TippyKayak

National Take a Hike Day!

2012-01-01T13:57:00.001-05:00

Happy New Year!

I read somewhere that Jan. 1 is National Take a Hike Day. After doing more extensive research (Google search), I found that National Take a Hike Day is in November. No matter, ignorance was bliss and it seemed a good way to start the new year.

Jamie and I went for a hike on the Foothills Conservation Trail near Darien Lake State Park up the street from us. We took the dogs.

It should be noted that we have had the most screwed up winter weather. Actually, we have not had winter weather. It had rained nearly all of last week so the trails were muddy and slippery. I don't think I need to say how that makes for an adventurous hike with dogs.

We slid around and got muddy. Then it started to rain. Good times. We know how to ring in the new year.

That said, though, the trail is quite beautiful. Cocoa needs to be carried across water barriers and Maggie flops her way through and makes a huge mess. Good thing clean isn't what we were going for.

I said that we have to return when the trail is snow covered. And we have to bring the camera.

We are finished with the house

2011-12-30T15:42:00.001-05:00

We are finished with the house and are receiving any number of compliments, which makes us feel good. It's also so nice to drive up to the house and pull in the driveway and see this splendid home.

We actually finished in October, but this is the first chance I've had to post anything (please see the post about canning and freezing for an explanation).

Some before and after shots.


Before the painting started. This is the front of the house and it's summer.

This is winter so the grass looks dreary, but it's the same house. Can you even believe it?

The front and side before the work......


....And after.

The side of the house with phantom husband standing in the backyard. Also, very green and in bloom.

Not green and not in bloom, but you can see the entire thing!

Husband scrapping before painting and before we bought our new bistro set.

The bistro set seemed perfect and it matched the house! Now we can eat and drink wine. We can also clean up the yard. Baby steps.

Canning and Freezing catch up

2011-12-30T15:14:00.002-05:00

I know that I wanted to make notes in this blog about all of the canning and freezing we had been doing related to our garden bounty, but life got in the way! I was asked to serve as the Interim Dean of the School of Journalism and Mass Communication which was an enormous undertaking.

We still did all of the canning and freezing, but I didn't document it. For the record.....

What we froze:

strawberries
blueberries
corn cut off the cob (after grilling it first - delicious)
brussels sprouts
rhubarb

What we canned:

jams: blueberry, strawberry rhubarb, strawberry (which became strawberry sauce excellent on ice cream), peach, black raspberry, blackberry
peach chutney
sweet and dill pickles
zucchini relish
squash pickles
salsa
tomatoes

Here's a photo so that you know it's official!

I have yet to break out the jams, but I have used plenty of strawberry sauce on plenty of ice cream. Delish. Also, the peach chutney in a crock pot with pork tenderloin or pork roast is wonderful. That's all you have to do - empty the jar in the crock pot and stick the pork in there and go to work.

The pickles have made excellent sides for sandwiches and the like. The zucchini relish tastes wonderful on hot dogs.

The salsa is quite hot and might burn your insides, but it is great with guacamole and in any of the Mexican dishes we whip up.

The tomatoes have been used in minestrone soup and, most notably, in our red sauce. We cooked up a huge batch with Italian sausage, meatballs and pork spare ribs and then froze it for a nice weeknight or weekend meal in the middle of winter. We also made homemade ravioli - mushroom, cheese, butternut squash. Marvelous!

Latest Updates and Pictures

2011-07-21T11:20:00.002-04:00

I managed to take some photos in this heat. Hey, ya gotta do something! I am going stir crazy!

First of all, I also discovered that husbands don't always have the best attention to detail. As a note, my ENGINEER husband, didn't seem to think it was critical that we paint inside the lines. For example, the trim color should be on the trim of the house. The main house color should be on the main part of the house. Let's keep those separate.

I do not like heights. It doesn't help that I am very tall and would have a bit further to fall should I careen off a ladder. Our agreement was my husband would do the high parts of the house, I would do the lower.

Until he decided to err.

I had to climb a ladder to the second floor. This may sound wimpy and I don't care. It was hard! But I did it. My husband didn't want to take the picture because he knew I would make fun of him on my blog and I didn't even deny it. I told him that indeed I would. Here I am on the ladder fixing the touch-ups.

I know it doesn't look so bad, but I had the can of paint and my me-we brush.

Which should come with an explanation, I guess. In order to paint the touch-up and the trim, I rely on a small brush. I asked Jamie for a small brush and he said, "you mean a wee brush?" It's is always funny to hear that word - wee. It's funnier when a burly 6'5" dude says it. I said, "yes, I want a wee brush."

He got me this small brush. Works wonders. But it's too wee for him. So he upgraded to a larger wee brush. I have now named the small brushes the "he-wee" and the "me-wee." They are our respective wee brushes.

The me-wee works much better.

But that could be the operator....

We were so excited to finish the back of the house (hey, progress, celebrate your small victories) that we bought a bistro set from Lowes. Here it is. The next picture will be me passed out on the bistro table holding an empty bottle of wine. Wait for that one!

We fell in love with it and it even matches the house! That was an added bonus and also a sign that we needed to buy it. Go Lowes!

Here is the back of the house - as much as I could get of it. Keep in mind that we haven't cleaned up yet so the yard is a mess. But the house looks so nice! And that bucket looks so fabulous tipped over and dirty, we may keep it there!

Wanna see the best lettuce ever? The garden does need to be weeded, but much of what you see is actual produce. Take a look at the two lines of lettuce. Delicious!

Guess who's having salad for dinner?

For the rest of our lives....

Healthy Cereals Suck

2011-07-21T10:33:00.000-04:00

In an effort to eat better, and because it's still oppressively hot, I have some healthy cereals. They don't require cooking and are to be eaten cold. Yes!

I bought Grape Nuts because I remember that John Denver used to sing about it, I think. Not that I like John Denver, but since he's been dead forever and I remember that he sang the jingle and the cereal is still around, the cereal has some staying power. Someone must eat it.

Maybe Grape Nuts caused him to veer off course and crash. This stuff is worse than shredded cardboard! Who eats it? I don't think the birds in the yard would eat it if I tossed it back there. Yuck!

[Note to self: experiment for later. See if the birds will eat it. Science is fun.]

Perhaps I should put a bowl out for the woodchuck we are trying to get rid of. That might work better than the Have a Heart trap. He will take a bite and say, "Hell, I'll go to the neighbors, they have cat poop."

On another note, why do dogs think cat poop is like candy? Perhaps I should devote a blog post to that topic alone. Is it a coincidence that I bring up cat poop in my discussion of bad cereals? Perhaps....perhaps not.

Special K? No flavor. This is why people lose weight. They forgot about how good food can taste. "I guess I'll eat this flavorless Special K because the commercial says that this along with a balanced diet can help me lose weight." Yeah, not so much. Give me the balanced diet, but keep your Special K.

I do like raisin bran and honey nut cluster stuff. I will buy that next time. Then I can talk about how much I like those wrinkled little dried grapes.

Ah, the heat

2011-07-20T10:25:00.000-04:00

I hate the heat. Truly hate the heat. Everyone in Buffalo always says, "yes, but you won't be complaining when it's snowing outside and the temperatures are freezing."

I don't tend to complain in the winter. I love the snow. I love the cold. I can always put more clothes on. Once I am naked and still sweating my nipples off, that's about it.

My garden needs to be weeded again. The poor onions are losing ground to the weeds. It is much to hot and humid to leave my air conditioned bedroom. Poor onions.

I will say that I am truly enjoying my salad greens. I think lettuce is the best veggie ever. And it keeps coming back! My only complaint is that it doesn't freeze. Damn! I would love wonderful greens all year long. I could plant some in an indoor planter, I suppose. Then I would be the envy of my neighbors and friends.

Last week I picked black raspberries with a friend. He and his wife have a bumper crop and don't want them. We made jam. Yummy! They also have a hoard of blackberry bushes ripening. I told him that I wanted to come back when they are ripe. Jamie and I can pick to our hearts' content.

Husbands

2011-07-18T10:17:00.000-04:00

I love my husband. Truly I do.

I just hate that he isn't as interested in finishing projects as I am. At least not in as timely a manner as I am. In fact, I discovered that if I am not at home because I'm teaching or selling my products or whatever reason, he will find every excuse there is not to do the project. Often the excuse is hidden in the job itself.

For example, we are painting the house. I wasn't around last weekend and wasn't here this past Saturday. Good Lord, the problems that occur when a wife isn't there to supervise!

I hurt my knee.

I tried to power wash and then burned the hose and had to go to Lowes and then scraped and that didn't work as well and then I didn't get as much done as I wanted to because of the crises.

Hurting oneself is legitimate....if I believed it. Burning a hose could have happened, but why wasn't work then done?

This week has already started out on the wrong foot because of the humidity. I sweated through my clothes cutting watermelon. I don't know how you cut watermelon, but it is not a cardio activity. I can't paint if I can't stop sweating. This project is going to extend into fall.

But we will be happy when it is finished.

My Mother Helps

2011-07-08T11:12:00.002-04:00

I like to involve my mom in projects because I think she enjoys them. Honestly. It also gets her out of the house and she admits to liking that.

I asked her to join me this week in helping me to paint. I have included some Pearl (her name) stories below.

"Pauline, why are you painting your house. Don't they have people who will do that? I will pay for it if you want."

Really, mom? Fine time to tell me! We've already started and now you say you will pay to have some other schmuck do the work? Thanks!

I think she thought it would be inexpensive. When I told her how much it would cost, she changed her mind. She did help and she did have fun. She also later admitted that painting the house isn't so bad at all.

She did have some rules:

She will not climb ladders nor will she climb scaffolding.
She brings her own step ladder. I guess my ladders don't cut it. This also violates rule number one above. Not sure how to explain that.
She brings her own paint brushes (She did use mine when I told her we have about 1.4 million of them and that she shouldn't get her brushes dirty.)
She comes with her own putty knife to help scrap because...I am not sure why. More on scrapping later.....
In an effort to keep her hand clean, she discovered that she can paint with a Ziploc-type baggie on her hand.

That hand with the baggie on it was spic and span at the end of the job. Her other hand, her arm, her leg, her shorts and her shirt, not so much. And that poor baggie was full of Cooper Molera Fandango Red. But that hand, pristine!

After the first day, yesterday, she told me to call her to let her know when to come over. She would continue to help.

I called last night to tell her that we wouldn't be working today since it rained last night and we didn't get a chance to work on the top half of the back side.

"I will be over at 8 a.m."

Mom, we don't have anything to paint.

"We can scrape the house. If you don't keep working, you will stop working and not start again. You have to keep going."

I have to add here that I am trying to be methodical about this project. I want to work on one side before going to another. Not sure why. It's a thing I have. Mom would just as soon have us working on everything all at once.

Hell, if she wants to help, I will not tell her no.

"I'll see you at 8 a.m."

Morning arrives and mom has decided that she will scrape until she is sick of it and then will paint the shutters even though we are painting the shutters black and she hates the color black. I told her I would paint the trim on the side we worked on yesterday. Trim work is tedious and takes time.

About two minutes after she started scraping, she was finished.

"I don't like scraping."

Okay.

I told her that she had to scrape the shutters, which she did (not much scraping to do). Then we washed the shutters.

Then she complained that I needed to spray paint the shutters because of the slats and that she couldn't paint because it would be a pain in the ass.

"Well, I'm going home."

It was about 9/9:30.

"Okay, mom, thanks!"

"Call me when you having painting to do."

Will do.

We didn't need a baggie today.

Lettuce and Radishes, Yummy

2011-07-06T11:45:00.000-04:00

The garden harvest has begun. I was able to take lettuce and radishes from the garden and make a wonderful salad. And wonderful it was! I planted several different kinds of lettuces - leaf and mesclun mix. Both made a wonderful and peppery salad. We marinated chicken breasts, grilled then, tore them, and tossed them onto the salad with assorted other greens.

Delicious!

The Painting Continues

2011-07-05T10:46:00.001-04:00

I would like to know how I can make such a mess of myself when I paint? I have paint in places that shouldn't have paint. How on Earth do I have paint on my thigh? I am wearing pants, not painting naked!

This is certainly not a difficult job, but it is time-consuming and tedious. When we sit down after finishing a piece, though, we feel so good and can't wait to finish the entire job.

I am also getting better at climbing the ladder and hopping up on the scaffolding. I am not fond of climbing to places in which I can fall and crack my head open. That's just a thing I have.

Here are some preview shots of what the house looks like after a couple of sides have been done. Keep in mind that Jamie and I are doing this together. Just the two of us. And we have some time constraints. He has a day job and I have work to do to get ready for shows for my products as well as my summer class that begins this weekend.

Enjoy!

This is the back porch. Recall how bad it looked? Here it is in all its new glory. Notice the new light fixture.


Okay, this porch is a mess. Again, painting central so give us a break. Notice the wonderful colors!

The back side. The scaffolding is up and ready. The spot in the lower right are some rotted boards we need to replace.

The official colors from Lowes:
Doors and shutters: Lincoln Cottage Black (from the National Trust for Historic Preservation collection)
Trim: Heavy Cream
Main color: Cooper Molera Fandango Red (from the National Trust for Historic Preservation collection)

Notice that some of the colors are from the National Trust for Historic Preservation collection. We thought it would be fitting to use historic colors since our house was built in 1836. It turns 175 this year. We plan to have a party to celebrate. Happy Birthday Homestead!

We are Painting the House

2011-07-02T22:38:00.000-04:00

I have wanted to paint the outside of my house since I moved in a number of years ago. The color is faded and blah. In fact, if you were to drive down my street, you might not see my house. It is small and cottage-like nestled between two large houses/buildings. It is also the drabbest blue. I normally like blue, but not a washed out blue.

We got the scaffolding from my brother and started. We figured that since we had a three day weekend (thank you Fourth of July), we could get much done.

Painting is tough work, but the reward is amazing! We have to scrap the wood. Then we have to clean the wood. Then we have to prime it. Let that dry. Paint the house - twice. Then paint the trim.

We have the best setup. We do one step and while waiting for the next step (because the water has to dry or the paint has to dry or we need a break), we sit in our Adirondack chairs drinking water or iced tea or coca cola. We sure know how to live!

I some photos of the before of the house. Keep in mind that we thought to take pictures after we set things up so you will see paint cans and garbage cans in places they don't belong. Deal with it.

The back porch. This is painting central, hence the mess. Take notice of the stupid light fixture. It will also be replaced.

Just to the left of the back porch.

The front and left side of the house.

The front.

Front.

Front and right side.

Right side with Jamie assessing the work to be done. Or Jamie resting.

Weeding, Joy, Rapture

2011-06-29T22:16:00.000-04:00

I was going to weed the garden yesterday, but the weather report was calling for a hot humid day. Today, it said, would be much cooler.

And the meteorologists got it right!

Today was overcast and nice and cool. I could not have picked a better day to weed the garden. I was armed with my gardening gloves that fit, well, like a glove. Tractor Supply across the street had them on sale for $5 or something equally cheap. They are awesome!

Weeding, it turns out, is a pretty big job. It kinda sucks.

I very gingerly weeded around my poor peas and beans and herbs. I think I have about five pea and bean plants each. Very sad year for beans and peas. But I am going to pamper the little buggers. If I get enough for a salad, I'll be happy. I am also thankful for my farmers market. Love those guys and gals.

The plants are growing well (pictures below). It was awesome to smell the tomato plants. Tomatoes are not yet growing on the vines, but the blossoms are there. And the smell just reminds me of summer and vegetables.

I love my garden and can't wait to get stuff from it!

This is the garden! Look at how green everything is!

It's not as easy to see everything else, but you don't see weeds.

Weekend Woes

2011-06-27T10:53:00.001-04:00

I did not feel well this weekend. I felt dizzy and wasn't sure why. I thought perhaps I wasn't eating properly or I was dehydrated. Then I thought perhaps it was my neck. I tend to carry my stress in my neck and sometimes it gets tight. I have a massage scheduled today so that should help.

The Alden Carnival was in town and we had the parade march by in front of our house which is gobs of fun when you have two dogs that bark at worms crawling in the yard. Imagine the mayhem when there are firetrucks with sirens and kids squealing because parade participants are tossing candy, marching bands are playing bad versions of songs you thought you liked. Ah, everyone loves a parade!

Jamie and I did partake of the Lion's Club sponsored chicken BBQ. We love to buy food when it's sold in town like that. We enjoy supporting our local community. And we enjoy eating. In that order? You decide.

We didn't do a damn thing for Jamie's parents for mother's or father's day so we decided to combine the two and take them to dinner. We had a marvelous dinner at the Asa Ransom House in Clarence. This is a local bed and breakfast that also serves wonderful meals. I would like to return with some ladies for afternoon tea! The meal uses herbs from the on-site herb garden. I always enjoy that. Everyone had something different. My Chilean sea bass with fennel and blackberry was wonderful and light enough that I was able to have the berry cobbler for dessert. Damn! If you have not made the trip to Clarence, I recommend stopping in. They also served NYS wines. I am not a fan of NYS reds, but we can pump our some lovely whites. Prejean Gewurztraminer was the perfect complement to my sea bass.

I told Jamie that it was foolish since Asa Ransom House is about ten minutes from our house, but I want to spend the night sometime! Get away from everything while getting away from nothing.

Today I made this wonderful pork tenderloin with parsley shallot sauce courtesy of Ellie Krieger. Her book, The Food You Crave, is one of my go-to books when I need something quick, delicious and good for you. Jamie also loves it. When he requests leftovers for work, I know I have a winner since he hates leftovers.

I don't know how anyone hates leftovers. Sometimes they are better than the first time around.

Roycroft Festival and Travel Opportunities

2011-06-26T22:37:00.021-04:00

My mother and I enjoy going to the Roycroft Festival in East Aurora, NY. It is close by and features incredibly talented artists, many of whom are local. This year my mom bought some small wooden puzzles for my nephews. I bought this amazing hemp purse from Jan Brecht. I had trouble deciding between two styles. I told her I would buy the other at the next event. I hope she still has it.

My mother also suggested that we travel this summer. Nowhere too fancy or too far away. We could just get in the car and drive. I was reminded of an article I yanked out of the Summer 2011 issue of the AAA Member Connection Magazine. It highlights ten hidden gems in Western New York. In fact, the article is titled Top 10 Hidden Gems in Western New York. Here they are:

Griffis Sculpture Park - in or near Ashford Hollow
Cobblestone Museum Complex (Route NY 104)
Village of Findley Lake in Chautauqua County near PA
Village of Angelica - Allegany County
Abbey of the Genesee - community of monks near Rochester
Springdale Farm - part of Monroe County park system
Rock City Park - in Olean near SBU!
Country Barn Quilt Trail - in Orleans County
National Soaring Museum - Elmira
Vineyard Express - Lockport

The two of us would get a kick out of most of these destinations. In fact, I've been on the Vineyard Express. I love trains and my husband arranged a trip a few years ago for my birthday. It was a great deal of fun on a cool old-time train. I have also been to Rock City Park but it was when I was much younger. I have been on Route NY 104 and have seen many of the cobblestone homes. Route NY 104 is stunning. Runs along Lake Ontario. If you enjoy driving, head out. Also, during the summer is wonderful because the route is dotted with farm stands selling all sorts of fresh produce. Yummy!

I think everyone who lives in WNY would also argue that many things are missing from the list. Of course, you have to remember "hidden gems." WNY has many not-so-hidden gems like Letchworth State Park, Niagara Falls, etc.

I am not liking this damn mat!

2011-06-24T22:25:00.000-04:00

I thought I would give the yoga mat another try. Yoga felt so damn good today! I have to remember that I am in love with yoga and that it makes me feel like a million bucks.

The mat does not. It sucks. My hands hurt afterward and I can't always grip my hands and feet in downward dog even when they are not sweaty. Seriously.

Before I give up, though, I am going to toss it in the wash and let it air dry. Perhaps if I toss some fabric softener into the wash.

That kinda defeats the purpose of my eco-friendly mat, but I need to grip and feel comfortable.

10 Thoughts on Whole Living - June 2011

2011-06-22T10:28:00.032-04:00

This advice is courtesy of Whole Living Magazine. This magazine is one of my favorites. In fact, when I get my 4,027 magazines (that number is a slight exaggeration) each month, I go through them and put them in order of type of magazine and then I read them from my least favorite to favorite. This one is always one of the last magazines I read.

Don't judge me based on some screwed up magazine reading algorithm I've devised. Judge me based on how sassy I am. But I digress.

Each month, the magazine lists 10 Thoughts On Whole Living. Often I rip out the page and post it at my desk for a bit. Here is June 2011's list:

Rather than try to fix your body, focus on how you want it to feel.
The mark of true confidence is the ability to look someone in the eye.
Let the seasons guide your diet. The Earth grows what you need, when you need it.
Respect your feet. They've mastered the art of staying grounded while moving forward.
Take charge of your own reflection: stop letting the mirror win.
Enlightenment doesn't always make a grand entrance. It slowly transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary.
Change happens somewhere between the acceptance of now and the anticipation of what's to come.
Don't obsess over weight loss. Wellness is about making your life bigger, not smaller.
Surprise yourself: push past your physical limits.
Nothing connects you to who you are quite like the people who knew you when.

I love this list! I try to let the seasons guide my diet. Anyone who has ever eaten a strawberry from a local farmer and then had one packaged in the supermarket knows the value of eating in season!

