$100 Amazon Gift Card Is Coming.....

We here at Robynn's Ravings (that would be me and my vast staff of one husband, two teens, two dogs, and a seriously curmudgeon-y cat who hates everyone but Bo), have been working together on a project. And I'm getting ready to roll it out in the next day or two while finalizing a few touches. It has kept me a tad preoccupied so I apologize for my invisibility on your blogs over the last few days. I am continually amazed to find that you don't come here only because I visit your blogs, but because you WANT to come here. And I THANK YOU!! Your comments and encouragement keep me going. And my family knows they can count on quiet when I stare into the blogosphere portal and work or create. They CANNOT THANK YOU ENOUGH for this and want to bathe your dogs, scrub your toilets, and spend the weekend with your most difficult relative so you don't have to.

They WANT to, I TOLD them they want to, but I'm willing to bet, they won't.

However, we'll be doing something almost as good. And I'll tell you about it soon!

Ukraine's Got Talent - Spellbinding

I found this video clip through my sweet friend, Kelly, at The Glass Dragonfly, who finds the best videos in the world and shares them with us. I hope you will do yourself a favor and take the time to see this. If you do, you won't forget it. I clicked, watched it for five seconds, stopped, and knew I had to call the kids in to watch with me. We we're all spellbound. For me, art must be shared.

Fun, Fluent, Fabulous - The JOY of Women

I LOVE to laugh and connect. And I LOVE to hang out with women friends. But as I wrote this morning, I was analyzing friend types.

Do you have low maintenance or high maintenance friends?

In my book, low maintenance doesn’t mean you don’t have problems. We ALL have problems. It simply means you’re honest, upfront, and trustworthy. You don’t continually look for offense or the worst in others. If you have to talk about someone or just need to vent, it’s because you’re looking for solutions and trying to move through to a better spot. And you don’t “sow discord.” I know a few people who are discord FARMERS. They grow so much they could go public with their stock and trade on the open market. But, happily for me, I know FAR more who are purveyors of JOY.

And that’s what I got last night with some dear women friends.

If you interviewed any one of us today, I believe you’d get the same review. We had FUN. We LIKED each other – even though some of us were new to the others. We talked about the frivolous and we soap-boxed about healthy food, our families, our woman-ness. We shared struggles or frustrations but didn’t judge each other. We LAUGHED a LOT. There was no gossip. No one got bashed. This was NOT the “winter of our discontent.” We WANTED to like each other, enjoy each other, and…..we did. And this?

I love.

Here we are, out on the town:

We’re actually more beautiful than this, of COURSE, but I can NEVER remember to take my camera so this look-alike montage of some famous familiar faces will have to do. Here we are – Kim, Kendra, Karla, Kim (the quadruple “K” threat), Linda, Becky, Kendra’s mom, and Me. Ladies, we got it goin’ ON. Some of us are so good lookin’ we needed TWO pictures to catch all of our awesomeness and that’s why I had to use 14 faces.

We went here:

And saw this:

Then stood in the lobby and talked about it for half-an-hour before we could decide we should walk over here:

And eat this:

Well, at least that’s what I ate.

(Thank you stock photos from the internet. You never let me down. I so appreciate YOU bringing a camera. I’ll try to do better. The End.)

So, however you roll, or however many rolls you have, or don’t have, gather some of your gal pals and have fun. It doesn’t matter how many friends are around. What matters is the quality of the friendship and the heart of the friend. And if your friend group is lacking, do what I did: Invite yourself over. Butt in. Insist on being loved. Don’t take “no” for an answer. Act like you belong. Try to get them to feed you. Refuse to run off when they stamp their foot. They’ll weaken from sheer exhaustion, and then, you’re IN! Yahoo!

Copyright 2009

I LOVED This....!

And now I'm headed to see it for the second time with a girlfriend group this afternoon. Saw it last Saturday. Must take Grizzly, too, so that will make three times. Meryl Streep is bound to receive an Academy Award for her portrayal of Julia Child.

But a feature of the film I did not go in expecting was the truth about blogging.

If you're ANYthing like me, and I'm desperately afraid for you that you are or you wouldn't be here, most of your friends and family do NOT get this blogging obsession - the whys and wherefores and whatnots. And the thing is, we all have different reasons but it's born in creating. It's born in sharing, in connecting, in helping, in receiving. It's a mission field, it's a counselor's office, it's a shoulder, it's a rolling-on-the-floor laugh fest, it's a cry of desperation for some and we, you and I, might be the person God is using to say, "I see you. And I care." It's a WILLING listening ear because nobody is putting a gun to anyone's head and forcing them to show up or keep reading. Or to follow. They say, "Here I am. I came here because you need me, or I need you, or both, but whatever it is, we're connecting."

And this movie addresses and looks at, even stares at, the heart of a blogger. It's a relationship we have. Some of us feel an immense responsibility to each other and maybe, to ourselves. Others are casual daters. But whatever it is, I saw it unfold and bloom on the silver screen.

And now, I have to go see it again.

I also love that the flirting and more sensual scenes - not that anything is hugely graphic - only takes place between two couples married to each other and madly in love. Thanks, Hollywood. This is a feel-good movie.

Copyright 2009

Looking Through The Slats

Yes, Virginia, I do remember looking through the slats, or bars, of my crib. But I never saw Santa Claus.

One of my dear friends and readers, BZ at The Mosquitoes Buzz, asked me, after my Meme post recalling the horrific clown doll that gave me phobias, if I could truly remember looking at it through my crib slats. The answer is, “Yes.” The answer why though is, “I'm clueless.” But detailed, strong memory is as much a part of me as this computer chair which has now grown attached to my posterior.

