Henry got new glasses today. Kids in glasses are expensive not only because they are notoriously hard on glasses (scratches, bent frames, lost screws or just lost in general), but they also never stop growing. Henry needed a new prescription and bigger frames. I think these grey frames look fantastic on him.
Last week, Seth asked if he could invite a friend over. Really, it's the first time he's initiated this kind of thing here, especially with a specific friend in mind. I happily approved and, following scouts on Friday, the boys and I picked up his friend, Mooshu (real name Dragon). I have been hoping for this friendship to blossom because Mooshu is really bright, really friendly and all my deductive powers point to him being a really good kid.
They had a great time but as we were driving to our house, Mooshu told us that Friday had been his last day at school and he was leaving on Sunday for Taiwan for the rest of the summer.
His mother owns a local Chinese food restaurant and when I dropped him off there around 6:30, she treated us to dinner. She was really funny. I tried to insist on paying, because she included appetizers, three dishes and drinks, but threw my money back and said with an even thicker accent than she actually has, "Me no speak English!" Very kind and yummy!
So, no more playing the rest of the summer but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that Seth and he are in the same class next year.
I saw this the other day when driving by and had to get a picture. I'm suspicious.
It could just be a ploy to get my business back.
I finally bit the bullet and found a local salon to cut and color my hair. I literally opened the phone book, called one whose name I liked (I don't usually like hair salons who use puns or homonyms. They make me nervous with their bad grammar) and asked if anyone had an opening or cancellation today. Brittney had an opening at 1:00, so Brittney it was.
I liked her, as much as you can like someone after three hours of forced conversation. I decided to go shorter and trendier and took a picture of Gwyneth Paltrow's long bob in for inspiration. She talked me out of going blonder, which I guess I appreciate. I think I'm actually lighter than these pictures show. Jay even noticed that I was blonder, which means there must be a difference.
Anyways, this is big news for me....probably not for anyone else, but I thought I'd share.
Today was ward conference which brought about some changes as well as a few stake visitors to our ward.
During the second hour, Henry saw me in the hallway during his nursery walk (Guilty! But only because the Relief Society room where gospel doctrine is taught was beyond crowded with the extra guests and I was late to get there after helping Sam with his scripture in primary and so...yes...I did skip) and refused then to leave my side, forcing me to walk him back to his class.
As I was walking, the stake president, who also happens to be my brother-in-law, told me, "I've got a story to tell you later." His counselor who was standing beside him chuckled and said, "I didn't know how to respond." Confused and needing more information, I decided not to ask any questions since I had Henry on my hand and walked on.
As I neared the nursery, a member of the bishopric said with a big smile on his face, "Did you hear about what your son said?"
"Seth?"
"Yes."
"No. But I did hear about a supposed story from the stake president," I replied.
"Oh, I'll let him tell you then."
Still not worried, because Seth usually doesn't say anything too embarrassing, I dropped Henry off and saw a few members of the primary presidency out in the hall. Laughing, they said, "Seth said the funniest thing during primary!"
Due to the attention from adults I was geting, I demanded to know the story.
Apparently, and this is all second hand and Seth-hand (which isn't any more reliable), a member of the Stake Presidency asked the primary children, "What is your favorite time of day?"
I don't know why he asked it, or what kinds of responses he was looking for, but, apparently, Seth raised his hand and said, "Breakfast time. Because my mom is still in bed and I'm in complete control."
I guess this got a big laugh. What wasn't explained by my dear son, is that he wakes at the crack of dawn and suffers until I do wake up and feed him breakfast. I've told him, more than once, that if he wants a bowl of cereal that early, he is more than capable of getting it for himself. Because I do not need to wake up before 6:30 to pour Tootie Frooties. It would have been more accurate for him to have said, "Mornings" because he does, always, wake up before me (and everyone else) but it's not like I'm hanging out in bed while he runs the household in the morning. Which, I'm pretty sure, is the idea that every one in that primary room was laughing about.
Jay said he heard this story from several people. I probably got stopped by a dozen people before church was out. I remember those days in primary, when some child rats out their parents. Now I know....those kids don't give the whole story! Still, I'm glad my laziness provided some amusement to those in primary. Sometimes, those sweet souls need a little chuckle.
The other story of the day is Jay's new calling. After years of blissfully serving in cub scouts, Sunday school, and the rigors of co-chairing the activities committee with me, Jay's Sundays of sitting beside me in Sacrament meeting are temporarily over. Of course, he's been wearing a headphone and translating the meetings into Spanish for the last six months so him sitting with us was only a technicality (I called him a decoy), but now I'll be truly alone.
He has been called as second counselor in the bishopric and was ordained a High Priest today by his father. I feel bad for him, because he already has such limited free time, but know this will be a great opportunity for both of us and blessings are in store (Henry sitting still in Sacrament meeting would be a great one, if anyone in charge is listening). We'll see each other less. But, I also feel that with his work demands, and the years I've had to get used to his absences, that we're prepared for this. I'm not worried about sitting by myself or spending my evenings and weekends alone. I've learned to ask for help, go by myself and sit near sympathetic people. He'll be great and we'll be fine.
