Tired

Ever been so tired that, with every blink, you feel as if you might fall asleep?

Whilst sitting upright? And typing?!

That is how tired I am at this very moment.

And I want to stay up and write and stare at the Christmas tree and listen to Christmas music and write some more because this is my last night to spend alone in 8 or 9, but I am afraid I just cannot do it.

: (

Solitude can be overwhelming until you realize your time alone is limited.

Speaking of time: Why does it seem as if there is never, ever enough?

Getting Plowed

So, today, I head to work around 6:30 a.m., and just like the weatherpeoples promised, it has snowed, like, 10 inches. Which is totally cool, except for the scraping and sweeping of snow off my car. Anyway, I burrow my way over the ice and through the snow, and about 10 minutes after I arrive, I hear the cops on the scanner talking about a semi jackknifed on the interstate, just south of the exit ramp.

Jackknifed!

So I kick into Full Photographer Mode, grab my camera, my Fighting Illini cap and my coat and cruise out the door. And I find not only a jackknifed semi, but another one blocking the exit ramp! All kinds of excitement in our little town.

(So sad. So, so sad.)

Anyhoo, as I am taking pictures of the semi to the south, from my vantage point from above (from the sidewalk of the overpass above), I hear a vehicle approaching:

Snowplow!

On my side of the street!

And there is NOWHERE for me to go!

And for a split-second, I am worried, but then it all seems like a scene out of a movie, in which someone is walking down the street and a car drives by, through a mud puddle, splashing muddy water all over the person. Only this is SNOW ... and it is very, VERY cold!

Yes, I got plowed. Or, more correctly, I got snow plowed onto me.

And yes, it was very cold, and it could have been very, very bad had there been any rocks or debris in the snow, or had the snow been dirty, but thankfully this was virgin snow, only the second or third plowing of the morning, so it was a bit like a frosty shower.

(Only later did I contemplate how tragic this event could have been. I mean, I could have died, if you think about it! And what a way to go THAT would have been.)

: )

Christmas Chaos

This is my living room, this very minute:



(How could anyone not love Christmas?)

: )

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!

(Shoot me now.)

: )

More later. I have decided to make a 2004 photo album. Kind of a “Best of”-sorta thang. Yeah.

Oh, and the “Song in My Head when I Wake Up” for two days running now: “I Try” by Macy Gray. You know the one:

I try to say goodbye and I choke
Try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it, it’s clear
My world crumbles when you are not here
Goodbye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it, it’s clear
My world crumbles when you are not here

Who knows?

Mom, on Music

From my mother, during tonight’s brief AOL chat:

Mom: If it’s just thump thump and can’t understand the words, I don’t like it.
Mom: The kind of music you hear when kids go by in their cars.

(My sister and I had been discussing Cyndi Lauper. Definitely NOT a “thump thump and can’t understand the words” artist.)

: )

Finding Neverland

I had in mind a grand adventure today.

In the midst of all this holiday hustle and bustle, I had decided to duck into the 15-screen cineplex in O’Fallon where, I had learned, Closer AND Finding Neverland were playing. I had mapped out my itinerary: I would watch the 12:05 showing of Closer and then see Neverland at 2:45. IF I felt like seeing a 2nd movie ... which I was pretty sure I would ... and I had even decided it would be OK for me to sneak on over to the 2nd movie ’cause, what the heck, it was the matinee, anyway.

: )

And because it was noon-ish, the place was not crowded at all, so I did my bidness and then went in to find my seat for Closer. And I was all excited ’cause the theater had stadium seating, which means no matter how big the woman in front of you’s hair is, you can easily see over it ... in fact, you don’t even see the person or people in front of you, that’s how high up each successive row is.

Then the manager came in and said there was going to be a slight delay because they had to put the right movie in. Which should’ve made me wonder or something, but then he started handing out FREE PASSES, so I was thinking: Cool! Three free movies for the price of one! And then I moved myself on up to the tippy-top row, dead-center, and propped my feet up to wait for the show to begin.

