Holiday Confusion

Hi. I know there is nobody out there. I'm just talking to myself, but I guess that's ok. I've been away..but not really. I've been unmotivated, is more like it. I guess everybody goes through that. You start a blog, you post every day, you are a font of creativity. You feel good about it. You start to wind down, you post every few days, then every few weeks, then you quit. You feel bad about it. Your font has dried up. But today I felt the motivation to say a few words, so even if nobody reads it, I can let go of my guilt for ignoring the blog.

So, about the title "Holiday Confusion", it is my own affliction. I am here, present, in mid-October. I went to the store this week, spent lots of cash on Halloween candy, and last weekend, we hit the local farms up in Green Bluff to pick our own pumpkins. I have my living room and family room decorated in a very "AUTUMN" theme. Pumpkins, mini-scarecrows, spicy smelling candles are burning...from the outside, I look like I'm all-in, as far as AUTUMN goes.

But alas, it is a sham. And the saddest part about it is, I LOVE the fall season! I have been in very warm states for the past 10 years, and have not seen the leaves change, nor felt the brisk wind of the dropping temperatures, nor have I even had a decent pumpkin patch to choose my Halloween pumpkin from. Unless you count that tented space in the parking lot on PCH in Torrance, with some pitiful goats in a pen and perfect pumpkins in long, organized rows. I don't count that. Fall has always been my favorite season, and I've missed it terribly. But this year, our first year back in a cold climate, and I'm not invested in it. I'm ready to skip over it. I want it to be CHRISTMAS!!

Sigh. Yes, I said Christmas. And believe it or not, I've been ready for Christmas since August.

It is a special season this year because 1. It is our first in our very own home, not military housing, and 2. My parents are coming for a short visit, and will be seeing the new house, and the new state, for the first time. I'm very excited.

I have all sorts of decorating ideas. I'm planning to do two trees, a family tree (large and live), and a vintage tree (small and artificial). I've been scouting thrift stores and EBay for months, looking for great deals on vintage ornaments. Back in July, I bought two matching Christmas wreaths at a garage sale. I have been anxiously awaiting the Christmas catalogs and magazines, for ideas. I've actually had to reign myself in recently, because my holiday enthusiasm was causing me frustration, and I don't want to be frustrated. The thrift stores are chock-a-block full of Halloween decor. I know, just as soon as Halloween is over, the Christmas merchandise will hit the shelves, but I get annoyed when I want to find some blue mercury glass balls for my vintage tree, and instead, there are mountains of plastic pumpkins and skulls and fake corn cobs.

I am annoyed at myself, for not appreciating my favorite season of the year. But then again, I want to press fast forward through October and November, and just get to December already!

That is not to say I'm not having my moments. I love the rainbow of trees in the area. Washington state is just beautiful. Our trip to Green Bluff last weekend was so great, with the apple orchards, hayrides, pumpkin patch, and mini-horse farm. Not to mention the smell of pumpkin donuts cooking, and a big slice of apple pie a la mode, with hot apple cider! Fabulous!

BUT....I admit it, right now, at this very moment, I'm listening to Christmas music on Pandora. I can't help it. My mind is otherwise occupied. I'm budgeting for presents. I'm planning menus. Thanksgiving? Hurry up and get yourself over and done with! Yes, yes, yes, bring on the turkey and stuffing, but I'll be waiting for the first week in December, when we can head back out to Green Bluff and cut our own tree down this year! Whoo hoo!! Merry Autumn!

*Photo Credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/eklektick/

I’ve got some skills. But not that many.

This is a test of my recently downloaded version of Microsoft Word 2010. In my ignorance, I assumed that using one Word program was as simple as using another Word program. And, I guess, that is a mostly true statement. However, it is not all fun and games when you are trying to remember skills that have not been practiced for more than three years now. It is not that Word 2010 is some revelation of new technology, but I think my lack of familiarity with the format of the program could potentially hurt me in my job search.

It is sort of like heading back to your old home town after moving away 10 years ago. You know where everything is…but there has been some rapid suburban development since your departure, and you can't quite get your bearings. When did they build that new grocery store? Didn't that used to be a corn field? Oh…I was headed to the Dunkin' Donuts on Main Street, but I guess they closed that one down and built a new one over on 8^th Street? Now, I know how to get from the High School to the Mall, but now they've built a new freeway entrance, and I can't figure out where to get on the stupid thing!! It's confusion, but not a void of knowledge. You've been away for quite awhile, things have changed, and now you have to find your way around again. For example, this Word 2010 now has a Blog Post feature. What the heck is that and how do you utilize it?? So , that brings us to this entry, and my attempt to use the thing and become the Word Wiz I once was.

That's another thing, I used to be the girl in the office, in my early to mid 20's, that could guide all of my older coworkers on the complexities of Microsoft Outlook and the mysteries of the Mail Merge. I was the girl who fixed the printer problems, and could manage the computers with confidence and ease. Just goes to show…in today's world…you take 3 years off to be a stay at home mother, and the train of technology speeds off without you. Progress waits for no man…nor woman either.

Now I fear I may be the one looking cluelessly at my blinking curser in the new Excel format. I don't want to be that clueless person, so I guess I'll do my best with my 60 day Free Trial of Office 2010, to learn all there is to know and be ready when they ask me (at my next job interview) If I actually KNOW what I'm doing around a computer, or if I just surf the net and update my Facebook profile all day. Hopefully, I can say I'm a pro at "all of the above".

Yeah, I liked that Reading Rainbow show. So what?

I love reading so much. I would gladly neglect everything else in my life to be left alone, reading. I don't need to shower...nor do I need to eat...nor do I need to socialize. I just want to be all alone with a never ending supply of books.

Let me start out by saying I don't like that Kindle thing. I don't want one. You might think that because I am such a voracious reader, that I would enjoy such a gadget. But you would be wrong.

I enjoy the physicality of books. I like to choose my books from the vibe they impart to me from the shelf. I like to judge a book by it's cover...meaning that I do appreciate and choose books sometimes based on the lure of an attractive outer shell. I like to see the book, hold the book, and perhaps read the first few lines of the first chapter. The style of writing will usually catch me within the first few sentences, and I can quickly decide if the book will hold my interest from that point on.

I like a nice thick, heavy, clock-you-on-the-head, kind of book. I am not trying to be intellectual or some kind of a braggart, but I read very quickly. Too quickly. I can usually finish 500 pages in a couple of days. And that is not uninterrupted reading either, but whatever time I can glean between daily chores and children and the distractions of living life. If I did have the opportunity to read 100% without interruption, I could knock out a pile of hefty novels in record time.

If a book is too small, I may just put it back on the shelf again. I find a short book terribly unsatisfying. Like those tiny brownie bites they think are going to satisfy your craving for chocolate, when actually, all they do is leave you staring at the empty wrapper and wishing you hadn't even bothered to waste the calories.

I like real books from the library. I like getting them for free, especially since I polish them off so quickly. It is such a waste of $14 of my precious dollars to purchase a book at Borders when I'm going to finish it in less than a weekend. I'm not opposed to the second hand book stores, or even Goodwill's hit or miss book section, but the Library is so perfectly clean and categorized. So quiet and peaceful. I can touch the books, skim the slightly yellowed pages, and let the book sell itself to me.

Thats one reason I just really dislike the Kindle. Your buying a service. Your buying a lightweight, computer generated, breakable, GADGET. I am overwhelmed with gadgets as it is. I do appreciate my computer, and my cell phone, but I don't need to curl up on the sofa on a quiet evening with yet another gadget. Gadgets are not cozy. Gadgets cannot withstand me smashing them into the sand at the beach. I don't want Amazon updating my "book" with it's special offers and free download opportunities. I just want to do it the old fashioned way, by turning the pages. With my fingers.

Yes, yes, I know, it is meant to appeal to the techie generation...those people who have their i-phone always in-hand, and can't be bothered to heft a real book in their laptop case, as it would throw off their balance as they try to text their boss with one hand and sip their latte with the other. A real book is antiquated. It is just so much easier to download your next book club recommendation, rather than waste your precious time getting cross-eyed in a bookstore!

