And now!

...an update.

for a summary of 2009, here's an excerpt from my Christmas letter:

Oh, what can be said about 2009? We lost a grandpa and two dear members of our church family. We gained a sister and a nephew. We worked and played and traveled and visited family. We cooked and ate and went to church. We got root canals. We saw the real, live Topol in “Fiddler on the Roof” and enjoyed watching “The Wizard of Oz” at the Orpheum. We talked to crazies both near and far away. We gorged ourselves on Memphis barbecue and treats prepared by the church ladies. We blogged and played video games and read books and debated with anyone who’d listen. We played air hockey. We preached and taught Sunday School and visited people in the hospital. We went to a marriage retreat and got completely and utterly spoiled. We got beat up and robbed in a Meijer’s parking lot. But we’re okay! We celebrated nine years as an old, married couple. Nine years! Has is really been that long?

Above all, we’ve been tremendously and overwhelmingly blessed. Thank God for His mercy toward us.

---

The Wizard of Oz was great. We ate delicious salmon beforehand and the singing and acting and effects were very well done. No one beats Judy Garland, but that's beside the point. Happy anniversary to us.

---

I baked cookies and fudge and caramels for the church ladies (and church fellas, too). Fourteen hours in the kitchen yielded enough yumminess to serve the entire church. It was fun. Here's hoping nobody dies of food poisoning and I can do it again next year!

---

We went to Michigan to spend Christmas and New Year's Day with the family. A wet and rainy and slick holiday. A great time. Visiting with old friends, presents galore and bringing in the New Year with noise and food. Lots of food. And a Snuggie!

---

I got my hairs cut! I went from this:



to this:



I highly recommend it. What better way to start a new year than losing a quick couple of pounds?

---

Coming soon:

Brian Regan

and

A roast! Check me out Sunday over at Eddie Bluelights place. Little ole me is getting roasted. Hopefully I can smuggle in some ice cubes...

This Just In...

I had a crabby day. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Usually leaving the office and getting that first, glorious breath of fresh, non-crazy air is enough to improve my mood by about 120%. Today, however, the crabbiness tried to follow me home. Grumble, grumble, grumble right down the road. Traffic's clogged up, people aren't paying attention, the dj on my radio station won't shut up and play some music.

I stopped at a red light and took a breath. In: calming, life-giving oxygen. Out: negative, stress-inducing baddayatwork.

Made a list of things that bug me:

* People who can't get to the point. You make me resent you because I can't hang up while you ramble.

* Rubber-neckers (church ladies call them "lookie-loos." Folks who clog up traffic because they slow down to stare at accidents, police cars, stray dogs...

* Christmas music. I'll be Scrooge until December 24, just so you know.

And then I started thinking about things to be thankful for.

* Steven. He loves me madly and without explanation. And he buys me pizza after terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days.

* I have a job. As much as it stresses me out, I have an income while many around our country go without.

* God. He accepts me though I don't deserve it and forgives me when I lose sight of what's important.

* My family. One lovely thing about Christmas is time off to see this:



Thank God my blessings far outweigh my gripes.

Check out this video. It made me smile.

Amazing Grace and the Mall Cop

Once upon a time there was a girl. She was kind, generous and loving. And uncommonly good-looking. To make it easier, (easier than calling her "Sarah: Short and Gorgeous") we'll just call her Sarah.

Sarah had a part-time job and a brand-new driver's license. She'd use any and every excuse to hit the open road, even when it included chauffeuring her younger sisters all around town.

Sarah loved to spend time with her sisters. They'd go to the mall together and get iced coffees from the Beanery (Sarah's treat, of course) and window shop and try on shoes and people watch and evade creepy guys. An all-around good time.

Sarah had a younger sister whom we'll call Patti.

One day after a nice, long mall excursion, Sarah and Patti found themselves at a stoplight next to a creepy guy. Creepy Guy revved his engine, drawing looks from both sisters. Sarah, never one to turn down a challenge, revved back. So what if she was in her parents mini-van? She would have this guy eating her dust in record time. Creepy guy grinned: challenge given, challenge accepted.

