There's No Place Like Home

Seriously, people, isn't Little the cutest thing you've ever seen? Don't believe too much in the innocent little face though--she's got her Aunt Blondie's Secret Temper in there. It pops out when needed. Like when you try to take her Binkie/Sippy Cup away.

I woke up this morning feeling spectacular. Something strange is going on--like...I dunno...healing? Is this what healing feels like? I feel somewhat (dare I say it) hopeful about 2007. I woke up knowing this is the very last day of The Dreaded 2006, and I can't wait to get it over with. My plans are simple: bookstore, Bed Bath & Beyond, DVD, Guinness, TV. I'm so wild.

I think the magic comes from what a wonderful time I had while I was home. I got to see Little, who was quite comfortable:

I got to nap with Little, who sweats a lot when she sleeps:

I got to see my farm cat Maggie, who drools when you pet her and will chase away any rat, snake, possum, or deer she sees going by:

And I got to ride on the old highway between my home and Omaha and see a lovely sunset over the flat plains. You might say it looks boring, but I say it looks beautiful:

And I got to help make...OK...watch my mother make...many yummy loaves of stollen for next Christmas. Mmmmm.....stollen...wait--why didn't any of these end up in my suitcase?!

Despite one rather interesting trip to the town bowling alley on Saturday night, I spent the rest of my evenings at home, where I wanted to be the most. I'm a homebody. I love being at home and talking and nesting and bonding. I loved the mysterious absence of Worrying About Someone Else's Happiness. I put together puzzles and put out birdseed. I walked Little down the "mountain" (driveway) to get the paper for Daddy and Grandpa. ("Why are we walking up this mountain of rocks?") And then when Little, Dorothy, and Beloved left, I watched DVDs with my parents, reverted back to being 5, ate leftovers, and felt loved. It was great.

The best part was my last evening when I drove up to Omaha to go to dinner with Kate and Potato. The three of us have known each other since practically birth, so seeing them is like holding onto a giant anchor. Kate is Very Pregnant and I got to molest her belly and talk to the little one through her sweater. We went to pick up Potato at a photo place where she had just taken family pics with her husband and two little boys.

We went to dinner and I loved seeing their smiles and hearing their laughter again. They both said they want 4 children and talked about being old. Potato just turned 30 and Kate will next week. About 6 months ago, the Old Blondie would have FREAKED OUT at this moment. For the following reasons. Kate and Potato:

• both have husbands (and have been married for a long time)
• both have two kids (well, Kate's almost there anyway)
• both own large, beautiful homes
• both have husbands who are the primary breadwinners
• both live near their parents who can help out with babysitting or whatnot
• both live in affordable cities
• both get to see each other and hang out without me--wah!

Old Blondie would have been consumed by Raging Jealousy and Oh Fuck, I'm So Behind feelings. But instead, after many months of seeing the Shrinkydink and a week's worth of Little, New Blondie's thoughts went like this:

• I am so lucky to still have these two wonderful, perfect friends who love me just the way I am despite my many and obvious flaws (well, that's what Pa says about me anyway)
• I am happy Potato and Kate live near each other and have rekindled their friendship. It's important to have good friends in life, and they are very good for each other.
• I am happy that they are so happy to see me even though I almost never come home and haven't seen either of them for over a year.
• I am happy they both have husbands and good cities and good families and cute children.
• I'm not ready to have children, but when I do, I hope I can be a good momma.
• Damn, this food is GOOD.

When I got home from seeing them, I snuggled into bed and just felt happy. No jealousy, no fear, no beating myself up for not being more like them, just happy. WTF?? What is happening to me? I suppose maybe change can be a good thing after all.

The Memory Tree Lives!

The eagle above was made by my Grandfather from copper (and I suppose some other materials, but I don't know what they are). I put this here to show you his handiwork and to explain some of the following ornaments on the lovely Grandparents Memory Tree that made its grand debut on Christmas Eve.

Here are a few of the ornaments that graced the tree... Santa tire and apple to represent Grandpa working on cars, tractors, and anything with wheels. Apple to represent the Macintosh tree in their front yard.

The whole tree shot--it is sitting on a spinning music box that until this year has sat in the corner and played its music all alone. But not anymore!!

A tree topper of peacock feathers to represent Grandma--she kept some in a vase.

