Sunday, February 27, 2011

Me... in a nutshell

I saw a blog the other day where the person had lists...a lot of them- likes, dislikes, favorites, loves, hates, all about herself or her family, husband, get the picture. My first thought was do people really care about this stuff and want to read it? And as I sat there READING the lists I decided yup, people read this stuff. Not sure why, but it was interesting to know her better and then think "OH MAN, I hate that too" or "I have never even heard of half of these books let alone read that many." It's fun to write your own list sometimes. So if you don't mind (an even if you do) here is my first list.

10 THINGS I LOVE TO DO- by Carol Robinson

1. After a long day of work, I love to get some chips and a pop, crash on the couch and watch a movie with no interruptions. It's the perfect unwind.
2. I love hiking, skiing, biking, snowshoeing, kayaking etc... with my best friends-the Mountain Mommas. (Someday I will blog about these wonderful ladies to be sure!)
3. I love to get up early, go for a two times around the lake waterski on a glassy Lake 5, then get warm by a fire and eat Cocoa Puffs with Stew. This is the beginning of every single heavenly summer day. I wonder if there is water skiing in heaven. If not, I may have to opt for a different location.
4. I love to play Trivial Pursuit with Kurt and other board games with the rest of the family. Kurt and I are the only ones who like Trivial Pursuit so the rest of the family can just eat worms whilst we play that for hours. We only seem to play it at the lake when there's nobody else around or it's raining so it's all good.
5. I love creating something out of nothing on photo shop. And then having the publishers snarf it up like it's gold! Refer to the posted jpeg of a piece I photo shopped. I haven't a clue where it will end up on this page, but I think you'll know it when you see it. Oh look there it is...I DID IT!

6. I love being with my family and my grand kids. There is nothing better than family. NOTHING!!! Period. End of statement.
7. I love going to Waterton for 2 days with Stew and just laying around, reading a good book, eating out and x country skiing. Sometimes if we go on a weekday- we are the only ones there! Can you imagine having all of Waterton Park to yourself!! It is Bliss!
8. I love to play hockey. I am not really good at it but there is something about having a stick in your hand and skates on your feet and padding all over your body that makes you feel invincible. I am old enough to be the Mother of most of the team but that doesn't stop me much.
( Ok, so I drop back and play defense sometimes, but I am out there on the ice every Wednesday night for an hour, and I haven't died of a heart attack yet so bully for me!)
9. I love to be involved with musical theatre- (oh look you Canadians, the spell check doesn't appreciate the way you spell THEATRE. I shall spell it the correct way from now on!) I have painted sets-tons and tons of sets- I have run the lights, choreographed, acted, directed, and polished in quite a few productons. It's very hard work but soooooo worth it.
10. I love teaching. It forces me learn and it gives me a chance to study what I know I wouldn't study on my own.

So there you go- 10 things I love to do. hhhmmm... it's kind of me in a nutshell I suppose. a slice of my life. Next week we will study 10 things I hate. I know, you can hardly wait, right? Pins and needles!

