Thursday, February 28, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Today, I taught yoga to all the homeschool kids at my little co-op. Usually, there are several kids that can't listen or stop moving, but something happened when we were doing the simple yoga moves. They were quiet, followed along and were so well behaved. It was strange. Like I'd drugged them. Afterwards, two of the children came up to me and said, "Thank you for teaching PE today." Uh, okay. Weird.
I'm finishing up Donald McCaigs book The American Homeplace. McCaig and his wife moved from New York City to the hills of Virginia in the early 70's. He knew nothing about sheep or living in the country, but was tired of the city and his corporate job. So they took their savings and drove around until they found a spot with good water and pasture.
Monday, February 18, 2008
We spent the weekend in Wichita watching basketball games. Wichita, you are a weird city. I don't need to visit you again for a long time. However, I did enjoy all the highway retaining wall art, that's kinda cool, but just how much did that cost your city? Huh? Here is where the artist in me celebrates and the conservative whinces in pain. Oh, the inner conflict.
There are two people in my pottery class with dreadlocks. I never understood dreadlocks. One of my roommates in college tried to get dreads for awhile. I desperately wanted to give her head a good scrub and brush. She finally got sick of it and went back to having normal, clean, brushed hair.
My husband is a gigantic goof ball. He's also very cute. He took me to an awesome place for dinner on Valentine's Day. The menu offered locally grown produce and meat. I ate pork chops, which is a weird thing for me to order, but I was so happy when I was cramming it in my pie hole. I also enjoyed the copper light sconces in the restaurant that were made by my former jewelry professor.
I'm sorry, but I have the cutest three year old in the world. I know some of you think you have the cutest three year old, but you don't, he lives with me. Now, I didn't say he was the best behaved....just the cutest, which is why I let him continue to live with me, I like putting cute things in my house.
Evolution of the Jayhawk. Very important to know in case you ever get in a debate about creation vs evolution.
He once looked like a real bird without shoes. But eventually, he needed large yellow-taloned shoes.
Friday, February 08, 2008
She wasn't too excited that I kept snapping photos of her. I insisted it was for the blogger good, but ever since she's been denied access to my blog, well, she doesn't really understand my need to tell the world all the stupid details of my life.
Hey, St. Louisans! That's Ryan Mayo (son of N. Mayo from CPC) on the guitar...he goes to my church. The gal sitting on the stool is Jill Koch.
Faithful Readers and Anonymous Commenters and Accidental Clickers,
It's time again to give you an opportunity to speak up. See my linkage over to the right? Do you feel the need to be on that list? Do you?
I'm terrible at updating this little spot of my life. This blogaroom is untidy and outmoded. I don't see myself doing much to it, besides adding some new links, so please, tell me if you feel the need to be here. I'll gladly add you, unless you are a slimy weirdo.
Also, MuddyMama (she is so dang cute) and Carol @ I throw like a girl (love that tag, by the way) and one other person, that I can't remember (please remind me if you can) tagged me. I'm openly admitting that I love to be tagged, but I'm never going to get them done, nope, not gonna. I know one tag was the '6 quirky things about me' and I've done a couple of those, but as you probably are aware, there are enough quirky-whack a mole things about me to choke out the human race. I will let those things unfold slowly with time so as not to shock you.
In other news.... Guess who's coming to town tonight? My bestest childhood friend, CARMEN!!!! I haven't seen her since we moved back, I'm so excited! She told me she hasn't been able to read my blog because the server at her office blocked it. Apparently, she would read Rechelle's blog and mine over lunch, but the server thought she was doing something inappropriate and locked her out. Poor girl, her lunch hour must be so lonely now. I'll take some crappy photos to post of our evening together.
That's it. That's all I have. Oh wait, one more thing.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
This is a post about an empty bottle of vanilla. I know, I'm grasping. My parents brought it back from Mexico. That would make it Mexican vanilla or VAIN-ILLA, which makes me thinks it was harvested from a vein out of Godzilla. Guess how long I've had it? Did you guess 14 years?
