Buddy & Buddy

A dinnertime jingle for Buddy

Buddy doesn’t like cats, bats or rats.

He doesn’t like delivery men with hats.

He likes meats, treats and sweets

And smelly things, like summertime feet.

He can be a gross dog but we love him so

We will really miss him when it’s his time to go.

Big Monkey started that jingle and then I finished it.  I share it here because we were looking for a birthday gift for a friend when we came across this string doll that looks a lot like Buddy—and its name is Buddy!  I have to figure out where it’ll go—because I’m not one for a big wad of key chains and tchotchkes but this one is sure cute:

We bought it at Frances Vintage http://www.francesvintage.com/, in case you're interested.  I'll add it to the one from http://www.curlygirldesign.com/ that has one of my favorite sayings, "I'm off to join the circus."  It gets said fairly frequently in our house, mostly by me.

At any rate, here's the real deal:

Not the best comparison pic (plus, his head isn't as roundy) but he does share similarities in person.  Really, he does.  My house full of guests and family agree--or they are just being agreeable...

We are out of X

You may not think this is funny, but it is one of those “seriously?” kind of ways or the more you hear it the funnier it becomes in a “Wayne’s World” sort of way.  When we were coming home from the airport we decided to go through the McDonald’s drive-thru to get something quick because it was well past lunch time and we hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  The first thing we hear from the speaker is that they are out of soda—they can only sell iced tea and water.  It reminded me of the time many years ago when Boston Market first came to the valley and we weren’t really sure what it would be like.  Being the very good married “bachelors” that we were (figure that one out on your own—I know you can do it, especially if you knew us back then—a hint, perhaps “bachelorly” would be a better word and, yes, it’s an oxymoron) we decided that trying this new place out was a most excellent idea and we enlisted our other married bachelor friend to go with us (her husband was on call).  Here’s a brief lowdown on how that went:

After much debating lone married bachelor decides that we should share a whole dark chicken meal and I agree.  Chief does his own thing.  We get to the register, ready to order and we are told—wait for it—they are OUT OF CHICKEN!  Have you ever heard of such a thing?  We thought the guy was being funny—joke was on us doubly because he had no sense of humor—and after a long pause we tried to order, again.  Him: No, we are out of chicken.  Us:  Seriously, you aren’t joking?  Him: No, not joking.  What can I get you?  Us:  Uh, no thank you, we have to leave now. 

So I ask you, if you sell chicken dinners as your main gig (because when Boston Market first came here that’s what they did, mostly chicken—perhaps they had to add all the other meats and whatnot because they kept running out of chicken…I couldn’t even begin to speak to such nonsense) how could you possibly run out of chicken?  Seriously, a chicken place running out of chicken?  McDonald’s not selling soda (they may have had a technical problem but that still doesn’t bode well for them)? 

When I was pregnant with my first child a Shamrock shake sounded very good.  It was weeks before St. Patrick’s Day and there wasn’t a Shamrock shake to be found (after being told "no" once I was on a mission--it was barely March!): “I’m sorry we’re all out of Shamrock Shakes…”  I find it funny that places stay in business with this kind of model.  Sigh.  This post must sound like I live for nasty quick food—while I do have my vices fast-food isn’t one of them.  It seems that every time I go to a place like that there is nonsense galore, although it does make for good storytelling later on.

