October 29, 2009
Anywho. Los muertos. Today was the annual Ghosts of the Past assembly at GGMS, and you had your usual suspects: Einstein, Galileo, Lewis and Clark AND Sacagawea, and, of course, Maria Montessori. Then there are always a few wild cards – sports figures I’m not familiar with, random inventors, and the odd musician (this year, we had Elvis, Johnny Cash, and a very nervous Michael Jackson. Sweet angel.). It’s quite a thing to see, I have to say.
After previously reincarnating my great aunt Ruthie, Rosie the Riveter, and Lady Bird Johnson, Peach made the next most logical choice for this year – John Muir. Of course. Not that she was the only transgender ghost, but she was certainly the only one with a giant Billy Gibbons beard. She handled it well, and I’m just sure everyone in that muggy auditorium was inspired, educated, and entertained by her portrayal.
What else? Well, in the next three days I have to prepare for, endure, and clean up after a neighborhood potluck I had the big idea of throwing at our house on Friday, the Great Halloween Extravaganza of 2009 on Saturday, and T-Bone’s Big 4-0 on Sunday, which mostly just involves dinner that night because he’s got Big Plans with The Boyz for the next weekend, which include AC/DC and Mojo Nixon and not ME. Which is good because I think I feel something coming on (NOT FLOOO! NOT FLOOO!).
October 27, 2009
October 25, 2009
Those ain't twigs either. Big-a-round as your thumb.
Lucky me, though. The neighbor urchin across the street entertained me for several hours with a recorder "concert" while she jumped on her trampoline, her little Bad Seed head bobbing up and down behind the fence as she screeched. Lovely.
October 21, 2009
Then, when Peach was in her first year at GGMS, she found the first book in the school library and recognized it as “that book that Mommy always says we’re going to read together,” so she scooped it up and finished it in two days. Without me. After that, it was game on, and she blew through the rest of them in a matter of weeks. Without me.
The good thing about waiting as long as we did to even start the series was we never had to endure the agonizing wait between books – Peach just went one to the next, right through to The End. However, she read them SO fast that I, her weary mother, am still on Book 5, and she so wants me to finish that she can barely contain herself and keep from spoiling anything. Still, I’m lucky that I have such a wise and enthusiastic guide because that’s a fat lot of characters to keep up with. I’ve been reading the series aloud since Book 2, usually during bath time, so both Peach and Olive have been tutoring me in all things Hogwarts and just think it’s hysterical that I can’t get it all straight in my feeble Muggle mind. And as for the movies, once we determined that they weren’t tooooo scary (because, let’s face it, they kinda are), we’ve screened them all at home, with the exception of the latest release, which we ventured out to see on my birthday.
All this to say, I love these books* and these characters so much, I wish they could continue on forever. And live next door to me. And while I bit the bullet and saw the Book 6 movie before reading the book, I was still surprised by The Big Event therein because while I already knew it was coming (thanks to some a-hole DJ who blurted it out as I was flipping by his station one day), I assumed it was coming in Book 7. So I cried anyway and was in no way disappointed in the semi-lack of surprise – other than that The Big Event had to happen at all. Sniff.
And so it was that this morning, Mama Turista, the most ferocious of all readers, called me in tears on her way to jury duty. She just finished Book 6 in the wee hours last night, and I had to put Peach on the phone to talk her down.
* OK, J.K., I just have one criticism. Sometimes, your wonderfully imaginative descriptions tend to run on and on and on – all in one sentence. Which is difficult to follow if a: you’re dumb, like me, and can’t keep it all straight; and/or b: you’re trying to read aloud and not pass out in the middle of a most-critical Quidditch play or self-aggrandizing monologue by You-Know-Who. Just sayin’.
October 7, 2009
Sweet, right? But it needs some attention, mainly of the German glass glitter variety. Big plans.
And I have lusted after this woman’s jewelry for several shows, and I finally found The Piece that spoke to me the loudest:
It’s called “Upward - the best place to look for guidance.” She displays everything on old photographs and then puts the name and what items she used on the back. Mine includes a crucifix from a Victorian rosary, for which I bent my no-rosaries-as-jewelry edict because it was just the cross after all. I wish she had a website to share, but I did find this. I predict more purchases in my future.
I also bought Peach a long-desired GIANT electric red petticoat, which I would photograph for you if she weren’t twirling around in it (again) as we speak. The search continues for a smaller one for Olive – all they had was pink, and I’m pretty sure we’ve got that covered.
