Second Blooming

And the Living Was Easy

Ten Favorite Things About My Summers Growing Up -

(in no particular order)

Barton Springs -

An Austin institution. Barton Springs is a public pool, made by damming Barton Creek, and filled with natural spring water from Barton Spring. The water remains a nippy 71.6 degrees year round. And if you've ever endured a Texas summer, when temperatures may remain over 100 degrees for a couple of months, that 71.6 is like a little piece of heaven.

When I was in Junior High/High School, we'd get our moms to drop us off there in the morning, and we'd "lie out" all day. The routine was to grease ourselves up with Bain de Soleil and bake in the sun as long as we could stand it. Then we'd get up and dive into the water until we'd lowered our body temperature to the point we'd start to shiver, then we'd climb out and start the process over again.

Water Wiggle-

 

I LOVED my Water Wiggle! It was probably the most unsafe, violent toy ever made, in fact, they were all recalled and taken off the market in 1978 when a bunch of kids...mmm...died. That thing would whip around like crazy, wrap around your legs, smack you in the head and shoot a spray of water into your eyeballs. FUN!

Cokes -

Used as a generic term. In Texas idiom, the word "coke" refers to any soft drink, what you people from the rest of the country might call "pop" or "soda".  Example: "May I please have a coke?" "Sure what kind do you want?" "Dr. Pepper, please."

I seldom if ever drink cokes of any kind any more, I gave them up years ago. But when I was a kid, there was absolutely nothing as refreshing as an icy cold Coke or a Dr.Pepper or maybe even a Big Red. Served over ice. Preferably out of a blue Solo cup. Ah! That carbonation rush! That sugar rush! That caffeine rush!

Dang, I might have to go buy me a Dr. Pepper now.

Kaysie's Pool -

My best friend Kaysie's family had a pool. I think that I could safely say that I spent half of my time during the summer days of my youth in that pool. We would stay in the pool for so long that we used to get something we christened "pool toe", a painful malady which involved little sores on the bottom of each of your raisiny toes from walking around on the bottom of the pool. We sunbathed, we floated, we "Marco Polo"ed, we practiced diving, we practiced synchronized swimming. When we got hungry, thirsty or too hot, we'd wrap up in towels and head into the air conditioned sanctuary of the kitchen, where their family's housekeeper, Onita, would give us tuna salad sandwiches and a coke. And by "housekeeper", I mean maid, as in The Help. Onita took good care of us.

Kaysie's Ranch -

Kaysie's family also owned a ranch, out in the Hill Country near Johnson City. I loved that ranch as much as any place in the world. They had 400 acres, and we had the run of the place. The house was a modest version of South Fork, but we spent most of our time on the land. We rode horses and mini bikes. We fed the cows. We went swimming in the creek. By the time she was about 10, Kaysie knew how to drive a car, so we could just drive the old ranch truck around the property by ourselves.  In the summer, my family let me spend weeks at a time out there - it was such a wonderfully freeing experience. I am so blessed to have had this opportunity. And I'm blessed that I can still take Jude to "The Ranch" when we get to Texas.

Days of Our Lives -

During the rest of the year, I only got to watch Days of Our Lives when I was home sick, but during the summer, I got to watch it every day! Mama and I would arrange out lunch around the soap schedule so we could watch together! The romance! The scandal! Julie and Doug, Maggie and Mickey. It was fodder for many of my childhood romantic fantasies. I can't believe I actually found this on YouTube  - still made my heart flutter...

 

Mimosa -

The tree, not the beverage. Daddy had planted a mimosa tree in our yard, and it was my official climbing tree. I spent a ridiculous amount of time up in that tree. I was a climber. When I think about it, I can still remember the smell of the bark and the way it felt against my skin. And the flowers had the most heavenly smell. I remember picking the feathery blossoms and brushing them back and forth across my face. Aaaaah.

Tubing -

Another very Austin activity. Austin is surrounded by creeks and rivers, and and the best way to enjoy these natural phenomena is in an innertube. When I was a kid, we used to go to a place called Pedernales State Park, where you could tube down rapids and fly over waterfalls. The closest I have ever come to death, was once when I went off a waterfall at Pedernales and the water held me down. I struggled and struggled and finally was able to get to the surface before I drowned. Sadly, people are no longer allowed to go tubing at Pedernales because too many people drowned. Spoil sports!

When I got older, tubing always included tying a six pack of beer to the back of your tube with a rope. The water kept the beer cool, and all you had to do was haul the rope in when you got a little parched. A good time was had by all.

My Portable Record Player -

One year, my parents gave me a record player much like this one...

