Here's wishing all of you a New Year of love, light, wisdom and happy feet!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
pottersville
Well, the day was a good one friends! My Christmas surprise was pulled off without a hitch. A little tinsel and one big red bow later, the girls are as happy as a fly on...er..well, while I'm on the subject- man, oh, man. I just wanna say, a puppy's digestive tract is one big assembly line of waste removal. You'd think a couple of tinkles, here and there..but no. The last 24 hours in the Mag casa has been like a festive True Grit. Instead of a couple of six-shooters,
I am armed with my Greenworks and Odor Remover, and just a wee-wee bit trigger happy. Oy. I realize it has only been one measley day, but I will be beyond elated when that part of training is over and done with and I can put my grassy double-lot to good use.
The day could not have been jollier though, despite all the yucky D.Q. soft-serve treats. In keeping with our holiday couch potato tradition- the Disney parade and Alistair Sim's 'Carole were followed by a lovely nosh of what I like to call, Mama's Christmas Chicken (made w/ roasted red pepper & olive..yum!). A teensy weensy bit of snowfall and a couple of Zyrtec martinis later, we all settled in for a good winter's nap. This morning was a joy to find four new eyeballs looking up at me as I made my way to the kitchen. Of course it took me 40 minutes before I even had the time to sip my java & Facebook but..... Big Daddy woke up early to assist, and let's put it this way, his "morning paper" takes on a whole new meaning now.
Yes, we definitely have our hands full on this one but couldn't be happier. The kids are obsessed with their new besties. I just hope the poor furry guys can live through all the squeezing, bear hugs and stalking. It is like an Elvis concert in there right now. In time, all will settle, I suppose. Until then, back to school stories are being bandied about, snow days won't be so darn boring anymore and the dog run will be the happenin' hangout.
Here, here, folks! Let's raise a glass to love, laughter, and memories that last a lifetime. And soft puppy tummies. That is way up there on the list now.
It truly is a wonderful life!
I am armed with my Greenworks and Odor Remover, and just a wee-wee bit trigger happy. Oy. I realize it has only been one measley day, but I will be beyond elated when that part of training is over and done with and I can put my grassy double-lot to good use.
The day could not have been jollier though, despite all the yucky D.Q. soft-serve treats. In keeping with our holiday couch potato tradition- the Disney parade and Alistair Sim's 'Carole were followed by a lovely nosh of what I like to call, Mama's Christmas Chicken (made w/ roasted red pepper & olive..yum!). A teensy weensy bit of snowfall and a couple of Zyrtec martinis later, we all settled in for a good winter's nap. This morning was a joy to find four new eyeballs looking up at me as I made my way to the kitchen. Of course it took me 40 minutes before I even had the time to sip my java & Facebook but..... Big Daddy woke up early to assist, and let's put it this way, his "morning paper" takes on a whole new meaning now.
Yes, we definitely have our hands full on this one but couldn't be happier. The kids are obsessed with their new besties. I just hope the poor furry guys can live through all the squeezing, bear hugs and stalking. It is like an Elvis concert in there right now. In time, all will settle, I suppose. Until then, back to school stories are being bandied about, snow days won't be so darn boring anymore and the dog run will be the happenin' hangout.
Here, here, folks! Let's raise a glass to love, laughter, and memories that last a lifetime. And soft puppy tummies. That is way up there on the list now.
It truly is a wonderful life!
Friday, December 24, 2010
merry, merry
Have a wonderful holiday, friends! May this special eve bring soft candlelight, laughter & yummy nosh your way....and the New Year be jam-packed with all things exciting!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
santa paws
It is almost here! St. Nick is all porked up and will soon be ready to lock and load. This year promises to be a special one for the Maglets. Besides the orange & Nerds, there will be a surprise to beat all surprises in their stockings- a kitty! It all began months ago, très loads of moaning and groaning from the both of them- "Mommy, everyone has a pet. Everyone..BUT US!!!" For awhile, I was able to take a big swig and let my well-rehearsed 'our home is too small, my allergies to huge' monologue do the talking but as time went by, Mama Mag's heartstrings began to get plucked like a Glen Campbell banjo...and heck, I dunno- the next thing I knew, Daddy and I were at the shelter checking out a furry orphan. Don't get me wrong. Dad and I are huge feline fans. But, I am busy enough with my hairless rug rats!
I remember my first pet, a dog who took my heart captive the minute our eyes locked. It was around my 10th birthday. I have a beloved pic of us napping on the sofa together...me, awash in puppy breath and bell bottoms, and her on my chest...catching some canine z's. She was smart as whip, that dog- a Border Collie mix. She had an uncontrollable urge to herd the cattle, bless her, which resulted in a lot of yelling from my dad. :) I used to saddle her up with lunch and my journal. We'd amble off on the farm somewhere for a little respite. No D.S.'s or I-Pads in those days, just a girl and her dog, quiet...eating wild blackberries in the sun. It was a hoot watching her curl her lips back, toofies exposed, carefully picking the morsel from its thorny crown. That memory makes me smile.
So flash forward- here we were, looking for a cat. My hub and I had four of the little rascals between us when we first moved in together many years ago. It was a dandered Brady Bunch, let me tell you. But it was a critter we were most familiar with, so we decided it would probably be be the easiest new addition for our fam. A special Christmas morning delivery indeed. By none other than, Amanda, Santa's special rescue elf. I don't have to tell you that I have a sack of camera batteries and a jumbo box of Kleenex for this one. To say their heads are going to twist off their shoulders is an understatement.
I got my Gosselin on and named them already. "Dorian" is our eight week old smokey ball of feline lightening. He is at the pouncing-out-of-nowhere stage. Uh-oh. Strong martinis and moves like that, just don't mix. I figure since he is lucky enough to have nine lives, then he'll be the only Mag among us who doesn't age, so the name will fit him well. Yeah, yeah, I should be ashamed of my mommy self, but I'm not. I simply can't go through the next ten years or so, calling out to a Sparkle or a Cuddles. Another great gray meowy opportunity to drum up the fanfare and open our peepers to the fortune we have in our lives with appreciation and a renewed sense of wonder. All the gifts given me from two amazing little girls.
I remember my first pet, a dog who took my heart captive the minute our eyes locked. It was around my 10th birthday. I have a beloved pic of us napping on the sofa together...me, awash in puppy breath and bell bottoms, and her on my chest...catching some canine z's. She was smart as whip, that dog- a Border Collie mix. She had an uncontrollable urge to herd the cattle, bless her, which resulted in a lot of yelling from my dad. :) I used to saddle her up with lunch and my journal. We'd amble off on the farm somewhere for a little respite. No D.S.'s or I-Pads in those days, just a girl and her dog, quiet...eating wild blackberries in the sun. It was a hoot watching her curl her lips back, toofies exposed, carefully picking the morsel from its thorny crown. That memory makes me smile.
So flash forward- here we were, looking for a cat. My hub and I had four of the little rascals between us when we first moved in together many years ago. It was a dandered Brady Bunch, let me tell you. But it was a critter we were most familiar with, so we decided it would probably be be the easiest new addition for our fam. A special Christmas morning delivery indeed. By none other than, Amanda, Santa's special rescue elf. I don't have to tell you that I have a sack of camera batteries and a jumbo box of Kleenex for this one. To say their heads are going to twist off their shoulders is an understatement.
I got my Gosselin on and named them already. "Dorian" is our eight week old smokey ball of feline lightening. He is at the pouncing-out-of-nowhere stage. Uh-oh. Strong martinis and moves like that, just don't mix. I figure since he is lucky enough to have nine lives, then he'll be the only Mag among us who doesn't age, so the name will fit him well. Yeah, yeah, I should be ashamed of my mommy self, but I'm not. I simply can't go through the next ten years or so, calling out to a Sparkle or a Cuddles. Another great gray meowy opportunity to drum up the fanfare and open our peepers to the fortune we have in our lives with appreciation and a renewed sense of wonder. All the gifts given me from two amazing little girls.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
the variance
Family is a confounding thing. The journey through time that each one makes can run a root deep, provide a foothold in the climb when we need it and shelter our backs when the rains become too strong. But sometimes within its winding history there are byways that separate, and we are left to navigate some of the way on our own. Often by happenstance, sometimes by choice. Its mosaic, a unique, recondite mix of this and that, made all the more allusive when we figure in the karmic tangle of it all.
This last month my baby learned to ride a bike while I was away. The special surprise was given me with a chocolate smile on a cold, dark night after a long, trying day. Her curls trailing in the shadows, the sky filled with stars. The hope and locomotion within that magic impulse infused me and I will hold it dear as I continue to hack my way with kin through a jungle of painful transition, acceptance, old age and fear. Prayer, at this time, is essential as breath as I try to sort word from action and present from past.
Life's journey does come with a compass, however, so now I must ground, suck up a super-sized inhale and reorganize my mystic Samsonite again...finding my way through- remembering it is along the sojourn where we find all the meaning, and not at the end of rainbows. And it is within this purposeful quiet...we hurt, we question, we dig. And if we own up to what we should, forgive when we think we can not, and love when there is nothing else we can do, we can resurface. That's just how it works.
This last month my baby learned to ride a bike while I was away. The special surprise was given me with a chocolate smile on a cold, dark night after a long, trying day. Her curls trailing in the shadows, the sky filled with stars. The hope and locomotion within that magic impulse infused me and I will hold it dear as I continue to hack my way with kin through a jungle of painful transition, acceptance, old age and fear. Prayer, at this time, is essential as breath as I try to sort word from action and present from past.
Life's journey does come with a compass, however, so now I must ground, suck up a super-sized inhale and reorganize my mystic Samsonite again...finding my way through- remembering it is along the sojourn where we find all the meaning, and not at the end of rainbows. And it is within this purposeful quiet...we hurt, we question, we dig. And if we own up to what we should, forgive when we think we can not, and love when there is nothing else we can do, we can resurface. That's just how it works.
Monday, November 1, 2010
my hallow-wieners
Another Halloween has come and gone. We had a devil of a time last night at the Mag casa. We stuffed ourselves silly on ghost pizza and Milano tombstones. The goblins were all so precious. I cherish the sweetness of these times. Their little hearts are so open, they are game for Life..and those toothless grins just fill my soul. Thank you to all my parent friends who share their beautiful children with me. Any time that we can create a little magic and a spark of imagination in the lives of our children is a special time indeed. It is a place where dreams are born and plans are laid. And it is within this joie de vivre...a haven is created in which they feel safe and free to fly. I love you Willers and T-Mag. You are the beams that guide me, the constant that reassures and the Tiffany giftbox I get to open every morning over coffee.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
big daddy's gourds
The G-Man can sure carve when he wants to!
The Mag Haunt is slated for Sunday! Scary pizza, cemetery cake & ghoul-hand punch with eyeballs...yummy! I'm so excited, I think I'll jump the gun and levitate!
The Mag Haunt is slated for Sunday! Scary pizza, cemetery cake & ghoul-hand punch with eyeballs...yummy! I'm so excited, I think I'll jump the gun and levitate!
Monday, October 18, 2010
ghouls gone by...
Ahh, it is that splendid time of year again...Autumn, and all the fun that comes along with it! We Mags really dig on the best part- the cool, the crackly and the toothless. No, that wouldn't be my West Virginia ancestors, folks, but Halloween and jack o' lanterns! Whee! My girls are stoked for another haunt and are lined up to be a bride and an "elegant" witch this year (as in cute, A-line, bronzy dress and matching pointy hat, not the Christine O'Donnell kind).
Yep, after a très fun visit hanging out with the zombies at Halloween Express yesterday, we are a rubber recluse, a mouse and one eyeball richer. The table will have a few new goodies upon it this holiday. We had a ball hamming it up for pictures and whatnot. I'm surprised they didn't kick us out, telling us to buy it or beat it! T-Mag is a little slow on the eerie draw though...still a wee bit reticent of all things amputated and howling. She'll come around. She has to. I have big dreams of turning our humble annual gathering into one of those Roseanne shindigs like they used to do on her show every year! Mama needs to get a part-time job and hire some set dressers to slash the gourds and gorp me up a graveyard out in my double lot. That space is just going to waste anyway. That reminds me...the girls and I watched the cutest show on HGTV a few days ago- Halloween Block Party. Four designers each take a house in the neighborhood and go all out. Simply fiendish!
Daddy Mag's spider web and punkin' fireplace lights are at the ready. We're bloody dying to carve but are holding off to avoid smelly, moldy heads. Speaking of which, I have put my outfit together- a "Freudian slip", complete with cigar and psychoanalytic stare. Sigmund would be proud. Though I should have just saved the dough and gone as a vampire. What with my hormones being as mondo as they are, my widow's peak has become frighteningly bushy these last few months. Good times. I am having to "gel" it everyday! My poor body. Who knows what part will be next to expand or deflate? I think I read somewhere that the hairy pointage is a sign of spiritual enlightenment. I guess that would make me the Eddie Munster of Mother Teresa's. The trait of a villain..it is also believed. That's more likely the case with this Mag. No wonder my hub gets a scared look on his face when I'm brushing my teeth. Speaking of the rattling ball and chain, we have our late-night-after-the-kids-are-down, Hallow's Eve flick perched on top of the entertainment center. We scored The Others for a measly five clams the other day! Great movie by the way, for any of you out there interested in that kind of thing. Nicely put together, with a twist. And it was before Kidman started shooting all that junk into her face and was able to show some semblance of emotion on her mug. Ugh. Why do actors do that? Oh, well, that's another entry.
Rotting digits are crossed for no rain and a full moon. Last year's weather sure was a keeper. We are set to check out a patch this week..and a corn maze. They do labyrinths up right around these here parts, so that will be something fun to look forward to on Papa's day off. I sure wish I had an extra 139 bucks to spend on the creepy, mechanized rocking witch I saw yesterday for our front porch. Bummer. The peeps two blocks over from us, who really go over the top every October, splurged on a big, seven feet tall Hell Raiser Pin-Head, so that will serve as a freebie for us and a cauldron of fun for all the local goblins, I'm sure.
I am glad to say that no child will be harmed in the making of the costumes this year as I went the store-bought route for my two over at Walmart. I figured my hand-made mummy and crappy ghost sheet from last Halloween was enough abuse on my little ones. Being a complete loser in the Beaver Cleaver sewing dept., I made the mistake of washing Will's mummy wrap after our diabolical shenanigans last year and all the scraps came off. Literally- the small pink Henley and sweat pants were completely washed clean afterwards. I was broken hearted as I wanted to save it for their memory box. Being gravely Hobby Lobby-challenged, little did I know that particular garment glue was not water-proof, so all the little bits ended up in the bottom of the washer. Right along with my tears and self-loathing. Oh, well, I try, and that is all a mama-of-frankenstein can do, I guess.
All this monstrous thinking gave me a wicked flashback the other day, so I decided to put together a little retrospective of my munchkins and their spooky past. It seems just yesterday that I held my spidered bald wonder in her baby sling web. Pretty soon, there won't be any more sticky, little hands and snaggletooth smiles. It will be replaced with jaunts off to the Mall with friends and "Gee, Mom, get real. That's for babies!" Until then, I will treasure every magical moment..every memory. It is within each giggle and tiny step down that sidewalk, my heart and deepest dreams reside.
Yep, after a très fun visit hanging out with the zombies at Halloween Express yesterday, we are a rubber recluse, a mouse and one eyeball richer. The table will have a few new goodies upon it this holiday. We had a ball hamming it up for pictures and whatnot. I'm surprised they didn't kick us out, telling us to buy it or beat it! T-Mag is a little slow on the eerie draw though...still a wee bit reticent of all things amputated and howling. She'll come around. She has to. I have big dreams of turning our humble annual gathering into one of those Roseanne shindigs like they used to do on her show every year! Mama needs to get a part-time job and hire some set dressers to slash the gourds and gorp me up a graveyard out in my double lot. That space is just going to waste anyway. That reminds me...the girls and I watched the cutest show on HGTV a few days ago- Halloween Block Party. Four designers each take a house in the neighborhood and go all out. Simply fiendish!
