tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68147582941665453392024-03-05T02:30:07.040-06:00The Catherine ChroniclesMy life. My observations. My blog.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.comBlogger422125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-21281211018654596592018-05-13T11:49:00.003-05:002018-05-13T11:49:29.796-05:00Mama tried, mama tried . . .I grew up primarily in the 80s and 90s. Back then, moms didn’t have blogs to consult for creative ideas on how to teach their kids things. I guess they probably talked to each other for support and advice. Or maybe they went to the library? I don’t know because, frankly, I was too busy watching wholesome programs like WWF Wrestling and The Dukes of Hazzard to really care. The advent of the internet has changed the way we approach most things in our lives, including parenting, I guess. It’s a go-to resource where we find trusted answers. I mean, need to know how to fix your dishwasher? Go to Google. Need to know how to say “Why, yes, I AM single” in Italian? Google will tell you. And if you need to figure out how to get your kid to chew with her mouth closed, Google will connect you with all kinds of people with all kinds of suggestions. <br /><br />
But before Google, there was Nora. Working it out on her own.<br /><br />
My mom always wanted us to speak intelligently. She is a words person who taught us the importance of a good vocabulary. She absolutely shut down any attempts to use improper grammar like “we was” or “I don’t got no.” And I think I tried to use the word “ain’t” just once before I learned that would not fly in the Palmore house. One of her biggest pet peeves was when we would say “go” and “went” instead of “say” or “said.” Like so: “I saw Sarah on the playground so I walked over to her and I go ‘Do you want to come to my slumber party?’ and then she went ‘When is it?’ And I went ‘It’s this weekend.’ And then she goes “I’ll ask my mom.’” This grammatical impropriety was like nails on the proverbial chalkboard for my mom and she absolutely would not tolerate it in her presence. She tried just telling us why it was incorrect and hoped that we would fix it based on that alone. No such luck. We continued to recount stories of people “going” instead of “saying” and she finally had had enough. So one day, she just started interrupting our stories:<br /><br /> Me: I was playing with my friends at recess today and one of my friends goes “Do you want to -”<br /> Mom: Where did she go?<br /> Me: What? <br /> Mom: Where did she go?<br /> Me: When?<br /> Mom: When you were talking to her. You said she went. Where did she go.<br /> Me: No. She didn’t go anywhere. She just said “Did you get any -”<br /> Mom: Ooooooooohhhhhhhhh! She saaaaaaaaaaaaaaid. That makes more sense. What did she say? <br /> Me: She said “Do you want to go the skating rink on Saturday?” And so I go “Let me ask my -”<br /> Mom: Where did you go? <br /> Me: What?<br /> Mom: Where did you go? That was so rude of you to walk off in the middle of your conversation with her.<br /> Me: I didn’t walk off. I - I just said “Let me ask my -”<br /> Mom: Oooooooooooohhhhhhhh! I see. You saaaaaaaaaaaid. What did you say?<br /> Me: Moooooooooooom. <br /><br />
So we quickly learned that telling my mom a story was frankly just too time-consuming if we didn’t use the correct vocabulary. Words were important to her so they became important to us. And they still are. So she won that round.<br /><br />
But she didn’t win all the time.<br /><br />
The dinner table was a favorite place of hers to teach us lessons and make us more refined. I recall her efforts at trying to correct our terrible posture while at the table. She hated it when we slouched because she wanted her girls to look more like well-bred ladies and less like neanderthals. She was always on us about it, especially at the dinner table. But try as she may, we persisted in our slouching ways and were well on our way to a life of chins grazing the table at fine dining establishments when my mom brought out various books. She handed us each one and made us eat the rest of our meals while balancing the books on our heads. This went on for weeks - each time she felt like our posture was not up to par, the books would come out. That is until the night The Great Gatsby came crashing down on her meatloaf. <br /><br />
And we never had to balance the books again.<br /><br />
Then there was the time she decided that we put too much food in our mouths during dinner and she wanted us to take more appropriately-sized bites like civilized human beings. So, being the creative mom that she was, she came up with what she thought was the perfect solution: she drew a red circle on our plates and we had to put any bite of food in that circle first before we could put it in our mouths. If the bite was bigger than the circle, it was too big and we had to fix it before we could eat it. We were annoyed with this new idea of hers but she was so proud of herself. But then we started noticing red streaks through our mashed potatoes and it was then that my mom realized that she hadn't used a permanent marker. So she got out some clean plates and went to the library to research the symptoms of ink poisoning. <br /><br />
And we never had to measure our bites again. <br /><br />
But the best lesson my mom ever tried to teach us was about the propriety of the songs we were singing in the car and around the house. I think it all started when I was dancing around the house singing "Papa Don't Preach" at the top of my lungs: <br /><br /> Papa don't preach<br /> I'm in trouble deep<br /> Papa don't preach<br /> I've been losing sleep<br /> But I've made up my mind<br /> I'm keepin' my baby<br /><br />
Upon hearing her 11-year old daughter singing these particular lyrics, my mom asked me what I was singing. I told her and then she asked me if I knew what that song was about. It was an easy question to answer: “It’s about how this girl's dad is a preacher and she is telling him not to preach anymore. And she calls her boyfriend "baby" and she's telling her dad that she is not going to break up with him.” I had no idea that Madonna was actually singing about an unplanned teen pregnancy and that she didn't want her dad lecturing her about it. That was an awkward conversation. To this day, I'm thankful I hadn’t been singing "Like a Virgin" instead . . .<br /><br />
After that, my mom decided that we needed to really pay attention to the words of the songs that we were singing. In order to accomplish this, she had us write down the lyrics to a song that we liked and then read them at the dinner table so that we could discuss what they meant. Erin picked "Walk this Way" by Aerosmith and Run DMC. One of my most cringe-worthy childhood memories is sitting across the dining room table from Erin as she dryly read the lyrics "Backstroke lover always hidin’ neath the cover till I talk to my daddy he say” and then paused for discussion. It was an awkward dinner.<br /><br />
For my lyric exploration, I chose the song All Cried Out by Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam. I had taken the task very seriously and had sat in front of my jam box rewinding the tape over and over until I had recorded the entire song in my little spiral. It wasn't full of little gems like Erin's choice was so it was much less awkward to discuss around the dinner table. Unfortunately, a week or so later I left the spiral I had written the lyrics in over at my neighbors' house. Their mom found the spiral, opened it up, and stumbled across the lyrics for All Cried Out written in my childlike cursive. The problem was that she had never heard the song so she thought I had written it myself. At the age of 11. You can imagine her distress when she read:<br /><br /> All alone on a Sunday morning<br /> Outside I see the rain is falling<br /> Inside I'm slowly dying<br /> But the rain will hide my crying<br /> And you, don't you know my tears will burn the pillow<br /> Set this place on fire 'cause I'm tired of your lies<br /> All I needed was a simple "Hello"<br /> But the traffic was so noisy that you could not hear my cry<br /> Ah, I gave you my love in vain<br /> My body never knew such pleasure<br /> My heart never knew such pain<br /> And you, you leave me so confused<br /> Now I'm all cried out over you<br /><br />
My body never knew such pleasure?? Needless to say, our neighbors were truly concerned and planned an intervention with my parents to let them know that I was deeply troubled. And possibly a tramp. But DEFINITELY going through some dark, dark stuff. I hope they were also at least momentarily impressed with my apparent song-writing skills but that was never discussed. Instead, they simply invited my parents over to their house and showed them the spiral. I imagine that they also had the business card of a good therapist on hand. My parents began reading the lyrics and quickly realized the mistake. They explained the whole thing and why the lyrics were in my spiral and our neighbors breathed a sigh of relief that I was not, after all, an at-risk youth. <br /><br />
And we never had to write the words of songs again.<br /><br />
But she tried. She really did. She took her job as our mom seriously and tried to make her lessons stick. And while we don’t always stand up straight or take lady-like bites, especially when Mexican food is involved, we do remember the things she has taught us. So we Palmore girls don’t need to turn to Google for advice on how to get a point across or drive a lesson home. We have the original source of parenting creativity right here in our family tree.<br /><br />
And she’s not saying anywhere.<br /><br />
Wait. Going. I meant going that time.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-53269324306329201852015-09-04T03:25:00.001-05:002015-09-04T13:09:03.852-05:00A One-of-a-Kind CelebrationSeptember 1st is a special day in my family because it happens to be my dad's birthday. And he would have been 71 this year.<br />
<br />
You see, my dad passed away 9 years ago after a short bout with cancer. We took him to the doctor in December and he was gone 7 months later. It was like a terrible whirlwind that we couldn't stop. And it ripped my dad away from us. Suddenly, the man we'd all looked to as our steady and unfailing rock was gone. And it changed everything. For all of us.<br />
<br />
My dad was one of a kind. "Oh, Catherine. 'One of a kind' is so cliche," you say. Well, maybe. But it's true. He was the kind of man who wouldn't eat the last of anything, no matter what it was or how much he wanted it. The kind of man who wouldn't let any of us pick up broken glass because he didn't want us to get hurt. He was the kind of husband who wouldn't let my mom get into her car without warming it up or cooling it down for her. The kind who would put Payday candy bars under her pillow sometimes to surprise her with her favorite treat. He was the kind of dad who would scratch our backs as long as we wanted. The kind who would drive all the way to my house at midnight to kill a roach if I wanted him to.<br />
<br />
Aaaaaaand he was also the kind of dad who would cheat at UNO. So, you know - can't have it all . . .<br />
<br />
Someone like that leaves a huge void when he leaves you. And it could have been really hard to see September 1st roll around every year. But, luckily, I also have a one-of-a-kind mom who thought of the PERFECT way to celebrate my dad's birthday after we lost him: Each year, we get together at my mom's house, write about my dad in a card, and put $20 in it. Like so:<br />
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Then we head to the mall to search for someone who does something thoughtful or nice and we reward them with our card, in honor of my dad. It has turned September 1st into a day we look forward to all year, rather than a day we dread. And we LOVE it.<br />
<br />
This year, we got a bit of a late start because of school and work so we got over to my mom's, wrote our cards, and headed to the mall around 7 p.m. When we got to the mall, the kids and I started our annual prowl. We noticed that the mall was particularly quiet. And empty. Yet, somehow, we all had a good feeling about this year and discussed it as we walked. We just KNEW that people were going to impress us! We just KNEW we were going to wish we had more cards with us! We just KNEW this would be the best year yet!<br />
<br />
Turns out, we knew nothing.<br />
<br />
We walked up and down the mall, looking left and right, up and down. We waited outside the elevators to see if anyone let another person in or out before them. Nothing. We stood by the doors searching for some good, old-fashioned chivalry. Nothing. We walked down to Barnes & Noble to see if we could find a thoughtful bookworm. But the only thing we found there was a Starbucks employee who seemed visibly angry that we actually wanted to purchase something from him. It was a disappointing start to our evening. <br />
<br />
We headed back into the mall, anger-laced frappuccinos in hand, and walked up to the food court to see if we'd have any luck up there. As we walked around, we saw a Harris County Deputy in uniform eating dinner with his family. That's when Ben decided he had found his card recipient at long last . . . <br />
<br />
<u><b>From Ben (11 years old):</b></u><br />
I saw a police officer in the food court. He was eating dinner with his
family. I walked over there and said "Hi." I started explaining what
we were doing for Grandpa's birthday, but I felt like I was messing it
up, so Catchy finished explaining for me. I said "we are out here
looking for people who do nice things, because my Grandpa always did
nice things and you spend your WHOLE life doing nice things." That is
when Catchy stepped in for me. His name was Deputy Garcia and he was very nice and appreciative.<br />
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<br />
After Ben gave his card to Deputy Garcia, we resumed our prowl around the mall. Ben was adamant that the girls would DEFINITELY find a nice person in the Lego store and that it was, therefore, worth a stop. They were not convinced. They felt that they would have more luck trying to set something up. To maybe drop their cards to see if anyone would pick it up. So they walked and dropped, dropped and walked, all to no avail. Savannah then decided she'd sit on a bench and, when someone was walking towards her, she'd stand up and walk away, leaving her phone behind her on the bench. She did this 4 times. On 4 different benches. And people just walked on by. The mall was about to close and we were on the verge of giving up when we saw something that caught Savannah's eye . . . <br />
<br />
<u><b>From Savannah (12 years old):</b></u><br />
This year took us longer to
find people but I ended up finding some really good ones! So Catchy, Emma, Avery,
and I were standing in the middle of the mall just talking but still looking
around. I looked over at the escalator and I saw a lady helping her grandma on
the escalator!!!! So we ran up the escalator to catch up to them and I tapped
on the lady’s back and told her our story about grandpa. There were three women
together: one was the daughter (Katie), one was the mom (Denise), and one was the grandma (Marilyn). They were all so nice and so happy that Katie got the envelope. The grandmother
told us that her husband had passed away a year ago, and so I realized later
that Katie had lost her grandpa just like me so I think she was meant to
be! They were all so surprised and it was just great! I am so glad I saw her help her grandma up the stairs because I know that is something my grandpa
would have done! That is my story about my people! :)<br />
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;"></span>
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<br />
After Savannah gave her card to Katie, we realized that we had run out of time and that the mall was already closing. So we walked on over to meet the rest of the family at Cheesecake Factory for dinner. We were so bummed that Emma, Avery, and I still hadn't given our cards away. But we knew that we had a few minutes before our table would be ready so the girls and I decided to sit outside of the restaurant to see if we could spot any last-minute deserving recipients. The bench we sat on afforded us a good view of the doors to The Cheesecake Factory and P.F. Chang's. Surely we'd see someone opening the door. <br />
<br />
Nope.<br />
<br />
We sat there, slack-jawed, as we watched person after person open the door and then walk right in without even holding it for the person they were walking in with. We started trying to will the next person to hold the door open by quietly repeating "Holditholditholditholdit." No luck. But then, just as we were about to give up, Avery spotted someone she deemed worthy of her card . . .<br />
<br />
<u><b>From Avery (10 years old):</b></u><br />
So this year when we went to the mall there were a few nice people here
and there but nobody really got my eye. So towards the end of the night I
was really searching for people who are good people and there he was. That was the person that actually reminded me of my grandpa because he
held the door open for not only his family but everybody that needed to
go in and that was something that really caught my eye because I felt
like my grandpa was right there in front of my face! Then I went up to him
and started a conversation with him and found out his name was Deion. Not only did he look like a
nice guy, he truly was!!!!! This year I might not have gotten my person fast
but at least I got someone that I actually could see my grandpa doing
the exact same thing and that really warmed my heart! Thank you everybody
for being nice people just like my grandpa!! 💗💗❤️❤️💗💗<br />
<br />
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<br />
After we chatted with Deion, Ben told us that our table was ready so we headed that way and sat down and got ready to hear everyone's stories about giving their cards away. That's when we found out that everyone else had had a tough time finding a recipient. In fact, 5 of the 10 of us still had our cards with us!!<br />
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<br />
So Ben, Savannah, and Avery told their stories and then we heard from Tammy and Erin . . . <br />
<br />
<u><b>From Erin:</b></u><br />
I need to start by saying
that I totally found my person first. I
think it was the first time I wasn’t the last man standing, so I was very
impressed with mahself, thankyouverymuch.
Matt and I ran into my mom at the food court and we were just chatting
about how it was going to be hard to find people this year because the mall was
so dead. I saw this young girl walking
up to us and smiling, but she was a little hesitant to say something. So I smiled at her and she came up and asked
if we were looking for coffee or smoothies while we shop. I realized then that this little girl, who was about
the same age as Savannah, was a salesperson!!
Just like my daddio!! She was so
precious. It’s hard for me to explain it
in writing, but I was so struck by how brave she had to be to walk up to total
strangers in the mall and encourage them to come try her mom’s coffee. I know she was wanting to sell her product,
but it was so much more than that. She
was so sweet and well spoken and I was struck by how young she was and what a
fabulous job she was doing. Even if we
weren’t out there for my dad’s birthday, I still would’ve bought some
coffee. So anyway, I tell her about what
we are doing and she is REALLY listening to me.
I asked her if I could walk over with her to her mom to ask about taking
a picture with her. She agreed and as we
walked over she was asking me on her own about my dad and how he died. Such a
good little conversationalist! The thing
I loved the most about this little girl was that she seemed to be more blessed
by the story and the fact that I gave her a card (she said she loves getting
handwritten cards) than the $20 bill. I
talked to her mom and told her what had happened and what a fantastic job she
is doing and her mom was so proud, too.
