Sunday, July 29, 2007

Road Trip



My very first road trip was the summer of 1980.
My parents divorce was final earlier that year, and mom decided that we needed a change of scenery. So she packed up my brother, myself, the last of the hunting dogs (Sparky), and Nate’s gerbils, and off we went.

We went out through Pennsylvania, stopping to say goodbye to some family, then on to the northern mid-western states. Mom wanted us to see Mt. Rushmore, Crazy Horse, The Black Hills, and The Badlands.

Somewhere in the Midwest I remember we found a hotel – something like “The Knight’s Inn” very hokey, you could stay in 'the keep' or 'the dungeon', there were ‘knights’ and ‘maidens’ walking around, you get the idea. We all thought this was so funny we bought a AAA handbook to try and find more of them to stay in on our way west.

We looked for crop circles in Iowa and Indiana and Illinois.

Somewhere in South Dakota we blew a tire. I remember watching my mom as she rifled through the trunk looking for the spare and the jack. I watched Nate set up road flares. I pulled Sparky out of the car to walk in the field on the side of road and noticed him chewing something. I assumed he had gotten into something Nate and I had left out and I knew we would get yelled at for leaving it out, so I didn't mention it. Sparky and I wandered while Mom and Nate worked. There’s lots of wandering space there. As far out as I was I still remember the sound. A deep rumble getting louder as it got closer, not thunder. From where I stood I watched as my mom stood up from the tire changing task and looked toward the approaching sound. Three motorcycles stopped just behind the car, their riders dismounted and approached my mom. I watched them take the jack out of her hands.

I reached the side of the road as the bikes blew past, kicking up dust and gravel as they pulled away. One of them saluted to me.

An hour or so down the road a fierce thunderstorm kicked up, the kind with sideways rain and hail. Mom pulled over and waited out the storm. When the rain let up, we caught up to the helpful bikers; pulled over under a bridge, smoking and laughing. They waved back at me again in the back window as we passed.

Just about then, Nate discovered that one of his gerbils was missing from the cage. He tore apart the back seat searching, nearly hysterical. He made my mom pull over, took everything out the car, yelling the whole time at me, my and at my mom. Watching Nate from the side of the road, I felt pretty sure I knew what Sparky was chewing the last time we got out of the car. I also knew just enough to shut up about it.

Somewhere between the tire, the bikers, the thunderstorm, and the missing gerbil my mom had reached her limit for the day. We pulled over in a diner parking lot, full of motorcycles. I still remember watching my moms hands shake as she took the keys out of the ignition.

The diner was packed. I remember being told there would be a wait, and then a large, long-haired, bearded man, punched his friend in the arm, turned to my mom, and said, “take our seats (at the bar) ma’am we need to head out anyway,” and head out they did, leaving my mom trying to regain her composure and express her gratitude in their wake.

My mom had coffee, and we spotted a hotel to stay the night in. I don’t remember if my mom drank that night, but I sure hope so.

I remember Crazy Horse, Mt. Rushmore, and I remember counting rattlesnakes along a trail we walked in the Badlands. Somewhere I have a picture of me standing under a sign that reads “Don’t touch the snakes.”

In Montana we were momentarily confused by the gray stuff floating around, covering everything. Earlier that year Mt. St. Helens had erupted and ash was everywhere, still. We collected some in sandwich bags laughing about sending it back to the east coast to friends and family.

In Idaho, people were selling small glass bottles of ash for 5 bucks a pop.

We arrived in Cascade Locks 4 weeks after we set out, tired and only one gerbil short.
We lived with my Uncle Byron for a bit, while mom looked for a job and a place for us to live. Byron took us camping every weekend, taught me to shoot a .22. Taught us how to find our way in the woods, what to do if we got lost, what to eat. I don’t think I’ll ever forget cousin Eric biting into a live grasshopper and announcing he’d just rather not get lost. Me too.
I liked driving around with my mom, looking for houses, it made the trip seem 'not over yet'.

I still love to drive. I’d go everywhere by car if it weren’t for paid-time-off balances and the need to get there fast. I don’t mind, and in fact like hotels, even with the scratchy bedspreads, too cold air-conditioners, and really bad art. I don’t mind endless hours of the same scenery (hellllo western Nebraska). I like the sound of wheels over pavement, even in Pennsylvania. I like seeing signs advertising whatever is revered in that state, boiled peanuts, peaches, salt water taffy, fresh corn, apple butter. I like the different accents. I like it that every once in awhile you find someone that truly belongs in a novel, even when the novel may have been written by Stephen King. I even like it that after about 10 hours you need to get out and walk around because your butt is numb. I like the dumb games you play to pass the time. I like it that no matter what state you’re in the people at Cracker Barrel all look exactly the same.

