Ugh

There are so many things wrong with this I don’t even know where to begin. Go ahead. I dare you to read it without getting at least slightly ill.

“Coleman Says 'God Wants Me to Serve'

While Al Franken remains fairly elusive, Norm Coleman is keeping a high profile these days as his court challenge of the Minnesota U.S. Senate recount plods along.

Coleman is adept, somewhat too adept, his critics might say, at skillfully tailoring his message to his audience, and that skill set was on full display Friday.

On Friday, Coleman made the media rounds with radio interviews that included conservative nationally syndicated radio talk show host Mike Gallagher. Gallagher, an unyielding fiscal and religious conservative, who hosts one of the Top 10 rated talk shows in the country, has been an outspoken critic of the Congressional stimulus legislation. When Gallagher asked Coleman what he thought of the stimulus bill, Coleman replied that he would not sign it. Coleman did not, however, offer any thoughts as to whether a stimulus bill of some kind would be a good thing for the country and the state of Minnesota (no doubt because Gallagher, and perhaps a large share of his 4 million weekly listeners, is opposed to any sort of government ‘bailout’ - of industries or state governments).

When asked about the recount and how it is affecting him personally, Coleman said he starts every day with a prayer and that he knows “God wants me to serve.” Coleman did later temper those rather immodest remarks by adding that he “is not indispensable” and that others can serve as well. Coleman closed the interview with an appeal to Gallagher’s listeners for contributions to his campaign website.

Also on Friday, Coleman talked to Tom Crann at Minnesota Public Radio, and tweaked his message for a listening audience that is decidedly more liberal than that of Gallagher's. First, Coleman discussed his desire to serve without mention of God’s will. With more humble prose he stated, “I’ve been blessed to serve. I want to continue to serve.”

With regards to the bailout, Coleman reiterated his opposition to the current legislation: “I do not support the package in its present form.” But when asked if he could vote for a stimulus package, Coleman admitted, “I agree there needs to be one.”

Coleman also stated to MPR that the court in his recount challenge was being “very fair” and it that he has a “great deal of confidence” in the panel. He also acknowledged that if the absentee ballot and double-counting of ballots issues are addressed, and Franken has more votes at the end of the process, then Franken will be the Senator. On Gallagher’s show, however, Coleman made no mention of the possibility that Franken could emerge as the ultimate victor and did not contradict Gallagher's characterization that the election process to date in Minnesota has been a 'joke.'”

And we wonder why we’re called Ugly Americans.

Whether or not Coleman is a religious fanatic in earnest is unknown by me, but I have two thoughts running through my mind. #1: If he is indeed fanatical enough to actually believe that he knows the will of an almighty being, I don’t want him anywhere near politics. Remember George W.’s response to what his foreign policy was? Yeah. The answer was, “God.” That worked really, really well for our nation didn’t it? Let’s elect more religious fanatics!! We haven’t quite hit rock bottom yet! Let’s keep going! #2: If the guy isn’t a religious fanatic and he’s merely putting it on for the sake of the almost extinct overly zealous far religious right dinosaurs, that’s just plain frightening. Dude…did you not see the outcome of the presidential election in November? Your ideals and political beliefs got voted out. Maybe you were just too busy concentrating on the election in Minnesota, which three months later, still hasn’t been decided.

This brings us to another embarrassing reason why other countries hate us. We (and by “we” I mean the blowhards that were in charge of this country for the past eight years and plum wore out their flag waving arms) keep touting ourselves as the Greatest Country on Earth and yet we have such an incredibly flawed system, we still don’t know the winner of an election that took place three months ago. It’s not even laughable. It’s pathetic. I was so sure that after the Bush/Gore debacle that there would be a huge outcry in this country to modify and better our election system, but here we are again. We have so much technology at our fingertips and yet can’t devise a way to cast a vote and to accurately have that vote counted.

Then there’s the issue of the current stimulus package. He wants to be a “good” Republican and tow the party line and be against it “in its current form” but admits that there needs to be one. Asshole. Maybe he needs to take a lesson from, dare I say it, Sarah Palin who is one of his beloved fellow party-ers who has been going around Washington trying to make sure that when the stimulus package does go through, that her state gets its share. Interesting how so many of the Republican governors are wanting a part of that stimulus package. It’s the Repugs on The Hill who really aren’t affected much by the joblessness and foreclosure disasters in the states they represent who seem to be the ones digging in their well-shod heels against the bill.

