your mood?

Definitely

[46.] What piercings do you want?

My enemies hoisted on a petard....oh wait, that's not really what you meant is it?

[47.] What tattoos do you want?

Edible ones.

[48.] Have you ever been in a cave?

Yes, every time I enter my children's room I wait for the bats to fly and for some slimy thing to crawl out and grab my ankle.

[49] Have you ever eaten a bug?

Voluntarily or involuntarily?

[50.] Are you holding back telling someone how you really feel about them?

Yes, because they prefer to smile at lies rather than cry at the truth.

Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes

Does anyone have any answers? What dreams do you have? What dreams have you deferred? What will it take to realize them? Tell me how good it feels to have a dream come to fruition.

Flowers and Sleep

FRIDAY 55

Vendedora de Flores by Diego RiveraTomas, ayudame. These flowers are heavy. Who would think something so delicate and beautiful could be such a burden?

Si, Maria. Better now, my strong, beautiful wife? Is it balanced?

Si, gracias. Hopefully I can get a good price so we have a little money to help our children bloom, our own little flowers.



DA COUNT

My count for the week has nothing to do with my 55. Today we had a 2 hour delayed opening for school due to snow. It's short and simple...I'm just counting the chance to sleep in until 7:30 AM instead of dragging myself out of bed at 5:30 AM. Aaaaahhhhh....

HNT-Happiness is Good Plumbing

Back in September the entire shower head assembly fell off in my hand when I tried to adjust it. After some warnings to Mr. Lime and reminders of how upset he was when I found someone to repair a wall I had waited for him to fix for 2 years, he fixed in it about a month and a half. In the meantime I used the kids' bathroom. Although I grew up in a house with only one bathroom and for our entire married life until we moved 4 years ago we were in a one bathroom house I got very accustomed to my lovely little master bath. It's tiny, but it's all mine. I was a little put out when I had to share once again.

Last week we were having generalized plumbing woes and no one was allowed to use any shower or tub for a little while.

All the plumbing issues seem to be resolved so now I am back in my own little shower. I am such a happy girl.

HHNT

It's a Jungle Out There

You may be wondering why there is a picture of an African Violet here. Well, today I am bereft of inspiration so you all will be subjected to the True Confessions of a Plant Killer. Do not allow the images of lush foliage fool you. I am a killer even though my murders are never premeditated. Nonetheless, I seem to be able to dispatch any green thing with cruel efficiency. This lovely little plant is a cutting from a violet Mr. Lime gave my mother. She could make pressure treated lumber bloom. We have this cutting because the original plant got so huge it crawled out of it's pot. I don't believe it was with any malice such as Seymour in the musical Little Shop of Horrors. I'm still not turning my back on this innocent looking thing though. It may someday realize my herbicidal tendencies and decide to strike pre-emptively.




Here we have Mike, our spider plant. Yes, we name many of the plants that manage to survive sharing air space with me. This tradition was started by Mr. Lime who nursed back to health a Swedish Ivy I nearly dispatched after leaving it out in a hard frost. One day it was a thick, lush, vital looking thing. The next morning it was a shivering, frozen shade of its former self. It was reduced to one stick with 2 leaves clinging tenaciously to the stalk. When it was apparent the Ivy would survive in some fashion Mr. Lime christened it Sven. I suppose it was rather like the practice in the dark ages of not naming a child until you knew it would survive infancy. Unfortunately, when Sven seemed to have recovered I tried to show him some love to make up for nearly killing him. I loved him to death. It was not unlike kindergarten when I overfed the class fish because he looked hungry. I feared for my own life when he was found belly up in his bowl. Lucky for me, Mr. Lime is not into an eye for a leaf justice.




This is Shlomo the Wandering Jew. I suspect Shlomo would wander right out of here if he were actually ambulatory. Forty years in a desert couldn't be any worse than waiting for me to water him. I picked all the dead bits off Shlomo last week and moved him to the only spot that gets any sun. Mr. Lime asked if I had watered the plant. What silly man expects that?














Here is Phil the Philodendron, creative name, huh? Phil and I get along just swimmingly because he seems to thrive on the kind of neglect only I can give. I like Phil because his tendrils get as unruly as my hair. We have an understanding and mutual appreciation about this neglect/unruly appearance thing. Still, Mr. Lime will fuss over Phil, coo to him, run his hands gently over the leaves, and reassure Phil that he'll always take good care of him. Makes me wonder if I need to photosynthesize in order to get that sort of attention.











This poor nameless conglomeration of doomed greenery has no name in spite of the fact that it has survived for a number of years. Well, the philodendron and the big spikey thing survived. There were some other things in there that did not fare so well. I think it was originally a sympathy arrangement I received, could have been in memory of Sven.