It was an amazing machine. It ran on batteries, and I could take it outside while I sunbathed in the backyard. I would slather myself with baby oil mixed with iodine, then rub lemon juice in my hair and bake in the sun while listening to Chicago or Barry Manilow or The Captain and Tennille or the soundtrack to A Star is Born. The only hazard was that you had to be careful not to put the record player in the direct sun, or you'd melt your album. Which was very sad indeed. Please do not comment on my incredibly dorky teenage taste in music.

Texas Peaches -

The Texas Hill Country is peach country. Most of you have probably only eaten peaches which have been stripmined in California or Mexico or something. The real deal is incomparable. I'll never forget once bringing some peaches back to LA after a visit to Texas, and my boyfriend at the time ate one. He looked as if he had achieved nirvana. "It's like candy!" he kept saying, peach juice running down his face.  They are a phenomenon which has to be experienced to believe. Every summer of my childhood, Mama would go to a peach orchard where you could pick your own. And Kaysie's mom actually grew her own at the ranch. The smell of those peaches absolutely defines summer to me.

As far as I'm concerned, there are only three ways to eat Texas peaches. 1. fresh. 2. as peach ice cream - either homemade or from Bluebell Creamery or 3. in peach cobbler. Or for complete overkill, peach cobbler with Bluebell peach ice cream on top! Here are peach cobblers at Kaysie's ranch...

 

 What do you miss most about your childhood summers?

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This post was inspired by...

Prompt #4 -  List your top 10 favorite things about summer growing up.

Invention

In the past, I have talked about my tendency to blog while in the bathtub. Every time I mention this, commenters remark upon its peculiarity, and wonder how I make it happen.

Well, let me share...

First of all, I must explain that I am a Pisces. And therefore I love me some water. I am happiest in the water. I am most relaxed in the water. I am smartest in the water.

I love a good shower. And I love a good bath. But my favorite thing is a shower-bath, a phrase I coined in my youth. I have been doing this since high school. I will sit in the bathtub with the shower on and the tub stoppered. So basically, I am soaking and showering at the same time. Please don't point out the vast amount of water I use doing this.

I always do my best thinking in the water. When I was in college, I devised a method of putting my textbooks into Ziploc bags, so that I could study in the shower-bath. I also have been known to put a script inside a Ziploc so I can memorize lines in the shower-bath.

Unfortunately, it is a bad idea to take one's laptop computer into the shower-bath, even inside a large Ziploc bag. Therefore, I have been forced to adapt.

In my bathroom, the toilet is right next to the bathtub. So I place the laptop on the toilet. I then fill the bathtub with water. I get into the bathtub, turn my body sideways and squat like an Amazonian tribeswoman so that I can reach my arms out of the tub to type. Because I have to keep the shower door open in order to reach my arms out, I am unable to perform this maneuver in shower-bath mode. Here, in a brilliantly rendered drawing, is how I look...

It is not particularly comfortable. You will notice that I am also attempting to balance a nice glass of Sauvignon Blanc, which can prove difficult.

So here's what I need...

One of you dear readers needs to design for me a large, floating plastic bubble in which I can encase my laptop. It would need to have some sort of plastic sleeves which I could stick my hands in to type. Kind of like what they have so you can hold a preemie in an incubator. And while you're at it, I could use some kind of long tubelike device through which I could suck up my Sauvignon Blanc. This would free up my hands, and keep the wine much cooler outside the shower-bath.

Here I am enjoying the new invention. Notice that I am now able to stick my legs out in front of me in a more civilized manner...

So...let me know when you've worked that out.

Any inventions you'd like me to work on for you?

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This post was inspired by...

Prompt #3 - An invention you'd like to see created.

Eats

If, magically, I was granted one day during which I could eat anything my little heart desired without gaining a single ounce, risking a heart attack from clogged arteries, or vomiting from over-eating, I would eat the following...

Beignets and Cafe au Lait from Cafe Du Monde in New Orleans.

Fresh and hot. And when you eat them, you get powdered sugar all over yourself and up your nose.

Fried Catfish from Mama's House on Crenshaw in LA. With a side of Mac and Cheese and those  Greens cooked with ham hocks and some of that Louisiana hot sauce and a big iced tea.

Jan's Balsamic Glazed Brussels Sprouts with Pancetta

The above picture is used entirely without Jan's permission, but I'm hoping that my saying that her recipe is one of my favorite foods on the Planet Earth will make her okay with it.

These Chocolate Chip Cookies...

Prime Rib from Lawry's Prime Rib in Beverly Hills. Lawry Cut, medium rare. With both the Creamed Spinach AND the Creamed Corn, and that weird salad in the spinning bowl. And the Yorkshire Pudding. And a Manhattan.

Pennsylvania Dutch Eggnog.

Pasta Carbonara made with this recipe...

