Everyday is a winding road...

The craziness didn’t end after the trunk popping phenomenon I told you about on my last post, instead it manifested itself anew the next day. I had to stop no less than 25 times the next day and evening due to continual trunk popping. The drive home from work was completely freaky and my nerves were shot and of course it was raining on top of it. At one point, the trunk began closing itself too. That was about all I could take. Later that night Cael was outside on the phone in the front yard and said the trunk popped twice while parked in the driveway when he was out there. Then as he closed it, it just kept popping. It was really bizarre (like Herbie the Love Bug gone whacked) but thankfully it has once again taken to remaining as it should. It must have been caused by some sort of intense barometric pressure or something scientific or mathematic which would, of course, elude me. Now that the tropical storm is over, so is the popping. I feel almost sane again. I know, the thought of me and "sane" in the same sentence is sort of funny.

But one odd event isn’t enough. This week on an afternoon drive to pick Casey up from school, I was sitting at the light at Prosperity and Lighthouse when I saw in my rearview mirror, three really cute mylar birthday balloons making their way down the street toward me past the SUV in line behind me. They seemed to be making a flying run for it but in sort of a flowy, balloon-in-the-wind way, and I watched to see where they would go, wondering if they had come untied from someone’s mailbox nearby or floated out of a car window. They sidled right up to my open windows as if having chosen me to catch a ride with and latched onto the passenger sideview mirror. Their brightly colored ribbons and plastic tie down thingys at the ends wound themselves around the mirror while the balloons themselves continued on and tried to pass in front of my windshield. I had been at the light a while and figured I’d better get the strings detangled from my mirror quickly so they could be on their way because I couldn’t see past them to drive once the light changed. But they wouldn’t come undone. With no time to spare, I threw it in park, undid my seatbelt, leaned over the passenger seat and began to reel them in from my awkward position. I sensed that the light had changed and I was still reeling, but thankfully those behind me were enjoying the unfolding scenario and the resulting fishing expedition, wondering what would become of the gypsy balloons. I managed to snag them without undue hassle, threw the car back in drive and realized I had been sitting at the green light with lots of empty road in front of me for at least 10 seconds. You ARE aware that 10 static seconds in a car at a green light is enough to create road insanity in fellow drivers. It also brings a certain level of fear to the driver sitting in park, I might add. So I took off as fast as I could, feeling sort of like I had just robbed a bank and was making off with the goods. I was wondering if perchance the people behind me had lost the three pretty balloons and whether they might have a manic three year old in the back screaming for her lost treasure and were thinking me a thief. But when that car turned off to another street a while later, I relaxed and began wishing I had a birthday to celebrate to make use of my little gift from heaven, though none came to mind. I pulled into the school parking lot and Casey walked over with that scrunched up look on her face, where the left side of her mouth curls up and the left eye squints in quizzical fashion. She wanted to know what was with the balloons. I gave her a quick recap about the gift from heaven and asked her if any of her friends were having a birthday that day. She smiled slowly and she looked off and told me it was her friend Chelsey’s birthday the day before, so the balloons changed hands and off they went to their new owner. Perfect. I loved it. This is what it's like to be me while driving.

But it doesn’t end there. Now Mary, I had a sighting this morning while on my way to work that reminded me of our life back in the day. Remember PSSSSSSSSSSSTTTT or however it was spelled. I remember you using it when I was probably in elementary or Jr. High. It was powdery stuff to put in one's hair that made the accumulated greasiness less apparent. It was billed at the time in a positive light as something like dry shampoo, just a way to clean your hair without water. Right, whatever. More like soaking up grease with baking soda. But people weren’t as shower conscious in those days and there were only like three other brands of shampoo back then, Prell, Clairol and No More Tears. Okay, there was also Herbal Essence and Suave, but not much else. Needless to say, self-perceptions were different, hair care was not the art it has become.

So this morning, I had just pulled up to the light at Military while on PGA and there to my left and across a lane was this pretty blond woman using the rearview like she was in the bathroom at home. She was brushing up sections of hair at a time and sprinkling baby powder in her hair, then floofing and brushing and primping each part like she was stylist to the stars, only to do another section and another and another without skipping a beat. She chose her red lights well, as this particular light is the second longest in the PBG area by my standards, so she had plenty of time to change her clothes as well, had she so desired. She didn’t do that as far as I could tell, and she didn't look trashy or unkempt. She was a very attractive young business-looking woman who apparently has poor hygiene and is short on time but finds hair degreasing a necessity and feels dousing her head in baby powder while at stoplights a socially acceptable practice... well, now everyone on the street knows her secret. Come on ladies! Where is the mystery? So maybe it’s a great quick-fix she learned from some fashion magazine, but are no beauty secrets sacred and left to the privacy of home anymore? I was staring, and I mean hard to see if she would notice and be embarrassed... and she didn’t bat an eye. She had a lot to do at that light let me tell you. I dared her in my mind to even look around nervously to see if she’d been busted, but no! She didn’t even give so much as a sideways glance in any direction. Didn’t care. How did she not feel me boring my eyes into her head? This isn’t the 70’s and I haven’t seen PSSSSSSSSTTTT since Farrah hair was the rage (and I think Farrah is like 60 now... yeah.) I am so continually amazed by people. But more so, I am always amazed by what goes on when I'm on the road.

today's phenomenon

I’ve always thought I have some weird electromagnetic field going because I used to stop at intersections at night and the street lights near me would go out all the time. It was freaky. I also have some sort of bizarre effect on cars where the air conditioners don’t want to run cold when I am at the wheel. Then there is the power window that will go down but not up unless it is near 90 degrees and sunny. Oh yeah, we can't forget back when the TV used to randomly turn off or on over the course of about a year, like someone was outside with a remote. Now that was electromagnetic weirdness.

But today was ridiculous. On top of all the usual stuff which I have adjusted to, I got in the car to pull out of my driveway and I thought I heard the trunk pop open randomly. At first I figured it was my imagination because I knew I hadn’t pushed the button on the key ring. Yet I was pretty sure I heard a sound that only a trunk popper makes, so I got out to check. Sure enough, it was open. I slammed it back down and drove on wondering a faint sort of wonder about it. I got to PGA and Military and while I was sitting at the light “clunk!” the trunk popped up again like my electromagnetism was back on the loose. I tilted my head like a perplexed dog. I could have yelled out loud about it too because frankly I'm prone to talking out loud while I drive. It seems to quell bad drivers if I talk them down from their erratic driving as they enter my field of vision. Of course they never hear me, I just annoy my passengers. But this trunk popping just weirded me out. My hand had definitely been no where near the trunk button this time; the keys were there dangling in the ignition quietly on their own. There I was, in the front of the line of traffic and I had to get out while at the light, run to the back of my car to slam the thing down. I couldn’t take a chance that it might pop all the way up while I was driving and have all that junk in there flying around for other drivers to see. Yes, Heaven knows I need to clean it out and have needed to for about 15 years. How embarrassing it suddenly seemed. Usually a trunk is a great place to use as a holding tank. Of course, that was when trunk lids stayed shut until opened on purpose. I still think it’s a great storage space for the most part, except during weekly trips to the grocery store when I pop the trunk to put the groceries in and there before the bag boy’s eyes I have to exclaim in feigned amazement... like where did all this come from and why didn’t those kids of mine remember to take all this stuff out... like it’s some bizarre anomaly outside of my normal realm.

So then today, after a full day of work, I got in my car to come home, and “clunk” it popped AGAIN while driving in mad traffic. Do you know what this does to a person’s level of control when at the wheel? I’m high strung enough, do I really need a random popping-trunk phenomenon to deal with? It put me so on edge. I think the fact that it popped again, and this time in the evening, rules out any Candid Camera stuff. Who’d want to wait around all day following me just to pop it on me again? It was just another in a wide range of true flukes that grace my life, my crazy electromagnetic life. Could it have something to do with the barometric pressure from the storm? Have trunks been popping all over South Florida and I just haven’t heard about it yet? Well, if it suddenly becomes all the rage, just remember you heard it here first.

I had to do it

It just seemed right considering...

Unearthing the past

I just looked out the front window and was amazed to see the whole street ablaze with the wattage from my front porch light. And I'm lighting up my neighbor's house across the street like we're about to film some late night reality TV. Nobody on the block really needs a front porch light if mine is on. I think I need to pay a little more attention to the bulbs I'm buying. I tend to be a one-bulb-fits-all person. I'm surprised no one on my block has complained about insomnia recently, and I'm just wondering what this Hollywood glow is gonna do to the electric bill. If needed, I could spot a burglar three houses down from between the slats of my blinds at 2 am thanks to the light projecting from just outside my front door. The coverage is that good.

But that's not the reason I was writing. I'm writing because I've been going through some sort of super funky minimalist phase lately and the need to clear ugly and superfluous junk from my surroundings has been after me to the point of distraction. I keep finding myself at the cusp of every great idea pointed first backwards to deal with the rather un-fun, underlying stuff in order to get things ready for change. So in an attempt to head in new directions and make an area like my kitchen more wonderful, it became obvious I had to clean out the cabinets first. I thought a day would do it. That thought wasn't on target with reality.

