Free Association Day

This post is done Itchy-Style, and therefore dedciated to her. I'm sure she's thrilled ;)

Can you imagine what it must feel like to have a knitting needle jammed into your temple and then have someone grind around behind your eyeball with it? That's the kind of headache I have today.

Nice.

For those sweet souls who have been reading my blog long enough to remember the story about running into my old coworker - who I used to hang out with, a LOT - at his mom's house - my neighbor now - when she had a Southern Living home party - not my taste really, but I was being neighborly - and when I said hi to him he said he totally didn't remember who I am - at all? I felt so stale. Anyway, you'll love this ... Guess who we got a wedding invitation for the other day? Yup. I almost sent the RSVP card back with a note saying, "I'd love to come, but I totally don't remember who you are, at all." But I didn't. I just checked "Regret" and mailed it off. It was probably his mom inviting us, again just to be neighborly. But - I'm sure! Ya know?

Oh, you know I'm just being fecitious. I wish them a happy and blessed life together all the same.

I just thought of this one time that a guy we know was talking about a new gun safe he bought. He was saying something about it being 6 feet high and 4 feet wide, and I said, "Is it soft as a downy chick?" He just looked at me, not getting it, but another friend there laughed their butt off. At least somebody thought it was funny. Don't you hate it when you crack a joke and all you get is crickets?

Does anyone else get it?

If anyone watches AI, what is UP with Mandisa getting the boot? That stinks - she is amazing. That was all about the junk in the trunk because vocally, she's the best woman they have. Am I right when I say Chris will win this? But I love Taylor. I love love LOVE Whiskey Tenor Taylor. I hope he makes it big regardless, because I could listen to him sing all day.

This post is the pits but I'm bored and stuff so I thought I'd ramble a little bit. Plus I'm all mopey because my best buddy is on vacation in Myrtle Beach this week and I'm all out of sorts with her gone. Even though she lives far away and I wouldn't see her if she was home anyway - but it's the principle of the thing.

On a happier note, the Hub found a mystery roll of film recently so he took it in to get it developed for curiosity's sake. It ended up being pictures of Incrediboy, when he was about 6 months old - out on the boat. Awwe. I can't wait to see them tonight.

Again ~ I know this is a tired and raggedy entry and I sound like the "band camp" girl ~ but like I said, I'm just bored and fretty today. Thanks for humoring me.

Boystown

Some friends of mine took their two little girls to see "Barbie Live in Fairytopia" this weekend.

Please pass me a bucket.

Let me start out by saying that I'm not knocking little girls, and never would. I think they're beautiful, adorable, wonderful creatures. But if I had to deal with all the Barbie and Disney Princess stuff that my friends with daughters have to, I think I might barf till I turned inside out.

I was never a girl who was into that stuff, even when I was little. Sure, I had a Barbie or two, and even a baby doll. But I was much more into stuffed animals as the objects of my affection. I liked to play sports and ride my bike and fly kites and model airplanes. I played with Legos and Lincoln Logs, and I was car crazy long before I was boy crazy. I was the one girl in my scout troop who wasn't afraid of bugs, and so I was the one to always save the cabin by picking the june bug up and flicking him out the door.

If we had a little girl, I know we'd adore her - ruffles and frills or not. My mom was also a tomboy girl, and I suspect my daughter might also be. But just in case ... I'm so happy I have a little boy. The Lord in His infinite wisdom gave the Hub and me a son. And the heavens opened up, and the angels sang. Or maybe that was the Hub singing. But in any case ... ~

It's not always great being the minority in my house. With husband, son, and dog all of strong will and personality, incessantly exerting their manliness, I'm usually fighting losing battles (LOL). I sometimes think it might be nice to have another being with ovaries in the house who might help me balance out the estrogen to testosterone levels.

But then again, I feel perfectly at home in my element.

Especially with Incrediboy.

He's so into the typical boy things. Anything with wheels or an engine is the best thing ever. He's thrilled by the stars and the moon. Airplanes and helicopters. Heavy construction equipment, trucks, and trains. Tools and appliances. Animals, birds and bugs. Playing ball. Going for rides on the tractor. Building skyscrapers with his blocks. The Wiggles. Bob the Builder. Thomas the Tank Engine. All fun, great stuff. Stuff I was into, and can be into with him. And no tutus or tiaras. YESSS! The tomboy in me does a victory dance in the endzone!