This Minnesota race is such a disgrace. Franken, the comedian, ought to be declared the winner if for no other reason than he could make us laugh about this whole thing when it’s all over. If Coleman wins, everyone will be laughing at us, but not because he’s funny.

Rage, Rage!

My husband and I love to dance. Sometimes when we hear a good ballad playing, we’ll grab each other and break into an impromptu slow dance. Yes, our kids hate us.

Mostly we like to go out to dance. There are times when I think we’re too old. There are also times when I’m positive we’re too old. Like the time we were out on the floor bustin’ what we think are some real smooth moves and this barely pubescent couple shows up next to us. She is in a belly-baring top tied above her stretch mark free waist and he is in an outfit that coordinates with her schoolgirl, plaid mini skirt and black boots. Between the two of them, they’ve kept some tattoo and piercing parlor in business. Anyway, they sidle up to us and break into a full on choreographed dance number complete with hand-across-the-belly moves, spins and Madonna-esque vogue moves. We took one look at them, looked at each other, and headed off the dance floor. That night, we were too old to dance.

Despite the occasional momentary setback, I’m never going to stop dancing. It’s part of my plan to stay young forever.

For quite a few years now, I’ve been watching people age. I know people who have done it wonderfully and beautifully and I’ve been stealing their secrets.

My Granny Hazel was a beautiful example for me of how to age. She never had an easy life, but she made it happy. She was the perkiest person I’ve ever known. I can remember as a kid going to her house and doing cartwheels with her in her yard. She must have been in her mid to late 40’s at the time. I make it a habit to do cartwheels at every opportunity. She also stayed active until Death made her stay still. Well into her 80’s, she kept a garden, mowed her own lawn, hung her laundry out and never sat still for a minute. My husband gets onto me sometimes for never sitting down and relaxing. Doesn’t he understand that if you’re moving, you can’t be dead?! Granny taught me that.

Growing up I knew a lady named Dot. Dot is my other example of how to age. This woman had class oozing out of every pore but was a kick in the pants. I never once saw her without a full set of makeup and her hair done. If her husband wanted to go on a golf outing for vacation and she wanted to go to Hawaii, well, that’s what they’d do. The rule was that for every vacation they spent apart, they’d go on one together. She didn’t sweat the small stuff. After Dot’s husband passed away, she decided to draw her friends closer around her so she wouldn’t be so lonely. So, she instituted a weekly slumber party at her house for all of her friends. Everyone in her group of twenty or so had a standing invitation so she always had at least a handful of “girls” at her house every week to spend the night, eat M&Ms, watch movies and giggle. She carried this on until the week she passed away.

My Gram and Pa Colclasure were also fine examples of staying young. Up until The End, Pa took his Labradors and hunted regularly for racoons with his cronies. Gram & Pa also attended the weekly dance at their town square until Gram passed away. If you knew what my Gram & Pa looked like, this would make you smile. Both are under five feet tall and they’re old-time Pentecostal, so Gram wore her white hair in a huge beehive on top of her head, making her about 5’3”. When I think of them dancing, my heart skips a beat. Oh...here they are. See for yourself.

The example of these dear people and my own desire to stay on this rock called Earth as long as possible, keep me dancing. I plan on doing it until the music stops.

“Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Ms. Matched

Sometimes (oftentimes) I look at someone and think, "Didn't they LOOK in the mirror before leaving the house?!" I know I don't. I have a checklist and all of the boxes must be checked before leaving the house and subjecting the world to Me.

Hair looking tame? Check. Color on my cheeks and a little splash of color on my eyes to make them pop? Check. Shirt hiding muffin top? Check. Butt looking okie dokie? Check.

So imagine my surprise this past Sunday afternoon when, after a full day of errands out at the store, cleaning and reorganizing the garage, etc. I'm standing and talking to my neighbor and his son. David, the son, kept looking at me strangely. I kept giving him a little smile that said, "What in the hell are you looking at, Crazy Person?" Finally, about five minutes into the conversation he asks, "Why are you wearing two different shoes?"

I looked down and there they were. One cheap little rubber Payless flip-flop and one too-expensive leather Bass flip-flop.

I think my mouth actually fell open. I looked up at David and busted out laughing.

Note to Self: Add new item to checklist...

Alex: A Day in the Life

As I was carrying my precious four-year old daughter, Alex, to bed last night she said, "Mom, tomorrow is Woody's birthday." I expressed surprise and inquired of her how old he would be. "Fifteen," was the reply. "We should do something special for him, don't you think," I asked? Her eyes lit up. So there on the edge of her bed, we concocted a plan.

