Time for a few pictures of the munchkin.
This first one, to her arachnaphobic mother's delight, is Abigail and said mother as "scary spiders." They make the cutest stuff at her preschool. She was adorable running around with this on for a few minutes, then she decided it was much better to take it off and chase people with it, shaking it and saying, "Scary spider's got you!"
Here's Abigail climbing "my grandfather's mountain." It's actually a trail leading from an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway that offers a fabulous view of the actual Grandfather Mountain. Beacon Heights Trail is 1400 ft. long and ascends to 4,620 ft. I'm sure it only takes an able-bodied adult 15 minutes, but my 3-year-old only took 40! She really was a little mountain goat, jumping from rock to root to rock -- we didn't put her on this one, Grandma was just acting as a safety net.
And here are Brad and Abigail at the top. While beautiful, it was unfortunately an overcast afternoon. I'm sure it's stunning on a clear day. But nothing's sunnier than that little smile! Looks like mommy's got a hiking buddy!
Friday, November 11, 2005
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
La France en flamme
I am simply astounded by what is happening in France right now. I simply cannot reconcile this violence with that country. Granted, I was never in the ZUPs (zone urbane publique or something like that -- the projects), though when I did pass them on the train they were depressing as heck, but still. This is France.
When I was there in 1999, not long after Columbine, my students were dumbfounded by the violence in America. You could write that off as the naievete of small-town kids, but the riots have reached Lens, not 15 minutes by train from my town, Bethune. And that's just according to a map of the 20 or so most serious riots -- there were riots in 300 towns yesterday. And while Bethune wasn't a hotbed of immigrant unrest -- or of many immigrants period -- it was certainly an economically depressed area in its own right. I tend to think of that region as the West Virginia of France, lots of closed coal mines. There certainly could have been small skirmishes there. Hooded thugs and fires in the Grand'Place -- I can't even picture it.
Of course, I had heard of the racism in France. I only had one first-generation French student, but I had known a man of Algerian descent in 1997 (Dex may remember him, the guy that was dating that rather ditsy girl Jenny in Lyon), and he had talked about the difficulties he faced. And I had met a fellow teaching assistant who had been placed in the Lille suburb of Roubaix. That place was known to be dangerous, you just didn't voluntarily go to Roubaix. Students regularly threatened that teacher, and he'd even had chairs thrown at him. I think he was teaching middle school -- and we were just the conversational English teachers, with no real grading power.
(Time for a sidenote with a completely different tone: In Bethune, the Grand'Place is dominated by a medieval bell tower, Le Beffroi. It was one of the few things to survive a 1918 bombardment [the rest of the square was rebuilt]. And apparently, it just became a UNESCO world history site! Go little Bethune!)
When I was there in 1999, not long after Columbine, my students were dumbfounded by the violence in America. You could write that off as the naievete of small-town kids, but the riots have reached Lens, not 15 minutes by train from my town, Bethune. And that's just according to a map of the 20 or so most serious riots -- there were riots in 300 towns yesterday. And while Bethune wasn't a hotbed of immigrant unrest -- or of many immigrants period -- it was certainly an economically depressed area in its own right. I tend to think of that region as the West Virginia of France, lots of closed coal mines. There certainly could have been small skirmishes there. Hooded thugs and fires in the Grand'Place -- I can't even picture it.
Of course, I had heard of the racism in France. I only had one first-generation French student, but I had known a man of Algerian descent in 1997 (Dex may remember him, the guy that was dating that rather ditsy girl Jenny in Lyon), and he had talked about the difficulties he faced. And I had met a fellow teaching assistant who had been placed in the Lille suburb of Roubaix. That place was known to be dangerous, you just didn't voluntarily go to Roubaix. Students regularly threatened that teacher, and he'd even had chairs thrown at him. I think he was teaching middle school -- and we were just the conversational English teachers, with no real grading power.
(Time for a sidenote with a completely different tone: In Bethune, the Grand'Place is dominated by a medieval bell tower, Le Beffroi. It was one of the few things to survive a 1918 bombardment [the rest of the square was rebuilt]. And apparently, it just became a UNESCO world history site! Go little Bethune!)
Monday, October 31, 2005
30 rears its ugly head
Tonight we took Abigail trick-or-treating, which was hugely exciting. We managed to convince her to ditch the ghost costume with its disconcerting lack of peripheral vision for her fairy princess outfit, and she looked great. (Pictures coming someday -- we really should get a digital camera) She excitedly shouted "Trick or treat!" at the homeowners and fellow candy-hunters alike and left each stoop with either a "Thank you!" or "Happy Halloween!" or "Let's get MORE candy!" We only hit about a dozen houses, after which she cheerfully returned to Nana and Pops' house to enjoy her blue sucker. But next year, man, it's going to be on. I have visions of her taking off down the street and dragging us for blocks ...
The title of this post, though, comes from my trip back to work. I inched back through the neighborhood, scanning the curbs for small flying objects known as children, and then got stuck behind some preteens. Two of them moved over to the middle the road, which would've allowed me to pass, but the other one just waltzed his way down the street, occasionally staggering like a hunchback. He'd fling his candy bag out and twirl around, fully aware of my presence, then take a few teasing steps toward the curb before flailing back out into the street. Stupid kid, I almost called his bluff on one and started to speed up to pass before slamming on the brakes. Well, they finally meandered far enough up a wider stretch of road that I could pass -- at which point I rolled down my window and screeched out in my cold-damaged voice like an old crone "Pay attention to the cars, you kids are going to get hurt!" And of course, the only response my well-intentioned bit of fuddy-duddiness received was cackles of glee that they had ticked off an old person.
Yep, just two more years to 30.
The title of this post, though, comes from my trip back to work. I inched back through the neighborhood, scanning the curbs for small flying objects known as children, and then got stuck behind some preteens. Two of them moved over to the middle the road, which would've allowed me to pass, but the other one just waltzed his way down the street, occasionally staggering like a hunchback. He'd fling his candy bag out and twirl around, fully aware of my presence, then take a few teasing steps toward the curb before flailing back out into the street. Stupid kid, I almost called his bluff on one and started to speed up to pass before slamming on the brakes. Well, they finally meandered far enough up a wider stretch of road that I could pass -- at which point I rolled down my window and screeched out in my cold-damaged voice like an old crone "Pay attention to the cars, you kids are going to get hurt!" And of course, the only response my well-intentioned bit of fuddy-duddiness received was cackles of glee that they had ticked off an old person.
Yep, just two more years to 30.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
"I'm not dead yet!"
Now to make sure John Cleese doesn't come out and thump them over the head with his club ...
Jump lives! Well, they're at least doing a few more shows this fall, including an accoustic show in Charlotte. This makes me very happy! I didn't want the era to end with a less-than-memorable show. And they're excellent accoustic.
One of the perks of going part time will be weeknight freedom. When I found that show, I cruised through the rest of the schedule at the Neighborhood Theatre and became very excited about many of the bands/performers -- and I realized that I could theoretically go to these concerts without completely rescheduling my life! Of course, The Avett Bros. are playing New Year's Eve, and I'm not sure I could realistically call our Christmas trip to Florida short just to come back in time for that. And the only thing on Thanksgiving weekend at this apparent bluegrass inspired hot-spot? Edwin McCain. Doubt that would excite my visiting sister or her Dunce very much.
Jump lives! Well, they're at least doing a few more shows this fall, including an accoustic show in Charlotte. This makes me very happy! I didn't want the era to end with a less-than-memorable show. And they're excellent accoustic.
One of the perks of going part time will be weeknight freedom. When I found that show, I cruised through the rest of the schedule at the Neighborhood Theatre and became very excited about many of the bands/performers -- and I realized that I could theoretically go to these concerts without completely rescheduling my life! Of course, The Avett Bros. are playing New Year's Eve, and I'm not sure I could realistically call our Christmas trip to Florida short just to come back in time for that. And the only thing on Thanksgiving weekend at this apparent bluegrass inspired hot-spot? Edwin McCain. Doubt that would excite my visiting sister or her Dunce very much.
Monday, October 24, 2005
the times, they are a-changin'
Life in the Williams household is an interesting thing. I get a promotion. We say, okay, we'll stay here and Brad will freelance for a few months. Brad starts to get freelance work. Then out of the blue he gets a job offer from a local engineering firm. The offer doubles our income and gives him much-needed direct experience. And I quit my job.
Craziness.
Well, I didn't really. I refuse to put Abigail in day care, so I am going part time. At least through the end of the year, I'll work the weekends and the occasional day during the week when people are on vacation. Then after the holidays, I think the plan is to keep me as city editor on Sundays (the promotion) and allow me to work on building a Hispanic beat from home, maybe writing a couple articles per month. It's very unexpected, but at least all I lose is design shifts, which I didn't want to keep anyway. I wanted to transition off the copy desk by the time Abigail hit kindergarten and try reporting, so it's an early reprieve from second shift.
And hooray, we'll have some spending money! We can buy our own clothes! We can visit my sister in London! I don't have to get an ulcer at the middle of each month, holding my breath until the next paycheck! We're even saying crazy things like a house!
And to the Elm Street family, this means we'll actually be able to attend gatherings!
Will wonders never cease?
Craziness.
Well, I didn't really. I refuse to put Abigail in day care, so I am going part time. At least through the end of the year, I'll work the weekends and the occasional day during the week when people are on vacation. Then after the holidays, I think the plan is to keep me as city editor on Sundays (the promotion) and allow me to work on building a Hispanic beat from home, maybe writing a couple articles per month. It's very unexpected, but at least all I lose is design shifts, which I didn't want to keep anyway. I wanted to transition off the copy desk by the time Abigail hit kindergarten and try reporting, so it's an early reprieve from second shift.
And hooray, we'll have some spending money! We can buy our own clothes! We can visit my sister in London! I don't have to get an ulcer at the middle of each month, holding my breath until the next paycheck! We're even saying crazy things like a house!
And to the Elm Street family, this means we'll actually be able to attend gatherings!
Will wonders never cease?
Sunday, October 23, 2005
No relation to my parenting abilities
Three-year-olds are interesting creatures. Abigail has recently taken to playing with dolls, especially making them dance. Most of her dolls are on the floppy side, so this makes for much fun as their limbs flap about. She's also picked up on the idea of dancing and then "freezing" when the music stops. So she'll hum away, making you act out a "friend" while she makes the "teacher" dance. Then she'll scream freeze, and all the dolls must immediately fall down. If they don't, the "teacher" proceeds to body slam each of them to the table, with total disregard to the state of her parents' knuckles. I did not teach her this, and it makes me wonder about exactly what goes on at the lovely little church preschool. You know, you can't trust those Epsicopalians, damn liberals ...
Friday, October 14, 2005
Watchtowers and waterfalls
There's just something about the sight of hazy blue peaks rolling into the distance that lifts my soul and carries it off to the horizon, where my cares fade into the mist.
The other half and I just returned from two days in southwestern North Carolina among foliage and old friends. I have only been to the mountains once since having Abigail and haven't been hiking since I was pregnant. I'm sure it sounds melodramatic, but I have felt empty without seeing the mountains. Some fundamental part of me responds to the mountains unlike anything else in nature, and I become giddy at the first glimpse. I feel God there more than anywhere else. Yesterday I gazed up at the yellow poplars reaching up to the sky, and it seemed their branches were raised in praise, thanking God for the incredible beauty scattered all around them.
Beaches are nice, beaches are relaxing, but beaches are boring after about three hours. In the mountains, I am constantly finding something new to marvel at, a new trail I want to follow. I saw a bright pink mushroom along one trail, and canary-hued maple leave resting on a wet, black log on another. Walking along one river, the rhododendron leaves and roots were so thick on the path that they swam in front of my eyes, a dancing collage of brown and orange and yellow. I feel inspired and cleansed and new.
I also feel reconnected to "family". We live such an isolated life, spending most of our time in our little nuclear family of three. Since I work second shift and weekends, we have very little oportunity to tap into other peoples' ideas and thoughts and laughter. And the past two days, I got to fully be myself with decade-old friends. Yes, we talked about college, but we also talked about our blood families, our Elm Street family, our individual concerns and hopes and opinions about the world. We drank fancy beer and ate falling apart pork roast and inhaled the quintessential October flavors of pumpkin spice coffee (well, Brad and I did). Perhaps most rewarding, I got to see that my friends are actually friends with my husband.
And I get to do it again next week with my mother. It's a good fall.
The other half and I just returned from two days in southwestern North Carolina among foliage and old friends. I have only been to the mountains once since having Abigail and haven't been hiking since I was pregnant. I'm sure it sounds melodramatic, but I have felt empty without seeing the mountains. Some fundamental part of me responds to the mountains unlike anything else in nature, and I become giddy at the first glimpse. I feel God there more than anywhere else. Yesterday I gazed up at the yellow poplars reaching up to the sky, and it seemed their branches were raised in praise, thanking God for the incredible beauty scattered all around them.
Beaches are nice, beaches are relaxing, but beaches are boring after about three hours. In the mountains, I am constantly finding something new to marvel at, a new trail I want to follow. I saw a bright pink mushroom along one trail, and canary-hued maple leave resting on a wet, black log on another. Walking along one river, the rhododendron leaves and roots were so thick on the path that they swam in front of my eyes, a dancing collage of brown and orange and yellow. I feel inspired and cleansed and new.
I also feel reconnected to "family". We live such an isolated life, spending most of our time in our little nuclear family of three. Since I work second shift and weekends, we have very little oportunity to tap into other peoples' ideas and thoughts and laughter. And the past two days, I got to fully be myself with decade-old friends. Yes, we talked about college, but we also talked about our blood families, our Elm Street family, our individual concerns and hopes and opinions about the world. We drank fancy beer and ate falling apart pork roast and inhaled the quintessential October flavors of pumpkin spice coffee (well, Brad and I did). Perhaps most rewarding, I got to see that my friends are actually friends with my husband.
And I get to do it again next week with my mother. It's a good fall.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Intrigued
Okay, so my favorite band is done. It's very depressing, there are no tour dates on their Web site anymore. Sniff.
BUT, the singer and the cellist are doing solo work, and aparently the drummer, all-around-instrumentalist and bassist are in Bill Carson and His Checkered Past. Now, I haven't been able to listen to the scant three clips on their site yet, but the site design has me very hopeful. And I want to remember them for future experimentation, hence this post.
Hence why I am also mentioning Cary Ann Hearst. Jump has long referenced her, and I believe I spot some of them in the photo on her entry site. Unfortunately, I guess her site doesn't like Macs because I can't get any farther than that. So something else to check up on at home. (What, I blog from work? NEVER!)
BUT, the singer and the cellist are doing solo work, and aparently the drummer, all-around-instrumentalist and bassist are in Bill Carson and His Checkered Past. Now, I haven't been able to listen to the scant three clips on their site yet, but the site design has me very hopeful. And I want to remember them for future experimentation, hence this post.
Hence why I am also mentioning Cary Ann Hearst. Jump has long referenced her, and I believe I spot some of them in the photo on her entry site. Unfortunately, I guess her site doesn't like Macs because I can't get any farther than that. So something else to check up on at home. (What, I blog from work? NEVER!)
Saturday, October 08, 2005
I have the best idea...
