You Capture: Red (The Day Late & Dollar Short Version)

I learned about You Capture from Abra at When Baby Sleeps, but it "belongs" to Beth (right? it's Beth, isn't it? I haven't been reading that long and I honestly wasn't sure) over at I Should Be Folding Laundry. It's her idea. And I thought it sounded like a fun one. So I did it, but then missed the "You Capture" day on her blog. Oh well. Doing it anyway. Nanook took precedence. Sweet Boy. So here are the shots of the Red I captured this week:


I don't know what these flowers are, but they're gorgeous, with their deep Reds to flaming oranges, and they're all over the place down here in the desert, blooming year round. They're my one of my favorites, out of the local flora.




Clearly, I don't do well without flashes and without direct sunlight, but I'm learning! These were so obvious, I know, but they were right there next to each other, and with such a lovely sky behind them.




When I saw the assignment was for "Red", I immediately thought of Caitlin. She is so vibrant and intense, I thought I'd probably just have her throw on something Red and call it good. She asked me to take her picture (did I EVER *ask* to have my picture taken as a child? I don't think so...) with the fire hydrant, and including it here was a given.




For me, Red is a nickname, always just a breath away, something I've loved and hated, flaunted and hidden. It separates me from everyone else in my family, but connects me to the Celtic heritage I cannot deny. It's an attitude and a first impression, both fearless and terrified, passion and rage, a blessing and a curse. Red has shaped and created who I am, and who others believe me to be. A rose by any other name may smell as sweet, but is a Redhead of another shade as much of a smartass?




These two little monkeys, jumping through the desert... watching them race wildly ahead (please remember to freeze if you see a snake please remember to freeze if you see a snake) I was amused at their bright contrast to the khaki world around them. They don't have to wear it to be this visible, but on this day, they both grabbed something Red.

Goodbye, Nanook! You'll Be Missed

From Colorado June 5-24 2009

This image is how I'll remember Nanook, my brother's Siberian Husky. He was arguably the sweetest, most laid-back and affectionate dog I've ever known. I was never worried about how he would act around my children - or any other children, really. His one "flaw" was his ability and willingness to jump enthusiastically over 6 foot fences. Because of that, he spent way too much time on a chain, but at least he was chained to a cable so he could run around. The fact that being chained didn't turn him into a vicious, raving, lunatic of a dog is pretty amazing, but through it all he stayed mellow. They discovered this past week that he had cancer that was beyond treatment, and today my brother, Levi, took him in to be put to sleep.

Sigh. Hugs and Kisses to everyone in Colorado. Wish we were there to say goodbye.

Bye, Nanny!

Cupcake Success - And Just In Time For An Anniversary

So, to read that last post, you might come away with the idea that I had a bad day yesterday. You'd be wrong. That was maybe 45 minutes or so out of my afternoon. Maybe longer - time melts away like butter in the sun when I'm writing. Explaining my longer posts... explaining this one, for sure. I can't say I'm not concerned that that post might have caught a loved-one (Hi Grandma!) off guard, to say the least, and I can't say it didn't cross my mind to delete it later in the evening.

I had a wall-eyed screaming fit of a throw-down with my grandfather YEARS ago (I was 18, and acting like it), and I know my aunt (the one who has always seemed, if not technically been, quieter and better behaved than her sisters... if you will... surely that made someone laugh!), if not my cousins and uncle as well, heard every word. Words like RAPE and FUCK were SCREAMED in that.... miscommunication. It was ugly and hurtful to everyone there, I'm sure. We never talked about it. We moved past it. My aunt was particularly brilliant, really. I was clearly angry and out of control on some levels, and rather than circle the wagons and push me away from her children, she went well out of her way to bring me into her home for a couple of weeks of welcome and desperately needed distance from that whole bitter situation. And I don't care to actually "talk" about it now, either, but because of that, I'm assuming most people on that side of the family - the only side that ever reads this... not that I don't love and adore the other side... they just don't know or read my blog, which I'm cool with,... and could I make this any more confusing or convoluted? ANYWAY... - I'm assuming they've at least heard comments, questions, murmurs, merely witnessed my seemingly inexplicable behavior and drew their own conclusions.. I'm assuming (we all know what THAT means!) ASSuming... that my outspoken (out-typed?) commentary was not a newsflash.

