An unusually sentimental entry

I'm not all that sentimental.  I tend to see it as sappy.  But, it seems appropriate this week to be a little squishy, sticky,  sappy.

I found this link through a friend on Facebook.  What on earth would I do without Facebook?  I'd have no idea what's going on in the world.

Moments that restored our faith in humanity this year.


And I do hold the opinion that the majority of people are good.  I point out the fact that parents will help other parents in a crisis.  It's because we know what they're going through.  We know the feeling of being faced with the fullest, poop stuffed diaper we've ever encountered in a public bathroom and finding there are no wipes in the diaper bag.  Other parents will gladly hand over some wipes with the comment, "Oh, I have soooo been there.  You have a clean diaper?"

I've also noticed that when the Westboro Baptist Church demonstrates the coverage is not about the church members, it's about the counter-demonstrators who block the signs or the bikers who surround them to rev their big engines to drown out their shouts.  They don't turn and scream at the Phelps family, they just turn their backs and keep them hidden.  We know the Phelps family hates everyone and thinks everyone is going to Hell.  But the grieving who are going to the funeral of a fallen soldier don't need to see them.   They have the right to state their opinion.  The rest of us have the right to be offended and protect others from their vitriol.

Most people will do the right thing when faced with that choice.  A mom will stop to ask a crying child what's wrong.  (And a good way to handle a lost child it is to ask the child what their mom's name is.  Then start yelling "Ann!  Ann!  AAAAANNNNNNN!!!! I've got Cody!  He's over here!"  without asking the child to come with you, which they're not supposed to do.  Probably an hysterical woman will run up to squeeze the breath out the kid and thank you profusely.)  A man driving a Roto Rooter truck will pull over to help someone change a tire.  Did you know those Rooter guys give out their home numbers and tell customers to call them if they need any help with their plumbing.  Then they'll come help out for free.

There are all kinds of examples.

I'm trying to learn to be comfy with being optimistic and find the good in things.    It feels strange to me.

But these stories are helping.

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  A little sparkle on your face is festive and fun during the holidays.  Just don't over do it, unless you are Lady Gaga and then go for it!

There just isn't an answer, but there is some hope

I've been following the news about the Newtown shooting.  I am still devastated.  I cried again while President Obama read the names of the victims.  I cried when I first saw the list online because of all the ages listed as '6'.  I got two names in and had to stop.

I keep circling back to the thought:  What do you do with their presents?  What if they're already wrapped?  What about the ones that aren't wrapped?  What do you do with them?

I know everyone is horrified and angry and looking for the answer as to why this happened and what will keep it from happening again.

There is no clear answer.  The discussions are turning to gun control and how to treat mental illness, which is good.  Discussion is good.

However,  I've also seen things like this t-shirt showing up:

In the movie Jesus Camp one of the evangelical mothers says that prayer was taken out of schools and the schools are now falling apart.

If bringing prayer and worship into schools will prevent any more children being killed in their school I'm all for bringing it back.  If praying in school will increase the public school budget and bring our quality of education up to the level where it should be for the richest nation on the planet, I'll agree to let my children get down on their knees and bow down to whatever deity the committee decides is the right one.

Submersion baptism?  Sure.  Bring it on.  Daily communion?  Okay.  If THAT is the answer, let's do that right now.  I'll go get a glow in the dark Mary for my son's table.  My kids need a Bible for required daily reading?  Fine.

If bringing God into school will keep this from happening I'm all for it!

But it won't.

God is welcome everywhere in Afghanistan.

I know we all want a simple act, something we can do that will guarantee something like this won't happen again.  There isn't.  There isn't any one thing we can do.

It makes the tragedy that much more senseless because we can't do any one thing to keep it from happening again. 

I do want to point out, that the lock-down drill worked in exactly the way it was supposed to.  The classroom doors were locked, the blinds were pulled.  The teachers got the children into the safest place they could find.

In one case, a teacher got all 14 of her students into the little bathroom in her classroom.

The clerk working in the library found the main doors into the hallway wouldn't lock. She got the kids into the supply closet that locked.  She pushed file cabinets in front of the door before finding paper and crayons for the children.  She wouldn't open the doors until an officer pushed his badge under the door.