Daddy Mag's spider web and punkin' fireplace lights are at the ready. We're bloody dying to carve but are holding off to avoid smelly, moldy heads. Speaking of which, I have put my outfit together- a "Freudian slip", complete with cigar and psychoanalytic stare. Sigmund would be proud. Though I should have just saved the dough and gone as a vampire. What with my hormones being as mondo as they are, my widow's peak has become frighteningly bushy these last few months. Good times. I am having to "gel" it everyday! My poor body. Who knows what part will be next to expand or deflate? I think I read somewhere that the hairy pointage is a sign of spiritual enlightenment. I guess that would make me the Eddie Munster of Mother Teresa's. The trait of a villain..it is also believed. That's more likely the case with this Mag. No wonder my hub gets a scared look on his face when I'm brushing my teeth. Speaking of the rattling ball and chain, we have our late-night-after-the-kids-are-down, Hallow's Eve flick perched on top of the entertainment center. We scored The Others for a measly five clams the other day! Great movie by the way, for any of you out there interested in that kind of thing. Nicely put together, with a twist. And it was before Kidman started shooting all that junk into her face and was able to show some semblance of emotion on her mug. Ugh. Why do actors do that? Oh, well, that's another entry.
Rotting digits are crossed for no rain and a full moon. Last year's weather sure was a keeper. We are set to check out a patch this week..and a corn maze. They do labyrinths up right around these here parts, so that will be something fun to look forward to on Papa's day off. I sure wish I had an extra 139 bucks to spend on the creepy, mechanized rocking witch I saw yesterday for our front porch. Bummer. The peeps two blocks over from us, who really go over the top every October, splurged on a big, seven feet tall Hell Raiser Pin-Head, so that will serve as a freebie for us and a cauldron of fun for all the local goblins, I'm sure.
I am glad to say that no child will be harmed in the making of the costumes this year as I went the store-bought route for my two over at Walmart. I figured my hand-made mummy and crappy ghost sheet from last Halloween was enough abuse on my little ones. Being a complete loser in the Beaver Cleaver sewing dept., I made the mistake of washing Will's mummy wrap after our diabolical shenanigans last year and all the scraps came off. Literally- the small pink Henley and sweat pants were completely washed clean afterwards. I was broken hearted as I wanted to save it for their memory box. Being gravely Hobby Lobby-challenged, little did I know that particular garment glue was not water-proof, so all the little bits ended up in the bottom of the washer. Right along with my tears and self-loathing. Oh, well, I try, and that is all a mama-of-frankenstein can do, I guess.
All this monstrous thinking gave me a wicked flashback the other day, so I decided to put together a little retrospective of my munchkins and their spooky past. It seems just yesterday that I held my spidered bald wonder in her baby sling web. Pretty soon, there won't be any more sticky, little hands and snaggletooth smiles. It will be replaced with jaunts off to the Mall with friends and "Gee, Mom, get real. That's for babies!" Until then, I will treasure every magical moment..every memory. It is within each giggle and tiny step down that sidewalk, my heart and deepest dreams reside.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Of course, since the need is completely different for each individual, we have many forms of mountaineering. It may take the form of a need to live heroically, or to rebel against restraint and limitation: an escape from the restricting circle of daily life, a protest against being submerged in universal drabness, an affirmation of the freedom of the spirit in dangerous and splendid adventure. Or it may well be the pleasure of physical fitness and moral energy, elegance of style and calculated daring; ordeals gaily faced with friends themselves as firm as rock, the hard life of the high huts, the happy relaxation on remote pastures as one smokes a pipe or sings mountain songs. It may be the search for an intense aesthetic experience, for exquisite sensations, or for man’s never satisfied desire for unknown country to explore, new paths to make. Best of all, it should be all these things together.~ Giusto Gervasutti, alpinist
Friday, October 1, 2010
big red's luxury tours
I've decided what I want to be when I grow up- a professional traveler. Methinks I'll try and slip Samantha Brown a mickey and take to the sky, circling the globe in first class style.
After having had a lovely trip back home to L.A. in June, followed by visits to both Chicago and the très charming Wisconsin hometown of my husband; I have just returned from a relaxing respite to the Florida Keys. Yes, I have channeled my inner Jolie these last few months, let me tell ya. I haven't had this much jet-setting action in a long time and am pretty sure I'll be sitting in the double-wide now for quite a spell to make up for it. This last jaunt to Margaritaville was a jolly good one. And I couldn't have had a better tour guide- my dear friend of twenty years, Greg. I haven't been pampered like that since I don't know when! He was the lucky winner in his company's sales contest and had won a trip for two to a fab resort and picked this lucky dog to share it with him. As I have said many times before...do I have the best buds or what?
So here we were..a week ago today, on our way to a luxurious weekend on a private island resort, complete with our very own tender to the mainland, 1200 square foot cottage and the cutest little hand soaps. I ought to know as I took a slew of them home in my luggage! And much to my Greg's horror, forced him to make off with the remaining Tazo teas and in-room Starbucks in his duffel for me, when I ran out of room in mine. Hey, you can take the girl out of Arkansas but not the Arkie out of the girl, folks.
My journey began in Ft. Liquordale (or that's what it was when I got through with it)- the lovely hometown of my friend. The digs were top-notch from the beginning. His parents offered up their darling condo on the waterway to us since they were out of town. I had my morning coffee looking out over fancy-dancy boats galore and really rich people having breakfast on their penthouse balconies. A fab introduction to how the other half lives. We noshed on an absolutely perfect meal that evening, at a place I mistakenly kept referring to as Studio 54 even though Greg constantly reminded me it was actually Seasons 52. All I know is...my snapper with the melt in your mouth orzo was divine. So was my dessert and the extra one Greg was forced to order because I spooned all his down my goozle, too. The evening's classy dinner was preceded by a bucket martini at the Country Club, dah-lings! Our lovely friend, Terry, joined us for the night's festivities. It was so nice to see her again. The next hazy morning, we all had a yummy breakfast at Bill's Filling Station, a local gay diner. I scarfed up some of the best biscuits and gravy I ever ate. Who knew my boys could whip up all that good country cookin'?
Our leisurely drive south started with a quick pit stop into the palm-swaying, Art Deco Miami. I would say 'sunny' but that wasn't happening yet. Up until the moment Mama's feet hit the tarmac, we had torrential rain and gale force winds. Well, I suppose it wasn't that bad, but Florida sure didn't have at me at hello. Greg, the consummate host, was beside himself while touring me under a dark and thundering sky. With the wipers on max speed though, I was able to make out a landmark or two if I squinted really hard.
As we inched our way southward, we passed marshlands, the lingering effects of Andrew (eighteen years later!) and the Monkey Jungle- one of Greggor's childhood haunts. Never saw a gator though. Bummer. We did have to do an emergency stop at a Circle K somewhere around Key Largo after I had pulled down the sun visor to check my lipstick and was mortified to find an oompah-loompah looking back at me. After a couple of stiffies that first night, my pal had talked me into using his self-tanner on my face. Good times. Thank God, I had a loofah in my toiletry bag. I was scrubbed raw by the time we gassed up and pulled out of there.
Eventually..and I do mean, eventually (due to a measly two lane highway & following behind a Budweiser truck that must have been driven by an 80 year old lady) we finally found ourselves on the 17 Mile Highway, cruising across beautiful blue-green water and so many different 'keys', I lost count. Well, truth be known, I was Facebooking, and missed some of the drive. At one point, I asked Greg which new profile pic he preferred of me and a couple questions about cropping and can you believe he told me that he was busy driving??? Whatever. We decided if he did lose control of the wheel though, that I was so good, I'd be able to post a Newsfeed status of "Oh, shit!" as we soared off the bridge to our death.
Two bottles of Dasani and a Dove bar later, we pulled into the town of Key West- home to the legendary writer, Ernest Hemingway (more on that amazing experience later), j'adorable colonial cottages and from the looks of it, lots of full body tats and mullets. Oh, yeah...too bad my red-headed tour guide didn't have a big doobie or any Buffet on his Sirius because from the looks of it, my experience would have then been complete. We wound our way through a cute maze of Bed and Breakfasts until our final stop, The Westin. The moment that hunky Serb valet opened my car door, my ass was primed for the kissing and my Travel Channel spectacular began. Surrounded by exquisite orchids and a royalty's greeting upon check-in, I felt truly glam and geared up for a fantastic trip.
We made our way to the resort's private launch, the "'Lil Princess". How appropriate, since I was with my Queen. We hopped aboard, snuck our way around a humongous Carnival cruise ship and zoomed off to the island I called my home for a glorious 48 hours and twenty minutes. But who's counting? Our cottage was presh with a capitol P. A nautical motif, decked out with beyond plush towels, high thread-count sheeting and a shower so big that I could have shared it with the Laker team. There was a nice wrap-around porch, peppered with Adirondacks..even a comfy hammock tied between a couple of palms. A perfect set-up for ocean ogling. The sun had finally come out to our gi-normous relief as we had driven toward an ominous black cloud every mile of the way down there. Greg was right, Florida's weather can change on a dime; and lucky for us and our livers, it was on our side.
The company fete followed that evening and was a lot of fun. We had cocktails by the pool and din-din in the hotel restaurant, Lattitudes, which was very nice. Earlier, over an Orange Stoli, I had coined a catchy little ditty for the place, "A New Lattitude"- sung to the tune of I Got a New Attitude by the Pointer Sisters. Everyone seemed to have liked it as Greg thought me his grinder monkey that evening at dinner and had asked me to perform it for a few of his co-workers. They were all very nice peeps and from what I was told the next morning- quite tolerant. I happened to be sitting across the table from a VIP who had graciously engaged me in conversation and asked how I had come to the Keys. Instead of simply & succinctly telling him I'd flown in via Lauderdale; I, nursing my umpteenth glass of pinot, proceeded to give him my life story instead. From start to blathering finish. I know you all may find this hard to believe but Mama tends to ramble a bit when she is drinking. Over coffee the next day, Greg told me the only part I left out of my saga was when my great grandmother came over from Poland to Ellis Island and was denied entry because of a bad tooth. :) Needless to say, I was quite embarrassed and was determined to make a joke of it all if I was lucky enough to run into his boss again. Well, I did. Right when I was hopping off the tender the next day. I looked at him and said, "1973..." He raised his hand as if to say, 'No more..please, woman", but gave me a smile and a hug instead. I hope Greg wasn't demoted to janitor when he got back to work on Monday.
The next day, I got up at a ridiculous 5:45am (I'm on mom time, what can I say?) and decided I'd amble my way around the property and take some pics while Greg was sleeping off his Ambien. It was soul-nourishing to see that beautiful sun rise up over that turquoise water. When I got back to the room though, there was my tiffed mon amie..sitting at the dining room table, looking as if he had a mouth full of pins. Our time at this four-star resort included a hand-delivered breakfast basket each morning of our stay. We had been fantasizing about the darn thing for two whole months...freshly squeezed, pulpy orange juice, plump blueberry-filled muffins, scones, croissants with creamery butter...jarred gourmet preserves, wrapped in pretty toile paper and ribbon. He made a motion for me to do the honors of opening this huge basket that he had brought in from the porch. However, by the look on his mug, it appeared he'd already done so. I lifted its lid, heart racing at all the num-nums that my island Muffin Man had brought for our hungry, hungover tummies. Much to this 'Lil Princess' dismay, there was only a brown banana, a Lilliputian apple and what ended up being a tiny piece of Entenmmans, basically. We fought over that thing like a couple of piranhas and then promptly got dressed, pulled out the MasterCard and went to the restaurant for a very delish and overpriced breakfast.
That afternoon, we had penciled in some sort of island activity while we were down there. Well, the Gregster, being the host we know and love...anticipated my every desire, knowing from experience that this girl has a big ole affinity for warm ocean water & lots of pretty little fishies..so he sprung for a bonafide three-hour snorkeling adventure! We should have known better when the choice was between either Fury or Danger Tours of what was to come, but no. Perhaps, if we had paid just a wee bit more attention to the name of said tour- "Reef and 'ritas"...we may have realized the inherent risk involved. Or maybe, just maybe, if we had tuned into the local weather report but, nah, we couldn't be bothered with all that nonsense. Anything that has to do with "..a three hour tour" is just not going to bode well. But onward we went- my Gilligan to Greg's Mrs. Howell. We handed over our tickets and jumped aboard.
An hour out to sea we sailed. Reggae rang from of the speakers and gear was passed out to us, one by one. The ride was choppy to say the least. They finally put her into idle, lowered the sail, and there before us lay an aqua paradise. Except there was one little part of paradise I wasn't so familiar with. The eight-foot swell part. Oh, yeah. That water was rocking and rolling, folks. Dorked out in flippers and mask, we jumped off the side and into a swirling, salty cauldron of sea. It only took a couple of minutes for about a gallon of water to flow down my pie-hole. Choking and spitting, I looked up to find my buddy, ole pal had been swept away about twenty yards ahead. His focus was on the very expensive underwater camera he'd borrowed, so he had no time to protect and hold onto Mama. He knew full well, that if he dropped that blasted thing, we'd have to call in the frigging Coast Guard to retrieve it. Oh, it was a war zone out there. For an hour we bobbed, trying our damnedest to keep our face in the water and our snorkels above it. Oy. Even the fish were looking up at us like "Dude, are ya crazy? Go back to land, for God's sake!" We never did get any good pics and really didn't see much until right at the last minute, long after the camera had mysteriously stopped working- the most absolutely, positively, eye-popping school of purple fish. About twenty or so swam up underneath us to feed on the coral. All stress faded away as we held hands, staring in awe at the magnificent splendor of this beautiful little marine creature. We surfaced, looked at each other and Greg said, "We just got our 100 bucks worth, girl."
Exhausted, we made our way back to the boat and that's when it really got scary. The waves were pummeling the stairs/ladder that had been lowered down and we were being thrashed around like rag dolls. Greg had made it on ahead of me and was holding onto to the bottom rung for dear life. I brought up the rear, snotting out seawater by the buckets, frantically holding onto my mask and trying not to laugh at him when he got slammed by some big biker chick when she was trying to make her way up the slippery stairs. All of a sudden- pow. From the force of the waves behind me, I got nailed in the face by a cable that was holding the stairs in place. It whacked me pretty hard and I was stunned for a second. I tried to find the good in it though, and figured it just raked off another layer of that dreadful self-tanner.
Next thing I know, while I was busy trying not to black out and drown, Greg had a lightbulb moment of taking his fins off and finally managed to hoist himself up onto the stairs. And, boy, did that guy hot-foot it up..leaving Mama Mags to flail ever so dramatically behind. I screamed out but to no avail. He had done gone and dropped that chivalry ball...big time. All of a sudden, just when I thought I was done for, I saw a hand reach out for my vest (the same vest I chose not to blow up because I was such an 'efficient swimmer') and I was then pulled safely onto the first step by one of the tour employees. I lived to tell but not before scraping all the skin off my shins. You'd think after surviving the perfect storm, things would have settled down on the way back but no...not on Fury Tours, gosh darnit! The games were just beginning as we raised the canvas and whirred up the margarita blender. As we toweled off, trying to catch our breath, I couldn't help but notice some of the green faces around me. Before I could say, 'thar she blows' puke was everywhere. Good Lord, the last time I saw that many sick people was at a frat party I attended back in '83. I mean, they were hanging over the side, lying in the aisles, running down to the head..everywhere. This one lady up on the deck just in front of us, was kicking back, having a cold brew, talking to her friend and then whammy...we see her blowing chunks right out of nowhere all over her Pucci swim skirt. The crew got the hose out and were trying to clean it up. Meanwhile Greg and I were deciding which way to run to avoid the lethal spray that was coming at us in every direction. We landed a safe spot, leeward side, and clung to each other for the remaining thirty minutes to land. I was tempted at one point to jump off and swim the rest of the way but I stopped myself. I probably could have used the cardio.