And then it started. And there on the screen was Brad Pitt. And I thought, that’s funny, I had no idea Brad Pitt was in this movie. And he walked over to kiss Catherine Zeta-Jones, and I realized: Wrong movie. (Ocean’s Twelve, which I have absolutely NO desire to see, ever.)

Piss!

I scampered out of that theater, which, by the way, had an Ocean’s Twelve sign over the door but a HUGE-ass Closer poster ON the door (go figure) and down to the REAL Closer theater at the end of the hallway. That movie had already begun (20 minutes before, actually; right on time!), and there was no way I was going to start watching it, midway through.

Luckily, though, Finding Neverland was just getting ready to start. So, no real harm, really.

This film made my scalp tingle. Which I have come to realize is a very, very good thing when it comes to me and movies. So many great actors and performances: Kate Winslet, Radha Mitchell (yay, High Art Syd!), Johnny D. and Julie Christie, my GOD, did I love her in Heaven Can Wait, especially when she says the word “familiar,” right there toward the end. Most memorable, though, was Freddie Highmore ... and the rest of the boys, too, and of course, my Dustin.

I do not remember how old I was when I first saw Peter Pan, but I remember being amazed by the wonder of it all. And the ability to fly. And the way this film incorporates that play with the artist’s life ... well, just now, I wanted to compare it (favorably) to Shakespeare in Love, which I also obviously loved. (How could you not?)

Johnny Depp will probably get an Oscar nomination for this. Maybe not, who knows, I thought he was great, but then, he always is, apparently. I do know that there are a couple of scenes in the movie in which he appears to have become younger, which is kind of in keeping with the film, and I am not quite sure how he does it.

The film also deals heavily with loss, and for some reason, out of the blue, really, because this is something I have not thought about in years: When I was a little kid, there were these kids named Mark and Lisa Grabb who went to the same church and Sunday school as my sister and I. Mark was my age, and Lisa was 2 years younger. We didn’t go to the same regular school, though, because we lived in different parts of town: They went to Moulton, and we went to Main Street.

Anyway, when Mark and Lisa were, like 6 and 4, or 7 and 5, or maybe 8 and 6, their mom died of cancer. My mom told me she thinks it was breast cancer; I don’t know, whichever kind of cancer it was, the unthinkable had happened to these 2 kids, and suddenly their mom was gone.

I remember hearing that Emmie Grabb had died, and then, that Sunday, Mark and Lisa had come to church with their dad, and the kids were crying, quietly, huddled next to their dad during the entire service. And then their dad took them to Sunday school and stayed in the classroom with them the whole time.

A Charlie Brown Christmas

I had a couple of memories today: One of them was from Christmastime when I was in first grade, the other was from summertime, a year or two later, maybe three.

But I will get to those in a minute. Or at least the Christmas memory; I will write about the other one on another day.

: )

Every now and then, I have this debate with myself: Which Peanuts character am I most like?

My former co-worker, Joe Anne, used to tell me I am just like Lucy.

“But Lucy is crabby,” I would complain to Joesie. “Do you think I’m crabby?”

“No, you’re not crabby,” she would say. “You just remind me of Lucy.”

And because I adore Joe Anne, I would take this as a compliment ... though, in my heart, I have always suspected I am more like Charlie Brown, but only when I am wishy-washy, which I prefer to think of as ambivalence. And Peppermint Patty, in her mannerisms. And Pig-Pen, at times, when I look around at the chaos surrounding me. And Snoopy, too, and not just because of his active imagination and “It was a dark and stormy night” and all that. And Linus, when he philosophizes.

Yeah, probably Linus, most of all.

When I was in first grade, my class got to do a radio Christmas show. This seemed way more exciting than what we had done in kindergarten: A Christmas pageant, with Kim Holland getting the lead role as Suzy Snowflake and the rest of us 5-year-olds serving as the backup choir; I remember being in full glory as one of the little drummer boys, banging on a drum made out of a coffee can.

