For All Of Your More Creepy Holiday Needs

So I was sifting through the mail yesterday and ran across this ad from one of the hardware stores offering 'Holiday Gift Ideas'.

Which looks fine at first...yeah, yeah, assorted crappy tools, little weird things...

Until you get to the lower right hand corner, where your brain screeches to a halt.  TRASH BAGS?!

Because nothing says, 'Ahaha, no, fuck YOU' like the gift of trash bags?  For those times when your loved one may need to shoot, shovel and shut up?  What message does this particular gift send, anyway?  And no, not even the inclusion of 'xtreme' can save it.  It's trash bags fer chrissakes.

Maybe it goes with the knife set directly above it, I dunno.  Taken in that way, this entire ad becomes menacing.

Here's Your Morning Activities...

So we're getting all settled in to watch the MAVEN launch this morning...husband on the couch with the NASA feed running, I'm putting the finishing touches on some pumpkin bread before tossing it into the oven.

It's times like these that all Hell seems to break loose, when you are least expecting it.

Three things happen nearly simultaneously.  The brand-new washing machine (I consider any appliance less than 2 years old 'brand-new' and it damned well better WORK with no problems, goddamn it) suddenly starts to gleefully make godawful, LOUD 'BANG BANG BANG' noises.  Jesus, it sounds like 4 maniacs with 25 pound sledgehammers are tearing the roof off the house.  It's the kind of thing that scrambles your brain for a few seconds and makes you run around like a cockroach after the lights have been turned on.  We  both rush to the hallway where the laundry machines crouch in a large closet and fling open the doors.  There is the washer, leaping about, out of balance and clearly trying for a murder-suicide pact with the BRAND NEW water heater sitting innocently next to it.  It couldn't go the other way and aim for the 20 year old, garage sale bargain, battle-scarred dryer, oh no.

Husband whips open the lid of the washer, growling 'Why the Hell didn't this thing stop itself when it went out of balance?!' and as it finally, begrudgingly gives up and stops, plunges his hand into the thing and rearranges the clothes.  Closes the lid and we both stand there, poised to leap at it again as it restarts...peacefully, thank God.

We no sooner walk back and sit down with our coffee to watch the launch, which has 1 1/2 minutes to go, when suddenly the feed blinks out and is replaced by a feed from 'Eagle Cam'.  Coffee cups halfway to lips, we freeze.  WTF?  Husband leaps for the remote and within 15 seconds has it back to the NASA feed...


...which now shows MAVEN computer animation with the launch narrator talking about how many miles downrange the thing is.  I think we've discovered time travel, here.  This is now also the time when Dusty the dog suddenly goes into a positive frenzy of barking--because, you know, someone is riding a horse down the street, which is cause for total canine panic/property defense with extreme prejudice.  Meanwhile husband is roaring four-letter words at NASA, UStream and the universe in general while charging back and forth from the TV to his computer, trying to figure this out.

Clearly we've magically somehow missed the launch.

Luckily all is resolved by screaming 'Shut up, Dusty!' at the dog and waiting for NASA to rerun all the camera angles of the launch, which they always do.

But lord, things happen when you least expect it.  Weird shit, Maynard.

My Mother Has Impeccable Timing

...and has for years.

When my daughter was a baby, I could practically guarantee that the minute I was elbows-deep in a poopy diaper, the phone would ring and it would be mom. My husband and I got to the point where we'd joke about it--until it really, truly started happening all the time. I even told mom about it and asked her to just wait 5 minutes whenever she wanted to call me.

Today was no exception. I'd spent the morning cooking and baking, not doing a whole lot. Later on I went out, intending to resume pickaxing the trench around the small run, and instead discovered that Wiggles, one of our tiny Belgian d'Uccle hens, was covered--and I mean covered-- in blood. Her head, neck, breast, legs and feet. So much so that I couldn't tell where it was coming from, her head or her foot. I did see that she kept scratching her head, though. She'd been fighting with another hen, the little snot.

A quick check revealed no other bloody combatants, so I scooped up Wiggles and headed for the house to take care of her. Meanwhile I'm getting a good coating of chicken blood, too.

As I near the house, I see my kid at the back door, and she cheerily sings out, 'Grandma's here!'

