Quiet Day with Bird

I think if there's one song I will never tire of, it's "Into the Mystic" by Van Morrison.

In the meantime, it's snowing. And I'm quilting. And listening to Van Morrison. And dreaming of spring. It's just that quiet kind of day. Me & Bird are kicking back and enjoying it together.

Kitchen Day & the FBI

Today is a kitchen day, meaning that I will be spending the entire day in the kitchen, either cooking or cleaning. Early this morning, I started on a batch of chocolate chip cookies, which means that I will spend the rest of the day resisting them. I am a damn fine cookie maker, if I do say so myself. Laurita will confirm this, I'm sure. Next up is cornbread, then I'll be baking a ham. Today my turn to deliver dinner to the winner of the "Dinner for a Year" auction prize. And no, they won't be getting Mexican Lasagne, despite popular opinion. Believe me, the baked ham, cornbread, salad and cookie menu is a better option.

Anyway...

I'm expecting an FBI agent later today. A week or two ago, this special agent was at my daughter's high school giving a talk about internet safety. My daughter was talking to him afterwards, asking a few questions, and they got to talking about FaceBook. FaceBook is some teen-oriented internet site, (probably similar to Blogger) which adults such as myself cannot seem to penetrate. I know this because I regularly nose around trying to read my daughter's on-line diary on sites such as FaceBook and MySpace. Well, this FBI agent asked if he could come over and have my daughter show him how to use FaceBook, presumably to further his efforts in catching internet pedophiles. With my permission, she said yes, and he's coming over this afternoon. Which explains why I'll be cleaning today.

And in case you're wondering, I do plan to supervise my daughter's tutorial. Because even though this guy says he's from the FBI, and he has his little FBI business card, I remain appropriately paranoid.

In the meantime, there seems to have been some cosmic screw-up and Kansas City is in the deep freeze. Lovely KC doesn't deserve this kind of weather. This kind of weather belongs in Chicago. So I will be forced to wear long underwear and my polar fleece socks, and I'm afraid there will be no hour-long walk outside today. But then again, you never know.

The Fighting Kangaroos

Another weekend looms. Little MJ has a basketball game at noon, and David is playing indoor soccer tonight at five. I can't be at the soccer game (boo hoo!) because I'm singing at a wedding tonight. I'm kinda excited about it, I haven't sung a wedding in years and years. We're doing an Ave Maria chant which is very nice. I hope we can pull it off.

Paul is taking the kids to a Roos college basketball game tonight. Our alma mater has a team called the Kangaroos. And if you think that's funny, you're right. The team logo is a little kangaroo with boxing gloves, and the team is known as the "Fighting Kangaroos." Unfortunately, the Fighting Kangaroos are about as tough as they sound, but we love them anyway.

If you're a Special Alumni Member, (i.e., you are willing to pay the bucks), you get to have dinner in The Pouch before the game. That ratchets up the fun quite a bit. Especially since they have an open bar in The Pouch.

Earlier this week, our kids (being The Children of Special Alumni Members) got the fun privilege of being sweat moppers. That's kinda like being a ball boy/girl at a baseball game, except you get to mop up the sweat on the court instead. I wasn't there, but Paul said the kids got stage fright and were reluctant to mop up the sweat. So the referees ended up being the sweat moppers while my kids shirked their duty. I don't know if we'll get another chance for our progeny to be sweat moppers. One can only hope.

Contemplation & Burial

The Sick Ones have returned to school. Except Bird. I think she is sick again, poor baby.

I'm feeling contemplative today, which isn't a good thing. Sometimes the sadness infuses everything. There are so many reminders! They are everywhere and in everything. Places, people, songs, dates -- they all bring me back to the winter and spring of 2005. The feeling settles in my throat and stays there. How am I ever going to resolve this? It is a lot to bury. I'm too small to bury this inside me. And I'm not a small person.

I've been having violent dreams. I'm attacked by a stranger, a man. At least the shotgun man has stayed away. Now it's a knife, which is Freudian, of course. And you know what? I have been fucked! Not in the good sense.

OK. That's enough of that. Get out the shovel, it's time to bury it.

Hey! I can get into my fat jeans again. Woohoooooooooo! Yes, folks, that's progress. Three weeks on this diet and it's becoming easier. Really. We went out for Mexican food last night and I had, (drumroll please) THREE CHIPS. One light beer, no margaritas. And shrimp fajitas, but I only ate the shrimp. OK, and the rice. But that's about 1/3 of what I used to eat. I think I did pretty good, a girl's got to live a little.

Speaking of diet, which I concede is a boring subject, what do you think of this? My husband and I are part owners of a restaurant. We eat there a lot. So today he asks me to come down to the restaurant for lunch, and afterwards take him to pick up his car at the shop. I said, "OK, but I'm getting a salad at Bagel & Bagel" (which is not our restaurant.) And my husband...my husband of almost 19 years...gets his panties in a bunch because I want to spend $6 on a salad at another restaurant when I could have a salad at our restaurant for free. But you know what, I'm sick and tired of our restaurant! I don't like our salads, I never have. I want a good salad for my stinking diet, and I don't care if it costs $6. We are not poor. We have plenty of money. PLENTY! And that's not to brag, but to highlight the ridiculousness of his complaint. So people, hear this: I am going to get my salad. I am going to spend $6. And if the price has gone up, I'll pay it. I'll spend $20 on that salad today, if that's what it costs.

The moral of this story: Never, ever cross a contemplative woman on a diet.

T&A (not what you're thinking)

My poor sweet David is sick again with strep throat, confirmed yesterday with a throat culture. And a T&A (tonsillectomy & adenoidectomy) has been officially mentioned by the pediatritian.

Now, although I am not a surgical nurse, I have seen a few surgeries. I have circulated many cesarean sections, and I observed one quadruple bypass back in nursing school. I have no problem with the sight of blood, the odor of cautery, the sound of suction. I can pick up the little bloody sponges and count 'em up at the end of a case. I can watch the scalpel slice through skin, and I can watch the staples go in at the end. No problem.

But I cannot stand the sight of a tonsillectomy. I saw one in nursing school and it will haunt me for life. I won't even describe the awful sight of that poor child, his eyes and head draped and his mouth wide open...really I won't. The thought of my little David having to go through that is unbearable. The ENT will have his work cut out for him if he wants to sell me on that. We'll see.

Now on to happier subjects. I dragged out my quilting again yesterday and I finally finished a quilt top that I started over two years ago. I'm going to give it to my sister for her baby. It is adorable, if I do say so myself. I couldn't help thinking, however, that I was finishing a quilt that I started before all the trouble began. That's how it is. The thought of the murder creeps in like that. It permeates my thoughts every day. Mostly around the edges of my mind, but it's always, always there.

Wasn't that supposed to be a happier subject? Oh well. I try.

Nausea, Vomiting & Malaise in Juanitaville

I surrender.

The cosmic forces of the universe have decided that Juanita shall not have her silly, self-indulgent, child-free time in which she tries to accomplish various tasks unfettered.

Unseen Universal Forces (aka The U.U.F.) have devised the following schedule:

On Mondays, Juanita goes to work.

On Tuesdays, a minimum of one child comes down with a horrible illness involving fever, vomiting, strep throat or a combination thereof. Juanita nurses the poor, sick baby.

On Wednesdays the illness reaches its pinnacle.

On Thursdays, the afflicted child/children begin to recover, reaching an acceptable level of wellness sometime around bedtime.

On Friday, Juanita returns to work and the formerly sick child returns to school.

I would like to register an official protest with The U.U.F. because this schedule isn't really working out for me. Why can't children be sick on the weekends? I prefer children to be well at all times, but if they must be sick, it should coincide with those odious sunrise soccer games. What better excuse! "Hello Coach? My child cannot play soccer at the crack of dawn today because he is vomiting. So sorry, but we're forced to sleep in this week."

These are my random thoughts...take 'em or leave 'em

Whoever thought it was a good idea to schedule a child's soccer game at 6:50 AM on a Saturday was a despicable sadist.

"Sex Lives of Cannibals, Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific" was a good book. However, it has nothing to do with sex or cannibals, so don't get your hopes up.

Teenagers shouldn't say the word "fucking" around their younger siblings.

What's up with health insurance? Why does it cost more than my mortgage? Is it me, or is something wrong with this picture?

I am having a DQ chocolate sundae tonight, and it's on my diet. That's damn fine.

I'm pretty sure my little parakeet is the best pet in the world.

I had a dream the other night that I went to the moon. It was the hip new tourist destination, and I must say, it was pretty cool.

I really need to do some cleaning, but I'm busy procrastinating.

"My Name is Earl" is not a bad show afterall. Not as good as "The Office" but not bad.

I wish I was in London right now. I'd settle for Salzburg, or even Berlin.

Right now, a certain trial on May 29th seems very far away, and that's fine with me.

A Learning Opportunity

I had an opportunity to expand my nursing knowledge and experience today. I gave some poor guy his travel immunizations which included typhoid, polio, and hepatitis A. He also needed malaria prophylaxis. He declined the rabies series, thank goodness. I sure as hell didn't want to be giving out rabies shots. No way.

I don't like giving shots. I especially hate giving shots that hurt people. Like tetanus. I really hate giving tetanus shots. So all morning, I knew this agent was coming in for these exotic immunizations, and I was dreading it. But it went OK. I think it hurt me more than it hurt him.

Gerbil Crisis

We got three gerbils last weekend. Saturday I believe. It took them exactly five days to figure out how to escape from their cage.

Kathleen came to my room at 6:45 this morning. "Mom! I heard the gerbil door open and close, and now two of the gerbils are missing." Let me just say this: I never wanted those stinking rodents in the first place. The escape was not good news. I pictured myself alone in the house with free range rodents chewing up all my possessions and frightening me as they darted here and there. Mouse traps crossed my mind. Fortunately for the gerbils, and for me, they were apprehended and are again residing in their luxury habitat.

You might wonder how we came to possess three gerbils. It's a long story, but the moral is this: My husband has been permanently banned from all "Going Out of Business" sales. Our local hypermart was closing and there were great deals to be had on gerbils cages. I think they were 75% off. How could he pass them up? Well, guess what...gerbils were not on sale. Gerbil food was not on sale. Gerbil accoutrements were not on sale. That $5 bargain cage cost a fortune in the long run, and now I have gerbils. In my house. Running free from time to time.

Enough about the gerbils. I hate the gerbils.

I have another product endorsement. Yoplait Light Smoothies! Wow, those are yummy yummy and only one point each on the Weight Watchers plan. I'm going to stock up on them today. And the Yak Trax: Two thumbs up again today! I was able to walk for an hour today in the balmy 25 degree weather. (Really, 25 degrees is downright balmy after the single digits we've had. I was sweating and peeling off layers out there.)

I am happy today! HAPPY!

Normally when it's snowy and icy here in the Midwest, I am stuck in the house. Sure, I can get around in my car, but I can't walk. There's a beautiful park very close to my house with a 1.3 mile trail around its perimeter. I love to walk that trail. Especially now, when I'm trying to lose weight. However, trail is treacherous when it's icy. UNTIL NOW!

I found a product called "Yaktrax." It is a rubber contraption with metal spring-thingies that attaches to the bottom of your shoe. I was skeptic. But I bought a pair anyway and...YAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I walked that trail no problemo! It was a beautiful day, cold as hell, but the snow was sparkling and the ice was crunching, and I was free! Free to walk my trail. Did I mention how happy that makes me?

The other reason I am happy today: The kids went to school. Yes, all four children are in school, at the same time, and I am not working today. That is the golden combination: Kids at school, mom at home. Boy, do I have some catching up to do. I will clean, do laundry, run errands, and maybe read some more of my delightful book club selection: "The Sex Lives of Cannibals, Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific." And it will be bliss because I will not have to listen to one minute of Cartoon Network droning in the background.

Happy, happy day.

Festivus, MLK and My Dad

Winter did not go away. I just spent 30 minutes with a pick-axe (OK, with a shovel) hacking 1-1/2 inches of solid ice off my steps. It is still snowing.

Why can't it ever just snow anymore? Why must every snow be preceded by ice? Is this some new weather trend? Some cosmic joke? If I wanted to live in the tundra, I'd move to Chicago.

Enough whining. This is not a weather-whining post. This is a festive post because I lost FOUR POUNDS this week! Wahooooooooo! Happy day. All I had to do was give up beer and go on Weight Watchers. Technically, one can still have beer on Weight Watchers. However, I tried that in the past, and I found that beer consumption dramatically altered my motivation. "Oh what the hell" became the prevailing attitude. Such an attitude is not conducive to weight loss. This I have learned.

Anyway, today is the birthday of Martin Luther King. In honor of such I want to mention this quote, from a speech he gave the day before his assassination:

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!

And so I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man! Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord

Today is also the birthday of another great man. My dad would have been 67 today. I like to think of him in that promised land with Martin Luther King and all the great people that have gone before us.

Winter, winter, go away.

Winter came to Kansas City today. I wish it would go back to Chicago where it belongs.

I worked today and I'm pretty sure the federal building was empty by the time we nurses left. Mine was the only car in the parking lot. OK, there was one other car, but I think it lives there. Anyway, I had a great patient today; a genuinely nice guy. Believe me, I can tell. Two hours with a person, sticking needles into them, weighing them, performing other unpleasant tests...if they have a nasty side, it will come out. Whenever I have a great patient, reasonably good looking, and of a certain age, I always have to refrain from asking if they want to meet my sister.

Do you think it would be unprofessional to wear a button, "Ask me about my single sister!"

It was a good day.

Except for the fact that this stupid winter storm kept me from picking up my book club selection at the library. We are reading "The sex lives of cannibals : adrift in the Equatorial Pacific " by J. Maarten Troost. I swear I am not making that up. Sound interesting?

Speaking of interesting, (and I realize this post is full of random tangents) I received the very best of the best yesterday. In my mailbox, lo and behold was the first sign of spring: The Klehm Song Sparrow Catalog! This catalog is the most beautiful collection of pictures you could ever hope to see. I enter a trance upon paging through this plant catalog, and I'm pretty sure I've drooled on a page or two. I urge you to order a free copy of this fine catalog for yourself.

http://www.songsparrow.com/

Truly, garden porn at its finest. Enjoy!

Food

I have two stories today. Both of them are about food.

Last night I found a Reece's Peanut Butter cup, (package of two) sitting around the house. Naturally, I cannot be trusted with a Reece's, so I immediately asked the kids if they wanted it. Anna said "No thanks." (No child of mine would refuse candy, I think she was switched at birth.) That left two cups to be split between the younger three children. Kathleen and MJ immediately agreed that David, the sick one, should have an entire peanut cup to himself. Then they proceeded to offer the remaining cup to each other.

"You have it."

"No, you have it."

As this scenario played out, I thought back to my childhood days. I'm sure Laurita will back me up when I say that this little tableau would never have occurred in the Prouty household. First of all, the Reece's would have been stolen by the first one to find it. If, by a miracle, it survived, there would have been meticulous surgery to split it into exact thirds to be distributed most evenly.

In the end, I cut the remaining peanut butter cup in half for Kathleen and MJ to share. Which they did happily.

The second food story is this: Our school has an annual auction, in which different prizes are awarded to the highest bidder. Parents of the first grade class offered a prize in which each family would make a dinner for the winning bidder. The winning bidder paid $1,000.00 to have a dinner delivered each week for a year. My week to deliver dinner to this lovely family is coming up.

I always stress out about bringing dinner to somebody. What to make? What to make? This is a family with five children, one of whom is a big football player. So it will have to be substantial. Here are my ideas so far:

Mexican lasagne (could send chips with guacamole and pico)
Chinese Chicken & Asparagus Salad (Barefoot Contessa's recipe)
Grilled bratwurst (what if they don't like brats?)
Pot roast (might or might not turn out, sometimes it comes out tough)
Spinach lasagne with bechamel sauce (expensive and time consuming)
Baked ham with broccoli/raisin salad and cornbread (expensive but easy)

Any feedback, (i.e. your vote) would be appreciated. Whatever I make will be accompanied by my famous apple schmack dessert. (And yes, I will share my apple schmack recipe with you if you promise to keep it secret. It's easy and so good!)

Birthday

Today should have been Jennie's birthday. She should have been 38 today. I remember Jennie's very last birthday, two years ago today. How things change in just 24 months.

On this day, I also remember my last conversation with Jennie. I was complaining about turning 40. She said she was looking forward to 40, she thought it would be a new start. Maybe she was just trying to make me feel better; she was that kind of girl. But I think she really might have been looking forward to turning 40. I think she really did crave a new beginning. She was a dreamer. She believed she would find a new partner in life, new romance, new love. She wanted that, and it should have been hers.

I know that my friend is remembering Jennie on this day, too. I wonder what it would be like, having only yourself to blame that a birthday that should have been, is not.

I do believe Jennie is celebrating with the angels today. She had a special fondness for angels. She believed in angels, she collected books about them. She talked about them. I think about heaven sometimes, and I wonder if happiness and contentment is complete as long as people on earth still mourn. I think about Jennie's family today, and their sad ritual. They visit her grave today, they gather for a meal. I imagine them talking to her, apologizing that justice has not yet been served. Promising that she will have justice, before her next birthday.

This is a True Story

The following is a verbatim transcript of a conversation I had at work today.

Co-Worker: "Do you want to try these chips? My brother sent them to me for Christmas, but they're really gross."

Me: "No thanks, I'm on my New Year's Diet."

Co-Worker: "Why bother? You're just going to fail."

***

Is it my imagination, or was this a shocking and outrageous thing to say to somebody who's trying to lose a little weight? I don't normally let people's dumb comments get under my skin. Somebody can tell me, "You're not that fat!" and I don't get mad. I can laugh at a comment like that. But this "why bother?" comment really irritated me.

In case you have never seen me, you don't have to feel bad for me. In reality, it's true: I'm not that fat. But I'd like to lost 20 pounds. Maybe 25; that would be great. I'm definitely in a fairly-normal weight range. It's just that I'd be happier in my skin if I was a bit lighter. I don't understand why this person would say something like that to me. Maybe she thought she was being funny.

DAY-AM

Yesterday it was kind of funny. You know...a little ouchie with each and every step. But as the day wore on it got worse and worse, to the point where I can't walk down the steps. I have to sit on my butt and scoot down the steps. I'm wondering if I can make it to church. I have to work tomorrow! What have I done to myself? Mega-Motrin (800 mg) isn't helping.

What IS this getting-old thing? It's kicking my ass! That has to be the problem, right? Sure I don't climb up and down twelve flights of stairs that often, but it still shouldn't have this kind of effect on me, should it? Just 13 months ago I climbed to the top of St. Paul's Cathedral and I was perfectly fine afterwards. What happened to me? WHAT?

Maybe it's that green tea supplement I'm taking. It's a secret diabolical formula designed to wipe out all the not-that-fat people on earth. What an evil plan! Disguised as a weight-loss aid, it's really a poison. Stair-climbing is the catalyst.

Anyway, since I couldn't move yesterday, (well, I did manage to walk three miles before the pain got worse), I finished another book. "The Glass Castle." It was very good, reminded me of one of my all-time favorite books, "Angela's Ashes." Both authors had alcoholic fathers that slowly robbed their families of everything, sometimes to the point of near-starvation. Reading both books, I felt incredible frustration and anger at fathers that would do such things to their children. I also felt grateful to have married a good man. Alcohol has the power to reduce a man to thieving from his own children, stealing the food from their little mouths. Unfortunately, I know a certain person who has witnessed this first-hand.

Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch

I made a little error yesterday that I will remember with each step I take today. Literally. In my weight-loss zeal, I decided to do a little stair-climbing. On my lunch break, I walked up and down 12 flights of stairs. OK, twelve flights; it doesn't sound like much. And to be honest, it didn't feel like much while I was doing it. But somehow, today, it feels like somebody surgically implanted a tennis ball in each of my calves. Each step I take, my calves are screaming, "ouch!" Which makes walking any distance feel like this: "ouch! ouch! ouch! ouch!" Going down stairs feels like this: "OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!" It gets tedious.

Thank God for Motrin. High dose therapy.

An Amazing Book

I have just read the most amazing book. It is called "The Book Thief" by Markus Zusak. The story is narrated by Death, and he tells of a young girl growing up in Nazi Germany during WWII.

Of course, I am always attracted to WWII literature. In particular, I love stories of ordinary people during the war; their personal accounts of survival, of struggle against one of the greatest evils this world has ever known. These fascinate me.

"The Book Thief" is one of the rarer finds, a story from the perspective of a German. It tells about the things that ordinary people did to survive. The most heroic Germans fought against the Nazi machine. Even if the fight was covert, as it often had to be. Sometimes the rebellion only existed within the heart. If it existed at all, it was a sign of hope. Hope that goodness and decency would prevail.

Have you considered how much more heroic it would have been to fight the Nazi atrocities if one was a German? To live with the knowledge that your neighbors, your friends, maybe your family was the enemy? There was nowhere to hide. No one to protect you. How much easier it would have been to go along with the madness! To be safe, to keep your children safe. Even if that safety was an illusion.

These are some of the issues which Zusak addresses so eloquently. Between Death and the innocence of a child, the story unfolds.

Motivation

"You're not that fat."

What would you do if somebody said that to you? Would you panic, "What the f---? Not THAT fat? How fat am I?" Maybe there's a sliding scale of body-types of which I was unaware:

Anorexic
Model-thin
Thin
Medium
Chubby
Not That Fat
Hopelessly Obese

Maybe I'm paranoid, but I think it's a bad sign that somebody made this remark to me. Of course, they quickly corrected themselves..."I mean, you're not fat." But the damage was done. One little word added to that phrase changes the meaning exponentially.

I'll be having a salad today, thank you.

My New Year's Resolution

Whew!

That's my official 2007 New Year Sigh of Relief. Another holiday season is in the bag. There were no huge catastrophes. Everybody was happy, fat and gifted. We all survived, and now I'm looking forward to delicious normalcy!

Two major projects dominate this time of year in Juanitaville:

1. Weight loss
2. Garden planning

Weight loss, now that's a boring subject. I don't have a plan, just yet. But it must be done, (as always.) As soon as all this yummy Christmas candy is down the hatch, I'll be ready to start.

On to garden planning. I think 2007 might be the Year of the Japanese Maple. I've fallen in love with these breathtaking trees. Unfortunately, my yard is not exactly the showplace that one of these beauties deserves. But a girl can dream. I know! I'll plant one near my non-existent koi pond. The glistening water will reflect the crimson leaves... ahhhh. (Excuse me while I enjoy this little fantasy for a moment.)

The reality is this: My husband, in all seriousness, said that he wants to buy a few bags of concrete and pour them in the middle of our backyard to create a "temporary" basketball court for Little MJ. Just a small, hard patch of concrete so the boy can shoot some hoops. It would only be there for a few years, he assured me.

Sensing that the basketball court subject was dead, my husband proceeded to tell me that he would like to convert our formal dining room into a pool room. But if that doesn't suit me, he would be willing to compromise by putting the pool table in our living room.

Let me say this, dear readers...none of the scenarios mentioned above will ever come to pass! And THAT is my official resolution for 2007.