The Katzbox

NEW STEVE CARREL/TINA FEY MOVIE: DATE NIGHT-WHO'S WITH ME ON THIS???

2009-11-11T20:19:00.000-08:00

WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF?

2009-11-10T23:24:00.000-08:00

So...I was reading my friend's blog again, "rachelsaysso.blogspot.com". A discussion ensued about irrational things that we fear. Not all the time, just maybe those times when we're laying around in the dark and can't sleep....stuff like that.

I had a moment like that yesterday. I was laying in an MRI tube. I was in LA. I had taken my bra off (because of the metal snaps) and put it in my glove compartment in my car. I know, I know, why didn't I just do it in the lab. It's a long, boring story. I ran into the lab, and was in the MRI. Well, as I was laying in the MRI, I couldn't help but think of "THE BIG ONE". I mean, really! I was in LA, earthquake central. And what if it happened when I was in the tube? And me without my bra? Oh! The humanity!

I never used to fear MRI tubes like that. But when I worked at Eisenhower, specifically NEXT to the MRI magnet, we had a quake...a good-sized quake, and we had a gentleman in the tube...right before we lost power. Thank goodness he was unconscious. But I thought, poor dude! Yep. I thought, "poor dude" as I grabbed my purse and was heading for the door....which I didn't get through because my big, strong, Viking co-worker (who lived her life in the desert ON the San Andreas fault) grabbed the back of my shirt and slammed me back onto my chair. She said, "we're going nowhere, just get under your desk". At that time, I heard the tech yelling for us to help him get Mr. Dude out of the tube manually. Nice.

So, needless to say, I shudder when I go into the tube...not for the claustrophobia...but for the potential of being stuck in there during the big one. *shudder*

But as I said on Rachel's blog, just in the event of the big one, I keep a change of clothes on my dresser next to my bed to put on just in case. I also keep a pair of good walking shoes next to my bed that will protect my feet in the event I have to walk around in post-earthquake conditions (shards of glass, ickiness). You just never know around here. It's a little creepy...

I'm also afraid of getting an electric shock. I've been shocked pretty bad in my life and it's so disturbing to me, I can't overestimate how much I dislike it. When I was pregnant for Emily, I got shocked so badly in our kitchen it threw me backwards and then down. No bueno. I think that explains Em's electric blue eyes....or not....my recessive gene baby.

I fear dog vomit.

I fear having something stuck in my teeth. I guess that's not a fear as much as maybe just neurotic kind of worry. Same with the dog vomit.

Hey, this isn't a very uplifting post. Sorry. I'm just killing time and procrastinating writing my paper on false memory syndrome. LAME.

BEVERLY HILLS...9021 OHHHHHH

2009-11-10T00:21:00.000-08:00

I wish I would have taken pictures. I took my camera, but since I was driving, I couldn't snap the darn thing. I was all by myself, so I had no "other arms" to help me... rats....

I love going into L.A. I thoroughly enjoy that city. I'm such a tourist!!! And when it comes to Beverly Hills, well....it's over. I love that city. I love Santa Monica Blvd. I love Wilshire Blvd. I love looking up to the Hollywood Hills and seeing those beautiful houses. The architecture of the businesses is just stunning. They make beautiful use of gold and white. It's so rich looking, which it's intended to be.

Today, I had two appointments there and they were several hours apart so I had to kill time. I wish now that I would have driven up into the canyons and done more sight-seeing, but I enjoyed my afternoon. My first appointment was on Overland, right off Wilshire. I saved $9.00 in parking by using the lot down the street and walking. Yeesh, guys! Then, I drove down to La Cienega Blvd and grabbed a subway sandwich and sat in my car in a pretty neighborhood and ate it while I did a sudoku puzzle. It was pretty-the neighborhood, not the puzzle. And then it occurred to me that Beverly Hills is not all glamor. Beverly Hills has a "bad part of town" to it. It has more than one zip code (shocked gasps)!

So, I'm sitting in my car and I'm looking at these beautiful homes and I'm thinking, "Gosh, these houses are kind of small. They're pretty as all get out, and really charming, but not what one would call grand." And then I started to look around at the people. These weren't the same people I saw "uptown". These were old people that were stooped and bent over. These were young couples with baby carriages, just starting out. There were lots and lots of students. There was much more diversity and a lot more pedestrian traffic so I kept my eyes open and....yep! there it was...a bus. So I thought, these people have a mailing address of Beverly Hills and it's the seedy side of town. I almost laughed. People must assume so much about someone that lives in B.H. For instance, if you go to buy a car and they ask where you live and you say, "Beverly Hills", do you think they're going to cut you a break? Then you feel compelled to say, "No, I'm not rich. I take the bus to work and my kids go to public schools!" Sure fella....

Wow....I guess everything is relative...it was quite the eye-opener. I don't have any big insights, I just felt compelled to share my thoughts, as that's the purpose of this blog...it's my journal and written more for my kids and family (and posterity) than for anything else...

So there it is, my daily nugget of knowledge and insight...more like a crumb...maybe even a molecule...an atom?.....quark?.....I'll stop now....

JOHN SEBASTIAN...I BELIEVE IN THE MAGIC....

