Then Maybe You Shouldn't Wear a Stork Dress

I love US magazine.  Totally shallow borderline shady stalker magazine.  Not sure about my fascination with it.  Stars as “real people” doing “real things” – they are just like US!   It is a quick read – I really should put quotes around the word read – and I guess it feeds my vice of gossip and voyeurism all at once.  I am not proud that I find enjoyment in the stalking of others and I remember when Princess Diana died I had a guilt that hung over me for a while.  But I kept buying the magazines and now I even have a subscription.  I’d like to think I am not a shallow person but apparently there is a secret part of me that is.

I have had another dilemma arise from my habit.  There is a section in this trashy magazine called the Fashion Police where about eight different comedians/bloggers comment on some unusual outfits worn by the rich and famous.  And when I say comment I do not mean they are supportive and complimentary – they are snarky and ugly and yes I usually giggle at more than a few of their comments and wonder why in the heck someone rich and famous would choose to dress like that.  I look forward to that section with every magazine.

Then I read this:

Sarah Millican at the BAFTAS

ACKKK!!!  Good lord – the guilt – I am one of THOSE people.   I do understand what Sarah Millican was wearing  does not have the shock/horror value as Bjork’s Stork outfit and to defend myself I see nothing wrong with her gown and I don’t always have an issue with the dresses in the Fashion Police section that the commentators seem to have.  But dear lord in heaven – another thing to add to my list of guilts.

Kim Kardashian – a name that is nails to a chalk board in my soul, a name that makes bile creep up my throat, and a name that starts a storm of outrage and hatred in my head.  However, I have never met Kim.  So my irritation that actually borders on hatred with this self-obsessed, dimwitted, blindingly wealthy for no good reason, waste of space individual is beyond irrational.  I mean come on if I found out Kim was saying these things about me cuz she looked at my FB page and saw some pictures of me I would come unglued.  She doesn’t know me or my heart or my family.  And words to hurt – don’t believe the hype.  It seems my behavior has crossed the Judgy McJudgersen line way deep into extreme hypocritical territory.

I suppose if I really wanted to psycho analyze my issues here we should start with my loathing of Kim Kardasian (where the heehaw does it come from?!?) but the idea of that is too exhausting.  And I am not willing to explore the “they chose to be famous so they can deal with the consequences” approach because I do not embrace that in its entirety.  So I can choose to give up my vice and cancel my subscription and take the high road, setting a good example for my kids, or I can continue to enjoy seeing stars trying to lead a normal life while being photographed and maniacally laugh at hideous fashion choices by people critics deem should know better all the while thankful no one captures my bad hair days for the world to see. 

Is She Like the Muffin Man?

“Do you know the lunch lady?”

This is a text I received today from Rebecca, the mother of one of Rylee’s school friends.  I have no idea where this is going or what makes her ask so I am intrigued.  I tell her no I do not – why?  And she tells me that the lunch lady has just given Rylee a birthday present.  WTH???  Huh??

Rylee’s birthday is in the summer – July 31^st to be specific – so her teacher assigned her and all the other summer birthdays a day in the last month of school where the student can bring in treats to celebrate his or her birthday.  Today is Rylee’s birthday celebration – she brought pink donuts with sprinkles.  Rebecca goes on to tell me that Rylee is wearing a birthday hat – oh my gosh – my daughter is totally milking this unofficial birthday thing and getting presents from the lunch lady! 

Well two nights ago Rylee did pray to God that she will have a good birthday today.  Apparently He answered in the form of a gift from the lunch lady. 

I am wondering what on earth this present could be and does the lunch lady keep pre-wrapped gifts in the back for all of the birthday children and I really hope Ry knows the lunch lady’s real name because I can not bring myself to have her write a thank you note to Dear Lunch Lady.

UPDATE:
Just sent to me by the AlphaBest (after school care) Teacher:
"I decorated her spot for her for snack time!"