Oh, PERFECT. She has to show up now. My mother already thinks I'm crazy for keeping chickens, and this little episode won't help. Oh, well, into the house I go, telling my confused mother as I sail right by her that I've got a bleeding chicken and will be with her in a minute. Myself, my husband and the kid go into the bathroom to clean up Wiggles and try to play 'Where's All That Damned Blood Coming From?', which takes us a few minutes. Poor mom probably thinks I'm performing a ritual sacrifice in there or preparing that chicken for dinner at this point.

Eventually we get Wiggles fixed up and discover that she was missing her face muff feathers on her left side, which while this gives her a rather lopsided look and she's sporting a raw patch there, isn't serious. So we dry her off and set her down to roam the living room and dry out for a few minutes before she goes back out into the coop.

My mother, meanwhile, is standing there trying to hold a conversation with me while Wiggles twines around her feet asking to be picked up--obviously she felt that mom needed to be wearing gore like everyone else--and my mother politely ignores her and pointedly tries to not stare at my chicken-blood-smeared shirt. All this while the kid is excitedly asking grandma if she'd like to play with the older chicks, and is helpfully on her way to let them out so they can run around the living room like complete psychos. Thankfully I was able to head her off before my life suddenly morphed into some kind of fever-dream version of 'The Egg And I'.

But lord, mom has impeccable timing.

More Origami and Odds & Ends...

Some new stuff...doily doves in various colors & sizes...

And some cute little tied bows!

Both the doves and bows will be great for Christmas.

Also, during our house hunting we came across this oddly-shaped front entry. It bothered me that it reminded me of something until I figured out what--

It looks just like the doorways for the long-vanished Krell race from the movie 'Forbidden Planet'! Hmm, I wonder if the Krell ever got to Carson City...?

Also, we got a chuckle out of these taxi cabs which are all over the Dayton/Moundhouse area...where the legal Nevada brothels are. These cabs run back and forth from the Reno airport to the brothels, that's all these particular ones do. Although riding in a bright screaming yellow brothel bus with huge ads on it isn't exactly inconspicious.  The huge windows that put the guys on display like a fish in a bowl are the icing on the cake.

Anyway, we got a juvenile giggle out of the license plate on this particular one.

Miscellaneous Stuff...

It's the happiest little trailer!

I think it could have it own kid's TV show.

These guys were on front porch tonight, hanging out with the bazillion assorted moths & flying bugs that congregate under the porch light. A very pretty White Lined Sphinx moth, a type of Hummingbird moth--I startled him once and he spread his wings a bit, revealing a red backside, but he wouldn't do it again for the photo:

And a young, slender Praying Mantis. He was using the larger moths for traction, just kinda climbing over them on his way up to the roofline.

The drive home tonight from dinner was a symphony of frogs around the lake and a beautiful, star-filled sky--it was magical.

My Daughter, The Weed

Well, as every parent with school age kids knows, you have to pounce on next year's school uniforms NOW. Because by the end of July, they are gone. Finished. And none of the stupid stores will reorder. Apparantly, kids never outgrow or ruin uniforms midyear, and so never have to replace any. Ha.

Today I loaded up on N.'s first big uniform haul in three years. She enters third grade in September, and so far she's been getting along fine with her uniforms that we got in Kindergarten. Then, even with getting the smallest size, they were miles too big for her and I had to take them in & shorten them--still a bit baggy, but acceptable. In first grade the altered clothes fit, hurrah! Other than having to replace the white shirts I had foolishly bought before Kindergarten (where they only use the finest black and blue paints with the darkest pigments). Last year, second grade...at the end of the first grade school year I had her try everything on, inspected them for rips, etc. All well and good, everything fit. Cool! Uniforms were pressed and hung in the closet to await the start of second grade. I congratulate myself for escaping uniform shopping.

Less than three months later, about a week before school started, I have a horrible creeping feeling and had her try them on again...because, my GOD, she'd outgrown everything else she was wearing by leaps and bounds, mostly shoes.

