A Final First

When Nec and I were very brand new parents, we probably behaved like most first timers. Okay, yeah, we were convinced our progeny was the brightest, most beautiful, wonderful child ever conceived in humankind. We meticulously chronicled every small detail of every minor milestone and major achievement Thing 1 could manage. And, in some ways, we were justified. Thing 1 was a quick study, even as a newborn and achieved the usual baby milestones much more quickly that most in his peer group.

By the time Thing 1 was 15 months, however, we discovered there would soon be a Thing 2, and priorities shifted. We still reveled in the minutiae of Thing 1’s seemingly miraculous abilities, but our attention was now divided. Whereas before we had only 1 small, perfect being to focus on, we now had to start over and record each detail of the newest member of our family.

As most parents of multiple children close in age will tell you, at times, your survival mode it to keep your head down and take each day as it comes. Somewhere in our total brilliance, we thought it was a good idea to have 2 children less than 2 years apart. 2 babies in diapers. Yes, I was obviously suffering from a strange and inventive form of parental senility.

At any rate, we did record, and I can remember, most of the biggest, important milestones in Thing 2’s infanthood. I also know that while he could sit up, crawl and walk more quickly that most, he didn’t cut his first tooth until he was almost 17 months old, almost a full year past the time the majority of babies will cut a first tooth.

The Things continued to get older, as children will do, and I noticed a disturbing trend of diminishing milestones. These had altered and changed over time, to where it’s not based on physical and motor development, but more on societal achievements, such as a first day of school or a first sleepover. The physical measures became less and less frequent, and more difficult to define. It’s tricky to see how quickly a child grows from day to day or week to week. Every once in a while, however, there are some exceptionally stellar moments that remind a parent of the joy and wonder that is raising a child.

Last month, Thing 2 finally lost his first tooth. He’s now 8, and will turn 9 in a couple of months. Developmentally, he is years behind most of his peer group. Most children lose their first tooth towards the end of year 5 or during year 6. This is, unless they manage to knock out their front teeth by diving into playground landscaping when they’re 3. But, that’s a story of a different Thing altogether.

Thing 2 lost his first tooth, and while I was genuinely excited and happy for him, I was starkly reminded that my children are quickly growing up, becoming their own person, and leaving their father and I behind in the dust.

I don’t think I’d have it any other way.

An Open Letter To Mike Helton

This email was sent to the only address I had for contacting NASCAR on November 2, 2009. Mike Helton is the President of NASCAR.

Dear Mr. Helton,

I write to you today as a lifelong fan of NASCAR. I have watched and listened, cheered and heckled, supported and bemoaned, throughout the years. I have watched decisions such as restrictor plates, radial tires, COT, deletions of Rockingham and other longtime tracks, decisions I don’t necessarily agree with, but see the necessity for continued growth of the sport. As a fan, I am aware I cannot know or understand every decision, recommendation or debate within the NASCAR Corporation. However, I agree change is inevitable and preferable to stagnation. I have to believe the changes in NASCAR, regardless of my personal opinion (which is wide and legion), are made with the interest of the owners, drivers and teams, and, hopefully, the fans.

That said, I was appalled and thoroughly disgusted with the race at Talladega on Sunday. It is my understanding that just before the race, in the drivers’ meeting, the gentlemen were warned and strongly admonished to cease or severely curtail the use of the bump draft and other ‘reckless’ driving practices, with the added threat of severe penalties and disciplinary measures. Since I did not personally witness the drivers’ meeting, I can not speak to the issues addressed. I did, however, clearly witness the results. At least three-fourths of the race saw in-line driving, which was more like watching a caravan than a stock car race. It was not that drivers were incapable of more competitive efforts, but rather the results of extreme caution on their parts. Drivers were shown on the televised production to admitting to boredom and voicing concerns of engine damage while driving at half throttle. I can assure you, this is a first for me as a NASCAR fan. I do not believe I have ever witnessed a race where drivers drove with extreme caution for 170 laps and race for 20. When the drivers did feel free to race, chaos ensued. Without the normal attrition, shuffling and weeding out of various cars associated with a ‘normal’ race, here were an unusually large number of cars involved in a 195 mile an hour rush hour scenario. This resulted in two wrecks within 5 laps, where cars were airborne from air under the tail – another alarming occurrence. I am sure I am not accounting anything you did not witness yourself. However, I cannot express my disgust and frustration strongly enough. I feel, based on my observations of the post-race interviews, many drivers share, in part, my feelings. While no driver I witnessed expressly said as much, it was written clearly in their facial expressions and demeanor.

My disgruntlement is one of a TV viewer, and I cannot fathom the anger I would have experienced if I had put down my hard-earned money for a ticket. I have attended races, and I realized for many fans, the entire weekend experience is a large part of the enjoyment. Personally, no amount of camping, tailgating, camaraderie, or restrooms on every corner would overcome my repugnance. Had I attended, I am sure I would have felt ready to demand a refund at the conclusion of Sunday’s race.

