TIME DOTH FLY

Fifteen years ago today, I was hugely pregnant, nervous, and anxiously awaiting my water to break.

My due date was Feb. 27, but, alas, our long-awaited baby boy had not yet arrived. And boy, were we ready...or so we thought...

I had nested till I could nest no more -- the baby's room was painted a comforting shade of blue, the cutsie/cozy Boynton farm animal border (with matching crib bumper, blanket and other accessories) was up, the baby clothes were lovingly washed in Dreft, folded and lay neatly (and all but alphabetized) in the baby's dresser. The hand-made changing table that John designed and built was bedecked with a perfectly fitted changing pad, and a month's worth of diapers were stacked and ready for duty.

Our house in Cincinnati was unbelievably organized and spotless, down to the practically- spit- polished bottom of the tea kettle on the stove. We'd been to childbirth classes, I had my hospital bag packed, the car was full of gas, the birth announcements were stamped and ready to mail. Oh, and have I mentioned that I had read, cover to cover, every pregnancy/infant-toddler care book I could get my pudgy, fluid-retaining hands on (including "What To Expect When You're Expecting" and 'What To Expect The Toddler Years")?

And then, finally, on March 2, 1993, Daniel John was born.

Fast-forward through 15 whirling dervish years.

Daniel's room needs a fresh coat of paint, and he's considering khaki with a U.S. Marines motif (over my dead body). His floor is dotted with piles of clean and dirty clothes (hard to tell which is which), hence, I am wondering why we even bother to offer him a dresser.

Our house in Iowa is unbelievably disorganized because March 1, 1993, was the last time my life was in any sense of order. And frankly, who has time to nest? Who has time -- or the desire -- for spit-spot cleaning? As for the bottom of my tea kettle...don't even go there. My last book read? Can't say that I've read a book from cover to cover for many a moon...I usually fall asleep midway through Chapter One.

However, I now understand why there is no book titled "What To Expect The Teenage Years"...if there was such a book, and anyone contemplating having children actually read it, NO ONE would have children. They would run, screaming, to the closest Planned Parenthood clinic for a lifetime supply of the surest form of birth control available...

But, as usual, I digress.

Truly, though, Daniel has reached his teen years in (yikes-a-roni!) the proverbial blink of an eye. Seems like only yesterday I was softly singing "You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine" to the little nipper as I lovingly rocked him and fed him his bottle. Today I just stand by and watch in loving amazement -- and amusement-- as the now-going-on-strapping-young-man jams out to "Slow Ride" via Guitar Hero III while wolfing down pizza and Gatorade.

In the blink of an eye, indeed.

(Where, oh, where is my copy of "Love You Forever"?)

In a little while, we are going shopping for track shoes. While in Carroll, we're picking up a driver's test study guide. Yes, I am finally facing the the inevitable -- Driver's Ed looms ahead this spring, and the kid is old enough to get his learner's permit. I don't know if they manufacture enough Xanax to get me through these next few years...

However, there are signs that I am actually adjusting, slowly but surely. Why, just last night, for the first time, I did not shed one tear -- my eyes were not one tiny bit moist, even -- when he walked out the front door, got in a car with a friend, and they drove off to a movie.

I prayed, but I didn't cry.

THOUGHTS BEFORE LEAP DAY

An extra day this year is such a wonderful gift...

So what are you going to do with an additional 24 hours of life?

Leap into a new hobby? A new career? A new hair color? A new attitude? A new relationship?

My dear friend Suz, on the eve of our launching our own weekly newspaper (The West Central Valley Voice) a few years back, attempted to calm my nerves at the risk we were about to take by offering the Zen-like advice, "Leap and the net will appear".

In other words, take the chance, throw caution to the wind, jump into the endeavor, and it will all fall into place, it will all work out.

And she was right.

Our 2 1/2-year stint as newspaper "moguls" was a couple of the best 2 1/2 years of my life -- what a blast! What a journalistic labor of love! What an extraordinary and fulfilling challenge!

We later took another leap and started a news blog, the late, great Independent Eye, which (go figure) still attracts several readers a week even though there hasn't been a new post since we turned it over to our friend Peggy, and The Eye evolved into The Voices of Stuart (Iowa).

Actually, the Eye evolved from The Home Stretch, which I just sort of jumped into as well, and frankly, I can't remember how or why.... But these days, I can't imagine not blogging...it's helps keep my creative juices flowing...and it's just so darn fun being a part of the ever-expanding blogosphere...

Now, if you scroll down to the very bottom of the blog, you will see the "This Blog Brought To You By Leap And The Net Will Appear Enterprises". It's my little tribute to me and Suz and our Voice days...and to the act of leaping and jumping and trying something new and different and challenging despite the small, scared voice inside us that whispered, "Don't leap. Turn back. Give up. Don't try."

Of course, one does not have to wait for a Leap Year to throw one's self into a new, exciting endeavor, or change an attitude, a hair color or start a new hobby. But having a unique day like Feb. 29 where one is encouraged to delve into something out of the ordinary, makes it even more compelling to, well, just leap.

So what are you going to do with an additional 24 hours of life this Leap Day? Have you given it any thought?

Your net is waiting.

DO YOU KNOW THE WAY TO FARIDABAD?

First Germany.

Now India.

That live traffic widget I added to my blog recently has been more entertaining than a barrel of monkeys! I've had readers from California and Colorado, Mississippi, Florida...

But I gotta tell ya that when the little map of Faridabad, Haryana popped up the other night - WOW-E-ZING ( as my dear departed ol' dad used to say)!

Of course, my very first thought was, "Where the hell is Faridabad, Haryana? So I did what any blogger worth his or her weight in hits would do -- I Googled. Did you know that Faridabad, Haryana was in India? Heck, I didn't.

And to think someone from INDIA just happened to drop by my little ol' blog.

Heck, Schmeck, it's downright mind-bloggling!

HILLARY, DAHLING, A LITTLE WISCONSIN CHEESE WITH THAT WHINE?

Hillary, dahling, you're whining.

C'mon now, dear. Admit it.

If the tables were turned and your supporters were turning out in adoring rock-concert throngs to hear you speak or to just shake your hand, and you had won the last 9 caucuses and primaries, and folks were completely agog at your inspirational oratory abilities, then you'd deem that style of presidential campaigning as all fine and dandy -- the marks of the perfect Democratic candidate for prez.

But nooooooooo...

Since its Barack that's cleaning up at the polls right now, well, then, by golly, it's all just a bunch of pretty prose.

Whatever.

With all due respect -- and not to badger you after your Wisconsin defeat (ba-da-bump) -- but I just don't think voters are buying your petty argument.

I mean, is it so wrong that Barack has a heckuvalotta folks fired up about this election, about the chance to change the hopeless direction the country has been going for years? He's made his stances on the issues known...he's talked about what he envisions accomplishing as president...just as you have.

You both espouse change. His campaign trail stumping is just more inspiring.

You're like, "Yes! We Can!" He's like, "YES! WE CAN!"

