Healing, Helping, Heat, and Hand Made Give Away!

I am headed down to help my mother in law for the day (or two?). In my absence I am sending everyone some warmth and encouragement for springtime weather! C'mon Mother Nature, bring it on! We need some heat!

Now the Give Away!
There is a great idea floating about lately and here's the drill:

I promise to send the first 3 persons who comment in this post something hand made before the end of this year. (Thank you to whoever came up with that rule!) Yup, something fabulous from little 'ol S'mee! Maybe photo cards, maybe a painting, maybe something hand sewn, or who knows? But definitely hand made! And received before the end of this year. Oh the mystery! What will it be? (if only the neighbors dogs could be considered "home made"...you'd receive your gift, like, on Monday! But alas, no. so you'll need to wait and be surprised!)

Here's the rub: If you sign up to receive a hand made gift you need to "pay it forward" on your own blog. That is, you'll make a post similar to this and then promise and hand make a gift for three other bloggers by the end of the year! C'mon, an-y-thing home made by you by the end of the year! You can do this! How fun!

So o.k. my peeps! Comment away!

The "F" word, and a Thursday link

I remember years ago I was at the Primary President's home having a presidency meeting when her young daughter came into the room and exclaimed: "Mom! Ryan just said the "F" word!" Calmly, yet with much dedication "mommy" left the room and headed down the hall.

During her absence, we still at the table were all doe eyed and wondering what the outcome of this declaration would be. After all, not only was she the Primary President, but the daddy in this home was a counselor in the Bishopric. We at the table were kind of inwardly happy knowing that this proved this family was not as 'perfect' as we all previously had presumed.

A few moments passed by and in walked my friend. Before she even sat down she had the following statement:

"Before anyone gets any grand ideas about the language in this house, the "F" word here is "FINE!". As in, "You need to do your homework" "FINE!", or "Go make your bed please." "FINE!". Ryan said "fine" and she didn't approve. O.k. let's finish this meeting."

And with that we knew, yup, they were perfect.

Now in my house there have been moments of salty language that went a bit further than the occasional "FINE!". That said, There were some words that just got more reprimand than others.

Thor absolutely used to come undone if anyone, including myself, replied with the ever popular, insult implying "DUH!". Seriously offended, he would just stop mid sentence and recoil, allowing the offender to back-step quickly enough to a safe place to begin their flimsy repentant excuse for the slip.

Another faux pas that would stimulate parental ire was the complacent word "whatever". This apathetic response was considered not only rude, but completely void of intelligence and comprehension.

A phrase that could almost tie but at times would be the winner in the "how to make the parental units angry" contest was "I don't know." or it's cousin "I don't care." Such apathy! In the history of our family there is one page that tells the story of #2 son who, upon given a choice of coats for the winter, and asked to choose which he preferred, replied: "I don't care." He was asked once again and even a third time, all with the same response. At that point the coats were placed back on the rack and there wasn't a coat purchased that year for said child. You don't care which coat you want, guess you don't need one badly enough. After having to wear an outgrown coat, the next year you can bet that kid had an opinion.

The ever popular "S" words. "Stupid" in reference to inanimate objects seemed to slither by without too much attention (other than a warning glare), however when said to or about someone it would unleash untold pointed fingers and negative attention, so much so that the offender wouldn't make the same mistake for a good two to three years.

"Suck" was another story. Unless one was talking about the use of a vacuum or straw this word got the adult attention immediately. And not just our own off spring, but anyone 5 years younger than the parental units, would reap the fury of using such a vulgar term. Almost always there would be some ridiculous excuse and explanation to this word's new super powers and how only old people thought it vulgar. These were moot points in our house. It got so bad that eventually our children just got used to saying that bad things "created a huge vacuum." and left it at that.

There is still debate going on over the use of the word "gay". Is this an emotion, a group of people, or an insult?

Now if you will recall, I am a dinosaur. I actually remember the day when "gay" meant happy, joyous, or some other spring-like emotion. I remember the words to children's songs that used "gay" quite a lot! "...when Grandpa comes, we're gay!" "..having a gay heart that sings!..." o.k. At that same time in ancient history homosexuals were given titles such as odd fellows, or queer, because queer -in the dictionary sense- meant odd, unusual, different than the norm...