For example, if you're as old as I am (first of all, be gentle with yourself and then rush to the doctor for a check up - there’s probably something wrong with you) you may recall a contraption like this from the late 1950's (old people use the word "contraption" a lot):

I found this photo on the internet. It’s not me or my mother. We weren’t nearly this photogenic or pink. But the chair the baby is in gives you the idea. It was the early car seat. It put the baby right up front and in the middle of all the action. We babies were front and center in case anything crashed into the windshield. We had a birds-eye view. Babies hate to miss anything. And mom could be dutifully distracted looking at baby, like this mother, instead of actually driving the car. Which greatly increased the chances of items crashing through the windshield.

My little seat was equipped with a steering wheel. It was the beginning of my power madness. I was sure it was me, I TELL YOU IT WAS ME!, driving the car. But at the same time, I had a distinct memory of having a horse’s head mounted where the steering wheel was, with a little rein that I could hold and make my dandy automobile giddyap and go. So, which memory was right?

Both felt right and I was comfortable, if confused, in my resolve. It didn’t make sense but that has rarely influenced my opinions. My mother insisted I never had any such seat and was zonko. But every dog has its day and mine was coming, even if it had fleas.

Disclaimer:

The next few paragraphs involve depressing facts. Feel free to skip to the upshot at the end.

In a prior post, I mentioned being given up for adoption or placed in foster care, depending on who’s telling the story. How that came to be was a tragic turn of events. My mother and father married very young and both came from highly defective backgrounds, though vastly different. (Dysfunctional just doesn’t quite cover it.) Neither brought emotional health or stability into the relationship, but my father brought a level of anger and volatility right out of a Steven King novel. One Sunday afternoon he took us all for a ride in the hills and severely beat my mother. (He was known to beat the kids, too, but she was the target this day.) He broke her jaw and knocked out several teeth. She had a violently ill reaction – what other kind of reaction could you have? – as my brother and sister endured the trauma of watching from the car. I have no idea what I saw. This is one memory gone to me and I’m grateful. Somehow, my mother’s sickness snapped him out of his raging fury and he took her to the hospital where they wired her jaw shut so it could heal. The doctor told him it was jail or therapy. He chose therapy. He went once.

But my mother grew terrified at his menacing and began to stay awake not sure what he might do. She had already found him once with a pillow over my face when I was crying. She began to fear for all our safety. And in those days of sleeplessness and injury, she began to unravel. Shortly thereafter, she was admitted to the hospital for five months. (I remember a trip to see her once. I dream about it sometimes. Everything is huge – the elevator, the doors, the halls.) And being the father of the year that he was, he didn’t want any of us. His parents agreed to take my brother and sister, though they weren’t thrilled with getting my sister. She had been sickly and was the scapegoat of the family. And they weren’t willing to add the work and effort a baby would bring.

So, according to my adoptive/foster father, R.Q. – his real name based on the Royal Queen’s Highway in Texas – my biological father walked next door to their house and offered me to them saying my mother was hospitalized and would never come home (which was certainly not true) and he didn’t want me (which certainly was true).

Now, Mary, R.Q.’s wife, had three boys and had always wanted a girl. I guess she fussed over me regularly and when I showed up on the doorstep, they accepted immediately. R.Q. said, when I found him shortly before my 40th birthday (Mary had passed away), they always regretted not starting adoption proceedings, not that they necessarily could have under the circumstances but, it made me feel warm and fuzzy.

They were ecstatic. Their beloved boxer dog threatened me and, believing I was there for good, they rehomed it. They invested in a nursery and decorated it for me. The boys thought I was a fun novelty and regularly tied my shoes to table legs to keep me from getting into their toys (very fun grown up guys when I met them). I had five months of baby bliss in which normalcy reigned. The family was happy and the parents were doting. While I look unhealthy and a little forlorn in some of the pictures, I sincerely believe the time there may have saved my life – physically and emotionally - because I bear far fewer scars from this time period than my brother and sister (who eventually took her life).

Happy Part Continues:

But in those pictures which R.Q. gave me and I will scan in and show you if I EVER get a scanner, there I am, sitting on their couch in a car seat.

With a horse’s head and reins.

They bought it for me for THEIR car. I was right. I had two car seats. And I was in charge in both of them, I’m sure. I also saw pictures of myself in a high chair (most of our family photos were stolen when I was about nine though some remain.) The wallpaper in their home so closely matches the wallpaper in my own home, right now, and which was put up a few years before R.Q. and I found each other, that it knocked my socks off. I recreated my own happy little haven and didn’t even know it. I don’t know if I can ever take it down. I remember seeing it on display in Wallpapers-To-Go and loving it instantaneously in a “must have it” kind of way. Now I know why.

My mother did recover and I would celebrate my first birthday back in my own home. And I remember the dress I wore. Light lavender soft cotton with tiny smocking and a little delicate flower. I loved that dress.

My parents divorced three years later and there are definitely people who wish I couldn’t remember all I do from my childhood, but I am grateful. It has made me who I am, has given me the courage of my convictions, and, if I’m not mistaken, a keen memory and powers of observation help if you ever want to become a writer.

I do. Maybe, I am.

Copyright 2009

Rent a Planted Tree (or) College Help

As you know, I usually try to write about subjects most of my readers can relate to, or at least understand on some basic level, as they consider my highfalutin histrionics, my enigma of experience, and my profundity of complete poppycock. However, today, I diverge.

Today I speak as the mother of a young adult bound for college. I speak as one who has taken a 2x4 to the pre-frontal cortex in the area of college textbooks. I am speechless about how much they cost. I'm sure you didn't notice. Let me go on.

I have decided to forego the current book I'm writing and write a textbook instead. It will be about something completely insipid and basically irrelevant to the human race and will be a requirement for a college class. This will drive the cost up exorbitantly and I will publish it myself. I will charge $300 per book. Very shortly, I will be living large and inviting you all to come visit me at my beach home in the Cayman Islands. But until that time we need these:

Now, I am NOT ungrateful that our dear Bo has received a college scholarship. This includes her tuition for four years, housing, parking, and office privileges. So what are you whining about, you might opine? Whatever I can find, I might say. In fact, do say.