All the adults in the school, the custodian who ran down the hallway to warn the classrooms, the secretary in the office who kept answering her phone when teachers called from their classrooms to tell them there was a shooter in the school and lock down, the psychologist and principal who were killed as they ran at the shooter, all of them protected the children there.   None of them dove out the window and ran away in an attempt to save themselves.  They all put themselves between the children and the danger.

There is a Jewish belief I've mentioned before.  It is that if there are 13 righteous people on the planet, life can go on.  It doesn't have to be the same 13 people every day, but there have to be 13.  It can be the person who finds a disoriented elderly person and calls for help for them.  It can be a child who tells other kids to stop making fun of someone.  It can be these people who protected the students in their school.

In a way, it makes me feel better about being part of the human race.  There ARE people in the world who will do the right thing, even if it involves terror and the chance of being killed.  There ARE humans who will put themselves last to make sure someone else can be spared.

It give me hope.  

I'm still crying whenever I see the pictures of the children who died.  But I am finding comfort in the heroism that was shown on Friday.

I don't know what we need to do to stop something like this from happening again. 

And I don't know exactly what my point is here.  I'm upset and I need to type about it.

Crying......

I came home after being out for the late morning feeling good.  I'd completed my new hire paperwork for the baking job I've been hired for at a large, upscale grocery store.  I purchased a gift for my daughter to take to a birthday party tonight.    I'd also gotten the final supplies I needed to complete the handicrafts I need to finish so I can get them off in the mail.  Among my haul were also a copy of "Muppet Christmas Carol", probably my favorite holiday movie, and a roll of wrapping paper.

I was looking forward to working on the gifts I'm making and watching "It's a Wonderful Life."  I was planning on making cocoa for my kids when they got home.  It was really a very nice day I was having.

When I arrived I logged into Facebook, because that's what I do.  I saw all kinds of posts about a school shooting.  Oh no.  Oh no no no.  Not another one.

I got online to find out what happened.  According to MSN.com, a 20 year old man went to the elementary school where his mother taught kindergarten. He shot her.  He then shot over 20 children.

CHILDREN.  Children who had done nothing to him.  They hadn't caused his fucked up mental state.  They weren't hurting him.  All I can do is cry.

Cry about the senselessness of this.  Cry about the torment and hurt and anger that the parents of these children are going to be feeling.  I can't even begin to imagine what they are going through. What they must be enduring.  The worst thing that can possibly happen to a parent, losing a child.

Losing your child, I can't even think about it without coming close to a panic attack.  To send your child out into the big, wide world to a place they are supposed to be safe only to learn they have been killed by a crazy person who thought it would be a good idea to shoot children.

Then going home to look at the Christmas tree and see the ornaments they made, their stockings hanging on the mantle.  Going into their rooms and looking at their beds that will not be slept in again.  No more kissing them good night.  No more nagging them to brush their teeth or pick up their towels.  No more surprising them with a trip to McDonald's.  No watching them rush to the fireplace on Christmas morning to see what Santa left them.

The silence has to be deafening.

How can you shoot children?  What kind of monster walks into an elementary school with a gun?

Yes, I called him a monster because that's what he is.  A monster.

We can debate gun control until we're all screaming so loud our faces turn red and it won't bring one of these children back to their parents.  Coulda, shoulda, woulda, who expects someone to walk into a school with a big-ass gun and mow down little kids?

I tell my kids I love them every day.  I've told then I will always love them no matter what they do.  Even when they do something that makes me mad, I love them.

I'm not a perfect mom, but they know I love them and I will always love them no matter what.

I can only cry and hope that the parents will eventually be able to get out of bed and continue on with life.  There is no statement of condolence that will make them feel better.  Casseroles or baked goods can't possibly fix the wound that they've suffered.

I'm horrified and sad.

Horrified.

Whoa, I didn't know I even had that much stuff

My good friend Karla (her photo has been added to the Cast of Characters page) came over the other day to help me clean out my closet.  I thought we'd straighten things up, re-hang things that had fallen down and things like that.   Karla had a different plan.

"Pull everything out."  she told me.  I pulled out the stuff that was on the floor that needed to be hung up.