Vacations Past

Yesterday
I picked up an old girlfriend, her daughter and her daughter’s friends at the airport.  They are loving the Phoenix heat as they just came from chilly Seattle.  We were talking vacations past and about rides we won’t do as parents and my friend said that she did the Tower of Terror (at Disneyland) and won’t be doing it again.  I said I’d never do it and I don’t like to say “never” a whole lot because I don’t like eating crow.  With that said, I can pretty safely say that’s one ride I just won’t do.  I don’t like drops or roller coasters any more.  Somewhere I crossed some sort of line and I don’t feel obligated to go back.  Seriously, you couldn’t beg me enough—won’t do it.  At any rate, I was telling them that my husband, Chief, took Big Monkey on The Tower of Terror when he was 4.  They couldn’t believe it (although we all agreed he is a tall kid, always has been, and meets some of the height requirements earlier than might be expected) and so I told them I have a picture Big M drew after we came back—it’s of the Tower of Terror.  I then gave pause and said aloud—that really sounds like something that came out of a therapy session, doesn’t it?  I couldn’t believe that Chief took him and I can’t believe that Big Monkey to this day acts like it was cool and he wants to do it, again.  If he does, it just won’t be with me.

I still have this hanging in my workspace--this was a time of ripe imagination for him as well as creative pictures and art.  Although this picture does kind of say "therapy session" in its bleakness but then again what can one really remember whilst "dropping" from the top of a building to the bottom?

The Venting Machine

For some reason, the vending machine became a very popular topic a few weeks ago.  Apparently, at one of the camps the boys went to the counselors were using the vending machine to get extra snacks for themselves and the boys became fascinated by it.  It kind of reminded me of the Seinfeld routine where he’s talking about drive thru food and how it’s fascinating for dogs because you drive up and then food gets handed out of small window.  Like Seinfeld’s imaginary dogs, the boys were all about the vending machines.  But little man keeps calling them “venting” machines which leads me to another story altogether…

There’s a Japanese saying that you should tell your troubles to the ocean.  I remember reading that in a novel once, but the character who was telling the reader about this was saying that he didn’t want to do that because the ocean would only take the problems to someone else.  Where I get hazy on this is if the ocean carries it out and back to the shore or if it takes it out to the “other” side—either way, someone else is an unknowing “beneficiary” to your problems when you shout them out to the ocean.  It’s just bad news for the recipient.  I’m sure there are those of you out there who receive a lot of info you just don’t want/need/or know what to do with and the idea of having more heaped on doesn't sound so pleasant. 

What if we had a “venting” machine, some sort of machine where you took your problems and gave them up?  The machine could purify those thoughts/vibrations and send it back out into the world as something cleaner—kind of like a city water system, clean it up and move it on out.  We all need someone to tell our troubles to, even if it’s just to get it off our own mind—the best kind for the venting machine because you aren’t expecting a return you just want to rid yourself of a hot potato.  We all have days where all we’d like to do is vent but the accompanying vitriol is just a little too much for friends and family, maybe even ourselves.  With a venting machine you’d have a better place to put it without coming across as a big ass.  I could use a little of that.

I could probably use a little of this as well, but that, too, is another story:

Vacation

I honestly thought that I’d be able to post while on vacation.  This is despite the fact that my mom’s, where we stayed, has no internet.  My mom does text, if pressed, but doesn’t do computers.  She barely uses her cell.  My brother in-law and sister in-law are tech-savvy but they don’t text—don’t even try to text them because they don’t have it.  It’s kind of a funny juxtaposition—I love to tease them all about it.  My brother lives on a small sailboat with his girlfriend, but that’s too long of a story for here.  (I didn’t want anyone to feel left out so I added him—he really doesn’t have much to do with the techy part of the story.) 

I guess at different junctures in my life going home has conjured up different emotions and thoughts for me and it certainly brings out old dynamics and issues.  This time everything was muddled like the weather.  The weather was pretty fall-like the first part of the week and then a little like spring towards the end when we visited—Seattle just isn’t having the best summer, at all.  If you asked most Seattleites they’d say that’s an understatement.  I’m o.k. with bad weather but this time I caught a mild cold or something and it put me in a little funk which has lingered all the way home.  Not a funk because I was sick but more because it put me in such a reflective and pensive mood.  In turn, everything annoyed me to some extent.  It doesn’t help that I’m so tired I feel like the walking dead.  I’m exhausted for no good reason. 

