sometimes......

Observations, no matter how nicely stated, still come across as criticism.

You leave the house and you just know it is going to be a rough day.

It just might actually kill you to smile.

You feel like a freak for no discernible reason at all.

White noise is actually really loud.

Nothing is better than a warm chocolate chip cookie and a glass of milk.

You wonder just what on earth you have gotten yourself into.

Sometimes, all these things are true.

collection of random observations

My mother is amazing. Every year my parents host Thanksgiving and every year, mainly because of her hard work, the meal is a roaring success. This year was a small Thanksgiving for us, only thirteen people, but we had enough food for twenty-four. My sister has already nominated me to take over the actual turkey and gravy preparation when the time comes when Mom flat out refuses to do it. I find this an intimidating prospect.

Family traditions are funny things. Sometimes something becomes a tradition without anyone meaning for it to become one. Like, my cousins and I always watched Clue over the Thanksgiving holiday when we lived in Virginia. That "tradition" was one that ran its course though. Not having Thanksgiving with my cousins because they live too far away now on the other hand, that is a much more bitter pill to take.

Speaking of bitter, why is it that so many of the things that are good for you taste so nasty? I'm talking green vegetables here people! Sure you can make them palatable by pouring dressing or butter or cheese on them but doesn't that defeat the purpose?

I wish I didn't have such a sweet tooth. I've been working on limiting it, but with the Kingdom of Sweets (aka Christmas) looming on the horizon it's hard to do. I need to work on selecting the best thing. Much better to get those fat and sugar grams from something truly worth while than a bunch of middling desserts.

I was really hoping to go and see a live performance of The Nutcracker this holiday season, but time got away from me. Apparently the tickets have been on sale since August and other commitments have gobbled up the month. I guess I will have to get my fix by popping in my trusty video of American Ballet Theatre's production with Mikhail Barishnikov.

I really wish I could speak Russian.

Russian tea is one of my absolute favorite beverages in the whole world. I can't wait for it to get cold enough to make some. Maybe I can convince my mother to make some. She is really the only one who has a pot big enough. It makes the whole house smell of Christmas when it is simmering.

Is it just me or have they started airing the classic Christmas specials really early this year? Already A Christmas Story, A Charlie Brown Christmas and How the Grinch Stole Christmas have aired. What gives? It isn't even December. Show those programs when they aren't competing with first run t.v. episodes! What with the strike and all it will only be another week before they've all aired. If all the good Christmas shows have aired too then we will be in a vast wasteland of television programming. Or course, it could be argued that we already are in one, what with all of the reality t.v. and all.

One reality t.v. program that I really enjoy is Project Runway. The best thing about it is that the contestants actually have to do something that requires skill, not just a cast iron stomach and a weak gag reflex. However, sometimes the judges say things that really annoy me. Well, more precisely, Michael Kors says things that annoy me. Honestly, he is the most inconsistent man. If you criticize one designer for something, don't praise the exact same thing in someone else's work. Duh.

Tail-gaters also annoy me. As do drivers who come to a complete stop when making a right hand turn (when there isn't a stop sign or stop light).

Stoplights remind me of that song lyric in Silver Bells "even stoplights blink of bright red and green." They sort of are in perpetual Christmas mode.

Doing Christmas cards for your co-workers is a lot like doing Valentines at school was. Maybe you don't want to give one to everyone, but you feel like you should. Sigh.

A Long Line of Sass

It occurred to me that I frequently mention that if you spent time with my family you would understand me more completely, but I also realize that this is not necessarily a feasible thing for everyone. So, in keeping with my whole November=family thing started yesterday with my book review, I thought I would share some information about my family. But where to begin?

I come by many of my personality characteristics quite honestly. The competitiveness, the smart-ass wit, the stubbornness, the sweet tooth, the dramatic flair, the slightly skewed sense of humor, the independent thinking, and yes, the temper, have all been thoroughly documented on both sides of my family tree. In both the men and the women. (Really, there was no hope at all for me to be a sweet, demure little thing). But it is the women I'm going to talk about today.

The first recorded example of the long line of sassy women is with Eleanor of Aquitaine. I know that it is very popular to claim royal connections, and it is quite possible that I am not descended from her, but as it cannot also be disproved I'm going with it. Eleanor of Aquitaine was a formidable woman who went on Crusade, was highly educated, managed to get her first marriage to the King of France annulled, remarried a man eleven years her junior, became queen of England, owned more of France than the king did, and gave birth to ten children, two of which became kings of England.

Moving right along to her great-granddaughter, Joan of Acre. Joan of Acre was the daughter of Edward I and was married twice, the second time in defiance of her father's wishes, and to a man not of noble rank. Considering that Edward I's nickname was the Hammer of the Scots I would say that was pretty nervy. But what do you expect of a child born while her parents were both on Crusade in Palestine? Supposedly I am descended from a child from each of her marriages. Best not to dwell on that too much.

Of more concrete proof is my descent on my mother's side from Priscilla Mullins, the wife of John Alden. Both John and Priscilla arrived in New England on the Mayflower, and after the first winter both of Priscilla's parents and her brother were dead. Young, alone and in a very foreign country, Priscilla withstood it all. And when John Alden came to speak on behalf of his friend Miles Standish for her hand in marriage, Priscilla told him to speak for himself. A smart man, John did and the two were married and had "many children."

