Category Archives: art

3 sept 2018

It was a nice long slow weekend for us. We went for a walk at crystal bridges and ate downtown. We set up our badminton net (yes – I kept it mom!) and Ruth really got into it. Annie tried to hit it once, missed, threw her racket down in frustration, and stormed inside. She later came out after drawing about it.

They all three played in the pool and we fed them their burritos in there as well, just so we didn’t have to deal with drying them off.

They ran around catching fireflies after dark and then Ryan held Gertie as he chased them through the house.

And to give you a taste of what motivates Gertie to side step…. apparently it’s witch laughter. (And books).

I always compliment Ryan on not allowing Gertie to become sensitive to loud noises. He and the girls do a stellar job at it. Stellar.

One day I’ll write more story-like posts again, but that’s not today.

26 aug 2018

She had eaten frozen blueberries – but it looks so much worse, like she’s straight out of a Dickens novel. Ryan’s reading a story to them about a magical pig that, in one chapter, helps kids learn table manners. The next night when we ate spaghetti we looked over and Annie was shoving a fistful into her mouth with the tendrils all dangling down. Anyway, all I wanted to show here is that the page said to “draw an animal with spots” so she wrote Tiger and drew spots around it. She was dead serious.

They’ve been sick all week and grandma sent us a care package. New coloring books help everything.

Ryan got a taste of being needed in all directions for 15 minutes: Annie wanted to do puzzles with him, Ruthie make jewelry, and Gertie standing up.

Annie said today that she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be a swim teacher or a pirate when she grows up. Ryan suggested being a swim teacher on a pirate ship.

23 july 2018

Last Friday was a scorcher, so they scrubbed down the van. The day before, Ruthie begged to go through a car wash but I just couldn’t justify it.

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After a good 45 minutes wiping it down, they spent another 45 on the porch filling buckets and playing with the hose. I live for mornings like these.

Annie has been on a love note kick, painting pictures of us then writing the sweetest things on them, folding them up and pretending they’re pieces of trash she randomly found. On one of her last days of school this year she’d painted me a self-portrait and her teacher framed it. She put it by my bed and said “This is me. If you wake up in the night and are scared, just look at me.”

Present

As I mentioned, it was Ryan’s birthday last week. He’s 7 months younger than me, but looks at least 12 years younger. One day we’ll even out.

So Ruth and I made him his first official gaudy birthday present, which he will have to love and feign excitement about.

Ruth loves her some play-doh, so I thought we could make something out of it. What is better than glittered, sparkly paper weights as her first gift? Oh, it makes me giggle. Paper weights.DSC_7144
I broke out the dough in his favorite color and got everything ready for her. Her strained smile reminds me of my mom before going to see Les Mis.

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Buttons were added carefully.DSC_7147As were gems.

Oh boy, I love it when she gets slack-jawed and sticks out her tongue while doing things. This means she’s serious. DSC_7150
And the end result. Not bad… if you’re going for that gypsy bridal gown kind of look. DSC_7157They’re proudly (at least that’s what he says) sitting on his desk at work.

Ruth then spent another ten minutes just playing with jar lids. (Notice the tongue again.) Learning how to screw things on and off has been her latest endeavor. It scares me.

DSC_7158About a month ago, my neighbor Jeran offered to watch Ruth so I could organize at home…. and I went bizerk. The shelves over our dining table housed our ‘How-to’ books, middle-school fiction books, random bulk foods, and last but not least, homeschooling material… because I literally cannot pass up anything homeschool related at garage sales.

We’re not even certain that’s what we’re going to do, but I’d still like to have it all on hand just to teach anyway. It included a 12 book science set (teacher manuals and student manuals), along with tapes and projector slides. Why. Why must I keep these? They’re probably teaching that the earth is flat.

Anyway, I spent a full hour hauling those bad boys along with other material upstairs… huffing and puffing and hoping I don’t go into labor. Jeran said my face was really flushed when I came back.  But I was happy because it opened up room for my slowly developing craft/paper weight-making shelf.  Thank goodness for old spaghetti jars.

DSC_7153Could I leave it like that, though? No. As Jeran puts it, when you’re pregnant, you want to organize the world.

So I bought a bunch of these buckets on clearance to hide everything.

shelfAh. It did make my pregnant heart happy.

I wonder what other bad crafts I can make? The possibilities are endless!

Les Mis

Hi. I’m an addict. A Les Miserables addict. From the moment I saw the trailer for the movie, I started playing Les Mis songs to Ruth every day. And then I’d cry and she’d comfort me by bringing over my shoes. That’s her way of showing love: bringing you your shoes. I wish she’d bring over chocolate chip cookies, but I’ll take what I can get.

So since my mom also cries at the soundtrack, we made plans to see it over Christmas break. She admitted that she actually didn’t want to see it with anyone except herself, but my sister and I still forced her because that’s how we are. No bringing shoes from us, apparently.

Ryan took a photo to commemorate the occasion. This is mom’s stressed smile, but at least now i understand why she wanted to be alone. That’s a big bone.
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We met up with Amy at the theatre. She had arrived a little bit earlier and knew it was us because the car door opened and I jumped out before the car stopped. I get excited. Sue me.

We bought our tickets and I asked the guy in the ticket line to please take our photo. He looked up and was literally half-blind with cataracts or something.

So I immediately launched into how actually I really need to go to the bathroom and man, that line for the popcorn is so long, maybe we don’t have time for a picture because HOLY COW is that someone sneaking in?!? Look!

