It's Thursday ... It Must Be Thanksgiving

Despite the fact that holiday lights are twinkling in the shopping center parking lot and our neighborhood holiday junkie has filled their yard with snowmen, santas, and all manner of festive decorations, it is not yet Christmas time!

I've said it before and I'll say it again ... after we eat the trick or treat candy and before we break out the stockings and the red and green M&Ms, there's a little holiday that needs some recognition.

In the scheme of things, it's not a big holiday. It's not a world wide presence It's a simple American holiday that is about more than football and eating ourselves into turkey oblivion. It's a day set aside to give thanks ... as did those pilgrims years ago for the blessings received.

All those years ago, the English settlers gave thanks for the natives that befriended them and the harvest of crops after a disasterous winter.

While I don't have a harvest of crops, I do have some awesome friends and a harvest of blessings for which I would like to take this day, before the parades begin, the cooking commences, and the football gets kicked, or thrown, or tackled or something like that.

Blessing of Family -
I give thanks each day for the family I was lucky enough to be born into. The saying goes that you can't pick your family and this is true. Therefore it is a blessing to have parents who unconditionally love me, listen to me, giving guidance yet allowing me to make my final decisions for good or for ill. It is a blessing to have a brother who may be far away in distance but is close in time of need, to care and challenge and remind me always I am not alone in this world. It is a blessing to have nieces who are growing beautiful and independent, reminders of our youth of yesterday and our hope for tomorrow. Family is truly important, and I am so incredibly grateful for mine. This year we cannot all be together physically, and while this is a momentary sorrow, I know that there are many who have lost family members over this year. Therefore I take my blessing that we shall celebrate this holiday together in our hearts and look forward to the time we may be together physically again.

Blessings of Girlies -
I give thanks each day for the three girlies who daily bring joy and love to my heart and light to my life. Each one unique and each one so special that words simply fail.

Blessings of Friends -
I give thanks each day for the friends in my life, both new and old ... both far and near. The remainder of the family saying states that you can pick your friends. I'm not always sure who has picked who, however I can state wholeheartedly that I have been truly blessed with an abundance of friends that are supportive, comforting, crazy, and joyous. I give thanks for each and every individual one.

Blessing of Freedom -
I give thanks each day for the freedom I enjoy in this grand country of ours. From the President who leads us to the troops who defend us to local law enforcement officials who protect us, I am blessed to live in this country where opportunity has been and is still available for those who seek it, where I am afforded the right to worship as I choose and voice my opinions in agreement or disagreement without fear of retaliation. It's not perfect but it's mine and I am thankful for the freedom to live in it.

Blessing of Health & Home -
I give thanks each day for the roof over my head. I give thanks for an employer that provides the opportunity earn the living that pays for the roof, as well as the amenities that go with it - such as electricity, water ... internet connection. *grins* I give thanks for the health I have and the doctor that is there when I'm not feeling quite right.

Blessing of Being Me -
I give thanks each day for the opportunity to place my feet upon the floor, look into the mirror, greet the day and simply be me. For the opportunity to enjoy my tea in the morning, to cuddle my nursery babies, to be able to sit and write seriously or nonsensical, to relax and read, to travel or stay home, to simply be me - whether laughing or crying.

And ... since it's Thursday ...
I give thanks for the television show that is unique in that through it I have found friends and with them created an imaginary Sanitarium that brings discussion and laughter, sparking a passion for writing, and learned that though the world may be huge, when given something in common it doesn't matter whether you live in the same city or on separate continents to be able to strike up a conversation that leads to more than just television. I give thanks for the creative team of writers, directors, actors, and crew that bring us the show Supernatural.

Blessings come. They are there whenever and where ever we need or want them - big or small - if we simply take the time to see them. On this day that is set aside, between the candy and the glitter, to give thanks ... I challenge you to look around and see the blessings in your life.

And give thanks for them.

Just A Guy and A Guitar

Concert ... musical performance ... can be vocal or instrumental or both.

