For the Birds

Dear Diary,
Take a look at this winter scene outside my window.

Do you see anything wrong with this picture?  Like the fact that there are no birds at the feeder? And the fact that the feeder is (still) full?

I was too late.
I didn't remember to put the feeder out this fall. 
Being the compassionate tightwad that I am, I only feed the birds in winter when food is more scarce.

Usually I put the feeder out before December and bravely wade through the frigid air and cold white fluff to refill it every few days.  I love to watch the Nuthatches, Chickadees, Cardinals, and other birds daily.

But I was too late.
I put it out in January.
I don't have to spell out the kind of winter we are having. Apparently the birds don't want to go check out the new neighborhood rest stop in the dead of tough winters.  I don't blame them.

But I miss them.

The feeder has been out for more than a month now.  It's frustrating that all that good seed is sitting unnoticed and blowing in the wind. I have seen birds briefly hang out in the tree, little feathery puff-balls roosting on a branch. And one or two have investigated the feeder. But they did not return or go tell their birdie friends about it. 

Who knew word of mouth had such power, even among the birds?
(Perhaps the inventor of the Tweet actually knew what he/she was doing?)

So, the feeder forlornly hangs, a bleak reminder of my ineptness, my forgetfulness. 
But it's also an anticipated source of joy for me and a patient beacon for my little beaked friends to find when they are ready to look.

Keep warm and well fed!
LJ

Colorful Hearts

Dear Diary,
I sat next to her, a sugary sweet kindergartner.  We were coloring. 
She showed me her picture: two brightly dressed scribble people. I could tell they were girls from the long hair--one blonde, one brown. 
Colorful hearts surrounded them; green, purple, red. 

"Guess who this is," she smiled at me.
"Hmmm, who?" I asked, not wanting to assume.
"That's me and you!" she replied.
"Oh, I love the colorful hearts you made!"
"Yes!" she said, then added, "My daddy got 'trans'-ported to Mexico."

That was an eyebrow raiser. 
And a colorful heart breaker.
Just what does one say to that?

"Ooh, I am so sorry to hear that," I sympathetically replied.
"I am never, ever going to see him again," she continued, frowning.
Oh Lord, what do I say to this girl? I prayed.
"I bet you can write to him or talk to him on the phone," I replied feebly.
"Yes, I could!" she replied with a glimmer in her eyes.  "I could give my letter to mommy to mail."

Heavy stuff for a sweet little girl to bear.
The weight she carries will leave an impression on me for a long time.



courtesy layoutsparks.com

But her green, purple, and red hearts will always be part of her story, too.

<3  <3  <3LJ

What's So Striking About That?

Dear Diary,

I am having writer's block.  I haven't written in 9 days, and with the kids back to school and me unemployed, I'd think I'd be in writer's heaven. 

Not the case.

I tend to write about what strikes me.  I have an "aha" moment, scramble to write it down on a scratch pad before it escapes me, and then remain restless until I find the time to sit and write an entry about it.
I just haven't been struck lately.

I do have some "aha" moments and quirks that have been noteworthy, but they don't seem quite big enough to make the cut for an entire diary entry.  Here are some of them:

The sweater dress. 
Man, was I surrounded by those at my last school.  Young, svelte teachers looking smashing in their sweater dress and scarf, complete with boots and leggings.
I want one. 
I think I'm afraid of what will happen in the dressing room when I try one on. 
Perhaps I am better off in my capris and flats.

British Bands. 
How do they sing with no accent?

My eyebrows. 
Why are they disappearing from above my eyes and showing up under my chin?

The answering machine. 
A dreaded thing, really. 
It's not the listening for messages; it's the leaving messages. 
I really need to be on my best game when I leave a message. My ramblings can't be taken back. 

"So, I was hoping to catch you at home, and uh, yeah.....well, I'm around if you want to call me back-- but not between 1:00-3:30 or 6:00-8:30....So, you can call me back if you want -- or I can call you back when I can -- whatever....it's cool if you don't want to talk to me....I can send you a letter or just see you whenever....OK, have a good day!  Bye!  -- Oh, it's LJ by the way -- bye again!" 

I'm lucky not get cut off with a BEEEEEP in the middle of that award-winning speech.
Most cell phones have the delete option, thank goodness. 
But those house machines:  merciless.

Birds that fly into windows. 
Well, it is on my idea list, but I no longer remember why that struck me.

My attempt at running. 
It is so cool and hip to be a runner these days. 
At least all my running friends are cool and hip.
I want to be cool and hip. 
After a summer of trying, I guess I won't be cool and hip. 
It's too hard.

