The Toilets Don’t Flush the Same and Things More or Less Awkward

So first of all, I’ve learned a new way to greet people.
Here people give a robust “Hi-yuh!” Which sounds to me like (or in my mind, has the same number of syllables as) “How are ya?”


It’s weird because when I hear, “Hi-yuh!” I want to respond, “I’m fine! How are you?” But that answer gets odd looks, especially since no one actually asked about my well being. What’s worse is when things are stressful, and in walks someone who says, “Hi-yuh!” and I’m all, “Well, shit. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed, you know? I mean, I like it here and all, but things will be much easier when my bank account works or when internet is installed. You know?”

And they’re all, “Right. Ok then. I’ll just grab this breakfast bun and.. I’ve got to fly now.* Bye, bye. Bye!”**

So the correct response to “Hi-yuh!” is “Good morning” or a simple. “Hi”. Sometimes I get it right and say, “Hey, how’s it going?” which is somewhat more rhythmic and less awkward.

Next, I feel the need to address the fact that I cannot get a town coke here. Anywhere. There are a billion towns around these parts and all of them sell coke.. but not a town one. And for those of you who don’t know me, my mom, or my Mimi, you should learn that a town coke is a fountain drink with good ice – semi-crushed. I would even go as far to say that a town coke has to be from Dairy Queen or Sonic – a treat when you’re out driving the drag or when you need a little pick-me-up. Gas station fountain drinks don’t count.

And they don’t have them here in England.

In fact, no one seems to drink anything other than orange juice, coffee, pints, or (hot) tea. Bottled water is around, but I rarely see anyone having any. I remember Christine and I having a lengthy conversation about this once. I theorized that perhaps the reason the English don’t have Big Gulps or other embarrassingly large beverages is because the whole country is pretty much hydrated. “After all,” I said, my fore-finger in the air, “it does rain almost daily there.” Plus (and I forgot to tell Christine this) the grass is really sponge-y in England. Perhaps the Brit’s skin is like the grass and absorbs water from the air. (Some of my synapses may, in fact, be retarded.)

Christine politely didn’t roll her eyes (too much) and reiterated the fact that while here she just carried a huge water bottle everywhere. “I just slammed it on the counter like I owned the place. Everyone else be damned. Yep, “she said, “this is my ginormous beverage. Deal with it. What?!” ***

Lastly, I must mention driving. And with the word “driving” in England I should also say, “Holy shit!” because damn. I spend the majority of the time in the car with my buttocks clenched. Why? Because every moment on the road in England is a “close call”. Actually, what I’m learning is that unless you actually bend in the side mirrors (a feature that all cars have here), you aren’t really close. But tell that to me as I’m inching between an American sized lorry and a cyclist with a baby on board, in a lane meant mainly for Kate Moss to saunter down and we’ll talk about the medical benefits of butt clenching.

“CURB!” is the word I mostly yell seconds before I rip my passenger-side rims into one.

*Seriously. That’s another thing. They say “I’ve got to fly, now” and all I can think of is Gandalf falling into endless doom in mines of Moria and the hobits burying their heads in their hands, forever altered by their immense grief.


** And they say “Bye” at least three times, fading out on each one, especially if they’re hanging up on a phone conversation. I think it’s kind of poetic.


***Probably this is a paraphrase

Shoe Shocked

Muslim culture’s tradition of taking off one’s shoes at the door before entering someone’s home leaves this Western girl feeling insecure and uncertain about how best to move forward. In my culture shoes are essential. I’ve been taught that feet are dirty, that you can’t walk into a restaurant, convenience store, or any kind of market without them or if you do, you take a serious risk of either being kicked out or at the very least reprimanded by clerks and/or forthright patrons. It is an unwavering rule – No shirt, No shoes, No service. I’ve even found myself having acrimonious thoughts towards little children who sashay barefoot into places with their thoughtless mothers. How could any responsible mother allow her child to be subject to the many hazards and germs that foot to floor contact elicits? Worse, how could any responsible adult let another person leave germs and other hazards behind for unsuspecting, shoe clad people to muck through? If it weren’t a big deal, then why do shoe stores offer hosiery for trying on shoes? “Forget your socks? No problem. Have a footie,” reads a sign at DSW. It comforts me. At least I know that if someone tried on a pair of shoes I might buy, I can rest assured that probably no one’s stinky feet have actually touched my inner soles. Even in my childhood household, shoes were required in the kitchen, just as hairbrushes had to stay out.

