sweet dreams...

and thank you, Eartha and Mr. Pinter, for your gifts as well.

2008 e.o.b. fun

Pharmacy/IV Therapy? $93,401.63
Blood Admin./Processing? $2,470.00
Cardiology? $532.00
Diagnostic/Therapeutic Misc. Services? $1,124.25
Emergency Room/Trauma? $652.00
Imaging/Radiology? $7,858.00
Therapy Audiology? $787.00
Laboratory? $41,412.75
Medical Supplies/Durable Equipment? $25,259.86
Respiratory Therapy? $34,900.75
Room Charges? $59,328.00
Surgery/Anesthesia/Recovery Room Services? $12,758.50

Lucky enough to live in a time of modern medicine & in a town with one of the top 25 thoracic surgeons in the country,
damn good health insurance
and the opportunity to see the joy in his children's eyes on Christmas morning?

Priceless.

P.S.)...not counting the 52 grand for six days of pulmonary rehab.

let it snow

the bell

Well, it’s almost that time of year again..cuddling up in front of the fire place, sipping some Korbel and watching the ankle biters have at it, tearing their way through some princess garb, and Lord forbid, the super-sized make-up kit I got them- complete with not one, but four bottles of glittery nail polish. Hello. Why would a mother do such cruel things to herself you might ask? Beats me. I already have no less than three purple splotches on my carpet from that yuck. But it’s done. It’s wrapped. And I know they’ll love it. It is an all out fact that I have gave birth to a duo of the girliest girls that ever lived on this planet. It's funny, when I was a tyke, my perfect day was to saddle up my dog with our lunch and a good book and go traipsing off into the forest. I don’t think I combed my hair until I was seven. Such are the mysteries of life, I guess.

It’s also that time of year for me to go on ad nauseum about something that has inspired me during this cedar-fied extravaganza. My fave movie in the whole wide world, It’s a Wonderful Life, which so happens to also be the holiday movie, is as important to the Mags Christmas Eve as bread, butter and booze (not in that particular order, mind you) and I could go on and on about it, but I've been there, done that last year. Ditto for my fave holiday tuneage. It's weird; I sorta dig making lists, whatever that might mean regarding my psychosis. I’d list up my best holiday moments, but since my family quit celebrating Christmas when I was six or so (oh, don't be too sad as Mama's splendid acting abilities would lend itself toward weaving some rather elaborate stories at Show and Tell about what gifts I received), I don't really have enough of those quite yet. But I'm sure making up for all that lost time by driving my three other Mags completely nutso with my picture snapping and over-the-top holiday traditions. I’m a sucker for all that is hokey, teary and just plain ole huggy-touchy-feely, what can I say? Yep, down underneath all my pork, there's a little Cindy Lou Who just dying to come out...except with feet and a bigger schnoz. So this year I will push that full tilt and babble about an animated flick that was released four years or so ago, The Polar Express. Hey, I’m old and behind the times, okay? I still haven't seen Pan's Labyrinth- the Foriegn Academy Award winner from '07 (and another Oscars in the Ozarks is coming up soon.. Agh! I'm so behind! Go Heath!)

I highly recommend this fab film for all of you out there, including those of you who don't even have kiddos. Oh, don’t be embarrassed or emasculated (you macho dudes, you)...just mellow out with your big, bad mopey selves and ditch that Will Smith movie you were thinking of renting tonight, or that end-of-the-world Keanu piece of crap and warm up the ole ticker a little, for goodness sake. It won’t kill ya. Yeah, yeah, I know..what with the recession, foreclosures up the yin-yang, higher than a cat’s back groceries, crooked Chicago politics and an automotive industry that’s in the toilet, times are hard but we still gotta have a little joy and magic. We all deserve it! We can get right on back to our depressions after the first of the year. In the meantime, this Zemeckis animated ta-doo with Hanks doing four or five of the voices is a delight. We bought our own copy this year and Geez and I are just as enamored with it as are our munchkins. I even laid down an extra couple of buckaroos and got the 3-D disc thrown in, with goggles for four. There I go again with the ‘why-would-a-mom-inflict-a-tossed-up-dinner-and-a-splitting-headache type of thing on herself’, but what the heck.

Its story follows a little boy who isn’t quite sure if he believes or not but once aboard a magical Pullman, he discovers many things about himself, about others..about life. Lessons for all of us crazy kids about leading, learning, counting on, depending on and believing. This magical adventure unwraps our greatest gift- friendship, teaches us that the invisible stuff is where it's at and most importantly, it isn’t the destination that matters but the courage to get on board and go! Plus, the Big Red Man shows up and lays it down in only the way he can. Sharing this with the babes has been a highlight for us, especially after last holiday when I wasn't quite sure where the train that we were on was gonna take the four of us. Props go to my two doves, who've taught me that the true spirit of the holidays lies in the heart and not in a box and for showing me time and time again that no matter how old I get, I can always hear that bell, it's simply a matter of wanting to.

the ozark von trapps

Wish you a happy holiday!!

sweet nothings

The jig's up. I ain't Martha Stewart. Oy Noel vey. After 76 chocolate dipped pretzel rods that ended up looking like they had the shingles and three gooey sheet pans of peppermint bark, I have chosen to see life the way it really is. I am me. I am proud. But I am not a candy maker. I'll leave that to Tyler and the Food Network gang. And the next time I even remotely think I am able to understand the bizarre chemical compound that is chocolate, I will stop all nonsense immediately, spare my poor pals the humiliation of re-gifting their trashcans and just make myself a stiffie.


Awww. Nothing says the holidays like a toffee-nutted cow pie.

the reindog

May we all revel in the simple joys of the season and remember to always wear a good coat.

a big and tasty christmas

Okay. This is getting scary, friends. Amidst the hustle and bustle of this jolly ho-ho of a holiday, I found myself center stage the other day, in Mickey D.'s, getting a My Little Pony chotske for the girls and the next thing I know, Mama's ordering a number 5. Super-sized, for God's sake. Cloaked in shame at the sadness within and particularly the booming voice that ordered the trans-ass blowout..I turned to look at my husband, hoping for some sort of guidance, compassion...perhaps an explanation of it all, who knows? Nada. The only gift I got from the guy was a mortified stare and a neon thought bubble along the lines of "Great. In another couple of days, I'm gonna be married to the Stay-Puft Marshmallow giant from Ghostbusters". He took a couple of small steps away from me, and if I am not mistaken..I think I saw him trying to finger his wedding ring off in his left pocket.

Oh, my. Mama has been on a roll lately. Yep. A big, extra-buttered Parker House one, with a glob of honey on the side. What is happening, you may ask? Hell if I know. My morning runs are non-existent, my tofu has fallen by the wayside and my jaws have been gnawing like a rabid rodent on every Christmas cookie I can find. Perhaps it's that holiday depression I've always read about, or those nasty old serial killer hormones of mine..or maybe I'm just trying to fill the empty, proverbial hole deep down inside. Well, unfortunately, after making my list and checking it twice, it isn't any of the above. No excuses. Just post traumatic laziness, I guess. Isn't it funny at how challenging it is to simply accept the happiness and fortune we have in our lives and not find a way to screw it up? I mean, its right there. We deserve it. We earned it. But it seems we always find some way to talk ourselves out of it or nibble around it, I should say. That ole self worth kind of thing, maybe..stresses of the modern world..focusing on what we don't have..feeding into (in my case on) the commercialism of the season instead of the stuff that really counts. Well, this mama needs to take stock in all that this wonderfully red-ribboned holiday has to offer, keep it simple stupid, and get right on back to what Ellen DeGenerous calls, the "loving place". And that goes for my nasal folds and turkey neck, too. Oh, I'll snap out of it and find my way over this mystical gorge. I always do. Hope it happens soon though, before I take Manhattan....and swallow it.

tis the season

...and here we go, folks.

dear santa

...as dictated to Mama

Dear Santa,
I love you so much. Thank you for bringing me to Disney World. I love you. I’d like Jasmine pants and a Jasmine bra. (uh-oh) And a rose..and a wig from Tinker Bell. And Tinker Bell shoes and a Tinker Bell dress. And..and..and..uh..a Tinker Bell cookie cutter! And a pretend phone that I can call Bobo on. Oh, I love magic, Santa. I want a cozy robe..pink, with Cinderella on it. I love you so much. Goodbye.

