Burch Luck

NaNoWriMo Words for day 2

2011-11-02T09:51:00.002-05:00

Just going to start posting chapters for the novel I've been working on for sometime. Keep in mind, I write Young Adult and/or children's books, so I try to keep it at that level. I either write too high for that age group or too low - so this is all just practice. So, here is a chapter from "Liberty":

PowerPoint Presentation

James River Tobacco Plantation, 1838

The sharp cry of a newborn followed by hushed whispers and scurrying feet was all that Thomas James could remember of the exact moment that his daughter Sarah was born. He had been holding back tears when Imari placed the tiny infant in his arms, the baby seemed so fragile and so much smaller than any of her brothers. She was merely whimpering now but he focused on looking into her beautiful face, so much like her mothers, that he tuned out the sharp voices coming from just the other side of the bedroom door.

It wasn’t until he felt the slaves hand on his arm, then the look on Imari’s face that he realized that something was terribly wrong. Clara had not yet called for him like she usually did after each baby, both to chastise him for his role in putting her through the childbirth, and to coo over the babies. The slave’s eyes told him everything, her voice barely audible.

“It was complications. She just lost too much blood. We tried Mastuh.” Imari had said. To Thomas, it was the end of life as he knew it. Clara had been his voice of reason, his friend, his beautiful wife and childhood sweetheart. His confidant. He couldn’t imagine life without her. He numbly placed the child into Imari’s arms and left the house to get away from the noise. He calmly began to smoke his pipe and shed the tears that now flowed freely down his face.

He didn’t know how he was going to make it without her; and yet, he had to go on. He had seven children now and a plantation to run and business to see to. His sons needed their education and discipline, as well as training with the horses and livestock, and he would soon have to teach Thomas William, his oldest son and namesake, all the business of running the plantation. Thomas was only twelve, but it was never too early to learn how to run the business.

Luckily, Imari had seen to the needs of the baby without him having to worry, having recently given birth to her own daughter, so he immediately buried himself with these worries and pushed his pain aside.

That was a month ago. The funeral was short; it was so cold and the ground was too hard to even dig the grave. Clara had been placed just off of the wood shed in a coffin of wet pine, covered in the snow until the ground thawed enough for digging a proper burial plot in the spring. It pained Thomas to think about it; so he didn’t. He immersed himself back into the business of running the plantation and seeing to the needs and castigations of his slaves, as well as the upbringing of his sons.

He barely noticed his new daughter at all at first. Until one day, Imari interrupted his daily Bible reading to his sons and placed Sarah in his arms.

“Mastah, I’m sorruh, but your daughter, she be needin her pa right now.” and she had walked away, leaving the bright eyed Sarah to look curiously into her papa’s eyes. That was all it took; the eyes, so much like her mothers, forming the connection he needed to drag him from his stupor. Sarah became his whole world after that moment.

When she wasn’t with Imari and Liberty, she was in a basket at her father’s feet, or playing with bobbles and toys under his desk. She was immediately wrapped around her father’s finger, as well as her brothers, and stationed in their hearts. There was almost nothing she could do that would upset anyone, particularly her father. Almost.

Sarah was only four years old the first time her father had to discipline her. She had been playing with Liberty on the floor of the busy kitchen and the two were playing a game of catch with a ball of rags.

The throws were becoming increasingly sporadic and out of control and the girls giggles, while entertaining, were irritating the kitchen slaves.

Caroline, a big robust slave with no patience for children, was just pulling a hot bread pudding from the oven when a missed toss sent the ball sailing across the kitchen, into the pudding, splattering the big round woman with burning liquid and startling her so that the pudding was then dropped, splashing the poor slave, the walls, the floors and sizzling into the belly of the oven.

When Sarah's father learned of the ruined pudding, his favorite, he had to forbid her from being in the kitchen, as well as discipline her for her defiance. Because he could not bear to spank his own daughter, she had been sent to bed without any supper; a punishment that turned out all the better for her as each of her brothers, feeling sorry for her, had each snuck food into the bedrooms that night. She was full of cold ham, biscuits with honey, a handful of fried potatoes, and molasses cookies by the time her father came to her that evening with a glass of warm milk and a piece of bread. He finished explaining to her the necessities of rules and why she was being punished when he offered her the food as a token of his pleasure at her obedience when she proclaimed

"Oh but papa, I can’t eat that!" He beamed briefly at her presumed adherence to her punishment, but quickly frowned as she went on

"I'm so full already with what Will and Libby and the boys brought me from their suppers. You go 'head an eat that papa; yous be needin sumpin for yoself’."

Though he knew he could not keep her from the clutches of Imari, her only known mother, whom she adored and had taken all of his children under her careful watch and he certainly could not part her from the company of Liberty, with whom she would have shared a bed if he had allowed. No, he couldn’t help their current circumstances, but the law being the law and slaves being slaves, he would have to do something about his daughters unlikely ‘kinship’ with his slaves and the mannerisms that she was picking up on.

His first thought was boarding school, but the thought of sending Sarah away nearly broke his heart and he just couldn’t dream of it. But it was in that moment that Thomas decided what his daughter needed was a proper tutor and "white" teacher and the sooner the better. If he couldn’t send her to boarding school, he would bring one to her. (end chapter)

Okay, so that is the introduction. Hopefully it gives enough background without having to back too far, and just so much that you know the setting and hopefully some of the characters. The rest of the story will be about Sarah adjusting to her 'prim and proper' tutor, her friendship with Libby and some of the trouble that that cause, her relationship with her father. At some point, Sarah will realize what slavery actually means and that she does not adhere to that way of life. Her quest at that point will be to help Libby seek freedom via the underground railroad (after her mother, Imari's untimely and suspicious death) and together the two young girls (probably at around the age 13 mark) run away to go North, to Canada. While traveling the U G railroad with the help of abolitionists and allies I was thinking that it would be neat for them to meet the actual Harriet Tubman and other real people who are often associated with the "Freedom Train." May even change the name of the novel to Freedom Train, though the rough title is Liberty.

You can let me know what you think if you want. Good and bad, all feedback is welcome.

What's In a Name?

2011-02-06T20:49:00.003-06:00

I'm not just made up of the Burch family genes. I have Beattie in me too. I think the luck on that side is not as bad, or maybe just not talked about. Either way, our family has some good memories of Beattie Christmases, family reunions and get togethers.

Nothing, however, is as successful at bringing a family together quite like a funeral. It's sad to think that this is sometimes what it takes, but at the same time, celebrating the life of a loved one with other loved ones is time well spent.

My Uncle Speed would have loved his own funeral. So much laughter, all the cousins together for the first time in thirty + years. Cards were played, stories were told, tears were shed, and hugs were shared all around.

The world lost a great man when Speedy left this earth. He was a great artist, a practical jokester, an architectural engineer, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a brother, an uncle, a friend.

At his funeral, the pastor of the church asked those who wanted to, to come forward and share a story about Speed. A memory or two. I was taken off guard to say the least. First of all, I didn't have anything prepared and as I am NOT a public speaker, this was a detriment to anything I would or could have shared anyway. Secondly, there are so many Speed stories that I can think of, that I froze. I needed to hear what others were sharing, but at the same time, I was picking through my brain for Speed memories I could possibly share with others without breaking up in front of people.

I could have talked about me spending the first few months of my life with Uncle Speed and Aunt Jo because my mom got sick with Hepatitis and couldn't care for me. How Uncle Speed wouldn't let me go to the baby sitter if Jo couldn't watch me, so he would stay home from work to be with me. But I don't really remember that, as I was only a baby.

Maybe the first time I ever caught a fish. It was in his pond, at the foot of the "mountain" that was left over after he dug it. Or, one of the many summers I spent at his farm, getting up with the roosters, gathering eggs because he told me I couldn't eat breakfast or lunch until I did "my chores."

The ole "mongoose" trap he had rigged. Feeding his pet squirrels with a baby bottle. I finally thought of one that would have fit, so I decided I would just blog it instead (what since the funeral is already over and all).

At one time, Uncle Speed raised Lhasa Opsa's. His main breeder pup was named, Angie. I remember the first time I saw her, I fell in love. She was so pretty. White, long hair. We had gone to Oolagah to spend the weekend at Speed's and the minute I walked in the door I was all over that fluffy dog. And then Speed said something like "This is Angie, and since we named her after you, you will have to pick up her dog poop if she poops in the house, so keep an eye on her."

Never have I watched a dog so closely in my life! When she did happen to poo, I must have had my back turned or left the room. Uncle Speed called me into the living room, handed me the tissue and said "Clean it up!"

I had tears in my eyes as I bent down and picked up that darn pooh and so did Speed. His, though, were from holding back his laughter and he kindly opened the lid of the trash can for me to toss Angie's pooh. He didn't make me clean it up again though. I think, in spite of the ornery side in him, he did have enough compassion that he wasn't going to put a 9 yr old through that again. To this day, I still have a problem picking up dog poop during a dogs training stages. I typically would put a napkin over it and wait for Alan to get home.

But - I will never forget my first time picking up the pooh. Thank goodness they didn't name any other dogs after me.

I'll miss you Uncle Speed. And I'll never forget you.

It's the Most Wonderful Time

2010-12-23T13:39:00.002-06:00

Yeah, okay. So the magic that we all felt on that first Christmas in our memory (the one with the surprises under the Christmas tree on Christmas morning, family, the smell of turkey roasting and the thought that life was so incredibly wonderful to have all these presents...and...and.....yeah - that memory) is hard to find as an adult.

There is no real joy in wrapping Christmas gifts. Buying them is fun, but I find that even dropping something in the gift bags is tedius. I'm such a lazy wrapper that I put four of my son's small, cheap gadget gifts into one box and wrapped it all together.

I used to think that there was something wrong with my mother. She did not like Christmas. She grumbled about it all the time. I thought she either had a problem with Santa, or she didn't like the baby Jesus, but either way - to NOT like Christmas just seemed - sinful.

And yet, here I am years later making the same grumbles that used to make me gasp when I'd hear her complain. "I hate this time of year." The traffic in the mall parking lot is enough to make me want to scream, not to mention the traffic in the aisles at Wal-Mart! Oy!

Who to buy for, what to buy them, how much to spend. Whose house will we visit? Will they come here? Do I have to cook? Does that mean I have to clean off the dining room table (which we haven't used in at least a year and a half)?

We recently realized that, for the FIRST time in our 18 years of marriage, we won't be getting up Christmas morning, rushing our kids through their santa/stocking gifts while the green bean casserole heats up in the oven and then rushing over to hubby's parents to spend Christmas with that side of the family. Nor, will we be making the long drive to Kansas on Christmas Eve-Eve early morning after I've spent an entire night doing laundry (because I haven't for so long) and packing.

Nope - for the first time, we will be having Christmas at OUR house, with just US. I don't have to make turkey OR green bean casserole. I don't even have to get dressed if I don't wanna! I dont' even have to clear the table; we could eat at the coffee table in front of the t.v. like we usually do. We could.

But, I don't want my kids to have to search for that joy or fun or excitement that Christmas brings. I know it's about the birth of Christ, and all that yada yada yada. I want them to smell the turkey baking as they open their gifts. I want them to feel the grace when we hold hands and say grace at the dining room table and thank the one who made it all happen. Visa.

Okay. I could really stop there, but I can't. My baby girl was born on Christmas day, and whether she thinks it or not, I think it's WONDERFUL that she shares her birthday with the ONE. The ONE for which we celebrate the day in the first place. I thank him daily for my kids, my hubby, and this year, I'll be thanking him for the patience I know he's going to give me to get through the day without extended family.

Merry Christmas and Peace to all!

And So It begins

2010-11-02T10:37:00.002-05:00

My first day on my NANOWRIMO account is listed as a failure because I didn't make it to 2,000 words. Day two is listed as a failure as well because I haven't written anything yet. Lovely feeling.

Couldn't they change that feature to read "Not there yet" or "Mostly There"? It seems self defeating to list me as a failure already on day one. Of course, the other times that I participated in Nanowrimo I didn't finish (or "win" as it's called).

I'm also having trouble keeping myself from "self-editing" as I go, which defeats the purpose.

That said - I probably won't blog about much this November, and if I do - I'm using it in my word count.

Just saying.

Triple Oh's and Marching Season

2010-10-21T15:33:00.004-05:00

When am I ever going to have time to write again? It was pulling teeth to make myself write this blog today.

At work, it's the busiest time of my fall semester, in addition to blowing out some much needed work on my student data base, I've got apps to the program, scanning all our old files to .tiff documents, and the normal program advising stuff.

At home, when I am there (and that certainly isn't often) I either drop into bed from exaustion or scurry about trying to catch up on laundry, house cleaning, etc.

Yeah....none of that is currently getting done, as I could have safely written this entire blog entry with my finger in the dust on the television, piano and entertainment center. Dirty clothes have become my new floor covering; I have even been known to adjust the piles so that none are taller than the other and the colors of whatever items happen to be on top don't clash. The waste basket in the master bath is almost over flowing (I say almost because I occasionally skim off the top and put that into a trash bag...right next to the can). Oh well - at least it hasn't reached a mountainous peak and teetered over into the sink like my son's did once. Hey - I don't hardly ever go upstairs, and anyway, this is not your child!

So, housework can wait. It's the band chaperone thing that is filling my time and my weekends right now. The Viking Band has done SO remarkably well, I really do think they have a chance at going to State. What "being in the band" involves for me is riding the bus with the kids to all the away games and to all the marching competitions (oh and the occasional 'Please do not share a blanket if you are sharing a seat and you are of the opposite sex'). I'm not sure if it's just me, or the fact that I'm older and larger, but didn't buses used to have a lot more room? I think they added more seats to buses without adding any length. Long bus rides when you are Triple Oh's (Old, Overweight, Out-of-Shape) are extremely taxing on this old body. It takes me a good minute just to get down the steps after a long trip and that's not just because it's usually 1:30 a.m. or so.

Last Saturday, accompanied the band to the Waco Regional marching competition. I got up basically four hours after I got home from the Friday night high school football game in Copperas Cove (2:00 a.m.) and even though we made it home at the ripe ole hour of 11:30 p.m. Saturday night, I could not get out of bed until noon Sunday, and even then was only because I had to pee. I could barely lift a finger all day and still have not replenished the groceries in our house.

This week, the band is being instructed and drilled by the 'legendary', Brad Kerr Green, so practice is every evening from 4:30 - 6:30, in which the front ensemble is usually finished putting away their instruments close to 7:00 p.m. and I'm lucky to get home by 7:30 p.m.

What I'm trying to elude to is that I'm just tired. This Saturday, we leave at 5:30 a.m. ish to go to Regionals in San Antonio and likely won't return until 2:00 ish in the morning (Sunday).

How the 'legendary' Janice Clark, head band chaperone for (ever?), does it - the world may never know. I think it's because she doesn't suffer from the Triple Oh's.

I know, I know - I signed up for this. I don't regret it at all. I have a ball at the football games, dancing to the different pieces the band plays, being Pit Mom with my fellow Pit Mommas, Maryann and Susan, playing bus captain for the senior bus, and totally embarassing my daughter. It's a blast, and far more rewarding than any other volunteer work I have ever done.

I just wanted to take this time to explain why my house is a mess....should anybody happen to visit during marching season....

Littleton/Hiney Luck VS. Burch Luck

2010-10-12T08:59:00.005-05:00

Yeah, so not everyone in the world is "lucky" enough to experience Burch Luck. I always thought that if you were a friend of a Burch, you would experience Burch Luck, By Association - a new phenomenon.

However, as luck would have it, I was able to experience luck of a different kind recently.
It took place during our third Tom Petty concert in The Woodlands, September 24, 2010. I guess we can call it "Littleton/Hiney" luck because this isn't the kind of luck that I normally have, though it could have gone either way.

Burch luck is where we forget the number of our hotel room so I just check the entry card on every door until the card finally works. . . . on the last door that you try.

So our hotel was a block and a half from a Shell station - a good place in which to buy bottled beverages for before the concert. Cathy Littleton and I trapsed over to the Shell station, purchased some beer (they even had limes! In a GAS STATION!?) and walked back to the hotel. By the time we got there, we were hot and ready for that first beer.

As I'm quickly trying to cut a lime with a partially dull pocket knife we realize that we have nothing with which to open a beer bottle.

Burch luck is where my friends would have actually let me use the sprinkler head to open the bottle. I'm sure it would have worked!

Littleton luck is where you open the door of the hotel room and ask the couple who just happens to be walking by if they have a bottle opener, to which they immediately reply "Yes" and hold one up. WTH?! So they opened our beers for us, told us to stop by anytime and invited us to imbibe with them before the concert (seems like everyone in the hotel was there to see ZZ Top and Tom Petty).

It turns out, that when you mix Littleton Luck with Hiney Luck, you have something close to Burch luck, but not as bad.

While looking for the parking lot, Littleton Luck told Hiney Luck to look for the "GREEN" parking lot, as she was sure that it was the "GREEN" lot that was closest to the pavillion. We spotted a parking lot attendant in a green shirt and whipped a U-turn and made our way in. Turns out, all the Cynthia Woods Pavillion employees wear green. It was actually the "ORANGE" lot we pulled into, but it got us to the concert none-the-less.

Once inside the venue, we decided to buy ice cold beer but were dismayed to find out that they don't serve adult beverages to minors and they CARD EVERYBODY. Only the Hiney brought her ID - and she was the designated driver. Now that IS Burch Luck.

But, it was either Hiney Luck or Littleton Luck that gave us Tom Petty in concert on the night before a throat infection caused him to have to cancel his next two concerts. It definitely wasn't Burch Luck, or we wouldn't have seen him at all. Maybe a combonation of the three that got us only (or should I say AT LEAST) two songs for a standing ovation (rather than the normal four). At least we got American Girl!!

Now, it was MOST DEFINITELY BURCH luck that had us at the back of a long bathroom line when a GREEN shirted Pavilllion attendant told us that the other bathroom had no line at all but when we got there, the line was longer than the first one.

In all - a good weekend. But woe to Gubenatorial candidate Bill White and the guy who was drunkenly campaigning for him; pulling a dachshund and a beer cooler in a wagon yelling at the top of his drunken lungs to "VOTE FOR BILL WHITE FOR GOVERNOR"

He'll need some kind of luck to pull up in this campaign.

Burch Luck and the Weight Loss Game

2010-09-21T08:00:00.004-05:00

We all know that the 'battle of the bulge' (I hate that term but it fits, so suck it) is ONLY won if you cut down your caloric intake and/or counter it with exercise. That means "Eat Right and Exercise." It's the new CRAZE!

And most, if not all Burch's HATE it. It isn't even that we hate exercise so much. Okay, that's wrong too. We don't like exercise. We can tolerate it though if it's necessary.

It's the food part that catches a Burch. We like to eat and we like to eat a lot. That's not to say that we don't like healthy stuff. One of my favorite little veggie dishes is my Grandma Burch's cucumber/onion/vinegar stuff. Yummy! Goes good with her chili or goo-lash! And her homemade piecrust cinnamon rolls - nothing better. We fight over them. Yeah, about those veggie dishes....

So I stumbled on this blog that inspired me more than most if only because it included a Youtube video that was set to some nice, heart tugging music.

Now, I wanted to start this off by saying that it's a lot easier to lose weight if you're a guy. It's physics man. But 120 lbs for anybody is no small feat and I would have to wonder if Ben would agree that it was ANYTHING but easy. Bloody nipples folks - watch the video!

So, I'm a little worried about the nipples thing, but maybe a sports bra will help with that. If I keep coming up with excuses, I'm going to keep coming up with more weight to lose. As it is, I set ONE SMALL goal for myself and though it's really not that small, it's still a goal. I will have to lose 37 lbs - only 37 - to reach this goal. When I make it, I will set more.

For now, I'm planning my first marathon to be a year from now. That means my first half-marathon will have to be in 5-6 months. Let's see what happens.

Burch Luck would dictate anything but success. So lets see if I can't turn that luck around.

"Luck affects everything; let your hook always be cast. In the stream where you least expect it, there will be fish." Ovid

Cyber Weight Loss; Who's Gonna Know?

2010-09-10T10:39:00.007-05:00

(It's a special new diet! You attach this

modem to your stomach and upload your

fat to a skinny person on the internet!)

This is NOT, I repeat, NOT going to turn into a weight loss blog! That really would be Burch Luck, because I'd likely not be very successful. I don't want to jinx myself just 5 days into my Weight Watchers Online journey!

However, I would like to chronicle, at least now and then, my "current" attempt to make the "healthy lifestyle change" (which is really just a fancy way of saying diet and not running away).

One would think, that through my many years of yo-yo dieting, I would have finally learned the error of my weighs.

The biggest problem I have always had with any diet is not sticking to it. It's not that they don't work; they do. I just don't have the desire to eat cabbage soup for the rest of my life, or never eat another carb. It's those fad diets that get us fatties everytime. Weight Watchers, in my opinion, is really the best. I just don't want to go to the meetings. I have joined WW, I want to say, 9 times in the past. It always worked, but I made the excuse that I couldn't do it without going to the meetings and if I didn't go to the meetings, it just didn't work. In fact, I actually believed that.

The real problem, however, was that I either didn't want to go to the meetings, or I just didn't have time. I'm a busy, working mom (all mom's are busy - don't get me wrong...). I volunteer, I stay active (at least in my kids lives - much to their chagrin) and I read and write. Rarely, if ever do I have an 'extra' day on my calendar in any given month, let alone every week, so I just always let the Weight Watchers goal pitter out.

I decided to try the Online approach this time. Not only do I not have to attend any meetings, but it costs less $$ - which is music to the ears of my hubby, "Alan The cheap." So far, I glean more inspiration and information just reading the online success stories of people, just like me, who spend years and years on fad diets and wasted day dreams wishing we could contract a good case of Anorexia, even if just for one month.

What prompted this new found desire to lose weight, you might ask? (hey - even if you weren't asking - do it now...so that in the next sentence, you have a good answer.)

Recently, someone told me that I was looking good; like I had lost weight - a lot of it. I felt so good, I thought "Maybe that anorexia day dream finally came true and I didn't even realize it." (no offense to true eating disorder sufferers) So I went home that night, eagerly stepped on the scale, and realized that not only had I NOT lost any unknown weight, but I was at the heaviest weight I have ever been.

Disappointedly, I stepped from the scale and took a good long look in the mirror and realized that, yeah, I do look thinner...but it's because all that "heavy" stuff is just hanging lower and hiding within my clothes. Nice. I'm not thinner. I'm just hanging low. My, how attractive that sounds. Hey - be thankful I'm not posting a picture so you can get a visual! Just use your imagination.

So, what to do now? I've "tried' every diet...just like most people. They don't work because I don't like them so I just stop trying. There's an excuse for everything. But WW really does seem to be the key, because I've been successful with it many times and it's very easy to stick to it if you use the tools.

I have the i-Phone app, which is WONDERFUL! No points calculator, no food journal, etc. to carry around. It's all kept on the i-phone; even the tracking charts.

So, what will make this attempt different than all the rest? Well, it's only day five. I don't know the answer to that yet, or even if it will be different. But I will keep you posted.

Warped Tour - Post III - Because Road Trips are Fun Too

2010-07-20T10:48:00.006-05:00

I truly believe that people like to take road trips with me because of my mad navigational skills. It's true! Every time I direct people, we end up at the right place; in a round about way.

Of course, any little trip, whether it be for just a day, or overnight and even a weekend, is never quite as enjoyable as the roadtrip itself.

Our BIG Warped Tour Weekend was no different. We started off in B-CS in rare form, Ginger's Ipod playing all the tunes our ears could stand and the girls in the back, twittering on their I-phones about how cool their mothers are (don't laugh Kelsey and Austyn; you know it's true).

We made all the right exits and all the right turns (you can thank me AND the little voice in the on-board mapping system with the sexy accent). Yes ma-am...you are welcome!

Of course, no road trip would be complete with out the laughter and the all too important "I HAVE TO GO PAYE PAYE" (pee pee) so I kept my eyes peeled for a suitable exit for when needed.

The first one I saw, I told Ginger "Hey, let's pee here" so we exited the roadway and onto a feeder road that was lined with....grass and a broken down neighborhood; but no gas station or fast food places. We, almost immediately, realized we were not near a suitable place to go "PAYE PAYE." Indeed, we found ourselves immediately on the wrong side of the tracks in an unknown town and the first person we saw was a scary guy on his porch smoking a crack pipe, no doubt awaiting his crack bitch to come home from her waitress job at the Waffle House and fix him a sammich.

"NOBODY MAKE EYE CONTACT!!!" Ginger yells as we all proceeded to be interested in whatever the church was to our left, holding in the "PAYE PAYE" as we laughed at our blunder, bumping over pot holes and gravel. I reassured Ginger that if she just made a left at the stop sign, we would get back on our road and we could exit at the NEXT stop.....just "DON'T LOOK BACK....CRACK GUY COULD FOLLOW" - the voice of the mapping system irritating my own navigation as she said "Recalculating..." (shut up beyotch!)

We were very fortunate though, as the Crack Man Whore was likely too wasted to get off his porch and merely followed us with his eyes, no doubt wondering how much he could get for the rims of the car, were we to stop long enough in front of his house. That was not to be a problem though, as Ginger peeled rubber all the way back to the highway.

You would think that our next exit would be perfect for the "PAYE PAYE" but we were racked with uncontrollable giggles as we pulled up to the "Gas and Stuf" and were unable to control our mirth as we realized that if these people couldn't spell properly, then they for sure kept their nasty bathroom under lock and key and we would have to buy something in order to release the "PAYE PAYE" - we just couldn't do it and after a few seconds deliberation and much laughter, Ginger pulled out and back onto the highway in search of suitable release.

It would have been easy to hold in the "PAYE PAYE" had we not then come across a couple of interesting billboards that made us not only ponder their meaning, but caused us to burst into more uncontrollable laughter as we tried to decipher their code.

The first billboard, I have not been able to find a picture of with my many searches on the internet, but it was undoubtedly an ad campaign warning young children/kids of the dangers of smoking. It had a picture of the back of a school bus and merely read "UNDER AGE SMOKING? MEET YOUR NEW RIDE...."
So, we had to ask ourselves....are they saying that if you smoke, the only job you'll ever get is that of a school bus driver? (*SNICKER SNICKER* *SQUEEZE SQUEEZE*) Or do they mean that if you are caught smoking, they will make you ride the school bus? Like, with all the other smokers? And if so, does that mean you can smoke on the bus?

I dare say, we still don't have that one figured out...

This one, however, was clear from 'almost' the beginning:

As you can imagine, as soon as we saw the "Condoms to Go URL", we were busting a gut, and all four of us were in shock-hysteria-laughter...the kind that is silent because you are laughing too hard to even breathe. Oh, you snort now and then, for sure, but mostly you just gasp for air and nod to the person next to you in case they don't understand that you are just laughing. I nearly lost my grip on my "PAYE PAYE" and Ginger was forced to pull into the very next stop. A halfway decent place, run by some guy who was probably named Achmed. It had a subway AND a pizza place inside as well as pool tables and FOUR STALLS in the bathroom! Talk about elation. RELEASE THE PAYE PAYE!

The problem was....one of the stalls had no door at all. No door.

No.

door.

It's hard enough to release the "PAYE PAYE" when you know you aren't going to sit on the toilet seat at all. But to hover with ease over a john with no door on the stall takes some defined acrobatics (See reference to my rules for bathroom etiquette). I gallantly chose this stall for myself....seeing as it was likely the most unused (ha ha...see I had a reason guys!!!) and there was much sighing of relief.

And more sighing. We had been waiting a looooongggg time ya know....

I want to say that there wasn't any soap, which seems likely given that this place wasn't all that much to the naked eye...but we all washed none-the-less (Ginger being the germaphobe that she is......and really....who wouldn't be in a place like this?!).

We each grabbed a snack, some drinks and were back in business and hitting the road, our eyes NOW peeled for hopefully more hilarious billboards.

None of them had quite the effect as the first two though, so we busied ourselves with finding the correct exit for our hotel.

It was an EXQUISITE hotel. Very nice. 28 floors I believe. If you ever get the chance, I totally recommend the Hilton Anatole in Dallas, Texas. One word of advice, however. When you make reservations, ask about any conventions that might be taking place that weekend. Just a thought.

We actually hit on a very "different" kind of convention. It was for the National Federation of the Blind - their annual convention. It was HUGE. We were most likely the only sighted guests that weekend. There were walking sticks and seeing eye dogs everywhere. And of course, I had to re-pave my way to hell by uncontrollably saying things like "Don't worry - nobody saw that" and other worse things that I REFUSE to mention. I don't want any blind people happening on this site and taking offense. Plus, I was offended myself.....sorry God....and please bless the blind.

There was one occasion when we all loaded in the car to go to Denny's - our favorite thing to do when we are exhausted after a concert. We pluggedthe restaurant address into the Garmin and I "helped" direct Ginger on the route...only to find that the Denny's was just across the street from the hotel. We literally drove across the street to eat....while the BLIND hotel patrons dared to walk across the traffic to get to the same place. The blind people got there quicker than us!

We actually had many, enjoyable interactions with the blind during our stay. One seeing eye dog actually nosed my ass. But most impressive, was Speed Racer, the nice looking blind fellow that approached us and asked us very politely if we knew where the atrium was. He was blind, yet he had beautiful eyes. I wonder if he knows that?

Ginger pointed in one direction (she pointed ya'all.....) and then told him it was just in the way he was already heading and then over to his right. She didn't even really know if she had told him correctly (she did, by the way) but we watched in awe as he used his walking stick and quickly headed in that direction, deftly avoiding all obstacles in his way well before he got near them. . I don't even think I could have kept up with his pace, even if I had to go "PAYE PAYE."

It was baffling to see many of the blind people struggle, AND overcome some of the things that we usually take for granted. Yet is was also amazing!! The other senses that a blind person develops to overcome their lack of sight continues to amaze me. Just listening to some of the conversations many of the blind people had with their colleagues and friends, I was almost ashamed to admit that their intelligence was way above mine. Ashamed, because my narrow-mindedness somehow always led me to believe that if you can't see, how can you learn? How could you know as much as somebody with full sight?

Dude....Helen Keller....Hello?! Yes, me....who laughs at things like getting lost in crackville and dirty billboard signs and getting lost while looking for a restroom. Am I to believe that I am really as shallow as that? I do feel I am a changed person at having witnessed the everyday struggles and difficulties that all blind people have to learn to overcome.

I'm also pretty sure that "Speedy Gonzales," the blind man that we gave directions to inside the hotel, could have navigated us home to B-CS quicker than I did as we drove through Waco, trying to find the highway 6 exit that I was SURE was 'just up ahead' not quite realizing that the exit we needed was the one we had just used to stop and go "PAYE PAYE." *sigh*

It took a lot of willpower for Ginger not to throw her french fries (the ones Kelsey didn't eat) into the back seat at me, (along with her nicely quartered fish sandwich) as I quietly said "I think it's next..." Yeah....my mad navigational skills.

"Will power is to the mind like a strong blind man who carries on his shoulders a lame man who can see." Arthur Schopenhauer

Enterobius vermicularis-The Warped Weekend: Part Deux

2010-07-06T14:54:00.014-05:00

What makes a responsible parent give up their hard earned weekend to take their teenage offspring to an activity that is decidedly one of the last places on earth any parent would ever want their child to be?Temporary insanity? Let me help you out here with a little "Emo-Parenting 101" - and then see if you can't answer that question.

This past weekend, my friend Ginger and I accompanied our daughters to Van’s Warped Tour on what was decidedly the hottest day of the Dallas summer, so that they could rock out to some of their favorite bands while her and I enjoyed 1 or 2 refreshing, ice cold, $10.00 beers (yeah, we were done after 2. Beers that is. We were done drinking before 1:00 p.m. and Ginger was sporting a nice headache before 2:00. Nice....

If you don’t know what Van’s Warped Tour is – Lucky you (and lucky your pocket book)! Basic explanation is that it’s a “clothing optional-modern-day-Woodstock” but instead of Hippies, it’s attended by melodramatic teenagers who don’t smile and keep their hair covering at least three-quarters of their face. Except for our daughters, who were grinning ear to ear, for the most part, and were complete angels.

The bands that Ginger and I wanted to see played at 1:15, and then at 7:15 and 8:10....giving us a big SIX HOUR gap in which to people watch; and boy did we see some. . . . people.

Like this guy, who wore only a bandana, held up with suspenders and a conspicuous pair of knee pads.

"I'm too Emo for my shirt, too Emo for my shirt...so Emo it hurts...."

Yeah, yeah…so nobody who is Emo thinks they are Emo…and I don’t think my daughter and her friend are Emo…but they sure do party with a LOT of Emo people.

At least our daughters weren't hanging out with these girls, who, much to the dismay and mortification of soon-to-be-Nurse Ginger, splashed each other with reckless abandon in a puddle of oozing, foul hepatitis water. Playtime was actually over when we walked by and they were just sitting in the middle of it.

It was all Ginger could do not to ask for their parent’s telephone number so that she could call and warn them to watch for signs of high fever, chills or a red, swollen, pus-oozing rash. Somebody at this venue MUST have gone home with ring worm or staph infection. Ginger is certain of it!

I can't say that we were too impressed with much of the screaming, from the bands or the fans (ever tried to take a nap at a rock concert? It's hard!) but we did like the sound of this one guy who calls himself "I can Mess Up any Lyric" or "I'm messed up but I can sing." or was it "Nobody can mess things up like me" I can never get it right...but he was good. He had a more mellow sound that I like, and he actually sang the words instead of screaming them.

I also liked this guy, The Rocket Summer. Some guys can really sing, and we appreciated their efforts to not alienate the few, shocked parents who were in attendance. He reminded me a lot of Bon Jovi, but Ginger doesn't like Bon Jovi, so that's not it either. I think it's just that we understood what he was saying so that made it music.

This is the Mosh Pit that Ginger's daughter SWEARS she was not near...and okay...I have to say I believe her. I just don't think she would be that crazy or make herself look that foolish!!!

In all, the most unnerving thing about the concert was that many of these kids parents could NOT have known what their kids were wearing, where they were actually going (other than a concert) because I resfuse to believe that there are this many parents who would allow their kids to do things like this:

Or this:

Or especially this:

So, are we crazy moms or cool moms for spending a Saturday outside, in temperatures of not less than 100 degrees or more, with a bunch of wild, crazy punk teenagers and music that made our ears ring? I would have to say crazy for sure because we definitely won't be doing it again. Next year - the dads can go!

The one thing that made it bearable is that we at least knew where our kids were and what they were doing (for the most part) and what they were definitely NOT doing. It's really kind of frightening to know that your child is right in front of the stage (Ginger's daughter has a talent for pushing right to the front without a problem; I'm still kicking myself for not having her drag me up to Travis Clark!) and you suddenly see all kinds of crap (water bottles, plastic beer bottles, etc) flying in that direction. Ginger and I would just turn and look at each other and shrug. What are you gonna do? At least our girls made it out of there safely, whether it was because we were there or because they are just smart kids, who knows?

Things we learned for certain this weekend are as follows:

1) rain panchos can be used for sitting, but when used later as an actual pancho, should be worn dirt side out.

2) it's really stupid to pay somebody $1.00 to take a picture of their concert schedule, especially if your friend then does the same thing for free - DOH!

3) A tree will not protect you from the rain as well as a bathroom.

4) A teenagers entire wardrobe can be purchased at a concert merch table.

5) Our daughters are so NOT Emo. Puh-leeze! They don't cut!

6) I really like to say "merch."

7) we are pretty cool moms whether our daughters admit it or not.

Oh, lest I forget the former circus side-show freak, who retired from Ringling Bros. in order to peddle beer at concert venues, that was trying to pick up on Ginger by impressing her with tales about his possible pro-wrestling career, and later on, the over-weight, very inebriated merch guy (I think he used to be a Carnie) who wanted BOTH of us, though he never got his eyes as high as our faces.

....yeah....we've still got it....

TO FOLLOW: PART TRES - Road Trips, Vegetable Abuse, Smoking on the bus and Blind people.

Enterobius fermicularis - The Warped Weekend - PART I

2010-07-05T09:56:00.008-05:00

Since I knew it would be difficult to sum up the recent Warped weekend in only one blog, I'm going to do this one in short installments.

To say the least it was, for the most part, a blast. To say the most, well, you’ll just have to read on and be patient.

One of the most annoying yet endearing qualities about me (yes, I just called myself endearing) is that I have this insatiable desire to make sure that everyone has a good time. I have been like this since childhood; unable to bear in any family member or friend their “saddened, angry or bored mood”, I would entertain them with jokes or antics on the road, the hotel room or in the tent, depending on our location. Any topic was fodder for the distraction. It bothers me to see others not having fun or enjoying themselves as any road-trip is meant to be enjoyed. It is both a curse (for me and whomever I may be with) and a release.

In either case, I ended up being the “fun sucker” for my daughter at Warped Tour and I am remorseful enough that I should admit that here for the world to see. Sorry Punky!

I’m sorry that I had to stop being a friend and act the roll of parent after the jolt of fear that seared through me when I thought you were being kidnapped and sold into slavery!!

Turns out, I was not far off, what with the Vans Warped Tour staff’s blatant attempt to play on the excitement and vulnerability of fans and convince them to serve in their catering tent, dishing slop to the many performers and staff that is necessary to put on a show of this magnitude. Who cares if you spend two hours on your feet, NOT rocking out to the bands you actually paid good money to see, but instead serving up beans and rice to their roadie’s and stage hands, hoping for a glimpse of your favorite rockers or maybe a smile from some cool drummer?

At least they give the kids a green bracelet to get back stage for any performance; cool right? Well, it could have been had I not made my daughter feel so terrible about abandoning her friend K (who opted to watch and rock to her favorite bands rather than join the other unwittingly enslaved fans in the torturous heat to play cafeteria lady serving strangers dinner) that the entire experience was ruined by her discomfort at having believed she ruined everyone else s' concert experience (those being the words I used to scold her through several texts as I tried to figure out WTH she was doing and where she was).

I basically cussed her out for making me feel uncomfortable, because I was afraid others would not enjoy themselves because she had jumped at what she thought was a chance to meet one or two idols, but instead turned into a chance at hard labor; I foolishly felt that she needed a lesson in humility so I bombarded her with texts of how inconsiderate and rude she was being. How could she leave her friend to conquer the concert alone? Why would she not stick around to actually witness band performances? Was this not what we spent so much money to do?

So now, her most memorable souvenir will be the unused backstage pass bracelet that she couldn’t bear to use out of the guilt that I had rained upon her. She did try to convince me to put it on and try to go backstage for We The Kings, so I could witness, possibly up close and personal, the ONLY band I had truly any desire to see, and my own shameless idol, Travis Clark. But we were all far too exhausted to even last through the whole set. I could barely even harmonize my beautiful rendition of Demi Levato (K's personal idol - NOT!!) singing "We'll Be a Dream." *SIGH*

So, for ruining my daughter’s Warped experience, I am truly sorry. I love you Punky! Thank you for realizing in yourself a passion for wanting to meet your idols and doing all that you can to do so, even if you realized only that you don't ever want to go into the catering business!! Keep the green pass as a badge of honor for having endured your mother's realistic fears and tortuous and vitriolic text messages and the heat and sweat that you endured before you finally and literally bumped into Jake Germany on our way out of the bacterial breeding ground.

This was but one experience, the uncomfortable one, that was hopefully overshadowed by many of the events that brought hysterical laughter and tears to us throughout the rest of the weekend.

With the next blog installment (to follow this one shortly) I will make it up to everyone that "I" made uncomfortable and then some!

P.S. my daughter does NOT approve of this message! She said I did NOT ruin her time, that she had a blast and would do the catering all over again because she actually did get to meet and serve several band members; she would not have left K if K had not been with two other people and quite capable of enjoying herself....blah blah blah blah blah.... Okay...so what she is actually saying, is that "I" didn't ruin her day with my ugly text's to her. That's a plus for me then! It means I did my job well!

Coming soon: Gas and Stuf, putting an end to vegetable abuse, Emo State Fair and Side Show, rain, wet rain, sideways rain and a convention for the blind.

Things you should not do while texting

2010-06-16T11:12:00.005-05:00

We all know it's stupid to text and drive. That's a given people. Too many people have lost their lives...I won't even go into it because it's too depressing and I'm not one for mucking up the internet with what you should and shouldn't do while driving. If you don't know by now, you're an idiot.

However, there are some things you would never have guessed would be a problem to do while texting. My pet peeve is people who text at the dinner table (ahem...my daughter) or people who, directly in the middle of a conversation with me, will take out their phone to answer a text and still try to hold a conversation with me. They believe that I think they are listening. Yeah...mmmm...no.

Off my soap box now. I'm a texter. Sometimes, out of necessity, even at the dinner table, or at the very least to message my kids and call them down to dinner. Hey, I'm lazy, I admit it that as well. I also text at work when I can just as easily pick up the phone and call, or the once popular but now almost as ancient as actually talking to someone, E-mail.

It used to turn me off when I would hear people on their cell phone in a public bathroom stall, I mean...come on? Seriously? That conversation couldn't wait? When I am at home, however, this rule can and will be bent. After all, I am only human.

So yesterday, while in the midst of a text chat with my dear friend Cathy, starting with me reminding her that she was soon to be the mother of an 18 year old and how did that feel, ha ha, rub rub (even though I shall suffer the same fate in less that two months) I had to go ... for lack of a better word...pee. So I took my phone with me. What? This is MY blog!!!

Anyway, it was then that I realized that I needed "feminine" supplies and there were none in my bathroom cabinet. So, I already had my phone out, I texted my daughter quickly and asked her to bring me some. I didn't merely just ask...I told her WHY I couldn't come get them myself. Without realizing that I was actually still in the chat with my friend, I hit send, realizing too late that I had basically just asked her to drive 20 miles from her house to bring me a feminine napkin. Oy!

Easy fix...we LOL'd and TMI'd through text while I quickly copied the original request, pasted it into a new text and properly sent this to my daughter. No harm, no foul, right?

Yeah....Burch Luck, remember? Fast foward to this morning, my FAVORITE radio station, Candy95 holds this contest where you can win "TWIFECTA" tickets (tickets to see Twilight, New Moon, then Eclipse all on the same night at the movie theater on the night that Eclipse comes out - hey - it was for my daughter!). Typically, what I do is pull over (because it's UNSAFE to text while driving) and text the KEY WORD to their number then copy and paste the text and resend repeatedly until I get the message that they already have a winner (because I have Burch Luck and never actually win - but hey, it's always fun to play). Apparently, my text happy fingers didn't quite copy today's key word (FORKS) and I instead pasted my text about needing feminine supplies....TO THE RADIO DJ's - Frito and Alli!! OMG! I'm sure they didn't see it, since they typically get 1500 texts in the first 20 seconds, but I certainly saw it and immediately turned 3 shades of red and elected not to participate in today's contest in order to not draw further embarassment to myself.

Toilet Texting.....who knew?!?!

Summer Weed Eating

2010-03-07T08:26:00.006-06:00

Summer is almost here and so is the dreaded swimsuit season. Not that I readily jump into a swimsuit, at least not in front of other human beings; but as we are planning on getting a pool this summer (nothing fancy, just something for the kids to do during the day) I'm sure I'll likely go with something.

That being said, the first thing I think about when selecting a swimsuit, or contemplating actually wearing one, is the dreaded 'bikini line' and the gnarly razor bumps most people get from shaving.

So, this year I decided to forgo my trusty regular bic razor for these nifty little wax strips; a sort of DIY grooming product, and at a much lower cost than paying someone to get down there, which is not up my alley, pardon the pun. If you have never seen this product, it's a box of a dozen plastic strips with a thin coating of wax which you simply apply in the areas in which you would like to remove unwanted hair folicles. You press it on, let it warm to your skin, then remove it quickly for perfect hair removal. Or so one would think. This is a Burch Luck story though. If you consider yourself a prude, you probably don't want to read on.

The day I decided to perform this "bikini line ritual", I thought I would also take a nice relaxing bath in the whirl pool tub, complete with classical music, several well placed scented candles and a glass of wine (yes...I'm still allergic to alcohol....but sometimes, a little wine can be soothing...until the itching starts...but that's another Burch Luck story).

The water was running in the tub, the candles were lit and a nice, soothing Enya CD was serving as my 'project' background music. I strategically laid out the wax strips as well as the other necessary supplies (included in the kit) which includes a ridiculously small bottle of oil (for excess wax removal) and VERY CAREFULLY read the directions. Twice. You can't be too careful in this area, don't ya know?

I followed these carefully read directions, placed the first wax strip in the bikini area and rubbed it in a little (IT'S IN THE DIRECTIONS PEOPLE!!!) to warm the wax so that it could adhere to, well, whatever. Anyway, I let it sit for the recommended 2-3 minutes, held my thigh skin taut with one hand, grabbed the wax strip with the other and ripped away!

Yeah...ouch.

I looked at the strip in my hand and realized that, aside from some of the wax, there was nothing on the little strip. WTH?! Why the pain the then? I tried to put the strip into the trash so I could tend to my throbbing nether region, and then realized that it was stuck to my fingers with what little wax remained on it. I attempted to peel it away with my wax free hand. Yeah...now both hands had wax and were sticking to everything. I did manage to fling the strip, but it went flying and despite my best efforts, I was unable to find it; and anyway, I knew I needed to remove whatever wax was still on the bikini line. That's when I had the sudden realization that the wax was still on the bikini line and had very nicely attached itself to, well my thigh and my bikini line; they were adhered together very nicely. I tried peeling it away, but my fingers were just managing to stick more wax to me and, as you might imagine, it hurt like the dickens.

So, I realized I would have to use the aforementioned oil. Again, it is a ridiculously small bottle resembling one of those perfume sample bottles. I held it with one hand, removed the lid with the other and then realized the the bottle was waxed to one hand and the lid was waxed to the other. *Sigh* Burch luck, right? Wait, it gets better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it.

After numerous attempts to 'knock' the lid from my finger tips by scraping it on the faucet, I was finally able to disengage it and watched helplessly as it went down the drain. I figured I'd leave the oil stuck in my hand as I applied it, however, I foolishly felt that I would need something to 'apply' the oil to all wax infected areas, so I stepped over to grab some toilet paper, realizing, too late of course, that I now had toilet paper stuck to my fingers, but hey, that's what the oil is for, right? Using the toilet paper, I applied the oil...on the oil container to get it off my fingers then tossed the t-paper aside (successfully - woo hoo) so I could attend to the, by now, very sticky wax down below. It took the whole bottle of oil to clear the area and at least 90% of the unwanted bikini line still remained. You would think this fiasco ended here, but this is a Burch Luck story.

If you will recall, the water was still running for my bath, but as it was to my back plus with the nice Enya music, and 'other activities' I actually forgot about the bath. The water didn't run over or anything...it's a big tub...though that would have been comical, right?! I did have to make a mad dash to turn it off though, and that's when I realized I had found the wax strip I had previously flung...it was sticking to the bottom of my foot and as I took a step, it picked up a strip of toilet paper and as I leaned over to turn off the water and then lifted my foot to begin more wax removal, the trailing strip of toilet paper caught on one of my candles. Even though one might expect toilet paper to be non-flammable, that is actually not the case. It can burn pretty quickly, if it's the cheap kind (and if you know my husband, you know that, of course, we have the generic, made from recycled sandpaper brand). So, I did what any normal human being with flaming hot toilet paper waxed to their person would do. I plunged my foot into the tub, wax, paper, flames and all.

Yeah. So much for a nice relaxing bath; and the self waxing job? Left a strip of bruised and broken skin that covered twice the area of my bikini line. Luckily; I did this in March, before it was actually time to wear a bathing suit.

Bikini line, healing nicely. My pride...not so much.

Oh When The Saints....go Marching in....

2010-02-02T13:27:00.002-06:00

Let's hope the Colts come marching right back! Most people close to me know that I'm a HUGE Peyton Manning fan. I'm a Twitterer by nature, as well as blogger, so I'm sure I'll be pecking out a steady stream of tweets this coming Sunday as I watch "my man" work his tail off because the Colts defense undoubtedly hasn't improved in the last few weeks. So, textually speaking, look for me during the Super Bowl; that is, if you plan to be a part of the 100 million viewers.

And, if it's commercials that you watch for, and I admit, that's a big draw for me as well as #18 in tight football pants, it's lookign like some Facebook Marketing is going to see some air time. Can't wait to see what they have planned for us this year!

So, yeah...this is short - but I may have LOTS to discuss after tonight's premiere of Lost! Can't wait to see me some Sawyer!!!

Pick Me! Pick Me!

2010-01-15T15:50:00.003-06:00

So yeah, I have prepared my application to the Marethouse/Candy95 Fitness Challenge. I'll be dropping it off tonight right before I go to dinner with Alan at Sodalak's steakhouse, where I plan to have chicken fried steak and gravy. An exercise in irony? Or irony in exercise?

Up until lately, I have always thought that I was too terrible of a driver to ever worry about cholesterol or obesity killing me. But, as I have gotten older, I have realized that some things are worth getting healthier for. Two of those things are my children. Even though there is not a day that goes by that I don't want to strangle one, or both of them, I still love them and want to be healthy enough to see them become real people.

That's why I decided to enter this contest. It's not about losing weight or eating right (I mean yeah...there is that). It's about being healthy; living a longer and fuller life. Hell, I had to send a picture in with my application and it was an aerial photograph! If I ever went missing, they'd have to use all four sides of the milk carton for my picture!

All kidding aside, if I win....I will make my faithful readers proud. I will lose weight, I will get healthy and I will change my life. Maybe change yours too, who knows? I might even develop more than a casual relationship with my toes and be able to touch them one day - rather than just wave from a distance. Pray for me folks. And if I am not chosen, pray for me anyway....but pray harder for the people who do get chosen. Chances are, they need more help than I do and stand to gain a lot in return. Anyone that needs help more than me....also needs more prayers!

Piece O'Pie Out!

My Doctor Hates Me

2009-12-08T13:25:00.003-06:00

So, I had a checkup today, complete with the results from the blood work-up that I had last week. Since February, my cholesterol has jumped 18 points and my blood glucose (blood sugar) has gone up 41 points (almost to the "We'll need to check this weekly for a while to see if you need insulin" numbers). Not to mention I'm 8 lbs up (I was already up 30 lbs since being the MOST pregnant with my baby (who will turn 15 yrs old this month)from the last time I went to the doctor (which was only May) Oy! Turning 40 sure has played some nasty tricks on me! Of course, I have been overweight for the last 15 years, so age, for me has absolutely nothing to do with it.

Food, on the otherhand, has everything and then some, to blame! Why God, Why must you punish me for liking Dr. Pepper? And cheese (on top of pizza and burgers and baked potatoes with bacon)? Is it so bad that the most exercise my body ever suffers through is the walking that I MUST endure to get from my vehicle into whatever building I'm headed? Or to the refrigerator?

Well...no more my friends. I have entered a contest with Candy 95, and whether I'm chosen for the fitness challenge or not, my ordeal with the fight against hunger (mine) is going to be chronicled on this here blog. If you read it to begin with, you have suffered through my other ordeals, and you'll get through this just fine - I promise.

House of Blues - Nothing Personal....

2009-10-29T15:58:00.007-05:00

Yesterday, I did something way out of the ordinary for me. I took a vacation day and I tested the age limits of attending a rock/pop concert. It wasn't just an ordinary vacation day either; this was the kind of day where I took my 14 yr old daughter Austyn out of school and joined my friend Ginger and daughter Kelsey on a one day outing to Houston where we spent the entire day at the House of Blues! Oy Vey - what a long day!

All this was so that our daughters could see some of their favorite bands and meet some of the band members. And I use the term "our daughters" lightly as Ginger is a HUGE fan of these kids too! I was the only person asking on the way to Houston "Now, who are we seeing again?"

It was the All Time Low on their Glamour Kills tour. I don't really know if Glamour is the noun I would have chosen, but 40 is kind of old to be rocking out to 20 something musician's...but I digress; I didn't know any of the bands but I had heard their music before. Just ask my kids: I think everyone is either "The Fray" or "Creed" or whoever it actually ISN'T. Not sure what kind of music I would classify as MY genre, but I'm sure there isn't a group alive (alive being the key word here) that would make me want to remove my bra and throw it on a stage full of skinny emo punks wearing girl jeans and looking like they moussed their hair and then stood sideways in front of a very powerful wind machine. However, I have to admit that I am actually hooked on two of these groups; and I wasn't even drinking or smoking anything! It's punk/pop/emo crap (not the screamin emo - that's just not music); but it was still the kind that had my ears ringing well after the concert ended. As long as a person can sing well, they have my vote! After that.... the music either falls into place or it doesn't. Sometimes, it really depends on the lyrics, and I seriously doubt that any of these guys will be exemplars of performing into their golden years.

The concert started with Friday Night Boys who were weird enough, but had some good musical talent. Then it was Hey Monday, whom my daughter and her friend met inside the House of Blues Restaurant earlier in the day. Nice kids. And I'm serious when I say kids - these guys are REALLY young! But any pop star who will take the time from their lunch and pose for pictures and give autographs to their star crazed fans get an A+ in my book.

The third group was We The Kings and Kelsey (Austyn's friend and musical guru confidant) had Meet and Greet tickets for these fellas. Austyn and Kelsey were the only two in the meet and greet but Ginger and I still couldn't persuade the girls to say "Hey, can our mom's come in too?" I mean...what's up with that? Don't want to be seen with your mom's at a concert venue?? Touche'! Regardless - I think this is the group that I liked the best, but the actual headliner for this MUCH TOO LONG concert was All Time Low. Lead singer was a cutie, but these guys are much too young for me. All I know is I stood up from my barstool quicker than I ever typically get into a standing position when that concert ended. And whomever threw their triple D bra onstage (mind you, this was one of MANY BRA'S thrown up there)....Heaven Help Us!!!

I will say this: EVERYTHING is funny at Denny's at 12:00 a.m. after a loud concert when your ears are ringing and you feel like you have to yell to the people at the table. I mean...EVERYTHING!

"I think this fork is sticky too...." Uh....maybe your hands are sticky....

Yep - one of those had to be there moments....

No Room for more than one Enemy

2009-10-02T15:33:00.004-05:00

Who would have thought that I would be 40 years old before anyone ever said anything to me that made me want to cut ties with them forever? And I should perhaps forewarn my faithful four readers, that I question even posting this at all because it's not even remotely my style. But since there is always the possibility of me throwing a completely unvarnished thought out there (yeah, me!?), what the heck. I'll take sweet revenge if that's what it amounts to.

It is unfortunate that there are no clear cut warning signs to help us avoid negative people; those toxic friends that complicate your life without you even realizing it until it's too late and you find yourself shedding tears because of someone who so obviously could care less and take obvious joy in your emotional pains.

Confession: I don't care either. I have absolutely no interest in getting into a friendship breakup fight. Especially one that coats the vitriol even thicker and just makes me feel worse. The best way to get the toxicity out of your life is to get rid of the toxin; the sooner the better!

True, I may have wasted some precious time and much needed energy trying to help this person or just in talking to them and maybe even caring what they thought. But I'm not the one that put the "end" in "Friendship" darlings.

Burch luck of the good kind (yeah...there is some I figure) is discovering that the thorn in your side can easily be removed without having to shed more bitter tears. I (and I alone) shall retain the position of my own worst enemy! No room for two!

Raindrops keep falling on my head

2009-09-22T07:14:00.003-05:00

The back window on our trail blazer doesn't stay up on it's own. It requires a tape, a toothbrush and a Koozie. This seems to work, unless it's raining, then the window comes down about half-way (hey, without the koozie, it slams down inside the door to a completely different dimension).

Yesterday, when I arrived home it was about 1/3 of the way down, but since I was in the carport, I just decided I'd fix it in the morning before I left to take Austyn to early morning band practice since I knew it would gradually slide down overnight anyway. Relatively normal thinking and true to my word, I fixed it in the morning so as to keep out this great rainfall we've been getting and we were on our way at the butt crack of dawn (or 6:20 a.m.). Just as we pulled out of the drive-way Austyn and I heard a muffled "Meow." Great. Kitty Cat had decided to make the vehicle his home the night before. So, I backed up, Austyn coaxed him out and that was that. Imagine, had we gotten further and heard that!

Of course, no Burch story ends with "that was that." This time we got about 3 miles down the road before we heard the muffled "Meow." The twin to the first cat decided he wanted out too. Keep in mind here, Austyn has to be in the band hall at a certain time or run laps and because she has Burch blood in her too, I knew I had to prevent that!. So we whipped the car around (ironically in the driveway of our veterinarian - I thought of dropping kitty there...but Austyn wouldn't hear of it) and drove little kitty all the way back to the house. We called out to any others who might be hiding in the back seat; I actually expected to hear another meow!

And of course, the window was already halfway down again, so I got out in the rain to readjust and was reminded of another Burch Luck story which is what I actually wanted to share today. I had recently posted it on my baby sister's Facebook, but I think it bears repeating.

We were finally getting rain in the Brazos Valley about a week ago (yay weather) and of course, I needed to go to my car in the middle of the day to retrieve my purse which contained my reading glasses, that I desperately needed. I was on my way to the elevetor and in stepped two little Aggie girls (they had to have been freshmen because they still looked happy). They were having a conversation that went something like this:
Aggie Girl 1: "I'm glad it stopped raining..though with my luck it will start as soon as we get outside." (heh - she's talking about luck...)
Aggie Girl 2: "Stick by me - I'm really lucky. It usually stops for me the minute I need it to."
Me (like I could be quiet now): "Well, you should both steer far from me....it will probably rain the hardest today just while I'm outside (cuz my umbrella was at home)"
Aggie Girl 2, A.K.A. Lucky: "Oh no, I promise ma'am, I'm lucky.... seriously...you can walk with us."
Me, to myself: "Oh boy! Can I!?!" I just wanted to get out and get my purse, but whatever!
We got to the door, and sure enough, it had stopped raining. Lucky little Aggie grinned at me and said "See?"

You would have thought rainbows shot out her butt!

We ventured out together and are halfway to my car in the parking lot, about as far from the building as you could get when it started pouring rain! I looked at Lucky Aggie as we started hurrying and said "See?"

"She just laughed and said "Man, who are you'"...
"I'm a Burch, welcome to our world."
Lucky for me, I was in the faculty/staff lot...student lot was a Lot further.

I got to my car and hollered "See ya ladies!" (Suckers....) Shouldn't have called me ma'am.... and I shoulda brought my car keys downstairs with me. Burch Luck.

Jury Duty for 3 Weeks - How bad could it be?

2009-07-17T12:41:00.004-05:00

So yeah, we all get the yearly summons for jury duty. This year, my card came in April for a county court date in May. As luck would have it, I was chosen and me and eleven other, like-minded individuals spent an amazing three weeks together.

Okay, the amazing part is a bit of an embellishment. The trial was a civil case and it was anything but civil. So basically, it was boring. I did have an AMAZING encounter with the prosecuting attorney that many of my friends and family have begged me to put on the blog, so I decided that I would share this today.

It so happened, that on the second day of the trial, both attorneys had just finished their opening arguments. The prosecuting attorney was preparing to call his first witness, but lucky for us, the judge decided to excuse the jury for one of our much needed and deserved breaks.

We typically used this 15 minutes to use the bathroom, grab a snack, stretch out our muscle aches that we all received from sitting in a VERY cramped and tight jury box. One thing that was common for ALL of us was to immediatly switch on our cell phones and check in at the office or with our kids. It was very important for us to remember to turn our cell phones back off or into silent mode, because who wants that going off in the middle of court? It had already happened twice to people who were just observing the trial, and the judge was NOT happy. Imagine what it would be like if it happened to a jury member.

If you got a minute, I can tell you.

We came back from break on that second day, and you-know-who forgot to turn off their cell phone (no, I don't mean Voldemort - he wasn't even there). It wouldn't have been so bad if my boss hadn't decided to call me at the exact moment the prosecuting attorney began to question his very first witness. Those with an Xbox will be happy to note that my kids had changed my ringtone to the theme song for the game "Halo" - so I had that going on...but it was set to get gradually higher/louder as I didn't answer so after the first ring, I knew it was imperative that I shut that baby off right away. The judges head turned slowly in our direction (think slo-mo) as I bent over to reach under my chair for my purse.

I believe I mentioned that the jury box was tight. It was not only a struggle to pull the purse out, but then I had to reach into the abyss of wallet, make-up, receipts, feminine products and whatever else just to find the phone. When my fingers finally found it, I jerked it out and turned it off at the same time. Saved the day! You would think. Except we are talking Burch Luck here, and as luck would have it, it was that time of the month for ole Ang and the guilty cell phone came out of my purse with a little packaged friend attached and when I had flung the cell phone open to silence it, the tampon went flying, landing at the foot of the prosecuting attorney. Mind you, he NEVER stopped questioning the witness at the time and this was not to be a deterrent either, as he just nonchalantly kicked the offending article back over to me and that was that. No big deal.

Only one other jury member really paid attention to that part, and he was a 20-year-old who had only just voted six months before in his first election. Seeing that he was only 20, and not quite what I would consider mature, he had a hard time controlling his mirth and for about the next 5 minutes, his chair vibrated with his laughter. Two more weeks into the trial, and HIS cell phone went off. He immediately silenced his and whispered to me "see how easy that was?" Little shit.

By Popular Demand

2009-06-26T14:17:00.002-05:00

And, by popular demand, I mean the ten or so people who e-mailed, called or chatted with me online and said I should post MORE of my stuff, or to keep on writing. The thing is...I never stop. In fact, I have probably 15-20 pieces started and saved into draft form on my blogger that I had been reluctant to share, but now feel it's worth it; at least to get some feedback.

Just to warn you though....a blog is ALWAYS like a first draft. What you see is what you get. I do not edit, spell check or fact check (though I may send you to a link every now and then, I have no way -or desire - to check it's authenticity) and very often - I make no sense at all.

I won't go as far to say I'm bringing you the "Best of" or "Angie's Greatest Wits." I'm just trying to fill up space on the internet. Whether you read further or not is entirely up to you.

Facebook IS the new Blog

2009-06-25T12:04:00.006-05:00

Wow. I typed up a great blog for this title entry, and upon posting, even though I had saved multiple times, I lost the whole thing. I couldn't recreate that kind of spontaneous writing energy, even if I wanted to....so for anyone reading this...pretend it is something profound. At least until I can find the animation within me to move forward!

Marvelous Monday???

2009-02-21T16:26:00.001-06:00

Never, EVER did I believe that I would be one of those people who could NOT grow old gracefully. Turning 30 didn't hurt at all, even when I turned 39 (last year) I didn't care that I would soon be 40.

I am not a glamourous person and I am nothing even remotely close to being high maintenance. I wash my face with plain water, unless it's on one of those rare occasions that I have maybe applied make-up, then soap is added. If I happen to not feel like ironing my clothes, warm will be good enough. That's why God made dryers! Hell just today I plucked a shirt out of the hamper, gave it a good tester sniff, and pulled it over my head. I will not be picky on a Saturday!

That's why, five days ago, when I turned 40, I was completely surprised by the melancholy the day brought with it. I smiled at people, said good morning, told Dr. Wolkien I was "marvelous" (that being the adjective to describe ourselves on Mondays at work), sat down at my computer and cried. It was NOT Marvelous Monday to me, nor would Tuesday be Terrific, Wednesday be Wonderful, Thursday and Friday tremendous and Fabulous consecutively. What happened to the happy-go-lucky Ang that used to tease all of her friends who were older than her?

Who was this stranger who was pulling out a seldom used compact from her purse to check her much older self out in the mirror?

Who put the dark circles under my eyes? Why are my freckles suddenly grouping together in little families? Am I soon going to be one of those ladies who smather lipstick on their face, totally outlining their entire lips and putting some on their front teeth for good measure? Will I someday too lose my sense of smell, unable to tell how much rose scented perfume I had already marinated in?

I think I'm already walking slower. My knees hurt, my back aches, I'm pretty sure I have arthritis in my right pinky finger. If I was a person who wore make-up every day, I'd have racoon eyes by now. I don't want to grow old. I mean to say, I want to go on living. I want to see my kids grow and achieve all that they were meant to. Heck, I'd like to see my next 60 birthdays. I just don't want to look the part.

The real problem I have with all of this, is that I have no real reason at all to complain. I have nothing to be sorry for. I've got my health. I've got my family. I have my God, who is responsible for all of it. And yet I'm going to complain because I was allowed to live a mere 40 years?

I will consider myself lucky to see Terrific Tuesday.

Someone To Tell It To

2009-01-21T01:14:00.000-06:00

Miles Franklin said it best - "Someone to tell it to is one of the fundamental needs of human beings."

For those wondering, Miles Franklin was not a man. She was a female writer and a feminist from Australia. She lead a really remarkable life. Though I've really only read one of her works, All That Swagger, I thought her worth mentioning since I wanted to borrow that quote.

And why did I want to borrow that quote, you may ask (all 9 of you faithful readers - ha)? I could start this answer out by saying 'long story short' but since most of you know me and know that it's quite impossible to apply the brakes to a story once I begin, this likely won't be short.

An indispensable need I have as a writer, or rather a wanna-be writer, is to write something down, put into words some of the crazy ideas that pop into my head on a daily basis. Some may dub this creativity; I've always felt it bordered on insanity, much like when I heard conversations in my head every time I brushed my teeth growing up. I didn't know at the time that this was merely my muse. Had I only written down some of what I thought of in those days, I could be rich! Or committed, whichever you choose. Now a days when I brush my teeth, I find myself checking out my wrinkles in the mirror or counting gray hairs. Who wants to hear about that, right?

But oh if I could just put into words the scenarios that run through my head where I find myself instantaneously filled with mirth (that means funny sh*t...if you go look it up Becky...you'll likely not feel compelled to come back- stay with me here)! I've tried to write about subjects, experiences, even just jot down anecdotes about daily incidents that have caused me to LOL or ROTFL or LMAO, because it's almost always a disappointment once seen in the written form.

That's how I felt when I first came across this quote and felt the need to "ponder" it. Actually, that's just a fancy way to say what really popped into my head which was "Hmmmmm?"

With technology being what it is today, it's very easy for humans to substitute human companionship with what they find on television, the computer, their cellphones, among other innovations that occupy our minds in place of 'you' and 'me.'

Basically, that quote, though I just ran across it recently, is the very reason I started this blog. I just wanted to get my "stuff" into written form because how do you really "tell" anybody your daily thoughts in conversation form? You can't, because most people don't really listen well, or rather, they listen for you to come to a stopping place so that they can interject their own thoughts. Very often, this kind of interuption is what makes us not finish a story, a thought, or a phrase.

You are reading this today, probably because I know you (I apologize in advance if you happened here by accident), but more importantly because I chose you...to listen...and at one point in my life, I have most likely needed you.

You can run, but you can't slide....

2008-11-07T15:31:00.000-06:00

Yes, Allie the dog was at it again! This time, I was injured in the process and not just my impervious pride.

It seems that wild animals pass through our property at all times during the night. I don't know what kind of wild animals, other than deer (which I've seen), moles (which I've seen evidence of and quite possibly Stanley (cat) had one in his mouth one day) and apparently - armadillo's. The latter of which is to be partly blamed for my most recent bruises (physically and ego-ally -?).

A few nights ago (night being a relative term as it was more like 3:30 a.m.) Allie was on one of her barking rants so of course, Sam joined in. There is no sleeping during these duets and the quickest way to dispense of the noise is to let them outside. Who lets them out (me or Alan) depends mostly on who can pretend to still be sleeping the longest; didn't everyone play this game when their children were babies? Maybe that's just us...anyway, I digress. I ended up giving in to the high pitched barks and stomped into the living room to let them out. Because the dog run is so far from the house, we have a chain that we will put Allie on (because otherwise she runs...and just runs...so nuff said) for these short stints to do her duties. However, because their was an underlying motivation for their wanting out, the chain would have to wait - because Allie had no patience. Though I had hold of her collar, as soon as I opened the door, she took off like like a, well, like a crazy dog!! And, to make matters worse....since I know what happens when she runs...I refused to let go of her collar (at first) and so I was dragged along for the ride - flat on my face and out the door.
It wasn't a cold night, even though it's November, so of course - I was in me 'skivvies'. My fingers were (temporarily) squished in Allie's collar, but I quickly let go when I realized I needed my hands to break my fall as well as to stop the bleeding on my shins (they were scraped across the door jamb).

Lucky for us (luck - being another one of those 'relative Burch terms') the object of Allie and Sam's affection was hiding right in the bushes next to the house and Allie didn't run far. In fact, I thought she was digging at a plastic bucket, deep inside the bushes from the sound it was making as she stomped both of her feet to the ground. Who knew that Armadillo's roll up into a protective ball when they are scared?

Since Allie had only made it as far as the bushes, I was able to use the closes thing to the door (a mop) to hook her collar and drag her out. All the while, Alan is hollering from the bedroom "What is all that noise???"
I yelled "Allie got loose and I'm hurt really bad..."
His reply "Dang it....now I gotta chase her...."
...No...no - I'm fine really....AND I already caught her, so you just go right back to sleep. . . . .Oy!

Needless to say, I've got bruises on my legs (thighs, hips and shins) and my fingers lost some skin...but I'm happy to report that the Armadillo and Allie are just fine. . . .

Running Down a Dream

2008-09-01T09:13:00.010-05:00

My three best friends and I recently attended a Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers Concert in The Woodland's Texas - the last concert of his 2008 tour. In my reflections of the GREAT time that we had, I got to thinking (something that will have all three of these same friends groaning....). Who really is Tom Petty's biggest fan? So, I think if you can answer any of the following, you might just be Tom Petty's biggest fan.

You Might be Tom Petty's Biggest Fan if:

1. You have over 270 of his greatest hits on your I-pod

2. You know the set list of all his concerts

3. You know his biography, probably better than he knows himself

4. You know that Johnny Depp appeared in his 1991 music video, "Into the Great Wide Open"

5. You know his date and year of birth

6. You know that Tom is ranked number 9 on rock.com's top 25 solo rock artists of all time.

7. You know that "Free Falling" is ranked number 82 on rock.com's top 500 classic rock songs of all time.

8. You know his character on "King of the Hill" is named Lucky

9. You know the names of his two daughters

10. You can name the artists for whom Tom played back-up guitar and/or vocals on their albums

11. You can name all the instruments that Tom can play and which songs he plays them

12. You can name all the previous names of his current band, the Heartbreakers, as well as original members, et. al.

13. You know that Tom talked Benmont Tench, Jr. into letting his son, Benmont Tench III drop out of college to join his band.

14. If you know that screaming "Whoooo - Tom Petty" and high-fiving every stranger you meet DOES NOT make you Tom Petty's number one fan.

I have determined, through non-funded research, that my friend Cathy Littleton is most likely THE MOST knowledgable person on Tom Petty to ever hit the streets, and she loves the man more than anyone else I know (and I know A LOT of people). She may not know who "made the pizza'' in the Travelling Wilburys DVD, released in 2007, but it has been determined, through additional research, that no one but ONE person in the whole world gives a rats ass about that fact.

Some other things my recent "research" has led me to think about:

It's Cheaper to Just Bite Your Nails

2008-08-05T14:29:00.004-05:00

I've been a nail biter all my life. The only time my nails were ever long (naturally) was when I smoked, and then later in life when I had my kids. (note to the surgeon general: I quit smoking, LONG before I ever decided on children)

After my kids, it was back to biting as usual. I'm not just a nail biter either; I bite my nails down to the quick, cuticle and all. If my fingers aren't sore or bleeding, then my work is not done! Yes, it's a nasty habit. Smoking was a worse habit but it was easier to quit than biting my nails. I can't even stop biting when Alan taps my hands out of my mouth and tells me to stop. If there's one hanging; it's coming off baby!!!

So, I recently decided that enough is enough! I had acryllic nails put on. Don't ask me the name of the place because I can't remember. All I know is there's a nail shop on every corner in this town and I went to the one closest to my job. Very nice Vietnamese couple run the place (I know - it could still be any shop in town) and they were very patient as I tried to explain what I wanted. Apparently, not only did I want square-round, acryllic nails, but I also wanted a pedicure and an eyebrow wax. I turned down the latter two, explaining that 1) I didn't have time for a pedicure and 2) I barely have eyebrows as it is.

I'm sorry, but I think it's going to be cheaper and more satisfying to just bite my nails again. My thumb looks hideous and this guy ALSO thought I should wax my eyebrows!!!

It's off to salon #4 and if it's not a good one....then yes...the nails are coming off!!

Summer Colds: a rant

2008-07-28T08:42:00.002-05:00

The only thing worse than getting that stuffy nose, headache, sore throat and cough is coming down with it in the heat of summer. There's no desire for hot tea and toast or snuggling deep into your down comforter. A nice, hot steam bath - out of the question. You can get that just walking outside in the Texas heat anyway.

So, this weekend - I was sick. And we had a full schedule of events planned, what with it being summer and the kids being their usual, busy selves. I may have even ran a fever, but who can tell; it was over 100 degrees and I was on a three-day benadryl binge.

I'm pretty sure this crap has settled into my lungs now and I'm in for the long haul with a nasty case of bronchitis and a nice, lengthy sinus infection, complete with watery, crusted eyes and a tight jaw which has the added effect of a comfy toothache.

I love summer.

I know, this whole post could have best been said with a simple "I don't feel too good" - but where's the fun in that?

Eddie Money Knew What He Was Talking About

2008-07-18T08:08:00.003-05:00

Why do all the milestones that our children accomplish also have to serve as a constant reminder that we are getting older? I know it's impossible to make time stand still, and really - who would want to freeze this economy in the state it is in? But I miss so many of the cute things my kids used to do when they were small, so much that sometimes I wish I could go back and do it all over. But as Eddie Money reminded us - I can't go back I know.

So, I must resign myself to the fact that my son is now driving, my daughter doesn't want to hang around me so much anymore and I'm spending twice as much on hair color as I used to. Long gone are the days of "mommy, daddy - look what I can do." They have been replaced with "Do you have to look at me? Quit staring!" and those lovely, extremely exaggerated sighs and groans. When did I become my mother? I guess a bigger question I should ask myself, is when did my children become me and how did I never see it coming?

People always say - "Enjoy your kids now, it goes by so fast." I remember thinking to myself that I couldn't wait until my kids could walk, could talk, etc. How could I know that no sooner does someone speak the words "time with your kids goes by fast" and before you can grasp the meaning of what they have said it's gone.

I think I'm growing sentimental about turning 40 (still have 7 months....it's really going to fly). I hope the next 40 years are as great as the previous. I hope they don't go by as fast and I pray every day that my kids will cherish every moment I spent with them. I know I do.

Scenes on a Beach

2008-06-30T13:38:00.003-05:00

The truth about beaches - they smell like wet dog and fish poop. I have nothing against people who like vacationing on a beach, the surf, the sun, et. al. But to tout beaches as a "vacationer's paradise" - it's just a scam to get people to come to their beach and spend their hard earned money on crap that they can pick up in the sand for free.

My most expensive purchase on our recently ended beach vacation was $10 sunscreen with SPF 50 that was both sweat and water proof. Had it been sun proof as well, we'd be 3 for 3 in it's offered benefits. The numbers in SPF ratings are actually the total number of times you need to apply that particular sunscreen to avoid sun burn. I wasted my money on two tubes.

I also had to buy my son a new bathing suit, as his was swept away in the surf while he was trying out his new "boogie boarding" skills. First, I had to wade out waste deep in the ocean to bring him a towel. That was bad enough because I had previously had no itentions of even getting my new bathing suit wet, let alone filled with sand and sea weed. Face it, anything that forces someone of my size to wear a bathing suit is NOT going to be pleasant or filled with fun. The price of bathing suits at any store on a beach - not fun! There's no Wal-mart on the islands. All the stores are named "Ocean View" and "Pirates Landing" and they sell over priced sea shells, cheap beach towels and little figurines of dudes smoking joints on surf boards. They also sell $65.00 bathing suits and $10 sunscreen. But I digress, because I had to.

Back to the beach. It was hot and I was sweaty and I would have loved to have just stayed in the hotel room, in the air conditioning, reading a book, but I needed to be at the beach, with my kids, because let's face it. If a shark were to attack them or they were to be swept out to sea, I am the ONLY person who would be able to save them. At least, that was all I could think about. So, while my kids and husband body surfed and boogie boarded in the waves, I was their lookout for great white sharks, jelly fish or unfriendly surf. It's a hard job. You can just ask the church camp counselors who were there with 6 - 7 kids each in their charge. I overheard one of them tell another that this was the worst time he had ever had at a beach. Now you know how your mom feels pal!

Let's forget for a moment that most talented authors who write scenes on a beach describe it as "serene and peaceful" and filled with "fresh, salty air" and the hypnotic sounds of the waves crashing on the beach. Yeah, well if by serene and peaceful they mean screeching seagulls and people, maybe. Fresh, salty air - that means sea creature poop ya'll, and if you have the added affect of heated up sea creature poop, in the middle of the hot, summer days - that's what a beach smells like. God probably added the salt to cover that up, though I'm just guessing. Waves crashing on the beach sounds remarkably like static on a stereo with the volume turned really high and the left speaker blown.

This is not to say that I don't like a good vacation with my husband and kids. It's just that my recent vacation on the beach was eerily similar to reading a book in a port-a-potty. Hot, stinky and not a lot of joy in stretching the legs to find a good reading position.

How to Sex a Cat

2008-02-19T08:30:00.002-06:00

And by that, I mean - how to tell if it's a boy or a girl.

Recently, we took our youngest two kittens in to be spayed. Laverne and Shirley; they are so cute and completely inseparable. They are also identical. It was hard enough not to let them have anything to eat after 7:00 p.m. the night before; I didn't really care who was who, as long as they didn't eat.

When the hubster dropped them at the vet, the tech asked him which one was Laverne and which one was Shirley. He said "I don't know - it doesn't really matter...we just pretend to tell them apart."

Of course, the vet was sure this couldn't be so, but upon closer inspection, he and his tech agreed that they were pretty much twins. Or so they thought.

Shirley went first...got her shots, her worming and blood tests and then she went under the knife.

Next was Laverne. All was quite well until the minor surgery, which turned into exploratory surgery, failed to turn up a uterus. Poor Laverne, as it turns out, is actually a VERNE. To tell you the truth, I wasn't upset at all about the poor guy having two sets of stitches (which the vet most humbly did not charge us for). I was more testy about the fact that it totally ruined my naming strategy!!! Lenny and Squiggy go in next week!!! What am I supposed to tell them about Laverne!?!?

And you can just forget about Carmine!!!

Public Bathroom Etiquette

2007-08-31T11:54:00.000-05:00

I’ve always kept an imaginary list of “Public Bathroom Etiquette” and I mentally refer to it time and again whenever I’m forced to journey into the world of other people’s germs.

Number one on the list has always been the “Courtesy Flush.” That’s for Number 2.

Anyway, I digress. Who, in their right mind, would believe that someone – let alone a public figure, would pick up the trash on a dirty, public restroom floor because they were a public servant?

New Rule #1 for my Imaginary Bathroom Etiquette; Repeat after me – If it’s on the floor, it is quite possible that it was previously in contact with someone’s ASS. Leave it alone!

New Rule #2 - If you see dirt, grime, or smudges on the bottom of the stall wall, unless you are wearing rubber gloves, are holding a Clorox wipe and have your name printed on your shirt – you should have NO REASON to put your fingers on the bottom of the wall or, for that matter, anywhere inside the stall. Put your hands in your lap and don’t move until you need to reach for the t.p

New Rule #3 – Unless you are playing a musical instrument or stepping on a deadly spider that is attempting to take your life – DO NOT TAP YOUR FEET. And if you are sitting in your stall, playing a musical instrument, WTF!!!?

New Rule #4 - If you have a W I D E stance, you might want to consider 'tucking in.'

The basics for bathroom etiquette involve a plethora of BASIC public behavior. The coughs you hear in stalls next to you are not people who are suffering from a cold. That’s called a noise distraction (Rule #53) to cover up the real activity taking place in that individual's stall. The courtesy flush (original rule) is a nice way of covering up the olfactory clues of what you are doing, as well as making it so other toilet patrons don’t have to try and hold back vomit because they can smell what you had for dinner the night before.

If you are a ‘hoverer’ – please be courteous and wipe the seat when you are done (Rule #36). Hovering is good to keep your butt off the seat, but for the person coming in after you who doesn’t have the coordination required to be a successful ‘hoverer’ it’s not fun to go for the sit and release, only to have to jump up quickly because they suddenly feel a 'hoverer's' leave behind. For those of us who have a tendency to wait until the last minute to go, it’s really a pain, because the jump up also means we’re going to have to dry the inside of our legs, as well as the toilet seat.

Proper use of a public restroom should not require that you have a master’s degree, or be elected to public office for that matter. It involves basic common sense. I won’t even get into the imbecile’s who don’t wash their hands with soap and water when they are done. That’s the reason for rule #137 – always use a paper towel, toilet paper, or your sleeves to open the door on your way out.

The World Wide Web is at MY HOUSE!

2007-08-29T16:56:00.000-05:00

Spider Web that is!

I got home around 9:30 p.m. the other night. I worked late - I was not in the mood for much. Arriving home at night when you live "out in the boonies" (this is a term - I checked) can be a scary experience. There are coyotes, foxes, skunks, and any number of wild animals that you can think of if you are scared enough and you put your mind to it. There are also spiders - and we have TONS!

Alan and the kids had gone to bed before I got home, and they only left the utility room light on. Okay, I don't like the dark either, but particularly when there are spider webs in every oraface of the car port and the wrap-around porch (yeah - the spiders wrap around it too). Of course, the utility room light was enough to illuminate the huge spider that chose that moment to dangle DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THE UTILITY ROOM DOOR!
This is a link to a picture of the kind of spider that was waiting for me. The eriophora species. Non-aggressive (whatever)

http://www.usq.edu.au/spider/find/spiders/192.htm

Anyhoo - as you can imagine, there was no FRICKIN way I was going in through that door. I waited a few seconds, while not taking my eyes off of it but patiently expecting it to go away (i don't know where to - I just wanted it to go). I fumbled into my purse for my phone and called HubbyD's cell (we have no land line). No answer - straight to his voice mail. OMG!!...

So, while not taking my eyes off the spider, I called Alan's number again.....ELEVEN TIMES!!! Geesh! So, I decided - I'll just get back in the car and honk the fricking horn until he wakes up. Screw what the neighbors think - this is a life or death situation - THERE IS A SPIDER in the ONLY lighted doorway to the house. Sure, I could take the porch around to either the front or back doors, but I already know the location of all the webs around the porch and there is no way I'm walking through an UNLIT web of WEBS!

So, I turn around to head back to the car, when I suddenly realize I have been standing with my back to not ONE, NOT TWO - but THREE of THESE:

http://www.arachnology.be/pages/Orbweb.html

The one on the far left - yellow and black.....insert collective chill here.

Well, now, what would any other arachnaphobe do under this kind of ill duress? I decided my only choice of action was to try and alert our 85 pound great pyranese (I believe I have mentioned Ally before) - her barking seems to be the only thing that wakes Alan up at night.
So, I whistled - and I can whistle pretty loud, let me tell you. Our cats came from out of nowhere - I didn't even know they were still outside! Ally heard too and she stood up to the window of the back door - panting and whimpering. I'm yelling at her to "BARK - BARK YOU DARN DOG!!! THERE'S A SPIDER!! TIMMY FELL IN THE WELL!!!" which is, I am sure, in direct conflict with what I normally yell at her which is "STOP BARKING!!!"

By then, the cats were all mewing and rubbing in and out of my legs, their tails tickling me (much like a spider might, were it crawling on you). I was really beginning to freak out, so I called HubbyD's phone about 12 more times (he actually had 18 missed calls this a.m. - so whatever that would make it). No answer. Spider still dangling in front of the door, my dinner sitting right on top of my esophagus, Cats meweling, and Ally standing in the window, panting like a doofus and cocking her head and looking at me while I stood there crying! What could I do? My heart was racing, I was trying to get the cats off me and keep my eyes off all of the spiders, who I am sure were circling for the attack.

