I am Not the Devil

But I did go down to Georgia.

Kelly talked me into it. (You know, Kelly, the one in the Brave's hat.) Kelly is convinced that I suffer from self-imposed social impairment. (No, I have classes most weekends and 2 little girls. Anyway...)

His mission, from all the way in Atlanta, is to get me out of the house. He once talked me into calling up a guy here in L-town that I only know in passing to ask him to go to a play after my "date" cancelled on me. (That was a bust, I was embarrassed, but Kelly called it progress.)

He started on me as soon as he found out the girls were going to Myrtle Beach with G & V this week. I told him "no" a dozen times...

Me: Kelly, it's a five hour drive!

Other Kelly: I know you've spent 5 hours or more driving in one day when we worked for NFIB!

If I did come, I could only stay one day.

Yeah, but when are you going to have another chance? One day is better than no day.

It's impractical.

If you keep waiting for practical you'll never go anywhere!

What will your girlfriend think?

She won't care!

I can't afford it.

Don't worry about that, I got it.

I need a pedicure.

We'll do that first thing!

We?

Yeah, I'll get one too, it'll be fun.

On that last one, I figured he REALLY wanted me to visit... but I was still saying no.

Then Friday night/Saturday morning his girlfriend broke up with him. I figured I might as well go. If I didn't, I'd still be spending most of Sunday and Monday on the phone listening to him rehashing the whole relationship and break-up. I wouldn't get anything practical done around here, anyway.

Listening when he needs me to, what I do. That's my contribution to the friendship. Since this blog will tell you what a great friend he is, I figured I'd take this opportunity to throw that in to defend myself. I really do try to pull my weight, friendship-wise. I might even be worth all the nice stuff he did for me.

I set out Sunday morning with idea that this trip would be great to blog about. I was going to make one of those really cute blog-travel-stories I've seen in other people's blogs, complete with pictures. The following is my attempt at that...  Sort of.

Kermit and the Trip Down

Since this would be Kermit's first long trip, I figured it would be a good time to check out how many miles per gallon he'd really get. I kept going after I probably should have already pulled over for gas. I was trying to get the "trip" odometer to an even 300 miles.

I kept thinking, "Boy that gauge says the gas is really low, I wonder why the light hasn't come on..."

If you'll notice, the little gas thingy over on the gas gauge is not lit. Turns
out, it does not light. Now, if you'll look to the left, you'll see that
the gas thingy in the RPM gauge WAS lit... for who knows how long?

Kermit got right at 20 mpg on this trip... less than I had hoped, but better than Daisy would have, so I'm not complaining. Daisy would have keeled over right outside LaFayette. I suppose it would have made getting a picture of the sign easier. The picture below is one of about 5 attempts.

I wanted to get a picture of the LaFayette sign for Daddy,
mostly cause they messed up and didn't spell his name right. 

Right about here (see below) is where I started realizing how little I get out these days. In college I used to go visit Chelle in Columbus, on roads arguably at least as confusing as Atlanta, and I didn't worry. Why is it that, as we age, we lose that sense of invincibility? I accidentally drove past my exit and nearly had a nervous breakdown...

This is I-75 coming into Atlanta. No, I did not properly  frame
the picture. I was too tense from driving in 6 lanes of traffic.

I arrived in Atlanta between 1 and 2 pm. Kelly had me meet him at Cumberland Mall. I was nervous and intimidated, by the whole thing, though I'm not sure why. I hadn't seen him face to face in a while, but this is Kelly: I talk to him almost every day. So yeah, maybe he's right, I really need to get out more.

New Food

He took me to PF Chang's for lunch, since I had never been there. It seemed pretty fancy for lunch to me, but as I was sitting there (feeling a bit like a bumpkin) I realized that several years ago I wouldn't have been even a little uncomfortable. We told our waitress how I was visiting from out of town, blah blah blah. He ordered seared Ahi tuna (read: almost-but-not-quite raw) so I could try it. (Delicious.) The waitress even sensed how out-of-place I felt.

She commented, "That's really sweet."

"What is?"

"He's taking care of you."

Which is the kind of friend Kelly is.

And so the stage was set for Kelly's (Braves-hat Kelly's) plans for my visit: an exercise in taking this Kelly (that would be me) out of her comfort zone but keeping just enough of the familiar that she'll go along with it. From there we went to the mall nail salon, and true to his word, Kelly got a pedicure, too.