I do want to offer my admiration for the safety features of the COT. It is those very features, which often impacts race car performance, which allowed Ryan Newman and Mark Martin to walk away from their cars. I am willing to see the sacrifice of speed and handling for the drivers’ safety. Racing is most definitely a dangerous sport, regardless of the numerous safety features and regulations. But, at its heart, stock car racing is about putting one car against another to see who can best drive the wheels off the thing. It is about speed, finesse, love, hate, pounding hearts, blood, sweat and tears. Racing should be a pure a sport as possible, giving all allowance to the necessity of safety. The drivers of these cars know the risk and their abilities, but thinly veiled treats in the drivers’ meeting is micromanaging at the least, not to mention an insult to the professionalism of your drivers.

Mr. Helton, I am a fan and an adult. I realize sacrifices must be made for the greater good, whether it’s for reasons of safety or profit. I also realize it is not a perfect world in motorsports, or anywhere else, for that matter. However, I firmly believe an apology is due to the fans, drivers and race teams for the travesty that was this past Sunday’s race. It is an insult to assume your drivers cannot do their job to the best of their ability or that the fans would willingly pay to see the sub-par racing. Being a privately held company, you are reliant on fan support for your continuance. I would like to believe the fans are at the heart of most your decisions. I suppose there will always be someone willing to race and someone willing to watch, regardless of the quality, but please do not insult the intelligence or sophistication of those of us who know the difference.

Regardless, I will most likely find myself in front of my television next weekend. I will be there to watch and cheer on ‘the boys’. I truly hope it will be worth my time and money.

My best to you in your endeavors,

Do You Know Where You're Going To.....

When I was in elementary school, one of my favorite playthings was a white suitcase. That old, beat up suitcase was my childhood version of having a fairy godmother. Open the top, and Bibbidy, Bobbidy, Boo, I became a grownup. Inside were old dresses, hats and purses of my Granny’s. My sister and I (and my brother at infrequent, reluctant intervals) dressed as Grand Dames in these clothes. There were our Haute Couture, refinement, and most of all, the epitome of adulthood.

As I made my obligatory awkward trip through adolescence and into my later teens, I’m sure I thought more than once, “I can’t wait to grow up.” But, what does that mean, “Grow up” or to be a grown up? At high school graduation, I wondered if that was the moment. The moment when I completed my metamorphosis from being a child to the mythological grown up. I waiting all summer before my first semester of college, but I never did feel that difference inside, an indefinable change or state of being that says to myself and the world, “I no longer think or feel or act as of old. As of this moment, I act with a new mature purpose.”

College came, and stayed and lasted for several really fun years. However, I never really felt essentially older inside. I had reached yet another milestone of life. I did what I thought 20-somethings with new college degrees were supposed to do. I got a job. But, I still didn’t feel grown up.

At an impasse, I asked The Mother once when would I feel grown up. Her reply, “When you have children.”

So, I continued to click off the major life milestones that were supposed to make me a mature grown up. I married and at thirty, had the first of my two children. Somehow, astonishingly, despite all the stress and crisis of Thing 1’s birth, I still didn’t feel a member of the grown up club. Yes, I had diplomas, paid my taxed, went to work, had stretch marks, and C-section scars, but I hadn’t crossed that important line in the sand.

Maybe, I thought, it was because I didn’t have a house and a mortgage. I know the illogical nature of this thought, just as I know the whole idea of “becoming a grown up” is somehow inane. Had I reduced it to a date on the calendar? “This is the day I got married, this is the day I had my first child, and this is the day I became a grown up.” It sounds ridiculous. Wondering what defining action will transform me into adulthood is overly simplistic as well. Perhaps I should make it clear that it’s not necessarily that I was so enamored of being a grown up, per se. It is more a sense of it being a failing of character or completion. Being a ‘grown up’ is what we’re taught, as children, we’re to strive to become: to literally grow up from childhood. Somehow, internally, I seemed to be stuck.

I’ve spent the better part of twenty years feeling like the same basic messed up teenager inside. She’s complex and worldly and yes, difficult, as she’s had the benefit of 20 years of experience. At heart, she’s that hormonal, mixed up, crazy chick that has been going through my life living as best she can and bluffing when she doesn’t know what else to do.

No, the mortgage did not magically grant me entry into grownup-hood.

Yes, there’s now a date on the calendar. January, 6, 2009. That is the day a grown up entered my psyche after twenty years of teenage bluffing.

Tuesday, January 6 is the date where I went from being the child of a parent to being the caregiver and decision maker for a parent. Luckily for me, this is a journey and responsibility I do not have to undertake alone. The prognosis appears very good that my siblings and I will not have these additional tasks for the long term.

But, for today, as I am tired, stressed, worried, angered, bewildered, exhausted, and frustrated, I finally feel like a grown up.

And, now that I know that feeling? If this is what being a grown up is about, I’ll take that messed-up, blustering, bluffing, no-holds-barred teenager any day.

I miss her.

It's Too Late, Baby

Remember The Crab Show?

Well, if the man in your life doesn't get enough Crab Show in his life, there's now a remedy for that (not TiVo).

Battle 40-foot waves, storms, ice and a nearly 100 percent crew member injury rate in the dangerous hunt for undersea riches on the Bering Sea with the new video game Deadliest Catch Alaskan Storm, to be launched on the Xbox 360® video game and entertainment system from Microsoft and PC.