Friday, February 25, 2011


Oh my-little boys are so funny and sweet- and we have little boys coming out our ears! I have three grandsons. Roman, who is 5 years old in a week, Finn, who is 2 1/2 years old, and Oscar who is 2 weeks old. Yesterday a few of us where watching an animated movie with Roman, the 5 year old. The movie was called "Meet the Robinsons" Not a movie of our life, although that would have been a great comic tragedy worth viewing to be sure. This movie was about a little orphan boy who gets to go into the future and meet his adoptive family, then he comes back in time to when his birth Mother leaves him on the proverbial doorstep of the orphanage, looks around furtively and then walks away, disappearing into the night. (One of my favorite lines of Annie is when Miss Hannigan says, "Why anyone would want to be an orphan is beyond me." Thought that was appropriate here.)
All the sudden Roman stands up, with tears in his eyes and his bottom lip quivering, walks over to his Mom who is feeding Oscar, and squeaks out "why didn't his Mommy want him?" Then he burries his head in Whitney's shoulder. This simple question reduced his Mom, his Auntie Paige and his Grandmother-me- to instant tears. How sweet is that? Whitney explained to him that sometimes Mommies can't take care of their babies so they give them to other people who can't have children. OH, Ok! He was satisfied with that. Paige and I looked at each other and both of us said with our heads shaking..."NO BAMBI FOR THIS BOY!"
Roman has always had a soft heart. He gets it from his Great Grandpa Dooley, his Grandpa Stew, and his Uncle Kurt. Oh my, these men act so tough but they are soooo tender hearted. When Roman was only a year old, we had a doll that could laugh or cry when you pressed it's stomach. Roman would smile when it laughed but he got so upset every time it cried. Again with the quivering lip.
Even though he is tender hearted, he can come out with some zingers. Whitney asked him to do something and he wasn't finished eating and he looks at her, holds up his food and says,
"Right after I finish these bad boys."
He was outside playing in the snow before we took him and Finn sledding. Whitney comes out and in an exasperated tone says "Roman, didn't I tell you not to get wet?!"
Without missing a beat he tells her "I didn't have my listening ears on."
These little boys are a handful, but so entertaining! And so very easy to love.
Finn, who is 2 1/2 has what is called Verbal Apraxia. The best way to explain this in a nutshell is that his brain has a glitch that stops his mouth from saying what he's thinking. (ppfff... don't we all wish we had that at some point in our lives???) He knows everything and can communicate quite well but he has trouble verbalizing. He is in speech therapy and he is learning quickly. He learns new words everyday and is getting better at using his vocabulary, but his Finnisms are more in his actions. His expressions and actions with his arms and hands and little body are so comic! When he does learn a word, his use of it is hilarious. One of my favorites is he learned how to say "oh poop." He says it whenever anything goes awry. Drops his juice glass- OH POOP! You get the picture. Another word he knows (don't ask me how or why) is crack. Any time the word is used, for any reason, he has to point to his almost non existant back side and say "crack." He is so proud of himself. Dang that little boy can melt my heart so fast.
And Oscar is just new to the family. I am amazed at how one tiny little boy can wreak so much havoc and can completely exhaust 4 adults. Well to be fair he had the help of his brothers, but this has been a wild few weeks. I love watching Brad play with his boys. Dog pile is a favorite. And Whitney is an amazing Mom. Very patient. Well you would have to be, wouldn't you! And the best of all is Papa Stew. Stewart can play with those boys for hours. I seem to peter out after a half hour, but he can literally play with Roman and Finn all day, every day. It's part of the reason I married him. I knew he would be a great Dad. When we go to the lake in the summer people on the beach comment about what a great grandpa he is. He spoils the kids really bad. He makes me and Whit and Brad insane with his toy obsession. He thinks because he gets the toys from the second hand store it's ok. He did this to his own kids too and it nearly drove me insane. Even Roman will say "Papa, no more toys" It's a disease but I haven't found a Toys Anonymous anywhere.
People told me that being a Grandma was the best thing in the world. I remember thinking what's the big deal? It's just another person to worry about, and that is true, but it's also another person to love. And they love you back and they call you Brawma, or in Finns case he calls you Maam while he frantically runs around with his little thumb pumping his cheek with his hand in the "five" position...the sign for Grandmother. Melts my heart every time!! I love these little people!!!

