8 things that Jesus would probably not have done

I'm no theologian, but I have read a couple books about Jesus and I went to church a few times, so I feel like I have a basic understanding of what he was all about. You know, "be nice" and stuff. But maybe my feelings are wrong. There are plenty of people out there who claim to have a deeper understanding of what Jesus wants from them. I don't get it.

* I don't think Jesus would have murdered anyone in a church, no matter how strongly He disagreed with them or disapproved of their occupation. Now this might be a gray area for some... but He did leave us those Commandments, and I seem to remember something about what thou shalt not do. Thou means you.

* I'm also fairly confident that He would not accuse small African children of witchcraft, condemning them to be separated from their parents and tortured.

* Shooting up a church while the children perform "Annie" because the congregation tolerates the gays? I suspect Jesus would call this a bad idea.

*Speaking of the gays, Didn't Jesus have two fathers? Now, I am not saying that Joseph was gay, or that God is gay. I am just saying that Jesus would probably be tolerant of non-traditional families, with his six cousin/siblings. I don't think He would have supported proposition 8.


The things that I don't think Jesus would do aren't limited to political or criminal acts of hypocrisy. There are everyday, small scale things that I think he wouldn't do, too.

* I don't think Jesus would forward me emails with explicitly violent photographs of a Japanese hostage crisis, to make the point that it is cheaper to kill a kidnapper quickly without a trial than to arrest, try and imprison him. I'd like to think Jesus would make up a parable.

*Jesus wasn't a father in the traditional sense,(unless you believe The DaVinci Code) but if he were, I think he would not have hit his children. Jesus was no Job, but he was patient.


Far be it from me to point out the speck in everyone else's eye without examining the plank in mine.


* Unlike me, Jesus would not pretend not to notice the beggar at the end of the freeway off ramp. I know that Jesus would not only give this guy what he needed, but also wash his feet. So, yeah, Jesus is more benevolent than I am.

*Jesus probably wouldn't write about other people's shortcomings, and how he gets irritated when people do terrible things in His name. Jesus would forgive them, and pray for their salvation. But then again, He had all those other guys to do his writing for him....

Things I learned this week

No ,the "test comment post" wasn't my post for today. One of the things I learned this week was that one regular CBL reader has trouble getting the comments to work. I believe that situation has been corrected.

Other things I learned:

* Not all high school graduations are a travesty. Here is a story about a good one.

* I learned about the rare phenomenon called "circumhorizontal arc"... because we saw one on our way to Eugene today.


* I have been presented with the opportunity to learn how far I will go to be "green" and save money. My daughter came home from school Friday with a energy efficiency kit, which included a thermometer to measure the temperature of the hot water (way too hot), two CFLs, and a low flow shower head. Also included was a workbook that she needed to fill out and turn in. In order for her to receive full credit, we had to install the shower head.
Our old shower head used 3 gallons per minute, according to her calculations. The new shower head uses 1/2 gallon per minute. So I am barely getting wet in there. It's difficult to rinse my nether regions, not to mention my thick, luxurious hair.
I had just about thrown in the proverbial towel, when I looked in the tub to see how much water had accumulated during my 10 minute shower- not even an inch. I am not sure I can hang in for the long haul...

Comments welcome

test your comments here.

Make them brilliant!

My lawn chair renaissance

I think it's safe to say that summer is here. To me, summer means sitting in the sun- either watching baseball, or camping, or telecommuting. I do a lot of sitting. Today I sat and thought about chairs.


It is remarkable how many steps backward the outdoor furniture industry has taken over the last 10 years. These ubiquitous umbrella style canvas chairs that are popular now are remarkably uncomfortable, cumbersome, and poorly constructed. They are comfortable for the first 3-4 sittings, but then the fabric seat begins to sag... which means your knees are way above your butt. The arms invariably become detached from their insertion points. They rarely fit nicely back into their carrying bags... and they are heavy and bulky when folded up. I've seen unlucky sitters pitched forward and pitched backward. Legs snap. Drinks fly out of the mesh cupholders. These chairs are disasters.

I thought that perhaps my seating dissatisfaction was my own fault, for buying middle-of-the-road chairs. I foolishly paid quite a bit for a top-of-the-line butt sling, and my experience was not improved. These chairs are just a bad idea.

Last year, I got fed up with those crappy chairs. I found myself cringing anytime anyone larger than me would sit in my chairs because and I didn't want them to sag my seats. I went so far as to buy a pair of folding umbrella style camp stools, hoping that their small, uncomfortable appearance would dissuade any seat-stealers from stretching my chair. Didn't work...I just ended up with two uncomfortable, small stools.

Then, I found an old-school lounge chair made from aluminum tubing and yellow nylon webbing at a garage sale, in really great shape. This was the beginning of my Old Chair Love Affair. It's by far the most comfortable lawn lounge I've sat in , and it has the added bonus of reminding me of summers 30 years ago. (I get my sitting in the sun talent from my dad.)

Even better than the Yellow Lounge are the two Zip-Dee chairs I found at an estate sale. Zip-Dee chairs are the finest folding chairs ever made, I think. They are manufactured by the Zip-Dee awning company, and one pair of chairs used to come with every Airstream trailer. The chairs matched the awnings, of course. There are springs and wooden arms, and best of all, no sag. But if for any reason some sag should develop, we can send the chairs back to the Zip-Dee company in Indiana and they will replace the fabric or springs.



My vintage chair collection is almost complete. What I really want now is a metal framed chair with a macrame seat and back. Then I will sit like a queen on my throne.

Pomp and Circumstance

When Bryan was born, he had a mom and an older brother, Jeremy. Jeremy had a dad, but not the same dad as Bryan... and neither of the dads were interested in being fathers. They had only been interested in Bryan's mom for a week or two, and had moved on. Bryan's mom did what she could to provide for her two boys, but since she had no skills, no education and a substance abuse problem, when she got caught "doing what she could", she would have to spend time away from the boys. Jeremy and Bryan were in an out of foster care, and that's how I met Bryan. My mother-in-law fostered the boys. They would sometimes go to meet their mom for visitation, and sometimes she would show up, but sometimes she would forget. Sometimes they would go live with their mom for a month or two, but they always ended up back at Laurie's.

Bryan and Jeremy stayed with Laurie until Jeremy developed behavior issues that she was not equipped to deal with. She asked his caseworker to find a new permanent placement for Jeremy, and she decided to adopt Bryan.
Since they moved to Monmouth 4 years ago, Spencer and I really have bonded with Bryan. Bryan is a runner, and we watched as many of his races and track meets as we could. We took a really fun trip to the Redwoods. He goes camping with us, and he comes over every once in a while, when he isn't working at Burgerville. I feel like he and I have a real bond. I don't know if I have maternal feelings for him, or if I feel like big sister, or an aunt or what. I just know I'm awfully proud of him.

For a kid who had a lot of strikes against him, he turned out amazing. He's smart, he's unfailingly polite, he's agreeable and really nice. He has been accepted to Western Oregon University, where he is going to study computers. Tonight was Bryan's high school graduation.


The last high school graduation ceremony I went to was my own, and all the ones before that were at my small high school. So I'm no expert on graduations, but I did have some expectations going into tonight. I should have lowered them. A lot.

