Stairway to Heaven

Let me explain.
Out in front of the giant glass pyramid that is the Rock&Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, there is a large courtyard/square. In the center is a raised garden/fountain area. Throughout this entire space there is rock and roll music being piped.

So, says I to myself when we arrive, “I think it would be a great idea to run up to that raised garden/fountain area and jump up on it and dance.”

So, I did. T saw and liked my idea and joined me soon after.

We danced and danced and danced. I enjoyed myself immensely, and after several minutes of dancing I had to pause, doubled over from laughter in an effort to keep from peeing my pants. My parents were in hysterics too. B was…well he was…I’m sure he was around here somewhere… Oh, THERE he is; watching from a safe, hopefully un-related looking distance at the corner of the garden/fountain area; looking uncomfortable.

After several minutes of dancing, we convinced my parents to join us. (B’s cover was somewhat blown when they chased him down to give him the camera.)

I reflected on this event a few days later as we drove home from the Denver airport. I’m not known for “freestyle” dancing. I would be the first to call myself inhibited. Not only would I vehemently refuse to participate/perform such a feat 99% of the time, if forced (like, say, under threat of guillotine), I probably wouldn’t know what to DO. No moves would come to me. But on this day, it seemed a great idea and I knew intuitively what to do. It was the right time and the right place, and it felt great.

So, as I reflected on this event, I wondered why such nirvana is so rare and foreign to me, and how I could ever again find myself so moved and able to get-on-up-und-boogie. I asked B how he had felt about the whole thing. He replied: “When you first got up there, I was kind of embarrassed, but then I thought, ‘hey, she’s having a good time.’” Poor, inhibited B.

I won’t quit my day job. I will frame these photos.

The Good Word

How many fast food chains can you name? How many can you drive to in your mind? With soft serve and French fries near the very top of my favorite food list, you can bet I am familiar with the names and routes to several of these establishments (although other than the soft serve and the French fries, I know little to nothing about the rest of their offerings).

Recently we received a mailer that included a stellar coupon deal offered at one of these restaurants. So, I saved it. “Just in cases.” B also saw the mailer while waiting to get his tire fixed at the shop; he snagged it and then we had two! We still had no idea if/when we would use the coupons, but as the expiration date approached, I asked if he were up for a fast food frenzy. We decided on a date and looked forward to it more than I’d like to admit.

When the date arrived, after B got home and we fed baby, we giddily headed out the door. “Do you know where we’re going?” B asked. “Yes, I know there’s one at [insert address].”

We arrive and pretend not to know each other (only one coupon per customer). I step up first, since B appears to be feigning interest in the menu. I hand the kid my coupon and say, “I’d like this.” He takes it, looks at it, and replies, “This is Carl’s Jr.”

Total confusion ensues. I take the demonstrative “this” to refer to the establishment that I am patroning. So I take the coupon back and am totally confused because it too says Carl’s Jr. So what’s the problem. I even ask him. He informs me that I am at Jack in the Box.

I really couldn’t believe it. I had never realized that there are two restaurants out there—Jack in the Box AND Carl’s Jr. Never having eaten at either one, they just sort of blended together. I stepped out of line, broke our cover and told B the astonishing news. Neither one of us could think of a Carl’s Jr. location, or another Jack in the Box for that matter. We just don’t go there. Although, I CAN take you to several McDonads, Wendy’s, Burger Kings, Dairy Queens, Sonics, Subways, and Taco Bells—even if I’ve never eaten at the specific location. Weird that I somehow still see some of them.

So, we called T from Jack in the Box to get her to boot up her lappy and tell us where in CS there is a Carl’s Jr. Apparently there are ten of them. Imagine my supreeze when she tells me the address of the nearest one: the corner of the intersection that I turn at to go to Walmart and the post office. This can't be right. Easily this is one of the most often traveled corners for me.

We drive there, all the while with me wondering how a Carl’s Jr. could be there. But there, it was.

I feel both proud and embarrassed when I think about this experience. But more than that, I feel utterly grateful to have stumbled upon this GEM. Carl’s Jr., despite the weak name, is the BEST fast food place I’ve ever eaten at. I LOVE IT. Please, find them, get to know them. Do not let this chain go unnoticed and die. It’s the only fast food you will ever need.

Hannah or Hagar or Hepziba-bah

B needs a new name.