And then we ran through. Ugh, I hate myself.

I’m glad we got there so early though, because the theatre was packed.
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Mom analyzed all of the seats and decided this was the best one. The only thing we didn’t do was stake an American flag into the cushion.
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Finally we settled in. The matriarch and her servants. Mom was still nervous with anticipation… and because we took the dog bone away.
DSC_6669As we’ve discussed before, all of us Wewers have some sort of type-a in our blood. The level of it depends on who is around us. If it’s just me and Ryan, then look out folks, I can go overboard. However, if another sibling is in the room, I can relax a bit because I know they’ll take care of business.

Someone’s gotta take care of business and I get tired of that someone always getting a bad rap. Those that float along can only do so because the type-a’s pave the way. Right? RIGHT?

Cough.

But it is nice to float, I have to admit, and I can do so with my family. So it made me chuckle when my mom asked me if the angle from my seat was satisfactory.
DSC_6670Uh, yeah. Pretty sure I can see the screen.

But she wasn’t convinced. So we moved further inland, bringing our imaginary flag with us.

And I marveled at my new angle.
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If we hadn’t moved, I’m sure I would’ve hated the movie.

But I didn’t. I’ve already seen it four times. It is fantastic, and can I whisper this without being lynched? I like it better than the stage production.

Please see it. Please. Your husband will like it too, I dare ya to try. At the very least, you’ll be happy that you’re not watching it with a type-a person. Go float to the theatres, people. Now!

Carthage Thrifting

Well, there went our budget for the week, but oh my it was worth it. I got some fun things and didn’t talk baby talk once the entire day.

I asked an old coworker of mine, N, to escort me around some thrift stores. She ended up being our chaperone. For the thrift store and me, I mean. She made sure I didn’t get too grabby with the store’s body and helped the store open up a bit more and show me its silly side.

I wasn’t only excited about thrifting, but also to get out like a normal human being for a day. Well, kinda normal. I did have my breasts unashamedly exposed on a highway so I could pump in order to return to being normal for the next 3 hours.

No one noticed though. I think everyone we passed could feel me boring my eyes into the side of their heads saying Oh I just dare you to look, my friend. So help me, if you even move your face one iota to the side…

You know how you get that subconscious feeling of danger every now and again? Sometimes it can come on so strong that you just keep looking forward and keep on keeping on. I’m pretty sure that’s what they felt and stared straight ahead.

We finally arrived and ran into the shop.

N, luckily, also likes to take her time browsing, so I didn’t feel rushed or like I was holding her hostage. My kind of thrifting experience.

This first store rocked it. We dove in and didn’t come up for air until 3.5 hours later. Awe-some.

There were many things I talked myself in and out of throughout those hours. For one, this band hat. My goal (once we’re out of The Shack) is to create an attic space, complete with old wardrobe, mirror, and mannequin, sofa etc. for a dress-up corner and this hat just about made the cut.

Six months ago, I wouldn’t have blinked. But now that we’re trying to stick to a budget and have bigger plans for our moulah, I eventually nixed it. Maybe next time I’ll pick it up.

N found many things too.


Like this old pastry cutter and a paper-mache Santa that lit up. I watched her wheel and deal for that one. We literally ran around like chickens with our heads cut off and every once in a while would see the same thing at the same time and take in a huge gulp of air before grabbing it.

It’s nice to be surrounded by people who get the same sort of joy out of similar things as you do. It’s also nice to watch people get excited about different things than you too, but nothing beats a shared passion.

After that shopping extravaganza I was starving and brought out our lunch.

PB & J’s, lemonade, popcorn, nuts, and fruit. Next week, at The Mobile-Homemaker, I’ll be showing you how to bake the bread used for these sandwiches. Just a plain white bread, but R & I both enjoy it.

You can’t really tell, but it’s oh only 28 DEGREES FREAKING OUTSIDE.

The conversation was short and we hopped back into the car to make another stop.

Enter Doris.

She was manning the front desk and, I believe, owned the place. Within 10 minutes of us walking in, she literally made us take several things for free.

I knew she was a girl after my own heart when we asked for her photo and after taking it, insisted on seeing how she looked. Yes, we thrifters are all vain.

I picked up some wool socks (R and I are addicted) and a piece of artwork that knocked my (wool) socks off, along with some other things.

We stopped at a couple more places before heading home. The drained feeling of exploring and searching and squealing and buying makes for a laid-back ride home. We chatted, I soaked in the setting sun, and stared out at the rolling fields.


I was happy.

But nothing is as exciting as when you arrive home and get to show off your wares. Most of the time R just laughs and he didn’t disappoint this time. Except he threw in some head shakes and “What the heck is that” questions.

My absolute favorite buy of the day, and I can’t even tell you how much it was because Doris just said $5 for everything (and I had a good pile going…) is this artwork:

What the.

I just couldn’t take my eyes off it. It grabbed me, spun me around, and dipped me. So you know I was in love.

This deserved a prominent place in The Shack.

And there she be. Right above our french press that we use every day. So now every time R wants coffee, he’ll have the pleasure of soaking in that glittering beauty of a print.

This is one happy mama.

A Cabin, Snowman Family, and Plastic Surgery?

Now onto some of my favorite parts of Christmas with the in-laws:

1. Misty mornings on the lake. One of R’s coworkers graciously let us use her family’s cabin for the weekend. It was more than we could have asked for. You just can’t beat this view.