My preoccupation with license plates. 
Take me on a trip out of state and I get a nerdy preoccupation with all those plates on the interstate.  "Oh look, a plate from New Mexico!"  Such a rare sighting!  "Hey, that one says ILV CHOC !"
Trouble is when I get back home I am still reading plates for days afterward.  It's annoying to read only plates like X32 699 and BCK OFF while driving to the grocery store.  Where are all the people from Virginia and Kansas?  Not going to the grocery store here, that's for sure.

So I hope something strikes me soon. 
I'd like to do some writing while I have the time.

LJ

Life in the Twilight Zone

Dear Diary,

The last two times I turned on the TV, something oddly coincidental happened.  Odd, because they were unexpected and unusual events, and coincidental, because they happened while I was watching a show that directly reflected, or foreshadowed, the incident.  Let me explain.

The first coincidence happened yesterday while hangin' with my two teens and a friend who brought over her collection of Alfred Hitchcock.  We adults decided it was time to introduce the girls to this classic, suspenseful director.  Rather than start with his widely known film, "Psycho," we decided to ease into the genre with "The Birds." 

About half way through the feature, there was a knock at my front door.  It was a late matinee so it was still daylight.  I opened the door to my neighbor, who asked, "Are you missing a white parakeet?" 

"Can I borrow your wheelbarrow?" is really the question I would have expected. 
Or "Can I have my power sprayer back?" 

But never, "Are you missing a white parakeet?"

So we paused the movie, with its murderous, pecking flocks of seagulls and crows, in order for me to investigate my neighbor's parakeet find, sitting atop his roof.  It was pretty-- white with blue breast -- but it wasn't going to be caught.  It flew to a nearby tree, looking down on us with suspicion and curiosity (Yes, truly! I have been a parakeet owner for eight years, I know their looks!) 

I shared with our neighbor the irony of watching "Birds" at that moment. 
It was kinda creepy, actually.

Fast forward to this morning.  I had the luxury of few hours to myself. This was ME time!  But I chose to do something real exciting like cleaning and picking up the weekend debris.  So I treated myself to a little TV time while I worked; you know, to instill some entertaining drivel into my dreary chores.

I turned on "Let's Make a Deal," the show where Wayne Brady tells a lucky contestant he can have what is in The Box....or behind Curtain Number 1! 

While washing the dishes and watching the negotiations for the cash-in-hand or the envelope marked "Volcano," I got a phone call. 

It was from my current employer.
Telling me my past position was no longer available.
Telling me I could take this other job she proceeded to describe.

Or I could turn it down.
And take all the risks associated with turning down the only job offer I have.

The cash in hand.
Or the curtain.
That is my choice.

That is irony.

So while I believe that TV reflects life, I have to look at these back-to-back, coincidental "life-reflecting-TV" moments as anomalies.  And I will be praying that it will become clear which curtain to choose.

But at the risk of sounding superstitious, I will be really careful of the TV program I choose to watch next. 

Any suggestions?

LJ

IMG!

Dear Diary,

I know it's been awhile since I've written, but that "IMG" is not a typo. 

Sure, we are all familiar with the texting shortcut OMG, which I only use as a form of "OMGosh" due to its breaking the third commandment, and by the time I write that all out it's really not making anything short for me anyway.... 

OK, back to topic:
IMG is my new slang acronym meaning Inward Mental Groan.

IMG describes those times you internally exclaim your displeasure at a situation without letting anyone around you in on your secret.  Perhaps you even have a smile on your face during an IMG (otherwise known as IMGWS - inward mental groan with a smile).  Here are some examples of times an IMG may pop up.

• Driving my car in slow traffic-- lets say, approaching a stoplight during rush hour.  Then ending up stopped in the path of an exit, perhaps a gas station, with three cars waiting to get out into the lane I am occupying.  IMG!  (Well, if it's me you are trying to get in front of, people, maybe I'll smilingly let one car out! IMGWS!)
• Discovering I am missing an ingredient in a recipe after I started making it.  IMG! No, wait, I actually whine and complain noisily on that one!
• Watching a friend's toddler walk through (literally) my screen door that was just re-screened....not that that really happened. At least not recently.  IMGWS!
• Waiting until payday to buy those cute shoes only to find out they are now at regular price and no longer at last week's bargain price. (Or leaving all my shopping coupons at home on the counter.) IMG!
• Reading a great book only to find a cliffhanger at the end. IMG!  And then having to go on a waiting list to get the next in the series.  Double IMG!
• Repeating a song ending fourteen times during church.  IMGWS!  (For the record, that would never happen at my church!)
• Suck ups.  IMG!