There's another added perk too. You see, I'm the last person in my office to have a child. Everyone went before me, and therefore I have been bombarded with badgering on procreating, followed by expert advice on everything imaginable, from the time we even thought about thinking about starting a family to this day.

But guess what. The owners - they have a girl. Their daughter and her husband, both coworkers, they have 2 girls. My other office mate - has a girl. Which means ...

I'm the only one with a boy.

It's silly really, but it makes me feel uber-special (not to mention impishly smug) to finally have claim to something no one else has experience with in my office. After all the grasshopper-toned, unsolicited (though not unappreciated) advice and guidance I've received about everything parent and baby - and even though I'm the last one to join the ranks - when it comes down to it, I have something special. A boy. The only one.

(Grin) ... It's pretty cool.

Tuesday Show & Tell - Buffalo Bill

I bet Kristi, Kodijack and Ramblin' Girl are familiar with the subject of this week’s show and tell. Then again, maybe not – sometimes you don't seem to get around to checking things out that are in your own back yard. As my brother put it after our 2002 statewide road trip, “You guys have seen more of Colorado in 10 days than I’ve seen in 20 years!”

As you all know, we travel by the seat of our pants while on vacation, allowing fate and happenstance to guide us. While on our way to visit family in Denver during our trip, we happened to pass the Buffalo Bill Museum. Being a curious pair, we stopped in to snoop around, and ended up having a wonderful time. This layout features some sites and memorabilia we got while on our side trip to the museum. If you’re into history that you can see as well as learn about, this is a neat place to check out. This museum was started by Bill Cody’s foster son, and is loaded with all kinds of cool artifacts from Cody’s life and from his Wild West Show.

You can also stop by his peacefully placed gravesite there on Lookout Mountain, where he rests eternally overlooking the Great Plains to the east while embraced within the Rockies. Cody’s grave is fenced in for protection, but as you can see in the lower right of the layout, many cast coins to his grave, a la wishing well. Poor Bill. How's a guy supposed to get any good rest with pennies bouncing across his tombstone?

If you’re in the Denver area, check it out some afternoon. Very cool.

Crash

I watched a highly acclaimed movie last night. The movie is called "Crash". Everyone told me I should see this movie. So I did.

The writing was phenomenal. The acting superb. The cinemaphotography hypnotic. All in all, an exceptional and poignant film.

I'm pretty sure I hated this movie.

I'm sure I'm going to get some crap about this, but this is the way I feel about it.

Why? If I thought so highly on these points, why would I then say I hate it? Well ... To get to that, allow me to reflect on this: Why did everyone I know find it so important and rewarding to see this movie? Why did *I* supposedly need to see this movie?

• So I become aware of how sublimely ruined most of us are from the outside in, despite who we are or where we fit into society?
• That stereotypes are stereotypes, because let's face it, they're rooted in truth?
• That trying to rise above your past will only make people you move toward misinterpret you and the people you move away from resent you?
• That despite who you are, people will hate you, so you would do yourself well to hate back in self defense?
• That if you do manage to get through the day unharmed, that it's only by sheer dumb luck?
• That even the people closest to you will in time turn on you?
• That rest assured, no good deed goes unpunished?
• And that even if we are successful at living a good life and contributing positively to our community, that ultimately we'll be thanked by getting the shaft in the end?

"Crash" was a very well done movie. But it was abhorrently defeatist. In the end I felt as if every vibe of positive energy had been sucked out of me. I was discouraged about the world ever being a decent place.

I guess that's the point, but to be honest I'd really just rather have those two hours of my life back.

Quiet Hero

I’ve always found it peculiar (and somewhat annoying) that I can forget where I sat my keys down 15 seconds ago, yet dates and events permanently hard code in my brain. Sometimes I wish these things were as easily scrambled into the noise of life and living too.

Thanks to this trait, the arrival of April is always tinged with melancholy for me. This Sunday, April 2nd, marks 18 years that my dearest friend from my teens has been gone. I remember Mom calling me at college and giving me the news. He had died in a fire trying to save someone thought to be still inside the building. He wasn’t a fireman or EMT – it was just the kind of person he was. Selfless and inherently heroic without meaning to be. The cruel irony was, no one was inside - he succumbed to smoke inhalation, searching for someone who’d already made it out.