T.


Dear Santa,
I have always wanted toe shoes, Santa. And a pretty ballet dress with a skirt that sticks w-a-a-ay out. And I want some sweets, too. I want a new Sleeping Beauty dress, and a Cinderella dress, a Snow White dress..and a Belle..and a Ariel gown. Oh, and a Doctor kit. (double uh-oh) You’re very special, Santa, and I think that is all I want to say. I can’t think of anything else.

Oh, yeah..and a Pocahontas dress, too.

Love,
W.

PS) Mom sends her thanks to the marketing team at Disney.

t.'s ariel aria

Up where they walk, up where they run
Up where they stay all day in the sun
Wanderin' free - wish I could be
Part of that world...



I guess Disney inspired my little one...

down on main street

To quote a dear friend's mother, "Oh, honey, there's no recession at Disney". My heart is full, my wallet's empty and the girls have not stopped smiling since our return home from Walt Disney World. It was a sweet ride, full of giggles and song and roughly two bottles of hand sanitizer. One that was shared between dear friends..the tall red-haired human kind, and of course, the ones with whiskers, manes and tails. Being awash in all things Mickey was at times just a wee bit overwhelming but I savored every last memory and will hold it dearly for years and years to come. Uncle Greg showed us the best time ever. Leave it to a gay man to do Disney up right and to the max.

We began our trip by soaring toward the Florida sky to visit the girlies Amma and Afi (that's grandma and grandpa to you people). Then off we went, in style, cruising into the town of wonder in the very front of the monorail, thank you very much. Who knew, Big Red had such connections? The morning welcome was alive with dance and confetti and the look on W.'s face when she saw Cinderella's Castle for the very first time was priceless. Well, I guess I shouldn't go that far as the only thing that was actually free was a drink of water from the fountain in Frontier Land. Anything else, get out your purses, folks. But if you hang tough, and dig down deep through all the commercialism, movie promotion and 100 dollar princess dresses..you'll find your magic. You will find it indeed. Or in my case, you can really save some dough and create your very own super-saver magic by packing the kid's frayed, ketchup-stained, Wal-Mart Sleeping Beauty specials that they wore through the park gates every single day...much to the horror and dismay of my Helmut Lang'ed pal. The castle was sparkling with a mind-blowing quarter of a million lights, changing color every couple minutes or so. It was SO worth the price of admission...just absolutely stunning and left this ole gal amazed and misty. The night sky was ablaze in the most gorgeous fireworks ever and seeing Tinker Bell, all lime greened, with wings electric, sailing off the top of the most famous building in the world, flying over the heads of all the wide-eyed kiddos...well, what can Mama say? It was a wonder to behold. If that high wire would have snapped though..talk about reparation and damaged psyches! Yep, you won't find me going to Disney Land in L.A. again. That place is like Dogpatch compared to this 30,000 acre resort.

Oh, yes....but for every sweet and wondrous dream, there's always a nightmare thrown in..like the rain-storm type of REM shaker-upper that poured buckets down our backs for two straight hours...tree limbs a flying, ripped raincoats flapping in the wind, drenched, wailing children in levitating strollers screaming for their daddies. Let me put it this way. It was a Kingdom alright but it wasn't so magic that particular afternoon. Greg wimped out on me that day, having to snuggle up to his laptop to work..leaving Mama Mags to venture out to the Animal Kingdom with the munchkins all by her lonesome. Teeth chattering, armed with only a soaked box of Triskets and my hemorrhaging master card, the three of us Mags swam our way through the park. Thank goodness, his mother, who also happened to be visiting, had the mousy foresight and weather savvy to slip me two rain ponchos before our adventure that day. Me, being the selfless mother I am, cloaked my sopping toe heads in them, leaving myself to water log and limp my way through the Tree of Life. And it proved itself to be just that as it was the only place in the park that had warm air blowing from over head. I could have sat there and watched A Bug's Life 3-D show for the next three days if it wasn't for the two-ton guy in a Goofy hat that was lumbering his way over me toward the exit. But exit, we did...and onward, we soldiered, back out into the nasty wetness. I wasn't about to give up and give in though. And I sure as hell wasn't going to pay Disney 22 bucks for a plastic hood. W. asked me if I thought it best that we return to the hotel, but I assured her that if Jiminy could weather a storm in only his top hat and conscious, then we girls could do it! Besides, when ya spend that much dough on tickets, it would have taken an F4 to get me outta there.

I found out the next day, from the monorail conductor, that a tornado touched down just outside of where we were. Who knew Oz was so close to Disney? The sun eventually peeked it's way through the clouds, somewhat, and we were able to endure a few more hours of fun and frivolity, albeit rather chilly ones spent in a soaking wet bra and fogged up glasses. Don't ask me about that one special hour we spent after closing..walking around the parking lot...my two little ducks waddling behind me, trying in vain to find our hotel shuttle bus, in the end having to make a teary, shivering call to Uncle G. to leave his warm hotel room and 18 dollar Caesar salad and drive over to rescue the three of us. I've never been one who has any sort of sense of direction and it proved itself twofold that day. "Aisles 1 through 6, Miss, Aisles 1 through 6", were the only icy words that our hotel's front desk gal could tell me when I called her for some guidance and just a little bit o' Disney compassion. Oh, yeah, I forgot. I chose not to listen to Gregorio and booked us at a budget non-Disney property. Lesson learned, my friend, lesson learned. All the meanwhile, T-Mag is holding onto her rump, if you can picture it..howling, "I gotta poop, Mommy..I gotta poop! It's coming out!" Good times. My girlies were little amusement park troupers though and kept fudg.., er..I mean, trudging ahead across the sea of wet pavement. In the end, their bravery garnered them two darling Tinker pins from one of the nice security guards, while their mom got nothing but a mean case of jungle foot rot. Oh, well, pretty appropriate for the Animal Kingdom, I guess. Greg came close to calling CPS on the way back to the Best Western but refrained and got us Taco Bell instead.

Our Florida follies continued to unfold and we had the pleasure of meeting up one morning with Greg's family in their lovely suite, joining them for a yummy breakfast at one of Disney's beautiful lakeside hotels. It was nice to see how the other half lives. Particularly, the other half that's able to take a magical ferry ride to the park while the rest of us schlubs hold tight to the shuttle pole, keeping our snoots away from a bunch of arm pits. Next up, was Hollywood Studios..right up my alley. All the glitz and glam of movie land kept all us actor-types enthralled..including the story of ole Walt himself, "One Man's Dream, A Stay-At-Home Mom's Bankruptcy". Yes, it was a fast and furious four day trek across Orlando. Surprisingly, we were able to do all four parks during our stay. I think I set a family record for all that we saw, we did, we lived..in the short amount of time we had there. Big Red said, 'that I deserved that coveted, behind-the-glass Oscar for my ability to squeeze the very last nickel out of admission!" He also told me, proclaiming with Florida resident expertise, that the first week of December was the very best and slowest time of year to visit. He lied, big time, on that part. The after dark Spectacle of Dancing Lights on the "streets of New York" was fab. Our eyes didn't know where to look, it was so incredibly twinkly and festive. However, the 90 thousand bodies that were pressed against mine; also enjoying the twinkly festivities was something this old claustrophobe sure could have done without. And the Fantasmic Arena show was simply mah-velous, darlings! All of Disney's characters were in full swing..as we sat back and enjoyed another j'adorable dancing, fireworked, fountain-spewing extravaganza with Baloo shakin' his money maker and my personal fave, Ursula!

