Memorial service - Norma Farris

Our family will have an informal memorial service for my mother, Norma Farris, on Friday, November 28, from 3pm to 8pm. If you are a family friend, please join us at the Farris home in Zuehl, Texas (call or e-mail me at imaginarybinky at gmail dot com for directions). Food and drink will be available. We won't turn you away if you have a delicious casserole or goodie to share.


Announcements will be made in the Seguin Gazette and New Braunfels newspaper.


The family asks that in lieu of sending flowers, please make a donation to your favorite charity or the American Cancer Society. Please follow this link for a memorial page for Norma Farris and to make a donation in her name.


At some future date, my mother's ashes will be brought to my father's grave site in Woodlawn, Texas.

Quiet strength

She didn't say much.

She didn't make waves.

She provided but stayed out of the light.

Proud of her heritage as 100% Finnish.

Her elbows and chin were pointy, and her nose had a fine little bob at the end. Just like mine.

"Strong as an ox," according to my grandfather, her father-in-law.

A quiet strength and dignity.


That was my mother.

My mama and me.

Amongst the flock

First, thank you for all of the kind words I've received in so many places and from so many people. You've made me feel better. Thank you.


I'm back in the family home with my siblings, looking at a picture of my parents smiling only moments after they were first married. They have the look of pure marital bliss. The look that people have when they've made a decision to stay together and think it's the greatest thing in the world.


I'd like to think that my parents are like that now, wherever they are.


There were many kind words written to me over the past few days. Many of them stay with me and comfort me as I journey through this trying time. I'd like to share with you the words of a very good friend of mine. Every once in a while, I give Keith the credit for being a wise man (Mind you, only every once in awhile. What kind of man wastes his life getting a PhD in statistics? I mean, come on... ). Anyhoo, every once in a great while, my longtime bosom chum Keith manages to say exactly what I needed to hear. Keith, I showed this letter to my family, and they all felt comfort from your words. And as for anyone else reading this, I hope you find it soothing as well.

Dear Sarah,

I am very saddened by the loss of your mother. I was taken aback to discover that she has died.

Many people speak the words, and it turns out not to mean anything. But it is very apparent that when your parents promised themselves to one another, they meant it, and they became one, so much to the point that your mother could not live for long without your father. I saw your father’s passing and your part in his last moments as an ideal sorrow. It seems more fully clear to me now that there exists a beauty and depth in your family’s bond that stretches even across the narrow threshold of death. It is both fitting and woefully unsatisfying to say that she will always be with you. Given your family’s bond, take your consolation in the truth that you will always be with your mother. Forever dwelling on the love of her husband, children, and grandchildren, Norma can be nowhere else except at peace.

I will be praying for your siblings, Phil, Amos, and you.

God Bless,

Keith




No wonder this fella was president of my high school class, huh?

I feel like a motherless child

Because soon, I will be.


I don't want to discuss the details. My mother is dying. The docs say she will probably pass sometime tonight.


I am on my way to Texas. The road and me, we seem to meet too often.


Say a prayer for Norma Elizabeth Gustava Farris, my friends.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++


At 4:54PM Central, my mama passed away.

Observations of a different kind

Sometimes, it's hard to be a woman.


*waits for nodding and groaning sounds from around the globe*


I've learned over the years that it can be especially difficult to be my kind of woman. The kind of woman who is not like other women. The kind of woman who gets along with men better than women and who doesn't do the things that other women do. To say it plainly, the kind of woman who doesn't necessarily get along with other women so easily. Or, should I say, maintain those female relationships.


I think about this from time to time.


There are women I've known who have come and gone. Sometimes, it is because of my habit to say whatever is on my mind at any given moment without a filter in place. Sometimes, it is because the other party has a quirk that I can't nudge into a different direction to appease my senses. Sometimes, there is no explanation.


I've wandered away from a few ladies in the last few years. I can think of a few who seemed to want my friendship, but when I gave it, they covered me with their conversation and never allowed me to speak. Considering how much I blog, you'd think I'm a Chatty Cathy. Well, not always. In the company of a conversation overachiever, I sit back and let them have it out. I believe in being an active and engaged listener. I wait for my opportunity. Unfortunately, many times, that opportunity to participate in the art of give and take doesn't always appear. In those situations, I always wonder if I'm even necessary to be there.