Names beginning with the letters A, B, C, D, E, G, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, U, V, W, X, Y, and Z need not apply. Only candidates beginning with the letters F, H, I, or T will be considered.

Not only does B think this is a bit “limiting,” he also does not believe the new name is necessary. But, B is not our resident stocking maker, nor is he our resident stocking filler, so it is in his best interest to comply.

I’ve made … er … several … Christmas stockings this year. They aren’t even all pictured in the photo. (I had already shipped two off as gifts to my brother and sis-in-law.) Why so many? Well, although these stockings were not my first project, they WERE the first fabrics I ever purchased, and I had no idea how much to get. I could make twice this many stockings! I have TONS of leftovers, but, not to worry, I have plans—and the plans do not include making additional stockings.

In any case, I’m quite pleased with the stockings. And I’d like to toot my own horn by announcing that I made these without a pattern. Toot, toot, toot. For one, I didn’t find a pattern that looked like these (and these were the exact stockings I had envisioned in my visionary brain). And, for two, the pattern that I did buy, back when I thought I needed—or at the very least should use—a pattern, was completely incomprehensible. What’s a girl to do...

Well, the first two stockings were the brother and sis-in-law’s, E and T. Then I made the next six. Once I had these nearly ready, B and I picked ours and E’s from the lot and I began affixing the first letter of each of our names. L and E went on just fine. But B was a different story. I must have cut nearly ten Bs. And sewing the curves and making it perfect with the little holes that the letter B has was a nightmare.

And that’s how I decided, first, that none of our children would be given a name with an initial letter bearing a curve. This threw out ten letters. Then, I decided why not toss out all non-right-angles, leaving us six letters to choose from. But the letters L and E are already being used by L and E, which is a shame too, because we actually have names on our suprisingly short naming list that begin with L and E.

Now we are left with F, H, I, and T. Fine letters, if you ask me. I think this may actually help our naming endeavors. Limit the choices and the task becomes easier. B is concerned, however. I tell him there are lots of stellar F, H, I, and T names. He remains convinced that it’s not really that hard to cut and sew a letter B. Have at it, Honey.

Expect a new name announcement as soon as he is done trying. Until that time, his stocking (the one next to mine in the picture above) will remain unfinished. As soon as I know the new letter, I'll be able to sew it on and add the finishing gold bell trim to the top portion of the stocking. And there's only 363 more days till Christmas...

Christmas Eve Madness

[For those keeping score, E hasn't slept through the night since I made known abroad the story of our Christmas miracle. Back to wake-up calls not once, not twice, but thrice each night.]

It’s not as if I just moved to the US, but somehow I didn’t know that one should NEVER ever go out on Christmas Eve. I grew up in a tiny town that saw no real flux in activity no matter what the date or occasion. There’s one grocery store (which you would be wise to avoid shopping at; it’s worth your time and money to travel 30 miles to the town with multiple grocery stores), no clothing stores, no restaurants, CERTAINLY no theaters, etc.

However, even with this background, I still knew that out there in the more populated parts of the country, the day after Thanksgiving was a chaotic mess, best avoided by sleeping late, making waffles, and staying inside all day. I’ve never been tempted to brave the lines, crowds, and crazies. Once, just once, B and I did get up early on Black Friday and went to one store to purchase one item. In all honesty, I think it was more a matter of mixed curiosity and vindication. We found ourselves to be more observers on this occasion than actual participants. We waited in line outside the store for five minutes and then calmly walked in the store—as calmly as one can when risking life and limb the way one does in the madness that is Walmart’s Black Friday opening. I was happy to see that the event was everything I’ve always imagined. We bought our item and were back in bed a total of one hour after waking up for the endeavor—all this before the sun came up.

But why were people out en masse on Christmas Eve?

I, for one, went out because B was home for the day and willing to watch E while he napped and beyond. I thought that if people were fortunate enough to have the day off, they would spend it the way I used to spend vacation: relaxing or having fun (not shopping and running errands). For me now though, being offered a chance to run any errands I wished without baby seemed like a rare and pleasant opportunity. So, I planned to stop by the quilt shop to get some fabric for the new quilt I’m working on, get gas, maybe go to the grocery store. Who knows!?!

