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Posts Tagged ‘daughter’

The youngest boy here, JCountryGuitarMan, discovered today that it does not take any liquor at all for my daughter, Tes, who calls him bronephew (he is her brother and her nephew, because he is my grandson and my son for the last seven years, anyway.) But, it does not take any liquor, at all, for the two of us to laugh hysterically for hours.

Had the most wonderful day. It started with a phone call from her, “Gee, mom, I’m camping in your neighborhood.  Now, first, this seems like a strange thing to me.  The woman teaches science and math at four institutions.  She’s no dummy, but she made reservations for Monroe Reservoire three months ago and just realized that she is like less than twenty miles from my house?

Whatever the case, I’m glad she realized it, called and invited us to join them.  I have my millions of projects that have to be done so passed at first, but she continued to text me and when I found out she had walked down to the water from her campspot, I was in like sin.  I love water.  Water energizes me.  I was not passing up floating for the day.

So, off we went, husband, JCountry, and me.  We played with their dog ‘Mia,’ who has, as her vet put it “Jazz hands” (or paws.)  I mean, this is one really energetic puppy.  She treats children as if they are popsickles/suckers.  She’s one handfull of dog.

The water was wonderful but I think someone was trying to send me a message, as Turkey buzzards kept circling overhead.

Has to be one of my best days ever, and I’m sorry I forgot to post this timely, but still had to share it.

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It is always nice to have a new subscriber, but it is especially cool to find one from a far away land. I believe it helps to remind us just how similar we are. There are jobs we hate to do and then find out how worthwhile they were. There are times we do not realize how much we miss our relatives until we see them again.

If i cannot travel, at least I can read about other places and people. Sanchari is in Delhi, and blogging at, http://sancharib.wordpress.com/. If you scroll down her posts, you will see some great photos of the Jaisalmer Fort.

But, what really brought me home was her November post on cutting down the Mango tree which was just one year older than she is.

When I was growing up, my side yard had a large weeping willow tree. I could crawl under the branches and have an instant play house/fort/whatever I wanted. Many a day was spent eating lunch and playing under that tree. So, when mom and dad moved to a subdivision, they took a start with them and grew a new weeping willow in the backyard.

When I divorced, I moved back home again with my daughters. Super teacher daughter was in kindergarten and was delighted to live with a weeping willow in her very own backyard. It was she now who spent hours eating cookies or sandwiches and playing dolls under her grandparents tree. That is, until one day years later when lightning split the tree and it was taken down.

We had moved out a couple of years before this, but daughter always ran to visit her tree. We did not think to warn her as we got settled in for our visit, until she came back in the house in tears. Her beloved tree was gone.

She never ate mangoes from it but that tree was a wonderful memory for my daughter, as well as Sanchari’s Mango tree was for her.

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Presenting Teachers in: BUTTS ON ICE « Braindebris\’s Weblog

via Presenting Teachers in: BUTTS ON ICE « Braindebris\’s Weblog

Today is the one year anniversary of the last post on the Braindebris Blog.  Now, I may be prejudice, since Braindebris is my brilliant daughter, but I think that her short blogging history is some of the funniest stuff you will ever read.

You just have to check out the holiday blog:  “Deer on, Deer off, the Clapper”  and  the  one about cleaning the rabbit’s cage.   They will make your day.

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This picture is “Waiting for Grandad.”  Left to right we have, EMT, JCountry and Gaffer.  Pardon my over-crowded house.

Four men in the house and anytime that we can get all four in one room, a game happens.  The latest “greatest” game is 1942, Axis and Allies.  The challenge is getting them all in one room.

The first thing that happened was EMT disappeared.  Literally, disappeared.  He left, on Friday night, to go help with Bingo at the fire department and never returned.  He told me he might just sleep at the department, but would be home in the morning. 

EMT has a bad habit of not letting us know what he is doing.  He is twenty, so it is hard to complain; however, I have repeatedly explained to him that it is a matter of courtesy to let the people you live with know when to expect you back.  Heck, it is even a matter of your own safety, as we have a relative who died when his car flipped over and he wasn’t found for three days.  The first two days he lived. 

So, the first day EMT was missing, I grumbled about him all day.  I left the outside light on until 3am and then swore and went to sleep.  The second day, I began to worry a bit.  Late that day we called his friends.  Why is it no one is ever home when you call them for something really important?  Late that day we drove around.  No one was at the fire department.  No one was at his friend’s house. 

At seventy-two hours, we went to the police and filed a report on him, missing, in our car.   He has had a problem with a couple of guys and we were concerned they had cornered him and beaten him to a pulp and left him in the woods.  We drove around staring between trees for our red van.   Our County is wooded.

