Xmas music ALREADY???

A week before Thanksgiving, and it's already full-blast with the holiday toonz. Yikes! This has just been a helluva year, but still I'm thankful that it hasn't been as bad as some other people had to experience.

Marty nearly died in January -- but right now, he's cranking guitar along with ZZ Top in his office. And he's working just about nonstop with Kaiser Permanente on a boatload of projects. Thank god for that. And that he's still here, and healthy.

Brenna moved to Florida with David. Now she's a sometimes-voice on the phone, a sometimes-email, and twice I've chatted with her on video. I HATE this "growing up" stuff. But she's doing okay there.

Ayla now has both drivers license AND car. AND is 18, an official adult (though still a kid in my book).

Me? I was not about to finish out the year without accomplishing a couple of goals:

I'm now a student at CSU Global, so far with an A-average.

And I'm working out regularly with a trainer, four days a week.

Job's still going, but it's been a horrible year in the financial industry. But the job IS still there, even if it's been mostly a boring year. But that's why it's so important to have other goals, other things to keep me going! The job gets the lion's share of my time each week, but unless something changes radically with it (which I am sure isn't in the cards) it's predictable and not terribly challenging. so I need to create my challenges elsewhere.

And I guess that's healthy, right? No need to look at my job being "everything" -- that's not normal. So I guess I'm moving toward being more healthy!

Onward and upward.

Monday, she DRIVES

Monday is A's driving test. Yikes. My last kid with a drivers license. This is very, very hard for me to bear. Sure, I'm happy for her... but I don't want to see her grow up and drive away like her sister. That's just too much.

I'm starting to understand what that term "empty nest" really means. And I don't like it.

When happiness hits you hard

This marks Week Three of my daughter's senior year of high school. So far, she's holding an A average. This is the kid who couldn't be bothered to even GET to school in the past, let alone to care about getting good grades. What a miraculous transformation it's been.

Both my daughters are just delighting me as they grow up. It HURTS to see them separate and become independent, hurts so bad. But I am just unbelieveably proud of them both.

Daughter B just moved to Florida. Daughter A gets her drivers license in (GASP) THREE DAYS. I simply cannot fathom this.

I hate that they're growing up.

I wish I still had the two of them, small and sweet, B clutching her treasured Ernie doll, and A with her little, four-tooth grin from a high chair. Oh, my girls, my treasures! Seeing you grow up has been hard on me. I want my little ones back -- but at the same time, I am bursting with joy over the beautiful young women you are becoming.

What a confusing time. I am so happy that it hurts. Never saw THAT coming.

finally the tomatoes turn red

Back in May, I planted a bunch of tomatoes. "Matures in 50 - 60 days" said the tags. So it's finally August, and we're starting to see some ripe ones. And they're wonderful.

Funny how long it can take "50 days" to go by -- more like a few months!

HIPPA matters, does it not?

OK, so there's this thing called HIPPA, the Health Information Privacy Protection Act. It means that if you're a medical provider, and you receive information from a patient, that you have to keep it CONFIDENTIAL. And yet, the other day I saw a practitioner that was covered by my insurance -- she had managed to "lose" my insurance card copy, and needed it again. And, she acted like it wasn't a big deal... but to me, it was! My insurance card holds info on my entire family -- and "losing" that breaks all the rules.

I think I need to let my insurance company know.

Sick violation

What do you do when a person you thought was a good person, turns out to be a soul-less sociopath? How do you cope with that? I'm struggling with it, and it still just stuns me that someone I thought was a normal, decent, responsible person was instead a criminal. And that that person decided to steal my signature as "their own" to get money. It's just... difficult to believe, but it's true.

What will happen to this person? Prison looms, it will be a life-changing experience for them. PRISON. Federal prison! YEARS behind bars, all for... money.

Sigh. Money is NOT the most important thing in life!!!!! It just makes me sad to think that someone I saw day-to-day, face-to-face, could be such a crook, and all for... money.

I am so thankful that I am not that kind of person. And I look forward to seeing that person get their just deserts.

Live out loud, because there's no such thing as privacy any more

(And if you think there IS, you're probably old, or a tribal nomad.)

I had a conversation with a coworker today, who gleefully told me about an issue that's cropped up at his alma mater, Univ. of Northern Colorado. Seems one of his UNC profs has been charged with some sort of "sexual misconduct" -- and he said that within about 24 hours, it was all over Facebook, and all his old buds from college who knew the prof were hooting about it. The story's here.

So, what's the point? Simple: that no matter who you are or what you do, nowadays you have to just assume that if you do something assinine, it WILL get out, and it will probably get our like wildfire once it hits Facebook. Especially if you have people anywhere in your "seven levels of connection" who are regular Facebook users.

So, if you do something stupid, or something illegal -- it WILL catch up with you. There is no stopping it.

Makes you wonder how "image managers" of the next century are going to work!

I am waiting and hoping to see a story break on Facebook, and I will watch with joy when it does.

Weird dreams about work

Given that things have just been WEIRD and UNSETTLING recently, I guess it's no wonder that I'm having trouble sleeping. My dreams have morphed with people from my current life, to scenarios from my previous life... putting, say, people I work with now into the situation where I was working or living ten or more years ago. THAT's strange. I'm sure a lot of this is simply because I spend so much time with coworkers, that they'd naturally appear in my dreams (and at least they're not nightmares!)

Growing veggies

I've got tomatoes, basil, Japanese eggplant, and three types of peppers growing in the back yard. So far, I don't have high hopes for the eggplant -- it looks like there are a whopping three blossoms going. The tomatoes are looking pretty good, including the hanging "topsy turvy" one I got for Mother's Day, where the plant grows out of the bottom of a hanging container, and then grows upward. It's very strange, but looks like it has a lot of fruit.

Stephen Covey talks about the law of the farm -- that you cannot throw corn seeds in the ground, and expect to sow an abundant crop the next day. It takes patience, much toil, nutrients, and time. We all need that, don't we?

I've been in analogy-mode this week, thinking about what it takes to learn and master new skills. I'm studying Spanish. It's frustrating and awkward to speak this new language -- it slows me down, I have to take baby steps, but I know that if I continue to apply myself, eventually I will become fluent.

That's the ticket -- time, attention, and much toil, to get what you want.

****THINGS I DON'T WANT TO FORGET I REALLY LIKE***

Last night I walked into the family room, and found Ayla watching the movie "Cool Runnings". I stood there a minute, and it hit me how much I really like that film, and that I had not thought about it in at least five years.

Ayla said, "I remember seeing this over and over when I was, like, nine." -- that's because it was one of the movies I had in my fairly small video library. But yeah, she did watch it a bunch, because I had it on. I loved the story of gumption and redemption, and success in the face of defeat. And, the music made me happy.

So -- I want to start a list of things that I just plain LIKE, so I don't go another five years before I suddenly remember I like them. And if it's a long list, I don't care.

At first, I thought I'd just publish it here -- but on second thought, I think I'm going to be more organized than that, and start a spreadsheet that I'll save to my Desktop for this. And, if at some point, I want to share some of the list, fine.

But for now, it's mine.

My idiot dog jumped off the roof this afternoon

This is one of those situations where, if I had somehow been outside with my video camera in hand and rolling, I'd probably win big bux on some "stupidest videos" game show.

Preston McGinty, now AKA Flyboy, noticed that Marty had left his office door open, and, given that the temp today was in the mid-80's, the office window was open. The office is on the second story, and the window opens onto the roof of the garage.

So. Our neighbors across the street were treated to the sight of Preston, the `60 lb. Irish Wolfhound, climbing out the office window on the second story, skittering down the shingled roof, and jumping off onto the cement driveway.

Stupid-ass dog.

The miracle and surprise is that I'm not sitting at the emergency vet hospital right now, waiting while they fiddle with multiple broken Wolfhound legs. Nope. The idiot is just FINE, thankya. Matter of fact, the doofus seems to be QUITE pleased with himself!

Harrumph. Idiot dog.

What else? I've started swimming laps while listening to my audiobooks, and I LOVE it -- I can make an hour disappear without hardly even noticing it. But, I think Marty and Ayla are appalled by the way that I manage it. Two snack-sized Ziploc Baggies wrapped neatly around my Creative Zen player, with the player attached to the top of my head via a rubber band or clip. We went swimming early this morning before work, and they both just laughed at me. I don't care -- THEY were farting around; I was actually swimming many laps. Hah. But I admit, I'm sure it must look pretty silly. Good thing I usually swim where there are hardly any people there.

Ugh. I am so very close to turning 47. THAT feels OLD to me, even though I don't feel old. In my head, I think I'm probably somewhere between 29 and 34, that's what it feels like. I don't feel like I'm pushing 50. 50 feels OLD to me! Ancient. I honestly feel like I'm still almost the same as I was 15 years ago. OK, I'm not quite as limber, and a little slower... but in my head, I haven't changed a bit. No idea what that means.

How I hate housekeeping

And I guess that's TOTALLY unusual, right? Everyone else likes to clean house? OK, I've been putting it off, and I need to just buckle down and get it done.

I had been paying a housecleaning team to come in every other week, but it was just crazy expensive. $160 a visit! That's way more than I can really afford for such a luxury, and they really did go overboard on every visit. Sure, the place was spic and span, but I just don't see the need to move furniture every single time! I'd be fine with just paying somebody to do the kitchen and bathrooms, vacuum and dust, and be done with it. Hopefully I'll be able to find the time to hire somebody again soon, because I can't stand having to use my weekend time for this! Bleah.

OK. Enough stalling. Gotta go get the work done. Harumph.

