Toni's Tales and Travails

Duran Duran

2011-05-18T13:46:00.000-07:00

You had to know this post was coming.

I could wax on forever about the meaning Duran Duran has in my life. A few will understand, some will laugh, and most will not understand.

Here's a brief background. In 6th grade, Doria Fan introduced me to The Fab Five. Doria was this cool, Asian chick who had a big sister with a life and access to music. I want to say that all it took was Doria wearing a Duran Duran button in Mr. Hough's class that was enough to get the ball rolling in my pop music head. I've never been the same.

Yeah, so the boys of Birmingham look good. I'll agree that's what initially hooked me. During my formative, horny teen years, I collected dozens of Bop, Teen Beat, and Japanese glossy magazines filled with articles and pics of John, Nick, Simon, Roger, and Andy. John Taylor's looks cemented the type of man I will forever be drawn to; square jaw, high cheekbones. Some of this reckless spending on teen fluff paid off. Recently, I sold a $5.95 collecter's edition book for over $50 on eBay.

Here's the kicker and something so many people like to dismiss; Duran's music. This band is more than pretty faces. They are musicians.

Over the last 30 years (the single Planet Earth was released in February 1981) Duran has crafted some serious beauty . If you go back and listen to The Chauffeur, or Friends of Mine, they still sound relevant and fresh. And the guys wrote this stuff when the oldest member was 20.    While there is something slightly adolescent about songs filled with girls, one-night-stands and animals running through a rainforest (Rio, Save a Prayer, Hungry Like the Woof),    Simon's lyrics are pure poetry. John plays a wicked loss bass with grooves that are disco-like and ethereal, and I believe Nick Rhodes is an absolute magician on synthesizers. To me, he is the heart of the band.

I had many years where I wasn't a faithful follower as things like newborns and jobs ocupied my every waking thought. And I will also tell you this; there have been some albums that were awful. Unfortunately, like anyone or anything getting older, the band tried to stay relevant and hook a new audience. That doesn't work when you completely change your initial sound and the new audience is wanting a pop star Justin Bieber's age.

This past March, a winner emerged from the band. After teaming up with famed producer Mark Ronson, Duran release All You Need Is Now. The album is a return to their roots, with catchy hooks, soaring choruses, and old-school Simon Le Bon layered vocals. I loved it immediately. I found tickets to a London show and with Scot's blessing, started planning an England trip.

When I told people we were going to London to see Duran Duran, many tried to dampen my enthusiasm.

"London, great! But for Duran Duran? 'giggle, giggle' Wait, you're serious? "

I get the dismissal, and then I don't.   I liken it to the supermodel suspected of not having brains. In other words, just because they look good doesn't mean they don't sound good. Have they listened to their new stuff? Maybe these people just don't like the band. To each his own.

But to make fun of me is to take away part of my history. It's been with me since I was 11 years old. I simply adore Duran Duran, their music and the special place it's had in my life. My own mother thinks the whole shebang with going to London to see them is crazy. She's actually asked me if " I'm going to get over it" and told Scot she" feel sorry for him." Good Lord! I'm so misunderstood. I don't want to shag the boys (much) and aren't about to leave my happy home to be a groupie. I just feel blessed to be able to recapture a beloved part of my youth and carry it with me into my 40's.

P.S. The tour was supposed to kick-off on Monday. The first two dates have been postponed as Simon Le Bon has laryngitis. Drat! Rats! Crap! We are still going, cancelled show or not.

Shout outs!

2011-05-17T13:03:00.000-07:00

Two special things today.

First, a very Happy Birthday to my best girl friend, Joelle. She's in the last year of her 3, er 20's. Joelle is my Irish Twin. We were born to different mothers, but really were separated at birth. We are different, but co-exist beautifully. She walks slowly, I mow down people. She captures life with her camera, I miss the beauty cause I'm so busy looking for the next big thing. Joelle helps me to savor simple moments. I've known her my entire life. She is in every way, but blood, my sister.

My dear friend Dana and I go waaay back. We met in elementary school and slept at each other's homes more than our own during middle school. I adore Dana. She is hysterical, talented, multi-dimensional, irreplaceable, irreverent, sweet. Dana started a business making hair bows and clips, and has moved on to making gorgeous, personalized towels. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. She also makes fancy dinner foods like flambeed bananas and roasted, wilted leeks. Or something equally impressive. She is the Martha Stewart you WANT to hang out with. Dana has a new blog, listed below as www.mydamselinadress.blogspot.com

Love to my girls. And love to my readers.

MIA

2011-05-16T14:47:00.000-07:00

A Facebook friend asked where I have been lately. As in, "why the heck aren't you posting your usual cheesy status updates every 20 minutes?"

How do I tell her that I've been cleansing my soul? How do I tell her that I've jumped off the freight train of adulthood and have been riding the kiddy carousel for the last five months?

In August, I begin my respiratory therapy program. It will be 20 hours of school and clinical rotations a week, beginning every day at 7 a.m. It doesn't sound like much, but it's a scheduling hardship with two kids that don't begin their school day till 9 a.m. and a husband that has to leave the house at 7:30. It's the beginning of a different kind of stress. It will be rewarding, but deeply challenging for me. I have never started the day without my children, let alone leaving the house at 6:15 in the morning.

I've been hemming pants, planning a London trip, mowing the lawn, and baking banana bread. It's the final phase of being a stay-at-home mom, and I'm milking the opportunity for all it's worth. I volunteer at the kids' school, ride bikes with them to school, and spend 2 hours a day, twice a week, hiking. Truly, it's a deleriously-rich way to spend time.

Pleasurable, almost stress-free days do have a way of making my existence almost hedonistic. I've read every Duran Duran tour review, and condition my hair quite frequently. But those small indulgences have taken me back to a place I haven't visited in so long; my childhood.

I haven't felt the need to vent or share my joy. I haven't been reading, and writing seems almost laborious to me. It's been a deeply personal time. When I go to bed at night, I pluck the latest Sudoku or word game magazine from the nightstand, and settle in for an episode of Dexter. This all will change. Soon enough I will plaster my Facebook wall with rants, raves, and small victories. I will be writing papers for school, and reading about the biochemics of respiration.

But right now I have to go pick up the kids. And think about how the hell I've collected 6 tubes of mascara in such a short stretch of time.

Thankful for...a peaceful holiday season

2010-11-25T12:08:00.000-08:00

my dad made this nativity creche in the seminary

Last year, the holidays were hard. Almost unbearable. I remember driving through my favorite shopping center with Chrismas lights, music, and decorations, and furtively fighting back tears. It sucked. I hated being depressed and did my best to rise above it. But when I would least expect it, grief would take hold and ruin the moment.

I'm ready to party this year. My family and friends are healthy. We are all gainfully employed. My loved ones are all in a good place.

The tree is up already. The lights are on. I am almost finished with my shopping.

BRING IT ON!

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my friends!

Thankful for.. BBQ chicken sandwich, spicy beans, and the whole darn day

2010-11-23T20:14:00.000-08:00

Some fine grub to be had here- "mmhmmph" (voice a la Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade)

Sometimes a day goes so perfectly. It's always the unplanned ones that are the ones you remember forever. Today was one of those.

- mocha peppermint Coffee Mate
-2 children who woke healthy and went to school
-a run with Coldplay
-warm shower
-lunch with brother Tim, SIL Cindy, mom, and Scot at The Barbeque Co.
-DSW shoe store
-Steinmart
-beers with the family
-a friend giving me a wonderful furniture hand-me-down :)
- chilly sleeping weather with a down duvet

Thankful for... my husband

2010-11-22T07:25:00.000-08:00

Yes I understand that every life must end, aw huh,..
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, aw huh,..
I’m a lucky man to count on both hands
The ones I love,..
Some folks just have one,
Others they got none, aw huh,..
Stay with me,..
Let’s just breathe.
Practiced are my sins,
Never gonna let me win, aw huh,..
Under everything, just another human being, aw huh,..
Yeah, I don’t wanna hurt, there’s so much in this world
To make me bleed.
Stay with me,..
You’re all I see.
Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t now I’m a fool you see,..
No one knows this more than me.
As I come clean.
I wonder everyday
as I look upon your face, aw huh,..
Everything you gave
And nothing you would take, aw huh,..
Nothing you would take,..
Everything you gave.
Did I say that I need you?
Oh, Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t now I’m a fool you see,..
No one know this more than me.
As I come clean.
Nothing you would take,..
everything you gave.
Hold me till I die,..
Meet you on the other side.

I was driving to a hair appointment the other day when this song came on the radio. I had heard it before and liked the tune.
I parked the car, and listened to the words. What a beautiful song.

Today, and always, I am thankful for my husband. He spent the entire weekend doing my dirty work. On Saturday he spent two hours putting lights on the Christmas tree. Yesterday he decorated the back fence, and strung-up lights in the front trees. I'm sure that's not he imagined spending his weekend, but a trip to Bangkok was out of the question.

He does no taking, only giving.

Thankful for.... time, and a slow head

2010-11-21T14:07:00.000-08:00

Davy Crocket and Mary

Verbally,    I cope with turmoil inappropriately. I don't think, I just say it.    My vocal audit button gets stuck. I cry, scream, and let the F-word fly. Just last week in Macy's I flipped out when I wasn't serviced to my satisfaction. This impetuousness had led to many hurt feelings and embarrassment.

I can't write when I am upset. The words seen to fall out of my brain and swirl around my feet like leaves in a storm. I can't catch them, and if I were to, I wouldn't know what to do with them. This is probably a protective mechanism that stems from the greatest lesson my dad ever taught me; never put anything in writing that will come back to haunt you.

So, I'm sorry I dropped a juicy romance bomb on you all and then vacated. At the time, I didn't know what I could properly share with you, or even how to put it in words. But it's really for the best that my mind works this way.

After my last post, my mother informed me that she loved David. She also announced that David Carpe Diem would be coming to live with her for the winter. This announcement came on day 5 of my mom's trip to the North Woods. In the form of an email. HUH?

I had a meltdown. It was mental, and verbal. In written form, it went something like this:

This man, this man I had never met would be hanging his hat in the closet where my dad's sweaters still sit on the shelf. This man, this man I had never met, would be sitting in his jammies watching the 58 inch TV my dad bought and never got a chance to enjoy.   This man, this man I had never met, had so quickly worked his way into my mother's heart. I didn't know him, he didn't know me. WTF?

The same person who had set-up her mother on Match.Com was now fuming because she had gone and found love. How fair was that? But lines get blurred when your best friend is your mother, and yet you will forever feel like her eight-year-old child. For so many reasons, this announcement was threatening to me. Was my mom abandoning me, sacrificing our time together, and forgetting the memory of my father? And how did all this happen in five days? Did five days instantly diminish the meaning and depth of forty years with my father? For the next day, I wallowed in my own little pity party, waiting for my mother to return to Arizona and some form of reason.

David will still be coming out to stay for the winter. But he won't be a complete stranger. One of my Peace Treaty Rules is that Davy Jones( it's what I call him) come out to meet the family before he moves in; it seemed like an acceptable demand. He is coming out next week. I'm opening my heart and head to this man but will be watching him like a hawk. If he's quick to use my mom's money and heart, I'll just as quickly substitute Bernice's Alpo next month. If ya catch my drift...

Time home ( and the telephone )has brought my mother and me the clarity and rationality that seemed to be strangled in red wine, and warm blankets in Wisconsin.   My mom is still my shopping partner, and she still holds a place in her heart for my father.    My mom talks to David every day, and they sound very sweet and loving on their phone calls. They are getting to know each other, better. They are sharing histories, likes, dislikes. It is a reverse courtship of sorts, and I am overjoyed to be a witness to it. I am ecstatic that my mother is happy.

Today, I'm grateful for time, and my inablitly to write in times of stress. Things have unfolded rather nicely around here. I would have hated to have to issue a retraction for something I wrote prematurely. I do enough apologizing for my sailor's mouth.

Please read Jen's blog, and Liz's, too. They are my blogger buddies, and have lots they are thankful for, too. ->

Seize the Day (and the stranger)

2010-11-04T19:43:00.000-07:00

My mother met a man. Last week. Online. Half the year he lives in the house he built with his own hands, on a lake in Wisconsin. The other half of the year he lives with his son, here in Phoenix. That's how he found my mother.

Harry bikes. And travels. He's fit. We is a widower. And 73. His profile on Match.com says "Carpe Diem". Coincidentally, my mom's profile says "Carpe Diem". In the space of a week, they emailed a couple of times and spoke on the phone for an hour. That's all any of us (my mother included) knew about Harry.

On Wednesday, my mom left the house, without intending to return for five days. She took 2 airplanes, and a one-hour car trip. To get to Harry, and his house in the middle of nowhere. She did this after talking to this man for one hour. Without knowing his political leanings, education, or prior employment. We, her family and friends, were freaked! In the space of a day, two of us ran background checks on strange Harry.

I spoke with my mom today, 24 hours into her trip. She is happy, and I could hear Harry laughing in the background. As much as I wanted to remind her (again) about lessons she taught me in my youth about strangers and dangers, I refrained. This spontaneous trip was something she had to do. Maybe after 69 years, she knows something I do not.

Today, I talked to the mystery man myself.

"Your mother is a fantastic woman," Harry said. "I don't ever want her to leave." "She is wonderful." His voice sounded old and sweet, with a charming mid-western lilt.

Who knows where this frenetic, crazed relationship will lead. As long as it's not in a dozen trash bags at the bottom of the lake, I will consider it a success.

We got off the phone with my mom sounding relaxed and joyous in this strange man's house. I heard this strange man giggling in the background. He was making her a salad for dinner. They were drinking red wine. And planning a hike through the snow tomorrow.

Carpe diem, indeed.

DWTS- WTF? - JFDI

2010-10-29T21:31:00.000-07:00

Kyle Massey

Any higher with the hand and my momma will neuter you!

Jennifer Grey and Derek Hough (my favorite pro dancer)

I used to have an idea of who watched Dancing With The Stars. I envisioned a decrepit woman in her shag-carpeted living room, Swanson TV dinner on her metal tray. My TV trays are wood and I'm still a couple of sciatica attacks away from feeling old. I'm gonna blame my tumble into television Wasteland on the lack of better choices during Monday night prime-time. I'm hooked now; I'll stop apologizing. Have you seen the show?

It's been an interesting season in that everyone seems more D-List than usual. Where was the hole they dug Michael Bolton out of to do the show? Jennifer Grey (Baby in the Corner) is fantastic. She's quick, lively, and has quite the hard bod. I adore Kyle Massey, a young Disney Channel star. The kid oozes chutzpah; I almost choked when he said he was 19. I was sad The Hof was voted out so quickly; he was good for some cheesy Baywatch flashback moments.
Alaska's 1st Daughter is a dead carp. I know some bad dancers (some are reading this). But she's dreadful. And yet she's still there. What gives? I can only think it's her mother and the Vast Right -Wing Conspiracy tying up the phone lines with votes.

Really, do me a favor. Tune in on Monday night, ABC, 8:00, 7:00 central. I couldn't give a hoot about dancing, but just seeing the elaborate costuming gives me the mid-Olympic ice skating fix I crave.

I even have Scot watching. Shhhh... he'll be mortified I told you.

Re-union of Souls

2010-10-21T11:48:00.000-07:00

Will and Toni

Diane and Toni

Toni and Jen

Toni, Jen's head, Will (sideways)

Jen, Diane, Toni

                                                            Will, Jen, Toni

We were touring Camden Catholic last weekend, looking at the Wall of Honor, the gym, the sports fields, etc., when an old classmate named Michelle turned to me.
"Toni, did you do any sports or activities when you were here?" she asked.

" NO, Nothing. I did nothing." I smiled.

I answered honestly.

I wasn't a jock. I wasn't a student government prepster. Not a stoner, a nerd, or a drop-out. For three years at that intimidating school, I was afraid of everything. So instead of putting myself on display and risk failing, I did nothing.

I had friends. At a school where it was hard to fit in, hard to find my place, I found friends who embraced the awkward teen I was. They chose me. And at 14, all I wanted was a place I felt safe.

At 38, I've figured out who I am.    I have confidence to spare, and have made something of myself. I have run, I have led, and I've dropped out.

I went back last week, head held high.    I could keep pace. I could join the in-crowd, and be accepted.

But did I want to spend three precious hours with people who never took the time to get to know that timid, frightened girl?

Or, did I want to surround myself with the people who gave me the confidence to find myself?

No brainer.

What a blast I had with Jen, Diane, Will, and my old friends. It was comforting to know that while I have changed and matured, I wasn't a complete idiot at 14. My instincts were right-on. My friends were the best. And they still are. They are now warm, smart, fully-developed adults.

I never did talk to the popular girls, still skinny in their tight jeans. And I didn't approach the then-chiseled boys who were now chubby dads.

