BUMPIN' MY HUMPS

So, Friday has become the day Glo and I listen to HER iPod on the way to campus. I can’t begin to tell you what a joy that is. Mind you, my music is far from easy listening and stodgy but she makes up special play lists just for me. I don’t have, say, Will Smith though I don’t mind listening once in a while. It helps that my car has some good speakers for “bumpin”. Been getting some Black Eyed Peas and tend to listen to lyrics much to Gloria’s dismay. I imagine will.i.am sitting down , pen in hand to put lyrics to paper, much like, say, Johnny Mercer or Bernie Taupin. And THIS is what he produced:

They say I'm really sexy,
The boys they wanna sex me.
They always standing next to me,
Always dancing next to me,
Tryin' a feel my hump, hump.
Lookin' at my lump, lump.
You can look but you can't touch it,
If you touch it I'ma start some drama,
You don't want no drama,
No, no drama, no, no, no, no drama
So don't pull on my hand boy,
You ain't my man, boy,
I'm just tryn'a dance boy,
And move my hump.

My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump.
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
In the back and in the front (lumps)
My lovin' got you

Gawd…I feel old!

Happy 16th Birthday, Gloria Rose

Hard as it is to imagine, sixteen years ago I was probably curled up in a birthing room at Carson-Tahoe Hospital in Carson City, holding my newborn baby girl. It was the day before Thanksgiving and I had gone in early for a stress-test to make sure she was turned around (she had been breech for a while) in the oven and not over-done. After the pitosin drip had been turned off and contractions stopped, Dr. Breeden looked at me and said…ya know, if we induce, we can BOTH enjoy our Thanksgiving tomorrow”. Mark and I looked at each other knowing that the minute I got dressed and headed home, my water would break. Family was on their way up from Santa Cruz. What the heck – do it! Four hours later, just before Days of Our Lives was scheduled to start, Gloria Rose made her appearance. Hot damn…bring me lunch and turn on my soap!

My family arrived at our house to find a note on the door telling them where we were. They let themselves in and started meal prep and we came home with Gloria on Thursday with the smell of turkey already wafting through the air. Sixteen years have flown by. Glo has always been her own person - smart, independent. Not one to do what everyone else is doing (unless of course she REALLY wants to do it). She loves her Will Smith and Michael Buble as well. She played drums when the other two girls played clarinet. Mark was pleased that he finally had a small child that would sit with him through an entire NASCAR race. She was riding on the back of the motorcycles at four and a half. Started kindergarten a early and was reading when first graders were still guessing at words. She was ahead of the other older kids in her class all the way through elementary school. Even now, she’s the youngest junior at the Academy of the Redwoods.

So, Happy Birthday Gloria Rose. You’ll always be my baby and probably will always be “Shorty” to Hope, even though you're almost as tall as she is.

TURKEYS, REDWOODS AND SURFERS

This has been a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend and I am appropriately grateful for where I live and the people I live with.

After making pie crusts and an apple pie on Wednesday night, I put the pie punkins in the crock pot to cook overnight (BTW, whoever invented the Crock Pot should be knighted). On Thursday, after an early rise and some more meal prep, including turning that punkin into a couple of pies, we (the dog, the girls, Mark and I) loaded into the Xbox and headed to Pepperwood to the old bridge where we took our Thanksgiving picture about seven years ago. We had the late great 100-pound Grizz with us then and Mark wanted to recreate the photo with Vince in Grizz’s place. Nice walk, if a little short. Photos were taken. Lunch was eaten – a traditional Thanksgiving lunch of Ritz and Easy Cheese on the river bed. We returned home to the heavenly smell of turkey. Food prep was completed. Guests arrived with more food. Turkey was carved. Grace was said. Room was saved for dessert. Tryptophan coma to follow.

Yesterday, the girls joined the hoards at o-dark-thirty for the Black Friday traditional storming of the stores. I, on the other hand, took advantage of a weekday off to comb the thrift stores which I don’t often get to do. I came home empty handed which seemed a little odd – I almost always find SOMETHING I can’t live without but I’ve been going through a purging mode of late so I suppose nothing looked important enough to bring back. Not a bad thing. I did find that the ridiculously early holiday decorations and news stories were getting me a bit stressed….How can I already feel behind and it’s just Thanksgiving?! I’ve had to prioritize lately, putting homework near the top and moving anything else that can wait down the list. Unfortunately, if I wait until the end of the semester to shop and get at Christmas cards, nothing will get out in time. So, I calmed myself by hitting a couple local stores for gifts which put me mentally “partially done”. Sounds silly but it worked.