The reward later today will be going to see the movie UP.

thunder, thunder, thunderation

those were words from a basketball tournament cheer I vaguely remember from elementary school in San Francisco. All of us St. Cecilia kids would head over to Holy Names School (because unlike us, they had a Gym), bedecked in our Blue and Gold finery, and we'd cheer on our IRISH, our team. The St. Cecilia Irish.

I cannot remember what the HN team was called, but I know they were wearing white and red, those were their colors. We'd be in blue and gold -- they'd be in white and red... vivid memories of, maybe, 7th grade, carefully tying blue and yellow ribbons in my long hair, to 'cheer on the team".


And why the hell is this occurring to me now???? Because as I started typing, the THUNDER started rolling and rolling again outside. What a week of storms we've had! It's been crazy.

All in all, today feels like a very good day, like it's going to be a very good weekend. I'm preparing for Brenna to finally up and move to Florida, which I know has been in the cards for quite some time, but still it's going to be tough to have her... NOT-HERE. She hates to hug me, but still, being in her physical presence is a balm for me. Having her on the edge of the continent will be, tough.

But that's the nature of things.

Work has been stressful but so very satisfying, and different. I know I have been ignoring the staff, but at least I told them to expect this for a few weeks -- and heck, it's good for them to have to just manage around me. I'm not expendable! Good to have them make decisions, even if they decide on things that would differ from my own approach. Learning, we're all being presented with opportunities for learning.

It's turning into a beautiful June in Colorado. Birds everywhere, which is lovely to listen to. Squirrels chattering outside the window. Glimpses of coyotes now and again, especially at dawn. Love it.

Saturday, ah, Saturday. Freedom, MY time. Love it.

OK, the shoe fetish thing...

So, I'm waiting for video to render for a work project, and while waiting, I've been surfing eBay for shoes in my size. Nothing has changed, apparently -- in my size, the biggest group of shoes tend to be labeled something like "sexxxy dominatrix pumps, 6" spikes" and so forth. (OK, that might just be enough to get me blacklisted or something, who knows?)

Mourning my missing sandals -- truly!

Some time in November, I cleaned out my closet and packed up just about all of my summer sandals, stuck them in the garage to wait out the winter. I made a big mistake, though -- I "stored" them in a white plastic drawstring bag, which around our house usually signifies "garbage". Even though I carefully wrote with Sharpie all over the bag -- LAURA - KEEP - SANDALS, somehow it seems that when I went hunting for the bag come April, it was nowhere to be found. I can only surmise that the bag was recognized for its typical use, and not the use I had put to it.

So, my entire lovely, painstakingly-collected wardrobe of size 12 sandals is GONE. I was fortunate enough to have kept three pairs in my closet when I packed up last fall (thank heaven for Indian Summer) but I sorely miss about six pairs of my total favorite, most comfortable, most beautiful summer footware.

I miss my shoes.

Guys would probably not understand this. Imelda might. I just wish I had thought to store them in the basement and not in the garage, because the basement storage closet is MY domain.

I admit it, I have big feet. YOU try finding any sort of cute shoes in Size 12. I never used to even have to THINK about that when we lived in San Francisco, because there was always McB's on Market Street, where all the glamorous transvestite performers shopped. They always had cute shoes, all the way up to Size 15, I think. I just ignored the 5" leopard stilletos, and "settled" for things that seemed much more tame -- but in reality, were actually so very cute. Now, in Denver -- I don't have that option.

Here, I have only Nordstrom Rack. That's not bad, though.

Old dog learns new tricks

I have to learn how to edit videos myself, rather than hiring a production firm to "do" it for me. Actually, I'm GLAD! I've wanted to learn editing for quite a long time. I love working with PowerPoint, and I'm good at it -- but movement is what's missing in PPT, other than the stock, boring animations and transitions. So I'm teaching myself Magix MovieEdit. I did some research, and I believe this will be a great tool for me, and after spending just one hour playing with it, I can see how it will make sense to me.

I've had the weirdest dreams lately -- I've got this recurring thing about this House we've moved into, that has these unexpected and unused rooms that I suddenly decide to start using. I've dreamed this dream so many times, that I can basically draw out the floorplan of the "mystery house" by now.

I wonder what that means????

Anyway, I'm glad I'm learning to edit. I've wanted to for a very long time. This will be a useful tool.

The software was so cheap, too! I got a new camera and the software, and for just a few hundred bucks, I'm up and running. Gotta love technology.

Innisfree

Love Yeats:


I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.


and Burns!11 God! I had forgotten how much I loved this poem:

Translation
Index
To A Mouse.
On turning her up in her nest with the plough, November 1785.

Robert Burns was a poet, but that was not what earned him his living. As with most artists of his time he had to have some means of earning his keep. In Burns' case he earned most of his money, sparse though this was, from farming. This is why he is also known as the "Ploughman Bard". It was while he was ploughing one of his fields that he disturbed a mouse's nest. It was his thoughts on what he had done that led to his poem, "To A Mouse", which contains one of his most often quoted lines from the poem. I am sure that you will recognize it, probably not from the Scottish words, but from the translation, lines 4 and 5 from verse 7.



Burns Original
Standard English Translation


Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murdering pattle.

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
An' fellow mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't.

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's win's ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld.

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

The Famous Steak House in Colo Springs

Tonight my daughter Brenna and near-son-in-law David are spending the night in Colorado Springs. I've set up to buy them dinner at a swanky steak house called The Famous. It's wonderful, and I know They will have a lovely time.

I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic right now because my lifew has dwindled down to work-family-work, and will be there through June. Just reality.

It's a warm but cloudy Sunday afternoon, and outside on the back lawn my two big dogs are snoozing. Beside me on the king-sized bed, my husband is snoozing. I'm listening to some remarkably good acoustic guitar music ( from Marty's recording session this week) and thoroughly enjoying it. But I'm a bit at a loss on a quiet weekend. I've turned into such a work-drone; I will be through the month of June. Matter of fact, I have a serious bevvy of due-dates that hit smack on my mid-June birthday. FIgures.

My job is my anchor, and my rationale right now -- but I cannot help but feel that there is more that I am meant to do in this life. arrogant=sounding, yes? CAn't help it. I wish I had the sort of life that gave me respite from thinking about and worrying aboiut money, but I don't.

Funny thing is, I' NEVER wanted a pop-star existence; I've never wanted to have a larger-than-life world, all I've ever wanted was peace and solitude and quiet. I'd be THRILLEd to own a lovely little house in the country, with (always thoiught of as my non-negotiables in a dream world) a wonderful lap pool that's semi-indoor, witbh windows to the outisde, and a great hot tub under the stars right outside my bedroom -- like we had in Seattle -- but, really, that's it. No other "demands" for creature comforts -- swimming is the best thing for me, given my size, my joints, my life... I love to swim, and would do it every single day if I had the private option. Driving to the Rec Center after having our own pool is hard. Poor me! What a complait that is.

Ayla likes to read over my shoulder - Hi, Ayla!

You are my angel sweetheart, daughter-dear. Go ahead and read, there's nothing I would want to hide from you... I love you.

Hah! Take THAT!

Love, Mom

Prediction: Jeremy Make will have a stellar career

Jeremy Make is a young guy who will have a wonderful acting career. That is my prediction. At 27, he's got the charisma and talent and ability to take off -- the rest is up to him.

We've used his talents on several commercials in the past year. That was great. THen I saw INK. This movie has stayed with me, popping into my head far more often than one might think. INK. This is a film you should see -- it's a standout.

I'm old enough to love Jeremy as a mom (god! he's actually called me "Moma Higgins" which freaked me out) but truly, he's someone who deserves to break out and make it.

Mother's Day and???????

Today's Mother's Day. I was brought coffee with hazelnut by Marty, while I took a leisurely bath. I'm dressed and ready, and I've been told they've got me for the whole day.

But, Ayla's holed up in her room (she did wake me up at like 6:45, though) and Brenna's not here yet. It's nearly noon, and I'm getting hungry. I believe they're making brunch, though. If Ayla ever gets up, and Brenna ever gets here.

I cannot believe how gloriously wonderful both my daughters have turned out to be. Sure, they still drive me crazy from time to time, but mostly, it's just pure pride. And relief that they're turning out to be decent people.

Yesterday, I went with Brenna to the Bonfils blood bank, because she had made an appointment to give blood -- so I donated, too. She was called first, so in the whole process, by the time I got to my donation bench, she was nearly done -- seated all the way across the room, I just kept looking at her face, her beautiful, grown-up, smiling face. Doing something simple and good for the world, no fuss, on her own time. Giving her blood. What an angel. She got a purple pressure bandage afterward, so I did, too. I am very proud of the young woman my Little Gabiddle has become.

She's talking about moving to Florida. I will have such a hard time with that, but I know it's what she wants to do, and it IS inevitable. I'll miss her so much, though.

Mother's day. I'll have to write another post after "whatever" happens today -- because it's all a secret.

Now I'll go pick tulips in the front yard.

Breaking Away to... Nebraska?!?!

Marty and I got in the car Saturday morning, and started driving North-East, simply because that's the one direction I had not travelled since moving to Denver. Well, I guess if I'm splitting hairs, there are a couple of other directions, like South-East, and East. I've been North to Wyoming, East to Grand Junction, South to Taos.

This trip landed us for the night in Oogallala NE, where we dined on killer-good prime rib at an old-tymey theme restaurant, and stayed in a $40/nite motel run by a very nice Japanese guy. Stuff like that always amazes me -- how do you end up,say, growing up in a suburb of Osaka, and landing in a tiny town in Nebraska, running a motel????? Life is strange.