The light changed and Sarah floored it. The V6 roared, the van devoured the intersection and raced on towards victory. And yes, creepy guy was left behind to sit and cry. And gloat, as it turns out.

Cue the blue lights and siren. Cops! Sarah toyed with and rejected the idea of making a run for it. As much as she loved and trusted the minivan, she feared her parent's wrath more. She slowly pulled over. Creepy guy eased past, smirking. Curses!

Nervously awaiting the policeman and her fate, Sarah turned off the radio and readied her license and registration. Patti, ever a quick thinker, turned the radio back on and found a Christian music station playing hymns. What better time for Amazing Grace than now!

It seemed to take forever, but the policeman finally arrived at the window, face inscrutable behind his dark glasses.

"Ma'am, what was that?"

Sarah stammered something unintelligible.

In the passenger seat, Patti began to sing, putting on her best Southern hacking preacher voice. "Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already coooooome..."

Mall Cop, looking bewildered, now stares openly at Patti. Was she demented? In shock? What is going on?

Patti sang louder. "Tis grace that brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me hoooooome."

Mall Cop is dumbstruck.

Patti gives the song all she's got. "The Lord has promised good to me. His word my hope secuuuuuuuures! He will my shield and portion be, as long as life endures!!!"

Mall Cop walks away without another word. Halfway to his car he seems to remember himself and mumbles, "Slow it down, Ma'am." No ticket, no lecture, no threats or promises of justice.

Saved by Amazing Grace.

My new favorite song.

Left alone by the police but Patti still felt the need to share the story with their parents, who were not pleased. Not pleased at all.

The moral of the story: You can get away with anything if your little sister's a little loopy.

Such a place really does exist!

There is a place. A lovely place where lovely things happen. Putt-putt golf, batting cages, bounce houses. And also, not so lovely things. Things like a girl whomping the pants off her father in a long-awaited air hockey match. Things like this same girl yelling in triumph for the entire state of Michigan to hear and wonder. Things like this girls mother (and this father's wife) taking pictures documenting this sad, sad day. Pirate's Park: A place where dreams come true. Well, for me at least.

The date: not so long ago.

The place: a near-neglected, disrepaired shack in Flint-town

The extras: Mom, devoted photographer of family feuds
Becky, apathetic sister, along for the ride
Kaeden, loving nephew, always roots for Aunt Sarah (and most determined giver of wet willies I've ever known.)
Mr. X, Park proprietor and all-around nice guy.

Here's what went down.

Though my dear father tried his level best to cheat (I had to REPEATEDLY tell him to "get your hand off the table before I break your fingers with the force of my awesomeness") I beat him fair and square with witnesses. Let the record show. Let the people hear and rejoice:

I AM VICTORIOUS!

And I thought I was a sore loser. He's already demanded a rematch (what's this now, best 51 out of 100?)

Oh, and plus? While my dad distracted Mr. X, Becky and I played on the bouncy things. Sorry, Mr. X! I know you said no adults allowed but we just couldn't resist!

A Question. And an update, too.

Is my brother-in-law's wife my sister-in-law?

-----

You may have noticed that I was gone for a while. Here's what I've been up to.

My parents came for a visit! Yay, parents! I whooped my dad at Wii Tennis yet again. Are you surprised? Also. Bean soup and fresh bread. Yum.

Steven's brother, Chris and Chris's wife, Amanda had their second baby. Welcome to the planet, Landin!

Steven's grandpa passed away, prompting a quick trip to Michigan. I knew him to be a good man. The first time I met him, he had my shy little introverted self sitting on his lap within about five minutes. He always remembered who I was even though we only got to see each other once or twice a year. I'll never forget his cry of "Sarah!" when I walked into his house after his wife died. That and his pipe. That ever-present, sweet smelling pipe.

Mini Thanksgiving dinner with the family. A lovely time.

My dad and I found a real, live, honest-to-goodness air hockey table! Yes, really! You've have to wait for the pictures of that blessed event. Mom?