Okay, Halloween is approaching. Whenever I ask Abigail, what she wants to be, she just says a ghost. But I want something more creative. I want something fun for the whole family. And from a co-worker's passing comment tonight, I got a brainstorm! A eureka moment!
Blue's Clues.
Not just a costume for Abigail, but all of us. Brad could be Joe
and I could be Miss Marigold, the fabulously stylish preschool teacher.
Actually, Brad could be Joe's predecessor, Steve, who wore stripped rugby shirts -- of which Brad has the appropriate rainbow of colors! It's PERFECT! And Abbey already does a great Blue impression (though mine's better ...).
Blue's Clues.
Not just a costume for Abigail, but all of us. Brad could be Joe
and I could be Miss Marigold, the fabulously stylish preschool teacher.
Actually, Brad could be Joe's predecessor, Steve, who wore stripped rugby shirts -- of which Brad has the appropriate rainbow of colors! It's PERFECT! And Abbey already does a great Blue impression (though mine's better ...).
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Oh, the agony of stiffling laughter at work
Oh, dear God! I have found the most hysterical site Go fug yourself -- well, it's hysterical if you're like me and my co-worker who love to ridicule celebrities. I don't know what it is -- hatred of all things talentless-pop, revulsion at self-serving celebutaunts (isn't that a great word?), disbelief that people can live in such shallow little bubbles -- but, damn, it's fun to make fun of the Paris Hiltons in this world. Ripping apart clothing at awards shows is highly entertaining -- plus they allow you to ignore the awards show itself and mock everything it stands for. And these ladies have made mockery of these lovely specimens of socitey an artform. And this was pointed out to me in a Wall Stree Journal article, no less!
Monday, September 26, 2005
How quickly she grows
Abigail was gone all weekend to the beach with Nana and Pops. It was very nice not having a child to be responsible for, especially since I had a cold and could sleep as much as I wanted. I started to get anxious today when she was supposed to be getting home, but overall, I wasn't desperately sad that she wasn't there. It's exhausting working and trying to be somewhat of a stay-home mom, so sleep was very nice.
But when I went home for dinner tonight and saw that sweet little girl running to me, I realized how empty life is without her -- even well rested. I just wanted to hold her close for a long time, though of course she's three, and staying still isn't her strong suit. But she did give me a glorious, exuberant hug when I got home, saying joyfully, "I missed (and here, I expected "you, Mommy!") 'Dragon Tales'!" She then jumped down and ran back to the TV. Don't I feel loved! At least Brad's in the same boat. When she went running to him with a giant hug, all she said was, "Where's Mommy?" But she's a very happy kid, so we don't doubt she likes us.
When she is gone, even just for a few days, it seems like she grows exponentially. She just seems bigger, able to speak better. My little baby no longer. I even donated her stroller to a Hurricane Katrina evacuee family last week. Heck if she'll be inclined to sit still rather than walk anymore!
But when I went home for dinner tonight and saw that sweet little girl running to me, I realized how empty life is without her -- even well rested. I just wanted to hold her close for a long time, though of course she's three, and staying still isn't her strong suit. But she did give me a glorious, exuberant hug when I got home, saying joyfully, "I missed (and here, I expected "you, Mommy!") 'Dragon Tales'!" She then jumped down and ran back to the TV. Don't I feel loved! At least Brad's in the same boat. When she went running to him with a giant hug, all she said was, "Where's Mommy?" But she's a very happy kid, so we don't doubt she likes us.
When she is gone, even just for a few days, it seems like she grows exponentially. She just seems bigger, able to speak better. My little baby no longer. I even donated her stroller to a Hurricane Katrina evacuee family last week. Heck if she'll be inclined to sit still rather than walk anymore!
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Still Jumping in my memories
A large part of my youth took a bow and exited stage left last night.
I went to my likely last-ever Jump, Little Children concert last night. I had a great time, laughing with Brad and hearing some great music, but it was a bittersweet evening.
I first discovered JLC driving home for the first time freshman year of college, Thanksgiving 1995. I was somewhere on I-85 in north Georgia and had picked up an Athens station. It was a live, in-studio session with a band with an unlikely combination of instruments: upright bass, cello, harmonica, accordion ... They were playing this wonderful song that belted out "Whoever you are you've gone to far 'cause I need my precious peace and (in a whipser) quiet." I heard one more song, which I later learned was "Dancing Virginia," and found out they were JLC from Charleston. Then I lost the station. When I got back to school, I went straight out to Manifest and picked up Licorice Tea Demos and fell in love. "Quiet," "Dancing Virginia," "Opium," "Smiling Down" ... I don't think I disliked a single song. And it didn't hurt that a friend had also just discovered them from crew, or that my suitemate dug it, too.
My first JLC show was on the shore of Lake Hartwell, where I picked up a shirt and all of the band members signatures. Wish I still had that. I also tried to be cool and talk to the bassist, which probably failed completely, but that didn't stop me from trying at later shows. I went to eight in all, which I didn't realize until I tallied them all up yesterday: Lake Hartwell, The Handlebar in Greenville, CenterCity Fest in Charlotte, a place in Athens I don't remember the name of, Tiger Town Tavern in Clemson, a place in Greenville I don't remember the name of, a double-header at the Visualite in Charlotte, and Tremont in Charlotte. I think three of those were within one 12 month span my senior year. My favorite was probably Athens, where they played for more than two hours and showed a home-made slasher flick, though I also loved the Tiger Town show right before graduation, where I somewhat successfully chatted with the cellist about Europe.
Sadly, this show didn't rank really high. Maybe the club was too hot, maybe it's because Charlotte sucks and has no soul, but they were lacking in their trademark energy. The basisst didn't really jump, the cellist didn't do bizarre things with his tongue, the lead singer hardly spoke. They seemed really distant from the crowd, a huge departure from normal. They played great, and the crazy one that plays all the weird instruments read a story I'd put on the "yearbook" on their website, but it was still a let down. They didn't play anything from Licorice Tea or Buzz. Very, very disappointing. I have never been to a show where they didn't end with "Opium" or I didn't get to jump up and down and do the moon dance with "Smiling Down." And no "Cathedrals"! They seemed in a big rush to get it over with, not a good impression to leave with dedicated fans on a farewell tour. At the other shows, you could tell that performing was the biggest joy in their lives.
Jump was the soundtrack to my youth. Watching them take a final bow last night, I honestly felt an era in my life was ending.
I went to my likely last-ever Jump, Little Children concert last night. I had a great time, laughing with Brad and hearing some great music, but it was a bittersweet evening.
I first discovered JLC driving home for the first time freshman year of college, Thanksgiving 1995. I was somewhere on I-85 in north Georgia and had picked up an Athens station. It was a live, in-studio session with a band with an unlikely combination of instruments: upright bass, cello, harmonica, accordion ... They were playing this wonderful song that belted out "Whoever you are you've gone to far 'cause I need my precious peace and (in a whipser) quiet." I heard one more song, which I later learned was "Dancing Virginia," and found out they were JLC from Charleston. Then I lost the station. When I got back to school, I went straight out to Manifest and picked up Licorice Tea Demos and fell in love. "Quiet," "Dancing Virginia," "Opium," "Smiling Down" ... I don't think I disliked a single song. And it didn't hurt that a friend had also just discovered them from crew, or that my suitemate dug it, too.
My first JLC show was on the shore of Lake Hartwell, where I picked up a shirt and all of the band members signatures. Wish I still had that. I also tried to be cool and talk to the bassist, which probably failed completely, but that didn't stop me from trying at later shows. I went to eight in all, which I didn't realize until I tallied them all up yesterday: Lake Hartwell, The Handlebar in Greenville, CenterCity Fest in Charlotte, a place in Athens I don't remember the name of, Tiger Town Tavern in Clemson, a place in Greenville I don't remember the name of, a double-header at the Visualite in Charlotte, and Tremont in Charlotte. I think three of those were within one 12 month span my senior year. My favorite was probably Athens, where they played for more than two hours and showed a home-made slasher flick, though I also loved the Tiger Town show right before graduation, where I somewhat successfully chatted with the cellist about Europe.
Sadly, this show didn't rank really high. Maybe the club was too hot, maybe it's because Charlotte sucks and has no soul, but they were lacking in their trademark energy. The basisst didn't really jump, the cellist didn't do bizarre things with his tongue, the lead singer hardly spoke. They seemed really distant from the crowd, a huge departure from normal. They played great, and the crazy one that plays all the weird instruments read a story I'd put on the "yearbook" on their website, but it was still a let down. They didn't play anything from Licorice Tea or Buzz. Very, very disappointing. I have never been to a show where they didn't end with "Opium" or I didn't get to jump up and down and do the moon dance with "Smiling Down." And no "Cathedrals"! They seemed in a big rush to get it over with, not a good impression to leave with dedicated fans on a farewell tour. At the other shows, you could tell that performing was the biggest joy in their lives.
Jump was the soundtrack to my youth. Watching them take a final bow last night, I honestly felt an era in my life was ending.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Lovely Rita, meter maid
Just to keep the theme going, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Tom evacuated their Houston-area home at midnight Monday, along with their younger daughter Nikki, older dauther Amy and her family, and poor cousin Lea, who was sent to Houston after her college in Gulfport was wiped out. They're safely ensconsed in a Dallas-area hotel, though of course Houston doesn't seem likely to take the brunt of Rita. At least they left early and weren't stuck in the nightmarish traffic.
Now, what's next -- a tornado plowing through Aunt Kay and Uncle Dave in Illinois?
Now, what's next -- a tornado plowing through Aunt Kay and Uncle Dave in Illinois?
Monday, September 19, 2005
From Lowly beginnings
When you have a 3-year-old, you find yourself being tormented with the very thing you loved/tormented your parents with as a child. Currently, Abigail is fixated on The Berenstain Bears, which was probably my favorite picture book series. Not a huge consolation when having to read "Messy Room" for the millionth time, but still, nice to see the generations build upon each other.
The previous favorite implement of torture was Richard Scarry's "Best First Book Ever." I'm sure we all remember the precocious humor of Richard Scarry (visit this incredibly funny bio, it's great!) -- and the seemingly infinite words on the page labeling everything. Good ol' Lowly Worm and Huckle Cat. My personal favorite as a child was "Busy, Busy World," where Scarry explored countries from Ireland to Algeria to China. (Sadly, it appears this book is too politically incorrect and has been pulled from print. Guess I'll have to eBay it!) It's amazing now to realize how young my fascination with travel and culture began. Those drawings were probably what first put into my head that there was a great big world out there I needed to visit. I still want to see Morrocco -- where I firmly believe I'll meet a fez-wearing dog named Couscous.
The previous favorite implement of torture was Richard Scarry's "Best First Book Ever." I'm sure we all remember the precocious humor of Richard Scarry (visit this incredibly funny bio, it's great!) -- and the seemingly infinite words on the page labeling everything. Good ol' Lowly Worm and Huckle Cat. My personal favorite as a child was "Busy, Busy World," where Scarry explored countries from Ireland to Algeria to China. (Sadly, it appears this book is too politically incorrect and has been pulled from print. Guess I'll have to eBay it!) It's amazing now to realize how young my fascination with travel and culture began. Those drawings were probably what first put into my head that there was a great big world out there I needed to visit. I still want to see Morrocco -- where I firmly believe I'll meet a fez-wearing dog named Couscous.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
La nueva profesora
I have neglected to follow through with the last chapter in the Spanish class saga. I added back the class and now thoroughly enjoy it. The new professor is very engaging, very personable, and most of all, so very competent. She had a Spanish grandfather, lived a while in Spain as a kid, did her master's in Spain, and is mistaken for a Spaniard when she visits. That's a very good sign. And she's German, which of course means she's amazing at languages. I'll definitely learn a lot now -- and enjoy myself doing it.
Ah, those endearing milestones
I am so proud of my little girl. She's 3 years old now, and it's just a joy to watch her. Well, when she's not whining at me all the way through Wal-Mart. But it's fascinating to see her grow into a little girl from a toddler, and her latest achievements are very exciting. (Attention, new photos at end of post.)
The most recent was yesterday. Abigail, in all her sweetness, pushed over her milk at dinner. Mommy and Daddy had been in a rather involved conversation, and she'd had enough. Well, so have Mommy and Daddy of the milk being knocked over. This incident was met with much vociferous scolding and the revocation of ice cream for desert. This is a serious consequence, perhaps the most in her little life. Kid loves ice cream. So she started crying, screaming, giant crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks. Mommy and Daddy just kept repeating, "No. You know not to knock over your milk. No ice cream," and clearing the table, ignoring the tantrum as we've read in countless advice articles. And you know what, damned if it didn't work! Abigail calmed herself down and then came sniffling over to me and said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to knock over my milk (which she pronounces adorably as 'nilk')." Regaining of self-control AND a spontaneous apology. And she never again asked for ice cream, quite contentedly getting back in her booster seat and eating a clementine. I was amazed. I almost wanted to reward her with ice cream ...
The much more monumentous accomplishment is often met with groans from my coworkers, but it is by far the most exciting thing to happen to me in year. Drum roll, please ...
My child is potty trained.
YES!!!! IT'S THRILLING!!!! Pretty soon I will no longer have to talk about pee-pee and poo-poo in everyday conversation! We will no longer go through Resolve like water!
This has been quite the process, largely because Mommy and Daddy have been very lazy and haven't pushed her. So finally, about four weeks ago, we just got rid of diapers during waking hours. Cold turkey -- and much cold pee on the carpet. She knew what to do and that she wasn't doing it, but she just didn't care. She'd be dancing around the room, crossing her legs, obviously in discomfort, but you'd put her on the potty and read three books and she'd never go. Very frustrating. But then, during her third birthday party, I coaxed her into the bathroom, away from the bustle of family. We didn't even get halfway through a book when I heard a beautiful tinkling sound. ... She looked up at me with wide-eyed wonder and said, "Mommy, I went pee-pee." I gave her a huge hug and told her how proud I was, and then we ran out into the living room where she anounced gleefully, at the top of her lungs, "Everybody, I WENT PEE-PEE!" And a huge cheer goes up from the crowd ...
Since then, about a week and a half, we got her to go about once every three days. Then something aparently clicked three days ago, and she's now been consistently going before naptime and bedtime for me. And today, she even told me she needed to go. I'm so happy I could cry.
And now the photos:
Abigial chose the theme for her party by herself, Winnie the Pooh. She wore this hat for at least an hour and had a line under her chin for the rest of the night to prove it. Mommy came up with a lovely honey pot shaped layer cake, which Abbey proclaimed was a square cake and would hear nothing of this honey pot business.
This kid made out like a bandit. Grandma was an especially generous sucker.
Just thought this was a funny face -- not unlike ones I made myself at her age, the "Expression of the day."
What a way to end a party, get a new set of wheels. And Nana and Pops chose a particularly cool retro Radio Flyer trike.