Monday, February 21, 2011

those burning questions in life

You know which ones I'm talking about- Where did I come from, why am I here, where do you go after you die. No, not those ones- I know the answers to those questions. I am talking about questions nobody seems to know the answer to. Questions like what is a Mr. Clean magic eraser made of? Think about it- it takes absolutely EVERYTHING right off the wall or cupboard or refrigerator when simple soap and water or any other cleaner fails miserably. What is that thing????
Also- why do some women hug John for 9 months (like me) and others never feel sick, not even a little bit. What is with that injustice I ask you!!! That is the first question I am going to ask when I get to heaven- or Hell, which ever comes first. That man at the gates had better watch himself because he is going to get an earful!
What really is dejavue and how the shmell do you spell it? I also want to know how some people can spell and others like me never could. I think people who can't spell are more creative- We see all kinds of possibilities, we are not ridged and stuck to one set of rules. (Thank the Gods of technology for spell check!!!) Even then I get it wrong.
Some of those burning questions you kind of figure out in time- like what in Satans kitchen is a dust bunny, are they actually living organisms and why do they hide in corners and behind doors as opposed to taking up residence in the middle of a room. How can they be smart enough to hide?? I think I figured this one out. Could it be because I have 2 boxers and a cat? But then there are people without any animals living in their houses and they still have dust bunnies, so that blows my theory right out of the pond.
Speaking of animals, anyone who knows me has realized long ago that I love animals more than some people. But last night I started to rethink on that just a tad. As I mentioned before I have a few pets. I tolerate a lot from them and they are extremely spoiled. Boxers are not the sharpest crayons in the box but they are extremely sweet natured and they wouldn't hurt a child or anyone else for that matter. The main problem with a boxer is because of their short nose, they gulp air when they eat or drink, and said air needs to escape, and I am not talking burps. I live in a continual fog of dog flatulence. At night, they insist on sleeping in our room (I know, I know, I could be the one who insists on where they sleep but they have me wrapped around their stubby little tails and I just can't say no.) The odor in that room can literally straighten and or curl hair. It's GhAStly-emphasis on the gas! And to top it all off, Chief, who is the large male and is almost 14 years old, has started to snore so bad that you simply can not sleep through it. We need new carpet, and I want to put hardwood on the stairs but Chief slips on non carpeted surfaces, so we wait.... for the end...and we wait. He hasn't quite figured out how to go to heaven and even though I know how he can go to heaven the thought of that just stops me cold. I have dust bunnies in my house the size of small children- I kind of enjoy horking them up in the vacuum, they are quite impressive really. They scare me a little, but I am armed with their nemesis- Mr. Vacuum, so it's all good.
But this no sleep thing has got to stop. I got really fed up and tough about it last night-Yup- I went and slept in another room- I'll show em! Take that, you snoring, drooling fart factories!!
In the summer we take the dogs with us to the lake. We have a very nice trailer, but at night, well, you can guess, it's H-E -double hockey sticks in there. The dogs turn it into a hot box of foul aromas. Because we are in the Montana mountains, it's a bit chilly at night- I'm good with that, I like having a reason for a blanket. But sometimes it gets even too cold for me, so we shut the windows... and we suffer. As I lay there wide awake with the blankets over my nose and ears (others in said trailer have a snoring problem as well) I just remind myself that I can sleep all day on the beach. Isn't that what vacations are for?
Enough of those dogs- and don't even get me started on the cat! All I can say about that is HOLY ATTITUDE, BATMAN! Oh my lanta, cats are so different from dogs. Dogs just want to be your constant friend, love you no matter what, are excited when you come home even if you just went outside to get something out of your car, they act like you've been gone for a year and it's a fond reunion each and every time. But a cat- ppfff- they could care less about you, unless you are doing something you need them to stay away from, like painting or cooking, or photo shopping. Then they are all over you like white on rice. EVERYTHING is done on their time frame, their agenda and it has to be their idea or you can go pound sand. I love it. It's like having a tiny wild animal running around your house...making dust bunnies and attacking your feet whilst you are trying to sleep through snoring and dog toot haze.
HHHMMM what was I talking about?? Oh right, the burning questions of life.
Oh, who gives a fig- I just want to know how to get a good nights sleep!!!

Thursday, February 17, 2011

I am a grandma...again!

