pith, marrow, and coffee spoons

Blogging Is the New Facebook

2009-12-26T16:49:00.004-06:00

For me, anyways. Because I'm old-fashioned.

So here is a photo montage (with commentary) for all my peeps out there. Let one thing be known throughout the land: I must put Christmas decorations/tree up the weekend after Thanksgiving--and I double-must take it all down/away the day after Christmas. It is a decree not to be broken--and boy, am I glad to have my house back to normal.

So to begin . . . Christmas Eve we invited my folks over for supper. We had my special pizza (crust brushed with olive oil, garlic, and oregano, with green olives, sun-dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, feta and mozz and Parmesan cheese sprinkled atop), and then Grammie and Doc (as my kids call them) played a little Wii bowling. My mother must have gotten a strike here . . .

It started snowing, so my parents headed on home. Before bed and the opening of ONE Christmas present each, the kids took turns reading the Christmas story. We reflected for a bit on how thankful we are for the many blessings of God--especially His gift of Christ.

And here am I, with yet another blessing: my man.

Here are some Christmas morning shots. After presents were opened and the traditional cinnamon rolls were consumed, the kids bundled up and did a little sledding. (And with only two inches of snow, I do mean a little. It was more scooting rather than sliding.)

After we got all the snow shook off the kids, we headed very gingerly towards my parents' house for dinner. This first pic is of my dad, my daughter, and my grandpa--who is, as usual, sleeping.

My mom, the maestro of the kitchen, and my grandma.

My mom, the original Holiday Cheermeister, made up stockings for ALL of us--including the grown-ups. Here we are, enjoying them:

Yes, she put an Archie comic in my stocking--there's a story there that someday I will share. Or you could just wait until I finish my book and read about it then.

We were ALL thankful for my mom's sweetness--including my grandpa, who finally woke up!

We stayed around the house until after 5:00 pm, then headed home. The kids stayed up late playing, but I was exhausted, so I went to bed. Today, in my usual post-Christmas frenzy, I put away all the Christmas decor and had Casey drag the tree out. And this, friends and foes, is what my floor looks like after the tree is taken away to the bonfire pile. It's a veritable carpet of pine needles--yuck. But the smell of a live tree is so worth it . . .

So that's our Christmas, 2009. Hope yours was as grand.

Goofus and Gallant at War

2009-12-26T08:37:00.003-06:00

When you wake up in the night, choking on the acid indigestion in your throat from Christmas lunch, it's a pretty good sign you overdid it a bit. I'll be lacing up my new Christmas Nikes and climbing onto my treadmill today, yep I will. Thank goodness I got ALL THOSE NEW MOVIES for Christmas--I may stay on the infernal machine all day! (And based on the calorie consumption of yesterday, I will need to.)

Another Sign He Is Growing Up

2009-12-20T23:32:00.003-06:00

Soft black peach-fuzz on upper lip . . . check.

Hair under arms . . . check.

Taller than his fifteen-year-old sister (and almost taller than me) . . . check.

Voice dropping deeper and deeper every day . . . check.

And today, whilst watching him from my vantage point on the stage during the church service (our choir was singing), I saw him bow his head in prayer for several moments before he consumed the wafer and "wine" (grape juice, at our church) of communion. Suddenly, I saw him as a young man with a faith that he doesn't talk about much, a young man who, as I pray daily for him, will grow up to love God on his own terms, apart from his dad and me.

This is my favorite sign of his growing up so far. Yet is it wrong that I am absolutely, stunningly grateful that though he is growing up, bit by bit, faster and faster, he climbed into bed with me this afternoon to be my "nap buddy" because, as I always say, "Mom sleeps better with a kid"? And that I found out later it was all part of a diabolical plan of his to sweeten me up so he could move the Wii from the game room into the living room (forbidden up until now because of the mess of it all)?

What a blessing this parenthood gig is.

Update On Our Early Morning Caller

2009-12-18T00:48:00.004-06:00

She called again two nights ago. At 11:00 p.m. this time. Casey and I had just settled down for a long winter's night, when what to our wondering ears did a'ring but the phone, making me mutter some not-so-sweet words out loud.

