June 2004 Archives
Tonight when I got home from work and showered and put my jammies on (this is my ritual - walk in the door, strip, shower, and get socks-y), I stood in my kitchen, watching Erik cook. I noticed a dark curly hair stuck in between cabinet doors, toward the floor.
I thought it was mine, until I picked it up and it's nearly two feet long. I'm a more obsessive cleaner than that, to leave old long hair stuck to walls or cabinets or floors.
I just donated ten inches of my hair to the Locks of Love program. Had my husband really been working all day? Or did this hair belong to one of the Russian foreign exchange students in his dreams?
Upon closer scrutiny, I deduced that it is Mike's hair. And I'm so glad. The Russian exchange students that moved in upstairs are all blonde.
What a great week. And an informative learning experience was my 10-year reunion picnic last night. I'm so happy to know that Art Thompson is a pretty stand-up guy who's fun to visit with, and not nearly the jackass who told me about the Challenger exploding and that there is no Santa Claus. And I just love Crystal as much as ever. But I guess the cheerleaders will always stick together. I'm gonna go outside and take three fresh breaths of air, huggle all my kids that I babysat forever (and now they're all grown up), and look forward to Texas.
Dear Mike and Kristen, tomorrow we're grilling.
So now he knows how to pronounce Sakakawea. He's met Lane's parents and both grandmas. Today he had his picture taken with the World's Largest Holstein Cow. His dad thought an ND winter might do him some good, and it just so happens my parents have an apartment in the basement.
What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson
And they're thinking of taking a DNA sample of all criminals arrested. Some say this is Government Gone Too Far.
An English neighbor I once had was beside himself with the Patriot Act, that anyone could be put into prison if they are committing a crime that could be construed as Terrorism.
My response is the same: If you're doing petty crimes or not-so petty crimes, and somebody with a badge has to take a moment out of their day to tell you to knock it off and throw some cuffs on you, A) you deserve to be investigated, and B) your DNA should absolutely be put on file in order that, when the time comes that you've gotten even more stupid, and committed bigger crimes, it'll be easier to plop your dumb ass behind bars and keep you away from law-abiding Americans just trying to live normal lives.
Is it the end of the world, if the government has DNA samples of all criminals? Stop doing crime! Duh! The end of the world is coming anyway, just get Right and expect it.
A 37-year-old Austin man jumped off a Blanco River dam and drowned yesterday. That's horrible. I've been unexpectedly caught in undertow below a low water dam on the Comal, and it sucked bad. I'm not ever going to go back there to try to conquer that part of the river or to show off to my friends.
What's worse is that this man's wife and two kids live in Mexico. And he lived in Austin, and was diving off of perilous dams in the Hill Country rivers like any 17-year-old river rat, and now his kids will never see him again. So the first twelve times they do that, for fun or to show off, who's going to beat them senseless and threaten them with no dessert? They have no father.
I'm gonna go see my dad for Father's Day. And thank him for scaring me into being a good kid, who grew up into a productive member of society, by doing that freaky eye thing when he spoke intensely.
And while I could totally see my dad, when he was 20 or so, jumping off of low water dams in dubious sections of river, I would not imagine him doing so at age 37, with a family relying on him.
Some people don't see past their noses.
Tube Naked. It gives your cheeks some color.
When I was 22, fresh from NDSU, I got hired at an Adult Contemporary radio station. I was a little too young for the 80s leaning format, after two years at a Top 40, but energetic enough for 7-midnight.
When I turned 25, I joked to the program director that I was finally old enough for the station, and the station automated nights and overnights. I guess I spoke too soon. They automated my timeslot two months later. I landed at a Today's-Best-Country-and-your-All-time-Favorites station two days after my last AC show.
This cloudy Saturday morning, happily obsessively cleaning my house, with the TV on in the background, I'm coming to terms with that I may very well be too damn old for the MTV Awards. But so are the Beastie Boys.
Life Is Round. I was thinking about something someone said to me one day, I think it was a cold afternoon in Fargo, and we were lounging around Weible Hall.
Most likely, Oreos were present.
"Life is round."
Well, that works. Everything's a circle. Family circle, the circle of friends, heck, the planet Earth appears to be round. Fashion trends are classed in circas, and no sooner are 80s neons out but they're in again.
If you allow yourself to think out of the box, you're in a circle. Radio waves, the FM ones at least, move in circles. AM waves bounce across the globe, but then they're moving in semi-circles when they do.
You spin me right round, baby, right round like a record, baby right round round round...
When we're in the fetal position, we're curled up in a round circle. The invention of the wheel is what gets the there, here and the here, there. Wedding rings are round. Ocean waves are round, and blizzards swirl.
Vicious cycles and warm, forgiving hugs are round.
I think the Germans settled here because the Texas Hill Country reminded them of Germany. Erik thinks it was the castle at Schlitterbahn that reminded them of home, so they stayed here.
And when it rains, it pours. And New Braunfels floods. I actually backed my truck up a hill in the golf course, and then I noticed that I was on the wrong side of the yellow line. Whoopsie.
I know my route around these hills to The Scooter Store and home again. But probably I should get more familiar.
Thank the good Lord Mike and Kristen, with their uncanny knowledge of every nook, cranny and alleyway in this town, stayed on the phone with me the whole time, from the "I'm lost" realization after the strobeing emergency vehicle on the side of the road to the parking lot outside my door. At one point they suggested I scrap my attempt to get home and just come over. Good friends.
I am soaked to my skin, the only other time I can remember being this wet and not submerged is freshman year, when Doogins and I ran all the way across NDSU campus as the storm clouds broke.
Well it's been a long time, glad to see your face
I knew we'd meet again, another time another place
Can't believe it's been so many years
You better grab a chair and a couple of beers
When I had a chance to visit with Jo Dee Messina, I told her that she sings the soundtrack to women's minds.
In less than two weeks, is my dubious ten-year reunion. I can't wait to see them all, and I'm scared to death.
"It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat."
THEODORE ROOSEVELT
(Paris Sorbonne,1910)
