THE DAILY MAG

2012-01-07T07:39:00.004-06:00

In the face of unspeakable tragedy flies the power of love. Its greatness and potential to turn anything & anyone around is unfathomable. I am inspired and amazed every day by people and their strength, their courage, their words...their story. Today is no exception. But today, I learned to do better. May the precious lives of these three girls and the mommy who loved them encourage us all to act, think, give and make it better throughout the New Year and always.
Lily, Sarah & Grace

happy thanksgiving,all...

2011-11-24T13:55:00.001-06:00

amma

2011-11-05T03:56:00.007-05:00

Today, you will release through a sea mist morning as your boys ride the waves to carry you home. I will remember the pearl necklace you took from your neck on my wedding day and the welcome to family that came with it. I will remember your quiet tears when we named our youngest in your honor. Thank you, for molding the gentle man who watches over me and our babies. Like my mother, you dedicated yourself to those you loved. And from that simple act, always lies our greatest legacy.

Travel happily beyond, with song and festive spirit, Margret. And a little whiskey wouldn't hurt. ;-)

hair

2011-09-29T07:20:00.007-05:00

We are losing our youth one after another to hate. My heart breaks for the moms who are left behind to tend the empty bedrooms. More profoundly for these diamond lives who had yet to even really begin. We must fix this epic fail in every way we can- all the way from dinner table to legislation, whatever it takes. I pray my girls will continue to live and breathe with absolute freedom in both spirit and song. My youngest left for class the other day with one-part side ponytail, one-part fuchsia hairpiece, mismatched stripes and dots and two different socks. In the rear view and very close to the moment of fizzling that fire, I caught myself. As I watched that special show make her way to through the students, I wished that I'd had that confident sparkle, that spunk...that me. Here's to all our babies- big, small, pom pom'd, pensive, straight, gay and transgendered.

As their buoys, let us feed their souls along with their tummies toward embracing all 25 in the class, including themselves...as sometimes that is the hardest. To have the fortitude to stand ground when they need to, the courage to applaud the different...practicing tolerance and compassion each and every day- from jungle gym to cap and gown and beyond. Sweet dreams in your travels, Jamey, boy.

2011-09-17T09:01:00.001-05:00

2011-09-11T21:10:00.003-05:00

StoryCorps' September 11 shorts, animated by the Rauch Brothers, feature stories collected through its September 11th Initiative. These works were created with the assistance and blessing of the families of the victims memorialized.

For the past five years, StoryCorps has worked to record one story to honor each life lost on September 11, 2011. To date, survivors, families, friends, and rescue workers have memorialized nearly 600 individual victims of the attacks through the StoryCorps interview process.

the american plunge

2011-09-05T10:08:00.039-05:00

What with a husband who's been MIA for over a month now and a casa with its plummeting price tag hanging around my neck like an anvil, this temporary single mom has been feeling the heat and grumps. Big time. My Audrey Rose 1 and 2 informed me that what I needed was to lose the Debbie Downer attitude and have a little Labor Day fun. And since the summer of my discontent hadn't yielded much tah-doo for them, they thought a weekend hotel trip was in order. I agreed, figuring that life has been such a proverbial roller coaster lately, why not ride the real kind? Besides, it gives a mother a chance to scream the stress out in front of hundreds of people and not be carted off to the loony bin.

So Mama and her Maglets ♪...loaded up the truck and we moved to Beverly ♫... Well, not exactly. Our travels led us to the area's local amusement park- Silver Dollar City. Nestled in the mountains of Branson Missouri, this Appalachian playground offers up the olden days of hillbilly yore. From salt-water taffy to blacksmithing- the place has it all. It is here you will find hand-made rugs, belts, dolls, knives...plum near everything. Including a Monday morning trip to the doc for a statin script. I think I gained five pounds just by smelling all those greasy funnel cakes and great big skillets of what appeared to be succotash. There were quite a few squirrels running around on the property, so who knows? The park's latest culinary delight would make Paula Deen proud. It was a portable tator of a sort. A big ole Idaho cut into a spiral, deep-fried to a per usual golden brown, with a long skewer running up through it. By pre-loading each layer with ketchup and salt, you were pretty much good to go. At least as far as your heart could take ya anyway.

After a Warren Jeffs look-alike unhooked the chain to the main drag, it took my girls all of two seconds to yank my already aching rotator cuffs, and off we flew, with at least 80 people racing down them thar hills behind me. I accidentally dropped my park map and was bending over to retrieve it and almost got wiped out by some wide-eyed chick in a prairie dress. My kiddos are all about water rides, so I spent the rest of a really bad hair day squishing around in sopping wet tennis shoes. I did have the forethought of bringing an emergency dry tee in my backpack but after a quick restroom break to switch it out, realized that my bra was so wet it made me look like my milk had come down and I needed to nurse. We must have ridden that blasted log ride eight times that day. The girls couldn't seem to get enough of that watery wonder. The Ozark River Raft was another fave- a swirling, soaking 6-person floatie on steroids that had them squealing up a storm and me looking forward to the evening's moonshine. By the long day's end, I felt like Katrina had held me while Irene beat my ass. I slept like a baby that night. But only after two more agonizing hours in the hotel pool. Thank goodness, for my trusty "water bottle".

The next morning, over Cheerios and through an allergenic haze, I realized the two day park pass I'd purchased ended up being one day too many. My two Bald-Knobbers clamored aboard the shuttle with as much energy as the day before as I sniffled and braced myself for another sneezy one. I've discovered there's not a Zyrtec big enough to fight those Missouri oaks. Three soft pretzels and a six dollar lemonade later, we decided to give my snoot a break and went down into Marvel Cave. It is located on the property and prides itself as one of the largest caves in North America. And with its massive Cathedral Room, it did deliver and was quite impressive. That is, until I got down about 750 feet or so with two burning quads and no Xanax, then it was just an anxious, breathy climb to find the light again.

Surprisingly, I actually managed to have a few enjoyable big girl moments- riding the train that circles the park, watching the artistic hand of a glass-blower and listening to a darn good Zydeco set. You would have thought by the look of agony on the girl's faces that I was Mommie Dearest or something..."Good grief, Mom! Ugh...we came here to have fun!!"

Much to my kin's chagrin, we wrapped up the weekend, by skipping the late show and departing a couple of hours before sunset so that I could get us home safe, sound...alive. I have absolutely no sense of direction and was really sweating it through all the forested switchbacks as the sun began falling from the sky. The hills have eyes alright and even after being back here all these years I still can not get used to the dark, country roads. It just creeps me out. I guess I need the lights, honks and road rage of the 405 to help me feel settled.

So there you have it...our fam's summer blow-out. We yee-hawed it up right and made a memory or two. We even drove through a rainbow on our way back...literally! We kept admiring its beautiful, shiny arch, and the next thing you know, the windshield got all prism'd out and Will said, "Mommy, we drove right into it!" I immediately pulled over and searched for the pot of gold but only saw a cow chewing its cud and some road kill. The three of us decided to commemorate this grand event, by buying three fake silver charm bracelets at a gas station that said Hope, Strength and Believe. Sans Daddy..it wasn't quite the same. But by manifesting plenty of those three virtues, the four of us can hook back up soon and the master mag-plan will have all worked out. That, or it's looking like a Hazelden Christmas.

in time

2011-08-21T12:22:00.010-05:00

Yesterday, my sister and I signed on the dotted line. It aches my chest to think of my parent's knoll belonging to anyone else. But change, like the turning heavens, is inevitable and we've no choice other than to comply. Through its wax and wane, comes healing, but in the meantime I surf a wave I'd rather not.

By hand, they built their yellow house from the foundation up...framed and finished with loving care, fueled by the dream of riding out their golden years in peace. And that they did. Twenty long, good ones, spent in quiet contemplation with a front row seat to grazing deer and the whimsical flight of the cardinal. The whisper of the wind through the trees...a symphony for two. And it was upon that narrow breezeway- they held, they shared.

As it grows closer to a finish, tears come quite easily. Today, Patty and I sat under a blanket of heat and salty Bloody Marys as we watched the children swim and the dragonflies dance in the sun. And it was within that quiet we stayed. Thoughts and hearts so intertwined from this painfully, exhausting journey that words seem almost unnecessary now. Whatever void that has been left within the two of us will eventually fill with light again. My mother will see to that.

Meanwhile, the memory of my folks will linger in that forest for some time to come...as tangible as oak bark. The goodness of who they were and how they lived will shine like rays through a morning mist and we will always remember. No matter if we're able to park our car in the driveway or not. Love was their beginning and end. And I am honored to have witnessed, participated and dreamed within it.

stuck in a moment

2011-07-21T12:34:00.001-05:00

go with throttle up

2011-07-09T09:03:00.011-05:00

Well, it's summer once again, and my liver will pay the price. The kiddos are in full, high-decibel swing and pool obsessed. Will is swimming like a dolphin and my other girl has upgraded herself to the deep-end...literally. Fourteen feet of high board and Evil Knievel water slides...the whole enchilada. Lots of growing, lots of squealing and lots of changes.

After a very difficult year, we Mags have decided to begin working our way back West. Yep, cement ponds and movie stars. We have the casa up and Big Daddy will hit the road at the end of the month to begin his new job. I will stay behind as a temporary single mom, hold down the fort in this sluggish market and try not to drink myself to death. It won't be the most fun I ever had but what are ya gonna do? That's what web cams and Skype are for, I guess. This relocation was sort of kismet with the way it unfolded and well...Mama is up for an adventure. It will cost me about 400 square feet and a sixty percent hike in health care premiums, but what the hell. Los Angeles, with all its faults ;-)....is really still home to me. I spent well over 20 years out there and have a darn good pal base and, hey, I actually know some loony moms like me who decided to have children past forty. So we can jaw and pinot grigio it up over our raw nerve endings and waning estrogen...whee!

The girls are pretty excited. Why wouldn't they be? The get to sink their toes in beach sand, whoop it up and not have to pay for it. They are leaving behind some incredible friends though...truly. My kids know how to pick 'em. We have been so fortunate to know you, Cowan, Harr and Vandiver Fams, and for that I am very thankful.

The past seven years have been a roller coaster. An Ozarkian loop-de-loop. I nested and had my second baby here, bought two homes, helped my pops through cancer, came very, very close to losing the hub to a necrotizing pneumonia and have buried both my parents. I've watched my guy work hard without complaint so that I might stay home with his children. I have enjoyed bright stars and big full moons that I swear were so close I could reach up and pluck them from the night sky. Fall has colored my world for almost a decade now with its gold and orange plaid and don't get me going on the red buds. Those gorgeous purple swatches against the green of the mountains. I treasure the time we spent in beautiful Bella Vista in our very beginning- our little niche in the trees, nursing my two little munchkins and wondering just what life had planned for me. Well, it threw in a dry county, a hideous case of the chickenpox back in '05 and some humidity, but there's always a little bad with the good, right?

As miserable as my allergies have been, I am so glad I packed up all those years ago and followed my heart. It isn't always easy, but you're always glad you did. I can not replace the hugs and ice-cream kisses shared between my parents and their grand babies. Our family's three little ones were their life, plain and simple. I have never seen mom and dad more happy then answering to the knock of those tiny little hands. All the birthdays and my sis' yummy deviled eggs....their dream of building a family had come true. As sad as it got in the end, I know in the deepest part of myself, that my folks had come full circle. That 66 year tie was complete and had yielded them a bigger bow then they'd ever expected...and more.

Yes, it has been supersonic alright. 2011, in particular. But there ain't no ejection seat in life, so onward we must go! We're so grateful for all the peeps who've come into our lives here on this part of the journey- some new friends, some old ones, some I never get to see but who I will always hold dear. One in particular, who I've known since the third grade. Darla, you are my friend, my soul sister, my angel and another mom to my kids, girl.

Thanks to all for the prayers, friendship and Facebook humor. It has been a gift. I see it really isn't so much the race itself but more about the pit-crew that fuel us along the way. Here's to new beginnings!

P.S.) Change is scary as hell. But it is inevitable.

2011-07-04T08:53:00.004-05:00

Here's to independence & star-spangled banners! Happy birthday weekend to our country, our freedoms and our lives! Prayers go out to soldiers in all directions on this planet who are missing their family BBQs....

the road

2011-06-25T06:55:00.022-05:00

A sixty-six year old story takes awhile to tell. It is a quiet one. Like the winding path up the knoll, past the musky scent of horse as I turn the corner that brings me back to you. Passing the old board that bears your name and through the thick forest that served as haven. Up to the porch where your crooked grin and the worn brim of a work hat is as intimately a part of this place as are the falling leaves and caw of the crow.

With lingering memory, the seasons continue their shift. And now all moments have been fed back into the wonder as a wave into the sea that made it. I hear you in a beating feather. I smell you in the gasoline and cold metal of a workshop that provided a tinker's bliss. And it is here I begin the journey to sift through lives well led, well loved...saving pages of the book that tell the tale.

Day after day, box after box, my sister and I have wiped the dust away and sorted through my parent's things. Stopping at times to hold a trophy, a drawing, a crumbled macaroni pencil holder with a barely readable 'I love you, Mommy' written on it's metal bottom. My favorite stuffie whose felt crown bore a tiny hole from a finger used to carry it about. Dolls, diplomas, the small, black velvet cape my grade-school grandmother wore through many a snowy, West Virginia winter. It is here I smile, I remember, and sometimes swallow my tears as I sit on an overturned bucket to peruse the tea-colored pages of my dead brother's baby album.

It was on a hot, sticky day three when I found an old box containing my mother's love letters to my dad while he was away at war. I took the treasure home with me that evening and spents hours reading the simple but eloquent words of a young lady asking her beloved to return home safe and that she would be waiting for him....true and brave, her love. And she did. And for the next six decades dedicated every fiber of her being to creating a nest for Papa Bird and her chicks. It was alone that night, within the walls of my dimly lit bedroom, wine and tissues at my side, I sobbed. A wail so deep and nourishing..it heals. Those letters, like a precious jewel..a symbol of the love that made me. I will honor and hold them dear all the days of my life.

And so it continues. Sis and I are slowly closing up shop. With each passing day, the house empties just a little bit more and we flinch at the thought of circling out of the drive for the last time. The mirror's shrinking reflection of the purple glint of the blackberry bushes, the jonquil patch and that sweet, yellow clapboard house. No matter who may claim the ground, this mountain will always be my fathers. He and his lady's ashes will rest here together in the whisper of the trees. And a piece of my heart will be left behind in its company.

then the rains came

2011-06-01T13:27:00.024-05:00

My mother is at rest now. In her heart and soul. No more confusion or fear. No more days lost between her and the beloved husband who shared a lifetime. For this I am grateful. Yesterday, we interred her, alongside my father and a Chinese maple whose leaves shine red in the summer sun. Behind a gray piece of stone that bears the name but doesn't even begin to tell the story. These last few months have tore at the deepest part of me, in so many ways, and now I have no choice but to stand up and move forward. The sludge will give way eventually and Life will band-aid, then renew and heal itself. It always does.

Mom was a giver, cackle-laugher, great cook, a heart on her sleeve type of gal. She worried, loved carbs, worked hard and her kids were her life- completely. She had the most loving touch and deepest hug I have ever had the fortune to receive and she believed in me when I wasn't able to. She liked elephants and humming birds. She buried her only son but somehow managed to keep one foot in front of the other and the light within. She cared deeply about the homeless. There was never a sullen face she would lock eyes with on a street corner when she did not give him a bill or two. She believed in second chances, her God, the power of love and she was my mentor. I will never be as protected as I was within her prayer. I have written about her before and the times we shared, so now I will tell you the part of the story that was her finish. Or let's just say...the goodbye to her next hello.

The vicious hand of dementia had really worn my mom down these last three months. We were medically advised not to share the news of my father's March passing with her. The one time I followed someone’s head and not my own heart. To be totally honest with you, because this entry would be lacking if I didn't share this but...I do believe it will go down as my deepest regret and something I will spend my lifetime questioning. It was surely not for cruelty's sake that I wanted to tell her but as a hospice professional once shared with me- there is dignity in truth, truth within dignity...always.

Despite the twisted warp of this disease, I think my honesty regarding this matter would have given her answers. Reassuring answers to some possibly odd scenarios I was afraid that might have been brewing in her sick mind. Silly imaginings to us, I know. But not for a person whose brain is ravaged by plaque. I pray wholeheartedly that this pounding ache within me will lessen as I continue the grieving process and that I will learn to live with the choice I made and trust in the love and Fugi Mountain understanding of my mother that it is all okay. Perhaps somehow she saw behind my eyes and knew this secret..the only one I have ever kept from her. I must say the prayer regarding this will undoubtedly be my deepest dig yet and I hope I can forgive myself. This may seem a Debbie Downer of an entry but I guess what I am trying to share from my heart to yours is...always do it your way, even when you are out of your element...feeling frightened, overwhelmed..confused. Move in steps of confidence, because no one..NO ONE...knows the love you share and the mechanics of it. Trust your heart. Always. I know I will.

I feel it incumbent upon me to spend the rest of this page praising a most remarkable place we have here within our community. It is a temple of a hospice, quite frankly...the Circle of Life. My sister and I were fortunate to bring my mom here to complete her journey after a long struggle in nursing homes that just weren't able to really do the job. From the moment we entered, I can not remember when I was ever treated so kindly...so compassionately. Death and its process are not to be feared here. Within these walls there is solace, for the dying and for the living. Comfort and beneficence surround you. It feels like home. I remember one evening there was song and celebration from musician volunteers. I gripped the back of the sofa to keep from crying as I listened to some inspiring gospel music (something my mom loved) and I prayed wholeheartedly that the waft of its goodness would fill her ears, accompanying her on her way to the mystical beyond.

Within minutes of our arrival there, we were told by a lovely nurse that we could now go from advocate to daughter. Just the place where my sister and I needed to be. And it was there we stayed for eleven days. Some were long and stormy. Many were spent by the fireplace where our tummies were filled with hot, homemade soup and cookies...always a kind greeting from passersby. Each smile, each soft hello was something I grew to hold onto...collect...and used to infuse me when I wanted to scream out from my core. A few were spent in the quiet of an Adirondack, looking out over the water, surrounded by the most beautiful garden whose stones and benches bore the names of loved ones who had transitioned there. The butterfly, their mascot, are peppered throughout the grounds. The metamorphosis of this ethereal creature..a beautiful symbol of rebirth, the fragility of life and the amazing color of it all! I know from now on, each time I see an iridescent wing, I will think of her.

I love you, Mom. My deepest wish is one where I get the honor of walking the path beside you again, in some way or fashion. Learning and growing from your amazing example. Fly, fly, sweet lady. See you in the next tomorrow.

a beautiful truth

2011-05-08T06:25:00.021-05:00

The morning is still and I'm thinking of you. Today we will visit with tulips and crayons but it won't be the same. Your smile is gone now...your voice is but a whisper. The sun's rays will warm our shoulders and the quiet of it all will have to be enough.

Today we raise a glass to love without conditions, a soft hand upon a cheek and gossip over coffee. We honor that part of our heart that only a mother can fill. And for some of us, the past is really all we have. There are many whose joyful memories were cut short way too early or have gently folded themselves away; some who have sadly had to do without. For those, I will revel in the treasure of my babies' tuck-in this evening and linger just a second more to listen to their peaceful breath. I have no choice but to hold what is left and honor it always. To know that nothing, not even this ravaging eraser of a disease can ever take away our history...your history with my father....your full and amazing story.

I love you, mom. I miss your laugh, the camaraderie, the perfect timing of a phone call...your homemade wheat bread with orange zest. Thank you, for your fervent prayer and perfect love that has buoyed me all the days of my life. Thank you, for believing in my dreams as if they were your own. My deepest wish is to rise to life's occasion and re-gift my two girls with all the heart and twinkle that is you.

Happy Mother's Day to you and all my devoted mommy friends who read this. Each one of you inspire me to do better and love deeper every day.

and so it goes

2011-03-15T22:06:00.010-05:00

We memorialized my pop's life this weekend. It was a wonderful reflection of who he was, what he believed in and just how much love scatter was manifested in those nine, long decades. We shared funny stories, e.g., the time he and mom drove back in the early '80's, to West Virginia, and their rental car cassette player was on the fritz and a Conway Twitty tape was stuck inside...on an endless, repetitive loop. "I had to listen to that son-of-a-b**ch comin' and goin'!", he said. :)

While my sis and I were at his bedside in hospice, she spoke of how, no matter what Dad may have been busying himself with at the time; if you came to him to ask a question, express a feeling...he would stop what he was doing and listen. Always. Something I knew but hadn't really reflected on until she shared it with me. It was there for three weeks we sat over him, laughing, crying...remembering, until he told us to get lost and he could take it from here. He was old, tough until the end, brave in the crossover, warm to the touch and surrounded by love and its healing closure. We should all be so lucky, friends.

My youngest, T-Mag, had a birthday, her 6th, in the midst of all this. She continues to light my life. The world is your oyster, baby..your dreams are mine. Don't you ever forget that. Whatever your tomorrow brings, it will always hold my heart within it.

Funny, how life is...there are goodbyes and sweet beginnings. It's mystical flow continues on- the pain, the pleasure, the loop-de-loop. Never easy but always worth it. And if we're smart, we take the time to deglaze the pan as much as we can. Because it's all those little bits on the bottom that make it so damn good.

This one's for you, Dad...

as ever

2011-03-04T16:03:00.063-06:00

He was born in the first week of February, 88 years ago, in the hills of West Virginia. His abusive father was a successful coal mine superintendent until he lost it all and died an alcoholic, alone in a hotel room, leaving my dad to pick up the pieces. His mom had left his father many years before, which in the 1930’s, took a woman with a whole lot of guts. She raised her four kids by becoming Post Master. My dad loved and admired her with his whole heart. His closest friend was a German shepherd named Lady. He worked, pumping gas, even filled up the tanks of John Dillinger and his goons on a cloudy day way back when.

He was shy, a loner, who liked to spend all his free time hunting and fishing. He joined the navy at 18 to escape the mines. It was on a ship, as a Gunners Mate, where he spent the next six years of his life. He saw a good friend burn alive right before his very eyes and swears it was only from the prayers of his beloved mother that he lived to speak about the War. On December 7th, 1941, he was on the Lexington, an aircraft carrier that had moved southward to help reinforce Midway when he heard of the attack on Pearl Harbor. They had pulled out of Oahu just a few days before. Five months later, the Lex got torpedoed twice, followed by three bomb hits and then the gasoline vapors caught. It was there she burned until she sank..my dad jumping into the warm Coral Sea, with the sky exploding around him.

He met my mom when they were teenagers but didn’t make his move until he was visiting home, on leave. He stepped off the train, and saw her standing there, with “the prettiest, shiniest, blackest hair you ever saw”. They married at City Hall..he in his uniform and her in a mauve dress that I still have in a box in my closet. They had two kids and in the early 50’s, packed up the Chevy and moved west to California, welcomed by the fresh scent of orange blossoms and and all the dreams a young family can hold. They bought a brick home in the Valley for 18 thousand bucks. My dad became a tool and die maker and well into his 40's became a father again when yours truly came along. It was then they picked up stakes and moved eastward to Arkansas, where they farmed, cattled, grew blackberries..even owned a boat dock in a small quiet cove where memories of swimming and skipping rocks are some of my sweetest. In 1999, he buried my brother who died at 49 of a drug overdose. The only time I ever saw my father cry.

He was diagnosed with bladder cancer a year ago last January. He had 8 chemos and 32 radiations without so much as a whimper. He never lost a hair, he never complained and he always had a smile for the nurses.

He has loved my mom for 62 years. They live in a yellow house in the middle of the forest. It is there they will finish out their ordinary lives while listening to the laughter of their three grandchildren and one great grandchild. He's a veteran, he made it through, and he is my dad. I honor you today and always.

It was three years ago, Veteran's Day, that I wrote the words you just read about my father- to honor him and his years served in the United States Navy. It lets you in on the chronicle of it all. Tonight I will give you a little bit more. The spine of who he was...the piece of him, in me, who is left. And it is on this quiet, rainy evening in March, I say a final goodbye to my dad. He died just two mornings ago. A man as stubborn as myself. A man whose pride would rare up and butt heads with mine more than a time or two....a man who didn't think twice of driving back an hour and a half in the dead of a winter's night to fetch his crying girl her forgotten stuffed "Froggy" from a restaurant chair.

I can tell you he loved pinto beans, trees, Ray Charles, horehound candy and his kids. But not in that particular order. My siblings and I were first. Always. His patience and work ethic led by example and were only exceeded by his commitment and capacity to sacrifice. I will always remember his healing touch when my back was sore from fever. And the way he smiled as my mother danced to the record player. No one could make a fire as swiftly and beautiful as he. A poetic dance between brittle kindling and a beloved silver Zippo. Sadly, I remember when his mind was keen and how the vicious hand of dementia began to slowly eat away everything I knew and loved. This is where the story gets sad. But I must speak of this sadness because only by owning it and swimming through it's sludge will I make it through to the other side. The place where I know my father would want me to be.

Years ago, upon moving back to the Ozarks with the hub, my one-year-old, Will, and unborn lima bean, T-Mag, things began to manifest in him. An angry word here and there. A hurtful comment...odd behavior that I stupidly took personal and began to hold inside..like a pot simmering on the back burner. The last few months, things were said that cut me so deep, I never thought they'd heal.

I began to mourn what I had all those years before and ugly ole embitterment set in. Somewhere between the festering, wicked confusion, and badly acted Lifetime movie of the week, we lost our way together- Bobo and I. Last winter, I had to pull away after family decisions were made that I did not agree with...the situation became so painful and so physically stressful, I was forced to step back and take a breath. A breath that lasted almost two months and one that could have cost me a karmic plenty had it not been for a phone call from a nurse in the ER, who by chance, found my name in a dusty hospital file. But like any difficult mountain we are forced to climb in life, we have to sink in our boot spikes; and through time, careful thought and fervent prayer, we eventually end up atop and are rewarded with the view. And this is where my story gets good. The music swells, there's a panaramic wide-shot and what do ya know..dad and daughter unite. Just in time for Oscar season. Maybe not under the most healthy conditions...but together they find themselves, face to face, in a white room, with really bad art and the kind of healing that can only take place when the Universe opens wide and decides to teach an ordinary girl a lesson in forgiveness in the most compassionate, awesome and humbling way. It was there we held each other, we spoke more clearly than ever before and it was there I learned not to loathe myself any longer for mistakes I've made by not understanding just what it really was in the boxing ring against me. I have met an amazing woman along the way who will nurture my remaining parent who has also fallen victim to this Freddy Krueger of a disease. She will help my sister and I through the pain in understanding the ever-changing Alzheimers, and hopefully morph our helplessness into a couple of ass-kicking superheroes.

I can't help but think it was my dad's heart that forged through the glop and found me. Not the other way around. He, the ailing one, teaching his numb nut daughter the way the land lay....taking my ostrich stance to a peacock preen. That's what daddies do. A dear friend comforted me more than he will ever know by saying those two months lost between us were only but a blip in an otherwise long and loving relationship.

And so it goes, it was there in hospice, I advocated for him as hard as I could, forgave myself in the balm of his love, made up with my sister and slept on a really crappy recliner. I love you, Dad. I love you for your tenacity to reach through a ravaging disease to find me again, to forgive me when I slipped and continuing to be a mentor to me even in death. I wish you all things golden in your next life...and that I may share the journey with you again- working out the kinks and filling in the grooves...finding our way through the mystifying scape of the cosmos.

winter's ham bone

2011-02-16T08:53:00.063-06:00

Yes...it's Mama. Down here, to the left...under the drift with the red flag on top and the vodka bottle sticking out of it. Oy with a capitol O, friends. Eighteen inches and several sub-zero temps later, me and my Magcicles made it out alive, don'tcha know. What a time we've had here in Arkansas- the New Alaska. I don't remember the winter season in them thar parts ever giving a bitch-slap like this. The white stuff went Snooki on us and it has been a flakey whopper, lemme tell ya. Of course, I have no recollection, because the last blizzard on record was back in the late 1800's! We got dumped on but good. And now 7 snow days, 11 netflix, plus the 5 day non-traditional school's winter break, later...well, you can do the math. It's the square root of one bulge-eyed, tuckered maternal unit who is tempted to go and beat a certain Superintendent's ass. Why they couldn't take away the days from the kid's May break instead, I do not know. My oldest is already struggling in math, so after all this Nanook craziness...I don't know what's going to happen to her. It sure won't be Harvard. I guess I could pull a Dugger and home school if worse comes to worse. Then again, I could also poke both of my eyeballs out. Ain't gonna happen for this stay-at-home mommy!

Yesiree, this season's festivities has been non-stop fun. Note to self- don't adopt a puppy for the Christmas holiday. Yeah, yeah, yeah...it was a grand photo and video op and the casa was all awash in sentiment, curly-ribbon and squeals but flash forward to my frozen rump in a pink robe and Fargo hat, trailing the dog over ice and dale every two hours. Potty training and -17 below just don't mix. We got through the worst of it though and he is trained and big enough now to be tethered for his tootsie-roll visits to the great outdoors but... He's a smart little guy. Cute as a button with a heart of gold. Having had to say avoir to a chomped phone charger cord, a kitchen rug and Jiminy Cricket's ascot, though, I could surely do without those razor sharp toofies.

Speaking of golden hearts...you can take the girl out of the Hollywood sunshine but ya can't take the girl out of Hollyweird! It is that glorious time of year for sparkles and Spanx- the 83rd Academy Awards, dah-lings! Turn up the snow and melo-dramatics..it is just around the corner! February- my fave month, hands down. Minus, the day after, when I wake up in a Grey Goose fog and have to say hello to another birthday. This particular one being the last official year of my forties. I better enjoy it because after this...it's all just "Sag" awards from here on. Big Daddy Mags pulled a twinkly one out of his hat this year as he scored a comped suite for our family's Oscars in the Ozarks-VI celebration. The girls are thrilled! Last year, we had my peri-menopausal Snuggie fete , but hell, this year, I just may brush my teeth and put on a little mascara!

Per usual, the hub and I have been trying to catch all the noms that are rentable since our movie dates outside of the home are few and far between. Not the proper way to see them mind you, but a Frau has gotta do what she's gotta do! The Social Network was fab..terrific screenplay, rocking score by the j'adorable Trent Reznor. It was a winner all around, I thought. I really liked Inception and was surprised Nolan was snubbed. Can't say enough about the impeccably done Toy Story-3. Animated feature winner, done deal. Another wonderful performance out of Melissa Leo. She has always been one of my favorite actors. Can't leave out the solid show of John Hawkes as a redneck meth-head, in the Ozarkian feel good movie of the year, all shot very close by in this neck of the woods. I think I saw a lady in it who works behind the deli-counter at my Walmart. Geoffrey Rush gives me a rush with each amazing character he embodies. Just love him! The King's Speech was lovely. It must be nice for Mr. Firth to be able to sip that limo Dom on his way down La Cienega, knowing full well he'll walk away with that bald, eight pound hunk o' Oscar! There are quite a few I haven't been able to view yet...Blue Valentine, being one of them and right up this Drama Mama's ally. That will be a must-see as soon as I can find a night where the children are fast asleep in their boudoir and I'm able to stay awake past my carbs and 7:15pm.

Oh, I could just emote all the live long day when it comes to award season. I don't know where I'd be without my motion pictures and inspiring performances. Year after year, the movies always deliver the Calgon moments I need to get through this crazy game called Life. It may be all about dough and business for most but I'm lucky to have the quiet, simple luxury of craft and catharsis- tucked away in a dark theatre with a salty bucket of 'corn, in my sweats and scrunchy.

P.S.) CLICK THIS LINK HERE if you are so inclined, for my Oscar Ballot, Trivia (went pretty easy on ya this year) and Quotes! Whee!!

what once was

2011-01-29T07:56:00.044-06:00

I watched a bright orange sun rise this morning behind a frost-covered pear branch. The chill of the air worked its magic on my cheeks, as I spent a sleepless night moving back and forth across my pillow, thinking of a young boy...a child who went to school with my girls. He was nine, a cub scout and sang in a local choir. His life was lost on the playground a few days ago as I sat in my car talking to my husband about a casserole that I would make for dinner. I squinted off in the distance at the gathering of faculty and student and said a prayer as the EMT's trotted toward a fix that I thought would be a broken leg, a bad cut..a scrape or two. As I slowly moved forward, the cacophony of laughter, the squeak of swings, the excitement of a day well-studied seeped through my window along with the soft snore of my pup in the backseat. It was there, I picked up my babies, like any other day...watching their familiar jog to the car, smiles wide, arms full of backpacks and colored-paper drawings of princesses and rainbows. As we drove away, little did I know our hearts would stay behind and the hallways would forever be palpable with the sadness of one missing.

The last few days have been heavy and thick. I have looked into the worn faces of our brave school staff whose eyes will not shine for quite sometime now and watched the rosy cheeks of the very young ones atop the monkey bars, pristine in the purity of their faith, unknowing in their innocence of the harsh blow that life has given us. A wallop when we least expect it...a change that takes away warm, summer days, popsicle grins and a Christmas that never feels quite the same way again. But it is within these agonizing fractures, we learn to listen and love..to smell a rose we hurry past each morning, to see that any typical day is really not that at all. And if the 48 years I've spent on this planet has taught me anything- it is that poison can be turned into medicine. This boy's life will shout from the highest mountain tops as the many who have left before him. And we, the caretakers, will learn a little bit more at how better to keep them safe.

Today at 2 o'clock, they will memorialize this precious child. They will speak of his angelic voice, his love for video games and the imaginings & adventures he shared with his big bro. I will spend the day like I have the last few, thinking of a woman I never met but who I feel I know deeply. A mommy no different from myself and all the mothers who read this...whose breath and meaning are for their babies. I will pray for footsteps forward, for hopeful mornings...for joy again within this family.

I wish you well in your travels, Jonathan. May your rebirth be swift and glorious. There is a star that is you which will shine in a night sky this evening and in the hearts of all who knew you, sweet boy.

www.haydensgoal.org/

2011-01-04T05:28:00.000-06:00

godspeed

2011-01-01T17:57:00.007-06:00

2010-12-31T07:47:00.003-06:00

Here's wishing all of you a New Year of love, light, wisdom and happy feet!

pottersville

2010-12-26T07:31:00.023-06:00

Well, the day was a good one friends! My Christmas surprise was pulled off without a hitch. A little tinsel and one big red bow later, the girls are as happy as a fly on...er..well, while I'm on the subject- man, oh, man. I just wanna say, a puppy's digestive tract is one big assembly line of waste removal. You'd think a couple of tinkles, here and there..but no. The last 24 hours in the Mag casa has been like a festive True Grit. Instead of a couple of six-shooters,
I am armed with my Greenworks and Odor Remover, and just a wee-wee bit trigger happy. Oy. I realize it has only been one measley day, but I will be beyond elated when that part of training is over and done with and I can put my grassy double-lot to good use.

The day could not have been jollier though, despite all the yucky D.Q. soft-serve treats. In keeping with our holiday couch potato tradition- the Disney parade and Alistair Sim's 'Carole were followed by a lovely nosh of what I like to call, Mama's Christmas Chicken (made w/ roasted red pepper & olive..yum!). A teensy weensy bit of snowfall and a couple of Zyrtec martinis later, we all settled in for a good winter's nap. This morning was a joy to find four new eyeballs looking up at me as I made my way to the kitchen. Of course it took me 40 minutes before I even had the time to sip my java & Facebook but..... Big Daddy woke up early to assist, and let's put it this way, his "morning paper" takes on a whole new meaning now.

Yes, we definitely have our hands full on this one but couldn't be happier. The kids are obsessed with their new besties. I just hope the poor furry guys can live through all the squeezing, bear hugs and stalking. It is like an Elvis concert in there right now. In time, all will settle, I suppose. Until then, back to school stories are being bandied about, snow days won't be so darn boring anymore and the dog run will be the happenin' hangout.

Here, here, folks! Let's raise a glass to love, laughter, and memories that last a lifetime. And soft puppy tummies. That is way up there on the list now.

It truly is a wonderful life!

merry, merry

2010-12-24T06:11:00.010-06:00

Have a wonderful holiday, friends! May this special eve bring soft candlelight, laughter & yummy nosh your way....and the New Year be jam-packed with all things exciting!

santa paws

2010-12-21T04:53:00.016-06:00

It is almost here! St. Nick is all porked up and will soon be ready to lock and load. This year promises to be a special one for the Maglets. Besides the orange & Nerds, there will be a surprise to beat all surprises in their stockings- a pup and a kitty! Yes, you read that right. Either I'm the greatest mom around or I'm completely off my rocker. I don't know what has come over me. It all began months ago, très loads of moaning and groaning from the both of them- "Mommy, everyone has a pet. Everyone..BUT US!!!" For awhile, I was able to take a big swig and let my well-rehearsed 'our home is too small, my allergies to huge' monologue do the talking but as time went by, Mama Mag's heartstrings began to get plucked like a Glen Campbell banjo...and heck, I dunno- the next thing I knew, Daddy and I were at the shelter checking out a furry orphan. Or two, as the story will unfold.

I remember my first pet, a dog who took my heart captive the minute our eyes locked. It was around my 10th birthday. I have a beloved pic of us napping on the sofa together...me, awash in puppy breath and bell bottoms, and her on my chest...catching some canine z's. She was smart as whip, that dog- a Border Collie mix. She had an uncontrollable urge to herd the cattle, bless her, which resulted in a lot of yelling from my dad. :) I used to saddle her up with lunch and my journal. We'd amble off on the farm somewhere for a little respite. No D.S.'s or I-Pads in those days, just a girl and her dog, quiet...eating wild blackberries in the sun. It was a hoot watching her curl her lips back, toofies exposed, carefully picking the morsel from its thorny crown. That memory makes me smile.

So flash forward- here we were, looking for a cat. And just a cat. My hub and I had four of the little rascals between us when we first moved in together many years ago. It was a dandered Brady Bunch, let me tell you. But it was a critter we were most familiar with, so we decided it would probably be be the easiest new addition for our fam. Well, I was on my way out of the shelter and had just passed the last stall, when a wiggly swatch of black and white catches my periphery. My eyeballs couldn't help go anywhere but down. And down they did- to the cutest hunk of Border collie boy I ever saw. Coal-eyed, floppy-eared, with a half handlebar mustache. A marking, you just don't see everyday. I tried to inform him that I had room for only one fuzzball- the meowy gray one that I had just signed the papers for. But after seeing those tiny paws, my hub's teary smile, and hearing a back story that involved abandonment in a cold field...well, what's a girl going to do? She's going to go back to the office and sign the papers for a second time, that's what. And that is pretty much the end of the tail, folks. Not one, but two special Christmas morning deliveries. By none other than, Amanda, Santa's special rescue elf. I don't have to tell you that I have a sack of camera batteries and a jumbo box of Kleenex for this one. To say their heads are going to twist off their shoulders is an understatement.

I got my Gosselin on and named them already. "Dorian" is our eight week old smokey ball of feline lightening. Same age as the doggie. He is at the pouncing-out-of-nowhere stage. Uh-oh. Strong martinis and moves like that, just don't mix. I figure since he is lucky enough to have nine lives, then he'll be the only Mag among us who doesn't age, so the name will fit him well. Yeah, yeah, I should be ashamed of my mommy self, but I'm not. I simply can't go through the next ten years or so, calling out to a Sparkle or a Cuddles. I wouldn't want our boy to be the laughing stock to all those butch Rotts at the run. So we have ourselves a "Bodhi". The perfect moniker for the perfect pupster. Besides, "to awaken" is a wonderful way to begin the New Year, right? Another great opportunity to drum up the fanfare and open our peepers to the fortune we have in our lives with appreciation and a renewed sense of wonder. All the gifts given me from two amazing little girls.

2010-12-17T04:31:00.000-06:00

"Seeing is believing, but sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can't see."

2010-12-16T08:28:00.000-06:00

the variance

2010-12-07T06:18:00.013-06:00

Family is a confounding thing. The journey through time that each one makes can run a root deep, provide a foothold in the climb when we need it and shelter our backs when the rains become too strong. But sometimes within its winding history there are byways that separate, and we are left to navigate some of the way on our own. Often by happenstance, sometimes by choice. Its mosaic, a unique, recondite mix of this and that, made all the more allusive when we figure in the karmic tangle of it all.

This last month my baby learned to ride a bike while I was away. The special surprise was given me with a chocolate smile on a cold, dark night after a long, trying day. Her curls trailing in the shadows, the sky filled with stars. The hope and locomotion within that magic impulse infused me and I will hold it dear as I continue to hack my way with kin through a jungle of painful transition, acceptance, old age and fear. Prayer, at this time, is essential as breath as I try to sort word from action and present from past.

Life's journey does come with a compass, however, so now I must ground, suck up a super-sized inhale and reorganize my mystic Samsonite again...finding my way through- remembering it is along the sojourn where we find all the meaning, and not at the end of rainbows. And it is within this purposeful quiet...we hurt, we question, we dig. And if we own up to what we should, forgive when we think we can not, and love when there is nothing else we can do, we can resurface. That's just how it works.

my hallow-wieners

2010-11-01T11:49:00.015-05:00

Another Halloween has come and gone. We had a devil of a time last night at the Mag casa. We stuffed ourselves silly on ghost pizza and Milano tombstones. The goblins were all so precious. I cherish the sweetness of these times. Their little hearts are so open, they are game for Life..and those toothless grins just fill my soul. Thank you to all my parent friends who share their beautiful children with me. Any time that we can create a little magic and a spark of imagination in the lives of our children is a special time indeed. It is a place where dreams are born and plans are laid. And it is within this joie de vivre...a haven is created in which they feel safe and free to fly. I love you Willers and T-Mag. You are the beams that guide me, the constant that reassures and the Tiffany giftbox I get to open every morning over coffee.

big daddy's gourds

2010-10-21T09:21:00.008-05:00

The G-Man can sure carve when he wants to!

The Mag Haunt is slated for Sunday! Scary pizza, cemetery cake & ghoul-hand punch with eyeballs...yummy! I'm so excited, I think I'll jump the gun and levitate!

ghouls gone by...

2010-10-18T08:07:00.070-05:00

Ahh, it is that splendid time of year again...Autumn, and all the fun that comes along with it! We Mags really dig on the best part- the cool, the crackly and the toothless. No, that wouldn't be my West Virginia ancestors, folks, but Halloween and jack o' lanterns! Whee! My girls are stoked for another haunt and are lined up to be a bride and an "elegant" witch this year (as in cute, A-line, bronzy dress and matching pointy hat, not the Christine O'Donnell kind).

Yep, after a très fun visit hanging out with the zombies at Halloween Express yesterday, we are a rubber recluse, a mouse and one eyeball richer. The table will have a few new goodies upon it this holiday. We had a ball hamming it up for pictures and whatnot. I'm surprised they didn't kick us out, telling us to buy it or beat it! T-Mag is a little slow on the eerie draw though...still a wee bit reticent of all things amputated and howling. She'll come around. She has to. I have big dreams of turning our humble annual gathering into one of those Roseanne shindigs like they used to do on her show every year! Mama needs to get a part-time job and hire some set dressers to slash the gourds and gorp me up a graveyard out in my double lot. That space is just going to waste anyway. That reminds me...the girls and I watched the cutest show on HGTV a few days ago- Halloween Block Party. Four designers each take a house in the neighborhood and go all out. Simply fiendish!

Daddy Mag's spider web and punkin' fireplace lights are at the ready. We're bloody dying to carve but are holding off to avoid smelly, moldy heads. Speaking of which, I have put my outfit together- a "Freudian slip", complete with cigar and psychoanalytic stare. Sigmund would be proud. Though I should have just saved the dough and gone as a vampire. What with my hormones being as mondo as they are, my widow's peak has become frighteningly bushy these last few months. Good times. I am having to "gel" it everyday! My poor body. Who knows what part will be next to expand or deflate? I think I read somewhere that the hairy pointage is a sign of spiritual enlightenment. I guess that would make me the Eddie Munster of Mother Teresa's. The trait of a villain..it is also believed. That's more likely the case with this Mag. No wonder my hub gets a scared look on his face when I'm brushing my teeth. Speaking of the rattling ball and chain, we have our late-night-after-the-kids-are-down, Hallow's Eve flick perched on top of the entertainment center. We scored The Others for a measly five clams the other day! Great movie by the way, for any of you out there interested in that kind of thing. Nicely put together, with a twist. And it was before Kidman started shooting all that junk into her face and was able to show some semblance of emotion on her mug. Ugh. Why do actors do that? Oh, well, that's another entry.