Matt and I both ordered a drink and then her mom wouldn’t take our money!! She said they were on her!! I feel like I was the one who was blessed by
this whole encounter. So, Amina, if you
are reading this THANK YOU SO MUCH!! It
was so fun to meet you and to see you working so hard to help your family and blessing
people along the way!! You reminded me
so much of my dad with your ability to sell me coffee at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_387067409" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">8:00</span></span> at night, your
sweet face, and your friendly attitude!! <br />
<br />
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<br />
<u><b>From Tammy:</b></u><br />
The mall was pretty empty and not very promising this year. After walking
around a good hour and not really seeing anyone exemplifying my Dad, I
ran into Catchy and the kids. The four of them were telling me just
how shocked and disappointed they had been in people…customer service
folks. My Dad was a salesman and all about customer service! So not
only were they not finding people worthy, they were running into people
completely contrary to what we were seeking. Their "worst" episode was
at the Starbucks in Barnes & Noble and, while listening to them
talk, I thought something from Starbucks sounded goooooood. BUT I knew
better than to go to the one in B&N!!! So I headed down to the new
one outside of Forever 21. As I got closer to the counter, this young
girl slapped her hands on the counter and very cheerfully said "How are
YOU today?? I hope you have had a GREAT day." I loved her exuberance
and, maybe even more so, her sincerity. I engaged her for a little bit and the conversation was joyful and energizing. I couldn't help but
smile while talking with her. And also to mentally compare my
experience with that of the kids…I thought, "My Dad would like this girl and her positive attitude! She HAS to get my card!" She was one of
those who seems genuinely surprised to be rewarded for doing something
that just comes naturally and that made me like my choice even more. Her name was Alyssa and she is a lovely
spirit. If you see her next time you are in there, smile big!!<br />
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As we ended the night, we all decided that Matt, Brian, Emma, my mom, and I would all try to give our cards away the next day if we could. Luckily, Matt and I were successful in our quest . . .<br />
<br />
<u><b>From Matt:</b></u><br />
After not having any luck at the mall last night I was able to give my
card away to someone who truly deserved it. Chris Ciancimino aka
Stretch, is one of my production supervisors at work and is my right-hand man. Any time I need a project completed I go to him and he never
lets me down. To be honest, I would not be able to do my job without
him. On Monday we were shooting the breeze and I mentioned to him how
Avery was collecting Gatorade labels as a fundraiser for her softball
team. Stretch is always interested in hearing stories about my girls and
how their softball tournaments went over the weekend. After our
discussion on Monday I didn't really think much of it. Sure enough, when
I came to work this morning Stretch had 10 Gatorade labels and said to
be sure and give them to Avery and that he would continue collecting
until the fundraiser was over in MARCH!! I gave him my card without
delay and told him how much I appreciate everything he does for me. He
is an outstanding worker and friend, and is always willing to help out
any way he can!<br />
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<br />
My mom and I decided to spend the lunch hour at the mall that next day to see if we could find anyone. Again, we walked and walked. My mom prowled the food court for someone who had taken his hat off while he ate. And I was strolling around looking for someone thoughtful. I ran into a friend of mine outside the mall and, as we were chatting, I saw two sisters hold the doors open for a woman who was pushing a big stroller. They were both super cheerful while they did it and were laughing with each other. So I decided to give them my card. Their names were Lisa and Sandy and they were so nice and seemed genuinely touched by what we were doing to honor my dad. They told us that they had just lost their step-father about a month ago so I think it made it even that much more special to to them. <br />
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Unfortunately, my mom, though she walked and walked and stared awkwardly at people's laps to see if there was a ball cap sitting there, was not able to give her card away . . . <br />
<br />
<u><b>From my mom:</b></u><br />
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As everyone who follows Catherine’s blog knows by now, my mission - my
only mission on this very special outing to the mall - is to find a man
at the Food Court who has doffed his hat while eating. My sweet husband
would always shake his head with dismay when he saw a man wearing a hat
while eating. “Are parents not teaching their kids about this” he
would say while looking at me, hoping I would share his
feelings. When he looked at me like that I felt like I had to try to
conjure up an equally dismayed expression on my face but, personally, I
didn’t really care as long as these young cretins weren’t trying to eat
my french fries or steal my purse when I wasn’t looking. But now I
feel like I need to carry the torch on this so I travel the Food Court and walk a fine line between walking and observing, and stalking
and staring. My envelope is the only one with $50.00 in it and I always
hope I can give it to someone. It’s so much fun to surprise someone
with the card and to see them light up when they see the crisp fifty
dollar bill. When I am lucky enough to find someone, it not only gives
me a chance to write about them in Catherine’s birthday blog, it gives
them a story to take home and share with their family later. No such luck this year. But, although I
was sad that I didn’t get to have this happy experience this year, I
found that fifty bucks buys a lot of Dippin Dots!</div>
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<br />
<br />
So there you have it. That's our 2015 celebration of a man I really wish you each had known. I man I really wish was still here. But I guess that's what these September 1st celebrations do for us: they show us that, even though he's not physically with us anymore, we can still find my dad in others when we look. He's in that pleasant salesman who makes our day. That person who holds the door for us. That loving relative who helps us along when we need it. That friend who does thoughtful things for us. Or the police officer who sacrifices his comfort for ours. People like that are one-of-a-kind.<br />
<br />
</div>
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</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Just like my dad.<br />
<br />
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Happy birthday, sweet Daddy.</div>
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-75706112261078384102014-09-03T04:01:00.000-05:002014-09-03T08:59:16.410-05:00A birthday Charlie-bration!This Monday - September 1st - was my sweet daddy's birthday and he would have been 70 years old.<br />
<br />
Man. Reading that sentence is so surreal. I can't believe it's already September. I can't believe that this year would have been his 70th birthday. And somehow, even 8 years after his death, I still can't believe that he isn't here to celebrate it with us.<br />
<br />
I was in Barnes & Noble recently and saw a book that made me think of him. Nothing major - just a John Wayne biography. But the minute I saw it, a thought popped into my head involuntarily: "I should get that for Dad for his birthday." And then suddenly this innocuous book became like a Mac truck, stopping me in my tracks and knocking the breath out of me. Tears started burning the backs of my eyes and I reached out and touched the book. Like it was somehow a bridge between me and my dad. Like somehow touching it would help me feel better about the fact that I can no longer buy a book for my dad for his birthday. Like I could take a moment and forget the reality. <br />
<br />
Man. Losing someone like my dad does crazy things to you. One minute you're be-bopping through Barnes & Noble without a care in the world. And the next minute you're creepily stroking John Wayne's face hoping you can regain your composure before anyone has to tranquilize you in the biography section. <br />
<br />
ANYWAY, since we can no longer celebrate my dad's birthday with him in person, we celebrate it in spirit. Each year, we walk around the mall looking for people who do something nice or considerate for someone else and, when we find them, we give them a card with a little note about my dad and a $20 bill reward for being special. Like so . . .<br />
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We really look for the little things that people don't always take the time to do anymore: opening the door for someone, letting someone else go first on the escalator, picking up a piece of trash. Just the little things that my dad always did for all of us that made us feel loved and taken care of. It's a way for us to keep his memory alive. And it has become one of our favorite family traditions.<br />
<br />
This year, my dad's birthday fell on Labor Day. My sisters' kids had spent the night with me on Sunday night so they were all at my house on Monday morning. At one point, I was upstairs putting my makeup on and I heard them downstairs laughing about something so I went to the balcony upstairs so that I could hear them better. Apparently, they had gotten on my computer and they were reading my blog post from last year's celebration, laughing at all the stories and talking about all the things they remembered about the people they had given their cards to. It was such a great moment for me because it just reminded me that this tradition doesn't just reward someone in their moment of thoughtfulness, it rewards US, as well, with years and years of memories and laughter. I can't think of a better way to honor my dad.<br />
<br />
So we met at my moms, wrote out our cards, stuffed them with our $20 bills, and headed up to the mall. As usual, the kids started off by walking around with me. Because I'm awesome. Also, because I buy them cookies. And cokes. And ice cream. But mainly because I'm awesome.<br />
<br />
We walked around, keeping our eyes open and staying very focused. We did NOT stop to look at cute dresses in the window at Abercrombie. We did NOT contemplate the necessity of going into the Lego store "just for 5 seconds." And we did NOT pile into a big over-sized chair placed randomly in the middle of the mall so that we could take advantage of a cheap photo op.<br />
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No. We are not that easily distracted. We had a mall to scour and that was all that was on our minds. <br />
<br />
Eventually, all of our walking, soda drinking, and cookie eating took its toll and we had to make a bathroom stop near the food court. As we were walking through, we saw my mom sitting there looking for someone to give her card to so we stopped and chatted with her for a bit. She told us that she had seen a lot of people doing nice things for others in the food court and she suggested that we sit down and observe for a bit. We decided to take her advice so I found a table for us. But then Ben saw one closer to the Dippin Dots stand and he thought that might be a better place for us. Purely because it afforded a better view of the food court, of course. NOT because it was right next to the Dippin Dots stand.<br />
<br />
We had been sitting for approximately 23 seconds when Ben and Savannah asked if they could get some Dippin Dots. And that's what led to our first card giveaway of 2014 . . . <br />
<br />
<u><b>From Savannah (11 years old):</b></u><br />
So Ben and
I were craving some Dippin Dots, and why not get them because we were already
in the food court. So, Catchy gave us money
and we got in line. We ordered our Dippin Dots and received them from the lady working there aaaaaand then we just
walked off, completely forgetting to pay.
So then an 11 year old boy who had been behind us in line walked over to our table and said nicely, “you guys forgot to pay.” So we said, “oh
yeah, thank you” and then went to go pay.
Catchy had given us a $20 bill and Ben just gave the lady the $20 bill
and left assuming there was no change.
So then Ben and I started enjoying our Dippin Dots and the same boy
came up to Ben and tapped him on the shoulder and said, “you forgot your
change.” So, we went to go get our
change. I thought that was very polite
of that boy to look out for us and let us know we forgot our change. We went over to his table with his family and
told him about my grandpa. He had a
smile on his face and was nodding. Oh
yeah, his name was Javier. Then we asked
him if he was able to take a picture with me and he said, “Sure!” And one last detail, I will share with you
guys is he had a broken arm and a cast with a sling on top of the cast. That is
the story of my thoughtful person who truly reminded me of my grandpa.<br />
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We were feeling pretty great about having found Javier. And I was feeling pretty great about getting my change back. But after a few minutes of seeing nothing else, we decided to move to a different table. We thought we might get a better vantage point from one of the tables over by the cookie stand. Pure coincidence, of course. We had been there a few minutes when I saw a friend of mine and started chatting with her. While I was doing that, all the kids except for Emma decided to walk around the mall with Tammy for a bit. I tried to remind them of my awesomeness but they didn't seem persuaded. I threatened to cut them out of my will. Inexplicably, they just laughed. I shrugged my shoulders and then maturely shook my fists at them behind their backs as they walked off. Then Emma and I continued on.<br />
<br />
Now this was the first year that Emma seemed focused on trying to give her card to a cute boy. She is 13, after all, so it's not entirely a surprise. And, frankly, it makes sense to me. It kills two birds with one stone - she gets to participate in the birthday celebration and she gets to talk to a cute boy. I get it. So it did not surprise me when two One Direction-esque boys walked past and she lost her train of thought mid-sentence. I asked her if she'd like to follow them and see if they did anything card-worthy. Before I could even get the question out completely, she said "YES," turned on her heels, and began following them. And, eventually, after what can only be described as turbo-walking and some fairly indiscreet stalking techniques, she was able to give her card away. But not as she had expected . . . <br />
<br />
<u><b>From Emma (13 years old):</b></u><br />
Catchy and I were
stalking these 2 guys because I wanted to set them up so I could give my card to them. I
was going to try to get in front of them and drop my card and see
if they would pick it up. So we followed them for a little while and
eventually I got the chance to get in front of them and so I did. I
dropped my card in front of them and one of them just stepped on the
card and kept walking.
The other looked around to see who had dropped it but did absolutely
nothing! And that made me pretty mad. Right before I was going to pick
it up, a lady picked it up for me and handed it to me. She said, "You
dropped this." I stopped her and explained to her what we were doing
and before she opened the card, she turned to Catchy and said, "Should I
be scared?" We all laughed and then she opened the card and she was
really happy about it and she liked what we were doing. Then we took
our picture together.....her name was Petra.<br />
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<br />
After Emma gave her card to Petra, we continued walking around looking for someone I could give my card to. By this time, my mom had given her card away so she met up with us to help us look. We walked outside to watch the doors. Nothing. We walked over to Barnes & Noble to watch the escalators. Nothing. We went over to Cheesecake Factory to stand by the benches by the hostess stand to see if any of the people sitting there waiting for a table would let my mom sit on a bench. Nothing. We walked back to the escalators inside the mall to see if we could see anything nice happening there. Nothing. <br />
<br />
And then I saw him. He was an older man, walking with his wife. He wasn't doing anything particularly considerate or thoughtful. It was just the way he was walking with his wife, holding her hand. They reminded me of my mom and dad. So I decided to follow them for a minute and see what they did. They went up to the food court and he turned to his wife and leaned in to ask her a question. Then he left her and went and stood in line to get her a drink. And that's when I knew I HAD to give this man my card because that is EXACTLY the kind of thing my dad always did for my mom. He would ask if she wanted anything and then he would go get it for her. It's not that she had anything against standing in line. It's just that he wanted to do that for her. To take care of her and spoil her. And that's exactly what this man was doing. So I waited for him to pay for their drinks and walk back to his wife and then I walked up to them and told them about what we were doing and why I had chosen him. They were super sweet but seemed a bit skeptical of having their picture taken. So I didn't get their picture BUT I did find out that their names were Lou and Peggy. And I loved meeting them. <br />
<br />
After I gave my card to Lou, Avery joined back up with me and she and I hit the pavement again, looking left and right, up and down for someone doing something worthy of her card. Time was running short at this point and we had our fingers crossed . . . <br />
<u><b><br /></b></u>
<u><b>From Avery (9 years old):</b></u><br />
I was worried because I didn’t have anybody and we only had
15 minutes before the mall closed. So I
thought it would be a good idea to go by the elevator. So we went inside the elevator and we were
just going up and down and up down to find somebody, but finally I thought it
was weird that we were staying in there.
So I told Catchy, “let’s get out and wait for it to come back down.” So then we were just talking and a guy came
up. The elevator door opened and Catchy
and I were talking, so we didn’t know it opened. So we looked up and a guy was already in the
elevator and the elevator door was closing and then the guy hit the button to
open the door and said, “hop on in!”
Then it was closing again and a big group came up so he hit the button
to open the door again and they said THANK YOU.
Then he got out of the elevator and we followed him, but he was on the
phone so we waited until he got off. So
we ran after him until he ended the call.
Then we tapped him on the shoulder and we told him about my
grandpa. He said, “aww, thank you!” Then he told us his name was Tristan. He said, “I really appreciate it.” Then, I asked him if he would mind taking a
picture with me and he said he didn’t mind.
So, Tristan is a really good person and he really reminded me of my
grandpa!<br />
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After Avery and gave her card to Tristan, we ran to meet up with the rest of the family at our traditional meeting place. Everyone was there, waiting for us, and they were huuuuuuungry. So we gave our normal teasers like "I can't wait to show you who I gave my card to!" and "I think I have the best story this year!" and "I really did cut y'all out of my will!" and headed out to our cars so that we could head on over to dinner.<br />
<br />
At this point, Tammy still had not found anyone worthy of her card and she was kind of bummed about it because she had never had that much trouble giving her card away. When we got to the restaurant, we had to wait for a bit while they got our table ready for our big group. While we were sitting there, Tammy spotted her guy . . .<br />
<br />
<u><b>From Tammy:</b></u><br />
I had found no one at the mall to whom I could give my card. I was the only
one!! When everyone else had given their cards away and it was time to eat, we went to Carrabba's for dinner and to share our stories. While
waiting for our table, another group came in and was waiting also.
After a few minutes, one of the men in that group did a quick little jog
back to the door....that caught my attention. He had noticed a man
trying to make his way through the doors with a child in a wheelchair. The man held the door open for the dad and was very sweet about
it so I decided I wanted to give him my card. When I gave him my card, I found out his name is Jeff. After dinner, his wife came over to our table to tell us that Jeff had posted something on Facebook about receiving a card from a lady who was out celebrating her dad's birthday by finding and rewarding nice people. Pretty soon after he posted that, one of their friends commented, saying "That's my friend who gave you that card!" So it turns out that Jeff and his wife and I have a mutual friend - our sweet friend Nicole Cruz! What a small world! I'm proud to know them ALL!<br />
<br />
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<br />
After Tammy gave her card away, we were seated at the EXACT same table we had had the year before. We spent an inordinate amount of time discussing how cool that was and then, after placing our orders with our VERY sweet waiter, Mark, we began the annual reporting. <br />
<br />
But I'll let them all tell you in their own words . . .<br />
<br />
<u><b>From Ben:</b></u><br />
I had been looking for a
while for someone to give my card to but I couldn't find anyone. So we
were looking for someone to pick up my card after I would
purposely drop it. After trying that several times and having people
just step over it, I started to get frustrated. I thought I would try
one more time and that's when I found this guy....he said "Oops! You
dropped something". Then we told him what we were doing. He looked
really happy and then we followed him onto the elevator and I got a
picture with him. We saw him a little bit later and he was reading
the card. His name was Dominic.<br />
<br />
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<br />
[Side note - how cute is Ben in his braces??]<br />
<u><b><br /></b></u>
<u><b>From Matt:</b></u><br />
After scouring the mall for two hours searching for someone doing a good
deed, I came up with a great idea. I decided to camp out by one of the
mall entrances hoping to find someone, anyone to hold the door open for
a lady, child, boyfriend, etc. 30 minutes had passed and I was close
to giving up...until I met Andre. He held the door open for my wife, my
mother in law, my sister in law and even some random stranger. I
approached him and told him what we were doing at the mall and he
graciously accepted my card. Andre was definitely not from these parts,
which leads me to believe that chivalry in our country is, in fact, dead.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<u><b><br /></b></u>
<u><b>From Erin:</b></u><br />
This year was one of the hardest years for me to find someone. Matt and
I walked the mall together for a good hours 2 before we decided to
settle in and watch and wait to see if anything happened. It had
started raining, so we went outside by one of the doors hoping to see a
husband run out to pull the car around while his wife waited inside - something my dad did ALL. THE. TIME. No
such luck. In fact, there was one couple with a baby and we heard the
wife say, "Oh no! It's raining!" We got pretty excited until we saw
the husband look at her like she was crazy and say, "It ain't raining.
