Number 30

The title of this post makes me wish that it was my birthday today. But, alas, that ship sailed ten years ago. Oh well.

This is it the last day of NaBloPoMo. I made it. Thirty posts in thirty days. For a while there I thought I would loose my mind. After about a week I thought that I had run out of ideas. I started asking my guys for topics. Then I realized that if I just observed them the topics would pop right out at me.

I've got to admit that I had fun. Also, once I got rolling, the month really whizzed by. Tomorrow will be December 1st. A little hard to believe. I plan to keep the theme of my posts centered around Christmas and the holiday season. I just can't promise that it will be every day.

Eternal Answer

Black boots.

Thank you everyone for your comments and emails. I had no idea that this was such a hot topic that many of you feel so strongly about.

I chose black boots for two reasons...

1. I have a black trench coat.

2. I found black boots that I liked before I found brown boots.

To tell the truth, I found plenty of boots I liked. But most of them had high heels and as I've said a dozen times before, I can't wear high heels since my spine has been fused. The majority of the flat boots I found fell into three categories:

1. Fur-lined... that would definitely limit my wearing time in Florida.

2. Throwbacks to the 80's slouch boots.

3. Boots that looked like I suddenly started pitching for the team.

Finally, I settled on riding boots. Riding as in equestrian not Harley-Davidson.

Gropius will be glad to know that the boots are constructed out of man-made materials. No animals were harmed in the making of my boots. Until Gropius' comment, I had never felt so guilty about buying boots before. I held my breath when I checked the materials label even though I was already pretty sure they were faux-leather. Plus I had decided not to spend a couple of hundred dollars on leather boots when boot season down here is so short and I didn't want to run the risk of ruining them in the salty slush up north.

One more thing, if you want to make fun of my new boots, go right ahead. Mr. A has already asked when I'm going to learn how to goose-step.

Yankee Cornbread

I'm a Yankee through and through despite the fact that I've lived south of the Mason-Dixon Line for almost half my life now.

My first Southern Thanksgiving was at my best friend Marcia's house in the panhandle of Florida 19 years ago. That's when I learned the difference between "stuffing" and "dressing". Stuffing goes inside the bird and dressing is a side dish. I still remember the squealing "ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!" sound that Marcia's little sister made when she learned that I actually ate something that was cooked inside the turkey.

Over the years, no matter where I lived, I always kept the same traditions I learned growing up. With the exception of chestnuts in the stuffing. Chestnuts are a form of child abuse. My mother would make us peel the boiling chestnuts (with our bare hands) the night before Thanksgiving and then the next day I would spend the entire meal picking them out of the stuffing. Finally, my mother would put some stuffing aside for me before she added the chestnuts. Something she wouldn't do for any other meal. I felt very privileged.

Anyway, several years ago my sister-in-law (my Sweetie's sister) hosted Thanksgiving and assigned me the task of making the cornbread dressing. I asked S if it was a joke. He didn't understand. All of my sister-in-law's in-laws are Southerners and she asked the Yankee Girl to bring the cornbread dressing.

I had some experience with cornbread and I knew I didn't like it. My mom is from Texas and she made it to go with chili. My dad's family is all from Louisiana and I remember watching him eat the leftover cornbread with cane syrup. If you're wondering, cane syrup kinda tastes like roofing tar.

Then I remembered the cornbread dressing Marcia's mama made. So I emailed her for the recipe. Well, there really isn't a recipe but the instructions were daunting. What do you mean start with cornmeal? I thought cornbread mix came in a box! The first time I made the dressing I made too much and I thought it was awful. But the Southern in-laws all seemed to love it! Whew!

Over the years, I've tweaked the recipe. Anyone who knows me knows that I can't leave a recipe alone. Why? I'd like to say that I enjoy the freedom of creativity. But mainly because instructions are basically someone else's opinion.

This year was the best year yet. Yes, I've switched back over to a box mix. There's just too much Yankee in me to make cornbread from scratch. To make the dressing even more Northern I've added dried cranberries and apples.

The biggest issue has been the name. Everyone in the family insists on calling it stuffing and I keep correcting them. I thought about calling it twice-baked cornbread because essentially that's what it is. But I think we've finally settled on "Yankee Cornbread."

And it's yummy!

Let The Moose Go

All this week the boys have expended a tremendous amount of energy getting into mischief.

We spent Thanksgiving at my mother-in-law's house. It was a beautiful day so the boys spent quite a bit of it outside. But after dessert we heard a commotion involving scuffling, laughter, and electronic Christmas music coming from the guest bedroom. Yes, the guest bedroom that's the staging area for both the Christmas decorations and the ongoing bathroom remodel.

My Sweetie looked in the doorway and the rest of us heard the following:

"GET OFF EACH OTHER!

GET DOWN FROM THE LADDER

AND LET THE MOOSE GO!"

In any other situation. that combination of phrases could have been misinterpreted in such a wrong way.

Below is the innocent moose (aka The Victim) who plays Christmas music when you give his foot a little squeeze.

Happy Thanksgiving

Here's an excerpt from Abraham Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation of 1863:

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God.


