September 30, 2008 @ 22:02

My life’s experience, taken as a whole, has probably not been any more or less sublime, harrowing, or in any other way wisdom inducing than any one else’s.  I don’t know all the answers.  But I do know that hate is never one of them.  I believe that there are two basic emotions.  Love and fear.  And really, you could call them two sides of one coin, each being the absence of the other.  Love/fear, good/evil, right/wrong.  I believe that every conflict can be traced back to its origins and find fear at its heart.  That primal drive for survival.  It’s human nature, basic and pervasive.  I makes us hate where it is not warranted.  I am continually mystified and saddened by the haters.  Big and small.  The big ones, zealots, racists, terrorists, tyrants, those epic sized haters have always been in our world.  The small ones are sad as well.  It follows us from the preschool playground games through the junior high school dramas and into our workplace gossip and office politics.  It is in those people who lurk behind Anonymous to belittle a post.  Or those who use their posts to belittle others.  What I have been doing lately is cutting out of my life all of the things that continually remind me of this uglier side of people.  In just the last couple of months I’ve probably saved myself an hour every day in the number of blogs I’ve stopped reading.  I’ve stopped reading one who caustically belittled Palin for her hair, one who referred to the Biggest Loser contestants as pigs, and one who boldly came out and wrote things so racist that I choked, literally.  To the racism, there is no room for debate there.  To the others?  I do not assume that I know how people came to be the way they are.  What internal struggles cause some to gorge, fall into drug addiction, become cutters or wallflowers or asses.  Perhaps that person you are calling a pig is a survivor of unimaginable abuse and neglect.  To label them pig because their coping mechanism took them out of your pool of acceptable sexual partners?  It’s unreasonable.  And cruel.  And probably says more about you than anything else.   But perhaps you are right.  Maybe they were just a lazy pig.  But did hurling the word pig at someone do anything more than raise you up in the eyes of the other junior high school bullies?  And those who laugh with you in the hopes of avoiding being noticed by your cruelty?  And Palin, sheesh, there could not be anything less important than her hair. 

I hope someday that I’ll reach a place inside myself that I no longer have those knee jerk reactions to those who cross my path and make my suvival instincts rise to the surface.  I still snarl in traffic.  I still lose my religion.  At least once a week I have to carefully extract myself from some conversation in my office to aviod becoming entangled in the drama.  But I have left junior high behind.  I do not wander about the internet looking for people to insult.  And here I am, giving more time to it than I had intended.  All I really meant to say is this, a really good rant is a beautiful thing.  But not at the expense of another.  We all carry a burden.  I choose to lighten my own by doing my best to not add to anyone else’s.  And not participate in anyone else’s.  Enough with the foolishness. For now I hope that if nothing else, I can always find a way to go through my day letting kindness and respect lead my words and actions, not hate. 

September 29, 2008 @ 21:56

I may be a very bad poster for the next few weeks.  Either that or I’m going to perfect the ability to say what I mean in under a hundred words . . .  heh, yeah, not likely.  Here goes anyway . . .  Bear made the All Region Orchestra.  Yay!  Puppy’s ear is on the mend, although he now has a goose egg (a small one) with a cut in the center of it (a small one) on his little forehead.  It is tough being an in-a-hurry kind of kid and the same height as the kitchen island, dang it.  And I am one quarter of the way through my opera costuming project.  In the next five weeks I have to find 27 pairs of shoes and boots and learn to block hats and finish all the sewing of course.  In that same five weeks I will also be completing the very first issue of our new magazine at work (my new job description is so cool).  Oh, plus Halloween is coming and the boys will both need costumes and maybe me, too.  So, I have promised myself that I will not agree to any more cake or cupcake or even cookie requests until the opera’s opening night.  Since I made that promise to myself, I have made 72 cupcakes, 2 dozen cookies and one cake to feed 200, but hey, I’ve turned down two other cake requests, so it’s progress, right?  Right.  Here’s that cake . . . see?  In defense of my intentions to simplify, it really was a quicky, not cute at all, just one giant vanilla cake with lemon curd filling and Buck, the sheriff department’s new drug dog on the top.  That was the reason for the event . . .  a party with 200 guests for a dog.  God, I do love the South. 

Oh, that kiddo in the Spidey jammies is pretty darn cute, too, huh? 

