Mixed Emotions

Halloween means many things to many people - costumes and candy, haunted houses and scary movies, carving pumpkins and decorating cookies. My mom was always really good at costumes when we were little. I remember the whole family being Care Bears one year, complete with little plastic hearts on our bums; Erin and I were once Jem and Kimber of Jem and the Holograms; and one year (when Mom was feeling particularly hippy-ish, I guess) we were Spring and Winter... as in the seasons... but they were cool costumes.

Halloween will always mean something else for my family, though. In late October 1992, my grandfather went to the doctor. Dr. Sanders happened to know my Papa well; his family attended my grandparents' church and his mom and my grandma were friends. Because of this close association, it was easy for him to see that there was something wrong with Papa. His memory was off, he would say things that didn't really make sense. Within a week Papa (whom everybody had thought was perfectly healthy) was in surgery to remove a tumor from his brain. He never woke up. On October 30th, with the knowledge that he would spend the rest of his days unconscious and on life support, it was decided that we should let him go and he died early Halloween morning. I was seven at the time and I will never forget it.

I remember sitting in the waiting room of the ICU late at night with Erin and our cousin Amanda and seeing The Arsenio Hall Show for the first and only time. I remember half dressing in costumes with all of my cousins, but never leaving Grandma's house. I remember the woman who volunteered to watch all nine of us while the adults of the family grieved and dealt with funeral plans. We thought she was horribly mean, because she wouldn't let us run around and act like the crazy kids we were even during a time of mourning. I remember a few brief moments next to Papa's bed hours before he was gone forever.

But mostly I remember what he was to me, even at such a young age. Though he was already in his sixties when I was born, had grey hair and could hardly hear, he never seemed old. He would play on the floor with us, take us to the beach and jump in the waves, throw us in the pool. We're a family of hunters and he would take each grandchild out to shoot their first deer. It was my turn the year after he died and my cousin Jeff was no replacement. The whole family spent Christmas day at their country house in Wimberly and every year Papa would disappear for a bit and then Santa Clause would come walking from the woods, through the meadow to bring us presents, fruit and nuts. The last year they had that house (I would have been five), it occurred to me that Santa Clause and Papa looked an awful lot alike. I think I said something like "heeeeeeyyy..." and immediately found myself with a dozen hands clamped across my mouth.

He was the perfect man in my eyes. He had worked his way up from a bicycle messenger at Nixon Blue Print to owning that very same company. They sold office supplies and logged oil wells and everybody knew his was the best in the business, because he could give you the information for any well off the top of his head. He was devoted to God and to his church. He loved my grandma more than anything in the world. To her dying day, I don't think she ever uttered a single complaint about him. And he would do anything for his children or his grandchildren.

I wish so badly that he had been able to see us all grow up and to meet his great-grandchildren. I miss him every day. Sixteen years later, Halloween is mostly a happy day for me, but it also means a little bit of heartache.

My Love Affair With Wikipedia

I have automatic spell check set up in Outlook for my work emails. This morning a coworker was giving me a hard time. He (jokingly) said I was being violent in my request for some forms that were due yesterday and that only about 5% of the people who needed to fill these forms out had bothered to turn in. So when I typed "hahaha" in my response to him, my spellcheck tried to correct me by offering to change that to "Hahira." My curiousity got the best of me and I googled it.

Hahira is a town in the northern part of Lowndes County, which is in the southern part of Georgia. It was once known as the "Queen Bee Capital of the World," because Queen Bees were produced (I'm guessing that means bred) and shipped from a factory there. It was home to JD, Tim and Stephen Drew who are all brothers and professional baseball players. As of the 2000 census, Hahira had 1,626 residents.

One of the best loved of those citizens was Mamie Sorrell. It seems Mamie had quite the life and presence in Hahira. She worked as a nurse and purchasing agent at the hospital for 27 years, she worked for the city for 14 years, she was a clerk at the Baptist church and she owned and ran a floral shop. On top of that, she was on the chamber of commerce, a member of the historical society, president of the Pink Ladies Auxiliary and a founder of the Hahira Honey Bee Festival.

In March of this year, the Hahira City Council passed an ordinance that bans sagging. Citizens are not allowed to wear pants that sit below the waist and reveal skin or undergarments. I actually remember hearing about it when the law was passed, but didn't know where it had happened.

I know nobody else cared to know what Hahira meant, but this kind of stuff is why I usually win at trivia games.

By the way, Blogger tried to correct the spelling of Hahira to Hadria...I won't even go there.

Better than sex...TexMex

Sorry Mom, but I didn't make it up; that is actually how the restaurant advertises itself.

Around 11:30 I got an email inviting me to a birthday lunch for my boss at Vivo. It's where we always go for special occasions at work and I just couldn't pass up such a good (free) lunch. I'd say this is a very "Austin" restaurant, although the owner is from San Antonio, as evidenced by their signature puffy tacos.


In case you don't know, puffy tacos are a San Antonio tradition - Bobby Flay even did a thrown down over them once. They are basically tacos served on corn tortillas that have been somehow inflated and then fried. When I was little we went to San Antonio Missions games all the time. Throughout the game they had crowd participation events, like the bat races. I always wished I'd be chosen for one of the kid games, specifically the puffy taco race.

You see, one lucky kid got to chase Henry Puffy Taco around the bases and try to tackle him and if you won (which the kid always did, of course) you got a gift certificate for Henry's Puffy Tacos. Oh how I coveted that opportunity. Finally one game I was picked to participate in an event! I was so excited until I got down to the field and found out that I would not be chasing Henry around. Instead two other kids and I were going to be playing tug of war against Hercules. We won, but all I got was a gift certificate to Hercules Leaves and Petals. Who really thought a kid would enjoy money to spend at a florist? I think I ended up getting flowers for my grandma.

But I digress. The point is that I got to go to Vivo for lunch today. It's a really cool place. They have all of these brightly colored paintings all over the walls and huge vases full of the most beautiful roses. And they are super vegetarian friendly. I got a tofu puffy taco and delicious cheese enchilada and we had flan, since it was a celebration. The best part is when they bring the check, every woman at the table gets a rose to take home.

In conclusion, all it really takes to make me happy is TexMex and a flower.

Plagiarism

I stole this game from The Pioneer Woman, who stole it from the movie Heartburn, which my best friend Ari and I have pledged to watch together when she moves home in about a month. The game is to describe yourself with a list of five words. Seems easy enough.

Let's see, I spend most of my time at work; I am somebody's (well, really about nine people's) assistant, but I don't really think of my job as who I am. I am somebody's daughter, absolutely the product of my parents, but that isn't how I define myself. I am somebody's girlfriend, but I've long felt that that word doesn't do justice to our relationship at this point. I am neurotic (I'd like to think in the most charming sense of the word), but people could take that wrong. So, who am I?

When I narrow it down I think I am:

Christian
Loved
Devoted
Silly
Moody

Take it for what you will.

Because it's almost Halloween...

... and I can't think of anything to write about and, despite the fact that I really wanted to be Peggy Sawyer when I was 6, I also was a kid of the 80s, I will post a picture of me as Rainbow Brite three years ago.

Pardon the quality of the picture. It was taken by a coworker and then I had the brilliant idea to "photoshop" (by which I mean use Paint to cut and paste) myself into a Rainbow Brite scene. It's the only picture I have of the costume and I don't even have the original now. Also, you may notice that this is not one of those skimpy RB costumes that the Halloween stores started carrying, like, the year after I had this idea (yeah, I'm a trend setter). This costume is all cut up t-shirts, multi-colored duct tape and love.

Also, here's a hint: don't cover your favorite boots in duct tape unless you never want to wear them normally again.

An Embarrassment To My Generation

I know that this song is meant as satire, but it's honestly how I feel many days.

(skip to the 2:25 mark to bypass the stupid questions from the women of The View)



Now I have to go lock the door and turn out the lights, so Gloria Steinem can't get me.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

The first movie I can remember really loving as a kid and wanting to watch over and over was 42nd Street. When most little girls my age wanted to be Rainbow Brite, I wanted to be Peggy Sawyer. I thought she was just the most beautiful woman there ever was and the musical numbers in the movie dazzled me. That was the beginning of my life-long love of musicals and musical theater.

Grease was always a favorite, though watching it now I am shocked by some of the adult content that slipped past me as a kid. I remember the first time my mom and I watched A Chorus Line and then she took me to see the stage production in high school. From The Sound of Music and My Fair Lady, to Moulin Rouge and Chicago, with Funny Face and Singing in the Rain thrown in the middle, I am always up for watching a movie that incorporates song and dance into the story. In fact, I've long maintained that the world would be a happier place if people really did randomly break into choreographed musical numbers.

Last night I decided to pop in my old video - yup I still own and use a VCR - of what is probably my best loved musical of all time (and one of favorite movies ever)- Funny Girl. If you have not seen this movie, you need to! Barbara Streisand is flawless, the songs are timeless and the clothes are gorgeous. I've been singing Don't Rain on My Parade in my head all day. Here's a great scene for those of you who are unfamiliar. Quite the silly seduction, but the inner monologue is great and I would kill for that dress.