"Hello, my name is J****** Walker. Well . . . is this the woman I talked to the other night from church?"

"You've got to be kidding me," I hissed to Casey, and then extended the phone so he could hear the conversation. It was almost word-for-word as the last call, except I hung up on her WAY before she could start on the details. But the same "I've tried calling three different numbers, and, well . . ." Well, STOP CALLING MY HOUSE, LADY!

Weird, right? So the next day, I decided to go to the guru of all things in our town--our local postmaster --to ask him if he knew who might be plaguing us in the wee hours.

When I finished speaking, he cocked his head and said, "I think I know who that is. Does she have kind of a high, wavery voice?"

"Yes!" I said.

"I know a woman who uses 'well' between her words like that--she lives up there in the Nut Hut." (Our town has two bars, four churches, and a home for the few-bricks-short-of-a-loader-ers.) "She's harmless--but I wonder if the person who runs the place knows she's getting up at strange hours and calling people. Maybe I'll give him a call and tell him."

So there ya go, mystery solved . . . I think. I feel much better with the idea that it is one kind of crazy person, and not the other. I just hope the powers-that-be take her phone privileges away--at least in the hours between 10:00 and 7:00. True confessions really need to be made in the cruel light of day.

I Heart India and Christmas, Part One

2009-12-08T21:46:00.003-06:00

Go on--party Punjabi style. It'll warm you right up.

Black Friday Be Damned

2009-11-25T09:09:00.002-06:00

I'm pretty sure that I'll be doing my Christmas shopping in my jammies from the comfort of my laptop.

Yep. Pretty sure.

Happy T-Day, ya'll.

What the Huh?

2009-11-21T11:22:00.007-06:00

A couple of days ago, the phone rang at 5:30 in the morning. I sat straight up, my heart racing, and then fumbled to answer. The only thought that wound itself through my still-asleep brain was, "Oh, no--it's going to be my dad, telling me my grandpa is dead." (My "Chief," as we call him, is eighty-nine years old and very frail.)

It wasn't my dad; it was some woman, who said, "Well, I'm sorry to call so early, this is Jessica Walker, but, well, I've just got to talk to someone and, well, I thought I'd call you."

I shook my head, dazed, trying to deal with both the enormous relief that my grandpa was not dead and the befuddlement at this stranger on the other end of the line. I said, "Who are you trying to call?"

She replied, "Well, I just needed to talk to someone, well. You're the lady from church I talked to the other day, right?"

I said, "Ma'am, no I'm not." Before I could politely hang up (inside seething that I was awake at five-frikkin'-thirty due to this piece of work), she said, "Well, I've called three different numbers, and well, I need someone to talk to. Is it okay if I talk to you? I think, well, it may be better for me to tell my story to well, a stranger." (My husband, in the meantime, was hissing, "Who is it? Hang up!")

My first instinct was to say, "NO" and hang up, like Casey told me to. But what if this lady was on the brink of suicide or something? What if I was supposed to help her? So I said, "Um . . . sure, I guess . . ."

And this is when it got weird.

She said, "Well, you know them people--them Pentecostals--who make their women wear long skirts and put their hairs in buns?"

"Um, yes?"

"Well, I been to their church two times now, and, well, a few nights ago, (big sigh) well, one of the women and I were alone in her house, (pause) and, well . . . (pause) Oh, I'm so embarrassed. (Pause) I don't know if I should be telling a stranger all this . . ."

Wherein I, in a great state of alarm, cut in and said, "No, I don't think you should."

There was silence, and then she said, "Well, okay, well--I'm sorry I disturbed you, well, I just needed someone, well . . ."

"That's okay," I said, and then hung up. Casey, who at this point had sat up and was leaning over my shoulder to hear what was happening, said, "What was that all about?"

I said, "I don't know, but it started to take on a creepy, confessional sex-magazine quality and I had to get away. I don't want to know about this chick and her uber-religious friend's 'alone time'. Blech."

Casey laughed and quoted Kramer from Seinfeld, quoting Penthouse: "I never thought it could happen to me . . ."

"Yucky. Stop it," I said, and then I laid down, pulled my blanket over my head, and tried to go back to sleep.