2. Waking up to our Christmas Canoe filled with presents!

3. FIL preparing his lesson on Jesus’ birth for our Christmas morning church service together. We decided to stay in and break bread with just the family, which resulted in an intimate, lovely experience. I was most worried about singing in front of everyone, but that melted away with the first verse. I’m seriously considering this becoming a Christmas tradition for my little family.

4. Getting our family portrait made. This one was my favorite. Ruth cracks me up.

5. And the pièce de résistance: making snowmen. Can you tell she’s a preschool teacher? They are the only ones that can explain things to me in ways I’ll understand. Plus, she allows for nap time. The only weird part is when she stands outside the bathroom door waiting to make sure I wiped from front to back.

I was a wee bit nervous making crafts with these two because creativity oozes out of their every pore. Visual arts are not my thing. I can hardly play hangman without someone asking what exactly is being hanged. What is that? A walrus? No, a person. Then why are there tusks coming out of the face. Those are the arms. You lose.

What. I can’t take critiques well.

So I couldn’t help squealing at R’s ‘professor with a combover’ creation. Complete with a bow-tie.

I tried hiding my recreations of our family, but alas, they were found.

We staged a scene from our life:

R comes home, eyes red with anger from something that annoyed him at work, and vents to his wife, who apparently has been cast in the next season of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and is recovering from the obligatory facial plastic surgery. You know, the kind where the nose creates those weird tight wrinkles when they smile? I guess I just don’t understand plastic surgery (and Botox) for vanity’s sake. Reconstruction surgery is one thing. But plastic surgery? I mean, why not spend your money on something more substantial, like bulk Cheese Puffs from Sam’s Club. Now that I’ll firmly stand behind.

Back to the scene:

Wife tries to roll her bandaged, but unwrinkley eyes and hears her baby crying, happy for an excuse to escape the onslaught of frustration.

Darling, the baby is hungry. Let me get her.

(You can tell this is a fictional scene as I used a term of endearment.)

Okay, now go on with your story, honey, while I nurse Ruthie.

End Scene.

And just so you know, R added the cradle cap on little Ruth.

Gotta keep it lifelike, you know.

——–

P.S. An update on diapers. When she was born, we had been given some disposables diapers for her current size & weight. So I used this long weekend as an opportunity to use them. After starting her on cloth at six weeks, I was curious to try them again.

The verdict? I was very happy to get back to my cloth. Despite what you may think, it certainly wasn’t any easier using disposables. They were obviously thinner, which was nice when putting on her tights. I don’t know if the tights would have made it over her bulky cloth ones. However, there was just a different feel about them. I can’t explain it. My friend, J, had mentioned that there is a certain smell to disposables that you don’t notice unless you’re away from them. I was somewhat skeptical, but now know exactly what she means. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s not horrible, but it just smells… well, you know how the hospital or doctor’s room smells? That rubber glove kinda overly sterilized sort of stench? I picked up on it right away. I know you’re rolling your eyes, but I’m serious and not just touting the cloth diaper horn to make me feel better. I did like that I didn’t have to think about the snaps at 3am, but that can be remedied by using velcro only for night changes.

I’m just saying that I feel good about my choice in going cloth. I’m not as stressed out about it as I thought I’d be and think they’re just as easy as disposables. Dollars saved in this department is also a big bonus as R and I discuss our 2012 financial goals. One less necessity to buy. Plus, it saves room in the budget for more cheese puffs. And that’s always a good thing.

Me, me, me

I had a really nice birthday. Even little Ruth slept well the night before. Wait, no, I take that back. No she didn’t.

I remember thinking, “Happy Birthday to me” at 3am and wondering if little miss fussiness would settle down so I could get some sleep. Those days are gone.. not the staying up late apparently, but definitely the crashing until lunch.

It was a hard night.

But around 7:30, I stumbled into the living room to lay on the couch for any zzz’s I could get and realized that R was fixing me breakfast. He had only a few minutes before going to work, so I grappled for some toothpicks to keep my eyelids open and shuffled to the table.

This is R’s dream breakfast. No color. I grabbed my nearest fake plant, blew off the dust, and took a shot. I cannot not have color on (or near, at least) my plate.

And then I saw the card that had “Yo necesito un Caroline” on it. This harkens back to my days working in the insurance industry, having file incoming claims. I was on the spanish-speaking queue. Remember when I made a complete and utter fool of myself on that queue with the spanish language, as well as telling my class in college how delicious penis pasta is? No? Read my blog post on it, here.

Well, I joined the company as they were just implementing that group of employees (side note: I accidentally wrote ‘groupo’), meaning there weren’t very many of us. Anyway, I was on a call with a nice older lady and we got disconnected. Later, a co-worker came up and said that he finished the claim, but she kept asking for ‘Caroline’. That she needed Caroline. I was the only Carolyn that spoke spanish there, so he figured it was me.

After telling R this, he starting saying it every now and then. He added ‘un’ which doesn’t really make sense, but I never corrected him because I thought it was cute.

Long story short, the card made me smile.

We made plans to meet up for lunch that afternoon. He originally offered to bring food home, but I reminded him of our pact. Our “we will not be prisoners of Ruth” pact, and decided to go out.

I have to get used to taking her places. I don’t want to be scared or anxious or stressed out. Just go with the flow and take your time, is what I tell myself. So far it’s worked pretty well.

