you know... that sensational haiku wednesday?

This week's Haiku theme at Jenn's You Know... That Blog?

Resolutions.

steps on the treadmill

or elliptical for me

burning calories

I usually try to avoid new year's resolutions. The January invitation to February guilt. But this year, in the very back recess of my brain, I heard a whispering.

Get back to the gym.

So far I'm two weeks into success.

More stepping. Less couch dwelling.

Good. Good.

a new year, a new blog

I know this guy, this oldspouse. He's a friend.

He's not all that old. He's younger than me, in other words. So of course I think that makes him a young spouse. But I suppose that doesn't make for a very good blog name.

Old or young, I happen to know he makes a very good spouse to his wife, also a friend of mine.

I also happen to know this old spouse writes some funny stuff. I hope you will take the time to stop by and welcome him to bloggyville. I think you'll be glad you did.

what I did not manage to accomplish for Christmas

Christmas cut out sugar cookies.

Chocolate chip cookies with red & green M&Ms.

Raspberry thumb print cookies.

Pot of gumbo.

Fresh cranberry garland for the Christmas tree.

Cranberry bread.

What I did manage to accomplish:

Two days on the couch with a heating pad under my neck.

My neck seized while I was engaged in the complicated arm pretzel yoga pose known as "brushing hair into a downward bun." Crick in the neck sounds deceptively minor, doesn't it?

The other thing I accomplished, which was quite wonderful, was to curl up on the playroom pull out couch with my twin-daughters-as-book-ends watching Brittany Murphy in Love and Other Disasters. Cute, cute, cute movie.

Also? My daughters taught me how to watch my Netflix instant queue on the big screen TV via the Wii. Now there are three words I hadn't heard of back when my girlies were born.

Hope you are all enjoying a very Merry, very restful and very pain free Christmas day!

magical memories of christmas eve

Sneaking out of bed on Christmas eve, sliding behind the living room sofa, hiding and waiting to see Santa come down the chimney. Lucky for me I was lying on a hardwood floor beneath a window with a down draft. I climbed back in bed to get warm and fell asleep. Santa was safe for another few years.

Watching my aunt, who was visiting from the south, make footprints out of fireplace ash so that my younger brother and sister would see proof that Santa had come down the chimney. I loved the almost grown up feeling of being behind the curtain. And I loved my aunt and my grandmother. I was so glad they came to spend the holidays with us.

My brothers and I begging and begging our mom to let us open just one present, please, please, please and her finally giving in. Testing each present, trying to decide which one would be the most fun.

Driving home from midnight mass. We lived in the country and passed miles of flat fields and farmland. We were listening to the radio and heard the announcer say that Santa was officially in flight. I remember looking out of the car window, up at the dark sky, hoping to catch a glimpse. I saw a shooting star. I just knew that was a spark from Santa's sleigh.

How about you, readers? What are your magical holiday memories?

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and a wonderful New Year.

the diagnosis is in

The evaluation is complete. The tests interpreted. The diagnosis is in.

The One Hundred Twelfth United States Congress suffers from TCTDDD (Tax Cut Trickle Down Delusional Disorder).

Haldol, anyone?

"Yes! Extending the existing tax cuts will create jobs. Because the only way out of this mess is to keep things exactly as they are." -Stephen Colbert

p.s. Great minds think alike.

empty lip balm appreciation day

I'm one of those people who needs to join Lip Balm Anonymous. I keep a tube of lip balm (or three) in my car, a tube (or two) in my purse, a tube in my desk, a tube in my jeans pocket, and an ever-changing number of tubes in my kitchen medicine cabinet depending on how many of my kids nab one as they leave for school.

The tube in car door well is nearly empty. Or empty to the point where I can no longer swipe my lips across the top and get comfortably balmed. Instead I have to use the tip of my pinky finger to dip, swipe and wipe. This isn't a very satisfying experience but it beats scraping my lips across the top of the plastic rim to the point of chafing my already chapped lips.

You might think an empty tube of lip balm is something to feel sad about. Or bereft, depending on the state of your chapped lips. But not for me.

I am thrilled.

Damn close to deliriously happy.

Why?

Because it means

Same goes for an empty container of

This past summer I emptied one. I'm pretty sure it was the first bottle of sunscreen I managed to hang onto the entire summer and not lose it to someone else's beach bag.

