Now That’s Just Freaky!

For the last five weeks my hubby and I have been unemployed because we are seasonal workers.  We have been spending our time reading, going to the library in town a couple of times a week.  He started out reading Michael Moore, Noam Chomsky, and Howard Zinn.  I read Naomi Wolf’s “End Of America” and Al Franken’s “Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them”, before I moved on to several cookbooks.

One day we were watching Iconoclasts on TV. The particular episode we were watching featured Deepak Chopra and Mike Myers.  I had heard a little bit about Chopra in the past, but Jim had never heard of him. In the show, they were discussing a little bit about his philosophy and talked about one of his books, “Ageless Body, Timeless Mind”.  So, the next time we went to the library we checked it out.

Jim is very impressed with the concept of everything being connected that Chopra  stresses in his book. He is especially interested in learning more about Aryuveda, and in the aryuvedic way of eating practised in India.

The freaky thing that happened is that because I had checked out a cookbook on Indian cooking, I had a list in my head of new herbs and spices I wanted to get the next time we had a little money to spend on such things. We were given several Wal-Mart gift cards for Christmas and went grocery shopping with them. While we were there, Jim came over to me in the spice aisle, and said, “I want to get some ginger, some curry powder, and some Chinese Five Spice Powder.”  Those are the exact same three that I had on my list!!! Freaky!!

Written by...Babe Karen -- @ Guest Blogging Babe of the Month, Love & Marriage, Seriously Now, Shopping | Comments (2)

Dad Never Told Me There’d Be Twist Ties

 

 

 

So the presents are wrapped. The cookies are baked. The tree is decorated and The Boy is in bed. Notice I didn’t say asleep? That’s because sleep probably won’t come for a while for a eager five year old. There’s nothing left to do but put together all the “Santa” toys.

My Dad once told me about all the late nights he spent putting together bicycles and doll houses. It can take a while for one child; I can’t imagine how Dad did it for six. Things were so much different then too. For the most part toys came in a box. Contents were either taped down or left loose. Nowadays we’re not so lucky.

Putting together toys is no longer the most time-consuming Christmas task. It’s getting the toys out of their packages. Today’s toys are stapled in or lashed down with heavy duty twist ties. In order to open boxes one must have the following supplies handy: wire cutters, screw drivers, scissors, a claw hammer and a trash bag. Oh and booze. Lots of it.

I’ve come to the realization that the people who are packaging children’s toys don’t have any kids. All they have to do is spend one Christmas Eve struggling to disengage a Transformer from its box and they’d put and end to this practice right away. What happened to good old fashion tape, anyway?

As soon as The Boy is asleep I’m going to start bringing up the gifts and disengaging them from the boxes. Hopefully I’ll still have some holiday cheer left in me when I’m done.

Written by...Babe Deborah -- @ Family & Friends, Unhinged | Comments (5)

FabGrandma’s Christmas Memories

As most good Fab Grandma’s do, I have stories that I tell my children and grandchildren, over and over, at certain times of the year, ad nauseum…It is like a tradition to tell them even if no one wants to hear them again. So, with that in mind, here are a few of my Christmas memories, some good, some bad, but memories just the same. I wrote this last year on my FabGrandma blog, but like I said, I tell the same stories over and  over…

The first Christmas I can remember was when I was about 5 years old. I had asked Santa for an electric train for my gift. Wouldn’t you know it—he did leave one at our house, but he mistakenly put “To Preston” (my younger brother) on the tag. How depressing is that? You ask for a train, a vehicle with power to let you escape into all the imaginary far away places a little girl could think of to travel, only to receive a stupid baby doll that hollers “Mama” at you, all the while peeing sweetly into her little panties. Now I suppose that in 1957 no respectable little girl would even ask for, much less actually receive, an electric train. No, we were relegated to practising to become little mothers, staying home spooning gruel into one end and wiping poop from the other, of our darling little babies, whilst our HUSBANDS, the MEN, traveled the work in their trucks, trains, and planes. I wish someone would invent the toddler doll that would wake up during the night with an asthmatic wheeze and rattle in their chest, crying “Mama” in agony while it throws up on the bed and squirts diarrhea out it’s little hiney. They could name it “Reality Check Carla” or something like that. Of course, there may not be much of a market for it, maybe young women whose husbands were pushing them to have a baby could get one for their spouse…Or, it could be part of that child care course taught to high school kids instead of using those stupid eggs. 

Oh, I’m sorry, I was supposed to be telling a story here. Well, that little electric train was really cool. It puffed smoke out of its fake smokestack. We thought that was pretty amazing. And as far as Betsy Wetsy was concerned, my older brother cut her head off to find out how she worked. 

Several years later, when I was 9 and my sister was 18 months old, I asked for a jewelry box. In my little girl brain, I could see the little ballerina dancing around and around to the music from the music box. So, on Christmas Eve, all of us kids went to bed, too excited to sleep. After a while, we could actually hear Santa in the living room. He was playing with our toys, and from the sound of it, he seemed to be talking to Mama and Daddy. Suddenly, I could hear the music box playing—I think Santa must have enjoyed hearing it because he wound it up and let it play about 15 times. So, in the morning when we finally got out of bed and went into the living room, I saw to my horror that the jewelry box Santa brought was a satin covered, velvet lined pink box that was obviously meant for a much older girl. It had no music box, and no ballerina. The music I had been hearing was a wind up Fischer Price clock for my baby sister. I was too stunned to say anything. I tried really hard not to cry. I cannot think of a single other time in my life when I have been more disappointed. 

