Tag! I'm it!

Baby Gator has tagged me for a meme. I'm doin' it, mostly because I'm worried she might kick my butt if I don't. She used to be such a nice, sweet, young thang. But now she's a total badass.



Six Unremarkable Things About Me:



1. I freak out when it's hot in the bathroom in the mornings while I'm trying to get dressed. Totally freak the hell out. I come stumbling in after yet another masochistic session at the YMCA, only to find that Jackson has decided to take a HOT shower and has steamed the place up. (Just because the man has more hardware in him than Lee Majors ever did, he thinks he's entitled to HOT showers! The nerve!) Steam is so not my friend. I take a not-so-hot shower and still can't get cooled off. Have you ever tried blow drying your hair or applying make-up while you're still actively sweating? It can't be done. I freak out. I curse like a sailor and tend to throw stuff and plot vicious revenge scenarios on our pissant little air conditioner that won't effectively suck the heat or humidity out of the master bedroom end of the house. And then I think about how much I hate Annette. I hate her a lot. She's the one who talked me into this whole YMCA thing. Not only am I torturing myself at an ungodly hour of the morning, I'm also paying for the privelege. And last week we tried to convince the instructor to move the classes up to 5:45 a.m. instead of 6:00. What the hell is wrong with me?



2. Once I have some breakfast, I'm generally fine.



3. My spiritual gift is sarcasm. Joey and I decided in Sunday School yesterday that we both have this gift. Joey is a preacher's kid, too, which makes us experts in this field. We also agreed that little david shares our gift. We are inordinately proud of this gift. There are t-shirts.



4. As long as Amber, the college student with good taste in footwear, keeps coming, I am no longer the youngest person in our Sunday School class. I wonder who the oldest person is? Eh. Who cares?



5. I am painting a picture of a queen with multi-colored hair. When I finish that, I'm starting on an oranged-haired cartoon vampire that I saw on a Myspace ad while I was looking over Katie's shoulder last night. Much eye-rolling ensued when I said "Oh, wait! Go back! I gotta sketch that real fast!"



6. I have become a tea snob. I didn't mean to, it just happened. It started when an email friend in Denmark told me we Americans don't know crap about tea. To prove it, she sent me a box full of 16 different loose teas she picked up at the local tea house. (Wow! A tea house!) I was an immediate convert. I've been ruined. I no longer linger over the vast array of tea bags in the supermarket. I no longer lust over pre-trussed bits of leaf and herb in little baggies, although I admit to still being a sucker for their interesting packaging. Nope, I'm strictly an Upton's loose tea proselyte now. They have this Earl Grey blend that I would rob a bank for. Damn, it's good. Even in the weenie decaf version.



Hmm... I think this is enough memeing for one night. I gotta go boil some water.

How to spend your Saturday morning:

That's how I spent my morning. (Recognize the bookmark, Midlife Rookie?) Zoe and I made ourselves comfy on the deck. The weather has been incredible all week long. Even though it hasn't rained. It was ever so slightly chilly, which makes the tea feel even better than usual.







Zoe and I stared out at the empty field for a while. They cut the corn next to my house yesterday. Which means I need to buy rat poison today. As soon as the corn is gone, all the little beasties who lived in the field start looking for winter lodgings. Ah, the joys of country living.



After a while we were visited by this little guy. (I think he's a guy.) He is evidently the one who has attempted to whitewash the deck with bird poo for the last few days. I advised him to see someone about his apparently extensive digestive issues. He just poo-poohed my suggestions.

Dang old, sorry, no-good, Bird Poo Bandit.

Friday Cemetery Blogging

Happy Friday!

I've been enjoying your nunsensical comments on the previous post. And Cynthia is exactly right - my nuns are part of a nun chuck set!! As a long-time Archie McPhee fan, I should have realized that myself. (Your Sunday School sounds a lot like my office, Cynthia.)



Anyone doing anything fun this weekend? I plan to spend as much of it as possible in a Benadryl induced haze. Corn harvest is here again. If I survive the snot, I'm hoping to do some painting, too. I need practice.



Last weekend Katie and I hooked up with my parents and the Jonboys. We toured the house/studio of a local artist - Kenneth Wyatt. He's become hugely successful and has a gorgeous home and incredible studio. As we made our way outside, Katie took a final longing look at the exquisite gardens and said "You need to quit your job, Rachel, and just do paintings. That way we can live in a house like this!"



Yeah. Well... Her confidence is endearing, although highly misplaced. But, what the hell - maybe I'll buy a new canvass tomorrow...

Random Stuffs of Wednesday Wickedness

Do you talk to yourself? I do. All the time. So far though, not out loud. This is one of my favorite jokes, because it fits me:

Two guys are sitting at a bus stop. Neither is speaking but the first guy suddenly bursts out laughing.

"What's so funny?" the second guy asks.

"I was just sitting here telling myself some jokes," the first guy said, wiping tears from his eyes, "and I told myself one I'd never heard before."

There is always a conversation going on in my head and sometimes it is mildly amusing. I was walking down a very quiet hallway this afternoon, not really paying any attention to that conversation when all of a sudden the voice in my head said, "I have no real talent for Catholicism."

