Welcome to my blog. Nothing too serious here. Just friendly updates and ramblings on life. NPR, accordions, French films and family are a few of my favorite things.
I'd just like to point out that my man Ty is still in the competition. The judges say his upper body strength (from riding bulls and broncs, no doubt) really gives him an edge. Sure he's not as good as Gilles, Melissa or Lil Kim. But he's almost as good as Shawn, in my opinion.
And more importantly, he's just about the only star who hasn't been injured.
Leave it to a guy who hangs on for a living to outlast his competition. My bet's still with him.
My grandpa came up in a time when true patriots bought American-made cars. He's had a Pontiac in the garage for as long as I can remember. Before that, I'm sure it was a Buick or a Chrysler.
We grew a special bond when I traded my Mazda for a Pontiac, even though I've never much liked the color or look of it. Still, I always figured once I finally drove it into the ground, I'd trade it for another Pontiac. I kinda like this one:
But I guess not. GM is discontinuing the Pontiac line. It makes me sad to see the American Auto industry dying out.
For three days we've had perfect weather. Blue skies, sunshine, mid-80s. All weekend people were cleaning their garages, planting their gardens, mowing the lawns. I waited 20 minutes at a do-it-yourself car wash. Then I decided to get in on the garden thing - though I'm not sure you can call two planters a garden.
What do you call something smaller than a garden but not a flowerpot either? I have cilantro, basil and a yellow pepper plant. . . just because none of the other herbs looked interesting and I figured I'd give peppers a try. I went back the next day for the bigger pot and three little cherry tomato plants.
It's been a few years since I tried the tomato thing. I spend so much money on cherry tomatoes at the store each week, it certainly can't hurt to try growing them.
My past attempts have been lackluster, but this is a new climate where things grow best when ignored. We'll see if it can counteract my black thumbs.
Someone ordered up the perfect weather for my grandma's birthday. Sunshine, low humidity, 85 degrees. Of course, that was here in Charlotte. My grandma's celebrating with her toes in the Hawaiian sand at a resort up the road from where she lives. Just because you're a full-time resident of paradise doesn't mean you can't have a resort weekend once in a while!
If I showed up on my grandma's door right now, I can picture exactly how she'd react. When she gets a happy surprise, her face lights up in the most delightful way and her voice gets kind of high and wobbly. Then she'd throw her arms open and clap twice quickly the way you'd beckon a favorite puppy or toddler taking her first steps. I'd have no choice but to obey and then marvel at how strong and safe it feels to have her skinny little arms around me.
Thanks for blessing my life for another year, Grandma.
(My mom, grandma and aunt. Basically a photo of how great I'm going to look in a 20 or 30 years!)
Last summer the powers-that-be aerial bombed Charlotte with pesticide to beat back the battalions of cankerworms feasting on our trees. They're not spraying this summer because of the recession.
We're doomed. I hear the worms sound like rain as they swing from the trees on little threads they spin. They drop in your hair and ice cold lemonade as you sit on the porch trying to enjoy the spring weather. You need an umbrella to keep them off your clothes as you walk out to your car in the morning.
Bless all God's creatures, great and small. But heaven help me with the cankeworm.
Remember that 1970s Mormon film with the kids answering gospel questions? The one with the girl who starts singing about Pebbles and Bam Bam when asked who the Devil is? That one makes my sides ache with laughter every time. I couldn't dig it up on YouTube, but this one's just as good for a laugh.
And the beautiful thing is every kid I've ever known says the darndest things. Like my four year old niece who took offense when her dad said she had "cabin fever" from being cooped up all day.
"Nuh, uh!" she said, hands on hips. "I don't have cavity fever! I brush my teeth every night!"
Kids do the darndest things, too. Saturday night our Primary had its annual talent show, including these highlights:
Three little 3-year-olds in tutus running around in circles to "Thank Heaven for Little Girls."
A stage full of 8-11 year olds in sequined leotards trying (in vain) not to smack each other with their twirling batons.
A 7-year-old reading his own 5 page story about a superhero's space adventures and epic battles.
Lots of little girls singing lovely songs, including a 3-year-old performing "Fifty Nifty United States." When was the last time you met a 3-year-old who could recite all 50 states in alphabetical order? I asked which one was her favorite? Maine. No idea why.
The lowlight of the show was my last-minute role as emcee, using dumb jokes I found online to keep the audience occupied between acts.
Where do cows come from? Cow-a-fornia. Why did the football coach go to the bank? Because he wanted his quarter back!
Even if I'd been wearing a tutu, I couldn't compete with the kids for entertainment.
I really love the opera. Last night, I saw Puccini's Turandot. The costumes were exquisite and there were three Imperial minister characters in these rolling suits that made me think I was watching a Chinese version of Alice in Wonderland. It was fantastic and fantastical. And the music . . . during the moments where my head and eyes were too tired to decipher the subtitles, I just sat back and let the melodies wash over me. Puccini really was a master.
Oh, and the song "Nessun Dorma" that Pavarotti was known for . . . all these years I thought it was a lullaby. It's the opposite. Literally translated: "No one sleeps tonight."
By 8 p.m. I was tired and nothing was on TV, so I curled up in bed with my book about Inuit culture and was a sleep before 9 p.m. Perfect, since I planned to get up early for the gym. Except that by the time the alarm went off, I'd already crossed into the too-much-sleep threshold. At that point, waking up is not an option.
I set the alarm forward another hour and fell fitfully into an unsettling dream: I was living in a lifeboat on a pirate ship where I seemed to be perpetually standing in line at the ship's cafeteria to fill my plate with moose meat, seal oil and berries.