A rolling pin and a red bird--rolling pin to represent Gma's fantastic home cookin' and a red bird to represent Gma and Gpa sitting at the kitchen table watching the birds.

An owl to represent Gma being a night owl. Well, kind of. Pa told me he would drive past her house at night on the way home and see her light on. She would be in a chair five pages into a book--snoozing.

Faith ball to represent their faith in God and a sewing machine (kind of hard to see) to represent Gma's old, beautiful sewing machine.

Another cute red bird and some bowling pins to represent Gpa bowling (and watching bowling on TV).

Ma contributed this cup to represent having a cup of coffee with Gma.

Another eagle and on the far right you can see a small bowler.

And another beautiful eagle!!

I have lots of other fun stories to share, but I wanted to make sure to get these photos up so you could see what became of my little idea.

I thought the tree would make me a little sad, but it actually made me really happy. I felt blessed to have a family who loves and cares about each other and our precious memories so much.

OK, enough of the sap. I promise to turn into a bitter snarky beyotch tomorrow.

Goodbye 2006

Well, friends, this year has sucked. And as the year is winding to its frantic close, it's not getting any easier. I've been quite swamped at work as we push toward an increasingly impossible deadline, and I just don't have the energy when I get home to read, write, or think about blogs, let alone feed myself. (Don't worry, Ma, I'm eating.)

But, I have made the decision that rather than coming on here everyday to write something grumpy or boring, I'm going to hiatus until the new year. I don't have time to read blogs, so I'm not going to ask you to read mine. But I will miss you, and hopefully I will jump back in in January full of vigor and excitement for the possibilities of a new year.

This year my company got bought by another company (which is not altogether horrible, but let's face it--awkward), got dumped by my boyfriend of 5 years, had 3 root canals and an extraction on the same tooth, had endless groups of yuppies troll through my apartment building which finally sold after over a year of being on the market, and and and and...I will stop now. Now I will just post my pretty picture and go sit on the couch to watch a movie and daydream of Friday when I will get to see Ma, Pa, Dorothy, Dorothy's husband, and Little. Ahhhh....Little.

So have a wonderful holiday season, don't get too drunk, and I'll see you next year. To 2007--she can't come fast enough!

Hugs and sloppy kisses,
Blondie

Wheat for All

These are my decorations for the Grandparent's Memory Tree. Wheat has long been a symbol in our family. My grandfather made beautiful copper wheat sculptures, along with many others that were stunning and original works of art.

I grew this wheat myself and then covered it with plastic...wait, OK, so I bought a large table decoration at Hallmark, cut off the wheat stalks, and put bows on them. I didn't add any hooks because I have to fly and didn't want to get arrested for having wheat weapons on the airplane. I figured I should bring more than one decoration in case I need to fill up the tree. So here they are--I'll be sure to let you know about all of the other fun ornaments my family makes.

New Hiding Place

Yesterday I did massive amounts of laundry. By the end of the day, I was so sick of sorting and folding and squishing things into drawers that I left the drawers of my "delicates holder" open. I have a super cheap 3-drawer thing that I keep socks and undies in.

Tonight when I went to put on some comfy pants, I saw these little eyes staring at me from inside the bottom drawer. Webster is so cute like that.

Smart Car or Not Smart Car?

Today after listening to Daisy's horror story about an engine problem she's having, I decided it might be time for an oil change. The last time I changed the oil was in January 2006. I know, I know, it's been too long. But I have an excuse: I have a smart car. It knew it didn't need new oil.

I own a 2005 Toyota Corolla LE. This my friend, is the car to have. Yes, it's a mom car, but it purrs like a kitten and will never break (knocking on wood). Toyotas are amazing. I owned a used 1993 Celica GT that had been almost completely totaled and it ran just fine for the next nine years. I only sold it because I moved to Chicago and didn't really need a car at the time. And I owed my parents a lot of money.

I thought my car was Not So Smart a few weeks ago when we had an ice/snow storm here in Chicago. After sitting in the freezing cold for 4 days, the ice/snow combination on the trunk had frozen it shut. It was then that I realized I could not get into the trunk from the inside of the car--WHERE I KEEP THE ICE SCRAPER. So I had to use my fingers instead. WTF?? But after explaining this to my father, he explained that this actually IS smart because it keeps valet people out of your trunk when you give them your valet key (which I have).