My lifestyle choice is to be a rare, but not extinct, creature of the past. We few remaining specimens are hardcore, but mostly docile creatures. We are instinctual, but expressive...often verbose in our descriptive communications. In the modern world, we fear our main source of sustenance will soon disappear. The newspaper and magazine are soon to be relics...and daily pulp communication will be completely online. Why read the Washington Post or a Glamor magazine when you can just check out the website? I fear that the encroachment of the Kindle, and it's brotherhood of imitators, will soon devour the books that sustain my kind forever.

The Bookworm, a proud species, will be forced to evolve into something else. Some hybrid of the Computer-Nerd and the Spectacled-Librarian. I don't want to be extinct. I want to have the title carved into my headstone when I die:

Here Lies Jennifer Watts.

Mother,

Wife,

Bookworm.

Nothing is Something

I should do something. But I don't feel like it. I mean, it's not as if I have not done anything all day. I probably did more before 9am than most people. However, that after lunch lethargy just drags me down. I still have a sink full of breakfast, and also lunch, dishes to wash. But first I have to empty the dishwasher of the clean dishes. Blah. Boring. Maybe I should make the children do it? Yes, that sounds like a plan.

That still leaves me sitting here. Like a lumpy lump.

There is laundry waiting for me. But the basket is all the way down in the basement. So far!! If I try to bring all these dirty clothes down in my arms without a basket, it will be 2007 all over again, and I will have another broken leg from falling down my stairs. No thanks.

So...no laundry then either.

Yard work? Nope, too hot. However, my daughter did give me a compliment this morning in saying that I have become a "gardener". I guess because I planted some flowers in a couple of pots and they didn't die yet, and I mowed the grass on Monday. That qualifies as gardening.

TV is deadly boring in the afternoons. So I won't be going down that road.

I've already done my daily internet job-search, and actually applied online for two positions. Even if I never get a call for an interview, I feel I've accomplished something in the "work" venue by sending out the applications.

I could bring the giant mountain of Diet Pepsi cans to the recycling center. But that would require me to load up the van with those sticky, drippy things, and drive all the way over there. Not that it's far, but it is the principle of the thing.

I don't know what principle I'm shying away from, but it sounded like a legitimate excuse to me.

Should I run the vacuum cleaner? No..better not...the baby is napping. That would wake her.

Golly! There is really nothing for me to do today! I guess I"ll just continue to sit here, like a lump, and maybe bark some orders at the older children to do something.

I might be doing "nothing" but obviously, if you've read my excuses (above), you will agree that that is absolutely the proper thing for me to be doing at this moment. They, on the other hand, should be productive with their day. The freedom of youth is short lived!

Soon, the dulldrums of adulthood will be upon them. I feel it is only fair that I prepare them in advance by making them do the chores I don't feel like doing today.

For their own good.

*Yawn*...maybe I'll take a nap.

Butter Makes It Better

I know I've been neglecting the blog. I saw it happen to other people, but I swore it wouldn't happen to me. In all honesty, my avoidance of writing has been a two-prong issue.

Issue 1: As mentioned in my last post, everyone in my house was barfing. Puke can really keep a person away from the thoughtful, reflective, alone-time of writing a blog.

Issue 2: I honestly didn't feel like I've had anything interesting to say. This issue, in retrospect, should have been a non-issue. In reviewing past entries, any moron could clearly see that I've written a lengthy blog entry regardless of their relevance or interest to anyone else but me.

So...I guess I have no excuse. Moving on then, what shall todays topic be? Food? Ok, I think that will work.

I have lately been worried about my relationship with food. Not only because of the obvious extra weight I've been carting for about 3 years now, but also because I have begun to wonder if my love of food is abnormal in any way.

I would not suggest that it is just a "woman thing" to be comforted by certain foods, but if my husband is any indication, a mans viewpoint on eating is very different from a womans. He could care less about food. Really. It is something he does merely to keep living. Yes, he may "enjoy" a good bowl of chicken and dumplins', or polish off his (small) serving of food and say "Dang, that was good, honey!". But in reality, food is nothing to him. He eats because his body needs the fuel. He is not a snacker, and never has been. I'm sitting there, popping Wheat Thins like a champ, (and oh yea, do we have any of that cheese block left in the frig?) and he can stand right next to me and not eat a single cracker.

I am trying to understand him, and in the process, understand myself, when it comes to food. What is better than a nice warm roll, fresh from the oven? Well, a nice warm roll with butter, of course! What is more delicious than the blend of Thanksgiving dinner, singing together in delicious harmony on your fork....cranberries, turkey, stuffing, gravy? Not much compares with that. Give me a nice, crisp, salad and I'll enjoy the heck out of it, but I'd enjoy it even more if you make it a Chef Salad (minus the ham, double the turkey) or my all time favorite, the Waldorf Salad. Italian food, Chinese food, Mexican food? I'm there. I'm all in.

And Brian, well, he's there...but he'll only have a bit..then he's full. The little switch inside his brain that tells him to "Eat the food, savor the food, love the food." is obviously turned off. His switch is simply stuck in the "Eat the food" position. Then it has a small warning light that blinks when his tummy gets full. Unlike my warning light, which appears to have burnt out, and never warns me against the evils of the second helping.

One point of contention between us is the issue of ice cream. He simply does not understand the pleasure I derive from eating the stuff. He just doesn't get it. I have already psycho-analyzed my love of ice cream, and I can clearly trace it back to my childhood in Pennsylvania, perhaps the Summer Ice Cream Eating Capitol of the United States. There are Mom & Pop ice cream shops in every town. Not only that, but if your a long-time resident, you know exactly where to go for the biggest scoops and best flavor selection. I have many (and I mean many) happy childhood memories of eating a big scoop of mint chocolate chip or cookies n'cream (depending on the time line..was it before or after 4th grade? I pick a favorite and stick with it.) and sitting on a sticky picnic table with my family, enjoying the treat like crazy. Usually, we'd go for ice cream after supper, so the sun would be going down, lightning bugs would begin to emerge into the fading dusk, and the heat of the day would dissipate. I'd sit on the sticky bench, swing my tanned and scabby knees, and lick that cone for all it was worth. Ice cream equals good memories for me.

Brian, on the other hand, thinks ice cream is a too-sweet, too-filling, too fattening item, that people in Pennsylvania are addicted to like crazy heroin junkies. I guess down in Georgia, they didn't indulge in ice cream too much. They were too busy sipping' sweet tea on their porch swings.

I wish I had his nonchalance about food sometimes. He's just moved beyond it. Of course, he doesn't like to get into debates about food with me. He is in the best shape of our marriage right now, due to his consistent running habit, and his general disdain for indulging in most food. I must also concede that he is Active Duty Military, and it is part of his job to stay fit.

But maybe because over the course of our marriage, I've seen his weight fluctuate, and now it has evened out and he looks great, I can only measure myself against him, and feel bad. I'm not huge, and please don't take my descriptions of food as an indication that I'm spooning ice cream down my gut between bites of Wheat Thins and swallows of gravy. I'm carrying a good 20 extra pounds, yes, but the point of this discussion is more to understand my attitude towards food than my daily consumption of it.

The other day, we went to Burger King for lunch. We both ordered the same thing, a chicken sandwich and fries. As I was polishing off the last of my sandwich (I'm not a total pig, I avoided the majority of the fries), I noticed that first, he'd abandoned the top of his sandwich bun. Half way through the meal, he'd discarded both buns, and was eating his sandwich quite naked. I got annoyed, both at the fact that I'd chowed down on my own sandwich without a second thought to the dangers of the "carbs", and also that he'd even bothered to order a sandwich at all. Why not just get chicken nuggets if your going to toss the bread??? So annoying!!

