Flash Me Baby!

The local Starbucks was quietly filled with students Last Sunday night, studying together on what seemed like a fairly big project, or rather dreaded exam. Lady Laundry and I looked for a place to sit, when we settled in two cozy chairs in the middle of the hub-bub for a little gab fest.
We began discussing the weekend, what went down, and general chit chat regarding kids, husbands and the impending return to routine as Spring Break came to a close.


As I chatted on about my weekend, something caught the attention of LL ,she hid her eyes with her hand and looked away with a bit of a giggle. At first I was convinced that I had somehow dribbled my Cinnamon Dulce Latte with extra syrup and whipped cream, all over my chin and clothes. But no, it was the sight behind me that was causing distraction. She told me, the guy sitting behind us diligently plugging away on his lap top was showing off horrific butt crack every time he leaned to reach for his coffee. I asked her if she wanted to find somewhere else to sit, but apparently it was somewhat like a terrible car crash, "she couldn't look away."

Now I am no fashion expert, but it seems to me that the current trend for young men these days is to wear their pants low over their hip and their Fruit of The Loom up to their chest allowing every one to see their choice of undies. As a college student I expected nothing less from this guy. In fact, judging from the students around me, it was "whatever is the most comfortable" allowing ultimate blood flow to the brain, or other body part needed for knowledge osmosis they were trying to achieve that night. However, it was apparent to me I needed to concentrate on keeping eye contact with LL to stop her from staring, after all the guy was less than ten feet away.
"Finally" was the word LL breathed when I noticed the guy walk by our table towards the waste bin. He was dressed in a light cotton Bermuda style shorts with a button up shirt, rather than the fashion trend I had expected. But it was probably the last piece of clothing in his closet that wasn't in dire need of washing. I'm positive the elastic in the shorts was stretched to its capacity, and the shorts lacked a drawstring, because as he emptied his tray into the trash, he flashed me too.

I winced, gasped and turned away. LL was right about the "car crash" syndrome, it was just too horrific. He wasn't bending over or making fast movement of any kind to encourage this. But his shorts and Joe-Boxer's were literally sliding their way down revealing pasty white skin, a great divide, a mass of pubic hair, and he didn't seem to notice.

I would hope that anyone feeling a massive wind tunnel flowing across his backside would be inclined to at the very least pull up his pants. I mean, come on, fashion aside, he just had to feel that right?? I hoped he would, for his sake, before heading back to the dorms where some frat boy would seize the opportunity to test his jump shot with a coin or spit ball, and yell, "WA-HOO TWO POINTS!!!"

The Destiny of Apples

If you have ever read "The Country Mouse and the City Mouse" then you would have a pretty good understanding of my cousin Danni and I. As kids we were pretty close, but instead of having a great adventure every time we were together, we had to have a serious fight before we could start to play and have fun. Yes, it was hard finding the fun in dysfunction at age 11. As we grew older we of course grew apart, the fights were fast outweighing the "fun" and we seemed to have less and less in common. Not that there was much to begin with.

Over the last few years we have both made attempts to reconnect. She has sent me gifts for my kids, and copies of old photos of the two of us. And I've tried sending e-mails. But we seem to miss each other, like two ships passing in the night; Phone messages aren't forwarded, e-mail addresses are changed without notice. Most recently I have sent her a gift for her new baby girl Gigi. But I have not heard a word from her, but I keep hoping that she'll acknowledge the gift and it might spark something.

Perhaps family history will wreak havoc and rear its ugly head, preventing us from moving on and trying something new. I mean, even our mothers who are sisters hardly speak. We are a product of our family, we are taught how to act and react by our parents, they are our blueprints for growing up, and much like apples, we don't tend to fall far from the tree. And as I've been told many times before, I look like my Dad, but I act just like my Mom.

I'm a Mom now, so is Danni, and that is something strong we have in common. But it will take quite a bit of focus to beat the family drama and history. Will it be worth breathing life back into a relationship that's DOA?Maybe it's wishful thinking on my part. Perhaps in a parallel universe we would have been life-long friends. But in my lifetime I'm coming to realize that this is a chapter long been closed, and there is no point in breathing life back into something that's dead.

The focus of my life now is my kids, and I know I'm their blueprint. I hope and pray that when Gem, Jules, and even Gigi, fall from the branches of their apple tree, they'll roll away, even if it's just a little bit.

I'm a WHAT?

It happens twice a year for me. Pure time to myself, allowing me to sit and relax and do the things I want for two and a half days. There are no kids, no husbands, no cooking, and no laundry. That's right, I'm on a retreat. A scrapbooking retreat.
When I first heard of retreats like this, I thought women were surely nuts, I mean who would spend that kind of time sitting inside, cutting pasting paper, photos , and then journalling about them. I mean seriously, don't we all have better things to do?
Over the years I became a scrapper myself, and have asked many people why they do it. Some, it is to preserve their heritage, before they can't remember who is in the photos any more. It is a tedious process for them, record of who, what, where, when why, as they journal the information. Then there are others who dedicate albums to specific times or people. But all agree it is to help record history, whether it is done plain and simply, or with artistic flare.