The most recent was yesterday. Abigail, in all her sweetness, pushed over her milk at dinner. Mommy and Daddy had been in a rather involved conversation, and she'd had enough. Well, so have Mommy and Daddy of the milk being knocked over. This incident was met with much vociferous scolding and the revocation of ice cream for desert. This is a serious consequence, perhaps the most in her little life. Kid loves ice cream. So she started crying, screaming, giant crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks. Mommy and Daddy just kept repeating, "No. You know not to knock over your milk. No ice cream," and clearing the table, ignoring the tantrum as we've read in countless advice articles. And you know what, damned if it didn't work! Abigail calmed herself down and then came sniffling over to me and said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to knock over my milk (which she pronounces adorably as 'nilk')." Regaining of self-control AND a spontaneous apology. And she never again asked for ice cream, quite contentedly getting back in her booster seat and eating a clementine. I was amazed. I almost wanted to reward her with ice cream ...
The much more monumentous accomplishment is often met with groans from my coworkers, but it is by far the most exciting thing to happen to me in year. Drum roll, please ...
My child is potty trained.
YES!!!! IT'S THRILLING!!!! Pretty soon I will no longer have to talk about pee-pee and poo-poo in everyday conversation! We will no longer go through Resolve like water!
This has been quite the process, largely because Mommy and Daddy have been very lazy and haven't pushed her. So finally, about four weeks ago, we just got rid of diapers during waking hours. Cold turkey -- and much cold pee on the carpet. She knew what to do and that she wasn't doing it, but she just didn't care. She'd be dancing around the room, crossing her legs, obviously in discomfort, but you'd put her on the potty and read three books and she'd never go. Very frustrating. But then, during her third birthday party, I coaxed her into the bathroom, away from the bustle of family. We didn't even get halfway through a book when I heard a beautiful tinkling sound. ... She looked up at me with wide-eyed wonder and said, "Mommy, I went pee-pee." I gave her a huge hug and told her how proud I was, and then we ran out into the living room where she anounced gleefully, at the top of her lungs, "Everybody, I WENT PEE-PEE!" And a huge cheer goes up from the crowd ...
Since then, about a week and a half, we got her to go about once every three days. Then something aparently clicked three days ago, and she's now been consistently going before naptime and bedtime for me. And today, she even told me she needed to go. I'm so happy I could cry.
And now the photos:
Abigial chose the theme for her party by herself, Winnie the Pooh. She wore this hat for at least an hour and had a line under her chin for the rest of the night to prove it. Mommy came up with a lovely honey pot shaped layer cake, which Abbey proclaimed was a square cake and would hear nothing of this honey pot business.
This kid made out like a bandit. Grandma was an especially generous sucker.
Just thought this was a funny face -- not unlike ones I made myself at her age, the "Expression of the day."
What a way to end a party, get a new set of wheels. And Nana and Pops chose a particularly cool retro Radio Flyer trike.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Update
For what it's worth, the fate of those I knew in the path of Katrina:
Katrinna's Mandeville, La., apartment had some water damage, but from the storm, not flooding, and her cat was safely rescued and taken back to Greer a couple days after the storm. Poor Trinna, this wasn't her August. She also had surgery for endometriosis, during which they discovered she had cancer in her appendix. She turns 29 Wednesday. Thankfully, the cancer had not spread, but she still has to have more surgery to remove other bits of her person to prevent the cancer from coming back. Then comes a storm that will no doubt be mentioned every time she introduces herself for decades.
Aunt Debbie and Uncle Ken fared remarkably well. They had minimal damage to their Gulfport home and were ready to welcome their flooded-out brother's family with their two generators. They already have their land-line phone back, and the nearby Sam's reoppened on a limited basis a few days ago. I'm sure they're still quite hot, and it can't be pleasant bathing and doing laundry in a swimming pool, but not bad at all, considering. My cousin Lea is heading to our aunt's house in Houston to enroll in college there since her communinty college is probably not in the greatest shape.
And mom was peachy, though she had to fly to and drive from Tallahassee on her way back to Pensacola from the big 3rd birthday party last weekend. She was out of power for maybe 12 hours, not even enough time for all the air conditioning to wear off.
Katrinna's Mandeville, La., apartment had some water damage, but from the storm, not flooding, and her cat was safely rescued and taken back to Greer a couple days after the storm. Poor Trinna, this wasn't her August. She also had surgery for endometriosis, during which they discovered she had cancer in her appendix. She turns 29 Wednesday. Thankfully, the cancer had not spread, but she still has to have more surgery to remove other bits of her person to prevent the cancer from coming back. Then comes a storm that will no doubt be mentioned every time she introduces herself for decades.
Aunt Debbie and Uncle Ken fared remarkably well. They had minimal damage to their Gulfport home and were ready to welcome their flooded-out brother's family with their two generators. They already have their land-line phone back, and the nearby Sam's reoppened on a limited basis a few days ago. I'm sure they're still quite hot, and it can't be pleasant bathing and doing laundry in a swimming pool, but not bad at all, considering. My cousin Lea is heading to our aunt's house in Houston to enroll in college there since her communinty college is probably not in the greatest shape.
And mom was peachy, though she had to fly to and drive from Tallahassee on her way back to Pensacola from the big 3rd birthday party last weekend. She was out of power for maybe 12 hours, not even enough time for all the air conditioning to wear off.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Careful, you'll get whiplash
Yesterday, I had quite the rant about my disappointing Spanish class. I've always been one that hates to inconvenience others and will just suck up negative events, but not this time. I wrote an e-mail, and well, most definitely got a response ...
(sent at 4:36 p.m.)
Heather,
Thank you very much for writing and sharing your concerns about the 201 class. I discussed the problem with the instructor, and she has decided not to teach for us. Incidently all of our part-time faculty members have to meet specific criteria because of our accreditation with the Southern Association. And, of course, Dr. xxx was qualified due to her educational and professional experiences.
You will be happy to learn that the instructor for the 5:00 class has been changed to Dr. xxx xxx, Associate Professor of Spanish. Dr. xxx is a full-time professor in the department.
If you have any additional concerns, please do not hesitate to share them with me or with the Dean, Dr. xxx xxx.
Again, thank you for contacting me.
xxx xxx
-----Original Message-----
Sent: Wednesday, August 24, 2005 11:26 AM
Dr. xxx,
I am writing to express my outrage at the incredibly poor teaching quality I saw in my Spanish 201 class with xxx xxx. I am a graduate of Clemson University, class of 1999 valedictorian with a degree in English and French, and now a professional non-degree seeking student who hoped to later go on for a master's in Spanish. I was stunned by what I saw in this class, including improper conjugation of "llamar" and incorrect instructions on article agreement in superlatives. Several students in the class, all of whom, including myself, have only Spanish 102 knowledge, were correcting her. Her pedagogy was attrocious: She read exercises to us to write down, had us repeat them so she could write them on the board without the answers, then rewrote the complete sentences again with the answers. It was painfully slow, and frankly, I could teach myself from the book just as easily and more quickly. Students were practically laughing at her in disbelief.
I have spent a great deal of time arranging my work schedule and tuition reimbursement with my employer, The Herald, and was excited about taking this course and future studies at Winthrop. In my frustration, I have since dropped the class, the only section I could take. I heard several other students saying they planned to do the same. I would gladly add the course back if a different, qualified instructor were found by next week. At the moment I can only pity the undergraduates who need this course for credt -- which they will get while learning very little, possibly incorrect Spanish.
Sincerely,
Heather xxx
(sent at 4:36 p.m.)
Heather,
Thank you very much for writing and sharing your concerns about the 201 class. I discussed the problem with the instructor, and she has decided not to teach for us. Incidently all of our part-time faculty members have to meet specific criteria because of our accreditation with the Southern Association. And, of course, Dr. xxx was qualified due to her educational and professional experiences.
You will be happy to learn that the instructor for the 5:00 class has been changed to Dr. xxx xxx, Associate Professor of Spanish. Dr. xxx is a full-time professor in the department.
If you have any additional concerns, please do not hesitate to share them with me or with the Dean, Dr. xxx xxx.
Again, thank you for contacting me.
xxx xxx
-----Original Message-----
Sent: Wednesday, August 24, 2005 11:26 AM
Dr. xxx,
I am writing to express my outrage at the incredibly poor teaching quality I saw in my Spanish 201 class with xxx xxx. I am a graduate of Clemson University, class of 1999 valedictorian with a degree in English and French, and now a professional non-degree seeking student who hoped to later go on for a master's in Spanish. I was stunned by what I saw in this class, including improper conjugation of "llamar" and incorrect instructions on article agreement in superlatives. Several students in the class, all of whom, including myself, have only Spanish 102 knowledge, were correcting her. Her pedagogy was attrocious: She read exercises to us to write down, had us repeat them so she could write them on the board without the answers, then rewrote the complete sentences again with the answers. It was painfully slow, and frankly, I could teach myself from the book just as easily and more quickly. Students were practically laughing at her in disbelief.
I have spent a great deal of time arranging my work schedule and tuition reimbursement with my employer, The Herald, and was excited about taking this course and future studies at Winthrop. In my frustration, I have since dropped the class, the only section I could take. I heard several other students saying they planned to do the same. I would gladly add the course back if a different, qualified instructor were found by next week. At the moment I can only pity the undergraduates who need this course for credt -- which they will get while learning very little, possibly incorrect Spanish.
Sincerely,
Heather xxx
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
!Estoy furiosa!
Can't do the upsidedown exclamation point ...
I am so muy, muy ticked off!
I have been looking forward to taking Spanish 201 for several months -- if you don't count the three years since I took 102 and couldn't immediately continue. My company approved paying for tuition, and I have been reviewing heavily for a couple months, very excited about learning another language and a bit alarmed at what I'd forgotten. Today was the first day of classes at Winthrop (so mad, I don't want to link), and I was as giddy as a kindergartner. I'd even bought a special new tote bag for the occasion. All I was lacking were bows in my hair and a new lunchbox.
I asked alumni coworkers for the best place to park, zoomed right in on my dinner break, settled into my chair-and-desk-in-one, and anxiously looked around at the young'uns in my class. The teacher -- I refuse to call her professor -- started class, and at first I was just annoyed that she was a soft speaker and there was a roaring ventilation system. Then I could hear what she was saying ...
The woman was misconjugating me llamo, the most basic saying that even people who've never had a Spanish class know. She then proceeded to botch the language so severely, from a thick Southern accent to noun-adjective agreement to everything else, that students were correcting her. People were practically laughing at her. And her "teaching" style consisted of reading to us from a worksheet, having us then read back exactly what she'd said (including blanks and the words you were supposed to change), writing that on the board, then writing the actual answers -- again in full sentences -- on the board. Three sentences took 5 minutes at least. I was about to go out of my mind. I'm not conveying it fully, but it was horrible. A girl had spent the summer in the Dominican Republic, and she was in disbelief at what the woman was saying. I have no idea what the woman's credentials are, but they were sorely inadequate. I heard at least a few people saying they were going to drop -- including myself!
I was fuming! What a colossal waste of money and time! I KNOW I can teach myself better from my old Spanish book, then take the CLEP test, get credit for 201 and start with a REAL professor in a higher course in the spring. The class was more than $1,000, the book more than $160, and don't forget my registration fees and immunizations!
I have never been in such a horrible college class. The only class at Clemson that I thought was really bad was my English 203 class, where the teacher brought in a recording -- as in vinyl -- of "King Lear" and proceeded to play it for three days. As a result, I skipped my first ever class. I had no other classes where I just could not stand to sit through them over the rest of my four years (though I did skip occasionally after that). I feel so incredibly bad for the kids that need this Spanish credit specifically this semester and can't drop. But it would be absolutely absurd for me, a professional who already has a degree, to waste even one more hour in that class.
So I came back to work, complained to my coworkers, who had seen me glowing with excitement, and DROPPED THE DAMN COURSE.
I was so frustrated and mad I wanted to cry. I am so disappointed. Brad says I shouldn't drop but should e-mail the department head and demand a better teacher. I don't know if they could/would actually do that, but I am going to write the e-mail, whether I add the class back or not. Dear God, it was horrible.
I am so muy, muy ticked off!
I have been looking forward to taking Spanish 201 for several months -- if you don't count the three years since I took 102 and couldn't immediately continue. My company approved paying for tuition, and I have been reviewing heavily for a couple months, very excited about learning another language and a bit alarmed at what I'd forgotten. Today was the first day of classes at Winthrop (so mad, I don't want to link), and I was as giddy as a kindergartner. I'd even bought a special new tote bag for the occasion. All I was lacking were bows in my hair and a new lunchbox.
I asked alumni coworkers for the best place to park, zoomed right in on my dinner break, settled into my chair-and-desk-in-one, and anxiously looked around at the young'uns in my class. The teacher -- I refuse to call her professor -- started class, and at first I was just annoyed that she was a soft speaker and there was a roaring ventilation system. Then I could hear what she was saying ...
The woman was misconjugating me llamo, the most basic saying that even people who've never had a Spanish class know. She then proceeded to botch the language so severely, from a thick Southern accent to noun-adjective agreement to everything else, that students were correcting her. People were practically laughing at her. And her "teaching" style consisted of reading to us from a worksheet, having us then read back exactly what she'd said (including blanks and the words you were supposed to change), writing that on the board, then writing the actual answers -- again in full sentences -- on the board. Three sentences took 5 minutes at least. I was about to go out of my mind. I'm not conveying it fully, but it was horrible. A girl had spent the summer in the Dominican Republic, and she was in disbelief at what the woman was saying. I have no idea what the woman's credentials are, but they were sorely inadequate. I heard at least a few people saying they were going to drop -- including myself!
I was fuming! What a colossal waste of money and time! I KNOW I can teach myself better from my old Spanish book, then take the CLEP test, get credit for 201 and start with a REAL professor in a higher course in the spring. The class was more than $1,000, the book more than $160, and don't forget my registration fees and immunizations!
I have never been in such a horrible college class. The only class at Clemson that I thought was really bad was my English 203 class, where the teacher brought in a recording -- as in vinyl -- of "King Lear" and proceeded to play it for three days. As a result, I skipped my first ever class. I had no other classes where I just could not stand to sit through them over the rest of my four years (though I did skip occasionally after that). I feel so incredibly bad for the kids that need this Spanish credit specifically this semester and can't drop. But it would be absolutely absurd for me, a professional who already has a degree, to waste even one more hour in that class.
So I came back to work, complained to my coworkers, who had seen me glowing with excitement, and DROPPED THE DAMN COURSE.
I was so frustrated and mad I wanted to cry. I am so disappointed. Brad says I shouldn't drop but should e-mail the department head and demand a better teacher. I don't know if they could/would actually do that, but I am going to write the e-mail, whether I add the class back or not. Dear God, it was horrible.
something different, yet oddly reminiscent of recent posts
Your personality type is SCOAN
The largest representation of your personality type can be found in the these U.S. cities: Reno, San Diego, Cleveland, Providence, Kansas City, Greenville/Spartanburg, Dallas/Ft. Worth, Orange County, Houston, Charlotte, Columbus and these international countries/regions Kazakhstan, India, South Korea, Ukraine, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Indonesia, Thailand, Romania, Russia, Norway, Switzerland, Middle East, Italy
Powered by CityCulture.org
Two comments on this: There's Greenville/Spartanburg again. I think these things are trying to tell me something. Then again, comment number 2: Kazakhstan???
Sunday, August 21, 2005
There but for the grace ...
Since Brad is quite into this at the moment, I thought I'd share my Myers-Briggs results, though they're slightly different from when we did this with marriage counseling. Of course, I've also become a very different person since then ...
