u has my nomz

30 07 2010

Day 1 of vacay. Delightful deck time. And yes, I held Leeloo’s bone to get her to look my way. And no, I have no shame- she’s plenty catered to, thank ya vurrry mush.

95% done packing for upcoming uber yogi week. 99% sure there are too many of X clothes in my bag, and too little of Y clothes.

Sad side note: Mr. Geauxgirl just read to me from the paper that firefly populations are down worldwide.

Thank heavens the ones in our yard can’t read.

Until next time: Peace, Love, and Fireflies…





guilty as charged

30 07 2010

I’m a big nutty nut.

Every. Single. Line. (!) = True. (except one. You have to guess which one though.)

Nutty, indeed. But we knew that already.

(But I still swear I’m just a beginner.)

Speaking of which, I’m off to study with some wicked smaht yoga masters for a week— see all y’all later…

Swaha!





un-press the pause button, it’s on again

29 07 2010

Press play.

Less going on than usual, but still lots on my mind. Expected this week to be horrible, as it’s the One-Year-Later, and it is, but it’s also not. Horrible, that is.

Let’s see…

  • One year ago today, we were having Craig’s BBQ. Her choice. 🙂 It was a great day.
  • Two days later would be the day we loaded her into the ambulance, and after that she was unable to communicate. Two more weeks would pass and were making this very decision.
  • Back to the present: Last week, I went to the global company meeting-marathon to get a dose of much needed Kool-Aid. (I really do like this thing, I’m merely being tongue-in-cheek with my snark.) The minute I left town, the attorney finally sent over the estate closing docs. And I couldn’t do a damned thing about it until I got back this week.
  • So now that I’m back in town, I sat down with the docs. Two days ago, I signed the last papers for closing out mother’s estate. It hasn’t rained in forever, but that day– it rained like hell. And then… a rainbow. I haven’t seen one in I can’t REMEMBER how long. Go figure.
  • About that conference? It’s the same one that I missed last year– and the irony of the attorney’s timing with sending the docs is that the minute I got on the road to go to it last year, I ended up heading west instead, and staying for 6 weeks straight. (With that not-so-happy ending for mother.) So going this year, was like unpressing that pause button.

Next week? Going to study with a couple of fantabulous yoga masters for a week long intensive. And get this: Day 1 of travel is the exact one year later of when she went into the hospital for her final stay.

With the way the timing has been lately, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if the courts post those final estate docs exactly one year to the day of her passing.

Maybe the Pause button makes it appearance again over the next couple of weeks. (Especially through the 14th.) But good to know the Pause & Play button are one and the same.

Yep, I’ll keep pressing the button. Pause, Play, or Clear, either way. Eventually I’ll end up on Play.

Keep pressing.





confuddled

15 07 2010

Um, really???

Sure hope those bugs have a Swedish passport, ’cause maybe it’s CRAYfish season in Sweden, but CRAWfish season was over in early June here. And frankly even that was pushin’ it.

Hell, I ain’t skeered. (ok, maybe a little.)





blech

14 07 2010

A year ago tomorrow, I found out mother had some kind of cancer, only she wouldn’t tell me what kind.

She also wouldn’t allow her docs to talk to me at the time.

I was in France.

It was my birthday.

Not sure how I’m going to feel about that tomorrow.

I’ve been somewhat reliving bits & pieces from last year already. I’m sure from tomorrow on through 8/14, I’m really going to be *in* it. So do bear with me if I get a little maudlin.

I’ll also try to find the good bits too. Because believe it or not, there were aplenty.

But for today, the good bit is, I got to BE there.

And what a privilege.





psychic heebie jeebies

9 07 2010

I distinctly had 3 people on my mind yesterday. They kept popping up all day.  Wait, scratch that– they were so persistently coming to mind that they were practically BUTTING IN. 

Every time I’d go to call, my phone would ring, so I managed to only leave one of the three a voicemail yesterday, figuring I’d catch up with them today somehow instead.

Wanna know what was up with those 3 yesterday?

  • One had a heart scare and ended up spending last night in the hospital. (She’s OK now, on her way back home.)
  • One was trying to reach me to tell me her ex-hubby (who she and her new hubby are still close friends with him and his new bride – they divorced something like 20 yrs ago, he’ll always be a “cousin” to me) has been diagnosed with a particularly crap-tastic form of cancer. (I swear it’s the same one my hubby’s mother lost her battle with 16 yrs ago.)
  • And the last one was having a birthday yesterday, unbeknownst to me. (sneaky sneaky, you can’t hide from me forever!) 

Um, wowsa.

So I might not be able to receive cell calls all that well at the house, but apparently the psychic receiver is at least better than smoke signals.

Let’s just hope my psychic broadcaster is working too, ’cause that cell signal still sucks asphalt through a straw.





ice cream utopia, in my dreams anyway

8 07 2010

There’s been much chatter on an email distribution list that I”m on lately, about local food, and such. One day was a plethora of emails expounding the virtues of ducks and duck fat.

Confession: Duck fat is crack. And yes, I swoon just thinking of it.

