Nipples of Venus

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First, apologies to anyone who came here after a google search. No porn here. I just had to talk about this most luscious, luminous, sparkly thumbprint cookie ever.


Isn’t it fantastic? And, OH.MY.GOD! These cookies are so yummy. Add the coldest freshest milk and really, why bother with anything else? It’s my Friday. It makes up for needles flying at my eyeballs, job dramaz, and Yu-Gi-Oh cards that must be Pokemon cards or an 8 YO boy might be too embarrassed and die to go to school because only the butt picker likes Yu-Gi-Oh. Thanks Molly. I needed the purple box with thumbprint cookies in it.

They do remind me of nipples of Venus though I’ve never actually eaten one. These are my nipples. Not the actual… Point is that when I was in 9th grade I was apprenticed to a guy in the drama department at OU who would rather do ANYTHING other than spend a second with some 9th grade alternative wannabe. He told me to hang out with Katie Somebody. Katie was a bitch. I avoided her like the plague. She got to eat nipples of Venus because she was Mozart’s wife.

Speaking of music and theater, a pal o’ mine had a birthday and you know what she did? Well if you were paying attention, you’d know it has something to do with musical theater and that can only mean one thing – GAY MEN’S CHORUS! Yes, you are reading this correctly. SHE had a birthday and gave ME a concert ticket. I’m telling you, I have the most incredible giving friends ever. We went out for healthy Chinese and then to see Reveille Men’s Chorus presenting Holidays in Hollywood. To be fair, I can’t attest to any of the members’ statuseses in the gay community, however, they have the cutest little logo. It’s a cock.

Drowning

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So last night I had to be in the bathroom long enough for a woman to dye her hair. I’m not saying I dyed my hair, I’m just saying I was in the bathroom that long. While I was in there, I removed mineral deposits from the shower head. Soak, scrape, soak, scrape.

After picking at white rock cakes with metal prongs for 45 minutes and then getting into the shower, something glorious happened. Large, soft caresses of water fell down upon me like rain drops. I could actually determine the water temperature because I wasn’t focused on the icy burn of a singe drop of water shooting out at a zillion miles per hour straight into my eye.

My rejoicing was short lived. For one thing, I don’t get nearly the exfoliating I had previously. Additionally, I relied on that bullet of water to blast out hair dye from under my fingernails. I mean, it sometimes happens when my friend asks me to color her hair and, oh, point is that sputtering drop magically removed grime from under my fingernails. Also, we lost the low flow feature of the crusty shower head and my hands pruned up. All that work to make something great just back fired.

That’s how my karma works out at the moment. As with last night’s shower, I had early indications today that my labor may bear bitter fruit. After a series of frustrated errands, tasks, and obligations, I found myself this morning in a public restroom. The automatic flushing toilet provided me with an unwelcome bidet experience as I reached for toilet paper.

I quit.

Warm and Creepy Fuzzies

Warm Fuzzies

So I strong armed Populist Pugilist into posting a new poem – AND HE SURE DID! (Price is Right jumpin’ ya’ll!)

Listen in:

Make room. Make room.
Do not discard the runts of the litter.
Do not leave behind the slow, the old or
the blind. Find a place at the table for
them beside the better able and give
them an extra forkful of food.
Make room. Make room.

Alright, I like this poem and it reminds me of the present with a presence story he posted in under Grateful Jew. I’m not saying the two are connected, but I am saying tables are cool. If you are a poetry liker, go read the whole poem.

Creepy Fuzzies

I strong armed my good ol’ buddy Todd-o into a tête-à-tête today during which he expressed dismay that I haven’t posted a photo that’s been making me giggle for DAYZ! Well, it sorta sounded like approval.

You could go in multiple directions with this photo, but if you know ANYTHING about Todd-o, you know that hair is ALL WRONG. He’s had a haircut since then so all is back to Normal. After this photo, the driver side door of that beautiful Jeep got crunched. Sad memories for Todd-o and HI-larious photo for me.

Journalisticy Caption-like Explanation: After repeated requests for something useful to use as a wedge, Todd-o grabbed a bone. Something told me a photo opp was in the making.

I obviously have the best friends of any one ever in the whole history of time.

How I’m Paying for Christmas

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One of the best gifts EVER is my pal’s help fixing up my minivan. The deal was that I would do the work myself and pay a modest fee for his supervision and use of tools plus parts. The way I figure is I saved $700, but the the experience was invaluable.

Problemo uno: My passenger side window fell down and went boom. But Todd-o, the Hubster, the mechanic, and I all propped it up each time it fell because what are friends for if not that? Guess what we used. WAIT! I’ll show you.
See that? Sure you do. That white thing. Yup, just one of the many uses the wife of an archaeologist has for the many horse, cow, bob cat, deer, coyote, and random and sundry other bones junking up the place. That there bone held the winder up all week. It kep out de scoundrels who udderwise would pilfer the fortune in snack foods ground into the carpet and seeping into the seat stitching.