The Deer Hunter's Son

(editor's note: I've been mulling over this post since November.  Time to therapeutically write it down. -CMM)

Zachary was so excited about going hunting.  Where did this excitement come from?  From video games?  From a friend? Maybe he has the hunter's gene.
The hunting gene in me is recessive.  My father did a great job of raising me as a hunter.  Our family has a long tradition of hunting told many times in many stories.  I spent many weekends trekking out to a lease  or friend's ranch to hunt whatever was in season.  I knew early on that it didn't interest me; but I went anyway in order to bond with (and further understand) my dad (more on that general subject later [we meet in the middle]).   Hunting in Texas largely revolves around waking up for the morning hunt long before dawn; killing time all day; and then hunting late afternoon to past sunset.  While I appreciate hunting and it's inherent connection to the natural world, I have never been drawn to the kill.  I am perfectly content to observe and occasionally take a shot with a camera.  Some of my most vivid memories are sitting in a tree stand watching the world around me wake up.  I just don't feel the need to take a life from that world. While I feel that my dad is disappointed, I think he tries to understand (that meet in the middle thing again).  It is a part of me, made me what I am- I just don't actively use the skills.
Due to the cost of a hunting lease, I had not been deer hunting since I turned 18 and got kicked off dad's lease.  I had resigned hunting to memories in my past.  But Zachary and an opportunity would bring it back to the present. Zachary was six and was expressing an interest in hunting.  I think it stemmed from his new found interest in guns brought on by cartoons and " fighting bad guys." If hunting allowed him to shoot something, then he was all for it.   Of course his Papa was very excited at this prospect.

Zachary and Papa just after target practice.  Note the ecstatic grin.

 
Last thanksgiving (2011), the Bakers invited us to their ranch for a hunt to cull some older doe and genetically inferior bucks.  This would be Zachary's opportunity to "ride along" and learn.  I have to admit that I panicked a bit.  After twenty years, would I be able to pass on anything useful and respectable to him?  Maybe I should stay back and let papa take him.  I decided that it was my job as father to be the one to take him.  So we loaded up early Saturday morning and made the 1 1/2 hour drive to arrive at the ranch before sunrise.
Zachary was too excited to sleep.  So- all the way there, dad, Todd, and I advised him all we could to prepare him.  Be quiet.  Be still.  Follow my lead.  You are just watching this time.  If I pinch your arm, freeze.  Move slow.  You might get cold.  Etc.  Zachary took it all in and got really pumped. We got to the "sendera" blind just in time.

got into the blind juuust barely in time

Dad and Todd pulled away after we settled in.   Zachary did incredibly well in the blind.  He would make Papa really proud.  And the ranch did not disappoint*.  Near immediately, doe and trophy whitetail came in all over the place.  I should mention that the Baker ranch is a managed lease- it has a high fence so that it's population can be monitored and improved through selective harvesting.   The end result is that the average deer on the ranch would make most hunters heads spin.  We would be selectively harvesting today.   
While I had explained ahead of time what was allowed to be killed and what was not, Zachary could not wait for me to shoot something.   The older crafty does quickly left, leaving only young does and trophy deer.  Thus- my opportunity came and went pretty quickly.  Not good for the boys' mood.
We heard some shots in the distance; followed by a text from my dad checking up on us.  Really? A TEXT.  From my DAD.  In the DEER BLIND!  A lot has changed in twenty years.  I guess I should have been blogging on the fly from there.