Epcot got a swifter run through than I would have liked, but that's what happens when you have four aching middle-aged feet, two gasoline strength Patron margaritas and 38 degree weather. Ahhh, Florida..normally sun and shorts, but for us- mufflers and gloves. Uncle Greg was so very kind to even allow Mama to have a glorious 30 minute moment alone..to ride something just for herself while he took the youngins to a Discovery Pavilion Fire Safety course. It was there he learned two things about my girls. They both couldn't care less about a shiny, red fire truck and in the case there's ever a scorcher at the Mag's residence, W. will leave her sister to fry in about two seconds flat. The very last night of our trip ended with a 50 piece orchestra and mass choir Candlelight Christmas show, on an outdoor stage by the lake...truly wonderful. The girls were all cuddled up in our arms with their tummies full of cocoa, the holiday trees softly glowing...the joy was palpable. The refrains of Hallelujah were echoing through the World Showcase as we made our way out of the park and back into the real world. Thanks again, Greg, for being my friend, making me laugh beyond measure, and especially for loving my babies and bringing their dreams to life.

tomorrow land

When you wish upon a star...


We're off!

the harvest

Well..another Thanksgiving holiday is upon us. My, my..how fast this last year has gone. When I think of the flurry of activity and the level of emotion that filled these last 365 days..well, two things. 1) I am plum tuckered and 2) I have much to be thankful for. My appreciation spills over the edge of my St. Paulie Girl stein, and once again, amidst the chaos and roller coaster structure that is a mother's life..well, it fills me to sit down at the ole terminal and try to express the gift of goodness, love and light that has been given to me by so many of you. As I always say, my friendships are my greatest fortune. I don't know what I did in a past life, but it must of been darn good to have what I have today. Here. Now. In this very moment. And folks, that is all we have. A series of fleeting moments..some fab, some not so fab..in an ever changing world. And, tomorrow, I think it's essential, at least for me anyway, that we all gather 'round the dinner table, the five star culinary hall or the T.V. tray and take stock 'o what we got and share our thanks with those we love..and reminding ourselves, as well, of all the simple joys of living and the precious meaning that lies within. For it is deep inside those tiny fleeting moments, the grand majesty of life abides. You don't have to run out and get yourself preggars or anything, but kids are sure a great way to stay up and at 'em on all those little daily morsels.

My Top Turkey Five:

1) My amazing girls who have opened my life..my heart beyond measure. Whose joys are my joys. Whose breath is my very own.

2) My husband's tenacity and strength to face the darkest of darks and come back ten-fold. Priceless.

3) The gift of friendship and family..those who share my life, my dreams, my booze..my world. The beyond-Harrods gift of smiles and love that I hold in my heart by having the honor of knowing each one of you.

4) Laughter. A life without it, is not one properly lived, I say. To Tim, I thank you for teaching me that one..at times when I didn't know it was still there even..at times when it saved me.

5) That by the generosity of another treasured friend, in just two short days, my girls get to meet Snow White and soar with Peter Pan. I remember my giggles, my happiness...the armfuls of magic when I skipped-to-my-Lou'd across Walt's special Kingdom in my youth. Yeah, that was the good ole days when 40 bucks got you and your brood into Mickey's casa. Now, it looks like a choice between hocking the wedding ring or downsizing the Honda to a Datsun B-210.

And then there are always those things my greedy self wishes I was thankful for. Hey, I'm only human.
~ my stainless steel Kenmore Elite Kitchen Series.
~ the pewter Lexus with the huge red ribbon that Geez so lovingly wrapped around its chassis.
~ The 10 day, ten night, all inclusive, expenses paid- nanny included, over water-bungalow vacation on the edge of a Tahiti sea. Complete with fins, snorkel and ice cold Dom. Oh, yeah...and crème brulee every night for dessert and a body like Jessica Alba while I'm stuffing it down.

For now, this pilgrim must sign off and skedaddle. Mama has to pull a last minute five-day Disney vacation with a 3 year old, a 5 year old, three carry-ons and two car seats outta my butt. Egads!

Happy Thanksgiving To All!

twinkle, twinkle

Thank you, Big Red, for making two little girls dreams..come true.


Jiminy's pals don't have nothin' over mine....

star party

To infinity and beyond. At 8pm sharp last night, the Endeavor
lifted off into a perfectly clear evening sky and so did Mama's spirits. I have always been fascinated by all things astronomy. It’s a total bummer that I can’t add two plus two or maybe I could be sitting pretty, in a five point harness, with three engines burning behind me, each packed with one third of a million pounds of thrust, five of my egghead bros and Commander Chris at my side, shooting through the night sky at 10 times the speed of sound. Boy, oh, boy. Is that exciting or what? But it’s all good. I had my robe and toasties on, sipping a glass of vino, sitting on my rear watching all the glory. That’s tres easier and doesn’t require beyond upper level classes of linear algebra or multi-variable calculus. Oy. The mere thought of that just brings the cold sweat out of me. I mean, I had to cover my eyes when I saw A Beautiful Mind, for goodness sake. I hope for the next 15 days our boys and girls aboard stay safe and accomplish their mission of expanding and repairing our Space Station. As far as the irradiated turkey and dressing goes..too bad they can't fix that problem, but that's what you get when you go on a heroic adventure during a holiday, I suppose. They may miss out on the family din-din but I bet they come home with thanks beyond imagination. That view will do it to ya every time. Sort of puts it all into perspective, huh?

Yes, my two little comets were round-eyed with excitement as they watched the perfectly orchestrated movement of mechanical arms, a smiling crew and the cool as a cucumber flight director doing his thing. Heck, she hadn’t even left the ground yet and there I was...blown away, with a tear in my eye. It just fills me that little ole us can soar through outer space in a 1.7 billion dollar fancy dancy tin can. Money well spent, I say. I’d rather fund that instead of Wall Street and Detroit’s Big Three any day.

Our quest for knowledge and all things great and mystical can not be better defined than our journeys through space. When Armstrong made that small step for us, it was only the beginning of some giant leaps that I believe we’ll achieve as a nation in the many, many years to come..as an important part of a vast global space snooping community. Yeah, yeah, we have a whole lot of stuff down here on solid ground to work on but there is so much majesty out there in that vast black wonder..that we just gotta go for it and I’m willing to chip in a few of my tax bucks to make that happen. With the recent discovery of four more planets outside of our solar system, it continues to hook me, for sure. This new system, HR8799, is 130 light years away from us. Its host star, Fomalhaut- just happens to be 16 times brighter than our sun, thank you very much, and it gets better- one of the planets orbiting it happens to be seven times bigger than our Jupiter!! For those of you who may not remember from science class, it would take 1,317 earths to size up to one Jupiter and now this guy is 7 times bigger than that?? Well, that would mean..uh-oh, there goes that math thing again. Needless to say, it's humongous with a capitol H.! Okay, I’ll simma down now in my Trekie nerdiness, but I can’t help it. It’s exciting as hell. None of these planets are habitable, but still..it's looking to me like another one of those steps making its way to a another leap toward another Earth. Maybe we’re not so alone after all, underneath our cuddly stellar blanket. Who knows, my friends? I just hope for two things if or when we find them- they tell us their secret to living in unified peace and how to make a cheesecake that doesn’t crack on top.


"Preparing our home in space for a larger international family."

to our vets

This quiet evening, my prayers go out to all of our deceased veterans and their families. I hope the rest of you in uniform come back to us as soon as possible, to fill the empty spots around the dinner tables and the hearts of those who love you.

prop this

It is indeed a sad reflection in the mirror of this nation that the votes were cast to reject a vital, tax paying, worthy and integral part of our society. It is beyond me at how some of the homies in my old 'hood, unfortunately 52% of said some have opened their wallets and wasted 35 million bucks but have refused to open their hearts and minds to the recognition, the truth, that we are all equal and worthy of every legal right the other joe has, and that discrimination of any kind for any one of us at any given time is just a bunch of hooey. People that live by all things good and lawful in this great country, should have just that..no matter who we may love, or how we may love them, and especially no matter if we go to Moby Dicks on Monday for two-for-one shots night.

