Note from the Heartland

I planned on giving up OM after twenty years, but now that world finals are over, I’m not so sure I can. I put my arm around my husband tonight as closing ceremony fireworks lit up the Iowa landscape and thought back over the last three days. Elizabeth, a 12 year old from PA took apart her parent’s dishwasher to make a penguin and took her team to first place. The Canadian group, in total innocence, had a membership sign that featured Beaver flavored gumballs. Aye? Another cute bunch of middle school kids came up with a team name of “The Chubbys”. I watched animated meerkats be taught to serve spaghetti by waiters with fake French accents, sighed quietly through 20 or more fart and poop jokes, and saw at least 10 children from do the impossible because no one ever told them they couldn’t. Now honestly, how can I walk away from this crazy creative worldview?

Fireworks over the University of Iowa
Pretend donuts the size of your head...
An ostrich, stripped of it's feathers to show how it was made to walk using the circuitry from the guitar on the floor. 
Pin trading in from of the Student Union
Chicken, sliced in half to show the delightful electronic contents that make it eat, wink, and talk
Beautiful art work from Singapore
Flamingo, quivering with excitement as the show begins. It danced, bowed, flapped it's wings and blew steam from it's eyeballs. 

Disturb not the Dream

The lady at Kroger asked me if I had fun plans for the holiday in that polite impersonal way store clerks have of making conversation. I actually prefer indifference in my checkout clerks, but I live in a small town, so unless I am talking on my cell phone, I am required to make nice. “No,” I replied, “but I’m going out of town tomorrow for the rest of the week.” I give no further details although she looks at me in an anticipatory way. Searching for a new topic she compliments my cloth bags.

     “These are really nice,” she says, fluffing out the tiny pillow into a full size silky black and white stripped grocery bag. “Where did you get them?” I confess to buying them at Whole Foods and her enthusiasm is only slightly diminished. That’s when I realize that as usual, the bagger is putting things into plastic before placing them in my bags, thus negating my green efforts. For the umpteenth time I explain to them that they will not hurt my bags by putting the groceries directly into them. Their eyes do not betray a trace of comprehension.

     “Have a wonderful trip,” intones the clerk, and then, like she was sending a soldier off to battle she says, “and be safe.” Her sincerity sounds genuine, but I am not tempted to share anything about my dread of today’s journey.

     As I walk through the parking lot I rehearse the mind numbing drive to Kentucky and then on to Iowa, both places I would be happier seeing from 20,000 feet than up close and personal. This is my 20th and last year volunteering for the creative problem solving competition called OM. The fire I once felt for it has passed. It’s time to let it go. After the closing ceremonies on Saturday we will head back to Kentucky and the final gunfight at the OK Corral. The weapons will hopefully be words, but with my family you never know for sure.

      After June 1 I am optimistic that I will never have to see my brother again in the flesh. I have searched my memory bank for happy stories that involve him, but the only one I can come up with is one winter day when I was 4 and he pulled my sister and I on a sled through the freshly fallen snow. I later found out that my mother made him do it to get us out from under foot. I sometimes feel a bit wistful when other people mention a relationship with a brother, but in truth I am mostly indifferent. You cannot mourn something you never had.

      I ran a fever last night and my husband said to me, “You don’t have to go you know.” As tempting as that sounded I told him firmly, “Yes, I do.” I pulled my other suitcase out for him to start packing. When it was time for me to sleep it was open across the bed so he moved it to let me lie down. I woke at three with fever dreams and a sore throat. The suitcase lies on the living room sofa, open, with a cat sleeping comfortably inside. I made coffee and sat down beside the cat to write out the injustice in the world. I think about how my brother hates cats, hates me, hates himself. Last night’s dreams retreat just out of my reach except for this feeling that no matter how things play out I see clearly that I am the fortunate child in my family. Artemisia snores in a soft contented sleep, oblivious to hatred in the world

The Princess and the Frog

The screech came up from the basement with the tone and volume every Mom recognizes as a 911 cry. The allspice I was measuring dropped to the floor and I raced to the sound of her voice, my feet barely touching the steps. I was ready for anything, blood, fire, or perhaps one of the deer we saw last evening running amuk through the basement.