I think that conveys the idea.  I know there are more.  Anyone want to share their IMG moments?

Happy to be writing again!
LJ

Excuse Me, Do I Know You...?

Dear Diary,

It can be disappointing to have such a common face.

In the grocery checkout line I hear, "Excuse me, but you look familiar to me. Is your name Angel?"

or at the library, "Do I know you from somewhere?"

or even at church, "Hey, how is the realty business these days?" 
("Uh, nope. That's not me, that's so-and-so.")

I feel like I get this more than the average person.  I look like this person's sister or a PTL member from some other kid's grade school.  I even had a look-alike back in college.  And though I would never have thought I could be confused with someone named Angel, it's cool that someone else actually did!

At least the strangers who approach with the "haven't we met before?" query are mostly women, much to my husband's relief.

At this stage of life, I am fine with my face.  (In other words, I have finally come to accept it!) And I guess I should take comfort knowing that I'm not alone -- that there are others out there endowed with a similar visage.

So why am I feeling disappointed by the constant countenance confusion?
Perhaps because it creates a mini identity crisis every time it happens.  It gives me the impression that I am not as unique as I was brought up to believe.  I mean, didn't God break the mold after he created me?  That's a rhetorical question.

Or perhaps it's because I never run into anyone from my past who actually is from my past! 

I never run into the "Hey, weren't our girls in ballet class together ten years ago?" person. 
Or the "didn't we live on the same block in grade school?" childhood playmate. 

Oh well.
Contrary to what my older brother has always told me,

I always knew it wasn't easy being me. 

Uniquely yours,
LJ

Audacious for Advice

Dear Diary,

Ever meet an expert or professional of some useful service and want to pick their brain or get free advice?  I do all the time. 

Oh, you are a hairdresser? 
What do you think of my hair? Do you think this cut fits my face?  Should I take out the gray?  How do I hide my cowlicks?  Do you know a good cosmetologist?  I need to learn how to accentuate my eyes. Better yet, do you know a good, but cheap, cosmetic surgeon?

You are a family practice physician? 
Boy, do I get pains in my (fill in the blank).   In fact, right now I am kind of achy in the (fill in the blank).  Is this something I should get checked out, or just take Advil, or what?  And there is this thingy on my foot. Do you think it's serious? Will I need x-rays/surgery/medicine/therapy?

You work for a talent agency?
You know I used to be on the stage. Loved it.  Was told all the time I'm a natural.  Always wanted to do ads and TV and stuff.  Have you seen my kids?  They are pretty photogenic. My oldest did a rad Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz in 6th grade.  Yup, they are pre-tty talented.  And, well, you know where they get it from...

A techno geek?
Wow, you know my computer runs real slow, and sometimes my keyboard won't type the letter 'a'.  Oh, and to properly boot it I have to simultaneously press Shift-F12 while standing on one foot and humming the UW fight song.  Can you check it out for me?

You are a photographer?
Wow, we are looking to get the family portrait done again since the last one we did was before our youngest was born.  Now she's 10.  You think you can pull off the miracle of getting all five of us to simultaneously take a good picture (complete with ten non-blinking eyes)?  Oh, and could you give me some highlights and a chin-tuck while you are at it?

Just to clarify, these are not things I would actually say to a specially trained person outside of their office.  I may think them, but I am otherwise too shy and conscientious to bother them with my little problems.  "Make an appointment," my right-shouldered angel of conscience would say. Audacity is not me.

I am guessing there are some who don't mind answering those questions, even on their day off.  Likewise, I'd guess there are many who grit their teeth in annoyance when they are asked for their professional opinion for the umpteenth time at a dinner party.

Thankfully I don't have a vocation like that so I am not peppered with requests for advice or opinions. 

"Oh, LJ, you are a wife and mother of three girls?  What is the best way to wash a pink, sparkly tutu?" 

Until next time,
LJ

A New Day

Dear Diary,
Ahhh, the new year. A clean slate in the form of a crisp, new, freshly marked calendar hanging from my fridge.

I find it amazing the psychology that goes into the dawn of one day -- which is no different than any other day except the date assigned to it: January 1.  It is a day loaded with meaning and good intentions for the year ahead.

Wouldn't it be nice if we could assign that newness of January 1st to every day of the year?
The high hopes and expectations.
The vows to change our lives for the better.

Somehow it just doesn't work that way, especially come mid-January when we have already
failed our diets,
shirked our commitments,
and given excuses.

Well, I am glad I have this time to feel optimistic and hopeful, and even just a little bit in control of my destiny (ha!)

May 2013 be full of  "Happy New Days"!

LJ