Anyway, that next year, the entire first grade got to tape a 15- to 20-minute presentation to be played on the local radio station, WSHY-FM, 104.9. None of us actually admitted to listening to that station because it played country music ... though I also remember it playing “Sister Mary Elephant” and “One Tin Soldier” many years later, during my middle-school years ... but it was all we had, there in The Ville, and we knew we had our big chance to be celebrities.

Being on the radio is bigtime.

As we prepared for the taping of the big show, of course, we had several rehearsals. Miss Swank, our music teacher, picked out a few songs for the entire class to work on, and she also selected a handful of songs to be sung as solos. I don’t remember who got to sing the solos; I am pretty sure Greg Johnson sang one because I remember him having a good voice. And probably Kim Holland, too; I mean, she brought down the house as Suzy Snowflake.

I think a few other kids got picked to read little tidbits to fill the spaces between the songs.

And I remember being all bummed out, once the soloists and readers had been named. I mean, geez: I could carry a tune. I was a good out-loud reader. I wanted a chance to be heard, too!

But what can you say when you don’t get picked? Nothing! You just have to suck it up and do what everyone else does: Pretend you couldn’t care less. Act like you aren’t all that interested in the big radio show. Sing along with the rest of the rejects. Ho, ho, ho.

And then, the day before the taping, my teacher came up to me. Naturally, I thought I was in trouble for something, but no: She told me she had a special part for me.

“When the chorus sings ‘Silent Night,’ I want you to read this,” she said, handing me a piece of paper.

These were the words, taken from Chapter 2 of Luke:

And there were, in the same country
shepherds abiding in the field, keeping
watch over their flock by night. And lo,
the angel of the Lord came up on them,
and the glory of the Lord shone round
about them. And they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, “Fear not,
for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy
which will be to all people. For unto you
is born this day in the city of David a
savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this
shall be a sign unto you. Ye shall find the
babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying
in a manger.” And suddenly there was
with the angel a multitude of heavenly
host, praising God and saying, “Glory to
God in the highest, and on Earth peace,
goodwill toward men.”

Yeah, that’s right: Linus’ lines.

I think I nailed it perfectly on the first run-through, if my memory is correct.

And my dad taped the show, so I got to listen to it a few times afterwards, after hearing it live (on tape) on the radio. And it was very cool ... though I have never been particularly fond of hearing my own voice on a recording ...

When my dad died in 1991, I remember collecting a few items from his house. Photos, mainly; I meant to see if I could get his Elvis records, too, but everything was such a blur, and at the time I was so sad and mad and numb, really ... and then the house sold, and Dad’s fourth wife, Charlotte, (this was actually his fifth marriage, if you didn’t count Helen, whom he had married twice), after their less than two months together, packed up everything and high-tailed it to somewhere, never to be seen again.

And I have never really cared about any material possessions that he’d had, but I do wonder, sometimes, if he still had the recording of that Christmas show. ’Cause I would sure like to hear it again, 35 years later.

: )

Unsophistimicated : )

Another one of the qualities I like about me is that I am pretty unsophisticated when it comes to music.

Yeah, I have lots of CDs. And cassettes. Way more CDs than cassettes, though, but I know people that have way more CDs than I have. And way less. And I really could not care less.

: )

Sometimes (but not very often, really), I make mixes. Mix-tapes were fun to make, but challenging, too, because you have to make sure to run off a certain amount of tape at the beginning to avoid starting a song 2 or 3 seconds into the song, then push Pause, then push Play/Record, then queue up the first song, be it on the turntable (way back when!) or on the other side of the dual-deck, and then push Play on that deck as you pushed Pause (which actually UNpaused) on the other deck.

