It's Thursday, But It's Not Supernatural

Excuse me a moment, before I get started here. Please note: I realize I usually post my Supernatural blogs on my LJ or BFZ spots, however, this one is a bit different than my normal Supernatural stuff and I REALLY wanted it to be here as well. Hence the reason why I'm posting it here. Okay????

It’s the first Thursday after the season finale and I had a plan.

Actually … I still have a plan.

It is a plan that was something to help get me … and hopefully entertain you as well … through the endlessness that is called “Supernatural Summer Hiatus”.

However, today’s initial publication has been interrupted by the Broken Arrow Public School System.

*grins*

I don’t know why you would be surprised. Those of you who have been around awhile know they’ve been doing to me for years. Heck, those who have been around a short time probably still know about it. Having three girlies … one in choir and two in band … means having activities to attend. Yet somehow, the BA school system automatically always seemed to know exactly when Thursday night would present, not only a new episode of Supernatural, but usually an episode that was key to the mythological storyline, thus making it twice as enticing.

However … as I am constantly advised by the youngest of my girlies (with hands on hips, toss of hair, and glaring eye – all she need is the tapping toe – scary!) … the three of them are indeed more important than any television program, even Supernatural. That doesn’t mean to say that I haven’t become excelled at strategic cut and run parking and hugging/kissing/dashing at the end of a program. And it sure doesn’t mean that my sweet Baby has become an expert streak at navigating the road from school program to home in minutes. It also doesn’t mean that my girlies don’t roll their eyes as I make my departure, and then quiz me the next day … begging to see the newest episode and determine for themselves whether it was good or not.

However, my girlies … well … they are my heart and they are my soul and they ARE more important than a Supernatural episode. (Shhh! Don’t’ tell them!) Therefore, today … the Broken Arrow School System and my eldest girlie are allowed to interrupt this blog originally designed to be my introductory Supernatural blog for my summer ramble room.

Today … tonight … at 7:30pm (CST) … my eldest girlie will be entering an auditorium with her graduating class of 2009 to receive her high school diploma.

Proud doesn’t even begin to describe the way I feel about this young lady.

I could spend some time and tell you about her accomplishments, for they are many.

I could spend some time and tell you about her years of band – the awards, the parades, the concerts, the practicing in my garage when she was just beginning.

I could spend some time and tell you about her years of softball, games, practices, getting dirty and scraped and loving every minute of it.

I could spend some time and tell you about her love for her cat, her enjoyment of reading, of heckling her younger sisters, of sleeping past noon, of listening to music, of playing games, of drawing, of watching the “The Lion King” over and over and over and over and over.

I could spend time and tell you of her years growing in God’s grace, of watching her grow, grasping the concepts presented and understanding God’s love for her as His own child.

I could spend time and tell you several things about this child whom I held the day she was born … a gift from heaven … delivered as a blessing to my heart and a delight to my soul.

However that would take more words than I can post without once again breaking the blogosphere. I’ve done it once, I won’t do it again.

I will simply tell you that there is no greater feeling for me than to have this child’s arms encircle me and lay her head upon my shoulder … there is no more feeling of completeness than to hear the words at the end of a phone call – “I love you, too” … there is no greater joy than to be rewarded by a sweet smile, a twinkling eye, a wicked grin, or a snarky comment during times spent together.

She is precious.

And tonight, she will be doing the walk across the stage and be given her diploma (or the semblance of it until final grades are tallied – not that there’s a question, but there are procedures), thus marking the end of one journey and embarking on another. Accepted to an awesome university, next fall she will be moving onward – learning more about life, about people, about the world around her – towards her dreams, some fulfilled, others changed, others evolving.

And tonight, I’ll be in the audience … watching the young blonde girl cross the stage in her cap and gown and seeing the small girl with shiny gold hair and tiny hands clutching tightly to the plastic play spoons as she sits on my kitchen counter on a Saturday morning “helping” me make Mickey Mouse pancakes for breakfast before we settle ourselves on the couch for yet another viewing of Disney’s “The Lion King”. I will be watching the spirited young girl, smiling and laughing amidst her friends and peers and seeing the little girl who would place her hands on each side of my face, look me in the eye and tell me in her little girl voice that I was her “bestest friend ever”.

Nope. Proud just doesn’t quite cover the feelings I have for this young girl. I don’t think words ever truly describe them.

Yet that’s okay.

Because what’s important is that she already knows.

And I know.

And that’s enough for both of us.

So, my friends … today I’m taking a break from my love of Supernatural and concentrating on my love for something … someone … a wee bit more important.

Okay … a whole heaping mound more important.

Yet, I hope you will keep an eye on this space … I plan to return next week. I’m re-watching Season Four and I’m rambling. I’ll actually be starting with the finale of Season Three, since I never actually wrote about it. And I’ll be doing these rambles with the help of “my friend”. BDW has always been central to the storyline. It seemed only right to bring him along with me. :-D

But for now … I’ve got a girlie to watch graduate.

Isn't she beautiful?

Happy Thursday!! Best day of the week!

20 Days ... Records Set ... Events Occured ... Discoveries Made

Last night on the news, the weatherman advised that we had set a new record ... 20 continuous days of rain, effectively beating the previous record of 13 days. Now, granted, there have been - few and far between - spots of sunshine during these past twenty days. There have been actual hours where no rain has fallen. It has not been a continuous flooding rain for the past 480 hours. We have had days which began with sunshine and ended in storms or vice versa. We have had days of continual light misting rain. We have had storms rage continually throughout the day. However the method ... the result has been the same ... at some point during the last twenty days, rain has fallen on each of them and a new record has thus been set. Now, for some reason known only to the insanity of my mind, when I heard this news, I began thinking about the last twenty record-breaking days and realized that, while I personally haven't exactly set any major records, the last twenty days have been fairly momentous in my life. Events have occurred and discoveries have been made, prompting me to share some of them here ... in my own little ramble room.



Anniversaries are considered to be momentous occasions. The larger the number ... the greater the occasion. Right? I mean ... 25th & 50th anniversaries are celebrated with silver and gold respectively, thus indicating that their achievement is to be valued. Although it wasn’t a silver or gold anniversary, May 3, 2009 commemorated a special date for me. As of that date I had been employed by my company for ten years.



I have to say, I'm rather proud of that achievement. Since beginning my employment availability at the tender age of 16 *mumblemumble* years ago ... we won't count the number of previous years of babysitting ... 10 years is the longest length of time I have been employed with a single company, thus breaking my previous record of 7.5 years at Avis Rent-a-Car. With today's economy such as it is, I am grateful for my job, yet there's more to it than just being grateful for being employed.