Two hours later, when we arrived home from the police station and driving around, for the second time, Gaffer decided to make a library run for books, movies and high speed.  Twenty minutes later, Gaffer calls and lets us know that he is parked next to our Red Van at the library, and will call if his brother is in the library.

YUP!  That’s where we found EMT, after seventy-two hours.  During the time he was missing, he had gone camping, torn apart a car with a friend, and made money scrapping the parts, done Christmas shopping, and gone to the library.  He really does not understand why we were so upset.  In the meantime, my hair is grey!!!

EMT, anticipating leaving for the Army in January, where he will be the problem of the U.S. Government and they can figure out where he is, brought home the Harry Potter Clue game.  He gave it to the family for Christmas and wanted to get a lot of gaming in before he left.  He also figured it was maybe a game I would play.  He was right.

Playing games is akin to having a kidney infection, for me.  I am more a knit and giggle with daughter, while games are going on, preferably with a glass of Bailey’s in hand, kind of gal.  There are now three games I will willingly play: Cribbage, Dominoes and Harry Potter Clue. 

I should be cleaning my piles of projects out of the front room and baking pies or cookies for our Thanksgiving dinner, instead I am blogging and listening to Gaffer speak with a Russian accent as he rolls his dice to defend Russia from Germany.  The are figuratively spitting at each other, I am told.  JCountry is Germany.  Gaffer is Russia.  Granddad is back in from his disappearance to my studio and all is well with our world.

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Saturday at Grandson’s graduation party, …

 

Okay, I started this blog item some time ago.

 

Anyway, Master’s daughter’s neighbor, accused Master’s daughter and I of being exactly alike. I am honored. I’m not sure he’s correct but we sure do laugh a lot and over the same things. Our visits don’t have to include liquor for that matter, but it never hurts.

 

She can answer the phone at my house and the person calling will begin talking to me and vice versa. Apparently, we sound alike.

 

Our sameness caused no end of trouble, when she was a teen. We are both head strong and opinionated and clashed constantly. We have both matured now (I was a child bride, nearly) and now we can enjoy our sameness.

 

We were feted to a grand meal at Graduate daughter’s neighbor’s house. The weather was fantastic and the company even better. Graduating Grandson had mostly invited adults to the party; his co-workers, his teachers, relatives and a few teens. After the masses left, we all settled down to a bon fire in her neighbor’s back yard.

 

It was a perfect summer evening and a perfect weekend. Daughter and I knitted together, talked decorating together (She is remodeling – and has hung an idea on the wall, mostly to drive someone else nuts; bless her heart.), she leant me her copy of Drunk, Divorced and Covered with Cat Hair by Crazy Aunt Purl. Master’s Daughter cooked delicious meals, we had ice cream together, and yes some dippers of Jose Cuervo and we talked and we talked and we talked.

 

Our sameness is now a joy. She is my daughter and my friend and I’m proud that someone thinks we are alike.

 

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Does this look right to you

When I visited Master Daughter for her Master’s graduation, she gave me a present. She always gives the best presents and rarely at the correct holiday so I have forgotten whether these were for my birthday or Mother’s day or both. It doesn’t matter as it is actually better to get a gift “just because” than an expected, “oh, it’s her birthday, I’ve got to get something.”

I have knitted for years. I’m not the perfect knitter. I do not knit to kill. I knit because I like to and if I dropped a stitch and it’s far back and, I don’t think it will show, then so be it. I always told my pottery students, if you want perfect, go to Walmart and buy some mass produced dish. Hand made is special because of the imperfections, and boy do I give you special.

So, I was getting “pings” back, I think that may be the term but since I am really new at this, bare with me. Not sure that’s spelled right, so don’t take your clothes off, just be patient here. I decided to trail the pings back and see what was going on and there was Crazy Aunt Purl. Crazy Aunt Purl I have now spent the morning with Crazy Aunt Purl and feel like my lost half is living with four cats in some place that does not want to be part of LA, as I sit in Brown County, Indiana with a crazy chihuahua and five adults in a 1,000 square foot house. So, maybe it’s just wishful thinking that I was anywhere else.

Aunt Purl had this neat picture of her gorgeous, Duberry Heather, Paton’s Rumor Yarn and her socks, that she finished. I am so jealous. The gift Master’s daughter gave me was two skeins of a gorgeous variegated Noro yarn, two circular needles a cute little Knit Knack Sack (She knows my penchant for bags) and the book Knitting Circles Around Socks. 