Just one of those times when his disdain for food, and my enjoyment of it, causes me to feel annoyed at him and embarrassed by myself. I hate carrying extra weight, but I love food. I really just wish I could separate myself from it like he has. He has the self control that I am lacking. He never associates a good meal with a good memory. He is simply never the one to suggest that we get dessert. Good Lord! He doesn't even care all that much for the Holy Grail of ALL Food - Chocolate!!!

I've got issues, clearly. I would just like to know more about how to deal with them, I guess. I don't want to turn off my love of a good meal, but I guess I wish I could adjust it more easily. I can say "no", but sometimes, I just associate the pleasure of eating with happiness, and I think that is a slippery slope that I'm already tumbling down. With a nice blueberry muffin in my hand. With butter, of course.

PS. Photo credit for above picture: Pennsylvanians do INDEED love their dairy. That is a 900 pound butter sculpture that was featured at the 93rd Pennsylvania State Farm Show.

Barf. Yack. Vomit. Puke. Heave. Hurl. Upchuck. Spew.

I don't know where they picked it up. I don't know how they're passing it around. I can't even predict when it's going to end.

It's the stomach bug that won't die.

Our family, starting with my oldest, have each been somehow affected by it for more than a week now. It's slow to start, sometimes not really causing more than a lead-ball feeling in your stomach and some mysterious gurgles. Sometimes it sends you straight to the toilet. And back again. And again. And again. Or sometimes, you just get that bad feeling and you know it's coming on and you grab the nearest trashcan or pick the kid up and cover her mouth as you run to the toilet in hopes of making it there in time.

We really don't know where it came from. I thought my oldest had contracted food poisoning when she first came down with it. But within three days, the youngest was in our room at 3am, and puking by 5am. And here we are, a week later, and my middle daughter has finally succumbed.

Luckily, Brian and I have not suffered more than some mild cramping and nausea. So far.

Tomorrow is our big Yard Sale. We need to unload some crap to fund a possible birthday party/cookout for Brian's upcoming 34th. I simply cannot pray hard enough that I can make it through at least one more day without contracting this barfing malady.

Our Water Salesgirl is down for the count. She had grand plans to sit with her cooler and her mini cash register, and hawk some ice cold bottled waters for $.50 each. We promised her she could keep her profits. Unfortunately, this thing does not let go after just one day. It knocks you out for a good 2-4 days, at least. So, alas, the adorable Salesgirl will be hovering over her trashcan puke-bucket, and watching her second full day of the Disney Chanels greatest summer reruns instead of pocketing some extra cash. Sorry, honey!

One more day, you crap-tastic Bug! Leave me out of it! I've been washing my hands like a germaphobe with OCD. I've done the laundry promptly after each sweaty, feverish child has felt well enough to roll off of her back and back to an upright position. I've invested in some anti-bacterial spray to coat all the commonly used surfaces in a fine mist. I've used the power of positive thought and crossed my fingers as I chugged the Pepto Bismol, and hoped for the best.

Nobody wants to be sick. Especially not me. I just need one more day. Or, better yet, let my luck hold out, and my stomach to armor up like the Batmobile (in the Christian Bale version, not those cartoony 1990's flicks) and protect me from coming down with this at all.

I will not get sick. I will not get sick. I will not get sick. (positive thoughts).

Send your kid outside...my kids need somebody to play with!

My two older daughters went on a short outing today around town. Since the town we live in is so small, you could probably ride your bike around the entire thing in about an hour, or less, I sent them off without parental supervision. I gave them a few bucks to get a scoop of ice cream at LindeBee's . A few bucks was worth the couple of hours of quiet I got (no TV, no arguing) by getting them out of the house.

Abby rode her long board, and Elysse rode her new bike. A lot of parents in our neighborhood seem paranoid to let their children wander much further than the immediate circle of our block, but not me. I encourage them to get out and explore. Like I said, the town we live in is tiny, and I think it's good for kids to get out there and learn the short-cuts and back alleys of the place they reside. You might think I'd be one of those paranoid parents, seeing as how the two older girls have never lived anywhere but on a guarded and gated Air Force Base, but honestly, I'm not too concerned.

A good friend of Abby's was initially not allowed to come over to our house after school because her Mom didn't "trust" the town of Medical Lake. Her family lives about 10 minutes away, on base. Although she attends school here in town (high school!), her Mom never bothered to come down here and drive around a bit to get to know the place. If she had, she'd have seen that the town is so quiet, the most action we see on a given day is the rumble of a freight train passing on the tracks at the edge of the city. The loudest inhabitants are the cows and the teenagers, but honestly, the big thing to do for the teenage crowd around here is to hang out at the Young Life meeting over at our church. They're all there!

So, I visited this reluctant Mom, and told her the town was really not anything to be concerned about, and she relented. I mean, I can't promise that HER kid will make all the right choices when she's here (there is that ever-present group of "bad kids" hanging out across from the skate park - gasp! - smoking cigarettes!!), but I can assure her that there is a heck of a lot LESS to worry about in the rural streets of Medical Lake.

Some of my fondest memories from growing up in small towns in central PA was the freedom I felt riding my bike. In Lewistown, I'd ride up to my best friend, Becca Conklin's house, and we'd take off for the day. We'd ride to Rec Park to play at the playground. We'd ride downtown to get a slice of pizza at the Original. We'd ride over to the Middle School to play hide and seek among the shady trees.

When I was older, and we moved to Linglestown, none of my good friends lived in my neighborhood. We would choose a meeting spot, usually on a corner in a neighborhood somewhere between their house and mine, and we'd hop on our ten-speeds and hook up. My parents never worried about me on these long days of exploration. I just recall my Mom giving me a time to be home (for supper) and that was that. This was surely before the days of constant cell phone communication, and if I needed to reach her, I'd better hope I had a quarter in my pocket to use the pay phone at the Turkey Hill. But I never needed to call. I was having too much fun.

I want the same thing for my own kids. I feel happy that we found a town where I feel safe. They can take a quick trip down the hill to the Conoco gas station for a soda or some M & M's. They can go a bit further, and swing by the skate park or LindeBee's. They can follow one of the paved jogging paths over by the lake, and look for deer. There is no shortage of wildlife to be seen here. Also, with the lake within less than one mile from our house, maybe someday they'll go the route of Huck Finn and grab some fishing poles and head down to cast their lines in the clear water.

That last one might be wishful thinking, as Abby is about as much of a sport-fisherman as Brittany Spears is a starting quarterback. But until she gets her drivers license (only one more year, yipes!), she's stuck with the low-key, town-bound activities she can reach by skateboard.

Anyway, today was bright and sunny. Washington has finally seen fit to warm up above 70 degrees, and I wanted the two girls to get out and breathe some fresh air. I hope someday they will look back on their time in this town with the same nostalgia I feel for my days of bike riding adventures. I hope they find a short cut to the park, and a cool and shady spot to relax on the grass and look up a the clouds floating above their heads.

Kids today need that stuff. This is a good link if you want to read it. Break away from the magnetic pull of television, computers, video games, and the caves they create inside their air-conditioned houses. They need to get out there and play. I will continue to encourage, and sometimes, threaten my kids to get them outside. And I hope someday they will thank me for it. Or at least for the ice cream I bribed them with.

Unhappy 4th of July

This post may sound mopey. Just warning you.

Hope you all enjoyed your summer holiday, with family reunions and picnics and fireworks. I hope your grass was green and your flowers were blooming. I hope you had a sunny day, maybe took a dip in the pool or hit the beach? Did you barbecue? I bet your patio table was overflowing with macaroni salad, juicy watermelon slices and piles of burgers and dogs. Sounds like fun.

Why didn't you invite me? Because I live across the country from you? Well, I guess thats true.

That seems to be the case with so many of these holidays. We understand, you can't invite us for drinks and sparklers with the kids, if flying across country is the only way we can attend. I know your probably not thinking about us...why should you? You've had plans for months with your favorite neighbors, old friends, and the grandparents. You probably just figured, everybody would be out there, enjoying the holiday weekend, surely the Watts family must be too.

Actually, that is not the case.

