Political Diversions

"A lady doesn't hate things, a lady says 'I don't care for that.'" is a quote that rings in my mind almost daily. It applies to a lot of situations, and the verbiage doesn't have to be exact. There are so many times I want to say FUCK THAT FUCKING SHIT but somehow manage to mumble a more socially acceptable "No, thank you." or possibly even a "None for me, thank you." These phrases cost me nothing, and they allow me to communicate in a civil fashion with people.

My grandmother was the stickler for that phrase. She'd drop the N word at her leisure, she'd whisper the word cancer and refer to all Catholics as "Damned Catholics". That same woman was a walking how-to manual of social graces. If she was a bad person behind closed doors, she knew how to behave as a human being and at least PRETEND to be well mannered and polite in front of others.

I'm not saying that it's great that she pretended to be a nice person. I'm pretty confident that the people who weren't in keeping with her thoughts knew she was kind of an asshole. It really wasn't a big secret.

Both of my grandparents were very politically active during my childhood. If you want to know HOW politically active, I can tell you that I didn't understand for years that all kids didn't go hand out buttons at the polls. That was a thing back then. As people walked out you handed them a button, a nail file (no really), a hand fan, some sort of geegaw with your candidates name on it. I'm guessing, in reflection, that the adults knew who to give them to because it was a small town and you knew how people had voted because no one was shy about their political affiliation.

Being a Republican or Democrat weren't fighting words. Nor were they an indictment of your character. We didn't openly insult one another, scream obscenities or malign people based on whether or not they voted this way or that. We didn't feel a need to beat our chest about it either, other than a rather copious amount of yard signs and bumper stickers which my grandmother seemed to have quite the penchant for. Surely there were disagreements in policy, spending, taxes, etc. But the truth was that back then, how you voted was like where you went to church - everyone did it and nobody felt any need to fight about it.

The neighbors next door to my grandparents were democrats. Two doors down were Republicans. Across the street were CATHOLICS (can you believe it?). On the other side of them were PRESBYTERIANS. (I know - can you believe this diversity?) My point is, however, not once did I ever hear any of those people described that way. Never (Wait maybe the Damned Catholics though). We'd have huge block parties all together, and no one fought. No one argued or called names or lost their minds because someone was different than them. They talked sports, they talked local events, they talked families and music and movies.

They were friends.

A lot of my friends aren't voting the way I am going to vote this election. I don't really care. Some people are spending a lot of time and energy blasting their points of view on Facebook and other social media. My question would be this, why? You're voting for X? Cool. You enjoy that. I'm serious. ENJOY your vote. YOU get to vote. It's America. We get to VOTE here. 21 states in the Union don't use the popular vote to guide their electors so if you live in one of those states, your vote is just a PR move anyway - sorry. But it's a right and it's important.

But when you constantly blast negative words, hateful words, based on news reports that aren't real, based on sources that aren't verified or are being misquoted, I'm quietly just questioning why your'e behaving this way. You aren't swaying anyone. The people who agree with you, like those who thought my grandmother was completely ok with dropping the N word and hating Catholics, think you're great.

The rest of us kind of think you're an asshole.

I think the world could use more social graces. Your constant blathering and frothing at the mouth about this or that candidate doesn't further your cause or make you or your party look better - NONE of them. I can understand why statements by some candidates give you pause, or even cause you to feel some really negative things because some sort of insanely negative things have been said. Hateful things have been said. I understand being upset, on lots of different sides. What I can't understand is hateful bigotry, misogyny, and blindly accepting misinformation because it fits in with your preconceptions of X.

I'd love to know what music you're listening to, what books you have read, and what's bringing you joy. What are your kids doing and are you having a good hair day? I'll take a repost of silly memes any day over the faux-informed political ranting that seems to have taken over the world.

Frankly, I don't care for that.

Political Diversions

"A lady doesn't hate things, a lady says 'I don't care for that.'" is a quote that rings in my mind almost daily. It applies to a lot of situations, and the verbiage doesn't have to be exact. There are so many times I want to say FUCK THAT FUCKING SHIT but somehow manage to mumble a more socially acceptable "No, thank you." or possibly even a "None for me, thank you." These phrases cost me nothing, and they allow me to communicate in a civil fashion with people.

My grandmother was the stickler for that phrase. She'd drop the N word at her leisure, she'd whisper the word cancer and refer to all Catholics as "Damned Catholics". That same woman was a walking how-to manual of social graces. If she was a bad person behind closed doors, she knew how to behave as a human being and at least PRETEND to be well mannered and polite in front of others.