Let's go." Alllllllrighty then. Moving on.....we went down and staked
out another set of doors watching for anything interesting there. Lots
of very nice boyfriends holding doors open for the girlfriends aaaaaand
then letting it slam into the faces of the people BEHIND their girlfriends. We were getting pretty
frustrated when I happened to see this group of four ladies who were
obviously looking for something. It was a teenage girl, her mother and
two older ladies (most likely grandmother and great aunt??). The
teenager was looking through her bags and the mom was walking around
looking on the floor. The older grandma was sitting in a big, heavy
chair and she stood up and started pushing it all the way back and out
of the way. Nothing there. Then, she pushed the other chairs around and
even got down on one knee to look on the ground. Around that time, I
saw two teenage girls walk up to the group and they started helping them
look, too. I told Matt this was TOTALLY gonna be my pick if these girls
didn't know them and just stopped to help because they saw they needed help! Before too long,
though, selfies and fierce face poses were involved and I realized they
did know the teenager with my group. So bummed. I was just about to
turn back to the doors when I noticed the grandma and the great aunt
standing up and say something to the teenager and mom and then they
started walking off! Wait. Do THEY not know each other?? What
the...so, I don't even tell Matt, I just took off running (running, I tell
you. What? They were fast grandmas) after them. I tapped her on the
shoulder and asked her if she knew the other two. She said, "NO, but
that poor girl lost an earring she had just bought." HOLY COW. I'm
re-running the whole scene through my mind and picturing her moving that
big chair all the way back and getting down on hands and knees to help a
girl she doesn't know look for a small earring. I immediately gave her
my card and explained it and she started crying. Could I please love
this lady any more?? She told me she was 78 years old and that she
loved to see that people were still out doing nice things for other
people. When she opened my card, she tried to tell me should couldn't
accept it. I MAY or MAY NOT have told her she isn't the boss of me and
that she had to accept it, but that's neither here nor there. Her name
is Marilyn and she is wonderful. She didn't feel comfortable having her
picture taken and I didn't feel comfortable not having a pic taken of
me (DUH), so here ya go! Thanks for making my dad's birthday extra
special this year, Marilyn!!<br />
<br />
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<br />
<u><b>From my mom:</b></u><br />
Every year my job is to prowl the food court looking for a young man who
has taken his hat off while he eats. And every year, I worry that I won't find anyone. Men eating with their hats on was always a pet peeve of Charlie's but it seems that it's becoming more of the norm. Iʼm
beginning to think that it isnʼt so much a case of bad manners anymore,
but just that times change. A man taking off his hat while he eats has
gone the way of calling cards, duels, women-and-children first, and
belts and shoelaces for that matter. It has been replaced with menʼs
pants flying at half mast, men elbowing women out of the way in crowds,
and everyone is just generally in a huge rush - to get to work, to get
home, to cook and especially to eat. So each year on Charlie's birthday, I wonder if maybe I just have to adjust my
thinking. Maybe I should look for some other good quality. Like, a young man who chews with his
mouth closed, for instance. But, no - from what I saw this year, it would be easier to find
Amelia Earhart. But I digress.<br />
<br />
This year, as I was doing my usual tour of the
tables looking for (and hoping for) a hat stowed on an empty seat or
held on a lap, I saw something that gave me hope for the upcoming generation: a hat perched on top of some books and a
young man sitting beside it eating his meal. And that is how I met Amir. He
is 6ʼ4” tall and currently going to school at Houston Community College with dreams of
transferring to a four-year college to play basketball. He has also done
some modeling for Abercrombie, a fact that was of great interest to my granddaughters, for some reason . . .<br />
<br />
When I asked Amir why his hat was off he
said his mother taught him to take it off when he eats. She is a
photographer and has done a great job with this kid. He takes his hat
off when he eats, he is articulate, polite, sweet AND he chews with his
mouth closed! Mom, you should be proud. I asked my little granddaughter,
Avery, to take our picture for the blog. She is only 9 but she handles
that iPhone like a pro! Or “like a boss” as she would say. After taking a
shot she turned the phone around so I could see and asked if I liked the
shot. I noticed that my shirt was pulled up on one side and I felt like
it was exposing too much of my tummy so I asked her to let me
straighten my shirt and suck my tummy in so she could take another pic. I mean, I couldn't have a picture of me standing with a model with my tummy hanging out. I explained to Amir
why we had to do this all over again and he very sweetly gave me a
photography tip that I assume was from his mother. He told me to just
turn a little to the side and that would fix the problem. So sweet, but
was he kidding? I would have to turn all the way around with my back to
the camera and just look back over my shoulder in order to make my
stomach look smaller! But I used his mother's tip of turning a bit to the side. And I used my own tip of sucking it in like my life depended on it and we got the picture. Avery and I said goodbye and I walked away feeling hope for Amir's generation. And feeling like I needed to go do some crunches . . . and not just my normal potato chip crunches!<br />
<br />
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<br />
After we had all finished telling our stories, our waiter (who sensed that we were there for some occasion) asked what we were celebrating. We told him about my dad and our annual tradition and he responded by bringing us a little birthday dessert in honor of my dad . . .<br />
<br />
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<br />
It was a fitting way to end our night. Because it was a final touch by someone doing something nice just because and brightening our day in the process.<br />
<br />
And also because it was a really yummy cannoli. <br />
<br />
So that's it - our 2014 celebration. We walked, we talked, we laughed, we searched, and we rewarded. And, as OUR reward, we got to see my dad again. In Javier's and Tristan's sweet smiles and helpfulness. In Petra's and Dominic's thoughtfulness and action. In Marilyn's selflessness and willingness. In Lou's loving and giving attitude toward his wife. In Andre's and Jeff's patience and chivalry. And in Amir's gentlemanly manners. Charlie Palmore may be gone from us. But he is ALWAYS with us.<br />
<br />
Happy 70th birthday, my daddykins.<br />
<br />
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<br />Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-16978674831611768702014-06-13T04:24:00.003-05:002014-06-13T04:24:56.450-05:00My dad.If I close my eyes, I can bring up one of my first memories. It's early in the morning - the sun is not quite up yet. My dad is carrying me to a neighbor's house because my sister Tammy needed to go to the hospital for some reason. I'm half asleep and my head is resting on his shoulder, his arms are wrapped around me. I can hear his shoes on the sidewalk and hear his voice resonating against my ear as he's talking to the neighbor. I knew something was wrong but I wasn't worried. I always felt so safe with my dad carrying me. It's such a vivid memory.<br />
<br />
And I don't want to open my eyes and disturb this memory. So I just keep them closed and keep remembering.<br />
<br />
Time fast-forwards a bit and I'm a little older and he's coming home from work. My sisters and I run to him and he catches us, one-by-one, and spins us around. And I do that over and over again because I love the way I feel like a ballerina when he's spinning me around. And he never says no. Never says "that's enough." He just lets me keep running to him until I lose interest. Then he tells us that he brought a magic butterscotch home and we squeal and jump up and down and can hardly contain ourselves. He sits in his chair, pulls out the magic butterscotch so we can see it. Then he puts it in his briefcase, says some crazy, nonsensical "magic" words that seem to get funnier every time, waves his hands around, and BAM! There's suddenly an overstuffed bag of Brach's candy in his briefcase!! We squeal and clap and stuff our faces with candy. And he just laughs at us.<br />
<br />
Fast forward and we're having a taco night with all my parents' friends and the guitars have come out. I listen to my dad play his guitar and sing with his friends. And before I go to bed, he lets me sing a song for everyone while he plays. I opt for "One Day at a Time" and stand there in my nightgown, singing for everyone. My dad smiles proudly at me and then he kisses me and sends me on to bed. <br />
<br />
Another quick jump in time and Santa is at my first grade Christmas party. I get to sit in his lap and tell him what I want. When I look down at his shoes, I notice that Santa is wearing shoes just like my dad's. Then I notice that Santa is wearing Old Spice like my dad does. And then I look in Santa's eyes and I see the same twinkle that I know from my dad's eyes. And I know then and there that this is my dad dressed up as Santa. I get home from school and ask him if he was dressed up as Santa at my class party today. He tells me no - it was the real Santa and that he even saw Santa's sleigh on the rooftop of my school. I say "well, he had your shoes." And he says "well, Santa liked my shoes last year and I told him where I got them. He probably got a pair. Or had his elves make him some." I tell him that Santa smelled like him. He says "They definitely have Old Spice in the North Pole." He out-lawyers me at every turn - no matter what argument I throw at him, he has a response. And a twinkle in his eye.<br />
<br />
Fast forward again and I'm a few years older, getting ready for school. As I am attempting to curl and tease my bangs to 80s perfection, the phone rings and I answer it. Before I even hear his voice, I know it's my dad because he calls us every morning while we're getting ready for school and sings "I Just Called to Say I Love You." I sing it with him and he tells me to have a good day at school and he tells me he loves me. Even then I know it's pretty amazing to have a dad who really does just call to say "I love you" every morning, without fail. I go to school and come home later and I call my dad at work. It doesn't matter how often I call or what time of day, no one ever tells me that my dad can't talk to me. They put me through to his office and I say "Hey, Dad. Are you busy?" And he answers "I'm never too busy for you, Darlin'." Every time. No matter what.<br />
<br />
Time moves forward again and we're driving to Dallas for a family reunion on Memorial Day weekend; my sisters and I in the backseat, my mom and dad in the front. My dad has been playing DJ for us, scanning the radio stations for something good that my sisters and I can sing along to. Somewhere near Corsicana, we catch a station that's doing a Golden Oldies countdown and my dad starts singing. We know the songs, too, and we sing along with him. But, even though the music is good, the part we really love is that Dad is singing, too. We love hearing him sing. Then we see a Dairy Queen sign and start chanting "DQ! DQ! DQ!" until he takes the exit for the Dairy Queen. We cheer and he laughs. On the way back to Houston after the reunion, we fall asleep in the back seat. Suddenly, we are startled awake by my dad chanting "DQ! DQ! DQ!" as he's exiting the highway for a Dairy Queen stop. We wake up and start chanting with him. And he laughs.<br />
<br />
Another jump in time and I'm in high school, crying about some boy. My dad dries my tears, hugs me, and tells me that the guy must think I'm too pretty. I don't believe him, of course. But I love that he says that. And that he believes that.<br />
<br />
Fast forward a bit more and I'm graduating high school and heading off to A&M and, for the first time in my life, I see my dad have to put on sunglasses because "it's sunny" and not because he's tearing up that I'm heading off to my new dorm 75 miles away. A few years later and the sunglasses come out again when he's leaving me at my new apartment in Birmingham, 700 miles away. <br />
<br />
Then he's calling me Atticus. Telling me he's proud of me. Then he's leaving an Easter basket on the front porch for my first Easter in my new house so that, when I walk out in the morning, I know that the Easter Bunny didn't forget me. Then he's trying to give me $20 because I'm meeting my friends at the movies and, even though I'm a lawyer and grown up and tell him I don't need it, he wants to take care of me. Then he's playing with the grandkids and laughing at them. <br />
<br />
And then he's gone.<br />
<br />
I think about him all the time. Father's Day, birthdays, holidays, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and weekends. I can close my eyes and pull up memories any time I want to. And I'm thankful that he gave me memories that come alive like that. That he was so part of my life and my joy that I can call him up in my mind's eye whenever I want. I wish I could thank him for that and for so much more. For making me feel safe. For never being too busy for me. For filling my childhood with magic and laughter. For singing. For being proud of me. For being all the things I ever needed him to be during the years he was molding me and during these years I have to carry on without him . . .<br />
<br />
My role model.<br />
<br />
My standard. <br />
<br />
My hero.<br />
<br />
My dad.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-13375680049305821362013-09-03T01:54:00.002-05:002013-09-03T07:23:34.851-05:00Happy birthday, Dad!This past Sunday was a special day for me and my family - it was my dad's birthday. And he would have been 69.<br />
<br />
As most of you know by now, my dad died seven years ago just before his 62nd birthday. He had been diagnosed with cancer in December of 2005 and then passed away just seven short months later at the end of July 2006. Getting the news that he had cancer was horrible and surreal on its own - something that happened to other people's dads. Not mine. But having to sit around a hospital room as he slipped away, knowing we couldn't do anything to stop it . . . well, it still feels like a nightmare that I hope and pray I'll wake up from. That my alarm will go off any minute and I'll wake up to a world where my dad is still on the other end of the phone, calling me "Atticus" and asking if I have enough gas in my car. But I know that's not my world anymore. And it never really stops hurting.<br />
<br />
I remember back in 2007, as his birthday approached, I began dreading it with every ounce of my being. I mean, he had only been gone a little more than a month and the pain was still very raw. The last thing I wanted to do was handle this reality. How on EARTH would we face this first birthday without him? How would we find joy? How would we find something to celebrate?<br />
<br />
How do I find some Paxil? Good LORD, I'm depressing myself here . . .<br />
<br />
ANYWAY, as that first September 1st rolled around, my mom had a brilliant idea: we'd all go to the mall armed with $10 bills and give them away to people who did something nice or thoughtful or chivalrous - something that reminded us of our dad. It was an amazing and uplifting idea. And, since my mom is particularly talented at finding something depressing in every situation (she can turn any conversation into a discussion about death or diabetes in 12 seconds flat. I've timed her.) we were even more impressed with her idea than you might think.<br />
<br />
And so a tradition began. Now we meet at my mom's house on September 1st and write a card to our prospective recipients. This year we wrote the same thing we wrote last year: "I lost my Dad (father-in-law/husband/grandpa) seven years ago. He
always inspired us to be thoughtful, kind and concerned with the needs
of others. So every September 1st we celebrate his birthday by looking
for people who possess the same qualities that made him so special to
all who knew him. You did something today that reminded me of him and I
wanted you to have this little treat so you would know I think you're
special, too! Thanks for being a part of my Dad's birthday celebration." We've also started writing my blog address on the back of the card so folks can go read about this tradition that they are now a part of. Then we put a $20 bill in the envelope as their reward and head up to the mall or some other public place to look for people who do nice things: opening the door for someone, picking up a piece of trash, letting someone go first on an escalator. Not earth-shattering things by any stretch, just every day kindnesses that seem to get lost in the shuffle.<br />
<br />
So this year we met at my mom's, wrote out our cards, and loaded them up with our $20 bills. Then we headed up to the mall. Once we got there, we all divided up so that we could go on the hunt for our card recipients. The kids all decided to go with me because, well . . . everyone say it with me . . . I'M AWESOME. Actually, truth be told, there WAS some discussion as to whether Emma and Savannah would go with me this year. It seems that they thought it might be too "chaotic" for all of us to be together this year. I think they get "chaotic" and "ridiculously awesome" confused sometimes so I chose to not be offended. Well, who am I kidding? I was a LITTLE broken-hearted over the whole thing. But, luckily, I was able to drown my sorrows in a chocolate double doozie from the cookie stand and all was well.<br />
<br />
But I digress . . .<br />
<br />
The four kids and I walked and looked. Looked and walked. Then sat and looked. Then stood and looked. Then walked to the pet store to "look for nice people." Then walked and looked some more. But we had no luck. Not one person holding a door. No one stepping aside to let an elderly person pass by. No mind-blowing escalator etiquette. Nothing. Eventually, we ran into Erin and found out that she was having the same luck we were having so that made us feel a bit better. Then Emma and Savannah decided to go with Erin despite my overwhelming awesomeness. So Ben and Avery and I drowned our sorrows in some Dippin' Dots.<br />
<br />
Don't you judge me.<br />
<br />
As 6:00 approached, we knew we were in trouble. The crowds would soon be clearing out of the mall and we all still had our cards to give away. We planted ourselves in front of the doors going out of the mall, hoping to find someone who would open the door for another person. But everyone was using the automatic door. So much so that a line of about 15 people waiting for the automatic door began to form. And the non-automatic doors? Well, it was appalling - I've never seen so many people letting the door shut in another person's face. It was ridiculous. So there the three of us stood, still holding our dang cards. That's when we decided that these desperate times called for desperate measures - it was time to stage something. We talked about dropping something to see if anyone would pick it up but we decided that was too predictable. Then we came up with the idea that Ben would walk ahead and trip and fall to see if anyone did anything. Since Ben is the closest thing to a stunt man that I know, he was the perfect candidate for our desperate ploy. He looked up at me, gave me a slightly dramatic head-nod, and quickened his pace to get ahead of me. Avery and I watched him with great anticipation. And he did not disappoint. He spotted a lady coming toward him so he went into action. He performed a move that I like to call "boy stubs his toe on large, invisible boulder and flies through the air." It was beautifully executed, perfectly timed. Avery and I had to fight the urge to do a slow clap in admiration of his skills. And what did our passing lady do? She looked down at Ben, adjusted her direction, and walked around him.<br />
<br />
Unbelievable.<br />
<br />
Ben, not one to be deterred, decided to try it again. As we approached Banana Republic, he noticed a sale sign standing outside the doors to the store and said "Catchy, I'm gonna go run into that Banana Republic sign." So, again, he got ahead of us, pretended like he was looking at something on the other side of the mall, and ran into the sign. Upon impact, he threw up his arms dramatically, kicked his feet up behind him, and sailed forward and to the ground. Just then, a Banana Republic employee came out, looked at Ben, checked his sign for damage, pulled the sign inside the doors, and locked up the store. Ben got up on one knee, threw his hands in the air, and said "SERIOUSLY??"<br />
<br />
It was NOT a good night for finding small kindnesses!! <br />
<br />
As the crowds started thinning out, we decided to plant ourselves outside the mall to see if we saw anything out there. And, finally we had some luck!! First, Avery saw a girl she deemed worthy of her card. But I'll let Avery tell you herself . . .<br />
<br />
<u><b>From Avery (8 years old):</b></u><br />
After about an hour, we walked outside because we weren't getting any
action. So we walked out there to see if we could see anyone opening
doors. So then, Ben, Catchy and I were just looking really hard and we
still couldn't find anybody. So then we walked inside. We walked back
upstairs and we looked in Dillard's and Macy's. Then, we went back
downstairs and we looked in Forever 21. Then we didn't have any luck at
all, so were just kinda sitting in places looking everywhere and then
on our way going back outside Ben was acting like he tripped. And then
Ben tripped the first time and then he did it again and he did it right
in front of the store. A worker came out and just moved the sign and
didn't help Ben at all. Then we walked outside and we kinda just were
like looking around everywhere. I saw this little girl about 7 or 8 and
she opened the door for her mom and her mom had a stroller. Then her
mom walked off and her mom said, "come on!" And then she said, "hold
on." Because she wanted to help somebody else with a stroller that she
didn't know. And I thought that was really nice of her to do that, so
they were really fast and walking the opposite way. So, we had to run,
run, run! We caught up to her and told her what happened to my grandpa and gave her
the envelope. We asked her what her name was and it was Maggie. We
asked her to take a picture with me and she said, "sure!" And so then
Catchy took the picture. And then we walked off and so did they and we
saw them open the card and they had a surprised look on their faces
because there was $20 inside! And that is how we celebrated Grandpa's
birthday. The end.<br />
<br />
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<br />
After Avery gave her card away, we decided to stay in the same spot to see if we saw anyone else doing something nice. As we were standing there, I saw my friend Ashley and her mom so I chatted with them for a second. Naturally, based our luck thus far, I figured I had lots of time to chat with my friends. But after just a minute or two, Ben spotted someone and we were off on our chase to give a card away . . .<br />
<br />
<u><b>From Ben (9 years old):</b></u><br />
Avery just finished giving her envelope and I bet this is a big
surprise to you, but Catchy saw a friend!! [can you HEAR the sarcasm, folks??] And so she was talking to
her friend and I saw this guy that held open the door for a LOT of
people! And so we went up to him and he had 2 grown adult girls with him. We told him the story and he
looked pleased and then he walked off. Oh! His name was Rob! We
were waiting to see if Catchy would get anybody, because she hadn't
found anybody to give her card to. So while we were watching to see if
Catchy found anybody who was doing anything nice, we saw Rob stop and read
the card. And one of the girls with him finished reading and turned
around and put both hands on her heart and then opened her arms to
us. And then she waved and then the other girl and Rob waved, too.
Then they turned back around and then turned and waved again.
Then one more time after that.<br />
<br />
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<br />
So after Ben and Avery gave their cards away, it was time to meet up with everyone so that we could go to dinner and hear about everyone else's stories about the good things they had spotted at the mall. I was a little bummed about not having been able to give my card away - that was a first for me. I had almost given my card to a man who let me get off the elevator before him even though I was standing behind him. But I had hesitated and then he was gone. I was REALLY bummed at that point because I thought I had missed my opportunity. But then, as we walked into our chosen restaurant for dinner, a man wearing an LSU shirt held open the door for my entire family. Holding the door is in itself a nice thing. And definitely something that reminds me of my dad because he was a gentleman through and through. But when you hold the door for a huge family and risk them getting ahead of you on the waiting list at a restaurant, that's an even bigger thing. Again, I hesitated for some reason. But then he sat down on a bench with his wife on one side and my niece Avery on the other and he started joking with Avery. That's when I decided to give him my card. My dad loved all kids but ESPECIALLY his little pack of grandkids. So when this man demonstrated two of my favorite qualities about my dad, I just KNEW I had to give him my card. Even if he WAS an LSU fan . . .<br />
<br />
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<br />
Turns out his name is Chris and he was visiting from Louisiana. So I was a little more forgiving of his attire. He and his family were seated just behind us at the restaurant. As they were getting ready to leave, Chris came over to talk to us again. But you'll have to wait to hear about that . . .<br />
<br />
Once we had placed our order for dinner, our favorite part of the evening began - the telling of all the stories. I love how excited everyone gets for this part of the night, adults and kids alike. So we went around the table and everyone got to tell about their chosen recipient. There were imitations, dramatic reenactments, and even a gasp or two. And I could recap everyone's stories in my own words for you but don't you think it would be more fun for them to tell you themselves? That's what I thought, too. <br />
<br />
But first . . .<br />
<br />
Brian, Brian, Brian. AGAIN he forgot to send me his story. Well, I take that back. He sent me a text that said, "4-year-old Rachel opened the door for her mommy to push the stroller through." But I know from hearing him tell us about his choice this year that she was the most precious little girl, that her mother said that she never meets a stranger, and that she showed that door who was boss - keeping it open so that her entire family could get through. Here she is with her family:<br />
<br />
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<br />
Okay - now it's time to hear from the rest of the family . . .<br />
<br />
<u><b>From Tammy:</b></u><br />
Really right away I zeroed in on a family out school shopping. They had
a set of grandparents with them and the Grandpa was handicapped by
bowed legs & bad knees.....hobbling cheerfully with his cane. I
stalked them for almost the entire 2 hours!! I just knew that old guy
would gladly give up his seat on a bench, but the opportunity never
really presented itself. Soooo I had TOTES wasted my time and now the mall was CLOSED!! I made my way down near Dillard's where we were to meet
up. Emma, Erin and I were debating whether we should "plant" an
opportunity. So that is exactly what I did! We saw two guys leaving
FootLocker, so I loosely rested my phone in my pocket and turned my
back to them. I started walking towards and talking to Emma and
Erin and let my phone fall out of my pocket. Erin was facing them and she said right away they saw that I had dropped my phone and
then one of them - Chris - called out "ma'am!" and picked up my phone. He walked it
over and handed it to me with a great smile. I explained that we have been doing this every
year since my dad died in 2006. They were both very sweet.....Chris had
a great Southern Gentility about him. Thanks, Chris, for being a true
Southern gentleman!!<br />
<br />
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<br />
<u><b>From my mom:</b></u><br />
My job is to roam the food court in search of a man who has taken off his hat while he eats. The reward that I carry in my envelope is higher than everyone else’s because men who don’t take off their hats while eating or upon entering someone’s home was one of Charlie’s pet peeves. Now, it wouldn’t be his BIGGEST pet peeve, mind you. That honor would go to me borrowing his razor.<br />
<br />
But I digress . . . <br />
<br />
I’ve been doing this for about 7 years now so I know how hard it will be to find and accost my hatless hero. I started out this year watching the lines of people in front of each eatery. When I spotted someone wearing a hat, I stalked ‘em until they started eating. I got so excited a couple of times because a guy would take off his hat but then just kind of run his fingers through his hair and back would go the hat. At some point I thought mall security was going to come and question me about why I kept walking around and around looking like I was checking out what people were eating. I get it. I do. Every time I would pass a table where guys were sitting I would kind of duck my head the tiniest bit so I could see if one of them had stowed a hat on his lap. Of course, when I saw there was no hat there, I would frown at their laps. I can’t be held responsible for how they interpreted that, right? <br />
<br />
Just when I was about to give up I spotted this young man sitting with a cute little girl and a man. And there was the hat. I didn’t even have to duck my head. I was so happy. I sat down with them and promptly started to explain to the older man, thinking he might be the young man’s dad, why I was interrupting their little snack. After explaining everything I turned to the young man who told me that the older man - his uncle - didn’t speak English. I should have guessed that when he looked at me like I was a little crazy. But since I find that I get that reaction a lot it doesn’t always mean someone doesn’t understand English, just that they don’t understand Nora! The young man’s name is Anthony and he is 17. When I asked my usual question about why he wasn’t wearing his hat he said that his mother taught him to take it off but, anyway, he just likes it better off. Close enough! It made me happy and I just looked up and thought “well, Charlie, some moms are still teaching it. But I think it is going the way of calling cards, curtsies and the whole idea of women and children first. Love ya.”<br />
<br />
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<br />
<u><b>From Savannah (10 years old):</b></u><br />
So I was sitting down with Dearsie and we were looking one way, but I
just decided I would turn my head the other way and see if anything was
possibly going on. And what do you know, I saw a wheelchair! So, I told Dearsie, "Dearsie, let's go follow that wheelchair and see if anyone
does anything nice for them." And so, we were walking, they stopped a
few times and so Dearsie and I had to pretend we were looking at the
booth closest to us. They finally started walking. So, we walked for a
little bit and then we noticed they were going to an elevator. So,
Dearsie and I decided that we were going to go in the elevator also.
