Fenced In

Not much to write about - just wanted to share photos of our new fence that blends in with the arbor Katrina built (with a little bit of my Dad's help!).

Irony was the topic of my last blog and I must admit that irony was in abundance during the fence installation. The night before the workers came, I had been watching the Republican debates (yes, I do like to keep up with the competition that Hillary is eventually going to beat). As usual the whole immigration thing came up. There were the typical discussions of building a fence between us (or as "us" is commonly known, the U.S.) and them (Mexico). By the way, does anyone talk of building a fence between us and Canada? Probably Canada does. Anyway, I don't know where the pleasant guys were from that came to put up our fence but they were clearly of a hispanic backgound and one of them spoke only Spanish. He relied on the other to communicate with me except when he knocked on the back door to get my attention and then said: "you come?" He wanted me to come out and see how the fence was looking.

I just kept thinking about who the Republicans would hire to build that fence between us and Mexico?

Musical Irony

The day after Thanksgiving, I returned to work to find that the piped in "mew-zack" had already been changed to Christmas tunes. I'm certain that last year they at least waited until December. During the year the music changes monthly from jazz to classical to Broadway show tunes. But it switched to Santa songs a bit too soon for my co-workers and me.

We'd already been complaining about it, but this past Saturday's overtime work day was a scary preview of the month ahead. Here's how it literally played out:

5:50am "Lorraine" arrives for her first ever Saturday overtime work and says "the lights aren't even turned on and yet the Christmas music is already playing?"

I say "yeah, get used to it; the music never stops. If you have to use the restroom, it'll be dark until the lights come on at 6:00am, but at least you'll have music playing while you're in there."

Lorraine says, "great, I thought I could get away from it for at least one day".

6:00am the lights come on, computer access is miraculously granted, and Kenny G's clarinet is blasting out "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas."

Lorraine says "we heard this one twice yesterday."

I say: "I'm pretty sure we heard it three times yesterday."

6:15am Lou Rawls' version of "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" is heard by all we faithful employees. Lorraine and I ponder the thought of getting up on our desks to turn down the overhead speaker even though we've been told we can't do that - because then we won't be able to hear if there is an emergency in the building. I think to myself "the people running for the stairs would be a good enough sign of an emergency for me."

7:00am building maintenance announces through the overhead speakers that they will be testing the emergency systems in the building. See, if we had turned down the music, we wouldn't have known that. Gee, I guess they were right.

7:12am Some jazzy female singer is belting out "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" and a collective sigh of annoyance can be heard 'cross the floor.

7:30am The "Island of Misfit Toys" song, from "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer," comes on and I reminisce about my previous job...

By 8:00am, at least half of my co-workers have their headphones on, tapping their toes to a beat that doesn't match the piped-in music. I decide to endure it just a little longer and commiserate with those who don't own iPods.

8:10am Rosemary Clooney's version of "Snow" pierces our ears like an untrained clerk at a Claire's Boutique. Lorraine says "isn't she George Clooney's mother?" I say "Well, first of all she's no longer with us but second, she was his aunt" (pronounced "ant"). Lorraine says, "oh, his aunt" (pronounced "aunt").

8:22am Some Clay Aiken holiday song begins playing and I hear co-workers wondering out loud who it is that's singing. I decide NOT to let them know that I know who it is.

8:29am we're forced to hear Stevie Nicks' version of "Silent Night" for at least the 8th time since the day after Thanksgiving. I can hear people discussing the multiple breakups and reunions of Fleetwood Mac. I had no idea that my co-workers had even heard of Fleetwood Mac.

8:35am Whitney Houston shares her rendition of "Do You Hear What I Hear." Before it's over, "Joe" say, out loud, "I'll tell you what I hear, I've heard enough." I walk to the printer and see that his headphones are now pressed tightly against his ears.

8:42am I stick it out for Karen Carpenter's "Merry Christmas Darling." Lorraine says "isn't she the one who died of anorexia?" I say "yes she is and you mentioning anorexia makes me feel hungry." I break out a yogurt as Karen sings the last few lines and I finally give in - I join the majority of my co-workers who are now donning pretty white necklaces (iPod earbuds). I hit the shuffle button on my beloved MP3 player and wouldn't you just know it - Sarah McLachlan's rendition of "Silent Night" is randomly first on the play list...

Quiero Taco Bell

Last week, Doc. B and I enjoyed a Tori Amos concert at the Fox Theatre with two of our best buds. I’ll call them "metal-artist girl" and "sweet-shot #2", but they can e-mail me and select alternate aliases if they so choose. Actually, for any of you out there to whom I've given unapproved and/or unacceptable nicknames, just let me know if you need a revision. It’s an easy addendum. And if any of you have web pages that you would like me to share with my readers, let me know that too (hint, hint metal-artist girl…). But…back to the topic at hand.

The concert was exceptional. I had never heard Tori in person but her music is very unique and I've always wanted to go to a show. We probably have all of her CD’s or at least it seems that way. If you rifled through our CD collection, the most represented artist would have to be Tori. She’s just too weird and her voice is just too unique to not love her. Okay, wait, that description inherently means you either love her or hate her. We love her. What’s not to love about songs entitled "Cornflake Girl" and "The Power of Orange Knickers?" I was thrilled that I got to hear both of those tunes. Oh, and "Precious Things." I had to hear that song since it ALWAYS pops up on my iPod when I “mash” the shuffle button – that’s southern for "press" (FYI, Doc B. does NOT use the term "mash").

Tori changed costumes twice (including wigs) and one outfit was an American Flag jumpsuit. I practically thought I was back at my second ever concert – Diana Ross at Cobo Hall in Detroit. I lost track of how many times she left the stage to put on drag queen dream outfit after drag queen dream outfit. Oh, and if you insist on knowing, While Diana was my second, REO Speedwagon was my first ever concert.

So now you’re probably wondering what Tori Amos has to do with Taco Bell, right? Well it’s not so much about Tori as it is about staying up late. We're usually in bed and asleep by 10:00 pm. So when we attend an evening event, walk to our car, begin our drive home and then realize it’s almost midnight, we eventually also realize that we’re hungry. And nothing hits the spot at midnight better than fast food from Taco Bell. I’ve known this since I was in High School when the only late night restaurant in town was a McDonald’s (where I and two of my three siblings made our first payments into Social Security). Well, I guess you could also count the Elias Brother’s Big Boy as a late-night spot - but that's not really fast food. Back in the 80’s, we had to drive to the neighboring Mecca of Battle Creek to get our Taco Bell fix. And back at that stage of my life, I had no knowledge of Waffle House; besides, there wasn’t one located that far north of the Mason Dixon Line I’m certain. Is there yet?

