My brother has started blogging. He goes by the pseudonym "Jonboy" instead of his real name, which is Opie Capone. Check it out at www.vacantstares.blogspot.com.
And yes, I will be posting the Opie Capone picture unless there is some significant fiduciary incentive applied to keep me from doing so.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Friday, May 20, 2005
Luke, I am your father...
We went to see Star Wars Episode III last night. Opening night. Sure did.
I really loved Star Wars as a kid. I was pretty traumatized by the whole Jar Jar Binks thing, though. Episode III was certainly the best of the three "new" movies.
Movies have always been a big part of my life, but for the last few years I have seen tons of kid flicks and extremely few grown-up movies. I can rent 'em, I know, but don't get me started on that. Certainly you can enjoy a movie in the comfort of your own home, but you will never recreate the collective solitude of the theatre experience. If it is a movie worth seeing, its worth seeing right.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, Jackson and I discovered that we are real grown-ups and if we want to go see a movie on a school night, then by-God, we can! So we now have a weekly appointment (sans kid) with the local cinema.
It was a small crowd, although anything more than three is an above average mid-week crowd. There were a couple of families with their kids, but it was mostly people my parent's age. I found that odd. Where are all the people my age - the kids who grew up on this mythology? Didn't it become an ingrained part of their moral development? Didn't they accept that there is a connectivity to the entire universe and everything in it? Didn't they understand that your sixth grade English teach who used to complain because they didn't use any capital letters in the credits on Matlock was just an unwitting pawn of the dark side? Didn't their dad's preach sermons about the theology of Star Wars when they were kids? Or was that just me?
Oh, well. The movie was good. Not great, but good. Good enough that when we left, in the dark, and I shifted the truck into gear and pulled out on the highway, I could pretend that it was my own X-wing fighter.
And I flew it all the way home.
I really loved Star Wars as a kid. I was pretty traumatized by the whole Jar Jar Binks thing, though. Episode III was certainly the best of the three "new" movies.
Movies have always been a big part of my life, but for the last few years I have seen tons of kid flicks and extremely few grown-up movies. I can rent 'em, I know, but don't get me started on that. Certainly you can enjoy a movie in the comfort of your own home, but you will never recreate the collective solitude of the theatre experience. If it is a movie worth seeing, its worth seeing right.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, Jackson and I discovered that we are real grown-ups and if we want to go see a movie on a school night, then by-God, we can! So we now have a weekly appointment (sans kid) with the local cinema.
It was a small crowd, although anything more than three is an above average mid-week crowd. There were a couple of families with their kids, but it was mostly people my parent's age. I found that odd. Where are all the people my age - the kids who grew up on this mythology? Didn't it become an ingrained part of their moral development? Didn't they accept that there is a connectivity to the entire universe and everything in it? Didn't they understand that your sixth grade English teach who used to complain because they didn't use any capital letters in the credits on Matlock was just an unwitting pawn of the dark side? Didn't their dad's preach sermons about the theology of Star Wars when they were kids? Or was that just me?
Oh, well. The movie was good. Not great, but good. Good enough that when we left, in the dark, and I shifted the truck into gear and pulled out on the highway, I could pretend that it was my own X-wing fighter.
And I flew it all the way home.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Its not a millstone, Its a milestone!
I don't like to staple things, much. It seems as soon as I wed a couple of sheets of paper together, I just have to break them up again. Perhaps that's not the best analogy, but you get the idea. I hate paperclips even more. That kind of indecisiveness gets on my nerves. I like my papers to be free-flowing and open to change. This is really just a lot of bull - and helps explain why my desk is in a mess most of the time.
Anyway, I have had the same box of staples for the entirety of my current employment. It was a big, new box handed to me the day I started. It held 5,000 staples. Every time I moved to another office, or got a new desk, or was hit with a fit of spring cleaning, the box of staples went with me. I began to think it was like the hourglass in the Wizard of Oz - the staples were counting down my existence and when I ran out of staples I would have to leave, a la Shane or Mary Poppins.
Today I have completed 12 years at my job. And I ran out of staples.
What are the chances? Not only the chances of these two events occurring simultaneously, but that the first occurred at all. Not many Generation Xers can say that. (Or would want to!) I just happened to stumble into the perfect job for me and I have stayed here. When I have tried to leave, I couldn't get any other employer to even acknowledge my existence, much less give me an interview.
I got my annual retirement benefit statement in the mail a couple of months ago. Right in the middle, in big black letters it says: First Retirement Eligibility - Age 48.
That means there's no getting rid of me now! That means that at age 48 I can shove this job and become the weird lady at the fair who draws charicatures on the cheap.
That means I can quit my 8-5 and open a photography studio where you could get bridal pictures done, but not wedding pictures. And when you come in to sit for the portraits, your mother has to sit in the car. With no keys. With the windows rolled up. Especially if it is August. And did I mention I ain't gonna take pictures of yer family, especially yer mother of the bride, at the church?
That means I can open a bookstore on the square like the lady in Sweetwater - remember her, Kincaid? - who was always interested in whatever you were into and had just been reading a book about it and it was freaky but in a good way.
I've got 14 years to go. Gonna have to make this new box of staples stretch a little bit farther.
Anyway, I have had the same box of staples for the entirety of my current employment. It was a big, new box handed to me the day I started. It held 5,000 staples. Every time I moved to another office, or got a new desk, or was hit with a fit of spring cleaning, the box of staples went with me. I began to think it was like the hourglass in the Wizard of Oz - the staples were counting down my existence and when I ran out of staples I would have to leave, a la Shane or Mary Poppins.
Today I have completed 12 years at my job. And I ran out of staples.
What are the chances? Not only the chances of these two events occurring simultaneously, but that the first occurred at all. Not many Generation Xers can say that. (Or would want to!) I just happened to stumble into the perfect job for me and I have stayed here. When I have tried to leave, I couldn't get any other employer to even acknowledge my existence, much less give me an interview.
I got my annual retirement benefit statement in the mail a couple of months ago. Right in the middle, in big black letters it says: First Retirement Eligibility - Age 48.