And it's beyond me that we, breeders, have a 50% fail rate in our marriages and yet we feel we're experts on the subject and profess that we own the sole right, by God, to walk into the courthouse and legalize our unions. I don't get it. How can you legislate love? How can you truly define it other than feeling it? And how is being gay, different? Well, let's see..just what are they? They walk upright, they communicate by language, they pay, they vote, they work, they serve, they have brains in their heads & feet in their shoes and they are a full 20% of us. I can definitely tell you who they are, from vast experience. Some are treasured 30 year friendships when lava lamps and The Commodores were the thang, some held me up when I thought I might fall..yes, at times in drunkenness while pole dancing at The Revolver, but at other times, too, when life was tough and my heart was hurting or when my husband was about to kick the bucket and leave me with two small kids. They have gifted me with laughter, stocked me up with six months of fabric softener sheets, fed me hot dinners time and time again, bought the wine when I couldn't afford it, came to my matinees when there were only four people in the house, inspired me with their smarts, conversation and talents and even joined me in hurling barbs to those that have the audacity to wear something really ugly to the Academy Awards. And get this. Some are even raising babies in loving homes, some have been there, done that and paid for their munchkins college educations, some are aching to foster and some light up my inbox, so to speak, with beams of pride while holding and j'adoring their children's children. They help with homework when they're tired and don't want to, they go to soccer games, they worry over how they'll get the money to give Jr. violin lessons, and some, I suppose, simply want to sit on a park bench in each others arms without judgment.

But I think they just want to be..to be who they are in the life they live, in the love they give, in the work they do, in the service for their country...just like everybody else. I mean, it's okay to have your valiant butt on the front line, fighting a war you shouldn't have had to fight in the first place, risking life and limb while eating dust, dodging road bombs and bravely protecting the lives of those in your squad but whatever you do..don't ask, don't tell? Good grief. Why is it that we worry more about our kid's teacher being gay but less about how many guns are in the home? Why is it that we often times are more preoccupied with the rights of animals than our fellow human beings? Well said, per usual, Michael Patrick King. And Melissa, you go girl.

I guess I'm gonna have to google the Constitution again to see where it preambles things for me but not for others. And while I'm at it, look up the word love in Merriam-Webster. In the meantime, I will raise my girls to respect others no matter what color their epidermis, how many nose rings they have, or even the sad fact that some still choose to wear cowboy boots. And yes, my dah-ling boys...to always, always hold in the highest, most fuchshia esteem those who worship at the Temple of Liza.

(And per usual, Keith...you nailed it).

a new day

This morning my heart sings, 338 has become my lucky number and even the cup of joe I'm slurping has never tasted so good, folks. Heck, if W. didn't have to go to school this morning, I might have made myself a martini! What a night. What a process. What a run. And what a country! Seeing Mr. Obama and his beautiful family all donned up in red, waving in victory, was a sight to behold and I know his Toot would be proud. Oh, I'm just a sucka for families with two adorable little girlies. When Jesse got all misty, Mama was a big ole blubbery mess from then on. And I was crying, too. Ba dum dum. I believe in Barack and I think he will do fine by this nation. And if not, you can just look up this post in another year or two and comment the hell out of it, okay? I'm not so giddy though that I don't realize the Matterhorn of work and challenges he's facing, but he's the dude for the job. And I thought it was difficult getting my girls to eat the boy gummies out of their Flintstone vitamins. Yeesh. But I have no doubt that our brand spanking new Prez will tackle it with honor and dignity..and smarts! Thank the heavens for the gray matter. We've sure been missing that for that last eight years. Three things he showed and exercised through this whole election-schmection process without fail. He never once got down and dirty and consistently conducted himself in a fashion that showed us just what he's made of. Hats off to Plouffe, too. I'd like to hire that guy myself and I'm not running for anything! Hey, I'm ready for change...especially regarding my gray hair and five tee-shirt wardrobe. And props to Oprah. That woman gets anything she wants. And I'm sure one happy little camper about it this time.

Like my hubby said, after arriving home from work at midnight, "It's a new day in America, baby". It surely is..my hard working, tax paying, everyman, dearest. And what a night in Grant Park. 250 thousand? Now that's a lot of pulsating energy, my friends. And I bet the waiters made some serious coin. Yep- it sure feels good to hope instead of fear, to engage instead of fingerpoint, to see a little color in the Rose Garden..a time for firsts..new beginnings. Now all our guy has to do is roll up those sleeves of his and get our alliances back on track, fix our stinky healthcare bag of poo, get our kids out of that desert, wrangle the partisanship monster, pull some jobs outta his rear, drum up a new form of energy and help me figure out how I'm gonna afford to throw my kid a birthday party next year much less send her to college.

at the crossroads of manassas

almost

Rest in peace, Madelyn. Ya done good.

"She's the one who put off buying a new car or a new dress for herself so that I could have a better life. She poured everything she had into me."

a tuesday to remember

V

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T

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"Go vote now. It will make you feel big and strong."
~ Bob Schieffer's Mama

V

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V O T E

halloween 2008

My little mermaids...


Daddy's freehand Ariel pumpkin...


At least one of us in the family has talent. ;-)

If you have nothing better to do right now and want to see the whole batty photo shebang of the evening's festivities then click here!

a hallow's eve fish tail

I love Fall like Susan Lucci loves botox. The crisp, cool air and pumpkin patches, the red buds beginning to blossom, the leaves turning golden across all of the beautiful golf courses that I can't afford to play on. But particularly, the munchkins yoda-ing around..all donned up in their pirate garb and princess tiaras. My husband and I have more fun than the kids, I think. He carves me my annual dracula jack-o-lantern and after the babes are tucked in, it is creepy movie time for Mom and Dad. Just Jamie Lee and the two of us Mags. Yeah. We're old.

This year, for our girls, it has become all about the mermaid. Yep, no goblins, no ghouls, no fangy beasts for my kiddos. They are frou-frou all the way, those two. However, they have agreed to my chocolate cemetery cake, complete with skeleton and worms, but that's about it in the scary department. I couldn't even talk W. into being Ursula to T.'s Ariel. I tried to tell her that the villain is the most fun...all those black octopus legs, blue eyeshadow and the bleached-up do. "No", W. said, "You can play her if you want to, Mom". And once upon a time was when this chilling nightmare began. Over black bog and eerie dale, I traipsed, looking for two beautiful mermaid outfits that in the end would only elude me...leaving me alone, shivering..bobbing, as it were, in a cold, dark sea. Oh, I guess I could have purchased online long before the holiday, but then that would mean I was one of those organized multi-tasking super-moms, wouldn't it? And we all know that's a bunch of spine tingling malarkey. At least not these days as Mama has been sucked up in what seems to be a tornado tail that just won't quit. Hey, that would have been an appropriate fit for me this year..Dorothy!

Anyhoo, after all the pleas and wails and begging them to consider something else to wear, my two little monsters simply would not have it. It was going to be a flashy, fishy princess of the ocean blue or nothin'. "A purpl-ey fishtail and bra, Mom! Don't forget the bra!" Uh-oh. Now here is where the story gets really frightening and the tot abuse comes in. I'm making them. Yep. You read that right. Me. Mama Mags. Creating not one but two super-duper flipper outfits. Gives ya chills, doesn't it? And so it goes. I have glued, sprayed, sequined, scissored and drank my way through crafting the two freakiest things you've ever seen this side of the Great Pumpkin. Walt's rolling around in his coffin about now because of what I've done to the image of that poor Little Mermaid. I have a feeling my girls might end up being tarted instead of touted on Halloween night. Yes, thanks to yours truly, Ariel has reached a new level..from wide-eyed, fire-haired beauty to trampy skank o' the sea. It would appear that Triton had to kick her out of the kingdom after Sebastian found her playing in her underwater cave with something besides a dinglehopper. Short of hiring a seamstress or bribing my buddy that works for Disney, my babies are simply gonna to have to grin and bear it. Or should I say, grin and wear it. That or hush their yappers and squeeze into last years recycles. In the years to come, looking back on the photos in horror, they'll see that their old mother made it with love...with untalented hands and no ability to art or craft, mind you...but every last crooked stich was made with a whole lot of love. And just a wee bit of cursing. Poor tykes. They wanted June Cleaver for a mom but got Roseanne instead. Now that's spooky.