Not worth the pout, though, dahling.

Be honest now...wouldn't you agree that if we all settle down a bit and look political campaigning by anyone straight in the eye, isn't every candidate, no matter what level of government, no matter what party, made up of just a little more blow than show? Even you? I mean, yes, theoretically, it's great that you have all that experience (and Bill has all that Oval Office experience to back you as well), and you say you'll be "ready day one" to dig in do all the stuff you're promising.

But couldn't that schtick just as easily be categorized as "empty rhetoric" ? I mean, let's be real...no one's presidency ever unfolds to the letter of their campaign. And yours, should you win, won't either.

My point, Hillary, dahling, is that your whole empty/borrowed word let's-turn-em-against-Barack/try-to-sully-his-speaking -skills campaign strategy does nothing but make you look, well, silly. And jealous. And desperate, dahling. Simply desperate.

And whiny.

And I know a whiner when I hear one -- cuz I am one, too. Just ask my sister. Or my friend, Carol R. Or, come to think of it, any one of my friends...

Anyway, dahling, take heart! It ain't over till it's over...there's still Texas and Ohio on the horizon...

So put on your big girl pants -- or, in your case, pant suit -- and quit whining.

Chin up! Shoulders back!

And remember, dahling, every time you point a finger at Barack accusing him of spewing empty rhetoric, there are three fingers pointing back at you.

'Nite.

Hoodie Hoo!

If, like me, you are absolutely sick of winter -- and who in the midwest/on the east coast isn't? -- then today is our day to rally!

It's Hoodie Hoo Day!

At some point today, everyone is supposed to run out and yell "Hoodie Hoo" and shoo winter away...(if only it were that simple).

If you feel like putting a little extra "hoodie" into your "hoo", make sure and wear a funky hat, colorful stretch pants, vest, and boots (like the obviously fun-loving Hoodie Hoo girls pictured) ...

Hey, don't laugh. Every little bit of Hoodie Hoo funk helps when it's below zippo.

Hoodie Hoo!

BUT REALLY... HOW DOES HILLARY DO IT?

Say what you will about CBS Evening News' "silly girl" Katie Couric asking Democratic presidential hopeful Hillary Clinton (during the recent and now infamous 60 Minutes interview) if she pops vitamins to keep her stamina up and running...

Truth is, I had been wondering the very same thing...

I mean, how does Hillary do it? My golly, she's on the road or in the air 24/7, giving rousing, articulate "vote for me" speeches , debating our country's life and death issues, yucking it up with Letterman, and attempting to carve a chunk out of my man Obama's armor at every turn...yet her eyes never look tired, her hair always looks perfect, her smile never wanes (well, except for that one teary episode that won her New Hampshire)...

I think she did admit to giving up diet pop...and eating hot peppers or something...

My point -- and I do have one -- is that I'm at least 10 years younger than Hillary, and yet I can barely muster enough luster each day to drag my sorry butt out of bed, throw on a pot of coffe, mumble a few short words to my husband, shower, drive six short blocks to work where I spend my day sitting at a desk secheuling tv and appliance repairs, only to drag myself back home, eat supper, maybe toss in a load of laundry, say hello to my son, and crawl back into bed.

And I pretty much look like hell. 24/7.

I did buy some One A Day Vitamins for women over 50 the other day -- oy -- and I'm hoping they kick in here real soon.

By the same token, how does Hillary get to sleep? With the adrenaline jolts that must certainly come with the wacky world of presidential campaigning, how does she wind down and drift into a decent REM cycle?

I know she can't be taking Unisom at night -- she's too damn perky. I took one of those babies the other night and I was still sound asleep when I woke up the next morning. I suppose she could be taking Ambien, but with that comes all those possible side effects, like eating and driving in the middle of the night or whatever but not remembering it the next day...which would be risky business for a prez candidate.

I dunno.

What do presidential candidates do when they're weary but they can't get to sleep? Count delegates instead of sheep? Throw back a good, stiff slug of Nyquil?

Well, enough pondering. It's time for this ol' gal to hit the hay.

'See ya' in the morning's milk', as my dear ol' dad used to say. "And don't take any wooden nickels.'

TRAFFIC JAM

Cool!

Dig the live traffic feed in my sidebar.

Chantilly, VA....Washington, D.C....Rhode Island...Missouri...and of course Des Moines, Cincinnati and Huxley... and now, GERMANY! Whoa, baby!

Who are these folks? (OK, I know who Huxley is and am pretty sure who the Iowa and Cincinnati readers are...and I may even have an inkling about Virginia... but Washington, D.C.? (Perhaps it's GW!) Rhode Island?

And GERMANY?

Wow! It's like getting postcards from around the country, the world...with no signatures.

On one hand, I'm dying to know who everyone is, how they happened upon my little ol' blog, a blog based on the mental meanderings of a Midwest midlife mom...

On the other hand, I love the surprise and mystery of it all -- takes me back to my CB days (10-4 Good Buddy)...jawing nightly with people from hither and yon that I could hear but couldn't see...but I digress...

Anyway! I am thrilled with the live traffic feed and can't wait to scale more new geographical blogospherical heights! Meanwhile, feel free to leave a comment or two, folks!

Blogging....by golly, Molly, it's a great way to travel!

GERMANY?!?!

With Love, Annie

OYEAH! OBAMA! OSWEEP!

OOPS! I DID IT AGAIN...

I swear to you that I really never intended to come home late from my friend Mary B's 50th birthday party, held last night at the posh Chez Coon Bowl III...

However, one's 50th birthday only comes around once, and I can't begin to describe how good it felt to spend, let's see...six hours laughing and singing and regaling each other with various stories from back in the day, including highlights from our formative career years when Mary and I were "cub" reporters in Carroll.

I told John and Daniel I'd most likely be home by 9 p.m. -- wayyy past my usual Saturday night bedtime (yawn) -- but apparently I was the only one of the three of us who actually believed I'd be home early. Shades, I suppose, of the empty "I'll be home by 10" promise I tossed out as I left for the office Christmas party just a few short weeks ago...

John tells me this morning that at about 11:45 last night, Daniel turned to him and said, "It doesn't look like Mom's going to be home by 9...to which John replied, "Did you really think she'd be home by 9?" To which Daniel replied, "No."

And, in my heart of hearts, I probably didn't actually think I'd be home early either...I mean, I don't get out much -- especially in the dead of a bone-chilling Iowa winter. And once my friend Diane A. and I started belting out the oldies -- she always wanted to be a Pip (as in Gladys Knight and the Pips, left) or a Supreme, and boy, does she have down pat the smooth vibes of The Spinners' (above, right, the guys in the funky blue pantsuits) "Then Came You" -- well, I was laughing so hard that I completely lost track of time.

No, that's a lie.

I knew darn well what time it was. But gosh, we were having fun...makes me think that maybe, just maybe, Sing-Along-Day at the raisin ranch (my niece's term for a nursing home) will be OK as long as Diane and I are either sharing a room or are just down the hall from each other...