Since my mom doesn’t have a computer or do anything computer related, I won’t get busted for sharing private thoughts, for being dead tired or for being just a little pissy and admitting it to the world. 

The night before we left I couldn’t help but think of the Wizard of Oz.  I was really obsessing about it when I couldn’t go to sleep—tick, tick, tick, midnight, 1am, 2am, 3am, 4am—time to get up.  We all make these journeys home and sometimes the very things that we’ve given so much power to over the years turns out to be the great “wizard” behind the curtain.  Instead of yanking on cords to create smoke screens he’s yanking our proverbial chains.  I couldn’t figure out what specific person, event or thing was my wizard this time around.  I was off to see the wizard but why?

Whether home is 15 minutes or 2 days away we all face some sort of dynamic—what’s yours and how do you deal with it?

We love dogs

           

Our family loves dogs.  We tell stories about dogs.  We sing and talk to our dogs.  We love seeing other people’s dogs—you get the idea.  We are getting ready to go visit the grandparents, both sides, and were talking about how long it would take if we drove.  The conversation moved on to how we could reduce the driving time if everyone took a turn—including the 5 & 7 year old and eventually the dog.  Yes, the boys decided that grandma would think it was very funny if Buddy drove to her house—then were cracking themselves up holding imaginary steering wheels and making the backing up beeping sound that some vehicles make.  This all happened while we were driving.  I’m sure that Buddy would also think that he’s a good driver, no, make that a stupendous driver because that’s the kind of dog he is (remember, most everyone thinks they are good drivers…).  I’m sure he’d be a focused driver because he’s a focused dog—until he saw a cat, then all hell would break loose.  There would probably be some curb hopping and sidewalk driving and definitely a lot of swerving and driving into oncoming traffic.  So, when the boys asked if I thought grandma would think it was funny all I could think of was “horrific.”  Big monkey must've read my mind because he said "horrific" aloud just as I was thinking it.  Although you have to admit the thought of a dog driving is a little funny.

This was our dog, Trigger, who didn't like to go in the car.  He liked it in theory but not as much in reality:

Poor guy is post-op coming back from a check, so he's looking even less thrilled.  Plus, he's in the Mini because the vet didn't want him jumping into the SUV.  My husband and I used to joke about Buddy & Trigger driving places and here I was having a similar conversation with the boys--although they started it. 

Magical music box

The fairy shopkeeper, aka magical shopkeeper, gave little man a music box that plays row, row, row your boat.  It’s a little red-bottomed box with a clear top that has a tiny crank to play the music.  She has a pile of these she gives to the “littles.”  She’s so good with children.  Fairy shopkeeper and little man seem to be on the same wave length--it's very cute to watch them interact. 

Fairy shopkeeper told little man that she likes to have hers by her bed and when she plays her music box it makes her smile.  Little man dutifully went home and put his new music box by his bed and every night for a long while after receiving this gift he’d play it before he went to bed.  One night he reminded me that he needed to play it after I turned out the light and was leaving.

As with many toys it was set aside, seemingly forgotten…but not so!  It hadn't been played for a few weeks but just as I was in need of some soothing from the extremely rough summer days filled with energy-riddled children and occasional arguing from all parties involved I would hear the magical music box playing from the playroom like the magic harp from Jack in the Beanstalk.  Just like the giant I would feel my body relax and a smile would cross my face at the thought of sweet little man (not angry, indignant or hollering little man but loving, kind and gentle little man) playing his magical music box right before bedtime.  He’s done this the past couple of nights and it’s as if he really knows that mom needs some serious help because she seems to have run out of her own resources come bedtime.  The music seems to start the reset button in a more official way and washes away the hot summer dust that wants to corrode my sanity.  Or maybe he needs the magical music as much as I do.