Aside from unearthing many items I could sell, toss or give away, I began to discover a lot of memories crammed in with the kitchen junk. I’ve kept old calendars and a few old address books from back in the early 90's, and while they take up space and make a mess, I just can’t throw them away. Once in a while I go back and see what I was doing on a nondescript day "back when" and see who I was in touch with. I rarely look at them except on the very off chance I'm cleaning out the kitchen once a decade or so. I had barely begun looking through one of the address books when I found all sorts of enticing little scraps of paper of various size, color and shape. Long forgotten names and numbers from what now seems a different culture altogether were slipping from between the pages. It's almost like I dreamed those days and those people. I conjured up the old faces as best I could from their names and then found other names I had actually been trying to remember just last week. I was reminded of how many lives it seems we lead over the course of our time and how many people come and go only to be a part of our world for a relatively short time, though it seemed like forever at the time. Funny what I remember of some of the people. What do they remember of me? Do they have odd little pictures and quaint memories of specific things I said, like I do of them? Do they remember much more than I remember of those days or nothing at all because they didn’t keep their calendars and address books scrunched up in kitchen drawers?

Then I began to read the notations on the pages of the calendars. It was like sneaking a look into a past that belongs to someone else. The things I was doing seem odd and out of place now, yet were all a part of my very life and who I am today. So much daily stuff that I can now clearly see was creating a way for me to get to here. I would have very little recollection of so many of the details if it wasn't scrawled out there in my scrappy handwriting. I saw month after month of notations indicating things that had to be done because of painful circumstance when the world was upside down. Weekly events and consistent friendships were right there spelled out with ink. And I saw the evidence of time with friends and family. In those everyday events and in the names of constant friends who were our life, many of whom still are, I saw evidence of how God was taking us through to who we were to become. Pivotal days and events that would appear at the time to be just another thing to do or a reminder of where to be and when, was really much more. Each stroke of the pen signifies the moments of my life ticking by... my one and only life, the markings there are really anything but insignificant calendar notations. They tell me in part why I made it through and when I should have done more or less, where my focus was on target and where I slipped up. Looking back at our lives like that is like finding something hidden and new despite the fact that it's old and done. It's like unearthing our own history from an outsider's viewpoint, because we are outsiders to that time and place now. It’s all somewhat odd in light of today. And it’s treasure. Those were moments just like this one. It's a hard lesson to remember because even now I tend to forget that the moments today are forging who I’ll be tomorrow and who I’ll be another 20-some years down the road. What did I do today that would make an interesting archeological dig during some other kitchen cleaning in the future? I wonder. What patterns will I find in looking back one day? If the calendars of the past are any indication of what it was that defined me, then I’d better include the people of my day, the moments we shared and not just the cleaning I did. That said, it would be important to add that Casey assisted my efforts today by going online to look up the value of items I found buried there in the deep. She would try to give me an idea of whether we had anything valuable on our hands. Cally and I spent some time together shopping for college items later in the afternoon, and then we met up with some new friends who passed on a mini fridge for her to take to school. Just being together, which so rarely happens lately, we were moving one step closer to the next moment, making choices together and seeing God provide. Cally and I stopped for a smoothie, because we were within range of Tropical Smoothie. I’m starting to understand the pattern now. I guess we are required to stop there if we come within a half a mile. It was good to share a smoothie. It was good too, to drive to Paul and Lynette’s and have Paul hand over the keys to his red convertible so we could have a second car for the next two weeks. I mean it was good that they would allow God to use them yet again to meet a need of ours. As far as Cally being behind the wheel of a red convertible for the next two weeks, hmmm... well then, that could be another story altogether...

Who Rules

I’m an image junkie - I don’t deny this. With years of conviction behind me and a spiritual sticking point that usually fends off most of the blatant blows, it still happens that sneaky voices and enticing images slither in and make themselves at home. It usually happens unnoticed and I’d say they most often come in disguise, brought to me by the talent and cunning of the image weavers. There have been magic moments too, the kind where a window into something incredible is played out in a way that seems meant just for me. I know... we think we are self-directed, thoughtful people, independent and astute, but we’re not. I hate to be the one to break the news, but we are weak-willed and gullible in the hands of the creative. Storytellers rule the culture.

Something happened last night while we watched the imperceptible blending of images or as we bathed in the words and rhythms. We were drawn into a story, as we often are, sitting in the dark, holding hands with the remote, mesmerized by the lives of the characters we cozy up to. Their behavior “became” us, maybe repulsed us, maybe intrigued or attacked us. Maybe it humored or even inspired us. Their language spoke to a place in there that always seems to be crying out to be spoken to. What was said echoes in our heads still today. Which place did it speak to this time? Did we hear what we needed, or was it simply like a salty snack and a can of coke, something that hit the spot of the moment?

We turn it off, we turn it on, it’s neither here nor there really. It’s just a show, just a movie, just advertisement, just diversion of course. But it isn’t just a show or a movie or an advertisement... of course. Someone tweaked and planned, spent fantastic sums of money, consulted and rehearsed to create flatscreen images that would be reborn 3-D in our lives, whether with one well-placed line, or episode by episode solidifying a premise, and sometimes culminating years down the road, a testament to patient, painstaking effort. Someone’s on the other side hoping their voice will be remade inside of us tomorrow. And it WAS remade the minute we ourselves, our hands-on selves, began repeating the lines, the moment we did or maybe even didn’t realize that we were conveying a tone of voice invoked by the spin of “the creative”, or when we retold that joke or adopted a mannerism or a way of thinking, or when we allowed what we've spectated to become a personal reality that we now play out with our own voices, what we now consider to be our “personal” thoughts. It all became 3-D after all, at our own hands.

Seems some of the fantasy stays behind. Some of it’s been staying behind since the first time we lay on a Saturday morning floor as close to the box as we could get to watch Looney Tunes. That’s a lot of time, a lot of influence. The sway of the music and tones of voice, classic lines and attitudes about the world and our place in it - what to accept, what to reject, who to love and hate; it has “become” us, in essence made us, formed us, and it shows up even imperceptibly and unnoticed. And we are the ones who give it permission. Someone we don’t even know has decided more than we’d care to give them credit for. Someone has colored many of our thoughts in shades we’d probably rather not have allowed onto our color palate had we really given it any thought. Often even carelessly, and with a strong desire to be entertained, we meld and transform under the guiding hand - of whom? Who are these “guides” we’ve given our hearts permission to follow?

I know how moving images can be. At any given moment you can find me nearly obsessed and completely absorbed in them, ignoring food, people and the the common sense of the hour hand. I know from the “other side” how images incite deep heart change because I am an image weaver myself. Can’t fool me about it; I’m in on the whole thing. Words and pictures carefully placed to sway to the sounds and the mood will mesmerize us into a deliberate thought or feeling, even move us to action - sometimes nurturing, sometimes suffocating both our character and our future - and always challenging who we would become. In the moment, aroused by feeling, incited by image, we will move. One way or another, chances are we won’t sit still. Which way we move depends on which voice and which image we grant an ear and an eye to. Which way today?

“Be careful, or you will be enticed to turn away and worship other gods and bow down to them...

...Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be many in the land that the Lord swore to give your forefathers, as many as the days that the heavens are above the earth.” Deuteronomy 11:16-21

My video experiment

I have finished the armoire painting. Well, almost. I still have to paint the feet, but I'm not counting that. In my mind, it's finished because the doors are back on and the new knobs are in place.

I discovered that I can upload video now via photobucket, so I am going to give it a try here on this post. If it works, you will be able to see what I have accomplished so far in the room. You have to have Flash 8 or higher, I think, to play it. So make sure you have it.

Meanwhile, forget about the fact that I have yet to paint the room, find a new covering for the closet that is currently being hidden by the old curtain fabric which no longer matches. I also need to get my new dresser and to tackle some sort of floor covering, move the chest out and decide whether or not to paint the mirror. The curtains need some touches of the other colors that are in the accent pillow, but I have yet to figure out exactly what those touches will be. There's nothing on the walls either. How the heck did I feel at all accomplished about any of it? Oh yeah, because I finally painted the armoire. And I did remove the headboard (even though it is still sitting in the living room). For now, here is what I've done: Please ignore the sad video and editing quality as this was a hurried little test project.

Oh Thank Heaven for 7/11/06

What could end my blogging silence after all these months? Just one incredible event. A national holiday which much of the country seems unaware of, and one which brings good taste and good cheer to any willing to accept a little something for free. That’s right, today was 7/11. Yes indeedy. Free slurpees in honor of 7-11’s 79th year. It doesn’t take much to make my day does it?

Cally tested the waters early this morning, venturing out for this once a year summer holiday deal, but she came up short. Seeing no sign of little cups sitting around and not wanting to ask, she missed out. What was she thinking! I was at work and could be of little help when her slurpee 911 call came in. But it left me a bit distressed. What if they had ended the free-for-all on 7/11? After all we’d been waiting for this day all year. I was pumped, counting down the days. It’s on our calendar for goodness sakes... So after work, Casey and I buckled up and headed a few blocks over (unfortunately Cally was at work by this time) and with fingers crossed, went hoping like crazy that the tradition continued. As Casey went in, I was a bit nervous; I watched three individuals exit the building with regular slurpees of various sizes, fearing they too had come for a delicious deal only to be disappointed into buying one. But within moments I could see Casey sipping her way through the store with a mini-cup in each hand, sauntering out without stopping at the register. Yes! That’s what I was talking about! And beyond that, check out these little cups! Aren’t they too much?


Clearly, the cup made the event even better than last year.


Just 7.11 oz in size, they were the perfect amount of free frozen goodness. (Cups shown appear larger than actual size). Just enough to drink without it melting on the way home. Until next 7/11 rolls around, we will continue our time-honored tradition of buying full-priced slurpees every time one of the kids do the lawn (at this point, that usually means Casey). As you can imagine, with the afternoon showers hitting during the summer, the grass is growing like crazy and the slurpee budget is out of control. Perhaps you understand now my overblown thrill over a free cup of the ice-cold brain-freezing slush. Gotta love it. And when the heck are they gonna bring back the orange slurpees? That was 7-11’s finest hour creating that flavor. It brought back the memory of how as little kids we used to sneak Johnson and Johnson orange baby aspirin from the medicine cabinet in Mom and Dad's bathroom. 7-11’s orange slurpee had a taste probably born of some other orange asprin-eating kid's fond childhood memory.