Then the 80's hit and all the sudden male homosexuals were termed "gay" because they all seemed very happy, joyous, and 'spring-like'.

sidebar:
(and now that I think about it, why just the guys? How come the gals didn't get a cute nickname? Everyone still says "lesbians". Gays and Lesbians. What's up with that? Shouldn't the women have a nickname that reflects their common mood? Maybe gays and handys, 'cause, being very stereo-typical, they seem to be very handy around the house. Who knows, probably will never catch on.)

Well, now "gay" means weird, ridiculous, odd, acting off the mark...o.k. well maybe "gay" is one of those words that has multiple meanings yet one meaning, I don't know anymore. I'm very confused.


Mormon Mommy Wars has a very good post on words and the power they carry... this is the only link for today...things are a little weird here and with all the hustle and bustle this is all I have. Thanks for being so understanding.

Wednesday Afternoon Theatre-

The following is a small narration. To make it even more exciting please use the following voices in your head while you read the green and orange parts.
Green = A nice dull Ben Stine impression - think "Bueller...Bueller..."
Orange = Let's do your best Marie Barone - you know, Raymond's mom

Have you ever been in a situation where a random -yet specific- question was thrown out to you and those in the room you are in? Something like, "Introduce yourself and tell us ONE colour you really hate."

The circle of folks begin their responses. (cue party music)

"My name is Ophelia and I can't stand beige."
"My name is Prudence and I detest lavender."
"Hi, I'm Eliza and I am not a huge fan of turquoise."

Then comes this:

"I'm Ethel and.." "Ethel is my daughter, I'm Ursula and I know Prudence. We played polo together as children. And this is Armando, he's my husband."

(Armondo has sat in the same position for the last 15 minutes as if he were the lead in "Awakenings" [catatonic])

"um, I'm Ethel. I went to Westminster Central Park three years ago. It was right when they were building the new Greek pavilion and I lived right there you know. And..." "And she was there when the Prime Minister of Guava Imports was there to bless the Guava crops near by." "well yeah, I was there, and then, but I lived right there you know? And then the Prime Minister of Guava Imports came to bless the crops and he had his Ambassador of Roots and Shoots with him and well if you all remember that was when the Ambassador got sick."
- -tiny side bar- - this is when pretty much everyone in the room began to look around at each other in an uncomfortable "where are the exits?"- way, a slight pause and then...
"Well he got sick, came home and DIED! You remember how he DIED? Yeah, it was right then and I was there then, and then he DIED!"
--well o.k. then, moving right along--
"She was, she was right there when it was happening. You know -when the Ambassador got sick and DIED! Strange huh? Yes, well, like I said I'm Ursula, and she's my daughter and, what was I supposed to hate?"

That was my party last night. Dang if I don't know how to throw 'em! Call me if you ever need a good getting-to-know-you game. Then again, perhaps there are folks we just don't want to know too much about. ugh!

originally posted in 2005. reposted today because I am having a few tech-difficulties. enjoy the rerun!

How many wheat fields had to die for this?

Tuesday Tutorial is below this post.

This post will be a primer on the ridiculous. Yesterday I met with a good friend and we did some shopping, and had some lunch. We went to the Cheesecake Factory and after seeing the lengthly menu, I was overwhelmed. My friend made her choice, and confused at what to choose, I picked the first thing on the page I was currently viewing; a chicken pot pie. It seemed a benign choice at best and I figured I could have something to more exciting to write about later, during dinner. I was wrong.

bigger than your fist
Originally uploaded by foodchronicles.

The waitress took our order, gave us our drinks and casually asked if we would care for bread while we waited. My friend responded in the positive and soon a basket with delicious pumpernickel and sour dough slices was at our table.

After a few minutes I saw an odd look on my friend's face and turned to see what she was grimacing at. The waitress was headed our way with what looked like an alien invasion of Phyllo puffed pastry. She whispered to herself, "Please let that be for someone else, just keep walking..." No such deal. The mother ship had landed. Laughter began as giggles and eventually burst forth as we took in the enormity of the puffed pastry atop the chicken "pie". This this is larger than my hand, Larger than my head!

I like bug buns
Originally uploaded by foodchronicles.

My first reaction was, "This is why 3rd world nations hate us!" Which was followed immediately by, "This is why America is FAT!" Look at the size of this thing!