It was as old as my daughter. Is it creepy that I was using 14 year old VAINILLA in my recipes? Is it creepier that it took me 14 years to consume it? Does VAINILLA ever go bad? I'm thinking, no it's soaked in some sort of alcohol, so it should last for eternity....right? Is it strange to have such an ENORMOUS bottle of VAINILLA in the first place? What were the people producing this VAINILLA thinking? Are they recycling old water bottles? Is it, or rather, was it even vanilla to begin with?
VAINILLA is very potent, so if a recipe called for one teaspoon of vanilla I learned very quickly to use four or five droplets of VAINILLA. If I used too much, then whatever I was baking would taste like something tropical, sort of coconutty. Again I ask, was it really vanilla?
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Because the small details of my life are important to you. Yes they are. Yes they are. Are too. Are too, infinity!
C-We're making cookies.
C- What can I use instead of brown sugar?
A- Are you going to make me unclog the toilet?
So, I gave him the sugar he could use and he made cookies with his kids. Then he unclogged the toilet....until tomorrow. And I didn't have to do a darn thing. Life is good.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Shortly after we moved here I found myself eagerly volunteering for my children's school. My first opportunity to serve came during the school's auction. I was helping set up all the merchandise that had been donated.
At one point, I came across a golf ball that had been gingerly set underneath a goblet. I didn't know what to make of it. Was the goblet part of the auction or was it protecting the golf ball? So I picked up the goblet to take a better look at the golf ball. There was a name scribbled on the ball. Okay, so it must be a famous golfer or someone of the like. And that's where I should have just put the ball back under the glass and walked away. But instead, I found myself turning to the other people in the room with the ball held aloft and in a very innocent voice I asked...
"Who's Bill Self?"
A deathly silence met my question. The president of the board started to shake his head while looking at me, "No, no, no, you did not just ask that question did you?"
"Oh, sorry, should I know him? Is he a famous golfer? I don't know many golfers."
Then the silence turned to muffled chuckles, "How long have you been gone from Kansas?"
"Nine (long, lonely, yearning, miserable) years."
As it turns out, Bill Self is the head basketball coach for our beloved Kansas Jayhawks. I hadn't a clue. For me to admit that in a public place, was, well, not good. I'm surprised I'm not living in exile right now.
It reminded me of when we moved to St. Louis and people insisted on having conversations about baseball with me assuming I cared deeply about the St. Louis Cardinals. Women especially, they would start talking about the game, the players, and the errors. I thought they were joking. Surely, all these women were not this passionate about baseball. Didn't they want to talk about gardening, decorating, shopping, cooking, books, movies, sewing, religion....anything besides baseball? No. They didn't.
I found myself in conversations about spring training, exhibition games, trades, quality starts, earned run average, slugging percentages. I learned to nod my head in agreement and throw out the name LaRussa to appear that I cared.
I was coaxed to games by well meaning people. I usually took a good book, magazine and insisted that I have a hotdog and soda before the first inning was over. If my husband dragged me to the game I would beg to leave by the end of the fifth inning, "Please, can we go now? I'm hot. I'm full. I'm done reading. I'M BORED! Please, can we go? I'm going to die if I have to stay here one more second! PLEASE, TAKE ME HOME!"
I endured the long seasons. I learned to avoid the die hard fans in fear they would hand me tickets or ask me what I thought of the pitching line up. I escaped baseball conversations by mentally escaping to a land full of flowers and trees and bunnies and cows, I'd begin my safe mantra, "Uh-huh, Uh-huh, LaRussa needs a haircut, Uh-huh, Oh, I know, yes, LaRussa is a genius, yes, Cardinals, LaRussa.....".
Just when I had learned several key player's names and positions, we moved back to Kansas.
Now, I have to endure unending conversations about college ball. It's all about Mangino and football, Bill Self and basketball. Jayhawks, Jayhawks Jayhawks!
There is no escaping sports!
Oh, well. It could be worse. You know what? At the school auction there was a baseball on the silent bidding table. I picked it up and it was signed by Ozzie Smith. I didn't have to ask who he was, I even bid on the ball for my husband, but lost...it sold for $40.00, I don't think many people knew who he was. But the Bill Self ball, that sold for hundreds of dollars and everybody in the room knew who he was......even me. I hope they don't change coaches for awhile.