I've found myself giving up on those relationships when it's obvious that there won't be a change in that dynamic. After all, if someone is past 30 and hasn't learned to allow someone else to speak, when do they learn? Besides, I've yet to find an appropriately friendly way to say, "Shut the hell up." If someone has distilled that little piece of advice into a cute little Hallmark card, please let me know.


Then there is this little part of my life called "parents dying and family life falling to pieces." I'm not sure which chapter it is in the book that is my life, but I think it starts on page 453. I lamented some time ago about noticing that folks just don't want to hear about the horrible realities of my daily life, even though they asked. Behaviors like that have me questioning this whole thing we carry so dear in our hearts: pleasantries. It's nice that your parents taught you some kind of manners and that you feel it is your duty to continue them, but perhaps sometimes it is better to be real than not at all.


But, then again, there I go being that woman that is not like other women. Silly me.


See, what I want is a collection of female friends who are real with each other. It's asking a lot, I know. I watch a show like "Sex and the City", and granted, most of the episodes were written by a fantastically gifted gay man, and I wonder how any woman can maintain relationships like that. Are they real? Do they exist? Who are these people?


No one ever taught me how to be a Carrie or a Miranda.


I've had some great female relationships that have waned either from distance or change of circumstances. It's easy to look back and think, "Ah. That was my SATC moment." But, not really.


It might be my destiny to lament and joke on the Internet and perhaps churn out a poor selling novel one of the days, but it doesn't seem to be my destiny to have that gaggle of ladies that I truly adore.


I haven't met them yet, have I? They come with baggage. They come with horrible husbands who hit on me and make me feel awful for their wives. They say things that seem to indicate some kind of jealousy or competition is going on between us that I didn't sign up for. They stay single all of their lives and then look at my child longingly as if to say, "How dare you have one of those when I haven't yet." Or, they stay single into their post-reproductive years and focus on things that I can't relate to while simultaneously not relating to my own situation. They are suicidal. They are insane. They are, in essence, women.


Now, before you get your knickers into a twist, realize that I am not above any of these behaviors. Well, I'm above some of them. The sleazy husband thing really makes me ill. But, perhaps I look upon these behaviors with disdain because, well, I understand them. I KNOW them. I've been the talker who wouldn't shut up. Phil can tell you that. I've been the jealous and competitive girl. I longed for a baby when I was having miscarriages and my friends had kids hanging off of their teets. I've felt distanced from others when I didn't feel kinship to their situations.


I've been suicidal. I've been insane.


So, dear inner therapist, apparently I have contempt for myself. I'm not comfortable in my own skin, so how can I expect to be a fabulous host to a house full of women? One of these days, I suppose, I should learn the intricacies of the female friendship. One of these days, I should learn to love myself.


So, I guess what I'm saying is, it's not you. It's me.


Do I charge myself for a full hour of therapy now?

When teens attack

It makes for good TV. After all, there are only so many "When Animals Attack" and "Predators" videos that MSNBC can broadcast. Why not feature an hour of teen violence?


That's what I'm watching right now, by the way. I'm not just channeling some juju from that voodoo lady in New Orleans.


Yes. So. Yeah. Life goes on.


Not sure what to write about. I'm still sick. Sickety Sick Sick McSickerton. Bleah. What an ugly virus this is. I'm pretty sure that if I was able to pry this bugger up and look at it under a microscope or perhaps an electroscope (because I'm a nerd and I've worked with one before), this virus would look just like that dermatophyte thing on that gross toe fungus commercial that always seems to air whenever I'm eating.


Hmm. What to say, what to say...


Here's something. I almost choked about half an hour ago. What did I choke on? Why, my own ball of sputum and snot, of course. Yeah, that's how gross this cold is. Phil was in the bathroom and could hear me choking. It was so scary that I stood up from a prone position on the couch, because, somehow, in my reptilian brain, it made sense to stand up to dislodge a ball of snot from my windpipe.


I don't know. YOU tell ME why I did that.


Even though I was choking, I simultaneously wondered how long it would take Phil to put down the newspaper or the crossword puzzle or whatever else he was reading in the bathroom, wipe his nethers, flush, pull up his britches, wash his hands, and then saunter out to the living room to perform the Heimlich manuever.


I guess I don't need to cipher out the number of seconds, since later on Phil told me, "Well, when I heard you blowing your nose, I figured you weren't choking anymore."


Ah. Wise, he is.


