Then and Now

Back in November of 1985, a team of two young men began their construction of a replica of an ancient device used in warfare: the catapult.  Physics teachers the world over are fond of assigning this particular project to their students hoping to convince their hormone-riddled charges that Physics class exists in order to teach them something about the mechanical world and isn't just a forum in which flirt with the opposite sex.

Mr. Bennett, the Physics teacher at Oxford High School in '85, was particularly sadistic about this assignment, and instructed the students to build their catapult using no metal (the projectile could be a metal ball bearing) and no plastic.  The two enterprising young men of this story, Jeff and Rip, decided to build a catapult of the ballista-type.  It was made entirely out of popcicle sticks, twine and glue:

 

 

 

They spray-painted it gold and named it "Goldfinger" after the James Bond movie because they were boys and boys are dumb. (The future father of my child thought that Honor Blackman as Pussy Galore was the hottest thing ever filmed.  Also? He thought that the name "Pussy Galore" was sheer genius on the part of Ian Fleming because he was a boy and boys are dumb).

Jeff and I had just started dating, and I must say at that stage, the boy was flat moon-eyed over me...I got credit for the project's completion even though I just hung out during its construction looking cute:

 

 

I wish I had a picture of the construction process.  I do have a picture of Jeff constructing a parabolic oven with our friend Lauren for the same class:

(For this project the evil Mr. Bennett made us cook hotdogs on our parabolas and eat them...if we didn't get food poisoning, we passed).  You probably can't tell from the way he is jack-assing around in this photo...but he was quite a fine specimen of a 17 year old male....mmmm-hmmm...and I had it bad for him like a house afire.
I don't know why Lauren was feeding him Frosted Flakes out of the box.

Anyhow, I had dredged up all of those geeky-physics-filled memories of our first days together as our progeny embarked on her very own catapult (for a much more reasonable Physics teacher who allowed for sensible materials of construction).  She chose a Mangonel-type catapult.  She did the whole design and construction with her lab partner (her daddy helping when needed...some things like sawing and drilling were more than a two person job).

 

Funny to see something come full-circle like this.

 

 

 

P.S.  Some of you are probably wondering why I still have a 28-year old Physics project in my possession.  My only explanation for that is that Jeff NEVER. THROWS. ANYTHING. AWAY.  He's bad.  As in, if he lived alone he'd probably end up on hoarders.  He wouldn't be the type of hoarder that had nastiness going on or dead cats buried under trash or anything.  All of his hoarding would be neat and categorized.

Goldfinger is actually probably on his way out.  Jeff had saved him all of these years just in case his offspring had a project like it.  Sadly, when we dug it out of the shed, the bastard tree-rats had chewed  a good portion of the "track" up so we couldn't fire it and let the kiddo see how it worked.

Damn squirrels.

 

 

 

 

 

My friend "Jane"

This blog post is different.  I try to run a fun show around here…I tell funny stories about crap that happens to me, about the stupid things I get myself into, about my crazy friends and family.  This post is different.  It’s very serious, and very sad.  If you don’t want to read anything serious or sad, come back in a few days when I will return to my normal silly topics.

A friend of mine was murdered Monday.  Her killer was someone she loved, and someone who, before his mental illness consumed him, loved her.  I’ve been struggling all week about it.  Many of you reading this will know who they are…but because I’m planning to put this out there on my blog, I’m going to use the names Jane and John Doe.

Jane was one of the most devout Christian women I’ve known.  She was grace and kindness personified. She was good.  Just really, really good.  In a world that contains so much bad, she was just simply and amazingly good.  I worked with her for ten years, and occasionally socialized outside of work.  I have never seen her sad or mad or upset.  She always had something funny or sweet, or both, to say to me.  She was a smart engineer and a very pretty lady.  I cannot put the Jane I knew into any sort of context with violence.  She is the last person I would have thought would have her life end in a murder.  I can’t imagine anyone being mean to Jane, much less violently ending her life. 

