Little Britches pancakes taste good with cosmic PineSol

Saturday: Little Britches pancakes taste good with cosmic PineSol.


As it turns out, Lamar is one happening place this weekend. We are in the midst of Lamar Days, a weekend full of events, a parade, pancake breakfasts, community college graduation, ham and bean dinners, carnival rides, and best of all: the Little Britches Rodeo.

We awoke with a hopeful gleam in our eyes, for today held promise of the Lamar Days Parade! Phil tried to negotiate another night of lodging from the American-owned motel proprietors, as they had screwed up our reservation and given up our second night's room to another rodeo/pancake breakfast/carnival enthusiast. The owners tried to set us up in more expensive rooms, but we aren't supposed to pay for our lodging. That was part of the booking deal for coming to Lamar in the first place. Part of their pitch is that, again, they are American-owned and "the cleanest motel in town, not like those foreigners." Phil and I were both left with a bad taste in our mouths at this awkward display of racism and patriotism.

Phil took a shower and packed up our American-owned belongings while I scooted Amos in the stroller toward the Lamar Days Parade. I took a bunch of pics, but alas, my card reader is not here. You'll just have to play along and wait for visuals in tomorrow's installment. I'll save my assessment of small town America for that blog. Lucky you!

After the parade, we dined at the fabulous Daylight Donuts. As we fed Amos and stuffed our pieholes full of fried dough, I stopped to whisper to Phil, "Look! The nerds are here!"

Luckily, the night before I had read up on an incredible event going on in Lamar, aside from the rodeos and parades. A giant parade of a different kind has invaded Lamar. The astrophysicists are here! A giant nerdfest has descended upon this small town. The Pierre Auger Observatory is being built in southeastern Colorado to study cosmic rays. Scientists from around the world are here to stand up for nerd rights and to build fluorescence telescopes in an array covering 35 by 35 miles. They even marched in the parade. In between floats full of boy scouts and the rodeo queen on horseback, those nerds took to the street with their banner and their cosmic knowledge. It brought a tear to this former scientist's eye.


The thing is, everywhere we went there were nerds. Amongst the donut eaters: nerds. Complaining about their taco salads at Taco John's: nerds. Filling up yellow school buses: nerds. Everywhere! Imagine a town of cowboy hat-wearing farmers suddenly invaded by emaciated geeks with glasses, and you've got your visual. It's sort of like what happened in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but not.

Not to brag, but at Taco John's we were sitting next to a bona fide star of the Little Britches Rodeo. We know so because of his hat, his boots and spurs, and his jacket which proclaimed "National Little Britches." Indeed, his pants were quite small.

So, eventually we discovered that new lodgings had been provided for us at another motel. As we were warned previously, this motel is definitely foreign-owned. We chuckled that at least we wouldn't be forced to listen to racist rhetoric about how filthy "the foreigners" are.

Hmm. Well...

Let's just say that this room has seen better days and that despite their callous regard for folks from foreign shores, the American-owned motel definitely rates as being cleaner. In a scene from a bad sitcom, first I complained that we were told that the TV was broken. "No TV?!" I said to Phil. "You're not the one who must stay indoors tonight. What if the nerds attack?" So, Phil asked for another room. In a stunning move, the motel owner instead decided to give us her personal television.

So kind!, you say. Well... Installation of said television took half an hour, three people, and a great deal of restraint on my part not to laugh out loud at their bumbling. The owner mistook us for being a few of the cosmic nerds, so I guess we were getting the star treatment. Even the handyman said that he had never seen the owner give that much personal service to a room before. The room, however, smells like we are inside a bottle of PineSol. This might be because there is a distinct possibility that there is a dead hooker between the mattresses. But, it's a free room, we're near the Quizno's, and we have someone else's television. Not bad.

Now, I just need to make sure that the locks work. You can't be too careful with the possibility of a clash between astrophysicists and Little Britches. Is there a telescope for studying those kinds of particles?

Steers and basil. Start computin'.

I don't even know where to start. Let me wipe the laughter-filled tears from my eyes...


So, yes. We are in Lamar, Colorado. Home of the Savages and a gas-station-turned-used-car-dealership full of petrified wood. This has shaped up to be one of the most bizarre weekend adventures we've ever taken. Let's recap the last 24 hours.



Friday: Steers and basil. Start computin'.

We arrived last night at our home away from home, the Holiday Hotel, just before Phil's show. As Phil checked us in, I watched two cowboys practicing their roping skills on a metal "steer" in the parking lot. They saw me watching, then the emboldened buckaroos began to put on quite a show. It's not often you get the chance to see bumbling rodeo antics at a motel. A most excellent start to the trip so far.

Amos and I stayed at the motel while Phil and Bryan Kellen put on their best show for the lackluster crowd full of adults and kids. It may surprise you, but having kids at a comedy show is not really the best idea a parent has ever had. It completely throws off the show, and the comedians must clean up their acts even more than they thought they needed to do. And, there's nothing like a toddler wandering up on stage to make the night go better. So, heed this advice: don't ever bring kids to a comedy show.

Meanwhile, I attempted to find the Internet service as advertised on the motel's sign (alongside the phrase "American-owned"). I asked the front desk about the high-speed connection. Response: "Well, you turn yer computer thing on and start computin'. That's how it works."

Yes, indeed.

Dinner last night was at Thai Spicy Basil, the last bastion of hope for an alternative dining experience from fast food. Apparently, we arrived at closing time. The last patrons left, and we remained as a couple with a baby being stared at threateningly by the staff who wanted to leave. I have never eaten that fast in my life. The food was disappointing and not nearly full of spice or basil as promised. I guess I can't expect fine dishes in the middle of nowhere. We finished our meal when the music was turned off by one menacing staff member, as if we had walked into a saloon and the jukebox came to a screeching halt. Thank you for the welcome, Lamar.

We capped off our night just as anyone visiting a small town should. We toured the Super Wal-Mart. Later, as the intense winds of the plains whipped and tore at our bags full of bargains, we said goodnight under the harsh lights of our American-owned motel.


Next up, stay tuned for: Wave your flag. Little Britches pancakes taste good with cosmic PineSol.

Sing a plain(s) song

To the open prairie we go. I'd rather say that we're headed for the hills, but alas, we venture toward the empty vastness of the Colorado plains.

Why? Excellent question.

Phil has a two-nighter in Lamar, Colorado this weekend (he's a stand-up comedian, if you didn't know that already). That means we head straight for Kansas then divert south toward Oklahoma and Texas. There is no other reason to go there unless someone is paying you to do it, or you are getting the hell out of the state. Dollars lure us, so we are battening down the hatches and preparing the horses for a long, boring journey.

If Internet exists in southeastern Colorado, I'll give you a holler. I can't guarantee anything. It might still be 1945 there.

Did I mention that I'll wake up Mother's Day morning - my FIRST Mother's Day EVER - in Lamar, Colorado, home of the Savages? Yeah. I feel your jealousy.

On a side note, this here thingamajig called Imaginary Binky is featured as the first blog in today's installment of Five Star Friday. Woohoo! Five Star Friday bills itself as a collection of the best of what's being thought and said on the Web. Please visit the site and read the other incredible blogs that made the cut.

While I'm tootin' mah horn, this here blog contraption also made the cut for Alltop. Yay! Woo! Ding dang! Alltop is a collection of, as they say, all the top stories. I am in the Moms division, alongside some of the loveliest ladies you ever will cross your mouse wires with on Ye Olde Internet. I found some great blogs on the other topics, too. Be a good kid and visit some of those establishments as well.

Ya hear?

Have a good one, folks. Time to put on my bonnet. I'll meet you at the watering well.