Roughhousing with the nieces and nephews. Macaroni necklaces, sword fights and Little Shop of Horrors. Good times.

Aunt Sarah Project

I've written about Aunt Sarah (also known as "Caroline" a time or two before.

She traveled all over, teaching classes on linguistics, giving college devotions and learning languages, sometimes even creating a written language where none existed.

Recently, I came into possession of a box of letters that she wrote to her family along her journeys. Painstakingly saved by her mother and tied up with ribbon, the letters chronicle years of Aunt Sarah's life and travels all over the world. The idea behind this "project" is to put some order to this great jumble of words, to chronologically map out her voyages.

It's been a little more difficult than I had anticipated. I find myself mesmerized by her stories. What started out as little more than a genealogy side project has become something else altogether.

A kind of obsession. A kind of feeling like I know someone I've never met. Like maybe I'm with her as she talks to people in strange languages and with different customs than what I'm used to.

Sitting with her next to a fire, seeing her smoking a cigar and watching a sunset, pen in hand, waiting to describe it to her mother in a letter.

Riding with her over bumpy, potholed streets in places where yours is the only car. Everybody else walks. Later, the car will leave and she'll walk, too.

She laughs at the antics of the children who come to entertain her, showing off, doing cartwheels and trying to outdo each other, vying for her attention.

She wracks her brain for words when writing to her supporters, trying to sound dignified and yet still trying to raise awareness of the plights of some of the people she works with.

She's amazed by God's Creation.

She misses her family.

She's ravaged by cancer, but still determined to serve.

She speaks to at chapel services, too weak to stand but still beautifully eloquent in her love for God.

I don't know her but I love her all the same.

Bad Body Image

So I'm sure most of us have felt unhappy with our bodies at some point or another. I wonder if you can pinpoint the moment it all began.

For me it all began in sixth grade. The end of sixth grade to be specific. I was sitting in the auditorium at rehearsal for "graduation" and we were all alphabetized and nervous and excited when the boy sitting next to me felt the need to say, "Wow, you have really big legs!"

Now I know that kids are cruel and all of that. I also won't pretend that all of my problems can be blamed on a sixth grader, it's just a little strange that this moment is burned into my brain: one exact moment when I discovered I wasn't perfect.

I was raised in a home where we were taught that "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." Well, we were taught that but of course growing up as one of four kids, you hear occasionally that your odor is less than appealing or your face resembles the dogs' behind, but overall...

Here's the weird thing: in sixth grade, I wasn't even overweight. I was always comfortable with my appearance because nobody had ever given me a reason to feel otherwise. It's cliche-ish, but why do we feel that we need to package everyone into the same little mold? My dad likes to say that if you put two kids in a sandbox, they'll play. They don't care about skin color or religious affiliation, they just want you to share the bucket and shovel. So are we taught to judge people? How? And how can it be avoided?

-----

Ooh, something else. I've got a weird nose. I never knew it was weird until somebody told me, "You've got a weird nose." And I was reeeealy self-conscious about it until I discovered that it's not weird, it's my dads. (Sorry, Dad, you've got a weird nose.) And now I like it.

So I'm wondering when you discovered you weren't perfect. Or maybe you ARE perfect. Let's chat, best beloved.


Me and my dad and our noses. I'm okay with that.

Goodbye

Steven has noticed that whenever we get together with my family, the conversation always eventually turns to my Grandma Kennedy. No matter how many times we tell the stories, they are always funny or sad or thought-provoking.

Somehow, most of my memories are connected with scents. Mom's lilacs, bread baking, a certain kind of shampoo which to me always means summer camp. Then there are the books. The ancient and musty and simply wonderful smell of books. My grandmas house was filled with books. She had shelves filled with them, piles everywhere they could fit and always had one or two within arms reach of her favorite chair. She had started school to become a surgeon but had to stop when she ran out of money. She became an elementary school teacher and loved it. Looking through old photos, we found that her students would often send pictures and cards to her, even many years after they graduated. Her love of teaching and reading were evident as she patiently taught her grandkids to read.