The wheelchair wasn't really going into the elevator and we did not know
what they were doing, so we were stuck and didn't know what to do. We
decided, well it would be awkward and obvious that we were following
them if we just stood there with them, so we just decided that we would
just get in. We thought they were just going to find out. And then we
figured out that the person in the wheelchair had a wife and some kids
and a few other adults with him. So, there was this lady who held open
the door of the elevator for Dearsie and me and then she just kept her
arm there to see if that wheelchair was going to come in not knowing
that they had family behind them. And so, all of a sudden, she heard
the guy in the wheelchair and the guy pushing the wheelchair say, "come
on guys, run, run!" Because they wanted to catch that elevator so they
didn't have to wait. The lady who was holding the door held the door
open the whole entire time. Most people wouldn't have the patience to
do that and would just let the door close. So, once everyone was in the
elevator safe and sound, I whispered in Dearsie's ear, "when I get out
of this elevator, I'm gonna give it to that lady." So we got out of the
elevator, and she was walking very quickly. And so I had to kind of
run and catch up to her. Then I told her about my Grandpa. She said,
"God bless you" and we walked away. At first she said, "no, I won't
take your money!" But, then we said it was a tradition and so she has
to take it even if she just passed it onto someone else. And that was
who I gave my card to.<br />
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<br />
I'd like to say here that Savannah told us at dinner that she had forgotten to ask the lady's name but that she believed that the lady looked like a "Sue." Ben disagreed and stated authoritatively that she looked like a "Pam." But Avery insisted she looked like a "Barbara." These are the kinds of vigorous debates we have in the Palmore family, friends. <br />
<br />
Now, let's continue . . . <br />
<br />
<u><b>From Matt:</b></u><br />
I saw a mother and her daughter get aggressively stopped by a kiosk
employee so he could demonstrate his curling irons to them. The mom
didn't seem too interested in stopping but the daughter really wanted to
so the mom obliged. When the man was finished curling the little girls
hair she was super excited. She was begging her mom to buy the magical
curling iron. I thought to myself that there was no chance this mom was
going to dish out over $100 for the curling iron. I should have never
doubted this woman, as she broke out her credit card and made her
daughter's day. It reminded of me of Charlie because I have heard
countless stories of how he would have done anything to make his girls
happy. I approached the woman and explained to her our tradition and
gave her the card. She was very appreciative and very leary of me at the
same time so I wasn't able to get a picture with her. By the way, if one of my daughters would have looked at me
the way the girl looked at her mom, I would have bought them whatever
they asked for...<br />
<br />
Can't wait for <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_543517747" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">September 1, 2014</span></span>!<br />
<br />
<u><b>From Erin:</b></u><br />
Sooooo, this was a tough year for me. At the end of two hours at the
mall, I had nuttin'. Not even one that I wished I had used mine on. I
was getting really desperate because I didn't want to come up empty-handed and, more importantly, lose my turn telling my story at dinner.
So, we start walking out of the mall and I'm frantically looking for
someone, ANYONE to do something nice or even just kinda nice. I saw
this couple walking in as we were heading out and they looked super
cute. They were a little older and the man just seemed to have this
sweet little smile on his face and they seemed so happy and in love and I
thought, HERE IT IS. I watched and waited and sure enough, he grabbed
the door for his wife and was starting to walk in, but then he saw some
young girls coming up, so he stopped and backed up and let them go
through too. I swear I heard angels singing! I was so excited! I
walked right up to them and said, "excuse me sir, can I talk to you for a
minute?" He looked at me, looked at his wife and said...wait for
it....wait for it...., "NO" and then he kept walking (insert record
scratching noise over my angels singing here). I was so taken aback, I
had to look back at Catherine with a quick, "no he di-ent" face and she
gave me an "oh yes he did face"! I didn't even know what to do! Just
as I was about to yell, "ABORT! ABORT!!", I hear my guy say, "okay, go
ahead". I think it was just a case of mistaken identity? Maybe he
thought I was wanting to sell him and his wife one of the curling iron
wands from Matt's kiosk? Anyway, I start telling my story, but I was
stumbling all over myself because I was a nervous wreck at this point
and I'm pretty sure I had not one drop of spit left in my mouth.
Catherine, bless her, jumped into help and as we told the story, they
seemed to be taking it all in and appreciating what we were out there
doing. My warm and fuzzies were back in full effect and I was ready for
my photo op (cue my angels again). We asked them if they would mind
taking a pictur-" NO. NOT THAT. We won't do that. Nope. " I think I
actually had to take a knee at that point, but it was all a bit of a
blur, so I can't be sure. Soooooo, not my best outing, BUT I hope
after they read the note, they realized that I wasn't some crazy lady
trying to accost them or possibly blow their witness protection cover
(What? It's possible...Mickey Featherstone, was that you?? Donnie
Brasco? eh?? eh??). Nope, I'm just a girl celebrating her daddy. <br />
<br />
<u><b>And from Emma (12 years old):</b></u><br />
Zip! Nada! Zilch! Goose Egg! At the end of the night, despite her best efforts, Emma did not find anyone to give her card to. [Side note: the next day (Labor Day), Emma saved a little three-year-old girl named Lily who had jumped in my mom's pool without her floaties on. We were all sitting around the pool when Tammy saw Lily jump in. Before any of the adults even had time to jump into action, Emma was flying into the pool. She had seen the whole scene unfolding, as well, and was in the water about a half second after Lily. So I think Emma should give HERSELF her card. Can I get an Amen??]<br />
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As we were finishing up dinner, Chris (my card-recipient/LSU fan) came over to our table. He had read his card, and even better, had pulled up my blog and read a little bit about our tradition and about my dad. He had noticed in my "About Me" section that I am a lawyer and a Christian and he joked with me about THAT oxymoron. He visited with us for a minute about our tradition and then went back to his table. As his family was about to leave, he stopped by our table again and said "I'm so sorry to interrupt but I want to tell you that I'm a Christian, too. I'm also a state trooper and a Baptist preacher. And as I've been sitting over here, I've had a verse on my heart for you all and I just can't leave without sharing it with you. It's 3 John 1:4: 'I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.'"<br />
<br />
I honestly can't think of a better way to have wrapped up our special celebration. What a gift to have had our paths crossed with his that night. I'm so glad I didn't waste my card on the elevator guy . . . :)<br />
<br />
So that's it. That's our 2013 Charlie Palmore celebration. It was tough to find people this year so my mom thinks that maybe we should mix it up and go out of town to do our birthday celebration next year. She suggested "Satchmo" which, after a few minutes of some really talented deductions, my sister Erin figured out meant "Schlitterbahn," a water park in Galveston. So, perhaps we'll have more luck next year in Satchmo or wherever we may find ourselves. But, you know - even though we had a harder time finding folks this year, we still found some
great ones. And, as usual, we had our hearts touched in the process.<br />
<br />
But, most importantly, we had an evening filled with memories and reminders of a wonderful man who was taken from us far too soon. A man we miss every day and whose love for us somehow continues to surround us even seven years after he went Home. A man worthy of celebration.<br />
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Happy birthday, Dad. <br />
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-5273194216239292732013-08-22T01:49:00.000-05:002013-08-22T01:49:35.444-05:00The art of . . . art.A few months ago, an artist friend of mine invited me to an art show in which one of her pieces was going to be on display. It was really a big deal because the show was showcasing pieces from the rising artists in Texas. So, understandably, she was SUPER excited that her piece had been chosen. And I was honored to be invited. I asked if my mom and sisters wanted to go but my mom was the only one who was able to. So I got dressed in my best I'm-going-to-an-art-show-and-I-don't-really-know-how-to-dress-for-it" attire, picked up my mom, and headed downtown for the art show.<br />
<br />
You know, I never go to art shows. They're just not on my list of activities that I enjoy. I think the main reason is that I'm just not deep enough. I mean, people who enjoy art shows can stand around and stare at a painting for hours, analyzing and re-analyzing, discussing minute details, and hypothesizing about the artist's intent and relationship with his mother. I walk up to the painting, say "Oh! Cute dog!" and then walk on to the next.<br />
<br />
Art show people would roll their eyes at me.<br />
<br />
As I walked into my friend's art show, I took a deep breath and hoped that I would "get it." That I would see a painting and be able to say something like "Isn't it amazing how the artist captures the essence of truth here?" You know - so that I would fit in.<br />
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Instead, I walked in and saw this:<br />
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I thought for a second that someone had hung a couple of over-sized paint chips up on the wall to help them determine if the room should be painted pink or blue. Perhaps the gallery was going to be turned into a nursery. I thought it an odd time for a remodel, what with the art show going on and all. But then I noticed three people standing in front of these paintings, tilting their heads to the right and then to the left, and discussing the paintings in detail. I got behind them and tilted my head to the right, thinking that maybe the painting would make sense to me if all the blood rushed to one side of my head. No such luck. So I just nodded along with what the others were saying and mumbled something art-showesque like "I've never seen breath captured on canvas quite so exquisitely." Then I moved on to the next one, hoping I'd have better luck. <br />
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Excuse me. Are those t-shirt and jeans tags turned inside out and glued onto black construction paper? That's what I thought. That. Is what. I. Thought. I don't . . . can someone . . . is it just me or . . . I'll just move on. Show me something deep, people. Show me something deep.<br />
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Bathroom keys? Okaaaaaaaaay. I can do this. I can do this. [pop fingers, roll neck, get game face on] Okay. [Ahem] This is clearly a manifestation of the artist's desire to . . . ummmm . . . portray the gender roles . . . ummmm . . . in an ironic yet . . . ummmm . . . egalitarian manner and it is . . . ummmm . . . a statement on the current political . . . ummmm . . . I suddenly have to pee. <br />
<br />
Some paintings are kind of cool to look at but I don't really get the names of them. For instance, this really cool-looking one was called something like "Richard Nixon Abroad."<br />
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I get the "Richard Nixon" part but not the "abroad" part. Just kidding - I don't get either part. I just didn't want the art show people to roll their eyes at me.<br />
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Then there was this one. <br />
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I really liked the colors and the patterns created by the strokes. But it was called something like "Travels through China" and I didn't get it. I studied it closely to try to figure out why the artist called it that. But I just got a headache. And a hankering for Kung Pao Chicken.<br />
<br />
Weird.<br />
<br />
Despite my confusion over some of the pieces, there was some really cool art in that gallery. I discovered that I like "mixed media" pieces - paintings that combine different art media like ink, paint, and collage. My friend's painting was a mixed media painting and it was really interesting - interesting in a good way. And I discovered that night in that gallery that I enjoy an art show - it's a fun way to spend an evening. <br />
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On our way out, I saw a collection of trash that people had left on a block.<br />
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And I thought for a moment that I should stand by it and say that it was my entry into the art show. And tell everyone that it's called "Frisbee in the Park."<br />
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I'll get this art thing yet . . .<br />
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-54285687480347850322013-08-20T01:05:00.000-05:002013-08-20T01:12:30.849-05:00Rolling with the punchesI remember a time in my life when I thought that I wasn't athletic. This belief was no doubt fueled by my complete inability to climb the tree in our front yard. It had a low limb and all the other kids could jump up and grab it, wrap their legs around it, and then swing themselves up onto the limb. Me? I brought a kitchen chair out and cheated. I'm just not much of a climber, you see.<br />
<br />
Then there was the Presidential Fitness Test in elementary school. This annual week of P.E. hell was the source of many a nightmare for me. You could just SAY the words "chin-up" to me and I would break out into a cold sweat. I daresay that the bar exam was a lesser cause of consternation for me. I wanted so badly to ace that dang fitness test and make President Reagan proud but, alas, the chin-up always got me. They would tell me to do as many as I could and I would just hang there, grunting awkwardly and kicking my feet as if they could somehow propel me upward. Then they would give me a lift to see if I could do it if I had a little help getting started. Not so much. Finally, they would give me a chair, let me get into "chin-up" position and see if I could just hold it. It was remedial Presidential Fitness and I still couldn't do it. As soon as they took the chair away, my arms would shake and then straighten and I'd be hanging there again, bringing shame upon the President. I'm just not much of a chin-upper, I guess.<br />
<br />
But then I started playing sports. I found softball and discovered that, when a sport didn't involve climbing or chin-upping, I was pretty good at it. I mean, I don't want to brag but I WAS the MVP for the Green Goddesses in 6th grade and still have the trophy to prove it. So when I say "pretty good" I, of course mean, amazing. Softball led to volleyball and then basketball and I was decent at those - I was an average player on the 7th grade B teams so, you know, I was sort of a big deal as you can imagine. ANYWAY, I finally discovered tennis and that was my real love. I loved being out on the court and I was actually good at it. I played on the JV and Varsity teams in high school and finally realized that the chin-up bar and that dang tree limb had psyched me out - I actually WAS athletic. And I've gone on thinking of myself as an athlete ever since then.<br />
<br />
Theeeeeeeen I joined a boxing club.<br />
<br />
Stop laughing.<br />
<br />
See, my sister Tammy and my friend Jo Ann each independently decided to buy a groupon for a boxing club in our town. Jo Ann asked me to buy the groupon and do it with her so I did. We went to a few classes and I liked it so I decided to sign up and join the club. Partly because I liked it and partly because I'm apparently a gutless follower who does whatever Tammy and Jo Ann do. <br />
<br />
So let me explain how this class works. You have your hands wrapped and then you take your gloves to a bag in a room full of hanging boxing bags that looks like this:<br />
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Then, before you put your gloves on, there is a 15 minute warm-up that you have to do. This usually consists of things like squats, running, jumping jacks, high knees, and other exercises that leave me panting like a 400-pound man. I frequently have to take a break or two during the warm-up and I try to do it discretely so as not to bring shame upon the President or anybody else. Unfortunately, my 9-year-old nephew Ben has a drill sergeant living inside him that comes out when I take breaks. I'll do a few jumping jacks and lean down to get a drink of water and I'll hear "Caaaaaaaaaaatchyyyyyyyyy! You're already stoppiiiiiiiiing???" And that continues throughout the class. After we put on our gloves and start doing punch and kick combinations, my nephew keeps a close eye on me. If I decide to take a breather during one of the combinations, I'll hear "Caaaaaaatchyyyyyy! He didn't say stop yet." There's no hiding from him. <br />
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There's also no looking "put together" and that's a problem for me. You see, tennis is a sport where you can play a great, hard-won game and look graceful the whole time. That's impossible for me with boxing - I just cannot box and look good at the same time. My hair inevitably gets in my face while I'm punching and, because I'm
sweating, it sticks to my forehead and hangs in front of my eyes. So I
find myself pawing at my face with my boxing glove, trying to get it out
of my eyes and tucked back behind my ear. But I can never get the hair to
cooperate so I just keep pawing, looking like a cat cleaning itself.