1 lb. pancetta (or bacon)

1 lb. spaghetti

3 eggs, beaten

3 tbsp. butter

3/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

1/3 cup chopped fresh parsley

freshly ground pepper

Fry pancetta or bacon until it is very crisp. Drain on paper towels and crumble. Cook spaghetti in a large pot of boiling, salted water until just tender. Drain spaghetti and pour into a very large bowl. I like to use a large stainless steel bowl which I've run under hot water to warm up. Pour eggs over the pasta and toss to coat the strands evenly. Add butter and toss again. Add Parmesan, parsley, pancetta and lots of pepper and mix thoroughly.

Queso Flameado with Chorizo from Guero's Taco Bar in Austin, TX. Wrapped in homemade corn tortillas. Heaven in a bowl. Seriously. When I go there, I don't even order an entree. Just a couple of margaritas and a big bowl of cheese filled with pork.

and while we're in Austin...

Chicken Fried Steak from Threadgill's in Austin TX. Smothered in cream gravy, with mashed potatoes and fried okra and blackeyed peas. And corn bread. And a Shiner Bock beer. Heaven smothered in cream gravy.

and...

Homemade Peach Ice Cream, made with ripe Texas Hill Country peaches. A taste that you have to experience to understand. Heaven frozen.

A rack of Baby Back Ribs. Dry rubbed with Grub Rub...

then grilled, and then baked, smothered with MY barbecue sauce. And PLENTY of napkins.

Key Lime Pie - I don't care where it's from, as long as it's made with real Key limes, and isn't dyed with green food coloring. Either whipped cream or meringue is acceptable.

Port and Stilton Burger from Umami Burger in LA. Blue Cheese and port caramelized onions on a huge, meaty burger. With the sweet potato fries.

Mama's Chocolate Cream Pie -

1/3 cup flour

1 cup sugar

1/4 tsp. salt

2 cups milk, scalded

2 1-oz. squares unsweetened chocolate

3 egg yolks, beaten

2 tbsp. butter

1/2 sp. vanilla

baked pie shell

1 cup heavy whipping cream

3 tbsp. sugar for whipped cream

Mix flour, sugar and salt; put in top of a double boiler and gradually add scalded milk. Add chocolate and cook until thick, stirring constantly. Add small amount of hot mixture to the egg yolks; stir into remaining hot mixture. Cook 2 minutes. Cool. Add butter and vanilla . Pour into baked pie shell. Whip heavy cream with sugar. Spread on top of thoroughly cooled pie.

Hmmmm.

I guess that's it. Just enough sweet. Just enough savory. Lots of pork. I could then die a happy woman. I am really very hungry now.

So...what would you choose?

This post inspired by...

Prompt #1 - If you had one day to eat anything you want and not gain a single ounce what would it be?

The Mind of the Dog

What our little dog, Fancy, thinks about all day...

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This post was inspired by...

Prompt #4 - List 7 things your pet thought about today.

The Lie

FADE IN:

Texas, 1967. A little girl named Gretchen is playing in her room by herself. Like most only children, she often plays alone, creating a lively and complex fantasy life inside her bedroom. On this day, she is playing with her blanket, Nicey, using him as a lasso to catch an ornery troll doll, who has escaped his home, which has been elaborately constructed inside an old suitcase.

GRETCHEN

You come back here! I'm gonna get you!

She takes Nicey, and starts to swing him around and around, wildly making circles with her little arm, flinging that blanket around as hard as she can.

GRETCHEN

(continued)

You're not getting away, you naughty troll!

Suddenly, while being flung around, Nicey the blanket catches the corner of the glass ceiling light fixture, yanking it down, where it smashes into about a million shards of glass all over the room.

GRETCHEN

(continued)

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!

Gretchen freezes amidst the rubble. Mama runs in from the kitchen

MAMA

Oh Lordy! Lordy! Lordy! STAND STILL! DON'T MOVE!

(she surveys the situation)

Are you cut?!! Let me see your face!! What happened?!!

GRETCHEN

(deer in headlights)

I was...playing...the light...just...mmm...it just.......

...........................................BOOM!

MAMA

It just exploded?! Oh my goodness!! It must have overheated!

GRETCHEN

(starting to cry)

Uh-huh.

MAMA

Oh my baby! I am SOOOO sorry! You poor thing!!!

Oh thank the Lord you are not cut! Oh my goodness,

oh my goodness!

Gretchen runs to Mama for hugs and kisses. Mama cleans up the horrible mess.

FADE OUT.

Thus began my mother's lifelong obsession with wattage. After examining the fated light fixture which had "exploded", Mama discovered that it had been fitted with two 100 watt light bulbs. Clearly, this had been a fateful error on her part, causing the fixture to overheat and shatter.