Over the years I have attended numerous concerts, walking away from them carrying the music I had heard in my head and my heart. Most of them were vocal/instrumental, many of them were church related, some of them more memorable than others.

It's weird, but, when asked the question,"who have you seen in concert?", my mind tends to respond immediately with concerts I have seen in a large forum - such as the Reunion Arena in Dallas. There was a period of time where I seemed to constantly be a part of the vast crowd - listening, watching and dancing as the music of various groups and individuals seemed to pump it's way into my bloodstream, as the rhythm seemed to take over the beat of my heart and the words would wrap around my mind and have me singing along.

The groups varied - everything from Neil Diamond & Barry Manilow to Tears for Fears t0 Journey & Foreigner. Each performance was spectacular with the lighting and the orchestration. There were laser light shows and back up singers, big screens for close ups of the band and, in the case of Journey, one spectacularly beautiful dark cherry red grand piano that I can still picture in my mind with crystal clarity. Everything was huge and, even today, hearing one of the songs can bring back to my mind the feeling of sitting/standing in the dark listening to it live and in person.

Still ... although the concerts of John Cougar Mellencamp or Powerstation may first come to mind when asked the question ... I have to say they are not my favorites.

Nope. As much as I love the back up musicians and singers, the lightshows, the dancers, and all the extras that make these concerts so huge, it is the intimate settings of listening ... simply listening to the musician and his instrument ... that are the "favorite" concert moments I look back on.

Listening live and in person seems to allow the music to take such a greater hold than if it is simply heard over the radio. There's something much more personal when music is heard live, when you are able to sit and watch the musician play - fingers rippling across the piano or strumming through the chords on a guitar. Watching the face of the singer as the song they are giving voice seems to come from somewhere deep inside them.

I grew up with a musician. Some of my favorite memories of my little brother is sitting in the den, listening to him play the piano and sing. The music would float through our house, filling the silent corners, accompanying us in our daily tasks. Sometimes he would be alone and other times he would be joined by a couple of friends, but always would his voice flow over and through me, even as I pretended to be the cool, uninvolved older sister just reading a book on the couch.

Although I really don't care for country music, per se, I have seen some really good concerts by country artists, both small and large, yet none of them truly captured me quite the same as the music of a young man who I loved for a time *mumblemumble* years ago. During our time together, I had the opportunity to see him perform on stage many times, yet the music was always best when it was played during the dark of the night ... when it was just us two and we would sit, knee to knee on the floor and he would play the guitar and sing. The music would light his face and come from his soul and fill my heart.

I recently was priviledged to attend two concerts by two very unique musicians in one weekend.

They weren't held in huge arenas with thousands of fans.

There wasn't any lightshow or back-up bands or singers.

There was simply a stage with a mike for a singer and his guitar placed in front of an appreciative audience.

Each man gave a performance which was filled with energy and heart. Each song told a story - whether in the lyrics on their own, or by the face and voice of the individual artist singing. The guitars were extensions of their bodies, their fingers at times caressing and other times beating the strings but always making the notes blend together with an artistry that was intriguing and enticing to watch.

Captivated, I sat on the edge of my seat. The lyrics and medleys singing inside my soul. Each concert so unique and different from the other and yet the same in that they were simply a musician ... playing his guitar and singing.

When the talent is real and the music is good ... lightshows and back-up may be awesome - but they are soooo incredibly not necessary. Just ask anyone who have attended concerts by either Steve Carlson or Jason Manns.

A concert with just a guy and his guitar, doing what they love to do ... sing the music they love.

It's Thursday, Therefore It Must Be Supernatural!

You know that you have achieved a certain level of obsession when you are innocently asked the question, “Which season is your favorite?” and your reply is...

“It’s hard to narrow it down between Season One and Season Two because they each had such merit – Season One for it’s introductory value and Season Two for it’s emotional impact. I really liked what we had of Season Three, however, as of right now, even though we’ve only had 3 episodes, I’d have to say that Season Four is giving them all a run for their money in being my favorite.”