This job is something that came about after I had been laid off from a previous employer and without work for four months. At the time I remember thinking it was a "God thing", my coming to this place at just the right time with the ability to utilize all the skills I had gained over the years. I have since realized that this job truly is a "God thing" for I have been blessed over and over by it ... by the people who have come and gone throughout the years and whose lives have touched mine. Yes, there have been bad days ... gray days ... frustratingly aggravating black storm ridden days ... yet it always seems that even in the midst of my most infuriating times, something would occur - a short note ... a grateful smile ... a quiet comment - that renewed my faith that this position was the right one for me and that it truly continues to be a "God Thing".



My ten years was celebrated by the arrival of a truly spectacular arrangement of flowers, sent to me at my office from the president & vice-president of our management company. An array of tulips, hydrangea blooms, lilies, snapdragons, and other assorted bright spring flowers entwined with eucalyptus and greenery, it was breathtaking in its beauty. This morning ... eleven days later ... as I was removing some of the withering stems, I found the bud of a single remaining lily just beginning to open its petals ... a burst of new life and beauty amidst the faded blooms.



Perhaps it's not a record but it was definitely a reminder that beauty continues even when we believe life around us is gray and dreary … like when you’re in the midst of 20 days of rain.



During these twenty days I have also discovered that I will never – EVER - become a narcotic junkie. Seriously. I couldn’t even begin to deal with the constipation, a side effect that comes with regular usage.



‘Nuff said.



*grins*



I discovered this fact during the last twenty days when, for the first time in my *mumblemumble* years, I actually injured myself in such a way as to require my physician to prescribe pain medication heavier than anything I’d ever used previously. As a single female these *mumblemumble* years, I have discovered that when all is said and done, reliance has to be on one’s self when certain events occur. Family is paramount and friends are blessings, but when you are home alone and you fall in the shower, there’s only one person to rinse you off and then clean up the sudsy mess on the bathroom floor. (BTW … that actually did happen about 4 years ago over the July 4th weekend and … again … we’re gonna go with ‘nuff said on that.)



Therefore, when I twisted my knee getting out of my car one evening after work, I thought nothing more of it than a simple twist … a sprain. They happen. You alternate heat with cold and keep it propped. Ibuprofen works great to take the edge off. A few days later you are walking like nothing occurred. In the meantime, there’s only one person to do the laundry … one person to stop at the grocery store and cook the meals … one person to clean up the kitchen and so on and so forth. So, this single female continued business as usual. The event of a twisted knee would pass.



Except … this time … it didn’t.



Still … seeing as doctors are not my favorite people … (my apologies to the medical profession but its true) … I’ll confess … I delayed. For those of us that have achieved the ripe age of *mumblemumble* years, we understand that continual rain has a tendency to seep into our bones and joints, causing a certain amount of aches and pains. Move a bit slower, stick with the heat because it feels better on the propped knee, pop some extra ibuprofen … everything is fine.


Except ... this time ... it wasn’t.



After a week of rain and of … I’m going with the word “discomfort” here … it was time to seek a doctor’s attention.



Blech.



Events have since unfolded amidst the raindrops and storms, and I have been indoctrinated into the medical profession’s game of “Hurry up … no … wait!” With urgency I was sent for an MRI and given a diagnosis. With waiting I have been turned over to an orthopedic specialist. With urgency I have been given details of pending surgery. With waiting I have been given specific instructions not to walk, keep the knee propped and … did I mention the narcotics??? Events have since unfolded and yet, I am still the same single girl who fell in the shower. There is, still, just me to do the rinsing off and the cleaning up ... or ... in this case, the daily chores of life. Yet with the storms … after the raindrops … there’s always God’s rainbow and my rainbows these last 20 days may not have set records, however they did remind me that blessings … like rainbows are there to be discovered.



Whether it was a pair of supporting parents, an adopted Auntie, a couple of caring co-workers, a crazed friend, a simple note, a late night phone call, a load of laundry, a bag of groceries, a hug - in person or through cyberspace ... all of them worked together to remind this single female that while she is alone ... she is never truly alone.



Yep ... events have a way of happening. Big and momentous like a thunderstorm rolling across the plains (or through your neighborhood) they rumble through your life. Along with the events come the discoveries, gentler like the continuing mist or light showers after the storm, but no less awe inspiring in the rainbows they leave.



Yep ... it's been twenty days of rain here. And according to the weatherman ... that record is soon to be broken as rain is anticipated in the form of a huge honking storm coming through.



Tonight.



Making it twenty-one days of rain.



Wonder if there's another event fixing to unfurl itself in my life?

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.

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? :-)

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.

A Night at the Opera

This blog entry is dedicated to my eldest girlie.

Band geek that she is, it's no surprise how much my girlie loves music. Our earliest Saturday mornings (and any other time) were spent in repetitious viewings of various Disney "Sing-a-Long" videos. Then came the Disney animated movie Lion King. She and I saw it in the theater atleast 3 times ... I'm thinking it might have been more. From the first moment the sun began to rise on the screen with the opening strains of music, until the very last note was sounded at the end of the credits (seriously - we would watch them to the final end), she would sit in her seat, face rapt, eyes glued to the giant screen, her whole body attuned to everything she saw. Her only movement was when the music would begin for the various songs, as though she were keeping time with the music with her little body.

Did I mention she was 3 years old when Lion King hit the theaters?

The purchase of the video when it later came out became a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it was a guaranteed 90 minutes that she would sit ... motionless ... in one spot ... allowing me the opportunity to accomplish something (cleaning, cooking, dressing, etc.) without a small child in my face "what 'cha doin'?" or "can I do that?" or "I wanna try!". The curse was that in a small apartment there was no place to evade the sound coming from the television and so, no only was every lyric of every song burned into my brain, but for years I could actually recite whole passages of dialogue when given a one word cue.

However, she loved it then ... and 14 years later, she loves it still.

As the years have passed, she has broadened past the Disney genre of musicals. Broadway musicals have since captured her attention. Being a catlover, the musical Cats was one of the first to catch her attention. Others have also struck a chord with her, such as Oklahoma! (naturally).

Recently, I was watching a repeat of Hello Dolly! (the Barbra Streisand movie) on PBS when my girl walked in. Catching the music, you could see it was almost like I had hooked a fish ... she was simply drawn ... eyes and focus totally on the television, she sat and watched ... visually taking in the sight of the costumes and the dancing ... her whole body reacting to the music.

One musical that has totally captured her is Phantom of the Opera. My dvd of the movie version was captured and lost to the realm of her bedroom and dvd player. My CD of the musical highlights was stolen and it's music was ripped and copied to computer and MP3 player. To say that she loved this musical would have been an understatement. So, when the Broadway Company brought the Phantom to our own Tulsa Performing Arts Center this summer, you can imagine the conversations that took place.