I wouldn’t mind seeing Crazy Horse again. I’d like to see the Southwest too, would like to stand outside the fence line at Area 51, and have my picture taken under a cactus. I’d like to see Devil’s Tower. I’d like to go to Alaska and stand on a glacier.

Where do you want go next?

Friday, July 27, 2007

I"m *So not Paula Deen* BUT

For those of you that asked, and those that didn't, make note of this recipe, it's straight yummy.

1 Ripe Avocado
1/4 cup FF sour cream
Some scallions
2 Tbsp lime juice
salt (to taste)
cumin (to taste)
ground red pepper

2 Tbsp brown sugar
more cumin
salt
black pepper

Combine the top 7 ingredients and set aside
Heat your oven to 400
Combine last 4 ingredients in a bowl and toss 4 chicken breast cutlets in in.
Coat the chicken with sugary/spicy goodness
Heat a skillet and brown chicken a few minutes on each side
Transfer chicken to baking pan and pour skillet leavings into pan.
Cook til done.

Serve with a tablespoon or so of the first 8 ingredients you mixed, and try not to sit down and eat the rest of it with a spoon - I hear someone has done just that..

Enjoy.
Happy weekend people!

ETA - FOR THOSE THAT ARE ASKING - YES, CHOP THE PEELED, DE-PITTED AVOCADO AND ROUGHLY CHOP SMASH WITH THE OTHER INGREDIENTS IN THE FIRST LIST.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Mayor Spiffy's Meme

Because I can't say no to the Mayor of Spiffytown... and because apparently he thinks I'm "about to discover latent super powers and save the world".

I don't know 'bout all that, but I think I'd look kick-ass in a cape.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Nope.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
For the first time in a very long time, I can't remember. I think this is probably a good thing.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Sure.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Not really a fan. Does my mom's egg salad count?

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Fur-kids only.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Abso-freakin' lutely.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
Why? What'd you hear?

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Yes.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Not even.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Cold: Cinnamon Life? Warm: Oatmeal.
Oh, and you "malt o meal"people are freakin' weird. MALT GOES IN BEER. 'nuff said.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Almost never.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Hells Yeah.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Yes.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Whether or not they are armed.

15. RED OR PINK?
Red shoes, pink lipstick.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
That I hang onto the bad memories I have just as tightly as I do the good ones.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Mark.

19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Blue Jeans, barefootin' it baby.

20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Sage's spicy popcorn.

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
Criminal Minds on TV.

22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
SILVER, cuz what other color would a super hero be?

23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Apple pie, my dogs fur after he's been laying in the sunshine, and ivory soap.

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Buffy

25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
Did you not read what I wrote? The man thinks I'm a super-hero!

26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
See previous post, I'm pissed at professional athletes. I'll go with dogsport for this question.

27. HAIR COLOR?
Depends on who you ask these days, the old guy at blockbuster today called me a redhead, the lady in the office next to me called it dirty blonde. Whateva.

28. EYE COLOR?
Green

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Yes.

30. FAVORITE FOOD?
These days, this chicken recipe I got from a girl I work with. Chicken, Cumin, Brown Sugar, Avocado, seriously good, and at the moment keeping me from becoming a vegetarian.

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Yes.

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

33. FAVORITE FLOWER?
DAISIES

34. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Yes.

35. HUGS OR KISSES?
If we're talking candy - neither, if we're talking the verbs, Yes, both.

36. FAVORITE DESSERT?
strawberry shortcake - if you make it right and if you don't get away from me..

37. MOST LIKELY TO discover latent superpowers and save the world?
MANDAROOOOOOO!

38. LEAST LIKELY TO MAKE UP ANOTHER QUESTION BECAUSE BIFF CHANGED THE RULES?
Yeah, that'd be me.

39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
A Thousand Splendid Suns.

40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
I don't so much have one of those.

41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Law and Order about 457 episodes of it.

42. FAVORITE SOUND?
the moanie groanie noise my dog makes when he settles in at night, the loud frogs outside my bedroom window, rain in my chimney, firewood pops and crackles, heartbeats.

43. FAVORITE CANDYBAR?
peppermint patty (I totally get the sensation)

44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Emotional distance is farther than geographic, and I dont' have the right measuring tape for that, do you?

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Depends on who you ask.
heh.

