Frog in a Party Hat

I finished a new knitting project tonight.  Don't adjust your screens, it really is this bright.

OK, maybe the color doesn't come through really well in this picture, but trust me, it's BRIGHT.

The pattern is Sockhead, and the name of the colorway is Frog in a Party Dress, so I've named this Frog in a Party Hat.  It's nice and cozy, but not so heavy that I couldn't wear it in spring or fall as a fashion statement.  (You know me, I'm all about the fashion statement.)  I'm quite satisfied with this hat, and I expect that there will be more Sockheads to come.  And I already have plans for the leftover yarn, of which there is a fair bit.  A book of sock patterns came in the mail today, and there's a really cute one that calls for just a little bit of a contrasting color.  This pink and green yarn should be almost a shock of color against a black yarn.  Or maybe  it will work against some deep purple I have in my stash.  We'll see.

My brother and sister-in-law came for dinner tonight.  Jer's birthday is in mid-February, and he very humbly requested another pair of heavy house socks.  He asked for a pair for Christmas, and he loves them so much that he hasn't been willing to skip wearing them around the house long enough to get them washed!  Clearly, this is a guy who needs at least one more warm pair of handknit socks.

Lip Balm of the Day: Pink Cake

Jumping In, Head First

I've been amping myself up, in secret, for doing Fast Draft.

In secret because I can't stand the idea of my parents knowing about my writing.  1. Because it immediately comes with the high pressure nagging to start submitting stories to publishers.  (Bugging someone to submit before they're ready is not helpful.)  And 2. Because I know that they would thoroughly disapprove of what I plan to write.  It would be a hard enough secret to keep if I wasn't living with them and I got a story published.  But, emotionally, living with my parents is like living as an exhibit at the zoo.  Everything is know and noticed.  There's no mental privacy.  If they knew I was writing, they'd want to read it.  If they knew it was published they'd want to buy it and read it and tell their friends.  And while I feel no shame at all in what I read and intend to write, they'd be deeply ashamed of it, which gets in my head and scrambles it.

So, anyway, I was telling you how I was getting myself mentally prepared for Fast Draft.  That's two weeks of pedal-to-the-metal writing.  5,000 words a day is the goal.  (Although I give myself full permission to do less if that's beyond my limits.  But I want to stretch myself and see if that's possible.  If not, less is more than none.)  I've been mostly just *thinking* about writing.  Thinking about what music is inspiring me right now, looking at images that I might want to add to a collage.  Stuff like that.

And then last week, out of the blue, my parents start hassling me at dinner about my writing.  Now I admit, I have a pretty thin skin when it comes to anything that I'm trying to do and keep to myself.  If I hadn't been thinking about trying to write again it probably would have rolled right off my back.  But with that writing desire so close to the surface it upset me a lot.  My immediate response (which I did not voice, because even if they'd just "ruined it" for me, I still didn't want them to know what I was thinking about doing) was to not do it.  To give up.  I was pretty pissed for a while.

Today I said, "screw it," and I signed up for Fast Draft anyway.  I'm just going to have to find a way to put up steel bars, castle walls, and a moat all around me, to protect what I need to be intensely private from the intrusion of the unwelcome.  I'm not quite sure how I'm going to manage that without creating A Thing in the house.  Like the Mom in Everybody Loves Raymond, my mother has a very limited sense of boundaries, and feels that everything is her business.  I don't particularly want to deal with butt hurt while simultaneously attempting to write a novel.

So that's my frustration at the moment.  In lighter news, I did a bit of pre-work today by poking around looking for songs for the soundtrack and images for the collage.  I'm loving it all, although the whole thing is a bit schizophrenic.  Tone and imagery are all over the place.  I'm hoping that some of this settles into a semi-coherent something between now and next Sunday, when the class starts.

Like I said before, the goal is 5,000 words a day.  That's 70,000 words over the course of two weeks.  Not unheard of, but quite a bit longer than the average m/m story.  So I'm thinking, if the 5,000 words per day turns out to be doable, I'll end up writing two stories.  The first one I'm thinking of is the riff on The Hobbit that I toyed around with and wrote a few lines for last November during NaNo.  I plan to read The Hobbit this week, as soon as I find my old copy, make it to the used bookstore to get another copy, or break down and pay the outrageous $10.99 that Penguin is asking for a Kindle copy.  I really want a digital copy, but not at that price.

The idea for the second story came directly out of all the image searching I did today.  I'm thinking either A Rare Duck or An Odd Duck for the title.  A guy who collects rubber ducks is searching for one particular, rare duckie, and another guy is trying to block him from having it.  First thought was that something was smuggled into the country inside the duck.  Second thought is that maybe he's on some weird, Amazing Race type hunt, and he's looking for a clue hidden in the duckie.  I'm not sure, but I've got a week to figure this stuff out.

As a thank you for making your way through all this rambling mess, here is a video with one of the songs I've picked for the soundtrack and a few of the images I have so far.  You'll see what I mean about them not fitting together in tone AT ALL.  But this is what it is, so I've got to work with it.

Sarah Jarosz is a relatively new discovery of mine, and I completely adore her.  So talented.

Eyeliner Dude

I was going to put the crazy guys in the Hobbit story in a
van with a wizard painted on the side, but I thought that
was a little on the nose. So maybe they'll drive one painted
like the A Team van. Or maybe the Mystery Machine, who knows.

Cool Joe Duck

Love Duck

Vintage airplanes. Not sure where I'm going with this one
*at all*.

Disco Ducks!

Someone in this story has a dog?
Who knew?

