A Christmas Carol Train Tour

To the delight of lit fans and mothers alike, Disney is releasing a very advanced (think Polar Express, only better) animated version of my favorite Dickens' classic A Christmas Carol on November 6.

Okay, one of my favorite Dickens' classics. There are so many to choose from!

While in Kansas City last month, I happened upon a flyer advertising a train tour to promote the movie. Luckily it hadn't hit Detroit yet and I could take my children. I don't watch much TV and I don't have the attention span for movies that I once had so, until the flyer came along, I didn't even know there was a movie being released. Crazy since I've devoted the last 3 Decembers to forcing A Christmas Carol down my daughter's throat in the form of reading and plays. Now, with a 3D animated movie, I can force it down my son's throat as well! Yay!

Anyhow, here are a few photos from the train tour. If it hasn't already passed through your city, go! It's free!





The first car had stuff from the movie and no photos allowed. The next couple had various pieces from the Charles Dickens museum in London and was AMAZING! I got to see original manuscripts, first editions, letters, and more. Just like heaven.

A few photos from the museum:



A first edition!











The original Pickwick Papers






The next couple of cars had models that were used to create the animation for the movies. I didn't take quite as many pictures there.




Model of Scrooge & Marley's


The last car was cool, the whole family steps into a photo booth and each member gets a photo of their face which is then morphed into the face of a movie character. All of ours kinda sucked but it was fun.



Alex as Tiny Tim


We also got to see an "exclusive" trailer of the film and not only am I super excited, but happy to report that the story doesn't appear to be overshadowed by Jim Carrey's particular brand of overacting as in The Grinch.

Is it November 6th yet?

Leaving the Vintage

Sarajane was on my left, he was on my right. We reached the top of the stairs, heading out into the cold night. I don't remember it being January. I remember him putting his hand on my waist at the top of the stairs as we were putting an end to our first meeting. We were all laughing and it was bright outside, in spite of the hour. The parking lot was glowing as the light from the street lamps bounced off of the snow. I hugged him goodbye and told him to call.

It was a Saturday night.

We were on our fourth date and were walking down the stairs again for our third kiss goodnight. He walked me to my car and my hands found his and held them around me. He didn't give an inch of space between us as he tried to persuade me to go home with him. I wanted to, of course, but it wasn't time yet. Instead, I kissed him, barely noticing the way the street lamps made the snow look like we were standing on the moon.

It was a Thursday night.

The party went by in a blur as I played with my friends and he walked about, finding conversation with people he knew and starting conversation with people he didn't. I always had some awareness of his presence so I could find him when I wanted to leave. Even though the party was far from over, there came a moment when I couldn't wait anymore and I walked over to him and told him I was ready to go. He had to finish his beer and I waited, hiding my impatience by talking to friends. At some point I noticed he had finished and was still in animated conversation with people whose faces I did not recognized. Not caring about the rules, I went to him, leaned in as close as I could and said, "Let's go." That night when we walked down the stairs, it was the last as two people dating.

It was a Saturday night.

Thereafter, any time I've spent at the Vintage, with or without him, has been as a person who has someone. My trips to the Vintage have waned in frequency and I'm not sure if it's because I'd rather be with my someone outside of all of that or if it's because of an increased awareness of the time and space between me and my friends. I do know that there's something still so new about every time I remember my exits.

On My Arranged Marriage to Windows; or, Ubuntu is My Dirty Whore (Part 1)

I don't even know where to start.

Maybe at the Verizon store.

Sure.

When we waltzed in, irritated as can be about how our "smart" phones were stupid fking pieces of everynameunderthesun and if they didn't stop running out of the memory needed to send a simple gd text message we would run over them with our cars and they'd have to replace them because we have insurance and we'd keep running them over so they'd keep having to replace them until they gave us a phone that was actually smart.

*exhale*

The salesperson quietly led us over to the Blackberry section and told us that the only way to get the functionality we demanded in a phone was to get away from the Windows operating system.

I had a few flashes of the unexpected errors on my home computer. The times when I've had to force the poor thing to shut off when it freezes up. The updates and restarts. The expired anti-virus software that interrupts everything I do.

I blinked it all away so I could drool over the Blackberry in my hand. BB made the transition from old new phone to new new phone amazing. It is the smartest, most easy to use thing ever. I mean it.

That was a few months ago.

This month, I began scoping out the Dell site as I'm considering buying my daughter a laptop for Christmas. She just has all this STUFF. Her iPod, her digital camera(s), her Leapfrog Pen thingy, code upon code upon code from stuffed animals, cereal boxes, and candy wrappers. All of these things require her to use my computer. Now that she's in middle school, she'll have more assignments that she needs a computer for. My poor computer is getting old, it can only handle me. It told me so.

