"You Take My Breath Away"

Picture it.

The year was 1979. The hair was big, the jeans were tight, the shirts open to the waist (I’m talking about the guys here) and the synopsis of this movie straight from IMDb is as follows:

When 13-year-old Jessie falls for 17-year-old musician Michael, there is a strong mutual attraction. In order to win him, she adopts an alternate life -- pretends to go to a Catholic high school, pretends to be older, dissembles to her Jewish family. When the elaborate deception fails, Jessie tells Michael the truth. He's shocked, angry and hurt, and must decide whether to pursue her or not.

Be. Still. My. Heart.

Brighton showed up at work with a CD for me to listen to the other day. The CD?

Sooner or Later by Rex Smith

Is that not the greatest?

When I was 11 I fell in love, you see. Fell head over heals for one Rex Smith-the aforementioned Michael in the movie of the same name as the CD.

I hadn’t thought of him in years until we were talking at work and suddenly the question arose, “What’s your most embarrassing album purchase?”

Yes I owned the album. …and it has scratches and dents and smeared lip prints and it proudly resides alongside my Andy Gibb albums (God rest his soul) and my extensive Bee Gees collection.

I was 11 remember?

Anyhoo, I eschewed Shaun Cassidy. (However the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew mystery hour was never missed on a Sunday evening. Unless it was the week Nancy Drew was on and then I didn’t care.) I’ll admit Leif Garret did make me swoon some when he would sing I was Made for Dancing. And I had an odd thing for Donny Osmond that only lasted about 25 seconds. I had a white soft-sided Donny and Marie lunchbox.

I was very popular that year.

So let’s review:
• Andy Gibb-died of a drug overdose.
• Leif Garrett-soon to die of a drug overdose.
• Shaun Cassidy-successful television producer.
• Donny Osmond-well preserved.

But, Rex... Girls, he’s still got it going on. He’s still out there getting it done on Broadway and entertaining veterans in Branson.

My embarrassing album admissions-that sit beside back issues of Tiger Beat-are an unfortunate Samantha Sang purchase and Air Supply’s Greatest Hits.

I will not however apologize for Sooner or Later!

They don’t make pop idols like they used to.

The Jonas Brothers?

(sniff) Please.

What about you? Any embarrassing music in your closet?

An email from the Bahamas!

Hey! 

This is better than that crap e-card! It only let me use 350 characters!  Anyways this Internet is cheaper than the phone.

 

Anyways! Went to Cocokay today and kayaked around the island a little. After that I went snorkeling around a sunken ship! I don't that it was real(staged) but it was still cool. The fish are a maz ing! Three words!

 

After that, I went to a show that was a medley of movie music! Cool stuff got some vids for ya when I get home!

 

After that we went to a bar called Boleros and they had...

 

 

KARAOKE!!!

 

So of course I had to go up and perform... 3 times. Once in a group and twice solo. And will do so again tomorrow night and the night afterwards as well. As a group we did Bohemian Rhapsody, and solo I did Minnie the Moocher and Luck be a Lady. There's a midnight buffet I might crash (Buffet....tomorrow's song??).

 

But anyways, tonight was formal night and I had escargot, oxtail broth, and roasted duck in a dark currant wine sauce with strained seasoned cranberries and finished with a scoop of ice cream with cherries. It was served in a (swear to God, ask Brighton or h-cutt) spiked cherry sauce. It was Heavenly...tasted like rum.

 

I must interject here to tell you that Big knows rum because Big Daddy makes rum cakes every Christmas. He hasn't been allowed to sample the Captain Morgan's at will.

I got all my souvenir shopping done You, Dad, Me, Little, Chase, and Joy! 

 

Haven fun and hopin' you are too! 

BIG

...shudder

I hate the word ‘chillaxin’.

...as in, "I think I'll spend the weekend lying around the house and 'chillaxin'.

As God is my witness, I'll never write that word again.

That is all.

Just a Monday.

Little came back from DC just as expected.  Full of animated story telling.  Thanks to digital photography, an immediate presentation was given at 11:30 p.m. the night of his arrival.

Big left yesterday for the Bahamas.  I get one home and send the next one off.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

So today finds me with the whole day and rejoicing in the rain.

While others are lamenting the disappearance of a sunny day at the lake, I'm going to be sitting in the living room, windows wide open, listening to it rain.  I'm going to watch movies, read a few blogs, have an adult beverage or two and just...be.

In between moments of bliss, I will take the time to remember just exactly why I have the day off.  And although I'm not out decorating myself, I won't pass the opportunity to reflect.