A quick rewind of that train of thought took me back to collections. I had been thinking about collections. Do you collect things? I collect movie soundtracks; white, art deco, praying, virgin Mary figures; crappy virgin Marys, all things Wonder Woman, comic books, skulls, gargoyles, Homies, anything with a Gothic arch shape and now nuns.

Nuns fascinate me. Priests too. I know full well why this is - my reading tastes are far too narrow and there are far too many crime-solving Catholic clergy out there. And now I find that I'm slowly amassing a miscellany of nun-ish stuff. My favorites are the three teeny-tiny nun figures that Mindy gave me. They look like they're being held at gun point. We can't figure out why their arms are raised, unless maybe they're freakishly charismatic evangelicals. I dunno. But they're cool. (I'll try to post a picture of them tomorrow.)

Yes, I like little rubber nuns and nuns on plates and sparking, walking nunzillas. Haven't had that much luck with real-life nuns. The only time I've actually spoken to a nun was the time Jackson and I made an agreement with Katie's mother to take her to confirmation classes since she was with us every weekend and her momma wanted her raised Catholic.

We were sort of half-ass attending a very cool little Catholic church at the time. The church used to have a school and a small convent, but financial constraints forced the school to close and there was only one or maybe two nuns in residence. Jackson called the church and asked about getting little miss Katie into confirmation classes. Sister Mary Martha of the Harsh Retribution made an appointment with us to come to the church and meet with her to discuss what needed to be done.

I thought that was cool. Nuns fascinate me, after all. I was excited. Jackson and I scrubbed our faces one Saturday morning and made our way to the Sister's office. (She told us not to bring the kid.)

If I was doing a dissertation in sociology or something, I would totally write about that experience. Silly cradle-Baptist me thought this would be like any other churchy meeting I'd ever been privy to. We'd chat and feel good about everyone and then there would be a schedule to discuss and maybe some food. The meeting would be held after either the Sunday or Wednesday service because we wouldn't want to have to go to church on yet another day during the week. We'd leave with good intentions, a four color brochure and little else.

That Saturday morning, the Sister and welcomed Jackson and I into her office. Actually, welcome is a bit too strong. More like she ordered us into her office and all but whacked the chairs we were to sit in with a riding crop or something. We hadn't even been introduced and already we felt guilty.

She explained that the classes met every week between the two Sunday morning masses and that Katie must be there for each and every class. As she lectured us about our spiritual parental responsibilities, I kept waiting for the pleasantries and maybe some cookies. It was a long wait. There were no pleasantries. None. Only instructions. Very direct instructions.

And no cookies. Not even a stray wafer.

Then, after a few weeks, when we realized the whole Cathist/Batholic thing wasn't really workable and we'd have to chose a religion and stick with it, we quit taking Katie to confirmation classes. If we hadn't been so cowardly, we would've called the Sister, or at least the Father, and told them why we weren't coming back. But, we didn't.

Instead we would cringe when the phone rang every Sunday morning. "Don't pick it up!" we'd yell to each other and then huddle together over the answering machine and tremble at the sound of the Sister's inquiry into where Katie was and why wasn't she in class?

We were a little culture shocked by the whole thing. I, for one, am not used to that particular approach. It never occurred to me that the church might command me to do something and then expect my full and unequivocal cooperation. It was really interesting and if I were less shallow I would spend some time thinking about that and it's possible implications.

I can't think right now, though. Gotta go finish my Father Koesler mystery.

Friday Cemetery Blogging

This photo is another that I took in Dallas. Thanks to Dijea to pointing this shot out to me. I love the colors. (Haven't tweaked 'em. This is straight out of the camera.)


I feel like writing, but the well is dry this evening. I came home from teaching a class of alcoholics about stress relief to find Jackson in the mood for CFFG. (Chick Flicks For Guys) I had to endure the last five minutes of 8 Seconds and the last 45 minutes of Radio.


(Have I mentioned that he also likes those gawd-awful country songs that are saccharinly weepy? Like "Butterfly Kisses" and that sort of ilk? There are some things that we are so not compatible about.)


Anyway, that sort of crap will suck all the good thoughts right out of your head.


I'm goin' to bed!

Wearing that shirt again. I guess it must be a Saturday thing.

I am totally incapable of waiting patiently, idly, for anything, anymore.

There are always two - TWO - moleskine notebooks in my bag these days. One for words, one for sketches. That probably qualifies me as Queen of the Nerds. I can't even sit patiently and wait for breakfast to be delivered any more. I have to have something to do.

So I draw. And Jackson plays with the Phone of All Wisdom. In between checking and sending email, he took this picture. I'm not sure that Rickman approves of my artistic endeavor:





Hmm... forgot to wear my rings this morning!

Friday Cemetery Blogging

We just watched Sen. Lindsey Graham's speech at the Republican National Convention. Did anybody notice the really odd video stuff going on in the background? Who thought it was a good idea to put photos of military cemeteries in the background during a speech on military victory? I get what they were trying to do, but why not photos of air craft carriers or square-jawed army rangers or something?







That's an interesting stone, isn't it? I thought it was. Took me a while to figure out what it reminded me of.


I think Scooby would've liked it. Or maybe not.