LOL...

The only disappointment of the evening was that Love Shack was not on any of the CDs that Dan The Bowling Alley Maestro had at his disposal. So (and I'm not sure whose idea this was...no, that's a lie -- it was my idea) we convinced Mary that at the ripe old age of 50, she just HAD to visit The Northside, the local trendy watering hole (no that's lie, too...the trendy part).

Sadly, there was no Love Shack to be found on that juke box, so we settled for Mary Wells' "My Guy", Cher's "If I Could turn Back Time" and The Eagles' "Lyin' Eyes".

(And since when did jukeboxes become so confusing? I could've sworn we pushed the buttons for John Mellencamp's "Jack and Diane" but we never heard it.) I think Diane finally convinced me it was time to step away from the jukebox about 1 a.m.

Yikes-o-Rama!

Anyway, Happy Birthday Mary B! Fond memories, always! And heartfelt thanks to Mary's hubby, Mark, and their all-grown-up kids (and excellent hosts), HannaBananna and Ross, for inviting me!

Hurry Spring....

Don't know if it's just cuz it's been a long winter, or because we are the parents of an only-and-almost-15-year-old son....

But as I blog, Daniel is at a basketball game with his friends (John once again allowed him to ride with friends to a game an hour away, and I am like, freakin' out) John is attempting to play Guitar Hero III (Slow Ride) at an ear-piercing level, and I am sipping wine and humming "Sunrise, Sunset"...

And they wonder why I'm a bit goofy at work...

Major confession: I am not growing old gracefully nor am I willingly learning to let go of my son as he seemingly overnight grows into manhood.

God, no one ever tells you about the transition, how tough it is...

I lived several states away from my dad and step-mom when I was but a year or so older than Daniel -- how did my Dad stand it? How did he live day to day not knowing where I was or what I was doing? The house feels so empty when Daniel isn't here....and as much as I complain about the hours he spends on the computer, I can't stand the sight of the computer dark and the chair empty...

(Great...John just came out of the bedroom with a hat and sunglasses -- looking somewhat like John Belushi as one of the Blues Brothers -- and here we go with yet another attempt at Slow Ride....Wait! He's goin' for Hit Me With Your Best Shot...my apologies to Pat Benetar...he's getting booed off the stage...lol

Oh, and by the way, not to change the subject, but...will someone please explain to me how the late Heath Ledger "accidentally" ingested a lethal cocktail of valium, oxycotin, xanax and whatever the fourth prescription drug was?...Good Lord...even my late grandmother in late stages of dementia knew better than to take too many sleeping pills at one time...I'm sorry, but I just don't believe it was "accidental". Sad, very sad...

And what's with Hillary and her $5 million donation to her campaign? And my man Obama was able to raise over $7 million in just a couple of days? Wow. Abe Lincoln could not afford to run for president if he were alive today...

Looks like it's so-long to the Mittster...talk about sinking millions into a lost cause -- and he'll never even miss the money...

Politics Schmolitics...

Hmm...John is really wailin' to Mississippi Queen...

I think it's time for me to say goodnight, Gracie.

Sweet Dreams.

Happy 1st Birthday, Mimi and Pearl!

OK, so neither Mimi's nor Pearl's ears stick straight up, and they are both too down to earth to wear a FUR for cryin' out loud -- even when going out on the town to celebrate their 1st birthday. But I LOVED this pic -- sort've an artist's rendition, as it were, of what The Girls might look like IF they did don a fur coat...So, Angie, how would you describe their first year? LOL Happy Birthday to Mimi and Pearl! You go, girls!

(Truth be known, their actual birthday was Feb. 6...I just couldn't get any 'puter time to post...brother Max, I see, spent his birthday running free and stopping cars on 6th Avenue once again...not sure what brother Nate was up to...yes, half the rat terriers -- Jack Rats, actually -- in this town are siblings to our darlings, Mimi and Pearl. Angie tells me Pearl enjoyed a little bacon grease on her kibbles, and Mimi....well, she got a new bone and some bacon-and-cheese Beggin' Strips...)

A LETTER FROM EVERYMOM

Had lunch with one of my colorful and crazy coworkers today who shared with me the following letter she not only wrote, but threatened to send to her three sons' teachers if they didn't shape up...

LOL!

What mother -- especially a mother of a son/sons -- hasn't felt this way at one time or another?

Omigosh! This letter says it all -- honestly, beautifully and hilariously -- so I had to post this baby immediately upon arriving home from work this evening...

It's even funnier read after a glass Sweet Willey wine -- or a beer -- or any other adult beverage that tickles your fancy after a long week at work/parenthood...enjoy!

"To Whom It May Concern:

I am putting my foot down when it comes to my 3 boys. Until they are able to appreciate what I do for them and realize that I was not put here to make them miserable, I am going on strike.

Please do not confuse this with my love for them. It is because I love them that I will no longer allow them to be lazy, ungrateful and unhelpful while walking around with fewer manners than a monkey. I no longer want to hear all the jokes about bodily functions, or “Hey Mom, pull my finger.” Seriously, for those that have daughters, is that what you want them to marry?

So this is a letter is to prepare you for what you may see when it comes to my boys at this time.

If you happen to see my boys in dirty clothes, it is not because I was not doing laundry, it is because they were too lazy to bring their clothes to the laundry room, or because they were not able to get to their closet or drawers because their rooms are a victim of Hurricane Testosterone and Clean Up Estrogen is not coming.

If they appear hungry it is not from lack of food. I make sure there is a meal each night; however, I quit my job as a short order cook. The tips were lousy, and the thank you is non-existent. I believe I was told as a mom this was my job. I asked for the official job description of Mother. I just got a blank look in return.

My kids also may be surrounded by a cloud of “funk”. This is due to the fact that I am no longer going to verify after each shower that they used soap on their bodies, instead of decorating the shower walls with it. I see this also diminishing their circle of friends.

During the cold season please do not be alarmed when you see one or all of my boys in shorts. I was tired of telling them to put something warmer on and having to explain what happens when you expose skin to 0 degree weather. If a 9, 10 & 13 year old can’t make the connection between winter and cold after 1,000 attempts to explain it, one day of freezing should make them say, “Hey, that lady that lives here does know what she’s talking about.”

I realize that boys are usually covered in bruises due to normal boy games such as football, wrestling, jumping from the roof of the house pretending they are superman. However, you may notice more bruises or a couple of black eyes now. I got tired of intervening in the “He’s touching me” or “He’s looking at me” game. A couple of punches from their brother should end this game.

This may seem extreme to some of you. By some of you, I mean the ones that have no children, or have Dr. Phil as a best friend and aspires to be like June Cleaver. Again, I would like to reiterate I love my boys and as a result of this, one day their future wife (who is probably the girl in their class, whose hair they keep putting worms in) will thank me for raising a son that is so willing to help around the house and appreciates what they do.

I may one day receive a Thank You from my 3 boys, for all that I do for them; however, rest assured, you will know when this day arrives, because pigs will be flying over Coon Rapids."

