he who cleans up rather well . . .

we attended a funeral this morning. The gentleman who owns the gym that the 9TS frequents, lost his precious wife to leukemia. She battled long and hard. Truth be known, her letting go was a blessing. The church was packed. Friends, relatives, fellow gym rats . . . so many people there to say goodbye. Sigh.

And of course we donned our Sunday best to pay our respects. The 9TS in a black suit and I in appropriate attire. I wanted a shot of the 9TS all duded up. He looked like he did when I first fell in love with him. All spiffy and wonderful. He was not in the mood.

After the service, we came home to change and headed out to lunch and to run some errands. Almost back, he muttered something about if I really wanted a shot of him dressed to the 9's, he would redress. You don't have to ask me twice. And so I got this:

But sneaked this in first:

but just so you recognize that this is still the 9TS, if I drop the camera just a little, you see this:

and just so you know, he really did wear a full suit to the funeral, dress sock and black shoes . . . it just was too much to ask for the after shots. *snort*

a book on every bed and other things . . .

One of the women in my on-line group posted this article the other day and I can't get it out of my brain. I love books and think everyone should have the opportunity to love them too. Know someone little? Wrap a book and give it to them for Christmas. It doesn't have to be new. Just wrap and give.

And this started me thinking about books and my kidlet. Oh, this is going to be one long post. You can give up here if you'd like. No hard feelings.

I read to my kidlet every night. It was a routine. And especially when I had to go back to work when she was two, it gave us precious time together. I would read and she would turn the pages when asked. And since I traveled a bit, I made a tape of her favorite Dr. Seuss books for her to "read" while I was gone. To make sure she knew when to turn the pages, I had her ring a little bell at the right time. At the turning of the first page, you can hear her ringing the bell like mad.

Although we read every night, I made no attempt to teach her to read. I had no idea how to approach it and decided it was best left to the experts. About half way through kindergarten, we were driving down the town's main drag, having just left Books A Million with a copy of Go Away, Big Green Monster!, and my kidlet starts "reading" aloud in the backseat. She stopped and asked what a word meant. Suddenly, it had clicked. She was actually reading the book. I almost swerved off the road trying to comprehend the event. The next day, book in hand, she marched into Mrs. Hendren's kindergarten class and made her announcement, "I can read!" Mrs. Hendren looked at me with a sparkle in her eye and told me she had known Katie was on the brink of getting it. Katie was so happy, in class tradition, to be able to read her book to the class. And she never stopped reading, which brings us to Mrs. Wyland and her 4th grade Wizards.

What's not to adore? Mrs. Wyland was the quintessential elementary school teacher. She is the one you remember long after you have graduated from school and reflect back over your past educators and think, she is the one who turned on all the light bulbs. In fact, when Katie graduated from high school she and some friends, gathered as many of their 4th grade classmates that they could rustle up and went to thank her for being . . . well for being Mrs. Wyland. She was not at school. So like her, she had taken a few of her students to lunch. Cell phones in hand, they broke into groups and canvased the nearby restaurants until she was spotted at Panera's. En masse, they walked in greeting Mrs. Wyland with huge grins and hugs. She meant that much to that many kids. WOW!

But I digress. The reason I mention Mrs. Wyland has to do with the Accelerated Reading Program at the school. Books were read and tests taken to measure comprehension. The books were assessed points based on difficulty. The more books you read at a higher level, the higher your scores, the farther up on the chart your name went. My kidlet was bemoaning the fact that the top competitors were all boys, upon which Mrs. Wyland told her there was no reason a girls name couldn't be up there too. Wink, wink! That was all it took for my competitive child to launch double fold into books. While she never did catch Jamie Chapin, she reached number two and happily announced a girl could do whatever she put her mind to.

p.s. she is still reading. When she comes home from college, I find books laying all over the place. They clutter her room, roosting on window sills, table tops and floors. They also reside inside her iPod Touch. She is having a love affair with the written word and I couldn't be happier.

shhhhhhhhhhh . . .

my Christmas present came in the mail today. And since there is only a 48 hour window to return damaged merchandise . . . well, you can see the pickle I was in. I mean seriously, what were my options? And it's not exactly like I didn't know what I was getting. Right? So do you blame me if there was a little slit in the packaging here and a little loosening of some tape there until sitting in my hands was a brand new AF18-270mm F/3.5-6.3 Di11 VC lens. It was begging me for a test drive. "Shoot with me." "Let me show you what I can do." "You know you want to." . . . said the saucy little mechanism. And so I did. Just a couple of frames to check it out. Making sure all was right. YES!!!

And while I understand that it is not the type of lens a professional would use, it will be perfect for me. For 12 years, I schlepped around its second cousin, thrice removed. I was a one lens momma with my spiffy 28/300, but alas, it died as technology passed it up and left it in the dust by the side of the road. Not that it didn't take spectacular shots in its heyday. But it being an experimental crossover lens made for both film and digital, it was out of its league by the time my Canon EOS 50D came along.