What finally saved me was the spider itself. He seemed to have gotten tired of his aimless dangling, and shimmied back up his web rope to his coveted spot above the doorway. I decided to just make a run for it, because I couldn't keep an eye on the spiders behind me at the same time, one of which had apparently felt threatened as he was bouncing in his web (they do that ya know - really creepy) - so I RAN!! Had the door not been unlocked, I am positive I would have just broken right through the lock!!! I knocked Ally outta the way (her 85 lbs were no match for me, or my momentum) and slammed the door behind me. I had to look up and make sure the spider was still there. He was, and I'm quite sure if spiders could laugh, he would have been slapping all 8 knees.

Once inside, I decided to call Alan's phone again just to see if it was working and where he might have left it sitting. I heard it ringing from the dark living room, but just as I started to go towards it, the upstairs light went on and Alex, my son, came out of his bedroom yelling "What is that freakin' noise????"

I yelled back "IT'S YOUR DAD'S FRICKIN PHONE THAT APPARENTLY HE CANNOT HEAR!! I'M SURE GLAD I DIDN'T HAVE TOO BIG OF AN EMERGENCY!!!"

Alex asked "WHAT HAPPENED" - very worried sounding, my sweet boy.

I said "SPIDER HAPPENED!!!"

Alex, who is just as much of an arachnaphobic as I am said "OMG - HOW BIG??" - the sympathy was much needed at this time.

"Who cares how big - it could have killed me and ya'all wouldn't have known until you bothered waking up in the morning to my web covered, ridgid body" It can happen - check this out: http://www.digitaljournal.com/article/213294/Man_Killed_by_Pet_Spider_Eaten_by_Creepy_Crawlies

Needless to say, Alan was not amused that I woke him up to tell him that he nearly caused my untimely death by not waking up; nor was he sympathetic to my spider plight. People with NO 'real' phobia's just cannot understand.

Can You Give a 14 yr old a Time Out?

2007-08-17T14:49:00.000-05:00

I hate stories that begin with "Seems like only yesterday," but it truly does serve as the perfect intro to many fine tales. Why, it seems like only yesterday I just started this blog...

Anyway, as you might have guessed, this is going to be one of those "remember when" type rants that will eventually lead to my much anticipated point.

It seems like only yesterday (hey...it's not like I didn't give you plenty of warning) I was keeping a written list of the cute and funny things my kids said. Some of them were just SO darned funny!

Example, here's a conversation I once had with my son, when he was 2 yrs old son while at a public fishing event for kids. I was trying to get him to talk to the video camera for the movie I am unfortunatley still recording for my parents (13 yrs in the making):
ME: "Tell grandpa what you're doing..."

SON: "Where's Granpa?"

ME: "The video camera, tell the video camera what you are doing.."

SON: "Uhm...fishing"

ME: "Did you catch anything."

SON: "Yeaaahh...."

ME: "Well, tell grandpa what you caught."

SON: "Where's Grandpa?" looking around now....

ME: "Tell the video camera what you caught...."

SON: "Uhm...two worrmmms...."

Yeah, the son will be turning 15 in 15 days. As far as I'm concerned, he should feel lucky I let him live this long. It's a lot harder at this stage in their lives to get them to just say something nice, let alone say something cute and worth dragging out the video camera for. Not that he would even let me get him on video tape, let alone a camera. "DON'T TAKE MY PICTURE!!!"

I've tried the creative approach to parenting, and since that's obviously not working for us, I am trying some other low stress level approaches such as "raising my voice," which according to my kids is YELLING, and the even more popular selective listening, which my kids have correctly labelled "ignoring." My kids don't think I'm funny. They aren't even sure I have a sense of humor to speak of, and they certainly aren't going to laugh at my jokes. That's why I have to laugh at my own, and if it's at their expense, all the better.

It's just that it seems like yesterday they were cute and sweet, and now, on the rare occasion we can coax them out of their bedrooms, they are moody and always ready for an argument. Every question you ask them is at first answered with the audible and much exaggerated *SIGH* before they want to know "WHY?" you need to know. By the time you tell them WHY and ask a second question, they want to know "WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS ASKING QUESTIONS?" If you are a parent with enough patience to calmly answer this question, then more power to you. At my house, it typically resorts to tears (not always mine) and somebody slamming a door (not always me).

So, here we are, dealing with a 15 yr old "person" living under our roof and NOBODY and NOTHING seems to make him happy. I would ground him, but that would mean he'd just hang around us being moody and that's not fun for anybody. But maybe that's the plan? I'm all for a "time out" chair for teenagers that not only makes them behave, but keeps them from growing up too fast. Is that too much to ask?

Cats and Tylenol PM - Weak Stomach Alert!!!

2007-08-10T15:19:00.000-05:00

QUESTION: What two things do not go well together....

Last night, I got a reminder of what it's like to have a newborn baby with colic. I wasn't looking to be reminded. However, when you have 4 young kittens in the house, accidents are bound to happen.

Alan was taking a Tylenol PM last night before bed and one dropped out of his hands onto the kitchen floor. Before he could even say "Dam it - I dropped one" the kittens had pounced, and because there was a mad dash for the surprise kibble, the kitten who was the fastest immediately swallowed it whole. Now, a 500mg Tyelnol pm is at least 4 times bigger than the flea/tick pill that takes two people to force down a cats mouth. Who knew that all you had to do was drop them on the floor????

So, Alan comes to me and says "One of those kittens is going to sleep well tonight." and then proceeded to tell me what had happened.

I immediately freaked out! I screamed "Which ONE? Was it Panther?" (because everyone knows he is my favorite, and if it was any of the others, I could at least relax a bit because hey - we have 5 other cats...-PETA supporters, please note this statement is in jest).

Alan replies "I don't know which one. One of the black ones."

Oooh - thanks for narrowing it. Of the 4 kittens - three are black...

"What??? You mean you don't know? Didn't you pick it up to try to get the pill back???!"

Alan: "Well, yeah, but he had already swallowed it....it was one of the boy kittens."

ME: "Yeah, okay, all three of the black ones are boys....are you sure it wasn't Panther??!"

Alan: "Is Panther one of the black ones?"

ME: "YES! Was it a black one with the white in his ears? Because that one is Pandy and the skinny one is Fatty. Panther looks like a Panther..."

Alan: "I don't think it was Panther."

So, of course, I am panicking and am ready to call poison control and the veterinary clinic and he is like "Calm down - it isn't poisonous. You can feed them to kids." (the pills - not the kittens)

ME: "Yes, but you wouldn't feed one to a newborn, and that's exactly what a kitten would be considered. Plus - it's not a human baby - it's a kitty baby..."

Anyway, Alan went upstairs to watch a movie with the kids but I immediately went on Kitten Patrol. I put all the kittens on the living room floor and they were playing like any normal kitten does so I just had to wait until one started acting like a kitten might act if they had taken a tylenol p.m.

For the record, they would act like a young toddler who might have drunk a whole beer. Sure, it's not going to kill the toddler, but it's going to make him cry and get sick because he doesn't know what is wrong with him. By the way, you must trust me when I say that I do not really have first hand knowledge of how a drunken toddler might act, but I'm sure it's not much different than this was.

Before long, Panther (of course!!) started wailing like a banshee and trying to stand up straight, but he could not. I immediately scooped him up and for some un-Godly reason proceeded to bounce him like a crying baby. He responded much as you would imagine; with claws out and loudly screaming as he climbed his way up to my head. I peeled him off and starting shushing him and telling him it was going to be okay.

Then I thought – I know what I should do; I should feed him some kittten food. If he has something in his tummy, maybe it won’t be as bad. Picture your high school or college days and Taco Bell after the bars close. You know, when you think you’re hungry, but you’re just buzzed, but you order everything off the menu anyway? Panther ate his fill and he ate it hungrily like he usually does, so I didn’t worry too much. Just in case though, I gave him a little saucer of milk. Well what would YOU have done??!!

Then he started wailing again, so I picked him up and started shushing him again. Of course, I was crying and he was crying – we were a mess. I sat in the la-z-boy and decided to lean it back because I had already figured to be in for a long night; and after the “bouncy baby fiasco,” I figured rocking him was pretty much out of the picture.

So, there I sat, cooing and petting and crying as he kept swishing his tail violently back and forth (I would liken this to a drunken swagger…) and mewling and sniffing. The other three kittens were decidedly jealous so they joined us in the chair and began their own concerned grooming of Panther and of me. We were a lovely site and I thought that when Panther started fighting the sleep, as his eyes were rolling back in to his head and he was nodding but trying not to, that we might finally be down for the night. So, I started to doze.

And THEN I heard the gagging..

Well, I’m no fool! I recognized the signs and I tossed him to the floor just in time for him to vomit up the cat food and milk he had just eaten (no pill in site, in case you were wondering). I was thinking to myself “I can do this, I won’t get sick…I won’t get sick” until the other three kittens decided to jump in and have a little snack. OMG! I threw up a little in my mouth just typing this….

So I had to scream for Alan to HELP!! HELP ME!!! HEEEELLLPPP! He came running down the stairs and when he saw the mess he yelled: “Well get me some paper towels – QUICK!”

Uhm, hello – I'm the one straddling a horde of vomit eating kittens and trying to drag them out - you do it....

And you should know, when I screamed for help, our 60 lb Great Pyranese decided she needed to come to the rescue too, so she had come running and she slammed into the back of my legs and nearly knocked me down – straight into the mess. Boy, wouldn’t that have made for a good story?

Needless to say, we got that little messed cleaned up and I went back to the La-z-boy for my kitten watch and Alan, of course, went to bed.

Poor Panther…he cried and slept some and cried and slept some. I finally had to just make him a bed in the la-z-boy and go to bed myself because I had to work the next day, but only after I was kind of sure he’d be okay.

When we got up the next morning – there were little piles of Panther's sick all over the living room floor and Panther was looking pretty exhausted, and HUNGOVER – if you will. Alan felt so bad about the pill that he cleaned up all the little messes (as if I actually would have attempted…).

We had to set up a little kitty hospital in our bathroom for the day with some water, his own litter box and a bed. He was sleeping drowsily when we left this morning. Poor baby. I hope he’s okay when we get home. If not - Alan is in some BIG trouble!!!

"One of those kittens is going to sleep well tonight..." Famouse LAST words.

2007-07-10T15:47:00.000-05:00

Just where did the Burch Family name come from? I was always told we were "Pennsylvania Dutch" whenever I questioned my heritage. Just like a Burch, to be too lazy to look up our heritage any further back than the American Revolution. But I digress.
According to www.HouseOfNames.Com - the Burch name derived from both the Dutch and the English.
The Dutch Burch families were first found in Holland, and were noted for their many branches in the region (way to pro-create Burches!) each house acquiring a status and influence which was envied by the princes of the region.

The Burch families on English soil date clear back to the wave of migration that followed the Norman Conquest of England of 1066 (WOW!). The Burch family lived in an area close to a birch tree which is derived from the Old English word Birce, which literally means birch. So cool - Burch means Burch. I always wondered...

Before English spelling was standardized a few hundred years ago, spelling variations of names were a common occurrence. Elements of Latin, French and others became incorporated into English through the Middle Ages, and name spellings changed even among the literate (probably not Burch's then...). The Variations of the surname Burch include Birch, Birche, Burch, Berch and others.

First found in Lancashire, where they held a family seat from ancient times, long before the Norman Conquest in 1066.

Follow the links for Burch and Shanks to houseofnames.com for lots of cool info.

If, you are going by Burch Luck - it's looking like the Dutch version is more likely where we hail from.

Apparently the Burch Motto translated to: Simply prudent. According to me, that means "cheap."

2007-07-10T15:41:00.000-05:00

The Burch surname, turns out, is a little more distinguished than I first thought. My family seems to always joke about "Burch Luck" and the cute, funny stories that sometimes accompany a Burch. For me, I've never been particularly lucky in terms of lottery or Bingo, or anything else that could net an instant fortune. As the saying goes, at least in our family, you are not likely to win the lottery unless you are on your death bed. Hence the term "Burch Luck."

So, that's why I created this Blog; to do some family research, not just on Burch, but on Shanks as well. Because who knows how far back "Burch Luck" really goes? Maybe it started with us, maybe Grandma Burch brought it over from the Shanks side. We'll soon find out!