The Magic Shopkeeper

(Image courtesy of the Graphics Fairy http://www.graphicsfairy.blogspot.com/)

Once upon a time there was a magic shopkeeper.  She was the shy, quiet lady behind the counter who greeted every customer with warmth and friendliness but kept to herself until she felt her help was wanted or needed.  When she came out from behind the counter the real magic happened.  She knew exactly what would fit and work on the different bodies and personalities, even picking items that seemed so contrary and antithetical to her subject.  “No, no,” her subject would protest, “that would never work!” 

With enthusiasm and kindness she would insist that the items would work and gently suggested that the subject “try on” the outfit and that there wasn’t any obligation or hurt feelings if the subject didn’t like it/them.  The subject would take the item(s) to the dressing room with some doubt and misgivings only to spring out of it with great joy and pleasure on her face, “I can’t believe this works!  It looks wonderful!”  The magic shopkeeper assured the subject of the good match and was also very pleased at how nice the subject looked.  Everyone wins in this scenario because the subject has found a fantastic outfit that she may or may not have picked out for herself and the shopkeeper worked magic in matching an outfit with its proper person.  Everyone is happy, even the outfit--I’m sure of this because we are in a magical space. 

Every one needs a magic shopkeeper or a fairy godmother in his/her life.  The most magical shopkeepers often work in local boutiques—visit one!  I suppose you could live without one but what fun would that be? 

Treasure Hunt

We’ve had 2 treasure hunts this week and they were a lot of fun.  Out of the blue little man decided that he was going to create a treasure hunt and that big monkey and I were going to be the seekers.  The first day we were outside searching for his notes.  He had written little notes and tacked them onto the trees to lead us to the next clue and so on until we reached the treasure. 

We decided that was fun but since we were getting irrigation the next day and it was too hot to do in the afternoon (we had morning plans) we would do another one inside.  An elaborate process of creating notes and placing them ensued and then big monkey and I were allowed to start the search.  The second time it was harder to find the “treasure” because big monkey and I weren’t seeing the treasure with the same eyes as little man.  Of course big monkey had to point out that he didn't think the treasure was really treasure but that's a different story.  Little man had put it on the bookshelf which had both books and others items on it.  In the end it didn't really matter because little man self-directed and then managed the two of us for a total of an hour and we had fun.  I loved how one took charge of creating the hunt and the other took charge of the search.  I can see why adults still play games involving finding treasures or hidden clues in city searches.  Plus, it beats Tuesday's atomic outburst on my part...hands down. 

If you can’t be a good example…

“If you can’t be a good example, then you’ll have to be a horrible warning.”  -Catherine Aird

How true is that?  This seems especially true in terms of parenting.  As a parent (and a person who wants to be "good") you want to do the right thing and try hard to make good choices because little eyes are watching you, soaking up what you do and not what you say…but there are times when you hit the boiling point and can’t take it any more (precisely because no one is "listening"), exploding and blowing to pieces your game plan, your good choices, your peace of mind and worse—your ego.  Now, you’ve become the “horrible warning.”  Not a nice place to be, trust me. 

Let’s just say that the combination of Costco, summer heat and waiting for a prescription roughly around dinner time with children in tow is a recipe for disaster but I went ahead and did it to myself anyway.  I thought twice about it but it was called in for big monkey not me.  We talked about good behavior before we left.  We had a hard time listening when we got there (it did take a while).  I lost my patience, then my mind.  Enough said.

Buddy would add this as a postscript:

What were you thinking?  (You know how wrong you are when the dog gives you that look)



DIY Publicity for Artists

Today is the blog hop for the DIY PR course I wrote about last week—here’s the link for the course details:  http://thecraftychica.blogspot.com/2011/05/online-class-diy-publicity-for-indie.html.  As I had already discussed last week (“So, how did I get here?”), it was a worthwhile venture for me even though I have nothing currently to “sell.”  Right now I’m all about connection and interconnectedness.  Other classmates have had success with increasing their visibility as well as finding new venues for themselves and it’s been exciting to watch.  As a kind of parting assignment for class, or theme for the hop, we were asked to write about what we wanted or expected to get out of this—I’d have to say that starting a blog was the top item on my list—I know I didn’t need to take a course to do that, but I really needed a push and some sort of platform to gain momentum.  Perhaps, just a little bit of hand-holding as well.  Besides, being the perpetual student that I am the course sounded interesting to me and Kathy’s great (The Crafty Chica).  

