The Old Lady Mafia cleans a garage, and I throw myself away

Just call me "The Godmother".

I made my hubby an offer he couldn't refuse... (mainly because I made the offer psychically, and he's apparently out of the range of my brain waves).

The offer was to clean the garage.

People, this was no small offer, psychic or otherwise. It has been almost a year since I last parked my car in the garage. Until this morning, it would have been impossible to park a teaspoon in the garage. It contained 10 years of accumulated crap, 300 pounds of empty cardboard boxes from Christmas and beyond, an unusable, irreparable queen size bed, a kaput washing machine, and enough Christmas decorations to do Rockefeller Center twice. An ironing board last used by Wilma Flintstone. Boxes of VHS tapes. Countless plastic plant pots. Paint cans. Gas cans. Multiples of dead batteries, dead TVs, dead computers, dead radios, dead stereos, dead lamps. It was the Garage of the Non-Living Dead. There were also gardening and power tools scattered everywhere. There were books and papers to such a degree that we would have been completely insulated against a nuclear attack.

No more. We are now as vulnerable as everyone else on the planet. At 9 AM, the OLM convened (along with two of the Junior OLMs, Becca and Melinda) to discuss the plan of attack over breakfast. We moved the kitty litter box into the house, blocked the cat door to the garage so that the Great Escape kitty could not escape, opened the garage door and began.

We started by pulling just about everything OUT of the garage and sorting it. HGTV and DiYwould have been proud of us. Slash, trash, and stash, that was our motto. Okay, so it's just a variation on "Mission Organization's" KEEP, DONATE and DISCARD, but our motto is more colorful and more in keeping with the Old Lady Mafia persona.

What amazed me during the whole process was the astonishing amount of traffic our activities seemed to stimulate. I live at the end of my street and usually the only vehicles I see are those of my neighbors and their kids. As we pulled stuff out of the garage onto the driveway and lawn, traffic increased exponentially. We noticed that several trucks driven by old farts kept circling the block, thinking, perhaps, that we were preparing for a yard sale. (I would LIKE to sell the yard, but that's another story). Where did these people come from? What is there about the mere suggestion of a yard sale that attracts these people? What do they do, troll the city, watching for unadvertised yard sales so they can have first pick of the crap? After awhile, we began to feel like vultures were circling us.

About mid-morning, I called the city to schedule a special pick-up for all the stuff we wanted carted out. I live in a GREAT city. At various times TODAY, three different trucks showed up at my house, one for the recycling (mostly cardboard), one for the trash (you don't want to know), and one for the dead washing machine. That truck got here just minutes too late; we went in for lunch, and while we were eating, we saw one of the vultures stop and throw it into his truck. Well, it was on the street so it was fair game, but I felt bad for the city guys who showed up to get it. They stayed to go through the stuff that was out on the lawn to see if there was anything they wanted that I was willing to part with. Nice fellas, all of them.

The garage got as organized as the OLM could make it and got thoroughly swept before we started moving stuff back in. We were putting the finishing touches on the driveway clean-up when, in a moment of mental abstraction, for which I can never forgive myself, I threw myself away. The plain facts of the case are these: as I was attempting, in my fatigue, to move an open trash can- one of the huge city cans that the automatic trash collection trucks grab, lift and empty- I leaned on it too heavily, tipped it over, and tipped myself into it. Seconds later, I hit the ground, half-in and half-out of the trash can. Slightly stunned, I did the only thing a person can do when she has just done something both painful and humiliating. I just stayed there.

Fortunately, my friends recycled me before the vultures could get me AND had the good grace not to laugh at me. Well, not to my face, anyway. We must have been a sight for the neighbors, though, because it took two people and a crane to get my plump self off the driveway.

My car is off the driveway, too. It is in the garage. Damn, we're good!

Quickies!

Get your minds out of the gutter, they're not that kind of quickies.

• Went to Temecula to visit friends last night and had one of the best meals of my life. Olivia and Mike were hosting Robert and Sandie so Dave and I made it a six-some and Olivia, who is more chef than cook, put together the most fantastic Italian meal I have ever had. Good friends, good wine, good food, good time.
• Today Olivia, Mike, Robert and Sandie stopped in en route to the Midway and a day in San Diego to see the apartment, and another good time was had by all.
• Kelly made us a good-bye supper tonight that was superb! My girl is becoming quite an adventurous and accomplished cook.
• I shipped two huge boxes out of here, one to my baby sister and one to myself. For what it cost, I should have just bought them plane tickets!
• My son has been installing a new shower stall in Mama's bath and has sent me a picture via cell-phone. That boy can do anything.
• Looking forward to seeing my daughter-in-law Becca. I really miss her when I am away. I don't just love her, she is one of my best buddies.
• Not looking forward to being snubbed by my eldest granddaughters, but think Pixie and Dixie will be happy to see me.
• As soon as I get home, I will have to get into high gear for the GFWC Highland Rim District meeting and the Spring Convention.
• Wish I could stay here.

Off to pack. Long day tomorrow. Flying sucks but it beats driving... or walking.

And the Oscar goes to...

Dave actually won this year's Oscar pool with 12 correct picks out of 24 categories. Kelly was right on his tail with 11. First-time participant Becca had 8 correct picks. I had 7. Seven out of 24. Less than 30%.

God, I am so relieved. My 13 year tradition of NEVER winning the pool remains intact. Whew! I am so glad it's all over. Every year there is the terrible tension about winning; I can't even describe it to you, it is so intense, especially since I do not deliberately throw the damn thing (other than not seeing any of the movies and not reading "Entertainment Weekly"). No, I take pride in the fact that my unbroken string of losses is entirely the result of my uncanny ability to choose unwisely. How many things have YOU lost for 13 consecutive years?

I started out the evening with a win- the very first category, Art Direction- and was on tenterhooks until about half-way through, when it was finally clear that I would, in fact, NOT win the pool again. After that, I could enjoy myself. A bi-coastal Oscar party involves a lot of texting and phone calling and lacks the intimacy of all of us being in the same room at the same time, but it was still a good time. Kelly has only lost 3 times in 13 years, and it took a particularly weird and bizarre Oscar season to knock her out of the winner circle. I take pride in the consistency of my Oscar ignorance. Weird and bizarre did not knock me off my glorified perch as the consummate non-winner. A pristine record has been preserved for another year.

I would like to thank my husband, my children, my friends and the Academy for this honor.

And the Oscar goes to.... who the hell cares?

My daughter and I have a friend who goes by the moniker Gryphon. I bring this up because it is Oscar time again, and my daughter puts together Oscar ballots every year for which friends and family members each pony up a dollar. Every year, she creams everybody and keeps all the money. She used to have Oscar parties before she traveled west, which brings me back to Gryph. He has blogged, in part, about her Oscar parties. He has also thrown down the Oscar gauntlet on his blog, Life Among the Natives. I have a link to it on my blog. Go there. Be entertained. Then come back, and look at my picks.

Back already? Damn, you read fast! Anyway, unlike Gryphon, I am not going to choose who SHOULD win. I really haven't seen many of the movies and I am a movie-tech moron. Sound editing- better than unsound editing? Art direction? You, the Van Gogh, go to the left. Cezanne, stay where you are. Animated shorts- aren't those worn by Mickey Mouse? I could go on, but you get the point and are probably getting annoyed as well.

Here are my picks in no particular order. I put an asterisk by the movies/performances I have actually seen.

Supporting Actor- Eddie Murphy; who can say "no" to Donkey?

Animated feature*- Cars

Costume design*- The Devil Wears Prada; Hello! The whole film is about fashion.

Make-up- Pan's Labyrinth (or, as a colleague pronounces it, LAB-EYE-RINTH).

Supporting Actress- Jennifer Hudson

Visual Effects*: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. Yo ho, me hearties!

Documentary Feature: An Inconvenient Truth, which documents Al Gore's ineptitude as a presidential candidate and mentions the environment

Art direction: Pan's Labyrinth, which I bet I will have to see in California, as a small market like my little home town will never show it

Live Action Short Film: Binta and the Great Idea- it's the first one in the category which is as good a reason as any to choose it. Oh, wait, they're alphabetical...

Animated Short Film: The Little Matchgirl

Sound mixing*: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest- we pirates must stick together.

Sound editing*: Pirates.of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, and this choice surprises you why?

Documentary short: Two Hands (which are better than none)

Film Editing: The Children of Men (though I suspect women are involved in the process somehow)

Original Score: Pan's Labyrinth

Original Song: "Our Town" from Cars

Cinematography*: The Illusionist. I have also seen The Prestige; too bad these films came out at the same time to knock each other out of the box office, because they are both brilliant and deserve recognition.