"I want to go."

"I know that sweetie."

"No, seriously ... I NEED to see it."

"I understand that darlin'."

"I'm going to die if I can't see it."

No ... there's no drama queen blood running through her veins. Nope. None at all.

For a month, she and I bounced the possibility back and forth, talking about it, trying to determine if it would be possible, scouting seats online and checking prices. Yet money is tight.

The decision came down to this ... do we spend the money to see Phantom of the Opera or do we save the money and spend it to take a day trip up to Kansas City in October and see the Broadway production of Lion King?

Yeah ... that was a tough one. I did mention, didn't I, that the child has adored Lion King since it's inception when she was THREE YEARS OLD?!

After grumbling and mumbling, and may I say a VERY nice moment of pouting (the child could win awards with the way she tucks that lip when she pouts) ... my girlie was the one to make the decision. We would save our money and try to see Lion King.

Then a local television show ... one of those "what's going on in Tulsa" type programs ... announced they were going to give away two tickets to Phantom of the Opera.

Got any ideas what might have happened next? To say that she was DETERMINED to win these tickets would ... again ... be an understatement. She WAS going to win. She and I were going to see Phantom of the Opera. That was the only thing she would accept. There would be no alternative. Failure was not an option, was not something she was going to even begin to think about.

Do you know that she did it? Yep. With the help of speed dial and some assistance from her mom, my girlie won two tickets to see her first Broadway musical live and in person. Her glee was simply infectious.

We went.

It was a warm Tuesday night, but there was a nice breeze. As Baby made her way on the highway towards downtown Tulsa, my girlie kept up a constant chatter. Excitement seemed to shimmer off of her face and thread it's way through her voice. Even when the conversation actually veered away from the upcoming musical, you could still see and hear her anticipation. It was like a cloak surrounding her and she was holding it close.

We parked. She picked the lot. There were actually a couple closer that cost the same amount but I think that one was picked because it was closest to where we were and she suddenly needed to be out of Baby and heading into the theater. It was her night, so I just laughed and parked and locked up my Baby as my girlie grabbed my hand and began tugging me towards the theater.

She skipped. It was only once but she did. It was as though all of her delight simply could not be contained in a simple walk as we approached the doors amidst the crowd of other theater goers. I swear her face was actually glowing and my only curse on the evening was for the fact that I failed to take a picture of her under the marquee proclaiming it was now showing "PHANTOM OF THE OPERA".

We stopped and I purchased programs for both of us. She clutched hers tight to her chest. It was so evident that she wanted to look at it right then, but knew we needed to get inside.

We made our way to our seats. They were actually really good ones, up on the mezzanine but the stage was clear and easy to view. The nosebleed section was still further above us.

As soon as we sat, the programs were devoured. Having seen the movie, my girlie knew the basic story. Her biggest concern was how they were going to do water on the stage for the scenes under the opera house. (I should point out here that I had actually already seen the Broadway production in Dallas. It was in March of 1993 but I remembered it still like it was yesterday.) I simply smiled at her and told her to watch and see.

As the musicians began to warm up, my young band geek emerged and she began to explain to me the number of musicians in an orchestra for something like this, letting me know it was a flute warming up, giving me tidbits on piccalo players needing earplugs when they practice because of the shrill notes, and so on. I recognized the nervous chatter for what it was - a passing of the time before THE EVENT. I enjoyed it.

After a brief introduction and some announcements by a theater official, the lights dimmed and the play began. From the first note of the Overture, I couldn't help but feel her exuberance. She practically trembled. Sitting forward in her seat, leaning slightly towards the stage, face rapt, eyes glued ... the soon-to-be 17 year old reflected all the intensity of that 3 year old watching Lion King, the movie, so many years ago.

Watching her became as much fun as watching the activity on the stage. When the fog began to flow and the shimmer of candles began their watery effect across the shining stage, it was easy to believe that they had flooded the stage with water for the scenes of the labyrinth under the opera house. The comic moments were enjoyed, the cacophony of the singers during the "Notes/Prima Donna" scene in the managers office was mind-boggling, the crashing of the beautiful chandelier was amazing, the breathtaking beauty of the masquerade ball was entrancing, the heart pounding of the Phantom's own heartbreak during "The Point of No Return" and the subsequent chase back underground was simply incredible. The word "timeless" is so apt for this musical.

It was ... simply put ... beautiful - both visually and musically. Words fail to convey what the eyes and ears witnessed.

My girlie's face said it all though. With shining eyes and glowing smile, she was able to convey what words would fail.

She loved it. It was an experience that will last for a very long time. The fact that I was witness to it was a blessing and a memory I will forever hold close in my heart.

Right next to the one of a 3 year old in a dark theater watching animated animals sing and dance about the Circle of Life.

Questions, Answers, and Bugs Dying Feet

My house is a place were bugs come to die.

It's true.

What's more, it doesn't bother me in the least.

As much as I love my little house, I recognize it's faults. There are many. Yet, it is a rental house and there is only so much that I can do, and so much that I can seem to get my landlord to do. One such fault that I simply can't fix by myself and, evidently, is not deemed to be of great importance to the man who owns the house is the fact that there are multitudes of little cracks and crevices that allow the little many legged creatures access to my living space. It's an older house and it has settled, the windows and doors just aren't as tight as they used to be.

So I compensate as best I can by laying a trail, inside and out of "bug killer". I do it each spring, and generally follow it up in the summer and fall. Bugs don't bother me in their natural habitat. If those grasshoppers want to live in the field across the street, I say "more power to them!". If those ants and beetles and june bugs and spiders and crickets and other creepy crawlies want to live out in my yard or garden, well ... hey! Grass and plants are nature, insects are nature, I say let them live hand in hand.

O.U.T.S.I.D.E!!!

Inside my house is not where I want to find something more than a creature that stands on two legs. Unless I finally give into the growing temptation and add a small four legged canine creature to my household. I'm the one that pays the rent on this domicile, not them and therefore - since they won't leave when asked - I say, "Die Bug, Die!".

Does this make me a bad person?

Eh! Sorry. Not really caring.

So ... here's what happens ... bugs come in ... they cross, of their own choosing, the barrier that I have invisibly erected around the perimeter of my living room, my kitchen, my hallway, my bedrooms and they believe in their little insect minds that they have it made, that they have survived. But they don't. With the exception of a pesky slug that kept finding ways around my barrier of salt, they all tend to die fairly quickly.

Now there are the occasional crickets and "doodle bugs" that have, over the years, been rescued by some youthful girlies (The same ones who screech and jump up onto the couch, chairs, counters, etc. if a spider looks at them askance from the doorway 10 feet away, but we won't mention that now, will we?) and tossed back to their natural habitat of the outdoors. But these are few, and far between. Generally ... the bugs ... they die.