I'm sure that over the years there were more sassy women on my family tree, but the record does not show it. However, once we get into living memory the tree is jam packed.

On my father's side we have:
Charlotte Cope (my fourth great-grandmother) who was a member of the landed gentry in England and married a shoemaker. Considering the time period this was just scandalous. How did they meet? Upper class women were very sheltered and protected at that time, and strange men didn't just start chatting them up.

Her daughter in-law was Anna-Maria Higgins, a woman who was born just shortly after her parents landed in New York from Ireland. She married an English Episcopalian shoemaker and went on to have seventeen (yes, that's right seventeen) children. Imagine telling your Irish father that you not only wished to marry a Protestant but an Englishman to boot? She outlived her husband and eight of her children, and wasn't disowned by her father.

Her oldest child was Marcella Agnes Collinson. Nana, as we call her, was born in 1857 and died in 1953. She outlived all three of her husbands, all but three of her brothers and sisters, and one of her grandchildren. She lived through the Civil War, the outbreak of the Spanish Influenza, World War I and II, the flu epidemic of 1918, the assassination of two presidents, the Great Depression, and the Great Blizzard of 1888. Her first husband died sometime in the 1880s, and she remarried in 1891 to Charles Conover, a man who was almost thirteen years her junior, and they had one daughter, my great grandmother, Isabelle Katherine Conover. Then in around 1901 she divorced Charles, retained custody of their daughter, and stayed on speaking terms with his entire family. I can only imagine that Charles had done something horrid, and perhaps one day I will get up the nerve to write New Jersey and get the divorce papers.

Isabelle (aka Gam) and her daughter Barbara (aka Meme) were less overtly sassy. Gam loved dirty jokes, had hands that could span an entire octave on a piano, and was married twice, both times to a man named Frank. My memories of her are few as I was slightly intimated by her regal bearing and posture, even more so because of her penchant for flashy jewelery (un-beknownst to me it was mostly paste) and fur coats. Gam broke her hip when I was in the third grade, and upon learning, when she came round after surgery, that she had had to have a blood transfusion she quipped "God I hope they didn't give me AIDS." Sadly, she suffered a stroke while still in the hospital.
Meme told me once when I was in the fourth grade that "sometimes you just have to say damn it, it makes you feel better." She loved scary movies and got a bit of a perverse pleasure out of telling me the plot synopsis of each one. It took a lot to make Meme mad, but look out if you did. One of my favorite stories is how she retaliated against her oldest son when he was an intractable teenager. Dennis did not want to be awakened in the morning and one time he swatted his mother in a groggy and grumpy state. The next morning when he didn't wake up when she called his name she slapped his rump with her hand, a hand that had a straight pin between two fingers. Dennis never had to be called twice to wake up in the morning again.

On my mother's side:

Amanda Jane Covington, my great-great grandmother, was widowed and remarried. She spent a week with her new husband, found him not to her liking, packed up her belongings and went home.

Sarah Elsie Gold (aka Mammy), my great grandmother, and Amanda's daughter in law, gave my mother a cast-iron skillet when she graduated from college. She told my mother, and I quote "that if a man ever hits you he has to go to sleep sometime." One time her husband had over indulged in alcohol and as he laid in the bed groaning she presented all four of their children to him and said "see what happens when you drink?" Mammy could spin a story better than anyone I have ever met, and loved telling her grandchildren and great grandchildren scary ones. "Riger, riger marow! I want my big toe!"

Margaret Falls (aka Grandma Warlick) my other great grandmother, survived a car accident in the 1930s that broke her pelvis and killed her husband. The doctors had told her there was a chance she wouldn't walk again. However, when the time came to leave the hospital she laced up her corset and went out under her own power. I never met Grandma, but all of the pictures and stories make me think of a girded iron vessel. She also married outside of her religion (Baptist and Methodist in this case-hey it was a big deal to her!) on the condition that any girls they had would go with her to church, while the boys would go with their father. Perhaps my favorite of all the Grandma stories is the night the chimney caught fire because it features two other sassy women in my family. Grandma was in bed nursing her youngest child, and sent my grandmother, the second youngest to fetch their father who was upstairs. She warned Gammy not to tell her father why she wanted him because Grandma knew that it would cause panic. Being only about four, Gammy held out for as long as she could and blurted out that the house was on fire. Grandpa yelled out "Lordy the house is on fire!" causing all sorts of turmoil. Grandpa sent his son Lester to fetch the neighbors but Lester didn't want to run through the woods at night by himself so Gammy, little four year old Gammy, went with him. By the time they had returned the fire was out because the oldest child, Vera, had done the smartest and simplest thing, which was to pour the water from her washstand through the grate of the upstairs fireplace, dousing the flames that had ignited the chimney column.

Another sassy woman, who I'm not descended from was my great Aunt Edna. One day she was watching a basketball game that her brother, my grandfather, was refereeing. Some woman in the crowd disliked the way he was calling the game and was heckling him. Edna stood if for as long as she could and then got in the woman's face. "My brother's a gentleman and he won't hit you, but I will!"