Foreign Language Film: Pan's Labyrinth

Leading Actress: Helen Mirren

Adapted Screenplay: Children Of Men

Original Screenplay- Pan's Labyrinth

Leading Actor: Peter O'Toole- I mean, c'mon already; screw that Life Achievement Oscar crap and praise him as he deserves while he is with us

Best Director: Martin Scorsese- see above comments

Best Picture: Letters from Iwo Jima- just so Dirty Harry doesn't blow Marty Scorsese away for winning best director.

Okay, young Gryphon... and Kelly... these are my entirely uninformed picks for this year's Oscars. I would like to thank the Academy for only doing this once a year.

Ruh- roh

Tomorrow, Mama will be going to the Trinity Senior Day Care for the first time. Getting her enrolled has been only slightly less complicated than quantum physics, and has required two people (Stephanie and I), a notary public, a trip to the doctor, and the filling in of a sheaf of forms, all of which I had to read and translate to Mama. She had to sign her own name in front of the notary. Her last name is apparently Richaboa. I know she can write her own name, but when she doesn't want to do something...

Mama seems excited about going, though, and was very pleased with the place when we went for a look-see. So was I. This looks like a good way for her to finally have some social interaction and maybe make some friends. She outlived all her siblings, friends, husbands, and peers, and then was transplanted from Michigan (where she had lived all her life) to Tennessee. Granted, she was very familiar with Tennessee from her many visits to see us while her husband was still alive, but it has not become HOME even after almost six years here. I am not insensitive to how lonely she is but all attempts to ease that loneliness have ended in failure. I have tentative hopes for Trinity.

Now, about the ruh-roh...
My darling daughter quipped last night that she can't wait until I am old enough for HER to blog about ME! I see some Homeric justice in my future. Hopefully, I will be too demented to notice. Or just demented enough to be able to cop a plea! Maybe I should just stop posting about Mama....


Nah.

Episode 143 in which Mama goes to the nurse practitioner and I end up drugged

Mama is in wonderful health. Aside from high blood pressure that would be controlled by medication if she TOOK her medication, and arthritis, she is in good shape physically. For 78, she is remarkably well. She seems to be the only one who doesn't know that.

She has been obsessing about her weight. She thinks she is wasting away. "I'm so skinny. Why am I so skinny?" Aside from having bird-legs, Mama is not particularly skinny, but if she is concerned about her weight, so am I. Every waking moment. Seven days a week.

"I only weigh 112 pounds" she laments, "I used to weigh 163, now I weigh 112." I nod. It's true; 30 years ago, she weighed 163 pounds. She looked like a keishka, so round, so firm, so fully packed. It's the 112 pounds I have some doubts about. "Let's put you on the scale", I say in my most patient voice. I think ahead, and have a witness- Mama is slightly less likely to argue with the scales if there are multiple witnesses. I recruit Stephanie. We maneuver her onto the scales. We make her let go of the sink. We look at the bright, digital numbers. Mama weighs 125 pounds. "There", I say, actually thinking this will resolve things. "See? You're not losing weight. You're just where you should be, not too skinny and not too fat." Most people would be happy to hear this.

But, as my constant readers can attest, Mama is not most people. Within days, she is obsessing about her weight again. "I'm so skinny. Why am I so skinny?" I don't bite. I just let it go. And on it goes... until, finally, she starts the "I need to go to the doctor" obsession. I really can't see any justification for taking her, but hey, it's her money and her right to see a doctor, so I make an appointment with our nurse practitioner, Sharon, whom we both love and trust. I use as an excuse Mama's need for her pneumonia shot.

We get to the office ahead of our appointed time because it's never a sure thing how long it will take to get Mama into the building. She seems to develop a cornucopia of symptoms the minute we get into the parking lot. Her speech becomes slurred. She loses the capacity to walk. She goes totally blind. And deaf. Pathos, thy name is Mama. Once inside, I sign her in while she inflicts her personality on the genuinely unwell.

We get called back and Sharon asks what's up. "She needs her pneumonia shot, and she's obsessed with her weight. She thinks she's wasting away." Sharon looks at the chart. Mama not only weighs 125 pounds, but she has gained 8 pounds since her last visit! The only thing Sharon sees that concerns her is Mama's blood pressure. She talks to Mama for several minutes and gives Mama a lecture about taking her pills, then sends her outside so we can talk.

And suddenly, we're talking about ME! " She's driving me crazy!" I say. "I love her, but I need some help," I say. "I'm not sleeping and I am battling depression again", I say and then I burst into tears. No one is more surprised than me!

Sharon understands. She sees this all the time. She says I am suffering from caretaker burn-out. She gives me some good advice, offers some alternatives, suggests senior day-care. She is very helpful.

I stop blubbering, feeling completely foolish. Sharon goes to get Mama's shot (and my chart) and calls Mama back into the room.

"What's wrong with my Katie?" Mama demands as she walks through the door- she apparently heard me crying, or else noticed my red eyes and attractively running nose. "There's nothing wrong, Mama," I lie, "it's just this damn nose of mine," which I blow convincingly into a tissue.

Mama sits down in the chair and looks me straight in the eye. "I know you're lying. Give it to me straight, " she says, "I have cancer, don't I?" and SHE bursts into tears.

"Good God, NO!" Where the hell did THAT come from? "No, Mama, absolutely not, you do NOT have cancer." I rush over to comfort her. Sharon comes back into the room, and I tell her why Mama is crying. She reassures Mama that the only thing wrong with her is her blood pressure, and she can control that. No, she does NOT have cancer. Does she understand? Nod, nod, nod. Sniff. Nod, nod.

Sharon gives Mama her shot. She gives me the charge sheet. The diagnosis for Mama is anti-pneumonia therapy... and dementia.

Imagine my surprise.

My diagnosis? Insomnia-induced depression.

Mama feels so much better. She got a shot and a big dose of sympathy.

I will feel better. I got prescriptions for an anti-depressant and sleeping pills.

Mama has been complaining of a terribly painful arm ever since she got the shot in it. She was looking for her sling for awhile there. She IS taking her pills, though.

If I feed her MINE, can I use caretaker burn-out as a defense?

I JEST! C'mon, people, if I was going to kill the old thing, she'd be dead already!

And we domesticated them WHY?

My neighbors, for the most part, are dog owners. I know this for several reasons:

• despite the fact that there is a leash law in this town- a law more honored in the breach than the observance, apparently- dogs stroll across my yard on a daily basis, leaving little gifts in their wake;
• two years ago, a pack of these strolling dogs mauled my cat Rosabelle to death- but they're just sweet, family pets;
• and nightly, I have to listen to them bark.

Dogs barking in the night. The animals are awake all day long, as am I, but do I hear barking in the day time? No, I do not. Dogs are mostly silent during the day. Something about sunset seems to flip a switch in dogs. Let the sun go down, and they are compelled to bark. Arf arf arf. Woof woof woof. Over and over again for hours on end. Why are these dogs barking?

Is it because someone is trespassing on their territory? Maybe, but at 3 am in the morning, not likely.

Is it because someone is in danger, or hurt, and so, like Lassie, they are calling for help? Maybe, but Lassie used to go get people, and THEN bark.

I think dogs bark because they are terminally confused and maybe even afraid of the dark. They are confused and afraid because they have forgotten they are dogs and think they are human children. Arf arf arf woof woof woof may mean "Tell me a story" or "I want a drink of water". I blame their owners for this entirely. Dogs have forgotten they are dogs because dog lovers have forgotten that dogs are dogs. Owners give dogs human names, like Conrad. (Who names a dog Conrad?!) Or Rex. Or Sadie. It must be very confusing to have to answer to a name like that when you are a dog. At least with a name like Spot or Fido, a dog has an inkling that it isn't a four-legged person. Name it Gigi, and all bets are off.

Then, dog lovers dress their dogs in human clothes. They tie bandanas around their necks. They knit them little sweaters. People, dogs do not need sweaters. They are already wearing fur coats. Dogs don't need clothing, and they CERTAINLY don't need clothing that matches what their owners are wearing.

Many dog lovers feed their dogs human food. Some even let them sleep in human beds. Some even let the dog sleep in THEIR human bed.

Some dog lovers take their dogs with them wherever they go. They take the dog in the car with them. They let the dog ride shotgun.