Nothing could make me happier.

Yet, here's where my mind has wandered this morning (yes, there is actually a reason, a thought behind these words I'm putting to paper - computer - whatever - this morning) and has me writing.

Why do bugs die with their feet in the air?

Seriously.

They're crawling along and their time is up and they somehow manage to flip themselves over onto their backs, sticking their tiny little legs up into the air. Crickets do it. "Doodle bugs" do it. Those little black "I don't know WHAT the heck they are but they annoy the crap out of me" bugs do it. They all do. Why?

I realize that this may seem like a childish question, but can someone tell me why?

Today we have the wonderful internet and we can "Ask Jeeves" these questions, or we can do a "Google Search" and look up these subjects and find the answers to our questions. Children are always asking the "why?" question ... "Why is the sky blue?" ... "Why is fire yellow?" ... "Why do feet smell, even when you've been walking in water puddles?" Yes, they are always looking for answers. It's what keeps them learning, keeps them searching - expanding their horizons. As much as we grownups dread the "why?" questions, children need to ask them and we need to respond with as much truth and information as we deem their youthful minds can accept, given their ages and maturity.

Yet we don't always have the answers. Hence falling back on the wonderful world of "Ask Jeeves", Google, and Wikipedia, et. al. Hopefully answers can be located there. However, we didn't always have the internet. What did parents do before the internet? Lie? Make up answers? Continually go to the library?

Play the chase game of "Go ask your father", which would, inevitably result in the "Go ask your mother" response?

Books were where the fountain of knowledge lay during those *mumblemumble* years ago. I remember when my parents got our first set of World Book Encyclopedias. This huge selection of green and white books that came filled with all this information. They also got the series of Childcraft books that went along with the encyclopedias - books filled with stories, music, poems, crafts, useful learning tools for children. The standard answer to our "why?" questions in our house for my brother and I became ... "Did you look it up?" Placed on the "easily reachable by childish hands" shelving in our family's den, the encyclopedias took their place with the dictionaries and other reference books that my parents had collected over the years. During the school year, these books would wander from those shelves to the couch or the bedroom or the table ... where ever homework was being done or answers were being seeked.

A couple years after the arrival of the encyclopedias came four books that were truly fun and amazing ... they were the "Tell Me Why" books. These books were great. You could literally look up questions and find answers. At the time, I accepted them for what they were - something fun and interesting to read or to find answers. I was a kid. I didn't realize what a book such as that entailed - the formatting of questions into sections to find easier, the compilation of thousands of childish questions and their answers written for youthful understanding.

For me, and my little brother, they were just really cool books - paper and words bound together. From our earliest days, we both loved to read and these books were not only interesting and entertaining, but also filled with facts and knowledge and information. How wonderfully sneaky were our parents to provide something to teach us while we were entertained, yet be safe and secure in the fact that the information we were receiving was not something damaging, something that was not wholesome, was not bad for us?

Today, children have questions and are sent to the computer, to the internet, to these websites that may contain the information that they need but may also provide further information that youthful minds simply don't need to have. This frightens me in so many ways for our children of today. Make no mistake, I love the world of the internet and I make use of it daily. I love the quick access to the information that I desire. During times of homework, projects (gotta LOVE those science projects, history projects, geography projects), and just plain questions - the internet has provided a source of answers for my girlies when all my brain could come up with is "I don't know". However, it is my responsibility as the adult to make certain that they are accessing sites that provide only the information that they need and not something that young eyes, minds, and hearts do not need to witness or read.

That's a responsibility I don't take lightly. I just wish that more adults would think the same way because it breaks my heart when I hear a five year old discussing topics in graphic fashion. A five year old should not know the complete details of how a baby is made and how it arrives to this world. A seven year old does not need to learn the details of how sex is performed. An eight year old should not have access to information on how to construct a weapon or bomb.

What's my point about this, you ask? Simply this ... even though it is easier to just send a child to the computer when they ask the "why?" question, we can't just allow them to do that. We, as adults, need to know what they are reading is appropriate for the ages and maturity level that they have acheived. We need to allow our children to remain children and not allow them to become tiny grown ups. We need to remember that children should be playing outside with a rubber ball, with an umbrella in the rain - making their feet stinky in the puddles.

Of course, this is just my viewpoint. Children are going to ask questions ... it's just a natural part of childhood. It's up to us to determine the response that they receive, the amount of information that they need to have to satisfy their curiosity. Shouldn't we know where the answers to our children's questions are coming from?

Personally, I'd rather answer the question of "why do bugs die with their feet in the air?" than "why did Timmy shoot our teacher?".

Maybe because there the answers to some questions don't come in a book, or the internet because they are questions that children simply shouldn't have to ask. But then, maybe that's just me.

Oh ... btw ... according to John Meyer, entomolgy professor at North Carolina State University, it is believed that bugs die with their feet in the air is not intended but rather, a result of the fact that the insecticide affects their nervous system and so their coordination declines and they are unable to right themselves if they get turned over due to a breeze, a fall, a bump from another bug, etc. I should probably feel sorry for them that I am affecting their nervous system ... but ... I'm not.

Mind Numbing or Something More

We don't have a postage machine in my office.

Normally, it's no big deal. We only average 3 or 4 outgoing letters a day, usually. However there is one week a month that we not only send out an average of 20+ letters a day, but each of those letters is enclosed with a self-addressed stamped envelope. So, technically the 20+ is, actually, 40+.

Why am I telling you this?

So you will understand when every once in awhile I have the job of restocking my supply of self-addressed stamped envelopes. Every few months I spend a mindless hour, labeling and stamping 100+ envelopes. It's not my favorite job ... in fact, it's rather mind numbing. I try to do it when I'm alone in the office and I can either play some music or set my computer to view a Supernatural episode on http://www.cwtv.com/. It's not like I'm not working ... my hands are continually busy ... I simply need something to concentrate on before I fall asleep. Did I mention this is a mind numbing task.

Unfortunately, there are days when my computer speakers decide they don't want to work. Call the Winchester boys and get the holy water and rock salt shotguns, because there's an evil spirit in my speakers which decides at the most inopportune times when it thinks I don't need to listen to something.

Today was just such a day.

No speakers mean no music to while away the dreary. No speakers mean no Supernatural episode dialogue to take away the boredom. *sigh*

Wouldn't you know this would happen on the day when I need to do double the amount of return envelopes because this is the month that I have double the normal amount of letters to send out??

Have I mentioned before that me and Murphy's Law ... we are just THAT tight??