She has been working on making socks for some time now and just had to share. I am a sweater person and love to knit sweaters. I knit both arms at once, as I get bored easily and you can only have so many sweaters with just one arm, so with this book, you can knit both socks at once, thus avoiding the necessity of knitting one and then having to knit an identical pattern again, at least if you have two feet and want to wear identical socks.

I started the socks right before the next visit, which was a month later for grandson’s graduation. I knitted to THE CUFFS, which is about the fourth row, right after cast on stuff and while my picture looked almost identical to the picture in the directions, something wasn’t right. So, I took the socks with, thinking my daughter could help me out. Wrong. She has never tried this method and, being brand new to knitting, she was lost too.

Masters Daughter is a smart kid. I believe she started her knitting career with a square and moved on to doll clothing. She wanted to make Grandma a sweater, booties and cap for the miniature baby doll she bought her for Christmas. Grandma is a doll nut. So, she is knitting on these during her break from teaching one day, and her team partner comes in and says, “Oh, I have nothing to do during my break, let me work on them.” At the end of the day, she hands Masters Daughter a completed layette. She is also one of those who tears out fifty rows due to a mistake. GAG here! 

So, Master’s Daughter, now sits with four tiny needles making a sock. I sit with two circular needles trying to figure out why one sock is facing the wrong way. Four rows is doable, so I ripped it out and started over.  When I got to row four, I again have one sock facing the wrong way on the needle. I think the dippers of Margarita Mix may have influenced me a bit so I decided to ponder the dilemma at home, where I ripped it out again. This is so, NOT like me. (The ripping out part, not the mistake part.)

So, this morning, when I found Crazy Aunt Purl’s blog and her photo of lusious yarn and her mitten, I had to show off the point I am at with my sock. See the picture in the book? See my empty circular needles?

Oh, well!  I am four pages from being 1/3 through my Edgy Middle Grade/Young Adult Fantasy Novel’s Final Edit. Irritating Chihuahua sleeps next to me. No wonder their years are seven of ours, every time they wake up they think it is a new day.

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We spent Indiana’s flood weekend at the “Master’s graduate” daughter’s house. I have two daughters and it sounds rather mean to say the “good” daughter and the “bad” daughter. I could say the “educated” daughter and the “brainwashed” daughter, which would be a very appropriate description, but then I would have to refer everyone to my FLDS blogs and who wants to go there again?

  

 

That would also lead to using the terms, the “happy” daughter and the “daughter in the long dress and head covering, who is not allowed to talk to me without her husband present and who rarely smiles”, but that just makes for an awkward sentence structure and I’m trying to impress editors with this blog. So, we’ll stick with “Master’s daughter”, at least for now.

 

The excuse for this visit was grandson’s high school graduation. His gift request was for us to come and play a ton of board and card games. The kid is a cheap date, if you don’t count the price of gas. Actually, he wanted me to bring the people who will play games, as I don’t usually play.

 

Our oldest boy was missing at Christmas time last year when we visited. We hadn’t actually lost him. He lives in Santa Fe, NM now. Graduate grandson, really missed the usual noisy game fest. The daughter and I noticed that it was much quieter than normal at her house last Christmas, without oldest boy. But, it was not something you want to bring up in front of her super-sized husband.

 

Super-sized husband is tall. I look way up at him and my arms do not go around super-sized son-in-law for a goodbye hug. His personality is super-sized also. He has been known to wear a tutu into Walmart. Not on a regular basis, thank goodness, but after he found it necessary to wear one for a play. Things like that do not bother super-sized son-in-law. If you brought the incredibly delicious “quiet” issue up in front of him, he would create an end of the world vortex that would swallow all silence in its mass.

 

So Master’s daughter and I sat and enjoyed the quiet and the high-speed access she has. It is a huge treat, for me, almost greater than South Bend Dark Chocolate Truffles. I need to add that we had been dipping into a bucket of Strawberry Margaritas with Jose Cuervo. It was a large dipper. The graduate daughter does not need Jose Cuervo to find humor in the world. But, it sure makes things interesting.

 

It was right after Master’s daughter realization that the dining/game room was again a hub of noise and that the only difference was our oldest boy being there and not in Santa Fe. Hence he must be the source of all noise. Then Master’s daughter, turns from her laptop to me and says that she has a burning question that has been puzzling her. 

 

I had been showing my “Master’s graduate” daughter about blogging. I, with a mere Bachelor’s degree, am excited to be able to show her about blogging. Especially since a month ago, I had to have the blogger, Nathan Bransford, Literary agent, post my first ever response to a blog, as I could not figure out how to do it. So, I say, “Yes, daughter, I have shown you blogging, now may I explain what a Black Hole is to you, perhaps how to multiply fractions? What is your burning question?”