In counseling, we'd say he was "modeling a behavior" for me: Willingness to Try New Things.

Having my feet massaged did help me relax, and watching his (pedicurist?) made me laugh. Every time Kelly said something about how good his chair felt, the little Asian lady who was working on his feet looked at me and made a funny face. She cracked me up.

From there, Kelly led me through Atlanta to drop my things off at his place (actually in Decatur, he just moved there last week), have a beer and head right back out.

I was actually trying to get a shot of the really cool building
but before  I could zoom in the light turned green. That's
Kelly's truck turning ahead of me.

New Beverages

We went to Twain's Billiards and Tap. (Could a pub's name possibly sound more like a place I'd love? I think not.) In keeping with the outside-but-inside-my-comfort-zone theme, my new thing to try was crafted ales, but surrounded by the familiarity of pool tables.

This was brilliance on Kelly's part. Let me get my stick in my hand, shoot a couple games, get "into stroke" and I'm comfortable no matter where I am. He picked Mad Happy Pale Ale for me and after I'd had a couple I was completely relaxed and my game was ON. I ran over Kelly like a Mack Truck. (No shame to Kelly there, he doesn't play, and I don't think he much cared. He's awesome like that).

He finally asked the guy practicing on the table next to us if he wanted to play me. An older fella practicing all alone, Kelly and I figured he'd beat me, but I ran over him too. Maybe he was letting me win... those beers had a little bit higher alcohol content and I had three or four so I wouldn't have noticed... but Wendy, if you're reading, tell Richie I shot like God on the pool table. He'll know. Even if I had lost, as "in stroke" as my game felt, it would still have been a win. When we left any nervousness I had felt was gone.

New Goofiness

From there we went back to Kelly's to get blankets and went right back out. First we stopped for snacks, then headed here:

This is the one major park where my family camped several different times as I was growing up, and in keeping with the theme, something familiar, even if I hadn't been there in 25 years. Stone Mountain is the largest piece of granite in the world, and features a huge carving on the side of figures from the confederacy side of the Civil War. At night, they project a huge laser show onto and over the carving. (I'm sure there are samples of it on youtube.) Lots more interesting information about Stone Mountain, especially the history, here.

To give you some perspective, I've seen a photo of a man
 sitting in Robert E. Lee's ear.

People bring blankets and chairs and wait on a grassy hill in front of the mountain for the show to start. There is constantly music blaring from the speakers up until, during, and even for a bit after, the light show.

Down at the bottom of the hill there are always lots of kids
playing and dancing. The girls in the picture are doing
some kind of dance to "All the Single Ladies."

AGAIN, Kelly made me step out of my comfort zone. Somewhere, in some camera belonging to someone I don't know, theres a picture of the two Kellys doing "The Chicken Dance." If I hadn't gotten up with him he would have been standing there beside me, Chicken-dancing all alone, and somehow that would have been worse.

I still haven't mastered the art of taking a picture of myself
with someone else in the picture. If you look between us you
 can get something of an idea of the number of people spread
out all over this hill. Plus I had to post this picture because
Kelly looks almost maniacal in it. Serves him right for making
 me do the Chicken Dance.

If going to the laser show had been the only thing we did, the whole trip would still have been worth the drive. The finale featured a huge fireworks display and I knew I was sitting there, mouth agape, fascinated with the whole thing and looking like a big goober... but by this time I didn't care. After the fireworks, we just sat there on the blanket and let everyone else clear out. It's amazing the simple joy of just sitting outside on a warm night with a great friend to chat with.

More New Food And Beverage

BUT wait! There's more! (And at this point I'm thinking "Whaaaa? You know I turn into a pumpkin at midnight, right?")

From there we headed to a little strip of pubs right across from the courthouse in Decatur. For those of you who remember the hey-day of First Street in Richmond, it was extremely similar, right down to the parking strip in the middle between the courthouse and the pubs. The big differences were that the bars were a little nicer, and there was outdoor seating in front of all of them. First we went to The Brick Store pub, where Kelly decided I needed to try a little "hoppier" beer. Since I really enjoyed the one from Twain's I tried another pale ale, Belgian this time. I liked this one, but it didn't make me nearly as "hoppy" as the one at Twain's. I thought the one Kelly picked for himself was Yuck-o, but we don't develop new tastes all in one day, so I'm told. We nursed those beers pretty slowly.