So Big is offshore, Little and a buddy are out looking for the crystal skull with Indy, Big Daddy is puttering, and I'm doing nothing at all.

I leave you with the infamous picture of the back of Ben Stiller's head.  Some of you will immediately recognize what Little did not until he saw the photos on the TV.  

"Hey Mom! Isn't that the gal from The Office?"

Out of all the pictures he brought home, this is the one I post.

Where are my priorities?

That's what she said.

Forget the Candyman

I got an early out today.

Big Daddy's shop had their annual Memorial Day weekend fish fry. I am now happily stuffed to the gills with well...gills.

Big gave me a CD to listen to-The Rat Pack. This concert was recorded live at The Villa Venice Club in Chicago, 1962. So en route to overeat I treated myself to a little Dean, Frank, and Sammy.

No one croons like Dino. Frank, God forgive me, I can take or leave, and Sammy I hadn't ever really listened to.

My Bad.

In my opinion Sammy has the biggest range out of the three. Bar none. Dino's voice is like butter. Frank gets by on his personality. But Sammy. Oh my God! The man could flat belt out a tune and I never knew it.

As I was listening to What Kind of Fool am I, I had to remind myself that this was being sung in a smoky nightclub. There were no backup dancers, fog machines, or production of any kind.

Just a man with a microphone and a cigarette communing with the guys and dolls.

That voice!

...just wow.

My Tarot Card

...a metamorphosis if you will.

You are The Tower

Ambition, fighting, war, courage. Destruction, danger, fall, ruin.

The Tower represents war, destruction, but also spiritual renewal. Plans are disrupted. Your views and ideas will change as a result.

The Tower is a card about war, a war between the structures of lies and the lightning flash of truth. The Tower stands for "false concepts and institutions that we take for real." You have been shaken up; blinded by a shocking revelation. It sometimes takes that to see a truth that one refuses to see. Or to bring down beliefs that are so well constructed. What's most important to remember is that the tearing down of this structure, however painful, makes room for something new to be built.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Little's Big Adventure

I put Little on a plane yesterday morning.

For four days he and his school-sponsored tour group will be cutting a swath through our nation’s capitol. He’s armed with a fresh pack of double A’s and an extra memory card.

I know. I know.  You’re thinking, “Great…here comes a post about how nervous she is about her baby traveling that far without her and how she’ll have a hard time sleeping nights because she’s so worried about his safety.”

Ah. No.

I am so excited for him I’m fixin’ to pee down both legs!

And with that goes the Mother of the Year award I’ve so desperately wanted but never achieved.

Don’t get me wrong-I’m not reckless. But I’m also not wired with the paralyzing fear Prissy had.  (…except for driving.  I still fret some over Big when he takes off behind the wheel for parts unknown.)

And a little FYI for me...  I’d love to be going too, but no one wants their Mom around when they trek across the world looking for adventure.  Even if she is as cool, funny, devastatingly beautiful, and sophisticated as me. (I don’t like to brag or boast, see.  It’s unseemly.)

The buck will eventually stop.  I’m not in the business to support them the rest of their lives-at least monetarily.  The traveling is going to start for Mom and Dad here one of these years.

But for now, onward and upward!

He called me on break last night.  His first day in DC included the WW2, Korean, and Vietnam War memorials and The National Air and Space Museum.  He was all jacked up about his trip thus far and then told me about his bonus sighting.

Evidently, for better or worse, a sequel to Night at the Museum is being filmed at said museum.  Little managed to capture a photo of the back of Ben Stiller’s head.

I’m so proud that he described that moment as a bonus and not the highlight of the trip.  So far, I’d say that’s been the Spy Museum.  But I’ll find out soon. 

For months at a time, Little is a man of few words.  Then he’ll get a hair and he’ll talk.  And by talk I mean orate, demonstrate, and use his hands and his feet. Spit will fly out of his mouth as he emotes from his angled face all the way down to his man legs. An hour will fly by and we all will be exhausted from the listening.

I have a feeling he’ll come back talkative.

I can’t wait.

The Church of Baseball

I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball.  -Annie Savoy in Bull Durham

I spent yesterday afternoon at the ballpark.  I’m as far removed from Annie Savoy as one could get, but I sometimes entertain thoughts of forgoing jeans and wearing a flirty little skirt out to the park to tempt our home team boys with my Cracker Jacks.

Did I say that?

Our little Springfield Cardys didn’t perform to expectation, but it didn’t lessen the pure excitement of being at the ballpark on a perfect Sunday afternoon.