The game was inspired by Sig, Edgar and Norman Hansen -- three brothers who have made their living crab fishing on the Bering Sea aboard their family's fishing vessel, the Northwestern. The Hansen brothers started game development with Liquid Dragon Studios in October 2005. Deadliest Catch Alaskan Storm lets gamers captain their own boat in the frenzied search for an undersea jackpot. Gamers select one of five real crab boats, including the Northwestern, Cornelia Marie and Sea Star '' all featured on the series, or create and customize their own boat. Gamers then recruit and lead their own crew from a roster of 20 real crab fishermen.

Selecting the wrong boat or recruiting the wrong crew member can mean the difference between landing a Bering Sea jackpot or disaster. Lead your fatigued, hungry and hardworking crew in the strategic search for king crab and opilio crab, while battling to secure your catch and livelihood before other captains and crews get to the crab first.

Authenticity and realism were critical to the Hansen brothers. The game features four real Bering Sea harbors and 34,000 miles of Bering Sea coastline created from the United States Geological Survey. In addition, Deadliest Catch Alaskan Storm is the first video game to feature United States Coast Guard vessels and helicopters.

No kidding. Despite my very imaginative and creative brain, I dropped the ball on this one. I could have made a MINT if I had thought of it.

If you need more verification, go check it out for yourself at Discovery Channel.

So This Is Christmas...

So this is Christmas

And what have you done

Another year over

And a new one just begun

~~ John Lennon

While checking through some of my online friends' blogs, I ran across Lisa and Robb's. They have an amazing story all in themselves, but I particularly admire Lisa for her convictions as well as her ability to take some really amazing photographs.

In one of her most recent posts, she had the image you see to your left, and I have to admit, it struck a really chord with me.

I am one for handmade gifts, have been known to buy brown craft paper and create my own wrapping paper (kids hands are great and FREE!), have given to charities in others names as gifts, and just generally disdain what I often refer to as conspicuous consumerism. Don't get me started about Necropolis' absolutely necessary trip to Hot-lanta last year for Black Friday (I spent most of it in the car). And, this year, I read where a Wal-Mart employee was trampled to death by Black Friday shoppers. Is this really the image we want for Christmas? I definitely know this isn't the value system I want imparted on my children.

So I checked out buynothingchristmas.org. I encourage you to do so as well. Even if you can't do all your gifts in this manner, think about what you can do.

Might Not Be Bartlett's, but the Point's the Same...

I'm not really a political person. At least, not in the way it seems to be some type of homecoming pep rally. I supposed I just have a different view of government and service. I have my beliefs and others are free to have theirs which I'll defend to the death for them to have (this IS America, after all), but I'm not so interested in hashing them out.

I've been asking myself a question lately, though. Because I have a vagina, does one of the major political parties really believe one is as good as another and I'll vote for any? What kind of election whore does that make me? Is that *really* what they think of us? How totally insulting and degrading is this?

So I've tried not to fall into the obvious trap and to be open minded and fair. I've tried to listen to positions and issues on both sides. But so far, all I've heard is Side 1: Change (which, admittedly, is a position albeit a rather broad and nonspecific one), and Side 2: The Change Side 1 is talking about isn't a position on the issues.

I have tried to get the substitute vagina thing. So far, all I've heard is lipstick, pit bulls, and The Bridge on the River Kwai Too Far to Nowhere. Of course, this is also the same person who said if the Pledge of Allegiance was good enough for the Founding Fathers it was good enough for her. Makes it a tough call.

This morning, I listened to the news on the radio, and as I listened to what was said by the candidate in question (who never did really answer the questions, now that I think about it) all I could do was shake my head and be reminded of the following quote:

You know, Ms. Gibbs, growing up in the rural part of Georgia, I've been around
compost all my life. I've seen it loaded onto wagons and tilled, hoed and spread
across fields far and wide. But until today, I must say, I've never seen it tied
up and gift wrapped in quite so neat and tidy and 'pretty' a package.
Congratulations. You're a very clever girl. But it's still compost. Now if
you'll excuse me, I leave you to dig your way out. You do know how to dig, don't
you? You just get down on your hands and knees, and shovel.

Thank you, Julia Sugarbaker.

BTW: I promise to get back to yarn, knitting, butterflies or stupid family stuff very soon.