Image:
Norman Rockwell
Freedom of Want, 1943
Oil on Canvas
45.75" x 35.5"
Norman Rockwell Museum

Turkey or Tofu

Tomorrow most of us will enjoy a nice Thanksgiving dinner and possibly even sing a little song...

Turkey in the barnyard, what does he say?

Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble all day.

Turkey on the table, what do I say?

Yummy, yummy, yummy, yummy, yummy all day.

Turkey in my tummy, what do I say?

I ate too much on Thanksgiving Day!

But my good friend, Gropius, will be humming a different tune....

Photos courtesy: Netstate.com, Zazzle.com

Angel Tree

Every year the owners of my hair salon decorate for the holidays with delightful extravagance. Yes, that’s a wedding dress Christmas tree in the photo above. Also on the tree are Salvation Army “Angels.”

Donating to the Salvation Army Angels has been a tradition I’ve done with the boys over the years. We usually pick a boy the same age as each of my sons and we go shopping. On the info card is the child’s first name, age, clothing sizes, the item they need the most (filled out by their parent), and a wish item filled out by the child. The Salvation Army asks that you donate one outfit of clothing and one toy for each child.

Saturday I picked up two donation cards. A 13-year-old boy named Chance that wanted a skateboard and a 14 year-old boy named Carlos who wanted drawing/art supplies. I couldn’t find a 16-year-old boy to match up with Mr. A.

Since the items needed to be returned to the drop-off point by Tuesday I wanted to do my shopping right away. Mr. A was working at a Meals-On-Wheels’ food drive all day Saturday and G-Man was helping my Sweetie clean the garage. So my mom and I went shopping.

Mom decided to shop for the artist and I shopped for the skateboarder. We started at Kohl’s and hit gold. All the Tony Hawk clothing was 50% off. Great for both the skateboarder and the artist. Each child got a nice pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and a nice warm jacket. At Target I bought a skateboard and Mom bought sketching supplies at Michael’s.

Later that evening, I told the boys about our purchases. Both Mr. A and G-Man chastised me for not buying a helmet to go with the skateboard. I replied that it should be the parents’ responsibility. Then I got raised eyebrows from both of my sons. They have learned that technique SO WELL from their father. They pointed out that if Chance’s parent need help paying for a warm jacket that they might not be able to afford a helmet. Point taken. I got schooled by my children.

Then for the one million eight hundred thirty-fourth time my oldest son amazed and surprised me. Mr. A insisted that we go back to Target to buy a helmet and that it can be in lieu of one of his own Christmas presents. That’s how strongly he felt about the matter. G-Man may not realize this but instead of him getting some more Star Wars Legos, Carlos will receive a hardcover sketching book and additional charcoals.

Somehow I have a feeling that G-Man won't mind too much.

Siblings

The relationship dynamics of same gender siblings have always fascinated me.

I have a brother eight years my senior. We get along very well. Our kids are close in age and get along great. He still lives in NJ with his family so we don’t see each other very often. I do know that if I ever need his help, all I have to do is call and he’ll do whatever is required. He has an awesome sense of humor but doesn’t talk very much. We usually text each other birthday greetings and such.

My sister is six years older than me and we don’t get along. My mother is probably reading this and cringing. Well, it’s the God’s honest truth. My sister and I are polar opposites in both looks and personality. For the longest time I thought we didn’t get along because of the difference in our ages. But I’ve since met other sisters with greater age differences and close relationships.

After years of trying to form a close relationship with my sister, I’ve come to the conclusion that we are just wired differently. We have different lifestyles, completely different parenting styles, different priorities, different beliefs, etc. We even remember our childhood differently. How can that be? Two people can be different but still be great friends, right? Not us. We’re like oil & water, or water & magnesium, or vinegar & baking soda. You get the idea.

I’ve always been jealous of women who say that their sister is their best friend. All my life, I feel like I’ve missed out on something special. In reality, my best friend is more like my sister.

Recently, Miss N interviewed me for her AP Psychology project. The first question was, “What’s your favorite memory?” I have a gazillion. How do I pick just one? So I told her the first one that popped into my head…

My pregnancy with G-Man was considered high-risk and therefore I needed routine ultrasounds. At the 5-month ultrasound, I found out that I was having another boy. I was so certain that I was having a girl that I was in a slight state of shock. I remember walking through the halls of the hospital thinking, Oh my goodness. I’m going to be the mother of two boys.

It really is one of my favorite memories.

Mr. A and G-Man are as different as different can be. I like it that way because having two of the same child would be boring. But as my sister and I are like oil & water, my children are like peanut butter & jelly. They are different but go well together.

They go well together but are, by no means, perfect. For the longest time, the most commonly heard phrase in our house was, “GET OFF YOUR BROTHER!” I didn’t even bother with names. We also had two imaginary children living in our house… “Notme” and his little sister, “Ida-know.”

A couple of years ago, we had about a 12-month stretch when the boys would hit growth spurts at the SAME TIME. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with two boys full of testosterone? I remember one weekend in particular. The boys were constantly fighting and couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. If one looked at the other while passing in the hall, he would get hip-checked into the wall.