That means there's no getting rid of me now! That means that at age 48 I can shove this job and become the weird lady at the fair who draws charicatures on the cheap.
That means I can quit my 8-5 and open a photography studio where you could get bridal pictures done, but not wedding pictures. And when you come in to sit for the portraits, your mother has to sit in the car. With no keys. With the windows rolled up. Especially if it is August. And did I mention I ain't gonna take pictures of yer family, especially yer mother of the bride, at the church?
That means I can open a bookstore on the square like the lady in Sweetwater - remember her, Kincaid? - who was always interested in whatever you were into and had just been reading a book about it and it was freaky but in a good way.
I've got 14 years to go. Gonna have to make this new box of staples stretch a little bit farther.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Awash in liberal-ly goodness.
7% Republican. | "You're a complete liberal, utterly without a trace of Republicanism. Your strength is as the strength of ten because your heart is pure. (You hope.)" |
Monday, May 09, 2005
Interview Game: "If you were a tree..."
I have been tagged by Mindy with the interview questions. These are her questions and my answers. If you want to play, read the directions at the end and I will be more than happy to spread the germs.
1) What are you truly afraid of since it is not ghosts, cemeteries or things that go bump in the night? Oh geeze, I dunno. I work really hard to conquer fear. It is not always 100% successful, but I find that if you are willing to do what you fear then it lessens that fear exponentially each time you do it. HOWEVER, as I write this, I am confronted by my own raging hypocrisy because I realize I do have a fear which I have had an opportunity to confront and I wussed. The opportunity may come around again and damn, now I'll have to do it or be branded a lying wussie. The Horror! By the way, Janet just gave me a way cool journal with an even more way more cool quote from Eleanor Roosevelt on it: "Do something every day that scares you." Words to live by, if ya ask me!
2) What is the most trashiest book you have ever read? Hmm... I guess it was probably Hotel by Arthur Haley. How horribly nerdy is that?
3) In camping, what is the #1 rule to remember? Duh! Always have tortilla chips on hand for starting fires! We shall be putting this rule to good use this weekend, I hope.
4) Just what DID you tell the Postal Inspector? I said: "Is this a joke?" followed by a whole lot of "Yes ma'am." and "No ma'am." and a promise not to mail anything else with such amusing labels as 'Letter Bomb Enclosed - Please Do Not X-Ray.'
5) What is your biggest pet peeve? Today it is snot and the lack of attention afforded it by the whole industrial/energy community in this country. If we could find a way to utilize it as an alternative fuel source, my production alone could rid Nebraska of its dependence on foreign oil. If nothing else, there ought to be a market for it somewhere as an industrial lubricant.
The Official Interview Game Rules If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
1) What are you truly afraid of since it is not ghosts, cemeteries or things that go bump in the night? Oh geeze, I dunno. I work really hard to conquer fear. It is not always 100% successful, but I find that if you are willing to do what you fear then it lessens that fear exponentially each time you do it. HOWEVER, as I write this, I am confronted by my own raging hypocrisy because I realize I do have a fear which I have had an opportunity to confront and I wussed. The opportunity may come around again and damn, now I'll have to do it or be branded a lying wussie. The Horror! By the way, Janet just gave me a way cool journal with an even more way more cool quote from Eleanor Roosevelt on it: "Do something every day that scares you." Words to live by, if ya ask me!
2) What is the most trashiest book you have ever read? Hmm... I guess it was probably Hotel by Arthur Haley. How horribly nerdy is that?
3) In camping, what is the #1 rule to remember? Duh! Always have tortilla chips on hand for starting fires! We shall be putting this rule to good use this weekend, I hope.
4) Just what DID you tell the Postal Inspector? I said: "Is this a joke?" followed by a whole lot of "Yes ma'am." and "No ma'am." and a promise not to mail anything else with such amusing labels as 'Letter Bomb Enclosed - Please Do Not X-Ray.'
5) What is your biggest pet peeve? Today it is snot and the lack of attention afforded it by the whole industrial/energy community in this country. If we could find a way to utilize it as an alternative fuel source, my production alone could rid Nebraska of its dependence on foreign oil. If nothing else, there ought to be a market for it somewhere as an industrial lubricant.
The Official Interview Game Rules If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Nothing to see here. Keep moving.
Some pictures from East Texas. (Happiness is
friends who don't mind that you stop at all the
cemeteries.)
Note: I see that the names on the stones are not very readable.
They are: 1. Lively, 2. Hill/Bush, & 3. Shotwell. Sorry!
Not likely.
Or maybe Tree?
If a job is worth doing, its worth doing well.
Maybe it was because we saw this on the way home
from the sex offender trainging, but we found this
sign to be somewhat disconcerting.
friends who don't mind that you stop at all the
cemeteries.)
Note: I see that the names on the stones are not very readable.
They are: 1. Lively, 2. Hill/Bush, & 3. Shotwell. Sorry!
Not likely.
Or maybe Tree?
If a job is worth doing, its worth doing well.
Maybe it was because we saw this on the way home
from the sex offender trainging, but we found this
sign to be somewhat disconcerting.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
M is for "Mutha"
I live in a dry county. Sale of alcohol is prohibited except in private clubs. How does one establish a private club, you may ask? In most cases you put a spiral notebook by the door. Membership is conferred by signing a name in the book on your way in. Not necessarily your own name, you understand.
A condition of probation is that thou shalt not drink. Another is thou shalt not hang out at the clubs. So, myself and the other officers would make the rounds of the bars on the occasional Saturday night to see which of our people were there. And which of them had been dumb enough to sign their real name in the book. Generally, this was bad for business at the clubs.
One particularly sleazy bar is the laughably named Social and Charity Club. Its been around for as long as I can remember. Its a dark, smoky, violent place - one of those building that looks as if a good stiff wind would flatten it. But it perseveres. Even when they lost their liquor license for two years a while back their business didn't seem to suffer much. Given its location on just outside the city limits on the north side of town, it was usually the last stop on our tour of the local nightlife.