It is these thoughts that hung over me as I stood on my sweet Muslim friends’ doorstep yesterday. Without more than a couple of natural movements, four people breezed through the front door, leaving their shoes in a nonchalant, cluttered pile. I, on the other hand, hesitated.

At least three years have passed since I remember walking into their home, not noticing that everyone had removed their shoes but me. Several hours into the visit I realized my error. Of course, the family was too nice to mention it, but I felt incredibly rude for being insensitive to that particular cultural norm. I remember trying to tuck my clunky shoed feet underneath furniture so as to hide my faux pas, and yet all I could stare at was everyone else’s toes.

And here, again, came the moment; it was time to behave as everyone else did and take off my shoes at the door. I felt like the others were watching me in anticipation. I was sure they were thinking, “Will she do it right this time?” or “Remember last time when she left her shoes on? They were sliders. She easily could’ve removed them!” or “Westerners. How arrogant!” Of course they weren’t thinking those thoughts. They’re much too kind to expel that kind of venom. Plus, rationally I am aware that not everyone has such specific memory about my flaws as I do. It probably wasn’t important to them in the first place. Still, as if I were stepping over a gated fence, I put one foot through the door and then the other. I slid into the nearest chair close by, and leaned down to take off my shoes. I kicked them to the side into the pile at the door and quickly curled my toes under my feet, afraid to look up and see if anyone noticed my angst.

Just then, a neighbor apparently walked by, as all of a sudden one of the little girls popped up and said, “Look! It’s so and so and her son!” She was pointing out the window behind me and hopping up and down excitedly. Everyone else perked up, too, looking around my form out the window. “Invite them in,” my friend said. “Yes do! Hurry!” another echoed. The little girl ran out of the front door, skipping over the pile of shoes, and insisted that her neighbors come in for a moment. Of course they did, as the hospitality of Islam encourages, and they also took off their shoes, adding them to the pile.

The woman stayed for a cup of tea and immediately drummed up a conversation about the circumcision of her 9 year old son which would be happening next week. She asked questions about what circumcision entailed, specifically, how to keep the “affected area” treated and dressed immediately after the procedure, and what the benefits of having it done were. They talked about the Islamic philosophy of circumcision, of characters in the Bible who had it done (one very specifically with an axe while he was in his nineties), the fact that someone’s grandfather did the procedure so rapidly, that he engaged in a competition with a local medical doctor to see who could circumcise the most boys in the fastest time. It was a circum-size-off! Boys lined up in two rows – one for the doctor, one for the grandfather, and someone ran a timer. Apparently, and according to the reenactment gesticulations of “snip and throw,” everyone in the living room smiled and nodded, one person even applauded, at the news that the grandfather won by a landslide.

During this entire conversation – which happened to be as bizarre and non sequitur as it is to you, the reader, as it was to me, the listener - all I could think about was finding a pair of socks.

Tid Bits

#1 – So it turns out that early morning in England gives one license to try their hand at driving like Mario Andretti, a reckless one. Take my nervousness about looking in the correct direction – which in my estimation, is the incorrect direction, as cars drive on the other side of the road. A lifetime of looking left and right for safety becomes null and void in a land of roundabouts and zippy drivers. The product of my insecurity is me on a curb doing something akin to the pee pee dance: Go now. No wait. Go now. No wait. Now! … Wait! (and so on).

I’m a curb dancing Saturday Night Live sketch - funny at first, but then it drags on far too long, until it’s just sadly annoying. You wonder why you’re wasting your time watching, yet you hope the next one will be better so you leave it there.

Please give my regards to Tina Fey. And please, in my obituary do not include either of the phrases “Girl who couldn’t cross,” and/or “but then she did.”

#2 – Military time, which is how everything here is timed, is confusing for a non-math type. That is all.

