Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Kentucky Fried Chicken

We are worldly and cosmopolitan. We know you are supposed to use that itty bitty fork for shrimp and that sorbet is served to cleanse your palate, not to slather with chocolate sauce. Although we were a LITTLE intimidated by the sheer number of utensils on the table at our first truly formal dinner, we have learned a lot from cruising the last few years.

And what we have learned is that when people hear you are from Kentucky, they think "Kentucky Fried Chicken".

We like sitting at big tables for dinner on a cruise, with a bunch of strangers. We didn't know if we would like it. We are not incredibly social, friendly people, although we have good friends and do socialize some. But we have met the most interesting people. A sweet, young newlywed couple on their honeymoon. A former Vietnam helicopter pilot who mailed us an autographed copy of his book after the cruise. A table of New Yorkers who apparently lost their "r's" somewhere around Houston Street. (Only tourists say Houston like the city in Texas. If you are wordly like us, you say House-ton. Odd but true) We were snorkeling around these people in the turquoise tropical water and snorted with laughter when they kept repeating "Don't snoakle ovah theah. Snoakle ovah heah." Of course, this is at the same time we were saying "How're y'all doin this mawnin?", so I shouldn't judge.

Anyway. It doesn't seem to matter who we meet or where they are from. When we say we are from Kentucky, they invaribly reply with "Oh, Kentucky Fried Chicken!". We met a lovely young couple from Italy in the airport. They could barely speak English. Guess what they said when we told them we were from Kentucky? Nothing about our great basketball team, our smooth bourbon, our fast horses - nope. "Oh, si, Kan-tuck-ee. Kentucky Fried Chicken, si?" Whew.

So, I have decided how I'm going to introduce myself from now on, to anyone from anywhere on any trip we take. "Yes, I am from Kentucky. Great basketball. Smooth bourbon. Fast horses."

Yeah. And I know what the inevitable reply will be.

"Oh, Kentucky. Kentucky Fried Chicken!"

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

The Wesley Waltz

I've always liked to dance. I danced in high school (Let's do the twist, the pony and the swim. Now, don't hurt that hip with the arthritis trying these today.) and in college and even took some modern dance classes as a college student. I danced at parties and discos (Oh, yeah, let's have a shout out for those who remember Stingle's in Chevy Chase and doing the bump!) and loved it. Tom and I still dance ocasionally. We go to parties where there is dancing and we dance when we go on cruises. But we have just recently discovered a new dance.

It's called the Wesley Waltz.

The Wesley Waltz is not hard to do. It does require patience, some dexterity and a grandchild. Or possibly your own child would do. It's best done in the kitchen on the linoleum. Here's the directions, for those of you who want to support me in starting a new dance craze.

The (insert any child's name here in place of Wesley) Wesley Waltz

1. Slide, slide slide your feet. (Slide because you don't want to step on the tupperware, pots, refrigerator magnets or water bottles Wes has scattered on the floor.)

2. Hop, hop, hop when you step on the sharp magnet because you forgot to slide.

3. Jump, jump, jump and grab the baby before he pulls the kitchen chair over.

4. Pirouette and slide the baby into the high chair.

5. Slide, slide, slide to get the cookies for the baby.

6. Do a lean and pick the baby from the high chair, toss him in the air and tickle him all in one smooth move.

7. Dip, dip, dip the baby and kiss his warm, sweet-smelling neck when his head falls back with belly laughs.

8. Slide, slide, slide in to the living room.

9. Flop, flop, flop in the chair. Now, rest.

Tom and I were dancing at a cook-out a couple of summers ago. It was a great location by a beautiful lake house and we were slow dancing on a patio to a romantic country song. I was in my bare feet and he was holding me close. We smiled at each other. The girl who was taking pictures snapped one of us, then leaned forward and whispered "Y'all are the happiest couple here." We smiled again, I leaned my head on his shoulder and he held me a little tighter. At the time, we thought that was a highlight. One of the best dances ever.