I wasn't afraid or intimidated.    I just didn't want to waste the scarce time I had.

I spent the time with people who knew that the kid who did "nothing", was still a "someone."

Reunion - Part I - Jennifer

2010-10-18T19:14:00.000-07:00

I have returned from the reunion. Not unscathed, but I'll go into that tomorrow.

I met Jennifer at Camden Catholic. I'd like to say in what class, or what funny thing was said, but I don't remember. I'll be honest; I don't recall half the crap people were reminiscing about all weekend.

I liked Jen right away. We had similar tastes in music, fashion, and shared the same bubbly spirit (sarcasm).

Jen and I lost touch for eighteen years. After two years of looking for each other, we met up again on Myspace. It was like time had stood still; we gabbed about the same old bands and makeup. We also discussed jobs and wrinkles.

About six months ago, Jen invited me to stay at her house for our 20th reunion.

On Friday, I arrived and was treated to coffee and cinnamon rolls. She spent the weekend fufilling my every Jersey wish. We had cheesesteaks, Philly pretzels, and homemade chowriffic Cioppino (her recipe is on her blog). We visited a friend, went to see her mom, drove by my old house. She had a friend over, and hosted a reunion pre-party. Wheh...

Jen makes you feel needed, listened to, appreciated. And you feel the same for her. She has an appreciation for culture. She is patient. She is kind. She makes you laugh your arse off.

I'm glad she's in my life again. Great weekend, great friend.

They say friends come into your life for a season, a reason, or a lifetime. I think we're shooting for the last one.

We're more than just spray tans

2010-10-11T14:13:00.000-07:00

I'm used to Jersey jokes. For some reason, New Jersey is everyone's punching bag. For the most part, I laugh it off. But sometimes, it gets annoying. Why always Jersey? I don't hear about people in Des Moines being picked on for their potatoes.

I've told a lot of folks I'm headed back to Jersey (this trip is exciting for me, as I haven't been to the homeland in almost nine years). With straight faces, three people asked me if I know Snooki. Are they serious? Are these the same people who would ask "what exit?"

Yes, Jersey has its share of scary things like Snooki, Newark, and the Jersey Devil. But I think of Jersey and have better visions. I see Princeton, Mendham, Cape May, tomatoes, antique shops, and cider doughnuts.

I must tell you, I was insulted. Really truly insulted.

Do I look like I would know a Snooki?

Jersey Gurl

2010-10-10T15:03:00.000-07:00

Scot is still in disbelief he married a Jersey girl. He always thought he'd meet a Georgia Peach. Not sure what the hell form of perfection he believes that term implies, but I feel obligated to inform to him that Paula Deen is from Georgia.

We'll meet strangers and he'll actually mention my state of origin in the introduction.

"Yeah, her name is Toni and she's from Jersey."

I'm not sure what that means. Does he feel fortunate he married someone so outspoken and cool? Or is he horrified?

Jersey has competitive shopping, traffic circles, crazy hot-blooded Italians and long diner lines. With all those every-day life stressors, everyone's inner biotch has to emerge. If it doesn't, you will be walked over, and your table will be taken.

Whatever. I'm damn proud of it, biotch. Jersey gave me my voice. It molded my personality and allowed me to ask my microbiology teacher why she was "staring at me like I was crazy." Okay, maybe it also deleted my vocal sensor.
On Friday, I will be seeing some of my favorite Jersey People. I will be staying with fellow blogger and friend Jen.

I can't wait to see and hear my favorite fellow Jersey Gurlz.

"Good Times!"

2010-10-08T19:25:00.000-07:00

When the shit hits the fan around these parts, Scot looks at me and says

"Good times. Yep, good times."

Sarcasm at its best, or worst, depending on your view of sarcasm. We don't know any other language around these parts.

Since mid-August, it has been "good times, good times" around here. For the past 8 weeks Nora has been sick, on-and-off. School one day, home sick the next. Nothing awful, but something slightly sinister right under the surface. . It started as a fever, morphed into a sore throat, soon engulfed her urinary region, returned as a fever, and at times wreaking havoc on her stomach.

After six trips to the doctor, which included blood work and urinalysis, one trip to the ENT, and an X-ray, we still didn't have any answers. She didn't have strep throat or mono. But she had swollen lymph nodes and a fever. Symptoms of lymphoma. Yes, I said that. Nora's pediatrician threw that word out and for the next week all food that entered my system funneled out my ass as fast as it went in. I lost my sanity and five pounds. Last week, we had a CT scan performed. (Did I mention this was all covered with our great, new employer- sponsored insurance? What a blessing.)

On Monday we received wonderful news. Nora's scan was clean. With the exception of a few raised nodes in her neck, lymph nodes were all normal! It is assumed the neck nodes are a lingering reminder of the phantom virus she harbored. Her fever is gone, and she is my plain old , regular Nora. A vibrant spitfire.

We are relaxing in the family room right now. No coughing, no hot head. Just the sound of the Braves game in the background, and the kids complaining of being bored. Every so often Nora comes over the lap top and knocks into my hands, scattering my type. What should have taken me ten minutes to write has taken me a kid-distracted half hour.

"Good times, good times."

And it really is.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

2010-07-21T19:55:00.000-07:00

Sumnmertime and the livin' is easy. And lazy as shit.

I've been reading (Over the Edge: Death in Grand Canyon , Sunk Without a Sound: The Glen and Bessie Hyde Story). I'm into the Canyon and the dumb asses that fall over the side.

I've been playing Mastermind with the kids, and wondering exactly how long before those same kids drive me batshit crazy.

I've got lots of news, lots to say. Haven't won the lottery or had my boobs done, but it's all exciting for a girl in Suburbia.

But sometimes I have so much that it can't come out fast enough.

I leave on Saturday for a week at the beach.

When I return, the kids head back to school. At that time, I am promising myself (and the 5 of you out there for pay attention to my habits) that I will take the time to put thoughts to paper. It helps to keep me sharp (HA) and focused. Gotta bone up before my chemistry class starts in late August.

As for all my blogger friends, I'd like to see you all return to your posts as well. What do you say to a nice Labor Day return to blogging? I miss you all and would like to know what you're doing.

Bernice, AKA Bernicio Tel Toro, BC

2010-07-03T19:58:00.000-07:00

Snow White

Somebody Help me?!

I love Bernice. Of all the dogs I've ever had (Jeremy, Chester, Cheyenne, Lucy, Jack, Annie, Patrick, Cody) she is the best. Sweet disposition, gentle, loyal, smart, and obviously happy-go-lucky.

Shopping With Feeeeeling

2010-06-14T14:30:00.000-07:00

The Chinese restaurant in Madeira , across from the pottery shop where I bought the rooster

Rooster on display (which makes me think of the Chinese restaurant )

Mazatlan memento

Mickey shorts

As I poured my coffee this morning, I said "good morning" to my Madeira Rooster. You see, I decorate the house, my ears, my body, and my internal organs with stuff bought while on vacation. For some totally bogus reason, traveling lubricates my spending senses, lulling me into a drunken state of free spending. This is not helped if the currency is foreign; then the money resembles tokens for the merry-go-round and I instantly devalue their worth. An overpowering need to sentimentalize and remember every place I visit culminates in the purchase of roosters, paintings, shorts, and exotic-sounding Mexican pharmaceutical prescriptions (wart cream in Spanish comes off sounding like Verrrrrrruga).

The painting is from our last trip to Mexico. The shop proprietor bubble-wrapped the whole thing, then covered it in butcher's paper. It was suddenly three feet tall . I carried it like a precious baby through the streets of Mazatlan. After the Dos Equis wore off I was glad to see I still liked it. Actually, I adore it (plus, it reminds me of the last cruise my dad took with us - see! you can justify anything if you give it feeling! )

The items I make off with are rarely Sombrero Purchases ( you've heard of this right? - crap you don't want once you sober up and are struck with the realization that big straw hats don't look good outside of Cancun.) That's not to say I don't have a little bit of remorse about the plaid Mickey shorts that spoke to me in a moment of Disney weakness. No, I say that just for Scot. I brought them back to the room and under his breath her uttered, "sombrero." For the record, these have been worn off the ship.

For Dad

2010-06-13T22:47:00.000-07:00

The Michigan commercials are back. And they still make me cry. And laugh. I can't help but think of the embarrassing armpit Detroit is for Michigan.

I wish we had been able to go last year; for a last "blow-it-our-asses" for Dad.

Next summer, I hope to return for a good, long visit. After all, life is short, and sunrises are limited.

June

2010-06-12T08:07:00.000-07:00

This is my boozed-up brother and his boozed-up friend, Doug. This pic has nothing to do with the post, but it always makes me giggle.

I've neglected you. I can assure you, I was busy. Sort-of. On June 1st, I started two summer school classes. One meets on T/TH, for 3 weeks, from 7-11 a.m. The class is nursing assisting. We watched the Alzheimer's Project last week and I wet myself all over with tears. I looked around and noticed that the only other folks having a hard time controlling their emotions were the other older folks in class. The 20-year-olds were snapping their gum and yawning. Some day they'll get it. Till then, let them live in their universe of blissful ignorance. :) This week we will go over death and dying. Such wonderful timing. The class is a bit hard to take in parts, but is part of my prerequisites.

My other class is online. It's pharmacology, and is quite interesting. I kind of dig knowing the different drug schedules. It's over on June 30th.

Last week, Scot and I celebrated our anniversary on the 6th. We went to a local resort. We drank brewskis by the pool, swam, and went to our favorite Mexican restaurant. We then returned to our cool sanctuary of a room and spent 12 hours lying in our cold sheet fluffy bed watching HBO. Truly. It was marvelous. The next day I celebrated my birthday. Mom joined us for sushi, and afterward we went to a frozen yogurt place that has the world's best salty-sweet peanut butter sauce. Screw cake- give me ice cream. Couldn't really top a weekend like that!

In between all the business and festivities a little cloud hangs. On June 4th, last year, my dad went into the hospital for his surgery. On the 18th, it will be a year since he has been gone. Though the initial pain of losing him has passed, more than ever, I miss him. I miss his quips, his sarcasm, his kindness. The most painful thought I try unthinking is that "I will never see him again." That's a doozie.

I thought about dad a lot last Friday. The kids and I took in a summer-time kid showing of Charlotte's Web, and when I left the theater I looked as though someone had beat me about the head. I had never seen/read the story and obviously Charlotte's death was a great big metaphor for my dad's passing, and the legacy he's left behind. Not sure what the legacy is, beyond a blogging daughter, but you know what I mean...

Both kids have been trading pink eye and ear infections, but so far have been enjoying their summers. Art camp starts this week, and from that point on, summer gets busy for them. They are happy, and healthy and as much as I give them a hard time for following me around the house like the dogs do, I love having them home with me. Their nosiness gives this place such buoyant life.

Scot has been very busy with work. I think that's a good thing. I always equate extreme business with money. I know it hasn't always worked out that way, but I derive some satisfaction in a hard day's work, especially when it's someone else doing the working.

Today will be a magnificent 87 degrees. Such a change from the 110 we had last week. This won't last, and it's unseasonal for June in Arizona. I will lap it up with an outdoor run and perhaps a bike ride later.

Happy weekend, and Love to all.

Laugh your a$$ off funny

2010-06-01T14:52:00.000-07:00

When my time comes, I wonder if they'll have Depends with pockets?

If I Ever Leave This World Alive

2010-05-31T20:33:00.000-07:00

Last night Scot and I were watching The 2010 National Memorial Day Concert on PBS. It was co-hosted by Gary Sinise, or as I still like to call him, Lt. Dan. The music was pretty decent, with Brad Paisley and Lionel Richie(yeah, I dig him) among the stars.

Part of the program gave voice to a new generation of young widows, women who lost their military spouses in Iraq or Afghanistan. A very attractive blonde gave a lengthy reading about what it was like to be a widow, at 22. This modern-day account was countered by Blythe Danner reading a Vietnam widows account of facing life alone at the tender age of 19. Sobering. Sickening. And yet these womens touching testimonies were so strong and full of composure.

Fallen military men (and women) pay the ultimate price for freedom for all of us. And when they leave this earth, their broken-hearted families mourn their absences for years.
So, thank you military, and military families. I raise my glass to you all.

I want to share with you what I think is the best Irish drinking ditty about life, death and all that goes with it. If I was presenting at the PBS gig, I would have probably just shown up with this song blaring from a boom box, all Lloyd Dobler style.

Here's the words - the video is a little Euro-distracting.

"If I Ever Leave This World Alive" Flogging Molly

If I ever leave this world alive
I'll thank for all the things you did in my life
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll come back down and sit beside your
feet tonight
Wherever I am you'll always be
More than just a memory
If I ever leave this world alive

If I ever leave this world alive
I'll take on all the sadness
That I left behind
If I ever leave this world alive
The madness that you feel will soon subside
So in a word don't shed a tear
I'll be here when it all gets weird
If I ever leave this world alive

So when in doubt just call my name
Just before you go insane
If I ever leave this world
Hey I may never leave this world
But if I ever leave this world alive

She says I'm okay; I'm alright,
Though you have gone from my life
You said that it would,
Now everything should be all right

She says I'm okay; I'm alright,
Though you have gone from my life
You said that it would,
Now everything should be all right
Yeah should be alright

Bucket List

2010-05-26T13:13:00.000-07:00

Here it is. More for me, than for you. Good mental work.

1. Learn chain-maille for beading.
2. retire to San Francisco
3. Adopt more pound dogs.
4. find the perfect spaghetti bolognese recipe. I've tried over two dozen. Some have come close, but...
5. see my children graduate college
6. go back to where St. John, where I honeymooned 12 years ago.
6. run a full marathon
7. have something published
8. learn to play the piano
9. learn calligraphy
10. learn to like vegetables
11. see the Great Wall of China
12. return to the hotel in Hawaii where Scot and I got engaged
13. become a respiratory therapist
14. age gracefully
15. fill my children with self-confidence
16. reassure the afraid
17. bring a dog on an airplane trip, under the seat
18. show my children the world
19. give my husband reasons to believe that while I am costly, I am worth it.
20. learn to forgive, better.

A Damn Fine Pasta Dish brought to us courtesy of the internets...

2010-05-25T18:39:00.001-07:00

Here's that really good pasta recipe I promised you. I made it for my mom the other night and she was really impressed. This is the same woman that was happy I made it through college.

Here's the back story. As if you give a hoot or even asked. But I find it amusing in our high-tech world.

11 1/2 years ago I was a flight attendant. I would spend three nights a week away from home, usually in Orange County, Chicago, San Diego, or Vegas. One day I was on the treadmill at the hotel gym in Sacramento, watching a local news broadcast. A local chef came on and prepared a great looking pasta dish. I returned home and told Scot the TV channel and city where I had seen the recipe made.

The next day, he returned home with the printed recipe. He had gone to work, looked up this station's website (WHAT???) and printed the recipe for me. He might as well handed me a bar of gold. I was dumbfounded. Where was the recipe? Was it floating inside the computer? How did he find this website on this so-called information super highway? How did he get directions to this site?

MY MIND WAS BLOWN. Shortly after this event I had a complete meltdown where I infamously screamed "the Internet is passing me by!!!!!!" I was so perplexed by technology, yet so hungry to understand it. Some years later, it finally sunk in. I think. Scot loves to sarcastically repeat my whine when I'm completing a flying-fingers order on Amazon.

On to the recipe. I've been making it all these years. It was as delicious as it looked on the 12- inch gym TV. I have Scot to thank for finding it inside that big electronic box that sat on his office desk, all those years ago.

Pasta Creole Chicken

2 pieces boneless/skinless, cooked chicken breast
1 tbsp. olive oil
1/4 cup diced onion
1/4 cup diced green pepper
1/4 cup diced red pepper
1 tsp. chopped fresh garlic
1/4 cup red wine
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup heavy cream (I use fat-free half-n-half. I have used both and there is NO diff. in richness or flavor)
1/2 cup marinara sauce
1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper
1/8 tsp. chili pepper flakes
2 cups cooked penne pasta

- Heat olive oil in pan. Add onion, green and red pepper, and garlic. Stir and cook approximately 1/2 minutes.

-Add red wine, salt and pepper, heavy cream (FF half-n-half), and marinara. - cook over medium-high heat for 5-7 minutes to thicken sauce. Add sliced chicken, cayenne pepper and chili flakes. Stir in cooked pasta.

- serves 2.

My notes: I've served it over every kind of pasta. I've added more cayenne for spicier people, and I've tripled the recipe. The FF half-n-half works great. The wine MAKES it!!! They will think you slaved all day; tell them you did.

Six Feet Under Finale Scene

2010-05-25T08:51:00.000-07:00

I have been inspired by Jen ->
She shared the final scene of LOST with all of us.