Rockin' duck toilet seat

Christmas cookies, because who ever heard of too many
Christmas cookies?

And now, some more pretty boys.

I have him labeled as "Brad". Not sure
who Brad is, but I'll figure it out eventually.

This lovely specimen is apparently "Ethan". 

Not sure who this is yet, but he's got
attitude to spare.

Gotta love a kiss.

And this guy is just hot and wearing
a scarf.

Check Out My Dealie Boppers!

Delia reminded me that I haven't posted a picture of my birthday dealie boppers yet, so here it is!  I apologize for the moon pajamas and my total unwillingness to put on a bra.  That's hard work, and I just wasn't up for it tonight.

You can't see it in the picture, but there are flashing lights on the dealie boppers.  Also, check out my red hair!  I talked to my mom about the green hair thing, and decided not to do it right now.  I'm planning to go to Christmas Eve services with them (I never go to church, so it's kind of a big deal to Mom), and I know it would completely humiliate them for me to show up with green hair.  I know that's silly, but I'll respect their feelings about it.

Also, I talked to the hairstylist, and apparently maintaining an unusual color is a hell of a lot of work.  I'd probably be re-dying my hair every week to two weeks.  I am so not up for that right now.  So I'll be sticking with the fiery, but longer lasting, red.

And since you can't really see them in that first photo, here are the giant hoop earrings that I talked about a million years ago but never posted a picture of.

Aren't they fantastic?  They looked good with the scraggly blond mop that I used to have, but they really work with the red.

Also, taking clear pictures of myself, one handed, with that thing was a serious pain in the butt.  Definitely not designed for taking pictures of yourself one handed.

In other news, there are two jars of cherries draining in the refrigerator right now.  Tomorrow is chocolate covered cherry day!  Messy, but fun.  And the results are worth it.  Better than any chocolate covered cherry you'll buy in the store.  The recipe I use is in the Better Homes & Gardens cookbook.  (Also available online here.)  They're a little harder to find, but if you decide to make this recipe, take the time to find cherries with stems.  Your results will be much better.  (Especially if you're not an experienced candy maker.)

I think that's all the news and pictures for today.  I've started my brother's socks, but just barely.  I need to get trucking on them if he's going to get something more than an IOU in his stocking.  And I haven't finished embellishing my peanut, but maybe I'll have pics of that tomorrow!

Lip balm of the day: a very festive and seasonal White Cranberry.  (It's way yummy!)

Halloween Pizza

Here in Indiana we have a take-and-bake pizza place called Papa Murphy's.  An Irish pizza joint.  This delights me.  In the last few days they've been running ads for a special Jack-o-Lantern pizza.

Isn't that the goofiest thing ever?  I love it.  I'm going to push for a Jack-o-Pizza for dinner on Friday night.  I know Halloween isn't Friday, but Friday is Pizza Night.  I'm thinking this and one of the Ghostbusters movies that my brother lent us (he has both I and II on DVD, but who in their right mind wants to watch Ghostbusters II?) would make for a very satisfying Halloween celebration.  Maybe with the Charlie Brown Halloween special while the pizza is baking.  Because what's a holiday without a Charlie Brown special?

I may be about 25 years too old for trick-or-treating, but never let it be said that I don't know how to have a good time.

Lip Balm of the Day: Lavender Lemonade

Ya Wore Me Out, Kid

My best friend, her husband, and her son were here this afternoon for a visit.  The hubs has family here in Indiana, so they were able to carve out a little bit of time on their grand tour.  (That's not even a joke.  They've been on the road since Monday, and other than me they've seen/will see another friend, both sets of his grandparents, his father, and his sister.  All in different cities, as far as I know.)

It was nice to see Keli and Eric, but the real highlight was London.  The last time I saw him, he was about 3 months old.  He's 17 months now, and the cuteness factor was overwhelming.  We had presents for him, and once he got in the groove he really enjoyed ripping the paper.  And then once each package was completely unwrapped he had to be sure each of his parents got a good look.  The funniest thing to me was when London opened one of the packages (a book), and Eric got all excited.  "Richard Scarry!"  Keli was like, huh?  Apparently, she never read Richard Scarry as a kid (how is this possible?), so we had to explain to her that he was an author, and that his books always had a million fun things to look at.  Once the presents were all unwrapped, Eric grabbed London and immediately started reading it to him.  I have a feeling that's going to be the go to book when it's Dad's turn to read to him before bed from now on.

And then we sat down for some lunch.  Mom had made some potato soup, because it's one of those things that is really flexible and forgiving as far as timing goes.  It can sit on the stove and simmer for a while with no harm done.  (We weren't sure exactly when they were going to get here.)  I wasn't sure that London would go for it, but he loved it!  There was a smile and a "yum!" after almost every bite.  And he got very put out when Keli would sneak a spoonful for herself.  That was his soup, damn it!  There were also rolls, and London loves rolls.  So he was stuffing bites of bread in his mouth between little bits of potato and carrot from the soup.  Then his mom had what was apparently the Best. Idea. Ever!  She grabbed a little piece of his roll and dipped it in the soup.  He immediately made a dive for the soup bowl to try to do it himself.

Mom was practically incandescent with pleasure watching all this.  Especially every time he said, "Yum!"  It really was unbearably cute.