"It's takes a village...it feeds a village!"
"Does this qualify the waitress for workmen's comp?"
"If it hovered we could use it for Mars Attacks 2."
"It could frighten small children and elderly ladies."
"I like big buns and I cannot lie!...even white boys gotta shout!"
"APNews: Entire Pillsbury Dough Boy's Family Wiped Out At Local Restaurant. Witnesses report, "He has no enemies, although his ego has been inflated lately.""
"If only I had a Flint-mobile and a rack of Stegosaurus to hang on the outside of my car window..."
"Change this photo to black and white and you have the original first wheel."
"Does this lunch make my bun look big?"
"Can I have a U-HAUL car top carrying case instead of a doggy bag?"
"If I punched a small hole I could wear it like phyllo dough turban!"
"Forget Ninja Stars, throw this at the bad guy."
"You could use this like Captain America's shield!"
"Having an affair at work? Take your someone special to Cheesecake Factory for lunch and hide behind this. Your secret is safe!"
"Need to find out enemy secrets? Force them to eat this or tell. You'll be Head of the C.I.A. in no time!"

What was the waitress thinking when she asked us (knowing we had order the above monster) if we wanted bread? Was she kidding? Do they make bets everyday on what idiot will order the chicken pot pie and become the object of conversation in the restaurant? Seriously, the folks around us were laughing as well. One gal leaned over and asked us what "it" was! I have to admit the comment about the Flint-mobile came from one lady who thought it belonged to Fred Flintstone! It's nice when your lunch (normally a lighter meal of the day) is a party starter! Need to get a conversation going at your next event? Call the Cheesecake Factory and order this baby! Oh My HECK!

(originally posted back in 2005, however the I met with the same friend yesterday, Chronicler, and we went to the C.F. for lunch...we had a good laugh remembering and I thought you would too!)

The Easy Road part three

I went home. Back to the day to day routines and no paycheck and having to scrimp again - still. The big paycheck never had a chance to arrive. But after all the attention and all the pumping up of my attitude, ego, and ability it was time to go where I really mattered. I was making all kinds of strides and money for a corporation that in the long run probably doesn't even remember my contributions or name. At home, no one said thanks or appreciated what I was doing...yet.

The thing about being a mom is this: No one cares until it's too late. No one cares if you were there to do all the icky stuff, or even the really really fun things unless they go wrong and then they tell you about their disappointment or lack due to your efforts. It is the dictionary definition of "thankless job". But does that make it less important or necessary? Less worthy of praise and thanks? Consider a "janitor" or "housekeeper" for a facility. Let's say a hospital. No one ever really thinks about them. Heck, when is the last time a housekeeper saved anyone's life? The doctors do that, right? Maybe the nurses? Well think about it, no, "janitors" and "housekeepers" are right up there in the life saving business and no one shows them the respect they are due. Why? Because we assume they are uneducated, unmotivated, less than.., frankly, they aren't nurses or doctors when they had the same opportunity to become such as anyone else. But they choose to stay low and mop and sanitize and wash the laundry and wipe up the vomit and blood on the floor. Imagine a hospital where a janitor/housekeeper does less than the job requires and you are next to lay in that bed they cleaned. It gives me the heebeejeebeeies thinking about what could be left behind. Although I can honestly say I have never searched out a janitor to say "thanks, I mean it, really, thanks for keeping the place clean."*

The whole idea of political correctness nudges us to rename these janitors "housekeepers" in an effort to elevate their status. I can hear the voices now, "yeah, now we are compared to janitors! I HATE being a housekeeper, housewife, SAHM, whatever, I am more than that!" We hate it because of all the "someones" out there, some in our own homes that demean this work as menial and something worthy of "any idiot". Think back to what would happen without your menial labours, icky-ness everywhere. And we have all seen it ourselves; that one lady who just can't get it together in her own house. It's filthy and smells and we all think ill of her and sorry for her families. Yet, we demean ourselves for doing the job correctly. It's a conundrum for sure!

Perhaps the original sin is with women. We are, whether we like it or not, the primary care-givers (another PC attempt at elevation) for those in our families. EVEN the women who work outside the home full time and come home to another's "help" or none at all. I see my sister in this role. She works outside her home and still comes home to make a warm meal, clean the house, reared worthy children and kept a happy guy all the while. How she accomplished all that I can't imagine, I wasn't a good working mom and I know it. But there are women like my sister who do manage to do it; out of necessity or talent, they succeed. But the fact remains: women teach their families and are primarily responsible for the rearing of the brood. Part of that teaching should include respect for mommy and what she is doing, whatever she is doing. I mean really teach our children, both genders, what is involved in all this "care-giving". We all point fingers at the examples of ill parenting, housekeeping or basic living. How about pointing some fingers in the other direction?