The things is, every time I read that post, I get riled up all over again. And it tweaks me that people, be they men, women, children, adults, teenagers, grandparents, senior citizens, etc etc etc... EVER feel like they have to hold in their pain from sexual assault to protect their loved ones from the horrifying realities. But I've done it. I'm doing it. I understand WHY, I respect that decision. You don't have to protect them from standard physical assaults, just the sexual ones. Usually. Had Samantha Geimer not "gone public" with her identity, I certainly wouldn't have mentioned her here. When you've been through something like rape, something that rips whatever perceived control you thought you had over your life, and then someone else, however well-meaningly (or truth be told, mean-spiritedly) comes in and tells someone else your story, someone you didn't want to know, it just brings back all the pain and anger and frustration and helplessness. Rips you wide open all over again, no matter how metaphorically.

We spent a fairly chill day yesterday ignoring many football games, enjoyed watching Dallas suck it at the end of that game. Broncos are my second string, and Romo just annoys me. Can't say why. Don't really have to. I grew up in Colorado, but joined my husband's enthusiasm for the Philadelphia teams, since most of my own enthusiasm for Colorado teams didn't actually exist. (No I DIDN'T!!) And the Eagles are never on here... and as I may have implied, I just don't really care right now, too much going on. Fast-forwarded through "the race" to see Tony win. Not enough crashes to sustain my attention for long. Good ending, though.. not because Tony won, but because Jeff and Tony had to fight for it. And if NONE of that made sense to you? Go in peace. You have successfully avoided becoming a NASCAR fan.

Much later in the day than I'd hoped, I realized that the cupcakes were not yet a reality. I also realized, particularly since we homeschool (cause I'm not hyper-vigilant or anything) it really didn't matter if the kids stayed up two hours past their (MY) preferred bedtime so that we could make and eat some cupcakes. So we did! Still need to frost them though. Technicalities. They were goooooood.

It's another gorgeous day here, for those of you shoveling snow. BwaHA! Went to the park this morning. Shot some hoops with Jack.

OH!! I actually have something to tell you. TODAY. Ten years ago TODAY was my first date with my husband. Funny story, really. Well.. ish. The panic attack amuses me. Gale and I had been in the Navy together for a good four years. We didn't get to be friends until about a year and half or so of knowing each other. She was a sweet girl. I was ME. Some categorical opposition came into play. I don't know, nor am I terribly concerned, how you might feel about the concept of "fleece throwing". A Bible story could be told at this juncture, but it won't be, I'm not going into that. Gale and I were both sort of appalled to realize we had both managed to develop crushes on a couple of men (they were both in their 30s, Gale and I were 24 and 25, respectively) in our class. Our intention at the time was to stay soundly single until we graduated from school. We were freshman in a small Christian college in Bloomington, Minnesota.

To that end, upon admitting to each other our mutual sense of impending doom, we prayed. Prayed that God would essentially give us the strength to ignore those men, and go boldly forth with our academic endeavors. OR... always gotta give God an out, you know... OR He was welcome to send these men chasing, RUNNING, after us, if it was "His Plan". Because well-behaved, modest young women like ourselves (FLIES in the face of the mouth you KNOW I have on me after yesterday) were certainly NOT going to be chasing them down! Then we went to sleep.