So, as you might have guessed by now, Doc B. and I pulled into the only Taco Bell between us and the Fox. It happens to be one of the grimiest Taco Bells in Metro Atlanta (wait, I think that’s redundant – aren’t they all grimy?). At the corner of Ponce and Monroe we ordered what was supposed to be a vegetarian chalupa on a crispy flat shell for Doc B. and a couple of soft tacos for me. What Doc B. got was more like a burrito with beans, cheese and some kind of meat in it. When it’s midnight at Taco Bell on Ponce, you don’t go back to the drive through window and tell them there was an error in your order, you just scrape off the meat and eat it anyway – so that’s what Doc B. did. Mine wasn’t the correct order either. I can’t remember the last time I ate sour cream, but I ate it that night. The bottom line: who cares if your order is right or not - your order is simply a starting point so long as Taco Bell food products, and at least a couple of "fire" sauce packs, are literally thrown into your to-go bag. Shoot, they can even forget the napkins and I don't even get upset.

We were done with the food by the time we pulled into our driveway. Our full and happy yoga bellies fell right to sleep on a Taco Bell High. Well, Doc B’s is a yoga belly - mine's more of a Yoda belly - or at least what I would imagine Yoda's belly would look like if we were forced to see it.

Inadvertently Joining the Strike

Tina Fey, a Saturday Night Live writer, walking the picket line

I realize that I haven't written anything on the blog in a while. I've inadvertently joined the strike. Please feel free to use this as an opportunity to re-read prior posts that you really enjoyed or to read the ones you've missed.

Seriously - I've been in the midst of a flu-like case of writer's block. I just don't know if it's the 24 hour type or worse. Hmm, should I have opted for a flu shot this year? Anyway, in the meantime, enjoy the reruns - if they're good enough for television, they're good enough for me :)

To read prior posts, just click on a link over there on the right...

Workout with the Stars

Last Monday I took a mental health day. I consider it legit since I did have two medical appointments, one physical and one mental. So what if one was for cosmetic reasons and one was for enlightenment reasons. I use my fair share of sick days; I just use them when I’m not throwing up sick. Thankfully I haven’t been throwing up sick on a work day in a very long time – guess I better knock on wood in a very large forest after having said that.

I started my mental health day by sleeping in, sort of. I still got up at my usual 5:15 am and made coffee, but then I went back to sleep until 6:30. That was probably the best hour of sleep I’d had in a long time since Maddie the cat also decided to sleep rather than purr in my ear and try to keep me awake. Then I got up and did some things around the house before heading off to the gym. Normally I’d be at the gym when they open at 5:30 but I decided to wait until it was light out so that I could jog there. "Light out" ended up being about 10:00 am.

I had a pleasant jog to the gym in some of the most gorgeous weather we’ve had in a long time. The weight room was filled mainly with trainers and their clients. I did my workout by making room for all of them including a little dog that was following one of the clients as she and her trainer moved from machine to machine. I gave a few pets and "hi sweeties" to the little pooch each time it walked past me. A few times it couldn’t decide whether to stay with me or follow its owner. Eventually I put dog and owner together and realized that the dog was "Tulea" and her "in-fabulous-shape-for-69" owner was Jane Fonda.

Just the week before, I was working out right next to Vern Yip. Now that I think about it, that was also on a day when I got to the gym late. I guess the moral of the story is that the early bird may get the worm but won’t get to work out with the stars.

On the other hand, the really early bird might get to see a "star" in the middle of a Waffle House fist fight…

Still the Same...

Doc. B. has been puttin' up with me for ten years. The picture here is of us back in the fall of 1997. Are we still the same? Yes and no.

The 40's are treating me well and I'm making better choices. Other than that, I'm still the same. Same neurotic, don't want children 'cause I'd make them neurotic too, worrier that I am. I just manage my "stuff" better (or hide it better?).

I started off the anniversary weekend in a much different fashion than I might have several years ago. I went to a yoga/journaling workshop that was being taught by two of my favorite yoginis. Incredible ideas on how to incorporate my journal with my yoga practice and visa versa. A worthwhile way to spend a Saturday afternoon - I'd sign up again. This is certainly a choice I would NOT have made in 1997.

Then we went to a 60th b-day party for our friend the "Dental Hygiene Queen". Some of her other best buds organized the Mexican-themed gathering complete with margaritas, cerveza and all the food fixings. The crew went two-stepping afterwards, but we headed home to get some beauty rest before our big adventure the next day. Again, a choice I would NOT have made in 1997. Me, leave a party early?

Our Sunday morning destination: the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. The drive alone was worth it - all of the leaves were just starting to show their colors. We went on a hike, didn't see any bears (I have ursaphobia), but saw hordes of people. Thankfully the hordes could best be described as out of shape families - all of whom were wearing flip flops or croc shoes - so they obviously weren't going too far down the trail. We were able to have a nice hour long walk in (mostly) solitude.

Then we went out to dinner at "Salsa's" in downtown Asheville - a recommendation from two friends who were at the 60th b-day party. We both ordered vegetarian meals -for sure something I would NOT have done in 1997.

I wonder what the next ten years will bring and what choices will become more "standard"? Let the countdown to the 20 year mark begin!

Cat Lady

We've all read stories about a "crazy cat lady" - and maybe we even know one. My image is of a single woman, who is just a little bit eccentric (that's the nice way of saying odd), and has a house full of felines. Usually the newspaper story reads something like: "Woman fined - 60 cats living in one bedroom apartment". And if it's not a newspaper headline, it's the neighbors complaining to the city about the lovely aroma wafting from the abode on the corner and their gardens being used as litter boxes.

This evening I experienced a glimpse of that life.

Doc. B. had a yoga workshop tonight. Since I had a Friday night to myself, I decided to run an errand so that I wouldn't have to do it over the weekend. I went over to one of our new shopping centers - the kind that has a huge selection of stores and restaurants that all share the same parking lot. It was a pretty busy night so I had to park the truck a good walk from the pet store - my one and only destination. When I go to the pet store, I like to stock up on everything all at once: cat food, litter, you name it. So I loaded up my cart and made my way to the cashier. As I was unloading the cart, Ms. Clerk said "oh, honey, don't worry about taking it out of the cart - you have so much litter in there, I don't want you to have to lift it any more than you have to". Then she asked me how many cats I had. When I replied "just two", she looked at me and smiled but her facial expression was saying "yeah, right - sure you only have two cats. That's what everyone says no matter how many more they actually have."

And her face was partly right. An old co-worker of mine used to say she had "three and three cats". It was her way of not saying she had six cats.

So I swiped my credit card, scanned my frequent shopper key fob, and pushed my cart back out into the parking lot. I guess the weight of the cart must have been obvious because as I made my way to the truck, I got lots of sympathetic stares. All the cool people who had been spending their evening in Target, Barnes and Noble, or Five Guys Burgers and Fries, seemed to be either amused by my efforts or were feeling sorry for me. And it got even worse as I made trips back and forth from the cart to unload it into the truck. I could just hear their thoughts...

That poor lady has nothing better to do on her Friday night than to stock up for the cats running around in her litter-strewn, urine-stained, un-swiffed, hairball-covered, clawed up house.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall, don't show me this life in your crystal ball!