It was bizarre seeing him sit up on the stand today - only because he still seems so young to me. I guess we're not the spring chickens we like to think we are, but he looks like the 22 year-old I married, with maybe a few new platinum blond hairs mixed in. What I'm really looking forward to is moving to the middle section of the chapel. We've been side pew sitters for years and years, but I don't particularly like turning my neck sideways to see the speaker.
I guess I'm like Seth. I love having total total control!
Here's to looking at things straight on:)
We are Wendy's regulars. Sometimes, my boys need meals that come with toys and I need to eat something I did not fix and Jay needs something gluten-free. Wendy's, with their gluten-free chili and baked potato, kids meals with lame toys (they can't compete with McDonalds to get the latest movie merchandise so we have yet another Petz toy) and Spicy Chicken or their Chicken BLT salad for me (but never a hamburger because for some reason, square patties bother me), satisfies all three needs.
After piano lessons yesterday, the boys twisted my arm to get Wendy's for dinner. I'd say we frequent the fast-food chain about twice a month but whenever we go, we always have the same people working. It's a family, really, with daughter at the cash register, brother assembling sandwiches and mother managing it all. Our first encounter with the Wendy's family was on Sam's birthday, back in January, and the manager made a big deal about giving him a free Frosty with Oreos on top. Like, a BIG deal. Like, came over and hung out with us while he ate it and talked about how cool Oreos were. It was a little awkward, more so for Jay who never encourages stranger talk, but I appreciated her friendliness. After all, we are regulars and it was Sam's birthday (he loved the attention).
We've been back several times, and Sue, the manager, always manages to makes us feel like part of the family (but has yet to put us to work). Last night, however, everyone was a little too friendly.
First, we couldn't order until all three boys said "hi". Sam responded when Sue first said "hi" but then she complained that my other two boys always ignore her. So, I said, "Seth, she said hi."
"Hi," he lukewarmly responded (he may have some of his dad's sensibilities).
Henry turned on the charm and started chanting "HI!" all while hanging from the counter and running through the ordering chute. Sue was pleased.
With two kids meals, a nine piece chicken nugget meal (Seth has outgrown kids meals and just wants more food now) and a Spicy Chicken combo, two trays were required to hold all our food. The daughter recognized my moment of need and came from behind the counter to deliver the second tray. Nice. But then she wouldn't leave. She watched as I arranged a napkin for each boy's chicken and french fries and then decided that it would be a perfect time to start tickling Henry. Acknowledging her friendly, but misguided, intentions, I managed a no-eye-contact-closed-mouth smile.
About five minutes later, Sue came over to talk to us.
"Everything alright?"
"Great," I reply.
"Why aren't you eating your chicken?" she asks Henry who only stares back at her.
"You can't get a frosty if you don't eat your chicken," she reprimands. "I'm a mother too, you know."
"Henry, eat some chicken," I feel pressured to say. At that point, Sue decides to strengthen her new bond with Seth by tickling him. I had no idea Wendy's was such a hands on company.
None of the tickling was inappropriate, unless you consider tickling, in general, to be inappropriate (which I do, especially in a place of business) but it still made me uncomfortable. I like to consider myself a friendly person, and would like to return to Wendy's in the future under good terms with the management, but I'd also like to be my kid's only mom deciding whether they get a frosty or not.
The pressure to be nice while feeling annoyed proved difficult. Sammy spilled his chocolate milk and Henry wouldn't eat anything, and I fell into Sue's trap and took away the certificates to get their kid's meal Frosty, which led to a melt down. Henry's cries attracted the attention of both mother and daughter who left their stations to come see what was wrong. I chose that moment to throw away our garbage while Seth explained the reason for Henry's tantrum.
The matriarch agreed with my decision (at least I think it was my decision).
Do I dare go back to Wendy's?
If so, do I need to get a job there?
If I do work there, do I have to tickle the clientele?
1) Tire store puts winter tires on car. Tire store, in their haste, rips off tire pressure valve. Tire store apologizes, says ordering in part, will call when part comes in. Tire store never calls. Customer figures that after a month of waiting, she'll just have gauge replaced when snow tires are switched back with regular tires. At appointment, tire store claims ignorance about torn off tire gauge. Tire pressure sensor still all aglow on my dashboard.
Competent or incompetent?
2) Rental company in charge of home rental comes to inspect tile damage in rental home kitchen. Rental company sends tile repair man to estimate repair. Tile guy never to be heard from again. At inspection for a lease agreement to be re-signed, rental company inspects tile damage in kitchen. Renters inform, "This has been neglected for a year now." Rental company apologizes, claims to have new tile guy, and calls later that afternoon to set up a window of time when tile guy can come the next day to inspect damage. Renter says "between 10:30 and 1:30." Tile guy never comes. Tile guy never calls.
Competent or incompetent?