All their lives I have told the boys that when it’s all said and done, they will always be brothers. I really emphasized that when I was a single mom. I told them that when I’m long gone from this world that they will still have each other.

Something must have stuck.

By the end of that one particular weekend a few years ago, I was about ready to either pull my hair out or leave home. But then my children surprised and amazed me for about the millionth time. As G-Man headed off for bed, Mr. A gave him a hug, kissed him on the head, and said, “I love you, buddy.” G-Man hugged back and replied, “Love you too.”

The wind could have knocked me over as the stress from an entire weekend of playing referee drained from me.

Even now, no matter what drama has occurred, I still hear an exchange of “Love you, bud” at the end of the day.

My children will always be brothers. They will always love each other. They will always have each other.

I feel very safe with that knowledge. I’m very proud of them and also a little jealous.

The Eternal Question

I used to think the Eternal Question was, "Goobers or Raisinets?"

But now with a possible winter trip to Chicago in my future I think the Eternal Question is, "Brown Boots or Black Boots?"

What do you think?

By the way, Raisinets.

Photos: Kenneth Cole

Twilight Overload

Oh my goodness! Last night was an experience! I have been to midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show that were tamer than last night's showing of New Moon.

First, we had to queue up in the lobby before we could go into the theater. I've only ever stood in line for two movies in my lifetime: Star Wars and Indiana Jones. In other words, this was the first non-George-Lucas / non-Harrison-Ford movie that I've seen that required standing in line.

One of the ladies in my group stated that she seriously dislikes sitting close to the screen. So when the theater opened up she bolted. She secured us four seats three rows from the top and in the middle of the theater. Really, we had great seats.

The movie attendees were quite interesting. The majority were teenage girls. There were quite a few mother/daughter combinations... often dressed alike. A few gay couples. My family practice doctor and her entire office staff were in the row in front of us with their daughters. I also saw my neighbor with her daughter and a business associate from ages ago with her daughter.

The author of the Twilight books must be rolling in cash. I could not believe the merchandising I witnessed. Almost every teenager was wearing a Twilight t-shirt. As I said, mother/daughter couples wearing "Team Edward" shirts with bling. One forty-something women stood up and showed off her Edward fleece throw that her husband bought her for their anniversary. That alone made me realize that my life is very well balanced.

We had to sit in the theater for about 30 minutes before the film started. So we took turns going to the ladies' room and the concessions stand. As I stood in line at the snack bar, I considered buying a beer to get me through the rest of the evening. Yes, the independent theater we went to sells beer & wine. But I was really thirsty from dinner at Chipotle so I opted for a bottle of water. It turns out that my fellow movie-goers also had the same thought about having a drink.

I can't tell you much about the movie other than every time one of the boys took off their shirt, all the girls screamed. I kinda regretted not getting that beer when the screaming started. And when I say "boy" I mean boy. The actor that plays Jacob is only one year older than Mr. A. He's a cute boy, but he's a boy. Plus I noticed lots of people pull out their cell phones and record the shirtless scenes. Creepy.

I also remember thinking to myself that the actor that plays the dad/police chief didn't look old enough to have a 18-year-old daughter.

I was relieved to notice that my doctor slunk down in her seat as if she didn't want anyone else to recognize her. After a while I felt that way!

I would like to watch the movie some day in the privacy and PEACE & QUIET of my own home. Then I'll let you know how I like it.

Book Club Movie Night

Tonight I’m going to the movies with a few of the twenty-something ladies from my book club. We’re seeing New Moon, the second film in the Twilight series.

OK, enough with the eye rolls.

Before you jump to conclusions, let me answer a few questions that might be zipping through your mind(s)…

1. Yes, I’ve read all four books. My niece left the first book in the series at my house a couple of years ago. I was bored so I read it. I was hooked. That’s hooked NOT obsessed. The books have since gone to the Goodwill book store.

2. No, we did not read the books as part of our book club. But we all happened to read the books on our own and liked them.

3. Yes, I saw the first movie last year with my niece. I can’t go with her again this year because she’s off at college. In fact, I hadn’t even planned to see New Moon but then I saw a preview. The action and wolf special effects look to be very promising.

4. Sadly, it’s the only new movie that I’m really looking forward to this holiday season.

5. Yes, we already bought our tickets online. We did that Tuesday. Since most 14-year-old girls don’t have credit cards we figured we’d be able to beat them to the chase.

6. No, I do not have a cougar-crush on Edward or Jacob. That’s just creepy. My fellow movie-goers do but that’s ok since they’re all in the same age range. I think Robert Pattinson is an excellent actor. But to me, will always be Cedric Diggory.

7. No, I don’t own cats or collect Barbies.

Ministry of Funny Grub

More Grocery Store Fun...

This time we got sidetracked in the imported foods aisle. To any Brits who may stumble upon this post please know that no offense is intended. But c'mon, seriously, you must realize that you have very silly names for food.

I've heard of steel cut oats. Are pin head oats a type or a brand?

Perhaps Harry Potter has been spending too much time with Dumbledore.