That was before we knew about the Wesley Waltz.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Sleepwear at Walmart

Did y'all get the memo that it's now OK to wear your slippers to Walmart? You didn't? Hmm. Neither did I. But, apparently, SEVERAL other people got that memo. Every time I go to Walmart, I see some lady (I use this term loosely) with her bedroom slippers on. Now, these are not, like, slides or thongs, that you could get away with wearing as slippers at home. No, I'm talking about fuzzy slippers that can not be mistaken for anything else. It doesn't seem to matter what season it is, either. I have seen them worn in high, hot summer and icy cold winter. Saw some just the other day.

What's next? Will it become OK to wear your pajamas to the mall? (On second thought, maybe that's not a bad idea. I do love pajamas. OK, get a grip.) Your underwear to the grocery store?

This is an issue that bothers me. It does not bother my husband. He is just waiting for me to tell him it's OK for him to wear his sleeping pants and gray t-shirt when we go out to eat. And that reminds me of another dressing down or barely dressing issue.

What happened to dressing up to go out? To go to the movies, to a restaurant, to the mall, to travel? I'm not talking about jeans. Everyone wears jeans now. I wear jeans now. Although, I do think wearing jeans to a Broadway show is a little tacky, as we witnessed in New York. But there are jeans and there are jeans. There are clean, nicely fitting jeans worn with a pretty top or sweater and cute boots or slides, depending on the season. Then there are dirty jeans that some guy wore to work at the construction site, then sashayed on into O'Charley's to grab a bite to eat. Possibly some road-kill possum.

Do people even put any thought into this? When I go out, I take a shower, do my hair, put on makeup and dress in the outfit I have selected. Apparently, this is just WAY too much effort for some people.

I have seen people at the movies in sloppy sweatpants and a too-big t-shirt and dirty thong sandals. Did you LOOK in the mirror before you left home? You are not watching a move on the DVD player in your living room, you know.

And don't even get me started on how people look when they are travelling now. My mama taught me you always look presentable when you are travelling. You wear something nice that matches. You do not wear torn blue jean shorts. You do not wear old sandals that show your dirty feet. You do not carry your clothes in a brown paper grocery bag. (OK, I haven't actually seen that, but it wouldn't surprise me.)

Maybe it's my age. Maybe everyone dresses more casually now. But I know that's not really it. My daughter and my nieces always dress nicely, even when they are dressing casually. I don't know what it is.

Do you?

Friday, January 26, 2007

Going in the Hall

I've had to go in the hall from a hospital room twice in the last couple of years to cry a little and get control of myself. Both times, my beloved sister-in-law was there to hold me while I cried. Both times, went I went back, things began to get better. My father was bad. He was not going to ever get better. I had to go in the hall to deal with it. But he was not in pain, he was surrounded by loved ones and he slipped away peacefully. My daughter was in premature labor. They were concerned about her and the baby. She had pre-eclampsia and was put on magnesium which is a horrible, wonderful drug that helps but causes almost unendurable symptoms while doing so. I was losing control of my emotions, so I went in the hall. This was my baby, my girl, my blood, my bone, my life. I didn't know Wesley then. He was not the darling boy, the center of our lives, the chuckling, endearing center of our lives. I couldn't worry about him. It was all about my daughter, the baby I had birthed.

My sister-in-law was there. She held me for a while, both times. Then we went back in.

What do people do who have to go back in that room and get even worse news? That they and their loved ones have to endure more unendurable pain. That it will go on for a long time. That they may never get better. That their child may die. And they have nobody to hold them in the hall?

How do they stand it?

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Love And Nicknames

My birthday was last weekend. Strange how birthdays change over the years, along with your priorities. I still like presents and cards (who doesn't?) but my priority is being with my family on my birthday. I just love to see them. My son and daughter have grown up into sweet, caring adults who still enjoy spending time with their parents. And my son-in-law has become such a part of the family that I can't imagine our family without him. Wes got to stay with his godmother since we were doing dinner and a movie and he's not quite ready for an outing that does not allow him to crawl on the floor.