I do try to focus on how I feel. I have been making an effort to live and eat better. It is amazing to me how wonderful that feels! If I could just remember that feeling when I decide I must have a huge burger with fries and an ice cream sundae.

I try to push past my physical limits. Hell, I ran a marathon. That was WAY past my physical limits.

I've maimed or killed all the people who knew me when.

USDA Makes Some Changes

2011-06-21T22:16:00.000-04:00

I gotta tell ya, I like the changes the USDA has made to its food pyramid. First of all, no longer a pyramid. It's now a plate.

I find this to be much friendlier. In fact, many magazines and Web sites have been touting the plate concept for quite some time. I try to do this - fill most of my plate with veggies and fruits and then add the meat/protein and grains. And ya gotta have dairy! Kudos USDA!

Today I made an all purpose dish that mixes the entire plate up. Cooking Light has a wonderful recipe for Shrimp Pad Thai. It is one of my favorites because I love Thai food and love that I am able to cut it down to size, if you will. I also like that my husband loves it and that I have it for lunch the next day.

It's a hot one

2011-06-20T15:11:00.002-04:00

I didn't think it would be so hot this morning. I thought I could get in a run before the heat of the day kicked in. It could be that I am a giant wimp. I ran for 40 minutes today. Covered not too much territory. Ran a usual route - to the end of West Main Street and back.

I am beat.

I did lose 1.6 pounds last week. That's good! I am on my way!

And now I am on campus (St. Bonaventure University) for a very important meeting. Then I have a funeral. Good times at my place! I am having dinner with a very good friend after the funeral. It has gotten to the point that I am now going to the funerals of friends. I don't care for it. I also don't care for the fact that my black skirt is tighter than it should be. Granted, I am going to a funeral. My skirt fitting is not the biggest problem here. Losing a friend is a problem. Sometimes I say these things to deflect some of the sadness and anger I feel.

I worked with Betty when I was at Mercy Hospital. She was one of the sweetest, kindest, nicest women. She will be missed. I will certainly keep her husband and daughter in my thoughts.

Ah, the Beach

2011-06-19T22:00:00.029-04:00

My husband and I went to the beach to visit friends. We enjoy doing this because we get to cook. They love our cooking and love to be guinea pigs when we try new recipes. I also enjoy that I get to be a partial vegetarian because my good friend is a vegetarian. Since I am trying to eat more healthfully, I thought it would be nice to eat less meat.

Our menu:

Ginger scones - there is nothing low-fat or low-cal about these scones. That's why they are so damn good. I have made these three times now and everyone always wants the recipe. Found the recipe in Dash Magazine.
Almost-Famous Rosemary Bread - Thank you Food Network for copying this bread recipe from the Macaroni Grill restaurant. Very easy to make and delicious. We did have a snafu, though. We had to let the bread rise three times rather than twice. No harm, no foul. Still amazing. Every more wonderful with roasted garlic.
Kabobs - my husband whipped up some kabobs of his own design. Peppers, red onions, chicken, beef, tomatoes, and souvlaki marinade courtesy of Spices and Mixes by Millie.
Portobello Mushrooms au Poivre - recipe either from Food Network magazine or Rachael Ray. I cut recipes and don't make a note of the magazine. I will try to be better, but don't count on it. This sauce was delicious enough to serve with heavy duty meat.
Salad using fresh greens from my guy at the Alden Farmer's Market. I will have to get his name next weekend so that I may credit him here. He grows the best salad greens. I topped them with bean sprouts, walnuts, dried cranberries, crumbled blue cheese and balsamic vinaigrette dressing. Yum.
A dip that we devoured is credited to Rick Bayless. Artichoke hearts, goat cheese (I also added ricotta), sun-dried tomatoes, green olives, parsley, and pickled jalapeno peppers. Delicious served on crackers. Would also make a wonderful sandwich spread or spread it on baguettes and broil.

The meal was amazing. Well worth the work. And our hosts just love eating! I also kayaked for the first time in a couple of years. My nurse practitioner thinks I may have a bone spur on my shoulder so I am trying to work it out. Didn't overdo it, though. Managed to kayak. I was worried that I might not be able to perform the movements necessary. Then we swam. Lake Erie is still quite chilly, but it felt good after kayaking.

Canning begins

2011-06-18T22:22:00.002-04:00

Last year I started canning and freezing in earnest. We had so many fruits and veggies that I wanted to save them for winter. I didn't want to spend stupid money on produce in January when I could easily can and freeze during the summer. There is also nothing like eating fruit and veggies in season...even when it isn't in season.

I had never made jams before. I was afraid, honestly. Today we bought two flats of strawberries. We froze many so that we may use them during the year. We wanted to try making jam. We also had some rhubarb. Two jams - strawberry rhubarb and strawberry.

I am using the canning Bible - Ball Canning puts out a great book. I read that I am to follow the directions exactly. That scared me enough.

Strawberry rhubarb worked out well. It set up just fine. Strawberry is sauce, not jam. Turns out I didn't follow the directions exactly. I sorta mixed the two. Bad, bad idea. Now I know. I won't do that again.

I still have enough sauce and jam for many. I will be sharing it with my family and friends. Both seem delicious. We shall see.

Canning isn't particularly difficult, but it is time consuming. My husband claims to hate it but he won't leave me alone in the kitchen to do it by myself. I am not sure if he thinks I will blow the kitchen up or will make a huge mess or will just f.... everything up so badly that nothing is edible. I have the recipes the skills. You really just have to know how to boil water. And have an entire afternoon to devote to the cause.

We do work well together. It was fun to make jams and make a huge mess doing so! Cleaning up, not so fun. I can't wait to make others now. I am already getting requests.

Wait until peach season!

Strawberry Rhubarb jam and Strawberry syrup

New Bike Path in Town

2011-06-17T21:58:00.002-04:00

The Lancaster Heritage Trail is four miles of trail that occupies a former railroad track. The link takes you to the listing on the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy Web site.

I had heard about this trail and had never been on it. I finally got a new pump so that I can pump up my bike tires. I love riding my bike because it's a rather low impact workout. It isn't too jarring on my joints and my body. Don't get me wrong, I am flipping exhausted when I'm finished, but I can function. Of course, if I ride too long, my crotch is sore. How do these dudes do the Tour de France?

This trail is completely gorgeous! I love that I can ride my bike from my house and do the trail without too much trouble. I also love that I can park my car and run on the trail. It is marked and is four miles each way so I could make a long run out of it....when I get to the point that I am able to do long runs again.

Very peaceful and people are damn friendly. I love running or biking and saying hello or nodding or smiling at those who pass me. And being outside in nature - just wonderful.

I did hear a tractor. It made me giggle because I am reminded that I am a redneck. I love the country and love country living.

I will return to this trail.

Yoga

2011-06-15T21:40:00.002-04:00

Boy, did yoga feel good today!

I tried a new mat. The mat was woven by a group of folks in India. It is sustainably produced and is fair trade. I don't know if I like the mat. It leaves marks on my hands that stay for some time. Not fun, nor pretty.

I tried my hand at the ham, cheese, asparagus, broccoli strata. Delicious. It came from my Better Homes and Gardens cookbook. The same cookbook that gave me the meatloaf recipe. Damn good. Actually, I think I have just tried one recipe from this cookbook that was only okay. Everything else has been stellar.

If I were to make this again, I would make it for a brunch. The egg mixture soaking into the English muffin makes it seem more appropriate for breakfast or brunch. My husband told me that I have to add more ham but that I also have to cut the ham into smaller pieces. I will remember to do that. The combo of gruyere and swiss cheeses make this rich but not too heavy.

Good choice.

Running and eating...

2011-06-14T21:32:00.004-04:00

It is a gorgeous day! I must run! I no longer have to run, I may run because I want to. And today I want to.

Well, I don't really want to. I am afraid to start running again because I haven't run much since the marathon in October. I am afraid I won't be able to run. How does one go from running 26.2 miles to not running at all? Chalk it up to running burnout. And, boy, did I have running burnout.

But I am armed with new running shoes. I left my marathon shoes with a girl in Uganda. She is tall and I thought she could use them.

What a difference new running shoes make.

I ran two miles and I ran it well. Could I have run longer? Probably, but let's not die on the first day.

I ran well: good posture, sassy outfit, new shoes, good breathing technique. I had it all.

Next time I will run 3 miles.

I do enjoy running.

I made one of my favorite breakfasts this morning. It was inspired by Denny's, if you can believe it. I forget what Denny's calls this dish, but they take spinach, breakfast sausage, onions, hot peppers, and other veggies and fry that up. Then add an egg to it. I do something very similar. I heat olive oil in a pan and then add onion and pepper (Red, green or yellow depending on what I have on hand and on what colors are already represented in the dish. I like to jazz up the dish and add as many colors as possible.). I let that fry a bit. Then I add banana peppers, mushrooms, tomatoes, and spinach. I fry an egg in a separate pan. I put the veggie mix on a plate and then toss the egg on top. I like my fried eggs sunny side up so the yolk oozes into my veggie mix. Delicious! I recommend this to everyone. It is also quite filling.

Lunch was leftover meatloaf, asparagus and mashed potatoes. Delicious. The best meatloaf recipe can be found in the Better Homes and Gardens classic cookbook. It never disappoints and it is very easy. I put my husband's homemade BBQ sauce on top instead of the ketchup mixture. Yummy.

For dinner, I made a ham. During the holidays we stock up on discounted hams, turkeys, etc. Actually, anytime there is a sale on meat, we stock up. Usually we get a larger piece and cut it up into steaks or chops. Very economical and we have the freezer for it.

I also planned to use the ham during the week. My husband will make sandwiches with some of it and I will make a nice ham, asparagus, broccoli strata and a ham tetrazzini.

I hate to waste food and this is a good way to use the ham and to try new recipes. Ham is also quite good for you.

Monday

2011-06-13T21:26:00.004-04:00

Day one of my new lifestyle. Let's see how long this lasts. Those who have read my blogs in the past know that I get on a kick for a little bit and then find something else to do. I am hoping not to do that this time...but don't I say that each time?

I am already seeing things growing in the garden! Turnips are starting. It turns out I planted them too close together. Perhaps I will have itty bitty turnip or none at all. At least I have little sprouts. We shall see! I can certainly go through and thin the crop. I sound so official.

I think the herbs are also growing. I am convinced that peas are growing, but my husband said it is weeds. I don't want to pull anything until I am sure it is a weed. I don't want to pull veggies before they have a chance!

I made one of my favorite breakfasts this morning. Something easy and satisfying. Toasted English muffin with peanut butter and a bit of jam. Delicious! I recommend this to everyone. It is also portable.

Today I also cleaned the house. I cannot stand to have a messy abode. I can't seem to get anything done until I clean. I have work to do out of the house and need some sort of organization. Of course, when the house is clean I just want to sit on the coach and bask in the cleanliness and in a job well done.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Gardening

2011-06-08T21:18:00.010-04:00

Why do I choose the hottest day of the year to plant the garden? It was so damn hot I am convinced that my nipples melted right off my breasts and slid down into my belly button.

Usually I am in Africa and am not able to plant my garden. My husband has to do it. This year, I am able to do everything! That's because we'd gotten rain and terrible weather for the last few months. My husband wasn't able to till the garden or do anything outside. I was afraid that I was going to come home to a jungle with the lawn overgrown and so on. Thank God he was able to mow.

My mother came over to help me. I think she enjoys getting out and doing stuff. She loves gardening. She does it well.

Thank God she is also damn efficient. We planted that garden in an hour. We had seeds and plants. I should also mention that my husband tilled the garden at this point so we just had to make a little trough and stick the seeds in. Or dig small holes and stick the plants in.

I am neat about it, but not as neat as my husband would like. He would like straight rows with string to delineate veggies. He would like labels. He would like more order. I just want seeds and plants in the ground and I want to shower. Then I want to sit on my ass and wait for stuff to grow.

What we can expect in the garden this year:
Herbs:

Basil
Parsley
Fennel
Mint
Cilantro
Dill
Lemon Verbena
Sage
Rosemary
Thyme

Veggies and Fruits:

Tomatoes (cherry and others)
Peppers (hot and sweet)
Eggplant
Broccoli
Cauliflower
Brussels Sprouts
Red and green cabbage
Onions
Garlic
Green beans
Peas
Radishes
Turnip
Parsnip
Lettuce
Carrots
Spinach
Squash
Watermelon
Cantaloupe

I think that is my list. I am tired from planting, but excited to have planted. Stay tuned for an update on the garden! Here is a picture of the garden right now.

The plants we purchased already started...tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, brussels sprouts, eggplant.

Garlic that was planted last year. We weeded it a bit. Love garlic!

The overall garden. It's a pretty good size.

This blog has taken on so many iterations. I used it to vent - which I will still do since I can't stop myself; I used it to participate in writing exercises for the year which lasted a week, I think; I used it for no reason whatsoever. Now I plan to use this blog to discuss my weight loss/healthy lifestyle pursuit. That should include whatever I do to improve my health and should include recipes that will take advantage of the bounty that the garden produces and the bounty found at the farmers market grown by those more expert at this than I am. I am using WeightWatchers online because it works (honestly - it's the slogan for a reason). And now that summer is here, I can go outside and workout outside. Until it's too damn hot in which case I will still work out, I will just bitch about it a bit more.

Cheers!

Giving and Receiving Feedback

2010-01-12T10:58:00.001-05:00

January 12
Giving and Receiving Feedback

Give a draft of yoru short story in progress to a not-too-close friend or realtive, and ask for specific feedback.

I give my stuff to my sister. Yes, we are close, but we are also brutaly honest with one another and that really sucks sometimes. I asked her to read this blog so far and offer feedback. Hey, if anyone else out there would like to do the same, this would be the date to do it!

And thank you, Fred White, for tossing this exercise in there when I needed a bit of a break (because I procrastinated and waited to write several exercises at once - my own damn fault).

Drawing From Experience

2010-01-11T11:00:00.002-05:00

January 11
Drawing From Experience

List ten events from childhood. Don't pass up any just because they seem "ordinary." Next, write a page or so in which you capture one of these experiences as vividly as you can.

My experiences:

I got boobs! This wasn't really a childhood thing. I was flat as a board my entire life. Then I started rowing and I got boobies! I was 27. Probably still a child.
I recall almost drowning twice when I was young. I was about 5 in a neighbor's pool and I got into the deeper end somehow. I don't remember how. The same thing happened at a Rotary Club picnic. I got into the deep end and couldn't feel the bottom without being underwater. I remember struggling and seeing my mother on her chair trying to get help - my mother can not swim. By the time someone paid attention to her, I had managed to walk myself to the shallow end. Scared me.
My mom was never a mom the way I see other moms. She was kinda nuts, and still is. Of course, now it's been formally diagnosed. I don't recall that I ever looked to her for guidance in any form. I do remember that I did a report on Newfoundland for school and asked her all kinds of questions. I think she was pleased that I was looking to her for information rather than my father, my usual information source. Looking back, I don't know how much of the information was accurate, but it tickled her to offer help.
I recall being in public speaking class and was ill-prepared for a speech. It was the first time I was ill-prepared for anything. I thought I could get someone else to go first since I always went first. No one would take my place. I was never ill-prepared again. Hey, at least I learn from mistakes.
I played the clarinet as a youth and loved it. In fact, I miss it. May take it up again. I remember that my conductor suggested that I call for a clarinet competition to determine who should sit in the first chair. She told me she thought I would get the chair without a problem. In my cockiness, I didn't practice any harder at all. I just assumed she told me I would get it and I would. To my surprise, I was moved down to third from second. I was pissed at her initially until I realized I had no one to blame but myself. I take ownership of my actions and go after what I want now. I take nothing for granted.
I damn near cut the top of my thumb off when I was 5. I was playing on the swing set and was standing on the slide swinging a neighbor on the seesaw attachment. My thumb was dangerously close to the top and I somehow got it jammed so badly that I almost tore the top off. I was bleeding profusely and I ran into the house - trailing blood behind me and all over me - with my thumb in my mouth to catch the blood (not sure why I did that). I asked my mom for a band aid. She told me later that I didn't cry or fuss, I just wanted a band aid. She had to get me to the hospital so that I could get stitches. Horrible. I still have the scar.
I asked a boy out when I was in high school. I liked him and thought he liked me. He turned me down because he said he didn't have time to date. He did like me, but not that way. I was quite embarrassed. Later I found out that his mother had cancer and was dying. I guess that would explain why he didn't want to date. Or at least it helps to explain it to me.
I did the most horrible thing in 9th grade. I dropped a friend without much explanation and in the worst way. I was tired of being her friend because she was really rather needy and annoying. I never expected she would accept any kind of explanation so I made up some story about an alleged lie she told (not true). She tried to make it up to me and I refused to take her calls or talk to her. I regret that. I cannot even imagine what I put her through all because I didn't have the balls to tell the truth. I won't do that again.
I had my appendix out when I was 3. I remember laying in the hospital bed after the surgery with my hands and feet tied to the bed. The hospital staff was afraid I was going to want to tear at my bandage or my stitches. I remember that it itched and I wanted to. I remember waking up from the anesthesia and noting that my hands and feet were tied. Thank God my mom was there. I also remember that I didn't scream or cry or anything. I think that's a family trait when we are in pain.
My father and I discussed Chappaquiddick. Don't ask me why I still remember this. Perhaps it's because Teddy Kennedy was so often in the news and it was always brought up. I remember when I first heard about it - it must have been an anniversary of some sort and it was in the news - and I asked my dad about it. He explained it. Then I wondered why Ted Kennedy wasn't in jail. That took some explaining also. My dad was quite straightforward but also challenged me to think. I think that's why I remember it - it was a wonderful discussion and I was able to offer my opinions and get his unbiased opinions. Cool.

So many of my pieces so far have been rather serious. Of the ten things here, which do I choose? I choose boobs!

I had never had boobs. I always thought I wanted them. I was perhaps a B cup, perhaps. I never worried about sports bras not working or shirts not fitting or boys staring at my chest. They paid attention to what I said. And it sucked.

I started rowing on a whim. A friend asked if I wanted to do it with her and I said yes. I always do that - try things without thinking - and I don't often regret it. I find that if you over think or even think, you will think yourself right out of something and not know what fun or experience you might have missed.

I was flat when I started rowing. But then I woke up one day - it was almost literally like that - and I looked down and thought, what the hell are these? I didn't see my stomach right away, I saw boobs. Actually boobs sticking out on my chest. I actually touched them. I wanted to make sure they were boobs and not just muscles I had developed. I wasn't completely sure until about a decade later when my muscled boobs started to sag. Yup, boobs.

Having them made me walk taller. I couldn't believe I had them! I was the only person in the family with them. And, it turns out, the person with the least use for them or the least need or want. And I admit, I touched them for days. Not in an erotic way, in an I-can't-believe-I-have-boobs, way. I even pointed it out to my friend. She laughed at me. My boyfriend at the time didn't think anything of it. We aren't together anymore. Not because of my boobs, but because he's an ass.

I now have to pay attention to sports bras and shirts. Although, I will admit I do like having cleavage. Boys still listen to what I say, but they probably look at my boobs. I think I would rather they listen to what I have to say.

Boobs suck.

Dreams, A Writer's Resource

2010-01-10T10:52:00.004-05:00

January 10
Dreams, A Writer's Resource

Choose an entry from your dream journal and build it into an episode that is comprehensible without sacrificing its dreamlike qualities. If scenes shifted without any logical connection, then try to emulate those scene shifts in your episode. Also, pay attention to irrational juxtapositions of objects. The idea here is to allow object which, in the waking world, have no logical connection with each other.

I have had a recurring dream since I was little. It takes place in Newfoundland. Come to think of it, I haven't had the dream in some time, but I will never forget it. I often wonder if it's true, but when you read it you will see that that isn't likely. But you never know. Newfoundlanders are quite superstitious. In all of my dreams, I am outside myself, much as I would be if I was watching my dreams as a movie. I am sure that must mean something in terms of dream interpretation - on the outside always looking in? Or I am able to view my life from an outside perspective because it's too scary to actually live it? That's not true. My life is hardly scary. I remember that my mother told me she took me to Newfoundland when I was about one. My grandfather was still alive, I think. He died shortly after. From what I hear, my mother and I were alone as my father was home working. Also, when I learned to walk, I was hell with feet. I didn't sit down to save anyone's life. I was off like a shot.

Perhaps this isn't even a dream, but I remember it as one.

Teetering on not quite broken in feet, the tot wrestled her way up the bank. The path was narrow and riddled with rocks and moss. Stability was not something she had in any sort of abundance and stability was what was needed to maneuver this path. The path was a maze to a one-year old new on her feet.

Once she started to move forward, it was difficult to stop. Even if she ran into things, she would get up and continue or turn and go in a less obstructed way. More than once she would run away from her mother. Not necessarily because she wanted to be clear from the woman, but because once she started running, there was no stopping her. The internal magnet made her feet move her forward to an unknown point.

The point tonight was the top of the path.

The ocean purred in the distance as it quietly lapped against the jagged shore. The night was calm and the moon shown on the pristine blackness of the water visible as far as the eye could see.

Rugged houses weathered by the austere sea stood against the elements built with care into the peat-lined hillsides, nestled carefully against boulders and rocky crags as if for protection.

The well-worn path let to the blueberries, to the capelin cove and to trout fishing pond. Villagers used it daily. The tot used it this night.

Running up the path she knew not where she was headed, but her feet were carrying her like a drunk sailor on his way home along the peat lined path. She could hear her mother in the background shouting after her and she laughed out loud, the giggle breaking against the lapping waves.