I was a faithful viewer to Six Feet Under from 2001-2005.

Here's the story behind the final scene; in a nutshell. Three siblings, Claire (the girl leaving in the car; she's going off to art school), Nate (Peter Crause) and David ( Showtimes's Dexter). The three of them help operate the family's funeral home.

Nate died during the final season of the show. 10 seconds into the clip, he tells Claire "you can't take a picture of it, it's already gone." He's also shown in Claire's side mirror as she leaves. For the rest of the clip, you see the other main characters from the show as they die, followed by their name and dates of birth and death. Many times a fallen loved one is standing nearby, to offer comfort. As the matriarch dies in her hospital bed, her deceased husband is seen sitting in the corner of the room, smoking a cigarette. It sounds crass to read, but when viewed has a hauntingly effective way of showing us that although we may exit this world completely alone, a loved one is waiting for us, on the other side.

Extremely powerful. Beautiful song. Please watch it.

Tequila you with kindness

2010-05-24T13:32:00.000-07:00

Some of the drug ads I see on TV these days have me doing a second listen. A good one is for one of the erectile dysfunction meds. They advise, "If you have an erection that lasts four hours or more, call your doctor. " I once heard a comedian do a riff on that saying if he had an erection that lasted four hours, he would call every chick in his address book!

My favorite is for the asthma medication Advair. In the ad, they say this, "Advair may lead to asthma-related death." WHAT? Well, that seems counter-intuitive. Give me some of that for my mild asthma and maybe we'll just knock then whole breathing issue right out of me; I will simply breathe no more.

The below spoof for tequila is done with an actress who has one of the smooth and silky voices of pharmaceutical commercials. It had me laughing.

Dinner Divine

2010-05-23T18:39:00.000-07:00

I've been following Weight Watchers again for the last 3 weeks. I have good days and bad. Thursday was bad. Yeah, 4 margaritas, 25 jumbo shrimp, and a bowl of chips are not countable points. But tonight, I was pretty good.

I've been getting into turkey burgers. I really/shouldn't/can't have beef, so I'm doing turkey. And it's starting to be so good that I'm not even missing ground beef anymore.

Terriyaki Turkey Burgers:

1 lb. lean turkey
3 tbs. panko bread crumbs
1 tb. original terriyaki sauce (the thin, not-too-sweet stuff)
1 egg
1/4 teaspoon fresh or powd. garlic
1/8 teaspoon cajun spice
fresh pepper

We cooked the burgs in 4 oz. portions.

Topped it all with pineapple slices, (whole pineapples are only $1 at Fry's right now!!!), dill pickles, and terriyaki mayo (2 tbs. light mayo mixed with 1 tsp. terriyaki and a shake of white pepper)

Eat with Kettle Brand BAKED potato chips in Salt-n-Vinegar. Have you had these? Have you? Holy cow. 65% less fat than regular chips and they actually feel and taste like chips. Not that baked crap Lays puts out.

Oh, and I had two Fat Tire Skinny Dip summer beers. They are a light beer weighing in at a slim 110 calories. Tons of flavor, with only 2 Weight Watchers points.

It was fantastic. Delicious. And I have no remorse. Didn't have the corn pictured, but it looks pretty darn good, no?

Tomorrow, I will share one of my favorite recipes with you all. I made it last night after a long hiatus and remembered again why I love it so...

Good night dear friends.

Inside the Actor's Studio Questionnaire

2010-05-19T09:03:00.000-07:00

Liz, over there on the margin (not that she is stuffed in the margin, I just don't know how to link her in here) challenged us Lady Bloggers to fill out James Lipton's questionnaire. It's the same list of questions he asks every celebrity. Even though I think Lipton is a bit of an intense freak, props to his question; they really get you thinking!

1. What is your favorite word? arrabiata
2. What is your least favorite word? necrosis (no, change that - cancer)
3. What turns you on? sense of humor
4. What turns you off? self-absorbed people
5. What sound or noise do you love? children laughing
6. What sound or noise do you hate? cell phones ringing
7. What is your favorite curse word? A tie; Mother F@#ker, Douche Nozzle
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? columnist
9. What profession would you not like to do? Air Traffic Controller-"OOPS, didn't see that!"
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates- "Here's your beer, and take this one for your dad. He's been waiting for you by the pool."

Going Beady...

2010-05-14T09:49:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to shake and sweat. I'm heading to my favorite bead store, Scottsdale Bead Supply. I've gathered some dimes, nickles, and quarters to spend on new beads. I will probably spend an hour or two browsing the large wall racks of semi-precious stones and Swarovski crystals. I tell myself constantly I am not Laura from The Glass Menagerie, as I lovingly gaze and fondle my bead collection.

I need a job.

A Photo Retrospective

2010-05-12T09:06:00.000-07:00

Top Photo : Seville, Spain, 1983
Middle Photo: Pisa, Italy, 1995
Bottom Photo: Madeira , Portugal, 2010

The restaurant in Seville overlooked a beautiful valley. We sat at the hilltop restaurant and took in the vast views which included a meandering river and dusty mountains. My mom, dad, and Tim (a recent high school graduate) sucked down a pitcher of sangria. In typical Spanish "manana" service, we waited for the check that never came. We waited so long that we eventually got up and left without paying. A moment of scampering scandal turned into panic when the rental car wouldn't start. After a few moments of nervous laughing, the car turned over and we raced down the hill.

The first photo resurfaced shortly before our trip to Italy in the fall of 1995. I purposely set up the second shot to replicate the Seville photo. Right down to the hand placement. We were sitting at the base of the Tower of Pisa. As the evening wore on and the drinks kept coming, we began to think we could actually see the monument leaning towards us more and more.

The third photo was an attempt to recreate the top two photos. Before boarding the cruise ship, we plopped down at a scenic marina bar and had ourselves a local beer. Or two or three, as the picture shows. We were down a man for this photo op, but as I sat there and posed one thought popped into my head; life changes. It might be different, but it's still worth documenting.

Happy 6th Birthday, Nora Ruby

2010-05-11T13:39:00.000-07:00

She was born on a Tuesday, so the name is even more fitting. We sing The Beatles song to the girl all the time.

Last week she turned 6. Sometimes I don't know if it's been the longest six years of my life, or if it's flying by; all depends on whether or not her crying days of colic are fresh in my mind, or if she's being the angel baby she is now.

All she wants to do is please. She is lovely, sweet, kind, and funny. She has moments of being extremely high-maintenance, but I think any person worth spending time with deserves your TLC.

Last week she was looking hard at me when I came out of my bedroom.

"You look 20," she said.

I love that kid.

There are places I remember, All my life

2010-05-06T20:02:00.000-07:00

Madeira, Portugal

I can recall falling off the plastic coffee table in the family room when I was four (I still think the only thing that saved my skull was the shag carpeting). The first day of kindergarten is seared into my Fear Vault. I can moderately recall parts of my wedding day, although I can pinpoint the row on the airplane, returning from a trip to Chicago, when I realized I wanted to marry Scot. Better yet, I can tell you everything Scot and I saw, did, touched, ate, and smelled in Chicago.

I will forever remember the entire day I spent in Madeira, Portugal. It wasn't one magical moment, but a bunch of precious sensory nuggets, strung into ten sparkly, shiny hours of one day.

That's why I think we should all travel more. Our souls need to be reawakened at the beauty the world has to offer. Grass is greener on the other side, children's laughter is sweeter, and the beer, it does taste better.

Ears

2010-05-03T12:58:00.000-07:00

Wherever we went on the ship, "Ears" were there.

"EARS" got attention. The bride was brought up on stage during Jason Bishop's magic show and was also a finalist in the masquerade mask contest. She wore her mask in conjunction with the ears. Oh sure, it's cute to wear you Mickey Bride-Do, and Mickey Groom Hat; on the day you get married. This couple got married in Disney World, the week before the cruise. They were never without their headgear; they wore them in the theater, at dinner, by the pool, in formal portraits.

FOR TWO WEEKS.

Yes, there are worse things. But funnier....?

I could write a book...

2010-05-02T20:15:00.001-07:00

It was fantastic. The ports were great. The food... well, I gained 5 pounds. So, where do I begin? There is so much to say that my mind has formed a back log of wonderfully sludgy thoughts. Here's one.

I like Disney. Always have. Adults that love Disney seem to be missing something in their life. Like a father. Or a true sense of reality. Over 400 of the 1500 passengers on our cruise were Disney Bloggers. They constantly wore a lanyard that displayed their log-in ID. Such as Tinker22 or MickeyMe2U. Some were overweight, most were men, all were weird. In that "Chester" sort-of way. On "Pirates of the Caribbean" night, I spotted no less than 10 men in full pirate regalia. Costumes that they put in a suitcase; highly coveted suitcase space that the average man might covet for oh... I don't know.... shoes or dress pants?

The stateroom doors on the ship are metal. Previous Hard Core Disney Cruisers know this and fill their suitcases with door decorations. There were several occasions when I was returning from dinner (half-crocked) that I had to remind myself I wasn't in my dorm hall. These weren't sorority decorated doors. I was on a Disney cruise.

For a week, I stared at our neighbors door and looked at the name tags. The names were something like "Barbara" "Lori" and for certain, "Disneyana".

"Is that a joke?" I asked Scot. Upon further examination of the cabin's self-made fabric mailbox, I could tell the room was inhabited by a family. Two women with hyphenated names, and a daughter. Was the daughter Disneyana? And was that really her name?

My family had a sick compulsion to turn door magnets upside-down, switch mailboxes out, and commit other mischievous acts which would be looked down upon by the Disney Cult. I blame my brother for this; he started it. One evening the girls and I returned to the room before Scot, who had the key. My kids started turning "Disneyana's" magnets around. I stifled a giggle and told the kids to knock it off. Suddenly, the neighbors door flew upon; we were caught with Jasmine in our hot little hands.

"Hi!" I managed in a pleading jovial voice.
"The kids and I were just enjoying your door," I stammered.
"Hello" the neighbor said curtly.
I was not getting out of this unscathed. At this point I had nothing to lose with her, and and could only fulfill my curiosity.
"Is there someone in your room/ really/ named "Disneyana?" I asked.
"Yes, that's my daughter. We named her Disneyana," she said.
"Woooowwww... won ..won...wonderful, " I stammered.

With that, I turned on my heel and made for the elevators. I had been caught. But she had named her daughter Disneyana. Surely a call to CPS could have been in order.
We were even.

I'm Leaving, On A Big Boat...

2010-04-07T11:44:00.000-07:00

Been a little...distracted. Busy.

On Friday, I will be leaving for a wonderful vacation. I hesitate to call it a trip-of-a-lifetime, as I never like to say anything is a one-time shot. We have only one life- gotta shoot for as much as we can get!

Scot, Maggie, Nora, Mom, Brother Tim, SIL Cindy, and I are setting sail on the Disney Magic. My sis will not be joining us as she had some huge expenditures this past year (new house, 2 college-age kids) :( . We will board in Orlando and spent 14 nights cruising the Atlantic, with stops in the Bahamas, Madeira, Cadiz, Gibraltar, and Barcelona.

I know, it's big. Dear Dad planned the cruise over a year ago. Sort of a "Blow It Out Your Ass" final trip for him to take with the family. Believe me, I've been cursing him out for both missing the trip and depleting our savings account. I jest. We will miss him, but more money will not make up for the experiences ahead of us (cocktails on our veranda in the middle of the Atlantic, monkeys in Gibraltar, swimming in the Bahamas!)

The big trip is almost here. I'm typing naked, self-tanner slathered on my body. The house is in a packing disarray, and the kids forms to officially witdraw them from school sit on the kitchen counter. We are scrambling to tie loose ends. Scot is cramming work in, and I am leaving instructions and sticky notes all over for my nephew Nathan, the dog sitter.

I am excited. Nervous. My best friend Joelle sent me the most gorgeous travel journal, so that I can document the adventures. I will. And I will report back to you with details.

Cheers, my friends!

Is there an illegitimate child in my child's future? Not if I can help it!

2010-03-25T18:59:00.000-07:00

"Nora, you may not get those shoes! You are not a hoochie, and you are not working the corner. FORGET ABOUT IT. IT IS NOT HAPPENING!"

" You are five years old!"

- Me, on a recent shoe-shopping trip to Kohl's, for Nora (the above pics are the desired shoes)

When Nora was 4 she told me she wanted to name her children something to the effect of "Stargazerlilly" and "Sugarplumb". That wasn't it, but you get the drift.

When we go out clothes shopping, Nora always wants the washed-out pastel polyester dress. The one where the top is a thin cotton that gives way to layers of flimsy fire-retardant blue and cream rayon ruffles.

She's been known to put glitter in her hair while prepping for school.

When I'm putting on makeup the kid stands behind me, taking notes.

Why do I have a sick feeling this child seems to be headed directly to the "strippa po"?

Can I have another 30 minutes of your day?

2010-03-24T10:17:00.001-07:00

Women should exercise an hour a day to maintain weight, study says - latimes.com

Posted using ShareThis

CLICK ON ABOVE ARTICLE

No, really. I didn't need to hear this.

Part of me would rather think it was somehow my dieting fault, like the final bite of Scot's Baskin Robbins Tax Crunch cone was what undid the hard run. But I didn't realize I should be doing more exercise.

On second thought, maybe I'll be able to make peace with this. This study shows there is only so much you can do to fight age and a slowing metabolism.

I am alive, And save the damn sciatica (from running) I am healthy.

Not bad.

That article is going in the trash. Who needs more guilt?

Reason #895 I love my mom...

2010-03-22T11:58:00.000-07:00

The greatest thing I have ever learned came from my mother.

She taught me that all of us carries certain gifts that we bestow upon the world.

"God gives something to everyone."

I still hear my mom utter her patented line today. As a kid, I recalled it every time I met someone who intimidated me, or in times when I had the shallowness to pity a person.

The girl next to you in homeroom might have been a knockout, but she didn't have a sense of humor on a bad hair day.

Jimmy, your next-door neighbor, was plug as a bug in a rug, but the kid would defend your ass on the playground.

My mom is a smart lady. Her strength and goodness shine. Other stories on her to follow in the coming days.

Happy Monday!

Tag

2010-03-18T20:55:00.000-07:00

Three names you go by:
1. Tone
2. T
3. Lovedoll
Three things you are wearing right now:
1. blue nightgown
2 Wedding ring
3. watch
Three things you want very badly at the moment:
1. continued health
2. some cute new flats
3. a good book
Three people you are certain who will answer :
1. Jennifer
2. Karen
3. Darci
Three of your favorite foods:
1. sushi
2. pasta
3. ice cream

Three people you last talked to on the phone:
1. Scot
2. mom
3. Kelly

Three things you are going to do tomorrow:
1. Go to Marshalls (for cute flats)
2. lunch with Scot
3. attend Art Open House at kids' school

Three of your favorite beverages:
1. coffee with cocoa (daily)
2. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale
3. Bloody Mary
Have fun!! :) and BE HONEST!!

Cake Wrecks

2010-03-15T13:42:00.001-07:00

I've been busy looking for a new place online to waste all my time now that I've given up Facebook for lent. Or really just because my kids want their mother to read them stories before bed (needy things!)

Here it is.

http://www.cakewrecks.blogspot.com

It's worthy of your time. Kind of like what would happen if the creatures of Walmart started a bakery.

There are true masterpieces on the site as well. :)

Facebook

2010-03-12T14:22:00.000-08:00

I got off the Facebook grid about a month ago. Well, I'm still there. I've just stopped updating my status every time I sneeze. My friend Karen let me know (via Facebook) that John Mayer is doing a digital cleanse as well (he needs to). I'm not so sure dropping Facebook has kept me and my mouth out of trouble, but it is saving me great amounts of time. While I love knowing what 30 friends had for dinner or what novel is worth reading, I found myself opting out of certain "friends" feeds, as they were annoying the hell out of me. I can't help but think the feeling is mutual. I myself was posting the most absurd things for 100 of my not-so-closest friends to read. Do I really need to air that? I have a blog for that reason. Only the people who actually, sort-of, kind of like/tolerate me read my blog.

I might go back to Facebook. I really enjoy my fellow bloggers updates, and some old friends from Camden Catholic (Theresa, Kathi, etc.) Heck, if it weren't for Facebook and Myspace, I wouldn't have found Jen T.

But I might not. I find I am beading more, reading more, and am generally available to my family most of the time. Quite liberating.

Oscar Recap

2010-03-08T14:45:00.000-08:00

Every time I watch an award show, Scot swears it's the last one he'll take in with me.
I have clothing opinions dammit.

Loved 'em

A big ol' N I C E to Demi Moore ! The color was gorgeous, the flow of it ,beautiful, and she just looks fantastic. Guess you had better look hot if your kids and husband are nearly the same age.