Wow, that was fast! Well, it probably didn't seem fast for Whitney. She was pregnant for a year! Pregnant in February 2010, a 3 month in miscarriage, pregnant the next month and giving birth the following February, I think she may be feeling like an more ways than one! You would think I had lot's of time to prepare for this new little boy, but I hate to admit it, it just seem like there was an end to it. IT was a belly bump for so long that I forgot there was a baby in there. But at 7 am on the 15th of February, the phone rang and Brad told Stewart they needed to go to the hospital, ASAP. Whitney called me while they were on their way at about 7:35 and I heard a few owe owe owe sounds during that phone call. I said are you sure you should be driving to Lethbridge at this particular point in time?" Sure, we have plenty of time." PPFFF! Oscar Edward Davis was born at 8:34 am. WHOAH! That was fast!!! Poor little gaffer was purple for a few days but he's pretty cute now. And here I am , a grandmother again, trying to figure out how this snuck up on me. I didn't make a quilt or buy little clothes or toys or books. What's the matter with me?? Is it because he's boy number 3 and he will have clothes and blankets and toys coming out his ears? I hope he forgives me for being such an irresponsible grandmother. I will make up for it by holding him as much as humanly possible and touching his almost no feel, silky soft, tiny red head, smelling him, looking at him so long my eyes hurt. He is so very tiny and so amazingly cute. This is the reason as parents we do not eat our young, because they give us grandchildren!
31 years ago I remember crying because my due date had come and gone and I thought I would be pregnant forever too. But at 4 am on February 16, 1980, I realized that this would be the day my life changed forever. Whitney was born on that day. Oscar almost made it to the 16th but he decided to give his mom her own birthday. But if I know Whit, she'll be spending that week in the future making valentine cookies and giving her youngest boy a fantastic birthday party. Whitney is a talented, sweet, loyal, thoughtful, feisty woman who I admire and thank heaven for every single day. Oscar is just too cute for words but I'm sure in the near future we will come up with some words to describe him! So happy birthday/Valentines Day, Whitney and Oscar! I couldn't ask for a better daughter or greater grand kids.
YAY, I am a grandma...again!

Friday, February 11, 2011

did I mention I love bagpipes!!