Edited to add this Julia quote, because I forgot about this episode, but it applies somewhat as well, and Julia's always good for a harangue. From "The Candidate":

I do not think everyone in America is ignorant! Far from it! But we
are today, probably, the most uneducated, under read, and illiterate nation in
the western hemisphere. Which makes it all the more puzzling to me why the
biggest question on your small mind is whether or not little Johnny is gonna
recite the Pledge of Allegiance every morning! I'll tell you something else, Mr.
Brickett. I have had it up to here with you and your phony issues and your
Yankee Doodle yakking! If you like reciting the Pledge of Allegiance everyday
then I think you should do it! In the car! In the shower! Wherever the mood
strikes you! But don't try to tell me when or where I have to say or do or
salute anything, because I am an American too, and that is what being an
American is all about! And another thing, I am sick and tired of being made to
feel that if I am not a member of a little family with 2.4 children who goes
just to Jerry Fallwell's church and puts their hands over their hearts every
morning that I am unreligious, unpatriotic, and un-American! Because I've got
news for you, Mr. Brickett. All liberals are not kooks, anymore than all
conservatives are fascists! And the last time I checked, God was neither a
Democratic nor a Republican! And just for your information, yes I am a liberal,
but I am also a Christian. And I get down on my knees and pray everyday - on my
own turf - on my own time. One of the things that I pray for, Mr. Brickett is
that people with power will get good sense, and that people with good sense will
get power... and that the rest of us will be blessed with the patience and the
strength to survive the people like you in the meantime!

Take a Sad Song and Make It Better

Every so often, the future of our youth doesn’t depress me.

Being a teacher in the elementary grades, I see things that would make a lesser person weep. The way adults treat their progeny often is criminal, not to mention the state of education. Why are children being left behind? Because first graders are doing algebra, but can’t do basic addition, 4th grade science lessons on sound is material I learned in a college level physics class, and I, the educator with a Masters Degree, have to go to teachers I know to get assistance with my elementary children’s homework.

But that’s not the point of this post.

Being a music teacher, a lot of what I see is children so burnt out on school by second grade, they can’t concentrate on the music education I’m contracted to deliver to them 30 minutes once a week. So, I somewhat circumvent the system. I teach the standards, but I do it my way. We may be working on beat, but we use Tooty Ta and Cha Cha Slide to do it. Bottom line, I don’t think there’s any reason for the kids to be stressed about music as well as academics in elementary school. But, this, too, is another post.

Last spring, as I got a little bored and ready for summer, I pulled out some of my lighter materials. Amongst and amid was a kids’ arrangement of The Beatles’ I Want to Hold Your Hand. Being a major Beatles fan, I brought out some other things I had, including an old video of Bobby McFerrin doing Blackbird. I also took out one other song for the kids to learn. I wanted something from a different Beatles’ era, but something a little different and something they may not have heard (unless their parents were like me, and listened to Beatles A LOT). I chose Hey, Jude.

All my 2nd through 5th graders loved it. It didn’t matter if they were from upwardly mobile suburbans or subsidized housing apartments, the kids repeatedly asked for Hey Jude long after the lessons were over, and well to the end of school. The favorite part? Where the actual lyrics end and the “Na-Na, Hey, Jude” begins. Good Lord, those kids were loud.

So, now I’ve started a new school year, and on the first week of school, without fail, the song I was most often asked about? You guessed it…Hey, Jude.

Now the key to this story is that I only taught this lesson to the older grades, students in 2nd through 5th grades. At the end of last week, a new 2nd grader (who was in 1st grade last year), asked, "When are we going to 'do the Beatles’."




Long live The Beatles.

Eat, Pray, Love - This Is the Meaning of Life?

First, let me say I consider myself a fairly intelligent individual. It's not that I'm arrogant or superior about my acumen. I don't claim to have any ability equivalent to Stephen Hawking or Einstein. I'm no dummy either.

Secondly, I'm a voracious reader. There are always a few books I'm in the process of reading at any given time. Currently, I'm in the middle of one of the Florence King essay compilations, a biography of Abigail Adams, the letters of Abigail Adams and John Adams (I'm working on those concurrently), as well as a couple of pulp novels that have no particular literary value at all. I just use them as void fillers. In the past two and a half months, I've also read Jane Austen's Emma, three other Florence King books, both The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns (by the same author and I recommed them highly), The Red Tent, a Christopher Moore book (whose title escapes me at the moment), The Count of Monte Christo ( for the innumerable time), Friday Night Knitting Club, a collection of O Henry stories (again), and several others, including the latest Laurell K Hamilton.

I recently read Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love, which is unusual for me for a couple of reasons. I don't really care what everyone else is reading, and I don't follow the best sellers as a matter of course. Also, I'm not into the whole self-help, 'here's the way to find yourself' thing. Why I actually picked this book up is a mystery. Maybe it has something to do with WHERE she went as opposed to WHY. Her travels took her to Italy, India and Bali, places I happen to find fascinating, and perhaps that is what lead to my interest. At any rate, I picked it up, plunked down my money and bought it. Once purchased, I slogged my way through it, regardless of whether I liked it or not. Rare is it for me to put a book down in total disgust before reading it through. I gave this book the same courtesy. I read it, and I did enjoy reading it, although it did get a bit tedious at times. It was a nice little book about one woman's personal journey to self-discovery.

Do I find it revolutionary and groundbreaking?

No.

This is where I'm having such difficulty. This book has becoming some sort of textbook on how to discover yourself. The author has been on Oprah where much to-do was made, there are reading group guides, the reviews tend to be over the top and I just don't get it. There's just not that much there. It's not an instruction manual. It's not even really a "how-to". It's more of a "year in the life".

