Have a Bite

There have been a lot of memes going around lately mocking the obsession with people posting pics of their food. I simultaneously get the joke and am guilty of trying to capture that moment of yummy. I think the desire to share a pic of your dinner on any one of the social networks you use is just as clear as the desire to share a bite of that dinner with the person sitting with you at the kitchen table, on the couch or in the fanciest restaurant of your life. The point is you want to share what you love, what brings you so much joy you just wish everyone you know could have a bite of it. That includes your sandwich.

Boxed Set

I never like myself as much as when I am looking through my boxes of memorabilia. People talk about their life flashing before their eyes, well I have my childhood right there in my hands. The sense memory of a time, the times we really want to remember. I get to hold onto people even if they aren't in my life anymore, by their choice or nature's choice. Lifting the lid is the backwards motion of closing my eyes and rummaging through time, my time. The bag of marbles that I won off all the boys at recess, my ballet slippers and tap shoes, my first pair of ear rings that Todd ripped out of my ear so that I had to get my ears pierced again, the gold medal from my Dorothy Hamill doll, and my first diary still locked.

The jewelry box holds a turtle pendant that used to have solid perfume in it and was one of the first presents a boy every gave me, tiny red rocks from my visit to the old Hansen Planetarium that I used to think were more precious than gold, and one of my most favorites, teeny tiny books that I made for my barbies that I bound and illustrated in color.

There are funny things like the empty Pepsi can with Michael Jackson's signature on it (this was right around the time he caught his hair on fire) and my Madonna lace gloves. Then, there is the bright red plastic Hello Kitty notebook with a note inside that says in pencil "love you forever, Stephie" that knocks the wind out of me, reminding me how impermanent it all is.

I am making my newer/later versions of memorabilia boxes. They are my bookshelves. They are my blog. They are my family. They are my friends. Whenever I open one up, I like myself a little more.

It isn't so charming

Heidi's Charm School Rules

1. Don't be stupid.
(you would presume this would make nothing else needed for the list, but let me continue)
2. Don't spit.
(personally I feel there should be a heavy heavy fine for spitting in public, say a limb, or your life)
3. Don't scream at your kids across the parking lot.
4. Don't park your kitchen chair in front of my door and whittle wood, then leave your mess of shavings for me to clean up.
5. Don't be surprised when you try to park your hide and whittle again I give you the "If you could type this out it would say how F$%king stupid are you and don't come near my door again" look.
6. Don't spit.
7. Don't be a Clumpy Cougher.
8. Don't clang, scream or smoke right in front of my door.
9. Don't think the stairwell is the playground.
10. Don't think I can't train Peanut to sick on command.

More Please

A small list of happy today:

Grown women giggling at the dollar store while buying hula-hoops.
Kids walking home from school and having sprinklers block the sidewalk but they run through them anyway.
My Mom leaving me TWO messages on my phone in the short time I was away.
The Chinese Crested puppy playing with the Great Dane at PetSmart.
My Bunnies.
Les Miserables at Pioneer Theater with my Best-Mom tomorrow.
The gorgeous weather.
My Bunnies.
My life.

Turn, Turn...Turn the Channel

I really do not think Edgar Allen Poe would watch "The Following." Nor would Beethoven listen to Lady Gaga. Wordsworth would never come back from his walks if he knew what people nowadays associate with romanticism is Nicholas Sparks. I doubt Monet would hang with Kinkade. If there is a season to everything, then in what kind of season are we today?

It was C.S. Lewis that said "We read to know we are not alone" and yet with all the Non-Reality of reality television and the literal judging it encourages, all it does it make a person feel further and further from another person. The magical art of GREAT storytelling is in essence to give the audience a crib sheet for life. "Here, I present to you life in this setting, now learn how to live yours." The opposite seems to be presented lately, how NOT to live. Don't be in a murderous cult, don't be anywhere near Jeff Probst, don't think Adam Sandler is still funny and don't look to Gordon Ramsey for, well anything.

How can I say such things? How can I be so judgmental? Easy, right before I wrote this blog I got distracted by a cat in a shark outfit riding a Roomba while a duck chased after it. What would C.S Lewis say about that?

Follow Through

I went golfing for the first time with my Dad and Brother today. Yeah, you read that correctly. Now, my forehead, nose and the top of my head where my hair parts might be sunburned, AND I had to spend the day with Butthead #1 and Butthead #2, but this was seriously some of the most fun I have had in quite some time. The day was so glorious; there were geese, ducks and water turkeys (besides Todd) mountains, clouds, sunshine, breezes AND I hit the ball from the men's tee all the way onto the green. First try. I drove the cart and kept score for my Dad and Todd. I asked questions when I didn't understand and they were so patient and helpful. When the breeze was too chilly, I turned into the sun and felt its warmth. I can feel what is the beginning of my swing in my shoulder and wrist this evening, reminding me of the day. Today, I kept my eyes on more than the ball.