It all started with Joe...

 ...Montana.
It wasn't a team logo/mascot, like a Cowboy or a Colt.
It wasn't because my Dad liked the team, or my brother or anyone I knew at the time.
It wasn't because they had the best record of wins vs losses, although I certainly got in on the golden years of the 49ers, thank goodness.
It wasn't because they were close, geographically speaking.

It was the quarterback with MONTANA emblazoned across the back of his jersey. 
I love the 49ers because of Joe Montana.

Heck, I loved Joe Montana, himself!  Who wouldn't?  (Here's your door, TOASTBA...)
He was classy, intense, smart, fun to watch because he was so good at what he did, and let's not forget that dimple on his chin underneath a smile that took away the need for flash photography. 
It was great to be from Montana and for Montana. 

I think it was the second year we were married, Wayland surprised me with a #16 MONTANA jersey for Christmas!  How cool is that?! I've worn the poor thing almost out, trying to summon luck for my beloved 49ers every year.  This year, it may have worked.  The Niners are in the playoffs! 

I've been wearing my Joe all week.  ALL week.  Take it off when I go to town or go for a run, but around here, it's the Joe.  I'm wearing it as I type this.

Today is the big game against the Saints at home in San Francisco, and the Saints are heavily favored to the point of polite condescension from all the ESPN and FOX sportscasters about the Niners.

They're nicely talking about our D, grudgingly admitting they're a force, but still betting for the Saints. They can only speak of Drew Brees, Mr. QB of the Year. They already have the Saints breezing through this game to play Green Bay next weekend.

There's no indication, however, that God will favor the Saints this year, even with their heavenly association by team name, because everyone knows the Broncos have that corner on the market with Tebow. (Eyes rolling, here, but grinning.)

I'm hoping the Niners make Terry Bradshaw and Howie Long choke on their peanut M&Ms today and retract all the Saint-ly predictions they've been making.

Hey, it could happen!

The 49ers have a yell that they've been doing this season; it was started by their new coach, Jim Harbaugh, after they won their third game of the season.  He yells, "WHO'S got it better than us?!?!"  and the players holler back, "NO-BODY!!!"  It's been implemented in this house, too.  I'll be doing dishes or something equally ordinary and think to yell, "WHO'S got it better than us?!!?" and little voices from around the house will holler back, "NO-BODY!"  

That's right.

NOBODY'S got it better than us!

Go Niners!

(The Broncos are playing the Patriots tonight, too. Looking forward to the TOASTBA comments after THAT game.  Last week, I called the Broncos to win by 14, against all the intelligent, realistic, logical reasons not to.  Their own fans were betting against them. They only won by 7, but still...

This weekend, I've gotta say I think they'll lose by the same margin.  Sorry!  I'm not feeling the love...or the hope, frankly.  We'll see.) 

I can't fold paper.

It's true.
It's too mechanical for me.

(My friend Traci is laughing out loud, right this minute, because she knows this to be true...)

I wanted to make origami cranes to hang in my windows in January, because I think they're cool and also...there's nothing to celebrate until we get to Bobby Burns birthday!  I bought the origami paper, printed off the directions from the computer, went to a quiet corner and carefully started following the steps, reading them out loud to make sure I got it correct.  (You know, folding from right to left is tough....for someone who can't find her right leg during yoga.)

I had some cool little triangle-y shapes, but when it came to folding the legs out, there were none.  NONE, I tell you.  I could fold it over and make it look like a Kermit-thee-Frog (sic) face, but I want cranes, not a Muppet.  Waaaaaahhhhh!

I can't put specific LEGO structures together, either.  Even with the directions.  Some sadistic, vengeful person bought my son a Pirates of the Caribbean LEGO set for Christmas; it makes a little castle, two carriages and I don't know what all.  All the parts are specific.  The carriages ONLY go together a certain, special way.  I don't have a clue what that way might be, even WITH the instructions laying in front of me. 

It makes me want to throw the whole thing against the wall after struggling with miniscule parts for 40 minutes and coming up with....a one-wheeled carriage. 

My kids don't ask me to help with anything anymore.
They wait for their father to come home and then rush him with projects like opening the secret drawer on the magic box, rebuilding LEGO structures, putting together Barbie outfits...

I don't know where the short circuit is, because I think I am trainable.  I can learn a crane if someone shows me.  I can make gingerbread houses that stand up and have square corners and everything, as long as I don't have to look at a diagram.  But hand me a step-by-step chart for making Jello blocks and I'm lost.  Was that hot water first? 

*sigh*

Anyone else mechanically challenged?
Is there anyone who knows how to fold an origami crane that would like to sit beside me and teach me?  I still want those cranes!

Found this photo from family vacation in August, when I was looking for a different profile pic for FB.
I don't know what it is about black and white pictures, but some are almost haunting even though the subject matter and the setting is not...we're all happy, here, and it's a beautiful day, but I think it must be the trees and dappled light that gives it an odd quality.