And no, my parents weren't totally neglectful...we were just sneaky.

Don't worry. We survived.


All I can say is...Oh thank heaven!

Unspent Riches

I see that I haven't posted since Christmas, a fact I was aware of, but one which now that I really think about it is a striking indicator of the freakishly rapid passage of time. Perhaps if I write, the time will somehow miraculously hit slow motion. It's mid-March and I haven't written so much as a word anywhere since January, except for daily e-mails. But that's not what's really amazing. Really amazing is the discovery I made this morning as Cally was about to leave for her job at Chick-Fil-A. Upon finding out that she gets off at 5:00, I asked her if perhaps this might be one of the lucky days when she would bring me home a Coke (for those who don't know, Coke is the equivilent to me that candy is to a little kid. Okay and to myself as well). I always thought as a teen that I would know I was rich when I could have Coke anytime I wanted, being as at the time, Coke was a precious commodity. It's still precious today. More precious being Coke in a styrafoam cup with a lid and straw, the best being a Chick-Fil-A cup. So I mustered up my courage (one must always have courage when asking Cally the hard questions) and asked if today she might lavish her love upon me and bring me home a Coke. It is a rare thing indeed for her to do so. I have probably, in 9 months of her employment there, been brought one or two Cokes. I told her I would pay her back when she got home. And here's the amazing discovery part. She just says, "You don't have to pay me... I get drinks for free." [Pause] [eyes shift] [mind whirls] [crazed look] I was standing in my mismatched flannel jammies with my slippers on at the open front door holding my hands to my head in disbelief at both my newly discovered luck and my newly discovered misfortune. This frenzied realization caused me to say, with the demeanor and tone of a madman..., "What!? All this time you could have been bringing me free Coke and you haven't?" It was like discovering one has been living like a Lake Park resident when they had a home they didn't know about on the ocean in Palm Beach or something. I was dumbstruck at the thought of all the free Coke gone to waste. I was rich and the riches had gone unspent. Cally just shook her head in her authoritative way and told me it was not in my best interest to drink Coke. Period. (Cally has always known what is best for those of us in this household, and out of it for that matter.) She fears I have done permanent damage to myself with excessive Coke drinking as it is and has no intention of contributing further to my eventual Coke-induced demise. She takes a Human Physiology class and knows stuff now. I assured her that I hardly ever have Coke (after all I didn't know I was rich) and that I normally have no more than one a week (with only occasional binge drinking), sometimes I have two Cokes a week. She assured me this is all I am allowed and that according to her teacher, one a week is the maximum allowable while maintaining good health. Cally likes to flaunt the ever present dangers of Coke to my insides, the potential weakening of my bones from it, and the horrors of the sugar count. She usually doesn't bother mentioning my Jeckyl and Hyde reaction to the substance, as this is an obviously well-known fact in our household. She reserves that argument for special occasions. So I can't say whether at the end of the day she will deem me the recipient of a Coke in a Chick-Fil-A styrafoam cup or not, but yesterday a great fate befell me (or what she would certainly consider my misfortune), I found an unopened can of Coke in the frige that I didn't know was there. The excitement at this discovery was like Christmas morning as a kid. I have been savoring the thought of it ever since and planning the most opportune moment of my day in which to enjoy it. Now, it doesn't compare to the excitement of a Coke in a Chick-Fil-A cup brought home at the loving hand of my benefactor, but so you know, I always save my Chick-Fil-A cups and reuse them for as long as possible. I have one right now that I have had for over a week. I kept my last one for three weeks, a fact which disgusts Cally. Hey, I wash it like any other cup. It makes every drink a treat. These are the simple joys. Now if I can just figure out how to get Cally to access our "bank account full of riches" and bring me free Coke everytime she works.

The Christmas Hats

It was another dress-up Christmas. I think as a rule, "matching" outfits are always welcome in our family. This group wears it well, that's for sure. The beanies were lovingly and painstakingly knitted, compliments of Mary. That's a lot of knitting!



It's Christmas night and the events of the holiday seem about over. I am exhausted but wanted to say one more "Merry Christmas" before it's over. Details of our celebration of the Greatest Gift will have to wait. I am working on a pictorial tour of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day that I need to find music for in order to finish. I have many things on video, culminating with an incredible dancing and singing extravaganza by Cally and Casey. That's one, however, that you simply must see AND hear to fully experience.



We are in the clean-up stages of the celebration now, thanks to Cally. I was going to let it wait, but if she's up to it, who am I to argue. I took Alka Seltzer Cold Plus to combat an extreme case of "allergy day" and it has stolen my verve.




I guess it's almost time to forge out some resolutions. I'm sure I'll get right on that.

Again, I hope your Christmas was the joy it was meant to be!



















Hey, it occurs to me a little too late that Zach did not make it out for the photo op. Awwww....

Thanksgiving Recap

There was reminiscing, video games and the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade...



There was pie and fudge making (Cael helped make one of the pumpkin pies), and whipped cream whipping...

There was turkey, stuffing and all that good stuff and lots of family and friends giving thanks amongst each other at our tables and sharing what we were thankful for. At our table there were thanks to God for a life that had turned around, thanks for a mentor who had helped someone out, someone who appreciated having a big family, someone grateful to God for time with kids, and lots more. There was a scrabble game, a group photo under the tree in the Kiedis front yard, a backyard football game, napping and movie plans...



There was an eventual movie - The Return of Zorro - There were personalities and fun, a few injuries and plenty of videotaping...



And on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, there was a traditional tree search at the Home Depot. It wasn't as traditional as we'd hoped, as they wouldn't actually let us in the tree tent because they hadn't had their fire inspection, so they brought trees out and and we picked quickly and from a limited selection. There was to be no traditional game of christmas tree hide and seek, and that left our now aging children a bit grumpy and attitudinal. Tommy, Daniel and Cael didn't make it for the big event, but Shannan and I managed to pick winner trees without them. When they'd been cut, paid for and bagged in netting, Paul loaded my tree along with theirs in their van and everyone came along to deliver it. In order to expidite tree picking, the kids all volunteered to help me pay part because I accidentally looked at an expensive tree on my first try and of course it was perfect. Once we discovered the true price, a new search began among the cheap trees and it was apparent to the kids that it might take a lot of looking again to find a suitable fir. They were against that. In the end, it was Cally who actually paid the extra $10, and off we went with our perfect Christmas tree. $47.98 with tax. I know. Outrageous. But it really smells great in the house.


The tree hunters.

And so the Christmas tree now stands in the living room all lighted but awaiting decorations and the start of a memorable christmas season. Cael was here long enough to do his part and put a couple of ornaments on the tree so he was at least able to be a part of it. Other than that we are waiting for a chance to get the decorating underway. It was supposed to happen today, but we haven't managed to find the time yet. Maybe tomorrow.

Oh yeah, the kids and some friends had a bonfire at the Kiedis home on Friday night after Thanksgiving too.



Cally and Bethany took about 25 photos of themselves doing goofy stuff that night. They resemble the photo booth photos we used to take as kids. Here's one:



Of course, there's more, but who has time for all the details. I will say I am thankful for a wonderful family and friends and a great thanksgiving to celebrate all God has done for us.


"His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness." 2 Peter 1:3

The End of a Power Struggle

Clearing debris during the eye of Wilma.

Our nine day Power Struggle has ended and the last (I hope) of the debris has been raked from the front yard. I hope the event known as Wilma is over. Well, I know it’s not really over yet as much of the damaged items have not yet been repaired and the body of my orange tree still lays on it’s side, roots splayed out in a vertical plane as they dry and die in the Florida sunshine. I don’t want to get rid of it as the agriculture people may have been planning to take it as a result of a recent canker sighting in the area. If so, they are supposed to give me $150 at Walmart for each tree taken. I’d like to not only leave the work to them but also make something in the process if that’s possible. I am unsure of the effectiveness of my plan, but I can hope. Supposedly they will take my grapefruit tree too, and then, I am sorry to say, my yard will be officially naked and fruitless. And so goes life.


Orange tree down.


We also had the big grill going with three pots on it (manning that was my job). The kids had a bonfire after dinner in the backyard.

As for the end of the the power struggle, the power guys came yesterday morning as I was ready to walk out the door. They were greeted by my unbridled excitement as they got out of their truck and my neighbor lady next door was out there clapping for me. You see, our house was the lone powerless sucker in a sea of now bright front porch lights and had been for days. The guy told us both right away not to get too happy as he didn’t know that he could actually get my power back on. In fact he was only here it turns out to cut the downed wire and remove it. Oh great. But he said he would see how it looked and maybe he could do something. When he went out back, he took one look at the pole and told me there was no way he was climbing that thing and that the only way he’d even try to fix it was with the truck and the bucket and that he couldn’t be responsible for my yard. That meant driving the mega truck through my nice grass the entire length of my yard from the street to the back fence almost. He guaranteed huge ruts. Yikes! This was a dilemma. I asked him how long til FPL might get another person out to do it and he said, “Possibly two weeks, one if your lucky... and they might end up driving through the yard too”. I made a quick assessment in my head regarding continual plugging and unplugging of the generator, driving with an explosive device (my defective gas can) in my car every day (sometimes twice) for two more weeks along with the 10 to 20 dollars a day it was costing to run the generator depending on usage. I quickly assessed the mental torture of listening to whiny kids and the ear numbing sound of a generator right outside jalousey windows that sounds akin to having an airplane engine as a house guest 24/7. I pondered these cons along with a whole host of other related issues, not to mention the lack of a/c should the weather turn rainy, muggy or hot again (and after all, this IS Florida). I made my decision and chose door number two which came with ankle turning ruts in the grass and I prayed the guy could get back there without damaging the sprinkler heads and pipes and that he could actually connect the line to the pole after I allowed this invasion. I am happy to report that the sprinkler heads sidestepped destruction, at least this was in my favor. The two guys worked and sweated and lived their dangerous life and the one guy rode the bucket to the sky and touched power lines and brought life and TV back to our home...it doesn't get much better than that.