Let me back-track a bit here and say, I do understand, fully, a person's need to search for personal or higher awareness. I totally 'get' what Gilbert was about and what she was doing. I don't necessarily agree with her methodology, but I understand the exercise. But, I (and from what I understand, she, too) feel that the journey for this self discovery, or discovery of a higher power, is so totally personal, there's no way to to emulate her journey. Every journey is unique and must follow a unique path.

Besides, we know the answer is 42. However, if you have any ideas that may enlighten me, feel free to post them.

One more small, totally unrelated note. I received word that two people important to me and mine are very sick. Dr. Lucy, whom I've referred to in this blog before has some bizarre, weird thing that I don't understand at the moment, since I haven't talked to her directly as of yet. All I know is she went to the hospital, where it was discovered there were blood clots in her lungs. She's now at home on bed rest. Secondly, The Things' Assistant Principal gave birth to a baby boy earlier in the week. The baby is healthy and fine. After delivery, something happened, and Parks had a heart attack, necessitating open heart surgery and a triple-bypass. For a while, she was being kept in a drug-induced coma, but the latest I heard just this afternoon was she is to be moved to a private room next week. This is really good news for both of my friends, but they are not out of the woods yet, so to speak. So, if you could keep these people in your thoughts and prayers, it would be much appreciated.

These butterflies are the Gulf Fritillary and the Black Swallowtail, both in my yard over the past week.

Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?

A recent conversation between MUC and The Mother (his Nana) led me to overhear the following: "...well, we went to church. And then we came home and changed clothes. And then we went back to church and took pictures of the waterfall. And then we went to the cemetery and took some more pictures..."

I suppose it might seems strange, my fascination with monuments to the dead. It may be doubly strange that I would take my child to the cemetery for such an excursion, when I won't take them to familial funerals. I've taken a lot of flack from certain members of the family for not exposing my children to the trial that is a family death trial. But I digress. I was talking about my fascination with cemeteries and the oddity in that. Then again, those that know me might say that there's no end to what I might find fascinating, and therefore, I'm just strange, period. At any rate, the monuments the living resurrect to the dead always fascinate me. Those they resurrect to themselves can be fascinating as well. However, today, we're talking about the deceased.

Augusta, Georgia being a good, historical type city, has its share of really good mementos and monuments to the dearly departed. Some of the best of them are in Magnolia Cemetery, probably the oldest, most well know of the cemeteries in the area. It doesn't have the age or cache' that some of the Savannah sites have, or to be blunt, the artistry, but it does have some really nice quality work displayed. What's left of it, that is.

MUC and I made a trek down to Magnolia Cemetery on Sunday, and this is the first time in the 12+ years I've lived here I've really looked at the monuments. My original intent was to shoot pictures of whatever interested me. I would take pictures of monuments that spoke to me, or that offered some visual interest. What caught my attention wasn't artistry or workmanship or even a touching moment. It was decay. What is touted as the city's grand dame of cemeteries is crumbling around her knees. It's heartbreaking. There is evidence of thought, money and effort people spent to physically eulogize and remember their loved ones, and time has not been kind to many.

As a result, MUC and I spent most of our time looking and shooting what he came to call the "broken" ones. As we parked, we immediately found the first victim, Mr. Philipp. Obviously, someone tried to assist, and the epoxy used did, indeed, reattach the broken portion of the stone. Unfortunately, it wasn't cleaned in any manner. It also obliterates an entire line of beautiful Hebrew on back side of the marker. Truthfully, I'm not sure how I feel about this. Was t his some well meaning, but obviously misinformed worker? A family member? Is the badly repaired stone really any of my business? Given the number of broken and uncared for stones I found later in my walk, it's obvious this stone was cared for by someone. Perhaps it's best that the stone and its deceased owner has someone who still cares enough to offer a repair job, even a poor one.

From here, much of the cemetery is as you might expect. But, much of it is not.

And, even given the sad state of the markers, there's something even more pitiful in this cemetery. Magnolia's version of Potter's Field. Here rest those who have no one. In this plot of land lies one small grave that just pulls at something tangible inside me every time I see it. It's visceral the maternal tug I get when I see this. She obviously touched someone else, as her grave has a layer of oyster shells that the other graves close to her don't have. She has a purchased marble marker, also something the other closer graves don't have. For a long time, I thought maybe she was an abandoned baby from the medical college to which the nurses and doctors had developed an attachment. But something pulled at me to find out the real story. And I went digging, which was pitifully easy on the new online grave records. This is what I found.

Infant Jane was stillborn in November of 1993. The records of the cemetery say this:

BURIED IN 43" LONG & 18" WIDE CASKET ON COUNCIL GROUNDS -
S. OF 9TH ST. & E. OF ESTES AVE. (S. OF JOSEPH IANNTUANNA & 2ND SPACE S.
OF COLETTE SMITH ( BOTH CREMATED). INFANT FOUND IN N. AUGUSTA, S.C. RECYCING
CENTER; AUGUSTA SANITATION TRUCK DEPOSITED THE INFANT AT THE CENTER ALONG WITH
TRASH PICKED UP IN AUGUSTA'S HILL AREA " SUMMERVILLE".