Mix-CDs are way easier. Too easy, really. So easy that I often think, hmm, I really should make a mix-CD for such-and such (I say “hmm” a lot, in my thoughts), but then I think, aw, I can do that tomorrow night; it will only take a couple of minutes. And then 2 months later, I will realize I still have not burned that mix-CD.

Tonight, Aaron asked, “Why ARE the Beatles so popular?”

And I typed a few paragraphs in response to the question, but the bottom-line, for me, is this:

Why do they appeal to me? Because I love their music!

How unsophisticated is that??!

Heck, I can’t say I love all of their music; I haven’t even heard all of their music.

I just know that I liked what I heard when my sister bought (or more likely had bought for her) that album with what quickly became my 2 favorite Beatles songs, “Chains” and “Twist & Shout.” And then we made the cardboard guitars for the dolls, and then we propped the speaker in the window and blasted Beatles music over to Kim and Jerry’s house. (Their last name was Lewis. Which means in my world, I knew of 3 people named Jerry Lewis ... only this Jerry Lewis is the only Jerry Lewis who ever got to cop a free feel of yours truly during a camping expedition in the front yard ... but that’s neither here nor there, really.)

: )

And next, my sister got The Magical Mystery Tour album. And that record was filled with wonderful songs like “Fool on the Hill” and “I Am the Walrus.”

And right about that time, we found out the Beatles were not even a band anymore ... and that they, in fact, had broken up YEARS before we even “discovered” them!

But: So what??!

Road Trip

So, on Saturday, I took off on a road trip.

It was not exactly an impromptu road trip, the kind I actually prefer, but it was a bit last-minute, from the standpoint that I had only decided to go on this trip (to Cincinnati, Ohio, for an Over the Rhine concert at the Taft Theatre) about 3 weeks ago. And given that the weather can be entirely flaky (heh) this time of year, there was no guarantee that I would be able to go.

But on Saturday, the weather was fine and my spirits were high, so I pulled out of town around 9 a.m. For what, according to my Yahoo! driving directions, was supposed to be a 5-hour drive (300 miles). From here to there, I travel mostly on interstates 64 and 71; I had not been on an extended stretch of I-64 for two-and-a-half years, so I had almost forgotten about the farmland and hills of Indiana and Kentucky.

Not much traffic, either, so I was flying. I do not wish to incriminate myself on the World Wide Web, lest this online journal fall into the hands of the authorities; however, let us just say that I was moving along at quite a nice clip when, out of the corner of my right eye, I saw flashing red and blue lights!

In the words of Bridget Jones: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

Yes, indeedy, one of Indiana’s finest was traveling in the right lane and had nailed me, from behind! I am so caught for speeding, I told myself, and then I witnessed something that I can only perceive as a modern-day miracle: The police officer turned off the car’s flashing lights! Truthfully, they were on only a few seconds (less time than it took to write the first part of this paragraph, actually); apparently, the officer had flashed them as sort of a warning ... telling me to “slow down, or else!”

Which I did.

For a while, at least.

: )

I also needed a little divine guidance to help me actually find Cincinnati.

Turns out that when you are instructed to take the Fifth Street exit off I-75 (I-71 had turned into 71 a while back up the road), you must not take the first Fifth Street exit you see ... which I did, only to find myself in Covington, which is located in Kentucky. Took me 2 full passes down a mile or so stretch of Fifth Street to realize, hmmm, maybe that’s Cincinnati over there ... and yes, indeed, it was.

Go figure.

: )

I should’ve been listening to Over the Rhine on my way to the concert, but instead I listened to these 3 CDs, in this order: The Best of Van Morrison, U2’s How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb and the soundtrack from Alfie.

Of the 3, I like Van Morrison’s album the most, U2’s the least. Not that I disliked the new U2 ... more like, nothing on the CD grabbed me at first listen. I mean, I have heard that “Vertigo” song ad nauseum and have really never cared for it; similarly, I had heard “Beautiful Day” many times before buying All That You Can’t Leave Behind and already adored that song, and pretty much enjoyed the entire album ... with the possible exception of “Elevation,” which I could do without, honestly.