Next morning, we drove as far as North Platte, NE, drove by Buffalo Bill Cody's ranch, stopped at the Fort Cody "museum and store" (90% store, 10% museum)-- where we did actually find something cool, and fairly cheap. For eight bucks each, we were able to buy an actual copy of LIFE magazine from the week we were each born. That was really something to peruse!

We also bought some ammo for my Glock at a creepy store in "some town, I forget which" -- seriously! I can't remember where the heck we were -- run by an ancient guy with huge hearing aids who also tried to sell Marty a Jimenez pistol. $179. We'd never heard of Jimenez Guns before, so he begged off, but got the guy's card in case he wanted to follow up.

Then when we got home, he Googled to get some info. Jimenez is probably the crappiest pistol made in the USA, down near the San Diego border. Like, blows up in your hand crappy. Needless to say, he passed.

He's been whining about how his pistol's too big, and he wants a smaller one. I love mine, and think it's the perfect size. What a great Christmas present. Next stop is my CCW class. Woo hoo!

Mad twittering with a riddle in an enigma

God, I am trying SO HARD to really learn to LIKE Twitter. I just don't, though! Mostly, I find it incredibly boring -- I don't really think I've ever come across anything super-cool on Twitter. I do like good blogs, though, but Twitter still just seems like an utter time-waster.

I guess this is the clear dividing line between the generations -- gasp! I'm too OLD to get Twitter?!?!?!? could that be?

Facebook I get. YouTube I get. Twitter -- still don't get it.

Favorite Website this week: www.failblog.org. Just cannot get enough.

More with the evil cat from hell

So, one doctor visit morphed into FOUR needed during the week -- Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday. Lovely. Tetnus shot still hurts, with a big lump in my upper arm. Got a shot in the butt, too.

Damn cat. Why do I like this cat so much? He's not a NICE kitty.

It must be typical "bad boy syndrome".

OMG -- this first novel ROCKS!!!!

I just finished reading "Beat the Reaper" byh Josh Bazell. Holy Hannah! Here's an interview with the newly-minted MD and first-time author: http://www.goodreads.com/interviews/show/22.Josh_Bazell

I don't think I've ever read anything quite like this one before. If I had to do a logline description, I'd probably call it "Scrubs Meets The Sopranos Meets House" and while that'd neatly sum it up, it'd still not "really" hit the mark.

Thank heaven this guy's working on a second novel. I hope it's even half as good. The book jacket photo shows him on Baker Beach (one of my absolute favorite teenage hangouts) with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. He's perfectly handsome, AND he's a surgeon, AND he can write. Damn! Some guys get all the good genes.

However, I did have a fleeting thought of Ethan Canin -- what? maybe 15, 20-or-so years ago??? he was the Next Great Writer out of San Francisco. Literati saluted him for his scintillating short stories, which really were quite extraordinary.

I think he burned out on his own fame, choked on his own ego.

Didn't Caesar have some slave following him around, whose job was simply to keep repeating "remember, thou art mortal, remember, thou art mortal????

Writers can get too big for their britches. I really like this guy's style, and I sure HOPE that doesn't happen. He's got such a fun and fresh style, it's addictive.

AWKWARD MOMENT ALERT: When I was maybe 20 or so pages into the novel, and fully LOVING his writing style, I actually mentioned it in a meeting with my direct reports -- raved about the book, how cool the author's writing style was and how funny the thing was (as far as I'd gotten). One guy even logged it directly into his iPhone app that lets you snap a photo of a book cover (since I had it in my purse, he asked to see it, and snapped the photo) -- and then links you right to Amazon.com for the book. Ingenious idea.

So, then... I kept reading. And reading. And I got to the, well, really raunchy-hot sex scenes. Yah, I had recommended this AT WORK. I can hear the HR storm troopers gathering to bust down my door!!!! So, I did go back and mention, "Hey, I know I recommended this book -- but I learned something. I'll never do that again at work until AFTER I've read the whole thing -- because when I told you how cool it was, I was about two chapters in, and it hadn't gotten kinky yet. So sorry, please don't call HR!"

Good thing I have a good relationship with the staff.

And THAT comment makes me think of something from a book called "Executive Warfare" -- one of the universal rules for executives is: "don't EVER be stupid enough to belive that your direct reports really LIKE you. They don't."

Always have to remember how different "work" is at my current gig, from anything I've done in the past. Except maybe Microsoft -- that had a veneer of buddies/colleagues -- but even though the division VP's office was the same exact size as your's and everybody else's (except for BillG's and SteveB's -- they had dou ble offices) -- they WERE still higher on the food chain than you.

At my current company, the hierarchy is very old-school. I always have that in mind. And I do my best to conform. I think I've learned a lot about that in the last few years. I love the gig, and bit-by-bit, I see my own life molding to the job.

Onward and upward.

What to do when a stupid cat scratches you

According to my doctor, who poked and prodded my football-sized, painfully swollen hand -- BABY SHAMPOO, AND LOTS OF IT. If you get bitten or scratched badly by a cat, use regular ol' Johnson's Baby Shampoo liberally and wash and wash and wash it. Try to really work the shampoo into the wound -- because it's "tearless" for babies, it won't sting the cut.

I wish I'd known.

Instead, I just poured hydrogen peroxide on it over and over until it stopped bubbling. Apparently, that was not good enough, because yesterday morning I woke up with a huge, throbbing, red... football at the end of my right wrist. Two nasty puncture wounds.

Doctor visit copay, $20. Antibiotics, $70. Painkillers, $10. Time off from work, priceless.

But I still love the damn cat.

The sound of one hand clapping

Ayla just gave me a hard time about blogging, because I quite obviously don't have a gazillion followers. And, from her perspective (and I know she's not alone) -- what's the POINT, then? If you're writing stuff and publishing it, but you're not focused on building your list of followers, what's the POINT? Why bother?

We had a team meeting the other day. The two guys in the group, who've embraced FAcebook and Twitter, were comparing the length... of their follower lists. Boys will be boys, and it will always be about size with them. Poor fellows. I could care less if I "build up my followers/readers" -- I KNOW that probably 95% of what I post is totally mundane... but I think Erma Bombeck felt the same way.

Honestly, I'm not writing anything for Followers. I'm simply putting fingers to keyboard because I have to, I'm compelled to. Since I was able to write, I have loved to write -- that is my truth, and no matter how busy I've been, no matter where I've been in life, I've ALWAYS written. I have a huge box of journals, and I don't usually do boring "Dear Diary" entries (Note I did say "usually").

Words are my friend, and I love to be in their spell. At some point, I will have a life where I feel OK to dedicate myself to words. I may be old and grey by then, but I don't care -- I KNOW that's where my life is heading.

Innisfree.

Twitter, dammit, twit

Two screens -- one on the laptop, beside it the flatscreen. Typing this entry on the laptop screen, while watching a "how to use Twitter" YouTube video on the other.

I admit it -- I'm just not "there" yet on Twitter. I haven't gotten the hang of it yet, haven't "cracked the code". PJ has, though. He's got nearly 1000 followers, and is following over 1000 now.

I just can't fathom that. I did a post a couple days ago just listing "people I care about" that I could think of in a couple moments. Maybe 3 dozen or so, starting, of course, with the fam, and then just hitting a bunch of random people -- some work, some not -- and I stopped when it felt boring.

How do you follow 1000 people? Who's so interesting that you'd want to follow them?

I wanna drink the Kool-Aid! www.twittinsecrets.com seems like a good place to start... according to this YouTube video.

I love technology. But it was even cooler back when I still felt like I was living and working on the bleeding edge -- now I know I'm just over the Chasm, not even close to a trailblazer. Those were the days!

People I am thankful for

I just need to make this list of all the people I am truly and deeply thankful to have in my life. This is in no particular order, though I'll of course start with the family, because it's a short list:

Marty
Brenna
Ayla
Sandra
Jason
Peter
Mary Anne
Nicole
Keisha
Kelly
Andrea
Dean
LeeAnn
Peggy
John
Brian
Andreas
Nina
Dorothy
Phillip
Nancy
Susan
Adrienne
Liz
Skip
Martha
Jay
Barbara
Renee
Patsy
Matt
Ed
Luke
Doug
Ann
Deb
Peggy
Tina
Kat
Holly
Juli
Wendy
Bart
Becky
Meghan

OK, there's a lot, lot more, but it would be boring to read. But it's cool to realize that, right off the top, I can whip out a pretty long list of people that I like, admire, and enjoy spending time with. That's a good thing!

A bunch of totally random stuff

Thoughts that have crossed my mind this week:

Shoe polish is so easy and so important: I have all these black shoes and boots, and I finally ran out of the hard-to-use, messy, not-all-that-effective black shoe polish I had on hand. Finally broke down and on a whim bought one of those little squeeze bottles of Kiwi Instant Shoe Polish ("With Wax Shine") for about $3.75 at Nordstrom Rack.

Damn!

This is probably the easiest to use, shiniest, coolest thing I've ever found for shoes. And cheap! I have now "rehabilitated" pairs of shoes and boots that basically I thought were beyond work-grade polish, and now they look spiffy.

Amazing when tools work -- I guess I'm so jaded that I usually expect new "tools" of any sort to (a) not work, (b) maybe work, but be really expensive, or (c) not work, but be too cheap to complain about, so I just throw it away, and then feel pissed that I was duped into throwing away my money on something that doesn't work and isn't worth taking the time to try to get my money back.

Weird -- shoe polish made me happy this week.

What else?

eBay.

I spent $12 to buy a 1960-vintage original poster print by Robert Wood, a landscape artist who was "Sears & Roebuck popular" several decades ago. Don't know why I'm so hooked on his work, but I am. I've actually started COLLECTING Robert Wood prints, after I found the first one, of a so Cal beach, at Goodwill for about $8, and then one that I was surprised to recognize as being a print that my mom had hanging in our entryway when I was a kid, on eBay for about the same price (plus shipping, of course). Then I started looking at eBay every now and then for his stuff, because i knew it was popular.