For instance, I had expected folks to put some effort into their attire. I wore a dress, Madison wore a dress, Laurie wore a dress.
Many other folks wore cut offs, tank tops, I am not lying I saw a bikini top... and she had something written (Perez '09) on her chest. This is not that girl. This is (I presume) Emmy Jo.



I thought that by now, we would not need to be reminded to silence our phones at gatherings...so when no reminder was forthcoming, I was okay. The folks around me, however, had not remembered to silence their phones...and you KNOW they had crazy ass ringtones.
So, after your phone rings it's crazy ringtone in a gym full of people, you turn it to vibrate or off, right? Not these people. They continued to take calls. I am not exaggerating, the guy behind me took three calls, and he wasn't even whispery about it.
When people weren't yakking on their phones, they were loudly talking to each other.

And it was hot in the gym. After the first two hours, it really started to smell bad. Then I remembered that this is the school that was shut for 11 days because 16 kids got swine flu. 45 people in the town got swine flu, er, H1n1. And as I smelled them all tonight, I began to suspect that these are not the greatest hand-washers.

So there I sat, hot, miserable, and a teeny bit holier than them.

Technical Difficulties

Here is a copy of an email I sent myself last night:

Tonight my home internet connection is sketchy at best. It went down sometime after 4. I couldn't think of anything to write about anyway. I tried really hard to use my phone as a modem, but I must have had the settings wrong. I tried accessing blogger from my phone, but got redirected to nowhere. So now I have something, albeit something boring, to write about, but I have to use my phone to email this to myself for publication when I can connect to the internet. Technology.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry


Last night made me realize how much I rely on my computer and the internet. It seems my whole life is in that black box- my memories, my agenda, my friends, my money, my work, my blog.

I may end up in a VAN down by the RIVER.

suggested by Blogletting.com

"Have you completed most of your goals in life? And if not, what are your current goals?"

Ahhh, goals. I don't want to be a Goal Achiever. I'm not interested in pursuing my dreams, unlocking my hidden potential, or reaching for the stars. I think that mentality leads people to focus on what is missing in their lives.

I recognize the value in setting lofty goals. The hunger for something better, for change, is what drives many people to pull themselves out of poverty or free themselves from addiction. Where would the world be without Goal Achievers? Here's a story about how goals can save lives.

I'm just not a go-getter. I'm a here-I-am-er. Here I am, this is my life, it's good. Sure, I've got problems. One thing I have learned is that everyone has problems. For the most part, I can handle mine.

Don't I want more out of life? More what? More free time? I'd likely waste it. More money? I am certain I would waste it. More stuff? Please, no. More love from my family? Impossible.

Don't get me wrong, I am not completely without direction. I've got some financial goals, and I am trying to find my ideal weight. I admire marathon runners, maybe someday I'd like to do that. To be completely honest, I do wish I had a college degree, and someday I might do that, too- especially now that I know I want to be an aspiring writer when I grow up. I don't set goals per se, but I do keep a to-do list.

What I want out of life is for my family to be happy. I don't want to have to worry about money. I want to be healthy. I want to continue to learn new things and make new friends. I want to laugh a lot.


I am trying to live my life somewhere between Tony Robbins and Winnie the Pooh. I want to enjoy what I have, be proud of my accomplishments, find simple pleasures. I guess those are my goals.

Signs of the apocalypse in my backyard

Some crazy shit has been happening in my backyard. A year or so ago, I found a crawfish out there in the grass. How the hell did that happen? We are miles from the nearest natural water source. I put the crawfish in my pond, and haven't seen or thought about it since, until yesterday.
Yesterday, I noticed that one of my rose bushes now resembles a rose tree, and needs to be pruned. It's probably not the right time of year to hack off a bunch of rose branches, but my rose bushes seem to thrive on abuse and neglect. Fig 1.


That's a six foot fence behind the roses.

So out I go, pruners in hand, to cut some roses. One snip, two snip, MOTHER OF GOD IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS??!?
Fig 2.



It's a dead snake in a tree.

I am afraid of snakes. I'm not afraid they are going to bite me and eat me, I am afraid they are going to wrap around me. Not like a boa constrictor wraps and squeezes, but like millfoil wraps around your wrists and ankles when you swim in a lake. I have unreasonable fears about snakes in the sewer- I never pee with the light off, and I always look in the toilet before I sit down. I know it's ridiculous and my fears are unfounded, but my phobia plays a big part in the way I do things outdoors. For instance, I would never wear flip flops in tall grass. A snake could get caught in there. I don't turn over rocks or logs. Some terrain just looks snakey and I avoid it.
In the back yard, I have seen a few snakes. Now that I am older, I don't scream and freak out. I just freeze and watch the snake. I can't take my eyes off the snake, because if it slithers away, I won't know where it is, and then it could sneak up on me and wrap around me. So, I usually yell, "Spencer, I NEED YOU" in a certain tone of voice that he interprets as "Bring a shovel".
He has the gross job of dispatching the serpents. I feel sorry for him, but I can't sleep knowing they are out there, reproducing. Putting them in the neighbor's yard is not good enough, they can come right back. And then they could slither under the house and come up through the heater vents.
You see, this is not a rational fear. I'm having some anxiety as I type this.

There probably is a logical explanation for how that snake got in that tree, but logic, when it comes to snakes, is lost on me. It appears to me that it was soft and wrappy when it got there. I know it didn't climb the tree. It's about 5 feet off the ground. The only explanation that makes any sense to me at all is that it rains snakes and crawfish in my back yard.

8 ways I am patriotic

I'm not a flag-flying patriot. I don't like Toby Keith and I don't know much about Nascar. Somehow, it seems to me, Sarah Palin's "Real Americans" have done to Old Glory what the GLBT community has done to the rainbow- taken it over.
I see flag car magnets, and flag tablecloths, and flag colored flags that aren't really Old Glory. I see flag shirts, flag flip-flops, flag coolers, flag beer coozies.
Do I love America less because I find these things tacky? I don't think so. I am a patriot. I love my country. Here are 8 ways I show it.

* I pay my taxes. Freedom isn't free, and neither are MREs. I would pay my taxes even if it were optional. The same cannot be said for comprehensive RV insurance.

* I pay attention to the news. I do my best to thoughtfully consider what is fact, what is innuendo, and what is opinion.

* I vote. I have voted in every election, from presidential to water district board since Oregon made 100% of elections vote-by-mail.

* I volunteer. We all share this country. I believe we should all pitch in.

* I try to buy American. However, it isn't easy. American-made goods are difficult to find, and often prohibitively expensive. Everything else equal, I consider the American worker.

* I support small businesses. Small business is the backbone of our nation. I try to shop mom and pop.

* I ride my bike. I think our dependence on Middle Eastern oil is crippling our country. I conscientiously try to reduce my family's gasoline bill by riding my bicycle when I can.

* I recognize that we are a nation of immigrants. Just because my ancestors got here early, doesn't mean they got "dibs".

I am taking time today at 3:00, as congress asks us all to do, to consider the sacrifices our service men and women have made and continue to make so that we may enjoy our freedoms on this day.
Thank You.

Things I learned this week

We went fishing today, where I learned that no matter how much state-of-the-art gear and tackle a kid has available, a kid will likely choose to tie a piece of found leader to a stick and drop it three inches from shore.
I learned some other things, too.

