The P.P.P. Has Taken Over my Life!

And I feel bad because I haven't updated you all on my progress but I'll explain and hopefully you'll get it when I done.

My last update was at the end of September and since then I have jumped into the deep end of the ocean. When we last talked I was venturing into the 600 pages of Mr. Dumas' The Count of Montecristo which once again did not dissapoint me. This has to be on my list of favorite books of all time because it's so much more than a tale of revenge. Revenge, justice, despair, insanity, love, devotion, and culture. I ate it whole. But it's a bit of a dark tale too so I thought I would follow it up with a nice lighthearted read.

I had read about Traveling with Pomegranates on The Housewife Diaries when she was giving a copy away and I thought it would be a fascinating read. A mother daughter team traveling through Greece and France together on a journey to reestablish their relationship in the later years of life. What I failed to grasp when I fell in love with the concept was the deeper side of the book. The mother is venturing through menopause and a spiritual journey. The daughter is coming to grips with depression and finding her "necessary fire" - that one thing that she must do with her life to become whole. Again I devoured the book but I was left in a place that kept me from my keyboard. What was going to come out of my fingers the next time I sat down? The confused rumblings of my brain or something that was better left on the pages of a personal journal rather than an open letter to the web?

My choices could have been better when creating my book lineup because no sooner had the brain pool settled than I jumped into The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood. Yes, dark waters indeed in this pool that I have been swimming in.

On a side note, as I was getting ready to read I scanned the back cover of the Ya Ya's and found http://www.ya-ya.com/. I was just goofing off when I asked for my Ya Ya name through the generator but my jaw fell open when it came back as Duchess Shedding her Fears. Now do you understand why I say The P.P.P. has taken over my life?

Most people have seen the movie by now I'm sure, but the book takes the time to go places that weren't allowed in the movie. The greater reach into Vivi's brain; the deeper impact on Sidda's relationships; the real love between the Ya Ya's. I saw parts of myself again in The Divine Secrets and wished that my own Ya Ya's were closer to me.

And now I sit at my desk and stare at A Tale of Two Cities. I'm almost afraid to open it because even though it's about the French Revolution and Paris and London and a pair of lovers, what's to say I won't find myself again? I have to tell you that I'm 15 pages in and finding the rythm and getting familiar with the book language that it is written in has taken some serious work.

So the grand tally: I have read 8 books which leaves 42 more in 45 weeks. I am definitely on track but the real challenge will be keeping it up during the holiday season which for us has already started. October always kicks it off with a parade of birthdays, pumpkin patching, Halloween and then right into November with more birthday and my all time favorite - Thanksgiving.

Thank you to my fans who have been checking up on me. I'm still here even if I am a bit worse for the wear mentally. Happy reading gang!

So Now What?!

Last week when I ventured out on my "Why" posts I was really just trying to sort out my brain and determine what my motivations really were for writing and obsessing about writing and losing sleep over writing. And I think I came to the conclusion that it is one thing that I am very passionate about.

But what do you do with a passion when you find it? Of course you exercise it but if it is to turn into anything you have to focus it, right? Which brings me to the next step in my journey. How do I want to focus my writing? Do I stick to social and political commentary and hope for an lifestyle and opinion slot in a newspaper one day down the road? Do I take a twist to the inspirational and start tailoring my bits and baubles into a devotional for the harried mother - a thought that flitted into my head randomly in the middle of church last week. Do I steer it full speed into humor and hope that there are people who get me?

This is where I envy Julie. She may have picked up her project on a whim but she had a goal in mind. She knew that when she got to the end of the cookbook she would have completed her project.

I don't have a goal. I don't have a target. I'm a little lost here and I'm not sure exactly what to do about it. So I turn to you, my 6 loyal readers (yeah! I think we added two recently!). Of the pieces I have written, which ones resonate? Which do you prefer?

Don't think that just because you weigh in on one, I'm going to turn the whole boat to your shore. I need a little more whimsy than that. I'm just wondering what works.

Oh and good news for all of you. I am almost finished with Julie and Julia so hopefully this whole soul searching phase will be over soon. I should probably warn you that Marley and Me is up next and I'm thinking that that one could go any number of ways.

Why? (Part 1)

I took this past Sunday off and went to Barnes and Nobel (my mommy hide out) and then to a movie. While at B&N I snagged a few books for myself one of which was Julie & Julia. No, I didn't go see the movie right after.