Cameron Diaz looked dazzling. I've never been impressed with Cami in interviews; she appears a little "slow." And her hair and demeanor usually matches her Spicoli 'tude. Not last night. Her hair was loose and flowy, but with some intelligent control behind it.

I love Kate Winslet. Even if her dress is a tad boring, I'll forgive her. Makeup is polished, hair is done. And personally, I like knowing she didn't sacrifice breakfast to fit in her dress.

George, you are my Old Hollywood Turkish Delight. One bite of him would make me so much more of a WO-Man. The long locks aren't rocking me, but he's a delicious man, in a tuxedo. It's really that simple. I can forgive the hair.

Hated 'em

J. Lo.- Hated it. Maybe it's that I don't like her. And why was she at the Oscars? A newborn's stuffed animal multiplied on her thigh and now she looks attractive to sleepy babies that want to nuzzle up to her blanket-like appendage. Awful. Overdone. And while I'm bashing on her, there is the problem of Marc Anthony. He looks like he should be harassing his girls out on a seedy Miami street corner. Cheeseball. Slimy.

Vera Farmiga. Refreshing. In an exotic, newbie way. Not in the sherbet way. Elks Lodge 91 in Lincoln, Nebraska called. They want their fan-folded 28 dinner napkins (in berry), back.

SJP. No. No. She has a rocking body. And gorgeous, cascading hair. The frump frock and school marm hair frighten me. I half expect her to be the evil grandmother in LifeTime TV's take on V.C. Andrews "The Flowers in the Attic". She has young children. I wish she would introduce them to the SJP ala "Honeymoon in Vegas." They won't be so afraid of her then.

Mariah. When I first got some boobs (little they are) I wanted to hoist them to the heavens, too. But I was 29 and quickly realized they were just leaking milk bags. And when you have great legs, that could be the body part you choose to highlight. Notice I said "part". ONLY ONE ITEM PER PERSON PLEASE. Sometimes, MORE IS MORE! Shock! Awe. I knew Bob Mackie and other famous designers are designing for Baribie, but I would suggest leaving Barbie Patterns to the Barbie Doll.

Sunrise Trail

2010-03-07T18:48:00.000-08:00

Behind my mom's house is the best hiking trail. Two miles to the top. Two miles down. It took about 2 hours. Bernice was the lucky dog of the day and got to go with us. It is simply gorgeous at the top. I love Arizona!!!

New hurts, old losses, and why time helps.

2010-03-04T17:05:00.000-08:00

My mom says the best piece of advice she got after my dad passed away was this:

" Just give it time. Time is your friend."

That message was conveyed to my mom from Mary, the mother of my dear, old friend Dana. Dana's father passed away suddenly, back in 1998. At 50 and 26, Mary and Dana were dealt a huge blow. Dana was one of my best supporters after my father died. Only those that have experienced the same loss truly know how hard the initial grief is.

It was the best advice on grief I have ever heard, too. And during the first couple of months after my dad passed on, I clung to those words with hope.

Time does heal wounds. I never forget he's not here, I never stop missing his humor, tenaciousness, and quiet sanity in a family of attention-getting Cancers*(Tim, Julie, mom). But as time marches on, I have stopped seeing his death and all the sad details that accompanied it as vividly and sharply as they once appeared. My life is whipping along on the rails, and the past is falling out of focus. I consider this a gift. I liken it to a small child blocking out abuse; it's a survival instinct.

My friend Jen lost her beloved doggie partner, Saffron, yesterday. She was a great old Basset Hound who loved, comforted, and entertained Jen for almost 15 years.

Today, I share the message of grief and time with my friend Jen. ->

You'll never forget Saffy Jen. Nor do you want to. But I hope time eases the extreme pain and loss you are feeling now.

:)

By the way, Norm and Saffy shared a birthday. Two Leo's leading the way in Heaven. :)
* - Cancers, as in the astrological sign.

Road Trip

2010-03-01T17:37:00.000-08:00

Oh yeah, and Bernice was upset she didn't get to go.

I love to get in the car and go on a road trip. Serious time in the car brings the promise of good tunes, and a trip to Dairy Queen.

Today, Scot and I played hooky and headed to Tucson. We went to pick up his sister's mattress. What sounds like a long, dirty story is actually short and clean. Alex bought a new bed last semester and today moved to a new place that comes furnished. We could use the mattress for Nora, as we had been contemplating cheap room re-do's for the girls.

R.E.M.'s Be Mine came on the shuffle, and we reminisced how the lyrics to that song were the perfect ones to inscribe inside our wedding bands. We never did engrave them as we couldn't find anyone who would do it while we waited. But, hearing the song today showed us that what we thought sounded cool 12 years ago, still sounds good now. Glad it hasn't changed.

We didn't get any soft serve, but we got to see Alex (Scot's alarmingly mature and sweet 20-year-old sister) and went out for juicy roast beef and pickle sandwiches. It was an unplanned, simple day. And it was lovely. Funny how some of the most memorable, special days of our lives are that way. :)

R.E.M.'s Be Mine

I never thought of this as funny
It speaks another world to me
I wanna be your Easter bunny
I wanna be your Christmas tree

I'll strip the world that you must live in
Of all its godforsaken greed
I'll ply the tar out of your feathers
I'll pluck the thorns out of your feet
You and me
You and me
You and me

And if I choose your sanctuary
I'll want to wash you with my hair
I'll want to drink of sacred fountains
And find the riches hidden there

I'll eat the lotus and peyote
I'll want to hear the caged-bird sing
I'll want the secrets of the temple
I'll want the finger with the ring
You and me
You and me
You and me

And if you make me your religion
I'll give you all you will need
I'll be the drawing of your breath
I'll be the cup if you should bleed
I'll be the sky above the Ganges
I'll be the vast and stormy sea
I'll be the lights that guide you inland
I'll be the visions you will see
Visions you will see

You will see
You will see
You and me

neti pot- a cornucopia of fun- for your nose!!!

2010-02-28T13:31:00.000-08:00

When I had my tonsils out two years ago, I thought that would be it. And the thing is, I have been pretty healthy. But my body's new thing are annoying sinus infections. And the fuckers are debilitating. When the children shout and yell you want to crawl onto the floor and put a pillow over your head. Bending over induces throbbing pain. And you can't sleep because just when you drift off, both nostrils fill up with mucus and you can't breathe. And breathing through your mouth dries out your throat, making it sore.

Bet you can tell I've been one cranky, crazy-ass bitch to live with. Yes, I've had moments of embellishment in my life as a patient, but this isn't one of them.

"Welcome to my world!" an allergy-prone Scot chimed in on Wednesday night.

But no, I wanted him to know my pain and aggravation was much worse than his. The following statement came hot on the heels of reading Brittany Murphy's cause of death from anemia and pneumonia.

"Just so you know, I've warned you. In case I don't wake up or something."

A little drama never hurt anyone. Maybe I'd get his attention. Or sympathy. He laughed. He also didn't intervene when I made homemade mashers with 102- degree swine flu fever. Men will let you do as much as you're willing to do, I've learned.

However, Scot did clear out of here with the kids yesterday. I took to the couch with Patrick, and listened to mens' snowboarding downhill. I looked like Farrah Fawcett when she made The Burning Bed. My face was swollen from fluid, and huge bags had formed under my eyes. I couldn't muster the strength for laundry. Oh wait.. I never feel that good. Dinner was leftovers and extra desserts for the children. Anything to keep the volume down.

Today, the antibiotic kicked in. I feel the best I've felt in over a week. I made lunch for the kids and hauled our asses to the supermarket. I feel accomplished.

And I bought a neti pot. My sister swears by the little teapot you run through your sinuses. And I'm sick of treating my whole body with meds when all I have is goopy fungus in my nose.

Anybody had an success with a neti pot? Cause to be honest, I'm a little scared. I hate sticking crap up my nose. Never have understand how people could snort stuff.

It's okay to have 2 beers, 1/2 a burger, fries, chocolate truffles and calimari as a reward, right?

2010-02-20T17:34:00.000-08:00

Ethan's Run - After

There is an age bracket in running that is highly competitive.

My age group - naturally.

And here's why; we are 30-39 year olds. We are trying to salvage any half-way decent body parts we have left. We are trying to prove that we are still capable of doing the unthinkable- exercise for an hour, non-stop, without wetting our pants. And we are too time-strapped and cheap to join a gym. So we hit the great outdoors, and we run ( I also run to stave off anxiety and depression. Cause when you are exhausted you don't have the energy to be depressed that you are no longer 22 and men now call you ma'am ).

Scot and I did well. We wanted to do the 6.2 mile run in under an hour. We did it in exactly 54.47. That's a 8:49 minute mile. I was thrilled. A personal best.

It was a beautiful day. Cloudy with dark clouds looming on the horizon. Temperature around 60 degrees. The setting was a large subdivision in Mesa, Arizona. It was hilly with desert scape and a lot of waterfalls and rocks. There were 261 runners. Tons of fresh-scrubbed families with babies to root on the runners. Some of the participants had photos taped to their backs. In the photo would be a baby or child they know. Usually the photo was taken in a hospital, with a tiny baby suffering under the weight of tubes and cords, and machines in the background. Every mile marker featured a different child that was born with a heart defect. You couldn't help but stare at the image as you ran past.

I'm glad I was there. I thought of Ryleigh and all the other poor babies that fight every day just to survive. I'm sorry her and Ethan had to go. Life is not fair.

I finished 102nd out of 261, but only 30 out of 73 for my age group. I'll keep running. I've got causes to contribute to, a time to beat, and several womens' asses I'd like to beat.

Yeah, I know. If I didn't eat all that crap, I'd probably get faster. But ya know, gotta live.

Ethan's Run

2010-02-19T18:50:00.000-08:00

Scot and I were looking for a run to do. We found this one. It benefits children with heart defects.

We are doing it with Ryleigh in mind.

I got a new MP3 player. It holds 2 gigs and was only $8!!!!!! Keep in mind my old one held only 40 songs. I got it back in 2005 and it cost $100. Ever-changing technology is an amazing thing.

My clothes are laid out, and Mary is coming to watch the kids at 7:00 a.m.

I love the excitement the night before a race.

I'm turning in soon.

I've got a sinus infection.

And shinsplints.

Ethan's parents will be there tomorrow. They lost their son when he was six months old. My brother-in-law will never fully recover from the grief he is going through for losing Ryleigh.

I feel lousy, but I couldn't care less. If my kids weren't healthy, it would destroy me. I'd take sharp sticks in the eyes to shield them from injury or sickness.

And so we run!!!

Happy Running!

Olympic Moment

2010-02-18T15:36:00.000-08:00

I asked a friend if she's been watching the Olympics. I didn't think she would say "no." What? Who doesn't watch the Olympics?

What else on TV is as exciting or as dramatic as watching The Flying Tomato do a double-half-caf- triple 720? How often do you see someone's dreams dashed for catching an edge on their ski twenty feet from the starting gate?

It's fascinating, edge-of-your-seat viewing that stands as a constant reminder. Buckling down and working hard can have such great rewards.

I remember watching the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics. Maggie was four months old. We were house-bound and poor; Scot has lost his job a week after Maggie was born. We watched every night, till late into the night. The Olympics offered us a taste of what we needed; a distraction from our situation and a reminder that even though each athlete (person) might not win the game/run/race(job) , they still worked hard enough to gain entry to the greatest show on Earth, the Olympics (a job interview).

My families greatest athletic accomplishment was competitive shopping. But growing up we were avid watchers of the Olympics. My dad would uncharacteristically scream for Team U.S.A. and for two weeks my mom knew everything there was to know about basketball. Back in 2004, my parents watched the opening ceremonies of the Athens games from their armchairs. On a whim, two days later, they booked flights and flew to Greece. I turned on the TV one day to see my mom standing on the sidelines of The Today Show From Athens. She waved as the camera panned past her, a million fans, and Katie Couric. One of the greatest thrills in their spectator life was watching the Olympic marathoners ending their run in the stadium.

With so much passion, time and energy involved, the only athletes that bug me are the ones who don't weep, cry, or scream when they win or lose. When Lindsay Jacobellis did a hot-dog move on her snowboard back in 2006, she fell and ruined her touchable taste of gold. In an interview this year, she shrugged it off as just something that happened. But could she really shrug off years of training and sweat?

My message to Lindsey - Hell no girl!!! Don't act cavalier. Admit it was a dumb ass move made by a young, excited girl. And then admit it hurt - it hurt like hell to lose it.

But she didn't. Part of me was glad when she went out-of-bounds and was disqualified this week. I want her to beg, break-down, grovel, and so desire this medal that we all want to hand it to her on a silver charger. But to me, for the past two Olympics, she hasn't seemed to want it enough. I would also send this message out to Body Miller.

Lindsay Vonn on the other hand- that girl wanted it. She skied on a shin so painful that she favored the leg, holding it up in the air. By doing that, she risked catching an edge and falling. And this was after a wrist injury last year. And some other injury before that. The woman has not been without some sort of injury in the last year and a half. And when she won yesterday, she wept. She cried in her husband's arms and thanked him. And she continued her guttural wails long after he told her to stop crying . She cried because early mornings, aching muscles and a life put on hold had finally paid off.

Last May, I was seated in the stadium at Sun Devil Stadium at Arizona State University. Two years of personal and financial sacrifice, endless hours studying, and wondering if it was all worth it were coming to an end for Scot. A large group of bagpipers started a procession into the arena. Behind them filed in my husband and his MBA classmates. I was caught off guard by the tears I felt stream down my cheeks. I was caught up in watching Scot's own moment of glory.

Yesterday, I watched the TV and cried right along with Lindsay Vonn. I saw the effort and the years that single moment took. Watching success happening in its most precious, raw moment should be motivational fuel for us all.

How could you not want to watch that?

Dear Vera,

2010-02-17T08:15:00.000-08:00

Dear Vera,

Looks like you were already all over it.
Thank you for rescuing Evan Lysacek. Even if he was sprouting feathers from his fingers and his skate was entitled "Firebird", it is better than waterfowl and silver lame.

Sincerely,

Nancy

Dear Vera Wang,

2010-02-16T20:36:00.001-08:00

Dear Vera,

Greetings old friend!

I hope this finds you well. I know Monique Lhuillier has caught the Wedding Dress Designer Bouquet, but you'll always be known as the pioneer of the frill-less, less-is-more modern bride.

With that in mind, I believe this might be the time for you to reemerge as the Costume Designer To The Skaters. I know you are busy plastering your name on eyeglasses, perfume and stationery, but this is so important. This could save the world. Or at least the poor spectators sitting in ice rinks with the likes of Johnny Weir on the loose. One need not have waterfowl appliqued on their thorax to skate well. What you did for me back in 1994 was simple. And it worked. Hell, people are still talking about it!

So, my Rolodex is open and waiting. We could start with Johnny, and then move on to Yevgeny Plushenko and finally tackle the entire Ukraine team.

Cheers my friend!

Nancy Kerrigan

Soak up the Sun

2010-02-14T13:09:00.000-08:00

I'm gonna soak up the sun. And fold some laundry out back. And in about 2 hours crack a beer. Current temp: 72.
Don't hate. I will be so jealous of all you folks when it's June and 117 here. These here are our glory days.

Peace, out!

Soak Up The Sun- Sheryl Crow

Low Rider

2010-02-12T14:07:00.000-08:00

"Are any of these yours?" is what the email from Scot said. He had attached the photos (above)

When we lived in San Francisco I had a bit of an anger issue with poor parkers and loud alarms. So much so that I fashioned a couple of generic "nastygrams". I stuck these pre-written notes in the sun visor. Then, I waited for the opportune time, whipped it out, and stuck it under the offenders wiper blade.

So, these got a big laugh out of me. I don't miss the parallel/double park/manic alarm woes of city life, but I get satisfaction in seeing I'm not the only freakin' -crazy -passive- aggressive driver out there.

My personal favorite is the one done in fancy wedding font. They went out of their way and had them printed! NICE TOUCH!

Title from "Low Rider" by War.
Check out my ladies at right for more summertime music titles and lyrics.

The Bet

2010-02-05T09:25:00.000-08:00

We love you Tom! And you too, Peg!

For the past week, my mom has been in Puerto Vallarta. Every year, my parents would join their friends, Tom and Peg, for a mid-winter's week on the beach. Not wanting to break tradition, my mom went alone this year. Over margaritas the first night, Tom handed my mom $100. My mom looked questionably at Tom. What was the money for?

