Monday, December 31, 2007

LOL

Free Bird!!

Last night we took our kids (and Kailani and Dusty) to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert. We've been before but this time our seats were a mere ten rows from the front. It was Dusty's first introduction to TSO (she was worried she'd be bored by a quiet performance of classical music) and she is now a rabid fan.

Items of note from last night:

1. It's the first time I've gotten snow in my eye during an indoor concert.

2. It's the first time I've heard someone yell "Free Bird!" between performances of Christmas carols.

3. It's the first time a rendition of Beethoven's Fifth has made me want to throw up the fist of rock.

All in all, it was a fantastic night. =)

Friday, December 28, 2007

Vote or Die

Isn't that what the ever-insipid Paris Hilton said before she - oops! - forgot to not only vote in the last Presidential election but failed to even register to vote at all?

Don't emulate Paris.

Blogger has a new feature: polls. I just couldn't resist. Place your vote (you can choose more than one answer) for the topic of the week on the sidebar to the right.

Happy voting!

Thursday, December 27, 2007

For Paul




Beware.

Gingerbread...WHAT??

I spent some time talking about the Christmas traditions that have been a part of my family since I was little and that I've carried on today (with some alterations...)

But one tradition is unique to my immediate family alone.

The tradition of making Gingerbread Poop.

I did not start out my stint in motherhood with the goal of instituting a tradition whereupon all the participants would use cookie dough to create replicas of excrement.

I planned on baking plates full of all sorts of homemade goodies, an apron wrapped around me, my cherubic children lined up to stir, roll, decorate, and lick the beaters.

Of course, I neglected to plan for boys.

Boys change the rules of the game by virtue of being boys. They don't stir cookie batter, they attack it with the sole intent of mastering the flour, sugar, and eggs and demonstrating who is boss.

Boys don't roll out dough, boys annihilate dough with a wooden rolling pin as their weapon of mass destruction.

Boys don't decorate cookies, boys fling heaping piles of sprinkles or frosting in the general direction of the cookie as they are racing through the room chasing, being chased, or on their way to rig the ceiling fan with legos for their unsuspecting mother again.

Boys do, however, lick beaters.

When we first moved to Tennessee, Scientist was 5, Daredevil was 4, and Starshine was 2. I decided we would start a new tradition of making gingerbread cookies for Santa. I mixed the dough, rolled it out, asked for volunteers to man the cookie cutters and baked pan after pan of perfect little gingerbread men.

When I got to the last pan, I had enough dough left over to give a chunk to each boy to design his own cookies, sans cookie cutter. The boys worked on their individual masterpieces and then I place them in a row beneath the perfectly proportioned gingerbread men, baked it for ten minutes, and pulled the pan out to see that dough crunched up, rolled up, and smashed by little boy hands had expanded beneath the gingerbread men's legs to look like nothing more than some pretty impressive specimens of poop.

Anyone with boys knows that poop is one of their favorite subjects.

They were beside themselves with glee. They'd made POOP! In an oven!! And now they got to eat poop and drink eggnog! (because Mom was a spoilsport and firmly declined the notion that Santa would love to eat some poop too.)

That Christmas passed and, being a girl, I forgot about the poop incident. My boys, however, did not. Somewhere in the back of their testosterone-soaked brains, hidden behind the alphabet, how to ride a bike, and plans for the eventual destruction of middle Tennesse, lurked a memory of the most enjoyable Christmas tradition they'd even encountered.

And so it happened that the following Christmas, when I hauled out the rolling pin and announced my need for helpers to create gingerbread men for Santa, I was met with an excited chorus of little boy voices all exclaiming one thing:

"Yay! We get to make gingerbread poop!!"

Thus it began. Every year since, I roll out dough, cut perfectly proportioned gingernbread men and then hand an ever increasing amount of dough to my boys to make their poop masterpieces. Honestly, it's the most interest in cooking any of them have ever shown.

I took pictures of this year's delicacies. The first shows the offerings from the Scientist (always precise, even when dealing with excrement) and Daredevil (whose work looks like a cross between poop and seriously over-worked roadkill). The second pic is Starshine's unique interpretation.





As proof that I have completely capitulated, this year I pulled the pan out of the oven and yelled up the stairs, "Come down for poop and eggnog!"

Nativity Cake

My hubby made a cake recently for a Christmas party for the elders of our church and he videotaped the process. The banner he wraps around the back of the base cake is the Christmas story from Luke 2. The nativity scene figurines are made of white chocolate. Enjoy!


Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Merry Christmas



"And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with fear. And the angel said to them, "Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Fo unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord."

- Luke 2:8-11

May your Christmas be full of great joy.

Monday, December 24, 2007

Favorite Christmas Memories




1. The reel to reel tapes of Christmas music my dad played on a continuous basis for the entire month of December. He copied them recently onto CDs for me so now I can do the same...though with my 6 disc changer, I have other musical influences in there as well.

2. The time my mom got me Strawberry Shortcake underwear - 7 pair. Each labeled for a specific day of the week. And yes, I am just anal enough that I never wore a pair unless it matched that day.

3. The year my little sister panicked because she felt our stockings and they were empty (a week before Christmas, I think). Worried that I wouldn't get anything in my stocking, she gathered "treasures" from her desk and dumped them into my stocking. I was so suprised when I upended my stocking Christmas morning and my pile of little presents was topped by used erasers, pencil shavings, and rocks. =) Starshine has filled each of his brother's stockings with hand-drawn notes and pictures or used items he thinks they'll love. He keeps bringing down another book or toy of his that he wants me to wrap up for one of his brothers and place under the tree.

4. Baking plates of cookies for our neighbors: candy cane cookies, molasses, chocolate chips, Jello cookies (both red and green), and almond brittle. I still bake for my neighbors but my kids deliver pumpkin bread instead of plates of cookies. It saves on time and sanity (though we still bake candy cane cookies and gingerbread men for Santa).

5. Singing and acting in Christmas plays.

6. Christmas lights. All kinds. Except the houses that are outlined entirely in blue. Or red. That just looks menacing.

7. Setting up the nativity scene.

8. Christmas morning breakfast - between stockings and presents, my dad made his incredible "from scratch" waffles. I do Christmas breakfast now - eggs, pancakes, and sausage.

9. Cats stuck in the Christmas tree or diving on packages or running around the house with tinsel hanging from their ears.

10. Lazy Christmas afternoons curled up with one of my new books (always the perfect gift for me!).

11. Eggnog

12. Seeing my kids enjoy traditions from my childhood and making a few new ones of our own. (will blog about one of those soon...with pics)

Friday, December 21, 2007

LOL




I laughed so hard the first time I saw this pic, I nearly choked. =)

LOL

Friday Flashback: Interesting Injuries

You all know that recently I took a walk across my yard and ran straight into a tree. Weird injuries like that are not unusual for me. Here are a few of the more memorable ones for this Friday flashback.


1. A few months ago at work, I was told to "marry" the half-used bottles of Tabasco sauce together. The only way to do that is to pry off the tiny plastic top with a fork. Unfortunately, when I popped off the top, a drop of Tabasco flew into the air and straight into my left eye. I learned two things: 1. Given the right incentive, I can scream like a little girl. 2. You can develop a welt inside your eye. These were both unwelcome discoveries.

2. Two years ago, I was vacuuming underneath my dining room table - on my hands and knees with the extension hose - and I misjudged the edge of the table. I sat up too soon and knocked myself silly. By the time my husband got home, it was clear I needed medical attention. I went to the emergency room with a severe concussion, had to convince the nurse that yes I really had delivered the fatal blow myself (with the help of my new nemesis, the dining room table, and its nefarious accomplice, the vacuum cleaner) and my hubby had nothing to do with it. I learned two things: 1. It takes weeks to unscramble your brains after a blow like that. 2. A male doctor does not see the logic in writing a prescription for maid service even when presented with clear evidence that housework is dangerous to my health.

3. A few months after the dining room table fiasco, I was taking a shower, reached up to grab the shampoo out of the shower caddy (which hooks over the nozzle and as I'm a fairly short person, is therefore above my head) and knocked a full can of shaving cream loose. It flipped toward me and I swear I had a millisecond to think "Oh, crap" before it hit me square in the middle of my forehead leaving a bruise and a headache in its wake. I learned this: 1. The speed of my reactions is seriously flawed. 2. My hubby finds the things I do to myself entirely too funny.

4. This past summer, while completely hopped up on cold medicine and ibuprofen (I can't hold my alcohol or my meds!), I attempted to drive over to say goodbye to a friend who was moving. Turns out driving wasn't my main problem. Walking across the lawn to my car was the true challenge. I did a graceless stop drop and roll toward the street that might have won me $100,000 on AFV except none of my neighbors had the good sense to be outside filming my house for possible comedic material.