46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Johnstown Pennsylvania

47. WHAT DID AVITABLE ACCUSE YOU OF IN HIS DIRTY POST CARD?
Uh, photographing my girlie parts, 60 times.
It's hanging on my refrigerator, still.


47.5 how many of you noticed that question 18 was missing? If you did, you get to ask ME a question, anyting at all. Go for it, don't be skeered.

OK, you are now IT, unless you did the proper ONETWOTHREENOTIT! chant, in which case you're off the hook.18, 37, 38, and 47 are Do-It-Yourself questions, you can ask yourself anything.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

A puppy, a birthday, some jerks, and a race




This picture has very little to do with anything other than - that's my puppy and damn he's cute. And Feisty. I like him. A lot. For once, I got exactly what I paid for.

I have been really busy these last 10 or 12 days; too busy to have any interest in sitting in front of computer any MORE when I get home. My brain is just too hurty to take any more.


On Friday I remembered a far away friends birthday was Saturday, and got home to find she had sent me presents. Even in my twisty little head, that didn't seem right, but it did seem perfectly Mandy. So for her birthday, I got water pistols, bubbles, Trader Joe's espresso soda (haven't tried it yet, can't wait) and GIANT macadamia nut cookies who were baked by a bakery with my very own last name. Don't ask me to share, because as of this writing, there is exactly ONE left, and I doubt you people are getting it. This has to be one of the best ways ever to end a busy week. I wish I could have joined her on her birthday trip to some very cool place who's name I can't remember.



Anytime I get to complaining about wishing I had the money to do all the fun stuff that responsibility gets in the way off, I am reminded of something my mom used to say, "You should have been born rich instead of beautiful" - kind of a classic thing for a mom to say, right? I'll tell you what though, if I had unlimited funds right now, I think I'd use it to pay someone to kick the ass of every professional athlete on the planet. I'd like to take this opportunity to offer (courtesy of the Redneck Scottsdale Princess) a big old "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot" salute to all these -over-inflated-ego-having-lack-of-morality-compassionless-thoughtless-careless-brainless-sense of entitlement- fuckwads.

I started a full-on rant here about all of the latest athletic idiots in the news, and got depressed by it to the point I had to walk away for an hour or so. So... I'm not posting all that. Suffice to say, I'm disgusted and totally turning in my NFL fan card. I don't know how exactly I'm going to fill Sundays in the fall/winter, but I believe it will be with people and animals that deserve my energy, money, love, compassion and time.

While I haven't registered yet, I'm starting to train for a half marathon this fall. It's been too long since I followed a strict training schedule and even longer since I earned a t-shirt the hard way. I'm overdue. Wish me injury free running, please. I'll train through them, as I have before, but I gotta say it'd be nice to not have to fight quite that hard.

Happy shiny new week friends.

I'm off for a dog walk followed by a glass of cold white wine on my front porch.
Wish you were here.
Yeah.
You.













Sunday, July 15, 2007

Incontrovertible Proof


I need more friends that leave me notes like this.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Arrowhead


I didn’t sleep well or much last night. Around 5 I fell asleep for about 30 minutes, and had the first dream about my brother since he died. Fully awake now, the pieces are still just pieces, but dreaming of him brought this memory back. This is not sunshine and flowers friends, so if that’s why you came, move along, nothing here to see.

The year before Mark died; he went to visit the home and now private museum of his favorite author, Herman Melville. Moby Dick was Mark’s favorite story, and his favorite book to teach to his students. Every year, he promised an ‘A’ to any student in the class who could find the part in the book where Melville switches from first person to third. I’d happily share that secret with you, but I wasn’t one of his ‘A’ students.

Sitting in my brother’s house just days after his death the discussion of what to do with Mark’s ashes was settled without discussion the second Steve Clicks suggested they be scattered at Melville’s home. Some things you know are right the instant you hear them. I don’t remember Steve saying anything else that week, but I remember this as clearly as I remember what happened yesterday. Looking at it now, it feels like this is why he was there that day.

My sister Julie made the arrangements, Arrowhead is a privately funded museum, and she explained to them who Mark was and what it would mean to us to leave him there. They couldn’t have been more generous, gracious or willing to help my family ease our suffering.

We went in June.
Early June in New England is only summer during the hours of noon and 3pm, before and after those hours, it’s late winter, or at least fall, with temps falling to 40 degrees and reminding me why I live in the South.

When my family visited, one of the curators met us 90 minutes before the official opening, offering a private tour of the house /museum and then leaving us to say our goodbyes privately and scatter his ashes in the field behind Melville’s home.