I've been reading a little of the book every night before I go to bed and I am now three days into it and completely hooked. She is a writer (*ding), who works as a temp and undertakes a blog (*ding) in which she chronicles her attempt to cook (**ding, ding!) her way through a cookbook in one year. I love this book and I'm only 60 pages in.

Last night I was reading and she was explaining her Julie/Julia Project to her mother. Her mother's response, "Buy why, Julie?"

It stuck with me. I dreamed it. I woke up and drank it with my coffee. I scrubbed it into the porcelain of my toilet and the granite of my counters. I've been itching all day to get back to the computer so I can chew on it and break it down for my own life.

"Why, Sarah? Why are you undertaking this blogging project?" In order to answer that I have to back up to a more basic question. "Why write at all?"

Because it's what I want. I've mentioned before that Erma Bombeck is one of my heroes. I love her humor. I love Patrick McManus for the same reason and one of my favorite books of all time is Summer of the Monkeys by Wilson Rawles. Now I add Julie Powell and her quirky, wordy adventures to my list and I discover that I want to be on someones list. I want someone to see my name on a coming soon poster and be as giddy as I was when I saw Dan Brown's name on Sunday. I don't necessarily want the rabid, raving, borderline obsessives that J.K. Rowling has but the idea that my words could have that potential is what keeps me dreaming.

Why write?

Because it's in me. In my head; in my heart; in my bones and in my blood. I have always been subject to flights of imagination. I think I took three completely unnecessary courses in college simply because I would "have" to write. There is something about taking a topic or idea and twisting it on its side or finding an angle that is overlooked that intrigues me. It's an adventure with words. It's a challenge and it can sometimes stretch my brain when I am paused searching the crevices of my mind for the perfect word to capture my ideas.

Why write?

Because it is my sanity. You would never begin to know the number of drafts that go the way of the delete button simply because it is total brain junk that just had to come out. If my internet provider charged by the character we would have to take a second mortgage. It allows me to reach out anonymously to random and not so random people and add to their lives or impact them or make them think or simply entertain them.

Why tell you why I write?

Because it's what I've been thinking about. And after all this is THOUGHTS from the Toilet Bowl.

The Age Old Question

And not the questions that a certain friend of mine has taken to asking of late. Nothing about trees falling, where people park their cars, or even the great chicken egg dillema. None of those earth shaking, world crisis averting questions.


How old does she look?


Every woman reading just had a collective chill run up their spine and felt that tightening nausea in their stomachs. Why do people ask that question? Don't they know the traumatizing potential in that answer? And don't they realize the position they are putting the interrogated individual in? Strip them naked on the Grand Old Opry stage, hook them to a polygraph and shine a spotlight dead in their face why don't you? It might be more comfortable.


We went to dinner with some friends Saturday evening and Beloved, apparently unaware of the emotional peril contained in the question, asked the other female in the party that very question about me.


27. And the answer came back fast and very matter of factly.


Now as the mother of three under 6 and a woman who tries (sometimes very hard) to stay at least in the shadow of fitness, there were two directions my brain went with this.


Path A - Nice! All that yoga and swimming and walking and water have actually come to serve some purpose this summer. My scale may be in denial that I did any of it but perception is reality people.


Path B - Come on already! Haven't I earned my stripes? Do I really still look like someone fresh out of college? Don't I at least look like I could be the responsible parent of one or two? I have worked really hard for my thirty (mumble, mumble) years!


And it's not the first time THIS WEEK that I have been mistaken for someone much younger than my thirty somethings. Thursday I was purchasing some adult refreshments at the grocery store and of course my children were with me. The lady behind me in line was giving me a shady look when I presented my ID to the cashier. He cleared me and her countenance visibly relaxed with the return of my ID. It was odd but I wasn't going to make a big deal. The cashier remarked that I was only 2 years older than him and he thought I was actually younger than him. I didn't take offense because I know him and see him at the store regularly.


But then Snarky Eyes chimed in with "Really?! Those children are yours? I thought you were the babysitter!" Because every babysitter I've ever hired takes the children out to buy adult beverages. What?!