It's super cute. And when it's all said and done, I still have strings
of sweaty hair stuck to my face. Plus, I'm throwing punches and every ounce of fat on me is jiggling - and I mean EVERY ounce. It takes a good 30 seconds to stop shaking when I stop punching. It's awesome - a real confidence-booster. I look around hoping that there aren't any potential suitors in there. And, if there are, I try to keep my distance, lest they be knocked out cold from a post-right-hook backlash of my upper-arm flab. <br />
<br />
My proudest moment to date, though, came during a class I attended with Jo Ann. I was really in a groove on my punching and had worked up a good sweat. I was out of breath so I decided to take a quick breather. Since Ben wasn't around, I figured I'd be able to do it discretely. As I caught my breath, I took a few steps back from the bag to admire my handiwork - did I actually see a dent in the bag from my mad boxing skillz? As I was about to pat myself on the back, my heel caught the bottom of the bag behind me as I was stepping back and I fell. Not a cute little graceful fall - this was an arms-flying-up, hair-flying-up kind of fall. I jumped up as quickly as one can when one temporarily has clubs for hands and hoped no one noticed. Aaaaaaand then I began trying to paw the hair out of my face.<br />
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But, despite my utter and complete lack of talent or grace when it comes to boxing, I am enjoying the classes and am getting a great workout. So I will keep going, will keep getting called out by my nephew, and will keep pawing the hair out of my face in vain. I may leave there feeling like I'm all thumbs but at least I leave there feeling like I got a good workout.<br />
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And I always have my 6th grade MVP trophy to comfort me when I get home.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-34105592394581891102013-02-13T01:34:00.002-06:002013-03-18T10:26:35.933-05:00Catherine Goes Skiing - Part IISo the last time we talked, I told you about Day 1 of my harrowing skiing adventure. If you haven't had a chance to read it, go ahead and click <a href="http://www.thecatherinechronicles.com/2013/01/catherine-goes-skiing-part-i.html">here</a> to read it first. Don't worry we'll wait for you . . .<br />
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Oh good - you're back! Let's continue!<br />
<br />
My last post left off with me swearing that I would never ski again but then Hannah convincing me to try it again. She was just POSITIVE that she could teach me to love skiing.<br />
<br />
Silly Hannah.<br />
<br />
So, against my better judgment, we headed out to the slopes for Day 2 of my skiing adventure. Hannah decided to take me up in the gondola to the top of a green slope that she thought would be manageable for me. On the way up, I marveled at the beauty of the mountains around me. And how high we were going. And how we weren't stopping. And how there is no way that a green slope could be up this high without being a sheer drop. AndhowohmygoshholycowI'mnotreadyforthisandhowdareHannahbetraymebytakingmeupthishigh!!<br />
<br />
[breathe]<br />
<br />
I looked at Hannah and smiled, putting on my sunglasses so she wouldn't see the terror in my eyes. And I did what I always do - I threw out a joke to ease my nerves: "Will you let me take crying breaks on the green slope." We laughed and laughed and laughed.<br />
<br />
Fast forward 15 minutes and I'm crying at the top of a green slope.<br />
<br />
Actually. Crying.<br />
<br />
Poor Hannah did her best to hide the terror in HER eyes. She tried to teach me how to stop so that I could stop when I wanted to. But I wasn't great at it. She wanted me to ski toward her so that I could practice it. But I was afraid of careening out of control, flying off the side of the mountain, and plummeting to my bloody death. She wanted me to have confidence in myself. But I was a 37-year-old woman crying at the top of a dang green slope.<br />
<br />
I was a hopeless case.<br />
<br />
Eventually, I was able to "ski" toward her. And by "ski" I mean, move 3 feet and then fall down. Now you need to understand that it is absolutely impossible for me to stand up in skis. Some people can do it. I can't. I try to contort my body around so that I can get my feet underneath me. But the skis invariably get tangled up or stuck in the snow. When people see that I can't do it on my own, they offer me a hand. "Here, grab my hand. I'll help you up," they say. But I can't do this, either. Because I still can't get my feet under me. And, on the odd chance that I do, my skis start trying to ski away and suddenly I'm on my back again wondering why the HECK people enjoy this stupid sport. So when I fall, I just take my skis off and stand up. Like a pro. So when I skied toward Hannah and fell, she helped me get my skis off and stand up. Then I got my skis on again and Hannah tried to encourage me to ski toward her again. This time, there was an older man who was a few feet behind Hannah waiting on someone. He watched the pitiful scene in front of him and, I guess, took an interest because he started coaching me, too. So I skied toward Hannah and my new coach. And fell.<br />
<br />
This time when I fell, I fell with my knees up so that I was laying on my skis. This is the WORST position because you can't sit up or stand up to get off your skis and you can't get your skis out from under you to take them off. Normally in this situation, I would depend on other people helping me to roll over like a slug so that they could help me get my skis off. But, unfortunately, in some strange turn of events, I had ended up on top of Hannah's skis and my new coach's skis. So they tried to wiggle their skis out from under me while I laid their helplessly, praying for an avalanche to end my misery.<br />
<br />
Eventually, they both got their skis freed, got mine out from under me, and helped me get my skis off so that I could stand up. Then my new coach bailed, wishing me luck. <br />
<br />
But poor Hannah was stuck.<br />
<br />
But something had happened in that last fall. Perhaps it had knocked some confidence into me. I don't know how but somehow I finally understood the snow plow/wedge/pizza wedge that my ski instructor had been trying to teach me. You know - where you put your skis into a wedge shape to control your speed as you learn. I hadn't mastered it yet but, suddenly, at the top of that green slope, it clicked. So I skied a few feet in the wedge and DIDN'T FALL! It was so exciting!! I asked Hannah if I could just do that for a while until I got comfortable with it. So that's what I did.<br />
<br />
And sweet, patient Hannah skied right along side me. While I did the snow plow.<br />
<br />
FOR TWO AND A HALF HOURS.<br />
<br />
Luckily, Hannah was there with her video camera to capture some of this action-packed, fast-paced afternoon. Notice how the trees just fly by . . . <br />
<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxDL---R3gfkzwZXtyxXlln4Ne56XKUrFVRMtiby9rO3XncBpoY_MXCxD2nRfuc7uYbcnDCYp5AllMHI7OtLw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
Look - laugh all you want. This was my own personal X-games. <br />
<br />
But eventually, my knees had had enough and the bottom of the green slope was just far enough away that I began to fear that my knee caps and my ACL would give me the finger and jump ship. So I made the decision to throw in the towel, take my skis off, and walk to the bottom of the slope. Hannah was really sweet about it but I knew it must have been a disappointment to her - she really wanted me to like skiing and thought she could help me accomplish that. But I was done.<br />
<br />
So I took my skis off and began walking. For about 2 minutes. That's when a Steamboat Ambassador skied up next to me and we had this conversation:<br />
<br />
Ambassador: Hey! You're doing it wrong! You're supposed to put those on your feet and slide!<br />
Me: [courtesy laugh] Oh is THAT how you do it? [pause for laugh]<br />
Ambassador: [smile, no laugh]<br />
Me: [okay - tough crowd!] Well, I'm terrible at this and my knee is hurting me so I figured I'd just walk the rest of the way.<br />
Ambassador: Oh! [confused look] So are you INJURED?<br />
Me: [is he being sarcastic?] No - not injured. It's just hurting and I'm uncomfortable so I'm gonna walk.<br />
Ambassador: Because if you're injured, I could get you a ride . . .<br />
Me: [No! I'm not injured, okay? I'm just a quitter! A BLOODY BLOODY QUITTER!!] Oh no - that's okay. I think I can walk.<br />
[Ski rescue guy skis up, pulling a stretcher-like apparatus behind him]<br />
Ski rescue guy: Need a ride to the bottom?<br />
Me: No - it's -<br />
Ambassador: Yeah. She's injured. Knee.<br />
Ski rescue guy: Okay! Well, let's get you down the slope and to the lift!<br />
Ambassador: Yeah. He's gonna take you down to the lift and then when you get to the top of the lift, we'll have a snow mobile waiting for you. [to Hannah] You can just meet her at the lift.<br />
<br />
So I climbed onto the little stretcher-thingy and the guy belted me in. I bid adieu to Hannah and what was left of my pride and I took off with my new ski rescue boyfriend:<br />
<br />
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<br />
And HO. LY. COW. That was the most terrifying part of my entire skiing experience. That guy skied FAST and if he had an option between a steep slope and a gradual slope, he picked the steep slope every time. I prepared for death and thought it was only fitting that my ski trip should end with me flying off the side of a mountain strapped onto a stretcher. <br />
<br />
But, fortunately, we did NOT die. Instead, I got to the lift and met Hannah there. We got in line and then got on the lift and began our journey back to the top of the mountain. But the lift posed a problem. You see - to get OFF the lift, you actually have to SKI. So, as we approached the top, Hannah tried to coach me through it: "When your skis hit the snow, just stand up and ski forward. It's super easy. You can do it!"<br />
<br />
Silly Hannah.<br />
<br />
As soon as I stood up, my arms began flailing, I grunted inexplicably, my skis went up in the air, and the rest of me went backward. My head hit the ice so hard that I was sure I had lost some brain matter. Or, at the very least, had a concussion. I heard the lift stop - a sound I had become all too familiar with. And then I heard the lift operator come up behind me and say "I'm going to lift you up." Yet another person who didn't understand my inability to pull myself up with skis on. I began my usual protestations, trying to explain to him that I wasn't talented enough to stand up in my skis, but before I could explain anything, he lifted me completely up off the snow and onto my skis. Like a stinkin' rag doll. All I was able to get out from the moment he said he was going to lift me was: "No, that's okay. I can't - Oh my GOSH you're strong! You are STRONG! No, seriously - you are STROOOOOOONG." He smiled and said "It's the called the Marines, ma'am." And then he went back to start the lift up. Meanwhile, I stood staring at him, mouthing "Call me" and wondering what the protocol is for proposing to a lift operator while in a concussed state. <br />
<br />
Then the snow mobile driver interrupted my wedding fantasy (which, of course, involved my Marine lifting me gratuitously) and introduced herself:<br />
<br />
Andy: Hi! I'm Andy!<br />
Me: Hi! Thank you so much for -<br />
Andy: Are you injured?<br />
Me: [Oh, for the LOVE OF -] No - my knee is hurting me so I'm walking and sooooooo . . .<br />
Andy: [confused] So you're NOT injured.<br />
Me: Nope. [awkward smile]<br />
Andy: [shrugging shoulders] Okay! Well, climb on!<br />
<br />
I ignored the judgment in her voice and waved goodbye to my Marine fiancee, blowing him a kiss. At least I think I blew him a kiss. But, again, I'm pretty sure I had a concussion so I may have just drooled and grunted in his general direction.<br />
<br />
Finally, after a terrifying snow mobile ride to the gondola, my ski experience came to an end. Hannah and I relaxed, grabbed something warm for lunch, and, for some reason, she began quizzing me on what year it was and who the President was.<br />
<br />
Silly Hannah.<br />
<br />
Everyone knows Ronald W. Obama is President . . .Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-15999101217403623032013-01-25T01:31:00.000-06:002013-01-25T09:39:12.982-06:00Sucker Punch ParkingWell, I haven't had time to sit down and write about the second part of my skiing trip - describing my incredible skiing skills takes time, people. It takes some reeeeeeeal time. (If you haven't read Part 1, you can read it <a href="http://www.thecatherinechronicles.com/2013/01/catherine-goes-skiing-part-i.html">here</a>!)<br />
<br />
So, in the meantime, I thought I'd show you this picture that my mom took the other day. She and our friend Vicki went to get lunch at a Mexican restaurant called La Palma. After they parked and started walking inside, they noticed this puzzling sign . . .<br />
<br />
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<br />
So . . . wait . . . what?<br />
<br />
I'm so confused . . .Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-65312942944590158512013-01-16T01:14:00.002-06:002013-01-25T09:39:00.626-06:00Catherine Goes Skiing - Part IAt the beginning of this month, I went to Colorado with some friends of mine. We went to Steamboat Springs for the Music Fest and some skiing. I have only skied once in my life and I was horrible at it so I wasn't really sure about partaking of the skiing on this trip - I really would have been happy to be the girl in the lodge, drinking hot chocolate and reading a book. But my friends are all good skiers and I didn't want to be the only one not doing it. <br />
<br />
Peer pressure STINKS.<br />
<br />
So, our first full day there, I decided to go skiing with them. When I woke up that morning, instead of getting psyched up for all the fun skiing that lay ahead, like my friends were doing, I was mulling over more important issues. Like shaving my legs - I wanted to make sure that, in the event I broke one or both of my legs, I would be able to focus on the excruciating pain and not the fact that someone was holding my unshaven leg. So I went ahead and shaved my legs and then began the long process of getting the ski gear on. I put on my long underwear, my wool socks, my SUPER flattering ski pants, my undershirt, my shirt, my overshirt, my ski jacket, my scarf, my ear and neck warmer, and my hat. And then we headed out the door to the mountain for our big day of skiing.<br />
<br />
That first day, I decided to sign up for ski school. The only other time I had skied, I did not take the class first and it was a disaster. So I decided to NOT make the same mistake again - I signed myself up for the all-day clinic for first-timers. My big plan was to be in ski school while my friend Hannah was off skiing the slopes. I would finish just in time to meet up with her for a run down a green slope. She would be so impressed with my skiing skills, she would declare me her best ski friend and then everyone would ask me for tips on how to negotiate a green slope with such perfection.<br />
<br />
I believe in dreaming big.<br />
<br />
As I was heading off to my ski school and Hannah was off to meet her husband to ski some blue and black slopes, I was feeling pretty good! I had my lift ticket, my skis, my poles, my ski boots . . . I TOTALLY looked the part. And if I looked the part, I was bound to be a good skier, right? <br />
<br />
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My confidence was high. I had chosen my super cute black and white hat and my black and white scarf for the occasion. And such cute accessories are the key to success. As long as I looked cute, there was nothing that little ol' mountain could do to stop me! Cute Catherine was on her way to ski school!<br />
<br />
Aaaaaaaaaand then I started walking in those ski boots. With the skis. And my poles. Uphill. And the cute got sucked out of me along with every ounce of breath I had. Suddenly, I was panting like a 400 pound man trying run a marathon. And, on top of that, I had to stop at least 28 times to pick up a ski or a pole that had slipped out of my grip. So my ridiculously long trek to ski school ended up going like this: step, step, gasp, wheeze, adjust skis, step, step, gasp, wheeze, adjust poles, step, step, pass cute guy and pretend I'm not out of breath, look back to make sure cute guy is gone, gasp, gasp, gasp, adjust skis. It was awesome.<br />
<br />
I met my instructor (who shall forever be known to me as Sweet Josh because he was so sweet and patient) and he took us to what appeared to be a bump in the snow. He had us put our skis on and practice side-stepping up the little bump and then skiing down it to get used to being on our skis. I was a natural. Sweet Josh said turn to the right - I'd turn to the right. He said turn to the left - I turned to the left. He said do a triple sow cow - I . . . no, that's figure skating, isn't it? Whatever. You get my point - I was skiing and I liked it!! So Sweet Josh decided to take us over to an actual hill. Not an official "slope," but a steeper practice hill. With a lift that looked like a conveyor belt.<br />
<br />
Now, let me explain this lift. It's called the "magic carpet" and it really does look like a conveyor belt that runs up this hill. The idea behind it is that you step on the "magic carpet" and it carts you up the hill so that you can practice skiing down it over and over and over without having to walk up the hill or take a chair lift. Super easy, right?<br />
<br />
Enter Catherine Palmore.<br />
<br />
Now you have to understand that walking with skis on is very difficult. At least for me. I thought I'd be good at it since I've been a size 10 shoe since I was like 3 years old. But it turns out that I am actually NOT good at walking in skis. So as I tried to step onto the magic carpet bad things happened. The conveyor started trying to take one of my legs up the hill without the the rest of me. In a panic, I tried to quickly swing my other foot forward to get it on the conveyor belt. But, instead of moving forward like my brain told it to, my foot swung wide with the unwieldy ski and got caught on the fence next to the conveyor belt. So then I had one foot moving up the hill, the other foot caught in a stationary fence, and I'm being forced into the most awkward split ever done. My inner thigh muscles were being stretched in ways they were not meant to be stretched. I actually heard them shouting curse words at me and mocking me by saying things like "Knock it off, Mary Lou Retton!" In that moment, I wanted so badly to maintain my composure. To look up with a laugh and say something clever like "Well, I'm gonna need that leg!" or "Seems like a bad place for a fence!" But, instead, I began shouting "Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh Nononononononononononono!!!" Luckily, the attractive guy operating the lift saw the problem and stopped it so that I could extract my leg from the fence, get myself situated, and perhaps rub some Bengay on my inner thighs. And then he started the lift again with me safely on board. Sans fence.<br />
<br />
When I got to the top, the attractive lift operator held my hand to help me off. He managed to only have a small smirk on his face and I appreciated his restraint. Adding to my attractiveness and coolness, I slowly side stepped over to a spot at the top of the hill for my first trip downhill and/or my quick and terrifying death. My instructor told me to ski toward him and then turn right. I said "Sure!"<br />
<br />
And then stood there.<br />
<br />
He told me again to ski toward him and turn right to stop. "Sure, Josh! Be right there!"<br />
<br />
Nothing.<br />
<br />
My knees started shaking and my fear paralyzed me. I couldn't move a muscle for fear that I would begin careening downhill, take out a few small children, and end up on youtube. I would have curled up into the fetal position and began sucking my thumb if I could have figured out how to do it without my skis sliding forward. But somewhere inside me, Motivational Speaker Catherine emerged. She grabbed me by the shirt and said "Snap out of it! You know how to do this! So just do it!" And Motivational Speaker Catherine was right - I DID know how to do it! I just needed to have confidence. I had left most of it at the foot of the magic carpet lift but I had JUST enough left to give this a shot. So I looked at Sweet Josh, gritted my teeth, and skied toward him just like he asked. Then I turned right . . . and actually stopped! I was so proud of myself!! And Sweet Josh was proud of me, too. So he gave me my next task: ski toward him and turn left to stop. So I did that. Then he wanted me to ski down a bit more and turn right to stop. So I did. I was on a roll. I was on top of the world. I was ready for a black slope - moguls even!<br />
<br />
Then Sweet Josh told me to ski down to the bottom and turn left to stop. No problem, Josh. Watch and learn, my friend. So I took off and skied to the bottom, gaining quite a bit of momentum along the way. And when I say "quite a bit," I mean "HO. LY. CRAP." But I stayed calm because I knew how to stop. I had done this. I just had to turn left to turn and stop like Sweet Josh told me. So, as I got toward the bottom, I tried to do just that. I turned left. But couldn't stop. I remained calm and tried to turn right to stop. So I turned right. But couldn't stop. Suddenly, I found myself careening out of control, turning left and right, arms flailing, yelling super-cool things like "I'M GONNA HIT SOMEBODY!!" and "IT'SNOTWORKINGIT'SNOTWORKINGIT'SNOTWORKIIIIIIIIIIING!!" Mercifully, I fell and that stopped me. Before I killed anyone.<br />
<br />
Sweet Josh came running over to me to make sure I was okay. He got me back on my feet and let me recover for a few minutes before making my next trip up the magic carpet lift. When I was ready, he coached me on how to properly get on the magic carpet. He said you line your skis up in front of the lift and you inch forward bit by bit until the conveyor belt just naturally takes your skis forward and then you just go along for the ride. Seems like this would have been helpful information to have the first time around but I'm no ski school teacher so what do I know? So I followed his advice: I lined up my skis, I inched forward, ignoring the long line of people behind me, and waited for the lift to pull my skis forward. And it did! When enough of my skis were on the lift, it pulled me forward and I was on my way. For about 1.3 seconds. And that's when the lift pulling my skis forward caused me to lose my balance and fall backward. And that caused the attractive lift operator to stop the lift for me. Again.<br />
<br />
This is when I began to truly loathe skiing.<br />
<br />
So Sweet Josh and another instructor helped me up and took me to the bottom of the lift again. This time the attractive lift operator just stopped the lift altogether to let me get on fully and just enjoy the ride. When I arrived at the top of the hill, I gave him my best "sorry I'm a bad skier but call me!" smile. But before he could smile back, I lost my balance on the snow and lurched backwards. Happily I caught my balance and didn't fall but the damage was done. I was never going to make eye contact with him again.<br />
<br />
That's when I vowed to not make eye contact with any person while wearing skis.<br />
<br />
I tried going down the hill again but this time I was too scared. I would ski a few feet and fall. I would ski a little more and my skis would cross. And I'd fall. I'd tell myself I was going to make it all the way down. And then I'd fall. It was miserable. I had completely lost my confidence. Motivational Speaker Catherine turned in her resignation. And poor Josh was at a loss. He wanted to take me up on a chair lift to teach me how to negotiate that whole thing but I was too scared. He tried to tell me that I was doing really well and that I was totally ready for the chair lift but I didn't believe him. So I lamely stood and watched the others in my class go up on the chair lift and ski down the bunny slope with ease. Sweet Josh came back to me a few more times to see if I wanted to try it but I said no and apologized for my fears over and over again. I felt so LAME. And then the class was over and my ordeal had finally come to an end.<br />
<br />
PRAISE. THE. LORD. <br />
<br />
