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Showing posts from 2012

Advent Calendars Activate!

Each Christmas as our son gets older, he outgrows some traditions. Gone are the days of writing letters to Santa and putting out milk and cookies on Christmas Eve. However, I was surprised this year that he still wanted an Advent calendar. After Thanksgiving, he insisted on picking out a calendar that would offer the best chocolate. Usually, his criteria are how large the calendar is and if the days are mixed up, making it more challenging to find the correct day, I suppose. Then December 1, he starts the countdown to Christmas, with a daily chocolate treat. He’ll sometimes make a comment on the shape of the candy, for instance “What does a mushroom have to do with Christmas?” I guess you’re never too old for chocolate! Whoever thought of the Advent calendar was very clever. This simple concept of counting the days until Christmas, partnered with a sweet treat taught our son patience.  For an early age, he didn’t complain that the days weren't flying by until Christmas. He actu

Running the good race

Navigating through trying to figure out my husband’s ailments is a struggle. With all the doctors’ visits, the waiting for appointments, thinking it’s been figured out but then finding us going back to the drawing board is frustrating. Sometimes it’s like I’m running in a marathon. In my mind’s eye, I can see the finish line just a few feet ahead of me. As I am about to cross it, the officials appear out of nowhere and grab the finish line and take off with it, moving it further along to where I can barely see the waving banner.  I stop in my tracks, sweat poring off of my brow, completely out of breath, I am utterly defeated. As I’m bent over, staring at my blistering feet, I see a brief glimpse of how far I have run.  I straighten up, trying to catch my breath. Some runners whiz past me, but some stop to point out the first aid station to get patched up. As I go to it, I’m met with cups of water on the side lines. As I drink down the refreshment, I quit hearing my heartbeat thu

In memory of Larry Hagman

The news of the death of Larry Hagman on Friday included remembrances of his past work, such as I Dream of Jeannie and Dallas. Personally, I didn’t watch these shows and they aren’t the first things that come to mind. There was one memory of Larry Hagman I have and it still resides with me to this day. Years ago, I had seen him in an interview where he was describing advice his psychiatrist had given him “Don’t worry, be happy.”  This advice was life changing to Mr Hagman. He immediately took these words to heart and it became his motto. However, just hearing the words wasn't enough for him. He wanted to share this message with everyone. He made a large sign proclaiming these words. He added Feel Good and displayed it outside of his Malibu house at the time.   I don’t know what it was about this simple message, but it stuck with me.  Even to this day, if I notice I’m feeling the blahs, I think of these words and I actually do start to feel good and happy (I’m still working on

Bob Ross in a different light

I have always admired painters.   I myself am horrible at it. Perhaps I don’t have the painter’s vision to draw something that will resemble anything.   I prefer the minimalist approach—I can paint a slash of green on the page, believe it is minimalist and call it good! A few days ago, I was looking at a painting that my husband’s Aunt Dorothy created. It’s a humble barn in the middle of a green field with a royal blue sky background. I am glad to have a tangible memory of her. I remembered before she got ill, she would sit and paint while watching the show Bob Ross The Joy of Painting on PBS. She would laugh when he would say things like “ You know me,I’ve gotta put in a big tree”   Sometimes, she would talk back to him on the television, agreeing with him that a happy cloud needs to be added. I found this all confusing—Dorothy always struck me as a strong, pragmatic, full of spit and vinegar, no-nonsense woman. I found Bob Ross to be an odd fellow, to say the least!