OK, this is just false advertising! I checked the ingredients list and there isn't a single drop of wine in these candies!

The label reads, "Daddies Favourite Brown Sauce."

Small chunk? As opposed to large chunk?

"Quality Street" sounds like where the hookers would hang out. The tagline reads, "What's your favourite?"

Just try to say it without laughing.

A Sci-Fi Geek After All?

Two of my guys are sick. Mr. A has tonsillitis and my Sweetie has strep throat. They both went to the doctor yesterday and were each prescribed antibiotics. I've already warned S that if I get strep throat, I won't speak to him for a week. But that's only because I probably won't be able to speak.

In order to speed up the healing process, the guys bought Star Trek (2009) on DVD when they picked up their scripts.

Star Trek is another one of those unexpected movies that makes me cry. It totally caught me off guard when I saw it with Mr. A in Tallahassee. The first 12 minutes made me sob. I had to use the sleeve of my sweater because we didn't have enough flimsy movie theater napkins. The second time I saw it with G-Man I was prepared with extra napkins but I bawled anyway. Once again last night, I got all choked up and sobbed. I had to steal the Kleenex away from my Sweetie.

Wait a second... I just realized something. Last night was the first time S saw the movie and the second time for each of the boys. But it was the third time for me. Maybe I am a sci-fi geek after all?

The fact that I was the only person in the movie theater each time that laughed at the obscure comments didn't clue me in?

For example, the first time Kirk meets Spock, Kirk asks, "Who is that pointy-eared bastard?" and Bones replies, "I don't know. But I like him." That comment alone let's you know that the space-time continuum has been altered!

Or when Scotty explains that he was banished to the ice planet Delta Vega because he attempted to transport Admiral Archer's prized beagle to another planet and the dog hasn't shown up yet. By the way, Delta Vega looks remarkably like ice planet Hoth.

Wow, I really am in denial, aren't I?

Image: Paramount Pictures

A Day in Tampa

Yesterday Mr. A attended a leadership seminar at USF in Tampa. The seminar was actually hosted and run by the local West Point chapter. The GM of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers was the keynote speaker and several cadets from the Academy were part of the student discussions. Mr. A arrived wearing his Navy polo shirt and caused a stir all day long.

Due to budget cutbacks, the school wasn't able to provide transportation for only three students to attend an event outside the county. So I took the day off from work to drive Mr. A and one of the other kids up to USF. That's right, on my day off I got up at 5:30m am and drove to the largest university in the state during the morning commute.

As for the third student, he had to drive himself. He just happens to be Miss N's former boyfriend. After she broke up with him last year, he made some very juvenile and unflattering remarks about Miss N. Since she is the sweetest girl I've ever met, he wasn't getting in my car. Lucky for him, his parents bought him a car when he got his license. Oh, the politics of high school.

Once the sun came up and the stores were open, I drove across town to the high-end mall. I'm very proud of this because in 12 years I've only driven to a few different locations in Tampa then turned around and came home. I've never driven ACROSS town!

By the high-end mall I mean the one with Tiffany, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Mont Blanc, Burberry, etc...

I thought it would be fun to hang out there for the day, window shop, and maybe buy a few Christmas gifts. Man, was I wrong! Other than meeting my Sweetie for lunch, the highlight of my mall visit was the ladies' room in Neiman Marcus. Gorgeous.

That mall was detrimental to my self esteem. I couldn't find anything in that mall larger than a dress size 8. Seriously! Even in stores that I normally shop in at other malls and I know they carry my size. Then there were the shoes. Every where I turned I saw 4 inch heels. How is a girl suppose to shop for new boots when she can't wear heels?

I left the mall feeling frumpy and the size of a whale. I didn't even bother going in the Quiksilver/Roxy store for fear of being spotted as a poser. My purchases for the day included a pair of Skechers, Crane note cards, and some new skin care products from Origins. At least my skin will glow.

Mr. A made out much better. He won the raffle and came home with an autographed football from the Bucs. Which they almost didn't give to him because of his Navy shirt. ;)

Photo: Nasa.gov

I Wanna Be a Betty

At my one year XLIF post-op appointment, my doctor released me from his care and told me I was cleared for all activities including skydiving. As much fun as Uncommon Blonde says it is, I don’t want to try it. No thanks.

I want to learn how to surf.

However, there are a few things holding me back…

1. The whole shark thing. I used to be an avid scuba diver and the thought of sharks never scared me, even when I saw some Black-tipped Reef sharks off in the distance on a dive. But after watching Shark Week on the Discovery Channel too many times, I’ve learned that surfers on surf boards look an awful lot like yummy seals from the underneath. G-Man has a t-shirt with a shark that reads, “Surfboard=Cracker, Surfer=Cheese” and I take those words of wisdom very seriously. The good news is that sharks are fairly smart and spit out surfers once they realize they’re not good eats.

2. I’m a klutz. I’m more comfortable in the water than out of it or even on top of it. I’m actually quite graceful when swimming or scuba diving but you can forget anything else. I’ve tried water skiing and windsurfing with massive failures. Why do I think that surfing would be any different?