3) Renter hires out house cleaning responsibility to cover bases for lease inspection. Woman with business cards push pinned into neighborhood mailbox area claims to be a professional house cleaner with 30 years of experience. Renter calls "professional" to clean home the day before the inspection. Renter has house picked up, leaving only cleaning to be done. Renter tells professional cleaner about problem spots, including windows with little hand prints all over them. Woman claims to have never cleaned windows before. Renter also shows stainless steel refrigerator with hand prints all over it. Professional cleaner doesn't know how to clean stainless steel. Renter leaves for errands for five hours. Renter returns to find woman finishing mopping but with the excuse that she didn't have time for the stove or microwave, which haven't even been wiped down. Renter says, "bummer" but pays professional cleaner agreed amount. Renter then walks through house to discover the dining room table and chairs still dirty, only sliding glass door windows cleaned and floor underneath dining room table having remnants of dried food. Later finds piano hasn't been dusted, TV stand hasn't been dusted and floor mopping is unsatisfactory. Renter re-mops floors, including getting the mess under the table removed and wonders why "professionals" aren't better and faster than her.
Competent or incompetent?
4)Renter schedules carpets to be cleaned with recommended company. Renter foolishly dismisses carpet cleaning company's offer to come by and do an estimate, as time is short. Carpet cleaners come and clean 861 square feet of white carpet, which now looks amazing and has a one year guarantee. Carpet cleaners move furniture, leave a bottle of spot remover, a magnetic marker board for refrigerator, notepad, pen and next day sends a thank-you note and message on answering machine hoping their service was satisfactory. Renter can't respond to any messages because she is still in a state of shock after paying carpet cleaning company over $500 for their service.
Competent or incompetent?
5)Mother agrees to sons playing outside, as long as older two boys keep an eye on little brother, as he tends to wander. Mother, in her defense, is putting together mother's day gifts for the four women she visit teaches. When older two sons return home, mother asks, "Where is your brother?" Nobody knows. He's not around our house. He's not around our neighbor's house (where he normally is because they have a swing set AND a sand box. She cannot compete with that). Mother walks over to neighbor's house because with a swing set and sandbox, he must be there. Neighbors outside doing yard work. They haven't seen little boy. When walking back in the direction of her own home, mother finds her little boys walking out the front door of neighbor's house. Mother picks up boys and wonders if she should confess about her son's breaking in and entering. She doesn't.
Competent or incompetent?
Person with the most correct answers will be rewarded with referrals for any company mentioned above plus an all-expense paid afternoon with Henry. As an added bonus, he's right in the middle of being potty trained! No purchase necessary to play:)
There were many parts of Gilead that I loved, but one that really struck me as profound was Reverend John Ames thoughts on the fifth commandment: Honor thy father and mother.
Here are some of of the better parts:
"Sometimes I almost forget my purpose in writing this, which is to tell you things I would have told you if you had grown up with me, things I believe it becomes me as a father to teach you. There are the Ten Commandments, of course, and I know you will have been particularly aware of the Fifth Commandment, Honor your father and your mother. I draw attention to it because Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine are enforced by the criminal and civil laws and by social custom. . .
I think it is significant that the Fifth Commandment falls between those that have to do with proper worship of God and those that have to do with right conduct toward other people. I have always wondered if the Commandments should be read as occurring in order of importance. If that is correct, honoring your mother is more important than not committing murder. That seems remarkable, though I am open to the idea.
Or they may be thought of as different kinds of law, not comparable in terms of their importance, and honoring your mother might be the last in the sequence relating to right worship rather than the first in the series relating to right conduct. I believe this is a very defensible view.
The apostle says, "Outdo one another in showing honor," and also "Honor everyone." The Commandment is much narrower. The old commentators usually say "your father and mother" means anyone in authority over you, but that is the way people thought for a long time and a lot of harm came from it. . .
I believe the Fifth commandment belongs in the first tablet, among the laws that describe right worship, because right worship is right perception and here the Scripture commands right perception of people you have a real and deep knowledge of. How you would honor someone differs with circumstances, so you can only truly fulfill a general obligation to show honor in specific cases of mutual intimacy and understanding. If all this seems lopsided in favor of parents, I would point out again that it is the consistent example of parents in the Bible that they honor their children. . .
My point here is that the great kindness and providence of the Lord has given most of us someone to honor -- the child his parent, the parent his child. I have great respect for the uprightness of your character and the goodness of your heart, and your mother could not love you more or take greater pride in you. She has watched every moment of your life, almost, and she loves you as God does, to the marrow of your bones. So that is the honoring of the child. You see how it is godlike to love the being of someone. Your existence is a delight to us. . .
As for the child honoring the parent, I believe that had to be commanded because the parent is a greater mystery, a stranger in a sense. So much of our lives has passed. . . Now, your mother never talks about herself, really, and she never admits to having felt any sort of grief in her life at all. That's her courage, her pride, and I know you will be respectful of it, and remember at the same time that a very, very great gentleness is called for, a great kindness. Because no one ever has that sort of courage who hasn't needed it. . .
But, I wished to say certain things about the Fifth Commandment, and why it should be thought of as belonging to the first table. Briefly, the right worship of God is essential because it forms the mind to a right understanding of God. God is set apart -- He is One, He is not to be imagined as a thing among things. His name is set apart. It is sacred. Then the Sabbath is set apart from other days, for the enjoyment of time and duration, perhaps, over and above the creatures who inhabit time. Because "the beginning" which might be called the seed of time, is the condition for all the creation that follows. Then mother and father are set apart, you see. It seems to me almost a retelling of Creation - First there is the Lord, then the Word, then the Day, then the Man and Woman - and after that Cain and Abel - Thou shalt not kill - and all the sins recorded in those prohibitions, just as crimes are recorded in the laws against them. So perhaps the tablets differ as addressing the eternal and the temporal.