All I remember of the first floor is dark wood and fireplaces, but I dutifully climbed the stairs behind my remaining family feeling the weight of things I could not measure. As we all settled into the study around the tour guide I found myself staring at the floorboards, whispering to myself under my breath to look, to see that room the way he had seen it, just a year earlier.

I lifted my head, looked across the room to Melville’s carefully staged desk and out the window behind it, to Mt. Greylock, I felt my chest tighten, and suddenly, all the oxygen was gone from the room.

That view, that room. My brother.

I turned and fled the room, headed for the stairs we had just ascended. It got better when I got outside, to the fields surrounding the house. I tried to hear my friend Eileen’s voice in my head telling me when things got difficult to focus on my breathing. By the time my family reappeared, I had control.

I remember people reading passages from favorite books, and others with a few words to say as they scattered the remains of my brother into the wind on a hillside in New England. My mom cried while she talked about the joy Mark had given her. Mark’s best friend Bob held me as I cried, watching my mom, useless and helpless against either of our pain. I carried my youngest niece down the hill her legs wrapped around my waist; she wiped away my tears and said “He shouldn’t have died when he did.” Showing me that wisdom can come from anywhere, even sad seven year old nieces. Later that evening I would help that niece move caterpillars off the sidewalk in front of the restaurant we would eat dinner in. She couldn’t live with the fact that someone might step on them. So we moved them to the grass, one by one, for an hour and a half.
It made her feel better to have an ally, and helping her made me feel better.

Sunday, July 8, 2007

Random Weekend Meanderings..




First,

Anyone else see this and really, really wish they had a spare 130 million or so?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bran_Castle


Also, along the same line, does anyone else find it odd that Dracula's remaining heir is an architect in New York City? What a disappointment. I'm sure being an architect isn't easy, however, if you are Dracula's heir I expect something distinctly more creepy/interesting.

================

Had a rather late night last night. I tried to get up and be a good puppy-mom, I did. I did the best I could at our normal morning thing and ever hopeful that the Prince of Darkness would take a nap - I dozed off on my couch and woke up thinking "What could he possibly be doing that sounds like he's chewing on my kitchen wall?"

Answer: chewing on my kitchen wall.. gah.
================

What the hell are teen age boys doing/eating/drinking these days?
Once, about 9 months ago I was purposefully groped by a 15(?) year old in Walgreen's - today a group of boys propositioned me outside a local Blockbuster.

It occurred to me after the fact, that had the little episode outside Blockbuster been witnessed by anyone it could have turned into a police matter.
Yeah, seriously, I had to put my hands on this punk to keep his hands off of me.

This child has a future as high-school-football-player-rapist.

================

I watched Coyote Ugly today. (oh the shame.)
I realize this was two hours of man-eye-candy, but I thought John Goodman literally stole the show. I would have totally bid on him in that bar. heh.

================

I am ready for a vacation. I need my biggest responsibility to be which kind of floaty thing I want to lie on in the pool today and umbrella drinks.
Anyone wanna join me? Destination open; suggestions welcome.

================

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

View from a long run and thanks to a far away friend

I went out thinking I’d do an average 4 miles or so.

Sometimes, a run is just too good to quit on. For me, it’s always a combination of the rhythm of my feet, the rhythm of my breathing and the rhythm of whatever music is pumping out of my IPOD.

I’ve tried to follow all the ‘experts’ advice, slower music for longs runs, a mix of slow and fast beat music for interval runs, fast music for tempo runs.
As is my custom, I ignore the experts.
When I run, the music playing has to be, aggressive, loud, and preferably bass-laden. That’s just how I run. My ex used to say the music I listened to was “crunchy” that’s as good a description as any.

I like this trail more than any I’ve run on in my 3 years running. It’s pretty isolated, very few houses, a golf course, a goat farm, one overpass, and a golf-cart graveyard are all you’ll get for man-made structure. The rest is trees and water and Carolina blue sky. It’s a well used trail; people on horses, people walking their dogs, cyclists, and of course other runners.

For the firs time in I can’t remember how long I lost track of the mile markers, and when the opportunity presented it self, I took a left turn off the trail, and ran down a little country road. When I decided to turn back, I still wasn’t ready to quit, so I took the left back onto the trail, still moving away from my truck.

This was as sister-Mandy calls it an ‘empty the trash of my mind and put that shit on the curb’ run. Running is my therapy, my church. It reminds me of what I am capable of all on my own. It reminds me that there are always options. It reminds me of exactly what I can control; which maybe isn’t much, but pace, direction, and effort aren’t exactly nothing either, in running or in life.