Someone placed this child in the trash. I'm so conflicted I don't know what to think. On one side, I can't think of anything awful enough to call them. I can't think of anything horrid enough to wish upon someone who could leave a child in the trash. But then I know I should think more charitably towards the unfortunate soul who found themselves alone with a stillborn child. Going through childbirth alone, being scared, only to find the baby dead upon its arrival. I know would be. And through it all, a lost little girl has nothing. Not name, no home, no life, no one to mourn her, claim her, grieve for her in public. For me, it pushes every maternal buttons I have.

Do I have answers or plans or a conclusion to this? Not really. But Baby Jane is talking very loudly to me. I'm just not sure what she's trying to tell me.

Resuming the Resume'

Today, I did something I haven't done in over 12 years.

I actively updated my resume, printed it out, wrote a cover letter, all with the idea of actually sending it to someone for the opportunity of another employment position.

There's nothing really *wrong* with the position I have. It's perfectly adequate. It's neither difficult or overly demanding. The pay is sufficient, and I am not asked to do any life threatening work (occasional days with 1st grade classes aside).

But, I need a new challenge. I need something different to look at every morning. So, I'm sending out one resume'. There's one place that has a potential job that I might be willing to consider leaving the known for the unknown. I'm such a terrible creature of habit. I don't want to go out of my comfort zone if I don't have to. But, if this works out, it will be worth it. A lot of things will change. There will be some drastic changes in the McD home as well. But I think we'll all be a bit happier.

I know I will.

So, on that note, I'll leave you will a poorly taken photo with the NEW camera. And, yes, Cory, I KNOW it's a forsythia, not an azalea.

The Definition of Hell on Earth

Being in a 1st grade classroom with 22 6-year-olds all day.

When I recover from the experience, I'll tell you the story. Bring lots of fermented beverages. It makes the reliving much more enjoyable.



P.S. I got a "real" camera, too! As soon as I figure out how to work the thing, I'll show what a truly poor photographer I am!

Reason #473,259 Why I Love My Kids

Last night, the kids and I had a movie night. We watched several movies, one of them being the new Transformers movie for what seems like the 435th time since Christmas, when MUC received it as a gift. I have to admit a secret attraction to the movie, which is actually well done, despite the subject matter and its boy-friendly nature. As we're watching the movie, I off-handedly comment that I used to have a car very similar to Bumblebee.

In the first half of the movie, Bumblebee's "alter ego" is as a late-70's model Chevy Camaro. As you can see in the pictures, it's a rusted, busted piece of junk. Well, frankly, so was mine. Only, mine was a burgundy rusted, busted piece of junk, and I told the kids that. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Hey, guys, I used to have a car like that.

GLB (never looking from the TV): Like Bumblebee?

Me: Yeah, like Bumblebee. I had a Camaro, just like Bumblebee, except mine wasn't yellow, it was burgundy, which is kind of like a dark red.

MUC (with a studious, considering look): So, which robot did you have?

Lucy Manette Was a Fool, and I Need Instant Gratification

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way --

Despite my best efforts, I've spent much of the last couple of weeks feeling like a character in a Dickensian novel. I can't blame anyone. I know I have much for which to be thankful, just as I am aware life could be much, much worse for me and is for many.
After all, I could live in Iraq, Darfur, Kenya, Afghanistan, Indonesia, Pakistan, and a long laundry list of places where the human condition doesn't even afford basic necessities of survival, much less a semblance of human or civil rights. Does that make me feel more like Madame Defarge than Lucy Manette? Well, yeah, but it still doesn't make me feel better about my personal situation.

I've been doing my best Madame Defarge impersonations lately. Snarly, snappy and somewhat upkept -- yes, that would be me. Poor Necropolis is usually the recipient of my ill temper. The things I say make so much sense in my head, but when the words come out of my mouth, and I hear them, I can't believe what I'm saying. I don't know if it's venting, or if my 'consider others' feelings' filter has been broken, but I've been more than a little acerbic and blunt. And, no Madame Defarge impersonation would be complete without needles. Never forget the needles.

Here's where the instant gratification kicks in. I can't hold my concentration for shit these days. Dr. Manette's got nothing on me for absent mindedness or the just plain crazies. Everything literally floats in and out, and I needed a project I knew I could see the end even before beginning, much less see through. I made dishcloths.

All three were knitted with 100% cotton. I couldn't tell you the colorways to save my life. This stuff has been in the stash so long, I have no idea where the ball bands are. The blue is done in the blockweave I used for the kid's Principal's Scarf. It's incomplete in the photo, but is long since completed by now. The green and blue variegated is a simple K2 P2 rib. The purple and white is very similar to that found in the Mason-Dixon knitting book. I would venture a guess it's probably almost exactly the same pattern, but I can't say that with 100% certainty. I found an example somewhere and counted up the rows/stitches, and did the math really quickly.

So, stay tuned for my next installment, where I redeem myself with my selfless good works.

It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done, it is a far, far
better rest I go to than I have ever known.

All quotes and characters in this posts are taken from A Tale of Two Cities, my personal favorite of the Charles Dickens' novels. Personal redemption, the power to reclaim self worth, is a powerful thing. Not to mention, more than once I have had to wonder at the intelligence of a woman who has a man profess to her, "You have been the last dream of my soul [....] You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire," only to choose the other guy. What's wrong with that chick?