After affixing the address labels to 200 envelopes, my wrist and elbow have begun screaming with the repetitive motion and my mind has wandered from emails that I need to write, to blogs I want to start, to cards I need to send, to lists I need to make. Unfortunately, I can't stop to write these things down as that simply prolongs the amount of time I have to spend sitting here ... at my desk ... peeling a label from the printed sheet ... placing the label on the top envelope on the stack ... taking the top envelope off the stack and moving to another "completed" stack ... going back to the printed sheet ... peeling a label ... well ... you get the idea.

See what I mean about mind-numbing??

Once the labels are attached and I have spent 15 minutes frantically trying to figure out which latin exorcism will remove the evil spirit from my computer speaker system to no avail, I restack my 200 envelopes and begin applying stamps.

I open up my new rolls of .42 cent stamps and begin applying. After the first 25 envelopes, I began to actually look at these new stamps. After the next 25 envelopes, I begin to actually realize what I'm seeing when I look at these new stamps. After the next 25 stamps, I have the pattern of these new stamps going through my mind. After the next 25 stamps I have begun to fully understand the meaning of these new stamps.

Did the postal system truly create these new stamps in the vision that I was seeing them or was it just my numbed mind latching onto something? I can't tell you that, cause I'm not employed by the U.S. Postal System. What I can share with you is what I saw as I repeatedly affixed 200 stamps to 200 envelopes.

I saw a stamp with the flag of our nation flying high in the morning's first light.

I saw a stamp with the flag of our nation flying high in the bright blue of the afternoon sky.

I saw a stamp with the flag of our nation flying high in the glow of the evening's setting sun.

I saw a stamp with the flag of our nation flying high in the shine of the moon overhead during the night.

The flag of our nation ... flying high ... over and over through countless mornings, afternoons, evenings and nights as depicted on these new stamps, just as it does in life.

Each morning that we wake up, free to determine the path of our day, our nation's flag is flying high.

Each afternoon that we go about our business, free to make choices, our nation's flag is flying high.

Each evening that we return to our homes, free to decide how to spend our time, our nation's flag is flying high.

Each night that we tuck our children in their beds, free to plan their futures, our nation's flag is flying high.

Continuously flying day and night, never ceasing, it can be seen leading troops into battle, it can be seen high atop our capital buildings, it can be seen on flagpoles scattered throughout the nation in front of businesses and private homes. It is our nation's flag and it represents the continual freedoms that we, as United States citizens, so often take for granted.

June 14th is Flag Day ... the day we celebrate the flag of the United States of America as adopted by resolution of the Second Continental Congress in 1777.

We see it every day in countless ways ... postage stamps, flying from a flag pole, on bumper stickers, emblems on t-shirts, emblazoned on buildings, and so on ... and sometimes we forget.

June 14th is Flag Day ... the day we need to remember ...

I pledge alligence to the flag

Of the United States of America

And to the Republic, for which it stands,

One Nation,

Under God,

Indivisible,

With liberty and justice for all.

While Driving

I was driving in to the office this morning and when I halted at a stoplight at a busy intersection, I did my normal glance around at the other drivers next to me. To my left was a man - not a young man, not an older man, just an average aged man - sitting in his white Lexus ... reading. Not a map or glancing at a little note ... he was full-on reading an actual book, propped on the steering wheel, balanced between his two hands that were (ironically) placed in the "10 & 2" positions. While this stoplight is known to be kinda long, it's not "read a whole page and make it worthwhile to pull out the book" long, if you know what I mean.

So I continued to watch.

The light for our lanes turned green.

The cars began to move.

His car began to move.

He didn't put down the book!!!

Seriously. He was driving while reading his book.

I'm not sure about anyone else, but I'm pretty sure (actually, I'm REALLY pretty sure) that when I took driver's education *mumblemumble* years ago, they were fairly strict on the "Don't read while driving" policy.

I knew that I didn't want Baby anywhere near him if he came to an exciting or dramatic part, or any part for that matter, so I quickly sped her up, got around him and put him far into my rearview mirror. (I'd like to point out here that Baby only went over the speed limit briefly to insure her safety and if we had been caught, I would have been certain to point out to the officer the reason for doing so ... white guy, white Lexus, reading a book while driving ... that should have gotten me out of the ticket ... right?

However, here's the thing that got me thinking.

As drivers ... we are technically reading all the time. Our roads and highways are littered with stuff to read. I'm not talking about the road signs, the highway signs, the information signs. Those are necessary for safe driving and can be grasped in a glance. I'm talking about bill boards, advertisements, information painted on the sides of buildings.

When you stop and really think about it ... it's crazy!!

Remember the old Burma Shave signs? Okay ... no, I'm not old enough to remember them originally, but my grandparents lived in the country and riding in the backseat during those family trips, I still saw many of these signs. They really weren't very big ... just big enough for a few words. The gimmick was the fact that six (6) of these signs, placed consecutively along the road, read as a quick little poem.

Sign #1 - Don't loose

Sign #2 - your head

Sign #3 - to gain a minute.

Sign #4 - You need your head

Sign #5 - your brains are in it.

Sign #6 - Burma Shave

Quick and entertaining, these signs did what they were supposed to do - they got people driving by to think about their product. Isn't that what advertising is all about? Getting people to think about the product being offered?

Now the billboards are huge ... and many of them are now changeable - flipping between two different advertisers. Cause as I'm whipping along the highway at 65 miles per hour, I can certainly keep my eyes posted to one billboard to read, not just one advertisement but two (often having to also make note of the corresponding telephone number). Who needs to watch out for the other vehicles going the same speed, if not faster, trying to read the same billboards.

Not to mention the companies that paint their information on the side of buildings.

Especially fun are the billboards that come in levels ... some of them stacked three billboards high. There are many of these around the Branson, Missouri area - hawking the various shows, hotels, restaurants, etc. With little space between the billboard poles, maneuvering the twists and turns for the hill country roads becomes a bit treacherous as you try to read each and every sign. Heaven forbid you miss one and don't eat at the most scrumptious restaurant available. I wonder if you can have a comp ticket if you tell the the ticket office that you broke your collar bone in an vehicular accident as you were trying to read the billboard advertising their show?

It's crazy!!

*mumblemumble* years ago I had the opportunity to travel to Hawaii. As I traveled along the roads of three of the islands, I was amazed at the beauty all around me. I also felt that I was missing something, when it dawned on me ... there were no billboards or advertisements anywhere along the roads. Hawaii, valuing the beauty nature has bestowed, does not allow their roads to be littered with advertising billboards and signs.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if the other states of our nation valued their natural beauty as well? Books wouldn't be needed to entertain while driving if people simply gazed upon and appreciated the natural beauty around them. More importantly, wouldn't it be interesting to find out the statistics on the number of accidents/injuries that are advertising related?