 

Daughter, looks up from her computer and states, “I have been wondering, just exactly what are the job qualifications for a bust measurer for Victoria’s Secret?”

 

It is no longer quiet in the front room, as I wipe tears from my eyes and am laughing so hard I almost spill a precious drop of my strawberry daiquiri into my keyboard. At this point, the men in the dining/game room tell us to keep the noise down.

 

Having never been in a Victoria’s Secret store, it takes some time for me to figure out what the heck she is talking about. I know about the catalogue. So, I have visions of placing an order and having them sending people out to your house to measure you. This brings visions to my mind of someone sending Viggo Mortensen out to measure me and where that might lead. I am often distracted by those visions or Viggo (His name is even perfect), but my visions of him do not usually involve a tape measure.

 

She bursts my bubble and explains that, at the store, they greet you at the door with a tape measure around their neck and a bag. I am confused. A bag? For your breasts? Perhaps I should not have had the last dipper full. She says that the bag is for all the goodies you want to buy. Then they immediately ask you if you want them to measure your breasts.

 

She continues, “I mean, what is the job title? Would you be a Bust Calibrator?  I am sure experience is preferred. Are warm hands a requirement? Do you have to know metrics for the European office? And, what educational level is needed. Is a Master’s degree a plus?”

 

I ask if she is looking for a new job. “No, but what if a person with one arm applies for the job? Does the ACLU get upset if you don’t hire that person? Is a Bust Calibrator covered by the disability act? Does he use double sided tape to hold the end of the tape measure or does he get to hold it in his teeth? And, how many tape measures does Dolly Parton need?

 

At this point graduating grandson comes in to see if we have finally gone around the bend permanently.

 

“And, what happens when there is a one boob woman. Do you compensate by doubling the measurement?”

 

Graduating grandson leaves the front room, shaking his head.

 

“What happens if they have not shaved. The Breast Calibrator says, ‘Lift your arms please.’ And, euw! Wouldn’t you be distracted by the hair, if they haven’t shaved?  Do you have to tell them to remove their nipple rings, please.”

 

I don’t remember much of the rest of Friday evening. I think I had another dipper full. I am sure that we will both be banned from Victoria Secret’s stores; especially because we will never be able to enter one without falling on the floor laughing when they ask to measure our breasts.

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I spent several days at my oldest daughter’s house last week.  I love education/learning, and  could be a full time student. So, I was very excited to attend my daughters “Master of Education” graduation ceremony at Notre Dame. She actually received her Master’s degree from Indiana University but the pomp and circumstance was at Notre Dame. The trip was my mother’s day gift to myself.

I love solitude and the four hour drive was great. I listened to one CD Cannonball Adderley’s finest hour, and drove in silence during the rest of the trip.  I am the kind of person who needs quiet time. I disappear during family reunions to recharge. The amount of noise produced by a room full of people is incredible and I sometimes think my head will explode if I don’t get away. I’ve always felt that I would thrive at the top of a mountain by just sending my work down. It should speak for itself anyway.

The solitude of my childhood may have contributed. My brother was six years older, and my sister did not grow up in our home. We lived semi-rural, with a farm behind us and empty lots on each side. TV was a constant. One of my favorite things to do now, is to turn off the tv, the minute other people leave the house. I do love movies though and Sharon, my daughter, and I spent the time together watching “chick flicks” and knitting.

Knitting is a new passion for her. Her teaching partner got her hooked and she is determined to do it with perfection. I take a bit more of a relaxed attitude with knitting. It is a hobby. I am perfectionist in my painting, and make many things I do more difficult than they should be, but have found out that you may see every imperfection, but others don’t usually. It doesn’t stop me, but I try. At this time my daughter  has four tiny needles surrounding the opening of a pink sock. She gave me a sock kit for Mother’s day. I usually knit sweaters. So, I strained my eyes with my new book, needles and fantastic yarn.

The yarn is varigated and I love the colors. “No” I answer my daughter, “I do not care that one sock is starting blue variegated and the other is starting more green.” (As I said, I am not a perfectionist. Intentionally, not. We did go visit a yarn shop and it was a feast for the eyes. I love colors anyway. I begin my paintings with washes of pure color. When I was “on the art circuit” and painting ten or more hours a day, I would be talking to someone at a reception but my mind would be painting their face. “Hmm, a bit of Thio Violet here and a shadow of green there.” I have been told that other people do not see these colors in flesh, but the world is a riot of color for me.