So I started looking at laptops.

Ubuntu.

That was the word starting at me. I had clicked on "open source operating systems" and there it was: "Dell now offers Ubuntu."

Hmmm. I had heard, of course, of this open source business before but, not being technically inclined, never really looked into it. Now, having started to realize (because of the little black beauty that is rarely farther than a few inches of my hand) that there is a whole beautiful, fully-functioning world beyond Windows, I decided to investigate this Ubuntu.

Twenty minutes on the Ubuntu site and a bit on Wikipedia had my interest piqued enough to send messages to my awesome Canadian friend Duncan and my kid brother, both in the know on technical matters. They both seemed a little wary of giving a kid an operating system that was different than what she'd be using in school.

But, I was already becoming committed. I had learned that Open Office's software, which comes (free, of course) with Ubuntu (also free, of course) allows the user to create word docs, spreadsheets, and presentations that are able to be opened and edited with MS Office products. In fact, most everything you do on Ubuntu (from Linux, btw) is compatible with Windows.

Then there was this: Windows comes on everything I buy, unless it's a Mac, even if I don't want it. I pay for it, it's my operating system. I pay for it and then I have to pay for everything that works with it. I have to buy software that is Windows compatible to work on the OS that I didn't choose. It came with it because they all do. I can't walk into Best Buy and say, "No, thanks. I'm going to use Linux, so just sell me a computer without Windows and I'll put the OS on myself." I can't do that because the computers already have Windows on them and it's included in the price because it isn't free. Then, I end up with a computer with a bunch of extras on it that I don't need/know how to use but am afraid to remove because I don't know what they are or what they do. So, I have to buy a computer, paying extra for the OS I don't want, and remove it myself so I can have the free OS I do want.

Duncan told me that if I decided to go with Ubuntu, there is a large support community. My brother told me that it would be good for him or me to try, but not to guinea pig Jenna.

I began reading. I read a very useful article written by a tech geek who went Ubuntu and then rated it on the basis of whether its various categories of functionality were as good as Windows. Most everything (but for 2 categories) worked as well as or better than Windows. It appeared that the only thing I was going to have to do to Ubuntu to make my computer work for me like it does now was install a different music player to make it play/store MP3 files as the format is proprietary and if Ubuntu came packaged with the software needed to process these files, they'd have to pay for licensing/charge for the OS.

What are the main reasons a person would leave Windows? Frozen screens. System crashes. Security issues (requiring the purchase of additional software to protect a computer). Cost.

I needed no further convincing. Exactly one week ago, I began backing up my files in preparation for my new OS.

Adventures in Water and Ubuntu

I have an irrational fear of water. Always have had.

It's odd because, aside from really good prose, there's little I find to be more breathtaking than a body of water. Still, the second I know my toes won't be able to touch the bottom, that there's any chance I'll fall in, I'm on the verge of clawing my own eyes out.

I'm not a good swimmer, perhaps this is partly to blame.

I had swim lessons when I was a child. When the final day came and we had to jump off the diving board at the deep end to show our parents our new skills, I had a meltdown. I wouldn't do it. I don't know how old I was and don't remember a thing of the lessons leading up to that point, but I remember screaming, crying, begging to not have to do it.

In fourth grade, I went home after school with a friend to swim in her pool. Outside, she ran and jumped into the middle of the pool. It was hot and I was excited, so I followed suit. Upon entering the water, my feet found bottom with my head what seemed like several feet (probably only inches) beneath the surface. Panic set in, even as I floated to the top. I don't know how I reached the edge to grab on and inch my way to shallow water. I was so embarrassed because of how I was feeling and knew somehow that I couldn't show it. I did my best to participate from the shallow end and around the sides of the pool so she wouldn't know how scared I was.

Sometime in my late teens, my best friend and I took an adult beginner swim class. I spent a bunch of my learning time in the shallow end. Toward the end of the class, I would go in the deep end but would only swim across the pool on my back, doing a backstroke. I still couldn't bring myself to jump off the diving board.

Dating an outdoorsy adrenaline junkie has really pushed my fear of water to the limit. I've been able to get over it enough to drive his jet-ski by myself at a good, safe 35 mph, 40 if I'm feeling crazy. I don't do any "tricks" that might cause me to eject myself from the safety of the warm black seat. When he drives me, it is nothing but terror and sometimes I think I may have to trick him, a non-reader, to sit in his recliner where I will strap him down and force him to read Breakfast at Tiffany's just so he knows what it feels like!