She was henceforth extremely careful about how much wattage she put in a fixture. We were not allowed to EVER put a 100 watt bulb into an overhead light, only in lamps. It could only ever be two 60 watt bulbs.

For twenty years, every time my mother discussed bulb wattage, I cringed with guilt.

CUT TO:

Texas, 1987. Gretchen, now 26, and Mama push a cart into the grocery store. Mama fishes her grocery list and reading glasses out of her Coach bag. She pulls on her glasses and reads the list.

MAMA

Okay, I'll go get the milk and the bread. Why don't

you go get the light bulbs.

GRETCHEN

Okay.

MAMA

Now don't get the 100 watt bulbs. Get the 60 watts ones.

NOT the 100 watts!

GRETCHEN

(starts to walk away, then stops and comes back)

Mama? Do you remember the time when I was little that

the light fixture in my room exploded?

MAMA

Oh heavens, I'll never forget that! It scared me silly!

GRETCHEN

Mama...I lied.

MAMA

What do you mean, you lied?

GRETCHEN

It didn't explode. It was me.

MAMA

Now don't be silly, of course it exploded.

GRETCHEN

No, it didn't. I was swinging Nicey around, being goofy,

and I broke it. I hit it and knocked it down.

MAMA

No, honey. I had two 100 watt bulbs in the fixture, and it

overheated and shattered. That's what happened.

GRETCHEN

No, Mama, it was me. I lied to you!

MAMA

That is just silly. It overheated! It scared me to death!

I have been very careful about this ever since then.  Very careful.

GRETCHEN

Uh-huh.

MAMA

Now you run along and get the bulbs, and I'll get the milk and

the bread.

GRETCHEN

Okay.

MAMA

But DON'T get the 100 watt bulbs! Get the 60 watt ones.

GRETCHEN

Yeah, okay.

Mama pushes her cart to the dairy case. Gretchen sighs, shakes her head and goes over to pick up the light bulbs. The 60 watt ones.

FADE OUT.

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This post was inspired by...

Prompt #3 - A lie you told. 

Life Partners

Prompt #4 - On "The Bachelor" a rose is given to the women he could really see himself spending the rest of his life with. What six things in your life would you like to give a rose to and why?

And so, in my own personal rose ceremony, I am hereby asking the following things to stay with me for the rest of my life.

Grandma's Iron Skillet -

For many, many years, Grandma's iron skillet lay unused in a drawer. I was suffering from Fear of Iron Skillets. I had been seduced by the promises of Teflon. Then a few years ago, I pulled Grandma's skillet out of the drawer and put it into use, and we have been living happily ever after. Things to know about iron skillets - 1. They are not dirty. 2. They are not hard to clean. 3. They are easy to "season" - a quick Google will give you about 5 million how-to demos. 4. They heat so quickly and evenly that you will never want to ever use a lousy Teflon skillet again. For everything you ever wanted to know about the Iron Skillet, please visit Michele's post HERE.

Lavender Blue Tablecloth -

Every year, a French linens company called Lavender Blue sells their wares at Jude's school's Christmas boutique, which I run/organize. A couple of years ago, I spent hours staring and thinking and worrying and fretting and finally deciding to actually purchase one of these gorgeous tablecloths. It cost way more money than I should have been spending on a tablecloth for MYSELF right before Christmas, but I just couldn't resist. It's pretty and timeless and WASHABLE. And it fits my dining room table perfectly, no small feat. I use it all the time. And it's so classic and well-made that I like to think that some day, Jude's family will have it on their table and it will be referred to as "Grandma's tablecloth".

Ugly Old Comforter -

It's old. It's ugly. I love it. This ugly old twin comforter was on my bed back in college. At the time, it had matching curtains and a pillow sham, now long gone. It's made of a faded peach floral print. Remember when when everything was peach? Is peach even a color any more? It is now terribly worn and very soft. It goes on every camping trip, and is what I want to wrap myself up in when I have a cold.

The Necklace -

Several years ago, I stuck these three gold charms on one chain, and started wearing them all the time. I hadn't realized that I was really wearing it ALL THE TIME, until one night when I didn't have it on, and Jude gasped "Mom! Where's your necklace?!" I love each of these charms very dearly. The one on the left is a James Avery open heart charm, which Mama and Daddy gave me for my high school graduation. James Avery is a beloved Texas Hill Country jeweler. The middle charm is a Miraculous Medal, which Jimmy gave me just after Jude was born, and the charm on the right is a Black Hills gold cross, which Mama and Daddy gave me for my baptism. I love them all, and sort of feel naked without them.