ESFJ
Strengths: 11 percent Extroverted
25 percent Sensing
62 percent Feeling
56 percent Judging
* slightly expressed extrovert
* moderately expressed sensing personality
* distinctively expressed feeling personality
* moderately expressed judging personality
Provider Guardian
This seems fairly right, though I'm so slightly extroverted that the perfect hostess bit is a bit off. And I certainly can't see myself in sales! I have an incredibly sense of responsibility, a desire to be involved in things like church and charities to make a difference, and I definitely think I'm a giving person -- though perhaps too much sometimes, like always agreeing to switch my schedule for other people to be off. I'm a shy extrovert, for whatever sense that makes. I love being with people, I get depressed when I'm too alone and inactive, but I'm so incredibly nervous about meeting new people. I'm one of those hang on the side of the room with people you know types at parties, though I do enjoy having people over and the idea of dinner parties. Oh well, that's what happens when you try to pigeonhole people!
But as for what I'd do if I hadn't gone to college, that's a really scary question. I have experience in clerical stuff, but what I love is language and communication. While it's theoretically possible to become a journalist without at degree, they usually require you to complete one as you work, so I'm not sure that would count for this hypothetical. I'm not particularly good with my hands, so trades are out. I guess I might have gotten at two-year nursing degree, but I've never been that interested in biology.
It's a difficult thing to get your mind around, the idea of not going to college. My whole life was geared that way. When I was in junior high, I thought I would be a history professor. I was in honors classes where it wasn't a question of if you'd go to college but where. Heck, my whole high school was pretty much like that, something like 90 percent of us went on for some kind of higher education. Looking at the options that remain if you don't go, I feel bad for those who can't!
I do agree that there are many people in college who shouldn't be -- several business majors I knew come to mind, especially the infamous Jeremiah. Part of that stems from the coddled state of many middle- to upper-class children, though. They can't conceive of having to work for something. They've always just coasted and turned to mom and dad, so they coast through college with C's and a business degree and get some job that is just for them to make money and go on with the rest of their lives. Not to say there aren't passionate, hard-working business majors out there. You find people like this in almost any major. Girls at college for their MRS, guys there as a way to legitimize partying. It's sad, they are the ones that bring the rigor level of universities down.
ESFJ
Strengths: 11 percent Extroverted
25 percent Sensing
62 percent Feeling
56 percent Judging
* slightly expressed extrovert
* moderately expressed sensing personality
* distinctively expressed feeling personality
* moderately expressed judging personality
Provider Guardian
This seems fairly right, though I'm so slightly extroverted that the perfect hostess bit is a bit off. And I certainly can't see myself in sales! I have an incredibly sense of responsibility, a desire to be involved in things like church and charities to make a difference, and I definitely think I'm a giving person -- though perhaps too much sometimes, like always agreeing to switch my schedule for other people to be off. I'm a shy extrovert, for whatever sense that makes. I love being with people, I get depressed when I'm too alone and inactive, but I'm so incredibly nervous about meeting new people. I'm one of those hang on the side of the room with people you know types at parties, though I do enjoy having people over and the idea of dinner parties. Oh well, that's what happens when you try to pigeonhole people!
But as for what I'd do if I hadn't gone to college, that's a really scary question. I have experience in clerical stuff, but what I love is language and communication. While it's theoretically possible to become a journalist without at degree, they usually require you to complete one as you work, so I'm not sure that would count for this hypothetical. I'm not particularly good with my hands, so trades are out. I guess I might have gotten at two-year nursing degree, but I've never been that interested in biology.
It's a difficult thing to get your mind around, the idea of not going to college. My whole life was geared that way. When I was in junior high, I thought I would be a history professor. I was in honors classes where it wasn't a question of if you'd go to college but where. Heck, my whole high school was pretty much like that, something like 90 percent of us went on for some kind of higher education. Looking at the options that remain if you don't go, I feel bad for those who can't!
I do agree that there are many people in college who shouldn't be -- several business majors I knew come to mind, especially the infamous Jeremiah. Part of that stems from the coddled state of many middle- to upper-class children, though. They can't conceive of having to work for something. They've always just coasted and turned to mom and dad, so they coast through college with C's and a business degree and get some job that is just for them to make money and go on with the rest of their lives. Not to say there aren't passionate, hard-working business majors out there. You find people like this in almost any major. Girls at college for their MRS, guys there as a way to legitimize partying. It's sad, they are the ones that bring the rigor level of universities down.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
It's a mania!
Wow, that city list thing just exploded, huh? I must say, though, seeing other people's lists, I definitely agree with Smitty that towns must have been paying to be on that site. Why else would so many people get Tulsa and Sheboygan? And Palm Springs, Calif., out of nowhere? Johnson City, Clarksville, Little Rock ... they're all suspicious. As my sister noted, where was New York? Or even Charlotte, for those of us with heavily Southeastern lists (not that I'm recommending it, really). Or Atlanta? Interestingly, all places people are already moving to ...
Anyway, that was fun! Thanks Chiff! Now you just need to add to the hilarity by posting pictures of that pimped-out car!
Anyway, that was fun! Thanks Chiff! Now you just need to add to the hilarity by posting pictures of that pimped-out car!
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Home sweet home
According to this site, this is the list of top 24 cities for me. A friend did it with the purpose of finding a place to live, but I just did it for fun. These are so completely unsurprising! If I had come up with this list off the top of my head, many of the top 10 have been there anyway -- I've talked about Asheville and Roanoke since I was 18 -- uh, not Tulsa. But am I predictable or what? Sad thing is, if Brad did this survey, his answers would be NO WHERE NEAR MINE. Good thing reality isn't an Internet quiz.
1. Asheville, NC
2. Roanoke, VA
3. Chattanooga, TN
4. Brevard, NC
5. Johnson City-Kingston, TN
6. Greenville, SC
7. Hickory, NC
8. Boone, NC
9. Maryville, TN
10. Knoxville, TN
11. Tulsa, OK
12. Charlottesville, VA
13. Hendersonville, NC
14. Lynchburg, VA
15. Waynesville, NC
16. Clarksville, TN
17. Berea, KY
18. Culpeper, VA
19. Abingdon, VA
20. Morganton, NC
21. Clayton, GA -- the fruitcake place? maybe not
22. Gainsville, GA
23. Mount Airy, NC -- start whistling!
24. Palm Springs, CA -- where did that come from?!
1. Asheville, NC
2. Roanoke, VA
3. Chattanooga, TN
4. Brevard, NC
5. Johnson City-Kingston, TN
6. Greenville, SC
7. Hickory, NC
8. Boone, NC
9. Maryville, TN
10. Knoxville, TN
11. Tulsa, OK
12. Charlottesville, VA
13. Hendersonville, NC
14. Lynchburg, VA
15. Waynesville, NC
16. Clarksville, TN
17. Berea, KY
18. Culpeper, VA
19. Abingdon, VA
20. Morganton, NC
21. Clayton, GA -- the fruitcake place? maybe not
22. Gainsville, GA
23. Mount Airy, NC -- start whistling!
24. Palm Springs, CA -- where did that come from?!
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Breaking news
And yet another way to keep tabs on Ayzair! For some of my better pages, check out my portfolio on News Page Designer. I just started playing with this tonight, so hopefully it will be updated and improved as things go along.
Extra, extra! Read all about it!
If anyone is curious about what I actually do for a living, go to Newseum.org. A very cool site, you can look up front pages from around the world, including an archive of monumental events, like Sept. 11, 2001. My paper just signed up to put our pages on there, so you can now keep occasional tabs on how I spend my nights. The page on there currently is mine (with a WWII vet), but they update daily and I only do the front twice a week. Anyway, fun stuff. Search by region for South Carolina and then Rock Hill.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Motherhood
A little anecdote to start this off. This afternoon, Abigail started begging her daddy to put on some music. Specifically The Cars. Kid loves her some Cars. And when I went home for dinner, what was on the stereo? The Cars. She wouldn't leave Daddy alone until he put it on. So at my house, the listening options include and are limited to The Cars and Bob the Builder.
On a sweeter note, Abigail came stumbling into our room very early one morning last week. A little "Mommy" alerted me to her presence, and I skooched over a bit so she could climb up next to me. I was so tired, I didn't even roll over to see what time it was. Abbey laid down on my arm with her blankies cuddled up to her face and promptly dosed back off. I just laid there watching her through half-closed eyes, feeling her twitch slightly each time sleep started to take over. She even cried out quietly once, fighting the sleep. I enjoyed the moment for a few minutes -- the first time she's ever crawled into bed with me and not immediately started kicking and telling me to get up -- before mustering the energy to pick her up and put her back in her own bed. Thankfully, she slept another couple of hours, but wasn't a bad early wake up call after all.
The overwhelming flood of love for my child still sometimes surprises me. This will sound horrible, but I really didn't connect to her very quickly. For months she was a responsibility that was sometimes cute, but I really didn't have a strong emotion toward her. I left her that first day in the NICU without tears. I visited her twice a day for those five weeks, but I mainly got bored and sleepy. I was incredibly guilty about this for a long time. I think part of it was post-partum depression, if that can kick in two months after the fact, and part was how small Abbey was, just sleeping for months. And I'm sure not knowing a soul in Charlotte didn't help. The early baby months were extremely difficult emotionally, up until about 6 months when she started to get responsive. I loved her, but it wasn't this consuming desire to squeeze her tight and kiss her. Well, when she's not tired and grumpy, when I then want to hand her over to Nana and happily wave good-bye!
On a sweeter note, Abigail came stumbling into our room very early one morning last week. A little "Mommy" alerted me to her presence, and I skooched over a bit so she could climb up next to me. I was so tired, I didn't even roll over to see what time it was. Abbey laid down on my arm with her blankies cuddled up to her face and promptly dosed back off. I just laid there watching her through half-closed eyes, feeling her twitch slightly each time sleep started to take over. She even cried out quietly once, fighting the sleep. I enjoyed the moment for a few minutes -- the first time she's ever crawled into bed with me and not immediately started kicking and telling me to get up -- before mustering the energy to pick her up and put her back in her own bed. Thankfully, she slept another couple of hours, but wasn't a bad early wake up call after all.
The overwhelming flood of love for my child still sometimes surprises me. This will sound horrible, but I really didn't connect to her very quickly. For months she was a responsibility that was sometimes cute, but I really didn't have a strong emotion toward her. I left her that first day in the NICU without tears. I visited her twice a day for those five weeks, but I mainly got bored and sleepy. I was incredibly guilty about this for a long time. I think part of it was post-partum depression, if that can kick in two months after the fact, and part was how small Abbey was, just sleeping for months. And I'm sure not knowing a soul in Charlotte didn't help. The early baby months were extremely difficult emotionally, up until about 6 months when she started to get responsive. I loved her, but it wasn't this consuming desire to squeeze her tight and kiss her. Well, when she's not tired and grumpy, when I then want to hand her over to Nana and happily wave good-bye!
Sunday, July 24, 2005
A big plate of pasketti
A question for my linguistic connections. It seems that every small child calls spaghetti pasketti. My sister did, Abbey does, it's a common joke about small children. What is this word so universally bungled? Is sp a late-developing phonetic combination? And the real question, do Italian children do the same thing? Or does the accent and gesturing preserve them from that fate?
Friday, July 22, 2005
A budding musician?
When you're nearly 3, there are many things you want to try. And though you may watch Mommy blow across the mouthpiece, heck if you can figure out quite how she does it. Somehow, the whole "blow across a bottle" analogy doesn't work, either.
"Hmm, I think this is how she was holding it. Let's see ..."
"Maybe if I flip it around this way, Alpine style."
"Here, Pink Duckie, let me show you."
"Hmm, I think this is how she was holding it. Let's see ..."
"Maybe if I flip it around this way, Alpine style."
"Here, Pink Duckie, let me show you."
Keepin' it in the family
Well, fresh London bombings mean a fresh link to Ayzair's family. This time, it was my sister's work tube stop that was involved, Warren Street. Obviously, she's fine. But if you know me, watch your back! You never know what new catastrophe will somehow be connected to me and mine!
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Behind the scenes of history
While many of you may have seen what appeared to be a suppressed smile or laugh by John Roberts, the Supreme Court nominee, I doubt many news outlets showed you why. I initially though it was just an effort not to grin like an idiot thinking, "I'm nominated to the Supreme Court! I'm nominated to the Supreme Court!" But no, it was little Jack. Frankly, I'm surprised there wasn't more commotion. Though I did notice they never panned to the kids when Roberts was talking about them later -- no doubt they'd been yanked out of the room long before ...
President Bush introduces his nominee for the Supreme Court, John G. Roberts Jr., left, as his son John, dances, and wife Jane and daughter Josephine, look on in the State Dining Room at the White House, Tuesday, July 19, 2005, in Washington. President Bush chose federal appeals court judge John G. Roberts Jr. on Tuesday as his first nominee for the Supreme Court, selecting a rock solid conservative whose nomination could trigger a tumultuous battle over the direction of the nation's highest court. (AP Photo/Charles Dharapak)
President Bush introduces his nominee for the Supreme Court, John G. Roberts Jr., left, as his son John, dances, and wife Jane and daughter Josephine, look on in the State Dining Room at the White House, Tuesday, July 19, 2005, in Washington. President Bush chose federal appeals court judge John G. Roberts Jr. on Tuesday as his first nominee for the Supreme Court, selecting a rock solid conservative whose nomination could trigger a tumultuous battle over the direction of the nation's highest court. (AP Photo/Charles Dharapak)
Monday, July 18, 2005
The behemoth is done!
I have finally finished "The Mists of Avalon," all nearly 900 pages of it. Now, there were lots of parts that I really liked, but no doubt what I'm going to say will tick off my closest mommy friend and fantasy readers in general.
First, this book was incredibly hard to get into. I read at least 50 pages before I actually wanted to keep reading. I almost put it down after the first two pages, when the adjective shaken was used at least three times for the same character. Variety, please! If I weren't reading it in a group, I doubt I would have kept going. But I figured surely something had to be there since so many people loved it.
And something was there. The Arthur story is always compelling, and it was interesting to read about old pagan ways for a while. There wasn't much else to learn about Beltane after a bit, but it was still interesting. But around page 600, I was just plain ready to read a different story. I knew pretty much who was going to kill who in the end, and I was tired of reading the fantasy style. I've never been big on fantasy, and as I kept going, the characters just blended. Gwenhwyfar could have been Morgain or Igraine or Morgause half the time. Yes, they said very different things, but every single character flew into rages at the drop of a hat, went from religious ecstasy to complete doubt in paragraphs, etc. I'm sorry, but not every person is that dramatically emotional. The religious Druids and priestesses were always self-righteous, but you only rarely saw them being actually religious, other than Beltane. And the characters seemd to have very poor hearing and/or memory, because characters would say things in a large crowd, and a few chapters later, it was brand new again -- like Lancelet not knowing Nimue was in Avalon. Duh, Morgaine said that. I just got very irritated with inconsistencies.
And what the heck was up with Raven and Morgaine? Where did that come from? They'd earlier been saying how gay men were denying the Goddess and life tides and so forth, but then lesbianism is fine? A higher expression of the Goddess, no less? That was probably the most obnoxious contradiction.