I know you all may not believe me when I say I have a black thumb of death since I am showing you all these seemingly healthy looking plants. Trust me, they live only because Mr. Lime attends to them and has more or less banned me from any aspect of their care. Here we see an example of a plant I nurtured with my own unskilled hands. I planted it, watered it and...well, that's about it. Granted it is now winter and things don't grow to well, but this is roughly how fruitful the plant was even during the peak growing season in summer. I think out of the 8 tomato plants I planted I harvested 4 tomatoes. That might be an overestimation. I planted basil and oregano too. They did about as well as this plant. In the past I've even been able to kill mint when I attempted to cultivate it. That is skill my friends.






I hate plastic and silk flowers but have no skill with live ones. I've resorted to buying them pre-killed. See? Dead plants can actually be lovely. I guess it's all a matter of how you kill them. And aren't these artfully arranged flower corpses?










Well, all of that to remind you that Mr. Lime bought me an Aerograden for Christmas because it was advertised as guaranteed to grow (read that as Michelle-proof). I planted it right before New Year's and by golly here it is actually growing! Of course, we are only 2 weeks into this. It's early yet. Don't go naming the sprouts yet or anything.

Cross Cultural Communication

My grandfather on my dad's side (Pop-pop) was a Pennsylvania Dutchman. He is the main source of most of the dutchisms I use myself. As I've mentioned in earlier posts my parents were very particular about my brother and me NOT using local slang so we would not be regarded as poorly educated. Pop-pop did not complete high school since it was the days of the Great Depression and he needed to find work to help the family's economic situation instead. He was known for using a lot of dutchified speech and I have many memories of my grandmother reprimanding him for using poor grammar in front of my brother and me. Although he never graduated he was a lifelong voracious reader and a thinking man. As a child I was always amused by the colloquialisms he used and looking back now I would characterize it more as his form of poetic license in self-expression rather than an example of bad English and poor usage. He was able to speak correctly when he felt the need but chose the more colorful local way to express things. He was also a great fan of wordplay.

On lovely, sunny days he'd shove his hands in his pockets, scan his surroundings and muse, "It's a great day for the race." The expected inquiry was, "What race?" to which he'd respond in mock surprise at the obtuseness of the asker, ''Why the human race, of course!"

If he or someone else had a sudden understanding of something which previously confounded them he'd declare, "'I see,' said the blind man as he picked up his hammer and saw!"

If I misbehaved he'd threaten to "cloud up and rain all over me."

I was often told to clear my plate at supper so we were sure to have clear weather the next day.

If I complained of an injury or not feeling well he'd ask me, "Do we need to take you out in the field and shoot you like a horse?"

The one phrase that amused me most though was a long string of what sounded like gibberish to my ears as a child. It was used when I had done some serious misbehaving. It was ALWAYS followed by my grandmother scolding, "Raymond! Such language in front of the children!" I often asked what it meant since it never failed to get a rise out of my grandmother. Pop-pop always just looked at me sternly and said I didn't need to know what it meant but I'd darn sure better not ever say it around an Italian.

The curiosity killed me. Since he wouldn't tell me what this long phrase meant I was determined to learn to say it and use it on him. I even went so far as to provoke him while I had a tape recorder going so I could play it back repeatedly until I could say it just like he did. When I was about 11 the day came when Pop-pop did some mildly annoying thing and I shook my head in mock anger, waved my hands threateningly, and rattled off the forbidden phrase as well as he did. His eyes went wide and my grandmother had a conniption, the likes of which I had never seen before. "Raymond! Now look what you've done! I told you not to speak like that around the children!!" Pop-pop, momentarily dumbstruck, regained the power of speech and said softly with some measure of desperation, "Girl, you just never say that around an Eye-talian. It's very nasty sailor talk. I learned it in WW2 from my shipmate, Moroni. It's not the kind of talk a young lady uses." I told him I'd heed him but over the years we still traded the long phrase back and forth only now it was a joke more than anything else.

Flash forward to my days in college when I spent most of my free time with the foreign exchange students. There were quite a lot of students from India and Pakistan, several from Taiwan, China, and Iran, a number from Argentina. Occasionally there were various Europeans. I became friends with an Iranian guy named Mohammed, Mo for short. His family had come to the USA during the Islamic revolution. Then one semester Pietro arrived...from Italy. He became fast friends with Mo and so I got to know him reasonably well.

One day the three of us went to a local hole in the wall and conversation flowed from one topic to another. We finally landed on various slang expressions in our respective languages. A lifetime of curiosity got the better of me and I asked if Pietro would translate something for me. I forewarned him that I was told it was fairly ugly and I probably was not going to pronounce everything correctly since I learned it from my German grandfather when he was reprimanding me with it. Pietro said that was fine and I should just tell him what the phrase was so he could translate. I rattled off the dozens of syllables and sat anxiously waiting to finally learn the meaning. Pietro's eyes bugged out of his head and his jaw dropped into his plate. I think he may have lost a shade of color or two before he asked in complete disgust what kind of vile man would speak like that in front of a child and a girl no less. He said a lot of it was garbled beyond comprehension but the ending was unmistakably vulgar. Mo's interested was really sparked now because he greatly enjoyed controversy. I was stifling giggles and assured Pietro my grandfather was a kind and decent man.