Anyway, I've found that if I put pictures here, I can always find them and when I have the blog printed out in book format again, it's rather like a scrapbook.  That's all...no other significance to the post!  :)

Shoop-Shupe!

(I'm terrible at coming up with titles for posts...)

So, one of my *GREAT DISCOVERIES* this fall has been a singer named Ryan Shupe and his group The Rubberband. 

I KNOW!  Just the name of the band indicates that it's going to be good, don't you think?

They play some sort of bright, fun, modern blue-grassy-country-poppy music that I can't seem to define for the life of me.  Maybe it's Roy Clark meets Huey Lewis, then throws in a little Five For Fighting and Alan Jackson. And a marching band, on one song.  It's very awkward to juxtapose all those elements and still come out with something good.  Somehow, this little band managed to!  I think they started out primarily bluegrass, but then were having so much fun with it that they just kept going.

For instance, they sing  The Corn Dog Song. 
I'm not joking.
And it's accidentally really good.
They sing a song that makes fun of themselves, Banjo Boy, that basically says they want to make it big, drive limos, have chicks...but they play the banjo, so that's probably not gonna happen.  It ends with the Foggy Mountain Breakdown.
There's a song, Oh, How I Miss You, that the lead singer wrote for his wife while he was on the road, thinking it would be nice and tender, but it ended up being sort of a party song with mariachi horns and a marching band feel, complete with drums and all.  You can't help but dance, when it's on in the background! (Okay, I can't help but dance...I'm sure many other people have resisted that urge quite successfully.  My world vs. the rest of the world sort of thing...)
And the song, Hey, Hey, Hey...?  Well, let's just say that if you're listening with headphones on, the people around you are going to get the fright of their life when you're humming along then holler "HEY!....mmmm....STAY!.....mmmmm, mmmm,mmmm...HEY! HEY! HEY!".  It's a great running song. Trust me.  Not so cool on trains, but great for running. 

But the song that caught me first, that's become sort of my theme song this year, is Dream Big.  I'm going to try to attach it to this post and if it works, I want you to listen with your eyes closed.  (Of course, I can't TELL if you close your eyes, but play along, okay?) Listen twice, if you need to. 



Dream Big

(This link will take you to Opendrive....hit the download button and it'll pop up a little player for you!  You can actually probably save it to your computer, if you like it.  I hope you do.)

"It only hurts for a little while...

...that's what they tell me; that's what they say."

It was a song on the radio when I was a kid.  I have no idea who originally recorded it, but I sing it in my head when I do yoga.

Yoga is the perfect place to apply the saying, "That which does not kill you makes you stronger."
I've been doing some, lately, and it's one of the hardest strength training I've ever encountered.  But it's the very best, too!  It's more interesting than doing plain old push ups and crunches, and I've found muscles I didn't know I had in places I'm surprised they exist...truly.  For instance, when I was trying to contort into a pose that the video instructor seemingly effortlessly glided into, I got a charlie-horse cramp in the muscles of my ribs.  I KNOW; I didn't have any idea there were any of significance, there, but I'm telling you...they ARE there and they don't like it when I go from the one-legged downward dog into whatever twisty pose I was attempting. 

My thought process, when doing yoga, goes something like this:

"This isn't so bad (during warm-ups)!  Maybe I was just a big baby last time...yeah, that's it."

"Right leg?  Which is my right leg?" (because on video, it's a mirror-image of what I'm supposed to do...I get all messed up)

"Breathe in?  or out?  Good grief!  I'm still working on finding my right leg...I'll breathe when I get that done, lady!" (I talk to the instructors, under the breaths I'm not remembering to take...)

"Cat pose, crane pose, fish pose, dog pose....how about a dead turtle pose?  THAT I can do."

"I want to die, but it feels good, but I want to die, but it feels good, but oh man, I really want to die..." (I say that more frequently than anything else. It's the theme of yoga.)

"Cramp! AAAAHHHOOOWWIIEEE!"

"HOW can those people on the video be smiling and serene?! WHY are they not sweating and rolling their eyes?! WHERE do they get those great outfits?!"

"Love cool down yoga!  We should do more of the cool down yoga...it's sorta dead turtle-ish..."

"Well. Now.  That wasn't so bad.  And I feel so strong! And I can breathe, now!  Yeah!"

That's the 50 or so minutes, all condensed for you.  It would be more amusing if you had the video of me doing the video, but you get the idea. 

I can tell you, it doesn't look like THIS:

Hurts just to look at it, doesn't it?

I'm seeing results, already, though, and that's what keeps me coming back.  And I love feeling strong...love it!  I like that I can do the yoga exercise without the interference of the yoga mind junk.  Even if it did have that mantra-stuff, I'm afraid I'm contrary enough to be thinking "You all can take your inner third eye and shove it, because I'm praying to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob that I'll live through this experience with minimal damage to the surroundings and/or my physical being!"  Seriously.  It WILL bring you closer to God.  I pray to get through it, pray in thanksgiving when it's over, pray I can find the Aleve quickly...