The character of Gwenhwyfar (heck if I can spell that) was maddening, and I know she was supposed to be, but I pains me when Christianity is so skewed. She was always saying God was punishing her, which reminded me of a girl I knew in high school. I found out a couple years ago that she had become Wiccan, largely because of the incredible guilt trip she had be given by her mother, a devout Eastern Orthodox. Her mother was dying of cancer and actually told her perhaps 15-year-old daughter that it was her fault, God hated her, she wasn't praying hard enough, etc. So now, understandably, this woman doesn't trust Christians in the slightest. She was quoted in an article on Wicca, and the scorn in her words was incredible. It just amazes me when a religion that is about a God of LOVE can be so thwarted. And I'm sure that woman has read this book and had her stereotypes reinforced tenfold.
Of course, I don't doubt this book was a fairly accurate representation of fourth century Christianity. And I say all of this as a liberal protestant, and I'm sure there are many still today that would disagree with me. But it was still irritating.
That said, overall it was a pretty good book. Overdone in spots, long winded, but a good story (how could it not be) and interesting historical perspective. There were days in the middle when I didn't want to put it down. But I was slogging at the end and would recommend Mary Stewart's take on the legend, "The Crystal Cave" and sequals, instead.
Still speaking to me, Amber? Don't tell Janet! :)
First, this book was incredibly hard to get into. I read at least 50 pages before I actually wanted to keep reading. I almost put it down after the first two pages, when the adjective shaken was used at least three times for the same character. Variety, please! If I weren't reading it in a group, I doubt I would have kept going. But I figured surely something had to be there since so many people loved it.
And something was there. The Arthur story is always compelling, and it was interesting to read about old pagan ways for a while. There wasn't much else to learn about Beltane after a bit, but it was still interesting. But around page 600, I was just plain ready to read a different story. I knew pretty much who was going to kill who in the end, and I was tired of reading the fantasy style. I've never been big on fantasy, and as I kept going, the characters just blended. Gwenhwyfar could have been Morgain or Igraine or Morgause half the time. Yes, they said very different things, but every single character flew into rages at the drop of a hat, went from religious ecstasy to complete doubt in paragraphs, etc. I'm sorry, but not every person is that dramatically emotional. The religious Druids and priestesses were always self-righteous, but you only rarely saw them being actually religious, other than Beltane. And the characters seemd to have very poor hearing and/or memory, because characters would say things in a large crowd, and a few chapters later, it was brand new again -- like Lancelet not knowing Nimue was in Avalon. Duh, Morgaine said that. I just got very irritated with inconsistencies.
And what the heck was up with Raven and Morgaine? Where did that come from? They'd earlier been saying how gay men were denying the Goddess and life tides and so forth, but then lesbianism is fine? A higher expression of the Goddess, no less? That was probably the most obnoxious contradiction.
The character of Gwenhwyfar (heck if I can spell that) was maddening, and I know she was supposed to be, but I pains me when Christianity is so skewed. She was always saying God was punishing her, which reminded me of a girl I knew in high school. I found out a couple years ago that she had become Wiccan, largely because of the incredible guilt trip she had be given by her mother, a devout Eastern Orthodox. Her mother was dying of cancer and actually told her perhaps 15-year-old daughter that it was her fault, God hated her, she wasn't praying hard enough, etc. So now, understandably, this woman doesn't trust Christians in the slightest. She was quoted in an article on Wicca, and the scorn in her words was incredible. It just amazes me when a religion that is about a God of LOVE can be so thwarted. And I'm sure that woman has read this book and had her stereotypes reinforced tenfold.
Of course, I don't doubt this book was a fairly accurate representation of fourth century Christianity. And I say all of this as a liberal protestant, and I'm sure there are many still today that would disagree with me. But it was still irritating.
That said, overall it was a pretty good book. Overdone in spots, long winded, but a good story (how could it not be) and interesting historical perspective. There were days in the middle when I didn't want to put it down. But I was slogging at the end and would recommend Mary Stewart's take on the legend, "The Crystal Cave" and sequals, instead.
Still speaking to me, Amber? Don't tell Janet! :)
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Jumping Little Children coming to a venue near you!
Okay, the following could be your last chances to see Jump in concert!
9/17 Variety Playhouse in Atlanta
9/22 and 23 Tremont Music Hall in Charlotte
9/24 Georgia Theater in Athens
9/26 Headliners in Columbia
No Florida dates as yet.
This pubilc service announcement brought to you by an Opium addict.
9/17 Variety Playhouse in Atlanta
9/22 and 23 Tremont Music Hall in Charlotte
9/24 Georgia Theater in Athens
9/26 Headliners in Columbia
No Florida dates as yet.
This pubilc service announcement brought to you by an Opium addict.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
I actually love these things, call me crazy
1. First Name:Heather
2. Were you named after anyone? My parents had a dear friend Heather in Australia before I was born, but they say they just liked the name
3. Do you wish on stars? No, but I do wish on green and yellow M&Ms and the clasp of my necklace when it's down at the pendant
4. When did you last cry? I teard up one day when Abbey was at the beach with her Nana when I said something she says a lot, though I don't think I actually cried.
5. Do you like your handwriting? I used to hate it, but now it reminds me of my dad's
6. What is your favorite lunch meat? Depends. Virginia baked ham or roast beef
7. What is your birth date? 23 July 1977 -- still enough time for shipping!
8. What is your most embarrassing CD? One of the first CDs I bought at 13 was Mariah Carey. I don't think I ever listened to it all the way through.
9. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you? I think so, though I'd be really hard to meet since I'm so shy at first
10. Are you a daredevil? not really
11. Who is your favorite cartoon character? There's this incredibly cute PBS show about an Irish pig named Piggly Winks
12. Do looks matter? Yeah, but a guy has to live up to the looks when he opens his mouth
13. How do you release anger? I throw a tantrum. Sad but true. I jump up and down and yell. Or throw spatulas at college roommates.
14. Where is your second home? Clemson, SC
15. Do you trust others easily? Very
16. What was your favorite toy as a child? Barbies and Cabbage Patch Kids
17. What class in high school do you think was totally useless? My biology class. My teacher curved the grades so much I got 125% one quarter. And she was crazy, got her hair done once a week in a giant beehive, which she would scratch a lot as the week drew to an end. And very creepy cultures were growing in the room, and I'm not sure they were all intentional.
18. Do you have a journal? Did until junior year of college, when I realized I was only repeating what I'd already told my girlfriends
19. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Noooo, never.
20. What are your nicknames? Don't really have any now, but I used to be Buxton, Bucky, Yasmine, H (hated that one), Yazz, Heather Feather, and the cruel middle school boys called me Bob
21. Would you bungee jump? No, but I'd parasail
22. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Only my sneakers
23. Do you think that you are strong? Emotionally, very
24. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Cassis or dark chocolate with raspberries
25. Shoe Size? 8.5 or 9
26. Red or pink? dark red
27. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? way way way too shy
28. Who do you miss most? Daddy
30. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Blue jeans and brown sandals
31. What are you listening to right now? the police scanner and the whir of a very loud computer
32. Last thing you ate? a blueberry muffin from the vending machine
33. If you were a color what would you be? a dark green or blue
34. What is the weather like right now? humid, not too hot, smoky from the fireworks the city just set off -- happy Bastille Day! -- er belated Fourth!
36. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? eyes, height, coloring
37. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Smitty's been one of my closest friends for a decade now -- awwwww
38. Favorite Drink? cappuccino
39. Favorite Sport? hiking
40. Hair Color? dark brown
41. Eye Color? brown with moments of hazel
42.Do you wear contacts? used to
43. Favorite Food? Bread. Pain. Brot. Did I mention bread? Oh, and chocolate.
44. Last Movie You Watched? Luther -- a bit disappointing
45. Favorite Day of the Year? Christmas Eve
46. Scary Movies or Happy Endings? I like to cry
47. Summer or Winter? Winter
48. Hugs or Kisses? Hugs and kisses on the neck
49. What Is Your Favorite Dessert? Chocolate anything
52. Living Arrangements? two-story townhouse shared with husband and daughter and lots of books
53. What Books Are You Reading? Mists of Avalon and many, many kids books
54. What's On Your Mouse Pad? tonight's computer features the Marine Corps -- I rotate work desks
55. What Did You Watch Last night on TV? might have checked the 24-hour weather radar channel
56. Favorite Smells? freshly ground coffee, fresh baked bread, tobacco, Abbey's hair after her bath, 6-month-old babies
57. Favorite Flower? daffodils, daffodils, daffodils -- and some narcissus thrown in there
58. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Beatles.
59. Do you believe in Evolution or Creation? Evolution caused by God
60. What's the furthest you've been from home? Prague, Czech Republic
61. What made you spend all of your time filling this damn thing out? Waiting, waiting, waiting for a story at work
2. Were you named after anyone? My parents had a dear friend Heather in Australia before I was born, but they say they just liked the name
3. Do you wish on stars? No, but I do wish on green and yellow M&Ms and the clasp of my necklace when it's down at the pendant
4. When did you last cry? I teard up one day when Abbey was at the beach with her Nana when I said something she says a lot, though I don't think I actually cried.
5. Do you like your handwriting? I used to hate it, but now it reminds me of my dad's
6. What is your favorite lunch meat? Depends. Virginia baked ham or roast beef
7. What is your birth date? 23 July 1977 -- still enough time for shipping!
8. What is your most embarrassing CD? One of the first CDs I bought at 13 was Mariah Carey. I don't think I ever listened to it all the way through.
9. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you? I think so, though I'd be really hard to meet since I'm so shy at first
10. Are you a daredevil? not really
11. Who is your favorite cartoon character? There's this incredibly cute PBS show about an Irish pig named Piggly Winks
12. Do looks matter? Yeah, but a guy has to live up to the looks when he opens his mouth
13. How do you release anger? I throw a tantrum. Sad but true. I jump up and down and yell. Or throw spatulas at college roommates.
14. Where is your second home? Clemson, SC
15. Do you trust others easily? Very
16. What was your favorite toy as a child? Barbies and Cabbage Patch Kids
17. What class in high school do you think was totally useless? My biology class. My teacher curved the grades so much I got 125% one quarter. And she was crazy, got her hair done once a week in a giant beehive, which she would scratch a lot as the week drew to an end. And very creepy cultures were growing in the room, and I'm not sure they were all intentional.
18. Do you have a journal? Did until junior year of college, when I realized I was only repeating what I'd already told my girlfriends
19. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Noooo, never.
20. What are your nicknames? Don't really have any now, but I used to be Buxton, Bucky, Yasmine, H (hated that one), Yazz, Heather Feather, and the cruel middle school boys called me Bob
21. Would you bungee jump? No, but I'd parasail
22. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Only my sneakers
23. Do you think that you are strong? Emotionally, very
24. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Cassis or dark chocolate with raspberries
25. Shoe Size? 8.5 or 9
26. Red or pink? dark red
27. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? way way way too shy
28. Who do you miss most? Daddy
30. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Blue jeans and brown sandals
31. What are you listening to right now? the police scanner and the whir of a very loud computer
32. Last thing you ate? a blueberry muffin from the vending machine
33. If you were a color what would you be? a dark green or blue
34. What is the weather like right now? humid, not too hot, smoky from the fireworks the city just set off -- happy Bastille Day! -- er belated Fourth!
36. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? eyes, height, coloring
37. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Smitty's been one of my closest friends for a decade now -- awwwww
38. Favorite Drink? cappuccino
39. Favorite Sport? hiking
40. Hair Color? dark brown
41. Eye Color? brown with moments of hazel
42.Do you wear contacts? used to
43. Favorite Food? Bread. Pain. Brot. Did I mention bread? Oh, and chocolate.
44. Last Movie You Watched? Luther -- a bit disappointing
45. Favorite Day of the Year? Christmas Eve
46. Scary Movies or Happy Endings? I like to cry
47. Summer or Winter? Winter
48. Hugs or Kisses? Hugs and kisses on the neck
49. What Is Your Favorite Dessert? Chocolate anything
52. Living Arrangements? two-story townhouse shared with husband and daughter and lots of books
53. What Books Are You Reading? Mists of Avalon and many, many kids books
54. What's On Your Mouse Pad? tonight's computer features the Marine Corps -- I rotate work desks
55. What Did You Watch Last night on TV? might have checked the 24-hour weather radar channel
56. Favorite Smells? freshly ground coffee, fresh baked bread, tobacco, Abbey's hair after her bath, 6-month-old babies
57. Favorite Flower? daffodils, daffodils, daffodils -- and some narcissus thrown in there
58. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Beatles.
59. Do you believe in Evolution or Creation? Evolution caused by God
60. What's the furthest you've been from home? Prague, Czech Republic
61. What made you spend all of your time filling this damn thing out? Waiting, waiting, waiting for a story at work
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Nobody puts Baby in a corner
Dear God, someone save me from myself! For about an hour now, I've had the stupid resort song from "Dirty Dancing" stuck in my head. You know, "At Kellerman's the friendships last long as the mountain stands." It's driving me crazy! -- and no, I haven't seen the movie in years. But if I ever did, I bet I'd still be able to quote about half of it. I'm sure any female about my age reading this can relate -- or if you can't, you sure didn't go to many slumber parties in, what, 1987, 1988, 1989. Though I think by '89 or '90, I'd switched my favorite movie to a lesser-known Molly Ringwald flick, "For Keeps?" Don't ask me why that appealed to a 12-year-old. Thankfully, that one only lasted a summer before I was introduced to the wonders of "Ferris Beuler's Day Off" and then "The Princess Bride."
Okay, girls, how many others are there that tried to do the big "Dirty Dancing" dance lift from the end of the movie? A friend and I spent what seems like an entire summer at Centennial Beach mastering that move(much easier underwater where you can lift 100 pounds with ease and it doesn't matter if your friend falls).
Okay, girls, how many others are there that tried to do the big "Dirty Dancing" dance lift from the end of the movie? A friend and I spent what seems like an entire summer at Centennial Beach mastering that move(much easier underwater where you can lift 100 pounds with ease and it doesn't matter if your friend falls).
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Out of the eye
Well, Mom came through Dennis relatively unscathed, just with the loss of a small tree, and considering the eye went directly over her, not bad! She said there was a half an hour that was truly frightening, when she and her neighbors lay on the floor in a sheltered hallway. She could hear tornadoes all around her -- as evidenced by the many twisted trees in her neighborhood. She said she even felt the walls vibrating from the wind. But compared to Ivan, the damage isn't bad. Thankfully, this storm was very compact and fast. And she swears this is the last one she'll ride out. Of course, she said this after Opal in 1995 and Ivan last year, but now I've got it in writing for the Web world to see, so I'll hold her to it.
Some interesting images:
Boats and debris litter Florida State Route 399 leading into Pensacola Beach, Fla., following Hurricane Dennis Sunday, July 10, 2005. The bay side restaurant The Palace was also damaged. (AP Photo/The Times-Picayune, Alex Brandon)
HURRICANE DENNIS US
Originally uploaded by HFBW.
Dan Thomas, of WEAR-TV in Pensacola, Fla., retrieves equipment from his station's satellite truck in Navarre Beach, Fla., Sunday, July 10, 2005, after Hurricane Dennis came ashore. (AP Photo/The Times-Picayune, Scott Threlkeld)
AYZAIR SAYS: Can't you just imagine it? A melodramatic reporter in hooded slicker saying, "Well, Bob, the wind's really picking up out here! It's getting harder and harder to stand up! You can really understand how this force can just pick up huge objects and turn them into projectiles -- THE TRUCK!!!!!!"