We were able to admire a gorgeous sunset the next night out on the dock, with 18 dollar martini in hand. Greg had splurged a little and upgraded his Red Bull with premium vodka. And for a bargain of only eleven bucks, got to keep the whole can. That poor man...bless his heart. He dropped some serious coin while we were there. Between the tipping, the noshing and Mama's Paul Bunyan bar bill, that place can really stick it to a guy. He was handing out ones like they were tic-tacs. After the amazing pink and teal sky show, we made our way toward the launch, stopping first to take some photos of an elegant white sea egret posing ever so handsomely on the dock rail. I must have turned him off with my vodka breath because he gave me a very disgruntled look and flew off into the balmy night sky as I was left to struggle with my cheap, crappy flip-phone.
We made our way over to the mainland that night, to check out the infamous Duval Street and all its shenanigans. The restaurant ended up being a little farther than we had thought and I began to get a blister on my heel. Well, my trusty mate could not have been anymore of a Cary Grant..he hailed a rickshaw to carry me the rest of the way. With our buzz on, we didn't realize, however, that we were in fact not that far from our destination...so it didn't take long for the cute, biking Serb to get us there. We had just enough time to admire his well-developed calves when he pulled us up right to the front door. And to think...it only cost Greg 19 greenbacks to go a block and a half. We ate a very good Italian meal and ended up seated next to a friendly couple who were from Northwest Arkansas. Small world, non? Afterward, the two of us staggered out to hail another ride back down to the harbor (yeah, yeah, even though Greg had told me over dinner that "he didn't care if my freaking leg fell off..he wasn't laying down another 20 bucks to go two blocks")...Aww, he made an exception though for his drunk, crippled friend and splurged on yet another nice pedi-cab ride. And once again- a Serb guy. We couldn't help but ask, '..what gives with all you Slav folks?" The young man told us there were quite a few Serb youth who come over to the Keys to make money to bring home to their families. It must have worked. Greg gave him a huge tip. It was also on that very same rickshaw, that a lot of other oddly interesting talk went on between us. From trying to guess Ernest's favorite cocktail, to gab that spoke of the mystical, coincidence of traveling 1300 miles across the country to find yourself sitting in the very same restaurant, next to two people from your very same small town...then on to learning something I never knew about my buddy of many, many years- his favorite line in a film. Ever. A John Waters flick called Female Trouble. It is most certainly worthy of repeating here, as it nearly made me laugh my butt right out of the carriage but I must refrain as the Daily Mag has and always will have a PG rating.
Despite our beer goggles, we miraculously found our way back to the dock. The next morning, our last, Gramps Nolin wanted to sleep in and that is just what we did. I got up at a luxurious 8:00am (that is late for this mother). Refreshed and ready for the last few hours in our ocean dreamland, we sadly placed our luggage on the porch and then to soften the blow, went and gorged ourselves on blackened grouper and spicy Bloody Mary's. My allergies had plagued me the whole trip. Greg had endured (stoically, I might add) a lot of very gross snorting and sniffing from yours truly. That lush Floridian foliage may be purdy but, dang..it made my sinuses go into overdrive. Plus, I had been suffering with an awful cough that had lingered for quite some time. As I hacked over my yummy drink, Big Red looked at me with disgust and said, 'I hope I don't end up getting whatever it is you got, honey child. Because some of us have to go back to work on Monday." I couldn't help but giggle over my imagined Key West newspaper headline- "TUBERCULOSIS HITS KEYS- SOURCE UNKNOWN". Without missing a beat, Greg retorts, "Two Serbs and a sea egret fall victim." He was and will always be the Conan O'Brien of the Sunshine State.
The highlight of the trip was on our way out. We stopped at the Hemingway House. The antiques, the hand-layed tile, the smell of old books...oh, I could just go on and on. The gardens were lush and tropical and don't even get me going on the gorgeous pool that took a full six months to dig (that coral rock is hard stuff). His wife, Pauline, had snuck and put it in for the kids while Papa was in Spain- to the tune of twenty grand, thank you very much. That was a whole lotta dough back in those days and, man, oh man, was he mad. Oh, well. He was fooling around with wife-number-3-to-be over there, so maybe he deserved it. Snowball, the family's six-toed cat was prominent in all the paintings and knick knacks- 25 of her descendants roam the property today. Very cuddly cute and from the looks of that extra toe, could probably rip your head off if they were so inclined. They could not have been tamer, however, and were lounging here and there around the grounds. All joking aside though, it was humbling to see the grand writer's office- a small, top floor bungalow in the back. Up the steep stairs we walked and when I peered in, there she was- his beloved typewriter. When I thought of his fingertips plunking out To Have and Have Not with a cold mojito and his beloved white feline in his lap...well, Mama got a little teary. It isn't every day you're in the midst of greatness.
Yes, I had the trip of my life. Just what I needed, too, with all the worries as of late. It made me forget for a little while. I literally woke up laughing every morning. You know you have a true-blue friend when the years and miles are between you but you're always able to pick up right where you left off. Thanks, Gregory, for showing me a fabulous time. I felt like one of those molls who has a sugar daddy. And I didn't even have to put out. ;-)
After having had a lovely trip back home to L.A. in June, followed by visits to both Chicago and the très charming Wisconsin hometown of my husband; I have just returned from a relaxing respite to the Florida Keys. Yes, I have channeled my inner Jolie these last few months, let me tell ya. I haven't had this much jet-setting action in a long time and am pretty sure I'll be sitting in the double-wide now for quite a spell to make up for it. This last jaunt to Margaritaville was a jolly good one. And I couldn't have had a better tour guide- my dear friend of twenty years, Greg. I haven't been pampered like that since I don't know when! He was the lucky winner in his company's sales contest and had won a trip for two to a fab resort and picked this lucky dog to share it with him. As I have said many times before...do I have the best buds or what?
So here we were..a week ago today, on our way to a luxurious weekend on a private island resort, complete with our very own tender to the mainland, 1200 square foot cottage and the cutest little hand soaps. I ought to know as I took a slew of them home in my luggage! And much to my Greg's horror, forced him to make off with the remaining Tazo teas and in-room Starbucks in his duffel for me, when I ran out of room in mine. Hey, you can take the girl out of Arkansas but not the Arkie out of the girl, folks.
My journey began in Ft. Liquordale (or that's what it was when I got through with it)- the lovely hometown of my friend. The digs were top-notch from the beginning. His parents offered up their darling condo on the waterway to us since they were out of town. I had my morning coffee looking out over fancy-dancy boats galore and really rich people having breakfast on their penthouse balconies. A fab introduction to how the other half lives. We noshed on an absolutely perfect meal that evening, at a place I mistakenly kept referring to as Studio 54 even though Greg constantly reminded me it was actually Seasons 52. All I know is...my snapper with the melt in your mouth orzo was divine. So was my dessert and the extra one Greg was forced to order because I spooned all his down my goozle, too. The evening's classy dinner was preceded by a bucket martini at the Country Club, dah-lings! Our lovely friend, Terry, joined us for the night's festivities. It was so nice to see her again. The next hazy morning, we all had a yummy breakfast at Bill's Filling Station, a local gay diner. I scarfed up some of the best biscuits and gravy I ever ate. Who knew my boys could whip up all that good country cookin'?
Our leisurely drive south started with a quick pit stop into the palm-swaying, Art Deco Miami. I would say 'sunny' but that wasn't happening yet. Up until the moment Mama's feet hit the tarmac, we had torrential rain and gale force winds. Well, I suppose it wasn't that bad, but Florida sure didn't have at me at hello. Greg, the consummate host, was beside himself while touring me under a dark and thundering sky. With the wipers on max speed though, I was able to make out a landmark or two if I squinted really hard.
As we inched our way southward, we passed marshlands, the lingering effects of Andrew (eighteen years later!) and the Monkey Jungle- one of Greggor's childhood haunts. Never saw a gator though. Bummer. We did have to do an emergency stop at a Circle K somewhere around Key Largo after I had pulled down the sun visor to check my lipstick and was mortified to find an oompah-loompah looking back at me. After a couple of stiffies that first night, my pal had talked me into using his self-tanner on my face. Good times. Thank God, I had a loofah in my toiletry bag. I was scrubbed raw by the time we gassed up and pulled out of there.
Eventually..and I do mean, eventually (due to a measly two lane highway & following behind a Budweiser truck that must have been driven by an 80 year old lady) we finally found ourselves on the 17 Mile Highway, cruising across beautiful blue-green water and so many different 'keys', I lost count. Well, truth be known, I was Facebooking, and missed some of the drive. At one point, I asked Greg which new profile pic he preferred of me and a couple questions about cropping and can you believe he told me that he was busy driving??? Whatever. We decided if he did lose control of the wheel though, that I was so good, I'd be able to post a Newsfeed status of "Oh, shit!" as we soared off the bridge to our death.
Two bottles of Dasani and a Dove bar later, we pulled into the town of Key West- home to the legendary writer, Ernest Hemingway (more on that amazing experience later), j'adorable colonial cottages and from the looks of it, lots of full body tats and mullets. Oh, yeah...too bad my red-headed tour guide didn't have a big doobie or any Buffet on his Sirius because from the looks of it, my experience would have then been complete. We wound our way through a cute maze of Bed and Breakfasts until our final stop, The Westin. The moment that hunky Serb valet opened my car door, my ass was primed for the kissing and my Travel Channel spectacular began. Surrounded by exquisite orchids and a royalty's greeting upon check-in, I felt truly glam and geared up for a fantastic trip.
We made our way to the resort's private launch, the "'Lil Princess". How appropriate, since I was with my Queen. We hopped aboard, snuck our way around a humongous Carnival cruise ship and zoomed off to the island I called my home for a glorious 48 hours and twenty minutes. But who's counting? Our cottage was presh with a capitol P. A nautical motif, decked out with beyond plush towels, high thread-count sheeting and a shower so big that I could have shared it with the Laker team. There was a nice wrap-around porch, peppered with Adirondacks..even a comfy hammock tied between a couple of palms. A perfect set-up for ocean ogling. The sun had finally come out to our gi-normous relief as we had driven toward an ominous black cloud every mile of the way down there. Greg was right, Florida's weather can change on a dime; and lucky for us and our livers, it was on our side.
The company fete followed that evening and was a lot of fun. We had cocktails by the pool and din-din in the hotel restaurant, Lattitudes, which was very nice. Earlier, over an Orange Stoli, I had coined a catchy little ditty for the place, "A New Lattitude"- sung to the tune of I Got a New Attitude by the Pointer Sisters. Everyone seemed to have liked it as Greg thought me his grinder monkey that evening at dinner and had asked me to perform it for a few of his co-workers. They were all very nice peeps and from what I was told the next morning- quite tolerant. I happened to be sitting across the table from a VIP who had graciously engaged me in conversation and asked how I had come to the Keys. Instead of simply & succinctly telling him I'd flown in via Lauderdale; I, nursing my umpteenth glass of pinot, proceeded to give him my life story instead. From start to blathering finish. I know you all may find this hard to believe but Mama tends to ramble a bit when she is drinking. Over coffee the next day, Greg told me the only part I left out of my saga was when my great grandmother came over from Poland to Ellis Island and was denied entry because of a bad tooth. :) Needless to say, I was quite embarrassed and was determined to make a joke of it all if I was lucky enough to run into his boss again. Well, I did. Right when I was hopping off the tender the next day. I looked at him and said, "1973..." He raised his hand as if to say, 'No more..please, woman", but gave me a smile and a hug instead. I hope Greg wasn't demoted to janitor when he got back to work on Monday.
The next day, I got up at a ridiculous 5:45am (I'm on mom time, what can I say?) and decided I'd amble my way around the property and take some pics while Greg was sleeping off his Ambien. It was soul-nourishing to see that beautiful sun rise up over that turquoise water. When I got back to the room though, there was my tiffed mon amie..sitting at the dining room table, looking as if he had a mouth full of pins. Our time at this four-star resort included a hand-delivered breakfast basket each morning of our stay. We had been fantasizing about the darn thing for two whole months...freshly squeezed, pulpy orange juice, plump blueberry-filled muffins, scones, croissants with creamery butter...jarred gourmet preserves, wrapped in pretty toile paper and ribbon. He made a motion for me to do the honors of opening this huge basket that he had brought in from the porch. However, by the look on his mug, it appeared he'd already done so. I lifted its lid, heart racing at all the num-nums that my island Muffin Man had brought for our hungry, hungover tummies. Much to this 'Lil Princess' dismay, there was only a brown banana, a Lilliputian apple and what ended up being a tiny piece of Entenmmans, basically. We fought over that thing like a couple of piranhas and then promptly got dressed, pulled out the MasterCard and went to the restaurant for a very delish and overpriced breakfast.
That afternoon, we had penciled in some sort of island activity while we were down there. Well, the Gregster, being the host we know and love...anticipated my every desire, knowing from experience that this girl has a big ole affinity for warm ocean water & lots of pretty little fishies..so he sprung for a bonafide three-hour snorkeling adventure! We should have known better when the choice was between either Fury or Danger Tours of what was to come, but no. Perhaps, if we had paid just a wee bit more attention to the name of said tour- "Reef and 'ritas"...we may have realized the inherent risk involved. Or maybe, just maybe, if we had tuned into the local weather report but, nah, we couldn't be bothered with all that nonsense. Anything that has to do with "..a three hour tour" is just not going to bode well. But onward we went- my Gilligan to Greg's Mrs. Howell. We handed over our tickets and jumped aboard.
An hour out to sea we sailed. Reggae rang from of the speakers and gear was passed out to us, one by one. The ride was choppy to say the least. They finally put her into idle, lowered the sail, and there before us lay an aqua paradise. Except there was one little part of paradise I wasn't so familiar with. The eight-foot swell part. Oh, yeah. That water was rocking and rolling, folks. Dorked out in flippers and mask, we jumped off the side and into a swirling, salty cauldron of sea. It only took a couple of minutes for about a gallon of water to flow down my pie-hole. Choking and spitting, I looked up to find my buddy, ole pal had been swept away about twenty yards ahead. His focus was on the very expensive underwater camera he'd borrowed, so he had no time to protect and hold onto Mama. He knew full well, that if he dropped that blasted thing, we'd have to call in the frigging Coast Guard to retrieve it. Oh, it was a war zone out there. For an hour we bobbed, trying our damnedest to keep our face in the water and our snorkels above it. Oy. Even the fish were looking up at us like "Dude, are ya crazy? Go back to land, for God's sake!" We never did get any good pics and really didn't see much until right at the last minute, long after the camera had mysteriously stopped working- the most absolutely, positively, eye-popping school of purple fish. About twenty or so swam up underneath us to feed on the coral. All stress faded away as we held hands, staring in awe at the magnificent splendor of this beautiful little marine creature. We surfaced, looked at each other and Greg said, "We just got our 100 bucks worth, girl."
Exhausted, we made our way back to the boat and that's when it really got scary. The waves were pummeling the stairs/ladder that had been lowered down and we were being thrashed around like rag dolls. Greg had made it on ahead of me and was holding onto to the bottom rung for dear life. I brought up the rear, snotting out seawater by the buckets, frantically holding onto my mask and trying not to laugh at him when he got slammed by some big biker chick when she was trying to make her way up the slippery stairs. All of a sudden- pow. From the force of the waves behind me, I got nailed in the face by a cable that was holding the stairs in place. It whacked me pretty hard and I was stunned for a second. I tried to find the good in it though, and figured it just raked off another layer of that dreadful self-tanner.