Suri likes the ladybugs

Every once in awhile, good things come out of watching Oprah. Recently, there was Tom Cruise mania on Oprah's show when she visited him in Telluride, Colorado at his gigantic snow palace in the sky. Despite having to watch the awkward exchange between Tom and Katie as she said goodbye, it was worth catching the show.

Why?

A Colorado, woman-owned company received some much-deserved camera time. Tom Cruise showed off some great ladybug shoes that his daughter Suri wears. The shoes were sold at Skimbaco, a company based in Durango, Colorado and owned by the ever-lovely Katja. I met Katja many moons ago on one of the blog-until-you-drop sites, NaBloPoMo and Blog365. I dig her for many reasons. She has a great business, a great blog, and she's Finnish. Okay, maybe the Finnish part won me over first. I am half Finnish because of my mom's side of the family.

So, can good come out of the TomKat fiasco? Apparently so. Can something positive occur after a psychotic couch-jumping fiesta? Aye aye, cap'n crazy. Can suffering through a video where Tom puts his ethics on you warrant any merit?

You bet your boots. Or your ladybug shoes.

Life I once knew

I'm working on many things lately. Some, I am only working on in my mind, which to me is heavy-lifting. I have a thousand ideas swimming in my head, and they are all log-jammed.

I'm one of those folks who is 80% great ideas, 20% perform the maneuvers to enact the ideas. Phil is more of a doer, although he is also a great idea man. I'm very much like my father in this respect. I'd like to shift the percentages to more of a favorable ratio.

I have my best ideas, oddly enough, in the shower. I come up with grand schemes when I'm scrubbing, shaving, and rinsing. I could attribute this to the fantastic soap that I make, but it is probably due to my mind not being occupied by "Sex in the City" or "The Office."

For anyone wondering what in the heck I'm talking about when I go on and on about my fabulous soap, well, here's the story.

I am the owner of a business called Outer Body Experience. It is (or was) a natural bodycare company dedicated to natural, aromatherapy-based bath products such as soap, bath salts, and milk baths. Phil helped me tremendously with my business since its official jumpstart in 2000. We started small by selling at local farmer's markets. Then, Whole Foods noticed my booth across the street from their store and invited me to put my products on their shelves. From there, we grew and grew. After many missteps and some fantastic opportunities, we were on the shelves of health food stores and gift stores across the country, including Whole Foods, Wild Oats, Vitamin Cottage, Earth Fare, and lots of other fantastic places. Life seemed good.

We learned the hard way that even though a company can look fabulous from the outside, the inner working are hellish, difficult, and riddled with financial pitfalls. Being a manufacturer, we found, is one of the hardest forms of business. It is at the bottom of the totem pole, with all of the other fish nibbling at the profits. Rarely did I have a chance to make money off of this enterprise, but everyone else did. I could say more, but it's just painful.

This is one of the more difficult things to talk about in my life. I'm a bit surprised I'm writing this today, in fact. In some ways, I consider it a failure. Meaning, I'M a failure. I know, I know. I've had the speech a million times from people saying, "No, Sarah. You did something that takes big balls, and it's a valuable learning lesson." But, that inner pessimist is still pointing fingers at me and singing, "Nah nah nah nah nah. Big fat failure!" Sometimes I drown out that voice with the other voice that talks about the pros and cons of purple. Sometimes, I don't.

This is the secret life that I rarely discuss. I stopped feigning interest when people would ask, "So, how's the soap biz going?" I don't want to answer that question anymore. I also don't want advice on how to keep it going. We are very much done with that. Sometimes, I ponder whether or not I should work for another company involved in healthy living and natural lifestyles. Surely my experience, however painful, can be put to good use. Maybe? Maybe. For now, I'm content being a writer and a mother.

We have finally shut down the operation, and we are in the final stages of saying goodbye. It has been a sad time and sometimes a joy-filled yell fest where I scream to the rooftops, "WE'RE FREE!" This company was my baby for many years. A very shiny, mostly abusive baby that kept me up many nights. Then Amos came along. I like him much better than the other abusive baby. I think we'll keep him.