I received the call just before art history class. Finals were approaching and I couldn’t really afford to skip class, as it was difficult to recuperate slide lecture notes. I can’t remember a single thing from that lecture. I do remember being thankful that the lights were off, so I could allow the tears to roll down my face with little notice as I struggled with digesting the shock and making sense of this blindsiding loss of my friend.

We met at youth camp several years before and in the seasons following built a bloodlike bond. Through celebrations, family issues, big breakups and the standard myriad of second decade milestones, we always had each other’s back - laughed and cried together, and confided in each other in total trust. We were family. I think back on those times and the roots of our friendship and smile wryly at the complicated simplicity of our lives. The drama of teen angst is by no means trivial at the time, but hindsight reveals how young and tender we were – still yet untouched by so many of the tragedies of life – and of losing things so valuable.

He was uncommonly kind and compassionate, and I’d never heard him speak ill toward anyone. I wonder if the storms of life would have further honed and refined this natural grace in him, or if he’d sour and scar as I did. So many times I’ve wondered what sort of man he’d have become. He had a gift for music and a heart for God – I could see him in a music ministry of some sort, possibly in the very church his younger brother now pastors, not far from my home. I know he and my husband would be good friends – they’d have enjoyed each other’s company greatly. He’d most certainly be married and have a yard full of kids, no doubt coaching their little league teams and heading up their scout troops and Sunday school classes. Though oblivious to any difference, the lives he would have touched are paler in his absence. Of that I’m sure.

The Lord has His reasons for His timing. I always remember that, even though I don’t understand it sometimes. Each year these memories revisit, and I wonder. It just seems my friend should have lived a long, enriching life – much longer than 20 years.

Don't Make Me Yell at You

Unless you get accosted at a booth set up outside of your local supermarket, the 2006 Girl Scout Cookie Sale is over – so today’s thoughts arrive a little late. Still, Itchy was talking today (amongst other things) about Andy Rooney’s recent whine about Girl Scout Cookies and it got me riled up. So I thank you in advance for indulging me.

Nevermind the artificial colors, flavorings, and preservatives. You're going to find that in any cookie unless you make it yourself, Andy, so hush up about that. Bottom line is, we all love Girl Scout Cookies, right? Maybe you have a few you don’t care for as much as others, but I’m confident in saying that if you don’t like at least one kind of these sweet little confections, there’s something innately wrong with you. I mean, come on. Decadent peanut butter patties. Caramelly-good Samoas. Simplistically perfect Shortbread Trefoils. Cooling thin mints, the quintessential #1 best seller. Just to name a few.

In short … COOKIES!!! What’s not to like?

Yes, they’re pretty pricey for what you get – especially some of them where you only get maybe 15 in a box. And if you’re on a diet, by all means you’re allowed to resist a purchase. But otherwise, listen up. If you want cheap cookies you can go to Wal-Mart and buy 5 times as many for the price, sure - but please don’t gripe about Girl Scout Cookies being a gyp. These girls aren’t trying to rip you off. They’re selling cookies to earn money so their troop can buy supplies for community service projects and so they can take some field trips and go camping.

Do they get a whole lot of the proceeds? No, not really. But it’s more than that. They’re also learning responsibility, communication and follow-through skills by participating in the cookie drive. They’d appreciate it if you kept your bellyaching to yourself and show a little encouragement for what they’re doing.

No, this is not a picture of me.
Somewhere along the line, Scouting became thought of as nerdy, which is a damn shame. Scouting teaches kids about friendship and loyalty and honor. It helps develop them into good people and keeps them out of trouble. They gain skills in teamwork and community service and putting others’ needs before their own. Buying cookies is investing in these girls’ futures. Next time you want to open your mouth to complain about the Girl Scout “cookie racket”, just remember that.

Stop at that booth. Answer the door when they knock.

Buy some cookies.

(And if any of you smartypantses out there say anything

about eating a Brownie I’ll kick your butt ;D.)

Vessels

At church yesterday (yes, I finally went), a special speaker referred to 2 Corinthians and the jars of clay reference – how believers are to be as vessels into which Christ would pour His blessings and gifts. This is an oft-referenced scripture, and one that becomes very routine to the ear. But they went on to muse on how we aren’t meant to be just storage containers, but more so like the vials of a spice rack – receiving, and in turn, distributing back out, enriching the world and the lives around us by seasoning them with our gifts.