So that was WEIRD, right? What do you think it was? Crank call (at 5:30 in the morning)? Deviant phone-shock-voyeuristic play? Crazy woman hopped up on meth? What?

Yikes.

Does Producing Snot Burn Calories?

2009-11-15T08:29:00.002-06:00

'Cause if it DOES, baby, I'm gonna be lean. Ugh. I am really sick, and I need pity so I am sharing my woes with you, faithful readers. It started bizarrely on Thursday night--I felt good all day and then before bed--BAMMO, I got this weird sore throat. It wasn't like a normal sore throat, which tends to actually ache around the tonsils and deeper--this one was all surface-y and more towards the front of my throat. It burned us, Master. After a fitful night, I drug myself up and taught my classes--at this point, it was just an itchy throat still, and I had ramped up my echinacea use, so I thought, "Why not?"

Because I use a loud inside voice when I teach, that's why not. Dolt. By the time my last class was done I was pretty wretched. I picked the kids up from school and then headed straight for me bed, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Terrible sick night, with the headache, the stuffy nose, the ick. Sat. morning, I awoke feeling not as awful, so I urged Casey and MyBoy to go to the gun show as planned, and I took Mygirl to school so she could catch the bus to an academic bowl meet she had. I came home and began to feel all crappy again--by the time I picked her up at 4:00, my nose was swollen like somebody-in-town-I-know's stuck-up, fat head. (Now all my homies are nervous, asking, "Is she talking about me?" If you have to ask, it might be . . .)

Throughout all this, though, the one thing that hasn't slowed down is my appetite--I can't get enough food in my body. It must be "feed a cold," right? Which brings me to my original question--does the body producing snot burn calories? Because I've gone through almost TWO entire rolls of toilet paper, blowing my schnoz, and there doesn't seem to be any signs of slowing. If said snot production doesn't burn calories, I am in BIG. TROUBLE., because I just finished off the cookies. Don't ask me how many there were--you don't wanna know.

Blech. I hate sickness.

Avoid Beard Growth

2009-11-12T13:41:00.002-06:00

Sorry ya'll, I've GOT to clean the bathrooms today, so I'll leave this instead of a post--one of my favorite public service announcements ever.

Later, you "dear, sweet, fragile little things--how I adore you."

Twins Are Fun

2009-11-11T14:51:00.002-06:00

Happy birthday to my FAVORITE twin in the world. I love you, Pop.

Despair

2009-11-08T00:11:00.003-06:00

I

"We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar" (. . .)

V

"This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper. "

T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"

What Does YOUR Saturday Night Look Like?

2009-11-05T21:05:00.003-06:00

Mine's gonna start out with a little British/Indian curry:

And then a little Italian trilling from an Austrian:

Who says we ain't got culture 'round here? Friends in the area--JOIN ME!

Facebook Status Update For a Non-facebook User

2009-11-04T07:03:00.002-06:00

Becky
would rather eat dirt.

Okay, I Give Up

2009-11-03T08:58:00.002-06:00

I can't do two. So I'm back to one--and those who aren't interested in my political views can (*ahem*) MoveOn. Dot . . . well, you know. Besides, my politics are part of who I am. Love me, little lamb, or leave me.

SO . . .
I was talking to Casey and the kids about our government system and how the founding fathers set things up, and my son piped in--"You're wrong, Mommy. My social studies teacher says we are a democracy."

Silence, while I counted to ten (at the rage building because my son's teacher doesn't even know the difference between a DEMOCRACY and a REPUBLIC), and then I (semi-calmly) began to argue with him. The little stinker was immovable at first--I don't know if it is the pre-teen "Mom doesn't know squat" thing he has going on, or the "Teachers always know everything," but he was set. My husband entered the fray, saying, "Well, I always thought we were a democracy, too."

I looked at him with my mouth open--he had been a elementary teacher for seven years! (To be fair, he taught 1st grade, so they probably didn't get into government, but STILL! What are they teaching teachers?) I got a glass of water and then began to explain the difference--a democracy is rule by the majority, whereas a republic is rule by the law--in our case, the laws set forth by the Constitution. To convince my son further, I found this GREAT video, which explains the different governments. We all watched it together, both my boy and my husband had bright light bulbs appear over their heads, and we are now a fully informed, happy-to-live-in-a-republic group again.