Perhaps hospitals could put that question on their admittance forms ...

How did these accident injuries occur? (check all that apply)

Box #1 - reading book while driving

Box #2 - reading billboard while driving

Box #3 - writing number down from advertisement while driving

Box #4 - reading and writing while driving

Memories of Good Days

I miss the good old days.

This saying takes on so many meanings for me. Working with seniors on a daily basis, it takes on a historical meaning of when times were “simpler”. There’s also the fact that with today’s rising prices in gas, groceries and daily life, missing the good old days simply means missing the fact that my paycheck wasn’t spent before I actually received it.

However that’s not the meaning that has seemed to hit home for me this weekend. I don’t know why the nostalgia bug hit me, but it did and so I indulged myself with a few pictures and thoughts.

I miss the good old days …

Those days when Saturday mornings were spent with me and a three year old watching The Lion King for the 50 bajillianth (it’s a word … I just used it) time after eating pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse heads swimming in maple syrup.

Those days when my alarm clock was two little girls calling from their cribs or playpens with the words “I hun-gy, Cinny!”, which were followed by days when my alarm clock was two little girls (one in particular) who had discovered that she could get out of her “big girl” bed by herself and come into my room and stand there quietly, staring at me in the face, startling me awake by either pressing my nose or … my favorite (she says sarcastically) … sticking a finger in my ear … and waking me with the words “I hun-gy, Cinny!”.

Those days when reading with the girlies meant cuddling up in my big chair with a girlie on each arm rest and a pile of books between us.

Those days when an umbrella was a fashion accessory.

Those days when I could a few quiet moments with one of the girlies, simply sitting with her in front of me on the floor as I brushed out her long hair.

Those days when manuevering around my kitchen meant stepping around the step stools used by my budding assistants, as they helped me with cookie dough and other goodies to be baked.

Those days when it was so easy to read and understand the expression on my girlies faces.

Those days when picnics in the park, decorating the driveway with chalk drawings, and the simple words “let’s play outside”, brought smiles and giggles to the faces of three girls and lightened my mood from whatever had transpired during the week.

Those days when a simple smile and a tight hug around the neck said more than any glittery gift or expressive sonnet ever could.

My girlies are growing up. Fast becoming independent, young women with their own thoughts and decisions, instead of the babies and children they once were in those good old days. What is left of those childhood moments now are a handful of pictures and a heart full of memories,

However … these modern days still hold something wondrous and true. Perhaps the cost of gas has increased dramatically, yet the value of the smile and hug has grown to be even more precious than gold and it still costs nothing to give or receive.

And that works for me on any day.

Berry Good

I wasn’t always a berry eater. Actually, I’ve never been much of an overall fruit eater. I enjoy an occasional apple, especially in the fall. Oranges belong in the toe of a Christmas stocking and it is during those wintery months when they simply seem sweeter. Summer wouldn’t be summer without a watermelon or a cantelope (please don’t ask me about the honeydew melon – the taste just never has appealed to me) juices running down a chin and giving a refreshing punch on a hot day. There’s also the black plum, whose skin is so tart it’s as though you have bitten into a giant sour sweettart candy, yet it’s inside is so juicy and sweet that the tart is quickly forgotten.

I don’t really like pineapple, although when I had the opportunity to spend 11 days in Hawaii *mumblemumble* years ago, I don’t recall snacking on anything more than the local pineapple, as well as fresh mango and papaya. I do enjoy a kiwi on occasion. Their tart sweetness is rich and good when mixed with the melons of summer.

I’ll state right now that I have never cared for grapes, peaches or nectarines. Raise your eyebrow, scoff and laugh, it doesn’t matter. I have tried. I can’t … I don’t … I just won’t.

Yet I can’t say never.

Because there’s my growing attraction to berries.

It’s been slow to grow over the years. As a kid/teen/young adult, I would watch as my family and friends would relish in the goodness of berries … strawberries, red raspberries, black raspberries, blueberries, gooseberries. You name them, my family ate them … fresh, sliced with sugar, baked in cobblers, pureed into jams and jellys. It was a regular berry fest. One that I simply didn’t care for trying. Well … I tried … I just didn’t like.

Oh … I did eat the occasional strawberries … but they had to be whole and there had to be a good amount of powdered sugar to dip them in.

Over the years my enjoyment of strawberries has gradually increased to more than just an occasional whole berry. Perhaps it was when my mother began making her own strawberry jam and the sweet goodness, spread out on a fresh, warm slice of homemade bread was one of the finest treats I could imagine.

Recently, I’ve discovered that my distaste for blueberries has also seemed to have turned a corner. First it was cooked blueberries in a muffin or coffeecake that made me rethink my previous dislike. Who couldn’t resist a blueberry muffin with all that intoxicating crumbly coating on the top? But then, after a bit, the crumbly coating wasn’t necessary … just a straight muffin with blueberries please. Last year I discovered blueberry tea. I honestly can’t tell you why I tried it, I can only tell you that it is some of the best stuff I’ve had the pleasure of sipping on a cold winter morning as I check my emails and read my friends words before starting my day. When that warm mug of blueberry tea is joined with a toasty slice of blueberry bread … well, raptures have been sung for less. Imagine my delight when I found a place that sells homemade blueberry jelly?? Suddenly my mornings were a matter of blueberry tea and the dilemma of whether to enjoy a slice of blueberry toast or an english muffin with blueberry jelly.

I’m not stupid … I had the blueberry tea, the blueberry toast and made a peanut butter and blueberry jelly sandwich for my lunch.

Ha!

I have been enjoying learning to try new recipes, cooking with the fresh blueberries. There’s a recipe for a blueberry angel food cake that keeps catching my eye and don’t get me started on this lemon blueberry muffin recipe that looks and sounds scrumptious. I’m excited for the season’s fresh blueberries because I’ve found a wonderful way to freeze them so that I can enjoy them again come winter.

For now though, we’re back to summer and those sunny days and warm breezes. It is once again the season for my local fruit stand and the local strawberries. I may eventually broaden my horizons to once again try the other berries, but right now I don’t need to. Right now the strawberries are fresh, sweet and intoxicating – with or without sugar.

Yesterday I made a pitcher of strawberry iced tea. I ate my muffin with homemade strawberry jam. And I found a recipe for strawberry bread. Yep … I’m a singleminded creature at times and in my mind …
that’s berry good.

Stupid People Make Me Crazy

Okay ... I realize it's been almost a month since I've written anything.

Well ... that's not exactly true. I've written a few things that just haven't made it to the posting stage. I'm working on it ... I'm working on it.

Still ... I feel the need to get this written and get it out there because that's what I do when I'm really and truly angry.

