When I was six...

I would tell myself elaborately long detailed stories that had no beginning and no ending.  Much like life, the various pieces of a story, any story, are like the various uneven lengths of thread woven into some wonderful tapestry.  My stories that I would tell myself, aloud, were like chapters in some unnamed novel.

When I was six, my brother was eight.  We were still each other's playmates but he was faster than I.  He was tougher and rougher than I was.  He was a boy and I was not.

When I was six I was even more sensitive and more clumsy than I am now.  I was a pale, thin, befreckled child with long, long blonde hair and a huge grin.  I loved mommee, but I was daddy's girl.

Weekend Assignment #40:  Celebrate John M. Scalzi's daughter, Athena's 6th birthday by sharing a story from when you were six.

Earlier this year, my parents had taken a trip back up to Pennsylvania.  They visited with the Mennonite family that rented the old farmhouse to us when I was six.  This was outside of York Springs, PA (close in to Gettysburg).  The missus remembers my brother and I as being "spindly children".

What I remember of Elmira and Sandy and their numerous hardy children most was when they would come to cut, bale, and stack the hay.  I was six at that time.  I would try to drag around the hale bales and they would chide me not to hurt myself and so I would perch out of the way and watch everyone else.

Elmira would bring snacks, plastic baggies of sliced green bell peppers.  For years, whenever I had bell peppers, I would think of the Friendly Mennonite Family From the Farm.  I would taste the coolness of the juicy peppers against the dustiness of my throat.  My nose would recall the dry chaff filled air.

When I was six, perched close to the action but safely out of the way, my clothes and hair would fill with bits and pieces of scratchee dry hay.  When I was six, I loved the loud clanking machine that would move the bales up to dump them into the loft.  When I was six, the farm was the best place to be.

When I was six, I was a very happy kid.

OMG, omg, oh my gawd...

Dudes!!
Yippitee-skippitee!!  I made the AOL Personal Finance Pages!!  Wahoo!!  I'm not exactly sure when they rotate off and new folks are featured...but, WOW, I am thrilled to be there now!!
http://pf.channel.aol.com/financetalk
Charity Begins at Home

Homemade Is Best
Debra tells Scalzi to spend his spare change on a special Christmas gift for his wife.  Read Her Advice

WHhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat??!?

TIME cover with Bush as the Person of the Year.


 "The first TIME poll since the election has his approval rating at 49 percent. Gallup has it at 53 percent, which doesn't sound bad unless you consider that it's the lowest December rating for a re-elected President in Gallup's history. That is not a great concern, however, since he has run his last race, and it is not a surprise to a President who tends to measure his progress by the enemies he makes."
 
It's all in how ya look at things...why, I guess that ""measuring progress by the enemies made" method is working; the man has lots of folks who aren't too fond of him.  This latest announcement by Time disappoints me, but does not surprise me.  sigh.

I forgot to say....

hip, hip, HOOOrayyyy

hip, hip, hoooRAAYY

hip, hip, HooRay!!

CONGRATS to my guy...  I am so very proud of you and all you do.  Not only do you work and go to school and have a life, but you do all those things so well.

My guy's 4.0 is a great way to start work on his PhD, doncha think?

Ain't no dummee...

Weekend Assignment #39: Tell us about the toy you had to have for the holidays when you were a kid, only to find out it was kinda disappointing once you had it.

Extra Credit: Tell us the most unrealistic holiday gift request you ever made.

Well, I gotta say when I first looked at the John M. Scalzi Weekend Assignment, I had more than a momentary pause of nothingness.  I thought that I never had one of those whiney kid pining for THE toy that ya just hadta have.  Not me.

Right.

Then I remembered...

One year, I was about 10 or so, all year long I was certain that I wanted to be a ventriloquist.  I just knew that I could learn to throw my voice and that if I had a real dummy, then I could be the funniest kid around and well on my way to breaking into show-business.  Why, it'd be better than joining the circus...which I could do, if I had an act with the dummy.

I yammered on about it endlessly.  If mom or dad was around for long enough, I would yap about how I really wanted a dummy.  I was a child who did not ask for lots of things, and certainly not repeatedly as a habit.  If I asked mom for something, she said "no" or "we'll see".  If you pushed it, then the "we'll see" became, NO.