And then we all went outside so he could run around and play in the backyard.  And we could all run around after him.  I did very minimal chasing or picking up and swinging.  I would have liked to have done more, but frankly, I'm beat to my socks with what I did manage to do.  We had rain a couple of days ago, and it knocked a lot of leaves off the trees.  So Eric and London played in the leaves for awhile, which was also way adorable.  We have an old lobster trap under a tree in our backyard as decoration.  London spotted it and tried to crawl in.  Again, the cuteness factor was about 1000.  Dad managed to get pictures of some of it, although London gets weird in front of cameras and won't smile.  If he knew Dad was taking a picture there was no smile.  But there were quite a few of him playing and totally unaware of the camera.

And then it was time for them to move on.  :(  They've got a lot more miles to drive and people to see before they get home at the end of next week.  I was so glad to see them.  It was with my parents the whole time, and I didn't really get to talk to Keli about anything other than kid stuff and general chatter.  It was kind of like a 5 minute visit from an old life.  Very odd.

And now I'm all worn out.  For a good reason for once.  I took my sleeping pill early, and I hope to be crashing soon.  Night night!

Lip Balm of the Day: Gummy Bears

Oy

My mother is subject to... enthusiasms.  She gets an idea in her head, and suddenly she's off and running in 15 directions.  (Of course, I am, too.  But in me it's fun and charming.)  I wouldn't mind if it was just her.  But when Mom gets an enthusiasm, she drags Dad and I along after her, whether we want to be dragged or not.

Her latest enthusiasm is to have a garage sale.  She decided on it just this past weekend.  We're having it on Thursday.  Never mind that there's probably enough shit junk crap stuff in the garage for a professional auction house to come in and do an estate sale.  Apparently, we're going to do this one small stack of boxes at a time.  I'd be overwhelmed with joy if we could just get Goodwill or someone to come empty out the garage.  Take it!  It's free!  But no, this is all precious shit junk crap stuff, and must be sold for top dollar.

I understand, to a certain extent.  There are antiques and such in there.  Mom and Dad have somehow become the storage repository for all of *their* parents' stuff.  (Even though they both have siblings who could have, and should have, taken responsibility for some of it.)  Mom sees it all as a potential source of extra cash-- which we could certainly use.  But what Mom insists on being blind to is the fact that she lives with two people with exhausting, chronic diseases.  I can't speak for Dad, but as far as I'm concerned, the energy expended in this ridiculousness is not worth the measly buck seventy-five we're going to make on it.  A good garage sale requires preparation and advertising.  Since we're doing this last minute and on the fly, there is time for neither.  Her goal is $50.  Fifty dollars for days worth of work, and if we're lucky we'll gain an extra 2 square feet of space in the garage.  Sigh.  Considering what she's willing to part with (barely), I think we'll be lucky to get $10 out of it.

What I haven't been quite willing to tell her yet, is whatever she doesn't get rid of now, I'm tossing when she's dead.  A few sentimental items?  Sure I'll keep.  But I'm not hanging on to boxes of "antique" linens.  Furniture.  For God's sake-- there are still baby clothes in there!  (My brother and I are both in our 30s!)  I don't want it, I don't want the hassle of it.  It's gone.  If we could get rid of some of this stuff now we'd all have a better quality of life, and my brother and I won't get stuck with the burden of disposing of at least two generations worth of junk when they're gone.  Mom complained all last winter that they couldn't park in the garage because it was completely full of boxes and junk (stacked 7 feet high, with only a narrow, take-your-life-into-your-hands, walk way).  Dad has lumber in there that we moved to Indiana with us when we came here the *first* time.  That was 1989!  He won't let go of any of that, either.  It's not just Mom who is clinging to this crap for all she's worth.

And what really frosts my cookies is that Mom suggested to me last night that I go through the two-- two!-- tubs in the garage that are mine to see if I can get rid of anything.  Probably I can.  But two rubbermaid tubs vs the whole rest of the garage (plus a rented storage space-- did I mention that yet?).  Which one of these is really the problem?  And she keeps coming in to ask me if I'm really sure that I don't mind if she puts out this piece of crap, or that pile of junk.  I finally just told her that I'm really, really sure that she can get rid of all of it.  Please!

OK, I think I better go now.  I'm getting even more annoyed than I was when I started this post, and I still have to go write up the Craigslist ad.  Damn it.

Today Was a Good Day

I had an excellent day today.  First of all, I had the house to myself all day long.  Mom and Dad went with their Sunday School class to some sort of Jesus museum.  (It had dinosaurs.  I don't even pretend to understand that one.)  Anyway, this place was a couple hours away, so between driving there, touring, having lunch and dinner, and driving home again, I didn't see them until 9pm.  It was lovely and peaceful.

And then the thing that I'd been waiting for since Wednesday finally happened.  My brand new Kindle arrived!  It's light and little and adorable.  I spent some time loading books for the quarterly reading challenge that started at midnight, and then I started a library book that I was able to download wirelessly onto the new Kindle.

As if all of that wasn't happy making enough, my name was drawn in a contest on twitter.  I got a free advance copy of Carina Press's holiday m/m anthology!  In it is a new story by one of my very favorite authors-- Josh Lanyon.  Woo hoo!

Some craft supplies that I'd ordered were delivered, and I ate queso dip and tortilla chips for dinner.  (I'm a grown up, I can eat whatever I want for dinner.  Also, my mommy wasn't here to say no.)

After that, Mom and Dad came home, and we talked about their trip, and then we watched about half an episode of Diners, Drive Ins, and Dives, which happened to feature a place here in Indianapolis and another place in Bucks County, PA (which is where we're from originally).  And then we all retreated to our rooms, Mom and Dad to zonk out in exhaustion, and me to watch some random stuff off the dvr and write this post.

Really, it was a fantastic day!