Today Alex and I went to the store together to pick up a couple of items for Woody's birthday dinner. We came home and baked a strawberry cake and I put some homemade marinara on to simmer. Alex went to her closet to the rack that contains all fifteen of her princess dresses and proceeded to dress for the party. She arrived downstairs complete with tiara and lip gloss. That girl really knows how to dress.

Woody(You didn't think he was real, did you?)

We've called Dad to let him know not to be late for dinner. He promises, as any good daddy would, to arrive on time for the special occasion.

Alex is giddy with the anticipation of celebrating her friend's party and I'm so happy to be able to contribute to her glee.

Last night, Alex told me, "Everybody loves you, Mom, because you're the best food maker in the world!" How can I not love this child?!

When her daddy asks her how she got so beautiful, she points to me. When he then asks how she got so smart, she points to me. When he finally says, "Well, if your mommy gave you your beauty and your brains, what did you get from me," she responds with, "Farts."

Brilliant child, no?

Not two minutes ago, she barged into my office wearing a ballet dress and her glittery red Wizard of Oz shoes, toting a basket over her arm. As the door swung open and I looked up, she declared, "Hello there, Ma'am! I followed the Yellow Brick Road!" She then proceeded to whip a rolled up piece of paper and a pen out of her basket, drew a dot on it and told me to, "sign on the dotted line, please." What else could I do? I signed.

Some days I think my life mundane and boring. Those are the days I guess I'm just not paying attention.

Dandelion Wine

My annoying habit of reading more than one book at once led me to picking up Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine. It was meant to serve as a palette cleanser between the heavier courses of the Lincoln biography I've been working my way through and a couple of books about the goings on in the White House during that dark spot in history known as The Bush Years.

What started out as being an easy breezy sort of read turned into a melancholy trip through time. If you've ever read Bradbury, you know you have to pay attention because he rarely just says something. The meanings of things are all wrapped up in beautiful little word puzzles which your mind is required to unravel in order to grasp them. It's lovely.

My childhood was not idyllic by any stretch of the imagination, but the one fantastic thing about having parents who are too preoccupied by their own lives to pay attention to you is that you're left to your own devices to entertain and educate yourself.

There were a few glorious years of my own childhood in Southern Illinois. There were tree giants everywhere and the world was green and vibrant everywhere I turned. Cornfields begged daily to be ran through with bare feet making child-sized indentations in the cool damp soil between the towering rows. Pennies smashed on the railroad tracks were prized possessions and the clay pots formed from the clay in the cliffs near our house were precious treasures. 4-leaf clovers were bookmarks and books were devoured in my own wooded secret garden near my grandparents farm house. Toys weren't needed. I had the streams, the trees, the cornfields, the whole of the great outdoors as my playground.

This is the essence of Dandelion Wine. Ray Bradbury is from a small town in Illinois and he captures the feeling of being a child in a time and place where childhood was a right of passage not skipped over as it sometimes is today. Summers were meant to be spent running free and wild and there were no malls or cell phones or Gameboys and not so many reports of weirdos on the news every night. He captures the feeling of being a kid during the summer so beautifully. It makes you long for that feeling again.

One of the passages that really connected with me was one where an old woman in the town attempts to befriend a few of the local children. As she tells them about herself and the things she did as a child their age, they refuse to believe that she could have ever been young. The old woman is angry and indignant because she still feels as young as the children, but as she ponders her feelings about aging, she remembers a conversation she had with her husband before he passed away: "It won't work," Mr. Bentley continued, sipping his tea. "No matter how hard you try to be what you once were, you can only be what you are here and now. Time hypnotizes. When you're nine, you think you've always been nine years old and will always be. When you're thirty, it seems you've always been balanced there right on that bright rim of middle life. And then when you turn seventy, you are always and forever seventy. You're in the present, you're trapped in a young now or an old now, but there is no other now to be seen."

All in all, Dandelion Wine was a very pleasant trip back to a place and time of innocence and discovery.

The Color of Happy

Purple is the very best color in the world and when I see it, I feel happy.Okay...to ME, it's the best color in the world. Geez.

My favorite flower isn't a flower at all I don't think. It's the Lilac bush. Our back yard in Oklahoma used to be filled with lilac bushes, among thousands of other beautiful flowering plants, but oh...the Lilacs!
Put me in a purple-ish shirt and take my picture and it's as though I've been Photoshopped. Seriously. Okay...no. But...I do look great in purple.