September 25, 2008 @ 22:02

Puppy is home sick.  He had the tubes removed from his ears the last week of June and the ear infections are right back.  We have an appointment with the ENT doc in two weeks.  I suspect it’ll be back to surgery for a new set of tubes.  This will be his fourth.  Bear has to be at school at 6:15 in the freakin’ a.m. for all region orchestra try outs on Saturday.  I also feel like I’ve been hit with a truck and sound like Kermit the Frog.  And I have to make 13 pairs of pilgrim pants, 6 pilgrim chick’s dresses and a Native American outfit this weekend.  Along with 72 cupcakes, 24 cookies and one sheet cake with a police officer and a drug dog on it to feed 200.  Holy Mary . . .  What was that you all were saying about slowing down?  I think I may have missed part of that . . .  the important part . . . 

September 24, 2008 @ 20:28

Yesterday, I screwed up.  And Puppy’s teacher handled it.  Well.  I was in such a tailspin yesterday morning.  Too much to do, early meeting, long drive north to tour a plant we’ve just contracted with and a lunch meeting after that.  Long drive back.  I was so distracted thinking about all the things I was going to fall behind on by being out of the office all day that I rushed him and Bear out the door with their breakfasts in hand and failed to give Puppy his medicine.  He did not have a good day.  He was defiant and disruptive.  He was pulled out of art class because he would not participate, was yelling “no” at every instruction the teacher gave.  We were given a good hard look at how it might be without that little pill.  Unintentionally.  I hate that he was in trouble because I forgot.  I hate that his class was disrupted.  I hate that his teacher was hit with the little tornado we’ve had five years to learn to rope and ride.  It’s one of the reasons I don’t take him out too much.  Which I get lectured about from everyone, whether I welcome the advice or not.  I know he needs to get out and socialize, but we’re doing it on his schedule, not by what might make my life easier.  He’s learning in a controlled environment, it’s called kindergarten.  And every day I appreciate it more and more. 

Puppy’s daddy picked him up from school yesterday, so I learned all about the day from him.  Usually in the afternoons when I pick him up his teacher gives me a two or three word synopsis of his day as he runs out the door and crashes into my legs.  Even medicated he’s speedy.  “Great day!”  has been the most common description I’ve gotten.  So, this morning I walked him back to class a few minutes early to explain what had happened.  To reassure her that I really don’t think this will be something that will be randomly crashing through her class.  And to apologize.  Her response?  “Don’t apologize!  He just had a bad day and now we know why.  Honey, it’s fine.”  Thank god for getting a great teacher.  One who didn’t punish him for what he could not control, who removed him from the situation he was unable to process, and who handled it with compassion and patience. 

September 21, 2008 @ 10:14

Yesterday I drove over five hundred miles to buy fabric for the opera costuming project.  There is a fantastic fabric store in Bossier City, Louisiana called Best Fabric.  They keep natural fiber fabric in stock year round, linens, wools, and at real people pricing.  So for 17th centurey costumes, I had to go.  And with the added bonus of going on a weekend when I knew most of the people I knew there would be gone.  I had been dreading it, but the timing worked out perfectly.  No fear of bumping into an ex or otherwise unpleasant person.  So I was able to spend some time there dread free and appreciate all the things I do love about the place.  And I love Shreveport/Bossier.  I mean love.  Sincerely love it.  I never lived there, had a job there, or did anything other than play while I was there.  It’s in my head as an almost mirror to home, but with none of the pesky get up and go to work stuff.  From here, it is a four hour drive.  You take the intersate all the way to Hope, the halfway point.  No good radio to speak of after Hope, so your own music collection is a must.  Two hours of interstate, good NPR reception the entire way and then at Hope, you leave the interstate and hang a left.  It’s a complete polar shift between the two sides of life here in the South.  Like hurtling down some great long launch tube from your day job-professional-high speed-don’t have time for that-life and out into the rural South. 

For the last two hours of the drive you are on classic Southern two lane highway.  And on a day like yesterday, when the weather is perfect, oh, it is my favorite drive.  You pass through several speed trap towns.  So it’s best just to slow down and accept the fact that you cannot be in a hurry here.  For much of the drive there are huge trees that completely overhang the road.  You’ll pass cow pastures and chicken houses and you’ll smell them while you are passing.  So if you’re a snob or a priss, I wouldn’t recommend this drive to you.  I’d probably recommend you remove the stick and try to get on with your life, but that’s another post.  Just as you leave Hope there is a long straight stretch of road with deep ditches on either side and tall dense pines along the length of it.  If you drive it after dark you’ll recognize it as every stretch of threatening highway you ever saw in a slasher film.  But during the day, it’s long tunnel of cool shade and quiet.  I almost always turn off the music on this stretch and open the windows, if the weather is right, and pay real attention to the place.  From there you pass through about a dozen small rural communities.  Some so small that without a reduced speed zone, you might not ever notice them.  You’ll go through Lewisville, the home of Burge’s, an old fashioned drive in with soft serve ice cream and the home of perfectly smoked turkey, I recommend it.  You have to jig a bit through downtown, don’t miss actually looking.  I love the old buildings.  At Christmas, the court house will be covered from earth to roof with lights.  And then from there you continue on at that same quiet, thought provoking, peace inducing pace. 