Problemo dos: The rear break pads needed replacing. This was the main event because it required the use of power tools. My son was giggly with excitement and my pal was uber patient. He probably gets giddy with power tools too. I mean, really, what’s not to love? After the zip zip to the lug nuts, it was a bit of a let down when the boy had to rough things up. Even so, he did a right fine job listening to how greater surface area means greater friction means better braking.
That’s the boy in his white soccer uniform. I just laugh at those laundry commercials in which mom bothers to think about grass stains and what not on jerseys. I tell my kids those stains are a badge of honor. I don’t believe it, but that’s what I tell my kids anyway.

I think it is cool that the boy and I rolled up our sleeves and got our hands dirty. At least I did until, well, check out what my buddy in the background did with his hands and his clothes.
Smarty britches. That’s why he gets the big bucks.

Lessons Learned:
* Proper mechanic attire is a jumpsuit with latex glove accessories.
* Things won’t be perfect. Things will get scratched. Seat heaters will go out.
* That orange mechanic soap hurts. Owie!
* Bones have use beyond yard litter.
* Yes we can, and we did.

Thanks Kurt!

This Girl Can GIVE!

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HO-LY COW! I got an e-mail from my friend Tracy about her giving this year. I’ve wanted to hear expressions of appreciation for memorable, meaningful gifts. Partly because I don’t want to give away what I’m giving and partly because I’m so frequently the recipient of gifts made of pure awesome. Once I read her message for, oh, the bazillionth time thinking that this is a woman who KNOWS how to give, I asked her if I could digest her Christmas list on my blog.

You may recall from a previous post that Tracy is a Caddo artist specializing in fan making. Fans aren’t the only thing she can make. These are traditional Caddo necklaces. “Yes, they took a looong time to make. But, they are gonna look great on my girls!”

Not to be outdone, her son made a necklace for each of his sisters and his father. Like his mother he considers each bead and the eventual design it will make. That is quite some bit of work for a tyke. “It is funny to watch him picking out which bead is next. He really has a “thing” with colors.” He has plans to make two more. Go little P!

These are traditional Caddo Dushtoohs. “I made new ones because my girls keep growing! I wish they would quit that. So inconsiderate to grow out of the clothes and regalia I make.” Not being Caddo, I’ve never had a Dushtooh. Makes me feel a little sorry for myself. I did have a traditional pair of Nikes once. They were purple and I pronounced them with a long I and a silent E. I think Dushtoohs are prettier, but I’m still not sure how to pronounce them.

She also donated over 250K feet of reel-to-reel audio recordings her grandparents made of Caddo dancing, singing, and talking along with 45 pounds of written language, notes, and journals migrated to CDs. Sam Noble Oklahoma Museum of Natural History, one of my favorite places on earth, recognized this act as more than a simple archival donation. Many tribal languages like Caddo die out with the elders. The museum already found a Ph.D. candidate in Linguistics to start working on it. Do you think refrigerator drawings of guys picking their noses and eating their buggers would be as happily received? Hell no! Tracy comes from a family with weight and the entire world will benefit from her gift.

I’m not giving away any more of her presents with a presence. For one, I don’t want her fam to know what they are getting and for another I’m going to steal her ideas. Just trust me, it pays to be a member of her family. And yes, Tracy, you pass. I’m thinking of something more special for you than molted chicken feathers.

I still want to hear your stories of receiving. I went shopping today with an evil woman who allowed $200ish to slide right out of my wallet. I feel the spirit of giving creeping right into my bones.

decorative

Grateful

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Not long ago I went to a fundraiser to benefit two organizations with similar goals. One organization seeks to help hungry people in Tucson and the other to provide breakfast for young kids in an African school. For my money I got to eat good food, “win” exciting auctions, and sit in good company. All my winnings left me in a quandary. What the heck I should do with my African booty?
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Presents with a Presence

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This is a participatory post, so you lazy lurkers put on your big kid pants and help a girl out.

I’ve changed my mind about hand-made pledges at Christmas. I tried it last year, but the store has good stuff too. I think “presents with a presence pledge” would be more appropriate for me. To ease into the holiday spirit and to put giving in the proper perspective, I plan to spend the next few weeks reflecting on gifts that affected me in a fundamental way. That includes the Molly Pitcher sheet music, gold-cup strung necklace, and “¿Eso si, que es?/SOCKS” (This gift here, what does it mean?) I mentioned in my previous post. I want YOU to leave a comment or a link to your blog post on meaningful giving.

I’ll get us started. Yesterday I was looking for love notes from the Hubster. I didn’t find any, but that’s something to hash out over dinner when it’s time to make the children cry. Instead I found the leather bound blank book my 6 YO girl’s great aunt sent to her, in which she wrote funny stories of her brother/my daughter’s grandfather. I was taken aback at how affected my daughter was by her grandfather’s passing all things considered. The two of them were lovely together and she took his passing hard. The journal from her great-aunt wasn’t just a way to pass on family history, but rather it honored the connection between a grandfather and granddaughter.

For Locals

I’ve just stepped off the curb with my “He Lives” sign and I’m all high on Jesus. I appreciate the welcome to ALL people (including Republicans) and, once a year, pets at my place of worship and want to give them a shout out for two of their upcoming events.