One of the top 20 songs of my generation? Purple Rain, by the King of Purple himself.

When Eric and I purchased our first ever home together, I painted an entire room Voodoo Purple. I loved that room. It was an incredibly deep shade of purple and my mother-in-law gifted me with a beautiful 8x8 square jewel toned rug with abstract jewel toned squares all over it. One of the colors of the squares was the exact shade of purple on my walls. *sigh*

One of the colors that our new First Lady is fond of is purple. She's been photographed in several outfits that are in hues of purple. It makes me want to hug her. Purple does that to me. Besides which...how totally cool would it be to hug the First Lady??!!

I'm not quite sure when I really began loving purple. I remember as a little girl that pink was my favorite. Hmm... I know that by high school, I was in love with purple. Mmmmhmmm...that's right.

Me, circa 1985

Purple grapes are also my favorite. Not so much for the purple I don't think. They just taste better...but they are pretty, no?

My friend Shannon and I used to talk and drink Merlot and the more she drank the more intense the conversation became. The more she drank, the more purple her teeth became and the more hysterical I would become. I remember vividly her telling me the story about how her mother went to college on a "twirling scholarship" and for some reason, between this new found knowledge and her purple teeth, I was soon holding my sides gasping for breath and had tears streaming down my face in hysterical laughter. I love Shannon, and her purple teeth.

A few years ago I went out for lunch at work with my friends. After seeing that there was "homemade blackberry cobbler" on the menu and inquiring of the owner if this was really homemade cobbler (I was assured it was his grandmother's recipe), I decided that I must have some. My Illinois roots took over, what can I say? Unfortunately, it had been many years since I'd eaten blackberry cobbler and didn't remember what it does to your teeth. It turns them purple. It also turns out that my next meeting after lunch was one at which I was running a meeting for the Board of Directors. I raced back to my office, grabbed my toothbrush and scrubbed viciously at my teeth. No luck. I chewed sugar free "whitening" gum all the way to the meeting. No luck. I arrived at the meeting and stood before all of those men and did the only thing I could do. I said, "I couldn't resist the blackberry cobbler at lunch and now my teeth are purple. If you'll please take notice, they perfectly match my ensemble today, so let's get on with it."

I want Lilacs at my wake. And some purple Iris's. Oooohh. I love those. I'm not planning on exiting anytime soon, I'm just putting in an early request.

That's it. End of blog. Fade to purple....