Rotting digits are crossed for no rain and a full moon. Last year's weather sure was a keeper. We are set to check out a patch this week..and a corn maze. They do labyrinths up right around these here parts, so that will be something fun to look forward to on Papa's day off. I sure wish I had an extra 139 bucks to spend on the creepy, mechanized rocking witch I saw yesterday for our front porch. Bummer. The peeps two blocks over from us, who really go over the top every October, splurged on a big, seven feet tall Hell Raiser Pin-Head, so that will serve as a freebie for us and a cauldron of fun for all the local goblins, I'm sure.

I am glad to say that no child will be harmed in the making of the costumes this year as I went the store-bought route for my two over at Walmart. I figured my hand-made mummy and crappy ghost sheet from last Halloween was enough abuse on my little ones. Being a complete loser in the Beaver Cleaver sewing dept., I made the mistake of washing Will's mummy wrap after our diabolical shenanigans last year and all the scraps came off. Literally- the small pink Henley and sweat pants were completely washed clean afterwards. I was broken hearted as I wanted to save it for their memory box. Being gravely Hobby Lobby-challenged, little did I know that particular garment glue was not water-proof, so all the little bits ended up in the bottom of the washer. Right along with my tears and self-loathing. Oh, well, I try, and that is all a mama-of-frankenstein can do, I guess.

All this monstrous thinking gave me a wicked flashback the other day, so I decided to put together a little retrospective of my munchkins and their spooky past. It seems just yesterday that I held my spidered bald wonder in her baby sling web. Pretty soon, there won't be any more sticky, little hands and snaggletooth smiles. It will be replaced with jaunts off to the Mall with friends and "Gee, Mom, get real. That's for babies!" Until then, I will treasure every magical moment..every memory. It is within each giggle and tiny step down that sidewalk, my heart and deepest dreams reside.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

2010-10-16T08:43:00.009-05:00

Of course, since the need is completely different for each individual, we have many forms of mountaineering. It may take the form of a need to live heroically, or to rebel against restraint and limitation: an escape from the restricting circle of daily life, a protest against being submerged in universal drabness, an affirmation of the freedom of the spirit in dangerous and splendid adventure. Or it may well be the pleasure of physical fitness and moral energy, elegance of style and calculated daring; ordeals gaily faced with friends themselves as firm as rock, the hard life of the high huts, the happy relaxation on remote pastures as one smokes a pipe or sings mountain songs. It may be the search for an intense aesthetic experience, for exquisite sensations, or for man’s never satisfied desire for unknown country to explore, new paths to make. Best of all, it should be all these things together.

~ Giusto Gervasutti, alpinist

big red's luxury tours

2010-10-01T06:24:00.106-05:00

I've decided what I want to be when I grow up- a professional traveler. Methinks I'll try and slip Samantha Brown a mickey and take to the sky, circling the globe in first class style.

After having had a lovely trip back home to L.A. in June, followed by visits to both Chicago and the très charming Wisconsin hometown of my husband; I have just returned from a relaxing respite to the Florida Keys. Yes, I have channeled my inner Jolie these last few months, let me tell ya. I haven't had this much jet-setting action in a long time and am pretty sure I'll be sitting in the double-wide now for quite a spell to make up for it. This last jaunt to Margaritaville was a jolly good one. And I couldn't have had a better tour guide- my dear friend of twenty years, Greg. I haven't been pampered like that since I don't know when! He was the lucky winner in his company's sales contest and had won a trip for two to a fab resort and picked this lucky dog to share it with him. As I have said many times before...do I have the best buds or what?

So here we were..a week ago today, on our way to a luxurious weekend on a private island resort, complete with our very own tender to the mainland, 1200 square foot cottage and the cutest little hand soaps. I ought to know as I took a slew of them home in my luggage! And much to my Greg's horror, forced him to make off with the remaining Tazo teas and in-room Starbucks in his duffel for me, when I ran out of room in mine. Hey, you can take the girl out of Arkansas but not the Arkie out of the girl, folks.

My journey began in Ft. Liquordale (or that's what it was when I got through with it)- the lovely hometown of my friend. The digs were top-notch from the beginning. His parents offered up their darling condo on the waterway to us since they were out of town. I had my morning coffee looking out over fancy-dancy boats galore and really rich people having breakfast on their penthouse balconies. A fab introduction to how the other half lives. We noshed on an absolutely perfect meal that evening, at a place I mistakenly kept referring to as Studio 54 even though Greg constantly reminded me it was actually Seasons 52. All I know is...my snapper with the melt in your mouth orzo was divine. So was my dessert and the extra one Greg was forced to order because I spooned all his down my goozle, too. The evening's classy dinner was preceded by a bucket martini at the Country Club, dah-lings! Our lovely friend, Terry, joined us for the night's festivities. It was so nice to see her again. The next hazy morning, we all had a yummy breakfast at Bill's Filling Station, a local gay diner. I scarfed up some of the best biscuits and gravy I ever ate. Who knew my boys could whip up all that good country cookin'?

Our leisurely drive south started with a quick pit stop into the palm-swaying, Art Deco Miami. I would say 'sunny' but that wasn't happening yet. Up until the moment Mama's feet hit the tarmac, we had torrential rain and gale force winds. Well, I suppose it wasn't that bad, but Florida sure didn't have at me at hello. Greg, the consummate host, was beside himself while touring me under a dark and thundering sky. With the wipers on max speed though, I was able to make out a landmark or two if I squinted really hard.

As we inched our way southward, we passed marshlands, the lingering effects of Andrew (eighteen years later!) and the Monkey Jungle- one of Greggor's childhood haunts. Never saw a gator though. Bummer. We did have to do an emergency stop at a Circle K somewhere around Key Largo after I had pulled down the sun visor to check my lipstick and was mortified to find an oompah-loompah looking back at me. After a couple of stiffies that first night, my pal had talked me into using his self-tanner on my face. Good times. Thank God, I had a loofah in my toiletry bag. I was scrubbed raw by the time we gassed up and pulled out of there.

Eventually..and I do mean, eventually (due to a measly two lane highway & following behind a Budweiser truck that must have been driven by an 80 year old lady) we finally found ourselves on the 17 Mile Highway, cruising across beautiful blue-green water and so many different 'keys', I lost count. Well, truth be known, I was Facebooking, and missed some of the drive. At one point, I asked Greg which new profile pic he preferred of me and a couple questions about cropping and can you believe he told me that he was busy driving??? Whatever. We decided if he did lose control of the wheel though, that I was so good, I'd be able to post a Newsfeed status of "Oh, shit!" as we soared off the bridge to our death.

Two bottles of Dasani and a Dove bar later, we pulled into the town of Key West- home to the legendary writer, Ernest Hemingway (more on that amazing experience later), j'adorable colonial cottages and from the looks of it, lots of full body tats and mullets. Oh, yeah...too bad my red-headed tour guide didn't have a big doobie or any Buffet on his Sirius because from the looks of it, my experience would have then been complete. We wound our way through a cute maze of Bed and Breakfasts until our final stop, The Westin. The moment that hunky Serb valet opened my car door, my ass was primed for the kissing and my Travel Channel spectacular began. Surrounded by exquisite orchids and a royalty's greeting upon check-in, I felt truly glam and geared up for a fantastic trip.

We made our way to the resort's private launch, the "'Lil Princess". How appropriate, since I was with my Queen. We hopped aboard, snuck our way around a humongous Carnival cruise ship and zoomed off to the island I called my home for a glorious 48 hours and twenty minutes. But who's counting? Our cottage was presh with a capitol P. A nautical motif, decked out with beyond plush towels, high thread-count sheeting and a shower so big that I could have shared it with the Laker team. There was a nice wrap-around porch, peppered with Adirondacks..even a comfy hammock tied between a couple of palms. A perfect set-up for ocean ogling. The sun had finally come out to our gi-normous relief as we had driven toward an ominous black cloud every mile of the way down there. Greg was right, Florida's weather can change on a dime; and lucky for us and our livers, it was on our side.

The company fete followed that evening and was a lot of fun. We had cocktails by the pool and din-din in the hotel restaurant, Lattitudes, which was very nice. Earlier, over an Orange Stoli, I had coined a catchy little ditty for the place, "A New Lattitude"- sung to the tune of I Got a New Attitude by the Pointer Sisters. Everyone seemed to have liked it as Greg thought me his grinder monkey that evening at dinner and had asked me to perform it for a few of his co-workers. They were all very nice peeps and from what I was told the next morning- quite tolerant. I happened to be sitting across the table from a VIP who had graciously engaged me in conversation and asked how I had come to the Keys. Instead of simply & succinctly telling him I'd flown in via Lauderdale; I, nursing my umpteenth glass of pinot, proceeded to give him my life story instead. From start to blathering finish. I know you all may find this hard to believe but Mama tends to ramble a bit when she is drinking. Over coffee the next day, Greg told me the only part I left out of my saga was when my great grandmother came over from Poland to Ellis Island and was denied entry because of a bad tooth. :) Needless to say, I was quite embarrassed and was determined to make a joke of it all if I was lucky enough to run into his boss again. Well, I did. Right when I was hopping off the tender the next day. I looked at him and said, "1973..." He raised his hand as if to say, 'No more..please, woman", but gave me a smile and a hug instead. I hope Greg wasn't demoted to janitor when he got back to work on Monday.

The next day, I got up at a ridiculous 5:45am (I'm on mom time, what can I say?) and decided I'd amble my way around the property and take some pics while Greg was sleeping off his Ambien. It was soul-nourishing to see that beautiful sun rise up over that turquoise water. When I got back to the room though, there was my tiffed mon amie..sitting at the dining room table, looking as if he had a mouth full of pins. Our time at this four-star resort included a hand-delivered breakfast basket each morning of our stay. We had been fantasizing about the darn thing for two whole months...freshly squeezed, pulpy orange juice, plump blueberry-filled muffins, scones, croissants with creamery butter...jarred gourmet preserves, wrapped in pretty toile paper and ribbon. He made a motion for me to do the honors of opening this huge basket that he had brought in from the porch. However, by the look on his mug, it appeared he'd already done so. I lifted its lid, heart racing at all the num-nums that my island Muffin Man had brought for our hungry, hungover tummies. Much to this 'Lil Princess' dismay, there was only a brown banana, a Lilliputian apple and what ended up being a tiny piece of Entenmmans, basically. We fought over that thing like a couple of piranhas and then promptly got dressed, pulled out the MasterCard and went to the restaurant for a very delish and overpriced breakfast.

That afternoon, we had penciled in some sort of island activity while we were down there. Well, the Gregster, being the host we know and love...anticipated my every desire, knowing from experience that this girl has a big ole affinity for warm ocean water & lots of pretty little fishies..so he sprung for a bonafide three-hour snorkeling adventure! We should have known better when the choice was between either Fury or Danger Tours of what was to come, but no. Perhaps, if we had paid just a wee bit more attention to the name of said tour- "Reef and 'ritas"...we may have realized the inherent risk involved. Or maybe, just maybe, if we had tuned into the local weather report but, nah, we couldn't be bothered with all that nonsense. Anything that has to do with "..a three hour tour" is just not going to bode well. But onward we went- my Gilligan to Greg's Mrs. Howell. We handed over our tickets and jumped aboard.

An hour out to sea we sailed. Reggae rang from of the speakers and gear was passed out to us, one by one. The ride was choppy to say the least. They finally put her into idle, lowered the sail, and there before us lay an aqua paradise. Except there was one little part of paradise I wasn't so familiar with. The eight-foot swell part. Oh, yeah. That water was rocking and rolling, folks. Dorked out in flippers and mask, we jumped off the side and into a swirling, salty cauldron of sea. It only took a couple of minutes for about a gallon of water to flow down my pie-hole. Choking and spitting, I looked up to find my buddy, ole pal had been swept away about twenty yards ahead. His focus was on the very expensive underwater camera he'd borrowed, so he had no time to protect and hold onto Mama. He knew full well, that if he dropped that blasted thing, we'd have to call in the frigging Coast Guard to retrieve it. Oh, it was a war zone out there. For an hour we bobbed, trying our damnedest to keep our face in the water and our snorkels above it. Oy. Even the fish were looking up at us like "Dude, are ya crazy? Go back to land, for God's sake!" We never did get any good pics and really didn't see much until right at the last minute, long after the camera had mysteriously stopped working- the most absolutely, positively, eye-popping school of purple fish. About twenty or so swam up underneath us to feed on the coral. All stress faded away as we held hands, staring in awe at the magnificent splendor of this beautiful little marine creature. We surfaced, looked at each other and Greg said, "We just got our 100 bucks worth, girl."

Exhausted, we made our way back to the boat and that's when it really got scary. The waves were pummeling the stairs/ladder that had been lowered down and we were being thrashed around like rag dolls. Greg had made it on ahead of me and was holding onto to the bottom rung for dear life. I brought up the rear, snotting out seawater by the buckets, frantically holding onto my mask and trying not to laugh at him when he got slammed by some big biker chick when she was trying to make her way up the slippery stairs. All of a sudden- pow. From the force of the waves behind me, I got nailed in the face by a cable that was holding the stairs in place. It whacked me pretty hard and I was stunned for a second. I tried to find the good in it though, and figured it just raked off another layer of that dreadful self-tanner.

Next thing I know, while I was busy trying not to black out and drown, Greg had a lightbulb moment of taking his fins off and finally managed to hoist himself up onto the stairs. And, boy, did that guy hot-foot it up..leaving Mama Mags to flail ever so dramatically behind. I screamed out but to no avail. He had done gone and dropped that chivalry ball...big time. All of a sudden, just when I thought I was done for, I saw a hand reach out for my vest (the same vest I chose not to blow up because I was such an 'efficient swimmer') and I was then pulled safely onto the first step by one of the tour employees. I lived to tell but not before scraping all the skin off my shins. You'd think after surviving the perfect storm, things would have settled down on the way back but no...not on Fury Tours, gosh darnit! The games were just beginning as we raised the canvas and whirred up the margarita blender. As we toweled off, trying to catch our breath, I couldn't help but notice some of the green faces around me. Before I could say, 'thar she blows' puke was everywhere. Good Lord, the last time I saw that many sick people was at a frat party I attended back in '83. I mean, they were hanging over the side, lying in the aisles, running down to the head..everywhere. This one lady up on the deck just in front of us, was kicking back, having a cold brew, talking to her friend and then whammy...we see her blowing chunks right out of nowhere all over her Pucci swim skirt. The crew got the hose out and were trying to clean it up. Meanwhile Greg and I were deciding which way to run to avoid the lethal spray that was coming at us in every direction. We landed a safe spot, leeward side, and clung to each other for the remaining thirty minutes to land. I was tempted at one point to jump off and swim the rest of the way but I stopped myself. I probably could have used the cardio.

We were able to admire a gorgeous sunset the next night out on the dock, with 18 dollar martini in hand. Greg had splurged a little and upgraded his Red Bull with premium vodka. And for a bargain of only eleven bucks, got to keep the whole can. That poor man...bless his heart. He dropped some serious coin while we were there. Between the tipping, the noshing and Mama's Paul Bunyan bar bill, that place can really stick it to a guy. He was handing out ones like they were tic-tacs. After the amazing pink and teal sky show, we made our way toward the launch, stopping first to take some photos of an elegant white sea egret posing ever so handsomely on the dock rail. I must have turned him off with my vodka breath because he gave me a very disgruntled look and flew off into the balmy night sky as I was left to struggle with my cheap, crappy flip-phone.

We made our way over to the mainland that night, to check out the infamous Duval Street and all its shenanigans. The restaurant ended up being a little farther than we had thought and I began to get a blister on my heel. Well, my trusty mate could not have been anymore of a Cary Grant..he hailed a rickshaw to carry me the rest of the way. With our buzz on, we didn't realize, however, that we were in fact not that far from our destination...so it didn't take long for the cute, biking Serb to get us there. We had just enough time to admire his well-developed calves when he pulled us up right to the front door. And to think...it only cost Greg 19 greenbacks to go a block and a half. We ate a very good Italian meal and ended up seated next to a friendly couple who were from Northwest Arkansas. Small world, non? Afterward, the two of us staggered out to hail another ride back down to the harbor (yeah, yeah, even though Greg had told me over dinner that "he didn't care if my freaking leg fell off..he wasn't laying down another 20 bucks to go two blocks")...Aww, he made an exception though for his drunk, crippled friend and splurged on yet another nice pedi-cab ride. And once again- a Serb guy. We couldn't help but ask, '..what gives with all you Slav folks?" The young man told us there were quite a few Serb youth who come over to the Keys to make money to bring home to their families. It must have worked. Greg gave him a huge tip. It was also on that very same rickshaw, that a lot of other oddly interesting talk went on between us. From trying to guess Ernest's favorite cocktail, to gab that spoke of the mystical, coincidence of traveling 1300 miles across the country to find yourself sitting in the very same restaurant, next to two people from your very same small town...then on to learning something I never knew about my buddy of many, many years- his favorite line in a film. Ever. A John Waters flick called Female Trouble. It is most certainly worthy of repeating here, as it nearly made me laugh my butt right out of the carriage but I must refrain as the Daily Mag has and always will have a PG rating.

Despite our beer goggles, we miraculously found our way back to the dock. The next morning, our last, Gramps Nolin wanted to sleep in and that is just what we did. I got up at a luxurious 8:00am (that is late for this mother). Refreshed and ready for the last few hours in our ocean dreamland, we sadly placed our luggage on the porch and then to soften the blow, went and gorged ourselves on blackened grouper and spicy Bloody Mary's. My allergies had plagued me the whole trip. Greg had endured (stoically, I might add) a lot of very gross snorting and sniffing from yours truly. That lush Floridian foliage may be purdy but, dang..it made my sinuses go into overdrive. Plus, I had been suffering with an awful cough that had lingered for quite some time. As I hacked over my yummy drink, Big Red looked at me with disgust and said, 'I hope I don't end up getting whatever it is you got, honey child. Because some of us have to go back to work on Monday." I couldn't help but giggle over my imagined Key West newspaper headline- "TUBERCULOSIS HITS KEYS- SOURCE UNKNOWN". Without missing a beat, Greg retorts, "Two Serbs and a sea egret fall victim." He was and will always be the Conan O'Brien of the Sunshine State.

The highlight of the trip was on our way out. We stopped at the Hemingway House. The antiques, the hand-layed tile, the smell of old books...oh, I could just go on and on. The gardens were lush and tropical and don't even get me going on the gorgeous pool that took a full six months to dig (that coral rock is hard stuff). His wife, Pauline, had snuck and put it in for the kids while Papa was in Spain- to the tune of twenty grand, thank you very much. That was a whole lotta dough back in those days and, man, oh man, was he mad. Oh, well. He was fooling around with wife-number-3-to-be over there, so maybe he deserved it. Snowball, the family's six-toed cat was prominent in all the paintings and knick knacks- 25 of her descendants roam the property today. Very cuddly cute and from the looks of that extra toe, could probably rip your head off if they were so inclined. They could not have been tamer, however, and were lounging here and there around the grounds. All joking aside though, it was humbling to see the grand writer's office- a small, top floor bungalow in the back. Up the steep stairs we walked and when I peered in, there she was- his beloved typewriter. When I thought of his fingertips plunking out To Have and Have Not with a cold mojito and his beloved white feline in his lap...well, Mama got a little teary. It isn't every day you're in the midst of greatness.

Yes, I had the trip of my life. Just what I needed, too, with all the worries as of late. It made me forget for a little while. I literally woke up laughing every morning. You know you have a true-blue friend when the years and miles are between you but you're always able to pick up right where you left off. Thanks, Gregory, for showing me a fabulous time. I felt like one of those molls who has a sugar daddy. And I didn't even have to put out. ;-)

2010-08-29T13:12:00.007-05:00

The Universe works in the most beautiful way. "Be grateful, dream big and never give up." I think this dude may be onto somethin'.

mama and the grandmaster flash

2010-08-22T08:09:00.098-05:00

My hub is in bed, 102 degrees & achey on his birthday weekend, my youngest has had what sounds like a Marlboro Red cough for the last month, I have a toilet that needs scrubbing and my remote is busted. Fun times for this Furious Five, lemme tell ya (if you count the goldfish). Yes, not only is Mercury often retro in my world...oh, I'd venture to say probably 90% of the time these days..but it is on a liquid rise in more ways than one. This summer heat has been awful. I fear my poor grass may be gone for good. It is like walking on rice-crispies out there. Even my Lilliputian Christmas trees off the front porch are scorched and orange on the top. We are having a heat wave to beat all heat waves down here in the Ozarks. And not a single rain drop in sight. Yep, the hills have eyes alright and they're wearing their Foster Grants.

I have never been a lover of summer, so I am always very eager to have it over and done with. Come August, I'm jonesing for autumn leaves and my favorite sweater. But I don't think Fall will be here any time soon. The kid's are back in school though, so I guess there's something cool going on. My youngest daughter is full-day this year and for the first time in a long while, my house is silent from 8 all the way until 3...except for the rat-a-tat of a keyboard and an occasional clink of an ice cube. And panting. Lots of it. No...not for reasons of that nature, mind you. Flashes. One after another. Literally. 'Bam! These suckers have certainly moved up a notch". As if this muggy weather isn't enough to frizzle my frazzle, my hormones are at a boiling point. Most of my nights are spent wide-eyed and riding a sort of endocrine roller coaster. Loops out the wah-zoo and a wicked G-force. It is so weird...a sort of nervous "dip" feeling in the chest and stomach like going down Space Mountain. It comes in waves all through the night. I thought I was about to go postal or something but googled it and find out that...yes, it's "normal". It just feels terminal, that's all. Suffice to say, I have shifted from having a light pink flush this past year to Six Flags over Anxiety. Not fun. No wonder my poor hubby is ailing so. He has to withstand gale force winds all night, blades whirring at DC-10 speed. Thank God, Hunter makes a good product or we Mags could be chopped up into five easy pieces.

Although things are rather toasty, we did have some nice travel goings-on these last couple of months. After the kids and I got back from Cali, we drove up to Chicago with Daddy for an overnighter to see brand new great-niece, Baby E. She's so darn cute..her nostrils are heart-shaped. It was followed by some way-too-quick sightseeing in the lovely Old Town section. Yeah, no wonder. I had to take out a small loan to park my car in that city. Jeez. Lovely architecture though, such history..Second City, Steppenwolf, beautiful Lincoln Park..visiting all my hubby's old apartments. The streets are j'adorable, tree-lined, hydrangeas blossoming everywhere...and those town-houses! A mere stone's throw from that beautiful, breezy lake and gorgeous skyline. Don't even get me started. I tried to wiggle my key into one but it didn't work. Yes, those peeps have some sweet home karma, for sure. Hell, even the pets have it made. Some pug decked out in a sweater and blingy leash trotted by me off Division with a thought bubble that said, 'Sorry, sucka.'

Then it was a short jaunt north to the Dairy State for the husband's high school reunion. It was a joy to see him reunited with old friends again. A lovely group of people, and such a charming community. We stopped by his boyhood home..still standing after almost a century ;-) Then over to check out the "lake that looks like an ocean, Mommy!" I won't talk about the pet-friendly hotel we booked on the drive up to Chi-Town that reeked of dog pee and a baked-in stank that can only happen when the a.c. unit has been turned off since '98. The atrium pool wasn't much of a relief as it was 101 outside, the sun beating through the glass. A pool/sauna, whether ya like it or not. I left Daddy Mags to splash in Humidville with the youngins and snuck off for a run on the treadmill that had a banana peel for its conveyer. Oh, joy. Hotwire wasn't so good to Mama on that one.

I will be taking to the air again in another month or so for a visit to the Florida Keys with my dear pal, Big Red. Our last vacay was a rendezvous at Disney World with the kids a couple of years back & is chronicled here for your reading pleasure. Four parks in four days with even a tornado thrown in! Only Mama Mags has such stories, folks. Yes, besides chardonnay and Bravo, I am thankful for many things in my life but particularly for my hardworking pals who kick ass with their sales numbers and win trips to four diamond resorts...and then ask me to tag along! This place is a movie-star doozy! Our very own 1200 square foot cottage, complete with wrap around porch, hand-delivered breakfast basket..basically every inch of our assed- kissed. And for mine...that's a lot of smoochin'! This is how the other half lives and I am up to the challenge! Ms. Winfrey supposedly had her big birthday bash here a few years back. Samantha Brown on the Travel Channel lists this private island resort in her Honeymoon Top Five. I'm a traveling 'beard' on this one, so no nookie is involved but, oh, how I can't wait for those gorgeous Margaritaville sunsets! No cars are allowed on the isle, so that makes for some quiet. And when you're ready to hop off to the mainland to party Buffett-style, there's a boat that will take you there! This is living, friends. And for approximately 48 hours or so, it will be my one and only Brangelina moment. Then its back to tator-tots and my 19 inch Sony.

And believe it or not Ripley, Mama is jet-setting solo with only her Vanity Fair and a nip to whiz through security. You read that right. Sans kiddos! No lifeguard duty, no fruit leather and no noodles. Just languid infinity pool drunks spent ogling all that misty blue and stuffing myself with lobster and creme brulee. Of course, my ego is such that I have been living at the gym non-stop since learning of the trip. I mean, if you're going to dine and drink with the rich, then you better have the hot body to go along with it! Well, let's be realistic here. A hot bod isn't in the cards for me anymore but I plan to take my muffin-top down to a pita pocket, at least. Thanks, Greggors. Can't wait! Now if I could just turn on CNN to find that the recent Dengue Fever outbreak across the Keys is under control, I'd feel a little more settled. :( Oh, well, if I have to move the dead bodies out of the way to get into my blissful ocean abode, then so be it.

Besides spending most of their summer swimming like Nemo and the Gang, my oldest participated in an Art Camp back in July. She had a ball and created some lovely pieces. She's got her Daddy's talent. Here's a still life of hers...My other baby is loving Kindergarten and tells me her teach is as 'pretty as a princess'. Watching her walk away during drop-off, hand in hand, with her big sissy made Mama misty. It was Tinker Bell all the way- from back pack to lunch box. Oh, my beautiful, little fairy girl. Before I know it, I'll be watching you walk away into a college dorm...a texting know-it-all, spending every damn dime I got. Oy. Well, hopefully, my hormones will finally be at a standstill by then and this old gray mare will be happily ensconsed in her pasture. Ahhh...if I squint, I can see it now-
'the light at the end of the tunnel'. Nah, wait a second. That's just the candle's reflection off my Grey Goose bottle.

nano art

2010-08-19T06:19:00.007-05:00

Artists, in any medium, never cease to amaze me. But when you use a fly hair as a paintbrush and design within the eye of a needle, that is something, non? This gentleman went from being belittled as a boy by a sorry excuse for a teacher to heeding the words of the mother who loved him. Dreams don't always come in big packages. And sometimes you just need a little help to see them.

what fades away

2010-07-26T13:22:00.050-05:00

It is the disquieting time of night, somewhere between the haunting tick of a wall clock and the peek of morning. And it is within this shadowy half-light, I remember. The whisper of memory weaves itself contently if I'm lucky..but more often these days, it is wistful. A random thought that can fill an ear with tears, or cut through sleep in the oddest, silliest of ways. And sometimes it comes in a reassuring dream that patches a hole. Those are the best kind. But tonight, it cradles itself between a distant train whistle and raindrops on the window and I miss you.

My mother. An easy touch, the kindest of voices, an unconditional love that poured all over me and has been regifted in the journey I take with my own babies. All sweetness she is, with a sunshine smile. One who had the profound ability to fill the miles between us for so many years when the wild colt within me had to run. But time has passed and we finally share the same place again. Although she's farther from me now in so many ways, my heart is full and I am thankful that life's mystical path led me back.

Those brown eyes are different. On a good day, they target..on a dark one, they look away or through. Foolishly, I raise my voice hoping that will bring her 'round. At times the sadness overwhelms me, exceeded only by the fear of losing her completely but prayer and the force field of my girls bring me back to a good place. And in these early hours, I go there again. To experiences, times and laughs we've shared- in Reno when she mistakenly put lip liner on her eyebrows and I found myself sharing a nickel bank with a circus clown...tight hugs on the jet bridge, Chinese chicken salad at The Broadway. I remember walks, talks, the smell of Charlie..when I could not believe anymore and she did it for me. All the boyfriends, the apartments and the silent drives we took when music was enough. I watched her bury a son under tragic circumstances with the strength and faith of an angel; an unfathomable knock-out in which she miraculously managed to keep the gleam and push within herself. You get that from your mama, Mama.

There are times when my selfishness gets the best of me and I curse the cards that took away the parts of you that I need now. But behind the veil I see a familiar glimmer..when my Will touches her fingers to your cheek, in the sway of your hips when Mr. Ray is on the stereo. It is within these moments, I breathe..replenish and am grateful for love, no matter how many curtains have been drawn within it.

When I was a girl, I remember leaning on the sill and watching the dogwood blossoms fall outside my second story window. My goals were lofty, and life was all about my dog and Tiger Beat magazine. You were the tether between home and whatever was out there. Thank you, for the niche you created for us, Mom. Thank you, for the warm fold of your arms and for believing in my dreams as if they were your own.

It is here I will stay as long as I need to, until the story is complete for us and our karmic river has met its sea. My deepest wish for you is one where pain has no place, love continues to bathe you in its light and one in which your hands are always warmed by my father.

life is sweetzer

2010-07-06T10:06:00.060-05:00

Mama and her Maglets have made a safe return back from a beyond fabulous visit home to Los Angeles. It was just what the doctor ordered. We spent an action packed, fun-filled ten days under the canopy of perfect weather, abundant laughter and, unfortunately, for my liver..way too much spirit. Oy. I just got off the phone with Hazelden and will be booking their 28 day "vacay-recovery" package shortly. Oh, well..what the heck. When you're living in the Ozarks and are only able to see your friends twice in six long years...your inner party animal comes out, what can I say? The neck injury I sustained from sleeping on one of T-Mag's stuffies was one animal I could have done without, however. On day four of my chardonnay-induced slumber, Nemo had managed to lodge himself under my goozle and the tweak from it plagued me for most of the trip. From now on, Mama sleeps solo- no kids, no fish. Or hires her handy-dandy massage therapist, Ron, to travel with. ;-)

We began our stay in the lovely West Hollywood area with our dear friend, Tim, who could not have made us feel more welcome. Particularly for a single, gay man with a houseful of expensive furniture and breakables. Bless him. He hung in there with his gracious self though and I'm pretty sure was ready to drop kick medi-Kate Gosselin and her two rug rats out the door by weeks end. I had to laugh as he was fully prepared for our arrival..having had purchased a gargantuan, plastic white table cloth, which we nicknamed- the Giant Depends....and literally would put it down wherever the kids were eating and playing. :)

I am so loving the WeHo area now! That delectable morning marine layer was like a mini-air conditioner on my daily runs through all the darling streets dotted with spanish-style apartments and precious cottages. Wish I had 700 thou and I'd plunk it down on the cute, little flower-wrapped bungalow that I salivated over every day on the corner of Alfred. Oh, how I've missed my bougainvilla! Those fuschia swatches were everywhere...

We really didn't do the tourist thing..just hung out with all my buds. The girls were presh with a capitol P and two itty bitty social butterflies..lemme tell ya. They ate up all the attention and activity like a couple of piranhas. We frolicked in the waves at Annenberg Beach. What a lovely facility they've finally put together for California families. Freak-free, clean sand, immaculate bathrooms...even a boardwalk all the way to the sea for us old-timers who aren't interested in a hot-footed, thigh workout. The quaint little beach house that Hearst built for Marion Davies was there. Yeah, must be nice. When San Simeon got boring, she had a nice little pad on the edge o' the ocean to rest her weary bones. Like I always tell my daughters.."Marry for money, darlings!"

We finished up our last few days at a sweet little motel, The Tangerine, in my old neighborhood. It was j'adorable..all bright, quiet, nicely appointed..with a pool that turned out to be almost like our very own personal cabana as no one was ever in it but my offspring! Boy, oh, boy...those two can swim. I wish I had a fraction of their energy. We basically spent 8 hours a day in the thing..and it worked out nicely because my pals would come and visit me to chat and drink "lemonade". I even had a friend, who enabling my Facebook addiction, graciously offered up his laptop (complete with matching tangerine holder!) Yes, ladies and gents, orange was definitely the theme in every way. From fruits and computers...to my cirrhosis! The manager of the place could not have been more amiable as I paraded what must have seemed like 160 people through its doors to poolside. The ongoing joke was that I was probably going to get an eyeful of sur-charges upon checkout. You told us you and your two children, Mrs. Mag..not Snoop Dogg's posse!

I had a couple of lovely din-din parties held in my honor..absolutely wonderful nosh and my kids were treated like royalty (acting more like Hilton princesses though, '..will you please take the stuff out of the mushrooms?".."I like it but I want those 'red things' (sun-dried tomatoes) put on the side."..'oh, you're serving grilled marinated chicken breast, whole wheat orzo salad with heirloom tomatoes and bread to die for...uh, do you have any mac-n-cheese instead?" Thanks, Uncle Bob and Aunty Anna for your patience and hospitality!

My Glee w/ Calcium Added reunion with all my theatre pals of yesteryear was a highlight on the trip. I hadn't seen most of these folks in 10 or 15 years and it was great to share some time with them. I look back very fondly on the creative work we did together- so talented, smart and passionate..my Angel thespians. I even got together with some dear homies I used to work with many, many years ago. We ate at the restaurant where we all had waited tables..now completely re-done and unrecognizeable. Even though our surroundings may have changed, we had not. We picked up convo like no time had ever passed. You Fab-ites are da greatest. Next up, was a cool by the pool gathering with my friends in faith. Ladies, you always inspire me with your beauty and wisdom....not to mention the gauc and Goose! I think my girls may have worn out your water feature, Dorinda. They still talk about "the falls".

I've always said, if one is defined by the company they keep, then Mama Mags has got it goin' on, ya'll. My pals opened their homes, hearts and wine bottles to me while I was there in the most beautiful way. I truly am the luckiest gal on the planet to have such shining lights in my life. Yes, I gathered with old friends, young friends, some I haven't talked to in years..even made a brand new one whom I know I will treasure always. I like to thank that the very best part of me comes out when I am with you people. Thank you, for your kindness, the laughs and for welcoming my children with open arms.

I love you, all...

a daddy

2010-06-20T05:14:00.012-05:00

All fathers are heroes. The young, the old...the working joes, the famous authors. It is not what they do or what they have but what they are. Simple..nothing fancy or flashy..residing somewhere between a tender whisper and a belly laugh that you know is genuine. I have always believed that a man is truly defined by the way he nurtures. In my life, its light shines in the way he holds my baby on a zip-slide, the gentle pat on a sore tummy, or simply in the quietness of a teary profile at a recital.

Today we celebrate that strength..neither brute nor brawn..but the kind who puts us and our babies first, who aren't afraid to love deeper and more selflessly than ever...the exemplary courage to don a tiara and pink stole to the tune of abundant giggles.

This one's for you Dad..and for you, G-Man. Thanks for delivering, for the shelter, and for the heart that goes along with it. Happy Father's Day!

the lonesome tide

2010-06-14T13:13:00.081-05:00

It was only last summer that my family and I swam in the warm waters of the Gulf. We peacefully slept on a breezy 4th floor and spent our tranquil mornings eating cinnamon toast with the symphonic sound of the sea playing before us. It was a quiet, special week..one where memories of birthday smiles, dolphins frolicking at a stones throw and regal sandcastles were made.

As I ran my way down the coast most early evenings..the sun sinking behind a soft, pink horizon, little did I know that I would be watching the ghastly images I see today. That black, gushing plume sickens me to the core every time I see it. My heart heavy with the sight of all those weighted wings, my prayer- fervent; that life there whether feathered, scaled or shelled will live again and we can clean up what those greedy bastards have set in motion. Ironically, it will probably be more of my tax dollar that will do it and very little of the 17 billion that line their silk pockets. That seems to be the way these days. As a woman, committed to my faith though, I can not and will not lose hope that we will eventually turn poison into medicine and that this karma, no matter how immutable it seems now will unfold itself to heal, to renew, to begin again. This preventable cause has been made into a disastrous effect and it is by our will and self destiny that we must correct it. But unless we change the way we consume, and own up to what has manifested by our hand then how can anything move forward? I have no concrete solution, no degrees, no political seat...just a blogging mama who prays that her babies will get what they deserve- the world in all its glory..life as sweet and simple as it was for me.

The prioritization of not only we humanoids in the life web but all others as well must be moved into place...lessons learned, mechanisms corrected, a-holes called out- a civic demand that will be heard like a shot fired, a final fix that will plug the pipes a mile deep once and for all and also the suits who've shown themselves to be nothing but an o-ring of blame, denial and neglect. And in my book, I'm talkin' to you, Mr. and Ms. B.P.-a sin so very deep, that as a mother of two young lives perched on an edge of discovery and wonder, I shudder at its magnitude and wonder how your eyes are able to shut in sleep at night. I struggle with the fear of my darkest demon..that one day we will not have any tools left for battle and all the links in the chain will lie broken like a Pic-a-Parts junkyard. There is something so innately tragic at the demise of the ones who can not speak for themselves. We owe an allegiance to both child and creature- a mission so noble that you would think its task alone would be enough to satisfy us. Our future is shining but we are blind to its light, I'm afraid.

The oxygen of the bay's bottom is already 20% below normal. It is home to over 400 species who are now seriously threatened. Those who are able to leave the hypoxic area, will; and those who can not, will not. Heaven forbid, if there is a bad hurricane season and that slop, in its sinister spread, will cover even more of our deep blue. I am reminded of the frantic scramble of the majestic sea turtle. It's odds of survival one in a thousand. After poking its head up through the sugary sand, it dodges the swift talon of the seagull, and then beats its tiny flippers against the current and other fishy threats. Today, its odyssey made even more perilous by the poison that washes in before them. Life on the tiniest, organic microbial level now must fight this deathly underwater cloud for breath and our wetlands will lose. I saw firsthand, at Dauphin Island's amazing estuarium, the profundity of the marsh and its place within this eco-system. The intricate tango between river, ocean, matter and life.

And so it goes. The jubilee falls silent and we continue to drive, consume and glutton ourselves into oblivion. My trek to school is always behind a mass of guzzling gas hogs with support our troops bumper stickers. I should be passing a lot more recycle bins on my way, but sadly only one or two on my block. The technology is out there to make a Prius that the average joe can afford. I just don't get it. All I can do in my humble way is to create a ripple in the proverbial pond as best I can and encourage my kids to do so, too. I haven't shared a rocket-science solution, nothing Huff worthy...not anything that you don't feel in your own tickers. This was simply an entry where I just needed to vent, I guess....and for a love song about a place that I shared with my children.

seven

2010-06-13T08:15:00.003-05:00

Happy birthday, baby. You are my light, my love..the spring in my step, the Darlene to my Roseanne.

slip slidin' away

2010-06-07T06:11:00.014-05:00

Yesterday was a sweet one. The windows down, vine-ripened tomatoes, bluegrass and two sleepy girls. My sister and I have made a commitment to Sunday family dinners from here on out. No schedule blips, no buts, no excuses. These mild days just at the beginning of summer, the smell of coconut on a warm shoulder, the suns rays through my baby girl's curls as she blows kisses to her Bobo..all moments I memorize and shelve in an already over-stuffed heart. The lazy goodness of just living is a precious gift to all of us. One that we may not always stop to savor. From the untamed swatch of wildflowers I pass on my morning run to the melodious call of the owl who just moved in next door. My promise is a strong one. It resides somewhere between the inhale of fear and the cushion of your love. It's weft to your warp, in an ever-changing world on its travels through the vast unknown.

2010-06-02T06:30:00.003-05:00

here comes the sun

2010-06-01T11:18:00.023-05:00

Apparently, my air conditioner has a G-spot. Humidity has finally reared its ugly head down here in the Ozarks. Wrap that muggy schmata around some hormonal flashing and you have one hot Mama. After roasting at the park the other day with the kiddos, I made a mad dash home to crank that puppy up, and nothin'. Oy. Not only has it been a full two months since I've blogged about my crazy life..but the last time I was waxing heretic was about ten inches below this entry as Mercury was spinning up some electro magnetic funk in my Mag world. Well, this time, 'karma be damned"... I was mad as hell and my checkbook and I were not going to take it anymore. So I tore the front plate off that sucker and took a gander. After staring intently at its innards for about ten minutes, hoping that was all the repair it was magically going to need, I couldn't help but notice a blinking amber light with a rotating disc like thing in front of it. Well, I'm no dummy- green means go and red means stop, so I figured all I needed for yellow was a little pedal to the metal..give her a little love to get her going. So I tapped, I knocked, I rapped and I bonked. And just when a teeny drop of sweat was sliding down my drawers and I could visualize the beady-eyed Heat and Air guy visiting with his hand out again, I gave it one last rub and said, "Work it, b*tch!" And that was all it took. She cranked up full throttle and had the casa cool in no time. Too bad I don't smoke.

Yes, life here with my brood remains pretty status quo. I have one kid finished for the year and one to go. Can't wait to get them in the same school for the Fall. Of course, our mornings will still be something out of Carrie but at least the drop-off will be in the same place and within a half of a mile from home. Big Daddy can just pull the pillow up over his head and pop an Ambien...no more of the poor guy having to get up from his groggy slumber to give a ride to our oldest one.

It has been so long since I last posted, that Spring has completely sprung and it was ab-fab! Lovely...the scent of honeysuckle thick in the air, those heavenly puffy dogwoods...the bodaciously purdy red buds abloom. I just love the four seasons and really missed it while living out in L.A. all those years. I could do without the heat though, but you can't have everything! My morning runs were sheer perfection the past couple of months but now that it is toasting up, it looks like a return to the boring treadmill. :( Just like the little hamster, I am.

Let's see, what else is happening...I've developed a meth problem since I last Eblogged. Well, sorta. I'm hooked on Facebook and its gotta stop. All the dry one-liners and silly links..I can't help myself. I need to perform a self-intervention and get back on the Daily Mag wagon. But my pals are just too darn funny and it has become a boost for this stay at home mother- an encouraging cyber 'what's up' beyond the confines of my four humble American Traditions Callaway walls and endless loop of Disney movies. My problem could be worse, I guess. Thank God, I'm not a gamer. Then DHS would have definitely have to be called in.

Yep, my Sandwich-Generation life couldn't be more mayo-ed up with school activities, doc appts., birthday parties and all the goings-on in Momville. It is also that dreaded time of year. It starts with a B and should be outlawed in this country, frankly. Bathing suit season. Yuck. I don't think there's enough Grey Goose on the planet to help this old gal through something so scary. I had managed to postpone it for quite some time..a few years in fact. Back in '06, I bought an expensive super duper Spandexed one-piece jobbie that miraculously managed to withstand gallons of chlorine and keep me all sucked in, but most unfortunately, the "trimmer-deluxe tummy panel" bit the dust and now my two pigs wrestling under a blanket have come out to play.

My depressing journey took me to Kohls and it was there, in the back stall of the dressing room that I had my seasonal affective melt-down. Trying to blink away the tears, I wrangled piece after piece, each one more horrifying than the next until I settled on a Pucci tankini and a black swim skirt. I would have preferred the Little House on the Praire Swim Line, complete with matching bonnet but what are ya gonna do? Donatella just won't give us mature Mrs. what we really need. I'm still at the stage where I have to get in the pool with my kids or they're gonna drown, so there's not much I can do about the situation. Can't wait for the day I can have the freedom to sit by the palm farthest from the pool, under the dark veil of my mommy dearest hat, Prada shades and jigger of Patron. At least I was not alone as my sorrow was shared with two other ladies perusing the swimwear with that very same sour look on their mugs. I thought of maybe trying to cut through all the tension with some humor but refrained as the gal in the Razorbacks tee-shirt looked like she might bite me. So there you have it- an uncomfortable blend of Lycra and sadness. ;-) Tom.

On the other hand, T-Mag had a ball. She had been given a gift certificate from her Aunty on her birthday, and she couldn't wait to shop. She made a bee-line over to the only thing that kid will wear- dresses. She is a girly girl with a capitol G. It must be nice to look sun-kissed and cute beyond words in everything you try on. She settled on three sweet little numbers (1/2 off sale..ya gotta love it!)..all color-coordinated and ready for summer fun in the sun! That was an easy and sob-free find, thank goodness. And just when Mama Mags thought it safe and we were headed to the shore of check-out, I spied a j'adorable black hoodie (75% reduced clearance!)and a cute pair of skinny capris. I cut through Jewelery, trotted 20 paces beyond Shoes to nab my fabulous buy. The fun stopped mid-forearm. Literally. That was the only part of my body I could fit into it. I was aghast and on the edge of ending it all (or at least returning home to eat a box of dark chocolate Ferrer Rocher) when I realized I was in the Mylie Cyrus section. Size Zero. Really? Ugh, I can't wait for her and all the High School Musicalers to pop out a coupla kids and have an "ass-back" of their very own someday. ;-) Lisa. (I told you my Crackbook pals were a hoot).

On to a more fitting subject....I am beyond excited as the girlies and I are loading up the jalopy and Goin' to Cali next month! Cement ponds and movie stars! Too bad L.L. Cool J's yummy brown tatooed guns aren't going to welcome me when I get there. Oh, well, I'll just have to settle for the I-Tune, I guess. Yes, we've managed to swing a trip back to our homeland..only our second visit in the six years since we moved away. We are thrilled to be seeing our friends and having a little beach play. Daddy is not going to make it, I'm afraid. We're taking Jon and Kate va-cays this year. Separate and bitter. Well, it's not th-a-t bad, I guess...His 40th high school reunion up in Wisconsin is a go and that was all he could fit into his busy work schedule. He missed his last one and they were all a very close class so..I am certain he will have a blast with his fellow Greyhounds 'round the SHS flagpole. Rah, Rah and pass the Geritol!

W. has been busy, busy with her Ballet and just had a wonderful year-end recital. She looked like a little angel on that great big stage and did a terrific job. Though I still remain gravely challenged as a ballet mom. I can not make a bun to save my life. The instructor had to re-do it. "The crown..the bun must lie atop the crown". Poor kid. It looks like a tumor after I get ahold of her. I ask you, are scrunchies so wrong? My oldest one also ran her first 1-K the other day. Tres cute. She really booked it at first and then pooped out a little bit near the end, but was able to raise both arms in a red-faced finish. I called out to her father who was waiting in line to take yummy advantage of sponser Ben and Jerry's ice cream for he and the kids while I grabbed some healthy fruit for me and my ass, "Hey, Dad, there's Kiwi Vitamin water!" "Vodka water?..Right on!", he replied. I couldn't help but chuckle everytime someone helped themselves from the iced cooler. I don't think the second grade teacher who overheard thought it was funny though.

All jokes, unfinished homework and exhaustion aside, looking back on this active school year, it surely has been a beautiful one. T-Mag blossomed in half-day pre-school Montessori, proudly became a best friend and is now poised for all sorts of Kindergarten discovery. Seeing the girls immersed in all things alphabet and song is a precious gift in my life. I cherish each performance, each milestone, and am realizing that it is all so fleeting. Before I know it, they will both be grown-up young ladies...mommy's boo-boo kisses and watchful eye no longer needed. My heart is so very full and humbled at the sunshine and promise that lie within my two little ones.

Yesiree Bob, this is gonna be one big bunch of dog days that I am actually looking forward to. I'll be jet-setting a bit to break up the hot monotony and as long as I soak the kids in some water for a few days of it, they'll make plenty of solstice memories and be happy as clams. They're easy to please when it comes to a watering hole of any kind. Throw 'em a piece of watermelon and a fucshia swim noodle and short of beating the crap out of each other with it, they are going to be in splish-splash heaven. Not only will I miss the guy, I am feeling just a wee bit o' trepidation that I won't have Daddy Mags to help out with the munchkins...particularly during the chaos of "de-shoeing" and running our stuff through airport security or white-knuckling it down the 405, but with a little help from my friends, I think I got it covered. Besides, I have plastic martini glasses for pool safety and that's what is really important.

the hunt

2010-04-05T06:20:00.036-05:00

Easter has arrived
Bunny’s whiskers twitch
He’s sniffing eggs from here and there
To find out which one’s which

Some are sweet
And some have color
All are special
None are like the other

There are fifteen be told
That linger here
You have to figure out the clues
Before they do appearIf you look with six eyes
And use three minds
Each girl will have five eggs
In their baskets to find

The Bunny is smart
He is old and he is wise
Can you find his stash?
If you think you can...then you must try!
Three live in a place
Where a screwdriver might be
It’s cool, dark and smells of oil
You must look carefully!

Three eggs lay in an area
That yields its purple berry
The bunny likes to hide beneath
So does Tink and all her fairies!
Three rest in a shelter
Among lots of bark
The black widow likes it here
Especially after darkAnd yet a sweet three more
Rest in a vessel
That no longer floats
But in the woods it nestles
Your last three eggs are in room
Where sweet dreams abide & coins abound
You might even see some photographs
Before they are found!

case sensitive

2010-04-01T06:37:00.028-05:00

Well, I have made it through another nine long ones of no school, two hyped-up Maglets, a case of Goldfish & approximately a dozen or so replays of Barbie- A Mermaid Tale. Oy. If I had to listen to, Zuma, her metaphysical pink dolphin buddy squeal atop the waves one more time, I would have seared him rare over a bed a baby mixed greens. And these days, with Mama's self-esteem on the estrogenic edge...it's just not fun watching a pert, young, blond thing hanging ten whose mean girth z-score makes mine look like Jabba the Hut.

The Spring Break vacay ended up appropriately named, too, as it appears every single appliance, electronic- you name it....that I own is on the damn fritz! Break is right. What the heck is up? Lately, it would seem that Mercury is constantly retro in Mama's world. It all started a couple of months ago with our carbon monoxide alarm and began to go rapidly down hill from there. The no-good thing wouldn't stop screaming and is now disemboweled and laying on the top of the Brita water jug. Has been for a while now. I need to get Mr. Mag a "round tuit" the next time I go to Lowes as it is just one more job on his list of Things To Do with apparently no time to do it in. In the meanwhile, I hope I don't decide to get into the Honda and off myself in the garage or the whole family will go with me.

Don't even get me going on the fridge that sounds like a clucking Banty. Seriously. I spend quite a few of my nights on the sofa due to hot-flashing insomnia and the husband snoring like a Grizzly Bear in heat. That thing sings its chicken song all night long and I'm always amazed that the kid's milk is still cold in the morning. I know I live in the South but good grief. Oh, well, it's probably just a matter of time. I ought to give it the ole heave-ho and get my credit card out for that Kenmore Elite stainless steel series I've been dreaming about all these years. I'd have to put it all in my bedroom though since my galley kitchen can barely hold the toaster and knife set that's in it. Those two things still work, thank God.

Speaking of hens..I continue to be mad as a wet one because in the last week or so this immutable techno-karma has even affected my cell, which besides Grey Goose, is every mom's lifeline and must be working and available at all times. It's seized up..not accepting much of a charge. T-Mag may have stuck a red hot in the port thingy, who knows? Not that the 384 pictures, 60 vids and several dozen text messages and a plan with no Internet on the darn thing has anything to do with it. I won't rattle on about the mangled thumbnail I have from trying to press down on the worn-out five year old keys. I see those touch screen I-phone commercials and cry like a baby. An app here, an app there..but, alas, not an app in sight for this SAHM & her monthly budget. Apple can really wring it out ya. Hey, my kid loves her ballet class. It's one or the other. Besides, hubby tells me he thinks there's a law against Facebooking while driving. Ridiculous.

So I dried my tears and got it together and called a beloved techie pal in to save the day. He ended up getting me all of my pics & stuff with this teensy weensy little thing he called a memory card. And I got to show him the neat cup holder I have on the front of my PC tower! Too bad he doesn't do windows or fix 16 year old cars that are hemorrhaging fluid by the buckets all over the carport that ironically look like pools of blood. He suggested that I may have an electromagnetic aura that conflicts with all the mechanisms surrounding me. He's probably right. Could be that or the fact I'm not catching the Z's anymore. After four months of pretty much a no-result treatment on Zoloft (supposed to help us old gals out on our menopausal ride), I'm back to "feeling" again and boy am I ever! I'm making up for lost time. Ya know, it's like I told my doc, I'm more of a Daniel Day Lewis type and that crap made me feel like Tiger Woods at his whoopsy-daisy press conference. It just didn't help me the way I needed it to. I don't really need to stop crying at Geico commercials, I just need to feel energetic, motivated... decent would be nice. And I want my old boobs back, is that so wrong? Too bad I didn't buy Walmart stock in the '70's or I could do the bio-identical route. I've now moved on down the red-clover & dong-quai path and am crossing my fingers. Yep, I think my bud is definitely on to something. It is sort of like a weird negative force field and I'm the Enterprise desperately trying to find my planet. If I'm beamed up, folks, it will only be by pure miracle. And surprisingly, that's just what I got when I washed the husband's cell phone the other day.

We were sitting, watching some tube, and I began to hear this eerily, low hum coming from what sounded like underneath the house. With my luck as of late, I thought it might be a pipe getting ready to burst or something and I was in a panic to find its source. Our auditory journey finally led all four of us to the mudroom. Well, I say mudroom...but what I mean is the crappy little closet that the washer/dryer is crammed into with an accordion door that won't stay on its hinges. I need to start wearing the kid's bike helmet as it came 'undone' the other day and almost broke my left shoulder. Good times. I'll make a mental note to jot that down on Geez's To Don't list. Yep, lately, life is just one big oy.

Anyhoo, after a while we finally traced the close encounter into the very, very bottom of the washer (long cycle, extra hot, shot of softener). There it lay. It's tiny Samsung shell of a body..soaked. The wallpaper, no longer showing the bright faces of our smiling children..now just black and lifeless. I was furious & would have kicked my own ass if I had the flexibility. The husband? Elated. He had been dogging me for months about a new phone, so my carelessness really set him up just fine, didn't it? He probably threw the damn thing in there when I was making a drink. "Well, it looks like we both need new phones now, huh, sweetie?", he says. He then went on to do a two-minute nicely prepared serio-comic monologue about all the great AT&T deals. I had to think fast, so I reminded him how at one point we had shared a car for five years so why not my archaic turd of a mobile? He wasn't too keen on that idea to say the least.

So long story short, we took out the dripping battery, laid it down on a towel to dry and began to pray for its resurrection. Hey, Easter is just around the corner, who knows what could happen? And I'll be damned, by morning's light...it was up and running again! I need to shoot off an email to Samsung and let them know what a good product it is they're making. Been working ever since, too. Impressive. Granted, when he tried to take a pic of the girls at the park the other day, they appeared to have four heads between them and were a Hulk-ish green, but hey, it has a bar or two left, dials out and the creditors can still ring up and harass us, so it appears we're good to go.

Yes, Mama Mags is quite mechanically-challenged these days to say the least but onward, my friends. This past week, we did manage an overnight stay a couple hours away that came with a little before-summer pool fun. The girls loved it and got to burn off some of that endless manic energy of theirs. Strangely enough, it wasn't very busy, so they upgraded us to the Honeymoon Suite. Again..with the irony. I was excited until we opened the door. The room's furniture was quite tired and the toiletries came out of a dispenser but it did have a mega-sized lovebird Jacuzzi tub! The kiddos got to splash and carry on for hours that night. I was exhausted from our Appalachian travels that had us lost up a winding, country road on the way there so I just took a shower, ate a half of a bag of Milanos and went to bed.

We caught a couple of activities the next day. The girls, after begging profusely, got to go to the Butterfly Palace and catch a somewhat humid glimpse of a gorgeous array of fluttery species from all over the world. A wild 3-D flick on the majesty and amazing workings of the caterpillar/chrysalis was shown, and overall, I thought it was pretty cool. Will made me climb a plastic cocunut tree which led to a couple of pulled hamstrings and a fifteen-minute descent. Ouch. Only in Branson, kids!The Icelander and I each took a turn at the Titanic Museum. Interesting, quite a few artifacts...a very sobering journey from start to finish. They had Cameron's original bottom-of-the-sea model that he used in the beginning of the film, a few pieces of the china, a lot of photos..even a re-creation of the Grand Staircase. I was told by an attendant that people get married there. Sheesh. We were handed a boarding pass as we went in, assigning us a person that was on the ship that fateful night. I got a domestic servant, Third Class. Figures. She did make it out alive though. Broke but scrappy. That's me all over.

I don't want to be too long-winded, so I'll leave out the part about the wristwatch not working & the lousy computer that's beginning to shut off willy-nilly, rearranging the desktop and scanning itself to death. I do have to bitch for one second about my vacuum cleaner though. I have this really dysfunctional hate/hate relationship with those things. I'm sure a shrink could dig a little deeper and find out the why of it all but...I don't what it is. I loathe vacuuming. Always have. I think it comes from the trauma of having to do it every single day for ten years as G. and I had not one but four indoor cats when we moved in together. They shed like crazy. It could also be the lat muscle that separated from the bone in a nasty fall I had between a mop bucket and the napkin rack at a greasy spoon where I waited tables many moons ago. It hurts like the dickens when I do that particular type of repetitive movement. At any rate, it made me the bitter woman I am today and now I can not for the life of me perform that house frau duty without a bunch of naughty words, walloping and whining Dyson envy. G. tells me I'm unrealistic, expecting the thing to do a Bewitched and travel all over the casa..hands-free. I used to love that show when I was a kid, so maybe he's right. I guess when it comes down to it, I had simply run over the cord one too many times and this big puff of smoke came out of the bottom and that was it. Syonara. The one before it had met a similar death....except not before burning a fist-sized hole in the rug. Dear Lord. Father Mag's Ricky Ricardo came out on that one. He was r-e-e-ally mad.

A couple of weeks ago, with broom in hand (not as in riding on but as in sweeping), I had finally had it with my life-long inability to repair, construct, assemble, put together..oh, heck..just to understand how things work, gosh-darnit! So I pulled that stinky old Eureka out of the trash, disassembled it into 23 easy pieces, and was determined to re-chord it and fix the blasted thing and save myself 100 bucks. I fantasized a ballsy high-five with the hub when he walked through the door over how smart and handy his old lady had become. Y-e-eah! Boo-yah! Take that ITT...you don't mess with Mama Mags! Unfortunately, it didn't go down that way. I ended up with a snotty dust moustache, a broken butter knife and not a frigging clue at how to put it all back together. I'd even managed to lose three screws in the process. 'Aw, hell with it," I said, as I gave it one final kick. "Do I have anything that works in this God forsaken house?"

"I do" said the husband.

And that you do, Big Daddy. That you do.

t-mag 5

2010-03-15T10:18:00.006-05:00

Happy birthday, angel. Your smile lights up the darkest dark..your laughter is my song. Being your mom has been my truest fortune and I am forever changed. May the week of celebration yield love from all sides, squeals galore, and yes, sugar..lotsa sugar. Oy. I pray for those teeth.

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

a snux deluxe

2010-03-12T15:58:00.029-06:00

Well, despite the hurt locker headache I had at the gym the next day, we had a precious and inglourious time as the Best Picture was up in the air there for a minute, but Bigelow kicked some ass and came through for us gals and now my ozark countdown avatar has been put away for another year!

It surely was a golden evening and I could not have been happier about a lady director making history. And what a lovely tall drink of water she is! Talent and looks. And sisters..seriously. How sweet is it to kick your ex's butt by going to the Governors Ball double-fisted! I would have been parched as hell that night because I wouldn't have let go of those puppies for one minute..not even to slurp some Dom! I would have bought myself one of those 7/11 hats that you can load the beverage into at the top with the straws coming down for easy sipping. Cameron did have a rather surprised look on his face. I believe he thought he was really going to nab it but instead went down with his ship. Oh, well. That 2 billion he's made ought to help ease the pain a little. Hope he feeds and waters a few less fortunate people with some of that dough. Poor Babs had to hand over that sparkling baby to some gal other than herself. I saw a tear in her eye which I'm sure was part 'yippee, a win for our side' but just a wee bit of 'what...was Yentl so wrong?"

Our Snuggie Oscar fete was a blast and tres comfy. Although after my first drinkie-poo, I had a wicked hot flash and had to strip down to some cooler garb for the rest of the evening. Big Daddy was an absolute hit and a hoot in his "snuxedo". Don't think I've yee-hawed that hard in awhile. We gobbled up a tasty chicken marsala and some lemon meringue pie and washed it down with a little Goose...making some sweet memories with the children. And some blurry ones for the hubby and me. It is just so gosh darn fun to be silly with my Mags. We were joined by a dear friend who we hadn't seen in awhile..who showed up wearing her sweater backwards, in my honor. Yes, all was cuddly and glitter-glam...Arky style, dah-lings! We were also lucky to get some beautiful weather on the Red Carpet and even saw a star or moo..er, I mean two.

So the champagne dreams and lamé are put away for another year as Oscars in the Ozarks-5 has come to a close. I had the winning score on the Ballot but due to the recession and slim pickins on the guest tally, it didn't yield me any extra greenback. The kids drove us batty all night, salivating over the dark chocolate Ferrer Rocher Trivia prize. Lucky for them, it was won by their father, so it only took about two seconds for their grubby little mitts to attack, leaving only a slobbery piece of chipboard and a wad of crumpled gold leaf on the floor.

There was quite a bit of Facebook talk the next morning saying the show was a snoozefest..but you know, Mama's easy to please. Any awards broadcast is a decent one for me when Rob Lowe doesn't sing or dance in it. I didn't think they really gave Baldwin and Martin much to do. I thought Doogie's number was funny. I'm sure they are prepping him for next years show. It was rather lengthy, closing its curtain at almost 11:00 pm. My peepers were getting heavy but I was so motivated to see Hurt Locker win, that I made it through. Plus, it took that long to drink my martini Big Gulp.

2010-03-07T08:04:00.002-06:00

gold dust woman

2010-03-03T08:12:00.030-06:00

Another Oscars is fast approaching, and I am having a grand ole time, dah-lings, diving into all the cinematic morsels that have been so graciously thrown my way by who I like to call my Movie Angel. As I have said before, it is my favorite time of the year and although I don't get to participate in my all-out-noms movie marathon as I did when I was a footloose and fancy-free actor back in the day, it's not too darn bad hunkering down on the sofa under a Winnie-the-Pooh throw, in my Toasties with the curtains drawn. And sometimes I get lucky and find a couple of watermelon Nerds that have fallen in between the cushions! Yesiree, a stay-at-home-mama has gotta go with the flow and although my 24 inch Sony isn't the proper way to view a good letterbox or some high-paced action..it will have to do. The kids are both in school now, so I have my mornings to gym it as it were and then reward my aching abs with a good flick. Sort of a Hurt Locker type of thing all the way around, I suppose.

I am still in the middle of catching many of them but I must say, Carey Mulligan's finely nuanced performance in An Education is my pick so far (a lovely movie by the way). Don't even get me going on Ben Foster in The Messenger. A deeply moving performance from this young man. It's a shame the lunkhead Academy voters didn't think so and instead gave the nom to Woody Harrelson. That was just too easy..the kind of role I like to call actor-proof. Oy. I don't get it. But then I never did get Hollywood. And my chunky rump is sitting here in the Ozarks on honorary SAG withdrawal..so what do I know, right?

Mr. Foster's love scene with the wonderful Samantha Morton was as soft as smoke and didn't even involve a kiss. I just love these young actors who take the job seriously and un'affected'ly and really do the work because so many out there waste our time. And, I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound all ornery with my gold lamé panties in a bunch but.....well, now, you folks know I joke about alot of things but when it comes to the craft of acting and the power of cinema, Mama is heart-attack serious. No, it isn't a cure for cancer but it does have the power to change people, I think. Movies have meant and still mean so much to me. When I was a wee lass, they helped to inspire me to do more, do better, to feel deeply...comforted me when things got scary and opened this small-town girls eyes to all the promise and possibility out there on this big beautiful ball of rock. As old as I am, I'll never forget the sync of my finger taps on that smelly Malco armrest with the click of Tony's boots as he bopped his way down the sidewalk with the polyester dancing around his ankles. Almost spilled my Tab. Or the Vangelis synthesizer pulsing over the ocean-sprayed chest of Ben Cross in a slo-mo Chariot beach run. Well, I guess Mama is dating herself a little bit here. But, hey, we are still making a lot of good films today...and there's color now! ;-)

Yes, I've enjoyed quite a few of this years nominations. Gearing myself up for Precious. I am sure it will be amazingly powerful, but especially now that I'm a mom, the child-abuse stuff is almost too hard for my heart to bear. I'm still freaked out over that Eastwood/Jolie film last year. Today came extremely early as I set the alarm for Inglourious Bastards. Nothing like Tarantino at 5 in the morning. Great flick though. Cristoph Waltz- brilliant. Up is the only one "mom-approved" this year, so I have to squeeze in my viewing whenever I can. Delightful movie that Up. I'm certain it will nail the Animated Feature o' the year.

I still have to venture out into the wild blue yonder and catch Avatar. I'm not a huge Cameron fan. I'm still hurling from that King of the World schmaltz. I'm sure it will be an eye-popper though with that stereoscopic 3-D thingy majigger cam he's developed. I just can't for the life of me figure out why these film makers have to take three hours to tell a story! Good Lord. I'm with Hitchcock and feel 'the length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder'. And yes, unfortunately, it could very well destroy the underdog and possibly sweep it all this year. Again, though- what do I know? The only award I have is for the lead in my senior high musical. And the plastic arm is broke off it. Aw, hell, Mama likes her movies with real people in them, what can I say? Speaking of Hell, on to hotter and hornier things- Bridges was great..best hair in Hollywood, that guy. I'm a sucka for that melancholy, smoky, boozy bar room kinda stuff. The song should snag the award. T-Bone usually has a golden touch. Clooney was a real charmer in Up in the Air. Terrific screenplay..hope it wins. My hubby's correct in saying he's the Cary Grant of our day. Smart as a whip, funny and dang...looking fine in a well-made Italian suit, isn't he ladies? The sexy actress opposite him was very good, too. Good old-fashioned chemistry, those two. And what a great way to earn a paycheck! You know, I'd like to see Bigelow blow the roof off and win it for Hurt Locker. Besides being the flick of the year..how cool would it be for a lady to bring home that golden boy for once and shake it all up...make a little history? Better yet, she'd get to have a major one-up on the old ex-husband! You go girl!

Oh, I could just go on ad nauseum about Academy Award season. Baldwin and Martin are going to rock the joint. I just hope Alec doesn't pull out the cell and get into a fight with the kid midway through. I miss my Billy Crystal but what are ya gonna do? Maybe he'll come out of that Bogart shadow one day to host again and bless us with those ab fab Best Picture montages of his. Speaking of hosting, the Mags aren't having their annual Oscars in the Ozarks this year. Boo hoo. No glycerin needed for me. I'm at the crest of a hormone tsunami and am simply not up to it. Bummer..but over the last four years we've sure had some laughs & good times in our red-carpeted double-wide.