P.S.) For any of you out there that would like a good movie rental for the 31st..Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow is mine and Geez' favorite. Depp is very funny in it..joined by a wonderful cast...nicely shot and put together. Unlike my two tacky mermaid creations.

krumpin' with the maverick

Some may say I do not have respect for the Office of the President. I do. Some may say that I am mocking the dire situation this country is currently facing. I am not. Some may say I'm a goofball and downright silly. They may be right on that one. All I do know is that there are some really cool dudes out there workin' CGI. God bless 'em. Mama needs as many laughs as she can get these days.

ba-rock the vote

Dear Lord. I had the nightmare of all nightmares last night. Forget the 4th. I'm going to the courthouse immediately!

super mama

Click here to see my moves!
I've never looked thinner, dah-lings!

G 51

Note to self- Don’t rent a pull at your heartstrings flick (Sex and the City) that you only just now found 1 hour and 30 minutes of precious time to see after its twelfth-of-never release date, even though it was at one point your very fave series shared with one of your very fave buds in the world (remember our "Sex on Sundays", Tim?). Then while watching said film, decide to re-read a letter from your mom that for years your sappy self has carried in the small side pocket of your purse that tells of how much you are loved and what a good mother she thinks you are (not too shabby since she is the best in that department), all the while being only hours away from your menstrual cycle and then wash down all of the above with two very strong vodka tonics. Oy hormone vey. The tears have been a flowin' these days. Yep, life is coming at me double time as my sweet mamacita took a nasty fall three weeks ago on her carport, face first, and ended up in the ICU for a harrowing week and is now sitting in re-hab, almost three weeks later...eating some scary things that kinda look like chicken, popping wheelies on her walker but recovering, thank the heavens above.

After only an eighth month hiatus from my Lifetime medical melodrama, I am back at it... sans Joanna Kerns. But I’m lucky to have another lovely co-star milking the drama with me...my ole sis. Another oy goes out to her. Our heads and hearts are exhausted, but like Emeril, we’re kicking it up another notch, working our tails off, and are looking forward to bringing our sweet mammy back to her nest by hopefully next week. Only after completing a major safety overhaul on her casa and setting up some extra health care hands to help us get her back up square on her tootsies and to stay there- away from throw rugs, all things pointy and stairs. Oh, yeah, and concrete. Definitely anything under the heading of slab needs to have a big red circle and a line through it, for sure. Talk about scary Halloween stuff. Whew. More of that entire saga to come. But let me just say, for an 87 year old lady, she is one tough broad. I come from good stock. It looked like Apollo Creed had his mitts on her for a few rounds and then with a long left hook outta nowhere, he decided to TKO me while he was at it. She is my heart and my hero and it will sure be nice to see her back in her easy chair, sipping java, before too long.

And speaking of TKO’s...this Mama’s sort of flabbing out again. It's kind of like Raging Bull- The Latter Years. The gym has fallen off the priority list and I’d like to say I don’t need it because I’m phat but alas, I’m not. It’s more like the "f" kind. Well, I won’t go that far, but let’s just say Big Daddy’s chunky monkey is on the way back. Thank goodness, love is blind. That’s exactly what it should be, too. It’s better for all parties involved. I’ll save ya the whole blubbery song and dance and just put a link right here to an earlier post...regarding the extra 16 pounds o’ Mag that I tread milled off of me last year. Well, crap. I guess this means I had better revise that little priority list of mine and place pounding the pavement in early morning runs right at Number One. With three exclamation points following. Will someone out there tell me how Angelina can have eleven babies and her arms are still the size of spaghetti noodles?? Oh, life is cruel, my friends. So are the forties. And yesterday, the arthritic hand of fate, placed me in a dusty closet looking for one thing but finding another...a wedding gift from my husband- a beautiful wooden box full of memories and skinny-ness, circa early ‘90’s.....back in the day, when I had killer gams, a flat stomach and a tan. Well, I guess the tan ended up not being so good as basal cell took it’s vengeance on me two years ago, resulting in four stitches on the old temple. But the nice young body parts...well, that's always a good thing. Tortuous perhaps, but always good...in a brutally gnawing reflective kind of way. Yes, those were the good ole days when I also was the proud possessor of a nice décolletage which in the here and now has become more like the inside spread of the National Geographic. I guess that’ll happen when you carry two watermelon-sized humanoids in your midriff. Oh, hell, I better stop weltering in all this mid-crisis mud. Besides, I gotta hoof it over to the nursing home. There's a mean game of Bingo with me, mom and my three year old T. written all over it.

:)

23 days

Well, in less time than it takes for a rat to gestate, it looks like we’ll have us a new Prez. The sides of my mouth are beginning to curl up as the map becomes just a little bit bluer everyday. That is, if Jeb and all those chads behave themselves. But seriously, folks...

I believe in my man, Obama. I have to. What has unfolded in this country within the last eight years with a certain cross-eyed bozo at the helm has left us broken in both wallet and spirit. And most, unfortunately, 4,115 less of us are able to feel anything at all. So what does Stuart Smalley tell us to do when the chips are down? That doggone it, we’re good enough, we’re smart enough and the global community can like us again! We just have to pick ourselves up by the bootstraps and immediately if not sooner get those wind turbines a whirling and give me and all the other normal Joes out there a Hybrid that we can actually afford. I’m not usually one for putting away the sarcasm, as that and a mean Australian Shiraz can at times be my only salvation, but we gotta know when it’s time for all those hokey things like hope, renewal, change for the better, and, hey, I’m even willing to go out on a limb here and theorize that we just might get really crazy and completely hokify our cynical selves and actually believe that it might be possible that one individual's proactive measures, sans whining, can create a ripple in the pond effect to others and so on and so on and that then..we just might kinda have a pay it forward type of thing going on. All that eyeball-rolly stuff is real, ya know? Shakyamuni wasn’t born yesterday. Oh, well, he was, but you know what I mean. We can make a difference. We can make change happen. Oh, well, change is gonna happen whether we friggin' want it to or not. But it can get better, right? We're just going to have to pay 700 bil for it to do so. Oh, come on. That's not too bad. If we could just get Brangelina and Mylie Cyrus to pitch in between the three of them, we'll have it covered! If all this sounds to touchy feely for ya, then click here for a much more adept, less Mag-netized way of putting things..positive plans lying right on the table, there under our snoots. Plans that maybe we can put into motion? Heck, I'm not going to pretend I really know what to do about this oil sitch. I wish my noodle was smart enough to figure it all out. Oh, well, I'll just have to leave it to all of those brainiacs in the think tanks. As I said in an earlier post..maybe I ought to just get a cart and a donkey and go from there. I do have a double lot now. And the kids have been begging me for a pet. What I really need is T. Boone's money and then I could ditch everything, grab my brood, and go to Tahiti and just sit on my butt looking out at that azure heaven where my biggest decision of the day would involve picking the color of the umbrella that would float in my nightly mai-tai.