A door.

In the path attached to nothing.

And a knock from the other side of it.

The tot stopped abruptly and stared at the door. It seemed out of place even for a toddler not yet familiar with doors and their whereabouts. Her breath caught up with her and her feet stopped three feet from the door on the path without any context.

She could hear her mother calling her from behind her on the path and she could hear her labored breathing as she struggled to catch her.

The door opened and she saw a creature she had only heard about in fairy tales. A hairy werewolf-like creature standing erect in front her in the frame of the open door. She gasped. Her mother came from behind her and grabbed her in the scoop of her arm around her waist. Her feet dangled in the air and tried running, but feet need ground to accomplish that feat.

The tot doesn't remember if her mother said anything to her, but the creature knew the tot's name and said it out loud. The creature extended a hand to her. Her mother looked at the creature before turning to run down the hill. The tot was unable to look back to see if they were being pursued, but they arrived home safely.

The incident wasn't mentioned to anyone and the child didn't think to share the story.

This is a recurring dream, or an actual event. I find it hard to believe it happened, but it is so vivid in my mind, I don't know what to think.

The Art of Revising

2010-01-09T10:14:00.003-05:00

January 9
The Art of Revising

Write a one-page description of an object that is familiar to you but not to others. Over the next few days, tinker with the sketch.

I will likely tinker with this, so you may read one version today and return for others later on.

Object: Wild Mountain Organics Lip Balm
The 2.75" narrow, white tube with the faded label contains some of the best stuff on Earth! I know that is an owner's exaggeration of her product, but I am pretty proud of our creation. I usually make lip balms and take a few without labels so that I may use them without wasting a label. Yes, I use our products. This lip balm became mine because I saw a crack in the cap. I couldn't sell it, but wasn't going to toss it out. The cap doesn't sit quite right because the crack has loosened it. It sits on my desk. I can't put it in my purse because the cap might come off and all manner of lint and purse mites might get into the honey, beeswax, almond oil mixture.

Our labels have the Wild Mountain Organics logo in a deep blue color - the color of Lake Tahoe on a sunny day. Mount Shasta is in the background, but Mount Shasta looks like the snow you sometimes get on a television screen when switching from cable to video.

Removing the cap, one is able to see the hole in the middle of the lip balm made by the plastic screw in the center of the lip balm that allows the balm to rise when it's ribbed mechanism is turned.

My lips must be quite uneven because the top of the balm is not smooth across. One side of the balm is clearly favored over the other. I make a note that I will have to remedy that.

Magic in the Details

2010-01-08T10:15:00.004-05:00

January 8
Magic in the Details

Imagine being inside a scary place, such as the unlit cellar of a haunted house or an abandoned graveyard late at night. Use specific sensory descriptions - of smells, sounds, images (insofar as they are discernible in weak light), and physical sensations.

I feel as though I did this with an earlier exercise. I haven't even gotten through January without feeling as though I would be repeating. And perhaps I should read ahead so that I don't repeat. But, who cares. Instead of a scary funhouse, I think I will picture myself in a graveyard at night. There is a local graveyard in WNY that is supposed to be one of the most haunted places in WNY - Goodleburg Cemetery (I have also seen it spelled Goodleberg - not sure which is correct). I visited during the day once and it didn't seem to be that bad, but I can imagine it would scare the Bejesus out of you at night. Let's go....

I had heard that Goodleburg Cemetery was one of the most haunted places in WNY, but was skeptical. I thought the best way to get a feel for this creepy place would be to visit at night. This is not an easy task. The cemetery is in a pretty deserted place. It is not easy to get to and it is not easy to be anonymous once there. It is on a short, narrow street in the small town of Wales. It sits directly across the street from a small house and up the street from another house or two. I suspect parking in front of the cemetery wouldn't be a good idea since the owner of the house would likely call the cops thinking I was a high school kid out to get drunk or laid in the cemetery.

I parked on an adjacent street and hung the obligatory white t-shirt from my car window hoping anyone driving by would think the owner went for help because of a bum car.

That good idea quickly faded once I remembered that there are no street lights in rural anywhere. I walked up this street relying on the crescent moon as it periodically escaped from behind clouds because I didn't dare bring a flashlight.

Someone was home at the house across from the cemetery. I could see the living room light from behind the sheer blue curtains. I could also see the hockey game being played on the television set. I made a mental note to try to catch a score on my return, however unlikely that would be.

I could barely make out the decrepit stone stairs in front of me. When I was there during the day I thought I saw four or five steps. Now I couldn't be sure. I climbed up the steps feeling my way with my hands since my eyes were still becoming accustomed to the dark.

The steps ended with me standing between two trees. Was I really going to do this? How badly did I need to wander the most haunted cemetery at night? In the middle of nowhere. No one knew I was here and anything could happen. But I was being foolish.

It had lightly rained earlier in the day, but the dampness could be felt under foot. It reminded me of a bog. I could hear the slosh as my sneakers hit the grass. I could feel the slight bounce from peat or damp dirt. I could also smell spring. The smell of damp lawn coupled with worms making their way from a winter hibernation beneath the soil to the surface. The thought made me shiver.

I walked slowly afraid I might run into things, which I promptly did. The headstone came up so quickly and I found myself stabbed with pain in my mid-thigh. I rubbed the pain as I looked around. Did I just hear a twig crack? I could have. It was outdoors, after all. It was probably an animal.

Or did I just hear footsteps? I knew that the mind may start to play tricks on you, especially a mind prone to storytelling and creative endeavors.

Pipe smoke. I was sure I smelled pipe smoke.

And another twig crack.

I stood as still as the headstone I had run into. I could hear my heart thumping and could feel it in my chest as if it was in a race to get out of the cemetery. Sweat started on my forehead and the hair on my neck and arms stood. I couldn't hear my surroundings because of my heaving chest so I tried to calm myself. Think yoga breathing. In and out through your nose, calm down.

Frantic wouldn't help. Pipe smoke is not an animal wandering at night. Pipe smoke is someone in the cemetery. Or something.

God, what was I thinking coming here at night? What did I expect to find?

Then I thought, what if it's the person who lives in the house across the way. What if he or she saw me and thought this would be fun - scare the shit out of the trespasser. Well, it was working.

I had only walked ten feet into the cemetery and had no intention of walking any further. I turned to leave and ran smack into something large and solid. Thinking it was the pipe-smoking madman, I turned and ran into the cemetery. How I avoided additional headstones, I am not sure. But I was now lost. The moon receded behind the clouds and I was in the dark. Complete, desolate dark.

Yogic breathing wasn't going to help me now and I felt my chest heave beneath my frantic breaths and my unfaithful heart. I dropped to my knees to try to rally my senses and to catch my bearings. The grass was damp beneath my clammy hands. Then I felt a wriggle under my index finger and jerked my hand up. I stood straight up and tried to calm myself. The moon returned as my beacon and I was able to see that I had run into one of the trees at the entrance.

I laughed at my foolishness. Before the moon could return to its hiding place, I got the hell out of dodge, or the hell out of Goodleburg Cemetery.

I didn't stop to catch a hockey score, and I won't even return during the day.

Creating Realistic Characters

2010-01-07T09:37:00.001-05:00

January 7
Creating Realistic Characters

Prepare a one- or two-page "bio sheet" of a character you'd like to include in your memoir or novel. Include the following attributes:

physical and behavioral characteristics

temperament

habits of speech

beliefs

eccentricities

fears, anxieties

likes and dislikes

Next, write a scene consisting of narration, dialogue, and action, in which your viewpoint character interacts with another character, and in which you capture as many of the above character attributes as you can.

My character:

Physical and behavioral characteristics: 5'8" or so, athletic build, mid-thirties or so. Blue eyes, long, brown hair (to help hide). Runs her fingers through her hair often enough for others to notice it. Doesn't make eye contact for too long. Taken to looking out windows if they are available. She doesn't have a name set in stone for me yet. For purposes of this exercise, let's call her Amelia.
Temperament: Calm, but quick to become emotional when faced with children.
Habits of speech: Quite methodical in speech as if afraid she will reveal information she isn't ready to reveal. Chooses words carefully and speaks well and clearly.
Beliefs: Liberal in politics, not religious at all and bothered by it but can't seem to find the right 'religion' or the right 'beliefs.' Nothing suits her. Believes in helping others provided it doesn't inconvenience her.
Eccentricities: Doesn't answer questions right away since she is thinking of the answer to make sure she doesn't reveal too much. Runs fingers through hair. Wears inappropriate footwear whenever possible.
Fears, anxieties: Has secrets and skeletons that she doesn't want revealed.
Likes and dislikes: Children are a like and a dislike. Good, fresh food. Nice wine. Enjoys the outdoors and likes being alone. Solitude is her like and dislike.

Story:

Amelia saw the sign painted on the red barn 'Jesus Saves.' 'Saves what? Pennies? Puppies?' she thought and chuckled out loud.

The windows were down in the car and her long, brown hair blew about her face with the occasional strand getting stuck in her eyelashes or on her moist lips. She made no effort to brush the stray hair away. The thought that eventually all of her hair might be stuck to some part of her face made her laugh out loud too.

She continued driving into the small one-traffic signal town looking at the buildings and people gracing the sidewalks. It was a wonderful spring day in early April. Amelia guessed that the weather was unseasonably warm since so many people were out milling about town. It was the sort of place she was looking for - small, nondescript, anonymous. And the sign welcoming you to town about Jesus sealed the deal.

She parked in front of the small diner in the center of town anxious for something to eat. She hadn't eaten breakfast that morning since she wanted to get out of the town she spent the last couple of days in without success. She pushed and pull hair out off of her lips and face and tried to mat it down as best she could. She reached into her car's cup holder and grabbed a hair elastic to pull her long, unruly hair into a pony tail. She checked the rear view mirror to make sure there weren't any stray pieces standing up on top.

She walked through the screen door and heard the obligatory bell hooked to the chain at the top of the door ring. 'Must every small establishment like this have a bell?' she thought. 'Honestly, would they not notice me walk in. The place had 10 tables and no where to hide!' She could also hear the click clack of her four inch heels hitting the floor as she walked in.

"Hello," said the man behind the counter as he looked at her, his eyes seeming to bore into her. She felt her face warm, but not redden, and could feel sweat on the small of her back under her green t-shirt.

She looked around the diner and saw no one. Certainly it was lunch time. Why was no one here? That couldn't be a very good sign.

"Hello," she replied after leaving a silence to scan the room. "Where is everybody?" she said with a wave of her hand. She walked to the counter to take a seat listening to the click clack of her heels echo throughout the emptiness.

"You are everybody," he said. She noticed that he was the only person in the place and that he wasn't wearing a hairnet to tame his curly, brown shoulder-length hair. "It's the first nice day we've had in months and everyone is out enjoying the day. I've had take-out orders, but that's about it."

His smile made her nervous. The stare of his blue eyes made her uncomfortable and she turned her head to look out the front window at her car and the people walking up and down the sidewalk on both sides of the street.

"What can I get you?" he said as he reached behind himself to grab a menu nestled next to the cash register. "Something to drink?"

She looked at the fountain beverage dispenser and decided against it. "Water," she said as she looked from the dispenser to the menu.

"Where are you from?" he asked as he reached under the counter for a glass and turned to fill it with water from the faucet.

Amelia could feel the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end. 'Where am I from?' she thought to herself. 'I don't know.'

"Not from here," she managed to say without looking up from her menu.

She heard him chuckle. He placed the water in front of her and leaned down, trying to make eye contact with her.

"I guessed you weren't from here since I don't recognize you and the town isn't big enough for me not to recognize people from it."

She looked up and saw him smiling at her. Instead of feeling angry or embarrassed, she felt a certain calm. This was the right place, she knew it. Not because there was a handsome man standing in front of her, but because she was treated with such kindness. It did help that he had blue eyes the color of a small, spring-fed lake.

The thought made her start and she shivered even though she could still feel the sweat on the small of her back.

"I'm not from here and I think we should leave it at that." she said more sternly than she wanted.

"Okay," he replied taking the cue. "What are you hungry for?"

Brainstorming for Effective Titles

2010-01-06T12:56:00.003-05:00

Exercise Six:
Brainstorming for effective titles
Brainstorm for the title of a short story or magazine article you've recently begun.
[I am going to have to start using different names instead of 'Exercise X.' I will have to use the date perhaps? I'll have to think about it.]

I haven't recently begun either of those things, but I do have thoughts about a book I would like to write. Having dealt with a mother suffering with mental illness, I would like to write about it and the horrible path available to those with mental illness and those suffering alongside them. Possible titles:
The cat likes pancakes: Living with psychological disorders
Grandma thinks I'm the cat again: How can family and friends cope with those struggling with mental illness

I always thought that if I ever wrote an autobiography or memoir (as if people might be interested in that), I would like the title to be:
I don't have pooh on my underwear

And I offer no explanation here.

Reverence for Books and Reading

2010-01-05T14:35:00.002-05:00

Exercise Five:
Reverence for Books and Reading
Think back to a childhood experience with one special book. How did it affect you? Which characters were the most memorable? What did you learn? What long-term influence has it had on your life?

I had a discussion with a colleague/friend of mine recently. We were talking about books we had read. I mentioned that I didn't understand how people could re-read books. I mentioned that there were some classics we were required to read in school that I could never get through but would like to revisit now that I am older and much wiser. But I don't re-read books. He said, well why would you? There are too many to read the first time. And I thought that that summed up nicely how I feel about books.

But I have an exception.

The Chronicles of Narnia.

I remember reading all of the books once, but The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe I read twice. The only book I have ever read more than once. It still is with me. In fact, I don't think anyone was excited as I was when I found that they were going to be movies. And for the record, I loved the two that have been made so far. I have seen other adaptations and they suck.

My favorite character is Aslan. He reminds me so much of my father who has been dead for 21 years. Methodical, thoughtful, compassionate, fair. Those are characteristics I hope I have and I hope I impart to others.

C.S. Lewis made me want to devour books. And devour I do.

Ironically, it wasn't until fairly recently that I found out what a staunch Christian he was. I had no idea the Chronicles of Narnia had anything to do with God and such. I thought they were damn good stories. But I don't like them any less knowing they are about Christianity.

My niece started reading them and the librarian told her to read the last book first. I was so upset I almost went to the library to kill the woman. Thank God for Aslan. He reminded me to be calm. She will get her comeuppance for suggesting something so ridiculous to a young girl not inclined to read.

Thinking About Your Readers

2010-01-04T14:42:00.002-05:00

Exercise Four:
Thinking About Your Readers
Draft a poem or letter addressed to yoru fellow citizens in which you share one idea for making the world a better place.

Dear Slackers:
Life is not a solo project. He who hesitates is lost.

Those two statements have served as mantras for me for years. My father used to say the later often. It was a reminder to me that while I might be able to accomplish much, I have to get off my duff to do that. The former reminds me that I have to take the initiative, but without support from family and friends, I won't get very far.

That's not to say that I haven't done things that haven't been popular with family and friends, but with knowledge and communication, getting support is straightforward and necessary.

Find your passions and do what you have to do to fulfill those passions. I often hear people tell me that they are living vicariously through me and that angers and saddens me. I am not doing anything that can't be done by others. I certainly haven't cornered the market on possibilities. But hesitating will not get you to the end of the project. Hesitating will not allow you to follow your dreams. Hesitation is the tablespoon of reluctance needed to make the procrastination pie.

Once you discover one passion you may find you have others. Pursue them. Never stop and never forget that you are not a product of your activities and actions alone. You are a product of your environment, good and bad. Learn from mistakes and then vow not to repeat them. Learn from the mistakes of others. Learn.

And grow.

Pauline

Acting Upon your New Year's Resolutions

2010-01-03T14:33:00.000-05:00

Exercise Three:
Acting Upon Your New Year's Resolutions
To ensure that you write every day, set aside a realistic chunk of time relative to the demands on your workday. Approach your writing time as you do eating: something you must do.

Thank you Fred White! This is an easy one! I plan to write in this blog each day by writing relative to these exercises, which I am kinda getting into. I will also write in my other blogs as time permits. I will make a point of writing each morning. It seems to be when I am at my best in terms of creativity and energy.

Contemplating Art

2010-01-02T14:04:00.001-05:00

Exercise Two:
Contemplating Art
Spend several moments contemplating a work of art of your choice, and then write a one-page story in which you enter that work of art. (Like Mary Poppins in the park with Bert.)

Background: There is a piece of art that haunts me. I went to an art exhibit with a friend of mine. It was student art and she was displaying a piece. There was one incredibly dark piece that drew me in. I couldn't stop staring at it. All I saw were lines and zigzags in deep reds, blues, greens, and black. It was disturbing and haunting. Interestingly, when my friend asked me about it, I described what I saw and said that I felt this horrible feeling of dread. She asked me if I could see the face. I told her no. I didn't see anything of the sort. Then I looked again and peering from behind the bars and zigzags was this horrific face full of torment. I chose this piece of art because I still think about it over a decade later. I have no idea who the artist is or what it was called.

It started as a joke. Hanging back in the Halloween funhouse, sponsored by the local church to raise money for victims of domestic violence, sounded like fun. What sort of trouble could you get into?

A local college student designed and built the monstrosity that sat in the backyard of the Catholic Church. He was inspired by a class he had taken that made him draw everything in lines and straight pieces. There wasn't a rounded corner or window or nook in the place. Everything was bars and sharp corners and squares. It was neat in its simplicity, but jagged in its crookedness.

I thought it would be fun to hide in a corner and stay after the funhouse closed. It was easy to hide since there were no lights and there were small squares of space perfectly sized to house interlopers. I chose a nook toward the front of the funhouse. I hid.

An hour after closing, that was when I told myself I would move around. I didn't bring anything with buzzers or beepers, I didn't want to be detected. I had a sportswatch with a button to hit to emit a dayglo that would allow one to tell the time easily while in the dark.

It is interesting how the dark plays tricks on the senses and the mind. Ten minutes into my foray and I could hear all sorts of sounds and see all sorts of things between the bars. The bars in front of me were painted black, red and green. The red was slashed on as if splashed by the artist to resemble some macabre act of jealousy or greed.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. The hair on my arms was at attention. My eyes kept seeing shadows and darting light even though it was impossible to see any of those things. There were no windows in the funhouse. None. What was I seeing? What was I hearing? And now, I could swear, I was smelling something burning.

I couldn't stop myself from hitting my dayglo button to see the time. Fifteen more minutes, then ten, then five. Then the footsteps. In the dark with all the shadows and tricks of the sense, how could I be sure I heard footsteps? I was in a deserted place in the dark. I was in a nook behind bars in the dark with no way out that I could think of since the doors were closed and locked. Why did I think this would be fun? What is wrong with me?

I tried to squeeze out from behind the bars when I could hear the breathing. I thought I could even feel the heat from the breath on my face. I didn't dare scream. Instead I slunk back into the nook hoping whoever it was would leave. I heard it grip the bars, the familiar sound of a ring hitting the metal. Yes, now I heard breathing, panting almost. What was this? Who was this? No one knew I was going to be in the funhouse and I had heard the announcement that the house was closing and I remember seeing the guards coming through to make sure it was clear. Could it be a guard double checking? Then why the panting.

I heard keys this time and the ring on the pole again. Whoever it was was trying to come into the nook with me. My eyes were adjusting better and I could make out long hair hanging wildly around the bars and I thought I could make out red eyes and a large nose. I was surely losing my mind.

I was ready to scream and start flailing like a little girl fighting on the playground when he said "Is someone there?"

Not menacing, just questioning?

"The funhouse is closed and you will have to leave."

Then he turned on his flashlight and all my fears were assuaged. Here stood a senior high student with a flashlight and emo hair. I jumped and them realized it was my friend's younger brother. For a moment, I thought I could take him and run past him to the exit but I wasn't sure if the exits were unlocked. This was embarrassing enough. I had to cop to the fact that I was an idiot in a funhouse after hours.

I walked out of my hiding place without saying a word and he escorted me to the entrance. Neither of us said anything to the other. I hoped he wouldn't say anything to my friend or to others, but I couldn't be sure.

I will say that the evening terrified me and made me laugh when I realized how foolish I had been.

New Year, New Resolutions

2010-01-01T13:51:00.001-05:00

I thought I would try something different this year. I thought I would devote more time to writing. In fact, I thought it might be nice to make myself write each and every day. Successful writers, as they say, write every day. It doesn't always matter what is written write, as long as something is written.

I also think 'they' should be shot, but I digress.

I found this wonderful little book by Fred White titled The Daily Writer. In it there are 366 daily writing exercises for the year. They begin on Jan. 1. I will begin on Jan. 1.

[Full disclosure: In theory, I was to begin this exercise on Jan. 1. I wrote notes in the book, but did not commit them to this blog. With the wonderful blog technology I am able to post this on Jan. 1 even though the posting occurred on Jan. 5. So much for resolutions.]

Each day has a theme with an associated explanation as well as an example and a description of the exercise. I will post the theme and exercise here and any explanation should I find it is needed. Then I will post my brilliant writing. Judge for yourself. For those who think this will be all I do, don't worry. I also plan to add other commentary as it hits me. This blog won't be entirely composed of exercises. Perhaps they will be fun. Let's see how far I get...

Exercise One:
Uses of Allegory
Compose an allegory, keeping in mind that each of your characters represents an abstract trait. Give your main character a goal she struggles against powerful obstacles to attain.

