Category Archive

Today is my grandmother’s birthday.

It has taken me nearly an hour, sitting, staring at these pictures, to even type that sentence. The words to describe how deeply and constantly I miss her don’t seem to exist. They are frozen somewhere inside me, and my heart aches with the weight of them.

04 27 08 005, originally uploaded by tbgdee.

I write to you from my LAST GRADUATE CLASS EVER. At the least it is my last library and information services class. We’ll talk about that MA in creative writing I’d like to pursue some other time. Like in 10 years.

Graduation is May 17. Congratulations to us Graduwitches everywhere!

Apparently, children who read a lot start to look like their favorite characters.

An as yet undetermined prize to the person who can tell me the origin of this picture.

01 29 08 012, originally uploaded by tbgdee.

I’ve been an official Friday Photo Slacker for, oh, I don’t know, over a year. I’m glad to be making a return, and with a new camera to make things more interesting. Yay me, and yay Cali for the cool new Friday Photo digs.

Happy Friday.

Well, not really. This is what actually happened:

Because my daughter has hair like this…

(It’s hard to see here, but the multi-layered look she is sporting is more 1981 Mullet than 1997 Jennifer Aniston.)

…I had to go and do this…

…and now she looks like this…

The stylist in the picture is Tina. Tina used to own the salon where the monumental haircut event took place and now that she is “retired” she works one day a week. During my last year-and-a-half of college I worked as the assistant manager at the salon for Tina and her husband Marvin, and they were very good to me. It was Tina who gave me my first color and convinced me to wear my hair short, so having Tina at the scissors for the first haircut was symbolic, a circle-of-life moment, and I’m glad she was willing to do it.

I was okay until she started on the bangs. I had decided to leave the bangs alone. But the hair that would be bangs (honestly, can you call nose-length hair “bangs”?) was always in her face, and she was always trying to push the hair out of her eyes. It needed to happen, but it was hard for me, especially since I had to physically hold her head. She didn’t mind, though, because she was sucking on baby crack a cherry Dum-dum. Thanks, Tina.

To see more before, during, and after, go here.

I mentioned twice in my last post that I didn’t want to talk about the day we spent at my grandmother’s. I just want to clear up any misconceptions about WHY I don’t want to talk about it and why it was unpleasant. It had NOTHING to do with MY family and everything to do with missing my grandmother, and with dealing with her husband, who is NOT a part of my family. She married him 8 years ago, and he has in the last five months shown himself to be the cretin we all suspected him to be back then. Mama died in August; he allowed us to enter the house in December to get any personal effects of hers we might cherish and want to keep. It was an us-against-him thing, and my family–my ACTUAL family–had nothing to do with the crappiness of it all.

Also, the aforementioned post now has photo links–NO, REALLY, it does now, not like when I originally posted this announcement earlier this evening; seriously, I can’t believe no one made a comment like, “Hey, doofus, THE LINKS DON’T WORK!”–and there are, like, a gazillion new pictures in Flickr. Here’s a mere taste.

One year ago…

…today.

Happy birthday, my beautiful laughing girl, sweet love of my life.

What? I’m supposed to have WORDS?

Okay: Read Catherine Newman’s Waiting for Birdy. Very funny, and so, so true. And so much more interesting than ANYTHING I might crank out here tonight.

We have this autumnal practice here in the south of going to “see color.” Leaf color, that is. It usually involves the car and a day trip to somewhere due north or west–somewhere where there are mountains. I’m guessing this is because, for the most part, the fall color in this particular region usually lasts for around, oh, 30 minutes before the leaves all turn brown and fall to the ground.

Not true this year. Yesterday I had to drive to a neighboring city for a school library conference, and I was stunned by the beauty of the trees lining the highway. It was breathtaking. If I didn’t know any better I would have thought I was looking at an artificial backdrop that someone hand painted. There was just enough balance of reds, oranges, and golds, with the occasional evergreen thrown in. The trees were bold and bright, and they blended perfectly into one another, and against yesterday’s weird half sunny-half gunmetal gray sky, they were as beautiful as any autumn mountain vista I’ve ever seen.

Even though it was the buttcrack of dawn, and even though I was late to my conference, and even though my university adviser and district supervisor told me there was really nothing they could do if my principal decided I had to teach a class, the leaves were beyond gorgeous. It was the best part of my day.