I’m sorry. I don’t think just because you spend five years in a room with only a light bulb and communicating by tap qualifies you for the Presidency. I do, however, think it shows that you have great fortitude, quite a bit of courage and bravery thrown in there and a very, very determined will to survive. I also don’t think having a couple of journalism classes and seeing Russia out of the kitchen window qualifies ya either. But I dunno..if there are three things that I am just not up on...they would be lipstick, mavericks and soccer. One of 'em, I haven't ever tried, and two, I haven't done in quite awhile. I also don’t think that just because you fought in a war means you love this country any more than someone who did not. Your religious faith? Whatever is fine by me. Just run my country to the very best of your ability, don't thieve and put the separation right on back in between the church and state. Underline it, enhance with bold and use capitols! I certainly do believe though that one absolutely, unequivocally must be an intellectual to run this country..that sheer chutzpah and sound bites simply aren’t enough. I think it's evident to us now at what happens when you put a C student in the Oral..er, I mean Oval Office. Oh, yeah, and while I've got a wish list? Please have the dignity, the class..the cajones, to shake your fellow candidates hand after a debate instead of shuffling your Stepford wife into that position. "That one" would appreciate it, I'm sure. Oh, settle down, Mama. I wish life were like the movies, I’d much prefer a Dave, but alas, it isn’t, so we gotta hang in reality. Besides, nobody gives a hooey what I have to say anyway, but they do if we all say it together.

W. asked me the other day who those ‘two men on the T.V. were’. I had to bite my dry witted tongue and and really try to explain to her what this process means to and for all of us. Not just us here in the States but abroad....at how rocking the vote is more important than ever....at just what it means when people on T.V. stand with big signs in their hands....at what freedom and liberty and equality, you know, all that other hokey stuff is about. I decided I’d refrain from filling her in on how our foreign relations are completely in the crapper, how so many of our military have died senselessly, at how women once had to fight tooth and nail, enduring physical pain, in their struggle for us fellow ladies to even have the right to vote this November in the first place. I mean she’s only five, for goodness sakes. I’ll wait and tell her all that next year. Maybe in a few years after that, when she, herself, is older and wiser, she can try and explain to her mom the craziness of Mr. Bin Laden sitting pretty in a cave, noshing a pita, safe and sound...albeit receiving mountain dialysis...and why he is alive and goes unpunished...to explain the utter nonsense to me of getting socked in the mouth by mean ole Bobby on the playground, but going after Billy for doing it.

I think in some way that this country, in essence, has become the father that my candidate never really had..providing the encouragement, the opportunity, the freedom of discovering just who he was..who he felt that he could become..who, perhaps, he was always meant to be. The scrappiness and tenacity of those who loved him..who worked hard to give him the chance to prove himself stands for just about everything American that I can think of. The stats for young African-American men aren’t very pretty as only 8% of these boys will go on to graduate from college..that the level of incarceration is 7 times higher than those of our white citizens..that 50% of these young fellows are being raised in single parent households. Barack beat against all of the prejudice, misconceptions, preconceptions and the sad fact this country has those kind of stats in the first place for any of our citizens. He couldn't have done it without those that came before him, however, as that is always the case in a nation's history. Barriers were broken through on a personal level, and I have the audacity to hope that the achievements he has accomplished along his 40 something year long journey will transpire to a lot more across the board for this country and we will see a difference. He’s talking it..let’s have some good energy that he will soon be walking it. Besides isn’t it great to have an orator again? It’s been a long eight years since ole Bill.

Oh, yeah, things have got to get a little better. I mean, gas has fallen to $2.79 a gallon (oh, my) and my Wheat Thins have gone back down to two for five bucks. And haulin’ our tired, old, poopily-insured rumps to the polls is a good start to better, don’t ya think? And btw, while you are ambling your way over to that local booth of yours on the 4th, lest not forget what a great privilege it is to be able to even participate in an election. Oh, there I go again..with all that blasted hokey stuff. May I also take a moment (it is my blog, after all) to be so bold to suggest that while you’re behind the curtain, with your venti latte, in that confining little box...that you punch the spot next to the one that has the exotic name? Trust me. You'll be glad ya did. I have only one major regret in my life. And that was when I sang Stoney End in my 10th grade high school talent show. So hopefully this won't be another one. Yeah, I simply must have to believe that things will improve. I'm a mom. Optimism is a requirement. Besides, my kids can't have a bitter wise-ass as their mother all of the time. And double besides- somebodies gotta protect us from stumpy guys in bad suits. Yep, it’s high time we said goodbye to tex-mex and tractors and hello to a cool brotha. Lord knows, if my babies had been born in the Palin household, they would have been christened Mangle Blue and Khaki Salmon. And me? Guzzle Red. Okay, now that one's just not funny. Hits too close to home, I think. And my hubby, Plop Hero, completely agrees.

Oh, relax, my conservative pals. A girl’s gotta keep her sense of humor when she’s sitting square in the middle of a red zone.

See ya at the Polls!

for women on the go

glitterati

The new season of Dancing With The Stars has begun.
Can ya tell?

curly top

The Wall has fallen. so to speak, No Neck's a scaredy cat and my allergies are about to kill me. What a week this has been. Oh, well..it’s all good as I have an old LA pal visiting me in a couple, I’m getting ready to kick back and put my feet up this quiet evening but more importantly...my Max is back on Dancing With The Stars! Yep, Mama’s little Russky is shakin’it and bakin’ it this season and I couldn’t be happier! Hey, it’s no secret. I have nothing to hide. My husband is more than aware that I’d have no choice but to leave him if my ballroom stud mambo-ed his way across the Ozark mountains to shimmy me off into the gold lame' sunset. Short of the two kiddos and my black cohosh, I’d be good to go.

Finally..Fall is ever so slightly on its way and after a lovely visit from our Afi (Icelandic for grand-pappy), we are settling into the new school year quite nicely. My oldest munchkin is experiencing kindergarten to the hilt, the two nerves I have left are in utter bliss caring for only uno offspring and..who knew?..I have fallen in love with my youngest one all over again. I have never really spent time with the girls separately as it’s always been a three-peas-in-a-pod type of deal with us, but the last few weeks have just been lovely. The T-Meister has finally acclimated to losing sissy an extra three and a half hours a day and we are discovering all kinds of fun things to do..just the two of us. After reading the news and getting my Huffington fix this morning, well, needless to say, I was just as verklempt as ever over the sitch this country is in..the haywire, meltdown craziness of it all. Besides budgeting the hell outta my fuel and eating a lot of pasta, I have to just hunker down, try not to clinch my mandible into powder at night & focus on keeping Big Daddy well this winter since he's already gobbled up half of his lifetime maximum...and for God's sake, I gotta VOTE! Vote is the key word here, people. So must we all. I mean, Magna Cum Laude and two J.D.'s have gotta trump a half dozen dead moose and a couple semesters of journalism, right? Mama must put aside her bitterness and wholeheartedly jump right up on that bandwagon of hope and change. It can't get any worse. Oh, yeah, that's right. It can. Oy..on to better things...

I spent probably the best 27 minutes of my day today watching T. eat an ice cream cone. Chocolate. Extra drippy. After driving straight on toward the most beautiful sky this morning. My favorite kind, too..big puffy swabs of cumulus back lit with that ethereal golden morning sun..well, heck..the day had already sized itself up to be almost perfect and it was only 7:30am even though the amount of histamine in my body could choke Godzilla. It's like the universe knows just when to give Mama a little something good when my shoulders are up around my ears. That’s what I love about my kids, too..no matter what I got hammering down on me, I can always take a moment to bathe in their grace..their soft, cushy joy, and within that precious snap of the fingers, I’m able to let everything else slide. I consider myself to be about the luckiest gal around when it comes to those welcome showers of pure unalduterated goodness- those sacred albeit fleeting moments that will before too long, whether I'm ready for it or not..turn into ones between my two punkies and their children. I pray that I will never ever forget a single moment and that my healthy heart can hold every last ounce of it all for as long as possible.