The next morning, think it was a Saturday, we were supposed to have breakfast with our "RA", Sarah. Sarah was four or five years younger than us, another very sweet girl. She lives in Turkey, still, I'm confident, a very sweet girl. The three of us were leaving the girls' dormitory when Jim, just Jim, literally came RUNNING out of his door after us, to ask if we (Gale had a car, the other three of us did not) could give them (Jim and Chris, Gale's crush) a ride to a store where they could get some school supplies. SURE we could. But the seeming confirmation and symbolism, Jim literally RUNNING after us, stunned us into uncharacteristic stammering and monosyllabic responses. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry. We didn't know if there was meaning to the fact that JIM and JIM ALONE had come running out the door after us, while Chris had stayed in their apartment. (Turns out that Chris and Gale broke up after Christmas. Hmmmmm.)

So we took them to the store, then we took them to Minnehaha Park, which, beautiful at any time, was STUNNING with the fall colors in full effect. We walked everywhere, we found the waterfall on Minnehaha Creek, we watched people canoe through the locks on the Mississippi... Insanely. Gorgeous. Day. Then we stopped and had Chinese food on the way home. So maybe it was the food... but...

Ten years ago TODAY, I knew if I saw Jim again, I would fall in love with him. Ten years ago TODAY, I realized I would marry him, if I saw him again, seeing apparently having something to do with believing. Ten years ago TODAY, I had a panic attack, and started packing up my stuff and asking my roommate (Gale) if I could borrow her car and drive back to Colorado (!!!) so that I would NEVER see my future husband again. (She says I sounded like a small child, and I recall feeling rather extraordinary - "altered" if you will.) Because clearly, getting married was not part of MY plan. For better or for worse... haha ... Gale talked me down off that ledge, with RA Sarah's help. I stayed. I saw him again, the next morning. Fell madly in love. Married him 4.5 months later. After having dropped out of the school and scandalizing all the 18 year old girls in the My Future Husband's Fan Club. Bless their hearts.

TEN YEARS. For crying out loud. And for whatever it's worth, I wouldn't know that today was the "date anniversary" except that Gale wrote it down somewhere. Which always makes me sad. But I'm here in Arizona raising these little twerps more or less alone, since Jim is never home, and Gale, who stayed in school like a good girl, is now Ltjg. White in the Chaplain Corps, back in the Navy as an officer, stationed in Guam. Chris, a former banker from New Zealand, who also played on their national rugby team, married who I am sure is a lovely woman from Slovenia, and lives there, continuing to work in ministry. Jim is driving a truck full of recycling or recycled stuff from South Carolina to Dallas, TX, as we speak, finally on his way back towards home. Crazy how paths diverge. Can't say Jim and I don't wonder what would've happened if we'd stayed in school, together or apart, from time to time. Who doesn't?

I Just Got SERIOUSLY Pissed Off

So right up front, you should know that my language is about to descend into the gutter, and it's like to go there with enthusiasm. If you don't want to see that... go here: Her Bad Mother is a bit less profane. You know what? Go there anyway. Girlfriend can write, and she's got something to say a that lot of people apparently need to have spelled out for them. As do I.

Being raped when you're thirteen years old FUCKS YOU UP. I know that for a FACT. It messes with you in a way that takes YEARS to recover from, and when you get to that point, you realize, to your horror, THAT YOU NEVER REALLY RECOVER FROM IT. You just get better at faking it all. You're doing fabulously well, and then like a fucking tsunami, it slams into your life. The pain, the terror, the shame, the confusion. Your throat closing, wondering if your children are really safe, are you missing something? Are you trusting someone you shouldn't? Are you fucking them up worse because of the crushing fear? Are you pulling off the act? Have you convinced them there's nothing wrong?

I can't say I lost respect for a lot of people the past few weeks, because I don't HAVE a lot of respect for the standard issue Hollywood Asshat. Their perspective is warped, and most of them seem to have all the depth of a mirror. I don't know what the fuck Whoopi's dumbass was thinking. All this time I was under the impression that she had actually BEEN a thirteen year old girl. I guess that was too far back for her dumbass to remember. Don't any of these assholes have children? Are these children clear on how little they mean to their parents? Because in my head, which, if you're reading and keeping up, you'll know is still dealing with the effects of being raped as a child, if you're OK with Roman Polanski going free, what you're saying, right out loud for the whole world to hear... WHAT I HEAR YOU SAYING is that you are comfortable with ANY GIVEN "TALENTED" PEDOPHILE SPENDING THE AFTERNOON WITH YOUR CHILD. Toss in some alcohol, maybe some illicit drugs.