I am not going to cry about it, though I have been known to shed a few lonely tears on various holidays past. My family is a unit unto itself. Over the 12 years we've been married, we've had our good years, and our bad ones. On a good year, we might be visiting relatives on Christmas. On a good year, we might be attending a burger-burn with a few friends and a lot of acquaintances. On a good year, we may be all alone, but actually enjoying ourselves (more on that to follow) and making a happy holiday memory or two.

I know not every family holiday is all nostalgic scrapbook memories and singing by a campfire. I know that your sister in law is going to manipulate the situation and make everyone uncomfortable (again), and your cousin is going to drink far too much and lose his six pack all over the blooming rosebush in Grandma's garden. I know your Mom is driving you nuts with her nagging, and you are absolutely dreading the fact that your best pal has yet another boyfriend/girlfriend who you can already predict will make everyone around the table cringe with their bad manners/inappropriate dirty jokes/snorting cackle of laughter. But people, regardless of these holiday hiccups, just remember, it's better than being alone.

Being alone (even when the 5 of us are together) can really be depressing. Especially when I have to think about all the memories (see above) being made at said holiday celebration, without us, yet again.

But this is the life of a military family. And this is the life that we have, and have had for a long time. We are in another new town this year. We have made some tentative "friends", but they could more accurately be categorized as "new acquaintances". We are not total sad sacks, we did get a couple of invitations for 4th of July celebrations, but this year has just been a bummer and those prospects deflated like a shriveled birthday balloon.

We started out at church this morning. Today's service was held outside, at the lakeside park for a combo church service and Freedom picnic. We dressed in American-inspired regalia, with the girls sporting red, white and blue and adorable braided pigtails. Brian and I were more toned down, but we smiled as we carted our kids and our plate of homemade brownies and our patio chairs to the gathering of church folks around a balloon bedecked stage. Within 5 minutes of our arrival, the whining began.

Can you believe, on July the 4th, it was probably no warmer than 55 degrees there by the lakeside? Smarter individuals were wrapped in blankets and piled with sweatshirts. My family shivered and shuddered in our Sunday skirts and lightweight t shirts. I wore flip flops! Within about 15 minutes, I sent my Hubby home to fetch some pants and blankets. Luckily, the park is just 10 minutes from our house. He made it back before the service ended, and we all benefited from the added layers of warmth, but the whining had only just begun.

"Is it over yet???" whined the 9 year old, as she rocked her chair dangerously close to the family in front of us, eventually giving up hope. and slumping over as if dead in her seat.

"I'm lightheaded....I'm so starving!!!" whined the teenager, as she slouched in her chair, legs sprawled out in a most inappropriate way, as the Pastor led a patriotic prayer from the podium.

My youngest child was the most chipper during the long and frosty service, but her behavior wasn't exemplary either. Not unless you approve of wiggling like a worm on a hook and singing her own songs (loudly) during the hymns.

The service concluded, and the Pastor called everyone to line up for the barbecue and pot-luck, spread out deliciously by the industrious volunteers. Plastic table cloths and aluminum foiled delicacies waited on tables linked like train cars beneath the pavilion. But as we joined the line up, it occurred to me that my dietary restrictions (no burgers, not ever!) were going to limit my feasting to the pasta salad and brownie plates. My 9 year old began sobbing because the line was too long. The Teenager was single-minded in her hunger, and was ready to bowl over any elderly church lady or small child between her and a juicy hamburger. Husband got fed up with everyone, grabbed the patio chairs, barked a few orders at the stragglers, and marched us all to the minivan. We drove home, sullen, hungry and sobbing, and it only got worse after that.

The combination of general bad moods and cold weather, compounded by the onslaught of multiple headaches, pretty much squashed any additional holiday afternoon plans. We'd been invited to a co-worker's house on the Base for a 4th of July dinner, but it was decided it was best not to attend this year. Later, to add that cherry on top of our darkly clouded afternoon, the baby hit the bathroom with a case of what she calls, "diet-rita". I leave you to translate that for yourselves.

Tonight, fireworks start downtown at 10pm. If we had a party of friends and relatives to drag us along, we might consider attending. But as it stands, hubby has no intention of navigating the crowds, the kids hate the loud bangs of the firecrackers, and 10pm is far past everyone's bedtime at our house.

No wonder we're all alone....who the heck would want to hang out with us???

I don't hate holidays, honestly, but I really wish that we could look forward to them like everyone else seems to. I make every holiday a "family" event in my own mind, so when I have no "family" around to enjoy it with, my celebration always finds some way to fall flat. I'm always just a little bit sad. Maybe some day, we will live someplace where a few hours drive will bring us to Grandma's house. That would sure be nice.

Oh God, no joke, the baby just barfed everywhere. Happy 4th of July. Blah.

Lost In Space

Been gone for about two weeks now, on vacation, but now it's back to life as usual. However, finding what is "usual" for us seems to be lacking the reassurance of past homecomings.

Everyone in my house is feeling like they have a permanent case of jet-lag, despite the fact that we've been home for almost 5 days now. I brought home a nasty and miserable cold, and my oldest daughter suddenly developed a stomach bug that won't allow her to move far from her bathroom. On top of that, the entire family is out of sorts and exhausted all the time.

It's not like it is our first trip to the East coast and back...we've been traveling that route for years. But something is different this time. Maybe because we've only lived here in Washington for 4 months before the trip, we technically came "home", but not to one we've had a chance to be fully invested in. Everything here feels surreal to me...the streets are familiar, my bed is soft and welcoming, and the old routine was awaiting me like a faithful dog at the front door. But none of it is waking me fully out of my stupor. None of it is triggering a settled feeling, to the contrary, it's creating more of a twilight zone effect. I'm walking around, doing my thing, but feeling like I'd benefit from a good 10 hours of solid sleep, and maybe some kind of shock treatment to get my wandering brain back into alignment with daily life again.

I do feel more of an urgency to get a job than ever before. Not that anyone back on the East coast even once questioned my prolonged (going on 4 years now) unemployment. Nobody seemed to care much what I'd been doing with myself or what I planned to do in the future. It was more like a personal realization that came back home with me, weighing so heavily on my mind that I can hardly pass a moment without pondering my (lack of) career possibilities.

I've always got the book...I think to myself as my eyes open far too early in the morning (my internal clock is still set 3 hours earlier than WA time). It's not a bad book. If I put some hard work into it, do some editing and rewriting of a few weak chapters, it is really pretty decent. I'd be willing to pay an expert to read it and offer their suggestions. I'd be willing to take the criticism of a critique, especially if it might offer the possibility of (gulp) actual publication.

This really seems probable when I hear about the glut of authors who have jumped on the self-publishing bandwagon. My husband works with a guy who actually has his own book for sale on Amazon. He worked with a self-publishing company, and he's been fairly successful with his efforts. However, from the combination of poor reviews on his Amazon page, combined with my own husband's cringing critique of the few pages he "managed to stumble through", the book itself is never going to make it onto the Best Seller list. In truth, it is riddled with misspellings, confusing chapters, and dialog that only the author can claim to understand. But it's published! And the guy has had his own book signings and copies have sold...so what the hell am I worried about??

The hard work? The possibility of rejection and failure on so many levels? The possibility that my own judgement about the book is skewed by my own ego?? Yes. Yes. And also, Yes.

So, being an author is always out there for me, but the specter of failure that haunts my imagination is a bit more frightening than I'm willing to deal with at the moment.

Then, what to do? Send out resumes to jobs I find interesting. Am I qualified for these jobs? No, but who cares? The worst I can do is bomb an interview, and in that case, at least I can say I tried. Do I want a career in banking? How about social work? Have I considered becoming a liaison for visiting foreign exchange students? Maybe I should just keep it simple, and restock books on the shelves of the local library?

Whatever I end up doing, I need to do it fast. My daily intake of gallons of coffee is not snapping me out of my stupor. No matter how many hours I sleep at night, or what pill I take or cough medicine I chug to knock me out completely, I still wake up every day in a fog.

