Not My Father's Son by Alan Cumming

The very charming and delightful Alan Cumming wrote a heart-felt, honest memoir detailing the parallels of his own life and the life of his maternal grandfather as he - during the filming of a BBC television series called Who Do You Think You Are - unraveled the mysteries surrounding his grandfather's death.  And while Mr. Cumming melted down while telling his story, I melted down with him as I discovered my own parallels. 
It is difficult to turn horrific memories and brutal - truly brutal - honesties into a story people would want to read.  To turn your pain into something beautiful.  To turn raw emotion into beautiful art.
It is difficult.
This was a very sad story and my heart went out to Alan Cumming.  And to a little girl I used to know. 
Not My Father's Son will leave you feeling somber, to say the least, but I would still recommend reading it as Cumming is such an alluring character and his honesty, while raw and painful, is refreshing and delightful.  There are times when I feel I am too vague about my own suffering and because of that I am appreciative of those who can take their pain and turn it into something positive.
Alan Cumming remains a favorite for me .... and I wish I could give him a hug.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

I was listening to Christmas music in the car and felt all warm inside as the oh-so-familiar voice of John Denver filled my car with fond memories.  It made me happy!  It took me back to my childhood Christmases.  But who is that singing with him?  I know that voice, too.  Who is that?!?!
I love Christmas music.  All of it!  It actually makes me feel sad when people say they hate Christmas music.  How can you say that? Hate is such a strong word and "Christmas music" is such a broad topic ... it just makes no sense to me for someone to say they hate it all.  I mean, really, the only person I would expect to say that is Bob Humbug.  Or the Grinch. Seriously.
I love it all.  I love the oldies and the new stuff.  The serious and the silly.  I love Nat and Bing and Andy Williams.  I love how Dean Martin sounds more than a little tipsy (and a bit like a leprechaun) when he sings about Rudy the Red Nosed Reindeer.  I even love to dislike poor little not-so-naughty Eartha who got nothing for Christmas because she wouldn't put out. 
I just need to figure out who is singing with John Denver .... ?
I love it when they take me to church.  I'll drive down every gravel road in the tri-state area trying to sing Silent Night like Stevie Nicks.  When Whitney wants to know if I hear what she hears .... I hear it, girl, I hear it.  When Mariah Carey tells me to fall on my knees, I truly feel compelled to do so.  And when Rod and Mary J. start crooning about the three kings, Lawd, I'll raise my hands right up to Heaven whenever I hear that beauty.  Which may not be a good thing since I usually hear it while I'm driving.
But who is singing with John Denver?
I love the silly songs, the meaningful songs, I even love the slightly disturbing songs ... "Say?  What's in this drink?"  I love that they make me laugh, and cry, and smile. Sometimes I feel pangs of nostalgia.  Whenever I hear "It's Christmastime in the City" I remember the Christmases I spent in Madrid where a local shop owner tried to convince me that in Spain, there is no Santa Claus.  What?!  He said, "No.  In Spain it is really the Dad."  When I hear Aspenglow I always think of snowy car rides getting to and from "Christmas" in South Dakota.  And no matter who sings The Little Drummer Boy, I remember moving the needle on an old record over and over until I knew all the words by heart.
I don't care if they sing about Santa, or the Little Baby Jesus, or presents or snow or lights or shoes or teeth .... I love them all. 
I just need to know who is singing with John Denver!!!
Wait!!!
I totally know that voice.
I know it!!
It's Kermit the Frog!!!

Sadness

My Kind of Prozac

Oodles and Oodles

Forty some odd years ago I made up a song about mayonnaise.  It was a Broadway worthy production complete with huge arm gestures and some fancy footwork. 
"Oodles and oodles and oodles and oodles of maaaaayyyyyy ohhhhhh nnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyzzzzzzze!"  Perhaps a little growl in my voice and a tip of the hat.
Lucky for you, I can't sing it right now.  But I do sing it each and every time I make a sandwich. 

For forty years.
 
Not always the fully choreographed version, but I do sing it whenever I make something calling for maaaaaaaaaayyyy ohhhhhhhh nnnnaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyzzzzzzzze.
And now, thanks to Weird Al Yankovic, I have to wrap those sandwiches in aluminum foil. And I cannot wrap a sandwich in aluminum foil without singing it exactly like Lorde sings her hit "Royals".
Every single day of my life ..... every single meal that I pack ..... each bite that I take on a park bench or at my desk ..... is an absolute theatrical masterpiece by The Voices in My Head featuring Hellmann's and Reynolds Wrap.

Thank you, thank you very much!