About halfway between Hope and Bossier, there is a railroad crossing seemingly in the middle of nowhere.  You round a curve with dense forest on either side and there is a new speed limit sign, then railroad crossing signs.  And there, with no other signs of civilization except for the road and your car around you, you will occasionally sit and watch a bit of industry suddenly hurtling by you, rumbling and angry and loud.  It is a wonderful juxtiposition.  It always makes me smile when I have to wait for that train, thinking about the oddity of it’s placement.  At home, how often do you find yourself smiling at being caught by a train?  Just over the train tracks, you cross the state lines into Louisiana.  Years ago there used to be a roadhouse there.  Late on Friday nights you’d pass and be able to hear the blues pouring out of it, more cars and trucks packed into the parking lot than it should have been able to hold.  Now it sits empty, weeds growing up where the honky tonkers used to park. 

Then, gradually, little town by little town, you make your way back into the big city.  But by the time you do, or well, by the time I do, I feel like a different person.  Relaxed, calmer, better.  This trip, I had a lunch date with loved ones waiting for me on the other side.  I could not have taken that drive at time when I needed it more.  Today I feel ten years younger than I did just 48 hours ago.  And I am thankful for that. 

September 20, 2008 @ 22:45

The Shoe cake before . . . 

The birthday girl, local shoe boutique owner, Kymme. 

The Shoe cake after . . . 

After Kymme’s friends are let loose on the cake. 

September 18, 2008 @ 22:40

I am still awake on a school night.  It’s making me scrunch my nose up and be not happy.  If I were awake watching some episode of Sex in the City that I’d seen a hundred times but was still a favorite, I wouldn’t mind at all.  But I’m awake because I’m making a cake.  *sigh*  I keep doing this, agreeing to make cakes for people that want a brilliant sculpted something like this . . . 

But the reality is, that they don’t really want it . . .  they just think they do . . . 

Strangers have started calling me.  Women who bank where the best friend of the sister of the woman who works with my sister-in-law’s manicurist have started tracking me down at my day job.  They call our switchboard and ask for me by name and when I answer they say hey, aren’t you the cake lady?  I swear just last week I met a woman in an Exxon parking lot with a box of White Chocolate Raspberry cupcakes.  I didn’t even get her name.  It was funny, surreal and maybe even a little creepy.  Most of these strangers call me up and tell me about their party and how they want a cake for it and they want it to spin and light up and look just like the Champs Elysees, that first hour after dark, do you know what I mean dear?   Oh and can it sing the Star Spangled Banner while we’re at it?  . . .  and they want me to do it for five dollah . . .  I wish Duff would start talking about how much his cakes cost so people wouldn’t look at me like I’d lost my mind when I tell them.  The end result, in the past year, even though I can do things that look like Jack up there, I have not actually made anything even half that fun.  Tonight, I’m making a shoe.  Not in fondant.  Again.  *sigh*  This particular person didn’t ask me for the moon.  They just wanted a shoe cake.  But without working it up more elaborately, I’m afraid that it’s just going to end up looking like a big drag queen shoe, which would be awesome, if it were for a queen . . . 

September 16, 2008 @ 21:42

I had an EKG today.  It came back normal.  For such a scary thing as checking to see if your heart is working properly, it certainly was simple.  Ten minutes tops, start to finish.  Strip down, lie down, get stickies applied all over, hook up, print.  Huh?  Really?  That’s it?  Okay . . .  Oh, and we will not talk about the doctor’s office scales. 

The doctor offered me a perscription for anxiety.  I turned it down.  He tried really hard to talk me into it.  But I just couldn’t.  He also told me a story about disappointing mac-n-cheese and gave me copies of pages from a book called Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff.  He was very nice, in an “I live in Mayberry” sort of way.  Not to take away from anything he said.  In fact, even he acknowledged that his story about mac-n-cheese was not particularly comparable to some of life’s real problems.  But he was trying to make a point.  I think/hope I got it.  I go back next week for more tests.  For now I am supposed to start taking time out for me.  So, ummm, can anybody tell me where that bank is?  So I can go make a time for me withdrawal?  I know they all mean well, but those people who give you advice based on the thumbnail sketch of your life kill me.  You have to give yourself a treat every now and then.  Go buy yourself a new pair of shoes!  Okay, so which kid gets to have peanut butter crackers for lunch that week?  Or, you should take a weekend and just get away!  Sure, great, let’s go.  You got some cash lying around that’s gonna pay for it?  You should just get out of the house, take some time for yourself, away from the kids.  And when I get home and the homework isn’t done and neither is the laundry or the dishes and Puppy is ricocheting off the walls because his routine got bumped for me to take a walk?  What then?  Because I’ve worked my ass off to get him to a place that is working for him.  He’s thriving.  But at least once a week already his routine gets ditched for important things, things that cannot be ignored, like my job.  He needs me here.  And so does Bear.  So for me to add to that list of disrupted days just seems selfish.  There’s just one of me, and if something around here has to give, it isn’t going to be something for the boys, it’s going to be me.  Hi, rock, have you met hard place? 