The next item would be to start experimenting with stories.  I’ve started with the coffee-klatch kind of stories as a comfortable place to be and I’ll eventually branch out into sharing other stories, both real and fictional.  My hope is that if someone has a story to share they’d feel free to do it here or if there’s a story that needs some framing, I’d be happy to help with that as well.  I have so many stories that people have shared with me over the years—many of which were unsolicited.  I find fascinating what people choose to share and what they leave unspoken, as well as when/where this all erupts.  Think back to your own childhood and see how much you really know of your family—what was shared and what was verboten?  What stories or people have become fish tales or legends and who or what is ignored?  

(Future storyteller--little man, happy as a clam.)

My father was a teller of tall tales but in the end he has left us with very little actual family history and a lot stories that we must now piece together in order to find the truths relevant to us.  Perhaps part of this piecemeal business came from his parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles all of whom spoke German—for the “adult” topics when the children were around—so the children wouldn’t completely understand what was being said.  He received information and stories in fragments and knew to leave the room when German was spoken. 

My dad kept himself very comfortable with his stories—which were always based on some bit of truth which skirted around the meatiest part of the main truth.  Point blank questions weren’t really a part of our family dialogue, feelings and truths were hidden neatly away because they are too messy and impolite to verbalize.  Besides, once it (whatever “it” may be) is spoken—it’s out there and real, unleashed on the world.  That was just too much for my parents.  Feelings are raw and messy and unspoken.  So, I think that stories stood in lieu of speaking of feelings or articulating them for my parents, but especially for my father.  He loved to spin a good yarn and was good at it.  I find it interesting that my older son has my father’s flair for dramatic “re-enactments” and gestures and my younger son has his flair for storytelling.  My father got to know my older son and my younger son shares a name with him (my father’s first name is my son’s middle name). 

Storytelling can be a bird’s eye view of your own history—which, sometimes, is seen only by the littlest bird in a shrub.  It’s not the whole picture but often a good snapshot of one aspect.  Storytelling also connects, sometimes in ways deeper than we can imagine.  So, here is a place for all kinds of storytelling and sharing.  My wish is that my stories may resonant with you or help you dig deeper into your own.

Thanks for stopping by!



Sometimes it doesn’t pay to repeat the truth.

I collect Pyrrha wax seal pendants http://www.pyrrha.com/.  They are beautiful pieces infused with meaning and symbolism, which I love, and they come with explanatory cards printed on lovely paper.  I wear them like a gypsy--sometimes a lot at one time.

This one is an eagle but at first glance can look like a phoenix.  It didn't occur to me until someone said something.  Usually a phoenix is depicted with a greater wing span with more depth--this eagle's wings look more like the muscle man at the circus when I think about it just now.  At any rate, I wore it to a kid’s birthday party once and this mom came running over to look at it.  “I love this!  Is it a phoenix?” she says to me simultaneously manhandling it, and nearly me, to get a closer look.  The closer look didn’t really help her because even after I told her it was an eagle and told her a little about it she still kept calling it a phoenix.  At one point she might have eyed me suspiciously.  It was hard to tell because her face was so close to mine.  Finally, I just let it go—I mean really let it go.  I had already agreed, “Yes, it does look like it could be a Phoenix,” but on and on she went.  I think she was convinced that because we live in Phoenix this pendant had to be a phoenix or that I was some big fan of our city or something (There are a few cars/trucks running around here with a huge phoenix symbol on their back windows, very similar to the city logo, I just don't happen to be one of those people--no, they aren't official city vehicles, either; it's kind of like those people who have a Cutlass and then feel the need to put a giant sticker across the top of the windshield that says, Cutlass.).  I don't know--after a bit I just wanted her to back away.  There was no use doing a circle jerk with her and by now her observations of my necklace and her close proximity to my face had become similar to a hug from a non-romantically linked male that has lasted a little too long.  This is coming from a person who’s ok with a little closeness and gives hugs freely.