The first time he tried to teach me to waterski (he is a very patient teacher, I might add), he had me in shallow water, lifejacket on, learning to get into a starting position. This necessitated floating on my back with the skis sticking out as parallel to one another as possible while he slowly dragged me around. I couldn't do it. I could not lie there on my back floating harmlessly. Why? I have no idea! Maybe it was because I knew that this was a lesson that would lead me into deeper water. I felt like I had no control and I started crying.

Yep. For real. The first and only waterski lesson I had eventuated in crying before I even did anything.

Yesterday, I went on an annual boating trip with him and his friends. They like to get together and play on the water. I'm good with that. I can handle speed on water, like it, in fact, so long as I'm sitting safely on a boat. They tubed, smiling big as they used all of their boating skills to cause each other to fly in the air, flipping as many times as possible, smacking the water with force upon landing.

I had fun, too. I even joined them in the water as they swam. I had a lifejacket on, after all. But every single time one of them would try to convince me to go out on the tube or waterski (It'll be fun! They promise!), I would instantly feel anxious, even possessing the knowledge that I wasn't going to do it. It doesn't matter that I trusted them not to pull me the way they pulled each other. It doesn't matter that I knew I wouldn't drown with a lifejacket on or that they wouldn't let me drown anyway.

In the end, I think it only matters that I don't have control. I can't decide how much water I'm going to swallow or if I'm going to fall off.

I'm not sure I'll ever get a grip on the thing, but I kind of hope so. It would be nice to find that sort of thing fun and not terrifying.

I don't know why I hate it so much, anyhow. Where else can I piss myself in fear and have noone notice?

This got long. You'll have to hear about my impulsive install of Ubuntu and deletion of Windows later.

It'll be fun.

I promise.

Sex in a Library, A Challenge

I swear on all that is holy that MySpace blogs are long overdue for a "Literature" category.

Okay, kids, you have one month (and one day, to be precise) until National Banned Book Week, as designated by the American Library Association.

You can read all about it over there, but the purpose of Banned Book Week is to bring awareness to challenges to books in school libraries and curriculum.

Censorship is not an effective way to "protect" children.

I've directed your attention to Banned Book Week before but this year, I'd be positively tickled if you would all look at this map. It's a graphic of books that have been challenged in schools since 2007, and those are only the reported cases of attempts to have books banned.

Most go unreported.

I know, I sound dramatic. Get over it.

I challenge you: in this month leading up to Banned Book Week (to be clear, this takes place September 26-October 3), choose a book on the above-linked map to read. Write a blog about the book, how you liked it, why you think it was challenged and if you would want your kids to read it. Publish your blog during Banned Book Week and I'll post a link to your blog.

Naturally, I'll remind you about this and, if you participate, ask you to change your avatar on 9/26 in recognition of Banned Book Week:

I will give you extra credit if you get it on in a library in the next month, we'll have to set up some kind of non-incriminating code so you can report about it in your blog. I'm open to suggestions for this. :-)

P.S. If none of the books on the map strike your fancy, choose from this list of the top 100 challenged classics of the 20th century.

P.P.S. I have chosen Ernest Gaines' A Lesson Before Dying, challenged for its sexual content and profanity.

Because the thing below isn't working, I'm currently reading Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner.

"Summer 2009"

I keep seeing that on friends' photo albums over on Facebook. I still prefer MySpace because of the blogging and don't update my photos as often over on FB. Alas, since my summer isn't even half over, you won't be seeing any "Summer 2009" albums for a bit.

I haven't done a stew in awhile so I'll keep up the summer theme.

I've been very busy and have had little time for keeping up with my letter writing and blog reading (also Maranda pointed out that I'm slacking in the blog-writing dept.) but I have been reading books, so that's always good. My favorite so far this summer was Cat's Cradle by Vonnegut.

If you ever need book suggestions, this blog rocks.

Boys, shield your eyes.

I've become suceptible to UTIs in my old age. Never had them in my life until a year and a half ago and have since had three. I can't pin down any single cause. Since I have devoted my summer to accepting compensation from the Unemployment Insurance Agency, I have a pretty good system of sleeping in when my kids aren't here. This UTI bs has me up in the morning a good hour and a half before I want to be. Boo.

Speaking of the kids.

They're in IN for a month with their dad and I hate it. I thought it would be easier this year, I thought wrong. I talk to them nearly everyday and have been writing to them. My, my. I can't imagine what it would be like for a parent with children who do not want to spend time with the ex-spouse. At least my kids are happy when they're with their dad and I can take a tiny bit of solace in that. While they've been gone, Alex lost a toenail (it was on its way before he left due to an unfortunate stubbing incident) and Jenna is reading Twilight.