Yikes, the uniform pants fit at the waist but are laughably SHORT. The jumper dresses are a total loss, immodestly short and nothing to let out. I remove her name tags and donate them to the school, as they are still in great condition (as is the way of ALL clothes that are outgrown, while your stuff that fits ends up wearing out before it's time). The culotts are OK, thank God. The shirts are a teeny bit short when she raises her arms. Child is instructed not to raise her arms for entirety of the school year. The long pants fit fine at the waist, but are way short--but huzzah--I'd taken them up in Kindergarten, so NOW I can let them out to their normal length. I do so, smugly. Ha HA, take THAT, hated uniform shopping!

Until I have her try them on. Mother Macree, they are STILL too short! The kid has simply miles of leg. Break out the steam iron and re-hem pants again, leaving only a tiny hem and torturing the pant cuffs mercilessly with the iron until the old cuff mostly disappears. Not great, but acceptable. She doesn't look like a dork, at least.

So I knew I was in for a major uniform expedition this year.

Shirts are purchased a wee bit big, as the ones in her perfect size across the shoulder are too short. Also I get dark blue except for one light blue shirt. Last years' long pants I am shortening to Bermuda short length, as they still fit fine in the waist. More long pants, again a bit big in the waist in order to be long enough in the leg. I do find some stretchy culotts that fit perfectly, and a few pairs of new uniform shorts. The dresses and skirts they offer this year are irredeemably, aggressively ugly, so I skip those in hopes of finding some that don't look so institutional elsewhere.

I find one pair of sneakers that fit...for now. I KNOW they won't by the time school starts, but she's run her current pair into the ground. The next size up is miles too big, so we'll have to wait until the end of August to go on a shoe hunt. I do manage to grab some bulk packs of socks & undies.

I feel like a chipmunk hoarding for winter, or a post-apocalyptic survivor grabbing anything I can. Criminy.

Except I still have to get her a new backpack...

Is Childhood Disappearing?

An uncomfortable thought occured to me last night...was my generation the last to see a true 'childhood'?

When I was a kid we couldn't wait until after school to get outside and play with our friends. We'd roam freely to each other's yards to play (actually going into the house required parental permission and/or notification), roller skate, ride bikes, climb trees, play in playhouses. If we wanted to go down to the elementary school (back when the schools would never THINK of locking up their playgrounds), a friends' house or park to play, we'd just stick our heads in the door in passing and yell out to our parents where we were going. In Summer, we could basically leave the house in the morning and not return until nightfall and our parents wouldn't worry. We could even make an impromptu trip to the drugstore for ice cream with our friends' parent via car without concern. On holidays such as the Fourth of July, we'd have neigborhood block parties where we'd set up sawhorses to block off the street and everyone would bring out pot luck dishes to share and the kids would play. We could wander through orange groves and investigate now housing developments (collecting bits of discarded kitchen tile scraps, brightly colored bits of telephone wire and metal 'slugs' from electrical boxes). We could roam the outdoor halls of the school, peering through the windows of empty classrooms and playing baseball--or even tetherball or foursquare if we found a stray ball laying on the playground. Beyond the basic warning of 'don't talk to strangers' and 'don't get into cars with strangers', there was never a concern.

Things are different today.

Child predators, razor blades on playgrounds, evil neighbors, drugs or drive-by shootings. Terrorism. There are security cameras, metal detectors, lockdowns and metal detectors. Sirens scream and helicopters circle the neigborhood almost daily.

I don't live in a really bad area. I live on a typical southern California residential street, with many families with kids of various ages, some houses have older folks with kids grown and gone.

But rarely do we see any kids playing outdoors. It's almost as if they are trapped indoors. Kids here never skate, ride bikes, jump rope, play hopscotch or do anything else out front. Or out back, for that matter. My next-door neighbors only allow their kids to play out front when one of the parents is present, because of child predators, drug dealers and the like. And I hate to admit it, but I am the same way. There simply aren't enough neighbors out in their yards during the day, I can't count on the typical neighborly folk that might help warn off anyone cruising for kids.

So my neighbor and I have kind of formed an agreement to try and help get the kids out of the house and playing safely. She shoos her kids outdoors as I do mine, so they can interact with each other. Our daughter has an array of outdoor toys such as badminton racquets (we got 8 cheap ones at the dollar store so the neighborhood kids could join in), a jump rope, Frisbees, a bat, ball & mitt and a pair of roller skates. The skates she just got at Christmas, because I remember how much I LOVED skating with my siblings and friends when I was a kid--we would lace up our steel-wheeled skates as fast as we could, then zoom up and down the street for hours...until the street lights came on, that was our signal to go home.

