05 November 2009

I love my dotters' senses of humor

I gotta tell you - they can be hell-arious at times.

Case and point: This morning, as I was nose-deep in correspondence and writing - as I am wont to be (you're welcome Danna & Peanut - they cringe when I use the word "wont") - Jo walked up to my vacant, breathing, typing corpse. She was already late in leaving, so, as the good mother I am, I had already dismissed her presence in my working mind. (Jo out the door - check! Jack getting up and dressed - check!)

Let me be as clear as our President - I had already fed, watered and dressed her (not literally 'me' as she is almost 12, but oversaw the project like any good supervisor), ensured her backpack was tidy and packed her a healthy, peanut butter-laden lunch... and was merely anticipating the screen door hitting her arse on her way out.

Being fully engrossed in my works, I barely noticed she was talking until I heard her voice over the "crowd noise" of my life - and much like a hiker emerging from the mist, my mind broke through the haze of thought (although it took a moment to register she was speaking... and another moment to register she was speaking to me... and yet another moment to register what words she was speaking):

"So, what'dya think?"
"Good idea?"
...pause, then mumble...
"All righty, then... Glad we had this talk."

Cracked me up.
So, of course I immediately made a note to blog about it today.  She rolled her eyes (with a huge smile - or was that a smirk? - on her face) as she opened the door, leading Devil Spawn (our neighbor - keep up, people) out, chuckled and said:
"Oh, great! Now she's gonna blog about THIS!"


Love my kids. All of them. You have NO idea. (...and I just realized I have no idea what she was trying to tell me. I wonder if it was important. hrm...)

In Joy & Enjoy

29 August 2009

Iron "Old" Maiden

I have to laugh. I'm what? Nearing my 50s?

I spotted an Iron Maiden something-or-other the other day, can't really remember now, but it's not important to this story, really.

I asked, recalling the warnings from "adults" in my younger years, "Aren't they like Satan-Worship Death Metal?"

I spent the next two or so hours in an animated discussion about Iron Maiden ~ words laced and emphasized with samples of their music, and reading of their lyrics. What a wonderful, intelligent and passionate discourse.
Who knew in my late 40s I'd be introduced to some decent, mature metal music which tended to be actually quite pleasant to listen, and whose lyrics are intelligent historical prose?

Submitted for your approval:
Some of the lyrics of Iron Maiden's Alexander the Great:

"Near to the east
In a part of Ancient Greece
In an ancient land called Macedonia
Was born a son
To Philip of Macedon
The legend his name was Alexander

"At the age of nineteen
He became the Macedon king
And he swore to free all of Asia minor
By the Aegean Sea
In 334 b.c.
He utterly beat the armies of Persia

"Alexander the Great
His name struck fear into hearts of men
Alexander the Great
Became a legend mongst mortal men..."


Heh! History lesson with a back-beat. What can be better than that?

See if you recognize these words:

"...day after day, day after day,
We stuck nor breath nor motion
As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean
Water, water everywhere and
All the boards did shrink
Water, water everywhere nor any drop to drink.

"There calls the mariner
There comes a ship over the line
But how can she sail with no wind in her sails and no tide..."

(Iron Maiden, Rime of the Ancient Mariner)

Just goes to show you, you're never to old to learn, or to have your eyes opened when you least expect it.

You may remember, as I did, there was some controversy:

But what I find is truly amazing/exceptional. No, really. Do you want to know?

Yeah... it's the same guy. Go figure. Beautiful voice!

And to think I don't recall ever hearing a note of these guys when I was young. Only now am I experiencing all types, sounds and walks of music (and life) thanks to my newly-found freedom to experience everything life has to offer with passion.

Age - just a two digit number once you pass your 9th year.
Music - the language which transcends all, no matter what your two digit number is.

I so enjoy worthwhile debates, even with strangers. I feel we don't get enough of that in life as rarely do we find intellectual equals with which to share our ideas and beliefs with that kind of passion. No matter how old we grow.

In Joy & Enjoy

04 April 2009

It's time for you to go.

We're going to play a little game, peep-hole. We've been down this road before, but it seems to me we need a refresher course.

Read this phrase:

"It's time for you to go."

Did you read it?
Question is, how did you read it?

Picture a mother, lost in thought. She looks up at the clock and sees the time. "Oh my! How late it is! William! It's time for you to go. You're gonna miss the bus again."