YES I DO! I have determined that you either love them or hate them. There's not much in between except maybe if you are like Whitney they kind of scare you. When I was about 10 years old my Dad decided he wanted to learn to play the pipes and he got a missionary in our ward to bring some home from his mission in England,where my Dad had served his mission as well. Ok, so I'll admit the chanter learning stage was a bit hard on the ears and nerves, but soon he became quite good, graduated to the full set of pipes and joined the Salt Lake Scots. How many kids get to go to a parade every single Saturday! I was in little girl HEAVEN! I really don't know what it is about the music that moves me so much. I was at a Scottish days in Denver once and as the mass band all marched in- maybe 50-60 pipers all in full kilts, sporran and jackets playing Scotland the Brave I sobbed. Not just a few tears-I'm talking bawling, snotty, loud sobs. Ok, I blamed it on being pregnant- but it happens every time, pregnant or not. I happened to mention this to my Dad once and he smiled knowingly and told me that my grandmother (who died when my Dad was 5 years old) felt and reacted the same way- "it's in your blood."
Well, happily I passed that blood onto my son. When Kurt was about 23 he told me he thought it would be so cool to play the bagpipes. Where did that come from?? He had absolutely NO musical training- in fact I always thought he was a bit tone deaf- you certainly don't tell your kid that-it may scar him for life- but I was thinking it. So I got him a chanter and taught him "Every- Good- Boy -Does- Fine", the treble scale- told him what a quarter, half and whole note was and said have at it! OI! Back to the chanter stage- it kind of sounds like cats fighting, mating and dying all at the same time. He looked things up on the internet and bought some books and he learned so fast I was stunned. But a chanter is nothing like the pipes. My wonderful Father paid to have his old pipes refurbished and generously gave them to Kurt. I'd gone as far as I could with him, so we found a teacher(can you imagine being the teacher of beginner bagpipe students? Not enough tea in China or haggis in Scotland!) But Jerry taught Kurt and Kurt worked hard and soon I had that wonderful, soulful music that I loved in my house again. I loved it, Mattie, our boxer DID NOT. She stands with her punched in nose flat on the bottom of the blow pipe and howls. The amazing thing is, she perfectly tunes her howl to the pipes! She is a 4th drone. It's quite amazing, really. IF your drone cuts out unexpectedly, Mattie jumps in and fills the tenor void. Oh what a sound! Kurt has a hard time watching her do this without laughing- If you laugh you can't blow! The entire scene warms my cockles!
Kurt played for 3 years, but there isn't much call for bagpipes. The occasional parade or wedding- but his pipes have been holed up in their case for about a year and a half. Last week we got a phone call, a very sobering one. A wonderful family here in Raymond who we have known for about 20 years, but who we are not really in contact with a lot, experienced what I think is the hardest situation a family can endure.
A little background may be in order here. As sometimes happens in small towns, our families have, at times, had a difference of opinions. Sometimes when I am the mom I turn into a stupid mother bear and do and say some even dumber things. But you grow and hopefully learn from your mistakes and mellow out just a bit. Sports can turn you into the biggest moron. So even though our families aren't extremely close- as also happens in small towns, you really are connected by children and other events. Dave was Kurt's basketball and track coach for a short time.(thus the differences of opinions) I did make up for the town theater group with Dianne and her sisters, which I must admit were some of the funniest times I have enjoyed in my life!. Whitney was best friends with Dianne's nieces and bought her first house from Becky, Dianne's sister. Paige was good friends with Will, their son and Dianne and I thought it would be great for these two beautiful children to get married and have children with HUGE eyes!. Like I said- in a small town you just stay connected in many ways.
Two weeks ago, Dave and Dianne's daughter gave birth to a sweet little boy who had Trisomy 18, which is a chromosomal diorder with a very high mortality rate. She was told early in her pregnancy that he may not even be born alive and if he lived, it may be for only minutes. As Whitney is pregnant at this time, my heart ached even more for Jade. But she and her sweet family were so strong and showed amazing strength, faith and courage. I kept thinking how hard it must be to know the baby you want so badly is not going to live- How do you do that? But they did live through it and with so much grace!! Little Locke William Arrington was born and lived to receive his name and a fathers blessing, was lovingly held by his parents, brother and sister and extended family, then passed silently back to God a short 8 or 9 minutes later. For some reason, and watching from a far, this story affected me in a way that I didn't really understand. I couldn't get it out of my head. I longed to do something for them- to make that ache they had to be feeling less painful. But what can you do? I facebook stalked Dianne and lamely sent her a sympathy note. It just felt so inadequate. When hard, bad things happen I have this need to DO something, to help in some way. It's like if you do something active, it will make it better somehow. It helps you cope with it too. Empathy is a blessing and a curse I have found.
That is when the phone call came. Would Kurt be willing to play the bagpipes at Locke's funeral? I asked Kurt and he did not hesitate. Even though he hadn't touched the pipes for over a year, he would do it. He started immediately getting the pipes in shape- no easy task. We had 3 days. Wrapping the connection joints to the drones, blow pipe and chanter- making sure the reeds are working and tuning them, and working the bag back in so it isn't dried out. Then there is the work your body has to do. The fatal "blow" so to speak, for a piper is losing your pucker. If you aren't in shape, you lose the ability to blow- your mouth and lips go slack and that's all she wrote! No more wind, no more sound. It's deadly. The first time through Amazing Grace he only got 1/4 of the way through. His back hurt really bad and he had to quit.
"What if they need you to play it through twice, Kurt?" I asked. " Kurt said- I will dance a jig naked if they want, but I'll do what ever they need me to do. I'll do it if it kills me. These people deserve my best. No matter what pain I may be feeling, it's nothing compared to what they have gone through." I went upstairs and cried. Then we tried on his kilt, vest and jacket. Tight but it was doable. "Can you breath?" Barely. I stayed right there and laughed. Hard.
On Saturday Kurt was so nervous. He wanted so badly to do right by these people, to give them something that was important to them. He and I went to the cemetery early to see where Kurt should stand so the music was not too soft or too loud. It sounded so amazing in that calm quiet setting. Then we waited. Nervous! Agonizing over the pipes to keep the reeds moist and warm. Kurt kept saying never again, why did I do this- then he's say- I know why I am doing this. After an hour and a half Whitney finally called to say they were on their way. As the family gathered I went and stood at the back of the group so I could signal Kurt to play. I was waiting for pall bearers, but all that came was a handsome father with a tiny casket in his hands. I froze. Wait- that's too small, I can't stand that it's so small! I couldn't wrap my head around it. I finally clued in that this was it- and I pulled it together just long enough to turn around and tell Kurt to play. I was shaking all over, and praying every note would be perfect for that too, too little box. And the notes were perfect. Amazing Grace never sounded so beautiful to me, or so sad.
After the prayer, everyone just stood there, kind of like you know it's over but you just can't move because this is it- this means it's done. Whitney and I decided to go stand by Kurt. He looked so handsome standing there at attention in his full Scottish gear, holding his Grandpas pipes on his shoulder. The pipes that I love. The son that I love. The man who doesn't know his own worth.
As we stood there, Dave came through the snow. This man, who could have held a grudge for
things long past took my son in his arms and hugged him. He then took Kurt's face between his hands and kissed him on the forhead and told him that he had a special place in his heart for Kurt. He told him that this service Kurt had performed meant so much to them and that they were so grateful. He begged us to come to the family dinner. We felt like we might be intruding, but we went anyway and again the entire family hugged Kurt and thanked him. The Scots and the Irish and probably the Welsh believe that if you aren't piped to your grave you don't go to heaven. Now we know this isn't true but if you're of a British Isle decent, it doesn't stop you from wanting a piper at your graveside. I want one- President Hinckley had one. You gotta have it. It becomes important and it's no easy thing to find a piper on short notice. How many pipers do you know? The family had called all over Lethbridge and nobody could do it that day. Only Kurt. I know why nobody else could do it. Nobody else needed this experience like Kurt did. Nobody else needed to feel needed or like he had something worthy to give more than Kurt did.
Why is it that when you give of yourself, you receive so much more than those you serve? That is just God's little tricky miracle.
The overall comment other than thank you so much was I didn't even know Kurt played the bagpipes. Yup. He does. And he did a wonderful job. Only he and I know he lost his pucker on the last note and that the song ended a bit abruptly. I asked Kurt was it worth it? Oh yes- it was so worth it. To know you eased their pain even just a little was so worth it.
I think God knew that I needed something too. To help Kurt realize the joy of selfless service and to put past slights to rest, along with a perfect little Irish spirit named Locke. Rest in peace, sweet baby boy.