3. No surf. The west coast of Florida doesn’t get any waves to speak of, unless there’s a hurricane brewing in the Gulf of Mexico. I’ve heard that there are waves on the east coast at New Smyrna Beach. But still the Atlantic isn’t known for great surf either.

I could try the Pacific coast. I’ve witnessed some big waves there. But seriously, if a wetsuit is required, then the water is just too darn cold. Plus lots of sharks.

Hawaii… now that sounds great. Nice warm water, awesome surf, and not as many sharks. But lots of rocks. I keep thinking of the episode of the Brady Bunch when Greg is wearing the tiki idol, wipes out, hits his head on a rock, and Mike has to go in after him. Such gripping drama.

Ideally? Austrailia, mate. I bet a nice Aussie surfing instructor could make me forget about the Great White sharks and whacking my head on the Great Barrier Reef. But that also means I would have to go to the continent that has every venomous creature that terrifies me.

I wonder if they surf in Ireland? A wetsuit doesn’t sound so bad anymore.

Photo: Roxy

Intervention

With all required solemnity, the boys presented me with two CDs of music. Mr. A compiled the songs and G-Man stood by his side for moral support. They declared that there are musical artists other than U2, Matchbox 20, & Sting and I needed to “expand my horizons.” Mr. A also forewarned me that the CDs contained some techno and rap.

Now let me explain. I get very lazy about changing the CDs in my car. It’s a 6-disc CD changer and it’s kind of a hassle. The past few months I’ve only had four CDs in there and I guess the kids have gotten a little tired of listening to them over and over and over again. For the record, the CDs were U2, Queen, and the soundtrack for Across the Universe. Sting was not involved. I would also like to point out that I have 87 different artists on my iPod at the moment.

The musical selection from the kids is pretty good and it’s nice to have a change while driving to work. However, the boys were a little surprise to find out that I already knew the lyrics to some of the songs by Jimmy Eat World, Blink 182, Third Eye Blind, Uncle Kracker, and The Clash. That’s right, The Clash. Does every generation of teenagers think that they discovered music?

Date Night

This post was almost written at midnight last night (this morning?) because I was WIDE awake from the accidental espresso shot in my Starbucks Signature Hot Chocolate. The good news is that it tasted like I was drinking tiramisu. On the other hand, I had the most intense caffeine buzz. I seriously thought that I would be awake for three days. Luckily, the muscle relaxer I took for the annoying knot in my back dulled enough of the buzz that I was finally able to fall asleep.

Last night my Sweetie and I went out for Date Night. I love Date Night! My Sweetie has this innate talent for knowing exactly when we need to have a date night. When we first got married, I thought he suggested it so often because he needed a break from the instant fatherhood that he jumped straight into with both feet. But over the years I’ve come to realize that he enjoys spending alone time with me as much as I do with him.

Aren’t we disgustingly sweet? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

We went to the Irish pub (different from the Scottish pub) down in the toursity part of town out on the keys (land masses surrounded by water but still attached to the mainland). This pub has the best cottage pie ever. Since it was 65 degrees and breezy, it was a perfect night for cottage pie.

The owners of the pub are a pair of sisters that emigrated over 20 years ago. They stop at every customer’s table to chat with them and ask from where they are visiting. They knew my Sweetie and I were locals because we were wearing jeans and long sleeves while every one else was shivering in their flip-flops and tank tops (all the windows to the pub were open).

Oh yea, and I was wearing a scarf. No, it really wasn’t that cold. You have to understand that I believe the scarf has become a Sarasota fashion staple. Where else would you see a woman in July wearing a sun dress and a gauzy scarf?

Anyway, dinner was excellent and the company perfect. As we were finishing our pints, the cute, perky, 20-something, fresh-off-the-boat-from-Ireland waitress brought us our check. She then stroked my hair and told me it was a beautiful color. I thanked her and she walked away.

My husband had a puzzled look on his face and asked:

Does it happen often that people touch your hair?

Only in foreign countries.

(sip)

Well, she is from Ireland.

I know! That’s why I took it was such a huge compliment!

(sip)

Either that or she was hitting on me. I would also take that as a huge compliment.

(sip)

(Husband raises left eyebrow)

What!? I’m 40! I’ll take what I can get!

(sip)

Oh gee, thanks a lot.

Hey! I picked you when I was 32. My standards were much higher then.

(Left eyebrow still raised)

Much, much higher than when I was 22.

(Huge grin replaces raised eyebrow)

Ode to Ray-Ban

Let’s get this out in the open first and foremost. This post isn’t an ode in the sense that it will be sung or that it’s a poem. But I will sing the praises of Ray-Ban.

Last week I had my first eye exam in three years. Go ahead and yell at me. I’ll wait.

Finished? Good. The lecture really wasn’t necessary because the dermatology PA already did that. Did you know that you can get melanoma in your eyes? I didn’t realize that but it makes sense since we all have pigment in our eyes.

The PA urged me to get an eye exam, tell my ophthalmologist that I have a family history of melanoma, and purchase wrap around sunglasses. I’m pleased to announce that after my retinal scan and full exam my eye doctor declared that my eyes are extremely healthy. Which is a good indicator of my overall health. Whew!