I discovered that I loved about two-thirds of the Van Morrison album. They used to play some of his songs, maybe it was one of his albums, or perhaps a Van mix-tape, at the Uptowner, so I will forever associate “Domino” with being there. And 2 of Patti’s kids have selected songs on the album as theirs (“Warm Love” and the “Da-da-da-da DA da-da-da-da-da” song), so I love those, by association ... especially this line, from “Warm Love”:

I dig it when you have a smile on your face.

: )

As for the Alfie soundtrack: You really cannot go wrong with a collaboration between Mick Jagger and Dave Stewart. Plus, I really, really enjoyed the movie Alfie. Which I am not sure that anyone else on earth has seen, let alone liked, but ... I don’t know. Something about that film just resonates with me. Even though I am certainly not male, and, like most of the people on the planet, my looks do not even come close to comparing to those of Jude Law, and I have never, ever in my life been a womanizer, and I seriously doubt I could ever pull off the quality of “charming” ... though there are those who have told me that I can be charming, when I really, really try ... and, for the record, I’m not sure I ever try, let alone really, really!

Still, I can relate to Alfie. Hence, I enjoyed the film. In fact, I want to see it again ... along with several others (Closer and Finding Neverland and maybe even Kinsey) that, for reasons unknown to me, are not playing anywhere close to here any time soon (as my best pal put it, “Looks like finding Finding Neverland is going to be quite a task!”).

: )

I went to dinner with 50 people I had never officially met before.

Ah, but we were not strangers: We had met online, in The Orchard. “A place where people talk about our music ... and lots of other things,” according to Linford Detweiler, a member of Over the Rhine.

My friend Tee-Hee was a little skeptical of such a venture, but I had absolutely no qualms about meeting these people. I know, I know, you never know who is “out there,” but ... it was all good.

: )

Oddly enough, I did not take 1 picture while I was there.

I took 2 cameras, though, and actually thought, right up until I left my hotel to walk over to this restaurant called Arnol’ds (yes, apparently that is where the apostrophe was, on the sign!), that I would take at least 1 of them with me, but ... then, I just didn’t. Mainly because, when I have my camera with me, then I sort of obsess over it ... and I didn’t know how strict or not-strict the theater would be regarding photographic devices (apparently: not-strict, at all) ... and ultimately, I guess I just did not want to mess with it.

I did not want to be a photographer.

What I ended up being was more or less an observer. Not my usual role; I am usually the one in the midst of the action, preferably the middle/center of attention (sometimes, anyway!), but on this night, I was content to sort of take as much of it in as I possibly could.

Anyway, I was in Cincinnati for a shorter time than I would have liked, mostly because I was semi-dreading the return drive. Might be a fun city to explore, someday ...

: )

Sox-Stash

This morning, I wake up a little earlier than usual. Which means that, for a change, I am a little bit ahead of schedule, so I am thinking, hmm, perhaps I will get to work at 6:30 instead of 7. However, when I open my back door to head out into the world, here comes this kitten, bounding toward the door! In fact, he (she? who knows, seemed like a he) gets about halfway into my house before I can corral him and nudge him back outside. “No, no, kitten,” I tell him. “My cat doesn’t like other cats.” He is persistent, though, so I decide to give him some leftover tuna ’cause he’s prolly hungry or something. And he sniffs around on the tuna, his front feet on the pavement and his hind legs still on the porch, his butt in the air.

He is black with 4 white paws, so I immediately name him Sox. And I do so knowing how unoriginal that name is, but at least it’s “Sox” instead of “Socks,” which at least seems a bit more creative.

Anyhoo, Sox follows me to my car, and I prepare to fend off any attempts to climb inside. Instead, he decides to try to climb onto the hood and slips off, falling to the ground. And next, he strolls around the patio; of course, by this time, I have gotten out the camera to snap some shots of my new pal.