#3 – “Half of five” v. “half past five” v. “half five” = what the hell time am I supposed to show up at the train platform?

#4 – Yesterday I went to visit my dear friends Mark and Ilham and their two gorgeous, hilarious daughters. In this endeavor I:

A. Found on a map and then walked to the train station in Weybridge.

B. Bought the right type of ticket to London (a single to Waterloo and then a travel card (for the tube) to Southgate).

C. Enjoyed a very pleasant evening with a family I adore and who treat me so kindly, like one of their own. I spent the night there and traveled back today. (Throw your hands up at me.)

D. Felt like a true English girl because I used an Oyster card (that Mark lent me for the tube).

#5 – I went to the Tesco (corner grocery store) and bought tortillas, taco shells, jalapenos, and a celebratory bottle of wine for being able to buy tortillas, taco shells, and jalapenos in my town.

#6 - I'm seriously having trouble with internet access and email - Please bear with me.

#7 – Overall, I really do love being here, but can’t wait until Rich and Jack join me!!! And you, too! Come visit!!

Mad Cow Night

In short, Action Cow Assembly Night* was a smashing success! All enjoyed the task, including my cool new friend, Becky, who didn't run away from the Ft. Worth crazies, screaming, hands flailing. (smile) In a way, Action Cow Assembly Night is a sure fire way to know who your real friends are. Anyone who is confidentially willing to assemble a cow using child safety scissors and a glue stick at a trendy restaurant and who later is willing to build a Tower o' Cow at a local coffee establishment can be my friend. Rich, Jamie, and Christine were game, but we knew that already. Becky played, too, so she's in. It was the waiter who was kind of shifty. Yes. He, too, received an Action Cow Assembly kit. I think he was worried for a split second that a paper cow was his tip.. (Get it? cow and tip.. cow tipping.. I know! It's udderly ridiculous! Hahahahaha. Alright. I'm done.) Anyway, see for yourselves. It was a great evening!



* Thanks Ben and Jerry's!!
p.s. For the record, you can love your newly assembled bovine friend, but you shouldn't LOVE him. Christine!

Happy Birthday, Jen!!!

I remember when I was four and you were three and our moms lifted us over the backyard fence to meet. You were in a yellow jumper that tied at the shoulders and had blond pig-tails. I probably wore pea green. We stared at each other as we dug in dirt, from shovel to pail, and were silent.(I'll retell this story a billion times!) Who knew that that moment was the start of a life-long friendship that would withstand time, distance, devastating grief, Mr. Lambrecht, and 9th grade prom,and would, at the same time, foster oblivious joy, silliness*, song, and compassion? I am who I am in great part to your friendship. Thanks for that! I love you, Jen!

Happy Birthday!!!


* Silly in every form imaginable:
1. "I do this all the time!"
2. "The Olympic gymnastic champion is.." and dance class in my garage
3. "I'm allergic to cheese"
4. "I can't say that name"
5. "We'll tell the counselors that I was trying to kill a bug on the window, not trying to 'take-out' the air-conditioning"
6. "If there is someone in the house, come out now! We have a gun (sure it was the decorative rifle over the mantle..)"

7. Rod Turner.

8. Ubert and fence walking

9. The neighborhood pool and synchronized swimming

10. Driving my car in the rain.. through a red light.. very slowly..

11. That stupid flower bangs thing and the abusive hairbrush

12. "Avery thinks he is SO hot.."

13. "I just saw that guy I'm gonna marry.."

14. Sneaking over to your house to watch "Three's Company"

15. The clapper.

etc. etc. etc.

Happy Birthday!!

Welcome to the community Baby Allison!!!

And congrats to you Pat, Amanda, and Big Sister Ella!!