When we finished, I was starving, so we walked over to Zucca Bar and Pizzeria (second from the left in the picture in the link) and ordered a couple slices to-go. Since the order took a long time, we sat listening to reggae, people-watching and making predictions/guesses about the relationships of the people around us. On beyond the front bar there were booths on either side of the room, and some girls got up and started dancing in the middle. I should have known better than to point this out to Kelly... we had to go join them.

I really needed all the stuff Kelly got me to do to get a little more outside myself. I've become stodgy. Way back, getting up and dancing to reggae in a bar with no dance floor would have been MY idea.

We finally arrived back at his place to eat our pizza (Which was the bomb-diggity pizza, just sayin'.) at around 2. Of course, new apartment, the only thing he had to drink with the pizza was beer. I re-read this and we sound like The Kelly & Kelly Lush's Show, so let me say we never actually reached "drunk" at any time during the day. However, the combination of "I'm never up this late and I almost never get a chance to drink beer" got the better of me and I crashed on the futon, probably mid-sentence.

So that was my day, Sunday. It was almost surreal. When the girls aren't home I spend the bulk of the time  by myself. I get so caught up in the things I NEED to do, "fun" (unless it was something for the girls) wasn't something I would plan for. "Fun" has been something that happened almost by accident on the way through the responsibilities of life.

Of all the new things Kelly made me try, to me the most fascinating was simply having "fun" be the goal all day long:

"Wow, that was cool, what's the NEXT fun thing we can go do?"

Adventures in Bathing

Kelly had an errand to run Monday morning, so I woke up hearing the water in the shower turning on, off again, on again, off again, on again. Huh?

Did I mention Kelly just moved to this place? Or that the gas hasn't been turned on yet, so there's no hot water?  I figured out why I'd been hearing the on again, off again... Get hair wet, turn the water off. Shampoo. Rinse. Turn the water off again. Soap up. Rinse. I was really glad he was out running errands when I got in the shower... being able to howl loudly almost made the cold bearable.


With that title, you were thinking that paragraph was going to be about something else, weren't you? Tsk tsk tsk. Aren't you ashamed of yourself!

Heading Home

He got back, we headed out for coffee and breakfast/lunch, then just hung out at his house for a while longer before I got on the road. Busy running around was great, but so was sitting around talking. I bet I thanked him a million times. I hope he knows how grateful I am, not just for the day, but to have friend like him to orchestrate such a day for me. (If he doesn't he can read it here, huh?) I finally headed out around 2:30.

Tried one more time to get a picture of the really cool
building. I still don't know what it was.

Leaving Atlanta

The trip back was long and uneventful and I spent a lot of it wishing I had taken more pictures.

But I did finally get a picture of a LaFayette sign!

The Welcome Home sign though? Not so much.

Whew!

And the Winner Is...

Dear old Uncle Fred!

It turns out the new vehicle is a boy.

As it said in Fred's entry, his name is Kermit, because, "It's not easy being green."

First prize is dinner for two at Casa del Kelly the next time Fred and his lovely bride Shawna head to Southeast Kentucky. 

Many thanks to Cassie, Wayne, Stephanie, Wendy, Terre, and Tammy for your ideas! It was a tough choice, we liked all of them!

Make My Machine's Moniker (Please?)

Woo hoo!

I replaced Daisy yesterday. (Well, technically I replaced Daisy and Kitty both.)

The new vehicle is nicer than I imagined she'd be. MUCH nicer. She's not "new" new, but new enough to me that I feel like I won the lottery. Problem is, I didn't win the lottery. I committed to a figure about 30% higher than the one I had mentally set as my top dollar...

BUT, I really couldn't help it. I think God wanted me to have her. That, or the devil stuck her in front of me for temptation and I failed miserably. Either way it's divine intervention and therefore "less" my fault if it was an unwise choice. (I told you I hate making big decisions.) It's a long story, but I ended up having to make 5 trips past a certain dealership yesterday morning instead of my usual 2 trips. And she kept jumping out at me:

"Kellllllll-eeeeeee here I am! Waiting. Just. For. YOU!"