Not long ago, Uncle John gave Steve and I a set of commentaries that had belonged to her and I found this tucked in with them. I'm sure she didn't make it, as frivolities like this just don't seem like her at all, but someone probably gave it to her or Aunt Sarah as a gift and I'm sure she treasured it.

She's been gone for years now and sometimes I still forget. Something will happen that I know she'd love and I'll make a mental note to tell her before I remember that I can't.

Her family was from Prussia and they spoke German and English. She was so excited when I told her I was taking German in high school. I think the only thing I could say coherently was "hello, my name is Sarah" but she was still so proud. I can still remember her singing: "O tannenbaum, o tannenbaum, wie treu sind deine Blätter!"

She was a woman to be admired. A person who exuded grace, even in the midst of prejudice, injustice and loss.

Now all that's left are the pictures on the walls,
Memories and stories that are told.
The more often told the bigger they get
Create a legacy lest we forget.
--Plankeye "Goodbye"

Mary Katharine Gudschinsky Kennedy 1909-1999

Grandma would want me to tell you: God bless you richly, richly, richly.
-----
Photo fiddling done with Picnik.

Things I've Learned the Hard Way (Part 2)

Part 1 is here.

8. If you give a mouse (or a hubby) a cookie, he'll need a glass of milk to go with it. And another cookie. And another one. And some more milk.

9. No matter how many dishes you wash, there will always be one more, lurking behind the soap dispenser or hiding in the bathroom (ice cream, anyone?)

10. If your boss catches you blogging at work, you will suddenly find yourself with heaps, boxes, and buckets full of extra work. Just because occasionally my job gets put on hold when inspiration strikes doesn't mean I'm not busy as a beaver. (And my work still gets done.) Take that, Boss Lady!

11. There are a lot of James Dean haters in this world. You wouldn't believe all the emails I got disagreeing with my last blogs' vampire choices. I still think he'd make a perfect vampire, though. Please don't take Rebel Without a Cause too seriously. I know he was a little whiny in it...

12. Reaching the end of a good book is almost unbearably sad to me. I'm almost afraid to pick up my old familiar Steinbecks and Vonneguts. Even though I know the ending, it's depressing to know it's over. (I finally finished Twilight, can you tell?)

13. Church ladies are unbelievably patient and too nice to tell the truth when it's hurtful. Even if the dish you made for the church potluck smells like a wet dog that rolled in garbage, they'll eat it and say how yummy it is. Then they'll wash your dishes and THEY don't miss any!

14. If someone who is known to "hear voices" asks you if you heard it too, it's best to say no. Just when you're uttering the words, "You know, maybe I DID hear something..." somebody with a straitjacket will show up and drag you off to the funny farm. Or maybe your boss will just give you a look that asks if you need to be medicated.

15. My family lurks. I know they read this; maybe they just don't want anyone else to know. Come on guys, say something! (Uncle John, I know you're out there!!!)

Okay so forget all the rest. Maybe you'll respond to this:

Ain't they cute? You know you want to tell me about it!

My Voices

I made a cake for church today and I noticed for the very first time that I have voices in my head. Mr. Brown is there sometimes, sometimes it's just me or my grandma, and sometimes it's my parents.

When I cook, it's my mom. Growing up, whenever I'd get frustrated with myself for breaking an egg yolk or baking the cookies too long, she'd always tell me to keep trying, "you'll get it when you have more experience."

When I drive, I always hear my dad. On the way to Uncle John's house there is a meeting of two highways where you drive in a complete circle. The speed limit is 20, I think. Every time we go, no matter who is driving, at this curve he'll say "slow right down now, slow right down."

Here in Tennessee, there is a similar curve and without fail, either out loud or in my head, I'll say "slow right down now, slow right down." It's even rubbing off on Steve.

By the way, my mom was right about the experience thing. I can usually make food turn out the way I want it, but I learned that taste is much more important than presentation. On the way to church, this cake had an untimely run in with it's carrier. It was a mess, but instead of following my first impulse to fling it against the wall or just throw the whole thing in the trash, I ate it. It tasted excellent.