I had the sun shining on my head, a cold beer in my hand and a bag of peanuts.

Sometimes life really is good. Sometimes you capture a moment in your mind.  A moment that despite whatever other unpleasant business is going on in your life, is perfect.  It’s a fleeting moment of pure and utter joy.

I love the crack of the bat, the seventh inning stretch, the ridiculous tricycle races and the games of musical chairs that usher you from inning to inning. I love Louie and Fetch.  I love the free t-shirts that come blasting out of that blasted cannon-even though I’ve yet to catch one.

Some argue baseball is slow.  It lacks excitement. But isn’t that perfection on a lazy spring afternoon?

Make no mistake.  Any sporting event when watched live is an adventure and an event to be savored.

I get a kick out of sitting in Chief’s stadium once a year, doing the wave, listening to the deafening crowd and having snow spit in my face.

I adore high school basketball-the smell of the gym, the squeak of tennis shoes on the floor, the whistle blowing, the buzzer blaring.  I could watch those boys run up and down the court for hours-and do.

But baseball is the sport I understand. I see what the ump should do and then bitch when he doesn’t do it.  I cry out at a foul ball.  I cry ‘foul’ when a batter wimps out and bunts instead of going for it.  I scream, “That ball was in!”

Oops-wrong sport.

You see, I get baseball, and it gets me, because I’m slow and lack excitement.

 …but I’m perfection on a lazy spring afternoon.

I'm Back

I know I know. I should have called or written. I could have dropped an email at least.

You’ve worried yourself sick about where I might have been and for that I’m truly sorry.

My PC has been out of commission. And as some of you know, I can only blog and/or comment from home because Blogspot is blocked at work-as is Wordpress. However, I can read most of my favorites by subscribing to feeds.

That’s a cool deal. Except for those of you who don’t display your entire post. Then I only get four lines and have to wait for the rest until I get home and can visit your blog properly.

I am sorely limited in what I can do without being camped out in my kitchen.

…and rightfully so. We all know I'd spend endless hours writing posts at work that you would in turn be forced to read.

That would be tragic, eh?

Instead, I create a Word document and then copy and paste onto my blog when I get home.

So I have about a week worth of posts ready to go. But I’ll roll them out slowly.

My writing is so incredibly rich if you consume too much on an empty stomach it might make you sick.

In fact, I am feeling a little nauseous.

…aren’t you?

Goose

We have a flock of Canadian geese that live on our corporate campus.

They reside here because of the ponds, the green space, and well because they were hatched here. They see no need to migrate South for the winter and so stay on all year.

Most of the time they are a nuisance because they tend to get underfoot and if you aren’t mindful-undercar.

You could say they rule the roost!

Heh.

The geese are protected by the federal government (at least that's what security tells us) so that means when they invade the parking lot and try to cross the road en masse-they have the right of way. We are not allowed to honk, bellow, or cuss at them. We are to at all times give them a wide-berth.

This doesn’t bother me in the slightest because they can be mean little suckers. If you look cross-eyed at a female when she’s nesting, her gander will come running after you hissing and spitting all the way.

It’s kind of romantic really.

So, it’s Springtime in the Ozarks and that means that our grounds abound with fuzzy, baby chicks and their older, gangly cousins. It’s an exciting time for us girls in the training office, because the chicks were allowed to hatch this year.

That is not always the case.

Some seasons the eggs are either addled or sprayed with some such thing that prevents them from ever hatching.

I understand this process keeps down the population, but it is kind of pitiful to see a poor momma goose sitting week after week on eggs that will never hatch. All of her cronies are already taking their young’uns on play dates and enrolling them in preschool.

But this little mother sits and waits-her gander standing gallantly by to protect her from my interference.

Sigh.

Blankets

It’s come a toad-strangler today Ya’ll. It’s pouring out there like piss out of a boot-nothing but pitch forks and hammer handles.

But I digress.

Look at this.

...and this.

Is that not beautiful? It’s yet another piece of Joy’s work.

I’d love to say it’s mine, mine, mine. But it’s not, not, not.

This one is being finished in time for her sister’s birthday in a couple weeks-even though this photo was taken on my picnic table so nine tenths and all that.

It’s craftsmanship though and through. It’s a painstaking attention to detail. It’s a lovingly concocted, tediously planned piece of work and every stitch wrought with love.

Did I mention those stitches are minuscule and the white backing of the quilt is even more beautiful than the front due to that conquering of the needle?

Can you look at that mastery and not call it art?

She does all the time. She bellows...