But back to the question. What if the friend at dinner had come back with 37? What if she had given me EXTRA credit for my years? How would I have felt then? Would I have been motivated to come home and do midnight pilates? Would I have been proud of my maturity?


And why do I even care? I am as young as I feel, right? But then if that's the case the popping in my ankles, knees and hips has me at 92 with one foot on a banana peel.


Maybe I'll stick with the 27 after all.

When Life Begins in the Country.

I'm sure I've mentioned it before but I grew up country. And for those of you who didn't read or pronounce that correctly it's "cawn-tree." I mean cows outnumbered the humans. The local post office was inside the farm implement store and the two towns I lived between were really just wasglorified cross roads. My entire county had 2 red lights and one of those only a flasher. Everyone called the town sherrif (who was actually in the next town) by his first name. Call it the Pennsylvania version of Mayberry.

In our town there was a genuine country store. You could find everything from sewing thread, needles and zippers to hunting guns, fishing licenses, and ammo. In the back corner where the hardware was there was a stand up nail bin where the nails were still weighed on a scale per 6 penny or ten penny weight. People who still butcher their own meat could take their hams and bacons to the store owner who would slice it to order.

My sister reminded me about a tradition that we grew up on. Every year at Christmas the store owner (or another member of our community when he got too old) would dress up as Santa and hand out oranges and the Lifesaver holiday books. Even at Halloween we would trick or treat at the store counter. For the longest time you could find the older men of our town sitting on the bench out front talking about the weather or politics or any other notion that crossed their mind.

And this was such a part of our town that it had been passed across generations. First through one family and then bought and passed through another. I could probably even recite you the store schedule if I was hard pressed.

When I took my hubby to PA for the first time, I made a point of taking him to The Store. He strolled and looked. He was fascinated. My mom even got him a cammo ball cap for Christmas that year. Long's Store on the front and "A Little bit of Everything" on the back.

Even more fascinating was the decor. A mounted deer head over the phone in the corner (not a pay phone by the way); a preserved fox sitting on the gun safe in the raised office; pictures of various members of the community on the walls and the famous Brownie Calendar hanging behind the counter. Yard sale signs graced the front window right beside fliers for the fireman's carnival and band concert and senior class play.

In the wee hours Sunday morning, someone struck the gas pumps in front of the store and caused a fire that engulfed our personal landmark. It is gone.

Of course when you see a piece of your history fading you ask how you can get it back. The first question I asked my mother when she called this morning was, "Do you think they will rebuild?" Of course it is all so fresh now that no one knows but there is the rest of the story.

Should our friend and neighbor decide to rebuild, I would be willing to predict that it will be a full community holiday. Every man in town will call in sick and grab a hammer, pliers, wire cutters and any other necessary tool. Every woman in town will head for the kitchen to bake, roast, fry, boil and brew.

And they will laugh.

They will sweat and work and cut and lay block. They will plumb and pull wire. They will tell stories of times and people gone by and they will laugh.

All day I have been consumed by the thought of a huge piece of my memory being stolen from me. Almost to the point of tears. But I look at the possibility that lies ahead if there is a rebuilding and I have hope.

Perhaps we have found the key to my optimism and persistence. A life begun in the country.

When People Crash into your Life

It happens to be my first day back from Spring Break so this is not my normal humor laden, roll 'em in the aisles but I hope to get back to that soon. Just some brain junk.

I was in a fender bender Friday evening. I was stopped on the road outside our neighborhood waiting to make a left turn into the subdivision when I saw a car bearing down the hill on me. I could tell that the driver had no idea I was stopped and saw a line of cars right behind her. My father and Munch were in the van with me so my brain kicked into over drive.

Words out of my mouth:

"She's not slowing down."

"She's going to hit me."
"SHE'S GOING TO HIT ME!"

Thoughts in my brain (proof that my brain works faster than my mouth):

"She's not slowing down."
"She's going to hit me."
"I need to gun it."
"Maybe I can get away from her if I gun it NOW!"
"Why won't my foot move?"

"There are cars behind her!"
"I don't want her to get hit too!"

"I have to gun it for both our sakes."
"Munch brace yourself."
"Dad, brace yourself."
"My foot still isn't moving!"
"Move you stupid foot!"
"Finally! I'm moving forward!"

"But not fast enough!"

BOOM!