We had a nice lunch and showed her off to his coworkers that were meeting at the local coffee shop. We didn’t stay long, because I needed to get home and clean. We were having company that night!

R , T and their two little ones came over with food (and drinks and plates and utensils and napkins – everything!) in hand.

I was taught how to use the Moby wrap and little S helped me blow out the candles. This wasn’t the last we’d see of his mom, though…

Because she was starring in the local production of ‘Little Shop of Horrors” that following night!

Again, I took a deep breath and said “I am not a prisoner. I am not a prisoner.” Now, this was a tricky decision for us. It’s almost like bringing a baby to the movie theatre (don’t worry, that won’t be us) and I won’t be hauling Ruth to a major production of Hair anytime soon, but I felt like this venture wasn’t going to leave me crying & depleted from disgruntled patron’s dirty looks.

We sat literally right next to the door for a quick exit and I made sure to leave (only twice!) before she started to get fussy. Success was had, my friends.

I did miss the first scene that R was in because Ruth was hungry, but caught the rest. The production was very funny and I was so proud of our little theatre.

Afterwards, Ruthie and I attacked the actors (mostly R) and got our photos with her. Ruth was really impressed as you can tell. She was just trying to act cool, I think. Don’t let this photo lie, though. Literally as soon as we got into the car, the cries started and only stopped after ten minutes of a particular Weezer song on repeat.

Saturday we slept on and off, forgoing the Apple Festival in favor of rest and relaxation. Next year, Ruth. Apples galore.

My brother-in-law and his wife asked us over Saturday night along with another couple to play dominoes. Lots, and I mean lots, of singing was sung, laughing was laughed, and jokes were joked.

A cake was brought out, and let’s all take a moment to see how bright that darn cake was. Seriously, how old am I??

I managed to blow them all out though. I attribute that ability to my labor breathing practice. I knew those 12 hours would come in handy!

Thank you all for a really nice birthday. Hopefully my wish will come true: getting a good night’s sleep.

Thrifting

I always love to point out how much I hate to shop.  And I do… for new things. Give me access to pre-used, bargain deals, then my mouth salivates at the thought of going store hopping. It’s to the point where I can’t even stand being in regular stores, because I think, “Oh I’m sure I can find a better deal on this.” or “Who would pay that much for this?!”

In effect, I’ve become a snob. A reverse snob, I guess.

There’s a thrift store trifecta that I hit every time I’m in the neighboring town. Even if it’s for a quick run-through due to limited time, I cannot not stop. They all help satisfy my different needs, so the steering wheel literally takes on a life of its own and plops me right in front of the door. It can’t be helped.

First stop, Goodwill.

Here I get clothes, books, bric-a-brac, and occasionally a piece of furniture.

It was at this place that I landed on a pile of discarded Eddie Bauer sweaters. If you know me or R, then you know of our love affair with EB (or Ed, as he likes us to call him.)

Then onto the Salvation Army.

Here you can find a great piece of furniture and bric-a-brac. The clothes are still too pricey (can you believe me!?), and the kitchen ware is slim.

Okay, I’m not a complete imbecile.. where I refuse to buy anything new. It’s just become a knee-jerk reaction to question the need to pay such inflated prices. I mean, yes, I will buy new and unused underwear. (However, I did buy and wear a vintage 1940s swimsuit for a summer. Discuss.)

A hairbrush? New. (This has especially been cemented in my head after working in an elementary school where those insects whose name rhymes with ‘mice’ tend to congregate. Shudder.)

If I were to jump out of a plane, then yeah, I’d pay extra to make sure the parachute was new and in working order.

See? I’m not demented.

The last stop on the holy trinity trail is just a generic THRIFT STORE (per the sign). I found this puppy while getting lost one day.

It feeds my do-it-yourself projects, my kitchen ware, knitting, and occasional piece of clothing.

It was there that I bought these bushel baskets. R thought it was a great idea, since we have an orchard not growing anywhere near us. (He never appreciates my purchases).

And who could forget the great book buy of 2010: a Gardening Encyclopedia set. The cashier rang up each book at 25 cents when I thought they’d be a dollar. Will I read them? Probably not. But I saved almost $14 people.

And I love how they look in our eames style TV stand. We found that curbside in our old KC neighborhood and I made R carry it three blocks home. You know, instead of me running ahead to get the car. I was afraid it would be snatched.

Yes, I am that person. A dumpster-diver.

There, I said it. I’m a dumpster-diver and I love it. During my sister’s annual neighborhood large-item pickup day, she and her husband would grab a six-pack, sit in their screened porch, and make fun of my fellow divers.

They don’t understand.

Then what about the Shack’s mini, almost microscopic wine (and champagne?) cellar. With my $4 wine rack and $2 carafes. I bought the carafes back when we lived in KC and they were next to 12 mini wineglasses of the same decor. Those glasses still haunt me to this day. Why I didn’t buy them, I’ll never know.

I think I didn’t want everything to be mitchy-matchy. I still get queasy about mitchy-matchy, but in this case I would’ve come to love the matching set eventually.

Note Klimt’s and my mutual friend, Judith, gazing longingly for a glass.

And then my ‘Medicinal Plant’s’ poster. At the checkout line, a lady said that she was this close to buying it.

Half of the fun is the competition. There are not several of these in the store, with more in the back storage room. It’s a one and done deal. Who knows when you’d see it again, if ever. So you have to grab fast if you like it, because others are just as quick.