The jewelry box I received that Christmas stayed in my possession until I was almost 50 years old. My older brother had taken a magic marker at some point and written “DUMB GIRL” inside the lid. I saw that every time I opened that box. Maybe that is why I don’t wear much jewelry. 

So, fast-forward about 30 years. When my oldest daughter was 14, she could hardly wait for me to open her gift to me that year. For weeks before Christmas I had jiggled and wiggled it, shook it and held it, trying to figure out what was inside. It was not the shape or size of anything I had asked for. On that Christmas morning, Rebecca, Emily and Seth insisted that I open that gift first. Because of that, I think maybe I expected it o be a camera. Imagine my surprise, when the wrapping paper came off, to find a little jewelry box, with a ballerina and a music box! I cried like a baby! Those were uncontrollable sobs and a flood of tears. My children sat there, the looks on their faces telling me that they thought they had done something terribly wrong. How could they even begin to understand what that jewelry box meant to me? How could they know they had given me my childhood?  That there was so much more than just a little jewelry box inside that gift? Yeah, a stupid as it sounds, that one moment is THE moment in my life that I cherish most. I still have that little music box, and the little ballerina presides over my most precious jewelry.  All the rest of it goes into an empty baby wipes plastic box. 

A year or so after I received the ballerina music box, my children surprised me again. This time, it was Emily’s gift. That year, my son and I went together on a Saturday morning to take the test for a GED. I had never finished high school and Seth had quit as soon as he turned 16.  So, to get him to go take the test, I volunteered to go with him. We both passed with flying colors, and received our GED certificates in the mail. That year, Emily gave me a high school class ring for Christmas. It has the year I took the GED test, the name of the high school I attended when I was a teenager, my first name, and a tiger on the outside of it.  There is an emerald green stone, because my birthstone is an emerald. My initials are engraved on the inside.   I didn’t cry like I did when I received the jewelry box, but just knowing how proud my children must have been of me was a wonderful feeling.  I keep that ring in my ballerina music box.

Hope you all have a very Merry Christmas

Written by...Babe Karen -- @ Blogging Babe of the Month, Family & Friends, Humorous, Way Back When | Comment (1)

Are You a Babe?

7 Babes-a-Blogging consists of 6 regular bloggers and one monthly guest blogger – to be chosen by our readers.

Would you like to be a babe? Here’s what you do:

Post a link to one of your favorite blogs posts or articles (written BY you), or make up a short but fun post and paste it below. Next week, we’re going to post a list of all of the entrants and our readers will vote on their favorite. The winner will be January’s guest babe of the month.

So what happens if you don’t make the cut?

It only means you get more exposure. Keep trying every month. Just because you’re not January’s guest blogging babe, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try again. There are some fabulous women around the blogosphere - some we know, many we don’t. We want to feature you all!

Well? What are you waiting for? Show us your stuff!

Written by...Babe Gayla -- @ Are You a Babe?, General | Comments (7)

Shopping Is For Girls

I can’t believe it. I can only attribute it to the fact that since my son-in-law, daughter and their kids moved in, bringing the grand total in the house up to 13, I have been sleeping erratically, trying to fit in blogging, trying to finish Christmas stuff…trying to figure out WHEN Marc’s boss is going to be visited by the ghosts of Christmas -past, present and future…

I can’t believe I did it …and I think it is the bad influence of…The Girl.

The Girl likes to shop. She likes to get her hair done. She likes to get her nails done. She likes pink fluffy things….she likes clothes with names on them like Antarctic something or other…she likes shoes…makeup…she is…a girl.

I have never been a girl. Not in those terms. I had to grow up very fast. I have always been responsible for someone. I can run a chain saw, throw a bale of hay, or hammer a nail. I have trimmed horses hooves, helped goats give birth, and been there for everyone who ever needed me to. I am a mom…a wife…a writer…an artist…a friend…a Christian ..but a girl?

Never. Toss me a pair of jeans, joyfully bought for $3 at Salvation Army Thrift store..hand me a sweater or a flannel shirt …and once I get my make-up on I am good to go. My morning routine takes 4 minutes, 36 seconds.

So..there is no explanation for what happened yesterday. None. Other than the evil, pink, fluffy influence of..you know who.

I got 4 inches cut off my hair. Granted, it needed it. I have not been into a hair cutter place since i was pregnant with #6 who just turned 9. I got all of the dead ends and breakage cut off AND had a deep conditioner treatment…while The Girl was having her hair done. And then…good-night, I am embarrassed to type it….I took us to get our nails done.

I was a nail virgin. Now I have these appendages at the ends of my appendages. The scary thing is that the people that do nails have really heavy accents! You go in for your nails and pretty soon they are attacking your eyebrows with tweezers and scraping your cuticles off and handing you a bill for $75 all because you nodded at them when you thought they said “Isn’t it a nice day?”