Monday, February 7, 2011


OK FOLKS!! I just proved my point! Technology sucks slew water!!! A pox on it all! Apparently I hit some random button and turned 3/4ths of my last post into wing-dings or web dings or some such silly mess- I THINK I fixed it but if not, technology - 1 me - 0. Who will win in the end? I wouldn't bet on me.

my love hate relationship

I have a love hate relationship-Come to think of it- I have a few of those. But I have one particular irritant/pleasure button in mind. I vacillate between total adoration and awe, to pound that sucker in the face with a rubber mallet. What could inspire such moods swings? (other than being 50 something and in the throws of "THE CHANGE?")

SIDE NOTE- the change? *snort* What are you changing into? A fish? A piece of tile? Why do they call it that? I despise that vernacular. It makes you feel like everyone is just standing around waiting to see what you'll change into. "Hey look- mom just changed into a ginormous hostess twink-isn't that cool!"
Mostly you just change into an older, grumpier, more forgetful, more wrinkled, way warmer, fatter you- That's not much of a change. Now if my entire self changed into Sean Connery instead of just my chin becoming alarmingly similar to his, - that would really be something to get your nickers in a knot about. Change *humf*

Back to loven and haten- TECHNOLOGY! Now that is something to get your pants in a wad over!
As I stated, I am 50 something and I remember the days when to get a piece of artwork published I had to go through the following procedures and time line:

1. Paint the thing-2 days work
2. Using a non digital camera with film inside it, I would take pictures of the painting. 10 minutes
3. Wait until all the film has been exposed because you cant just get one picture out of that camera, you have to use up all 24 exposures- about a month
4. Take the film to get developed-better part of a day because there were always other things to do in town.
5. Wait for the film to be developed and come back- 5 days-if you were lucky- there was no one hour photo finishing 21 years ago when I started this gig.
6. Mail the pictures to the publisher-(in the US this took 3 days- in Canada it take 3 weeks)GRRRRRR!
7. Wait for a reply from the publisher- refer to #6 only in reverse.
If they liked the painting, then you had to ship the original to them. But first you have to wait until Stew decides he wants to make a trip to the border because here in outer darkness Raymond Alberta Canada, we have no UPS outlets. Let's just say Stew waits a week before he makes the drive- that takes an hour- and the shipping takes 3 days. UPS rules, Canada Post DROOOOLS!
8. Publisher takes about 2 weeks to publish-give or take a few days.
SO the grand total is approximately the better part of 4 months before you can purchase a print of the original painting at Bed Bath and Beyond or Winners.

Now we will look at the advantages of modern technology.
Paint the painting- for our purposes here today- we will still use a hand painted original.
1. Paint the thing-1 day. (I'm getting better at this and thus have been able to shave some time off for good behavior)
2. Take a picture of it with my digital camera- 5 seconds
3. Download the picture to my computer and edit it- 3 minutes on a good day
4. Send the picture to my publisher by email- 1 minute
5. If said publisher is on line- I will get a WHOAH we love this or a nah that's rubbish-try again in about 2 minutes.
Total time (DRUM ROLL) 1 day to paint it- 6 minutes, 5 seconds to send and get a reply.
Still have to send the original by UPS with a trip to the border-still live in outer darkness, but you can see the definite advantages, can't you!
CAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE???!!!ummm hummm this is the LOVE part.
Last year my sweet art director invited me to her home in Chicago and painstakingly and with the patience of Job taught me the VERY basics of photo shop. There's another love hate relationship all together-which I shall save for another day. Creating artwork on photo shop takes out the border trip- I just send the images over the Internet and bingo bango bongo- it's published and slapped on the selves in a matter of weeks. What is not to LOVE!

Now for the hate part. It takes me for EVER to learn how to work all these things- The computer, the camera, the changing from a pds to a jpeg, what the @ell is a widget and why does that fortune cookie sometimes come up on my emails? DPI and layered TIFF files- up and downloading, folders and zip files.
Not to mention all the other gadgets we just cannot love without- like cell phones- and said cell phone must be a mini computer/tv/can opener. There are Ipads and kindles, gps devices, and by the time you get the nerve up to buy one and figure out how the cuss to use it, it's obsolete and the newer, better more complicated one is a must have!!

Do you really want to know how it feels to be on the cusp of how I grew up and all this advanced wizardry? Knowing just enough to make you feel like you should know it all? (My parents or old enough that they don't even try- but I am in the middle of this techno sandwich so you have the feeling you better get with it or you may vanish into thin air and become totally irrelevant.)
I'll tell you. It's like when you were 13 years old and everyone got invited to the birthday party but you. No, that's not quite right. The pit in your stomach feels about the same but no, that's not quite it. It's as if everyone else is riding a crotch rocket motorcycle and they are driving toward a huge pile of money and you are on roller skates- the metal kind that hook to your shoe with a skate key. You'll get there, maybe, eventually- if you don't give up or die first, but it takes way more work and after awhile you just want to chug up and down the same piece of sidewalk because you already know how to do that and it works for what you need most of the time. BUT you know if you could just get to that big pile of dough, things would be so amazing and so much better...........Or would they?

Sunday, February 6, 2011

What's in a name?

Disclaimer- I know I spell things wrong and make up words- get over it!