The New Throw -

Okay, I know I've only just started it, but already, I know that the new throw that I am knitting will be a KEEPER. I started it on Ash Wednesday as a replacement for the stupid games I have given up for Lent, and here it is so far...

...it needs to be finished and edged and steamed. It's soft "like buttah" and the coolest kind of grayish/greenish color. Can't WAIT to get it finished and curl up with it!

My Church Choir -

I've been singing in the A Cappella Choir at Blessed Sacrament Church in Hollywood for 12 years now, and I can't imagine ever wanting to leave. I'll end up being that little old church lady who, despite an aged, crackly voice, still sings in the choir until her children move her into "the home". It's always a joy, always challenging, always a learning experience. I adore the people. I adore the music. I adore being an active, productive part of my church. And I love my weirdly liberal Catholic church.

Here are a couple of recordings I have dug up, which hopefully will illustrate to you why I love my choir so much. First is from The Seven Last Words of Christ by Theodore Dubois - The First Word. Our baritone soloist is John Schaefer and our tenor soloist is Louie Ulanday...

 

BSC First Word

The next is an African-American spiritual called Every Time I Feel the Spirit...

 

Every Time I Feel The Spirit

So, what things do you want to spend the rest of your life with?

 

Song Analysis 101

In 7th Grade, my English teacher, Mrs. Dahlquist, decided that a groovy way to get us interested in poetry analysis would be to have us analyze a contemporary song. I chose Killing Me Softly With His Song, by Roberta Flack.

Though I was a straight A student in English, I remember this being a humiliating experience. I somehow completely misunderstood the song. I'm afraid that poetry and song interpretation is not my thing, and frightens me. In situations like this I tend to get a wee bit over-analytical, and sound slightly officious, even though I don't have any idea what I'm talking about. Looking at the lyrics now, I can't imagine how I could have gotten things wrong, but I remember the very kind Mrs. Dahlquist writing a rather lengthy explanation when she graded it. I did NOT get an A.

And so, in an attempt to right my failure from the past, I, a middle-aged white woman, will now analyze a contemporary song for you.

I have chosen Young, Wild & Free, by Wiz Khalifa and Snoop Dogg.

Young, Wild & Free

Written by: Wiz Khalifa and Snoop Dogg

"Young, Wild & Free" by Wiz Khalifa and Snoop Dogg is an American rap song, which is, on the surface, a drug anthem, a celebration of teenage drug use, specifically the use of cannabis. But through the clever use of repetition, structure, diction, simile and irony is a paean to the carefree days of a lost youth.

The song lyrics are divided between two very different men. The first, voiced by Wiz Khalifa, aka Cameron Thomas, is very young and enthusiastic about his freedom and joie de vivre. His repeated use of the phrase "So what?" indicates a lack of adherence to cultural expectations. He is clearly reveling in his simplistic life, "When you live like this you’re supposed to party, roll one, smoke one, and we all just having fun." Living a relaxed, carefree time with his dear friends and having fun with the ladies ("Keep it real with my n-ggas, keep it player for the hoes.") while partaking in large quantities of illegal drugs.

The second man, voiced by veteran rapper Snoop Dogg, aka Calvin Broadus, is a much older man, looking back with fondness and longing upon a youth spent in the same vapid endeavors as the first man, but with the knowledge that his led a pathetic life during which he killed too many of his brain cells. The fact that Mr. Dogg is decidedly not young (he is 40), nor wild (he is a married father of three) and often not free (he has been arrested 7 times for marijuana possession, most recently on January 7, 2012) leads me to theorize that this part of the song is meant to be ironic.

Through a clever use of rhyme and simile, the older man laments the loss of his youth ( "It’s like I’m 17 again, peach fuzz on my face.") and the squandering of money ("Dippin’ away, time keep slippin’ away, zippin' the safe, flippin’ for pay, tippin’ like I’m drippin’ in paint.") And with the line "Oh my god, I’m on the chase, Chevy, It's gettin’ kinda heavy" the writer is clearly commenting on the man's advanced years by referencing Chevy Chase, a cultural icon of the '70s, and well-known pot user.

Throughout the song, the use of the simplistic, inane, irritatingly repetitive chorus effectively illustrates the influence of longterm marijuana use on the human brain.

In the end, the two men come together, while the older man sings of...a lot of things with initials ("T-H-C, M-A-C, D-E-V, H-D-3"), clearly representative of...the initialness of our world. And then they become resigned to their life of stonedness and choose to "roll one, smoke one, When you live like this you’re supposed to party, Roll one, smoke one, and we all just having fun." Which must certainly be interpreted as an analogy for the meaningless nature of the modern American teen culture.

Maybe I should have stuck with Roberta Flack.

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Afterthought...