“Mom”, she screeched, “There’s a frog!! It’s on the computer plug. Oh God, I touched it!!” There were more explanation points that that, but you get the gist of the situation. Relieved, I did my best heroine routine, wondering how the child I introduced to bugs and snakes at such a young age developed this girly thing about tiny terrified creatures. She was standing there pointing toward the wall plug and looking like the child I remember waking in the middle of the night with a bad dream. Fetching a cloth from the ragbag as to not injure the sensitive creature, I picked up the half dollar size green frog from the top of the plug where it sought shelter and carried it outside. I asked her if she wanted to see it before I let it go but she answered with an emphatic, “No!”

I left him sitting there by the flowerpot, eyes adjusting to the sunlight and body coming up to the temperature of the warm morning. Exposed, he is such a small monster, but like the ones in my daughter’s long ago nightmares, he achieved mammoth proportions in her imagination.

Back upstairs I pick up the spice jar from the floor and go back to the task of making carrot cake, happy to still be useful to my oh so grown up daughter. Although the storms are never completely over between us, we navigate this mother daughter thing deftly, acknowledging our very different personalities and delighted to find we have much in common regardless. Despite her fear of tiny scurrying and hopping things, I have never known a braver soul. She has endured and grown stronger with each blow that would have destroyed a less resilient person. 

I look for an end to this story, a moral, but I am too close to see one. This priceless relationship began the day she was born and will not end, even when I am gone. I live as long as she lives, as long as she remembers, as long as there are noises in the night.

We Have to Do That Again!

I asked Brook if I could post this picture and she said, Quote: Sure-any except the one where my eyes shine red and my tongue is hanging out are great! Unquote. I hear and obey Brook. I will also keep my promise to CEO not to publish his picture because of that witness protection thing. Oh damn, I didn't mean to tell that either.
 Oh well, pictures never tell the real story anyway. In fact Brook is twice as beautiful in real life as she is with my arm around her encouraging her to smile. I have proof because I made a cute one of she and Derek when she didn't realize she was being photographed. I think it's especially amazing because it's the morning after around the breakfast table. When I say morning I actually mean around noon. The only people up earlier than that were Evie and I.
 We played pirate and I then I spun her around in the giant bowl, stopping just short of her barfing up her berries and yogurt on me. Evie has a lot of, well, energy. I'm sorry we forgot to take a picture of she and my husband watching TV. I couldn't tell which of them was having more fun watching and singing along to Christmas videos.CEO did get quite a few of my Eva and her adorable Marc, so I'm including the one I like best. 
M@ it turns out was surprised and surprising. He was shocked to find he had a great time and everyone who had not met him was expecting someone more abrasive, not the charming fun M@ that arrive. I would publish his pic but you can see it on Animal Mind and I seem to be photo placement challenged this evening. 

I will leave you with the final menu. I would have put it up sooner but I didn't decide on everything until Saturday morning. 

Guacamole, mango salsa, and bean dip with Corn Chips

Goat cheese bites with Homemade Oat Cakes

Assorted crudités with Roasted Red Pepper Feta dip and Tzatzik

 

Maple Dijon Salmon

Tarragon Chicken Salad

Spinach Salad with Strawberries and Poppy Seed Dressing

Roasted New Potatoes with Garlic, Rosemary, and Olive Oil

Syrian Green Beans

Squash Boras

Frosty Lemon Squares

Wheat Free Dark Chocolate Orange Cake with Ganache

Spellbound Cabernet

I'm not saying pigs can't fly, but...