Neglected Fish

I'm always talking about the cats: Maddie, Rumi and Doc B. But I just realized I've never told you about "Dwight". Doc. B.'s boss' daughter breeds and raises a variety of finned friends. A few years ago, she gave us a Beta fish, Betty, but she swam into the porcelain light after about two years. When the boss' daughter recently had a population explosion in her fish tank, we did our second adoption. With the unfortunate demise of Betty, I'm surprised she let us have another one.

Dwight seems a bit smarter than Betty (rest her soul). Dwight actually gets visibly excited when he sees me nearing his little plastic home on the kitchen counter - he flits all over the place and almost jumps out of the water in hopes that I'll drop in a couple of food pebbles. I'm pretty good about remembering to feed him twice a day - but I've heard that if I'm not around, he does quite well in getting fed every few days or so. Resilient little guy.

Since we've had Dwight, I've noticed that I've been having to wipe down the kitchen counters more often - they've been mysteriously covered with cat hair. Rumi is not allowed up on things other than chairs, so I wasn't exactly sure how the fur was getting up there. I thought maybe my swiffing wasn't happening enough and that the kitty hair was somehow settling there. That was until recently when Doc B. got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and found Rumi sleeping on the kitchen counter next to Dwight's fish bowl. As soon as Rumi saw Doc B., he jumped down. I guess that's the curious "thud" we hear occasionally as we come down the stairs and walk toward the kitchen. And clearly the reason for the furry granite.

At least Rumi was sleeping next to Dwight rather than trying to eat him for dinner. I'm sure if that happened, there would be no more adoptions permitted.

Secret Service

Doc. B. and I were house/pet sitting over the labor day weekend. Don't feel sorry for us, this was no chore. The house is owned by friends who have a heated swimming pool and every single movie channel. They even left us a bunch of videos that weren't due back to Blockbuster just yet. So after we lounged by the pool and ate take-out from "Moe's", we sat in the matching recliner chairs to decide what movie to watch. We settled on "The Secret". I had heard the hype so figured that even if I didn't enjoy the movie, I could at least contribute to water cooler discussions.

I won't give away the secret, but the idea is that you attract what you think. So if your mind is focused on negative things, negative things are going to come your way and visa versa. The bottom line is that you attract what you think about.

Since viewing the movie, I've been trying to pay attention to what I'm thinking about and then watching what happens. So far I'd say it's humorous at best. I'll keep you posted (whether you like it or not) but here are the two things that I've noticed thus far.

While I was in Baltimore, Doc. B. had my favorite sous chef knives sharpened. When one is a slicer and dicer such as myself, a sharp tool will make one's day. I set out to prepare one of our favorite stir fry dishes and noticed several times that I was thinking: "I better be careful, I'm going to cut myself with this sharp blade". Sure enough, as I was making my last few chopping motions, my left thumb got in the way. No tourniquet was needed but it did take a bit of pressure and elevation to get the blood flow to stop. So now that I've gotten that "I'm going to cut myself" thought and subsequent action out of the way, I can move on to simply loving the knives.

Then last night we went to the Agnes Scott College campus for a free outdoor showing of "Schreck III". We found ourselves a spot on the impeccably manicured lawn and unfolded our blanket. Doc. B. got us popcorn and we settled in to await the start of the show with about 100 other viewers. While we were waiting, I kept noticing how green and lush the grass was and how the brick lined sidewalks between the grassy knolls made aisles for people as they found their way to claim spots for the evening. I said to Doc. B., "I wonder when those lawn sprinklers are set to go off?"

You can picture the rest of the story. About 15 minutes into the movie, everyone on the other side of the brick aisle was drenched as sprinklers erupted around them like a bunch of perfectly timed Old Faithfuls. It was already getting late so we decided to call it a night. All I can say is that I'm glad my thought was related to "those" sprinklers rather than "these" sprinklers. I'm sure that's why ours didn't turn on and "those", over there, did.

Good Morning Baltimore?

The three to zip score didn't last...
Camden Yards
White?


The title of this blog, also the opening song from the movie "Hairspray", really isn't fitting the bill. I'm thinking "bad evening Camden Yards" would have been more appropriate for this week in Oriole-ville.

I haven't been much of a baseball fan during my life, but I do enjoy going to a ball game now and again. What's not to love about hot dogs, peanuts and beer in an outdoor setting? Plus, I love going to a good baseball venue - my personal favorite is still Wrigley Field - no matter how bad the Cubs are. So when the Orioles lost 33 to 3 the other night, I figured it would be a cinch to get cheap tickets to a subsequent game at Camden Yards, the field that is just two blocks from Babe Ruth's birthplace. The ghost of Babe Ruth didn't do anything to stop the Texas Rangers from scoring over 30 points - the most of any major league baseball team in over 100 years.

I stood in line at the box office and bought the cheapest ticket I could get. Then I took that cheap ticket and made my way down to the first row right beyond first base. Okay, don't tell anyone, but that wasn't where I was supposed to sit. I only stayed for 4 innings and no one came to claim my uncomfortable seat so I'm rationalizing that it was okay.

When I was here in April, I had to stay way out in Owings Mills, MD. I've had much more fun during this trip to Baltimore since I've been able to stay in the Inner Harbor area. There are plenty of things to do, all within walking distance. The crab cakes are plentiful. People are very nice and friendly here and so I really don't have any of those typical blog entries about my run-ins with or observations of others. I'm here until Friday, so there's still time...

Birthday Tattoo

Doc. B. pretending it doesn't hurt
The outline is done
the finished product!

Doc. B.finally did it. A tattoo. I won't go into the symbolism, the decision-making process, the location, the colors, etc... I'll just say, there's a tattoo of a chrysanthemum on her left hip. Malia, the tattoo artist, is responsible for the beautiful flower and I have a synchronicity to share about her.

When baby sis was in town a few weeks ago, we all went to visit the new tattoo parlour in our hood. It used to be a bad thing if such an establishment moved anywhere near the vicinity of your home - but not anymore. This place, called Ink and Dagger, was very clean and friendly - despite the name. We looked through some of the books that the tattooers had compiled of their work and watched Malia in action. A week or so later, we scheduled an appointment for Doc. B. and the rest is not history, but rather here and now and forever - unless laser surgery can remove it.

I travelled to Salt Lake City exactly one week after Doc. B. got her tattoo. Guess who was on the first leg of my flight and sat across the aisle next to me? Malia. Good synchronicity if you ask me.

I should mention that for the size of the Atlanta airport, I interestingly saw a lot of familiar faces on my way out west. As I came through security, I saw my Team Leader. He was on his way to Maine for a wedding. Then as I was boarding my plane with Malia, I spotted one of my favorite doctors from work. He and his wife were on their way to Portland.

Next time you see Doc. B., make a special request to see the new body art!

Class of '82

This past weekend was my 25th class reunion. I had already planned the trip to Portland when the invitations came out and I also had a work trip to Mississippi planned for the week prior to the reunion. Still, I could have made my way to Michigan for the event. But I chose not to. Why? I really can't say. Perhaps it will be a future therapy discussion? My gut feeling was: "I haven't been to any of the others, why start now?"