"Pull EVERYTHING out."  she repeated, emphasis on 'everything'.  I pulled it all out.  All the clothes, all the shoes, all the handbags, all the hats all the everything.  Some of you reading have seen my closet in person, some of you are imagining my closet, everyone is probably picturing the amount of things I pulled out in an accurate manner.

Then we started in on it.  She would hold something up, if I hesitated to say I wanted to keep it she put it in the donate pile.  The syllable 'uh' was followed by 'goodbye'.  She also found things which made her say it didn't look good on me and she wasn't going to let me keep it.

She looked at the sizes on things and expressed disbelief that I even owned something in that size, let alone wear the ginormous thing.  She held up a cardigan sweater.  I said I wanted it.

"Amanda, this is humongous."

"No, it's not.  Here, I'll show you."  I put it on.

"That's huge on you.  It's too big.  Take it off we're getting rid it."

"But....."

"Take that off!"  I took it off and put it in the donate pile.

Once we had the clothing gone through we started on my shoes.  I was better about my shoes.  I insisted that I keep the red flats with the little hole in the bottom because they're the only pair of red shoes I have.

Purses were next.  She thought I had too many pocketbooks.  I became offended.  Too many handbags!  There's no such thing as too many handbags!

All told, we filled four kitchen trash bags with clothing, shoes and one or two bags.

We scavenged around in the garage and found containers for my hats, purses and the craft supplies I had in there.  Now it's all lovely and clean.  I have a little, child size chair in there that I like to sit on when I need a cry.  I cry and hug my grandmother's coat.  It's dark and small and it makes me feel safe.

I'm sure that sounds silly and juvenile, but I like it.   Now that my closet only contains things that fit me and my friend tells me look good on me I can leave the house with a little more confidence.  Thanks Kiki!

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  Wash your hair every other day to prevent it from drying out.  You can use Suave dry shampoo if you have oily hair to control the grease.

How I voted and why.....

I voted on Tuesday.  I could go into my whole diatribe about why it's so important for women to vote based on the incredibly brave actions of the suffragettes who got us the right to cast a ballot, but that's another essay.

Everyone who knows me won't be surprised that I voted for Obama.  I do have the opinion that he's a politician, one who is able to play politics in a remarkable way.  He nominated an Hispanic woman to the supreme court.  Go ahead and side against her, you'll be a misogynist AND a racist.  Go on, I dare you!  I dare you!  Next up, a Jewish woman!  Want to be a misogynist AND and anti-Semite?  Go ahead, I dare you!  I double dog dare you!

The GOP ran Mitt Romeny on the 'I'm not him!' platform.  He was obviously courting the 1%, essentially promising he wouldn't raise their taxes and they could keep as much of their money as possible.  However, what turned me against him, what offended me was when he tossed out the $10,000 bet to Rick Perry.

Mr. Romney showed his true colors.  He flung out that number like it was a dollar.  There was probably a change that between him and his wife they could pull that cash together from his pocket and her pocketbook.

$10,000 is a lot of money.  That kind of cash could keep a family from being foreclosed on.  What about a couple who have only one car?  That would buy them a second car, allowing one of them to expand their job search to include areas not on the bus line.  $10,000 would put double paned windows in my house, dropping my energy bill, giving us more discretionary cash to spend and help boost the economy.

Someone who is able to say 'I bet you $10,000.' the way most people would say 'I bet you a buck!' has no way of relating to the middle class and the issues we're facing.  It makes him even farther away from the 47% he holds in such contempt.

There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what.  All right, there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it — that that’s an entitlement. And the government should give it to them. And they will vote for this president no matter what. … These are people who pay no income tax. … [M]y job is not to worry about those people. I’ll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives.”

This tells me that he's not going to worry about me.  He doesn't care that we pay our mortgage and our taxes.  That we take care of our children, sending them to the woefully underfunded public schools where their teachers make heroic strides to give my kids the best education they can give them.   We work with the income we have, being as frugal as we can be.  We buy a lot of our clothing second hand.  We do without and budget so we can give our daughter harp lessons, something she loves and is making her a more confident individual. Me and my family who try to be good people, good neighbors, good parents.  We were summarily dismissed to a group of people in Orange County, California.