Some people confide in their dogs, pour out their life story like the dog understands. Sadly, many dogs TRY to understand or at least look like they understand. This gives them snaps with their owners, but once Owner has vented, Dog is left with all those emotions to deal with and no frame of reference to do so. No wonder dogs are confused.

Which may be why they bark in the night. Maybe barking is one way of reminding themselves that they are canines. That, and running in packs to kill innocent cats, are probably the only canine activities left to them after thousands of years of domestication. Well, besides licking themselves and marking their territory,

I grew up with dogs and didn't get them then, either. Why are dogs man's best friend? Shouldn't they be best friends with another dog? Being man's best friend just looks like sucking up to me. I get working dogs, but pet dogs are beyond my comprehension. Dogs stink, they are dirty, they bring fleas and ticks into the house, they are difficult to house-break, and they BARK!

Now, cats... cats are wonderful pets. You bring a kitten into the house, take it to the litter box, and IT'S TRAINED! One introduction to the poo-poo box and they've got it. Cats don't form packs, so there probably haven't been many beloved dogs mauled to death by marauding cats that should be on leashes. Cats are never confused by the names they are given. They ignore entirely the names they are given. Unlike dogs, cats never suck up to humans. To cats, humans are merely warm, mobile furniture. Even if cats could bark in the night, they would not. They have an identity. They have dignity. They have no intention of expending energy on any activity that doesn't get them food, sex, or the lavish praise they deserve and demand. Bark in the night, you say? I think not. Shouldn't be asked.

Cats have a lofty disdain for dogs which I share. Cats rule. Dogs drool. AND BARK!!

I am going to close this now with the thought that it is a damn good thing there are no firearnms handy, or my neighbors would be minus one dog. I'd sleep on it, but DOGS ARE BARKING!

These were taken with my phone...

Somewhere under the snow is my dad's Lincoln Town Car.

What a world we live it, where you can take pictures with a phone and then send them to a computer. I almost believe we will have teleporters before I shuffle off this mortal coil. Just what is a mortal coil, by the way? I have never understood that.

Anyway, here are some shots of the eight inches of snow that fell while I was with my dad in Michigan. My sister called yesterday, and they have had an additional 12 inches bury them.

It's good to be in the South. It may be cold, but there is plenty of sunshine and a wonderful absence of the white stuff.

Speaking of which, check this out!

This is the ornamental crabapple outside my dad's front window.

Only those who have never shoveled the stuff sing "Let it Snow!"

Keep warm.

Does this make me a pusher??!!

So, I have returned from the land of ice and snow...8 inches while I was there, temps in the low 20s... and today I was walking around my yard in my shirt sleeves. What a contrast and a relief. Inspite of that, I am oddly depressed. Maybe it is because Dave isn't home yet. Maybe it was coming home to a NOT empty house. Maybe it's Mama's maniacal babbling since I stepped in the door. Apparently she has been silent for the past two weeks, saving it all up for me. I saw baby Emily yesterday and that didn't even cheer me up. I usually have problems with depression in the winter- they called it SAD, and it is- but this is different.

I had such a good time in Michigan, despite the weather. The snow was actually incredible, and that part of the state is so beautiful. It is full of gorgeous older homes, including an honest to God 114 year old Sears house (yes, the Sears catalog used to offer house kits) and spectacular views.

I had such a great time with my dad. We seem to get along better ever year. He is recovering from a broken hip and making good progress at last, graduating from a walker to a cane, and is feeling pretty good. His little house is cozy and warm, and he has his good buddy, Snoopy the cat, to keep him company. Yeah, I did a lot of cooking and cleaning while I was there, but we had a nice, low key visit and I miss my dad already.

One weekend my cousin Valarie came across state mid-blizzard and she, my sister Sue and I had a great time together. The three sisters. (Yeah, I hear you saying the three weird sisters; knock it off!) I took a lot of my scrapbooking goodies with me, and we spent a very pleasant Saturday creating pages for the scrapbooks I am making for Daddy. It took me two full days to organize the pictures, and I had finished about six pages when the gals and I sat down to work, and we would have gotten a LOT more work done if I could have spent a day just introducing them to my various cutters, scissors,punches, tools, papers, embellishments and sundries. They had to play with everything, just like kids.

Before I left, I had created the most beautiful book I have done to date covering the first 25 years of my Dad's life. I have pages of notes on his life and have identified tons of pictures with archival ink so that even those not used in scrapbooks will have relevant information on them. I also purchased scrapbooks and some papers for a scrapbook on his WWII Navy career, for at least two more on his life, one on Mom's life and one on his parents lives. I plan on going back every three months or so until I get them all finished. It's going to be so much fun!

Daddy really loved the scrapbook, which was very gratifying.

Sue, in the meantime, got the scrapbooking bug. She was completely enthralled with all my stuff and full of ideas. We went to several scrapbook and crafts stores and she was astonished at all the cool stuff that is out there. She showed the finished scrapbook to her hubby and it tickled me to hear her talk about it with such delight and enthusiasm. She was so excited about doing some scrapbooking on her own.

So, I left her a whole bunch of equipment and paper and headed for home.

I think I heard her whoop of joy from the plane.

I may have created a monster. Or a scrapbooking junkie... because scrapbooking IS ADDICTIVE! So, does this make me a pusher? A paper pusher, maybe?

Anyway, home again, home again. And feeling blue. Thanks to Dad and Sue and Andy and Val for showing me such a great time. Wish I was there, snow and all.

WINTER WONDERLAND!

You know, you go away for a lousy 27 years, and things change - including your memory. I was born and raised in the beautiful mitten state and lived there until I was 31. Of course I have returned to Michigan many times, but very seldom in winter- in fact, if I remember correctly, I have returned in winter only twice since the big move South in 1980. So this trip to visit my dear old dad has been an amazing kick-start to my memory.

I cannot remember that last time I went to bed and woke up to five inches of sparkling white snow on the ground but that is exactly what happened here. I felt like a kid again, and seriously considered plopping down to make a snow angel until I realized that I would probably not be able to get up again and Dad wouldn’t be able to help me. I can see the headlines now “Fat fool from Tennessee found spread-eagled in the snow”. News at 11.

Wish my granddaughters were here. They have never seen snow like this. All the trees are groaning under the load, and the tiny prints of birds and small animals break the pristine blanket at irregular intervals. Tuesday Dad and I went out for a drive. The sun was bright, the snow on the trees had started to melt ever so slightly but just enough to catch and fragment the sunlight until the trees looked like they were made of crystal and studded with diamonds. I had forgotten that, aside from being cold, wet, and dangerous, winter in Michigan is also breathtakingly beautiful.

We got another inch or so of the white stuff last night, just a soft dusting by Michigan standards but enough to close the schools in my little hometown in Tennessee. I am off to buy proper boots with my baby sister today. Since I seldom need them at home, I have only one pair more appropriate for rain than sleet and snow. The Michiganians have been sneering at my boots, which are heeled and will certainly kill me if I wear them outside the house. Or so they say. What I will do with those proper boots when I return to Tullahoma is beyond me. Maybe I will have them bronzed to commemorate my winter visit of 2007. Imagine the size the mantle that would be required to display those babies.

Sissie’s here, I’m off! Damn, I wish I had a sled!

Delta, feed your planes! They are WAY too small!

The little Delta connector planes were not meant to contain human beings. Sadly, I needed to use two of them to get to South Bend, Indiana, which is about 40 minutes away from my dad's house. To say I was frazzled when I deplaned would be to understate my condition big time. Still, my little sister Sue and her hubby Andy were there to pick me up and help me wrestle with the luggage, which included my overstuffed scrapbooking cart, and we got to Dad's ahead of the ice storm.

When we pulled into Daddy's driveway, he had turned on the Christmas lights! That was so cool. And when we woke up this morning to five inches of snow, it really felt like Christmas here. Not bad for the middle of January...though more snow is promised, so it may seem more like the North Pole soon. Going down to single digit temps tonight. Suddenly, I am remembering why I moved to Tennessee.

I have spent two days organizing photographs and taking notes while Dad free associates about the past. I am entering all his oral history into the computer for use in journaling. I see at least four scrapbooks in all this. I also see another trip up here in the near future- SPRING!

Daddy's cat Snoopy isn't quite sure how to take me, but he seems to love my suitcase. He has been snubbing Dad until just a minute ago, pissed off that Dad-ums would permit an interloper into their abode. He is now genially attacking Dad, so I'm not sure what that means. At least he is not attacking me. He just drinks out of my water glass every time I set it down.