You know the sound. You can be sitting in traffic and you hear "that" sound and you know that someone just got pegged. Because I was moving forward to get out of her way, the damage was minimal. My sweet father waited for traffic to clear and then got us steered out of the way so that we wouldn't cause any more trouble.

She gathered her information and got out of her car. I got out of the car and then I said the words that broke her heart. "Dad, can you take Munch up to the house?" Her eyes went to tears immediately. And my heart broke. Something told me that there was more to this than just a fender bender.

We exchanged information and I tried to console her but there was pain there. I had a terrible time shaking the whole incident off but not just because of the jitters that always come from an accident. There was something else.

Saturday Beloved called her just to make sure he had complete information before he called the insurance company and had a little conversation with her. She's a single mom of two who just had to take a pay cut to even keep her job. Beloved and I were both affected so when he called he asked the insurance company if this incident would affect her in any way. We would forego the claim if it meant she could keep her premiums and coverage low. They assured us that she would be unaffected so he went ahead and filed.

But she's still in my head. There are real people caught in this economic crisis and for all of my railing about government bailouts and what is fair and what isn't fair the bottom line is that no one can help us but us. Beloved and I aren't free and clear of the crisis but we have each other. We aren't facing it alone. If we can help just by offering not to file an insurance claim then we can help. If I can make a meal for a neighbor in need, I can help. If I can just help with someone's yard work so they don't have to pay a landscaper, I can help.

In times like this I think we would all do well to look at what we can DO. I think we need to look at every day events as opportunities. If just a few people start to look outside of themselves, perhaps this crisis can become our nation's salvation.

Random Updates on Random Stuff

Yes, I managed to completely offend my one French reader and scare them away. I think we all saw that coming!

No, I still have not decided how I am going to celebrate the blogoversaries that are coming up. Yes, you may make your suggestions.

Yes, I am still up in arms about the auto makers bailout. The bailout can buy bad debt and throw more and more money after the financial sector without even the first argument from the public. But the idea of passing more money to the automakers is reprehensible. If you are so outraged by it go buy a car from the automakers and let them get their money the "honest" way. What? You don't have the funds to do that? Why don't you go get a loan? Oh yeah! Because the banks aren't loaning money. So what is happening to all the funds that are supposed to be freed up by the buy up of bad loans and the continuing interest cuts? I forgot. It's being used for bonuses. Silly me!

Shove it! Can we please do something to keep people in jobs? Beloved told me this morning that 30% of FedEx's business comes from GM. Still want to let GM go under?

I'm supposed to be updating you aren't I? Sorry. Let's see. Thank you to everyone who commented on my rant Saturday and on my faith tale yesterday. I'm still not sure what the point of my writing yesterday was.

I found Nadya Suleman's vlog yesterday although I can't remember where. Can we talk about selective information? You have to give her credit. She sure knows how to paint a good picture. And now that there is no one objective hanging around I guess that's the picture everyone will see. Good luck.

Oh and if you are needing a great chuckle today you absolutely must pop over to Jiggety Jigg's place and watch her movie. The Lego people are cracking me up!

I think that's about it for now. I'l probably be back in a while for a real news round up. Or not. We'll see.

Just Because it Happened

I had an experience this morning in church and normally I wouldn't blog it because it was...well, unusual and very personal. But for some reason it keeps replaying in my mind and I have to let it out. I don't know what the point of my sharing is or even if there is one so don't think too hard on it. Unless of course you want to.

I went to church like usual this morning even though I woke up feeling just under the weather enough to wonder if I should. But I rounded up the children and got everyone ready and went anyway. I dropped everyone off at their usual classes and took my normal seat in the sanctuary. I sit in the very back pew off to one side with an older couple who adopted me. We're a pretty quiet trio.

Worship was it's usual inspiration and I was very peaceful. Announcements, doxology, offering. The offeratory song was one that I have always loved and quite honestly I can't remember which one it was right this second because what happened next completely changed the whole service for me. Remember how I sit at the very back of the sanctuary off to one side? From the second row directly in front of the pulpit I saw a woman stand up and start for the back of the church.

I couldn't take my eyes off of her and she was obviously crying. She hadn't made it to the middle of the sanctuary when I was suddenly standing up and dashing out the back door to meet her in the gathering area. I don't know why I did it; I just knew I had to. We took one look at each other and she grabbed me in one of the tightest hugs I have ever had.