Um, what? I am not quite sure I know what allegory is. Hey, Fred White, you couldn't start with something easy like, write your name in all caps? No, allegory. I looked at the explanation and I think I have it. But I am not quite sure. Those who understand allegory, let me know if I understand it.

Fanny stared at the plate of Christmas cookies wondering if she should call them Holiday cookies even though they were in the shapes of Santa Clauses and angels. She had been living in the town of Bigassbastard, New York since her mid-twenties and was anxious to move. In fact, after the new year, she would be relocating to Canoe, Maine. It was a move she anticipated and dreaded in much the way she anticipated and dreaded eating the Christmas cookies. Would the move offer its initial rush to be surpassed by a feeling of lethargy and guilt? Would she then settle for mediocrity and wonder that that was all she had and all she could hope for and then wallow in self-pity for another decade before taking control.

No, this year she would move beyond Bigassbastard and embrace the new possibilities.

Garanimals for Adults

2009-12-24T13:47:00.002-05:00

Do you remember those outfits your mom could buy when you were younger? Garanimals? For those who have no idea what this means, let me explain. Kids would be able to put outfits together on their own simply by matching the tags with one another. For example, if your pants had a zebra tag, you would find a zebra tagged shirt and, wonder of all wonders, you would have a matching outfit!

Can we make them for adults?

I think we need to have tagged outfits for many people. I have seen far too many zebras with tigers with elephants and it is disturbing to me. Put your tags together and then walk out the door! What on Earth are you thinking with some of these outfits?!

Zebras should not mix with tigers. In fact, I think in nature, tigers eat zebras! I think that should happen in fashion. Predators and prey do not mingle effectively. There is a reason!

Please, learn to match.

Drugs Can Be So Inconvenient

2009-10-19T21:42:00.001-04:00

I love big pharmaceutical advertising. Why take a pill daily when you can take a pill once a month?

I'll tell you why. Taking a pill daily forms a habit. Habits are easy. Taking a pill once a month requires that you think, mark it on your calendar, wear one of those stupid strings around your finger to remind you.

Give me a daily pill.

Better yet, let me improve my diet and start exercising. Perhaps I won't need drugs, then.

[But perhaps I will.]

What? Students Protest Doing Their Own Work?

2009-10-19T21:39:00.003-04:00

There was a wonderful article in the Buffalo News today about students, particularly at the University at Buffalo, who have a hard time understanding their foreign professors. I understand, to a point. Struggling to understand a professor may be taxing, but eventually you will get it. And you better learn.

You will have to deal with a global marketplace and you better get used to trying to understand others. My favorite quote from the article, though, is:

“It makes me feel like I’m being personally cheated out of my tuition money,” said Urtel, a junior. “You have to read the book, try and learn it on your own and work with other students going through the same thing.”

Those sons-of-bitches. They expect you to read the book and try to figure something out on your own? And share knowledge and skills with others? I would complain!

Demand a refund!

And you thought a good education meant your hand was held and your ass was wiped. Peter Pan grows up.

I Had Emergency Surgery and I am Now Fine...

2009-10-03T21:44:00.002-04:00

I had surgery this past week.

Surgery sucks.

I am out of the hospital now and am able to think about what happened. Here it is:

I farted.....

and I pooped.

That seemed to be my "get out of jail" card. I did not say get out of jail free card. Because I have a high-deductible health insurance plan, I will need to get a third job to pay for this damn surprise surgery! But I was told that once I farted and I pooped, I would likely be discharged.

I am home. I am sort of standing upright, but it's difficult. I have about an 8 inch vertical incision in my belly running from my (bleep) to above my belly button. I have about 27 staples holding my guts in place. I am no longer on the meds, but I feel pretty good. And I will tell you what - dilaudid should be applauded, my friends! That warm feeling taking over your body before you feel like shouting "wee!" That's a word we don't use very often and we should. Wee! Or is it Whee? I don't know. It's a fun word.

What happened - I started feeling quite bloated a week ago Thurs. and thought nothing of it. Then on Monday I had more intense abdominal pain than I had ever had pain in my life. I wasn't sure if I should call an ambulance or wait it out or be driven to the hospital. The pain got so bad, we called am ambulance and they whisked me to St. Joseph Hospital (sorry, it's Sisters of Charity Hospital, St. Joseph Campus). At first, no one knew what to make of my pain - heart attack, gall bladder, food poisoning, kidney stones, appendicitis (sorry, had that 37 years ago) or gasp - pregnancy.

In fact, I recalled that I had a very distant cousin who didn't know she was pregnant until she went into labor. Since my pains seemed to be contractions, I rubbed my belly saying to myself "please don't be a baby, please don't be a baby." Sad, but true.

As a serious aside, from a health care standpoint, I was excited to note that they did ask about heart conditions. This is something women have been fighting for years - being taken seriously for heart conditions even when we are a spry and young 40. It was nice to not be asked if I was hysterical or had some stupid fight with my husband.

Back to the story....CT scan revealed bowel obstruction. It was suspected that the appendectomy I had 37 years ago had finally developed enough scar tissue to be dangerous and dangerous enough to snuff off my bowel, if you will. I was 3 when I had my appendix removed. My mother is often asked how on Earth she could have known that her 3-year-old had appendicitis. She likes to reply that she knew something was wrong with me when I stopped talking.

The doctor told me the scenarios:
-Worst case scenario would have been me sitting home working through the pain and perhaps not making it through the pain (death). He applauded me for showing up.

-Second worse case, the constricted piece of the bowel was gangrenous and had to be removed and my bowel resectioned. That would have given me a temporary colostomy. With the pain I was in, I thought, dude, I'll wear my bowel around my neck if it makes the pain stop!

-The constriction is easily taken care of with surgery and I go home uncomfortable but alive.

Thank God number three won.

One of my favorite things was my catheter. I know you must think I have lost my mind. Perhaps it was a lobotomy I had. While some may argue that I keep my brain in my bowels, alas, my brain was not affected. Catheters are cool. I always have to stop to pee so it was nice not to have to get up. I would lay in bed and say to myself, "hmm, I think I should have to pee by now," and then I would think "I guess I am." It's pretty cool.

Good news and bad news:
-My marathon training likely contributed to me getting out of the hospital and on my feet sooner rather than later.
-This was likely to happen eventually and better now with me young, sassy, saucy, and fit than later when I am old.
-This may happen again, but I know the signs and symptoms.

Suffice to say, I am recovering and this setback has not changed Pauline! You may applaud or grieve. The choice is yours.

My Dreams Have Come True!

2009-08-19T21:34:00.000-04:00

Wine comes in a convenient drink box.

I did not make that up.

I was at the liquor store with a good friend of mine. We had decided that drinking at the restaurant was too expensive when we had this fabulous liquor store across the street and her vacant parents' house up the street.

No, we are not teenagers. We are nearly 40. But we also know when to take advantage of a free home.

We laughed because the idea does seem absurd when you are becoming a more seasoned member of society, but who cares.

It was when were were selecting bottles of wine that we made the discovery. We were struggling with what to do. Neither of us had a bottle opener and since we each had about 3,000 at home, we didn't want to buy another for the afternoon.

We could have purchased screw-top wine, but I don't think that occurred to us.

Then we saw it.

Alice White wine in a convenient and handy drink box. The top screwed off and you could suck the wine right out! You didn't even need a glass! Joy! Rapture!

And, we discovered, it fits nicely in your cup holder in the car.

NOTE: I do not advocate drinking while driving or drinking and driving. I am merely making an observation. If I did not have a bag or a large purse, I could put the wine in my cup holder and it would stay.

Now, if they could just package wine in those cool Capri Sun pouches, I would be in heaven and I would never leave the schoolyard!

How about drink box wine and string cheese?

A restaurant without food, huh?

2009-07-07T20:41:00.002-04:00

Jamie and I decided to try our local Nascar-themed bar and grill for lunch today. Trackside Bar and Grille - across the street where McDonald's used to be.

We tried going there shortly after it opened, but it was around dinner time. And the music was so loud, we couldn't even hear ourselves think, so we left.

Today we were the only people in the place aside from two guys at the bar.

We walked in and the barkeep/waitress sort of looked at us as if we walked in topless. I asked if they were serving lunch. And she said, "yeah, I don't know what we're serving, but I'll find out in a second."

I have no idea what that could mean.

Until....

She went to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later. She returned, leaned on our table, and said, "We don't have chicken wings, french fries or onion rings."

After a pause, I looked at her and said, "What do you have? We have never been here before so we don't know."

She went to another table and grabbed one paper menu. One. I then got up and grabbed another from the table. We were the only freaking people in the place. Why should we have to share a menu?

We ordered colas while we looked things over. Before she left she told us that the owner/cook "was out of town and over the holiday weekend they had run out of everything and he was trying to figure out what to order and it won't be in until tomorrow. Apparently he didn't order enough food for the weekend."

Apparently.

"And since they were out of french fries and onion rings, everything comes with that so it's really tough."

I noticed a specials board with a grilled chicken sandwich, baked beans and cole slaw. It sounded good to me.

When she returned with the drinks I asked for the grilled chicken sandwich special.

"Oh, that was the special two weeks ago and he didn't tell me what the new special was so I left it. I don't think we have that anymore."

Here's an idea, nimrod, erase the specials board if you don't have a special. It's okay to leave it blank. In fact, I bet your customers would prefer you leave it blank particularly since you don't actually have it.

We looked at the menu a bit more and, with no help from her in terms of what was actually available, we decided to drink our colas and leave.

And we did.

I don't think I have sucked back a cola that quickly ever.

The kicker is that tonight is the cruise night sponsored by the Trackside Grill. For those unfamiliar with cruise nights, it's an evening for car goobers of all sorts to drive their classic cars to designated parking lots whereby then then sit in the parking lot talking with their brethren about engines and tires and chassis. I don't know what any of that means and I think I am a better person as a result.

But my husband loves this stuff.

At any rate, the cruise night draws quite a few goobers. And the sponsor has no food.

Another idea - take a ride to Sisco or BJs or someplace with food and buy some. Just a thought.

It was a shame. We love to support local businesses, but it was our second visit and it was unpleasant each time. Unpleasant to the point that I am prompted to write in this blog and hope that others will see it and not go. That's terrible.

But we do not recommend Trackside Bar and Grille. And we will not return.

National Nude Day is Coming!

2009-06-23T10:12:00.002-04:00

I was reading a magazine yesterday and came across a listing of holidays in July. Of course we know July 4 is our Independence Day. And July 1 is Independence Day in Canada. July 14 is Bastille Day in France.

Did you know that July 14 is also National Nude Day?

How to celebrate, how to celebrate.....

Of couse, we will have to celebrate nude by getting naked.

July 14 is a Tuesday this year and I have nothing planned as yet, so I could just run around my house naked while toasting my nakedness with some wine.

It is the middle of summer, so if I were to go outside naked, I would need to slather on the sunscreen everywhere! Believe it or not, there are parts of me that haven't seen sun ever. I am not in the habit of running about naked. Sure, I like being naked, but running about naked.....Well, perhaps.

It certainly renders the question, "what will I wear?" moot.

Trains sometimes kill you if you stand in front of them

2009-03-31T13:15:00.000-04:00

First, let me say that I am in no way suggesting that the following story is not tragic. I feel for the family and friends struggling with this incredible loss.

How do you not hear a train coming when you are walking on the railroad tracks?

I have lived near trains my entire life and I hear them from miles away. When you are near tracks and on train is approaching, not only do you hear the whistle loud and clear, but you also feel the train. There is a pretty distinct vibration associated with a train a comin'.

A few weeks ago, a couple was killed walking home from a mini-mart. The most direct route from the mini-mart to their home was over the railroad tracks.

Something else I know from experience - don't walk on tracks for any length of time - if at all. I don't care if it is the most direct route. Take the longer route. Trains kill people.

And a train killed this couple. People are still wondering how it happened - was it a suicide of some sort? I find it hard to believe that, even if your back was to the train, you didn't hear it, see the lights, feel the earth vibrating. I don't understand.

This sort of accident is a tragedy, but a tragedy I can't help but think could have been prevented.

Take care when walking on tracks.

Or, better yet, walk on the side of the road so that a drunk driver can run your ass over and then flee the scene.

We were steered clear of the fat lady section

2009-03-31T13:14:00.000-04:00

My friend and I were in a specialty intimates/swimwear shop the other day because we are both quite hip and cool. Actually, one of my students works at this shop and is working with the shop as part of her final IMC project developing a complete marketing plan for them.

At any rate, my friend mentioned that she loved the shop because the selection is amazing and the people are helpful and such. Also, the quality is top notch.

I have to say, I fell in love. I had a great time looking at all the suits and intimate apparel. I told my friend we couldn't buy anything until I found out if my student earned commission. If we were going to purchase, my student should benefit.

We were wandering throughout the entire store and happened into the back section. We were admiring the suits when the owner came by and said, "You know, you are in the plus size section. Many of the suit styles that are back here are also up in the front section."

We were politely steered out of the fat lady section!

This is big news because my friend and I had been losing weight these last few months. But I guess we didn't realize we were actually skinny.

No one who is skinny and had been skinny her entire life will appreciate this story. But if you are formerly fat, you may be shedding a little tear over this story.

We are no longer thought of as plus size. I feel so good I want to run naked down my street shouting "I was kicked out of the fat lady section of the swimsuit store!"

But I won't because it's still a bit chilly.

Where's the Boogie Man when you need him?

2009-03-30T16:53:00.002-04:00

My husband and I were in a nice restaurant last night. We were the only people there enjoying the peacefulness when what should happen?

Tots. Three tots.

Three tots whom we suspect belonged to the owner of the restaurant because someone from the kitchen came out to join the ill-behaved brats. She seemed to own the place.

These kids were loud, obnoxious, ornery, ugly, insert other words here.

I decided that if I ever own a restaurant (and I may in the future), I will post a sign just inside the front door that reads something like this:

Ill-behaved children will not be tolerated.
If you bring children into this restaurant, know that if they act up management will:
-Get in touch with the Boogie Man to make sure he hides under their beds at night for the next week.
-Call Santa to let him know they should receive coal for Christmas.
-Tell the Tooth Fairy to remove all their teeth at once, causing them great pain, and then leave them nothing.
-Make sure the Easter Bunny knows to poop in their Easter Baskets so they think it's chocolate.
-Shove a flag up their asses on flag day.

Bon Appetit!

I'm the Sandwich, You are the Meat

2009-03-30T16:45:00.002-04:00

I was in a restaurant a few weeks ago eating alone. I enjoy eating alone because I can read the paper, or read a magazine, or do not a damn thing but concentrate on my food and enjoy the solitude.

I also like to eavesdrop. I know it is wrong, but who gives a crap. Sometimes it is damn funny. Sometimes it is depressing as hell. Sometimes I jump into professor mode and want to help.

That happened.

Two grown men were talking about an upcoming meeting with their company. Immediately I want to know more. I hear the younger of the two dudes talking about the approach they should take at this particular meeting. He thinks that he should start the meeting and then introduce the older dude to express to them the importance of standing up as men and acting as men.

My ire was raised because I like to think we have gotten past all men in an organization, but I guess we haven't. And if there were women, they were being presented as men, and that pisses me off too.

Then the young dude mentions that the church congregation will something something. When I hear church, I figuratively curl up into the fetal position and go to my happy place.

Apparently, the old dude is a minister/pastor for an evangelical church and is trying to spread the word of the Lord and the mission of the church and the memory that is Jesus.

Or, as we used to say when I worked in creative services for a Catholic organization, the Rah Rah, Blah Blah, Jesus.

The young dude is trying to help him revitalize the church.

At one point, the young dude said, "As I see it, I am the sandwich and you are the meat in this situation."

I am still trying to figure out what the hell that means.

Does it mean that I am the bread wrapping around the large salami that is you?

Or does it mean that my whole grain goodness will try to tame your high fat, high sodium deli ham?

I will embrace the congregation, much as a pita contains the souvlaki, while you will indoctrinate them with the word of the Lord, much as the deli meats poison the body with their high sodium content?

Thoughts?

Pi Day is Coming! Get ready!

2009-03-12T14:42:00.003-04:00

Calling all goobers.....

You know you're a goober when you receive an invitation to join the Scientific American Book Club.

I am a member of a few books clubs - Doubleday, One Spirit, Book of the Month, Homestyle Books - but not a goober book club.

This is how they decided to entice me:
"The Beauty of Numbers"
Discover concepts essential to mathematics.

I can start my five-book library today by ordering the following five books:

e: The story of a number
The Joy of Pi
The Golden Ratio: The Story of Phi, The World's Most Astonishing Number
Zero: The Biography of a Dangerous Idea
The Imaginary Tale, the Story of (square root of negative one) - I can't do equations in blogger.

All for $5.99 plus a free book!

And my free book?

To Infiity and Beyond: A Cultural History of the Infinite

I was stunned when I ripped open my envelope. Stunned. How else would you describe it?

Thank God I had a glass of wine or I might have cried at the amazing offered being given me. Imagine all of that so cheap?

They almost had me.

But then I remembered that while I enjoy math (particularly if I get money and get to add it to my account), I don't think I want to read about it. Honestly, what kind of person sits with a book titled The Golden Ratio: The Story of Phi, The World's Most Astonishing Number?

I admit that I get more excited than most when National Geographic Magazine shows up each month, but even I don't think I could get excited when the book Zero: The Biography of a Dangerous Idea shows up in its wrapping, all crisp and waiting to be cracked.

Of course, knowing those who read this blog, I can expect to get all five of these books gift-wrapped in paper with equations all over it. I turn 40 this year. What better way to celebrate that milestone number, than with books celebrating other milestone numbers and mathematical ideas.

Jesus.

Can we make time fly?

2009-03-04T13:10:00.003-05:00

How i wish i could pull days closer so that the months run very fast so you come soon ha ha

That was a statement in an email I received from our contact in Uganda - Mr. Fred. I had told him that we would be returing in May/June and that May/June wasn't that far away. Time flies and we would be there sooner than later.

I just love that statement. It's poetic.

RAT or ROT

2009-03-04T13:03:00.002-05:00

Regular and irregular readers of this blog probably recognize a theme - I don't care for ill-behaved and ill-mannered children.

In fact, I also hate crying and screaming babies.

A student of mine was discussing a new way of introducing high school students to babies and baby-rearing. Remember health class when you would be issued a bag of flour or sugar and asked to "raise" it for a week? We didn't actually do this in our high school, as I recall, but I think they may have done it on an episode of the Brady Bunch.

Now, they have "dolls" that simulate babies. I guess you are issued a "baby" and asked to raise it for whatever time frame. I guess it cries in the middle of the night, burps, spits up, poops, etc. I guess.

I would like to propose a different program - Rent A Tot (RAT) or Rent Our Tot (ROT). Parents could let a high school student borrow their child for even just a night. I think it would go a long way toward educating children about sex, birth control, and babies, without actually mentioning any of those things, per se. I think federal dollars could be allocated to this in any administration (Republican or Democrat) since there isn't talk of birth control and no talk of sex.

Hell, I would think watching a baby for the night would be birth control for me.

In fact, when I went on an RV trip with my family this summer, we had two young boys and 2 teenage girls in the RV. I told my now husband that not only was this birth control, I may never want to have sex again - just in case!

So I think that if students were able to rent an actual tot, it would be more effective than a doll.

And I think that many parents would be more than willing to rent their tots out for the night - or for a week.

Anyone?

Ill-Behaved Children

2008-12-11T17:59:00.003-05:00

FYI - your ill-behaved children are cute only to you.

I don't think it's cute that little Susie walks all over your pathetic ass. It is disturbing that a child has so much power.

I don't think it's cute that little Tommy beats on all of your pots and pans as if they were drums, thus forcing you to order out - probably chicken nuggets because that's all the little bastard will eat. It means you are stupid.

I don't think it's cute that little Johnny interrupts our phone calls. Teach the little shit some manners.

I don't find little Annie so adorable when, you, her parents let her run about a restaurant as if she owns the place getting in the way of the wait staff coming to my table with my meal. I also don't find it cute when Annie screams until you get her the dessert or whatever other crap you are feeding her. It says much too much about you.

Can't we go back to the old days? Not that I ever wish for that, but when it comes to parenting, can't we go back to "children should be seen and not heard?" How do we legislate that? Because there are many children I would like to see and never hear. Hell, there are some children I think should be neither seen nor heard, but that's another post altogether.

Wii Fit, Really?

2008-12-09T17:50:00.002-05:00

Apparently everyone and her brother is buying this damn Wii Fit for the holidays. I see the commercials all over and they drive me crazy.

I am trying to understand it.

Instead of getting off your lazy ass and going to the gym or a tennis court, basketball court, football field, etc., you stand on this squarish pad and "play" your sport of choice while watching "yourself" on TV?

Two words:

Get outside!

You may still go outside and you may still walk in the field or on a hiking trail or run down the street. Go for a swim, kayak, ride a bike. There are so many things to do in the fresh air, why would you confine yourself to your living room? And don't blame it on winter. You may still ski, snowshoe, run.

What's worse is that I saw the yoga version. Who is doing yoga on a small square big enough for my size 11 feet? Yoga requires a mat. Yoga may also be done outdoors. What a wonderful feeling doing yoga in the shade on the grass. Yoga may be done in a studio with other like-minded individuals (and it is fabulous when the group is working as one). Are you doing it balancing on a white pad?

I don't understand what our world is coming to. Have we really gotten so lazy that a workout consists of watching TV?