He dismissed my parents.  My father who dedicated 35 years to teaching continuation high school students math and tutored at the local community college.  My parents who have managed their money very wisely.  My parents who also pay their bills and their taxes, brushed away.

Is Obama a politician?  Oh yeah.  But there was no way I was going to vote to have my country run by a man who stated publicly he's not going to worry about me.

Perhaps this makes me petty, if so, petty I be.

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  Mayo is still a great deep conditioning treatment.  Work it in, cover it up with plastic wrap.  Cover the plastic wrap with a towel and let it sit for a while.  Then wash it out and use your fave conditioner.  Soft!

What is it about this stuff? Our heroine contemplates food.

“General Galliffet, our host for the evening, explained that this woman, this head chef, had the ability to transform a diner into a kind of love affair. A love affair that made no distinction between bodily appetite and spiritual appetite. General Galliffet said that in the past he'd fought a duel for the love of a beautiful woman. But now there was no woman in Paris for whom he'd shed his blood except for this chef. “ Babette's Feast 1987

I love that quote. I love it because I totally agree that a love affair exists between humans and their sustenance. Think about it a second. Food is able to stir up memories, cause an emotional response, dictate what kind of experience we'll have during that meal as well as afterwards.

A very good meal will make a person fulfilled and satisfied, moaning in satisfaction when they get up. The first bite of something delicious will pull your eyeballs back into your head and your mouth expel the sound of “Mmmmmmmmm......” usually followed by “Oh my god, you have to try this.”

Pilgrimages are made to favorite eateries when one goes back to their hometown or a favorite town. There are various things that were given to you when you were sick, be it chamomile tea or chicken soup or hot jello. Certain dishes that were brought out as a huge treat on birthdays and holidays. How many cold days have people spent outside longing for a cup of cocoa? Fantasizing the entire day of huddling under a blanket in front of the fire hugging a mug of hot milk with chocolate.

Here's a question for you: How do you feel when you go out and the food's bad? The atmosphere can be kinda crappy but if the food's good you put up with it. If the food is bad, even the most gorgeous of rooms will fade out as your brain focuses totally on the horror going on in your mouth.

Even if it tastes good when you eat it, what if you end up getting sick with heartburn? That will mess up your eating memories too.

The Husband once pointed out to me that when my family visits a destination, we talk about the food. While we are at our destination, we talk about food while we're eating food.

He uses the following evidence to back up his claim: He and I were first married and went to Seattle to visit my aunt and uncle who were living there at the time.

The next day, while we were having breakfast, we discussed where we were going to have lunch. Our activities for the day were planned around where we'd be having our midday meal.

While we were having lunch we conversed about dinner. After lunch we'd hit Pike's Market for the ingredients we needed to cook dinner, then went back to Carl and Carolyn's house and cooked.

While we were eating that dinner we talked about what we were going to do for breakfast.

This went on for four days.

He doesn't like to get into the complexities of Thanksgiving and how many trips to the store were made.

When I have conversations with people about holidays or family traditions, the memories always turn to food. How did they prepare the turkey? Did they have homemade cranberry relish or did they have the cranberry log from Ocean-Spray. (Just an aside, the Ocean-Spray company calls it a cranberry log. They once changed the structure of the can so that there were no ridges, it was just smooth. People complained. They wanted their canned cranberry jelly to look like the can. And, I have to add, that the canned cranberry log was easy to slice for the purposes of putting on a turkey sandwich. ) Jokes and stories are told about the foods that were served, how they were served, who made them, who liked them, who made a face when it was put on their plate.

How is it that an inanimate, one that we consume even, has this amazing power over our psyche?

There is a scene in the Pixar film Ratatouille when the restaurant reviewer, known for his unforgiving harshness, takes a bite of ratatouille and is instantly yanked back into childhood when his mother would serve him the same dish in their home in the country. He is so overcome with the emotion of this memory he drops his pen and can only sit in awed silence.

(I happen to have the opinion that if you can remind people of the food their mother cooked, you'll win them over.)