Tomorrow I begin the fun part of scrapbooking, creating the pages. I am hoping for a break in the weather just long enough for us to get to the grocery store to replenish our larder before the next storm hits, and then it will be scrapbook heaven here.

Well, off to bed, me. Dad's a worse night-owl than I am, which is saying something, but he has provided me with a wonderfully comfortable bed, and unlike him, I don't catch any naps during the day, so I am pooped.

So, who in their right mind goes to Michigan in January?

Tomorrow or the next day, I must go to the credit union to pull out some travel money. My new credit union. Actually, it is my old credit union with a new name- Ascend. My daughter-in-law Becca pointed out that this is a most unfortunate name for a banking institution- "guess I better pull some money out of my Ascend". If only it were that easy!

Dave is heading for Brisbane by way of San Diego and I am headed up to western Michigan. In January. To the banks of Lake Michigan. Where it gets very cold and there is a lot of snow. Okay, it has been unseasonably warm everywhere this winter, but I guaran-damn-tee you that the minute I step on the plane Saturday, en route to visit my dear old Daddy, the weather will change. A blizzard will come off Lake Michigan to make traveling and visiting a nightmare. Bank on it.

I no longer have really warm winter clothes or coats, having lived in Tennessee for 27 years now, so I will have to pack smart. I will be traveling with a huge craft cart filled to overflowing with scrapbooking paraphernalia, all of which is pretty heavy, and none of which I would bother taking if I wasn't going to be there for at least two weeks. I can't wait to see what the little x-ray dudes at the airport think of my dozen pair of scissors and various other pointy stuff. I am checking that bag, of course- I know pinking shears are the weapons of choice of most terrorists, and I am sure both the flight from Nashville to Cincinnati and the flight from Cincinnati to South Bend will be chock-a-block with terrorists. They're everywhere. Imagine the impact on the nation if travel between Ohio and Indiana was sabotaged. The mind boggles.

I am looking forward to a break. Christmas is wonderful but exhausting. Mama had a very good Christmas and was very good company, and the glooms and dooms lifted for several weeks, so I have no complaints on that front. Actually, I have no complaints, really- I just find her little eccentricities wearing after awhile. When she found out I was leaving, I expected a daily and escalating wave of self-pity and guilt inducements, and there have been a few, but I strongly suspect she is looking forward to seeing the back of me. I have eccentricities of my own. Maybe she's weary of mine.

I bought a new microwave and it is wonderful. I picked this one out, rather than Techno-Dave, so it is efficient, simple, and easy to use. Even Mama can read the buttons on it- not that she will touch the damn thing after setting fire to the last one. Got a new toaster oven, too, but will bring in the old toaster from the garage for Mama to use while I am gone.
Friday I will fill up the larder.

Stephanie, my housekeeper/Mama-sitter/collaborator/partner-in crime/good buddy, will be coming every single day I am gone, mainly to make sure Mama is all right and well fed. This is a new arrangement for us, and will last at least until June, at which time, I am given to understand, our travel back and forth between home and San Diego every month will probably come to an end.

I have very mixed feelings about that on several fronts. First, I gave up my career to accommodate that bizarre life pattern- a tenured professorship. Granted, I had come to detest my job (except for the teaching) but I loved having some financial independence, a retirement package, a 401-K and my own medical insurance. I was in my 40s when I purchased my first car that was chosen exclusively by me, and financed based on my income. I liked the feeling of contributing, and had been working very hard to get us debt free and expense limited so that if Dave, who has been working since he was 14, ever wanted to just chuck his high-pressure job and retire, we could live on my income. Even though Dave asked me to do it, my giving up my career trapped David in his job for at least another 5 years when he can retire and collect his pension.

And I love San Diego. I have missed it this fall while I was teaching genetics as an adjunct. I love that part of California and I love our apartment there. As difficult as traveling back and forth has been, I really enjoy my space and my time there. I really don't want it to end.

And yes, it is nice to get away from Mama from time to time. And it is wonderful spending time with my daughter when I get out there. We always have a good time together. I will miss that if we stop the monthly travel.

On the other hand, poor Dave lives in airports as it is, has to look at his itinerary to know where the hell he is, and is exhausted most of the time. All the traveling is taking a toll on him. If dropping the monthly two-week stint in San Diego makes his life easier, who am I to argue?

I bought a wireless card for my new laptop- thanks, adjunct pay- so I should be able to stay in touch while in the mitten state. Speaking of mittens....

Another new year...seems like they come every 12 months or so

It is now officially 2007. I now have to retrain myself to put the correct year on my checks. It's almost as bad as turning back the clocks each fall.

I will miss 2006. It was a pretty good year. We had good weather, I got to teach for a semester, and no one was terribly sick. Emily finally bonded with Dave and I, my hand surgeries went well and we had a very prosperous year. I hope 2007 turns out as well.

We had a wonderful, plentiful Christmas with tons of quality family time. Kelly and Orrick came in the day after Christmas and we have had a terrific time with them. Orrick is such a gentle and courtly man; his only fault, that I can see, is that he is TOO quiet. I am accustomed to noisy people. Emily made more noise in 5 minutes than Orrick made the entire stay.

I am preparing to travel to Michigan to spend a couple of weeks with my Dad while Dave is in Brisbane. I have hired someone to care for Mama full time while we are gone. Next month, I will return to San Diego for the first time since last July. I am looking forward to going antiquing in La Mesa. Hope to plan a Mother's Day return trip to Disneyland as well.

In 25 days, my eldest child will be 35. MY biological clock for her has been ticking for some time but I think I am finally almost resigned to the notion that she will not have children. Come March, my eldest granddaughter will be 12. She is as tall as I am already. I find that astonishing. By the end of 2007, our granddaughters will be 12, 11, 8, and 4. Since 4 year-olds really aren't babies anymore, my life with babies in it will end this year, unless I live long enough to become a great-grandmother. It could happen.

Mama will be 79 this year and has already made it quite clear that she expects a big surprise party for her birthday in May.

Dave and I will be 58 in 2007. How in the hell did we get so old so fast?

Well, I am heading off to bed, now that the new year has begun. Here's hoping that 2007 is the best year ever- no war, no famine; no jihads or vendettas; cures for cancer, diabetes, AIDS and malaria; green fuels replacing fossil ones; absolutely NO Britney Spears news; teachers getting paid at least half of what the average athlete makes... hey, it could happen.

Male or Female brainage: Yet another test

Here are the results for me. Since I am a female, I am heartened to see that 67% of my brain recognizes that fact.

Your Brain is 67% Female, 33% Male

Your brain leans female You think with your heart, not your head Sweet and considerate, you are a giver But you're tough enough not to let anyone take advantage of you!

What Gender Is Your Brain?

Welcome back, Cattywampus

My daughter has interesting and intelligent friends- Kenny immediately springs to mind, he of the lightning quick and cutting wit- but there are others, some of whom I got to meet during the one year we shared together at Motlow College - her last year as a student there and my first year there as an instructor. One of the brightest of her friends is a fellow named Griff, who writes THREE blogs; one on beer, one about geocaching, and one that is essentially the random musings of a most original and humorous mind.

I have just reinstated a link to my favorite of his blogs, Life Among the Natives (AKA catty wampus comments), to which I became addicted during Griff (and Kelly's) old Tullahoma.net days. Kelly was Griff's editor on the college paper as well, and so he has taken to calling her Darth Kel, which tickles me no end. I must warn you that he doesn't blog there often anymore, but when he does, it's choice, so dip into his ramblings from time to time. They are worth the wait.

Before you forward any email tragedy stories, or dire warnings about polluted purses, check out the veracity of the email at Urban Legends and Folklore. I have a link to that site as well. All sorts of weird and wonderful (and sometimes gross) things on that site. I particularly enjoyed the larvae infested breast- which, by the way, is true.

I have linked to the blog of my interesting and intelligent son, but he has not blogged in some time. He has been too busy. Aside from building a garage the size of the Taj Mahal, he has been going to school and taking piano lessons, while working a full time job and supporting a wife and four daughters.

My stage maven daughter will be here the day after Christmas with another of her intelligent and interesting friends in tow. Everyone here is so pumped about their visit. I can't wait. She is currently appearing in a most bizarre San Diego production of "The Importance of Being Earnest" as Mrs., rather than Lady, Bracknell, who, in this rendition, is apparently a yenta. Go figure. It kind of reminds me of the Richard III that was being produced in a movie called "The Goodbye Girl". Richard Dreyfus was being compelled to play the lead character as a gay cross-dresser with a lisp, a portrayal sure to offend everyone and end an actor's career. Sure hope "Earnest" doesn't go in the same direction. My daughter will pull it off, of course- she is wonderfully skilled at what she does- but why tinker with a classic, especially one so completely rooted in Edwardian England, and intimately intertwined with the British railway service? Some plays are just so anchored in a point in time that it is impossible to update them, and shouldn't be tried. Only my opinion- I could be wrong.