Such fond memories, and knowing how fun it was, we got N. skates. I have been walking up and down the street with her, helping her to learn to skate, balance and fall. What's downright creepy is that there are never any other kids out there playing in any way. It's been almost a month now. Quite frankly we have been hoping that if we ventured out more often and played, the other kids would naturally emerge and join in...maybe we could get something started. There IS hope, today the next door neighbors bought their son (same age as N.) a skateboard, and several other little boys have been around on bikes and skateboards.

I realize that most kids nowadays spend their time playing video games. We didn't own any until recently, when my sister in law gave my husband her sons' old PS2. He now has three different games, but as they are adult games, N. doesn't play them. And I can't say that I want her to get started on video games, I've heard nothing but horror stories from other parents whose kids are addicted to them.

Kids today, out of necessity, are warned early on about the dangers they face. My daughter learned the slogan 'Just Say No To Drugs!' in Kindergarten. I nearly cried when the school held Red Ribbon Week (an anti-drug campaign) and she came home educated on the dangers of drugs and alchohol. She was FIVE. FIVE! I've had to have discussions with her on what to do if someone tries to hurt her or abduct her. Good Touch and Bad Touch. How to deal with bullying, racism, what to do in an emergency and whom she likely can and cannot trust. Good God, it gives me the willies and breaks my heart to think about how different her childhood is from mine, and how SHORT childhood is today.

I'm going to give her the best childhood I can, with simple fun and good times, and make it last as long as possible. She's got the rest of her life to be an adult with worries and issues. That'll come on soon enough without rushing at it headlong.

Hopefully we can spread it to some of the other kids, too.

Heartbreak

The high school that I attended was in a VERY small town (population 49) high in the Eastern Sierra mountains of California. Our school consisted of a gym, an office and nine classrooms, all stuck together in one giant building. It housed grades 9-12 and boasted a grand total of 100 students--of which 12 of those made up my class. We were all friends, even with the teachers and high school was marvelous.

I am one of those people that doesn't make many friends, but the ones I do have, I consider friends for life. All through high school I was best friends with two other girls.

Here's what one of them wrote in my senior year school yearbook:

"Being your friend this year was one of the main things I will remember about all my years of high school. My senior year was great, especially all the things we did together--only we didn't pull the fire alarms or plug the toilets like we had planned. Tell me your address when and if you move--write me or come back to visit and play some tennis, and if you get lucky you might win me (but don't count on it). Maybe we were such good friends because we're almost the same height! Well whatever the reason, we were the greatest of friends and probably will always be. The hardest thing about meeting new people and making new friends is saying goodbye. So let's not say goodbye, but so long for now and see you soon. Though we may be apart physically we will never be apart mentally. Never become a stranger or just two ships that pass in the night. Too bad we only knew each other for a couple of short years because they were the greatest, and longer would have been even greater. This time at school went by so fast and far TOO fast. I wish I could do it again just for the fun of it all, and I would have done everything with you the same only I would have enjoyed it all the more. Like the old saying you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone and this is so very true about our friendship."

Love you always,
Marcia '78

Marcia died yesterday.

She was only 45 years old and had, unbeknownst to me, been suffering for years from Rheumatoid Arthritis. I was talking with my mom, who still lives in that wonderful small town, on the phone tonight when she suddenly said she'd have to call me back, someone had come to her house to talk about getting a cemetary plot (mom is in charge of the local cemetary arrangements). When she called me back 15 minutes later, it was with the shocking news of who the plot was for--one of my best friends on Earth. I had no idea that anything at all had been wrong with Marcia, nor had my mom.

Marcia was a tiny little Paiute Indian girl and we did often joke about both of us being so damned short, especially since the other friend in our trio, D., was very tall. We called her 'Marsh' for short, which inexorably became 'Swamp'. Marcia was Salutatorian in our senior year, and besides being frighteningly smart as a whip, was pretty, truly kind and universally sweet to everyone. Everyone loved her. We all thought she would go on to college and do something easy (for her) like find a cure for cancer or establish world peace, she was one of those people that you just know are destined to make an earth-shattering difference in this world. Instead she chose to remain in the valley with her family, got married and quietly and happily raised a family of 5. I had moved to Southern California, but whenever I went up to visit my mother I would get in touch with Marcia to try to arrange for a visit. She always kind of shied away, being too busy or whatnot. Now I feel bad, like it should have tipped me off...?