Later in the evening, after everyone had gone home and it was just Tom and me, he gave me my present. My sweet, thoughtful, loving husband had given his pudgy, Weight Watchery wife - a Whitman's sampler.

To give him credit, I have always loved Whitman's Samplers. I LOVE that you can look on the top of the box and see what kind each one is - it's like a prize in every candy. And I did check the points and I can have two for three points. So, I'll just eat two and close the box. I think I can do it. I'm still in my determined dieter phase.

With the box was a card he had obviously spent some time picking out and had signed lovingly. But it wasn't the present or the card or even that he had signed it "I love you with all my heart, baby." that made it special. (Yes, he is pretty fabulous.) It was the fact that the card was addressed to Fran.

Now some of you are puzzled. You are well aware that my name is not Fran. No, it's not. But this is just one of the many, many nicknames my husband has for me. At Christmas time, under the tree, I have lots of presents from him. Each one has a different name on it. My children laugh every year as they hand out the presents labeled with some of these names.

Fran: Somehow, some of Tom's relatives got my name wrong and we were both too polite to correct them. So, I was Fran for a long time.

Bob: My kids called for me when they were sick with very stuffy noses. Mom became Bob.

Darnell: This is a good one. We had a limo driver pick us up at the airport in Seattle when we were on our way to Alaska. He stood there yelling for "Darnell". We looked at each other and said "Darnell? Darnell?" It turned out he was saying my name with a Middle Eastern accent. This was the same driver who drove approximately 204 miles an hour to get to our hotel. I hope he could get those indentations from our fingers out of his seats.

Fuzz: A bad perm. 'Nuff said.

There are actually more that I can't remember at this moment. But he can. He remembers every one. He labels my cards and gifts with different nicknames and calls me by those names with teasing affection. Someone told me once that a child who has a nickname is a child who is well loved.

If that is true, I am extremely well loved. And isn't that wonderful?

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

That's Not Right!

There are a few things worse than never having a snow day off from school. Fires, floods, earthquakes, famines, droughts. Awful things. Many things.

But there is only one thing worse as fas as I am concerned.

And that is taking a shower, putting on makeup, getting dressed, packing a lunch, getting in your car and driving to work. THEN hearing on the radio that there is no school. Sigh.

(I had a post planned for this morning, so you get two-for-one. Yippee!! Enjoy.)

Slowly, Slowly, Slowly

I mistakenly thought I could get away with not wearing my retainers for several nights. I had braces put on my teeth as an adult. I had always hated my crooked teeth so, when I was in my late 40's and we had paid off braces for two kids, I had them put on. The didn't come off until I was 50, but I didn't care. I knew everyone was super-aware of my crooked teeth. In reality, nobody noticed them but me. I had to keep telling people that I got braces because of my crooked teeth. "Really? I never noticed." This is why people get Anorexia. They see a fat person in the mirror, no matter how thin they get. I saw nothing but my crooked teeth. People do notice how straight and white they are now, though. My hairdresser commented on them the other day. Of course, she does like a tip, but...

Anyway. I have to wear retainers every night to keep them straight. I got kind of casual about it just recently. I went one night. Then two. Then several. When I put them back in last night...ow. They kinda hurt. And this morning. Yeah, my teeth were sore. Apparently, as soon as the retainers are forgotten, my teeth make a valiant effort to return to their previously crooked state.

This is not something one could observe. It happens slowly, slowly, slowly. Like your hair turning gray. The leaves changing color on the trees. The years slipping away.

My daughter called last night to tell us Wes took his first steps. I rocked him to sleep when he was a newborn. Wasn't that just recently? I took him to the pool when he was a few months old and dipped him as he smiled. Wasn't that just recently? I watched him learn to smile, sit up, crawl, laugh out loud, eat pancakes and beat a spoon on the tupperware. Wasn't that just recently? He was bald, then he had some blond hair, then his hair was thick and soft, soft, soft when you buried your nose in it.