Of course, I guess if you pop in an exercise video, it's relatively comparable, but I find it disturbing that Wii Fit is being touted as a solution to our obesity problem.

Disturbing.

Thank God for the Wrapping Paper Cutter

2008-12-09T15:33:00.002-05:00

My husband seems to like infomercials. Not the infomercials that are half hour pseudo-programs, but the infomercials disguised as regular 30 or 60 second commercials.

I also enjoy them because they are absurd! I have no idea who these people are doing this stupid shit. For example:

-The woman promoting the dog grooming tool that is supposed to make brushing your dog easy and quick. She is frustrated sitting on the floor trying to groom her dog. She is nearly buried in dog hair. And then she shrugs her shoulders and tosses the old-fashioned dog brush to the ground. What's the issue, Sunshine? Brushing your dog should not be a contact sport. It shouldn't require heavy equipment. It certainly shouldn't require some fancy equipment that costs $19.99. But wait - let's toss in a dog wormer. A little tube that you stick in your dogs ass and then suck the worms out. I made that last one up, I hope, but I bet it's coming!

-Pasta making plastic looking thing. Do people have trouble making pasta? Boil water, toss pasta in, wait. This contraption requires that you put boiling water in some tube thing and then toss the pasta in and then wait. Do you see the difference? Neither do I. Same principle, more equipment to clog the cupboards.

-Rubber cement glue stuff that is supposed to fix everything. I love this commercial because people do the stupidest things. Drilling a hole in tile - well, of course you have to hold the drill steady or it will crack your tile. But I am curious about the stuff. I want to stick some to the dog's back and hang her from stuff to see what happens. Before I have the humane society at my door, I'm joking. Although, I wonder if that would work as a dog grooming device since brushing the dog's hair is such a chore!

-Since it is the holiday season, our new favorite is the wrapping paper cutter. My husband saw this on TV and said, "Look, Hon, a wrapping paper cutter." I told him we already had one. We call it scissors. This $5 piece of equipment is supposed to make cutting wrapping paper easy and safe. What are you doing with scissors that makes cutting wrapping paper difficult and unsafe? Are you drunk? Flailing the scissors about? Once you get started with the cutting, it's as if you aren't using scissors because it just glides through the paper. I guess if you were wrapping with burlap or cardboard, you might have some trouble, but really?

My advice to people - get your heads out of your asses. Like isn't as complicated as infomercials would make us believe!

Can't I get a Health Break?

2008-10-26T15:18:00.003-04:00

I enjoy reading articles and tidbits about what you can do to improve your health. I particularly like reading about things you have no control over, like genetics. If you are predisposed to cancer, for instance, you are likely to get it. Education allows us to recognize the signs and symptoms to prevent catastrophe, but you will likely get it.

Sure, eat better and exercise and you might avoid it. Might.

That's not to say that I am advocating that we eat like crap and sit on our lazy asses. Quite the contrary. I think that every bit helps so have at it. But enjoy yourself. What good does it do if you live longer only to eat rice cakes for another year.

And no matter what anyone says, rice cakes taste like a horse's ass.

I found an article that I had to share with my sister. The two of us have similar chacteristics, as would be expected. We are both tall, both have blue eyes, and neither of us has an ass.

Imagine my surprise when I found out that those people under 5'5" have a lower risk of heart disease. Those people with brown eyes have less of a chance of developing melanoma (a disease our father died of - and he had brown eyes - hmmm, studies suck). Those people with junk in the trunk have decreased risk of diabetes.

So we laughed. We are at greater risk of heart disease, diabetes and melanoma because we are tall, have blue eyes, and don't have JLo's ass.

In fact, the older we get - if looking at our mother is any indication - the more concave our ass becomes. So instead of having no ass, we end up with negative ass.

I have no idea what medical condition that precludes us for.

My breasts can generate money!

2008-10-26T15:13:00.002-04:00

I haven't written in my blog in quite some time. I have wanted to, but haven't seemed to find the time. Now I have a backlog of funny crap I need to get off my chest.

Let me start with my wedding. The wedding itself wasn't funny. I am thrilled to be married. I love my husband.

We chose a Saturday in September because we thought it would still be nice enough to have a wedding outdoors. Oh it was nice. Nice and shitty. It rained the whole damn day. And it was so humid I was sweating down my back and between my breasts.

I had heard that if it rains on your wedding day, it's good luck. Know who came up with that? Some poor superstitious bastard who needed to believe that the bad weather on his wedding was a good omen to get his new and nagging wife to shut up about the fact that her make-up has run down her face and her hair is frizzy.

I had neither of those problems. In fact, I had a pretty good day, despite the weather.

I discovered that wedding dresses - if you get the right one - can serve as a purse. I was able to wear this corset thing and my strapless dress and have room to spare in my cleavage to hold things like my vows, lipstick and the checks to pay the DJ and the caterer.

In fact, it is when I went to pay the DJ and I reached into my cleavage to get the check, that I noticed a $50 bill. I have no idea where it came from.

My only conclusion is that my breasts have the power to generate money!

I should have kept the dress on a bit longer.

Writing is the best prescription

2008-06-12T21:48:00.002-04:00

My friend told me that I should write about Beeno.

That's what got these numerous blog posts started. She also told me that I should write about my dad. I did mention him in a couple of posts, but I need to do a better job of that. Let me put something together.

I have a speech I gave at the SBU Relay For Life event. They asked if I would speak about the effect cancer has had on my and my life. I had to write about my father. The following is excerpted from that speech. It was the first time I spoke publicly about it since his death nearly 20 years ago.

When I was young, cancer was an abstract word, an abstract thought. Distant aunts and uncles died from cancer. I didn’t know these people so cancer didn’t really seem to matter. Cancer was also hushed. No one explained cancer so it wasn’t real.

Cancer became real in 1988. I was at SBU as a student. Your life is a whirlwind when you start as a college student. Yet, things may change so quickly. In a tiny window of time, your spectacular world becomes blinding. The security you know and trust is whisked away. Your life is forced to u-turn or spin or skid - or just stop. Your heart continues to beat and you continue to breath, but you don’t know why - or how. Weren’t these supposed to be the best four years of your life?

How were you chosen to be the recipient of such pain and anguish? And why do you feel so selfish for feeling so?

I had two loves - two passions - writing and biology - you try to figure it out.

I’d wanted to be a marine biologist for as long as I can remember, but I’ve also just loved words. Words have immeasurable power. Words make you laugh, cry, scream and hurt. That is power. Power I always expected to use for good so don’t panic.

I was also the very definition of daddy’s little girl. He was my world and I looked to him for guidance, strength, courage, wisdom and encouragement. And he offered it. And I took it.

He was a Canisius grad. He loved that damn place. He wanted me to go. We had gone to Golden Griffins basketball games for as long as I can remember. We had seats near the president of the college - Father Demske at the time. That was cool - imagine sitting near the president. Imagine my dad talking to the president of Canisius College. That was cool! Now I realize talking to the college president is no big deal. They're human just like us, right? Who am I kidding, it is still pretty cool!

He told Father Demske of my college search. Told him I was considering Canisius and - gasp - St. Bonaventure. Oh the horror! And, truth be told, one of the main reasons I was considering SBU is because of the built-in rivalry. I knew nothing about SBU.

My dad arranged for me to meet with the head of Canisius’ biology department. I toured the campus. Met Father Demske (still cool).

Then he drove us to SBU for a tour.

By the time we did that, my focus had changed. I toured SBU expecting to be a mass communication major - as it was called then. I remember the tour. We were with another high school senior and his mother. I felt so sorry for him. His mother never shut up. She just yammered and yammered and yammered. Toward the end, she made a comment to my dad. He hadn’t asked one question or made one comment throughout. “You are awfully quiet,” she said to my father.
To which he replied, “I only speak when I have something worthwhile to say.” Without missing a beat he smiled at her in that manner of his - you weren’t sure if he was insulting you or merely making a statement. It sure shut her up and I chuckled.

As we were leaving, we sat quietly in the car - station wagon with fake wood paneling, perhaps you know it from Brady Bunch re-runs on Nick at Night?

“I’ve lost you, haven’t I,” he asked.
“Oh yeah,” I said meaning SBU had taken a hold of my soul. He told me he knew I was a goner when he saw the campus. I knew and he knew that I belonged here.

Reconciling with Father Demske was another matter. Even Father Demske had to admit that Canisius’ communication program was no match for the juggernaut built by Jandoli. Canisius ceded defeat!

I came to SBU as a Mass Comm major. My dad tried to convince me to change my major.
“I pay my secretary more than you’ll ever get as a writer,” he said.
I don’t care. I want to change the world.”
I think he knew better than to argue with the naïve optimism of a high school senior.

He was thrilled when I changed my major after my first semester here. Biology.
“But you’re keeping your minor, in Mass Comm, right?”
Of course.

April, 1988
Freshman year
Diagnosis

One would think I would remember how exactly I found out my father had cancer. One would think that would be an indelible mark. I cannot. I don’t recall if I heard over the phone (and it would have been the pay phone at the end of the hall on 2nd Fal because we didn’t have cell phones and we didn’t have phones in our rooms). Or if he told me when I went home for a weekend

I seem to recall he told me he was having some tests done. His doctor thought he might have cancer but wanted to be sure. They did a biopsy on a tumor, he told me. And I remember saying, well, Dad, I hope it’s malignant. Hey, I was a bio major, but I clearly wasn’t pre-med. He said, thanks a lot and reminded me I wanted benign. Of course he was right.

Did that horrible and unmalicious slip-up jinx my father somehow? Of course not, but it doesn’t mean I don’t wrestle with that thought from time to time.

That tumor was malignant.
And it wasn’t alone.
His body was riddled with them.
Big tumors you could see peeking out from his neck, his chest, his abdomen.
My father was diagnosed with metastatic malignant melanoma, a kind of skin cancer. For those who don’t know what metastic malignant melanoma is, here’s the translation - damn bad skin cancer.

My family has always been, is and is likely to always be incredibly optimistic. And I was optimistic and naïve. I was also at SBU - an hour and a half from home. I didn’t have to see my father deteriorate and ignorance coupled with fear kept me at school.

Summer came. My father moved more slowly and deliberately, but I pretended not to notice. He would visit me at the restaurant where I worked for the summer. He would show up without my mom or brother or sister. I think he wanted to be alone - but just a little bit alone. Manhattan and a meal. I would make the Manhattan but I couldn’t now. Couldn’t even tell you what was in it.
His only brother, my uncle, opened a restaurant in the Southgate Plaza. My father was the Vice President of the Plaza. I am sure my father pulled some strings to get him in there. It was his brother, after all.
Opening night and my dad had to leave early. I went to his office, knowing he would be there. I saw him sitting in his chair with his feet on his desk Hindsight will show me how brave his face was.
He was exhausted and couldn’t stay.
Now I think that was just part of it.
Dad, did you know you were dying?
When you found out and resigned yourself to that - did you feel?
Or did you ever resign yourself to that?
Did you know you wouldn’t see your brother’s restaurant fail?
Did you know you wouldn’t see your son or daughter graduate high school?
Did you know you wouldn’t see me graduate college three times?
Did you know you wouldn’t see your grandchildren?
Did you know you wouldn’t see any of us get married?
Did you know you wouldn’t see your wife, love of your life, soul-mate, deteriorate too?

Summer passed to fall and I was back at SBU as a sophomore and as a full-fledged biology major.
My dad tried to get me to come home on weekends but I kept making excuses - homework, tests, papers. I couldn’t handle it. I was 19 with a world of opportunities at my feet and instead of embracing them I couldn’t think past not seeing him, but seeing him was too difficult. How was I supposed to remain stoic when my rock was eroding and too quickly for me to keep step.

The end came suddenly. My half sister called because my uncle called her. She told me doctors were giving him a week. I uncharacteristically fell apart. Turns out I am human.
I loaded my dirty laundry (literal laundry) into the trunk of my car - hey - I needed normal and laundry was normal. And I sped up Route 16 (but not through Franklinville).

My mom didn’t want to tell any of us how dire the situation was. I hated her for it. Who was she to decide? Well, she was my mother and a mother’s job is to protect her children. It wasn’t until years later that I realized she was doing the best she could with the information she had.

I got home and she wasn’t there but she arrived shortly thereafter after having visited with my father in the hospital. I started to get angry because she didn’t tell me anything and she cried. Sobbed in fact. In 19 years, I had never seen her cry.
And it scared me to death.
It became real.
In these few short months I had wished away the cancer to the point that I believed - no matter what - it wasn’t getting my dad.
I made my mom take me to him.
Now I know why my mom kept me from him, but I didn’t then. My father, who was 6’4” and about 200 pounds when he was healthy, was 120 pounds lying in a hospital bed. He was yellow and jaundice because the cancer had attacked his liver.
He had few lucid moments because it had attacked his brain.
He would drift in and out of consciousness and when he would, he didn’t know who I was - or who anyone was, for that matter.
How do you reconcile that? My own father didn’t recognize me.
One moment he looked at my mother who was holding his hand and he said Ma (he always called her that), do you know I’m dying? I don’t think she answered him but she kept holding his hand and stroking his hand.
The week he was given lasted one day. It’s a day I won’t ever forget and one I sometimes wish I didn’t always remember.

Diagnosed in April
Dead in December
He was 42 years old
And he was my father.

Dad, do you remember your promise to me?
We talked about education - you with your MBA and me on my way to a Bachelors degree. I asked you why you never got your Ph.D. since you were such a proponent of education and you matter-of-factly told me that in business the only reason anyone would get a Ph.D. would be to teach which you had no interest in and besides, you could make far more money in the private sector. You must have seen the dejected look on my face because you quickly said “I tell you what. When you get yours, I’ll go with you.”
Well, Dad, I finished mine just over a year ago. And I think you had a little to do with that. I certainly toasted you when I finished! As well as every deity there is, but I digress.

This December will mark 20 years since your death.
It gets easier, but never easy.

I heard a cancer survivor speak a few years ago. He spoke of two kinds of people with cancer - survivors and victims. I hated that, primarily because I hate the word victims in this context. It seems so defeating.
I prefer two types of survivors - those still with us and those blazing trails in a higher realm or whatever your beliefs prescribe.
Now before you start thinking I’ve had a drink or a few - let me explain.
My father is dead - how is he a survivor?
He’s right here.
His skill, drive and ambition encourage me. So he has helped me to craft these words.
His courage has helped me to share these words with all of you. To help me wrench open my heart and spill its contents.
His compassion and caring are reasons I am here telling you cancer need not be a death sentence.
His experiences helped to mold my own life.
His is right here writing to all of you.
And he is proud.
Proud that his life, in some small way, may educate and move people to action.
Proud that I have found a voice and am not afraid to use it.
Proud of you - people he has never met - that through your own experiences and with your own survivors - here or not - we may help to eradicate this viscious disease that has caused so much pain.
But yet in that pain.
Hope.

Thank you, Dad.

[Watch Beeno for me.]

Bereavement

2008-06-12T21:46:00.002-04:00

My sister sent me a card. It was made especially for the loss of a pet. Hallmark sure knows how to capitalize on grief.

And I am thankful for that.

My sister wrote a wonderful note that hit the spot. She wrote exactly what I needed to hear. And then she told me.

"Beeno was loved more than any dog I know and he knew that and loved you back."

Thanks, sister of mine.

Reason for Everything

2008-06-12T21:40:00.002-04:00

I asked my mom to come and help me clean my house.

She is damn good at it.

My house was a disaster after returning from Uganda. Dog hair everywhere, dirt, clutter. I needed help.

I didn't think I could do it myself since I was worried that I would start crying every second.

My mom came over with all of her cleaners to help me out.

We started with the living room because this is the room with Beeno's couch. He could sit anywhere, but he was fond of the loveseat. We called it his couch.

I had finished vacuuming the sofa when I said to my mother, "the reason we go the furniture in this color (a sort of light tannish color) is so that it would match Beeno and we wouldn't notice the hair as much." And then I started to sob.

My mother came over to me and gave me a huge hug. I cannot recall my mother ever having done that. I sobbed into her shoulder. I told her that I missed Beeno. She said that it would be okay and that she missed him too.

My mother suffers from a mental illness. Hindsight tells us that she likely suffered from the mental illness for longer than we would care to think about. She didn't console. In fact, she could be inappropriate and cruel. There was no doubt that she loved us and we her, but in terms of showing that love and affection, well, you might have a better chance converting the Pope to Buddhism.

The rest of that day, I started thinking that perhaps Beeno's death was intended so that my mother could be a mother.

That we could grow closer as daughters should with their mothers. That she would understand my pain and instead of ridiculing me, she would share in it.

And she would console me.

And she did.

Thank you Beeno.

Now, play nice with him Dad.

Dad, watch out for my Bubby

2008-06-12T21:28:00.002-04:00

My father died 20 years ago this December.

It doesn't seem like 20 years. 20 years is almost half of my life. After December 3, 2008, I will have been without a father longer than I was with one. It's rather sad. But I will always remember him. There are things that he did and that we did that stick in my mind. I find myself going through some of the same thoughts with Beeno as I did with my dad. So I remind myself that I will be okay.

I often talk to my father. Yes, he's dead and that sounds odd (to everyone but those who have lost a loved one), but I find comfort in it. Granted, I choose my moments. I don't speak to him while I am teaching a class or while I am getting pulled over by the police (it happens sometimes), but I do talk to him when I am alone.

I also depend on yoga. Ever since I started doing yoga it has been my saving grace. It has helped me to work through many emotions. It has also helped my physically. Often, your emotional pain is manifest through the physical, so I try to make an effort to stay both emotionally and physically healthy. Easier said than done.

When I do yoga, I will smell my dad - sometimes. I find comfort in this. It's as if he is right there with me helping me through a crisis.

I went to yoga on Tuesday to try to work through some of the pain of losing Beeno. I was in a studio - not my house - and I thought I smelled him. I was getting into a pose and I thought I smelled my dog. And then I felt overwhelmingly content. I felt as though he was saying, you know what, I'm okay. Please don't worry.

That night I asked my dad to keep an eye open for Beeno. They would love each other. And I don't want either to be lonely. I found comfort in that request because I felt as though they both listened to me and were both trying to find each other in the afterlife - or had found each other. I think my dad would like throwing Beeno a stick. And I think Beeno could fetch the sticks all day long now that he doesn't have to worry about a heart attack!

It was a good day.

Recovering?

2008-06-12T20:31:00.002-04:00

I had an okay day a few days ago. I started to think about all the wonderful things I will remember about Beeno. Let me share them with you:

-His happy dance. Whenever we would return home or whenever he was particularly excited, he would wag his tail, stick his tongue out, and lift his front paws. Because his tail was wagging and he was on his hind legs, his front legs would appear to do a dance, of sorts. He also seemed to be smiling. His mouth would be open to accommodate his panting tongue. We dubbed this the happy dance. I miss it. I look for it when I arrive home. I peek into the window and I see his friend, Cocoa (our remaining dog), jumping up and down, but I don't see him doing his happy dance.
-His smell. I have memorized his smell. I would often just stick my face in the scruff of his neck to inhale the scent of him. It wasn't always pretty. If he had spent too much time in the pond, he would need a bath before I would inhale the scent of him. Or it was like doggy napalm. Nasty stuff.
-His smile. I know it sounds odd for a dog to have a smile, but Beeno was truly the happiest dog. His tongue would be out, his tail would be wagging, and he would bare his teeth as you might when you smile. Non-menacing, of course. I remember that.
-His retriever skills, or lack thereof. He had some retriever in him, that was evident, but sometimes he was the worst retriever. Sometimes, if he didn't see exactly where you threw something, he would wander around looking for it until you retrieved it. I used to call him the world's worst retriever, because sometimes he was. It was especially funny when he was in the pond. If you threw a stick or ball and he didn't see exactly where it was, you better find another fast because he would stay in the water until he found it. Or you would have to do that fake throw - you have nothing in your hand but it looks as though you threw the stick, ball, toy in the general vicinity of the original throw.
-Playfulness with Cocoa - Cocoa is about the size of an appetizer for Beeno. He could eat her. But he never did. In fact, she abused him. And I think he secretly liked it. I knew they were getting ready to play when Cocoa would walk over to him and lift her hind leg so that he could smell her ....... Then she would run around like a child after having eaten a pixie stick and he would wait. Then he would scrunch down to her level and play with her.
-Peeing on Cocoa. Every time Cocoa would pee in the backyard, Beeno would be waiting to pee in the same spot. Well, once, Cocoa (not being the brightest dog in the litter), ran right through the stream. So Beeno had pissed right down her back. She promptly got a bath.
-Telling on Cocoa. Often I would be working in a different room. Whenever Beeno would come into the room from a favorite spot, I knew Cocoa had gotten into something. It was almost a warning sign. Either that or an "I want to make sure you know I was with you when the mayhem was going down so I am going to lay right next to you until you realize what has happened." He was good like that. And he was always right.
-His nudging. Beeno had a way of cozying up to you. He wasn't a lap dog, as has been said, but he did like attention and affection. He would come over to you and either touch you with his paw (if he was sitting next to you on the ground or on the sofa) or nudge you with his snout. I used to wait for the nudge. Often in the morning, I would lay in bed with my arm at the edge or dangling off waiting for him to nudge me. I was awake but didn't let him know that. Then he would nudge you with his nose as if to say "get up and feed me and let me out to pee and poop," and rub himself against the bed or against the sofa. Once I came home from work to find the sofa pushed up against the stairs. Cocoa was behind the couch and couldn't get out. Was there a message there?
-Treat stealer. I was living in my other home in West Seneca when we noticed this. My brother was visiting and he witnessed it too. I had given both dogs treats. Beeno would eat his immediately as if there was a doggie famine on the way. Cocoa would wait until Beeno had eaten his and then traipse into the room with her treat as if to tease him. Beeno must have remembered that if he started to bark, she would immediately jump up and bark as if to be the barking leader. He laid next to the couch and then barked just once. She jumped up to see what was going on and he stood, snagged her treat, and laid back down to eat it. We laughed and thought it was a fluke so I got another treat. And he did it again. He hadn't done it since, but once was enough to warrant mentioning.
-Running and swimming. I remember calling his name after a day of running and swimming at my mom's. Seeing his face in the wind with his eyes, tongue and jowls pulled back in that awkward way when the wind blows hard made it worthwhile. He would be running so fast it was as if he missed the heck out of you and couldn't wait to see you again.
-His footsteps on my hard wood floors. He would lumber into the house and I would hear his steady clip clop as he walked across the floor, his claws tapping as he moved. He usually moved quite deliberately. And then he would lay down with a thud. Or he would jump onto his couch (which was all of them, actually) and exhale as if it was so much effort.
-Grapes. He loved grapes. I know that you aren't supposed to feed dogs grapes, but I read that they shouldn't eat seeded grapes. I always bought seedless. And if someone would suffer it would be Cocoa. She is the proverbial canary in the coal mine. He would sit on the couch next to me, looking at me with his ears perked up. If I pretended to ignore him (one could never actually ignore Beeno), he would touch me with his front paw as if to say, "hey, what about me?" And he always got the treat.
-Swimming. We never really knew what he would run around the pond looking for, but he would be so intent, and then he would jump in only to come right back out. He would do this for hours. When we first got him, he would swim for hours chasing sticks. He would stop because we would get tired of throwing things. Then he started to get older and he would tell us when to stop. Once, my brother said, he was throwing a stick for Beeno and he had had enough when he came out of the water, dropped the stick and ran up to the house. He had never done that. My brother thought, hmm, guess he's finished.