Today, back at homework but managed to treat myself to a trip to the beach. I checked the magic seaweed website and it seemed as if seas were up. Cowabunga! I’m not a surfer but I do live vicariously. I grew up in Santa Cruz and, in days when drive-ins were just that, it was common for my mom and dad to take us to Foster Freeze to pick up burgers then we’d head out to Pleasure Point or Steamers in our baby blue 59 Fairlane to watch the surfers while we ate. There was always a pair of binoculars in the car so we could get in closer when the surf was good. I still find it one of my favorite pastimes. So, I headed up to Camel Rock. There was not a parking spot to be found, it was so crowded. That was a good sign. I drove up to Lufenholtz and managed to find a spot and walked back and down to the beach. Surfers were running out so as not to miss a single wave and the waves were awesome, at least to my eyes. Got some good pictures. There are times I would love to be out there….then I see someone go ass over tea kettles into the salt and remember body surfing as a teen and that sandblasted sinuses thing when you got tumbled. Nope…I’m good on the shore with my lens.

Oh, Hope did a beautiful job on our family Thanksgiving page so please check it out.

AT LEAST SOMETHING LOOKS WORSE THAN MY GARDEN...

As the end of the semester approaches and final project deadlines loom on the horizon, I've decided that preparing my garden for winter will have to wait. It's embarrassing to look at. There is not much that is more pathetic than my slug-eaten tomatoes and zucchini and the 8-foot high sticks that used to be hollyhocks. Actually there is one thing more pathetic...my araucana hens as they enter into annual moult. This goes double for poor Rosemary. She moults first then, because chickens peck at anything that catches their eye, the others peck at her bare spots. As you can see, Ginger looks pretty full and shiny but alas, poor Rosemary. Egg production has fallen off to one a day for four hens and I'm guessing it ain't Rosemary's baby. If this were Chicken Run, I believe she'd be joining Edwina on holiday before long.

Out of the Nest and Into the Laundry Basket

I have to know. Am I the only working mom out there that folds their kids’ clothes? I realize that I’m somewhat OCD when it comes to domestic skills (that murmuring sound is my girls saying “SOMEWHAT?!”). I know there are families out there that are content to live out of huge piles of clean and sometimes sorted clothes. I was buying hangers today and the clerk said…”Nope, I don’t fold my kids clothes. I sort them and they’re on their own.”

When I went back to work full-time, I missed cooking. I missed keeping house. I didn't necessarily miss laundry but I still want it done right. And I don't want my kids doing their own if it means running a tub full of laundry to wash a pair of jeans. I fold clothes as they come out of the dryer since they’re warm and generally wrinkle-free at that point. Sometimes they get tumbled around in the dryer with damp towels for DAYS with a t-shirt getting folded here or there when I don’t have a lot of time to spend. I feel like I spend an inordinate amount of time with freakin’ TANK TOPS. It’s not like we live in Sacramento. These are tanks for LAYERING….ohhhhhhh. Crap! There are a bunch when they’re worn two at a time. And my babies are teenagers. They will throw a load in the wash on occasion but pretty much their laundry work beyond that is limited to pulling jeans out of the dryer to wear.

Am I the only dinosaur still alive? Is it time to teach them? I think so.