well- if dad can call; I can take a phonecam pic

With the opportunity for a kill gone, Zachary settled down and got cold.  So- we came down from the blind and walked around a bit until Papa came to pick us up. Z was completely down for the rest of the morning.  The fact that Dad had bagged 1 deer and Todd had bagged 2 didn't help matters.  Zachary started to come around with an "Ewww gross!" as we cleaned the deer.  I think he would have poked the guts with a stick had the smell not driven him away.  He just sat in the back seat of the truck watching through a closed window.
The rest of the family came to visit for the daytime hours.    We had a good time exploring the ranch even though the wind had turned blistering cold.  When the afternoon approached, we debated whether to go ahead and go home or to stay for the evening hunt.  Because Zachary was so disappointed about not getting anything, I decided we should stay.  We're already here, right?  
Dad dropped us off at the sendera blind again, figuring it was still the best location for teaching a fidgety 1st grader how things are done.  Just as before,the deer came in relatively quickly.  An eleven point buck kept hanging around like he owned the place; looking after his harem of yearling does.  They all startled a bit; and then went back to eating.  Come to find out, an old crafty doe was circling the clearing to scope things out.  She finally came in.  Right in front of the 11 point.  It's almost like she knew that would  protect her.**  In order to not disappoint z again, I got ready.  Gun in position. Settling in to scope her.  Taking off safety.  Warning Z.  Z promptly goes fetal in the bottom of the blind to guard against the sound.  Just me and the doe now.  Old 270- don't fail me now.  I squeeze the trigger***.
Either the scope was off (not sighted in for 20 years), or my aim was off ( untested for 20 years), or the doe moved ( that has to be it) because I hit her high.  I was aiming for the heart ( easier) but ended up clipping her backbone ( harder but cleaner kill).  This paralyzed her from the shoulders down.  Zachary was so excited, he wanted to jump down immediately.  I told him to wait to see if she got up again; but it was obvious she could not stand.  Zachary won out; we started out toward the doe.  I had another shell in the chamber just in case she jumped up.    She was still as we approached.  When we got close, we discovered she was fully alert but resting.  She started to scramble to try to get away.  We were way too close to use the rifle again; it would obliterate her.  I didn't want to back off again ( sun was setting) but also did not want her to suffer a long drawn out death.  I decided the most humane solution was to speed up her death.  I took out my pocket knife ( a leatherman of all things!****) and approached.  The doe let out the most pitiful cry I have ever heard.  

She was pleading for her life.  

That stopped me in my tracks.  What was I doing? What was I about to do in front of my son?  Z was still there- a look of excited wonder in his face.  He still excited that the gun had been fired.   I continued on- I slowly put my boot on her head to hold it down on the ground.  I reached down and slit her throat.  Bleeding out was the most humane way to go.  The doe's life slowly faded as her blood ran down the hill. I kneeled down and wrapped my arms around Z as we watched the doe pass.  I had huge flashbacks to the hunter scenes in the movie Avatar- and told the Doe that her life was not wasted.  It taught a lesson.  Between Zachary and I, I am not sure who received the bigger dose.
Dad had not even gotten to his blind after dropping off Todd.  He circled back and picked us up for cleaning the doe. It was almost too efficient of a kill- only 45 minutes had elapsed from drop off at the blind to finishing the gutting of the deer.  All of it based on the "peer pressure" I felt from Zachary to perform my fatherly duties as a hunter teaching his son about hunting.  I don't hold it against him; who am I to squelch his new found passion? With any luck, my notions won't hinder him.  He is free to choose his own path- be it on the sidewalk or in the pasture.

I pulled Zachary aside later to talk with him about what happened; to see if he had questions or trauma.  The does cry was still in my head.  He was still so excited that he went hunting.  Excited that we used the gun.  Excited that I killed something.  I asked if the throat slitting bothered him; He seemed indifferent to it, describing it like it happened in a video game and not in real life.  Zachary started to plan his next visit to the ranch and asked " can I shoot next time?"  He has the dominant hunting gene; so I reckon he will soon. -CMM

Notes:
*. as we were watching the sendera, various deer came and went.  Then out of nowhere, a blackbuck bounded across.  Just like a bonus points animal in one of the arcade hunting games.  
**. Since the lease was managed, the right to shoot the 11 point could most likely be sold to a big-city hunter.  I could not take the risk of injuring (thus buying) that deer.  
***. squeezing the trigger: something dad always told me to do in order to not jerk the gun and miss the shot.  " when it goes off, it should almost be a surprise to you.". I never fully got it until this hunt.  Now it's my turn to teach Z how to ignore the impulse of youth and to just 'squeeze' it.
****. Leatherman: a multi-tooled pocket knife; an industrial version of a swiss army knife.  my dad is fanatical about leathermans.  I have a whole set built out of his castoffs.

The New Now

I was reading a humorous article about the shenanigans of someone's grandparents in which the author stated, "poll your remaining grandparents to see if they have ever..."
I stopped reading and felt all hollow. It hit me- I don't have any remaining grandparents left.
I can hear Mom say, "tough shit- I don't have any parents left." True.
But Nanny is gone. Nanny has always been there. I'm nearly 40- she was always there. It's kinda like I just lost her all over again. The crying and mourning is long over; I'm not looking for consolation. I'm just trying to cope with the new now- the one with one more empty chair. -CMM

Waiting for death 12/31/2011

It's an odd gathering of sorts. Family, friends; all wanting to say the last goodbye. Not yesterday; only today's will do. We are all waiting on pins and needles. When will it happen? If I step out, will I miss it? Do I need to be here for it? Do I want to be here for it?
Periods of great sadness, then fond memories, then laughter, then sadness of the lost opportunity for new memories.
Everyone reacts differently. Mom is strong and then weepy. Jerry finds it hard to continually fill the voids. Troy looks bewildered and tired. Dad has nothing to solve. Corrie is strong and nostalgic. And I'm wishy washy to the point of total disarray. No logical thought will get us out of this one.
After rushing to the hospice this morning because of imminent death, we find ourselves all milling about. we couldn't stand to be away from her bedside before; all holding her hand. Now that the nurse's estimate has lapsed, people are confused. We all strangley have a sense of guilt for not having the patience to wait for the end. No one wants the end, however no one likes limbo either. For a group of type A problem solvers, this is hellacious. Theres nothing to solve. Nothing to fix. Nothing to cure.

Just the wait.

I will always remember her smile when I walked in a couple of days ago. The recognition that spread across her face. It is now alright. The love I have for you is still intact.
But not today. Today, it is locked away in a coma. I know it still exists; but it hurts not to see it anymore.

The hardest prayer to make is the one to ask for final resting peace. Sometimes I now wonder who it is more for- the release of the dying; or relief of the family. Too bad it doesn't relieve the guilt of wanting to leave...

-CMM
[written while sitting in Nanny's hospice room all new year's eve. I finally gave out; and left for the evening so that I could spend time with the kids. Mom and Corrie remained to stay the night. In true style, Nanny left this world just as all the firecrackers were finishing their splendor on new year's morning. Mom and Cor had just finished singing Auld lang's syne at her bedside.]

It didn't smell!

QPM #4,692: Pulling yesterday's dry pull-up out of the trash and letting little girl re-wear it because I forgot to go to the grocery store to buy a new pack.

Why on earth is my portrait not hanging in the Parental Hall of Fame?

A Love Song, Definitely

I've beaten the musical horse with my ramblings of how music plays into my life -- sending me back lost into memories or stirring my desire for a spring time road trip in a car with the top down. This morning as I am a mere 48 hrs from leaving for the project I work all year for I show up to work before the crick crack of dawn to wrap up all of my teeny tiny details and find that the network drives are not accessible. F*** me!!! to quote Stu. Really...

I am worn thin by long hours, lack of sleep, way too much caffenine, no time, and stress oozing out my pores. My radio station is irriating me to the point of being irrational - my iTunes is not satisfying me yet some how a song finds me...

The first time I hear this song I am saddened...it feels sad. But is that my mood determining the music?

I looked up the lyrics. Its a beautiful love song. Seems to be the only thing I am interested in hearing today.

So I get to choose -- sad music or love song? For me a metaphor for my state of mind.

For Chad --- it is Matthew's Song....

Eric's Song by Vienna Teng on YouTube

Lyrics:

Strange how you know inside me
I measure the time and I stand amazed
Strange how I know inside you
My hand is outstretched toward the damp of the haze

And of course I forgive
I've seen how you live
Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes
You pick up the pieces
And the ghosts in the attic
They never quite leave
And of course I forgive
You've seen how I live
I've got darkness and fears to appease
My voices and analogies
Ambitions like ribbons
Worn bright on my sleeve

Strange how we know each other

Strange how I fit into you
There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease
Strange how you fit into me
A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs

And with each passing day
The stories we say
Draw us tighter into our addiction
Confirm our conviction
That some kind of miracle
Passed on our heads
And how I am sure
Like never before
Of my reasons for defying reason
Embracing the seasons
We dance through the colors
Both followed and led

Strange how we fit each other

Strange how certain the journey
Time unfolds the petals
For our eyes to see
Strange how this journey's hurting
In ways we accept as part of fate's decree

So we just hold on fast
Acknowledge the past
As lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted
To carve us as instruments
That play the music of life
For we don't realize
Our faith in the prize
Unless it's been somehow elusive
How swiftly we choose it
The sacred simplicity
Of you at my side