Amen, Sistah!

I MISS JERRY SEINFELD

I really do.

I'm not a big TV watcher, but when I am in the mood to just sit down in front of the ol' boob tube -- or boob plasma/lcd, if that is what you have -- and let my brains go on hiatus for an hour or two, I find it disheartening to have nothing to choose from but channel after channel of blood, guts and microscopes, missing people, criminal minds, unrealistic reality/survivor/big brother schlock, and most recently, that dippy modern day version of To Tell The Truth where folks risk alienating their entire family by allowing themselves to be hooked up to a lie detector and on national TV asked none-of-anyone's business questions like, 'Have you ever gambled away a portion of your children's college fund?" all for a paltry $500,000.

(OK, OK, so we once had to clean out Daniel's second grade Junior Banking Account (a whopping, albeit hard-earned $72) to buy groceries when times were lean, but we are paying him back, with interest, in phone cards and eight-packs of Gatorade.)

Anyway, I didn't realize how much I missed TV's "good ol' days", as it were, until just this week when I woke up in the middle of the night, couldn't get back to sleep -- as I am prone to do at my interesting age -- and was treated to a couple of Seinfeld re-runs on Fox.

One of the episodes happened to be a montage of episodes from their 9-year run, a hodge-podge of excellently executed hilarity that left me laughing and happy, which is no small feat these days.

Now there was a great TV show. There was a half hour worth spending in front of the TV. No blood, no guts, no kidnapped, raped, hacked-up bodies...it was pure, unadulterated -- what's that word, again...oh, yeah...ENTERTAINMENT.

Hell, I'd give my eye teeth -- what's left of them -- for a good one-hour comedy/variety show like Carol Burnett...or a rip-roaring sit-com like Bob Newhart...

Which only goes to prove that I am, indeed, growing old, and that it's been a long winter here in ol' Ioway, and maybe we need cable or dish or whatever...but is life with a million channels any really more satisfying? Although, TV Land, when we could afford it, was one of my faves.

Oh, dear me...When one starts reminiscing about Carol Burnett and Bob Newhart and TV Land, well...need I say more?

Anyway...

I miss Jerry Seinfeld.

Jerry, we hardly knew ye.

Oy.

MY LIFE IN TOTES

Remember that old TV show, "This Is Your Life"?

Each week, an unsuspecting celebrity was lured by some ruse to a location near the TV studio. The celebrity was then surprised with the news that he was to be the featured guest, and he was escorted into the studio where, one by one, people significant in the guest's life were brought out to offer anecdotes. At the end of the show family members and friends would gather 'round the guest who was then given a variety of gifts.

Anyway...

I've come up with my own reality-TV show rendition of This Is Your Life...I call it, "My Life In Totes", and it goes something like this:

Each weekend, an unsuspecting middle-aged woman in the throes of a menopausal, pre-empty nest "where-the-hell-did-my-life-go" crisis, is lured by some ruse down into her unfinished -- and very dusty -- basement. She is then surprised -- aghast, really -- to discover that every person who ever wrote her a letter, sent her a birthday or Christmas card, thank-you note, a picture, throughout her life, or is mentioned in one of a gazillion of her old diaries and half-finished journals, has been invited as a special guest to help her clean said unfinished and dusty basement.

Next, the woman is escorted by the throng of special guests into the mildew-scented catch-all room of the basement, a room lined wall-to-wall with plastic totes containing at least 41 years' worth of the aforementioned birthday and Christmas cards, thank-you notes, diaries and journals that the woman --much to her husband's chagrin -- just could not part with o'er these many decades.

As the woman sorts through the mementos of her life, and re-reads each card or gazes at each old photo, the significant person who either sent the card or is shown in the photo, steps forward and offers an amusing/heart-warming -- or possibly, depending on the diary or journal entry, embarrassing/heart-breaking-- anecdote regarding his or her relationship with the woman.

That's where "My Life In Totes" gets a little tricky, where the suspense and intrigue builds...it's all about the anecdote...since the woman never marked her totes, she has absolutely no idea if she's opening up a warm and fuzzy jaunt down memory lane or a heart-wrenchingly painful Pandora's Box. There's so many people packed in her basement, she has no clue who might step forward next or what kind of tale might be told...

After each anecdote shared, the woman -- tho' it is mighty difficult for her to part with the past -- sticks the accompanying card/picture, or pages of the diary/journal, in a nearby paper shredder, and moves on to the next card/picture, diary/journal...

By the end of the show -- providing the woman and her guests have not succumbed to moldy lung disease or whatever it is one catches from pawing through moldy papers and pictures for hours at a time -- there is either:

A) a big group hug, lots of happy tears, and the woman realizes that, truly, hers was -- and continues to be -- a wonderful life, the totes are FINALLY empty, her basement is "clean", and she is showered with gifts.

OR

B) a terrifying scream as the middle-aged woman is overcome by a hot flash of anxiety at having to relive some parts of her life best left to the mold and mildew, and she shoos everyone out of the house, takes a cold shower, and downs a pitcher of margaritas.

One week "My Life In Totes" might be set to the tune of The Beatles' "With A Little Help From My Friends"; the next week, Joe Nichols' "Tequilla Makes Her Clothes Fall Off". Hard to say.

LOL

Let's face it...life -- in totes or out -- is pretty much a crapshoot.

BARACK TAKES SC; HILL TAKES A SHELLACKING

"The cynics who believed

that what began in the snows of Iowa

was just an illusion were told a different story"

~Barack Obama, on his SC Victory

Woo-Hoo!

Thank You South Carolina!

I May Not Be Smokin' Hot, But...

I won the Smoking Gun Award at my office Christmas party tonight!

Yes, I know, Christmas was weeks ago.

But due to busy schedules and such, we just now had our office Christmas party TONIGHT. Well, last night...seeing as I am blogging at 2:43 a.m.

Anyway! My point - and I do have one -- is that I won! Not only a certificate, but like $40 in Coon Bucks, and a couple of gift certificates to Rancho Grande -- THE most popular Mexican Restaurant in Carroll, Iowa...and all because I happened to guess correctly that Hustling Hailey strangled Ace High at the Paramount Casino...

See, we had a murder mystery dinner deal as our Christmas party theme...what a blast! Of course, I was too shy to portray a character, but thanks to my still-keen reporter's sixth sense, I just KNEW Hustling Hailey (alias B. Dudley) had to have killed Ace High (alias Jason L) because poor Ace was strangled...and Hailey and my good pal Lucy Legs (nice feather) were the only gals wearing feather boas...obvious -- and convenient -- strangling "tools" -- and Hailey was also wearing pearls....

Actually, truth be told, I originally thought it was Elvis (alias Tommy M) but he really didn't have a reason to kill Ace High..

Anyway....Lucy Legs really had no reason to kill Ace, either...Lucy (alias Kristin) had no real reason to want Ace dead...but ol' Hailey....well, she'd do anything for money...