This whole vehicle replacement thing's been a struggle  for me. I needed something used, (bring the price down); but dependable, so looking for lower miles (take the price right back up); probably a low-mpg type sedan but maybe a coupe, (bring the price down); but I hate short cars and try as I might can't even force myself to like one model over another (bring the price right back up.)

I didn't want to borrow money (which would mean the price would have to go WAY down... along with the quality of the vehicle in question), but the whole point of shopping was for "dependable." "Dependable" would also mean something that would last me a while. It just broke my heart to think, I might doom myself to several years of driving something I despised. (Which meant, bring the price, and the possibility of borrowed-money option, RIGHT BACK UP.)

So, again, I ended up purchasing something more expensive than I planned. (sigh). But I LOVE her! :)

She's a 2006 Ford Escape. XLT package. V-6. Overdrive. 18/23 mpg. Sage Green. Tilt. Cruise. Leather Seats. Six CD changer. Electric everything. Four doors, no more climbing over seats for the girls.

Isn't she beautiful?

She doesn't have a bad side.
( I would have taken a picture from the back, but she's modest.)

She doesn't have a name. P.D., B.B. and I  brainstormed for quite some time for one yesterday but didn't come up with anything we liked.

Deat and I often used alliteration with the make- or model-name, but not always.
Examples:

• Sally - Deat's Mustang "Mustang Sally"
• Rachel - my Ram 50
• Fritz - (the only boy) Deat's Chryler Sebring. Deat got the name from some comment I made about his using German stealth to get me to agree to the purchase.
• GertieMac - my GMC Sonoma. Don't look at me, Deat named her.
• Daisy - my Dodge Dakota
• Kitty - the Buick Riviera. There's the link to the post explaining her name. To save you time, she had a Supercharger, and her name came from the adrenaline rush I'd get when I'd step down on the accelerator and her motor awakened from her typical almost inaudible purr to her quietly powerful roar. (Man, I loved that!)

This is where you, dear reader, come in. PLEASE HELP!

The JKH Vehicle Naming Contest

The only rule is the same vehicle-naming rule we followed: you must give a reason for your choice, and it can't be "just because I like the name."   The alliteration trick is fine. Hopefully her specs and the examples above will help you. The girls and I will vote to pick our favorite entry, hopefully before G & V whisk them off to the beach Sunday morning. 

Please use the comments section of this post for your entry. You may enter more than once (mostly because I'm terrified that we'll have very few entries and have to name her something we don't like).

We don't know what kind of prize to offer, so we'll discuss that later. Remember, we're poor, we spent all our money yesterday.

Living the Dream

Last night I had a surreal dream about Kirk. I remember thinking as I was dreaming, "I should blog about this."

Then the dream moved into sitting in front of my keyboard blogging about the dream. And I remember thinking, "I should blog about dreaming about blogging about dreaming."

So, I did.

That's that.

Forbidden Love

Have I mentioned I hate big decisions? I do. What a REALLY hate are the conversations six months later.

"I wish I had zigged. If I only had zigged instead of zagged..."

(Oh, you noticed that I started this post with an "I hate.."?  Why yes, I am still smoke-free, why do you ask?)

We are now entering the standard "Big Long Story" portion of the post: the part that exists to befuddle you before we tie the opening statement and the title all together at the end. You may proceed.

Daisy the Dakota is dying, a slow and painful death. A couple of months ago, I noticed anytime Daisy idled (for instance, at a stoplight) her oil pressure gauge dropped to nothing. I've had her looked at twice for that, with various parts changed to no avail. Now, I just rev Daisy to keep her oil pressure up instead of allowing her to idle. The people ahead of me in the Mickey D's drive-thru LOVE when I do that!

Last week (on the one day it didn't rain) I turned on her air conditioning for the first time this year. I watched her temperature gauge immediately rush to the danger zone. Fortunately, we weren't far from home and when I turned her heater on it dropped again; the girls and I only had to play mobile sauna for about a mile.

And, Monday, she reminded me that wet weather just DOES NOT suit her; she died in the parking lot at P.D.'s school. She made all those teasing noises that say "If you'll just keep trying to start me, I might just go..." as behooves her sadistic tendencies. Of course, this was before I got B.B. dropped off, and only 45 minutes before my scheduled follow-up meeting in C-town for a THE internship... the one that is far more amazing than any I imagined I would be lucky enough to land... the one where the supervisor-to-be (The MC) specified in our previous meeting that I'd need reliable transportation.