That is, until I went home to this:

And also, this:

10 month old

When pants attack

The coolest piggy bank on the block

Buckets of rain

Zoo trip

Old news (new camera)

I started doing these little monthly updates for the same reason that a certain well-known blogger does monthly letters about her daughter: changes, both physical and mental, happen so fast with babies, and I didn’t want to forget anything and end up posting something in December like, “You’ve grown a lot.  You’re a year old. You’re a big girl now.” Unfortunately, I’m pretty much at that point at present. I believe my last monthly update was in June, and if I remember correctly, it was actually addressing things that happened in May. Lots of things have happened since then. In truth, you have grown a lot, and you are a big girl now. I know, I know…it’s only downhill from this point. But instead of looking at my lack of monthly updates as a failure, I’m going to approach the task from now on in the same way I might approach, say, a baseball game. I call myself a fan, but I don’t really have the staying power to sit through a game, so I have the TV on in the background, but mainly I just want the highlights.

Incidentally (she scrambles to clarify with horror), I am not comparing my parenting style to this method of viewing baseball. I am in merely criticizing my own blogging habits. I am a bad blogger. I do not think I am a bad mommy. You may claim otherwise in the future, but it will most likely be because you are 12 and pissed that I took away your stash of Absolut. For now, though, if motherhood were a baseball game I would be right there on the front row, or on the field, or in the dugout, or, as my life goes lately, in all those places at once. But lately I am more of a listen-to-baseball-from-the-kitchen-while-I-fold-laundry-and-do-dishes sort of blogger. Just to clarify.

That being said, the following is not a play-by-play of the past few months, but rather a rundown of the highlights. These highlights are not really in order, and my definition of highlights may not necessarily reflect the kinds of things baby books have stickers for, and some of the highlights are more like lowdowns, and since that probably makes no sense I will start there.

• You are not even nine months old, and already you have been to three funerals. Two of them were for your great-grandmothers. It pains me–physically, deep in my heart–that they aren’t around to see you, to enjoy the little person you continue to become. They both got to meet you, though, and Mama was probably the first person besides Dr. T. to witness your birth, because every time I looked up in the delivery room her face was peeking over his shoulder. Lately I get the feeling she’s peeking over mine, so maybe she’s watching you evolve after all.
• Your personal transportation skills are wonderous to behold. Last week you used all fours to crawl, but for the past 6 weeks or so you have not so much crawled as sped across the floor in a rendition of The Worm. The only thing missing is 80s music, a headband, and a pair of leg warmers. Your latest feat is standing; you pull up on everything, and now you are starting to move sideways while holding onto things, and next you will be walking. When that day comes I will either have to sell all our belongings and become a stark minimalist, or I will have a ceiling installed on the top of your play yard (because you are also starting to understand the mechanics of climbing, and I am starting to be afraid, very afraid).
• You seem to have a texture infatuation. Whenever your hand makes contact with any surface, up to and including my flesh, you make a little scratching motion with your fingers. Sometimes this action results in sound (like when you scratch the wall next to the changing table) and you do it over and over and over until I have to find something soundless to shove under your hand lest my eyeballs explode. You also like to run your fingers through things–carpet, my hair, the cat if he’ll allow it–and you like gripping soft things like blankets, clothes, and your Wee Hairy Beastie. And also, when I am leaning over you changing your diaper, my boob, which you also use as a handle when pulling up to a standing position.  
• You are freakishly like me in many ways. For example, I am a texture freak as well. Also, you hold your pinkie finger out for no obvious reason; I do this, also for no reason in particular. Most recently, your preference for having your face covered while sleeping has become quite pronounced, a preference I have as well. It baffles me that at 8 months old you do things I have done my whole life. How did you learn these things? Is there a gene for “sleeping with face covered”?
• Blowing raspberries is one of your life’s passions.
• You have experienced lots of firsts lately. You rode a boat and a golf cart for the first time. You went to your first baseball game over the summer, and last week you attended your first high school football game. We were sitting right under a loudspeaker, so I was sure the announcing would scare you, but you seemed not to notice it. What scared the daylights out of you, I am sorry to say, was another baby. This particular baby is a month younger than you, but you are the same size, and every time she “talks” to you, you have a complete meltdown. I don’t understand it. Is she saying something mean? And finally, you saw your first live cow a few days ago. You love “fake” cows–stuffed, sculpted, painted–and you love other animals, so I thought the cow would be a hit. I think I can safely say you didn’t actually SEE the cow, so fascinated were you by a giant paper Taco Bell cup on the ground outside the pasture fence.
• You have two teeth now, both on the bottom. I had been waiting and looking for the first one for so long that I didn’t even notice when it finally popped. The second one was a different story. I actually considered helping it along with a pair of pliers at one point, but it is finally visible and the whining, GOOD LORD, the whining, is starting to diminish.
• You are a constant source of joy. This, above all, is how I would define my time with you so far: joyful. You laugh so easily, and you are interested in everything around you, and when I come home in the afternoons and you see me and your squeal with delight, I feel a gratitude to the universe so big and powerful it takes my breath away. I know every mom probably feels this way about her kid, but I believe you are special. There’s nobody on earth like you, and now that I have you in my life, I understand all the things that came before, all the trouble and sorrow and work, all the growing and learning and living: it was leading me to you. And just so you know, I’d do it all again.