Picture a young wife, stomach bursting with a child inside, standing beside her young husband in uniform. She looks over his shoulder and sees his company filing single file onto the waiting bus.
"William," she says. "We'll be all right, don't you worry. I'll send word when the baby comes. I have so much I want to say... so much more to tell you, but... it's time for you to go. I love you, William." She fights off the urge to cry, blinks away the oncoming tears and kisses him good-bye, knowing it may be the last kiss between them. "Be safe," she says.

Picture a woman in ragged clothing on her knees, washing down the worn floor with a soiled cloth. She brushes her loose, greasy-with-sweat bangs from her eyes and sighs deeply. She eyes the bloodstain she's been straining to clean, and starts scrubbing once more. She speaks to the floor with labored and deliberate speech, one word per scrub: "You are the only evidence left of William; that no-good, beatin,' cheatin' bastard... You've put up quite a fight... but now, dear blood, it's time for you to go."

Picture an older, affluent woman with her hand on her opulent hip. Her other hand is on the front door knob. The door is wide open. The stately, refined woman is clearly ticked. Facing her is a young man holding pictures of her husband in a compromising position with, what the man states, is his young wife, Monica.
The man smiles and says, "We're both reasonable adults here. Clearly you wouldn't want your husband's good name tarnished, would you? Not with the upcoming election. What do you think his constituents would say if they saw these pictures, say, on the front page of tomorrow's Times? I believe, Mrs. Clinton, we could come to some sort of financial agreement..."
"It's time for you to go," she says.

Picture a man, standing in his wife's closet among her designer dresses and expensive pumps. In one shaking hand he holds a love letter to her from his best friend. In the other, a gun. His wife stands behind him, her face riddled with guilt, shame, fear and defiance. Without turning to face her, he says, defeated, "I think... it's time for you to go."
She steps forward, hand out and says, "But, William... please... let me expl..."

Picture a woman seated in a chair beside a hospital bed. She's on death watch. She looks at her brother's badly beaten face, and the tubes and wires keeping him tied to this world. "Oh, William," she says to the comatose man. "Who did this to you?"
"I'm really, truly sorry, Miss. But..."
She looks up to see the young nurse standing in her brother's hospital room doorway.
"What?" she asks.
"Visiting hour is over, Miss. It's time for you to go."

I've said it before and I'll say it again. The tone you put to a written word when you read it is your choice and your choice alone. You bring in your own perceptions, your ideals, your prejudices... and you decide what I'm saying by how you choose me to be saying it. You decide what I'm saying by judging me... by coming to your own conclusions - without any real evidence - of who I am and what I meant by that.
I'm kinda like your puppet in a way. If you want to laugh, my words will make you chuckle. But, if you wanna be angry, my words will make you mad.

More's the pity.

But, now... it's time for me to go... fix dinner.
Thanks for playing.

And remember: There are no losers in the game of life - but that's okay because there aren't any clear winners, either. Get over yourself. Stop keeping a score card. Who cares?

In Joy & Enjoy

13 March 2009

I love it when a plan…

…..“Did you guys see th...?” I turned back to see I was standing alone in Blue’s front yard. I looked again at the sky above Grandfather’s ranch and saw nothing out of the ordinary. The snow fell silently. Except for the trail of white behind my eyelids when I closed my eyes, like an imprint of a camera flash, I would have never believed I saw anything. I ran toward Grandfather’s home.
…..I got almost completely through the field when I spotted Grandfather’s prize bull lying on the ground next to the water trough. Steam rose from its body. A strange chemical-type smell surrounded the still body of the bull.
…..“Nebesiibehe!!” I screamed through the silence. “Nebesiibehe!! Come quick! I think the bull got shocked.”
…..“What is it, Hono’ie Neeceeebi?” Grandfather emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a towel. He saw me standing next to the bull and came running toward me. He knelt down in the snow next to the bull.
…..“I haven’t seen anything like this since the summer of 1976.”
…..“Like what, Nebesiibehe?”
…..“See, here. Look where the bull is. There are no tracks, no prints leading up to this carcass. Except yours and mine. But the snow has... has poofed... yes, good word, poofed up like the bull was dropped from height of maybe two... three feet in the air. And, see, here, where the parts of bull have been surgically cut away... almost burnt, cauterized. No blood. No blood anywhere. And, he’s missing his eyes. And, his eyelashes...”
…..The white snow all around showed no signs of blood anywhere, not even under the animal. A shiver ran up my spine and I took a step back. The smell rising from the dead animal made me gag.
…..Grandfather took his Leatherman tool from his belt and opened the knife blade. He plunged it in and out of the bull’s neck easily, but no blood spilled from the wound.
…..“What does that mean, Nebesiibehe?” My hand still covered my mouth.
…..Grandfather stood up and looked into the sky, as if searching…

That was an excerpt from my chapter book, The Elementary Adventures of Buck. Want to hear more? Buy the book! hehehe (Now available at a store near you - or you can click on the Target.com link on the left of this page.) That was easy.