Here is the way Christina (my car's name) is smart and not so smart:

• She knows when I do not have my belt on. She also knows when my passenger doesn't have his or her belt on. So she beeps and beeps and beep beep beeps until you put on the belt (or let about 45 seconds go by). Sometimes she is not smart when there are two cases of kitty food on the passenger seat and she thinks it's my invisible friend.
• She turns off her rear defrost after a while so I won't forget. However, this is not smart when there are 4 inches of crusted on ice and snow on the rear windshield and the defrost needs to stay on as long as possible. I only discovered this after pondering why the damn rear window was so hard to scrape off (with my fingers).
• She has multiple jacks for plugging in electronic devices. This is smart because I often have more than one run out of juice at the same time. However, there is no car lighter. That is not smart. What if I get stuck on the side of a road in a blizzard and need to make a fire with the garbage in the back seat?
• She has a special handle in the trunk that glows in the dark just in case someone locks me inside. I have not tested this out, but something tells me it might not be a smart handle because let's think about this people, things that glow in the dark tend to need to be in the sunlight BEFORE they glow. I will let you know if this is or is not a smart handle the next time someone locks me in the trunk.

I am sure there are other smart things about Christina, but I just can't think of them right now. She's a damn good car. So good in fact that when I went to get the oil change tonight, she still had lots and lots of oil in her!

Which brings me to the receipt I used in the photograph above. I didn't want to get hosed. I did not want some jackass to pull out my air filter and smother it in the dirt and then tell me I needed a new one. I was NOT going to be up-saled. I promised myself. So I drove into the bay and politely told the man I needed a basic oil change and that was ALL. He wrote down the charge. Then I said I wanted Valvoline because my father insisted I use that or Castrol only. Of course, this was more expensive. Fine, I said. That's just fine. He wrote in the new price.

Then I went to sit down in the little coffee room and watch one of the other workers put new bright yellow paint on a different car bay. I was feeling pretty confident about the situation when Mr. Oil Changer brought me my dipstick and asked how long it had been since I'd changed the oil.

"I only ask because your oil is really dirty. You can see it here." Shoves dipstick in my face. "I can run some fluid through there to clean that out--for an extra charge."

"No. It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, it's fine." Blink.

"OK, well, maybe I can run a little through there for you anyway."

Yeaaaaaaah. Whatevs. So I waited until he was finished--by this time he was singing along with the Christmas carols on the radio--and went to pay. Then he came closer, winked, and let me know he'd given me a $5 discount. So I flashed him a smile and played along, "Oh, thank you!" Bat bat of the eyelashes.

Good Lord, haven't oil changers ever SEEN a woman before?

So anyway, Christina and I are both smart. And even though I have black evil blood running through my veins, she's all clean.

Hi. I'm Blondie. And I'm a Crafter. (Hi, Blondie!)

There is something about Joann’s that is mesmerizing. All of those aisles, all of those felt pieces and glue-on eyeballs and endless yards of fabric. It can suck you in like a giant black hole and you might never come out again. Or at least you will never come out with your paycheck.

I’m afraid that I’ve become a crafter. This is something I have feared and rejected my whole life. When I was young, I made fake newspapers and puppets and those little things that kids do. It’s cute. People like it—or at least they pretend to. (Of course, Ma confessed the other day that she was horrified when she realized she had to display my ugly ceramic blobs in her home—gotta love motherhood.)

But as I aged, I thought of myself more as an Artist. I wore black clothing. I made collages about my angst-ridden soul. I listened to arty-farty music while clipping heroinlike model photos out of magazines to make a poster representing what was wrong with society’s view of women. Blah blah blah. I thought I was deep.

Now, I’m just a crafter.

I’ve always been into making homemade gifts and cards. I like to put a little spirit into my gifts, especially those for people I really love and care for. But now it’s gotten a little out of control. I don’t want to become one of Them—those women I saw at Joann’s the other night who said, and I quote, “Oh, I’m sorry, am I in your way? I find myself getting lost in time and just staring for HOURS at the paper.” She was in front of a wall of scrapbooking papers that were sold in individual sheets. I politely nodded and shuffled past her, heading toward the tape section. Yes, I can buy tape at Walgreens, but Joann’s is so much more fun.

Some of the stuff in there is SO UGLY. I don’t know how anyone could think some of the fabric choices or decorative items are appealing. But there they are, foaming at the mouth, clutching coupons, doing little dances in front of 50% off signs. They fill up baskets and carts, reeking of glue and wood. What in the HELL are they making? But then—what am I making?