My dad's best friend was Tom. The two met almost thirty years ago, while we lived in New Jersey. Tom and his wonderful wife, Peg, were introduced to my parents through friends. As fate would have it, the intermediary friendship fell apart, but Tom and my dad grew closer. It was an unlikely friendship. As liberal and crazy as my father was, Tom is pious and measured. While my dad gave money to Obama's campaign, Tom is an ardent Republican. My dad believed in marriage for everyone. Tom, he is a Southern Baptist. But their common bonds were stronger than political and religious affiliations. They would laugh at the same things, and sought out New Mexican restaurants together. My dad and Tom would talk about the stock market for hours. Tom is fiscally conservative, squirreling away money for the day he won't be around. For the past 15 years Tom has battled lymphoma. He has been in-and-out of the hospital, and had a couple of close calls. But he has persevered, and hung on for more of this fun ride. As Tom and my dad got older, they would talk about dying; if they were scared, what it would be like, and all those weighty questions . The two of them were like little old ladies discussing their feelings, and even had their own "bucket lists".

Last February, Tom and Norm took their last trip together. It was before my dad was diagnosed with cancer. While the ladies took in Copper Canyon's shopping, the boys sat chatting at an outdoor cafe. The discussion turned to their mortality. Tom swore he would go first. After all, he had the more serious health condition. My dad had pulmonary fibrosis, but things had been going well. But still, my dad swore it would be him. And back and forth it went. It started to get heated and finally my dad suggested a wager.

$100 bet. Loser would be winner. :)

Dear Diary, (my friends)

2010-02-01T18:12:00.000-08:00

My mom left for a week in Puerto Vallerta yesterday. She's joining great family friends, Tom and Peg. I hope she sits on the beach every day, surrounded by fresh fish and margaritas.

Nora has bronchitis. Poor lamb has been sick since Wednesday. I took her to the doc today as she had sprouted a fever. We have the best doc in the world. We has swamped but he managed to get us in today. I left with 5 prescriptions; I always feel it's been worth it if I score on the pharmaceuticals. We're hoping the meds kick in for Nora soon.

I did the damn homework. Uh oh. Looks like it's been stepped up to 38 terms. This might require 3 weeks of memorization, round-robin and spelling. Scot told me I'll probably have points deducted for typing the assignment.

We had the most fantastic grilled chicen with Caribbean citrus and caper sauce last night. Mark Bittman rules. Check out his book , The Best Recipes in the World.

Night Night. :)

Ciao.

WWYD?

2010-01-31T09:57:00.000-08:00

The lala-ness of school has worn off. I knew it would, and frankly I'm surprised it hasn't happened before now. It's not for lack of interest, or study fatigue. It's a horrible teacher that's the culprit of my stolen school spirit.

Remember the teacher I told you about? The one who worked for the State Department, Dept. of Defense, and other hoity-toity positions? Well, you know the adage "those who do, do. Those who can't, teach." I GET IT NOW. Funny, every other teacher I know is smart.

I've had 4 classes now. Each class in 1 hour, 20 minutes. And in that time, we have done nothing but learn 35 medical specialties. That is all. Literally. In fact I've taken minutes (well, not really, but this is how it's all gone down). Please, read along. Let me know how you would restrain yourself from jumping over the lip of the two-foot table that separates you from the instructor and smacking her silly for wasting everyone time. Thanks.

Tuesday, Jan. 19th - Roll is taken. Syllabi handed-out. A round-robin of name memorization (total time 30 minutes). Teacher background discussed. End of class.

Thursday, January 21 - The importance of punctuality is addressed as a couple of late stragglers come into class. 35 medical specialties are introduced. These include the two branches of medicine; internal, and surgery. The specialties include common terms such as gynecologist, pediatrician, thoracic surgeon, etc. Ya know , shit everyone has heard before. I mean, if you've ever been to a doctor. The entire class is spent stressing how important it is, as health care professionals, that we correctly spell these terms. David is called out for not having his textbook with him in class. This would probably not be the best time to tell the instructor that I saved money and bought the 1st edition of the textbook, instead of the required 2nd ed. End of class.

Tuesday, January 26- A woman enters the class with a late-add slip. The teacher warns, berates, and admonishes the 30-something aged woman that she has missed two classes already and that if the student feels she cannot make up the missed work in a timely fashion, she will struggle through the entire course. I want to lean over and tell the woman that she hasn't missed a damn thing. The entire class is devoted to writing out, shouting out, and verbally spelling the 35 specialties. I am called on four times to provide the correct term for questions such as "a medical specialist who treats cancer" . After I provide the answer I must also spell the term, aloud, for the class. End of class.

Thursday, January 28 - A test will be given on the 35 specialties. But first, many people are censured for turning their cell phones off when they get into class. It is again brought to our attention (for the umpteenth time) that if anyone is caught texting during class, they will be dropped from the class. Keep in mind that no one has been seen texting or breaking the rules. Before the test, we do another round-robin of the 35 medical specialties. The test is administered. Before class is dismissed, we are told that next week we will discuss professionalism in the health-care workplace. Such points will include correct grammar, the benefits of a diverse vocabulary, and the necessity of wearing deodorant. It is suggested that we read the newspaper to bone-up on our every day verbiage. We are then given homework. End of class.

The syllabus contains no point-scale. There are five exams, two quizzes, and an oral report. Oh, and the occasional homework assignment. I looked it up. Because if it wasn't included in the point scale, I wasn't doing to do it. We are to write-out the 25 medical ethic terms from our book with their accompanying definitions. The homework will be collected on Tuesday. Like my 2nd-grade eight-year-old, I need to write out the word euthanasia and give its definition. Isn't that how all people learn? By constant, redundant repetition?

This is college. Most people on this class are in their mid-to-late 20's. I know I shouldn't complain as the class is easy; an ace in the hole. My course load will get harder. I think?! I hope. My anatomy course was not easy. But I worked at it. And I was entrusted with the information put in front of me, and in the textbook. Ms. Barkley needs to give everyone in that class the benefit of the doubt. Talk to us like we are adults. Trust that we will have respect for her classroom. Let us learn terms at home, in our own time. For God's sake - TEACH US.

Can you tell I'm going to write one hell of an evaluation on this woman? What would you do?

Soap Sell

2010-01-28T11:05:00.000-08:00

The other day, Liz -> commented on how good some Aveda shampoo smelled.
Jen's hawking glasses from Pier 1. ->
So, I thought I'd plug my favorite hand soap.

I LOVE fragrance. Honestly. Nothing gives me such satisfaction as inhaling wonderful florals, pot roast, and laundry detergent. Give me perfume, lotions, candles, or hand soap that smells good and I'm as happy as if I'd been given diamonds. Almost.

Generally, I think Williams-Sonoma is a bit too expensive. Do you remember the time I wrote about the fancy commercial-grade linen press? Puhlease. It's fun to peruse the $700 copper pots for a minute, but I get quickly annoyed at how something so fundamentally simple and essential could cost so much. As if you'd ever use something that pretty anyway?!

But they make good soap. And I can afford it. E very holiday season I make a special trip to the store and buy Winter Forest Hand Soap and Lotion. It's an annual tradition of epic planning. It smells heavenly!

My current dispenser is almost empty. BUT, I am considering something radical. I might, just might, make the jump and buy another one of their fragrances. I know, it's a crazy idea.

Our Lady of Odd Lots

2010-01-23T12:16:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I was waiting in the paint line at Home Depot. In front of me was a woman, mid-60's. As I stood in back of her I couldn't help but wonder how much younger (and better) this woman would look if she ditched the gray hair. Which made me realize I shouldn't be judging her hair when I hadn't colored my own in over two months. Yikes! My gray was showing!

I put in my paint order and started hoofing it to the drug store on the other end of the strip mall. I needed my box of hair color. And maybe some new mascara. And some new smoky eye colors while I was at it(I was giving myself a makeover as I walked along).

I passed in front of Odd Lots, turned on my heel, and swung in for a quick look around. I knew I'd probably have to walk to the drug store for my hair dye, but it wouldn't hurt to check out Odd Lots selection. The gaudy, but gorgeous pink sequined Valentines wreaths caught my eye, and before I knew what was happening I had been sucked into the vortex of cheap picture frames and a million other items I didn't really need. Thanks, dad.

My dad was king of the bargain. He lived for garage sales, and thought everything could be purchased for a quarter. Many years ago, Phoenix didn't have Odd Lots. But Michigan did. And a summer visit to my mother and father's home state wasn't complete without a shopping trip to the great discount store. My dad actually designated a whole morning of our vacation to Odd Lots. We bought gift bags in bulk, greeting cards by the dozens, and one summer, pregnancy tests. Lots of them. Yes, Nora's existence was proven by a pregnancy test I purchased at a discount store.

I'm pretty convinced Norm knew that not everything was a deal at Odd Lots, but it didn't deter him from the fun detective work of finding the hidden bargain. That's why we sometimes ate Bugles by the caseload or had Hamburger Helper twice a week for two years. And so, it is enmeshed in me. I didn't find the mascara or hair color. But it was worth a look. I half expected to round a corner and see Norm holding a jar of pickles. He would have discussed how at 99 cents, the farmer couldn't be making more than a quarter for those pickles. He marveled at business models and the costs of production and distribution.

More than any other time since he's been gone, whether it be in church, outside, or in his house, I felt the presence of my father. I left Odd Lots empty-handed, but full-hearted.

Seattle Days

2010-01-21T15:53:00.000-08:00

We've been getting some serious rain. No, really. On average, Phoenix receives about 7 inches of rain a year. Our totals for Monday-Saturday of this week are supposed to hit 3 inches. Which means we'll receive almost 1/2 of our total yearly rainfall by the third week in January. We get the majority of our rain in the summertime, during the monsoon season. It usually rains at night, after the heat of day has burned off.

The rain is a nice change of pace, and it's so novel for here. School pick-up was a hoot. I saw kids running, shrieking, and darting around with brand new umbrellas. Till today, my own kids had never held their own umbrella. I had to show them how to brace it against the wind. People have no idea how to drive on the wet roads and its been taking twice as long to get anywhere. It's all the weather people can talk about. And, me as well.

Here are Scot's shots of the rain, thus far.

"Passion? Passion? Is Passion here?"

2010-01-19T16:34:00.000-08:00

Have you seen "Community" on NBC? That's me. The diverse life at a community college. I am taking two classes this spring. One, an online medical vocabulary course, and the other a class on campus. It's called Health Care Concepts. It's exactly what you'd think. An introduction course for those considering a career in health care. In class, we will study the organizational ladder of health care providers. The teacher is a savvy, 60-something African American woman. She's worked at the Dept. of Justice, Dept. of Commerce, UC Long Beach, and twenty-something jobs in-between. She lived in Los Angeles, Ohio, and Kentucky before she figured out the Arizona desert heat is best for arthritis.

There are 23 of us in the class. No one else looks like me. They are very young, older (50+), Black, Hispanic, Chinese, Japanese, and everything in-between. For years I've heard whites will one day be the minority, and today I saw that as a reality. On one side of me sits a Japanese girl named Suzy. Her notebooks are adorned with Hello Kitty and she writes with a puffy, pink pen. On the other side of me is Veronica, Her dark complexion is complemented with smoky, deep-set eyes. Diondre is about 300 pounds and his pants hang dangerously low to the ground. Dave is about 55, and his eager voice and quick hand in the air show his willingness to learn .

About a quarter of us are looking at a job in respiratory therapy, and the rest of the class is spread out amongst numerous positions, from radiology to hospital unit coordinator. We did a name game to learn each other's names, and I can remember the following : "Jesus, Jill, Jeff, Andrea, Dawn, Walter, Diondre, and Passion." Yes, Passion. We spent the first class SPELLING internal medicine specialties. Dermatology, neurology, urology, cardiology, gynecology. I'll admit I rolled my eyes and thought "Is this necessary?" But I'll also fess up and tell you that spell check just alerted me that half those words were spelled incorrectly.

For everyone, there is a beginning. And this class is there to help us all sort it all out. I'm not above any of it. I've just known for some time that this is the correct path for me. I've chosen it, dedicated myself to it, and am ready to get the show on the road. It will be an interesting semester. There's a small chance I won't gain a lot of information from the class, but I think there's a strong likelihood I will learn something from my teacher and classmates.

Running Smells

2010-01-18T16:18:00.000-08:00

Time : approx. 4:30 p.m MST
Length of Run: 4.25miles
Run Time: 40.59
Scottsdale Temperature : 56 degrees F

Smells Recorded

Laundry detergent (Tide, I think)
Burning Leaves
Pinon wood
Beef Bourguignon (didn't smell as good as mine, LOL)
rain
lighter fluid
hot dogs
wood fire
clean, crisp air
wet leaves
sweet, smoky, marshmallow campfire air

Thai-Style Pork Stew

2010-01-16T11:27:00.000-08:00

I keep an old, large photo album for all my recipes. It contains ripped and torn recipes, pilfered from magazines and newspapers. It also has some cute 3X5 index card emblazoned with "from the kitchen of..." given to me by ladies of previous generations (back in the day when you kept a perfect little recipe box.) My book is a mess, but I know where everything is. It holds about 100 recipes and to occupy a spot behind the crinkly plastic cellophane, you need to be tried, tested, and true. Which means very few recipes make the cut.

When Scot and I got married I ran out and bought the Joy of Cooking. I studied the techniques, and perused their list of exotic ingredients. I still use the classic tome when I need help identifying a particular cut of meat, but find the recipes methods to be long and tiring. Over the years I have taken cooking classes and stocked my bookshelf with numerous cookbooks. I have everything from Rachel Ray (not such a fan anymore) to Tyler Florence (scrumptious!). But, by far, my favorite recipes have come from the pages of Cooking Light Magazine. While I'm not afraid of a little cream, I do believe lamb shanks and duck had a role in my father's demise. So, when and where I can, I cut back.

The following is one of my all-time favorite recipes. It is easy, and fantastic. This one is for Darcy, who seems to like the same comfort food I do. You be the judge; it might not deserve a spot in your book, but it at least deserves a try.

Thai-Style Pork Stew

Peanut butter melds with classic Asian flavors to lend this one-dish meal a Thai flair. Lime makes a perfect accent.

Yield: 8 servings (serving size: 1 cup stew, 1 tablespoon green onions, about 1/2 teaspoon peanuts, and 1 lime wedge)

Ingredients:

Stew:

2 pounds boned pork loin, cut into 4 pieces
2 cups (1 x 1/4-inch) julienne-cut red bell pepper
1/4 cup teriyaki sauce
2 tablespoons rice or white wine vinegar
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/4 cup creamy peanut butter
Remaining ingredients:
6 cups hot cooked basmati rice
1/2 cup chopped green onions
2 tablespoons chopped dry-roasted peanuts
8 lime wedges

Preparation

To prepare stew, trim fat from pork. Place pork and next 5 ingredients (pork through garlic) in an electric slow cooker. Cover with lid, and cook on low-heat setting for 8 hours. Remove pork from slow cooker, and coarsely chop. Add peanut butter to liquid in slow cooker; stir well. Stir in pork.

Combine stew and rice in a large bowl. Top each serving with onions and peanuts; serve with lime wedges.

Nutritional Information

Calories:: 412 (30% from fat)
Fat:: 13.6g (sat 3.6g,mono 6.2g,poly 2.5g)
Protein:: 28.9g
Carbohydrate:

Cooking Light, SEPTEMBER 1999

Note: I have subbed in chicken thigh meat, and it works okay. This recipe doesn't really taste like food at your Thai-takeout, it's just yummy and who doesn't like a little peanut butter? Also, I have used natural PB, and it's fine. The lime is essential and I also buy the Chili Lime nuts to sprinkle on top. My favorite side is steamed green beans. You can reduce the cooking time once you experiment with your slow-cooker. I've done it in 4 hours. I've served this for family dinners, for strangers in Michigan, and to Scot regularly. It's always a favorite.

Vocabulary Catch-up

2010-01-09T12:34:00.000-08:00

I've always loved vocabulary. Often I say something, only to hear my mother say, "that must be a college word."

Two of my new favorites are featured today. I did not coin these, but kudos to whoever did. Yes mom, these would be considered college words. Not words you would learn in class, but in the dorm. Aren't you proud?

Douche nozzle
noun, ( dew.shnazle - said with a German accent so as to disguise the origin of the word)- a supreme douchey creature. Any person demonstrating an offending behavior, or having a permanent jerky disposition.

That douche nozzle neighbor saw me wave and did not return the greeting.

Ass Clown
noun, (ass.clown) A person who is stupid, thoughtless, ignorant, tiresome, and generally vexing on your psyche and intelligence.

I will lose my mind if that ass clown continues to support Cheney.

* Scot thought this needed further clarification. An ass clown is also someone who is not knowledgeable enough or fit for a certain high position or authority.

Did you hear what an ass clown Sarah Palin is? She repeatedly referred to Joe Biden as Mr. O'Biden- right into the first vice-presidential debate!

I'll school you at your own game, textbooks!

2010-01-06T10:49:00.000-08:00

Semester 2 of My New Career starts next week. God help us all if I am still writing about all this and it's semester 10; something tells me I will be. This schooling will be a long haul the way I am going. This spring, two courses for sure, with a possible addition of two more classes later this semester.