For the record, I have no idea which plants these are, as they are all written in the latin names.  I know one day I’ll see something outside that looks similar and then end up with poison ivy on my tongue.

But when you live in a Shack with limited storage, you have to be creative. So when I found this 60s (maybe earlier?) laundry basket, I immediately thought where it could go.

In front of our kitchen window, where I am desperately trying to revive my grandma’s plant. Remember? I said I’d baby this one forever here. Turns out I’m a liar. It’s hanging on by a thread. Sorry Mary Margaret. I’m trying.

It also holds the cute set of vintage mixing bowls, one of which holds our compost goodies.

You need storage, Carolyn? Then voila! That little guy opens up to find all of my awkwardly sized bottles. These have been stashed randomly in the kitchen, bedroom, and who knows where else.. so it pleases me to have them all in one place.

The Shack’s wallpaper & white linoleum, on the other hand does not please me. Oh well. I’m blessed to have a roof over my head.

Happy Thrifting everyone!

Dancing Wedding

Dancing Weddiiiiing – Young and Sweet only seventeeeen. You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your li-i-ife.

Wow, this was a fun one. I’ve been to some where I stay for the meal and slip out the door; others where I sit at the table all night talking with friends without even so much as a glance to the dance floor; and still others where I play whiffle ball and serve guests bbq from a gas station.

Okay that last one  was my own wedding. Yikes.

But this one. This one will be the dancing wedding.

We all knew K & D loved to dance, for them to see this all night:

It must’ve just made their day.

It made mine too, because I’m re-entering the world of dancing without caring.

R thinks he’s been duped. You see, in college our circle of friends would go to a place with a dinky dance floor. And while everyone else was bumping to the music, R and I would stand flat against a wall getting to know each other all the while avoiding drinks getting sloshed into our face by someone’s bad dance move. It was fun. Kind of like dodgeball meets dating. So, he thought I didn’t like to dance, which meant that there was no pressure on his end. And there wasn’t. Truly!

Until recently. If there is a packed floor and good music on, then I’m psyching myself up to get out there if I’m in the mood.

And I don’t care if I dance a little Elaine Benes-esque with my one-handed train conductor move, because if you can’t hear… Journey’s playing and it’s time to move.

So when R went MIA after seeing a good dance crowd, I turned around to find my good ole standby. Mom.

Whaaaaat? What is she doing all. by. herSELF?

Something drastic needed to be done.

So I ran to the DJ and requested Backstreet Boys, stat. HURRY. This is an emergency, my mom is sitting all by herself because she’s not really into House of Pain.

He gave me a sidelong glance and hesitated in the B section. “Are you sure it will go over well with this crowd?” I didn’t care, we had to pump some dancing blood back into Momma Pat and this was the ticket.

As the song started, I ran away from him so no one would know who requested the song. No offense, mom. But could you believe that people gave a loud whoop and clapped?

I grabbed mom and drug her out with me.

She was only a little excited.

By the way, nice bra, Carolyn. Jeez. I’m the classy cousin at the wedding with my unmentionables hanging out in every photo. Sigh.

We slow danced… Still couldn’t seem to find R, so had to make-do with taking photos of my sister and her husband.

And then there were dance-offs:

My nephew, W, partook in one and apparently won?

But grandma was cheering a bit too hard for little W, because the dance-off moved onto her:

And she was booty-ed off the dance floor. No one is safe during a dance off, my friends.

But not to be outdone, my brother-in-law (aka “roommate”) had one out with a groomsmen.

I don’t think anyone can compete with suspenders. Sorry N.

Oh, K & D. What a great wedding! I don’t know who this girl is nor why I took the photo, but I think it had to do with the drawing. Does it seem familiar to this old blog post? Click here.

Discuss.

And Dance. Discuss and dance. That’s pretty much how life goes anyway.

My Kind of Medication

I really wasn’t in the mood to go out and about tonight. I’ve been sick the past few days and a night of watching movies and laying around sounded ideal. However, we had spent the majority of the morning organizing our dorm room sized apartment and decided a Sam’s Club trip was necessary.

So I bundled up my snotty nose and off we went, half hoping they’d be serving their samples like our last Date Night there. Along the way, R caught a sign for Chick-Fil-A and murmured how nice it would be to stop there. But free is free and we knew we could count on ole Sammy.

As we piled up our cart, something was blatantly missing from the store. There were no hair nets around! And you know what that means. No samples, people.

R took that opportunity to drop a giant hint that if I loved him we’d go to Chick-Fil-A. And, for once, I agreed; instead of dragging him somewhere that I wanted to eat.

And boy did it pay to be unselfish! We walked in and noticed a sign stating there was a ‘Pre-Valentine’s Day Dinner’. We looked at each other, then ordered our food.

As we turned the corner with our tray, we saw an entire room filled with fresh flowers, lit candles and tablecloths! So we sat down in our little nook and even put napkins on our laps.

A few minutes later, two dressed-up people walked in…

…and they started performing for us! They sang Italian ballads sprinkled with American music like Stand By Me, which of course made me well up. Love that song.

R asked me to wipe my tears away along with the booger in my left nostril.

It was such a nice surprise and gave a me an extra boost of energy, which was needed because across the parking lot was a Barnes & Noble. And we all know the pull books have on me and R.

So we popped in and within 5 minutes, heard the sound of instruments.