Well, my hand surgery went well, if a bit more painful than the last one in August. I have a magnificent bruise that covers the entirety of the palm of my hand and travels four inches up my wrist and two tiny incisions in the base of my hand. I actually think I am having a harder time without the use of my left hand than I did without the use of my right- and I'm right handed! I get the stitches out the day after Christmas. Looks like it is going to be an eventful day.

My Christmas is all ready to go. All the gifts are purchased and wrapped. My daughter-in-law Becca already knows every damn thing she is getting. It is IMPOSSIBLE to keep a secret from that woman! My son got one of his gifts early, of course. He is persuasive, and I am a push-over. Everyone but Mama seems to be in the holiday mood. Maybe if we all got grumpy, she would cheer up just to be contrary. Friends have been in and out, and Dave and I will be stocking the larder tomorrow. I love Christmas. I hand made all my Christmas cards this year and sent them out in vellum envelopes far and wide. I have received Christmas cards and early gifts, and mistletoe. David has brought home an obscene amount of spirits from his friends and co-workers; that's what men do at Christmas. They buy booze for the men and jewelry for the women, and so can shop in less than two hours. I, on the other hand, have been shopping since October. Of course, I shopped for 30 people as opposed to Dave's 9, and since I wrapped his gifts for his coworkers, he only had to wrap mine. No matter. Everyone is going to have a wonderful holiday.

My club, the GFWC Centennial Woman's Club, adopted a family this year, a single mom with seven children from what had been a blended family. We provided tons of gifts for the mom and children, as well as food baskets and a gift card to Kroger worth almost $400. There never were nor could there ever be more good-hearted and generous women than the good women of the GFWC. Toys for Tots, Karing for Kids, adopting a family, knitting scarves and assembling food baskets- you want to see the true meaning of Christmas? Come to my little town.

Which will be the subject of my next blog. For now, I will close with a sincere wish of health, prosperity, love, and all God's blessings for this wonderful season and the new year.

The party's over...

I am typing this from my classroom, on my last day of class for the fall of 2006. Six of my eleven students are still taking what has to be one of the hardest tests they've had at this college, not because I made it hard, but because genetics is a complex subject. They have had essay tests the entire semester, have written numerous lab reports, and were assigned five journal reports- I believe in writing across the curriculum- so I have prepared them for this last exam.

This entire semester, it has been like pulling teeth to get them to read the textbook. I really don't understand that. I model my lectures on the text, and sometimes take test questions word for word from it. This generation of student does not seem to feel the need to study from a book. Granted, I provide hand-outs, and I am a damn fine lecturer, if I do say so myself (and I do). But when I was a student, I lived in my books. Different generation, different learning styles.

This has been a great group of kids. I have really enjoyed being their teacher, and will miss them, both individually and as a group, when this is over. There have been a few that are brilliant, a couple that are brilliant but lazy, two very highly motivated, one struggler and one non-trad who has done what non-trads seem to do- bust the curve. I have had a pair of brothers, as different from one another as night and day, but both kids you'd be proud to call your own. The eldest has a special place in my heart because he is a smart-ass. I think he's terrific.

The class has been as evenly divided between male and female as a class of eleven can be, six males, five females. No gender bias here- they have all done well.

Now as Christmas approaches, and hand surgery approaches, and my daughter's visit approaches, I can't really say that I am sorry the semester is over. I just wish genetics was a two semester class so I could spend time with this group of people again next semester.

To my students, should you stumble across this blog, the merriest of Christmases and all my love and best wishes.

And Marcia, you are off the hook for strong-arming me into teaching this class. It was worth it.

News from the underground(s)

Got at b3co.com!

Most of my travel occured over 40 years ago, but I remember the train systems of Europe with great fondness. My friend Nev was the designated leader on our European excursions, because it was impossible for her to get lost, and impossible for me not to. We knew the Madrid system inside out by the time our six weeks at the Universidad de Madrid came to an end.

Aside from the New York Metro, I haven't used much U.S. public transportation.

How many systems have YOU used?

Chastened, down-hearted and ashamed

A year ago, I took Mama to the eye doctor. Turns out her prescription had not changed one jot, so she did not need new glasses. The doctor did, however, mention Mama's macular degeneration, something Mama had forgotten she had. From that day to this, Mama has been "blind".

Frankly, I have had little patience with her "blindness". It seemed inconceivable to me that a person could be able to read one day and totally incapable the next, just because she hadn't gotten new glasses. "You don't need them, Mother," I told her, "Your eyes have not changed at all." "But I'm blind!" she responded, and it pissed me off. More of her drama, more of her acting up for attention.

But, being the good daughter-in-law I am, I took her back to the eye-doctor today. I sat there, irritated, as Mama claimed to be able to only read the first line of the chart - you know the line, the one with the giant E that is facing in the wrong direction. I listened as she first told the technician that there was nothing wrong with her vision, and then began to catalog a host of woes. When Dr. Bell came in to do the exam, Mama put on a show for her as well.

At the end of the exam, the doctor again informed us that there has been very little change in Mama's prescription. There is some "leaking" in her better eye, (the left), and so she will have a procedure on the 14th to see if she is a good candidate for laser surgery to stop that, but otherwise, her current glasses are filling the bill and will continue to do so until after the surgery, if it turns out to be necessary.

"I'm as blind as a bat" Mama yells. "Where's the bathroom?" I signal to the doctor to talk to me while Mother leaves the room in search of a toilet. "Her vision seems to be stable, but she keeps telling me she is blind. Is there any way you could give me an idea of what her vision is?" Doctor Bell left the room and came back with two different lenses, one for the left and one for the right eye. I looked through them. "Omigod! Is this what she sees WEARING her glasses?" I asked. Dr. Bell just nodded.

Mama has only blurred peripheral vision in her right eye. She perceives light and movement but that's about it. Her left eye is a little better, but not much, though it is hoped the laser surgery with help a bit; at least it should stop any further deterioration. I don't know how Mother recognizes faces, navigates steps, or manages to negotiate the house. Yes, her prescription has not changed in three years, but that, as it turns out, is meaningless. Her vision has not changed from GOD-AWFUL in three years. I had no idea. I thought she was myopic and a self-pitying, self-aggrandizing drama queen. Turns out she is a blind, self-pitying, self-aggrandizing drama queen.

Poor old thing. I feel lower than whale shit for not taking her seriously. All the times I looked through her glasses, I never got a sense of how the world really looks to her. No wonder she is depressed! And here I have been, making light of her problem, and assuming that, because her prescription wasn't changing, her complaints were without validity. I could have been so much more understanding and so much more helpful to her this past year than I was. I have been rolling my eyes at her complaints. What a bitch!

Well, I am both chastened and shamed by this experience. Hope I never end up with me as my caretaker when I am 78.

I love these things... usually because they make me sound so GOOD!

Your Five Factor Personality Profile

Extroversion: You have high extroversion. You are outgoing and engaging, with both strangers and friends. You truly enjoy being with people and bring energy into any situation. Enthusiastic and fun, you're the first to say "let's go!" Conscientiousness: You have medium conscientiousness. You're generally good at balancing work and play. When you need to buckle down, you can usually get tasks done. But you've been known to goof off when you know you can get away with it. Agreeableness: You have high agreeableness. You are easy to get along with, and you value harmony highly. Helpful and generous, you are willing to compromise with almost anyone. You give people the benefit of the doubt and don't mind giving someone a second chance. Neuroticism: You have low neuroticism. You are very emotionally stable and mentally together. Only the greatest setbacks upset you, and you bounce back quickly. Overall, you are typically calm and relaxed - making others feel secure. Openness to experience: Your openness to new experiences is medium. You are generally broad minded when it come to new things. But if something crosses a moral line, there's no way you'll approve of it. You are suspicious of anything too wacky, though you do still consider creativity a virtue.

The'>http://www.blogthings.com/thefivefactorpersonalitytest/">The Five Factor Personality Test

Man, my soul is pretty damn ugly!