2009-11-06T13:03:00.000-08:00

John Sebastian and The Lovin' Spoonful. Remember them?...mainly, remember him? I fell in love with Mr. Sebastian's voice. I was young. First off, I was a quiet kid (yea, I know)-but I spent several hours a day just listening to my transistor radio. John Sebastian's smoky, velvety voice was a fixture in the 60's. One of his songs in particular just spoke to me. It was called, "Do You Believe In Magic?" It was about the power of music. Some of the lyrics went like this...

Do you believe in the magic of a young girl's soul?
Do you believe in the power of rock and roll?
Do you believe that music can set you free?
Do you believe like I believe?

Thank goodness we lived in Ohio! I would have followed him into the ocean...

Flash forward a few years and there I was at the old Mershon Auditorium at the Ohio State University with B.J. Hartman who had scored a couple of tickets to Steve Martin's comedy show. Guess who his opening act was? Yea....John Sebastian. I figured B.J. must have been in serious love because his shtick was scoring rock concert tickets so for him to go to a comedy show, well....

Anyway, Sebastian came out, sat on a stool, played his guitar, and sang all of these songs from my childhood. I was caught up to 7th heaven. I heard him on the radio the other day and was carried away to another place and time and I thought, "what the heck is wrong with me? It's 2009, I have ITunes...yeesh". So...here I am....writing this post, listening to Mr. Sebastian's beautiful voice...and hovering over my chair as I write this....

Thank you ITunes....thank you B.J......and thank you Mr. Sebastian....don't anyone call me for a little bit...I haven't quite hit the ground yet.....apparently I still believe in the magic.....

THE SENSE OF SMELL...FOR BETTER OR WORSE...

2009-11-05T15:36:00.000-08:00

I had to go to the desert (my previous neighborhood) early this morning. While traveling there and back, I made a startling discovery. Actually, it wasn't so much a discovery, as much as it was a confirmation: I am losing my sense of smell. This is disturbing. My sense of smell is not entirely gone-it's diminished. I don't know if it's going to stay at this diminished level, or if it's going to leave entirely. I know how, you may ask? As the boy and I were driving into the desert at 7:30 this morning, we encountered what appeared to be a "foggish" substance in the atmosphere. As we live in southern California, what could be a fog, could be smog, but it could also be smoke. As I wasn't particularly keen on driving into a raging wildfire that early in the morning, I woke up the boy and asked, "Hey! HEY! HHEEYY Do you think that's fog or smoke outside"? He looked around and said, "Why don't you roll down the windows and sniff"? I snorted in reply, "Well sure, if you wanna do it the easy way!" So, we rolled down the windows and....I couldn't smell anything. Nothin'. Faking it with ease, I looked over at him while rolling up the windows and asked, "So...what's your take?" He said he didn't think it smelled anything like a fire so it was probably just fog and I agreed with him. I totally faked it.

My grandmother lost her sense of smell and I have a cousin who lost his. I did some research and while there are some genetic traits associated with familial anosmia (loss of the sense of smell), we don't really fall into that pattern.

I'll follow an "Occam's razor" approach and go with the simplest explanation before moving onto alien abduction. And how embarrassing would THAT be?...get swiped by aliens, get experimented on, get a "new guy" that's training-have him totally mess up your sense of smell so that you're basically no good to them anymore and then YOU become the "throw back" human....way to go newbie....

Anyway, I'm going to assume first and foremost, that possibly it's temporary. Maybe it's just a cold or something. If not, I'm going to assume it has to do with age. I know I have a hearing loss that is, indeed, familial and bilateral. I'm on the bubble for a hearing aid (according to the physician who told me this and who also happened to sell hearing aides), so I'm not worried for awhile. If my loss of sense of smell (I can't say "loss of smell" because that sounds like a good thing, right?) goes with age, there's nothing I can do about it. In fact, the alternative is to not age and we all know how THAT works out....

If the loss of the sense of smell (LoSOS) is related to the temporal lobe epilepsy (the temporal lobe is in charge of that particular sense) then, again, there isn't much I can do about it. I take my medicine and that's all I can do. Pssssttttttbbbpppppp<----------- raspberry. I have skated about as much as anyone can with that issue. I don't have "fall down" seizures or anything like that, but I know that in time, I'll have to "pay the piper" for getting off so easy. I'll have to send a search party out one day for my shrinking hippocampus. Here little hippocampy....come to momma.....leave a trail of bread crumbs....debbie droppings.....something....

On the way back to the desert, as I was rounding a mountain, the traffic started slowing down. Soon it came to a complete standstill. I didn't understand why until I slowly drove past the flashing lights of the fire truck and saw the blackened vegetation and the billows of smoke. I was driving through the birth and death of a wildfire. I didn't smell a thing...and I was driving right through ground zero. The firefighters were still there! The cops were directing the traffic. Not even a sniffle.

But I was heartened when I was rounding the next curve and almost gagged when the vineyard I passed had covered several hundred acres with manure....I've never been so happy for that much poo since I was a new mommy.....

AMERICAN BUTTER, CHRISTIAN BALE, CURSES. DON'T EVEN TRY TO FIGURE IT OUT.