But this puppy? It shoots clear, crisp shots. I am back in business. Of course, it won't be my only lens, I am quite enthralled with what my 50mm can do. But no more switching back and forth with different size lenses in one outing . . .

To be sure, the lens is neatly back in all of its wrapping mumbling, "Let me out again. Let me OUT! I will suffocate before the 25th." But a deal is a deal and it will just have to adjust and wait for Christmas like everyone else.

Christmas is taking over . . .

My cards are finally done and addressed.

The tree is up and trimmed.

Most of the presents are purchased.

I still need to find a few more stocking stuffers.

Christmas Eve dinner needs to be planned even though the 9TS does the cooking. I, being totally lost when it comes to the Feast of the Seven Fishes . . . his job.

Christmas dinner needs to be planned . . . my job.

We did some running around today and then because of the cold.cold.coldness outside, I built this for the 9TS so he would be toasty warm when he came home from the gym:

and it seems someone else enjoyed her very first fire:

and slept and slept and slept some more.

but seriously, what else is better in front of roaring fire . . . even the 9TS snored for a bit.

Wishing you warmth and a long lovely nap this nippy winter.

technology . . .

I just noticed that three items occupy my bed most often . . . other than people or miniature woolly mammoths:

And when I think back, I have to translate them to this.

The Hermes 3000 was my going away to college present. I had taken one typing class in 7th grade which I missed failing completely by the skin of my teeth. Why are all the keys blank, she kept whining. I was never much of a typist even through the advent of the IBM Selectric and the first non-windows based computers. Finally somewhere in desperation at my job, I learned fairly well, but that was after some 40+ years of trying. Now, my laptop and I are inseparable. I can finally type.sort.of.

My father gave me my first phone for my 13th birthday. Back in 1962, you did not buy phones per se. They were rented from the phone company. But, knowing how desperately I wanted my own line, he managed to buy this puppy on the black market from Canada:

Oh, how I loved sitting on my bed, tethered to this phone, chatting with Lolly and Kris. Life was excellent. As you can see, I still have the beast and it sits in my living room. Up until a few years ago, it still worked. Now you can no longer dial out but it still receives incoming calls. (Note: a friend changed the wiring back in the 70's, relieving it of its 4 prong plug and installing a newer snap jack.) So how amazing is it that one can now send emails from their phone, it even replaces this little bit of goodness from my childhood:

And speaking of emails, I finally figured out how to send one from my Nook. Ask Kelli, she was the recipient. Which of course brings me to the third item. My Nook. I have been a reader since forever. I remember my father lamenting when I was five that all I read were comic books. My mother's reply was: leave her alone, at least she is reading. And read I did. One day, at age seven, I picked up a copy of the latest book my mother was wading through and started to read. I was well into the first chapter when she noticed. You're not reading that are you, she asked? Why yes, I replied. Tell me what it's about she demanded. Once I told her, she snatched away the book, drove madly to the library, signed me up for my own card and pointedly headed me to the children's section. snort. But books have always been important. How can they not be. So again, the form may have changed but my love of reading has not.

Which all makes me wonder what will be on my bed when I turn 82?

out takes . . .

when the bottom string of lights on your pre-lit tree don't work, you haul out an old box of never been used lights to add . . . the never before used lights have one dead string . . . the 9TS departs for Lowe's

you search for the bad bulb and find a little kitten face halfway up the tree looking down at you

the tree apron smells suspiciously like the poor departed Snoop had watered it last year . . . into the washing machine it goes.

you wonder why the bacon you fried for tonight's bacon cheeseburger's came out like beef jerky and the 9TS is snickering because he can't eat the bacon or the cheese . . .

yesterday, you missed the UPS man and now you have to wait for him to come round the circle again tonight or we'll be short one very important Christmas present.

you've hidden the 9TS's present in the under-the-stairs closet and now he is making noises like we should clean it out for the first time in 15 years . . .

p.s. for the very first time, I kept my hoard of special memory ornaments in their boxes and opted instead for plastic bulbs from Wally World.   Now when Pip bats an ornament off the tree, they bounce and she runs and hides.   I should have done this years ago whenever there was a kitten in residence . . .

winter . . .

Monday morning I tooled to the grocery store in a sleeveless blouse with the top down on the Miata, loving the magical 80+ degree weather in November. Apparently, my thoughts thoroughly ticked off Mother Nature because today looks more like this:

and truth be told, our small town doesn't have stats like this so I stole these from Orlando which is always a few degrees warmer than here.

So I think I will stay tucked under the covers for a bit longer before I try to remember where I packed last winter's mukluks, long johns and sherpa coats . . . brrrrrrrrrr.

But on a better note, it has put me in the mood to make my Christmas cards this year . . . something that didn't happen last year in the midst of all the 9TS drama. Look for super fat envies in your mailbox . . .