My most memorable visit to the Social and Charity happened one Saturday night right before mother's day. It went as usual - we walked the rooms squinting through the smoke, trying to hear over the pounding music, hoping to recognize faces in the near total darkness. Truth be known, we probably would never have caught anyone if they didn't get so nervous. Luckily for us, most people with a drunk and guilty conscience would try to hide behind their girlfriends, or behind a hat or turn their face to the wall. It got to be pretty funny at times.
It was almost midnight when the six of us, including our boss at that time, decided to leave. We headed to the entrance.
Just as we got to the door, which was in a pretty cramped space, a group of about equal size came inside. We stood across from each other for a long moment.
The other group had us way out-classed. They were dressed to kill - hats, boas, sequins and bright silk suits. The man in the center, who had a woman hanging on each arm, was the owner of the club.
The moment drew out uncomfortably as we silently debated who would step aside to let the others pass. Then, the owner doffed his fedora and looked my boss in the eye.
"Why Ms. Barton," he drawled. "Its always such a pleh-sure to see you and your friends."
He smiled broadly, his teeth glowing in the blacklights, and eyed us all.
"I would just like to wish you all a happy Mother's Day." He bowed deeply and gave us a wicked grin. "Cuz you all's a bunch of muthas!"
They let us pass.
A condition of probation is that thou shalt not drink. Another is thou shalt not hang out at the clubs. So, myself and the other officers would make the rounds of the bars on the occasional Saturday night to see which of our people were there. And which of them had been dumb enough to sign their real name in the book. Generally, this was bad for business at the clubs.
One particularly sleazy bar is the laughably named Social and Charity Club. Its been around for as long as I can remember. Its a dark, smoky, violent place - one of those building that looks as if a good stiff wind would flatten it. But it perseveres. Even when they lost their liquor license for two years a while back their business didn't seem to suffer much. Given its location on just outside the city limits on the north side of town, it was usually the last stop on our tour of the local nightlife.
My most memorable visit to the Social and Charity happened one Saturday night right before mother's day. It went as usual - we walked the rooms squinting through the smoke, trying to hear over the pounding music, hoping to recognize faces in the near total darkness. Truth be known, we probably would never have caught anyone if they didn't get so nervous. Luckily for us, most people with a drunk and guilty conscience would try to hide behind their girlfriends, or behind a hat or turn their face to the wall. It got to be pretty funny at times.
It was almost midnight when the six of us, including our boss at that time, decided to leave. We headed to the entrance.
Just as we got to the door, which was in a pretty cramped space, a group of about equal size came inside. We stood across from each other for a long moment.
The other group had us way out-classed. They were dressed to kill - hats, boas, sequins and bright silk suits. The man in the center, who had a woman hanging on each arm, was the owner of the club.
The moment drew out uncomfortably as we silently debated who would step aside to let the others pass. Then, the owner doffed his fedora and looked my boss in the eye.
"Why Ms. Barton," he drawled. "Its always such a pleh-sure to see you and your friends."
He smiled broadly, his teeth glowing in the blacklights, and eyed us all.
"I would just like to wish you all a happy Mother's Day." He bowed deeply and gave us a wicked grin. "Cuz you all's a bunch of muthas!"
They let us pass.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Would you like a ribbon with that corsage?
Last week Mindy and I went to a small town about 80 miles north of Houston for training. We arrived the afternoon before the the conference began, so we explored the town. It was a decent little east Texas town - pretty, but not too exciting.
Being the thrifty (cheap)people that we are, we found a consignment shop on the courthouse square. Being the friendly (nosy) people that we are, we struck up a conversation with the proprietress and her assistant.
It didn't take her long to discover - "Y'all aren't from around here, are you?" We confirmed this and asked a few questions about the area.
She assured us repeatedly that she did not live in this town. Oh, no. She was from the Woodlands, yet another Houston bedroom community. She also pointed out, on more than one occasion, that the houses in the Woodlands started at $350,000 and went up from there. We tried real hard to look impressed. She lives in the Woodlands and merely runs the business in this town.
This was followed by the pivotal question: "Well, did y'all come down for the flower show?"
I looked at Mindy. She looked at me. We were both obviously thinking the same thing, "Just say yes." We could've said yes and told her delphiniums are really not our specialty and no, we don't know how to cure rust on roses. We could have told her that and waltzed on out the door. But, nooooo. We told her why we were in town. Stupid, stupid us.
"We're here for to attend training for probation officers on the risk assessment of sex offenders."
If she'd been a Pekinese, her ears would have pricked up and she would have tilted her head to the left and let her tongue hang out. She immediately launched into every story she ever knew about sex offenders and any kind of maybe, possible, sort-of encounters she or her family had experienced with anyone who might have been a sex offender or been just a little creepy. She even told us that this county has the fastest growing population of sex offenders and incest cases in the state. Did I mention she lives in the Woodlands and the houses there start at $350,000?
Mindy and I edged towards the door. "That's nice." "Oh, really?" "You don't say?" We got as close as two counters and a clothing rack from freedom when she stopped in mid-sentence and whirled on her assistant. She crinkled her nose and said, "Well! I am just going to be nosy and ask!"
We could have skipped out right then. We could have made a run for it. We knew better. But we stayed.
She leaned over the counter and winked. "So, do y'all talk real mean to these people when they get out of prison?"
That's what she said. What she meant was: "Do they talk dirty to you?"
We could have tried to explain that we work with people who hopefully will not go to prison. We could have told her that yes, sometimes things get a bit graphic - in a health class kind of a way, but there is a fine line between being honest about an offense and retelling it for fun and we try not to go anywhere near that line. We could have explained that sex offenders are the most compliant group we encounter. (The idea being to cooperate so the authorities will not take a closer look at what you are doing.)
We could have told her all of that. But she didn't want to hear it and we pretty much bolted for the door. Finally. Next time I will listen to that little voice in my head and say, "Yes. I am a florist."
Being the thrifty (cheap)people that we are, we found a consignment shop on the courthouse square. Being the friendly (nosy) people that we are, we struck up a conversation with the proprietress and her assistant.
It didn't take her long to discover - "Y'all aren't from around here, are you?" We confirmed this and asked a few questions about the area.