Here are a few more things I haven't emptied but look forward to celebrating when I do:

Because it dries up to a petrified crust after the fourth use.

Because I mainly keep this around for my Louisiana native friends.

And,

Because when I change purses, I always manage to leave a few loose pennies, a wadded up tissue, a stick of gum that's dried-stuck to it's foil wrapper, and a stray tube of

This post is dedicated to the real Aunt Bee in my life. Love you Aunt Bee!

faux news or fauxing stupid?

Ever have one of those bad blogger days when you realize you've misspelled a word in your post or mixed up a metaphor and hope your readers don't realize you really are an idiot in the disguise of a wannabe writer?

Well, fear not, friends. Whatever your bloggulous blunder, your metaphorical misstep, it shrinks to a mere speck on the ass of a gnat that lands on the wing of a cow by comparison to a boneheaded missive posted at Fox Nation.

If you blinked for a few days lifetimes like I did, you missed it. But the masterinvestigators at mediate were keeping watch on The Fox Nation with their eyes wide shut and their minds wide shocked when Fox Nation reposted an Obama-bashing article from The Onion. Reposted it without mentioning the fact that The Onion is satire.

You really have to read this mediate post for yourself or this Talking Points Memo recap if you want the full on delightfully incredulous effect.

You can't read the original Fox News post because they've taken it down. I've already checked --no horse stall too full of manure for this blogger to wade her wellingtons through in order to track down the origin of an internet story.

In other words, Oops Confirmed.

Or was it? We presume the author of this repost was asleep at the blogwheel. But then there are the editors who are more discerning. Right? Or was this an effort to mislead by design, hoping nobody would call them on it?

have a potentially life altering thanksgiving

I made a potentially life altering decision yesterday. One that may lead my husband to divorce me and my children to file for legal emancipation.

Our Thanksgiving meal, for the first time in 19 years, will include the turkey stuffed with oranges but will not include these:

You know, those tired, store-brand white parker dinner rolls that come on a waxy cardboard tray. Or the ones that are shaped like a chef hat. But whatever shape, they've got an unforgiving bake time: three seconds too late and they go from soft and doughy to dry and tough. They were always on the Thanksgiving table at my and my husband's houses growing up despite the fact that my family was East coast and his was Gulf coast.

Everyone in my family loves them but me. Every year I try to leave them off the menu but Sam manages to come through the door last minute, "Don't worry. I bought the rolls!"

But so far the lack of rolls has gone unnoticed or at least unmentioned. If the table manages to get loaded up with food and the rolls aren't there? I will need every form of positive thought, strength vibe or remnant of the last harmonic convergence to get through the meal without dodging spit balls of cornbread stuffing

So readers, what's not on your menu this year?

and I was told Aggies never cheat

nor tolerate those who do.

Last night the Fightin' Texas Aggies beat #9 Nebraska. If you watched the game you saw this scene: Husker, Ben Cotton, drawing two consecutive 15 yard penalties after this pile up. The video clip gives a whole new understanding of that Cotton kicking Cornhusker.

I hear this kinda thing goes on all the time in football pile ups but I sure don't like to see it, least of all from the Aggies.

Onward to Thursday:

Gig 'em Aggies.

Saw varsity's horns off!

(Minus the butt pinching.)

friday fill-ins

1. Why doesn't everyone believe in quality health care for all Americans?

2. Sailing on a luxury yacht would be a great way to see the world.

3. Thank you for reading my blog.

4. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because we get to watch the Aggies beat the hell outta t.u.

5. I am SO grateful for the good health of my family.

6. We can only be as happy as we make up our minds to be.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to eating a big fat hamburger, tomorrow my plans include celebrating my anniversary with my husband and Sunday, I want to skip stones on my favorite spring fed river!

wisdom gained from a former president

Wisdom doesn't necessarily come with age.

Sometimes age just shows up all by itself. -Tom Wilson.

Most people complain about aging: the wrinkles, the gray hair, the aches, the pains. I, on the other hand, like to focus on all of the good things aging brings.

Wisdom, for example. Wisdom in the form of an ever expanding vocabulary. Not a week goes by that I don't add at least one new word to my tenuous grasp of the English language.