Ti amo,

Mommy

In keeping with my regular habit of having too much to say and too little time in which to say it, I am saying nothing for the moment. Instead, I present for your perusal my favorite photos from Labor Day Weekend. If you are so inclined, you can view all of the pictures here.

*Mia’s actual words were “Duh-duh-duh…drrrrrrrrr…HOTAH!” But I’m sure that’s what she meant.

Coming soon: highlights from this month in words and pictures.
08 25 07 009 copy, originally uploaded by tbgdee.

Remember that thing I told you about the other day, the really horrible thing? I am choosing not to speak of it at this time. It is even more horrible than I thought, and I don’t want to talk about it right now. Nonetheless, I appreciate the wishes of love and light more than you know.

What I would really like to talk about today is this little person with whom I now share a life, this little person who, in the weeks and weeks when I was not blogging, turned 6 and then 7 months old. I know I am biased, but she is truly amazing, and while the rapid passing of time is a little bothersome to me, I don’t really have time to be sad about her growing up right before my eyes, because watching her grow up right before my eyes is entertainment at its finest. With this to watch on a daily basis, who has time to pine about the past?

When she was brand new and just starting to grow into herself, I worried about milestones and development; I worry less about those things now. Who am I to pass judgement on when my daughter sits up when I, after almost 33* years of living, still walk full speed into door frames and trip over hairline cracks in the sidewalk? No, it is better to focus on her special skills and talents. For example:

• She can trill–roll her tongue–like a proper Spanish or Italian speaker, something many adults I know cannot do. Not only does she possess this skill, but she also has the ability to add different sounds to the trill. Sometimes she sounds like an exotic jungle bird, and sometimes she sounds like a motor, and sometimes she sounds like Cujo preparing to chew through a chain-link fence.
• One of her favorite foods is the Cheerio, slightly dampened and in large quantities. I have watched her pick up a Cheerio in a delicate manner, with her thumb and index finger, her tiny pinky extented. However, this is not her preferred mode of eating Cheerios. Mostly she picks up handfuls with both fists and shoves her hands into her mouth while making a hungry, enthusiastic chomping sound to rival Cookie Monster.
• She is an accomplished kicker. There is never a time when her feet are not moving. Even when she is on her belly doing her version of crawling (or The Worm, which is a much more accurate label) she is tapping the top of her right foot on the ground. It is cute, the kicking, until it gets all up close and personal with your stomach or an unprotected boob. Case in point: every morning this summer, instead of putting her back into her bed after the 6 a.m. bottle, I have put her in bed with me and enjoyed some snuggle time. But lately I have abandoned this practice because even in her sleep she is capable of a well-placed kick. It was all fine and good when I was awake: we would both go back to sleep after the early bottle, and then we would wake and lie in my bed and play until it was time for breakfast, and even though it was like being in bed with a tiny part-camel (she likes to blow raspberries), part-lobster (she also likes to pinch little pieces of skin with her vice-like thumb and index finger), part-donkey, it was a good time for both of us. But being jolted out of sleep by a tiny soccer kick to the chest–not a good time.

 And then there are those “normal” things, the baby book milestones:

• She sits up completely unassisted. If she starts to topple she steadies herself with her hands, or sometimes just by balancing herself with her own core strength. Yesterday she went from her stomach to a sitting position all by herself for the first time.
• She babbles. Her favorite syllables are “babababa” and “dadadada.” Whenever she says the latter I ask dramatically, “Who IS this Dada you speak of?” and she laughs impishly.
• She moves rapidly from point A to point B. It can’t be called crawling–like I said, it’s more like The Worm of Disco fame–but it’s fast and quite effective nonetheless.
• She waves, but mainly at things that aren’t there, or at herself in the mirror.
• She has started trying to pull herself up on things. Yesterday my mom put her in a round and fairly deep laundry tub, and by pressing her butt into the back and pulling up with her arms, she stood up by herself. It was a scary sight for me. Already I am considering tethering her to something so she cannot climb into the fireplace or escape out the front door.
• She is an accomplished peek-a-boo player and prefers the “cloth over face” method to the “hands over face” method. At first she would only pull the cloth from her own face, but now she pulls it from whatever face it is concealing, up to and including the Wee Hairy Beastie’s.
• She still has no teeth, but every day I am convinced all of them are going to emerge all at once based on the vehemence with which she chews on everything in sight.