The reunion actually sounded fun. Friday the 27th we were to hang out at Schuler's Restaurant from 7- 11 pm where there would be light appetizers and a cash bar. Then on Saturday the 28th, there was a golf scramble at The Medalist Golf Club, followed by the actual "reunion" from 6:30 to midnight. It was just 30 bucks for all of this and another $42 if you wanted to pretend to play golf (which is what I would have had to do - unlike my middle sister who hit a hole in one when she was 8 months pregnant). Oh, just a side note, middle sister will join the 40+ club in November. That leaves just baby sis to join her three siblings...

There were e-mails floating around as we neared the date of the reunion. The e-mails were addressed to classmates that apparently had not "kept in touch" over the years. I was TOTALLY on this list - as was my senior high school prom date. Unlike many of our fellow 1982 senior peers, we did not move into the same zip codes as our parents' did (thanks Dixie Chicks for those lyrics). As tempted as I was to e-mail my old beau, I refrained from doing so. There was something strange about it considering I don't think I've spoken to him since we held our combined high school graduation party poolside at mom and dad's (see photo - and if you look very closely, you might see two famous vehicles, the P.W. Van and Grandpa C's Pontiac White Whale).

Having to make small talk with people you haven't seen in years sounded stressful to me. I occasionally run into my freshman prom date when I'm home to visit family and that's always somewhat stressful enough. Maybe it's that you really liked the person at one time in your life but now your life is SO totally different that you don't know what to do or say about it? How honest are you supposed to be with someone you haven't seen in years and probably won't see again for years?

I'm completely envious of my mom who has reconnected with her high school friends. I guess you have to take risks to invite the kind of relationships she's cultivated. Hmmmm....thoughts to ponder. Is it time to reconnect with my very few high school friends? Or do I wait until the 30 year reunion????

P.S. Mom, I loved the prom dresses you made for me, the perfumes you and Dad picked out for me, and the special notes you put in my pockets...xoxo

Portland, OR 7/07

Snowshoeing in shorts, sans snowshoes, across Mount Hood

Harry the Cat wanted to go with us on our excursions


This photo's for you Mr. T. (Pike Place Market, Seattle)



The following article was prepared by an honored guest writer, Westward Ho. I only made minor changes to protect the unsullied. Thanks for the great summary of the trip out west, Ms. Ho, and if anyone ever wants to join the ranks of "guest writer" on this blog, please let me know - I would welcome the help! I keep thinking it's time to wrap things up with this writing effort and move on to the great American novel, but we'll see. I told myself I would try this for two years and see how I felt after that - that two years is fast approaching so I will accept all comments, suggestions, input and wisecracks.

Courtesy of Westward Ho:

Several of my Atlanta friends were here in Portland last week visiting me and the great state of Oregon. We had a total blast. 5 women traveling together could be challenging, but we managed to have a great time without much fuss. We spent the first weekend here in Portland checking out all of the fine establishments …beer…food…wine...shopping. You know – the good stuff in life. We hit one of the best restaurants in Portland – Andina – a wonderful Peruvian restaurant.

Next it was off to wine country for a bit of tasting and then on to Bend. The scenery was amazing as we traveled along Highway 22 and 20 and went along a river valley. We made our way to Deschutes National Forrest and through a huge burn area. The effects of forest fires last for decades, and out here each summer it gets bone dry because it doesn’t rain much in the summer. We stayed in Bend at a place called McMennamin’s in a little cottage called “The Nunnery”. (Fitting for a bunch of women, don’t you think?) The next day we drove up through the canyon lands and into the Mount Hood National Forrest, where we stayed at the Timberline Lodge up on the mountain. Mount Hood has skiing all year round. The lodge is up at around 6,000 feet, just 5,000 feet from the Peak.

We ended the trip with a drive through the Hood River Valley and into the Columbia Gorge, where we hiked, saw wind surfers going nuts, and saw the amazing waterfalls. It was a blessing to spend such good times with people I love. It really makes me value good friends.

And here's my two cents: Westward Ho treated us like Princesses, beer-drinking Princesses, but Princesses nonetheless. She picked us up from Amtrak in Portland since we had flown into Seattle. Then she drove us all the way back to the Sea-Tac airport at the end of the trip. She stocked the fridge with just about every Portland brew possible, which is quite an achievement given the number of breweries in the state. She let us drive her car while she was at work one day so that we could traipse around town and tour a distillery (Kali's kids go to school with the distillery owner's brother's kids). She gave up her bed and slept on a blow-up mattress. She didn't chastise us when we stopped to fill up the tank and went into the bakery next door to claim a free fried apple pie (since the sign on the door said free pie to anyone who's driver's license ends in "8" and mine does). She took us to some excellent restaurants and we saw some of the most amazing scenery. She loaned Doc. B. her walking stick when we were on a hike with some very narrow trails. She read us meaningful poetry and still had the ability to laugh when Tequila followed it up with a quote from Dr. Seuss.

Thanks for the great time Westward Ho!

Photo Op

This is one of those situations where there is so much to write that I don't know where to start. The trip out west, to Seattle and Portland, was an excellent time. Words can't sum it up at this moment, it's still all settling in. But here are some photos - just a few of the over 200 - that were taken by the members of the traveling crew: Westward Ho, Tequila, Kali, Doc. B. and me.

More to come...

State of the Union

Good morning friends and family and Happy July 4th!

Mrs. T., my Tuesday night yoga partner, is out of town, so I decided to walk home from class last night rather than hitch a ride. It's a nice 30 minute walk so it's a good way to continue my blissful state after a yoga session with Bill. But the path home is along one of the trashiest streets in Atlanta - DeKalb Avenue. It parallels the MARTA train and is essentially a 24 hour a day landfill. After I vowed to carry a trash bag with me the next time I walk this stretch, I recalled a conversation Doc B. and I had with baby sis who visited us this past weekend.

She was explaining to us the premise of a magazine called Found. They publish items upon which people have stumbled. Wait, that's just really getting old - they publish things people have stumbled upon. It all started when one of the magazine "founders" had a note left on his car that was clearly meant for someone else. You can go to the website and read all about it.

So I continued my mindful walk home but also began to keep an eye out for anything interesting that might present itself. Sure enough, right as I was nearing Shawn Mullins' old house, I found the above invitation. The center fold was still in it but it was covered with dirt and there was a foot print on the back of it.

Several things came to mind when I found this wedding announcement. First, it's two women I don't know and thus a reminder of the wonderfully large community in which Doc. B. and I live. And second, it was close to Shawn's old house and he has a great song called "Ruth and Mary" that Doc. B. and I put on our commitment ceremony CD.

But the irony hit most strongly. It also occurred to me that on the day I found this piece of memorabilia, it was the day before Independence Day - a day our "founding" fathers marked freedom for all. And here are these two women heading off to Canada to get married...

NOTE: It was also the day after Scooter Libby Liberation Day but that is just too much for me to get into today - I'll leave that to the legitimate political bloggers...