I was embarrassed to report my experience to Hannah and the rest of the gang. They're such good skiers/snow boarders and they just simply don't let silly fears like plummeting to your bloody and untimely death stop them. So I knew that they probably wouldn't really understand my fear. Or my loathing of skiing. Or my decision to never put a ski on again.<br />
<br />
Never ever ever ever.<br />
<br />
Uuuuuuuuuntil Hannah convinced me to try going down a green slope with her the next day.<br />
<br />
But THAT, my friends, is another story for another day . . . Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-4422063015506468042012-12-20T00:33:00.000-06:002012-12-20T01:11:39.462-06:00Snow glub glub glub . . .I think Christmas decorations must be the happiest things in the world. I mean, they are so bright and cheerful - can you name any other type of decoration that brings so much joy? I can't! But, you know - it must be hard to be a manufacturer of Christmas decorations. I mean, you can't just make the same thing every year. You have to constantly be re-thinking things and trying to come up with new and creative ways to make a candy cane or a snowman or a nativity scene. It really must be exhausting. <br />
<br />
And sometimes, the effort at thinking outside the box just doesn't really work. Sometimes, you just have to go with the age-old, tried and true design. Case in point: the snow globe.<br />
<br />
Snow globes have been around FOREVER. They've been done and done again. Is there really anything you can do change it up? I mean, it's a pretty standard formula. You take a winter scene, maybe a bird:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0LId7m7sPf4Cuqfh5rJo4xVuIZ8uN-E7PyAZgx1pLfi2G3F2omdWXghrI8YlVZia0hCsJU599208hgCqnMtMM-KVkvIeyfO7sbMYZqFAet2mpneSdBHYFmlYBFFQ1tBxF58deXfXHgc/s1600/snowglobe-bird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0LId7m7sPf4Cuqfh5rJo4xVuIZ8uN-E7PyAZgx1pLfi2G3F2omdWXghrI8YlVZia0hCsJU599208hgCqnMtMM-KVkvIeyfO7sbMYZqFAet2mpneSdBHYFmlYBFFQ1tBxF58deXfXHgc/s320/snowglobe-bird.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Or a city scene:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbaGYwDfcWldIfDjj09t1NqZNv8wPAf7-XoBc_9df-SUOHWmkA5ymav2z-gE7juKSou4v_-rTz8KhSHqy2h0VxeECI0p4B9rZQpgyeoqe1a_YGScWfiH5JAYqa3thNBGWjn0iO-zmFtk/s1600/snowglobe-city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbaGYwDfcWldIfDjj09t1NqZNv8wPAf7-XoBc_9df-SUOHWmkA5ymav2z-gE7juKSou4v_-rTz8KhSHqy2h0VxeECI0p4B9rZQpgyeoqe1a_YGScWfiH5JAYqa3thNBGWjn0iO-zmFtk/s320/snowglobe-city.jpg" width="294" /></a></div>
<br />
And voila! You have a snow globe! Nothing to it. And the important thing is that this is what people expect. They aren't looking for creativity with a snow globe. They aren't waiting to see what you come up with next. They just want a pretty scene, maybe throw in their favorite sports team - nothing too out of the box. <br />
<br />
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<br />
And definitely NOT a child with her head stuck in a globe filled with water.<br />
<br />
Seriously. This is disturbing. First she gets cursed with a ball for a hand so that she can't play with her new nutcracker. And then BAM! she gets her head stuck in a freaking snow globe. Worst. Christmas. EVER.<br />
<br />
This is by far the worst idea for a snow globe to date. No way it can get worse than this sweet little girl staring back at me through the water . . .<br />
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I'm sorry - is that . . . JESUS? Did they trap the head of our LORD AND SAVIOR in a freakin' snow globe??<br />
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[gasp!] Saaaaaaaanta?? [tap, tap] Stay with me, Santa. Stay with me. Do NOT walk toward the light! Someone get me a hammer!!<br />
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I'm sure they meant to make Mary look peaceful in this one. But, instead, she looks as if she has finally lost consciousness and is slipping away. It brings a whole new meaning to Silent Night . . . <br />
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So, while I tip my hat to the companies that make the Christmas decorations that brighten up our lives from Thanksgiving to New Year, I beg them to think about their new, creative spins on things. And to remember that, as a general rule, trapping people's heads in a snow globe is tragic. And typically does not say "Peace on Earth, good will to men . . ."<br />
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Seriously. Where's that freakin' hammer??Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-25870946364802255802012-11-06T01:43:00.000-06:002012-11-06T01:43:15.229-06:00PALMORE FOR PRESIDENT!!As we begin this Election Day 2012, there are three things I know for sure:<br />
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1. No matter who wins this election, it appears that we have 4 years of the same facial expression to look forward to:<br />
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2. Whoever loses this election can blame his fans on facebook. Good Lord . . . some of those people are their candidate's WORST marketing tool.<br />
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3. We need one candidate that we can ALL feel comfortable with. Someone who makes us feel good inside. Someone who will work for everyone. Someone who has a bunch of really cute purses.<br />
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And friends, that someone is ME.<br />
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So I'd like to ask for your vote on this Election Day. If you've already cast your vote, it's okay - just go to your local poll and tell them you've changed your mind. They get that AAAAAALLLLL the time. If they won't let you change your vote, then just yell things like "voter suppression" and "voter intimidation" and they'll figure something out. Trust me. I know these things. I'm a lawyer.<br />
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"Why should we vote for you, Catherine?" you ask. "What can you do for our country?" you want to know. Well, I'm glad you asked. Let me tell you just a few of my BRILLIANT plans for my Presidency . . .<br />
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1. I would name Jack Bauer as my Vice President. Granted, he's a fictional character. And, yes - he's excessively intense. BUT he could win a vice-presidential debate by strangling the other candidate with his thighs. And there's a lot of merit in that.<br />
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2. I would solve the nation's fiscal problems by levying a "skinny tax" against all skinny people. I know I know - we all have skinny friends who are precious to us and none of us want to see them singled out. But, let's face it, they kind of deserve it, what with all their strutting around in jeans that fit and shirts that don't cling to their muffin tops. If conventional politics tells us that we can ask the wealthiest Americans to pay a little more in taxes, then why can't
ask the skinniest Americans to pay a little more? I'm pretty sure
there's a clause about this in the Constitution. Again, I'm a lawyer so I know these things. No need to fact-check. So I propose taxing anyone who wears pants sizes in the single digits, anyone who has ever said "I'm not really a 'sweets' person," or anyone who has ever asked for the dressing on the side. Are you with me? <br />
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3. I have some good ideas for creating new jobs. For instance, I think every grocery store should hire at least one person whose job is to walk around with a shopping cart for anyone who incorrectly chose the handheld basket when coming into the store. You know what I'm talking about - you walk in thinking that you are just getting a few small items and you just need the little basket. Then before you know it, you're having to lug it around with both hands, leaned back to counter the weight that you're holding, and you're struggling to find any room for the carton of milk that you decided to get after all. Wouldn't it be nice if someone were patrolling the store for that very problem, ready to help you upgrade to the shopping cart? Just think, if every grocery store added just one person who did that job, that would add like . . . well, probably more than . . . it would HAVE to be somewhere around . . . well, suffice it to say it would create a LOT of jobs. I would be a hero. And that's really what I'd be going for.<br />
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4. I would require military personnel to wink when they salute me. This does nothing to advance the state of our country. But it would make things like getting off a plane A LOT more fun. <br />
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5. Forget e-harmony. Forget match.com. If I were President, the whole WORLD would be trying to find me a man. I'd have my pick of nationalities. The French might want to arrange a marriage to create an alliance but I would say "No zank you." Russia might see it as an opportunity to get one of their own into the White House. But I would say "Niet." The Italians might send over some gorgeous Italian to try to secure American allegiance but I would say - well, let's be honest. I'd totally say yes to that one. <br />
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So there you have it - some of my best plans for my Presidency. Hopefully you agree that I have much to offer my country and my fellow Americans. But, hey - if you still need convincing, just remember that, at the very least, I can offer exactly what these other guys are offering you right now:<br />
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HAPPY VOTING, AMERICA!!Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-18466035252982453382012-10-22T01:09:00.000-05:002012-10-22T01:09:04.312-05:00Happy Fall!!I love Fall.<br />
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I love the weather, the leaves, the decorations, the clothes, the holidays, the food - I love it all. But one of the problems with living in Houston is that it doesn't start feeling like Fall until late October. Up until then, it's usually 90 degrees and sandal weather. No scarves. No hot chocolate. No fire in the fireplace. No pumpkin pie.<br />
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Oh, who am I kidding? I can eat pumpkin pie in the dead of summer. But you get my point. <br />
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ANYWAY . . . A few weekends ago, I was in a great little town in the Texas hill country with a group of friends. While we were there, a cold front moved through and we finally got some fall weather. We walked around the little downtown area, window shopping and drinking hot chocolate. It FINALLY felt like Fall to me. And, as we walked around enjoying the autumn weather, I found myself really admiring the seasonal decorations. <br />
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In one store, I saw something that confirmed for me that Fall really brings out the joy in EVERYONE:<br />
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He can hardly contain his excitement as Thanksgiving approaches! I imagine him spreading his contagious joy, psyching his pilgrim family up for the first Thanksgiving feast. Getting everyone whooped up into a joyful frenzy as they prepare their turkey and dressing:<br />
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And the Indians. How excited they must have been - joining these joyful Pilgrims for the first Thanksgiving dinner! What a time for celebration . . .<br />
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Oh the frivolity! The unmitigated delirium! It's almost too much to watch.<br />
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And then I saw this little feathered snowman (a necessity for ANY fall vignette in YOUR home) and it made me wonder aloud: <br />
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"Why is there dog poop lining this snowman's head?" </div>
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As I was deep in thought on that question, I turned around and saw this guy: </div>
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And, after I stifled a small scream, I wondered if we had accidentally wandered into a psych ward. But then I decided that I was being silly. These were normal fall decorations. Decorations that any person would want in their home. There was nothing weird or unusual about them at all. <br />
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[gulp]<br />
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After we left the psy- I mean "lovely store", we went to another little shop where I saw these cute little Thanksgiving candles:<br />
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You know, I think some people might look at these little candles and see two precious singing Pilgrim children. But not me. I see two Pilgrim children saying "Wait - you're gonna do WHAT to that thing coming out of my head??"<br />
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We walked around for a couple of hours and had a great time. And while I didn't end up buying any decorations our our trip, the stores in that town did inspire to break out my own fall decor when I got home. I got out my candles, my little pumpkins, my fake fall leaves. And I got out this little guy that I got from a friend of mine. <br />
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Because nothing says "Happy Fall" like a cute little scarecrow and his trusty . . . ummmm . . . seal?</div>
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So I hope you are enjoying the season wherever you are today. I hope that you have your decorations up, some cool weather to enjoy, a scarf around your neck, and a piece of pumpkin pie in front of you. And I hope if you have any extra pumpkin pie in your fridge, you'll invite me over.</div>
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And we can whoop it up like a bunch of Pilgrims and Indians.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-1297129090477333422012-09-24T00:00:00.001-05:002012-09-24T00:00:23.000-05:00From you. To me.Happy birthday, my friends!!<br />
<br />
Oh, wait - it's MY birthday, not yours. Silly me. <br />
<br />
I know that you are wondering today what my birthday can do for you. But to that question, I would respond: ask not what my birthday can do for you. Ask what YOU can do for my birthday.<br />
<br />
Seriously. Ask that question.<br />
<br />
[pause to listen for your voices] <br />
<br />
What can you do for my birthday? I'm so glad you asked. <br />
<br />
I've been thinking about it for a while and I've had some different ideas. At first I thought I could ask for you all to each give me the name and number of your favorite cute, tall, funny, single guy who is looking for a brunette to share his trust fund. But that's fraught with potential problems - what if he's funnier than me? I couldn't handle that. Then I thought about asking you all to each give me a hug. But then I just started laughing hysterically, slapped my knee and said "good one!" Then it dawned on me. There is one thing that I want that y'all could help me with - something that I could accomplish with some sort of concerted effort on the part of my friends: For once in my life, I want to contract some sort of illness whose primary symptom is "unexplained loss of weight." <br />
<br />
Is that too much to ask? <br />
<br />
Whenever I get sick, it's a sinus infection. Do you know what the symptoms of a sinus infection are? Debilitating headaches and green snot. A LOT of green snot. It's SUPER attractive. And when it's all over, and I've blown through my box of Kleenex and a box of Tylenol Sinus, I have gained 5 pounds. And my nose is twice its normal size. Is that fair?<br />
<br />
My sinus infections usually turn into bronchitis. Primary symptom of bronchitis? All-consuming, body-racking coughs. And I'm talking about the kind of coughs that make you cross your legs so that you don't lose control of your bladder. It's not glamorous.<br />
<br />
And usually a good bout of bronchitis will have me coughing so hard that I get muscle spasms in my back. So then I spend a week walking like an 80-year old woman who just had hip replacement surgery. And I'm not gonna snag my own cute, tall, mildy-funny, single guy walking around like that.<br />
<br />
Sooooo . . . I figure that you all could help me catch the RIGHT illness. Something that will help me lose 30 pounds in the coming year. You can come over to my house and sneeze on me. Have me drink after you. I'll even come to your house if you would prefer that. Although, this is technically your birthday gift for me so that would be sort of a jerk move on your part. But whatever. As long as I can go to my doctor and say something like "I just canNOT stop losing weight, doctor!" or "I'm concerned, doctor - I'm just wasting away." or "Don't these jeans look AMAZING on me?"<br />
<br />
So do your part, friends. Give me your germs. <br />
<br />
Or you can just give me a hug.<br />
<br />
Pause.<br />
<br />
Pause.<br />
<br />
Hahahahahahaha. Man, I crack myself up. <br />
<br />
Have your cute, tall, "funny" single guy beat THAT.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-12371636507439988572012-09-19T00:19:00.002-05:002012-09-19T09:47:57.693-05:00A unique decorationThis past weekend I went to a local Wine and Music Festival with some friends of mine in a town called Montgomery. It was a lot of fun. We sat around and listened to live music, tasted different kinds of wine, ate kettle corn, and watched a cooking demonstration. Oh and I signed up to receive a quote from Liberty Mutual. Not because that's what people normally do at a wine festival but because I can't say no to people who are working booths at events like that. It's a problem. <br />
<br />
After we watched the cooking demonstration, we walked around downtown Montgomery and went into a few of the local shops. One of the stores we went into had a lot of interesting, eclectic things that I had fun looking at. At one point when I was in that store, I was standing by a woman and her husband and it quickly became obvious to me that she had had too many "samples" of wine. I silently judged her, wondering how someone gets that drunk off of wine samples in the middle of the afternoon. Why couldn't she be more like me and my friends, slowly sipping on her wine, enjoying the day, not overdoing it. I was feeling pretty self-righteous.<br />
<br />
That's when I looked up and saw this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqf7R6NX_SBK8qmUkolZNUj7jyJpkF0IQtNID-yRwr7BnvNH-sPgDehXDy4NG0vm2qevE7McgjcWHOTkFNGncqG9tb4ZvYuNYIZrCb3aM-LgURGL7R7waiyQqWSp8wsY0tTyi3wr7i2M/s1600/dollsculpture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqf7R6NX_SBK8qmUkolZNUj7jyJpkF0IQtNID-yRwr7BnvNH-sPgDehXDy4NG0vm2qevE7McgjcWHOTkFNGncqG9tb4ZvYuNYIZrCb3aM-LgURGL7R7waiyQqWSp8wsY0tTyi3wr7i2M/s320/dollsculpture.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Aaaaaaaand then I pulled out my phone to sign myself up for the next Alcoholics Anonymous group. Because clearly I was having some sort of alcohol-induced hallucination. That was the only possible explanation.<br />
<br />
So I took a picture and hoped that later, when I looked at my phone, I would find that I had actually taken a picture of a nice drawing or piece of art and that I had imagined/hallucinated the strange baby king door doll. So you can imagine my horror when I pulled my phone out and BAM!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqf7R6NX_SBK8qmUkolZNUj7jyJpkF0IQtNID-yRwr7BnvNH-sPgDehXDy4NG0vm2qevE7McgjcWHOTkFNGncqG9tb4ZvYuNYIZrCb3aM-LgURGL7R7waiyQqWSp8wsY0tTyi3wr7i2M/s1600/dollsculpture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqf7R6NX_SBK8qmUkolZNUj7jyJpkF0IQtNID-yRwr7BnvNH-sPgDehXDy4NG0vm2qevE7McgjcWHOTkFNGncqG9tb4ZvYuNYIZrCb3aM-LgURGL7R7waiyQqWSp8wsY0tTyi3wr7i2M/s320/dollsculpture.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
THERE IT WAS AGAIN.<br />
<br />
This is positively disturbing. I just don't understand it. I know that art is open to interpretation but I think the only interpretation for this one is psychotic personality disorder. And I wonder if there is really a market for this type of thing. I can't see it. I mean, I CAN see someone starting off a conversation with "You know what would be great on that big wall in my living room?" But I CAN'T see them finishing that with "A distressed door with a horror-movie-type doll wearing wings, a crown, one sock and keys around her shoulders. How perfect would THAT be in my living room??"<br />
<br />
Well, I guess to each his own. But promise me this: if you buy this and put it on your wall in your living room, give me a heads up. Because that thing could give me a heart attack if it catches me off guard. And that would NOT be good.<br />
<br />
Not until I get my insurance quote back from the guy at the festival . . .Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-14621067781863538662012-09-17T00:48:00.003-05:002012-09-17T00:48:39.203-05:00Some resTOErant art.My friend, Dustin, recently had a freak accident with his kitchen table.<br />
<br />
Yes, apparently kitchen tables can be instruments of freak accidents.<br />
<br />
Anyway, while trying to take the leaf out of his kitchen table, he dropped the leaf on his big toe and the table leaf - that seemingly innocuous thing that you have sitting in YOUR kitchen, too - severed his big toe. Popped that sucker right off. Well, half of it at least. And because it was a rounded-dull-edged-table kind of accident and not a sharp machete kind of accident that severed his toe, they were not able to reattach it. So now he has half a toe. All because he tried to clean up after an evening with dinner guests.<br />
<br />
This is EXACTLY why I don't like housework - it can LITERALLY amputate parts of your body. Who needs THAT? You ever see a hoarder with a partially amputated toe? No. They have it figured out.<br />
<br />ANYWAY, none of this has anything to do with my blog today. Not really. But Dustin and his wife Alana are faithful readers of my little blog and so I wanted to try to bring him a laugh or two during his recovery and I wanted to dedicate this post to him. <br />
<br />
You'll see why . . . <br />
<br />
___________________________________<br />
<br />
So my friend Greg texted me some pictures a while back. I hope you're keeping track of how many friends I have. I have mentioned three so far in this post. Don't be jealous.<br />
<br />
ANYWAY, my friend Greg went to a restaurant in Houston and saw some pictures that he thought I might like to blog about. So he texted them to me back in April. I loved them, of course, and decided that I must go to the restaurant as soon as possible to see them for myself before blogging about them. So, never being one to procrastinate, I went during the first week of September. And I'm blogging about it two weeks later.<br />
<br />
I'm a doer, you see.<br />
<br />
The restaurant is called Macondo Latin Bistro and it's in downtown Houston. They serve Cuban and Columbian food and I was pleasantly surprised at how tasty their food was - I ordered some sort of Cuban dish and loved it. My mom, who went with me, ordered a cheese quesadilla with no sour cream and no guacamole. She is an adventurous eater, as you can see. But she said it was the best plain cheese quesadilla she'd ever had. So that's something . . .<br />
<br />
Just as the food didn't disappoint, neither did the art. It was a feast for the mouth AND the eyes. Not all restaurants can offer you that. And, while I can't share the Cuban yumminess with you (and I wouldn't have, anyway, because it was too good and you should get your own and quit staring at my food, okay?), I CAN share with you the wonderful art that awaits you at Macondo Latin Bistro.<br />
<br />
First, there was Lady Libertoe:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5kcHGaodGq5Z7-LhyphenhyphenTcFaZEWRKbTjW0aUnJbBvmdFgEoEnplcPpnpVoTS-RzMUPvRhEk-qnBuLukQxuGsPKg6N9x4BB1QVoZoM1-9TfNnQAeq7IJrV3JBqZuXdTRssFt4sIsmz_YSg8/s1600/liberty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5kcHGaodGq5Z7-LhyphenhyphenTcFaZEWRKbTjW0aUnJbBvmdFgEoEnplcPpnpVoTS-RzMUPvRhEk-qnBuLukQxuGsPKg6N9x4BB1QVoZoM1-9TfNnQAeq7IJrV3JBqZuXdTRssFt4sIsmz_YSg8/s320/liberty.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
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Ho. Ly. WHAT? I don't know what to focus my attention on - the toes or the softball boobs? I start to type about the toes and then I look at the boobs and feel compelled to write about THEM. Then I go back to the toes. My thoughts center around two thoughts: 1) how I need whatever bra she uses and I need it STAT, and 2) how her pedicures are either really cheap, what with the 2 toenails and all, or really expensive because she probably has to shop at Sherwin Williams for her polish colors. I wonder if she chooses an eggshell or satin finish. It's a legitimate question. <br />
