Caught White-Handed - Part One

I have a lame memory. I'm not sure why. I think it's because my life has been a rather peaceful one scattered with happy mild memories. I do think trauma lends itself to memory retention. There must be some research done on the topic right?

I have had very few traumatic events in my life. And just by writing this for all to see, I am scared. But I'm not known to be superstitious so moving on.....

One semi-traumatic memory I can recall rather vividly happened when I was around 25-years-old. My boyfriend was this hot, sexy, musician, surfer dude who was going out with me for some unknown reason. And we were hanging out with some dear friends, Ricky and Steph, who had actually introduced us. Our friends had already gotten married and they had moved into their new house they had just bought. It all seemed so grown up to me at the time.

We were standing in their garage and I was chatting with Steph as she looked through some boxes, and my boyfriend and Ricky were probably goofing around strumming some guitars.

Steph pulled out a thick, navy, bound book titled "Who's Who in American High Schools - The 1985 Edition." All of us present were proud members of The Class of 1985. (I will pause here so you guys can compose yourselves after you take the time to figure out how old I am.)

Done?

Okay.

So we started leafing through it trying to find our names. After finding Steph and Ricky, we located my name. Did I really pay to put myself in this book, I wondered? I know my parents hadn't sprung for the cost of the book so I was doubtful that I was listed. But there I was....

My glowing accomplishments were listed in fine print for the world to see, and Steph started reading them out loud....

"JV and Varsity Track and Field, National Honor Society, AP Math, English, and History, Thespian with roles in The Taming of the Shrew, The Fantasticks, The Diary of Anne Frank....."

Blah, blah, blah....

Steph suddenly stopped reading and a big, slightly-confused grin appeared on her face, and then she continued....

"Recipient of the 1984 Outstanding Female....MIME....Award!????!!"

"You were a mime?" Steph asked laughing.

And as my mind raced wondering how to justify my existence as an outstanding high school mime, my hot, sexy, boyfriend stopped strumming his guitar and sauntered over to see what all the hooplah was about.

By this point, Steph was doubled over in laughter, and I'm sure I was trying to laugh too because yeah, it was funny after all, right? And I know I never ever turn red with embarassment but I'm pretty sure this was the one time in my life when I did.

I mean, when I was working so hard perfecting the art of miming in my sophmore and junior years in high school rehearsing my extravagant storylines for our high school's mime show, I had no idea it would come back to bite me in the ass like this.

So my hot surfer boyfriend checks out the entry and looks at me with his ocean-blue, soulful eyes and after taking a moment to mull over the fact that he was dating a chick with a mime background, he smiled and said, "Cool."

•••••••••••••••••••••••

Stay tuned for Part Two of "The Mime Trilogy."

Affiliate Friday: Karrie McAllister on Making Traditions to (Unfortunately) Last a Lifetime

Before I introduce our Featured Affiliate, I must tell you that our DVD Giveaway Extravanganza is still going on and you can still win awesome titles like "Night at the Museum 2" and "Ice Age 3." So click here and enter. Chances are very good that you will win something.

The blogospshere never ceases to amaze me with the quality of writing I can happen upon out of nowhere. That is exactly how I felt when I happened upon Karrie, our featured affiliate, who is a "Mother, Writer, and Dirt-Lover." She, like other affiliates, somehow found us and emailed me about joining forces. Whenever I get those emails, I click on over to check out the blog that is mentioned, and when I first visited Karrie, I was struck by her crisp style of creative, intelligent writing. And when I spent a little more time checking our her space, I learned that not only is she an engaging, interesting writer, but she can also....shoot a gun. And once you see this gorgeous, sweet-looking mama, you will be just as amazed as I was. Check her out.

Enjoy this quintessential Karrie holiday piece!


*****************
Once, just once, I’d like to sit Norman Rockwell, Martha Stewart, and Mrs. Claus down at my kitchen table. I’d give them a five-pound bag of flour, a pound of butter, three bottles of tacky glue, and enough glitter and yarn to sink the Titanic. Along with them at the table sit my children, all dressed in special holiday sweaters. They have exactly 20 minutes.

Their only instructions: MAKE MEMORIES.

I have come to learn the hard way that children, no matter how we try to squeeze them into last year’s shoes and pants, continue to grow at incredible speeds. I’m quite certain that if I blink just a little too long they’ll be asking to bring their boyfriends and girlfriends to our Christmas Eve dinner, so I try, with all of my might, to make each and every holiday special.

This means wearing myself to near exhaustion in attempts to recreate even the first draft of any Norman Rockwell piece, which I’m pretty sure had a little kid throwing a temper tantrum in the corner and the dog’s ears glued together. (That’s why he probably did a second draft.)

There is something to be said for tradition. Tradition is the name we give to activities and events that are really a pain in the neck, but we force ourselves to do them because of tradition. Somehow, in our delusional holiday minds, we think that we need to provide our families with ever-lasting memories and these traditions so they can relish the nostalgia when they torture their own families with the same stuff in years to come.