So, that was part of my Sunday. I hope you had a great weekend.

I'd like to get off the ride now, please

Not really sure what to say. Went through the wringer today. Here are the highlights:


- My mom almost died today. Seriously. It's a long story that I don't wish to repeat. She is in a delicate and possible state of recovery this evening. Let's hope for the best. Mom is in the hospital in an ICU. She is not out of the woods and I am very realistic about the possibilities.


- I am sick. Seems to be an annoying cold. Probably caught it at the zoo on that DAMN FREE DAY we attended from the jackass in the primate house who was coughing and sneezing. I was near the capuchin monkeys and had flashbacks to that scene in the movie Outbreak. You know the one - the scene when the people in the movie theater are laughing with their big horse mouths wide open, just as the virus-laden dude coughs up a big mist and sends it right into the gaping maws of the unsuspecting laughing people. Except, this time, some jackass sent his sputum into the air and I caught it despite trying to dodge the filthy air and cleaning my hands with wipes.
DAMN FREE DAY.


- My cat Wilbur is sick. I have no idea if it is just a case of severe feline acne or an abscessed tooth. Phil was kind enough to take her to the vet today. I fielded calls from family and doctors, and somewhere in the middle, I took a long, seemingly drug-induced nap. Wilbur is on antibiotics and is not happy. She looks like she was in a boxing match with a brick wall.


- Snow. First snow of the year. Normally a happy time for us. Instead, I was in bed wondering if I was about to lose a second parent within a year.


- Amos had an appointment at Chez Sarah yesterday. I did my best to give him a shorter haircut, despite the moving target. The back is somewhat unmatched. Phil says it will grow in. Phil is good at saying reassuring things like that. I like the cut for the most part. Just ignore the areas that are off kilter.

I'm going to bed. Here's hoping that tomorrow had better promise.

Puffy coat versus Amos

You command. I listen.

Puffy coat versus Amos versus floor. Two won. One lost.









We're pretty sure there's a toddler inside there.








Not all puffy coat photo sessions end well.








The creepy peeking toddler is coming for you.

You'll shoot your eye out

I wanted to stay in and grumble about the state of Afghanistan, but instead Phil convinced me to bundle up and head to a few stores for wee man clothing.


Yes, Phil likes to shop. But only if it involves finding clothes for Amos.


Amos ran around Old Navy like a mad man while we scoured the toddler section for deals. If you didn't notice, it's cold in Denver. We desperately needed warmer clothes for the tiny tot. Many a long sleeve shirt and comfy britches were obtained.


The biggest hunt, however, was for a thick winter coat. As soon as we put a big, puffy coat on him, Amos ran for his life. Amos' little toddler body stuffed into a huge coat and his little face peeking out from a zipped up hood is just about as cute as you can get. Seriously. There is nothing cuter. Even snow leopard babies can't beat it.


But we didn't buy it. The cheapskate in me balks at spending more than $20 for a piece of clothing that is so small it would barely warm my butt.


So, we headed over to Target. Target had similar giant-tiny coats for a better price (soothing the savage penny pincher). Once again, Amos took off like a rocket once he was bundled up. He even demonstrated the coat for a moment, waving his hand over the other sleeve and raising his eyebrows as if to say, "Do you see the fine stitching, Mama? This coat is quite a find."


It was difficult to not imagine the scene from A Christmas Story when the little brother is so bundled up with coats and winter gear that he can barely walk much less keep his arms at his sides. I can't wait to bundle up the little man and see if he can manage to work his appendages.


We take walks around our block and beyond just about every day, in addition to other longer walks in the 'hood when Amos is in the stroller. The block walks, or "the daily constitutional" as Phil calls them, are the highlight of Amos' day. He finds sticks and leaves to carry along, sometimes dropping his precious for some other fine specimen that is clearly a superior item for such a walk. My son is quite the nature lover.


So, as you can see, Amos needed his puffy coat. I wonder if it will hinder his ability to bend and pick up his necessary sticks and leaves. Perhaps the upside is that he will now come away unscathed every time he trips and falls while becoming too excited about a leaf or a dog.


And this concludes yet another log of daily Sarah activities while trying to stick to the NaBloPoMo quota.

Completely nonsexy in a nonsexy kind of way

So, randomly on Twitter I asked people to remind Phil that he should do me before my lady friend comes to town. I think you know what I'm saying.