Something has got to change. Any suggestions?

It's all about the J.O.B.

I didn't get the job.

I interviewed. I thought I did well...they seemed to like me...I thought I had all the right answers to their questions.

Of course, I'm 3 years out of practice in holding a job of any kind. And it was probably at least 5 years before that period that I actually had to sit down for an interview. I may be a bit rusty in that regard, but I tried to be outwardly confident, even if I felt inwardly clueless.

The job was at a bank. Just the fact that I even applied at a bank should be more shocking than the fact that they didn't give me the job.

I hate numbers. I hate tedium. I hate spreadsheets and calculations and I would even go so far as to say I hate money. Well, ok, my hatred is not for money, but for the idea of being responsible to handle somebody else's money.

So why did I even apply for a job that I may well have abhorred within the first hour of my first day? Because I am bored. And also because we need the extra income.

In Hawaii, I didn't have to work. I got to be the stay-at-home-mom with our newborn daughter and my two school-age children. The reason we were able to swing this at the time was due to our cost of living allowance (COLA), supplied helpfully by the USAF to help us defer the extraordinary cost of living on an island. This COLA was roughly equal to the income that would have been generated by a modest (part-time) second income. It was very nice. And considering we lived frugally during our time in Hawaii, we managed to get by quite easily.

But now, back on the mainland, the USAF has rudely taken away our COLA. We are back to the base pay of a Technical Sargent, which isn't awful, but is hardly enough to do much more than pay the mortgage and the utilities. We don't eat out much anymore. Our days of fillin' the cart with cool stuff at Target are in the past. The kids don't get new shoes until I figure out when we can afford new shoes. So what if Elysse's boots have a hole in them and the sole flops like a dead fish when she walks to the bus stop? She doesn't mind!

I mean, we're just making sacrifices now that maybe make us realize how good we've had it in the past. We're hardly destitute. We have a lovely home, two cars, plenty of gadgets, and nobody's going hungry. But you know, it's nicer to live without always having that voice in the back of your mind questioning you about your toilet paper purchase.

"Why you gotta get the fancy stuff? The kids don't notice if it's not quilted! The generic brand is on sale!"

I hate that voice. I like the good T.P. It's a luxury I'm willing to face a dreary day job to afford.

So anyway, I'm out there again. Looking for the "perfect" job. The one that pays good, with about 20-25 hours a week, nearby my house, with plenty of flexibility in scheduling that will never force me to work on a major holiday and never make my children into latch key kids.

I'm already learning that I can't get it all, but I'm willing to settle for getting most.

That bank job was my second interview since we've moved to Washington. I was offered the first job, but turned it down (take my word for it, it wasn't right for me). The bank position was a step into an unknown for me. I was willing to give it a go, even though I hate banks so much that I actually joined one that is completely virtual (I never set foot inside a real bank).

I would have taken that job for the money. But they didn't offer it to me. So thats a moot point.

I'm still looking. I would really like to do something that makes a difference somehow, not just answering a telephone or staring at a computer screen all day. I'm open minded. I'm looking at jobs I might not have ever considered before. One thing I do have on my side is my confidence. I'm not afraid to walk into an interview, having zero skills in that field, and tell them I'm a quick learner. I wouldn't mind taking less money if the hours were great. And conversely, if the hours were longer, but the pay was great, I might consider that one too.

But I'm trying not to take today's rejection personally. Maybe, like my church friends would say, God knows what's best for me and I haven't found it yet. Or maybe that bank manager saw right through my showy confidence, and saw my burning flame of hatred for all that is mundane in the banking world.

I'm hoping for the best in the job hunt. But right now, I'm getting ready to go on a 2 week vacation (paid for a long time ago, with tax refund cash), and not think about anything at all. Not my bills, not my skills, not a single thing, but relaxation and fun. I can't wait.

Eating too much sugar gives you the diabetes!!

This morning I had an appointment with a nutritionist. Not to help me drop this extra weight (which I could use the help with, btw), but for a specific evaluation regarding my diabetes.

I am a Type I diabetic and have been since I was 15 years old. I must take insulin shots every day. Yes, with needles. The poky kind. I must also test my blood sugar (little poke on my fingertip, drop of blood on the machine), and in general, I must deal with all the ups and downs and complications and frustrations of this disease.

Here's a question: I'm no doctor, but with all the advances in medical science, why can't they just go ahead and give me a new, functioning pancreas? Not that I'm signing up for major surgery, or the risks that come along with an organ transplant, but diabetes is caused by a malfunctioning pancreas, so why not work on offering a replacement?

Answer: My limited internet research (which of course makes me an expert on any subject) has revealed to me that pancreas transplants are indeed an option, but not a popular nor a reliable one. Apparently, about 80% of transplant recipients will reject the new organ. Also, many opinions seem to reflect that the complications and upkeep with an organ transplant actually outweigh the daily care needed for a diabetic. Yes, diabetes can be life threatening, but if you manage it with moderate diligence, you can live an almost normal life.

The frightening thing to me is actually how many people misunderstand diabetes, especially those people who have it! Do any of you have an elderly relative or friend that was diagnosed with diabetes later in life? Either Type I (insulin dependant) or Type II (controlled by diet and/or pills)? Most people have a hard time changing long established diet and lifestyle choices. They "forget" to take their insulin or pills. They never take their blood sugar and have no idea if they are dangerously low, or dangerously high! That is so scary to me!

Not taking my insulin would make me SO sick!! A person who does not have insulin to break down the glucose in their body is going to be a seriously unhappy and ill person. The basic symptoms of high blood sugar are intense thirst, headache, nausea, and increased urination. Those nasty symptoms can quickly be followed by loss of consciousness, coma, kidney failure, and possibly, death.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, a person with low blood sugar (too much insulin in their system) is going to not only feel sick, but could be a danger to themselves and others. I have had much more personal experience with this issue than any other complication. If a person's blood sugar drops too low (Say, below 70. As opposed to a more normal range of 75-140), that person will experience many symptoms, including confusion, combativeness, sweating, shaking hands, disorientation, and the worst case scenario of passing out, then a coma, then death.

Fun, fun! I've gone down the low sugar road many times myself. From the slight disorientation and shaking hands (quickly cured by a glass of oj or candy bar), to the total loss of consciousness and the intervention of an ambulance crew. No matter how well you try to manage your insulin intake, so many factors can affect it, and a low blood sugar can sneak up on you. I always try to be mindful, and carry a snack with me, but I've been in some scary situations before.

They myths about diabetes spread by the non-diabetic population are almost as frightening to me as the people who don't care for the disease when they have it.

1. Diabetes is not caused by eating too much sugar. That extra slice of birthday cake is not going to "catch you some diabetes!". Strain on your organs due to chronic overeating and excess weight will cause Type II diabetes, but with proper diet and exercise, you can be cured. Type I diabetes can be genetic (as in my case), or the consequence of poorly managed Type II.

2. You should NOT, under ANY circumstance, give a sick diabetic a shot. You should call an ambulance. Insulin dosage is highly subjective, and if you are uninformed about the specific problem, you might just send that person into a coma with your intervention.

I actually heard a story about a well-meaning, good Samaritan who tried to give his diabetic friend an insulin shot when he suddenly passed out. This person ended up in the hospital, mainly due to the idiotic insulin injection given by his friend. Even worse, I heard this story at a First Aid/CPR class at the Red Cross. Told by a fellow classmate who was supposedly already certified in First Aid! AARRGGHH! Keep that guy away from me!

3. Every diabetic is not going to end up in a wheelchair, on dialysis, or blind. If you take care of yourself, these consequences are not eventualities.

So anyway, just a little diabetes myth-busting for you all today. I've been through 3 pregnancies as a Type I, and therefore considered high-risk. But I've got 3 healthy kids, and so I'd say I managed just fine. As I get older, I've become more conscientious about taking care of my diabetes. If you knew me in my younger days, I'm sure you saw me pass out at least once. I was less responsible back then.