Jane and John met, fell in love and married out at the job site where I still work.  John had left a few years ago; Jane was still out there, and I saw her almost every day.  I had been to Jane and John’s house for football parties.  My husband and I would see them out and about town.  We attended some of the same events together. I liked them both very, very much.  Even though I still saw Jane frequently at work, I had lost contact with John after he left.  As my daughter got older and more involved in extra-curricular activities, we didn’t see John and Jane socially anymore.  According to people who were still in touch with both of them, John apparently started suffering from some pretty serious mental health issues, particularly over the last year.  I understand he was seeing a psychiatrist and was trying to get well…but the last few months had gotten worse instead of better.  Jane had recently confided in a friend, “I want John to get better, but I’m afraid it’s getting to the point where I’m going to have to leave.”

Her death has been so hard for me to process.  A huge part of it is that she was SO faithful to her beliefs.  I want to ask God, “What are you thinking?  I don’t know anyone who tried so hard to do Your will!  Why did You let this happen?”  A mutual friend said to me yesterday that maybe Jane had too much love for John and too much faith in God.  Wow.  That pulled me up short.  Because I don’t believe there’s such a thing as too much love or too much faith.  I don’t know why God allowed this very, very loyal servant to suffer a violent death. But I do know that He set us all up to have free will.  And we are not promised that bad things will never happen to us.  What we as Christians ARE promised is that whatever happens in our lives…no matter how horrible it is, God will turn it into something good.  In this instance, I don’t know how that will be.  I cannot see it at all.  All I can see in this moment is that the world has less good in it…my life has one less wonderful person in it…Jane’s mother doesn’t have her daughter anymore…

On the other hand, I know that Jane is fine.  She is more than fine.  And I know that if God had asked her, “Jane, I have something I’m going to ask you to endure for Me…it’s going to be awful, it’s going to hurt….and it’s going to grieve the people you love.  But I will turn it into something good, and in the end, you’ll be with Me,” Jane would have been all, “Sign me up.”

I had a long conversation this morning with another co-worker over the phone.  I was off work today and had taken a break from my housework to call her and talk about Jane’s memorial service that will be going on this afternoon in Jane's mother’s hometown.  I won’t be able to attend, so I wanted to make sure Leslie got Jane’s mother’s address so that I can send her a letter this coming week.  I want to tell her what an impact her daughter made in my life.  Leslie and I shared our memories of Jane…we talked about her many, many virtues…we went over and over with each other how it’s just hard to grasp the meaning behind this…how hard it is to imagine how very, very horrible her last moments, or for all we know, hours were. Leslie and I hung up and I went back to vacuuming.  A few minutes later I had to stop and get down in the floor to untangle the matted dog and human hair wrapped around the vacuum’s rotating brush thingy...and had a sudden swift attack of the ugly cry.  I sat crossed legged in my foyer, sobbing and gasping and …and ripping clumps of hair out of the vacuum...and then thought of a poem that I half-remembered from years and years ago.  It was written by E.H. Hamilton about a friend of HIS that had been murdered while serving as a missionary:

Afraid? Of what?
To feel the spirit’s glad release?
To pass from pain to perfect peace,
The strife and strain of life to cease?
Afraid? Of that?

Afraid? Of what?
Afraid to see the Saviour’s face,
To hear His welcome, and to trace,
The glory gleam from wounds of grace,
Afraid? Of that?

Afraid? Of what?
A flash - a crash - a pierced heart;
Brief darkness - Light - O Heaven’s art!
A wound of His a counterpart!
Afraid? Of that?

Afraid? Of what?
To enter into Heaven’s rest,
And yet to serve the Master blessed?
From service good to service best?
Afraid? Of that?

Afraid? Of what?
To do by death what life could not -
Baptize with blood a stony plot,
Till souls shall blossom from the spot?
Afraid? Of that?

I put the vacuum up and turned my computer on…I decided I needed to get all of this out there…I need to express my grief, my confusion.  I need to pay tribute to my friend. And I need what she went through to mean something.  Please take something from this:

Don’t underestimate mental illness in a loved one. Get them help. Get them the LEVEL of help they need.  I wish John had been hospitalized so that he couldn’t hurt Jane or himself.

Be good. Be kind. Be cheerful. Be loving.  Jane’s death has left a shortage in the world.