This week has been a good example. A bonus week, in fact, thanks to our 43rd President, George W. Bush.

Mr. Bush gave several interviews this week as promo for his new memoir, Decision Points. In the ABC Matt Lauer interview I listened to words spoken by the former President that I had never heard before. Words so cutting edge that I can't find them in the dictionary. Words so multi-syllabled and tongue-twistery that I can't pronounce them.

So help me readers, if you can. Let me share them with you and see if you comprehend the wisdom imparted by Mr. Bush.

In the Matt Lauer interview, speaking of the days following our nation's greatest civilian tragedy here's what Mr. Bush had to say:

"...it's hard for people to remember that right after 9/11 we were inyuandated (in-you-un-dated) with threats." (16:55)

And on election night 2000:

"It was an amazing night. A night in which I had been declared the loser. It turns out that the exit polls were wrong (and I) had been declared the winner, which created a sense of exhilieration (ex-hill-ee-or-ation)." (15:15)

In the Greta Van Susteren interview, speaking of the media's representation of his relationship with his dad, Mr. Bush said:

"...there's a lot of psycho-bible out there about how he and I compete..." (05:23)

In addition to vocabulary growth, another benefit of aging is the new clinical insights gained over the years from some of the most unexpected sources: Fox News, in this case.

Here's Bush with Van Susteren again, speaking on how sobriety changed the course of his life and how he hopes his sobriety will inspire others to quit drinking:

"I wouldn't be shitting here as a former president had I not quit drinking." (7:25)

I'm not sure how shitting during a televised interview provides inspiration to the drunks out there, exactly. It's my understanding that active alcoholics are more likely to shit themselves. But again, everyday is an opportunity to learn something new.

So I hope you can help me out, readers. Either way, cheers to the years!

time for another segment of let's ridicule riddle

She's at it again. Debbie Riddle, un-esteemed State Rep. (R) from Tomball, Texas, won't be shamed out of her relentless pursuit of anchor babies and terror babies in this here grand state. Apparently Texas can't let Arizona beat it at making racist headlines.

Intent on proving everything is not only bigger but also stupider in Texas, Riddle camped out all night at the Texas Capitol on Sunday so she could be first to pre-file her clone of Arizona's racial profiling immigration law for the upcoming legislative session.

In her words the bill, “gives law enforcement officers additional tools, if they have the reasonable suspicion that there is a violation of a law, to inquire into an individual’s immigration status.”

She is that serious because terror babies are that big of a threat, yawl.

I used to think it was really odd that the Texas legislature met only once every two years. With legislators like Riddle, I now think it's a godsend.

I had this same thought

but it took Steve Martin to come up with the song.

election hangover

Ok, American voters, if this is the way you want things to keep going, you might just get your way now that you've sent a Republican controlled congress back to Washington.

In our great country, the one that stands for equality, the bottom 80% (wage and salary owners) own only 7% of the financial wealth. The top 1 percent (upper class) own 43% of the wealth.

Another way of putting this, " ...just 10% of the people own the United States of America."

You can read more, here.

As for me, I'm taking two aspirin and will call you back in two years.

man up, glenn beck and cry some real tears now

If you were one of the seventeen million people who attended The Rally to Restore Sanity like I did, which is to say, in spirit, you will appreciate this re-cap in pictures:

If you haven't seen enough, you can see more pictures here.

Update: I originally spelled Glenn with only one "n." Which made me think, isn't spelling Glenn with two "n's" kind of gay?

friday fill-ins

1. While the cat's away the mice will go on kitchen strike.

2. Voto? fabuloso!

3. Children are the one thing that makes aging worthwhile.

4. I change into sweat pants when I get home from work or shopping or what have you.

5. This may seem odd, but I have not been in the mood to raid the Halloween candy.

6. Fridays are for sipping a cold one with friends and that seems like a fine idea to me!

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to a little alone time with my man, tomorrow my plans include walking in this beautiful fall weather and Sunday, I want to laugh over Halloween costumes!

motor ann, what's your price for flight?

I heard the song Sister Christian yesterday. By Night Ranger. It's a great song with a catchy tune, but the lyrics. WTF? If your memory sucks like mine, you might need to hit the play button on the video before you remember what song I'm even talking about.