I suppose it's time I come out with my review of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Previously, I have been lucky enough to divorce my opinion of the movies from the books. The movies have had their fair share of deletions and embellishments as is necessary in these sort of adaptations and I have loved every single one of them as their own franchise, separate from the books. Not so with this last one. The deletions and embellishments detracted from the story too much for me and I left the theater thinking the franchise had strayed and the unique characterization that was previously maintained has been compromised. I don't like to say these things, I am a hardcore HP fan, after all. I'm going to take the kids to see it when it leaves the theater and hits our local $3 theater to give it another shot. Until then, as always, I remain loyal to the house of Ravenclaw.

I love my new Blackberry Tour more than life itself. Aside from being a mama, falling in love, and having a kick ass Asian, it's the best thing going for me right now. Thanks, bitchy sister for getting me a better phone to replace the one that sucked. My Blackberry is smarter than Einstein!

My friend Leslie sent me a great article about a teen who is suing Amazon because he was using his Kindle while writing a report in which he made extensive electronic notations to Nineteen Eighty-Four. Amazon deleted the book from his Kindle over a copywrite issue and his notes became meaningless as they pointed to a book that no longer existed. There really is a great deal of irony in the situation. Anyhoot, this is one of the bigger complaints against Kindle, an issue I have not had. I still love my Kindle. More than my Blackberry, even.

My Kindle Ate my Homework

Like I said, the summer isn't over yet. I'm off to an adult only (I like saying that, makes me feel like not having my kids with me is a choice) canoe trip this weekend. The following weekend, I'm heading to LA with my boyfriend and his parents for a family wedding. We'll be there for a few days and then will be spending a few in Kansas City. We're wrapping up the summer with a bonfire. After that, you'll see my "Summer 2009" photo album. In the meantime, here's one of some guy I don't know from the "Boat Night 2009" album. (Boat Night, as you may remember from last year, is the night before the Port Huron to Mackinac sailboat race in which all who are sailing and all who aren't come from miles around to drink themselves silly in our downtown area.)

Okay, I have to go sloth on the beach with my sister-out-law and my Asian. Have a nice day.

Chasing a Train

The Nickel Plate Road 765 weighs 404 tons, goes over 60 mph and keeps an elite company as one of the very small group of steam engines that are still operational.

LEGO company was born in Denmark in 1934 but it wasn't until 1949 that the evolution of wooden to plastic toys produced by the company became what it is now.

The Pere Marquette 1225 is the same size and sister to the 765. It's the only operable 2-8-4 Pere Marquette steam engine. To build the engine today, one would need 2.5 million dollars. The 1225 became famous in 2004 when its blueprints were used to design the Polar Express, featured in the Oscar-nominated movie by the same name which, in turn, was based upon the award-winning children's book by Michigan author Chris Van Allsburg.

Sub-cultures run rampant in our society. We have Trekkies, Harry Potter nerds (*shoots hand up in air*), and Weezer fans (*again with the hand*). I've recently become exposed to the Train Geeks, the group to which my boyfriend belongs.

At the hub of the Train Geek culture are festivals where said geeks can go and see a variety of real life, operable and otherwise, engines, model train sets (including the most awesome LEGO model I've ever seen, though not the largest), maps, art and literature featuring trains. It so happens that the largest such festival in America is Trainfestival 90 minutes away in Owosso, MI. *fist pump*

When we attended on Sunday, I had no possible way of knowing what I was about to see. Thousands of people come from who-knows-where to stand in hour-long lines for the chance to spend 120 seconds in an engine. Tents upon tents of impossible to navigate crowds hoarde around massive model train sets.

But that's not what the bad ass train enthusiasts do. Nope. Bad ass train enthusiasts hop aboard the motorcycle, ignoring the 70% chance of rain and they chase a train.

A day in the life of a train chaser.

1) See train off at start point.

2) Run like the wind to car in effort to be the first in the pack of dozens to try and beat train to next crossing. Alternatively: Decide at last minute after watching scores of people leave start point to head for their cars that it really is okay to chase a train on a motorcycle. Why the hell not? Run to motorcycle, put on helmet, and GO!

3) Look for steam on the horizon as biggest clue of train's present location. Go that way.

4) After what may be several *PWNs* by fast train or 10 miles of weaving down back country roads, finally beat train to crossing.

5) Get out of car (motorcycle), take pictures/video of train crossing.

6) If in car, repeat steps 1-5 until train reaches destination.

It seems silly, but I can't begin to describe how exhilarating it was. Maybe part of that is all of the other people doing the same thing. Anyhow, it was super fun and I hope to do it again someday.