What the reading yields is the idea of father and mother as the Universal Father and Mother, the Lord's dear Adam and His beloved Eve; that is, essential humankind as it came from His hand. There's a pattern in these Commandments of setting things apart so that their holiness will be perceived. Every day is holy, but the Sabbath is set apart so that the holiness of time can be experienced. Every human being is worthy of honor, but the conscious discipline of honor is learned from this setting apart of the mother and father, who usually labor and are heavy-laden, and may be cranky or stingy or ignorant or overbearing. Believe me, I know this can be a hard Commandment to keep. But I believe also that the rewards of obedience are great, because at the root of real honor is always the sense of the sacredness of the person who is its object. In the particular instance of your mother, I know that if you are attentive to her in this way, you will find a very great loveliness in her. When you love someone to the degree you love her, you see her as God sees her, and that is an instruction in the nature of God and humankind and of Being itself. That is why the Fifth Commandment belongs on the first tablet. I have persuaded myself of it."
I love this discourse. I thought of it as my children honored me, as I honored my own mother, and as I observed the world around me doing the same. We have this day, where flowers and cards and calls seem in order, and I love the day. But, if we are paying attention, everyday is a day to honor our mothers and fathers. We don't need to buy them stuff, or bring them breakfast in bed, but to acknowledge that sacred role is in turn honoring our Father in Heaven.
I love you, Mother. I love you, children.
I honor you.
It was an ordinary day, months ago, when the thought pressed into me, "This is my children's childhood."
I've had the thought before, but looking back, it was always before my boys were really old enough to remember: Seth as a three year-old and Sam as an infant at a Kindermusik class, picking peaches at a U-pick farm, waiting in lines at Elitch Garden Amusement park in Denver. Moments I recognized as great memories with my children but ones that, most likely, I'll hold onto alone. Unless you're my dad, most people just don't remember life at one, three or even five years old. Glimpses, perhaps, but not the material you use to describe your childhood to your best friend in college or boyfriend - the ones who didn't know you when.
I was standing in the kitchen, fixing dinner, talking Seth through his spelling homework while the sound of Sam practicing the piano filled the background. That's when it hit me - that this was the sound of my past...my childhood. With six children who all took piano lessons, and with a piano situated prominently in the front room, next to the kitchen and front door, there weren't many after-school moments that didn't include the Baldwin piano being played. Someone might have been doing homework, or reading a book, or setting the table (I'd love to include "help making dinner" in my list, but that wasn't something we did - so sorry, Mom) but each of those tasks was usually done with piano accompaniment. School-piano-church: those were my family's normal, everyday things.
While it's true that Seth and Sam have only just started with piano lessons, and there is a whole lot of childhood left to fill, I can't help but hope that the moment I described is one that sticks. I want their pasts to be filled with good memories - simple memories - of someone at the table doing homework, another at the piano practicing, and another playing/cleaning/chatting with me in the middle of it all, directing. Oh, I anticipate there will be other great stuff too. I want our lives to be filled with great trips, meaningful service, sports, scouts, and maybe even farm animals. But, I really, really hope the piano threads through it all. I think I want it because it was my thing, just like Jay probably hopes for runners. Gymnasts probably want gymnasts, ranchers probably want little 4-Hers, and lake people probably want water skiers. We want our own best experiences for our children.
It's not hard to imagine my delight during Seth and Sam's first piano recital this past Sunday. As soon as their teacher approached me about the possibility, I eagerly encouraged her. Yes! I want my boys to perform in a recital. I want them to learn how to polish a song and I want them to learn how to perform in front of a group and I want them to develop grace under pressure. I couldn't have been more pleased with the results. The songs they came home with three weeks ago were harder than anything they had played before, but they learned them and eventually loved them, in spite of the initial frustration that comes with a challenge. They both peaked during the recital - never having played their music as well before, or since. I was so proud. Mama proud.
At the nursing home where their recital was held. I didn't take any still photos while they were playing so I made them sit at the piano afterward and show me their "form".
Sadly, I bungled the videotaping and none of their performances managed to come out unscathed. So, frustrating, but I hope there are lots and lots of next times. I did go to their lesson the following day and tried to capture a recording then, but the mood wasn't right and the result does not show off their accomplishment. Still, it'll give you a taste of how much they have learned in four months.
Seth playing "My Red Racer" - a duet with his teacher.
Sam playing "Downhill Racer" today - because the video I took at piano lessons was kind of a melt-down disaster.
Seth playing "Creepy, Crawly Things" with Sam singing the lyrics.
Last Friday, our neighbors and friends, Erin and Dave, invited us over for an 80's party. Our instructions were to bring five of our favorite 80s song on a CD with the title, artist and album names removed so that they could play the game too. I wasn't exactly sure what the game was, but figured if a disguise was necessary, then it must be something like Name That Tune.