It figures.

I saw this test, and thought I'd take it to see what happened. Here's the result.

What kind of yarn are you?

You are Dishcloth Cotton.You are a very hard worker, most at home when you're at home. You are thrifty and seemingly born to clean. You are considered to be a Plain Jane, but you are too practical to notice.
Take this quiz!

NaNoBloMo and Me

NaNoBloMo is a challenge to blog every day for the month of November. Somewhere, somehow, in some maggoty part of my brain, I thought this was a good idea.

I signed up.

And, I missed blogging on the very 1st day.

So goes Jenni P McD and Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Build a Better Mousetrap

I’ve never been one to go with the status quo, just because. Of course, I don’t feel a need to reinvent the wheel, just because, either. I do feel a driving need to create items or complete tasks with the most efficiency and most direct method of completion to a goal with the smallest chance of error or failure. I’ve discovered most people don’t feel this way.

The pondering of this came about while working on my various incarnations of yoga socks. How I got from one point to the other may seem a bit of a stretch, but I got there. The short version: I couldn’t find what I wanted, so I went about determining what would be required to create what I needed. I determined the efficiency, the most effective method of getting there, the possibilities of error, and set my course. As a result, I now have 3 variations of socks, one complete (Easy Peasy over on Six Degrees), and two in the works. I even have a tutorial over on Six Degrees for working part of one of the socks. The other two socks should be finished fairly soon, ready for their unveiling.

What I’ve discovered, in my very direct method of creating my path to efficiency is that many people perceive me as being negative. I’ve been accused of not being a team player, of not supporting the group, of not being ‘happy’, of being a spoil sport. I often play Devil’s advocate in a situation, find the holes, the errors, the mistakes. I see the whole picture instead of just the steps, and I often say what I mean and mean what I say.

I’m not a yes woman. If asked, I will give my honest opinion. If I don’t know, I say so. If it’s not strictly positive, I’m very likely to offer some suggestions for improvement or ways that might make the plan more effective. I think in the long term, not in the now.

I tend to not be a very popular person in a work environment, especially education, which is currently driven by No Child Left Behind (thanks, George W) and test scores.

When I find a true kindred spirit, who enjoys collaboration as much as I do, the results are wondrous. The art teacher at one of my schools and I often collaborate. We have several art/music projects across grade levels and throughout the school year. We work together with several school programs, where we always receive tons of compliments for our work. We have written and received grants. The one we’re most proud of involved assisting our students in creating bags of art and music goodies for children who might not have things at the battered women’s shelter and the Children’s Hospital.

Why did I feel the need to write this all based on some yoga socks? I don’t know. At times, I suppose, despite how self sufficient I tend to be and how resilient I am (not to mention how right I am about the whole thing, but that’s another post), it’s still a sore spot.


Build a better mousetrap and the world will beat a path to your door. Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’m a Hurdy-Gurdy Girl in a Crab Show World

Apparently, I’ve angered the lace knitting gods. The Stoli**, my knitting, the chart pattern, the mathematics, the placement of the stars, Uranus in retrograde and I are no longer in sync. Okay, forget about my anus. But still, I can’t get past the first 4 lines of the chart for clue 3. I started last night while the kids were playing before bed. I was alone, I was uninterrupted, I was appropriately caffeinated, and I couldn’t make the stitches and numbers work. After 2 and a half hours of knitting, tinking*, knitting, cursing, tinking, counting, cursing some more, recounting, tinking, double-checking my math, taking deep breathing, and knitting, I was only on the third line of the chart, and I was ready to commit hari-kari or throw the knitting at the wall. I opted instead to go read some email.

I’m glad I did.

I received an email from Dr. Lucy, who told me she was reading the blog, but for the life of her couldn’t figure out the hurdy gurdy I made. I about peed my pants from laughing so hard, and woke up Thing 2 (MUC) in the process. The really sad part is I didn’t have to think for an instant what she was talking about. I knew immediately she was referring to this. As I giggled and chuckled my way through some surfing, I started thinking about the language my family and friends use, and the way we process. Maybe everyone does this, and I don’t know it, or maybe me and mine are just a bunch of weirdos. My family and friends have an alarming tendency to use euphemisms that are incomprehensible to the outside world.

Case in point #1: The Chicken Store

My kids have an exceptional gift for understatement. There was a time when I was going through a bad patch, Nec was working at lot, and the kids still required feeding. Enter Zaxby’s, which was ridiculously close to my house. The food is good, you can get extra fries, and I like their honey mustard sauce, so it was a winner all around. So, there was a time when we were eating Zaxby’s two or three times a week. In front of our local store is a sign that looks like this:

My kids have never been inside, since there is a ‘drive-thru’ type feature, but they knew the building and the sign. I knew it was time to find a new place to eat when I hear from the backseat, “But, Mommie, we don’t want Chicken Store tonight.”

After that night, every time we would drive by and the kids would see the sign (or a Zaxs sign anywhere), the kids would yell, “There’s a Chicken Store.”

Thus, it’s been “The Chicken Store” in this house ever since.