* Former Mariners pitcher Randy Johnson is good friends with my Rock Star boyfriend, Eddie Vedder. I never really cared much about the Big Unit before... But I figure he must be an okay guy if Eddie hangs out with him.

* I learned that my cousin's son Jack is on a unicycle team. He's 9.

* I learned that a nine year-old ran a marathon today. Two things make me happy about this kid: 1. His parents seem to have a good perspective on this. His dad ran the marathon with him, and set the pace- to keep the kid from running too fast. The kid was happy to run, and sprinted the last 3/4 mile to the finish, which indicates he was not exhausted. 2. The kid's name is Bill. I love that. No one names their kids Bill or Jeff or Tom or Jeremy anymore.

*Speaking of Jeremy, I was saddened to learn that my friend Jeremy lost his friend Jeff in Iraq last year. I hate IEDs. This war makes me wish we still did it civil war style, where soldiers marched to battle prepared to fight and prepared to die, but with a leader and a plan and a drummer. None of this side of the road surprise bullshit. I wonder: if we still fought wars that way, would battles become like sporting events, televised with real-time commentators and telestrators?

Karma pays me a visit

I have been a soccer referee for my daughter's league since last fall. I received three hours of basic training and worked six games in the fall in the 7 and 8 year old division. In the spring, I got an additional three hours of training so that I would be qualified to work in all divisions. I worked four more games. So, with training and experience, I have been at this for about about 12 hours.
I signed up because they begged me to. Because no one else would do it. Because I can't say "no."
I did not sign up because I love rules. I did not sign up because I know how the game is played. I did not sign up so I could wear these terrific thick polyester shorts. And I sure as hell did not sign up because I enjoy sucking.
Today was Soccerfest. Soccerfest is a tournament with special rules. Teams of 4 players each play two seven minute halves. No keepers. If the ball is played in the goal area, it's a point for the other team.
My daughter did not play in Soccerfest, but I volunteered to ref, because they had a hard time finding volunteers. Perhaps this is because they schedule it for Memorial Day weekend. I digress.
My first four games were in the U8 division, and I did okay. I blew one corner kick call. Since there are no keepers, I had a hard time keeping track of which team was attacking and which was defending. It sounds easy, but those girls get all mixed up, too.
My second four games were in the 10-14 division. For the most part, things went well... until the last game. The last game was the black team versus the green team. The green coach, let's call him, oh, I don't know....Mr. Small-Johnson... was loud and obnoxious from the get-go. It is my philosophy (and the philosophy of the league) to let the kids play- not call ticky- tack fouls or incidental handballs. One of his kids flopped down, and I didn't call a foul- because there was no foul. He called the kid over, and in his "loud secret" voice, told the kid to get more aggressive, because obviously the refs have been told not to call anything. He said it had been happening all day.
His team was awarded a goal after the black team played the ball in the goal area.
At the second kick, the teams switched sides. He yelled "Why are we switching sides? We have been playing the same side all day?!?" and the other coach replied that they had been switching. Small-Johnson mentioned that "It says in the RULES that we aren't supposed to switch"
I turned around and said, "It also says in the RULES that coaching is discouraged, and that players are to wearing the same color jersey. (One of his kids was wearing blue)"
He said "Well it's hard not to coach when the reffing is so bad"
Now I know he wasn't just bitching about me. He was bitching about all the refs, all day. And he was probably pissed because his team sucks.
Then, I missed a call. I did not see whether or not a green player played the ball in the goal area. Both coaches agreed that the kid had, but the kid didn't say he had, and I didn't see it... so I couldn't call it. I blew a call, and it went Small-Johnson's way. And it knocked the black team out of third place for the tournament.
I told the tournament director what happened, that I hadn't seen it. He said if I didn't see it, I couldn't call it. So technically, I was in the right, but really, truly, I was wrong. I was terrible. I should have seen it. Everyone else saw it.
All the referees I have yelled at in my life are smiling, I think. I feel awful.

I solve the problems of the world.

Torture is a hot topic these days. The president and former vice-president gave dueling speeches yesterday, wherein we heard their awesome plans for what to do with the Guantanamo detainees. Cheney says torture them, it's working. Obama says we should keep them, un-tortured but indefintely, without trial, and somewhere else.

I want to feel safe from terrorism. I want bad guys caught and punished. I don't think we should be a bunch of pussies, but I can't sign on for torture. I thought maybe I could. Here is a story about a DJ, Mancow,
who thought waterboarding didn't sound too bad, so he tried it. After six seconds, he admitted it was torture. After reading that story, I was still okay with a little torture. But then, I did a google image search for the photo I will use for this post. I used the search term "torture", with safe search on, and it was as stupid as it sounds. The photos I saw were obviously prisoners being tortured, some appeared to be tortured by Al Qaeda, and others appeared to be AQ operatives being tortured. None of them looked like they were getting their faces rinsed. They were all naked, and there was blood, and much torture seems to take place upside down. It's just not right, and I can't get behind it.
It's also ridiculous to think that we can keep suspected terrorists detained indefintely without a trial. It's not American. Obama's argument is that these prisoners aren't criminals, they are warriors, and therefore, a different set of rules apply.
I think that was Cheney's argument for torture.
I don't know what's right. I think both plans suck.

Here is what I want:
I want a supersecret team of agents with the undying patriotism of a Nascar fan, the kung- fu skills of Jackie Chan, the ability to infiltrate enemy territory like James Bond, and the judgement of Jesus of Nazareth. We send this team after the bad guys with these instructions: Do what is necessary to protect us. Then, (here is the tough part) we would have to trust them. I don't want any congressional hearings or media exposes. I want to eat my metaphorical veal scallopini without having photographs of a slaughtered calf shoved under my nose.
I want the Superfriends to kick terrorist ass.

I get a mindbump

It turns out that it is common for aspiring writers to not be able to think of things to write about.
I know this, because I googled it. I found a site called "mindbump" (the opposite of a brain fart) that helps people like me think of things to write about. A terrific resource. Here is my first post from a prompt.

suggested by Spelling Search

"Describe your very first job and what you learned from it."

My first job was as a busser at the Chinook Inn. I must have been a good busser, or they must have been desperate, because I quickly moved up to waitress.
The Chinook Inn is a Chinese restaurant in a very small town, Chinook, Washington. I am going to guess that the population of Chinook is about 500... if the RV park is full of seasonal sport fishermen. Year-round residents are either commercial fishermen or work in the canneries. They hold their noses and tolerate the annual month-long invasion of sport fishermen, because the City Money keeps the tavern, bait shop, and Chinese restaurant in business for the rest of the year. Chinook Inn waitresses hold their noses and tolerate Chinook residents because they smell awful. I learned early on that in Chinook, the thick, heavy stench of dead fish is the "smell of money".
I worked at the Chinook Inn for at least 4 years. I remember that when I started, I wasn't 16... I was probably 13 or 14... and my mom drove me to work. I suppose I only worked weekends, I really don't remember now. What I do remember is that it was a 45 minute drive, each way. The Chinook Inn was owned by Claude and Muriel. Muriel cooked American food, and I'm not sure what Claude did. The Chinese cook was named Clem. There were two separate kitchens, one American, one Chinese. Claude and Muriel had two grown waitress daughters, Sue and Laura, who acted like they owned the place. They were intimidating. I remember that Muriel would sing while she cooked. She had a really pretty, churchy voice... and the busier the restaurant got, the more soothing her singing became. It was cool.
The next summer, Muriel and Claude sold the restaurant to Clem and his wife Trudy. I thought they were the perfect couple to own the Chinook Inn, because they were half American, half Chinese. Clem was such a good cook. Trudy had a big laugh. We had fun. Clem taught me a few Cantonese phrases, like how to say thank you (phoentically, doe-chay). Trudy taught me how to make the best grilled cheese sandwich ever.
Over the next few summers, I learned that it's important to look busy. I learned that keeping a cup of coffee full is appreciated. I learned that it's easy to be nice to people. I met people that I will never forget, ever. Those are stories for another day.