She assured us repeatedly that she did not live in this town. Oh, no. She was from the Woodlands, yet another Houston bedroom community. She also pointed out, on more than one occasion, that the houses in the Woodlands started at $350,000 and went up from there. We tried real hard to look impressed. She lives in the Woodlands and merely runs the business in this town.
This was followed by the pivotal question: "Well, did y'all come down for the flower show?"
I looked at Mindy. She looked at me. We were both obviously thinking the same thing, "Just say yes." We could've said yes and told her delphiniums are really not our specialty and no, we don't know how to cure rust on roses. We could have told her that and waltzed on out the door. But, nooooo. We told her why we were in town. Stupid, stupid us.
"We're here for to attend training for probation officers on the risk assessment of sex offenders."
If she'd been a Pekinese, her ears would have pricked up and she would have tilted her head to the left and let her tongue hang out. She immediately launched into every story she ever knew about sex offenders and any kind of maybe, possible, sort-of encounters she or her family had experienced with anyone who might have been a sex offender or been just a little creepy. She even told us that this county has the fastest growing population of sex offenders and incest cases in the state. Did I mention she lives in the Woodlands and the houses there start at $350,000?
Mindy and I edged towards the door. "That's nice." "Oh, really?" "You don't say?" We got as close as two counters and a clothing rack from freedom when she stopped in mid-sentence and whirled on her assistant. She crinkled her nose and said, "Well! I am just going to be nosy and ask!"
We could have skipped out right then. We could have made a run for it. We knew better. But we stayed.
She leaned over the counter and winked. "So, do y'all talk real mean to these people when they get out of prison?"
That's what she said. What she meant was: "Do they talk dirty to you?"
We could have tried to explain that we work with people who hopefully will not go to prison. We could have told her that yes, sometimes things get a bit graphic - in a health class kind of a way, but there is a fine line between being honest about an offense and retelling it for fun and we try not to go anywhere near that line. We could have explained that sex offenders are the most compliant group we encounter. (The idea being to cooperate so the authorities will not take a closer look at what you are doing.)
We could have told her all of that. But she didn't want to hear it and we pretty much bolted for the door. Finally. Next time I will listen to that little voice in my head and say, "Yes. I am a florist."
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Four years later...
I planted a couple of Calla Lily bulbs four years ago. The don't grow real well here, evidently. Every year one or two brave leaves would push through the mulch and hang out for a couple of weeks. Then they crumple like a kleenex at a June wedding and die. This year! Finally! I have a flower!
Friday, April 29, 2005
Eat Yer Heart Out, Architectural Digest!
Annie asked about the coffin in my living room. The picture is not that great, but you get the idea. I bought this at a garage sale last year. An elderly couple was getting rid of years of accumulated stuff and decided this had to go. Their son built it and left it in their garage, where it sat for several years. They couldn't really remember why he built it.
The wife was overjoyed to sell it. Especially since her husband had told her no one in their right mind would want to buy a coffin at a garage sale. She grinned when she said that. She realized he might still be right.
Jackson and I loaded it up and took it home. I laid it down and used it as a plant stand in my living room jungle. But I tended to bang my shin into it, so I stood it up in the corner, more out of the way.
You can't tell it in this photo, but it blends pretty well with the bookcase next to it. In fact, most people who just drop by for a few minutes don't even notice it. Or if they do, they are afraid to say anything. This past Christmas I swore there had to be a better way to store the tree than what I was using - an old bicycle box in the closet. I tried the coffin, and sure enough, the it worked great.
Sometimes, you just have to think outside the box. (Saw that coming, didn't you?)
Friday, April 22, 2005
How did they know?
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Divine Hand Grenade of Mild Debate. What's yours?
100 Things, IV
76. My garden is made up of all the ingredients for good salsa, plus black-eyed peas.
77. My favorite sandwich is left over roast, mashed potatoes and blackeyed peas smushed in between two slices of bread with lots of Miracle Whip.
78. My husband and I have birthdays that are only 2 days apart. One year he told me he had a surprise planned. Even though I was deathly ill - coughing, hacking, barely able to stand - he drug me off to the 'rasslin' matches. I was the only one in the arena sitting down. The poor kid next to me kept trying to get away as I was obviously spewing typhoid. You still owe me for not divorcing you for that, Jackson!
79. I like to fish.
80. I never catch anything. Ever. In fact, this weekend I am going fishing and not even taking a pole. This will no doubt lessen the probability that I will catch fish. But not a lot.
81. I enjoy home tours. Especially if we can leave little glow-in-the-dark Madonnas behind at each stop.
82. I love people-watching.
83. I really like going to Jr. High and High School student art shows.
84. I am a Baptist who prefers Catholic services. Jackson is a Catholic who prefers Baptist services.
85. I may live in Texas, but I despise most country music. Especially anything recorded more recently than the 1980s. Willie Nelson doesn't count. He can do no wrong. Which reminds me, if you don't own this album, buy it NOW!
86. I am a preacher's kid, but I've never been arrested. Or drunk.
87. I don't understand the connection between Chuck Mangione and King of the Hill.
88. I am a Chicken Fried Steak connoisseur.
89. My back, hair and hat appear briefly in the movie Leap of Faith.
90. Cemeteries are funny places.
91. I watch a lot of cooking shows, even though I never cook. Emeril is a doofus.
92. I used to be a rule-follower. The older I get, the more I demand explanation and proof from authority figures.
93. I love thrift stores.
94. I was once investigated by the Texas Rangers. (Nothing too exciting. One of my sex offenders got ticked off at me and complained that I had violated his civil rights. He went to prison. The sex offender, not the Ranger.)
95. I still subscribe to Wonder Woman comic books. I have them sent to my office. They come in the proverbial plain brown wrapper and we used to have a secretary who really wondered what I was up to. I never told her.
96. Crunchy peanut butter ONLY.
97. Once, while at the sea wall in Galveston with friends, one of them shouted "Oh My God, y'all! Come look at these rats." And I went.