Just the 15 of us...

Just how hard is it to get back to the grind after spending a week with this??? First one to find me gets 200 points! (hint: Steve and I are the good-looking ones).

I have (temporarily, I hope) lost the will to blog. I've read very few of my massive list of bloggers I love, commented not at all, and now I'm so far behind that the task seems more than a little daunting. I'll be back soon, whether I like it or not.

Happy Birthday to ME!

Or should I say "Mii?" I'd like to introduce you all to my mii. Her name is Sarah, too.
I've wanted a Wii Fit since, I don't know, nineteen tickety two at least. Everywhere we'd look it'd be the same story. "We're sold out and we have no idea when we can expect more." My dear mom-in-law, Karen, sent me money to purchase a Wii Fit for my birthday. I thought, "Hmm, nice thought but I'll never get one." HA! A new GameStop opened up near my house, Steven and I went in to browse and low and behold, a Wii Fit miraculously made it's merry way into our hands (we, of course paid for it first and thanked the young salesman profusely). I think I made his day with my little hyperventilating "woohoo" dance.

So now, we exercise, not to lose weight or to feel better, but to compete with one another! Here, my mii is giving Steven's mii a peptalk. See how much lower my BMI is than his??? Bwahahaha! (Steven is not amused, as you can see.)

You get yoga (but without all the weird meditation stuff), strength training, nifty step exercises, balance correction exercises (like ultimate hula hooping and tightrope walking) and games, too!

On another note, here is my mii family. Yes, my entire family are miis, even the babies. Please excuse the quality of these pictures as I had to take photographs of my tv screen. I don't know how else to do it. Ah well. Flat Stanley's in there, too, can you find him?

---

In other news, we need a new transmission. We have walked all over Memphis in search of a good mechanic (this means one who isn't going to make us give up our firstborn child in exchange for reliable service). Though this is great for exercise, it's a little scary, and *poof* there goes our savings.

Oh, bother.

In case you can't see the detail here, that is Steven, holding up a Cheeto to a ravenous seagull.

My family has a thing about camping. For as long as I can remember, we have been campers. My old grandma, my youngest sister in diapers, we have just always loved to camp.

We especially flock to Northern Michigan, where you are always just a short drive to the beach and lighthouses and MACKINAC. That's pronounced "Mackinaw." Yes, I know the second "c" makes no sense. Just go with it, ok? Mackinac is an island and fudge and a bridge (also called "The Mighty Mac") and a bit of a tourist trap but if I had to pick a place to spend my retirement (a mere 37 years away), that would be it.

This is Nick's first trip over the Mackinac Bridge. See the joy Mackinac can bring?

I started this post to just write about that first picture, which is a time when we were enjoying pasties in a park just off Lake Michigan and Steven decided to feed the seagulls (even though it was clearly posted NOT to feed the seagulls) and Nick announced to the family, "You know that's technically illegal" and sent my family into hysterics.

Though my intentions were pure, this post is once again edging towards that happy place where the majority of my writing has gone lately, the place where I say I MISS MICHIGAN! The south is ok but it's just not home. I apologize. Once the new year begins, I should have my fix in for a while.

Where I'm From

WHERE I'M FROM

I am from elves capering on the wall, from Vernors and automobiles and cobbled streets.

I am from the pages of countless books, the scent of libraries, a hundred campfires.

I am from Mom's lilacs, the fragrance of every flower imaginable.

I am from straight backs and wide hips, from Kennedy and Crump and Gudschinsky.

I am from the rough and rowdy and loud.

From love and hugs and bedtime stories told with fervor.

I am from strong faith. From folks who are at church whenever the doors are open.

I'm from Scotland and Germany and Poland, from baked chicken and homemade ice cream.

From the missionary, the cattle thief, and the soldier.

I am from the memories hidden in my grandma's room, the stories she told, the history in my mother's mind, the places my father has walked.