Pietro would have no part of it. I assured him I would not be upset if he told me what it meant. Mo egged him on hoping to see some real sparks. Pietro shook his head and resolutely refused, "No, I will not repeat such filth in front of a woman." Finally Mo, who had no such chivalrous compunctions, suggested Pietro whisper the meaning in his ear and Mo would then tell me. I thought that was fair enough and finally Pietro was swayed after I once again promised not to hold him personally responsible for any offense. He whispered in Mo's ear as I leaned forward trying to overhear. Mo sputtered and asked Pietro to repeat to make sure he'd heard correctly. He had and his reaction was somewhere between horror at true understanding and delight at being able to be the conveyor of such potential atrocity. Mo did, however, have the sense to make me promise not to slap him when he gave the translation.

I gave my word and sat waiting for the mystery of Pop-pop's oft used and mangled Italian phrase to be revealed at long last. Pietro refused to meet my eyes as Mo blurted out with great pride and a big grin that the end of the phrase meant, "my dick up your ass!" I let out a guffaw and allowed that I now knew why my grandmother had fits every time the phrase was uttered. Pietro was relieved but shocked that I wouldn't be slapping either him or Mo. Mo just sat there basking in the afterglow.

8 Things Copped from Cooper & Tagged by Goody and Imp

8 Things I'm Passionate About:
1. My family
2. Getting kids excited about books and reading
3. Learning new things

4. Autumn leaves
5. Chocolate
6. My complete and utter disdain for the ramifications of No Child Left Behind legislation and the barely literate boob who came up with it (good theory, unrealistic standards, absolute shit outcome). And while I am at it, have I mentioned how utterly evil I think the Patriot Act is?
7. When that thing I do makes you sigh
8. That thing you do that makes me....ooooooh....yeah....that...mmmmmmm

8 Things I Want to Do Before I Die:

1. Zipline safely
2. Visit Greece
3. Get all my kids to Trinidad
4. Meet a bunch more bloggers
5. Get my master's degree
6. See my kids find their bliss
7. Find my bliss
8. Be certified dead by a licensed physician

8 Things I Say Regularly:

1. Son, where are your glasses and why are they not on your face?
2. I love you
3. Crimony!
4. Bite me! (yes, I say this often enough my kids wanted to buy me a t-shirt that had it on the front)
5. Who took my scissors?
6. Dude!
7. Egads!
8. Well then, my nefarious plan to ruin your life is finally coming to fruition. (My response to any comment from my kids suggesting I am being harsh or unfair)

8 Books I've Read Recently (or am reading now...):
1. 1491 by Charles Mann (currently reading)
2. One Hand Screaming by Mark Leslie
3. A Time to Stand: The Epic of the Alamo by Walter Lord
4. Destination America by Greg Wills
5. Antisocial Commentary by Rob Kroese
6. The American Short Story. An anthology I haven't read start to finish but I've been picking around in.
7. The Writing on the Wall by James Goodman
8. World Art: The Essential Illustrated History

8 Songs I Can Listen to Over and Over Again:
1. The Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson (newest earworm), the girls and I like this song but we also like to mess with the lyrics
2. Jingo by Santana, among my favorite kitchen dancing numbers
3. Dream a Little Dream of Me by Cass Elliot, how can ya not love Mama Cass' voice on such a sweet song?
4. Fur Elise, because it's the first significant piece Calypso learned on the piano so the memory makes me smile.
5. Stupid Girls by Pink, cheeky poke at inanity, I love it
6. Arms of a Woman by Amos Lee, only when I sing along I change it to 'arms of a good man'
7. Steal Your Kisses by Ben Harper, another nice one to bop around the kitchen to
8. Dimelo by Marc Anthony, again with the dancing in the kitchen

8 Things that Attract Me To My Friends:
1. Intelligence
2. Sense of Humor
3. Compassion
4. Kindness
5. Playful spirit
6. Creativity
7. Timely payments
8. Powerful magnets

8 Things I Learned in the Last Year:
1. It's never too early to begin the freak show that is presidential campaigning.
2. Meeting fellow bloggers is WONDERFUL!!
3. What a Texas turnaround is.
4. Cooking for a vegetarian in a household of carnivores is kind of a pain and generally thankless.
5. Watching Mike Rowe on Dirty Jobs slog through all manner of vileness is really very entertaining and somehow he's damned adorable doing it.
6. Spongebob Squarepants is funny.
7. Yahoo! blows goats more than I ever dared imagine.
8. What to do when a Trojan hits your computer.

And since it seems an 8 Things Meme should have 8 categories I will do the 7 Random Facts Meme Goody and Imp tagged me with, now with a BONUS fact since I have this neurotic need to make things even out.