5. Recently I was chatting with my friend Paul online and he made me laugh. This is not unusual. I was eating lunch at the time. This is also not unusual. When I laugh, I do it with everything I've got. No polite little chuckles, no lady-like giggles - I just let loose. This kind of laughter requires air. To get air, one must suck it in through either the nose or the mouth. My mouth was full of chicken. I chose to suck air in through my nose. This, it turns out, was a very bad idea. The nose and the mouth are connected in such a way that when I sucked in a snoot full of air, I sucked in my bite of chicken as well. I don't care what anyone tells you, snorting chicken hurts.

6. When I was a sophomore in college, I was kicked in the head by a horse. Yes, yes, I realize this explains everything you've ever wondered about me. Yes, it hurt. Yes, I had the kind of whiplash usually reserved for victims of 13 car pile-ups or women who've just caught a glimpse of Orlando Bloom. No, I haven't been near a horse since. But on the bright side, I've got a great ice-breaker story for parties. I mean honestly - how many people do you know that can honestly say they've been kicked in the head by a horse? *grins*

Thursday, December 20, 2007

LOL

Considering Killing A Dutchman

I just read this article about a Dutch diplomat and his wife who adopted a girl from South Korea when she was a baby (she's now 8) and are now "returning" her to foster care.

Their excuse is that Jade (their daughter) is emotionally remote and has been diagnosed with severe fear of attachment.

You think??

And dumping your daughter because she has emotional difficulties is going to what - make it better?

The father said that Jade never assimilated Dutch culture and food (and yet he never, in all their years petitioned for Dutch citizenship for her. Why not?) and that was part of why they are rejecting her now. Seriously, you want me to believe that a child living in your home since she was 4 months old doesn't eat your food?

Give me a break.

Nannies and caregivers who've worked for the family were interviewed and stated that Jade was mostly cared for by nannies and was rarely in her mother's arms and that her mother treated her as if she weren't her "real" daughter, especially after two biological children were born to her.

The family, of course, says that isn't the case but what I found telling was the father's comment in an open letter to a Dutch newspaper: "We are Jade's parents. We feel responsible for her well-being."

Unbelievable.

You feel responsible for her well-being? What about love? I can promise you that I do a whole lot more than feel "responsible" for my children's well-being. I feel responsible for my plants. I feel all-consuming love for my kids.

This is a tragedy for Jade and a blow to the cause of international adoption. Stories like this make the news where all the millions of success stories never do and an outcry goes up from the child's original nation and officials begin to cut off adoptions (Guatemala) or make them prohibitively expensive (Russia) and where does that leave the millions of orphans who have no one to love them?

A child is not a possession to be returned if they aren't easy to raise. Any child, biological or not, can have difficulty attaching, can have health or emotional issues that are challenging, can have a personality that doesn't mesh easily with yours. Guess what you do? You roll up your sleeves and meet them where they are and just love them.

You just love them.

At the heart of this (and it makes me sick) is this Dutch couple's basic belief that their adopted daughter was a trial run. Or a faulty product. Or something that they could back out of when things weren't easy.

That is abusive parenting. That is NOT adoption.

When you bring your child home, you've made a lifelong commitment to them and that doesn't waver, no matter what. You aren't a parent for what the child can bring to you. You're a parent for what you can bring to your child.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Hobbits Don't Have Adventures

Until now. Peter Jackson has signed on with New Line Cinema to produce The Hobbit!! And even better...it's a two movie deal so I get to be all excited and go to midnight openings twice!

Paul and I were just talking last night about how much we wanted to see The Hobbit done right but that if they got anyone other than Peter Jackson to do it, it just wouldn't have the same incredible impact of the LOTR trilogy.

Seriously thrilled now!

Here's the link, Paul. =)

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Lost!

It's back! The fourth season of Lost arrives on Thursday, Jan 31st. To see a trailer click here.

Random Tuesday List

1. I'm sending out my Christmas cards today - minus any newsletter this year since my computer and my printer are currently not on speaking terms.

2. Half of the kids' presents are wrapped.

3. Starshine asked how old I am. I said 33. He then informed me that this was my thirty-tooth Christmas. I didn't correct him with "32nd" because thirty-tooth is just so cute.