TOPIX HURRICANE DENNIS US
Originally uploaded by HFBW.
Eighty-year-old Alfreda Donze watches the waves of Lake Pontchartrain, pushed by winds from Hurricane Dennis, come crashing in at the municipal boat launch at West End Park in New Orleans, Sunday July 10, 2005.(AP Photo/The Times-Picayune, Eliot Kamenitz)
AYZAIR SAYS: "The family promised they'd come back for me. Surely they wouldn't just leave me out here all alone ..."
HURRICANE DENNIS US
Originally uploaded by HFBW.
Some interesting images:
Boats and debris litter Florida State Route 399 leading into Pensacola Beach, Fla., following Hurricane Dennis Sunday, July 10, 2005. The bay side restaurant The Palace was also damaged. (AP Photo/The Times-Picayune, Alex Brandon)
HURRICANE DENNIS US
Originally uploaded by HFBW.
Dan Thomas, of WEAR-TV in Pensacola, Fla., retrieves equipment from his station's satellite truck in Navarre Beach, Fla., Sunday, July 10, 2005, after Hurricane Dennis came ashore. (AP Photo/The Times-Picayune, Scott Threlkeld)
AYZAIR SAYS: Can't you just imagine it? A melodramatic reporter in hooded slicker saying, "Well, Bob, the wind's really picking up out here! It's getting harder and harder to stand up! You can really understand how this force can just pick up huge objects and turn them into projectiles -- THE TRUCK!!!!!!"
TOPIX HURRICANE DENNIS US
Originally uploaded by HFBW.
Eighty-year-old Alfreda Donze watches the waves of Lake Pontchartrain, pushed by winds from Hurricane Dennis, come crashing in at the municipal boat launch at West End Park in New Orleans, Sunday July 10, 2005.(AP Photo/The Times-Picayune, Eliot Kamenitz)
AYZAIR SAYS: "The family promised they'd come back for me. Surely they wouldn't just leave me out here all alone ..."
HURRICANE DENNIS US
Originally uploaded by HFBW.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Six degrees of Ayzair
Well, after my sibling's close call with the London terror attacks, we now have Hurricane Dennis bearing down on dear ol' mom. A few hours ago, it was a 2 and she was just going to ride it out (she bought a generator, did laundry, rented a movie, curled up with the cat). And now, after the 11 p.m. fly-through, it's just a few mph off of a 4. And mom is pretty much stuck in lovely Bagdad now. Florida, not Iraq. I guess she could leave in the morning still, but with her evacuation points being Gulfport, Miss., and Dothan, Ala., I'm not sure how much better off she'd be! Everyone, watch the Weather Channel and pray!
Can't wait to see what the next major news event will be. Bet it'll take less that six moves to reach me.
Can't wait to see what the next major news event will be. Bet it'll take less that six moves to reach me.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
London bombings
Just an update for whoever knows my sister. Amanda and David, my brother-in-law, are fine. David works just around the corner from where the bus blew up and had just arrived, but thankfully he just heard the boom and nothing else. Amanda was on the Underground at the time of the bombings but didn't know a thing. Her train didn't stop until after her station, and she proceeded blissfully unaware to work, where she checked her e-mail until David called her and said "Do you know what's going on?" Ah, my big sister, always in the know! This makes the second bombing in her London tenure that Amanda has been clueless about .. But the worst that happened to them was the hour-plus walk home since transit was stopped, and they're quite non-plussed by the whole thing. More British than they realized, perhaps.
Check out the Dunce for his first-hand account.
Check out the Dunce for his first-hand account.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
ACK! But I need my Licorice Tea!
NO! NO!!!!! My favorite band in the WORLD may be calling it quits! NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! If Jump dies, that means my youth really IS over!
All JLC fans, watch this space for tour dates -- it could be your last chance!
NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
All JLC fans, watch this space for tour dates -- it could be your last chance!
NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And now for something completely different
Do you ever feel like today is just not your day? Like your life is stuck, that you have no direction, no momentum? Well, at least you're not this poor gal.
Your cause here
As the rainbow of rubber bracelets grows -- today's addition, white from Live 8 -- I can't help but wonder how sincere people's charitable intentions are. Obviously, something like the Live 8 bracelet is a status symbol, showing you went to the concert. Will politicians actually notice or care how many people are wearing them? Will it affect policies toward Africa? Somehow I doubt it. Call me callous.
It seems to me that Americans, while I'm sure we have wonderful intentions, have a great fear of poverty and catastrophe. The church we currently attend is a wonderful example. They collect money for this and that, those generous blue-bloods of my little town, but heck if they'll dirty their hands actually building a Habitat house. Not that I'm much better, of course. I try to give money to the food banks whenever I get a request in the mail, an effort to give back what we've been given these past few years, but I don't serve at a soup kitchen. I didn't sign up for the one Habitat work day our church had (though of course I was scheduled to work, as always, which hampers actual activity). And like so many people, when I saw the images of the tsunami in Asia, I responded quickly with a donation to Doctors Without Borders.
And that donation got me thinking. We see this great, incomprehensible disaster, and of course we respond. We send our hundred dollars or so off, and then forget about the problem. Throw money at it and subconsciously hope the scary boogeyman of suffering will go away. Make that tax-deductible gift and go back to your comfortable life in the suburbs. Or the city, or the country, or just about anywhere in this country other than perhaps the Mississippi Delta. Suffering scares us. It shows us how vulnerable we are, and that just can't happen in America. We're perfect, we're invincible, we're wrapped in our materialistic coccoon so tightly that we don't realize how fragile it is. There's a reason the poor are generally the most charitable, they understand what the people are actually feeling. They aren't living in a happy little bubble. A couple hundred years ago, death featured prominantly even in childrens toys. It was understood that children would have lost a few siblings, many other relatives. Not that I'm advocating a higher infant mortality rate, of course, just a bit of a reality check. We need to respond with true empathy and action, not just slip a bracelet on our wrist, wave some money in the general direction of tragedy and then run as quickly as possible in the other direction.
That said, I would have loved to have been at the Live 8 in London ...
It seems to me that Americans, while I'm sure we have wonderful intentions, have a great fear of poverty and catastrophe. The church we currently attend is a wonderful example. They collect money for this and that, those generous blue-bloods of my little town, but heck if they'll dirty their hands actually building a Habitat house. Not that I'm much better, of course. I try to give money to the food banks whenever I get a request in the mail, an effort to give back what we've been given these past few years, but I don't serve at a soup kitchen. I didn't sign up for the one Habitat work day our church had (though of course I was scheduled to work, as always, which hampers actual activity). And like so many people, when I saw the images of the tsunami in Asia, I responded quickly with a donation to Doctors Without Borders.
And that donation got me thinking. We see this great, incomprehensible disaster, and of course we respond. We send our hundred dollars or so off, and then forget about the problem. Throw money at it and subconsciously hope the scary boogeyman of suffering will go away. Make that tax-deductible gift and go back to your comfortable life in the suburbs. Or the city, or the country, or just about anywhere in this country other than perhaps the Mississippi Delta. Suffering scares us. It shows us how vulnerable we are, and that just can't happen in America. We're perfect, we're invincible, we're wrapped in our materialistic coccoon so tightly that we don't realize how fragile it is. There's a reason the poor are generally the most charitable, they understand what the people are actually feeling. They aren't living in a happy little bubble. A couple hundred years ago, death featured prominantly even in childrens toys. It was understood that children would have lost a few siblings, many other relatives. Not that I'm advocating a higher infant mortality rate, of course, just a bit of a reality check. We need to respond with true empathy and action, not just slip a bracelet on our wrist, wave some money in the general direction of tragedy and then run as quickly as possible in the other direction.
That said, I would have loved to have been at the Live 8 in London ...
Monday, June 27, 2005
One ... two ... three four five
It's often a wonderful asset having a sister in England. It makes travel (theoretically) very affordable and stress-free and generally means we get cool presents. Especially Abigail, who has a plethora of lovely English books and an alphabet board with an English accent. Most recently, Abbey has been able to cash in on the British adoration of Bob the Builder.
Now, I'm quite proud that my daughter's not too girly and loves a show about a construction worker (though her favorite game by far is pretending to be a ballerina) and she looks incredibly cute in her recently acquired hard hat and tool belt. But as a parent, you know that at some point, your child will receive a gift that might just be intended to drive you crazy more than entertain her. My lovely sister just sent us Bob the Builder The Album. A CD full of remakes of British pop tunes, complete with lyrics all about construction and cameo appearances by the various characters. Now, I listened to the first few songs with Abbey before I put her down for her nap, and by far the most hilarious was "Mambo No. 5." That song stalked me everywhere I went during my year abroad, and I found it incredibly entertaining to hear it turned on its head. The line "a little bit of you makes me your man" became "a little bit of Bob the Builder-man." Abbey was very concerned by my guffaws of laughter.
But now, hours and hours later, I have that (*&(#^(*%@$#%^ song stuck in my head!! And I know that my relationship with that CD has only just begun ... and I haven't even heard tracks 4 through 12 yet!
Now, I'm quite proud that my daughter's not too girly and loves a show about a construction worker (though her favorite game by far is pretending to be a ballerina) and she looks incredibly cute in her recently acquired hard hat and tool belt. But as a parent, you know that at some point, your child will receive a gift that might just be intended to drive you crazy more than entertain her. My lovely sister just sent us Bob the Builder The Album. A CD full of remakes of British pop tunes, complete with lyrics all about construction and cameo appearances by the various characters. Now, I listened to the first few songs with Abbey before I put her down for her nap, and by far the most hilarious was "Mambo No. 5." That song stalked me everywhere I went during my year abroad, and I found it incredibly entertaining to hear it turned on its head. The line "a little bit of you makes me your man" became "a little bit of Bob the Builder-man." Abbey was very concerned by my guffaws of laughter.
But now, hours and hours later, I have that (*&(#^(*%@$#%^ song stuck in my head!! And I know that my relationship with that CD has only just begun ... and I haven't even heard tracks 4 through 12 yet!
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Gettin' jiggy wid it
One of the local stations has been playing an all-'90s weekend, which I was at first unabashedly delighted about since they dug out many songs I enjoyed in high school and college.
Than I realized that many of these same songs were at least 10 years old -- ACK!!!
But it was still quite enjoyable strolling down my musical memory lane. My reactions covered a range of memories and times in my life.
"Losing My Religion" instantly transports me back to freshman year of high school, when I would walk to school from the apartment we lived in before moving to Pittsburgh. I'm walking along a little connector road in my stylin' orange and blue, nylon band jacket, thinking I'm so much better than my contemporaries because I listened to R.E.M. before they became huge -- thanks, big sister. "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" was also played, which zoomed me up to the night after my high school graduation, when Marie and I went to a very muddy R.E.M. concert and spent something like four hours on the highway trying to get home, which was normally an hour away. Never did find out what was up with that traffic, though it was entertaining playing cards in my car with the drunk guy who just sort of invited himself in on our game. And what's better than singing "Meet James Ensor" and dancing around your car at 1 a.m.? He's Belgium's famous painter, you know ...
A few other songs were more of the college era -- which started 10 years ago this August, I can't believe it! "You Outta Know" reminded me of the other I-hate-men female singers of the time, like Fiona Apple, which was always a good CD to play in the dark when ticked off. Side note, Alanis was inducted into the Canadian walk of fame today -- didn't know such a thing existed, much less that the stars were flanked by royal mounties when the got their stars! I hadn't heard "Sex and Candy" in years, always cranked the radio up on that one. And then, as I headed home for dinner, Will Smith came on in all his glory "Gettin' Jiggy With It." Now, never liked that song, hated it in fact, but the image of a certain 6 foot, 2 inch friend of mine dancing to that song in his dorm room almost had me in tears of laughter! This same friend was later my swing dance partner, and though we had a blast when I wasn't taking out his bum knee, I'm sure we weren't exactly the most graceful pair!
Ah, the ability of the senses to revive vivid memories -- almost Proustian, though I don't plan to lock myself in my bedroom for years.
Now if that station would just stop playing Jesus Jones' "Right Here, Right Now" on a regular basis, I'd be happy. Come on people, the song is all about how great 1990 is going to be -- move on!
Than I realized that many of these same songs were at least 10 years old -- ACK!!!
But it was still quite enjoyable strolling down my musical memory lane. My reactions covered a range of memories and times in my life.
"Losing My Religion" instantly transports me back to freshman year of high school, when I would walk to school from the apartment we lived in before moving to Pittsburgh. I'm walking along a little connector road in my stylin' orange and blue, nylon band jacket, thinking I'm so much better than my contemporaries because I listened to R.E.M. before they became huge -- thanks, big sister. "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" was also played, which zoomed me up to the night after my high school graduation, when Marie and I went to a very muddy R.E.M. concert and spent something like four hours on the highway trying to get home, which was normally an hour away. Never did find out what was up with that traffic, though it was entertaining playing cards in my car with the drunk guy who just sort of invited himself in on our game. And what's better than singing "Meet James Ensor" and dancing around your car at 1 a.m.? He's Belgium's famous painter, you know ...
A few other songs were more of the college era -- which started 10 years ago this August, I can't believe it! "You Outta Know" reminded me of the other I-hate-men female singers of the time, like Fiona Apple, which was always a good CD to play in the dark when ticked off. Side note, Alanis was inducted into the Canadian walk of fame today -- didn't know such a thing existed, much less that the stars were flanked by royal mounties when the got their stars! I hadn't heard "Sex and Candy" in years, always cranked the radio up on that one. And then, as I headed home for dinner, Will Smith came on in all his glory "Gettin' Jiggy With It." Now, never liked that song, hated it in fact, but the image of a certain 6 foot, 2 inch friend of mine dancing to that song in his dorm room almost had me in tears of laughter! This same friend was later my swing dance partner, and though we had a blast when I wasn't taking out his bum knee, I'm sure we weren't exactly the most graceful pair!
Ah, the ability of the senses to revive vivid memories -- almost Proustian, though I don't plan to lock myself in my bedroom for years.
Now if that station would just stop playing Jesus Jones' "Right Here, Right Now" on a regular basis, I'd be happy. Come on people, the song is all about how great 1990 is going to be -- move on!
All I want for Christmas
I am normally quite good at Trivial Pursuit and enjoy flaunting that fact almost as much as my prowess at Scattergories, and so I find myself ridiculously excited about Trivial Pursuit for Book Lovers! For a hysterical review -- or at least an understanding of what English geeks find funny -- go here.
Of no particular importance or relation to the above, please remember that both my anniversary and birthday are next month ...
Of no particular importance or relation to the above, please remember that both my anniversary and birthday are next month ...
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
The Throat unmasked
One of the country's most fascinating mysteries has been solved: we know who Deep Throat was. As a journalist, you'd think I'd be incredibly excited by this revelation, when actually I'm more annoyed I hadn't yet gotten around to reading "All the President's Men." Now I won't be able to enjoy all the speculation! Of course, that won't keep me from reading every different angle on the story tonight and probably starting the book soon, despite the behemoth my Bible study/book club friends have foisted on me for next week ...