I'm not saying that it's great that she pretended to be a nice person. I'm pretty confident that the people who weren't in keeping with her thoughts knew she was kind of an asshole. It really wasn't a big secret.

Both of my grandparents were very politically active during my childhood. If you want to know HOW politically active, I can tell you that I didn't understand for years that all kids didn't go hand out buttons at the polls. That was a thing back then. As people walked out you handed them a button, a nail file (no really), a hand fan, some sort of geegaw with your candidates name on it. I'm guessing, in reflection, that the adults knew who to give them to because it was a small town and you knew how people had voted because no one was shy about their political affiliation.

Being a Republican or Democrat weren't fighting words. Nor were they an indictment of your character. We didn't openly insult one another, scream obscenities or malign people based on whether or not they voted this way or that. We didn't feel a need to beat our chest about it either, other than a rather copious amount of yard signs and bumper stickers which my grandmother seemed to have quite the penchant for. Surely there were disagreements in policy, spending, taxes, etc. But the truth was that back then, how you voted was like where you went to church - everyone did it and nobody felt any need to fight about it.

The neighbors next door to my grandparents were democrats. Two doors down were Republicans. Across the street were CATHOLICS (can you believe it?). On the other side of them were PRESBYTERIANS. (I know - can you believe this diversity?) My point is, however, not once did I ever hear any of those people described that way. Never (Wait maybe the Damned Catholics though). We'd have huge block parties all together, and no one fought. No one argued or called names or lost their minds because someone was different than them. They talked sports, they talked local events, they talked families and music and movies.

They were friends.

A lot of my friends aren't voting the way I am going to vote this election. I don't really care. Some people are spending a lot of time and energy blasting their points of view on Facebook and other social media. My question would be this, why? You're voting for X? Cool. You enjoy that. I'm serious. ENJOY your vote. YOU get to vote. It's America. We get to VOTE here. 21 states in the Union don't use the popular vote to guide their electors so if you live in one of those states, your vote is just a PR move anyway - sorry. But it's a right and it's important.

But when you constantly blast negative words, hateful words, based on news reports that aren't real, based on sources that aren't verified or are being misquoted, I'm quietly just questioning why your'e behaving this way. You aren't swaying anyone. The people who agree with you, like those who thought my grandmother was completely ok with dropping the N word and hating Catholics, think you're great.

The rest of us kind of think you're an asshole.

I think the world could use more social graces. Your constant blathering and frothing at the mouth about this or that candidate doesn't further your cause or make you or your party look better - NONE of them. I can understand why statements by some candidates give you pause, or even cause you to feel some really negative things because some sort of insanely negative things have been said. Hateful things have been said. I understand being upset, on lots of different sides. What I can't understand is hateful bigotry, misogyny, and blindly accepting misinformation because it fits in with your preconceptions of X.

I'd love to know what music you're listening to, what books you have read, and what's bringing you joy. What are your kids doing and are you having a good hair day? I'll take a repost of silly memes any day over the faux-informed political ranting that seems to have taken over the world.

Frankly, I don't care for that.

Windmills and Cornfields

One year ago I had the adult responsibility of driving from Chicago to Indianapolis on the occasion of the death of my father. I hadn't made that drive in more than 20 years, but it was one I could do without GPS and without much thought.  The stretch of land between Chicago and Indiana was flattened by glaciers marching south one foot a day, about 16,000 years ago.
I can't remember how to get voice mail off my phone but I remember this nugget. My brain is so bizarre.
The view south has been unchanging for my entire life with huge swaths of farmland as you head south, more industrial Gotham landscapes as you head north. The farmland was what brought our family there after the revolutionary war. Every time I have ever made that drive I've been cocooned in that familiar comfortable feeling of home. I'm with my tribe, these flatlanders are mine.
As I drove last year, however, in northern Indiana I was amazed at what I saw - WIND TURBINES.

There were hundreds, maybe thousands dotting the landscape across the northern land of Hoosiers on either side of interstate 65. I stopped for gas and walked out to the edge of a fence to see what they were like.

What were they like? They were like magic. They sing. Perhaps hum is more appropriate. I stood there listening to them, watching them creak and turn in the wind and thinking how amazing it was that something like this had cropped up across these fields.

I wondered if my Dad had ever seen them. He would've thought that they were really amazing. His childlike wonder with things like this could be very endearing.

I have had intermittent moments of sadness and brief tears for my dad. It feels unfair, unkind, that I wouldn't keen and mourn for him as I did my mom. Sometimes I feel like it's because Mom's death was so unfair, so preventable, and there was a FIX and she was denied it because she was too weak for it. But Dad's world unraveled so fast and terribly after January of 2015 that truly, most of the year my heart knew it would've been better for him to have dropped dead from the heart attack.