Next thing I know, while I was busy trying not to black out and drown, Greg had a lightbulb moment of taking his fins off and finally managed to hoist himself up onto the stairs. And, boy, did that guy hot-foot it up..leaving Mama Mags to flail ever so dramatically behind. I screamed out but to no avail. He had done gone and dropped that chivalry ball...big time. All of a sudden, just when I thought I was done for, I saw a hand reach out for my vest (the same vest I chose not to blow up because I was such an 'efficient swimmer') and I was then pulled safely onto the first step by one of the tour employees. I lived to tell but not before scraping all the skin off my shins. You'd think after surviving the perfect storm, things would have settled down on the way back but no...not on Fury Tours, gosh darnit! The games were just beginning as we raised the canvas and whirred up the margarita blender. As we toweled off, trying to catch our breath, I couldn't help but notice some of the green faces around me. Before I could say, 'thar she blows' puke was everywhere. Good Lord, the last time I saw that many sick people was at a frat party I attended back in '83. I mean, they were hanging over the side, lying in the aisles, running down to the head..everywhere. This one lady up on the deck just in front of us, was kicking back, having a cold brew, talking to her friend and then whammy...we see her blowing chunks right out of nowhere all over her Pucci swim skirt. The crew got the hose out and were trying to clean it up. Meanwhile Greg and I were deciding which way to run to avoid the lethal spray that was coming at us in every direction. We landed a safe spot, leeward side, and clung to each other for the remaining thirty minutes to land. I was tempted at one point to jump off and swim the rest of the way but I stopped myself. I probably could have used the cardio.
We were able to admire a gorgeous sunset the next night out on the dock, with 18 dollar martini in hand. Greg had splurged a little and upgraded his Red Bull with premium vodka. And for a bargain of only eleven bucks, got to keep the whole can. That poor man...bless his heart. He dropped some serious coin while we were there. Between the tipping, the noshing and Mama's Paul Bunyan bar bill, that place can really stick it to a guy. He was handing out ones like they were tic-tacs. After the amazing pink and teal sky show, we made our way toward the launch, stopping first to take some photos of an elegant white sea egret posing ever so handsomely on the dock rail. I must have turned him off with my vodka breath because he gave me a very disgruntled look and flew off into the balmy night sky as I was left to struggle with my cheap, crappy flip-phone.
We made our way over to the mainland that night, to check out the infamous Duval Street and all its shenanigans. The restaurant ended up being a little farther than we had thought and I began to get a blister on my heel. Well, my trusty mate could not have been anymore of a Cary Grant..he hailed a rickshaw to carry me the rest of the way. With our buzz on, we didn't realize, however, that we were in fact not that far from our destination...so it didn't take long for the cute, biking Serb to get us there. We had just enough time to admire his well-developed calves when he pulled us up right to the front door. And to think...it only cost Greg 19 greenbacks to go a block and a half. We ate a very good Italian meal and ended up seated next to a friendly couple who were from Northwest Arkansas. Small world, non? Afterward, the two of us staggered out to hail another ride back down to the harbor (yeah, yeah, even though Greg had told me over dinner that "he didn't care if my freaking leg fell off..he wasn't laying down another 20 bucks to go two blocks")...Aww, he made an exception though for his drunk, crippled friend and splurged on yet another nice pedi-cab ride. And once again- a Serb guy. We couldn't help but ask, '..what gives with all you Slav folks?" The young man told us there were quite a few Serb youth who come over to the Keys to make money to bring home to their families. It must have worked. Greg gave him a huge tip. It was also on that very same rickshaw, that a lot of other oddly interesting talk went on between us. From trying to guess Ernest's favorite cocktail, to gab that spoke of the mystical, coincidence of traveling 1300 miles across the country to find yourself sitting in the very same restaurant, next to two people from your very same small town...then on to learning something I never knew about my buddy of many, many years- his favorite line in a film. Ever. A John Waters flick called Female Trouble. It is most certainly worthy of repeating here, as it nearly made me laugh my butt right out of the carriage but I must refrain as the Daily Mag has and always will have a PG rating.
Despite our beer goggles, we miraculously found our way back to the dock. The next morning, our last, Gramps Nolin wanted to sleep in and that is just what we did. I got up at a luxurious 8:00am (that is late for this mother). Refreshed and ready for the last few hours in our ocean dreamland, we sadly placed our luggage on the porch and then to soften the blow, went and gorged ourselves on blackened grouper and spicy Bloody Mary's. My allergies had plagued me the whole trip. Greg had endured (stoically, I might add) a lot of very gross snorting and sniffing from yours truly. That lush Floridian foliage may be purdy but, dang..it made my sinuses go into overdrive. Plus, I had been suffering with an awful cough that had lingered for quite some time. As I hacked over my yummy drink, Big Red looked at me with disgust and said, 'I hope I don't end up getting whatever it is you got, honey child. Because some of us have to go back to work on Monday." I couldn't help but giggle over my imagined Key West newspaper headline- "TUBERCULOSIS HITS KEYS- SOURCE UNKNOWN". Without missing a beat, Greg retorts, "Two Serbs and a sea egret fall victim." He was and will always be the Conan O'Brien of the Sunshine State.
The highlight of the trip was on our way out. We stopped at the Hemingway House. The antiques, the hand-layed tile, the smell of old books...oh, I could just go on and on. The gardens were lush and tropical and don't even get me going on the gorgeous pool that took a full six months to dig (that coral rock is hard stuff). His wife, Pauline, had snuck and put it in for the kids while Papa was in Spain- to the tune of twenty grand, thank you very much. That was a whole lotta dough back in those days and, man, oh man, was he mad. Oh, well. He was fooling around with wife-number-3-to-be over there, so maybe he deserved it. Snowball, the family's six-toed cat was prominent in all the paintings and knick knacks- 25 of her descendants roam the property today. Very cuddly cute and from the looks of that extra toe, could probably rip your head off if they were so inclined. They could not have been tamer, however, and were lounging here and there around the grounds. All joking aside though, it was humbling to see the grand writer's office- a small, top floor bungalow in the back. Up the steep stairs we walked and when I peered in, there she was- his beloved typewriter. When I thought of his fingertips plunking out To Have and Have Not with a cold mojito and his beloved white feline in his lap...well, Mama got a little teary. It isn't every day you're in the midst of greatness.
Yes, I had the trip of my life. Just what I needed, too, with all the worries as of late. It made me forget for a little while. I literally woke up laughing every morning. You know you have a true-blue friend when the years and miles are between you but you're always able to pick up right where you left off. Thanks, Gregory, for showing me a fabulous time. I felt like one of those molls who has a sugar daddy. And I didn't even have to put out. ;-)
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
mama and the grandmaster flash
My hub is in bed, 102 degrees & achey on his birthday weekend, my youngest has had what sounds like a Marlboro Red cough for the last month, I have a toilet that needs scrubbing and my remote is busted. Fun times for this Furious Five, lemme tell ya (if you count the goldfish). Yes, not only is Mercury often retro in my world...oh, I'd venture to say probably 90% of the time these days..but it is on a liquid rise in more ways than one. This summer heat has been awful. I fear my poor grass may be gone for good. It is like walking on rice-crispies out there. Even my Lilliputian Christmas trees off the front porch are scorched and orange on the top. We are having a heat wave to beat all heat waves down here in the Ozarks. And not a single rain drop in sight. Yep, the hills have eyes alright and they're wearing their Foster Grants.
I have never been a lover of summer, so I am always very eager to have it over and done with. Come August, I'm jonesing for autumn leaves and my favorite sweater. But I don't think Fall will be here any time soon. The kid's are back in school though, so I guess there's something cool going on. My youngest daughter is full-day this year and for the first time in a long while, my house is silent from 8 all the way until 3...except for the rat-a-tat of a keyboard and an occasional clink of an ice cube. And panting. Lots of it. No...not for reasons of that nature, mind you. Flashes. One after another. Literally. 'Bam! These suckers have certainly moved up a notch". As if this muggy weather isn't enough to frizzle my frazzle, my hormones are at a boiling point. Most of my nights are spent wide-eyed and riding a sort of endocrine roller coaster. Loops out the wah-zoo and a wicked G-force. It is so weird...a sort of nervous "dip" feeling in the chest and stomach like going down Space Mountain. It comes in waves all through the night. I thought I was about to go postal or something but googled it and find out that...yes, it's "normal". It just feels terminal, that's all. Suffice to say, I have shifted from having a light pink flush this past year to Six Flags over Anxiety. Not fun. No wonder my poor hubby is ailing so. He has to withstand gale force winds all night, blades whirring at DC-10 speed. Thank God, Hunter makes a good product or we Mags could be chopped up into five easy pieces.
Although things are rather toasty, we did have some nice travel goings-on these last couple of months. After the kids and I got back from Cali, we drove up to Chicago with Daddy for an overnighter to see brand new great-niece, Baby E. She's so darn cute..her nostrils are heart-shaped. It was followed by some way-too-quick sightseeing in the lovely Old Town section. Yeah, no wonder. I had to take out a small loan to park my car in that city. Jeez. Lovely architecture though, such history..Second City, Steppenwolf, beautiful Lincoln Park..visiting all my hubby's old apartments. The streets are j'adorable, tree-lined, hydrangeas blossoming everywhere...and those town-houses! A mere stone's throw from that beautiful, breezy lake and gorgeous skyline. Don't even get me started. I tried to wiggle my key into one but it didn't work. Yes, those peeps have some sweet home karma, for sure. Hell, even the pets have it made. Some pug decked out in a sweater and blingy leash trotted by me off Division with a thought bubble that said, 'Sorry, sucka.'
Then it was a short jaunt north to the Dairy State for the husband's high school reunion. It was a joy to see him reunited with old friends again. A lovely group of people, and such a charming community. We stopped by his boyhood home..still standing after almost a century ;-) Then over to check out the "lake that looks like an ocean, Mommy!" I won't talk about the pet-friendly hotel we booked on the drive up to Chi-Town that reeked of dog pee and a baked-in stank that can only happen when the a.c. unit has been turned off since '98. The atrium pool wasn't much of a relief as it was 101 outside, the sun beating through the glass. A pool/sauna, whether ya like it or not. I left Daddy Mags to splash in Humidville with the youngins and snuck off for a run on the treadmill that had a banana peel for its conveyer. Oh, joy. Hotwire wasn't so good to Mama on that one.
I will be taking to the air again in another month or so for a visit to the Florida Keys with my dear pal, Big Red. Our last vacay was a rendezvous at Disney World with the kids a couple of years back & is chronicled here for your reading pleasure. Four parks in four days with even a tornado thrown in! Only Mama Mags has such stories, folks. Yes, besides chardonnay and Bravo, I am thankful for many things in my life but particularly for my hardworking pals who kick ass with their sales numbers and win trips to four diamond resorts...and then ask me to tag along! This place is a movie-star doozy! Our very own 1200 square foot cottage, complete with wrap around porch, hand-delivered breakfast basket..basically every inch of our assed- kissed. And for mine...that's a lot of smoochin'! This is how the other half lives and I am up to the challenge! Ms. Winfrey supposedly had her big birthday bash here a few years back. Samantha Brown on the Travel Channel lists this private island resort in her Honeymoon Top Five. I'm a traveling 'beard' on this one, so no nookie is involved but, oh, how I can't wait for those gorgeous Margaritaville sunsets! No cars are allowed on the isle, so that makes for some quiet. And when you're ready to hop off to the mainland to party Buffett-style, there's a boat that will take you there! This is living, friends. And for approximately 48 hours or so, it will be my one and only Brangelina moment. Then its back to tator-tots and my 19 inch Sony.
And believe it or not Ripley, Mama is jet-setting solo with only her Vanity Fair and a nip to whiz through security. You read that right. Sans kiddos! No lifeguard duty, no fruit leather and no noodles. Just languid infinity pool drunks spent ogling all that misty blue and stuffing myself with lobster and creme brulee. Of course, my ego is such that I have been living at the gym non-stop since learning of the trip. I mean, if you're going to dine and drink with the rich, then you better have the hot body to go along with it! Well, let's be realistic here. A hot bod isn't in the cards for me anymore but I plan to take my muffin-top down to a pita pocket, at least. Thanks, Greggors. Can't wait! Now if I could just turn on CNN to find that the recent Dengue Fever outbreak across the Keys is under control, I'd feel a little more settled. :( Oh, well, if I have to move the dead bodies out of the way to get into my blissful ocean abode, then so be it.
Besides spending most of their summer swimming like Nemo and the Gang, my oldest participated in an Art Camp back in July. She had a ball and created some lovely pieces. She's got her Daddy's talent. Here's a still life of hers...
My other baby is loving Kindergarten and tells me her teach is as 'pretty as a princess'.
Watching her walk away during drop-off, hand in hand, with her big sissy made Mama misty. It was Tinker Bell all the way- from back pack to lunch box. Oh, my beautiful, little fairy girl. Before I know it, I'll be watching you walk away into a college dorm...a texting know-it-all, spending every damn dime I got. Oy. Well, hopefully, my hormones will finally be at a standstill by then and this old gray mare will be happily ensconsed in her pasture. Ahhh...if I squint, I can see it now-
'the light at the end of the tunnel'. Nah, wait a second. That's just the candle's reflection off my Grey Goose bottle.
I have never been a lover of summer, so I am always very eager to have it over and done with. Come August, I'm jonesing for autumn leaves and my favorite sweater. But I don't think Fall will be here any time soon. The kid's are back in school though, so I guess there's something cool going on. My youngest daughter is full-day this year and for the first time in a long while, my house is silent from 8 all the way until 3...except for the rat-a-tat of a keyboard and an occasional clink of an ice cube. And panting. Lots of it. No...not for reasons of that nature, mind you. Flashes. One after another. Literally. 'Bam! These suckers have certainly moved up a notch". As if this muggy weather isn't enough to frizzle my frazzle, my hormones are at a boiling point. Most of my nights are spent wide-eyed and riding a sort of endocrine roller coaster. Loops out the wah-zoo and a wicked G-force. It is so weird...a sort of nervous "dip" feeling in the chest and stomach like going down Space Mountain. It comes in waves all through the night. I thought I was about to go postal or something but googled it and find out that...yes, it's "normal". It just feels terminal, that's all. Suffice to say, I have shifted from having a light pink flush this past year to Six Flags over Anxiety. Not fun. No wonder my poor hubby is ailing so. He has to withstand gale force winds all night, blades whirring at DC-10 speed. Thank God, Hunter makes a good product or we Mags could be chopped up into five easy pieces.
Although things are rather toasty, we did have some nice travel goings-on these last couple of months. After the kids and I got back from Cali, we drove up to Chicago with Daddy for an overnighter to see brand new great-niece, Baby E. She's so darn cute..her nostrils are heart-shaped. It was followed by some way-too-quick sightseeing in the lovely Old Town section. Yeah, no wonder. I had to take out a small loan to park my car in that city. Jeez. Lovely architecture though, such history..Second City, Steppenwolf, beautiful Lincoln Park..visiting all my hubby's old apartments. The streets are j'adorable, tree-lined, hydrangeas blossoming everywhere...and those town-houses! A mere stone's throw from that beautiful, breezy lake and gorgeous skyline. Don't even get me started. I tried to wiggle my key into one but it didn't work. Yes, those peeps have some sweet home karma, for sure. Hell, even the pets have it made. Some pug decked out in a sweater and blingy leash trotted by me off Division with a thought bubble that said, 'Sorry, sucka.'