We are Suburban Survivalists. We have existed on one income for sixteen years so I could be with the kids and homeschool them. It was our choice. I have zero regrets. But it did not leave us at the front of the line for financial resources. I looked both my children in the eye in sixth grade and said, "You will go to college. Here's how: scholarship. Get busy." Obviously, nothing is a sure thing and I am open to God trimming our sails for a different direction. But if all things are equal, and they never are, then that was and is the plan. However, I seemed to forget about that little part not covered: Textbooks.

Apparently, I fell into a deep slumber about this financial blow until three days ago when I woke up screaming, "We've got to order all your textbooks!" Bo started shopping online and hunting for every deal. And boy, did we get deals. We took our costs down from about $800 to $325.00. That's worth telling SOMEbody about. Maybe you. Most of us probably aren't living the high-life right now with the economy and if you can save a little bread, you just might have some to eat. So here's what we did: we bought as few books as we could and we rented the rest.

You're probably all brilliant and already know this can be done but we didn't. It's PERFECT. You use the books for four months and ship them back. Do ANY of us EVER look at old college textbooks we got stuck with because they changed editions and the bookstore wouldn't buy them back? They become paperweights, dust collectors, and thrift shop donations. And here's a huge bonus: one of the companies, Chegg, plants a tree for every book you rent. We are tree LOVERS so this was a big, green yahoo from us.

So here are your links if you're looking for less expensive options than the college bookstore.

To buy, check out:

Half.Com at www.half.ebay.com/

TextbooksRUs at http://www.textbooksrus.com/

We have used both these companies with good results when Bo took college classes in high school.

Others are:

http://www.textbooks.com/

http://www.campusbooks.com/

http://www.campusbookrentals.com/

But for RENTING, you can't beat Chegg at www.chegg.com/ and remember, they plant a tree for each book rented. You probably need to know that their prices go up as the start of school draws closer so you don't want to wait. We waited one day and the price went up $3.00 per book. We placed the order last Friday.

Happy shopping to you or someone you know who might need this info.

Copyright 2009

Meme Me – Part 2

DEAR READERS.....A new reader dropped by today I've never heard from. She thinks this post was too long and maybe more of you would have read it if I had taken each question as a separate post. You know it's not really my style to milk anything - feels like I'm trying to drag you back over - but I'm open to suggestions if you think she's right. Am I keeping you all too long?! Let me know!

And so we continue from a few days ago......

7. Who was your FIRST best friend & do you still talk?

Jeannette. And Yes. Here she is a few weeks ago with her Sam Elliot look-alike husband, Kevin. (People stop the man on the street!) They came up from Bakersfield for a visit just out of the blue.

We go waaaayyy back and spent many years at the same little backwater Baptist Church together as well as keeping constant company as families. She is Deep and I am Wide. That officially makes us a Sunday School song.

Grizzly and I LOVVVVE them and are guaranteed to be in stitches whenever we are together. I mean, look at them. Their PICTURES make you laugh. And none of us even tries. Either we’re all naturally funny – which is what WE believe – or we're basically moronic – which is what everyone else is going with. It is irrelevant to us. (The reality? EVERYONE loves this woman and thinks she's brilliant! She has a following and an entourage. You can hardly get an audience with her. Good thing I know where she lives. Oh wait. She's moving. Now that I think of it, she hasn't given me a forwarding address.)

In spite of this latest set back, I continue to text her and don't think I've ever told her I have ALWAYS loved her name. We've been best friends since we were about four-years-old. We have so much shared history and heartache that our lives are forever and inextricably woven. We refer to ourselves as sisters – far more than best friends. No one would believe either of our family stories. WE don’t even believe it and we were there. What we have left is God’s goodness and grace to us, along with laughter. No one laughs like those who don’t have better sense. I LOVE you, sister girl.

8. Whose wedding did you attend the FIRST time?

I think it was Sharon and H.L.’s. I would have been about 12? All I remember was that you could hear her girdle swishing with each step and pass of her thighs as she walked down the aisle. It was the girdle era. We never left home without one. I bought my first around the same age, for my size 3 frame. I remember watching my mother twist and yank and pull her way into one every time she got dressed and then use the Jaws of Life to get out of it at days end. But we looked good and really, isn’t that the main thing?

(I mean, what woman wouldn’t be comfortable in THIS?)

But swishing was a side-effect if your thighs rubbed together. I’m sure I’d make big points with this memory. That’s okay. I’ve been on Sharon's list for years. Shortly after she gave birth to her first baby I walked into the hospital room, took one look at her stomach, and asked her when the baby was gonna be born. It went over well. Who knew your stomach still looked eight months pregnant one day after delivery? I thought everything just immediately snapped back into place. My youngest baby is 14. I’m still waiting for the snap back. Sharon would be thrilled.

9. Tell us about your FIRST roommate.

I was going to say my sister but now I’m remembering it was my brother. They put my crib in his room. He was six. He had cowboys and indians on his wallpaper with a dark green background. I would look at him through the slats in my crib. My mom used to iron in there. Don’t ask me why or why this is in any way relevant. Relevancy is overrated.

He and my uncle, who was ten years older than me, decided one day to shoot up the wallpaper with their water guns – filled with lemonade. It didn’t go over that well.

Someone in the family used to wind up a clown that played Brahm’s Lullaby while it turned around in circles. It sat on a table by my crib and the winding and playing were a nightly ritual. I HATED that thing but was without speech to protest. I just had to lay there and watch through the slats. I detest clowns to this day. So, maybe my brother and the clown were my first roommates. This could explain a lot.