My dilemma, and other things

First off... I got a Handful bra. Let me tell you, I love it! I have a little bit of cleavage when I wear it- instead of squishing my boobs into my armpits, it squishes them up and together. It worked great for my bike ride this morning, and it's cute enough that I wore it to Madison's concert under a deep V necked shirt- it just looks like a brown tank top.
The only drawback is that it's made in China. Hopefully it is sewn by adults.

Second, I found another cool website. I guess "found" isn't the right word, since once again, Lifehacker did the hard work... It's Supercook. If you tell Supercook what is in your fridge and pantry, Supercook will find recipes you can make. It sounds time consuming, but it really isn't- It took me about 15 minutes, and I can make 935 entrees right now. Which is surprising, since I am out of onion. Supercook also can suggest grocery lists so that you can make more recipes. The recipes come from recipezaar and allrecipes.com. Tomorrow I am going to make Shaker Tavern dijonnaise ranch chicken and pasta.

Third, I went to the optometrist today. I thought that my vision is getting worse, but it isn't. What is happening is that my eyes are taking longer to change from close up focus to far away focus. Because they are getting old. And there isn't anything that can be done about it, really. Since my close up vision is fine, bifocals aren't a good option. Contacts don't help. My best solution is to wear glasses and take them off when I am working... which is what I have been doing. I can wear contacts for sports and special occasions, which is what I have been doing. So I ordered a pair of prescription sunglasses for driving and summer fun. I'm concerned about keeping track of two pair of glasses. Maybe I should go for the chain around the neck, or the clip on sunglasses.

Fourth, I am concerned about the direction of my blog. It's turning into a diary, and that was not my intention. I have come to a Y in the road- do I write whatever the hell I want, since it's MY blog, or hold myself to some made up standard? This is my dilemma.

I become a music video producer.

Tonight I attended Madison's Spring Concert. I have bitched a little about her school in the past, but I have nothing to offer but effusive praise for the music department. The school's music director, Mrs. Buchert, is a phenom. She directs 4 bands, a choir, and a bell choir. She is an educator. She has a passion for music, and a gift for sharing it.
I am so proud of Madison. She enjoys playing her clarinet, and she does fairly well. This term, she joined the bell choir, which Mrs. Buchert tried to start last year after the chimes were donated to the school, but had to give up for lack of interest. The bell choir performance was beautiful. Here is a picture of Madison and her friend Savannah playing their bells:


After the bell choir, Madison performed with the beginning band. This is when I had the bright idea to try the "video" feature on my camera. I'll be darned, it worked! I am sad that I didn't think to use it for the bell choir performance.
Here is a video. Now, don't get bored... watch it all the way through, and pay attention to the kid in the back.





Unfortunate, but funny in a middle school way.

Finally, all the bands (beginning, intermediate, varsity, and jazz) combined into the Memorial Middle School marching band, and played Land of 100 Dances. It was really good. Here is another video, I wish the audio was better- you'll have to trust that the defects are in the camera, not the band.

8 more ways to leave your lover

It's Monday, it's sunny, and my concentration is poor. I've spent the day puttering around the house listening to pandora internet radio and grooveshark.com. One of my favorite songs is "50 ways to leave your lover" by Paul Simon, which inspires today's list.

*Just get on your bike, Mike.
*Send her a text, Rex.
* You don't need to be right, Dwight...just listen to me.
*Start wearing a skirt, Burt.
*Gotta hit the street, Pete!
*get caught with a ho, Joe... She'll force you to go.
*Forget her birthday, Ray
* Just find a new date, Nate, everything will be great.

Things I learned this week

This week, I took the Girl Scout troop to camp. Here is Madison, stamping an anonymous birthday card for a Meals on Wheels recipient. I learned some things, too... like:

* Two sleeping bags is the way to go. I simply can't tolerate being cold. A friend told me about a time that she slept in a bag in a bag, and how warm she was. I tried it, and I am a believer! I used a mummy bag inside a lightweight rectangle bag, and I was one warm turducken.

* There are infinite versions of "Found a Peanut," since it seems to be perfectly acceptable to make up replacement verses if you can't remember the ones you learned.

* Turkeys can fly. Our camp had a resident group of turkeys, and they flew from one side of the lake to the other. I was not the only one surprised by this.

* A group of turkeys is called a rafter, although a gang is also an acceptable name.

Peace Out, Girl Scout

I have been my daughter's Girl Scout troop leader for the past 5 years. This year has been difficult... I guess it's fair to say I lost my Girl Scout mojo.

I don't think I lost it because the girls are getting older and harder to boss around. I think I lost it because Girl Scouts is changing direction. Councils are larger now. There is less emphasis on badges and awards. Instead, girls take "Journeys" over the course of a year. Theoretically, all girls of the same age in the country could be taking the same Journey. A Journey requires a book... each girl is supposed to have one Journey book per year to guide her down her path to.... next year's Journey. It's a good idea, but in practice, it hasn't been successful in our troop. The girls in my troop are busy with other things, we don't have a lot of time to sit and read and discuss. My girls want to DO.

Other troops, however, are making a go of it, and are presumably successful. These other troops have leaders who were Girl Scouts as girls, then camp counselors, and they know all the songs and they are so GOOD at being Girl Scout leaders that I feel sorry for my girls for getting stuck with me. I offer them the chance to bail, no hard feelings, every year. Every year they decide to stick together. Every year I remind myself that we aren't in competition with other troops.

So here I am at the end of another Girl Scout year. In a few weeks, we will have the Court of Awards, where my troop will have 3 minutes on the stage. Typically, the leader would take those 3 minutes to talk about what the troop had done over the year, the badges the girls had earned, service projects the girls had done, and/or their plans for next year. I've got none of that. I'm going to ask my girls to do a skit or something.

Last night, it all changed. I learned about Tambu. Tambu is a Girl Scout tradition, and they have been doing it in the Portland area for a few years. It's for girls in the 7th grade and above. Tambu is a weekend of camping and competition. Troops bring all their food and equipment to a summer camp, and are assigned an area. The leader may drive her car with the supplies to an area near the campsite... and from then on, it's girls-only, for the whole weekend. The girls unload the car, set up camp, cook, and clean. And they are judged on how well they do! And, there are additional contests for first aid, knots, orienteering and other outdoorsy business.
Tambu is just what I need to re-energize my Girl Scout batteries. It's competetive, camping, and I don't have to do anything! What could be better?

Tomorrow evening, most of the Girl Scouts in Albany, my troop included, are going camping. I won't be able to post from there, but I hope to have some good stories and pictures when I get back. I am hoping I can get the girls as jacked up about Tambu as I am.