Although the paychecks never came, the payoff has. I can see it in my sister's home as well, so I don't think it is a matter of the "stay at home"s versus the "work out side the home"s. For me the pay off comes to those who have taken the hard road. Done the menial and elevated those labours into what they truly are. They choose to serve and sacrifice for their children and spouses willingly and with a good attitude. They teach those being served the value of having a good home with parents who care enough to stay actively involved throughout the rough road. The payoff comes when you see the last of your daughters at the alter of the temple, dressed in purity and reflecting the teachings and principles taught by parents who took "the easy road" and lived life for their family rather than going for what they could have had in the "real world". The thanks may be silent, late, or perhaps there are those times when the "movie stuff" actually happens and your sons write you a long thoughtful thank you letter on the day of their temple sealing. I have received 3 such "thank you"s and let me tell you, nothing can compare to those kinds of paychecks. It helps me see that I really do matter and what I do, all the mundane mindless dribble that goes with the mom role is worth it. I am worth it. Taking the predictable road is worth it. Sanrio International has long forgotten S'mee; but my family will be with me for eternity.

*Since the original writing if this post I have sought out housekeepers, janitors and other folks who make it their life's work to keep things nice for others, and say, "Thank you" in a way that they understand just how much I appreciate their effort.

The Easy Road part one

A few years ago a friend from high school contacted me after 20+ years.

His life had gone the way of many independent people in the late 70's. He was and is very gifted and intelligent. He had a terrific home life with a loving family and many talents. He left high school and fell into experimenting with drugs, alcohol, sex, and yes, rock and roll! He never married, realizing too late he loved himself more than anyone else and had allowed the girl of his dreams to slip away and marry someone else. He had traveled the world, climbed mountains, taught voice and guitar, been in a successful rock band, researched tortoises in the U.S. deserts for 5 years and lived in a Tibetan monastery as a monk for 7 years. He considers himself a Buddhist and is skilled in meditation and Hindu transcendentalism. He is an author and poet and is currently living back at the monastery which brings him so much comfort.

Throughout our conversations I began to see that instead of finding himself, he had found temporary comforts in the solitude that comes from removing one's self from the world. He had been "back in the world" for about four years when he contacted me. It was about a year before the 9-11 attacks in the U.S. 9-11 caused a great confusion in his philosophy and way of thinking. All of the sudden he was no longer able to "let it be". He was upset and angry and wanted retaliation and justice. This was contrary to his belief system and thus began an open wedge in his "solid" base.

Two months after 9-11, his father died unexpectedly and tore my friend's world in two. The base of his foundation was beginning to crumble. His letters paused for a while and then one very deep, thought provoking essay came through. He was confused and hurting and wanting so desperately to find something "real". He moved across country to console his mother and get away from whatever was haunting him. After a few months he moved out and down into CA near his brother, who after years of abusing his body was dying of liver disease.

Needless to say, 9-11, his father's death and now his brother's death were too much for him to take and he again moved back to the monastery for some down time and reflection.

Before he left he remarked how nice it was that Thor and I decided to "take the easy road and do what was expected. To not venture out into the world but stay home and let life pass us by." With his life experiences I can understand why he would interpret what Thor and I chose as predictable and expected, but easy? No.

Each of us had the view that the other did what was expected from them at the time. I grew up in a little hippy atmosphere where everyone was "expected" to try drugs, search for life "out there" and rebel against the status quo. I actually felt I had done the unexpected and stuck to the routine. Get married, have some kids, make a life, follow the rules.

Nothing about either life was easy for sure. However the end results were what made the difference in the decisions. His life was indeed difficult. His life has so many unanswered questions and he feels that "the only way off the wheel" is by letting go of it and allowing things to just "be". He has been convinced that he has no control and that he should not control his destiny. Thus is the trap of his philosophy. It is easy to allow others to do what they will; but when you also need to allow "whatever" to happen to you without regard to your own will, you have no responsibility and no consequence -thus no chance of reward. This life-style will keep him "on the wheel" for eternity. Taking himself away from the world restricts his experiences and his learning. How does one learn to overcome if one is always hiding from reality or running away from it when it hurts? This is the time to learn, to experience, to grow. It is easy for him to be "obedient" and "nice" when he is constantly surrounded by others who are adopting this same principle. No words, no conflicts, solitary isolation away from real life and real challenges. It is difficult to be nice when you are tired, when someone has yelled at you, when you are behind with the bills. That is the test. The real test. And it's hard.

