A Night Gone Wrong

Man! There are some things you just wish you'd had the guts to capture on film or audio. Last night was one of the times I wish that. Now. Not last night. Last night I was shaking with silent laughter, not wanting to embarrass anyone. In the light of day? I don't know these people, so there should be no repercussions, right?

One of my FaceCrack connections, Tasha Does Tulsa, recommended several Christmas light displays around town. One of them, the lights in the Blue Dome District, caught my eye. For you non-Tulsans, Blue Dome is the arts district here, making a nice come back. We wandered into the best shop ever, Dwelling Spaces, where I picked up a cute button/pin for my purse. (Y'all, the video would't embed, but it's worth seeing) Local artisans sell there.

Anywho, we loaded up the fam, several friends, and headed into the night to find the blue lights. Y'all, they were just that. Several strands of blue lights strung across the tops of the buildings. Our favorite light display of the night was one similar to this, which we dubbed "Santa's dismembered mitten".

At least we had a backup plan (WHEW!). The seven of us drove the short hop to the Gypsy for Americanos and cheesecake (a nice chaser to three days of Thanksgiving gluttony). If you haven't been, the Gypsy ROCKS.

What didn't rock was the talent. I was hoping for belly dancers. What we got instead was a couple of musicians. Oh, they talked a good talk. From St. Louis, repertoire of jazz, country, ragtime. Play in little coffee and beer joints around the region. We sat and chatted it up for half an hour or so before they opened.

We should have left when the singer said they play for the occasional one and two dollar tip.

Friends, we stayed twelve songs too long. Wait. We were only there for four songs. It just felt like twelve. My Hunny, friends and I were texting back and forth about when to leave. One friend was playing chess in the corner with Goof Ball, so we had to wait out their game, dang it.

The singer was kinda like this, but much, much worse:

But Oatmeal Head wanted y'all to see this, which is nothing like last night's experience:

Hard to know which is worse. The above, or last night.

Maybelline's friend said it best. When I apologized (for the umpteenth time) about our disappointing evening, her response was, "Oh, that's okay. Now I have good stories to tell!" And Oatmeal Head put it all in perspective with this gem: "The worst decisions make the best stories."

I hope your weekend was as eventful as mine, only more rewarding.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sadly, no, happily, this is not the turkey gracing our table today.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Enjoy your cranberry sauce shaped like a can!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Tuesday Review, Someday This Pain Will Be Useful To You

Today's Tuesday Review is of a book which one of my teenagers' friends loaned me. Oh dang - I have to pick and ship at least one book from a Tuesday Review past. This weekend, friends. But today's book is Someday This Pain Will Be Useful To You, by Peter Cameron.

Really, this was a painful book to read on several levels. The 16 year old boy who handed it to me, asking my opinion, said that he liked it, but it had no plot, no point. I found the opposite to be true for me - I didn't really care for it, but it certainly had a plot, a point.

James Sveck - aimless, quietly intelligent, lonely 18 year old man-child - is the first person point-of-view lead in this book. He's a recent high school grad, working in his divorced mother's art gallery in New York City, sexually confused, almost completely withdrawn from society, a social misfit, if not outcast. I would say that this is another coming-of-age tale, but ... dang. Tough to categorize that way, even though we discover quite a bit about James as the story unfolds. I'm just not sure that James discovers much about himself. Some. Not much.

Someday This Pain is well written, kept my interest. It's young adult (not young teen, please), another quick read for a waiting room and an evening (I read nearly all of it while at the mechanic's for a front end alignment).

For the older teen in your household, if you're a careful, protective parent, I'd recommend you read this book before sharing it with your soon-to-be independent and gone child. The most painful thing about this book, I think, is James' feeling so lonely and lost, his near inability ro climb out of his personal pit. His depression is real, powerful, something I'm sure a lot of teens will connect with. In high school I read quite a few of Paul Zindel's books because of the teenage angst, the raw emotion and depression. And believe me when I say that I was not a depressed teenager. Far from it. Jokes, letter writing, sports, school - I was bouncy and Tigger-y. But books on depressed teens push all kinds of buttons with a large cross section of teens, I think, helping them form their identity, their attitude.