What does this have to do with Ray-Ban? Well, I truly believe that if Ray-Ban hadn’t resurrected the Wayfarers in the 80’s, my eyes wouldn’t be in as good condition. In high school and college I was a lifeguard during the summers. A redheaded lifeguard. Brilliant, right?

I pestered my parents to buy me a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarers and they relented. Once I owned a pair of high quality sunglasses, I never went back to the cheap drug store glasses. My eyes have been well protected all these years. Thank you Ray-Ban!

But still I wanted to protect my eyes even more by getting wrap around sunglasses. I thought I would have to switch over to Oakley and pay an arm and a leg. Mr. A was with me and he said that the Oakley pair looked too much like shooting glasses. Not my kind of look. As it turns out, I found a beautiful pair of tortoise, wrap around Ray-Bans. They came home with me for half the price.

Plus I selected new everyday glasses. Which also happen to be Ray-Bans. Since I haven’t had new glasses in three years, I really wanted something special. So many frames now have bling and wide arms. Not my look either. I wanted a change but I still wanted my glasses to be subtle.

Perhaps I went a little too subtle. Because, with the exception of my Sweetie, NO ONE has noticed my new glasses. NO ONE. I think my new eyewear is very stylish and I look fabulous. But then again, I might look awful and everyone I know is too shy to tell me.

A Whirlwind Day

The boys and I had off yesterday. My Sweetie, the only Veteran in the house, had to work. He walked out the door mumbling something about “not fair.” I kissed him good-bye and promised to make him a special dinner, as per our tradition.

After I took Molly outside, I climbed back into bed to relax for a few minutes. Why not? It was still early and the kids were still asleep. I woke up at 9:30 stunned that I had slept so long. I must have really needed it.

I ate my breakfast wearing my pj’s in front of the computer while I checked email and read blogs. That’s when I received my first pleasant surprise of the day. Nancy over at f8hasit gave me an award for being a creative blogger. I must not get out much in the blogging world because I didn’t know these little awards existed. I’m particularly honored because Nancy was named a Blogger of Note back in October. Go check her out. She’s a great writer and has a wonderful sense of humor. Thanks Nancy!


I eventually got my lazy bum in the shower and realized that my Sweetie was at work. I would have to change the bandage on my ear ALL BY MYSELF. Somehow, I managed it. Four weeks have passed since my Mohs surgery and there’s still a patch of skin that needs to grow back. Hopefully, that will be in the next two weeks. The good news is that my ear is no longer bruised black so it doesn’t look scorched.

Finally, I got the boys organized and we left the house. Molly was rather indignant that she wasn’t going for a C-A-R R-I-D-E but they don’t let big, black dogs in the mall without a vest that says “service animal.”

We were off to the mall to buy new jeans for the guys since the weather guessers keep telling us that a cold front is coming. We went to the mall all the way south of us because really JC Penney’s usually has the best prices on Levi’s. Ever go clothes shopping with TWO teenage boys? It’s a form of torture. I’m just not sure if it was worse for them or me.

Mr. A had some birthday money to spend so he decided to invest in a leather jacket for himself. I don’t have a photo of him but I do have this cell phone pic of G-Man trying to look tough.

Note the Christmas decorations in the background. You’ll be pleased to know that I can still sing all the words to “Do They Know it’s Christmas?” The boys weren’t too thrilled to find that out because I really did sing the entire song in the store.

After Penney’s, the kids went off to buy pretzels while I looked for jeans in the Gap. I LOVE the fact that they are putting 1969 on everything. Go ahead! Be proud to be 40! But unfortunately, Gap is a little too proud of their jeans. C’mon $69.50 for a pair of women’s jeans? At that price they might as well round them up to an even $70. I refused to try them on for fear of falling in love. Back on the shelf they went.

After the mall we stopped to visit with my aunt for her birthday. She has mid-stage Alzheimer’s and her new medication seems to be helping. Most of the conversation was very fluid. Not the typical Alzheimer’s conversation.

Then we picked up Miss N and went to my parents’ house. Miss N is doing a Psychology project and she needed to interview people in specific age groups. She interviewed my mom and myself. I think she found out more about our family than most high school girlfriends ever know.

Somehow that two hour nap in the morning threw off my schedule for the entire day. We didn’t get home until almost 5 pm. By then it was too late to cook my Sweetie’s special dinner. We had to go to Plan B. Reservations. While we waited for S to get home, Mr. A and Miss N studied Spanish with G-Man as a chaperone and I hopped online.

That’s when I received my second pleasant surprise of the day. BlogHer emailed ME saying that they had noticed my blog and they would like me to fill out an application to have BlogHer ads put on my blog. I filled out the app and the return email said they would get back to me in 60 days. But then this morning I received an acceptance email and a contract to sign. Yeah Me!

All five of us (including Miss N) went out to dinner at our favorite Scottish pub to honor my Sweetie and his service to our country. We raised our glasses to all of those still serving and all of those who have gone before.

PS - There was one other thing I wanted to mention but for the life of me I can't remember it. Oh well, must be the brain termites.