8 More Random Facts About Me
1. I was a very picky eater as a child. Everything I didn't like to eat got smothered in applesauce. Everything. This included such items as spaghetti, BBQ, and baked beans. I'll pause now while you gag.
2. Even though I despise the stuff, I have two large jars of sauerkraut in my pantry. A German lady in the neighborhood gave it to me. No amount of applesauce could sufficiently hide the taste of sauerkraut. I should just throw it away but...
3. One of my forefathers founded the first ironworks in my state.
4. I love the feel of brand new socks when I put them on for the first time.
5. I kept several stuffed animals from when I was a kid. I have two giant ones (a grey cat and a purple panda) who now live in my crawlspace and I feel guilty that they live in such a place. Yes, I know I am a 39 year old, college-educated woman, but didn't you ever read the Velveteen Rabbit????
6. The cat was my body guard. The panda was my confidante.
7. Like I said, I have this weird need for things to even out and balance. I'll eat an extra cookie just so there is the same number in both sleeves of a pack, dumb stuff like that. Ok, maybe it is just rationalization for eating an extra cookie.
8. I have a sculpted metal wall hanging of bamboo leaves over my fireplace. I liked the 3 dimensionality of it and because to me it looked more like mountain laurel foliage (our state flower). It also reminds me of someone who helped me get back to being creative and that I should keep growing as a person.

They're on to Me

*No Friday 55 or Da Count today. Just a bit of absurdity inspired by an overzealous cart checker.

There I was pushing an over-sized cart at the discount grocery warehouse that bears a name with a crude sexual reference. (It always made me wonder if they were intent on gratifying their customers or implying their own service just blows.) After minutes of agonizing thought I'd come up with a brilliant plan, a menu-derived shopping list that was sure to win raves from the hungry teenagers in my house. Today was the day I'd finally get my chance to bring it all to fruition and NOBODY was going to stop me. I grabbed a cart, threw my earth-friendly canvas shopping bags in the bottom, and looked over my shoulder before I slid the list from my pocket.

I shuffled up and down the aisles cultivating the same blank look as the other patrons so as to avoid drawing unwanted attention to myself. I've been in this business almost 20 years. You just can't be too careful. The biggest challenge for me is matching the moseying pace of of the seemingly undead herd when all I want is to execute my brilliant plan and bask in the glory of its completion. Nonetheless, I was careful to plod along dully so I could blend in. I'd come this far and didn't want to mess it up now.

Value packs of cod and flounder fillets, institutional sized boxes of breakfast cereal and crackers, multipacks of various canned goods all went into my cart. I grabbed a bag of organic apples and a jug of skim milk too just to keep up the appearances of being a conscientious mother feeding hungry hordes. I was sure the fist of coupons I handed the cashier would help in that regard as well. I kept it casual as I unloaded the cart onto the conveyor belt and chatted with the cashier. Even when she said I could keep the really heavy items in the cart and she'd scan them where they sat I chucked them up on the belt declaring to everyone in earshot that I had nothing terribly burdensome. In retrospect that may have been my undoing. I was trying too hard.

I paid the bill, took my receipt, and headed for the door. I had just one final hurdle to clear. I'd have to present my receipt and cart at the exit for inspection. On any other day I would have lucked out and gotten James, the sweet retired man with an Irish brogue, who always winked and sent me on my way with barely a glance at receipt or cart contents. I may even have been fortunate enough to pass under the gaze of Chandra who empathized with all the mothers struggling to feed their brood without needing to resort to exotic dancing for grocery money. Not this day. Today I'd have to endure the scrutiny of Carlos. How Carlos affords the bling which hangs so heavily around his neck on the wages of a door checker I'm not sure. It could be that, just like me, there is more to Carlos than meets the eye.

I slowed the cart to a stop and smiled as I handed the receipt to Carlos meeting his gaze through his fashion eye wear. Keep it cool, girl, you're almost home. He scanned the slip slowly before eying my cart suspiciously. I considered remarking how easy it is to fill one of these rattling buggies to overflowing when you haven't shopped since before Christmas but thought better of it and remained silent. It's a simple rule, better to not begin offering excuses until one is asked to defend oneself. My reticence proved futile anyway when Carlos asked about the 36 count variety pack.

"So you only have one of those, right?"

"36 pack of what?"

"I dunno, it just says 36 count variety pack?"

I spied the big yellow '36' in bubble print standing out on the box of pudding cups and pointed casually, "Yep, right there it is. That's plenty of pudding for my crew. Just one box." He wasn't buying it and continued to search as he peered suspiciously over the rims of his rhinestone encrusted glasses.

"Lotta items in your cart. You sure there's only one box of pudding?"