I’ve never seen anything like it. The roads were absolutely jammed. I had to wait several cycles to get through intersections. The parking lots were packed. The lines were long and slow. You would think every store in town was having a going-out-of-business sale. I thought it was a fluke at the first stop. But long before I was done with my fourth and final stop I had asked myself, “What am I DOING here?” about a hundred times. I had a lot of time to answer this question, and I have decided that, in my own defense, I was clueless about Christmas Eve madness because I’m usually visiting somewhere when it happens. So, I’m not about to borrow a car and load up on groceries and quilting supplies to fill my suitcase with.

I am careful and proud to stay in on Black Friday. And I will be careful and proud to do so on Christmas Eves henceforth. We stayed in today too. An obvious decision.

B claims that Christmas Eve is crazy because people are not ready for Christmas. I have a hard time believing that THAT many people are THAT unprepared. Come on folks. Get it together—sooner. It’s so much nicer to just sit at home.

Christmas, with child

Good tidings of great joy! Christmas has come early for L. For behold, baby E slept through the night on Sunday.

L was sick with a cold and up half the night anyway, but she kept these things and pondered them in her heart.

And lo, baby E slept through the night again on Monday.

But L kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.

And lo, baby E slept through the night a third time.

And so it was that L found herself numbered among the multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

You might well say one to another, Let us now go even unto CS, and see this thing which is come to pass.

And if you come with haste, between the hours of 8:30pm and 6:00am, you will find the babe lying ASLEEP in his crib.

Truly, this is a Christmas miracle.

Were you...

...watching Avatar last night at 12:01 am at the IMAX 3-D theater?

Didn't think so.

You should have been. (Unless, of course, you sleep at night.)

That's just what I heard anyway.

Cute I am [part 2]

The next day, Halloween, I wanted to go to my quilting store to get fabric for the binding of the quilt that I was working on. They were having a 15% off Halloween sale, BUT if you came in costume, they’d give you 20% off. Although I intended to dress up, things got crazy and we decided to simply slip E in his Yoda costume when we got there. We planned to claim that it was, in fact, Yoda who needed to get some things at the quilting store.

While B changed E into his costume, I headed in to look for a good fabric. Every now and then, I’d hear the chime on the door indicating that someone had just entered the store. After about 15 minutes, I heard E make is grand entrance. The commotion was unmistakably caused by E. The clucking of all the ladies in the quilting store was practically on the level of a “roar.” And it just would not stop. So eventually, I peeked around the rack. There were B and E surrounded by every other person in the store. I’m not kidding when I say that B looked like Rafiki from the Lion King, proudly presenting young Simba to the masses.

E charms wherever he goes. He seems to eat it up as much as the throngs. Even the blind man in front of us at the post office yesterday was in love with him. But E’s charming powers in a quilting store are on another level entirely. And E in a quilting store dressed like Yoda… We could have robbed the place.

In the end though, they robbed us—as usual. Even with Yoda’s 20% discount.

Cute I am [part 1]

How could I pass this up? No, this was not E’s “official Halloween costume” (meaning: the one he wore on Halloween). Luckily, we attended a party on October 30 with my workout girlfriends & families. Costumes were mandatory for all—which is the best kind of Halloween party. Unfortunately, our official costumes were not ready in time for that party—specifically E’s costume was not yet finished (sewing is freaking hard and I hadn’t allowed enough time), so thirty minutes before leaving for the event, we made an executive decision to switch into one of our old tried and true costumes and put E in the “extra” costume I happened to have for him.

Ok, truth be told, in my opinion, that last sentence should begin with “fortunately.” E is such a striking Yoda. I wanted to show him off so badly. Simultaneously, I was a bit … apprehensive about showing B off in his intended costume. So, really, being behind schedule with E’s official Halloween costume was no tragedy.

At the party there was a costume contest—one for adults and one for children. I was holding Yoda when the ballots were distributed so B was our scribe. I leaned over to tell him my choice for the children: two girls dressed in pink and green; I’m not sure what they were exactly, but they sure looked cute. However, B had already written “Yoda” on both ballots. Doesn’t he know the “don’t vote for yourself [or your kid]” rule? So, E got two votes from his parents. Perhaps that would have been enough to win. But, to be sure, B carried him throughout the rooms of the house as people filled in their ballots.

When the results were tallied, our suspicions that E is in fact the cutest kid were confirmed. His first opportunity to prove to all that he’s the best and he nailed it! Not that we needed this validation…

A Raisin in the Sun

Yes, my dream of becoming a seamstress is a dream deferred.

It only took five weeks, probably seven actual sit-down encounters, and one actual “project” [the quilt] for me to completely break the machine. Apparently twelve layers of flannel is too much. T was incredulous when I told her what I had been doing: “Twelve layers!?!?! Why on earth were you doing that? Of course you broke the machine.”

The sad thing was that the blanket was ALMOST finished. I literally had only two seams left—I needed to simply attach the top and bottom border pieces. This is a flannel blanket that continually adds more layers of flannel to its seams… Two pieces of flannel to sew together? No problem. Then, four, …then many more. Finally, twelve.

Now, I didn’t buy a piece of trash machine to begin with. It’s a Bernina. That’s supposed to mean something. I was very happy to buy a Bernina. I like the white machines/cases with red writing—like an inverted Swiss flag. I like thinking about all the metal pieces inside, arranged by Swiss minds, which we know work like clocks. I like that the company is still family owned back in Switzerland. I like the people who use Bernina’s and the things they make. But most of all, I wanted to be able to know where to go if there was a problem. I wanted to be able to get help from an authorized Bernina fix-it guy named “Kurt” when the machine was on the fritz.

The ladies at the shop were so apologetic. I can have all my money back, Kurt will fix it for free, or I can “upgrade” to a better exponentially more expensive machine.

Hmmm….I need time to think about this. Considering that the first machine so quickly threw in the towel, "upgrading" seems a bit of a turn off. I plan to sew the final two seams of my project at the store on an "upgrade" machine. If it can handle it, maybe I'll take it. One thing I know: I could break a machine every month and head in there only to hear that there is a better machine twice as expensive as the one I have that I should upgrade to.

10 Things We Learned on Halloween 2009

1. Good Halloween costumes take a year to put together—not a month. (I blame the short notice on B. Although I suggested our costumes over a year ago, I had decided that it would be much easier to wear a previous year’s costumes—after all, we’re in a new place. This is how E came to have a Yoda costume. Just three weeks before Halloween, B is shocked to learn that we will not be sporting a three-man theme… He wants Labyrinth like we talked about last year… sure… no problem)

2. Despite your best efforts to match David Bowie’s “Dance Magic” scene costume from Labyrinth, 98% of people will think you are Rod Stewart.

3. Even as a trio, I am not aware of anyone who recognized who we were pretending to be. When we told the people sitting next to us who we were they replied, “Oh yeah. We watched that movie last night.” Last night???? We obviously failed…

4. B needed gray stretch pants for his costume. We now know that if B ever needs stretch pants again, Gap Body XS women’s knit pajama pants become stretch pants in “his size.” (I hope they still fit me after he’s worn them…)

5. Fabric stores don’t sell red/white striped knit fabric—but Goodwill does. However, it comes already sewn as a woman’s shirt, which, when harvested, will not yield enough fabric for the entire infant pajama—specifically, you will be one sleeve short. So you will have to go back to Goodwill, to find a plain red knit men’s shirt that is the matching color of red, rip off the finished sleeve, and add the red. As long as you insert a cute baby, this will likely still be the best costume of the trio.

6. There are lots of Tina Turner wigs being manufactured. What I’d like to know is who is dressing up as Tina Turner? Although “Tina Turner” wigs are being produced en masse, the people who sell them on ebay call them “Tina Turner/David Bowie Labyrinth” wigs. They know who’s buying and why. Note to wig makers: there’s a [relatively] huge market out there for authentic “David Bowie Labyrinth” wigs. And, by the way, Tina Turner does NOT have the same hairdo as David Bowie. Give the people what they want!

7. It’s time for L’s wardrobe to be updated. L’s “80s” Jennifer-Connelly-Labyrinth-matching outfit consisted of a vest purchased at Goodwill and…clothes she already owned. Sad, really.

8. Monkey bread is a vice. Not only did we consume more of it at party #1 than anyone else there, we continued to eat it the next day, and the next…all before bringing it in from the car…

9. When you have forty varieties of chili to choose from, some people will still only eat the same chili they’ve been eating for twenty years. Wish I had tried it.

10. We’re glad we chose the costumes we did. Not everyone gets the chance to be a trio that consists of a baby boy who loves being thrown in the air and a skinny guy who is willing [read: wanting] to wear stretch pants and a wig [no make-up]. We’d have regretted not taking advantage of such a perfect once in a lifetime opportunity.