Then I gained Twitter followers. Conclusion: sex sells. It sells on Twitter, TV, movies, and Craigslist (well, not anymore, so they say).


Then I got to thinkin'.


Do you ever encounter things that really are very nonsexy when someone intended for it to be so? Yeah, me, too.


Example: Just about every episode of "Real Sex" on HBO. Seriously. Fat old hippies dressed as horses and pulling horse carts while other fat old hippies smack the "horsies"? Fat old hippies breathing loudly and flapping their fat old hippie parts at a nudist camp?


I watch "Real Sex" for the creep factor.


And then there are the folks who are so ashamed of their organs that the only way they can talk dirty is to say, "Put it in my sex." "Rub my sex." "Touch my sex with your sex through the hole in the sheet and then put your sex in or near my sex but not in the eyes of God."


What? Put it where? In what? Can you point to it on this doll?


And then I got to thinkin' some more.


What's up with men not caring about their lady's bits? Do men like that still exist? Why won't the fellas go downtown? Are they afraid of their lady's sex?


I actually had one of them tell me once in an intimate setting, "But I can't put my mouth where you pee."


Now THAT is sexy talk.


Phil, on the other hand, has no problem with the proximity of my pee parts to my sex. A lot of men could learn a thing or two from Phil. Maybe he should open up a shop on Colfax or just set up a booth where he says, "Psst! Hey, fella! For a dollar I'll tell you how to kiss the pee parts!"


Okay. Maybe that's not the way he should phrase that on Colfax.


But, you see where I'm going with this. Men, get with the program. Go downtown. Stop at the Y. Swirl and then counterclockwise swirl. Jot down the crib notes and get to gettin'.


That reminds me. Someone tell Phil to get to gettin'. I need his sex on my sex.

On a cold Monday morning

Things I have accomplished and/or witnessed on this fine, cold Denver morning.



- Elmo wished Dorothy a Happy Birthday. Dorothy didn't thank him, as she is a fish. I've yet to figure out what Elmo is.


- I read Everyone Poops to Amos. He had fun pointing at all of the poop. Poop is sometimes a fun word to yell when you are sitting in a foyer.


- We need to clean our humidifiers. Denver is extraordinarily dry this fall, or I was in Texas too long. I have the poor man's humidifier going right now - a boiling pot of water.


- I added Ovaltine to my coffee. It is a strange concoction yet somewhat delightful. Look for mocha malted cafe au lait at your local Starbucks, coming soon.


- Eating too much roasted garlic creates a constant gas inferno all night long.


- Garlic gas forced me to burn sandalwood incense throughout the house. Amos enjoyed chasing the smoke as I wafted it through each room. I suspect that hippies will descend upon our home very soon once they catch a whiff of our beacon in the air.


- Yes, I missed posting over the weekend. I'll try to make it up today. Or not.


- You look marvelous.

Thoughts upon Free Day

We Porters decided that today was too nice a day to not spend outside. It was 59 degrees and sunny - perfect weather for gawking at caged animals.


Our yearly membership at the Denver Zoo has been very worth its asking price. We have the Zoo for Two pass for only $60. Since we've been to the zoo about 5 or 6 times since buying the membership only a few months ago, and daily fees are $9 per person without membership, I think you can see how we've already saved a ton while entertaining the tot.


Free, or nearly free, is the family's friend.


We arrived in City Park thinking that we would have an easy time finding parking and would wander like crazy people in a not-so crowded zoo. Ah, silly us. The lots were absolutely full. Everyone in Denver was seemingly insane for zoo. We had to park underground at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. The upside to this parking garage: it has a gigantic dinosaur that spans three stories, or the entire height of the garage. We had to park in the bottom level, somewhat near the bowels of the dinosaur. At least Amos enjoyed that.


We reached the elevator near the dinosaur's nether region just as another family loaded inside. They refused to look us in the eye as they allowed the elevator doors to begin closing. I yelled, "Phil! Grab the door!" It was only then that they reluctantly held the door open for us. We loaded inside and felt their hate and seething that we dared to share a ride with them. On the next dinosaur level (around the dino teets), another family loaded inside the elevator. The grandmotherly figure stared at Amos and made a big fuss over how cute he is. The seething family seethed even more, since the grandmotherly figure was not fussing over their own less adorable offspring.


I felt vindicated.