I borrowed this idea from Nature Nut. Click here to make your own.

Come on, Christmas!

My nephew (Alex, age 2) started Head Start a few weeks ago. His classroom has a camera where parents and other family members can watch the class while they play, eat snacks, and even take naps. I've been following it religiously since I discovered it. Today my sister told me to watch at around 3:00 while my dad came to pick him up. Imagine my surprise when not only my dad, but my mom, my sister, and two other nephews paraded in front of the camera, waving. I couldn't resist calling my dad so I could "see" him while talking to him. It was very sad to watch them walk away.

Hurry up, Christmas! Only 105 days left!

An Ill-Gotten Meme

My Life - The Movie

I stole this meme from Poetic License.

This meme is a great way for me to imagine what's going on in my life playing out on the big screen. So here are...The Rules!

If you had to select celebrities/actors to play the parts in the story of your life today (including yourself!), who would it be and why - this can be based on looks or personality.

1. List the people who would play you, and the key people in your life.
2. Give credit to the person who tagged you.
3. Tag four new people to participate.

Mom - Mariska Hargitay - Something about this lady has always reminded me of my mom. She plays a detective on Law & Order: SVU who's compassionate and hard-working, not to mention beautiful.

Dad - Steve Carell - If you completely wipe every thought of Michael Scott out of your mind, my dad could be Steve Carell. He's funny and a man dedicated to his family. He's even got the same nose!

Jeri (my best gal here in the Southland) - Tichina Arnold - This would be Tichina Arnold the "Little Shop of Horrors" version, not the crazed "Martin" version. She's a woman who speaks her mind and doesn't hold back.

Me - Jodie Foster - This woman presents herself the way I'd like to be seen: poised, articulate, talented and respected.

Steve - James Roday - This selection is because of Steven's man-crush on Shawn Spencer from "Psych." He'll say there's no man-crush involved, but when a man who says the best movie ever made is "The Lion King" suddenly says he respects someones work as an actor, there's a little man-crushing going on.

From a conversation heard recently in our house:

Sarah: You really love James Roday, don't you?!
Steve: I really respect him as an actor.
Sarah: You love him! You've got a man-crush!
Steve: Well, you've got a woman-crush on Jodie Foster.
Sarah: Well, at least she's gay!

Yeah, we're real mature around here.

Ooh, I almost forgot the tagging!

1. Suldog, simply because he reminds me of the joys of telling someone else what to do.
2. Ryan
3. Karla
and hmm, I don't know how about
4. Janet

Grunt, grunt, grunt.

A Cure for Homesickness?

Ok, so there's no cure other than actually going home.

But this is a good way to forget for a minute or two.

My mom has a thing for black - berries. I took my parents to the Farmer's Market when they were visiting and we came home with a bunch. When they took off, they left them behind. Heh heh.

Without further ado, here is Mr. Brown's recipe for a traditional Blackberry Grunt:


(6-8 servings. Or one, if you're me)

1 c water
1 c sugar
4 c black - berries
1/2 tsp ground ginger
2 c flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1 tsp kosher salt
4 tbsp unsalted butter, frozen
1 c buttermilk, chilled

Preheat oven to 400.

Place water, sugar, black - berries and ginger in a Dutch oven and place over medium heat. Bring to a simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, for 15 to 20 minutes.

Put dry ingredients in food processor and pulse a few times. Add butter and pulse until crumbly. Make a well in the mixture and add the buttermilk. Stir a few times to combine.

Drop batter by tablespoon - fuls on berry mixture.

Bake 15 to 20 minutes. Brush top with butter and return to oven. Broil two minutes or until top is golden brown and delicious.

Restrain yourself from diving in until ten minutes passes and the grunt can rest. I mean, come on, it has had quite a day. :)

Seven hundred eighty three miles is quite a distance.

When Steve and I moved away from home for the first time, I don't think we realized all we were leaving behind. Driving to Kentucky for the first time (a mere 8 hour drive, which we completely took for granted) was difficult, but we got through it. I don't think either of us cried, though our families were sure shedding a few tears. I just knew if I started crying I wouldn't be able to go through with it. We're both pretty attached to our families.

However, when we arrived at Clear Creek Baptist Bible College in Pineville, we were welcomed and treated like family. I will never forget moving into our little duplex up in the Appalachian Mountains and having the entire community come out to help us move in. Even a woman who was about seven months pregnant was lugging boxes and furniture with the rest. Our first day on campus, they had a big snowstorm and everything was closed down. A bunch of the ladies (who we later learned were kitchen staff at the single men's dorm) made us dinner and crept into the temporary apartment we were staying in and left it for us while we slept. It was quite a blessing to wake up and have food waiting on us. A little creepy, but still nice.

I was a little more extroverted at the time. I got a job at the college's library and knew everyone. Dealing with people who aren't completely insane will really help your outlook on life.

Moving to Memphis was much easier, since we thought we knew what we were getting into. The Seminary is similar, though more difficult, as we expected. The people are different, too. When we moved here, I did cry. No one came to help us unpack, and whenever we'd do the "Kentucky Wave" (in which you wave at anyone and everyone you see) we'd just get blank or suspicious stares. It's a hard habit to break, but break it we did. You'd think coming back to a good-sized city would be like coming home but it's not. I'm sure my job doesn't help, but it seems like half the city has passed through the waiting room at the funny farm at some point. So now we're 783 miles from home, and believe me, I feel every one of them. My parents left for home this morning and I seriously thought about stowing away in the trunk of their car.

I miss Michigan.

*Yaya's
*Big John's
*Sophie's Kitchen
(yes, a lot of good things about my hometown involve food)
*Four hours from Mackinac
*One hour from Canada
You can give directions by pointing to your hand. (people down here just don't get it when I hold up my right hand to tell them where I'm from.)
*My niece and nephews
*My brother and sisters
*My cats, Ray and Peaches

I'm a little homesick, can you tell?

Deep deep trouble (BART)

My parents are visiting this week and without them we'd be LITERALLY stranded! Our car was wise enough to pick this week to fall completely to pieces and if my dad hadn't been here to help diagnose the problem, we'd be hurting.

Anyway, the purpose of this post is to inform you that if you own a GM vehicle made in 1995 or later, you may soon have car trouble, too. Or you may have already had it. Here is the story. For those of you who aren't clicking, (you're so stubborn!) basically GM recommends a certain kind of coolant for their vehicles, Dex-Cool. No problem, right? Sure, unless you mind the fact that the coolant acts as some weird kind of acid and eats holes in your water pump and hoses. It can even cause leaky engine gaskets. Do I really know what I'm talking about? Not especially, though I know that we're now looking at some pretty costly repairs.

Before you take your car in and shell out obscene amounts of cash, check out what you can do if you're affected here.

This concludes the Public Service Announcement for July 9, 2008. You have been warned.

Happy Birthday, Becky

My dear little sister, Becky, who is eternally 14 in my mind, turned 22 yesterday. Isn't she gorgeous? I think she's one of the most beautiful people I've seen (but don't tell her I told you.)

She's got a great guy now, and a Gerber baby but she's still my little sister.

She's always had her own style and sense of what looks good (and she's usually right, in my not so humble opinion). There was one summer when I think she cut her hair every day. She's not afraid to express her opinion or to tell you you're wrong. She's the one who had the guts to wear tennis shoes to the homecoming dance, even though I threatened to wear them at my wedding (and chickened out at the last minute, of course).

She's the sister (there are three of us and a big brother) with the tender heart. She's the generous one, the one who can make you laugh until milk (or Sprite) comes out your nose, the one who listens and doesn't tell secrets (I'm looking at you, Patti). Her Christmas presents are legendary. I don't think she'll ever top the oft-remembered "burp in a cup" she gave to my brother a few years back.

My family is blessed to have her in it.

I love you, Becky! Hope you had a great birthday (and many moooore!)

Becky and I, at our nephew Alex's dedication, December 2005