New Year, New Decade

How many times have you been through this routine? It's kinda scary to add it up. For me the number is FIVE. Not that I'm fifty years old, just entering my fifth decade. I was there for 1970, 1980, 1990, 2000 and now 2010. That's five. But I'm only 43. So you mathematical types can giggle your asses off while us little non-mathematical types scratch our collective heads.

It's complicated, isn't it?

I prefer to think back to those momentous years. I don't remember 1970 except from photographs. I was three.

WAIT! I doooo remember 1970! I don't remember New Year's Eve, but I do remember 1970. That was the year my stinky brother was born. I was excited about the baby and I vaguely remember leading a parade into my mom's bedroom to show the neighbor kids the new baby in her arms. The 70's were my little kid years and my brothers figured prominently. There were times we had no one else to play with. It was forced companionship, so there was a lot of teasing, fighting, screaming, hiding and tattling.

Dec 31 1979 stands out in my memory. I was babysitting neighbor kids that night. The movie about the stranger in the house, calling the babysitter from within the house, came out earlier that year. I never saw the movie, but the ads were still on TV that night and it scared the snot out of me. At midnight I took the two little boys outside with pots and pans. I marveled that it was suddenly 1980. It felt like a new leaf was turning. I would be a teenager soon and I knew the best years of my life were just around the corner. And they were. The 80's were great. I may have been a dork in high school, the shyest, skinniest girl ever to grace the halls, but I had fun. 1980 is when I met my lifelong friends Piranha and Booty.
And college? OMG, I LOVED COLLEGE! Those truly were the best years of my life.

Dec 31 1989 doesn't stand out. I was married and had two kids. Keith was just a baby. The following year, however, Piranha and I reconciled after several years of "not speaking" to each other. Booty brought us to together and that night we laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and cried. We swore we would never let anything come between us ever again. Twenty years later, we've kept that promise.

I remember thinking when Amanda was born how old she would be in 2000. She would be twelve and I would be 34. It seemed so far away and I couldn't begin to imagine what life would be like.

The 90's were very difficult years. We were constantly broke and owned shitty cars and held shitty jobs. We managed to buy a house and offer a sense of stability to the kids despite our own instability. 1997 brought baby Ian who was tiny but determined, and pretty damn funny. 1999 was the year my marriage went to crap. We broke up and reconciled. Christmas that year was the most miserable holiday I have EVER experienced. I spent the entire day on the verge of tears, it was clear my marriage was over. New Years Eve 1999 I joined my friends as always, but this time without my spouse. Everyone knew it was a ticking timebomb, just a matter of time before I would be a single woman. Just a few months later he moved out. A year later the divorce was final.

Being single, dating in the electronic era, and piecing my life together have marked the beginning of the new century. These were also difficult years, but meaningful. I've watched my older children grow into fabulous adults and their little brother is easily following in their footsteps.

I've grown too. A lot. Physically and emotionally. It would be nice to shed this extra weight (emotional and especially physical) - a good way to start off the next decade?

I'm done dating. I've found a wonderful, patient man to put up with my crap - and me with his. We got married this year and I think it's significant that we're starting a new life together on this eve of a new decade. I've settled into a job I genuinely enjoy, I'm no longer in debt and soon we'll be looking at buying a nice house, one that will fit our needs not the cheapest on the market (like I did 15 years ago).

2010 is being welcomed in with open arms. I'm ready for the changes coming my way. I still cannot see myself in the future - next year, next decade. Like the past 43 years things will probably be difficult, but I'm stronger, more able to shoulder it. Life is difficult. But it's also very fulfilling. Happiness comes in little doses from unexpected corners. I have my catchers mitt finally and I'm ready to grab me some happiness.

BRING IT ON!

Holiday Etiquette

Okay, FIRST I cannot spell the stupid word. Three rounds of spell check and I still managed to screw it up

Etiquette Etiquette etiquette etiquette etiquette eiquette
Etiquette etiquette etiquette etiquette etiquette etiquette
Etiquette etiquette etiquette etiquette etiquette etiquette

Type it a million times and I MIGHT drill it into my pointed little head. Geez.

But anyways, the point of today's post - it's New Year's Eve eve and already everyone is wishing people a happy new year. It's a good greeting, I shouldn't bash. Actually it's a great greeting. I'm just disappointed with myself that I didn't think of doing it on my own.

And I DO wish everyone has a VERY happy new year. 2009 can go away already. Bring on 2010! New year, new decade... time to get rolling. Out with the old and in with the new!

Happy New Year!

TMI Tuesday - Pineapple Cervix

This is your warning. I am about to overshare and it's gynecological in nature. So you should stop reading right now. I'm only writing this to vent, blow off steam, totally not for your reading pleasure.