Of course, I did what any resourceful single mom with all the emotional control of a counselor-to-be would do in this situation: I proceeded straight to my much-deserved nervous breakdown; then called Sabrina crying hysterically. Sabrina was able to decipher enough of my gibberish to come and get us, take me to drop off B.B., and calm me down enough to notify The MC that I'd be about 20 minutes late. She even thought to bring a book to read so she wouldn't be bored during my meeting.

God loves me. He gave me Sabrina.

As we drove to C-town, we discussed my need to buy something reliable. I told Sabrina I began looking the Friday before, after my first meeting with Mr. F (edit: now known as The MC). I whined about having such a hard time finding something I could afford without mega-miles on the odometer. She asked me what I had priced, then stopped me.

"Kelly, those are all trucks."

"Uh, yeah."

"Why haven't you looked at any cars?"

Because I drive a truck. I've driven a standard-shift truck, of one make or another, nearly my whole adult life. I belong in a truck. Really, would I look right in a sedan? A coupe? Pul-eeze. My truck is an extension of who I am.

Okay,  I learned to like Kitty, I learned to trust her. She was responsive and aimed to please. But she was an exception. I'd be okay if Kitty was still around, but even if Lying Lady had not lied, and her insurance company had paid, Kitty's repairs would cost more than her book value. I didn't think I'd find another Kitty.

Sabrina reminded me/enlightened me about a few things on our trip that day:

1. I, apparently, am such a boy!
   "You fix plumbing, you took apart your mower, you have your own tool-box. You talk about trucks the way most women talk about jewelry."
   Well, okay, yeah, I knew that. I'd much rather do the "honey-do's" than the housework.
   
   
2. "You need to get over the idea that you need a truck. Trucks are expensive to buy, and expensive to own. You need a car if for no other reason than the gas-mileage."
    Well, yeah, I knew that, too. Auto companies stopped making fuel-efficient trucks in the 90's.
   
   
3. Driving a person around who seldom rides with other people (and who has A.D.D. to boot) is much like driving around with Sabrina's Labrador in the front seat. Said person is used to watching the road, so when said person doesn't have to, said person's head zips around with a similar zeal.
   "Oooh, look at that! And that! And THAT!"
   Apparently, taking me places is quite amusing.

I accept Sabrina's assessments, and I at least told her I accepted # 2.

After my meeting, she took me to a car lot she recommended because she knew the owner was a stand-up guy. She waited in her car while I looked.

I even gave that older model red Grand Am serious consideration. I dickered with the salesman for a better deal (and, according to Sabrina, I am such a boy at negotiation too.) But then, the salesman had to mention it...

The 2003 F-150 extended cab that they were repairing at the shop up the street to get it ready to sell. Clean title. 93,000 miles.She booked for $8,000. Had a loan value of $6,800. Might be able to let me have it for $5,400.  You can go look at it if you like...

I got back in with Sabrina and tried to look nonchalant.

"I don't know about that car, Sabrina, I think I better let my father-in-law look at it..."

"Oh, stop, you forgot all about that car the second he mentioned that truck."

Sigh.

After lunch Sabrina took me back to Daisy who by this time was feeling much drier and more cooperative. I took Daisy straight my mechanic and insisted he check her distributor cap. Yep. Thirty minutes and fifty bucks  later we were back in business.

I tried not to think about that F-150, even as I was turning the wrong way (toward the car lot's shop. not home) out of my mechanic's.

I went to see her. She's beautiful. V-6 motor. A milky silver color. Supercab. Sport package. Two rear suicide doors that preserve her sleek lines. (I'm not into Crew Cabs.) Black bed cover. Lots of leg room up front, acceptable leg room in the back. Good stereo. Automatic transmission, but I can overlook that. Automatic windows. Keychain door locks. (I never had THOSE before!) I looked it up, she'd likely get 14 mpg in the city and 20 mpg on the highway...

I *could* make my route back and forth to my internship highway miles as much as possible...



She looks a lot like this one, but with a bed cover instead of that silly rack. I'd look good tooling around in that, no?

Yesterday I took her paperwork to run it by Perry, one of Deat's closest friends here in L-town. He said No.

Last night I called Pat the Wonder Brother and told him about her. He said No.