So I spent this evening going through old yearbooks, pausing to point out pictures of my friends and family to my six year old daughter. Mostly she laughed and said, "What a funny picture!" With some of them I had to agree. While I was leafing through the yearbook, a program for the big multi-year reunion fell out of it. As I opened it I remembered that both myself and my other high school buddy had tried very hard to get Marcia to go to the reunion, which was held just a couple of miles (at the most) from her home...but she refused.

I also read the names of the people that had passed on that were listed in the program, and realized that now not only was Marcia gone, but also her brother, her sister and a cousin. I knew them all as sophomores and freshman in my senior year.

The next time I travel to that small Eastern Sierra town and stop by the cemetary that holds my father, I will also pay my respects to my departed friends.

This is the first really close friend I have lost, and I'm finding it a very disjointing, jarring and heartbreaking experience. What I want to do most right now is jump in the car, stop by Bakersfield just long enough to collect D., my other high school best friend, and drive up to my old small town. What I could do, how I could help...? I don't know.

I just know I want my friend back. I feel cheated.

Marcia said it best:
"I wish I could do it again just for the fun of it all, and I would have done everything with you the same only I would have enjoyed it all the more. Like the old saying you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone and this is so very true about our friendship."

Hug your friends, tell them you appreciate them and savor the good times now.

Marcia, my friend, I love you.

Hey, Here's Something New--A Quiz!

OK, everyone else is doing this, so here is mine. Feel free to use it and answer the questions for yourself. :)

1/ Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says: adaithermancy: (n) the quality of being impervious to radiant heat. *G* Dictionaries rock!

2/ Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What do you touch first?: The big, gloriously-ugly 60's ceramic table lamp that my husband hates and I love to distraction. It squats on the desk and takes up far too much room.

3/ What was the last thing you watched on TV?: The news at 5 PM...a CHP officers funeral, which I managed to drive past this morning. It looked like they were mobilizing for Iwo Jima.

4/ WITHOUT LOOKING, guess what the time is: 10:20PM

5/ Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?: 11PM?! *grumbles at crappy internal clock*

6/ With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?: The ceiling fan, the A/C running, the fridge humming to itself.

7/ When did you last step outside? What were you doing?: Just before dark to water plants, feed the animals and play with the kid and chickens.

8/ Ever have a recurring dream? Used to have one where I dreamed that I COULD NOT find a bathroom and I really needed one. I would always wake up before I found one in my dream, thank God! When I realized what was going on I stopped having the dream. Stupid id messing with me...

9/ What was the last thing that made you laugh? The noise my husband made when he accidentally came in contact with daughter's disgusting squishy-rubbery centipede toy thing...I had made the identical noise not 1 hour before when I had accidentally stepped on the thing.

10/ What is on the walls of the room you are in?: Various framed items, clock, a trio of ceramic pheasants from husband's grandmother, a lovely counted cross-stitch piece from my SIL, some wooden wine crate lids from Napa and Sonoma wineries collected on our honeymoon.

11/ Seen anything weird lately?: Everyday, too many to mention...

12/ What is the last book you read?: "Basket Case" by Carl Hiaasen.

13/ If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?: House, then fix up the cars, invest, then the real fun--passing out wads of cash to my family and friends. :)

14/ Tell me something about you that I don't know: I've had a tattoo of a little blue rose on my left shoulder blade since 1981.

15/ If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?: Eliminate people's inner need to fight and hate each other over religion.

16/ Can you dance?: In my opinion or everyone else's? Not well, in either case. Just because you can do something doesn't always mean that you should.

17/ Given the choice of anywhere in the world, where would you love to live?: Either Napa Valley or Yosemite.

18/ If you could wish for an unlimited amount of free time all to yourself, without using things like the phone, TV, etc. and no distractions like work, school or kids; how much time would you like to have and what would you do with it? First I would catch up on my sleep, then all of the one million and six unfinished projects I have going.