Give it a look; pass it on to your KIDS, because they may not be getting it in school.
Peace out.

A True Tale of Terror (Or, Why My Mother Will Probably Never Visit Me Again)

2009-10-25T17:05:00.013-05:00

In honor of the witching time, I thought I'd share my own personal horror story with you:

Once upon a time (last week), a not-so-much-a-princess type female went into her attic to find a jacket for her son. What she beheld inside was a sight that froze her blood and made her scream loudly. Her not-so-gallant husband, who was in another room, neither dashed to her rescue nor appeared brandishing a sword; indeed, he rather grumpily growled, "What? Did you see a spider?"

The not-so-much-a-princess screamed again, this time in indignation as well as horror. "NO. Come. And. Look."

The not-so-gallant husband did so (much too slowly, in the not-so-much-a-princess's opinion), and, upon seeing what his fair maiden did screech about, changed his countenance double-quick. "That's pretty bad," he said.

The not-so-much-a-princess was mildly gratified at that, hence forgiving the not-so-gallant husband for not rushing to her aid. When the not-so-gallant husband began digging around in said attic of horror, he discovered more things horrific than can be described. He dragged evidence of the awful out and put it on the screened porch, that all may see and dismay. So the author respectfully submits them to you, dear reader, for your investigation and sympathy. Be warned: 'tis not for the weak of heart.

Yep--many, many, MANY snake skins.

From.

My.

Attic.

Lord, have mercy.

Indeed, that's a ruler. At the head.

And here is that same ruler, at the same spot, showing you how long these suckers were.

The handsome fellow I'm blaming for all this. If he didn't need to be WARM, for Pete's sake, I wouldn't have been in that chamber of terror in the first place. He's about five feet, five inches tall, so you can do the math on how long these skins are. (The answer, of course is "TOO FRIKKIN' LONG TO LIVE IN MY HOUSE!")

The worst, worst, worst part of this story is that the snake of the skins was never found, leaving one to deduce that he (she?) is still happily haunting my attic, leaving her ghostly presence for us to wonder at. I guess if we MUST have a happy ending here, it's that we certainly don't seem to have any MICE in the attic . . .

I Got Nothing

2009-10-22T18:02:00.001-05:00

I'm full of political angst, but my friend's husband was apparently mocking me a little bit on how this was supposed to be my non-political blog, yet the subject keeps dripping out of me. So enjoy the sound of crickets here tonight; when I get a bit o' time, I'll tell you about the horror I found in my attic last week . . . (and no, it wasn't a politician of any sort).

(Hi, Jamey.)

This Ain't Ever Gonna Get Old

2009-10-10T18:57:00.002-05:00

I literally laid around and did nothing all day today. I should get a Nobel Peace Prize.

Beer Goggles

2009-10-09T08:56:00.006-05:00

That's what the group who gave the president his Nobel Peace prize must have. I mean, come ON--even Oprah doesn't have one of these things yet. What is this world coming to, when a man who has done nothing but EXIST gets the Nobel Peace prize, and a woman who is responsible for the O magazine walks away empty-handed? They should so let her host the Olympics on her televison set. Did the folks at the NPP offices even watch SNL last weekend?

Al Gore, that other brilliant choice for NPP winner, must be advising Obama where to keep his prize ("in the lockbox") right now . . .

** Of course, I've got more to say in the other place

Teaching Is Fun, Too

2009-10-07T15:45:00.008-05:00

Every semester, I make my Freshman Comp. 1 students each give a grammar presentation on common problems I see in papers. I scatter it out so there is one five-minute presentation a day; since I get tired of hearing my own voice sometimes, I figure they probably do, too--this lets them be in the driver's seat for a little bit. I tell them they can do whatever they want for the assignment, as long as they address the problem and show us how to fix it. Sometimes they are very creative . . .
Enjoy this youtube one of my students made for class today. His subject was missing or incorrect verb endings; after the video, he gave the group a handout that addressed the problem. We've also been discussing what to do and what not to do (that IS the question) in an argument paper--hence the sly shout-out to logical fallacies.