Alarm Cat

I rarely remember my dreams. I have to be awoken suddenly from one in order to have it stick in my mind - and that happened this morning. In my dream I was watching my youngest sister being interviewed by James Lipton on an episode of "Inside the Actors Studio" (ITAS). I was thrilled that she was on nationwide television as a movie star after having her Detroit Home featured on HGTV. And James Lipton was excited because he's from Detroit. I wanted to watch until the end, but the show wasn't over until 7pm and that's when I had a therapy session. For those of you who watch ITAS, you know that it's important to see the whole show because at the end, each celebrity guest must answer the inteview questions invented by Bernard Pivot. My parents said that they would drive me to therapy if I wanted to stay and watch until the end - so I did.

And I was glad that I did in that when James Lipton asked baby sis "what sound or noise do you hate?" She said, "the sound of George Bush talking" and I was so proud of her (interesting that, in my awake state the night before, I had actually watched Kyra Sedgwick say the same thing when she was being interviewed on ITAS!).

So when the show was over, mom and dad drove me to therapy. On the way, I tried to call my therapist to tell her I'd be late but for some reason, the number that I dialed rang at one of my old supervisor's houses. I talked to him for a while and then we finally got to my therapist's office. I ran in, huffing and puffing, and my therapist of course was all sympathetic because she knows how stressed out I get when I'm late. So she assured me that it was okay and that I could just sit down and that we would have a full hour-long session. As soon as I sat down on the comfy head-shrinking sofa, a cat came into her office and started meowing really loudly.

So that's when I woke up - at exactly 5:08am - with Maddie the cat meowing into my ear. I guess that loud noise is good for something - it got me out of bed on time to get myself to the gym.

Oh, and when I got to the gym at 5:30am, one of the trainers said "hey, I've been meaning to tell you that I saw you last week talking to some guy on the street corner - it looked like you were having a very animated conversation". Guess he saw me chatting with the drunk guy...

Flirting?

Isn't the arbor looking great! Now it has a seat in it! Okay, enough about the arbor. Anyone who wants to see the finished product has to come visit in person. We'll have a glass wine ready for you so come on over :)


Now to the real blog post:

Who says MARTA buses and trains are the only places where men will hit on you without shame? I don't even have to swipe my federally subsidized public transportation card to be on the receiving end of some major sweet talkin'. Just this past Thursday I was walking home from a really good therapy session and had made it about half way home when I heard whistles coming from a passing vehicle. Perhaps it was the confident smile on my face; perhaps it was that I had my hair down; or perhaps it was that the passing vehicle was being driven by one of my favorite gay-boy co-workers (yes, there are several, so I have to specify that it was one of my "favorites"). Okay, that didn't really count as being "sweet talked".

But it didn't end there. As I rounded the corner onto my street, I was motioned to by a man who was glistening with sweat, squinting his bloodshot eyes and smiling like he'd just smoked a Cheech and Chong sized "cigarette". I removed my iPod ear buds so that he could ask me "how come you're so much better looking than me?" I really didn't know what to say, mainly because I was overwhelmed by the aroma of booze that was clinging to him like Pig Pen's dust cloud. I'm going to guess the bouquet contained a hint of Wild Irish Rose, but could very well have included a lovely Pinot Noir from the West Coast. My taste buds do better than my nose, so I couldn't have been certain without tasting his poison. I doubt he would have been keen on sharing.

Then he asked if he could guess how old I was and I figured there was no harm. He was sober enough to know to guess low and when I revealed my true age, he looked obligatorily shocked. Then he asked me to guess his age. I too guessed low and said "not a day over 49". He pulled back his shoulders and proudly confirmed that he was 66. Then he asked if I knew what his secret to longevity was. I said, "well, I bet it includes alcohol?" He confirmed that "drink" was indeed on his list and that women were too. I told him he was crazy, in a humorous way of course, and he took it as such. He said his sister Elaine is always telling him he's crazy. I decided,obviously not soon enough, that he could probably keep talking all night so I finally told him I needed to be moving along.

So then I get to our house and as I'm walking up the front steps, our flirty neighbor shouts out to me that it looks like I've gotten a tan. I replied that in the summer I tend to get that way. And then he said that with the tan and my hair down, I looked Polynesian. Again, I was at a loss for words so I just smiled and went into the house. I don't know if he was flirting or if he was just making an observation like the time he told me I had a lot of moles. I was extremely flattered by the mole comment as you might imagine.

Just another day in the hood...

The Kids' Table

Photo of the arbor as it’s progressing! Oh, and a photo of Rumi who mewed in my ear recently that he wasn’t getting enough blog time.



Saturday night we had "Kali" and "Tequila" over for dinner for their third annual anniversary celebration. Since Kali played a role in setting me up with Doc. B., it’s always a pleasure to get to share in her happiness. I’ve known Kali for 12 or 13 years and have always enjoyed her company. So it’s been fun getting to know Tequila over the past couple of years. The thing I noticed at first meeting was that Tequila tends to bring out the 10 year old boy in me. You know what I mean, the part of me that laughs at flatulence jokes and says things like “I’m rubber, and you’re glue...” Sometimes being immature is just plain fun, in the right context of course. So Saturday night was a much needed round of playfulness after my month of work travel during which I was forced to act my age, 24-7.

Now that I've proofread that first paragraph, it seems like I'm talking about a date with a bottle of Cuervo Gold. "Tequila" is actually a nickname for a real live person whose name happens to rhyme with tequila. Oh wait, that could be a dead give away that her name is really Mandila.

Anyway, after dinner, Kali, Tequila, Doc. B. and I went out back to the fire pit (thanks middle sis!) for s’mores (for sure brings out the ten year old!) and Glayva (thanks baby sis!). Somehow we got to talking about “the kids’ table” at extended family gatherings. I have fond memories of sharing holiday meals at grandma and grandpa’s farm. My parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents and any other adult guests would sit at the big table in the dining room while my sisters, brother, cousins and I would sit at folding card tables out on the glassed-in porch. We always had fun talking and laughing out there without feeling like we had to be on our best behavior. I never really wanted to graduate to the adult table since that meant I had to actually make use of the manners my mother taught me so well. But on occasion, there would be room for us kids at the adult table. Like the time when grandma put out some applesauce that had mold on it (her vision wasn't very good and she probably couldn't even tell that it had gone bad - runs in the family with a host of other lovely ailments!). If moldy applesauce had made its way to the kids’ table, we would have made jokes about it, thrown it away when no one was looking, or any number of other creative things. But since I happened to be sitting at the adult table this particular visit, I simply kept my mouth shut and passed the dish on to my aunt who promptly blurted out “June, there’s mold on this applesauce!”. I’m still not sure, to this day, which action was more appropriate for the adult table, mine or my aunt's? Maybe there was a happy medium. Perhaps I can ask Patricia Arquette if I ever happen to run into her.

Tequila was talking less about the memories and more about why, at age 44, her seat was still at the kids’ table? I wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical so I didn’t chime in – but I did make a mental note that it would be great blog fodder. Plus, that was the polite thing to do, right?

