ME, THE TWINS, AND NANNA BUZZKILL

I'm writing to you from Heaven. No...not THAT Heaven. The one located in Ohio. In fact, I'm one room over from the "main" room of Heaven. It's where my twin grandchildren are sleeping. I just laid Lulu down. My feet are still not hitting the ground. Too bad that I'm an idiot and forgot my camera. AARRGGHHH.

I was here last night and saw them. My son, their dad, wanted to be here to see my reaction when I first laid eyes on them after NOT seeing them for several months. WOW. It was just incredible. I walked into their living room with my big fur coat on, turned around and there they were, the both of them (they're twins), just looking up at me. They were in the hallway. We all just stopped and stared at each other. I immediately took my warm and fuzzy coat off and laid it in front of them (I wanted them to associate me with "warm and fuzzy") and I stayed on the other side of the coat. I quietly got on the floor across from the coat and smiled at them and murmured. Lulu smiled and reacted excitedly as she processed everything-nothing gets past that girl. And Charlie Bear, whose smile encompasses an entire subdivision- crawled like a bullet-over the coat-right up to my face and then reached up and touched me. I am forever charmed by this gesture.

All of my imaginary conversations with these babies have paid off BIG TIME. I'm back here today spending time with them. Charlie was tired when I arrived but he allowed me to hold him and rock him and kiss him for quite some time before he retired and Lulu played and played with me until she dozed off while I was rocking her, which compelled me to lay her down....okay....it didn't exactly compel me because I could have rocked her while she slept for hours. What finally made me lay her down was my mother who accompanied me. She finally said, "Debbie, good Lord, lay that baby down in her own bed!". Whatev. Next time I'm totally NOT bringing my Mom....what a buzz kill.....

j/k.

:)

PUT AWAY THE LINCOLN...AN END OF AN ERA...

Mom lost her driver’s license. It was the driving portion. She had previously squeaked by on the written portion about a week ago. She was a little anxious about it last night. She thought she was going to have to take a 3-hour driving test, which of course, it wasn’t. The young woman who tested her was wonderful. I wasn’t there, but my niece was (thank goodness for Tiffany), and Tiffany said that the driving instructor was very tender and kind-hearted when she explained to Mother that she could no longer have driving privileges. Mother took it very hard. She wept bitterly. She grieved for the independence she has fostered and, quite frankly, has fought for, for almost 90 years. She overcame the Depression, she overcame sexism (in her day, a woman couldn’t have her “own” credit-she was considered a “non-person”-FOR REAL!), she overcame widowhood-TWICE. She lives on her own and in her own house, thank you very much. It’s amazing to me what that little rectangular piece of paper signifies. It’s not that she often flew out the door at the spur of the moment to go shopping or playing cards with her friends, or out to lunch-oh wait-that’s exactly what she did...whenever she wanted...where ever she wanted...how often she wanted...now it’s gone. But! It’s been going slowly, I suppose. Here a little, there a little. It didn’t make it any easier.

I remember being taken to grade school in our big old Lincoln Continental. Mom would just whip into that huge car wearing her nightgown and robe. She would stop in front of the school and my brother and I would pile out of the back seat all warm and toasty. I remember the ladies of the neighborhood whispering about it. I'm certain Mother knew they were "discussing" it, but did that cause her to change her behavior? Heck no! There she went...flowing chiffon through the carport while David and I trailed after her with books and lunch boxes...

One Christmas morning, my Dad had one delivered to the house...yea...the man had class....

And then there was the time Mom and Pops were driving up from their home in Florida and when they got to Atlanta, Mom decided she had just had it with that particular car, traded it in, and arrived in Columbus with a completely different car. She actually changed cars mid trip. My brother asked her if she sold the car because the floor mats were dirty.

When my son Eli was younger he was attracted to certain rocks. He would pick them up, look at them, feel them, hold them, and if they felt right, he would keep them. If it was a "special" rock, he would even give it to someone he loved. A particularly special rock went to Grandma Wendy. She told him she would always keep it close to her. And she has. It's been in every tray of her car since that day long ago when he was perhaps 5 or 6. Every time she got a new car, she would transfer that rock. Yesterday, when we discussed selling her car she said, "Oh! I'll have to take my rock and bring it inside. That's my rock from Eli". She really "got" the specialness of that rock. I wonder if even Eli understood how special that rock really was?