My appointment went fine, by the way, and my A1C is a very exemplary 5.8. I sure do wish I didn't have this disease. If I could get rid of it tomorrow, I would do it in a heartbeat. But it is possible to live your life with this problem, as long as you don't mind the needles. Even a sharp needle looks a lot less scary when you consider what will happen if you don't make the needle your friend. You get over that really fast.

Flaming June

Once when I was about 21, I won an essay contest through the University of Southern Maine.

I wasn't a student at the school, but had seen an advertisement for the contest in the newspaper. The first prize was a notation someplace moderately important (possibly the school newspaper or literary magazine, I can't recall anymore) and, more enticing to me, a credit for the tuition costs for one class of your choice at the University.

At this time, I had recently been through quite a personal upheaval in my life, and I had plenty of ammunition to write a very memorable essay about the value of a college education.

I was a college drop-out, single mother, part-time employee of a go-nowhere job. My heart was still stinging with the sudden and painful collapse of many of my most cherished personal friendships. My best friend had run off to another country. My former boyfriend of 5 years was apparently in love with, and living with another of my former best pals. I had just given birth to a child with a man whom I did not love, but had tried desperately to commit myself to for the sake of our baby. And not surprisingly, within a few months of her birth, my newborn daughter's father had deserted us as quickly as his spindly legs could cross the border and leave the state. I was living at home with my parents, sharing a small basement room with my little girl, and feeling generally lost in the world.

One thing I did know was that I had to move forward. As I vehemently stated in a previous blog post (Ghosts from the past make me feel bad), I made a decision to move past it all. To be above it. To show the world that I could rise from the pit I'd fallen into, and to move on with my life.

So I wrote the essay. I think it was in an inspirational vein, not a downtrodden single mother story, but I can't really remember my exact words anymore. But even then, I knew I had an instinct, about what kind of an essay would win me the prize. It was that trusty intuition of mine, pushing me to put pen to paper and giving me the nudge I needed to drop the essay into the mailbox.

Thank goodness, I won. I really needed that affirmation in my life. Someone telling me, "You did well. You did great. You are worth something."

Since I had no plans, nor the funds, to go back to the University full time, I decided not to choose a practical class as my prize, but instead, one that I was truly interested in taking. Something just for me. You'll never guess what class I decided on....probably one that would put most of you to sleep...Art History. And it was great. I loved it.

I took an evening class at the Gorham campus, and I enjoyed every minute of the experience. The best thing about the class was that it didn't cost me a thing. Well, except for the 2nd-hand textbook I purchased, and maybe a parking ticket or two.

I took copius notes in the darkened classroom as the teacher flashed slide after slide of hundreds of years of art, from the historicity noteworthy friezes of ancient Greece to the masterpeices of the modern masters. I relished the homework assignments that would require me to spend a few hours at the Portland Museum of Art. I loved the fact that I could not only enjoy the art on a visual level, but now had a bit of education to better understand and interpret what I was seeing.

My final project was a 10 page discussion of a work of art (of my own choosing) that was on display at the Museum at that time. I chose Flaming June by Lord Frederick Leighton. It was a huge piece, as I recall, hung prominently in the first room you came upon in the busy Museum. However there was a bench placed conveniently within viewing distance of the enormous, reclining subject of my assignment. I felt very intellectual as I sipped my chai tea and scribbled observations in my spiral notebook.

There were many captivating items in the Portland Museum's collection, but I was drawn to her for some reason. Maybe it was the vibrant color of her flowing tangerine gown. Maybe the peaceful countenance on her sleeping face. Maybe it was the texture of the paint on the canvas. Or maybe she just reminded me of myself, an exhausted mother. She could have been one too.

I really enjoyed that class. Did I say that already? Well, I'll say it again because it was true. It meant a lot to me, and I credit my time there for giving me the courage to return to school again about a year later. It gave me the confidence I needed to throw myself into the college world again, and this time, really appreciate the knowledge I was being given.

That is a good memory for me. I would go back to school again today, if only someone would offer to accept payment for my degree in essay form. No problem, I'm a winner.

Pretty Things

Honestly, I wish I had this kind of photography skill.

This lovely photo is courtesy of Shaded Memories, on Etsy.

I always wanted to be creative like this. Gifted with he kind of perspective that could see these angles and make something beautiful out of a simple thing like a flower or a cloud or a fencepost.

Some people just have that artistic gift. I've always been envious of artsy folks. People who's talent just flows out of them so easily..like they don't even have to think about it.

Unlike me, who only occasionally manages a good photo, usually out of luck, or maybe after a painstaking set up of my subjects, and about 50 retakes of the shot. Not exactly genius at work.

My husband is pretty good with the camera. We bought a very nice one with some of our tax money this year (a Nikon D3000), and he's managed to take some really creative shots. He's not too shabby of an artist himself, although he doesn't get much call for his skills in his day job with the Air Force. Our camera has offered him a nice creative outlet, and we've gotten some great family and nature photos, thanks to him.

I know I would love the camera even more if we had another lens for it..for the real detail shots..but I don't have an extra $300 for that at the moment.

I suppose my "artistic" talent is my writing. Though, as with art, the enjoyment of it by others is purely subjective. I think I'm decent, but in the past, my greatest writing triumphs were of the most boring kind.

I'm a super essay writer. And, even more exciting, I can write a thriller of a business letter!

You can imagine the acclaim I've received over the years from my teachers and bosses. Gosh, just the kind of creative feedback a sensitive artist needs. I am quite often asked to "read this over for me, Jen?" and help others to improve whatever it is they have written. Some people have asked "why don't you become an editor?", but what they don't realize is that you can't just stroll into a publishing house and tell them your quite good at critiquing other people's work. They don't hire editors that way. More like an uphill struggle, prefaced by years of education, followed by years of working from the bottom of the publishing business, up to the heights of a respected editorial position. I feel a bit old and under-educated to begin that trek right now.

I did write a book a couple of years ago. I participated in NanoWrimo for the fun of it. I was able to finish my 50,000 word goal in the month's time, but I never took them up on their offer to publish a copy of the story. It was no "grand prize" or anything, you simply write your novel, upload it at the end of the 30 days, and if their word counting program can verify that you've written the 50,000 words, they award you with a free printed copy of your book, courtesy of Amazon. But after I "won", I reread the book, decided it was good, but far too cliche, and told myself I'd edit it and then do the publishing thing later.

But, lazy me, I didn't get around to editing my own book, and the year passed and my prize was no longer valid. I did give the one printed copy to my mother to read, but if her lack of interest is any indication, my literary masterpiece was more of a novice snooze-fest.

Anyway, I am glad I have this blog to make me feel like I have some artistic merit. I know not everyone can blab on and on every day. I guess my creativity is good for something. But don't ask to read my book. It will shatter the illusion of talent that I've worked so hard to conjure with these blog entries. Short and sweet is my strength. Novels are much harder. And more embarrassing.

Are you as tired as I am?

My cat is wheezing and snoring on the bed behind me. Hopefully Natalie is finally asleep, an hour since I laid her down, but with a final tearful scolding from Mommy to exhaust her. Brian came in, briefly, before changing out of his uniform, and then was out the door again to attend a men's church luncheon. The two older girls are still at school. The house is so quiet.

Well, at least for another hour until Abby breezes in and heads directly for her two favorite things, the pantry and the telephone. Then, the house will be filled with the nauseating smell of whatever late lunch she decides to cook at 3pm, and the unnecessarily loud and shrill sound of her laughter as she guffaws at something oh-so-hilarious during her telephone conversation.

Then Elysse clomps in, throws her backpack, sweatshirt and shoes directly in front of the door, so someone might more easily trip over them later. She also heads directly for the pantry, but more predictably, to grab a stack of Chips Ahoy to inhale before I can attempt to count the number of cookies concealed in her clenched fist. Then it's off to her afternoon conference with Sponge Bob. They meet daily, in their usual spot. He's animatedly living his life on tv, and she's curled in a ball on the family room couch, enthralled by his every word. Despite the fact she's seen every single episode at least 25 times, this time with SB is vital to her day.