Pray for me. Pray for Jane’s family. Pray for John’s. Pray for each other.

Marvelous, Magical Meg

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I am the epitome of your logical, scientific engineer.  I like my world nice and ordered.  I’m not very creative.  I can’t paint, I can’t draw, I can’t sew, I can’t craft.  I did play an instrument in high school…but because the order and metrics of musical notation were easy for me…not because I could ever, ever, ever have CREATED original music.  I’ve attempted to paint…I even went to one of those “art” classes where they step you through your own painting…and, No.  Just No.  (It was a painting class near Christmas…Jacquie took me to it and we were supposed to paint snowmen…I kept the resulting painting, but have had MORE than one person ask me how old my daughter was when she did it.)
My house has the same window dressings it had when I moved into it and although I DO have enough decorating acumen to tear down the hideous 80’s wallpaper and repaint the walls, 9 years after moving in…I still don’t have anything hanging on the walls.  I don’t even know where to start with such things.  (BUT on the other hand, I have some really kick-ass appliances in the house.  I don’t think a right-brainer could fully appreciate the beauty of my Dyson Animal DC41.)

And even though I am artistically stunted, I can compute the HELL out of some mass and energy balances.  I can assemble a gas grill.  I know the difference between a spur gear and a straight gear.  Mathematical equations and Chemical formula help to make the world make SENSE to me.  I can work on my own car.  I am comforted by the ability to categorize things into Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus and Species.  I don’t GET the thought processes of the artsy-fartsy (I mean that with love).

But I recognize that the world would be a pretty static, grey and gloomy place if it were inhabited solely by a bunch of Poindexters like myself.  I know that my own life is richly enhanced by individuals whose way of thinking, whose way of BEING completely mystify me.  My best buddy, Annette, is one of those creative people.  And I would have missed out on some of the greatest moments of my life if I hadn’t allowed myself to throw caution (and physics) to the wind and embark on very non-analytical, illogic adventures with her.

Another much needed free-spirited, right-brained supplement to my well-regimented life is my friend Meg.  Meg is one of the most spontaneous people I know.  She plucked her little ole Alabama-dwelling family up and deposited them right smack in the middle of California.  Just. Like. That.  I would need a good six months in order to plan to VISIT California for a vacation.  She amazes me

I found this graphic out on the ‘net.  It’s apparently a Mercedes-Benz motivational poster.  Which confuses me a little…because as much as I’m sure MB values their graphic artists and designers for the beautiful exterior and accoutrements…surely they realize how much they owe their bread and butter to their suspension and power train engineers??

But I get the point…and the descriptions are very accurate:



I can't seem to get my blogger software to gee-haw with this damn graphic...so in case you can't read it: I am the left brain. I am a scientist. A mathematician. I love the familiar. I categorize. I am accurate. Linear. Analytical. Strategic. I am practical. Always in control. A master of words and language. Realistic. I calculate equations and play with numbers. I am order. I am logic. I know exactly who I am.

I am the right brain.  I am creativity. A free spirit. I am passion. Yearning. Sensuality. I am the sound of roaring laughter. I am taste. The feeling of sand beneath bare feet. I am movement. Vivid colors. I am the urge to paint on an empty canvas. I am boundless imagination. Art. Poetry. I sense. I feel. I am everything I wanted to be.



I’m just a little miffed at all the blah on the left side.  I KNOW I just said the same thing earlier about how I needed my artistic friends to brighten my life…I’m just sayin’ that I would think that Mercedes would be a little more tactful regarding the guys that keep their trains running on time.

Anyway, back to my lovely, creative friend Meg. She is forever doing something amazing. She has written, produced, acted in and filmed her own short films. I got to attend her screening party for her short film “You’re Too”…a very cute but insightful piece full of positive self-esteem messages about rising above the world’s expectations and criticisms and embracing yourself as “enough.” It screened at Women's International Film Festival, Broad Humor Film Festival (where it received the  best short film, low budget award), Austin Women's Film Festival, Dixie Film Festival (Athens, GA) , Miami International Film Festival, Cucalorus (Wilmington NC) and Reel Women in Los Angeles. She’s got another short film that I haven’t seen yet “I’m Not Here” that is currently screening at Crossroads Film Festival in Jackson, MS  and LA Femme in LA. I can’t wait for a chance to see it.