We made it to the zoo without scars. Outside, I noticed a giant cloud of cigarette smoke as zoo patrons waited for their family members. It was such a noticeable cloud of toxins that it seemed like there was an unusually high percentage of smokers. It was stank smoke, as I like to call it, or smoke from cheaper brands of cigarettes. You know, the kinds with extra "flavor" and carcinogens. Just like Mom used to make.


We went to the members window, and just as Phil waved his membership card in the air, a very sullen and beaten down zoo employee said, "It's Free Day. You don't need that."


Free Day. Skank smoke. No parking. Seething families and sullen employees.


It was all beginning to make sense.


Free, I should add, is sometimes not always the family friend.


Free Day attracts, shall we say, a different caliber of zoo patrons. Free Day attracts the kind of patron that yells at rhinos and pokes sticks at monkeys. Free Day attracts the kind of patron who yells "Donkey!" at the zebras. Free Day attracts the kind of patron who knocks into you roughly and then yells, "EX-QUOOOSE ME!" with less than attractive sarcasm.


Free Day, it seems, is when the animals should be let loose to thin the population. And I ain't talking about the four-legged variety of populations.


We did manage to enjoy our time at the zoo, despite the mayhem. Colder days make for more active animals. The lazy bears were up and scratching their backs while standing on hind legs. Lions let out the occasional roar while sniffing each other's delicates. One rhino scratched his horn on a wooden door and let out an impressive four foot spray of urine. Monkeys climbed and did crazy monkey things. Very few creatures were sleeping or laying in a heap of exhaustion.


The day was especially saved when we wandered by my favorite animal in the whole wide world - the snow leopard. There was a lone leopard wandering the exhibit, to and fro. Snow leopards normally have a very gentle disposition, but this fellow had the look of a very determined feline. Like he was missing out on something. We noticed a sign that mentioned this fellow and his mate had had three kittens in June.


KITTENS!!!


Who can resist kittens?!


We wandered into the Feline House to see a giant crowd near one glassed area. Children and adults alike were leaning on the metal railing with chins upon hands, gazing in wonder and squealing in delight. We managed to wrangle a spot in the crowd, and then...


Behold! Kittens! Three GIGANTIC, fluffy, white and spotted, spunky, happy, and playing KITTENS! I dare say that snow leopard kittens are the cutest creatures on Earth. Yes, possibly even cuter than Amos. (I know, I know) Their huge paws, sturdy legs, and adorable faces will melt your heart as their tiny claws rip it out.


So, I entered the zoo as a curmudgeon who was hatin' on the playas, the parking, and the stank smoke. I left the zoo as a big ol' softy who was gushing over three lil' kitties.


Ah, captivity. Ain't it grand?


But I'm never going back on Free Day.

Slackity McSlackerton

Well, thanks, kids. You gave me permission on that last blog to do what I want and to slack off on the rest.


Yeehaw!


Heheh.


I have no idea what to write today. I will say that I shared a few M&Ms and Cheetos with Amos without guilt. Also, I am enjoying a most delicious glass of pinotage wine that is basically a liquid orgasm (ba da boom!). For that, I thank you for your permission to do what I want to do.


Amos is whining at me from his crib. Phil is off entertaining the comedy masses. The TV blares behind me on a country cable station that was an unfortunate stop on the flip of the remote just as Amos blew a diaper.


I'll enjoy a bit of play time with Amos before he goes down for bed. I bid you goodnight and happy weekend.

"There's whiskey on your breathe. That's the only lovin' I get."


Yes. Definitely time to change the channel.


Mmm, pinotage...

Rob Peter to pay Paul

Isn't that true for so many aspects of life?


Here's my thing. The ordeal with my mom was rough, continues to be rough, and will be rough for quite some time. I haven't had the easiest time dealing with it, but I'm getting through. During my time in Texas, I fell off of my diet because I was on an antibiotic, and the high calcium levels of my diet food counteracted with the antibiotic. In addition, I put off important personal tasks due to my mom's situation.


Result: great at taking care of Mom, not so great at remaining on diet, sucked at doing my own important tasks.


Now I am home. I still have important tasks to take care of for Phil and myself, and I am beginning to delve into them. I remain quasi-committed to the diet. I do what I can to help my sister who has taken over the ground troops in Texas for Mom's care, but I have more to do.


Result: starting to do personal tasks but getting even more behind, really slacking on the diet and not really caring, and less of a presence for Mom but doing what I can from a distance.


Do you see the trend?


I can't tackle one thing and do it well. I tackle too many things and do them all sort of okay. This is my life lately.


So, here is my plan for tomorrow. I am going to say bullocks to the diet, maybe make one call for Mom's issues, and then delve straight into the personal tasks.


IT MUST BE DONE.


Slavedrivers, whoever you are, this would be right about the time for you to come in and kick my butt. Light a fire. Whatever it takes.

Ugh.

Dear America,

Yesterday, you made me proud.


You made me cry, America. You showed up, 14 million MORE of you than last time, and you put your foot down. You changed the face of this nation, from red to blue, and created a lasting possibility that we can finally be a part of the world instead of a lone wolf causing havoc.


You said, yes, we believe that we are destroying the world and the environment, and we are responsible for that. You stood up and decided that no longer will corporate greed dictate your 401K and your health care. You decided that people should be cared for without losing their homes and financial stability.


America, you took a good look around you and saw, instead of a sea of white faces, a whole nation of people who are different and beautiful. You learned that a mixed raced man with a middle name that scared so many is not the demon, is not the Boogey Man. You learned, I think, that sometimes it is that sea of white faces that becomes the very thing it is afraid of.


You made me cry, America.


Thank you.

Sleeve of secrecy

Yes. Sleeve of secrecy. I think that should be the name of the next Bond movie. It makes about as much sense as Quantum of Solace.


What kind of measurement is a quantum of solace? Is it just shy of a quark? Is it a unit of cosmic plasma? Is it a futuristic measurment of time, just like in the original "Battlestar Gallactica" when they would say, "I'll be there in a centon."?


I love the secrecy sleeve that polling places give you for voting. It's like that cover paper that some teachers asked us to use during tests in school. I would hover over my test and try to use my pointy elbows to prevent any dummies from looking at my paper. The cover paper made it just a wee bit easier to thwart their dummy eyes.


I was a nerd in school, see.


I wonder if anyone tries to "cheat" while voting. Do people lean over to other voters and say, "What did you get on Referendum B? I don't know whether to carry the one." Then the other voter gives the "cheater" a mean glance and pulls his pointy elbows and secrecy sleeve menacingly over his ballot.


When voting last Friday (Halloween!) for early voting, Phil and I prepared ourselves with a cheat sheet. It looked just like a not-so-sly attempt to cheat on a test. A long list of amendments and referendums were ahead of us, so I knew that if we didn't have our thoughts written down, we'd both still be in those booths.


Ding dang, Colorado. Couldn't you find any more random amendments to add to the ballot? I really think you should have added a third sheet to the process. How about this one: Shall the Colorado Constitution be amended such that common questions from children will be answered with a straightforward yes or no without further explanation? For example, is the sky blue? Yes. No further discussion.


These are my thoughts on election day. I hope you enjoy Harry Potter and the Sleeve of Secrecy.

We interrupt this schedule

to tell you that I am not in the mood to write today.

But I just did, so there.

Just another random Sunday

I've spent the day kicking butt on Mob Mars via Facebook, and I suddenly realized, "Hey! I said I would write every day. ARGH!"

So, in keeping with the commitment and seeing as I have not much to say right now, I'll throw this little ditty at you. Blame it on that lovely Inherent Passion chick who needs to establish some one-on-one Binky face time. (Make it so!)

This is a meme, by the way. You probably already know that.

• Where is your mobile phone? next to me and resting on top of the book Guess How Much I Love You
  

• Where is your significant other? 10 feet behind me, feeding the wee man and watching the weather
  

• Your hair colour? Well, it isn't Canadian or British, so my hair COLOR is currently in its natural state. That state of being seems to be golden medium brown flecked with blond stuff.
  

• Your mother? Healing and on her way to being better
  

• Your father? Gone before his time

• Your favorite thing? Currently, I am quite fond of my new wool socks. Overall, my favoritest item in the world is my bed. Ah, the bed.
  

• Your dream last night? Can't remember, but I'll share this one: The other night I woke up Phil by talking in my sleep. I mumbled something about my mom and the office. Possibly "The Office." Who knows. More garbled mumbling. Then, when Phil said that he didn't understand me, I said, "I'm not stupid, you know" and promptly fell back asleep.
  