You know that sad sad sad verse in the New Testament that just breaks your heart because it reads, “Jesus wept”? Well, one of the next saddest things in the world to hear is, “Mother wept”.

C-BUS 11/17/09

And today it's Tuesday. I'm dying to see the twins, but Eli wants to be there when I see them. AARRGGHHH. But I understand...he wants to see my reaction to how gargantuan they've become and that's cool. I told him I could just run over and hang out with Abbykins and the kids and wait for him to come home, but he said, "Well....I kinda want to be there when you see them"....awwwww....I think that's cute. So...I'm going to see them this week for sure. I love Eli...my baby boy....THE BABY....that kid had to be cut from my hips....he was stuck to me for the first year and a half of his life. Yeesh....And now? Now he's a successful business man, homeowner, husband and father. Good boy.

It's "Michigan" week here. The Buckeyes are battling the blue up north on Saturday, but since we're already going to the Rose Bowl, people are wondering if it's anticlimactic. It'll pick up!!!! This town is crazy over the Bucks....carazy.

I finished my last term paper of the quarter and some other academic obligations and came over to my niece's house (she's the kindest human on the planet) and uploaded everything to my classroom. YAY!!!! That was hanging over my head.

Mom's taking her driving test, so everyone is waiting to hear about THAT. This is a huge day for her....so....................we're waiting.............

I think my sister Steph and I are taking her to lunch, regardless of how it goes....just because....She a tad obsessed with that McRib sandwich from McDonald's right now, so we'll go there....

I keeping wanting to purchase some groceries and cook mom dinner, but she only likes "noshes" for dinner, which means "snacks". It also means she likes to get sandwiches for dinner. It would be so much less expensive if she would allow me to cook but at almost 90....huh uh....I am NOT changing her mind....she brags about eating cookies for dinner if she wants to...BRAGS!!!! Who am I kidding about schooling her on nutrition? She's almost 90!

Yeesh. I can lecture her to kingdom come and all she has to do is stare at me and say, "I'm 90", what's the point?" and she's absolutely right. When they removed her skin cancers (when she lived in Florida), I heard that she was back out by the pool sunbathing. At the time she was about 83. I said, "Mother, you still have the bandages on from the surgery. Why are you out in the sun?" She said, "Debbie, those cancers took 20 years to grow. Do you think I'm going to live to be 103 and be around for the next crop?" How does one argue with that? Her mind was made up. I don't like arguing with my mom anyway. Heck, I have her car keys in my purse and I already feel guilty. I feel like I'm hiding pot in my bedroom. It's 1973 all over again. And for the record, I never hid pot in my bedroom. It wasn't mine anyway. It was that weird girl that my brother, David, was dating.

That's what's happening today.

I'm in "The Ohio" now. Took a red-eye out of Ontario, CA and got here Sunday morning. Oh glorious Fall morning....

Picked up at the airport by my ever-present and supportive sister, Stephanie. This blog will serve as a journal of my stay here. After she picked me up we spent some sister time together so she could update on things (we totally laughed our way through lunch cause we're wicked). We went back to mom's and my brudder came over with his wife and daughter, which was crazy fun. After they left, my son Eric and his wife Holly came over. I am so blessed to have daughters-in-law that I absolutely adore. Absolutely!!! We sat around and ate pizza and drank pop till I wanted to explode. After they left, I went to bed and watched the movie "Away We Go" on my computer.

I drifted off into a dream filled sleep about German Village and trying to purchase an loft there. I've dreamt it before. I don't know what it means, but I'm always trying to purchase this upstairs loft. My husband (who is never around in the dream, just always on the sidelines) wants it to, but it's a frustrating dream cause it seems impossible to land this rather shabby residence that I want. Also, last night I had a baby girl that I kept losing...also frustrating.

Anyway, that was my first day. Today we had mother's home teachers from Church visit and now I'm at my niece's house doing a huge term paper (as well as my blog), some other homework, and doing it quickly so I can visit with my sister and niece when they finally get here. I'm here alone...well...with the dog Max-a huge Golden Doodle....HUGE....and friendlier than all get out. I'll post a picture. He doesn't look real, he's that gorgeous.

Me out.

DELETED SCENE FROM THE OFFICE 11/12/09. HYSTERICAL!

HER MORNING ELEGANCE: It's only 3:36 minutes...worth every second.

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

WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF?

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

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....

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...

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.

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

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)

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....