Then I found "October Morn" which now hangs in my bedroom and I just LOVE. And a few weeks ago, I found a huge, sofa-sized print of another scene that I ordered on eBay, received in a tube, wrapped in copies of an Arizona newspaper, just a couple of days ago. Now I'm trying to decide if I actually need to go to the expense of getting it framed, or if I can just go with the tacks on the wall. Marty HATES things that aren't framed (like my Peasant Wedding, Wedding Dance Brueghel right over my desk) -- but I don't care.

I just like the notion of losing myself in a lovely landscape.



I put the question, "What are you happy about?" on my office whiteboard last week. Very interesting to note who walks into my office and sees it AND comments on it. Usually it's the upbeat, positive people. But, it's a great question -- what ARE you happy about today? What matters?

I will be leaving in a couple of hours to head to the airport and pick up Ayla, who's been having a grand time in Las Vegas with her friend Ashley. 17, blonde, in Vegas. What's not to have fun? I wish her flight wasn't in at midnight -- I'm old! I'm old! That's past my bedtime! -- but it will be so good to see her again. It has been a very quiet week without her.

I tidied her room and changed her sheets, made her bed. Made it very comfy and welcoming for her. I miss having both my girls around. Brenna calls me very often, though, which is great, and Ayla is still nice to me.

I never got to have the "mom relationship" as the daughter when I was their age -- they've outlived my daughter-experience, since my mom died when I hit 15. That's getting to be a bigger and bigger deal to me, as they get older: I just don't have a frame of reference on "how to be a good mom" to them as they grow toward adulthood.

When I see Brenna, I always want to just TOUCH her, hug her, or stroke her hair, or just put my hand on her arm. And she hates it. She always hates it, and yet I always seem to deeply crave that contact with her. I remember when she was so little and would fall asleep in my lap, or snuggled against me, usually while I was reading to her... and it still feels like a missing piece, having no closeness to Brenna. I mean, she was never a really cuddly kid (Ayla was, though) -- but when I get to see Brenna, I'm always SO happy to see her face, and to give her a hug. And I want to just inhale her (and THAT makes her FURIOUS but I can't seem to hold my breath when I hug her). This probably reads as psycho-clingy, but honestly it's not that, never has been. When you have a baby, you learn that there's just no smell on earth like the smell of your own baby's head. That's just reality. Your own baby's head exudes the scent of heaven, of life, of love. And as a mom you never really lose that connection. Scent is an ancient and deep sense for humans, who are still animals, after all...

And Ayla has gone back to being a blonde with long extensions, that at one time must have grown off some 3rd world peasant who was shorn to sell to Sally's Beauty after being bleached to a fare-thee-well. FAKE! But she looks so cute, but just not like AYLA. I miss her shining, glorious red mane. She had her hair lovely natural red for almost a year, but then she needed a change.

Hair. I've stopped dying my hair after many years of "Copper Penny" and "Strawberry Blonde" and other bottle colors. It has amazed me to see the Bonnie Raitt-like streak of grey bloom from my left temple in a quarter-sized swath of bright silver, surrounded by red. At least I still have the red, though! Even with the streak of silver, it's still recognizably me.

Getting the chunk of grey has finally, finally started getting through to me -- I'm not 27 any more. In my head, I'm still years away from 30, still a greenhorn, still in need of mentoring and guidance, still NEW. But, in reality, I'm now the mentor. I'm the one that others look to for the decision, the advice. And I am not fully there yet. Even though, objectively, I look at what I DO -- what I've been doing for years, and I see someone who's decisive, who's got the experience and the confidence to know what's the right decision, and what's not... still, in my own private head, I'm still so young.

Maybe that helps me be good at what I do. I don't presume to guess.

One thing that's great about this blogging adventure, and pushing myself to write, is that -- even though I KNOW I'm not always interesting, not always clear... I have really started to like the act of writing.

I'm listening to Stephen King's On Writing on my Zen. I've read that book and listened to that book since maybe 2000 (I think that's when it came out) and I have always loved the man's work. I find his writing style utterly captivating, in a way that all other pop writers just never hit. (For ezample, I cannot stand Danielle Steel and people of her ilk, they just make me want to hurl).

King's book On Writing makes me start thinking again of what it would take to actually write one of the books that has gone through my head over the years, but that for one reason or another I have not tackled.

WHY NOT?

Why not go ahead and do it? How much writing, every day, for a chunk of time, would it really take?

The idea still sits, vivit and clear, in my mind. I KNOW what I want to write -- and amazingly enough, I even think the topic would be sellable. But getting to that point?

Maslow's Pyramid. Food, shelter, etc... I've fought against that for ages, and only now am I finally starting to feel that safety is at hand. As long as I continue to deliver at work, and they value my work, work is there. That's something to keep in mind. And with that as my base, and my kids nearly out on their own... I may have a future, a plan, a path...

I do love to write. I have since I was a very little girl. I've always wanted to write, to be acknowledged for being a GOOD writer, and to tell a good tale.

Maybe I'm approaching the right time. It's okay to be a late bloomer, some of my favorite flowers are.

My Mom

When I was maybe in first or second grade, my very intelligent mother signed me up for some sort of kids' Book of the Month Club. She was a smart and sneaky woman, much smarter than I've managed to be with my own kids.

Every month, I got something new in the mail -- The Crows of Pearblossom is one I will always remember -- that snake swallowing the clay egg and writing in pain! What smart crows!

Betty June of Lincoln, Nebraska, fled the Midwest at barely 17, maybe 16. She fell in love with Bud O'Hanlon, a "merchant seaman" (that's what I remember her calling him, when I finally pressed her). She ended up giving birth to my half-brother, David O'Hanlon, who I have not seen or heard from since maybe the mid-90's. (There is a story there, an unfortunately white-collar sordid type of story, but I won't relate it here.) Bud apparently liked to smack his woman around -- which she for some unfathonable reason tolerated, until Bud decided the kid might be an easier punching bag. Then Betty left him. Moved to Monterey, CA, worked for the US Army there, got pregnant by "an Army Major" (that's what I was told much later, after she had died) and gave the baby girl, my half-sister, up for adoption. I met her not long after my mom died, and she looked just like my mom.

Mom was Betty, not Elizabeth-nicknamed-Betty. I never met her mother, my grandmother. By the time I was born, her mother (I THINK her name was Dorothy) was long dead, replaced by a new stepmom named Ann. And, I think, Ann was actually married to my mother's step-dad -- so it was step-upon-step.

Ray and Ann lived in a tidy little ranch in Paradise, California. Yes, there is such a place -- though the name always puzzled me when we would go to visit. I grew up in San Francisco -- I thought THAT was paradise. This podunk little town in the Sierra mountains? The dirt was bright, volcanic red. Manzanita trees everywhere -- which my mom would routinely chop down and stick in the trunk, to turn into art projects for her friends -- gluing fake flowers to the ends of the elegant, dark-brown twigs, standing the branch upright in a nice urn filled with Plaster of Paris (THAT I remember -- it was always "Plaster OF PARIS" just like her favorite San Francisco store was "City OF PARIS". My mother never made it to see the actual Paris, though. Her exotic journey was to California, not Europe.

She made it as far as England -- and that's where she died. On my 15th birthday, on the trip that was my birthday present, because I was a budding teen Anglophile with A Thing for Sherlock Holmes.

(Tomorrow morning, I have to go play Sherlock Holmes for my boss's boss -- trying to find background info on a very old contract... she has NO idea what a trigger-phrase "Sherlock Holmes" is. My random but intense interest in the famed detective is part of what killed my mother, that's been stuck in my head since 15 and shaking it isn't something easily done.)

My mom was great. She left Bud, raised David mostly on her own, finally fell in love with my dad, a big, bear-hearted guy who in his early 30's still lived at home with his mom, married him and started a new life.

I was a total surprise to this late-blooming couple. My brother David was nearly 18 when I was born -- and he was my guardian after she died. We had a hard relationship when he ended up stuck with me... a three-year-old kid of his own, a spoiled and finicky Castillian-by-way-of-SnFrancisco wife who was sick of him and planning to leave, and he ended up dumped with a mourning, troubled teenage girl to finish raising. Which he didn't do.

I ended up living with my Grandma, who was born the exact same day as me, but in 1896.

How I Can Tell Evil Husband is Finally Mending (April Fool's)

So, this, to me, is a crystal-clear sign that hubby is finally on the mend after all his befuddling and painful medical issues of the past several months.

This morning, he awakened me with a cup of coffee, saying "President O has been shot in London, wake up!" -- and as my groggy eyes snapped open, he said,

"April Fools."

Yeah. Thanks, honey.

That's how I can tell his twisted black humor is coming back to life.

(Secret Service, if you ever scan this like you would an Al-Queda blog, IT WAS A JOKE. APRIL FOOLS, OK???)

Not a FUNNY joke, to be sure -- but I will never understand how that man's mind works. Never in a million years.

Brenna shows me crazy stuff

Today's little entry from my drive-by daughter was http://whythefuckdoyouhaveakid.com.

Nothing like having your 20-year-old daughter swing by with her live-in boyfriend to (a) pick up cash and a check -- thanks, Mom! -- and (b) show you Web sites about misbegotten spawn of teens. Arrrrrrrgh.

She's a great, steady, smart, hard-working kid, and so's her BF. He's been growing on me, like fungus, I guess. It drove me insane when she hooked up with this guy so young, so young, so young... but that's reality.

I work with a woman I adore who got married to her high school sweetheart, had several kids, and now, maybe 25 years later, is still happy and still married.