Jewelry!

Tonight I went to my sister-in-law's jewelry party.  Now, I'm not much of a jewelry person.  I have one pair of earrings and two puzzle rings that I wear all the time, and that's it.  So I went to support her (it wasn't just that she was throwing a party, she's actually starting up as a rep) and to buy something for my bff, whose birthday is in early July.

I was really surprised.  I found a few things that I really liked!  I ordered a pair of earrings for myself and a really pretty necklace for my friend.  (We rent a beach house every year, and it's become a really important thing for both of us.  The necklace is silver with a cz encrusted starfish pendant.  It's just perfect for her.)  And there are a couple things that I'd really like, but couldn't swing right now.  One was a really pretty silver ring.  (And I think there are a couple more rings I'd like to have.)  Another is a great big pair of hoop earrings.  (I've always wanted a pair of big ol' trashy hoop earrings.  Not that these are trashy, but they're headed in that direction!)  And then there was a silver necklace with a pendant that says "Believe" on one side and "like there's endless possibilities" on the other.  There's an optional second pendant that says "Dream" on one side and "like they will all come true" on the other.

I'd host a party to help my sister-in-law out with her new enterprise, but I don't know anyone in Indianapolis.  All my friends are in Texas and online.  So I was thinking I might ask her about doing a catalog party instead. Does anyone think they'd be interested in helping out my SIL launch her business by taking a look at a catalog and possibly buying a piece or two of fun, mid-range jewelry?  (Nicer than Claire's, less expensive than Kay's.  There is a range of prices, but a lot of the pieces I saw were around $30.)  Absolutely no hard feelings if you're not interested.  I just thought I'd put it out there.  If you are interested let me know, and if she is cool with trying a catalog party I'll mail you one.  (Prepare yourself.  It's a heck of a catalog!)

A small comment on a totally different topic.  The New York Assembly has approved same-sex marriage for the state of New York!  Yay!  I couldn't be more thrilled that very soon everyone in New York, regardless of sex or sexual orientation, will have the right to marry, and all its attendant privileges and responsibilities.  Others will have more to say on this issue (and say it in a way that's both more powerful and more entertaining than I ever could), so I'm just going to say Woo Hoo! and leave it there.

Woo Hoo!

And now, to get back into a habit that has fallen by the wayside lately, the Lip Balm of The Day is: Cat Pee  (I know, it sounds gross.  But it's citrusy and delicious.)

Playing Nice

Mom was pretty cranky today, so in an effort to pacify and play nice, I spent the evening in the living room with them instead of in my room.  I picked a movie off my Netflix queue, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, and we watched it.  Or I watched it, Dad slept through the whole thing, and Mom slept through a good chunk of the middle.  That's not really a comment on the quality of the movie.  Dad's got pneumonia right now, so he spends a lot of most evenings sleeping in the chair.  And Mom falls asleep in front of any movie that isn't overtly Christian or produced by the Hallmark channel.

Other than Harry's Law, there are no TV shows that we both enjoy.  And I've pretty much exhausted my supply of Instant Netflix movies in the Family category.  So if anyone has any suggestions, that would be great.  They don't have to be animated, and they don't have to be kiddish.  They just need to be low on cursing and adult material.  And for my sanity if they could be low on the religious references and cheese factor, that would be good, too.

Even though Mom was snitty today (she is totally freaking out about all the ice outside our front door and getting the cars and driveway cleared out, even though we have no where to go and no way to get there, since the roads are just as bad), I had a pretty good day.  I read a book I enjoyed by a new-to-me author.  If Dad listened to Rush Limbaugh I never caught him at it.  And I, surprisingly, got a good night's sleep last night after my 3 hour nap.  I think I'm almost caught up.  Or as caught up as I ever get.

So that was my day.  How was yours?

Attitude Adjustment

I took a three hour nap this afternoon.  It's made a world of difference in my mood.  There's been a few minor annoyances today, but my nap armed me to deal with them like a rational(ish) human being and not fly off the handle or rant on the internet.

Tonight we watched Harry's Law as a family.  The usual thing is that I retreat to my room after dinner and do my own damn thing.  (Mom and Dad have an unhealthy appreciation for Hallmark movies, and movies she finds at the Christian store.  It's February and they're still watching Christmas movies.  I don't mind an occasional cheesy/sappy movie, but there's a limit.)  But we all enjoy Harry's Law, so we usually watch that one together.

It surprises me greatly that Mom and Dad like it.  The language alone would normally be enough to send my mother flying.  And you can't deny that Harry comes at things with a liberal world view.  Dad listens to Rush Limbaugh.  Also, the show's by David E. Kelley.  There haven't been any dancing babies yet, but there is a certain wackiness that you might expect from this guy.  (Harry, who is a woman, has set up a law office in the ghettos of Cincinnati? Columbus?  I don't remember.  Somewhere in Ohio.  The storefront she took over used to be a shoe store, and the former occupant left quite possibly thousands of dollars worth of designer shoes.  Did I mention this was in the ghetto?  Anyway, her assistant answers the phone, "Harry's Law and Fine Shoes," which should tell you all you need to know about the show.  Oh, and Kathy Bates plays Harry.) If I were to make a bet on the one show Mom and Dad would not like, this is the one I'd pick.  But I guess to them it's less objectionable than the cut 'em up, shoot 'em up shows I like to watch, like SVU and CSI.  There's very little on screen violence in Harry's Law, and so far she's managed to help somebody who really needed it by the end of the episode, so I guess that fits with their tastes.  I just like that Harry is a broad who's willing to call it like she sees it without having a hang 'em high kind of attitude.