I weaved myself among the shelves of books and finally found them. A saxophone quartet! Complete with chairs to listen.

R went off to buy some coffee and I sat there, the lone person in a chair, listening. I closed my eyes and let the music work over me.

One of the players asked if I played, and I said, “No. I just appreciate.” Which is going to be my motto from now on.

I don’t act or sing or play an instrument. But I appreciate those who do. And even if I’m the only one in the audience, I’ll still clap heartily to show them how much.

Two performances in one night. I’m going to bed with a smile on my face. And this time it’s not because of Nyquil.

Black and White Play

Another interesting outing we had in Dallas was attending a black and white play, done in a 40s type style. The director (and main character) has made this his signature style.
Can you believe this? I was extremely impressed.

Thank you R for getting me interested in plays. Yes, you heard that right.. R did.

I used to require a song & dance to keep my attention, but R’s not too crazy about those broadway shows (although he will sit politely through one). He does like plays, however, so I’ve been mixing them in to appease his taste. And now I’m really enjoying them too.
At intermission, you could fill out who you think committed the murder, throw it into box, and hope to win a prize.
The director played a bumbly, rambling detective who shows up in all of his plays.
At the end, his wife brought out the forms to pick a winner… and the burst of red was such a nice surprise against the backdrop and other characters.

But the weird part was seeing them after the show. You’d think that after the lighting was taken away, the characters would look completely superficial.
 
It was like walking out to a row of dead people. And so I of course had to get a photo with them.

This is the tannest I’ll ever look. Let’s all savor it.

Thank you.

Merry Christmas..

to ourselves. R and I spent Sunday christmas shopping. We ended up buying more things for ourselves than for anyone else it seemed like. Mama’s got a brand new pair of shoes and a book for starters. I talked myself out of a second book, but don’t breathe a sigh of relief. You just don’t see my hand hovering over the “Buy” button on the keyboard. It’ll come soon.
But this one! Oh, this one.
Fashion: A History from the 18th to the 20th Century.
Yum! I love the poses of the mannequins along with actual paintings of the clothing in question.

Candlelit Singing

R finally set up a double date with his co-worker. It took only 2 months, but that’s okay. I felt like I had already been on a date with them (or at least his wife) when we watched her perform in a local play.

A thespian! A real life person, that I can actually touch and feel, who appreciates productions & art as much as me.


I didn’t need to explain during the choir performance why certain notes made my throat hurt, or feel self-conscious for just barely holding back tears throughout others.


She got it. And that made me happy.


At the end of the concert, candles were passed around. R lit mine and I felt united with him for a moment.



And then the congregation sang Silent Night together.
All in all, a great date night. Not to mention the cheap white wine I brought over to their house. That’s right, just keeping it classy.

But one other thing made me smile that night: finding a new song in which to indulge. Laudamus Te by Mozart. When the harpsichord starting playing, my heart lept and I thought, Oh my gosh.. is this Mozart?? But if you read the comments below, I was way off. This was not Mozart, but Vivaldi. Thank you, Hazel.
Note to self: Learn that the name written in a choir concert program is probably for the lyrics.

Below is Laudamus Te sung at the concert. These aren’t the two girls who actually sang it. No, they were left in a pile of ashes after my eyes burned envy into them. Too beautiful, they were.

But this is still wonderful.

Turkey Giblets

We had a nice time over the Thanksgiving holidays. We slept in a half hour later each day, it was delightful.

On actual Turkey Day, the whole family (minus two lovlies in L.A.) came together. Here are some snippits.

:: coloring with my niece before the feast ::

:: my uncle bringing over some of mee-maw’s oyster dressing, brought directly from her spirit apparently ::

:: setting out the glassware. Yes, the blue one was mine ::

:: catching my husband in awkward photo positions ::

:: hanging out with my sisters and posting a good-looking photo in hopes that one of them will forgive me for what is soon to come ::

:: holding hands and saying a couple prayers before committing gluttony ::

:: holding back on portion size ::

:: giving thanks to our hosts ::

:: also giving thanks that I don’t have to look at this carnivorous activity straight on. A side view is plenty, thank you ::

:: going for a post stomach-suicide walk ::

:: watching home movies, including one in which my sister, L, asks a question on the Leeza Gibbons Show while in college. This one made our stomachs hurt we laughed so hard ::

:: watching a late night dance production ::

:: while Aunt Carrie played the piano ::
But I have to say there was one thing that most contributed to this being a great weekend. Not the family time, not the sleeping-in….

:: prunes, baby. that’s all I need to say ::

Drawing

My sister is going to kill me for posting this. Sorry L, but this made me laugh so hard, I could hardly control myself.

Our nephew gave R a drawing over the holiday weekend. It was quite elaborate and detailed.

The more you analyzed it, the more you saw.

For instance, did you see the guy coming up the stairs holding not one, but two guns? He was packing some heat, yo.

Or how about the man with the machete chopping off someone’s head? I think that was supposed to be me. Okay, W, I get the point. Next time I won’t make you sit through old home movies of me.

But honestly, how can you not admire the imagination? Talk about a 7-yr old boy through and through. I loved it.

Pre-Adventure

We were laughing and giggling… obviously having no clue what we were getting ourselves into.

R felt like a ballerina in his new long-sleeved synthetic shirt; a mandated item to enter the race.