I thought this was a great analogy. This can be applied in so many circumstances. A gift isn't truly a gift until it is given. That's great stuff there, isn't it?

I gleaned more thoughts and reflections from yesterday’s words, but will get to those at another time. This one, though, I thought deemed sharing right away.

Flashback Friday - Champagne & Brine

We were nestled in a wreath of storms, but in the center the sun shone and the sky was clear. The first leg of our sail was smooth and gentle, and we stretched leisurely out on the nets above the clear bright water. Rum punch and mimosas went down smooth and quick as the sails billowed overhead.

The ride back was a different story. The wind had picked up and the sea was stirred awake by the storms. Were we standing in the cabin, we could have felt our feet practically lift off the floor as the boat rose and dove.

But we weren’t in the cabin. That day we had more guts than brains, and more adrenaline than preservation instinct. We scurried our way up to the front. We wanted to ride the nets.

Mimosas in hand didn’t last long – they were soon all over us. No matter, as we needed both hands to hang on. Face to face with the raw power of Nature, we shot and lunged through 12 foot swells, our line of vision offering alternating frames of solid sky and churning turquoise sea. We clung to the nets, knuckles white, tendons aching. Hearts racing with wide smiles. The warm water sprayed forcefully over the bow and through the nets with brute force. Sharp, stinging liquid needles that would then melt and caress over us. Salt burned my eyes and my hair rudely lashed my face. Ocean and wind tag teamed us, and we laughed in the face of danger. At times we were lifted clear off the nets, hooked only by our fingers. Exhausting – and exhilarating.

I was inches from the side and only one slip from going over into the currents. I remember being keenly aware that my thrillseeking could cost me my life that day. But it was worth the risk. Dancing so close to fatality can show you what it truly means to be alive. To FEEL life, thundering through you.

Were I asked, I would say - St. Maarten tastes like champagne and brine.

Quarterly Review

It’s going to be April in just a little over a week. Crikey! A fourth of the year gone already!

I was thinking that I should perform a review of my progress with my New Year’s Resolutions (ahem) Adherences. Some of you may remember that I posted my list in an attempt of accountability. In hindsight, not one of my brighter moves. LOL. I say this because I am slightly displeased with my review - but will be brutally honest in disclosing my conclusions. Might as well go for broke with the accountability thing - and besides, it's no big secret what a loser I am anyway. ;)

So, if you care, here’s the ugly truth:

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

CLEW'S 2006 ADHERENCES: A Self-Inflicted Quarterly Review

• Now that the holidays are over, I'm going to return to healthy eating… I've been feeling like total crap for the last few months with all the heavy foods and dessert breads and chocolates and way too much social eating.

Okay, I’m good here. Sort of. I’m being much more conscious of what I’m eating. I still eat plenty of things I shouldn’t, but have made great strides. All in all I’m feeling better due to this alteration in my lifestyle though, so I’ll give myself a 7 out of 10 stars here.

• I'm going to get back to my workouts. … I'll probably never look as good as I used to after having my puppy but I'm sure as heck done with feeling jiggly.

This I’ve done pretty well with fulfilling. With the exception of a few pauses due to illnesses, I have worked out at least once and usually several times a week almost every week. My strength, tone and balance have been returning and the jigglies have greatly diminished. Yay for me! I give myself 8 out of 10 stars here.

• I'm going to get back to my scrapbooking regularly.

I have sucked here. Except for my big weekend with Naïve, I haven’t gotten anything done. I need to get back into this, not only for fun and therapy but for preservation of our lives. With each day, details fade. I need to capture them before they leave for good. Meanwhile, I flog myself with 2 out of 10 stars on this one.

• I'm going to watch less TV. I watch way too much TV during my me-time for all this other stuff I want to be doing.

I’m still watching too much TV. But I have been able to pull myself away from a bit of it. I’ll submit 6 out of 10 stars for myself on the TV thing.

• I'm going to write more frequently in Incrediboy's Journal... There are too many things to capture for him to be writing so infrequently.