Then it was a short jaunt north to the Dairy State for the husband's high school reunion. It was a joy to see him reunited with old friends again. A lovely group of people, and such a charming community. We stopped by his boyhood home..still standing after almost a century ;-) Then over to check out the "lake that looks like an ocean, Mommy!" I won't talk about the pet-friendly hotel we booked on the drive up to Chi-Town that reeked of dog pee and a baked-in stank that can only happen when the a.c. unit has been turned off since '98. The atrium pool wasn't much of a relief as it was 101 outside, the sun beating through the glass. A pool/sauna, whether ya like it or not. I left Daddy Mags to splash in Humidville with the youngins and snuck off for a run on the treadmill that had a banana peel for its conveyer. Oh, joy. Hotwire wasn't so good to Mama on that one.
I will be taking to the air again in another month or so for a visit to the Florida Keys with my dear pal, Big Red. Our last vacay was a rendezvous at Disney World with the kids a couple of years back & is chronicled here for your reading pleasure. Four parks in four days with even a tornado thrown in! Only Mama Mags has such stories, folks. Yes, besides chardonnay and Bravo, I am thankful for many things in my life but particularly for my hardworking pals who kick ass with their sales numbers and win trips to four diamond resorts...and then ask me to tag along! This place is a movie-star doozy! Our very own 1200 square foot cottage, complete with wrap around porch, hand-delivered breakfast basket..basically every inch of our assed- kissed. And for mine...that's a lot of smoochin'! This is how the other half lives and I am up to the challenge! Ms. Winfrey supposedly had her big birthday bash here a few years back. Samantha Brown on the Travel Channel lists this private island resort in her Honeymoon Top Five. I'm a traveling 'beard' on this one, so no nookie is involved but, oh, how I can't wait for those gorgeous Margaritaville sunsets! No cars are allowed on the isle, so that makes for some quiet. And when you're ready to hop off to the mainland to party Buffett-style, there's a boat that will take you there! This is living, friends. And for approximately 48 hours or so, it will be my one and only Brangelina moment. Then its back to tator-tots and my 19 inch Sony.
And believe it or not Ripley, Mama is jet-setting solo with only her Vanity Fair and a nip to whiz through security. You read that right. Sans kiddos! No lifeguard duty, no fruit leather and no noodles. Just languid infinity pool drunks spent ogling all that misty blue and stuffing myself with lobster and creme brulee. Of course, my ego is such that I have been living at the gym non-stop since learning of the trip. I mean, if you're going to dine and drink with the rich, then you better have the hot body to go along with it! Well, let's be realistic here. A hot bod isn't in the cards for me anymore but I plan to take my muffin-top down to a pita pocket, at least. Thanks, Greggors. Can't wait! Now if I could just turn on CNN to find that the recent Dengue Fever outbreak across the Keys is under control, I'd feel a little more settled. :( Oh, well, if I have to move the dead bodies out of the way to get into my blissful ocean abode, then so be it.
Besides spending most of their summer swimming like Nemo and the Gang, my oldest participated in an Art Camp back in July. She had a ball and created some lovely pieces. She's got her Daddy's talent. Here's a still life of hers...
My other baby is loving Kindergarten and tells me her teach is as 'pretty as a princess'.
Watching her walk away during drop-off, hand in hand, with her big sissy made Mama misty. It was Tinker Bell all the way- from back pack to lunch box. Oh, my beautiful, little fairy girl. Before I know it, I'll be watching you walk away into a college dorm...a texting know-it-all, spending every damn dime I got. Oy. Well, hopefully, my hormones will finally be at a standstill by then and this old gray mare will be happily ensconsed in her pasture. Ahhh...if I squint, I can see it now- 'the light at the end of the tunnel'. Nah, wait a second. That's just the candle's reflection off my Grey Goose bottle.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
nano art
Artists, in any medium, never cease to amaze me. But when you use a fly hair as a paintbrush and design within the eye of a needle, that is something, non? This gentleman went from being belittled as a boy by a sorry excuse for a teacher to heeding the words of the mother who loved him. Dreams don't always come in big packages. And sometimes you just need a little help to see them.
Monday, July 26, 2010
what fades away
It is the disquieting time of night, somewhere between the haunting tick of a wall clock and the peek of morning. And it is within this shadowy half-light, I remember. The whisper of memory weaves itself contently if I'm lucky..but more often these days, it is wistful. A random thought that can fill an ear with tears, or cut through sleep in the oddest, silliest of ways. And sometimes it comes in a reassuring dream that patches a hole. Those are the best kind. But tonight, it cradles itself between a distant train whistle and raindrops on the window and I miss you.
My mother. An easy touch, the kindest of voices, an unconditional love that poured all over me and has been regifted in the journey I take with my own babies. All sweetness she is, with a sunshine smile. One who had the profound ability to fill the miles between us for so many years when the wild colt within me had to run. But time has passed and we finally share the same place again. Although she's farther from me now in so many ways, my heart is full and I am thankful that life's mystical path led me back.
Those brown eyes are different. On a good day, they target..on a dark one, they look away or through. Foolishly, I raise my voice hoping that will bring her 'round. At times the sadness overwhelms me, exceeded only by the fear of losing her completely but prayer and the force field of my girls bring me back to a good place. And in these early hours, I go there again. To experiences, times and laughs we've shared- in Reno when she mistakenly put lip liner on her eyebrows and I found myself sharing a nickel bank with a circus clown...tight hugs on the jet bridge, Chinese chicken salad at The Broadway. I remember walks, talks, the smell of Charlie..when I could not believe anymore and she did it for me. All the boyfriends, the apartments and the silent drives we took when music was enough. I watched her bury a son under tragic circumstances with the strength and faith of an angel; an unfathomable knock-out in which she miraculously managed to keep the gleam and push within herself. You get that from your mama, Mama.
There are times when my selfishness gets the best of me and I curse the cards that took away the parts of you that I need now. But behind the veil I see a familiar glimmer..when my Will touches her fingers to your cheek, in the sway of your hips when Mr. Ray is on the stereo. It is within these moments, I breathe..replenish and am grateful for love, no matter how many curtains have been drawn within it.
When I was a girl, I remember leaning on the sill and watching the dogwood blossoms fall outside my second story window. My goals were lofty, and life was all about my dog and Tiger Beat magazine. You were the tether between home and whatever was out there. Thank you, for the niche you created for us, Mom. Thank you, for the warm fold of your arms and for believing in my dreams as if they were your own.
It is here I will stay as long as I need to, until the story is complete for us and our karmic river has met its sea. My deepest wish for you is one where pain has no place, love continues to bathe you in its light and one in which your hands are always warmed by my father.
My mother. An easy touch, the kindest of voices, an unconditional love that poured all over me and has been regifted in the journey I take with my own babies. All sweetness she is, with a sunshine smile. One who had the profound ability to fill the miles between us for so many years when the wild colt within me had to run. But time has passed and we finally share the same place again. Although she's farther from me now in so many ways, my heart is full and I am thankful that life's mystical path led me back.
Those brown eyes are different. On a good day, they target..on a dark one, they look away or through. Foolishly, I raise my voice hoping that will bring her 'round. At times the sadness overwhelms me, exceeded only by the fear of losing her completely but prayer and the force field of my girls bring me back to a good place. And in these early hours, I go there again. To experiences, times and laughs we've shared- in Reno when she mistakenly put lip liner on her eyebrows and I found myself sharing a nickel bank with a circus clown...tight hugs on the jet bridge, Chinese chicken salad at The Broadway. I remember walks, talks, the smell of Charlie..when I could not believe anymore and she did it for me. All the boyfriends, the apartments and the silent drives we took when music was enough. I watched her bury a son under tragic circumstances with the strength and faith of an angel; an unfathomable knock-out in which she miraculously managed to keep the gleam and push within herself. You get that from your mama, Mama.
There are times when my selfishness gets the best of me and I curse the cards that took away the parts of you that I need now. But behind the veil I see a familiar glimmer..when my Will touches her fingers to your cheek, in the sway of your hips when Mr. Ray is on the stereo. It is within these moments, I breathe..replenish and am grateful for love, no matter how many curtains have been drawn within it.
When I was a girl, I remember leaning on the sill and watching the dogwood blossoms fall outside my second story window. My goals were lofty, and life was all about my dog and Tiger Beat magazine. You were the tether between home and whatever was out there. Thank you, for the niche you created for us, Mom. Thank you, for the warm fold of your arms and for believing in my dreams as if they were your own.
It is here I will stay as long as I need to, until the story is complete for us and our karmic river has met its sea. My deepest wish for you is one where pain has no place, love continues to bathe you in its light and one in which your hands are always warmed by my father.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
life is sweetzer
Mama and her Maglets have made a safe return back from a beyond fabulous visit home to Los Angeles. It was just what the doctor ordered. We spent an action packed, fun-filled ten days under the canopy of perfect weather, abundant laughter and, unfortunately, for my liver..way too much spirit. Oy. I just got off the phone with Hazelden and will be booking their 28 day "vacay-recovery" package shortly. Oh, well..what the heck. When you're living in the Ozarks and are only able to see your friends twice in six long years...your inner party animal comes out, what can I say? The neck injury I sustained from sleeping on one of T-Mag's stuffies was one animal I could have done without, however. On day four of my chardonnay-induced slumber, Nemo had managed to lodge himself under my goozle and the tweak from it plagued me for most of the trip. From now on, Mama sleeps solo- no kids, no fish. Or hires her handy-dandy massage therapist, Ron, to travel with. ;-)
We began our stay in the lovely West Hollywood area with our dear friend, Tim, who could not have made us feel more welcome. Particularly for a single, gay man with a houseful of expensive furniture and breakables. Bless him. He hung in there with his gracious self though and I'm pretty sure was ready to drop kick medi-Kate Gosselin and her two rug rats out the door by weeks end. I had to laugh as he was fully prepared for our arrival..having had purchased a gargantuan, plastic white table cloth, which we nicknamed- the Giant Depends....and literally would put it down wherever the kids were eating and playing. :)
I am so loving the WeHo area now! That delectable morning marine layer was like a mini-air conditioner on my daily runs through all the darling streets dotted with spanish-style apartments and precious cottages. Wish I had 700 thou and I'd plunk it down on the cute, little flower-wrapped bungalow that I salivated over every day on the corner of Alfred. Oh, how I've missed my bougainvilla! Those fuschia swatches were everywhere...
We really didn't do the tourist thing..just hung out with all my buds. The girls were presh with a capitol P and two itty bitty social butterflies..lemme tell ya. They ate up all the attention and activity like a couple of piranhas. We frolicked in the waves at Annenberg Beach. What a lovely facility they've finally put together for California families. Freak-free, clean sand, immaculate bathrooms...even a boardwalk all the way to the sea for us old-timers who aren't interested in a hot-footed, thigh workout. The quaint little beach house that Hearst built for Marion Davies was there. Yeah, must be nice. When San Simeon got boring, she had a nice little pad on the edge o' the ocean to rest her weary bones. Like I always tell my daughters.."Marry for money, darlings!"
We finished up our last few days at a sweet little motel, The Tangerine, in my old neighborhood. It was j'adorable..all bright, quiet, nicely appointed..with a pool that turned out to be almost like our very own personal cabana as no one was ever in it but my offspring! Boy, oh, boy...those two can swim. I wish I had a fraction of their energy. We basically spent 8 hours a day in the thing..and it worked out nicely because my pals would come and visit me to chat and drink "lemonade". I even had a friend, who enabling my Facebook addiction, graciously offered up his laptop (complete with matching tangerine holder!) Yes, ladies and gents, orange was definitely the theme in every way. From fruits and computers...to my cirrhosis! The manager of the place could not have been more amiable as I paraded what must have seemed like 160 people through its doors to poolside. The ongoing joke was that I was probably going to get an eyeful of sur-charges upon checkout. You told us you and your two children, Mrs. Mag..not Snoop Dogg's posse!
I had a couple of lovely din-din parties held in my honor..absolutely wonderful nosh and my kids were treated like royalty (acting more like Hilton princesses though, '..will you please take the stuff out of the mushrooms?".."I like it but I want those 'red things' (sun-dried tomatoes) put on the side."..'oh, you're serving grilled marinated chicken breast, whole wheat orzo salad with heirloom tomatoes and bread to die for...uh, do you have any mac-n-cheese instead?" Thanks, Uncle Bob and Aunty Anna for your patience and hospitality!
My Glee w/ Calcium Added reunion with all my theatre pals of yesteryear was a highlight on the trip. I hadn't seen most of these folks in 10 or 15 years and it was great to share some time with them. I look back very fondly on the creative work we did together- so talented, smart and passionate..my Angel thespians. I even got together with some dear homies I used to work with many, many years ago. We ate at the restaurant where we all had waited tables..now completely re-done and unrecognizeable. Even though our surroundings may have changed, we had not. We picked up convo like no time had ever passed. You Fab-ites are da greatest. Next up, was a cool by the pool gathering with my friends in faith. Ladies, you always inspire me with your beauty and wisdom....not to mention the gauc and Goose! I think my girls may have worn out your water feature, Dorinda. They still talk about "the falls".
I've always said, if one is defined by the company they keep, then Mama Mags has got it goin' on, ya'll. My pals opened their homes, hearts and wine bottles to me while I was there in the most beautiful way. I truly am the luckiest gal on the planet to have such shining lights in my life. Yes, I gathered with old friends, young friends, some I haven't talked to in years..even made a brand new one whom I know I will treasure always. I like to thank that the very best part of me comes out when I am with you people. Thank you, for your kindness, the laughs and for welcoming my children with open arms.
I love you, all...
We began our stay in the lovely West Hollywood area with our dear friend, Tim, who could not have made us feel more welcome. Particularly for a single, gay man with a houseful of expensive furniture and breakables. Bless him. He hung in there with his gracious self though and I'm pretty sure was ready to drop kick medi-Kate Gosselin and her two rug rats out the door by weeks end. I had to laugh as he was fully prepared for our arrival..having had purchased a gargantuan, plastic white table cloth, which we nicknamed- the Giant Depends....and literally would put it down wherever the kids were eating and playing. :)
I am so loving the WeHo area now! That delectable morning marine layer was like a mini-air conditioner on my daily runs through all the darling streets dotted with spanish-style apartments and precious cottages. Wish I had 700 thou and I'd plunk it down on the cute, little flower-wrapped bungalow that I salivated over every day on the corner of Alfred. Oh, how I've missed my bougainvilla! Those fuschia swatches were everywhere...
We really didn't do the tourist thing..just hung out with all my buds. The girls were presh with a capitol P and two itty bitty social butterflies..lemme tell ya. They ate up all the attention and activity like a couple of piranhas. We frolicked in the waves at Annenberg Beach. What a lovely facility they've finally put together for California families. Freak-free, clean sand, immaculate bathrooms...even a boardwalk all the way to the sea for us old-timers who aren't interested in a hot-footed, thigh workout. The quaint little beach house that Hearst built for Marion Davies was there. Yeah, must be nice. When San Simeon got boring, she had a nice little pad on the edge o' the ocean to rest her weary bones. Like I always tell my daughters.."Marry for money, darlings!"
We finished up our last few days at a sweet little motel, The Tangerine, in my old neighborhood. It was j'adorable..all bright, quiet, nicely appointed..with a pool that turned out to be almost like our very own personal cabana as no one was ever in it but my offspring! Boy, oh, boy...those two can swim. I wish I had a fraction of their energy. We basically spent 8 hours a day in the thing..and it worked out nicely because my pals would come and visit me to chat and drink "lemonade". I even had a friend, who enabling my Facebook addiction, graciously offered up his laptop (complete with matching tangerine holder!) Yes, ladies and gents, orange was definitely the theme in every way. From fruits and computers...to my cirrhosis! The manager of the place could not have been more amiable as I paraded what must have seemed like 160 people through its doors to poolside. The ongoing joke was that I was probably going to get an eyeful of sur-charges upon checkout. You told us you and your two children, Mrs. Mag..not Snoop Dogg's posse!