While I ran around taking more photos of things that make me smile in the dorm. Like a sexy photo of two legs dangling out of a claw foot tub. Some people have asked if those are my legs. So I pull up my pants to let them figure it out.


“Nope, it’s not you”, they always say. “Hers are shaved.”

And my little matchbox holder. The only suitable place I could think of was by the toilet.


More of our adventure race to come….

Impulse Buy

Books are one thing I don’t feel guilty buying. Ever. And I’m lucky to have a husband who agrees. I mean, my goodness, we have books just waiting in our amazon shopping cart for us to push “buy now.” But we have to control ourselves.

So when I find a little treasure that is also really affordable, I get all giddy.

We were rummaging through bargain bins at our local bookstore when I found a neat art book. Elementary to some of you, but to me? Magical.

It’s called Art Masterpieces in 3-D.

On each page it describes a particular piece of art. And then you see two miniatures of it on the following page. Why?

Because then you flip up the front cover to look through the built-in spectacles. It’s so neat! And it’s when I’m oohing and aahing over 3-D art in the middle of a busy bookstore that I realize how I need a 10-yr old beside me. Sometimes I purchase things just because I hope my future kids will enjoy them with me.


But R suffices for now. Thank goodness he gets me, otherwise I’d be very lonely.

…and I didn’t know it.

Some people compare me to Maya Angelou or ee cummings, but I don’t let it get to my head. You should all know that, yes, I am… a poet. Full of symbolism and alegories, my poems are layered with intellect, beauty, and honesty.

Let me share one with you. This poem was written in Spring of ’08, in the midst of my Costco-buyin‘ large-Fiber-Bar-eatin‘ Tryin‘-to-get-into-shape-runnin‘ phase. I even shared a photo of it with you.
But I digress. Let’s just get to it. I don’t think I need to give a foreward. The written words speak for themselves:
~Run~

Bones atrophied, lungs congested.
Head hair pulled in tight, leg hair not.
I run.

Blood pounding in my head,
Pumping to the beat of Weezer,
I run.

Two dachsunds run after me
Yelping. Caught by their leash,
I run.

Are there any excuses? I look around
And spy an untied shoelace.
I don’t run.

Scary man with hand in pocket
Grins and offers up a greeting.
I run. Fast.

Make it home, but forget about the
Fiber bar already eaten. Head to the bathroom.
I runs.



I’m not proud of this.

Her come-hither look. Sigh. I’ll just never achieve it.

Nope, not proud one bit. I blame my mom and my husband, because well, they don’t necessarily keep me from making a fool of myself and I think sometimes encourage it. I mean, why else would she suggest Jane Austen movies to watch and why would R agree to have a Netflix account? They both must be out to get me.

So I watched one of those movies my mom suggested on Netflix to which R agreed to subscribe. Not a good thing since it dealt with a modern girl going back to Jane’s time and becoming one of the characters in her book. Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to do my whole life?

Of course, I had to try and recreate it. One scene in particular involved learning how to use a fan to convey (or conceal) emotions. So I grabbed my trusty Pride & Prejudice book, fanned myself with it out the door and to the car.

Then I fanned myself behind a dump truck, through the forest, and to a hiking trail.


Finally. I was alone and could practice my fan moves. I even pulled my hair back into a bun and walked sans make-up for probably the second time in my life. No seriously. My first words to my mom were “please cover up the dark circles under my eyes, mommy. thanks a bunch.”
All of this for Jane.

So, here goes nothing:

Cough, ahem. Uh, so yeah, come hither you tall thing, you.

How dare you come hither! Stand back!

Okay, okay, just kidding. Come back and hither a bit more.

What did you say? Don’t you hither away from me.

Hey you — You have a fast hithering pace, but I caught up. Don’t you like me?

Hee Hee… I knew you did. I hear other people hithering on the trail. Let’s get out of here!

I seriously could have done this all day. Point, shoot, click, hither. Point, shoot, click, hither. All day. But my spell was broken when I looked down. Sigh, again. I just can’t get in the regency era mood in these honkers. Next time on the trail I’ll bring my ballet flats. That will surely do the trick.

No Seriously, Cue it.

S and me before our night of toe-tappin.
Notice the strained smile on my face. Stress.
Music is a soul’s medicine, isn’t it. It can penetrate any armor you’ve put up around yourself. Mine, this week, has been the “wound so tight she’s going to snap” shield. R has been tip-toeing around me as I make list after list of what we need to do to the house before putting it on the market. Phone calls with friends have been short. The foam egg mattress we have on our bed has not helped me have a good night’s rest.

Wound tight.

..and then like a dam breaking, a night listening to music at the Nelson Art Museum helped me break free of my mummified state of stress. it massaged my temples and shoulders more than a masseuse ever could. just what the doctor ordered. I laughed and smiled and forgot all about the lists.

Not only was the act of listening to music helpful. To me, more importantly, it was the type of music. I’ve finally admitted to myself that I am a die hard junkie on Bluegrass. Old Country. I came into that genre late, listening to K’s burned cds my third year in college. The tunes caught my ear, and I never asked her to turn them off. But I also never instigated playing them. Then one night in a seedy dark bar, I caught a showing of a bluegrass band, The Wilders. It was in a room painted all black, and there was a crowd of maybe 75 people. The music started and the rest was history. I was a fan. Then for Christmas, my parents-in-law gave me a record player. I bought some records on eBay..a few of which were old country: Hank Williams Jr, Johnny Cash, early Dolly Parton. I also bought others, but those three were the ones I came back to night after night. These classically trained musicians of The Wilders, one of which meant to become an opera singer, became my doorway drug into this new world.