The other day, when this song came on the radio while Jude was in the car, I quickly changed the channel, wanting to protect him from lyrics such as "So what we get drunk? So what we smoke weed?" Actually thinking the sentence "These young people and this terrible rap music!" inside my head. Later that night, when we were all sitting down to eat dinner, Jude started singing in a loud, happy voice "Everybody must get stoned!" Yep, Daddy had been listening to Dylan with him!

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This post influenced by...

Prompt #2 - Analyze a popular song you heard on the radio…what exactly does it all mean?

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Bedtime Story Redux

Disclosure: This is a repost from two years ago. But I love it, it fits Mama Kat's Workshop's prompt so perfectly and it defines my marriage succinctly, so here you go...

Bedtime Story

11:45 PM

Gretchen has once again stayed up too late doing something important and meaningful on the computer while taking a hot bath and drinking wine. Satisfied after achieving a new personal best in Family Feud, she closes the laptop, gets out of the tub, dries off and covers her body with all of her various special creams. She brushes, flosses, pulls on pajamas, and exits the bathroom.

She tiptoes into Jude's room and finds him lying spreadeagle, having kicked off all the covers, but with one arm firmly clutching his four favorite stuffed animals. Sweet. She tucks the blanket around him, sticks her nose into his neck and inhales deeply, then gives him a kiss.

When she enters her bedroom, she finds Jimmy lying in bed, sound asleep, with the television blaring. As usual. David Letterman has just sat down post-monologue and is chatting with Paul.

She walks to her side of the bed and tries to get into her spot. Unfortunately, Fancy, the dog, has chosen Gretchen's spot as her spot, and is also sound asleep, legs and belly pointing to the ceiling.

"Fancy. Come on honey. You gotta move."

The dog looks up, pissed.

"Move honey. Come on."

The dog won't move. Gretchen manages to shove her slightly to the right, and jam her own legs into the tiny space allotted her by the dog and the husband.

She then carefully arranges her pillows the way she likes them. Five pillows. One particular pillow under her head, two special large pillows on each side of her, creating her little nest. Unfortunately, Jimmy has one of her special pillows under his head. Stealthily, she eases it out and eases a "not special" pillow into its place without waking Jimmy. Whew.

Pillows arranged, she then pulls yet another jar of special cream out of the bedside table and rubs it into her hands and arms, followed by Vaseline, which she applies to her lips and forehead wrinkles.

All ready for bed, she looks around for the remote control, so she can turn Letterman off. Damn. No remote in sight. She looks around on Jimmy's side. On the floor. Under the covers. No remote.

She extricates herself from the sheet and blanket and pillows and dog, walks over to the tv, and punches it off manually. She then crawls back into the bed, squeezes herself back under the covers and arranges her pillows again. Fluff, fluff, fluff, pat, pat, pat. Satisfied, she reaches over to turn out the light on the bedside table.

"And the man said...banana!" says David Letterman. The audience laughs and applauds.

Gretchen sits up.

"What the...?"

The television is on again.

Puzzled, Gretchen looks around. The remote must be in the bed somewhere, and she has accidentally hit it. She does another thorough search for the remote. Nothing.

"Well, this is ridiculous." she says to herself.

Again, she extricates herself from the sheet and blanket and pillows and dog, walks over to the tv, and punches the button manually. A little harder this time. She crawls back into the bed, squeezes herself back under the covers and arranges her pillows yet again. Fluff, fluff, fluff, pat, pat, pat. Sighing heavily, she reaches over to turn off the light.

"And my son Harry said...It was like a monster dance!" says David Letterman. The crowd roars with laughter.

"No way!" Gretchen says, sitting up again.

She looks at Fancy, who is sitting up now, looking disturbed.

"Fancy! Did you do that? Are you on top of the remote?"

Gretchen digs her hand under the dog, disturbing her thoroughly. No remote.

She searches under the sheets, under the pillows. She feels around Jimmy, careful not to wake him.

"Well this is just silly!"

Gretchen angrily kicks aside the sheets and blankets and pillows and dog. Gets up and walks around the bed, smacks the off button on the tv, gets back in the bed, jams her feet under the covers,  jerks the covers back over her and arranges her pillows yet again. Fluff, fluff, fluff, pat, pat, pat. She reaches over and quickly turns off the light.

Silence.

"Number Two: Do I get a jet pack?" Much laughter and applause from the Letterman audience.

"NO FUCKING WAY!"

Gretchen sits straight up in the bed, the room filled once again with the light from the television.

Gretchen then realizes that the bed is now shaking violently. She looks to the right and sees that though Jimmy still has his eyes shut, his entire body is shaking with laughter. Slowly, he pulls the remote out and hands it to Gretchen, never opening his eyes.

"Oh, VEEERRRY funny, Mister." Gretchen says, snatching the remote and finally turning the tv off.

Dramatically, she settles herself at last into her nest of pillows.

Slowly, a sound builds in the dark and quiet room.

It's the sound of Gretchen giggling so hard that she's crying. Jimmy joins her, and they both laugh themselves to sleep.

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Inspired to repost by Mama Kat's Prompt #2 - A time you were tricked.

Who's That Knocking at My Door

Ten points if you get the obscure movie reference of the title.

The history:

One of Jimmy's best friends is a guy named Joe. I have talked about him before. Here.

Joe is a nice-looking, 50-something, Italian-American, never-been-married, consummate-playboy, Peter Pan syndrome-epitomizing, terribly-charming actor. Even though Jimmy's known him forever, and Jude considers him "Uncle Joe", he's the guy that I would NEVER set one of my girlfriends up with because the man is TROUBLE.

As I said in the post I linked above, which I'm sure none of you clicked on, over the many years, I have become something of a  mother/confessor/sister to him. He comes to me with his endless woman problems. He always flirts with me, but I'm pretty sure it's because he considers me "safe" and nonthreatening.

Joe's "women problems" are epic and endless. He is a hopeless romantic, who falls in love hard, then always manages to manufacture some tragic reason why they could never stay together. His girlfriends are usually wonderful women, who I like immediately. But then he always finds...a problem. He often obsesses. Can we say "restraining order"?

He idealizes women, putting them on such a lofty pedestal that they have no possibility of doing anything but falling. I think he idealizes me. I seem to be the wife/mother figure that he knows he could never have.

Over the years, he has moved back and forth between Los Angeles and New York many times. Presently, he lives in Manhattan. But when Jude was born, he was living in LA.

The Set Up:

When I was pregnant with Jude I gained 60 pounds. Shocking, but true. So...keep that in mind.

DISCLAIMER: Any man reading this, who wants to continue to idealize women...please stop reading now. The truth is about to be spoken.

I gave birth to Jude on May 6, 2003 at 6:38 a.m. at Cedars-Sinai Hospital. After birthing, we were taken to our hospital room.

Anybody who has endured a vaginal birthing experience knows that after pushing out an 8 lb, 6 oz, 21 inch baby, a woman's hoo-hoo is a disaster. Dreadful things like "ripping" and "stitches" happen. Not a pretty picture. Keep that in mind too.

I'm afraid I don't know if this is standard at every hospital, but at Cedars, after giving birth, they provide you with the following items:

1. Rubber surgical gloves filled with ice. One uses these as ice packs to reduce the hoo-hoo swelling. Every new mother is instructed to stick the icy glove between her legs and keep it there.
2. A girdle-like sheer nylon mesh thing - like the top of a pair of pantyhose. The new mother is told to put it on and use it to hold the aforementioned glove of ice on their poor, swollen hoo-hoo.
3. A hideously unattractive hospital gown, which opens in the back. 

Keep all of that in mind.

The Event:

On the afternoon after Jude's birth, Jimmy left the hospital to go home and feed the cat, and I was left alone in the hospital with baby Jude.

Now, when I say alone, I don't really mean alone, because at Cedars, the nursing staff is so annoyingly diligent that they NEVER leave you alone. About every 15 minutes they were knocking and entering and questioning and checking and fiddling. Aggravating and exhausting. They would not leave me alone.

At some point, Baby Jude, who was asleep in his tiny bassinet, woke up and started to fuss. I managed to drag myself out of the hospital bed and shuffled over to pick him up. When I reached him, there was yet another of the endless knocks at the door.

"Yes, what IS IT?!" I cried out as I bent over to pick him up, my back to the door, and accidentally allowed my hospital gown to fall to the sides.

You've guessed where this is going, haven't you.

The door flew open and in walked...Joe.

And there, right in front of his face, was my fat, naked ass, squished like a sausage into that see-through, diaper-like girdle, with a big ice-filled hand stuck between my legs.

Joe shrieked like a little girl, dropped the gift he was carrying and fled down the hall.

As soon as he had managed to return his eyeballs back into their sockets and stop hyperventilating from the horror of his vision, he returned to the room. By then, I had managed to pick up the baby, crawl back into bed, and arrange myself into a Madonna and Child-like tableau, in an attempt to erase some of the trauma from his mind, and restore for him some of the vision of perfection he had previously expected of a new mother.

We never spoke of this. I was a tad embarrassed. And he was almost certainly deeply scarred.

But I have to say, I was glad I remembered to get that bikini wax before I went into labor.

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This post was inspired by...

Prompt #1: Who was at your front door?

Please visit Mama Kat for more inspired and inspiring posts!

Pinned

I have a love/hate thing going with Pinterest. I go through spurts of interest.

Pinterest interest.

I'll suddenly get enthusiastic and spend a couple (or six) hours clicking around and repinning. But then I'll forget about it and not go on for weeks.

The other day, I started worrying about our backyard again. Periodically, I'll do this. Worry about the yard. It's very ugly. Full of unrealized potential. But ugly.

Lots of dead grass. Lots of ugly concrete. Really, truly needs help.

But unfortunately, I have...

1. No money.
2. No skills.

Well, I have a little money. And a little skill. But these two things in combination make the whole thing seem overwhelmingly impossible.

So I decided that maybe if I started collecting pictures of what I'd like to have, maybe it would inspire me into action, and Pinterest seemed like a good place to collect these pictures. I've collected quite a few. Which are getting repinned like crazy. Apparently, redoing the backyard is a popular issue.

Right now, this is the side of our house...

Man, that's a whole lot of ugly. But maybe it could be...

Aaaah.

On the other side of the house is our unused hideous driveway. The previous owner, a Korean contractor named Chuck, was crazy for concrete. He poured it everywhere.

Lovely, right? Please ignore the junk and dog poop. The problem is that it's just so ugly and depressing, that I can't get myself motivated to clean it up. But I would if it looked like this...

That's a "Hollywood Driveway" by the way, and historically accurate for our old Craftsman bungalow.

Here's the backdoor and the part of the driveway where I stick the table...

Okay, what if we ripped down the falling down old stoop, cut down the ficus tree (I really hate cutting down our only big tree back there, but a foundation man told me a couple of years ago that it HAD to come down soon - ficus roots are the WORST for foundations), jackhammered up all of Chuck's concrete, put in flagstones and a pergola? Could end up like this...

Heaven, right?

And then there's our neighbor Natalie's garage. Sigh. A problem. Totally falling down and hideous. And yes, that is our "pool" that I never took down from the summer.

But maybe I could cover it with something. Or plant something to screen it.

I mean, that looks sort of doable.

And I'd like to turn this...

The traffic cone's a nice touch, right? Into this...

But seriously? I'd be happy if we just had real grass.

I keep thinking that I could start fixing things up a little at a time, take a side of the yard and work my way around. But the main big daunting thing that keeps getting in my way (other than the no money/no skill thing) is a lack of...irrigation.

I do not have a green thumb. I kill plants. Because I never remember to water them. It's tragic. We have tried. We really have. We own sprinklers. Several different kinds of them. We just never remember to...turn them on. We just don't have that "lawn person" gene that my Daddy had.

Therefore, I need a sprinkler system. You see, Los Angeles, is really just one big irrigated desert. I mean, it doesn't rain here, guys. Well, it rains. It rains for about a month solid. That's what we call rainy season. But for the rest of the year - nada. So everyone has sprinkler systems. Our front lawn has a sprinkler system, and it manages to stay nice and green and lushish, despite my sprinkling failings.

So I keep thinking that maybe I could install a sprinkler system by myself. How hard could it be? Dig some ditches. Lay some pipes. Attach some sprinkler heads. I could look it up on the internet.

And before you ask...Jimmy is useless. You might as well ask Woody Allen to come and install pipes in your yard. Jude would be more help. I'm on my own here.

My friend Carol once suggested that we could get a big group of women together and make a day of it, we'd rent a Ditch Witch from the Home Depot and put in my sprinkler system. I could make margaritas for everybody and we'd have a big sprinkler party. But I just can't find it in myself to actually ask people to come to my home and DIG DITCHES. It's just too pathetic.

What do y'all think? You think I could do it on my own?

I have two things I'm going to do this week to make at least a bit of progress in this backyard department.

First, the City of Los Angeles has this A Million Trees program, wherein I can sign up through the Department of Water and Power to get 10 FREE trees. I just have to promise to plant them in the ground someplace where they will eventually provide shade and thereby reduce energy consumption. I don't really need TEN trees, but I think my friend Eileen's going to take a couple. If anybody else wants one, let me know.

Second, I have discovered that HGTV is currently "casting" THREE backyard renovation shows! I've just got to submit the pictures and a charming and appealing plea for their help. I'm ON IT! Wish us luck!

In the meantime, I'm going to keep adding to my Dream Garden board on Pinterest. I could certainly go with some bougainvillea...

And everybody needs a firepit...

And of course I want...

And in a perfect world...

But alas, I'm probably just dreaming.

But a girl can always dream, can't she? I guess that's what Pinterest's best for.

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This post was inspired by...

Prompt #2 - Are you on Pinterest? Share the last five items you pinned, choose one and let it inspire a blog post.