Bacon bits

Bacon: it's everywhere. Bacon has become the poster meat for all that is not healthy, but delicious. Bacon Enthusiasts espouse the salty virtues of the salty product like Amway salesmen.
Bacon Salt is a hot new product- you can make everything taste like bacon. There is bacon dipped in chocolate, a bacon blog, a bacon bra, bacon scarves, bacon appreciation societies... ugh. Enough.

Bacon, I declare your moment over. Baconophilia, like all fads, has dragged on too long. Like Levi's 501s, you are an American staple. 501s enjoyed a popularity surge in the 80s- they became a "trendy classic". Where are they now? Back where they belong, in the workwear department. Some things are meant to be taken for granted, and you, bacon, are one of them.

I am sure there are baconistas out there who would argue that bacon is too delicious to be relegated to the everyday food category, with eggs and cheese. These are people who likely drink Pabst Blue Ribbon because it's cool, not because it's cheap. The same fanboys who bought SPAM cookbooks 10 years ago.

I'm not saying bacon is no good. Bacon is fine. What bothers me is the bacon hype. It's played out. Let's move on. Let us put another regular food on a pedestal!

Canned tuna... Is there anything it can't do?

Crazy Bee Swarm of DOOM!

This may come as a surprise to regular CBL readers, but I have been having a wee bit of difficulty coming up with interesting things to wrote about. I blogged about a pot, for Pete's sake.

This morning was no different than most, I asked myself aloud what I planned to write about on my way to work. I got to work, still no good answer.

Noon, nothing. Haiku?

By 2:30, I am thinking I need a new "weekly feature". At least I have direction on Sundays and Mondays. How about "Ask the Crazy Blog Lady" or.... or what?

3:30, the phone rings. Spencer is home, and there is a swarm of bees in my driveway! Hooray, I can write about the bees. I bet bees are fascinating. I send him out to take lots of pictures.
Madison sends me an email: "We have a MAT OF BEES at our house!"

I skip out of work a few minutes early. What do you do with a driveway full of bees? Call the police? Not me. I call my mom. Mom says to call a beekeeper, who will be happy to come get the bees. She's so smart.

By the time I get home, the bees are dispersing. There are only about 50 left at 4:30, and they are just lumping together. The lump seems to be getting smaller, so we decide not to call the beekeeper.

The bees were all gone by 6:00. Here are some pictures. Spencer says they were more impressive when they were in the air. I would have had a better story to tell if we would have called the cops.

Maybe next week.... FICTION!

8 ways to get a lot for a little

Postage rates increase today. It always surprises me when people complain about postage rates. It is in that spirit that I bring you my list of eight things that deliver big value for a little money.

*First Class Postage: For 44 cents, the USPS will pick a document up at my home or business and take it anywhere in the United States. I don't know how they do it, but I am glad they do. A postage stamp is one of the best deals around.

*A library card: The ultimate value... no wonder it shows up repeatedly on these types of lists. Free books, free movies, free auto repair manuals, free music, free puppets, free internet access.

* Public radio: And her sister, PBS. NPR and PBS bring you the most comprehensive news, best features, and best music on the air. The trick is knowing when to tune in, or subscribing to a podcast or two.

*Running shoes: For the price of one month's gym membership, you can get yourself a very good pair of comfortable shoes and hit the track. You can walk, you can run, you can run up and down the bleachers for extra pain the next day. Your shoes won't care if you wore the same thing yesterday, and your shoes won't hog the elliptical machine or leave butt sweat on the rowing machine seat.

* Sally Hansen Microwaveable Eyebrow, Face and Lip wax: Costs about 5 bucks, about half the price of getting your eyebrows done at the salon, and lasts for about a year. It's pretty easy to use, but I would not use the stickers that they include as guides. But then again, I don't prefer the "drawn on with a Sharpie" look. For removing the nose brow and cleaning up the strays, I declare this product a good deal.

*USAA checking account: If you are eligible (I think that means Active Duty Military or family), get a USAA account. I was lucky to get mine before they tightened up the eligibility requirements. I pay nothing for my checking account. My checks are free. USAA pays me interest and cash back on my debit card purchases. It's as if I bank in Opposite World. People pick up the phone when I call, and they are smart and helpful. I can say I love my bank.

*Bulk Salt: I'll never buy a carton of Morton's again. Bulk salt is about 19 cents per pound for sea salt, 28 cents per pound for the iodized variety. Per Pound. Scoop up this great deal!

*Three Buck Chuck: It really is good, and it really is cheap.

Things I learned this week

That's my pot! I love my pot. It's Descoware, from Belgium. That reminds me of a European disco... more reason to dig my roaster. More pot porn at the end of the post.

* I learned how to spell "novitiate", and what it means. It was one of the district spelling contest words. When we arrived, we waited in the hall with the other middle school spellers- three 8th graders , and Mitchell, the kid who beat Madison in the elementary contest last year. Madison and Mitchell took the 8th graders to two tie breaker rounds, but the older kids took first, second and third after these words: indispensable, neurologist, febrile, beleaguered, and apathy.
Here are all the spellers:And here are Madison and Mitch:

* I learned about Ryan Greinke, who is a fresh peach among the rotten meat of major league baseball players. He's a pitcher for the Royals, and he is almost unhittable this year. He's on drugs, yes, but they are antidepressants to help him overcome his social anxiety, which almost killed his career a couple years ago.

* I learned that I know a guy who knows a guy who has swine flu. I also learned a little about human nature... I sorta wanted the guy I know, my brother in law, to test positive for swine flu. He had been hanging out with is best friend all week- since school was closed due to swine flu- and his friend became ill and tested positive. The strain going through Polk County wasn't much different than regular flu, it's not like he was going to die. I should be clear: I wished him no harm. I just thought I would have something interesting to write about if swine flu infected my family.

As promised, here are more pictures of my pot.
Here is the lid.

Isn't it beautiful?! A dollar! Here are some apples around my pot:


And here is the purse I bought, leaning on my pot. This bag is so heavy and thick and substantial... I love it. This is the type of bag I think of when I think of Coach- not the obnoxious fabric ones.

Happy Mothers Day!

Mean Girls

On Wednesday, my daughter got in trouble at soccer practice because she was fighting with another girl. A girl that she considers her best friend, whom she has known (and fought with) since kindergarten.
What Madison told us was that she was hyped up on sugar and her "friend" wouldn't stop joking about Madison's brand new but uncomfortable shoes, which were exactly the same as the friend's, so Madison kicked her in the shinguard. The only explanation Madison could offer for why she would kick her friend was that she was feeling "tense".

Today at the game, the friend was absent. Madison's coach approached me as I walked the sideline as a referee to tell me that she had talked to the other girls about watching what they say about Madison. She told me that she has heard the friend and others saying mean things about Madison within Madison's earshot . The coach told me that they tease her about being small, and not able to run as fast as the other girls. This was the first time I had ever heard of Madison being teased.

It's a good thing I was wearing sunglasses. The field went a little blurry for a while. I've always known that kids can be mean. I guess I didn't think her friend would turn on her. Ever since we found out that Madison has Turner Syndrome, I have been trying to prepare her for the comments she will invariably hear. I should have been trying to prepare myself as well.

It's probably also a good thing her friend wasn't there. She reached her educational plateau in elementary school, and I was angry enough to maybe mention it.
I'd like to think I'm mature enough to restrain myself. I'd like to think I wouldn't kick her in the shinguard.