So, when I talked about the dummy, I had to tread carefully.  I wanted it so badly, so I built a case for having it.  I asked dad if we could make one, in his shop.  I talked with mom about sewing one.  Dummies were not terribly popular, not a fad.  So even looking for them was hard.  Cuz lots of stores just did not have them.

My birthday came in November.  No dummy.  I had resigned myself to the fact that I was not going to get my dummy and I was going to have to make some sock muppets for me.

But what to my unbelieving eyes should appear under the tree for me that christmas eve?  A SIMON SEZ DUMMY!!!  He was hard plastic, with a hinged jaw and a head that turned.  His shirt was yellow with blue "SIMON" and his pants where red.  Love at first sight.

I was so ashamed throughout the following months about how little I actually developed my skills to use the dummy.  I have no idea how much it cost, but I felt that it must have cost lots and there I was, barely using it.  I did not find the dummy to be nearly as life-changing, or thrilling, as I had built it up to be.

I set myself up for a big disappointment.  It made me feel bad that I did not appreciate it as much as I thought I should.  I mean, that was a big treat from my folks.

As for the unrealistic present I've ever asked for...I honestly can't think of one.  I know that I've had unrealistic wishes, but not for any particular present.  I wished I was graceful and strong, could be a gymnast, or ballet dancer, or ice-skater.  I wish I was more energetic and more fit, more lean and tone, less pudgee.

Weekend Writing Assignment to the rescue

By the way...  have ya seen this week's writing assingment, brought to you by that dude, with the bedside laptop...

Weekend Assignment #38: It's the Holidays! Create your own festive Holiday Character and give him, her or it at least one seasonally appropriate magical ability (or use its native traits and skills to save the holiday season).

Khin Khee, the camel cricket, has a very special talent that is absolutely essential to the completion of Santa's mission.  Now you may be familiar with the miners' best friend, the canary.  This fine feathered friend would descend into the pits with the first few miners.  He would be merrily chirping along, letting the men know it was safe to go further.  The canary would stop singing, indeed cease living, if noxious fumes and poisonous gases that are odorless to the human olfactory organs infiltrated is little lungs.  He was the early-warning system of days gone by.

Well, Khin Kee, the camel cricket, is also called a cave cricket.  He likes the dark and can function quite well is those places.  Now, I don't know if YOU'VE ever been in the sorta situation which would necessitate peering up or down a chimney.  I certainly have not.  Nor have I ever managed to get stuck or jump freely down one, let alone ascend to the rooftop.

But Santa, well, he NEEDS to be able to see down, skinny through, do his business, and alight back to the sleigh so that he can go on to the next chimney.  Now of course not all homes have chimneys.  But for those that do, Khin Kee, the camel cricket, has the most important task of preceeding the jolly fat elf down the chimney to give the all-clear signal.

Why, if it weren't for Khin Kee, the camel cricket, who knows in what state of affairs we all would be?

That is why, my friends, the children with chimneys sing with glee, their joy for the Khin Kee, the camel cricket.  You'd've heard of him, before this, I am sure, if there were but more homes with chimneys, galore.

Holiday Traditions, cont'd (and some randomness)

Some of you may remember my mother and me have a traditional cookie baking day, monday after Thanksgiving.  Well, this year, it was the first day of the bizarre Bazaar, so we decided to wait til I join her at the Christmas stay.  A few entries ago, I wrote of some Christmas traditions.

We also have New Year traditions.  Well, I hail from Pennsylvania Deutschland (which sometimes is confused with PA Dutch, sorta similar, but not the same).  In our family, we usually would have the crockpot of sauerkraut and pork, some hotdogs, and a huge pot of mashed potatoes.  Ya gotta have a strong stomach to handle this at midnight.  Especially if you've imbibed in the New Year cheer.

Now, we usually have the meal new year's day.  In the South, folks do up the hog jawls, greens, black eyed peas, and cornbread.  My first New Year in the South was in North Florida, just south of Valdosta, Georgia (where I lived).  I was just getting used to greens, black-eyed peas, and cornbread...but the hog jawls were something new all together for me.  I don't recall my reaction, except I must have had one, cuz the entire family of folks I was visiting was fascinated with me.  That was also the first time I had rutabaga.  THAT is a tought tuber, dude!  Good, but damn! lotsa work...hacking and chopping, I said, dudes, next time, I'm opting for the canned stuff.