So as you can see, the women in my family tree didn't put up with a lot of crap.

From the Shelves 6

As it is November, the month dominated by the most family oriented of all holidays Thanksgiving, I felt it only prudent to select a book that has something to do with family. To be fair, the connection to family is tenuous at best in My Uncle Oswald by Roald Dahl, but after reading it we can all either give thanks or bemoan the fact that he is not our Uncle Oswald.

Some of the more literate amongst you will recognize the author's name immediately, and you might assume that this is a children's book. You would be very, very, very wrong. My Uncle Oswald is the set up as the twentieth volume of Oswald's diary as published by some unnamed nephew. (It would have to be a nephew as no niece would brag about this man as her uncle.) Oswald is described on the back of the book as "aside from being thoroughly debauched, strikingly attractive and astonishingly wealthy, Uncle Oswald was the greatest bounder, bon vivant and fornicator of all time." And believe you me, Oswald lives up to that billing.

The book is raunchy, politically incorrect, naughty, decidedly odd, and hysterically funny. Basically take everything that makes one of Dahl's children's books so enjoyable, take out the creatures of fantasy, and mix in a great deal of sex and voila! While most people will be relieved that he is not their uncle, if you are anything like me, you will be a tad disappointed that this man never existed.

Reflections on Halloween

Halloween just isn't what it used to be. I'm sure that this is how many people felt when homemade treats fell from grace in favor of pre-packaged candy (and incidentally I think that most of those urban legends involving razor blades were started by the candy companies), but the fact that this assessment of this festive night of revelry has been shared by others before does not mitigate the accuracy of my viewpoint.

Some of it has to do with the absence of sidewalks in the neighborhoods of my town. Some of it has to do with the fact that for far too many people Halloween is synonymous with satanism, at least in this part of the world. And some of it may have to do with the fact that Halloween was on a Wednesday this year, and Wednesday is of course the second Sunday in the Bible Belt. But it is truly a sad state of events that Halloween is reduce to such pathetic dregs.

First of all, the concept of being in costume for trick or treating seems to be regarded as a suggestion, and not a mandate. Trick or treating itself seems to be regarded as a maybe activity. People just don't seem to have that fever pitch of excitement anymore. I clearly remember eagerly anticipating trick or treating each year, and how sad I was when I was too old to take part in that activity. It also seemed like a lot of homes didn't even bother with being there to dole out candy since the anticipated turn out is so low.

I love costumes, and in fact have come dressed up to work the last two years. This year, only my best friend Mockingbird was dressed up, and she had to tightly reign in her creativity because of her teaching commitments.

Additionally, most mischief that takes place these days is criminal, mean spirited, and/or violent in nature. This is probably what led to the deplorable practice of driving your kids door to door for trick or treating. Well, that and the absence of sidewalks. Neighborhoods need sidewalks people!

Nobody seems to have much Halloween spirit anymore (no pun intended). I mourn the passing of Halloween as I knew it on this, the Day of the Dead.

Glee manifests itself atypically

She smiled inwardly when he said it, a growing sense of satisfaction spreading throughout, warming her in a way that she was not fully accustomed to, as it was coupled with a wave of relief and no small amount of vindication. Rarely did "I told you" moments present themselves so beautifully, or without any angst of a decision gone wrong to spoil the moment. And here it was, laid out almost like a gift on the table that stood next to them, a moment that she had not allowed herself to believe would ever appear. But she did not say "I told you so." Instead she fixed her face into a sympathetic and reflective expression, nodded in support and made a non-committal noise before changing the course of the conversation. On the inside though...oh, on the inside, her soul danced a jig.

From the Shelves 6

As this is October and thus the month of the creepy, kooky and altogether spooky holiday Halloween I have chosen a book that fits that genre. Or rather, a series of books. I am talking about the Southern Vampire series by Charlaine Harris. So far I have read the first three in the series and it is a fun, new take on the whole vampire mythology. In this world, vampires are real and have gone public, seeking rights etc. like normal people. They are able to do this in part because of the invention of synthetic blood. However, vamps aren't the only supernatural beings that exist.

The books revolve around Sookie Stackhouse, a blond barmaid with telepathy who happens to fall in love with a dead man (read: vampire)named Bill. Chaos and mayhem ensue as Sookie is thrust into the dangerous supernatural world, doing favors for big shot vampires, fighting off fundamentalist groups that wish to kill all vampires and their supporters, cavorting with shape shifters and catching murderers of the human variety.

The first book is Dead Until Dark, the second is Living Dead in Dallas and the third is Club Dead. The supernatural elements are well done, building on the ground work about vampires that we know so well, but adding creative touches here and there. The books are filled with humor, literary and mythological references, complex and interesting characters (human and otherwise) and a number of really good sex scenes. Sookie really comes into her own in the third book and I am tempted to go out and buy books four and five this weekend. (I really shouldn't since I need to re-read the book for my real life book club).

This series is pure fun but not altogether fluff. Sink your teeth into them. (Sorry, I couldn't resist the opportunity).