Little Pink Feet

Rest was good.  To tell the truth, this year's NaBloPoMo has gotten the best of me.  It was an honest effort in the beginning.  I could have mailed in a one-liner each evening but I didn't really want to do that.  Instead, I chose just to go on to bed and leave the blog for another day...or as it turned out - another 9 days.  

The first baby shower I've ever thrown was no more than I could have asked of myself or of the guests.  Everything was a tasteful, adult pink.  I decorated with flowers, balloons and food.  The centerpiece: Cheesy Grits and Spanish Style Grillades.  Mmm.  I went a little far though - making a sound track for the event.  Every song on the pink CD was either named "Baby" or had the word "baby" repeated throughout.  It was the prize for the only game we played.  

Glass punch cups, silverware and china were set off by the white napkins stamped with small, fushia baby feet.  It was fun and fabulous.  And I'm glad it's over.

Cramming Until 2:30am

The shower was a success. I'm looking forward to returning to sleep (I took a wonderful nap this afternoon). My bed is calling. More details forthcoming.

Everything Will Be Pink In The Morning

I'm throwing a baby shower mid-morning tomorrow.  She's having a girl.  At this moment, there are lots of things on the stove and in the oven and on the cutting board...all waiting to either get cooked, chopped, mixed, cooled or put away.  

I must dash.

Familiar Faces In Unexpected Places

Uncle Rico was one of today's episodes of 90210. 

 

I Can Sit In A Hot Tub Until My Fingers And Toes Pucker

I've come back from the gym late this evening, sweaty and icky. When I keep my sweaty gym clothes on long past the point of cooling down from the work out, I usually by-pass the cooling down and move directly to cold. Once I'm cold, it is supremely hard for me to get warm...unless I take a hot bath (which I will do as soon as I can wrap this up).

I can't really get totally warm again unless I take it to the other extreme...and sweat. I like to turn the bathroom heater on, close the door and turn the water on as hot as can be enjoyed without crossing the threshold into pain. Once I'm sweating, it's great. Give me a book to enjoy in the heat and I'm a happy girl.

The heat is only enjoyable when you know that as soon as you choose to open the bathroom door a burst of cool air awaits you. When our power was out for a few days at the end of a Louisiana August because of a destructive hurricane, the heat wasn't enjoyable to any degree - because I couldn't just open a door and feel refreshed. I suffer from a classic ailment: I want to have my cake and eat it too (and possibly have a bit of yours).

Next up: A bath and a book, then a warm, soft bed filled with Eddie.

"Going To Church Doesn't Make You A Christian Any More Than Going To A Garage Makes You An Automobile." --Billy Sunday

"Being good is commendable, but only when it is combined with doing good is it useful. -- Author Unknown

November Second Plus Eight

For the past few years here on this blog, November 2 has been an opportunity to remember my sister, Katheryn. It is her birthday. I usually call my parents to talk a little about nothing in particular on November 2. Neither of us brings up the subject and we talk just like we talked the week before but they always know why I'm calling that day and I know they appreciate the thought. On those calls the strength of the unspoken "we all know we're in this together" reassures them. And me. This year I didn't mark the occasion. I didn't call and I didn't write.

In truth, for the first time, I forgot about it until this evening, a mere 8 days late. I heard a friend discussing some dates and when she named November 2, it clicked. I couldn't show the realization on my face because then I'd have to explain what I just realized. I usually avoid those situations. The sudden awareness strangely hurt and containing it was an exercise in control --especially when all you want from the person next to you is to listen while you plead your case, then reassurance that you're not a bad person.

Most of me feels guilty for forgetting that particular day. A teeny part of me is treating the omission as a sign of some kind of growth, even if that slant is a way of alleviating the guilt. There are more days I live a memory than those days that I forget.

I can rationalize that simply because I remember, it won't change anything.
Forgetting changes something.

Please Read The Following In An Australian Accent

"Everything that Man designs carries within it the seeds of its own destruction."

Eddie and I were watching an interesting documentary on the History channel this evening... until we paused the show just after that sentence was uttered by some geologist.  Then we laughed and laughed.  

If I had written his name down, I'd try to send him a Care Bear.  