It was what he would have preferred to be certain.

365 days ago exactly I stood beside a plowed under field, next to a gas station, and felt wonder at how amazing the world can be. When there were such beautiful things in the world as windmills that sing across the farmlands of northern Indiana there was no way for me to feel despair or lost in the world.

Nearly every day since has been like this. Not every one. But many of them. The future is an amazing place and I'm looking forward to everything. Especially the singing windmills.

Numerous and Belligerent

I have a cadre of friends in this life that are of various sorts. The thing that they all have in common is that the real ones are unmistakable, like a welcome albatross that I wouldn't part with no matter how smelly or terrible it became.
A real friend is still your friend even if he asks you to a dance and you opt to go with someone else because, as you tell him, Person X asked me first and I'm afraid he'll be really sad if I don't say yes and you're really good looking - you can FIND a date. That real friend not only forgives you when you toss a card from your locker at him and say "Hey, I got this for your birthday but forgot to give it to you." - that same friend will then give that card BACK to you on your own birthday. That same friend is STILL your friend if you had a habit in high school if ignoring him when you had boyfriends, even though he might yell at you about it later. A lot. You had it coming though, so it's OK. It sounded something like "YEAH I LETTERED IN SWIMMING BUT YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT BECAUSE YOU WERE GOING STEADY WITH SIMON AND NO ONE ELSE EXISTED." That's actually verbatim, but to be fair I think wine coolers were involved.

My own children set up a watch post on our porch today to wait for the much loved, much exalted Uncle Fred. Falling into the category of Family I Choose, Uncle Fred is a magical being who sends Hot Chocolate treats for Christmas and who sweeps in every year at least for lunch and cuddles with my short humans.

If you went to high school with us, chances are high we gossip about you. Sorry, we did that then too. We're kind of bitchy. We probably say nice things. Unless you're a loser. Then you know, we shake our heads - and call you a loser. It sounds something like "...and then he decided to be a loser and I haven't heard from him."

Every person I'm "friends" with isn't this sort of friend, but my real friends - the ones whose funerals I will go to or who will go to mine, who I will or did cry when their parents die(d) because they are like my own family, they are a precious commodity. I don't have to question who I am in their lives, if they care, or if I matter to them. When I'm with them, I'm reminded of who I am. It's easy to forget who you are sometimes as a parent of four, two of whom are special needs. In fact when I'm with them I'm more myself than I was before they arrived.

Real friends aren't hard to spot in the world. I think that sometimes it's easy to confuse people you spend time with, with friends. People who seek you out, who care how you are, and who GET you are your friends. All those sappy memes floating around Facebook about "what real friends are" and "removing toxic people" are pretty spot on. They're sappy as shit. But they're also pretty spot on. Humans are flawed and can be horrible. But even the most flawed humans can be amazing friends, if they're real.

Not Fred of course, that son of a bitch is perfect. :)

I'm on this course of thought today mainly because I got to spend a few hours with this guy who once gave me the Millennium Falcon in 8th Grade and I love him as much as can be. But also because one of my favorite authors has been going through the ringer with a best friend, a not real friend that disguised himself as something true. Watching her write about the devolution of the closest relationship of her life has given me pause in all my relationships, and made me hold the real ones closer in my brain. It's a sick condition that so often other people's misfortune gives us reason to appreciate what we have, but it's true. I work on trying to appreciate things for their value - not just because they aren't the bad alternative.

But I too, am a flawed human.

I am truly the luckiest person in the world. My friends are amazing, numerous and belligerent. I love them all.

Numerous and Belligerent

I have a cadre of friends in this life that are of various sorts. The thing that they all have in common is that the real ones are unmistakable, like a welcome albatross that I wouldn't part with no matter how smelly or terrible it became.
A real friend is still your friend even if he asks you to a dance and you opt to go with someone else because, as you tell him, Person X asked me first and I'm afraid he'll be really sad if I don't say yes and you're really good looking - you can FIND a date. That real friend not only forgives you when you toss a card from your locker at him and say "Hey, I got this for your birthday but forgot to give it to you." - that same friend will then give that card BACK to you on your own birthday. That same friend is STILL your friend if you had a habit in high school if ignoring him when you had boyfriends, even though he might yell at you about it later. A lot. You had it coming though, so it's OK. It sounded something like "YEAH I LETTERED IN SWIMMING BUT YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT BECAUSE YOU WERE GOING STEADY WITH SIMON AND NO ONE ELSE EXISTED." That's actually verbatim, but to be fair I think wine coolers were involved.