It has been one of those wonderful, pre-holiday weekend Fridays where it's quiet enough in the office that I was actually allowed to get all of my work done early. Early enough that I was able to get a few extra tid-bitty things completed that just always make me nutty to come into on Monday. Then, I left the office early. That, in itself, was a definite cause to celebrate but on the way home, I stopped at my favorite fruit stand and was, once again, gifted by the owner (we've been doing this now for a good 7 or 8 years ) with a small, sweet, seedless watermelon. Yum!!!

After I paid for my other things, I went by the laundromat (yep, the washer still hasn't been replaced but I've still got my Supernatural Convention tickets ... woot!!!) to wash up a few loads and the front washers that are next to the chairs are open. Yay!! I throw in the clothes and then take a seat and read for 25 minutes, relaxing while they get clean. Loading them back in the car to take home to dry, I decide that I want to pick up some last minute things at the grocery store.

I run across the street ... okay, that's not entirely correct ... I drove Baby across the street and we found a parking spot right up close to the door. Yay, again! I go in and quickly get the few things I wanted and walk right up to the register and check out without waiting. Yay, yet again!!

So ... why ... you ask am I now cranky???

Here's what happened next:

I took may bags out to my car in my basket. I could have carried them, but ... well, I didn't. So, I pull the basket up next to Baby and open her up to put the bags in the back seat. While I'm doing this, I'm humming and enjoying the afternoon/evening breeze and I watch a car pull in right in front of mine. No biggie. I see a lady in the front seat look at me with kinda a strange look, but I just went on with my business of unloading and then throwing my purse into the front seat.

The lady gets out of the car, giving me yet another interesting look and heads into the store.

And I realize that she has left the car running.

I glance in the front window as I walk by to put my car in the lot's cart catcher and notice that no one seems to be in the vehicle. Not in the front or the back.

But the car is running.

And I realize that there is a baby carrier in the middle of the back seat ... facing backwards.

I walk on towards the cart catcher with my mind racing ... surely no one is that stupid as to intentionally leave a child that would be small enough to be in a carrier backwards alone in a car in a parking lot? Right??? Right???

Wrong.

As I walked back, I intentionally looked in the back window. I didn't care. I prayed that there would be someone's face pop up at me asking me to mind my own business.

They didn't.

Instead, I see a little pink foot wiggle inside a car seat. From the size of that foot I would guess the infant to be perhaps 4 to6 months.

I couldn't believe it!! I looked to the store and back to the car. The doors were obviously locked and the car was running, therefore it was "cool".

Doesn't matter!! That is an infant! A gift. Something precious and small and should be cared for and looked after, not left alone in a car that is locked and running.

I went to Baby and got in and simply sat there ... and watched.

While I watched over this little one, my mind thought of all the things that could happen ... aspiration on a bit of spit up, a car loosing control in the parking lot and ramming into this metal box holding this baby, the car overheating, something going wrong and the exhaust running into the car instead of out. By the end of five minutes, my imagination had the car blowing up from overheating and I was trying to figure out if the toilet brush I had purchased could be used as a slim jim to open that car.

Five minutes. I got out my notepad and pen and wrote a note.

Ten minutes. I got out of my car and put the not on the windshield.

Thirteen minutes and the woman returned.

She stopped and looked at me when she saw my Baby and I were still sitting there.

I looked back. I didn't care.

She opened the door and started to get in when she noticed the note. She looked at me again, and I watched as she got out of her car and reached for it. She glanced at it and then looked back at me and I met her eye one last time with a sad look on my face, shook my head, and put Baby in reverse and left.

My note?

"Shame on you. You've been given a gift to watch over and protect. You have failed in this moment. It may sound strong, but I don't care. I understand that it's not easy to get a small one in and out of a car. I understand that you think that just a couple of minutes will be fine. But it's not. Please, please, please ... don't ever do it again. The next person to notice you left the little one unprotected might not watch over it ... they might decide to take it."

Children are gifts. Their well being should never be taken for granted.

Observations From A Trip Up The Road

Baby and I took another road trip last week. It was just a quickie ... up one morning early and back the next afternoon. So ... of course ... I had to make some observations and what fun would observations be, unless they are shared?

Now ... this trip, I must admit, was a true test of how much Baby and I have bonded. It was a true test of how well I've learned to handle her and how well she is able to protect me. You see, this trip was taken during a flooding thunderstorm of blinding rain, ear-shattering thunder and sky-splitting lightning. Traveling down the 75 mph turnpike at a scary 35 mph, it was definitely a test of Baby's tire traction and my nerves for it was note exactly optimum traveling weather.

My plan was to begin the trip at 4 am, however the meteorologist on my television was telling me about the possible twisters in the area and the hail using my house as a drum was the size of a hen egg.

I decided it would be best to wait.

Instead, my trip began at 6 am. It probably should have waited another hour, but I was already late and antsy to get to my destination. My first clue should have been the fact that getting out of my neighborhood included going through "puddles" that completely covered the street from side to side and were actually deep enough to hide part of the curb on each side. Once out on the main streets, the going was a bit easier as long as I managed to stay on the inside lanes and away from the sides. With windshield wipers going non-stop and rain beating a staccato beat on the sunroof, I made it to the turnpike entrance.

Did I mention that the toll booth doesn't have a covering? Yes ... it's always fun to roll down a window to face the elements of wind and rain in order to throw .50 cents to the toll booth basket and pray that one of the quarters isn't blown away. I almost opted to let caution go to the wind and run it, but knew that, as sure as I did, the toll booth cameras would snap Baby's picture and list her on the "Most Wanted" board. (Although, she would look pretty up there, next to that picture of the sleek black '67 Impala ...)

After a knuckle whitening hour of pushing against the northwest wind that was slamming my Baby with it's force, hurtling rain from all sides at us, the storm finally seemed to slow down. I wasn't sure if I had gotten ahead of it or if it had passed on by. All I knew is that the sky began to lighten from black and charcoal gray to a lighter, more dull metallic gray and the wind and the rain began to taper back to a manageable gust and patter. Picking up speed, I was finally able to begin to feel more like a car and driver, instead of a fish in a row boat.

Of course, then I began to check out my surroundings ... noting the water swollen fields, the overflowing ponds and creeks, and the man who was trying to get a load of wet hay unloaded from the back of a truck in order to feed the cows that were lining up at the trough, despite the lightning in the background and the miserable cold rain that continued to pelt out of the sky.

Observation number 1:
Farmers deserve much more thanks than they are given ... more dedicated than a postman because despite the elements ... wind, rain, hail, snow, ice, heat ... the animals must be fed.