I'm still running, but it's fun to have something different to work on.
Stay tuned, because next week, you get the report on my other new exercise endeavor...

I found these dandy straws at my favorite store and had to buy them because...well...LOOK at em!

Are they not the coolest thing you've seen since the Dukes of Hazzard?

I didn't know if they'd work or not, but they work brilliantly and the kids get almost cross eyed trying to watch the juice when it first comes through; for my entertainment value, alone, they were worth the $2, each.

And Maggie won Best Show-N-Tell for the week, I believe.... 

They were both very serious about the whole project, sucking down the liquid until it was just fumes in the bottom of the glass.

There's Adventure EVERYWHERE!

Especially when you're five and seven years old.
And live a rather sheltered life, in ways.

Today, the barnacles and I went to Miles City for errands and appointments.  The BIGGEST thing about going to town is getting to eat out; it's big conversation during the 80 mile trip, the pros and cons of each eatery being examined, ambiance, whether or not there will be chicken nuggets....

After MUCH discussion, it was decided by both kids that we'd eat Mexican.  They wanted tacos.  They were hoping someone in the joint would have a birthday so they could hear the little band sing, plopping the gaudy sombrero on the honored guest's head.  That really IS the best part of eating at a Mexican restaurant, don't you think?

I hadn't realized that it had probably been a couple years since either of them had been there, and they really didn't remember anything about it.  From the moment we entered the world of kitchsy Mexican decor, mariachi music playing cheerfully in the background, they were entranced.  The brisk little waitress walked us to our booth, but it took us awhile to get there because there were SO many things to look at!  A big picture of a bullfighter, pinatas, sombreros, arches that have the words "Hola, Amigos!"....everything was festive.

We had barely slid into the booth when the boy with tortilla chips, salsa and water showed up.  We didn't even ORDER it yet, Maggie noticed, very impressed that he could obviously read her mind and knew she couldn't wait another minute for some kind of food.  They dug right in, dipping their tortilla chips knee-deep into the salsa.  Then, after glugging a bunch of water to chill the burn, they hit it again, but more gingerly. 

When the waitress reappeared at the table, Maggie looked up and said, "OH-lah!"  It startled the waitress a bit, but she responded in kind and took our orders....went around the corner, counted to 10, then reappeared with their plates.  I'm telling you, it was that quick!  Maggie was CONVINCED they could read her mind. "That was SO FAST, Mom!"

They both sampled a little on their plates, then chose their favorite things: Angus dipped tortilla chips in the refried beans, happily consuming an alarming amount and Maggie ate her taco and rice, after being informed what the delicious dip REALLY was.  I should've let her think they were brown potatos like she first guessed.  They ate, and looked at the place, commenting on every little wonder and bauble, ate more, "OH-lah"ed anyone who walked by, lost napkins and found them in the worst places, ate more...

By the time we left, Maggie's Spanish had improved greatly.  She now knows "gracias", "adios", "amigo/amiga", and another word that I'm not sure about but think it may be "seniorita".  We walked past an Ace Hardware employee on our way to the car: "Adios, amigo!"  He was rendered speechless.  (Obviously doesn't know Spanish, like WE do...)

Immediately after that, we had to go get the car washed.  I do this everytime I go to civilization, but with the kids, it's as exciting as a carnival ride!  Each new sudsy cycle gets squeals and pretend shrieks of fear, followed by giggles and the anticipation of whether or not the NEXT sudsy cycle will be the rainbow one.  You haven't REALLY washed your car if you didn't get the rainbow soap.  Everyone knows that, right?  Sometimes, the car wash is so much fun, I actually consider pulling around again and doing it a second time. (Also, because if you live in Cohagen, your car is a two-washer nearly all the time.)

At the grocery store, they checked out the interesting fruits and vegetables.  Maggie wanted the hairy coconut, but I ended up steering her to the strawberries.  If there had been pomegranates, I'd have relented, but I know I'm the only one who likes coconut and I'm not ready to take one on, all by myself.  Cans have intriguing labels, people must be greeted (OH-lah, amigo!), the color of the milk cap negotiated.  Choosing yogurt takes awhile, because Maggie can't decide between Key Lime or Acacia Blueberry. 

I've never enjoyed my kids so much as I have this year.  I've never had more fun parenting! Heck, I really didn't even know parenting could actually be fun until last summer.  They're interesting, funny, adventurous, smart little people and it turns out, I really like them, as well as love them to pieces.  And I think they're starting to like me, too.  :)

Get Down(ton) With It

True Confession #394: I watch Masterpiece Theatre...for fun!