The fun never ends! Also this week-end, I was lucky enough to fly home on the day that Cliff and Deidra were here visiting from Buffalo. Also, P-ta just returned from England three days ago and we were all able to connect and meet for one evening! Cliff (who married the amazing Deidra)and P-ta are two of my best friends from college and they are still so, so dear to me! Deidra and I have recently connected in the blogosphere. What a great reason to keep a blog! I am such a lucky girl to have such wonderful friends!!
left to right: Jeremy, P-ta, Deidra, Cliffy, Wratch, and me
(more pics on the flickr)

Cowboy Cocktails and Craziness

Friend P-ta is in town and we decided to keep a live blog on the goings on so that you can be a part of the festivities. We are having what we call a Cowboy Cocktails sampling and gaming party which could end in a variety of very interesting ways. I've already smeared the new Nestles chocolate caramel crunch bar all over parts of my anatomy, and I was stone cold sober for that. So who knows where the evening will take us.



We selected several cocktails from the book, wrote their names on small pieces of paper, put them in my Olympic pith helmet, and drew the first drink. All recipes are from Grady Spears and Brigit L. Binns book called Cowboy Cocktails which pairs drink recipes with country music listening suggestions.
(disclaimer: we're only making one of each drink to share share among the three of us. Also, we're drinking them about an hour apart from each other)

Pick #1: The Texican
Ingredients: tequila, cranberry juice, and lime.
Music: "Did I Shave My Legs For This?" by Deana Carter, but we're listening to "Come On Eileen" by Dexys Midnight Runners.
Game: Der Untergang Von Pompeji which comes with a cardboard volcano and fake lava.

Verdict: I prefer the Cape Cod over The Texican, but if you like the taste of tequila, you'll like this one. It actually tastes really light. The game was fun, but most of my people died in the lava, so I lost.







Pick #2: Well Water (but we're calling it Spring Water since we substituted vodka for gin)
Ingredients: voka, triple sec, and blue curacao over crushed ice
Music: "Blue Water" by Poco but we're listening to "A Little Respect" by Erasure
Game: Niagra which involves mining gems, a canoe, and not getting swept over a waterfall

Verdict: The drink is F.O.U.L. but would be worse with gin and my canoe went over the falls one too many times, so I lost.






Pick #3: Margtini
Ingredients: tequila, triple sec, lime juice, and soda
Music: "Mister Richard Smoker" by Ween, but we're listening to "A Million Ways To Be Cruel" by OK Go.
Game: Masons which involves building walls and cities

Verdict: The drink is extremely lime-y and tequila-y. It's pretty sour, but I like it better than the Well Water, but not as much as the The Texican. The game was fun, though I couldn't build enough walls to save myself, so I lost.



Pick #4: Purple Jesus (Steve in Rhode Island picked this one for us and then asked that I give him credit for it - that publicity whore!! Leave me a comment next time, Steve. I mean, wish you were here..)
Ingredients: vodka, grape juice, and ginger ale
Music: Honkey Talk Heroes by Waylon Jennings, but we're listening to The Sundays
Game: Einfach Genial (which means I'm a genius), a game about laying tiles (???) It's also a game where your highest lowest score wins and you yell "Einfach Genial" when one of your tiles gets the highest score. Everyone else yells, "yah!"


Verdict: The drink is alcoholic communion pretty much. I like it because it tastes like grape juice. So it turns out that Ich bin nicht ein Genie, and therefore I lost.
But P-ta won!!!
"Yah!!"

Pick #5: Texas Tea (Steve in LONG Island picked this one for us and then asked that I give him credit for it - that publicity whore!! I mean, I still wish you were here..)
Ingredients: A whole lot of stuff and Dr. Pepper (to make it Texan) and an asprin garnish
Music: "Sunset on the Sage" by Commander Cody, but we're listening to "Shout" by Tears for Fears
Game: Zooloretto where you collect and breed animals and put them in a zoo..


Verdict: The drink does NOT taste like any Texas Tea I've ever had which is disappointing, but the game is interesting already seeing as Rich and P-ta are separating pandas and elephants.. Most of my animals were sterile, so I lost.

***Reminder - We are sharing 1 drink at a time and have had 5 in 6 hours.***

That's all I can stand tonight seeing as we started this fun at 4:00 and it is now 11:20.
What a great day!!!

P-ta's 40th!

