Aunty Ku'uipo of San Diego; All in the Hands

Today at the Marin County Fair my oldest and I saw a `ukulele group perform; The Ukulele Friends 'Ohana.  While we were waiting for the group to set up I noticed an old woman sitting near the stage.  I had never seen her before and never heard of her before, but I knew there was something to her. I pointed her out to my daughter. See that Aunty over there? Yeah, the old lady with the lei po`o. I bet you she's somebody.

 At one point during the performance this woman was invited to the stage; 96 year old Auntie Ku'uipo from San Diego. The old women stood up and walked onto the stage. When she started dancing to "Lovely Hula Hands" I could tell immediately that she had been dancing hula all her life. Her body no longer moved as it did when she was 20. It was now more cautious; tempered by all the things that make a body old. She moved with a grace and confidence underlined by experience. On the outside, her body may have not been able to do get down in `aiha`a as far as she used to, but it didn't matter. You could just tell; her fingers so fluid and the Aloha you could feel coming out of her was such an honor to watch.

As we were leaving the fairgrounds, Aunty Ku`uipo was walking in front of us. I hurried my daughter along with me and we caught up with Aunty and the women she was walking with. I got up to them and said "Excuse me, Auntys." All three of them turned around. I looked at Aunty Ku`uipo and told her Thank You for dancing and told her she had beautiful hands. She gave me a hug and a kiss then hugged and kissed my daughter.

It was nice.

Dancing Hula on a South-facing Shore

I hyphenated. I don't know why I did. It just gave me a complicated long last name. I should have just chosen one. I referred to myself using my husband's last name. I only used the hyphenated version for legal things.

I'm in the process of restoring my first last name. I'm not looking forward to the work of getting all new cards with my name restored, but that's what I get. I'm the one choosing to have my name restored.

When I first started my blog, I had recently moved to Ocean Beach and wanted to get on the blogging band-wagon. I started writing. I started recording. I started sharing.

Of course readers only know what I tell them about me, but I think in parts I've let you in a little more than I had planned to.

I am a woman in transition. I think my blog should reflect that. Over the next few whatevers you'll see my layout and pictures change. If there's anyone I know out there (no strangers) who wants to design my blog for free on blogger, lemme know.

You may have noticed I changed the blog's name. As I transition from my life in San Francisco to my life in Long Beach, I want to record it. From Ocean Beach to a South-facing Beach in Long Beach, I will try to illustrate my crazy new journey from the funny weird things to the super hard and annoying. I hope I don't screw it up.

Excessive Use of the Dot Dot Dot ..... An Open Letter to Steven Bochco

Dear Mr. Bochco

The Girl (my teenage daughter) and I have been watching Doogie Howser, MD on Hulu. We put in a few episodes a day. I'm enjoying watching it with her for a few reasons. I love the hair. I love the old technology. I love the clothes. Mostly I love the relationship Doogie has with his girlfriend Wanda. I love watching Vinnie and Janine. I love watching Vinnie and Doogie, and I especially love how Vinnie totally has the hots for Mrs. Howser.

What I really love about the show, above everything else is the opportunity that I get to tell The Girl stories about when I was growing up and the different situations I've been in; funny, sad, silly, stupid, learning experiences during my teenage and young adult life. Hopefully some of them are cautionary tales, hopefully some are funny. Mostly I just hope she finds that they show her that although I grew up in a different time, I still encountered a lot of the same or similar teenage problems and situations that she has, or will encounter.

There's the story about my first date where I spent hours figuring out how much blue eye shadow I should wear so I looked hot but not slutty.

There's the story about when I was 14 and my friends got busted for stealing stuff at the mall and about how I really really wanted to go with them but was too chicken.

There's the story about the time I scolded Danny Glover in public.

Whilst watching The Doog tonight I was reminded of the accidental date I once went on.

It was soon after I had moved to San Francisco. A Midsummer Night's Dream was playing at the Coronet or some such movie theater on Geary St. that doesn't exist anymore. I was too much of an insecure freakshow to go to a movie by myself. I wanted to see it and none of my roommates did. I didn't really know a lot of people. I knew one guy who was into film. I didn't know him very well but I gave him a call and asked him if he wanted to come with me. He said yes.

He showed up at my door. He was freshly showered, freshly shaved and had on a clean shirt. The moment I saw him I thought "oh shit, this is a date." I had not intended the night to be a date. I just wanted to see the movie and didn't want to go alone. The "oh shit, this is a date" was cemented in fact when we got to the movie theater and he bought the tickets, winked at me and said "you can get the popcorn."

While we were at the movies, my roommates and a few other friends were at Slim's watching some band. In my head it was Desmond Decker but it may have not been. I could be making that part up but I don't think I am. I think it was Desmond Decker. After the date the guy asked me what I wanted to do. I told him we should go to Slim's.We did. We saw Desmond Decker (or someone else, who knows).  I drove home with my roommates and he, as far as I know, went home alone.

The Girl found this story amusing, but I feel bad about this night to this day. I didn't want this night to be a date, but I should have at least been nicer to him. He was a nice guy  I assume he is still a nice guy even though I haven't spoken to him in at least a decade, and looking back, he was probably a pretty good catch.

Luckily this guy became friends with my roommates and me and even lived in our apartment for a few months. It's been a long time since I've seen him. When The Girl is ready I have another story about him that I find terribly amusing. When there's a Doogie Howser, MD episode that relates to it, I may tell her.

So to this guy, thank you for playing a part in life. I'm sorry for being kind of a jerk that night we saw that movie. If I had to do it over, I would have let you drive me home instead of abandoning you at Slim's. I probably wouldn't have wanted to go out on a 2nd date, but I would have been nicer.

I'm glad we became friends anyway.

To Steven Bochco, thank you for Doogie Howser, MD. I'm having fun watching it with my daughter.

Thanks,
Andrea

P.S. I am not a crack-pot.

A Different Kind of Yummy - Dream and Food Review

It was a pretty good Sunday.

The Kiddies let me sleep until 10am. I was having weird dreams all night long and had to sleep until I had a dream that wasn't creepy. I ended up waking up to a dream where I was being held against my will at a book store because they thought I was shoplifting. They searched me and determined I was not shoplifting but they still needed to charge me $10 for taking time out of their day to search my bag. They wouldn't let me leave until I paid. I told them they were stupid and I wasn't going to pay, then The Boy's school principal handed the store owner a check for $10 so I berated the store owner for taking money from a nun. I figured at 10am that's the best I was going to get so I should just wake up. So I did.

I spent the next hour drinking a particularly yummy cup of coffee, in my Fonzie cup, of course, eating honeydew melon and watching Doogie Howser, MD on Hulu snuggled with my kiddies under a home-made quilt on the couch.

Turned into a pretty swell morning.

We finally got around to getting out of the house. We went to a yard sale and picked up a few books, a Walter the Farting Dog stuffie, some shoes and a skirt for $6 and a Starbucks gift card that may have had $25 on it or may have had only 7 cents.

My oldest Kiddie was craving a sandwich so we went to Cheese Plus. CP is located on the corner of Polk and Pacific in SF. I was stoked to find parking just a short block away. When I worked at a local business we used to order their cheese platters on a regular basis. They were always super yummy and a big hit.

I don't, however get to the actual store very often enough. I'm happy we made the trip today.

We got to the sandwich counter. The Girl ordered her sandwich. I ordered a Cubano sandwich for me and a Tuna sandwich for Bean. The Boy was mad that CP didn't have cheeseburgers and fries. He grabbed a bag of pop chips and I ordered a Crissy Field sandwich for him. He was mad that I ordered him the sandwich and told me he wasn't going to eat it and I was stupid.

We got our sandwiches and took a seat in the parklet. The Girl opened her Toasted Crissy Field sandwich. She said it was delicious and she ate the whole thing. The Boy opened his bag of pop chips and his odwalla juice, tucked his knees inside of his t-shirt and ate silently, giving me "you should have gotten me a Cheeseburger and Fries" attitude.

I handed Bean 1/2 of her tuna sandwich and opened up my Cubano sandwich and started to enjoy it. She took a bite of the Tuna sandwich and said "This isn't the kind of yummy I like," and gave it to me. I gave her a bite of my sandwich and she took it from me and didn't give it back. She put it on her lap and ate it layer by layer until it was gone. She loved it. Tuna sandwiches are the wrong sort of bees for her, I guess. Cubano sandwiches are right up her alley, though.

Meanwhile The Boy was finding his popchips and odwalla weren't enough. I opened his sandwich; a Crissy Field, untoasted and handed it to him, He reluctantly took it from me and sniffed it. He dared to take his first bite, then he decided he could suffer a second bite. With the third bite he figured that if the first two bites hadn't hurt him, the next one would be OK. By the fourth bite he was committed to the idea that the sandwich wasn't such a bad sandwich after all. By the time he had finished the first half he said that his sandwich was the best sandwich he had ever had and that all sandwiches should be made exactly the same way as the Crissy Field Sandwich, untoasted is.

So, if you want to feed a hungry teenager who really wants a sandwich, go to Cheese Plus and get her a Crissy Field Sandwich , toasted. She will eat all of it.

If you want to feed a hungry 2-1/2 year old, don't get her tuna. Get her a Cubano Sandwich. She may not eat it sandwich-style, but she'll eat the whole thing in a manner that makes sense only to her and make yummy eating noises while eating it until it's gone.

If you want to feed a hungry 7 year old who thinks that Cheeseburgers and Fries are more delicious than a stinky freshly made sandwich, get him a Crissy Field, untoasted. He'll be suspicious at first then decide it's the best darn sandwich he's ever had and wish for all future sandwiches to be so yummy.

Then we went home. The Girl did her homework. The Boy had some Minecraft time and Bean and I hung out and watched some Dragon Tales together. (Man, I hate Dragon Tales).

We had dinner, took baths, washed hair (the only sucky part of the day because my two youngest think washing hair is worse than bamboo under the finger nails) then went to bed.

I'm ending my day with some cashews and a nice glass of Petite Sirah.

I'll take a Sunday like today any day.

Up Next on Sick Sad World

So this is me. This is what I look like right now, only not as much color. In fact, take away the red cheeks and add some gray roots. Make sure to draw really dark circles around the eyes, the eyes with a vacant stare; the kind of stare where you're not sure if I'm all there, but I am. Also ,make sure that it is completely clear that the sun in the background is flipping me off.

So a week ago Sunday I started feeling a little tickle in the back of my throat. By Thursday morning I was totally bed-ridden. Well, couch-ridden at least. I slept the whole day. Friday I had Bean with me so, well, let's just say we watched a lot of Daniel Tiger and Curious George. Saturday was pretty much the same as Friday. Sunday I thought I felt better, then I took a shower and realized I had spent all my energy for the day in the shower. I was too sick and woozy to even drive The Boy to his basketball game. Yesterday I was couch-bound, slept most of the day, but felt good enough to go grocery shopping, but I think I may have shopped one too many aisles because when I got home I could hardly get it together to cook dinner,

I've been drinking hot tea like nobody's business. I make sure to eat, although I don't have much of an appetite. I smell like vapor rub. I sang Soft Kitty to myself a few times just to make me feel better. None of the cold meds I've been taking have been working, or if they are working, I'd hate to see how I'd feel if I hadn't been taking anything. We've been ordering take-out because either I can't stand long enough to cook or I don't want to touch anything my kids touch.

I can't decide what's worse; having a job and having to take a week off because I'm sick or being so sick I can't drive or even walk 1 block to Walgreens just a few days after my services were released into the industry. If it has to be the latter, I hope I coughed near a few choice people. And I hope I didn't cough on others.

I have confidence in Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow is Wednesday. On Wednesdays we dance Hula . We are learning new things this month and I can't miss it. I won't miss it. Tonight is my last night to be sick. You hear that, body? Tonight is my last night to be sick. I will wake up tomorrow morning so super healthy no one will ever believe I was sick.

Me and Mr. Somebody - A Dream

Last night I had a dream I had an almost-boyfriend.

There was this guy who was sweet on me. I can't tell if it was Eric Roberts or Anthony Bourdain. (I'm hoping it was the latter. Screw it. It's my dream. I'm going to say it was the latter.)





He was taking me out on a date. While I was getting ready I stepped in some weird mud and had to hose off my feet and change my clothes. I changed into a yellow one piece jumpsuit, baggy pants halter top type thing, a flowing scarf, a big floppy hat, brown sandals and big round sunglasses. 
We drove in his convertible. He took a very beautiful yet super scary route along the coastline. One lane hugging the rocks with waves splashing over as he drove down the road. We got to our destination. It was an all-star baseball game. I told him I'd never been to an all-star baseball game but I had been to an all-star hockey game and the arena was empty. It was nice to see a full stadium even though I was totally overdressed. We got to our seats and instead of bleachers or stadium seats, everyone sat on pillows on the floor. Some people from work with big impressive titles were sitting near us. I heard one ask another "what's she doing here?" and the other answered "they're kinda sweet on each other." Then the first one shrugged and said OK.

Down the Drain -- A Dream

I don't like Caillou at all. The talking puppets creep me out and I think I may want to punch every single one of them on the show, and Caillou twice. Don't even get me started on the way Caillou pronounces the word Pizza.

The other night I dreamed I was hanging out with Caillou and his mom. I don't think they knew I was there. I was just there not participating.
Caillou's mom was giving Caillou a bath. All of the sudden Caillou's mom heard the front door open and said "Oh, (insert favorite expletive here)" and grabbed a baggie out of her baggie mom jeans' pocket and emptied a baggie of little blue pills down the drain. Since the water wasn't draining fast enough the little blue pills kept floating to the top. Caillou and his mom kept pushing the pills down the drain until they all went down.

A Hose and a Stick - Book Review

So my disclaimer right up front; I didn't read more than a few paragraphs; OK, only one whole paragraph and a handful of sentences and not all of them were in the order the author intended. My 2.5 year old loves books and always wants someone to read to her. She'll walk up to any bookshelf and pick up any book that looks interesting and ask in the sweetest voice ever DEMAND "Read to me. Read to me."

Tonight's selection was Marley; A Dog Like No Other by John Grogan.

Now when Beanie gets a book read to her, she decides what page gets read when, and in what order. Tonight she ran up to me holding the book she had chosen (Marley, as stated before), climbed up onto the couch, jumped around a little bit then settled and snuggled right up next to me in the crook of my arm, opened the book and pointed to a passage and demanded with sugar on top that I read.

The first passage she had me read was all about how this guy had lost a gold necklace and just as he had given up looking for it his dog pooped it out. He explained in detail how a hose with a spray nozzle and a stick freed the gold neckl.....

Then Bean turned the page and pointed to another part of the book where the dog had graduated from his dog training class but as soon as they had to apply what the dog had learned in the class into real-life scenarios, the dog failed and they were no better off than they were before they started going to dog training school.

Then she turned a few more pages here and there but never let me read more than a few words or phrases. She was satisfied when we got to the last page and closed the book with a content sounding "The End."

In summary, I don't think I'll actually sit down and read the book. From the passages and phrases I did get to read, I was entertained and so was Bean.

Oooh! That Smarts.

When I was little there was a commercial for Wonder Bread that I just loved. Two sentient loaves of Wonder Bread were talking to each other about how fresh they seemed because of the way they were produced and packaged. Then a woman comes up and squeezes one of them and it says "Oooh! That Smarts!" Then the two sentient loaves of were tossed into the lady's shopping cart and off they went with a happy heart, to be smushed into little balls and used as bait at the local fishing hole, smathered with peanut butter and jelly or stuffed with hot fried baloney and yellow mustard.

So one day I was grocery shopping with my mom and I was just hoping beyond hope I could see someone squeeze the Wonder Bread. AND OH MY GOSH!!!! Someone did! I saw a lady reach out her hand, squeeze the bread then at just the right moment I gleefully blurted out "Oooh! That Smarts!" The lady jumped then she and my mom laughed about it. Best Day Ever!


So this weekend I was visiting some of my family and The Boy was grabbing onto my hands and trying to do this weird balancing climbing thing that only makes sense to a 6 year old boy. I told him that I needed to change the position of my hands because when he did what he was doing it smarted. He asked me what that meant. Right on the spot, I came up with a definition for Smarting that seemed to fit perfectly with the situation, and, well, let's face it, it fits perfectly well with life. For the rest of your days, please feel free to use my definition of "Smarts."

Smart - any kind of pain that hurts as it is happening, but stops hurting the moment whatever is causing pain goes away. Pain without any lingering pain or side effects.
Example - I had a cortisone shot in my knee once. It hurt like a (rhymes with) brother trucker while the needles was delivering its medication, but the moment the needle was removed there was no pain whatsoever.
Another example - Plucking one's eyebrows. It smarts when the hair is plucked but doesn't hurt at all afterwards.

You're welcome.

So, Now I Know

Our house is a typical Sunset District house; living space on the upper floor, garage and weird spare room on the ground floor.

Freshly married and shortly after we moved into the house we live in now, I thought "I wonder if I can hear the doorbell when I'm in the garage." Then one day, about a month later I was in the garage switching the laundry around. I heard bounding down the stairs, the front door open, the gate buzz and my husband welcoming a few friends inside. They saw me in the garage and the first thing I said was "So, now I know." One of my friends asked me what did I know. My response was "now, I know I can't hear the doorbell when I'm in the garage."

When I got pregnant with my Pua Bean I wondered why God would would send me a baby at 42. Yes, I know how babies are made. I'm not an idiot, but I don't believe in chance. I was certain this baby was sent to me for a reason. I just had no idea what that reason was.

My little Pua Bean is the sweetest little girl. She's happy. She's sweet. She's funny. She loves to make animal noises. She loves to dance. She loves to read. She loves to cuddle. She'll carry a bucket of lego up to you and demand you to play together. She loves to eat. She wants to wear skirts and calls them hula tutus. She loves to color, mostly on herself, with sharpies, but still, she loves to color. She is super fun to talk to  and spend time with.

These last few months have been the suckiest suckfest of suck I could ever imagine. It's my little Pua Bean I can count on to  turn whatever kind of bad stuff that's happening into something that makes me happy and makes me thankful. Unlike the two other sweet babies of mine, she is blissfully ignorant of all the suckitude going on. She is our escape while still grounding us firmly in reality.

So, now I know. Now I know why God brought Beanie into our lives. He brought her to us to make every bad day good at the end of it.

So now I know.

Thankfully I still get to dance.

Hula was hard last night.




It was hard because I haven't danced in a while. I kind of checked out after the big hula show in October. I have to admit I was a little hula'd out. We were dancing tons leading up to Ho'ike Nui. Not only did I have to get to class, I had to make sure my daughter got to her own hula classes. Combined with work / other kids (for me) and school / homework (for her), making all our practices was certainly a challenge. We did it though. We did it without missing practices. We did it without missing class. We did it without missing work. We did it, but we were exhausted. We needed a break. That break cost us about 6 weeks of class.
It was hard to get into the swing of things, and I felt as though my brain had forgotten everything and my muscle memory was in the background pointing and laughing at me.


Also, Hula was hard last night because life in general is really hard right now. Life, as it seems, has looked upon me and said "You! It's your turn," and not in a fun way. My husband and I separated about 5 months ago. Let me tell you, as right as the decision is to end this marriage, it's a suck, sucky, suck-ass road to go down.


In hula, one's emotions are very close to the surface. One's emotions show up while dancing. If you're sad, angry, distracted, had a bad day at work, dropped your shave-ice in the sand, whatever; it all shows up while you're dancing. I am certain my lack of practice and my lack of focus was noticeable. I'll have to work on that.


Thankfully I have a rag-tag team of great support.


Thankfully I still get to dance.

Spending Time With Mr. and Mrs. Carter - A Dream

I had a dream about Jay Z a week or so ago but I didn't write about it. Last night I had another dream about both Jay Z and Beyonce. I guess the universe is telling me I have to write about them now.

Dream #1

I was at work about to enter the elevator. I got in. A lot of people from the 7th floor of the building were in the elevator as well. I pressed the button to my floor and immediately someone cancelled that floor and the elevator went straight to the 7th floor. That wasn't fair, I thought. Then the elevator went all the way down to the first floor and picked up more 7th floor-ers. Again I pressed the button for my floor. A woman from the 7th floor again cancelled my floor. I pressed the button again. She cancelled it again. I pressed it again, she cancelled it again. I looked at her and said "What gives, Lady?" She told me that Jay Z was going to perform in their office later today and they needed to make sure everyone who was supposed to be at the show was there and those who weren't supposed to be there weren't. She also didn't want Jay Z to have to stop at different floors before he got to the floor where he was performing. I told her that her logic was stupid. By not letting me off on my own floor, what's to stop me from getting off on the 7th floor, and why couldn't she stop on my floor right now? Jay Z wasn't even on the elevator. He wasn't scheduled to be there yet.

Dream #2

My oldest daughter and I were in the living room of the house I grew up in. Beyonce was sitting on the couch with her arm on the arm and her hand supporting her head. Jay Z was standing behind me leaning against the 3-sided fireplace. Beyonce said hello to my daughter and asked her if she had a boyfriend. My daughter told Beyonce it was none of her business. Then they started talking about Leelah Alcorn, the trans-teen who took her life last December. Beyonce said she didn't know anything about it. I told my daughter that Mrs. Carter probably doesn't read about current events. Then Jay Z and I were walking through New York City. (In my dreamlife, NYC is based on what I believe NYC looks like, and not what it actually looks like. I've been there once when I was 15. I have no idea what it looks like. However, in every dream I have that features NYC, the same green building shows up across from the same triangle shaped median, across the street from a fancy library.) I asked Jay Z if he ever walks around without a disguise. He said never. I asked him if he ever just dressed like a normal person in regular clothes that aren't expensive or custom made would he get recognized and he said yes. Then we were driving in a car through Big Bear, the car turned into a rickety old private plane and the landing strip was in an alley.

Binge Dreaming

I've been binge-watching Heroes on streaming Netflix lately. About 5 years ago I attempted to watch the series on DVD Netflix. I got almost to the end of the 3rd season then my interest started fizzling out. I decided to give it another shot. I'm at about the spot where I left off the first time around.


I tend to have dreams about things that I binge-watch and binge-read. When I read all the Harry Potter books I had Harry Potter-themed dreams. When I read the Divergent series (well, most of it anyways) I had Divergent-themed dreams. The first time I watched Heroes, I had a Heroes-themed dream.


No exception to the rule, I had another Heroes-themed dream last night.


Someone set me up with this heavy-metal loving guy. His name was Loughran (pronounced lock-run). He was over 6 feet tall, had super long white-blond hair, sported a Canadian Tuxedo, worked as a bar-back at a local sports bar and was deaf. He lived in a small room connected to the sports bar. We were hanging out and talking. I was showing him the swear words I know how to do in sign language. My husband popped his head into the room where we were, but it wasn't my husband, it was Noah Bennet from Heroes, not the guy who plays Noah Bennet, but Noah Bennet. I left the room and walked through the bar. As I was leaving I was approached by a guy in a suit who started telling me it was time to pay back an old debt I owed. I started running away. I was thinking I needed to run somewhere crooked, with lots of twists and turns so the bad guys couldn't find me. I ran down a stair case, like the kind you'd find in a big parking lot. I get to the lower levels and the corridor is filled with water. I make my way up and find I'm being chased. I grab one of the concrete steps I'm running back up and throw it at one of the people chasing me. I throw it, it sails through the air in slow motion and hits the lead person.

Get the Thread Out

Until I got one for a wedding present, I had never had a store-bought blanket. My mom made them all. Some were quilts and some were afghans, but all were home-made. There are some I still use to this day. Some of them my kids have appropriated. Some of them I've kept safe and away from their sticky little grubby hands. My mom was / is always working on something. Once we had a giant quilt-sized tambour frame in our living room for a few months while my mom made a big quilt by hand. Quilt making was the go-to gift for all newlyweds and all babies when I was growing up. All my kids have their own quilts made by their Grammy.


I decided it was probably time to make my own quilt.


Two things happened the year The Girl started 2nd grade.


1) I got a sewing machine for my birthday with the intention of making a quilt.
2) The Girl got a kitten. She named it Pauly. Pauly was a very cute kitten who liked to spelunk the curtains. Today, 9 years later, Pauly is a big fat stupid cat. He is very loving and sweet and doesn't really do anything bad. He's just huge and has a brain the size of a poppy seed.


Excited to start my first quilt I went to the fabric store, bought fabric in complementary colors, created a pattern using my mad MS Excel skills and cut out 4"x4" squares.


I laid out the squares on the living room floor just like my mom does. I lined up my rows in little piles ready to sew, just like my mom.


The first night of sewing, I sewed three or four rows of squares.


Being lazy and not thinking, I didn't put the sewing machine away when I got tired. I left it on the table and went to bed.


When I woke up the next morning and the spool of thread was on the floor, all unraveled, and most of it missing.  The cat was in the corner of the kitchen trying to hack up thread.


Not knowing how much he had eaten or how serious the situation was, we all went to work and school only to return finding the kitty in the bathtub breathing heavily and not being very responsive. We took him to the pet hospital to learn of our options in helping Pauly get well. Being that Pauly was only about 12 weeks old, being that Pauly was The Girl's first pet of her very own, and being that it was my fault the stupid cat ate the thread in the first place we opted for the most expensive course of action; surgery. At about 12 weeks old our very sweet, cuddly and stupid cat had surgery to get the thread out. The thread he had eaten was all tied up in his intestines, so much so that the doctor had to cut some of his intestines out in order to remove all the thread.


I put the sewing machine back in the box, along with the partially made quilt and never took my sewing machine out again, save for making a few pa'u and bringing it out when my mom visited so she could do my mending.


A few months ago my mom was visiting. I asked her to fix my sewing machine because it was doing something funky, but I don't have the sewing machine vocabulary to explain it to you and you probably don't care anyways. She fixed it. I showed her the quilt I started making 9 years ago. She took it out of the box and put it in her suitcase.


Last night I opened the box of Christmas presents she sent us for the Kiddies. In the box along with the Kiddies' presents was the quilt.


So big giant thank you to my mom for finishing what I started. It is just big enough to fit me and my Kiddies on the couch to make snuggle bugs and cuddle fish while we watch TV.
..... or for Pauly.

Interviewing, Ironing and Interrogating - A Dream

I was in a square room.
There was one door in the top left corner.There was a window in the bottom right corner. On the left side of the room there was a square 2-top table, regular table height. On the right, by the window there was a waist high rectangle 6-top table. The room was kind of dark, not like someone turned the lights off, but rather like someone never turned the lights on.

My old boss and some man were sitting at the 2-top table. My old boss was interviewing the man but not for a job. He was interviewing him for some kind of school project.

I was at the waist-high 6 top table ironing napkins and doing paperwork, aware of the interview going on but not paying any attention to it. 

All of the sudden I felt a nudge and a rush of air. One of my napkins and a pen went flying. I looked towards the door in the top left corner and saw a blurry shadow leave the room. I followed it. When I exited the room I was in the long hallway of the house I grew up in before it was remodeled. My oldest daughter was just making her way into the bedroom (the bedroom that got turned into the entry-way for the 2-3 readers who remember what the house looked like). I realized it was her. She was the gust of wind and the blurry bit in the room sneaking past me. I asked her why she was sneaking around. She told me that she wasn't really doing anything, just out with her friends. She told me it wasn't a big deal. Besides, she said, it's not like she was in Tennessee like she was last week when she sneaked out to buy a $300 entomology / biology book because she thought it would be a good read. I could see how I would never know she was missing because the time difference is 3 hours and she flew three hours there and three hours back so she got home at roughly the same time she left (it made sense in the dream) but how did she get the money for the plane fare and the book?

Morrissey Was Wrong. There Isn't a Light that Never Goes Out.

For a very long time I was a closet Morrissey fan. See, I was this blue eye shadow wearing, big hair, heavy metal loving chick. I didn't want anyone to know that sandwiched between my Scorpions and White Snake albums there was a The Smiths album hoping it wouldn't be discovered.



As I got older I realized that there's a lot of music out there and it's OK to like more than one kind. I started to openly embrace my other music interests, even if they seemed in conflict with each other. Just as it was OK for Judas Priest to do a really fantastic cover of Joan Baez's Diamonds and Rust, it was OK for me to put Freddy Fender, Ozzy Osbourne and  Siousxie and the Banshees on one mix tape.

Anyhow, there's a guy who comes into my office every few months. He works for my company but doesn't work out of my office. He comes in for meetings and such. He's a pretty nice guy, but that's beside the point. I mention him because he looks very very much like Morrissey; hair and everything.

I told him one day that I thought he looked like Morrissey and he had no idea who I was talking about. It puzzled me. This guy is only maybe 5 years older than me. He seems like in his younger days he was kind of hip. I explained to him who Morrissey was and he looked at me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.

So this Morrissey look-a-like is in the office today. I asked my coworker, who is about 15 years older than me if he thought this guy looked like Morrissey. He didn't know because he had no idea who Morrissey was. Another co-worker came up. He's about 15 years younger than me. He had no idea. I asked another co-worker who looks about my age. She had no idea either.  Who are these people that they don't know who Morrissey is?

Their response was "oh I don't listen to that kind of music." That argument didn't hold water with me. I have no knowledge of Jay Z's music. I couldn't identify a Dave Matthews song if I heard it. I can't even tell you anything about Blake Sheldon's music. But I know that they are performers. I know that they play music. It seems logical to me that someone in my age bracket should at least know of the existence of Morrissey.

The only person in my office I've found (actually, he found me) who knows who Morrissey is, and who is a bigger fan than I am, is this guy I used to work with. He still works here but my job and his job don't cross paths anymore. When we worked together he would put Morrissey and The Smiths lyrics as the subject lines in his emails. For example, when he would want to know when I would have a particular piece of information available for him to look at he would put "how soon is now" in the subject line. (Ironically, he doesn't think this guy looks very much like Morrissey, though but I think it's because they don't act alike, and he's just confused.)

Anyhow, I'm really bothered by this. Bothered enough to type furiously.

Mike Rowe is a Gentleman and a Liar - A Dream (just a fragment)

Note- Just a fragment of a dream I had. I can't remember the whole thing. Darn. I like Mike Rowe.
Side note - I think I saw him a few weeks ago. I was at the Lombard gate going into the Presidio and someone who looked just like him walked in the crosswalk in front of my car. I'm not sure if it really was him, but it could have been. He lives in San Francisco, right?


Anyways, onto my dream.


My dad set me up with Mike Rowe.


I was living in the house I grew up in. Mike Rowe and I were in my old bedroom. We ended up hanging out all night long (he was a total gentleman, of course). I told him my dad was going to be mad he stayed so long. He assured me my dad would be fine with the whole thing because he was the one who set us up in the first place. I told him that was a big fat lie but we laughed about it anyways.

Tweed Baby - a dream

Note - I'm not sure if this counts as a celebrity dream because no celebrities actually made an appearance, but one was mentioned.


I was at some kind of hula show / poetry reading in a long narrow living room. I was sitting on the floor. A baby crawled up to me so I picked him up and put him on my lap. He was wearing a tweed jacket with elbow pads, jodhpurs and a flat cap. He promptly snuggled in and fell asleep.


When the show was over a couple came up to me and thanked me for taking care of her baby. She told me his name was Halstead and he was 2 years old. I told her I had a baby who was 2 as well. She and I immediately exchanged phone numbers and set up a playdate for our kids.


Then her husband pulled me aside and whispered in my ear "You know who that is, don't you? That's Lauren Bacall's grandson. My wife is her daughter."


Then I heard the "boom boom" of an ipu-heke and panic set in. I was late for class. I ran over to the room where I was supposed to be and although some of the dancers were lined up in their pukas, most of them were sitting on and around picnic tables selling crafts and making crafts.


I snuck in anyway so nobody would know I was late.

Naked Naked Naked

So we have a bunch of apples from my father-in-law's tree. I've been thinking for the last few days that I should make some apple sauce. The Boy likes applesauce. I thought it would be a nice treat for him. I thought I would make cranberry-apple sauce because I had a bag of cranberries and I thought it would be yummy. I shared my idea with The Boy. My idea was met with total disdain. Cranberries are yucky and stupid, he said. I made cranberry sauce anyways. I had to cook dinner still and wash some dishes. I didn't feel like peeling 20 baseball sized, oddly shaped apples.

I started making the cranberry sauce then realized I didn't have any juice. I never drink juice. I rarely, if ever, have it in the house. Then I remembered I was feeling a little run down last week and bought some green juice to boost my immune system. Then I forgot about the juice and it sat in my fridge for a week. Hmmm, I thought. How would it work in the cranberry sauce?

You know what? It turned out pretty good. I thought it would turn a funky color, but it didn't. It's not a bright yummy color that traditional cranberry sauce is, but rather a deeper red. I thought it would taste Spirulina-y but it didn't. I'm quite pleased with the results.

In the future will I seek out Naked Juice - Green Machine for my cranberry juice's secret ingredient? Probably not, but it worked for this batch of cranberry sauce.

Here's the recipe --

5 Cutie Tangerines peeled and sliced (you could supreme it but I didn't have the patience for it. Also I have a pretty good hang-nail going on and didn't want to get citrus juice in it. I hate it when hang nails sting.
1 bag of cranberries (the size you get at Trader Joe's, but I'm not all that brand-loyal so use whatever kind you like)
1 bottle of Naked Juice - Green Machine
1 Softball sized Golden Delicious Apple (The sauce looked like it needed either less liquid or more chunks so I added an apple)
Some kind of sweetener (I used honey)

Simmer in a heavy-bottom sauce pan until it all the fruit is broken down and it looks how cranberry sauce should look, but not the kind that slides out of the can.

My sauce this time around isn't super sweet. It would go very nicely with some pork or chicken, or turkey if you're into that sort of thing. Turkey is OK, but it's not a pork chop. Some kind of savory meat, maybe seasoned with rosemary and black pepper would be good with this cranberry sauce. I almost used truffle honey but thought that might be a bit much. Maybe next time.

Overall I was pretty pleased with my cranberry sauce prowess and innovative skills.

Enjoy.

Do the Arthur Fonza-latte!

Has anyone ever just made your day? It's great, isn't it?


Thanks to a very nice person in my office, my day was made this morning. Lookie what I found on my chair at my desk this morning. I got a present.

And if that wasn't enough to make my day, I also got to open the present. Sweet!

Wanna know what was inside?

YES! a new Fonzie Cup!

I quickly ripped open the package, pulled out the Fonzie cup, tore the lid off of my paper cup and poured my tea into the brand new Fonzie cup.

Just as I remembered. The glass is just the right circumference that it's not too big for my hand. The glass is also the perfect thickness that I can put a hot beverage inside and it won't get too hot to hold.

So Thank You very nice person in my office for gifting me with a new Fonzie cup. You completely and totally made my day. 

For that, I invite you to Do The Fonzie .......