I have wished in the past few days that I had the ability to cast a patronus and ward off the “dementors” (because I’m sure this is what they feel like, this cureless, constant ache), and I have wondered what my patronus would be if I had one. And then I see this, and I realize I don’t need a patronus, or perhaps I already have one.

*GASP.

1. A question (for my Harry Potter friends): if you could have any magical power from the Harry Potter series, what would it be? What magical object would you like to possess? Me, I want to Apparate, and I really dig Hermione’s magic purse from book 7.

2. A request: Amanda! When I go to your blog I’m told it no longer exists! Where did you go?

3. A healty dose of paranoia: Have you ever discovered that bloggers who used to link to your site suddenly stopped linking to your site? Or is that, you know, just me? Was it something I said? Did I inadvertenly offend someone? Is it because I bottle-feed my baby? Am I in SEVENTH GRADE?

4. A picture: Mia and I spent yesterday afternoon visiting my friend MJ at her lake house. It was the lake I grew up on and spent countless hours swimming in, and yet…yesterday, floating around in brown water, the likes of which could be concealing all manner of scaly, slimy, slithery things, caused me to freak out a little. But I got over it, because my kid, she likes the water. So much, in fact, that she FELL ASLEEP while we were floating around, too-big life jacked be damned. Here we are a little while after the nap. Check out her hair exploding from under the cap. Do you think Art Garfunkel was my donor?

I’ve been composing this post in my head for, well, since you turned 5 months old almost 3 weeks ago. Work was too busy for blogging, and all of my spare time at home has been devoted to getting you to nap (Jesus, are you ever going to sleep during the day for longer than 15 minutes?). I am jumping at this brief opportunity–you have been sleeping for 3 minutes and I figure I have around 10 before you start inserting your limbs between the crib bars and then screaming for me to free you.

This past month was full and frenzied from my point of view. I was finishing up work for the year, which doesn’t deserve any further comment here We also went on your second road trip–a family reunion in West Virginia, where you got to meet your great-great aunts and lots of cousins. We stayed at Papa’s house, which you loved, because someone was holding you all the time, even when you were napping, and I swear you looked at me at one point just before dropping off to sleep all, “See, this is what naps are supposed to be like. You see I’m not screaming? Remember this next time you try putting me in the crib.”

On Sunday morning, a few hours before we were supposed to leave Papa’s house, Aunt Mary called to tell Papa that Nanny D. had died. You got to meet Nanny D. at Easter, and she was so glad to get to spend time with you. I’m glad she got to spend time with you, too. I spent lots of hours playing and sleeping and drinking grape Kool-Aid and eating spaghetti at her house when I was a kid. I’m sorry you won’t get to experience those things with Nanny D., but there are lots of people in your life who will fill the gap. I know you will eventually understand it in a way you are too young to comprehend now, but you are so loved by so many people.

You started eating solid food this month on your doctor’s recommendation. I was planning to hold off on the solids until 6 months, but since you’re a bottle baby Dr. L. thought it would be okay to launch the hard stuff. I’m in the minority on this issue, but you are thriving, you’ve never had an ear infection or any other illnesses, you have been alert and observant and aware for a frighteningly long time, and when I sign to you at feeding time you watch me with such intensity that I am certain you’re going to start signing your own creation theory any day now. When you haven’t won the Nobel Prize by age 25 you can blame me for not breastfeeding you, but for now you’re leaps and bounds ahead of many of the babies we know in real life, some of whom are older than you. But I digress.