Last weekend, Rich and I headed to Houston to celebrate one of our dearest friend's (P-ta's) 40th birthday. In true P-ta fashion, we played board games -and I hesitate to call them that because "board games" sounds SO ordinary and the games that P-ta and his pals play are some that only true professional gamers know about- and drank Hornsby's cider. (Thanks Greg and Karen! You guys R.O.C.K.!)



The next morning poor P-ta had to work since it was Sunday and since he is the music/worship coordinator at his church. BUT after that was HUGE party with 40-50 folks who showed up just to talk about how cool P-ta is. AND he is!!!

Too bad I put my camera down, because I only got pics of the gaming and of the pre-party set up! (Hopefully Steve got some better ones?)

Anyway, Happy Birthday friend, P-ta!! We LOVE you and were so glad to be with you on your special day!!

'Shopping Cart Karma' by Christine

-a most relatable reflection told by the most excellent, enlightening, wit-tastic (Fou)guru on the planet. Enjoy!

'I don’t believe in reincarnation. At least not in the typical, literal, “I was Cleopatra in a past life and that’s why I’m afraid of snakes and think guys named Anthony are hot” kind of way. But sometimes things happen that seem to come from past life mistakes, bad karma that I feel pretty certain doesn’t come from something horrible I did in this lifetime.

'I have never been mean to a shopping cart. I am, in fact, quite kind to them, moving them out of the dangerous places other careless shoppers have left them, corralling them into safer areas or even shepherding them back into the store with me. But this week seems to be karmically linked to some past life’s offense, some previous June when I, in the guise of a burly 1950’s man angry about my wife not doing the week’s shopping, took my frustration at being unable to find the pasta sauce out on some poor, unsuspecting shopping cart. Or something like that.

'It happened in Home Depot. My subconscious must have seen it coming since, despite my long shopping list, I tried not to get a cart. When my hands became full of paintbrushes and sandpaper, I realized my mistake. But, with my hands full, I couldn’t walk back out to the carts on the other side of the cashiers, so I found one left in the lawn and garden department, not thinking about the myriad reasons why the cart might have been abandoned. For example, one of the wheels might actually be a square.

'I should have stopped after pushing it the first five feet and making such a racket that three different men turned around and looked at me with a combination of confusion and pity. Tha-THUNK-tha-THUNK-tha-THUNK. If I went slowly, the THUNK was so forceful that the vibration through the cart moved my whole body. But when I had to walk over to the lumber section, the flattened wheel really shined. At speed it was a THUNKing, jostling masterpiece. It’s impossible to find someone to help you at Home Depot, but I must have had seven different people in orange aprons ask me if I was okay. It was probably the noise that brought them out, but it might also have been the look on my face. I can only assume that it revealed how hard I was working to keep the cart heading straight down the aisle, because it was at higher speed that the cart also showed its tendency to turn right. Only right. Really hard to the right, like some kind of suicidal run at the various displays of nails and doors and chemicals of all sorts. I tried in vain to arrange my list in an order that would allow me to only turn right, but that is NOT easy. I had to keep my right arm rigidly straight, getting such a workout that I almost dropped my bag at the checkout when I tried to put it back into my cart.

'I’m not even going to talk about the trip out to the car, consisting of a 20 mph wind and a large piece of plywood. Let’s just say that I am sorry for whatever I did to shopping carts in a past life, because, though I’m not clear on my belief in reincarnation, I have to believe in the power of forgiveness. Please forgive me, oh shopping cart gods, for I need your good will! I will be kind and, now, having learned my lesson, will endeavor to find a doctor for your less fortunate brethren. All I ask is that you let me continue my shopping adventures free from the THUNKing, the pulling, and the frustration that can mar our otherwise wonderfully symbiotic relationship.

'Or something like that.'

The Best Medicine

Lisa and John were in town for one night only, but we packed in as much laughter as one can physically endure in one evening. Laughter with great friends is, after all, better than anything in any bottle or capsule.

*All pictures were taken by Lisa, John, or The Third Arm!!
* While sitting in the big red chair, especially, we missed you, Jen!!!

Green Peas Take The Field

Hey, check out the up-and-coming Green Pea site if you haven't already! Maybe we can make them an international community. So, love 'em and link 'em!