2009-11-04T21:47:00.001-08:00

I have been cursed in my life. Only a couple of times, but apparently there are "lifetime" curses. One of these curses is this: "You will never own a toaster that functions properly"... and I don't. I'm sitting here with slices of toast that are beautifully tanned on the upside of the bread and shiny with real butter (American butter, not the Irish butter that attracts so many global hits on this blog...sheesh, what's that about?). But this toast is absolutely white and totally non-toasted on the bottom. Absolutely untouched on the bottom. How does that happen while it's in the toaster oven? It's hot in there, right? Shouldn't it get a least a little crunchy? But nooooo, I'm putting butter on a crunchy, normal toasty side while the other side is...well...soft and "giving"...it's like biting into a beef sandwich and hearing the cow said "moo"...it's not normal...

The other curse is brownies. The curse must have gone something like this, "You will never make a perfect batch of brownies for as long as you live"...and I don't think I have. They're either too moist or too stuck to the pan or too dry or too something. I just don't get it. It's not like rocket science. I don't even make them from scratch; they're from a mix, for cryin' out loud. But do you think that appeases the brownie gods?....huh uh...ZAP! Another batch bites the dust...and by "bites the dust", I mean we eat it with spoons if we have to...we're not stupid...

Make-up. I don't understand it. I never will understand it. I purchased some foundation yesterday. I bought it because Diane Keaton was on the cover. Why did I do this? I know better than anyone that she looks great on that cover because 1. air brushing. 2. she's probably had her faced "professionally" peeled, scrubbed, fired, sand-blasted, lifted, tucked, folded, molded, and anything else that one can do to prolong their youthful appearance. Puhleese. At that level, beauty can be rented. If beauty was a luxury apartment, I'd be living under a bridge. Emmy suggested mineral make-up. "It's all powder" she said. I don't know if that's good. With my lines, I'm looking into spackling compound.

Walking in a noble manner. Nada. I do not possess a queenly demeanor, nor do I have a royal bearing. I walk like a 12-year-old. My spine, which has somehow remained flexible (thank you Lord!) is kind of all over the place, so my stride resembles a gangly adolescent, as opposed to the confident, professional woman I'm trying to pretend to me. Let's hope "walking" is never part of a job interview. Combine my walking with my schlepping of a big computer shoulder bag and an equally large purse and I resemble a mule with an attitude problem. Lovely.

Cooking. Can't do it. Don't particularly want to. Haven't got "the touch", the time, or the temperament to toss tasty tidbits together to create a terrific ...well...you get the picture. The boys are lucky to get a "home-bought" taco for dinner. Yea...guess who ISN'T a Stepford wife?

Well, it's getting late and I'm getting depressed thinking of all of the things I can't do. So, I'll practice a game I learned on one of my favorite blogs: rachelsaysso.blogspot.com.

It's called, "The Glad Game"; where I list something I'm glad for.

I'm glad for my family. I'm glad for my blog so I can record my thoughts. I'm glad for my little, "emergency back-up" dog, Buddha, who loves me and follows me everywhere *I guess he's the next shift after Snoopy :)* I'm glad for my children and grand children and their health. I'm glad for my mother and mother-in-law and siblings and their families. I'm glad for lots of things-many more than my curses. In fact, I'm feeling gladder and gladder.

Who needs double-sided toast, perfect brownies, perfect make-up and a perfect stride? I've got a blog about Irish Butter and international hits...I don't even want to tell you the hits that Christian Bale brings....I'm feeling better already....

CAUTION: SLEEPING 2-YEAR-OLD AHEAD

2009-11-03T13:07:00.001-08:00

Shhhhh....there's a little 2-year-old asleep on my couch. No one wants to wake him...well, except the dog. My dog really wants to wake him up. He can't understand why the person closest to him in size isn't playing with him. The dog just stands there and stares at the couch. He put the ball next to the couch in an attempt to waken the boy. It didn't work. Then the dog stood next to the ball and stared at the boy in an attempt to use his canine vibes to magically stimulate the boy into wakefulness. That didn't work either. So of course the only logical thing left for the dog to do was to begin to groom himself. And I'm being polite here.

So I thought I would just come over here and begin to do some homework...you know...catch up on one of my classes and write some more on a paper that's due at midnight on Saturday. But I can't seem to concentrate. It's like having a picnic on the San Andreas Fault....something could happen anytime. Any squeak, any move, any anything and I jump and run or start and stop. I can't concentrate. I can't do anything. I'm typing this post right now but fortunately, I don't have to look at the keyboard when I type...because I'm staring over the couch as I type this...

Okay....apparently I am a slave to this child. I. am. a. slave. His blue eyes rule me. It's over. Game goes to Boy. Forget about homework. Forget about my term paper. Yeesh....I'm glad the Yankees don't have to face him...

MONDAY, MONDAY....(THANKS MAMAS AND PAPAS)

2009-11-02T10:49:00.000-08:00

Remember this song by the "Mamas and Papas"?

"Monday Monday, so good to me,
Monday Monday, it was all I hoped it would be
Oh Monday morning, Monday morning couldn't guarantee
That Monday evening you would still be here with me.

Monday Monday, can't trust that day,
Monday Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way
Oh Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be
Oh Monday Monday, how could you leave and not take me?"