Another book
A friend recently wrote something very powerful about faith. I encourage everyone to read it, though most people that would read my blog probably already agree. But what he wrote got me thinking about another book I'd like to read: "God's Politics: Why the Right Gets it Wrong and the Left Doesn't Get It," by Jim Wallis. I'm very socially progressive in my faith, though I seldom act on it other than donations. Maybe this book would help give me the kick I need to find a cause to devote myself to and really make a difference. A lot to ask of a book, but then I at least need to be asking more of myself.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
What a friend we have in Jesus
Toddlers are highly amusing creatures, espeically the ones like mine that have vivid imaginations. Lately, Abbey has been turning anything and everything into an imaginary friend. She occasionally talks to Sarah, who thankfully exists as an actual little girl at her preschool, and frequently her hands, which can lead to hysterical conversations: "Time for bed, mommy hand. Good night, mommy hand. Say good night, Abbey hand. Sleep well." And she then proceeds to shove both her hands into my sandals, which are now cribs and heck if I'm allowed to wear them for at least an hour. The mommy-Abbey phenomenon also happens with cookies, sandwiches, sticks ... anything that can have different sizes. Daddy, nana, pops and grandma version of things also have frequent roles.
But by far the strangest imaginary friend would have to be our Lord and Savior. She's been playing with Jesus a lot lately. I'd heard her chatting in general a couple of weeks ago, but then last week they were having quite the game of one-on-one basketball, though aparently Jesus cheats. I guess He made up for it the next day, though, when He helped her scrub the tub while I cleaned the rest of the bathroom. Funny, my house doesn't look like there's been divine intervention ... Now, how do you correct theology like that? I can't tell her to stop talking to Jesus because, who knows, maybe she's having actual visions? Maybe He's had pity on an only child and given her a playmate. And I've always argued that you can't tell exactly when faith starts, maybe this is the beginnings of a 2-year-old's understanding of the God she's been shown at preschool and in songs, where Jesus is your friend and he loves you and is always there. Not a bad beginning. Plus I'm not sure she'd grasp the whole "God doesn't cheat, sweetie." Heck, it's hard to understand that as an adult sometimes!
But at least she's got a good chance at a college scholarship, with a coach like that ...
But by far the strangest imaginary friend would have to be our Lord and Savior. She's been playing with Jesus a lot lately. I'd heard her chatting in general a couple of weeks ago, but then last week they were having quite the game of one-on-one basketball, though aparently Jesus cheats. I guess He made up for it the next day, though, when He helped her scrub the tub while I cleaned the rest of the bathroom. Funny, my house doesn't look like there's been divine intervention ... Now, how do you correct theology like that? I can't tell her to stop talking to Jesus because, who knows, maybe she's having actual visions? Maybe He's had pity on an only child and given her a playmate. And I've always argued that you can't tell exactly when faith starts, maybe this is the beginnings of a 2-year-old's understanding of the God she's been shown at preschool and in songs, where Jesus is your friend and he loves you and is always there. Not a bad beginning. Plus I'm not sure she'd grasp the whole "God doesn't cheat, sweetie." Heck, it's hard to understand that as an adult sometimes!
But at least she's got a good chance at a college scholarship, with a coach like that ...
Out of the mouths of screaming politicians
Lately, there has been precious little said in the political world about religion that I can back wholeheartedly, and vice versa. But a political junkie I know found some wonderfully sane words on faith from Howard Dean. All I can say is amen, Brother Dean.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Stuff I wish I could get
The downside of being a journalist with an academic husband is that, while the conversations are stimulating, there's not much money left over for non-essentials -- which has somehow come to include books, music and good food, something I swore I'd never let happen. But someday, surely, the purse strings will slacken and I can begin to whittle away at my wish-lists. This will no doubt grow and fluctuate, and suggestions are always appreciated!
Books: (Yes, I know I can get some of these from the library)
"A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius," Dave Eggers
"The History of Love," Nicole Krauss
something by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
a first-edition "Anne of Green Gables," Lucy Maude Montgomery -- or at least a really old one
Music:
"Mignonette," The Avett Brothers, plus their live CDs
"Break syndical," Les Cowboys Fringants
"Notre epoque," Tarmac
"La Vallee des reputations," Jean LeLoup (not sure about this one)
probably more by Louise Attaque
the past two Coldplay albums
Anna Nalick sounds intriguing
Travel:
mountains in general
Arcadia National Park
D.C. for the Newseum and Holocaust Museum
California wine country
Grand Canyon
Prince Edward Island
British Columbia
Copenhagen
Bretagne
Provence
Tuscany
Andalusia
Barcelona
Ireland
Other:
warm pain au chocolat from the boulangerie in Lillers
Italian cappucino
a ride on the Underground or Paris Metro
Magnum Double
Kinder Bueno
Books: (Yes, I know I can get some of these from the library)
"A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius," Dave Eggers
"The History of Love," Nicole Krauss
something by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
a first-edition "Anne of Green Gables," Lucy Maude Montgomery -- or at least a really old one
Music:
"Mignonette," The Avett Brothers, plus their live CDs
"Break syndical," Les Cowboys Fringants
"Notre epoque," Tarmac
"La Vallee des reputations," Jean LeLoup (not sure about this one)
probably more by Louise Attaque
the past two Coldplay albums
Anna Nalick sounds intriguing
Travel:
mountains in general
Arcadia National Park
D.C. for the Newseum and Holocaust Museum
California wine country
Grand Canyon
Prince Edward Island
British Columbia
Copenhagen
Bretagne
Provence
Tuscany
Andalusia
Barcelona
Ireland
Other:
warm pain au chocolat from the boulangerie in Lillers
Italian cappucino
a ride on the Underground or Paris Metro
Magnum Double
Kinder Bueno
Saturday, May 14, 2005
On my own happy little cloud
I have always been a very good girl. I have never used any substances stronger than caffeine and alcohol (unless you count the Percodan from my c-section), and I never particularly want to. But this morning, while scanning PBS for something to half-watch while exercising, I stumbled upon Bob Ross and realized that if I'd ever smoked pot, I would have watched The Joy of Painting while doing it.
The instant that afro-bedecked face hits the screen, something in my mind shuts down. I become slightly numb, lulled by his gentle, almost whispering voice into a mesmerized state. I watch slack-jawed as he dabs the titanium white mixed with yellow ochre and sap green to the shapeless shadows on his canvass, magically creating either "happy little" or "big old" trees out of thin air. It's amazing, the flick of the wrist that creates relections, the slash of the knife that creates purple mountains. And the magic roll of paint on the edge of the knife that can "bounce along" and create rocks where before there was just an amorphous blob of brown.
So what if all his paintings are of the same mountains and lakes and glens and would seem generically impressionist even at a Motel 6? I'd forgive Bob anything for that happy, fuzzy feeling in my brain for that half an hour.
"We don't make mistakes here, we just have happy accidents. We want happy, happy paintings. If you want sad things, watch the news. Everything is possible here. This is your little universe." -- Bob Ross
The instant that afro-bedecked face hits the screen, something in my mind shuts down. I become slightly numb, lulled by his gentle, almost whispering voice into a mesmerized state. I watch slack-jawed as he dabs the titanium white mixed with yellow ochre and sap green to the shapeless shadows on his canvass, magically creating either "happy little" or "big old" trees out of thin air. It's amazing, the flick of the wrist that creates relections, the slash of the knife that creates purple mountains. And the magic roll of paint on the edge of the knife that can "bounce along" and create rocks where before there was just an amorphous blob of brown.
So what if all his paintings are of the same mountains and lakes and glens and would seem generically impressionist even at a Motel 6? I'd forgive Bob anything for that happy, fuzzy feeling in my brain for that half an hour.
"We don't make mistakes here, we just have happy accidents. We want happy, happy paintings. If you want sad things, watch the news. Everything is possible here. This is your little universe." -- Bob Ross
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Reconnecting with nature
I got outside this weekend! It wasn't so much as a hike as a nature walk (can't do much more strenuous with a 2-and-a-half-year-old in tow), but it was so lovely to get out with a bunch of trees and the sound of water.
I headed over to Landsford Canal State Park for the morning with my mother and daughter, partly in hopes of seeing the Rocky Shoals Spider Lily. The flowers were just coming out of the water, not yet blooming, but it was still a very nice park. There's not an overwhelming amount of historical or botanical explanation, but who really needs more than a few paragraphs when you can walk along next to the Catawba River, far from any evidence of humanity other than the worn path?
The Catawba is a very shallow, rocky river, which actually makes it all the more picturesque. Loads of rapids and little waterfalls ripple the current, and dozens and dozens of turtles had climbed aboard the rocks and fallen trees in the river to sun themselves — I've never seen that many in one place. It was a cool day with a steady breeze, and the fresh spring green blanketing the forest floor added to the refreshing feeling of renewal. One of the more surprising natural discoveries were these gorgeous trumpet flowers that grew in vines high up in the tree canopy. The flowers were burgundy outside and an orangey-saffron yellow inside. I took a sniff when Abbey proffered her little treasure, expecting to get a whiff of a normal light perfume, and was stunned when it actually DID smell like saffron. Very spicy, pungent. Not unpleasant, just striking and not at all what I anticipated. I walked along smelling a blossom for several minutes.
Of course, the greatest joy of the day was watching Abigail discover the woods for the first time. We've been to lots of city parks, but this was her first forest, and she was fascinated. She wanted to throw sticks in the Catawba, touch the water, smell flowers, "rake" leaves with a stick, kill "dragons" also known as fallen trees, toss prickly gum balls, find waterfalls, climb on the old masonry walls of the locks ... It's so eye-opening to see the world again for the first time through a child. Pure joy in nature. Though of course it was a bit nerve-wracking keeping her from the edge of the banks and from wandering into untold clusters of poison ivy ...
I headed over to Landsford Canal State Park for the morning with my mother and daughter, partly in hopes of seeing the Rocky Shoals Spider Lily. The flowers were just coming out of the water, not yet blooming, but it was still a very nice park. There's not an overwhelming amount of historical or botanical explanation, but who really needs more than a few paragraphs when you can walk along next to the Catawba River, far from any evidence of humanity other than the worn path?
The Catawba is a very shallow, rocky river, which actually makes it all the more picturesque. Loads of rapids and little waterfalls ripple the current, and dozens and dozens of turtles had climbed aboard the rocks and fallen trees in the river to sun themselves — I've never seen that many in one place. It was a cool day with a steady breeze, and the fresh spring green blanketing the forest floor added to the refreshing feeling of renewal. One of the more surprising natural discoveries were these gorgeous trumpet flowers that grew in vines high up in the tree canopy. The flowers were burgundy outside and an orangey-saffron yellow inside. I took a sniff when Abbey proffered her little treasure, expecting to get a whiff of a normal light perfume, and was stunned when it actually DID smell like saffron. Very spicy, pungent. Not unpleasant, just striking and not at all what I anticipated. I walked along smelling a blossom for several minutes.
Of course, the greatest joy of the day was watching Abigail discover the woods for the first time. We've been to lots of city parks, but this was her first forest, and she was fascinated. She wanted to throw sticks in the Catawba, touch the water, smell flowers, "rake" leaves with a stick, kill "dragons" also known as fallen trees, toss prickly gum balls, find waterfalls, climb on the old masonry walls of the locks ... It's so eye-opening to see the world again for the first time through a child. Pure joy in nature. Though of course it was a bit nerve-wracking keeping her from the edge of the banks and from wandering into untold clusters of poison ivy ...
A trip into Euro-analysis
The following stems from an e-mail sent by a friend:
"I ran across this on the Rick Steves sight. I'm not sure I buy into everything the author had to say, though he made very valid points. If some of you's folks have a smidgen of free time, it's an interesting topic."
Good-ness, where to begin?
Well, for one, I think this essay has to be read keeping in mind that Rick Steves makes his livelihood convincing people Europe is a wonderful place to visit, especially when accompanied by one of his guidebooks. He's also from Oregon and works for Public Broadcasting -- not exactly a card-carrying Republican, I'd guess.
But that said, he makes several valid points. Now, I'm a francophile and lean left-of-center, but I think there are things that are genuinely better in Europe, most importantly the concept of quality of life. The overt materialism of the United States often disgusts me. The obsession with bigger-better-newer can be nauseating (sorry, Ty). I get agitated when I see someone idling in their Expedition in a Target parking lot on a gorgeous spring day, windows rolled up and a/c on. A car that already only gets, what, 10 miles to the gallon, and they're idling. And I bet they complain about the cost of gas. Yes, gas is expensive in Europe. But they all drive tiny cars -- and after you've been there for about a month, they seem perfectly normal and adequate. Houses are smaller, closer together. They're also built out of quality materials, according to regional guidelines that instill a sense of place, not just vinyl siding. And Europeans simply own less stuff. They wear their clothes more often and everything is interchangeable (what doesn't go with black?). What they spend their money on is time. As Brad loves to say, you can have either time or money, not both. So Europeans eat leisurely dinners. They walk around pedestrian shopping streets -- even just to walk, not necessarily shop. They sip wine and tiny cups of espresso, just enjoying their evenings. And most people go home for lunch with their families during the week. What better quality time with your kids? The importance of family in Europe is incredible -- true "family values" extending beyond the nuclear, taking care of the elderly.
And the wonders of mass transit!!! Subways, busses, commuter trains! You don't HAVE to have a car! Don't get me started on my nostalgia for SNCF (French rail system) bells and announcements!
Now, for where Steves was painting a rosy picture. Europeans still love their celebrities. Often American celebrities. Maybe it's not quite as rampant as Brad Pitt-Angelina Jolie-Paris Hilton-Jessica Simpson crap, but it's definitely there. And American brands are everywhere. Even team logos. I remember a kid wearing a Georgetown hat. I asked him if he knew of the school and he just looked at me. They may not understand the symbolism, but they love the symbols.
And socialist doctrines aren't always a success. Steves waxed poetic about the French 35 hour work week, but that just got killed because it was costing the economy too much and the government wants to try the other way around to see if that sparks more development. Not that the French are all about efficiency now. The buses in my region were on strike for three weeks and I had no way to get to one of my schools. And my school said, That's okay, we'll see you when the strike is over!
But God-love the European concept of paid family time! Three months maternity leave! (In Ukraine, I think it's a year) And they keep you in the hospital for a week so you actually have time to rest and recover before you have to start the sleep deprivation, not just a baby mill that cranks you out a day after you deliver! And vacations ... I'm a bit bitter about that as I face two weeks a year for the next five years, all while working weekends, but then that's partly my fault for choosing journalism. My sister gets obscene amounts of vacation, and it's just the standard five weeks. She's always talking about having to take vacation days at the end of the year to use them up, trotting off to interesting corners of England every few weeks.
All in all, an interesting essay. Not all Europeans are gung-ho about the EU (hence the rise of jerks like Le Pen), racism is growing. And I've seen the ugly side of government subsidies after working in vo-tech high schools, like a student that actually told me that when he grew up, he just wanted to go on unemployment like his dad. So Europe isn't all a bed of roses. But I do think a lot of their priorities are in the right place.
"I ran across this on the Rick Steves sight. I'm not sure I buy into everything the author had to say, though he made very valid points. If some of you's folks have a smidgen of free time, it's an interesting topic."