And so I bid my power guys a fond adieu and sent them off with what in my book is to be considered among the greatest gifts you can give power guys after they have risked life and electrocution for the comfort of some stranger... I offered them my last two ice cold Cokes. These are the Cokes I had been powering my fridge for all these days... well, the cokes and the Half and Half. Some things are so important they cause a person to behave erratically, like spending $20 dollars a day to keep the fridge cool enough for cream and Coke. It’s easy to be rendered senseless by our vices. I did finally begin using the power for only a couple hours in the morning and a couple at night to save gas (I come around to practicality sooner or later) and I learned to just transfer the cream and Coke to the “ice box” as needed when the generator was off then transfer them back to the fridge when I kicked it on again. It really would have been cheaper to drive to Dunkin Donuts and buy the world’s greatest coffee every morning rather than run the generator, but “people” don’t always use common sense. I will say I also used the generator to do my hair in the morning (also of considerable personal value), to make coffee in the morning, and to power the computer so I could send emails. Yeah, we also turned one lamp on a few times and I watched a few videos on the little VCR TV and managed to charge cell phones once. But we had to wean ourselves off the generator, especially when it sounded like we might be on its life support for another week. Oh, but those crazy days are over, I sure hope so anyway. Now it’s back to daily life. A well-stocked grocery store has been elevated to somewhere near the status of say Saks Fifth Avenue, it seems like a luxury store full of so many cool things. I was thrilled beyond thrilled to discover I even got cable back. I can’t wait to see a home show again! So much to enjoy, better get busy. You never know how much luxury you have until it’s gone for nine days. For the moment I am still finding a renewed appreciation for the many fine things I usually take for granted. I get a big burst of excitement, like I just won a cool prize, every time I get to go right through a green light at an intersection. Despite the red light runners who turn across your path well after their light has gone red, I love the traffic light system. It often feels chaotic and like the world’s longest wait, but no, four way stops at major intersections three lanes wide on each side plus two turn lanes on each side, that’s chaotic, especially when you also have 10 more times down the road at all the other smaller intersections to stop at too, even more chaotic when you realize how many people are talking on the phone while attempting this brave feat.


I noticed after last year’s hurricanes as well as this one, how cool it was to enjoy the things that don’t come by any other means these days except through the help of such natural disasters, at least not around here. Things like the sounds that come through open windows, conversations among neighbors that otherwise seldom happen, walking across the street with a laundry basket to do wash at a neighbor’s home because they have the power to help and the heart to share, the feeling you get looking out past your window through the darkness to see candlelight glowing through your neighbors windows. Front doors wide open, everyone out and about in their yards and working with their hands, helping and sharing what ice they have, giving tips on the best gas lines and how far you might have to go for hot coffee or cold dairy, and which road might have a working signal. It was like being back in a 60’s childhood where we all felt sort of like we didn’t have much and yet we had so much. For reasons such as this, hurricane season hasn’t soured me. Of course, my unshuttered windows somehow held like they were sealed with super glue, my computers and tapes were unharmed and intact. Sure, the world’s greatest orange tree went down and took the cable and power lines with it, the gutters were all stripped from their screws, the new lattice is history, much of the food we had didn’t make it through all the offs and ons of power and generators, the generator gas cost as much as a big month’s electrical bill, and as expected, the back room flooded. But those things are just like getting a skinned knee while playing Kick the Can. Because of Wilma (Wilma, another 60’s favorite from our cartoon loving Saturdays) if you want to think of it that way, we had a week-plus to re-pace, and God provided. Friends and family were kind and let us share the storm with them and share their food and their company, their generator and their lives.


Together is better, especially when it comes to yard work.

Life is interesting and people are generous and giving and you know, somehow, someway, we will have citrus fruit and shade in our backyard again one day. Certainly we will. Can you see me like Scarlett O’Hara with my fist full of dirt saying over and over as the sun sets behind me, Tara, Tara., Taraaaaaa.... or maybe I should say, Greenbriar, Greenbriar, Greenbriar. Nah, that doesn’t work.

Besides, it’s not the place so much, it’s the people, it’s always the people.

But having a home to lay your head IS pretty nice, even by candlelight.

And by the way, I am officially the mother of three teenagers today. When do they hand out the medals? Hmmm... that's what I thought. But then who needs medals, look who came into my life 13 years ago today...

Tell Me It "Ain't" So!

“Ain’t” ain’t in the dictionary, so “ain’t” ain’t a word.” How many times did we hear that growing up? Well I found out today that apparently that saying just “ain’t so”. What’s up with that?

You see, I had no idea! It seems, much to my surprise, that “ain’t” IS in the dictionary and "ain't" IS a word and nobody sent me notification. When did this happen? When did they change the rules of engagement with regard to the snappy comebacks used on us in our childhood... comebacks we can no longer legitimately use on our kids. I feel ripped off. Stripped of some superpower that once belonged to me. I am just glad I found out in the privacy of my own home. What if I had gone and used that little saying in public with some young whippersnapper and then watched as he pushed his glasses further up onto his nose, whipped out his pocket dictionary then and there, and proceeded to set me straight. How humiliating would that have been. They (whoever "they" are) should let parents know when they change the basis of standard-issue sayings. This just ain't right. And what 60’s warp have I been in? I guess I haven’t read the dictionary lately. Shame on me, right? I mean I know I live in a 60’s warp as far as certain modern conveniences go; like we have no disposal, no dishwasher, no automatic ice-maker and no water or ice in the fridge door, and we still have laminate countertops and a room air conditioner and a manual-open garage door, but why do I have to find out in shock horror from my 12 year old, on what began as a regular Thursday afternoon, that “ain’t” IS in the dictionary, after all these years. I feel so disenchanted with the world. Can they just do these things without a vote? You know why I found out about this travesty today? It was “Little Women”, I tell ya. Seems the kids had to give their own dictionary definitions of words from the book, words they didn’t know the meaning of. Casey didn’t exactly know what to say “ain’t” meant, so she looked it up (a habit we applaud). I suppose the fact that she thought it would be in the dictionary means I must not have preached the little “ain’t” thing often enough, which is yet another blow to my parental standing. I guess I ain't even been using my rightful arsenal like I should. Of course, maybe Casey's just always had an exceptional grasp of the English language and holds to higher standards with regard to her vocabulary. That would make me feel better. Perhaps though, it suggests (ugh) that possibly (I know this will be a stretch for you all to take this in), but just possibly... I don’t know everything. Ooooh, that’s just too much to fathom, ain't it? But it’s out of the bag now; you all finally know the truth... I don’t know it all. (Gasp!) Of course after today’s lesson from my young teacher, I now do. However, up until this afternoon, I was at least one fact shy of it all. This is my confession of the day. Please tell me that you too were clueless that our sing-song “ain’t” saying was archaic. I do know that “they” are rewriting the dictionary all the time and removing and adding words, but I did not know they had bumped this one up to "real word" status and apparently it happened quite some time ago. Please tell me you would have still used the old saying in good faith if I had not enlightened you. Please tell me I am not alone. Pretty please.


Addendum: Upon spell checking my post,I found that while "ain't" may be in the dictionary now, the Imac spell check dictionary still refuses to recognize “ain’t” as a word. Bravo Apple! Bravo. When it comes down to it, we can still use the little ditty if we add in fine print a disclaimer about the apple spell check dictionary.
"Ain't" ain't in the dictionary (Apple spell check volume 2003 for iMac G3 Appleworks software)(sorry, I couldn't get the font to go small, so it loses the disclaimer effect) so "ain't" ain't a word. Yeah, that'll do it.

Quirky Home Show

Here are the still images from video I took of the living and dining rooms. You may not notice a drastic change looking at the pictures. But do you notice the difference in my mantle area? I still don't like the bricks painted brown. I think it needs to be stuccoed over and then painted. The bricks still look like fake chocolate to me. Kind of odd. But you know how these things are... once they've been there a while, you sort of quit noticing them anymore. That's why it would be in my best interest to get on with it before too long. After all, that old wallpaper and chair rail that Casey and I took down are a prime example of that. Do you even remember what it used to look like? Shoot! I should find some old "before" pictures so you can see the difference. Okay, that'll be next on the list, that and posting some images from Cally's surprise 17th birthday party. It was great! We had about 45 people, mostly high school seniors and college age kids with a little variation here and there. Lots of eating and playing volleyball, football and ultimate frisbee! And a lot of jumping in the pool to cool off. The temperature was seriously hard on everyone.


Here's the living room. Oh, I guess you can't even see the wall that we took the wallpaper and chair rail off of. What a lame videographer! Wait, no... the whole mantle wall had wallpaper and chair rail going across it. What am I thinking? I guess, even I have forgotten what it looked like.



The dining room looking into the living room.



Here are the shelves. I painted them the same color as the walls. They used to be all white.