Madison, I know you read my blog- here is a link just for you. I love you.

Lost in translation

I googled "Crazy Blog Lady" this morning. I was pretty stoked when something that looked familiar showed up on the second page of results. I clicked, and here is what I found:
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Crazy Blog Lady: Long odds and aspirations

Yesterday, I build this affix at Lifehacker. surprisingly They are looking befitting a revitalized Grub Streeter. surprisingly I assume from their affix, reasoning, someday. I was struck -away how enthusiastically some rather necessitous writers announced their intentions to criticize.

that would be clowning.I re-read the affix, and the comments. I assume from that affix and the comments six or seven, perchance more, times. I characterize of surprisingly uncomplimentary partake of what they are looking befitting: I can explain away things in understandable terms, I am consumed -away a crave to recover at all times and spondulix and esprit, I validate doing it myself. surprisingly Each at all times I assume from it I got a unimaginative more intrigued, a unimaginative more interested, a unimaginative more inspired. surprisingly I partake of a blog. He has a ability befitting gently getting my man at large of the clouds. I typed at large a express and close-packed email with a bond to my blog, but in the days I sent it, I talked to my spouse.

surprisingly I told him that I be conversant with that the odds of Lifehacker choosing me are ridiculously delicate. I sent the email. He nodded and said, You about 100 percent of the shots you don’t have recourse to.So I took a projectile. Without a dubiosity, there are myriad more conditional applicants at large there. surprisingly Perhaps others partake of blogged alongside topics more allied to the customarily Lifehacker reader. surprisingly uncomplimentary People with encounter, or complex dexterity, or surprisingly a less trespass means with words.

None of that makes a whit of metamorphosis to me, because I had an epiphany after I clicked the send button. I am an aspiring Grub Streeter. surprisingly It’s as if I build my principled life’s-work. I’m not steadfast what the metamorphosis is between aspiring writer and writer, but I guess compensation is snarled. I should validate an audience other than my friends and genealogy. surprisingly I have recourse to for granted if I am current to aspire, surprisingly I should suffer to essay book and/or compensation. surprisingly I weigh pay out of the clowning of being an aspiring Grub Streeter is almost identical to the being a starving artist- surprisingly It’s clowning, it’s funky, it’s exhilarating- without any of the bother of being an undistorted Grub Streeter like deadlines, critics, and editors.

I am charmed to aspire. surprisingly I may be an aspiring Grub Streeter befitting the drop of my sentiment, and that is fee with me. surprisingly For contemporary, at least.

Partager ce billet

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Funny, huh? As if my post had been translated into french and then back into English, I assume.

I googled Grub Street, and found this at Encyclopedia Brittanica:

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Grub Street

literary hacks

Main

the world of literary hacks, or mediocre, needy writers who write for hire. The term originated in the 18th century and was frequently used by writers.

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funny!

My passion for rummage

I grew up in a small town without streets. Everyone lived far apart from each other on roads. We all knew each other fairly well- if folks weren't related to each other, they went to the same church, or had kids in school together, or worked together at the one major employer, a medium security juvenile prison.
We didn't have garage sales. There was no "drive-by" traffic. No Sunday paper for ads, no stop signs to nail directional arrows to. Also, since we all knew each other, a garage sale would pose too many social risks for both seller and buyer- for the seller: Your kid's teacher gets to see your video collection. Everyone knows what size pants you wear. Your friends can see if you're the kind of fella that takes good care of his tools, or the sort who lets his chainsae chain get dull. And for the buyer: If you bought this blouse, could you wear it? What if people recognized it as so-and so's? Dickering would be out of the question, as it would make you seem rude and/or cheap.
Now I live in a town with neighborhoods. Garage sales are abundant. I can't get enough! I've got plenty of crap, trust me. My husband reminds me all the time, "We really don't have a use for other people's crap, dear." But I really love to go, it's like a treat. A novelty. Like being able to ride my bicycle to the store.
Today as I was driving my daughter to school, I saw the first garage sale sign of the season, in a nice, established area of town. Retired folk garage sale, the best kind. I said a silent prayer of thanks... I was wearing pants and a sweatshirt this morning instead of the usual pjs and bathrobe. I could be among people.
I dropped Madison off and returned to the sale.
I found a 4 qt Corningware casserole with a lid for a dollar. Score, I need pots. Behind it was a beautiful vintage orange enamel over cast iron 4 qt oval roaster. A dollar! I think I will take a picture of it for Sunday. I love that pot.
On my way out, I saw a handbag that appeared to be leather. Now, I have a thing about purses- If they are going to look like leather, they should BE leather. No pleather. Due to this "thing" I only have one real leather purse, which my mom handed down to me. It's more like a giant amulet than a purse, really. She never used it, and neither do I- it's just not functional. All of my other purses are canvas or nylon or fabric.
I picked up the handbag, the Coach tag was still attached. The leather is about a half inch thick- they must use the cow's knees or something. I paid $2.50 for it. It's worn, but I'm going to see if I can get it refurbished. It's a station bag from the 80s.
I should post pictures of my treasures, and tomorrow I may.
I also think that during the summer I may feature unusual garage sale items here at CBL. I have seen some kooky stuff.

An open letter to Manny Ramirez

Dear Manny Ramirez,
I'm not a Red Sox or Dodgers fan, but I once had a fake affair with Johnny Damon, before he went to the Yankees and got a haircut. I used to enjoy watching you and him together, with the "bunch of idiots" that won the World Series. Johnny made me swoon, but you made me chuckle. You have personality. You wear your uniform like an unmade bed. You don't appear to be all too concerned about your physique. You remind me of a big chubby guy who plays softball in his jeans on weekends. You look like you are having the time of your life on the field, but when you get irritated, you don't try to hide it. You get pissed off at Kevin Youkilis, you slap him upside the head. You let it all hang out out there in left field, and someone had to coin the phrase "That's just Manny being Manny" to describe your behavior.
Manny, you've got talent. You've got a World Series ring, and a good deal of records. You've hit more home runs than Ted Williams. You're a bonafide Major Leaguer. So I can understand why you would take performance enhancing substances. I really can't blame you. If I were a major leaguer, I probably would, too. After all, you are paid to win and fill seats. If you don't hit home runs, there are thousands of guys in the minor leagues literally lined up to take your place. It's clear to me that most of your co-workers are doping. How can you compete if you aren't doing everything possible to improve your game? You can't. It's not your fault. Baseball is broken.
Here is why I am disappointed in you, Manny: Your predecessors in the Hall of Shame have treated us, the fans, like we are stupid. A-Rod said he didn't know what his cousin was giving him. Barry Bonds, Mark McGuire, Roger Clemens all would have us believe that they routinely ingest and/or inject substances without knowing what they are. Bullshit.
Manny, you've always seemed honest. When you're bored at press conferences, you leave. When you are proud of yourself for jacking #500, you toss your bat and raise both arms over your head as you watch it leave the park. Why not let it all hang out now? We know, Manny. We understand. Tell us that you need it to compete. Tell us that you've been doping all along. Tell us that management only pretends to care about PEDs. Tell us the truth. You can make history and change baseball.
Just don't say anything about Ken Griffey Jr or Edgar Martinez, okay?
Sincerely,
the Crazy Blog Lady

Long odds and aspirations

Yesterday, I found this post at Lifehacker. They are looking for a new writer. I read their post, thinking, "someday... that would be fun."
I re-read the post, and the comments. I was struck by how enthusiastically some very poor writers announced their intentions to apply.
I read that post and the comments six or seven, maybe more, times. Each time I read it I got a little more intrigued, a little more interested, a little more inspired.
I sort of have what they are looking for: I can explain things in simple terms, I am consumed by a desire to save time and money and energy, I dig doing it myself. I have a blog.
I typed out a quick and dull email with a link to my blog, but before I sent it, I talked to my husband. He has a knack for gently getting my head out of the clouds. I told him that I understand that the odds of Lifehacker choosing me are ridiculously tiny. He nodded and said, "You miss 100 percent of the shots you don't take."
So I took a shot. I sent the email.
Without a doubt, there are many more qualified applicants out there. People with experience, or technical expertise, or a better way with words. Perhaps others have blogged about topics more relevant to the average Lifehacker reader. None of that makes a whit of difference to me, because I had an epiphany after I clicked the "send" button. It's as if I found my true calling.