Continuing down the turnpike, feeling calmer and more relaxed, releasing the clench that I'm sure Baby had to be feeling on her steering wheel, I turned up the music on my radio and listened to the sounds of Steve Carlson, CCR, BTO, Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash and others as they played from my Baby's speakers. The wind had died further to occasional gusts and the rain wandered between drops and drizzle. The most difficult part now was working to stay away from the 18-wheelers as they kicked up the water, throwing a fine, and very blinding, mist up onto my windshields.

Now ... in my old car, the windshield wipers were controlled by my left hand, as they were attached to the part that operated my blinkers. Baby's windshield wipers are a bit more complex, with varying levels of delay and they are located on the right side of the steering wheel. While I've used them before, this trip gave me ample opportunity of practice in adjusting the settings that would set the wipers beating from right to left and back again regularly, swiftly or delayed, or, if I so chose, manually.

Observation number 2:
It's a fascinating way to pass the time when one finds themselves attempting to match the rhythm of the windshield wipers to the rhythm of the music coming from the speakers. Best song to work with? Dude! Asia's ... "Heat of the Moment" makes for hysterical laughter and can only be done with the manual wipers.

Observation number 3:
By this point, I might be a bit slap happy with dealing with little sleep, worry for my mom's upcoming surgery, trying to get to the hospital before they took her and driving through torrential storms and floods.

In case you hadn't figured that out yet.

With the rain finally having abated two hours after beginning the journey, my stomach told me that it required more than just the large thermos mug of tea (RoT's Earl Greyer ... really really good!), plus I needed to simply stretch for just a moment. So, I pulled off at a truck stop that I have frequented before and knew to be clean and prepared to go inside for a moment.

Observation number 4:
It's when you're pulled over and ready to get out of the car that you find you haven't completely gotten out of the path of the storm.

I literally opened the door, got out, closed the door and took a step towards the entrance of the little shop when the heavens opened up and sent forth the gale force winds and the blinding rain, shattering my hearing and sight with the subsequent thunder and lightning.

Yep ... me and Murphy's Law ... we're just THAT tight.

Making a quick stop, grabbing a bottle of water, a bag of chex mix, a bag of dark chocolate M&M's and saying a prayer that the "looked like fresh" danish really was fresh, I took the bag - after giving the clerk a raised eyebrow and glancing at the rain outside when she asked me "Paper or plastic" ... seriously ... and dashed to Baby's door, pulling it open and jumping inside as fast as possible to avoid minimum wetness both on me and in her.

Fixing up my little nest of goodies, starting her engine and heading Baby back onto the highway, I took a bite of my danish. It wasn't bad ... not completely fresh, but not bad. I thought to myself that I should have let it be zapped a moment in the microwave and of course, then, in the back of my mind, I'm hearing Dean from Supernatural's episode, "Simon Said", saying just once he'd like to eat something that didn't need to be microwaved at a mini mart.

Did I mention that I might be a bit slap happy?

Did I mention that it wasn't 10 minutes after leaving the truck stop that the rain once again slowed to a light, occasional mist?

Yeah ... not kidding ... me and Murphy ... we're that tight.

Heading on up the turnpike, breakfast, such as it was, is completed. The M&Ms are stowed in my bag for later snacking and the chex mix is open and occasionally being munched. I'm getting closer to my destination and, I'll be honest, I'm beginning to get a bit more anxious to get there. Still, conditions that they are, I keep Baby set on a cruise control of the speed limit. No need in Murphy letting the highway patrolmen have fun with me.

To occupy my mind, since it's way to early to be calling my friends and passing the time with my cell phone, I begin to let my gaze wander around the countryside. Now ... I know that they've been there ... I've traveled this road dozens of times over the last 18 years ... but it was on this trip that it simply amazed me as I realized the number of adult video shops that are located along the highway. I'm serious. Big signs advertising "XXX Videos" and "Adults Only" flashing neon in the pale gray light of morning. There aren't any other businesses. The towns are located back and away from the turnpike. These places have been opened in the abandoned buildings left from previous occupants such as Stuckeys, Nickerson Farms, etc. Those family friendly places that I remember stopping at as we traveled from Texas to Iowa and Kansas City to Minneapolis to visit family and friends during my childhood. The bright red roof or the pale blue trimming has been replaced with black and white and the rooms that held the restaurants serving homestyle food and offering tourist trinkets of t-shirts, tumblers, bells, & spoons have been replaced with ... well, I don't know and I don't want to know what the inside looks like now.

Observation number 5:
How can things be changing for the better when those places where parents felt safe to let their children roam, searching out candy and treats while they stretched their legs, have been replaced for places that are dark and advertise and cater towards the baser, primal instincts of our species?

Plus ... what the heck! These places are 24 hour and I'm here to tell you that many of them had cars and trucks parked in their lots as I passed and it was barely 8:30 in the morning!

That's. Just. WRONG.

Moving onward, I approached my destination. The rain was beginning to pick up and I was needing to pay closer attention. Keeping a close eye, I made the right exit and Baby hurtled towards the hospital where my Mom & Dad were waiting. Startled when my cell phone rang, I heard a family friend's voice telling me that they were taking my mom to surgery and wanting to know how much longer I would be. Checking the signs, I knew that I still had atleast 10 minutes to get to the hospital and then it would be a matter of the time it took to find a parking spot and get inside to the surgical area. Luckily we've been through this before and I knew in my mind exactly where I needed to go and how to get there.

Pulling into a parking spot, I gave a quick and silent thanks ... for the traveling mercies, the safety from the elements, for having Baby handle the roads like a champ ... and I ran into the hospital, stopping briefly at the door to close my umbrella and drop it into one of the handy dandy umbrella shaped plastic bags that the hospital provided at their entrance.

Arriving to the surgical waiting room, I found my family's friends but noticed the absence of my father. Finding out that he had gone with my mom to the prep area, I dumped my stuff and went to the large information desk I passed as I entered the room. Using my best "I've been delayed by the storms and I'm her daughter and she truly needs to see me before she goes" voice, I pled my case to the volunteers stationed there. Locating my mom in the computer, they glanced at each other and then back at me and one nodded to the other who rose and told me to follow her, that she would take me to see my mom.

And I did.

Despite the elements, the lack of sleep, and the slap happiness, I had made it in time to give my mom the hug and encouragement that she needed from her eldest child and, as I posted earlier, make it to the doctor's smile on the other side of the hours of waiting.

Final observation:

When it's really important, we do the things we need to do. We face the finger clenching elements and feed the cows or travel the turnpike and we do it with a rhythm that matches the music of our lives, with a giggle and a grin. Dry or wet, we take the sustenance when and where we can and we hurtle on, mindful of the past that is rich in memories, passing by the evil that surrounds us as we make our way to the ones who need us and love us.

But then ... those are just my observations on this trip. We'll see what happens next time Baby and I decide to go somewhere.