Here's an adorable excerpt from one of the Corduroy Kid's latest posts regarding the group's Sunday "field trip" or search to find their new community center:

'we spied a distant shadowy figure in the romantic mist, standing by what looked like a plume of smoke coming out of a barrel. Someone was having a fire in the rain! I waved at the figure and gestured somehow (I forget exactly how) as if to say 'can we come in?'

To our enormous and palapable joy, he waved back, signalling for us to come round to the other side, near where we had originally parked the car. Great! I thought, this is it ~ it could only mean one thing, couldn't it? Squatters!

Excitedly, thinking this was our big break ~ we would easily now make friends with these lovely people, and then of course the rest would be history ~ I urged the others to run with me around the building, we were like puppies slipping and sliding with brollies akimbo, rushing to meet our new soon-to-be-best-friends.

Turned out of course that the individuals were, bizarrely, a somewhat well-dressed group of Romanians, paid to live in and look after the property to protect it from, you guessed it, squatters!'[for more go here]

Also see NewSov and RPMT for other revolutionizing visions.

Birthday Bliss

Happy Birthday Lisa D!!!!

:

I l.o.v.e. you!!!!

p.s. Feel da fiwa!

p.p.s. Notice how I didn't post any embarassing junior high pictures like you did to me? Well, that's because I'm nice... and because all of my really embarrassing pictures are in Lubbock at my mom's. (You totally lucked out today, sister.)

and

Happy Birthday Sarah Shugs!

:

I love you!

Keep the Putz in line for me and keep winning those poker games!

Happy Easter Memories

Enjoy this not-so-Easter song, "Shameless" by Ani DiFranco, as you read this post:

One of my favorite Easters of all time was the one when I went to Perry, Oklahoma with one of my favorite friends of all time, Carol B. This was another one of those goofy spur of the moment college trips that fit right in with the Roswell Alien Landing anniversary, and the moving sidewalk experience at the Shroud of the Virgin de Guadelupe(complete with twist top BVM head, the rest of her body filled with holy water). Several of us piled into a car and drove to Carol's parents house (which is actually two huge farm houses connected somehow) in the po-dunk, one horse town of Perry, OK.

Carol's family LOVES Easter, and every year her parents hide hundreds of plastic candy/prize filled eggs all over their very large farm. Everyone is then grouped by age and is sent out in waves for the hunt, littl'uns first, big'uns last. Also, there is one "grand prize" egg, which is HUGE (the size of a football) and is filled with extra goodies. You never know where the big egg will be! One time it was even buried!!

During this particular trip, I remember that Carol wanted us to attend the sunrise Easter service. She came running into the room at something like 4:00 AM and took a flying leap onto the bed I was sharing with my friend, Corrie. Carol was yelling, "He is risen! He is risen! The Lord is risen!!!" with arms and elbows and knees flailing. Too many bodies! Panic! Then came the steam-roller! Too many bodies! Choke, sputter, shock.

That has to be one of the worst ways to be woken up. Seriously, Carol!! Happy Easter, indeed!

Nevertheless we all threw on warm clothes and went to the outside sunrise service, my first and only, where we celebrated the miracle of the resurrection with whispered praise, all snuggled together in a moment that would always be remembered, and we were grateful to see the beauty of a sunrise with people we loved.

Also, from that trip, I remember eating at the famous Eskimo Joe's in Stillwater.

I remember playing the "heads on stomach laughing game", four of us laughing ourselves into content sleepiness and we actually did fall asleep. We took a long nap in our little dog pile outside on the grass in the warm sunshine.

I remember performing a Vaudeville song and dance routine for a cluster of cows who watched the whole number, paused, then turned all at the same moment and ran away in disgust! How rude! They should've been applauding. Really. When was the last time they actually had a vaudevillian act performed especially for them? Dude. Cows suck!

I remember four-wheelers, a trampoline, country breakfasts, and just being still. It was an AMAZING, restful trip!

Happy Easter, everyone!