98. I have a coffin in my living room. I store the Christmas tree in it.
99. My earliest childhood memory is being afraid to climb back down off of the roof. This was right after my father freaked out. He was roofing. I tapped him on the shoulder and said "Whatcha doin' daddy?"
100. I don't believe in a Rapture. If there is one, I ain't goin'.
77. My favorite sandwich is left over roast, mashed potatoes and blackeyed peas smushed in between two slices of bread with lots of Miracle Whip.
78. My husband and I have birthdays that are only 2 days apart. One year he told me he had a surprise planned. Even though I was deathly ill - coughing, hacking, barely able to stand - he drug me off to the 'rasslin' matches. I was the only one in the arena sitting down. The poor kid next to me kept trying to get away as I was obviously spewing typhoid. You still owe me for not divorcing you for that, Jackson!
79. I like to fish.
80. I never catch anything. Ever. In fact, this weekend I am going fishing and not even taking a pole. This will no doubt lessen the probability that I will catch fish. But not a lot.
81. I enjoy home tours. Especially if we can leave little glow-in-the-dark Madonnas behind at each stop.
82. I love people-watching.
83. I really like going to Jr. High and High School student art shows.
84. I am a Baptist who prefers Catholic services. Jackson is a Catholic who prefers Baptist services.
85. I may live in Texas, but I despise most country music. Especially anything recorded more recently than the 1980s. Willie Nelson doesn't count. He can do no wrong. Which reminds me, if you don't own this album, buy it NOW!
86. I am a preacher's kid, but I've never been arrested. Or drunk.
87. I don't understand the connection between Chuck Mangione and King of the Hill.
88. I am a Chicken Fried Steak connoisseur.
89. My back, hair and hat appear briefly in the movie Leap of Faith.
90. Cemeteries are funny places.
91. I watch a lot of cooking shows, even though I never cook. Emeril is a doofus.
92. I used to be a rule-follower. The older I get, the more I demand explanation and proof from authority figures.
93. I love thrift stores.
94. I was once investigated by the Texas Rangers. (Nothing too exciting. One of my sex offenders got ticked off at me and complained that I had violated his civil rights. He went to prison. The sex offender, not the Ranger.)
95. I still subscribe to Wonder Woman comic books. I have them sent to my office. They come in the proverbial plain brown wrapper and we used to have a secretary who really wondered what I was up to. I never told her.
96. Crunchy peanut butter ONLY.
97. Once, while at the sea wall in Galveston with friends, one of them shouted "Oh My God, y'all! Come look at these rats." And I went.
98. I have a coffin in my living room. I store the Christmas tree in it.
99. My earliest childhood memory is being afraid to climb back down off of the roof. This was right after my father freaked out. He was roofing. I tapped him on the shoulder and said "Whatcha doin' daddy?"
100. I don't believe in a Rapture. If there is one, I ain't goin'.
Monday, April 18, 2005
100 Things, III
51. I prefer to drive a stick shift.
52. I have never had a traffic ticket. (Knock on wood!) This is due in large part to the fact that my truck has a lawnmower engine and just won't go that fast.
53. I love the sound of baby coyotes howling in the fields beside my house.
54. I wish I had stuck with piano lessons. Who doesn't?
55. I used to take Karate lessons. One day the instructor said, "Gasp! Wheeze! You kick like a man!"
56. I have all but two of the 88 original Perry Mason mysteries. I have two of the pastiche Perry Mason books done by another author. Those two basically suck.
57. I think panty-hose are a harbinger of the apocalypse.
58. I think most of us pasty white women don't look good in a dress without panty-hose.
59. I wear a lot of pants.
60. I love pasties. Not that kind! This kind.
61. I almost never read articles in magazines. I flip through and look at the pictures. Dunno why.
62. I have a compost heap. I found an almost white frog in it last night. I guess he had lived inside the heap his whole life and never been exposed to the sun.
63. I love small town festivals.
64. I have an open marriage. Jackson and I have agreed that he can leave me at anytime for Sandra Bullock. I can leave him for Johnny Depp. No hard feelings, either way. (He wants to add Racheal Ray to the list. I just don't think that is fair unless I can include Alan Rickman.)
65. I love old-time radio programs. Especially The Shadow. Thanks to the internet I have hundreds of them to lull me to sleep at night. I never know whodunit because I always fall asleep.
66. I try to spend some time drawing in my sketch book every day at lunch.
67. The Avengers is one of my all-time favorite TV shows.
68. My Dashboard Jesus has developed a squeak. Now when I idle at the stoplight, I feel like Flipper is trying to tell me the third secret of Fatima.
69. Nudge, nudge.
70. Sorry 'bout Number Sixty-Nine. Running low on ideas!
71. I hate eggs unless they have picante sauce on them. Ketchup will do in a pinch.
72. I learned to like Brussels Sprouts when I realized they were just little Darth Vader heads. Death to the Empire! Munch, munch, munch!
73. Calla lilies are my favorite flower. They are very Art Deco, and
74. I love Art Deco.
75. Finally, number 75! Only 25 more to go!
52. I have never had a traffic ticket. (Knock on wood!) This is due in large part to the fact that my truck has a lawnmower engine and just won't go that fast.
53. I love the sound of baby coyotes howling in the fields beside my house.
54. I wish I had stuck with piano lessons. Who doesn't?
55. I used to take Karate lessons. One day the instructor said, "Gasp! Wheeze! You kick like a man!"
56. I have all but two of the 88 original Perry Mason mysteries. I have two of the pastiche Perry Mason books done by another author. Those two basically suck.
57. I think panty-hose are a harbinger of the apocalypse.
58. I think most of us pasty white women don't look good in a dress without panty-hose.
59. I wear a lot of pants.
60. I love pasties. Not that kind! This kind.
61. I almost never read articles in magazines. I flip through and look at the pictures. Dunno why.
62. I have a compost heap. I found an almost white frog in it last night. I guess he had lived inside the heap his whole life and never been exposed to the sun.
63. I love small town festivals.
64. I have an open marriage. Jackson and I have agreed that he can leave me at anytime for Sandra Bullock. I can leave him for Johnny Depp. No hard feelings, either way. (He wants to add Racheal Ray to the list. I just don't think that is fair unless I can include Alan Rickman.)