I had a couple of lovely din-din parties held in my honor..absolutely wonderful nosh and my kids were treated like royalty (acting more like Hilton princesses though, '..will you please take the stuff out of the mushrooms?".."I like it but I want those 'red things' (sun-dried tomatoes) put on the side."..'oh, you're serving grilled marinated chicken breast, whole wheat orzo salad with heirloom tomatoes and bread to die for...uh, do you have any mac-n-cheese instead?" Thanks, Uncle Bob and Aunty Anna for your patience and hospitality!
My Glee w/ Calcium Added reunion with all my theatre pals of yesteryear was a highlight on the trip. I hadn't seen most of these folks in 10 or 15 years and it was great to share some time with them. I look back very fondly on the creative work we did together- so talented, smart and passionate..my Angel thespians. I even got together with some dear homies I used to work with many, many years ago. We ate at the restaurant where we all had waited tables..now completely re-done and unrecognizeable. Even though our surroundings may have changed, we had not. We picked up convo like no time had ever passed. You Fab-ites are da greatest. Next up, was a cool by the pool gathering with my friends in faith. Ladies, you always inspire me with your beauty and wisdom....not to mention the gauc and Goose! I think my girls may have worn out your water feature, Dorinda. They still talk about "the falls".
I've always said, if one is defined by the company they keep, then Mama Mags has got it goin' on, ya'll. My pals opened their homes, hearts and wine bottles to me while I was there in the most beautiful way. I truly am the luckiest gal on the planet to have such shining lights in my life. Yes, I gathered with old friends, young friends, some I haven't talked to in years..even made a brand new one whom I know I will treasure always. I like to thank that the very best part of me comes out when I am with you people. Thank you, for your kindness, the laughs and for welcoming my children with open arms.
I love you, all...
Sunday, June 20, 2010
a daddy
All fathers are heroes. The young, the old...the working joes, the famous authors. It is not what they do or what they have but what they are. Simple..nothing fancy or flashy..residing somewhere between a tender whisper and a belly laugh that you know is genuine. I have always believed that a man is truly defined by the way he nurtures. In my life, its light shines in the way he holds my baby on a zip-slide, the gentle pat on a sore tummy, or simply in the quietness of a teary profile at a recital.
Today we celebrate that strength..neither brute nor brawn..but the kind who puts us and our babies first, who aren't afraid to love deeper and more selflessly than ever...the exemplary courage to don a tiara and pink stole to the tune of abundant giggles.
This one's for you Dad..and for you, G-Man. Thanks for delivering, for the shelter, and for the heart that goes along with it. Happy Father's Day!
Today we celebrate that strength..neither brute nor brawn..but the kind who puts us and our babies first, who aren't afraid to love deeper and more selflessly than ever...the exemplary courage to don a tiara and pink stole to the tune of abundant giggles.
This one's for you Dad..and for you, G-Man. Thanks for delivering, for the shelter, and for the heart that goes along with it. Happy Father's Day!
Monday, June 14, 2010
the lonesome tide
It was only last summer that my family and I swam in the warm waters of the Gulf. We peacefully slept on a breezy 4th floor and spent our tranquil mornings eating cinnamon toast with the symphonic sound of the sea playing before us. It was a quiet, special week..one where memories of birthday smiles, dolphins frolicking at a stones throw and regal sandcastles were made.
As I ran my way down the coast most early evenings..the sun sinking behind a soft, pink horizon, little did I know that I would be watching the ghastly images I see today. That black, gushing plume sickens me to the core every time I see it. My heart heavy with the sight of all those weighted wings, my prayer- fervent; that life there whether feathered, scaled or shelled will live again and we can clean up what those greedy bastards have set in motion. Ironically, it will probably be more of my tax dollar that will do it and very little of the 17 billion that line their silk pockets. That seems to be the way these days. As a woman, committed to my faith though, I can not and will not lose hope that we will eventually turn poison into medicine and that this karma, no matter how immutable it seems now will unfold itself to heal, to renew, to begin again. This preventable cause has been made into a disastrous effect and it is by our will and self destiny that we must correct it. But unless we change the way we consume, and own up to what has manifested by our hand then how can anything move forward? I have no concrete solution, no degrees, no political seat...just a blogging mama who prays that her babies will get what they deserve- the world in all its glory..life as sweet and simple as it was for me.
The prioritization of not only we humanoids in the life web but all others as well must be moved into place...lessons learned, mechanisms corrected, a-holes called out- a civic demand that will be heard like a shot fired, a final fix that will plug the pipes a mile deep once and for all and also the suits who've shown themselves to be nothing but an o-ring of blame, denial and neglect. And in my book, I'm talkin' to you, Mr. and Ms. B.P.-a sin so very deep, that as a mother of two young lives perched on an edge of discovery and wonder, I shudder at its magnitude and wonder how your eyes are able to shut in sleep at night. I struggle with the fear of my darkest demon..that one day we will not have any tools left for battle and all the links in the chain will lie broken like a Pic-a-Parts junkyard. There is something so innately tragic at the demise of the ones who can not speak for themselves. We owe an allegiance to both child and creature- a mission so noble that you would think its task alone would be enough to satisfy us. Our future is shining but we are blind to its light, I'm afraid.
The oxygen of the bay's bottom is already 20% below normal. It is home to over 400 species who are now seriously threatened. Those who are able to leave the hypoxic area, will; and those who can not, will not. Heaven forbid, if there is a bad hurricane season and that slop, in its sinister spread, will cover even more of our deep blue. I am reminded of the frantic scramble of the majestic sea turtle. It's odds of survival one in a thousand. After poking its head up through the sugary sand, it dodges the swift talon of the seagull, and then beats its tiny flippers against the current and other fishy threats. Today, its odyssey made even more perilous by the poison that washes in before them. Life on the tiniest, organic microbial level now must fight this deathly underwater cloud for breath and our wetlands will lose. I saw firsthand, at Dauphin Island's amazing estuarium, the profundity of the marsh and its place within this eco-system. The intricate tango between river, ocean, matter and life.
And so it goes. The jubilee falls silent and we continue to drive, consume and glutton ourselves into oblivion. My trek to school is always behind a mass of guzzling gas hogs with support our troops bumper stickers. I should be passing a lot more recycle bins on my way, but sadly only one or two on my block. The technology is out there to make a Prius that the average joe can afford. I just don't get it. All I can do in my humble way is to create a ripple in the proverbial pond as best I can and encourage my kids to do so, too. I haven't shared a rocket-science solution, nothing Huff worthy...not anything that you don't feel in your own tickers. This was simply an entry where I just needed to vent, I guess....and for a love song about a place that I shared with my children.
As I ran my way down the coast most early evenings..the sun sinking behind a soft, pink horizon, little did I know that I would be watching the ghastly images I see today. That black, gushing plume sickens me to the core every time I see it. My heart heavy with the sight of all those weighted wings, my prayer- fervent; that life there whether feathered, scaled or shelled will live again and we can clean up what those greedy bastards have set in motion. Ironically, it will probably be more of my tax dollar that will do it and very little of the 17 billion that line their silk pockets. That seems to be the way these days. As a woman, committed to my faith though, I can not and will not lose hope that we will eventually turn poison into medicine and that this karma, no matter how immutable it seems now will unfold itself to heal, to renew, to begin again. This preventable cause has been made into a disastrous effect and it is by our will and self destiny that we must correct it. But unless we change the way we consume, and own up to what has manifested by our hand then how can anything move forward? I have no concrete solution, no degrees, no political seat...just a blogging mama who prays that her babies will get what they deserve- the world in all its glory..life as sweet and simple as it was for me.
The prioritization of not only we humanoids in the life web but all others as well must be moved into place...lessons learned, mechanisms corrected, a-holes called out- a civic demand that will be heard like a shot fired, a final fix that will plug the pipes a mile deep once and for all and also the suits who've shown themselves to be nothing but an o-ring of blame, denial and neglect. And in my book, I'm talkin' to you, Mr. and Ms. B.P.-a sin so very deep, that as a mother of two young lives perched on an edge of discovery and wonder, I shudder at its magnitude and wonder how your eyes are able to shut in sleep at night. I struggle with the fear of my darkest demon..that one day we will not have any tools left for battle and all the links in the chain will lie broken like a Pic-a-Parts junkyard. There is something so innately tragic at the demise of the ones who can not speak for themselves. We owe an allegiance to both child and creature- a mission so noble that you would think its task alone would be enough to satisfy us. Our future is shining but we are blind to its light, I'm afraid.
The oxygen of the bay's bottom is already 20% below normal. It is home to over 400 species who are now seriously threatened. Those who are able to leave the hypoxic area, will; and those who can not, will not. Heaven forbid, if there is a bad hurricane season and that slop, in its sinister spread, will cover even more of our deep blue. I am reminded of the frantic scramble of the majestic sea turtle. It's odds of survival one in a thousand. After poking its head up through the sugary sand, it dodges the swift talon of the seagull, and then beats its tiny flippers against the current and other fishy threats. Today, its odyssey made even more perilous by the poison that washes in before them. Life on the tiniest, organic microbial level now must fight this deathly underwater cloud for breath and our wetlands will lose. I saw firsthand, at Dauphin Island's amazing estuarium, the profundity of the marsh and its place within this eco-system. The intricate tango between river, ocean, matter and life.
And so it goes. The jubilee falls silent and we continue to drive, consume and glutton ourselves into oblivion. My trek to school is always behind a mass of guzzling gas hogs with support our troops bumper stickers. I should be passing a lot more recycle bins on my way, but sadly only one or two on my block. The technology is out there to make a Prius that the average joe can afford. I just don't get it. All I can do in my humble way is to create a ripple in the proverbial pond as best I can and encourage my kids to do so, too. I haven't shared a rocket-science solution, nothing Huff worthy...not anything that you don't feel in your own tickers. This was simply an entry where I just needed to vent, I guess....and for a love song about a place that I shared with my children.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
seven
Happy birthday, baby. You are my light, my love..the spring in my step, the Darlene to my Roseanne.
Monday, June 7, 2010
slip slidin' away
Yesterday was a sweet one. The windows down, vine-ripened tomatoes, bluegrass and two sleepy girls. My sister and I have made a commitment to Sunday family dinners from here on out. No schedule blips, no buts, no excuses. These mild days just at the beginning of summer, the smell of coconut on a warm shoulder, the suns rays through my baby girl's curls as she blows kisses to her Bobo..all moments I memorize and shelve in an already over-stuffed heart. The lazy goodness of just living is a precious gift to all of us. One that we may not always stop to savor. From the untamed swatch of wildflowers I pass on my morning run to the melodious call of the owl who just moved in next door. My promise is a strong one. It resides somewhere between the inhale of fear and the cushion of your love. It's weft to your warp, in an ever-changing world on its travels through the vast unknown.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
here comes the sun
Apparently, my air conditioner has a G-spot. Humidity has finally reared its ugly head down here in the Ozarks. Wrap that muggy schmata around some hormonal flashing and you have one hot Mama. After roasting at the park the other day with the kiddos, I made a mad dash home to crank that puppy up, and nothin'. Oy. Not only has it been a full two months since I've blogged about my crazy life..but the last time I was waxing heretic was about ten inches below this entry as Mercury was spinning up some electro magnetic funk in my Mag world. Well, this time, 'karma be damned"... I was mad as hell and my checkbook and I were not going to take it anymore. So I tore the front plate off that sucker and took a gander. After staring intently at its innards for about ten minutes, hoping that was all the repair it was magically going to need, I couldn't help but notice a blinking amber light with a rotating disc like thing in front of it. Well, I'm no dummy- green means go and red means stop, so I figured all I needed for yellow was a little pedal to the metal..give her a little love to get her going. So I tapped, I knocked, I rapped and I bonked. And just when a teeny drop of sweat was sliding down my drawers and I could visualize the beady-eyed Heat and Air guy visiting with his hand out again, I gave it one last rub and said, "Work it, b*tch!" And that was all it took. She cranked up full throttle and had the casa cool in no time. Too bad I don't smoke.
Yes, life here with my brood remains pretty status quo. I have one kid finished for the year and one to go. Can't wait to get them in the same school for the Fall. Of course, our mornings will still be something out of Carrie but at least the drop-off will be in the same place and within a half of a mile from home. Big Daddy can just pull the pillow up over his head and pop an Ambien...no more of the poor guy having to get up from his groggy slumber to give a ride to our oldest one.
It has been so long since I last posted, that Spring has completely sprung and it was ab-fab! Lovely...the scent of honeysuckle thick in the air, those heavenly puffy dogwoods...the bodaciously purdy red buds abloom. I just love the four seasons and really missed it while living out in L.A. all those years. I could do without the heat though, but you can't have everything! My morning runs were sheer perfection the past couple of months but now that it is toasting up, it looks like a return to the boring treadmill. :( Just like the little hamster, I am.
Let's see, what else is happening...I've developed a meth problem since I last Eblogged. Well, sorta. I'm hooked on Facebook and its gotta stop. All the dry one-liners and silly links..I can't help myself. I need to perform a self-intervention and get back on the Daily Mag wagon. But my pals are just too darn funny and it has become a boost for this stay at home mother- an encouraging cyber 'what's up' beyond the confines of my four humble American Traditions Callaway walls and endless loop of Disney movies. My problem could be worse, I guess. Thank God, I'm not a gamer. Then DHS would have definitely have to be called in.
Yep, my Sandwich-Generation life couldn't be more mayo-ed up with school activities, doc appts., birthday parties and all the goings-on in Momville. It is also that dreaded time of year. It starts with a B and should be outlawed in this country, frankly. Bathing suit season. Yuck. I don't think there's enough Grey Goose on the planet to help this old gal through something so scary. I had managed to postpone it for quite some time..a few years in fact. Back in '06, I bought an expensive super duper Spandexed one-piece jobbie that miraculously managed to withstand gallons of chlorine and keep me all sucked in, but most unfortunately, the "trimmer-deluxe tummy panel" bit the dust and now my two pigs wrestling under a blanket have come out to play.
My depressing journey took me to Kohls and it was there, in the back stall of the dressing room that I had my seasonal affective melt-down. Trying to blink away the tears, I wrangled piece after piece, each one more horrifying than the next until I settled on a Pucci tankini and a black swim skirt. I would have preferred the Little House on the Praire Swim Line, complete with matching bonnet but what are ya gonna do? Donatella just won't give us mature Mrs. what we really need. I'm still at the stage where I have to get in the pool with my kids or they're gonna drown, so there's not much I can do about the situation. Can't wait for the day I can have the freedom to sit by the palm farthest from the pool, under the dark veil of my mommy dearest hat, Prada shades and jigger of Patron. At least I was not alone as my sorrow was shared with two other ladies perusing the swimwear with that very same sour look on their mugs. I thought of maybe trying to cut through all the tension with some humor but refrained as the gal in the Razorbacks tee-shirt looked like she might bite me. So there you have it- an uncomfortable blend of Lycra and sadness. ;-) Tom.
On the other hand, T-Mag had a ball. She had been given a gift certificate from her Aunty on her birthday, and she couldn't wait to shop. She made a bee-line over to the only thing that kid will wear- dresses. She is a girly girl with a capitol G. It must be nice to look sun-kissed and cute beyond words in everything you try on. She settled on three sweet little numbers (1/2 off sale..ya gotta love it!)..all color-coordinated and ready for summer fun in the sun! That was an easy and sob-free find, thank goodness. And just when Mama Mags thought it safe and we were headed to the shore of check-out, I spied a j'adorable black hoodie (75% reduced clearance!)and a cute pair of skinny capris. I cut through Jewelery, trotted 20 paces beyond Shoes to nab my fabulous buy. The fun stopped mid-forearm. Literally. That was the only part of my body I could fit into it. I was aghast and on the edge of ending it all (or at least returning home to eat a box of dark chocolate Ferrer Rocher) when I realized I was in the Mylie Cyrus section. Size Zero. Really? Ugh, I can't wait for her and all the High School Musicalers to pop out a coupla kids and have an "ass-back" of their very own someday. ;-) Lisa. (I told you my Crackbook pals were a hoot).