The true level of obsession is brought to light when the questioning individual looks at you with a puzzled expression and replies, “I was thinking more of the calendar seasons. You know … spring, summer, winter, and fall?”

Oh.

Ooops.

Of course, this is strictly a hypothetical conversation.

You know that … right?

It is definitely not a conversation that might have taken place a few days ago with a friend I had not seen for a while, as we were chatting after running into each other at a social engagement. Nope, definitely not. (Please don’t stand so close. I understand that a lightning strike can be fairly intense.)

Actually, I am one of those individuals who enjoys all four of the different seasons throughout the course of a year. Each one contains a beauty and a reason to be appreciated.

So, I reconsidered the hypothetical question and decided to rephrase my hypothetical response with my own little "Ode To The Seasons", so to speak.

Here goes:

I love the winter season!

The nights are long and dark, with cold winds blowing as I enjoy the warmth of a fireplace, the soft light of flickering candles, and the comfort of flannel jammies and wooly sweaters.

The leafless trees stand as twisting, shadowy shapes against the cloudy gray skies, sparking my imagination with haunting images.

The occasional snow falls softly, blanketing the landscape, blinding my eyes with glistening sparkles as the sun shines on it from a distance.

The sounds of the holidays spent joyously with family and friends, cause me to pause and give thanks for the blessing that I have received throughout the year.

The weeks pass by with a mingling of heartrending angst and breathtaking anticipation, as I endure and enjoy the winter season which brings dreaded weeks of hiatus, briefly broken by individual episodes designed to capture my attention and remind me that while I might have thought I knew what direction The Kripke was pointing me in, anything is possible and nothing is as it seems in the journey of the Winchesters.

I love the spring season!

The lengthening days filled with blustery winds as I enjoy opening the house, blowing out the stale air and replacing it with freshness throughout each room.
The slender leaves and buds on the ground and in the tree begin to grow, as I renew my love of gentle blossoms and soft leaves, their pastels blending and blurring like an impressionistic painting.

The rain that is alternately fierce and gentle, always followed by the sparkle crystal colors arching, alternately beats upon my roof and mists upon my face, but always ends up refreshing my soul with promises of renewal and growth and fantasy.

The sounds of children laughing and playing outside become the rhythm and musical background, serenading my lengthening evenings and weekends.

The weeks pass by with joy and hopefulness as each one brings a new episode continuing the saga of weaving the threads of storylines ever tighter, raising expectations and fears as the finale draws closer until it is released, leaving me to gasp in a mixture of delight and horror at the Winchester Boy’s situation and the knowledge that it will be months before the solution will even begin to commence.

I love the summer season!

The days are long and filled with blue skies and hot sun as my girlies revel in their freedom from the classroom and open themselves to the possibilities of learning from alternate and less traditional forms of teaching.

The bushes and grass deepen to a lush green and we begin our annual cycle of competition on how tall they can grow before I am able to trim and mow, taming them into submission for (hopefully) the coming week.

The heat and humidity continues to rise, causing me to pause and give continuing thanks for ceiling fans, light cotton tops, lemonade, barbeque grills, and icemakers as I attempt to remain cool as I go through the business of my daily routines.

The sounds of glittering fireworks bursting, hot classic music driving, laughing screams of children splashing in pools and sprinklers fill the air and bring a smile to my heart.

The weeks pass by both swiftly and slowly as free time is increasingly filled with diversions, tactics designed to distract and keep active a mind ever attempting to speculate on the plight of the Winchester Boys, knowing with dreaded expectancy that whatever ideas I could formulate will not come remotely close to the weaving of threads both old and new as The Kripke and his company begin writing and filming.

I love the fall season!

The autumn nights that begin to lengthen and the crisp feeling that is introduced into the air as I take pleasure in returning to routines of work and school, throwing a precautionary jacket in the car as I shuttle from activity to activity.