December 7th, Grace St. Paul’s is hosting an alternative craft fair. After the 8 and 10 a.m. services, tables will be set up offering you the opportunity to buy mosquito nets from the Episcopal Relief and Development to help prevent malaria in Sub-Saharan Africa, a flock of chickens for a family in South America from Heifer Project International, or you can buy lovely handmade and unique crafts from African Team Ministries. Additionally, if you are crafty and would possibly like to have a table, it’s an open fair. But it’s THIS Sunday so call quickly, 327-6857.

December 14th, Grace St. Paul’s is having a Blue Christmas service for people who tend more toward depression than celebration this time of year.

These Gifts Knocked My Socks Off

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Every so often someone surprises me with a gift so special that I can’t possibly express my gratitude. After I was presented a Molly Pitcher award, which is unquestionably the highest honor I’ve ever received and an embarrassment of riches I did not deserve, my father-in-law enlisted my sister-in-law’s help to purchase sheet music to the Molly Pitcher song he sang as a child. It wasn’t the sheet music that was touching, but what it represented. Acceptance from in-laws doesn’t come easy. That’s one thing you can’t buy at the Walmarts.

I can appreciate an expensive gift as easily as an affordable one if the thought is there. My parents and brother gave me a necklace one pearl at a time over 20 years to commemorate big days in my life. Last year Mom strung my pearls in a gold cup pattern (that’s like a tin cup only instead of singles, the pearls are in groups of two and three). I did earn this gift and it was presented to me over time by three people who know virtually every rotten thing I’ve ever done in life and politely don’t mention them. I don’t know if I’ve seen anything so beautiful EVER as my necklace and my kids had better not let it go in a tag sale upon my death.

I am again the lucky recipient of yet another gift to remember for the rest of my days. Today, my daughter’s teacher, who was also my daughter’s teacher last year and my son’s for the two years prior to that, gave me a pair of socks. These are the most fantastic socks I have ever or will ever own. They are colorful and comfortable and hand knitted by a woman so committed to children, families, and community that it’s folly for her to waste time on me. She used Japanese wool that she had been saving for a special project. As she knitted, loop by loop, she thought of me and the cold weather I encounter when going home for Christmas.


The teacher shared the socks with her students at “Tree Talk”, her version of show and tell. After school, my daughter joined her teacher to witness the giving. As I waited for my surprise, I tried to pry the secret from my daughter who was looking up at me with her sparkling eyes and an expression of pride. She would not tell, but the silly grin on her mug showed that she was excited.

Here again, the thought and meaning behind a gift launches it into the forever of my memory and teaches me about being more engaged in giving. The socks are indeed warm, gorgeous, and fit just right. The socks represent that another person in this world sees me and thinks of me when I’m not around. The gift of these socks elevated me in my daughter’s eyes. How could I ever express my appreciation to a woman who is already such a part of so much of what is good with my children? The woman who got my son through his father’s deployment, the woman who welcomed my daughter into her class before she was even a student, the woman who lets me into her class and share in the breakthroughs of her students. It’s impossible.

Thank you.

It Was the Milk!

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Not the cookies, not the chocolate, not the cup cakes, not the chips, not the fries, not the pizza, not the soda, not the candy – NO! The 8 YO boy filled the bathroom sink with vomit because of the milk. I should have known.

She’s Got Eyes for This Shirt

I’ve been wondering what sort of t-shirt I could paint for my niece. I thought I might use freezer paper to paint “Steve” across the side of a shirt for her after hearing Obama say he was going to change his name to Steve. I thought that would be hilarious. Then I thought maybe I’d do these reverse applique eyeballs I saw on Creative Kismet. That would give my niece, who is frequently the target of some critical eyes, the opportunity to say all sorts of cornball things like, “Why do I always feel like someone is watching me?” or “I have my eyes on YOU!” But, unlike her aunt, she’s probably way too cool to reveal the inside joke.

I can’t give my niece some crappy gift though, so I had to do a test run first. What’s great about this project is that the 6YO girl and I got to do it together. We pretty much followed the tutorial with a few exceptions. I used acrylics instead of fabric paints because that’s what I have. Also, I painted then cut where CK cut then painted. So, you know, we made it totally our own.

Directions:
* First we got an arm pit-y white shirt from my drawers (the girl strictly forbade the raiding of her father’s drawers) and a stained hand-me-down from her brother.
* Then we both painted the eyes on the pit-y shirt.
* Next the girl cut out the eyeballs and told me where to pin them to the inside-out, hand-me-down shirt.
* We changed the needle and thread and bobbin on the machine to match the colored shirt.
* When it was time to begin sewing, the girl raised and lowered the presser foot and cut the strings (any ideas on how to set things up so that she can reach the foot pedal?).
* Finally, we turned the shirt right side out and used a seam ripper to start cutting out the eyeball shapes from the hand-me-down shirt to reveal our eyeballs.

What I learned:
* The girl is ready for bigger and better crafts.
* We should have been more careful about how we placed the eye and/or where we painted the eye sparkle, because on the front of the shirt where we have multiple eyes, the glint inexplicably comes from multiple light sources.
* I need more practice sewing jersey.