I know Samantha Geimer is saying she doesn't want this dug up and sorted through. I know EXACTLY HOW THAT FEELS. But what's easy to lose sight of, what you'll forget in the thick of your pain and embarrassment and sideways looks from others who know, is that FUCKED UP ASSHOLES LIKE ROMAN POLANSKI SHOULD BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE. All I can think of is HOW MANY other little girls did that wealthy, gifted, sick pedophilic FUCK get his twisted paws on in the 30-odd years since he ADMITTED to unlawful sex with that LITTLE GIRL?? To raping and sodomizing her? He had the money and for the love of God, he's been in FRANCE. We're all pretty clear on their laidback approach to what seems like basic morality around here. And as it turns out, his views on raping little girls are startlingly clear.

"Seventy-six years old, a survivor of Nazism and of Stalinist persecutions in Poland, Roman Polanski risks spending the rest of his life in jail for deeds which would be beyond the statute-of-limitations in Europe." This from Bernard-Henri Levy. Are you KIDDING ME? So now suffering entitles us to inflict suffering on others? On children? REALLY?!

Seventy-six years old. He was in HIS FORTIES when he RAPED Samantha. This was not the misguided judgement of an adolescent. This was the premeditated, intentional RAPE of a CHILD by a GROWN-ASS MAN.

Seventy-six years old. Every fucking time someone says "He's too old to have to go through this now," please, PLEASE REMIND them that SAMANTHA WAS WAY TOO YOUNG.

After a few deep breaths, I'm editing this to add: I certainly didn't mean to imply that any of this would have "ok" had Samantha been any older, or Polanski's sorry ass any younger. He drugged her and raped and sodomized her. That's never going to be justifiable, least of all in my eyes. My point with bringing any commentary on age into this is only that so many of his apologists... those morons who have been seduced by a pedophile and don't even know it... they are using his age as an excuse. If they're not using his age, they're using the horrid murder of his wife and unborn child. If it's not that, it's the fact that he survived Hitler. ALL of that would suggest to me that his obligation to who suffered and died would be to go on and live a life of TRUE HONOR (and not what Levy's idiotic uppity ass seems to think passes for it these days) as a witness to all he had endured... to fully HONOR those who he lost to madmen. No. He chose selfishness. He indulged his least little whim. He most certainly told himself he had earned this right. I am here to say HE DID NOT.

Happy Moonlight

Watching a show in which it was just suggested that men were wearing sandals "because they are macho". While his point was that it was all about self-preservation for some reason I did not catch, and had nothing to do with macho-ness, I still find the suggestion both ludicrous and entertaining. I'm sure the men I know/have known who wear/wore sandals are/were positively *obsessed* with how macho they appeared.

I suppose that was a digression? Just kind of made me laugh. Yes, I'm blogging while watching random weirdness. No, oddly enough, it wasn't Our Man Bear.

We've swung by our happy little local airport twice in the past week, and have been rewarded with two F-5s. Last Tuesday, we saw a white one with a swirly NASA logo on the tail, possibly explaining the two USAF Lt. Cols. that were all dolled up in their flighsuits and eating at our only local favorite teriyaki spot just a few minutes earlier. Today, we saw this one:


To quote Jack, "NICE!" Also, "Ooooh! Shiny!!" which or may not have been me.