So check this out– I’m stealing adopting a quote:

“I often feel caught and suspended, between two worlds. One side is drawn to the decadence of haute cuisine, the indulgence in sumptuous traditions of foie gras and duck fat; while my other half is pulled towards clean, healthy, spare-the-animal, super food love.”

Um, yup.

Said quote was penned by She Who Invented The Ice Cream of My Dreams at Vosges. She has a blog too– go figure. (Plus the link is now on my blogroll.)

Forget the ducks, let’s get back to that Curry & Coconut devine bliss of an ice cream for a moment….

….. *sigh* …..

By the way, my other two favorite ice creams are Lavender. And Green Tea. No not at the same time, but maybe that’s not a bad idea. OH, and the FIG and BALSAMIC gelatto’s. That was swoon worthy too.

What’s odd to me is that I frankly never cared much for ice cream. Didn’t hate it or anything. Just kinda… meh. Whatever.

Even Ben & Jerry, while lovely, is still really just rehashing a too narrow palate for my tastes: Chocolate. Vanilla. Strawberry (or other child-friendly fruit, like say, oh: raspberry. *gasp*). 

Bor-ing. What are we, four?

Granted, you might run into the occasional Coffee, or some wacky eccentric might sneak some Pistachio in the bunch.  I wandered the aisles recently, and out of the 100 varieties, it seems ALL are some semblance of one of those 4 main flavors. Cram some jimmies or brownies or various other chunkage into it, and it’s still really right back where you were with the main 4. You can’t even get the Pumpkin ice cream but for about a week in November, and only if you happen to find a) the one Cold Stone that has it and b) who isn’t already sold out.

Surely I can’t be the only one bored with the 4. So what gives?

  • are our tastebuds lazy?
  • do we just not know what we’re missing?
  • are people too scared to try something other than A B C or D?
  • are the marketing guys petrified to offer anything unusual for fear it might not hit the sales figures for the quarter?

Gee. I guess I do like ice cream afterall. I suppose I’ve gotta figure out how to make some so I can get my lavender & coco-curry or the next undescovered delight.

Dang it, I really only wanted one scoop. (OK, maybe two if it’s coco-curry.)





she might LOOK cute…

6 07 2010

… OK, downright damned adorable, dammit.

But she ‘s being a nudge. She ain’t no Australian Cattle Dog, she’s a chicken dawg.

God forbid someone tees off. Oh, gee, 200 or so yards away.

I oughta push her fuzzy (and today very farty) butt away, but dammit, who can resist that face?

With as many dog pics that find their way out here, God help us if birth control ever fails and we end up with humanoid progeny. Oye.





yeah, because I’m the weird one….

2 07 2010

 

One of my Crazy Cousins on my momma’s dad’s side  (let’s call this one Crazy Cousin. As in the Original. Hey! We’ll call her OCC!), sent me an image of an obituary from one of my mom’s mother’s crazy sisters. Well, Mema’s other sister was quite a demure lady. This particular one was hell on wheels. In the best way possible. We’ll call her Great-Go-To-Hell-Hat-Aunt, or G2H. The fourth sibling was the baby brother – Great Uncle Army Colonel man. Funny, but an over achiever. (Stories for another day.)

Still with me?

It sparked some memories– what’s funny to me, is that somehow it’s ME that’s the weird one?

Some things I shared with O.C.C.:

Aunt G2H was a hoot. You may not have ever met her but a handful of times, but I bet you probably remember Uncle Colonel (Mema’s baby brother)—he’d come visit mother every now and then, and go fishing on the farm. The point of telling you that is: Aunt G2H looked remarkably like Uncle Colonel in a dress.

Aunt G2H’s self-appointed job was to go to the public courts every day. Every. Day. Her mission was to make sure that people with public defenders were getting a fair shake. I’m sure she was hell on wheels about THAT.

One memory: Mema and I went to Indiana to visit her when I was about 6. Wintertime. Snow everywhere. Very proud of my orange parka with blue stripes around the arms (oye vey– circa 1978, gimme a break), but was still freezing my tail off. Farrell’s Ice Cream was pretty popular in most malls at about that time—we ended up there for lunch one day on the visit, and the servers come around the corner, banging a humongous marching band bass drum, singing Happy Birthday to someone named Tiffany, some weird ice cream conglomeration with a candle, the whole works. Well lo and behold if they didn’t end up right at our table, directing all that right at me. Meanwhile Aunt G2H is doing her best to act surprised (Yeah RIGHT), and Mema is twisting her head like a tennis match: to them, to G2H, to me, to them….

I never did know why she told them my name was Tiffany though. I guess to ensure it was a surprise. And my birthday? Yeah, NOT in the wintertime.

And that doesn’t even count her go-to-hell hats she used to crochet. Red ones. Sometimes with beer cans cut up, hole-punched, and imbedded. Her sense of irony and snark was fully developed.

And did I ever mention she knitted my Lovey a penis warmer when we got married? The design was a cylinder (slide on), with a sack at the bottom for the balls, plus a removable “lid”  that was tethered on (so I guess you didn’t lose it when you removed the lid to pee). I have NO idea where that dang thing is—I should have my knitter friend whip up a replacement.

Gee, did I mention she was a hoot?

Yep. Those are my peoples. No wonder I’m weird.