I know.  That doesn't really seem like much of a shocking revelation, but the fact that I watch anything at ALL besides football and the occasional 10 minutes of the evening news is sort of a big deal.  I didn't realize exactly how "out of it" I was, where popular television is concerned, until I was at Bookclub last month.  The topic turned to what everyone was TiVo-ing, and I found myself with nothing to add. NOTHING.  I didn't know the sitcoms, I didn't know the dramas, I didn't know any of the actors, I didn't know what night anything came on and it certainly never crossed my mind to tape or TiVo anything in the past 10 years.  Maybe longer. 

THEN it occurred to me that I DO watch Masterpiece Theatre, when there isn't football on, and Downton Abbey is nearly to start!  The thrills!

Too bad no one else in my world watches it...
Except Alice.

My friend Alice is into British culture like I'm into French.
I look at pictures of her and smell tea and scones.  She can wear delicate little cardigans, rock the Wellies, carry an umbrella with nonchalance, reads Wilkie Collins, is neat and trim, and I always sort of expect her writing to start out, "I say, miss; it's a fine day for a stroll, is it not? Shall we market together, thusly?"  (I'm teasing her a little, here, but you get the idea.)

Alice is OBSESSED with Downton Abbey.  She follows it like I follow the 49ers, sending me shocking little preview videos, profiles of the actors, reviews of the new series.  And, I'm embarrassed to say, I have been completely sucked in and am waiting, waiting, waiting for the first episode of Season 2! 

Last year, the first season, found me wearing pajamas and a sweatshirt in my living room chair which had been drug over to the computer desk (because I have to watch it with headphones so as not to disturb anyone else who might be trying to watch Survivor Man or Top Shots), with a glass of wine, gasping at the twists and turns of the plot, coaching Mr. Bates and Anna to give in to their OBVIOUS attraction and just go ahead and clasp hands or something tender!  Lady Mary is, at first appearance, cold and manipulative, but really I believe she's under a lot of pressure and misunderstood. (Alice and I disagree on this point, but I hold firm.)  The lady's maid only knows half the story (while I, of course, know the WHOLE story and am trying to convey it, in vain, through the computer screen and hand gestures) and does something unforgiveable to....well, I've said too much already.  And then World War I starts and we're left for 11 months to ponder the fate of dear Matthew, miss the Countess of Grantham with her sharp, dry wit, and agonize over the question of whether Mr. Bates and Anna will succumb to what we all know is life together, happily ever after. *sigh*  It's all so wonderfully, awfully well-done and classy, so addictive....

Downton Abbey, Season 2, is going to begin airing this Sunday on PBS.  You can watch episodes of Season 1 on the computer; they stream it through the Masterpiece website.  If you want to catch up, then join us in our funny little British world every week for about 7 Sundays/Mondays, please don't wait a minute to start!  Alice watches on Sunday evenings, I watch on Mondays (due to football post-season still being on, and let's not forget the Super Bowl where you'll all find out that the 49ers are really and truly THE best team in the NFL...not the GB Packers, as assumed by 98% of the world right now, save 1 delusional Broncos nut who signs his correspondence TOASTBA).  We cluck and fuss and discuss on the Tuesday following.  (I love that Alice has to wait a whole day, sitting on her hands to keep from typing and spilling the beans!)

You see?
It really IS quite the confession!

Motivation!

Have any of you watched the television show Hoarders?
It's about people who cannot...CANNOT let go of anything.  Their houses are full to the brim with junk, their cars, their garages...everything is full, full, full of junk.  There's usually some sort of traumatic life loss behind this compulsion, something snaps in their brains and they just can't throw anything away.  It's very sad and awful, a lonely existance filled with flotsam but usually no people because there's no room, and they're embarrassed. 

The show's producers basically interview and film the person before, get interviews from loved ones who are doing an intervention with the show's help, hire professional cleaners/organizers and try to unbury the person, getting them psychological help in the process.  So there IS hope!

I don't watch a lot of television...in fact, that's one of my silly goals this year, to watch at least one popular show so I have something to talk about with the rest of the world.  But every once in a while, I stumble upon this show on A&E and watch an hour of it.  Inevitably, after watching the show, I look around and get almost panic-y if I see any clutter.  There's always clutter, with a family; life together just produces it, and it's not always a bad thing.  But it sure spurs me into action, tossing any stray paper, hole-y sock I run across, little McDonalds toys that broke, raggedy old dish cloths.

It's good to get perspective, even if it's extreme. 
What kicks you into action, at your house? Company coming? Saturday ritual cleaning? Losing a cat in the laundry and not finding it for several hours?

Here's a link to the website, where you can watch full-length episodes:
http://www.aetv.com/hoarders/

Word travels...

Alright, everyone:  I know I just hit you with the Les Miserables book post, but I have yet another lit post that I HAVE to put up.  This is not a particularly exciting time of year, the long cold days after Christmas, grinding through January and hanging on by my fingernails to the hope of spring.  I read a lot.  Disappear into books, into worlds with no sagebrush or cows, travel vicariously, store beautiful or striking phrases in my "word bank". 