My own children set up a watch post on our porch today to wait for the much loved, much exalted Uncle Fred. Falling into the category of Family I Choose, Uncle Fred is a magical being who sends Hot Chocolate treats for Christmas and who sweeps in every year at least for lunch and cuddles with my short humans.

If you went to high school with us, chances are high we gossip about you. Sorry, we did that then too. We're kind of bitchy. We probably say nice things. Unless you're a loser. Then you know, we shake our heads - and call you a loser. It sounds something like "...and then he decided to be a loser and I haven't heard from him."

Every person I'm "friends" with isn't this sort of friend, but my real friends - the ones whose funerals I will go to or who will go to mine, who I will or did cry when their parents die(d) because they are like my own family, they are a precious commodity. I don't have to question who I am in their lives, if they care, or if I matter to them. When I'm with them, I'm reminded of who I am. It's easy to forget who you are sometimes as a parent of four, two of whom are special needs. In fact when I'm with them I'm more myself than I was before they arrived.

Real friends aren't hard to spot in the world. I think that sometimes it's easy to confuse people you spend time with, with friends. People who seek you out, who care how you are, and who GET you are your friends. All those sappy memes floating around Facebook about "what real friends are" and "removing toxic people" are pretty spot on. They're sappy as shit. But they're also pretty spot on. Humans are flawed and can be horrible. But even the most flawed humans can be amazing friends, if they're real.

Not Fred of course, that son of a bitch is perfect. :)

I'm on this course of thought today mainly because I got to spend a few hours with this guy who once gave me the Millennium Falcon in 8th Grade and I love him as much as can be. But also because one of my favorite authors has been going through the ringer with a best friend, a not real friend that disguised himself as something true. Watching her write about the devolution of the closest relationship of her life has given me pause in all my relationships, and made me hold the real ones closer in my brain. It's a sick condition that so often other people's misfortune gives us reason to appreciate what we have, but it's true. I work on trying to appreciate things for their value - not just because they aren't the bad alternative.

But I too, am a flawed human.

I am truly the luckiest person in the world. My friends are amazing, numerous and belligerent. I love them all.

If You're Going To Hang Out With Us...

There are things you're going to have to know if you're going to hang out with us. The first one would be something like "We Live In A Rainbow of Chaos" which I believe Cezanne said. It's not always good, it's seldom timely, and truly it's messy in a way it's difficult to properly explain.

Consequently, I'm pretty sure that if you're reading this you haven't ever been to my house and you probably haven't ever hung out with us. Most of the reasons for that are on us - truly, we're trying to spare you. Maybe we like to pretend we have it so much more together so I can present you with the HEY LOOK HOW AWESOME WE HANDLE OUR SHIT moments here. Probably not. I promise you, those who have hung out with us can attest to us as a group being at the least tardy and probably a show that's hard to handle.

It's just how we roll.

My oldest son has a best friend, however, who doesn't really ever spend time with us. We love the kid, but we don't want Louis to be embarrassed about how things go down around here so we mostly sanction him going with his friend to THEIR place. It gives Louis a great opportunity to GET AWAY from crazy life and we hope keeps him from being embarrassed at the age of 13 by his 12 year old brothers who hump pillows in the living room  and poop their pants.

That's the the harsh reality of the doin's at our house.

We decided that maybe it was time to change this over the weekend. It was county fair time, everyone's favorite, and so we'd invite his friend and the boys could spend a "little" time with us and then go off together. Hanging out at the county fair as a teen seems like a right of passage, so we felt it was time we gave this a try.

As always we ended up with a late start, but the fair goes until Midnight or some nonsense so who even cares? Deep fried foods await, in the cool evening breeze they'd be even better. We'd warned his friend we'd leave between 3-5 and we finally kicked off at the later end of that interval.

On our way the first harbinger of doom showed up. The air conditioning wasn't blowing "cold" unless the car was going pretty fast, as soon as we slowed down it'd start blowing warm. We'd just HAD this issue and had to have work done. As we headed into fair traffic the temperature gauge on the car went up, up UP. We got lucky and were at a left turn and as the noxious smell began to infiltrate the car we not only turned left but pulled right into an AUTOZONE.

In the backseat Julia has been accosting B (the friend) nonstop with tales of every toy she's brought with her in her survival backpack. There's a boy in the car, there's someone in the car who hasn't heard EVERY SINGLE STORY she knows so he's getting an earful. The boys had been exchanging teenage eyerolls in silence and gesturing to theirs phones surreptitiously but now that we're stopped Louis has gotten out to help his dad and B is alone, victimized by a 6 year old talking machine.