So there I was, having a very successful solo outing Saturday morning, as the rest of my crew (wisely) hit the road before the impending deluge we all knew was coming. I was armed with my umbrella and mucky shoes, ready for the rain. And I made it through eight or so tents, no worse for wear, in about two hours. I’m fast like that. It was all going swimmingly, until … until. I got back to the car and couldn’t, for the life of me, find the GD key.
When I tell you I am anal retentive about losing, well, ANYthing, I’m talking Outer-Limits Loca, y’all. I’m still lamenting a baby sock of Peach’s that T-Bone lost at the laundromat almost 10 years ago. (It’s yellow, if you see it). So to say that I have ever, EVER, lost my keys, in 25 years of driving? Never even “misplaced” those sumbitches.
After frantically searching my bag (which only had four things in it to start with – sunglasses, wallet, lip balm, and car ke… shit), my pockets, and the surrounding area, it hit me. In my uber-preparedness, that of donning my mucky shoes as I sat in the back cargo area, I must have locked the car, set the key down to change, and left it there when I shut the hatch. I think. Right?
Fortunately, I was parked in the front row, right across from a gaggle of local gents who collect the parking/ticket fees. Included in the group was a local sheriff’s deputy, who I approached about a “tool for unlocking cars,” thinking it wise not to ask for a “Slim Jim,” lest I sound too “street.” Seriously. That’s the kind of shit I think about. Fast forward 90 minutes, during which time I’ve called T-Bone 17 times and become close personal friends with every member of The Gaggle (“I sure wish I could help you, darlin’. If your husband gives you any trouble about this, lemme talk to him.” As if.), and two more deputies show up – on horseback, of course - with “the unlock tools.” After a few kisses for the Appaloosa I was holding on to, they got it open, and all three of them converged on the car, looking for that GD key. Which, by this point, I had decided was in fact NOT in the car, but lost somewhere amongst the rows and rows of pretties I had spent two hours wandering through. And indeed, I was right. No GD key in the car.
They suggested I try the Lost and Found in the show office, but really, what was the point? That key was literally like a needle in the haystack because guess what they put all over the ground in the tents? And add more of when the first layer gets muddy because of all the rain? Yup. NOT needles.
But because I had about two hours to kill before T-Bone and las ninas could get there, and because it was across from the café tent where I intended to drown my sorrows in a basket of fried potato, I stopped by the show office. And as I was going in, an official-looking woman with a walkie-talkie was coming out, and she asked if I needed help. I said, “Well, I’ve lost my car key, and did any…” And she said, “Was it for a Kia?” And had it IN HER HAND. I almost started crying.
It’s all a blur now, but I just keep saying thank you and she kept saying it was her pleasure and something about she had just gotten it or something, meaning, even if I had gone straight there two hours earlier, the GD key wouldn’t have even been there yet. I think I hugged her, too. Not sure. Anyway, I galloped off, and when I got back to the top of the stairs leading down to the parking lot, I just stopped and held up the key. And The Gaggle erupted in cheers. Thanks and hugs all around, and I got the hell outta there.
And after all that excitement, imagine my delight when I woke up Sunday morning only to discover that I have The Strep Throat. Actually, I didn’t know it was The Strep Throat at first because I’ve never had it before, and I thought I was probably reacting to the flu shot I got on Friday. But by Monday, when my main symptom was that it felt like someone was shoving their fist down my throat every time I tried to swallow, and their fist was on fire and shooting needles into my neck, I decided to call in the professionals. The rapid test said “way positive,” so I’ve been on antibiotics ever since. No longer contagious, but you may want to wash your hands after reading this. And maybe I should have told you that to begin with.
October 1, 2009
As per usual, we started the day with a tiny heart-shaped chocolate cake in bed, then moved to birthday cards and a boot-shaped gift bag I threw in while ordering party favors for next weekend’s Cowgirl Extravaganza 2009. The bag came pre-packed with a few treasures, and I added some extra horses and cupcake lip gloss to the mix. I’m sure you’ll agree with Olive, as I did, when she pronounced this particular item “so creepy:”
We hauled Birthday Circle Treats to school and will have a celebratory dinner of veggie corndogs later. We’ll follow that with another cake, presents, and the Annual Treasure Hunt, at the end of which will be Olive’s own personal music player, loaded with the same 60s Dance Party tunes and Christmas carols as Peach’s. I mean, how cute is this thing?
So overall, a pretty awesome day, one that I know Olive will really enjoy. Thank Jeebus. After refusing to turn five last year, until I tempted her with riding lessons that you have to be six to take, she has talked of nothing else these past 12 months – so now I have to “pony up” (whaa, whaa) on my promise. We’re starting with four lessons, and we’ll see where it goes from there. Me and my big ideas.
Happy Happy Birthday My Love!