The Reveal

Seeing as it's Friday, and Friday is a great home show night on TV, I think it fitting to finally post the reveal of Casey's room. I still feel we need to paint the walls, but since Cael and I just painted it a year ago and I just painted much of the rest of the house within the last month or so, and the color is sort of neutral, we are foregoing the final touch of painting for a while. We did well to get the room this far, this fast if I do say so myself.

So, Here it is. Please note the beach towel curtains and the day bed with adjustable arms that go up for a couch-like, daytime sitting area, or lie flat for sleeping.



Quite cool! The rug has a match to it in the bathroom where there is also a shower curtain that coordinates with the flower pattern on the towels and pillow. Yeah, we are quite happy with it. We also have a large picture to hang on the wall, but the wall is concrete block, and it's not that simple to drill anything into concrete block, so that is yet another project on hold. One of these days we'll do a room and complete it all at the same time. I'm hoping anyway.



Another view:



There is also a green lava lamp there on one of the cubes that looks really nice with everything. Very 60's groovy. Pretty cool the way it turned out, seeing as it's all of about 6 x 10 feet downstairs below the loft. Feels amazingly spacious for a room the size of walk-in closet.

And here is the occupant. She is demonstrating the official facial expression for her teenage years.



But that was just a ruse. She's always got a smile in there somewhere. She's such a good sport.


But we probably haven't seen the last of that look.

So there you have it. Now it's almost time for more home shows to inspire me to new decorating heights. You know, maybe I will film the other room we recently worked on and make you some still frames of that too. I know... you can hardly wait. Woo hoo!

The Proverbs of Carrot Top

I am to be dubbed with a new nickname now, thanks to this evening’s hair color misfire. Carrot top. It’s my new name and it suits me. Oh, it suits me. It is a frighteningly accurate new description, and yet in a bizarre twist I am extremely calm about it at the moment. But it's dark outside and darkness hides a multitude of hair color sins. I'm sure the glow of the morning light and the continuous brightening of the harsh afternoon spotlight will change my calm demeanor. It's permanent color, you know. I didn't pick something that would wash out. I wasn't thinking. I WASN’T THINKING! WHY WASN’T I THINKING?!!! This is my hair we're talking about.

At first, when I applied the color I was feeling good. I was sort of looking forward to being darker, much darker even. I had a little hint of "Mary hair" going there for a bit, with a darkish, hinting-at-the-thought-of-a-semi-reddish quality. All was well. The excitement of new hair and a new me was building. Step two, apply highlights. The little photo shows tender strokes and few of them. I am a direction follower, so I tried that, but I have a creative streak too, and opting for a natural look and a broader stroke, I took liberties. One must be cautious with their liberties. Liberties are not to be slathered around willy nilly. No. These things I know... now. The color lightened ever so quickly and the strands seemed to bleed into the entire top of my head somehow. They promised on the box that this wouldn't happen. I didn't really do THAT many, but I guess the excessive, stubborn gray was playing it's evil tricks and plus I was trying to highlight Casey’s hair in the midst of doing mine (not recommended for best results) before I had finished the back of my own, and I stopped timing, getting all confused about how to time it starting at the end of the application if one is also applicating another’s hair at the same time which adds exponential minutes to the process. And besides, you know how I am with numbers. Enough said. Next thing you know, catching a glimpse of the sudden process acceleration in the mirror, I'm rushing in a panic to the tub to rinse, realizing that much more time has elapsed than my directions indicated would be beneficial. No denying, they were clear on the 15 minute limit. Feeling much like a handful of old Santa Fe in the-summertime-straw now, my hair received a rinse and a continued rinsing and I slathered it overabundantly with gooey conditioner. I was hoping to reinfuse life where the highlighter had sucked it out with a cruel vengeance. I was trying to undo the effects of leaving highlighter on too long as it bleached holes in my hair like a black shirt in a clorox spill. I had visions of looking somewhat in the neighborhood of what’s-her-name who does the Jenny Craig commercials now. The pretty one who got hefty... I can't think of her name and I didn't aspire to look like her size-wise mind you, and esp. not with one of those bulky other-era dresses on; it was her hair, her hair I was after. I was so close, really I think I was within only a few mistakes of really nailing it.

Sort of darkish warm butterscotch golden blond with lighter streaks... It all seemed so simple really. Cough up $18.00 at K-mart and rush home clutching my box of new hair life, a little smile escaping ever-so-quietly from my lips at the thought of how cute my hair would be in just a few short hours. And yet an hour and a half after opening pandora's precious hair box, I have decided to cast myself into seclusion. The escaping smile has been replaced with a wrinkly lipped look and squinty eyes staring hard at the mirror, trying by sheer force of will to see what I had so hoped to see there shining back at me at about this time. But my eyes aren't lying to me like my little box of "black (orange) magic" did from the K-Mart shelf. So it has come to this. I will be banned from human contact for an appointed time, isolated, shunned to live a solitary life until all my hair grows out or falls out. It matters not which. In a bold stroke of "luck?" it happens to be falling out in large wads as of late anyway, perhaps in preparation for this very event. Perhaps I'll grow new hair like that little doll who's arm you used to wind or crank while you pulled the pony tail. It would grow magically. Magic would be welcome.

So what could be worse than being dubbed Carrot Top at the plastic-gloved hand of one’s own ineptitude? Well, I just went to look at the coif now that it is pretty well dried by the fan blowing on me. The ends where I was careful not to apply too much color, they look sort of ashy and bland like the old hair. The orange didn't make it beyond the crown. Woe is me. Now I'm elevated to Carrot Top Supreme, a title reserved for only the worst offenders. It wasn’t quite so bad when I thought my whole head was a carrot, but now I am a freak carrot on top of it all. At this rate I will have to add insult to injury and put my hair in a pony tail to avoid small children's innocent but nevertheless rude comments. And I know Elyse will sigh and shake her head at the sight of me. I can't take the color in a box lecture. I was gonna so rise above that. I have always been a good girl, I have. It was my first offense. I don’t think I can handle the disappointment.

So becoming a hermit for a few months is the only answer. How long can I go without working or seeing people, I wonder. I have to water the yard, but this can be done under the cover of darkness. You know, this follicle fiasco is a testament to why hairdressers say not to color out of a box. But certainly then, they beget the mishap by always pretending to worry about getting color on the ends when they do it, citing a mysterious need to make sure the hair doesn't get too dark there. Hah! That's just to trip us up so we'll fail when we do it ourselves. And then we will be enslaved to their professional touch for life. I'm thinking maybe just for the heck of it I’ll throw Carrot Tops to the wind and try it again. I’ll try it again one day and prove that I can learn, I can master the art, that I too can live nickname free.

The worse thing is that in my haste to clean up and get that colored goo out of here before we stained something with it, I rinsed the bottle out. I could’ve ransacked the trash and done a semi-fix up to make the ends match the top. There was a ton left. But I didn't just throw it away, I was my thorough self and rinsed it down the drain. Gone. The highlighter mixture is as dry as dust now or I'd go back and just bleach the heck out of my head with a bunch more streaks to tone down the orange. Big dummy. All the way around. Just a big dummy. I should have been happy with solid colored hair, flat and plain looking. But no, I was wooed by the “simple two-step color application process.”

Now what? Cruel fate. I just wanted a nice head of hair for heaven's sake. Is that too much to ask in this life? It must be. That's it, it must be just too much. So I ask you, now what? Please advise on solutions for permanent hair color fixes. Someone must have volumes written on what to do when seduced by thebox. I guess I need a tone-down application. I just wish I hadn't thrown my bottle of color away. Boo hoo. I don't even have anyone to go out in my place and buy something to remedy my hair color woes tomorrow. I don't want people gawking at me as I carry yet another box of color through the store with my head glowing copper colored like a duracell battery. Cally will be at work, I'm supposed to be at work, and casey doesn't drive yet. I lament that. When children are really young, the thought of running errands in a car is equated with a road trip to Disney. Once the license takes up residence in their wallet, errands are relegated to a place likened to having to go to work every day at McDonalds wearing a hair net. Worse yet, at Burger King. Time and perspective change things. I am hoping that tomorrow I will awaken with miraculously darker, less "hot" and more evenly colored hair. It was supposed to be warm, not hot, and I assure you it wasn't anything remotely red on the picture on the box. Nothing whatsoever. Nada. I am going to send the company a photo of MY hair to use on the cover of the next batch of this color/highlight two-step combo. If they choose to use it as the "don't photo" with a black bar across my eyes, so be it. I feel that if I can serve humanity in some way, no matter how humbling, I should do my part. And let that be a lesson to us all. Somewhere in here there is a lesson. A turning point. A brilliant orange moment of sheer insight. I'll let you know if one comes to me. Perhaps it would be something like, “The inept should never be left alone with a box of hair color and a dream.” The Proverb of Carrot Top.

As Promised

Despite my misfortune with the $8.99 before tax skirt during laundering, I did manage to get a photo before I annihilated it.





Feast your eyes on this baby...






Please scroll down...









Just a bit more...









Come on, it's worth the effort...









I look so HOT!...











Ta da....













It's my Florida Summer Outfit... in silouette form. Just look at those lines. The form is exquisite, don't you think? Isn't it just gorgeous after all? And really this photo is nothing without the accent of the new brown wall. The brown isn't exactly coming across as it really looks, but what do you expect with a throw away camera? In real life it is a rich brown, and with the textured walls, it looks like leather. I think it's tres chic.



Okay, here's the real thing, but please... this photo can be described as nothing less than dorky. But I said I'd show you and at least it's not as bad as the other one we took. See what I mean that it's not really all that summery? I guess I was confused by all the excitement of having a new skirt, $8.99 before tax.




Cheap shoppers mustn't be too choosey.