Veterans Day

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)

Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

Photo: Mike Eccles

Gregory Peck *sigh*

Who doesn’t love Atticus Finch, Horatio Hornblower, and General Savage?

Gregory Peck always portrayed his characters with compassion, grace, intensity, dignity, and a sly sense of humor.

Old Gringo was released in 1989. There was a lot of buzz about the movie at the time. Gregory Peck was considered an old-timer and there was criticism that at age 73 he was too old to be a leading man. I can’t recall the plot of the movie but I do remember that is was painfully boring. Plus, I’m not fonda Jane.

But the scene below is one that has stuck in my memory for the past 20 years. I remember watching it and thinking that it was the most romantic scene from a movie that I had ever seen. I dreamed of meeting a man one day that would say these words to me. Hey! I was 19 years old! Now I know the sense of humor is the most important part.

The clip is a little long and it has Spanish subtitles. It was the only one I could find. Trust me it’s worth watching just to hear Mr. Peck’s voice. I hope he makes you sigh.

My Old Piano Injury

The tendinitis in my right wrist is acting up again. Why is this blog-worthy? OK, it may not be blog-worthy but it is notable for a few reasons:

1. I’m left-handed and the tendinitis is in my right wrist.

2. The pain and swelling is on the back of my wrist not underneath. So it’s not carpal tunnel syndrome.

3. The first incidence I experienced was years ago when I was a stay-at-home mom and went days without turning on a computer. In other words, it's not mouse-related.

When the pain and weakness got so bad that I couldn’t turn the ignition on the car, open a jar of baby food, or touch the tips of my thumb and middle finger, I finally went to the doctor. She examined my wrist and took an x-ray to rule out arthritis. Then she asked me a question that’s my final notable reason for mentioning my tendinitis:

How long have you played the piano?

I’ve never played the piano.

Never?

Never. Why?

Because this injury is only ever seen in pianists.

And that’s the best explanation I’ve ever received regarding the tendinitis in my wrist. Anyone else have a theory?

I Live with Geeks

Out of the blue, Mr, A just asked me...

Is it too dorky that the password for my laptop is the nuclear missile launch code from Independence Day?

You know the nuclear missile launch code from Independence Day?

Yes, but it's kinda cheesy.

And you wonder why I make so many sci-fi references in my blog.

November 7th

I’m feeling rather collegiate today.

It’s a beautiful fall day. Well, at least as fall-ish as it can get in south Florida without sliding into winter.

Mr. A is off taking the SATs. Now that he’s safely at the high school taking the test I can freely admit that I’ve been quite nervous on his behalf. I never got nervous about taking the SATs myself. So why am I nervous for my son? That doesn’t even make sense. He’s a smart kid. Both of the boys have always done well on standardized tests and we’ve never made a big deal out of the FCATs (Florida’s standardized test).

Teachers and advisors emphasize "study for the SATs and take them as many times as possible." I bought Mr. A the study guide about six months ago. I’m not sure if he ever opened it. I think he put it under his desk and used it as a foot rest.

These days it seems that there’s so much pressure on high school students. They have to excel academically, play a sport, join a club, have community service, and score high on both the SATs and ACTs to even be noticed by colleges. Mr. A somehow does all of that and as a result has been so tired lately.

That’s why last night it was a given that we would have a low-impact, early night. We stayed in and watched a movie. Mr. A picked the movie. He selected Animal House. How fitting! That movie makes me think of my own college days for reasons I’m not willing to put out on the internet.

Later today Navy plays Notre Dame. This is an Event in our house. A complete array of snackage will be put out. This college football game is second only to the Army-Navy game in December.

Of course, I still have to go to the grocery store to buy the snackage. My Sweetie is playing golf with his buds then going to the Scottish pub for lunch. As he calls it, The Ultimate Saturday.

Meanwhile, I’m at home with Molly and G-Man. Molly is busy holding down the floor. G-Man is ignoring me. Really, what else is a 13-year-old boy suppose to do with his mother on a Saturday morning? The little punk challenged me to blog every day for a month and he hasn’t read a single post yet for the month of November. I could write anything about him and he’d never know it.

Well, I better head to the store to stock up for the game. However, there’s a good chance I won’t be able to see much of the game because I’ll be fielding phone calls from my mother wanting to know what I did at college 22 years ago.

PLRH Reality TV

Marcia & Wendy: This one’s for you…

Wednesday night Mr. A had kitchen duty. My Sweetie was also in the kitchen pouring a glass of wine. I walked in to hopefully sneak some dessert but got caught off guard.

My Sweetie told me that he heard Sir Mix-a-lot on Sirius radio that afternoon. Before I could utter a word, both father and son instantly broke into song…

“I like big butts and I cannot lie…”

(groan)

Of course, when finished they high-fived.

As I stood there in disbelief holding a cookie from the Pastry Goddess, I simply said, “I’m going to need more of these.”

Image credits:
Architetti Montagni, Berizzi, Butte, Italian, established 1950s
Phonola Television Model No. 1718, 1956
Metal housing and wood
Museum of Modern Art, New York, NY

Cultural Gender Identity

Question: In Scotland, would this be the sign for the women's restroom or the men's?