And On The Way Home We Bought More Milk

Last week during dinner with three of my married girlfriends, I asked them how their mothers treat their husbands when their husbands come to visit. Every response was the same. During a visit from the son-in-law, each mother tried to feed him. Not just the "can I offer you something" type of courteous attempt but a more pushy "well, if you don't want any of that then how about some of this...or this...or THIS?" type of undertaking. Such is the same with my mother. She stocks some of Eddie's favorites.

This evening Eddie and I attended a housewarming for a newly married couple. Housewarmings in the South are the perfect opportunity to share casual, tasty food. There was Ville Platte gumbo, perfectly seasoned potato salad, cheese in its various forms, my favorite dark beer and decadent brownies. We met some of the extended family and even found common connections, commenting on the smallness of this world. Near the end of the party, Eddie and I were the last two guests still in conversation with the hosts. I was talking, turned one way and Eddie was talking, turned another. When I turned around, Eddie was holding a to-go container filled with brownies, an offer we had refused just moments before. But there they were, brownies wrapped for travel - my friend's mother the culprit.

Granted, she didn't have to force Eddie to take them and since I was the one who led the "No, thank you" charge when offered the treat the first time, I had second thoughts once said brownies were in hand. After we said our good-byes and each closed our doors to the car for the ride home, I requested an equal share of the brownies.

"You know I'll be having some of these, right?"

That's a request, isn't it?

Two And A Half Hours

It is noteworthy that years from now I want to be able to look back on this day and know that I sat in traffic for two and a half hours trying to get home from work.  It is important to know that the usual total drive time home is now HALF an hour.  I did not physically harm any other drivers on the road, as it is my secret desire in situations such as that.  I would like two gold stars please.  I did, however, eat many pieces of pizza once I arrived home.    

I will also not want to forget the car that I sat behind for 20 minutes before she changed lanes.  It is comforting to know that I can find her easily to thank her for the laughs I got at her expense.  The license plate I stared at: SHYGIRL.

In a small conversation with my husband about SHYGIRL, he would like documented the 40 minutes he spent behind a school bus this evening.  School bus #1726.  He is convinced that number is actually, physically burned into his brain.  He's not just 99% sure about that number. He knows it by heart.  We may have to take a line from George Costanza, but instead of Seven, we'll have to name our first born Seventeen Twenty Six. 

***The interstate was closed for several hours this evening during peak traffic hours on this lovely Friday night.*** 

  

He's Beginning To Understand Women

Last week, my most recent obsession, Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, came to a peak. I read the book. Again. I watched the BBC mini series AND the theater release AND Bridget Jones's Diary. Bridget Jones wasn't really planned, I just happened to run across it playing on one of the channels we get. Fate.  

I love it when stuff like that happens. One morning last month, while I was getting ready for work, I told Eddie about the most random song that kept turning in my head, from the movie Teen Wolf.  The song jumped in completely out of the blue because I can't remember the last time I saw that movie or heard it referenced.  Rather late THAT NIGHT, I was scanning channels and I saw that Teen Wolf was on.  So I flipped to it.  The song was playing.  It only plays at one point in the movie, near the end.  I couldn't believe it.  This had to be more than a coincidence.  I got so excited at the circumstance that I just knew Eddie would be as caught up in the amazement of the moment as I was.  He was on the other side of the house, so it was natural that I run.  I didn't realize that he was asleep and that my quick pace down the hall would wake him up, alerting him to my urgent need to share.  Except for the fact that he mistook my excited urgency for scared urgency and woke up a little startled.  He was ready to battle the obvious army of intruders chasing me down the hall.  Communication between husband and wife is harder in moments like this.  He's focused and groggy and a little scared I might be in danger, but I NEED him to understand this, my moment and to share it with me.

He just couldn't grasp it.

Back to my Mr. Darcy, I mean my Jane Austen fix.  Eddie decided that if he wanted to spend any time with me during that little phase that he would have to do it in my new world.  So, my dear husband braved a viewing of Keira Knightley's Elizabeth Bennett with me one evening.  He calls those "Carriage Movies."  He's grouped all movies that have a carriage on screen at some point into a greater category of movies he has no interest in watching.  Ever.  This is how I know he loves me.  We watched the carriage movie together and I got closer to him on the couch...and we kissed...and we got closer...until we were sharing a cushion...  

This week I came home from work to my husband on the same couch, relaxing with a smile on his face.  He said, "Look.  I've got a surprise for you."  He picks up the remote control and pulls up the DVR menu.  One new addition.  The Notebook.        