4. The laundry has formed ranks, elected a general, and is now staging a major coup to take over the house.

5. I need to bake cookies...but when? When??

6. Sunday. I can bake cookies Sunday.

7. I forgot to buy more tape last night so now I have to go back to the store. I'm thrilled.

8. Paul and I introduced Dusty to The Lord of the Rings Sunday night. Always fun to cultivate a new groupie.

9. Saw I Am Legend Sunday afternoon as part of my anniversary date with hubby. It was good enough but not something I care if I see again.

10. Hubby is taking kids to see National Treasure 2 tomorrow night (preview tickets or something...I'm working).

11. How many items does a list need to have?

12. Can I just cut it off at a wierd number like 17?

13. Missing some addresses for my Christmas card list...if you got an email from me, better respond promptly or your card is going to be late. :)

14. If you make sustained eye contact with my cat, she feels compelled to come to you.

15. Unless, of course, you really want her to come to you because she's into something she shouldn't be. Then, she can stare you down with no problem whatsoever.

16. I dislike the word "loiter". Rhymes with "goiter". Ugh.

17. Off to do laundry, run errands, walk around the block, clean my kitchen, wrap some presents, write some chapters, shower, and go to work....

Monday, December 17, 2007

13 - My New Favorite Number

Today marks our 13th wedding anniversary. I can say with honesty that there were hard years and glorious years and that I don' t regret a thing.

Here are 13 things I've learned about marriage:

1. The feeling of being in love comes and goes but a rock-solid friendship never wavers.

2. Men really don't appreciate advice on how to hang Christmas lights.

3. Sometimes men need a hint the size of Texas to know what you want or need from them but the fact that they care enough to want to get it right means more than their inability to read minds.

4. Women have stronger stomachs when it comes to cleaning up things like vomit and excrement. (or is that just a vast conspiracy to convince us to do all the dirty work?)

5. It's better to be kind than right.

6. Fight fair.

7. Laughter is the second most important ingredient in a successful relationship.

8. Integrity is the first.

9. Making time spent together a priority is an excellent way to stay connected at the heart.

10. Any man who agrees to try a food experiment where canned salmon (bone- in! oops!) and yogurt are involved should get a medal.

11. Have a hobby, all your own, that you are passionate about and be interested in the hobby of your mate.

12. Speak as respectfully of your partner behind his back as you would to his face.

13. Never withhold affection or words of love when it is in your power to give them.

And that concludes my brief foray into Dear Abby territory. *grins*
Tags: relationships

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Friday, December 14, 2007

Things I've Found Funny Recently

1. The fact that alpacas can "spit" at will - using either end. (I've added this to my "Reasons Why I Never Want To Own An Alpaca" list.) My hubby and I decided that spitting from the anal region was a combination of spit and fart and therefore a spart.

2. Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "This is Sparta!!"

3. A quote I saw recently on a friend's page in facebook said "Ninja turtles are the real deal. Chuck Norris swallowed some baby turtles and when they came out the other end, they were five feet tall and had learned karate."

4. Yes, I laugh at things like that.

5. I took a walk today and ran straight into a tree. For the whole story, go two posts down.

6. My hubby is working on an incredible Christmas cake sculpture and is experimenting with various techniques. Today, he had me hold a large balloon filled with air while he poured warm white chocolate over it, trying to create an eggshell-shaped mold. Either the chocolate was too heavy or too hot because the balloon suddenly burst and sprayed the two of us (and our dog, our kitchen, and our floor) with copious amounts of white chocolate.

7. The dog was very excited.

8. Last night the Radio City Rockettes performed at the Grand Ole Opry and my hubby had to open the show by dressing up in the whole nightgown and nightcap thing and reading "The Night Before Christmas". Apparently, the Opry wanted "local celebrities" to kick off their show every night this week. My hubby is the morning show D.J. for the top-rated station in Nashville. We don't think he's a celebrity.

9. They felt differently and offered him $100 for the gig.

10. He decided he could impersonate a celebrity just for the evening. =)

Lesson Learned

So today I decided I'd recovered enough from my bout with pneumonia to take a brisk walk through my neighborhood. I pulled on my running shoes, plugged in the headphones for my ipod, and left the house.

These were all good ideas.

I turned my ipod on as I walked across the yard and Evanescence began playing.

This was also a good idea.

I decided I wanted to listen to a different album so I looked down at the ipod screen and scrolled through my musical choices while still walking across my yard.

This was a really bad idea.

We have trees in our yard.

We had a tree directly in my path.