Rationalization vs Breakthrough

Word to the wise. Brilliant purchases that make you feel a little high and mighty about your shopping savvy are nothing more than tools meant to catapult you headlong into humility.

Remember my new summer skirt, $8.99 before tax. I washed it (isn’t that what you’re supposed to do after wearing something all day in the summer heat?) It came out of the dryer looking like it cost $8.99 before tax. Unfair! The black background has now been reduced to a mere tonal fraction of its original intensity. It looks like I’ve had it since junior high.

Other than that I don’t have a lot to say about this life of mine. Well, other than the fact that I did have a breakthrough today during church. I realized that there are people who go on vacation for a month+ during the summer. Lots of people. I get bent out of shape with myself if I lay on the couch and read for a while on a Saturday or sunday afternoon. What am I thinking? There are people jet skiing, hiking, boating, lounging, shopping, dining out every day for weeks, reading and doing whatever they please. Of course the month-long vacation set have regular and hefty incomes to support a life of summertime leisure, but heck, I think I deserve some summertime leisure on the grounds that I DON’T have hefty and/or regular income. How about that?

You know, you can pretty much find an excuse for anything if you give yourself the time to think it through. Due to today’s breakthrough (rationalization) you can find me on the couch this afternoon, avoiding discount stores that lure stupid shoppers with $8.99 skirts, and I’ll be enjoying my day of rest. Hope you do too.

My Florida Summer Outfit

and 10 reasons I’m sick of summer:

Okay, I really only have two hardcore reasons. No, make it three... the heat, the thick humid air and those colorful little plastic cups and bowls and stuff they sell at all the discount stores. I can’t explain it, but quietly as I walked through the drug store this evening, with Casey a few aisles over surveying the Almay Eye enhancing makeup again, without warning and for no apparant reason, my eyes unintentionally landed upon the colorful plastic seasonal summer accessories and I became sick of them, sick of summer. Like fingers snapped, and so did I. In a bizarre twist, I recognized it all for what it was, a cheap ploy that had one run too many. I was transformed, there in CVS, into a summer Scrooge. And the thing is, I’ve always loved that stuff, enjoyed it with a fervor like Scrooge’s dog Max would work up over Christmas. They were so festive and sparked thoughts of parties and friends and a fun start to the upcoming months of eternal heat, a reason to think happy thoughts about air so thick it hugs the insides of your nostrils when you try to suck it in, and it all made me forget that soon I’d be driving in an oven on wheels bonded to leather seats by my own sweat. I mean I really do buy in when I walk through Target in say, May or so, and I see all the really cute stuff with fresh retro polka dots, better yet, stripes of pink and green and purple and yellow. But now, just like that, I’ve been jaded. It is as if I blinked a couple of times, opened my eyes and accidentally stumbled into a harsh reality there in the seasonal aisle of the drug store. Like I grew up and lost my youthful innocence with one wrong turn down aisle 12. Oh that I had never walked that aisle. What have I done. Never again will I pour over the bright prints and imagine barbecues and patio furniture decked out with summer trimmings. Why I ever believed, now I’m not sure, as I have never once seen anyone actually deck out their patio with that stuff in summer; come on, it’s too hot to go out there. But I believed... somehow I always believed. It’s like Santa rolled up his sleeve revealing a tattoo on his arm. I just need a minute, really, I’ll be fine.


Maybe I’m just tired of the heat. After all, summer in Florida is like watching the movie, Groundhog Day over and over and over. It’s redundantly redundant. I think I loathe summer. The only thing I am happy about with this summer is the new skirt I have from Ross that I got for $8.99, 10.50 if you count tax, but I don’t count it technically because then it doesn’t sound like as great a deal. Unfortunately I have compulsive tendencies which behoove me to tell you the final price like I’m making up stories if I don’t. So even if I want to tell you it was $8.99, I have to tack on the tax for honesty’s sake. It’s hard being me. But it was a great deal and the fact that I can wear it outside and all over town, even in the car and feel all breezy and cute and summery, oblivious to the usual cares about the sweat greasing up my hair, is a special tribute to it’s allure. But only once a week. I’m limiting myself to once a week... wearing it, I mean. So I’m really only able to enjoy summer on that one day out of each 7. I am really trying to make the most of that day too, going lots of places in my cool “Florida Summery Outfit.” The fact that I in any way feel cute is even more of a tribute to it since the fact that it is summery lends to the idea that I am wearing something that shows legs, arms and back, and none of these body parts has seen the sun in over a year or so. This is equal to, if not more amazing than the fact that I have boldly nixed hairspray from my bathroom countertop. Have I mentioned that my skin isn’t all that perky and summer friendly either? So the whole thing is this huge paradox. I look like crap, like a snowbird in Hawaiian print, but it makes me feel as oblivious and chipper as Elle on “Legally Blonde.” (At this point my girls will be absolutely gagging, mortified that I would in anyway liken myself to Elle from Legally Blonde, saying very matter of factly in that authoritaive tone they use with me, “Mom. No.”) and all of this only testifies to the divine nature and the paradox of “a Florida Summer Outfit”. The halter top I have been wearing with the skirt is another countermeasure to the evils of summer. I got it two years ago for a class reunion, never really wore it again after that. Now I’m wearing it all over the place with the black and white hawaiian print skirt ($8.99 before tax) blending it into what is my “Florida summer look”, what with wearing my flip flops with it and all. That’s one of the very few blessings of Florida and the heat, you can wear flip flops with everything at just about anytime and Stacey and Clinton can’t touch you on that one. Yeah, this is my only “Florida summer look”, so I have to enjoy it. And now I find myself wanting to wear it every where I go. That’s another sign that summer has done a number on someone. They wear the same thing all the time because it’s the only thing they have that matches the weather, their one small attempt at happiness in an oppressively hot and humid world.

But summer has its perks. In case you didn’t know, today was national slurpee day, 7-11, 2005, or at least that’s what I’m calling it. All these years I missed out not knowing this entitled me to a free slurpee, just like life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. How have I missed that all these years?! Once again the public school system failed to teach yet something else about practical daily life. But maybe this is a relatively new trend. Cael called to tell us this news today. Bless him, high school graduates know a thing or two these days, and he knows what really matters to me. Casey and I took off to 7-11 and she was kind enough to go in and ask about it before going off whole hog for a super jumbo slurpee gulp. We made sure we scrounged up enough change just in case our “source” had steered us wrong or this was national-make-a-fool-of-your-mother-and-tell-her-slurpees-are-free day. Well, while she was in there, I should have had her find out the history, the details and whether we can hit them up next year. If so, we have a day-long plan for acquiring free slurpees all over town. We will by then, of course, have mapped out the precise locale of each and every 7-11 within a 25 mile radius and the most direct routes to each. It will be our mission to slurp all over Palm Beach County. Count on it. Okay, they were only giving a sample sized cup, but plenty big enough, like 6, maybe 8 oz. This is a great country! I love 7-11. Well, I love slurpees. I find 7-11 to be an icky place where I don’t want to touch anything, a grungy oasis for small unsupervised children turning slurpee handles at will and sweaty men leaving used napkins on the counter, a place where your flip flops stick to the floor and psychos hang out and try to hitch rides, and the gas pumps either don’t take your card and you have to end up going inside of all things when you only came because of the fast pay gas pump and the cheap price, or else the automatic shut off on the pump decides to go manual on you and 2 or 3 dollars of gas pours out all over your leg, the car and the concrete...but the slurpees, man, you can’t beat em, especially the oranage flavor they had last summer that tasted like those baby asprin we used to sneak and eat like candy when we were kids. Oh thank heaven!

Summer? I’m still over it in general, and in principle. And unfortunately we have about 4 more months to go. If a hurricane hits, you won’t hear from me about it because there will be no power, so I won’t be able to blog. I won’t be able to breathe for that matter. But be assured I will be making noise. I may even hit the highway if I am clever enough to get to the 7-11 pumps and gas up the car in time to get out of our “summerville” and find a cool and happy place to ride out the storm. It’s all theory, sort of like a dream. But dreams do come true, I mean today, while I was wearing my “Florida Summer Oufit”, we got free slurpees didn’t we?

PS: I may have a photo of my florida summer outfit sometime soon. Stay tuned.

Out of The Club

The car a/c isn’t working again. I am not saying this as a complaint, though I am certainly not above complaining about it, as I often do that. However, today I mention this because the non-working a/c was a catalyst to other thoughts as I sat at every red light on my 20 minute drive home sweltering and trying not to sweat profusely and trying to tame my freewheeling hair as it blew every-which-way in the suffocating breeze, poking me in the eye, going up my nose, sticking to my neck and getting in my mouth. You see, due to the a/c situation I have to drive with the windows down. It’s a wild ride when I do that, especially if I have both front windows open and have to cross a busy intersection. At that point, the thick and humid, 90-some degree wind cuts across and past me to get out the other side and completely whips my hair all across my face and around my head in crazy knots, like a cartoon character, making it difficult to maneuver the busy traffic and avoid certain death. I’m steering and brushing hair out of my face and trying to get it behind my ears while I also try to find a free spot in which to merge into traffic, and hair behind the ears is not a particularly attractive look for me either which distracts me yet a bit more. It ranks right up there with having it up in a pony tail. I’m not about pony tails. And for those concerned not only for good hair but also for safety, I’ll tell you it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous for beauty and for safety to drive with the windows down. And really, what’s left after that?