Tomorrow, I'll take G. and V. to see her so they can say no.

Mostly because I know I should, but I don't want to say no.

I've always secretly wanted an F-150, but it just does not appear to be in the cards for me. I'm going to have to say no.

I hate making big decisions because I have to be PRACTICAL.

But wouldn't "Felicity" be a nice name for her?

Lullabies and Ghosts

Tonight the little Bear let me rock her. It been a long time since she's wanted that. She EVEN let me hum and sing. I don't know what got into her, but she's completely cuddly and irresistible when these moods hit... I'm powerless to turn her down.

A little background: when Poods was a baby, Deat and I were woefully lacking in our knowledge of lullabies. We just didn't know any. So, we sang whatever came to mind.

If you can slow it down enough, just about anything becomes a lullaby. This is why (along with "Two Little Fishes and Five Loaves of Bread") my girls can adeptly sing "Jack 'O Diamonds" for anyone who will listen: 

If the ocean was whiskey and I was a duck, I'd dive to the bottom and never come up... yee haw...

Tonight I sang "Cockles and Mussels" (also known as "Molly Malone", lyrics are below the video) It must have been the first time she really paid attention to the words. She was struck with a sudden bout of overwhelming empathy.

When I got to the final verse, and finished, her eyes became very big, she teared up a little, and said, "Did the Momma die?"

(I never imagined Molly Malone as a "Momma," but okay...)

"Yes, honey, I suppose she did."

(Eyes more concerned, even larger) "Did they have a Daddy?"

Suspecting her worry was about being left "alone", I replied, "Yes honey, and he took very good care of them."

This seemed to soothe her, and she settled right back down. 

Moments like those used to tear me to shreds, and I would become a completely unhinged weepy mess... until she became older and I recognized that the little Bear was learning to yank my chain with it. Her favorite ploy became to cry loudly, "DADDY!" every time she was in trouble.

Yes, initially, she was missing him. But, like most little ones, B.B. paid attention to others' reactions to her behaviors, and quickly learned to use those reactions to manipulate situations to her advantage. She figured out that crying for Daddy instantly got her out of whatever scrape she was in.

Once I learned to keep my emotions in check at such statements, she persisted for awhile, but she eventually quit using them to get her way, or to distract me from a misbehavior, or to accomplish whatever ulterior motive du jour she had going. The days of using "Daddy's name in vain" are long past.

He's been gone over half her life. I don't think she "remembers" him in any concrete way, but I think she feels a loss of him just the same. After the song, she launched into an explanation of how her Daddy could look into the windows and see her, but she couldn't see him. I never offered this concept to her, but I wasn't surprised by it. B.B. has explained many concepts of death to me that she's gleaned from various sources over the years, some from obviously well-meaning folk, but I'd just as soon some of them had left the explaining to me. 

For example: early on, someone told  little 2 year-old B.B. that her Daddy had gone to live at "Jesus's House." That's a really nice sentiment, but to a 2 year-old, it meant that her Daddy had abandoned her to go live with this Jesus guy, this guy who up until then, had seemed like a pretty good dude. For some time there, B.B. was REALLY ticked off about this "Jesus House" place. Why was it so great that Daddy would stay there and wouldn't come home? 

As she got older, it almost became comical. B.B. would say, "Mommy go work. Sissy go big school. Daddy at....JE-SUS HOUSE!" yelling the hated place with all the ticked off derision a 2 year-old can muster. I think she's forgotten that now... Jesus seems like a pretty good guy to her again. Still, if I need a good private joke snicker out of her sister, saying "JESUS HOUSE!" in my best ticked off voice always elicits a chuckle. That may not make sense to some. I suppose to us it's like a badge of honor: P.D. and I survived, and helped B.B. survive together.

I'm not sure that our loved ones "watch over us" after they're gone. I don't think the Bible says they pay attention to what's going on here on earth. (if I'm wrong, somebody tell me.) I know there have been times when I've really hoped Deat wasn't watching me, but there have also been times when I've really hoped he was. I'm not sure where B.B. got the "Daddy in the window" theory, but for now, this idea seems to comfort her, so I think I'll let her keep it for awhile.

We're doing okay. I think we've adjusted well over the past 3 years to our "just the three of us" lives. Sometimes, though, his presence is still felt. Sometimes, his absence is too.