I think I'm actually starting to get tired, so I'll cut it off there.  Today was a better day for me, and hopefully tomorrow will be, too.

Grrrrr

We're having a problem here at Multi-Generational Housing Solution Central, and it's really getting to me.  A couple weeks ago Mom bought a package of hot dog buns and left them sitting on the kitchen table instead of putting them away in the pantry or refrigerator.  Later that evening, while everyone was watching TV, Trouble jumped up on the kitchen table and chewed a big hole in the package, eating a good part of four of the eight buns in the pack.

Mom lost her shit.  She cleaned up the mess, and then she came into my room, where I was sitting watching TV and Troub was sleeping on the bed, and started yelling at him.  Mom is loud anyway, because she's losing her hearing, but this was right up in his face, shaking her finger at him, loud.  He tried to back up a bit, she just kept coming.  So he hissed at her.  She gave him a little tap on the rump and kept yelling.  He hissed again, she hit him a little harder and kept yelling.  He hissed louder, and she really started whaling on him.  At this point I started yelling, and Mom backed off enough for Troub to get under the bed and hide.  Then she tried to come around the bed and go after him again.  Can we say out of proportion response for a $2.50 pack of buns?  I had to chase her out of my room to get her to leave him alone.  And he'd been sleeping on my bed for at least 45 minutes before she came in screaming, so he probably had no idea why she was suddenly attacking him.

Now it's weeks later, and Troub still hisses and runs away every time she comes into my room.  It doesn't help that she insists on making eye contact and pushing his personal space boundaries.  She seems to be taking a nasty pleasure in tormenting him, and when I pointed out today that he's still upset about what she did (after she came in and chased him off AGAIN), she said she's still upset about what HE did.  Dude.  He wrecked a package of hot dog buns.  Get a grip.  If it's such a big fucking deal I will buy you another pack of fucking buns.  When I pointed out that Troub has a right to not be hassled in his own space, she said something to the effect of "It's not his space, it's my space."  So much for the whole "it's your home, too," speech I keep getting.

I never thought I'd have this kind of problem when we all moved in together.  It's bad enough that I feel like I can't get a moment's peace, with her constantly poking her nose in my room and sometimes just opening the door and walking in.  (What does a closed door say to you?)  But I can't tolerate her hassling my cat anymore.  I don't know how I'm going to handle this.  She's proven to be completely impervious to hints and subtle suggestions.  I'm going to have to get forceful about it, and probably about her leaving me the hell alone while I'm at it.  We both have a right to be left in peace when we've retreated to our room-- the only place in the house that is supposed to be just for us.  (I can't even get her to leave me alone in the bathroom!)  The only outcome I can see of this conversation is for her to get all cranky and butthurt and even worse.  And if I don't find a good way of doing this soon I'm going to end up snapping and saying it in the rudest way possible.  But I'm sorry, the way she's behaving is not OK.

ETA: Mom walked into my room a few minutes ago and asked, "are you mad at me?"  I told her I wasn't happy about how she was acting with Troub.  First she starts on, "well, he's just a cat," and then she changed the subject and walked out.  Now she's crashing around in the kitchen.  If she doesn't take it easy she's going to break something.

My visit to a foreign land

Today I went out to dinner with my parents and brother and sister-in-law.  But before we went to the restaurant, my SIL had coupons that were about to expire for a local Christian store.  I didn't burst into flames upon crossing the threshold of the store, so I decided to look around a bit and report what I saw.

First of all, let me just say, there is a lot of Christian crap out there.  There were a million books, including Christian weight loss and Sarah Palin's latest.  My dad picked up a copy of George W's book, and I was a very good girl.  I didn't once stick my finger down my throat and make gagging noises, even though I wanted to.

There were CDs and DVDs.  There were wall hangings and statues and tchotchkes of all kinds.  They had cards, which wasn't surprising, but they also had boxes of children's valentines.  They had gift bags with Christ-centered messages on them.  Children's toys.  I spotted a box of Bible Scrabble.  I'm not sure what the difference between that and regular Scrabble is.  Maybe the dirty words don't count, or the "no proper nouns" rule is waved and you get to use names from the Bible, like Habakkuk or Abednego.

What was most odd to me were the items that were trying to ape secular crazes.  Like Faith Bands- a Biblical version of silly bandz.  This dog tag amused me.  It says, "thelight", but the font used makes it look an awful lot like Twilight merchandising.

And this was quite possibly the weirdest item I spotted: 

It's the Solar Powered Praise Flower!  (The ones they sold had words like Love or Hope printed on the base, along with a scripture reference.)  These flowers sit on your desk or windowsill and just sort of... sway.  Bounce.  Cute, but kind of weird.  And other than the reference to the Bible verse, I'm not sure what makes it a Praise Flower as opposed to just a plain old flower.

So, that was my trip to the Christian bookstore.  Nothing caught fire, and I entertained myself by laughing (quietly, I hope) at all the odd things that people will buy if you slap a cross on it.

The Accidental Altar

I was unpacking a box of tchotchkes a couple of weeks ago, and I ended up arranging my favorites on the only empty flat surface in my entire room-- my dresser.  It wasn't until a few days later that I realized that it's got the vibe of an altar.

Starting at the top left, there is a picture of my brother and sister-in-law.  (I fuzzed out their faces because I don't have their permission to post a picture of them on the internet.  As far as I know, they don't even know I have this blog.)  In the middle is Flower Annie, my Wee Peeple doll, made by the wonderful Kandra Niagra.  Isn't she beautiful?  I love Wee Peeple dolls.  They have such personality and energy.