By far the worst one. I literally haven’t written in Incrediboy’s Journal since New Year’s Eve. New Year’s Eve! Could I be more opposite of a Resolution (ahem) Adherence than I am with this one? I’m not only ashamed of myself here, but pretty angry as well. It’s been a very exciting year of leaps and bounds in Incrediboy’s blossoming personality and discovery of the world, and I’m letting it go uncaptured in his books. 0 out of 10 stars.

• I'm going to take the boy (and myself) back to church... We are a Christian home but now that he's older we owe it to him to raise him with a church family too.

Correction: THIS is the worst one. We STILL haven’t been to church and I seriously feel horrible for that. I’m glad the Lord is merciful and forgiving. I’m going to go kick the crap out of my own self when I finish this post. 0 out of 10 stars.

• Some other nunya-stuff that I'm not going to list here.

So-so on the nunya items. And they're still nunya so stop asking. 5 out of 10 stars.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Looks like all in all I am averaging 4 out of 10 stars. ABYSMAL! I’m thoroughly disgusted with myself right now. But, I’m glad I’ve walked through this – as I know now what I need to focus on to continue with my self-demanded improvements for the year.

I better get to work – As you can see, I have a lot of catching up to do.

With All Due Respect to Sam IV

My cousin-in-law has a fourth generation named cat. “Sam IV”. As we talked about Sam IV recently, my cousin-in-law said, “Haven’t you ever had a pet that was so cool, that every pet after him had to be named after him?”

I just smiled at this question – a polite non-answer. But inside I was thinking, “No. NO! What are you, a freak?”

There have been several pets in my family, but three dogs have really truly had my heart. Shamsky was two when I was born, and adopted me as his own. Copper came into our family in Shamsky’s twilight years, and lived until I was just out of college. And then of course, there’s Most Beautiful Dog, the furry peg of my heart.

Shamsky was an angel dressed in harlequin fur – never a mean bone in his body, nor a scoldable thought in his head. If any pet were the epitome, it would be he. Legend has it that even as a pup, there was just nothing “bad dog” about Shamsky. He lived to be 17 years old. He died the day after I returned from summer youth camp. I’ve often wondered if he waited for me to come home, to say goodbye before he left us.

Copper couldn’t have been more opposite. A wired, destructive, neurotic pain in the butt. But adorable, affectionate, and sweet. We loved him, and it was lucky for him. If any dog were destined for the pound, it was Copper! But he knew a bunch of suckers when he saw them. My parents gritted their teeth and never gave up on him – and in time he became a wonderful pet.

Around the age of 3, Copper developed an illness for which he had to take medication for his entire life. The meds which offered him a better quality of life would also shorten it, and he died at the age of 9. I’d been on my own for several years, but I still bawled like a baby with his passing.

Most Beautiful Dog came around many years later. He was heart wrenchingly darling and we adored him beyond reason, but man did he test us. He was so much like Copper – run through different spray booths, but same frame and body style. Not to mention just as rowdy, high-strung, and inherently evil as a puppy. We could NOT take our eyes off of him for a moment. There were times we cried in frustration as we raised him and he tested us to the brink of our wits end. But eventually we got him trained, he grew out of his puppymania, and he is an absolutely wonderful family member now. Anyone who’s spent any time on my blog will know how much MBDog is loved in our home.

To me, each of these boys was/is a great, loving, wonderful pet. More than a pet, really. They’re my brothers, and my son. And just as I wouldn’t name my children after any previous children, it wouldn’t even cross my mind to do that with my pets. None of my pets were replaceable. And while using the same name really wouldn’t be saying they are, it hits a little too close to home for me. They’re all unique – how can I give them identical monikers?

I have prayed from the day we adopted MBDog that he will live a long, healthy life. Hub and I look forward to relishing the special bond Incrediboy and MBDog will share as they grow up together. A boy and his dog is a very special thing to see. And when it’s MBDog’s time to go, I know I will grieve harder than with any other dog before him – because he is truly, fully mine. Because I love him so much. Because he is one of a kind.

In turn, when the time comes - our next dog will be given a new name, fitting for him. Chosen just for him. Like the others, it’s what he deserves. His own title to represent his own personality.

Maybe I’m the freak. But with all due respect to Sam IV and all the way back to The First Sam, I’m not on board with generational pet names. My dogs ~ my sweet boys ~ unique from one another and all loved so deeply ~ deserve their own crowns.