! Every year the super boring bowl takes longer to play. We watch it for the commercials- Doritos wins! Hands Down!!(that was an intentional pun-if you didn't see the doritos commercial you must look it up-then you will get the hands down reference.)
So because I am all into blogging I decided to just skip the second half of the game and figure out just what is appropriate blogging etiquette. Question to self- do you blog about very personal stuff? For example, did you ever see that "House" episode where the girl is glued to her blog and tells the blog us fear every single intimate detail of her life? And the only thing she didn't share was the very thing that was killing her, which was her bodies waste system functions (floaters or sinkers) eeeww! Well friends- I think I know not to go there! Even though it may save my life one day...I shall refrain. So do not fear. But really now, I am not sure what is appropriate blog behavior. I studied a good many blogs- some were very amusing but a little crass- hmmm better to be amusing but at least a PG rating me thinks. Some were very inspirational. Well I could probably do that too, to the extent that you can be inspirational with ADHD and a menopausal brain that sends 397 totally unproductive thoughts racing through your brain at the speed of sound...all at the same time, usually at 3:42 am. PPFFF! I can do that!
I came to the conclusion that I'll just have to be me and write what ever I feel like on any given day. Rational or irrational, inspirational or just plain silly. Today I will write about my name...or what used to be my name before I added 3 more syllables. (Thank you Stewie, for saving me from a life with only 4! Let me explain)
I was the third child in line and ended up in the enviable position of only girl- with three wonderful brothers.( I can say that now but growing up they were sometimes horrible teases-made me barking mad on many occasions. Come to think of it- I will blog about those freaking brats at a later date.)
My Mother, having the revelation that I would be her only girl, knew that she had to come up with a hum dinger of a name- something that would blow everyone else right out of the water. After ponderous thought and a couple of short listing sessions she came up with a winner.
Carol Davis. Seriously? That's the best you could do? Four lousy syllables? I didn't even rate a middle name. Just Carol Davis. Period. End of sentence, and my life!
I always wanted a name that rolled off your tongue like silk and honey. Something with at least 8 or 9 syllables. Something along the vein of Stephanie Eugenia Glyssmyer. That is pronounced...Gliss- my- errrr (Stephanie, if you're out there my unfailing envy should be apology enough) Yes, there really was a Stephanie Glyssmyer. I don't know her real middle name but I'm certain she had one and very nearly sure it was multi-syllabled.)
Why, you may ask, did it matter how long or boring my name was? Well just try running for student office!! And what in blue blazes rhymes with Carol? I'll tell you-(...jaws music...) sterile. Sterile Carol, she's our friend, she's ok for a one night stand. This loving soliloquy was written in my yearbook by the entire first period graphics class, of which I was the only girl yet again- I can now look back with fondness on the horrific mornings spent with 19 boys and one 4 syllabled girl in the darkroom. Oh yeah, those were some fun times.(cough, spit, sputter) Pfff- I managed.
But back to running for school office- Having nothing punchy or pithy or rhymey to put on a poster, I tried to make up for it by putting on the best skit for the election assembly. Apparently 7th grade stage humor qualifies you for serious student governmental positions. To this day- I am positively and completely convinced that I lost that election not because I didn't play a convincing Edith Anne in a gigantic rocking chair- It was because I had such a boring name. Stephanie- you won- but you didn't play fair!!! What's in a name? Not enough syllables.
Good night from the blog us fear.

Here is my Family


So here is my wonderful family. All 9 and 1/2 of us. Not Quantity- but Quality. I posted this so when I talk about these people, you'll have faces to put with the embarrassing stories! hehehe


Well- that little adventure of my first attempt at blogging only took me an hour and a half! I decided that it's time for me to join the blog-us-fear...yes, me, myself and I, we are all about fear. Fear of the technology-who in schmells kitchen cares about what you have to say, fear of making a total fool of myself. But then "I" take over and say who the heck cares! This is my blog and I can do anything I want! When I learn how to do this, add pictures and artwork and the like- maybe someone out there may like it. I know my daughters will at least read it-maybe my son in laws, (they will roll their eyes and say"oh that MOM!")
So here I go- launching into blogspot land. I'll throw it out there and see what sticks.
For my first post I am going to leave you with a quote I liked from Desmond Tutu-
" If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has it's foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality."