Carving it up!

Our school had a Halloween party on Friday (more on that in another post) and the party organizer extraordinaire (not me...I'd the the party organizer franticlinaire or something like that) told us there'd be a jack o'lantern contest.

You saw the word "contest", didn't you?

Or, as Maggie and I prefer to call it, "We've Gotta Win Opportunity".

I KNOW.

I know!!!!

I'm going to get all sorts of scoldings and tut-tuttings about competitiveness and how some things are just for fun and that not everything in life is a contest.

Of course.

But this WAS a contest.

It was billed as such!

If it's going to be an exhibition, then it needs to be called that.

(And the party organizer extraordinaire, who reads this blog, is now rolling her eyes and laughing at us....)

Now.

Maggie had picked up a Better Homes and Gardens Halloween magazine about a month ago, with all sorts of ideas for the holiday, including decorating one's entire house in the theme of the Mad Tea Party from Alice in Wonderland, and 10-12 full size skeletons posed in various odd situations, like golfing on the front lawn or offering treats off a tray.  (I tell you this so you will realize that I'm NOT as over-the-top crazy as you may first think. I fall in the moderately crazy range.)

In this magazine, there were carved pumpkins of every description, ranging from your basic, traditional triangle eyes and nose, to professionally done real-life portraiture.  She fell in love with the black cat...a simple, very cool and untraditional jack o'lantern.

We were going to do it, anyway, because we both liked the idea, but the "contest" really gave us the push.

There was spray paint involved, so I had to go to the hardware store.

There was tagboard involved so it looked like I was going to have to go to....gulp....Walmart, but fortunately I found it at the grocery store.  Yes!

There were cottonballs and drill-bits involved.

I'm telling you....we were INTO this!

You may be wondering about Angus....

Well. 

He just wanted a scary face pumpkin. 

I thought I was going to do a witch pumpkin, myself, and found a little old used witch's hat at the second hand store, plopped it on a plain pumpkin and was trying to think about the face.

He saw THAT and immediately wanted a PIRATE jack o'lantern!  (I'm sure you didn't see THAT coming...)

What follows is the documentary of the 2011 jack o'lanterns:

Zee blank gourd...

We didn't turn the kids loose with the knives....BUT they DID have to get the pumpkin guts out.

It was a deliciously hideous experience.

Some folks can't take the slime, so they use tools. They also use persuasive big, green eyes when they tire of the tools and toil....

So, Maggie wanted to taste the raw pumpkin, because she is a full-sensory sort of girl.  If she's going to experience something, there's no halfway with this child.  She tasted the flesh, she tasted the slime and then decided the seeds would probably be much the same so she passed on them. 

She was also the one who squealed with the awfulness of it all, then went back for more.  Because she's just dying to hunt something, we told her that when she started hunting, she'd have to gut out her own animals, just like gutting the pumpkin.  This was a startling thought.  You mean....take all the smooshy, icky, slimy stuff out of their tummies? Yup.  Hmmmm......
After thinking it through, she decided that she could do that, but was grateful it wouldn't have to happen for a few years.

There's a gap in the process, because my hands were covered in pumpkin goo, too. 

Here's the basic cat face, after 40 minutes of intense, precise carving:

It looks pretty simple, but I wanted it exquisitely smooth and clean.

In the meanwhile, the boys pulled together a Jack (Sparrow) O'Lantern, acceptably scary and....is that a TTU symbol on the eyepatch? The double T was too much, but this is the look they're going for...
(Incidentally, when Angus got up the next morning, he came running out and looked his pumpkin in the face, sweetly saying, "Guns up, Pirate Punkin!"  That's my boy...)

The black cat, after two coats of spray paint and tagboard accessories.  Maggie tried to hug it, and introduced all the real live cats to their new friend.  They were decidedly unimpressed. (Figaro, however, snuck onto the table in the middle of the night and chewed the ends of the Pumpkin Cat's ears!  I think he felt a little more threatened than he let on during the introductions....)

After ear repairs, the jack o'lanterns were hauled to the school party, where they rahther stood out....
(You'll see more in the party post....)

Did they win?

Well, every pumpkin won in different categories, because it's not really a cut-throat sort of contest, you know.  Maggie was SO hoping for a cut-throat contest, but was satisfied with the acknowledgement of a scary design. (Scary? Loony, maybe...)

The good thing is that everyone was pleased, the pumpkins met expectations, we had family time in the production of them, and they're considered members of the family for another couple days.

Out of Milk

Lists, lists, lists....
I'm a compulsive list maker. 
Not that it does me a whole heck of a lot of good, really.  Generally, I think people who make lists seem to get through them, but for me they seem to be more of a way of organizing my brain "out loud" than anything.  I'm not one of those people who are frantic about getting everything checked off; I LIKE doing that, but I don't lay awake at night in a cold sweat if there are two things left on the list by the coffee pot. 

Lists are crazy things.  I like to see how people write them, what sort of order, how they notate, their shorthand...
I make little boxes next to my list items, like bullet points.
If I'm in a big hurry, it's a little dash, then the item.  And I have sub-lists. 
Some people number, some people write mish-mash as thoughts come to them.
Some...bless their little OCD hearts...use different colors of pens.  I consider it gain if I find a pen that writes without skipping!

Grocery lists, though, drive me NUTS.
I can't seem to keep the one nice little notebook by the fridge with the list that I can add to as we go.  My notebooks have been known to walk off to other rooms, or, instead of tearing out the page I take the whole book to the store and don't get it back to its spot. 
If I tear out the paper, it gets crammed in my pocket or purse....sometimes it makes it to the store, sometimes it doesn't.  Shopping without a list is painful, especially as far from the store as we live! 

This week I found an application for my phone that will SAVE ME!
It may save you, too, if you have a rough time with shopping lists.
It's called Out of Milk, and it's brilliant.  Even I can run it without help!  It's the perfect blend of simple and expandable that I never seem to find in any computer programs. 

It has three sections:
Shopping List
Pantry List
To-Do List

Each of those can be expanded if you wish.  For example, I created a Christmas Shopping List that I can just punch ideas into.  The Pantry List also has a Spice List, because people like me who lose shopping lists, never seem to remember if they have pumpkin pie spice or not and buy it again in a panic, two days before Thanksgiving, only to get home and find its aged twin in the cupboard.  D'oh!  I love the spice list. 

BUT....
The absolute COOLEST feature on this little app is the ability to scan barcodes from a container you're about to throw away.  Yes.  Just like those little bippy machines in the stores!  (If you think I scanned about 25 things in a row, just to watch it work, you're right.  It's so cool.  You can't believe how fun THAT is...)

So when I'm out Christmas shopping...you know, the whole 15 minutes of that that I do every year....I can scan bar codes on things I think might work for the kids, then go home and look for them cheaper online. 

Rarely am I this excited about technology!

Rarely does technology work for me!
(Really.  I think that's why I can never get all worked up over things like Kindles.  I seem to find all the bugs that the programmers missed.)

Rarely do I recommend anything having to do with organization COUPLED with technology!  In fact, I may never have done so prior to this post.

Anyway, if you want to read the official blurb and check it out for yourself, go to
Out of Milk and see what I'm so excited about!

Your Manners Are Showing: The Handbook of Teen-Age Know-How

From the inside of the book jacket:

(Copyright 1946, incidentally...)

What's your dating rating?  Are you ever baffled by the right fork at the wrong time?  Do blue moods besiege you? Do you have money troubles, parent problems or clothes jitters?  Would you like to be more popular?

(So far, she just described me EXACTLY at age 40, with the exception of the dating rating...)

If you're like most teen agers, these are just a few of the everyday problems which come up one time or another.  So here's the book that was written especially for you.

YOUR MANNERS ARE SHOWING is the bright and sensible low-down designed to help you put your best foot forward in every social situation.

(Well, YEAH!)

These gay illustrations, breezy verses and simple gems of good advice make it easy for you to remember the basic rules of good behavior which are essential for smooth, smart operating.

Introductions, invitations, letters, waiters, dates, visits, parties, tablemanners, cigarettes or small talk will never seem so tough again aftyer you've read Betty Betz' (YES, that's her REAL NAME!) slant on how to handle them.

Why wait until it's too late to insure your social success when YOUR MANNERS ARE SHOWING makes it easy and fun to be popular?

Indeed.

I'm just reading this book now, in the hopes of dealing with many of those issues plaguing my social life.

Had I read it twenty-five years ago, who KNOWS where I'd be now?!?!

A sneak peak at some of my favorite tips, so far:

(Go ahead.  You can take notes!  You'll want to...)

You can't know how many nights I've lain awake, fretting about a situation such as this.

My popularity has obviously suffered because I've introduced gals and lads in the incorrect order.

*sob!*

*Ahem...*

This should be superimposed on every locker in every school in our great nation.

And a goodly number of billboards, too.

 

Speechless in the horror of how many times I've made THIS faux pas....

(PRETTY sure no guys ever kept notes from me for more than the amount of time it would take them to read 'em and flush 'em....)

I'd be devastated if Jill ever found out what Phil REALLY thinks of me....

I'd lay $100 on the table, betting that any teen I sat across from today wouldn't know what the heck billing and cooing is.

Or why it would make someone "enrapt".

 But WAIT....
There's MORE!
Read this little excerpt from the chapter entitled "Raising Parents":

Intrigued?

Want to borrow my little etiquette book to improve YOUR popularity in a bright and sensible manner?

Tough.

You can come to my house and read it, so we can sit and snork together....

Coffee Snob

I am one. 

I didn't start out this way; it's not my parents' fault....they raised me on Folgers.

It's my friends.

They're the wicked but well-meaning souls that have steadily encouraged my obsession with this legal, addictive stimulant.

It's true.

My friend/cousin Kari took me to my first Starbucks in L.A., exposing me to the idea of buying beans to grind at home.  (I had no idea that was a possibility!)

My sister (I guess we're friends.  :) gave me a little home espresso maker that made luke-warm (but heavenly tasting) coffee. 

My friend Justin introduced me to my first French press experience, creating a deep and abiding longing to own my own.  A longing that persisted for a couple years and remained unfulfilled (because I'm too cheap to buy one) until.....

My friend Traci gave me the prettiest little French press pot for a Christmas present.  Turns out, beans need to be ground a little more coarsely for the French press. A whole new project...

And last year, for my birthday, my sweet friend Shelly sent me a coffee roaster.

That's right.

This is coffee snobbery taken to an almost absurd level.

I roasted one...ONE, mind you....batch of beans, dropped the glass roasting container while I was putting it away, sat in the midst of the shards and cried my eyes out. It turns out this particular model of coffee roasters is no longer being made or sold anywhere, despite its popularity among java junkies like me, and I thought all was lost.  And cried some more. 

The green coffee bean dealers, Sweet Maria's, apparently recognized the need for replacement parts in order to keep customers buying their product, so they found someone who would rebuild the glass container for a small fee! Rejoice!

So, the day before my birthday THIS year, my coffee roaster was restored to full working order and I began my Sunday custom of roasting coffee beans for the first glorious cup of coffee on God's day....every week. 

Let me tell you this: if you have any coffee snob tendencies at ALL, you'll want to stop reading right here, shut the little window down, and walk away.  Consider this a cautionary note, and I can't be held responsible for the consequences if you continue on in this post....

I made this extra large so you could read the label.

You can see that obviously there are crazier coffee people than me, who describe the under and overtones of the brew with words like "piney resinous aroma".

Seriously.

The worst part is.....

I detected that aroma, too!

 Basically, the coffee roaster I have is just a hot air popcorn popper on steroids, with a filter on top.  That's it!  It's laughably simple, fool-proof even for me! 

So the beans look like this when they start.

After about 2 minutes, they're like this....

After 4 minutes, even prettier...

 5 minutes....

 6 minutes...

Done, at 7 minutes!

Were you wondering why I was roasting outside? 

There's smoke. 

My family finds it offensive and they aren't really hip on the fire alarm going off first thing in the morning.

Buncha wimps...

:)

Filter with the chaff from the roasted beans.

The beans swell with the heat, pop and split, and the fan in the bottom blows the chaff upward and out of the roasting container.

And here's the finished product, ready to be ground!

*This particular bean didn't get as black and greasy as I like, but it was still pretty good.

The best tasting coffee comes from greasy beans...did you know that?

Someday, I'm going to have a coffeeshop (on a beach somewhere) called The Greasy Bean....

Come for a visit and I'll roast you a special blend!

And the blessed beverage, tempered with cream, in my favorite mug!

(Also from Shelly, who did the illustration you see on it!)

My! What big....eyeglasses you have!

I think it's funny how completely serious they are, considering they're wearing these brilliant accessories and eating ice cream!

Froggie Fashion

Grammy Karen made Maggie this frog skirt and we finally found all the appropriate accessories....

The hat was the stumper.

It fits GREAT and she loves it!

Thanks, Grammy!

Bookclub at Anne's

*I was going to leave this part out, but it's an illustration of football craziness and if I DON'T include it, I'm sure "someone" will put a sticky note on the fridge door about it. 

So...
Did anyone catch the Detroit Lions-San Francisco 49ers game?
HUGE...it was a HUGE game, because the Lions were undefeated and the 49ers are looking strong for the first time in 10 years. (Okay, maybe 15 years...a long stinkin' time, I can tell you that.) I was barely able to focus on making my bookclub food for watching it.  Part of the reason was that my fantasy football quarterback is the Lion's quarterback and the 49ers defensive line is my FF line...blah, blah, blah.  It was a big deal.  For me.  I forget that it's not a big deal for probably 99% of the rest of the county's population.  And it was a CLOSE game!!

I made myself leave the house on time, even though it was the 4th quarter and SF was only leading by 1 point.  Drove like the wind blows to the appointed meeting place, Cohagen School, and frantically tried to get the SF 49ers Live on my Droid phone...nothin'.  Ran into the school like a crazy woman, looking for a computer which Joni thoughtfully turned on after viewing the panic in my eyes...(she stepped aside, reminding me that it was STILL baseball season, you know)  I found the GameTracker, tried to politely mmm-hmm in conversation, explaining to Aaron Carroll what my obsession was with TTU, sweating palms....and the 49ers made a touchdown! YES!  Two minutes left in the game and we had to leave.  WHAT? Traci reassured me that she had the game on XM radio in the car....that was the only reason I got in the car.

I'm listening to the game, the other ladies are chatting about...kids? cows? school?....I don't know.  There was a timeout with a minute left, Detroit's possession, and Traci asked, "What's the score?"  I replied that it was 25-19 with a minute left, and she shut it off.  Didn't turn it down, mind you...turned it OFF.  OFF!!!!  I tried to be cool.  It was, after all, a timeout.  But seconds ticked by and she didn't turn it on.  In fact, she started a new story and away we sped toward Jordan, like the biggest game of the season, Super Bowl not withstanding, wasn't in the final moments.  I carefully removed my fingernails from the back of the seat, thinking perhaps she'd just switched it to the back controls...ah,no, she had not.  In a panicky voice I asked, "Did you turn the game off, Traci?"  Um...yeah.  She thought it was over.  (She really wasn't messing with me...she SAYS...but truly thought it was done.)  I got to hear the last 30 seconds, which in football time is like 10 minutes, to hear the beautiful pronouncement that the 49ers had beaten the Lions. 

I didn't scream, but I wanted to.
I didn't pull out the Joe Montana jersey I had stuffed down in the bottom of my camera bag, waved it and then pulled it on to wear into the grocery store, but I wanted to.
I didn't leave big messages all over Facebook, but I wanted to.

(Here's a picture of Michael Crabtree, former TTU Red Raider, making a catch in the game...photo from SF Chronicle.)

It was GLORIOUS, I tell you!!!!

Now....
Back to our real story....

Our little bookclub met yesterday afternoon for appetizers and dessert, and to discuss this month's selection Sarah's Key, by Tatiana de Rosnay.

First, about the book:

It's a little complicated to try to sum up, so I'll use the publisher's blurb from the back of the book:

Paris, July 1942: Sarah, a ten-year-old girl, is taken with her parents by the French police as they go door to door arresting Jewish families in the middle of the night. Desperate to protect her younger brother, Sarah locks him in a bedroom cupboard—their secret hiding place—and promises to come back for him as soon as they are released.



Sixty Years Later: Sarah’s story intertwines with that of Julia Jarmond, an American journalist investigating the roundup. In her research, Julia stumbles onto a trail of secrets that link her to Sarah, and to questions about her own future.


In Sarah’s Key, Tatiana de Rosnay offers up a mesmerizing story in which a tragic past unfolds, the present is torn apart, and the future is irrevocably altered.

It was hard for me to read, especially at first, because the little boy locked in the bedroom cupboard was Angus's age.  And the ending was a little too....neat.  But the book was thought provoking and it brought attention to the roundup of Jewish families of the Velodrome d'Hiver in France, an incident that many are not familiar with. 

We chewed on the book as we noshed on the crazy spread of food....we just stood there in the kitchen and laid waste to a pile of decadant finger foods.  Isn't that great? We didn't even really need to use utensils!  Here are the photos:

Anne's ceviche....I loved it, but I can tell it's a sort of specific taste (fish cooked in lemon/lime juice, then chilled) and it's not a real crowd favorite.  It tasted so clean and fresh to me...a nice break from the heavy cheese stuff.

I do love all things French....even their cracker boxes!

Isn't Anne elegant? And I love that this photo has all the story hands going on.  We all use our hands with our stories...the better the story, the more the hands fly...

Frou-frou Pelligrino beverages, courtesy Susie Milam...pretty containers for truly yummy drinks.

Can you see this? Maybe I should make the picture a little larger... 

This is a jalepeno popper, hand-made with love by Marisa (who by request will not be pictured in this post).

This is....I'm at a loss for words, here...the best of God's food gifts to man.

I wish I had thought to put a little jelly on mine, because then I believe I would've experienced appetizer nirvana.

(And for those who assume that bacon could be wrapped around any old thing and I'd fall in love, you may be right.  But this is really spectacular.  Like the bacon wrapped dates, from Boulder.)

I'm not going to try to point every good and perfect thing out on this spread....suffice it to say, we weren't lacking in anything, especially in the cheese department. (Happy Cheese-mas, by the way!  A post all of its own...)

We finally resorted to plates...

Our next selection is One Thousand Gifts and we'll meet at Traci's!

Thanks, Anne, for a really wonderful afternoon...

Foosball

Did any of you watch the movie Waterboy, with Adam Sandler and Kathy Bates?  (Yes. I adore cornball movies.  Wanna make something of it?)  Kathy Bates is Mama Boucher (pronounced Boo-SHAY) and she doesn't want her baby playin' "foosball" (football) because it's of the devil...

She might be right.
It's pretty addictive....like pretzels dipped in Nutella. 

The Farmer had to sit on the ambulance crew last night at the last home football game of the year, and I decided to take the kids, since we hadn't had a good, cold community event in just ages.  The last time I took them, Maggie was 3 and she wanted to play, too.  We spent most of our time on the sidelines, tackling her.  And then Rowena Fitzgerald (I love that girl) took pity on us and hauled her off with the big girls, so we could THEN deal with Angus who at age 1 was not impressed with any part of this football experience.  Let's just say it wasn't a really fun evening, back then.

A couple years can really make a difference!

It was a gorgeous fall evening...crisp, but no wind to speak of....and it was Senior Night (not to be confused with Senior Citizen's Night), so there were a lot of folks there that might not've come out, otherwise.  You all know I love football on TV, but there's really nothing like high school football in your hometown.  I had to keep reminding myself that I was NOT still 18 years old, because along the sidelines and in the stands were basically the same people that were there 20-some years ago....wearing, I think, the same black'n'orange booster club jackets.  There were teenagers squirrelling around in the stands and working the concession booth, as cool as they could muster.  Mobs of little and big kids, playing little mock football games in the grass beside the field....they were pretty tough! Neighbors visited, occasionally cheering mid-sentence, then returning to the story. 

I remembered that I had my camera in the car, so I hauled it out, but I felt a wee bit conspicuous since I wasn't a regular attendee and didn't have a kid playing.  Most of the pictures are a bit blurry, because I didn't take the time to re-set the exposure and fine tune it to the situation!  The whole evening I was framing images up in my head, though...seeing the world as through a viewfinder, always. 

The official enrollment in the high school is 57, total.  When you think that only about 20 of those kids are male and there are 14 of those 20 on the football team, it's pretty remarkable, really.  I love it when all these young men line up in their uniforms, waiting for the national anthem.

Refs....the heroic and hated, often times. 

Not last night! 

Six man football is FAST. 

College football moves right along, but six man high school football is lightening speed....go get a hotdog and you miss three possessions! Not three downs...three possessions.

It's wild.

The "chain gang" in Jordan are guys I went to high school with who now have kids playing! This particular pic is of #10's dad; he never misses a chance to give me a hard time, so I retaliate with an image on the Chronicles.  We're even.  :)

This is how I think it must seem, sometimes, in the middle of the action....

#10....our favorite player.

One of Maggie's Bow-eez.

He's SO strong....

(His family babysat for us, one afternoon, and as he was lifting Maggie on the 4 wheeler or something, she looked at him with deep admiration and said, "Oh, --------, you're SO strong!")

(Ever since then, the kid sorta disappears when he sees us coming up the drive...)

It was a rough night for the Mustangs.

Although they put the first score up, they were trounced pretty hard.

I won't put the score up, here, but let's just say it was a decisive victory for the Richey-Lambert Fusions.

(Yeah. I don't know what to call them, either....)

TODAY is college foosball!

Lucky shirt and mug....

Lucky nail polish....

It didn't work so well last weekend, and I can't figure out what I neglected to do!

Hmmmm....

Anyway, it's a Guns Up sort of day!

Bring on the foosball!!!

It's hard to disguise weird...

I doubt it...

The word "doubt" is defined in the dictionary as "Uncertainty, disbelief; To lack confidence in; to disbelieve, question, or suspect; To fear; to suspect"   It's an uneasy, murky place to reside in, an uncomfortable fence rail to ride. 

Those who know me well, know that I'm a person of pretty strong ideas and convictions.  Generally they're wrong (according, also, to those who know me well) but be that as it may, they are strong!  I don't waver on choices.  Where should we eat? Mexican.  Go to the event or stay home? Go!  Paper or plastic? (or, as I once read, "Kill a tree or strangle a bird?)  Paper for cold stuff, plastic for the rest.  Dessert or appetizers? Yes.  Democrat or Republican? Let me speak to my political counsel (Sara H.) and get back to you. 

I am impatient with wishy-washy-ness in others, wondering how a person could exist with no really strong opinions about life and its many components.  It's called easy-going, and it's really a great sort of way to live life, I guess; especially if one must live with a competitive, opinionated person such as myself. I don't understand that sort of wiring....at all. I'm not from easy-going stock and quite frankly, it's a little disturbing to be around; they don't argue or debate or challenge or ANY of those fun things!


*Incidentally, I married a BRILLIANT fence rider, peacekeeping, take-whatever-comes, I-don't-care-who-wins-as-long-as-the-game-is-over-so-I-can-stop-hearing-about-it sort of person.  If you think this drives me up a wall, you would be absolutely correct...especially in the area of "where should we eat?"*   
 
Lately, though, I've been spending a lot of time in the company of doubt....lacking confidence and feeling uncertain.  When I sit down to write a blog post, I think, "This is interesting to no-one.  I have nothing to say. And no way to say it that would make it readable...."  When I think about calling a friend, I worry about bothering them. Even as I try to email, I feel an uneasy sense of "I send the silliest things.  I fill their box with nonsense. I don't want them to dread seeing my name there..."  Mostly, it's in the area of communication, but it's starting to spill over into other areas of my life; parenting, fitness, spirituality, wardrobe, and...this is the rough one...menu.  I don't know what to cook!  Or what to wear! Or whether I should've held firm on that little issue with my daughter!
 
One thing I've learned, though, is that the longer something like this is allowed to remain and influence, kept inside and incubated,  the more it grows and eats the good out of a person.  That's why I'm writing this to you....I'm weary of second-guessing and smashing down the creativity out of some odd fear that has no grounds!  As far as I know, everyone who comes to the Chronicles comes kindly.  I'm pretty sure the malicious readers, if there ever were any, gave up around the fly-killing post a couple years ago.  Self-deprecation is way stronger than anything they could come up with. 
 
Do you know....I changed the background on this blog, hoping to shake things up a little, but it doesn't feel like the Chronicles, does it?  Let's live with it for a week or two and see if it doesn't get more comfortable. 
 
I'm working on getting rid of this doubting spirit, but I don't want to miss something, either.  I think God allows things like this in my life to (a.) get my attention, (b.) humble me, (c.) baffle me into study, (d.) give the Farmer a chance to make a decision, or (e.) all of the above.  I don't want to be so intent on stomping out the doubt that I miss a lesson, you know? 
 
*I do NOT doubt that Texas Tech will win this weekend, redeeming themselves from that tragic loss last weekend, and I do NOT doubt that the Broncos will lose...AGAIN...even with Tebow in the pocket. 
 

Like a Rhinestone Cowboy...

*Are you already singing that in your head, now? Yeah...me, too....

When I hear this song, I'm five years old, again; Glen Campbell singing through the countertop radio, right before lunch when it would change to Paul Harvey and the livestock reports. 

The kids and I were in Miles City last weekend and as we were going through Walmart (otherwise known as Retail Hell for me), I glanced over at a big bin of cheap music cds.  There, lying amongst Eminem and Cher, was Glen Campbell's Greatest Hits, so I reached over and checked out the back.  Sure enough, all my favorites!  It was five bucks, so I decided to get it for the ride home...a nice break from the endless Blake Shelton and that scraggly guy that married Nicole Kidman (what's his name?). 

I slid the cd in the player, as we left town, and right away I was a kid again.  Isn't it amazing how music can transport a person through years and drop her back in the 70's?  Gentle on My Mind was the first song; perfect for driving.  Maggie was entranced by Dreams of the Everyday Housewife and we had to play it three times. (I squirmed, listening to it....hit a little too close to home, you know? I can't tell you how I fear ending up in a housedress, looking at the wrinkles on my face and wondering where the girl went! It's the housedress that makes me shudder...)

We drove on through the brown and tan October-in-Montana prairie, with The Witcheta Lineman and Galveston carrying us northward.  I had to play Country Boy (You've Got Your Feet in L.A.) a couple times because it's fun to sing. 

And then Rhinestone Cowboy.  I laughed, because I'd forgotten some of the lyrics and it's funny listening as a grown up; the song is something totally different with adult ears!  I wished my sissie was in the car with me, to belt out the chorus at the top of our lungs like we did, to my Mom's great annoyance. I looked down, to see if maybe I WAS 6 years old, in polyester bellbottoms, accidentally driving a car, but no...I'm still grown up....just with a little kid heart, singing "...riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo..."

In case you've forgotten the song, OR (and this would be tragic) have never heard it, here's a link to the youtube video:

*Caution!!! The video is perhaps the cheesiest thing I've ever seen!  Don't watch if you're someplace you can't laugh out loud.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atHY8rDBhtI

Ah, Glen...thanks for the great music.  Quintessential 1970's country...
Now.
Who likes Tanya Tucker?

Under construction...

I'm sorry this is SUCH a mess, but I wanted a change for this raggedy old blog!  It's going to take me awhile to get everything in order....like taking apart a room and putting it back together differently.  So...this is like my living room; same old furniture in different corners with new throw pillows! Or something.

Thanks!

Let's see....now, where was I...?

A college football post is a terrible place for a blog to die...

Well, it's no coincidence that the Chronicles stopped cold 24 hours before I turned 40. 
I couldn't stand the thought of trying to square off and face that dragon in my own lair.
Now, for those of you who have not yet turned 40, and for those of you who are past 40(stylishly), this is not a big deal.  Forty, shmorty!

It's a big honkin' deal, okay?!

All those surveys in the back of magazines and on websites?  I just jumped a bracket.  And in Shape magazine, it was a significant jump.  I'm only two brackets away from the final one....60+.   (Cold sweat...)

I can no longer shop at Maurices without getting that sweet little teenage clerk who asks if I'm buying something for my daughter.  I can no longer shop at Maurices, period.  (Not that this is a big deal; I never shop there.  It's just that I probably shouldn't, now.)

I HAVE to get mammograms, now!  It's no longer optional!  (I'm pretty sure the Mammo-cops will be showing up any day, now, to escort me to my manditory appointment...)

Probably should look into the add-on moisturizers from Mary Kay.  I can no longer pretend that all I need are the basics.  I've gotta spring for the plumping serums and smoothing creams, to fill in all the lines that somehow appeared to deepen after September 18th.  (Sniffle)

All those cards that were HILARIOUS at Hallmark a couple years ago have really lost a lot of their humor. 

Get this: the little "you can't buy beer or cigarettes unless you were born after this date" sign is the year after I graduated from high school. After!!! (You laugh; it's a blow, sweetie....just you wait!)

I turn up the car radio...not so I can be all bad, but so I can hear it.  (SOB!)

The word "matronly" is applicable.

Kid Rock turned 40 this year, too, and released an album that, except for one or two songs, could probably be played with kids in the room.  I'm serious!  What happened?!?  


I can't go on....

Let's just say that I've had a hard time coming to terms with the big 4-0.
My mother is positively gleeful at my angst!

And, so, the blogging stopped for awhile.

Coincidentally, the fall cow work began the next day and I haven't really had a moment to think of anything else.  John Moore, a Miles City author who deigned to join our bookclub one evening, told us that his stories came to him while he was riding and trailing cows.  Mine, obviously, don't. 

I have another 4 posts, brewing in my head, but I need to put babies to bed and read a paper for the Farmer's Intro to Government class. 

Don't go far...!