She concluded her explanation with, "I miss Daddy."

"Me too, baby, me too."

Deat's Favorite Lullaby:

(don't forget to turn the player on the right off).

Best Thing About Mother's Day? The People Who Call Me Their Mother.

This is what I woke to this morning.

Not the drawing, but the scene the drawing depicts. More or less. Leaning closer to the more and farther away from the less..

So there was milk and juice in place of coffee. And no vase. And a bagel in place of the breakfast depicted. (With a tub of cream cheese and a line of jelly jars a mile long!) The scenes, the real and the one depicted, could not be more beautiful to me.

My girls are the greatest. I will brag on B.B another day, but today, P.D., once again, has blown me away. She drew this in school.

I love the hair depicted on the shoulders in the drawing, falling exactly where hers does. I love the the framed note and the place card. I love that she put "PJ's" on her pjs in the drawing, but with the "P" blocked by the vase. I love the coffee cup... with the "Mama" on it just like my favorite coffee cup.

I love that at age nine she can create better, more visually appealing art than I can at forty (or could in a lifetime, for that matter.). I love that she has a talent that I can't begin to take any credit for.

She also trotted out her purchases from earlier in the week. A really pretty wire basket filled with mini-Reese's cups (one of my favorite kinds of candy), a can of cashews (she explained that she couldn't find macadamias) and small can of Danish cookies (because they just "looked like" something I'd like).

Gee, I hope I can live up to this person who loves me this much. It's real inspiration to keep trying.




Addition: B.B. just came up to me shaking out her piggy bank and gave me 16 cents, everything that was in it.

I looked at her, "You're PAYING me?"

"No, I'm just giving you money because it's Mother's Day..."

I hope I'm worth B.B.'s last cent, too.

Random bin Laden and Pirates... Just staying with a theme here...

This article:
Al Qaeda Confirms bin Laden's Death: Group's Ominous Warning for the US


Kinda gave me chills this morning. It included this picture:




Then again, I had this to watch as well (don't forget to turn off the player on the right if you want to watch):



Is it just me, or do bin Laden and Benny the Pirate bear a striking resemblance?

Probably just me.

Special Post For My Theatre Babies

Good news! It looks like the current Gusto production may not be the last one after all!

After our sad announcement on Saturday, I promised the Theatre Babies I'd put their names in my blog. If you'll look in my page list to the right, you'll see I didn't only give them a post, I gave them their very own page.

Notes to the Theatre Babies Who Read My Blog:

1. The listings on the Theatre Babies page are in no particular order, except that the babies with my name on their birth certificates came first. These are the two who will be stuck with caring for me in my old age, so I have to butter them up.
   
   
2. I love you guys equally!!! (Though, I might be persuaded to actually name a favorite for $100,000.00 in small, unmarked bills.)
   
   
3. This was really hard to do! If anybody thinks of someone I left out, or has a last initial for anyone I couldn't remember, PLEASE message me with it. If you like, you can put it in the comments here, I'll fix it.
   
   
4. Yes, I know I included the names of kids who don't come to our theatre anymore and for whatever reasons, have chosen to wish the Gusto ill and/or to speak poorly about it. 
   
   Bottom line, while each of those kids was with us, I loved him or her and still do. While we might never be all together again, the healing has to start somewhere. I'm not going to stop caring about a kid because of his or her choices, or even pretend I would. I wouldn't do that to any of you.
   
   I'm an adult. (Though I fake it pretty good for you guys.) When you're an adult and grow to love a kid who isn't technically your own, you'll "get it".
   
   
5. If you have questions or complaints about this list, please know you can certainly come to me and I'll listen, and explain as best I can. I only ask that you be polite, as I would be to you. (Besides, I haven't had a cigarette in over 72 hours. Getting rude with Kelly while she's on the prowl for a head to bite off is not the best idea!)
   
   
6. LOVE LOVE LOVE you guys!

bin Laden's Dead and I Want a Cigarette

I didn't plan to blog today. I mean, I don't want my readers to get the idea I'm consistent or anything.. But it's something of a monumental day, so I figured I had better say something. 

Osama bin Laden is dead. I will say, I was surprised by the sheer volume of jubilation I found over on Facebook and throughout the news. I neither lament nor celebrate this event. After all these years I'm a bit numb to it.