In the video I took from my perch on the back of the bike, we are approaching the crossing. You can see a couple of cars in front of us and on the other side of the track. You can see my train geek boyfriend jumping off and leaving me in the dust to run up while simutaneously trying to wrench his camera from his pocket (HOT, there's nothing in the world like a nerdy boy). After the train goes by, you can see a woman beginning the run back to her car (there's also a man behind me who you can't see) to do it all over again.

Book Tag

“Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes.”

A Tag from Dew(ed). She didn't actually tag me. She didn't actually tag anyone. I gave myself an invitation.

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle- It was the first book I read cover to cover in a day and may, then, be directly responsible for my love of reading. I think I was in Fourth grade. My daughter has not finished it, she says she likes it but I think she's just aware of how much I liked it and doesn't want to "let me down." Maybe I'll steal it from her and re-read it and rediscover whatever it is that turned me into a reader.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald- When I read it in high school, I was in love with every word on every page. Now, it's nothing short of disappointing. Why do I include it if I don't like it? Books have infinite power, including reminding us how much we've changed. While the book gets me nostalgic for simpler times, I can also see an evolution of my preferences in writing.

Conversely,

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee- Didn't like it in high school, don't know how anyone could not love it now. Maybe it took becoming a parent but the portraits painted of the characters in Ms. Lee's lone published novel encapusulate every trait we should strive to possess and all we should fight against. If I were to ever have another daughter, I would lobby heavily for the name "Nell."

Catch 22 by Joseph Heller- I've read it three times and liked it more each time. So laugh out loud funny and so sad at the same time. Hello, triumphant human spirit.

Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote- The most beautiful writing. Ever.

Devil in the White City by Erik Larson- The book that showed me that non-fiction doesn't have to be boring. Quite the contrary, it can be chilling and magnificent.

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card- Orson Scott Card's foresight serves as a perfect backdrop for an amazing story that takes the good v. evil theme to depths most stories only touch on the surface.

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley- The ultimate functionalist society. Chilling.

The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand- While I see holes in her philosophy that the 19 year old Melissa never did, these are two of the most important works of fiction ever written and every reader should read them, love her or hate her. Even if I don't embrace everything it means, Howard Roark will always be perfect to me.

The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck- It's hard to pick a favorite Steinbeck but this must be it. Ethan holds tight to values that will never get his family all that glitters. A very honest book.

And speaking of honesty,

Sonny's Blues by James Baldwin- A short story, maybe novella, actually. I dare you to read it and not want to finish it on the spot.

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky- It took me a looong time to "get into" this book but I was so glad I did. Perhaps it's because I never tire of the good v. evil story and this had so many layers to it. Politics, society, self. It still makes me think.

Roll your eyes it you want to,

Harry Potter the entire series by J.K. Rowling- Unlike Ender, we got to see Harry experience some actual childhood, perhaps making it all the more bitter to see his youth compromised. The books are incredible and my only disappointment is how tidily everything was packaged up at the end. As an aside, the movies are likely the least disappointing reproductions of books ever. New movie in one week!!! Excuse me while I go touch myself.

Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett- Actually a play but I've read my copy several times and struggle in public not to do so out loud. The dialog is musical. Never has a story of utter uselessness felt so good. If you like Samuel Beckett, YouTube "Play" with Alan Rickman. The whole thing is on there and I often forget to breathe when I'm watching it.

Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger- My favorite Salinger, even more so than Catcher in the Rye. Great commentary on religion and, oh, how I fell in love with Zooey.

A Good Title Eludes Me

Today you're getting four for the price of one. Happy/sad stew, if you will:

My mother is hard to look at right now. She found out a bit ago that she has pre-cancerous cells growing on her face and is currently at the tail end of a round of topical chemotherapy. It's like getting a chemical peel everyday for two weeks. She can't go out in the sun. She's not even 50 yet and today, as we were sitting in the shade planning for our camping trip next weekend, I stared at the varying degrees of skin erosion and thought non-stop about how much this needs to work so she doesn't have to go through it for nothing. Because, if she's just going to have to go through intravenous chemo, couldn't she have done it with every layer of her beautiful face intact?

***

I've taken up golfing and am horrible at it. I'd be even worse if we didn't play with special rules. When we want to use a special rule, we must say "I invoke-" and then:

"-the 5 foot rule!" If the ball lands anywhere between 5 and 15 feet of where we were standing when we swung at it, it doesn't count as a stroke.

"-the throw me another ball rule!" If our drive blows when we tee off, we can go again (up to 2 additional drives!) and not count it.