Good-ness, where to begin?
Well, for one, I think this essay has to be read keeping in mind that Rick Steves makes his livelihood convincing people Europe is a wonderful place to visit, especially when accompanied by one of his guidebooks. He's also from Oregon and works for Public Broadcasting -- not exactly a card-carrying Republican, I'd guess.
But that said, he makes several valid points. Now, I'm a francophile and lean left-of-center, but I think there are things that are genuinely better in Europe, most importantly the concept of quality of life. The overt materialism of the United States often disgusts me. The obsession with bigger-better-newer can be nauseating (sorry, Ty). I get agitated when I see someone idling in their Expedition in a Target parking lot on a gorgeous spring day, windows rolled up and a/c on. A car that already only gets, what, 10 miles to the gallon, and they're idling. And I bet they complain about the cost of gas. Yes, gas is expensive in Europe. But they all drive tiny cars -- and after you've been there for about a month, they seem perfectly normal and adequate. Houses are smaller, closer together. They're also built out of quality materials, according to regional guidelines that instill a sense of place, not just vinyl siding. And Europeans simply own less stuff. They wear their clothes more often and everything is interchangeable (what doesn't go with black?). What they spend their money on is time. As Brad loves to say, you can have either time or money, not both. So Europeans eat leisurely dinners. They walk around pedestrian shopping streets -- even just to walk, not necessarily shop. They sip wine and tiny cups of espresso, just enjoying their evenings. And most people go home for lunch with their families during the week. What better quality time with your kids? The importance of family in Europe is incredible -- true "family values" extending beyond the nuclear, taking care of the elderly.
And the wonders of mass transit!!! Subways, busses, commuter trains! You don't HAVE to have a car! Don't get me started on my nostalgia for SNCF (French rail system) bells and announcements!
Now, for where Steves was painting a rosy picture. Europeans still love their celebrities. Often American celebrities. Maybe it's not quite as rampant as Brad Pitt-Angelina Jolie-Paris Hilton-Jessica Simpson crap, but it's definitely there. And American brands are everywhere. Even team logos. I remember a kid wearing a Georgetown hat. I asked him if he knew of the school and he just looked at me. They may not understand the symbolism, but they love the symbols.
And socialist doctrines aren't always a success. Steves waxed poetic about the French 35 hour work week, but that just got killed because it was costing the economy too much and the government wants to try the other way around to see if that sparks more development. Not that the French are all about efficiency now. The buses in my region were on strike for three weeks and I had no way to get to one of my schools. And my school said, That's okay, we'll see you when the strike is over!
But God-love the European concept of paid family time! Three months maternity leave! (In Ukraine, I think it's a year) And they keep you in the hospital for a week so you actually have time to rest and recover before you have to start the sleep deprivation, not just a baby mill that cranks you out a day after you deliver! And vacations ... I'm a bit bitter about that as I face two weeks a year for the next five years, all while working weekends, but then that's partly my fault for choosing journalism. My sister gets obscene amounts of vacation, and it's just the standard five weeks. She's always talking about having to take vacation days at the end of the year to use them up, trotting off to interesting corners of England every few weeks.
All in all, an interesting essay. Not all Europeans are gung-ho about the EU (hence the rise of jerks like Le Pen), racism is growing. And I've seen the ugly side of government subsidies after working in vo-tech high schools, like a student that actually told me that when he grew up, he just wanted to go on unemployment like his dad. So Europe isn't all a bed of roses. But I do think a lot of their priorities are in the right place.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Wistful thoughts
Sigh — ah, to be an undergraduate again. Perhaps these nostalgic vibes are washing over me because I happened to grab a Clemson t-shirt out of my closet this morning, but I am practically overwhelmed with longing to go back to the simpler times of classes, friends and a few drops of alcohol. I plan to attend Winthrop University this fall as a graduate non-degree-seeking student in Spanish, but I know it won't be the same. I will be rushing from campus back to work on my dinner breaks, balancing homework and play time with Abbey, attempting to banish thoughts of looming bills as I study flash cards. No more bouncing down the dorm hall hopped up on too much caffeine, pigtails bobbing from side to side (the sure sign of my hyperactivity and a looming test).
I think this was all driven home today on the way home from work for dinner. I drive through the heart of Winthrop's campus every day, watching the students talking, playing football, trying to beat the traffic lights. One girl in particular struck me today. She was wearing faded denim capri overalls, her hair twisted up in funky knots, chatting on a cell phone as she walked her dog. She seemed the epitome of carefree. You take so much for granted in college. We all had problems, and some truly do struggle personally and financially all the way through, but at least for me and my circle of friends, college was absolute fun. The opportunity to be whoever you wanted to be. And, with two people inextricably tied to my life, I will never be like that again. I love my family and would never wish it away, but I can't help but marvel at how profoundly having one shapes your every thought about the future. Everything I do impacts them, and vice versa. Which is wonderful, and yet a little bit sad. The passing of youth.
I think this was all driven home today on the way home from work for dinner. I drive through the heart of Winthrop's campus every day, watching the students talking, playing football, trying to beat the traffic lights. One girl in particular struck me today. She was wearing faded denim capri overalls, her hair twisted up in funky knots, chatting on a cell phone as she walked her dog. She seemed the epitome of carefree. You take so much for granted in college. We all had problems, and some truly do struggle personally and financially all the way through, but at least for me and my circle of friends, college was absolute fun. The opportunity to be whoever you wanted to be. And, with two people inextricably tied to my life, I will never be like that again. I love my family and would never wish it away, but I can't help but marvel at how profoundly having one shapes your every thought about the future. Everything I do impacts them, and vice versa. Which is wonderful, and yet a little bit sad. The passing of youth.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Seasonal musings
Every year about this time, or rather in March since I live in the South, I find myself quoting Wordsworth. I'm not a huge fan of the man, nor of Romantics in general (though I always thought I would be until I took an excruciatingly dull college class), but I do love just two lines from "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud:" "and then my heart with pleasure fills / and dances with the daffodils"
Daffodils wear jackets of snow on the side of the road in Antrim County near Torch Lake, Mich., Saturday, April 23, 2005. (AP Photo/Traverse City Record-Eagle, Lara Neel)
Of course, I've been largely unaware of spring's arrival this year. The ever-present layer of pollen is unavoidable (very disturbing when your dust rag turns yellow), and we did have a few daffodils in our tiny garden, but when you live facing a seven-lane highway, you don't experience the aromas. I do get out about once a week to Cherry Park, which is a lovely wooded oasis, but other than some flowering trees and daffodils, not extremely full of blooms. Plus I spend most of the time in the playground with Abigail. The other day, as I drove Abbey to parents' morning out with the windows down through one of the nicer residential neighborhoods in town, I was caught off guard by the delicious blend of scents in the air: azaleas, cherry trees, wisteria. It was so refreshing -- and until then I hadn't realized I had missed it so far this year. The yards were layered in pink and white dogwoods and azaleas, and that bright, fresh green was in all the trees.
After I dropped Abbey off, I headed over to Winthrop Lake for a walk. Perhaps I'm just unused to being outside at 9 a.m., but I was amazed at the cacaphony of birds! They were absoluty rejoicing to be alive. On either side of the road, in every tree, birds were chirping and trilling their little hearts out. It raised my mood exponentially.
Toward the end of my walk, I passed a section of trees dripping with wisteria, and the perfume was heady. I immediately was taken back to my 2000 trip to Rome and the Forum, where the purple flowers dripped from a tree in front of Tito's Arch. A college friend of mine said she always associated wisteria with Faulkner, but I will always think of Italy. That scent as it drifted through the debris of ancient grandeur, over the heads of the throngs of tourists. That splash of color as is lazed down the side of a stuccoed home in Verona.
Daffodils wear jackets of snow on the side of the road in Antrim County near Torch Lake, Mich., Saturday, April 23, 2005. (AP Photo/Traverse City Record-Eagle, Lara Neel)
Of course, I've been largely unaware of spring's arrival this year. The ever-present layer of pollen is unavoidable (very disturbing when your dust rag turns yellow), and we did have a few daffodils in our tiny garden, but when you live facing a seven-lane highway, you don't experience the aromas. I do get out about once a week to Cherry Park, which is a lovely wooded oasis, but other than some flowering trees and daffodils, not extremely full of blooms. Plus I spend most of the time in the playground with Abigail. The other day, as I drove Abbey to parents' morning out with the windows down through one of the nicer residential neighborhoods in town, I was caught off guard by the delicious blend of scents in the air: azaleas, cherry trees, wisteria. It was so refreshing -- and until then I hadn't realized I had missed it so far this year. The yards were layered in pink and white dogwoods and azaleas, and that bright, fresh green was in all the trees.
After I dropped Abbey off, I headed over to Winthrop Lake for a walk. Perhaps I'm just unused to being outside at 9 a.m., but I was amazed at the cacaphony of birds! They were absoluty rejoicing to be alive. On either side of the road, in every tree, birds were chirping and trilling their little hearts out. It raised my mood exponentially.
Toward the end of my walk, I passed a section of trees dripping with wisteria, and the perfume was heady. I immediately was taken back to my 2000 trip to Rome and the Forum, where the purple flowers dripped from a tree in front of Tito's Arch. A college friend of mine said she always associated wisteria with Faulkner, but I will always think of Italy. That scent as it drifted through the debris of ancient grandeur, over the heads of the throngs of tourists. That splash of color as is lazed down the side of a stuccoed home in Verona.
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Kodak moments
Since I have very few close friends where I live to show off my daughter to, I figured I should put some pictures on here so you can all ooh and ahh.
sitnspin
Originally uploaded by HFBW.
Abigail and mom at Pensacola Beach, March 2005. Not exactly beach weather, but Abbey still loved the sand.
Abigail loves to give "checkups," so she got a doctor kit for Easter.
The fam, Easter 2005.
Friday, April 15, 2005
A fine 20th century education
I am currently witness to the nauseating roller coaster that is the modern job search. As I watch my husband struggle to find employment, I have realized that my circle of friends' costly college educations of the 1990s did not prepare us in the slightest for the economic world we entered upon graduation. I don't fault professors for this. We entered school in 1995 as 18-year-olds steeped in experiences of our parents and older siblings, examples of how to succeed in a world where you looked for jobs in the newspaper and could somewhat count on keeping as long as they were white collar. The Internet was barely more than a toy for computer geeks, and "outsourcing" had yet to be coined. When we graduated in 1999, we entered a world where job boards were posted on the Internet, where you had to be specialized within an inch of your life to get noticed, and where jobs that seem impossible to outsource, i.e. English editing, go to the lowest Asian bidder. Our professors couldn't have seen this coming a mile away -- we certainly didn't.
And so now my husband is being low-balled for freelance jobs by Indians and Malaysians. Not that I fault them, either, they likely speak better English than many Americans. But how on earth is anyone supposed to get noticed on a Web site that spans thousands of profiles and several continents? And how can graduates network when their professors are still stymied in academia and don't know people in the working world that understand the current dynamics? We're almost too educated for our own good in this country: Thousands of M.A.s and PhDs lost in a sea of freelancers or waiting tables. As a friend recently pointed out, the service and construction industries are the biggest growth sectors in the fabulous Bush recovery.
It almost makes you long for the days of growing up with no greater expectations than doing what your father did before you.
Almost.
And so now my husband is being low-balled for freelance jobs by Indians and Malaysians. Not that I fault them, either, they likely speak better English than many Americans. But how on earth is anyone supposed to get noticed on a Web site that spans thousands of profiles and several continents? And how can graduates network when their professors are still stymied in academia and don't know people in the working world that understand the current dynamics? We're almost too educated for our own good in this country: Thousands of M.A.s and PhDs lost in a sea of freelancers or waiting tables. As a friend recently pointed out, the service and construction industries are the biggest growth sectors in the fabulous Bush recovery.
It almost makes you long for the days of growing up with no greater expectations than doing what your father did before you.
Almost.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
As the miles tick by
Well, after my nostalgic overdose on memories of I-55, my trip through the Southeast on I-85 and I-65 was rather disappointing. I'm sure the hills and plentiful trees (and soon kudzu) hide many interesting roadside quirks, but I simply didn't see as much as in the Midwest. When we drive Southern backroads, it's a feast for the eyes, but the interstates are dull -- other than dodging speeding traffic around Atlanta.
There were a few images that captured my imagination, though.
One that I must return to is the Dwarf House in Newnan, Ga. It's a perfectly normal Chick-fil-A with a small tudor house stuck on the front. We didn't notice this anomaly until we'd already promise Abigail some time at the Burger King playground (yes, my sheltered child has now had french fries -- something like five times over the whole trip). But I became obsessed with the neighboring eatery. Was it a miniature house for children to play in? Was it simply a playground with a fancy facade? Were gnome statues involved? I now know where we'll be stopping the next time we head to Mom's. And it most definitely won't be the Burger King, where termites promptely swarmed the moment Abigail crawled into the playground.
Another perplexing sight came toward the end of our epic 10 hour journey (during which Abigail was supernaturally calm, playing quitely with toys in the back seat -- the entire time). In Dixonville, Fla., which doesn't even qualify as a hamlet or crossroads, there was a fire hydrant on the side of Fla. 89, surrounded by pine trees and nothing else for miles other than a small water tower. And this hydrant was gushing at full blast. There were no people in sight, no explanation for why this hydrant would have been uncapped. Not even signs of a car running off the road to hit it. How long did this hydrant keep spewing water? How many thousands of gallons were wasted? How many other people passed by and were as bemused as I was?
And somewhere in north Georgia, a beautifully brutal image: A huge hardwood tree uprooted in the middle of a rolling green field, clumps of bright orange clay clinging to its massive roots, below it a jagged hole. A bloody gash in the earth.
There were a few images that captured my imagination, though.
One that I must return to is the Dwarf House in Newnan, Ga. It's a perfectly normal Chick-fil-A with a small tudor house stuck on the front. We didn't notice this anomaly until we'd already promise Abigail some time at the Burger King playground (yes, my sheltered child has now had french fries -- something like five times over the whole trip). But I became obsessed with the neighboring eatery. Was it a miniature house for children to play in? Was it simply a playground with a fancy facade? Were gnome statues involved? I now know where we'll be stopping the next time we head to Mom's. And it most definitely won't be the Burger King, where termites promptely swarmed the moment Abigail crawled into the playground.
Another perplexing sight came toward the end of our epic 10 hour journey (during which Abigail was supernaturally calm, playing quitely with toys in the back seat -- the entire time). In Dixonville, Fla., which doesn't even qualify as a hamlet or crossroads, there was a fire hydrant on the side of Fla. 89, surrounded by pine trees and nothing else for miles other than a small water tower. And this hydrant was gushing at full blast. There were no people in sight, no explanation for why this hydrant would have been uncapped. Not even signs of a car running off the road to hit it. How long did this hydrant keep spewing water? How many thousands of gallons were wasted? How many other people passed by and were as bemused as I was?
And somewhere in north Georgia, a beautifully brutal image: A huge hardwood tree uprooted in the middle of a rolling green field, clumps of bright orange clay clinging to its massive roots, below it a jagged hole. A bloody gash in the earth.
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Welcome to my odditorium, a collection of curiosities made up of snippets about my life and occasional machinations on deeper subjects.