And here’s a news flash... I don’t wear hairspray anymore. It may take a while for this to sink in; the sheer gravity of it is enormous. I have reached the end of my hair care days, I’m pretty sure of it. In a bold and calculated move, I took the hairspray bottle off of the bathroom counter the other day and put it away, out of sight, in the cabinet, in some sort of gesture of closure. No more coiffure couture if there was such a thing. Just like that, one day I was done with it. I’m not sure when it happened, but the shift began some time ago, months ago, yeah, right after the hurricanes last year. Hurricane hair dispels many a hang-up, though I have to say, it’s not all that glamourous to dispel hang-ups. My children and my friends probably wish I’d pull the hairspray bottle back out. (I can tell you this much, Casey told me to do the family a favor and buy some new clothes, but that’s for another blog post) But anyway, one day in a wild hare of a moment, I was liberated from my Jhermack Super Hold Unscented Spritz, maybe never to return. So, now with my standards lowered dramatically, I’m driving and sweating and my hair is everywhere it shouldn’t be and it’s certainly not paying homage to the time I spent on it this morning. So I start thinking about how “devil-may-care” people look driving with the windows down. Guys for sure, and young girls in jeeps mostly, but then, when I thought about it, I realized, that’s probably about it. Young girls in jeeps with long hair can can do whatever they want and they just look cool, in that youthful, “I’ve just been to the beach and I’m salty and sweaty and wind-whipped” way, even if they are on their way to work. I wanted to feel like one of the freewheeling, liberated-hair crowd. I had the windows down in above 90 degree heat for heavens sake. I should get something for that And then I realized that while there was a time that having the windows down was cool for me, those days are over. Just like that I was out of the club. After a certain age, women who drive with the windows down, they aren’t cool, no one believes they are on their way home from the beach. And they are covered, not with salt spray but road construction dust, accented with the scent of diesel fuel and exhaust Their a/c just doesn’t work and frankly, that’s not attractive. All I could do was sit at each red light, and I mean each and every red light on my drive home and scan the traffic for other drivers who’s a/c wasn’t working and mentally bond with them, one in our suffering. I wanted to stick my fist out of the window and yell something profound about our plight, but then it occurred to me that maybe their air works fine and they’re still just trying to be cool, part of the freewheeling club. I wasn't sure, so I suffered in silence.

So what’s to come of this? I can’t even be cool now that I’ve finally given up hair product and have given myself over to the casual and carefree. It’s so not fair. Next thing you know I’ll be going to the grocery store in slippers and curlers. These things have a way of degenerating. Casey tried to describe my hair today after I arrived home from my a/c-less drive home. While gingerly holding a few lifeless strands in her hand, it was as if she was trying to conjure up just the right words for a sorely pathetic situation. All she could finally get out was, in her words, “It just looks... (pause) it just looks... well... bad. (Can you tell Casey is hitting the teen years?) Enough said. Too old to ride with the windows down, too poor to fix the A/C, and hair that no longer plays with the wild wind and comes out laughing. They say that age has its privilege. So when do they send me my senior discount card?

Livin' Free in America

So far within the past week we really feel like we have been living free in America. We’ve gotten free food twice at chick-fil-a with coupons that came in the mail, been to the free movies and we just got a bunch of stuff for free at the new CVS pharmacy on Congress and Northlake today. Casey and I went and browsed the aisles with our hot little hands clutching our free coupons like treasure. I considered it a double whammy because it was like going on a free outing for the afternoon too. Casey was looking for something to do that didn’t involve one of her summer book reports that I keep making her work on, or anything involving cleaning supplies or garbage or recycling chores... or yard work (kid’s these days, go figure), and I wanted her to give the TV a break. So she received the coupon for one free candy item up to $1.00. (Yeah, we know how to live!). I had given Cally the free $5.00 worth of make-up coupon which we took with us on her behalf and got the revolutionary new eye shadow she’s been talking about for over a week. I had given Cael the coupon for a CVS brand item up to $3.00 for free so he could get something he needs for his new apartment. Since he hadn’t used it yet, I took it along with us and got him some laundry detergent. We also had a free greeting card up to $2.00. It was like we were poor people from a third world country walking into a brightly lit store with all it’s glitter and glam, seeing something like that for the first time, seeing all the goodies displayed in their opulence, and us with our free coupons in our hands had our heads in the clouds. It was a regular shopping spree. The free coupons just seem to keep coming in the mailbox...and I’m using ‘em. So we got $11 worth of stuff. It was fun. Yes, free is fun. Now, I’m not saying everything we’ve done lately was free. Oh no. Yesterday, I took Cael to Bed Bath and Beyond to continue our college apartment purchases. Little by little, I’m knocking things off the list to trick myself into not really grasping the enormity of the associated costs, although, like all my lists, this college purchase list is rather long. But, I can say we used either a $5.00 off or a 20% off coupon on each and every item we bought. It was quite a joy. We saved enough to feel good about it despite the fact that we still spent plenty. We’re buying the generic things at Target and such but certain things that we liked at Bed Bath and Beyond were still good deals and then the coupon helped too. You know, if I went through all the neighbors’ recycle boxes, I could probably find a ton of those free CVS coupons and have free summer fun all over again. I guess there are times when being gutless is a good thing. Otherwise there might be a scene.

Of rats and termites

I’m trying to refocus. OK, “focus” would be a better word. I probably shouldn’t get ahead of myself and think I am farther along than I am. One must first focus before they attempt to refocus shouldn’t they? I am at the business of ticking things of my always daunting list, but I have hopes and dreams brewing in the background. Does anyone else find it hard to hope and dream with a list always nagging at them. Usually I feel the need to finish everything chore-like before I get my heart set on something dreamy. But I have decided to take a stab at allowing dreams to simmer while going about the mundane, yet necessary, business of getting life done. It’s a new approach. Now, if dreams simmering are anything like foods simmering while I go off and do other things at dinner time, I may be in trouble. I am not known for an ability to keep things cooking in the background while distracted with chores. But I will take a stab at it.

That’s all, I thought I would be surprisingly brief just so that I am up-to-date with my blog. Nothing worse than a stale blog site when one comes to read hoping for info or entertainment or correspondence or just for something to occupy the moment. I have failed miserably at keeping up, I know. But there are others too (whom I won’t mention by name) who are not all that on top of their own blogs lately either. So off I go to pursue dreams in my mind as I work on the lawn, go to the store, finish the Peru album, make dinner, and on goes the list... the stupid, ever-present list.

Oh and for the record, the number of severed termite wings and bodies that have been present in my kitchen each morning for the past few months seems to be dwindling. I'm thinking that either this means they are dying out (I like to think things like this will just go away if I ignore them) or they have quit coming out because they are too busy feasting on the parts of my house they’ve found to consume. These termites are one of the curses of the ages that I have grown quite tired of. I have dealt with the problem so many times, I really have lost my edge about it. Probably because there are other situations to confront. Like yesterday I noticed a large population of slow moving flies on the screens of my front windows. A perilous sight, since the last time this happened many years ago, it meant dead rats in the attic. Now that I think about it, I did hear some scurrying sounds above me and out my window the other night as I was trying to fall asleep. It was an odd sound I couldn't place, but yup, rat scurrying is just what it sounded like. Anyway, I have as of yet not smelled dead rat in the house (a profoundly distinct smell), although outside the windows where the flies were swarming, there was an icky dead animal smell that was only noticeable when I was in a certain place and tried real hard to find it... and I didn’t want to find it if you know what I mean. But I did look around somewhat hoping something might be laying in the yard nearby that might account for the smell. But no. If it’s anywhere, it’s in the attic. I guess time will tell. I am just not sure how to handle this episode. Dead animals in the yard are almost too much to take, but I have dealt with them so many times I have some sort of experience and ability there (sure chalk that up on my list of talents), but dead things in the attic, forget it. I will, no doubt, pay someone to remedy this evil if a brave masked man in a cape doesn't just happen to show up at my door to rescue me from this grievous peril. Since we know how like that is, I guess I’d best be off to check my bank balance.
So much for my short blog entry.

Learning Something New Everyday, X 2

Yesterday’s chick-fil-a cup, now filled with ice water, is still attached to my hand. It has been there for about an hour now. I had just filled it with ice and water and set it inside by the front door because I was mowing the lawn and knew I would be getting hot and thirsty. But the rain seemed to be getting harder so I decided to pack it in and rake up all the grass laying in thick lengths over the two strips of yard I had finished mowing (it’s been raining every day for almost two weeks and the grass is growing like weeds). I wanted to get the mower into the garage out of the rain, but the only space to fit it in requires that it go in backwards. I was in a hurry as my hair was turning to something sadly pining of hurricane hair and the rain was gaining strength. The mower wheel always catches on the ladder propped up next to where I store it when I try to get it in, and it is expected that I will have to work it around to get it back far enough to close the garage door. Usually I climb over and pull the mower to jostle it in place, but this time I was in a rush so I leaned over and I pushed instead. I wasn’t getting good leverage pushing from on top, so I reached under the motor housing a bit and grabbed good and solid and gave it a sound push when, “aghhhhhh!” I screamed a fantastic scream and quickly separated my forefinger from the fiery metal part of the mower that the directions warn you in large red letters never to touch or you will surely face severe injury or death. Well NOW I was reminded of those directions and without any conscious thought, I shot off running to the front door and submerged my hand in my icy chick fil a cup where my hand has remained ever since, even while i raked up the rest of the grass (yes, I am talented, thank you for noticing). I even managed to keep my hand in the cup during almost my entire shower. I was particularly impressed by this myself. Typing is tricky with only a left hand to hunt and peck with, but I’m a trooper, even while having flashbacks of that day 11 years ago on fourth of july when I learned another lesson about hands and heat and things you should never do. I panicked a bit for a second when I took off running for the ice water, thinking back and hoping I wasn’t gonna relive that part of my life back when I learned my lesson in sparkler physics. Once was enough. But I decided this was a much smaller burn area, so I was gonna treat myself this time no matter how charred my skin. Good to know I am still learning new things every day. In fact I am such an astute student of life that I learned two things today, the other being this morning when I learned that if after flushing the toilet very early in the morning, you go back in later and find the water in the toilet is very low, so low that a sense of foreboding falls upon you like a thick dark cloud, don’t flush it again. Just don’t. No matter how tempting, because even though you may be certain that any clog would surely have dissolved by now, don’t fall for that. Don’t tempt toilet fate. Go for the plunger. Just go. I don’t care if it is all the way at the other end of the house and you don’t think you feel like walking that far and you think you can take your chances rather than make an extra trip for nothing. Plunge first. Flush later. You will be glad you did. Because you probably don’t feel like cleaning the bathroom floor that early in the morning. I can almost guarantee it.