On to a more fitting subject....I am beyond excited as the girlies and I are loading up the jalopy and Goin' to Cali next month! Cement ponds and movie stars! Too bad L.L. Cool J's yummy brown tatooed guns aren't going to welcome me when I get there. Oh, well, I'll just have to settle for the I-Tune, I guess. Yes, we've managed to swing a trip back to our homeland..only our second visit in the six years since we moved away. We are thrilled to be seeing our friends and having a little beach play. Daddy is not going to make it, I'm afraid. We're taking Jon and Kate va-cays this year. Separate and bitter. Well, it's not th-a-t bad, I guess...His 40th high school reunion up in Wisconsin is a go and that was all he could fit into his busy work schedule. He missed his last one and they were all a very close class so..I am certain he will have a blast with his fellow Greyhounds 'round the SHS flagpole. Rah, Rah and pass the Geritol!
W. has been busy, busy with her Ballet and just had a wonderful year-end recital. She looked like a little angel on that great big stage and did a terrific job. Though I still remain gravely challenged as a ballet mom. I can not make a bun to save my life. The instructor had to re-do it. "The crown..the bun must lie atop the crown". Poor kid. It looks like a tumor after I get ahold of her. I ask you, are scrunchies so wrong? My oldest one also ran her first 1-K the other day. Tres cute. She really booked it at first and then pooped out a little bit near the end, but was able to raise both arms in a red-faced finish. I called out to her father who was waiting in line to take yummy advantage of sponser Ben and Jerry's ice cream for he and the kids while I grabbed some healthy fruit for me and my ass, "Hey, Dad, there's Kiwi Vitamin water!" "Vodka water?..Right on!", he replied. I couldn't help but chuckle everytime someone helped themselves from the iced cooler. I don't think the second grade teacher who overheard thought it was funny though.
All jokes, unfinished homework and exhaustion aside, looking back on this active school year, it surely has been a beautiful one. T-Mag blossomed in half-day pre-school Montessori, proudly became a best friend and is now poised for all sorts of Kindergarten discovery. Seeing the girls immersed in all things alphabet and song is a precious gift in my life. I cherish each performance, each milestone, and am realizing that it is all so fleeting. Before I know it, they will both be grown-up young ladies...mommy's boo-boo kisses and watchful eye no longer needed. My heart is so very full and humbled at the sunshine and promise that lie within my two little ones.
Yesiree Bob, this is gonna be one big bunch of dog days that I am actually looking forward to. I'll be jet-setting a bit to break up the hot monotony and as long as I soak the kids in some water for a few days of it, they'll make plenty of solstice memories and be happy as clams. They're easy to please when it comes to a watering hole of any kind. Throw 'em a piece of watermelon and a fucshia swim noodle and short of beating the crap out of each other with it, they are going to be in splish-splash heaven. Not only will I miss the guy, I am feeling just a wee bit o' trepidation that I won't have Daddy Mags to help out with the munchkins...particularly during the chaos of "de-shoeing" and running our stuff through airport security or white-knuckling it down the 405, but with a little help from my friends, I think I got it covered. Besides, I have plastic martini glasses for pool safety and that's what is really important.
Yes, life here with my brood remains pretty status quo. I have one kid finished for the year and one to go. Can't wait to get them in the same school for the Fall. Of course, our mornings will still be something out of Carrie but at least the drop-off will be in the same place and within a half of a mile from home. Big Daddy can just pull the pillow up over his head and pop an Ambien...no more of the poor guy having to get up from his groggy slumber to give a ride to our oldest one.
It has been so long since I last posted, that Spring has completely sprung and it was ab-fab! Lovely...the scent of honeysuckle thick in the air, those heavenly puffy dogwoods...the bodaciously purdy red buds abloom. I just love the four seasons and really missed it while living out in L.A. all those years. I could do without the heat though, but you can't have everything! My morning runs were sheer perfection the past couple of months but now that it is toasting up, it looks like a return to the boring treadmill. :( Just like the little hamster, I am.
Let's see, what else is happening...I've developed a meth problem since I last Eblogged. Well, sorta. I'm hooked on Facebook and its gotta stop. All the dry one-liners and silly links..I can't help myself. I need to perform a self-intervention and get back on the Daily Mag wagon. But my pals are just too darn funny and it has become a boost for this stay at home mother- an encouraging cyber 'what's up' beyond the confines of my four humble American Traditions Callaway walls and endless loop of Disney movies. My problem could be worse, I guess. Thank God, I'm not a gamer. Then DHS would have definitely have to be called in.
Yep, my Sandwich-Generation life couldn't be more mayo-ed up with school activities, doc appts., birthday parties and all the goings-on in Momville. It is also that dreaded time of year. It starts with a B and should be outlawed in this country, frankly. Bathing suit season. Yuck. I don't think there's enough Grey Goose on the planet to help this old gal through something so scary. I had managed to postpone it for quite some time..a few years in fact. Back in '06, I bought an expensive super duper Spandexed one-piece jobbie that miraculously managed to withstand gallons of chlorine and keep me all sucked in, but most unfortunately, the "trimmer-deluxe tummy panel" bit the dust and now my two pigs wrestling under a blanket have come out to play.
My depressing journey took me to Kohls and it was there, in the back stall of the dressing room that I had my seasonal affective melt-down. Trying to blink away the tears, I wrangled piece after piece, each one more horrifying than the next until I settled on a Pucci tankini and a black swim skirt. I would have preferred the Little House on the Praire Swim Line, complete with matching bonnet but what are ya gonna do? Donatella just won't give us mature Mrs. what we really need. I'm still at the stage where I have to get in the pool with my kids or they're gonna drown, so there's not much I can do about the situation. Can't wait for the day I can have the freedom to sit by the palm farthest from the pool, under the dark veil of my mommy dearest hat, Prada shades and jigger of Patron. At least I was not alone as my sorrow was shared with two other ladies perusing the swimwear with that very same sour look on their mugs. I thought of maybe trying to cut through all the tension with some humor but refrained as the gal in the Razorbacks tee-shirt looked like she might bite me. So there you have it- an uncomfortable blend of Lycra and sadness. ;-) Tom.
On the other hand, T-Mag had a ball. She had been given a gift certificate from her Aunty on her birthday, and she couldn't wait to shop. She made a bee-line over to the only thing that kid will wear- dresses. She is a girly girl with a capitol G. It must be nice to look sun-kissed and cute beyond words in everything you try on. She settled on three sweet little numbers (1/2 off sale..ya gotta love it!)..all color-coordinated and ready for summer fun in the sun! That was an easy and sob-free find, thank goodness. And just when Mama Mags thought it safe and we were headed to the shore of check-out, I spied a j'adorable black hoodie (75% reduced clearance!)and a cute pair of skinny capris. I cut through Jewelery, trotted 20 paces beyond Shoes to nab my fabulous buy. The fun stopped mid-forearm. Literally. That was the only part of my body I could fit into it. I was aghast and on the edge of ending it all (or at least returning home to eat a box of dark chocolate Ferrer Rocher) when I realized I was in the Mylie Cyrus section. Size Zero. Really? Ugh, I can't wait for her and all the High School Musicalers to pop out a coupla kids and have an "ass-back" of their very own someday. ;-) Lisa. (I told you my Crackbook pals were a hoot).
On to a more fitting subject....I am beyond excited as the girlies and I are loading up the jalopy and Goin' to Cali next month! Cement ponds and movie stars! Too bad L.L. Cool J's yummy brown tatooed guns aren't going to welcome me when I get there. Oh, well, I'll just have to settle for the I-Tune, I guess. Yes, we've managed to swing a trip back to our homeland..only our second visit in the six years since we moved away. We are thrilled to be seeing our friends and having a little beach play. Daddy is not going to make it, I'm afraid. We're taking Jon and Kate va-cays this year. Separate and bitter. Well, it's not th-a-t bad, I guess...His 40th high school reunion up in Wisconsin is a go and that was all he could fit into his busy work schedule. He missed his last one and they were all a very close class so..I am certain he will have a blast with his fellow Greyhounds 'round the SHS flagpole. Rah, Rah and pass the Geritol!
W. has been busy, busy with her Ballet and just had a wonderful year-end recital. She looked like a little angel on that great big stage and did a terrific job. Though I still remain gravely challenged as a ballet mom. I can not make a bun to save my life. The instructor had to re-do it. "The crown..the bun must lie atop the crown". Poor kid. It looks like a tumor after I get ahold of her. I ask you, are scrunchies so wrong? My oldest one also ran her first 1-K the other day. Tres cute. She really booked it at first and then pooped out a little bit near the end, but was able to raise both arms in a red-faced finish. I called out to her father who was waiting in line to take yummy advantage of sponser Ben and Jerry's ice cream for he and the kids while I grabbed some healthy fruit for me and my ass, "Hey, Dad, there's Kiwi Vitamin water!" "Vodka water?..Right on!", he replied. I couldn't help but chuckle everytime someone helped themselves from the iced cooler. I don't think the second grade teacher who overheard thought it was funny though.
All jokes, unfinished homework and exhaustion aside, looking back on this active school year, it surely has been a beautiful one. T-Mag blossomed in half-day pre-school Montessori, proudly became a best friend and is now poised for all sorts of Kindergarten discovery. Seeing the girls immersed in all things alphabet and song is a precious gift in my life. I cherish each performance, each milestone, and am realizing that it is all so fleeting. Before I know it, they will both be grown-up young ladies...mommy's boo-boo kisses and watchful eye no longer needed. My heart is so very full and humbled at the sunshine and promise that lie within my two little ones.
Yesiree Bob, this is gonna be one big bunch of dog days that I am actually looking forward to. I'll be jet-setting a bit to break up the hot monotony and as long as I soak the kids in some water for a few days of it, they'll make plenty of solstice memories and be happy as clams. They're easy to please when it comes to a watering hole of any kind. Throw 'em a piece of watermelon and a fucshia swim noodle and short of beating the crap out of each other with it, they are going to be in splish-splash heaven. Not only will I miss the guy, I am feeling just a wee bit o' trepidation that I won't have Daddy Mags to help out with the munchkins...particularly during the chaos of "de-shoeing" and running our stuff through airport security or white-knuckling it down the 405, but with a little help from my friends, I think I got it covered. Besides, I have plastic martini glasses for pool safety and that's what is really important.
Monday, April 5, 2010
the hunt
Easter has arrived
Bunny’s whiskers twitch
He’s sniffing eggs from here and there
To find out which one’s which
Some are sweet
And some have color
All are special
None are like the other
There are fifteen be told
That linger here
You have to figure out the clues
Before they do appear
If you look with six eyes
And use three minds
Each girl will have five eggs
In their baskets to find
The Bunny is smart
He is old and he is wise
Can you find his stash?
If you think you can...then you must try!
Three live in a place
Where a screwdriver might be
It’s cool, dark and smells of oil
You must look carefully!
Three eggs lay in an area
That yields its purple berry
The bunny likes to hide beneath
So does Tink and all her fairies!.JPG)
Three rest in a shelter
Among lots of bark
The black widow likes it here
Especially after dark
And yet a sweet three more
Rest in a vessel
That no longer floats
But in the woods it nestles
Your last three eggs are in room
Where sweet dreams abide & coins abound
You might even see some photographs
Before they are found!
Bunny’s whiskers twitch
He’s sniffing eggs from here and there
To find out which one’s which
Some are sweet
And some have color
All are special
None are like the other
There are fifteen be told
That linger here
You have to figure out the clues
Before they do appear
If you look with six eyesAnd use three minds
Each girl will have five eggs
In their baskets to find
The Bunny is smart
He is old and he is wise
Can you find his stash?
If you think you can...then you must try!
Three live in a placeWhere a screwdriver might be
It’s cool, dark and smells of oil
You must look carefully!
Three eggs lay in an area
That yields its purple berry
The bunny likes to hide beneath
So does Tink and all her fairies!
.JPG)
Three rest in a shelter
Among lots of bark
The black widow likes it here
Especially after dark
And yet a sweet three moreRest in a vessel
That no longer floats
But in the woods it nestles
Your last three eggs are in roomWhere sweet dreams abide & coins abound
You might even see some photographs
Before they are found!
Thursday, April 1, 2010
case sensitive
Well, I have made it through another nine long ones of no school, two hyped-up Maglets, a case of Goldfish & approximately a dozen or so replays of Barbie- A Mermaid Tale. Oy. If I had to listen to, Zuma, her metaphysical pink dolphin buddy squeal atop the waves one more time, I would have seared him rare over a bed a baby mixed greens. And these days, with Mama's self-esteem on the estrogenic edge...it's just not fun watching a pert, young, blond thing hanging ten whose mean girth z-score makes mine look like Jabba the Hut.
The Spring Break vacay ended up appropriately named, too, as it appears every single appliance, electronic- you name it....that I own is on the damn fritz! Break is right. What the heck is up? Lately, it would seem that Mercury is constantly retro in Mama's world. It all started a couple of months ago with our carbon monoxide alarm and began to go rapidly down hill from there. The no-good thing wouldn't stop screaming and is now disemboweled and laying on the top of the Brita water jug. Has been for a while now. I need to get Mr. Mag a "round tuit" the next time I go to Lowes as it is just one more job on his list of Things To Do with apparently no time to do it in. In the meanwhile, I hope I don't decide to get into the Honda and off myself in the garage or the whole family will go with me.
Don't even get me going on the fridge that sounds like a clucking Banty. Seriously. I spend quite a few of my nights on the sofa due to hot-flashing insomnia and the husband snoring like a Grizzly Bear in heat. That thing sings its chicken song all night long and I'm always amazed that the kid's milk is still cold in the morning. I know I live in the South but good grief. Oh, well, it's probably just a matter of time. I ought to give it the ole heave-ho and get my credit card out for that Kenmore Elite stainless steel series I've been dreaming about all these years. I'd have to put it all in my bedroom though since my galley kitchen can barely hold the toaster and knife set that's in it. Those two things still work, thank God.
Speaking of hens..I continue to be mad as a wet one because in the last week or so this immutable techno-karma has even affected my cell, which besides Grey Goose, is every mom's lifeline and must be working and available at all times. It's seized up..not accepting much of a charge. T-Mag may have stuck a red hot in the port thingy, who knows? Not that the 384 pictures, 60 vids and several dozen text messages and a plan with no Internet on the darn thing has anything to do with it. I won't rattle on about the mangled thumbnail I have from trying to press down on the worn-out five year old keys. I see those touch screen I-phone commercials and cry like a baby. An app here, an app there..but, alas, not an app in sight for this SAHM & her monthly budget. Apple can really wring it out ya. Hey, my kid loves her ballet class. It's one or the other. Besides, hubby tells me he thinks there's a law against Facebooking while driving. Ridiculous.