I think it is quite fitting that the Maglets and I have chosen to do a "Snuggie Oscars" for this 82nd Academy Award extravaganza. My tired old butt is actually looking forward to a feet up on the coffee table, store bought dessert type of evening. And hey, how cool is this- if I get hammered, I can just fall over on the sofa as I will be all ready for bed. No covers needed. Check the gate and moving on! The girls are anxiously awaiting their virgin strawberry daiquiris. Feathered and baubled-up lucite cocktail glasses have been assembled and are good to go. Of course, Mama Bear and Papa Bear will be having something just a wee bit stronger to go down their two goozles. Uh-oh, better call in the focus puller. Yep, the red carpet is going to be laid alright but the couture is going to be understated to say the least. And that is okey-dokey by me. Listen, if Bjork can where a swan sticking out of her ass and Celine..with that fedora on steroids, then I can wear a damn robe. Besides, I'll have on my zirconium studs. I'm not completely white trash.

As if this month couldn't get more eventful, I just had the clapboard snap shut on another birthday this week. Jeesh. The "big 50" is looming ever so close as I inch my way slowly down those perverbial stairs toward that close-up. Nose hair and all. You can call me Norma, but I am surely not ready for it by a long shot, Mr. D. Yes, yes, in theory I should just step up on that apple box with pride and courage and spit middle-age right in the eye but...I am simply too disgusted to do anything else other than cuddle up in a glittery Size XL schmatte that wears like a blanket and stuff myself with chocolate volcano cake. Self pity aside, I did manage to have a nice little celebration with the fam this week to ease all the pain. After two loads of laundry, a sinkful of dishes & some minimal surface cleaning, that is. A mother's work is never done. Even on her birthday. That evening, we noshed on pulled pork & warm ciabatta and jammed two hours straight on Michael Jackson tunes with the girls. I threw my shoulder out dipping T-Mag on Beat It. It hurts like hell but I could still manage to hold a gold, eight pound, sword-wielding bald guy if given the chance. I was served Cheerios & strawberries in bed, fit for the Leading Lady I am, and given a humongous birthday card with my age fully emblazoned upon it for all to see. In bright purple, size 72 font, no less. Good times. Thanks, girls.

So here's to movies, ladies and gents. Let's raise our glasses, even if they aren't Waterford, to the gift of good film making and good acting! Its starry klieg has served to inspire hope, fuel the dreams and feed the heart of this old girl through many a year, no doubt about it. And that's a wrap.

2010-03-02T06:09:00.006-06:00

Hey, who says I don't have an Oscar?

Thanks, girls. Mama loves you.

hello, gorgeous

2010-02-20T12:27:00.005-06:00

It's that time of year again for.....Mama Mag's Oscar Trivia, Quotes and Ballot for the 82nd Academy Awards!

2010-02-14T07:50:00.001-06:00

Happy V-Day, baby. Thank you for the times, the laughs, the years, the love....and especially for those two little pieces of sunshine we made. As my path continues to unfold, it is by the light & heart of you three, I find my way.

bobo

2010-02-06T11:10:00.004-06:00

We recently celebrated my father's 90th birthday. I am grateful for his health and happiness and that my two young children have had the precious opportunity to know their grandad. His life story, I have shared in an earlier post, so today I will simply say, 'Thanks Dad, for putting your family first, for inspiring us with your tales and toughness and for all those Ray Charles tunes when I was little. I feel closest to you when I hear his voice.

true grit

2010-01-24T08:50:00.023-06:00

The human spirit is alive and well. Within the darkest of times, we are able to lift ourselves up and over obstacles we never thought we had the capability of doing. Hope lives under any circumstance. And it bubble-wrapped this amazing young man...for eleven long days, under tons of cement, with no light and no one beside him. Seeing him squeeze his shoulders past the rock and rubble, crawling on his belly to freedom, took my breath away. It filled me with emotion, fueled me with its gift, scared the holy hell right out of me and embarrassed me at the thought of my own puny everyday fears that hold no comparison whatsoever to all this brave boy had to endure in a horrifyingly claustrophobic hole of almost certain death. This 24 year old Haitian store clerk defied the odds and was very fortunate to have the stones fall where they did. But it's so much more than just cookies and soda.

His tenacity inspires me and the beauty of his single tiny life holds a light so bright..so precious..that within the grave of a 111,000 dear lives lost...it serves as a reminder of just who we are and the majesty within, the strong fabric of which we are made of as people, the difference we can make in each others lives and it cradles us at those times when we fear our hearts will break.

Cheers to this gentleman's brother who heard the taps and would not stop believing until he got the miracle he needed. And may we all surface through the worst of times like Wismond Exantus did...with remarkable resolve, a smile, by our own strength and unshakable faith and into the arms of someone who cares.

over-joyed

2010-01-10T08:07:00.040-06:00

Well, the Mags had a pretty darn good holiday. We listened to some tunes, watched some of our favorite flicks, ate a boatload of peppermint bark and were quite fortunate that Santy not only shimmied his porky butt down the chimney, but he personally called the girls. It was a squeal fest. Thanks, Tommy. ;-)

As far as 2010 goes...um, not so much. Yeah, yeah, I know. From my last posting, I ought to be pumped up and energized for all the "good things to unfold" in the New Year. After all, a Pointer Sistas new attitude was one of my resolutions, but... Hey, it's not my fault. I tried. I really did. I just didn't know then that my kids would be up my snoot and out of school for a whole week of snow days, immediately following a two week Christmas vacay! That's 22 days, people. 22 long ones. Oy. It’s as if my nerves have been bounced on 'til every speck of pulp is gone. Leaving Mama like an empty tube of toothpaste..a hollow, limp, unbreaded calamari. I tried to pull out some of my best vaudeville..dance a jig...entertain them as well as I could, but with 8 degree temps and ice as slick as snot on a doorknob, what's a poor parental unit to do? It went from the Walton’s to the Gosselin’s pretty damn fast.

A poor woman can only hear Cinderella's carriage theme for so long....can Easy-Bake only so many cakes...can struggle just so many times to put on those rubbery little doll clothes they have now that are an absolute killer for middle-aged arthritic hands. If it wasn't for raiding the liquor cabinet, this ole gal would have never made it through the whole snowy SyFy experience. Naw..our holidays were very nice but they just went on a l-i-i-ttle too long for Mama's liking. I'm all for touchy-feely, yuletide fun but when it's over- it's over. You should have seen me putting up the holiday decorations. I was pulling the lights off the roof like Crispin Glover. Ornaments, Christmas c.d.s, Frosty salt and pepper shakers..it was getting drop-kicked right on into the bins. Meanwhile, both girls whining, clutching their stockings, "Mommy, we don't want it to be over! You're mean! We're telling Daddy!".

You know, I'm torn. I really am. Sometimes I think I was better in the old cat lady days. Yes, they were in bed with me every night, too, but at least they slept at the foot of it and not across my carotid. Sure, I had to vacuum every single day but no laundry to really speak of. The litter box wasn't pretty, but I have to pick up the girls room every evening and it's basically the same thing. Especially since T-Mag is still in a nighttime Pull-up and insists on putting them under the bed after she takes them off in the morning.

Now, finally...written with a super-big exhale, we flash forward....and it's been almost a week after drafting this post and I have them both back in school. My oldest has forgotten how to add and write. Literally. Her penmanship has gone to chicken scratch and last night, she was using her toes to get through her math assignment. Big Daddy has the breakfast shifts now, so he's out of here by 5am...and that means I have to deliver both kids front and center to two different schools and at the same exact time. A feat that is not possible when you live in a town that has absolutely no infrastructure and two girlie-girls who like nothing better than to stare at their own faces in the mirror- smiling, like something out of Toddlers and Tiaras. Oy, God. It takes Fay Wray screams and wire hanger threats every a.m. just to get them to brush their teeth. This morning while frantically trying to make the deadline, I almost wrecked the car because I had a hot flash and couldn't get out of my sweatshirt and muffler fast enough. And all that goofy flailing was performed to the tune of not one but six rattling coffee mugs on my armrest tray and T-Mag yelling at me to get Jiminy as he had fallen top-hat first into a greasy, empty McNugget box. Good times.

I give up. What's the secret, all you super-moms out there? Huh? Is your karma so good that you can do all the above, and Pilates, make homemade brulee, hold down a full-time job, satisfy the husband and fry it up in a pan, all the while looking like a hottie in your Juicy Couture and blu-tooth?

Well, I can not. I think I need a Life Coach...the Super Nanny..something. I mean, Roseanne got picked up for syndication. Why can't I, dammit?? But I'll hang in there. I always do as my claws have sunk themselves into a pretty good grip by now. When it comes down to it though, I really do like my job. I've made a decent living at it, I suppose....have a roof over my head, dependable wheels to drive, hugs and some very sweet Eskimo kisses along the way...a hubby who didn't go out for cigarettes and never come back. No 401K to speak of. I don't know what I'll get in the end for it all...probably a Krispy Kreme do-nut and a sack or two of Depends every month when they come to visit me and their dad at our senior living facility. But that's still a couple of years away. I need to focus on the here and now. And the joyous fact that Happy Hour starts in only 180 minutes.

After waltzing into the office and over to mommy at the computer just minutes ago, with a handout sheet from her school folder, it was brought to my attention by a grinning four year old with hummus on her face that all of the county's schools are going to be closed for staff meetings on Monday.

I think today that the bar may be opening for business just a wee bit earlier than usual.

2010-01-08T16:44:00.002-06:00

Her name is Beth Crosby, she is a Groundling in L.A. and I think she is da bomb. (don't miss her as Rachel Zoe...you'll laugh your ass off).

Watch more funny videos on Funny or Die

a year in the life

2009-12-30T08:36:00.016-06:00

Another year has come and gone..leaving me breathless at its swift departure but eager to experience all the love, laughter and surprises the New Year will bring. Although, life's moments can not always be golden, a sense of renewal..hope..fills the crisp air at this time of year and I am humbled by it and the fortune that surrounds me in my tiny, quiet life. The buds aren't visible quite yet, nor the waters warm, but the deep cold inhales on my morning run fuel me, waking me up to what just might be around the corner. Without that crystal ball, who knows...but if I've learned anything after sweating the small stuff throughout the last eleven months, it is this- there is nothing we can not handle, nothing we can not accomplish...absolutely mustn't ever begrudge and that love heals everything. Period.

I am wishing each and every one of you a New Year that unfolds itself in perfect rhythm, in the boldest of color and with the realization that your ordinary lives are really quite extraordinary. That Tiffany box is in there and that jewel in the robe is something you already carry. Have fun unwrapping it all and sharing it with others.

To the friends who have passed this year..I wish you a peaceful transition and broad wings on which to travel wherever your journey may lead you.

Until next year, friends...

grey skies ahead!

2009-12-24T13:56:00.002-06:00

sneaky pete

2009-12-22T07:09:00.008-06:00

People never cease to amaze me. When you give, you get. When you give without your name on plaques and building wings, then you're really somethin'. And when a fourteen year old can rustle up 25 grand by soft selling lemonade, well...that's an angel, folks.

Click here for a little holiday pick me up.

a crappy christmas

2009-12-21T13:40:00.003-06:00

Some wives get cars with big red bows and some get Tiffany. My man gave me that bathroom addition I asked for. Thanks, hon.

an app for that

2009-12-14T14:35:00.052-06:00

It's that time of year again when we let out a collective "Duh" to the Universe and realize just how much goodness we really do have in our lives and how whiney-assed we've gotten about in the last eleven months and how vitally important it is to rev our engines against all the filibusters and flying golf clubs out there. Jeesh, I'm tellin' ya, I think one of Mama's resolutions will be nothing but HGTV and Food Network after the first of the year. I mean, if you want purity of mind, body and spirit...it doesn't get any better than bull nose granite and a good roast chicken.

As I said before, the challenge lies, at least with me anyway, in not only gunning up my rpms during this merry jingle-ball season but maintaining that darn momentum throughout the year amidst all the dirty socks and utility bills. Up until a decade ago, I was pretty much a person who erred on the side of depression. I was raised by a glass half-empty type of guy but evened it all out by marrying a glass half-full one. Don't get me wrong, my pappy was great and I love him dearly but let's just say he was, um...practical. A realist, shall we say? Or not? A stand up, hard working, honest type of guy for certain...who loved me with all his heart, spanked my rump when I needed it, but believed that the hand you got dealt in life was the hand you were stuck with. Make the best of it and no complaining. Which is good, I guess..you don't want to be an ostrich or a big ole schizo about it. But why not find your inner owl instead and see the manifestation as just that? A temporary reflection of who we are at this moment in time and one of our own creation..yep,that's the tricky part...but something we can always change for the better. We are 'Gumbi, dammit' and can twist and turn in whatever direction we choose. But going from 'why me?' to 'why not?' is easier said then done and it requires effort. A cranium shift, as it were, which wasn't so easy greasy for this girl. And it still continues to challenge me every day. But that's okay. We are all works in progress and I feel that our enlightenment is in the journey itself.

I think our answers lie within our humanity rather than outside of it. And I believe our potential for victory on every level is limitless. Yeah, I know, we all believe different things, but the commonalities of truth = love, divinity = compassion is something all of us can agree upon this sparkling holiday season, non? If we'd just keep an eagle-eye on that concept, maybe we'd stop killing each other. Oh, sure, we have our gurus and People magazine to aid us along but when it comes down to the nitty gritty- we're it. And the only way to do it is through some heavy duty cardio at the cosmic gym. We have to work toward our own joy, plain and simple. I wish someone could hand it to me like a bouquet of red roses, but Mama's gotta work off those cynical calories all by her lonesome. And underneath all the carcinogens, electro-smog and co-pays...it's in there. That lean transversal ab muscle underneath all the muffin-top fat. Somewhere. Down there. We just need to put on our mystic Magoo glasses to really see our individual Monets.

Whatever that joy may be for each of us, we really do have to put it first. And for someone who has a 17 year old leaky car, a VHS and a five tee-shirt wardrobe, it ain't easy sometimes. In fact, it can be pretty damn hard. But I keep trudging away, punching my clock in the 'daily prayer into action' department and soaking up some of the gift that keeps on giving- watching the world's beautiful jardin dans Giverny come into focus by looking beyond the dots. Its clarity is pure and timeless, its power- absolute. And it unfolds itself continually in the beauty of a frost, the smell after a good rain or in the laughter of a friend. The list is endless, and that, to me, is my heaven..in the here and now. Life itself is our truest fortune. I am beyond grateful to the man that struggles along with me at the World's Gym and has decided that finding the bliss for us Mags translates to me being at home with his children 24/7. Of course, my liver and nerves aren't so happy about it but ya can't please everybody.

Yeah, when it came to Common Sense 101, I pretty much made straight A's, but as far as the making changes for the better part, I wasn't so hot at. But then, mystically enough, the Oscar didn’t come and I ended up with two Icelandic buns in my oven and the jig was up. As I've said time and time again, my kids have taught me more about finding the magic and taking stock than anybody ever has. And I truly believe it was their angelic toe-head auras that led me to my Buddhist faith and filled up all my empty holes before I even had the little peanuts flipping around inside me! Life is all about rhythm and it's up to us to put on that gold lamé and shake what our mamas gave us. Some of us look pretty dorky doing it, but, hey, so be it. We can dance it like Baryshnikov or Ed Grimley. It doesn't matter as long as we are groovin'. I believe without a doubt, I was in the white girl overbite zone when it came to relocating five years ago to be with the aging parental units. I listened..I heeded and as difficult as it's been sometimes, it has been sooo worth it. Don't get me wrong. More often than not, that omnipresent whisper doesn't always work and the Universe has to take out its mallet and clonk us on the head a time or two. And sometimes, at its deepest revolution..it opens up a can of whoop-ass like nobodies business. Even then, though, there's always a way to the side of the ring... to stitch ourselves up, rinse out our mouths and find our Adrian.

Of course, kids aren't the answer for everyone although they are divine at deflating egos..which we really don't need that much of anyway, making us laugh our asses off and calling us out in every conceivable, wonderful way. And in my case, hopefully one day will be able to make Mama a mean martini. We all have our individual thang but what's essential is finding that peace of heart through all the chaos and doing everything in our power to water it and watch it grow. Not an easy task in today's world. And the beauty of the Universe is such that when our tanks are on empty....like when we just walked out of Wal-Mart after standing in line for 25 minutes waiting on a price check for a Polly Pocket, by a checker that looked like she just sucked on a lemon, realizing after we left that we forgot to get milk while walking behind some teenager who's yee-hawing into her blu-tooth, but not before stopping to park her cart up against your car door and then getting home to find that even after wildly tipping the wine box like a crazy person, there's not a single drop of the golden nectar in it. Yes, even then, if we do our crunchies and kettle-ball lunges, all it takes is a simple prayer for a portal and the Universe will reflect it back on ya with a glamorous klieg. Sometimes it can feel like a tiny flashlight but you get the idea.

Rhythm begets movement, movement begets change (kind of like fiber, good for ya whether we like it or not)....and in light of the holiday retail season- our life is in a sense, returnable! Well, sort of. We can't get our money back exactly but we can exchange it for something better. I mean why settle for that Chia Pet from Rite-Aid, when you can have those Tiffany studs! No need to re-gift it to some poor slob that's got one of his own but we can march right on up to that Customer Service window and say, "No thanks. This only has one speed and I want the de-lux version with all the attachments". Now sometimes we don't necessarily get exactly what we want or should I say what we think we want, but as Mr. Jagger so eloquently put it, we get what we need. That was and continues to be me..all over.

So here's wishing every one of you out there the happiest of happys and the deepest of joy this holiday season. Spend less time in the mall and more time on the meal. And keep shaking that damn bell until you hear the blasted thing ring. And if that still doesn't work for ya, then reach for the liquid bliss and your cockles will be all warmed up in no time. Like stripes on a candy cane..it just works. For myself, I can only hope that Santa has checked his list, twice over, and brings me that big red bag of estrogen I wrote to him about.

2009-12-06T08:46:00.001-06:00

Dear Santa,

I want a Diamond Castle Barbie and a carriage. Well, another carriage..because mine is broken. I want real toes shoes. I like you, Santa. I want a toy stove and a mailbox. And pretend glasses. A wig that's black..and a Santa hat. I am glad feeling. But sometimes I'm bad though. I really love you. You're the bestest Santa ever!

Love,
T-Mag

P.S.) Mommy wants a big new refrigerator where she doesn't have to bend over all the time.

a prayer of thanks

2009-11-26T08:40:00.006-06:00

Another year has come and gone and it is time again to reflect on all the fortune that fills our lives. For me, I was hoping for that granite counter top, maybe an extra coupla thousand square feet..an ass like Shakira, but I guess I will have to settle for a beautiful, healthy and vibrant family who just happen to be in the living room right now with their Chinese fans doing an impression of Mama having a hot flash. Aw..good times. It's nice that the matriarch of the Mags garners such respect.

The yummy smell of cinnamon fills the casa this morning and my dear friend is on his way south to gobble with us over the weekend. I love the jump start my battery gets from the anticipation of the holidays. It is fuel for the exciting New Year ahead and it humbles me at the rejuvenating power of love and laughter and how golden my life truly is....If this big ole world is a stage and I am a player, then I guess I'm covered head to toe in Armani and just won that Oscar I've always wanted. Not quite two years ago at this time, my husband was fighting to live and live he did. He came back to the children and wife who love him and I will never ever forget that profound experience, those who shared it with me and the shroud of protection that wrapped me and mine up like a warm Snuggie. Life is an amazing gift and I am thankful for its beautiful song. Here goes-

I am thankful for my mother and father who at almost 90 still grace us with their presence and love. They've served to inspire me with their commitment to each other, to their children, and I am who I am because of them. For my sister, who is walking a difficult journey with me right now..at my side..giving me courage when I need it, a soft shoulder to cry on and a glass of wine when I'm just looking for an excuse to self-medicate. I could not do it without you. To my niece and great-niece, I wish you all the love and sunshine your lives can hold. To my in-laws, I wish you joy always.

I am thankful for my friends. You are the jewels in my crown, the sparkle in my gold lame Samba costume if I had one..you're a light, a gift to me. We've noshed, drank, cried, prayed & laughed together and I'm grateful for every darn bit of it. You've encouraged & inspired me and told me to grow up and get a grip when I needed to hear it. If one is defined by the company they keep, then I got it goin' on 'cuz my posse rocks, ya'll!

I pray for the military men and women who are not at the dinner table today with the people who love them. I pray for their safety and their hearts to stay strong, their bodies upright and for their faith to lift them wherever they may go.

And most of all..I am thankful for my two little girls who show me how to laugh with abandon and love deeply. You are the light within me and with your love there is nothing I can not do. To my husband who busts his hump..bigtime..so that I may spend every minute I can with them, and for that teensy-weensy dose of Zoloft that keeps me from killing an innocent bystander.

I am lifting my glass to all of you readers and pray wholeheartedly that peace and happiness surround you during this holiday season. May all of the photos that will be taken of you today, occur when you're sober and have no spinach in your teeth.

2009-11-09T06:17:00.001-06:00

night of the living mags

2009-11-02T10:10:00.022-06:00

Another one has come and gone. Hallow's Eve 2009 didn't disappoint. We had mummies, we had ghosts and we even had a hot-footed devil. Yep, horn adorned Mama decided it was high time to lay down her pitchfork and raid the liquor cabinet after a two month long gym craze detox and found out rather quickly that Yellowtail and fire just don't mix. Would being organized and stocking matches in the utility drawer be so wrong? Apparently so. After having killed off a few more brain cells with the sis and niece over a nice dry pinot, I decided to spookify the joint with some candlelight. Who needs a Zippo when ya got a gas stove and a piece of scrunched up junk mail? As my digit began to burn, the vino suggested I could safely drop the homemade lighter on my tiled floor which in turn led to even more combustion which then resulted in a rather feisty Riverdance by yours truly which in the end left a melted plastic boot which..oh, hell..you get the idea. Next thing I knew, I channeled Ann Miller and had my blazing tootsie in the kitchen sink. With very good extension might I add. I think the five day a week workouts I've been panting through have really paid off. That and the wise choice to wear my mom slacks with the mega pleats and nine inch zipper. It is pretty ironic after all the years I've spent with flamers, that I would end up being one myself.