So I guess these teen fling things CAN work out.

I just don't want to be a gramma yet.

(At least I can always count on the calendar to bring a visit from my daughter -- she knows exactly when I get paid. And I see her quite promptly.)

And, my little sweet Ayla has once again forsaken her glorious mane of beautiful copper red, and gone for platinum blonde and bleached Asian or Russian extensions. Who do they GET that "real human hair" from? Insane asylums? I never know, and don't wanna know. Global commerce at it's finest.

And today, our President and his wife gave the Queen of England a flippin'iPod. Speechless, am I. At least she had the good grace to give him her standard "I don't give a flip" portrait of herself and her Consort.

Another day goes by, and we had lovely spring snow. That's a very good thing. And always will be.

I love my daughters, and I love my husband, and my cats and the dogglets are the best. What more could a person want?

Pack it on!

Brenna showed me this site -- www.thisiswhyyourefat.com -- that's hilarious. This one's called the Porkgasm.

I wonder if people in India or China look at this page, and think, "stupid Fat Americans" -- probably. There are a bunch of skinny little factory managers in Bangalore or Kuala Lumpur, making my plus-sized Ulla Popken threads, looking at stuff like this and just shaking their heads.

Some of the things just make you ponder -- the Meta-Pizza is a pizza topped with mini-pizzas. And you CAN deep-fry damn near anything, including guacamole.

I remember seeing this Discovery Health special that I wish I could find, but I can't seem to pin it via Google -- it was called something like "I Eat 33,000 Calories a Day". I think virtually every item on this Web site fits that menu.

I'm a big broad, but that's just who I've always been, I'm just built like a medieval Irish peasant, built to crank out babies and work at hard labor. I don't diet -- I've given up on that bizarre American fad -- but I generally eat good, close-to-the-earth, simply prepared food. Not a junk food junkie. I don't graze at 7-Eleven or vending machines. Popcorn is probably my biggest junk food thing, and that's only occasionally. But I'm not built wiry, never have been.

Looking at those ridiculous food photos is hilarious -- but not to actually EAT them!

David Sedaris, My Hero

David Sedaris.

I mentioned running across that "Stuff White People Like" blog not long ago, about the St. Patricks' Day Parade. Sedaris was pretty higly ranked on that list.

I've loved David Sedaris's books for years. I haven't actually laid down the lucre for many of them -- I own "Naked" and "When You Are Engulfed in Flames" but the rest have been courtesy of the Douglas County Libraries.

What IS it about his prose? So many things, actually.

First, he writes in a way that I completely envy -- so open about his utterly flawed person. Persona? Personality? Soul? All of the above. He's so blase about the bare fact that he's greedy, selfish, self-centered, etc... and it's always a (by the way-type comment)that he's gay.

I grew up in San Francisco -- it has never, never bothered me if two men dig each other, I started seeing male friends as couples when I was a kid. Totally not a big deal to me, in the least. I love Sedaris's stance -- even when he's denigrating himself for his social failings, it's not based on his sexuality -- it's the stuff that is common to ALL of us, no matter who you're attracted to.

I just flat-out enjoy his writing.

Right now, I'm reading "Naked". I thought I had read this in the past, but turns out that I had not. In the past few days, we in the Denver area have been dealing wiht massive snow. Curling up on the sofa reading "Naked" has been fun! Hubby's asleep, daughter's at work, sun is shining but waning, and I'm reading David Sedaris talking about his wandering days in his 20's. I wish that had been my background, instead of being so totally responsible as I had been. I had an aged grandma to care for, as well as Being In Love, when I was in m early 20's. Married at 22. So I get to live a bit vicariously by David's stories about living in SF, picking apples in Oregon, etc.

I never did anything like that. Odds are great that I never will get to do anything like that. ("Look at that old lady hitchhiking..." just doesn't have that devil-may-care ring to it.)

I just kept building "a Life" and moving forward. I have never had a point in my life where where i had no idea what would come next. I was never a "hippie" (despite the fact that my daughters seem to think I was!!).

No, my life, overall, has been woefully convential, struggles and wins, money-scrambles and windfalls, the whole works has had me landed squarely in the nice-neighborhood upscale suburbs, no matter where we went. Not who I imagined I'd be, when I was a teenager, but there it is.

I look at people I know who were lucky enough to end up with that familial financial cushion called INHERITANCE, or Anticipated Inheritance, and I know that, in some wayh, I'm just a liiiiitttttlllle bit ahead of those folks. I remember my old roommate, rich NJ JAP, whose daddy would sweep in to write off checks to square her up when she overran her Pacific Heights allowance. I loved her, she was a great friend -- but the depth wasn't there. She'd never had to face loss and deal with it, or make decisions that were really risky, and have to deal with the results, good or bad.

I've had to do it on my own. I've been on my own since my mom died at 15, and I had to either sink or swim, no safety net. "They" may be more comfy, more better off, have an easier time of it than I do because they've managed to inherit big bucks -- but I can look those people in the eye and not feel bad, because what I HAVE, I have achieved without the help of Mummy, Daddee, Grandadd, Gramma, or any other relative or trust fund.

I may wish I had more bucks in the account, more zeroes in the balance, but what I have, I have earned myself, through my own personal labors. That's something to be proud of.

Finally decided how to handle this... Chimera!

OK, I've finally figured out how I'm going to handle the Blog Thing that's been bugging me for weeks. And it's actually quite simple: I'll shape-shift.

I had fun looking up the definition of CHIMERA. Greek mythological character, consisting of "diverse parts" all held together: part lion, part goat, part snake, part dragon. Parts. I have parts. And I'll just... do a chop-shop thing and part them out.

So, I've recently started two new blogs, that are designed to hit two different themes. I wouldn't presume to say "two different audiences" because that presumes that there IS an actual audience, that Constant Reader has been drawn to my scribblings (or "key-twitchings").

That's the joy of blogging for me -- I honestly don't care if anyone ever reads what I post, and I'm not focusing on trying to build a readership. I have to do that enough at work; when I'm home, and thinking about my own stuff, I honestly don't care if anyone pays attention or not.

That's Guy Kawasaki's view, too -- at least on Twitter. "If you don't like what I'm writing about, then Don't Follow Me." Very simple. And I'm big into simplicity right now.

But that's something for another blog.

Simplicity means... getting rid of stuff. That's the #1 goal right now.

I figure we'll move some time next summer. When we do, I want to have about half the stuff we do right now, maybe even less. I hate being bogged down by consumer claptrap.

Any way -- I'm at the point where I'll start inviting people who've been curious, to know where this blog is.

There are maybe a handful of people that I could be arrogant enough to thing they'd really like to read some of my posts to get a better understanding of who I am... and they just might do that. But I'm copying and deleteing stuff to other, more appropriate locations.

(Whoa. Arrogance check. That sounds like maybe I'm either an axe murderer, or I have some other sort of mysterious other life -- SO not the case, but as I've posted ad nauseum, I just flat-out have not become comfortable with how to mix/mingle "me-Laura-not at work" with "me-Laura-OTJ". I mean, in the grand scheme of things, I'm really quite a boring person! I just maybe harbor some "non-bland" ideas and opinions that I would never dream of expressing OTJ. And if an y OTJ people start to scan my blog, I need to make damn sure they realize it's OK to have a personal opinion as well as a public opinion.

Happy Springtime Family Sounds

Brenna and David and Marty and I went to the Tanner Gun Show today. I think he owes me some sort of foofy, girlie event at some point.

Walking the Gun Show made me feel like those times when I used to browse the "seriously foreign" grocery stores in San Francisco -- the Asian or Russian stores. You can occasionally spot a few things that you believe you recognize, but the rest of the merchandise could just as easily be from Planet Vetsuvian, from long long ago and far far away.

Who ARE these people? I know they all listen to the same radio stations that my husband does... but when they all come out of the woodwork at once, it's... interesting.

But, hey, we did get matching ear protection for when we go to the gun range, so that's something.

Right now, I'm at my desk typing this, listening to the happy sounds from downstairs. Ayla's off with her new BF, and David and Brenna are here with Brenna's friend. I can hear the happy-laughy sounds in Brenn's voice, that I miss so much. Seems like so much of the time when she's here, she's pissed off. Right now, I'm just luxuriating in the sound of happy family coming from downstairs... I don't want to jinx it, I just want to hear it continue.

And, as a bonus -- they CLEANED the Back Yard for me!!!!! Picked up dog poop and all! I'm so happy about that. I can start planing seeds and stuff soon... spring officially started yesterday, it hit about 74 today, and it's just a lovely, lovely day.

I was sick as a dawg all last week. Totally bleah and wiped out. I ended up missing three days of work, and I slept and slept. Slept all day yesterday (Sat) too. When your bod's sick, it tells you.

It's a pretty day. A happy day. All is well with the world, and I hope it stays this way.

Urinals are Unfair

(rant)
I KNOW my husband danced with death in recent months. I KNOW it's hard for him to get around. I KNOW it's especially hard in the middle of the night, if he wakes up, feels groggy, it's dark, and there's a gauntlet of dogflesh to dodge between the bed and the bathroom.

That said, it just drives me nuts that he is still keeping not ONE, but TWO plasitc urinals on his bedside table. And uses them every single night, both of them. Even though he really CAN make it to the bathroom, he CHOOSES to keep using the damn urinals. That just makes me nuts.

I guess one sign of progress is that he finally removed the wheelchair from his office, because he had been using the wheelchair instead of his nice leather office chair, at his desk. At least he's gotten past that. But the urinals... I think he really likes the "convenience" of it, and those two plastic jugs have gotten to be standard bedside items.