"Yep, just one." I offered tersely. And then I noticed among the pins on his employee vest, obscured by the gold cutout of his name, was the piece that identified him as a member of the rival gelatin syndicate that had been moving in on the territory of my boss's control of the Mid-Atlantic pudding cartel. The shifty eyes of that custard lackey had been hidden behind his subtly ombre shaded lenses. I leaned in and let him know I was on to him. "Listen, cart man. I'm Tapioca McFlan." He couldn't hide the fear my name struck in his heart. "That's right, I'm right hand to the biggest runner of congealed desserts on the east coast, Big Daddy Knox Blox. Now you just step back and let this cart pass or you may find yourself in the Delaware River wearing a pair of Jello overshoes, you hear?"

Carlos got a little cocky for a moment and retorted, "But Jello floats."

"Not when you substitute gravel for the mandarin oranges and bananas in the mold, you pudding headed, ninny! Now I'm gonna tell you only one more time to let me on my way."

Carlos shook like the half-gelled mess he really was while I stood firm as a creme brulee and stared him down. He meekly stepped aside and I strode out knowing Big Daddy Knox Blox and Tap McFlan had a firm grip on the pudding trade and my kids would get their fix.

Adventures in Orthodontia #6

Part #1: The Introduction to Doctor Excitement
Part #2: Dr. E Strikes Back
Part #3: Do These Braces Make My Gums Look Fat?
Part #4: Double Whammy
Part #5: The New Rules

It's been a very long time since I have been permitted to accompany Diana to the orthodontist on a regular basis. If you have forgotten about our orthodontist, who makes Eyeore look positively optimistic, Ben Stein seem like a wildman, and the most rabid conspiracy theorist look apathetic about world politics and government intrusion or if you have never read an Adventures in Orthodontia post before please take a minute to briefly familiarize yourself. I promise it will be more entertaining that the Reader's Digest from 2001 in the waiting room. It's certainly better than the Highlights magazine with a wad of gum between the hidden pictures pages and the Timbertoes cartoons. We'll wait for you. Go on, just the first one at least and the last one so you know why I was banned from appointments. They're short.

All done? Good. We had another appointment this week. It seems a bracket came loose and needed to be fixed. Dr. E. gave a defeated wave to follow him to the torture chamber or Comedy Central stage. Diana eyed me sternly as if to indicate I'd better keep my trap shut as she opened hers wide. Well, you just KNOW that wasn't going to happen. I mean I have readers to entertain!

Dr. E. glumly snapped his gloves on and sighed heavily exhaling a cloud of doom over my perturbed daughter who tried to indicate where the broken bracket was. She protested he was in the wrong spot at which point Dr. E turned to me and rolled his eyes slowly and with more animation than I've seen in 2 years. He then began muttering over her and I thought I heard the word Christmas. Ah yes, my big chance for small talk!

So did you have a nice holiday?

(as flat as his hair) Yeah, it was magical, not like when I was a kid. I wish my parents had told me how bad people are instead of filling my head with nonsense about their 'goodness.' (making big eyes and air quotes then sighing heavily after the exertion of so much expression). The world is just full of bad people. People want to steal all the decorations in my office.

(Considering the spindly poinsettias with no foliage on one side because they are all craning toward the window for light, or perhaps escape from the pit of despair) Well, I am sorry to hear that. Yes, there are some bad folks out there, hopefully we can find more good ones than bad ones. I hope 2008 is better for you.

(Inserting a suction tube into the side of Diana's mouth as she eyes me threateningly) So how about that new superintendent of your school? He's a good man. I give him an A+ for integrity.

(Nearly shocked into silence by the positive comment) I don't know much about him, but that's good to hear.

Yeah, he's not like the guy a few towns over. (slumping again and sighing) Then there is the principal in the next county over. Did you see about him? Having an affair with his secretary. Word gets out and (making a gun with his hand, inserting it into his mouth, and whipping his head back before rolling his eyes like he died). Nice huh? Leader of our youth, right into the pits of hell he's leading them.....sigh.

(Wondering if all this relatively animated gesturing of his is part of a New Year's resolution to start a cardio workout) That's quite awful. His family must be devastated.

(Looking outside at the unseasonably sunny and warm day as he dismisses Diana from the chair) I wish it would snow. I don't want to see the sun.

(Rising to leave) Well, it is odd weather for this time of year, that's for sure.

(Sighing heavily) That's because the North Koreans are controlling our weather.

(On the way out Diana shoots me a look of disdain as she mutters adolescent curses on the orthodontist and me. I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from erupting into a fit of giggles.)


There you have it folks, blame North Korea! Tune in next time for another lap in the whirling cesspool of doom and despair. Will North Korea kick global warming into high gear? Will the poinsettias escape? Will Doctor E ever smile as he straightens the smiles of angry teens all across the county? Only the orthodontist knows!

A Dutchie Goes Trini

As my long time readers know I spent a year living in Trinidad, West Indies and have traveled back and forth many times. Those folks know how much I loved it there too. Many experiences as well as cultural and historical posts related to that were chronicled in the Trini Tuesday posts I did for the first year and half of this blog. I haven't done a TT post in probably about 7 months and I know I've picked up a number of new readers since then. It's been fun to shift and share about my home culture for a while and there will be more posts on that in the future but for today I'm going to do a little fusion.