AND in the middle of getting her short films out there, she started a cupcake mission to save the world (no shit, you can go to Cupcake Mission and read all about it). This chick has more imagination (and ENERGY!) in her little finger than I’ll ever have in my entire carbon-based, bi-pedal, humanoid life form. The little creative shit. (Love you, Megs!)

Her current “project” is great. She’s put out a series of YouTube videos called “Om Sweet Home.” I think it is semi-quasi-sort-of auto-biographical. The protagonist, “Ruth” is half-Jewish, half-Catholic who grew up in an Evangelical environment…and is so completely confused regarding issues of faith…that she decides to just take a deep breath and….Om!...check out what yoga has to offer in the form of enlightenment. I’ve watched the first 4 “episodes” and cannot wait for the final installment that Meg swears is coming soon. Here’s the link to her work:

http://www.omsweethome.tv/

I, myself, have always been a Christian…and I remain so. I had my crisis of faith about 10 years ago when I didn’t know what KIND of Christian I was…I was raised Church of Christ, and that sucked (no offense to any out there, but that has got to be the most repressive denomination since the Puritans)…then I wandered into the Baptist denomination out of the sheer number of Baptist churches around me. In Alabama, you can’t sling a dead cat without hitting a Southern Baptist church. I’ve come to the conclusion that although I know myself to be a good Christian, I am a terrible Baptist. I’ve also come to accept that although I’m not in 100% alignment with some of the finer points of the Southern Baptist doctrine…the basic Christian tenets still ring true & I still try to add my little efforts towards the strength of The Church (as in The Church, which I believe “Baptists” are a subset of)…but that’s just me.
I’ve known Meg for 5 or 6 years, and in all of the time we’ve been friends I have known that she was still in search of her answers. I am NO help to her whatsoever…

Meg: So when did you have your “saving” moment?

Me: Um…during Thermodynamics my freshman year at Auburn.

Meg: ????

Me: Well you see, we were going over the Third Law of Thermodynamics which, as everyone knows, states that no practicable means can bring a physical system to an exactly zero absolute thermodynamic temperature. So, you see, there’s a “thing” that we understand...BUT even though it can’t be gotten to…it exists!! And! And! Here’s the epiphany part, Meg…this unattainable state doesn’t just exist in our universe….but we, as creatures of this universe UNDERSTAND IT!!

So, yeah…God’s gonna have to have a whole different approach to getting His message to Meg. In the meantime, her art and her talent can give the rest of us pause as to how we are affecting the peace and well-being of those around us.

Tolkien

You know, cleaning out your old files on your computer is very like cleaning out a closet or a "junk drawer" in your house...you find all kinds of stuff that you have stashed away at one time or another and then completely forgot about. I have a very, very bad habit of copying and pasting crap to my desktop. On the one hand, I make whatever I've stuck there very accessible (at the time) to use. On the other hand, I never get around to tidying up my desktop and then I can't find ANYTHING. Today while moving and/or deleting various and sundry things, I ran across this:

And this:

And I realized that there was a real great story to be told about these X-rays.  However, the story was not technically mine to tell.  These X-rays belong to my friend Nancy's dog/wolf-beast, Tolkien.  I got in touch with Nance and she gave me permission to tell Tolkien's tale.

 

Before I go much further, here's a picture of Tolkien's outsides, since we started out looking at his insides:

Isn't he a handsome fellow? 

Tolkien is a Canadian pooch...but he loves anything from Alabama...like this hat (and me!)

 

Tolkien belongs to my very favorite Canadian family of all time, the Kozaks.  This picture is approximately 8 years old...Tolkien is not even half his final size here...but it's the only pic with the whole clan in it.
I sometimes visit the Kozaks in Canada...since they are my very favorite Canadian family and all.  Tolkien always seems to think that I have travelled all nine hundred and twenty eight miles just to see him.

He is part collie, part (I think) German Shepard (or timber wolf...Lord, that dog is big) and part Joey from Friends.  He believes (feverently) that no female is immune to his charm.   He's quite the ladies' man.

Besides trying the "bad touch" with anything female that crosses his threshold, Tolkien has another unfortunate characteristic.  He will attempt to eat anything that he even suspects is edible.  During his earlier years, he was particularly fond of the kids' underwear.

Nance has told many tales of the things that he has counter and/or table-surfed and eaten (then sometimes barfed back up)...like a 5lb bag of potatoes, and entire bunch of bananas, potpourri, etc.

Two Christmases ago, one of the Kozak children brought their handmade ornament home from school and proudly hung it on the Kozak Christmas tree.  It was a very attractive ornament.  It was a very attractive ornament that smelled like marshmallows...because it essentially was a giant ball of marshmallow held together with approximately 98 straight pins.  The ornament was made by taking a Styrofoam ball, then sticking marshmallows on it using corsage pins:

 

It was if it were perfectly designed by Martha Stewart to assassinate 200 lb collie/wolf/Joey creatures.  To this day, no one really knows how Tolkien got this ball off of the tree where it had been hung (they assumed) out of his reach.

Luckily, they were able to get him to an emergency vet and after surgery and hospital stay that cost many, many Canadian dollars he was fine.  For which we are all profoundly grateful.  Canada just wouldn't be the same for me if I wasn't greeted with his canine version of, "Heeyyy, how you doin'?"

Purple People: Eaters

You know what we don't eat a lot of? Purple foods.
For some reason, not a lot of purple edible stuff exists out there in nature.  Below is my account of how I tried to right this glaring palette omission on behalf of our palate.

The company I have worked for over the last 15 years has decided to "split" into two new companies...my division is going into a company that's trademark color will be purple.  In order to get everyone all excited and involved in making the change (change? I hate it...as do most analytical-leaning people...have I mentioned that my company consists of about 90% scientists and engineers?) everyone was challenged to come up with ways to show how purple-y we could be.  I decided me and my co-workers beat the pants off of everyone else by being truly creative.  We would have a purple luncheon.  Here are some of our offerings...

Blueberry pie...not terribly outside-the-box creativity-wise....but it was tasty.  Also, it stained our teeth purple for an entire next weekend, so that should count extra.

Purple chicken.  I know it looks kind of sketchy, but it tasted Absolutely. amazing.  I'd eat this again no problem... apparently it was a cinch to make too...just four ingredients: chicken, Catalina dressing, cranberries and an onion soup packet.  It was extremely festive/Christmas-y tasting with the cranberries.

 

Blue corn chips straight out of the bag...the dip is what made it great.  There's a Tex-Mex restaurant chain in the South/Southwest (Chuy's) that has an AMAZING creamy jalepeno dip.  Our IT guy has been tweaking a knock-off recipe all summer...it is divine:

 

1 cup mayo

1/3 cup buttermilk

1/3-1/2 cup sour cream

1-4 oz. can chopped jalapenos (more or less to taste) 

1-4 oz. can chopped green chiles

1/3 cup chopped cilantro (fresh only, please)

1-1 oz. packet of dry Hidden Valley ranch dressing mix

1/2 tsp. minced garlic

 

Throw it all into a food processor and viola!  A couple of drops of red and a drop of blue food coloring and it fit with the theme.



 

Coconut crème cake sans coconut...Jenn made this without the coconut because she knows I'm weird about coconut...love the flavor, hate the texture.  You basically take a white cake, poke holes in it and then pour sweet coconut milk over and let it soak up...top with a light whipped cream icing.  Food coloring was used here as well to bring it into the correct color palette.



Your basic coleslaw...just using purple cabbage instead of standard...this was your vinegar-based type (my preference) vs. the mayo-based.

 

Mike's wife contributed cupcakes that were as yummy as they were pretty.

 

Roasted egg plant...nothing too intricate...eggplant, olive oil, salt and pepper.  The trick is soaking the eggplant in a little briny water for a few minutes and then setting out on some paper towels before popping them in the oven to get the bitter out.

 

Cori, a lady who works for another company, but shares office space with us decided to join in the fun and make purple deviled eggs.  She just boiled her eggs, halved them, scooped out the yolks and let them sit in some water with food coloring.  She deviled the yolks with your standard mayo, mustard, salt, pepper and a dash of vinegar.  She's from New York, so of course she did not have an egg plate...she also did something I hadn't encountered.  Normally, I don't much care for paprika sprinkled on deviled eggs...but Cori used Old Bay seasoning and I could actually dig that.  I wouldn't use it every time...but it made for an interesting kick. 

Yeah...the grapes are kind of a gimme...but I don't get figs that often and I had forgotten how much I loved them.  My Me-maw had a fig tree in her yard when I was growing up and I used to love to scarf those things straight off the tree....where I learned an important life lesson: DO NOT EAT UNRIPE FIGS. Trust me on this one.

Marie made what she called a pomegranate parfait.  It was much tastier than it looked.  I didn't get an exact recipe out of her...but it was basically low-fat cream cheese, cool whip and pomegranate juice and some sugar if I remember correctly.

 

This was one of my offerings...purple pasta.  It was very good freshly made...sautéed red cabbage, red onion and garlic...toss with al dente pasta and topped with feta.  The next day it was a cold, purple gelatinous blobby mess...so in the future, only make what will be eaten at the initial sitting.

I discovered these purple potatoes in the produce section of Publix and man, are they neat.  They are purple all the way through...when you cut them, they have this deep, beautiful variegated purple inside.  We just tossed them with some olive oil, fresh Rosemary picked out of Jenn's garden that morning and sea salt and pepper and roasted.  You really can't screw up potatoes.

The recipe for this cabbage and kielbasa stew said that it was better the second day...so go ahead and make it the night before.  The recipe lied.  I made it up the night before and Jeff and I both tried it and loved it...it turned more purple overnight...that was for sure...but it really lost something of the taste of the kielbasa to the red cabbage overnight.  Still okay...but it was much better with just a couple of hours in the crock pot.  Full recipe:

Saute chopped red/purple cabbage with a chopped onion, green bell pepper and two tablespoons of minced garlic.  Throw into crock pot with about 4 cups of chicken stock.  Slice and brown a pound of kielbasa and add to the crock pot.  Add a large can of diced tomatoes...salt and pepper to taste.  In two hours it will smell delicious...go ahead and eat it all because it will taste too cabbage-y in the morning and the kielbasa will be an unholy shade of purple.

 

Also? Fair warning...after I had chopped up a whole head of the really, really purple cabbage?  It looked like I had violently murdered Grimace in my kitchen.  That shit bled onto every surface it encountered...and was determined to stay there.  It took A LOT of bleach-based cleaner to get the stains off my countertops and cutting board.  I had purple-tinged nails for several days.

 



Finally, we had this masterpiece.  Jeff B (not my Jeff, the other one) made this black plum and fig tart.  Jeff B is our gourmet chef in residence.  I had bought the black plums and figs and had no idea what to do with them...I brought them to Jeff B and he returned with what you see above.  It was as good as it looks.  For the base he used this basic recipe:

 

2 c. all-purpose flour

3/4 c. finely chopped walnuts

3/4 c. light brown sugar

12 Tbl cold unsalted butter (yes, 12 Tbl)

1 egg yolk

 

Combine dry ingredients in a large bowl...add butter and egg yolk...mix until crumbly...press 1 1/2 cups of the mixture into the bottom of a tart pan.

 

Then he mixed 8 oz of cream cheese, 1/4 cup sugar, 1/2 tsp of vanilla and an egg for the next layer and topped with the sliced plums (with some fig in the very center for effect) and the rest of the crumbled stuff used in the crust.  That's baked at 400 degrees for 40-50 minutes.

I could have easily (and cheerfully) eaten the whole thing myself...12 tablespoons of butter and all.

So there you have it...a purple feast.  I guess you could use this menu if you were hosting a Mardi Gras party...or if you were a Ravens or Vikings (or Barney) fan.  What you do with this information is really your own business.

We did up a little power point presentation for the whole company purple challenge.  Sadly, despite our OBVIOUS superiority, we are running a distant second to a bunch of Yahoos at the home office in purple wigs that posted a video of them doing the Harlem Shake.

Ah well, there's no accounting for taste.

 

 

 

 



Such a Gem

Most of you who know me personally are aware that I have some pretty specific instructions regarding what should, and should not happen in the event of my untimely death (or timely, for that matter). It may seem somewhat odd, but there are certain things people do at the passing of a loved one that drive me absolutely bat-shit...
Those markers people put on the side of the road, for one thing…Jeff and I have always agreed that should one of us perish in a fiery car crash, the other would refrain from putting up a little wooden cross and plastic flowers to mark the spot. The same goes for those decal thingies I’ve been seeing in the back of car windows for the past couple of years ("RIP Smoochy 1968-2001"). (If these methods of remembering a loved one happen to be your method of dealing with your grief...I'm sorry if I've offended you).  I'm just a real conservative, old-fashioned griever...a nice marker in a nice normal cemetery is all I need.  I don't want a t-shirt made with my face plastered across it...I don't want anyone tatoo-ing my semblance on their pecs (not that anyone I know WOULD, but still...)

I thought it went without saying that should I die before him, Jeff would not try to turn me into Bling. I thought wrong. The other day,  he sends me the following link:
http://www.lifegem.com/ And said, "I know it’s a little weird, but kinda cool, don’t you think?"  

In a word, No.

"You mean you don't think it would be sort of neat...???"
"No, Jeff.  No, No, No!!"

What is a "LifeGem?" you ask? To quote the company, a LifeGem "is a certified, high-quality diamond created from a lock of hair, or the cremated ashes of your loved one as a memorial to their unique life." They further add: "LifeGem diamonds are created individually from your specific carbon source (specific carbon source? WTF?) in our patented process. Your LifeGem memorial will offer comfort and support when and where you need it, and provide a lasting memory that endures just as a diamond does. Forever." The bold type "Forever." is their emphasis, not mine & kind of cracks me up a little, because you know if this were an audio spot, they’d let the "Forever." kind of echo a few times and then fade away. 

Anyway, they go on to say that your LifeGem is "just like a real diamond." When I told my friend Kim about LifeGem and sent her a link she replied, "Yeah. You know what else is just like a real diamond? A real diamond." 

In other words: spare me this bullcrap and just bequeath me a real, honest-to-God diamond. Which you could easily do...because do you know how much it costs to turn a cup of cremated remains into a one "carat" LifeGem? Uh, $15 Grand. And why did I say "cup" of cremated remains? Because in their "shipping instructions" they specifically state that you should not send more than 8 ounces of your loved one to them. They provide a little screw cap container (which looks suspiciously like the packaging of my Nivea hand cream) in their "shipping kit" just to make sure you don’t overdo it. Here’s a picture of said "shipping kit."



They’re a little stingy with the bubble wrap, don’t you think, considering that you’re packing HUMAN REMAINS for Interstate transport? I love that they have a "Tamper Resistant" label too. Yes, that will stop the customs people.  Is it just me or doesn't this seem a little bit casual for the transportation of a loved one's mortal coil?
Anyway, I guess I’ve ranted on this long enough. If anyone needs a refresher on my first set of basic funeral arrangement requirements, you can find them here. To sum up:
1. "No" to roadside markers.
2. "No" to "In memorandum" decals in the back of anyone’s low-rider.
3. "No" to "Beulah Land." (This is explained in the previous set of instructions)
4. "No" to turning me into snazzy accessories.

Clumsy

Warning!!!  This is not a post for the faint of heart.  There is honest-to-God blood and gore.  If blood and gore give you the creeping heebies...stop now.  I have even included a picture of a kitten in a sack to give you the opportunity to stop before you see any of the blood and gore:

This is Daisy Fay in my vodka sack.  Why is it that the liquor store is the only store that still uses these kinds of paper sacks?  The cats love them.
 
Okay...I assume the rest of you can handle what's coming next.