What your soul really looks like! This is what the test has to say about me: "You are a wanderer. You constantly long for a new adventure, challenge, or even a completely different life." (Okay, I do like a bit of a change now and then. Fair cop). "You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. You feet may be on the ground, but you're head is in the clouds." (Alas, too true...but it's more fun in the clouds than in the living room with Mother). "You believe that people see you as larger than life and important. While this is true, they also think you're a bit full of yourself." (Okay, I should be full of someone OTHER than myself? Won't it get crowded in here?) "Your near future is a lot like the present, and as far as you're concerned, that's a very good thing." (Got to admit, NOW is pretty good so I would be very happy to see NEXT as much the same). "For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust." (Excuse me... who in their right mind COULD??) All in all, a fair description of me. I just can't figure out how they put together that horrifically ugly room out of all this. Though, sadly, they may be on to something with the nose. I must go. Clouds are calling. The Giant, by N. C. Wyeth

Inside the Room of Your Soul

Well fed... and well fed up

On this Thanksgiving Day, I am thankful for my many blessings, one of which is my wonderful daughter-in-law who hosted the holiday this year. Becca, her mama Gail and I collaborated on a feast that was over-the-top. Turkey (deep fried by Jake), ham, two kinds of dressing, potatoes, gravy, sweet potatoes, corn, broccoli casserole, corn pudding, green bean casserole, fresh baked bread, cranberry sauce, deviled eggs, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, chocolate pie. Becca has a huge kitchen, and she and Gail and I worked very well together in it. I really like Gail; she's a terrific person and a lot of fun. I love having the combined Thanksgiving at Becca's house. It was such a good day, the three of us cooking, kids in and out of the kitchen, the men tending the frier. Good stuff.

I got lots of affection from my grandaughters, and actually got an unsolicited kiss from Kendall! Funny how little things can make your heart sing. I had a great time watching Kendall, Haley, Delaney, and Becca's little brother Keaton (10) interact. Emily even climbed up into my lap with a book and let me read to her. Emily had a tough day today; she tried so hard to be one of the big kids and spent most of the day frustrated- LOUDLY frustrated. She was over-tired, over-stimulated, hungry and THREE, so her behavior is forgivable.

And then, there's Mama. Mama is not forgivable. Adults acting like three-year olds are neither attractive or amusing. She was as tempermental (if not as loud) as Emily all day. She refused to be in any room that had people in it, barely spoke even when spoken to, and moped through dinner, which she did not eat. She did, however, announce that she was not hungry because she had diarrhea, something everyone wants to hear mid-feast. Thank goodness Becca's family has experience with Mama.

Mama seems to think that being pathetic, pretending to be blind and deaf, and sighing heavily every few minutes is the way to win hearts. It just gives me heartburn. She's a sorry, crabbed little woman, but she is inventive. She finds a way to make herself the center of attention even if she has to announce her bodily functions to do it. Sigh.

By the way, Mama is starving herself to death again. She announces her intent to do this about every three months. She's says she's too fat. (Not). She says she's ready for the boneyard. (Maybe). Her stavation attempts usually coincide with some event that does not center on her. Of course, she doesn't really starve herself; she usually has enough food squirreled away in her room to feed half the state. Usually, but not always; her larder is empty at the moment, so she has no surreptious munchies to sustain her. She came home today after the Thanksgiving meal that she didn't eat and went straight to her room. Haven't heard from her in six hours or more. I know she is hungry. I also know she won't venture into the kitchen to eat something until I am in bed. So I am deliberatly staying up late. I can act like a three-year old, too.

I am SO looking forward to Christmas with Mama. Fortunately, I have a supplier for coal- tons of it- for her stocking. And a really big cork for her next bout of diarrhea - though, if she wasn't so full of shit, she probably wouldn't have the problem in the first place. :)

New counter... not in my kitchen

Dear Constant Reader(s);
You may or may not have noticed that my blog looks slightly different. That's because, after moving to Beta, I have had to essentially rebuild the damn thing. Lost my links. Lost my counter. Couldn't figure out how to restore my counter. Finally just gave up and added a new counter, which, being new, reads 000000. At least it is pink. Of course, the minute I added the NEW counter, it came to me how to save the old one. Too late. I am always smart too late.

I know that as of five days ago, the last time I had statistics, there had been 3,924 hits to this site. Let's see how long it takes to get THAT kind of number again. Sigh.

It is nearing the end of the semester and I am slogging away at my genetics course. I have a wonderful group of students and have really enjoyed the teaching, but the prep has just about killed me. I have been building everything out of whole cloth. If I teach it again next fall, which I may or may not do, it will be a piece of cake, since I have spent ungodly amounts of time creating PowerPoints, hand-outs and tests, and designing lab exercises. All that will be ready for next fall... for whoever teaches it. I am a share bear.

Getting ready for turkey day. We are going to my son and daughter-in-law's for the feast, and it is going to be fun. Becca and I are all geared up to cook all day, her mama Gail is going to be right in there with us, and there will be kids running around, games on the TV, and crisp autumn breezes to chill the bones and make hot food just that much more delicious.

Here is my wish for us all as we count our innumerable blessings.

"May today there be peace within.

May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.

May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that

has been given to you....

May you be content knowing you are a child of God...

Let His presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom

to sing, dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of us.

Bless us all and those we love.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, Y'ALL!

See? Give me presents, I'm worth it!

Your Life Is Worth...

$722,500

How Much Is Your Life Worth?

See, I told you I was good... look how Santa loves me!

Your Christmas is Most Like: Miracle on 34th Street

Sweet and caring, Christmas is about helping for you. While Santa may not exist, you try to share his spirit.

What Movie Is Your Christmas Most Like?

Oh, I'm going to get presents, I have been so very, very good!

You Were Nice This Year!

You're an uber-perfect person who is on the top of Santa's list. You probably didn't even *think* any naughty thoughts this year. Unless you're a Mormon, you've probably been a little too good. Is that extra candy cane worth being a sweetheart for 365 days straight?

Were You Naughty or Nice This Year?

Ah, sunny Spain

I spent six weeks in Madrid in 1966 on a summer scholarship to the University of Madrid. At that time, women were prohibited from attending that university except in the summer- hey, it was 40 years ago and Franco was not still dead at the time. I loved and love Spain and have always wanted to return there. So imagine my delight when I took a little quiz on my ideal European city and it turned out to be... Barcelona! I did not get to Barcelona all those many years ago, but think I will have to do that before I get too old to travel. I must brush up on my Spanish. Ole!

You Belong in Barcelona

When it comes to Europe, you don't want to decide between culture and fun. You want art by day and a big party by night. Barcelona is ideal for you. You can check out some Picasso, eat some tapas, take a siesta, and then dance all night!

http://www.blogthings.com/whateuropeancitydoyoubelonginquiz/

DOWN WITH NOVEMBER! (and daylight savings time)

By my calculation, there are 16 clocks in my house, exclusive of the clocks that are bundled with appliances. Hey, I like clocks. I like the fact that even when I set them all for the exact same time AT the exact same time, they always give me different readings by the next day. I love that. Even time is open to interpretation. However, I do not like to have to reinterpret time twice every year to humor some demented legislative whim. Has ANYONE ever heard a reasonable rationale for daylight savings time? Now that we have fallen back during the short day portion of the year, and it is dark at 5 PM, might I suggest that we actually save some daylight during the summer and release it in the fall and winter so that we aren't living in darkness? And let us PLEASE do away with DST, the only function of which seems to be to ensure that our clocks are universally wrong twice a year.

Sigh. Forgive me. I am a bit cranky this time of year.

I really don't care for November.

Don't care much for February either.

November and February have ever so much in common. They are both cold, wet, dreary and depressing. Aside from the birthdays of several of my dearest, November has nothing to recommend it. Usually, I try to hibernate until November is over. It seems the only sensible thing to do. But NO... THIS November I have allowed myself to be put in the position of having to deal with November at least twice a week.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am basically a home-body. I like to keep my body in my home. All my stuff is here, there's food and drink, and it's full of comfy furniture, pretty pictures, art supplies and books. Why on earth would I want to leave? BUT, thanks to my dear friend Marcia, whom I blame entirely for my return to teaching, I had to leave the house today to go teach my genetics class. The weather was Novemberish; (see above, wet, cold, dreary, etc.) and so I was drenched by the time I got to the classroom. I love the smell of wet wool in the morning. My pants were wet half-way to the knee, so of course my feet were wet as well. Thank God the college is totally without heat, or I would have been perfectly miserable.

I miss October. October. Now there's a good month. Halloween was so much fun. I had LOTS of kids come to the door for candy and I met them in full witch regalia.