AVOIDING HOMEWORK

I should be working on a quiz for my Intro to Evidence class. I decided to get it done FIRST thereby earning any more entertaining activities over the weekend. Thus far, I’ve perused everyone’s blogs and found a few new ones. I’m so fascinated with people. Stories. Activities. I find that other people inspire me so I guess it’s not a bad thing to be a bit of a voyeur even if I am doing what I scold my kids for doing.
The weekend is off to a busy start. Yesterday was Mark’s birthday. Being a Friday, we did our regular dinner out, just Mark, Glo and I. His choice was Chapala, one of our favorites, with a promise not to have the Tumbleweeds sing Happy Birthday. He knew he could trust me because I hate being serenaded in public places. Glo, however, was not such a sure thing. SOMEone ratted her out last year and she got the Tumbleweed Happy Birthday. She knew it wasn’t me (for the aforementioned reason) but she suspected Dad….and his turn was up. But, we toasted him in appropriately reverent tones with plans for a family steak dinner on Sunday, complete with the presents and chocolate chip cheesecake.
Then, about 11:30 last night, we heard sirens. Not unusual since we’re just a block off J Street and Eureka Fire often heads up this way to 14^th. There seemed to be a lot of sirens so Mark got up to look out the window. “Holy Shit….something’s fully involved!” Spoken like a former volunteer firefighter. It looked to be just down the street so we woke the kids and started to head down there THEN we realized the puppy was freaking out. Vince WOOFS when he’s unsure of anyone or anything and he was woofing so….I stayed home with him and let Mark, Hope and Glo head up to the corner. Apparently the fire was contained in a carport in the alley behind the apartments on K and 14^th. Easily accessed by the firefighters. No obvious cause. Mark and the girls left once the fire was knocked down and the building’s attic was being checked for fire damage. Damn, I missed it.
I used to love to go to the fires in Nevada when Mark was on the volunteer fire department, camera in hand. Mostly neighborhood fires but I did hitch a ride in to a brush fire once in shorts and Birks, got scolded and rewarded by the District Chief with a set of brush turnouts that I carried in the car with boots, just in case.
So, back to work on my 1500 words for Professor Sokolow. I’m partially there and once I get my mind and heart into it, the words will flow. Hopefully this blog will help with the brain circulation. LISTENING TO: Brudda Iz (Israel Kamakawiwo'ole)

ALL HAIL AND FAREWELL TO THE GLORIOUS FOUNDER

As Queen Mother (and Father) of the 2004 Rutabaga Queen, Mark & I join the Kinetic universe in mourning the passing of Glorious Founder, Hobart Brown. I found a quote attributed to him that can't help but make you smile -- it's all relative: "Money doesn't always bring happiness. People with ten million dollars are no happier than people with nine million dollars". Hobart Brown.

For the happiness and utter silliness brought to the world ...Go with Glory, Hobart.

What The *&%$...Heck?!

So...I'm shopping in the hardware store and see a family...husband, wife, boy teenager and girl teenager.....maybe even a younger kid as well. Dad is wearing a t-shirt that says "RESPECT BITCHES". What the &%$#?! My mind reeled:

• Have I totally lost my sense of humor or what?
  
• Exactly what message is that sending to his kids?
  
• What is his wife thinking?!
• What message is that sending to his son?
• I hope to GAWD my girls don't date his son because the parents have NO sense of parenting.
• This is not all right.
• What message is he sending to his daughter?
  

I actually googled the shirt as an image for this post but decided against promoting crap like this. Maybe Dad wears a "My wife's a HO" shirt on Sundays. Maybe the kids bought it for Father's Day. Geez Loo-eez!

Put A Head on It

As the title of my blog indicates, I’m a rabid beachcomber. I love to scour the beach for shells and consider it a successful trip to the beach when I come home with a perfect specimen. Our north coast beaches are pretty disappointing when it comes to beach scrounging. I have found some nice intact shells but they’re few and far between. When I’m in the mood for combing the beach, I generally end up at King Salmon doing the “stoop” WAAAAAY down to see the teeny tiny shells I find there. I have bottles full of perfect shells, including sand dollars, the size of a pencil eraser. So small that hundreds fit into a vitamin bottle.
Unfortunately, King Salmon is NOT the beach to enjoy the big waves of an ocean storm. For that, you must go to the ocean side. With the weather report calling for 10-12 foot waves, I took the opportunity to head out to “power poles” on the North Spit after work on Friday. Since I can’t go on a walk without the dog, Vince and I headed to the beach. The sun was beginning to drop and the waves glowed but the best part for Vince was the foam. As the sets would gather strength, churning up the brine, enormous piles of foam would tumble out on to the sand. Then the wind would catch it and Vince would chase it. I remember playing the foam as a kid but I’m SURE I didn’t have as much fun as Vince did. Such a simple toy. And cheap entertainment for both of us.