New Tricks

I had mentioned to a few people that Ms. Maddie Cat would be turning 19 friggin' years old in May. So it was pretty cool when we received the homemade card pictured here (thanks Leona). It got me to wondering exactly when the old cat, who is still learning new tricks, arrived on the planet. We have a rough idea of when that occurred because it coincides with the approximate time that she and her three siblings were left on the doorstep of the Log Cabin Animal Hospital (in Battle Creek, Michigan) before their eyes were even open. My friend "Tina" had taken the beloved Murphy Cat, Higher Power rest his soul, to the Animal Hospital for a check up in June of 1988 and was tempted by the mewing kittens who were being loved on by the coffee-making hospital staffers (I mention that because for the first 10 years of Maddie's life, that kitty would come running to the kitchen every time she smelled java being brewed). Tina of course couldn't resist bringing little Madison home. Thank goodness Maddie ended up being a girl because if she were a boy, Tina wanted to name her Byron. Yuck (notice the use of the subjunctive, like as in "if I were a rich man").

When I received the above birthday card, I decided to look back through my vet records to determine when she was actually born. Turns out we took her to the Log Cabin Animal Hospital on 7/12/88 for her 8 week check up. So I think we can roughly estimate that Maddie turned 19 on 5/12/07.

"Mad Dog" has lived a lush nine lives. She's been on her death bed a time or two or three, or...but she's always come through purring. She relied on Murphy for the first 17 years of her life and now she's relying on me. I'm up for the task as long as she wants to hang out on this earth.

Home Sick

The past 5 weeks have been a travel blur and a routine shaker. It’s taken me an entire week to regain any real energy let alone muster enough inspiration to open up the blue mailbox. But I finally have myself back together enough to at least write somewhat of an update – perhaps more of a “journal entry” than my typical blog entry.

As you may recall from my last writings, Doc. B. and I went on a Hilton Head vacation at the beginning of April. We came back for two days and then I was off to Florida to assist in providing training for some of our SSA field office employees. I came back home for another two days and then made my first ever visit to the Social Security holy land – Baltimore (it was almost as exciting as the time I made a work-related trip to the Mecca of Wal-Mart in Bentonville, Arkansas). I was in Baltimore for two weeks, along with 22 other SSA employees, to learn how to do interactive video training (IVT). I now know how to write a training script, how to use a teleprompter and what not to wear when you are on camera (saturated colors, stripes, polka dots and leopard skin prints don’t go over too well – thankfully my wardrobe contains very little of these types of garments). When I returned home a week ago, my parents greeted me at the door. They were able to make our house a pit stop on their way home to Michigan from Florida.

So for an entire month, I was in my little work cubicle for only one day. Pretty cool, huh?

There were many difficult times for me over the month. Being away from Doc. B and the kitties, being “on” all the time, stepping outside of my comfort zone to be on camera, and just plain being away from my beloved routine in good old Atlanta.

But what I just realized is that despite stepping outside of my routine box, I really had a great time on my trips. I have wonderful new friends/co-workers because of it all. Just because I’m out of my element doesn’t mean I can’t have fun. Perhaps next time I'll realize this while I’m in the midst of the fun rather than days later.

p.s. When I left a month ago, Doc. B. was building an arbor in our backyard. The photos are what it looked like when I left. While dad was in town, he helped on it a bit and it’s coming along nicely. I’ll post new pictures when it’s done!

H.H.S.C.

Thanks M and D for gifting us the Hilton Head Time Share - yeah, I know, we "paid" for it, but it was still an awesome gift. We needed it this year. After our week in Hilton Head, I did a week of work in Tampa, FL. I'm back for two days and leave again for Baltimore, MD - my first ever trip to the Head Quarters of the Social Security Administration. As it turns out, I'm in my quaint little SSA cubicle but one day over a four week period. Feels a bit like I'm back in Corporate America; but I'm also feeling up for the challenge, unlike when I was actually being fed by the corporate breast...(thanks for the analogy Shawn Mullins:)

I have no idea how much I'll be able to post over the next two weeks, so no promises. "We'll see" is about all I can commit to, bitch!

Thanks for reading and things will be different come May. just an FYI, Maddie, Kitty Cat, turns 19 in May - she was born in 1988 - Unbelievable!

Oh, and happy b-day to Mom tomorrow - congrats on making it to FRA - full retirement age!!!!

You can tell me...

Okay, why did it take until this week for one of you (should be) committed readers to tell me that the link to my new blog was not working? It's fixed now, so feel free to click on the link over to the right (the one that says: "One Good Line - my new blog!") to enjoy the second best blog generated out of this household.

xoxo

Boston Synchronicity

Photo courtesy of Boston's official web site


A few weeks ago, an old friend of mine sent me one of those fun e-mails that asked me to answer a lot of questions about her and then she would do the same for me. It included things like: "tell me about the first time you met me, what do you remember?”, and "what do you think my favorite beverage is?"

One of the questions asked what I thought my friend’s favorite music was. Since I don’t know what kind of music she likes now that we are in 2007, and since I was trying to be funny, I answered with "anything by the band 'Boston'". After all, that’s the music I know she liked back when I first met her in the early 1980’s.

Here's the thing though, the band Boston had not even crossed my mind in months, possibly years. Or at least not since the last time I went home to Michigan where Boston is played on the radio almost as much as Billy Joel, Anita Baker and Stevie Wonder.

So, I found it to be quite synchronicitous that the lead singer for Boston, Brad Delp, committed suicide just one day after I completed this questionnaire for my friend.

But wait, it gets even spookier.

Two days after Brad Delp’s death, we went to help take calls for upcoming concerts at one of our local Atlanta venues. Our good friend, MAD, coordinates this twice per year and we were honored to be asked to come back and help out. There were about a dozen shows for which we were taking orders and would you believe that one of the shows in the series was Boston (with REO Speedwagon as the opening act)? At the time we were taking ticket orders, the show was still to go on. But I see now the summer shows have been cancelled according to the band’s website. I didn't sell any tickets to the show but I did take a change order from someone who had purchased tickets and then realized that Brad was no longer with us. Had I not known about Brad's death, I might have even begged for tickets since I would have been able to see REOSpeedwagon, the first band I ever saw in concert. Just FYI, my second ever concert was Diana Ross at Cobo Hall in Detroit. If you EVER get a chance to see her in concert, or even see her on Inside the Actor's Studio, take that chance - she is SO worth it.

But the three olives in the already dirty martini, not to be confused with the icing on the cake: the television show I suggested you all watch (in my last blog entry), October Road, opened their series premiere with a Boston classic: "Don’t Look Back".

What do you think of the show by the way?

Oh, and would you believe that Billy Joel's "The Stranger" is playing on our DISH radio as I hit the "publish" button on this blog entry?

October Road

October Road

I hate it when solicitors come right up to the door. No matter how many times this has happened, I’m still always a bit shocked when I find them peering into the house and looking around through the front door window.