So far you’ve eaten, in this order, rice cereal, apples, carrots, bananas, and oatmeal. As expected, your first few bites of rice cereal were met with much gagging and retching, but after a few days you were sucking the spoon like it was a chicken bone full of juicy marrow. The next week brought apples and more gagging, and some sort of noise I can neither explain nor replicate, and when I laughed at you for making it you puckered up and cried. Sorry, but you do have a flair for the dramatic. Unfortunately for you, your dramatics don’t really affect me; I invented those tricks. I got to eat whatever I wanted as a kid. I got to take my plain Mickey D’s hamburger happy meal to the Taco Bell because I “don’t like” tacos. I got to eat cinnamon toast and Cheerios before bed because I was hungry since I just couldn’t eat that meatloaf we were having for dinner. I am only recently not a picky eater; I do not want you to be a picky eater. So yeah, I laughed at your apple noises–and dreaded your introduction to carrots, all the while wondering if I could put cinnamon in your evening cereal. Pshaw. You are full of surprises, and one of those surprises is a sincere devotion to the carrot. You love carrots. You eat carrots with amazing fervor, as if you have been waiting your entire short life for carrots.

The only thing you like better than carrots is your new jumper-bouncer thing. I think its technical name is “jumperoo,” but even typing that makes me feel ridiculous, so I’m hereby renaming it the River Dancer. You LUH-HUVVVE bouncing. Bouncing has brought about a whole new set of sounds and facial expressions, and I watch far less TV since this source of entertainment entered the house. I shot some really bad, really dark video of you in the River Dancer using my regular camera, and since I didn’t know I couldn’t flip the orientation of a video clip, what my readers are about to see is a) shadowy and b) horizontal when it should be vertical, requiring them to crane their necks to the left to watch. They will understand, though. They’re nice that way. And they will be glad they watched because then they won’t have to ask why I named your jumperoo “River Dancer.”

I also celebrated my first Mother’s Day this month. I am not into ceremony, and I don’t like being the center of attention, but your Nonna and MaGayle made sure I got cards and goodies. They are sweet, and it was nice to be celebrated, but the real celebration, the kind that makes you feel full of joy and pure elation came later, when it was just you and me and we were getting ready for bed. You were sitting behind me in your Bumbo seat jabbering and chewing on a rawhide (KIDDING! I kid) while I brushed my teeth and washed my face. Suddenly you got very quiet, and your silence startled me because you are VERY smart and I’m waiting for you to figure out how to beam yourself to other parts of the house, or to Nonna’s house, where you will probably be allowed to eat nothing but carrots and plain Mickey D’s hamburgers for breakfast until you are 18. But you were still there, and you were still breathing, and you were watching me with a look of satisfaction on your face. I looked down at you and before I had a chance to say a word your face melted into a smile, and your arms and legs started waving, and you made your little happy monkey sounds (see video), all as if to say, “Yes! This is my mom! Isn’t she GREAT?” I can’t imagine any gift you could ever make or buy to top that moment. And just so you know, I echo your sentiments. “Yes! This is my daughter! Isn’t she GREAT?”

It’s mine! I licked it!, originally uploaded by tbgdee.

I am short on words today–busy, busy–but if a picture is worth a thousand words, here are a few hundred from my daughter on my behalf.

Last weekend Mia got to meet her five great-aunts at her first family reunion. This weekend she’ll attend her first funeral and bid farewell to one of her great-grandmothers, Nanny D, whom she met over Easter. It’s all very circle-of-life. I’m really grateful for the time I’ve had with these women, and I’m really grateful to have these pictures:

What Mia thinks about (___________), originally uploaded by tbgdee.

Fill in the blank with anything that’s bringing you down these days. Mia will support you. My fillers for this evening: cramps, the President, and that guy in front of me at an intersection earlier this evening with a pair of silver testicles hanging off of his truck’s trailer hitch.

And NO, I didn’t stage this picture. I would never do such a thing. Use it for entertainment now that I’ve discovered its existence? Sure thing! Enjoy!

Even when I am shelling out big bucks for home appliances, wetting my dirty hair with icewater, and fantasizing about commiting violent crimes against teenagers, I never forget that I have this to look forward to every single day:

Tonight I’m making pineapple salsa, and Mia and I are going to sit on the screened porch and watch the birds. And just for the record, only 11 more days.

clouds and marshmallows, originally uploaded by tbgdee.

I finally uploaded some new pictures of The Offspring to Flickr. Click on this picture–one of my all-time favorites–to see the rest.

I have wanted to do this for a while, but I need extrinsic motivation. Trista gave me the motivation I needed when she posted her own virtual home tour. True, someone asked her to (no one asked to see my house), and her tour shows off the many home improvement projects she and Kristin have been working on in the past year (I have not really improved my home since 2004 when, with the help of a large team of people, I painted and built the screened porch and deck– unless you count the nursery). But I’m one of those people who loves driving or walking down my street at dusk because people have their lights on and you can see inside their houses*, and I’m fascinated with other people’s houses. I love looking at how people place things on surfaces, what they hang on their walls, what colors they use. So if you are like me and you like peeking in windows, here are some more windows for you to peer into**. There are notes and descriptions on many of the photos, so if you’re interested in those you’ll have to look at the pictures individually.