Sort of, but it also included name the artist and who we thought brought that particular song. The crowd was quite eclectic and most present were people I hadn't had much chance to socialize with so who brought what song was definitely the biggest challenge. For instance, When "Who's Johnny" from El Debarge started playing, I knew it was a Jay song, because...well...we both like that song, but who else would know that? It's not like he drives around the neighborhood with his windows down blaring the Short Circuit soundtrack.
Because guessing who brought what music was too hard, the game was reduced to simply calling out titles and artists. The titles were fairly easy but there were plenty of one-hit wonders to stump us. "867-5309"? We could all sing along, but only one person came up with "Tommy Two Tone." All the rest of us could do was shout, "Tommy Two Tone! Oh yeah!" a second later.
There were some other great stumpers: Wang Chung, Kim Wilde, and some of Survivor's lesser known hits (do you know any Survivor songs besides Eye of the Tiger? Apparently, one guest was a big fan) to name a few. I had one ace-in-my-hole on my disc, however, and I knew it would be a challenge. I sat there with a stupid smile on face waiting for this long-lost gem to be randomly selected by the itunes playlist.
As soon as the key-tar started, I looked around for other faces to show their delight at being reminded of this oft overlooked hit. It was all I could do to stop myself from singing along and shout out the answer before anyone else guessed it, but as soon as the vocals started, I understood that the song might not have been the hit I thought it was.
It didn't help that Tito, Germaine, Jackie or Marlon sung the first verse. Seriously...no one knows this song? O.K...they'll get it at the chorus.
No! Completely unfamiliar! By now, everyone knew this was one of my five, and Jay leaned over (because I had kept it a secret from him too) and whispered, "What is this?"
I told everyone to wait - that it would come - but even with Michael singing the second verse, the song's 1984 release was clearly not noticed by anybody else in that room.
"It's Torture! From Jackson Victory!"
Still....nothing.
"Remember the video? They were all caught in a big web and wearing Michael-esque costumes but Michael wasn't in it because he was huge then and on tour and it was quite the scandal? But, they show a lot of Germaine and he was...kind of a big deal too...then."
Nothing!
itunes selected the next song and everyone's creased foreheads smoothed as the familiar sounds of Peter Gabriel, Thompson Twins and even Night Ranger blasted through the speakers.
My disappointment over being the only one who apparently bought and loved the Jackson Victory tape subsided after getting a copy of both a George Michael and Journey CD (although the Journey was the "new" Journey with a Steve Perry sound-alike. Close, but my ears can tell a difference).
Excellent use of the body wave, Marlon.
Have you heard this song???
Way back in the day, before I had ever joined a book group, before the world knew about blogging and before I began keeping track of the books with reviews, I read a book I loved called These Is My Words. I know I loved it all those years ago, and have told countless friends and acquaintances to read it based on that memory of loving it but, if you want to know the truth, the details about the story have become...err....a bit sketchy.
Oh, I remembered that it involved pioneers and a romance and a woman whose English skills improved with time, but beyond that, I was as clueless as the person who has never read it. Time and a poor long-term memory will do that.
Following spring break, I went to the library to pick up some holds that had become available. As I looked at the titles, I realized that at some point, I must have looked at a list of recent Pulitzer or Booker prize winners and nominees because each of them had some kind of acknowledgment on their cover. I sighed at the prospect of only having these options in the forthcoming weeks. Nothing against prize winning literature, but they tend to lean towards the heavier side of life. And I needed a break from heavy.
With books in my arms, I decided to browse through the shelves of fiction, hoping I might find something on the lighter side as a diversion. As I came to the "T"s, I noticed the book Sarah's Quilt, which is a sequel to These Is My Words.
At that moment, the only book I wanted to read was These Is My Words. Of course, the library didn't have a copy available, but the audio book version was on its shelf. 12 CDs and I left that library together.
I imagined listening to the story in my minivan as I drove around from errand to errand, but was quickly reminded that although the story is "clean" it isn't really for young children. There are descriptions of some rather brutal happenings as Sarah Agnes Prine and her family trek from Texas to the Arizona frontier to become homesteaders. Indian skirmishes, dying children and men taking advantage of scared young girls kept my listening a private affair.
I imagine most people who regularly listen to audio books have some kind of system that allows them to upload them to an ipod or something similar. My little ipod shuffle doesn't have that kind of memory, so I was forced to either play the CDs through my computer or listen to them on the portable DVD player we bought for our kids to use on trips. Again, I disliked the exposure of the computer speakers and after one disc, exclusively used the unwieldy DVD player.
Portable or not, holding onto something the size of a large book doesn't lend itself well to getting much done. On day one, I reserved my listening to lying in bed before I went to sleep. But, as anyone who has ever read/listened to These Is My Words before, it wasn't long before it consumed my thoughts and I couldn't help but put the next disc in....and then the one after that.
I did manage to iron a few things during one CD, but it was awkward. the cord of my headphones wasn't very long, and I found myself crouching next to the ironing board with my head bent in order to listen. In addition, if I was ironing a pair of pants and needed the entire board, I had to rig the DVD player underneath my armpit, and after a few times of the machine falling to the ground and pulling my neck with it, I gave up ironing:)
Oh...I loved this book! The reasons why came flooding back into my thoughts. I love Sarah and her no-nonsense strength. I loved her honesty, as a daughter, as a sister and especially later as a wife. I love how she mothers. I love how she tolerates her circumstances, celebrates her victories and mourns her trials. I just loved her.