For years and years I've been singing along to this song only to stop at the refrain and think ... what the flip is he saying? Motor head? Motor end? Put your motor in? Or a woman's name? Motor-Ann? Modo-enne?

Thanks to the powerful internets, I was able to google and finally find the answer. Isn't that one of the best forms of mental relief? The just out of reach memory itch that finally gets scratched?

Another one is Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb. My husband laughs at me every time the song comes on because with this song I was confident I knew the lyrics. Not a doubt in my mind. It wasn't until Sam set me straight that I realized I'd been wrong all these years. And I'm embarrassed to say it was only a couple years ago.

Here are the true lyrics:

Now I've got that feeling once again

I can't explain, you would not understand

This is not how I am

I have become comfortably numb

And here is what I was sure they were singing:

After come, comfortably numb

Yes, as a teenager this is what I assumed. And didn't bat an eye, either. Depraved adolescence much?

Here's the tune if you want to listen for yourself.

But the burning question is this: Was I the only one who thought Pink Floyd was come-fortably numb?

How about you, reader? What song lyrics do you remember bungling?

a dream and a determination

I just woke up from a bad dream. Or I guess you could call it a middle-aged-married-woman-with-three-kids version of a nightmare.

In this dream I was driving in an unfamilliar area out in the countryside looking for the house of friends. My husband was there waiting for me and we were meeting for dinner. I remembered his directions, "If you drive into the historic part of downtown, you've gone too far." (Never mind that winding country roads never lead to historic parts of downtown. Our mind's acceptance of dream unreality is a strange phenomenon.)

Sure enough, I approach the historic district with it's four story homes, six feet tall shuttered windows, wrapping front porches adorned with strands of tiny white lights. It's a restaurant district.

I become lost in this downtown area and try to wind my way out when I spot my husband's car. Strange, what is he doing here?

I park my car and wander into the restaurant in search of my errant husband. I find myself

standing on a 2nd story balcony, looking down just in time to see my husband who looks nothing like my current husband but like an amalgamation of my former boyfriend and the actor Edward Norton.

Yes, I have the hots for Edward Norton.

I see husband Norton dart across the landing below, smiling over his shoulder in a flirtatious manner, reaching for the hand of an equally firtatious blonde 20 years my junior and 60 pounds my lighter. Think Naomi Watts. And yes, I am a brunette who carries a natural resentment toward all blondes for all the fun I imagine them having.

Also pertinent, my relationship with the former boyfriend partially starring in my dream ended when he began a real life flirtation with a skinny-ass blonde to whom he introduced me nonchalantly one night as he was bartending and I instantly knew something was up. But that's a digression I will resist at the moment. The point is, there's meaningful emotional memory here and I'm staring at it from my balcony perch in a deja vu of disbelief.

The dream goes on to my finding Norton and Naomi in an even more compromising attitude, on a couch in some back room of the restaurant, with me confronting him/them (because Naomi will not take a hint and leave my dream) only to have him/them give me the equivalent of a shoulder shrug, as if to say, "So?"

And there's hardly a more crushing feeling than to have your shocked, broken hearted, cheated on indignation shrugged off as if it's no more of a biggie, than say, finding a small parking lot ding in the rear of your eight-year-old car.

And then the dream winds it's way to a point where I run away with plans to ignore him, in the vein of, I'll show him! But then I remind myself that this is exactly what husband Norton and Naomi would want. So I turn around and desperately hunt them down. I confront husband Norton a second time, a third time with my tears and my hysteria and my How Could You's, my How Could You Do This to Me? To Us? To US?!? only to find him, once again, looking at me quizzically, as if to say, What is your problem?

And to hear him ask what did I expect, after all I was a sour puss, was no fun, was a downer, was boring, never smiled. (The not smiling thing? Something I have heard all my life.) The only thing he didn't say was, And you're fat. But he didn't need to.

And then I see me turning away, finally. Defeated. Devestated. Resigned.

So this is how it's going to be. Divorced and alone at 50. Overweight, out of shape, and out of a steady sex partner and second income.

My head drops, I walk out into the misty night rain, skulking back to my car, heart heavy. I pass a single friend of mine from graduate school who is enjoying a girls night out, and say, "Don't be surprised if I start joining you." She looks at me with an uncomprehending expression but I don't stop to explain.