<br />
I hope you're not having toe-envy, Dustin . . .<br />
<br />
I think this next one is Lady Libertoe's sister. I call her Lady Justoe (I can do this all night . . .): <br />
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<br />
It's a good thing that justice is blind. I wouldn't want to her to see that her gown is clinging in all the wrong places. Or the pervert who's trying to get a better look at her . . . ummmm . . . scales.<br />
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Then there was the lady walking her dog in the gale-force winds:<br />
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Good thing she has that umbrella . . .<br />
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I imagine that this is her sister. I call her the Nurturer: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-g-TAjLnHAtEOS9mmJyFcaY0kK9tDtmvx13JHRfEmdT3kJ0UpuaIGMsK3TzyZEXELRp55VNnzGjPAFTQ502tmne7IxQAZ5dwmBwbBs3REq4z1W_rT2LVCKs9r6tZCMMlb7LKMARavZsM/s1600/P1020428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-g-TAjLnHAtEOS9mmJyFcaY0kK9tDtmvx13JHRfEmdT3kJ0UpuaIGMsK3TzyZEXELRp55VNnzGjPAFTQ502tmne7IxQAZ5dwmBwbBs3REq4z1W_rT2LVCKs9r6tZCMMlb7LKMARavZsM/s320/P1020428.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I really don't know why these people are out walking in such strong winds. And why they don't open their eyes. You can't clomp around with those big toes and not watch where you're going. It's irresponsible.<br />
<br />
I call this lady "the Seductress:"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ce8fiDK0vn0p0_1XrL3YgVVBt7K726pbSIwtV1FK_Nna4OXddSUKTfV29WXKH8jH6T0IMyySd6McaQ2KxfD2yDQob1A6qcZivOob7ihDzQvkEcvxuBriZVyn57a907TDxJbKeJNjdnI/s1600/P1020433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ce8fiDK0vn0p0_1XrL3YgVVBt7K726pbSIwtV1FK_Nna4OXddSUKTfV29WXKH8jH6T0IMyySd6McaQ2KxfD2yDQob1A6qcZivOob7ihDzQvkEcvxuBriZVyn57a907TDxJbKeJNjdnI/s320/P1020433.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Nothing like leaning back provocatively, with a disproportionate purse by your side, letting the wind blow through your stringy hair and your giant toes. It's a sure-fire way to bring the menfolk running. At least that's what I've always found.<br />
<br />
I call this guy "Cappie." <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq69WoqwAVSEwpyRfa1vtHvaa-weqpPUog6YQjYcFpWFP5eE5AxhbjviGPR3UlNbTA21ogvu0gR5OzysGBgIMufZiySW8RnyTKnFaf05lDIlDs9GIx8gcEICp8z3O21UP_4QSZPkmkZ38/s1600/P1020427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq69WoqwAVSEwpyRfa1vtHvaa-weqpPUog6YQjYcFpWFP5eE5AxhbjviGPR3UlNbTA21ogvu0gR5OzysGBgIMufZiySW8RnyTKnFaf05lDIlDs9GIx8gcEICp8z3O21UP_4QSZPkmkZ38/s320/P1020427.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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I really don't know what's going on here. If you listen closely, you can actually hear his knee caps crying out in agony. They are about to give up any minute. Like his button did.<br />
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And there's the "Cellist." </div>
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<br />
I'm sure he's an award-winning musician - certainly his cat thinks so. But I think the suspenders deserve all the recognition here. They're giving it all they have. <br />
<br />
And, finally, I call this one . . . ummmm . . . well . . . <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEiSf960ezRvU3KEsmsqgJrJUwFZ8qNFRQcWcfBXIxO_cnCSxoxB1hpqjwURHKIyqmyL122FTz1MohI0dArcD4zEZL0veYpAbP9JX2DLFEFSMT_UkddVdlHZJ7yBr3SuoYfhIDX3vJTQ/s1600/P1020432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEiSf960ezRvU3KEsmsqgJrJUwFZ8qNFRQcWcfBXIxO_cnCSxoxB1hpqjwURHKIyqmyL122FTz1MohI0dArcD4zEZL0veYpAbP9JX2DLFEFSMT_UkddVdlHZJ7yBr3SuoYfhIDX3vJTQ/s320/P1020432.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Yeah - I have no idea what the heck's going on in this one. Are they asleep? Are they in a stupor? Are they stepping on each others' enormous toes? I have no idea. But something tells me the little cross-eyed guy in the back knows EXACTLY what's going on.<br />
<br />
So that's it. Those are the pictures that await you at Mocondo Latin Bistro. Along with some very yummy South American food, if you're up for something more than a plain cheese quesadilla. So head on over there and enjoy all of it.<br />
<br />
It's TOEtally worth it . . .Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-46797948576018436392012-09-04T02:04:00.005-05:002012-11-03T17:16:02.139-05:00Happy birthday, Daddy!!Saturday was my dad's birthday. September 1st . . . he would have been 68 years old. Every year it comes around and every year I can't believe he's gone. It just doesn't seem possible. <br />
<br />
Sometimes I like to imagine what his birthday would be like if he were still here. I probably would buy him yet another book about the Civil War and he would say "oooooh!!" and talk about how interesting it looks. I would give him a funny card that I hoped would make him laugh. And he would laugh at it - even if he didn't think it was funny. My sisters' kids would each make him a card and he would go on and on about them, making them each feel so proud and special. They would probably all fight over who got to sit by him rather than fighting over who got to sit by me. But I wouldn't mind . . . well, maybe a little bit. And we would all sit around the dining room table at my parents' house, singing happy birthday and celebrating the greatest dad who ever lived.<br />
<br />
But, unfortunately, that can no longer be.<br />
<br />
See, my dad died of cancer about a month before his 62nd birthday. As September 1st approached that year, we were dreading it because we thought it would be just too sad. But my mom had a great idea: she proposed that we each take a $20 bill up to the mall, look for people who were doing nice things, and give them the $20 as a reward. So that's what we did - and we had a blast! In fact, we loved it so much that we decided to make a tradition out of it. Now each year, we write a message about my dad in a card, put a $20 bill in it, and then go looking for people who do the kinds of things my dad always did for us and others. You know - things like opening the door for others or letting others go first on the escalator . . . little things that make a difference in someone's day. We have such a fun time telling people about my dad and rewarding them that September 1st has become one of our favorite days of the year, rather than a sad day that we dread. <br />
<br />
So this year we continued with the tradition. We met over at my mom's house and wrote out our cards for our lucky recipients. We decided to write the same thing that we had written last year: "I lost my Dad (father-in-law/husband/grandpa) six years ago. He
always inspired us to be thoughtful, kind and concerned with the needs
of others. So every September 1st we celebrate his birthday by looking
for people who possess the same qualities that made him so special to
all who knew him. You did something today that reminded me of him and I
wanted you to have this little treat so you would know I think you're
special, too! Thanks for being part of my Dad's birthday celebration." Then we put a $20 bill in each card and, once we had all the cards locked and loaded, we headed up to the mall to begin our search.<br />
<br />
I parked my car in the parking garage by the mall and started to walk over to where we were all supposed to meet up. I had to cross a street that runs around the mall and there was a lot of traffic there for some reason that night. I was waiting for my chance to cross and, because it had rained earlier and was still drizzling just a bit, I was NOT excited about having to wait. Suddenly, like a scene out of a movie, a car hit a pothole and splashed me with water.<br />
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<br />
It was an awesome start to the evening. And I did NOT give that driver my card . . .<br />
<br />
We all met up once we got into the mall and then we split up and spread out. Avery and Ben went with me because . . . do I seriously have to finish that sentence? You all know why. Because I'm AWESOME. The three of us walked around, staying SUPER focused. We did NOT go into the pet store to "look for nice people." We did NOT stop for cookies TWICE. And we did NOT practice our modeling moves:<br />
<br />
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<br />
We were on a mission and were NOT to be distracted . . . <br />
<br />
It seems like it gets harder and harder to find nice people at the mall. This year was the busiest I've ever seen it on my dad's birthday and yet . . . NOTHIN'. For the first hour and a half, the only excitement we had was when my mom and Tammy got a man thrown out of the mall for wearing a shirt with the F word on it. Yes - we're THAT family.<br />
<br />
[Ps - if you're that man and you're reading this blog, I'm toooooooootally kidding. It was SO not my family that did that. No effing way . . .]<br />
<br />
And then, it happened - I saw my guy. The kids and I were in the food court and I looked to my right and saw a young boy - maybe 12 or 13 - who was eating with his mom and younger brother. He put all their trash onto his tray and walked over to the trash can to throw everything away. I was so impressed with him because there are a lot of adults who won't go to the trouble of throwing their trash away (I'm talking to YOU, Mom . . .) and yet here was this young guy being so responsible and thoughtful. And I love that he was taking care of his mom - that she wasn't having to clean up after HIM. My dad never let any of us take the trash out or throw our own trash away. He always wanted to do that kind of stuff for his girls. So I knew that this sweet young man was going to get my card. I walked over and introduced myself to him and his family and explained what we were doing and why he was getting my card. His name was Dolapo and he was so sweet and kept saying "thank you" over and over, so sincerely. Giving him my card made my night - I definitely picked someone who epitomized my dad's sweet spirit.<br />
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<br />
After we met Dolapo, the kids and I headed back downstairs. We decided that we'd head over to Barnes & Noble because we've had luck finding nice people there before. As we were walking outside of the mall, we saw a young boy - maybe 5 or 6 years old - run ahead of his family and open the door for them. We all three started talking about him right away and the kids were trying to decide who should give him a card. In the end, Ben grabbed his from me and ran after the family. By the time we got to them, the little boys were playing in this little plaza outside the mall and their parents were sitting down watching them. I approached the little boy's dad and explained what we were doing and told him that we'd like to give his son a reward for opening the door for his family. His father jumped right up and called the little boy over so that we could talk to him. Ben wanted to handle this one himself so he walked over to the little boy, thrust the card at him and said "You get twenty bucks." Wow. As you can imagine, such a sentimental display brought a tear to my eye. But, after I regained my composure, I intervened to explain to little Javier that we were celebrating Ben's Grandpa's birthday and we wanted to give him a reward for being such a gentleman. And he was SUCH a sweet and appreciative little guy. <br />
<br />
So now that I've told you what happened, here's Ben's version of things . . .<br />
<br />
<b>From Ben:</b><br />
<br />
This boy opened the door for his mom, his dad and his younger brother.
And so I thought maybe I should give him my card. So my cousin and Catchy were telling
me that I should. So I chose to go over
there and stop him because he was running around by Pottery Barn. And so
we stopped and then we went over to his parents and the dad called
his son over and I said "you get 20 bucks!" Then Catchy interrupted and told them about my Grandpa and how he died and how we celebrate his
birthday every
year. And then we found our Grandma - we call her Dearsie. And then Dearsie & I went over to
my mom. The End.<br />
<br />
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<br />
After Ben left with my mom, Avery and I went back inside the mall. We were DETERMINED to find someone perfect. Earlier in the evening, we had walked past a World Vision kiosk and had met a young girl. In case you're not familiar with World Vision, it is a child-sponsorship ministry. This 10-year-old girl named Laura was working the kiosk with her mother and brother and she stopped us to tell us all about these young children who have to walk 3 miles to get water for their families and that, most of the time, it's not even fresh water. We were so impressed with her passion for telling people about the plight of these kids and trying to get them to help. She was impressively bold about walking right up to adults walking past her and talking to them. When Avery and I were walking back by Laura's kiosk, Avery had an epiphany: Laura should get her card for giving up her afternoon to come out to the mall to work so hard for all those little kids. We walked over to her and told her about what we were doing and she was so sweet. She looked positively horrified to hear that Avery's grandfather had passed away and she was overjoyed that we were wanting to give her a prize for her generous spirit. Avery was so happy to have given her card to someone so sweet.<br />
<br />
But maybe you'd rather hear it from Avery herself . . .<br />
<br />
<b>From Avery:</b><br />
<br />
I was in the mall just walking around, walking around with Catchy and I
ran into this girl and she told us something about kids and then we
left. And then I had the idea to give my card to the girl who was trying to help all the kids! She was trying to get us to mail water to these kids that
are turning 3 and have to get water on their birthday for their family
and her name is Laura and she is 10 years old and in 5th grade. Then we
took a picture and then we went to dinner. She reminded me of Grandpa
because she was trying to help others and save others. <br />
<br />
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<br />
And I have to give Laura props for making sure that she got the World Vision card in the picture - she is GOOD at her ministry! So, to help her out, the website is www.worldvision.org - check it out if you're interested in sponsoring a child. Or, as Avery says, mailing water to kids . . . :)<br />
<br />
So, after Avery and I gave her card away, we headed over to a restaurant called Mi Cocina to eat and hear everyone else's stories. And so I think it's time YOU heard everyone else's stories, too . . . <br />
<br />
<b>Brian:</b><br />
<br />
Since Brian IGNORED my instructions and did NOT send me his story about his lucky card recipients, I will tell it in my own words. But let's all take a moment to shake our heads in his general direction and say "Bad Brian. Baaaaaaaad Brian." <br />
<b> </b><br />
Brian saw a couple holding hands and being very loving with one another so, naturally, he started following them. As he watched them, he was impressed that, even when the husband was opening doors for his wife, he never let go of her hand. That reminded him of my parents and the love that he always saw in their relationship. They were the kind of couple that would walk the mall, holding hands, talking and laughing. Brian was so struck by this couple that he decided to give them his card. He found out that their names were Gene and Linda and told them about my dad and why he was giving them his card. They were so generous that they gave him the twenty dollar bill that was in their card and told him to give it to his church. Thanks for that, Gene and Linda! Church Project thanks you!<br />
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<br />
And now for the rest of my family. You know, those who DID follow my instructions . . . :)<br />
<br />
<b>
<b>From Emma:</b></b>
<br />
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
Savannah and I were sitting in front of Pinkberry (BEST frozen yogurt
place EVER!) and we saw an Aggies fan open the door for two ladies. He and his girlfriend were about to walk into Banana Republic so I ran up to him and stopped him. At first, he looked like "why the
heck are you talking to me" and then his girlfriend stepped aside so I
could talk to him. I started explaining to him what we were doing and then I handed him the envelope and asked him if we could get a
picture. And Mom said that Catchy would be very happy that he was an Aggies fan!</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
[Catchy is happy, indeed, Emma! And I believe that calls for a . . . WHOOP!]</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<b>From Savannah:</b></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
So I was walking down the mall and I dropped my envelope and this man
said, "OH OH right there!" He was so nice so I gave him my
envelope and told him the story of my grandpa. He was so thankful and
he asked me if he could open it and I said sure. His name was Frank
and I took a picture with him and he was so nice just like my grandpa
and so it reminded me of him. And his wife was really nice too!</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<b>From Dearsie:</b></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">Every
year I have a very special task: I roam the food court looking for a
young man who has taken his hat off while eating. This lucky guy gets
an even bigger gift of $50 because men eating with their hats on was always a pet peeve of Charlie's. Whenever we stopped for a bite to eat at the mall and he noticed a
young man still wearing a hat while eating he would always say "don't
parents teach their boys to take their hats off at the table anymore?"
From my experience I can pretty much say - No! But I understand
because it used to be a simple thing to sit down with your son for a
bite to eat and say "take your hat off son." Now, things have become a
little more complicated and that same dad would have to say "son, stop texting, take
off your hat, stop texting, pull your pants up, your underwear is
showing, stop texting, and don't use that language at the table!" For a while this
year I thought I was going home with my $50 card. After two hours of
roaming, I gave up and was weaving my way through the tables on my way out
when I happened to notice two guys sitting at a table with . . . YES . . . A
BASEBALL CAP ON THE TABLE! I quickly sat down beside the young man
closest to the hat and asked him if he would mind answering a question.
He said "sure." I asked him: "Why is your cap on the table instead of on your
head?" He was genuinely taken aback for a moment as though I had asked a
silly question. He said, "because I'm eating." I pumped my fist and said yeeeeeessss! He was really looking confused then. But I wanted to know more so I asked him: "Well, why take it off just because you're eating?" Still puzzled, he
said "Because I'm a country boy and my Mom and my Grandma taught me to
take my hat off at the table." Another fist pump! I explained why I
was at the mall with my family and why I was handing him this envelope.
I told him I was sitting down just a few minutes before I found him
thinking "Where are all the cowboys? If I could just find a cowboy I
know he would take off his hat." And his friend Mike, who was sitting across from him, pointed to him and said "And you just
found one." My country boy's name is Chris and he agreed to have his
picture taken with me. We shook hands before I left and I'm sure he sat
there for a while wondering what the heck was such a big deal about
taking your hat off while you eat. Well, Chris, it was a big deal to
someone special to me and that makes it a big deal to me.</span></span><br />
<br />
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</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">From Tammy:</span></span></b></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"></span></span>After walking around the mall for over 2 1/2 hrs with no luck, I thought
I would stake out the exterior door by Banana Republic again. I stood
there for some time before I saw a mom coming towards the door (from the
outside) pushing a stroller. My instinct was to go open the door
myself, but I looked around to see if anyone would jump in there. From
behind me came another mom (heading out of the mall), also pushing a
stroller. This mom sped up a little to try to get to the door first and
pushed her stroller aside just a bit and opened the door wide for the
other mom. She then got her own stroller and headed out. The more I replayed the scene in my
mind, the more I was impressed and knew I had to chase her down! And
chase her down I did! Her name was Heather and she was very warm and friendly. She seemed moved by the gesture and story of Dad's birthday celebration. I took a
picture of her and her precious baby and then she gave me a big hug.
Great family.....I was thoroughly pleased with my encounter!</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<b>From Matt:</b></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
I normally am one of the first ones in the family to find someone doing a
nice deed. I usually have given my card away within the first 30
minutes of our search. This year, that was not the case. I don't know
if people are just not as nice as they used to be or what, but
2012 was a challenge. As I stood near one of the exits of the mall,
hanging my head due to the fact that I hadn't
found that someone special, I saw Joshua and his mother enter the mall.
As they made their way to the door, Joshua literally ran ahead of his
mom to open the door for her. It was just a mom and her son, which
reminded me quite a bit of my childhood. I wasn't
going to give him my card just for opening the door for his mom, I
needed to follow this kid to see what else he had in store. As they approached
Erin and me, Erin smiled at him. He smiled back at Erin with such a
sweet, genuine smile, that I knew this was my guy. I approached him and
his mom and told him about our annual tradition. His mom became
emotional, especially when I told her how
fine of a son she had raised. I took a picture with him, gave him my
card and we went our separate ways. I watch
the mother and son as they read his card while walking. It took Joshua a
while to read his card, but you could see the excitement from a mile
away. It may have taken me two hours to find the right person, but it
was definitely worth the wait. I can't wait for September 1, 2013... </div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<b>From Erin:</b></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
Matt and I were walking down the mall when we saw an empty potato chip
bag on the ground. I was THIS close to bending down and picking it up
(we take the whole Don't Mess with Texas thing very seriously in our
family, thank you very much Charlie Palmore!) when I had an epiphany. I
told Matt, SOMEONE will pick that up. I just know it. So we just
stood right in the center of the mall for a good 10 or 15 minutes
watching as people stepped over it or looked directly at it and stepped ON
it. We even watched one kid taking a running jump to pounce on it. We
were juuuuust about to give up and throw the dang thing away ourselves
when I saw her. It would be an exaggeration to say I could tell from a
mile away, BUT since I am no stranger to exaggeration that is what I
shall go with. I saw a woman wearing a Tim Tebow jersey and FROM A
MILE AWAY I could tell by her face that she was going to pick it up. I
told Matt, SHE is going to do it. Her eyes were on it and she was on a
mission. Sure enough, she bent down and snatched that thing right up
and walked over to the nearest trash can to throw it away. Oh my
goodness, I was SOOO excited!! I was jumping up and down and I'm pretty
sure I got my old school fist pump on, but that's neither here nor
there. After I gathered myself, I walked over and caught up with her to
tell her about what we do and why she was picked. Well, I was just a
hot mess for some reason. I always get a little emotional, but this time I could
hardly even talk. She was so sweet. Once she got the gist of what I
was saying she just scooped me up into best hug I've had in a long time.