Whew!

Just made it.

I promise. No more of these little, just-in-the-nick-of-time posts. I totally fell asleep on the couch watching the evening's DVR'd Top Design. In fact, I fell asleep before the winner was announced. The last thing I remember was thinking that Nathan's necklace was a little bit much. (I can't believe someone hasn't posted a picture yet...or I'd link it. Maybe it's too early.) I'll have to watch the end tomorrow evening.

However, I DID stay on track with my 90210 episode watching for tonight. Priorities.

A Heartache And A Hope

I am far less eloquent about politics than I am about anything else.

Moments ago I watched John McCain's concession speech.  I cried.  His concession was graceful, gracious and grateful.  I feel for him tonight.  I believe he is a faithful public servant.     

As glad as I am for these campaigns to have come to a close, I am uneasy about the future.

President-Elect Obama has a fair weight on his shoulders.  A lot is expected of him and he has my prayers and hopes that he succeeds on every charge.  He also had my vote. 

I'm listening to his victory speech now.  He's pleading for unity.  I'll vote for that too.

  

 

  

  

Not Quite A Haiku

It is better left to the imagination what conversation preceded this:

"I just don't feel comfortable thinking about your dad's poo.  Poo is personal."

Almost.

The Egg Table

Yesterday afternoon Eddie and I attended an outdoor southern wedding. The weather was perfect, the bride was beautiful and the food was tasty. After a short ceremony, all of the wedding guests were invited to start eating while the wedding party finished the obligatory pictures. From my perspective, I can not think of a more considerate way to treat your guests. At almost every wedding I've attended there is that awkward waiting period between the ending of the ceremony and the moment the newly married couple enters the reception. Once the couple joins the party, there is no question about whether or not it is polite to eat. However, before the couple arrives, one can conduct an interesting study of wedding guest behavior if guests are not provided proper instruction since most southern wedding receptions are buffets. There is no barrier to the food save decorum.

Most wedding guests are connected in one way or another to the couple or their family so this is not an anonymous social situation. Attempting to "get away" with misbehavior is less advisable. People are cautious not wanting to offend or to be referred to as "that guy" for the rest of the evening. They practice restraint for the most part. This is hard when you walk into a room full of beautiful food knowing you'll have to stand in a longer line the longer you wait to form one. Everyone is looking to everyone else for permission to grab a plate. No one wants to be the first to foul. But no one wants to miss the GO signal, to miss out on the last of the sage mashed potatoes or a place to sit down and eat them.

If it is impolite to fill a plate with goodies before the couple makes their grand entrance, then I have some advice for future brides: Do not make your guests wait an hour while you take every combination of family pictures imaginable back at the ceremony site. We don't like it and we'll like you less for it. I've experienced this. Waiting for the couple while staring at food they weren't allowed to touch NEAR a meal time had an adverse effect on the guests. I thought of almost nothing else during the photos just after my own wedding that I forgot to organize a few in my haste (The one with us and Eddie's grandparents? It doesn't exist. I was in a hurry). I think we even beat a few of our guests to the reception site. I couldn't stand the idea of making my guests feel a tenth of the awkwardness I felt on that day, a few years before my wedding.

The invitation to eat yesterday while the wedding party finished pictures was a welcome one. The guests filed into lines in a well planned food maze throughout the historic home. There was a tasty variety and southern flair to the food. The jambalaya, bread pudding and deviled eggs stood out among my favorites. The deviled eggs are a prize at every church and family function I attend and are often eaten before the event starts under the premise that each guest that eyes them stops to "just take one." My mother's deviled eggs are gone before every holiday meal. At this wedding, the bride and groom or the caterer must have known this because there was one entire table devoted to the deviled egg. It sat near the center of one of the rooms filled with food. There were platters and cake stands full of them, all at different heights. It was art. Egg art. Tasty egg art. There were more than enough deviled eggs at this shindig - a feat hard to accomplish.

In passing, I heard a guest ask one of the uniformed servers for a fork as they seemed scarce at one point during the reception (also a no-no). The server directed her to "The Egg Table."

When a platter isn't enough...

Round Two

It's day one of this year's NaBloPoMo and boy have I got a story for you. Tomorrow. This day is almost over and hit me a little hard. I want to commit to this and don't want to miss a day so today is... build up.