Then he looks up at me, and I notice that he has the cutest little white moustache, so I am more determined than ever to get a picture of him ... but then he scampers off to the front yard and quickly climbs up one of my evergreen trees. And he soon appears to want to get back down from the evergreen tree ... but he cannot seem to figure out how to get down.

So I take some pictures.

He looks a little demonic in this shot, but I can see the ’stache.



And then this one reminded me of Father Guido Sarducci’s “Find the Pope in the Pizza Contest.” Except with a cat ... uhm, in a tree.



: )

My wake-up singing song for today was “Hold on for One More Day” by Wilson Phillips. I think it was because I woke up thinking, ah, if I can hold on for just one more day, it will be VACATION TIME! (Actually, though, at that point, I had two more days, but ... whatever.)

And that song prompted a mini-WP medley which next included “Release Me.” And next led to “Must’ve Been Love,” which actually is NOT by Wilson Phillips but instead is sung by Roxette. And that song had me humming the love song to Pretty Woman, which actually was the best song in the entire film but apparently was not even included on the soundtrack!

Grrrrrrrrr!

Because these make me smile ...

... and, my mom likes them, too.

: )

Finals Week

A friend of mine from my h.s. years stumbled across my blog recently. Actually, it is mainly as an adult that I have thought of her as a friend because when I was in high school, she and her husband served as youth leaders for our church group. So they were always people that I looked up to, kind of like teachers that you admire but know that you are not exactly “friends” with, if that makes any sense.

She actually ran across my former blog while doing a Google search, and she ended up reading this post about her and her husband and their kids. She e-mailed me, afterwards, and caught me up on what is going on in their lives, and asked me what I was up to. I replied, talking about my work situation over the past year, and how the changes at the news office had required me to quit teaching, and how I really did not miss teaching, at all.

And then, yesterday, for a minute or two, I did miss teaching.

This is finals week at the community college where I taught for several years, so I could easily remember the feelings I experienced at that time of the year and imagine what I would be feeling if I were still teaching.

When I began teaching Developmental English, I had to give a department-wide comprehensive 12-page final exam. Yes, that is correct:

a 12-page final exam

Which, no matter how much your department head tries to justify having a 12-page final exam, is still about 7 pages too long. To take OR to grade. And I would omit sections and alter the instructions and even have them tear off the last page, crumple it into a ball and toss it in the trash, but still! What a pain in the ass!

So I would give the final exam to the students in my 3 classes (usually a total of about 50 students) and then spend the next day grading all of the tests. And the grades on the final exam were never as good as I had hoped, and I would start to take it personally until I heard how low the scores were in the other classes, too, and then I would just want to get the damn things FINISHED!

And once I did: I still had to figure up averages ... which also required the grading of all the last-minute papers and what-not that would inevitably come drifting in.

So there was always this 2- or 3-day flurry of activity during finals week, and during that time, I sometimes felt as if I might go a lil’ crazy. ’Cause in the midst of all this, winter sports were also in full swing, so I would meet myself coming and going from one job to the next.

Always a paper to read and grade, always a game to cover, never enough time to sleep.

And, always, several of my students would fail the class. Most of them failed because they didn’t bother to come to class or do the work; in fact, I liked to tell my students that if they attended class and did all of the work and got in their lab hours, they would pass the course. And for the most part, that was true, unless a student really, really couldn’t write, in which case, they would fail because their grades/skills just weren’t good enough in order for them to advance to the next level.

I am amused by the notion of an instructor “giving” a student a grade.

“Are you going to give me an A?” at least one student would ask, after almost every assignment.
“I’m not going to ‘give’ you anything,” I would reply, in my sternest possible voice.

True, assessing student writing does include some subjectivity, and each instructor has her own ideas on what is essential to/for good writing. Does “good writing” consist of a well-developed essay that is filled with grammatical errors? Can a perfectly punctuated paper be any good if it really does not say anything? There is a balance, and many of my students had major problems with grammar AND content.