St. Pat's Recap- A Little Late

Last Saturday was St. Patrick's Day, and because I am a gluttonous, asshole American, that means one should wear green, enjoy a local parade, and go to directly to the pub. True to form, we (Tom, Pat, Amanda, Ella, Rich, and I) all wore green, we drove past people who went to the parade (seriously, who wants to go to a crappy parade when you can go directly to the pub?), and we did, in fact, end up at a pub.

This year we found ourselves (by chance because our favorite pub was too crowded) at the Idle Rich Pub in Dallas where we threw down on "Irish" food and libations. Foodwise, Shepherd's pie, a Reuben, and some fish 'n chips graced our table. For drink, I stuck with the priest's collar (aka Guiness and cider, sometimes called a snakebite here in the flatlands) while the boys went for straight up Guiness (which is now owned by the English! (gasp!) Damn you, England! (shaking fist aggressively!))* Nonetheless, we pretended that it was all very Irish.)

We wore green beads (not to be confused with Mardegras beads, though Ella did help me flash the entire pub, which is better than flashing Open House, but whatever... Where are my frickin' beads from that occasion?), listened to bagpipe music and U2, said "och!" a lot, and used Mc and O' in front of all nouns.

After the pub, Rich and I headed to Ft. Worth to the Fougses house for not so Irish pizza and a movie. We watched The Departed which was actually very Irish, and for which Scorsese won his academy award this year. It was a really good movie and had an A++ cast.

All in all it was a really fun day! Thanks friends!

* Not really, England. I love you, though I realize our relationship is often hot and cold. I need you to be nice to me since I'm coming to visit you in 2 1/2 months! In return I promise to be nice to you. Deal? Please don't kill/maim/otherwise injure me with your trains and veggies, and spongey grass! Please!

Dear Mitzi,

I miss you.

It's been several years since we literally spoke to each other, and that last conversation was profoundly important to me. I remember that it was a phone conversation at the beginning of February and that you were calling to talk about one of the most important people in your life about whom you were deeply concerned. Until that conversation, I don't think we had spoken in a while. At the time it felt random that you called - not because we couldn't converse, but because it didn't matter how far apart we were; we were who we were to each other and we didn't need to have words to know the value of our relationship (though I so regret that I didn't call you more). In that conversation, I remember that your words were encouraging and uplifting to me, as they always had been, even when you were scolding me as a kid. How did you do that?

But we ended that conversation with an "I love you." And that "I love you" is oxygen to me. Especially today. There are some things I need to tell you today.

First and foremost, thank you for giving me one of my best friends on the planet. Thank you for lifting me over that stupid rock fence that day, when I was four and she was three.

Thank you for being a mentor to me and for being a beautiful role model, especially in my profession. I remember that when I was looking for a teaching job I called El Paso ISD and I mentioned your name. They asked me when I could start - just. like. that. - without an interview.

Thank you for helping me to feel loved, especially when I didn't think I was worth the effort.

Thanks for letting me sneak over to your house to watch Three's Company, and when I needed to get away from the circumstance at my house.. Thanks for being a safety net. In fact you were the one who told me to go home on the night that we both knew would change my life forever. I saw that you knew. I felt like it would be OK, no matter what, just in that one glance when you told me I needed to go home. The tone of your voice and your eyes said that you knew, and that it would be OK.

Thank you for including me in your family. Thank you for kissing me like you kissed your daughters. Thanks for assuming that I would be at all of the family gatherings even though I technically wasn't family.

Thank you for making me giggle, and for getting on to me for singing "Like a Virgin" when I didn't know what that meant.

Thanks for allowing your husband to buy the clapper and for not getting on to him for clapping fifty thousand times before the TV went off at night, a circumstance that made me laugh until my insides hurt on the many occasions I spent the night at your house.

Thank you for letting me make your casket arrangement, an effort that was both healing and communal. It still is the most beautiful flower arrangement I've ever made.

Thank you for letting me hear your voice one last time at your service. And I did. I heard your voice among the choir. You knew I needed that.

You're still here with me sometimes. Thank you for that, because I still need you.

I miss you. You were an amazing human being!

I'm so, so lucky that I got to have you in my life.

WTF-C!?