I really believe in the truth and not misinforming people, but sometimes it just doesn’t pay to repeat the truth.  Either the person is going to accept it or not.  You’d be over the pain quicker if you just poked yourself in the eye and quit while you’re ahead than to go round with someone deaf to what you are telling them. 

Despite all that and those who won’t listen, still believe in the truth.  It’s good for your soul.  Just don’t bother repeating it to those who won’t listen.

It’s Christmas in July!

No, this isn’t the usual lame ploy to pretend that it isn’t a bazillion degrees outside or a poor excuse for a summer sale.  It’s kind of how I motivated my boys to dig through their stuff and see it with new eyes. 

The allure of summer had been wearing off—the boys have been out of school since a week before Memorial Day.  The older one was begging for a new notebook (apparently the ones with a couple of pages written in them are considered “done”) and the younger piped in saying that he needed a new activity book.  “Need” is such a subjective term.  There are a lot of activities books hiding in our house and I bet there are quite a few notebooks cohabitating with them.  Their pleas were met with a very firm NO.  I love art/school/office supplies like crazy but I have set some limits, too.  I told them to open drawers, look on the shelves and go on a treasure hunt—you’d be surprised at what you’ll find.  I also told them that they could probably do that every day for quite a while and it would feel like Christmas every time, because they have so much stuff they’d forgotten about.  “You’ll see it with new eyes,” I tried to convince them.  When met with sceptical looks, I threw my arms in the air with a loud, "Surprise--it's Christmas!" to try to sweeten the deal. 

The same advice could apply to me and my horrific handbag and jewelry habit (hello, Nordstrom Anniversary sale I’m talking to you), but that is for another time.  Seriously, I said another time!  I didn’t think they paid much attention to what I had said, but a few days later I found little man holding an activity book.  He came up to me and said, “Look what I got for Christmas!  It’s Christmas everyday!”  Clearly, he was excited and so was I.  Score one for me because they are often a little too quick for my tricks.  Score one for them for trying it out.  So, we’ve been revisiting old toys, Lego sets and games and steering clear of new purchases, for the time being. 

Merry Christmas—may you find something “old” and see it with new eyes.



It’s just a little scuff, honey…

We all think that we are good drivers. I know a couple of people who will fess up to being bad drivers, but they are in the minority. Then there was the time that my friend’s husband took her car to get an alignment and the mechanic asked what in the world he had done to the car—the husband’s response was, this is my wife’s car and she is pregnant; she said she hit the curb turning—don’t ask, she’s pregnant. She doesn’t really remember exactly what she did to the car, either. All she knew was it was really out of whack. There you have it.

In Phoenix (but more so Scottsdale) there seems to be this unwritten rule that people who have dents in their cars are somehow “bad” or “uninsured” and are to be steered clear of at all possible costs. This is really a new car kind of town and it seems a lot of people are leasing these days so that they can always have a new car. OK, fine. My Mini’s eight years old and I don’t really want to part with it. This is despite the fact that I’ve had to put a lot of work into it of late. Unfortunately, this is the first summer that I decided I should probably tote the boys around in the SUV because the a/c isn’t so great in the Mini’s back seat and we’ve had some really hot days. It doesn't help my cause that they are so vocal about the heat, too. It’s a little awkward switching between one of the smaller cars on the market to one of the larger cars on the market (Infiniti QX56). My friends like to tease me about it as do the parents at the boys’ schools.