Anyway... a good time was had by all. A delicious meal prepared and served by my hair stylist, Kristi, and her mom and pop...lots of laughs and a bit of karaoke...I really feel like one of the gang now at my new job.

It has been a great day....

My son and his two speech teams earned 1s at todays groups speech contests in Denison, Iowa -- I could not be prouder....they worked so hard...

OK, so my man Obama did not win Nevada... there is still hope...

Life, I love you. All is groovy.

God and Rascal Flatts

So how was your week?

As for my week...well, color me frazzled.

Oy.

"Like a candle in a hurricane"...

Exactly.

And then God spoke to me. Through Rascal Flatts. OK, through a song on the radio by Rascal Flatts.

Yes, I believe God speaks to each of us wherever we are. This afternoon, he spoke to me while I was sitting in the car, moping, staring out at the dismal day, waiting for John after work. And then on came this great song by Rascal Flatts...and it strengthened me...

I can't believe I've only just heard of it...

You feel like a candle in a hurricane
Just like a picture with a broken frame
Alone and helpless like you've lost your fight
But you'll be alright
You'll be alright

Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend, till you break
Cause it's all you can take

On your knees you look up
Decide you've had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand
Then you stand

Life's like a novel with the end ripped out
The edge of a canyon with only one way down
Take what you're given before its gone
Start holding on, keep holding on

Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend, till you break
Cause it's all you can take
On your knees you look up
Decide you've had enough

You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands shake it off
Then you stand (then you stand)
Yea, then you stand (then you stand)

Everytime you get up
And get back in the race
One more small piece of you
Starts to fall into place, yea
Ooohhh

Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend, till you break
Cause it's all you can take
On your knees you look up
Decide you've had enough

You get mad you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand (then you stand)
Then you stand (then you stand)
Yea, then you stand (then you stand)
Yea (then you stand)

Hope For New Hampshire

OYEAH! OBAMA!

Hope soars!

I am still pinching myself...

Barack Obama declared Thursday night's Iowa's Democratic caucus winner! And by a handy little amount, I might add.

38, 30, 29...

No, those aren't my measurements...those are the three most glorious numbers in the world , music to many an American's ear this a.m....caucus percentages for Obama, Edwards and Clinton, respectively.

So much for Miss Inevitability in the Tall Corn State...can you believe it? Obama AND Edwards beat the Clinton Machine last night...

Well, like the song from The Music Man goes:

"Oh, there's nothing halfwayAbout the Iowa way to treat you, when we treat you,which we may not do at all. There's an Iowa kind of special chip-on-the-shoulder attitude we've never been without that we recall."

In other words, don't tell US who's gonna win our caucuses. We'll make that decision ourselves, thank you very much."

I am so proud to have been one of the first-time Iowa caucus-goers who helped push Obama over the top...

And I must admit, it was rather exciting down at ye ol' municipal building as folks poured in to gather in precinct preference groups for their candidate-of-choice. One of the biggest -- if not THE biggest -- turnouts here in ages, I understand. About 121 -- and folks of all ages, I might note! Just think...350,000 Democrats across the state in all...yowsa!

I gotta tell ya that my heart sank just a bit when John and I first walked in and the Edwards and Clinton camps' chairs were filling up rather quickly, and the Obama camp looked a little bare.

Hillary's gang had red and blue tablecloths, matching balloons and a spread of yummy-looking food...we had an empty ice cream bucket full of store-bought chocolate chip cookies, and later, a plate of homemade treats (thank you, Diane, darling) and a plastic pitcher of water...

"They probably paid with those balloons with PAC money," I quipped.

Ba-da bump.

But as 6:30 p.m. rolled into 7 and the caucus doors closed, the Obama camp was having to make room for more chairs. We had senior citizens, mid-lifers, 30-Somethings, high school seniors -- and even a few babies...we had teachers, school administrators, and we even convinced one undecided local pastor to join our group, to support our candidate. All in all, we had 29 folks.

Well, at first count we had 30, but one young high school gentleman -- and he knows who he is -- defected to the Edwards camp...ahem.

Final count -- Edwards 60, Clinton 32, and Obama 29.

So we didn't "win" our precinct exactly...but that wasn't really a surprise. I kinda figured, demographics here what they are, that Edwards would be the more favored candidate.

And I guess that's what is so miraculous, so invigorating, about Obama's big win here in Iowa. To borrow a quote from one of the Des Moines Register blogs this a.m.:

"Barack Obama's stirring victory in Iowa -- down home, folksy, farm-fed, Midwestern and 92 percent white Iowa -- says a lot about America, and also about the current mindset of the American voter. Because tonight voters decided that they didn't want to look back. They wanted to look into the future, as if a country exhausted by the last seven years wanted to recapture its youth." ~ Arianna Huffington of The Huffington Post"

Amen, Arianna!

Another interesting -- and surprise -- outcome of last night's caucus...guess who's going to the county democratic convention in March? Uh-huh. Me and my hubby. My hubby, I might add, that is a once-but-no-longer Republican. Yup. Whodathunk? We've been cancelling each other out at the polls for 27 years...

See, there really is Hope. Hope not only floats, it soars!

OBAMA! 'O8!

TIME TO CAUCUS, BABY

Yee-ha!

Time for the Iowa Cacuses!

Today is THE day!

Right now, as I blog, Katie Couric is somewhere in Des Moines....and maybe my old college pal (whom I never met, but recall seeing around the OU campus from time to time) Matt Lauer is lurking about our capitol city as well. And Harry Smith. And the list goes on.

Funny, but you can hardly PAY people to come to Iowa most days -- I believe only two of my die-hard cronies have made the trek in the 20-plus years I've survived, er, lived here. But come an important presidential caucus and VOILA!

The state is crawling with media types and, of course, the ever-stumping presidential hopefuls themselves.

I hate to admit this, but for all the years I've lived in Iowa, this will be my very first caucus. From what I understand, we Democrats stand with others who support our preferred candidate, and those whose candidate doesn't get 15% of the total crowd in their corner, as it were, are not considered to be viable candidates. So then those of us whose candidates are viable try to lure, er, convince the others to support our candidates. Then what happens after that I don't know...it has something to do with percentages and delegates and yada, yada, yada.

I'm really just going to make my voice heard as best it can be...

And just who am I caucusing for, you ask.

Obama, baby.

He knew better than to support the war in the first place.

More later.

There's Only One Thing More Depressing Than Cleaning The Basement on New Year's Eve...

And that is watching poor, old Dick Clark on his New Year's Rockin' Eve show.

Yikes-A-Roni!

Did you happen to see him?

I mean I admire the guy for coming back to co-host the celebratory glittery-ball-dropping-on-Times-Square show after his stroke a few years' back...after all, he was a New Year's Eve staple for so many, many years.

But, frankly -- and with all due respect to the elderly and ailing TV icon -- at this point, the words "Dick Clark" and "rockin' New Year's Eve" (emphasis on rockin') really don't jive. It's sort of like when John and I put my old KC and The Sunshine Band album on my stereo and attempt to do the bump to "Get Down Tonight" in the middle of the living room, and Daniel just shudders and hides in his room.