I do relish the time before they return from school. I savor the time when Natalie is napping. I enjoy the silence.

However, I admit, sometimes the hour or so I get each weekday to pursue my own interests is more boring than anything else. Around 1:30, unless I'm knee deep in dirty laundry, or washing dishes, my eyelids start to droop. I love the quiet afternoons for reading, or surfing Etsy, or thinking of these clever blog topics (haha). But as predictable as my children's routines, my own mid-afternoon slump overtakes me, and all I want to do is crawl back into my warm bed and fall into a deep, consuming, uninterrupted sleep.

But since each afternoon is predictably punctuated by the events I listed above, you can see how that will not actually happen. I can NEVER fall into a deep sleep in the middle of the day. I'm always half listening for somebody to come through the door. I'm more awake than asleep, worried that Natalie will awaken from her nap and if I'm sleeping, she'll wander outside into the street or stick her finger in a light socket. Or if I do attempt to sleep, the phone will ring. And it won't be anybody fun. Instead, it will be Dr. Collins office reminding me of Elysse's dental appointment next Wednesday. Or a recorded message from a "Local State Representative". Or my credit card company, promising me a "great new offer"! People I don't want to talk to, who feel it necessary to talk to me, and tell me things I care nothing about.

Naps are for old people and babies, who are lucky enough to be short on wakeful nuisances and heavy on the ability to fall into a comatose sleep for hours and hours.

Sleep is something I am always thinking about, but never seem to be satisfied by. Why is that? I might go to bed early, but when that alarm rings, even the extra time in bed is not enough. I might sleep a bit late on a Saturday, but the rested feeling only lasts until midday, at which time, I'm sleepy again.

What's wrong with my tired, 36 year-old body??? I guess I won't get any satisfaction until I'm an old biddy. Napping here and there, with no regard to appropriate time or location, just snoring away. And if you see me, passed out on a bus or at the public library, you'd best just leave me alone. By that time you should know, as with any elderly napper, I'll have earned the sleep.

I like to rummage in dark and dusty places.

This past Saturday was a back-breaking, weed-pulling, lawn-mowing bonanza at the Watts house. By Sunday, I was so done, I was over-done, so I gathered the family, and piled into the Kia to see the Farm Chicks show. This has been on my calendar for months, and it was exactly what I expected it to be, which is a good thing and a bad thing.

This is the hyped show in Spokane. This event is not only advertised all over town, but also in every major country, vintage, and decorating magazine published in this country. The Editor of Country Living magazine was in attendance at the show today, and was signing copies of this month's edition for whatever "fans" a magazine editor might have. I didn't line up to get an autograph, in case you were wondering.

The show itself was chock-full of vintage goodies. It is a very "boutique" atmosphere, as much as an antique show held at a fairground auditorium can be. The vendor booths are so cute with a mega-vintage-country vibe. There are kitschy kitchenware displays alongside the prerequisite quilt booth and rusty garden furniture booth, somehow lit by a cleverly hung mini-crystal chandelier. Tables upon tables, stacked with everything from piles of old American flags to trays of tiny watch faces and antique skeleton keys. There are vendors selling vintage clothes and ladies dainty gloves and hats, but around the next corner is a booth with handmade children's clothes, sewn from 1940's tea towels and tablecloths.

The majority of the peddlers were dressed to match their shops, with lots of cowboy boots and hats paired with vintage aprons and lacy floral dresses. This lady even had her blog-followers take a vote about what she should wear to the show. The whole atmosphere was really straight out of a magazine photo shoot. And loving every minute of it all, was the wave of women, pushing granny grocery carts filled to overflowing with their found treasures. Here and there, I saw a tired looking husband or boyfriend, usually wrangling the children so that Mom could shop. My own family fell neatly into that category.

Now, as impressed as I was by the whole production of it all, it was not my first time at the retro-rodeo. If you know me, you know that I am a crazy (and this is literal) thrift shopper. My husband and children spent many a Sunday afternoon, sunburned and sweating, trolling the endless aisles at the Rosebowl Flea Market in Pasadena. That is, above and beyond, my own personal heaven on earth. My kids know that Goodwill and the Salvation Army are nothing to be ashamed of, and there are not many things in this world that will stop me from pulling over and running inside a newly discovered antique shop. I'm in it for the thrill of the hunt, and the thrill of the DEAL.

Having been to so many events like this one, I knew it would be eye-candy for most people, so much to ogle over. But for me, the hunt for the DEAL was D.O.A. The majority of the shoppers at the show were not the die-hard thrifters that can be found scouring the dusty shelves at the Baptist Thrift Store on a rainy, Wednesday afternoon. Farm Chicks shoppers are ladies with cash bulging out of their purses, snapping photos next to the giant "HOWDY" sign at the front entrance. These are ladies who are not perturbed in the least by plunking down $95 for a rusty wheelbarrow. They love the look of the stuff, but they love it in the boutique display that the vendors had so nicely presented them with. They like to root through a small pile of pre-washed and ironed linens. They want to buy that adorable milk glass lamp with the decoupage shade for the table in their guest room. Second-hand is great, as long as they don't actually have to get their hands dirty.

Do I sound like a Second-hand snob? Well, maybe I am.

Spokane is not short on second-hand shopping opportunities. There are numerous festivals, flea markets, thrift shops, antique shows, yard sales, garage sales, rummage sales...etc...etc. And if you know me, you know that this town is my kind of place. You simply won't catch me paying $25 for a set of salt and pepper shakers, nor would I pay $300 for a table somebody refinished with a couple of coats of Antique White paint. I loved the idea of the show, but the reality was too done-up and far too overpriced for my taste.

And I've trained my kids right too. Shortly after we arrived, Abby spotted a 50's era kitchen chair that, upon closer inspection, looked awfully familiar. Sure enough, it was a chair that I'd wanted to buy (but didn't, because we were living in a hotel room at the time) from a Spokane shop for just $12. When I moved into our house, and returned to the store a second time to buy the chair, it was gone. Eagle-eyed Abigail found it again, this time with a $28 price tag at the Farm Chicks show. After she'd sweetly asked the booth's proprietor about the price, she turned to me and scoffed. She couldn't believe how it had been marked up, but neither of us was surprised when we circled the booth again later, only to find the chair was sold.

"You shoulda' gotten it when you saw it, Mom!" she nudged me and pointed to the empty space where the chair had been. "I can't believe somebody paid that much for it!"

I know, kid. I know. The thrill of the hunt, or at least the instinct to find that bargain may live on for another generation.

Warning! Bad poetry ahead!

Well, make your topic of the day politics or religion, and you get some ACTION! Whoo hoo! Thanks to everyone who read my blog yesterday, I just wish you'd ALL come back every single day! And FOLLOW me for goodness sakes!

I'm less inclined to be as wordy today. Instead, read a dumb poem I was inspired to pen this morning.

Ode to Dirty Laundry

Jen’s day begins

Gentle shall she awaken..

Wait, she’s got children,

You must be mistaken

Loud meowing at the foot of the bed

Slamming of doors, voices, FLUSH!

She groans and pulls the warm blankets back over her head

On with the day

Coffee in hand

Kids off to school

Read Mom’s daily email, check eBay, Facebook, Bank balance…

Where’d all our money go??

Ahh, Jen, its called Supply and Demand

Wipe sticky counters

Clean up the dishes

Take a quick shower

Make the bed

Empty trash

Make those appointments

Run out to get milk

Haul 50 pounds of laundry

Down

Down

Down

Into the dark basement

The detergent is sticky

Blue goop down the side

This laundry is smelly

Stinks like somebody died

Back up to the sunlight

Breathing in the fresh air

Don’t slip on that pop tart

Children left on the stair

The hours pass so quickly

Family home…no more calm

Predictable and whining

“Whats for dinner? We’re hungry, Mom!!”