Proud to be an American

I just saw Lee Greenwood at Target!  Well, I actually don't think it was Lee Greenwood.  I think it was just some guy who looks like Lee Greenwood.  And I would know because I've met Lee Greenwood.  Yup!  It was in Spain in the mid-eighties when he was touring with a USO show. 
I was stationed at Torrejon AB Spain and my office was in the same building as the office where people got identification passes and badges.  Both offices were on the second floor of an old two-story building. 
Now, those of you who have served in the military know that sometimes the higher ups have you do crazy things for no apparent reason.  Some things that, strangely, can only be done under the cover of night.  We've all had to perfect our landscaping skills, trash collecting skills, painting skills - we even had to paint a parking lot once.  No, we didn't paint a gravel parking lot with asphalt colored paint.  We painted lines on the lot with beautiful red, white and gold paint.  Paint that made some awesome, reflective artwork on my old black cowboy boots, by the way! 
Once, while stationed in Wyoming, I was rousted from my bed, stuck on a bus and transported out into the middle of nowhere to scoop slush away from the entries of several missile sites.  Now, I grew up in South Dakota and I certainly remember shoveling snow in the light of day so I am not sure why this mission was any different, but I ended up having a decent boxed lunch and a pretty good time with my fellow inmates, I mean Airmen.
There was a time back in Spain when I had to guard the front gate of the base with my .... presence.  I'm sure all buck-o-five of my 1986 self was quite threatening, too!  As an American, I wasn't allowed to carry a weapon since it was actually a Spanish base so I just had to stand there.  I tried talking to the dog, but he didn't seem to understand me.  I was not sure if it was because my Spanish was so bad or because he was a German shepherd (the only things I can say in German are not meant for the innocent ears of dogs), but we didn't really connect the way I would have liked.  I did learn the phrase: No Poner Los Pies En La Pared.  Good stuff.  I'm forever putting my feet on the wall and I had no idea it was such a problem.
At one point I had to escort a female prisoner to chow for a few weeks.  She threatened to run and I promised to shoot (I was allowed a gun for lunch, just not at the front gate).   As a Personnel Specialist, I'm surprised I got this gig, but it was pretty fun.
So, on the night before I met Lee Greenwood, I had been dragged from my slumber and placed in a ditch somewhere for some reason (I'd like to say it was raining but that might just be The Voices in My Head wanting to embellish the story).  I don't remember actually digging or burying or ... well, I just can't talk about it, but I wasn't happy, that's for sure.  As the sun came up, I was dropped back in front of my office building so I could check in before returning to bed.  I was tired and muddy and wet.  And miserable, don't forget miserable.
I checked in with my office and was just approaching the stairs to go down and out the front door when  I heard someone say, "Lee Greenwood is in the building!", and he was, in fact, just approaching the stairs to go up and to the identification office.  I know this because when I heard someone say, "Lee Greenwood is in the building!", I responded over my shoulder with, "Oh yeah?  Well if he's so proud to be an American, why didn't I see his ass out in that ditch last night?!"  (There may have been an F-bomb before the word "proud".)
I turned my head back around and said with a nod, "Oh, good morning Mr. Greenwood."
Needless to say, when I saw him at Target just now, I kept my mouth shut.  Older and wiser, I am.  Older and wiser.

Concession

 

Sometimes when I have a lot on my mind or am extremely busy, busy, busy,  my brain will play a little trick on me by taking me away from all that is in front of me and giving me something more fun and creative to think about.  Yesterday, while trying to do a hundred preparatory things before a visit from my boss, I remembered a seven sentence story I wrote in high school:





Laura sat neatly on the very edge of Mr.Tiller's shabby green sofa.  She watched in silence as he poured a few crunchy nuggets into an old blue dish.
"I just love to watch him play in the yard", he said with a nostalgic smile on his face.
Laura followed the old man's gaze to the back door but there was no yard, only the brick wall of a building next door and some trash blowing in a light summer breeze.  She looked back at him, questioningly.
"I know", he said sadly and placed the dish on a faded placemat on the floor.  "Bojangles", he called, "Dinner!"

Bubbles!

Diary of a Stage Mother's Daughter by Melissa Francis

 

This book was a gift.  I know why it was chosen for me, but sadly, I didn't like it.  It was not particularly well-written.  In fact, I actually found it extremely emotionless.  I am sure Melissa Francis is a lovely person, but it didn't come through in her writing. It left me feeling sad and cold.  After weeding through a lot of typos, name-dropping and, frankly, boring accounts of her life as a child actor, I wasn't able to relate to the author at all.  I, too, was raised by a toxic mother.  I fully understand what this does to a child.  It's heartbreaking and tragic.  My heart goes out to Melissa and her sister, believe me.  But she simply doesn't paint a very pretty picture of herself and I don't even think she gets that.  While reading, I got the impression that she believes she was "the good one" and that she handled everything the best way she possibly could, but to me, she came off as rather uncaring.  I felt that she chose, on certain occasions, to NOT do the right thing because it would have been the more difficult choice.  Make no mistake, I am not blaming the author for two deaths discussed in the book, but I am shocked she didn't do more to try to prevent them.  I totally get wanting to remove yourself from a situation.  Absolutely.  But if my sister needed me, nothing (NOTHING) could keep me from her.  I am glad Ms. Francis got her happy ending and her husband and sons seem like such a blessing to her.  But I still feel sad.