So, this bad-ass has been doing her book-shopping. In case you don't remember Textbook Hell from your days as an undergrad, let me refresh you. In the college bookstore, every textbook costs as much as the class. Books are bought back for about 1/2 of what you paid for them. Unless of course your water-bottle leaked on them, weakening the binding, and rendering them worthless. And those are the ones that are considered for "buy-back." If the textbook has a new addition issued right after you've used it (when isn't it?) your old volume is worthless. If the teacher is the author of the book, you need to use their obsolete tome which is expensively, privately published, and without a doubt, the teacher is retiring at the end of your term. So you are stuck with it. Ya know, just a little something for your home collection (we all know the douche nozzles who display their World Religions textbooks on their mahogany shelf.)

But, it does not have to be this way. No, no, no, no, no. Scot and I, WE WISED UP! This is 2010! Brick-and-Mortar book shopping is so...1995. The time when I stood for that kind of shit. This is the era of "find is cheaper, schmuck." We went on eBay and were blown away. While books still cost a bundle to buy, they were cheaper than the bookstore. And we realized were sitting on a goldmine. Scot's MBA books had been rolled into his tuition. He got the business books off the Mahogany bookshelf (teasing- top shelf of the closet) and listed the books on eBay. Seven have sold for the whopping happiness sum of $428.

One of my textbooks I require is an independently published book. We went to school to investigate. It had the college name emblazoned on the spine, cover, and title page. Not to be deterred from finding a cheaper source, Scot actually scanned the ISBN number into his phone. No match. It was a forced buy. But at $27, I didn't feel nauseous.

My other textbook is offered for sale in the bookstore for $69 (used). Scot did a scan, and found it available for approximately $45 (eBay). Good, but not great. This is where I got creative. I need the 2nd Edition. Amazon.com offers a wonderful feature where you can look inside a book. I pulled up two screens and compared the Table of Contents from the 1st and 2nd editions. I determined that there were approximately 10 pages difference between the two books. A little bit about computers in health care, and terrorism were added to the 2nd edition, and frankly I bet I can figure out what changed between 2001-2008.

I bought the 1st edition from a used bookseller on Amazon for a grand total, shipping included, of $5.71.

Come May, I will go online and try to re-sell it.

They went Baaaaack!!!

2010-01-04T14:26:00.000-08:00

Winter break was fantastic. 16 days of sleeping-in, unadulterated desserts, and new toys. Also, some sibling fighting, boredom, and lots of togetherness. LOTS.

I worked today, Scot worked today, and the kids returned to school. And after both cherubs were deposited in their classrooms, I couldn't resist singing the lines from one of my favorite commercials.

Good Morning Arizona!

2010-01-03T12:17:00.000-08:00

I always knew I would end up out West. I moved from New Jersey before my senior year in high school. And I was ecstatic. It was an instant fit. This place has saved me from myself with mild winters and constant year-round sunshine.

I woke today and stumbled to the kitchen for coffee. As I always do, I looked out the window by my sink and thought, "damn, I'm lucky." The beauty and the view - they never get old.

15 Years

2010-01-01T13:22:00.000-08:00

I'm 22 for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live - Five For Fighting

Great song. It has nothing to do with anything. Other than that I was 22 when I met Scot. And it makes me cry- in a good way.

Auld Lang Syne has always made me cry. It's bittersweet. I appreciate reflecting on the good from the past year, but the funeral dirge air to the song makes me think too much of what has been lost. I take much more delight in New Years Day. Let's not look back too much. Let's look forward. New Years Day is usually bright, crisp and shining in Arizona. The type of day that conjures up a fresh start with so many possibilities.

Scot and I met early on New Years Day, 1995. I had finished a waitress's shift around 11:30 on NYE, and sped to Houlihan's to meet up with my boyfriend and some friends. I was 22. GULP! Narrowly, I missed the clock striking midnight. I missed Auld Lang Syne. I walked into the dark bar which was covered in confetti and stinky, spilled beer. And then I saw him. I didn't know who he was but he was talking to some friends. Frantically I started asking around. "Who is that guy?" "Who knows him?" He was the younger brother of a friend. I asked to be introduced and we spent the next twenty minutes talking. He was a recent ASU graduate and was considering grad school. I was still in college. Eventually I mingled back around to my then- boyfriend. He was just something to fill the time until someone better came along. Someone had come along. I knew, that night, that I could marry Scot. I had no basis for knowing it. It was just something I felt in my bones. The night ended in my hot styling teal-blue 1991 Camaro. I was the designated driver who drove my friends (Scot included) home. Every time I glanced in the rear-view mirror I was acutely aware that gorgeous, smart Scot was sitting in my backseat.

I hadn't known it on New Year's Eve, but Scot was betrothed. His beloved was attending graduate school in Canada, which would then lead to her placement in medical school. Scot and her had been dating long-distance for a year when we met. I was dating Mr. Right Now, but over the next couple of months Scot and I saw each other quite often as we hung in the same social circle. Every so often his girlfriend would fly out for a (conjugal, vapid ) visit and we would all meet up for drinks. Scot and Sarah were to be married in 1997, and to have their first baby the following year. I heard this directly from his girlfriend's mouth. She had it all mapped out according to breaks in her schooling.

To make a long story somewhat shorter, I corrupted Scot in October of 1995. A large group of us went to see Jimmy Buffet. I took the trolley there with Mr. Right Now, and left for home sitting on Scot's lap. I was done waiting for what I felt was my destiny. The next morning both of us broke up with our respective partners. Scot called Sarah. I arranged a lunch with Mr. Average. I sat in his car and told him it was time for both of us to move on. He grew mad and started hurling insults. But I sensed that none of the anger was over losing me. He was just losing face.

Mr. Right Now's parting shot has gone down in history. As I got out of his car he shouted, "Ya know, Toni, you're going to marry that guy!" Talk about putting the cart before the horse- what a bizarre thing to say! And I never forgot it. I kind of knew how I felt, but how did he know?

Scot and I were married on June 6, 1998.

Today, the sky is a magnificent cerulean blue and people with fitness resolutions are packing the greenbelt. The world is anew again. Happy New Year to my dear husband, my friends, and my family. May this year be filled with many joyful gifts, new opportunities, and delightful diversions.

And if you feel it, don't waste time. Go for it.

A Wii Bit Harder!

2009-12-29T11:44:00.001-08:00

The kids have been enjoying the Wii they received for Christmas. I haven't had much of a chance on it yet, but Maggie, Scot and Nora are perfecting their bowling game. Maggie has a real talent for boxing, and Nora has started kicking some princess arse on on a Disney game. Today when I turned around I caught a glimpse of her thrashing about with her nunchuk and remote. The remote was vigorously gyrating, shaking in an up-and-down, up-and-down fashion. It was slightly horrifying and perverted.

But darn funny. Much like Alec Baldwin in this recent (already classic) SNL skit.

Please enjoy.

Post #300 - Holiday Wrap-up

2009-12-28T20:30:00.000-08:00

The tree came down today. I've always been a believer that "when it's over, it's over."

It was a difficult Christmas Day. Everyone had told me to prepare myself for that, but I don't think you are ever geared up to feel lousy. Therefore, when the sadness hit, it really walloped me. There were great moments of joy and laughter to the day. But my mood broke downwhen I looked around and counted 10 seats at the table, not the traditional 11.

It was great to see the cousins enjoying one another. Nathan has graduated from college in Japan so it was good to have him back, knowing he won't be getting on a plane and leaving once again. After dinner, we all headed outside for a chilly walk around the block. We bundled up in jackets and scarves (I think it was 50 degrees) and enjoyed the neighborhood lights and crisp smoky air. The lasagna, ham, cheesy potatoes and Snow Mountain sat in our bellies as we played a heated game of Scrabble.

So, it's over. We all made it through Christmas. We yearned for old memories but I believe we managed to make some new ones as well.

Someone recently told me that by being alive, we are the "lucky ones." We get to keep enjoying the roller coaster. Very true. But for the love of God! Really- can 2010 have more exhilarating plunges than horribly hard hills? Please?

I'm Back...

2009-12-27T13:18:00.000-08:00

Hello?

Anyone out there?

I am going to try my derndest to commit to blogging again.

Perhaps a blog-a-thon would help.

The idea came to me today, as I started cleaning up Christmas. It's time for a fresh start. The first step I took was cleaning out the coat closet so that I could fit the Christmas tree back inside. Doing so opened up my clothing options! I was shocked to find jackets I hadn't seen in years.

So maybe the same could be said of my mind. While I've been toiling at anatomy, I've gotten out of touch with daily feelings and observations. I know stuff is lurking in the brain, it's just been stuffed full holding facts and figures.

A new blog look, a new year, a new semester. A little less memorization, a little more writing.

This feels a little strange. Kind of like friends that haven't spoken since they got drunk and said some things they now can't remember.

It'll come back to me. Just be patient.

Swine Time

2009-11-05T17:35:00.000-08:00

And damnit if I didn't try everything. Obviously the vaccine wasn't enough, nor was the 3 bottles of Purrel I keep in the car. Nora, Mags, and I have the Divine Swine.

We are on Day 4 of H1N1. We've watched every Miyazaki film (My Neighbor Totoro, Spirited Away, Castle in the Sky) and the house is trashed. We've had a lot of "togetherness time." We've painted, made sock creatures, played Perfection, and cried "I'm bored!"

I have some wheezing and some junk in my lungs. I'm hoping it clears. Maggie and Nora still have a horrible hack, but their fevers are gone. By the looks of the pics, the girls look like they are starting to feel better. For that, I will be thankful. :)

Sierra Madre

2009-10-28T20:46:00.000-07:00

In 1998, I tied the knot. The same year I began a love affair with a beer. Scot and I were living in San Francisco and the most popular beer served in bars was Sierra Nevada. Honestly, I choked the first couple back. This new amber brew was heartier than the Silver Bullets I had slung back in college. I wasn't sure I deserved something hearty, rich, and cultured. But, like the San Francisco fog, I grew to appreciate it. I drank it on Polk St. in a cozy bar with velvet couches, and on a concrete bench on Haight. We left San Francisco, and I returned to Arizona with a whole new appreciation for beer. Since then, there have been many different liquid loves. I like me a good Octoberfest, Kirin, and Fat Tire.

On Monday, I spent a blissful morning with my mother. We did some shopping at Williams-Sonoma, and then went for a bite to eat. We sat at a trendy restaurant, talking about life, death and how the two seem to be co-mingling in our circle lately. We shared a pizza, and when my mom ordered a Sierra Nevada, I joined her. Sure it was a Monday at noon, but why not? The first sip sent me over the edge. It was as if I had kissed Scot for the first time. I could only describe it as pure palatal pleasure, deliciousness and nostalgia mixed into one. My life did a rapid rewind in glorious technicolor. I slammed the table and had a long overdue heart-to-heart with myself.

Why had I neglected this beer? Had I forgotten how much it meant to me? Why didn't I indulge in this beer more often? Was the extra $1 a six-pack really holding me back?

Monday I went to Fry's a bought 2 six-packs. Thank God I came to my senses. I had missed Sierra Nevada, and hadn't even realized it. I'm so glad it was still there for me.

Pretty Is As Pretty Does

2009-10-27T15:01:00.000-07:00

Hey , Scot ! Come out here! I want you to see the beautiful thing that's sprung up out back!

With this baby up, I hope he spends more time inside, and less time in the open garage yelling at his wife :) (you're looking at the satellite dish, not my ugly yard)

Ryleigh

2009-10-26T19:54:00.001-07:00

I spent Saturday night in Las Vegas, relaxing at Joelle and Mike's outdoor table. The weather was breezy and slightly crisp, and we dined on grilled steak and veggies and sipped red wine. After dinner, Mike and I took it upon ourselves to purge Joelle's wallet. The monstrosity had grown too large to close. Joelle kept reiterating that her wallet was "just fine" and couldn't understand why we needed to help her organize her life. Or, quit fretting about something that wasn't that important, and frankly none of our business. It was then the phone rang.

Scot's brother's daughter (our niece) had passed away. Ryleigh is Keith's daughter. She was born 2 1/2 years ago, perfectly healthy apart from a small hole in her heart. She grew from an infant to a toddler, never needing surgery. Her growth kept pace with her peers, and she suffered no ill effects from her heart. It was only recently that doctors thought it prudent to perform the "routine" surgery. Better now than before it became a problem.

Three weeks ago, the surgery went off without a hitch. It was only when Ryleigh returned home that complications set in. A small cough led her parents back to the doctor. A stomach bug necessitated a visit last week. On Saturday, Ryleigh went into cardiac arrest, and left us.

Losing a parent is part of the price of living. Losing a spouse can happen. Losing a child is not expected. It is not normal. It is a slap in the face of everything we do daily (from wiping butts to crossing at crosswalks) to protect our angels. And it is a grief no parent can imagine.

I hung up the phone and glanced at Joelle and Mike's crestfallen faces. All three of us, parents, were devastated.

"Wallets don't matter, you guys, " Joelle said. "Wallets don't matter."

We love you Ryleigh. And we love your parents.

Jungle Alcohol

2009-09-21T20:43:00.000-07:00

Life is passing by with great clippy speed these days. Which isn't such a bad thing. Usually that means there is order and harmony to daily life. I have been enjoying my anatomy class, and scored well on my first exam. The kids are healthy and happy and Scot is content with work.

Tonight I was searching through old emails, alphabetically, looking for a free Lands' End shipping code. I came across my dad's name, and took a look at his last few emails to me. My father was a faithful reader of my blog, and usually responded to every blog entry. I miss that so much. He always read, every day. :) At any rate, I found it amusing that the title of the last email he wrote me was "Jungle Alcohol." It was dated June 2nd. I couldn't remember what it was, so I opened it up, and had a look. A great final, fitting email. A classic clip, sent from the King of Funny Forwards. He really did go out with a bang.

Weekly Update

2009-09-14T16:21:00.000-07:00

I've neglected you sounding board.

Busy week.

Went to see Cracker, at a local bar. Such a fantastic, underrated band. You might know them from late 90's hits, Happy Birthday and EuroTrashGirl. About 200 people in a dirty bar. And yet they are overflowing with talent and deserve so much more. I'm not complaining. We were up close and sweaty. Everyone present was born before 1975 and was squeezing into their mom jeans. First place I've been in a long time in Scottsdale where I fit in. There was one woman rocking against the stage who was on crutches in her mid-40's. I wonder if the band wonders what happened to all the hot, young groupies. That woman was probably a vixen groupie 20 years ago. Alas, it is life and the shit it is of getting older. Not only does the band age, but the fan base ages. Ah well....

Mom is doing pretty well. She made it home from Russia, unscathed. We were so proud of her for seizing the moment and forging ahead with her previous travel plans. Every day is a new day with room for new opportunities. To look at it any other way would be pessimistic. Not that there aren't hard times. But you keep on trucking. Life is too short to curl up and sleep through the rest of it.

On to work, and studying. And more work, and studying. I have my first exam this Friday. In anatomy/physiology. It's going well, but it's a shitload of information to commit to memory. Glad I boned up on my brain puzzles and sudoku this summer.

A shout out to Jen, who is dealing with her sick, beloved canine. When they get old and leave us, the term canine is more appropriate. It's a more appropriately formal way of speaking of someone who has such a profound effect on our lives. A dog just sounds so offhanded, so disposable. And our four-legged friends are not that.

Love to all.

A Special Dedication...

2009-09-07T20:48:00.000-07:00

My best friend started back to work this year. Now she's managing 2 kids, a husband, a dog, and 27 2nd graders every day. Phew...

I am back in school and handling my own busy life. In between, there hasn't been much time for the two of us to connect.

Next month, I will fly out to Vegas, where Joelle and I will see U2 together. They have been our favorite band for 25 years, but we've never seen them together. Seeing her, and seeing U2 equate to a religious experience for me. I CANNOT WAIT!

I miss you, Jo. This one goes out to you. You are always in my thoughts.

And I thought you should take a gander at how hot Bono looks in this video.

God and Dog

2009-09-06T09:49:00.000-07:00

This one goes out to Bernice, Patrick, and Annie. Divine Dogs.

Warning Sign

2009-09-03T08:46:00.000-07:00

The Today Show had a segment on where the music intro was Coldplay's "Warning Sign." I recognized the song as it has such a stunning beginning. I think it's one of Coldplay's best songs, and I felt the need to hear the entire thing right then. Lickety split, I was able to que up a fantastic acoustic version. Delicious! Enjoy.

I was watching

2009-08-31T21:00:00.000-07:00

Mom and Dad, Somewhere in Europe. I doubt dad was missing T.V. then, and now.