It's decided we blew a fuse so a package of fuses is obtained. Apparently the fuses are in a wonky place and the husband obtains some pink polka dot gardening gloves of mine from the trunk and sets to work.

About this time Julia shrieks. "MILES TOOK A TOOTH OUT OF HIS MOUTH! THERE IS BLOOD EVERYWHERE!!"

B looks at me in shock as I casually open my door and get into the back of the van with a handful of ever present napkins. We stock napkins like the pilgrims stocked bibles. Miles hands me the tooth and says "Toof mouf - he goes aaaaaaaaa" and shows me. Blood is running down his chin, so I wipe him off and show him how to press the napkin into the socket. I examine the tooth, guessing a 12 year old molar (which we think has been causing him behavior issues recently). He decides it's fun to soak napkins with blood and throw them up front. B stares at me in silence, unsure what to think pretty obviously.

About then Charlie puts Julia in a bear-hug headlock and she screams. Once again I have to get up, get out, get in back and this time move Charlie up to sit next to B. Charlie proceeds to poke the bottom of B's shoe repeatedly saying "Shoe. Shoe. Shoe."

The fuse is dropped, the fuse is lost. A smaller fuse is tried. It blows as soon as we drive around the parking lot. The car begins to overheat again and poison again fills our world from the stink of the car.

Did I mention it's hot? I go inside and buy 7 waters and every chugs in the high 80 degree heat, miserable now having sat in this car almost an hour. It's sweltering, Charlie is poking B's shoe, Julia is chatting nonstop about toys and suddenly the hood closes -the FUSE is replaced. Except now it's OVER an hour later and will take us a long time to get into the fair in the fair traffic and OH HELL SCREW IT.

We let the boys decide where we would go to dinner, and that we'd call a birthday dinner for Lou.

This is the part of the story where you learn that even when things go completely sideways with us, hanging out with us can still be pretty fun. The boys chose SHOGUN which is one of my favorite restaurants and with the orders that they could have anything they wanted they were some pretty happy 13 year olds.

They started with some drink that you have to knock a marble or something down into so that the carbonation activates or SOMETHING. I don't know, but they were intensely happy about it.

Then they got to order fillet and scallops so really, I'm pretty sure they didn't miss those deep fried foods on a stick AT ALL.

Miles amazed us by being into the miso soup immediately, we suspect he'd been here with school. Lucky kid gets to go to SHOGUN with school.

Julia was hilarious, she didn't realize that there would be FIRE at the table and so wasn't prepared when the first big blast took place. She solved her issue however and truly enjoyed the rest of the show.

We'd always feared taking the twins there, we weren't quite sure HOW it would go however it went so well we know now it's a place we can go. Julia has asked if we can go there for her birthday. Heck yes we can.

The lesson here is - our lives are crazy. We truly have some nutty things happen in such a regular way that I think we try to save most folks from them. But maybe we're wrong about that. Maybe you'd like coming over and hanging out.

Even when everything goes wrong for us, somehow it ends up pretty good.

Super Lucky Cat knows.

If You're Going To Hang Out With Us...

There are things you're going to have to know if you're going to hang out with us. The first one would be something like "We Live In A Rainbow of Chaos" which I believe Cezanne said. It's not always good, it's seldom timely, and truly it's messy in a way it's difficult to properly explain.

Consequently, I'm pretty sure that if you're reading this you haven't ever been to my house and you probably haven't ever hung out with us. Most of the reasons for that are on us - truly, we're trying to spare you. Maybe we like to pretend we have it so much more together so I can present you with the HEY LOOK HOW AWESOME WE HANDLE OUR SHIT moments here. Probably not. I promise you, those who have hung out with us can attest to us as a group being at the least tardy and probably a show that's hard to handle.

It's just how we roll.

My oldest son has a best friend, however, who doesn't really ever spend time with us. We love the kid, but we don't want Louis to be embarrassed about how things go down around here so we mostly sanction him going with his friend to THEIR place. It gives Louis a great opportunity to GET AWAY from crazy life and we hope keeps him from being embarrassed at the age of 13 by his 12 year old brothers who hump pillows in the living room  and poop their pants.

That's the the harsh reality of the doin's at our house.

We decided that maybe it was time to change this over the weekend. It was county fair time, everyone's favorite, and so we'd invite his friend and the boys could spend a "little" time with us and then go off together. Hanging out at the county fair as a teen seems like a right of passage, so we felt it was time we gave this a try.