 

Super Heroes

You know what I like?  I like when little boys go out to the mall wearing super hero capes.  I'm not talking about a store bought remnant of last year's Halloween costume. I'm talking about a ratty old towel or perhaps a table cloth with some strings he convinced Gramma to attach.  Because those capes truly hold the super powers!  I like when little girls wear tutus for no reason.  Ideally, tutus paired with big rubber boots and some messy, original hair dos!  If she has glasses .... even better!  I like little kids who jam out to Muzak!  I like when babies' feet start tapping to the beat and toddlers have full on rock concerts with the cool kid in the mirror.  I like kids who don't seem to mind if everyone stares.  I like skinned knees and ice cream stains on the fronts of shirts.  I like to hear kids laughing.  You know, the throw-your-head-back guttural kinds of laughter!

I like when kids ask questions. 

Yeah, that's what I like.

My Gang

Prozac's Amazing Eyes

Pizza Boy

Puzzle's I-Want-to-Play Stare!

Wishful Thinking

People who know me are rarely surprised to find out that I believed in Santa Claus until I was, I don't know, seventeen, perhaps.  What they may not know, however, is that I also believed in Wishful Thinking.
Wishful Thinking was a glittery little fairy who hung out on my pillow at night taking dictation of my deepest desires and whimsical fantasies.  She would relay this information to the proper recipient .... God, Santa, Cher .... whoever needed to know, Wishful Thinking gave them the message.  I trusted her with all my important information.
I did not write a lot of letters directly to Santa because I did not, on the other hand, trust my mother.  Not because I thought she was Santa, but because I knew she would read my very detailed letters and make fun of me.  And I doubted she would even mail them if I did actually put pen to paper.  If we couldn't afford a Band-Aid, I doubted we could afford a stamp.  If I ever did write a letter, it was a phony.  Yeah, right.  I want a dolly.  Sure, Santa, bring me that.  Wishful Thinking had the real list!
I cannot fully explain the disconnect, however.  Wishful Thinking had the list along with supporting evidence but Santa never did bring me what I wanted.
I don't blame Wishful Thinking, though.  I mean, I know she's a dingbat.  People can't even say her name without rolling their eyes, "Oh, that's just Wishful Thinking!"  They say it all sarcastic like the Tin Man to the Scarecrow, "Oh, that's you all over!"
Wishful Thinking!  You really gotta roll your eyes right up to Heaven when you say it.
But I still trust her.  It's not her fault stupid, fake Santa wouldn't listen!

Christmas Vacation

In December of 1989, I was broke.  Broker than broke.  I was working at NutriSystem and living, literally, on prepackaged diet food.  This made for a svelte figure and a lot of canker sores, but I was too penniless to enjoy those benefits. Occasionally, my roommate and I would happen upon a coupon for Taco John's.  Two Taco Bravos for $1.29.  We would dig through pockets, sofa cushions .... gutters ..... until we had enough to get the Taco Bravos.  Those were the best days!
One cold evening, my roommie got his hands on a couple of free movie passes.  He invited me to join him and his buddies and I was thrilled to accept!!
We saw National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.  I had never seen the other Vacation movies and had absolutely no idea what to expect.  And it was awesome!!
I have never laughed so hard in my whole life.  I think I desperately needed to laugh and was craving it so deeply.  This movie was custom made for me!  I believe it!  They say laughter is the best medicine and I completely agree!
I guffawed at the increasingly insane situations Clark encountered and teared with him as he remembered Christmases Past.  I fully understood his intense desire to create the perfect Christmas for his family and sympathized that it never turned out quite right for him.
I know every line in the film.  I adore every character.  I watch it at least once every year and enjoy it just as much each and every time.  For me, it brings back memories of when this movie was the greatest gift a skinny little broke girl could have ever received.  The gift of A Griswold Family Christmas.
The gift of laughter.

Elf on the Shelf

For the past couple of years, I've been seeing this little Elf on the Shelf turning up in folks' homes.  I mean, I'm not in their homes, but I see the pictures they post on Facebook and that's almost the same thing.  The funny thing is that I had that elf when I was little!  And, unbelievably, I have photographic evidence for once!!  See him in the upper left corner?  Perched on our contact papered faux mantlepiece?  My elf had horse hair and wires sticking out of his appendages and a Becca-induced bobble head, but he was always there.  Every Christmas for as long as I can remember.  I liked him.  He didn't hide all over our house.  He just came out during the holidays to play with me and sometimes scratch or cut me.  I didn't mind, though.  It was Christmas and it's all good at Christmas!