I am an aspiring writer.

I'm not sure what the difference is between "aspiring writer" and "writer", but I suspect compensation is involved. I suppose if I am going to "aspire", I should continue to seek publication and/or compensation. I should find an audience other than my friends and family. I think part of the fun of being an aspiring writer is similar to the being a starving artist- It's fun, it's funky, it's exhilarating- without any of the pressure of being an actual writer like deadlines, critics, and editors. I may be an aspiring writer for the rest of my life, and that is fine with me. I am delighted to aspire. For now, at least.

Photo: Milena Mihaylova

Ingredients for spite.

On Sunday, while flipping through the newspaper inserts, I noticed that Safeway was having a sale on Coke products: buy two twelve packs, get two free, and get a free 24 pack of Dasani bottled water. Spencer hates to go the the store for just one or two things, but they also had Corona on sale for $11.99, and we were already going next-door to Joe's going-out-of-business non-sale, so he decided it would be okay to swing by Safeway.
We bought two twelve packs of Diet Coke with Lime (a harbinger of summer!) one twelve pack of Diet Coke, and one twelve pack of Fresca. We grabbed our beer and 24 pack of Dasani and headed for the checkout lane.
While the checker- I don't recall his name, but for now, I'll call him... oh, I don't know...Richard- was ringing up the order in front of us, we loaded our drinks onto the conveyor. Richard looked at us and barked, "Leave the water in the cart!". We did, but it doesn't make sense to me. Why? Is it because the weight of the water is too heavy for the conveyor? Surely, if the belt can handle 48 cans of pop -42 pounds of pop to be exact, it can handle 24 bottles of water. I am left to assume that Richard can't lift a 24 pack of water. Maybe he suffers from a crippling back injury, or carpal tunnel syndrome, which is common for grocery checkers. Or, maybe he's just not very strong, like a child. We'll never know, because I left the water in the cart.

Richard rung up our order as I keyed my phone number into the card reader. It didn't take long for Richard to finish, we only had the 7 items. I noticed that the total was much higher than I thought it should be. I examined the screen, and it appeared that I was charged full price for the water. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Um, did we grab the wrong kind of water? I thought it was free.
Dick: You didn't run your card yet.
Me: I sure did, you can see the "club savings" on the pop and beer.
Dick: Well, you can only get the water one time.
Me: I only want the water one time.
Dick: No...the free water deal is limit one.
Me: I only have one.
Dick: You must have used your card and got the water before.
Me: Nope.
Dick: Well, someone used your card and got the water.
It was at this point that I realized that Richard thought I was trying to pull a fast one on Safeway. He was sure I was some sort of flim-flam con artist, grifting free water from unsuspecting cashiers. He was not going to be hoodwinked.

Me: Look, I didn't use my card.
Dick: Well, someone typed in your number
Me: When? Where?
Dick: I don't know.
Me: Okay, look. How about you just punch in YOUR phone number, I get my water, and everyone is happy.
Dick: We can't do that.
Me: Right, because that would be some kind of club card fraud. Don't you ask for ID with club cards? What is Safeway doing to protect me?
I knew the last part was ridiculous, but I tend to get over-dramatic and sarcastic when I am pissed.

I told Dick how awful I thought the whole thing was, and that I did not want the water. I paid, and immediately wheeled the cart to customer service where I calmly (really) explained to the lady what happened. She suspected that someone had keyed in my club card number accidentally. She gave me the water. She told me that Safeway Customer Service could tell me when/where my card had been used.

On Monday I called customer service as soon as they opened. Guess what? No one had used my card since the last time I did two weeks ago. No one got free water with my card. It was just a computer error, and it has happened before. I asked if there was any way that the store could have known this, and the lady told me no. She took my information and told me she would contact the store.
Now it's Tuesday. I have my pop, I have my free water, someone listened to me complain. But I am still fired up, because Richard thought I was shifty.
I figure I have a couple options. I can never shop at Safeway again, which is a real possibility. Safeway is expensive and crowded, and I have many grocery store choices. This option would cost Safeway about $300 a year, and I really wouldn't get any satisfaction.
My other option is to use Safeway's silly customer service policies against them. I know that cashiers like Dick are required to "Thank by Name!" - they are required to look at your name as it prints out on your receipt and use it to thank you. They never pronounce my last name correctly. I could sign up for a club card using a pseudonym... either something unpronouncable, like "Bwitfarnilghy Czjkarzjchklyski" or something I would get satisfaction out of hearing them say, like "Gloria Stitz" or "Norma Snockers".
It could go either way at this point. Maybe I will only buy heavy things at Safeway, and make sure Richard is my checker.

8 things I learned, am learning, or need to learn from my mother

Mother's day is coming up on Sunday. I'm not usually the type of person that gets things done a week in advance- in fact, I'm quite the procrastinator. But, I wanted to do an 8 things post about my mom, and this is the last Monday before Mother's day... so here it is. Because as much as I love the last minute, I love order even more- and 8 things are for Mondays.

* Life isn't fair "Life isn't fair" was my mom's favorite song when I was young. I thought it was just her easy answer for things that couldn't be otherwise explained- like why dogs die. It turns out that it was her way of preparing me to just "get on with it" when times are tough. Yeah, life isn't fair, but it's all we've got, so we ought to make the best of it.

*Be a hunter/ gatherer. Collecting food is so much more fun than buying it. My mother taught me that elk and deer are much tastier and better for you than beef, and home-grown fruits and veggies are in an entirely different class than store-bought. I am spoiled from years of fresh fish and shellfish. Chantrelle mushrooms are nature's perfect accompaniment, and they are delicious when marinated and canned. Someday, I'll have that garden, and chickens, too.

* Waste not, Want not my mother is a Master Food Preserver, which means she took a class from the county extension service about how to safely preserve foods. Then, she volunteered a bunch of hours, checking canning pressure gauges and answering phone calls from folks with preserving questions. She grows and cans most of the vegetables she and my stepdad eat. She also cans clams, poultry, fish, smoked fish, and apple pie filling. She dehydrates and/or freezes what she doesn't can. Her pantry, which is as big as my bathroom, is stocked from floor to ceiling with delicious canned goods. last year, I bought my first pressure canner, which I haven't used yet. Someday I am going to make homemeade applesauce just like my mom.

