Duran Duran

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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

                                                        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

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

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

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!"

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

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

                                                         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

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

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

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

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