Her dad even gave me a hug and a kiss on the forehead. Her mom was
there too and Matt told me later that when I first started talking, her mom
was actually bending down in front of Gymboree picking up a bag of
trash there. That made it even more special to me. All three of them
were just the nicest and most sincere people I could have hoped to find.
My lady (and I'm so sad I got caught up in the moment and didn't even
ask her name) told me that she was going to remember my sweet daddy
tonight in her prayers. And, I know she wasn't just saying that. I
would bet money on the fact that she said a prayer for him that night.
To wrap up, I don't know if y'all remember me saying that she was
wearing a Tebow jersey, but let's just say...well, I'll just let you see
the pic for yourselves. WINNING!! </div>
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[And to Erin's Tebow friend: if you're reading this, please let us know your name so we can include it here!]<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
So that's it - the 2012 Charlie Palmore celebration. It took us a while to find them but, in the end, we met some great people. I hope that we made them feel special. I hope that we inspired them to keep doing nice things for others. And I hope that they realize that we could not have paid them a higher compliment than comparing them to our sweet dad. Because he really was one-of-a-kind. </div>
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<br />
So happy birthday, Dad!! I hope we made you proud!<br />
<br />
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-16594757227946341352012-08-06T00:57:00.001-05:002012-08-06T00:57:16.866-05:00Olympics!!I love the Olympics. Like in an unnatural way. I record all the events and try to watch as many as I can. I cry when we win gold. I cry when they play the National Anthem. I cry when anyone even mentions the name Keri Strug. And I spend all my free time trying to decide if I would rather marry Jason Lezak or Brendan Hansen. <br />
<br />
It's a problem.<br />
<br />
But I've been a bit busy this year and haven't had the time to watch all of the different events that I have recorded. I get home each night, agonize over the fact that my DVR is 100% full, and then have to have my very own Sophie's choice. Do I delete sand volleyball? Do I delete water polo? Trampoline with Dong Dong? How can I possibly make such a choice?<br />
<br />
It's very stressful.<br />
<br />
So I'm currently trying to catch up with all the Olympics that I have missed. But here are my thoughts so far:<br />
<br />
1. I'm pretty sure that this is actually impossible:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCE2dPvysAP2HO_eQ-D4ErPnJL-_2jaODE94V_vXdOth69gkcL6Ai3onlu2CqTS39UuTX-jwbDAix4dnAqofXSThZ5JxJJNSmCR9Q9iJa7G38chuT_3yUyFw1KxTGQGWjwgEDWDalxBfc/s1600/P1020425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCE2dPvysAP2HO_eQ-D4ErPnJL-_2jaODE94V_vXdOth69gkcL6Ai3onlu2CqTS39UuTX-jwbDAix4dnAqofXSThZ5JxJJNSmCR9Q9iJa7G38chuT_3yUyFw1KxTGQGWjwgEDWDalxBfc/s320/P1020425.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
2. I'm pretty sure that this guy trains in an indoor swimming pool:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeAuTba2Vcs2IVmHzZWBz3CIIauh7bgQsAFadBz84AzappS16rJ8QJiR2Z9fOCB_yWG4YgQxEL8h2pbYjbulMid0qtGq5zaz5nyQc-FKrE_9sZTPZ04YLXDG0yiagoAh_mPiDB30dRcU/s1600/P1020419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeAuTba2Vcs2IVmHzZWBz3CIIauh7bgQsAFadBz84AzappS16rJ8QJiR2Z9fOCB_yWG4YgQxEL8h2pbYjbulMid0qtGq5zaz5nyQc-FKrE_9sZTPZ04YLXDG0yiagoAh_mPiDB30dRcU/s320/P1020419.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
3. I'm pretty sure that shoulder blades aren't supposed to do this:<br />
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<br />
<br />
4. I'm pretty sure this gymnastics judge is the most terrifying person at the Olympics:<br />
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<br />
<br />
5. And I'm 100% sure that this is the only job I could do in the Olympics: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihCHUFLwTcKk1sqZ6Hl9g6Vk1Qcpoi8MgGGZv8DSWymxQF8MdRN4PPnRr6REdGpwEO-kdjzy_GViA91pAH_dAeaIBZbQwnaq3NCnSfV0VM1m2uCP7rXmIEZ_052FQy5yVBcOPANNBTQHk/s1600/P1020420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihCHUFLwTcKk1sqZ6Hl9g6Vk1Qcpoi8MgGGZv8DSWymxQF8MdRN4PPnRr6REdGpwEO-kdjzy_GViA91pAH_dAeaIBZbQwnaq3NCnSfV0VM1m2uCP7rXmIEZ_052FQy5yVBcOPANNBTQHk/s320/P1020420.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
You can medal for sitting in a boat and bossing people around? That's my kinda sport.<br />
<br />
Beats the heck out of the pommel horse . . .Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-33908592063221346922012-06-11T01:24:00.000-05:002012-06-11T10:17:59.246-05:00Permission to trespassMy seven-year-old niece, Avery, was selected to play on the All-Stars softball team for her age group this summer. It's really quite a big deal and they have played a TON of games all around Southeast Texas - I don't know how they do it in this heat! This weekend she had yet another tournament, this time in a nearby town called Kingwood, Texas. At one point, I was standing behind her dugout and I saw a sign that caught my attention:<br />
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<br />
Ignore, if you will, the fact that "trespass" is misspelled. Ignore, also, the twitching in my eye. Instead, I want to focus your attention on an important question . . . isn't "trespassing without permission" redundant? Isn't the lack of permission kind of a key component of trespassing? That's what I thought. But maybe tressssssssspassing is different . . .? EDITORS, PEOPLE!<br />
<br />
So we trespassed WITH permission this weekend at the Kingwood fields and took first place. My sister and brother-in-law were in Las Vegas so I was there to be the stand-in for them, cheering Avery on to victory. It's really fun to watch her out on the field with her visor and
sunglasses on, looking like a pro. She's so great at first and second
base - I am amazed at the balls she catches and how nonchalantly she
does it. I find myself cheering and screaming from the stands, already
planning to attend all of her college World Series games in 2025. And
it's not until she falls asleep in the backseat on the way home that I
remember that she's only 7 and that 2025 can wait.<br />
<br />
But I've got her autograph just in case . . .<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAfN19XQk6K63eeiJzNhPUnz1V6ns5ieBTtV9Uym-zATLOp8fQTOml70YuAjaebzxwvd9A2E5R9fCPmLiODqWSm71VKgVkA9UzJn2ZBc1CQb5A5Y0n3O3BywAGtHsowWfo6mdN2wpSa8/s1600/averychamp.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAfN19XQk6K63eeiJzNhPUnz1V6ns5ieBTtV9Uym-zATLOp8fQTOml70YuAjaebzxwvd9A2E5R9fCPmLiODqWSm71VKgVkA9UzJn2ZBc1CQb5A5Y0n3O3BywAGtHsowWfo6mdN2wpSa8/s320/averychamp.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-10043410940228798292012-04-24T02:25:00.000-05:002012-04-24T02:25:01.013-05:00Awesome aunt. Terrible movie chooser.This weekend, my sisters and I went to dinner at Lupe Tortilla (a/k/a the best Mexican restaurant EVER) for some fajitas and some quality time together. But mostly for the fajitas. Emma and Ben, my 11-year-old niece and 8-year-old nephew, also joined us for the evening. While we were eating, we started chatting about our favorite books and favorite movies and, at some point, I was talking about how I had read the Lord of the Rings books when the movies came out and how surprised I was that I liked the books as much as I did. Ben got very excited and said "Oh! Catchy! I've been wanting to watch those movies! Are they too scary for me??"<br />
<br />
Now, I haven't seen those movies in years but I remember that I really liked them. I sat there for a second and tried to remember as much of the movies as I could to decide if they were too scary for little Ben to watch. I told my sister that I thought they had some scary parts, that the whole story line is about good vs. evil and there are some pretty scary characters on the side of evil, but that I didn't think it was anything that he couldn't handle. So we made the decision to have an impromptu Lord of the Rings slumber party at my house. So Emma and Ben jumped in my car and Erin went to pick her kids up from their little friends' house and we planned to rendezvous back at my house.<br />
<br />
This was VERY exciting. Mostly because we used the word rendezvous and that makes everything seem more exciting.<br />
<br />
That's when I began to worry that I had underestimated the scariness of the movies. I had a feeling that I was forgetting something that would be a game-changer so I felt it incumbent upon me make sure that Ben understood that the movie might be scarier than I had initially represented. So, on our way to my house, Ben and I had this little conversation: <br />
<br />
Me: You know what, Ben? I'm a little worried that these movies might be a little scarier than I remember . . .<br />
Ben: I don't think I will be scared, Catchy. I think it will be okay. I mean, I watched Scrooge and had nightmares for three nights but I don't think that will happen this time.<br />
Me: Weeeeeeelllllll . . . this is gonna be a LITTLE bit scarier than Scrooge, buddy. I mean, there are some pretty scary characters in this movie.<br />
Ben: No, it's okay, Catchy. I promise. You know how I know? Because I saw the real live Scooby Doo movie and it was scaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrry. But I pushed through it. So I'll just push through it on the Lord of the Rings, too.<br />
Me: [gulp] Hmmmm . . . I don't know, bud. This is gonna be just a WEEEEEEEEE bit scarier than the Scooby Doo movie.<br />
Ben: [shaking his head] I don't think so, Catchy - that one was PRETTY scary . . . [looking at me knowingly].<br />
Me: Oh boy . . . <br />
<br />
As it turns out, I had COMPLETELY forgotten about how scary those movies are. I mean, there are these horrible creatures that I had forgotten about called orcs and they are positively terrifying. I spent half the movie saying things like "Oooooo - don't tell your mom about THAT!" and "Oh geez - I forgot about THAT guy . . ." and "I'm scared - somebody hold my hand!" Luckily, though, the kids did NOT think the movies OR the orcs were too scary and they absolutely loved our Lord of the Rings marathon.<br />
<br />
Phew! <br />
<br />
And, in case you were curious, we DID confirm that the Lord of the Rings is MUCH scarier than the live action Scooby Doo movie. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
I mean, it's THIS . . . </div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
vs.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
HO . . . LY . . . CRAP.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQCtLKpBVwbbnhemMcuQfEfS0aCerVjce_Rq3SRmOnRvJ0oLrj5kdDCimZsolfklFo25BlcKrL9DVdF4JlzlEdjQWltpQJjGSHQScgl4UIiU9Qh7RiWD-ObmeRvoBB6OUq-E8BOgfr-8/s1600/orc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQCtLKpBVwbbnhemMcuQfEfS0aCerVjce_Rq3SRmOnRvJ0oLrj5kdDCimZsolfklFo25BlcKrL9DVdF4JlzlEdjQWltpQJjGSHQScgl4UIiU9Qh7RiWD-ObmeRvoBB6OUq-E8BOgfr-8/s1600/orc.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Preeeeeeeeeeetty sure we have a clear winner.<br />
<br />
Now aren't you glad that I'm not an aunt to YOUR kids?Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-37072332834303529932012-04-17T00:37:00.002-05:002012-04-17T00:42:06.876-05:00What the "h"?Helloooooooooo, strangers!!! It's been so long since we've chatted! Let's not go long between posts again, okay? Y'all need to quit slacking off . . .<br />
<br />
This weekend I went to Birmingham to go to my 10 year law school reunion. I stayed with my friend Ashley and her family and had SO much fun. She has an 8-year-old daughter named Annie (I've written about her before - click <a href="http://www.thecatherinechronicles.com/2011/05/serious-transportation-problem.html">here</a> to refresh your memory if you want!) and she is my little buddy. I went to have lunch with her at her school on Friday. She was very excited because she had just gotten a 100 on her spelling test. And I'm so glad she did because it led to this conversation with her classmates:<br />
<br />
Annie: Guess what?!<br />
Catchy: What?!<br />
Annie: I got a hundred on my spelling test!!<br />
Catchy: Stop it!!<br />
Annie: No!!<br />
Catchy: Stop! It!!! <br />
Annie: No!!<br />
[high five!] <br />
Girl next to Annie: I got a 100, too!<br />
Catchy: What? Way to go!<br />
[high five!] <br />
Girl across from Annie: I got a 100, too!<br />
Catchy: Unbelievable!<br />
[high five!] <br />
Girl across from me: [bummed out] I missed one.<br />
Catchy: Well, that's okay! That's still awesome!<br />
[high five . . . a bit unenthusiastically]<br />
Same Girl: Yeah. I forgot the "h."<br />
Catchy: Ooooooh . . . that's a bummer.<br />
Same Girl: Yeah. And I KNEW there was an "h" - I just forgot to write it.<br />
Catchy: Oh man! I HATE it when that happens! What was the word?<br />
Same Girl: [sighs regretfully] "Stomp." [shakes head sadly]<br />
[awkward silence]<br />
Catchy: Well . . . that's . . . it probably wouldn't have . . . you'll do better next time.<br />
<br />
I didn't have the heart to tell her that, even had she remembered to put the "h" in "stomp" she would have still missed one on her spelling test. I just felt too sorry for her. But later I found out that she has been bullying sweet little Annie! What the "h"??? Now I wish I hadn't been so nice to her! <br />
<br />
I should have just STHOMPED on her foot and walked away.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-53170533238868405482012-03-26T00:25:00.000-05:002012-03-26T00:25:28.957-05:00Ben's BFFMy sister Tammy called me the other day to tell me about a funny conversation she'd had with my nephew, Ben. They had spent the afternoon at a home-school function where Ben had been running around playing with some kids he hadn't met before. At one point, he ran up to Tammy, breathless and looking for someone. That's when they had this conversation:<br />
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Ben: Hey, Mommy. I'm looking for my BFF - have you seen him?<br />
Tammy: [confused] Your BFF?<br />
Ben: Yeah. We were just playing and then he left to go potty but now I can't find him.<br />
Tammy: Oh. Well, what's his name?<br />
Ben: I don't know.<br />
Tammy: You don't know his name? I thought he was your BFF!<br />
Ben: He is. [spotting the BFF] THERE HE IS!<br />
[runs over to his friend]<br />
Ben to BFF: Hey, BFF! I've been looking for you! [running off to play together]<br />
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Oh to be young again . . .Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-62778373868878702002012-03-14T00:00:00.000-05:002012-03-14T00:15:04.334-05:00Brake DamageMy friend Sarah is studying abroad this semester. She recently spent a week in Italy (lucky girl!) and was a bit concerned about a sign that was posted on the door of her hostel. So, naturally, she took a picture, posted it on facebook, and sent me a copy:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZoEM_PYgixTP1dswAUm9AbLK242wdL3RUhn3GGqoEYzj8p2eWrDOGc-41pQ87toAbDe5Hq6TWNH_VK6CQRRgdsFNXeXiplDxqekFDyyBaeKgKyeN9dy4YyJ7WbVB-6fRGA3EVWyeRsU4/s1600/brakedamage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZoEM_PYgixTP1dswAUm9AbLK242wdL3RUhn3GGqoEYzj8p2eWrDOGc-41pQ87toAbDe5Hq6TWNH_VK6CQRRgdsFNXeXiplDxqekFDyyBaeKgKyeN9dy4YyJ7WbVB-6fRGA3EVWyeRsU4/s320/brakedamage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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On one hand, you can appreciate him making the effort to translate things to English for his English-speaking patrons.<br />
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But, on the other hand, has he really cleared anything up??Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-53797157297054443942012-03-12T00:04:00.000-05:002012-03-12T00:06:16.751-05:00Breakinig NewsI was watching the news the other day, following the tornado outbreaks in Alabama, my old law-school stomping ground. All was normal in my world as I sat on my couch watching a breaking news alert unfold . . .<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOTBUNXfb0J6_ypQL9oxUW_C3-NS_UJpRmsnrOWUTcfm0GuXTtUGHRRBfawDtDDtnInOfBCXsFBX4iqjlfSPbeSoJLz5geHDROiLsODzCUXAazY1WjXH12nlWlSrkIaDqxq9VwMoGNcHc/s1600/breakingnews.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOTBUNXfb0J6_ypQL9oxUW_C3-NS_UJpRmsnrOWUTcfm0GuXTtUGHRRBfawDtDDtnInOfBCXsFBX4iqjlfSPbeSoJLz5geHDROiLsODzCUXAazY1WjXH12nlWlSrkIaDqxq9VwMoGNcHc/s320/breakingnews.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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And then, suddenly and without warning, the breaking news changed to BREAKINIG news . . .<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOnmjKfv-vtQUAfTqRIsfrMrSlKWezyDweV_q-VAyv_daYewnJM-xYYy45r8n__VoGtP7blAFwVHlVua05TeLhAvI0zmwICJjyXkHaT_f59wM-Q-6brCP0R2QSsXUPV-4ScyefYPi4b4/s1600/breakinignews.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOnmjKfv-vtQUAfTqRIsfrMrSlKWezyDweV_q-VAyv_daYewnJM-xYYy45r8n__VoGtP7blAFwVHlVua05TeLhAvI0zmwICJjyXkHaT_f59wM-Q-6brCP0R2QSsXUPV-4ScyefYPi4b4/s320/breakinignews.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />You can imagine my alarm. I didn't know - and still don't - if "breakinig" news is worse than just plain ol' "breaking" news? And, if so, was anyone notifying LuAnne and the reporter out there in Alabama so that they could take cover? Did I need to take cover? Just as I was about to really start panicking, I realized that it was just a weird, mid-breaking news type-o. <br />
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And that's when my eyeballs started breakinig . . .Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6814758294166545339.post-66876802721004822922012-02-27T00:38:00.002-06:002012-02-27T00:41:52.060-06:00Security at its bestI went to the grocery store tonight and, as I was checking out, I noticed this screen on all the unmanned cash registers in the store:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBDCE2lZBJ8r5GfVrfZvAoUdeldMq7EIv-bOGBt0zRwNeaM9p7ZlrTyJQP0aZqXzvsSO-990yCqqZiacKp1E2uc_rcMtXquu3prKlbssRpKOlMi2ZmKP5qzyrf8FmYGtXUGj_4_6vLRA/s1600/securemode.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBDCE2lZBJ8r5GfVrfZvAoUdeldMq7EIv-bOGBt0zRwNeaM9p7ZlrTyJQP0aZqXzvsSO-990yCqqZiacKp1E2uc_rcMtXquu3prKlbssRpKOlMi2ZmKP5qzyrf8FmYGtXUGj_4_6vLRA/s320/securemode.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Now, I'm not in the security industry but I do believe that a "secure mode" is seriously undermined by the subsequent directions on how to EXIT the secure mode. Right? I mean, isn't this like posting a sign on your front door that says:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DOOR LOCKED</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Use key under WELCOME MAT to unlock </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
LOCKED DOOR.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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They need to get their money back from whichever company designed this system for them. But the good thing is that, when they get their money back, they just have to hit the BREAK key to put it in the register . . .</div>Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08097825557640540333noreply@blogger.com1