* Half of life is just showing up: My mom gets the blame for all the things I sign up and sign on for. I learned to participate from her. She was my 4H leader and school play director. She got involved in ESA and although sometimes it exhausts her, she always has something going. Presently, I find myself involved in ESA, my daughters Girl Scout troop leader, and volunteer soccer referree. I am over-extended and tired a lot, but I would go crazy if I were sitting at home with nothing to do but the dishes.

* Make lists. Grocery lists, to-do lists, bucket lists... I make them all, and my mom taught me how. There is nothing more satisfying than crossing the last thing off the list- except possibly the direction and organization that making a fresh, new list provides. One of my favorite websites is 43things, where I can keep my ultimate to-do list.


* There is good in everyone. My mom knows and deals with a lot of people who are boorish, bossy, whiny, incompetent, needy...the list of undesirable personality traits could go on for quite a while, and honestly, I am certainly included as one of those people she knows. She rarely speaks an unkind word about any of them. In fact, when she hears unkind words about them, she will often counter with something positive about them. However, this may be due to her need to debate.

*There are two sides to every story: and mom can argue them both. And she will. Mom loves a spirited debate, and I swear sometimes she argues just for argument's sake. I sometimes hear her debating a point that I know doesn't reflect her personal views. She's never mean or nasty, I think she just relishes the "gotcha" when she makes a point that someone can't counter. It used to drive me crazy, now it entertains me. I am learning to be more tolerant.

* Be tolerant. People have different ideas, religions, cultures, opinions, temperaments, orientations and backgrounds. No one is better than another and every person has value and deserves respect. Even if you vehemently disagree with them.

I've learned a lot from my mom, but I haven't learned it all. I call her all the time with stupid questions about cooking or baking or sewing or knitting or mothering or ESA. She's always so patient with me... which is something (patience) I need to learn from her. Maybe next year. I'll put it on a list.

Happy Mothers Day to my mom, and all mothers.

Things I learned this week

Don't confuse this guy with Max from Where the Wild Things Are. He is dressed as a fork, so that he can chase Flap Jack in the Eugene Marathon 5k. Everyone who finished before Flap Jack won a years' supply of Krusteaz pancake mix.
I believe that the fork man won the race. Flap Jack was 5th or 6th. Mr. Fork entertained me before the race, so I took his picture, and he gets my weekly Sunday photo nod.

Here's what I learned this week:

* I found a fantastic money management website, pocketsmith.com. Lifehacker gave me the tip. PocketSmith is exactly the kind of application that I have been looking for since I started earning paychecks and paying bills. Its centerpiece is a forecasting calendar, which shows you how much money you will have available on any given day. You can tell it how much you would like to save, and it tells you how long it will take you. It is in its beta form, and once Lifehacker spilled the beans, they got a lot of traffic which strained their servers, but the folks who run the show seem to be genuinely working hard to get this app up and running smoothly. Bonus: you don't have to give them any personal or account info.

* I learned about the handful bra, a sports bra designed for girls with small boobs. The thing with us is that regular sports bras squish our boobs into our chest, and we look like teenage boys in tank tops. The handful bra has pads, and it is cute and soft to boot. I do not know whether or not they are made in Oregon, but Handful is an Oregon company. The one good thing about being a member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee is that we don't have to spend a lot of money to get a good, supportive bra. I don't think I have ever spent more than $15 for a bra. The Handful bra is $40, but I think it's worth it, and my next bra will be a Handful. Also: their logo is awesome.

Today I participated in the Eugene Marathon. No, I didn't run 26.2 miles... I walked 3.2 miles in the pre-race 5k. I walked with my cousin Megan, and her sister Kelby ran. They came
all the way from Washington to do this 5k!
I have run 5ks before. I do okay. I entered quite a few small races in the Eugene area a few years ago, and I have medals from winning my age group. Usually I was the only one in my age group. I don't like running itself, but I do like setting goals, and I get competitive when I am out there.
Due to Megan's painful knees, we decided about a month ago to walk this one. I was not too disappointed not to run, since I hadn't been training at all. Spending an hour on a walk with my cousin sounded really nice. After all, how much visiting and giggling can you do if you are huffing and puffing?
So I was packing up the gear I would need last night: a camera, my phone, keys, and a little money. I thought since we were walking, I could take a to-go cup of coffee. I thought all this stuff looked kinda cumbersome, and I didn't want to take my purse, so I opted to strap on a fanny pack.
Fanny packs should be called "freedom pouches". My fanny pack has two cup holders, just like my car. I put my gear in the main compartment, my coffee cup in one of the cup holders, and I slipped in a pack of lunchmeat and a Kraft single in case I needed a nibble on the course. I was able to walk unfettered. No purse banging into my hip. Nothing weighing my pockets down. My hands were free to clap and wave and give a thumbs-up.
Megan and Kelby laughed at my pack... until Kelby needed a place to put her keys. Then, they respected the pouch. Maybe.
Look, I am not saying that fanny packs are cool. They aren't... they are ugly and dorky, but they certainly are useful. In fact, at the "expo" there was a vendor selling SPIbelts, which are marketed as belts, but in truth are really teeny, stretchy, freedom pouches that don't bounce when you run. They look cool, but where do you put your coffee cup and your lunchmeat?

Is this how Mischa Barton feels at Sundance?

This morning, I headed to Eugene. My cousins and I are going to be Eugene marathon participants- we are walking/ running the 5k tomorrow. Since the race starts at 8, I thought it would be a good idea to pick up our packets today, to save time in the morning and allow for an additional half hour of sleep. I arrived at the Eugene Hilton for the "Race Expo". "Expo" means "room with vendors". I collected our bib numbers and timing chips, and was directed to proceed to the goody bag line. Our goody bags were reusable grocery bags filled with samples. The t-shirt table was clear across the room, past all of the vendors. The vendors had lots of healthy samples and good things to drink. There were many electrolytes. I wouldn't say that the folks at the booths forced their goods on me, but they were pretty insistent that I not walk by empty-handed. I made my way through the expo, got our t-shirts, and headed to Corvallis for the next leg of my trip: the grocery store.
Corvallis has two grocery stores that I love, Winco and the co-op. Albany has neither. I try to make it to Corvallis for every-other grocery shopping trip. Today, I couldn't think of anything that I needed at the co-op, but I had Madison with me, and she likes it there, so we decided to go. I remembered that the North store was recently remodeled, and we hadn't seen it yet, so we decided to pay them a visit.
The co-op was having a party to celebrate the completion of their expansion. They had music, free food, and tons of free samples. On top of that, everyone got a coupon for a free flower at the next-door garden store. So, we went to the garden store to get our free flower. Guess what? They too, were having a party! Schmidt's Nursery is 50 years old today, and to celebrate, they gave me a bag of dirt!

Here is a list of what I brought home:
Grocery bag, deodorant, Clif shots, Larabar, Clif drink mix, bag, water bottle, bottle of Nestle Quik, bottle of Vitamin Water, a wooden spoon, samples of: dog food, chips, Pirate's Booty, Tings, 8 bags of tea, allergy medicine, kids chewable vitamins, sea salt, dishsoap, Dr Bronner's bar and liquid soap, a dahlia, and a bag of dirt.

I don't know what this all means... I didn't learn a life lesson, and I can't give anyone advice about swag. It's just my story of a odd day. Maybe the universe wants me to try new things?