Before Mr. Lime and I moved there we had gone through some general cross cultural training which was very helpful in enabling us to adjust to a new place. During the training we were required to evaluate our own cultural values and consider a what our reactions might be to very different sets of values. It really helped us develop good attitudes and shed judgementalism. When we moved there we dove in head first looking to learn and experience as much as we could.

We were also fortunate to have local friends who acted as cultural interpreters during times we found confusing. These were friends we could ask anything from "Why is there a colony of ants living in my iron?" to "How do I deal with a lecherous taxi driver?" We were blessed with neighbors who took us by the hand to the open market and showed us how to haggle for the best produce. Other friends taught me what to do with the unusual fruits and vegetables that I came home with after that first trip to the market. When we demonstrated an interest in learning about the local culture people were more than happy to teach us. One friend's mother became like a mother to us and began introducing us as her white kids. I can't even begin to express what a blessing that kind of acceptance was.

Most of the expat Americans I encountered on the island embarrassed me though. They had all been there for much longer than we had and yet they didn't seem to have much appreciation for local ways. Truthfully, as much as they departed from Trini cultural norms I didn't really see them adhering to American norms either. They sort of developed this third culture that I found rather odious because socially they had isolated themselves, sometimes quite intentionally. Consequently they had bred a lot of distrust. I generally avoided them.

There was one American woman though who I quite enjoyed though. She wasn't fully an expat. she lived in the US but traveled back and forth to Trinidad several times a year and often spent most of the summer on the island. Ironically, she was from a town very close to my hometown. She was a little slice of familiarity with her knowledge of Shoo fly pies, Dutchie slang, and Dutchie values. As I observed her I noticed how well respected she was by Trinis and how well she functioned in the culture so I was more drawn to her and she provided every bit as invaluable to interpreting things as my Trini friends.

Because we came from the same American subculture and because she had so many years of experience with Trini culture she was able to anticipate some of the pitfalls I might make and helped me to avoid them. She also saw the one area I was most resistant in and gave me some excellent advice. (Yes, I know you are shocked to find I could be at all resistant, I am such a docile and compliant person. By the way, I have some lovely swampland in Trinidad to sell you too.)

Now what was I resiting to strongly? I mean I truly was working to learn and fit in and enjoying it immensely. I had found that both Dutchies and Trinis are very forthright people and so I didn't have to entirely muffle that particular tendency of mine. I did at least try very hard to be careful about what I was blurted out since I didn't want to come across as critical of local culture. What barrier was I refusing to remove?

Well, as you know the Pennsylvania Germans are a plain people. Even those of us who aren't Amish or Mennonite are fairly subdued in our dress and grooming. It's not at all uncommon for middle aged women to just hack off their hair and wear it in a very unflattering cross between a bowl cut and a pixie. Cosmetic companies could go broke in dutch country. As weird as many of you may think my early and abiding love of tie dye is, in my hometown it is considered entirely aberrant (Must be those Greek roots of hers, Ethel, it's just unnatural you know!). In the entire county you'd be hard pressed to come up with enough bling to properly adorn a single rap star. Heck, we think the southern belles with their tastefully painted faces and perfectly coiffed hair are a bit ostentatious.

Now I am in Trinidad where tailored attire, grooming, fashion, and bling are the order of the day. Also, any given outfit can only be worn a certain number of times and before it can be repeated a certain gap in outings must be observed. It's nearly an insult to tell a Trini you remember the last time they wore a particular ensemble. You all can laugh but I truly found that a very disorienting thing and I figured as long as I was clean and not violating their standards of modesty I should be ok. I will admit I very quickly took to the love of wild patterns and bright colors, big surprise I know. I remained blissfully plain otherwise, happily wearing the same couple of shapeless dresses to church week after week, schlubbing off to market in a tee-shirt, shorts and sandals. Through it all I wondered why the women were viewing me with a mix of pity and disdain. Surely they could see I had a brain in my head and they can tell I bathe regularly. (Trinis are seriously fastidious regarding hygiene. It may be 11 degrees above the equator but you simply will NOT encounter a Trini with BO unless he is is a drunken bum passed out in the gutter. Even then he will try to have the good sense to pass out under a public water pipe so he can bathe when he revives.)

Enter my blessed Dutchie interpreter who took me aside and gave me the talking to I most needed. She said there was no way I was going to be given entre among the women unless I started being demonstrably female. She of course, understood what anathema I considered all this fuss and finery. I hasten to add I was already happy to observe the requirement of bathing twice daily in that climate and didn't mind in the least that we didn't have running hot water in the bathroom. Fresh as a daisy! But alas, daisies are such a plain thing and they don't grow well in the tropics. It was time for me to learn to be a hibiscus.