I am sure I will think of other things. Everything he did I am trying to remember. I have a need to remember it all. I am sure there will be other blog posts in which I recount some other things that he did or some other things that I miss. Right now I miss having him in my house. I miss having him lay next to me on the couch. I miss looking over and seeing him watching me. I miss running my fingers through the tuft of his neck or down his back. I miss scratching his belly and finding the tickle spot. I miss scratching his ass because that seemed to be his favorite. How can you resist scratching a dog's ass?

While I had a good day thinking about the good things, I am still sad that he is not longer with me.

Where did Beeno come from?

2008-06-10T16:21:00.002-04:00

Beeno wasn't our first choice.

I adopted him with a now ex-boyfriend. Beeno was the best thing to come out of that relationship. In fact, when I told him I was leaving, he asked me if Beeno was coming with me.

A rhetorical question, to be sure.

We went to the Niagara County SPCA. We were looking for a boxer or a boxer mix. We saw one. We took him to a small kennel to see how we interacted. He wanted nothing to do with us.

Then we chose a different dog - I don't remember the breed. Same reaction.

Then Beeno. I remember seeing him behind the cage. He seemed to be smiling and laughing. His tail was wagging. I said, 'let's take a look at him.'

He came right up to us and wanted attention and affection. He didn't stop.

He was our dog.

He was my dog.

Third in line, first in my heart and soul.

And that's where he stayed.

We named him Beeno. In our foolishness, we thought let's rhyme names. Beeno rhymed with his last name.

We started spelling it Beano, until we realized that would mean we named him after an intestinal gas prevention liquid. Someone even asked us if he had gas. So we changed the spelling, but not the pronunciation.

After I left the boyfriend, I started calling him Bean (but still spelled his name Beeno).

I invited my good friend over to see the newest member of our family.

It was then that we discovered that he would only go to the bathroom on the perimeter of the yard. He would poop in the bushes, pee in the bushes and grass. We didn't know what to make of that. Then we called him over - it seemed as though he knew his name right away, as I recall. We never had a transition to speak of. He was able to sit, give you his paw and lay down.

Someone had taken the time to train my dog. And train him well.

But someone had let him run away and didn't try to find him.

Over the decade I had him, he would run away at my mother's, but would return. He ran away in West Seneca once, got lost, but was found and was happy to be home. He returned. Always.

Which made me think that he ran away or was dumped.

Who on Earth could have done that to Beeno?

But thank you for doing that to Beeno.

If you hadn't, I wouldn't have known the joy I experienced over the past ten years.

I still feel as though my joy was cut short. But, oh, what an experience.

Say something....

2008-06-10T16:10:00.002-04:00

Everyone had to say something nice about Beeno.

We stood around his grave. My brother put a large rock at his head. Each of us had something wonderful to say.

My niece cried and gave me a hug. I was inconsolable.

J sat in the truck because he was crying. I think he was trying not to look weepy in front of my brother.

I tried to get the dirt off of the rock my brother had placed on the grave. When I wasn't doing it very well, my brother reached down to do it for me.

I was moved by that gesture. He recognized the importance of Beeno in my life and did nothing but help me in this transition. No ridicule, no harsh words. Kind gestures. I love my family.

We went to see my mother who was quite upset that I didn't stop to get her. I regret that now.

We walked back to the grave together. She was fighting back tears. I just cried.

Seeing it for the first time without the backhoe and without my truck was wrenching. Here lay my bubby.

Buried, alone, cold, dead.

How he died

2008-06-10T15:28:00.003-04:00

A friend of mine told me not to dwell on how my bubby died. But at this point, I cannot not dwell on it to some degree.

I think I need to get it on paper (or a reasonable facsimile).

I had been fighting with J. I returned from Uganda last week last Thursday night.

My bathroom was not complete and I was forced to stay at J's house. I wasn't happy about that because when I return from a trip, I like to sleep in my own bed in my own house. The plus is that I was with my favorite people/animals - J and my two dogs.

I had to teach on Friday evening and Saturday morning. When I returned on Saturday, I noticed not one bit of progress on the bathroom and I became enraged. Poor J bore the brunt of that.

So enraged in fact, that I spent the night at my mom's since I still didn't have a toilet and had not one bit of interest staying at J's house again. The dogs went with me, of course.

They love my mother's house. She has quite a bit of land and a pond. The dogs are very good about running freely without getting into any trouble, and certainly without wandering into other yards.

I consider myself lucky.

I had been getting up at 6 a.m. since I returned from Africa. So I went home. I thought I would get a start on the renovations before J arrived so that we could finish.

It had been unseasonably hot and humid. I would guess the temperatures had been in the 90s for a few days with 100% humidity. It's not unusual in WNY. We get weather like this, but not suddenly. Usually not until July or August.

I had to use the bathroom (and not a bucket) so I drove to J's house. I returned to see him in the driveway awaiting my return. I was still mad at him so I thought he was trying to apologize. I got out, still cranky because I am like that. He wanted a hug. I gave it reluctantly because I was still angry and because we were both sweating our asses off. It was muggy, hot and uncomfortable.

That's when he kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I thought it was because of the renovation delays.

Then he said, "Beeno's dead."

It has to be a joke. But who jokes about one's favorite pet? Who says, 'Beeno's dead.....just kidding!"

I rushed to the backyard to see him lying on the grass. Not unusual. He liked to lie on the grass.

I could hear J behind me telling me that he tried to give him CPR. He tried to keep him alive until I got home. J is a farm boy so I believe that he tried to give Beeno CPR. I believe that he tried to keep him alive. I believe that he was sorry. He said that he came outside to rub his belly. He got his tickle spot. Then he threw a stick for Beeno to fetch. Not at all unusual. Quite a normal morning.

Then J went in the house to get another bag of garbage. When he came out, he said Beeno was gasping to breath and was barely breathing. CPR didn't work. He wanted to keep him alive so that I could say good-bye.

But Beeno was dead.

He just laid there. I lifted his lifeless head. It frightened me because it was heavy. I don't remember that.

I don't remember any part of him being heavy. I don't remember at all that he was lumbering.

He wasn't sleeping, that was clear. His eyes were open. Oddly, they had started to look foggy when he was alive. Now I remember them in death as brown and black and beautiful. Not a smidge of the opaque white that had begun to infiltrate his vision.

His tongue was sticking out of the side of his mouth. It was unnerving. His tongue was often outside his mouth. But outside his mouth in front because he was panting because he was running and playing.

I was able to touch his paws. I always loved to do that but he hated it. He would pull away whenever I tried to touch them. I felt a bit guilty taking advantage of him now so that I might indulge my selfish pleasure.

The scruff of his neck had always been one of my favorite parts. I would often rough it up and stick my own face into it. I loved the smell of him. I would sometimes try to memorize the smell. Again, was I afraid I would ever forget it.

Smells are important to me. I read once that each of us has some psychic powers. They just need to be developed. They may also manifest in different ways for each of us. I have a friend who is very visual. She sees things from beyond - rarely, but sees them nonetheless. I smell things. Several times I am convinced I have smelled my father. He will have been dead for 20 years in December, but sometimes I smell him as if he is standing next to me. I am sure I will always smell Beeno. And I will be comforted, much as I am when I smell my dad.

I had to remove his collar because I wanted him to be free of constraints in death. He had to be free.

I lifted his head to try to rest it on my leg. It didn't seem to want to be there.

Beeno wasn't like that, you see. As a shepherd/retriever, he didn't qualify as a lap dog. He loved attention and affection but in a way very different from our other dog - the consummate lap dog. He was very much like me, in fact. I know you love me and I love you. Just rub my neck and feed me. We will get along famously.

As in life, so in death. He didn't want to be held. Didn't need to be held. I recognize that now. He didn't need me to hold him. I needed me to hold him. He knew there was so much love and that wouldn't change no matter what. No matter death.

My bubby.

I called everyone. That's what I do. Poor J probably thought I didn't want to be near him. Not true at all. I must connect with my network and my network includes dog people. I called my sister first. Flabbergasted was her response. Then my other dog friends. Shocked.

And supportive and amazing. I could not ask for better friends.

I called my mom. Beeno needed to be buried. I had always thought I would cremate him, but somehow burial seemed more appropriate. I don't know why. My mom was sorry to hear about Beeno. And she said so. She told me of course I could bury him in the backyard by the pond. He was always there swimming and running. It made a fitting final resting place. And my mother's property would always be in the family. We weren't sure how long we would be at my current residence.

I then had to call my brother. He lived on the pond now and I would want his blessing. My niece answered because they were playing "Sing Star Pop" and it was my brother's turn. I could hear his horrible voice in the background trying to sing some pop song to appease his daughter. I know he secretly loved the game. And I know he could give a shit that we all think his singing voice sucks. He would be the first to admit it. And the first to admit he won't win the game. Who cares. It's fun.

When I told him he seemed genuinely upset. My brother does not like animals. I think he doesn't want to get close to them because we had a horrible history with animals growing up (post for another time). Don't get close to animal, don't get hurt. That must be his motto. Although he will tell you they are messy, stinky, ugly, insert other nasty adjective here.

He told me he would dig a hole and we could bury him somewhere he won't be digging.

When we were finally able to get to my mom's, we drove in and went straight to the pond.

I regret that I didn't stop to get my mom. I thought she heard us come in and would meet us back there. That she didn't did't surprise or phase me. I am sorry about that now.

My brother used the backhoe to dig a hole for Beeno in a wonderful spot. He was often in that spot running before he got to the pond to jump in after God only knows what he was always after. While he dug the hole, I sat in the back of my truck with Beeno's head in my lap. I had to. I had to play with his neck scruff one more time. Smell him one more time. Kiss his head one more time. Pet his back one more time.

Then I put his bed - the one with 'Beeno' embroidered on it into the hole. I put his two sticks and a bone into the hole. Then J picked him up and placed him in the hole. He straightened his bed and placed his toys closer to his head.

Then we covered him.

And he was gone.

Ridiculous thoughts

2008-06-10T15:23:00.003-04:00

So yesterday I went through some stage of grief (not even sure if it is a documented stage or not). I started thinking about all kinds of scenarios:
-What if he wasn't really dead and we buried our best friend alive?
-What if he didn't feel loved and didn't know how much he was truly loved?
-What if J (my fiance) killed him (the most absurd of the bunch)?
-What if I didn't remember him?

The last question had my crying and sobbing. I had to get in touch with all of my friends, colleagues, acquaintances, dudes on the street, just to make sure I would remember my dog.

For whatever reason, I had this thought that I wouldn't remember the love I felt for him. Worse, that I wouldn't remember the horrible pain, aching and longing I feel right now.

Conversations and emails with friends knocked some sense into me. I realized that I would always remember him. He was an enormous part of my life for a decade. That's a quarter of my life. He dominated a quarter of my life. He helped me get through a quarter of my life. His wagging tail, and nudging nose comforted me for a quarter of my life.

How does one forget that privilege? That monstrous gift?

The last quarter of my life has been enriched because of his wet nose and laid-back alpha dog demeanor.

RIP

2008-06-10T15:20:00.002-04:00

I am so very sad.

I have been wanting to update this blog for some time.

Then tragedy struck and I wanted to update it with my raw emotions.

But I had to wait a day or two because I was afraid my tears my short circuit my computer and I would electrocute myself. Not a pretty way to go, I imagine.

My beloved best friend died on Sunday. He was about 11, I think. He had been my best friend for ten years.

He was my dog. My shepherd/retriever mix. My bubby.

I loved this dog like nothing else.

He had been with me through all kinds of hell.

And all kinds of elation.

My life has an incredible void. I don't think it will be filled.

My heart is just ripping and tearing.

My throat is dry and sore and has that peculiar knot you get when you try to choke back tears.

My face looks like hell because I can't stop crying thinking about him and going through the stages of mourning.

This just sucks, no matter how you look at it.

TippyTravels

2008-05-14T10:29:00.003-04:00

I have a new blog!

TippyTravels - click the post title above and it will send you there! You may also click the "My travel blog" link to the right.

This has been a long time coming.

I have been doing more and more traveling lately and want a blog dedicated to the documentation of that travel. Check it out!

Buy a Boy

2008-03-15T21:35:00.003-04:00

Only in the South does this happen. I know I am stereotyping, but try to argue with me.

My sister lives in Charlotte, which can't really be considered the South anymore because more people from Western New York live there than not, I would guess. It's like a suburb of Buffalo, really.

At any rate, she is trying to get some yard work done. She has some people in the neighborhood willing to help with felling of trees, cutting of wood, rolling of lawn, etc.

Today she calls me to shoot the shit. We haven't talked in about two days which is quite unusual for the two of us. She tells me that one of the neighbors comes over with a dude he bought at a church function.

Oh yes, you read that correctly. Dude he bought at a church function.

Actually, I guess this wasn't the actual dude purchased. The dude who showed up to do the work was a friend of the bought boy.

In defense of this church, I guess they hold this auction each year to raise money for the church. I've heard of bachelor auctions and such. But buy a boy? Teen boys auction themselves off for charity. They are then expected to report to the home of the purchaser and do whatever odd chores might be needed.

Why didn't the Catholic Church think of this?

Perhaps Spitzer could use that as his defense? I just bought a bitch. I then had her do odd chores for me.

Nah.

Damn you, Vertically Challenged People!

2008-03-15T21:22:00.003-04:00

I am tall.

5'11", to be exact.

I am also overweight.

To try to improve the weight, I have been working out and participating in Weight Watchers. I use the online version because it is easy and I don't have to interact with others. I know that sounds horribly antisocial, but I prefer it.

We have a wonderful fitness center on our campus. It is damn near new and still glistens! One of my students teaches a step aerobics class. I enjoy going to her class on Thursday evenings. She kicks my ass and I end up sweating buckets.

I generally sweat quite a bit. I could sweat just standing. In fact, I have.

I have no idea why they need to keep the aerobics room at about 100 degrees F. I sweat before class even starts.

I am getting to the point......

After each class, I shower in the locker room. I usually have a meeting afterward and can't possibly show up at the meeting looking as I do.

This past Thursday, the aerobics room was hotter than a witch's tit in a brass bra in Phoenix in July so I was sweating quite a bit. In fact, I was so hot, I am quite sure my nipples melted off of my body.

I went to take a shower and ended up facing what I often face. A showerhead that came to about my eyeballs.

This may not sound too inconvenient, but the damn ceilings are 10 feet tall (or 8 feet or something - they are much taller than me)! Why must the showerhead be restricted in height? Why must I have to pull out all of my yoga moves to wash my damn hair?

What would happen if the showerhead was moved up slightly? Gravity is a wonderful thing. The water is still going to hit those who are vertically challenged (I think I have to call them this. Short might be considered derogatory. I don't know.). Momentum is going to make the water come shooting out at anyone underneath! What is the problem?!

Is it that those who are short might not be able to adjust the nossle? Why must it be adjusted? And can't they hook a gizmo or a lever of some sort to it so that you may adjust it from whatever height you might be cursed with? (Sorry, can you tell I have a bias toward those are also tall?)

It's not just at the gym. Go to any hotel. Same thing. Hell, we are going to install a shower in my house next weekend and you can bet your ass neither of us is going to have to contort to get the hell under it. My fiance is 6'5" or so. He isn't the most flexible guy. Why should he have to be?

I need to form a group.....Heft Our Showers (hos) or something like that.

Until then, thank God for yoga.

Church Signs and Headlines

2008-03-07T16:50:00.002-05:00

Church signs crack me up. They also bug me. I think there must be some sort of church newsletter with different signs to try. After awhile, I get bored. For example:

Sign Broken. Message Inside.

Really? How about this instead:

Creativity Tapped. Find Spiritual Salvation Elsewhere.

I was reading my weekly local newspaper. It sucks. Probably the worst paper ever, but it keeps me up-to-date. This was a headline:

Are you blind?

My response:
Thank you for catering to the blind in your newspaper that requires sight. Luckily, the article redeemed itself somewhat by calling out to those who are blind or know those who are blind.

Whew. Danger averted.

Extreme Ironing

2008-03-03T15:47:00.003-05:00

I was reading one of my magazines this weekend and came across a new "sport."

Extreme ironing.

Apparently what you do is take your iron and ironing board, along with something that requires ironing, to an extreme location, iron, and then have someone snap a picture.

For example, the picture I saw had a dude standing on top of some rocky spire kind of thing with his ironing board, iron and a shirt that was likely wrinkled. He had the ironing board kinda perched on his leg - because this isn't the best place to iron, or so I imagine. He was ironing, all right.

At my house, any kind of ironing might be considered an extreme sport since I tend to not iron. That's why they made dryers - stick your clothes in the dryer for a couple minutes and you have unwrinkled clothes!

That doesn't always work. You want to also make sure you take your clothes out of the dryer, initially, in a reasonable amount of time to prevent wrinkles to begin with.

I did iron recently. A nice pair of pants. It is important to set the iron to the correct temperature for the material you are ironing. It also helps if you look at the tag in the clothes rather than guessing. When you guess, you end up with an iron mark on your ass and you've ruined a perfectly good pair of pants.

That's extremem ironing.

I'll Sign Autographs Later....

2008-02-26T15:07:00.003-05:00

I was reading my Buffalo Spree Magazine this afternoon, as I often do when I have some free time. For those not familiar with the magazine, it's a great local magazine designed to keep Western New Yorker's up-to-date on what's going on in the area. Believe it or not, it does have more than 5 pages. WNY has quite a bit happening all the time.

If you can't find something to do in WNY, you're a dumbass.

They have a section each month titled WNY Blogosphere in which they highlight bloggers from the area. I am reading some of the summaries thinking to myself, hmmm, how do I get on this list.

Well - apparently, I am too damn sassy!

(Good thing that's easy for me!)

I am in the Buffalo Spree! Here is what it says about me (Buffalo Spree, March 2008):

Pauline, over at TippyKayak ("musings of a sarcastic optimist") has a lot to say about a lot of different things, including the Swiffer Duster, Jamie Lynn Spears, and Bratz dolls. Her post about the new weight-loss drug Alli had me crying with laughter. It's good stuff. Read it at www.tippykayak.blogspot.com.

I had to call all of my friends (all two of them) to let them know that I was famous!

It is really rather pathetic that this is what's doing it for me, but I'll take what little fame I can get. And I will be sure to put this newfound information in my tenure folder (it has to count for something).

And I will have to update this blog more regularly.

Luckily people are always doing dumb things so this shouldn't be too difficult!

Bush Goes To Africa. Thinks It's Ninth Ward

2008-02-26T15:05:00.000-05:00

I don't write headlines, as you can well see. I couldn't resist saying something about our president's trip to a continent I am betting he couldn't identify on a map/globe.

My Poor Right Brain

2008-02-26T15:03:00.002-05:00

So I was driving to work the other day. I have quite a lengthy drive so the things I end of thinking about surprise even me.

At any rate, I looked in my rearview mirror waiting for a damn school bus to pick up the tykes and move on (story for another day) when I noticed some gray hairs! I don't normally get bothered by age because age happens. What on earth are you going to do?

So I checked the left side (I like to be symmetrical). No gray hairs.

Now this would normally be okay. Only a few gray hairs on one side, but I was upset. What could this mean? Did this mean that I was taxing myself in a creative or intuitive way? That I hadn't thought logically in some time and my right side was telling me so?

I could dye them and forget about it. I could yank them out but I am not fond of pain. When I pull my hair back, I could hide them. I could just forget about them and drink.

Tough call.

Is that Sarcasm?

2008-02-26T15:03:00.001-05:00

I am sitting in my office eating lunch. My fiance is wonderful. I mentioned to him that I like this soda pop (Jones Pure Cane Soda) that we have at faculty meetings on campus. We couldn't find it at the local grocery store, but he managed to find it at a convenience store.

I am thrilled to be sitting in my office with this treat. This is also a long day for me. I wil probably be on campus until about 9 p.m. with a snow storm a comin'.

I try to open my bottle and the damn thing starts shooting grape soda all over the place! It gets my computer, my desk, my pants, my chair, my floor. I find myself scrambling to clean the beast up. What a mess. Purple liquid everywhere. And the splatter on my pants - super sexy. Luckily my pants are black with white and gray specks. Things blend. Things that aren't wet!

This is one of those sodas with the clever messages on the caps. My message:

You will soon receive compliments on your style.

Is that sarcasm?

Bad Car Karma

2008-02-26T15:02:00.001-05:00

I believe in karma. Primarily because karma is always biting me in the ass. You would think I would learn, but I think I have a memory problem. Either that or I am just a dumbass.

My fiance drives a diesel VW Jetta. He brags about the mpg he gets with this little beast of a car. I guess that's what guys do - talk about gas mileage? I don't know. The problem with a diesel car in WNY is that when it's cold, the damn thing doesn't like to start. That's a problem since it gets quite cold for about 2-3 months. Last weekend, he had trouble starting his car and I laughed at him. He has been trying to convince me to make a diesel car part of my next purchase. I have no interest in doing so. I told him that much.

Cut to Wednesday on my way to work. My car (Honda CRV) starts shaking as I am driving down the street (luckily only about a mile from my house). Then I smell this horrible burning rubber smell. My diagnosis - something expensive is wrong.

I call my fiance and tell him that I will never pick on his diesel Jetta again and he laughs at me. Bad car karma.

Cut to Thursday. I am going to drive the Jetta and my fiance is going to drive his truck. His truck won't start (See how badly karma bites me in the ass?). Now I have to either drive him to work, drive to SBU, and pick him up from work (adding 2 hours to my 3 hour trip - not something I want to do) or call my mommy.

So I am a 38-year old independent woman calling her mother to borrow her mother's vehicle so that I can get to work. It's slightly embarrassing.

There are a couple of problems with my mother's vehicle.

The first - it is automatic transmission. Every car I have ever owned - present vehicle included - is manual transmission. One would think this wouldn't be such a difficult transition, but I must point this out, when you are used to shifting and using a clutch, not doing that is comical:
-The first half hour of my trip is spent either slamming on the brakes trying to push in the clutch (in my defense the brake is kinda where the clutch would be on my truck) and trying to shift gears. Thank God no one is behind me when I do this and thank God the gears won't shift without pushing in a little button or I would have gone from Drive to Neutral or Reverse and likely killed myself.
-If I didn't slam on the brakes, I did the 'foot hover' whereby my left foot was suspended over the brake ready to 'shift.' I got the hang of it by the time I got to work only to start all over when I left several hours later.

Old habits die hard.

I would take her vehicle on the sunniest day of the year. I managed to remember to take my hang tag from my vehicle as well as my IPod. I didn't want a parking ticket from SBU security nor could I make the trip listening to country music or some other crap.

What I didn't grab - my sunglasses.

Oh my mother has sunglasses, all right, from her cataract surgery. These bad boys aren't letting any light in! Put them on and suddenly the 38-year old borrowing her mother's vehicle becomes a 65-year old cranky lady trying to operate an automatic vehicle. Their lovely wraparound design and goggle-like facade only make the trip more interesting.

What's pathetic, I later learn, is that I did have my sunglasses with me. They were buried in my purse.

I don't know what kind of karma that is......

Memories of Biology

2008-02-17T15:05:00.000-05:00

Our university sends an email notice board to those on email. I read the subject line of the special notice board the other day and stopped. I didn't want to open it. Condolences to the family of Dr. Richard "Dick" Bothner, it read. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I hoped it would be his wife, a child, something. I didn't want to think that it could be him.

My favorite undergrad. professor died on Friday.

I am quite upset.

When I returned to teach at SBU about 2.5 years ago, I kept telling myself to get in touch with him just to say 'hi' and I never did.

Things kept getting in the way. I was too busy, I didn't think about it. Did I think he would live forever? He must have been in his eighties.

This is a note - don't put things off. Say hello. Talk.

Now he's dead.

And I have memories. And they are damn good memories. [Warning - read no further if you have trouble watching nature shows that depict death.]

He was a herpetologist in the biology department. He had any number of snakes in his office in appropriate cages/containers. It was pretty cool to visit. I remember his constrictor - boa or python, I don't recall. He also had this vivid green viper that was just beautiful but nasty looking. I remember that he fed it one of the lab rats. Picture this - a little white rat in the cage with this predator. He told us that lab rats have no instinct to stay away from these critters. The viper sat waiting for the rat to make its move. I don't think it even breathed. The damn thing walked right up to the viper and BAM - this viper pounced, mouth full of rat, body wrapped around. All you saw was this little pink tail sticking out. He then told us that when you take a field mouse and put it in the cage, it cowers in the corner because it knows what's up.

He also had a king cobra in a cage. One day he took it out for us to see. "Take a look at its eyes," he said as he brought the beast closer to us. We inched back and he told us we didn't have to worry. Well, perhaps not, but at my house this isn't a parlor game. The creature was amazing. Dr. Bothner's passion was infectious.

He also took students to the Everglades over the Christmas break. The class was called Ecology of the Everglades. We learned everything you would ever need to know about the Everglades and then we traipsed through. I remember driving in the SBU vans and abruptly stopping. Out pops Dr. Bothner with his snake rod thing (I am sure it has a name. I don't remember it.) There was a diamondback rattler snaking (pun intended) its was across the street. In what we would later call the stereotypical moment of the trip, as we got out to watch him grab this snake and give us the requisite information about it, out popped an Asian tourist from a passing car with his Nikon camera snapping away. I don't know why I think that's so funny.

I also recall walking across a saw grass meadow. Dr. Bothner told us to be wary of our surroundings. He told us to look down as we walked because this was the home of one of the most venomous snakes in the world. "They call it the 3-step snake," he said "because if it bites you, you have 3 steps and then you're dead."

Um, I was the most conscientious snake spotter. I like to call it Darwinian, but I wasn't going down via snake bite! Luckily, we didn't see any deadly snakes - or luckily no one had to test the 3-step theory. It would have been wonderful to see such a creature.

It was also in one of his classes that I had my biggest wish I hadn't said it moment. He taught comparative anatomy. We dissected animals in this class. Each week in lab, he would test us on the animals. He would put pins in different parts and ask us to identify them. Each of us had a cat to dissect. Since cats are only one sex each, and we had to study the anatomy of both sexes, when we studied reproductive organs, we had to view a classmate's cat. Some people didn't heed his warning to dissect with purpose and ended up butchering their cats because they didn't know what they were doing. They didn't fare as well. I worked with a classmate (a dude) who had a male cat. We were comparing anatomy because we would be quizzed the next week. I noticed that he had done quite a nice job with his dissection. Instead of saying that, I said "Nice testicles," to which he replied "thank you very much."

Ah, to be 19 or 20 again!

He had quite a sense of humor and quite a life story. He loved his students, he loved his snakes, and he loved teaching.

Dr. Bothner - you will be missed.

Keep Your Ashes To Yourself

2008-02-11T15:04:00.000-05:00

Ash Wednesday was last week.

I am not Catholic, nor do I observe any of these rituals (I take it back, I do observe any food and booze rituals, no matter the religion - I'm a culture whore like that). I don't give up anything for lent. I eat meat on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday and every Friday in between because I like meat and because I can.

I love to joke with Catholics, especially a particular colleague of mine. He is a friar so that makes him a holy man, at least to me. Thank God he doesn't act like one or there might be trouble. We certainly wouldn't be friends.

I like to walk up to him and point to his forehead and say, "oh dear, it seems you have a little something there you should wipe off." I laugh, he pretends it's funny. It's an old and stupid joke, but I love it every year.

Well, this year he tried to get me. He tried to put some of his ashes on my forehead!

Can you imagine the horror! First of all, if he succeeded, I am quite sure a hole would have been burned in my forehead. Talk about a third eye.

Instead, I found myself backing away and trying to run. I couldn't have this! What would people think? That I suddenly found Jesus in the hallway?

Which reminds me of an article I read awhile back. A woman of similar religious inclination was commenting on people who approach others on the street asking if you have found Jesus. She said that once she replied, "Have you people lost him again?" I still chuckle when I hear it.

I have a great deal of respect for those with faith, regardless of their faith, but I have one simple rule.

Don't shove the dove.

Irresponsibility in the Mental Health Field

2008-01-09T14:15:00.000-05:00

My mother has been out of the hospital for a couple of weeks and is doing well. She still has pockets, I call them. Moments when she lapses into her delusions. We will take that! It isn't the constant beating of the deat delusional horse we had become accustomed to.

Having said that, I have to comment on Brittney Spears. Usually I rip her apart because it is damn fun. However, in light of recent events, I have to say - leave the poor girl alone. She is clearly suffering from some mental illness. And she is doing it quite publically. It is difficult enough to get someone help who doesn't realize he or she has a problem. Quite another to try to do that in the public eye. I cannot even imagine how difficult that must be.

And Dr. Phil - What are you doing? This poor girl needs help from a professional, not some dude hand picked by Oprah to promote himself in the self-aggrandising way that has become his trademark.

Perhaps I am more sensitive to this than most, but this shouldn't be fodder to improve the ratings for his show. Now, if he was to approach this in a different manner - a manner that would actually promote and help those suffering from mental illnesses, I say, have at it!

But until he can separate help and hope from a ratings booster, he should be stoned.

Alli and booze in a tube

2008-01-09T14:03:00.001-05:00

I often joke that I would love it if booze came in drink boxes. It would be wonderful if I could sit in front of my classroom sucking a magic elixir from a drink box with a straw. Why should tots have all the fun?

Well! My day has come!

I was just reading an article about booze in little Capri Sun type containers. Brilliant! They call them "pocket shots." "These pouches look like Capri Suns - but are filled with whiskey, gin, rum, or tequila." (from Women's Health, January/February 2008).

It makes me want to race out to find the little beasts!

Another note - what is up with this FDA approved Alli? It's some weight loss pill, I think. Not sure if it's a pill or not. I had a good friend try it (she reads this blog regularly, so I will be kind) and she told me about the side effects.

Let me tell you what side effects are. Side effects may include the following:
-headache
-dizziness
-nausea
-inability to operate heavy machinery
-shitting your pants without notice

I slipped that last one in to make a point. That is not a side effect. Side effects shouldn't prevent you from going about the business of your day. If I have to worry about where the nearest loo is, we have a problem. I don't want to be forced to wear dark pants all the time in case I have a little surprise!

Who takes this drug? What's funny is that in order for it to work properly, you need to eat less and work out. Um, that sounds like the ordinary prescription for weight loss - without the pesky side effect.

Good lord.

What's worse - I bet you can't suck on a pocket shot with Alli.

Fat Bastard Bride

2007-12-22T13:12:00.000-05:00

Okay, I am fat.

I am not happy about it, but I am fat.

I can usually tell that it's time to lose weight when I look down and my boobs and my belly are aligned. And I have a chest.

I tried on wedding dresses about two weeks ago and was surprised by how heavy I am. I bought this beautiful dress and will look so sassy in it....when I drop 30 pounds or more. I don't want to be the fat bastard bride.

I do have plenty of time to do just that. In fact, instead of writing in this blog, I could be running or rowing or doing yoga or something. I should be exercising!

I had started an alternate blog several years ago (tippytraining.blogspot.com) to document my weight loss. I have being yo-yoing for years. I think it's time I get on track. I know I can do it. It's just a matter of doing it.

So I will sign off and write an entry in the almost defunct tippytraining and then I will do something energetic!

Embrace Her or Stone Her?

2007-12-22T13:05:00.000-05:00

Today I read my copy of the serious news magazine, People.

I had heard the news this week this Jamie Lynn Spears, Brittney's kid sister, is pregnant. She is 16 years old.

16.

Do you know what I was doing when I was 16? Well, I will tell you what I wasn't doing. What you need to be doing to be pregnant at 16. That's what I wasn't doing. In fact, I am not even quite sure I thought it a good idea. Do you remember when you first heard about what is involved in baby making? I found it quite ooky. The idea of it was a bit odd and quite laughable.

I've changed my mind since then, but at 16, I am quite sure it was still a bit ooky.

In her defense, she may have thought the following (given her family - let's put that on the table):
-You can't get pregnant the first time.
-You can't get pregnant if your mother and father are complete morons and let you run amok having sex at 16.
-You can't get pregnant if your sister loses custody of her kids because she is unfit because then God will think the same of you and spare you.
-You can't get pregnant if you have sex at the family compound in Kentwood, LA.
-You can't get pregnant until you are least 18.
-If you douche with coca-cola, you are all set, and we had a six-pack of the damn beverage in the back of the pick-up truck right next to the chewing tobacco and condoms we forgot to use because we were sooo in the moment!

Good luck, Jamie Lynn. And even better luck to the baby! Perhaps K-Fed can babysit!

Holiday Season

2007-12-21T18:25:00.001-05:00

Okay, I love the holidays because they are filled with food and booze.

I guess there is some religious component or some family crap or something too.

Actually, I love the family component. I enjoy getting together with family and friends over the holidays and playing games or just laughing. Religion - whatever. There isn't much about any of these holidays that has to do with religion anymore.

One of the controversies in the town I teach in involves a nativity scene on government property. I guess some anonymous donor brought the nativity scene to the town hall under dark of night. Then they wondered why people were pissed. Um, in this day and age, why on earth would you think it okay to display any kind of religious anything on government property? Are you kidding? Obviously, if you brought the display in at night, anonymously, you had to expect some sort of controversy. What morons.

I also get a kick out of the Wiccan pentacle on display. The pentacle is hardly a symbol of the season, rather it is a symbol similar to a Christian cross. It is used yearround as symbol of our connection to earth, air, fire, water and ether. Yes, it is important at Christmas, rather Winter Solstice, but it is also important for the other three solstices, full moons, etc.

Something else about Christmas that gets me. I understand people get and give presents, but isn't it getting a bit out of hand? Each year we participate in a giving tree, of sorts. We each buy a gift for an underpriveleged child. I love that I am helping out, truly. I think it is wonderful to know that someone will have a better Christmas morning opening a gift and that I had something to do with it.

But why should it be that way? Why should we be embracing a society that does nothing more than widen the chasm between the haves and have-nots? These poor kids don't stand a chance. They want because their peers want. Their parents want to give because they love them.

Could we be better?

My siblings and several friends have foregone presents this year in favor of dinner together or nothing. Instead of spending money on needless things, we will spend time together. Isn't that more precious? We still get presents for the kids. It's tougher to convince them to forgo gifts. Not having children, it's tough for me to emphasize that we should donate our time or donate toys and such we no longer use nor need. That we should boycott dolls dressed as hos (Bratz).

One day.

But what would become of capitalism?

Dating Delusions

2007-12-21T18:18:00.000-05:00

So my mom is in a psychiatric ward getting help for a number of issues.

And she has a boyfriend.

And she has a job.

Kind of.

One of the first days she was there, F, a patient, started dressing better and showering. He would then walk past my mother's room singing. He would also go in and sit down. The other girls joked with F: Why was he dressing and why was he clean? Apparently these things are hard to come by.

Then my mom decided she had to knit. Knitting has always been something she enjoys and does well. So they allowed her to knit at the hospital. She decided she wanted to knit slippers for all the current patients on the ward. Well, the RNs and other staff are so impressed with her work that they wanted her to knit them slippers. They offered to pay her for them.

So my mother has both a boyfriend and a job in a week.

Damn, she's good.

And we are screwed!

Psychosis, Schizophrenia, Delusional Disorder, oh my!

2007-12-21T18:06:00.000-05:00

This blog posting is going to be depressing. It is for me.

A week and a half ago we had my mother involuntarily admitted to a psychiatric facility. We knew she had been ill for some time. Until she agreed to get help or became a threat to herself or others, we were powerless to help her. So we've been watching her deteriorate for over a decade.

Then she threatened to burn the neighbor's house down. That is enough to get someone looked at. We had crisis services come to our house and my mom unleashed the crazy. All the delusions and all the craziness were heard by the poor crisis services folks.

And thank God.

I think.

We had been hoping for this moment for years because we knew she needed help, but we weren't quite prepared for what that meant. We weren't quite prepared for the anger and tears. We had no idea how much she would hate us; how much we would initially hate ourselves. And the diagnosis (see title of blog post).

We understand that this isn't her. She isn't herself. When she tells us she is going to disown us and never wants to see us again, we remind ourselves that this isn't our mother talking.

Even though we know it isn't her, we can't pretend those words and actions don't hurt.

I have cried enough over the past couple of weeks.

Today she was in a rare mood. She is going through stages given the medication she is on. Yesterday she was doing well. She was laughing and telling stories. Today she told me she never wanted to see us again and threw her checkbook and knitting needles. Horrible.

I left mad and sad. I never wanted to see her again and I couldn't wait for her to be helped.

This sucks. Christmas is next week and we will be one person short. We feel guilty feeling rather than happy because it will be the first year we have a Christmas without fear of delusions from Grandma. But we have to worry that she is locked up in a psychiatric ward in the local county hospital.

Which is worse? Who can say.

What Message are We Sending Little Girls?

2007-12-06T08:57:00.000-05:00

I had to purchase some Bratz dolls for my Bona Buddy for the holiday. Bona Buddy is like the Big Brother, Big Sister program but we reach out to our community at SBU.

Have you seen these Bratz dolls?

They are whores.

I had to buy a Bratz doll for a 7-year old! Seven!

I went to Wal-Mart, one of my least favorite places, but it's the only place I know in Olean that would sell these damn dolls. I do my usual wander about because I don't really know what I am looking for. That's an advantage of not having kids - I don't have to shop in the toy department at Wal-Mart.

I see these dolls with their big Angelina lips, makeup, droopy drug-using eyes, skimpy tops, and tube tops for skirts. It is obscene! At least my Barbie had clothes that covered her up. Yeah, so she had giant breasts and wore high heels everywhere, she was the girl next door!

So in addition to the role models of today (aka, Britney, Lindsay, et al), we have Bratz dolls that mimic them. Yuck!

And people wonder why I don't want kids.....

And I have never been accused of being conservative or prudish.

What Happens When you Try to Broil a Turkey?

2007-12-06T08:52:00.000-05:00

Not a whole hell of a lot.

J and I decided we would cook the turkey that has been in our freezer for some time. We thought we would have our own Thanksgiving - just the two of us. Aren't we romantic?

Well, we were romantic until we stuck the damn bird in the oven. After three hours - the time it should have taken - we pulled the bird out to check on it. Still pink.

How can this be?

We give it another half hour.

Still pink.

Then J notices that we have the oven set to Broil.

He had broiled some garlic bread a week or so ago and didn't switch it back. Neither of us thought to check. The poor guy was so apologetic. He felt terrible. . Once we realized our mistake, we ended up eating all of our side dishes waiting for the damn bird to cook. I laughed because it was rather funny. I could have checked just as easily, but I didn't think about it.

You can bet the next time we celebrate our own holiday, we will check the oven!

It turns out that if you broil a 14 pound turkey for 5 hours and then bake it for another hour, you have one damn juicy bird.

Food for thought.

My Ass is on Fire!

2007-11-27T12:30:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, we went to a Buffalo Bills football game. It was a game they actually won, so you can imagine how long ago that was.

My fiance was given two of the company's tickets in the club seats. He had been doing such a good job at work that they rewarded him with tickets.

I haven't watched football in quite some time. I enjoy football, I just have better things to do on Sundays in the fall. The fall semester is generally quite hectic so I find myself grading papers, preparing classes, relaxing, etc. Football doesn't fit into any of those categories.

Hockey is another matter, but I digress.

At any rate, we went to the game and decided to park in the Ralph Wilson Stadium parking lot. We could have parked in some of the private lots (aka, people's front lawns), but didn't. They were a bit cheaper, but we didn't think anything of it. We also thought that since the tickets were free, we would park closer to the stadium.

Parking was $25.

Let me give you some perspective. The last time I went to a Bills game, my ticket was $25. Parking was $5.

$25 to park the damn car?!

Our tickets were close to $200 each.

For $200, you better serve food to me in my seat, cut my meat, arrange the straw in my wine just so (okay, I don't use a straw in wine, but it's funny), and then rub my feet at halftime.

None of that happened and we were too cheap and afraid to order anything because we were afraid we would need a second mortgage on the damn house!

The afternoon started out quite well. The temperature was mild, the sun was out, the fans were screaming, JP Losman wasn't playing, and my ass was on fire.

I turned to Jamie and asked him why my ass was hot. He told me the seat was probably on.

We were in heated seats! Heated seats!

I am a redneck. I don't have heated seats. If your ass is hot at my house, it means someone has set your chair on fire.

I had to have him turn it off because it wasn't cold enough outside to warrant a hot ass.

After halftime, the clouds came in, the sun went away, the wind picked up, and my ass was cold.

Then we turned the seat on again.

All was right with the world.

Watch Out for the Penis!