10. If you had one wish, what would it be (other than more wishes)?

That all clowns would have to wear girdles. Over their faces.

11. What is something you would learn if you had the chance?

How to find a good agent for my excellent book. And then I would learn how to write an excellent book.

12. Did you marry the FIRST person you were in love with?

Well, any long term readers of this blog will remember the answer to this from my post False Teeth and Pastors. I was tragically dumped at age four by Ronnie Miller who threw me over, withOUT notice, for some chick named Sharon (a different Sharon than the one referenced above). He married her after pledging his troth to me. Maybe I misunderstood and it was his trough he was pledging. But if so, I didn’t get that either.

13. What were the first lessons you ever took and why?

Guitar. So I could play and sing. I still do it all these years later. Any interest in hearing a redneck recording I did with Bo a few weeks back? It’s not professional by ANY means and was done in the study instead of a studio. But maybe I can figure out how to post it here. You can let me know if the money for the guitar lessons was wasted and should have been spent on a voice coach instead.

14. What is the first thing you do when you get home?

Lock the door. I have safety issues. You never know when some clown might try to get in.

Copyright 2009

Don't Be Scared......

Yesterday's title of "Meme" may have scared you off. Some people don't like them. But hey, it's me. You KNOW I never do anything the normal way. It's really just me turning a meme into me. Well, maybe you should be scared!

Meme Me - Part 1

Before I start, I’m gonna give you the definition of a Meme. I’m probably the only person in the known universe who thinks someone might need this. But the thing is, I read about them for three months before I had any stinkin’ idea what they were. Here’s what one dictionary says:

“An idea that is spread from blog to blog.”

So simple – why didn’t somebody say so? I don’t usually join memes and it’s not because I don’t think they’re fun. It probably has far more to do with the fact that I have a hard enough time shutting myself up about my own ideas. My list is already over 100 topics long and growing. Now, I have to fit in other things, too?

HOWEVER, I do not want the report card that says, “Does not play well with others.” I already have a binder full stating, “Does not work to potential. Does not complete homework. Needs to try harder and pay attention. Should attempt to close mouth and look intelligent. Should stop sleeping on desk. Should stop being hypnotized by dust motes floating through the air. Should not bawl every time the teacher asks her a question she doesn't know the answer to.”

But I always got a “Satisfactory” in Citizenship. Therefore, in honor of my Citizenship success, I will now participate in a Meme while simultaneously closing my gaping mouth.

My friend, Jientje, at Heaven Is In Belgium says, “I first saw this at Thom’s. He stole it from I don’t know who, and then Melli nicked it, too ( I think) and now it’s here …
Would that make me a thief, do you think?”

If so, Jientje, move over. I’m sharing your cell. But you’ll like me. I play well with others.

1. Who was your FIRST date?

Well, THAT would be some nero jacket, peace-sign-necklace-wearing poindexter my mother set me up with so she could have a quiet evening with a date. He was her date’s nephew. I was 12. She sent me with my sister and her boyfriend. We went to the walk-in theater (yeah, that’s what we called them in the olden days all you younguns) and we saw the Beatles, “Yellow Submarine.” Sorry, Beatles fans, but that STILL reigns as one of the stupidest movies of all time. He tried to hold my hand. MAJOR cootie factor. I still haven’t recovered. I’ll be right back. I have to go wash my hand.

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love?

Uh, negatory on that one. I’m not even sure he still treads the earth. I was 12, again. I dated him in our church youth group. He was 17 and had no idea I was 12 - I'm sure I looked at least 13. (The older girls weren't happy with this young interloper, they filled him in, and he dropped me like the proverbial searing spud). But he had ZERO cootie factor. I had a huge crush for two years though I ceased to exist for him. He was desperately handsome and moved to Hollywood to become a star. Very sadly, rumor had it that he became a heroine addict instead. I saw him once in a convenience store when I was 17. He looked the part of the rumors. I pray he recovered but I have no idea. His last name was Banks and I do remain acutely aware that, had things gone very differently and I had ended up married to him, my name would have been Robynn Banks. I’ll give you a minute. There ya go.

3. What was your FIRST alcoholic drink?

Well, this would fall into the “Series of Desperately Unfortunate Events” category. I was still 12. 12 was a big year. Actually, every year was a big year in our house. If there’s ever a Meme about the most uneventful year of your life, I won’t be able to write anything.

I was babysitting for Gail and Chuck. My mother worked with Gail. She and her husband had a little baby girl, Susie, who was nine-months-old and had life-threatening asthma. Very scary stuff. I called home frequently, terrified, as she coughed and threw up and struggled to breathe. They were complete idiots. They often left her with me so they could enjoy the high-life, as it were. But they made sure there was plenty of Fresca and an ample supply of reading material in the form of porn magazines so I guess they figured I was all fixed up. (Yeah, BELIEVE me, I'm still in shock as I ponder this from my perspective as a mother - uh, maybe just even as a thinking human being, or as ANY human being, or maybe even as a bean.)

The high-life doesn’t get any higher than New Year’s Eve and I was the chosen babysitter. When they pulled into the driveway and slopped into the house, dutifully liquored up to welcome in the budding year, they thought the babysitter should celebrate with them.

They mixed vodka and orange juice – a combination I will never drink again as long as I live – and shared the joy with me. I have no idea how many of those I drank. I do remember missing the step-up into the kitchen, from the family room, and falling face-first onto the linoleum. I never put my hands out to break the fall. I didn’t feel a thing. I tried to go to bed – I was spending the night – but the room wouldn’t stop spinning. I felt like a blood sample in a centrifuge. It wasn’t long before I spent what was left of the night kneeling in the bathroom at the porcelain throne and thinking I was probably going to die. I’m not sure I was far off. I’m quite sure all 115 lbs. of me had alcohol poisoning. We all told my mother I had the stomach flu the next day. I knew I’d be killed. Their involvement never crossed my mind until many years later when I grew a brain and became an adult. If I’m completely anal about who my children babysit for, what those people have in their home, and what their character is, you’ll forgive me.