I loved loved loved the Mamas and Papas. I adored their harmony and I wanted to be Mama Michelle so bad. I wanted to be THAT hippie girl. The beautiful, long-haired, blonde with the gorgeous, flowing clothes or skinny jeans that sang like an angel and floated about two feet off the ground. Yea, I realize now that she may have been tripping her brains out or higher than a kite, but I wanted to be her....passing out love beads or flowers and singing in that voice of hers....yeesh....

She's the only surviving member of the group now. Mama Cass (who had her own incredible voice!!!) died in England after the group split up and she was pursuing her solo career. Papa John, the genius behind the harmony and the organization died a few years ago from liver failure secondary to years of alcohol abuse and drug addiction (according to the press reports). Denny (my personal crush) died fairly recently.

According to the later accounts, and personal interviews, Denny and Michelle were caught up in a huge affair, which John (Michelle's husband) found out about. Meanwhile, Cass was madly in love with Denny as well. It was a crazy time and for a little midwest bound girl like me with a gorgeous older sister who was going to Janis Joplin concerts and dressing in mini skirts and feathers, well....my fantasies were all I had....

Anyway, it's Monday...no guarantees....just me and my little Midwestern heart and soul out here on the west coast....somethings just never change....

PALOMAR REVISITED....

2009-10-31T20:23:00.000-07:00

Today we dragged the boy with us back to the Palomar Observatory and this time we actually took the tour. Good thing we went today. Tomorrow is the final day for tours until next April. The tour was pretty interesting. It lasted over an hour. Peter was like a 5-year-old. Eli was like a bored 18-year-old. I was like...well...me. It's very very cold in that observatory. And what some people don't know is that there are multiple observatories on that mountain. There are four, including the big lens that's so famous, and three little Monopoly-shaped houses that connected via aluminun-type piping. These little houses actually contain their own mirrors and telescoping equipment. They combine their lights through the silver piping and can render images from space that have greater resolution than their super huge neighbor.

The guides explained all of the genius and IQ points that went into the mirror that is used at Palomar. The lens is 24 inches thick with a 220 inch diameter. It's shaped like a bowl. The mirror was made by Corning in New York and shipped via train to California before WWII going only 25 mph and only during the day. People lined up along side the tracks to watch it go past. Everything in that building speaks to the glory days of American manufacturing and industry. The wooden doors, the tiles, every piece of construction and work is a piece of pride.

And props to the four tour guides; 3 physicists and one docent-all great guys. They have to answer all of the questions of the tourists. One of the people (bless their heart) asked, "Why don't you do something to modernize the mirror, you know, UPDATE it!" The guy waited maybe, .00025 seconds before answering, "This is the one of the most advanced pieces of technology on the planet. It can't BE updated. It's the perfect machine." I was waiting for an imaginary pie to fly down and hit the tourist in his face. Somethings are better BECAUSE they were made 60 years ago. That, combined with today's technology to KEEP them better, equal one dynamite piece of machinery...I'd like to include myself in that equation.... :)

The lens has photographed some of the most amazing scenery ever created using technology that I can't understand, let alone explain. The heavens often take my breath away. With boundaries that big, it takes God to make you feel that you're secure-it does for me anyway. And maybe that's why the following quote resonates with me:

What is essential is invisible to the eye, Antoine de Saint Exupery

YANKEES, RODENTS, AND UNCLES (GO YANKEES)

2009-10-30T05:02:00.000-07:00

Well, it's 5:00 a.m. here. I've been up since 4:00. Just can't sleep I guess. I stayed in bed as long as I could-all cuddled up in the comforter that Emmy was kind enough to loan me. I wrap myself up in it, in addition to really warm pajamas, for the warm & cuddly factor. It keeps my bones and joints from aching. (Thanks Em...I know I know, I must return it to you someday...) So as I was lying there I was thinking of words. I thought it you put the words "food" and "cat" together, you can reasonably come up with "fat". I also thought you could come up with "cood", but that doesn't make sense, unless it's a nickname for an Appalachian uncle (Hey Uncle Cood!) or an Amazon rodent (The diminutive cood is often devoured by the more aggressive rodents that inhabit the lower canopies of the rain forest).

Out here in the living room, where I have vertical blinds on all of the windows (and plenty of outside lighting going on) and mirrors everywhere (bad feng shui people....bad) my walls are covered in reflected vertical stripes. This is an interesting effect. This gives the effect of my walls being dressed in bad prison clothing-not too awful when you consider the slimming effect of the vertical strips. My rooms have never looked thinner.

Snicker doodles never tasted more satisfying than they do before sun up.

The Yankees won last night against the Phillies. I'm not that big of a sports nut, but I have an emotional attachment to the Yanks. I'm not anti-Phillies, I'm just pro-Yanks. But there's a lot of people out there that are I-WANT-THE-YANKEES-TO-DIE kind of thing. I don't think that's sports. I think that's displaced rage. Get some therapy. Maybe your parents bought you the wrong bike when you were twelve or something.

I'm going back to my toaster oven bed. I should be fully cooked by 8:00. According to this post, I'm half-baked.

HEIFER CATALOG AND THE MAHARISHI....