Throw in Captain Jack Elliot and one of the greatest love stories in literature and you've got yourself the makings of a great book. No wonder I remember liking it so well.
The audio version had its advantages and disadvantages. I liked the narrator. She had a drawl that influenced my speech and thoughts for days afterward. I found myself using the phrase, "Fit to be tied" when I became frustrated. I may have even said it out loud once. And I'm still hoping my mother-in-law didn't notice too much when I over-enunciated my "r"s. I caught myself before it became too big a problem.
The one minus was that she also narrated for Captain Jack. I don't care how great a voice you have, a woman's voice lowered to sound like a man's still sounds like a woman's voice. Every time she spoke Jack's lines, I thought, "Nope...still you."
I am so glad I reconnected with this book. As soon as I finished, I ordered a copy off of Amazon.com, just so that I could have it handy whenever the mood strikes again. While certainly not "light" and definitely not "fluffy", I enjoyed Sarah's Prine's story of life in the Arizona territories during the end of the 19th century. If you're one of the few who haven't read it yet, I highly recommend the experience.
With flip-flop and sandal season rapidly approaching, pedicures have been on my mind.
I enjoy pedicures as much as the next girl, but I really only get them for the paint job. I do not have skills when it comes to controlling the tiny brush and if I try to save a few bucks with a do-it-yourself project, without fail, I will have the color red, or whichever color I fancy that day, somewhere it shouldn't be...on the floor, on the towel but most likely on the skin surrounding my toenail.
In addition to the stay-in-the-lines color on my toes, I also enjoy the leg rub (as long as I have remembered to shave my legs), the foot soak and, of course, the vibrating/massage chair. That's just fun.
What I don't enjoy, and wish I could skip, is the heel exfoliation.
Genetics and apathy have combined forces to create a mess on the back of my foot. I fully acknowledge that my heel and it's crevices and fissures are not pleasing to the eye nor touch. Jay treats my feet as hostiles to be shunned and my sister, Sarah, recently remarked that my heels were in as bad of shape as she'd ever seen. She followed her reproach by asking if they bothered me. "No. I hardly even notice that they are cracked." I replied. "They don't get caught on your socks?" "No. They're fine."
Minutes later, my offending heel snagged on her shirt (we were talking head to foot on the guest bed) and we laughed as hard as I have in a long while.
That was six weeks ago, and I still haven't done anything to my feet. I have worn sandals a few times, however, and last week noticed a...pain...as I walked. Turns out, one of those cracks has now become wide enough to hold a dime on its side.
I know a good heel sluff would help, but the truth is, my heels are too nasty for a pedicure right now. I need to whip them into some kind of shape before I face the scorn of the nail salon technician. Sort of how I vamp up my flossing right before I see the dentist or, during the happy time I had a cleaning lady coming, cleaned before she came.
The pressure to get a pedicure continued to mount after watching The Amazing Race last Sunday. If you aren't watching this season, the show is currently in China and one of the roadblocks was for one member of each team to get a foot massage. Before they knew what the details were, one of the contestants hoped she wouldn't have to touch anyone's feet. She continued to describe, with disgust, those people who don't take care of their feet and have cracked heels and such. I actually blushed and Jay gave the TV a knowing nod.
I figured a few days of pumice stoning in the shower would prepare me for my pedicure but when I went to the drug store to purchase one, I saw these...
If Madonna can start a craze for fingerless gloves...perhaps my toeless socks will become the must have look of the Summer 2009 season.
A few nights wearing these and I'm all but in that massage chair with the back roller going up and down my back. My heels may still be cracked, and they'll probably make comments about them to each other in a language I can't understand like they usually do (I know they do), but I'll feel better knowing I sheltered them from seeing my heels at their worst. 
I know I have ugly toes, but that's not the point of the picture. Check out me rocking the heel-so-softs!
Now, I just need to start thinking of a fun color....
Perhaps because I already had the phrase, "Balm of Gilead" in my head when I started this fine novel, I was so happy that it had religious overtones. Reverend John Ames is a preacher for the Congrationalists in Gilead, Iowa and dying from a heart condition. Re-married much later in life, after his young wife dies in childbirth along with their infant, he writes his history and thoughts to leave with his young son, who, at seven to his seventy-six, will have few memories of him and none of him as a younger man.
After finishing Gilead, I think it should be everyone's charge in life to leave a written history including sentiments, stories and wandering thoughts for posterity. Of course, most of us won't put words on a page like Marilynne Robison has John Ames put words on a page (so pleasantly meaningful), but the value will come from the experience. I couldn't help but feel the pleasure Ames had in his memories.