You might say, “if you’re so annoyed, get some friggin’ window treatments for the door”. Thanks for the advice, but I like the way the door looks without it and I’d simply prefer that no solicitors come to our house anyway.

About a year or so ago, I came home from work to find a flyer attached to our front door. Since this was nothing new, my initial thought was, "oh great, someone was again looking into our house as they dropped off a solicitation for lord knows what". We’ve had leaflets left for everything from cleaning services, to tree removal, to babysitting. I can only guess that our guard cats were sleeping during these visits and weren’t awake to deter the unwanted predators.

But this little handout was not the norm. It said that our home had been selected as a possible filming location for an upcoming television series. I just laughed, thought momentarily about this ridiculous “offer”, and chucked the thing in the recycling bin. I never thought about it again, and never told Doc. B. about it. After all, that’s what I do with all of the other pamphlets I find on our property.

But then, a few months later, we were doing our normal Sunday morning jog through our neighborhood and we came upon a filming crew. They had massive vehicles parked on one of the side streets with thick wires running right up into a two story house; a house that resembled ours and even had an upper porch.

Doc. B. said, “I wonder what they are doing?” I immediately knew what they were doing so I responded with “they’re filming a television series”. Doc. B. of course wanted to know how I would be privy to this information. All I could do was fess up and tell her the story.

I don’t know if there is a moral to this story, so feel free to offer one up, bitch. But the reason I’m telling you all of this now is that the television series that was partially filmed in our neighborhood is finally making its debut. So this Thursday night, right after you finish watching Grey’s Anatomy, stay tuned in for October Road. I have no idea if it’s going to be good, but CNN says it may already be a winner.

NOTE: click on the link next to the photo of the television to see what CNN has to say...

Me? Like Country Music?

Photo courtesy of CMT.com


Little Big Town

I attended my first country music concert this past weekend and actually enjoyed it. Little Big Town opened up for Sugarland. And I’m not talking about just hopping MARTA down to the state of the arts Phillips Arena at the CNN Center. Instead, we made this a truly memorable event by driving two hours to Chattanooga, TN and becoming part of the crowd at the 1924 Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Auditorium. The venue has obviously been renovated since 1924 but it still had the feel of an old-fashioned concert hall.

I was initially struck by all of the orange attire in the audience. There were orange jackets, orange sweatshirts, and orange accessories. Even the NASCAR, Dale Earnhardt, Jr. number 8 baseball caps were orange. Then I remembered that we were in one of the largest towns in Tennessee, and the home of UTC – The University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. I half expected to see Pat Summitt and her hoops squad show up, since I’d not been in a sea of orange that large since last witnessing her “Lady Vols” beat up on yet another suspecting women’s basketball team. For those of you that don’t know Pat Summitt, she’s coached the University of Tennessee women’s basketball team for more than 30 years and has over 900 wins in her career. Oh, and she earns over $1 million per year.

I found the crowd to be very friendly and diverse. In fact when the 60 year old couple to Doc. B.’s left, asked the three young girls in front of them if they wouldn’t mind sitting down during one of the most upbeat, danceable songs of the evening, the girls sat down without a fight. After seeing that cordial interchange, I decided to simply enjoy the humor in the fact that the man next to me was spitting chewing tobacco into his plastic coke bottle throughout the entire show. At least he put the cap back on after each spew.

As much as I enjoyed the music of Little Big Town and Sugarland, I must admit that my favorite moments were when they sang “non-country” songs. Little Big Town’s rendition of “Go Your Own Way” blew me away. I whispered (wait, yelled) to Doc. B. that I thought it was better than Fleetwood Mac’s original. And while Kristian Bush is no Jon Bon Jovi, he did a fine job filling in on “Who Says You Can’t Go Home”.

Could it be that I’m a little bit rock and roll AND a little bit country?

RCS

Haiku of the day:

"Restless Cat Syndrome

interrupts my sleep but still

I love the dang cat"

If you've watched ANY television lately, you've seen the commercials for the drug "Requip". It's from GlaxoSmithKline and it's for restless legs syndrome or, "RLS". Apparently this is a condition that makes your legs "jumpy" and interferes with your ability to fall or stay asleep. At least that what Doc. B. tells me it's like.

While I don't have RLS, I do have RCS - Restless Cat Syndrome. This comes in the form of an almost 19 year old kitty (pictured above). Her name is Maddie (Madison) but we've recently begun calling her, affectionately, Helen Keller. She really can't hear much at all and her Cataracts, appropriately named, are causing vision issues. I don't know if Helen Keller had thyroid problems, but Maddie has that too - two pills per day worth. Oh, and did I mention low functioning kidneys that require subcutaneous fluids once per week?

The vision problems can't be all that bad for little Miss Maddie since she can still peer through our second story bedroom window and spot a fellow feline in our neighbor's backyard. And we've strategically placed a bird feeder below another of her favorite perching windows for her viewing pleasure.

Lack of hearing does not seem to be a problem for her either. As long as I make sure she is aware that dinner is being served, that's all that matters in her little brain. Sometimes I have to do sign language into her paw, but she usually gets the picture well before then. Although her hearing is not a problem for her, it IS a problem for me. She's like a 100 year old woman whose hearing aid has been slowly failing for years and who starts talking louder so that she can hear herself better. What used to be sweet little chirps coming from her cat lips, are now shrieking squawks. She clearly has no idea what her voice sounds like or how loud it is, but to give you an idea, I found this clip of a peacock.

This cat has ALWAYS slept with me. For 19 years, this cat has snored next to my pillow. Pre-deafness, she never bothered me. She would just fall asleep, get up when she felt like it (without interrupting anyone's ZZZZ's), purr, and perhaps makes a cute little noise if you accidentally disturbed her cat nap. But not anymore. One wrong move, like rolling over just slightly too close to her, and out comes that ear piercing sound. If I wasn't awake to roll over, I certainly am now. It's definitely interfering with my ability to fall or stay asleep.

GlaxoSmithKline - do you have any treatment in the works? Put me down for the drug trial; I'll try it before it's FDA approved!

Break Room Table

Doc. B. and I finally got the house back in order after throwing a party for our friend, Westward Ho (see One Good Line for details). As is typical with a big bash, there were uneaten vittles piled all over the kitchen and stacked in the fridge. The popular beverages (those containing ETOH) were long gone, but the food remained. And we were ready for it all to be out of the temptation zone as soon as the last guests shut the door behind them. In order to remove the evidence quickly, we first offered it to the people who helped us organize (a couple of bottles of white wine back to Westward Ho and half of a Southern Sweets cake, oh and unopened coffee creamer, to Kali and Ms. Sheila). For some reason no one wanted the six pack of non-alcoholic beer that didn't get touched, or probably even considered, during the party.

So here we are, stuck with all of these delicious leftovers - you know, tostitos, doritos, fritos and mojitos...oh wait, I got carried away. If there were any mojitos left over, I would have found them and saved them, even if it took CPR to do so. But what to do with all of this stuff? We both looked at each other and said, in harmony I'm sure, "the break room table".