I admit—I’m one of those people who’d like to think she’s a good driver (I did a ladies day at the track and I did pretty well and went another time at a different track with my husband—as an aside, had a great time, learned a lot, you should try it). The SUV lives in the carport which has a pretty clear “you should enter here and exit there” kind of set-up, even with its circular drive. The a/c units are in the way coming from the “exit” side if you try to enter in that direction, which is exactly what I did today…do you see where this is heading? We’ve had workers at the house and they generally park willy-nilly. Our driveway from the street is a long, straight stretch and the area near the house is circular, leading to the carport, and then there’s a short straightaway off the long stretch/circular part leading to the garage. The driveway by the house is wide enough to fit two large trucks side by side—we had it built that way on purpose. It’s so no one gets trapped and there isn’t the big car shuffle. Did I mention that it’s the width of two trucks? I’m perfectly capable of tucking the SUV in via the exit—this involves a lot of adjusting, it’s too tight to do it in one or two goes. But for some reason this morning I tried to squeeze in a little more distance before I had to back up and adjust, scraping the side of the bumper on the wall. It’s a pretty decent sized scrape and the truck is black to boot. Obviously, I am now ranked with those alleged “bad” drivers and “uninsured” (although I assure you we have plenty of insurance). It didn’t help that the worker saw the end result of my driver’s ego-tragedy and then laughed at me. Fortunately, he’s an odd man with a funny sense of humor and I think he’s ok. But—really—I’m not a bad driver…really.

So, how did I get here? (Talking Heads, anyone?)

I'm just wrapping up a fantastic online course, DIY PR offered by The Crafty Chica, aka Kathy Cano-Murillo.  You can find out about her on either of her sites: http://www.thecraftychica.blogspot.com/ or http://www.chicawriter.blogspot.com/.  This course has pushed me to write miscellaneous thoughts in a more public forum and forced me to really think about what I feel is important.  My bio is a product of her course.  She’s provided tons of valuable information—especially for those who have products or services they want to sell or just want to get their word out.  I snuck myself into the course (I paid, of course, but here are all these artists…) because I love her and she’s a wealth of info, super helpful to boot.  It’s kind of like when you walk by a lecture that sounds interesting and you decide to stay—wait, that’s not typical.  How about when you see interesting plates of food sail by you and you decide that you might have to sample some it?  She has her entire e-course laid out by weekly lesson plans and a lot of it sounded interesting.  It well worth it because the course generated a lot of food for thought for me (no pun intended) and some of class members have already experienced growth via Kathy's suggestions--new gigs, etc.  For me, the course and writing a bio also brought up some memories that I hadn’t thought about for quite some time. 

For instance, I remembered how much I enjoyed watching Andy Rooney as a kid.  I remembered watching 60 Minutes with my father faithfully every Sunday evening—we also watched Walter Conkrite report about Watergate on the evening news, but that wasn’t nearly as interesting (mind you, I was in Kindergarten at the time).  Here was a man who could pontificate about soap slivers and what people do/might do with pieces that were too large to throw out but a little too small to handle well.  Sheer genius, I say, sheer genius!  He was probably the kid who asked way too many questions in grammar school and was in constant trouble for it and now he was getting paid to do what came naturally to him—wonder about stuff and opine.  When my parents used to ask me what I wanted to “be” when I grew up I told them an artist.  You can guess how receptive to that they were—“that’s nice but you do need a job that will pay the bills…”  I should’ve told them I wanted Andy Rooney’s job.  I wonder what they would’ve said?  I can tell you the younger version of me didn’t say much in response.  I didn’t really speak up (within our family unit, mostly) until high school and even then I eventually backed down.  It’s that first child, pleaser, peace-maker thing.  These are the family roles that I struggle with.  We all have something, right?  My mom says I’m loud and talk too much, but I’ve certainly made peace with that.  What do you struggle with and can you make peace with it? 

Happy 4th of July!