A couple days ago, FedEx dropped off a box of new books for delighted, hungry readers!

They look pretty imposing in size, but the book Angus is looking at is by Brian Selznick, so easily half of it is illustrations.  Gorgeous, detailed, fascinating illustrations...

The title of the book is Wonderstruck, and I cannot recommend this author and this book enough.

It will make you feel like a reading superhero, too, because you can finish a 650 page book in an hour if you're a fast reader. It will take you another hour, however, to process all the pictures which are intertwined with the written story.  

My fat book is the new Stephen King novel, 11/22/63, a gutsy read because it deals with a man who examines what the U.S. would be like now if JFK had survived.  The word I'm using to describe it is "dense".  I'm not a big Stephen King fan...in fact, I don't think I've ever made it all the way through one of his books, but this one intrigued me after a friend mentioned the premise.  One of my goals this year is to read fiction; specifically, 12 novels, one for each month.  I think perhaps I started too big, with this one.

Maggie is reading a book that has blown me away; The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyworld in a Ship of Her Own Making, by Catherynne M. Valente.  It's not very big, only 247 pages, 22 little chapters, but the writing is stunning.  Stunning.  I read very little fantasy, perhaps because I live in that world every day so it holds no allure.  This little story may change all that.

Here's the blurb on the inside of the dust jacket:

September is a girl who longs for adventure.  When she is invited to Fairyland by a Green Wind and a Leopard, well, of course she accepts. (Mightn't you?) But Fairyland is in turmoil, and it will take one twelve-year-old girl, a book-loving dragon, and a strange and almost human boy named Saturday to vanquish an evil Marquess and restore order.

Wow.

Oddly, I relate very much to September, enough so that sometimes when I'm reading with Maggie, I have to stop so I don't shed tears.  Isn't that silly?  It's a twelve year old character!  Perhaps we all have a twelve year old, hidden in ourselves...

Or maybe it's just me.

That's probably the case.

Here's an excerpt where September is talking with The Green Wind:

"When you solve a jigsaw puzzle," he said, "how do you do it, pumpkin-dear?"

September shuffled her cold foot on the smooth blue stone of the Thoroughfare. "Well...you start with the corners, and then you fill in the edges to make a frame, and then work inward until all the pieces fit."

"And, historically, how many winds are there?"

September thought back to her book of myths, which had been bright orange and therefore one of her favorite possessions.  "Four, I think."

The Green Wind grinned, his green lips curling under a green mustache.  "Quite so: Green, Red, Black, and Gold.  Of course, those are roughly family designations, like Smith or Gupta.  And actually there is also Silver and Blue, but they've made trouble off the coast of Tunisia and have had to go to bed without supper.  So the fact remains: Today, we are the corners."  He gestured at the placid Latitude and Longitude.  "They are the edges.  And you, September" ---he gently pulled a strand of September's hair free of her brooch---"are the middle pieces, all funny shaped and stubborn."

When I read that, it perfectly described how I feel I'm made up...all funny shaped and stubborn. But there's a need for funny shaped, stubborn puzzle pieces.  I have corner friends and edge friends...I've always wanted to be more of an edge person, with a smooth, straight, even side and a bumpy, interesting side. It seems so balanced.  But I'm not, and now it doesn't seem so bad to be a middle piece. 

One more excerpt, because I love the writing:

"When you are born," the golem said softly, "your courage is new and clean.  You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth.  But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk and crusty things and dirt and fear and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like.  By the time you're half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it's so grunged up with living.  So every once in a while, you have to scrub it up and get the works going or else you'll never be brave again.  Unfortunately, there are not so many facilities in your world that provide the kind of services we do.  So most people go around with grimy machinery, when all it would take is a bit of spit and polish to make them paladins once more, bold knights and true."

And with that, I'll ask the question: what are YOU reading right now?  Anything great?  Or awful?



 

It's only make-believe...

A high school classmate of mine contacted me this fall, after watching my TTU Red Raiders remarks on Facebook, wondering if I wanted to play fantasy football, seeing as how I seemed to sort of like the game and followed teams pretty closely. 

"I don't know....how does it work? I'm not very good with games."

He explained the concept and told me how to sign up.

I figured it could be another long winter and besides, the league he was putting together had old classmates of mine that I hadn't been in contact with for 20 years.  It could be interesting.  What the heck...okay, I'll sign up.

And a monster was born.


For those of you who don't know about fantasy football, it's basically where each "manager" (person who joins the league) drafts players from all over the NFL for different positions.  So you could have a 49ers quarterback, a Cowboys running back, a Broncos wide reciever and so on.  They're real players in the NFL, but you pick them for your pretend team.  There are a couple tricky things, here, though.  If someone else in your group has already picked them, you can't.  You can pick someone else and try to trade for that player, but that's not usually going to happen if they're amazing players. 