• Your dream goal? To be an excellent mother, wife, and writer, and to somehow help other people. Need to find my charitable path.
  

• The room you’re in? The dining room, which serves as my poor man's office.
  

• Your hobby? Making fun of other people. Ha! Wait. Um. I love gardening, knitting, writing, and speaking Amos-ian.
  

• Your fear? Not being able to save my mother. Here we go again...
  

• Where do you want to be in six years? Debt-free, fulfilled with my writing and volunteering, surrounded by the large and small menfolk I love, and lovingly ensconced in the bosom of my lady Denver with a dash of travel here and there.
  

• Where were you last night? At home with the wee man while Phil entertained the moneyed masses at the new Comedy Works.
  

• What you’re not? Completely satisfied with my weight loss. Only 20-something more to go, but still...
  

• One of your wish-list items? A Wii thingy with the Wii Fit deal, or maybe a better bike.

• Where you grew up? All over, man. I'm a gypsy, dig? I'm a veteran of Texas, California, Nevada, and now Colorado.

• The last thing you did? Retrieved the ball for Amos and Phil's game while yelling, "Where's the ball? Where's the ball? Woo!"

• What are you wearing? Haha! Oh, it's sexy. Gray knit sweater with hoodie over large pink t-shirt and white bra. Black undies with black yoga pants and gray wool (!) socks. Librarian glasses and a cute lil' hair pin. I call it my lonely-librarian-at-home-on-a-cold-night look.
  

• Your TV? Old as dirt but functional.
  

• Your pets? One sassy Wilbur the Cat, still going strong after 16 years.
  

• Your computer? Dell laptop, circa 2003 and refurbished (I live large, people)
  

• Your mood? Mildly amused by this meme and Amos' ball game.
  

• Missing someone? My dad, my mom, my other kitties.
  

• Your car? Trusty Subaru keeps on a keepin' on.
  

• Something you’re not wearing? An outfit appropriate for public viewing.
  

• Favourite shop? Hmm. I'm not much of a shopper. Maybe Cost Plus World Imports for house goodies, IKEA for cheap but useful items, and Title 9 for giant boob slings.

• Your summer? Lacking booze because of the diet, but full of good times at jazz picnics, hikes, and zoo outings.
  

• Love someone? A bit too much sometimes.
  

• Your favourite colour? I like these COLORS the best: green, yellow, and rusty red.
  

• When is the last time you laughed? A chuckle just now during the Amos ball game, and outright snorting guffaws last night while joking around with Phil about Gary Busey.
  

• Last time you cried? Not sure. I've remained oddly stoic throughout my mother's ordeal. Maybe it was during one of my heart-to-heart late night talks with my oldest sister a few weeks ago.
  

I pass the buck on to the lovely Suzanne, Suzannadanna who somehow always manages to be there for me and to cheer me up. Stephen could use a new blog topic, so here you go, you wacky foreigner. Lovely Eve of Adams Wife's Blog might be game enough to tackle this silly meme. Are you my huckleberry? Daysgoby gets a shout out for coming by so often and being groovy. And, Saucy Britches probably needs yet one more thing to do while living in Oklahoma.

Don't shoot the messenger.

NaBloSoMoHos - one more time, with feeling

Good grief. Here we go again. A cup of masochism, anyone? One lump or two?


Recent events have indicated to me that I should start focusing a bit more on the creative side of my head. Happy Sarah is Creative Sarah. Creative Sarah equals writing a lot. Writing a lot, as it turns out, means happier blog stalkers.


You're welcome.


For this purpose, I have committed (not unlike "voluntarily" entering a mental institution) to writing every day for a month in the game we like to call NaBloPoMo - National Blog Posting Month.


Savvy folks may remember that I joined this insanity last year. I met tons of wonderful and wacky people, and I think we all learned a little bit about ourselves.


What did I learn? I learned that I should never say that I WILL write every day for any amount of time. I should just say, as I will now, that I will ATTEMPT to do so. I may not succeed in an upside-down-for-90-years-like-David-Blaine kind of way. No. I'm much more of a punch-me-in-the-stomach-and-watch-me-flinch-from-internal-injuries Houdini sort of person.


I will now attempt to write as often as possible (perhaps every day!) for the month of November. I guarantee that one of us, you or me, will bleed, perhaps even have enlarged vital organs. Maybe even be missing a digit or three.


I'm willing to take the chance.


How about you?