This dear lady related the tale of how she'd been corrected. She had gone to the capitol city to do some shopping. One of the items she wanted was not readily available and had to be special ordered. When it came in and she had to return to pick it up she and her local friend got ready to go. The American lady searched high and low for her claim slip and was dismayed when it could not be found. She asked her friend what she ought to do to prove the order was hers. The Trini woman said not to worry, the clerk would remember her. "Ah yes, of course, because I am a platinum blonde American in a sea of Africans and East Indians, right?" Her Trini friend regarded her head to toe and replied in all seriousness, "Nah gyul, is because yuh wearin' de same ugly bag of a dress as when yuh make de order!" Lesson learned.

I began spending more than 60 seconds styling my hair, started wearing more tailored clothes, and donning skirts when I went in public. Lo and behold, the women decided maybe I might just be worthy of consideration. On occasion, I even heard "Ooh but de blouse/skirt/dress takes you, gyul! Yuh not looking like a regular American. Yuh lookin real Trini now." Now, I still was refusing make-up so I know they were making exception for me, but they at least saw I was making an effort and recognized it. True to their forthright nature I also heard in whispered asides, "My dear, de skirt making yuh bamsee look a bit too wide. Take it to the tailor and let it out." Understand this is not an insult. It meant I had earned their concern for my welfare.

Since I had demonstrated competence with braiding my own hair in a manner evocative of the local mode I was also trusted with the heads of little girls when I went to visit friends. That sort of activity begets many more opportunities to learn about a culture because when you are sitting in someone's house braiding their child's hair while they brush another child's hair you are actually getting to see people with their own hair down and they expose themselves in ways you'd never see otherwise. It was quite astonishing to me and I was more and more grateful for that simple piece of advice from a woman who had successfully bridged two cultures.

Conversations with my 13 Year Old Self

I saw where Beach Bum had written a letter to his 13 year old self and it rather intrigued me. A letter was just not working well for me so here's the conversation instead.

39: Hey kiddo, whatcha doing there?

13: Drawing.

39: Make sure you don't stop.

13: Well, I do have homework and chores ya know?

39: Yeah, I know. I mean when you're all grown up. Make sure you still draw or paint or write or do something creative.

13: Well, duh!

39: Yes, I know that seems painfully obvious now but there will come a time when you put it all aside because the people who call you 'a dreamer' say that as an insult. And then there is marriage and family and young children that all sort of take away a lot of time and you feel guilty about pursuing things like this. I'm just saying, don't feel guilty and don't let others make you feel silly and unproductive for having dreams and a need to create. You're going to put it all down for a while and be miserable until you figure out you need to pick something back up. Save yourself the miserable stage.

13: No problem because I am never going to be like THEM. They all just walk around looking dead all the time anyway, like they don't have a single bit of joy in life, like everything is pure drudgery.

39: Well, life happens and people don't wake up and suddenly decide to be joyless. It sneaks up on them slowly. Things will sneak up on you too.

13: Oh yeah? like what?

39: Well, these hips , thighs and belly for one thing. I mean look what a little slip of a thing you are now. I bet you never thought we'd get this wide did you?

13: (hunching over) I hate the curves I have now. I can't ever find jeans to fit. You know everyone wears 501s but they are so straight up and down and I'm not! And I hate that I got boobs early. The other girls hate you and the boys just want to feel you.

39: (hugging 13) It's ok. Everyone evens out in a few years. But let me warn you about that Wood Shop class you take in 2 years when you are the only girl. Don't walk down the hall to get wood without asking Steve R. to guard the entryway for you.

13: Steve? He hates me!

39: He doesn't hate you. He's just quiet, but he's also a gentleman, unlike a couple of the other guys in that class. In addition to getting Steve to cover your back don't be afraid to give a knee to the groin or the heel of your hand really hard to the nose. Ok?

13: Gees, sounds like a great time I'll have in that class.

39: You'll be ok. Just mind what I said.

13: So what other awful things do I have to look forward to?

39: Well, I'm not hear to tell you everything that happens in your life.

13: Well, what good are you then?

39: I just want to give you some helpful hints. Warn you of some things. Nudge you in the right direction.

13: Now you sound like my mother. Do me a favor and don't become her when you have kids, ok? And definitely don't become our dad! Gees!

39: (laughing) Well you know what she has always told us right?

13: (mocking) "Whatever I did right make sure you repeat it. Whatever I did wrong, do better."

39: That's it. You got it. And you know, she's right. That's the best piece of advice she's ever going to give you. There's a lot of wisdom in it.

13: It's a cop out.

39: No, hon. It would only be a cop out if she didn't try her hardest or if she didn't care. She's taken her own advice and done better than her folks. It's a bit of advice that opens the door to forgiving shortcomings and not being hobbled by them. You know she had it rough growing up.

13: Don't you even start in on my grandparents! She told me about it and I don't believe it! They have always been there for me. ALWAYS! Grandpop just died and I don't want to hear any nastiness about him.