I can’t tell you about my latest 3 projects because they are stocking stuffers for Ma, Pa, and Dorothy, who might land on this page and then the whole surprise will be ruined. But I can tell you this—they’re waaaay cool. And it took FOREVER to make them, so they’d better like them. And no, they aren’t dollhouses. Joann’s only sells dollhouse items online. Everyone who is anyone knows that.

Anyway, as my youth, and therefore any remaining coolness, slips further and further away, I have to look in the mirror and own it.

I am a crafter.
I like glue.
I like cutting things and pasting them together.
I enjoy yarn.
I find bliss in mini brads.
Kits of all kinds fascinate me.

So there you have it. The truth hurts.

A Return to Fiction

Since it is all wintery and everything, I decided to give fiction a try again. I love cuddling up on the couch with a nice winterish book, so I decided to crack open Little Women. I've never actually read it, but I've seen the movie and liked it, so I thought I'd see what Ms. Alcott wrote that was left out of the Winona Ryder version.

And low and behold, what do I find?? Well, for those of you who are familiar with the book, you will remember that Meg sprains her ankle at the party at the beginning of the book. For those of you familiar with the movie, you'll remember that Meg sprains her ankle at the party when she wears tiny heels from the rag bag.

So anyway, I'm reading along, minding my own business, when I see that Jo "bound up her foot with arnica..." Yep, that's right folks, the arnica. Click on the pic and you will see it right there at the end of the second to last paragraph of this chapter.

And I tell ya what, if arnica is good enough for Meg, it's good enough for me.

Party with the Girls

Last night India and I went to Buttercup's for a girlie holiday party. It was potluck, so I brought the supplies to make green bean casserole, which is just about the only thing I know how to cook. We decided on a $5 spending limit--see what you can get for $5 for each girl. The buttons and flowers above came from India. Buttercup chose Tree Hugger and I chose Odd Duck. Perfect for us!

Since we know each other so well, Buttercup gave me this killer cat finger-puppet. It also came with a lovely pink sombrero. Those things you see stuck in my hair are full of honey. Mmmm....honey....

Since I am a mess in the kitchen, I sat back and watched while India and Buttercup made veggie lasagna from scratch! Scratch, I tell you. As in took out a cheese grater and grated cheese. It is a very good thing this didn't happen at my house because I do not have the following: cheese grater. That crock pot you see in the background is full of apples and other fruits that were cooking away while we talked and giggled. I'm not sure exactly what it was called, but it was DAMN GOOD. (And I am super lucky because I have some leftover in my fridge now.)

Let's see--which one gave me this?? Can't remember right at the moment, but I'm sure it will come in handy someday.

I found VHS copies of Shag at the $1 store and some body massage roller thingies. Buttercup is demonstrating their proper use with her leg.

It was a great time. I love being with these girls and I felt so warm and fuzzy. I was periodically miffed that Buttercup's cat refused to come out and let me squish her, but I suppose I can't expect all cats to want to sit on me at all times.

We watched Mean Girls, which made me think that Lindsay Lohan should go back and watch her own movie again to learn how to be a nice, respectable girl. But last time I called Lindsay, she totally didn't call me back, so I don't think she is going to listen to me anymore.

At the end of the night, India and I bundled up and headed home with leftovers and goodies and hearts full of friendship...and pockets full of Horny Goat Weed.

King the Christmas Cat

Each year that we owned King together, the ex and I made him put on this Christmas sweater and then we laughed and took pictures. It is a dog sweater, and it is a little too big for King. He doesn't like being in it, needless to say. I would wrangle him into this sweater again and take new pictures for you, but alas, it is hard to tackle my little monster and make him stay still for photos. So I have cropped the ex out of the photos--but I think they look way better this way anyway.



Once he got used to it, he started purring and didn't care as long as I was holding/petting him. So cute, no?

I knew I would never get Webster into the sweater, so I bought him some reindeer horns. He FLIPPED OUT. So I started gently laying the sweater across him instead. Poor little Webbie, such a wimp.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!!!!

SYSTEM FAILURE SYSTEM FAILURE: My computer driver has been freaking out again and shutting off the computer every ten minutes or so. That is why I have been absent from the blogs this week. Sniff, sniff.

ALSO: I am not ignoring your tags, I just can't get the computer to stay on long enough.