Not only is the depression real, as well as his beautiful expression of his thoughts (this book is well written - I loved reading the boy's unfolding inner workings, seeing them form), but the conclusion, though uplifting and having some resolve, still left me sad, disheartened. As an adult, I've been there, seen and done what it takes to drag and bounce and friend and pray and live to life and out of a pit of despair. There really isn't any arrow pointing the way out here. Some. Not enough, I think.

Maybe I'm not being fair, but as the mother of teens, I'd have a tough time recommending this book to other moms for their teens. I do, however, recommend Someday This Pain Will Be Useful To You to moms of teens to read themselves. Especially if your child is struggling with life. Read it with open eyes, ready to grapple with your own teen years and what you learned, how you developed and changed and came to terms with life.

So. A rather ambivalent review, no? Not a Thanksgiving review, for sure. I do, however, wish all of you a happy Thanksgiving. Eat your turkey, and remember to be thankful. Be thankful, if nothing else, that you're no longer a teenager. :D

Until I write again ...

Flea

It's About Freakin' Time

Freakin' eh. My phone is finally importing photos to the computer. Hallelujah. It's been two months. Stupid software updates.

You all know what that means, though, right? Photo Monday! Let's see what pictures I've taken since September, shall we?

My latest wood burning - an old door converted to a desk top

One of my kidlets making her sad face

She told me to make a crazy face

Family

CALUM!!!!!

My new hat!

One of my kidlets giving me the evil eye

Goof Ball strikes again!

Think this might be a Halloween shot of Heather?

Friend Heather gave me this for my birthday!

Oh yeah. That was fun. Come back next time and we'll play Shove the Bamboo Under the Fingernails. You know you'll love it.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Whatever You Do, Don't Send In the Clowns

Dang it. There are four 2 liter bottles of Ginger ale in my kitchen. You'd think we were prepared for the stomach flu apocalypse. Who knows? Maybe we are. They're sitting next to the cans of chicken noodle soup and the box of saltines.

It's Maybelline this time. She does sick worse than all of us. This virus has escalated with each instance, making me kinda glad I was first. Mild. But horrified for the kids.

Especially Maybelline.

If you don't hear from me for a week, send in the national guard. I was going to say coast guard, but Tulsa's a little ways from the ocean. Make sure whomever you send brings Pepto, will ya?

Until I write again ...

Flea

Tuesday Review, What Was Lost

Today I'm reviewing another first novel, What Was Lost, by Catherine O'Flynn.

What Was Lost is a bit quirky, written from several different people's perspectives, different points in time. A young orphaned girl detective wanna-be is the focal point of the book, she and her stuffed monkey, Mickey. Cute little kid - sheltered, bright, lonely. Then she disappears.

I like this book. I do. But I found myself wondering throughout if everyone in England is so lonely, lost, hopeless. All of the characters seem to be ... apathetic. The journey ends well, in a sense, and the apathy begins to lift for several characters, the lost feeling. In every chapter I was drawn back to the book's title because I felt the loss so strongly.

It's tough to review a book without revealing too much. This entire novel revolves around not only a young girl, but a large mall. They both effect every character. If you read this, pay attention to each character's losses and how it determines their fate, their choices. Even the peripheral characters come to life, especially near the end.

All in all, a very good book. I hope to read more of Ms. O'Flynn's work in the future. Oh, and this isn't a long read. I finished it in the better part of one afternoon and evening. Feel free to take it to a doctor's appointment or while waiting for a child at school, etc.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Sick House

Holy Schamoly, Batman! It's a sick house ... AGAIN.

So is this stomach virus just striking us here in Tulsa, or is it the new sensation that's sweeping the nation? Because I don't want to feel alone here, people. This is getting old.

Today it's Goof Ball. I walk into volunteer central at church yesterday (I work in the preschool on Sunday mornings, as does Goof Ball), and he's slumped over a table, white as a ghost, telling me he threw up in the hall. Thank goodness the hall floors are cement. I came back ten minutes later to find him ralphing in the trash can.