So I dried my tears and got it together and called a beloved techie pal in to save the day. He ended up getting me all of my pics & stuff with this teensy weensy little thing he called a memory card. And I got to show him the neat cup holder I have on the front of my PC tower! Too bad he doesn't do windows or fix 16 year old cars that are hemorrhaging fluid by the buckets all over the carport that ironically look like pools of blood. He suggested that I may have an electromagnetic aura that conflicts with all the mechanisms surrounding me. He's probably right. Could be that or the fact I'm not catching the Z's anymore. After four months of pretty much a no-result treatment on Zoloft (supposed to help us old gals out on our menopausal ride), I'm back to "feeling" again and boy am I ever! I'm making up for lost time. Ya know, it's like I told my doc, I'm more of a Daniel Day Lewis type and that crap made me feel like Tiger Woods at his whoopsy-daisy press conference. It just didn't help me the way I needed it to. I don't really need to stop crying at Geico commercials, I just need to feel energetic, motivated... decent would be nice. And I want my old boobs back, is that so wrong? Too bad I didn't buy Walmart stock in the '70's or I could do the bio-identical route. I've now moved on down the red-clover & dong-quai path and am crossing my fingers. Yep, I think my bud is definitely on to something. It is sort of like a weird negative force field and I'm the Enterprise desperately trying to find my planet. If I'm beamed up, folks, it will only be by pure miracle. And surprisingly, that's just what I got when I washed the husband's cell phone the other day.
We were sitting, watching some tube, and I began to hear this eerily, low hum coming from what sounded like underneath the house. With my luck as of late, I thought it might be a pipe getting ready to burst or something and I was in a panic to find its source. Our auditory journey finally led all four of us to the mudroom. Well, I say mudroom...but what I mean is the crappy little closet that the washer/dryer is crammed into with an accordion door that won't stay on its hinges. I need to start wearing the kid's bike helmet as it came 'undone' the other day and almost broke my left shoulder. Good times. I'll make a mental note to jot that down on Geez's To Don't list. Yep, lately, life is just one big oy.
Anyhoo, after a while we finally traced the close encounter into the very, very bottom of the washer (long cycle, extra hot, shot of softener). There it lay. It's tiny Samsung shell of a body..soaked. The wallpaper, no longer showing the bright faces of our smiling children..now just black and lifeless. I was furious & would have kicked my own ass if I had the flexibility. The husband? Elated. He had been dogging me for months about a new phone, so my carelessness really set him up just fine, didn't it? He probably threw the damn thing in there when I was making a drink. "Well, it looks like we both need new phones now, huh, sweetie?", he says. He then went on to do a two-minute nicely prepared serio-comic monologue about all the great AT&T deals. I had to think fast, so I reminded him how at one point we had shared a car for five years so why not my archaic turd of a mobile? He wasn't too keen on that idea to say the least.
So long story short, we took out the dripping battery, laid it down on a towel to dry and began to pray for its resurrection. Hey, Easter is just around the corner, who knows what could happen? And I'll be damned, by morning's light...it was up and running again! I need to shoot off an email to Samsung and let them know what a good product it is they're making. Been working ever since, too. Impressive. Granted, when he tried to take a pic of the girls at the park the other day, they appeared to have four heads between them and were a Hulk-ish green, but hey, it has a bar or two left, dials out and the creditors can still ring up and harass us, so it appears we're good to go.
Yes, Mama Mags is quite mechanically-challenged these days to say the least but onward, my friends. This past week, we did manage an overnight stay a couple hours away that came with a little before-summer pool fun. The girls loved it and got to burn off some of that endless manic energy of theirs. Strangely enough, it wasn't very busy, so they upgraded us to the Honeymoon Suite. Again..with the irony. I was excited until we opened the door. The room's furniture was quite tired and the toiletries came out of a dispenser but it did have a mega-sized lovebird Jacuzzi tub! The kiddos got to splash and carry on for hours that night. I was exhausted from our Appalachian travels that had us lost up a winding, country road on the way there so I just took a shower, ate a half of a bag of Milanos and went to bed.
We caught a couple of activities the next day. The girls, after begging profusely, got to go to the Butterfly Palace and catch a somewhat humid glimpse of a gorgeous array of fluttery species from all over the world. A wild 3-D flick on the majesty and amazing workings of the caterpillar/chrysalis was shown, and overall, I thought it was pretty cool. Will made me climb a plastic cocunut tree which led to a couple of pulled hamstrings and a fifteen-minute descent. Ouch. Only in Branson, kids!.jpg)
The Icelander and I each took a turn at the Titanic Museum. Interesting, quite a few artifacts...a very sobering journey from start to finish. They had Cameron's original bottom-of-the-sea model that he used in the beginning of the film, a few pieces of the china, a lot of photos..even a re-creation of the Grand Staircase. I was told by an attendant that people get married there. Sheesh. We were handed a boarding pass as we went in, assigning us a person that was on the ship that fateful night. I got a domestic servant, Third Class. Figures. She did make it out alive though. Broke but scrappy. That's me all over.
I don't want to be too long-winded, so I'll leave out the part about the wristwatch not working & the lousy computer that's beginning to shut off willy-nilly, rearranging the desktop and scanning itself to death. I do have to bitch for one second about my vacuum cleaner though. I have this really dysfunctional hate/hate relationship with those things. I'm sure a shrink could dig a little deeper and find out the why of it all but...I don't what it is. I loathe vacuuming. Always have. I think it comes from the trauma of having to do it every single day for ten years as G. and I had not one but four indoor cats when we moved in together. They shed like crazy. It could also be the lat muscle that separated from the bone in a nasty fall I had between a mop bucket and the napkin rack at a greasy spoon where I waited tables many moons ago. It hurts like the dickens when I do that particular type of repetitive movement. At any rate, it made me the bitter woman I am today and now I can not for the life of me perform that house frau duty without a bunch of naughty words, walloping and whining Dyson envy. G. tells me I'm unrealistic, expecting the thing to do a Bewitched and travel all over the casa..hands-free. I used to love that show when I was a kid, so maybe he's right. I guess when it comes down to it, I had simply run over the cord one too many times and this big puff of smoke came out of the bottom and that was it. Syonara. The one before it had met a similar death....except not before burning a fist-sized hole in the rug. Dear Lord. Father Mag's Ricky Ricardo came out on that one. He was r-e-e-ally mad.
A couple of weeks ago, with broom in hand (not as in riding on but as in sweeping), I had finally had it with my life-long inability to repair, construct, assemble, put together..oh, heck..just to understand how things work, gosh-darnit! So I pulled that stinky old Eureka out of the trash, disassembled it into 23 easy pieces, and was determined to re-chord it and fix the blasted thing and save myself 100 bucks. I fantasized a ballsy high-five with the hub when he walked through the door over how smart and handy his old lady had become. Y-e-eah! Boo-yah! Take that ITT...you don't mess with Mama Mags! Unfortunately, it didn't go down that way. I ended up with a snotty dust moustache, a broken butter knife and not a frigging clue at how to put it all back together. I'd even managed to lose three screws in the process. 'Aw, hell with it," I said, as I gave it one final kick. "Do I have anything that works in this God forsaken house?"
"I do" said the husband.
And that you do, Big Daddy. That you do.
The Spring Break vacay ended up appropriately named, too, as it appears every single appliance, electronic- you name it....that I own is on the damn fritz! Break is right. What the heck is up? Lately, it would seem that Mercury is constantly retro in Mama's world. It all started a couple of months ago with our carbon monoxide alarm and began to go rapidly down hill from there. The no-good thing wouldn't stop screaming and is now disemboweled and laying on the top of the Brita water jug. Has been for a while now. I need to get Mr. Mag a "round tuit" the next time I go to Lowes as it is just one more job on his list of Things To Do with apparently no time to do it in. In the meanwhile, I hope I don't decide to get into the Honda and off myself in the garage or the whole family will go with me.
Don't even get me going on the fridge that sounds like a clucking Banty. Seriously. I spend quite a few of my nights on the sofa due to hot-flashing insomnia and the husband snoring like a Grizzly Bear in heat. That thing sings its chicken song all night long and I'm always amazed that the kid's milk is still cold in the morning. I know I live in the South but good grief. Oh, well, it's probably just a matter of time. I ought to give it the ole heave-ho and get my credit card out for that Kenmore Elite stainless steel series I've been dreaming about all these years. I'd have to put it all in my bedroom though since my galley kitchen can barely hold the toaster and knife set that's in it. Those two things still work, thank God.
Speaking of hens..I continue to be mad as a wet one because in the last week or so this immutable techno-karma has even affected my cell, which besides Grey Goose, is every mom's lifeline and must be working and available at all times. It's seized up..not accepting much of a charge. T-Mag may have stuck a red hot in the port thingy, who knows? Not that the 384 pictures, 60 vids and several dozen text messages and a plan with no Internet on the darn thing has anything to do with it. I won't rattle on about the mangled thumbnail I have from trying to press down on the worn-out five year old keys. I see those touch screen I-phone commercials and cry like a baby. An app here, an app there..but, alas, not an app in sight for this SAHM & her monthly budget. Apple can really wring it out ya. Hey, my kid loves her ballet class. It's one or the other. Besides, hubby tells me he thinks there's a law against Facebooking while driving. Ridiculous.
So I dried my tears and got it together and called a beloved techie pal in to save the day. He ended up getting me all of my pics & stuff with this teensy weensy little thing he called a memory card. And I got to show him the neat cup holder I have on the front of my PC tower! Too bad he doesn't do windows or fix 16 year old cars that are hemorrhaging fluid by the buckets all over the carport that ironically look like pools of blood. He suggested that I may have an electromagnetic aura that conflicts with all the mechanisms surrounding me. He's probably right. Could be that or the fact I'm not catching the Z's anymore. After four months of pretty much a no-result treatment on Zoloft (supposed to help us old gals out on our menopausal ride), I'm back to "feeling" again and boy am I ever! I'm making up for lost time. Ya know, it's like I told my doc, I'm more of a Daniel Day Lewis type and that crap made me feel like Tiger Woods at his whoopsy-daisy press conference. It just didn't help me the way I needed it to. I don't really need to stop crying at Geico commercials, I just need to feel energetic, motivated... decent would be nice. And I want my old boobs back, is that so wrong? Too bad I didn't buy Walmart stock in the '70's or I could do the bio-identical route. I've now moved on down the red-clover & dong-quai path and am crossing my fingers. Yep, I think my bud is definitely on to something. It is sort of like a weird negative force field and I'm the Enterprise desperately trying to find my planet. If I'm beamed up, folks, it will only be by pure miracle. And surprisingly, that's just what I got when I washed the husband's cell phone the other day.
We were sitting, watching some tube, and I began to hear this eerily, low hum coming from what sounded like underneath the house. With my luck as of late, I thought it might be a pipe getting ready to burst or something and I was in a panic to find its source. Our auditory journey finally led all four of us to the mudroom. Well, I say mudroom...but what I mean is the crappy little closet that the washer/dryer is crammed into with an accordion door that won't stay on its hinges. I need to start wearing the kid's bike helmet as it came 'undone' the other day and almost broke my left shoulder. Good times. I'll make a mental note to jot that down on Geez's To Don't list. Yep, lately, life is just one big oy.
Anyhoo, after a while we finally traced the close encounter into the very, very bottom of the washer (long cycle, extra hot, shot of softener). There it lay. It's tiny Samsung shell of a body..soaked. The wallpaper, no longer showing the bright faces of our smiling children..now just black and lifeless. I was furious & would have kicked my own ass if I had the flexibility. The husband? Elated. He had been dogging me for months about a new phone, so my carelessness really set him up just fine, didn't it? He probably threw the damn thing in there when I was making a drink. "Well, it looks like we both need new phones now, huh, sweetie?", he says. He then went on to do a two-minute nicely prepared serio-comic monologue about all the great AT&T deals. I had to think fast, so I reminded him how at one point we had shared a car for five years so why not my archaic turd of a mobile? He wasn't too keen on that idea to say the least.
So long story short, we took out the dripping battery, laid it down on a towel to dry and began to pray for its resurrection. Hey, Easter is just around the corner, who knows what could happen? And I'll be damned, by morning's light...it was up and running again! I need to shoot off an email to Samsung and let them know what a good product it is they're making. Been working ever since, too. Impressive. Granted, when he tried to take a pic of the girls at the park the other day, they appeared to have four heads between them and were a Hulk-ish green, but hey, it has a bar or two left, dials out and the creditors can still ring up and harass us, so it appears we're good to go.
Yes, Mama Mags is quite mechanically-challenged these days to say the least but onward, my friends. This past week, we did manage an overnight stay a couple hours away that came with a little before-summer pool fun. The girls loved it and got to burn off some of that endless manic energy of theirs. Strangely enough, it wasn't very busy, so they upgraded us to the Honeymoon Suite. Again..with the irony. I was excited until we opened the door. The room's furniture was quite tired and the toiletries came out of a dispenser but it did have a mega-sized lovebird Jacuzzi tub! The kiddos got to splash and carry on for hours that night. I was exhausted from our Appalachian travels that had us lost up a winding, country road on the way there so I just took a shower, ate a half of a bag of Milanos and went to bed.
We caught a couple of activities the next day. The girls, after begging profusely, got to go to the Butterfly Palace and catch a somewhat humid glimpse of a gorgeous array of fluttery species from all over the world. A wild 3-D flick on the majesty and amazing workings of the caterpillar/chrysalis was shown, and overall, I thought it was pretty cool. Will made me climb a plastic cocunut tree which led to a couple of pulled hamstrings and a fifteen-minute descent. Ouch. Only in Branson, kids!
.jpg)
The Icelander and I each took a turn at the Titanic Museum. Interesting, quite a few artifacts...a very sobering journey from start to finish. They had Cameron's original bottom-of-the-sea model that he used in the beginning of the film, a few pieces of the china, a lot of photos..even a re-creation of the Grand Staircase. I was told by an attendant that people get married there. Sheesh. We were handed a boarding pass as we went in, assigning us a person that was on the ship that fateful night. I got a domestic servant, Third Class. Figures. She did make it out alive though. Broke but scrappy. That's me all over. I don't want to be too long-winded, so I'll leave out the part about the wristwatch not working & the lousy computer that's beginning to shut off willy-nilly, rearranging the desktop and scanning itself to death. I do have to bitch for one second about my vacuum cleaner though. I have this really dysfunctional hate/hate relationship with those things. I'm sure a shrink could dig a little deeper and find out the why of it all but...I don't what it is. I loathe vacuuming. Always have. I think it comes from the trauma of having to do it every single day for ten years as G. and I had not one but four indoor cats when we moved in together. They shed like crazy. It could also be the lat muscle that separated from the bone in a nasty fall I had between a mop bucket and the napkin rack at a greasy spoon where I waited tables many moons ago. It hurts like the dickens when I do that particular type of repetitive movement. At any rate, it made me the bitter woman I am today and now I can not for the life of me perform that house frau duty without a bunch of naughty words, walloping and whining Dyson envy. G. tells me I'm unrealistic, expecting the thing to do a Bewitched and travel all over the casa..hands-free. I used to love that show when I was a kid, so maybe he's right. I guess when it comes down to it, I had simply run over the cord one too many times and this big puff of smoke came out of the bottom and that was it. Syonara. The one before it had met a similar death....except not before burning a fist-sized hole in the rug. Dear Lord. Father Mag's Ricky Ricardo came out on that one. He was r-e-e-ally mad.
A couple of weeks ago, with broom in hand (not as in riding on but as in sweeping), I had finally had it with my life-long inability to repair, construct, assemble, put together..oh, heck..just to understand how things work, gosh-darnit! So I pulled that stinky old Eureka out of the trash, disassembled it into 23 easy pieces, and was determined to re-chord it and fix the blasted thing and save myself 100 bucks. I fantasized a ballsy high-five with the hub when he walked through the door over how smart and handy his old lady had become. Y-e-eah! Boo-yah! Take that ITT...you don't mess with Mama Mags! Unfortunately, it didn't go down that way. I ended up with a snotty dust moustache, a broken butter knife and not a frigging clue at how to put it all back together. I'd even managed to lose three screws in the process. 'Aw, hell with it," I said, as I gave it one final kick. "Do I have anything that works in this God forsaken house?"
"I do" said the husband.
And that you do, Big Daddy. That you do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