2009-10-28T16:30:00.000-07:00

I receive a catalog that refers to itself as "The Most Important Gift Catalog In the World". It's called Heifer International. It IS an important catalog and it admits that its statement is "bold". Here's the idea behind Heifer (taken from its inside cover):

* You decide to donate a sheep in honor of your mother, who has always loved these gentle animals.
*Your mother receives a holiday gift card from you describing the generous contribution you've made in her honor.
*Thanks to your gift, one more family is on the road to self-reliance.
*Once the family has completed training and has prepared appropriate facilities, they then receive a healthy female sheep.
*Throughout the year, the sheep provides soft, warm wool and the promise of new hope for each family.
*The family gives one or more of its sheep's offspring to another family in need in the community. That's part of the Passing on the Gift tradition that participants agree to when they become partners with Heifer International. Heifer also ensures there's a healthy male sheep in the village for breeding.
*The 2nd recipient family agrees to contribute one or more of their sheep's offspring to a family in need-who then ALSO agrees to Pass on the Gift.

and on and on and on...

This is GLOBAL...

But! When my daughter, Emily, was browsing through my Heifer catalog, she didn't know any of this. She just found a gift catalog called "Heifer". It didn't have pretty, sparkly things in it. It had pictures of small, brown, wizened people holding chickens, or little girls with pretty smiles in Eastern Europe holding goats. Emily said, "Gosh, how come I don't get these kinds of catalogs sent to me"?

Because, Emily, you have never inquired about the Masters Degree program in Maharish Vedic Science at the Maharishi University in Iowa, which was founded by the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, which would have put you on the mailing list for Heifer Catalogs, OR taken that Transcendental Meditation course I was raving about back in the mid 90s, maybe THEN, you would be sitting with your OWN Heifer catalog in your home right now....just sayin'...I can hear your envy, girlie.....HAHAHAHAHAHAH

MARSHMALLOWS....FAIRY FOOD AT ITS FINEST....

2009-10-27T13:44:00.001-07:00

I had the following conversation the other night when I babysat Mae and Clark at their house. We were eating marshmallows out of a bag that we found sitting (opened, thank you food elves) on the kitchen counter. I should preface this with-Mae and I have an ongoing conversation about the existence (or nonexistence) of fairies. I, for one, am a fairy proponent. Mae, on the other hand, maintains that fairies do not exist. I realize that this appears counter-intuitive and that we would be on opposite sides of that particular argument, but this is Planet Moo Moo so....it is what it is... So...that said....

MAE: *biting into a marshmallow* Grandma, do you know how to make marshmallows?

ME: No. No I don't. I would imagine it involves lots of sugar.

MAE: I wish we knew how to make these. They're very good.

ME: I think marshmallows are fairy food.

MAE: *after a long silence and a sigh* Grandma, I don't believe in fairies. They're not real.

ME: *one raised eyebrow and nodding head* Then how do you explain marshmallows?

MAE: *stunned silence*

I may have looked calm and reflective, but inside,

IMMA DO A DANCE. IMMA DO A DANCE

THIS IS HOW WE SAY GOOD-BYE TO OUR DOG...

2009-10-26T14:52:00.001-07:00

This evening, at 5:00 PM, we'll be saying good-bye to our old friend, Snoopy. We're sending him back to his Creator. He's had a good run. He's around 12 years of age. I've called him a cow-dog because of his markings...and well, his "shape", but I digress.

Snoopy and I have been friends for the last six years. It has been a good six year run for both of us. We adopted each other. I think we each felt "settled" with the other. He had someone that was tender with him, and I had someone that would protect and follow me around, as well as sit on my feet to keep them warm. We understood each other. My little yorkie, "Sunny", was staying in Fallbrook at the time Snoopy and I met. He had been killed by coyotes-but I hadn't heard it yet...Snoopy somehow "knew" about it before I did. That morning, Snoopy began to follow me around for the first time. He was waiting for me as I stepped out of my bathroom that morning. I giggled when I found him there (after I almost broke my neck tripping over him) and patted him and thanked him. He followed me around that morning before work and watched me as I walked out the door. He was so cute that morning. His behavior really stuck with me. That afternoon, I found out about Sunny. I came home and Snoopy was there waiting for me, continuing to follow me around. He never stopped. Never. He still follows me around, only now it's with his eyes because he can't walk anymore. Now, I follow him. I lay next to him. I sit next to him. We sit outside together.

But that's how Eli and Peter feel as well. Everyone loves Snoopy. Even our neighbors from our last neighborhood. Everyone loved the "kind, old gentleman". People driving by on golf carts would stop to talk to Snoopy. He has the kindest face on the planet. His eyes are so big and brown and soulful. It's how he communicates. Eli's brother and sister, Peter Jr. and Marissa each adore Snoopy as well. He's been a part of their lives for twelve years. That's a long time.

Snoopy has traveled more than most people. He lived in Maine with Peter and the boys. He loved to run along the rocky beaches there. He loved to jump and run in the snow. He didn't mind the cold. And as far as the desert goes, he never minded the heat. The dog just never complained about anything. He was always in the moment, never complaining, always obedient, always humble, always teachable, always loving, always guileless. He has been a kind and good teacher for me. Slow to anger, quick to forgive.