Driving without the radio

I am an incurable multi-tasker. One way I found to multi-task was listening to books on CD while I drove. It was very enjoyable, since listening to a book on CD is very different than reading the words on the page. The reader makes a huge difference. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was a compelling novel, but SimonVance ’ s strong and distinguished voice made the story resonate within me. By listening to books on CD in my travels, I was able to absorb more books than I could by reading them. I felt I was accomplishing more than just getting from point A to point B, though my safety in driving was never affected. You will notice as I speak about this, I am using the past tense. This is why. A few weeks ago, I was listening to an audio CD in my car that was Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter , which coincidentally is in itself multi-tasking. The book combines historical data with whimsy, sort of like 2 books for the price of one. When the CD ended, I tried to eject it, but it wouldn’t

Onions on the highway

In the last days of Summer, when Autumn breezes are visiting the mornings, is when harvesting is at its peak. I love to see the fields changing from plain dirt to a lush green blanket or tall, amber stocks. This journey of harvesting is very new to me. Before moving to Middleton, I was raised in the seaside city of Santa Monica and then moved to the arid desert of Las Vegas. Neither one of these cities offer much opportunity to actually see the humble beginnings of vegetables. My first year in Middleton during Autumn, as I drove to work with the windows down, I became aware of a piercing aroma in the morning air. I went through a mental checklist to identify this and the closest I could come up with was cooking onions in a meatless stew. What?? I was nowhere near a restaurant and couldn't imagine someone’s private kitchen would be emitting this heavy but delicious aroma. As I drove further down the road, I saw scattered along the side of the highway onions.  Some still we

Thoughts on Gore Vidal

Last week in the news was the passing of author Gore Vidal . I have never read any of his works, but knew of him from interviews and documentaries. When I was a girl, I remembered him on the Dick Cavett Show in a tweed jacket, speaking in a deep and somber tone of complicated issues that my young brain couldn’t comprehend.  It added to his mystique. When I got older, my opinion was his appearance on a show added validity to the topic; he seemed to have such a self assured air about him. Also, I always liked the way his name sounded—Gore Vidal had an intellectual ring to it.  Recently, I read an article and one of the take aways was Vidal was upset most of his professional life by the fact that he wasn’t as commercially well known as Norman Mailer nor Truman Capote and felt overshadowed by them.  My head snapped up—I was amazed that his brilliant man was actually jealous of other writers! What a wasted energy jealousy is—here was Vidal a renowned and thought-provoking author plagued

The pampered moose?

Pamplemousse. What a strange word. It has been tucked away in the recesses of my mind since I first saw it as a child years ago on vacation in Las Vegas. My parents and I were walking through Circus Circus after visiting their Midway. Circus Circus was one of the first on the Las Vegas Strip to recognize that not only adults over 21 go to Las Vegas--they also have children.  This hotel/casino provided carnival games for the kids to win stuffed animals. At the same time, their parents play in the casino, where they could try to win their kid’s college tuition.   I remember the inside of this hotel/casino was a gigantic explosion of the color pink. Every shade of it was on the walls, the carpeting, the staff’s uniforms; even the interior lighting had a hue of pink.  At the time, as my young vision was being saturated with this rosiness, I happened to notice a gentle glowing sign (in pink light bulbs, of course) on the wall—it read Pamplemousse le Restaurant . It struck me as a weird name

What is your favorite TV show?

My new favorite TV show is Chopped on Food Network .  From the moment I started watching it, I became a fast fan.  This show took a tried and true concept of a cooking competition and threw in a twist. The four competing chefs have to incorporate in their dishes the secret ingredients that are concealed in a basket. Then they are timed to create a dish for the judges. If the food doesn’t hit on all cylinders of the criteria of taste, creativity and presentation, the chef is eliminated, hence the name of the show “chopped”. I gravitate to shows that the more I watch, the more I became aware of its different aspects. The first layer of this show I was intrigued by with the unusual ingredient combos—who thinks of pairing frozen waffles with fish? I’ve heard of fried chicken and waffles, so maybe…? Then, I am amazed that the chefs change the texture of the waffle by simply grinding it up to crumbs to make a coating for the fish. Honestly, to figure that out would take me all day! By watchi