I took a big old Whole Foods bag, filled with very un-whole foods, to work with me on Tuesday (Yeah, Tuesday. What's it to ya'? I had Monday off for President's day). I placed all of the leftovers on the two circular, beat up, grungy, coffee stained, doughnut stickified tables and placed my wager. I bet myself that it would all be gone well before lunch. When I walked by the break room at 11:00, it was all gone except for a few crumbs in the bottom of the sour cream flavored Lays. I swear I've seen a half-licked tootsie pop get snagged from one of those tables, so this did not surprise me.

Anyone want a six pack of non-alcoholic beer? If not, I guess I could try mixing it with tequila.

Hike Inn

Last week the temps hit 70 and I was getting spring fever. I actually suggested that we go for a weekend hike - not something I offer up casually given my ursaphobia/arctophobia. But the weather was so inviting, I wanted to be outside and do something fun. Doc. B. had been up to the The Hike Inn this past summer and I was ready to try it too.

The Hike Inn trail starts in North Georgia near the Amicalola Falls. You check in at the Visitor's Center and then walk a moderate trail, dotted with what we dubbed "brown ice". When you arrive, you can relax with some lemonade or coffee until a family style dinner is served at 6:00 sharp - the dinner bell is rung to make sure you don't miss it. And after a five mile trek, it's unlikely you'd miss a call for food. Despite the occasional ice patches, it was really a pleasant jaunt - we shed several layers of clothes during the two and a half hour walk.

After dinner we were treated to a power point presentation about Saturn - very interesting and done by a volunteer. Unfortunately it was too cloudy to see the planet or it's rings. But after a cold night on bunk beds, the clouds cooperated and did not interfere with our ability to witness a beautiful sunrise while sipping coffee and mingling with the other guests.

Best line overheard by two couples in their 50's: "you two get the beach house, we'll get the mountain cabin and we'll visit each other. We're not doing the ski lodge - with all of our artificial joints, we won't be on the slopes anymore".

Second best line heard from the same couples: "We'll probably have to sell one of the properties when we retire; we can't afford it all unless we are both working." What a bummer - they are going to have to give up something in order to stop working.

Probably the most unique thing about the Hike Inn is their commitment to conservation. You eat whatever you put on your plate, you take home what you bring in, you reuse your drinking glasses, and the toilets are composting. It's more inspiring than "An Inconvenient Truth" because you actually live the energy saving techniques.

I was thinking the entire time that my parents might enjoy this trip...hmmm....

Sign Language for "PAY"

This guy comes up to me while I'm waiting on my MARTA train. He has headphones on, you know, the iPod kind. He holds out a wrinkled up sign that says "I am deaf" and grunts out the same three words. My first thought was, why does a deaf guy have on headphones? As I'm thinking this, he holds out another well-worn sign that says "can I have $1.00?". I patted my pockets and gave him the "sorry I don't have any" look with matching hand gestures. He then flipped over the sign and it said "OK, well, how about a quarter?". I dug into my backpack to reward him for his creativity. It reminded me of the disheveled guy on the Washington D.C. Metro that said to me "got any spare change"? I replied no and he responded with "got any spare credit cards?" I could only laugh and give him some change.

IBM Playlist

I love iTunes gift certificates (don't worry, my birthday isn't until September and all of the major gift-giving holidays are over - in other words, this is not a hint).

Because iTunes gives me the ability to purchase only the songs I like vs. having to purchase an artist's entire "album", I haven't bought a CD in quite some time. In fact our normal tradition of buying a CD while on vacation was recently usurped by my burning of a homemade disc from iTunes and our own previously purchased music. And the other thing is, once you enter your gift certificate number, you have an automatic store credit so you don't have to spend it all at once - you can just purchase a song here and there as one strikes your fancy.

Baby sister got me my first iTunes gift card and I'm pretty sure I told her what songs I bought (if not, I'm sure she'll let me know after this posting!). But my most recent gift certificate came from my friends, the IBMers. This was a 2006 birthday gift that also came with a package of blank CD's. This past week I finally finished spending every last cent of my store credit. Here's a sampling of what I purchased over the course of the past four months:

+ Saving Grace, Tom Petty (without the Heartbreakers)

+ Rebel Yell, Billy Idol (good jogging, or getting mad, music)

+ Old Man, Liz Wright (good recommendation Ms. Postal Service)

+ How to Save a Life, The Fray (what can I say, I'm hooked on the music from Grey's Anatomy)

+ Southland in the Springtime, The Indigo Girls (I was making a CD for my mom who wanted to hear some of their music)

+ How We Operate, Gomez (just a cool new band that I like - shoot, I bet they were on Grey's Anatomy too?)

+ River, Sarah McLachlan (an awsome remake of Joni's original)

+ Easy, Barenaked Ladies (I love them and you really need more on your iPod than "If I had a Million Dollars")

+ Stella, Andreas Vollenweider (good memories from the 80's)

+ Get Ur Freak On, Missy Elliott (my jogging "power song")

+ We Belong, Pat Benatar (more good memories from the 80's)

+ Better Life, Keith Urban (I had to see what all the fuss was about - I hate to admit it but I sort of like this song)

+ Give Blood, Pete Townshend (One of my all time favorites - for the tune, not necessarily for the lyrics)

Mind Your (blog) Titles

I have a free service attached to my blog called stat counter. You may have noticed it at the bottom of the blog as it's what counts how many times my blog has been viewed. As of today, the blog has been viewed almost 2000 times (thanks to my family I'm sure!). The service also has some other pretty cool features. StatCounter can tell me if someone has done a search for a particular word or phrase and then has been directed to a specific posting I've written. For example, in one of my prior posts, I included the above photo of a loripetalum. Someone did a harmless google search for "photo of a loripetalum" and was directed to my site. You get the picture.

But who would have guessed that someone looking for porn would be directed to my blog? One of my prior postings was entitled "No More Pantyhose". Well, just last week, someone from Korea was doing a search of English language blogs and typed in "no panty" (do you think they meant "no panties" or am I reading too much into it? I guess they could have meant "no pantry" and just had a typo?). Anyway, I'm sure whatever was intended, the person was probably quite disappointed to come upon my musings about nylons.

Hmmm...I'm wondering if I'm now going to regret putting the word "porn" in a posting????

My Cardinal Cups Runneth Over

It's not too often that I knowingly quote "The Bible", but my red cardinal cups runneth over ("Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over", Psalms 23:5).

In order to know what I'm talking about, you'd have to go back to my sixth ever blog posting. Click on the link and you can read the story.

Doc. B. had purchased me my own cardinal cup, but sadly I broke it. I was of course quite bummed. But in a synchronicitous act, one of my long-time friends mailed me one for Christmas :) She didn't even know about the broken one or that it had been sent off to recycling heaven. And then last week, I got a chance to see the original Red Cardinal cup, pictured above! "Leona", whose mother owns the cup, had been home over the holidays and got permission to take it across state lines to show it to me. So I made sure to get a photo of my bespectacled mug with the pariah mug. No, I didn't really drink out of it, I just pretended to put my lips on it...