I once asked my cousins what they did for Christmas Eve. They lived in Colorado while I was raised in California. My uncle and aunt both worked for their church, so their winter holiday was taken up with church functions. The first thing they said was that they made clam chowder. My cousin told me a story about trying to make clam chowder for her friends when she lived in Japan. She got the translation for 'cream' wrong and ended up with sweetened condensed milk.

On Christmas Day, my mom would make cinnamon toast on thick white bread with brown sugar that would caramelize under the broiler. One year mama got distracted watching us open presents and forgot the toast. She tossed it out in the yard and we had bare patches in the grass where the charcoal toast had killed it off.

There is a news clip of a woman having an In-n-Out burger at the freshly opened restaurant in Dallas. She'd camped out to have a double-double. When she took the first bite, she burst into tears. Why? It tasted like home. Not just home, but Home. The capital aitch Home.

When Gordon Ramsey was asked what he would choose for his last meal, he said his mum's mac and cheese. Not her recipe, her's. This distinction has to be made because no two dishes are ever the same twice.

Our dear friend Eileen once made us the Nescafe with milk and sugar she drank when she was growing up in Columbia. As she handed us our mugs she said “This tastes of my childhood.”

Me? I remember my mom making fried egg sandwiches whenever we were in the midst of a family tragedy. A fried egg on an onion roll with mayonnaise. Good for what ails you.

Even religion includes food in worship. Communion, passover seder, the wiccan simple feast, the breaking of the fast in the evening during Ramadan, all rituals surrounding food. That which sustains our bodies can also sustain our spirit. Many pagan ceremonies were about celebrating the bounty of food. That that had just been harvested and that which they hoped would be grown in the coming months. The Mayans made sacrifices to the Gods that gave them not only the sun, but their food.

Formal tea parties, fancy dinners, lunch at Mickie D's or sitting down with the fam all have their rituals, the order of operations, the rites to be completed. Set the table, get your food on your plate, give thanks, keep your elbows off the table, use your napkin, don't gulp your milk that sounds disgusting. Breakfast eaten with the newspaper propped against the cereal box, coffee close by. Ben and Jerry's eaten directly from the carton watching a chick flick or a horror movie and stewing about the unfairness of life. All rituals, all part of each person's experience on this merry-go-round made of dirt.

After giving birth to both my children and after my surgery last year what I wanted after I got out of the hospital was taco salad, like we had when I was a kid. Lettuce, cooked ground beef, cheese, crushed tortilla chips and thousand island dressing. Good for my body?

Nope. But it nourishes my soul.

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  It's said to be a myth, but your skin really will look better if you drink plenty of water.  

And this sucks in a huge way

As I've said, we have two dogs, Gibson and Peavey.

Gibson was adopted from a great organization called Austin Pets Alive which rescues dogs from the local animal shelter that have not been adopted.  We're his third family.  He's been a part of our family for three years.

Now, the part that sucks.   He snaps.  He growls.  He's bitten one person already.  Lately, he's been starting fights with Peavey, scary ones that draw blood on both sides. We can't take him to the dog park because he displays alpha dog behavior on the other dogs.

We've had to do some very serious thinking about whether it's safe to have him in the house anymore. We have kids and Gibson has snapped at our son for no good reason.  He wasn't poking at the dog or sitting on him or hurting him.  Gibson just decided he didn't want Will near him and *snap*.

This is awful.  We told APA that we didn't have any room in our home for a dog that bites.  And he's going to bite.  All the signs are there of his behavior that is called "dominant aggression", meaning he wants to secure his place in the pack as the top.

There are trainers out there but the $550-1000 price tag just isn't within our means.  I've talked to our vet.  I've talked to our friend who has a degree in animal behavior.  We've talked to each other. We've done a ton of research and the odds of changing his behavior without intensive training aren't good.  Even then, he could revert at any time.

We've made the very, very difficult decision that it's just not safe or responsible for us to have him in the house anymore.  (I'm crying right now) We're currently trying to either find another home for him without kids or dogs in the Austin area or an organization that would take him for adoption.

I'm sick about this.  I had to tell my children that one of our family will have to go live somewhere else because he's going to hurt someone some day.  He's going to really hurt our other dog, who shows obvious fear of Gibson.

If you know of anyone who might be willing to take him, let me know.  I'm going to hug my poor doggie and hope for the best.