The furry sharks

The time piece in the living room read 5:00 in the afternoon. Sunlight broke through the blinds and spilled onto the carpet. At that precise moment, the animals began to hover around the kitchen. They all knew it was their dinner time by their internal clocks. “Hungry, so hungry,” Stanley groaned. He was lying on the kitchen floor on his side in front of the stove. “I wonder what’s on the menu tonight?” Pepper pondered, licking her mouth, as her teeth gleamed in almost a smile. “I really liked yesterday’s supper,” Mimosa commented, stretching his back, his tail quivering. “Tuna and egg, my favorite!” “Mine was some sort of beef stew, but the tuna and egg was good as a dessert,” Pepper chimed in. Very quietly, Stanley let out a soft groan, covering his eyes with his paw. “Yes, the minute Stan and I leave our food, there you are to clean up!” Mimosa gave the dog a sideway look. “But I always make sure you are completely finished,” Pepper offered as her defense, slinking away from the cat

The accents have it

I have noticed that the majority of shows dealing with advise and overhauls (for example Tabitha’s Salon Takeover , Super Nanny and Kitchen Nightmares ) are all hosted by people with accents other than American. In my opinion, we Americans are very tolerant of criticisms if these words are flavored with an accent. Could it be that we are mesmerized by the foreign twist of phrases? That these hard truths are easier to take in when someone overseas is making the observations? Or is it that their foreign accents are so fascinating that we really don’t hear what they are saying? We love the fact that they are rolling their R’s, all the while ignoring that the words they are hurling at us are” r-r-raging ignor-r-r-amous??” I am basing this opinion on my own experience. Here in Idaho, I completely blend in with my California accent. However, when I was 14 and visited my family in Scotland, I was a rock star! When I was out shopping with my cousins, the minute I opened my mouth, everyone in

A fly on the morning windshield

A few days ago I was slowly pulling out of my garage on my way to work. My mind was filled with plans for the day—the best route to drive to work, what would be waiting for me when I got to the office and so forth. The morning sun glistened on the windshield. As it did, I happened to notice a small fly sitting on the windshield.  I figured when I gained speed, the fly would naturally take off on its own path. However, this little insect didn’t fly away as expected. Instead, its delicate feet clung to the sheer glass steadfastly. Okay, I thought, I’m only going 25 miles an hour through the subdivision. But soon, I’ll get on the main road and the speed will grow to 35 miles an hour then to 50. By then my little traveller won’t be able to fight the wind shear anymore and buzz away. I was surprised again—no matter how much the car built up speed, the little bug continued to hold on. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw its fine threadlike legs quiver ever so slightly, but maintain its balanc

12 Minutes

My husband, who is a big science fiction fan, wrote this short story, I only did a bit of editing. Enjoy! “They're gaining on us,” the soft synthesized voice said. “How long do we have, Katie?” asked the pilot. “At their current rate of speed, I estimate we have 12 minutes to intercept,” replied the voice in a reassuring tone. “12 minutes,” thought the pilot. As his mind began to race, he looked down at the velocity indicator needle already beginning to dip into the red zone. “There's no way I'll make it back at this speed! I need at least 20 minutes to get in range of the base leader.” “10 minutes, 51 seconds,” the quiet voice said, snapping him back to reality. “Do you want me to start scrolling up the combat computer?” “How many of them are there?” asked the pilot. His attention was focused on guiding the recon ship back to the base. Afterwards, there would be plenty of time to vent his panic. The soft voice fell silent for a moment. “Typical,” thought the pilot. Katie

Greetings Feline Blanca!

When I was in grade school about the 4 th grade, I remember a girl in my class had an electric blue eraser. It even had its own small plastic case that had a cut out cloud and a white cat with an oval head in an airplane. I had never seen anything like this. I was accustomed to the drab, putty colored eraser, or the angular Pink Pearl. I asked to see it. When it was up close, I saw the words “Hello Kitty high up in the sky”.  I noticed a bubble gum aroma coming from this eraser. This was the moment I was introduced to the land of wonderful world of Sanrio . Throughout that year, my parents purchased for me many different scented erasers. Hello Kitty was the most proficient, but there were other characters—My Melody a white bunny with a pink hat covering its round ears, Tiny Poem was represented by a Raggedy Ann/ Holly Hobby clone and an obedient lamb. Just seeing these characters made me wonder about their back stories.  I do believe this was the exact moment that I became fanatical

Where have I been?