More Randomness

Lately it seems as though my mind is stuck in some sort of ADD mode and I can't seem to focus on any one thought for too long. I've sat down to write a couple of things and then ended up hitting "save" to come back to them later. This experience is new to me. I'm a finisher of things. So, in light of this development, I'm giving my brain a break. I'm going to just purge what's in it and see if getting some of the cobwebs out from between my ears helps the situation any. *Jesus auditioned on American Idol last night. He had a pleasant enough voice which was suited more for a church choir than America's Next Big Thing. After some serious pleading and embarrassing begging before the judges, Jesus was told he was "going to Hollywood." Between you and me, Hollywood is no place for Jesus. He's going to get his ass kicked. *President Obama and his First Lady looked smashing at last night's Inaugural goings on. I'm so happy that people such as these are the new representatives of our country. What will the world leaders think when they hear an American president speaking actual English?! They'll have to fire the Gibberish to English interpreters they've kept on staff for the past eight years. *I just read an article online from Redbook about "Why Men Really Cheat." Nothing new...why did they waste the paper and ink? Men are basically ego driven and egos need constant care and attention. Begin paying more attention to the house, the kids, your own interests and the male ego suffers. Think of it as a pet. You have to pay a little attention to it every day and make sure to stroke it's little noggin affectionately as often as possible. Eric was telling me yesterday about how his boss overheard him discussing with another manager about ways to save the company money and some new ideas he had, etc. When his boss made Eric aware of his presence, he smiled and said, "I KNEW you were the right guy for the job!" Eric was beaming inside when he told me. I was happy for him. I want him to be happy. But, selfishly, all I could think of is how I NEVER get praised in my line of work. Oh...my line of work? Stay at Home Mother. There is no pay, no bonus program, no promotions, no thanks, no validation that you have indeed chosen the right profession and there are no super fancy yearly awards banquet in Vegas complete with a stay at the Palms and a couple of steak dinners. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Lately, my four-year old is on an "I HATE you!!" kick. No matter how much I try to convince myself that this is merely a phase and to not take it personally, it's not very good for my ego. My tweenager's method of communicating to me just how fantastic she thinks I am as a mother is some serious eye-rolling and the frequent stomping of her foot accompanied by some irritating whining and the phrase, "OH MY GOSH!!!" My teenager basically either is on the phone, in his room, playing his PSII or a combination of all three. He communicates by telling me, "OKAAAAYYY!!" every time I ask him to do something. And, through it all, I have to remember to stroke some one's ego so he won't feel unappreciated. Pardon me a minute while I scream into my apron. *I've been reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln for awhile now. It takes some time for me to finish a book because I have to read in the spaces between Motherhood, and honestly...they're few and far between. Sometimes I'll literally read one paragraph and have to put my book down again. So far, not only has Abe been honest...he's been incredibly patient with me. To add to to the problem, I still haven't managed to break my habit of reading more than one book at a time. I have no idea why I do this. I think maybe it's because when I'm reading something brain intensive like a political biography or something scientific in nature, I have to really focus on it to get my brain to absorb it and my poor little Thinker Cells get fried. I have to then switch off with lighter fare in order to let my brain recuperate a bit. The lighter fare right now is Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine. Why can I not write like this?! Every sentence is poetry and imagery and it makes me want to crawl between the pages and roll around in the words. The more I read, the more aware I become of my intellectual shortcomings. Stink. *My throat is is constant agony here. Arizona sucks. Something here is slowly killing me, I swear. Between my left ear and throat, something is keeping a raging itch going and it's incredibly annoying. Allegra is barely keeping it corralled and Claritin just makes it laugh. The only thing that seems to soothe it at all is drinking warm stuff like hot chocolate. Even my sugar free hot chocolate is 70 calories a cup. I'm going to be itchy and fat if this keeps up. *I'm worried about my surgery in February. My doctor seems to feel that he can lessen the pain with this surgery as well as improve the look of my shoulder, which quite frankly, is hideous. You would think I would be excited about the prospect, wouldn't you? Instead, I'm nervous and anxious about another surgery. I've been under the knife three times in the past couple of years and each time I think, "Okay...this one's gonna be the one that gets screwed up." Not to mention, I hate having to recover. I've said before that I thought I wasn't a good patient. This isn't true. I'm actually a very good patient and do everything I'm supposed to. I'm also extremely pleasant to doctors and nurses because I know their jobs suck. What I meant is that I hate being a patient. I have no patience for it. *I was in the store the other day and overheard two women talking while looking through a rack of track suits. One of the women was saying, “these things are the only clothes I have in my closet anymore. That's pathetic, isn't it?" I wanted to walk by and say, "Yes...it IS pathetic." When do married people lose sight of the fact that sexuality is a part of marriage and that sexual attraction, at least in part, is what brought them together? I'll bet that lady didn't attract her husband by wearing boyish track suits and no makeup. Every day I get up, clean my house, get my daughter dressed and get in the shower. Every day, I put on something that is neat and clean and flattering. Most of the time it's a pair of nice fitting Levi's and t-shirt, but it's always something that's clean and neat and flattering. I style my hair and put on, at the very least, some eye makeup and color on my cheeks. This accomplishes two things: 1. I feel better about Me. If I have to run out to the store or the UPS guy shows up at the door, I feel presentable and unembarrassed about my appearance. 2. When my husband walks through the door at the end of his day, he sees his wife looking somewhat like the woman he fell in love with.(By the way...this is a goose/gander issue. Ganders, lose the gut and the five year old t-shirt...) Making the effort and taking the time to look nice has that lovely double benefit of making you feel good about you and of making your spouse feel good about you. One of my "rules" of marriage is that if you want your spouse to find you attractive, then you have to make the effort to be attractive. Admittedly, some days it's a chore. In fact, some days it just feels like another chore to add to my list. But I'll tell you, it's worth it. My husband is very vocal to me and to others that he doesn't just love me to pieces, he thinks I'm hot. Some flattering clothing and and a visit to the MAC counter will set you back a few bucks. Hearing your husband tell his friends he thinks you're "hot".....priceless. I'm going to go take some medicine and hope I don't end up having to go to the doctor. I haven't found a family practice doctor I like here yet. Dr. Birkenstocks and Socks creeps me out and I'm going to replace him. In the meantime, I'll self medicate and complain a lot.