39: I know, kiddo. I've been there. I remember? I know. Just believe me when I tell you you're going to wrap your head around the fact that they weren't necessarily there for her and she had to get past all that in order for YOU to have them be the wonderful grandparents they are. Lesser people would have walked away from them. Her bit of advice is what allowed for that and the sooner you can understand it the smoother things will be.

13: Well I'm DEFINITELY not going to make the mistakes she makes with her boyfriends.

39: (stifles guffaws) Oh, good gravy! On that you are sooooo wrong.

13: (sniffling) I know, because I will never HAVE a boyfriend. I'm not popular enough.

39: No, you'll have some boyfriends. Don't worry. You'll pick some real...erm...winners too.

13: Ooooh, are they cute? When do I get my first real kiss?

39: (laughing) They're cute. A couple of them are complete losers though. Don't be swayed by a handsome face. Don't figure you can inspire paternal instinct by picking horrible fellows either. Have respect for yourself. The first real kiss is quite lovely since you're not counting that one at the wedding reception this summer when you got completely schnockered?

13: I never had beer before and the older kids kept giving it to me.

39: Learned quite a lesson that night didn't we?

13: (sheepishly) Yes.

39: Yep, stick to your guns, kiddo. Your gut said no. You even said no the first time they offered you the beer. Then you let them talk you into a yes and you kept sucking it down until you were legless. Make your own choices and stick to them.

13: (Turning back) Gees, now you REALLY sound like mom.

39: (Putting a hand on 13's shoulder) No, hon. You learned that lesson well as it applies to alcohol. I just want you to know that sticking to your guns has a much wider application. You're no fool. You have a conscience and you have a brain and you have a will. I'm just here to tell you to listen to your gut. You have some folks who try to tell you to be more logical than that and yes, apply your logic...but when you don't listen to your gut, when you try to silence that nagging voice...that's when you run into real trouble.

13: What kind of trouble?

39: Well, you know, I already told you I can't reveal all the details. But when you make a couple of major life decisions and there are bits and pieces that don't sit well with you, don't let anyone convince you to ignore those bits that nag at you. Pursue those details until you are satisfied with the answers. At least then if things still fall apart you're not going to drive yourself crazy with some of the 'what ifs.' One thing in particular though. You're going to go overseas. Don't tell your Pop-pop you're going away until after November. And make sure he is physically healthy when you speak to him.

13: Wow! I'm going overseas to live and I can't tell Pop-pop? Why?

39: You can tell him. Just wait until at least the following Spring, if he's still living. If he's not, then you just spared yourself and him a lot of pain and...you'll either have an answer I won't ever get or you won't even know to ask the question. Either way is better. I know this is cryptic. I'm sorry. Just trust me on this, ok?

13: (leaning against 39 to hug her and speaking softly) Ok, I promise.

39: Thanks, I needed that.

13: I know

39: (laughing) Yes, I guess you did. So have I given you enough to work with?

13: Well, you said I run into real troubles. I'm a little scared. Can't you tell me what they are so I can avoid them completely?

39: Well, I warned you to listen to your gut. That will go a long way. But you can't avoid every bad thing in life, that's just not reality.

13: Like this conversation is even real, come on!

39: I think you know what I mean. We just have to go through some things for the sake of growth. Yes, there are some awful things coming up. But out of some of the worst come some very good things. You're going to have to endure some unpleasantness to get to the good things on the other side. I've given you general warnings, the things I learned that I wish I learned a little bit earlier.

13: Ok, so keep being creative, listen to my gut, stick to my guns, and mom isn't such a dummy after all, and that cryptic bit about Pop-pop.

39: Right, that's about it for now. Oh yeah, and always use a harness on ziplines.

13: What's a zipline? Never mind, I'll figure it out. Ok, so can I give you a word of advice?

39: (laughing) I was waiting for this.

13: Don't let them suck the joy out of you. Don't be some boring old lady whose most exciting adventure is reading 'Cat Fancy.' Don't forget what it's like to be a kid. Ok?

39: I'll do my best.

Friday 55& Da Count-Snow

Trapped beneath this mountain of snow and ice
I wait anxiously for my rescuers to release me.
Will they succeed or will they send tons more of white powder
crushing down around me and over themselves?
They painstakingly carve away at the mass which entombs me.
Finally I emerge to sun and breathe fresh air.


*image of 'Romantic Feelings' snow sculpture at Harbin Ice and Snow Festival from Yahoo News photos.

Yes, I know some of you will think I am sick in the head for counting snow. Last winter was so pathetic though. There was barely any snow and what little fell was not even good to play in. It was just slushy slop. From the end of November to before the solstice we already had more of a winter than all of last year. Once the trees are stripped of their leaves and the grass turns brown we need some snow to beautify the place. I love the way a fresh blanket of it sparkles in the sun and makes everything look clean. One of the most peaceful things is to take a walk at night as the snow falls softly around you. The whole world seems still and quiet, as if someone shushed us then reached out and made the Earth spin a little more slowly. Aaaaahhh......