You've been warned.

I've had a blissful year of abnormal pap smears. Purely delightful. And yesterday was my second visit where they do extra digging and pull off a nugget of my cervix for a BIOPSY!

I asked to see what the doc clipped off my body and the little piece looked like a tiny nubbin of raw fleshy chicken. If it had been bigger it would be something you could toss on the grill and everyone would marvel at the chickenness of it. Add a little grilled pineapple and voila you've got Pineapple Cervix, favorite treat of the Pacific Rim.

Okay, MY pineapple cervix has not been around the Pacific Rim, nor will it be trying anytime soon. The point is, you have abnormal paps you'll get pieces snipped off your cervix. I mean isn't it bad enough you get the popsicle stick treatment once a year without having to go in for a little snip snip?

Actually I'm not freaked out by all of this. It's just a bump in the road. I know the doctor and nurses never say the "cancer" word so they don't worry the patients. They say things like "abnormal" and "biopsy", all cover words meaning they think you "could" have cancer, but aren't sure yet and need to run a shitload of tests before having that really serious conversation with you. But deep down, my gut is saying cancer isn't the problem. I may have other health issues, but cancer isn't in the cards for me. And I trust that, so, no, I'm not freaked out.

I'm more annoyed, than anything.

I'm tired of going in for repeated exams. I don't like showing my hoochie hoo girl parts to anyone but the man I'm sleeping with. I don't like the paper sheet offering me privacy because it totally sucks and offers NO privacy. I don't like the popsicle stick scrapping my pineapple cervix and I sure as hell don't like the car jack that bitch uses to crank open my vagina. You'd think after squishing out a ten pound baby that a whole car could park park in there without any assistive devices. Guess not.

So I finally asked the doctor what the hell is going on because I never have these frank conversations with my medical personnel, especially the ones staring straight at my nether regions. After an entire year of "abnormal" exams I finally find out that I have HPV. Yeah, that stupid virus that they've been advertising teenaged girls get immunized for.

Do you know about HPV? I knew it existed and that it's sexually transmitted, but that's about it. The fact that it's sexually transmitted means I might as well have been the treat of the Pacific Rim. It turns out about 70 percent of the population are walking around with this stupid virus without ever knowing it, but fortunately our internal immunities usually fight it off. Getting that little shot they're offering twelve year old girls would help stave off that stupid virus, but you have to be immunized BEFORE you're sexually active.

After about three minutes of Googling I discovered the real kicker to this damn thing. HPV is the virus that can lead to genital warts!!!!! OMG! Now I don't have warts, thank God, but I have the virus that causes it. The cute mother-daughter commercials warning of cancer do not say fucking SQUAT about warts! I'm not saying warts are worse than cancer, but hello? I think that is rather important information to share.

There's no telling when or from whom I contracted my virus. They say it can lay dormant for years, that I could have gotten it from my first encounter. Sorta makes you want to go on a pecker hunt and dismember all of the bastards in your past.

If my body fails to overcome the HPV virus then I have to go in for a "procedure" another one of those delicate words medical personnel use. When she told me the real live name of the procedure I actually surmised correctly what it entailed - a loop thingy used to scrape a layer off my cervix. Without saying it, doc and I seemed to agree that this is an eventuality, probably this summer.

My poor HPV infected pineapple cervix!

Things That Make You Swear Off Family Gatherings

Do you read my other blog? http://woeswhoaswahs.blogspot.com ?

I write two - one about my kids and parenting misadventures, and this one covering just about everything else. Sometimes, like today, it's hard to pick where to place a topic.

On Woes, Whoas and Wahs I wrote about a particular Christmas where we nearly called Christmas to a complete and eternal END. Maybe even going so far as changing religions, but not Jewish because I'm sure that would not solve the gifting fiascoes of our nearest and dearest, maybe even taking things up a notch - hard to call.

And because I am a complete and utter attention whore, please click that follow button thingie even if you never ever plan to visit either one of my blogs ever again - Woes Whoas and Wahs only has 3 followers and is feeling rather lonely.

Nothing like a little gratuitous self-promotion is there?

So, yeah, click over there. I even have it in the links that I follow so you can catch it on other days too (attention whooooooor)

Poor Sick Me

Two weeks ago I caught some sort of bug. At first I thought it was allergies with all of the sniffling. But it lingered and then a tickling cough. When I returned to work from my little jaunt to Oklahoma my coworkers commented on how bad I sounded, surely worried for their own health. No worry, I'm getting over whatever it was, just a headcold.