Thank you, T, for the music of your whispers, for turning on the light and for loving me just as I am. It is within your sunshine curls my soul will forever hunker.

snl

the dead of september 11

by TONI MORRISON

Some have God's words; others have songs
of comfort for the bereaved.
If I can pluck courage here, I would
like to speak directly to the dead--the
September dead.
Those children of ancestors born in every
continent on the planet: Asia, Europe, Africa, the Americas...;
born of ancestors who wore kilts, obis, saris, geles,
wide straw hats, yarmulkes, goatskin, wooden shoes,
feathers and cloths to cover their hair. But I would not say
a word until I could set aside all I know or believe about
nations, wars, leaders, the governed and ungovernable;
all I suspect about armor and entrails. First I would freshen
my tongue, abandon sentences crafted to know evil---wanton
or studied; explosive or quietly sinister; whether born of
a sated appetite or hunger; of vengeance or the simple
compulsion to stand up before falling down. I would purge
my language of hypberbole; of its eagerness to analyze
the levels of wickedness; ranking them; calculating their
higher or lower status among others of its kind.

Speaking to the broken and the dead is too difficult for
a mouth full of blood. Too holy an act for impure thoughts.
Because the dead are free, absolute; they cannot be
seduced by blitz.

To speak to you, the dead of September 11, I must not claim
false intimacy or summon an overheated heart glazed
just in time for a camera. I must be steady and I must be clear,
knowing all the time that I have nothing to say--no words
stronger than the steel that pressed you into itself; no scripture
older or more elegant than the ancient atoms you
have become.

And I have nothing to give either--except this gesture,
this thread thrown between your humanity and mine:
I want to hold you in my arms and as your soul got shot of its box of flesh to understand, as you have done, the wit
of eternity: its gift of unhinged release tearing through
the darkness of its knell.

obama and the palin effect

by DEEPOK CHOPRA

Sometimes politics has the uncanny effect of mirroring the national psyche even when nobody intended to do that. This is perfectly illustrated by the rousing effect that Gov. Sarah Palin had on the Republican convention in Minneapolis this week. On the surface, she outdoes former Vice President Dan Quail as an unlikely choice, given her negligent parochial expertise in the complex affairs of governing. Her state of Alaska has less than 700,000 residents, which reduces the job of governor to the scale of running one-tenth of New York City. By comparison, Rudy Giuliani is a towering international figure. Palin's pluck has been admired, and her forthrightness, but her real appeal goes deeper.

She is the reverse of Barack Obama, in essence his shadow, deriding his idealism and exhorting people to obey their worst impulses. In psychological terms the shadow is that part of the psyche that hides out of sight, countering our aspirations, virtue, and vision with qualities we are ashamed to face: anger, fear, revenge, violence, selfishness, and suspicion of "the other." For millions of Americans, Obama triggers those feelings, but they don't want to express them. He is calling for us to reach for our higher selves, and frankly, that stirs up hidden reactions of an
unsavory kind. (Just to be perfectly clear, I am not making a verbal play out of the fact that Sen. Obama is black. The shadow is a metaphor widely in use before his arrival on the scene.) I recognize that psychological analysis of politics is usually not welcome by the public, but I believe such a perspective can be helpful here to understand Palin's message. In her acceptance speech Gov. Palin sent a rousing call to those who want to celebrate their resistance to change and a higher vision. Look at what she stands for:

-- Small town values -- a denial of America's global role, a return to petty, small-minded parochialism.

-- Ignorance of world affairs -- a repudiation of the need to repair America's image abroad.

-- Family values -- a code for walling out anybody who makes a claim for social justice. Such strangers, being outside the family, don't need to be heeded.

-- Rigid stands on guns and abortion -- a scornful repudiation that these issues can be negotiated with those who disagree.

-- Patriotism -- the usual fallback in a failed war.

-- Reform -- an italicized term, since in addition to cleaning out corruption and excessive spending, one also throws out anyone who doesn't fit your ideology.

Palin reinforces the overall message of the reactionary right, which has been in play since 1980, that social justice is liberal-radical, that minorities and immigrants, being different from "us" pure American types, can be ignored, that progressivism takes too much effort and globalize is a foreign threat. The radical right marches under the banners of "I'm all right, Jack," and "Why change Everything's OK as it is." The irony, of course, is that Gov. Palin is a woman and a reactionary at the same time. She can add mom to apple pie on her resume, while blithely reversing forty years of feminist progress. The irony is superficial; there are millions of women who stand on the side of conservatism, however obviously they are voting against their own good. The Republicans have won multiple national elections by raising shadow issues based on fear, rejection, hostility to change, and narrow-mindedness.

Obama's call for higher ideals in politics can't be seen in a vacuum. The shadow is real; it was bound to respond. Not just conservatives possess a shadow -- we all do. So what comes next is a contest between the two forces of progress and inertia. Will the shadow win again, or has its furtive appeal become exhausted? No one can predict. The best thing about Gov. Palin is that she brought this conflict to light, which makes the upcoming debate honest. It would be a shame to elect another Reagan, whose smiling persona was a stalking horse for the reactionary forces that have brought us to the demoralized state we are in. We deserve to see what we are getting, without disguise.

historia de un letrero

circus of the sun

It should be against the law that all schools do not begin at least by the first week of June. After 104 days of “what are we gonna do today, Mom?”...double oy, I am spent. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids but let’s get real. A couple of Sundays ago was one of those days, with the same old repeat of heat and ‘what to do’ and preferring not to be en pointe and juggling up another day of fun for my two frenetic mini-me's, I decided to let the pros do it. I locked and loaded them and went off to join the circus. Well, for an hour and forty minutes anyway. Delirium, the latest flick from Cirque du Soleil, had rolled into town, with a limited weekend only release. And I figured the next best thing other than seeing them in the flesh would be on screen. So off us Mags went. It was high time for the kiddos to take a gander at something that wasn’t animated and dive head first into some inspiration that only this stellar cast of 33 could provide. Besides, Mama needed to indulge herself a little and it turned out to be just what the doc ordered after three long dog day months of Alvin, his chipmunk pals and what seemed like 85 dip cones at D.Q.

Good Lord. What's up with this incredible troupe of angels..er, rubbery robots... extra-terrestrials...who and what are they?...I mean, they can’t be human and do what they do, right? Well, I guess they are and they can and man, oh, man they do it so very well! Beckham may bend ‘em, but he can’t do it like these kids. When you can stand for ten minutes on one hand holding onto what looks like a door knob which is atop a hydraulic lift going up and down..toes pointed, legs split to high heaven or perhaps spin not one but six hula hoops on every extremity ya got by contorting yourself like a pipe cleaner all the while wearing a radiant smile..well, then good grief, you deserve the Klondike of all Klondike bars.

A nicely shot big tent party of song, dance and twisty pretzel people set against a backdrop of stunning projection wizardry, really tight buns and the usual Cirque mystical overtones, it didn’t disappoint and left my rug rats with their mouths agape and for one beautiful moment in time..silent in their awe and wonder. While the three of us snarfed salty, buttered heart-plugging popcorn, we sat transfixed at the heart-stopping show of dancing, flying, flipping, singing, trapez-ey, gymnastic marvels. My husband and I were first introduced to Cirque’s live show, “O”, in Vegas many years ago; back in the day when we could jet-set off without a care, party ‘til 2am and not have to worry about things like pre-schools and healthcare. Yes, I remember it well..the excitement of the millennium year, 28th floor corner suite above the fountains, gourmet cuisine, martinis galore and, most unfortunately, two things I don’t have to worry about anymore...makeup and sex. To say the show was extraordinary and unique is an understatement. It was absolutely breathtaking and some of the best dough hubby and I ever spent. Delirium, with no water added, is a sort of tribal, electric pop, percussive, hip rolling remix/reinterpretation of the Cirques best tunes throughout their twenty something years of shows. This eclectic journey unfolds for an ordinary urban guy in his little solitary bubble, literally..floating above the proscenium, trying his best to work through the isolation, wrap his head around the quandaries of the cosmos, tumbling and traveling on a high wire through all that he feels..amid a society, a world that remains tucked behind our plasmas, laptops and blue-tooths..sadly leaving many of us to amble through solo instead of amongst the villagers where the true difference can be made. He eventually finds his balance of sorts while lost in a virtual planet of dreams, resplendent in color, light and sound and is able to draw the energy of those he meets along the way..each of them representing an important facet of this odyssey of self, all an intregal part of his truth. Grounded at last, in energy and body..rounding out the complexities, he frees himself from the cocoon that holds him...but more importantly, frees and feeds the lives of those he encounters, drawing them into his song, his dance. Our protagonist finds the perfect balance between reality and dreams..living in grown up fashion but never losing sight nor grasp of his imagination and wonderment..a lesson of lessons for all of us. My oldest is still talking about the punk rocker clown on stilts that emerged from the stage floor. And don’t even get her started on the 80 feet tall volcano dress. Without a Barnum, a Bailey or an exploited animal in sight, we three kids had all the fun and magic our hearts could hold and then some. Thank you, Laliberte and your band of creative geniuses. You Frenchies really do it up right.