How many wheat fields had to die for this?

This post will be a primer on the ridiculous. Yesterday I met with a good friend and we did some shopping, and had some lunch. We went to the Cheesecake Factory and after seeing the lengthly menu, I was overwhelmed. My friend made her choice, and confused at what to choose, I picked the first thing on the page I was currently viewing; a chicken pot pie. It seemed a benign choice at best and I figured I could have something to more exciting to write about later, during dinner. I was wrong.

bigger than your fist
Originally uploaded by foodchronicles.

The waitress took our order, gave us our drinks and casually asked if we would care for bread while we waited. My friend responded in the positive and soon a basket with delicious pumpernickel and sour dough slices was at our table.

After a few minutes I saw an odd look on my friend's face and turned to see what she was grimacing at. The waitress was headed our way with what looked like an alien invasion of Phyllo puffed pastry. She whispered to herself, "Please let that be for someone else, just keep walking..." No such deal. The mother ship had landed. Laughter began as giggles and eventually burst forth as we took in the enormity of the puffed pastry atop the chicken "pie". This this is larger than my hand, Larger than my head!

I like bug buns
Originally uploaded by foodchronicles.

My first reaction was, "This is why 3rd world nations hate us!" Which was followed immediately by, "This is why America is FAT!" Look at the size of this thing!

"It's takes a village...it feeds a village!"
"Does this qualify the waitress for workmen's comp?"
"If it hovered we could use it for Mars Attacks 2."
"It could frighten small children and elderly ladies."
"I like big buns and I cannot lie!...even white boys gotta shout!"
"APNews: Entire Pillsbury Dough Boy's Family Wiped Out At Local Restaurant. Witnesses report, "He has no enemies, although his ego has been inflated lately.""
"If only I had a Flint-mobile and a rack of Stegosaurus to hang on the outside of my car window..."
"Change this photo to black and white and you have the original first wheel."
"Does this lunch make my bun look big?"
"Can I have a U-HAUL car top carrying case instead of a doggy bag?"
"If I punched a small hole I could wear it like phyllo dough turban!"
"Forget Ninja Stars, throw this at the bad guy."
"You could use this like Captain America's shield!"
"Having an affair at work? Take your someone special to Cheesecake Factory for lunch and hide behind this. Your secret is safe!"
"Need to find out enemy secrets? Force them to eat this or tell. You'll be Head of the C.I.A. in no time!"

What was the waitress thinking when she asked us (knowing we had order the above monster) if we wanted bread? Was she kidding? Do they make bets everyday on what idiot will order the chicken pot pie and become the object of conversation in the restaurant? Seriously, the folks around us were laughing as well. One gal leaned over and asked us what "it" was! I have to admit the comment about the Flint-mobile came from one lady who thought it belonged to Fred Flintstone! It's nice when your lunch (normally a lighter meal of the day) is a party starter! Need to get a conversation going at your next event? Call the Cheesecake Factory and order this baby! Oh My HECK!

I think that song scorched my omlette...

We got up early this morning to attend a Chamber of Commerce Breakfast and for #5 to receive another $500.00 (THANK YOU! THANK YOU!) towards her collage fund!

It's an interesting thing. All my life I have always thought of civic leaders in a certain light. Suits, straight carriage, moral, etc. Then you eat with them. Kablooey! I should be used to this now, as I have eaten with politicians! Talk about dissolutions! But I digress. I also am surprised at what kids these days1 consider "business attire2". You'd be surprised. This stated, I will promptly back up and announce to the world that I am not an expert and make these same faux pas, however, I am not in a leadership capacity, nor do I represent anyone other than myself.

All in all the morning was quite interesting. The room was filled to capacity and everyone was really warm and friendly, very chatty and inquisitive. Nice really. I did note, however, that when addressing the audience that everyone of the speakers, informal and keynote, referred to the members of the room as "you guys"; which I was always brought up to be a major "no-no" within a social or business frame. Perhaps a more appropriate choice would be: "For those of you in attendance...", or "All who would like to...".

That and the use of gender specific titles, such as: "The girls in my office...". I have been told that one currently should use P.C. terms such as: "The co-workers in my office..." or even better, "My associates...", lest you offend those whom work for you, beside you, or have authority over you.

Credit goes out to the 4th grade children who presented a well planned program, including a power point presentation. They each stood straight and slowly enunciated their names and titles, then took a step back and allowed their class mate to do the same. During the speaking portion of their presentation they spoke distinctly and with factual information pertinent to the presentation.

Another part of the morning was the entertainment. Entertaining it was, although #5 and I were a tad blushed when the story-teller broke into song about "Hot hot Sadie, that brazen baby, that hot little lady they all knew!" The story lady was dressed like most story-tellers are, in bright bold colours and completed her ensemble with the obligatory wash board, kazoo, and bicycle horn. Her song was indicative of the 1800's ragtime, although the lyrics were as scorching as the firemen whom "dated" Ms. Sadie. I don't think any others in the crowd were offended at all. She received an ovation and whoops and whistles. Poor #5 was about to burst into flames.

The events were kept on time and on track by a man with a sledge hammer - seriously! He would bang a contraption similar to those used at the county fair to test your strength -DING!- if you went over your allotted time. Everyone had a good laugh over this "tradition", although for all the newbies in the room, it took us a couple of DING!s before we didn't jump and flinch any more.

So there you have it. The leadership folks in the community right next door, who evidently know how to party on a Wednesday morning! God Bless America!

1 - Yes, I have become my mother, thank you very much. 2. jeans, logo t-shirt and basketball tennish shoes; skin tigh black leggings (I thought those went out inthe 90's) with a very thin skin tight turquois t-shirt and bright yellow sking tight shrug wrapped around Dolly Parton-esque torso, with neon strappy stillettos; or camoflage - um, we can still see you.

How to torture a 2 year old...

It's good to be 2!
Originally uploaded by S'mee.

Today (yesterday) was our grandson's 2nd birthday. We had a party over at the other gramma and grampa's house, and man did that little boy make a haul! Each time the door bell rang he would run to the door, "Hi!" grab your package and run to give it to his Aunt, who insisted all presents were for her. The fire place hearth was full to the edges! He hadn't really caught on that eventually all those present would not be hers! He's a pretty good little guy about sharing anyway. (He has a REALLY good mommy, daddy's not so bad either.) His 3 year old cousin was there. Sadly, she did understand who was going to be opening all those gifts. We allow the kids to play a while, eat some pizza and it's time to open the gifts.

I got trash! : )
Originally uploaded by S'mee.

It takes a minute for him to realize, "Hey, I get to help mommy open this stuff!" But once he's into it, he's into it! Everyone is excited for him. The first package comes down from the hearth and it is filled to the brim with red tissue paper, striped tissue paper and lots of it! The anticipation is rising! We all know what's in there! We can't stand it anymore we want to see that little face light up! Egads, child open that present! Very soon one and then another person is asking him, "What did you get?" He keeps digging and digging and pulling all the paper out. He almost there...He replies, "Trash!" He looks up and is a little confused but seemingly very happy that we all gave him trash! He giggles some more and then finds the toy. This is pretty good!

Where's the guitar?
Originally uploaded by S'mee.

There are lots of presents left to be opened but the toy he got first was pretty good. Mommy is able to convince him that waiting to play and opening some more toys is a better idea. So he sits down in her lap and opens another one. This time he has hit the mother load! It's a "Wiggles" musical guitar and it's RED! And plays familiar songs! And has a hundred million buttons to push! And the "Wiggles" have their pictures on it! THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER! Man oh man does this kid think that guitar is it and a bag of chips!

But there are more toys to open. So mommy talks him into putting the guitar aside and opening one more package. He doesn't really want to, but mommy says we have to, so o.k. Open up one more box... yeah o.k. big deal, books! Where's that guitar? And he FLIES out of mommy's lap and into Great Gramma's because she has the guitar! This scene is repeated with the addition of more dull books, a possible prospect for the middle of the night "Wiggles" flashlight car, some lousy clothes, a couple of crumby church type toys, an interesting but not quite up to par ambulance with lights and sirens and a man who shouts orders, a red Hawaiian shirt that merited an unsolicited "CUTE!", but, MAN! WHAT DOES A KID HAVE TO DO AROUND HERE TO GET TO THAT GUITAR? I was losing it! It was so funny to watch him go for that guitar and finally he got to play with it. WHEW!

He was pretty good about not being crabby, but he really wanted at that guitar! It worked out well, however, because the 3 year old was able to get her hands on all the other toys and play with them while he was occupied with said guitar! So everyone was happy.

After the toy playing came candle blowing. He stood straight up until the signal was given and then practically ate the candles in his attempt at blowing them out. First shot -there out! (I think we had practised this!) And then before mommy or daddy could react, he grabbed the candle out and showed everyone the prize! "Whoa, that's HOT!" He said in surprise. Luckily he didn't grab it by the wick, but he still felt the warmth of the wax on those tiny fingers. Then he began to laugh and said, "It's mommy's, it's YUMmy!" We all ate dessert and took a million pictures and had a grand time.

I love that little boy!

Going to the Snailbox

Movie night. Our favorites include a pretty eclectic mix. We go from "Little Nemo" to "Pride and Prejudice". "Il Postino" to "The Hunt For Red October" "Chocolate", "Life is Beautiful", "Princess Bride", and "Young Frankenstein". Pretty much anything with Johnny Depp, Tom Hanks, or touched in anyway form or fashion by Tim Burton, all three in the Red Curtain Series by Baz Lurman - especially Strictly Ballroom, and too many oldies to mention. We even go for the occasional documentary and absolutely dive into anything that would only be seen on PBS. (My kids are the only ones in their peer groups who know most of the programs on NPR, but that's another post - geek alert!)

Tonight is, once again a replay of "You've Got Mail". I am not sure what the appeal is other than the sweet story that you don't need to think about later. For S'mee, part of it is relating to the opening sequence where both lead characters anticipate receiving mail. It goes back to when I was a little kid. Who among us didn't run to the mailbox everyday in anticipation of someone, anyone sending us mail? It stays with me still. Each day I head out to the snail box and search through the bills for a piece of friendly correspondence. The elation that bursts forth when finally, after a long period of time there is a surprise address to me!

Now I am the mom. Heck I'm 47 flippin' years old. When will this hoping end? Probably never. Because I am a hopeless romantic I will continue to search for the illusive piece of information that comes miraculously to my house from far away giving me a five minute reprieve from daily life to sit and "chat" with an unexpected guest from my past. I love that! "Who will it be today?" I wonder.

People have stopped writing like they used to. No more letters in the mail, just flyers and bills and odd random letters from my congressman encouraging me to vote for this or that, like his or her newsletter will influence me in a different direction. Martha wants me back and will give me a deal I won't be offered again. And then there are the missing children/$5.00 off oil change coupons. What a waste.

I have a friend, Sheri. She is a dream. She was a (hearing) friend of one of my (ASL) students who is this gorgeous bright friendly gal. She sat across from my student in a class and became a friend to both of us. She has this riot of rust coloured hair that I would die for and a face that reflected her inner love of life. On top of this she is one of the most creative people I have ever met. I used to receive letters from her via the snail. They would come on receipts or torn grocery bags. Sometimes on the back of a shard of cardboard. Each time they would be decorated with her penmanship and drawings. I treasured them for more than the words. They brought her personality back to me as well. She continues to correspond, just via the net... so no more art pieces disguised as letters. Her Keroppi stickers have been replaced by cc notations and work related addresses, but I love them still.

When things in my life go wrong, again I identify with the saddened and confused Kathleen after she has been "stood up" waiting for NY152 in the cafe. I long for friends to be there and reassure me things will be o.k. I hope for relations to somehow convey their love across e-lines and for me to have the ability to so the same. And, I must admit there are those who I long to have a relationship with, who frankly, could care less. But that's the wonder of e-mail; there's always hope.

This blog will eventually bring me more friends, most of whom I will never meet. My shopgirl, my NY152, my anonymous lurker who will say something profound and then disappear once again.

I go to the computer now, just like Jo Fox and Kathleen Kelly, waiting for family and friends to drop me tidbits of their lives. I like hearing about their dogs and husbands and the bragging about children who, less than perfect, are perfectly adored by the authors. Someone cluing me onto a great page or product or information I would have missed otherwise. I like hearing about the mundane things, the eye appointment that still hasn't helped the situation. It's like sitting on the porch stoop waiting for the rumble of a jeep starting and stopping as it rolls slowly down the block. "You've Got Mail!" I am ten again.

Mister Rogers

Every once in a while you come across a post, or a comment that makes you sit up and reread it. The following is one that did that for me. Following the passing of Mr. Rogers, a thread began on
MetaFilter, analyzing the personality of Fred Rogers. Some of the comments were nostalgic, some were cynical, some were a comment, not only on Mr. Rogers, but our society.

There are some misspellings, and some terms and words that I don't approve of, but all in all, I believe that "Pastabagel" has said something important.

You know, it's quite a strange thing. The single most common adjective applied to Mister Rogers in this and other thread is the word 'creepy'?

I think I know why he strikes people as creepy. It's because his isn't at all 'cool'. There is no cynicism, no irony, no condescension in him at all. He is not simply unhip, he is ahip. And this is what people calling him creepy are picking up on.

We are conditioned to traffic in cool. You have to look cool, not look nice or distinguished or presentable, but cool. But it's all so generic. Everyone seems to have the same new haircut that no one 5 years ago had. We all have the same cynical politics.

Something about the counterculture from the 60's is still with us but it has been co-opted into a form of synchronized periodic obsolescence and mockery of that which came before. There is something fundamentally anti-intellectual about this, but I can't quite articulate it. There some element of arrogance there. Like everyone is perpetually 18.

Cool is America's code, and I really do think this is an American problem, because cool is propagated mainly though mass media, and there is no greater media saturated culture on earth than America's. Will I look cool wearing this? Will I sound cool saying this, or reading this or doing this. We're committing mass murder in other parts of the world because somebody figured out how to make violence cool and tough-talk politics cool, and then they combined the too. Swagger is cool. Cowboys and fighter jets and JDAMs and war porn are cool. So that's what we have. We are the Kingdom of Whatever.

Of course he hated ad-libbing on camera, because ad-libbing on camera is inexcusably lazy. It's what you do so you don't have to write or rehearse. Actors and comedians and musicians improvise as a way of living within a moment that is in some way artificial. A method actor may improvise because he is trying to become the character, but he isn't the character to begin with. A Jazz musician improvises because while the structure and the changes are the same, and the audience is familiar with them, the particular moment of performance is not, and that has it's own emotional context.

Mister Rogers was the same guy, so why improvise? The show wasn't about his character, it was about the kids, os you have to work out ahead of time how best to communicate with the child viewers. Everything was planned.

He talks slowly not because kids are dumb but because as studies have shown, children's brains are considerably more active than adults', and they need time to return to the original thought communicated to them after branching off in multitudinous directions.

The puppets? Puppets are good because they are considerably smaller than the human actors around them, and thus kids perceive them as safe. They look like toys. Contrast this with a giant seven foot all yellow bird, and ask yourself which inspired more nightmares.

The show is glacially paced and had the same structure with the same things happening in the same order because children respond to structure and routine is a source of comfort, particularly in children whose lives were anything but predictable.

Maybe that's what cool is - withdrawing from the context of one's life into an artificial one, in which the cool perceives itself to be somehow outside of reality, looking in and commenting on it. But this isn't insight, it's not reflecting on the world. It's standing at the edge of the world sniping into it.

Mister Rogers isn't creepy. CSI with is gruesome bloody corpses every Thursday at promptly 9:14 EST is creepy. Thirty million people looking at that and snaking on chips while they watch is creepy.

Listening to some rapper sing about his genitals and sexual conquests is creepy. Approach crowds of people and talk to them about the aroused state of your genitals, and watch how quickly you end up in a squad car. But somehow it's ok on TV because...why exactly?

Watching a war unfold on television in near real time is beyond creepy. It is obscene. You watch people screaming over their dead loved ones, and then you turn it off and go have dinner, or go to bed? No empathy, no revulsion. What the hell kind of civilization is this?

You know, I watched some 9-11 footage on youtube the other day (because I'm a masochist, apparently), and it occured to me that in the 6 years since it happened, I've never once heard anyone say "I'm sorry for those people who are so consumed by hate for people they've never met and places they've never been. What can we do to lift that burden from them?"

Because that isn't cool. That's being a pussy (or a fag if you are on FreeRepublic). There's no posture to be struck there, no pose. It's something that has to be done in earnest, and that's what's been lacking in the American culture.

Think about the Pope, entering the cell to confront his assassin. He forgave him, we all know that. But can you imagine the conversation? Can you imagine either someone being so perceptive that they can reach into a perfect stranger and expose their soul, or someone whose personality is so shallow that their emotions or ideologies are so shallow that any attempt to probe their depth displaces them entirely?

Mr. Rogers may have been the last earnest man.
posted by Pastabagel, on June 1,2007 at Metafilter