We have held on to Snoopy perhaps too long. As Eli and I spoke today, we decided that it's because we are perhaps being selfish. It's easier to reach out and touch him and pet him and watch him wag his tail and see him smile (yes! he certainly DOES smile!!). More than that, we may be fearful of the grief that we will experience when Snoopy is gone, because of the hole he will leave in his wake. No one can fill that. Then we discussed that fear and faith cannot coexist. If we are experiencing fear, it is because we do not have enough faith-and that needs to change.

It takes faith to let Snoopy's spirit run free. It takes faith to love Snoopy enough to release him from his body, which has become a prison for him. It takes faith to turn him over to his original Master. It takes faith to just let go.

So Snoop, tonight we will exercise our faith and release you out of the prison you are in. We will gather around you so that the last thing you see are three loving faces smiling at you. The last thing you feel will be three loving hands caressing your sweet brow. And the last thing you hear will be words of thanks for your years of service. You will feel no pain...just love. Good boy, Snoopy. Good boy.

THE BOY'S LAST (?) YOUTH STAKE HALLOWEEN DANCE?

2009-10-24T13:57:00.001-07:00

The boy is getting prepared for what is probably his last youth stake Halloween dance. So, naturally, he came to me for a costume. Last year he went as a pirate and he liked that so this year he thought he'd do it again. But this year, he looked so dang cute with his new glasses, in my frilly blouse and silk scarf...wait...that sounds wrong at so many levels...I'll just let the pictures speak for themselves...

CHIHUAHUAS AND THEIR BARKINESS...

2009-10-23T12:44:00.001-07:00

We have these two little chihuahuas that live next door to us. Their real names are Davey and Dewey. I call them Cheech and Chong because I like the alliteration and they're Mexican. They're crazy little dogs. They have a combined weight of zero ounces. One is tan and one is black. Their balcony is right next to the steps that lead up to our front door and porch. The steps are solely ours; we don't share the steps with anyone else, so we're the only ones who use them. However, their balcony looks out over the green and the sidewalk. So.....everyone who walks past, every dog that uses the green, every fly that buzzes, every car horn that honks in the distant, every plane that flies overhead, and virtually every shift in the harmonic convergence, causes these two to yip and bark. If one tires, the other will pick up the pace until his compadre catches his breath and then HE takes over while the other one rests on the ropes...they are a virtual tag team of barkiness.

Peter loves them. He actually stirs them up (intentionally !)when he comes home because he thinks they're cute. Also, he's a "dog person", so every dog has merit in his eyes. One time he threw a piece of ham at them. But they're so small, you have to be careful....what may be an innocent slice of lunch meat to us turns into a weapon when lobbed at a trembling, googly-eyed, Sir-Barks-A-Lot, set of toenails.

So....depending on my coping skills du jour, I may or may not open my front window and door....because to do so invites the enchanting sounds of the barkmeisters. They even recognize the sound of my lock turning in my door FROM THE INSIDE!!!...they're actually quite impressive.

Remember that song by Simon and Garfunkel that went, "Hello, silence, my old friend..." I lost that old friend's number weeks ago.....

DEAREST GRANDBABIES....ONE OF THESE DAYS....

2009-10-22T15:00:00.000-07:00

I wish I could explain how difficult it is to be so far away from my two newest grandchildren. It's really a physical ache. My arms, indeed, ache sometimes. I can't tell you the imaginary conversations I have had with the babies, who don't know who I am. I'm so hungry for pictures and video, I feel almost ungrateful because as soon as some are published, I'm ravenous for the next set. It's ridiculous.

Can you see their smiles? Look at them!!! Those top two pictures look like cartoons, they're THAT cute!! ! They compel me to use exclamation marks at an alarming rate!!!! What's a grandma to do but blog?

I love you my precious angels. I miss you terribly. I will see you as soon as I can. I pray for you morning and night. I place you on the prayer rolls regularly. I love your mother and father. There. That's the best I can do and all I can offer....for now....but wow....are we gonna have fun one of these days.....

NEXT JUDGE ON PROJECT RUNWAY?.....NAHHHHH

2009-10-21T11:52:00.000-07:00

SHRIN'S OUT, CHRISTOPHER'S IN, PUT UP YOUR DUKES!

2009-10-20T15:57:00.000-07:00

Well, Shirin is gone from Project Runway. I thought for sure that Christopher would be the one to leave. But it was not to be. Shirin was likable, as is Christopher. I'm glad that Carol Hannah won. She's cute and friendly. I like it that some of them can be friendly AND talented. How about that!!!

Why is it that the ability to be friendly disappears so easily nowadays? At the slightest provocation, it evaporates like so much mist. This amazes me. It has always struck me that it's much easier to be friendly than it is to be mean... A smile costs nothing... A compliment creates so much good and keeps giving long after the words have stopped being spoken... That it's easier to build someone up than it is to tear them down.

These aren't cute bumper stickers that I've read-these are insights that I've gained over the years. How can people ignore this most simple wisdom? Goodness knows I'm a boat ride and two plane trips from perfect, but if I'm thinking cross thoughts about someone and that same person turns to me and smiles, I'm a wet noodle. It's over. I'll give them my shoes, my coat, and probably bring them home for dinner. Actually, I'm hoping that most people are like that. I'm betting that most people are like that. Maybe we just like to sound tough. Yea...maybe that's it.

Put up your dukes! Why, I oughta....