"-the mud puddle rule!" If it rained at some point and the course is damp, it will likely have puddles somewhere. If the ball lands in a puddle big enough to make a splash, as it would in a pond, we can remove the ball from the puddle and drop it, like we would if it landed in a pond.

"-the I should've got that in rule!" If that ball is only 3 inches from the hole and I still don't make it, I'm counting it as in. Period.

***

Today I said goodbye to my brother, his wife, and my nephews. They're leaving to make a new life in Tennessee. I know that's what people do, but it is so hard to see him go. No one in my family has ever left before.

***

Thursday I say hello to Grau Geist and Friday to Delilah. Yay for MyFriends and real-life meet-ups!

Did You Knows

I'm not very good at communticating my feelings to people I care about, I like it better if they think I have none and this is a tiny (probably generic!) collection of things left unsaid, past and present.

If you leave a comment, leave it as a "did you know."

Did you know...

If I were the one going, it wouldn't hurt half as bad as watching you go.

I'm glad I didn't meet you first. That's why I simply smiled when you told me you wish you had.

I want to hump your leg.

I've said "I never had a positive male influence while I was growing up" too many times, but I always did, even if you didn't follow all of the rules.

I'm happy because I don't feel like I need anything from you which gives me a free pass to simply be content and, well, that's pretty good.

You're the only person I don't have to elaborate with.

Somehow, you were never more perfect to me than in a moment when I couldn't wait to go home. I'm so glad home was always waiting for me in places you never would and vindicated that you'll never know what that feels like.

You are not alone, I made the same decision as you and I know it was the right one.

You are so very, very, very small.

I want to be you and each time I've ever said anything critical to you, that's why.

Looking up at you is one of the coolest things I've ever done. Someday, I will do it again.

I can't tell you everything because you are so GD judgmental. You're aware of this but I don't think you understand how much this keeps you from having truly rewarding relationships.

You drink too much.

Baby Talk, a BOGO

"Awen't you the cutest baby ever? Yes, you are! You sooooo smart!"

A brief sampling of some of the ridiculous things parents say to their new babies. Not wise-cracking doctors, though. Doctors say clever things to their babies, for example:

"Are you forming neurological pathways?"

Bahahaha! *sigh*

I spent the weekend in Chicago meeting my bff's new baby.

She's spending a significant amount of time worrying, in spite of her massive storehouse of knowledge, about the things that all new parents worry about. Should her boobs be bigger than a porn star's? If baby spits up, does he need more food to replace what is lost? Is she making enough milk? What do you do when he's not exactly crying but not happy, either?

And, the biggie: Why can't he stay exactly this size forever?

That one is causing her a bit of trouble in her post-partum emotional state.

It's true, when they get bigger, you take risks. One day, they're going to insist upon entering the school building alone, without you. One day, you're going to have the incredible urge to pick him up and squeeze him, precisely because he's getting so big, only to have him squirm from your grasp because he has something better to do. One day, you're going to remember how much you loved doing everything for him when you see him make his own lunch because he's hungry and recognizes that it's lunch time.

Still, if he didn't get bigger, you wouldn't get to see his face light up and his little arms reach up to you when you get home from a long day at work. You wouldn't get to see how proud he is to hold your hand and put you on display in front of all his friends when you show up to school for a field trip. You wouldn't get to blink back tears the first time he reads 43 words in a row from a book with no help from you.

I like them getting bigger.

*************

On that note, my daughter "graduates" from the fifth grade tonight. It seems like such a silly little ceremony but I can't help but think about the first time she walked into school without me, the thought of not being able to eat lunch with her everyday anymore, and the sight of her walking and giggling with her friends as she walks out to her safety patrol post.

When I think about when I started middle school, it seems like that time up through high school went by so fast and it will for her. And again for me.

Do I still wish she was little?

Nope.

She's the coolest kid on Earth and I can't think of someone I'd rather hang out with. She's my built-in perpetual date to museums and plays. She's the girl who will keep the conversation going in the car. She's the one I look at and see myself, only smarter, funnier, prettier. She's the one I've never wasted a second of my life being anything other than proud of.

Congratulations, Jenna.

Baby Talk, a BOGO

"Awen't you the cutest baby ever? Yes, you are! You sooooo smart!"

A brief sampling of some of the ridiculous things parents say to their new babies. Not wise-cracking doctors, though. Doctors say clever things to their babies, for example:

"Are you forming neurological pathways?"

Bahahaha! *sigh*

I spent the weekend in Chicago meeting my bff's new baby.

She's spending a significant amount of time worrying, in spite of her massive storehouse of knowledge, about the things that all new parents worry about. Should her boobs be bigger than a porn star's? If baby spits up, does he need more food to replace what is lost? Is she making enough milk? What do you do when he's not exactly crying but not happy, either?