I know this now because I walked straight into the tree and managed to body slam the poor defenseless plant with one toe, both knees, my chest, and the top of my head (looking down, remember?).

The tree didn't care. I can't say the same for my body.


So far, any potential neighborhood witnesses have failed to come forward.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Quote This

"A true friend never gets in your way unless you happen to be going down."
Arnold H. Glasow

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Toy Nostalgia

Cross-posted from my LJ:

So last night I was lying in bed and for reasons I couldn't possibly explain, I started thinking about some of my favorite toys from when I was little. Some of them I don't think I could find anymore, except maybe on Ebay (and I might look for them, once I have my daughter!)

Here's my list, feel free to add your own!

1. The Fisher Price record player.



2. My bright pink hula hoop. I don't want to brag, or anything, but I was good. Really good. I could start it on my neck, go out to each of my arms, and then send it up and down my body. I was pretty proud of that. =)

3. My entire Strawberry Shortcake collection, complete with the trolley and the bakery. My only regret is that I never owned Sour Grapes.

4. A set of play dishes with a yellow daisy in the center and swirly edges.

5. Friendship pins (okay, I know it's not a toy but hey, deal). This was before the days of the bedazzler and all those fancy "make your own beaded jewelry" kits and before parents freaked out about their kids having access to things like safety pins...We would string a few colored beads onto a safety pin and give it to our best friends who would then proudly wear them pinned to the front of their shoelaces. (not the part that flops around, the part that's laced in)

6. My Miss Piggy puppet. All the excuse I needed to run around screaming "Hi-yah!" at everyone.

7. My WonderWoman underoos. It took a little finesse to undress while spinning in circles but I managed it (mostly).

8. Our little black and white tv on which I would watch, without fail, The Dukes of Hazaard. (until the day I came home from school and my dad had thrown out the tv. Didn't get a replacement until I was in high school. It was good for me.)

So what's yours?

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.

LOL




I'm adding this as one of my avatars on LJ. =)

A Writing Experiment

In September, Wandereringray did a fun writing exercise in her journal where she started a sentence and invited her readers to finish it. Because I misunderstood her intention (just finish the ONE sentence...) and because it sparked my imagination, I wrote something that I'm going to use in the next series I write. To read my response, go here.

I thought it would be fun to try a new twist on that exercise. So...I'm inviting you to post a first sentence (or partial sentence) and I will use it to write a paragraph (or more...).

The only rules are these:

1. No profanity please.

2. No sexually explicit/disturbing subject matter.

Anything else is fair game. I'll take your sentences and post my responses over the next week or so. =)

And since I've already responded to the "It was a dark and stormy night", we'll take that one out of the running. :)

Quote This

A man who wants to do something will find a way; a man who doesn’t will find an excuse. - Stephen Dolley Jr.

Monday, December 10, 2007

LOL




Just for Paul. =)

Missing Johanna

A letter to my daughter:



I had hoped this Christmas would be easier to face than last. Last Christmas, I was so sure. So very, very sure that I would have you. A year and a half was longer than anyone had ever waited for their baby to come home from China and I was so sure you would make it home by then.

When it became clear you weren't coming home for Christmas, your brothers put up a little stocking for you anyway and filled it will old Halloween candy and a few of their favorite Matchbox cars. Take my word for it, this was a huge indication of love for their baby sister.

I cried a lot last Christmas, looking at that little stocking. Envying all the moms who had all of their children beneath their roof. Struggling to explain to others why I missed you when I've never met you.

It's hard to explain instant, overwhelming, life-long love for the child you know is coming to someone who hasn't experienced it. It sounds crazy. Grieving for you sounds crazy but I do it anyway.

This Christmas it's been 2 and 1/2 years and China just keeps slowing down the process. I don't have any firm deadline in mind anymore. I wish people would stop asking me because I can get along alright if I don't think about you.

I'm sorry about that. I try not to think of you because if I do, I wonder, are you born yet? Do you live in an orphanage or are you one of the lucky few in foster care? Are you warm enough? Does someone care if you cry at night? I want to get on the next plane to China and search the orphanages because I will know you when I see you. My heart already knows you.

Saturday night, at work, someone asked me about waiting for you. I answered, barely, then kept cleaning the kitchen and Christmas carols were playing and it was one of my favorites: Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. I heard the line "Next year all our troubles will be miles away" and it broke me.

I cried. At work. When you're older, you'll understand how much I hate to cry at all. I'm thankful it was past closing and only my closest friends were there to see it.