Know what I mean? It's like when you were a kid and you saw your parents kiss. Remember how they just seemed to be too darn old to still be trying to act so young?

In all honesty, I found it absolutely heartbreaking and downright depressing to watch...and listening to Mr. Clark slur his words and, at one point, cough and hack as he tried to wish everyone a Happy New Year...well, it was just too much for this ol' gal.

I had to turn it off.

Geeze, I remember all those years watching Dick Clark with awesome wonder...how did he manage to stay looking so young? And each New Year's Eve, his loving wife would come out and give him a kiss, and my friends and I would literally cackle over how utterly old she looked next to her seemingly ageless husband.

The poor guy...

Now don't get me wrong...I can take a lot of depressing entertainment with the best of them. I mean, I'm the gal who would never dream of missing the annual "Hail and Farewell" segment of CBS Sunday Morning...you know, the tribute (always set to hauntingly sorrowful music and commentary) -- to all the famous people who died during the old year and will no longer be with us in the new.

(And as such, I must note here that I was more than a little disappointed that they did not include the recently late Dan Fogelberg in this year's tribute....ahem...however, they ended the tribute with a clip of the late Robert Goulett singing "If Ever I Would Leave You" from Camelot, and that was more than enough to open the floodgate of tears, thank you very much.)

Or give me a good old fashioned always-without-a-doubt-guaranteed-to-yank-the-tears-right-outta-ya Hallmark Movie any time, day or night. I'm there, I'm cryin'...and the more tears the better.

But there was just something so absolutely and heart-wrenchingly pathetic about seeing Dick Clark on TV last night that even I -- Miss Eternal Empath and quintessential poster child for the morosely and incurably sensitive (yet wouldn't have it any other way) types -- could not take.

I imagine my husband might have felt that very same thing when I went through my Madonna Wanna-Be stage in my late 20s...it took him years but he finally confessed -- it made him squeamish. Uncomfortable.

In other words, it just wasn't right. But John and all my friends, bless their hearts, humored me my Madonna stage-- fingerless lace gloves, bright red lipstick, giant hair bows, stretch pants, dangly earrings and all.

And maybe that's what bothered me the most...what if the new, younger and truly rockin' New Year's Rockin Eve hosts and hostesses that have replaced Dick Clark are just humoring him? Like, what if they are thinkin', "Would somebody PLEASE give this ol' guy the hook? Let's cut to a commerical, quick!" And that made me sad. Too sad.

I guess I just prefer to think of Dick Clark as the young, handsome and truly groovin' Dick Clark from his American Bandstand days from back in the day.

And maybe, just maybe, that's how I prefer to remember myself -- young and groovin' , dressin' like Madonna and still doin' the bump...not old and tired, and pawing through moldy totes on New Year's Eve.

Ouch.

Sometimes the truth, if you can stand to face it, really does hurt.

FAST AWAY THE OLD YEAR PASSES

FA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA....

Etc., Etc.

Yes, it's another exciting New Year's Eve at our house...in a few minutes we are going downstairs to that hellhole we call a basement and start going through the gazillion totes that contain the remnants of our lives.

In other words, we are spending New Year's Eve cleaning the basement.

Can you think of anything more fun than that to ring out the old year?

Now, I am not the first to consider cleaning out the old to welcome in the new...I have a friend who every New Year's Eve cleans out his closets. That's his tradition. And that may very well explain why said friend's wife left him a few years back...

But I digress.

To be fair, there is something to be said for starting the New Year off clean and organized...why, just last night we cleaned the oven, the refrigerator and the kitchen floor -- and I even made sure to change the kitty litter...we all got new undies and socks for Christmas, and the dog is sporting her new "diamond" studded collar and matching leash...and there are crisp, white flour sack dish towels in the kitchen drawer...

Dear God, could my life be any more boring?

Anyway...

I suppose we could have gone to the fire department's dinner and dance at the community building tonight...but since I've eaten my way to outer Slabovia and back since starting my new, somewhat stressful job, my jeans are a tad tight and I really don't feel like dancing.

Which leads me to the next New Year's tradition -- resolutions.

Yes, of course I will be dieting in 2008 -- has there ever been a year I haven't had to lose weight?

Oy.

And I always vow to be more organized.

I'll never forget the Christmas John gave the book Becoming Organized Based on the Proverbs 31 Woman or something equally as ridiculous.

Hand me another glass of wine, would you dear?

Thanks.

Anyway, where was I?

Ah, yes, New Year's Eve. The night I imagine everyone in the world but me having a splendiferous time, dressed to the nines, kicking up their heels...and I'm at home, too tired to even stay up along enough to watch the ball drop.

Of course, even staying up to watch the ball drop is a bit of a yawner because when the ball drops on Times Square, it's only 11 o'clock in Iowa.

That always reminds me of the New Year's Eve back in the day when my Sis and I were single and dateless and living in Davenport and had nothing to do but don party hats and clang pots and pans together at midnight -- Iowa time -- from her apartment balcony.

Another glass of wine, dear. Please. Hurry.

Thanks.

Let's see, where was I?

That's ranks right up there with the New Year's Eve my senior year in high school when I dropped my zit concealer in the toilet while freshening up in the host's bathroom just moments before midnight. I was so busy trying to fish the little metal cosmetic container out of the toilet, I missed midnight completely.

Good times, good times.

Well, those totes are a callin'....

Cheers!

SHOULD OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT...

And never brought to mind?

Well, should they?

I suppose it depends on just who the old acquaintance happens to be, and other circumstances surrounding the acquaintanceship.

I mean, it goes without saying that one should never forget their old pals, their old cronies, their old partners in crime...but if ye old acquaintance you're toying with bringing to mind this New Year's Eve happens to be ye old love interest, that may well be a horse's auld lang arse of a different color.

In that case, err on the side of caution...it's probably best if you don't bring him or her to mind. And for God's sake, don't Google said old love interest. Or, maybe, bring him or her to mind, Google away, even...hell, track down his or her phone number if you must (just for shucks and grins)... but puh-leeeese don't make the call.

However, if you bring the old love interest to mind, Google away, track down his or her phone number, and feel absolutely compelled to call said old love interest, for God's sake, make the call when you are sober as a judge.

In other words, NO DRUNK DIALING!

Especially on New Year's Eve.

You heard me. Step away from the cell phone, particularly if you've had a a few too many...

I know, I know....it seems so harmless, just calling that old love interest at the stroke of midnight...that ball is falling on Times Square and you're awash in nostalgia and thinking " I jusht wanna shay Happy New Year...ish that sho bad?"

Yup. It really ish sho bad.

Let's face it, there's a reason you never hear about people "sober dialing". No one dares to ring in the New Year by ringing up an old love interest unless they're dialing from somewhere deep in the heart of Margaritaville.

And there is nothing worse than waking up New Year's Day with a hang over AND a bad case of Drunk Dialer's Remorse.