4. What was your FIRST job?

Hey, I was 11! We move off of 12. I babysat for a family down the street. They had three kids – a baby and a four and six year old girl and boy – Tina and Lance. How in the WORLD I can remember their names I have no idea. Don’t ask me what I ate for lunch two days ago. That’s completely gone. I also did their ironing and they paid me by the piece. Lance was determined I was NOT the “boss of him” and he was right. It was still a good gig and paid well. They were just regular folks trying to have a life. I must admit I question their judgment a tad. I was ELEVEN. I wouldn’t have left my kids with an eleven year old when they were that little if I had to go pick up my LOTTERY winnings.

5. What was your FIRST car?

Well, it’s what I learned to street race in and what the guy I married at 16 drove – we divorced by the time I was 19 when he left me for the secretary at work (thank you, LORD). So, I guess it counts as mine though I certainly wasn’t ever listed as the owner. He introduced me to drag racing, street racing, funny cars, stock cars, and modified engines of all types. I hung out at “Eddie’s Speed Shop” and lived with engines on stands in the living room. The positive side was I learned a LOT about cars and and what makes ‘em tick. The down side was my continuing education in violent men. And he met a violent death last year on a motorcycle. I was sad for those who mourned his loss but I wasn’t surprised when I got the phone call.

6. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane?

To San Diego, when I was 13. My sister had taken her own life a few months before and my paternal grandmother, who hadn’t been much involved, now looked toward me with a sympathetic eye. I think a couple of younger cousins may have come as well. My grandmother had a knack for connecting with rich people though no one in our family had two nickels to rub together. How she knew them and who they were is gone to me forever but they lived in a mansion on a cliff over looking the ocean. They didn’t have a yard, they had grounds. They had a pool house/cabana. I was bowled over. I was happy. I was cocky. I told the guy looking through my bags at the airport that I had a bomb in there. He told me I could go to jail for saying things like that even though I told him I was just kidding. This was years and YEARS ago. I never forgot and learned, at least in some instances, to keep my big mouth closed. Had I only applied that to every area of my life I would have stayed out of a lot of trouble – and I would have also failed to fight for underdogs, defy bullies, and right some grievous injustices. Our weaknesses are our strengths, out of balance.

Okay, there’s more to this Meme. But each question has a story and I’m nothing if not WINDY so this is growing TOO LONG. I’ll finish it in the next few days.

If that means you'll wait a week to come back, I'll understand.

Copyright 2009

Look below for a blog hopping event on Encouragement! It starts in a matter of hours. Join us!

Encouragement Blog Hop

Do It Anyway

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

~This version is credited to Mother Teresa

I frequently get wrapped up trying to please everyone. It even happens in blogging. I wonder, “Is this too much? Not enough? Funny when I should be serious? Deep when I should be light?”

Our dreams and visions will never match another’s exactly. Some will come along to encourage the good work they see in you, but others are dissatisfied and will try to make you into their image. I try to remember, I am made in the image of God. If I am willing to let HIM mold me, shape me, and if necessary, remake me, then there’s nothing left but to move forward in joy!

Copyright 2009

Sunday Morning Repose

This morning I am resting, recuperating, and reading. It's been a long week of thinking I'm nearly well only to find myself, once more, sliding down the hill I'd just ascended. Most of us have experienced that a time or two, or twenty. Yesterday I thought I was ready to conquer the world only to be tackled to the ground and soundly thrashed. So, for medicine far better than any a doctor could prescribe, I've chosen to be in the company of one of my favorite authors, George MacDonald. If you're not familiar with his writings I most highly recommend him to you. You cannot leave him without a fragrance of beauty in your life and a wooing that compels you to unveil and utilize the better part of your being. Here's a tiny gem........

"Better to sit at the waters' birth,

Than a sea of waves to win,

To live in the love that floweth forth,

Than the love that cometh in.

Be thy heart a well of love, my child,

Flowing, and free, and sure,

For a cistern of love, though undefiled,

Keeps not the spirit pure."

From "Phantastes" ~ George MacDonald (1824-1905)

"I have never concealed the fact that I regarded George MacDonald as my master; indeed, I fancy I have never written a book in which I did not quote from him." ~C.S. Lewis

Blessings to you on this Sunday.

Positive Day

Today is officially "Positive Day." It was started by this little 12-year-old girl known to her mother as "Diva Daughter." You can find them at Dust Bunny Hostage.

This is what Diva Daughter has to say about "Positive Day:"

POSITIVE DAY

"I first started thinking about this day because I feel like some people are very negative about things that they don't have to be. So I am going to tell you some of the things that I feel positive about and thankful for.

I am very thankful to have a family like mine. My family loves me! I am positive about my friends too. My friends are always there for me. That is one of the reasons I am glad that we moved. If we hadn't, I wouldn't have met some of the friends that I have now. And I am very positive about God and Jesus. I am so glad that I will be in Heaven one day. So on Positive Day, I think people should think about the good things in life. Thank you for being a part of it!!"

This was her idea, not her mom's and this is the symbol she chose to describe her outlook on life:

How can you say no to a face and child like this? I can't so I decided to participate. I drafted my kids, too. Here are some things we feel positive about:

1. Robynn: I am positive I hate housework.....wait.....I may not be in the spirit of this thing. Let me start over.

2. I am BLESSED to have two teenagers who I would prefer to hang out with over anybody, except Grizzly, at any given moment. They are wise and witty and love me unconditionally. Add two dogs into the mix and I have more than I deserve, by FAR.