I wonder if I'll have you next year or if I'll have to go through this again while I wait. You're worth the wait. You're worth anything I can give. You are priceless.

I stare at our mantle, where five stockings hang, and I want to hang one for you too but I don't think I can face a daily reminder of missing you. Your room is full of stuff that needs to be sorted and probably most of it given away but I don't do it. I keep your door shut. One bedroom, in the middle of our hall, with the door locked tight. Because if I clean it out and make it look like my little girl's room, missing you will be too real to bear.

I've missed you for so long, I'm afraid to hope. People who love me and mean well keep telling me that it will happen and you will come home and I know that, of course. I trust that God has led us to you and that He has this in His hands. But knowing that doesn't stop the grief over my daughter who isn't home with me this Christmas.

I pray for you, as do the boys, every night. I pray that you are safe and loved and that you don't suffer before we can take you home. I'm afraid to pray this and afraid to hope for it but I ask that next year, you will be here, your gorgeous almond-shaped eyes wide with wonder at the twinkling lights, your little hands full of sugar cookies, your baby-laugh filling our home as your brothers crowd around you, excited to share the wonder of Christmas with their baby girl.

Merry Christmas, Johanna Faith Redwine, wherever you are. I love you.

Disregarding Traffic Laws

My friend Kailani (link to blog on the side bar) is working toward her dream of traveling the world for a year (by plane, train, and pack mule) and a recent blog of hers got me thinking about what it takes to passionately follow the dreams in our hearts.

As children, anything seems possible. I remember watching Mary Lou Retton win the Gold Medal in gymnastics and thinking (with absolutely no regard to my staggering lack of coordination) that I too would be a gold medalist, but not just in gynastics. I would medal in figure skating too. And I would do that while writing stories and performing concerts where I would sing, play the piano, and play the violin. And in my spare time I would race horses and live in a castle and keep a pet dragon that I took out for night flights to burst through the curtain between this world and that of the faeries who would, of course, crown me their long-lost Queen. And when I was done with that, I would go to college, get married, have children, bake Christmas cookies, and maybe travel overseas every few weeks.

Of course, my staggering lack of coordination prevented me from competing in the Olympics (although I'm still holding out for Power Shopping) and I don't yet know how to play the violin. I've never raced a horse (and after being rudely kicked in the head by the last one I approached, I don't think I really want to after all) or lived in a castle (though I'm still young, that can happen) or kept a pet dragon. I am, of course, the secret Queen of the faeries but you didn't hear it from me.

What happens to our delicious sense of adventure and daring as we grow up? Why do we slowly cast aside all the dreams that used to sparkle for us until we are left trudging the same well-worn rut of everyone around us? Graduate from high school. Get a job. Or go to college, graduate, then get a job. Hopefully it's one you like but better just take what you can get rather than hold out for what you really want because who gets that?

It's like our lives become cluttered with traffic signs: Stop - that isn't practical. Merge - everyone says you need to go this way. Dead End - just forget about the road less traveled. Speed Limit - keep it safe and steady.

What if we looked into our hearts and identified our dreams? The ones that still sparkle if we dust them off. The ones that still make hearts race with possibilities. What if we decided to breathe life into our dreams and ignore the traffic laws littering our adult world?

What if we didn't stop but found a way to mix the practicality of paying bills with the passionate pursuit of an impractical dream? What if we stopped merging and said, God has called me to go this way and off I go? What if we didn't see a dead end but saw endless possibilites in uncharted waters instead?

What if we valued risk over safety?

I will never be an Olympic medalist (unless that blasted committee finally approves my Power Shopping petition). I won't be a jockey. I won't be a concert pianist either. But that's okay because the deeper dreams of my heart are alive and growing. I will not come to the end of my life and regret the path I took to get there. Better to live a life of spectacular, beautiful failures on the way to seeing a dream come true than to huddle in safety, never stretching myself to discover what I can really be.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

My Reading Checklist

I recently finished reading a book that I really, really wanted to like. It was the first novel for this author but he is involved in the composing and production side of the music industry here in Nashville and since I'm a fan of his creativity there, I figured I'd be a fan of his written creativity too.

My problem was that he "pinged" every item on my reading checklist - a sort of mental standard of what I can't stand in a novel. He made me laugh outloud on page three and again on page four and it wasn't because he was trying to be funny - it was me laughing in disbelief that his editor let him get away with this stuff.