Did I? What? Did I plunge first? Well, no, or what would I have learned. I would have learned nothing. I would have been just another regular unenlightened bozo. I chose instead the path of wisdom, the path of practical knowledge, the path of pee water all over the floor and being late to work, and enjoying the early morning smell of Dow Scrubbing Bubbles and all the exercise I got when after flushing and standing there with my mouth hanging open as the water rose, I suddenly decided to run like a madwoman screaming, “Crap!” “Crap!” “Crap!” hoping to somehow make it all the way around 6 corners at top speed to get the plunger before the water flow spilled like a graceful fountain highlighted by streamers of disintegrating toilet paper, ebbing like a bubbling brook throughout the bathroom. I learned, baby. And I am richer for it. And not only am I a notch smarter now, my bathroom floor is clean too, and so is the toilet. Because you can’t leave pee residue laying around all day. As it was I spent most of the morning after my lesson in learning washing my hands compulsively. Hey, when I learn, I like to make the most of it. How else does anyone ever get these chores done anyway if not for such life lessons. It is beyond me.

So now I find myself flashing back to my time in the emergency room all those years ago, the feeling of the freezing solution they had my hand in as I lay there with a blanket of fear over my heart, imagining the pain I would be going through in the days and weeks to come. I had watched enough TV, and I had read the “It could happen to you” stories in the magazines. I knew the horrors burn victims go through. I also remember the lady in the emergency room on the other side of the curtain with a bug in her ear, shrieking relentlessly for over a half an hour at the top of her lungs and hardly pausing for breath, pleading with them, in a demanding manical way, to get the bug out of her ear now! An unnerving experience in and of itself, even if you aren’t laying there with the fear of imminent torturous pain clawing at your mind. Then all those weeks of holding my hand up to avoid the throbbing, as friends and family mimicked me and my adopted hand posture in jest. Today when I took my hand out of the cup in the shower for a few minutes, there I was, hand up, palm turned inward. It all came back to me, just like riding a bike. I think this time I will just walk around with the cup on my hand for a while instead and try something new. People enjoy having a wide variety of things to make fun of. I think they get bored if you can’t give them something new to work with. Our culture sort of frowns on those who exhibit behavior like walking around with a chick fil a cup attached to their hand, but I don’t know, I don’t have any of that silvadine cream (or whatever it was) or those plastic gloves they had me wear last time for stupid effect. It really hurts like heck still if I take my hand out of the water and now it’s been two hours since my fateful choice to push the burning mower from underneath. So my styrofoam chick fil a cup has become my security cup. It’s gonna be hard to sleep with it full of ice water, but I’ll manage it somehow. When I glom onto a solution, I gotta go with it. It’s like my many rigging scenarios. I make it work, no matter how impractical or how seemingly odd.

So there you have it. I learned two new things today and I didn’t even have to spend a dime at the emergency room. I’m feeling pretty proud. And now I have another story that will go with my other often-told, story-laden warnings to my children. They just “love” it when I tell stories of my mishaps in life every time I warn them about safety of some kind. Oh yeah, they just love it. The well of life lessons is just getting fuller and richer. My wisdom never ceases to amaze them... Well, Cally said she’s surprised I didn’t stick my hand all the way under the mower while it was running and chop my arm off. I suppose one’s life lesson could be construed as another’s stupidity. To each his own. I see only the wisdom grasshopper. I feel the pain of stupidity, yes, but I see the wisdom. (wimper, wimper)

Shrinking Vistas

They have finished, finally! The anxiety of the past few months during which our main sewer line was being repaired is at the place where it is supposed to be a memory. In many ways it is... the roaring backhoe, the workers leaving their trash and destroying my yard and the constant fear over what will be torn up next are in the past and happily so. I had only so many “anxiety years” worth of leeway there. I think I used them all up.

I came home last Friday and happened a glance out the kitchen window on my way by as has become my habit and did a double take. The fence was back and seemed imposingly out of place after months of open devastation and that orange see-through barrier. All the sudden I felt claustrophobic, like my world had shrunk. I didn't remember the fence ever seeming so imposing, so on top of us before but we'd had time to adjust to a fence-free back yard more or less during the course of the work. As we stopped to look we began to get the feeling the fence was indeed closer than it had been. It looked as if one were to take a swing on the ever popular tree swing, they might now hit the fence. Something was not right. Upon further inspection it was confirmed; the fence was replaced about 2 and half feet further into our yard than it had been before. In one day I lost valuable real estate and what feels like an acre of green. It's all the usual blessings and curses of my life. The sewer runs clean and the fence is far superior to the chain link all the neighbors down the line had put back up. It's a wood fence exactly like its predecessor, rustic and pleasing to look at, however, being that it is wood and creates a barrier, now that the barrier is creeping so much closer to the house, the feeling of open green vistas has diminished. The surveyors came and decided where to put the fence all the way down the line in the middle of the easement. My neighbor hadn't wanted the fence so far into the easement originally but said they never asked before replacing it last week. So he has now gained some valuable real-estate and an even more open feeling and unfortunately I feel like the world is closing in. I'll get used to it I'm sure, and we don't actually hit the fence while swinging, but all during the torturous process of the work I calmed myself with the thought that all would be back to normal when they were through. It would all be over one day. It's over all right, and while the sewer runs free, my backyard view will never feel the same.

Ok, time to get over that, I have a video to keep after. I did actually quit going through old tapes and have begun editing. Despite the fact that I haven't got all the music I need, I am working with what I have for now in hopes that I will find a way to get it soon. I did a chunk of editing last night, but a chunk really is a spit in the bucket with all there is to work with. I have over 1200 items of video and photos to work with on this project. Most of the time if I remember a clip to use in a spot it is almost impossible to remember what I named it and find it in the overstocked bin. Luckily I love this stuff and when it comes together I am completely satisfied.

I also have a new photo album job - a trip to Peru. I just want to work on my video though, and yet the checkbook is starving for deposits. I must get to work. Lifelong personal projects feed the soul but drain the wallet. If only it were the other way around.

God is bigger than that

Me and my grad

As Tommy said this morning in his message, "God is bigger than that!" At the beginning of this school year we faced a "mission impossible" in many ways.
After a lot of work and the kind of prayer than only comes from heartache and during tough times, we are able to celebrate a graduation and a whole school year full of incredible things I could have only dreamed of and prayed for at the start. So congratulations Cael and thanks to everyone who encouraged him and prayed for us along the way!

Home in his own bed

They're safely back and exhausted, and only the stories remain to be told. We heard some on the way home, but I had way too many questions, and Cael was so tired and says he never wants to ride in a car or bus again for a long time after all the long bus rides they took in their travels. They had a turbulent flight on the way home and from Cael's telling, everyone screamed when the plane dropped 1000 feet. He didn't journal (he forgot he says), he took only two rolls of film (says he didn't realize he had four disposable cameras) but he says they saw the most beautiful sights (he loved Italy), he spent some time on an incredible mountaintop past the clouds, in the snow (and apparently it began snowing really hard while up they were up there) with very impractical clothing and we got to hear stories of some of the guys late night pranks and how the money situtation went. So if I can catch him for long enough to hear the stories before he forgets amid all that is going on today through graduation and the parties of the weekend, I will pass on all that I am permitted to along with some photos. The guys all grew little scraggly chin beards like shaggy but they will have to shave this morning for their awards ceremony and for graduation. Ah, what an experience.

And They're Off

The adventure begins at Palm Beach International Airport this morning at 10:00.

It looks like Cael is about to board a Spirit plane. Ha! They really flew delta, but upon our arrival and seeing the names of all the airlines on the signs in the drive up to the terminal, Cael remarked something to the effect of how glad he was that he didn't have fly on an airline with a name like Spirit. Funny that he appears here to be doing just that.


Cael gets ticketed and through the line early.






It was a hub of activity at the terminal this morning. Almost 90 students packed and ready for the time of their life in Europe for 10 days.



Lots of friends and fun.

The plane should have taken off by now. The kids are on their way to their first European stop in Germany via New York. Quite a layover there in New York and then a very long flight again after that until they reach Frankfurt. All the hard work of prepping for the journey is over. I can't believe they are finally on their way. What an adenture lies ahead. Makes me want to get on a plane and go somewhere.

Ladies and Gentlemen...

The Junior/Senior Banquet has come and gone. Here is a little recap of our photo shoot beforehand. There's much more, but we'll keep it to this for now.


I wanted more moment shots like this, but it didn't happen. I was really lucky to get this one.


The work of the one, the only, the talented...Elyse. You have no idea what a hit this hair was!


Don't see this everyday!


The ladies of the group.


The gentlemen.

And that's all I have time for at the moment, as now that the banquet is over with, we have moved on to getting Cael ready for the trip to Europe. There's always something to occupy our time. And one of these days I will get started on those graduation videos. Really.