65. I love old-time radio programs. Especially The Shadow. Thanks to the internet I have hundreds of them to lull me to sleep at night. I never know whodunit because I always fall asleep.
66. I try to spend some time drawing in my sketch book every day at lunch.
67. The Avengers is one of my all-time favorite TV shows.
68. My Dashboard Jesus has developed a squeak. Now when I idle at the stoplight, I feel like Flipper is trying to tell me the third secret of Fatima.
69. Nudge, nudge.
70. Sorry 'bout Number Sixty-Nine. Running low on ideas!
71. I hate eggs unless they have picante sauce on them. Ketchup will do in a pinch.
72. I learned to like Brussels Sprouts when I realized they were just little Darth Vader heads. Death to the Empire! Munch, munch, munch!
73. Calla lilies are my favorite flower. They are very Art Deco, and
74. I love Art Deco.
75. Finally, number 75! Only 25 more to go!
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Cora's Big Adventure
This vacant wooded lot in Athens, Texas reeks of adventure. It is dark and mysterious - surrounded by a low rock wall. I don't know much about it, except that it was once owned by the minister of the First Baptist Church.
The trees are beautiful. Especially the dogwoods. The blossoms seem to float in the air.
The only structure in these acres is this enclosure. it sits in the middle of the woods and marks the gravesite of the minister and his wife. It was erected in 1934.
This is the Reverend and his Lovely Bride. She died 10 years before he did. He was a wealthy man, according to local lore, and was no doubt courted by many blue-haired ladies with casseroles.
The Reverend Fuller. He fought the good fight, etc. etc. He died in 1944 and was 25 years the pastor of First Baptist Church.
This is Mrs. Fuller. She was the long time (long suffering) organist for the church. Her epitath is "She hath done what she could." Geeze!! How horrible is that?
This bench is constructed from the same stone as the enclosure and the wall. It sits a few feet from the graves. You can sit here and wonder at the greatness of God. Or Reverend Fuller. Whichever.
As I walked past the bench, I saw these keys on the ground. They had obviously been left there only days or hours before.
A little further down the path we saw this blanket in a tree. Hmmm....
We went back to the bench and began to scrounge around. Found a comb...
And her lipstick. By this time I was laughing too hard to properly focus the camera.
The piece de resistance: A yellow silk and lace thong. It too was lying in the immediate vicinity of the bench.
I couldn't resist. I left Cora's keys on the bench, with a note...
Dearest Cora,
Mine eyes hath seen they glory. Thy sins will find thee out. I pray thou change thine wayward ways.
- Reverend Fuller
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Annie Oddflower for showing me how to do this!
The trees are beautiful. Especially the dogwoods. The blossoms seem to float in the air.
The only structure in these acres is this enclosure. it sits in the middle of the woods and marks the gravesite of the minister and his wife. It was erected in 1934.
This is the Reverend and his Lovely Bride. She died 10 years before he did. He was a wealthy man, according to local lore, and was no doubt courted by many blue-haired ladies with casseroles.
The Reverend Fuller. He fought the good fight, etc. etc. He died in 1944 and was 25 years the pastor of First Baptist Church.
This is Mrs. Fuller. She was the long time (long suffering) organist for the church. Her epitath is "She hath done what she could." Geeze!! How horrible is that?
This bench is constructed from the same stone as the enclosure and the wall. It sits a few feet from the graves. You can sit here and wonder at the greatness of God. Or Reverend Fuller. Whichever.
As I walked past the bench, I saw these keys on the ground. They had obviously been left there only days or hours before.
A little further down the path we saw this blanket in a tree. Hmmm....
We went back to the bench and began to scrounge around. Found a comb...
And her lipstick. By this time I was laughing too hard to properly focus the camera.
The piece de resistance: A yellow silk and lace thong. It too was lying in the immediate vicinity of the bench.
I couldn't resist. I left Cora's keys on the bench, with a note...
Dearest Cora,
Mine eyes hath seen they glory. Thy sins will find thee out. I pray thou change thine wayward ways.
- Reverend Fuller
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Annie Oddflower for showing me how to do this!
Friday, April 15, 2005
100 Things, II
26. I love and adore all things Edward Gorey.
27. I would really like to be goth, but I am too old and not nearly skinny enough. Plus, most of the music really grates on my nerves. But other than that, I am there!
28. Jackson and I love to go browse through Hot Topic. The sales staff always seems to think we are narcs.
29. I am voting for Kinky Friedman for governor next year. Of course I am. (No big surprise there. Even the Republicans are willing to vote for a yellow dog over Governor Good Hair.)
30. I wanna be Molly Ivins when I grow up.
31. As responsible parents, Jackson and I provided Katie's first drug experience. We bought a mexican blanket at a garage sale. The seller was one of my probationers. When we got in the truck with the blanket, the stench of marijuana permeated the vehicle. Three blocks later, Katie - who had just wolfed an enormous pancake breakfast - said "I'm sooooo hungry! When are we gonna eat?"
32. The thumbnail on my right hand is split vertically down the middle. Half of it is regular nail and half is papery-thin and downright unreliable. This is because my brother chopped that nail off with the post-hole diggers when I was in the seventh grade. It never grew back right. We were digging a fox hole in the back yard. He with the diggers and I with a railroad spike.
33. My parents never griped at us for the plethora of five foot deep holes that we dug around the yard. For years.
34. I really liked the movie "Holes." I bet the book is even better!
35. I collect movie soundtracks. Two of my favorites are The Commitments and Last of the Mohicans.
36. I have a really big nose. Yet I can't sing even remotely like Barbra Streisand. What a rip off!
37. I have prehensile toes.
38. I blame all of the world's problems on dispensational premillennialists. I am not above scapegoating.
39. Dispensational premillennialist has a nice rythm to it. Its fun to say.
40. I hate the words tarpaulin and dollop. Make my skin crawl. Don't say them to me.
41. I really want a tatoo. I know what I want and where I want it. It wouldn't even bother me to have it when I get to the rest home. However, I can't stand to leave my furniture in the same spot for more than a month, so how can I live with a tatoo in the same spot for the rest of my life?