I found myself watching the CMA Music Festival tonight. It just kind of happened. I suppose it had a lot to do with the HiDef picture and the beauty of understanding the simplistic, audible lyrics. More than I can say about rock music these days.

Three songs into it, I felt myself welling up. My dad was missing it. My dad loved country music and used to watch every country music show. He appreciated the young ladies with poufy hair, and the simple songs about love on a front porch. I realized that if he was here, he would be cooing about pretty Taylor Swift, and calling me to tell me what I was missing (cause he knew I wouldn't be watching.) And yet tonight I was watching. Without any provocation.

Then I had an epiphany. If my dad was alive, he would be in Russia with my mom. He wouldn't even be at home! Hell! I'd still be sitting here alone, watching it. I sucked up a tear, and a smile crept over my face. I turned my tear-stained cheeks to Scot.

"Oh no, " he said. He had noticed the wet eyes. "What's going on? "
I let him in on my private little moment. From feeling sad to the realization that if my dad were alive he wouldn't be stuck indoors with the boob tube on this hot August night. He would have been in St. Petersburg!

Scot had only been half-listening to the show. First of all, country music is not his favorite. Then, for as loud as the T.V was, he couldn't hear it well. When the program started he had been doing homework with the kids. Then later he was yelling at the kids to brush their teeth and yelling at Patrick (humping dog) to "cool it." Not really the space and time for the introspection I was managing.

"Shooooot, " he said, fanning himself. "He might be better off where he is."

We looked at each other straight faced, giggled, and started to laugh.

Sexy Horiscope

2009-08-25T15:40:00.001-07:00

Can You say "Grrrrr" "Purrrrrrrrrrrrr" and "Yowza!!!!"
I'm going to be referring to this often, as a reminder of the vixen I am. Under the flour (from making banana bread) and the anatomy textbook a dazzling cheetah lurks.

Looking for signs

2009-08-23T15:09:00.001-07:00

Scot's out of town. My mom is in Russia. YES! she went, good for her. A weekend with no adult conversation has me talking to people who aren't here. Dead people. Well, just my dad.

My mother and I both talk to my father. My mother's favorite place to dial-up Norm is in the car, on the way home from my house. Sometimes I talk to Norm in the car, too. Usually the kids are with me, but they already think I'm crazy. Last night I took the kids for a bike ride and tried to channel Norm through the clouds. Mary and I constantly ask him to give us a sign. We have to believe we are receiving them.

On June 4th, the day of my dad's surgery, the weather in Arizona was unseasonably cool and cloudy. Around the time my father came out of surgery, there was a rainbow in the southern sky. Tim, Scot, my mom and I were just wrapping up dinner out back when we all noticed it. I took it as a positive sign for my dad's health.

The next rainbow I saw came on June 22. Scot and I were leaving Blue Adobe, where we had just sat down with my mother and the restaurant manager to plan my father's memorial. As we drove west towards home, an enormous, vibrant rainbow illuminated the dusky sky. It was so startlingly 3D, so near, you wanted to touch it. My mother took note of it on her way home too, and saw a man pull his car over to get out and take pictures.

After my dad's service, I drove over to my mother's house to be with family. As I cruised up the mountainous road, I took a moment to glance west at the cactus and barren hillside. Above it all was a magnificent cloud. And under it a rainbow. I caught a small cry in my throat. I felt the presence of my father next to me. I imagined his slightly plump hand abutting mine on the arm rest. If it's possible to feel comforted by a spirit, I was. I took pictures of all three rainbows, and in a grievous error, deleted them off the card.

My mom has had her own share of hunting's and signs. I will share one with you. Forty years ago, Mary made Norm choose; the priesthood, or her. She promised her love and commitment, and handed him a book of Robert Frost poetry. Earmarked was her favorite poem, "The Road Not Taken." Obviously, my father picked that path, and it did make all the difference. A couple of years ago, I found a tote bag for my mother that had the most famous stanza of the poem silk screened on the side.

Two weeks ago, my mother returned home to find that Annie had gotten into mischief (I know that dogs don't necessarily die from eating chocolate; this dog has put away half of a chocolate cake and a 2 lb. bag of M&M's.) My mom found some plastic wrap (contents gone) and a corner-chewed paperback book on the middle of the family room floor. She picked up the book, flipped it over, and quickly realized she had never laid eyes on the book before. She called me, and asked me if the book of mixed poetry was mine. I dismissed it, and couldn't recall seeing it at her house before, either. The next morning, my mom thumbed through the book. She checked out the publishing credits, and learned that it was put out by Grand Circle Travel, my parents' travel group.

And on page 41, (the year she was born) she saw it. "The Road Not Taken."

Now I look for rainbows. And if gays hadn't cornered the market on them, I'd be buying cheesy rainbow sun catchers and posters. My mom looks for divine signals from her aging lab. When it's all you got, I guess you look for it everywhere you can, and take it where you can get it.

Max'ed Out

2009-08-21T09:29:00.000-07:00

Enough with these dresses.

It's not that they're not pretty, or don't have a certain appeal. A sophisticated, I'm so confidant I can cover my body with a bag look. I suggest wearing them at a poolside resort restaurant, or a garden ladies lunch. They have their place.

But I'm seeing them every day at school pick-up. With flimsy flip-flops. On young women who weren't alive when the whole President- Reagan- getting -shot thing went down. Also, Such dresses need a certain level of classiness. And a cellphone stuck in the cleavage isn't very Audrey.

I don't think you asked, but I thought you should know how I feel.

The Journey of ten thousand miles begins with a single phone call - Confucius Bell

2009-08-20T19:03:00.000-07:00

In 1992, I was having a fifth-of-my-life crisis. Should I choose to be young, semi literate, and married, or do something risky, life altering, and potentially awesome? The answer seems easy now, but I was a frightened girl of 20 at the time.

After consulting several self-help books, I got up the nerve to take a risk. I dumped the boyfriend and spent 4 months in London. It changed me forever.

A couple of weeks ago, I came across hand written quotes on my "Toni Helber" stationery. That list was tucked into a corner of my dresser mirror for months , many years ago. I kept it, because I still find the literary morsels on risk to be inspiring.

Here it is:

Don't play for safety-it's the most dangerous thing in the world. - Hugh Walpole

Try everything once except for incest and folk dancing. - Sir Thomas Beecham

You can't build a reputation on what you're GOING to do. - Henry Ford

Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work. - Thomas Edison

I believe in getting into hot water; it keeps you clean. - G.K. Chesterton

Never be afraid to try something new. Remember, amateurs build the ark; professions built the Titanic. - author unknown

One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time. -André Gide

Every man has the right to risk his own life in order to preserve it. Has it ever been said that a man who throws himself out the window to escape from a fire is guilty of suicide? -Jean-Jacques Rousseau

On Tuesday, I registered for Bio 160- Human Anatomy. I'm scared, but thrilled. I am beginning a new era of my life.

Not only did I want to share these favorite quotes with you today, but I also wanted them as close as my laptop. Just in case I need them.

Cabela's

2009-08-16T15:57:00.000-07:00

Sunday seems as good a day as any to drive 30 miles and witness how the other half lives. Apparently they live by the gun. By that, I mean hunting of course!

Near the new Cardinals Sport Complex in Glendale, Arizona lies Cabela's. It is the ultimate "outdoor" store; 160,000 square feet. My outdoors is comprised of flowers, bikes, and Rollerblades. But the folks out west mean "outdoor" as if you might hunker down with your fellow militia-folk and make a life off the land.

We wandered from department to department, admiring plastic and foam deer target dummies, meat preserving kits, and $5000 gun safes. We walked through the aquarium, stocked with local river and lake fish, and listened to the "living" animal displays. Scot found a Turkey "beer cozy" which he couldn't live without. I resisted the temptation to talk with a twang at the register, and I suppressed a chuckle when I heard a man wrangle his children, Delmont and Harley.

I'm kind of sorry I didn't need a stainless steel industrial meat mill. They had a great one. But now I'll know where to find one shall the neighbor's cat ever encroach on my grass.

I'm kidding!

Dear Developmental Pediatrician,

2009-08-14T10:52:00.000-07:00

I made the appointment for your office in late June. I have been gearing up for the two-and-a-half hour consultation since. In the past six weeks, I spent two hours filling out the almanac of information you wanted on my kid. I slaved over answers that made the slightest distinction (i.e. sometimes/often.) I attached our family picture to the front of the Encyclopedia Maggie. Finally, I lovingly tucked the whole kit-and-caboodle back into the manila envelope. And that was just the the paperwork.

I alerted the school the Maggie would be late today. Her father changed a scheduled call so that he could be present at the appointment. I woke early, showered, donned a dress and applied makeup. I looked palatable. So much so my daughter called me "pretty mama" and her father looked at me. Do you see where I'm going with this? The day in itself was becoming an event.

So, when I reached your office at 8:30 a.m. and was told that I had CANCELLED the appointment in a voice mail last Friday, I think I had a right to be livid. NO, I called and RECONFIRMED the appointment last Friday. I s..l..o..w..l..y enunciated the word CONFIRM into your answering machine (because no one EVER answers the phone) and told you "we will be there."

Which brings me to the problem. You should not make your clients call back and reconfirm what they already know. I made this appointment six weeks ago. This is not the same as me being drafted to Iraq; you might have to chase me down to fulfill that appointment. I made the first call. I want to come and see you. I've been waiting with expectation for this day. A call to remind someone they have an appointment is fantastic. By insisting your clients CALL BACK and reconfirm their appointment is RETARTED. Especially when live human ears do not answer the phone, and I'm trusting that the Voice Mail Gods deliver the goods.

We left your office, unseen. My daughter was delivered to school, and my husband and I tooled around Barnes and Noble for a bit. I wasn't about to waste these fresh pits scrubbing the kitchen. An hour later, the front office called and rescheduled us for next Tuesday. I told your scheduling woman NOT to call me to re-confirm. It's four days from now- short of being hit by a truck or losing my short-term memory, we will be there. "Sorry for the confusion this morning " she said. "We've had other people forget to call back and reconfirm, and we canceled them, too."

I had called. I had reconfirmed. I bit my tongue. It's not a tumor on the neck- that is a problem. It's just a inefficient system that could use some retooling. Would you like my help?

Sincerely,

me

Back in the saddle

2009-08-11T10:26:00.000-07:00

I have recurring dreams, quite often. One is that I'm late to my own wedding. I can't find my shoes, and someone is applying sky-blue eye shadow to my lids. The other common anxiety dream is that I'm in College Algebra. Again. Because in real life, the first three times I took College Algebra I fell into Dante's rings of hell. I was scarred and burned. I Failed. Eventually, I did what every mathaphobe does. I selected a major where I could take College Math instead. Breezed through that with a D, and graduated.

I'm doing the previously unthinkable, and thinking of going back to school. In the allied health care field. Where there is some amount of math involved. The nightmares are returning. I've narrowed it down to Dental Hygenist, and Respiratory Therapist. I've weighed the amount of schooling, prerequisites, and general potential disdain I will harbor for my choice, after I choose said career path.

It's come down to this: Hygenists make more money, but breathe a stream of constant bad breath and work for cranky, suicidal dentists. On the positive side, I like helping people, especially ones who are in a prone position with no ability to yell because my hands are in their mouth.

Respiratory therapy is near and dear to me, as Nora has asthma and my father suffered from IPF. The downside to that field is old people hocking sputum, and the constant threat of airborne H1N1. On the bright side, the only math required is Intermediate Algebra. I had that. 3 times. That might make my choice right there.

Joking aside, I have felt a calling to get involved with health care. I appreciated all the sweet souls who took care of my father, and saw myself in their shoes. The lure of a secure, vocational job with a name tag has a great deal of appeal, too. I am leaning in the aforementioned direction, but am open to suggestions. Just please remember the little problem I have with advanced math.

Thanks.

A show of hands for hotness

2009-08-10T09:11:00.000-07:00

My brother was out for two weeks this summer. We see each other about twice a year, and it's never enough. I adore Tim. He's generous, funny, and has a genuine zest for life.

We've never been able to figure out if Tim looks like my mother, his father, or the shoe salesman at Younkers. But it doesn't seem to matter. He's a hotness all his own. The ladies out west fawned over my brother during the time he was here. I fielded questions and inquiries into his marital status. We can now add "hot," and "muffin" to his list of attributes.

Lap it up, Tim.

Something tells me you'll be back for a visit soon.

A small, well not so small, correction.

2009-08-09T11:55:00.000-07:00

Well, there was some cancer. Just because you don't see the words "malignant" and "positive" in a medical report doesn't mean it wasn't there. Another big, scary word like "adenocarcinoma" should have had me sitting upright, at attention. I guess it's just that my brain has always been taught that positive and malignant are the words that should strike fear, where cancer is concerned. I'm sorry for the confusion there. That's what you get when you let a medically uneducated civilian read a wordy medical report.

So maybe he didn't die in vain. But did he die way before the cancer would have gotten him? My dad was alert, talking and sitting till his third day post-op. On day 3, my father got confused and agitated, and needed sedation. We were told that his confusion was from high ammonia levels in his brain. The high levels were a result of clogged bowels. By having a bowel movement, he would flush the ammonia and insure the reconstructed plumbing was working correctly. After all, he had his gallbladder removed, 1/3 of his stomach removed, and the head of the pancreas removed. By day 4, when he still hadn't pooped the doctors did a turn-about and pinned his listlessness of pneumonia. He did indeed contract pneumonia, but what happened to the importance of clearing the toxic levels of ammonia? Why, when the obvious symptoms of gangrenous bowel were present, didn't they take action ? Instead we were told his mental confusion was caused by the pneumonia and perhaps alcohol withdrawal. WHAT? Why was a social drinker pumped full of Ativan, an alcohol withdrawal drug? We repeatedly told them my father was not an addict. In the end, his pneumonia cleared, and his heart and liver were strong. It was the damn gangrenous bowel that took his life.

I can now return to a state of peace and acceptance surrounding my father's ultimate fate. In the end, he would have died of pancreatic cancer. But I continue to be in turmoil about how and why he died in the hospital. We are now pouring over 1200 pages of documentation taken during my father's 15 day stay. I will not rest till we investigate every angle of these medical reports.

Boy, isn't is a friggin' laugh a minute reading my blog lately? Thanks for sticking with me.

On a good note, the kids' both start school tomorrow. Maggie will be entering 2nd grade, and Nora Ruby, kindergarten. Poor lambs. Out the door at 7:30 a.m., to be fed to the real world sharks. I will be sure to take pics of the big day.

Just when I thought I had found peace...

2009-08-07T16:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday would have been my father's 69th birthday. Before we went out for a celebratory beer my mother stopped by the hospital and picked up my father's records.

My father's cause of death was "gangrenous bowel, with perforation."
The bowel was obstructed due to re sectioning of his pancreas and intestinal organs, as part of the Whipple Procedure, which was performed for Pancreatic Cancer.

The pathology on the tumor came back "negative." The "lemon-size" tumor the surgeon mentioned was actually 3 1/2 cm's, about an inch and a half big.

My father was told if he did not have the Whipple surgery performed, he would have 18 months to live. Yes, that's if it's a malignant cancer. Unfortunately, growths in the pancreas are not biopsied. It's a "go in and rip it all out until you die" exercise.

I'm starting to think my father died in vain.

I am mad. Really mad.

Hermosa Beach

2009-08-04T20:20:00.000-07:00

We've returned from the beach. Our 11th annual boondoggle. The first year we threw an air mattress in my parents room for 3 nights, and this year we spent 9 nights in a large room with kitchen. The funny thing is that we'd still mooch, were in not for the two children we now have.

It was wonderful. Hiking to the supermarket in flip flops for beer, tipsy Scrabble on the beach, Target with sand on the legs, and a nightly pilgrimage for ice cream. The perfect vacation.

Every year, Scot and I feel like it could be the last. How long can the crazy place exist before it self destructs or has its own apocalypse? Yet in the midst of plastic people and trashed-up freeways beautiful fragile tulips spring up on dingy curbs. California is wacky; but its appeal is hard to resist.

Friday Night Lights

2009-07-17T21:36:00.000-07:00

It's Friday night, and I was trying to best to download some new pics on here for you to peruse. Last Sunday, I had a big memorial pre-gamer at my house, and my nephew Christopher snapped some cool, underwater shots of the girls in the pool. But I'm a tech dumb-ass and can't seem to get them on here. Scot is in Flagstaff, enjoying the cool weather with his siblings. So, you'll have to dig the ones I put on here. I put these two in a collage for the memorial.

The top shot was taken at the Michigan cabin last June. My SIL Cindy was "candling" my father. Not sexy, but sort of nasty and a complete hoax (go ahead, Google it.) Nonetheless, we had a good time smoking each other's ears out. We almost set fire to the whole damn place, and that kind of drama always makes for some pants-wetting laughs.