To top off my day, Biggest Loser’s new season began tonight.  And what do they have, but a couple with an Autistic child.  Now I’m not calling anybody a bad parent, I don’t know their story, their support system, their child.  It may be no big deal for the structure of their family.  But I cannot even imagine going away from Puppy for weeks, months.  But they sure did show results.  I’m jealous . . .  and not . . .  all at once. 

The jewel in the middle of my day, though, was driving with the windows rolled down with wind so cool that I wished for a jacket, under a perfectly blue sky, to go and see my sister.  So please don’t misread my tone here.  It’s bemused, not bedeviled.  I  heard back from my heart and it was good and I saw my baby sister, how could it have been a bad day? 

September 15, 2008 @ 20:44

I remember the first crush I had in school.  I was in the fourth grade.  My parents had just finished building a house in another town.  It was the night of the Halloween Carnival at my school. (We used to be able to have Halloween Carnivals.  Not just watered down versions called Fall Festivals.  Pah.)  It was the last time I’d be in that school and the last time I’d see those friends.  I remember exactly how everything looked.  All the different classrooms crowded with kids and parents.  All the teachers in costumes.  I don’t remember what I was dressed up as.  Princess maybe?  Raggedy Ann?  Hey, it was the 70s.  But I do remember Michael.  The first boy I ever had a crush on.  He was wearing jeans with turned up cuffs and a white tee shirt and his hair was slicked back.  The perfect preteen Fonzie.  Did I mention it was the 70s?  He bought me a coke.  I was a gonner.  Thirty years later I can remember that moment.  Michael was one suave fourth grader. 

This morning when I dropped Bear off at school, there was a tall blonde girl waiting for him.  As he climbed out of the car, she called out to him.  Awww, sweet, I thought.  This afternoon as I was pulling in to the parking lot to pick him up, I noticed a teen bombshell.  Strawberry blonde, hip hugger jeans, black baby doll tee tucked in, black leather belt studded with chrome squares, slung low on her hips.  She wasn’t slutty, don’t get me wrong, she was adorable.  But I’m surely not the only one who thinks she’s adorable.  She was walking across the parking lot towards somebody and smiling and saying something to them.  I then noticed it was Bear.  They exchanged a few words.  Damn my timing I couldn’t hear any of them.  But he looked different.  It took me a minute to recognize it.  But by god, he was being . . .  cool.  What?  My boy?  Being . . .  smooth?!?!  It’s just something I didn’t see coming.  Not the girl part, I knew that was coming.  This is the kid who remembers what your favorite song is.  Who cooks dinner sometimes.  He’s just so thoughtful.  But the suave part?  No, didn’t see that one.  ’Cause he’s such a goofball.  During our last visit to the photographer he entertained us all with his cheesey best.  But not today.  Nothing cheesey in sight.  More than just his voice is changing.  

I asked him about it.  And he said oh, just friends.  Sure, okay.  For today anyway.  Later this evening, in some subliminal effort to put my motherly thoughts to rest perhaps, he downloaded a new ringtone to his phone.  Chicken DJ.  He told me he was the chicken whisperer and then danced around the house like the goofball boy I know and love. 

September 16, 2008 @ 07:27 

Edit:  As we’re getting ready for school this morning, Bear asks me what I’m doing today. 

Me:  Going to the doctor. 

Bear:  Just a checkup? 

Me:  Just a checkup. 

Bear:  It’s weird that I don’t go to the doctor very much any more.  Now that I’m older. 

Me:  That’s because you’re not growing as fast as a baby we don’t have to checkup on things like is your little body and brain developing correctly every few months. 

As I’m forming the sentence in my head that what we really have to worry about right now is how he’ll have enough room in his brain for homework AND girls he’s says . . . 

Bear:  Yeah, I guess all I really have to worry about now is stuff like mono.

I’m still passed out on the floor from all the hysterical laughter and trying to explain to him what was so funny. 

September 14, 2008 @ 21:28

I love it when somebody ignores the same old same old.  I know as cakes go, this is pretty tame.  But it’s not a big pink cloud, either. Even if it was plain vanilla . . .