I'm a girl. I don't have that option. If I ever get fully laid up, I'll have to get myself up and moile again asap, because girls cannot pee into plastic jugs.

I just had to say it. (end rant)

Friends and Networks

I was at a luncheon last week, and ended up sitting next to a man I have admired and respected since I first met him a few years ago. He's one of those rare people who just have a "knack" for connecting with people, seemingly effortlessly -- and he does it by being willing to be of service to others. A role model for me, absolutely. He asked how things were going with me, because he knew about Marty's "near-death experiences" since Christmas -- wanted to know how I was coping with things. He asked about my "support network" in Denver -- and I had to admit that I really don't have one.

Isn't that weird? What a vulnerable admission to make, especially to someone who's in the public eye... but we ended up talking about getting together with one of his friends, who's another person I absolutely respect in Denver, just to talk, non-work stuff. The other guy lost his dad about the same age I did -- 11 -- and his mom some time ago. The things you never know about people. Yeah, I'm going to call and set it up.

I think that's been my biggest hurdle -- so much of my time, energy and focus has gone into my job (which I love) in the past few years, that that's been nearly the only way I've gotten to meet people. And I always feel I need to be careful about how I interact with people I meet somehow related to work, because I always have to be very clear about "me-person" vs. "me-OTJ representing a company."

Sure, I've met people at church -- but honestly, there's a sort of "artificial intimacy" that dwells there that just makes me uncomfortable.

I'll never forget a choir "prayer group discussion" after singing rehearsal a year or so ago. They broke us into groups, sitting around a 10-top banquet table, "sharing". This one woman I had never met before started going into GREAT detail about how her (soon to be ex-) husband had molested their daughter, how she'd had to deal with getting him arrested, dealing with his trial, AND shared the gory details of what he'd done to their ten-year-old daughter. I thought, "this is what Jerry Springer and Oprah have given us -- no filter!" And everyone around the table tut-tutted, and jumped up to lay a hand on her. It just felt... forced and phoney to me, and the whole thing made me very uncomfortable. I mean, that's just not the sort of in-detail monologue I'd do with a bunch of strangers! But then again, from her perspective, I think that's what she figured church was for. So maybe she's more mentally healthy than I am, imbued with my grandmother's Victorian ethic about "keeping yourself to yourself". Grandma was born in the 1800's, and after my parents died I lived with her until I was 18, so you really could say that I grew up in a Victorian household, very proper and formal. There were things you just DID NOT bring up with my grandmother. That's how I was trained.

So I have met more people via "work-related introductions" than I have through other means. And, because of my job, I always have this feeling like I need to stay distant. I've always wondered how other people deal with this! Or, maybe it's just that Denver is so different from the coast.

When we lived in California, and even in Seattle, but especially in SF, I never thought twice about how "work" and "friends" blurred. That's because it ALWAYS blurred: we worked with friends; and people we liked ultimately ended up working with us. That's when we owned the production company, and so much of "work" involved coming up with fun ideas, doing creative things and getting paid well for it. I still miss that, but I am in a different world now. "Work" meant traveling together, holidays together, even working-vacations together. Sharing the joys of new births, the sorrow of loss, and STILL getting work done. It wasn't 8 - 5 M - F, it was all-consuming 24/7 when we were "on" a project, and different when we weren't -- or, we'd scheduled in down-time so we wouldn't be working all the time. But making friends was always easy and simple.

I find myself not able to do that now, and it saddens me and even puzzles me. Why have I grown so distant from people? This is someting I hate to admit, but since we moved to Denver, we have not thrown a single party. The last time we had a party was 2004. FIVE YEARS ago. We used to have parties every month, and never thought twice about it! We used to have people over all the damn time -- for no particular reason. We'd have Art Parties (those were always my favorite) -- "you got some sorts of art supplies lying around -- crayons, paints, paper? Bring them over with a potluck dish. We'll break bread and make art together." I loved those parties!

So, why don't we do that now?

I know part of it -- really big reason/excuse for it -- has been all the health issues Marty has had. It's been more than I can handle, a lot of the time -- and the idea of having people in the house when there's a hospital bed in the dining room... cannot fathom it.

I daydream, though. I don't know why I seem unable to just invite people over, and relax about it, like I used to.

When we had the production company, I felt like it was actually my DUTY to host events! We had 90 people on the payroll for the biggest productions -- and I always made a point of inviting department heads over, always. I haven't even invited my work team over since living here.

Guess I don't really understand it -- but it's been on my mind so much lately, that maybe this will start to change. I mean, all it really takes is to simply schedule it and do it.

I saw an article in the Denver Post today on the Web of Healing Friendships that talked about a few Web sites for cancer survivors. The article said that having social networks is good for your health. What a concept.

This has just been something I've been pondering -- becoming vulnerable, being open, and just being a FRIEND... I promise I will start to take some actions on this point.

How about organizing an April party? I'll shoot for April 18 -- Earthquake Day, in San Francisco.

OK. That's it. Saturday, April 18 a party will happen here. I'm going to make that happen.

Green Eyeshadow

It's St. Pat's Parade day again, and I've brushed out Preston and he's ready to roll. I have now marched in St. Pat's Parades with a Wolfhound at my side for a full decade, as we got Brock in 1999. I only missed one year with a Wolfie, 2007, because Brock had died and we didn't yet have Preston.

There is no dog on earth like an Irish Wolfhound.

I've got electric green eyeshadow and a green cowboy hat on. Last year, I was dressed as Mother Nature. This didn't feel like a costume year, though. Marty can't join us, and that makes me sad... but Ayla and I get to bond.

I wish Brenna had called me back and said she wanted to come (or not). I miss her, but right now she's decided she doesn't want to talk to me. It's hard, but that's life. She's only 20, and I just have to assume/pray that this will change down the road.

Green day. Hopefully this will be fun -- it's looking like it will be a perfect Denver day.

Friday, Happy, Friday, Happy (boring but good)

It's Friday evening, a little after seven. We're going to go out to dinner shortly. Me and the hubby. THe kid's with her boyfriend (I know I'm losing her, bit by bit), her older sister has decided not to talk to me in a week, and my husband is gradually starting to sound like his old self again after all the health problems, even though he's not "back" yet, I'm seeing glimmers.

He just told his biz assoc on the phone, "I'll send you some good energy" -- I take that to mean he's feeling better. Since Xmas.

So, shortly we'll head to a very local pizza place called Via Baci, that has just good food. And they have candles, which are very flattering. He and I have not been able to go out to dinner since... last year? I think that's true, this is the first time we've been able to eat out at a restaurant since all his hospitalizations.

And it's Friday night, it's payday night, and that makes us all happy.

Simple pleasure -- happy time. I miss these sorts of simple, happy times.

Love

Thinking about how simple and special "love" is for human beings, and dogs.

Right now, I'm sitting at my laptop, typing. At my left ankle, Fargo Lebowski Higgins is passed out on the floor. Just above him, grandly snoozing out on the futon behind me, is Preston McGinty Higgins. Lab Mix and Purebreed Wolfhound, gotta be RIGHT WITH ME to be "okay". And Marty's downstairs, waiting (not really) patiently while I'm farting around online.

I have to stop this -- I have to go cook dinner. But I'm having all these little mini-epiphanies with the blog stuff, and I look at Preston's pretty brown eyes, because just now, Charlotte (ShaSha) the Grey Kitten, has jumped up to give Preston a snuggle -- and when I turned my head, there's Sha-Sha, Gumby the Wonder Kat, and Queen Sierra, Queeen of All She Surveys, Cat, hovering behind me.

Did I mention we have two dogs (Preston and Fargo) and FIVE cats (Queen Sierra, Gumby, Greg, Charlotte, and Takara, aka Wee)???

Jeez. What a total menagerie. But I love it, and would not trade it. The Fuppies are wonderful, and the Kittays are always drawn to the burning heat from Marty's inflamed leg...

The animalia make me happy when I come home. Every one of them. I can get lost in the kitties' fur-fur. Nothing smells as good as kittles.

PJ, for you

OK, last one, I swear.

PJ -- it's all your fault. You're the one who made the blurring of the lines foremost in my head the past few weeks. I'm trying hard to think of a really super-cool baby shower gift for you and K, and I'm still struggling. But this is what you get for making me thing about decloaking my blog. Dammit, now I actually need to DO it. (like there's something so big, it needs cloaking - "what the hell is my problem?")

(I actually told my boss that George Stephanopolis had Tweeted a response to you, but I was a dork, and it was the other way around -- but she was impressed. God! We just don't understand this stuff enough yet.)

As I think all the time and don't get to say enough -- I am BLESSED to work with and get to know some flat-out amazing people with my job. Just amazing. A rare breed. I thank my lucky stars all the time that work has included people who have Greatness within them. You're on that list, buddy.

Chicken Cous-Cous Blog Box

Yikes. I've blown an hour blogging and playing with the Internet. That means dinner will be the Apricot-Currant-Chicken Cous-Cous Box, because it's fast and easy, and I've been neglecting my wifely duties since I got home.

Buy, hey, I unpacked my new office today, and went to a luncheon on Obama's Economic Stimulus Plan -- how much can one woman do in a day?

(If only I lived in the Wyoming hinterlands, with my coyote pup...)

ETrade Baby ROCKS

These are some of my favorite TV commercials of all time. ETrade has just nailed it, making "so simple even a baby could do it" seem NOT cliched.

Microsoft, on the other hand... ewww. Stinky. Their "I'm a PC, and I'm Four-and-a-half" type ads are just LAME.

Love that baby.

Decloaking Part II

Had lunch with my coworker today, who gave me a really good rundown about things he's learned about using Twitter recently. And, it's made me finally decide that, okay, I AM going to decloak about my blog, and going forward, I'm going to make some changes to the direction and focus of the thing.

Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder.

I never did have a "thesis" for having a blog -- honestly, I've used it to vent, more often than not. (I'm always careful, even then -- I don't ever comment about my employer, unless I have something mildly vague and definitely positive I want to say. And truly, given MY employer, saying nice things is really very easy, because I'm happy there, the people have integrity, and it's an overall good place.) Still, we've all heard horror stories about people who've posted something about their job on their Facebook page and gotten fired as soon as the HR department found out, or people who've posted something that made them look like a jackass that had nothing to do with their employer, but once the company found out, they still got canned.

So, that's a realistic fear for ANYBODY who has both a paycheck-job, and a blog or a jones for sounding out on the Web. But, Pollyanna that I am, I've decided that coming from good intentions and being an overall polite person should keep me in line -- I DO self-sensor routinely, and I don't flame out anybody publicly (unless they're a jackass Quiznos manager who sends a poor Mexican out to broil in a vinyl suit in 100+ degree weather. (And that was way before I started my job, anyway.)

Okay. So. I've decided I'll share my blog URL with a few people. If you're reading this -- well, hello! I am, indeed, a coward about this -- and yes, I've deleted a bunch of posts, just in case.

But, for the record -- my heart is in the right place, I will be careful what I say, just as I would OTJ, and I'll definitely keep my charming husband's bizarre comedian friends' influence from showing up here. (At least, I'll try!)

But dammit, I am NOT at work, I'm at home -- and I still need to have some element of "me" that's not "me at work" -- I'll just have to practice at how to blend those.

We'll see if I can be successful, or not. Hope so.

Sherlock Downey

OK, I've been listening to a LOT of Sherlock Holmes stories from the Canon, as well as pastiches, recently. And, with Robert Downey Jr. starring in the Holmes movie that's due out later this year, it's made me think about the AGE thing.

See, in the original stories, Holmes was in his 20's and early 30's when most of the Baker St. chronicles occur. But, when you think of virtually ALL the actors who have played Holmes (the most well-known ones, at least) -- the IMAGE you get is a guy who's in his 40's, maybe pushing 50. Think Jeremy Brett. Basil Rathbone. From my formative years, there was Nicol Williamson in The Seven Percent Solution. All geezers in full middle-age.

Now, you've got Robert Downey Jr. (who I've always loved, he's an amazing actor and really cute, too) -- but I guess this makes me happy, because he's 44. Which makes me feel like I'm NOT old (even though I've been starting to feel like I am starting to head toward "old").

The thing that's cool about Downey's portrayal is that he really does seem to "get" how YOUNG Holmes was when he started solving crimes. Callow but not.

I haven't looked forward to an upcoming movie release this much in YEARS. I can't wait until this comes out, I hope it'll be great, and if it is, I'll see it a bunch of times.

Because it gives me back some youth.

(And in the mean time, I'll continue using Laurie R. King's Sherlock Holmes/Mary Russell stories to lull me to sleep. The May-December romance of those two broken souls is just beyond compelling to me. I'm sure it says something about me, but I'll handily ignore what that might be.

When a young girl loses her dad at an early age, it fucks up her brain. Proven face. That's me, forever chasing the "older and wiser" man in my head, if not in reality.

Why White People Love St. Patrick's Day

OK, so I have figured out the rationale behind the "Stuff White People Like" blog. It's really not "stuff white people like" -- it is stuff that "white intellectual coastal liberals like" -- definitely a bias toward my old 'hood in Marin County, and points similar.

But, that said, this post about why white people like St. Patrick's Day, really does sum it up quite well.

I am so ambivalent about the Denver St. Patrick's Day Parade this year. I feel so removed from it, and I have a bad feeling about the TV coverage. But we'll see... it's next Saturday.

Coyote Catalyst

I think a lot of this pondering is coming up simply because of The Daily Coyote, because Shreve has been almost TOO detailed about chronicling her personal life with Charlie the Coyote, in Ten Sleep, WY.

But, I have loved exposure to it -- schadenfruede? Voyeruism? Getting a glimpse into someone's real life can be addictive.

That's why I've always loved David Sedaris. I wish the guy was more prolific, because I hate having to wait for him to get his ass in gear and get new books out.

(One thing that is just plain fun about blogging, is the weird stuff you stumble upon. Like this site that explains why white people like David Sedaris. Now that I've found it, I'm going to have to go back to the home page, and read more about what I'm supposed to like as a white person -- since Sedaris is at #25, and honestly I didn't think he was really all that popular!)

Thoughs on Decloaking a Blog

This has been weighing on me for several months. One way or another, I've had a blog going since about 2002, though I've pulled the damn thing down multiple times, changed servers and names, and generally been very reluctant to decloak about it. I'm weird about blogs -- I honestly don't follow very many of them, but when I do, I tend to do a deep-dive into a blog for a short while, reading nearly every new and archived post before I lose interest and move onto something else.

I've never "settled myself" about what my own blog is, or what it should be. Sometimes I have posted things that I have later decided to pull down because it was just too damn much truth to have out there on the Internet. And I've had this unreasonable fear that "people I know" will stumble across my blog and read it -- though, since I've always been uber-diligent about not promoting my blogs, keeping them squarely underground, and trying to make sure people DIDN'T find it -- one might ask, "so, what IS the point of having it?"

I guess it's simply because I have always loved to write, ever since I was a kid it's been like a pressure-relief valve, and this is somehow more satisfying than writing into a notebook, which is something I have also done for years.

So, where I am at right now, is on the fence about this incarnation of my blog. Even though I've made the cowardly decision to delete out a lot of my posts, there is still a bunch of stuff I've decided to leave that, well, leaves me vulnerable to people who might read it. Not yet sure that's okay with me.

I've watched one of my coworkers start up his first blog, and although he's only been at it a couple of months, he's been doing a really good job -- his posts are interesting, he ranges far afield with "business-related" content as well as a light smattering of personal reflections and anecdotes. He started it because our company is trying to get deeper into "social media" -- and we will start a blog at some point this year. Which has me thinking about my own blog, and my reticence to share it with my team, because I just don't feel okay about decloaking to that degree, since I've mostly posted personal musings and not business stuff.

I still don't know what I'm going to do. We'll see.

Daily Coyote

I love audiobooks. I'm listening to a really good one right now, called The Daily Coyote. It's a very simple story, about a woman who fell in love with the wilds of Wyoming, and decided, sight unseen, to move to a town of 300. She ended up with a coyote pup to raise, and started a blog sending photos of the coyote to people every day. (Hence the name of the book.)

Her prose is luminous and graceful, and since I'm frequently listening to the story unfold as I drive to and from work, up and down I-25 in rush hour traffic, I look at the snowcapped Rockies to the west, and daydream about what it might be like to do something that gutsy -- just up and move to the middle of nowhere.

Things that stick out to me are: the luxury of curling up in front of a roaring fire with your cat, dog, and coyote, on a blizzarding winter day, with nothing else to do except... be. She also figures out how to teach English to Koreans in Korea from her home computer -- I mean, what a perfect idea for supporting yourself living in the middle of nowhere.

With the craziness of the economy lately, I really wonder how many people will be smart enough to just "drop off the grid" and recalibrate their lives to something like this. (Sure, it's a fantasy for me -- I cannot imagine that I could do the same thing successfully, city girl that I am, but one does enjoy the daydream.)

If this catches on, I'll be out of work

There was an interesting article in the Denver Post today about living frugally. Seems people are learning how to live without the absolutely crazed consummer-borrowing culture we've nurtured over the past decade -- WHAT a concept!

Since I work for a company that earns its keep by... consumer lending... this could be a scary thing. But damn, I love the concept. The funny thing is that we've sort of been living this way for the past several years.

I have no credit cards. I do have a corporate credit card for business purchases, but that's basically because I let them know that I was not going to be funding the business of business on my dime, and waiting for reimbursement. Not everyone can get away with this, I know, but it was just a plain fact for me. I don't imagine I will every really "want" to get a credit card again in my life -- though perhaps at some point I might finally do it again, but it won't be for at least a few more years.If they even still exist by then!

Credit cards. I hate them. Now, I have to say that MY company, as a credit card issuer, is actually one of the very rare "good guys" in a slimy business, and I can hold my head up and tell people honestly that if you need a credit card, ours really IS a good deal. 'nuf said about that, since I don't like to talk about my employer on my blog.

But... it DOES put me in a weird position, just with some of the "behind the scenes" stuff I am exposed to, working in this industry. I know more than the average bear consumer about how collections works, how lending decisions are made, etc. So that colors my perspective.

The whole financial industry is in a crisis (duh!). yesterday, the news said US unemployment had hit 8.1%, highest since about 1984ish. I know a LOT of people who have been laid off in the past three months or so. Scary.

I remember being laid off; marketing is usually one of the first departments to go under the scalpel during bad times. I've been through it more than once, and it sucks every time.

BUT...

Things are still overall good in America. And I remember that. But I LOVE the idea of just living frugally. Next thing to check out is a site called Freecycle. Actually, I know I had looked at this a few years ago, but it hadn't hit its tipping point yet, at least where I was. Now, I see that there are a bunch of Freecyclers right in my area.

Especially since Marty's been so sick, bit by bit, I've been going through all my stuff -- storage stuff, infrequently-used stuff, and trying to figure out how to get rid of it. I love the idea of barter -- that just fits me. So, who knows? Maybe I'll become a dedicated Freecycler...

revving up, then thwarted

Damn it!!!!! Just when the Luck Plane started tilting toward our heads (thanks, Bob), Marty ends up near-death again. I am honestly having trouble even dealing with this, but it's our reality.