Nonetheless, when I remember September 11, and as we all remember, where I was and what my thoughts were... I think I would have rather he come to trial and answered for his crimes. If it had to end this way I think I still agree with Capricorn Cringe over on The Friggin' Cat House,  "I’m glad we didn’t drop a bomb on his head. I’m glad he went out shooting, because that means he knew exactly what was happening and who was doing it. And why." 

I do wonder, will his death make us safer or incite more violence? We shall see.

Right Turn, Clyde. (Start at 1:20.)

In other news: I started using my Nicorette gum today. B.B. hasn't felt well, I ran out of cigarettes around lunch time and didn't want to drag her out to buy more. The gum does keep the edge off, but offers none of the satisfaction of my habit. But, I've come this far; I might as well keep going.

So, I'm joining the ranks of non-smokers. I don't have to like it. I'm just doing it. I really don't have a desire to be a non-smoker. I'm not proud of myself... I'm really kinda pissy.  So much so, I'm actually using the word pissy in my blog and not cringing (much).

Please don't tell me you're proud of me, or send me big congratulatory notes. I hate this. If you make a big deal out of it, it could be just the impetus I need to go buy a pack... just to rebel against your joy. That's the kind of person I expect to be for a while. Consider yourself warned.

I just re-read the last two paragraphs. Maybe this gum doesn't really take as much edge off as I thought.

So again, don't be proud, don't congratulate, don't spread the news. Just forgive me for whatever I say the next time I talk to you and that will be plenty moral support for me.

ARG!

Authors Note: To the right you'll see a new addition to the blog, JKH Peeps, Places, Things. If you get lost in the post, references are all available there.

Tonight, my heart hurts.

Earlier today the girls had auditions for "The Lady Pirates of the Caribbean" (Another Henry Dowell original). When we arrived (uh, a few minutes late, again) the lobby of The Gusto was packed with the faces of my theatre babies, faces I've grown to love. Today, those faces were sad, some were teary-eyed.

Mr. Dowell was telling us that "Lady Pirates" would be our last production. Keeping a theatre open here in L-town was a challenge from the beginning. Ticket sales and support for our troupe just weren't enough to keep the doors open. Our "family," (and my family) would soon be without our second home. I'd known this day might come, but I didn't expect it to be so soon.

Hit Pause: I'm listening to the Boo Bear and her best friend, Samantha (Sabrina's daughter), saying "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep" with no prompting from me. That makes me smile. They just asked God to bless every one of their relatives, adding Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny at the end.

Hit Play: As I looked around, I saw so many kids that I'd had the pleasure of watching grow, mature and thrive at Gusto in the past year: Jonathan, one of our stars who really found his niche inside the Gusto's walls; Amber (Sabrina's oldest) whose lifelong flair for the dramatic had finally found a home; Valarie, who came to the Gusto reeling the recent loss of her grandmother and found a place to heal; Royce, whose heartfelt speech about the difference Gusto had made in his life at our awards party earlier in the year had us all nearly in tears; Zoe, our quiet little flower who bloomed into a beautiful fairy rose in our current production of "The Velveteen Rabbit"; The Velveteen Rabbit herself, P.D., who came there as an incredibly shy, quiet child, now playing the title character; little B.B., who was learning more about the value of teamwork and following directions with each production.

I ached for them, and I ache for me. Here in L-town, my "social involvement" had consisted of church, the events I attended with Deat, and visits with a few close friends. For some time after Deat's death, I had little desire to leave the house save for necessities. P.D.'s involvement meant my involvement; it got me out of the house and  played a  huge part of getting me back into life. Contributing to the productions, taking an interest in the kids off-stage, making new friends with Henry, Kelsey and too many great parents to name, helped solidify my healing and the healing of my whole family.

However, Mr. Dowell handled his sad announcement with grace. Auditions this afternoon were simple: each child was asked to get up and perform a song, a soliloquy, a speech or poem using his or her best "pirate voice." Our group dissolved into laughter over and over at the kids' efforts... some featuring our own private jokes, some simply hilarious in their renditions.

At least we have another month together. I, for one, plan to pack as much fun and love into our last month in our second home as possible, and to enjoy watching our kids act their hearts out in "Lady Pirates."

If we're gonna go out, at least we'll go out with Gusto, with a hearty "ARG!"