Yeah right. It's gotten worse. Yesterday was spent driving the couch and playing Bejeweled Blitz - 200,000 righteous points thankyouverymuch.

I'm going to work again and I really hope I'm not infecting everyone by doing so. I feel better and am coughing less. I don't feel nearly as sluggish as I did yesterday.

I'm getting better, right? RIGHT?????

Christmas Postponed

Due to crappy weather my kids didn't feel safe driving to my house. Soooooo.... New Years Day will be our Christmas which means I will have to sit and wait for a full freaking week with wrapped presents under my tree.

I am not a patient woman.

GAH!!!!!

Well I hope everyone else had a fabulous day. And if you got snow today, I hope you take plenty of pictures. Post a link in the comment section - I love pretty snowy pictures (hate the cold and ice, love snow).

Merry Christmas!

Wrapped Up

WHEW!

Fruitcake is baked (forgot the nuts - Husband SWEARS it tastes different because of it. Move on dude.) and spent the rest of the evening wrapping gifts.

AUUGH my aching back! That said, I do enjoy wrapping gifts. It's fun disguising the gift in strange boxes. I like measuring out the paper and getting the ends folded up to pretty little points. This year I slacked and didn't do bows. I really like doing the stringy ribbons and running the scissors down them to make the curls. Love that. It's sick, I know.

Of course my packages look nowhere near as pretty as my mom's (AKA Martha Stewart). She has started slacking lately and is using gift bags. She manages to fluff and froo froo them up too. But I don't care. I don't let her perfectionism get to me. My packages look just fine.

In just a matter of hours all of my beautiful work will be ripped to shreds.

Vermin

Yesterday a coworker stepped on a mouse in our storage area. EEEK!!!! But it wasn't dead, just not moving. EEEEKKKK!!!

Okay, I'm not ooged out by mice so I grabbed a bag and scooped up the little guy. We came to the consensus that although he is cute as button, he needs to leave, NOW. So he got an escort to a green area across the street.

(isn't he adorable??? We tossed in a peanut for the journey)

It's sort of funny what things people have issues with. Some coworkers flat out refused to be anywhere near a mouse, even one stranded at the bottom of a bag. No way, no how, no matter how cute the rest of us insist he is.

They have my sympathies as I get ooged out by roaches and crunchy bugs. If I absolutely HAVE to squish a bug, I will, but overall I avoid it all costs. I remember one time sitting on the floor watching a movie with a friend when the hugest bug ever clomped across the floor in front of us. We screamed, it hid. There was not a chance in hell I was going to use MY shoe to squish it, well and I was barefoot too. So we each took a big black boot belonging to my spousal unit and chased the bug around the livingroom until it was pronounced dead and scraped onto the lawn.

Usually, however, boots and friends are not available to me. What's a girl to do???? I've resorted to using cups to trap the little sucker until someone ELSE can kill and dispose of it. I have been rather unsuccessful in getting my kids to do the deed so it's nothing to have a cup sitting in the middle of the floor for several days, everyone carefully walking around it, until we're sure it's deader than dead and I can usher its carcass onto a dustpan for transport to the big flush.

By the way, disposable cups are best, or you can have a designated "gross cup" because who wants to drink out of the cockroach torture chamber even after it's been cleaned???

Recently I heard that my daughter has taken to using my cup method of critter control. Hey, it works dammit.

AFTER I Left The Sangria Party

You should probably understand that my friends and I are all contenders for the "Parent Of The Year" award. We know this, hell the kids even know it. I think it says something when my daughter refers to my friends as "The Drunks".

Yeah, we drink in front of the kids. And the Sangria Party was no different. Seven children were darting in and out of the kitchen, grabbing snacks off our munchie table and then back to the Wii. No one is really sure if their children actually had dinner that night, but I figure since they're old enough to grab food off the counter and keep it out of reach from the dog (yes, there was an evil hound dashing in and around our feet as well) that if any child starved as a result of not being SERVED dinner it's their own damn fault. There wasn't any shortage of food that night, that's for sure.

I left the party early, almost kicking and screaming because it was getting FUN as the dance party had begun. There are phases to our parties, the beginning stages are similar to most adult parties with witty stories being shared and hearty chuckles. If we really have our party on, Mix Master Kyle takes over the remote and starts taking requests. And BOOM, the livingroom is an instant dance floor. It goes on like this for a few hours and then the participants start to melt and pictures show people getting closer and closer to the floor. And occasionally articles clothing might slip off.

This party succeeded to the Melting Stage and my poor camera was witness to the depravity. Fortunately the children were not. And no, no one was ushered to a secluded room and put to bed. Hell no, those kids learn their late night endurance early in life! It's a life skill necessary to survive college - as the five kids who have graduated high school can attest.