The Eskimo food makes sense, given the book I'm reading. And surely I'm not the only one to have noticed that NPR might as well have stood for National Pirate Radio with all its coverage of the stand-off in Africa last week.
But if my subconscious was pulling dream material from the flotsam in my brain, I would have much preferred bunnies, strawberries and the sweet newborn I rocked to sleep at a friend's house during Easter dinner.
Tonight I'm going to the first rock concert I've seen in nearly a year. My music life - rather like my social life - has been pretty slow here in Charlotte the last 12 months. Tonight I break the music drought with arguably the first show of any indie music cred to come through town since I arrived. Cold War Kids and Ra Ra Riot opening for Death Cab for Cutie. I'm more excited about the openers than the headline band. Always been partial to The Postal Service side of Death. . . but more than anything, I'm just excited to do the indie geek head-bob and sway to some really loud, really moody tunes.
I'm hosting a book club discussion tonight about The Telephone Gambit, by Seth Shulman. It was my pick and reads like a mystery novel while poking huge holes in the story about Alexander Graham Bell inventing the telephone.
It's also a testament to the importance of asking follow-up questions and not taking things on their face value, just because everyone else says it's true.
Also makes you wonder how many other "true stories" in our history books may not be the real thing.
Judging from the way I spent my Sunday afternoon, you'd think I'm really into Easter tradition. You'd be wrong.
As far as I can recall, this is the first time I've ever dyed eggs. My family didn't do Easter with the baskets and hunts and all. And egg dyeing was way too messy with five kids. Plus, it seems pointless to go to all that trouble just to turn around and peel the eggs later that afternoon for potato salad.
What I won't do for my church assignment. I had to carefully empty and dye three dozen eggs (their innards are in my freezer. . . I hope I can use them for quiche or something down the road. . . ) This Wednesday night, another sister in our congregation will come and talk about the Mexican tradition of Cascarones. It's a fiesta thing - not necessarily Easter. In Mexico, they empty eggs, decorate them all pretty, fill them with confetti and smash them over each other's heads for good luck.
Yes, I know. Inviting 17 rambunctious little girls to smash confetti-filled eggs on each other's heads is a very dumb idea. But it's a cultural exchange and I made a special point of getting biodegradable confetti. Besides, if all goes well, the smashing won't happen until the girls get home.
I called my dad up to wish him happy birthday tonight and the exuberance in his voice when he said my name made me feel so peaceful and loved.
It reminded me of the many, many, many times I'd tap softly on the door of his study after dinner. He'd be hard at work or church stuff and I'd be standing there in my pajamas, a tangle of adolescent emotions and insecurity just needing to feel the rush of safety and peace when he'd say "You're wonderful. I love you. Everything will work out fine."
He was always right. And tonight when I said I hoped Mom and the family were treating him well on his big day, he just did that chuckling guffaw that makes me want to giggle and said, "I have more than I deserve. Everyday since the accident is a gift."
Then he said the thing he says every time we speak. In fact, sometimes it's pretty much the only thing he says to me since our conversations can be a bit brief sometimes. "The only thing that would make me happier would be to have you here instead of living so far away."
He would say that even when I lived 45 miles from home and visited every weekend, instead of being 2,000 miles away. And it used to make me feel a little guilty until I noticed how his tone of voice seemed to say that it was okay for me to be out here on my own. Just as long as I call home often and follow the instructions he gave every single night he tucked me into bed.
The previews for this new sitcom from the makers of The Office send me into hysterics. But I'm not entirely sure how funny the general viewing public will find an ironic comedy about a low-level town bureaucrat. (I'm also surprised that Amy Poehler of SNL's Weekend Update and Baby Mama would chose this character for her TV debut. But she nails it in the previews!)
Having dealt with quite a few city bureaucrats, I find the show's concept genius in the same cringe-worthy way I can't stop watching The Office. Take a peek:
Of course, that means I have one more show I'll now have to spend the weekends catching up with online. (In addition to Dancing with the Stars, The Unit, The Mentalist, House, Bones and the new show Kings which my sister Liz turned me onto this week. I don't even have cable and it's clear I watch more TV than any person should.)
My past attempts have been lackluster, but this is a new climate where things grow best when ignored. We'll see if it can counteract my black thumbs.
(My mom, grandma and aunt. Basically a photo of how great I'm going to look in a 20 or 30 years!)
I really love the opera. Last night, I saw Puccini's Turandot. The costumes were exquisite and there were three Imperial minister characters in these rolling suits that made me think I was watching a Chinese version of Alice in Wonderland. It was fantastic and fantastical. And the music . . . during the moments where my head and eyes were too tired to decipher the subtitles, I just sat back and let the melodies wash over me. Puccini really was a master. 
In honor of Easter, I made a fresh strawberry pie and a spinach/cream cheese quiche (had to use some of those three dozen egg innards from the church activity!) I also made my favorite bunny cookies, which were a big hit - as they always are. 
Tonight I'm going to the first rock concert I've seen in nearly a year. My music life - rather like my social life - has been pretty slow here in Charlotte the last 12 months. Tonight I break the music drought with arguably the first show of any indie music cred to come through town since I arrived. Cold War Kids and Ra Ra Riot opening for Death Cab for Cutie. I'm more excited about the openers than the headline band. Always been partial to The Postal Service side of Death. . . but more than anything, I'm just excited to do the indie geek head-bob and sway to some really loud, really moody tunes.
I'm hosting a book club discussion tonight about The Telephone Gambit, by Seth Shulman. It was my pick and reads like a mystery novel while poking huge holes in the story about Alexander Graham Bell inventing the telephone.