Oh for God’s sake, it’s just a blanket!

Just a blanket?

My boys both have a smaller version of her work hanging on their walls. The blocks and the colors are tailored to their tastes and she chose stitches and embroidery to customize them. (God forbid, I call it signing her work. I’d be referring to it as art again.)

She hates it that I have them hanging on a wall in the boys’ rooms.

I made them to be used. I did not quilt wall hangings!

Well ain't that just too bad?

I have quilts that are worn to threads. And I wish to God they weren’t.

When the boys grow up, move out, and take their quilts with them they can use them for whatever purpose they choose. For now they hang on the wall.

House rules.

Every time they look at those quilts I want them to remember Joy sitting in the chair watching TV over the top of her reading glasses with a hoop in her lap.

I want them to remember her falling asleep in the floor on movie night with her work-in-progress doubling as comforter.

I want them to remember her sitting at the lake and while I’ve got my head in a book, her needle is flashing in the sun.

I want them to remember her cussing a blue streak because she measured wrong and the strip of fabric came up short or the pencil won’t wash out.

I want them to remember her taking her quilt with her everywhere she went because she had a self-imposed deadline.

I want them to remember the time they saw a quilt half this size hanging in an art gallery with a price tag of $9000.00. (Yes you read that correctly) Little scoffed because the one in his room was much prettier.

They take these ‘blankets’ for granted now because their Joy made them. They’ve never known a time when this woman hasn’t blessed their lives.

I don’t want them to ever lament the tatters.

But…

What if Big’s adorned his bed in the beginning days of his marriage?

What if Little’s first baby was conceived under the darkness of his…and then later patted to sleep on top of it?

What if one is used as a picnic blanket and wine gets accidentally spilled? Will that stain bring back a fond remembrance?

What if someone they love slipped from this life while being warmed and comforted with one?

Joy swears and be damns she won’t make me one until I agree to use it and not hang it.

...hmmm

Just a Thought, pt 2

The day is dying and it went pretty much as intended.

Little and Chase came home from their adventures with a chore ahead of them.

...albiet a pleasant one.

So I finish the day as I started.

The Iris have bloomed.
The beverage differs from this morning, however.

A little grilled pork steak and corn on the cob to cap the evening.

Doo Doo Doo..looking out my back door.

Just a thought.

I awakened this morning with little fanfare.

No blaring alarm and blanket of darkness to greet me, just the sun pouring in through my open window telling me it was time to get up.


...so I did.


The house is quiet.


Little and Chase are off to parts unknown to test a 'new' john boat. Big will soon be South cooking up skillets for hungry tourists. (Last night was prom so he's sleeping until the last minute) Big Daddy is still bed bound, but plans to get the back yard mowed before it becomes habitat. We have plans this afternoon for a trip to the annual Artwalk.


I have the whole day off you see. Not just part of it...but the whole day.


So I am engaging in my new religion this morning. I am eschewing church and sipping coffee on my back deck before I go visit Prissy.

Why are morning sounds so different from evening? The frogs are silent and the birds are noisy, chatty creatures. They keep screaming at each other about this as that. Occasionally one offers up a song of apology and their blissful harmony starts up again.

The world is at peace for a few minutes-except for the lone bark of a dog. But even he gives a joyful bay rather than a disgruntled one.

I smell the scent of morning. I can't tell you what it is only that is indeed sweet and can be inhaled to the bottom of my lungs.

I'm not often up early enough to enjoy the mist on the valley and feel that dampness on my face, but I am this morning.

...and I'm glad of it.

Here it is...

I have no idea how to do this sort of a thing.

I was a virgin until this video.

Don't you judge me!

The graphics are cheesy, but I am a work in progress.

This is Big. Granted this video isn't from last night's cold pasta extravaganza, but this was the actual award winning performance from last weekend.

Both of his ensembles got a '1' rating at state, but this was the crowd pleaser as you will see.

Big is a bass and he is not a red head.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present Big Britches.

It's That Time of Year

For the second night in a row I get to eat cold, rubbery pasta.


I can't wait!


It's banquet season, Folks. It is that time of year when you get to sit in a stuffy school cafeteria and/or auditorium and listen to long speeches and roll your eyes at the antics of young frisky teen-agers. They have Spring Fever and they are not to be born. (...or is it 'borne'? Maybe it's 'Bourne'...our local hero)


Well come to think of it, I have a little of the fever myself.


So.


I am going post this little ditty now and come back and let you know what happens.


Last night was drama, tonight is choir.


I'll extol Big's virtues when I come back.


...film at Eleven.