I found it funny that most of the pictures taken after I left were shot in the kitchen pantry. In today's email it was explained "The pantry became the “Photo Booth” because the children were running around and we were being responsible adults … until I fell out the pantry door with my ass hanging out."

I always miss the good stuff :(

Sangria Party

What is that???

Seriously, people do not understand the concept of a "Sangria Party". One person asked why anyone would have a Sanjya party. I kinda thought the title was rather self explanatory.

No?

Well, it's a party, you know where people get together for a little frivolity and fun. And we serve sangria, a spanish concoction of wine, lambrusco, and sliced fruit. Never had it? You'll have to like wine to appreciate it. Husband does not like wine and proclaimed that the sangria tasted like something filtered through a horse's ass. Me? After forty odd glasses of the stuff, I lost count after glass #5, I think it's fabulous. Painting my bathroom wall with it, however, not quite so tasty. Yeah, at 1 am this morning I was wiping down my bathroom and let me tell you, there is nothing quite so fun as scrubbing your toilet, bathtub, floor, cabinet, and three walls during the wee hours.

Now that was a resounding recommendation, wasn't it?

But seriously, it's a lot of fun - up until the 1 am offering to the porcelain gods.

It started off several years ago when a friend was launching her Mary Kay business. About 14 women gathered at her house and she made a punchbowl of sangria. THEN she found out that MK prefers that alcohol NOT be associated with their product. OOPS! The party ended and everyone left except her four closest friends. Her four closest friends who believe that EVERY gathering should be accompanied by alcohol. And heaven forbid she would have to throw out that precious punch, so we helped her finish it off.

She hosted another MK open house the following year and again made sangria. Only her nearest and dearest showed up to the open house so we hurriedly wrote up our orders and proceeded with ingesting the contents of the punch bowl.

And ran out.

So we sent out the husbands, gathered in the basement, for more sangria supplies.

The next year she just hosted a sangria party. And we ran out of sangria again. And munchies. So the boys ran to the store to get more food and wine.

One year we thought we would celebrate Tee's birthday with our annual sangria party. She hoped we would head out to the bars later that night, however by 8 pm I was being tucked into the couch by Tee as she grumbled about it being HER birthday and all of her friends are passed out. This is why we threw Tee's surprise party a month early this year. And held our sangria party separately.

The boys have wised up as well. They filled a five gallon jug with sangria so they weren't called on for a grocery store run. They still ended up going to the store, but that was more of an excuse to test drive Piranha's new car. We also made sure to supply ample food for last night's gathering.

It was lots of fun. I would post incriminating pictures but I left my camera at the party. Lord only knows what I will find on there when I finally get it back.

UPDATE!
My camera was returned! As I assumed, after I left the party my camera was absconded and witness to all sorts of depravity that I won't share on the internet. But here are "The Nanny" and "The Babysitter"
I'll spare you the multiple cleavage and ass crack shots. Oh how I love my friends.

Friday Fragments - Dec 18

My eye has decided to act up. I spent the greater part of Tuesday trying to pick out whatever it was that had gotten in there. Next morning, same damn routine. I knew better than to attempt mascara even without attending a funeral later in the day. Despite my protests, it was probably allergies. Bottom line - I'm allergic to Oklahoma.

I got to see tumble weeds!

...and a flying moose and 1 gay bull

The pre-funeral luncheon at the church offered FOUR different jello dishes. I sampled 3 and actually went back for seconds on one of them.

Wednesday night I was taken out to eat at a place called K-Bob's which really doesn't inspire thoughts of fine dining, even if it is a steak house. BUT it does offer a "Salad Wagon"! Well Boy-howdee, let's get us some!
Actually it was really good. I do wonder what the issue is with not putting out regular italian dressing? I witnessed 2 other salad bars without italian dressing. Well, they offered CREAMY italian, but that's not the same.

Sangria party is scheduled for tomorrow. I haven't been able to properly describe to the husband how this get-together varies from our regular drinking gatherings. But it does. So he'll just have to live and learn. Or duck and cover.

Did I mention that I witnessed one bull humping another??????

Roadtrip to Oklahoma

Husband's best friend passed away over the weekend after a long battle of kidney and liver issues so we rushed out to Oklahoma for the services. Sad, but also nice to see old friends and for me to finally meet these people. Upon meeting me, most offered condolences or questioned my lack of standards in picking a husband (clearly very good friends). One even asked, "you can't run very fast can you?" It's all good. Then they loaded me up with all sorts of incriminating stories.

Looking at sitting in a car for over nine hours I came up with a counting game to keep myself amused. I figured I would count horses. He sort of laughed because there are a shitload of horses in OK. Whatever. I also found myself keeping track of the other crazy stuff on the side of the road. On the way home I figured I wouldn't count horses again (would be the same horses any way) so I counted hawks.

Soooooooo.... here are my tallies:
From Missouri to Oklahoma
Horses - 154
Buffalo - 2
Flying Moose - 1 (plastic moose, part of a sign)
Tank - 1
Turkey Flocks - 2
Fake Horse - 4
Gay Bull - 1 (YES, GAY! Not-that-there-is-anything-wrong-with-that! But it was in a pen under a sign advertising bulls for rent and one bull was totally going at it on another bull. Right there as we drove by! Good thing I wasn't driving)
Roadkill (I wasn't keeping track until the trip home, but I remember these)
1 dog (really sad. white dog, with a collar)
2 skunk

From Oklahoma to Missouri
Hawks - 54
Plastic Zebra - 1
Fake Cow - 1
Cinderblock - 1
Roadkill:
4 deer
1 coyote
1 skunk
1 possum
5 undiscernable piles of something dead
and
1 high speed car chase with 15 highway patrol cars (things that make you go hmmmmmm)

Happy Birthday Grandma!

Today is my grandmother's 93rd birthday. It's kind of hard to shop for someone who has had everything, needs nothing and no longer has room for anything. So I'm going the cheap route and sending a card and all of my love.

To the short, but mighty woman who has always been able to hold her own

Happy Birthday Grandma!

The Basement Grocery

He says he hates to shop, yet every week my beloved scans through the newspaper ads carefully cutting out coupons. He watches for the best deals and spends his days off hopping from one grocery store to the next. He may hate shopping, but he does love getting a deal. Saving money is his favorite pastime.

When I moved into this house, before my coupon crazy husband entered my life, I reveled in the fact that there were shelves in the basement. That for once, I could finally stock up on a few necessary items as my previous houses never had ample storage. Little did I know that in a few years these shelves would be quivering under the weight of our latest booty.

I take great pleasure in picking on my husband for his shopping adventures. The endless supply of toilet paper amuses me to no end. Between coupons and some store sale last spring, he brought home all that his little minivan could carry. We have enough toilet paper to wipe our asses for quite some time. This picture was taken just a few days ago and hardly a dent has been made in our supply. I thought it would take us a year to go through that much toilet paper, but it looks like I may be wrong. It will be much longer.

Before I get all smug over the toilet paper frenzy maybe we should peek at the shelves.
Notice the over-OCD manner of neat rows, labels pointing forward?
Yeah, that would be MY illness rearing its ugly little head - the compulsive need for order. At least my husband and I have complimentary illnesses? When we move I have dreams of a real, honest-to-God pantry. Can you imagine the damage we could do with one of those??? And yes, I'm pretty sure we'll need a few shelves in the basement to catch the overflow.

My daughter finds the current storage room extremely hilarious. And is a little envious. Her little apartment dwelling self swears she's going to come to my house to do her shopping. We've started referring to that corner as "The Basement Grocery Store".

Friday Fragments - Dec 11

The Car
Last Saturday, as you may recall, I managed to mangle the under pieces of my car with a tire sitting in the middle of the highway. On Tuesday the dealership informed us it was about $2500 worth of damage. CRAP!!!!! Due to some freak of nature I failed to get the call from the insurance company on Monday so I didn't talk to them until Wednesday to get the appraiser rolling. So I won't have my car until next week some time. CRAP!!!!

The Tree
The kids all converged on my house on Saturday and got my Christmas tree assembled and mostly decorated. By the end of the night there were still three boxes of stuff waiting to be unpacked. Two days later Ian set up the fireplace with knick-knacks and lights which help tremendously in getting me in the Christmas mood. My tree, however, is missing several ornaments that are sitting in the bottom of their rubbermaid tub. I will need to get those on the tree sometime soon. And all of the empty boxes need to be moved back into the basement. The tree decorating always leaves a lot of work for me afterwards. I guess since I'm without a car this weekend I don't have much of an excuse not to get this wrapped up.

A Day Off
Due to lack of transportation I took last Monday off from work. It was nice to lounge around and do nothing. It's one of my most favorite things in the world EVER. I got more ornaments onto the tree, but with Ian underfoot I got aggravated and put it off for a time when he's not around. I got caught up on some movies on DVR and a nap! Unfortunately a day off work means getting slammed on my return. There are only two people in my department and whenever one of us takes off work it seems that everything falls to shit. On Monday he was tormented with a constant stream of computer breakdowns and on Tuesday when he was off, I got hit with server issues.

Grandma
Grandma fell and broke her arm over Thanksgiving. She's healing well. She moved into her new residence back in September and never really liked it. Finally this week the staff is figuring out how to handle this cantankerous woman with dementia (ironic, no? that one of my online monikers is Queen Dementia. Not really, I've known this hideous disease lurks in my family). The staff has found ways to coerce Grandma into compliance while letting her think she's in control - and isn't that the basis of effective control?

Mom
Yesterday I got a call as I walked into work from my mom. She informed me that she had fallen on the ice the day before. LOVELY. She didn't break anything, just sore and laid up on Advil. Well, I hope she's okay and doesn't need me to run and get anything because I'm without a car. She assures me she's okay, just that I should know she's been injured.

Tonight
The daughter of a college friend is going in as Honored Queen of her Job's Daughters bethel. I've been asked to be one of the installing officers, for which I am quite honored to do. It's been a while since I've been an installing officer, probably since my daughter was installed Senior Princess several years ago. I get to be the schmuck holding the flag. Fortunately I don't have to do any memorized work because I'm pretty sure the way things are going this week I would screw it up. I'm excited and it sounds like a fun evening. Congrats Patsy, you'll be a great queen this year!

How I Love the Man Who Invented HEAT

I do so love that the heater in my car works. I have owned cars where the heater was of questionable reliability. The most memorable car was the 1972 VW Squareback. I dearly loved that car, but it was regularly COLD during the winter and there was no A/C whatsoever - just roll down the window. But when the heater got going then a lovely smell wafted throughout the car that was rather similar to old White Castle burgers.

And I detest the smell of White Castle burgers.

But I still loved that car.

Now that I own vehicles made in the current decade I finally get to enjoy the pleasures of heat and A/C. Cars that properly warm up or cool down before I leave the neighborhood. And on days like today, bitterly cold... ahhhhh sweet sweet heat.

Ready For Christmas Music

Up until today I have NOT been ready for Christmas music. I know some places have been playing it since November first which is much too early. It doesn't help that November was unseasonably warm this year - just not very holiday inspiring, you know?

As of this weekend, my tree has been put up, is mostly decorated and I have twinkling lights in my livingroom. It's also bitterly cold outside. I would have preferred snow, but I guess the cold is enough to make it FEEL like winter.

So I've had Christmas tunes running through my head. Not any particular one, they sort of morph from one into another.

I need to buy eggs - I'm in the mood to start baking

Eastern Star

I have a very long family history tied to the masonic orders. Digging through Grandma's photos I found officer installation pictures.

Here's my grandpa (in the back on the left) with his lodge brothers

And here's my grandma (back row, third from the left) with the Eastern Star

I truly wish this picture was in color. Those dresses are fabulous! I think Grandma said they were teal with sequined rainbows on the front. I cannot imagine how much something like that would cost. I know today, women plunk down a couple of hundred dollars for an officer dress. Dresses that they can only wear for one year until the next presiding officer takes office with a new dress design. Granted they'll get much more wear out of it than a bridesmaid dress as it is the uniform for all formal events. Depending on your activity level, you could be putting on that formal fluff once a month. By the end of the year you'll be happy to stash that sucker in the back of the closet and pull it out twentyfive years later for a granddaughter's costume party.

Lodge and Star were a huge part of my grandparent's world. They spent untold hours at the lodge hosting dinners and game nights, attending meetings and general socializing. Their circle of friends were also members. They would regularly entertain in their home and had the dishes and box games to prove it.

Of all the things my grandmother morns, I'm quite sure misses this part of her life the most. When she moved to St. Louis after Grandpa died she never found a comfortable fit with local Star chapters. With all of her friends back in Los Angeles her socialization has dropped to practically nothing. Now living in an assisted living facility she feels cut off and alone. The cute little gatherings and outings pale in comparison to the world she knew a decade ago. She was used to rolling her sleeves up and digging in, to directing and organizing. Now she is merely a participant, an attendee. For someone used to being behind the scenes that is a very difficult, if not impossible, transition. I should know, I inherited the busybody trait.

The House Across The Street

As posted earlier this week, I have a gillion photos, many gleaned from my grandmother's collection. I thought I would journal about a few of the pictures (in other words I can't think of something else to blog about).

In 2005 my mom and I took my grandmother on a trip to Kansas City. We drove through the little towns where grandma grew up. Grandma hadn't been to any of these places since the 1930's and still managed to maneuver her way through the towns. We drove past the houses she lived in and the schools she attended. She wasn't quite sure of the exact location of the mine where her father and grandfather worked, but she pointed in the general direction. I would like to find out more about the mine, but it looks like I'm going to have to go to Rolla and do some real historical research, dusting off that BA in history, because there is not SQUAT online about old closed mines that operated in the 20's and 30's.