As always we ended up with a late start, but the fair goes until Midnight or some nonsense so who even cares? Deep fried foods await, in the cool evening breeze they'd be even better. We'd warned his friend we'd leave between 3-5 and we finally kicked off at the later end of that interval.

On our way the first harbinger of doom showed up. The air conditioning wasn't blowing "cold" unless the car was going pretty fast, as soon as we slowed down it'd start blowing warm. We'd just HAD this issue and had to have work done. As we headed into fair traffic the temperature gauge on the car went up, up UP. We got lucky and were at a left turn and as the noxious smell began to infiltrate the car we not only turned left but pulled right into an AUTOZONE.

In the backseat Julia has been accosting B (the friend) nonstop with tales of every toy she's brought with her in her survival backpack. There's a boy in the car, there's someone in the car who hasn't heard EVERY SINGLE STORY she knows so he's getting an earful. The boys had been exchanging teenage eyerolls in silence and gesturing to theirs phones surreptitiously but now that we're stopped Louis has gotten out to help his dad and B is alone, victimized by a 6 year old talking machine.

It's decided we blew a fuse so a package of fuses is obtained. Apparently the fuses are in a wonky place and the husband obtains some pink polka dot gardening gloves of mine from the trunk and sets to work.

About this time Julia shrieks. "MILES TOOK A TOOTH OUT OF HIS MOUTH! THERE IS BLOOD EVERYWHERE!!"

B looks at me in shock as I casually open my door and get into the back of the van with a handful of ever present napkins. We stock napkins like the pilgrims stocked bibles. Miles hands me the tooth and says "Toof mouf - he goes aaaaaaaaa" and shows me. Blood is running down his chin, so I wipe him off and show him how to press the napkin into the socket. I examine the tooth, guessing a 12 year old molar (which we think has been causing him behavior issues recently). He decides it's fun to soak napkins with blood and throw them up front. B stares at me in silence, unsure what to think pretty obviously.

About then Charlie puts Julia in a bear-hug headlock and she screams. Once again I have to get up, get out, get in back and this time move Charlie up to sit next to B. Charlie proceeds to poke the bottom of B's shoe repeatedly saying "Shoe. Shoe. Shoe."

The fuse is dropped, the fuse is lost. A smaller fuse is tried. It blows as soon as we drive around the parking lot. The car begins to overheat again and poison again fills our world from the stink of the car.

Did I mention it's hot? I go inside and buy 7 waters and every chugs in the high 80 degree heat, miserable now having sat in this car almost an hour. It's sweltering, Charlie is poking B's shoe, Julia is chatting nonstop about toys and suddenly the hood closes -the FUSE is replaced. Except now it's OVER an hour later and will take us a long time to get into the fair in the fair traffic and OH HELL SCREW IT.

We let the boys decide where we would go to dinner, and that we'd call a birthday dinner for Lou.

This is the part of the story where you learn that even when things go completely sideways with us, hanging out with us can still be pretty fun. The boys chose SHOGUN which is one of my favorite restaurants and with the orders that they could have anything they wanted they were some pretty happy 13 year olds.

They started with some drink that you have to knock a marble or something down into so that the carbonation activates or SOMETHING. I don't know, but they were intensely happy about it.

Then they got to order fillet and scallops so really, I'm pretty sure they didn't miss those deep fried foods on a stick AT ALL.

Miles amazed us by being into the miso soup immediately, we suspect he'd been here with school. Lucky kid gets to go to SHOGUN with school.

Julia was hilarious, she didn't realize that there would be FIRE at the table and so wasn't prepared when the first big blast took place. She solved her issue however and truly enjoyed the rest of the show.

We'd always feared taking the twins there, we weren't quite sure HOW it would go however it went so well we know now it's a place we can go. Julia has asked if we can go there for her birthday. Heck yes we can.

The lesson here is - our lives are crazy. We truly have some nutty things happen in such a regular way that I think we try to save most folks from them. But maybe we're wrong about that. Maybe you'd like coming over and hanging out.

Even when everything goes wrong for us, somehow it ends up pretty good.

Super Lucky Cat knows.

Running From The Rain

I'm an intensely half-assed runner. As in, I am really not invested in it. The things I like about it are the caloric burn and oh that's about it. I am a duplicitous creature, though, and it bothers me to be bad at things (unless those things are  housekeeping or cooking or domestic chores). But I was two days in a row with no work out and I felt an intense desire to burn some calories off as well as just sweat and not be cooped up in my house. So with rain threatening to the west I decided I could do a mile before it started raining. I took off up the stupid hill which doesn't look like a hill at all unless you're on foot, and into the wind.