SPAM MAIL...WHAT IN THE WORLD IS MY DEMOGRAPHIC, ANYWAY???

2009-10-19T13:07:00.000-07:00

I was getting ready to dump the items in my spam email this morning, but as I read through the subject headings, I became more and more intrigued. The subjects were so varied and odd, I felt compelled to share them. What demographic am I in, exactly? Typically I am barraged by black singles in my area who are looking for me along with offers to enlarge my manhood. But this morning's dose of weirdness was a little more varied. Here's a sampling:

From Dell: "Be one of the first: Windows 7 now preinstalled on select Dell laptops!" (Ummmm, given the extreme bugginess of the latest Windows experience, I think I'll pass...that, and I own a Mac...no thanks)

from Walmart, I received this lovely offer: "Walmart job offer 5000/month, start TODAY" (yea...right...this is the same Walmart that refuses to pay its own employees a decent enough wage therefore making them eligible for federal assistance using our tax dollars. That's right, we subsidize Walmart's employees...nice....) PASS

From Lowe's: I've received "Lowes Winter Makeover (1000 USD)!" (Golly, when I think about a makeover, lumbar doesn't come to mind...) huh uh...

And my personal favorite spam message from Lt General Fred Okolo: "The boxes are coming with diplomatic agents"....I'd better vacuum...

PALOMAR OBSERVATORY...LAKE HENSHAW...JULIAN, CA....AND OSU!

2009-10-18T00:55:00.000-07:00

Here are some shots of our day trip to the Palomar Observatory. We had a great time. As you drive up to the observatory, it looks for the world like a huge hard boiled egg on top of this big hill. It is gleaming white...quite impressive. It was started back in the 30's. The technology and man-power that was required for this structure takes one's breath away. Everything in it takes you back in time...the big, wooden doors, the tiled floors, but the irony is the magnificent photos it continues to take of the universe. Dr. Hubble (of the famed Hubble Telescope) was s significant astrophysicist in the development and design of Palomar.

Of course, the picture of the big tree was Peter's idea....he just LOVES impressive tree trunks, and the countryside is filled with impressive oaks and such. It has different vegetation than where we live, for the most part; certainly, vastly different from the desert.

We then stopped off at a scenic vista over Lake Henshaw and had a picnic lunch. Quite nice. After that we flew through Julian (a little "apple" town) and bought a frozen Dutch Peach/Apple pie for dinner tomorrow (that will smell heavenly when I bake it) and then we ended up at the San Diego Temple. Great day.

Hope your weekend is going well also-despite the fact that OSU lost to Purdue...sorry Buckeyes....next week will be better!

MELTY MINTS AS WEAPONS...OR TOYS...EITHER ONE...

2009-10-15T16:19:00.000-07:00

See these lovely little melty mints? In most homes, these are food. A luscious little treat one might eat following a lovely dinner spent with those you cherish being with. Perhaps they are passed around while loved ones chat during delightful and twinkling conversation. That's not the case in our house. In our house, they are weapons. They fly through the air, getting caught in your hair, zinging past your ears, stinging your cheeks, etc. The smaller ones are deadlier. At high enough speeds, they whistle.

Two nights ago, the hubs brought these home. It appeared innocent enough. "Here", he said tenderly when we had a moment to ourselves. "I thought of you today" and he handed me the mints. "Do you know that I think of you throughout the day?" he asked lovingly. My heart melted....not unlike these pretty little mints. I kept them close by all day and nibbled on them as I worked on papers and cleaning and between errands. They were a nice reminder of something sweet and romantic that my meat-and-potatoes type of husband did. Awwwwww

Last night, as we were all three sitting around the table, IT began. Peter and I were playing our game, "Quiddler" and Eli was playing on the computer. I saw something fly just over my direct line of vision and then heard a "Yow!" I didn't think much about it as these two tussle quite a bit. There is always wrestling and macho threatening. Heaven forbid if Eli scrapes himself or says the word "ouch" cause then, it's all over. In the past, Peter was shot three times and still drove himself to the emergency room. When my son, Eric, heard this, he looked at his brother (The "other" Eli-Big Eli) and said, "Dude, do you know what this means? This means we can never whine about ANYTHING EVER AGAIN!" But back to little Eli-if the poor kid so much as whimpers, his dad will say, in the least-therapeutic, most pseudo-threatening, creepiest voice ever, "Awwww, you want me to rub that for ya?" And then I fall over with laughter, just at the sheer creepiness of it and even Eli laughs and puts his hands up and forgets what he was complaining about.

Anyway, the melty-mint food fight commenced. Those guys can wing some mints. This morning as I was vacuuming, I found mints in places that mints, I'm certain, have never been in this apartment before. But I can say, with relative certainty, that they may, indeed, find their way there in the future....because this is Peter's house...and mints are weapons...or at the very least, toys of choice.

BYU DANCERS INVADE SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA! LIFT SPIRITS! LEAVE US LAUGHING!