The DRAFT is an evil, tense process.  It's a timed deal, a certain amount of time on a specific day in a specific order. I signed up for the league about 4 days before our draft occured, so that means everyone else had been doing research on players all summer but I'd only been reading up on them for a couple days.  You have to know about ALL the darned players for ALL the positions because most of the time you won't get your first, second or even fifth choice....you've got to be ready to pick from what's left, if you're not high on the draft, which I wasn't.  I had lists, highlighted and notated, starred and :(  -ed,  read ESPN like the daily news, asked friends...it was ugly. 

My draft was ugly.  I really did end up with a lot of second-string players, sleepers, a couple young-and-shaky-prospect quarterbacks, 49ers that no one wanted (but now are DYING to have).  I was upset...the whole thing had taken place in 16 minutes, players like Aaron Rodgers flying off the shelf like Tickle-Me-Elmo dolls at a Black Friday sale, and you all know what kind of shopper I am!  And I'm shopping for football players, now! Sheesh...

My team was named Hail Mary, completely appropriate because a Hail Mary pass in football is a long shot, desperate attempt, throw into the wild blue and hope for a miracle sort of thing.  It was the longest of shots, this fraggledy little team. 

I had the 49ers defensive line, because no one wanted them. 
I had quarterback Matthew Stafford, maligned and distrusted because he has spent most of the last 2 years on the bench with injuries.
I was running back heavy, (literally) with Darren Sproles, Michael Bush, Reggie Bush, Kendall Hunter, Ricky Williams...they were all that were left!
I had nothin' for wide recievers, and fought that position to the end.
My tight ends were Vernon Davis, the only superstar at the time on my team, and Antonio Gates, highly recommended but shaky future. 
My kicker was from the Atlanta Falcons and pretty unimpressive on the stats, but again, no one wanted him so I took him in desperation. 

The way the machine works, then, is that your fantasy players get points based on the number of yards made on a play, completed passes, making a touchdown, stopping a play from the other team and so forth.  It's based on their real life performance, so fantasy football owners end up needing three televisions and two computers to watch all their players around the country, if they are that competitive and obsessed. 

Turns out, I AM that competitive and obsessed.
I know.
That comes as a total shock to no one.

Seventeen weeks of weeping, wailing, celebratory dances, standing up and yelling, gasping, stomping, couch-coaching.
Seventeen weeks of roster shifting, nail biting, head banging on the desk in front of the computer, arm pumps, lucky jerseys, sneaking peeks at scores during family/friendly gatherings.
Seventeen weeks of back and forth banter with my classmates who, as it turns out, are as competitive and obsessed as I am.
I lived and died by the projected points.
I dropped a couple players and picked up a couple more unknowns. 
Matthew Stafford made like a superhero, as did my running backs.  The 49ers shocked everyone by blowing out of the Bay and winning game after game.  Injuries to superstars caused my second string players to be put in positions of power and they came through, week after week, bless their hearts.
And Hail Mary made the playoffs, #4 out of 16 teams.

Two weeks of playoffs and we were in the championship game, the league Superbowl! 
That was yesterday and the entire world shut down while I watched with sweaty palms, game after game, stats bouncing all over the place.

Hail Mary WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And handily, 254 points against 157 points!

It was at a cost, though.
My kids walk around flinching, intermittantly hollering "Go Sproles!" and "Who's got it better than us? NOBODY!".  My husband has endured the endless updates and now when I open my mouth, he says (before I utter a word) "Oh, good.  Way-to-go."  My FB friends-if-they-still-claim-me are thinking of either joining a fantasy football league to see what the obsession is all about, or blocking me. 

The fantasy football season is over.
I won. I got a call from the commissioner, congratulating me.
I'd be all empty and let down about the end, except that the 49ers are in real life playoffs for the first time in I can't tell you how long, and I'm wearing my old Joe Montana jersey around, hoping against all hope that THIS will be their year!

I'll keep you posted...
:)

Oh! in an interesting side note:  My friend (who shall remain unnamed here) that talked me into this mess, gently taunted me when his team played mine that I'd better put on my big girl panties for that weekend, because I was going down.  I challenged him to a bet in which the big girl panties would be worn and photographed by the loser, for all the world to see.  I won.  This is my blog and I want the record of that win posted here for all time and eternity.  This is what fantasy football will do to seemingly normal, logical people:

It was a sweet moment. I was hoping for white, but this is pretty good, too...

Treasures

My Aunt Bert has always been a kindred spirit, to me.  We're very similar in personality...bossy (according to SOME people), social, interested in culture and history, very similar interests (France, shoes, food/cookbooks, kitten faces...the list goes on forever).  We both like projects, both driven nuts by passive-aggressiveness or helplessness, both like to "waste" time visiting people we know or even those we don't! She's way more thoughtful than I am, though, and sends amazing treasures in the mail from Texas to Montana that make me gasp or laugh out loud or cry.  I cry almost everytime I open one of her parcels....they speak to my heart, always.