I wake up with the same sinking feeling I had many years ago, thinking, No man is trustworthy. No man cherishes the longterm intimacy and attachment that comes with years of companionship. No man can resist the younger, thinner, shapelier temptress.

And then I really wake up. I locate myself in my bedroom, under my sheets and my wedding ring quilt, listening to NPR's Steve Innskeep tell us Liberace's Museum is Closing Its Glittery Gates.

I then hear the comforting sounds of Sam getting our kids ready for school. I hear him shouting at our daughter, Don't tell ME to calm down. I tell YOU to calm down! And her usual refrain, Dad! You are SO MEAN!

I stumble out of bed and walk my bleary-eyed self into the kitchen. I nod my head sleepily as Sam tells me his version of the yelling.

All at once I feel better. I smile. And am determined to smile more often.

beating those kids who think they are so damn smart

I have just found Crystal Jackson's blog, Fight stupidization. Her recent post talks about Delaware Senate candidate Christine O'Donnell's campaign commercial.

You know the one: "I am not a witch. I am you."

Jackson rejects the notion that the Average Joe is the best man for the job. But it's a question worth asking: Why do (so many) voters find the Average Joe so appealing when it comes to electing them to high office? Even the office of presidency? When what we need in the White House or in the Senate is someone who is not just smart, but very smart. Someone who, as Jackson says, can "pay attention to intricate, ever-changing details."

Back when Shrub was elected, pundits and pollsters said many voted for him because they'd like to have a beer with him. I don't know about you, but I can think of a lot of people I like having beers with who would make very dangerous Presidents.

But as much as I hate to admit it, the right wing message crafters seem to have nailed it in their persistent way of manipulating the subset of the voting population that holds contempt for intelligence and fact wielders.

I often wonder if this doesn't stem from days in the classroom when deep resentment arose toward that kid who sat front and center, raised her hand for every question and knew the answer every.single.time.

Getting good grades is probably the single most cohesive goal of parents in any community, of any color, of all sides of the political spectrum. Kids who are average, or worse, find themselves semester after semester unable to distinguish themselves with high marks. Find themselves standing in front of disappointed, or worse, punishing and belittling parents. Who eventually trade in their humiliation for a major case of contempt.

So I often assume the appeal of the Average Joes and the Common Folk Christines is more about getting even with those know-it-all over-achievers. Letting the long-ago-but-never-forgotten feelings of inadequacy get the best of their voter sense. Finally taking aim and wielding some control over those kids who think they're so damn smart.

I don't know if this is at all close to what is going on. I just know that recent campaign trends depict the brilliant as suspect. Ivory tower as out of touch. Top of the class as contemptible.

And maybe because in the White House we've had on the Democrat side:

-Carter, top 10% of his class in the Naval Academy.

-Clinton, a Rhodes Scholar.

-Obama, Editor of the Harvard Law Review.

And on the Republican side:

-Reagan, an actor.

-Bush, a yell leader.

'Nuff said.

dress shopping at the mawl

One thing about motherhood that keeps it exciting: So often the way things play out is completely different from what I pictured.

The first expectation changer: Every moment with my newborn will be soft cuddles, sweet smiles and baby powder smells. You know, like those Johnson & Johnson commercials.

You too?

The latest expectation changer: Dress Shopping at the Mawl.

4I envisioned our first venture to be a joyful bonding experience.

4I thought my twelve year olds would be smiling at my side, happily rushing to show me their fashion picks. Not asking if I'd mind staying twenty feet behind them at all times.

4 I didn't think I'd have to worry about my kids wanting to make their purchases alone until they were driving.

4For their first school dance I pictured a cute little outfit like this:

Instead we are negotiating away from a hot little number like this:

4I thought they would be in high school for their first homecoming* dance. I didn't know college coeds would return home eager to visit their middle school.

Turns out there is one thing I predicted correctly: Sweating while I handed over this:

*Resisting the urge to step on soapbox and rant about the judgement of adults who organize these events and why do we want our kids to grow up so fast and are we really surprised at teen drug abuse because by the time they're in high school they've already done it all so what do they have to look forward to?