And like a total dipshit I failed to get pictures of many of the places we visited.

I did recall this picture of my grandma and her sister hanging out on the tire swing with a shot of the house across the street.

So we found the house grandma lived in and instead of snapping a pic of grandma's old residence I turned the camera around and shot the house across the street.

Kind of insignificant, isn't it?

Stay tuned. I have many more pictures, all with a story. Um, MOST with a story.

OH! I learned how to put a watermark on my pictures! That might be cooler than the house across the street story. dah dah dah! TECHNO DORK!

Split second decision

Quick, you have less than a second to decide. Your eyes are still focusing on the problem, brain has barely registered the magnitude of the problem only that it is, in fact, a problem. Decisions, reactions, survival, all rolled into one in a matter of nano-seconds.

This happened to me this evening.

We were returning from the grocery store, driving on the highway when the car in front of me swerved into the next lane. My daughter yelled something about a tire and then my eyes saw it - a full tire WITH rim, smack dab in the middle of the lane. Vaguely aware of the fairly heavy traffic surrounding me I never looked in my mirror to see if I could also veer into the next lane. Honestly I don't know that I even had enough time for that assessment. Had I swerved I could have still hit the tire and done even more damage or worse, sent the tire careening into someone else's windshield. Instead, I locked onto the tire and maneuvered my car to straddle it between my own tires.

The clunk and thud were horrible, although it didn't trigger the airbags. Magically all of the lanes opened up for me to the right and I quickly drifted to the shoulder. Watching the rearview mirror I could see a weird track appear in my wake. I could have sworn I ripped out the entire undercarriage and that I was dragging vital parts across the highway, but I didn't see any parts, just evidence of dragging something.

Well, duh, it was the tire. It lodged up against the radiator, ripping it to shreds which explains the excessive amount of smoke (steam) billowing out of the front of the car.

We bolted out of the car and I shakily dialed for a tow truck. The driver stared at my car for a really long time, almost amused but he kept his chuckles to himself. He was astounded that I didn't have any body damage. Once he lifted the car off the tire he was REALLY amazed.

He and just about everyone else is guessing that I did about a thousand dollars worth of damage to my car. LOVELY.

Here is the offending tire. You can see where my car bent the rim.

When I Was A Kid I Walked Uphill, Both Ways, IN The Snow!

And that statement is actually true.

In grade school I lived in a small town in Oregon. The school was perched overlooking a river at the top of a particularly steep hill (hills of this size in Missouri are referred to as "mountains" - in case you're from the West Coast and thought of visiting the Ozark "Mountains". Scenic yes, mountainous no).

I lived at the top of another rather steep hill, on an unpaved road nonetheless (and I have the scars on my knees from trying to SKIP down the unpaved road and I'm pretty sure I have rocks from that unpaved road permanently lodged under my skin).

Every morning I would have to walk to the bottom of my hill, stand in the freezing cold and stare at Mount Shasta in the distance (a perfectly formed one-bump, snow-topped MOUNTAIN that is actually a volcano). The bus would take us to the bottom of the school's hill and we would have to walk UP the hill along a paved walkway with an antique railing that looked like a bunch of pipes for about three blocks. There were houses along our path and even a street, but school buses couldn't safely maneuver the steepness and hairpin turns so we were relegated to walking.

Recently I created a facebook page so all of my former classmates could assemble in one spot. And several have recounted their own stories of climbing the hill to get to school. So I'm totally NOT making this up. Six years. UP the hill to get to school and DOWN the hill to the bus.

Unless I missed the bus.

That was really awesome! The couple of times we missed the bus my mom allowed me to walk with the older neighborhood kids. There was a path behind my house that wound through fields and along a ledge that overlooked the entire town. The view was amazing! The path dropped us practically at the front door of the school and I don't recall there being much uphill climb - more of a lateral move if anything.

And yes we had to go to school in the snow. I know we had snow days, but not many and certainly not due to the laughable pittance amounts that has called off my kids' schools.

Indeed, back when I went to school, I had to WALK... UPHILL... BOTH WAYS... and IN THE SNOW!

TEN THOUSAND pictures

Yes. Ten Thousand. To be precise, it's actually 10,777 pictures in my iphoto. OMG, holy crap, and no wonder my poor little hard drive is grinding from overload!

Guess it's time to start moving some of them over to my other computer, but I have this NEED to be near them at all times. It's hard to say when I might require a picture of my daughter cross-eyed
or my mom and grandpa in a very Andy Griffith pose walking with fishing poles.