3. I have real-life friends and blog friends - and the two are blending more frequently - who regularly bless me in so many ways. I could never have imagined any of this eight months ago.

4. I have a husband who braves the heat, hard economic times, and hard physical work to support his family everyday.

5. I have deep assurance that God has his hand on our lives and our comings and goings. I know nothing happens to us that He is not aware of. I know I am the only one surprised by what happens in life. He already has a plan. I can rest in that and in who we all are in Him and TO Him. Even when I'm afraid. Even when medicine alters my thought processes while it poisons me. I quaver. I tremble. He doesn't.

1. Bo’s Comments: Every birthday we all get to spend together is a big deal. No one ever knows how long they will live or where life will take them. Right now, we're all together and we have to appreciate it.

2. The song "Like a Cloak" by Joey Ryan is a happy, sweet song that I'm loving right now.......some lines from the song:

"Since you've been around, honey, it feels just like a cloak has been wrapped around me, and nothin’ could ever go wrong,

“Since you’ve been around, honey, it feels like a thousand stones have been lifted off me, I’ve never felt so strong.

The CD just has five songs but the whole thing has an upbeat feeling and leaves me smiling.

3. A few nights ago I hung out with my girlfriends and we had no particular place to go. Just talked, and walked, and ate, and talked some more. All our lives have come to the crossroads yet we’re staying together and connected.

1. The Wild Man Speaks: I have lots of friends and I realize I take a lot for granted. I need to pay attention more to what good things I get to enjoy that some other people may not get to.

2. Good parents that spend time with me and care about me. And I ALWAYS make my mom laugh and that makes me happy. Even when she’s tryin’ to lecture me I can bust her up. =D

3. I’m glad I’m homeschooled. I have lots of opportunities and I’m not limited. It gives me a lot more options.

Robynn here again……

I wanted the kids to participate because it’s good for all of us to think about things. I HAVE to add that my kids got me through a very rough week after a reaction to medicine for the ear infection/tooth thing that isn’t quite over yet. They sat up late with me, loved on me, petted me, spoke comforting words, and Bo even researched whatever help she could find on the internet. Truly, I have so much. I have deep sympathy for those who struggle alone.

And as a last thought……Bo got up before me and headed out to get me Starbucks this morning. And TWM rarely passes me that he doesn’t reach out and pat me as he goes by with the words, “Pretty Mama.”

Now really, do I NEED anything else?

Copyright 2009

Observational Twitter 19

Famous Quote:

"To be proud of virtue, is to poison yourself with the Antidote." ~ Benjamin Franklin

Obscure Quote:

"To be proud of virtue is the pseudo-saintliest and most widely self-accepted form of sin. And the infected rarely know they have the disease. I've only known two truly humble people in my life and the other one would rather I didn't mention his name." ~Robynn


Copyright 2009

Tooth Update and a Plea……

After heading south with this infection yesterday and getting really sick, I had a Waterloo moment with my tooth and served it eviction papers. I’m done pledging my troth to one so unfaithful.

I did some research on troublesome root canals and they can continue to infect your body through tiny things called tubules even after retreatment. This is what you come to me for: cutting edge dental lingo. These tubules can allow infection to do what my infection has done – travel around your body, especially nearby structures, and they can be hard to get rid of. I’m on my second round of antibiotics and you know me and medicine. We’re like….

THAT

We stay away from each other if we can. We fight. It tends to win.

So, rather than plunk down hundreds this morning for a mere chance at success, I said good-bye to the first of my errant teeth for a $50 co-pay. With any luck, it’ll be the last. I believe you should hang on to friends and teeth until they absolutely prove rotten. But when you finally accept reality and let go, it’s a relief.

Bo drove me – it’s so nice to let yourself be pampered a little and not have to show up and drive yourself to everything, like heart surgery. Well, okay. It wasn’t heart surgery but I did drive myself home from major breast surgery. I had a duct removed (all men turn away here and throw up……). I was bleeding from a nipple and they had to lay me open, remove the duct, and stitch me up. They said it was a precancerous condition and couldn’t be ignored. Now, if you can imagine this, they shot me up with Versed which is supposed to knock you out and make you remember nothing. It does NOT have that affect on me. I talked like a magpie through the whole surgery. The last thing I remember was the surgeon telling the anesthesiologist, “For the love of all that’s decent! Shut that woman up and give her more!” Some people just CAN’T appreciate a good conversation.

Then they woke me up and made me prove I had a ride home. They made me give them a visual. They told me not to drive for a few weeks (breast movement and all that.) However, I had driven myself there and now there would be a car left and that seemed to be a problem so, I did what we women do. I got in the car and drove home.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, milking my tooth removal (all references to milking and breasts is purely coincidental – no animals were harmed in the making of this sentence.) I told Bo the oral surgeon said I require six weeks of bed rest, excessive milk shakes, and no lifting for at least a year. Bo added that she felt I should even demand complete control over the remote. It brought a tear to my eye. I raised her right…….(sniff……).

So, here’s where you come in. My little follower button? The one over there? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->? It has been stuck. Am I boring? (Don’t answer that.) Does no one new come here? I see names I don’t recognize in my comments so I’m thinkin’ maybe you just haven’t thought about signing up. Now that I’m desperately injured and laid-up, it would bring me great cheer if you would de-lurk, as it were, and sign up to follow. It's inCREDibly easy if you already follow other blogs or have a Google account. If not, you have to sign up for one and create a password. I guess that can be a pain in the posterior but consider me and my pathetic plight. Go ahead, make my day. Or my dinner. Or my massage appointment.

P.S. Sheryl asks: "Was it a front tooth?" That picture would kinda make you think so, huh? No, it was the last one in the back, on the bottom. I'm sure no one will notice but me. This picture is false advertising. I'm bling-less!