2007-11-26T13:31:00.000-05:00

My sister was sharing a story with me. Turns out my nephew's new thing is running around naked trying to touch people with his penis.

He's 18 years old.

I'm kidding. He is not 18. He is two. And he is a cutie patootie.

I guess my nephews (the other is five) take their baths each night and then run around naked. Well, my brother-in-law makes a point of being grossed out by little boy penis on his person. As anyone knows (parent or not), this attitude will only make them want to do it even more.

So my nephew likes to take his clothes off and chase his brother and his father and try to touch them with his penis.

I can't wait for him to go to the prom or get married. This will surely come back to haunt him.

Caution: Cleaning Advice Below

2007-11-26T11:55:00.000-05:00

Those who know me know that I am not fond of cleaning.

In my defense, I know very few people fond of cleaning.

But I don't really clean.

When I am busy and something has to give, it is my house. It will be clean again someday, but right now I have to work on X, Y, Z.

Until I get to the point when I just have to put everything else aside to clean because I can no longer stand it. This point usually comes when I cough up a hair ball from my dogs because there is so much of it on my floor.

That point was reached this weekend. Specifically yesterday.

I was armed and ready, though. I bought a couple of new (new to me) items that I have to share with everyone!

The Swiffer Duster.

This has got to be the best thing since sliced bread. I hate that expression. How hard is bread to slice? Come on.

Just shake the duster thing around and hook it to the plastic thing (the directions are a bit more specific). Then you dust away. You don't even have to move anything! Did you see that - you needn't move a thing! My dining room required one duster thing; the living room another. I didn't get so far as to clean the second floor. I was tired and needed wine.

I fell victim to the clever advertising. I own the Swiffer floor stuff and use it once in a while (um, never). I thought I would like the Swiffer Duster.

Mr. Clean Magic Eraser

A friend of mine turned me on to this bad boy a few years ago. You could tell it was at a point when we were both single. We called each other about cleaning products that work wonderfully. We are men magnets!

I don't know what the Jesus is in this "magic eraser" and I don't care! It cleans like a champ! Anything! The commercials are correct! It will clean crayon off the floor, dirt off the wall, spots off the cat. Brilliant!

I can't wait to clean the second floor! What fun!

Help me.....

What Would Frank Say?

2007-11-24T19:28:00.000-05:00

St. Francis of Assisi is our patron saint.

At least I think that's the terminology.

We were shopping in Old Town San Diego and saw St. Francis everywhere.

We went into a garden/wind chime shop. Everywhere were things having to do with gardens, kitchens and kitsch. Wind chimes were everywhere! I was thrilled because I thought of my future mother-in-law The two of us love wind chimes. Her son/my fiance hates them.

They also had St. Francis figurines in all kinds of ways. There was wooden garden Francis; ceramic Francis; colorful Francis. Quite odd.

Guess who wins?

I am always going to win. It keeps the peace in the house.

I was thinking about getting several things when I realized we didn't have any room in our damn car! I also didn't feel like packing anything in my already full suitcase, nor did I feel like carrying it on. I am too cheap to ship.

We saw all kinds of historic buildings and sites. There was a wonderful glass blower. The ornaments, lamps and such were spectacular. I had to get something so I got a hair clip. I am always a sucker for hair clips. I did grab a brochure because I wanted to share it with Jamie. He would love this.

Then we visited the tinsmith, the candy maker, candle maker, etc. We were able to watch the candy maker making taffy. I love taffy so I had to get some. Rather than an assortment, I am picky. I want vanilla, peppermint, cinnamon, lemon. You can keep all the crappy flavors like grape, raspberry, booger, etc. I want nothing to do with them!

We saw an old-time dental/physician office. That makes you cringe. We tried to go into a museum to check out a school or something and a surly old woman yelled at us because we had just taken a piece of candy and eaten it. She yelled at us not to come into the musuem with food.

She scared us so we left.

And then I gnawed another piece of taffy off the wax paper (it was warm and wouldn't come off any other way).

Then we had a bit too much fun with some of the souvenir shops. Turns out Basil is fond of being a complete ass also. Great fun! I have pictures with makeship boobies, a funky hat with veil, and with Day of the Dead dolls.

The Day of the Dead is quite fascinating. It's the way some celebrate November 1 and 2. Many religions believe that on or around October 31 is when the veil between this world and the next is thinnest. This is the time when many Mexicans believe ancestors who have passed on will return. It's important for them to prepare their homes for their return. They clean, cook and celebrate because they want to welcome their ancestors and make them feel welcome. This is a cool tradition.

They did have bride and groom Day of the Dead dolls. I almost got them.

Then I thought it might not be the best omen for my wedding...

We did interact with this crazy woman in a shop. We saw St. Francis Christmas ornaments and tea light holders. We were excited. Basil got several for his brothers. The crazy woman kept referring to St. Francis as "Frank." I don't know why it bugged me so much! I felt as though she was being disrespectful. Basil even asked her about her "intimate relationship with St. Francis." He admitted to being to a Franciscan Friar. That didn't seem to faze her.

Frank would be okay with it, I think.

Helloise, the Hooter Parade and a Celebate Friar

2007-11-24T18:27:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite colleagues is also someone I consider a good friend.

We were in San Diego presenting at the American Marketing Association's Symposium on Higher Education yearly conference. We had written a paper with several graduate and undergraduate students. The research was quite exciting. It was nice to work with students on a project to benefit the university.

Truth be told, I think saying that we were presenting at the American Marketing Association's Symposium on Higher Education yearly conference makes me sound quite intelligent and academic. I have made it!

Actually, the conference itself provided much information we will be able to use when we teach and help to implement marketing strategies and web initiatives. We are also thinking about the conference in Chicago next November. We plan to write another paper. Ideally, I would like to include other students. I find this to be a wonderful way to get students involved in research at a university not necessarily known for research. It is hands on and looks wonderful on their resumes. And we get to go to conferences and they get to present with us. Talk about an opportunity - presenting research findings and fielding questions from industry leaders.

Fabulous!

The point of this post is not to go on and on about the benefits of research and how much we love our students, but to discuss the Hooter Parade.

When I arrived, Basil, my colleague, was to pick me up at the airport in our rental car.

He got carried away. His sense of whimsy overtook his reason and sense of obligation and he rented some two-door sports car that has no trunk whatsoever!

He called me while I was on my layover in Philly and told me that he couldn't pick me up. He did tell me that there was an airport shuttle to the hotel and that he would be waiting for me in the bar (if anyone in administration is reading this, we sipped Shirley Temples in the only place in the hotel serving drinks). I thought he was being lazy.

I arrived and was cranky because of the airplane ride (see previous post). I had to wait for my luggage (not long, San Diego is efficient as hell). Then I had to wait for the shuttle. I hate that smokers can smoke anywhere. They can't smoke on the planes so the minute they get outside, they light up. Everyone at the shuttle stop was smoking (or it smelled like it).

I checked in to the nicest hotel I have ever been in. I don't travel poshly. I stay at the Motel 6 because they leave the light on for me. I don't stay at Sheraton's. This was quite nice! Basil was waiting for me in the hotel lobby.

We drank, then I went to bed. That three hour time difference will kick your ass the first night.

The next morning we ate breakfast at the buffet (which is my favorite word next to wine).

Basil then told me that we have to drive around because it is simply too nice to sit around! The conference didn't start until the next day anyway! I wanted to go to Old Town San Diego because I had heard it was cool and I enjoy historic parts of any towns.

Basil did tell me that the night before (Saturday) he went to an old Franciscan mission outside San Diego. It turns out that the Franciscans founded missions in San Diego long before any other religion came in (including present Catholic contingents). I am always amazed and fascinated with religions, where they have come from, where and how they are represented, and what they mean. I guess the Franciscans are no longer at this mission. Thats okay. St. Francis is everywhere in San Diego!

He takes me to this car he rented and I am amazed! I truly thought he was being lazy. I had no idea that he serious. I don't think I have ever seen a car this tiny. It is a convertable, which is nice since it is warm out. We put the top down and set off.

It turns out, Basil is an old man. Not in age, but in manifestation. We have this sassy sports car and Basil is driving 50 mph on the highway. The speed limit is 65! WTF!

We also rent a GPS system. I am not familiar with GPS systems. This is the best invention ever! We have to punch in Old Town and Helloise (our name for our GPS system - Helloise rules) tells us exactly how to get there. She gets a bit surly when we miss a turn and she has to "recalculate," but that's okay. I am the only one who notices, but that's fine.

We get to Old Town and see a fabulous old church and dangerously cool cemetery. We turn onto one of the streets not suggested by Helloise and we see a van turning a corner. We also see many people on the sidewalk walking. I thought I saw Hooters written on the side of the van. I tell Basil to follow it.

How strange that I want to follow a van that may or may not read "hooters" when I am driving in a convertable with a celebate friar.

Sure enough, the van did read "hooters." It turns out we weren in some sort of breast cancer awareness parade. There were support vans and cars in front of us and behind us. We passed men in pink tutus, men in bras, dogs in bras, vans in bras. It was quite spectacular! We were driving through as if we belonged there. We hung out with the boobs for quit some time. Then we decided to head to Old Town to park.

We wondered why, in November, there would be a breast cancer parade since October is breast cancer awareness month. Then we thought perhaps it had something to do with the forest fires that were sweeping through the area in October. That's our only explanation since we didn't stop to ask anyone. People seemed to be having too much damn fun.

And I thought about how cool my CRV would be if I wrapped it in all my old bras.

Little Bastards Take to the Air

2007-11-24T18:11:00.000-05:00

I don't make a secret of the fact that I do not like ill-behaved children.

I also don't make a secret of the fact that I do not like flying (in planes - as opposed to jumping off a cliff with makeshift wings).

When the two are combined, I become one cranky, cranky person.

I recently attended a conference in San Diego (more on wonderful San Diego in a future post). I had to fly since driving or walking from Buffalo doesn't really work.

I make every effort to get to the airport early enough to try to get an exit row seat (I am assured of an aisle seat when I book the damn tickets). This particular flight didn't have an exit row, but I did have my aisle seat.

Did.

I was seated as comfortably as one can be seated on a plane made for little people, and had just read the safety instructions on the card contained in the seat pocket in front of me, when a family of four comes to my row with seats for three. I thought, "There must be some mistake." No.

The father asks me if I would mind sitting in a window seat.

My first thought was, "Um, yes, moron, or I would have requested one." He then tells me that it is in row five (I am in row 19) and that it's just behind first class. I don't care if it's behind the bar. I don't have access to first class, nor would I have access to the bar.

I told him that I really wanted my aisle seat. Then he told me that he has a family and a baby.

I was about to say, "Well, think about family planning next time," when the little baby started screaming!

I couldn't' get to the window seat fast enough!

Turns out the window seat was in the row directly behind first class - the first row in coach. That is even better than an aisle seat! I was secretly thankful, though I wouldn't have admitted it.

As a caveat, the other reason I like an aisle seat is because I have the world's smallest bladder! My mother used to joke that I had to check out every bathroom enroute to anywhere. She didn't think I ever had to go, I just liked looking at bathrooms.

As a note - I do not like bathrooms. They are stinky, dirty places. I don't even really like my own bathroom because it requires that I clean it. When I request a stop at a bathroom, it's because I actually have to use it. I don't hang out in bathrooms (take that, mom).

I was quite tickled that I had to use the bathroom only once on a six hour flight. I am quite sure that has never happened before.

This is what happens when someone who is 5'11" tries to get out of a window seat with no seat in front of her to hold onto for support.

I tried to stand, to no effect. Then I tried to duck while facing the wall separating coach and first class. That didn't work because then my flat arse was in the faces of my two seatmates. That is never a good idea, particularly since I also have gas all the time. Then I turn to face my seatmates. I manage to get over the girl who was sitting next to me by just kicking her foot. That tossed me off balance enough that I almost gave the guy in the aisle seat a lap dance. While some may like that, I am guessing he was less than keen on having me sit in his lap while apologizing for being there, fully clothed, with stinky breath and a full bladder.

On my way to the bathroom, I had to pass the family who took my seat. They looked cramped and uncomfortable.

I smiled.

Haunted Houses

2007-10-15T11:19:00.000-04:00

It have been four months since my last post, I apologize.

What has me fired up today is the show "Hauntings" on Discovery Channel. Yesterday they had a mini-marathon. I have to watch this show while it is still daylight outside otherwise I end up scaring myself. I live in an old house that could be haunted but doesn't appear to be. I don't want some TV-watching karma to suddenly open a portal to Demonville and I then never sleep again.

At any rate, as with all ghost story shows and haunting shows, you get the background on the situation as well as some pretty funny reenactments.

Yesterday, a married couple living with mom and dad were house hunting. They knew they had to get a house or they would end up divorced. It seems mom and dad aren't fun to live with if you are married. [In retrospect, I should have recognized immediately that this couple was dumb, but I digress.]

Their real estate agent drives to this old Victorian house in New England somewhere. She pulls in the driveway and won't even get out of the car. She gives the couple the keys to the house with a kind "have at it, see you when you come out." The couple even states they find this odd. The agent said that she had been in the house once before and won't ever go back in but won't say why.

This doesn't seem to bother them.

It's a giant red flag for me.

Carry on.

The couple walks into the house to be greeted by the family of screwed up freaks. The father, mother and daughter are living in the living room. They have a bed set up, couch, etc. The rest of the house isn't lived in. The father tells the couple not to go upstairs.

They do. All of the doors are nailed shut with boards. They ask why, they get no answer. They get blank, skeevy stares.

Now, I know what you are thinking, the real estate agent won't set foot in the house; the family lives in one room and doesn't speak except to say "don't go upstairs;" the rooms upstairs are all boarded up; this is your dream home! How can you purchase it right away?

That's not what you're thinking?

That's because you are not the couple with their heads in their asses.

Yup, that's right, they buy the house.

It is their dream house.

They regret it when the realize there is a portal to hell and all manner of demon spirits living there.

They need an exorcism, which they get.

Are you kidding? All of this could have been avoided had you decided to think!

Happy Hauntings!

There Surely is an Ass For Every Seat

2007-06-12T14:15:00.000-04:00

How dumb are we?

Everyone seems to be buying things online - EBay, Amazon, you name it. I buy things online. I prefer it, in fact. I can shop without ever slipping into a pair of underwear. I can do that anyway, I guess, but shopping online makes me less conscious of it.

Again - give the Chinese credit for their entrepreneurial spirit.

There are sites that offer products that we Americans must have before the general public. Think about the debut of some of these electronic things that our children must have like Play Stations and other crap that just ruin their tiny little minds. The Chinese are praying on our greed...

And I completely applaud it!

There are stories of people in China offering to get these products for Americans ahead of their release date. All we would need to do is wire the money to them via Western Union or whatever and they will get the product and send it to us! Keep in mind that there are no guarantees the product will ever show up. It would like me saying to someone on the street, "Sure, I can get that for you. Give me $200 and you wait right here. I'll be right back." How do you think that story ends?

And people are wiring money to random dudes in China in the hope of getting the first Play Station or whatever gizmo is popular. I imagine parents are sending this money thinking that it will be wonderful to tell Mitzy at the salon that Little Bastard Johnny got the newest gadget from the maker in China and it only cost $300 more than it normally would but it's worth it to see Johnny so excited that he can play the videogame 'Death in the School Halls' before all his little bastard friends.

And imagine their surprise when they receive nothing in the mail.

And they have no legal recourse.

Capitalism rules!

Entrepreneurialism - Chinese Style

2007-06-12T14:12:00.000-04:00

The Chinese are a wily bunch. They are damn clever.

In addition to refilling used water bottles with tap bottle and peddling it as spring water, they also stand and squat on highways looking for work. You may see this in U.S. cities - will work for food, or some equivalent.

What they do, we found out, is squat on the highway with a sign that says something like "will show you around for cash," but it could say "dumb tourist, give me money and I will fuck you up the ass."

I don't think it said the later. That would be mean. I don't think that happens.

If you are new to a city and need help getting around and finding your way, these people will show you the tourist sites and other places of interest for a price. Simply pick one of them up on the side of the road and cart him or her around.

Great fun.

Flora and Fauna

2007-06-12T14:06:00.001-04:00

I fell in love with some of the flora and fauna in China. I love bamboo. I want to grow my own garden of bamboo in my backyard but don't know if I can. I have never heard of Buffalo Bamboo. I can be the first.

I also love bats. We do have bats in the U.S., notably in the country where I live. I don't recall ever seeing them in Buffalo at night. I may not have been looking for them, but I don't recall them.

Bats flew outside my window at the Friendship Hotel in Beijing nightly. I also enjoyed listening to their cries. I didn't dare stand outside on the balcony too long, nor keep the door open because my room would have been inundated with bugs. Several of our traveling companions fell victim to the bugs. Several woke up and found bites all over their body. Thank God I wasn't one of them. I prefer to be bite free.

Each night I would briefly stand on the porch and listen to the bats and watch them fly about in a Chinese acrobatic aerial maneuver.

Very cool.

Those Chinese Sure are Flexible

2007-06-12T13:54:00.001-04:00

We had the wonderful fortune while in China to attend two performances. One was a dance/theater production highlighting the rich cultural dance and theater performances in Chinese history.

We knew we were in a tourist trap when the announcers made announcements in both Chinese and English. Granted, I was happy for that. It made understanding what was going on much easier; but it did detract from some authenticity I craved.

Aside:
When I vacation and travel, I tend to want to find the local hangouts. I want to do as the Romans do when I am in Rome. If I pull into a parking lot and see tour buses, I tend to want to sprint in the other direction. I don't like tourist traps. China is made of tourist traps. We suspect that our guides, as wonderful and hospitable as they were, somehow got kickbacks from the Chinese government for taking us to certain venues. I would never want to return to said venues. Too much corralling of tourists much as you would cows. I don't like it.

That said, the performance was stunning. It was wonderful to see the costumes and hear the music. The rich history of this country is something I sadly have no knowledge of. How is it that I can be a rather intelligent person but still be missing key pieces of history? Now I am completely in control of my knowledge and can delve into the history when I return. And if I am fortunate enough to go again, I will be even more ready.

On to the acrobatics. In years past, our group has gone to the Beijing Opera. One student described it as worse than getting root canal work - apparently it sounds like squealing cats in heat.

I am thankful that this year we were able to see the Chinese acrobats. I don't think I have ever seen anything quite so spectacular. This should be on every itinerary. The flexibility and stunning beauty of the performers made me yearn for yoga so that I could try to get my leg behind my head in some strange western mimic of the Chinese acrobatic ideal.

At first, I was a bit surprised. The theater looked as though it needed some repair. Then when they paraded in the locals, they turned to stare at us. I was getting used to it at this point, having been stared at for the past two weeks. They turn, stare at you, say something to one another, giggle, and continue staring.

I guess the kindergarten is our zoo; the tourist traps are their zoo. They gaze at us and wonder what on earth we are doing here? What we are all about? Why I have feet as large at a Sasquatch?

Chinese acrobats and other performances - must see. I do hope to have the chance to see them again.

Kindergarten Menagerie

2007-06-12T12:51:00.000-04:00

Readers of this blog know that I am not a fan of children.

I love the little bastards as long as they don't live at my house. I don't want any urchins living with me. I have dogs and am quite content with dogs.

While in China we were able to visit a kindergarten. My first thought was, why? My second thought was that our leader must have known someone to get us into a kindergarten.

Um, no.

Kindergartens are a tourist attraction in China.

We signed up for a pedicab tour of the Chinese Hutongs (traditional residential areas). Part of the tour included a stop and visit with a kindergarten class.

We all filed into the kindergarten and watched students drawing and singing. We even sang a song with them. We were able to interact with the kids, take their pictures, observe them. It was a bit strange. I cannot even imagine taking 27 people into a kindergarten in the U.S. to watch them working. It felt a bit like a zoo. We got to go in, stare at them, get them to laugh, and move on.

One of my students was visibly shaken and upset by this encounter. Some interpreted that to be crankiness. I understood her frustration. We were walking around a classroom playing with children who didn't belong to us. Parents know this is the procedure, but I can't imagine thinking that it would fine for tourists to wander about our schools in the U.S. The children were adorable and seemed to enjoy seeing us. I still think we are missing something.....

I will say this - the Chinese have it right again (in addition to unending booze, lazy susans on the table, and umbrellas in the summer sun)! Chinese families, beginning at age two, drop their children off on Monday at this campus kindergarten and retrieve them on Friday. They do pay for this service.

I might consider having children if I had to worry about them for two years. Then if I could drop them off for someone else to deal with for five days only to handle them for two days a week. Hooray! Sign me up for this kind of parenting!

I make light of this situation. Those who actually love and want children probably think this is crazy. Imagine being without your children for five straight days only to be reunited for two days per week? I guess it would be horrible.

I still think it's ideal.

Poopin' and Pukin'

2007-06-12T12:47:00.000-04:00

I was lucky. I was one of the people who didn't poop and puke on the trip.

By poop, I don't mean your daily constituional, I mean the kind that makes you worry about leaving your loo for any length of time.

At one point we thought people weren't used to the water or the food. Then we thought there was some sort of bug going around. It did seem to travel.

The only thing that happened to me was that I got a sore throat, briefly, that turned into a cough and respiratory distress. I lost my voice, or nearly so, for about two days. While others on the trip may have counted that as a blessing, I found it to be detrimental. I couldn't speak. Do you know what that does to a professor? My profession is speaking and communicating. Not being able to do that sucks.

That said, I would glady give up my voice to prevent poopin' and pukin'.