Now, if you find that just too out-there… read this:


(If you’re lazy, like me - It's a newspaper article from the Pueblo Chieftan dated 10 March 2009, and it starts out by saying:
TRINIDAD - A cattle rancher made a horrific and mysterious discovery Sunday when he found the carcass of one of his cattle that was missing its udders and other female parts…
...plus a lot more.)

Enjoy & In Joy

p(m)s. Hey - read my book! (please and thank you!)

28 February 2009

Caterpillar or Butterfly?

(Sandstardate 10912.01)

Jo's at that age where she's two different people; one on the inside, the other on the out.

If you're a mother of a daughter, or even a woman without, you know of what I speak.

I see the little girl in her ~ I notice the woman trying to emerge.  It's both heartbreaking and amazing at the same time.

The other day she was taking a bath and she yelled at me to "Mawwwm, come here." So, I did. She was sitting in a tub full of bubbles to her eyebrows and looked very much like a young woman. She handed me some tin cooking toys her dad had given them a bit ago. (Cooking toys = pots, pans, utensils, etc., all made out of flimsy tin... from China, no doubt.) The girls had been playing with the toys in the bath and they (the toys, not the girls) had rusted in the cupboard since.

"Take these away and toss them, please," she said.  "They're gross. And there's more in here (indicated cupboard), but one has a spider web on it and I don't want to touch it."

I picked up the rusted toys and took them to the kitchen to dispose of.  I came back for more. As I was gathering up the plastic coffee maker with carafe, she reached out her had and softly (and a tad embarrassed)  said, "No, not that one. I'm playing with that."

My little girl who still plays with children's toys in the bath may look like she's ready for womanhood, but every real mother knows ~ no matter how many clueless guys say she's hawt or that they'd like to teach her a thing or two about being a "real woman" ~ she's still just a caterpillar trying to emerge from her chrysalis into the butterfly she will someday become.

But not too soon.

Because, as you know, if that butterfly is forced or helped she'll never truly learn to fly.

Life isn't about sex. Nor is it about hawtness.
I can't wait for the day we evolve (if we ever do evolve) into thinking, caring, loving beings who have more on our minds than sex with underage or hawt young girls. *sigh

I see a young child trying to mature. Men see something in which to stick their body part to "help" her mature, forgetting all creatures have sex and choices set us apart from the other animals.

I wonder... do men ever mature? I hear all the time (mostly from men) about how it's nature's way for men to seek out the best uterus for their seed ~ the youngest, most desirable virgin they can find.
I have news for you ~ it's also nature's way to poop when you gotta ~ but some mommas successfully taught their big boys to not poop their pants. Maybe these same big boys who've stopped messing themselves can learn to keep their tongues in their mouths, hands to their sides, penises in their pants... and their Neanderthal thoughts to themselves long enough to evolve... or at least long enough to see that child they're drooling over is still just a child, and not a prime vessel for their seed... and she still plays innocently with children's toys in the bathtub.

In Joy & Enjoy

02 January 2009

glass ceilings and other explainable myths

Did I mention over the summer, while the kiddos were with their dad I switched rooms with them? I gave them the Master bedroom, not because they mastered anything - but because it’s bigger, and since there are two of them and only one of me…

Anyway, I tell you that to tell you this:

Every night when I turn off my lights and ponder the day, I am blanketed by a milky-way of stars shining above me, as if - much like most women :o) - I’m trapped beneath a glass ceiling. It is beautiful to say the least…

No mystery, here, though.
A couple of years ago, my eldest, Danna, sent Jo and Jack glow-in-the-dark stars for Christmas - to place upon their walls and ceiling.
We did just that.
And when I moved all their other belong-ings to their new room, I forgot about the daytime visibly-invisible stars.

And now as I lay me down to sleep… I am blessed by stars from my eldest.
(Thank you, Danna. I’m going to have to find some replacements for the girlies’ new ceiling. This is too cool to keep all to myself. Besides, the stars were theirs first.)

Stars’ Light…
Stars Bright…
First Stars I see tonight…
I wish I may…
I wish I might…
Have all your wishes come true tonight.

Enjoy & In Joy

01 January 2009

From SkyLine Drive

(this one's for all of you - but mostly for Peaches - and she knows why)
Jack & Jo wish you a great year from SkyLine Drive (they miss their sisters almost as much as I do).

pass the popcorn, please!