In the past few weeks, I have retreated into myself, letting the mist of quiet sadness drape over me.  I was only finding solace in finding more things to worry me. I was neglectful to my writing, but now, I’m starting to shake off the haze of sorrow. I’m able to apply the rule write what you know. Here I sit, putting down on the electronic page what I have been experiencing. My husband’s health issues have caused this downward shift in my disposition. It started out innocently enough—a few months back, he was having soreness in his right elbow. Then over the course of weeks, the dull ache graduated to searing agony that had spread throughout his whole right arm, shoulder and back of his head.  Some mornings, he woke up with his right arm twitching uncontrollably. Also, he would be prone to dizzy spells. Seeing someone you love in pain and not being able to do anything about it is torture, pure and simple. His groans would twist my stomach into knots.  My tears were always in quick su

In remembrance of Linda

Last week I lit a candle for my mother in law, who passed away after suffering through a few different illnesses.  I am grateful we went to visit her last month when she was coherent and we were able to talk with her. Because of that trip, we prepared ourselves for the permanent farewell.  I had one co- worker who would constantly complain about her mother in law on a daily basis. Fortunately, I couldn’t relate. I consider myself lucky since I got along with my mother in law. From the beginning, she made me feel welcome in her family. She made my wedding bouquet out of silk flowers, which I still have to this day. When I was pregnant with my son, she referred to me carrying “precious cargo” and was there when I started to go into labor.  Also, as an added bonus, she would always take my side if I had a disagreement with my husband, who happened to be her son. Towards the end, she was in a lot of pain from all of her health issues. That part of the visit was hurtful to us all. However,

Roll with it!

A couple of weeks ago, I participated in Bowling for Kids' Sake , a charity event benefiting Big Brothers and Big Sisters. It was a blast bowling with my team in a fun competitive setting.  As I played, I was struck how certain aspects of bowling can be an analogy of life. For instance, in the game, you are constantly adjusting to the changes of the lanes. Other people throw their bowling balls differently, making the oil on the lanes move around.  Consequently, even when you throw your ball, you are also contributing to the changing lane conditions. Even when you become annoyed that your ball isn’t performing exactly the way it was a frame ago, you don’t stop playing. You move your spot, you bowl with your plastic ball instead of your reactive resin -- in other words, you adjust. Another characteristic in bowling is each frame can be a game changer.   You find the perfect spot to throw your ball and knock down all the pins. Then just as suddenly, you can throw a gutter ball. Howev

What do you mean a doll?!

Sometimes a memory hits me with full force that I experience the initial feelings of that time. Then when these raw emotions subside, a clearer perspective takes over. For instance, I remembered a visit to my husband’s great aunt in the hospital over a decade ago. Dorothy was the matriarch of his family--it didn’t matter she was not a mom herself. She was a woman with good old common sense, who didn’t mince words and you always knew where you stood with her.    My mother-in- law and husband were with me on this visit. At this time, I happened to be 6 months pregnant with our son. This period of the pregnancy was spectacular—I was well over the morning sickness and my tummy was protruding out with the unmistakable bulge.   Whenever I entered a room, I was the complete center of attention. Seats were always offered to me, cooing admirers would materialize out of nowhere, gushing out congratulations.  To be perfectly honest, I was really starting to get used to this attention! As