Of course, because death loomed in his future, it was tinged with sadness too. After a lifetime of baptizing babies, counseling individuals and feeding his flock, Ames appreciates the treasure that is his family. The pride and joy he feels as a father is palpable and that father/son bond, as distant their ages may be, brings to mind other father/son relationships: his and his athiest brother's with their own father, his best friend, Old Boughton, with his son and namesake, John Ames Boughton, his abolitionist grandfather and his pacifict father, and several well-known examples from the bible. In reality, this story is a re-telling, in many ways, of the prodigal son parable only with a lot more digression. But, it's more than that too.
Filled with symbolism, quotes you'll want to remember and a message of love and forgiveness, Gilead is exactly the kind of book I love to read.
I haven't read much of Stephanie Barron's work, but can say that of the few Jane Austen mysteries I've read, I've enjoyed her mixture of mystery, suspense and historical detail. A Flaw In The Blood has all three of the above ingredients without Jane Austen being the sleuth.
I always feel like such a snob when a book I enjoyed reading, and finished quickly, gets a poor review. It's as if I'm denying my own entertaining experience. While this was a definite page turner, mostly due to the romantic tension beween Georgiana Armistead, a controversial female physican, and Patrick Fitzgerald, an Irish attorney who is being hunted by Queen Victoria's henchman, Wolfgang von Stuhlen, for reasons unknown.
Georgie, as she is called by Patrick, is past the age of needing a guardian, but Fitzgerald considers her safety his responsibility. When Queen Victoria's husband, Prince Albert, dies, a trail of destruction and murder that points to von Stuhlen indicates that both Georgiana and Patrick have become his targets. They flee to Europe and there, begin to unravel the reason why von Stuhlen and Queen Victoria might want them both eliminated.
The chase and suspense might make the book exciting to read, but, unfortunately, the plot and motive explaining it all is quite disappointing - silly even. von Stuhlen is practically a characture of the classic bad guy (he even has an eye patch!)and Victoria is portrayed as a narcisstic queen prone to hysterics, which may or may not be true. Barron's attempt at including actual history, and unfortunately a documented genetic mystery, doesn't work. She tried to do too much with what should have been a light-weight victorian mystery - a formula she has already proven can be successful. While I can't fault her for attempting to break away from a series, I hope she returns to the Jane Austen mysteries she writes so well.
With a title like Run, I was expecting an action packed plot. Unless you consider multi-race family drama, parental expectation, adoption and inheritance conflict action packed, the title is a tad misleading.
Tip and Teddy Doyle, African-American biological brothers, are adopted into a upper class Irish-catholic political family in Boston (their father, Bernard Doyle, was the current mayor of Boston when the adoption took place) when Teddy was an infant and Tip was only eighteen months old. Their adoptive mother, Bernadette, who bears a striking resemblance to a family heirloom Madonna statue, longs for a large family and adopts the two boys to add to their family which includes one biological son, Sullivan.
Bernadette dies when Tip and Teddy are both young, and the results are tragic for Sullivan, who is old enough to feel replaced in both his father's attention and affection by his younger brothers. The story fast forwards quickly to a time when Tip and Teddy are college students struggling to break free from the influence of their doting father. Both are uninterested in pursuing a career in politics, a life-long wish of Bernard Doyle. Tip, whose passion is the study of fish, decides the Jesse Jackson lecture he attends on a cold, winter night, is the last of its kind he will attend with his father and following the lecture, tells him so. Following their argument, he steps into the path of an oncoming car, only to be pushed out of the way by a woman he does not know, but who is curiously familiar with his own life. The woman, Tennessee Moser, is seriously injured when struck by the car, but manages to limit Tip's injuries to a broken foot. While the ambulances rush the woman to the hospital, the woman's 12 year-old daughter, Kenya, is left behind with the Doyles where discoveries and new relationships begin.
While Patchett's writing does stand out as beautiful, her ability to create characters with more than two dimensions seems limited. Bernard Doyle is every father with good intentions but with a little too much zeal. Tip is serious and rigid, Teddy is unreliable but sensitive, Sullivan is a lost cause, Kenya is the always-good girl and Tennessee is the poor, torn, struggling to survive black mother. Always. None of the characters are really allowed to break free from their pigeon hole, and the story, while interesting, suffers from the character's predictable behavior.
Ultimately, I found this entire book to be much ado about nothing. Some of the interesting themes I mentioned above were exposed, but none were developed enough to warrant serious thought. I'm left wondering what the point was. That we're all running away from our destiny? That we run to cope? That we should run faster away from moving cars? I'll never know, but I do know, thanks to another epilogue, that everything turned out nice and tidy in the end.
Written in the voice of Bruno, a nine year-old boy whose father is promoted up the Nazi chain of command and given the position as director of Auschwitz, a Polish concentration camp, The Boy In The Striped Pajamas exposes the well-documented horrors of gas chambers, crematoriums, savage beatings and starvation through eyes that have no comprehension of this kind of evil. Instead, when he meets Schmel, a Jewish boy his own age sitting on the other side of a fence, he sees a potential playmate who, for a reason he's never quite curious enough to find the answer why, wears striped pajamas and lives behind a fence.