Christmas was LOVELY, one of the best in years. (I remember Christmas of 2003, when we were really broke, and we went to the beach -- I remember writing "HOPE" in the sand in 8-foot letters with a stick. Eternal optimist, that's me.) Christmas dinner, 12/25. Marty thinks he's getting the flu, 12/27. Visit to the doctor, Fri 12/27 -- doc (who we love and trust) says, yeah, seems like the flu... then we notice his left leg is swelling and red... so he makes an appointment to see the doc who replaced his knee (with all the MRSA and related issues in 2006) -- appt is Tues morning.

Mon middle of the night, I have to call an ambulance for him -- I'm afraid he's not going to make it to morning, his pain is so great and his fever is so high.

So, we ended 2008, and started 2009, with Marty in a coma. Septic. Systemic infection, centered in his leg, but hurting his whole body. Kidneys shut down. All major systems negatively impacted -- respiratory, circulatory, cardiac. Sounds so clinical now -- but then, I was simply in a haze. Early January was spent in a dreamlike state, not even knowing what I was doing, honestly. Left the ICU every night, thinking he was going to be dead by morning. Thinking I was going to get "the phonecall" that I remember my mom getting, when my dad died. Remembering when my dad died -- Aunt Margie had come to stay with us, for The Vigil, because we "knew the end was soon".

I really could not grasp how close to death Marty was.

But it was a miracle that he pulled through. And for me and Brenna and Ayla, we struggled. Brenna is still a closed mystery to me most of the time -- she has not been the kind of kid who wants mom or dad in her world. She seems to prefer to work it out herself. Ayla alternately clung close and pushed me away, which was hard. Sometimes, just being able to put my hand on her helped me enormously.

But Marty got better. Thank god.

Now, we're holding our breath, waiting for the next round of tests, the next bit of news -- and honestly, I am expecting that the news will be bad. It's 2:20 pm on a Sunday right now, and he's snoozing in bed.

Ayla and I went swimming this morning, and then had breakfast -- and we talked nonstop. She said he's been sleeping more and more lately, which is a concern. I fear that the infection is back, despite the daily IV infusions. I fear what comes next. I fear being alone. I fear becoming a widow. I hope it doesn't come to that point.

Que sera, sera, right? I just have to roll with whatever happens. And I will.

Plus-Size Women's Clothes Swap

Hey there! If you're reading this, you probably got my email about a clothes swap. I have no idea if this will work, given that I live in Colorado, which is apparently the skinny capital of the US. However, I have always been a big broad and I have a lot of nice clothes I'd like to put "out there" to swap, instead of just bagging it all up for Goodwill. Sure, I'll bag up a bunch of it! But overall, the theme for 2009 seems to be to lighten up on the consumer baggage, the personal possessions we're all anchored with.

I have a lot of clothes in my closet that I honestly don't LOVE. Many things are really nice (and cost a pretty penny, too) -- but when I put them on, I don't feel like "me" at my best.

For example, I have a couple of outfits that I bought because I just flat-out liked the fabric and the style -- but the colors (red, black and white) were basically "ok" at the time because those were the colors of my daughter's sports team! But I look crappy in red-black-white. So I've got these lovely outfits, hardly ever worn, classic and nice... but *I* don't like wearing them. Somebody who's a blonde or with dark hair would look fabulous in these.

That sort of thing.

Anyway, one thing I hope to do this year is reach out a little more, get out of my "shell" a bit... with all the illness and medical crap my husband has dealth with the past few years, I've been mostly focused on work and family, work and family. Friends would be lovely!

So, what the hell. I'm starting with something rather ambitious -- a flippin clothing trade. Then, I'm thinking housewares, artwork, knicknkacks, etc... who knows where this will go?

One thing I DO know for sure -- I CANNOT be the only lonely, middle-aged woman/wife/mom in the south Denver area. Not possible. So hopefully this might work... we'll see.

Who cares?

It has of course dawned on me that nobody will ever really dig in and read my blogs unless I finally succumb to the voices in my head and take my Glock to the nearest local clocktower or high school to do some damage.

As if.

I'm just ridiculously mild-mannered, ala Clark Kent. I have never had to fight physically, even if swordplay is my deep-seated dream desire. I wish I was a master with a blade, but I'm not, and have never even handled one. Maybe "someday" I'll take a fencing class -- but it will mean that I have figured out how to just swallow my pride and look like a total asshole novice, someting I've never been really comfortable with. But swords! That's cool enough to maybe figure out how to do it.

My Christmas present from Marty was a Glock 26 9 mm. It's springtime, and I have yet to load it, let alone fire it. I keep it hidden in my grandma's sewing bench. Is that girly or what? But I love the sheer idea of becoming a competent and comfortable marksman.

When I was a kid, I used to LOVE archery at CYO summer camp in Sonoma. I was actually pretty good at hitting those bulls-eyes. The closest I've come to that in my adult life has been archery when half-bagged at the American Legion, playing darts. I hate darts, I think they're utterly boring (hence the half-baggery). And I haven't even done that in years.

When I opened my brand-new, shiny black pistol case, I read through every scrap of paper that came with the heavy metal. Right then on Xmas morning, I started dreaming of becoming a crack pistol sharpshooter, winning competitions and just getting all-rouind GOOD with the thing.

Rifles have never interested me. Hunting -- eeeeeewwww! Looking Bambi right in the eye through a scope, and killing an innocent creature? SO not for me.

Killing a Bad Guy who's hellbent on Doing Evil? SIGN ME UP!!!!!!

I need to take a firearms class or three. I will apply for a CCW, which I understand in Colorado is pretty much a birthright. And I will find a gun range where I can get good at shooting.

And then I want a Concealed Carry Purse -- that's a dream gift. A sneaky and heavy purse, that can cripple my spine with the combined weight of my wallet, makeup, Blackberry, Flip video camera, library book, notebook, and pistol. Woo hoo! That's for me.

Bang! Bang! (Just not from a clocktower, or at a high school. So, nobody will ever read my blog. Who cares?)

Mixing food metaphors can work

I have not yet taken the plunge and subscribed to Real Simple magazine, but I really need to . I find that whenever I see it near the checkout, I nearly always tend to buy it. In October, there was a recipie for "Bacon and Eggs Spaghetti" that just sounded weird. Until I tried it.

A few days ago, Marty had cooked spaghetti, and we didn't use all of it. So it got stored, cold but cooked, in the fridge. I had bought what I now consider to be a Cooking Magic Bullet -- a big bag of Kirkland Cooked Bacon Morsels from Costco. And we had eggs, and we had frozen chopped shallots.

I didn't have the Real Simple recipie at hand, but I had a vague recollection of how weird I thought it was.

So, I heated up a skillet with a little olive oil, dropped in a scant handful of the cooked bacon (just to warm it up) and dumped in a portion of cooked spaghetti and some frozen shallots, shaken from a "juice box" type container.

Sizzle, sizzle. Whoa. Smelled good!

Got everything pretty hot, cracked in two eggs and let them cook, flipping slightly. Topped wiht a bit of grated cheddar.

OMG.

I would never have thought to mix "breakfast ingredients" with spaghetti, but it turned out to be one of the absolute best pasta dishes I had ever had.

Weird, to think that what can really hit you is just the simple combination of mundane ingredients that you'd never think of putting together.

But man, it worked! It was awesome.

Next time I' stuck for what to fix in a pinch, I've got a new go-to recipie.

Music to My Ears -- Pandora

OK, This has turned into a favorite Web site -- www.pandora.com. Build your own virtual radio station. I have no idea why anyone would want to actually turn on the radio again, other than to check news, weather and traffic.

Right now I'm listening to Phillip Glass, but I'm finding my tasts keep getting more and more out there, especially because of my daughters.

Thankful, so thankful for work

I'm not ready to blog about the "why" yet -- but I just need to say that I am SO amazingly THANKFUL for the people that I work with. My boss, and the people who work for me have shown themselves to be just flat-out Good People in recent weeks.

We all tend to take "our job" for granted -- I have a feeling that in 2009, that's going to become more and more unusual, because it seems that layoffs are looming for a lot of people. I've been there, and it sucks! But right now, I'm wrangling with unexpected family stuff, and I have been blown away by how wonderful, thoughtful, and just great my work-folks have been for me.

Sometimes, you just need that kind of support. I am thankful.

Target Groceries

The box said, "Apricot Currant Chicken Cous-Cous" -- and I bought it on a whim. Damn, that was one FINE dinner! Just under five bucks, and YUMMMY. And EASY to fix.

Archer Farms. Target. Go figure. But it's good -- dinner in a kit.

I'm saving this for those times that we're basically "out" of food -- when the fam says, "there is NOTHING to eat here"-- I can whip out this green box and amaze them. (And fill them up with heathy, yummy stuff.)

Green Bags, Oh Wow!

As a total gag, I got Marty a stocking stuffer that was a pure whim item from the Impulse Aisle at Wal-Mart (where they have "impulse buys" down to a fine science.)

Debbie Meyer Green Bags -- www.greenbags.com -- are just flippin amazing. Little did I know! When Marty went back in the hospital again right after Christmas, we had a bunch of fresh produce in the fridge, and given how much time we were spending at the hospital, we sure as hell didn't do much cooking or eating at home.

So I pulled out his box of Green Bags, and stuffed all the veggies and such into them. Would you believe, those damn bags kept everything crispy-fresh for, like, an unbelievable, surreal amount of time! I mean alien-intervention amount of time. I had romaine lettuce in a salad that was close to three weeks old, and it was fine!

"As Seen on TV" has usually translated in my head as "total fucking scam" -- but these bags actually work wonders. I love them.

Who'd a thought?