I am an introvert. I really try to fade into the background of every scenario I find myself in. To suddenly find myself hugging a sobbing stranger was unbelieveable and in any other circumstance would have been painfully weird. I walked with her to the bathroom with absolutely no expectations except to grab some tissues and wipe eyes and noses. It was none of my business why she was crying; it was just obvious that she needed someone to be with her at that moment.

She suddenly opened up to me and shared her story. I don't think it's critical to know what was going on but she was in some very real pain. Two other ladies in the restroom at the time started to pour out advice to her and prayed with her and provided encouragement and I stood off to the side. I honestly didn't say a word.

When the other two had left she and I stood in the gathering area and just looked at each other for a minute. I of course had to make some witty crack about the fact that I want to go to kids heaven when I die because it's all about picnics, swings, slides and sunshine and she laughed and smiled. I gave her one more hug and went back to service.

After service I went to communion and was on my way back to gather my stuff and go snag the kids. I ran into her again and just smiled and shared a few more words. My church is pretty large so the chances that I will see her again next week are 50/50. I didn't give her any contact info to get in touch - not because I didn't want to but because it really didn't seem like the thing.

The whole experience was fleeting at best. I didn't really offer any profound advice or life changing encouragement. The only thing I really shared was a hug and a smile. So why did this have such a huge impact on me? Why is it replaying in my mind over and over? What am I supposed to do with this?

My faith tells me that there was a purpose. That somehow I helped her just by being a friend when she needed one. My faith tells me that someday I will see the outcome of this interaction. My faith tells me that I was compelled to write this out for a reason too. I don't know.

Maybe the story will inspire someone to leave their comfort zone for the sake of another. Maybe someone will write a letter to a long lost friend. Maybe someone in pain will read this and take hope that they aren't completely alone.

Maybe it was just for me.

Brain Junk on an Empty Brain

You thought that was impossible didn't you? Wrong!

It is Wednesday and that means Garbage Day. Who wants to take a guess at who took the trash out and to the curb? Frickin', frackin', mumble, grumble, gripe.

If you have missed The Pushers, you need to head over to The Zoo and check them out. Gena made the point that they really are what Rhino referred to them as - pushers. Upon further reflection, she's absolutely right. We push doors open, drawers closed, children out of the way when our hands are full of grocery bags and heaven only knows what. A mother's "pushers" are her extra hands. Don't think about that - just go with it.

Big pressure is headed my way. Sissy has asked me to do a guest post for The Martians while she undertakes a move next week. There's something about guest posting on someone elses blog. It can go two ways. If you are really great at it you can maybe steal - I mean SHARE - some traffic. If you louse it up too bad, you not only trash the other person's blog but you totally torpedo your own while you're at it. I never thought I would say this, but I sure hope my kids can channel a little Aiden and Asher this week.

In other news, I did a e-mail interview for Parenting Magazine about our road trip with 3 under 5 last summer. At the end of my response I offered to take a road trip with the munchkins and provide video, blogging and other nonsense for them if they wanted an online compliment to go with the in print article. Think it will work? How awesome would that be if I could take three children by myself to Boston with someone else footing the bill? I say I would make it there and then feed myself to the lobsters.

Don't forget that tomorrow's Show me the Funny is all about April Fools Pranks you've pulled, had pulled on you, or have managed to turn back on the prankster. Snag the button over there and add it to your post. I'll probably put up Linky tonite so that you can get your links up first thing in the morning. Come on gang! You have to have some good ones.

Told you you could get brain junk out of an empty brain!

You May Have Noticed

that my writing has slowed down a little lately.

I was losing my inspiration. I was tired of Bloggy Land and all the nonsense that goes with it. On top of that the entire family (dog included) managed to catch the flu. Add the financial crunch that everyone is finding themselves in these days and I just could not shake the funk.

So I took a day off. I went out after church and did some dream shopping for a laptop/netbook at Best Buy and priced the oh so necessary external hard drive. Not that the entire family who was all trying to look at the same box slammed right up against the shelf even noticed me on my tip toes trying to see price tags and sizes over their heads.

Then I headed over to JoAnn's to see if I could find a pattern for a skirt for Easter (only a month away! Eeek!) and ended up talking to my parents from the pattern counter (weird) and walking out with nothing.

So then it was to Target to get the famous clippers (or they will be when the post goes up at The Zoo). And then I looked at the clock. I've only been out of the house for an hour and a half?! I can't surrender yet! I hate shopping and the mall makes me break out in hives so where will I go next? How will I make this brief recess last? I refuse to go to the grocery store. That's not recess.

And there it was. Beautiful B & N. Resist the urge to go snag a caramel machiatto. I was struck with some inspiration as I wandered through the stacks of books. There was a child laughing in the children's section and I thought, "I could use a good laugh!"

Tucked back in a corner there was the humor section. Entirely too small and not nearly enough copies of any one book for my tastes but at least it was still there. Smashed in behind the religious fiction and wedged in front of the "teach yourself to play the oboe" book.

So I started to scan the titles. An entire section of the shelf was dedicated to bathroom humor. You would think from the title of this blog I would be more appreciative but a whole rack of books about bathroom humor? I kept scanning. Now we come across Lewis Black and Dennis Leary and their cohorts railing against all things political. Here are two full racks of comic strips. I will not speak against them. My faves were there. Calvin and Hobbes, The Far Side, Baby Blues, Fox Trot and of course the Classic Peanuts. Bless you Mr. Schultz.

But just general musing about life humor was scarce. And then I saw them. Down on the bottom shelf in small pocket size paperback form were the four titles I was looking for. There was my muse for seven dollars a piece. Erma Bombeck. I picked up a copy and started to read and while I was not laughing out loud there was a poingnacy in her writing that made me smile. A real connection that just made me feel at home. A quiet humor that did not speak of bathrooms, or politics, or naked bodies (unless you count feet). It was not angry. It was not laced with foul language or explicit suggestions.

Call me old fashioned. Call me a prude. I'll wear both ideas with pride. Life is weird. It's strange and it's funny and when you really look at the nonsense that happens every day you have to laugh. You HAVE to. If you don't laugh about it your only other options are to get angry, give up, or cry. I picked one of the four titles out for myself and brought it home with me. Every time I pick it up I only allow myself to read one short chapter at a time. Like I'm savoring a bag of Lindor truffles one small bite at a time.

I have been inspired again. I have decided that how many posts I get out to you is not the critical part. I have to make sure that I make you laugh or at the very least, smile. I have to make people see that anger and vulgarity aren't necessary in life. There is enough ugliness in the world. It's time to laugh at just the general strangeness of it all.

You HAVE to laugh. You have to laugh because when you can laugh and you can share that laughter with other people, they get to laugh. Life is just too weird not to laugh and share the laughter.

Well, Now I'm REALLY Confused!

By the time you read this it will be old news but I am profoundly confused just the same. Tonight is the annual torture of switching back to daylight savings time - ye ole spring forward, if you will. And my brain being what it is started to question the whole notion. I understand making the most of the daylight hours and conserving energy and all that stuff.

What I didn't get was why the "Big Switch" happens at a bizarre hour like 2 AM. Who waits until 2 AM to change their clock? Don't most of us change the clock right about now (10 PM EST - pre switch for those of you who have already done the switch and gone to bed) and hit the hay and wake up when the alarm sounds an hour too soon in the morning? What is the point of the whole 2 AM deal? So I, in my infinite wisdom and with my high tech researching skills, went to the almighty Google in search of the answer. Here is what I found.

Daylight Saving Time goes into effect in most of U.S.
By Michael Kitchen
NEW YORK (MarketWatch) -- Most of the U.S. will move to Daylight Saving Time at 2 a.m. Sunday. Arizona, Puerto Rico, Hawaii, the U.S. Virgin Islands and American Samoa are the exceptions, as they do not observe the shift in time. The U.S. previously switched to Daylight Saving each year on the first Sunday in April, but in 2007, the start date was moved to the second Sunday in March. Standard Time is slated to resume on the first Sunday in November.

Please tell me you saw the part where the exceptions are listed. I get the outlying islands. They are in their own little time zones or aren't even full states anyway which brings Alaska into question but we'll get back to that. But what is up with Arizona? It IS still part of the contiguous 48 right? So if I fly to Phoenix tomorrow I'll get my hour back? Or did they not give it up in the first place? How do Arizonians keep track of it if they are on completely different time than the rest of us? There have to be a lot of missed flights for the first couple of weeks, wouldn't you think?