And then? Fredericks of Hollywood for new underwear..Only they do NOT call it underwear there. And the woman cashier complimented my hair AND my nails…She really thought I was a girl.

I am sitting here looking at my nails and feeling the lightness of my head (and in it) and feeling much like I think people must feel on Monday morning when the find out that they got drunk the night before and were now married..and they have no clue what their spouse’s name is.

And worst of all..I am thinking of going and having my hair colored.

Pretty soon I will be wearing jewelry.

I am so heading out to the back today and chainsawing up the tree that fell. Maybe after that I will change the oil in the van..it needs it.

Written by...Babe Marye -- @ Shopping | Comments (13)

The Sign

Yesterday when Jim and I went out to go to the grocery store, we came upon a young man standing in the island in the middle of a busy road. He was holding a handmade poster, which we assumed before we were close enough to read it that it was a plea for a handout, as in “Will work for food” as you see so often these days. But as we got closer, we could see that it said “Angela and Alexis, please come home, I love you.”  He had also drawn a bunch of hearts. 

This was a cold day, not so much like in Kansas or Minnesota where the temperatures were below freezing, but for Georgia it was pretty cool and the wind was blowing. It went right through my jacket, and I can tell you, it would take a lot for ME to be standing out there, love or no love. 

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. At first, my heart went out to this young man. I thought, awww, he must really want her back real bad to be standing out there in the cold like that. But then the cynic in me took over. I thought about all the possibilities of WHY Angela would have left that guy. It is, after all, less than two weeks until Christmas. It would take something pretty drastic for a girl to leave a guy, and take her baby (I am assuming that Alexis is a baby, because the guy was so young looking) that close to Christmas. I started thinking to myself, “Hmmm, why is he out here standing in the cold, when he should be at work.” 

It was Monday, around 12 noon, and anyone who had a job should be at that job. Maybe she left him because he wouldn’t work. Maybe she left him because he couldn’t  hold a job.  Maybe he did have a job but he spent all the money playing poker so she had none left to buy Christmas presents for Alexis. Or maybe he spent the paycheck on drugs. I was not liking this guy more and more as time went on. 

While I was walking around the grocery store, I continued to think about Angela, that anonymous young woman whose pain was made so blatantly public on the side of the road.  Maybe Sign Boy spent all the money he made on other stuff and Angela had no money to buy groceries or diapers or formula for Alexis.  Since it was the day after a weekend, maybe he stayed out all night on Friday night with “the boys” and left her sitting by herself with the baby. Or worse yet, maybe he was out with another woman, maybe the other woman was a so called friend of hers. Maybe she asked him where he had been and he beat her up, or threatened her in some way.  

While I was making dinner, I was wondering if Angela was at her mother’s house, being comforted by her family. I wondered if she would take Sign Boy back, if she would give him another chance. I wanted to be able to tell her that she was probably making the right decision to leave him. How could he be so stupid.  But then, who knows? Maybe she was at fault. Maybe not. 

What I do know, is that I have been Angela. I had all those things happen to me when I was young and had more love than brains. The only thing my ex didn’t do was stand outside with a dumb sign, begging me publicly to come back. It took me seven long years to figure out that I would be better off without him. By that time, I had two more children. It was hard being a single mother, but it was easier than being a neglected, abused wife. I hope Angela makes the right decision. Leaving is the hardest step. If she goes back, leaving again will be even harder.

Written by...Babe Karen -- @ Family & Friends, Guest Blogging Babe of the Month, Love & Marriage | Comment (1)

An eBay Beef - No, not beef on eBay…

My good friend Char has created a monster in me. I’m completely addicted to NICE handbags now and LOVE playing around on eBay to see what prizes I can snatch up for the best price.

Psst, Char, if you’re reading this… I’m really feeling like a million bucks lately, thanks to you!

A couple of weeks ago, I won an AWESOME Dooney and Bourke handbag. It’s so darned CUTE! Don’t you think?

Anyway, I waited and waited on my bag to arrive - no notice, nothing. I finally broke down and sent the seller an email on a Thursday. She stated she’d send it out Priority Mail the following Tuesday which she did. From payment to arrival, it was 19 days.

Now, I do love the handbag so I gave her positive feedback with a “slow to ship but worth the wait” notation as my comment.

She responded back with feedback for me with this notation: “Quick payment…Cannot help P.O. SLOWNESS !!!”

Now why would someone purposely lie like that? And on the feedback of someone who knows the truth?

I know people lie, but gosh darnit, don’t lie and attach the deception to me!

Did I ever tell you how much I hate liars? I know I shouldn’t take such things so darned personal, but dangit, if someone can tell a white lie so easily, doesn’t it make you wonder what else they could lie about?

I’d much rather someone slap my face as to tell me a lie.

Ok, I’m done now. I feel SOOOOOOO much better!

Now back to the bag… cute huh? And I snagged that baby for a cool $65

Written by...Babe Gayla -- @ All About Me, Shopping, Unhinged | Comments (6)