Copyright 2009

Paddling Down the Old Root Canal

Today I will lay in a dentist chair and envision the canals of Venice. It’ll take plenty of imagination. Maybe I’ll pretend I’m on a cruise and fording the Panama Canal level-by-level. That would definitely be cheaper than the canal I’ll be exploring.

The ear ache, jaw ache, and infection have all added up to this vacation buster. They THINK (operative word here) that I may have an infection under an old root canal due to a crack in a root. This is when you curse your British roots – literally. We just don’t have the best teeth. Every time the family is watching a program and someone appears with crooked, widely spaced, or browning teeth, Grizzly looks at me, laughs, and says, “Must be British!” Mind you, he isn’t exactly a perfect-toothed Osmond brother himself. I could throw a rock at Ireland from my British shore and hit him squarely between the eyes. I’m quite sure the DNA tests would show that we’re actually related. Too many similarities.

By God’s good grace our children will not have to bear the brunt of our inbreeding. Thousands of dollars and a miracle working orthodontist have spared Bo from bearing the family crest. The Wild Man is fast on her heels. Fortunately, his adult teeth were on a world tour and have shown up VERY late to the party. This has allowed us a small respite between orthodontia mortgages.

But Grizzly and I were born in the era of braces being only for the rich and privileged. In fact, only a few of my friends sport those expensive pearly whites that are as straight and even as piano keys. It just wasn’t done. Unless you could look down your nose and see your two front teeth sticking straight out, you were required to get over yourself and move on. I never went to the dentist until I was 13 and my mother got dental insurance through her job. By then I had eight cavities, not counting the vast one between my ears. I took the bus downtown to the dentist by myself. My mother was working. Eight shots and eight fillings later, I rode the bus home and decided this was one luxury I wanted to live without. Had I known to brush my teeth more than once a week I might have avoided the whole affair. Nutrition could have helped, too, but nutrition was expensive and would have required food knowledge. We lived on canned vegetables, Green Goddess and Thousand Island dressing, iceberg lettuce, Wonder Bread, and Velveeta. Honest-to-goodness I never knew there was any other kind of veggies or cheese until I left home.

I decided to do things differently with my kids. Don’t most new mothers? I nursed them endlessly and started brushing their teeth before they HAD teeth. I was determined to overcome nature with nurture. It has been largely effective as they’ve only had one tiny cavity between them in 18 years. But I was unable to influence tooth placement and jaw structure. Fortunately, our orthodontist is not so constrained. Unfortunately, our budget is horribly constrained. Parents get in line behind children and a root canal for the mother does not factor in. My endodontist says if the root is too badly cracked he will not redo it but will pull it instead at a greatly reduced cost.

Come on British roots, don’t fail me now. Crack wide open and make your cheap escape!

Copyright 2009

Hail, Caesar! Stop The Chariot!

Saw this and had to share. It's from Arthur Black's "Weird Homes" and it's located in Toronto. I've been there but I didn't see this. What style is it exactly? Roman/Greco/Colonial/Patriotic/Americana? In Canada?

I want to meet the people who put it together. Don't you think they might be interesting? Am I the only one or is anyone else seized by the desire to stop and knock on doors of interesting, or beautiful, or cozy houses and just randomly meet the people who live there? Get to know all about them. Stay for the weekend. I'd like to do that with my blogging friends. You've been warned. Lock the door and act like you're not home.

I want to know about the conversation that took place to bring this to life. Did she roll over and look at her husband's balding pate and decide it would look great if he sported a garland and wore a toga? And if so, shouldn't they be surrounded by a setting perfect for him? And was she looking to feature her great arms, set off by a sheet gathered at the shoulder? Do they parade up and down the balcony and hold open-air philosophical discussions with the neighbors? I'm thinking the neighbor on the left doesn't appear all that philosophical, if I may be so bold as to judge a book by it's cover. He probably just cranks up the tv and prays the Empire will be overthrown.

Whatever their story, they've got guts. I like people with guts. Now, I KNOW I don't want to live next door to someone who decides to paint their house chartreuse green with purple trim. But these people? I like 'em. And I wish I knew their story. And I'd love to listen to them. But I'm not wearing the toga. I don't have this lady's arms. Speaking of arms, that would be a great name for this place: "The Venus De Milo Arms."

Copyright 2009

Humane Award For You, For Me

“The Humane Award is to honor certain bloggers who are kindhearted individuals. They regularly take part in my blog and always leave the sweetest comments. If it wasn’t for them, my site would just be an ordinary blog. Their blogs are also amazing and are tastefully done on a daily basis. I thank them and look forward to our growing friendships through the blog world. Recipients of this award should write a post about it, linking to the person gifting the award, along with ten of their own nominees.”

This came in from Jientje, my friend at Heaven Is In Belgium. I thank you most kindly for thinking of me, Jientje. You should check this woman out. I use no hyperbole when I tell you she shoots amazing photos and makes you long to visit that gorgeous country of hers. She speaks English and apologizes for any mistakes to which I say, "Please. I'm lucky to say your NAME in another language." Thanks for all the beauty, Jientje!

Now, you know I can't pick ten of you. I just can't. All you commenters keep me doing this. I'm not nearly as wonderful as you make me sound but I thank you for caring enough to say it anyway. I've been a little absent for various reasons and I'll be absent a little more while I work on a project but I know how you are. You'll forgive me and accept me. So, this is for you. Please pick it up and post it and know I mean it when I say you deserve it.

With Love,

Robynn

I’ve Been Fired (and other news)….

Well first up, I'm still fighting the ear thing. Thought it was a LOT better and then yesterday it flared up again. I think I have a tooth involved and that's where the problem is coming from. Everything that can be done has been done over the years for the tooth and there are no more root canal possibilities. Now they want to do an implant. Have you looked into implants? And I'm not talking the "uplifting" kind. They are about $2500 where I come from and insurance does not typically cover them. So, I'm pretty sure I won't be getting implants - of any kind. As the body falls apart I will just have to be content with tenants moving out or down to lower levels. And that's probably just as well cause the whole place is comin' down eventually anyway. If I can just keep 'em from posting a "Condemned" sign on me I'll be pretty happy.