In the coming days, weeks, months, whathaveyou, I may give you links to things that we are selling off in order to really shut this mother down. I will offer up our soap, ingredients, etc. to anyone who is interested. I'd really just like to clear it all out. Your help is much appreciated.

So, here's to ch-ch-ch-changes. Bring it on.

Things I don't want to do

Today, I tackle matters of importance. Matters of the legal nature. Tax issues. Money woes. Financial nightmares.

Yuck.

If I'm not around for awhile, light a candle for me and wish me many dollars of luck.

In addition, I have a child that refuses to eat yet again. Those of you with fat and happy babies have no idea how great you have it. Light a candle for me and send fat wishes to Amos.

Until the smoke clears...

You're the one

I watched a movie today, one of those indie flicks where the ending makes you say, "Buh? Why did I watch this?" In the course of watching it, however, the flick brought up an issue that sometimes pops into my head.

When do you know that the person you are with is "the one"?

I've been with Phil for almost 15 years. We have been married for over 10 years. We met when I was 19, which now seems very, very young. At the time? I thought I was 119. He appeared quite suddenly in the midst of of several break-ups I had with two fellows. One, my high school boyfriend. The other, a long-term, off-and-on letter writing campaign that started as a boyfriend in the 4th grade. Neither turned out well. Smashingly awful, in fact. The effect of these break-ups was that I hated all men. I'd been jacked around and screwed with, and I just wasn't going to take it anymore. Suddenly I had standards. Suddenly, I had put my foot down.

Then Phil showed up.

In the movie, a fellow asks his father a question. "Was it an instant thing or a gradual realization that Mom was the one?"

Which is it, really? The father said that they were at a wedding. The wedded couple was, in the father's opinion, a collection of dolts. He casually mentioned to his girlfriend at the time, "They are idiots. If anyone should be married, it should be us." His girlfriend took it as a proposal, and it just grew from there. So, in this movie, I guess the answer is that there isn't an answer.

I asked Phil the same question about me. When was I "the one"?

He said it must have been gradual. I grew upon him like fungus on a shower. Yes, that's Phil version of love talk. The thing is, my answer wouldn't have been much different. There was no lightening in a bottle. No love at first sight. I just knew that when I saw this long-haired freak who started working at my job, that he was kind of cool and different. I began to park on the same side of the building that he did. I began to eat lunch outside where he did, near the smoking, old hacks and dried up military guys who had lost all hope. There we were, two young people courting outside of a nondescript building on the northwest side of San Antonio and just seeing how it would play out.

I even brought my friend Allison by one day to scope him out. We ate lunch on the back of my dad's Isuzu Trooper with the doors open. Phil walked over to his car to supposedly put his Tupperware away after eating his lunch. He said, "Hello, ladies. Are you having lunch out on the veranda?"

Veranda. The man said veranda. He totally, completely had me at veranda.

Was that the instant? Did I have visions of wedding dresses and babies in overalls? No. I just quietly and hopefully felt a spark. A jumpstart to a heart that had darkened considerably.

Not much later, Phil asked me out on a date. It was a day when my glasses had fallen apart at work, and my sister had to come by to deliver my old glasses. The old glasses that made me look like a leathery, old librarian who only shops at the dollar store. And still, Phil looked past that (or because of that), and asked me out that day. He melted my icy innards.

We laughed so hard on that first date. And the next day. And the next. And when he was kicked out of his living quarters, we still managed to chuckle. We drove across the country together, and still belly-laughed our way through the states. We had passionate, crazy, laugh-filled sex everywhere, and it never seemed like there should be an end to it.

So, when was he "the one"? He just was. I don't have an instant moment to point toward if Amos ever asks that question. Was it when we talked about ants? Was it when I said, "Parts is parts," and he laughed so hard? Was it when he said, "I'm not good with compliments, but you are fabulous"?

It was all. Love isn't like fairytales.

It's better.