Or so I've heard.

Bottom line is, friends don't let friends drunk dial. Especially on New Year's Eve.

Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking.

Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child's cry, a blazing star hung over a stable, and wise men came with birthday gifts. We haven't forgotten that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, with the sound of bells, and with gifts.

But especially with gifts. You give me a book, I give you a tie. Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer and Uncle Henry can do with a new pipe. For we forget nobody, adult or child. All the stockings are filled, all that is, except one. And we have even forgotten to hang it up. The stocking for the child born in a manger. Its his birthday we're celebrating. Don't let us ever forget that.

Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most. And then, let each put in his share, loving kindness, warm hearts, and a stretched out hand of tolerance. All the shinning gifts that make peace on earth.

~ The Ending Sermon From One of My All-Time Favorite Christmas Movies, "The Bishop's Wife"

FROM MY HEART TO YOURS

With love and fondest memories this holiday season to my faithful friends who remain dear to me now and forever...thanks for reading The Homestretch!

A Dark Day For Die-Hard Romantics

Still reeling from the news...

Singer Dan Fogelberg dead at 56. Prostate cancer. He'd been battling it for three years.

"He didn't rely on the volume of his voice to convey his emotions; instead, they came through in the soft, tender delivery and his poignant lyrics," reported Yahoo news. "Songs like "Same Old Lang Syne" — in which a man reminisces after meeting an old girlfriend by chance during the holidays — became classics not only because of his performance, but for the engaging story line, as well."

Engaging story line, indeed. "Same Old Lang Syne" is the quintessential anthem, really, for die-hard romantics...

Met my old lover in the grocery store
The snow was falling Christmas Eve
I stole behind her in the frozen foods
And I touched her on the sleeve.

I know. I know. Just a few posts ago I complained that the local soft rock radio station had played just about enough Same Old Lang Syne. That I'd had my fill of that Christmas song, thank you very much.

I was lying.

She didn't recognize the face at first
But then her eyes flew open wide
She went to hug me and she spilled her purse
And we laughed until we cried.

Truth is, of all Dan Fogelberg's greatest hits, Same Old Syne is my absolute favorite. I crank it up when it comes on the radio and I am tooling along in the car...the best part of the local rock station playing 24/7 Christmas music is that Same Old Lang Syne gets played a lot...even tho' the song is guaranteed to make me weep -- and occasionally wince.

We took her groceries to the checkout stand
The food was totaled up and bagged
We stood there lost in our embarrassment
As the conversation dragged.

I would even go so far as to say that Same Old Lang Syne is right up there with The Way We Were in my book of all-time favorite songs from back in the day...

We went to have ourselves a drink or two
But couldn't find an open bar
We bought a six-pack at the liquor store
And we drank it in her car.

We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how.

I don't know how often, in real life, former lovers just happen to run into each other at the grocery store. I do know of some instances, however, where people have gone to great lengths to find and reunite with their lost loves. There are books written about the subject...web sites dedicated to reuniting lost loves that chronicle the good, the bad and the ugly that can and does ensue when former lovers revisit the past.

It is a storyline that is not only engaging, but is as old as romance itself. Same Old Lang Syne is just one of those songs that tears at one's heart strings.

She said she'd married her an architect
Who kept her warm and safe and dry
She would have liked to say she loved the man
But she didn't like to lie.

Have you ever wondered what ever happened to that special someone you knew once upon a time, long, long ago? Or, have you ever wondered if that special someone from back in the day ever wonders what happened to you?

I said the years had been a friend to her
And that her eyes were still as blue
But in those eyes I wasn't sure if I
Saw doubt or gratitude.

She said she saw me in the record stores
And that I must be doing well
I said the audience was heavenly
But the traveling was hell.

I recently read in AARP Magazine (yes, AARP Magazine) that the new mid-life crisis for us Baby Boomers is coming to terms with the road not taken, as it were...wrestling with that "R" word. You know...regret.

According to the AARP article, the "Hit Parade" or five most common life regrets involve education (one's misgivings about not attending college or grad school); career (misgivings regarding one's chosen field), romance (long-lost loves, unrequited affections, ill-advised affairs and marriages gone sour); family (not spending enough time with one's children or making poor child care choices); and the self (disappointment in one's own abilities, attitudes and behaviors.)

Have you ever wondered, regarding any particular life passage, what if...?"

We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how.

We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to time
Reliving in our eloquence
Another auld lang syne...

"Make the most of your regrets," Henry David Thoreau once advised. "To regret deeply is to live afresh."

The beer was empty and our tongues were tired
And running out of things to say
She gave a kiss to me as I got out
And I watched her drive away

The AARP article also notes that a life without regrets is not a realistic answer for most of us, that, after all, the hard-earned lessons of our sins and slip-ups make us who we are. " 'Maybe all one can do,' as playwright Arthur Miller once wrote, 'is hope to end up with the right regrets.' "

Some interesting food for thought for those of us entering the Regretting Years, as we now and again feel what the article describes as "the sharp sting of regret" that teaches us where we went wrong.

Just for a moment I was back at school
And felt that old familiar pain
And as I turned to make my way back home
The snow turned into rain...

Thank you, Dan Fogelberg, for Same Old Lang Syne.

Of course, from this day forward, Same Old Syne will never be the same for us die-hard romantics. Knowing Dan is gone, the song will seem even more poignant.

Inevitably, hearing that song, that soft, tender voice, will invoke even more weeping, more wincing, more tearing at the heart strings, than usual.

Oy.

Yet Another Man From My Misspent Youth...

So what did you and yours do to celebrate Ice Cream & Violins Day this year?

What's that? What am I blathering on about NOW, you ask? You mean you MISSED Ice Cream & Violins Day? ( Which, as most savvy bizarre holiday-observing bloggers realize, is every Dec. 13).

OK. I'll be honest with you. I had no idea this past Thursday was Ice Cream & Violins Day either, though that may explain my mysterious hankerin' for a dollop of Cookies & Cream while chillin' to a stack of Stravinsky platters on the ol' hi-fi. (translated, that means I felt like relaxing with a bowl of ice cream while listening to some old Stravinsky records on my stereo.)

Anyway, as I contemplate how one might actually go about celebrating Ice Cream and Violins Day (an odd pairing, in my opinion...are revelers expected to eat ice cream and play a violin at the same time?), I can't help but think about a very special man from back in the day -- a man who embodied the best there ever was about soft-serve ice cream.

That's right.

Mister Softee.

I can still hear the Mister Softee jingle blaring from his truck as he rounded the bend at the end of our block throughout the hazy, lazy, mid-to-late summer afternoonof my misspent youth...how, like kiddies lured away by the sweet music of the Pied Pieper, we'd drop whatever we were doing, beg our moms for a nickel (or was it a dime? Or was it 75 cents but my memory is dimming?), and run like bloody hell to the curb to buy a Mister Softee ice cream cone (vanilla with chocolate jimmies, AKA "sprinkles", was my fave). Our greatest fear was that Mister Softee would speed off in his trusty truck before we made it to the curb.