And the layers of the instruments. If anyone remembers the part in Amadeus, when Salieri describes his first encounter listening to Mozart’s music.

“On the page it looked like nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse – bassoons and basset horns – like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly – high above it – an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight.”

I focus on the layers of the bluegrass bands. I try to listen to each instrument separately..and then as a whole. The sum truly is greater than the parts, although the parts are pretty sensational. Plus, Betse can kick some fiddle ass.

I don’t think my mom’s Motown/Rock/Broadway influence will ever leave me. But I can’t deny the new love in my life. Thanks for cheering me up, bluegrass.

Here are some songs from the Wilder’s website. Enjoy.
Two — Betse kicks it!

 

Prelude to a Friendship.. Part One


The Friendship Face-Off
Okay, so my closest friend, K. (see Iowa post) and I are approaching our ten year anniversary. I decided to dedicate a series of posts to our commemorative meeting sophmore year in Spanish class.. It’s eerie how people can be so close to meeting each other, but never do. Luckily, we talked about ourselves incessantly, and so quickly put together the many pieces leading up to that earth shattering moment. I demanded that K. add her side of the story as well, and have been very bossy in my new role as Editor-in-Chief.

Year: 1997, two years prior to Manolo’s Spanish IV class
Location: TPAC, Topeka KS
Show: Grease

K: My first ‘real’ experience with live theatre was going to a performance of Grease. I loved the movie when I was young —

Carrie: And hasn’t stopped doing the gun-at-the-hips dance move since. Sorry, keep going.
K: So I loved the movie and couldn’t wait to see the musical. My mom, sister, and I drove all the way to Topeka for the big show. We even got to eat at the Red Lobster.. which was a treat since Pinky’s was the only restaurant [a term used very loosely] in Courtland, KS. Nevermind that I ate my weight in shrimp scampi, threw up, and have never eaten there since. But I digress.

We arrived at the theatre, and oh my gosh how exciting it was! The lights, the performers, the music. I was in sensory overload. …And then, they announced that there would be —

Carrie: Wait!! I have to lead up to my experience. My mom won two tickets through her work to go see Grease and I was the lucky child who got to go. I didn’t know if it was because she knew I’d like it or because she felt guilty for forcing me to try out for ‘The Wizard of Oz” a few years prior. [Side note: The role of Dorothy had already been taken and so I was auditioning with 18 ‘little people’. Horrifying.]

K: Isn’t that when you sang “It’s a Grand Ole Flag”? You know… to show off your range?

Carrie: [Carrie rolls her eyes in an attempt to look like she’s annoyed that the detail was brought up, but is secretly glad that the focus is still on her.] Yeah, I didn’t have music. So I took my pre-fetus level piano book and pounded away at the keys while recording myself on a cassette tape. When I got to the audition, the lady did a slightly fancier version and I had no idea it was even the same song. Now I digress.

So we’re in the audience, whey they announce “There will be a Grease Dance-Off starting in a few minutes. Please come up to the stage if you’d like to participate.” A dance off?? Is this a dream?? So I turn to my mom and begin the list of reasons why she needs to do this with me, starting with “Remember when you never let me…” and ending with “..So you owe me this.” —

K: — I so wanted to do it… but couldn’t convince anyone to go with me on stage, so I had to settle with watching all the contestants take the stage. That’s when I noticed them. A mother-daughter team…

Carrie: Me!

K: …dancing like they’ve never danced before. I kept my eyes on them, rooting for them all the way.

Carrie: Are you kidding, K? This has never been added to the story before. Don’t feel like you have to embellish for the blog’s sake. I know you were routing for the two 7 year olds. They were so quick on their feet.

K: The contestants slowly began dwindling as team by team were asked to leave the stage.

Carrie: Wait, wait. Now I know you’re either being sarcastic or can’t remember. My mom and I got 5th place. Out of five. It just wasn’t our night, guys. Our arms never really locked into place during the pretzel, and I stepped on her toe during the Cha-Cha.

K: Well, I do remember that you guys danced as if your lives depended on it. Maybe it did, for all I knew.

Carrie: What, like there was a bomb attached to one of us and we couldn’t dance below 55 mph?

K: Well, you do look like Sandra Bullock from the balcony.
… Stay tuned for part two of “Prelude to a Friendship”

Just Guess.

As part of our “kid day”, we decided to have our picture drawn. Either that or take an old-fashioned photo, which I was really tempted to do only because of an Onion article I read. Click here to read it.

[I need to pause here and request that you read the Onion article. It actually made me laugh out loud.]

So, anyway, we plop down and wait for the artist to shine his 5000 watt bulb onto our faces. He looks up to study us for only half-second increments and I wonder if the drawing will even resemble us. Just when I’m certain he doesn’t even know our skin color, he comments, “So, I see you’re getting gray hair.” This kid has looked at me for a total of 1.5 seconds and has already deduced that I’m aging at a increasingly rapid pace. It made me laugh, but in the back of my head I was already figuring out what expenditure I could cut out of my life to allow monthly hair-dyes.

Before he began, we had asked him to hold nothing back. And so he grossly exaggerated some of our features. I’ll give you a hint. For R: it’s not his eyebrows. For Me: if you knew me before and after puberty, you already noticed.

This is going above our fireplace.