Next to Annie is a drawing I made when I was about 10.  We'd just moved to Texas for the first time, and it was the Sesquicentennial.  (150 years of Texas statehood.)  I was the new Yankee girl, but they liked it so much that it was framed and posted in the hall at my middle school for years.  I'm not sure how my parents got a hold of it, but they put it on the wall in the yellow guest bedroom in Massachusetts (which was briefly my bedroom).  I think because the frame is yellow, so it matched the room.

Coming around the corner, there is a little pixie box I've had since I was a little girl.  It's sitting in a wooden bowl that my dad carved.  I'm not sure why it's sitting in the bowl, but when I took it out it didn't look right to me, so back in it went.  Next to the pixie box is a large shell I got once on a trip to the beach in Galveston.  The beach is kind of a special place to me.  (I'm a Scorpio.  That's a water sign, so I guess that makes sense.)    I always feel more relaxed at the beach.  Like I can exhale.  All my muscles unknot and I sleep better.  If I ever win the lottery I'm buying a house on the beach.

In front of the pixie box there's a crystal that I love.  When I did have an official altar I used it to represent the energy of the God.  There's also a pretty little shell that I found once walking on the beach.  In the bottom right corner is a little dish given to me by a friend.  She used to read cards at the Texas Renaissance Festival, and she used the dish as a tip jar.  I know you can't tell from the picture, but it has suns and moons and stars all around the edge.  In the dish is the fortune I got in my fortune cookie when we had Chinese food New Year's Eve.  It says, "A new romance is in the future."  I'd say that's pretty accurate, since a romance novel that I'd pre-ordered downloaded to my Kindle on January 1st.

Next to the bowl is a plastic canvas coaster I made for my parents.  Their living room in Massachusetts was painted barn red and tan, with black accents.  I made about a dozen of them in different quilt block designs, and I made that one, with a black cat on it, to represent my cat, Trouble.  Mom and Dad love him to bits, and Mom calls him her grandson, so I thought they'd like it.  I stole that one in Massachusetts so that I had something to put my sweating drinks on in my bedroom.  Somehow it never got put back with the rest of the coasters when we packed.

In the center, in front of Flower Annie, is a little frame that used to sit on my grandfather's nightstand.  On the left side there's a picture of my mom as a little girl in her Girl Scout uniform.  (You can't really see it because of the glare.)  We looked so much alike at that age, that I asked my granddad once when that picture was taken, because I didn't remember doing it.  I thought it was me.  There used to be a little picture of her brother, my Uncle George, tucked in there, too, but it slipped out.  It's probably still in the box the frame was packed in for the move.  I need to look around for it, because I don't want to lose it.  On the other side is a picture of my grandmother and grandfather.  I can see that picture from my bed, and it makes me happy to be able to look at them.

In front of the frame is my mascot, Super Becky.  When I was a freshman in college I went into a Hallmark store around Halloween, and I spotted these cute little miniatures.  My roommate and best friend is a huge fan of dragons, and I found a puppy in a dragon costume for her.  For me I found a bunny in a super hero costume, with a capital B on his chest.  I immediately knew his name was Super Becky.  (Don't ask me why Super Becky is male.  It makes no sense.  But it is what it is.)  I don't know how I managed to hang on to Super Becky for almost 20 years now without losing him.  As you can see, he's pretty small.  But I have.

Moving on to the left, there's a pretty little porcelain box that I got as a favor at a birthday party when I was in elementary school.  It's got a butterfly on top and my name written in liquid gold on the front.  I always thought it was the coolest thing.  Next to that there is an old-style Weeble Wobble.  I was at my grandparents house one day, and I decided to give it to Grandmom.  She was so touched that I gave her one of my toys that she kept it forever after on display in her china cabinet with all her other treasures.  I never had the heart to tell her that my 5 year-old self decided that he was the grumpy one, and I didn't want him any more.  It kind of makes me laugh now.  I still think of him as the grumpy one!

The stack of stones in the bottom left corner is something that my brother collected.  I'm not sure why I kept them (I found them on the bookshelf in my room in Massachusetts), but they seem to fit there.  Behind the stones is a little angel that Mom used to put out as a Christmas decoration in my room every year.  I loved to play with her.  One year I kept her, and she lived on a shelf in my apartment in Houston.

Behind the angel is another item that was always on display at my grandmother's house.  I think I mentioned a while back that she was a professional church soloist in Philadelphia.  As you may be able to tell from the little photo that lived on my grandfather's nightstand, Grandmom was also a sizable woman.  This figure looked so much like her that her coworkers gave it to her as a gift when she retired.  I love having this little piece of my grandmother on my dresser.

And the last figure is pretty well obscured by glare, but she is the little statue I used to represent Goddess on my altar.  Here is a site that has a picture of the collection she came from.  The name of the figure is Devotion, and she's just about exactly in the center of the page.  You may notice that the whole collection is a bit, um, Georgia O'Keefe, but I like them.  You can't see it, but there's another little shell at her feet.

And that is my accidental altar.  Little bits and pieces of family and history and places that are important to me.

Little Mysteries

Something the wonderful Julie said in her comments the other day got me thinking about this.  The odd, random stuff that comes up in conversation sometimes.  The little things that you never would have guessed about someone-- even someone you know well.  I decided to dig around in my personal closet and see if I can find a few to share.

I was in the marching band in high school.  I played the flute.  I still have it, but I don't play it much anymore.  Whenever I do, it scares the cat.  In my four years we won the state competition twice and marched in two national parades-- the Orange Bowl parade and the Fiesta Bowl parade.