I've been waiting to write this post because I almost couldn't find the words for it. 

Earlier in December, before Christmas, Aunt Bert sent a letter saying that there was a package to follow and that it contained family heirlooms...crocheted handkerchiefs of Great-grandma Cruce, a 1950s tablecloth that she's used and wanted me to have, a little pincushion.  I was watching the mail for it, worried that it might get left out by the mailbox in snowy weather or something. 

Well, the package arrived, safe and sound, and I opened it up that evening, completely unsuspecting.  (I should know better, really...)

Inside were all the heirlooms she'd written about; delicate, lovely handkerchiefs that Maggie was enraptured by, a little pink and yellow pincushion that made me smile, and a tablecloth that looked like it had been chosen especially for my kitchen.

And something that took my breath away, very literally.  I couldn't breathe for a minute, it was so wonderful!

An old, old book, tied up with a satin ribbon covered in little shiny Eiffel Towers.  Not just any old book....

...but an 1887 copy of my very favorite book in all the world, Les Miserables!  My hands were shaking as I opened it up and found the familiar, brilliant words of Victor Hugo, the unbelievably beautiful illustrations, smelled the ancient book scent that is peculiarly musty and softly sweet.  They still shake, every time I open it up.

Here's an excerpt, so you may understand why the book is so dear to me:

Nothing is small, in fact; any one who is subject to the profound and penetrating influence of nature knows this.  Although no absolute satisfaction is given to philosophy, either to circumscribe the cause or to limit the effect, the contemplator falls into those unfathomable ecstasies caused by these decompositions of force terminating in unity.  Everything toils at everything.

Algebra is applied to the clouds; the radiation of the star profits the rose; no thinker would venture to affirm that the perfume of the hawthorn is useless to the constellations.  Who, then, can calculate the course of a molecule? How do we know that the creation of worlds is not determined by the fall of grains of sand? Who knows the reciprocal ebb and flow of the infinitely great and the infinitely little, the reverberations of causes in the precipices of being, and the avalanches of creation?  The tiniest worm is of importance; the great is little, the little is great; everything is balanced in necessity; alarming vision for the mind.

I could spend an hour on those two paragraphs alone, reading them aloud and thinking of the implications. Isn't it strong and well-thought out writing that endures through generations, through decades and cultures?
The words are treasures, the tattered covers of this volume are treasures, the love and thoughtfulness that chose it and packed it with care to bring great joy are treasures.  Thank you, Aunt Bert; I cry as I write this and can't wait to sit on the deck this summer and read aloud from Les Miserables together.  I love you!

Out with the old...

I woke up feeling all purposeful and strong, this morning.  The tree is gone and all the Christmas fripperies are packed away, resting quietly until they make their big, sparkly showing again next year.  The house seems to breathe this big sigh of relief, as though it can only keep up holiday appearances just so long; sort of like someone wearing tight leather pants, you know? 

As I was sitting with the kids, snuggling and having coffee like I do every morning, I looked around and saw how I wanted to move the furniture...just like THAT....a flash! an inspiration!  And I had to do it JUST THEN.  Zoop, zoop, zoop, the chair was ferried to the corner by the bookcase, the loveseat was shimmied into place with a rather unimpressed dog riding along, the lamp was eased to a new spot, the stack of suitcases (which I was startled to see in Breakfast at Tiffanys this winter) skidded around and settled nicely by the loveseat.  The kids were delighted!  The kitten was leary; after all, his tree-gym had disappeared only yesterday. 

Ah...MUCH better.

We switch things around quite frequently, here, so this isn't a shocking development, but it's a wonderful change, a new way of looking at old stuff, old walls.   If I thought I could get away with it, I'd repaint, too.

Do you shake your surroundings up this time of year?  I'm always mystified at how many people don't.  Do you shake up your life, too?  Even MORE astounded at those who just sort of ease into a new year of life, with barely a nod at the change of numbers on their check date.  I'm not big into "resolutions", but I do love goals.  And change.  And growth. (Except in my girth...that's not cool.)

A couple years ago, I made a list of 89 things to do that year.  It was wild! Some were completely outrageous, of course, but some things actually got done. 

This feels like a year of cleaning up, cleaning out, dumping what's not working, finding solutions...out with the old!  Not all the "old" needs pitched, I'm certainly not saying that.  But we're all hanging on to old situations, old ways of thinking, old relationships that could use spiffed up or tossed.  I tend to cling to old ways of thinking that bog me down.  It's familiar to worry some things over, like a dog worries over an old, dirty shoe he's been hauling around.  The old shoe/old situation isn't valuable, it's just THERE, full of grunchy, smelly holes and rips.  Time for a new chew toy, don't you think?

This afternoon, after I get all my appetizer-y things done, I'm writing down 71 things to do this year.  It's getting printed out, just like the list of 89 things did, and I'm going to get started. 