For example, when I was little we had our own set of traditions. We always listened to Bing Crosby while baking Grandma’s butter cookie recipe, the one with the candied cherries in the middle. Another tradition was the crafting and gifting of a special ornament each and every year, so that by the time I was in my teens, my poor parents and grandparents had so many gooped up ornaments on their trees that they tended to pull the entire tree over. Then, on Christmas Eve, we would gather with the extended family and all partake in Wigilia, a Polish Christmas Eve dinner and celebration with its own set of quirky rules and traditions, not to mention less-than-tasty food. After dinner, the opening of one present (always a pair of pajamas), and the reading of The Night Before Christmas.

But as it is when two families unite, we’ve also adopted the traditions of my husband’s family. There are tree decorating parties, and game night sleepovers. There’s a brunch here, and a ladies lunch there. There are Santa hats to wear during opening presents on Christmas Day, and a ton of cut-out cookies, the kind with the four pounds of frosting on the top.

Put it all together, and the only time we might actually sit down during the month of December is during my dreamy get-together of holiday greats. Mrs. Claus could supervise the baking, Martha could improvise glue, glitter, and probably some paper scraps stuck under the table into a few marvelous and memorable ornaments, and Mr. Rockwell can sit quietly by, sketching while he rubs the glue out of the dog’s ears, humming a Bing Crosby tune.

However, here’s an update. I ain’t any of those people. I have yet to create a cut out that isn’t an undistinguishable blob of rock hard cookie, which I attempt to disguise with bright green frosting and sprinkles, and when my children were very young I could get away with gifting a mere pair of popsicle sticks glued together. But now that they’re older, the bar has been raised and soon will no doubt require [gulp] permanent paint. Thankfully, no matter the chaos we can still manage to turn on a favorite Bing album now and then. The tricky part is actually hearing it over the commotion and yelling when I force my kids to eat those Polish delicacies.

They may not be up to some standards, but we are indeed carrying on traditions. Not because we have to, but because it just feels like the right thing to do. We’ll spend the entire holiday season happily and wearily MAKING MEMORIES, because even the best parents know that come January, we will be MAKING A DRINK and putting our feet up, resting, and dreaming up new and fancier projects for the next year.

Karrie McAllister writes and mothers from Northeast Ohio. Contact her and read more at www.KarrieMcAllister.com.

Oil of Olay is the Secret to Beautiful Skin

Written by Lee

At least that's what my grandma would tell me. Her skin was awesome. Sure it looked kinda like it had been around for a while. Hell, she was 90 but I'll tell you, her skin was sooooo soft and really? Had minimal wrinkles.


I always told her that I hoped I looked as good as she did when I was 90. But I guess to look that good, I need to start using Oil of Olay. And I haven't. What's my problem?

Two years ago today, my grandma Anne, less than two months shy of 91, slipped away from us and headed to the next world. She was so strong, so vibrant, so happy, I guess I just assumed we would have her until at least 100.

I miss her.

When someone lives for 90 years on the planet, you just expect that the time they spent living and the impression they made in the clay of the earth would be so indelible and lasting that I could look around me and catch glimpses of my Grandma in the air.

But two years later I feel that her presence is not as available to me as I want it to be. When she first passed, I felt her. I knew she was just a reach away into the sky - her soul still lingering for all of her loved ones to feel. She didn't speak to me then - at least not her voice - but her soul spoke to mine and I knew she was still with us.

I wonder as time passes if the souls of the departed drift further to their place in the after-world making it harder to get in touch with them. I still have moments when I feel my grandmother's presence - but it's only when I am very very still. Which is rare.

So I am left with memories and stories and cookbooks to infuse my living life with her deceased one. And I want to do all that I can to feel her. The her that was living and such a precious soul in my life.

My grandma loved to bake and she gave me a Kitchen Aid mixer as my wedding gift. Whenever I bake, I think of her. I stand at my mixer watching the dough swirl remembering the cookies, cookie bars, 7-layer cookies, holiday cookies, Polish "kolaches", rum cakes, pound cakes, coffee cakes, birthday cakes and all of the smiles plastered on our faces after eating some of her yummy treats.

She was baking almost until the day she died. It was her gift.

I have some of her cookbooks now filled with notations in the pages marking what recipes she liked and the dates she baked it. From one of her cake books, I have learned that on 11-15-05 (my birthday) she made Ambrosia cupcakes and she decided they were "very good." And on 8-13-05, she baked a pineapple inside-out cake and deemed it "crumbly."

In the chaos of my life as a mama to three young kids, I must remember to find the time in between the hustle and bustle to slow down and honor my grandma's rich and storied life. And with three kids ready to bake anytime I am ready, I realize this is a perfect way to keep her soul close to us in a tangible way.

To me, she was "Grams" or "Gramma" and to my kids she was "GG Anne."