La casa di HD

*No, you do not need to call the police. I like looking at the house, not the people in it.

**Yeah, I ended a sentence in a preposition. I’ve been awake since 4 a.m., I spent the day with 14-year-olds, and I haven’t eaten since noon. Prepositions are the least of my troubles, wouldn’t you say?

I have finally caved and purchased Photoshop. I don’t understand Photoshop, really, but during my 30-day free trial I discovered a few cool features by accident, and I decided that with some instruction I could make excellent use of the program.

Please, if you are a Photoshop user, explain your favorite features and how you use them. I am especially interested in and baffled by the whole concept of layers.

And if I don’t get any comments, which has been the case around here lately, I’m going to start wondering a la 7th grade if you people aren’t my friends anymore, and then I’ll have to act out or start hanging with the wrong crowd just to get your attention, and you wouldn’t want that now would you?

I have to go back to work tomorrow. I’m not happy about it. I’ve thought about posting all week on an assortment of topics, but unless I put Mia in her sling and nail it to the wall behind my desk, I can’t see her when I’m at the computer. And I want to see her. Every. Minute. Of the day.

I’m sure there will be plenty to blog about come tomorrow, but now I’ve got to go play with my kid.

I blatantly stole this idea from Amanda, but I couldn’t get the cute little player to load on my site, so I had to settle for a link. I think you’ll agree it’s worth the extra step.

La mia cara Mia

My daughter is 2 months old today. I have started my monthly post to her, but it is not finished. This is something she should get used to. I am rarely on time. Meanwhile, here is what she looks like today.

My most unique body parts are my ridiculously long toes. As I am currently in desperate need of a manicure and don’t want to gross you out with photos of my feet, I’m posting Mia’s feet. They are miniatures of my feet. I always hated my feet and toes, but now that I see them reproduced detail for detail on my daughter, I will never complain about them again. I’ll start referring to them as “unique.”

uncomfortable
Originally uploaded by tbgdee.

Okay, so I’m behind on Photo Friday yet again. But I knew as soon as Cali posted the theme that this would be the subject of my photo. Only pantyhose would have been more appropriate, and I stopped wearing those years ago, so I don’t have any lying (or hanging) around to photograph.

I have always loved photographing windows. These are a few of my favorites–the first two literal windows and the third, not so much. All three were taken in Greece. The first and third photos were taken in Rhodes, the second in Mykonos. In my humble opinion they are better viewed larger; click on the pictures to see them full size at Flickr.

This episode is best seen and not read.

The Oreo Cows

The very best way to enjoy music is at an outdoor music festival.

Seen here is my friend Tret Fure playing her fine music at the Yahara Street Festival in Madison, WI. The Yahara Street Festival is a small neighborhood event; I was in Madison for Tret’s Tomboygirl Festival, and my pals and I were lucky enough to attend the Yahara Street Festival the next afternoon.

This was taken at the Shakori Hills Festival of Music and Dance. On the left is Jim Lauderdale, and on the right is Bill Reynolds of Donna the Buffalo. The energy of this concert–of the entire festival, in fact–is the reason I love live music.

This was taken in Beckley, WV in December 1958. My dad was five; Mary was three; Palley was around four months.

This was taken a few months later, in San Diego. My mom was four, Karen was five, and Jeff was a little over a year.

I never met my dad’s father–he died in a coal mine when my dad was 15. My mom’s dad and I were very close; he died of complications from kidney failure when I was 15. These are my favorite pictures because I feel like I’m getting a glimpse into a time I wasn’t a part of, but will always be a part of me.

spices
Originally uploaded by tbgdee.

During the brief time I actually subscribed to R*eal S*mple magazine–you know the one with those ideas that are supposed to make your life easier…if only you had TIME to try them…–I came across this idea. My spices were old, mostly in bottles, and crammed into a cabinet where I could hardly reach them. When I saw this, which is actually a set of watchmaker’s tins with tiny computer labels on the glass lids, I tossed the expired bottles, bought a bunch of fresh herbs and spices, and voila! The only thing crammed into the back of that inaccessbile cabinet now is the airtight container that houses all the extra “fresh” stuff. I have two of these, and they take up almost no space because they are flat, so I can put smaller everyday things on top of them and not make a total mess every time I use a pinch of something from the tin.

As for my fine trunk, well, my hairdresser is still in there. I’m waiting for my cousin Louie to come dispose of the body. Kidding. I kid. Or do I?

I found my creativity! It was inside my sewing basket! Who knew?

I have been feverishly sewing away on these since early last week:

I’m not a very good seamstress, but I am resourceful, so I make a lot of things up as I go. I also make a lot of mistakes. The first curtain panel took me a total of 9 hours over three days; the second took me 3 hours in a single afternoon. The purple dress is a “big sister” present for my god-daughter, whose world is about to be completely turned on its side by the impending arrival of Baby Matthew. Purple is Kate’s favorite color, and I thought she might appreciate a gift more than Matt will on his official birth day. The dress also took about 3 hours start-to-finish, but again, mistakes were made. I’m already prepping the next few dresses with those mistakes in mind, so hopefully my 3 hours will be better spent this time around.

bath
Originally uploaded by tbgdee.

Before and After
Originally uploaded by tbgdee.

This is a story of embarrassment (those dead plants were in my house for months) made right.

Even though my mother always freaks out a little when she sees this picture–she says it reminds her of “The Ring,” which I have thankfully never seen–it’s one of my favorites, and a perfect tribute to rainbows and love and such. Suzanna is the sweetest, most patient dog I’ve ever known. She is always happy to see me, and most everyone else, for that matter. She welcomes strange animals (Chapin, for instance, and later Harry) into her domain. She would rather play with the gnawed remains of her hedgehog toy than the most expensive item on the shelf at PetCo. She allows herself to be subjected to a number of uncomfortable actions and seems to believe me when I say they are good for her: Q-tips in her ears, nasty tasting medicine, baths at the grooming salon, baths in the front yard under the water hose, eye drops, nail clippers. She will get up from her already warm spot on the floor and follow me three feet across the room if I decide I’d rather sit on the couch than in the chair, so long as she’s touching me (or the blanket I’m covered up with). She smiles, teeth and all, when she sees people she loves. Suzanna has been with me my whole adult life. No matter what comes out of me come December, she will always be my first baby. There is no better dog than Suzanna.

If you’re interested, this picture looks much better in its original size.

Happy Summer Solstice. Yes, I know, Solstice was yesterday, but I was celebrating and did not spend much time on the computer. Actually, that is a lie. I forgot that yesterday was Solstice because I had no idea what day it was–as far as I’m concerned, the first sign that summer is truly underway. I was out running some errands and noticed a sign announcing the Summer Solstice Celebration at the Arboretum, so I called up my friend Linda, who happened to be available (another sign that summer is truly underway: spontaneity), and we joined what must have been at least a thousand other people at one of our city’s most beautiful parks to ring in Summer. Linda had radical back surgery in January and rotator cuff correction two weeks ago, so we mostly stayed put and let the drummers and dancers come to us, although I did walk the length of the park to see what else was happening. Okay, that’s also a lie. I was looking for the bathroom, as pregnancy for me is, at this point, one long series of trips to the ladies’ room, but I did get to see the festival in its entirety on my journey. I also ran into some friends–first Joy and then Molly–and proceeded to run into them again and again throughout the rest of the evening. Linda and I also ran into some kids we’d both taught–J. and C.–and they spent most of the night with us. It was a great evening, and it reminded me that I don’t take enough advantage of my city, its parks and culture and special events. Note to self: one cannot spend an entire summer in one’s lounge pants and a tank top pajamas on one’s screened porch ogling the birds, rabbits and chipmunks.

The highlight of the night was the Fire Dance. I attempted to photograph other things throughout the evening: dancers and drummers, fairies, goddesses, cute little kids with face paint and angel wings, but I wasn’t using my flash and the twilight was a little too filtered to capture much more than a series of blurs. Not so with the Fire Dance. I played around with settings and finally settled on manual continuous exposure, which I think was a good decision considering the results. I’ll let you be the judge:

Fire Dance slideshow

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I could really use some advice from all you dog people out there. Here’s the situation: Suzanna has an ear infection, which is, I have no doubt, a result of her flea allergy. She is on flea prevention treatment–Frontl*ne–but she’s been scratching miserably, just like she does when she gets bitten by a flea. So yesterday when I picked up her heartworm medicine I asked the vet on duty at the Animal Wellness Center how exactly Frontl*ne works–does it repel fleas, or does the flea have to bite the dog in order to die or be repelled. Much to my dismay, the latter is true. I tried to explain that this is not a viable option for Suzanna due to her allergy. The vet’s response: “Well, you could always use a flea spray on your carpet.” Eh? Is that supposed to keep fleas from biting my dog who lives outside during the day?

I have not always used Frontl*ne. For years I used Advant*ge, and it seemed to work–no fleas, no itching, no red ears and belly. The Wellness Center recently stopped selling Advant*ge and switched to Frontl*ne because it was “a better product.” I assumed it worked the same way, as the application process was the same, but apparently I was wrong. Now my poor dog is miserable. I think we have conquered the ear infection with an antibiotic that smells like hair permanent solution and must taste horrible, but she swallows it right down, and with positive results so far. But it obviously does not do anything about her flea allergy, or her fleas for that matter, and I’m at a loss. The vet told me the other topical products were all the same, that the fleas had to bite to be affected, so buying anything else was pointless. I’m not sure I believe her.

That’s where you come in. I need flea and allergy advice, stat. Suzanna is quite patient, but I can tell she’s uncomfortable. I am willing to try whatever you suggest. And if anyone is interested in two tubes of Frontl*ne for dogs 26-50 lbs., email me your address and I’ll send them to you–they are of no use to me.

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In other news…

…I will never shop at my local S*ears again. On Tuesday afternoon I saw, on the shiny concrete floor of America’s oldest department store, the biggest cockroach I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Seriously, it looked like The Bug from “Men in Black.” I abandoned my purchase and left immediately, because what if this mutant creature had deposited offspring in the pockets of the shorts I was going to buy? It was crawling toward the tool section when I fled; I think it was planning to make off with a nail gun and some tires. Watch your back.

…and speaking of bugs, I was nestled in my bed last night, all ready to flip on the TV and fall asleep before the intro theme music to “Will and Grace” finished playing, and that’s when I spied the spider on my ceiling. We’ve all been there. First we rationalize: well, as long as it stays there it’s fine. Then we think: but what if it does move? What if it falls? On me? While I am sleeping? And bites me? Then we are wide awake, so immediate action is our only hope for sleep. I have vaulted ceilings, and the spider was, of course, at the very highest peak, so I fetched the retractable ceiling fan duster from the linen closet, an object I had used just a few days before to kill a wasp in the skylight in my kitchen. If you’ve ever tried to squash a spider with what is basically the handle of a 10 foot-long feather duster, you know it’s hard to achieve just the right hand-eye-handle coordination. The spider eluded me. Then it started crawling down the wall. Toward me. I ran for the obligatory massive wad of paper towels (so the spider wouldn’t touch me, of course), and struck and flushed the intruder in a matter of seconds.

You should know I’m not usually this squeamish and girly about bugs, but there’s a place for bugs, and that place is not inside of S*ars or my bedroom.

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And finally…I have finished my mix CDs for the Crazy Mixed Up CD Group. I’m listening to the final cut as I type this, and I think it’s safe to declare the CD ready for distribution. Look for it in a mailbox near you early next week.

Blackberry milkshake 1
Originally uploaded by tbgdee.

Blackberries are second to vine-ripened tomatoes on my list of favorite summer foods. They’re usually not ripe and ready for eating until July, but last weekend at the farmer’s market I found some big beautiful ones from coastal NC, and I could hardly contain my excitement. I bought vanilla ice cream especially for those blackberries, and this is the YUMMY end result.

A few of my favorites…

St. Mark’s, Venice

Mykonos, Greece

Niagara Falls, Canada

Tucson, Arizona

I took both of these pictures in London in 1994. My interest in photography began there. I’ve always been very proud of these pictures.

I give you…KONG! Cat Kong, that is.

Now starring in a new feature film, “Cat Kong vs. Catzilla!” Behold, Catzilla!

I took these last week during a thunderstorm that was supposed to bring tennis ball-size hail and multiple tornadoes to my area. They said so on The Weather Channel. I am terrfied of tornadoes, so I curled up on the floor with the animals and my favorite comforter and watched “Friends.” Might as well go out happy, I always say. But neither the hail nor the tornadoes ever came, and once the thunderstorm was over I just stayed in the floor, mainly because Suzanna was so happy to have me on her turf that she positioned herself just so on the comforter and pinned me to the ground. I had my camera nearby (I don’t know, maybe I was going to attempt to photograph the airborne cows), so I snapped these pictures of Chapin, who was less inclined to snuggle and more interested in walking across my head. I didn’t set out to make him seem like a giant, but seriously, it’s not difficult. He IS a giant. On the outside. On the inside he is a wuss, a baby, a drama queen. I wish I could record his teeny little voice for you, and then these pictures would be even more amusing.