Do you love the pumpkin spice lattes so popular this time of year? ME EITHER. I have tried to enjoy them, but a nice spoonful of chocolate notwithstanding, I prefer my coffee to taste like coffee. With sugar and cream. No nasty peppermint, no caramel wanna-be macchiato, for damn sure no pumpkin or other fruity goodness. No, just your standard mocha. Or chai soy lattes. Loves me some chai. BUT. Caitlin bravely went for a pumpkin pie milkshake today (what? they have protein, right?) (well, YES.. yes we kind of DO run on sugar around here - I don't believe it either, because clearly it's Of The Devil, but... ) (I'm just thankful for the clothes that still fit me) (though, honestly, I was much more concerned with the MILK of it all, rather than the SHAKE.... we don't consume a lot of dairy around here) and it was so YUMMY. Just saying.

I was determined to make cupcakes day before yesterday, and I failed to do so. I ate an unforgivable number of Chocolate Peanut-Butter No-Bake cookies to make me feel better! make ROOM in the kitchen for the cupcakes, (and it worked!) but still, I failed in my mission. This must be remedied tomorrow. And it ensures an above average day. Splendid!

Tonight, we went hiking. The sun sets around 1800 here now, and it's dark around 1820. Glow of Phoenix to the northeast. The hike started at 1900. With the full moon, the Harvest Moon, we had no need of flashlights. And with 80 degree weather, my jeans and long sleeved t were too much. It was lovely! You get out away from the majority of the light pollution, and how clear and bright it all is just takes your breath away. We had some light cloud cover, but even when the moon slipped momentarily behind the clouds, there was no call for a flashlight. They enhanced the visual imagery, with the shadows and the moonlight sliding across the mountains all around us. The cacti all silhouetted against either the moonlight or the city lights. Some kids had brought some black-light flashlights! Coolest idea ever, as scorpions glow in the black-light. Did you know that?! So cool. These were tiny bark scorpions, smaller than my kids' pinky fingers. The happy added bonus was the very pleasant surprise of our friends Mike and Angie, and their four girls, showing up for the hike as well. Caitlin was *thrilled*. We haven't been able to get together with them for a couple of weeks. Hard to reconnect on the trail while keeping an eye on six enthusiastic little twerps, but we managed. This hike, as opposed to our first moonlight hike, only had maybe 20 people. Our first one had more like 70, so tonight was very mellow. We liked that.

Jim has been gone for three weeks. He's not on his way here yet. Argh. Did I mention we're making cuppycakeses tomorrow?

Go Girly or Go Home

We had a full day yesterday, drove well over a hundred miles, and ran a ridiculous number of errands. Our day-to-day stuff is fairly close by, but the doctor is in downtown Phoenix, our library is a good 25 miles away, our closest natural grocery store is 20 miles in the other direction, and all of these things needed to be handled yesterday. Poor planning on my part, I suppose, but we made the most of it, in spite of Jack having a digestive meltdown (blow up?) 3/4 of the way through our day.

A surprising highlight, however: In the same ... shopping center, I guess, as my ND's office is a HUGE antique store, Antiques on Central, and it's brilliant. Of course feeling twice my age saying THAT, but seriously. You go into some places and they're either insanely expensive or more on par with a thrift store, which is why I typically *don't* go to any antique stores. But the kids and I have thoroughly window-shopped the place, and the kids were begging me to go in there. No! Really! They were. And I was thinking... NO. Just NO. Two kids, one me, china around every corner, and then the dirty looks would begin!

But I was talking to my friend Karen on the phone, so she heard the whole debate, and if you're going to learn from anyone in this world not to worry about the little BS in our day-to-day lives... you're going to learn it from Karen. She heard the whole debate and basically asked me when exactly are my crackbabies (my term, not hers) likely to beg to be taken into a store I would actually like to shop in? (Sanrio notwithstanding, naturally.) Ever. Again?! Excellent point.

So we braved it. It was just LOVELY. From the knickknacks to the silver to the china to the vintage dresses to the MINK STOLE with HEADS AND EYES that totally freaked out my kids... !!! I don't care if it was likely an outright lie, but the "Buddha Transport Structure" from the "mid 1600s" and Shanxi Province of China (with which Samantha on the Travel Channel recently caused me to fall in love) on sale for $1500?! Yes, thank you. Two, please. It looked like those chairs in which you see people being carried around in those movies set back in the DAY. It was awesome. It would serve no purpose whatsoever in my life, and STILL.