I miss you Gramma.

Now I must bake.



A recipe from GG Anne's kitchen:

GG Anne's Filled Coffee Cake

Ingredients:
2 sticks margarine or butter
4 eggs
2 t baking powder
1 1/2 cup sugar
3 cups sifted flour
I can pie filling
1 t vanilla

Frosting:
1/4 lb. butter
7-8 oz. cream cheese
2 T vanilla
3 1/2 cups of powdered sugar

Directions:
Cream margarine or sugar well. (My grandma preferred Imperial Margarine for all of her baking.) Add whole eggs one at a time. Add sifted dry ingredients, then add vanilla.
Grease 15 1/2 x 10 1/2 pan. Pour all dough but one cup. Place your favorite flavor pie filling on poured dough then spoon rest of dough on top. (Cherry Pie filling works excpetionally well with this recipe.) Bake at 350 degrees for 35-40 minutes.

Frosting: Mix above ingredients and spread generously over top of coffee cake. Or if you don't want this heavier frosing, sprinkling some powdered sugar on top instead works just as well.

Enjoy this yummy cake with those you love.

Hanging with Strangers

Written by Lee

I'm a clean slate kind of person.  I believe that most everyone deserves a clean slate. Meaning when I first meet someone I assume the best.  That they are cool. They can be trusted. And that they will be nice to me.  

Call me smart or call me stupid.  You decide.

It's just that I've found that if I operate from this mental and emotional place, I feel that adventures open up to me.  And I'm all about adventures in life.  Why the hell not?  What else is there to do? I want my life's memory to include many random adventures. And if they are spontaneous ones, then all the better.

I have found that my clean slate mentality has served me well especially during travel when I am meeting strangers. I'm generally a believer that if I don't meet some strangers when I travel I'm missing the point.  

My clean slate mentality has definitely gotten me into some what some may perceive as "sketchy" situations but I also believe in my gut.  And I think when I meet a generally good person, I can tell.  

This clean slate approach took me on my very first international trip at the optimistic age of 21 to the outskirts of Florence to an apartment complex of a random Italian dude. I danced in his living room to like REO Speedwagon or something ridiculous like that and ate cheese and drank wine with him.  After a couple of hours, he drove me back into town and dropped me off at the pensione I had arranged for my night's stay.  

In Israel a local entrepreneur-type character befriended me and two girlfriends (one who was convinced he was a serial killer).  Over the course of two days in Tiberias he took us all over the city in his jeep, high into the hills over the Sea of Galilee and introduced us to locals at a party at his place.  

In Maui, a ragtag older weathered surf dude encouraged my dear friend and I to try surfing (remember?) so he took us to his place, picked out a long board for us and took us out to some mellow waves to give it a whirl.   

In Romania, some local dudes took me and my friends to a hidden gem of a local restaurant to feast on their speciality version of the staple food of mamaglia, a polenta-type loaf.  A restaurant off-the-beaten track that I would have never have found as a "tourist."

On the sands of Venice Beach, a dude from Ghana approached me on a warm early day as I laid out in my thong bikini reading a book (yes, I was in my 20's). He wanted to chat and offered to give me a massage.  I thought "What the hell? A massage would feel damn good right about now."  So I took him up on his offer and you know what?  The massage was awesome, the conversation was fascinating and we even smoked a joint together to cap off our hang.

The list goes on and on for me.  

Now some of you may read this and think "SUCKER!  All of those dudes just wanted to get you in bed!"  And you know what?  Maybe you are right.  But none of them tried. There may have been a few hints here and there but I was upfront and honest about my intentions and all was good in the end.

I do believe there's always an element of luck in life.  No doubt about it.  If one of these strangers had been a "bad person" the story would have been very different.  Obviously. And my slate would no longer be clean.

But I believe the point is ... what IS the point? 

The point is that I trust my gut.  I have faith that the majority of people out there cruising the world are generally good people.  And I have a firm belief in engaging with people in the world around me. 

My life is way richer because of it.

_____________________________________________________________

Speaking of strangers and a richer life, see that button up there at the top of the sidebar? It's a scene called BlogHer.  And although I was a little nervous to dive in, I will be there, along with a new friend/stranger, representin' our little corner of the blogoverse.  

And I'm certain there will be adventures.

I figure if I can travel through Bulgaria into Turkey alone on a rickety bus, I can surely navigate my way through a host of conference rooms at some hotel in Chicago.  

Right?

And if you happen to be a BlogHer kind of blogger, check out our blog designer, Nap Warden, who has submitted an idea to host a tutorial on Blog Design in BlogHer's Geek Lab sessions. She needs people who would be interested in attending her session to go over and vote for her. Even though she may be a stranger to you, and she's almost a stranger to me, I encourage you to go vote for her.  

So all you other strangers who will be wandering the halls of the Sheraton Towers, anyone up for wearing a thong and giving each other massages?  Or does that sound weird?