The bushes and trees turn shades of muted hues golden and bronze, of vivid shades crimson and scarlet, as I find my wardrobe turning from whites and pastels to the bolder jewels of greens and reds and blacks.

The shifting of lazy southern breezes to brisk northern winds begin to penetrate, bring frost to the harvest of corn and apples and pumpkins and the scent of soups and chili cooking in the crock pot and pies baking in the oven.

The sounds of music pervade the air as marching bands take the field, filling the stadium with the distinct harmonization of brass and woodwind instruments stepping in time to the beat of the drums, or, as choir members take their places on tiers of risers, filling the auditorium with a blending of voices high and low in a harmony seamless, as both band and choir fill my heart with pride for my girlies as they participate in the creation of the unique sounds that pervade my ears.

The weeks pass by as each Thursday becomes a beacon, lighting the way to another new episode, as each episode further entangles both my heart and my mind in the deftly woven storyline that intrigues and delights my imagination with a family saga of warmth, of love, of fierce desperation, and hope filled terror set in a back drop of suspense and horror brought to life by the talents of all involved – creator, writers, directors, producers, actors, and the multitude of crew members – creating a television program that is unlike any I have ever had the pleasure of viewing and making each season of the year something to which I look forward to with anticipation.

So, there you have it ... my "Ode to the Seasons". I suppose I should have added the disclaimer tag ... "Supernatural Style". That's what a good obsessive would have done, don't you think? :-)

What Kind of Rose?

My sweet friend Whimsy put out this quiz on her LJ blog ... "What type of rose are you?".

Yeah ... cause with a name like mine I'm going to totally not take THAT one!

Figured I would share the results. :-)

Neskaya Quiz: What Type of Rose are You? [Red]
You are passionate and romantic. Your have such passion when it comes to love that you find it to be one of life's sweetest things. You believe in love at first sight and wish that there were more love in the world. You are a caring sweetheart.

Neskaya.Net Quizzes: The Rose Quiz

Needless to say ... I'm feeling very good about myself at the moment. (I'm also wondering how this would have gone if I were feeling a bit cynical tonight. Hmmmm.)

Life As I Know It Is Over

Did you feel the shift in the balance today?

I certainly did.

Life changed today.

It will never be the same.

Today two girlies turned thirteen.

Today I officially have three teenagers in my life.

Today, The Bickersons have joined their older sister in that transition period of life from child to young adult.

Today, instead of one package of raging adolescent hormones, I have three.

Three girlies that stand tall and beautiful, with intelligence and talent, that will - with the flip of an inner switch that no one can see, no one can control - without warning, mutate before my very eyes into a raging, weeping, screeching, foot stomping, chest heaving creature of warped defiance.

Then, just as suddenly, the mutation resolves and the transformation back into the sweet and lovely girlies that have been the light of my life and delight of my soul.

Yep ... It's happened. Life has marched on and now I am living in the danger zone. I have increased my whiplash insurance and purchased stock in my favorite haircolor . I have purchased mass quantities of migraine relief and stocked up the first aid kit with antiseptic and gauze, not to mention bandaids. I have also stocked up on various assortments of chocolates, including various types of brownies and ice cream, and made the aquaintace of a friendly bail bondsman.

Other than continual praying for an increase in my patience level, I don't know of anything else I can actually add to my survival kit.

I'd like to believe that weathering the coming years will be a breeze, however I have this fear that niggles in the back of my mind.

I keep hearing my mother's voice.

"I hope you have a teenage girl JUST LIKE YOU!"

The voice vibrates in triplicate.

Could someone please pass the paper bag? I feel the need to hyperventilate.

Condiment Craziness

Sometimes you simply have to shake your head and move on.

Sometimes you have to give in to the desire and rant.

Today I will be ranting. I've shaken my head, I've moved on time and again, but this morning I couldn't do it any longer.

Today I will be writing another of my sternly worded letters. Once again, I state up front that I realize I am a "lone voice in the wilderness". Perhaps some things get to me a bit more than they do others. That's okay. Sometimes I just have to speak my mind and this is the forum that I choose to do it in - my writing.