It was really a perfect day to be outside for a girl who mostly walks and half-assed runs. Personally I don't think it'll ever be MY THING as I've got some arthritis in one knee and I'm fat as hell and I have no stamina and oh god I could do this ALL DAY. There are REASONS why it's not going to be my thing, yet there I go, giving it another try.

Today I half-assed ran down our street, down the main street to the next neighborhood and the length of THAT street and back. I had a plan. I was going to push myself and do the running intervals I was supposed to do for a change. My plan was SOLID. The rain was west, and while the wind was picking up - seriously I'm going ONE MILE. Even my big ass can go ONE MILE in 20 or so minutes. I'm not fast. I stressed this on my whole "half-assed" part right?

So there I am running down the sidewalk and heading toward the next street when something squishes under my feet. I was busy cursing that bitch on C25k who is all "START RUNNING" like she's my boss and just kept going, much to the chagrin of the passing cars I'm sure. Oh well if you don't want to see a fat girl working out don't leave your house. We are legion.

About half way down the next street over the mist began. It wasn't bad, more of a Seattle type of event. Enough to annoy your glasses but not enough to complain about. By then I was struggling to obey my digital overlord when she told me to run so I was settling with walking fast. The street next to me also has a stupid hill that you don't notice except when you're on foot and when I headed back UP my entire body said YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVEN'T WORKED OUT IN TWO DAYS AND WE'RE DONE NOW SO JUST QUIT. It was right at about that moment that the entire sky said HAHAHAHA YOU CAN'T OUTRUN ME NOW and then well....nature happened.

As I walked/half-assed ran down the main street back toward my house I stopped under the canopy of trees as I realized what I had stepped on when I went by earlier. Persimmons! Persimmons, that most Hoosier of fruit, base ingredient for persimmon pudding which was one of the the great childhood cakes of my grandma's house.The owner of this house clearly does not know that you're supposed to put a ground sheet under your tree and that they're ripe when they fall, not a moment before. All these persimmons are getting crushed under my feet and the feet of others.

Philistine.

I made it home, soaked and sweating at the same time which is a delightful combination. Now I really need to go home and get some persimmon pudding. If you haven't ever hard it, here is the realest recipe - my grandma would approve. You have to put cool whip on top, however. It's a moral imperative.

If anyone needs me I'll probably be napping, dreaming of ground sheets and plump, small, orange bombs falling from the sky. There's worse ways to spend my afternoon.

Running From The Rain

I'm an intensely half-assed runner. As in, I am really not invested in it. The things I like about it are the caloric burn and oh that's about it. I am a duplicitous creature, though, and it bothers me to be bad at things (unless those things are  housekeeping or cooking or domestic chores). But I was two days in a row with no work out and I felt an intense desire to burn some calories off as well as just sweat and not be cooped up in my house. So with rain threatening to the west I decided I could do a mile before it started raining. I took off up the stupid hill which doesn't look like a hill at all unless you're on foot, and into the wind.

It was really a perfect day to be outside for a girl who mostly walks and half-assed runs. Personally I don't think it'll ever be MY THING as I've got some arthritis in one knee and I'm fat as hell and I have no stamina and oh god I could do this ALL DAY. There are REASONS why it's not going to be my thing, yet there I go, giving it another try.

Today I half-assed ran down our street, down the main street to the next neighborhood and the length of THAT street and back. I had a plan. I was going to push myself and do the running intervals I was supposed to do for a change. My plan was SOLID. The rain was west, and while the wind was picking up - seriously I'm going ONE MILE. Even my big ass can go ONE MILE in 20 or so minutes. I'm not fast. I stressed this on my whole "half-assed" part right?

So there I am running down the sidewalk and heading toward the next street when something squishes under my feet. I was busy cursing that bitch on C25k who is all "START RUNNING" like she's my boss and just kept going, much to the chagrin of the passing cars I'm sure. Oh well if you don't want to see a fat girl working out don't leave your house. We are legion.

About half way down the next street over the mist began. It wasn't bad, more of a Seattle type of event. Enough to annoy your glasses but not enough to complain about. By then I was struggling to obey my digital overlord when she told me to run so I was settling with walking fast. The street next to me also has a stupid hill that you don't notice except when you're on foot and when I headed back UP my entire body said YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVEN'T WORKED OUT IN TWO DAYS AND WE'RE DONE NOW SO JUST QUIT. It was right at about that moment that the entire sky said HAHAHAHA YOU CAN'T OUTRUN ME NOW and then well....nature happened.