“With feet firmly on the ground, eyes forever on the stars”.

on winged feet

I got a scare the other day. I received a call from my sis informing me that there had been a recall of my kids gag teeth they've been wearing off and on for the last two months. It appears there’s some lead in the little chompers. Alrighty, then. MADE IN CHINA..with a little surprise. It’s a pretty sad commentary these days regarding the toy situation coming out of that country. Good grief. First, our beloved red guy, Elmo, is poisoned and now this? It reminds me of the “Bag of Glass” SNL skit with Akroyd as the evil toy maker. Bergen held it together...how, I do not know. A classic, that one was. Anyhoo, I promptly retrieved the said toxin, bagged it three times and tossed it into the trash. It all worked out a-okay though after some frantic googling..and ended up not being the brand their Aunty D. had bought for them, but another. That’s what I get, I guess, for making fun of my Southern ancestor’s rotten teeth.

Speaking of China and their atrocious human rights record, Mama has tried her very best to boycott this 29th Olympiad, but alas, it didn’t happen. I caved. I mean, not one but two gals with crow’s feet nabbing those two beautiful hunks o’ silver...one of them over 40 and a new mom even??? Come on. Seeing how good Dara looked in that swimming suit though put me in a three day depression. “Aw, honey, relax. Just watch it with me. It’s about the athletes. It’s history..their history”, said my hubby. And so I did and so I have for the last two weeks. Except fencing. It freaks me out. I got poked in the boob by a big doofus in acting school twenty-odd years ago and have never been the same. The gymnastics used to be a must-see for me but it’s getting crazier with each passing Games as the girls are getting thinner and younger. The IOC better check those passports again for some white out. And Karolyi’s right. The scoring is outrageous and corrupt. The diving, I j'adore, but I miss my Mr. Louganis. Too bad he's 50 and and doing dog shows now. Oh, well, ya can't do 2 1/2 reverse pikes, bust your head on the board and then go right back up the ladder to earn the gold forever. And Phelps..who doesn't dig on the way that turned out? A tall drink of water who noshes on 10,000 cals a day. Good Lord, his poor mom probably had to get a second job for all her trips to Vons.

While kicking back and surfing around last night though, I came upon my fave event...Track and Field. Yep, while I was washing a jumbo plate of pasta down my goozle with a tasty glass of vino, the gorgeous Ms. Sanja Richards was workin’ the semis like nobody’s business. Well, I take that back. She’s so good that she really doesn’t even have to try until the finals. That tracking shot they have along side of the competitors is spectacular. It still blows me away to see their speed, their perfection. My oldest rug rat was like..”Wow, Mom, those ladies can really run fast, huh? I bet I can do that someday”. Okay, honey, you grow up and do just that and get that 10 mill a year endorsement deal and then take good care of your old, wrinkled mama...sounds fine by me! And don’t even get me going on the hurdles. They always blow my mind. I fell on my arse out in the garage the other day when my purse got stuck on a chair leg that was sticking out, leaving the wall awash in Dasani and my Motorola in five easy pieces. Yes, there is no doubt about it, Mama is a klutz, but the pink plastic Wal-Mart car that was lodged in between my arch and flip flop didn’t help matters much. Nah, these kids are so agile and monstrously fit that every 27 feet or so, they jump almost three feet high over a piece of wood, while running full tilt, thank you very much. No less than ten times. Last night I counted the strides in all those 27 foot stretches..only 6. That’s 4 and a half feet with every push! No wonder they have the thighs of a God. Yep, those are the kind of weird things I think about at night while I’m sitting on my fat keister gobbling down carbs. And oh, yeah, before I close...exciting Olympic news here on the Ozark front...we have a local middle school teacher who got to jet off and compete in the Beijing Games, much to the awe and amazement of her students, I’m sure. Talk about a role model. She didn’t medal, placed 8th. I guess hoisting yourself 14 feet and eleven inches in the air on a stick doesn’t get ya the gold. Go figure. Yee-haw nevertheless! You go girl!
And so it goes...I’m hooked and can’t wait to tune in tonight and see the gals slam it in the Bird’s Nest. However, I think we’ll all be waiting for quite awhile to see China deliver in the free speech, self-determination and due process department. "And besides," says my husband, "...their Hillbilly Teeth are killing our children”.


P.S.) Happy birthday & thanks, Daddy, for creating magic with us and for us as another summer comes to a close. Thank you, friends, for making it possible.

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the witness

She stood just 50 yards from our sixteenth President as he delivered a two minute speech that would become one of the finest in our nation’s history. She watched 50,000 men take their last breath and is only one of four that remains today. If you climbed to the top of her branches over a century ago, you could have seen all the way to the Round Tops, witnessing a bloody charge that produced 3900 tombstones...15% of those are nameless, known only by their God and the widows that waited in vain.

For those few days in July of 1863, this particular honey locust stood stalwart in Gettysburg while everything around her swirled. With bullets chipping away at her bark, she stayed rooted. Unshakable. And for the last 145 years has continued to guard over what has now become a memorial to 6000 of our war dead and provide shade to the living who come to visit there...until last Thursday. It was then, in the late afternoon, that the clouds rolled into Adams County and the wind took her away. It is Native American legend that the Thunder Spirit was only able to recognize his son because of his ability to sit comfortably among the thorns of this deciduous tree. Underneath that protective armor though, she had a sweet side, yielding pods that held an edible pulp for all kinds of critters and was even transformed into a mean glass of brew for those who lived in this country long before we came along. Her delicate fragrant flower bejeweled the countryside just before the heat of summer and her lacy canopy is one of the few that allowed the grass to grow at her base, providing a soft spot for one to gaze up at the dappled light that bathed her limbs and ponder what it might be like to live a life so long, surrounded by so many changes, so much history...or perhaps just to quietly reflect on the sorrow and sacrifice of a dying soldier. She's a tough one alright, who tolerates drought and can grow in about any kind of soil. And although this storm destroyed 80% of the body of this remarkable tree, she is still alive, leaving the arborists to decide what to do with the humble remains of this amazing piece of timber.

I think her attributes, her tenacity, embody the human spirit. I think this old tree is a symbol for everything that Mr. Lincoln spoke of on that cool, cloudy somber day...the equality of all, the freedom that is essential for our hearts to sing and our dreams to manifest and more importantly, the unification that is necessary for us to successfully move forward as a people, a government, a nation, a globe..a species..as an integral part of this vast and majestic universe. I would like to see them take every one of those branches and dole them out to our country’s great artists so as to create their own individual visions of what honor, courage, liberty and hangin' there is all about...to serve as a reminder of the fragility of life, the unlimited power of faith within it and the ability to hold fast to our truth, our ideals, no matter how hairy it gets.