China tea cups galore. Beautiful and reasonably affordable china tea cups. With matching saucers. If I collected anything, I do not, but IF I DID... it would be tea cups and saucers. And demitasse cups. By the gorgeous gilt-edged SET. Just saying "demitasse" is like being in a time machine. I'm suddenly wondering frantically if hoops are in style this year, and wondering why my hair is so ornately braided and piled high on my head, and how that minuscule stain got on my new white gloves. Yes, deep down in the darkest closets of my mind is an almost inappropriately girly-girl. You can't grow up reading Louisa May Alcott and Jane Austen and LOVING IT and not suffer Closet Girly-Girl Syndrome. In fact, what's really keeping me from breaking that out into wide open world is that these days, what passes for girly is fake, plastic, shiny and fluorescent pink. It's cheap. It's weak. It's freaking bedazzled. (snicker) In short, it's a sham. If you're going to be girly, then for the love of all things holy, woman, cover your ankles. There must surely be at least one scandalized gentleman nearby. Tighten that corset and have some self-respect.

I know. I do! I felt the shockwaves generated by the 10,000 suffragettes that just convulsed in their graves. Bless their souls, but they don't know what goes on these days. Pass the blue jeans and the ballcap (which I can't stand to wear, truth be told) because if I can't be all out GIRLIFIED... I'm just going to throw on my old steel-toed boots and change the oil.

And bake some cookies.

The glory of it all was rather short lived. I mean... Jack is a healthy and exuberant 7-year-old little dude. He did exceptionally well, which of course included a trip to the store's exceptionally fluffy bathroom, and then the whole thing began falling apart. We might have covered 1/4 of what they had to offer, but we go there at least once a month. So hopefully we'll squeeze in another quarter or so of the brilliance within on our next trip. It does sort of sweeten the deal of having to drive so far for one appointment.

Thanks, Karen!

Random PS: Happy Birthday, Sean! Happy Slightly Belated Birthday, Jarrod!

Happy Birthday!

You know, with the general idea behind this blog, if I zone out for a few days and don't have much - or much worth reading - to share, I worry - for like a minute or so each day - that the 5 or so of you that check on me from time to time must think I'm miserable because I'm not coming here, offering bits of happiness from my day. And because it is ALL ABOUT ME, obviously.

Which is to say I think way too much. The only thing that happens, really, is my forgetting that I outlined a purpose within which I was going to focus on good things. And it just feels silly to come here and be all happy because YES!!! There's a NEW EPISODE of "Man vs. Wild" to watch!! FINALLY. Praise BE!!!

I mean, while that may make my freaking day, it seems like it would possibly depress the rest of you to think, even for a second, that Bear Grylls is what passes for happiness around here. Bless his accented, bug-eating, and frequently hypothermic and pointed little head.

Today though, today I received the unexpected gift, from the always entertaining Admin over at Mommy Brained, of finding out that MY BIRTHDAY is "Talk Like Yoda Day". (Click on that. I dare you.) Does it get any better than that? No. No it does not.

I'm sorry, all respect, but I think "Talk Like Yoda Day" kicks "Talk Like A Pirate Day" square in it's ass. Because... sure, pirates have been around hundreds of years, actually exist and blah blah blah, but no one would really give a damn, no one except the Navy, anyway, if Johnny Depp, in all his glorious beauty and mad talent, hadn't shown up and resurrected the whole of pirate-lore from the grave in which it had been buried.

Or maybe that's just the world I live in. But YODA?! C'mon. He's like two feet tall, green, has awesome ears and can knock you flat by wiggling his eyebrows. And an alien (Not unlike my daughter!) who seems to have our best interests at heart. You know that's going to come in handy eventually.