My ole college buddy Stacey showed up with a batch of little girls and it is always good to see her. My granddaughters showed up with two of their cousins, so my house was invaded by an Indian maiden (Emily), a princess (Delaney, of course), Spiderman (Kendrick), a baby witchling (Zoe)... and a hot dog and a bottle of ketchup (Haley and Kendall). Even Mama had a good time watching the kids come and go, and getting hugs from everyone who came in. It was the last time she was in a good mood, now that I think of it. I really love Halloween.

I really hate November.

Gone with the (whirl)wind!

My daughter Kelly has just left after a short, whirlwind visit, and I miss her already. She is heading back to San Diego, where I have not been since July- to the warm, breezy, ocean scented apartment that may or may not burn to the ground, depending on the direction of the Santa Ana winds in relation to the ubiquitous forest fires, or crumple to the ground in an earthquake, or drown in a tsunami. Despite all these dangers, and the ever present threat of drought, I could not convince her to stay in Tennessee. Back she goes. I’m thinking a tall, handsome someone had something to do with her leaving again.

While she was here, she touched base with her four nieces, two of whom were disappointingly blasé about her sudden reappearance. The youngest two gave her her propers, and Emily apparently recognized a kindred spirit. Kel and the Pookster bonded, and this with a child who is skittish- to put it mildly and kindly- around unfamiliar people. Kel and I babysat the human tornado yesterday, and it was a real treat to see the two of them interact.

Mama, of course, was jealous of the attention Kelly was getting. After months of wheedling, coercing and bribing Emily to play in her room, Mama was suddenly outraged and distraught when the baby climbed into her bed and cuddled up with one of her dolls. Any doubts that Mama and Emily are the same age evaporated in the melee that ensued.

Mama: That’s my bed.
Emily: No, it my bed.
Mama: Get out of my bed.
Emily: It MY bed.
Mama: Give me my doll.
Emily: It MY doll.
Mama: No it’s not.
Emily: Yes, it is.
Mama: I want my doll.
Emily: (to me) NeeNee, tell Busha it MY doll.
Mama: No it’s not. It’s my doll, and I want it.
Emily: NO!
Mama: Get out of my bed.
Reprise.

Imagine the volume increasing with each statement and you have a fair picture of the state of conversation in my home. Finally Kelly hopped into the bed with Emily and Mama left the room, muttering under her breath “It’s MY room. It’s MY doll.” The wisdom that comes with age… is apparently fictional.

Anyway, the lovely diversion that was my daughter’s visit is now over and I must put my nose back to the grind stone.

I wonder where that phrase comes from. Who would do such a thing, really? First of all, it would hurt, and second of all, what’s the point? Why would anyone want to grind their own nose? Maybe it comes from the days before plastic surgery. In any case, I have eight kazillion powerpoints to create, a test to write, a lab exercise to set up, and a trip to North Carolina to plan. I am attending my first ever South Eastern Region (SER) conference of the GFWC (General Federation of Women’s Clubs). I am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time. Dr. Young has kindly agreed to proctor my test on November 9, and my students will be busy building models of DNA in lab, so I feel only moderately guilty about missing a day of classes to go. I am sure I will survive it.
Now, I must go get ready for church. We have having a Halloween party for the kids today... hope some kids show up!

More on Aubrey House and its denizens

No one ever comments on my blogs about my dollhouse, so maybe it is only interesting to me. Sigh. I don't care. I promised a blog on the servants and I am a woman of my word. And the word is... entranced. I love my little corner of the dining room where Aubrey House dwells. I sit there to read, (after competing with Patches and Hobbes for the use of the comfy chair), and to gaze into the little late Victorian/early Edwardian world I have "created".

I chose the surnames for my characters very carefully, and a bit whimsically. As a rabid Lord of the Rings fan, I put a bit of a Tolkien bend on the selection of names. For example, Avery means "elven ruler"; Aubrey means "ruler of the elves"; Owen means "well-born"; and Wesley means "man of the west".

The servant surnames are just as apropos. Henry means "ruler of the house"; Emmett means "hard working"; Raymond means "wise guardian" and Thomas means "dependable".

I make up back stories for all my characters. For example, the Avery sisters, Katherine Avery Wesley, Marcia Avery Aubrey and Alice Avery, are, in my back story, wealthy orphans who were the wards of Walter Owen after the death of their parents. Katherine married late, but well, and Marcia's husband Rhett, a bit of an entrepreneur, went into business with Walter and helped make the Owens ever richer than they were. He did nicely for himself as well, but is "new" money whereas the Owens' and the Averys are "old money." Even so, you can see that the Owens/Avery/Aubrey connections are very close, and it should be no surprise that everyone is hoping Alice Avery will marry Eric Owen.


Enough about the rich crowd. This blog is supposed to be about the servants.


This is where they work.

Aubrey House

Susan Emmett in the parlor

Hazel Thomas in the dining room

Ruth Henry in the kitchen

Where they live

(with the exception of the nanny, Jane Raymond, who "lives" in the nursery with Christie and Beth).

The servants cottage, "side yard", Aubrey House

Mary Henry, housekeeper and seamstress

Mary and Ruth Henry are mother and daughter. Mary has been with the Avery family since she was 15. Her daughter Ruth was the result of a youthful indiscretion but the Averys, uncharacteristically of employers of the day, did not dismiss Mary. They sent her away for her confinement. Mary's own mother raised Ruth until Ruth was old enough to enter into service herself. Mary and Ruth are very close. Neither has ever married. Neither has ever worked for any other family but the Averys. They came to Aubrey House when Marcia did.

Maids Hazel Thomas and Susan Emmett share the upstairs bedroom in the servants cottage. They are both in their early 20s. Susan is apprenticing with Ruth in the kitchen as well as acting as maid; she hopes to be a cook one day, as cooks are in higher demand than maids, earn more money and get more respect. Hazel is hoping to meet a nice man and leave service. It could happen.

All the servants take their meals at the main house. In the kitchen.

My second home

I have added a link to Miniatures.com to this site, because so much of what I have purchased for my doll house has come from good ole Ernie and his crew. I think Ernie is fixing to retire on my spending alone, but if you enjoy miniatures, you may find yourself as addicted as I am if you dare to visit his site.

I think the key to a great doll house is not just what you see, but also what you don't see- dishes in the cupboards, utensils in the kitchen drawers, clothes in the closet, toys in the toybox. My doll house is sort of like an iceberg- a large part of it is hidden from view. But the joy comes in sharing it, in seeing the faces of my friends when they find hankies in the tallboy, and sheets in the trunks.

I know that I am blessed beyond words in that I can indulge my passions with a relatively free hand. I hope I am generous with all my gifts. I believe in joy. I believe in fantasy. And I believe in sharing.

So, please share in the fantastic joy of my doll house. And visit Ernie at your own risk.

The parlor, where family and friends have gathered for a dinner party. The lady of the house, Marcia Aubrey, has just finished playing the piano for her guests, who are engaged in a lively discussion with Captain Michael O'Toole, retired (seated) and his lovely wife Barbara, (in pink). Marcia's sister Katherine is particularly interested in Captain O'Toole; unlike the others, she has NOT read his latest book and so is drilling him intensely about his adventures. Katherine's husband George Wesley is content to listen and sip his dark beer. Seated next to him is Anthea Owen, wife of Walter Owen, who is in partnership with Marcia's husband, Rhett.

The dining room. Dinner is almost ready to be served. Not all the guests at the soiree at staying for dinner; the Owens (Anthea and Walter) have stopped by with their son Eric en route to the opera and so will not dine this evening.

Rhett Aubrey's den. Even with a house full of people upstairs, waiting for their host, he cannot resist conducting a last minute piece of business with his partner, Walter Owen. Katherine's personal maid Bridget has been recruited to help serve this evening. She's a bit too pretty for Walter's taste.

The kitchen, peaceful for now after the frenzy of food preparation. Cook Ruth is out of the frame, having a well deserved cup of tea, and acting as discrete chaperone- off the kitchen, in the small garden, the younger sister of Marcia and Katherine, Alice Avery, is being gently courted by Eric Owen. Everyone is silently praying for this match to happen.

Upstairs, the children are preparing for bed. Peter is taking a shower in the bath, but we will not invade his privacy. (Peter took this picture of the bath for me). Nanna is reading to Beth, while Christie nibbles on bread and milk. As a very special treat, Nanna is allowing the little girls to have cake and hot chocolate later.