And, the biggie: Why can't he stay exactly this size forever?

That one is causing her a bit of trouble in her post-partum emotional state.

It's true, when they get bigger, you take risks. One day, they're going to insist upon entering the school building alone, without you. One day, you're going to have the incredible urge to pick him up and squeeze him, precisely because he's getting so big, only to have him squirm from your grasp because he has something better to do. One day, you're going to remember how much you loved doing everything for him when you see him make his own lunch because he's hungry and recognizes that it's lunch time.

Still, if he didn't get bigger, you wouldn't get to see his face light up and his little arms reach up to you when you get home from a long day at work. You wouldn't get to see how proud he is to hold your hand and put you on display in front of all his friends when you show up to school for a field trip. You wouldn't get to blink back tears the first time he reads 43 words in a row from a book with no help from you.

I like them getting bigger.

*************

On that note, my daughter "graduates" from the fifth grade tonight. It seems like such a silly little ceremony but I can't help but think about the first time she walked into school without me, the thought of not being able to eat lunch with her everyday anymore, and the sight of her walking and giggling with her friends as she walks out to her safety patrol post.

When I think about when I started middle school, it seems like that time up through high school went by so fast and it will for her. And again for me.

Do I still wish she was little?

Nope.

She's the coolest kid on Earth and I can't think of someone I'd rather hang out with. She's my built-in perpetual date to museums and plays. She's the girl who will keep the conversation going in the car. She's the one I look at and see myself, only smarter, funnier, prettier. She's the one I've never wasted a second of my life being anything other than proud of.

Congratulations, Jenna.

The Stretch Marks Mapping an Old Love

Sister #2 leaned in so her face was close enough to mine to violate all generally accepted regulations regarding personal space.

"Get away! What?! My face is dirty from riding the go carts! I tried to clean it but I haven't had any time! Stop it!" I squealed.

"You're growing a mustache," she stated simplistically with calm authority.

***5 minutes earlier***

"Look at you with your socks and long-sleeved shirt. Aren't you hot?" Sister #1 inquired as she pulled her shorts up her thighs as high as she comfortably could and pushed her sleeves up to her shoulders, perfectly positioned beneath the sun.

"It was cold this morning and I won't get home until after the concert. It will probably be cold afterwards in Detroit anyway." My only defense for the black long sleeved T beneath my aged Hip concert T on a decent weather day.

***15 minutes later***

I finished my beer and got up to go in and ruin my children's lives by informing them it was time to go.

As I walked up the stairs, Sister #1's husband: "Your shoes are gay!"

"I like these shoes! Shut up, Steve!"

Sister #1: "They are kind of gay. Aren't you supposed to look hot when you go to a concert?"

*sigh*

So went a brief visit with the out-laws yesterday. I love them. They're so much fun. It's truly comforting to have people to poke at who will poke right back. It's too bad I don't get to see them often.

But let's face it, I'm getting old. There's an inexplicable dark strip developing on my upper lip. The fine hair that covers my face is no thicker or darker there, yet somehow the skin beneath appears darker. The shoes I like are gay. The clothes that used to be cool to wear to a concert aren't hot.

And, sadly, the concert kind of sucked.

Loyalty is an attribute of mine that I cherish. Perhaps it's because there is nothing more important in my life than family and, while my actual relatives are closest to my heart, I believe family is found in nooks and crannies that don't always exist at Thanksgiving dinner. So it's odd that I found myself screaming "Please play something cool!" instead of "WOOOOOOOO!" at times last night.

Don't worry, it was too loud for anyone but my sister to hear my treason.

Rock concerts have long been like a dirty whore mistress for me, a truly unique experience. It's a place to go and get drunk (high, in some cases) and sweaty while dancing and screaming with other people just like me. (To be perfectly clear, I never dance, but I get so excited at rock concerts that even I bounce up and down a little.) Fans who belt out the same songs I do while they drive to work in the morning or take the long way home when one of our favorites comes on the radio, ensuring the volume of the speakers drowns out our own voices. At a concert, as an aggregate, we can't sing loud enough to cover up the intensity of sound coming from the very people who wrote the songs, we can't jump high enough to escape the feeling of the drums making the floor vibrate, we can't even pause briefly enough to appreciate the bass of butterflies in our stomachs.

Note: None of the above paragraph applies to any of the boyfriends who were kind enough to share this experience with their crazy girlfriends even though Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs was on at the exact same time as a band they don't really care for was playing.

I'd like to tell you that I know where this concert went awry. It may have been the new album, consisting of some quality music that should probably have a warning label on it that reads: "Do not listen to while contemplating suicide."