Where are you with your furniture and life?  Ready to shake it up?  Or have you had a bunch of shaking this year and are ready to settle it down? I love to hear from you!  And any ideas you have for my list are very welcome.  I get a little silly around item #56, although those are usually the ones that get done....

Special Agent 0713

We've got the kit.
We've got the wardrobe.
We've got the attitude.

What we DON'T have, darn it, is a case to solve!
(The cookbook trail went cold...still no smoking gun, still no dirty socks for DNA.)
Suggestions?

Halfway there!

Details

Some days, I'm so engrossed in the details of life...
Here are some that I found around Dad's place, funny little images that probably only mean something to me, but I wanted to show you anyway.

Tis a gift...

The best gift my Dad gives his grandkids is time with the horses!  This post is from Christmas afternoon, and all that the kids talked about later.

Christmas Day

This is mostly a photo post, to be followed by an ALL photo post.

The "cussins" exchange books for Christmas. 

This is about 10 minutes after everyone got done opening gifts; they were pretty quiet and busy for a while!

Grammy reading Livvie's new book.  Liv has makeup on, not a black eye, and Grammy is wearing her new scarf/shawl/blanket. 

The best part of Maggie's book?  Vampire bats! Oooo!

Cari Mae and I with our Cookie Day prizes...we forgot to take a picture that day so we got one on Christmas.

Beef; it's what's for dinner!

Waiting, not so patiently, for the beef...

Sissie and my other Sissie!  We're missing Meghan...

Heading down to see the horses...

(That's going to be a stand-alone post; wait for it!)

Not real happy to have to be photographed AGAIN.

And then we went home to find Grandma Banana (my mom) waiting to finish out the day! What a nice Christmas!

Christmas Eve

I wish we had taken a picture of the food...
Because, as Joni says, no matter what we do in Cohagen, it really all comes down to being about the food. 
(I've decided this is a compliment and we've all noticed that she, the self-proclaimed "don't-expect-big-things" person is now cooking and baking and reading recipes.  She's come over to the dark side...it's a happy place, where butter and heavy whipping cream resides.) 
Anyway, we had food covering the counter in the living room and all over the table.  It was an appetizer evening and you know how those can get out of hand.  It starts out as chips and crackers, and pretty soon there's bacon wrapped shrimp, teriyaki chicken kebobs and seven layer taco dip with two kinds of tortilla chips.  Hot artichoke dip and sausage/cheese meatballs.  Peanut butter fudge and pumpkin bread with cream cheese frosting. 
I'm telling you, it got ugly.
When we finally limped away from the buffet, wishing we'd thought to wear stretch-y knit clothes, the kids (who had eaten 3 crackers and a meatball, each) were dancing on one foot and another, wanting to open presents.  Technically, they'd been doing that dance since 10 a.m.   ACTUALLY, they were up at 5:30 a.m., cleaning their room and fighting.  I'm not even joking.  I hadn't had coffee, yet, and I was handing out threats.  Isn't that cruel?  (I mean, cruel of THEM.)

So...
First, a package from Huntsville and the Hickams:

Okay, you can't see it very well here, but this is a dinosaur muffin pan.  We can now make dinosaur muffins and cupcakes! And be the coolest kids on the block...
(Of course, we're the only kids for 10 miles.  It's pretty easy to be the coolest ones on the block in THAT sort of scenario...)

Rocket Boys caps!

*DISCLAIMER: It gets sorta crazy after the first package, so do realize that I didn't get pictures of every single gift.

Two people who will remain unnamed but who are related to us, checking out the packages...

Another guest who ALSO will remain unnamed, but who might teach 7 brilliant students for a living in the world's best rural school....

Nerf gun...

Another Nerf gun...

(You see where this is going, don't you...?)

The evening disintegrated after this....

Sparky, with our kitten and a foam dart that is just about to enter his right nostril....(well, all the OTHER holes in his head were already plugged!)

The kitten, Cap'n Barbosa (or, I think it may be Barbara-osa) thought we were unwrapping things for HIM.

I feel sorry for anyone who doesn't have a cat around on Christmas Eve!  You reach down to pick up a pile of wrapping paper, it twitches and then explodes...cats love Christmas.

 Oh! This was one of the coolest gifts, ever!  Our very own hotel mini-bar, from Wayland's sister Pam.  Snacks, frou-frou sodas, coconut water, liquor, PopRocks, tea...everything.  Tonight, we're checking out the teeny cocktails. 

And Maggie got an art kit from her grandparents that made all the women say, "Awww! I ALWAYS wanted one of those!"  It has everything.  She's already producing art that we should frame....

One last picture....

Santa brought me a Joseph Ribkoff dress that I told Celestia I'd take a picture of.  I love it!

Please excuse the "just out of the shower" appearance, but check out the cut and colors...

Ready for Boston or Huntsville or anywhere life's adventures might occur!