Alas, the day is over

Just collapse into bed

She turns to her hubby for a kiss

But gets a bedtime fart instead.

Goodnight!

I speak plenty, just not in tongues.

To anyone who may have gotten the wrong impression of me from yesterday's blog entry, I am not a vengeful nor angry person. My point was to explain how in my YOUTH, I was immature enough to let these feelings affect my response to events. However, after many hurtful encounters, I came to realize that revenge was not the way. It would not make me feel better. So I had to take the longer path of eventual forgiveness, and after awhile, the anger I felt towards people just faded away.

Just to be the opposite of yesterday, here is a video that is all about love and harmony.

Haha. But seriously, I'm not angry.

I was going to talk today about politics, since I got rilled up by NPR this morning, but now I realize that ranting about that topic will only infer that I am indeed angry. And again, I'm not.

So, lets talk about.....church? I'm going to Brian's dream church now. It is the church he's wanted to attend ever since he became "born again" back in California. I was a bit weirded out when we went to our first service there. They are Pentecostal...meaning that they are moved by the Holy Spirit and they let you know it! They sing loudly and wave their arms and they shout out "Praise Jesus!" and various other exclamations, and they believe in "healing by laying hands" and they will reach out and pray over you and anoint you with oil and speak in tongues!

Now, to the average person, this may sound like a little much. I will admit, my first impression was "This is over the top". But let me state some of the positives for the skeptics out there.

These people are the nicest people I've ever met. That is not an exaggeration. Brian and I have been to so many churches over the years, but never in my life have I had people of every age (old to young) as well as the Pastor and his wife, take such a HUGE and PERSONAL interest in me and my family. Everyone is friendly. Everyone shakes your hand, hugs you, talks to you, invites you to things, and everyone wants to know your name. This is a good and bad thing for me, but mainly because I am used to the 30 second Kiss of Peace at the Catholic service, where everyone shakes hands politely, and then turns around again and minds their business. At our church, they shake your hand, hug you, and then get up out of their seat and walk around and hug everyone else all around the church!

The kids go to Children's Church (Sunday school), and Abby even goes to their Youth Group on Monday nights, and now has begun attending Youth Bible Study on Wednesday nights! This is just unreal as far as a teenager is concerned! Now, it may have to do with the extremely SMALL town we live in. A lot of kids in her high school also attend the Youth church events, because there aren't many events or places for kids to hang out on weekday evenings. And the Youth Pastor, the very cool guy, Pastor Alex, is a huge part of the draw. He looks like a teenager. He's usually seen with a group of teenagers, possibly with a skateboard in his hand. He texted Abby yesterday afternoon to ask if she'd be coming to Bible Study last night. I mean, how many Youth Pastors will text the kids to invite them to things?? It's a unique situation, but certainly not a bad one for her.

Another positive, is that after I got over my initial weird-out-feeling from the enthusiasm of these people, I began to appreciate it and enjoy the service. There is no boring lecture. They have a band, and they sing 3-4 songs and they have a nice PowerPoint screen with the words so you can sing along. The Pastor is very outgoing and friendly. He is ENTHUSIASTIC about the Bible, and about his feelings, and his sermons are very inspirational, as well as occasionally humorous. And one thing that impressed Brian right off the bat, was the fact that after our first service there, Pastor Dennis walked right up to us and introduced himself. That has never happened to us before.

This is Brian's dream church because of the intimate, family atmosphere, as well as the enthusiastic preaching and numerous opportunities for him to "get involved". He has always wanted to be more a part of things, but honestly, in all our past churches, either the place was as big and crowded as a rock concert, or we never felt connected to the place, and therefore, never felt welcomed to become a real part of it.

Now, as far as the politics and core beliefs of this church, I cannot say that I am 100% on board with it. They are religiously enthusiastic, and yet their political and religious opinions are very Bible based and conservative. They are very anti-Obama. I sort of sway from one extreme to the other during the Sunday services. I am happy and feeling inspired by the preaching. But then the Pastor says something about this being a "Christian Nation" and the old lady in front of us stage-whispers to her old lady companion "Not according to OBAMA!!" and I prickle. I am not a "born again Christian". And therefore, I am not fully entrenched in the Christian agenda.

I have not embraced this church as Brian has, because I still have too many questions. I am not ready to say "It's in the BIBLE and therefore it is TRUE." I am not ready to say that the only way to God is through Jesus. I believe there are many, many devoutly religious people in this world, be it Muslim, Jewish, or even those (sorry, but it's true) crazy Jehovah's Witnesses! If a person goes though their entire life, living devoutly, piously, lovingly, and worshiping God, then when they die and go to Heaven, Jesus will be at the gates to turn them away??

Brian says, either you believe in the Bible or you don't. Either you accept it all as true, or you don't. You can't say "I believe in some of it, but not all of it". Unfortunately, that's kind of where I'm at. The Christian perspective is mostly what I believe, but then again, not totally.

So, I'm attending the church. I'm enjoying most of it. I truly do love the people we've met, and the positive influence it's had on my family. But perhaps the Holy Spirit has not seen fit to power through my soul just yet?? Perhaps I'm not at a place where I am ready to accept it all. Or perhaps I will just switch back to Catholic. You never know.

But, hey! If you get a chance to attend Lake City Assembly of God while traveling through Medical Lake, Washington, you really should swing by. They will make you feel welcome, even if your a skeptic, like little old me.

Ghosts from the past make me feel bad.

Today I got an email from a person in my past. A person I'd rather not remember, honestly. A person who brought a lot of heartache and serious trouble to my young life. After I got over my shock, I gave that person a hasty brush-off in my emailed response. But I keep checking my inbox today to make sure they don't try to provoke me with any more attempts at conversation. I have a nice stomach full of anxiety because of that unexpected correspondence.

As an adult, I can clearly look back upon my teenage/young adult life, and see my mistakes. I can see why I chose certain people for my friends. I can see why I shouldn't have chosen others. I can see where the path of my life became rough, and I encountered obstacles (physical and mental) that really broke me down. After these experiences, I had to change who I was. I had to move ahead, move past the events and the people that caused me pain and suffering, and in almost every case, my final decision had to be to cut them from my life completely. I stopped talking to them. I very clearly stepped away, and told myself to take the high road. How many times did I have to repeat that phrase to myself "Take the high road. Do not show them how they hurt you. Do not look for revenge."

Because, as you may or may not know, I am a Taurus. As a Taurus, I hold onto my anger. I am like that Ezekiel passage that Samuel L. Jackson recites during Pulp Fiction, "And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you."

I mean, I'm not the type to burn a house down or slash tires, but my anger can be so consuming, that I will not rest until that person has been hurt as badly as they hurt me. In my teenage days, that might mean that I get up in their face and berate them until they want to cry. Or perhaps I just manipulate the situation until that person feels the pain that I felt. I was crafty with my methods of youthful retribution.

But what I learned, especially during the time I spent dealing with the above mentioned person, is that vengeance is not sweet. Vengeance does not make me feel better. What it does is create such horrible feelings inside of me, that I can never move past the event, even when the offending party has been subject to the full force of my anger and resentment.

What does make me feel better is moving on. Being a better person than they were to me.

Every person who hurt me, or caused me trouble in my life, was going to have to face their own demons someday. And you know what? Every single person who ever hurt me and seemed unscathed at that moment, did eventually have to pay their karmic debt.

They encountered the pain of a broken heart, or a long stretch of depression or loneliness, or even ended up facing the authorities. Yes, I did hang out with the kind of people who were doing things that might lead to jail. They weren't evil people, but just the kind of people who only thought of themselves. They never realized how their actions could reverberate for a long time after they disappeared from my life. It all comes back to you...what you put out there, I mean.

So, today when I got that unexpected email, my first reaction was just a huge knot of anxiety. But then I tried to calm myself, and I composed a response that clearly stated that the past is the past, and some things are best left back there.

But it did get me thinking, it might be time to adjust the ol' privacy settings on Facebook.

I'll be taking care of that one, ASAP.