The boys were in the pool swimming and the 5 year old figured out that he can be under water and still breathe, if he took apart the pool cleaner and used its hose to get air.  This isn’t really a new idea for him but it was the first time he used the hose to do this.  It’s very long and awkward.  As I watched him I was impressed with his ease of dismantling and off the cuff thinking (we don’t scuba or snorkel and we live in the desert).  He noticed that I was watching him and wanted me to “feel his hot air” come out of the hose.  He was applying the principle of what comes in must go out.  Of course, as with all little boys, this act of ingenuity turned into another which led to total monkey mayhem.  It went a little like this—if I can move air in this why don’t I just use it to “send” water into my brother’s face?  This was in part a diversion tactic, because he didn’t want his brother to do his new trick.  I can hear him thinking, yes, we’ll send water back and forth to each other but I’ll get him good, first.  The proverbial "killing 2 birds with one stone"--not my favorite proverb but a very descriptive one.  Any way, soon they were jumping with the hose and making “farty” noises with it.  They were giggling like a couple of little girls.  I usually ride these little guys like a skateboard but I let it go because they figured out a little science on their own and they were having a whole lot of fun that didn’t involve brawling with each other.  Besides, I needed a break from being the zoo keeper/task master and they weren’t doing any real harm, right?

Enjoy your holiday!

Let me introduce myself

Hello and welcome!  I've started this blog as a place to keep the odd ideas and stories that either run furiously through my head or the ones that are gifted to me by people I know and love as well as those who are complete strangers.  It's something I've had been thinking about doing for a while but procrastinated because I was just put off by learning another piece of technology.  I'm a pen and paper kind of gal, mostly because I love the feel and look of ink hitting the paper but also because I don't want my ramblings to "disappear" because I pushed some sort of button.  I'm over it, for now.

Since I couldn't get the blog to take my entire bio, I've posted it here for you to get to know a little more about me.  As you can probably already tell, I'm quick to bust myself.  At least I've identified places where I can use a little help or work, right?  I envision this blog will entail a lot of stream of consciousness kind of writing as well as some more solid storytelling.  But for now, here's my bio.

Ami's Bio:

An avid lover of knowledge, learning and other people’s stories as well as a keen observer of environment and behavior since childhood, these interests originally sent Ami down an academic path.  She has always wanted to be a teacher and a “reporter” since she was little—she has always been a storyteller in the most positive sense of the word.  She seemed to be born ready with a question and to soak up information.  If someone wanted the details, they asked Ami.  She loves finding answers for the gaps in life but also loves the mystery of life.  Before she could even write she used her body, words and great animation to tell stories—her father swore she wouldn’t be able to talk if her arms were tied.  Ami also shared a love of “60 Minutes” with her father, faithfully watching every Sunday evening.  Her favorite part was at the end of the show when Andy Rooney gave his unique perspective on some aspect of life.  Because of his ability to look at ordinary things in extraordinary and humorous ways, he is one of her childhood idols.  His job never looked like work but a great exploration of his surroundings.

                  

Ami has a BA in Comparative Literature and in German Area Studies; a MA in English Literature; and a PhD in English Literature.  She has taught composition and literature at the college level as well as yoga to her sons’ classmates for fun (when they were preschoolers & younger).  The common theme for these interests for her is the stories and truths she encounters.  Complete strangers often tell her very personal stories of their own accord and children tell her their fantastical tales.  A ride in the elevator at Caesar’s Palace found her the recipient of a woman’s fiftieth wedding anniversary tale (one can learn a lot in the short span of 15 floors) and she knows of quite a few children’s “invisible” friends and their pets—one of which is a donkey named Carrot who lives on a farm run by an elephant.  She loves the truths and the variety of perspectives, as well as the imaginations, of people. 

Ami has published in academic journals and creates people’s true and fictional stories for fun.  You’ll never find her without pen, paper and her listening ears.