"Kill zombies"--ba-ha. I love my job.

What To Do On A Rainy Day

2009-10-06T09:23:00.003-05:00

With a sick little boy lying on the couch and watching Shrek WAAAY too loud--blog, of course. Unfortunately, I really have no personal news but lots of political verve, so you have to go over to my other place if you want to hear from me today. There you will find not one, but TWO new posts.

Oh, and today is National Call Congress day, so heat up those phone lines. Remind your reps who their bosses are (Y.O.U.).

Books Are Fun

2009-09-24T13:58:00.003-05:00

I bought two of 'em today at Sam's. One is gruesome and weird and hilarious: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: The Classic Regency Romance - Now with Ultraviolent Zombie Mayhem! by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith.

The other . . . well, you need to toodle over to my other blog to see about it.

My New Naughty Obsession

2009-09-21T09:11:00.003-05:00

My mother used to really, really dig Martha Stewart. She would tape Martha's television specials, and had stacks and stacks of Martha Stewart's Living magazine (until it became, in her own words, "too expensive and snotty"). And my mother could pull some of that stuff off. Me, I liked some of Martha's stuff, though I am a realist and recognized my stuff would neh-vah-her look anything like Martha's--we're talking Rembrandt versus woefully inept, probably-held-back Kindergartner. Because I knew I could never be Martha, I resented her a wee bit (Martha, not my mother)--I was de-lighted by that mean biography about her (Just Desserts by Jerry Oppenheimer). I remember reading it and thinking, "Ah-HA! I guess I could be a perfect homemaker, too, if I had an entire ARMY of minions about to do my bidding." (The sad truth is Martha could do all that stuff herself, she just didn't want to--I, on the other hand, could not if my life was at stake.)

After reading that book, I always wondered what it would be like to be Martha's kid. After discovering this little gem, I can say that I'm glad I'm not Alexis's mother. I do love me some snarky, though.

Keeping My Eggs In Two Baskets

2009-09-16T19:50:00.003-05:00

I have decided to separate Becky, the person from Becky, the political frother. Hence, the advent of my NEW blog: My Life, My Fortune, My Sacred Honor . It will be the place for my observances on things all political--my catharsis, if nothing else. I also plan on reading The 5,000 Year Leap, by W. Cleon Skousen, and will do a chapter-by-chapter comment in my new digs. It's also a handy place for me to dump links I think are worth a look-see.

From this point on, I will try to keep this blog for me stuff--though I will probably try and point you over to the other every once in a while. My strong beliefs are me, too. Crap--TWO blogs now? This is what I do with "all my extra time" without Facebook ? Two steps forward, six steps back . . .

Let's Roll

2009-09-13T22:14:00.008-05:00

The watch party on Saturday was great. It made me so proud to see HUNDREDS of thousands of Americans gathered together, peacefully exercising their First Amendment rights. I wonder, if you added up ALL gatherings around the country, how many people were out expressing themselves in a similar fashion--I think the number would be staggering. I was disappointed that our president couldn't be bothered to stick around and listen to the people who contribute to his paycheck--so much for bipartisanship. Despite what the sneering mainstream says, this was a grassroots effort--do you think they will ever get a clue? (Don't answer that--the fact that all their major headlines are still about Joe Wilson and NOT about the-horror-that-is-ACORN says it all.)

Tomorrow, I will be writing my senators and congressman, asking them if they will be three of the fifty-six willing to stand in Congress for the Constitution and America, and will they fight to root out the sickness of corruption that is killing our country. I will tell them that, like Thomas Jefferson, I'm ready to pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor for this great land . . . are they?

Are you?

http://www.the912project.com/

I Can't Be In Washington Tomorrow . . .

2009-09-11T14:46:00.005-05:00

. . .but I CAN be here:

The "watch party" at the Pontiac Coffee House (such a cool coffee house, by the way) in Springdale, AR, from 11:00 am to 2:30 pm. The place is easy to find--it's right off of 71B in Springdale.

Join me. C'mon. It will be fun and rowdy, and caffine-laced. You don't really have anything more important to do, anyway.

LINK