Because after you do something insane and drastic (and make people look at you like you've lost your everlovin' mind) ... it's nice to share it with friends ... right?

See ... once a week I treat myself to a fast food breakfast. I'm counting pennies alot lately and eating out is expensive when, for the cost of one dinner at my favorite little restaurant I can buy groceries that will fix atleast three, if not four meals. However, buying a couple of breakfast sandwiches or taquitos is relatively inexpensive and so I indulge myself.

Myself likes it. :-)

This morning's treat was two sausage, egg, and cheese taquitos from one of my favorite local fast food chains - Whataburger. These taquitos always come with a cheerful memory of living in Austin and being a Nanny. My girl and I would have them every other Friday morning. She loved them. So did I.

Now, I'm not a regular, but I have been doing this for the last few months and the same girl has been there running the window each time. She recognizes me, my car, and my order. Each time I place my order over the lovely box, I am asked if I want picante sauce with my order. Each time I reply "no thank you". I pull to the window and pass the girl my money along with my "Good morning". She replied, we smiled and she asked me again ... did I want picante sauce. Now, I would just like to say for the record that over the last few months I have replied to the negative each and every time. Nothing has changed. So, once again I shake my head to the negative and replied "No, thank you." She closed the window and I waited. She comes back to the window and asks AGAIN ... would I like picante sauce. I really tried to keep the look of total disbelief out of my face but I'm thinking I failed as the words "NO! THANK YOU." came from my lips. She hands me my bag and I proceed to pull out of the lane and towards the street. I set the bag to the side and something rattled. Now ... taquitos? They're fairly soft. Not so much with the rattling. So I opened the bag and looked and there sat two taquitos ... topped with four containers of picante sauce!

I could have just gone on.

I probably should have just gone on.

But I didn't.

I turned around and got back in the order lane. When the girl's voice came over the box I replied that I wasn't ordering, I was returning. Yeah ... that got her attention. I pulled up to the window and found, not just the order girl, but - surprise! - also her manager. I opened my bag. I pulled out the four containers. I handed them to the girl and told her that I would be really grateful if she would actually LISTEN to her customers. The I told the manager that his profit margin might increase if he would take a bit of time in training his people to first listen and then follow through. Over the last couple months I could have filled two jars of picante sauce from the packages I have refused and yet they still give me.

I'd like to point out here that I wasn't snippy and nasty, just frustrated at the waste because it just gets thrown away.

That was my morning and that is what has prompted my need to write a sternly worded letter ... in case anyone actually reads this blog, but more to just get it off my chest.

Ahem.

To the Presidents and CEOs of Drive Thru Food America -

Dear Sirs,

As one of the millions of people who have frequented your various establishments over the years I would simply like to say "Thank You".

Originally, I was only able to stock my refrigerator by filling my bottles of ketchup and mustard and mayonaise from the handfuls of condiments my bags would contain, whether I asked for them or not.

Over the years, I've been able to scratch butter and sour cream, picante sauce and cocktail sauce off of my grocery list, not to mention the barbeque sauce and the ranch dressing. Now, with the advent of offerings of items such as honey mustard, croutons, garlic butter, various hot sauces, etc. I am able to bypass the condiment aisle of my grocery store altogether! Awesome.

Plus, I cannot forget to give thanks to the pizza chains. Not only do I have an endless supply of grated parmesan cheese, but I also have more than enough red pepper flakes to give flaming heartburn to each pot of chili I prepare for the next 10 years.

Let us not forget the salt and pepper, those basic of condiments. I now have enough salt to protect my house from the most evil host of demons. (My apologies if you are not current on your demon lore. Might I suggest you turn to the CW show Supernatural on Thursday nights and find out how salt is more than just a seasoning?) As for pepper, well, let's just say that sneezing is never a problem around my household.

I would simply like to end this letter by saying thank you. Thank you for hiring people who do not listen. Thank you for training your employees that the customer gets it, whether they want it or not.