Excepting one song, it's just so slooooowwwww.

And they played every single depression-inducing song on it. Half of their set (which was admirably long- 3 hours) was dedicated to the new album and it blew. I'd expect to spend more time sitting in my seat than standing at a Coldplay concert, but not at The Tragically Hip! Plus, because I prefer the kind of music that makes me want to stand, I wouldn't even buy tickets to a Coldplay concert.

I'm about to make a confession and this whole thing will start to make sense.

TTH has dozens of cool songs, songs that have arguably catapulted them during their 26 year career to be one of the top 2 bands in Canada (which is why most of my fellow Americans have never heard of them) as not many could say they're better than Rush. That's a debate for another blog.

During the second half of the show, they finally played a good number of the songs they are so well known for, including my absolute favorite which previously incited a spell of self-loathing following an embarrassing vomiting experience that caused me to miss it at the last Hip concert I attended.

But it didn't make it better.

Something was lost.

Even as I shouted out "In the middle of that riot, couldn't get you off my mind" and "I'm just a shade shy of true wickedness," it wasn't the same. The experience of seeing my favorite band play some of my favorite songs didn't make up for how much I sat on my ass in my seat during the set.

My sister and I dubbed it the worst Hip concert with the best seats we'd ever been to.

Here's the thing. I'm not sure if my less than stellar concert experience was because of a fail on the band's part in playing too many bubble-bath mood setting songs or because, for me, everything has become a metaphor for aging.

I have no problem with my actual age, it's the aging I can't stop thinking about.

Because no matter how much night cream I slather on my face before bed, there are still lines in the morning.

Because the skin above my upper lip is somehow darker, my shoes are gay, and I don't- no can't- dress hot anymore.

I shall hope that yesterday's concert was a fluke and the next concert will find me happy I paid too much money for a seat I won't be sitting in so long as I can feel the music in my toes and I'll say to myself, "I'll never be too old for this."

What if the French Had Won?

"No daughter of mine is going to look like a slut!"

-My boyfriend's mom, upon seeing that I had attempted to escape from my bonnet, in spite of its status as a required part of my costume.

"You look like one-seventh of a Utah bride!"

-Friend Ryan, visiting in plain clothes.

My boyfriend's family has been participating in the Feast of the Ste. Claire for several years. It's an annual (not exactly like a pap smear since some women have pap smears bi-annually) re-enactment of what life was like 'round these parts during the early parts of our history. As the website I linked to would tell you, the Feast represents four time periods in MI's history and has camps set up to depict each (Native American, French explorers, British traders, and American Revolutionaries).

A big part of the weekend is a battle re-enactment that takes place on both days (the Feast is always held on the Saturday and Sunday of Memorial Day weekend). If you've been around long enough you are aware that, while the State of MI seems to think that I'm smart enough to teach history as I passed their "rigorous" test with flying colors, I suck at history. I wish I didn't, but I do. Also, in spite of my frequent violation of the laws governing the irritating comma splice, I passed the English test with brighter, higher flying colors.

Anyhoot, keeping in mind that I suck at history, you will give me some latitude in my attempt at explianing the battle re-enactment. The boyfriend could do it better.

On Saturday, the battle occurs as the British are trying to win territory from the French. The British win as is historically accurate. I'm not sure if the re-enactment is of one specific battle or a generalization of the outcome of a series of struggles in the area. In any case, in spite of its historical inaccuracy, it is the tradition of the Feast to allow the French to win on Sunday.

Because the men of our family were with the French navy, our camp was located in the French settlement area of the Feast. The camps must be historically accurate. The food we made had to be cooked as it would have been in Colonial times and had to consist of what was available then. Anything that can be seen by the public has to be as it was during whichever time period the camp represents. This means that we had to turn our backs to pour our beer or Diet Coke into our mugs and hide our smart phones behind baskets on the table as we were checking the score of the Red Wings game.

"You need to have better control of your woman! You don't see Melissa running loose, do you?"

-Scott to his dad, upon discovering that his mom had skipped out of packing up duty on Sunday evening and went home. It was probably one of the funniest things I've ever heard.

This is how I'm punished when Scott catches me "running loose."

Overall, I had a great time. It was something different to do. Don't get me wrong, we had a lot of downtime and got bored easily. The worst was when Scott found my first gray hair. I should have kept my bonnet on.

So, for all of you history buffs, I ask you: What if the French had won?

Bonus video:

What Scott Does to his Women When They Get Loose

My First Golf Trip, a Photoblog

My friend Maranda works at the golf course that her grandparents own. I decided that this is my year to become a golfer. Here are a few of the things I learned on our first trip: