The Ball - It's Killing Me!

This is the ball. My ball is JUST like this one, but the one in the picture is a professional model - my ball works for a living. He/She/It has a mission and that mission is to tear down every fat cell in my body and to make me the animal I was meant to be - Ha!

When I was a kid I had a hoppity hop. It was red with a little handle on the top of it - did you have one? No, probably not, you're not as old as I am - but the fact remains that everything comes full circle - circle - that's funny...maybe things come full sphere! (Just a little geometric humor, please forgive me.) I'm still bouncing on rubber balls and I'm still falling off of them, and I'm still thinking that the simpliest of ideas sometimes work the best. I actually improved my horseback riding skills by riding my hoppity hop. (I should capitalize Hoppity Hop, it is a proper noun and I am a professor of English - there, I did it.)

By holding the ball firmly between my thighs and simulating the motion that one would use to ride a horse, I found that not only the balance one has to force, but the sheer strength it takes to grab that rubber, spherical monster is tougher than one thinks. You know that feeling you get when you stop rolling skating - you're still rolling; well, when you stop pounding the carpet with the ball - you're still somehow atop of old Silver riding WAY off into the sunset - for better or worse. 25 minutes of hard riding can cause a girl to start seeing cowboys in their dirty, rough,tight Wrangler jeans just over the horizon - maybe shaking off the dust from their weather beaten Stetsons.....or maybe it's George Milton, coming out from behind a barley bucker....ride girl, ride!

The Lt. Dan Band - and their Webmaster Ben!

The LT. Dan Band - let me first give credit to Uptown Theatre Concerts for the beautiful photo - I did not take it. Ben is the good looking man on the back row - wait...there's three good looking men on the back row - OK, he's the taller one.

So, here they are, the Lt. Dan Band - easily googled, easily found and easily praised and enjoyed. I'm only mentioning them because I'm not so secretly in love with Sinise, as you know, and well - I gave the address to Ben today so he could pick up the blog and get a good laugh. However, I want you - my dedicated and most wonderful readers to get an opportunity to hear the band when they come to a city near you. (www.ltdanband.com for details)

I'll be in Cleveland this April and guess what - so will the LDB. Yes, I have to admit it was a giant plot and completely calculated ploy on my part. Can you even imagine all the detailed, finely orcestrated work I put into this collision of schedules? What a girl won't do! (She says laughing because I actually just picked up the phone when it rang and told the Cleveland Indians rep that I would be able to show up on April 27 to talk about my very famous dog and infact my very famous cousin Cal McLish, WHO, as you know, is a retired Cleveland Indian!) Can't wait.

The LDB - unlike LSD, will not send you into freakish flashback mode for more than a few songs - they do cover quite a bit of oldies, and you may wish you had a little recreational assistance when they play a few from the Who, maybe Steppenwolf - that Ben....Born to be Wild! I'm telling you. Check him out on the keys, and feed him if you see him in person will you? He's a bit on the thinner side. I'm sure the boy has a good mom, but she's obviously not seen him up close and personally in a few weeks. (Eat! Eat! She says waving her hands in her best Italian Mama accent)

Check them out - become a member of the fan/mail club and add to both your event horizons as well as your retro-brained music fix....thanks Ben for keeping the world updated as to what you're doing and how you're doing it. It is true that the band does a lot of USO tours, going all over the world to entertain for the troops - hugging, kissing, shaking hands, and crying with the best of the best of our American soldiers, but they do make it to local locations too. You'll even be able to take your Grandma! It's that friendly. (She may surprise you and out dance you! Go Grandma! Go Grandma! It's your birthday!) Smiles.

Fatty Cakes - Fatty Cakes

I don't know why Caity decided to call the puppy Fatty Cakes. Could it be because he's only 10 weeks old and about as round as a Butterball turkey? Could be. We were out walking, Laura and I, and this very nice landscaping man came up to us just outside our home and asked if we knew anyone that wanted a dog. He opened his truck door and there on the floor of the GMC was a little, young, fat, rolly-polly of a pit bull. The puppy is 10 weeks old approximately, and well - the fattest little puppy I've seen in a long time. Travis (landscaper) told me he was given the puppy in trade and didn't have a place for it. (I personally don't believe his story - but I can't prove it.) We'll run ads in the paper but to be honest with you, I know the puppy will be squeezed and loved on a few days before the ad runs. We do that - we foster, love, squeeze, hug, kiss, maul and roll around with puppies - they find us. We don't even have to go out looking.

So, Fatty Cakes and Caity have been inseparable today - kissing, biting, playing, rolling, tripping over one another and going outside to chase the 11 squirrels who have decided that the possum in our backyard was in need of a few good neighbors. We went house shopping today and I'll be danged if the one house that looks like it's going to work well for us actually ABUTTS the trail - where Caity found the dead beaver, where Laura relocates every turtle this side of the Mississippi, and where the girls go to take mud baths thinking no one is watching - righhhhhht.

Well, rest well Fatty - soon you will be in the arms of another little girl perhaps - one with normal hair, no facial piercings, and who doesn't scream obsenities at her sister in front of your delicate little puppy ears. Thanks Travis!

Latex in my SlimFast Optima!

Strange, weird and unusal things tend to fall on me, follow me, grasp ahold of me, and just basically happen - to me. I can't explain it. I'm a magnet for the oddities of the world I guess.

Yes, yes, yes, I called the 1-800-SlimFast line to report the lot and batch number from the can that I found a piece of what appears to be a latex glove inside of the can. It's a really good thing I always pour my drinks into clear glasses - actually, I only do that because it seems more like a real replacement meal if I do. I poured out the Chocolate Royale can into a 12-oz goblet type glass and took a really nice swig -- OH, and then I saw it. It came floating to the top of the surface! AAAHHHH!!

I used my finger to pull it out, laid it out on the kitchen granite and studied it for about a second before thoroughly rinising my mouth out with peroxide water! (OK, I'm a bit paranoid...but still) I'm OK, and the people at SlimFast were fast and quick to get right into the investigation of course. No, I won't be suing the company - I wasn't hurt - just shocked beyond belief. Caity of course was saying "Oh, sue them and get me a car!" Don't you love teenagers?

I gave the lot and batch number to the lady, then I thought I should go ahead and give that information to anyone out there who may be drinking a can from the same batch - so, here it is. On the bottom of the can it reads:

"Best by Dec. 2007" Under that it reads: "EGCA 6292 A 18:19" The flavor is Rich Chocolate Royale and it was purchased in Oklahoma City at Buy For Less on NW Expressway and Council Road a few days ago. The lot comes in a 6+2 box and like I said, I wasn't hurt so I guess all will be well - if I die in the next few days - I'll let Caity loose on the company.

Be safe people - pour out your drinks and keep peroxide close at hand! (Just kidding)

There's Laura A., then there's Laura B.

Laura, Laura, Laura!

There are a bunch of little Laura's in my life - and there is enough love for all of them. My daughter of course, is my #1 Laura. She is Laura Ashleigh - named rather for me, Jude Leigh, rather than the sheets and pillowcases - Laura Ashley. Although, to be honest with you, my Laura A. spends a helluva lot more time in her bed sleeping than she does communicating with her mom!

My Laura, as I call her, is tall, thin, beautifully youthful - has long flowing purple hair (yes, purple today) and is often seen talking to her chest in the mirror - asking it to show itself and to make an entrance someday. At nearly 18 she resembles an eagar 14 year old freshmen at times, but she really can be quite mature when she sets her heart to it. Getting her to do that - well, that takes a little time. Being homeschooled she has created for herself an interesting cirriculum including horse-training and grooming, Japanese, drawing anime, writing anime episodes, and of course as little math as one can legally get by with. I think she's up to Algebra 2 and like me, keeps a good solid distance from all things mathematical - on priniciple. English majors unite!

Then there's Laura B. Bigenho! We love our new Laura. We've known her for about a year almost, and she's like another daughter, a sister, a gal we can call ours and yet we allow her to have her real family too, because we're really cool like that. Laura B. is an Army Soldier, a real life Specialist in the U.S. Army, serving you, serving me, and protecting the world from the patio of her Camp V. station in Iraq! She looks good in GREEN! Hooha!

We met Laura when Faith was doing a little tour of military bases last spring and summer. She was stationed out of our family's favorite location - Ft. Lewis, in Seattle! Laura is a journalist, writing stories and publishing them in the Army weekly newspaper and newsletter that she posts every week to not only the Army but to several of us lucky readers who know her wit and charm to be both professional and human. She has a great way with words and can make you feel as if you're standing right there in the middle of the sand with her as she journeys and ventures through the cities and streets that none of us would feel comfortable visiting. To say I am proud of her would be to understate my love and to understate my honor for such a woman. There are many others just like her, but she's MINE. Well, she's ours anyway.

Laura B. is about an inch taller than short, she has the prettiest red hair and freckles to go with it. Her green eyes sparkle in real life, and turn bright red under the camera's flash. I have to tease her about her real heritage, perhaps she's a Marine - a devil dog! OH NO! She's Army! Hooah! Thanks L.B. We couldn't do this war without you! You, like my baby boy, are the best of the best!

Happy 21st Birthday Baby Boy REUBEN

WOWWWWW! Just look at him! He's the most beautiful baby boy you have ever laid eyes on. I know he is for me anyway!

REUBEN (translation): Behold, A Son! Jacob was so excited to have a baby boy that he held up his new born son for all of the world to see and to rejoice with him. He called out "Reuben!

Reuben!" Which translates to literally - "It's a Boy!" And boy, oh boy, is my boy a boy! He's a man now, 21, all grown up and in the U.S. Army, but let me tell you - it was NO picnic getting him to this point. Thank Jesus, and everyone from my family, my church, my community, and the prayers of anyone who ever met me - my boy is now the man I knew he would be.

When I was 3 months pregnant with Reu I knew (through a dream) that he would be a boy. I decided on his name easily - it is my father's name. When a girl isn't married, and finds herself with child - the best defense against any flack from her old-man is a great offense. I named my son after my father! My father was named for his father, who was named for his father, who was named for his father. Reuben is the 17th Reu in our family.

The dream I had about Reuben was simply this: I saw him at an adult age. He was in the horse stable at the state fair, the dream took place during the state fair, so that wasn't that far off from being acceptable. The date was September 21, 1985. In the dream Reu wore a red plaid shirt, sun glasses, dirty jeans, and a really big smile. I recognized him immediately - even though he was only 3 months along inside of me, his adult self was standing right in front of me. I said "Reuben, let's go" and he turned to me and said "Coming Mom, and the name is Lauren Gregory!" I said "I named you Reuben."

We walked around the fair and we saw people that we knew - as they saw him they shuttered..they were pointing behind me, staring up, and I could see from their point of view that what they saw was a huge, dark, angel-type soldier solid black and weilding a weapon. I would shake my head at them and wonder what they were afraid of, it was JUST my baby boy. I'd turn and there he'd be, on my left, tall yes, but just my Mama's boy - maybe 6'3", sweet, strong, protective of me.

When I woke up I looked up the baby names of Lauren and Gregory. I knew I was going to call him Reuben. Lauren means "Victorious One" and Gregory means "Protector". OK...he was that.

Twenty One years TO THE DAY, September 21, 2006 - my son Reuben called me to say he was signing the papers to go into the Army. He asked me to meet him at the MEPS building downtown. We went to the section where the Cavalry are formed and trained. (Stables) My darling, my baby boy, was knealing on the ground praying. He was shielding his eyes. When I saw him he turned to me. I said "Reuben, are you OK?" He answered me "I'm fine Mom, just asking God to protect you when I'm gone to war." My son, my Reuben - then turned to me and said "We're going to win this war Mom, we're going to do it." He had indeed become my Victorious Protector, my Lauren Gregory - but to me, to my soul and my heart - my baby boy will ALWAYS be....my Reuben. Behold, World, are you listening? Behold, my son!

Happy Happy Possum!

You'd think we lived in Hicksville to hear about all the woodland creatures we have not only in our immediate neighborhood (which appropriately is called "The Trails of Edmond") but also in our very own backyard. Edmond, OK is a beautiful partly wooded community just north and east of Oklahoma City - infact, it's so close to the city housing that some of the bordering addresses have mixed utilities, cable services, and sewage/garbage. You could live in OKC and go to Edmond schools, or live in Edmond and pay Oklahoma City electricity or gas bills. Edmond probably has 60,000 people and more SUVs than the number of people currently residing within the boundaries. I joking call my good neighbors Edmonite Socialites - and they call me silly! We smile a lot - politely.

In my backyard I have a 5 acre tract of land which is owned but never occupied by anyone. It extends just behind my backyard and goes way out into another 40 acre tract of land that I believe has a house somewhere in the trees - I smell the owners barbequeing, but never really see them. Last night before I actually turned out the lights to finally turn in I heard the calling of a hoot owl - but what caught my EYE was the big, fat, old, scraggly possum walking ever-so-slowly across the path of my fenceline - trying to make his way into the woodpile that rests against my fence. (The same woodpile we don't ever interrupt for purposes of lighting a fire in our wood-burning fireplace because - you guessed - the possum lives in it)

So, I decided to name the possum last fall just because he was stealing my would-be warmth. We call him Boss. He's the boss of the backyard - and my dogs know this. Although they chase him, they always catch him, and he spits at them and slowly bares his old and yellow fangs - he has no eyesight left and no ambition to do anything about defending himself if push came to shove. He just hopes he smells bad enough I guess - it must be working - that or the dogs simply know when to respect age.

Well, today I decided to give my burnt cookies to the old rag. He deserved them - he's been patient with me as I have tried to remember to turn the timer on, forgetting every single time, and yes - every single time I burn the damn things he's been hopeful that the dogs won't be the only benefactor. Today was his lucky day! 24 blackened chocolate chip munchies fell from the sky over his abode - I could hear him, literally hear him squealing with joy and/or annoyance - either way he ate them.

NO, I won't take him to the vet if he gets diahrhea. I think after millions of years on this earth the possum, and possibly the cockroach, have developed their digestive systems to the evolved state to where they can handle a few charcoaled brisketed confections! Before I reached the house with my empty pan (the image of 24 baked in cookies lining the pan) my little friend came out to follow me into a part of the yard that he rarely ventures to - perhaps to say thanks. Perhaps he simply wants more. We've decided that Purina makes a better diet for him. We'll throw a little his way in the morning just after the mourning doves, deer, and humming birds feed - squirrels, raccoon and coyote come later - say around 7 a.m. Matrix has a 4:45 wakeup call with his bowels so I get to see the animals a little more than maybe I wanted to.

I'll be leaving this place soon and moving a tiny bit closer to the real town, but I will have the actual trails to venture on when I do, I'll remember to hike back every once in a while and check up on Boss. He's probably going to outlive the next owners anyway.

Wednesday - Nothing too Extraordinary! THANK GOD

Well, it's Wed. Third day of Spring Break, unless you count the weekend. Nothing too big or too exciting happened today with the girls. They did decide to spice up the night and invite Craton to their all-girls-night party tonight. I won't let them strip down today with him in the house, I'm so not cool - but hey - someone has to be the adult.

We went shopping for houses today - something we've been doing for quite a while, but we're at least narrowing it all down to a few good choices and deciding on colors for walls, whichever walls we do end up purchasing. I'm "that" much closer as we've submitted my annotated (now nearly antiquated) outline for the publisher to examine. I swear, if they don't take it after all this work I'll face criminal charges! We have jumped through toooooo many hoops to be denied at this point.

The house we choose has to be perfect - meaning it has to be big enough to live in, have a great bathroom for me because I'm really really tired of cramped up little bathrooms without style. I have to have a huge walk in closet - if for NO other reason to hide in when the kids get too rowdy. I need three full baths in the house, 4 bedrooms, a study, and a formal dining, so we're not talking about a little house anymore. It's something we've worked for, we've worked HARD for, and we have come to the point in our lives as a family that this is what we need. However, I still can't bring myself to buy something overtly large because I feel so guilty for having spent so much on myself. (I'm not even Catholic or Jewish and I have the guilt gene built right into me I think.)

I do have plans to attend an intimate culinary party at Cafe' Bauer tonight. Bauer's is a place like NO OTHER in the world - very informal, in fact, the restaurant greatly resembles a real residence - clothes are strewn about the laundry room, there's a game or livingroom off to the side of the main dining so that customers can relax and just chill while they're waiting on Eric (top chef) to bring their food to them! He brings their food to them! I sup at the table usually with the owner's wife Niki. She is really an extraordinary gal - at just over 40 she became a real life police officer, passing the tests like a young-un, she's no doubt one of the best sharpshooters in the state, and with her romantic Greek looks - she doesn't even have to shoot - she's so sweet the criminals just simply surrender!

One of the nice things about dining at Cafe' Bauer is the price! You bring a little food of your own, Chef Eric makes whatever you want, or in some cases - whatever HE wants to make and you just eat it! Never a charge. Of course, it helps to bring a bit of wine to bribe the man from time to time, and being close to the family helps. Yes, I'd say that being free from the kids tonight, surrendering my own house for 4 hours while dining at the most unique and prestigious restaurant in the city is going to be a definitely highlight of Spring Break 07!

Pizza is on the menu - homemade with real ingredients!

Spring Break - Painting Pubic Hairs and Other Fun Activities

MY GOD! You have not lived long enough if you have not been in your room, minding your own business - and suddenly hear the eruption of four screaming teenage girls coming from the bathroom just down the hall! WHY? Why are they screaming? (No, why are they ALL in the same bathroom?) They're dying their hair - not the hair on top of their heads - NO that would be normal. They are all dying their pubic hairs: Purple, Red, Green, and I think Blue....I'm NOT about to go look!

They're screaming, laughing, dancing, and singing - just thumping around in the bathtub so that they don't make a big mess on the floor. Forget about the towel supply. I didn't ask when they grabbed every last towel from the cabinet. I didn't ask when they took my credit card and the car keys to go the beauty supply store. I should have asked. I didn't question a single thing when they went single file, piling into the bathroom and locked the door behind them. GIRLS ARE WEIRD! WEIRD!