I know it’s weird, but I love airports and really enjoy traveling.  As long as I’m being honest, I also need to tell you that I really dislike my brother. I won’t bore you with details, but trust me if you met him you would too. You can imagine how conflicted I was when I realized early last week I was going to have to make room in an already jammed packed schedule to fly to Kentucky to face him down in court Monday afternoon.  It was with very mixed emotions I sacrificed my frequent flyer miles to make what was suppose to be the last chapter in the endless saga of setting my father’s estate.  Sunday I got a call from my lawyer. He advised me that the opposing lawyer had come down with an unlikely case of swine flu after visiting Texas and would not be able to make it to court. I told him my ticket was non refundable and I suspected that the only swine she has an association with was my piggy brother. He told me he would see what he could do.

An hour later he called me back and said to come anyway. I could give my deposition to the judge and the others could testify later. Not good, but the best we could do. This morning I got up at 3, walked into the airport at 4:15 and caught a 5:30 flight to Charlotte NC. My best black heels clicked authoritatively from one end of the Charlotte airport to the other, over a mile in around 10 minutes with the help of moving walkways. I was just in time for my flight to Louisville, but unfortunately it was not in time for me.  The lady at the desk announced it was going to be delayed and I should be back around 8:45. I had an hour and a half, enough time for breakfast, so I headed down to the only place available, the NASCAR bar. I had overcooked eggs, really bad coffee, indifferent service, and a thirty something man at the table beside me who was delighted to get carded for the beer he ordered.

When I got back to the gate I still had an hour to wait before the sign rolled over to cancelled. An hour later I had exhausted all avenues and had to call my lawyer and let him know that the pigs won and I wouldn’t be in court today. My flight back to Richmond arrived a little after 12 at which time I had spent 8 hours traveling to Charlotte for breakfast. I decided to salvage the remains of the day by getting a short nap and then starting cooking for the party this Saturday. In case you have forgotten, it’s not to late to RSVP. My daughter has invited a lot of her friends at this point and the party promises to be a bit out of hand, but I can assure you that since I never made it to Kentucky you are safe from swine flu.  See you there.

Open Wide

Yesterday my very cute 30 something dentist made a lot of money by putting two temporary crowns in my mouth. I spent two hours in his chair and he is about 1400 dollars richer. Of course what good is money when you are clueless? 

Let me explain. Please. 

I have my ipod on shuffle. The man has his fingers and god knows what else positioned strategically on my upper right molar. He seems to have something to say, so I push pause and pull out one earbud. My really cute thirty something dentist says, 

"This is going to feel like I'm shoving a lot of meat in your mouth." 

I try to process what he has said through my brain to make it sound like something other than what he just said. About that time he pushed a small tray full of goo onto my molars and said, "Bite down hard." 

Such are my excellent acting skills that I just put the earbud back and let Roysopp remind me, "The woman holds her tongue, knowing silence will speak for her." 

Later, finished with my teeth he frees me by removing the tiny chain and bib from around my neck. "So," says adorable but clueless, "Do you have any questions?" I smile with my numb mouth and  do NOT say, "What time do you get off?"

I think I have amazing restraint. 

Obvious Ed Strikes Again

Like most of you I have had a very busy weekend. I am pleased to report that I actually wrote something serious for publication. Yeah! I also went to the gym for many hours, shopped, paid bills, did laundry, cleaned house, and went out dancing, the usual stuff.  I was sorting out things in my husband's den Saturday morning and I found something that got my attention. It was the box that once contained a handgun. Now I am not a gun expert mind you. In fact, I have an intense dislike of weapons in general. What caught my eyes was the warning label on the box. You know the advisories they seem to slap on every thing today like, “Don’t use your hairdryer in the shower” and “Remove infant before folding stroller.” This is the note found on the outside of the gun box. 

Warning!

-       Discharging firearms in poorly ventilated areas, cleaning firearms, or handling ammunition may result in exposure to lead, a substance known to cause birth defects, reproductive harm, and other serious physical injury.

-       Have adequate ventilation at all times

-       Wash hand thoroughly after exposure.

I'm sorry, but what is wrong with people?  It’s a GUN and they are warning me about lead poisoning? Shaking my head, I opened the box and there it is in small red print on the inside.

Warning

You risk injury or death by handling this firearm.

Damn, who knew?