As I walked/half-assed ran down the main street back toward my house I stopped under the canopy of trees as I realized what I had stepped on when I went by earlier. Persimmons! Persimmons, that most Hoosier of fruit, base ingredient for persimmon pudding which was one of the the great childhood cakes of my grandma's house.The owner of this house clearly does not know that you're supposed to put a ground sheet under your tree and that they're ripe when they fall, not a moment before. All these persimmons are getting crushed under my feet and the feet of others.

Philistine.

I made it home, soaked and sweating at the same time which is a delightful combination. Now I really need to go home and get some persimmon pudding. If you haven't ever hard it, here is the realest recipe - my grandma would approve. You have to put cool whip on top, however. It's a moral imperative.

If anyone needs me I'll probably be napping, dreaming of ground sheets and plump, small, orange bombs falling from the sky. There's worse ways to spend my afternoon.

Penny Candy and Dirty Old Men

When I was growing up there was a gas station less than a block from my grandma's house called Smitty's. Their gas pumps had long since stopped working, one was sideways on its concrete island. The canopy was still in place, for a while, until a tornado blew it away one spring. The bays were closed up and full of varied junk. The best part about Smitty's was - they had penny candy.

They had real penny candy, pieces of candy that cost one cent. Various kinds of candy, candy that was not meant to be sold individually. They also had ice cream bars for twenty five cents. It was exactly the sort place a budget conscious elementary school kid would value.

It was also crowded. The shelves were full of cans of oil (so long ago oil did in fact come in cans), and other auto related items, some of which appeared not to have moved in my life time. Behind the counter sat Smitty, and beside the counter sat varied old men in rocking chairs or on stools. Jay and Silent Bob perhaps, if they were ancient, grizzled and grease stained.

Another important fact about Smitty's, in fact THE most important fact, was that it was forbidden. VERBOTEN. We were NONE of us allowed to go there. It stood at the halfway point between the elementary school and my destination. Hundreds of children walked right past it daily, none daring to go in with the crossing guard so close and attentive. Why was it forbidden?

Dirty old men.

That was the answer that we were always given. "It's full of Dirty Old Men. You aren't to ever go there."

But during the 70s when children were sent outside and expected to stay outside and candy cost a penny, the idea of dirty old men wasn't fearsome at all. Why did WE care if they were grease stained? Our small neighborhood cabal of children worked it all out. Our mothers thought these men would hug us and get our clothes dirty, so we decided to go in small groups and NEVER let them hug us. Problem solved.

Getting TO Smitty's was the logistical problem. It was nearly in SIGHT of my grandmother's house. We couldn't just walk down the street no way, we'd be caught. What we had to do was run a gauntlet of backyards, all the way across and then back toward the school and them come toward Smitty's from the opposite direction. There was a small chance of being spotted even then, as there was a small window of street crossing where we could be seen from the front porches. However the lure of penny candy and twenty five cent ice cream is strong, and we vowed to run and they'd never see us.

To be fair, and possibly clear the reputation of the proprietor and customers of Smitty's they were never anything but nice to us. They never tried to hug us or do any untoward thing. We'd come in, stay clustered together, pick out our scraps of candy or maybe do a big splurge and get ice cream. Then we had to get it back to a safe place to eat it. The only truly safe place was Sheryl's house because both of her parents worked, so we would run the gauntlet in reverse (really fast if we had ice cream) and rush into her family room to consume our hoard of sweets while listening to some Barry Manilow Live.

You might think that living in a Mayberry Like Utopia we didn't really have anything to worry about in terms of perverts and child molesters. Maybe our parents were so wrong when they gave us that unheeded warning. Except that no, they weren't wrong to worry even in the 70s. A man pulled into a driveway in front of us once, and called us over to ask directions. He wasn't wearing pants - and was jerking off. We didn't know what he was doing, we were 7. We just knew he was naked and he wasn't supposed to be. Another time walking home from school, that short half block to my grandmas, a man followed us and opened the door of his car, calling us to come get inside. Child abduction, child molestation, flashing, these things were a thing - even in the 70s.

Because my grandpa had been the mayor I spent days/weeks after both incidents being followed at a distance when I went to and from school by a black and white police car. I'd given statements, I'd described the men. I never saw them again.

As a testament to childhood immortality and stupidity, those events never scared us off from going to Smitty's. There are times now that I wonder if those men saw us there, or if the men at Smitty's were unfairly maligned. Even in the 70s we should've had a better idea what the dangers really were.

To borrow a phrase from my favorite show, the night may be dark and full of terrors but the day has is own kind, we just didn't know it then.