Malapropisms and Mixing Metaphors - My Forte

QueenMaker walks up behind me while I'm doing the "financials" for our accountant and says, "That's wrong.  It should be 58, not 56."

Me: "No honey. That is 58.  See it says 58."

QueenMaker: "Oh.  Are you sure?"

Me: "Yes."

QueenMaker: " Oh, I guess I read it wrong. How about that one.  It seems wrong.  Shouldn't that read 184?"

Me: "It does silly.  See?  Are you wearing your reading glasses?"

QueenMaker: "No."

Me: "Well, people without glasses should not cast the first verbal stone."

QueenMaker: "Huh?

Sugar Make You Go - Go Do Random Stuff

Well I've done it again.  My motor is revving and there is no stopping me now.  Let me see.  Let me count the sugary ways that somehow, randomly, don't know how it happened, got into my body.  

First:

Pies:  Loads of them.  From Thanksgiving forward, there are pies and cheesecakes. Pumpkin pie, pecan pie, apple pie, spinach pie, strawberry cheesecake, turtle cheesecake, all the way to New Years.

Second:

Cookies! Tons and tons of them. My mother in law who has been pretending she's been dying for the last six months, had her medication adjusted by her new nurse, greatly improving her quality of life. She feels more vibrant and can breath more easily. To prove it, she made eight gigantic batches of eight different kinds of the most delicious cookies.  But with whom can she share these fabulous mountain of cookies?  Me, of course!

More cookies! The mother of a student of mine sent in a gigantic tray of homemade cookies and muffins, along with handfuls of chocolates. The centerpiece was two caramel apples, one covered in white chocolate chips and the other in dark.  Do I have to eat them all?

Christmas Party for the kids at our school.  All the wonderful parents brought treats, cookies, cupcakes, cookies, sweet tamales, cookies, twizzlers, and cookies.

Third:

Chocolates:  Who gave me this ginormous bag of Ghirardelli Squares?  Hell, who gave me this other bag of Ghirardelli  squares?  People stop it!

Fourth:

Birthday Cakes:  Why does everyone in my family procreate in March?  Ladies are you so cold that you pretend to forgive your husband, or pretend to be asleep, or suddenly your headache is cured, so you can snuggle up close and grab some of that fiery furnace heat coming off your man? Ladies, that can only lead to one thing.You know what I'm saying. Consequently December babies are dropping left and right around here!

I proclaim that March is a NO SEX month! Who's with me?  Please family, I can't afford the birthdays and the baby Jesus' birthday too.  No. More. Cake.


Fifth:

Baklava:  My Birthday.  For most people, they get to wipe their brows and thank their stars that the holidays are over and all the food they have consumed over the past two months will soon find its way out of their systems. But each year for my birthday I get a half a tray of baklava. And. I. Eat. Them. Like. They're. Potato Chips.  So there's that.


So as my little nephew likes to say, "Sugar Make You Go." 
Took my nephew to school.
Went to the fruit/vegetable market.
Went to the school to work a couple of hours.
Cleaned my room. It was a mess.
Organized my sewing and craft room.
Created a marketing slash office slash budget slash personal goals slash, weight loss plan for the next six months. As a spreadsheet.
Called everyone and made appointments with everyone.
Took down both Christmas trees.
Made onion rings.
Talking a lot to anyone and no one.
Dancing down the decked halls.
Imparted great wisdom on the web.
Reviewed the latest Adult Education brochure that came in the mail. Circled some classes.
Colored my hair.
Updated my weekly and monthly calendar.
Completed some on-line banking.
Reorganized pictures for our web guy.
Rewrote copy - four pages worth.
Emailed my son three times. I kept forgetting to tell him stuff.
Cleared off every flat surface in the house.  Almost.
Visited with my sister, niece, and nephew.
Baked chocolate chip cookies.

Yes, I made chocolate chip cookies. But thankfully they're for my 21 year old niece for her birthday. She insists I make her a batch every year before she goes back to school. She's a December baby too. The love of cookies is strong in my family.

Did I eat some of those cookies? Only one from every batch that came out of the oven. Or only the ones that were almost burned or too brown to give away. Only a dozen or so. They're almost gone.

Anywho...

The accelerated particle collider gots nuthin' on me. I might create my own black-hole right here in the living room. So stand back. No really. Stand back.

I've got more to do and there's so little time. I suspect that this sugar high will last about another week or so and then I can relax again with the same lazy panache that is so my trademark.



So onward to the next thing, and then the next.  Go to Keely's and check out the list of randomness going on over there and get back to me later.

RTT: Household Workouts

Random Tuesday Thoughts is here.


Picking a room today and spending an hour in it.  Clean it, purge it, reorganize it.  I promise to stay in ONE room.

My cleaning style has always been go to go from room to room. For example, I find something that needs to go into the linen closet. Linen closet could use some work. Start working on linen closet. I notice towels are missing. Hit the laundry room to get towels, laundry room needs tidying up. Notice floor needs mopping. Start to mop.  And on and on and on.  All rooms always have that work in progress feel.

Today, ONE ROOM.


Speaking about cleaning.  I've taken a job cleaning a loft apartment in one of the trendier downtown districts. I usually go every other week. Unfortunately for me, all the surfaces are either glass, stainless steel, stone countertops, slate floors, stone and marble floors. Altogether a bitch to make it all shine. It takes me four hours minimum. I call it my workout. My body screams at me for days after it.


Speaking of body ache. I mentioned to Queen Maker that my body really ached from all that "exercise" cleaning that loft.  He says his body aches everyday because of his training and exercise regime. You mean that this is how you WANT to feel, all the time? No wonder no one sticks with exercise.


Speaking about getting exercise. Sister After Me asked me what my free time looked like. She has access to a lake and wants to buy a raft. She's looking for a partner to paddle around the lake for exercise and fun. Random thoughts popped into my head.

Panic, life preserver, holes, leaks, shrinking raft, feet not touching bottom, a yellow flotilla of death, shifting uncomfortably to one side then the other trying to maneuver an oar, wet butt.  The usual.

I think I'll pass.

Speaking about passing. I think it's time to pass the baton to the next blog at UnMom. So visit and read a while. It'll be a workout.

Life in the Slow Lane or I'm a Thriftiholic

Jen at the Spin Cycle is looking for tips and cost cutting measures that we could all use in these tough economic times.  So check out the Spins. It's one of the best freebies you will find. 


My thrifty ways comes from watching my mother stretch my dad's meager paycheck for fifty years.  She hoarded her pennies, made tough decisions, was a master of robbing Peter to pay Paul, and always prayed for forgiveness when she did it.

When I left my job some nine years ago, we had to manage on one income. So I returned to budgeting techniques I used when QueenMaker and I were first married.


1.  No car payments.  We buy only used cars.  Used cars that need only basic car insurance to cover.  No collision or replacement costs.


2. Money envelopes. I am amazed how well this works.  The insurance envelope, the credit card envelope, the taxes envelope, the luxury envelope.  I put a small amount of money in each envelope whenever I can.  In the luxury envelope I deposit only two or three dollars every once in a while. Even if I don't have the whole amount when the bill comes in, but I usually do, this method has been a tried and true friend to me.


3.  Stop going to restaurants.  QueenMaker and I love cuisine and went out to eat at least two or three times a week, plus a breakfast on the weekends.  Now we limit ourselves to once on Saturday because we both work until 1pm.  We are both starving and cranky so Saturday we go for a big lunch.   If a restaurants offers lunch specials on Saturdays, we're there.


4.  A cooperative and trusting partner.  When you are both on the same page it helps immensely.  QueenMaker and I came from the same background, impoverished. We didn't have a thirst for materials things.  Although this might backfire and has for many a couple, QueenMaker used to hand me his paycheck and I handed him an allowance.  In our early years he used to ask, "Can we afford this?"
I admit that he didn't really want to know about finances.  Lucky for him, I was a saver.

One time his mother admonished him for not knowing what I was doing with our money, the little busy body. So finally after six years together, he asked how much money do we have in the bank.  His eyes popped when I said ten thousand.  Well, I was saving for a down payment for a house.  His trust in me was vindicated and he never asked again.


5. Hand me down furniture.  My mother in law and several of my friends feel the need to change out their furniture more often than I think is practical.  Sometimes it doesn't fit right, or what they really wanted was a leather couch, or what was I thinking buying blue when I wanted black.  So I reap the benefits.  I haven't bought furniture in years.


6.  Never buy a cereal unless its on sale.  I never buy a grocery item unless its on sale. Occasionally I may give in and buy something at full price, but it always makes me feel better when I calculate the hundreds of times I've bought the item on sale.


7.  This is a recent one.  I now only take cash when I go to Sam's or Costco's.  I used to spend way too much in these stores.  Bulk buying is a trap.  Going with cash only has saved me hundreds of dollars.


8. No house payments.  I know this is a tough one.  But for the last twelve years, no house payments.  When we bought our house we were disciplined enough to know what we could afford as a monthly mortgage payment, not what the realtor or bank said we could afford. I didn't want the house to own me.  With my aversion to debt and by tightening our belts, I paid the fifteen year loan off in ten.

We never fell for the hype of making our home a commodity, to refinance for extra cash, to use my home as some kind of hidden savings account.  I do have an equity line on the house, but that is for emergencies only.  The bank kept pushing me to take a large home equity line, but I took a line half the value of my home.  Since I don't use it, no house payments.  But it has pulled me out of some tough situations in the past.


9. Driving.  No more multiple trips to the same area.  Shopping trips are planned with multiple stops to cut down mileage.  If I need to go to the cleaners, I hold off until I can hit the bank, post office, and my favorite fruit market.  My husband and I work in the same building.  We used to drive separately because he started an hour or so before me or let an hour after me.  Now I go in with him and utilize the extra time to read or work on a project or take a walk with a dear friend.



So there you have it.  Even without a car and house payment I get stressed about our cash flow which lets you know we are living on very little income as it is.  What's next?  Get rid of my health insurance. We're paying for that ourselves at $500 a month.  Just got word that our health insurance company has just been taken over by the state and may fold.  Yikes, an increase to $700 a month is the cheapest I can find. Got my house insurance bill as well.  It's gone up so that it matches my property taxes.  This just doesn't seem right.

It just doesn't stop, people.  Oh well, belts will be worn tighter this year.

RTT: The Pendulum Won't Stop Swinging

Tuesdays mean Random Tuesday Thoughts.  So head over to Keely's for more of the same.


Okie Dokie, here's the deal.   I'm feeling rather yin and yang this week. The pendulum won't stop swinging.

My kid is all grown up and doesn't need me anymore.  Ha!   It's liberating and very, very disturbing at the same time.    Bitter Sweet.

Our business is picking up lately but still on life support. The cart keeps coming around, but the business keeps picking up its head and proclaiming, "I'm not dead yet."    Optimistic Realist.

My mom and dad are away for two months.  I miss them but at the same time I'm feeling "guilty happy" because I've got more free time on my hands.   Guilty Comfort.

My house needs a good cleaning, but I don't feel like doing it.  But that little pan in the sink needs a good scouring.  I think I'll spend 20 minutes brillo-ing all the dark spots off until it shines.   Lazy Ambition.

I was all ready to participate in Earth Hour. The staunch conservationist and avid recycler in me was ready to turn off the lights. Then I got all militant on my ass and thought to hell with it.  I'm not a joiner.  I don't do causes.  I stood there arguing with myself.  What's up with that?  Oh yeah.  Menopause.   Crystallized Moments of Confusion.

The gray at my temples is becoming too prominent. My sisters keep telling me to color my hair.  But I don't want to bend to peer pressure or vanity.  But I guess I'll do it anyways, because I do want to look a few years younger.  Better to Look Good than to Feel Good.

It's been a weird week.

My Opinions - Worthy or Worthless

Well the assignment this week on the Spin Cycle is opinions.  Whoa!  I am very opinionated, but usually I keep my opinions within these four walls.  But if you get me going, I will give my uninformed, less than stellar and sometimes incoherent opinions to whomever wants to hear.   I in return will courteously listen to others offering an opinion all the while thinking, "But you didn't acknowledge my point."

Any-who, here goes.

When did it happen?  It used to be that saving money was suppose to be a good thing.  They were chastising us for not saving enough less than a decade ago. Or was that just a quaint 20^th century notion?  We weren’t saving for our kids’ college funds, or for a rainy day and definitely not enough for our retirement. 

When did it happen? It used to be that we knew how much house we could afford?  We knew that a car should not cost as much as a house, or half as much as a house, or a third as much as a house.

When did it happen?  We used to have patience, saving for the new couch, pinching pennies to buy the new dress. We were willing to wait making our purchases special occasions.

When did it happen, that credit became our lifeline? We used to know that credit should not cost as much as a house, or half as much, or even a fifth of a house, or even a ... 

When did it happen? It used to be that we knew not to use our house as a commodity.  We turned our dream of owning a home into a scheme for making quick money. We used to protect our homestead instead of draining it. When you turn life’s necessities into commodities, you’re asking for trouble.

My credit card company just sent me a letter telling me that they were lowering my credit line.  At first I was angry.  Because the way credit is working these days, I know that their action would lower my credit score. Imagine, a non-entity affecting your worth.  Bastards!

The letter said, since I use so little of the credit available to me, that obviously I didn’t really need that high of a limit.  I realized that they were correct.  It meant that they were either punishing me for not getting myself into trouble, or that they were actually pulling it back to where it should have been all along.  All I could think was screw them. 

Slowly throughout the years, the worth of brick and mortar industries have been reduced and transformed to judging their worth based on paper only and the betting and odds given on the worth or health of that paper.  Since we are running out of these types of commodities, there is a need to seek other avenues of profit and worth.

Real estate, at first an unlikely area for speculation, has now been ravished and decimated much like locust descending upon the plain. My sister lost her home and my niece is about to walk away from hers. She can’t get the bank to work with them.  I can see why people abandon their loans, because the industry abandoned their customers long ago.

Really people, bundling mortgages or portion of mortgages and selling them as paper and speculating on them was irresponsible, open to all kinds of illicit activities and stupid, on any plane of existence.

The only other big industry left for speculation, that I can see, is health care. Insurance companies already do this when they try to predict, speculate and lay odds on how long we will live or whether there will ever be a need for a payout.  What we do next regarding health care can be a big step forward for society or end up like real estate, laying in waste, boarded up, and people experiencing the same and very real abandonment issues.

What’s next?   Us.  We are turning into the commodity that everyone wants to bundle.  Our habits are studied extensively. The technology is here to help.  Advertisers, politicians, industries hire ethicists, psychologists, behaviorists to figure out what people will do next, to help predict and then to speculate and bet on the odds. I hope that they will always underestimate us.

I feel like I’m turning into paper.  I’m not kidding myself that it hasn’t been happening for a long time. I won’t need to ask, “When did it happen?”  I know.   I hope that when that time comes I can just say, “Screw them!” and walk away.

Now onto Sprite's Keeper to get more opinions that you can sink your teeth into. Yes they are that meaty.

Silent Parents - An Enigma

Silent parents, standing back, blending in the background, watching their children.  Patiently waiting without opinion in their eyes, without interference, or suggestion. There was no boredom, no tension, no emotion at all.  A decision was being made and they were totally not part of the process.  They didn't factor into the equation at all.

I saw this image four times in the same store, a big chain music store.  I walked into the drum room of the store.  A young boy of twelve was trying out a set displayed on the floor.  He went from one drum set to another, his concentration on the feel of each set.  His mother stood to the side, and just looked.... just looked like what?  I didn't recognize that look. Was it resignation?  Didn't look like it.

Then I walked into the piano room.  An even younger boy of nine or ten was playing, his mother standing close behind him.  I was impressed.  He was good.  He moved to the next piano, checking the action of the keys before playing another tune. She had the same expression on her face as the mom in the drum room. When I walked in to investigate who was playing, she looked up. I half expected to see a prideful smile, then I thought she might look annoyed at me for the intrusion, but her face showed no expression at all. Interesting.

The same thing in the guitar area.  A father stood silently behind his son as the son tried out several of the electric guitars.  Wow, this is not a look I am used to seeing.  Another father was watching his son of fourteen in the acoustic guitar room.

No involvement, no intrusion in their child's search for an instrument.  Because an instrument must be found my its owner, right?  No one outside can make the decision for an artist, especially for the talented young people I heard today.  The parents stood to the side as though they were wallpaper.

I realized that there was something else missing.  I didn't see the seeking of approval from the kids.  They never looked up at their parent like most kids do, the whole "look at me, mommy" or "isn't this cool." I was waiting for it, but it didn't come. Interaction between parent and child were nil, the child in deep concentration, the parent purposely looking on dispassionately. I figured that the kids must be here with Christmas money and didn't want or need their parents input. But it seemed to be more than that. I usually have a good sense of reading people's expressions, but I couldn't figure this one out.

Was it more that this was a realm that could not be shared? Was the patient parent just waiting for their child to emerge? Was it a learned response from years of conditioning by the child?

It was a puzzlement.

Christmas Road Kill

Every time we go out during the day, we see the carnage left from the night before.

Demise of Three Penguins and a Snowman

Queen Maker. "It's so weird. Every time I look at a lawn with deflated inflatables.  It doesn't seem right somehow. Why would folks want these things strewed across their lawn like Christmas road kill?"

Santa and the Grinch

Looks more like a drive-by to me.

Season's Clock is Ticking Away

Here is another installment of Random Tuesday Thoughts hosted by the lovely Keely.

Christmas Tree - Grown Up Christmas – just not the same.  We didn’t get a tree last year.  The thought of stomping around in the cold to cut down our annual tree didn’t seem worth it, plus we just couldn’t find the time.  I’ve lost the Christmas spirit.  My house is a the size of a shoe box, removal of furniture is required, the hauling of boxes and boxes of ornaments, lights, wreaths, and garlands just seemed like too much work, for what, three weeks of watching needles fall.

The thrill is gone.  See already it’s happening again.  It’s a mere two and a half weeks out, and I can’t see when we will have the time to put up a tree.  What happened to the festive home I used to know?  Gone since my kid left?  I spend Christmas Eve at my in-laws. I spend Christmas Day at the sister’s.  So why do we need a tree anyways?

I need to find a tree soon otherwise it won’t happen.  I mean seriously, Queen Maker and I were together for seven years before we even had Beloved.  So why am I so down on working this hard for Christmas. I think I'm using Beloved's absence as an excuse. I need an intervention.  But please don’t send three ghosts to do it.

I am not being a good Christmas Role-Model.

Baking – Now here is another story.  I’m always up for baking. Because economic times have been hard, I’ve baked a lot of gifts last year.  Cinnamon Rolls that were to die for, Spinach Pie triangles, cookies upon cookies, to give to friends and clients.  

But unfortunately I sample each and every one.  Sprite’s Keeper reminded me about the battle of restraint that I am going to embark on soon.

Baking – Fun.  Baking – Creative.  Baking – Keeps house warm.

Baking – Good.  Sampling everything – BAD.

I am not being a good Health and Nutrition Role Model.

Shopping – nearly done.  The thought of going out in the next two weeks makes me cringe.  I need to get it done soon because I need to do a lot of baking and decorating.  I need to have time to enjoy these things, not feel like I’m adding to the burden pile. I scour the store circulars and comparison shop like no other.  I am a champion of finding a great gift at a ridiculously low price.  I buy quality at bargain basement prices.

I am not a good Stimulate Our Economy Role-Model.

Sewing – Make a steam punk vest for Beloved for Christmas.  Need to start that project, soooon.  Also bought brocade material in an Asian motif to make a jacket for Queen Maker. Like that’s ever going to happen before Christmas. If I ever get them done, I will post pictures.

Wrapping Gifts – Thank God for gift bags.

Christmas Projects with my niece, Amber, 11 years old, and my friend, Hailey, 5 years old. Hailey, this Friday.  Amber, next week.  I’m looking forward to creating and crafting with the girls. It can be so relaxing and it’s a great way to keep the bonds of friendship strong.

Christmas Get-Togethers – How many invitations will we turn down this year?  It means I need to bring something, preferable food. My hair will never, ever cooperate and will never look fabulous no matter how much time I spend on it. I hate the whole dressing up thing and that is bad.  It means that looking sweet in a new dress and heels doesn’t get seen often. What, Queen Maker? I’m sorry, the sweatshirts and ponytail not getting it for you anymore?  Call What Not to Wear!  Use it or lose it.  And I’ve lost it. 

I am not a Good Friend or a Social Role Model.

I feel time ticking away.  The flight or fight mechanism is kicking in people.  I chose to run away from Christmas last year, but I’m planning to stick it out and stay and fight. Wish me luck.

First Step:

Put some Bailey’s in my coffee and play “A Charlie Brown Christmas” by Vince Guaraldi over and over.  If that doesn’t put me in the mood, I don’t know what will.

Potatoes are Free Balling

This week's Spin Cycle is anything goes.  We can choose our own topic.  My Spin is my challenge with language.

I have always had a problem expressing myself verbally.  You will find a rather lengthy post describing my problem.  An example I used in that post was when I wanted Queenmaker to get the milk out of the fridge for me.

"Honey, could you, um, um get, ah, ah grass! COW! um, um, you know, liquid-y WHITE!  Cold! in big box?"

Poor guy, he didn't have a clue. He even looked around the room trying to find what I'm talking about. Bless him.

The other day I said,

"I'm going downstairs to stitch, jeans, um, um, Water! Soap! Switch-y machine! ah, ah Clean. Basket. Stuff."    Translation: I'm going downstairs to start some laundry.

But my latest, Potatoes are Free Balling. Whew. Wow. I don't even know what to say.

QueenMaker and I decided that in the future we would bake potatoes without wrapping them in foil -  Aluminum - Alzheimer connection scare. We now bake potatoes in a casserole dish.  They taste better.  Or maybe I think they taste better than being foiled because its supposedly a healthier way to go, so of course they taste better.

Anyways, I was trying to express to QueenMaker that the potatoes had a drier texture than those wrapped up in foil, which produced more steam.  I said,

"They're drier but still tender.  These potatoes were not harnessed, um, they were free from, um, um, they weren't wrapped up, um, um (hitting my head hoping for clarity). The potatoes are free balling it!"

QueenMaker, "WHAT!"

Go visit Sprite's Keeper for more individual Spins on any and all topics.

Random Germ-y Family Affairs

Yes, we gathered together for yet another family event. This time it was my beloved niece's birthday.  Whenever the clan gathers, and we gather a lot, there is at least 22 or more people in the house ages four months to eighty years old. These events despite their joyful, fun filled, somewhat harmonious family state of affairs have a more ominous side to them.  I'm beginning to dread them just a little.

They have become a germ convention.  All the kissing and hugging, the clasping of hands, the carrying of sick babies and snotty children.  Carriers of disease coming from all quarters, college students whose campuses are under siege, old folks just out of the hospital THAT day, parents who left a child behind at home because "he threw up just before we left," children that stayed home all week because of fever, not to mention the overtaxed bathroom that over twenty people have use. Aaaugh!

Checking vitals everyday now.  Was that a little soreness in my throat just now? Was that a regular sneeze (my, is this place dusty) or was that a sickness sneeze? Are my glands *engorged?

My Beloved is a tea connoisseur, working at the Crazy Wisdom Book Store in Ann Arbor, for the last two years.  He brought home a tea called Beloved's Don't Get Sick Tea, one he blended himself. Sweet kid, always thinking about his mommy.  (Oh yea, and his daddy too.)

What? Fever for the last two days? Aaaugh! He's got the sickness too!

This past Sunday my mother and I got an unexpected treat at church when we found her goddaughter there.  Maria is a nurse.  There is a point in the mass when we offer each other a sign of peace, which means shaking hands with everyone around you.  It's the only time that people will actually look you in the eye and smile, otherwise its stone face. Well as soon as it was over, Maria grabbed her purse in a fury and took out hand sanitizer.  She grabbed her sister's hand and put a dollop, then she grabbed my mother's then mine.  It was so overt that everyone we shook hands with turned to look giving us the ole fish eye. Usually I try to do things like that on the sly.

Well at first I thought she was overreacting until I look to my right and saw a man helping his eldest daughter.  Her head was in her lap and he was stroking her hair. I wondered if she was sick.  No.  He was removing the lice from the back of her head.   Aaaaaaauuuuuugggghhhh!

Now go visit Keely at UnMom for more Random posts.  At least they won't be a sick as mine although I could be wrong about that.
* that's for jim styro
 

Grown Up Talk

After watching a program on Michigan Television called Pain of Depression: A Journey Through the Darkness, I  commented to QueenMaker how nice it was that I was witnessing a grown-up conversation, full of insights, examples and scenarios that help me learn and understand the comprehensive subject at hand.  This is something that I was not accustomed to, but wholeheartedly welcomed and enjoyed. No yelling, no animosity, just a panel of experts from a court justice, mental health professionals, journalists, advocates, lawyers, judges, and scholars listening to the various scenarios and rendering their expert opinion on the facts, the known and realistic actions that will take place in each query posed to them. Don't worry there was always someone playing devil's advocate to offer an opposing position. I have watched these discussions on other subjects as well, always fascinating. 




Queenmaker told me it was because they were talking philosophy.  "Philosophy doesn't yell. Politics does. Philosophy seeks to understand.  Politics seek to dominate.  Believe, me, philosophy disengaged with politics years ago." 


Where did all the grown-ups dissolve to?


I think we need to find a philosophy...or something.

President Obama and the Nobel Peace Prize

In my opinion, there is a strong reason why President Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize.  It was something almost imperceptible, but I'm sure I heard it, and even felt it myself.

It was the almost audible collective sigh that every nation gave when they heard he won the  U.S. Presidential election.

You know how satisfying a sigh can be, especially one of that magnitude.  A sigh of relief is one of the best feelings a world can experience.  So if one man can do that for the entirety of the world, if he can make it sigh, then by golly give him the prize!

Spin Cycle - So Much to Hate, So Little Time

What do I hate? Sprite’s Keeper’s Spin Cycle is on the topic of hate.  After reading some of the other posts regarding this topic, it got me thinking about true hate. Do I know hate?  Have I felt real hate?

As the oldest of five children, all one year apart, I can honestly say that we all experienced hate.  Put five rambunctious children; keep them closed up in a tiny house, always hungry, playing and arguing constantly with each other. Add to the mix a dog, a cat, and a bird flying around and you have chaos. The four girls had to share everything, clothes, shoes, socks and coats.  Four girls eyeing the same outfits or stealing clothes from each other and it’s a recipe for knock down, drag out fights, with lots of hair pulling, name calling, clothes tearing and lots of tears. (Go ahead pull my hair.  My scalp doesn’t feel a thing. Mega Scalp.) By the time I was eight years old, I knew my sisters hated me. They kept telling me so.

Now don’t let this Lord of the Flies situation get you down. It is so true that there is a fine line between love and hate. But I have to admit, that as a child, I experienced great love and great hate when it came to my siblings. I wailed at my mom many times, “Why didn’t you stop having babies after me?!” 

But do I hate as an adult?  Like many of you, I do not hate individuals.   People can be misguided, sick, ignorant, ridiculous, blinded, dramatic or unthinking.  People can also be con artists, greedy, unfeeling and prey on their fellow human beings. I do not hate individuals.  It’s what they may do as a group that scares me.

Here are a few things I do hate.

Hypocrisy – I can avoid hypocritical individuals. When they come into my life, I run the other way, closing the doors and windows behind me.  But massive hypocrisy as I witness in our political system and parties, I truly hate. They all move like schools of fish, first one way then the other, swishing around, changing direction in ethics, speech, and mores.  It hurts me to listen to the parroting rhetoric, the propaganda, and the hypocrisy. Have our attention spans become so small that we can’t remember?

Dramatics – I can avoid dramatic individuals. I can avoid the “chicken little” people or the “poor little me” people that dot the landscape with a quick side step or by using the phrase, “You and a thousand other people in your situation.”  But mass dramatics as I witness in everyday television is frightening.  It’s like a primer for our nation on how to act. 

Here you go folks, a little problem, and no big deal, really.  Let’s see how to handle it.  Oh yes. Blow it out of proportion. Right, have a tantrum. Finger pointing, Excellent. Oh good, make a scene. Let’s make it much bigger than it really is. Did you just call him a bleep? Fantastic. We’ll put you on television. You will be our new national hero! 

Oh yea, what was the problem in the first place, inconsequential. No need to correct it. It was just a means to an end, dramatic anarchy and incivility. Don't worry your little pretty heads about it.

When did we become satisfied with the lowest common denominator?

But what I hate is that it has leaked onto our political scene. Why has the high school mentality taken over our politicians?  I hate it that the struggle between them is not for our benefit (American people), hasn’t been in many, many years.  It’s more like the jocks against the greasers, the Jets against the Sharks, the nerds against the pops, just a struggle for power.  They would rather bring each other down instead, taking us down with them. 

My, this has truly turned into my own dramatic tirade. I’m going to stop now.  Oh believe me there’s more.  But the post would probably be way too long. But in my defense if you asked me what I loved, it would take up volumes and volumes.

Gee, reading over my post above, it seems I hate politics.  And my friend, you would be right. 

A Family Language, Spanglish and Other "Um' Sounds

Since there were five of us, just one year apart, we needed no other playmates.  We loudly interrupted each other constantly, trying to get our point of view heard or to interject a few words before a particular subject changed. When we argued, everyone chimed in, siding with one sibling in one moment and then switching sides just a few hours later. Sometimes full-blown battles would erupt. The verbal noise was intense. The games we thought up, the imaginary worlds we visited together, the monumental struggles we dramatized forged a strong bond.

As siblings, we apparently developed our own form of communication, part stutter, part symbolic speech, part hand gestures, part Spanish, part English and mostly uttering urgently the words, “Um, um…um.” Now that I think about it, that’s how our parents communicated, since they spoke Spanish at home and spoke English when they went out into the world. Most of the time, the five of us couldn’t understand our father in any language (very thick accent), so we learned to understand by listening closely, watching body language, looking for clues in facial expressions, and looking at each other a lot for consensus and translation. If you didn’t get what Papi was trying to tell you, he would get mad.

Like most moms that have large families, Mami used to point at us and go through the beginning of each child’s name before landing on the right one. “El, Ev, Na, Mo, Na, yes You.” and say “Go over and get that, the other, over there, get now!!”  And point.  Both Mami and Papi did that.  They’d point in a general direction, sometimes emphatically, not actually saying anything coherent and we had better know what they wanted or we would get in trouble. Inexplicably we learned to decipher and discern what they wanted. Oh my god, we were becoming psychic!

I came to understand that our speech pattern would garner strange looks from outsiders because we mixed our metaphors, stuttered, mispronounce words, simply left words out, made up nonsensical words or replaced words with others that seemed totally unrelated or out of context.  When I was young, I kept thinking, “What is wrong with these people? Don’t they understand English?”

Trying to communicate to Queen Maker that I wanted a glass of milk from the refrigerator, I told him, “Honey, could you, um, um, get, ah, ah, grass, cow, um, um you know, liquid-y, white, cold, in big box.  The strangest look would come over his face when these things happened.

I call this a “reference trail.” Sometimes this trail could be a long trail indeed and so obscure at times that even I am baffled.  Usually words or ideas flash so quickly in my mind that I blurt out words as though they came out of the blue making Queen Maker’s face screw up in pain.

I always felt it was caused by some unknown or yet unnamed form of dyslexia, or brain malfunction. I’ve been meaning to look into it, especially because they might name the disorder after me. I was thinking of heading up a study, but then my husband of 22 years seemed to have adapted slightly to my affliction and at rare times understands some of my reference trail so I feel vindicated.

I try to figure out why my brain chooses the words it does to prove to myself (really, Queen Maker) that I’m not just blurting words out in random. I have come to the conclusion that my brain, when struggling to find the correct words, goes through some kind of misfiring sequence and starts listing words and images that will help bring me, hopefully, to my final destination word. 

Just take a look at my asking for a glass of milk.  “Honey, could you, um, um, get, ah, ah, grass, (Glass and grass are almost spelled the same.) cow, (Cows eat grass and produces milk.)  um, um you know, liquid-y, (milk is definitely liquid-y)  white,  cold, (both milk and my refrigerator are white and cold, thus stumping me.) in big box. (A refrigerator is a very big box of a thing and milk sometimes comes in a box, thus stumping me.)  I ponder and ponder, and there are times I can trace my long reference chain of words logically enough to prove to Queen Maker that my thought processes are legitimate and say, “See, I knew what I was getting at. Really, I did.” He just shakes his head.

I’ve heard the brothers-in-laws talk about it, the Belen girls blurt out random words, so it must be a noticeable family trait.  It seems that all the Belens are afflicted by the same problem. Named by the brother-in-laws as Belenitis.  

This problem only seems to arise when speaking to non-Belens. When speaking to one another, Belens seem to know what Belens are always getting at.  This family language seems disjointed and unclear to others, but we understand it completely. Not only the mixing of Spanish and English, the “um, um, um,” sprinkled consistently throughout, but even the blurting out of random words.  

This language understood by five children, all a year apart in age, always together, and rarely separated created our own language, our own vernacular, and our own understanding, completing each other’s sentences and completing each other’s thoughts and sometimes without uttering many words at all. (Tip: When playing word games, don’t allow Belens to be on the same team. You Will Lose.) 

So the next time I say, “I’m going downstairs to, stitch, jeans, um, um, water, soap, switch-y, switch-y machine, ah, ah, clean, basket stuff.” You’ll know I’m going to do some laundry.

Dud Dads

Most every holiday that comes down the pike is family time.  Not just my trio, but also all of my immediate family. We usually gather at Middle Sister’s house because hers is the largest and she has a fantastic back yard. That’s 24 of us.  Since everyone is out of school, all of us were in attendance for the Memorial Day barbecue.

After years of get-togethers, patterns have emerged. Young people liven up a party immediately. Great conversation, youthful exuberance, ready to have a good time.  With five of them in college, the conversations and insights are even better.  They are emerging adults and are now on equal footing with the rest of the adult family. They have the future firmly clasped in their hands and it’s exciting to be near them.

The small ones bring their own light to the party, as they always do, bringing smiles and laughs and demands for interaction. There are six of them ranging from ages 3 to 11. Family time is in full swing. 

The men (my brother is the exception)… are mostly duds. They usually plop themselves in some spot, barely speak unless spoken to, have little to no interaction, and look bored. Apparently the brother-in-laws have found over years that they really have nothing in common, they don’t really like each other much, and don’t even try anymore. Some of them stop coming to family get-togethers. Duds. Fifty-year-old duds.

But it’s my contention that there is so much more to family time.  They act like they are left out on purpose or something. Fun can be had if only they would seek it out. Come be with the silly young people. Come watch the kids play and run. Run around yourselves for a bit. Strike up a conversation with an eleven year old, or the fourteen year old, or the nineteen year old, or the twenty-two year old. Play a hand of poker with the young bucks. Play dominoes. Joke with the old folks, joke with the sisters. Bring fun with you, horse shoes, sling shots for the kids, water balloons. Make the new brother in law feel welcomed. Pick up a baby. Follow the family around. Become the family.

As I was driving my dud home, he said, “I’m not used to being so sedentary.” As though visiting family was a real strain on his arse. Sigh.

Fortress of No

When I asked my husband for a favor, his response was,

“You know I can only say yes to you.  What ever you want, it is yes. Men will always say yes to a woman.  Yes, yes, yes to everything.”

True. But sometimes getting all those yeses makes me nervous.  That constant barrage of yes, yes, yes, coming in from all directions, makes me what to build a sanctuary, hiding from the yeses, until the sanctuary becomes a castle fortress, fending off the yeses with cannonballs of no, no, no.  Soon the yeses become overwhelming and “the rabbit trying to escape the trap” mentality takes over.

Now, my no, no, no become over zealous in their attempt to squelch the yeses before they even begin. Then as the years go by, the yeses no longer come at me from all directions, but just one most loving direction. Soon even his yeses become but a trickle.  Yikes! What am I doing?   My prince charming, my knight in shining armor is waiting.  Drop the drawbridge, open the gates, and let the trumpets sound. Yes, Yes, Yes.

Life-span of Gum

I guess that most people develop an internal clock.  When I was working and took those two 15-minute breaks a day that the job so graciously gave me, I came to know exactly when time was up no matter how engrossed I was. These clocks were going off all day long. When driving my internal clock knows when I’ve gone too far. It knows how long a particular task should take before it rings. Every morning I wake up two minutes before my alarm clock rings.

Pop a piece of gum in my mouth and I know for a fact that I‘ll be spitting that puppy out in just a few minutes.

While cruising through Wal-Mart with Beloved and Queen Maker, Beloved, being very modern and hip 21 year old, gave me a piece of “new” gum, something to do with a number.  It was very flavorful. A few minutes later my internal clock struck. Time is up. Cool, there's still a lot of great flavor.  Since the gum was going strong, I continued to chew and hit the snooze alarm on my internal clock.

A few moments later my internal clock rang again.  My brain was confused; my jaw was in distress. Something is not right.  What is up with this gum? I say aloud to Beloved and Queen Maker, “Wow, this gum really lasts a long time. It’s still really flavorful and elastic-y, but it’s beginning to bug me.” I try to hit the snooze again, but my brain was having none of that. An internal debate ensues.  

I need to get rid of this gum, time’s up.

It’s still tastes fresh, like new, I shouldn’t toss it out. Wow. It’s still really elastic too.

No jaw should have to go through this much work. 

Gum is a good way help clean your teeth after lunch.  Imagine all the little particles that this gum has already worked out of my gums and teeth.

My God, who makes this stuff?

I say aloud to Beloved and Queen Maker, “I need to spit out this gum. I’ve never had gum last this long.”  Queen Maker says, “Get rid of it, no one says you have to keep chewing it.” Looking around, I say, “Where are the trash bins?  Doesn’t this store have any trash bins? WHY isn’t there any trash bins?”

Really, how many particles of food and germs have now worked themselves into this gum and I’m still chewing it. How sanitary can this be? This gum is no longer just gum but gum with crap in it.

Why is this gum making me feel so bad?

I’m feeling agitated and showing it. Oh. My. God. A gum is actually giving me an anxiety attack.  (Think Ikea. Help let me out! Some of you know what I mean.)

I say aloud, “Where is a garbage can? I need to get this thing out of my mouth. I need to spit it out NOW. Right NOW.  NOW I say!”   Beloved and Queen Maker look at me with concern, a look I get often. 

Son of a B! What chemicals am I chewing?  What can they possibly put in this gum that keeps it going and going when everything else I know to be true about gum is so opposite to this new reality? Why isn’t it getting tough? Am I chewing poison? The chemicals in this can’t be good for you. Who can possibly enjoy this experience?  It’s utter hell.

Help, I need to throw out this gum. My jaws are hurting. I can’t spit it on the ground. That would be littering. Paper, why don’t I have a piece of paper?

Finally I spy a garbage can and rush over to spit the demon gum out in my mouth. I feel as through I had been through some horrific accident.  Shaking his head and wearing a slight smirk, Queen Maker says he has never seen anyone react so adversely to a piece of gum before. 

All I know is that my universe was turned upside down by a measly piece of gum. This is so wrong. After years of gum chewing experience and conditioning, something so mundane, so small a thing, could send me into a spiral. I became confused, disoriented and anxiety filled. No gum should live that long. Be warned.