19/ Lamest guilty pleasure: 70's pop music, the perkier the better!

20/ Favorite childhood memory: Family gatherings where we all sat at the kitchen table and talked, adults and kids alike.

21/ What do you have as a background for your computer desktop? Any sound?: A family photo slide show, no music.

22/ Describe the view from your front door: The driveway which holds my pet '69 Plymouth Fury convertible, the weed-ridden front lawn and a climbing rose that we have been trying to remove for more than a year. My husband cut through most of the root ball with a Sawzall and nearly yanked the bumper off of his truck trying to dislodge the thing. Now it is healthier than ever.

23/ What was the last Stupid Self-Inflicted Injury you suffered and how did you do it? (stubbed toe, bumped head, etc.): Burned my throat after swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs I had reheated in the microwave. My doctor actually laughed at me...I don't blame him...

24/ What is the strangest thing on your desk? Besides big ugly lamp mentioned before, a couple of little plastic chickens perched on the monitor.

25/ What is the worst fad you remember and why do you dislike it? If you lived through the 70's you've seen the worst. I'd have to say pet rocks and the return of butt-ugly 70's clothing colors and styles lately.

26/ What annoying habit do you have that you would like to change? My tendency to start a project and then run out of something and set it aside until I get the needed supplies, then start another project in the meantime...and another....and so on. I leave them all out, too, because I'm still working on them, dang it!

You Can't Go Home Again...?

There's something about going home to the folks house for a visit.

I think it's the snuggly cozy feeling of being away from home but in a secure, unchanging place. The fancy glass jar in the bathroom that has held the cotton balls ever since I was a kid. The family stories that are retold at every gathering. The old, odd decorative plate on the wall depicting one of the California missions--with a huge chip out of one edge but painted in such lovely, softly glowing colors! The fact that I know where everything is. And how things at Mom's house are done...how our family washes dishes, takes walks, does laundry--even argues. There is a comforting, set pattern.

Mom is talking in a very decided manner of selling the place this year for a home on a smaller lot closer to town. Since the current place is nearly an acre and is 25 miles over mountain roads from the nearest grocery store, this makes lots of sense. Driving 50 miles over mountain roads in snow because you need a gallon of milk...well, it sucks. It will also mean that we won't have such a large, gnawing worry at the back of our minds every winter when we think of our elderly mother navigating the icy back steps or waiting breathlessly to hear if this years' wildfire has overtaken the house. To be sure, the worry will still be there; but it will be a more manageable thing, not something the size of a 50 foot Norwegian wharf rat.

As to the old homestead...well, it's certainly old, but not the ancestral home. We moved there during my sophomore year in high school and I moved away two weeks after I graduated. But the place DOES have fond memories and genuine historical value, and I'll certainly miss being able to walk through the old barns and point out the hand-hewn beams and square nail construction to my daughter. Couple that with being able to walk out the back door and take a hike in the Sierras, mostly up to the old can dumps that line the fire roads. The can dumps are where people way back when would simply tote their non-burnable items--glass jars, cans, metal, etc. and dump them. The can dumps therefore are now a treasure trove of old bottles slowly turning purple in the sun, vintage beer cans and bottle caps and many other wonderful things--if you come armed with a shovel and stick and are willing to brave the rattlesnakes that have moved in.

Unfortunately it also means that Mom will be unloading a bunch of stuff in a yard sale in order to avoid having to move it. I'm not sure she realizes that I love that beat up old coffee table and matching end tables. Or how I used to gaze at that chipped old plate on the wall done in those luscious colors. Or as a child, the Christmas ornaments that became my favorites for whatever murky reason, and I now prowl Ebay trying to find for my own tree, to pass along to my own daughter. The dining room table I used to crawl under in the evenings at Christmastime and after taking off my glasses would sit, surrounded by all of my stuffed animals, to gaze at the beautiful out-of-focus, softly glowing Christmas tree lights. So many times the things that kids grow up and hold dear in their hearts are the weirdest damned things! My parents would think nothing of throwing out old junk only to hear one of us wail later, "What?! But I LOVED that!"

Even the dorky, old, cheapo glass cotton ball jar.