Avalanche Appreciation

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a waiting room, where a TV played tranquil nature scenes. Flowing images of springtime meadows filled with colorful wildflowers and classical music playing in the background.  Next on the loop was a babbling brook, cobblestones being washed by the sparkling stream. After watching it for a few minutes, I found myself settling into a peaceful state of mind. Suddenly, the scene changed to a wintry avalanche. My relaxation was jarred and I stared in disbelief at the screen. Why would the makers of this video choose such a destructive element to be nestled into these comforting scenes of nature? What would be next—a dazzling volcano? The dancing waters of a tsunami? As I puzzled over this scene, I recognized the accompanying music. It was from the Overture from the opera Carmen . Hearing it reminded me of my grade school class of Music Appreciation, my least favorite.   I didn’t care for the teacher, nor did I like any of the boring, dull classical mu

In memory of Whitney

Last night, I turned on Headline News. As I watched the program, the news scroll below caught my eye. It read “Houston sold over 170 million albums….”  I recognized it was referring to Whitney Houston. I thought this was an odd news item. Why would they mention this fact about Whitney Houston? Didn’t everyone know she sold countless albums with her powerful voice? Then I saw in the caption before it “Breaking news.”  Immediately, I felt my stomach sink, preparing for some bad news. Sure enough, the next line appeared “Whitney Houston found dead in Beverly Hilton Hotel room, she was 48 years old.” As I watched the newscast, I felt very sorry for the family she left behind, especially her daughter. I found this news unbelievable and unreal, no matter how many glamorous images of Whitney in happier days appeared on the screen and the anchor man’s voice giving the up to the minute details.  As they played clips of her songs, I realized how her songs were like the soundtrack of my h

As soon as the snow melts

Last week my son was so upset with the local meteorologists. They had foretold that a couple of weeks ago there could possibly be a snow storm that would mean schools would be closed in the Treasure Valley. The snow storm did arrive on Wednesday morning, but the timing was off. They had predicted the snow would arrive extremely early morning. Even though it was “storming chainsaws” (my son’s creative description of the 5 inches of snow that piled up in a matter of a couple of hours) a snow day wasn’t declared since it didn’t start until AFTER the kids were in school. When he came home that day, he asked quite indignantly why bother listening to the weather reports?  I rarely watched the weather reports until we moved to Idaho. When we lived in Las Vegas, it was either hot or cold. We only changed our windshield wipers when the sun dried them out to shreds. Here in Idaho, there is actual change in seasons. To be prepared, I started watching the weather reports religiously.  Gr

Negative energy in pages

Have you read a book that affected you? I remember a few years back a co-worker had this glossy book at her desk. I looked at its cover, which I found curious. It depicted a calming beach scene with a shark fin prominently in the ocean distance. The novelty of this book was it contained sayings that at first appear positive, for instance “If at first you don’t succeed…” and end it with negative words “…don’t waste your energy trying again.” As I flipped through the pages, I found the sayings amusing, clever and stinging. She let me borrow it so I could read it cover to cover. When I took it home and read a few pages, I began to feel an emotionally heaviness fall upon me. Generally speaking, I see myself as an optimist—I try not to let too many things get me down. However,  after reading a few pages of this book, a dark cloud of depression loomed over me. I decided to quit reading the book—it wasn’t like I was under any obligation to finish it! The very next day, I gladly

What I did New Year's

A couple of weeks ago, I threw my back out. The sad part is, I wasn't doing something very strenuous. It happened when I was putting my socks on. To put this in perspective and save myself embarrassment,  I’ve always had lower back troubles my adult life. A few years ago, I decided to do something about it, and I went into physical therapy. I was given therapeutic exercises to strengthen my core. For a while, I was religious about taking a few minutes a day to perform them. Silly me, I forgot the reason I was feeling so good was completely due to these daily exercises!  Then, over the holidays, my body rebelled and my back locked up, painfully reminding me what I did wrong.  It’s terrible when your body won’t respond and in constant pain. These past two weeks, I’ve had to completely modify my usual routine in order to heal. Even a simple task like getting a glass of water was a torturous ordeal. It’s times like these when you really appreciate your family. My husband was terr