I paid all the bills I have so far, and some I don't (but will show up in the mail soon).  I am waiting for the paper reminder for my tag renewal because I made the mistake ONCE of going to get the tags for my car without the paper, and I like to have never gotten outta the office.  Folks working in that office been there since before computers and they don't care much for us newbies that have no people locally.

Now, I got people, it's just they don't live here, in this town, county, state, or even region.  So, instead of telling folks I'm from Pennsylvania, and that's where my people are (actually they aren't, they are scattered to the winds), I just tell folks I'm not from around these heah parts.

It's funny, but friends from up North hear me, think I have a southern accent.  Folks down here know I don't.  There was an ol' man, fixed me with his good-eye gaze, and said that he knew I wadn't from Miz'ippi, I wudn't foolin' him none, girly.  Now, where's my people, anyways?

Holiday Traditions

One year, when I was about 8, my brother was about 10 and we lived in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania.  That Christmas, we decided everything would be homemade.  You could even work on the others' gifts, right up til the final stages; because they couldn't get too nosey.

Even the wrapping paper was homemade.  It was blank newspaper that we drew pictures and made colorful.  All the ornaments that year were handmade, so the tree looked sparse, but it felt right.  We strung popcorn to hang.  We found garland runners under the snow, and mistletoe.  We even cut down our own tree from our woods behind the house.

We never were a family that tore into all our presents and christmas giving was over in 15 minutes.  We would take our time, getting up, stopping to answer the phone, make coffee, hot chocolate, and/or tea, and sometimes even having a break for breakfast or mom's stickee-buns.  Friends would stop by to enjoy Christmas morning with us.

The rule was that before that morning, you could look under the tree, but no touching allowed.  Then either my brother or myself would distribute one gift at a time.  That person would make their best guess.  Sometimes others tried to guess too.  Then after the gift was unwrapped, everyone passed it around and inspected it.

We could make an entire day out of it.  I was always amazed at my friends who were fairly wealthy and would receive so much stuff, and yet always be bored or not seem to value anything.  My gifts, I would carefully arrange under the tree when we were through.  I would usually receive a turtleneck, some socks, some underwear, some books, maybe perfume, and a pocket calendar.  Gifts were practical as well as pretty.  They were always appreciated.

tid bit (snicker)

Whenever I feel penis envy coming over me, I simply pump my own gas.  Shaking the nozzle for that last drip...it being the right height and everything, well, there ya go.  I pump my gas always, but don't feel penis envy always, kinda like the square/rectangle thing, ya know?

old?!?

Ya know how some days, ya just feel old?  Your joints creak, your muscles ache, your bone marrow hurts.  You're sure that your skin is more sensitive, dry, and delicate than it should ever be.  Even your hair seems to feel old, and you weren't even sure if that was possible.

You might be feeling extra cranky, intolerant, and short-tempered.  Little things might grate your nerves.  In which case, you most likely won't age too gracefully...

Ya might think ya know old, but ya don't know old like these folks know old.

After the death of Iowan Verona Johnston, Bettie Wilson is now the oldest American.  Born 13 September 1890, Wilson of Mississippi qualifies as a supercentenarian.  Wilson has a 95 year old son.

Hendrikje van Andel(-Schipper) is just a few months older than Wilson.  Born 29 June 1890, van Andel is the oldest living person.  She resides in the Netherlands.  Van Andel says that breathing is the secret to longevity.  She's got a point there, wise old woman, huh?

second to none

Weekend Assignment #37: We all know what our best personal quality is. What's your second-best personal quality?

Extra Credit: Note a personal quality you wish you had more of.

I saw this writing assignment.  I thought, oh man, I have no clue what to do.  I don't even know what my FIRST-best personal quality would be.

Could it be my stunning modesty and humilty?  I mean, alllll my good qualities are my best.  Now, stop that guffawing!!

I think my wit is actually my second best quality.  Not telling ya what I think my first is.  Well, ok...since you are so interested.  I think I can be a fairly compassionate person, with lots of empathy thrown in.  Good blend.

And then there is the modest humilty to consider too...

Actually, what I do need to work on (and believe me, I am constantly working on this) is to have more tolerance of sheer stupidity.  Ya know, I don't mean folks that are not too bright because they just aren't.  But I am not very tolerant of folks that say and do stupid things when they should know better.  They aren't using the sense they ought to have.  So much for common sense, huh?