A peek into Peter's room- actually, a large corner of the nursery- but with enough privacy for an 11 year-old boy, thanks to a large screen and Nanna's vigilance on his behalf.

The master bedroom, which shares a floor with the bath. Nestled in his crib in the corner is baby Austin. Hanging on the armoire is the dress Marcia had hoped to wear, but which Rhett found too fancy for the occasion. Marcia's maid Susan has laid out her nightgown and slippers, and is, at the moment, in the parlor, offering coffee to the guests. The house maid, Hazel, is in the diningroom, putting the final touches on the side board.

My next post will highlight the servants, who, being very good servants, are basically invisible in this posting.

I am having way too much fun.

And yet another test... it must be mid-term!

I LOVE the fact that whoever designed this test does not think that being a teacher is a "realistic" career. Believe me, it ain't no fantasy. If it WAS a fantasy, I'd be teaching at Hogwarts. Too bad I am a squib.

Your Career Type: Social

You are helpful, friendly, and trustworthy. Your talents lie in teaching, nursing, giving information, and solving social problems. You would make an excellent: Counselor - Dental Hygienist - Librarian Nurse - Parole Officer - Personal Trainer Physical Therapist - Social Worker - Teacher The worst career options for your are realistic careers, like truck driver or farmer.

What's Your Ideal Career?

My kind of intelligence- and a gentle jab at Kel

My daughter Kelly has been on a test taking kick lately, and has found this site that posts all sorts of silly and not so silly tests. I have gotten on the band wagon a bit meself- I know me pirate name (Captain Anne Bonney) and I know which Muppet I am, though I must say I was a bit disappointed to be Bunsen Honeydew. Well, at least it gives me a Beaker to play with. I just took another test and am posting the results, which I am sure will astonish everyone who knows me. Yes, I can talk. I know the language. Surprise!

I think test-taking is fun, but wish my daughter would also WRITE now and again- on her blog, I mean. I fear she may be getting... dare I say it... lazy (re her blog only, people; that gal is NOT afraid of work).

Hope she doesn't have writer's block.

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well. An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly. You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view. A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

Funny... I always thought of myself as a Kermit type...

You Are Dr. Bunsen Honeydew

You take the title "mad scientist" to the extreme -with very scary things coming out of your lab. And you've invented some pretty cool things, from a banana sharpener to a robot politician. But while you're busy turning gold into cottage cheese, you need to watch out for poor little Beaker! "Oh, that's very naughty, Beaker! Now you eat these paper clips this minute."

The Muppet Personality Test

A few weeks ago, I posted a picture of my adorable toddler granddaughter, Emily (or as I like to call her, Pookie, AKA Horadora- short for Horrible Adorable).

I don't think her picture was up 15 minutes before my son was on the phone, asking me, nicely, to take it down. He was worried about having her sweet face out there in cyberspace.

I don't really think there is anything to fear in posting a picture on the web, but I immediately did as he asked. If he is afraid of potential kidnappers, who am I to argue? Maybe he's got something there. Maybe kidnappers ARE surfing the web. It makes you think, you know?

Makes me think it is time to post a picture of Mama.

Mama on her 78th birthday in May.

My new pirate identity (shhh, it's a secret)

It has been a pirate-y month for this ole scalawag, and while I have enjoyed all the fun and friviolity, I am a bit concerned that

1) I have been too much in the public eye, which is not good for a pirate, especially when that pirate is a pudgy, grey-headed middle-aged broad who's ruthless days are mostly behind her (as, by the look of her butt, most things are);

and

2) there's a very real chance my old crew-mates may now be able track me down, which would NOT be good because there was a slight disagreement about the redistribution of wealth the last time we met which, of course, I won. (I cheated ... Hello! Pirate!)

I will never renounce the name Red-Handed Jill (which I stole, like the good pirate I am, from someone else) but will now also have an alter- ego I can default to when the British Navy gets too close on my heels, or my crew insists on its share of the booty, or I decide to run for Governor. It's good to have choices.

My pirate name is:

Captain Anne Bonney

http://www.piratequiz.com/

There really was a Captain Ann Bonney, by the way. No relation to Billy the Kid. Or Billy Budd, for that matter. She's dead now. Her name is fair game.

Not a better daughter-in-law in the world... well, not in this hemisphere anyway... or the conflagration that was my 57th birthday

I had a three day birthday this year. My birthday was on September 12, but I worked all day and had my GFWC meeting that night, so planned no celebration. Besides, how celebratory can one be at 57? At least it is a memorable number. I was 55 (the speed limit) until I turned 57 (Heinz varieties) because I could not think of a memory device for 56. Turns out I did celebrate, because my Old Lady Mafia pals staged a surprise party with a pirate's theme for me at the Woman's Club. Great fun! On the 13th, Dave and I had a quiet celebration at home- we grilled steaks and fell asleep on the couch.

Will this gay, mad whirl never cease?! Tonight, my daughter-in-law arrived, kicked me out of the house for awhile, and continued the pirate theme in my diningroom. Then she made a fantastically delicious supper for us all, an Italianate chicken casserole, fresh hot rolls, a tossed salad, and a made from scratch cake, decorated with doubloons.... AND 57 CANDLES WHICH THE WENCH PROCEEDED TO LIGHT! I am amazed the smoke detectors didn't go off. It took three tries to blow the damn things out- I thought maybe they were trick candles, but by the time I was trying to blow them out, they were essentially one big, wide candle with 57 wicks. The cake was wonderful, and Pookie and I competed so see who could eat the most. Pookie won. All in all, a really wonderful birthday. I am posting a picture Dave took with his phone. It's not too clear, but clear enough, I think, for you to see the amount of heat 57 candles can generate. Now I must go put butter on my scorched nose.

Thanks, Becca. XX OO

And the results are in...

I'm a Mandarin!

You're an intellectual, and you've worked hard to get where you are now. You're a strong believer in education, and you think many of the world's problems could be solved if people were more informed and more rational. You have no tolerance for sloppy or lazy thinking. It frustrates you when people who are ignorant or dishonest rise to positions of power. You believe that people can make a difference in the world, and you're determined to try.

Talent: 46%
Lifer: 26%
Mandarin: 67%

Take the Talent, Lifer, or Mandarin quiz.

I'm a Porsche 911!

Take the Which Sports
Car Are You? quiz.

Three weeks in...

When I really don’t want to do something, I procrastinate.  At this very moment, I should be creating a PowerPoint presentation for my genetics class.  I am really enjoying my class, and have a wonderful, truly wonderful group of students.  I anticipate a very good semester with these young people.  I am enjoying being in front of a class again, refreshing my memory about my beloved subject, and remembering again just what it was that brought me to teaching the first time around.

It wasn’t creating PowerPoint presentations.  

Which is why I am blogging instead of slogging right now.  I will regret it.  I will push myself to the limits of deadline, I will be up until 4 o’clock in the morning, and I will not learn from past experience.

Sigh.

On the one hand, it has been gratifying to see how genuinely I have been missed at the college.  It has been lovely teaching again, and feeling like I have some cachet in the world.  A faculty parking hang tag does wonders for my self-esteem.  I am in the system again; I have an email that ends with .edu; I have access to the faculty web; I have a cubicle with my name on it.  (Actually, the sign reads “Kate Lapczynski, Resident Queen of Genetics”- and I didn’t post it!)  All of this is so seductive to me.

On the other hand, it is  aggravating that after two years away, many of the things that made my going away fairly easy in the first place are basically unchanged.  The administration is still calling students our “customers”… (excuse me, but isn’t the customer always right?  Because my students aren’t.  If they are customers- not clients, even, but customers- doesn’t that make us merchants?  And if we are merchants, just what is it we are selling?  Knowledge, or college credits? )  … there is little to no respect afforded the faculty… attempts to use technology are thwarted by failure of the technology, and the apparent inability of the IT people to make it work consistently… moral is low… pay is low…  

And I gave up scrapbooking for THIS?

Fortunately, one can bear anything for 15 weeks.  Except, maybe, Mother.  I am not sure I will maintain my fragile sanity through 15 uninterrupted weeks with Mother.  It’s me, really. She is what she is and what she has been and is incapable of change, and it is I who needs to maintain an even strain.  Of course, going deaf and blind would help, but what are the odds of that happening?

At least Dave is home for a week or two, just long enough to screw up the dynamics here, but not long enough to settle comfortably into greased grooves.  Soon he’s off to New York and then to San Diego.  

I will be here.

Kelly's blog is worth $500 more than mine... whew!

My blog is worth $1,129.08.
How much is your blog worth?