Snow P

Pretty Puzzle

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Dish by Jeannette Walls

                                                                                                                                                                                    Because I loved The Glass Castle, Half Broke Horses and even The Silver Star by Jeannette Walls, I decided to order her first book, "Dish: The Inside Story on the World of Gossip".  I didn't know anything about the book beyond the author, and due to my new-found addiction to Advil PM, it took me an embarrassingly long time to read it.  But I really did enjoy it very much!This book digs into the subject of gossip, tabloids, and legitimate journalism and the crossing of lines within their worlds.  This book was well-researched and well-written.  I was intrigued and interested throughout the many many weeks it took me to read it!  While I thoroughly enjoy this author's sense of humor and ability to take me away and to find the humor and beauty in the most tragic of situations, I also thoroughly enjoyed this piece of non-fiction.  I have always been torn with my own feelings about celebrities and gossip.  I am annoyed and intrigued simultaneously.  With this book, I was able to feed that tabloid-hungry side of myself while also feeding the side of me that needs to learn and investigate. 

Pizza!

It's In The Trees

THREE!!

It's the third anniversary of Puzzle's Homecoming!  Three years ago we brought home a little scaredy dog who spent most of her time in hiding.  Today she is the boss of our whole family .... and we wouldn't have it any other way!  So happy she found her forever home with us!!
My beautiful happy girl!!

My Beautiful Babies

Foxy!

Sydney in Summer

Maybe We'll Have You Back by Fred Stoller

Sometimes I worry about myself.  I worry too much, for one thing.  I am also plagued with more anxieties and quirks than I can count on all my fingers and toes.  It's not like I don't want to be normal.  I most certainly do.  I never asked the good Lord to make me so weird.  My conversations with LBJ have more to do with me asking Him to please make Santa listen to me than me asking Him to make me a little left of center.
And then I read books like this and I think I may actually be halfway normal, after all!
I think Fred Stoller is funny.  Without even planning it, I believe I have seen every bit of his twenty years' experience on television.  I no longer believe he is acting, however.  I think he is just showing up and saying the appropriate lines.  They just sound funny because he is such a strange person.
"Maybe We'll Have You Back" is a series of essays written by Fred Stoller about his life as a perennial guest star.  I am actually impressed by his career, however the stories were a bit matter-of-fact for my taste.  I think I would have enjoyed them more if Fred had actually read them to me.  I liked reading about his experiences with auditioning, the stars he worked with, and the sets of the various shows.  I liked hearing about his anxieties and quirks, as well.  I just wish the book had been a tad more funny.  I mean, I'm a person who can make herself laugh out loud while commuting alone on a crowded train, so I don't honestly think my expectations are out of line.
It's okay, though.  I still like Fred.

Five Finger Death Hug

I had the opportunity to see Rob Zombie last night, for free, so I seized it!  I love Rob Zombie and he put on a great show!  However, the real rush came from heavy metal rockers Five Finger Death Punch. 
Front man, Ivan Moody, asked the audience to raise their hands if they are currently serving or have ever served in the armed forces.  I raised my hand. 
"Keep 'em up!", he said!
Then he encouraged the rest of the audience to shake those raised hands.  A line of young metal heads lined up ... to hug me!!  They all wrapped their tattooed little arms around me and thanked me for my service!
I cannot explain how moved I was!  Tears filled my eyes and an incredible warmth filled my heart.
So, thank you Ivan!  And thank you to all who have served this great country ~ you are deeply appreciated!

The Silver Star

Jeannette Walls quickly won a place in my heart with The Glass Castle and secured it with Half Broke Horses.  When I unexpectedly saw her latest book while shopping for something else, I grabbed it for a trip I was taking.  I didn't read the book jacket, in fact, I took it off when I threw the book in my travel bag and never looked at it again.
The Silver Star is fiction, but it begins much like the previous books, a biography and autobiography.  The author has a delightful way of taking me back.  Sometimes she takes me back to a place I don't believe I would ever want to revisit, but she does it with humor and tenderness.  She makes me feel like I have a story of my own.
While this book isn't brilliant, in my opinion, I loved it for it various reasons.  Sometimes when you are going back in time and connecting with a fictional version of yourself it may just be a simple little story that you need.  I think a 12-year-old me would have adored this book.  I like that a much older me can appreciate that.
This story is written through the eyes of little Bean who is twelve years old and wants nothing more than to enjoy normalcy in her very abnormal world.  She wants happiness for herself and the people around her.  She wants justice and correctness. 
If the story lines are thin .... so what?  For a few hours on a couple of planes, I was 12 again.  Everyday was a barefoot adventure.  For a few hours, I was able to chuckle out loud, weep openly, skin my knees a little bit, and remember with a touch of fondness a time I thought I didn't want to remember.