Sunday, June 15, 2014

Alcohol, Sports and...Indigestion?

Dear Diary,

In preparation for Father's Day, I was at the store looking for a card to give my husband and my dad.

I tend to go with humor when looking for a card for my dad.

I think the sentimental cards are too schmaltzy for him.  He appreciates sentiment, just not
scrolly-scripty-cursivey stuff.

The opposite is true for my Mom. When shopping for Mother's Day cards, I look for the sentimental not the humorous. I think she'd be disappointed if I didn't get a little flowery in expressing my love for her.

Back to Dad.
Perusing the Father's Day "humor" section I found cards mostly about:
1. Beer
2. Golfing and swearing, and swearing while golfing
3. Flatulance

Yeah no.

Not appropriate for my dad, and I would hope -- unless your dad is still in college or adolescence -- not for most.

So I went home and created my own card that was about, well, how I couldn't find an appropriate card for him...with just a touch of humor and personal sentiment.

So on this special day, I lift my frosty mug to all the dads who aren't of the cookie cutter variety. 
It's your day; go ahead and watch your golf/baseball/fishing channel between elevated feet.

Just don't ask me to pull your finger.

I love you Dad!

Wednesday, June 11, 2014


Dear Diary,

This is probably my fifth year feeding humming birds.  That first year it took most of the summer for my feeder to be discovered.  It tried my patience, but it did pay off.

The following summers continued the trend; I wanted to give up after weeks of no sightings. 
Forget it, they are not coming.

Sugar water will ferment and mold after several days in the hot sun.  So regardless of whether it was being consumed, I would continue to refresh the nectar (made myself).  As I poured the liquid into a freshly cleaned feeder, I had to push down the negative thoughts.

Why go to this trouble?

How will that tiny bird find this tiny feeder on their big migration northward?

Maybe I didn't get the sugar-to-water ratio right. Maybe they will taste it, stick out their tongues in disgust, and somehow spread the word on Yelp that I rate only as good as a Waffle House found anywhere below the Mason-Dixon line.

Yes, those are my thoughts!  For the most part.

The graphic template for this diary is themed around the hummer and has been from the start. 
I think it is because they are so little.
And cute.

Anything in miniature automatically implies cuteness. Even ogres. Have you seen Shrek's babies?

Hummers delight me to no end.
When I spot one through my kitchen window, hovering over the plastic-flower-oasis-of-nectar, my child-like glee can hardly be contained.

"Hummer!" I announce to whomever is in earshot.

I use my "loud" whisper voice, and speak it so quickly that I turn a two-syllable word into one: "Humr!"

Every time: "Humr!"

I'm sure it drives my family crazy.

I don't get tired of it.

I think it's because it provides the satisfaction typical of any symbiotic relationship: they eat food and I get the pleasure of watching them eat the food.

It's also affirmation that persistence pays off.

And that I actually do rate better than a Waffle House.


Saturday, June 7, 2014

Porch Time

Dear Diary,

I've been inspired by the green thumbs and artistic skills of friends who have a knack for creating beautiful spaces. In other words, I have seen some back yards that just beg me to sit and rest awhile, maybe even with a special beverage. (I'm talkin' coffee, people!)

I have seen humbler retreats more reminiscent of my own; an aging, worn deck or not-so-perfect patio with a lawn chair and a pot of flowers -- or not.

See the hummer feeder? Hummers delight me!
Last week my mother wrote me an email from her back porch, a lovely screened in lanai with plenty of lively vegetation (and occasional lizard) within and without.  She was watching the nearby deer as she typed. In closing she declared, "Hope you are getting some porch time too."

Porch time.  I am going to adopt that term.

Though we have a deck, not porch, I love to eat there,
      read there,
      nap there,
      bird watch there,
      and talk with my husband over margaritas there.

My mother knows full well that porch time means down time, and maybe even talk-on-the-phone-long-distance time.

Porch time is ME time.

And it's time to get me some!

Hope you find plenty of porch time this summer!

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Dressing Room Moments II

Dear Diary,
After several weeks and two failed attempts, I am happy to be publishing a post!

There was a moment in a dressing room recently that I just can't keep to myself.
[Link here for my first dressing room moment post written almost one year ago.]

I want to share it because it was such a cliche moment for us parents grappling with our teens' choices....a charming speech given by a quietly desperate mother trying to steer her daughter's choice into another direction. A moment parents are guaranteed to find themselves in sooner or later.

While my oldest daughter was trying on summer clothes, three mothers, moi included, were stuck in the cramped space outside our daughters' dressing room doors. Much like being in an elevator, those close quarters really only allow for staring at the floor or the door behind which your daughter stands. Occasionally the awkwardness would be broken when a mother decided it was time to talk directly through the door, straining to hear the grumbled/mumbled replies, as if making negotiations at a drive through window.

"Do you need another size?"
"Can I see it on you? I am buying it so I need to see it on you."
            "Are you almost done?"
       "Here, I got you a different color."

And so it went.
Doors opening and shutting,
girls and mothers conferring,
hangars of clothes passing from one hand to another.

A dressing room door nearby opened and The Mom stepped forward to look within. Then I heard a one-way conversation by this mother that went like this:

"Are you sure you want to wear that? I mean in public-- you would wear that in public? You will be wearing that in front of your grandfather; you wouldn't be embarrassed wearing that in front of him?"

I could only imagine what she was viewing on her daughter....a swimsuit? Short shorts? A tank top?

I chuckled, but only because it wasn't me trying to cajole my daughter into wearing something more modest or appropriate.

I was not unsympathetic. I was ready to acknowledge this mother's troubles with my oh-what-we-mothers-put-up-with solidarity face.

My daughters have modesty built into them like a V6 in a Mustang GT.  So I haven't had to make those kinds of arguments with them.
I think it helps that their mother models it.
(Modesty, not the Mustang. But I wish I was modeling the Mustang....I digress.)

Our growing children have minds of their own and a desire for making independent choices. Some of their choices are questionable and require the universal parental admonishment, "If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you jump too?" 

Or my new favorite, "Would your grandfather approve?"

Yes, I chuckled at that scene.

And I am oh-so-grateful I haven't had to pull out the "grandfather approval" card.

Happy shopping!