42. One of my granparents friends always calls me "Red" because of my hair. I call him "Grey".
43. Another of their friends calls me "Blondie". I call him "Baldy". My hair is somewhat schitzophrenic.
44. I hate most oil paintings. Seldom look twice at watercolor works. But I drool over paintings done with acrylics. I think this is because I always wanted to be a comic book artist.
45. I collect crappy madonnas. The virgin, not the singer. My favorite is actually a very pretty handcarved and handpainted one from Italy. Someone put a cigarette out in her eye and gave her a black eye. I call her the "Crisis Center Madonna".
46. I also collect gargoyles.
47. I am allergic to the color pink.
48. We started down a slippery slope to moral degredation and wanton violence when we quit letting kids play dodgeball in school. Every Friday kids used to beat the crap out of each other with stinging rubber balls in P.E. Some kids got hurt. Lots of kids got mad. But we all got the chance to take out our frustrations on each other. No school shootings when we played dodgeball. Nosirreebob.
49. I love to have honeybuns and Tab for breakfast.
50. Googling honeybuns is not necessarily a good idea.
27. I would really like to be goth, but I am too old and not nearly skinny enough. Plus, most of the music really grates on my nerves. But other than that, I am there!
28. Jackson and I love to go browse through Hot Topic. The sales staff always seems to think we are narcs.
29. I am voting for Kinky Friedman for governor next year. Of course I am. (No big surprise there. Even the Republicans are willing to vote for a yellow dog over Governor Good Hair.)
30. I wanna be Molly Ivins when I grow up.
31. As responsible parents, Jackson and I provided Katie's first drug experience. We bought a mexican blanket at a garage sale. The seller was one of my probationers. When we got in the truck with the blanket, the stench of marijuana permeated the vehicle. Three blocks later, Katie - who had just wolfed an enormous pancake breakfast - said "I'm sooooo hungry! When are we gonna eat?"
32. The thumbnail on my right hand is split vertically down the middle. Half of it is regular nail and half is papery-thin and downright unreliable. This is because my brother chopped that nail off with the post-hole diggers when I was in the seventh grade. It never grew back right. We were digging a fox hole in the back yard. He with the diggers and I with a railroad spike.
33. My parents never griped at us for the plethora of five foot deep holes that we dug around the yard. For years.
34. I really liked the movie "Holes." I bet the book is even better!
35. I collect movie soundtracks. Two of my favorites are The Commitments and Last of the Mohicans.
36. I have a really big nose. Yet I can't sing even remotely like Barbra Streisand. What a rip off!
37. I have prehensile toes.
38. I blame all of the world's problems on dispensational premillennialists. I am not above scapegoating.
39. Dispensational premillennialist has a nice rythm to it. Its fun to say.
40. I hate the words tarpaulin and dollop. Make my skin crawl. Don't say them to me.
41. I really want a tatoo. I know what I want and where I want it. It wouldn't even bother me to have it when I get to the rest home. However, I can't stand to leave my furniture in the same spot for more than a month, so how can I live with a tatoo in the same spot for the rest of my life?
42. One of my granparents friends always calls me "Red" because of my hair. I call him "Grey".
43. Another of their friends calls me "Blondie". I call him "Baldy". My hair is somewhat schitzophrenic.
44. I hate most oil paintings. Seldom look twice at watercolor works. But I drool over paintings done with acrylics. I think this is because I always wanted to be a comic book artist.
45. I collect crappy madonnas. The virgin, not the singer. My favorite is actually a very pretty handcarved and handpainted one from Italy. Someone put a cigarette out in her eye and gave her a black eye. I call her the "Crisis Center Madonna".
46. I also collect gargoyles.
47. I am allergic to the color pink.
48. We started down a slippery slope to moral degredation and wanton violence when we quit letting kids play dodgeball in school. Every Friday kids used to beat the crap out of each other with stinging rubber balls in P.E. Some kids got hurt. Lots of kids got mad. But we all got the chance to take out our frustrations on each other. No school shootings when we played dodgeball. Nosirreebob.
49. I love to have honeybuns and Tab for breakfast.
50. Googling honeybuns is not necessarily a good idea.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
100 Things
An exercise in narcissism:
1. I ride an elevator that provides a daily opportunity to renew my faith in life after death.
2. I have a hard time drawing things in correct proportion to one another.
3. I love and adore British comedy.
4. I was the year book editor in high school. Of course I was.
5. I got married on Halloween, six years ago.
6. I hate praise choruses. They never seem to finish a thought - just keep going in circles. My philosophy is that a praise chorus is to a hymn as a greeting card is to a sonnet.
7. When I come home from work my husband has dinner ready for me. Then he does the dishes. It has given me a skewed appreciation for the 1950's lifestyle. I will sooo miss this when he goes back to work.
8. I wore a tuxedo to the high school prom.
9. I wore a tuxedo and trench coat to get my driver's license renewed once. That was a great driver's license photo!
10. I graduated from college with a 4.0 GPA.
11. I still can't do fractions.
12. I also have trouble completing my time sheet at work in any sort of an accurate fashion.
13. My toenails are purple. So is my bathroom. Not lavender, not plum, not violet. By-God-Purple.
14. I still get stage-fright and carry a pen in my hand whenever I testify in court. I found that if I wind the pen through my fingers when I raise my hand to swear to tell the truth and don't make stuff up, then my hand doesn't shake. So far no one has asked why the hell I can't leave my pen on the table - you don't need it on the witness stand.
15. I am addicted to playing The Sims. Currently playing the Sims2. I am generally a benevolent Sims god, although I sometimes enjoy going Old Testament on their soddenly little lives. Bwaaahaaahaha!