The latter is how I approach it. I have a Fine arts Degree, so it make sense, and the process allows me to find the artist within me that unfortunately has lain dormant for a while. I find the scrapbooking, not only therapeutic, but fun, and it allows me to express what I was feeling when I took the photos, as well as record the historical facts. Finally I was able to express the artist in me that I spent 5 long years at university becoming. Sure, I haven't been painting, but at least it has given me something to work with with my photos. And to add ribbons, brads, eyelets, buttons, paints, stamps, inks to ad texture and color to my layouts, its all to much fun. But for me, the best part about scrappin', is the Paper.
I love paper. Card stock, patterned, double sided, white cored, glossy, mulberry, and not to forget handmade. I have quite the stash of it, There is the stash I have, the stash I'd like to have, and let's not forget, the stash that Carpenter knows nothing about.I get to literally haul it all out with all my tools, set up and scrap to my hearts content during a retreat like this one.
There were about 50 of us, and we are all there for the same purpose, to scrap and relax. We snoop at each other's work, feed off each other's inspiration and ideas. We stayat a Bible Camp lodge, there is someone make us food, and when we feel tired we climb on a bunk and snuggle into our sleeping bags. (Of course with this communal living it's is always best to pack a pair of ear plugs or two- I have unfortunately discovered this the hard way....)
By Saturday afternoon, most of us are hanging around working away, still in our jamas. I took a short walk around to snoop at other peoples work when I spotted a lady cutting up a sweet piece of patterned paper. I went over to take a second look.
"Cool Paper" I said, admiring the rest of her stash that was on the table.
"I love paper", she said.
"Ah, so you're a Paper Junkie, like me."
"She's a WHAT?" a lady named Bobbi interjected.
"You know, a Paper Junkie, she loves paper, like I do, " I repeated, I mean we're scrapbookers, who doesn't love paper?
'OH, no, she's a PAPER SLUT."
"Paper Slut?" I asked.
"Yeah, if you are a paper junkie, then she's a paper slut, you were just being nice about it," Bobbie replied and challenged me by the raise of her eyebrows.
This is when I seriously need to listen to that little inner voice that says,"walk away...walk away." But I could not be out-done. Looking down at the "slut's" hoard of paper and deciding that I definitely had more said, " If that's the case, then I'm a PAPER WHORE."
I spun on my heel, and went to walk away, when my bunk-mate Lady Laundry yelled from across the room " I think I read about you, on the bathroom stall!"
walk away... walk away... walk away...

E-bay Cat

I have been known to shop on e-bay, and have in the past come away with some sweet pieces of clothes, and jewelry at smokin' prices. I am happy with the deals I have made, the clothes fit, and the jewelry looks nice, and I am almost always complimented on it, then Carpenter remarks " Yeah, It's amazing what stuff you can find on E-bay for 99cents." Yes, he's impressed with my bargain hunting skills.
My Mom must be impressed too, because after she spend hours finding a particular piece, checking the price, and the rating of the seller, she phones me up and asks me to bid on it for her. Why she just doesn't bid on it herself I'll never understand. But she is my mother and I oblige. Thus, I found myself in the same predicament again. This time it was a pair of amber earrings and a multicolor amber pendant.


Unlike other bargain finds, these pieces, were quite expensive. The earrings were for my Grandmother. But the pendant, the most expensive piece, Mom wanted for herself. She wanted to know what I thought. I remarked on how unique the pendant looked, and how since the package would be coming to my house, possession is nine-tenths of the law and she may just end up by seeing the pendant around MY neck instead. Not impressed with my teasing, she phoned me every day asking if anything arrived in the mail. I told her It would probably take two weeks after they have received payment , and put it in the mail. But her phone calls came everyday regardless.
Finally one day the pendant arrived. I ripped open the package, and the little box the pendant came in. I stared at it. I was stunned. I could not believe I didn't notice it before. The pendant resembled a cougar or leopard or other such cat. And I began to laugh.
My mother HATES cats. She has spent the majority of my life hating them. If one happened to rub up against her, it would freak her right out.The fact that I used to bring the barn kittens into the house and they would pee under the stove, never helped the situation. I know it tested my relationship with my mother. It wasn't that she hated them in the sense to be mean to them , but rather AVOID them at all costs. A few years back, the century old farm house became infested with mice because of the lack of cats around. When a mouse ran across my Mother's feet one day, That changed her attitude. She now has an appreciation for a cat's purpose- to eliminate mice. She still doesn't LIKE them.
She is certainly NOT willing to wear cat around her neck. Not that she noticed at first. She put it on her chain around her neck. I began to laugh, I couldn't help it. , she was not impressed with me- at all. Especially after I pointed out the cat resemblance. She left the pendant with me, because she wasn't about to wear it.
When Carenter came home, I told him all about it, and he laughed. There are few things my Mom and Carpneter have in common. Their dislike for cats is one. Mom doesn't always appreciate my Husband's sense of humor or practical jokes.(because of a mug incident- I'll have to tell that story another time). All I know is, between me and Carpenter, she will never live this down. EVER.