Wild horse, or wild cow?

We have a new addition to our family. He's an appaloosa named Speck, and he's my dd's new favorite animal. She babysat all summer -- three girls, so she is now a saint, awaiting canonization -- in order to get the money to buy him.

I remember one time, when she was about seven. We were driving to my sister's house in Missouri, and were about 1/2 an hour outside of St Louis, when she suddenly looks at me, wide-eyed, and says "Mommy! You are not gonna believe it, but I think I just saw either a wild horse, OR a wild cow." Cracked me up.

A few years back, we took a vacation to Chincoteague Island, in Virginia. Of Marguerite Henry horse book fame. They have a herd of wild horses on the island, and dd was enraptured. LOVED those horses and, I'm sure, spent most of her time figuring out if a) one would fit in the back of our van and b) if not, how she could get rid of her brothers to make more room for it.

This big fatty fat pants horse is eleven, and his name is Speck. He's a real cutie, and dd's in love.

And at least we know he's not a wild cow.

Steven Seagal's Asian Experience

If you have teenaged sons, you know that they are a different breed of animal from anything or anyone else on the planet.

DS had his birthday two weeks ago. 17. Unbelievable to me--seems like just last week that he was a cherubic little towhead, and now he shaves more often than his dad does. So, what do you get the 17yo who buys himself anything he wants? We got him new speakers for his (old) car. He was pretty happy, but the highlight was this: Lightning Bolt: Steven Seagal's Asian Experience. It's this energy drink he's been desperately wanting for quite a long time. If you ask him why, he'd say "Mom, wouldn't YOU want to try something called Steven Seagal's Asian Experience?"

Um.....no.

Anyway, it's supposed to be sold at 7/11, which are few and far between here - -and they don't have it. So, when we were in Vegas, we stopped at like 20 7/11's, cause they are on every corner there. No Asian Experience -- at least, not the drinkable kind. Come to think of it, it kinda sounds like a condom, but I digress.

So, I went online and ordered him some. Totally didn't expect it, so when he opened it up, he lit up like a Christmas tree. He was soooo happy.

So I IM'd him later (he was upstairs and I was surrounded by patterns) and asked him how it was. He told me "it's really good. Strangely, it tastes like cranberry juice and beer, without the aftertaste."

Hmmmm...........

So, the mother asks, "how do you know what beer tastes like, dear?" Long pause, then "ummmmm............awkward moment"

To which my response is, "don't ask, don't tell, cause I don't want to know. Don't drive drunk, don't get in trouble, and don't let me catch you, or you will be in big trouble." My thing has always been: call me at 3am and ask me to pick you up from anywhere, but if you tell me you're calling from jail, you'd better be telling me you're getting comfortable for the night.

He in response to my motherly suggestion, he responded, "OK Mom, that's cool."

Later, I tasted the stuff -- and he is right on -- it DOES taste like cranberry juice and beer, without the aftertaste. Blech. So now, his buddy is driving me nuts to get HIM some, cause he wants to take it to school. He attends a $15,000 a year prep school, and resells stuff like that for profit. He's an entrepreneur.

Teenaged boys. They are nuts, but ya gotta love 'em.

Where did all the demure women go?

OK, I'll admit it. I'm a mouthy broad.

No one would ever call me quiet, shy, or retiring. I'm not coy, and I'm surely not demure. I am temperamental, I talk too much, and I laugh too loudly. I'm very opinionated, and not afraid to show it. But I think I'm ok. One does ponder the idea though: where did all the demure women go?

I mean, really. Looking at ads from the 50s, it looks like these girls sat demurely with their hands in their lap, waiting for the tea to be served. They didn't even cross their legs. No jeans -- beautiful party dresses, afternoon dresses, day dresses, and even house dresses -- there was a dress for every occasion.

And lingerie. Girls wore slips. Most high school girls -- and, I daresay, twentysomethings even -- don't even know what a slip is. I remember that I hated wearing them, but loving the feel of my mom's silky slip. My youngest took a shining to a silky nightshirt I used to have, and would carry it around everywhere, sucking his thumb contentedly.

Back in the day, women sewed. They cooked -- there is nothing like a meal cooked by one of the church ladies, who grew up cooking like they did back then. ::sigh:: Makes me hungry, thinking of it. They wore aprons that functioned as washcloths, purses, and baskets to carry things in from the garden. And they blotted their lipstick -- our trash was always full of small pieces of tissue, permanently marked with my mother's favorite shade. I thought, and still do, that my mother was one of the most beautiful women on earth.

The women in these ads look so content. Ads today just look like the women just vo-dee-oh-doh-doh-ed, as Laverne and Shirley would've said. What happened?

That's why I love vintage. It brings back the days where people were content with small pleasures - 50 cent matinees, playing kickball in the street, and lemonade stands. The smell of burning leaves, and roasting marshmallows. My idea of romance was thinking about holding hands with a boy during a hayride -- mind you, neither of us having the nerve to actually hold hands, but the thought of it made me happy.

So this fall, indulge yourself in something demure. A sweater like Lana would wear, a pillbox hat, whatever makes you feel like a girl. And have a caramel apple, while holding your honey's hand during the hayride. It's good for the soul.

Just stay alive!

We are watching Last of the Mohicans. For the 4,000th time. At the very least. It's one of the hubby's favorite movies of all time.

I'm not one to watch movies with weapons. As a matter of fact, I avoid them like the plague. When the yucky parts come, I go make popcorn. I make a lot of popcorn in this movie. They scalp people in this movie. They cut their hearts out. The slice 'em ear to ear. But, if you ask hubby why it is, in his opinion, one of the best movies of all time, he will tell you "it's about history, and love, and honor."

He can recite some parts verbatim. As I started to type, the infamous waterfall scene was on......"just stay alive, no matter what occurs, I WILL FIND YOU." He recited it along with the movie. He loves this show.

Last of the Mohicans has some pretty powerful music. I love the soundtrack, and bought a tape of it for the hubby at the goodwill a couple of years ago. But you know, Daniel Day Lewis looks pretty good in it too. A fine actor he is, and great with a muzzle loader - and just in time for hunting season.

IN-COM-PLETE!

It's quite loud at my house tonight. In case you don't have a nut in your house, I'll let you know: the Broncos are on TV. My house is decorated for what is considered in our house to be a Holy Day.

It's not often that Denver is televised in Indianapolis. The Colts dominate our football telecasts, despite the fact that they just can't make it to the big dance. So, when the hub's "people" are on, it's nothing short of Mardi Gras.

Here's what it looks like here:

Denver scrapbook is sitting upright on a box in the corner of the living room.

Denver beach towel is on the rocker in the other corner.

#1 Broncos fan license plate is under the TV, on the entertainment center.

Three Broncos hats on top of the TV.

Broncos tie dye shirt is hanging from the living room drapes.

Denver flag is hanging from the front porch eave.

Hubby has on his Broncos shirt AND lucky Broncos socks.

I am sitting on a Broncos blanket.

The flowers hubby brought home from church are on the mantle -- I thought he was just being nice, till I realized that they are orange.

No one can say that the man is not loyal. I can't even go to bed, because he has a box of Broncos stuff on the bed, and his tennis shoes -- spray painted orange, with Elways, and Davis' numbers on them, are at the edge of the bed.

I, of course, bought into it and bought the man orange and blue M&Ms. He responds by bellowing "IN-COM-PLETE!" every time the other team fails to complete a pass, and by yelling disparaging remarks to both teams at every turn. The neighbors probably wonder what's going on, because the dogs start barking every time he starts carrying on.

He's a little nuts, but ya gotta love a fan.

Our version of an Amish Barn Raising

You know, I always say that you don't REALLY own your house, till you've seen it without a roof.

We've been in our house for 13 years. It's the first house we bought, and I'll probably only leave it when they carry out my cold dead body. I love it that much. It's an older (70 years old) house, in a historical neighborhood. Gorgeous place, 'tis -- but surrounded by ghetto.

Few years ago, we had to replace the roof. Replace, meaning, strip off the old layers down to the rafters, and then put it back up. There is a custom at our church: whenever someone in the group needs a new roof, or some big project, the guys would get together and do the work. The homeowner just supplies the materials, and lunch. I call it an Amish Barn Raising.

So, the first of the guys arrived at 7:30am promptly, and within an hour or so, they were all hard at work. I made lunch whilst shingles flew. When we sat down to break bread, I asked, very nonchalantly, who would be the best bet for an injury. (These guys all biked together, and had a trophy that went around, involving bike wrecks. But that's another story.)

Dave raised his hand, admitting that HE was the best bet.

Next day at lunch, I remarked how wonderful it was that we hadn't had any injuries or accidents. Come to find out, Dave had slid off the roof earlier in the day. Didn't get hurt, but definitely slid from the top. ::sigh:: THEN, hubby shares his now broken, very crooked finger. A finger which is still crooked, to this day, because MEN DON'T GO TO THE ER. Even when bones are almost sticking out. ::sigh::

My name is Snow White

Sorry all, I've been gone, playing nursey to my mom, who had surgery. She's better, and I handed over the reins to my older sister (aka Nurse Ratchet), and now I'm back for more fun.

Halloween is fast approaching, and my thoughts turn to costumes. You know my feelings about it -- Halloween is the holiday created to punish un-creative parents. But I came across this Snow White Costume, from Red Pony Enterprises. Reminds me of a story.

When I was 22, I moved to Florida with my (not yet) hubby. Just went down on a lark, for a change, and to see if the relationship would work. (Not yet) hubby moved in with me, and we had a fine time in the Sunshine State. I was a young nurse, working in Intensive Care, with a bunch of nurses who had migrated to Florida from all over. We had one husband and wife team who worked there.

I use that term loosely, because though they were married, the hubby was a bit generous with his affections, and was sleeping with a co-worker. Never was quite sure what the wifey-poo thought of it, but it was pretty common knowledge around the unit.

Anyway, said male nurse found out that I was living with (not yet) hubby, and expressed his dismay, saying that I looked too young and pure as the driven snow to be indulging myself. Ironic, huh? Anyway, he tagged me with the nickname Snow White, and proceeded to call me that at every turn.

Including the day I was assisting a dermatologist -- who did not know me from Adam, cause you don't see many dermatologists in ICU -- with a skin biopsy. In full isolation gear: gown, mask, gloves, hat, the works. Anyway, Don Juan pops his head in in the middle of the procedure and says "Hey, Snow White, when are you going to go to lunch?"

Imagine the doc's confusion here.

Whenever I saw him in the hall after that, he always greeted me with a "hi, Snow White," which was very strange if we were in the elevator with visitors.