Time passes slowly, slowly, slowly. But Wes is walking.

And time is going too fast.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Fruit is SO not a dessert

So I am fat. Yeah. Fat. I have more than one roll on my stomach. My thighs rub together when I walk. And I have dimples on my thighs. Cellulite dimples. Don't ya hate those?

When you read those diet help articles in EVERY magazine, most of the women talk about how they have fought their fat for years - like since they were in elementary school. Not me. I was skinny, skinny, skinny for years. I weighed 100 pounds when I went to college. I didn't start getting fat until I was in my late 30's and my bad eating habits and aversion to exercise of any kind which did not involve reading a book in a lazy boy recliner, finally caught up with me. I know everyone overweight struggles with it. I know it's a battle. But I kinda think it's harder for those of us that used to be thin. Effortlessly thin.

So I'm on Weight Watchers. It has worked before. In fact, it works beautifully. Right up to the point I stop being on Weight Watchers and start eating homemade butter cream frosting with a spoon.

But I am serious this time. I am determined. My friend Hazel says I seem determined. I am. I'm tired of being fat. And I had to buy a bigger size in pants!! Uh-uh. No way am I heading up that road.

When you check the Weight Watchers online site, they have menu ideas. I'm trying to use them. They are good, sensible and very helpful. But...they have fruit for dessert. It's like - eat this and this and this - and finish with a tangerine. Huh? That's not dessert. Dessert is chocolate. Dessert is cake and pie and cookies. Dessert is good and sinful and wicked. Dessert is NOT FRUIT. But it should be. And it will be. It will be.

I'm working on it.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Don't Dress Your Six Year Old Like a Skank

Everyone has always been amazed at how much I read. Not just how MANY books (although I can and do jet through them) but how I have the TIME to read. In high school, in college, as a new mother, as a working woman and now as a middle-aged (sigh, yes, only about half a century more to go) woman, people still ask me how I can read so much. A friend loaned me a book she had checked out from the public library, knowing how much I had wanted to read it. She reassured me that there was still a couple of weeks before it was due. I returned it to her two days later. Read. Finished. She walked away, muttering to herself.

So, how do I make time to read? Let me ask you a question. How do you make time to BREATHE??? OK, point taken? I have to read. It's not even an issue up for discussion.

And what am I reading? It depends on the day. I am probably the most eclectic reader you will ever meet. I like any genre, as long as it is a good story. MUST be a good story. (Do movie makers today know what a good story even is? I think they forgot the concept a long time ago.) Good stories are not easy to find. But not impossible.

I recently read "The White Masai", by Corinne Hofmann. I didn't even realize this was a non-fiction book until I picked it up at the library, but it is the true story of a white Swiss woman who travels to Africa on vacation and falls in love with a Masai warrior. They exchange a glance on a ferry and that's it. She leaves everything in her old life behind to be with him and live his unbelievable, incredible life with him. I can't imagine doing some of the things she does from living in a mud hut to cooking over a fire to battling a variety of serious illnesses in the African bush, including malaria. When I went to the Internet to confirm the author, I found that they are making a movie from this book - and there is also a sequel. If you are interested in a fascinating glimpse into a completely different way of life, check this one out.

Now, if you saw a book on the new shelf in the library called "Don't Dress Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank", you would pick it up, wouldn't you? Me too. And so you should. It's hilarious. It's by Celia Rivenbark, who apparently writes a newspaper column and has a couple of other books. It's a slice-of-life kind of book with chapters titled "If It Ain't on Ebay, It Ain't Worth Having" and "Something Stinks and I'm Pretty Sure It's Tonya Harding". She is a Southern writer so there's lots of laugh-out-loud Southern humor.

So, what are YOU reading?

Friday, January 19, 2007

The Accident

I was running late for work. Not super late, just a few minutes off schedule. Enough that when I saw the traffic backed up on the highway, I was foot-tappingly annoyed. What in the world...what is wrong with you people?? I have to get to school! I have technology group kids who will be videotaping their bottoms if I don't get there to supervise the making of the morning news show!

The traffic slowed to a stop and I noticed the traffic on the other side of the four lane had also stopped but there was a big gap in the road, with no cars on it. As I slowed down with the others and glanced over there, I noticed a car off the road. It had plowed into the grassy hill and the doors were hanging open. Then I noticed the woman in the road. She the road. Lying on her stomach. My hand flew to cover my mouth like a drama queen in some cheap horror movie. She had on black pants and a white shirt. Only the white shirt was With reddish streaks. And her black pants were torn across the bottom. They had ripped open and she was exposed to all the people driving by. That seemed the worst thing. Worse than the fact that she was lying in the middle of the road covered in blood. She was moving slightly. She was stirring. She was breathing.

My stomach was rolling. I felt sweaty and nauseated and faint. My hand was still over my mouth. I couldn't look away. A guy was running up the road, talking on his cell phone. Good. Someone was calling for help. It must have just happened. My eyes were drawn back to her. I couldn't look away. Finally, the traffic moved. I drove to school. I met someone in the parking lot and broke down. I couldn't believe they didn't know what I was talking about. They hadn't seen the accident. Hadn't everyone in the world seen it? It was the center of my universe. Surely everyone in the world had seen it. I still felt sick and dizzy.

My friends found out later a baby had died in the wreck. In a carseat in the back seat. They didn't tell me that morning. They knew I couldn't handle it. I never checked to find out what happened to the woman. Couldn't. She was moving. She was stirring. She was breathing. I'm sure she was fine.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Let it Snow

All I want to know is, what the heck happened to snow? You remember snow. That white stuff that used to fall out of the sky, make deep piles and drifts on the ground and the roads and they had to call off school?

We haven't had a snow day off school in TWO YEARS. Two years. That is so depressing. And now we are working on three years. Because there is no snow in the forecast anytime soon. And, even if it does snow, it's not going to pile up because the ground is so warm since we have had unseasonably warm weather.

Is this global warming? The experts are arguing about this tooth and nail, some insisting there is NO SUCH THING and others yelling HOW COME WE HAVEN'T HAD A SNOW DAY IN TWO YEARS? OK, maybe they weren't yelling that, but they should have been.

Snow days are so great. My husband says I just became a teacher so I could have the summers off and because of snow days, but I honestly (honestly!) never even thought of that when I got my teaching degree. It wasn't until we had our first snow day that I began to fully appreciate the career of teaching. Yeah, there is the reward of enlightening the little minds of those tiny people, but there is NOTHING more rewarding than a snow day.

You drag yourself out of bed at 5:00 a.m. in the pitch dark and stagger to the front door and peek out the curtain. Hey, it snowed! looks like a couple of inches! run to the tv and turn it on. No school! Then, you do the happy dance. (Who else remembers Balki's happy dance? From "Perfect Strangers"???) Then, you go back to bed. What could possibly be more fabulous than that? Except, maybe two snow days in a row.

Well, those days are apparently gone. Now we live in the temperate zone of the United States. Colorado is getting all our snow, those greedy, airport-bound jerks. Soon, Florida and California will be underwater from the melting glaciers and the deserts will spread and the snow on Mount Everest will melt.

I don't really care about any of that. I just want a snow day.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

The Ecstasy of a Nap

As mentioned in a previous post, I think napping deserves a blog post of it's very own. So here ya go.

I love naps. I started napping in college. I don't remember ever napping in high school. I don't think I had time for naps back then. I went to school, I went to work, the days passed. I don't remember having a lot of of leisure time, although I'm sure I did. But napping in college. Mmmm. I had fun in college. Lots of fun. This required a great deal of late evening hours. So, a late afternoon nap was not only a luxury, but a requirement.

A good nap has certain criteria. You don't get IN the bed, you lie on top of the freshly made bed. You have an afghan or a light quilt thrown over your legs. You have a fan humming quietly in the background. The room is dark. You have no set time you have to get up. Now. Nap.

As one can relish a fine wine, I have some fine naps I remember. Naps after a day at the pool or the beach are high points. But one of my best naps took place on our cruise to Alaska. It must have been a day at sea, because I remember we had no time constraints, no pressure to be anywhere. I had a little bit of a headache, so we went back to the room so I could take a nap. This was the ultimate cruise where we had the Donald Trump-worthy suite, so we had a whole comfortable sitting area with a couch. Tom parked himself there with his handheld game machine (don't ask ME which one - I read.) and I laid on the bed. Now, this bed was a key component in the ultimate napping experience. It was huge, soft, and covered with a puffy white comforter. It was freshly made (not by ME, this adds to the allure) and smelled clean and nice. When I laid down on it, I sank down like an angel taking a quick nap on a cloud. The room was cool and the fan was humming. Tom had his headphones on so I couldn't hear the bad guys exploding into gore in his game.

And I napped. One of the nicest parts was dozing, opening my eyes to see him playing quietly on the couch, reassuringly there, always there, always loving me, then dozing back to sleep.

It was one of the best naps ever.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Various Scientific Studies

I have a four day work week this week. I love four day work weeks. Four day work weeks are the best thing on earth, besides the smell of my grandson's head. I can get so much done when I have a three day weekend. I can get to all the boring things that NEED to be done like laundry, but I still have that extra, surprise bonus day when I can get to the important things like reading and dozing. And reading and dozing. Is there anything better than a nap in the afternoon when you have no other responsibilities? But that's a subject for another post.

There have been many various scientific studies which show that a four day work week makes employees happier, more productive and creates a much safer work environment. Ok, that's a lie. But it should be true.

Anyway, I did get some reading done. I finished "Motor Mouth", by Janet Evanovich. Do you all know Janet Evanovich and Stephanie, the intrepid bounty hunter with big hair? I knew you did. Well, "Metro Girl" was about new characters, and it's funny and fabulous and I adored Nascar Guy. It was so good, I even got my husband to read it. So I had high, high hopes for "Motor Mouth". high hopes were dashed. It's not nearly as good. And, instead of having one of those SPOILER ALERT warnings, I just won't tell you why it's not as good. But I was disappointed. And a little sad. But then I read the second half and perked up. The second half is much better. And hilarious. The parts about the dog and what they need from him..well, enough said. It's just tasteless enough to be gut-wrenchingly funny.

On a brighter note...OK, not really because this book is a little sad too. But, anyway, on a DIFFERENT note. I also read "Anybody Out There", by Marian Keyes. Have you read Marian Keyes and her books about the five Walsh sisters? You haven't??? Well, get out there right now and get one. You can read them in any order, but it would be best if you start with the one about Rachel - "Rachel's Holiday", which is the first one. Each one is about a different sister in the crazy, dysfunctional but loving Walsh family and they are all great. They are what I consider chick lit with substance. "Anybody Out There" is the one I just finished and it's about Anna. She has been in a very, very bad car wreck which has left her hurt and scarred and she has returned to Ireland and her family to recover, but decides she must go back to New York and her fabulous job at a make-up company to recover and face her life. I can't tell much more without ruining the story for you. Suffice it to say, you may figure out what is going on before it is revealed, but it is still a kick in the stomach. And what more can you ask from a book?

Read it. I'd like to hear what you think.

Monday, January 15, 2007

The Baby Gate

We have a baby gate. We don't actually have our own baby but our delicious, giggly, softest hair in the world grandson is often at our house. So we have a baby gate. It wasn't easy to buy. The space at the top of our wooden, horrifyingly head-knocking stairs if a little boy tumbled down them, is extra wide. I brought home three gates, trying to find one to fit before Tom calmly suggested that I measure the space. Oh. Oh, yeah. I still couldn't find one to fit perfectly, but we found one that has an extension, so it fits perfectly and strongly.

This is important because, although I naively thought Wes would ignore the gate, he hangs on the gate and attempts to, apparently, make a getaway in the prison garbage truck often. And if he hears grandadddy coming up the stairs? He puts his head down and crawls to that gate like he has a jet propelled rocket up his tiny butt. So the strength ended up being important.

We baby-proof when Wes is coming over. Everything comes off the coffee table, chairs block the entrance to the dining room, and his toys are all pulled out. We thought we would take the gate up and down, but it's kind of a pain to put up. So we just leave it up. The drill is when the Wesinator is in the house, the gate door is closed and locked. It's just a habit. So the gate just stays up, with the door open when it's just us.

It's there all the time. We don't really see it anymore. But sometimes when I go through it to go up or down the stairs, I look down. And, in my mind, I see our sweet blonde boy trying to make a getaway.

And I smile.

Friday, January 12, 2007

Breaking the Sound Barrier

It's raining this morning. When I was coming to school, it was pouring and it was as dark as the inside of a sock puppet. What does this mean to me?

1. Drive cautiously.
2. Drive slower than usual.

What does this mean to some other drivers?

1. Drive as fast as you possibly can. Even faster than normal. If it is possible to break the sound barrier with your vehicle, go for it. Bad weather means nothing. Disregard it.

2. Drive as close as possible to the car in the front of you. Do not pass them on the left. Just drive as close as possible. Closer. Closer. I think it's possible to get a hair between the two bumpers. Get closer. And it is most effective if this is done in a truck so your headlights are looming huge, blinding and intimidating in the mirrors.


Thursday, January 11, 2007

All About Me. Isn't Everything?

Mrs. Who is Jan Ross, a Library Media Specialist in Lexington, Kentucky. She tried to remain anonymous at least until retirement in the spring of 2009, thinking that perhaps the parents at her school might not want to know that she is obsessive about wearing matching underwear, but when the local newspaper asked her to blog for them, that idea went out the window, along with any thought of ever using any profanity or talking about underwear on her blogs. Or at least, not as often. She has been writing since she was knee-high to a grasshopper, she also has an opinion about pretty much anything and doesn't mind expressing it, so blogging was just her forte. And she can use words like forte, so, you know. She wants to share her expertise with you. And she doesn't talk about herself in the third person. Much.

Everyone Has A Blog

OK, everyone now has a blog. Well, maybe not everyone. But lots of people. Important people. Like my daughter. I can't possibly let my daughter have a blog when I don't have one!! She always says I am copying her (conveniently forgetting that I was the one BORN FIRST) so, even though I heard about blogs and wikis at technology conferences ages ago, I guess I will have to copy her and start one. But with baby steps. I'm still learning and will make modifications and, hopefully, improvements, as I go along.

The reason for having a blog? Well...there are lots. OK, not lots. But at least one. I have a lot to say. I have a lot of opinions. And I think the least I can do is make this information available to everyone on the Internet so they can become emotionally richer people because of my expansive knowledge. Although I am the first to admit that I don't know EVERYTHING. Lots and lots and lots of stuff, but not everything. But (and here's the important part) I'm a librarian. So I KNOW WHERE YOU CAN FIND IT! Find what? Well...anything. So, if I don't know enough to have an opinion about it (these situations are rare and widely spaced), I know how to find the information about it.

I like to talk and I like to write so this should be the perfect place for me. I will be writing about...pretty much everything. I am an elementary school librarian, a wife, mother, grandmother, sister, daughter, friend, a voracious reader, an avid movie fan, an ardent tv viewer, and a world traveller (with many, many more trips planned). I'm also an overweight baby boomer on a diet and am looking forward to retirement in a couple of years. So, I have lots of things to talk about. I can't guarantee that I will write every day, since it seems my life gets more hectic and jam-packed every day, but I will write often. I admit I do have a bad memory which is rapidly deteriorating into little, charred bits of cinder even as I write, so I may repeat myself. I’ll try not to. But if I do, just shrug and enjoy the marvelous writing about something you have heard before.I hope to hear from some of you. Thanks for reading.

And, now, to give you something to comment on besides my lively introduction, I thought I would include my take on the last new "Bones" episode from a few weeks ago, before the new season begins.

I think David Boreanaz is as hot as a restaurant in Punta Cana in July with no air conditioning. And that’s pretty damn hot. I know. I loved, loved, loved him in “Angel” and often fantasized about what would have happened in his relationship with Buffy if the writers and directors had ONLY LISTENED to me and my wonderful script revisions which only occurred in my head, but hey, they were good!

Now, about the latest episode, “Judas on a Pole”. Wasn’t Ryan O’Neal perfect as Bones’ father? Although, one would think you would recognize your own father even though it HAD been fifteen years and there HAD been some plastic surgery. Still. Suspend your disbelief and just enjoy the moment. So, he’s a bad guy but really a good guy because he murdered the even badder guys who were after his kids. And in a pretty awful manner. Wouldn’t those intestines have burned up with the rest of the body? One would think so. But it did make a dramatic moment when Bones picked them up and they rolled around like a fat snake. So, I guess he and her brother are out of the picture for now. Do you think Booth suspected her brother knew? Is that why he had coffee with him at the diner? Hmmm. OK, on to the love/sex/magnetism between Booth and Bones. Don’t you think there was a lot of physical stuff in this episode? I’m not just talking about the hugs – although that was cool when she automatically turned to him and buried her face in his shoulder – I’m talking about the grabbing every time he wanted her to go with him and when she smacked his hands? Was that sexy or what? OK, I have to get my gratification in other ways since he obviously is not going to throw her down on the autopsy table anytime soon. But the slapping – I know I’m showing my age, but does anyone else remember the slapping on “Moonlighting” between David and Maddy? She slaps him, he slaps her back (she DOES deserve it), she starts to slap him, he grabs her hand, the music builds and they get horizontal. Extremely sexy. Although I could write a whole blog on how that show was ruined when Cybil Shepherd got her panties in a knot because Bruce Willis was becoming a bigger star than her. Anyway, the slapping. Did anyone else think that was sexy??
And, speaking of sexy, how do you think Cam feels about Booth? I’m thinking she likes him a whole lot more than he likes her. Did you see how she straightened his jacket in that one scene. Definitely the action of a woman who LIKES a guy, not just wants him in her bed. What do you think?

About this or anything else? Let me hear from ya!

Monday, January 1, 2007

Mrs. Who's White Elephant Blog Giveaway Information

Mrs. Who's White Elephant Blog Giveaway

White Elephant: Something of dubious or limited value (value being in the eye of the beholder)

This is a blog giveaway of all the fabulously cute things I find at second-hand stores that I love but simply can't fit into my home for one reason or another. Because, you know. One man's trash is another man's cute little candle holder shaped like a daschund. Or something like that.

Every Monday I will host the White Elephant Blog Giveaway and will have something interesting to give away. Something I think is interesting anyway. Maybe you won't think it is interesting at all. So I will just take my fabulous plate with the raised image of the Statue of Liberty and keep it all to myself.

My preeeecioussssss.

OK. You know I don't actually have that candle holder or plate, right? Because those were just EXAMPLES. The stuff I have is much more fabulous than that. So. I will post pictures and a description and, if you want to have the fabulousness of this item in your very own home, you will need to make a comment.

You can comment on the wonderfulness that is me or you can say something like "I want that." Either is fine. Just comment. Then I will take the three ten one hundred many, many comments and randomly choose the lucky winner. We may end up with just three comments from my family members and that's fine. Saves me shipping costs. I can just hand it to them.

I will give everyone until Friday night to comment. Then I will email you for information and ship your package. If you do not have a blog link in your comment, you will need to leave an email address so I can contact you. Are you ready? The excitement is palpable.

Remember to check back every Monday. You just never know what you might find that you, quite simply, can't live without.

List of Blog Giveaways

Dessert Dishes - Wednesday, February 13

Tiny Owls - Monday, February 18