So, the other night when the compadres (Fougs, Jamie, Rich, and I) set forth on our monthly expedition to the salon, our minds completely focused on the seriousness of the topics we would soon be discussing with other, more mature and enlightened members of the metroplex - as we were contemplatively and silently gliding (well, the boys were more like striding, and come to think of it, so was Fougs; it doesn't matter) to our vehicle*, we all ran into a brick wall of utter astonishment! Something was blocking our tread. Unable to comprehend the sight before us, we all simply stopped. We stared. We stood there some more. We were silent. Our mouths could not catch up to our brains and we stood there, yes, silently.

And then a wave of hilarity swallowed us whole, all at the same time and we were paralyzed with laughter - the kind that makes you cry a little, and leaves you gasping for air. What seemed like 10 minutes of laughter continued until someone got the camera. This is what stunned us:

Here, in suburbia in Metroplex, America, a chicken was standing in our yard. I realize that I live in Texas and that my town might be considered an Ag town, but I live by a highway. Literally, it's in the backyard. We were heading to the salon in downtown. We have museums and plays and culture and poetry - bright lights, malls, marquees, and Ikea.

The chicken, according to one of us (who shall remain nameless), turned to attack. I personally only saw the chicken run from us, as chickens are wont to do, but whatever.




In fact we weren't sure we were really seeing it, so we followed it (Jamie chose to walk like the chicken in an effort to lure it to him (?)-uh, to entertain it(?)- to communicate(?) what the hell, Jamie?) to the neighbor's yard, salon be damned! Maybe it was a ghost chicken!




The question remains. How did a chicken wander into our front yard? Look what it did to us, especially at the salon!

Christine is saying, "Stuff like this only happens while I'm around Ginger."

(sorry about the shaky cam, but I was laughing and shooting-pictures- at the same time)

All night we had the "there was a chicken in the yard" gleam in our eyes. It affected some more than others.

Especially Jamie..

*probably we were making fart jokes and tripping off of the porch step, but I'm trying to set a mood here

Caulking a Habitat

So, I'm tired of constantly bitching about the state of the world, playing at philosophy, and fencing over politics ("No Dartanian. This is completely unacceptable. If you say one more thing about the bullies of the West, then I'll... Well, I'll just lightly slap your cheek with my glove,...you!" and something about an impotent epee).
(sigh)
I am constantly preaching about acting - actually getting my hands dirty-instead of talking, but that's it. I preach it and then beat the hell out of myself for not actually going out and doing. In Candide, Voltaire says that we, all mankind, should go and WORK in the garden -a metaphor for our world- in order to cure humanity's greatest vices and in order to live fruitful, fulfilling lives. (oops philosophy!)

I actually and finally(!) listened to myself and to Voltaire (or at least I found time during the holiday break to listen) and signed up for Habitat for Humanity with some of my co-workers/friends. Unbeknownst to me, my sister twin also signed-up, so we decided to bring our significant others and make an event of it.

Here's how it went down:

The morning arrived sooner than we anticipated (at exactly 5 freaking o'clock), but we got-up and got dressed in our clever, clever t-shirts:

(Believe me, this was the most PG idea we had for our slogan. You try using the word caulk in a clever way, and you'll quickly see the dilemma)

Then we went for a Burger King breakfast and headed to the habitat. There we met some sincerely genuine people - ones who make it their life goal to act instead of talk. I learned a lot of practical tidbits today: Sodding is harder than it looks (another slew of clever t- shirt slogans come to mind);

painting while balancing on a roof is not as difficult as painting with the back of your head, using your fine, baby soft hair as a paint brush; window cleaning when the wind is blowing can create a unique art medium, full wheelbarrows work better if you run with them in a chaotic, serpentine/zig -zag manner; machetes - well, you should just get out of the way of a person wielding one; etc.

Mostly, though, I was reminded about doing good deeds outside of my comfort zone. Also, people are good, people are good, people are good, and the world is made up of good people.

I have to do this more often. And so should you...


Bonus pics:

Here's Fougs working in the the garden, literally and figuratively

The cocky caulky bastards

Me, tired, but in a good way.