My favorite TV show as a kid was The Dukes of Hazzard.  The Best Christmas Ever was the year when it fell on a Friday, and therefore it was both Christmas and Dukes of Hazzard day all in one.  (Although I don't remember actually watching the show that day.  But I sure do remember being excited about it!)  I had the hugest crush on Bo Duke.

I finaled in the first RWA chapter contest I ever entered-- West Houston RWA's Emily.  I was 22 and at my first RWA meeting.  Everyone kept talking about the Emily, but no one actually said what it was.  As the meeting broke up I approached someone-- it turned out to be a pre-published NYT Bestselling Author Kerrelyn Sparks-- and asked what the Emily was.  She said, "It's our chapter contest.  You have to enter!"  So I did.  One judge gave me a perfect score.  Another wrote in the comments that she felt I was ready for publication.  Almost 15 years later and it's still the most success I've had with my writing.  I never did finish that book.

My grandmother was one of the first people ever on TV.  She worked in Philadelphia for a company that was developing the technology.  They needed something to broadcast, so they got their employees together and had a talent show.  My grandmother sang.  (When she wasn't typing or running a switchboard at her day job, she was a professional church soloist.)  Somewhere we have an album with the group photo from her television performance.  Based on the family stories I did a little googling, and I think this is what she did.  I'm pretty sure she worked for Philco.  I'd ask my parents to be sure, but they're asleep right now. ;p

I inherited musical talent from the other side of the family, too.  My great grandfather was an orchestra leader in Philadelphia.  One day he was walking down the street with his wife when he said, "Someday I'm going to play trumpet in that church."  Her response was reportedly, "Honey, that's not our church.  Plus, you don't play the trumpet."  So he learned.  And damned if he didn't play trumpet there professionally one day.

I've been in, I believe 36 out of 50 states.  I've lived in 5 of them-- Pennsylvania, Iowa, Texas, Indiana, and Massachusetts.  I've lived in two of them twice-- Indiana and Texas.  I've made brief forays into the edges of Canada and Mexico (pre-9/11, when you didn't need a passport to cross the border), but other than that I've never left the country.  If I could go anywhere in the world, and silly things like cost, my physical limitations, and the political situation were no barrier, I'd go to see the monuments of Egypt.  It would be cool to see England someday, too.  But if I could only go one place, it would be Egypt.

I never met my paternal grandmother.  She died shortly before I was born.  But she did come to me once, in a dream.  My grandfather, who had died a couple years before, was with her.  I was in high school and one of my best friends had died.  In the dream Mom Mom and Pop Pop were holding hands, and they told me that it was OK, that I didn't have to worry anymore.  Jasper was there, he was safe, and they were looking out for him.  I woke up crying.

My parents were both juniors.  So when they got married they decided that their children would not be named after anyone.  I am Rebecca Lynn and my brother is Jeremy Daniel.  (I insisted on the Daniel.  In fact, according to my parents, I never called him anything but My Jeremy Daniel for the first year of his life.)  Being their first child, Mom and Dad recorded the calls they made to friends and family announcing my birth.  Somewhere, in one of these million and a half boxes we just hauled half way across the country, there is a recording of some great aunt somewhere saying, "Rebecca Lynn?  What kind of name is Rebecca Lynn?"

When I was a kid my dad used to tease me and tell me that he'd wanted to name me Agnella Blossom, but my mom wouldn't let him.

Every year we put our Christmas tree up on Christmas Eve.  (Except for this year when we're going to do it a few days early to make things a little less stressful.)  When we were little Santa put up the tree.  Once we got a little older we were allowed to help put up the tree as a way to help Santa out.  All those millions of other kids to get to, you know.

My brother believed in Santa until late in his elementary years.  In fact, at 32 I still haven't ever heard him admit that he isn't a real, flesh and blood man who comes down the chimney to deliver presents once a year.  (Hey, my brother ain't dumb.  As the pillow sitting on my couch right now says, "Those who don't believe get underwear.")

I learned the basics of knitting from my grandmother as a kid.  She also took a stab at teaching me to crochet the summer before she died.  I wouldn't say it was all that successful if my aim was to learn to crochet.  But as a way to spend time together and be close, it was excellent.

The summer between my freshman and sophomore years in college I started picking up large print books my grandparents at the library.  The first time it was the whim of a moment, and I wasn't really sure what they would like.  So I got an assortment of books, whatever caught my eye.  They loved it.  It turned out they liked "the cat books" best.  (I think they were The Cat Who books by Lilian Jackson Braun.)  What they liked even better, though, was that their granddaughter was interested enough to pick up books for them.  Every week or two I'd pick up the old ones and come back with some new stuff.  There always had to be at least three.  Granddad read faster than Grandmom did, and with only two books they'd fight over who got to read what, when.  They were pills.

Well, that's... quite a lot actually about me and my family.  I don't know if they really rise to the level of mysteries.  They're perfectly well known to me, obviously.  But I thought they were interesting tidbits, at least.

What about you?  Anything interesting you'd like to share?  Write your own blog post if you'd like, and then give us the link in the comments.  I'd love to hear something new and mysterious about you, too!

Sometimes I'm a Jerk, Too

This weekend I did a thoughtless thing, and now I feel like a shithead.

I went out to dinner with my brother and sister-in-law on Friday night.  We laughed and had a really good time.  My brother took my dad to a train show on Saturday (he used to collect N-gauge trains and put up an elaborate train platform every year at Christmas).  And then they sat with my parents at church on Sunday.  It doesn't totally make up for everything that's happened in the last six weeks or so, but it was a big step in the right direction.