2009-10-14T11:43:00.000-07:00

Last night, the hubs and I were the excited and grateful recipients of FOUR tickets to the BYU Ballroom Dancers. They are world class, competitive dancers who have been the USA champs every year since 1982. They've performed in 34 countries with two command performances in two different countries. They put on a 90 minute show that was spectacular. We took our 5-year-old grand-daughter Mae and her great-grandmother Connie. The dancers are currently touring through southern and mid coast California. We were so blessed to get tickets. We have seen the flyer for the dancers and we wanted to go so badly, but we just didn't think it was going to be a possibility. Then Emmy called and asked if we would like to go and take Mae and then Connie and we were ECSTATIC!!!

The show was everything it promised to be. The costumes, the music, the beautiful young people dancing. All of it was incredible. The most joyous part of the evening was sitting to Mae and watching her. It was her first experience with anything of this magnitude so I was especially privileged to watch her reaction to all of this....and we were in the SECOND ROW, so she was truly up close and personal with all of it.

Those dancers move like fluid-when they leap, your heart leaps with them. They floated out on stage with their feathers and chiffon and the men would pick up the women like they were nothing but sequined air. I turned and looked at Mae and she was sitting there, with her eyes as big as I've ever seen them. My heart was bursting!!! After the first dance and the stage darkened, Mae turned to me and asked, "Is it over?" and I said, "Honey, this is just beginning" and she sat back totally entranced. Halfway through the show she finally asked me, "Is this 'Dancing With the Stars'?". No...not at all...

What was touching was that as we pulled out of the driveway, her mom was telling her, "Watch these dancers Mae. They're modest. You can do this when you're older. They're always appropriate." It warmed my heart. Mae dresses so modestly-even at her tender age, she is cognizant of her appearance.

It was just a great night. Connie and I enjoyed each other's company so much. She is a great lady, beloved by all in the stake. Mae was in heaven and Peter adored it. He truly had a blast. After the show, he scooped up Mae and made sure that she got to meet the dancers-about twelve of them in their beautiful make up and costumes. They came down from the stage and mingled with everyone and thanked them for coming. They even walked us to the door of the lobby and continued to thank us. Great kids! Great show! Great night!

THE GIRL WHO SILENCED THE WORLD FOR FIVE MINUTES...

2009-10-13T13:06:00.001-07:00

I'M A "SUNSHINE SISTER"....SISTER!

2009-10-12T21:47:00.001-07:00

While I was at Church on Sunday, one of the women invited me to a luncheon for the "Sunshine Sisters" club. I was quite flattered, though I didn't know what a "Sunshine Sister" was. It sounded cute and fun so I said, "Oh sure, thanks very much". A few minutes later, Peter found me and I said, rather proudly, "Hey Honey! I'm going to the Sunshine Sister's club tomorrow afternoon! I was INVITED". Peter asked what a Sunshine Sisters club was. I said I didn't know, so I turned to the sister next to me and this is what happened....

ME: (very excited and animated) Hey! What exactly is the club I just agreed to meet up with? *big eyes-wide open and open-mouth smile*

SISTER: non-smiling, non-animated: "It's for women over 50".

ME: OH! So....it's pretty exclusive, eh?...HAHAHAHAHAHAH

SISTER: ----

ME: *turning back to Peter* It's for really awesome women with something to contribute to the Relief Society. Not everyone can get in. There's a waiting list. But once you ARE in, you're in for life. Whew!

PETER: So you have to be over 50.

Whatever....

sidenote: I went to the luncheon today and when I walked in, I did not know one single person. Not one. But there was an adorable little lady with a long, thick ponytail down her back in what looked like an old jogging suit. She ran up to me and said, (and I am NOT making this up), "Oh good, you wore old, beat up shoes too, like ME! That makes me feel better about wearing these!"

I looked down and she had what looked like old running shoes on. I just smiled and gave a thumbs up, patted her back, and smiled way big. I do love my sisters!!!

Second sidenote: I was wearing my "antique lace" socks and my brown ankle boots that lace up. It's a cute look...or at least I thought it was....hmmmmmmm

MY HOUSE....AS RECREATIONAL DRUG....BUT NOT REALLY....

2009-10-11T22:16:00.000-07:00

The hubs and the boy are putting up a big picture mirror on the wall next to the fireplace. It's a big mirror in an ornate gold frame. It's Abbott and Costello at work. There's a bit of bickering, the mirror is swinging to and fro. Here are some random quotes:

Dad: This thing is slipping, you're not holding it well enough.

Eli: I've found my hole, you worry about yours.

Dad: DEB! You need to judge how level this is.

Eli: Stop being so grouchy.

Dad: Stop being so lazy.

Dad: DEB!

Dad: Lift it up so your point is on the point.

Eli: ?

At this point, it occurred to me that perhaps we're overthinking the "level-ity" of the whole picture/mirror thing. Does anyone ever walk into another person's house and judge how level their items are that are on the walls? Unless it's a prelude to a haunted house ordeal, typically those things are not noticeable, am I right? I'm not willing to put any more thought into than is required.

So...while the men are hanging the mirror, the beautiful gold, ornate mirror, I'm just going to let them get it as relatively level as I can discern it to be and just....let it go.....

If you walk into my house and get a little woozy, it's not the candles burning, it's not the flu, it's not a fever, it's probably the ever-so-slight off-ness of my mirrors and pictures. It's not obvious, just enough to mess with your other-than-conscious ability to balance. Consider me your recreational drug of choice...AND I'm legal. You're welcome!!!