16. I flunked out of dog obedience school once. The instructor said the dog was doing fine, that it was all my fault.
17. I had the same alarm clock from junior high until just a couple of months ago. Now I have discovered the joys of clock radio. Wow! Who knew?! Waking up to NPR is so much less stressful than BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP. Generally. This morning the alarm came on just as Toccata and Fugue in D minor started. They played pretty much the whole thing. (This is one of my favorites, being SpookyRach and all.) I didn't hear any of the report that went with this and it was somewhat disconcerting at 5:40 a.m.
18. I got my hair cut. It is shorter than I intended and somewhat reminiscent of the Nancy Drew do from the 1950's. I like it.
19. I love potatoes. In any form.
20. I can sympathize with Dan Quayle. I would have so screwed up that spelling thing the same way.
21. I really, really miss Murphy Brown.
22. I was always a dog person. 'Till I married Jackson. He likes cats. I have learned that cats are zero-maintenance pets compared to dogs. I will probably always have cats. And besides, none of my Dobermans ever slept on my toes. Although I did have one that would try to sleep on my chest. I get short of breath just remembering that.
23. I love, love, love camping.
24. My friends have started a camping club. Its called the Justice Squirrels. It is way hokey, and if my parents had tried making me do something like this I would have thought they were insanely uncool. Katie the Fabulous Stepkid is either not quite old enough to catch on to how nerdy this is or is either collecting material for future therapy and screenplays.
25. I am basically a slacker at heart.
I am 1/4 of the way done. As soon as I do the other 1/2, I'll post it!
1. I ride an elevator that provides a daily opportunity to renew my faith in life after death.
2. I have a hard time drawing things in correct proportion to one another.
3. I love and adore British comedy.
4. I was the year book editor in high school. Of course I was.
5. I got married on Halloween, six years ago.
6. I hate praise choruses. They never seem to finish a thought - just keep going in circles. My philosophy is that a praise chorus is to a hymn as a greeting card is to a sonnet.
7. When I come home from work my husband has dinner ready for me. Then he does the dishes. It has given me a skewed appreciation for the 1950's lifestyle. I will sooo miss this when he goes back to work.
8. I wore a tuxedo to the high school prom.
9. I wore a tuxedo and trench coat to get my driver's license renewed once. That was a great driver's license photo!
10. I graduated from college with a 4.0 GPA.
11. I still can't do fractions.
12. I also have trouble completing my time sheet at work in any sort of an accurate fashion.
13. My toenails are purple. So is my bathroom. Not lavender, not plum, not violet. By-God-Purple.
14. I still get stage-fright and carry a pen in my hand whenever I testify in court. I found that if I wind the pen through my fingers when I raise my hand to swear to tell the truth and don't make stuff up, then my hand doesn't shake. So far no one has asked why the hell I can't leave my pen on the table - you don't need it on the witness stand.
15. I am addicted to playing The Sims. Currently playing the Sims2. I am generally a benevolent Sims god, although I sometimes enjoy going Old Testament on their soddenly little lives. Bwaaahaaahaha!
16. I flunked out of dog obedience school once. The instructor said the dog was doing fine, that it was all my fault.
17. I had the same alarm clock from junior high until just a couple of months ago. Now I have discovered the joys of clock radio. Wow! Who knew?! Waking up to NPR is so much less stressful than BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP. Generally. This morning the alarm came on just as Toccata and Fugue in D minor started. They played pretty much the whole thing. (This is one of my favorites, being SpookyRach and all.) I didn't hear any of the report that went with this and it was somewhat disconcerting at 5:40 a.m.
18. I got my hair cut. It is shorter than I intended and somewhat reminiscent of the Nancy Drew do from the 1950's. I like it.
19. I love potatoes. In any form.
20. I can sympathize with Dan Quayle. I would have so screwed up that spelling thing the same way.
21. I really, really miss Murphy Brown.
22. I was always a dog person. 'Till I married Jackson. He likes cats. I have learned that cats are zero-maintenance pets compared to dogs. I will probably always have cats. And besides, none of my Dobermans ever slept on my toes. Although I did have one that would try to sleep on my chest. I get short of breath just remembering that.
23. I love, love, love camping.
24. My friends have started a camping club. Its called the Justice Squirrels. It is way hokey, and if my parents had tried making me do something like this I would have thought they were insanely uncool. Katie the Fabulous Stepkid is either not quite old enough to catch on to how nerdy this is or is either collecting material for future therapy and screenplays.
25. I am basically a slacker at heart.
I am 1/4 of the way done. As soon as I do the other 1/2, I'll post it!
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
One man's trash...
There has been much unwarrented speculation among my friends and family as to the origin of Carmelita.
Carmelita came to live with me some time in the early 1990's. She has graced my walls for nearly ten years thanks to a bet, of sorts, with a friend.
Janet and I debated amongst ourselves about who knew the ugliest cemetery. My contender was the cemetery in O'Donnell, Texas. When I was a kid and family members were being planted there right and left, I remember it as a sandy, weedy, wind-swept place. It was hot. And very, very dry.
One Saturday we packed lunch (and Gerald) and set off for O'Donnell. I have to admit I was disappointed.
Somewhere through the years the home town of Hoss Cartwright had developed enough civic pride to start a cemetery association. The graveyard was clean and apparently had been watered on a fairly regular basis. There was actual green grass.
We explored a bit and found the trash pile in a back corner. I saw something sitting atop a mound of rotting flowers. It was half of a large wooden cross. It was missing its right arm, which I found further down in the pile. The cross was obviously handmade and the inscription consisted of a single word - Carmelita. The bottom of the cross was caked with oily mud from where it had been ripped from the ground and tossed away.
Janet helped me load Carmelita into the car and we brought her home. She has presided over my house ever since. I've never know her to cause any mischief, but I think that's because she likes me. And she knows if the house ever catches fire, she will be the first thing I save on my way out the door.
One of these days I am going back to the O'Donnell Cemetery. Partly to pay respects to three generations of my family buried there and partly to look for Carmelita's grave. Hopefully hers is not one of the 74 un-marked graves.
Jackson's Apple Tree
We returned from wildflower infested East Texas to find this. Evidenly, Jackson's spindly little apple tree has decided against sterility. It didn't do a lot to help us feel better about living in a barren wasteland, but it helped some.
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