I wanted to like this. I tried to like this. But, every time this spoiled, ignorant and unable to remember that they lived at Auschwitz and not "Out-With" narrated in his simple-minded style, it was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Didn't the author, John Boyne, think that readers might be able to understand that Auschwitz, when spoken in the German language Boyne told us several times was being spoken, doesn't even come close to sounding like like "Out-With?" Same with Furher and "Fury." I think he may have beeing trying too hard to be clever and the result is more distracting than anything, not to mention confusing to the young audience he's supposedly writing for, as the correct titles are rarely used.
I think it has a place in young adult literature. It narrates the disconnect between the world of a privileged Nazi family and the horrors of the concentration camp with the sensitivity required for young, innocent readers. It's not really Holocast light, but it is definitely Holocaust junior. Because of this, I was less jolted by the predicatably tragic ending than I probably should have been.
A good introduction for young readers getting their first exposure to Holocaust historical fiction, but, in my opinion, there are better books available to tell this important chapter in world history.
During my junior year of college, the new Cougareat opened and I found myself buying a plate of Chicken Alfredo several times a week. I have never liked marinara sauce with its chunky tomatoes and enjoyed the option of a creamy, white sauce that tasted so much better. I honestly never thought about what ingredients might make it taste so good.
Then, somebody (I can't remember who) told me that a serving of alfredo sauce was equal to eating thirteen pieces of bacon. While I have never verified that piece of life-changing information, I have never again been able to eat Alfredo sauce with the same abandon. Then carb awareness came along followed by Jay's Celiac diagnosis and pasta dishes, in general, has been in my "not worth it" column ever since.
I was hoping reading this book would turn a bunch of my favorite guilty pleasures into mental alfredo sauce. Gross me out-of-love, you know? Sadly, it didn't. The foods I knew were bad were still bad and the foods they suggested replacing the bad foods with were the menu items I skip over. Forget the picture on the title that has a Big Mac and the words "Foods that can save you 10,20,30 pounds or more!" Totally misleading. Most of the foods swaps are for items that don't hang out in the same neighbor hood as its fatty evil cousin. If you really want to lose weight, you should probably try to nix that eating out all the time habit. Besides, I don't go to Chili's for their wilty vegetables and canned black beans. If that's all I can have, then I'll go with guilt or not go at all.
Moreover, other than the fast food chains, we don't have any of the restaurants showcased in the book where I live. I think it would make a handy reference guide for someone in a city or suburb of a city whose lifestyle includes a lot of eating out. Otherwise, this book can easily be replaced by using common sense and moderation.
Tana French follows her debut novel, In The Woods, with a similar, but better, thriller involving former homicide-now-working-domestic-violence-because-her-last-case-ended-so-badly detective, Cassie Maddox.
Maddox is contacted when the body of a woman is found murdered whose identity is none other than Lexie Madison, a former alias Maddox herself created when working as an undercover agent. That the woman also seems to be Maddox's unknown twin only intensifies Maddox's interest. Who was this girl? Why was she murdered? How did she find out about Lexie Madison?
To solve the murder, Maddox once again assumes the identity of Lexie Madison, who lives with four other Trinity graduate students who have been told by police that Lexie was only seriously injured when stabbed and now suffers from short-term memory loss.
While almost science-fiction in its unlikelihood, the story works because French convinces us it could. Just as she did with her first novel, French's focus isn't really who killed Lexie Madison, but more about Cassie and the results that come from her play acting.
While French does hint and dance around the plot of her first novel, to the point of being annoying vague, The Likeness really can stand on it own as an independent psychological thriller. I happen to think it helps having read its predecessor, if only to better understand Cassie Maddox, but as far as plot goes, reading In The Woods beforehand is not necessary.
Bad language aside, I enjoyed this fast-paced, complicated and interesting book.
Billed as a mystery/suspense novel, I think it much more appropriate to shelf it with the psychological thrillers as the whodunit isn't nearly as interesting as the emotional fragility of the two homicide detectives investigating the murder.
Irish detectives Rob Ryan and Cassie Maddox are assigned the case of twelve year-old murder victim Katy Devlin. Strangely enough, Katy was murdered in the exact same woods where Ryan and his two best friends were victims of an attack during their own childhood, an event Ryan has no memory of even though his friends were never found and he was found clinging to a tree with blood in his shoes. Of course, Ryan goes ahead and declares himself emotionally capable of handling this case, while simultaneously keeping his connection to the area hidden to the rest of those involved. Eventually, he does tell his partner, Maddox, and French uses the remainder of the book to erode Ryan's sanity and eventually Maddox's confidence.
My two main problems with Tana French's novel is that 1) the big reveal is tainted with smugness (the author actually uses the words, "I fooled you, didn't I?" when the revelation wasn't all that hard to guess) and 2) there are too many distracting loose strings left untied at the end. Still, the plot was interesting enough to keep me turning pages and her writing and characterization so well developed to make me want to check out her follow-up, The Likeness, soon afterward.
Right before his first goal.
I would have joined them, but that would have prevented me from taking this fun picture.
I was really impressed by Seth's hustle considering he didn't play at all last year or this fall.
3rd, 4th and 5th grade soccer is combined (I guess all the good kids who have been taking it seriously have moved on to club teams) and one school must not have enough of either to have a separate boys and girls team. So, Seth played against a co-ed team which included some rather mature looking 5th grade girls!
All these and four more for the boys for only $5!