Ahem

When I went to crawl in bed last night, I found this.


And this.

I think they have officially taken over.

A Note from Ginger

Hi everyone, I'm Ginger. Blondie had a long day, and she's super tired, so she asked me to post an entry for her. Here I am sitting on my kick ass keg couch. Like my dress? Blondie made it using scrap material and double-sided sticky tape.

I started out bald and in many pieces. Here's a shot of what I looked like mid-construction.

After this, I was exhausted, so I stretched out on the couch and put my feet up.

Then, just my luck--I found a redheaded friend. Whoo hoo! Redheads RULE!

OK, me and my giant ponytail are going to go back to the couch now. Have a good evening.

Dollhousing Update: Can She Do It?

Here is my completed dollhouse. Kidding! This is a very small little dollhouse that I got from Mini Kitz. I wanted to put a dollhouse within the dollhouse to represent me dollhousing. It was so easy to put together--took about an hour. Each piece had been laser-cut and popped out of the little sheet easily. I glued it together with a toothpick and some glue.

Here is the progress on the actual dollhouse. The books are there to deal with some serious warping that is happening on one of the interior walls. It's my fault--it was warped when it came out of the box. I could have easily fixed it by getting it wet and weighing it down for a day, but noooooooooooooo, I had to get started! So now the books.

This last shot is of a doll kit I ordered since I was having trouble finding a redheaded doll that wasn't wearing lingerie, a blow-up doll, or $1000 mint-in-box. I am snorting to myself at the thought of making the wig. It will be quite the adventure.

So that is your Dollhouse Update for now. Stay tuned, folks!

Blondie v Change

I hate change. I know a lot of people who love change, and they give me a hard time about being so afraid of it. They say it represents excitement and newness and opportunity. I say it’s scary.

I discussed this with my Shrinkydink once. I told her that I hated change, and that I had a lot of friends who did not understand my fear and criticized me for it. She said there are two types of people in this world: those who like change and those who don’t. She said it runs 50/50, so I should not feel strange or different for having this fear. Perhaps I just need to get new friends. (kidding)

The hardest change of 2006 has been my break-up, but the problem with a loss that big is that it brings up every loss you’ve ever had and rubs them in your face. This year I’ve found myself reflecting on the following life events as if they were happening right now, all over again, bigger and worse than the first time around:

Ma’s cancer when I was young
my home burning down in college
the death of my grandparents

Somehow my brain has chosen these 3 S.E.E. moments (my father’s trusty acronym for Significant Emotional Events) to relive and ponder and ache about. It has not been fun. But I have learned some very interesting things about myself along the way, such as my chosen response to tragedy (Flight/Hermit), and how those things do and don’t work for me anymore. For example, after the breakup, I was ready to move away from Chicago and start life all over again. I even considered moving to my hometown. I went as far as to see how much housing would cost there (and almost peed myself when I found a 2-story 3-bedroom for $75K). But I just couldn’t go. Running away doesn’t work anymore. Especially when you’re 29. I couldn’t just pack it up and hit the road like I’ve done so many times before.

Damn.

So here comes Christmas full of change. When I was growing up, every year we went to my grandparents house, which was right next door in the country. The women clucked and purred in the kitchen as they made oyster stew, chili, and cut delicate slices of homemade stollen, the German Christmas bread.

We would all gather in our Sunday best and eat and giggle and then head off to our country church for a service, sitting in the balcony where we all could be together. Then we would go back to Grandma and Grandpa’s to open one gift (each cousin gave a gift to one other cousin) and a special present from the grandparents—I remember a calendar and a $20 one year. There was something so magical and warm and cozy about all those Christmases.

It was the exact same Christmas for so many years, and nothing ever changed.

When I was in college, Grandpa was killed in a car accident and Grandma died 3 weeks later (after a long battle with Alzheimer’s, she still knew Gpa was gone). And even though my family members have bravely passed the torch to one another each year since then, something has been missing. That magic, that hope, that energy that came with having my grandparents there. And now this year I miss them more than ever because I don’t have my special someone for Christmas to help distract me from their absence.

So this year I proposed a Grandparents Memory Tree and asked the family to bring or make an ornament that reminds them of Grandma or Grandpa. I’m excited to see what they will come up with, especially the little ones. Perhaps this will bring back their spirits and let them dance around the room. And hopefully it will make this year’s change just a little bit easier.