I do thank you for all your amazing suggestions for the ear. Apparently the problem isn't my outer ear causing problems from the outside in, because it would seem that's now clear as a bell. (Speaking of which.....I wish someone would answer the ringing phone in there.) It's fluid behind my eardrum and frankly, I think my ear and tooth are in collusion against me. My fat stomach may have started the revolt by being revolting. And you know how bad attitudes spread and then soon everyone's on the band wagon. My body's ganging up against me.

Which would definitely go along with the family lately.

They have also decided to revolt and have fired me as the official Blockbuster Online movie selector. You see, here's the deal. I happen to love documentaries for a variety of reasons.

A. I like to learn and expand my base of knowledge.

2. I'm a history buff.

D. I find true stories fascinating.

9. I'm a homeschooling mom - I try to squeeze in education without anyone realizing.

I may have gone overboard. Through Blockbuster we can get three movies at a time. And I guess three documentaries arriving all at once is overkill. Who knew? I was thrilled. But, apparently, the potential for the "Entertainment Factor" is critically low in certain opinions. I insisted they were wrong. I lost and here's why: they were right.

Okay, in my own defense I honestly thought a movie about an avant-garde surfing family from the 60's-70's who homeschooled their nine children, the history of the Celts, and the self-filmed story of the guy who lived with the grizzly bears, would add to our knowledge of the world and enhance the richness thereof. And I like to use phrases like "enhance the richness thereof" because it sounds like I was born under the astrological sign of "Intelligent and Righteous," with "Lawyer" rising. But only to those who don't know me. The three mere mortals I live with are unimpressed. They know this phrase equals Run.For.Your.Life.She's.A.Nutcase.

We opened our viewing afternoon with the surfing family. I never checked the rating. It was a HOMEschool family. Naturally, I was surprised when I saw it was "R." I figured people they encountered may have used some harsh language, etc. We saw approximately twenty minutes of the whole movie and every time we stopped it was a mistake. The father was completely depraved and perverted in his social and family outlook and conversations, and the mother was his identical twin. The now-grown children were all permanently scarred. Only one of them seemed to look back fondly on their Stanford doctor/father abdicating his profession and hauling a family of eleven around the country in a camper on a truck. We tried to listen to what the grown children had to say about the good times they had surfing and competing, or how they survived, but the demented father or mother's face/voice would pop in and we would fast forward while simultaneously retching. Okay. Uh, I can offer no argument against THAT movie call, only prayers for the survivors, including us.

Next came "The History of the Celts” or something like that. Now, I slept through part of this so I found that to be a plus. The re-enactment was less than believable and the costuming was weak but, compared to the story line, those details were worthy of Academy Award nominations. Very disheartening as our homelands were represented and deserved so much more. It seemed excessively short to me since I only saw the fifteen minutes at the beginning and end but, strike two.

Finally, we fast-forwarded our way through "The Grizzly Man - The Historical Documentary of Timothy Treadwell - The Man Eaten By Grizzly Bears." I'm not sure that's the actual title but the man was so insufferably egotistical, narcissistic, and irritating you actually understand the bears' actions at the end of the movie. I felt desperately sorry for his girlfriend who he literally led right into the jaws of death, but we only got to see her once, briefly, in all the years he filmed, because it was his own face and words he prized so highly. He was completely imbecilic around the grizzlies and did far more harm than good for the protection of the species. I do not think the bears were hungry when they attacked him. I think they just couldn't listen to him one more second. I don't think he deserved to die for his foolishness but obviously, the bears disagreed with me.

And that's how I lost my job as the "Creator of the Queue." I don't get to line movies up anymore. Now people are looking over my shoulder and questioning me. I have no credibility. I can't even order any "American Experience" DVD's. And those are GREAT. No, really. Trust me!

© Copyright 2009

Now Ear This!

I know I have given you very little this week. And I want to. I really do. But here's the thing: I have an ear infection that just WON'T clear up. I've been fighting the wretched thing for a week-and-a-half. And it's affecting my ability to do the thinking necessary for writing anything anyone would care to read.

I went back to the doctor yesterday, and after more than a week she said the meds aren't working so changed them all. Add insurance headaches, etc. and well, what a pain in the ear.

I don't do what I'm not supposed to with my ears (no Q-tips, no ear buds, etc.) and I do what I AM supposed to do. So, what gives? I am open to any and all homeopathic, alternative, way-out, only-your-great-Aunt-Matilda-ever-lived-through-this-idea type suggestions as an augmentation to the rot that isn't working. Hit me. Just not in the ear.

We All Scream and Then We Have Ice-Cream....

Consider this a public service announcement to any who would like to indulge themselves. You know I don't usually promote much here but this seemed life and death. At any given time some of you might have PMS. You could be in chocolate or coffee withdrawls. You could become armed and dangerous or you might know someone in the aforementioned desperate situation. Consider this "Emergency Response." Think of me as the Red Cross or your friendly Hostage Negotiator swooping in to ruin save you.

Until July 19, 2009, Starbucks is giving away coupons for pints of ice-cream to Facebook users. 800 every hour. Yes, that's right. And all you have to do is go to Starbucks Ice Cream Giveaway (you MAY have to link through Facebook if this gives you fits). You can nominate anyone - but JUST one - to receive this coupon and here's the TRULY decadent part: you can nominate yourself. Abraham Lincoln said, "We meet ourselves in adversity." I say we meet ourselves when we have to decide if a friend should get free ice-cream or we should.

This could prove to be a Solomonic decision for you. I won't ask any questions.