Spring Break has a whole new meaning nowadays I guess. I made them promise that they wouldn't be taking any photographs to share their new found fun - and when they began slapping each other on the butts...well, I had to at least knock on the door. They were slapping each other to make the other one release the hand covering the newly colored "bo-bo" as one girl called it....(makes me wonder what I called it at 17?) Anyway, they came running through my room just after their initial shock of being so free - and I do mean free! They pranced and danced, laughed and fell about the room laughing at one another and comparing hand-slap prints on bare bottoms. Can it get stranger? It's ONLY Tuesday!!

HELP.

Cannolis and Dead Beavers

Oh, I love cannolis. I went to the William Sonoma store to look at the "Cannoli Kit" to see if I really thought $48.00 was a good price to pay for 6 cannoli (steel) forms, a pastry cutter, a little recipe book and I think they threw in a coupon for a $1.00 off a name brand of Ricotta cheese. I decided against the kit. Home Depot, however, has stainless steel rods and I can have 12 cut into 6" pieces for about $10.00 (more cannolis for me!) 

As spring actually breaks dawn tomorrow morning there is sure to be a few ethnic festivals in our fair city! The two I go to every year are the Orthodox Greeks and the Czechs (Although the Czechs have their festival in October). I love the food, I love the food, I love the food! So close to the time I think I should go on a diet - so it looks like I'll have to behave myself and only dibble where I would rather dive into the cuisine. Dibble. Damn word. Oh, but still - cannolis! 

Today's shopping spree was all about the food supply in my house. I have two hungry girls out of school for Spring Break and for some reason they want to eat everything. Shopping was not an option, it was a mission. Because I have girls and because its Spring Break the girls are having parties, gatherings, meetings, fights, walks, and then yesterday the two of them - found a real dead daddy beaver in the pond just about a 1/2 mile from the house. JOY! They turned him over, they poked on him with sticks because that’s what you do with dead beavers that you find laying around the neighborhood, you poke them with sticks. They discovered that his demise was not natural - he had been shot. The girls ran home (this is hilarious) they put on their CSI-Miami and CSI-NY t-shirts, hats, and took a box of rubber gloves (Yes, we have them) and they took little plastic bags with them so they could - - - wait for it - - - collect the evidence! 

Here I am, minding my own business, making cannolis! Just trying to let the girls know how much I love them - and Caity wants to dissect a dead beaver over by the pond. No, I didn't let her run to the park with kitchen shears or the butcher knife. I made her walk slowly with her tools of the trade in her cute little doggy backpack, of course; and I made her take plenty of alcohol, old rags, plastic bags, and a pen & paper set. Both girls decided to go, Laura went to make sure Caity didn’t cut herself; always the big sister.  They took their digital cameras and they set off for the pond. Why couldn't I have had all boys? Sometimes I wonder - but then again, God made little girls for a reason. (Probably not this reason, but a reason, nevertheless). Boys would have probably poked the damn thing and been done with it, but my girls were all about the guts and glory, at least Caity was. I think she could be a surgeon but they’d expect her to show up on time and that may or may not actually happen. 

After arriving at the pond Caity, because she’s a girl of faith, took Laura by the hand and said a wee prayer over the dead daddy beaver, who at that very moment with bowed head, decided to name him Oscar.  Oscar was no doubt loved, he was cared for, and until he was shot dead recently by someone who had no sense at all (her words to God) Oscar was simply living his life as the best beaver to ever walk the paths in Edmond, Oklahoma. He will be sorely missed, and with that, she sterilized her tools with alcohol before making her first incision. 

Why in the world she and Laura felt it was necessary or needed to tell me every detail of the autopsy, I don’t know, they took enough photos, you’d think they could just flip through them and give me the highlights. I didn’t even want to stuff the cannolis now. I just wanted to sneak off and take a hot bath with Dr. Teal’s Lavender Epsom salts and forget the entire thing! Take me away – wait, that’s not Dr. Teal’s, that’s some other brand, anyway, just don’t tell me that the beaver’s liver was discolored. Who knows what color a beaver’s liver is supposed to be anyway? Tell me that Oscar was a great beaver, that he played in the pond, that he loved to catch fish, climb trees, cut down smaller trees, build little dams for his family, but no, no, I don’t want to know that his intestines were filled at the time of his death or that his tongue was thinner than you would have imagined a beaver’s tongue to be. STOP BEING WEIRD and I don’t know, play with Barbies....or do your homework!  Why God? Why?