Oh! And thank you for raising the price of your menu items to cover your overhead losses caused by the handfuls of ketchup, of picante sauce, of ranch dressing, etc. over the years.

Sincerely yours,

A Condiment Customer

Now ... if you'll excuse me ... I'm heading out to get a hot dog for lunch. My relish jar was looking a bit low this morning.

Making Everything Better

On the way to work the other morning, I passed a semi-truck that was pulling out of the parking lot of the local Braums. For those that don't know, Braums is a chain of small ice cream and dairy stores that began in Oklahoma and now have locations in Missouri, Arkansas, Kansas, and Texas. According to my mom, it's one of the best ice creams ever. I tend to agree. Anyhow, as I passed this truck that had obviously been making a product delivery, I was caught by the slogan on the side panel.

"Braums Ice Cream Makes Everything Better"

Now, for those who aren't familiar with Braums, you aren't hearing the jingle in your head, but trust me ... it's one of those catchy, once it's there it's never leaving your head type of jingles. To simply read the slogan sets the jingle singing in my mind ... over and over and over and over.

So it was, after passing the truck and having the jingle solidly planted in my head, that I began to try and distract myself with other thoughts in order to push it out. No such luck ... not even the radio helped - it was time for the news. Unwillingly, at first, I gave into the thoughts and let my mind wander. Does Braums make everything better? Is it really Braums, or is it the ice cream that is creating the feelings of everything being better? Cause, over the years, I've eaten alot of different ice creams, in alot of different places.

There was the ice cream at our birthday parties growing up. Usually the Krogers store brand that was always kept handy in the gallon buckets in our deep freezer when we were young. Sweet and creamy, it would melt into the cake and make it soggy but it was always so good - especially with chocolate syrup and candy sprinkles and frosting from a birthday cake. The sugar high was a blast and probably the reason why cake and ice cream was the last thing on the agenda, so that friends were sent home with their parents before the frenzy truly began.

There was the ice cream at Swensons in Minnesota where my church youth group would congregate after church on Sunday nights. Amidst laughter and fun, shakes and mountains of flavored ice creams were shared as the weekend fun was rehashed and the coming week was anticpated. The garish red wall paper and the gleaming wood and brass of the tables and fixtures remain firmly in my mind, along with the gigantic bowl of flavors that was sat in front of me the last time I was there ... the night of my 17th birthday ... the night before I left Minnesota to move to Texas. Although the night of laughter and fun was bittersweet, the sharing of ice cream and memories was sweet and lasting.

When I was living in Austin, the nanny of a precocious infant/toddler/preschooler, of all the places one could go for ice cream, it was the Dairy Queen that was the best. During those years, nothing fancy was necessary. Simply a sunny afternoon, a child next to me in her car seat, (this was over twenty years ago folks), a trip to the park and a swirled cone of soft serve creamy goodness. Or a gloomy rainy day brightened by a child's laughter when the soft serve swirl was dipped in chocolate to give it a crunchy sweet crust. Who needed fancy dishes and gourmet toppings when they had moments like that to cherish?

Through the years ice cream seems to be a common thread for me, which is kinda funny considering when asked what I want especially for a dessert, it is usually the last thing I think of eating. Yet it fills those moments ... those memories ...

... the pink divinity ice cream that was from Byerlys in Minnesota only at Christmas time ...

... the mini ice cream sandwiches that are passed out at Broken Arrow's Rooster Days parade byt the employees of our local Blue Bell creamery ...

... the Ben & Jerry's that keeps me company during new episodes of Supernatural on Thursday nights (Season Four premieres September 18th on the CW - Woot!) ...

... the rich and creamy dish of Schwann's ice cream as I enjoy a quiet evening at my parents house, watching television and talkng ...

... and tells me that it doesn't really matter what brand of ice cream is being eaten. It's the company, the memory, the moment that is really the most important, the most wonderful part.

The ice cream just makes everything better.