A few posts ago, I alluded to the fact that I had injured myself and promised I’d give the details of the how and why later.  Shortly thereafter, Jenn and I spent a weekend of debauchery (complete with pirates!) in Atlanta, and I had to document that for prosperity before coming back around and telling you guys what I’d done.  Also?  My complete spaziness is a little discomforting to share.

Did you know that once upon a time and, oh…many, many pounds ago I was a dancer?  Well, neither weight gain nor time have been kind to my once graceful bearing.

And sometimes I forget that I am no longer coordinated and I attempt to do complex things outside my limitations.  Like walk and talk at the same time.

Walking down the stairs leading out of my office and into the parking lot, I was yammering away at Jeff when a sudden spazmatic attack afflicted me and I forgot that the spacing between each of the steps was EXACTLY THE SAME. I mean…I’d pretty effortlessly traversed the first four with no difficulty.  Suddenly, inexplicably, on the fifth step I stomped down in mid-air, totally missing the second-to-last step and went ass over tea-kettle.  Fortunately, my left elbow was there to take the brunt of the fall.

I got myself picked up and dusted off…went back inside and found our Safety dude and asked him to bandage me up.  At this point, it wasn’t bleeding much and I think I was still too stunned to really feel it.  And here’s the thing…You can’t REALLY see your own elbow.  All I knew is that I wasn’t seeing too much blood and that I was intent on getting myself and my bruised ego back to the house. (There is nothing like falling on your ass in front of ANYONE for a good ole dose of humility).  Jeff and the safety guy kept exchanging worried looks but I wasn’t paying them any attention.  I promised to clean and bandage it more thoroughly when I got home.

We got home, I changed into lounge-y clothes and we ate dinner.  After we ate, I undid my bandaging in preparation for a really good cleaning of my scrape…when my daughter suddenly shrieked “Holy crap, Mom!  You need to go to the hospital.”

“You really should go look in the mirror at it, babe.” Jeff added.

Huh?

So yeah, I went to look in the mirror and there was a dime-sized HOLE in my elbow…possibly down to the bone.

“Fine.” I said, “but I’m not going to the emergency room. C.A.R.E.S. (our local doc-in-a-box) is still open. We’ll go there.”

I trudge back upstairs to put my bra back on…because I was already in lounge-y mode.  Lounge-y mode NEVER includes a bra.  Anyhoo…I get upstairs, take off my shirt, put on my bra…and then I do it again.  I try to multitask…I am attempting to walk through a doorway while pulling my shirt back down over my head. Whack!!  Yep. Right on the injured elbow.  Up until then, it really had not hurt that bad…but now it starts to throb.

We get in the car and Jeff drives me to C.A.R.E.S…we’re there in about 3 minutes.  It’s really close. I get out of the car and go to sign in while Jeff gathers my stuff (purse, Kindle, etc.) because in the 3 minutes to get from home to the doctor, my elbow has woken up and is SCREAMING at me.  I’m signing in when someone notices that I also happen to be dripping blood EVERYWHERE.  Two nurses immediately usher me back to the trauma room and try to staunch the flow.  On the plus side, I am seen by a doctor immediately!  Yay!  On the downside, he orders X-rays to make sure I haven’t chipped my funny bone and a tetanus shot since I haven’t had one since oh…college.  He also lets me know in no uncertain terms that we are talking stitches here. Boo!

Back in X-ray, I see my good friend Kayla is in charge… “Oh good Lord, Marianne, what have you done?”  Ever the efficient nurse, Kayla whips me in and out of X-ray and comes back with us to the trauma room to stitch me up.  Of course, her and Jeff are giving me grief the whole time.  When she sees that Jeff is trying to sneak a picture around the doctor…she takes the phone from him and gets a really good shot of the gaping wound before it’s stitched up:

And after:

Ah, much, much better. And actually, that's the best it's looked since. By the next day, the bruising around it got going...and then it got a little gooey-looking...and then it got a little scabby-looking.

But finally, the stitches came out last night (Kayla again, yay! She takes good care of me).  I'm probably going to have some serious scarring...but hey, like I said earlier...you can't really look at your own elbow.


I just realized that when I share on Facebook, the thumbnail shows the last picture on a post...so I'm copying Daisy Fay down here too.  She's still so stinkin' cute.