Here are a few of my pet peeves while reading:

1. Starting a paragraph by clearly denoting which character is speaking or doing and then feeling the need to remind me halfway through the paragraph of that character's name again. i.e. "Ashley raced to pick up the phone. It was a wrong number. She put the phone back into its cradle. Ashley wondered why someone kept calling her and hanging up."

See? I know it's Ashley, right from the start. I don't need a reminder halfway through that "she" refers back to Ashley because since I'm still young enough to have most of my mental capabilities roaring along at full capacity, I'm unlikely to forget what I've just read. Whenever I see this in a novel, it screams "Amateur" to me and I wonder how their editor missed it.

2. Giving a character technical information they wouldn't logically own. In the book I just read, the main character starts out on an airplane. Extreme turbulence causes an overhead bin to fly open and an older man is injured. The main character rushes to his aid and when a flight attendant asks why he needs a flashlight to check for a concussion (perhaps because she's been living in a cave up until now and doesn't possess the knowledge the rest of the population has about dialated pupils and head injuries?), the character gives this long and involved explanation about brain tissue swelling and uses several technical medical terms.

Okay, I'm thinking, our MC must be a dr, right? The flight attendant is in agreement with me and asks our MC the same thing. He says, "No" and I'm waited for the "But I play one on tv" punchline that never comes. At this point, the author gets an eye roll from me and it's only page three. Not good.

3. Making a character do something so completely unrealistic that it yanks me out of the flow of the book. In this book, when our MC rushes to the aid of the gentleman two rows up who's been struck by a suitcase (and I was already sitting there wondering if plain old turbulence could really fling a suitcase out of an overhead compartment...), he does it by crawling over the seat in front of him, stepping on the man hunkered down with his head between his knees, and then leaping into the aisle. Who does that?? Answer - nobody. It's just plain unrealistic. He could have slipped past the slender, attractive woman seated next to him and gone down the aisle like any sane, normal person would have done.

4. Using unrealistic dialogue. This was the kicker. I'd already had Superman leaping over airplane chairs, an MC with no medical training but who somehow managed to sound like a medical textbook, turbulence and injuries that, upon further reading, added nothing more to the plot than the opportunity for said MC to demonstrate his remarkable chair leaping skills, and now I had dialoge ripped straight from an early days Harlequin and somehow coming out of the mouth of a professional woman.

Here's what set me off: Our MC returns to his seat, quite the airline hero, and the woman next to him strikes up a conversation. She immediately gains the knowledge that he has a son and she says (and I'm quoting here), "I bet he gets his casual good looks from you."

I nearly choked, I laughed so hard. He gets his casual good looks from you??? No one, and I do mean no one, talks like that in real life.

5. Using cliched ideas or mimicking a popular literary work too closely. This book, despite the above mentioned amateur blunders, had a very interesting premise...sort of like National Treasure and the Da Vinci Code combined. Except the more I read, the further toward Da Vinci Code it leaned until near the end, the characters are speculating that the huge secret hidden in the illustrations of priceless old Bibles is that the God of the Jews was a woman. Even though it turned out they were wrong and the secret was something totally different, I was very turned off by this because it so strongly echoed the premise in DVC. I'm a big fan of taking an idea and pushing it until it looks like nothing else you've read. =)

So, yes, I was disappointed in this book overall and most authors who pinged all five of my pet peeves would have had their book given to Goodwill unfinished by me. =)

Friday, December 7, 2007

Christmas Lights

Because some people have a lot of time on their hands. =) Enjoy!


Thursday, December 6, 2007

It's Like Caffeine - On Steroids

Reasons why I shouldn't drink caffeine:

1. My hands shake.

2. It goes straight to the part of my brain whose sole function it is to control rational thought processes.

3. I tend to find everything extremely funny. I do mean everything.

4. I give new meaning to the term "motor-mouth".

Reasons why I shouldn't drink caffeine right after taking an energy-inducing steroid:

1. Forget my hands shaking - my whole body vibrates like a tuning fork.

2. Rational thought processes, like volume control and the ability to blink without developing an unsightly twitch, fly right out the window.

3. People find me extremely funny. Or terrifying, depending on their tolerance for the wierd.

4. Motor-mouth morphs into the equivalent of OhandIjustthoughtofonemorethingtosaybutthenitflewoutmybrainjustlikethatbecausewowI'mfeelinghyperandthatcan'tbeagoodthingbutthenagainmaybeitisandWOOOOOOOOO.

10 pts. if you can dicipher that last sentence.

50 pts if you were within range Tuesday night and experienced it in person.

100 pts if you said WOOOOOOO back at me. =)

I Can't Wait

I know where I'll be on May 16th. =)

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Random Wednesday List

Just because:

1. Paul made me snort a crumb of pumpkin bread (okay, it's a possibility that I just need more practice swallowing but he's a handy target. I blame him) and I have to say that having a crumb of anything lodged firmly in one's sinus cavity is most uncomfortable.

2. I really love the movie Unleashed starring Jet Li.

3. We now have six foot tall penguins on a sled in our yard. It's considered cute.

4. Our Christmas tree is beautiful.

5. I tried turnip greens (for those of you who don't live in the South, that's kind of like cooked spinach with bacon in it) and I surprised myself by enjoying them.

6. Still won't touch okra though.

7. My dog is one big lazy baby. He even lays down to eat his food.

8. There should be a mandatory age cut off for yanking driver's licenses. Like, before age 90.

9. I'm getting stocking stuffers for the kids tonight. =)

10. My mom was once treed by a herd of pigs when she was a child.

11. I've never been treed by anything but I've been spit on by a llama, kicked in the head by a horse, and knocked over by a sheep. A really fat sheep.

12. I don't actually care for barnyard animals up close.

13. Bumper cars would be so much more fun if you could actually speed up before you rammed someone.

14. Daredevil was listening to one of the cds my hubby and I got a decade ago (Supertones) and singing along in his room. It was fun to listen to.

15. I really love every single Christmas-scented candle I've come across.

16. My birthday arrives in a month and three days, followed by Starshine's five days later.

17. I really really love the color red.

18. Not so big on purple though. Or chartruese. Or puce. Puce. Even the name sounds frightfully unattractive.

19. I've become known at work as the girl who can instantly come up with vividly creative death threats.

20. Contrary to some people's opinions, this does not make me psycho. It validates my wide streak of creativity and my lightning fast, never-really-silent mouth.

December 1982

I'm wearing my pajamas, the fuzzy red sleeper-blanket with glittery snow flakes across the front and a hole worn through the heel of the left foot. I'm curled into my window seat, nose pressed against the glass, watching the condensation from my breath fog the window in a rhythmic circle.

I'm supposed to be in bed.

But it's Christmas Eve and I can't sleep. Not yet. We've opened one present already, like we always do. One small gift to tide us over to the wonder and sparkle of Christmas morning.

I got a set of Nancy Drew books, hardback. I'm relieved my mom didn't pull out the soft, squishy package with my name on it. I found it while rummaging through the brightly wrapped gifts and stuffed it to the back of the tree. I'm pretty sure it's underwear.

My books are lined up neatly on my desk but I don't look at them now. My lights are off and the house is settling for the night, though I can still hear Christmas music drifting down the hall from the living room and my Dad's reel to reel tape. Hours and hours of Christmas music are captured on those tapes. I love to watch the glossy chocolate ribbon roll slowly from one silvery disk to the other while the Nutcracker or Karen Carpenter or Boston Pops fills the air.

I strain to recognize the song playing now. White Christmas.

I smile and look out the window again. It is a white Christmas, here in Oregon. The snow swirled down today, deceptively slow, coating the bleak expanse of dead grass and bare trees with icy brilliance. Our Christmas lights, a single string of large bulbs in blue, red, green, and orange, blink steadily across the line of our roof and I watch their reflection wavering in the glittery snow heaped beneath my window.

I am waiting.

We are a family that has never believed in Santa Claus. He is a fun story, part of the Christmas time lore and legend, but we don't put out cookies. We don't get presents from Santa. And we don't worry about lighting fires in our fireplace.

I sit up straighter, looking around the aerosol-sprayed snow-from-a-can letters on the inside of my window. "Christmas", it says. My sister's room next door says "Merry". I stare at the sky with nearly unblinking vigilance.

White Christmas fades and something else takes its place but I am not listening. Not anymore. I'm straining to hear bells and far off sounds of something magical sliding through the winter night.

The stars seem brilliant tonight, sharply cut into the frozen sky. It isn't hard to imagine a sleigh and some reindeer darting among them, carrying joy and mystery and hope.

I don't believe in Santa. But still I watch. And I listen. And I wonder. Because I do believe in hope.

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