I like the luxury of having these pictures on hand at the drop of a hat. And I worked very hard to obtain many of them.

Several years ago my grandmother declared she was going to distribute all of her photos to the rest of the family. The historian in me kicked into gear and insisted that I get copies of everything before she passed them out. For weeks I sat on her livingroom floor with my laptop and scanner rummaging through brittle album pages.

It was a glorious opportunity. She told me about the people in the pictures and I eeked out a little family history from her.

My goal was to add photos to my growing family tree whenever possible. I've more than succeeded in that endeavor and ended up with a cache of photo treasures.

Speaking of the 1930's

Oh, we WEREN'T speaking of the 193o's? Well I was a little while ago. A friend's daughter has a homework project to profile life in the 30's and kept interrupting our conversation to ask more details. She was surprised to hear that cartoons weren't played on TV (uh no TV available) and didn't understand fully that they were viewed in theaters with the movies.

Friend and I meandered off into listing all of the various games from the 30's as if we were reminiscing our own childhoods. What? Don't you remember kick the can, flipping bottle caps and playing jacks? Well, okay, I DO remember jacks, but we didn't really play them that much when I was a kid.

Then somehow we ventured into food from the era. She told me about her grandmother having only bread and onions on hand so they made onion sandwiches. I actually have a cookbook from the 30's and there is a recipe for a lettuce sandwich. Really? Was that necessary? Were people so lacking in imagination that no one thought to make a lettuce sandwich on their own until they saw it in print? What is that? "Gee honey, all we have is this bread and some mayo and a head of lettuce. What can we do with THAT? Well lookie here, it's a recipe for a sandwich! We aren't going to starve after all!"

I think we lost her daughter at kick the can. I left before the powerpoint was assembled.

Tree Decorating Party

Yesterday I mentioned group tree decorating as a family tradition for my former mother-in-law (MIL). It's a big affair in her household. The sons and grandsons of manly sizes are pulled into service to set up the live tree, trim wayward branches and situate it "just so" under her strict observation. Recently they have also been asked to climb into the attic to pull out the several boxes of ornaments and lights. Then days later she has a huge party inviting the entire family and all of her closest friends for drinks and snacks. She sits with her friends on the couch, watching the kids pull out the antique and homemade ornaments that were carefully wrapped from the previous year. She joins in at the end to add obnoxious amounts of tinsel over every branch.

Oh the tinsel. Bob Bob, her dearly departed, my ex's step-father, used to tease and taunt her over the excessive use of tinsel, believing that a tree was beautiful on its own merits sans tinsel. He lost every year with sincere promises that the next year there would be no tinsel. Clearly my mother-in-law loved her tinsel.

Back in my dating days, I was invited to the family festivities and gleefully joined in. Putting ornaments on the tree is MY favorite part. Imagine my utter dismay and horror the year I DROPPED AND SHATTERED an antique ornament! MIL swooped in with broom and dustpan and jokingly suggested that I move to the less breakable pieces. And every year I was chided about the ornament I broke, until someone else took the title.

And the ornaments! MIL's parents had made a tradition of their own of giving ornaments to everyone in the family every Christmas. After years of receiving ornaments, you can imagine that she has acquired quite the stash, one that would require an entire army to assemble onto the tree.

I haven't amassed quite the collection of my mother-in-law, but it's pretty close. Her first husband, father of my ex, liked the ornament tradition so much that early in my marriage we started exchanging Christmas ornaments at Thanksgiving, allowing you to enjoy it on this year's tree. In the divorce, Christmas ornaments had to be divided! I still have all of the kids ornaments, but when they finally have their own trees, each child will get a large box filled with ornaments acquired since birth - plenty for a full six foot tree. And while I will have lost all of those ornaments, I will still have plenty to keep my tree amply decorated.

In the meantime, the kids love to pull out my collection and rummage through, recalling the memories of each of their own ornaments. If there is any question as to which belongs to whom, I've marked each one on the bottom.

As mentioned in the comments of yesterday's post, yes, the kids decorate the tree in their own styles with their favorite pieces prominently displayed front and center. They learned very early on, that mom will come in days later and rearrange the ornaments in a more balanced and symmetrical manner. They hate that I do it, but they manage. They also fail to empty out all of my boxes so I am forced to finish decorating the tree on my own, therefore not feeling an ounce of guilt for rearranging their preciously placed ornaments.

My tree decorating isn't the big party of MIL's standards. It's a private affair, just the kids and significant others. And no tinsel. I use an artificial tree and tinsel just isn't practical, although I do share my MIL's love of the stuff.