Now Alaska, do they change time? I mean by now they are coming to the end of the really long nights anyway so do they even bother with all the time changing?

I'm so completely confused. I did some more searching after I got around the whole brain bender about who has to change time and who doesn't and found out that the whole thing was a war measure used to conserve fuel and energy in World War 1. So now I know the why it happens in general.

But I still don't know why it happens in the middle of the night. I guess I'll hit up Wikipedia next. Wait. Nope. Wiki didn't know either. It's like someone just threw a dart at the clock and said "2 AM it is!" I mean, I don't really care. It's the middle of the night and I sleep through it anyway or at least I did before I had children. There's a very good chance I'll actually see the time change this year. What was I saying? Oh yeah. 2 AM.

Well, either way. Sleep well and go to bed soon. And don't forget to schedule a nap tomorrow.

Apples in a Barrel

I have tried my best to steer clear of all the drama that is going on out in Bloggy Land lately. It really looks like women being women. It started with the Twitter/Motrin debate of '08 and slopped over into popularity contests over a Wii. It turned into hate mail and blog bashing. Just pretty much one big mosh pit of ugliness. I am a non-confrontational person so I was actually repelled by all the nonsense but it did get me thinking.

You know the saying, "One bad apple can spoil the barrel?" We all can agree that that is true right? But how does it happen? First, someone isn't careful when they are loading the barrel. They let a questionable apple in. Then they forget about it, neglect it, leave it there. They never do anything to take it out.

Other apples get put in with it. They rub up against and snuggle that questionable apple. The tighter they are packed and the more they rub up against one another the faster that apple turns. Pressure maybe. And then the bad apple is done.

But since it was packed in with all these other apples it's already had the chance to spread the ugliness that is rot. And those apples don't get away. They stay there and they rub and they rot. If all of the apples aren't divided out and the bad ones gotten rid of, you have suddenly lost a whole barrel.

So I was looking at my barrel yesterday. It's not terribly full. I don't have a lot of people I consider close. And the ones I do consider close and the ones I do put in my barrel don't have ugly spots. Are they perfect? No. They have bumps and they may not glow all the time. But they aren't rotting.

I don't pack my barrel super full either. I keep just the apples I need. Just enough to keep me going on my rough days. Just enough that I can give them the good in me too without going dry.

There have been a lot of campaigns and rants and posts about bringing positive vibes back to blogging. Boost one another's esteem etc. I say, just go through your apples. If you have a rotter, get rid of it. Don't comment on posts. Don't push more apples down on the rotter. Just get rid of it. If you have some apples that may be questionable, get rid of them or take a minute and find out if they are rotters or not.

What's in your barrel? And are YOU a good apple or a rotter?

Have you Ever...?

Have you ever been in the middle of your bathroom cleaning routine only to turn around and find a naked child?

Have you ever sent a three line e-mail to a friend and when you were done found a child with diaper cream from eyebrows to mid scalp?

Have you ever reached for the milk only to find an empty jug?

Have you ever heard someone talking and suddenly realized in mid search that it's you - talking to yourself?

Have you ever decided that the smell really isn't worth finding anyway?

Just checking. I need to feel normal today.

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things to Love about Fall

Sleeping with the windows open.

Blankets just feel better when there's a chill in the air.

Soup that's been cooking all day.

Beef vegetable, chili, loaded baked potato, chicken stew

Baking

Apple, pumpkin, and cherry pies, cookies of every kind, bread in all varieties.

Pumpkin Patch

Pumpkins, straw, red wagons, toddlers, parents with cameras

Color

Deep reds, bright oranges, warm yellows, fading greens, toasty browns

Yardwork

Raking, bagging, planting, pruning, mulching, standing back at the end of the day

Personal holidays

Celebrating five birthdays and an anniversary with people I love

Halloween

Dressing up, little spooks, candy, neighbors

Football

Pee wee, high school, college, pros, rivalries, friendly pools

Fall clothes

Early sweaters, boots, jeans, turtlenecks, long skirts, favorite sweatshirts

Warm mugs

Coffee, tea, cider, hot chocolate

Evenings on the deck

Tiki torches, sweatshirts, friends, Louis, Frank, Dean and Nat

Apples

Grocery produce section brimming with red, green, gold, and marbled