A Day Like This

A friend of mine has always said that if she ever owned a company that she would have “Beautiful Days.” If the weather is glorious, she would close the office and let her employees enjoy the day. That’s someplace I’d like to work.

This morning we woke up to 67 degrees, clear blue skies, a slight breeze, and an expected high of 80 degrees. G-Man came in from taking Molly outside and quoted Ferris Bueller to me…

How can I possibly be expected to handle school on a day like this?

Very funny. Get in the car you little punk.

But I have to agree with him. It’s a Beautiful Day!

Nightmare Before Twilight

Unless you’re an agoraphobic hermit or a member of a sequestered jury, you’ve probably noticed that retailers brought out the Christmas merchandise BEFORE Halloween this year. If I ruled the world, Christmas decorations wouldn’t been seen until December 1st. But since my title of Supreme Dictator for Life (SD4L) doesn’t extend past the confines of my house, I can’t have everything.

Last week I stood in the seasonal department of Target looking for the ever elusive dark chocolate Reese’s peanut butter cups for my father and the individually wrapped serving size candy corn for my co-workers when I felt the hair on my neck tingle. Sure, it could have been the A/C kicking on. However, as I turned around and viewed my surroundings, I saw Christmas cards & decorations on the fringes of the Halloween merchandise. It was surreal. I felt as if Christmas Town was infiltrating Halloween Town. The only ones missing were Jack Skellington and Sandy Claws.

I do understand the reasoning of the retailers’ attempt to extend the Christmas shopping season in this economic climate. However, they seemed to have forgotten that the tactic didn’t work last year either. All the thrifty shoppers waited until the last possible moment to buy in hopes that there would be huge sales.

That is if the shoppers aren’t hunting down “the must have toy of the season.” By the way, who or what determines what will be the “must have toy?” This year will it be the Twilight Barbies?Yes, you read that right, Twilight Barbies. I’m afraid that Mattel may have missed the mark with this one. Most girls don’t play with Barbies past age 9. Most girls start reading the Twilight books around 7th grade or age 13. So who’s the target audience for the Edward and Bella dolls? Adult women hooked on the Twilight books, who collect Barbies, and also own lots of cats?

Images: Disney, Mattel

Halloween: The Non-Event

Halloween has got to be one of my least favorite holidays. Sure it was fun as a child. Except for trying to work a contingency plan of thermal underwear into my costume in the case of extremely cold weather. The reverse is true in Florida. Down here parents have to make sure the kids don’t get overheated in their costumes.

I really started to enjoy Halloween when I was old enough to wield a carving knife. No, my last name isn’t Bates. I discovered that carving pumpkins was an enjoyable creative outlet for me. More so than coming up with a costume.

But the heat of south Florida took all of that away from me. A carved pumpkin rots in less than 24 hours. I found fake pumpkins at the craft store a few years ago that are “carveable.” But they were just too fake.

Then there’s the whole candy issue. At one point we were the last outpost of civilization and all the folks that live out on the ranches and farms brought their children by the truckload to Trick-or-Treat in our neighborhood. I really can’t blame them. Trick-or-Treating on a farm couldn’t be all that much fun.

But when my neighborhood was overwhelmed with people I’ve never seen before, I handed out $30 worth of candy in 30 minutes, and then kids with buckets overflowing with candy complained that we had run out… I washed my hand of the whole mess.

This Halloween was relatively low-impact. G-Man is in middle school and therefore it is uncool to dress up for Halloween. Mr. A went to a party at his girlfriend’s house. So we went out to dinner with my parents. We turned off the porch light and I put the “Beware of Dog” sign under the doorbell so hopefully not too many people would ring it and drive Molly nuts.

After dinner we came home and watched The Mummy and tried to stay awake until it was time to pick up Mr. A from the party. It turns out that Mr. A went Trick-or-Treating for a little while and came home with quite the haul. Something I really don’t understand because he really doesn’t like candy all that much. Since not many people hand out Swedish Fish or jelly beans at Halloween, I brought the bulk of it into the office today.

Oh wait! I did think of a plus side to Halloween. It's not one of those family-required holidays so logistics isn't an issue!

Photo Credit:
Lewis W. Hine
Child Holding a Pumpkin
c. 1905 - 1940
negative, gelatin on nitrocellulose sheet film
7x5 in
George Eastman House

30 Days, 30 Posts

Last month G-Man threw down the gauntlet and challenged me to post every day for a month. Between the stubborn blood running through my veins and the red hair, I wasn't about to walk away from a challenge made by my 13-year-old. Competetive much?

November is National Blog Posting Month. I signed up for NaBloPoMo and added the badge to my side bar. There's no turning back now. It's become a matter of pride.

My first obstacle to overcome was the fried interent router we discovered this morning. Lucky for me, I live with geeks. My Sweetie jumped onto one of our neighbors unsecured wireless networks and here I am.

So for the next 30 days I will coalesce the vapor of human experience into a viable and logical comprehension. Every day, even weekends and holidays. Ready?