So he's home from school today. Telling me he's hungry, but won't even take crackers because he's afraid of what will happen. At least he's learned to listen to his body's cues. Well, except that he asked for a shake. Uh, no.

I'm going to work furiously to finish my latest read and have a review ready for tomorrow. This book's taking a while to get through, but it's been worth it so far.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Tuesday Review, Richard Scarry's Best Storybook Ever

Welcome to Tuesday Review, as well as post number 1000! Woot! Today's book is a children's classic, in honor of my recent visit to my new nephew. And when I say children's classic, I don't mean a chapter book, but a picture book. Richard Scarry's Best Storybook Ever.

This book was one of my favorites as a kid. I read it to my baby brother over and over. It's one of the first books I bought for my children and read over and over. Scarry's illustrations are whimsical, all animals which dress, walk and behave like people. They focus on manners, colors, shapes. Some stories are familiar fables and tales, like the country mouse and the city mouse.

Stories which struck me, as a child, as exotic and mysterious were Couscous, the Algerian Detective, and Pip Pip goes to London. For a Louisiana child, reading about other countries, even in this cartoonish version, was a little thrill. It's one thing to read a story about another country, but another thing entirely to see it portrayed in color. But the Castle in Denmark! So much to see! Totally Scarry in every way:

So, for the child in your life, as well as for yourself, I highly recommend picking up this weighty book. It combines many of the best Little Golden Books around and will keep a young child entertained for years. Oh, and always keep your eyes open for Lowly and Goldbug!

Until I write again ...

Flea

I Miss Him

Last week, while holding little Calum one morning, I was talking to my Hunny on the phone. He asked if all the baby time made me want another one. My instant answer? No.

Seriously? Diapers? Sleepless nights? Toddler years? More teenagers? Please.

But look at this face!

He's a doll baby. No denying it. And when I said last week that I'd be nibbling his toes, what I really meant was that I'd be petting his head. I'm not a toe nibbler so much, but a head petter. They're so soft. Downy hair, soft skull - quite addictive. And nothing calms a tiny baby quite like petting their head. Sweetness.

I enjoyed watching my Evil Sister with her baby boy. Isn't she beautiful? Mother-child photos are the best.

So, with the instant no, knowing that at 43 I'll be content to wait for grandchildren (ten years from now will be fine, thankyouverymuch), I was shocked to find myself looking at the 200 some-odd photos I took of Calum (the kids don't call me the Mamarazzi for nothing), and getting teary eyed. I miss the little guy.

Oh, and I got a new monkey. He needs a name.

Calum likes him, even though his mama doesn't.

So I get home, finally, and the Hunny at least has the courtesy to wait a day before asking if I might not like to foster babies. Stinker. Waits for me to miss the little guy pretty fiercely before springing that one on me. We'll wait a couple of weeks before discussing it again. But oh! It's tempting right now.

Until I write again ...

Flea

BABY CALUM!

WARNING! What you are about to see may exceed your cute level for the day, maybe even for the week. I cannot be responsible for what may occur should you exceed safe levels. Proceed at your own risk!

I am in Baton Rouge this week. The Evil Sister had ... *dun dun dunnnn* a BABY.

The cutest baby in the WORLD.

Mr. Calum is two and a half weeks old today. And cute as can be. I produce photographic PROOF. You'll see. You will see. See?

How cute is the little man? He was 6 pounds, 13 ounces at birth. Still has the alien eyes. What will follow is just a slew of photos. Enjoy!

Isn't he the handsomest boy in the world? I'm here, cuddling, burping, smooching, nibbling toes. *sigh* In baby heaven. Look at these TOES.

So. I'll be here. Enjoying the baby. You may all resume your life and be jealous of me.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Tuesday's Review, The Beekeeper's Apprentice

I hesitate with today's posted review. Last week I told you that I'd review a book with an unsatisfactory ending. I just can't do it. What I'm doing instead is to review the first in Laurie R. King's Mary Russell series, a very satisfying read. I'll be giving away the book I didn't like, another of hers in a different series. I suspect that quite a few of you out there will like the book. It's just not for me.