Thanks Doc, for the reminder.

Monday, July 2, 2007

Noise

I used to make really fancy schmancy cakes for friends special occasions. I made groomsmen cakes for rehearsal dinners, birthday cakes, baby shower cakes, and once a wedding cake. I wish I had taken pictures. They were awesome, if I do say so myself.

The baby shower cake was my favorite, it was four square layers, frosted a different pastel shade on each side, and decorated to look like an Alphabet block. It was an enormous amount of work. The last time I made it it took me 8 straight hours, just for frosting and decorating. By the time I got to the last side of that Alphabet block (yellow) I had a wicked headache. I was finishing up and realized I needed just a bit more yellow frosting and tottered off to the kitchen to make it. While whipping I heard a noise that registered somewhere deep within me, and before I could form an actual word I found myself screaming as I rounded the corner to see my Apache-dog licking the corner and entire (yellow) side of the cake. He got just enough to dull the otherwise sharp corner an Alphabet block should have. The shower was the next day. No way I had enough time or the fortitude to make another cake. After about 5 minutes of deliberation I frosted right over the ‘licked spots’ and finished decorating. It didn’t look that bad, and I still don’t feel guilty about it.

I think it was the next day when I saw the four foot yellow frosting line across my ceiling. I guess when I came whipping out of the kitchen frosting whipper in hand I must have flicked my spoon and it left a nifty trail across the ceiling. Note: day old frosting not so easy to remove from popcorn ceiling.

Just yesterday while making spaghetti for lunch I opened a can of diced tomatoes, measured what I needed and put the rest in Tupperware dish on the counter. This time when I heard that noise, it was Mojo. Not quite tall enough to eat off the counter – he just bumped the container with his evil little foot and knocked the container to the floor. Did I mention that nearly everything in my kitchen is white? Yeah. Even the ceiling. Note: tomatoes are not much easier to remove from popcorn ceiling.

Apparently these German Shepherd dogs and I have a thing for messy ceilings.

Not quite related, but relevant to my day.
I always mute the TV during commercials. The car commercials alone in this state will make you wonder what a TV looks like sailing through a living room window, and dont' get me started on that "kaboom" guy... therefore, I love me some mute button.

This evening, I noticed the noise in my own head is so loud that twice I’ve tried to mute an already muted TV.

Seems like a good a time as any to fix a drink. Or run - again. Or find out what my TV looks like going through my living room window.

Today, I hate choices. Especially when there is no 'good' choice.

Sunday, July 1, 2007

Stupid country song and burgers

From 1971 to 1995, I moved every single year of my life. In 2005, before I came to North Carolina, I gave away or sold almost everything. It was just stuff.

The “things” that matter enough to hang onto in my life have a pulse.

There’s a country song out now, don’t ask me who sings it, I wouldn’t call country my genre – in fact – a few of you may be in need of a minute to recover from the fact that I know anything about country music. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

The song chorus is something along the lines of “you find out who your friends are” and while the chorus is self-explanatory, what I’m taking issue with is the things they rattle off as helping you figure out ‘who your friends are’, there’s mention of a flat tire, and a bus ticket.

Mr. Country-singer, I’m pretty sure you look adorable in your tight blue jeans, cowboy boots, and hat, but you need better friends, or more life. I’ve had friends drive me to the emergency room in the middle of the night with broken bones and migraine headaches, hold my hair while I revisit the Goldschlager experience, talk to me for hours in the wee hours of the night about the latest heartbreak life has handed me or just the price of milk and ducks - not once has bus fare entered into it. Perhaps ‘Golschlager’ and ‘migraine’ were just too hard to rhyme with.

Today, I helped a friend move. It was a simple move, easily accomplished by 3 women, 1 puppy, 1 five year old boy, and 1 husband with a badly broken toe. One trip, to done, and 15 minutes later we were on our way to celebrate over burgers and beer (or hummus and tomatoes if you’re the five year old.)

Moving, even when it’s easy, is a far better example of finding out who your friends are. Work is always easier when shared with many hands and burgers never taste better than when shared over such a happy occasion.

If I’ve learned anything about friendship and grief these last few years, it’s that when things go all pear shaped for you or your friends, there really isn’t anything anyone can do.

So, when things are good, show up. Pick up a box. Spend a minute watching the puppy chase the 5 year old around the new backyard. Talk about wallpaper and bed placement, and about buying a grill. Talk about dinner parties and kitty cats soon to come home.

That’s who my friends are.