Did you know there's actually sheet music with all the words to the Mister Softee jingle? Oh, yeah, baby. To take a gander at the sheet music, find out more about the cone man with the ice cream coif and how he came to be, or if you're looking for a new summer career, click here.

I still remember the hot, summer day my best friend, Valli, and I were sitting behind some pine trees in her backyard when we heard Mister Softee comin' down our street...and we plotted how we would put tacks under the unsuspecting Mister Softee's tires, and then, when he was out of the truck changing the flats, we'd jump in and steal all the ice cream. But that would be a horrible story to tell at this time of year when we're all trying to stay off Santa's Naughty List.

Sadly, in recent years, some folks who found Mister Softee's jingle to be repetitively and screechingly annoying, were trying to get someone -- anyone -- to come up with a new Mister Softee jingle. I find that idea abhorrent at best. I mean, it ain't violin music, that's true...But if, like me, you can still hum the jingle, and hearing it immediately takes you back to a simpler, more innocent and carefree time of your life, well...There could never be another, or better, Mister Softee jingle. Never.

Yes, remembrance, like a candle, burns brightest at Christmastime.

So now, for your nostalgic viewing pleasure...a real live Mister Softee singing the Mister Softee jingle...

(Disclaimer! I have not viewed the other Mister Softee videos that accompany this one...watch the others at your own risk...)

Merry Christmas and Happy Memories to all...and to all, a goodnight.

MY KIND OF GROCERY SHOPPING

If you MUST go grocery shopping on a busy Saturday morning, what better way to careen down the bread aisle then with a couple of Dixie cups of wine under your belt...

Our local grocery store -- Frohlich's (tho' those in-the-know refer to it lovingly as "The Fro") -- cranked their annual Christmas open house up a notch this a.m. by offering a little wine with their cheese cubes, cookies, crackers and delectable spinach dip...

It was a wine tasting party, actually, sponsored by the Santa Maria Winery located in beautiful Willey, IA, just up the road from here.

I just happened to drop by The Fro to pick up a few things when someone nudged me and said "Wine and cheese in the back room!"

And it was just after 11 a.m.

"Hey, Helen, it's 5 o'clock somewhere!" I joked, winking at one of the elegant elderly church ladies peeking into the back room as I tossed back my second little cup of a delightful sweet red wine called Autumn Hush.

Normally, I prefer Sweet Willey (a delectably sweet white wine...hence, the name), but it's been a long week, an even longer life, and I felt like being daring...goin' for broke...so I tried the red stuff...not bad....not bad at all...

Note to self: Drink more wine in the new year...

Now there's a resolution I think I might be able to keep.

My Grown Up Christmas List...

...is my favorite Christmas song this year:

Do you remember me?
I sat upon your knee
I wrote to you
With childhood fantasies

Well, I'm all grown up now
And still need help somehow
I'm not a child
But my heart still can dream

So here's my lifelong wish
My grown up christmas list
Not for myself
But for a world in need

No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal the heart
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end
This is my grown up Christmas list

As children we believed
The grandest sight to see
Was something lovely
Wrapped beneath the tree

But heaven only knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal
A hurting human soul

No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end
Oh, This is my grown up christmas list

What is this illusion called the innocence of youth
Maybe only in our blind belief can we ever find the truth

No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end, oh
This is my grown up christmas list
This is my only life long wish
This is my grown up christmas list

Just Not Feelin' It This Year

Toyed with the idea of going Christmas shopping today but then I remembered:

A) No Money

B) No Kevlar Vest

What IS this sick world coming to when folks are getting gunned down while Christmas shopping? And in Omaha no less.

Geezle Peets...

Yeah, the ol' Bah! Humbug! really has me in its grip this year...

Usually, no matter how disappointing or frustrating or emotionally draining a year I may have had, decorating the Christmas tree brings a smile to my face, and I feel contented and hopeful and one with the universe...

I mean, since I can remember, we have always gone out and chopped down our own tree and dragged it home, munched on Christmas cookies and sipped hot apple cider while my dear hubby struggles to get the tree to stand straight, and then we recite a litany of warm and fuzzy memories per each dated Hallmark ornament...then Daniel and I camp out under the beautifully bedecked tannenbaum -- ok, near the beautifully bedecked tannenbaum -- and for the next few weeks I am filled with heartwarming Christmas spirit...life is good!

This year, however, due to inclement weather and withered income, we opted to skip the tree hunt and borrow my mother-in-law's artificial tree...these days, hot apple cider gives me the trots, and the Christmas cookies we made earlier this week are long gone...so we munched on cold pizza and potato chips instead...

Sadly, we no longer can recall the stories behind each dated Hallmark ornament...1987...let's see...was that the year I had back surgery...or was that 1988? No, 1988 was the last year I won the Cedar Falls Police Media Award... or was that the year I learned silk flower arranging during the annual Wal-Mart Management Convention Spouse Activities?

And even if we did remember, who really cares at this point?

Daniel obviously doesn't because once he got the lights on the tree tonight, he was off texting and IMing and doing whatever else teenage boys do...I think he hung one ornament on the tree. Hubby was busy making hamburger patties to put in the freezer. And frankly, the artificial tree, while it looks nice, just doesn't do it for me...I gaze at the tree and I am filled with...nothing. Zilch. Nada.

Nor do I have any desire to sleep near the damn thing. And I dare say that camping near the Christmas tree with Mom is the last thing on Daniel's mind.

Heavy, weary sigh.

Oh, I did feel a slight tug at my heart strings when I pulled out the ol' pic of Daniel dressed as a candycane for his very first Christmas concert when he was in kindergarten...but it only hammered home the fact that Christmas just isn't the same when they're 14 1/2 as when they were 4.

And I swear I am going to take a hammer to the TV the next time I see that nauseating ad where the wife walks out the door to find her husband standing next to the shiny new Lexus he just bought her for Christmas.

Puh-leese. How realistic is that? Now, if she walked out the door and he handed her an Ove Glove (only $14.95 As Seen On TV!)...THAT I could relate to...or a Chia Pet, perhaps...

I know. I know.

It's a wonderful life...

But I'm just not feelin' it this year.

Not yet, anyway...

WHO'S THAT GIRL?

As I watch the "invinvicble summer" slide show (at right) over and over again, and as I marvel at how tan and vivacious and gosh-darn happy I look hangin' with my peeps just 4 1/2 short months ago, I can't help but wonder...

Who IS that girl?

Certainly, she can't be the same pale, tired, emotionally-drained bag-lady-like hag who just this a.m. was donned in an oversized winter coat, a bright orange winter hat and snowman jammies with a green clay facial mask smeared over her line-etched face who was swearing (and holding on to her dog's leash for dear life) as that damnable rat terrier dragged the ol' life-worn gal slip slidin' away around the frozen Iowa tundra, also known as "the front yard."

Alas, sadly, she is one in the same.

Slip slidin' away,
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
You're only slip slidin' away...