And, one more thing, as long as I am rambling. My daughter’s sixth grade “gifted” class has done some reviewing of my young adult novel. Good reports so far and some wonderful critiquing. My daughter has also made some suggestions and I was able to come home with a new idea to add to the book. Thought of, during the quiet moments in my car.  Hope you all take a few moments of silence to recharge your brain.

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My mother joined our household, of four, for a family Easter. One grandson, who is only home in the summers now, is working in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Our oldest daughter and family (with three grandsons) had their own celebration in So Bend. Eight other grandchildren, who live in Wyoming, have long been missing from our embrace. It was a comfortable and enjoyable day, with the two grandsons who live with us.

 Dinner was ham, mashed potatoes, corn, deviled eggs, guacamole and chips, baked beans and Easter Bread. We remembered the salad on Monday. No one was about to forget the blackberry pie, nor the two pineapple pies. We try to make sure that everyone has something that is their favorite.

 I am not a game person, feeling that I should, and would rather, be painting or writing or sculpting, rather than playing with cards. Sometimes the noise of it is just too much. But, I even joined them for a game of Tryce. The fifteen year old took over after that. They continued to play games until it was time to take my mother home.

 Sunday evening, I started thinking about what I would consider my most memorable things in life to be.

 My family would have to top the list. Moments I have spent rocking a child, having one come to me with problems or happy events, or just to show me a flower or rock they have found. This makes me incredibly sad that I have never even met my youngest granddaughter.

 Other memories are:  

 

My mother serving me tomato soup and grilled cheese when I was ill and home from school. That’s traditional mid-western comfort food.

 

Dad always bringing me a treat in his lunch box is another great series of moments. One, where the child, me, never really realizes that it’s food right from our own cupboard/refrigerator. It always tastes better out of his black metal lunchbox. Do I sense a pattern of food developing?

 

My oldest daughter remembers things from when she was two. She remembers odd things. Not those things you remind them about every holiday. She remembers moments you just would not believe someone that young would remember; just plain, ordinary, everyday moments.

 

My first memories involve my paternal grandfather. He had familial palsy or Parkinson. We are not sure which really, but by the time he was in a wheel chair and visibly shaking, I was around two years old. I remember bringing him a glass of water. The next memory is from his funeral. My dad was crying. This is a family thing I have inherited. I could write a whole blog on the things that make me cry, (not blubber cry, just a few tears down the cheek) but should tv tell me about someone doing something nice for someone else. Or, should the time be when I am sitting and watching a parade. (Don’t even ask.) Anyway, my aunt took me for a walk during my grandfather’s service and I remember the patterns of the sun shining through the trees on the sidewalk and how beautiful they were.

 

To this day, I still love shadows: venetian blind shadows or trees on the wall, or just a glass sitting on the window sill.

 

Here is a list of other moments I remember:

 

A whale breaching off the eastern coast. They are so right when they say, “If you have to ask. It’s not a whale.”

 

Petting a lion.

 

Feeling the skin of an elephant. I monopolized my spot, in amongst a row of children at the zoo, but it was just soooo cool. It felt like a balloon full of water.

 

A Harrier jet stopped in mid air over Chicago skyscrapers. I have never heard the streets of the city so deadly quiet. Then slowly it’s nose pointed toward the sky and BAM! It disappeared skyward, in an instant.

 

Sitting on the porch, when I was maybe five, watching a storm come in over the field behind our house.

 

Wrapped in a blanket, I sat and watched a full lunar eclipse, in the quiet wintery night, in Wyoming. Sometimes I just have to experience the world alone, with no talking going on.

 

Another night, I went out alone and the house was surrouned 360 degrees by lightening storms.

 

Wyoming skies are great. One day after a storm, I saw three rainbows in the sky at once.

 

Coming home and getting out of the car every night for “x” days and seeing Haley’s comet.

 

Laying in a sleeping bag, in the sand, watching a meteor shower.

 

Sitting in a hot tub, after skiing, and sort of seeing the aurora borealis. I didn’t have my glasses or contact on, so it was rather blurry.

 

The sound of a bagpiper in a quiet campground in Nova Scotia.

 

The sound of a bagpiper in the college quad after the death of a friend.

 

 

 

The feeling of immersion in the music, and being in sync, when playing a violin duet with, my teacher, Rainer Schwartzkopf. The one thing I miss more than just about anything in the world is studying with Rainer. He is in Wyoming and I am in Indiana.

 

Watching the sun set within sight of Indian cave homes from my van and not getting ejected from sleeping in a National park where I shouldn’t have been, sleeping in my van. Thank you to whomever I owe a thanks. Karma, I hope. It was a sight I will always remember.

 

They all are.

Hope you have dozens too.

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