Case in point #2: The Crab Show.

Dr Lucy, on some occasion that probably included copious amounts of alcohol, asked Sarge and me if our respective spouses watched “The Crab Show”. Without thinking, blinking or nodding, both of us answered with a resounding, “Hell, yes!” What, you may ask, is “The Crab Show”? It’s a Discovery Channel show whose ‘real’ title is The Deadliest Catch. It’s all about crab fishing off the Alaskan coast. Total man show, and apparently very popular with the husband crowd. Dr. Lucy swears she has witnessed man-tears from Mahcus over The Crab Show, and I can say with all authority that Necropolis can tell you the names of all the boats ships as well as which hairy, unwashed dude captain goes with.

In conversation on the way to the mountains, I relayed Dr. Lucy’s new term to Necropolis, at which he burst out laughing. I really gave it no more thought, since it was more a mention in passing than a discussion and dissection. One evening later in the week, Nec’s playing some computer game, I’m knitting The Stoli (successfully at this point), the kids are all nestled, and the TV is on as background noise. Suddenly, Nec pops up.

“Turn the channel.”

Me: “To what? I’m watching Law and Order, Criminal Intent.”

“You’ve seen this one. I’ve seen this one. Ice Truckers is on.”

“Ice Truckers? You’ve GOT to be kidding me. I’m watching Chris Noth here.”

“Nope, it’s about these truckers who drive over iced-over lakes in Canada. It’s not as good as “The Crab Show” though.”

I about choked when I heard that, and promptly got online to email Dr. Lucy about her influence.

Just to let you know....your influence is far and wide.

Nec now refers to 'that program' as The Crab Show in conversation.

The response I received:

Yay! Don't feel left out - we had The Chicken Store for dinner last week.

* Tinking - Tink is "knit" backwards and also the sound the needles make clicking against each other as you take out your knitting one stitch at a time.

** The Stoli – my MS3 thus christened, since it’s takes a liberal pour in my OJ to keep from throwing the thing in the trash.

That's How I Roll, OCD Style

Recently, Necropolis was given the task of shopping without my supervision. This does occasionally occur, and usually with satisfactory results. Careful lists are scribed and cell phones are distributed along with instructions to call if there are any questions or uncertainties. After our recent beach trip, I didn't want a lengthy and expensive trip to the grocery store, as we were planning another lengthy vacation soon. So, with an abbreviated list and sketchy instructions, my intrepid shopper set off to hunt and gather for a few necessities.


He returned just a little too pleased with himself, which is a sterling sign that there was a completely useless and totally unnecessary item (or several) purchased on his watch. I didn't ask, preferring to go with the "Ignorance is Bliss" philosophy. Necropolis, being the type of individual he is, couldn't stand not sharing, so he showed me what he purchased, and I made the appropriate wifely noises of appreciation and quickly returned my attention to whatever it was I was doing at the time.

A day or two later, something began to nag at me about that item. I only got a brief glance and didn't really pay too close attention to it, so I wasn't sure if I was imagining it or if I did, indeed, see what I believed I did. So, tonight, I asked Nec to show me the shirt again, and yes, I was right!

The roll of toilet paper is backwards!!! WHY?

Let's completely ignore the fact that my husband bought an item of clothing with a roll of toilet paper on it. If you knew Nec, it wouldn't seem so far fetched why this was attractive to him. What nagged at the back of my mind for the better part of a week, and what I can't get over now is the roll is backwards. Yes, as weird and obsessive as this is, it completely bugs the crap out of me.

Nec tells me that I'm missing the point. The roll is 'backwards on purpose'. It's some weird philosophical man statement.

I say, the point would have been made just as well if the damn thing was facing the right way.

What do you do with a scurvy blog?

Make it walk the plank?

Drink more oj?

Post more?

Probably the latter. So, I suppose I should do that.

What have I been doing lately?

Letterboxing. The family has made a couple of trips over the past month for boxing excursions. One to Atlanta, where we met up with Eidolon and Artemis and the infamous HH puppies, Community and Cemetery. Did a spot of boxing, a bit of planting and a LOT of walking.

Most recently, we went to Columbia, SC. We spent the day boxing, a little bit of planting, eating a spot of bar b que and walking. :-) We planned to go to the Zoo as well, but Mixed Up Chameleon had a bit of a mishap on the trail (MUC fell into the muck), so we decided to make that part of the journey another day.

When we go on these trips, I'm always amazed at the sites we find. These places are so near and having lived in this part of the country/state all my life, you would think I would have known about them. But, I'm constantly awed and thrilled at the new places we see. Some of the more recent ones:

Arabia Mountain Park

Harbison State Forest

Clemson Sandhills Research and Education Center

Here's a shot from the last. I didn't take this, but it definitely expresses the beauty there.



Also today, took MUC and went to check on some of my local boxes, one of which is near the James Brown statue downtown. Given the traffic lately, I thought it a good idea to double check. While we were there, two couples came by to take pictures and such. I did have the foresight to bring my camera, so I made MUC get up there with James as well. He thought that was really cool. Unfortunately, you can't tell that by his expression in the picture.