(AND following instructions ... but that is a whole ’nother topic.)

Still, my students received the grades they earned. No more, no less. Unless, of course, they were within a couple hundredths of a point of getting the next higher grade, and they had come to class regularly and participated and turned in all of their work. In those instances, yeah, I gave ’em an extra .01 or so.

And if they hadn’t ... well, then, see ya next semester.

: )

Anyway, do I miss teaching?

I miss that moment during finals week when I had finished all the grading, tallied up the grades for the course, filled in my grade book, completed all the paperwork and turned in everything to my department chairman. Right after that, I would leave the North Oasis and cut through the library, and when I opened the door to head to my car in the parking lot, and the cold December air (or a hot May breeze) would hit me in the face, and relief would fill my mind:

Then. I miss that moment.

(Though I experience it, to a much lesser but no less appreciated amount, when I leave the news office for a week’s vacation, which, God willing, I will be doing no less than TWICE over the next three weeks!)

And, yeah, I also miss that occasional moment when a student who was on the brink of failing suddenly figured out that he or she really could write, despite anything any elementary teacher had said to him or her, to the contrary, years and years before.

: )

I always meant to post this album cover somewhere in The Freewheelin’ Di Winson but never managed to.



I love this shot. And not just because it’s included in Vanilla Sky, but that’s part of it.

: )

Friday Night Writes

Is there any food better than homemade ranch dressing? The real kind, the kind you make with a cup of buttermilk dressing and a cup of mayo and a package of Hidden Valley ranch spices?

I don’t think so.

To paraphrase George Costanza:

If it were socially acceptable, I would drape myself in ranch dressing. (Of course, he would have said “velvet” instead of “ranch dressing.” And obviouly, I am not going to drape myself in ranch dressing ... but, given the proper setting, I might consider doing shots of it!)

: )

Speaking of George: I have never been as happy walking into Wal-Mart as I was yesterday when I saw my pals George, Elaine, Kramer and Jerry on the cover of their DVDs, right there in the main aisle.

Yeah.

And if I don’t get those DVDs for Christmas ... well, someone is going to be a veddy, veddy unhappy camper. That’s right: ME!!

: )

I read earlier this week at 40% of Americans are on some kind of prescription medication.

I realized this might be the first time I have ever been in the majority, in any category!

(Which can only mean my drug-free days are numbered.)

: )

My pal Patti sent me this snippet of conversation between her and her 4-year-old, Charlie, who had just returned from T-ball practice.

Charlie: We had a new teacher.
Patti: That’s nice.
Charlie: A GIRL teacher.
Patti: Some girls play T-ball.
Charlie: Some do. Some don’t (very “that’s life”-like tone).
Patti: Do you know what girl likes T-ball?
Charlie: Who?
Patti: Di likes to play T-ball.
Charlie: She loves me.

He’s right. About the “she loves me” part. I have never actually played T-ball, but I do keep a T-ball bat under my desk at work. When I was a kid, I went straight to playground baseball and eventually played organized softball for a couple of years, and I can still whack the ball from both sides of the plate ... though I actually prefer playing defense.

: )

This is from my windshield a couple of mornings ago.

I mean, not having a garage is a major BITE sometimes, but ... sometimes, it results in more beauty.



And this photo reminded me of Christmas ... sorta:

A Song in My Head

Do you wake up with a song in your head?

I do, most days. Today it was Joni Mitchell’s “A Case of You,” as sung by k.d. lang. It ran through my mind while I showered, and I sang some of it, too, and then I turned on the stereo and listened to the real thing.

A few days ago, the song was “I Feel Fine” by the Beatles. One morning, it was Barbra Streisand singing “Evergreen.”

I am going to start writing these down. See if a pattern develops or anything. Who knows. I hear you are supposed to do that with dreams, also. To remember. But I rarely do.