So anyway, on Friday night, right in front of my SIL, I told my brother that Mom was making everyone's favorite Christmas cookie and asked him what kind he wanted.  But I didn't ask her what she wanted.  It was thoughtless and rude, and I can't believe I did it.

It seems like a little thing, but I still feel bad about it.

Oh, brother

I'm a bit cheesed off with my brother right now.  It started the weekend we moved in.  The movers delivered everything on Friday, and understandably he had to work.  But instead of coming over on Saturday to help (keeping in mind that this was for his 71 yr old father with Parkinson's, his 63 yr old mother with a not-100%-successful knee replacement, and his 35 yr old sister with pretty significant medical restrictions of my own), he decided to spend the day with his father-in-law, helping him with his model trains.

I can't be the only one who thinks that's shitty.

Since then he's come by probably twice a week on average.  One Saturday he helped us move some stuff to storage.  One evening he helped us buy TVs, and one night later that week he helped us set them up.  (This is more or less what he does for a living.)  Every other time he's come by it's been to hang out, eat a meal that my mother fixed, and go home.  With the exception of the one Saturday and the night we bought the TVs, these have all been nights of his choosing.  No one is demanding his presence.

Once he had plans to take my father to a meeting, which he cancelled last minute.  Dad tried to go by himself.  My mother was terrified the whole time because Dad's night driving has really gone down hill in the last six months.  (I don't know how much longer it's going to be before we're going to have to take away the keys.)  Dad was back home about 20 minutes later.  He knew which intersection he was supposed to be at, but he somehow ended up in the wrong place anyway.  When he couldn't find the building he just came home.  So Dad had the pleasure of being dumped last minute by his son, feeling like crap because he couldn't find a place that he should have been able to find with no problems, and missing a meeting he was really looking forward to.  What was my brother doing that was so important?  Dinking around at church.  And again, no one asked him to make these plans with Dad.  It was his idea, and then he backed out.

Earlier this week he came to dinner and announced what the Christmas plans would be.  Mom was not happy about them, and she questioned him.  In the past, the story has always been that since his MIL's birthday is the 24th, it was super important for them to be down there for Christmas Eve.  She had expected that they'd go down for the 24th and come back to spend Christmas day with us.  Nope.  Just the opposite.  We get Christmas Eve (although they won't be going to Christmas Eve service-- the most important thing for my dad-- because his wife doesn't want to) and an hour or two Christmas morning, and then they're driving down to spend two and a half days with her parents.  Mom, lacking input from them up to this point, had started making plans based on what she thought they might want to do.  The in-laws, on the other hand, were consulted, and my brother and his wife made their plans based on what worked best for that side of the family.  When Mom pushed back on this, questioning the plans, my brother told her that she needed to learn to "compromise".  Excuse me?  I thought compromise was two people sacrificing to come to a mutually acceptable solution.  I'm pretty sure it's not one side telling the other side to shut up and take it.

The next day I called him for something completely unrelated, and the topic wandered into Mom and Dad.  (Mostly Mom, because she does all the talking for the two of them, so she's the one he resents the most.)  I let him know that his making plans and not keeping them was upsetting Mom and Dad.  (He'd also made plans to have dinner with us last Saturday night, knowing Mom was going to make her annual Hanukkah meal (ie: piles of yummy yummy latkes!).  She had announced that she wanted to make the meal and let him pick the night that was best for him.  Then he backed out to go to a party.)  He said he considers all plans tentative.  What that says to me and Mom and Dad is that he's willing to make plans with us until and unless something better comes along.  He's mad that we aren't perfectly fine with him dumping us.  He thinks we should understand that "I will be there" really means "I'll think about it."

There was some other stuff about how he has a life of his own, and he didn't really want Mom and Dad (and presumably by extension, me) moving here.  (Buddy, if you think I want to be here, you've got another think coming.  I hate Indiana.)  He doesn't think he should have drop everything any time they call, and that they should be doing more stuff for themselves. 

Never mind that they kill themselves trying to do stuff before breaking down and asking, and when they do they always fall all over themselves assuring that it works with your plans and schedule, never mind what works best for them.

What I didn't say, but wanted to, was: "They came here to be close to you, you little ass wipe.  If you didn't want them here you should have spoken up sometime in the last year or so, since that's how long you've known they planned to retire here.  And they wouldn't ask for your help (not that you can be bothered to follow through and give it) if they didn't really need it.  They've started hiring people to do some of this stuff because they're sick of waiting for you to get around to doing what you say you're going to do."  Can you tell I was pissed?

I did a lot of deep breathing last night, and watched a lot of Christmas specials, and eventually I calmed down.

Today I emailed him to warn him that if he was thinking about getting Mom an oven thermometer for Christmas (she's been talking about it A LOT for the last few days) that he might want to hold off, because she was talking about getting one this afternoon.  Also, I asked for his Christmas list again.  (Before we moved into deeper waters in our conversation yesterday, he'd told me he was making a list at an online musician's store.)  The guitar place he likes to shop at is running a sale this weekend, so why pay more next week?  He emailed back that he'd already sent us his Amazon list (he did, it has 7 items on it, 5 of which are expensive electronics), and other than that all he wanted was gift certificates to the guitar store.

Right now I'd like nothing better than to tromp over to his house in my steel toed boots and kick him in the taint.

Am I totally off base here?  Am I being way to sensitive here, or is being a real little shit?