The spooky weekend started off with a bang as the sis and I took the tykes to a school costume carnival. There were fangs and jack-o-lanterns galore and even an old fashioned cakewalk. We bowled, we skee-balled and screamed up a storm in a haunted house. We were the guinea pigs at the beginning of the line. And, unfortunately, with that advantage always comes a few little kinks that need to be worked out...and we Mags were just the peeps to do it. Freddy Kreuger missed his cue and me and my brood were left in pitch black darkness..literally..for about a minute and a half. As I was about to lose all effects from the Zoloft and the use of both of my rotater cuffs, a zombie came along with a flashlight just in the nick of time and saved the day...or should I say the night. The blackest of one. My four year old did sustain some permanent psychological damage but ended up deciding to go through a second time.

As if the two pounds of Reese's pieces weren't enough, we were at it again the next night. This time for our annual Mag Haunt party complete with cemetery cake and ghoul hand punch. Leave it Walmart to supply me some dud eyeballs that floated iris side down. Good grief. Am I ever gonna be able to buy anything from that store that works? Oy. The kids loved it though. Even the bloody mac-n-cheese that turned into a nauseating fuchsia glop had them smiling. Kids are so easy to please. And thank God, because when ya have Mama Mags creating things...well, let's just say that I'm not the super-mom-arts-and-crafts-June Cleaver type. Nope, with me, it's more like just the Cleaver and not any of the June part. Which leads me to the girls costumes.

Yeah, just when you thought it couldn't get any more frightening, right? Much to the chagrin of seamstresses everywhere, I glued, sliced and diced my way through a mummy get-up and a ghost. Poor W.'s oxygen stats were pretty low most of the weekend due to her homemade mask and there was a wee bit o' redneck trouble regarding the back side of her wrapping. 'Just say no to crack' I would mumble to myself as she bent over to play all the carnival games. Then there was my little curly-top who kept tripping on what I like to call her 'ghost flippers' all night until she finally begged me through the tears to take it off of her. It was just like last years mermaid outfits...due to my ineptitude with the needle and thread, I always seem to have a leftover hunk of fabric at the bottom of whatever I'm making. By that point, I'm several bottles of wine in and too exhausted to care, so I just wad up the excess, tie it with a ribbon and invent a reason for why it should be there. Hey, I ain't no Edith Head, folks. Just an Ozark mama trying to do the best she can.

The universe was definitely on our side this Halloween, as our trip through the neighborhood was very pleasant- gorgeous, full moon..the weather, simply devine. We lost Big Daddy to work after a few minutes of trick-or-treating but he was able to see his little munchkins amble their way down the lane a time or two before he took off. After a brisk stroll of about an hour or so, the ghost had to pee, so we all began to work our way back to the casa. My bone tired sis' feet were ice cold, so I headed to the sock drawer while my O.C.D.'d niece turned on the 500 watt overhead light and went through the candy, sifting out all of the potential razor blades and rat poison. We then filled our bellies with homemade pumpkin soup and more booze, rinsed the chocolate off the kiddos and tucked them in. We big girls finished our evening on the sofa watching the old 1976 classic, "Carrie". Traci and I laughed at William Katt's lion mane and the fact that none of the prom attendees had any cell phones. Bleary-eyed and buzzed and right in the middle of the pig blood, telekinetic breakdown, I looked over at my snoring sis, all decked out in her Winnie the Pooh blanket and psychedelic toe socks. Now that's darn scary, ladies and gents.

Happy Halloween to all! And remember, any excuse to embrace our inner child and overdose on chocolate is always a good one.

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

2009-10-30T07:08:00.002-05:00

Can we all just put aside our political differences and have a Happy Halloween?

eCards

free fallin'

2009-10-16T21:02:00.006-05:00

It is my favorite time of year. Mums, jackets and pumpkins in every shape and size. The Patch delivered again and we had a great time yesterday. The weather was absolutely gorgeous and the hay was as itchy as ever. We rolled 'em, we thumped 'em and we bought 'em. Now all Daddy has to do is perform his Edward Scissorhand magic and give his girls a Cinderella and a Dracula. With bats, of course. There were barrel rides, gourd rolling and this claustrophobe's nightmare- a hay tunnel. We even made our way through a corn maze of dead-ends and giggles. Thank goodness Big Daddy was along because I have no sense of direction and may have still been in there this morning.

The sunlight on those red maple leaves and that crisp breath of autumn air made a tiny moment- magnificent, for me. Whenever I question my place in this world, it is within these times, I find my rhythm. And with it, my way.

I forget sometimes through all the bill wrangling and tussling with the daily drag, just how lucky I've been to savor all the simple joy my kids have brought to my life. This gift has been a rebirth of sorts and in the years to come, I will look back on these times as the dearest, the deepest....fuel for what I pray will be many golden years of reflection. We all know our truest happiness aren't things, but perhaps it's secret lies simply in a whiff of wood smoke, the veins of a leaf or sitting on a hay bale with Dad.

2009-10-03T16:41:00.000-05:00

Because we're not women anymore, we're moms.

then to now

2009-10-01T07:04:00.008-05:00

Happy 64 years together, Mom and Dad! Your love and commitment have been a testament to me and all who know you...

september grass

2009-09-25T15:55:00.012-05:00

By John Sheldon
Vocals- James Taylor

Well, the sun's not so hot in the sky today
And I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed, oh darlin'..
So I'll be king and you'll be queen
Our kingdom's gonna be this little patch of green

Won't you lie down with me right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down with me now
September grass

Oh, the memory is like the sweetest pain
Yeah, I kissed the girl at a football game
I can still smell the sweat and the grass stain
We walked home together. I was never the same.

But that was a long time ago
And where is she now? ..Oh, I don't know

Won't you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down with me now
September grass

Oh, september grass is the sweetest kind
It goes down easy like apple wine
Hope you don't mind if I pour you some
Made that much sweeter by the winter to come

Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know?..thats you and me, baby, yes it is..
We're so small and the worlds so vast
We found each other down in the grass

Won't you lie down with me right here
September grass
Won't you lie down with me now
In this september grass

Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down

Won't you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down here now
In this september grass

drama mama

2009-09-19T15:36:00.013-05:00

Well, I guess it's time to edit the ole blog header- it looks like I'm gonna need to add yet another "m" to my ongoing Mag Mama madness. Not only is yours truly bravely going beyond motherhood and mid-life, but now this poor gal has got a big sloppy helping of menopause on her saggy Dixie plate. Yep, it is official, friends. As if my granny underwear and Icy Hot patches weren't bad enough, I have been diagnosed with "the change". Lovely. And ya know..only a man would call it that. Change is something you get back when you buy a candy bar, gentlemen. Nah...this is more like the bloody jowls of Cerberus gnashing at my heels with O Fortuna on the soundtrack. In high def, blu-ray and Dolby.

Yes, Mama has paid a little visit to Six Flags Over Manic Mountain and it has nothing to do with funnel cake and good times. I've boarded a scary estrogenic roller coaster that's leaving me holding on to the t-bar for dear life, refusing to John Hancock my husband's divorce papers and hoping like hell no one will call DHS. And it could not have happened at a worse time. I am fully booked with school fundraisers, flash cards and play dates. That's what I get for for being so cocky with Mommy Nature, I guess. I thought I was sooo slick..pulling the ole reproductive switcheroo, high fiving it and doing the "dusty old eggs still got it white girls overbite" dance. Yeah, right. Little did I know. Many of my pals have wisely already been there and done that in the rug rat dept., and are now getting to reward themselves with things like the Sunday paper, mani-pedis..the Bravo channel. Or at least are able to clamor their way through the hormone hell by themselves in a peaceful empty nest. Meanwhile, I'm wiping noses, crying over Campbells commercials and having hot flashes at the Jump Zone.

Along with snarfing black cohosh and locking the liquor cabinet, I am doing everything I can to ride this elevated luteinizing wave without going postal on somebodies ass. I joined a local gym, only to have my worst nightmare realized- Fox News and ESPN on the monitors. I just can't seem to win these days. It is here I spend Monday through Friday a.m., flat on my back, puffing away, doing crunchy after crunchy with the American flag waving above me and Metallica shakin' it on the speakers. This morning, my gut was so frigging full of lactic acid, I almost had to grab Old Glory to pull myself up. But I refrained and 15 minutes later I was back up on my feet doing a set of excruciating reps on what appeared to be a love swing, but realized after watching some really hunky guy who could have been my son, that it was just for abs.

The good news is that my pig-tailed babies are both ensconced in school now, acclimating well and are as happy as clams. It's a shame that Mama's three hour stretch of time to herself has turned out to be on the painful, achy side. It sure would be nice to maybe sit back..sip a latte, have uninhibited sex with my husband or even amble around a mall. Well, now, now....I guess I can and will be able to do all the above..eventually, but first things first- I have to open up a can of whoop ass on the Pillbury Doughboy who has has seemingly stolen my identity.

2009-09-13T07:21:00.004-05:00

first day

2009-09-11T16:24:00.017-05:00

Happy school beginnings, my sweet. Your radiance and laughter fill me....now my mornings go quiet. As I watch you spread your wings, even if it's just a bit, it makes me so proud and eager to see how your blossom will unfold. Love you oodles. Now, I think I'll fix myself a little martini.

the mouths of babes

2009-09-05T10:21:00.000-05:00

2009-08-29T12:14:00.004-05:00

We are burying a good man today. Sleep well, Mr. Kennedy. White roses, Placido, Yo-Yo Ma and songs of love & admiration from your children...an exquisite send off.

2009-08-26T17:27:00.006-05:00

Edward Kennedy's speech at the 2004
Democratic National Convention

To my fellow delegates and my fellow Democrats...

napalm in the morning

2009-08-20T05:59:00.042-05:00

I made it out in one piece, lades and germs. The sun is setting on another summer. Well, almost..anyway. My oldest, poised with a number two in hand, is settling into Grade One ever so nicely, and my youngest whipper snapper has just 21 days and nine hours until she Montessori’s herself up for half day. Can ya tell, I'm just a wee bit excited to have three whole hours completely to myself after six long years? Ahhh..numbers. Sweet numbers. It is the little things in life, folks. Well, no, not really, I guess. Ultimately, it would be a million dollar lotto win and a villa on Lake Como that would make it all complete, but I'll just have to settle for my five blissful mornings. All alone. At the gym..at Target..at a bar..hey, wait a minute..at wherever the frick I want to be! Yeehaw and Hallelujah. It's been a long time coming. Calgon is finally showing me a little love and taking me away.

Overall, the dog days of 2009 were well spent and I think my babies had a good one. We did some dollar movies, princess ballet camp, a nice Gulf Shores va-cay, some Jon and Kate reruns until they split up and turned into white trash...even had some Chinese acrobatic Branson glitz (that place may get seven million visitors a year but I still say it needs a little less Jim Stafford and a little more hooch and gambling before I'd be motivated to visit again) and quite a few sweaty, warm cheese sandwich days spent at the park. My fave season of the orange leaves is just around the corner, and I think this year-around school schedule is going to suit Mama just fine. For all us, boozy, worn out, middle-aged mommies who just can't keep up the razzle dazzle river dance of entertaining two short spastic ferret people for three long stretching months, it seems a good fit and the only way to go. Of course, it will take a while to find our rhythm, but between all the screaming, caffeine, bickering over fashion and the haulage of two rug rats, to two different schools, seven miles apart with two 8am call times....we'll find our way through the smoke, eventually. Just stay low to the floor and cover your mouth, kids.

Yes, we've laughed a little, we've cried a little and then we broke our arm. That was about the biggest ta-doo of our solstice siesta. My T. just got her cast off after an "awful long, long time of days with no swimming, Mama!" I had promised the little tyke, I'd let her dunk in the pool right after its said removal, and that's just what we did. I'd never seen a poor kid so liberated. That newly healed summer sausage limb was flapping and splashing like a hooked eel. At the end of the day, she practically had a Sybil breakdown when I told her it was time to wrap up shop and head home. After a half bottle of Dawn, I still can't get the smell off of her arm though. Oy. The nurse asked me if I wanted to keep the cast. Uh..right. That's just what my memory box needs..a purple, lady bugged, moldy, stank machine that's gonna cost me a five hundred dollar co-pay. Good times. I realize now that the choice I made to let her play Pocahontas with her sissy in the dirt pile down the street was not a wise one.

On a more fragrant note though, my W. got her first bike this glorious ete and could not have looked cuter- all Pink Derbied up in her tutu, helmet and pads. As my old pal, Kim, says, "Precious and able to kick your ass". A couple of good attributes for all us gals, right? And a big no thank you goes out to my clearance special, five dollar training wheels as my darling managed to careen over the sidewalk, ricochet off of the neighbor's mailbox and end up in a Barbie glam heap on the street..all within the first five minutes of mounting the thing, mind you. Okay, so maybe I won't have a sporty Lance Armstrong in my motherly future. As long as she racks up a PhD in neuro-science, that will suit me just fine.

Our wild and crazy summer is coming to a nice close on a twelve year anniversary overnighter with the hub to see my beloved Kathy Griffin. Nothing like an open air venue, foul language and Olsen twin jokes to get you chuckling just in time for Fall. This is only the second 'sleepover' for Dad and I and we couldn't be jollier about it. Of course, it is coinciding with Mama's dry-out...so that part of it's not so fun. Yes, you read it right. I am five sober weeks in and counting through my Big Cleanse. Yep, I have chosen to take the high road, friends. Not as in drunk but as in ridding my precious temple of a body of all sulphites and impurities. Only the gym, Soy Joys and Perrier for me. This old gal is tee-totally determined to get rid of the end table she's had on her backside for the last year...re-energizing both body and carb-stuffing soul. And while I'm at it, I even plan on picking myself up a Pointer Sis-ta new attitude. Oh, yeah, it's high time for some me time. This manic mama is all about re-focusing, de-stressing and armoring herself up for battle because between my hormones and the Walmart greeters, life can be pretty damn hairy. Yesiree, boys and girls, flash forward in a couple of months...the only muffin top I'm gonna have is the one I eat for breakfast.

a friend in faith

2009-08-06T08:24:00.004-05:00

As you travel through into another life time, I am confident that the lantern of faith will serve to guide you safely and surely. Thank you for your wisdom, guidance and opening your home to me when I needed it most. When my little girl came into the world six years ago, she was given so many beautiful things. I would often wonder which one of them would end up being the dearest..comforting her through the tears and sharing in all her smiles. That pal became your Lady. Her ears are worn now and her collar gone..from all the love and pats. Last night after hearing of your passing, I held you in my prayers and then tucked in my sleepy child. I went to look for her favorite 'stuffie' and found it resting quietly on my pillow. It was a wink, a wave, a smile...a small part of you signing off to me. Rest well and come back with spirited boundless joy, Sandy! We will miss you.

no place like home

2009-08-05T09:17:00.001-05:00

a clean break

2009-07-22T11:23:00.014-05:00

Well, Dancing with the Stars has had its first tragedy, folks. No, Wozniak isn't waltzing again. It's my kid's radius and ulna. Yesiree, as if my life couldn't get another stinky layer in its chaos sandwich, my baby girl has gone and busted her forearm while doing the "tornado" with her choreographer sibling. I guess, when you have two jacked up Icelanders, a plastic dinosaur and a mommy drinking on the sofa then you know there's gonna be trouble.

It was an open and shut case really. By the time I heard the scream, it was simply too late. I jumped up from my Real Housewives of Orange County & bucket of merlot and made a beeline to the back bedroom and was intercepted mid-hallway with a hodge podge of snot, accusations and "'but, Moms!" And that's basically all I can report. The perps claim they were twirling and then ka-boom...the victim fell forward on top of a pointy T-Rex with her right extremity tucked underneath. No blood splatter or fiber analysis has led Mama to believe it was anything more than a freak accident, but still somewhere in the dark, boozy recesses of my mind, I blame the damn bunk beds. I've hated those things since I bought them on a Craig's List special over a year ago. In the last few months, I've seen T. swing like a howler monkey, dangle her Care Bear by the throat and even hoola-hoop on top of the blasted thing...all the while, being afraid a senseless crime just like this one might happen. And it did. That precious, kissable bratwurst arm has gone crunch. But when your big sister leads like Attila the Hun, what's a poor curly top to do?

Looking at the skeletal horror of it all at our Pediatrician's office, Geez and I were aghast at how both bones were snapped in two. As luck would have it, we were referred over to an Ortho- one of the best in town who just so happens to specialize in four year old bratwurst arms. He confirmed the breakage but told me he had some family coming into town and couldn't set it for another four days! And this was after I had already idiotically kept her home for two days thinking she had a sprain! Did I drop the Mom ball or what? It was a guilty verdict alright and I was ready to give myself the death penalty. Oy. I just don't get me. Double Duh..I should have known it was broken. My T. is a big wad of happiness and as tough as a boot when it comes to pain and she had cried over this particular boo-boo for a half an hour straight. They proceeded to give me the facts, ma'am and set her up at the hospital for a "reduction" first thing Monday morning. Why do they call it that? It's not like they cut off the broken part or anything. In the meanwhile, Nurse Ratched did the honors and splinted my little tyke. I almost had to have a shot, and I don't mean the kind with a needle when they immobilized her arm in a super duper shell-like gauzy thing. I left the room and my angel's wails..turning it over to Daddy as I figured he owed me one.

Over a long, gimpy weekend...awash in my peri-menopausal, rapidly failing but refusing to downsize parents, Energizer Bunny children, out of shape, blubbery, middle-aged, bummed out endocrine blahs, I decided then and there I was going to have to put a cast on Mama, if I was going to try and mend the stress fractures going on in my life right now. That's why I've decided it's high time to just say no to high time and get down with some serious cardio & up with some good on-the-wagon living...cutting out all the toxins- liquid, chocolate-filled and human. Having let my Grey Goose fly the coop for now, I'm just about close to a week into my Perrier sipping, power running phase of rebirth and would like to say I feel better, but the jury's still out on that one.

My one-armed bandit passed with flying colors..literally...and now has a shiny new bright purple plaster sleeve. Yeah, it's pretty jazzy these days. When my hubby broke the same arm, same place on his sixth birthday back in the early 1900's, they gave him a boring off-white jobbie, complete with an ether suffocation knock-out. All would be well if our munchkin would wear her sling but she refuses because "it is too boyish looking mommy". As I had sat out in the waiting room, a big ole drama queen..fretting over my baby's broken bones, I looked up at the TV and saw the frightened eyes of that young soldier the Taliban's holding. I thought of his mother and the depth of fear and uncertainty in her heart and I felt guilty. I thought of my tiny little worry and the sweet ride back home where my girl would finish up a long afternoon safe at my side, nibbling popcorn and watching The Wizard of Oz. I thought of all the fortune morsels tucked into my multi-tiered Dagwood and I felt grateful. That night when I watched mine sleep, I prayed for that boy to make it back to his mother's arms...a place where all of us truly belong.

Yep, this roller coaster ride is one that won't be pulling into the station anytime soon, so I'm just gonna have to dig like a miner to find the humor and ride the loops and dips as best I can. Since I didn't marry for money, there won't be any bio-identical hormones to gobble. We may want to call this phase of my blog, Mama- The Blue Period. No pun intended.

commentary: a giant leap from ohio

2009-07-19T15:15:00.004-05:00

By BOB GREENE
CNN Contributor

All over the world this weekend, people are peering up into the night, trying to catch a glimpse of a sliver of the moon. They're thinking about the moon because of Monday's 40-year anniversary of mankind's first lunar landing. And more than a few people are undoubtedly allowing themselves to dream of traveling to the moon themselves.

It's not going to happen. For almost all of us, it can be said with certainty: We're never going to go to the moon. But there's good news: We can go to Wapakoneta.

Wapakoneta is a town of barely 9,000 people in northwestern Ohio. It may be, in its own quiet way, the most inspiring single place in the United States. I-75 runs right past it; in your car, it's there and then it's gone before you even know it. Yet if you make the decision to leave the interstate and turn onto Bellefontaine Street, which takes you into town, you will find yourself thinking about life's most glorious possibilities in a way you seldom have before.

Each time I go to Wapakoneta, I try to put into words the feeling of walking those small-town streets, and each time I fear I come up short. But the lesson of Wapakoneta remains constant. A boy from this town -- a boy born here, a boy whose father, a mid-level state employee, was required to move from city to city some twenty different times before ending up back in Wapakoneta for the boy's high school years -- looked up at the Ohio sky and decided that he would soar.

If the town at times felt cloistered and confining -- if the horizons the boy could physically view on the flat landscape of Auglaize County appeared circumscribed -- he did not let that stop him. Down through the ages, it was the one task that was almost beyond conceiving, never mind beyond doing. Until, on July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong, of Wapakoneta, walked on the moon.

You want to talk about the strength of the human will -- of the American will? You want to talk about absolute proof that no matter where you're from, if you set your heart to it, you can do anything? Take a trip to Wapakoneta. Stroll through the neighborhoods, stop in at the stores, maybe catch a movie at the old Wapa Theater on Willipie Street. Try to imagine being the boy who did exactly that, when no one knew his name.

His family had to pick up and move so often, because of his dad's job, that no one could have blamed him if his only desire had been to finally cling to one place.
But he decided that if he was destined always to be in motion, then he should make the most of it. He was fifteen when, his family living back in Wapakoneta again, he signed up for lessons at the airstrip north of town. He had made up his mind: He wanted to escape the earth's bonds. The moon was not the dream. The moon was merely the eventual landing strip. The dream was to fly.

Walk around that town. If you're feeling hemmed in by life, if all your prospects seem to have dried up, if you feel stuck in place, walk around Wapakoneta. Then ask yourself: Is there anything that can stop a person whose belief in what he can accomplish is fierce and unyielding enough?

There is a little museum in town -- you can see it from I-75 -- that is dedicated to the life of the boy who once walked those same streets. The thing I have always loved best about the museum is the display of newspaper front pages from around the world on the day after the moon landing. Every front page in every city in every country on the globe ran huge headlines announcing that the impossible had become real: that a man had walked on the moon. Some of the papers said just that -- that a man had reached the moon. Some made it more parochial -- they said that an American had walked on the moon. But the Wapakoneta Daily News said it in the only good and proper way it could be said, in that town, on that day:

"Neil Steps on the Moon."