The Beekeeper's Apprentice didn't initially lure me. I'm not a huge Holmes fan, though I've read most of Doyle's Holmes stories, and a couple of Holmes knock offs. Holmes is very dry, I think. So going into a book where Holmes is old and retired, meeting a young girl with a sharp mind who becomes his apprentice - well. Really? Should we even go there?

But the book begins with an intriguing preface, a letter from the supposed author about finding a trunk full of Victorian things, including the manuscript, or the book I was about to read. I wouldn't call myself hooked at that point, but the style certainly drew me in. The wit.

So I wandered into The Beekeeper's Apprentice with an open mind, reminding myself of my three chapters or fifty pages rule: if I'm not thoroughly involved within three chapters or fifty pages (whichever comes first), I'm done. Life's too short to read books I won't like.

Three chapters in I was definitely hooked.

Ms. King takes great care in staying with the Holmes story, to the point where she departs, but with reasonable explanation. And Holmes is real. Mary Russell is a wonderful girl, snarky and brilliant, an excellent young match for an aging detective. The trouble the two of them get into cracks me up. The bond that forms is sweet.

I love seeing characters from the original stories, hearing back story on their lives, seeing them as so much more human than I ever knew, especially Watson. Russell is honest in her preconceptions of Watson from the stories, being prepared to view him as something less than intelligent, a buffoon. But it's refreshing to see her take to him.

I won't ruin any of the story for you, but I will tell you that if you're a Holmes fan, or just love detective stories in general, The Beekeeper's Apprentice is worth your time. I was so glad to have read it myself.

As to the give away, I've recently read another of Laurie R. King's books, one written as part of a series. The inspector in this series is modern, the story taking place in San Fransisco. I went into the story prepared to love it. The protagonist is involved in a murder involving a Holmes impersonator, which is what drew me in, I guess, after the other book.

The story in The Art of Deception is well done as far as the mystery element. It was easy enough to see some of it coming together, but the who and why were concealed enough to surprise me. Pleasantly? Not so much.

The plot seemed to be politically correct, or motivated by a cause, so to speak. I don't mind books which are cause driven, but I truly don't like books which bill themselves as being one thing (a murder mystery) turning into an activist's novel. I felt that's what this was. Please don't preach to me when I'm trying to escape in a book. Her ending really cinched that feeling of betrayal, of having started in one genre and ended in another.

Yes, the preaching was left leaning. I don't lean left. Not that that's too relevant. Right leaning books which pretend to be fiction but preach make me angry, too. One of the many reasons I won't read the Left Behind series, along with many other books.

Gah. Didn't mean to turn this into a rant. Sorry.

So if you're interested in my copy of The Art of Deception, leave a comment letting me know and I'll pick one of you. It's a library bound book.

Until I write again ...

Flea

The Demise of a Clown *sniffle*

My Hunny came home! And I left. In the interim, we had a bit of fun.

See, I know why my Hunny is afraid of clowns. It has something to do with seeing Poltergeist as a kid (I did too, but no clown damage there), and equal parts growing up with a mother who dresses amazingly like a clown. There are days I think I see her on the street or in a store and have to shake myself and remember that she's 1,500 miles away.

I know these things about him. Yet I torture him. It's wonderful, married life. I highly recommend it.

So I tucked the latest clown away on my Hunny's work bench, with his leather craft stuff. He loves to work there and relax after a stressful day. I get that. I do. See where this little fella made himself at home?

He's adorable. Who wouldn't love this little clown?

My Hunny. That's who. He went to work on something, and the next thing I know I'm hearing a loud banging and the crushing of ceramic. Hunny has a nice mallet for pounding leather. And clowns, evidently. He had such a satisfied grin when he brought me a box a few minutes later. Take a look:

Sad, huh?

Such wanton destruction.

I love this so. Am actively seeking clowns. If you have one you'd like to donate, please let me know and I'll give you my mailing address. Heh.

Until I write again ...

Flea