The bottom pic was snapped in Grand Haven, Michigan, in front of the hot dog stand. Can you tell Scot was at the end of his rope with all of us? Hardy hardy har.

My mom and I had dinner together with the kids tonight. We stumbled upon an open house (score!) and got the kids some Dairy Queen. Tomorrow we are off to Marshalls to look for new flip-flops. It's supposed to be 116 all weekend. Have mercy.

Memorial script

2009-07-14T14:40:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the memorial for my dad. This is my script I used for my speech. I elaborated on this, but it's basically how it went. We had a huge turnout with lots of friends and family. My sister sang "What I Did for Love" from A Chorus Line (my dad's choice) , and a probation officer sang "Wing Beneath my Wings" for my mom. My best friend Joelle came in, and her husband surprised me by flying out, too! Thank you to everyone.

Ever since my dad passed away, all I can think about are Bugles. I sat to write this and Bugles came to mind. One silly, seemingly inconsequential food item. Bugles. I haven't seen these since 1979. That was when my father cornered the market on the corn snack.

When I was little, my parents dragged me around to every flea market, auction, and craft fair in the N.J. tri-state area. I spent countless Friday nights at the Berlin Farmer's Market in Berlin, NJ. And one night, my dad bought 10 cases of Bugles. I had Bugles in my lunch bag for years. And when that got old, we mixed 'em into omelets. I know my father didn't have a thing for Bugles or Pop Rocks or broken candy bars any more than any of us. What he had was a love for negotiating a great deal. And then it dawned on me. Bugles are a tangible thing I can hold, something small, but an important metaphor of sorts. They stand for the passion that my father had.

As a child, I wasn't allowed to be sick. Sick days were to be used for traveling. And as such, I was yanked out of school every year. Sometimes the trip was work related, like the week on the gulf in Texas, and sometimes we went because the price and adventure were too hard to resist. That would have been the week in the Dominican Republic. For a couple of days we lounged by the secure comfort of our hotel. But then my dad got it in his head to visit a local orphanage. While Norm navigated, Mary drove the stifling hot car through the streets on Santo Domingo. We passed goats and shacks and things I had only read about in the newspaper. It was exhilarating, horrifying, and unforgettable. Never a dull moment. When I was 20, he funded a semester abroad, telling me to take advantage of everything. Take every side trip, see every play, and shop at every store? I thanked him for the handout then. Now I want to thank him for the experiences.

When I graduated from college, I looked hard and long for a career path. I knew my father loved his job. He welcomed the challenges and sought innovative approaches to dealing with old problems. Sounded fantastic. Sign me up! So I looked into it. And I could only shake my head. While worthy and good, getting stoked about probation was like getting whipped up about egg noodles. Where was the excitement? I asked him. I envied his passion for his job. And was mystified by it. But my father's answer was far less inspired than I would have imagined. " I wasn't dying to get into probation. I just did it, and I gave it everything I had". And he did.

My dad and mom had the most beautiful relationship. Passion begets passion. The two of them supplied enough energy to keep the room lit. My dad was content to glow while my mother shone. My father surrounded my mother with humor, and a generous spirit. I can only recall a couple of times when my father every raised his voice to my mom, and it usually involved a cell phone bill. In having this gentle, loving demeanor, he provided the best example of a great husband. I want to thank him, for it was he who taught me what a loving spouse should do and be. I knew that I would never settle That said, when I moved out, Norm proved a hard act to follow. I spent the first couple of years of my marriage asking Scot what he was going to do with me every weekend. Did he have a restaurant in mind for dinner? Was there a culinary fair in town?

Right down to the day he went into the hospital, my dad was sucking the marrow out of life. That morning, a poor timeshare saleswoman called the house. Norm pretended to be an old, eager man, and strung the woman on for a good half-hour. He feigned interest and even asked the woman if she would be accompanying him on the trip. Tim, Mary and I sat in the kitchen, peeing our pants, laughing.

My dad was a brilliant man who was capable of accomplishing large things, but found happiness in every day gifts, like a tasty burrito. He wanted to go everywhere, and try everything once. He drew inspiration from everything and everyone, and left us all wanting to be the best versions of ourselves. Frankly, he has left me realizing how boring most people are.

Norm searched for deals at home, and afar. Sometimes this resulted in cases of dog food, the World's largest collection of Vatican stamps, and bejeweled cuff links. Other times his bargain hunting provided the family with Mexican cruises. Still yet are the 5000 Life Magazines squatting in my garage. But my first taste of my dad's passionate spirit will be the one I can never forget. Those damn Bugles.

I love you dad.

Support Group

2009-07-07T21:18:00.000-07:00

What?! What?! Oh, I'm here. Sorry. Been in a fog. Doing pretty well.

Tonight, Mary and I decided to check out a support group at a local church. Realizing I couldn't mix therapy with beer saddened me a bit, but I sobered up and prepared myself for some tears and disclosure.

The group included a 62-year old widow, a 50-something widow, a woman mourning her sister, and one guy that was disturbed by the whole thing and left abruptly. We all gave our stories, and listened and supported one another. It was an hour and a half of nose blowing and wadded tissues. One widow seemed to be doing as well as possible, moving on with her life. The 50-something woman, widowed for 7 months, has no joy, nor will she entertain the idea that joy might ever come into her life again. She has sold the couple's vacation home, and has said she doesn't want to make a new life. She wants the old life, with her husband in it. During the last five minutes of the session, one previously quiet woman spoke. She was there because she had lost someone, too. Her dog. In January. I felt for her. Dogs are family. But as she started to wail and rock, I knew I didn't want to feel how she felt next year.

There is no right or wrong way to grieve. I feel for everyone in that circle, and realize that people do the best they can when dealing with death. But I like the healthy approach my mom has. When she addressed the group tonight, she said, "I've got to love myself more. More than my husband, more than our life together. I can't let myself slip away. " She said this with tears and determination. I was so impressed. My mom walked to the car and told me she wasn't sure she gained anything from the group. She might not have, but I did.

This horrible, heinous, awful, painful grief . OR , ('I want You Back' my Micael Jackson song)

2009-06-30T12:48:00.000-07:00

The last two weeks have followed the same pattern. I suppose it's the new normal. I wake up with a tugging in my chest. I shuffle, semi-paralyzed, to the shower, and splash awake with the water. I make breakfast, tend the children and offer Scot my best smile. The rest of the day continues in a similar manner. I can laugh, but am quicker to cry. I was unpacking groceries today and noticed a fresh, unopened bag of peanuts in the pantry. I thought of Norm, and the silly fact that peanuts were his favorite food. I tossed the nuts into the corner, cursing the surgeon that butchered my father.

Grief is not linear. Just when you think you've moved into another stage, you circle around for another pass. What breaks it up is a little levity and humor. I picked up Norm's ashes this morning, with four children in tow. After buckling in the kids, I did the same to Norm, seated in the passenger seat. I told him to hang on, and peeled out of the parking lot. I'd like to think he would have liked it. If Norm was here, he would only want these mopey shenanigans to go on for so long.

Here's hoping the days to come have more humor, and less tears.

Baby Did a Bad, Bad, Thing

2009-06-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

Ya know how you always want to throw out a "dead aunt" comment to shut someone up, but think better of it cause karma is such a kick in the pants?

Yeah, well, I got my chance today. I was in the line at the grocery store. I had gone to purchase a few items, notably, the newspaper containing my father's obituary notice. I threw the merchandise on the belt, which included not one paper, but six. I want those babies laminated. The bagger, a woman in her 40's with hearing aids, glanced at the papers, and then at me.

"Why in the world do you have so many newspapers?!"
she shouted. Only it didn't sound so succinct and biting. More panicky and warbley, as if Marlee Matlin was yelling at William Hurt.

I had to do it. I knew I was playing the death card, but I couldn't resist. It was the one time in my life I would not be condemned to hell for invoking a loved one's name and death in the same sentence.

"I bought so many because my father's obituary is in there today."

The cashier, who until now had been silent, turned tomato red. Her eyes rolled, and I saw the words "I'm sorry" silently pass her lips. I'm pretty sure she thought Ashton Kutcher would round the corner any moment and let her know she'd been punk'd. But it didn't stop there. The mental midget bagging my groceries went on to ask how old my father was, and what he had died of. I answered all of her questions graciously, remembering she was doing a job my five-year-old could do. The cashier vocally apologized as I steered my cart out of her lane. I wasn't put-off, or offended by her co-workers questions. Death in interesting. But death in America is taboo. As a society we don't talk about it, and God forbid we bring a beloveds name into a death joke. Norm would have appreciated it. I walked away, smiling.

A return to "normalcy"

2009-06-23T09:13:00.000-07:00

When I started this daily blogging thing some months back, Jen T. said I'd never be able to keep up the pace. She was right. Life got in the way.

The last 4 weeks have been a time warp, a strange continuum of grief. It has been absolutely exhausting, stressful, and hell on earth. Stress and grief do weird things to your body. I would recline on my bed for an hour every day, unable to control the children, who were stuffing 40 Oreos in their mouths. But frankly, I didn't even care. Losing someone makes you see what's important, and what's not. My mother chewed gum relentless for two weeks, breaking down a tooth.

But our minds still function. Sort-of. Things might be fuzzy (that must be self-protection) but you soldier on, making the coffee, running to the supermarket. Hence why I am back. I'm missed you all.

Today, I share with you my father's obituary. It will run tomorrow in the Arizona Republic. The original, longer version was much better, but I had to trim it to keep it under $500!!! It's become clear to me why newspapers are failing.

Helber, Norman Leslie

Norman Leslie Helber embarked on his next journey June 18, 2009. Norm was born August 6, 1940 in Bay City, Michigan. At thirteen years old , he took the opportunity for grand adventure and higher education and left Michigan for the seminary in Mt. Saint Francis, Indiana. For his Master's degree in theology, he attended Assumption Seminary in Chaska, Minnesota. At the age of 27, Norm was ordained a Franciscan Friar. (OFM Conv. ) He was assigned to Saint Anthony's Parish is Grand Rapids, Mi. where he served the church proudly for two years. In 1969, Norm changed life paths, when he met and married Mary Therese Meeter DeDinas. The couple relocated to Cherry Hill, New Jersey, where Norm built a career in criminal justice. He began working as a probation officer in Camden County, New Jersey. During this period, he obtained an MBA from Central Michigan University. In the 1980's, Norm served one term as President of the American Probation and Parole Association. In 1989, Norm accepted the position as Chief of Maricopa County Adult Probation. During his tenure here, "Chief" was respected for his innovative probation practices, and hand-off management style. In addition to being clever and capable on the job, Norm was also regarded as fair and downright funny. A testament to this was that many of Norm's lifelong friends were former colleagues and employees. In 2000, Norm retired. With no career to keep him stateside, Norm spent the last nine years traveling with Mary and dozens of friends. Recently, he became a group organizer for Grand Circle Tours. When at home, Norm enjoyed local theater, serving as an adjudicator for the Arizoni Awards. Norm was preceded in death by his mother and father, Noreen and Frank Helber, and a sister, Fay Helber. He is survived by his best friend, and wife of almost 40 years, Mary Therese; children, Tim DeDinas (Cindy), Julie Whelihan (Stephen), and Toni Therese (Gregory). He is also survived by his brother Daniel, sisters Connie and Barbara, seven grandchildren, one great-grandchild, and his precious mutt, Annie. Norm was never without a positive idea, whether it be as mundane as a dinner suggestion or as grand as a planned family cruise. He leaves behind many who were inspired by his intoxicating appreciation of life. We will miss his enthusiasm and sweet nature. Next month, we will gather to talk about the man who had passion for so much; his family, his friends, St. Francis of Assisi, and accruing frequent flier miles. The celebration will be held at Blue Adobe Grille, in Scottsdale, on July 13th, from 12:00-2:00 p.m. Please RSVP by July 10th to (480) 314-0550. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the American Cancer Society.

2009-06-09T20:52:00.001-07:00

I' ve always been able to write. In happiness, and when trouble is deep. I can't do it now.
I can't put down the words to explain how deep my grief is right now.

My dad is hanging on. He has toxic amounts of amonia in his system. The amonia has essentially poisoned his body, and made his brain crazy. He's being sedated, as when he's awake, he tries to pull out all his cords. Since he's been in a prone position for five days, fluid is starting to gather in his lungs. If Norm gets pneumonia, he will not have a fighting chance. Today, they placed him on a ventilator to help expand his lungs and discharge the fluid. It did help. Once he passes the amonia (by pooping) his head will clear and his body might be more likely to take on any lung issues. In the meantime, I watch a man who six short days ago was vibrant and pain free now suffer and fight to hold on to his life. Birthing two children and enduring layoffs weren't as tortuous and painful as supporting my mom last night. We stood over my dad, and told him he loved him and to turn back if he saw a light.

We knew there were risks, and potential complications, and we got 'em all right! We have known for eighteen months that my dad is sick. I thought I was preparing myself, but nothing has prepared me for feeling this damn sad. And helpless. And out of control.

We sit, pray, and wait. I am so grateful for my ladies on the right. Every one of you taught me something, and I'm looking to you now for some words of wisdom. Darcy, I still can't post on your darn blog. But, I'm reading. I'm reading all of you. You bring me comfort.

Love to my mom, one tough lady. I love you mom. Also to sister Julie. You brightened my day with your insane, cherry personality. And Scot, you are a saint. I love you.

More tomorrow. I made it through this without crying. Maybe I can do this.

Day 109

2009-06-05T20:16:00.000-07:00

A rehash of a letter sent out today. We are tired, fat (pizza, Chinese, too many beers) and emotionally spent. Tim leaves tomorrow. I will miss my brother. He is a good person who sees the good in everyone (unlike his caustic, suspecting sister.) On to a new week. Oh yeah, tomorrow is my anniversary. Happy 11, honey. NIght all. More later....

HI All,

Here we are on Friday night, and it's been about 28 hours since Norm came out of surgery. As a refresher, a mass was seen on Norm's last MRI, which was taken as a follow-up after a bout of pancreatitis. During yesterday's seven-and-a-half hour procedure, he had 1/2 the pancreas, 1/3 his stomach, part of the small intestine, and all of his gallbladder removed.

Tim, Mary, and I were allowed to see him four hours after he woke up from the sedation. The nurses thought he was still feeling the effects of the anaesthesia, but we know Norm better than that; that's just how he always is. When a tech told him he wanted to test his blood sugar, Norm said, "He called me 'sugar'." Then, when the nurse advised him to push a button on a cord for morphine, he pushed the bandaid on his nose repeatedly. His spirits were amazing.

Today, they had him sitting in a chair. He attempted a walk, but grew too excited and tired after standing for ten minutes while his forty-billion wires were being made mobile. My mom and Tim are visiting him now, and I will give you a further update tomorrow. On Monday, the pathology will be back from the surgery. The results of that will determine what the next course of action will be.

Please continue to send good thoughts and prayers to my dad, and my mom. Their strength and humor during this time is admirable. It was fantastic having Tim out; he provided support and laughs despite how fragile and rotten we all felt.

We thank you for all the calls and emails. We are lucky to count all of you as our friends.

Toni

Day 108 - There will be Mountains to Climb

2009-06-04T21:32:00.000-07:00

Lifted from my facebook page updates.

7 1/2 hour "difficult" surgery. Removed 1/3 stomach, gallbladder, 1/2 pancreas, part of liver. Cancerous tumor the size of a large orange. Holy sh*t. He's been moved to recovery, can't see him yet. Thanks for all of your concern. It really DOES mean a lot.:)

just saw dad. My heart broke for him. It'll be touch and go the next couple of day. But, his humor hasn't been removed. He told the RN who wanted to draw his blood sugar, "hey, he called me 'sugar'", and he told them he would pay extra to have his lips wet. He pushed the badaid on his nose for his morphine button. I alternated between laughing and crying. Thanks to Tim and Scot. And my true friends.

Day 107 - Working all the angles, calling on all the angels

2009-06-03T21:28:00.000-07:00

Catholic:
O God, the source of all health.
Fill my heart with faith.
Be near me in times of weakness and pain. Although I know You are in control, I am apprehensive about what faces me. You made me, loved me, and have provided my surgeon with needed skill to perform a miracle in my behalf. Sustain me by Your grace that my strength and courage may not fail; Heal me according to Your will.
Amen.

Buddhist:May all that have life be delivered from suffering - Gautama Buddha

THE FOUR NOBLE TRUTHS:

All is suffering (dukkha).

Suffering is caused by desire/attachment.

If one can eliminate desire/attachment, one can eliminate suffering.

The Noble Eight-fold Path can eliminate desire. Extremes of excessive self-indulgence (hedonism) and excessive self-mortification should be avoided.

More important than anything is to say that we love you dad. Sleep tight and we'll see you tomorrow.