We all need to be reminded, from time to time, of just what we can do. We all, no matter where we live, have moments when we think that the odds are just too great, that life's grandest accomplishments are for someone else. And it's probably true that none of us will ever know the feeling of stepping onto the surface of the moon. But this is really not about the moon. This is about the limitless capacity of the human heart. So if there are moments when you begin to question what is out there for you, here's a suggestion:

Come to Wapakoneta sometime. And look at the sky.

2009-07-08T10:46:00.002-05:00

the fourth of july

2009-07-03T12:51:00.008-05:00

May your lives continue to spark in all that you do!

happy day

2009-06-30T16:05:00.015-05:00

Happy birthday, darlin'! You are my light, my love, my inspiration. Thank you for the gifts you have given me and may your life be filled with everything beautiful!

Pocahontas don't have nothin' on you!

funeral blues

2009-06-26T09:17:00.002-05:00

by W.H. AUDEN

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

a father

2009-06-21T09:33:00.013-05:00

Happy Daddy's Day. Thank you for loving our girls deeply, devotedly..without conditions. Thank you for the song of your laughter and the way you make them smile. Thank you for your sense of fun and for filling their lives with magic and goodness. And thank you for being adept at arts and crafts because I really suck.

atlas and the jubilee

2009-06-16T07:15:00.060-05:00

The Mags made it back safe and sound, folks. We had a ball playing in the Gulf and I only found one Cheetos bag I had to throw away. Well, that and an empty 16 oz. bottle of Mountain Dew. Can someone explain to me the mentality of an idiot that would litter a beautiful beach? That is the one thing I absolutely do not understand about humanity and it burns me good. It's called a trash can, you hick..use it! Alrighty then, I will calm my ole self down from that little tangent and proceed to share all that was our Redneck Riviera experience with you travel bug readers.

Let me begin with the beautiful, powdery and CLEAN sand. I stress the word clean because I hail from L.A.- where syringes and dirty butts dance at your toes. It was lovely and I couldn't help from just squeezing handfuls of it. Great exfoliator for my old gams, too. However, the water wasn't the blue that Mama's used to seeing in her beloved Tahiti but green's not all that bad of a color. It wasn't as muddy & kelpy as I thought it was going to be and it was just teeming with those delightful grey torpedoes who we all know and love. No not narco subs....dolphins! One day we were gifted by 3 or 4 of them as they flipped and carried on with their mischievous selves right there before our open mouths and abundant applause. What a magnificent creature. The girls were squealing like nobodies business...and were very lucky to have a front row float with Daddy as they were out bobbing just yards from all those cute bottle noses! Tres fun. And it was made all the more yippee-doodle by the pomegranate, jet-fueled margarita I had put in my trusty water bottle. Pama's Pomarita was the drink of choice for this Gulf Shores gal and it fit the atmosphere just perfectly. Along with all that does-a-body-good, healthy beta carotene, too. I was bummed when my hubby informed me that I couldn't trademark the name because someone had already beat me to it. Bummer. I could have had a little business going.

Anyhoo, this eco-system, a proud member of what the eggheads call The Fertile Crescent is pretty darn fascinating. From it's kettle of estuaries and marshes, chock full of all kinds of interesting life all the way up to it's Pine/Oak woodlands..so tall and majestic, those trees were...It opened my eyes to just what a well-oiled machine it is for groundwater recharge, storage, flood control and shelter to 49 species of just mammals alone! From the goofy gulping of the pelican to the gorgeous carriage of the osprey, we were in bird heaven. Don't even get me going on the gazillion lizards and beautifully shelled turtles that were the girlies favorites. We visited a well put together estuarium while down there, got to ride "on a boat with cars, Mom!" and even took a gander at Britney & then boyfriend, Justin T.'s, old ocean side mansion....way before they got super-duper mega rich and discovered places like the Cape of Antibes and the Seychelles.

One of the most interesting things we learned about was the Mobile Bay phenomenon that occurs on it's eastern side whereby a bunch o' crustaceans and bottom fish..crabs, flounder, stingrays, you name it..come ashore to dance and splash about. Basically getting their fishy selves right on down, Southern style, and having themselves a bonafide beach par-tay. Not much is known about this strange occurrence. It happens in the summer months when both the wind and waters are very calm. The sky, the previous day, has to have been cloudy and overcast for it to happen. The tide comes in, forcing the marine life to move up onto the shoreline...eventually becoming trapped in the shallow water, flip-flopping around. The locals then begin to whoop and holler, put down their Busch cans and go and grab their nets...scooping up some easy din-din pickins for them and their Alabama kin. It has something to do with the decomposition of leaves, plants and wood brought into the Bay and the results of oxygen depletion from all of it in the salty layer at the bottom. I'm not a scientist, plus I was kinda toasted at the time I was listening to how it all works, so that's pretty much all I can tell ya about it. Pretty neat though, I thought. I guess one could say that Mama was having her own personal "jubilee" while educating herself on the fish kind!

Big Daddy and I wimped out on the twelve hour drive and decided it best to stay the night at the halfway point to give the girls a booster break. Well, heck, I'm gonna be honest here, people- he has a bad right leg and I have a waitressed-out lumbar region and we were just too damn old to endure it. The kids had nothing to do with it, really. Mama being the budgeted SAHM that she is, picked a lovely Days Inn in Grenada, Miss. that she thought would work out well. The Dump Inn was more like it. Nearing midnight, exhausted and jonesing from a-way-too-long-past cocktail hour we pulled into the far back room by a dirty dumpster and saw what appeared to be a pimp fighting with his be-atch. Oy. Let's just say, I kept my shoes on until the very last minute when I curled up in bed with my glass of luke warm Sutter Home. The kids were oblivious however and were out like a light after snarfing some milk and a bag of Goldfish. Good times. As we pulled out bright and early the next morning, I had a very disgruntled husband by my side and some wicked indigestion from what I do believe might have been the worst breakfast I've ever consumed. We soon passed by our first swampy looking area- complete with algae, goopy underbrush and probably an alligator or two. My oldest asked her Daddy about that weird bunch of water. "It's what the Days Inn uses to make their coffee, dear", he retorted. That became the line of the trip for me.

And speaking of the ball and chain...as if our Honda wasn't packed to the hilt already, G. decided to bring along his borrowed Rand McNally 3 by 3 foot, spiral-bound book of maps, which basically became like his big breasted mistress while on our travels. Good grief, it was love & he was obsessed with that thing. He regaled us with all kinds of upcoming exits, towns and just a lot of boring mileage counts. Yeah, right. Like I needed to be reminded of the 1520 miles I had to cover coming and going. Oy again. That thing was in my way and bugging the hell outta me the whole time...and trying to keep the coffee and ketchup from dripping on it became a full time job. What with the that thar machine that played the kids their movies (a mother's salvation by the way), ridiculously extra baggage and at least 25 snack-sized Ziplocs full of fruit leather & granola, it was a wonder I had any place at all to stretch my poor cramping legs.

As the miles passed one by one, I began to breathe a little easier though, relaxing into the tuneage. There are a few times in my life when I've felt complete and utter satisfaction. You know, those rare moments when everything just falls into place...no liquid enhancement (rare for me, I know), no conditions..just joy. The simple kind. Soft and quiet. I had such a feeling in the early hours of morning, driving down the prettiest road I think I've ever cruised. What Mississippi doesn't put into their education, they sure do their highways. Smooth, beautiful medians and tree lined..a cozy track of emerald green. With the sun's rays peeking through the clouds, I felt in some weird way that this little bitty moment in time, was just about perfect. With Ray Charles supplying some killer rhythm, my kids safe and sound behind me and a weeks discovery ahead of us..I felt good. Special good. Until I saw the flashing lights just up ahead of us, in the opposite direction..cars lined up for a mile. Someone, I do not and will not ever know had been in a horrible accident and from looking at the car being pulled out of the ravine, with no front on it whatsoever..I knew then they weren't gonna be soaking up that gorgeous morning with me anymore. As the ambulance did a slow, no siren pass on my left a couple of miles later, I felt somber and a whole helluva lot lucky. Appreciative of the air that I was breathing, the sunshine on my arm and just the happiness of being. That was my lesson for this trip. One that was somber. One that was contemplative. One to remember. That and never booking a one star hotel ever again.

Coupled with seven or so attempts of T. trying to poop in an unfamiliar john and an excruciating 2 hour, 34 mile drive in bumper to bumper congestion getting onto the peninsula, our what was supposed to be a 12 hour drive turned into a Great Wall of China one, but we finally arrived. Well, to Wal-Mart, anyway. I had thought the route would never end but my marriage was definitely going to. G. and I were at each other's throats. Facing another two hour, whole-weeks-worth-of-food grocery shopping feat while bleary-eyed with a really numb ass brought out the worst in both of us. And then with two very wiggly, hyper chilluns thrown in the cart on top of that...well, we were plum spent, as my mama used to say, throwing barbs and hurling fruit at the kids. And we hadn't even got to the condo yet! But arrive we did- all in one piece, and still hitched. Opening the door and taking a peek at that balcony with the sea laid out before us was splendid. We were very pleased, needless to say, and relaxed by about 50% in that one single sigh. That is, until Daddy Mag forgot to support Mama's liquor bag from the bottom and Mr. Cuervo hit the tile floor like a cheerleader on Jello shots. While three of my clan got to go down and enjoy a leisurely inspection of the grounds, I spent the next two hours mopping up sweet and sour. Nice.

The next week we laughed, we ate, and we nipped. Boy, howdy, did we partake. I told my husband on the drive back home that I was quite certain a 12 step program was in order. He told me he'd do two of those steps with me, but that was it. One lazy morning after returning from a very early morning escape..er, I mean, walk along the coast...soaking wet, Geez squished out onto the terrace. "What happened to you?", I asked. "I dunno', he said. 'I was just ambling along, sipping my joe and then suddenly had this overwhelming desire to jump headfirst into the sea." I told the kids, who were next to me, that we were darn lucky their daddy returned. Hey, you never really know. They have been known to go out for a pack of cigs and never come back. "That was very mid-life crisis of you", I quipped. "Yeah', he says, 'I almost did a Norman Main when I thought of that 5am breakfast shift I have to do the first day after I get back." Awww..poor guy. Yep- it's a sad state of affairs, Big Daddy, but eventually we all must return to the rigors and ugliness of reality. Except for the Jolie/Pitt family, of course.

I got a call from my sis near the end of our stay informing me that our mom had fallen and busted her head up pretty good (the last time was only 8 months ago!). My heart started racing and I felt the need to hop a plane immediately but was told by the docs to finish out the trip and all would be well until I got home three days later. Her head scan looked good but there was a serious problem that the men in white had discovered and we were going to be facing some scary decisions for treatment. I was without a computer and couldn't perform my obsessive Google-rama as I am known to do (much to the dismay of my husband)...leaving me feeling absolutely helpless. And boy, do I hate that. I took a deep inebriated breath, focused some good thoughts and tried to absorb all that rhythmic beauty of the sea to calm my nerves until I got back to the situation and could find out more. And to also 'control it all', as my loving soul mate so bluntly put it. I was hoping to escape Life for nine days but have learned you never really do. Not for a second. It keeps ya hopping, doesn't it, ladies and gents?

We finished up our stay a few days later and said a sad goodbye to our treasured alfresco breakfasts. And somewhere between Hattiesburg and a prayer I received a call telling me that what the medical pros had thought was a thoracic aneurysm was only a shadow of blockage and that my mom would be all right. As the miles of road moved beneath me, bathed once again in the precious light of morning, my appreciation ran fathoms and I felt humbled. Shortly after, I passed by a newly erected cross where that accident had taken place the week before. A long, beautiful swatch of purple cloth was blowing in the breeze and below was a bouquet of soft white orchids. I wondered who they were and where they were going that day..the music they liked, what made them happy. I reminded myself again that it isn't the destination but the journey that fuels us. My prayer was very deep that morning.

Our Yee-haw finale was spent at Graceland. And what a fun, kitschy ending it was. The El-vites were everywhere and this particular Days Inn redeemed the chain ten-fold for Mama. Our room across the street from the hallowed grounds was fab. Clean, good-sized and the guitar-shaped pool was a big hit with the munchkins. At night the neon was aglow and there were endless Presley movies on the tube. You could even call down to the front desk and ask them to put a particular one on! As I drifted off into a Dark Eyes Vodka slumber (on sale for only 6 bucks at the Piggly Wiggly!) I could hear Ann Margret shakin' it and bakin' it- 60's style. Groovy man.

The next morning while enduring a thunderstorm that would rival Andrew, I was beyond determined to get into the free one-hour admission they offer of the grave site and gardens of the King. My husband threw a fit over his bowl of fruit loops, demanding that I not venture out in the nasty weather until it passed. Well, my free sixty minutes was quickly ticking away and I have never been one to listen to a man telling me what to do....so armed with a paper-thin T-shirt and a weak cup of Folgers, I braved the F4 winds and flying beach umbrellas that had scarily been re-planted over in the back ally. The kids, not wanting to miss a moment, followed their mammy out the front door..leaving Dad to yell in vain at our insanity. When I say it took me 20 minutes just to cross the street, I'm not kidding. It was a Jungle Room out there..darn hairy. The girls were crying, the rain was falling sideways and my Walgreens umbrella was inside out. Daddy, gripped in fear for the safety of his girls, was bringing up the soaked rear, with a look of terror on his mug. But Mr. Presley's spirit carried us up to the gate- safe and sound. I'm sure the passing cars had a real doozy of a Jon and Kate moment to watch on their way to work. "Sorry, lady. We're closed due to the weather", was all this water-logged girl got out of the guard. I knew the 'But don't you know who I am?' line wasn't gonna work. And it sure wasn't going to be my over humidified hair-do that looked like fur through the whole trip that would open any gates for me either. So off we went. Elvis had definately left the building. So much for that freebie.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, minutes later...cooler drained, re-iced and ready to go, we slowly made our way down Elvis Presley Blvd., passing by his beloved casa one last time. I couldn't help but think of two things- that ole El would probably roll right on over in his grave knowing the hotels made such a big ta-doo over those silly movies he absolutely hated performing in and...just what an easy going, soft spoken, Christian boy would think of Scientology getting such a huge chunk of change off his name and legacy.

Good Lord. Talk about a Great Wall of China entry.

the girls of summer

2009-06-02T10:11:00.036-05:00

June's heat is just now beginning to sizzle and we are on our way to endless lunches al fresco, s'mores, pool-noodle frivolity and just about everything else that is `ete`. I must admit though, my three months in the slammer is going to start off pretty gosh darn nicely- by the ocean, with margarita in hand. Yep, Big Daddy (and his 3 dependents!) is having his first vacation in two years. After his nasty tete-a-tete with the Grim Reaper all that time ago, I say he deserves it!

We had a wonderful opportunity arise to sneak in a visit to the Redneck Riviera, or as some call it, the Gulf Shores, and we're looking forward to some quiet family time- with dolphins added! The girlies are excited to see their very first sea turtle and I couldn’t be happier about that. It is the nesting time of year for these mystical, amazing creatures and a great op for the kids to have a dose of conservation and just an overall “wow”. I remember swimming alongside 70 year old Barnabus, the King of Honokeana Cove, on a visit to Hawaii many, many years ago and feeling the thrill. Ahhh..there’s nothing like the sea to calm a raw nerve and an aching hip flexor. I’ve really missed my every-now-and-then wind downs by the deep blue when I lived in LA all those years. Nothing like shaved ice, Muscle Beach and the antics of Angelyne in her pink corvette to pass away a hot Valley day. Or avoid one, I should say. I have a lot of good memories spent with my friends down by the water's edge...

My sweet girl has also just finished up her two years in Montessori school and will be entering into the first grade soon. I can’t believe she’s reading to me, twirling onstage and just basically growing up before Mama’s very eyes. Her sense of humor is as dry as mine and she’s as smart as a whip, my kid. She is secure and excited to begin her new adventure. She's much more confident than I was at her age..electric in both her beauty and personality. I am so proud of her and already pretty verklempt over a nasty case of Empty Nest Syndrome...and I have another 12 years years to go, for God's sake! Oh, heck, I’ll be okay. I’ll just make my martini a little bit bigger this evening.

As if the years couldn’t be more fleeting...my youngest will be starting pre-school in a couple o’ months and is on tippy-toe with excitement over the prospect of learning, making new friends and diving headfirst into all kinds of yummy discovery. She’s our little Shirley Temple on Red Bull. A one of a kind.

Yes, my sun-kissed babies are growing up on me and ready to grab another late night, jacked up, sleepover season by the horns. I hope I make it out in one piece by summer’s end. Oy. Pretty soon, it’s going to be time for Mama to get a job and bring home a strip or two of that proverbial family bacon after a very long respite out of the work force. Can anyone say, Walmart greeter? Lord forbid. Oh, but it’s okay. Again..I’ll just make that martini a teensy weensy bigger still.

happiness is...

2009-05-27T09:46:00.004-05:00

pondering nature's beauty with your big sis.

l.a. dodgers

2009-05-26T17:53:00.017-05:00

Shame, shame Chief Ron and Co. What can I say that I haven't said already?

And Rob Thomas...right on, dude!

remembered

2009-05-25T08:24:00.013-05:00

To you. Those we knew and those we didn't. Thank you for your service and sacrifice. The tears of your loved ones continue to fall like rain on this cloudy day. I pray for courage and strength in the hearts you've left behind and that one day war will be nothing but a memory..a dog-eared page in our history book. Bloodless, quiet...and peaceful discourse, our only weapon.

be yourself

2009-05-24T07:23:00.002-05:00

mother interrupted

2009-05-15T17:33:00.078-05:00

My name is Mama Mags. I haven't checked my Wall in one hour and seven minutes.
Good Lord. You'd think my friends who know my obsessive-compulsive personality for what it is would steer their buddy, old pal away from Facebook, but no. They boondoggled me right on into pimping a page, poking behind my husband's back and even divulging 25 Random Things About Me. Hell, I didn't think there were more than 5 or 6, tops. Who knew I could be so deep? But here I sit, wine to the right, ignoring the offspring and left clicking myself back into my lost youth. Great. Just what my mid-life crisis needed..seeing how good everybody looks after all these years while I count my forehead furrows. But I chose to dive right on in with the masses, smearing Vaseline on the profile pic and for the past couple a weeks or so have scuba'ed myself into all that is the hum-drumery of my pal's lives...mine included. I'm using the Send a Round application like a college drop-out and spend most of my day double fisted. I figure virtual drinks are probably better for my shriveled liver than the real ones..so it's all good. And what's with this incessant need to friend everyone? I've never been the popular type that had an entourage...just a couple of good, loyal pals were all I ever needed in life..but once you cross over, it's like you're 50 Cent and can't get enough posse to post & play with.

Yes, if My Space is the slut of social networking then Facebook is the tweaked out coke-head and I'm gonna have to cool it eventually. Besides, Big Brother starts up in another month and that's all this old girl will have time for. Hey, I know where my priorities fall, okay? It's funny though, underneath all the manic commenting, tagging & What Kind of Mental Illness Are You, I see that I've been pretty darn good already at remaining in touch with the important peeps in my life and I've done it the old fashioned way- picking up the horn & then going out and getting tanked over a few....yeah, before all this new-fangled cyber tech mumbo jumbo came along. I don't think there's really anyone else out there in my leg-warmered past, undiscovered, whom it would be dire that I re-friend, but who knows? My promiscuous boyfriend who dumped me back in '85 still has my favorite pair of Levis & my Husker Du album, damn him. I've since ditched the turntable..but my kid's Mariposa Barbie could really use the jeans. And I would kinda like to see if he's lost his hair yet. Oh, I'm so bad.

Just like all rivers find the sea..my two rug rats will continue to be the reality-check mallet that I need and this lost weekend will come to a final log-out sooner or later, and I'll have to get back to cooking for them and hanging my robe up before noon. They've seen the insidious face of addiction with me and my Kashi trail mix bars, so nothin' really scares 'em. My oldest, being the feisty Gemini she is, doesn't hold back. The other day, in the quiet, dark wee hours of the morning, I was fully engrossed by the Crackbook News Feed. Like a Jaguar she crept- softly, silently..appearing ghost-like in the office doorway and scaring the bejesus right out of me. Bed-headed, with a hand on her hip, she says, "Mom, quit your brain squashing and make me some breakfast."

we're waiting...

2009-05-14T10:55:00.002-05:00

godspeed

2009-05-13T06:14:00.003-05:00

No matter how many times I see it, it always humbles and amazes me.

separated at birth

2009-05-12T07:16:00.001-05:00

toothless wonder

2009-05-11T18:22:00.001-05:00

The days go by quickly. Our babies grow so fast, meeting their thresholds one right after the other, whether we're ready for it or not. This simple quiet joy, as cushy as a favorite throw..is my greatest treasure on this Mother's Day and always. From picnics in the park, lazy days spent reading by a sunny window or writing letters to the Tooth Fairy..it is within these tiny moments my heart is at its fullest. Thank you for the hand painted box you made me, girls, but most of all, thank you for waking up the part of me that is my best part.

in the heazy

2009-05-10T09:08:00.019-05:00

Oh, that Rahm, "...always has a hard time on Mother's Day. He's just not used to saying the word 'day' after 'mother'".

Kudos, Mr. Prez. It looks like your delivery & timing is right on key like everything else about ya. I had a welcome chuckle or two channel surfing onto the correspondents din-din last night, and I bet that 200 dollar petit filet never tasted better. From Bluetooths for the Pope to the right for Mrs. Obama to "bare arms"...it felt good not to think about the housing market for 21 minutes. And Wanda , you killed girl...I don't care what they say. If the heat's to hot in the kitchen, Mr. Limbaugh, then you know what to do.

the variables

2009-05-09T07:33:00.008-05:00

I've studied relativistic physics my entire life. One thing emerged over and over- can't change the past. Can't do it. Whatever happened, happened..right? But then I finally realized... I had been spending so much time focused on the constants, I forgot about the variables. Do you know what the variables in these equations are, Jack? Us. We're the variables. People. We think. We reason. We make choices. We have free will. We can change our destiny.

tally-ho

2009-05-06T06:26:00.007-05:00

Oh, man. This is harsh. A Brit got Mama's dream job. He gets to sit on his ass in a cool pad overlooking the Great Barrier Reef and blog about it all day. I guess it would have helped had I remembered to enter the darn thing. And apparently...had ridden an ostrich at some point.