It's about time Avebury got some press. My husband took me there after he himself had been there and we just skipped Stonehenge altogether. This was a minor loss, even though I had been intrigued with the 'henge since reading "Tess of the d'Urbervilles". For an English project that featured scenes from the novel, I staged a photo of my Cher doll near some big rocks in my grandmother's yard. (Wow, that Cher doll site, is funny! Go back and look at it again!)

(For the same English project, my now-famous actor friend and I also reenacted the strawberry-eating scene. My friend, being an ingenue in the making, portrayed Tess. She also had long hair, whilst I looked a good deal like Mary Lou Retton at the time. )

At any rate, we had a very memorable time at Avebury. And now that a new phase of my life is opening up before me, at the time that my little sir is entering school and leaving my lap, I've been consoled by the thought of perhaps taking him and the little ma'am across the pond someday and letting them see such amazing sights as Avebury. It is hard when they grow up, but I never want to fear the future.

Rarely talked about, butoften wondered about....let's hope that my friends and I, who all benefitted from having our husbands in the delivery room, remain safely alluring to said husbands. It is hard enough having to play the dual role of mother and lover without having to worry about a spouse's post-traumatic stress disorder.

And they don't have to look below the belt. Keep your eyes on the prize, future daddies, and it will all be fine.

Well, wish us luck. We have our proper footgear, our waterproof shorts and clothing, someone to take care of the cat, fishing licenses, a desire to catch the fish, and a few days off of work. Everyone is excited, everyone is already relaxed. My husband is pretty unstructured about this thing so we are following his lead. We'll just float where the river takes us and wear a lot of sunscreen. I can't wait.

I know all about thisphenomenon. My first was a girl named Jeanine Sagebien at my college. She was not Southern, she was dark, she was friendly, she was smooth, she was fashionable in the most breezy way possible, the way I am not. My friends teased me and laughed when I would flub words in front of her or clamour to get near her in a line or between classes. She was always kind and always cool. I think she may have smoked, thus spurring on my habit in those days. She was friends with a large group of dark Cuban men from Miami and they soon became my friends...but I never really cared about them. I cared about her.

I remember her boyfriend cheated on her. The dirty bastard. I certainly hope she is happy...I could probably look her up but I won't. I'll let her be and hope that she realizes on some level that she is the epitome of cool to someone, and always will be.

Found by Mrs. Kennedy. I'm so pleased that "Singin' in the Rain" is on there. I will forever remember it as the first-ever Netflixed movie by us, and the one we kept the longest...perhaps 5 months.

In other kid news, I saw a pregnant woman smoking last night. Furtively, but in plain view of me and others, and I felt a lot of pity for her mainly because I knew she was currently being chastised and was probably in a mothership of guilt sailing on a sea of inadequacy.

I also saw a baby in a front seat of a car, in his grandpa's arms, being delicately fed a bottle of Coke. I did the only thing I knew to do, without even knowing I was doing it, which was to shake my head at the driver. I'm no better than you, woman, I do stupid shit all the time including losing track of my children at the pool and not holding their hand when a car started backing up right beside us....and even stupider than that. But its the law, and for a good reason, so buckle him up. I hate reading about your peers in the local gore news...and I read about one today, so I sincerely hope you learned a lesson.

More importantly, Ibrahim Ferrer died this weekend at age 78. The guy looked a lot older than that even back in the BVSC days, but I'm hopeful that was due to some all-out fun living in Cuba, as it were. Check out his music, if you haven't.

"We have no idea where it came from." Well, I gotta tell you, I think there is a fella you ought to be asking about that....not that anyone could blame him. Give it a rest, paparazzi! When they are in Starbucks, fair game. But this was a shower for their sweet little bundle of love. Let the "happy" couple be!

Introducing: Cho Chang! Played by a girl who answered an ad for a teenaged Asian girl with long hair. Goody for her, I say. The movie's not out till November, but fan sites are leaking photos all over the place. Take a look at Mad-Eye. He's played by another quirky character actor, but with good credentials.

In other obsessive news, there is a mistake in a leaked shot from the film: in this graveyard scene, Tom Riddle's dad is listed as Tom Marvolo Riddle but as we all know by now, that ain't right. A thread I follow on IMDB discusses this and a boatload of other movie inconsistencies. It just made my head swim.

The family adventureis in the planning stages, but we are well on our way to having it half-way worked out. To avoid hurricanes, we are avoiding the beach. To avoid financial ruin, we are avoiding any airport or distance farther than 5 hours driving time. To avoid missing too much work, we are staying close to home. To avoid seeing relatives, we are going places they don't frequent.

Lots of avoidance, but boy, am I excited.

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.
You said it, I didn't. (Via Avacado Green)

At my book club, I was told that people in and around my neighborhood are buying their teens SUVs. ON PURPOSE. Because they are safe. And because they like paying extra insurance and thousands for gas each month, I guess. My solution is to give everyone under the age of 23 or so an '88 Cutlass and let them go at it. Safe, and safe for the rest of us. Cause God knows, if someone does me in someday when I'm stalled in my husband's ten year old (very reliable! no problems at all! please let it live another year!) piece of crap, its gonna be some 17 year old in a shiny new Humongo 2000 that costs more than both of my cars combined, I just know it.

Just keeping you updated, people. This seems to take away from the pod's best quality - its portability.

Well, hon, I think you officially gotAmerica's vote...and the other two just went down a few notches.

SPOILER ALERT: But, I found this at one of the Harry Potter sites I have been obsessively visiting today, JKR and HP's birthday. Pretty funny. And yet NOT! Please, all of you: finish the book so we can have a decent discussion about the HBP!

So freaking disturbing, but so undeniably catchy!!

I know I'm not original, but I do have the super Sharpie love, and my husband bought me the pastels! OMG!!! I love them! And I love him! OMG!!!

You know, you can buy a girl flowers or take her to a nice dinner, but for me, romance comes down to a clean car and a permanent marker.

Technology is fun and lovely and has made things much easier in this household for me since I can renew library books online and thus save tens of dollars on fines. I can also pay bills online, talk to people from other countries and New York City in real time, and get weather radar info when the Weather Channel is busy with an expose on some wimp in Florida's hurricane experience. (Sorry, Floridians: with the exception of Andrew, you got NOTHING on me) So thank you, Mother Technology, for these things.

Other things...well, no thanks. As I stated earlier, I'm somewhat relieved to be relieved of my Harry Potter burden. But if I had NOT wanted to know, I know I would know by now, and thus be irritated. I'm a little tired of emails with the subject line HEY FRIEND QUICK PENIS VIOXX. And then there is the problem of addiction, that I battle a little bit and for which my husband needs treatment. Poor Lynn, my dear friend, went without a computer for TWO WEEKS and lived to tell the tale...her woes have been the source of much angst and CASH.

But I guess overall it is a good thing, this here computer. And if I could only get Garage Band, then I think I would quit bashing once and for all.

He's a dude! There, now you know!

I'll admit this only to you, fair readers, but I know the secret of HBP. I'm sad, but I'm feeling better since I discovered the identity of the sacked character. Before, I was anxious, looking out of windows, getting knots in my tummy and making knots in my knitting. Now, I'm looking forward to reading the book, enjoying it, and peacefully but effectively mourning.

Man, if only the Internet could leak all the coming tragedies in my life. I'd be set.

It's here. And thanks to my friend for alerting me to this interview with Jo Rowling. I love her website, too...but it is harder to quickly glean information there. I've heard that the NY Times review gives a ton away - so I've steered clear, but I did read an excerpt that put the new book in the same class with great children's literature. And another excerpt from a reviewer saying she hadn't cried as hard since Charlotte died. Woe is me. Since my husband, a meticulous and slow reader, has the HBP first, I'll be finishing it up about the time my hormones are raging the hardest. Watch out.

I had two experiences with old women today. One experience was walking right behind an old woman when she let out a long, loud, trumpetous fart. It did not smell, but it was very loud and funny - you can find an example of it here, under "Skid Marks". The other old lady experience was shopping at the Food Lion with a woman who was easily 80 and yet dressed in a strapless cover-up and some shoes that are somewhat hip now, but I know were indeed from the past. Once the woman checked out, the cashiers all hooted and hollered and had a discussion that amounted to the opinion that if you want to flaunt it at that age, be our guest. I could see various troublesome lumps on the woman, and possibly some sort of heart cath in her chest, and then there were the floppy breasts that were offered no support. But I guess I agree with the cashiers.

As for Fart Lady, well, that is my future, I'm pretty darn tootin'. So I better just keep mum.

Are you really surprised???

Good times! The pool was empty today at lessons because of some filming of young boys by a guy whose picture was located here. Hats off to the astute mom who had her hackles up.

Then again, moms can be so annoying. There is a fine line, people. I do applaud that woman who felt troubled enough by the guy taping to look him up and file a police report. But I don't know how I feel about the moms who won't let a lifeguard take their child into the 10 feet section, or who tells me she was "really bad" by air-drying beach towels between lessons. (HA! Are you SUPPOSED to wash beach towels more than once a month or so?)

I was troubled by the kid in Utah who was left alone in the woods and could have been rescued but didn't want to talk to strangers. And I was also troubled by one of our family members who, while babysitting, let a strange man in our house to check out our belongings and thus give us a quote on insurance? That we never received? Again, there is a fine line. I hope to God I have enough sense to find it when I need it.

You think you're chocolate but you're chewing gum! Thank goodness MTV is good for something; apparently they have really irritated a lot of folk lately, including me. Not that I don't love "Newlyweds" and "Road Rules" etc.

But I don't.

Well, I don't like "Road Rules".

I'd like to check out "The L Word"....word on the street is that it sucks, and that it rocks and tis hot. Such varying criticism can only mean I'll probably be glued to the screen.

Did y'all watch? If not, go watchLive 8. I loved U2 and now I've gotten to see REM....I thought Madonna was pretty good and possibly pregnant, and I was pleasantly surprised by Will Smith.

And we should all be a little impressed by these artists who are fighting the power so effectively, especially with terrorist attacks happening right on the heels of Live 8.

I wanted to remind my husband that, last week when shark attacks were all over the news, he predicted a terrorist attack. Prior to 9/11, shark attacks were the biggest press story....life was slow and boring. Then we were attacked by an altogether different monster.

England has dealt with IRA bombings many times before, so it makes sense that the people there seem calm and stoic...as I said earlier, they are serious folk and I can believe that they are calling on the heroism that got them through oh, I don't know, the BLITZ and various other issues. It's just hard to see proud cities like Madrid, London, and New York turned into war zones and favorite places like King's Cross (though I do remember parts of King's Cross as being a bit dicey...and still I loved it) forever rememebered as a scene of horror.

So sorry, NYC....but we'll always have Paris. OR NOT! That is the only thing that takes the sting from New York's losing bid for the Olympics, and that is that Chirac's nasty crepe-talk apparently kept him from getting the goods.

And now poor London is dealing with terrorist attacks...the kind of random violence that will put its citizens on edge and bring on a haze of worry and sorrow. Can you imagine? Solid, serious London - everyone heading to work...the lovely double-decker bus, the clean and organized Tube.

And not that I'm worried about the future Supreme Court nominee or anything, but I have been listening to the news a bit more these tense past few days. My husband is obsessed with NPR's new commentator on all things Supremely jurisprudent, and apparently so is everyone else. Surely she won't go on maternity leave when the new nominee is about to be announced!!!

The daughter plays soccer, and plays well. So I am finding myself in the rarefied air of the intown soccer elite for girls under 8 years old. The women are beautiful, well-dressed, either a professional (lawyer, doctor) or professional moms who seem to shop a lot. The cars are big: YUKONS, SUBURBANS, TAHOES, EXPERIENTIALS or something; the incomes, bigger. The siblings are almost always boys with a lot of energy, so my son really enjoys his sister's hobby. And the games are fun. Everyone seems supportive, likes the coach and encourages him, and there is much fun cheering and clapping. Once I can muster up the energy to actually get us all to a game, and we get there and get settled and my girl starts doing her thing, it is all good.

My daughter does get upset easily. She is an emotional player. I hope we can redirect that in a positive way. Advice welcome.

One more game tomorrow then we'll take a break from soccer. Till fall, anyway.

HA HA HAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAA HUUH HA HUUUUUUHHHH HA HA HA!

After two weeks, I finished the 16 page, mammoth article, only to find out there is additional Q & A. Damn you John McCain! Or Connie Bruck, either one.

We were in my home state this weekend, dealing with chicken pox and visiting family. Hmmmm. At any rate, I always enjoy summer in Georgia: the cicadas, the heat hovering over the horizon, the ripe smell of everything from asphalt in Atlanta to mown grass in Macon. And I want to move back...a lot. And then, Georgia slaps me in the face. ( LOOK AT HIS GORGEOUS FAMILY BY THE WAY) Thank you, NC, for welcoming me back with open arms.

Hubby and I had a few hours to ourselves and a full 24-hour period without children. When asked what movie I wanted to see, I earnestly proposed several independent and/or foreign films before looking at his face and stating flatly, "OH! I want to see 'Batman Begins'...yes, that's the one."
Who says I am not Master of Marriage?

It was good though - I loved it. And I love Christian Bale and his big ole luscious lips that he talks over, not through. I've been imitating his voice at night when I read to my children...it makes certain books more interesting.

Katie Holmes is dead to me. Too bad.

THE SCENE: A tiny church in a valley of the gorgeous Blue Ridge mountains.

THE CHARACTERS: There were plenty, believe me. But all very nice, salt-of-the-earth types. All ten of them.

THE REASON: My parents dragged my family to this church they have found near their vacation home. It is totally quaint and pretty on the outside...small steeple, whitewashed, picnic shelter outside. Inside it is small and stinky. And, as I've said, full of characters.

Of course I teared up inside - I always tear up at church. I don't think it is the spirit moving me as much as a rare chance for me to sit down for an hour with my thoughts. But who wouldn't be moved by the sweet woman saying they only needed $15 more dollars to get ice cream for the 20 kids who would attend Vacation Bible School? Especially when one's own church's Vacation Bible School is a tightly-run behemoth of a week, complete with sub-staffs, committees, huge budgets, and crafts that require manuals and vats of supplies from Michael's.

So the mountain church experience wasn't all bad. And the sermon had a few nice moments. I could tell my husband kind of got into it. The verse they referenced was about doing like Jesus did, even to the least of these. Clothing the naked, etc. And hey - that's what it is all about, right? Well, that and going to heaven to live forever with your Lord and Savior.

Then the preacher came to chat with us and express his disbelief that anyone could live in Raleigh, the epicenter of legislative excess and evil. He himself had lived in lots of metropolises, but was so happy to be here in this charming small town. After all, he had lived for a long time in San Francisco, and....

WE SHOULD HAVE STOPPED HIM RIGHT HERE.

Why didn't we? We knew where this was leading. My husband and I, with our classic good looks and easy casual style, along with our two Hitler Youth, are the picture of the Southern American Family. (Except that I eschew mongramming and we have two kids, not three or one, which is more in vogue these days). So of course the guy felt totally at ease when he said,

"San Francisco has a different type of person there. It all started with the flower children in the 60s, and now there are just thousands of people there living what I like to call a 'perverted lifestyle', you know,

HOMOS."

Silence. Wide eyes. Internal discussions between the young husband and wife team each urging the other not. to. say. a. word.

"Really!"

Silence.

"Really, they have lots of homos!"

"So, Mr. ____, don't you just love the mountains so much more? It is really gorgeous here."

HAAAANK HAAANK HAAANK DISASTER AVERTED

I think the best part of the whole exchange is that the guy used the word HOMOS, which is actually quite popular with many of my gay heroes. Is this guy reading Trent? Is he researching this 'perverted lifestyle'? Is he learning more and more about fun places to go and people to see in his old haunt of San Fran?

No, I know. He just couldn't bring himself to say the word "sexual".

Did you know I have an "A" versus, say a "B" coil or maybe a "3" coil in my a/c unit? That my unit's air handler is offset, thereby making the coil freeze and the blower unfreeze it and water then rushes into the (insuffiently deep) trap and flows over, creating a problem that we have thrown hundreds of dollars at?

Sometimes I want to find a nice, tiny condo, maintenance included, and give up my rolling estate acreage. Lots of times, really.

This is not my dream house. We bought it because it was roomy enough for the many guests we host and close enough to a good school and friendly enough to support my then-new status as a stay-at-home mom. But I like it and I've had fun re-painting and re-doing. Houses aren't my thing anyway - I'd rather travel than stay home any day. But sheesh - home maintenance is a full-time job! No wonder the folks of yesteryear had staffs. Even my grandmother had a woman clean for her once a week, and did she feel any guilt? NO! I feel like I outsource versus keep someone on full-time, but I might as well hire a home manager. There is so much to learn, so much to know, so much to do.

And then there's the yard.

And the two cars.

And the computer.

Life isn't really that complicated, but I just don't know how to work all my stuff.

More ear candy for you and more eye candy for my husband. Somewheres on that site you can download "Heartbeat" for free, too. I actually drove to a record store today, traded in a crappy Fiona Apple cd and a Babes in Toyland disc that just won't stand the test of time, and got "Anniemal". I cannot remember the last time I purchased a plastic cd case with a studio-recorded cd in it. It was most pleasurable although I was more self-concious and I wasn't able to wear my hightie like I do when I shop iTunes.

It is hot as a mother here. Gad. I've taken to imbibing Gatorade. And it tastes good. That alone should tell you something.

There's nothing else to report, really.

I'm just sayin', he's way scary. "Daddy, can't we play Monopoly instead of Ogre?"

I'm having a VERY HARD TIME looking away from Mr. Cruise these days. The Oprah moment was hard enough - but now we see that Access Hollywood devoted a full half-hour to his rantings on Scientology. Take a look here. I really do think that I should just let it go and not look, but Britney is behaving herself (and I've given up tv since the season finales aired) so what else should I do?

I talked to my Daddy today and we both got so excited thinking about the happy events of July 16th. If you don't know what happens that day, at midnight even, then you should go check out another blog. J.K.'s site is a lot of fun but it offers no info - she is really quite notorious in her secrecy, AND she is nursing a new baby. Number 3 - a girl - two girls and a boy: my dream scenario if I had more patience, money, and stamina and less weight, post-partum psychotic freakishness, and personalities in this house.
Anyway, July 16th approaches and we are all so very ready. Yay.

I haven't wanted to talk about it. Personal issues can be like that - you can keep them inside until they seethe and stew and bubble over like pasta water. But with relief in sight, with an emotional Tums just an email away, the days are looking brighter. Thanks, Apple.

I hate Lowe's Home Improvement Warehouse, and I hate American Standard even though our new vanity is lovely, and I hate our plumber. BUT: the work is done, the ceremonial first water has been made in our new tall-guy toilet, we are awaiting the first poop, and I've showered a couple of times. The shower door ate my thumb and ripped off a nail...we might shoulda gone with the more expensive door (that I wanted, but if we got everything I wanted we would be in line at the courthouse filing for various Chapters). There is no soap because of course I want a very expensive soap dispenser from BoBo paradise. And we still have to walk about 1/2 a block to use a trash can.

But the work is done, school is out, the preliminary injunction has taken place, the pool is open, "Gimme Fiction" is dropped, and various other things are hurtling along at lightning speed, so I guess I just ought to buckle up.

Oh no. This is a sad day indeed. Whilst readers may not know of my love for the costume drama, and the life-changing experience (still! daily! every time I watch it!) that is "A Room with a View". The words "Merchant-Ivory" can still cause a flutter in my heart, a stirring in my loins, a welling in my eyes...and until someone else comes along to CONSISTENTLY make faithful adaptaions of literary glitteries....(no, not you dude) well, I'll just have to mourn with the rest of....uh.....British stay-at-home mummies? Gay dandies with no plans to go out? Uh, anyone?

Lucky you. I lost a post about diarrhea at a children's arcade and restaurant facility. Instead, you can do like Whilst do and drool over moreunattendable music festivals. Enjoy.

The character formerly known as Jack Bauer had a pretty rough day, but it isover now, and my husband and I can start putting our children to bed with warmth and attention on Monday nights again.

Last night we even resorted to making them read their own books. Not a problem for the one who reads, but the other guy...

You do what you have to do.

I am a bundle of nervous energy and also of weary exhaustion. I'm basically a single mom right now and I have more admiration and awe for that particular demographic than ever. Between having to negotiate our summer, deal with extended family, carpool here, there, and yonder, keep the house from biohazard status, plan and execute meals that aren't too sweet, salty, or fatty, keep the most demanding first grade teacher ever from bitching me out from lack of activities, sweets, and gifts, and oh, I don't know, exercise? knit? watch "24"? - well, I've just about hit a point where I won't be able to blog or speak politely to anyone. And that will be a low point.

So I'll sign off for now and do some more laundry and take a child to soccer practice. At least once there I can play in the park and not talk to anyone besides my offpsring for an hour.

Have I mentioned I'm on the Annie bandwagon? My love for Britney is reaching a crux point - with all that I know about her now, I feel I have some big decisions in my future. And K-Fed and I might have to have a row to sort some things out. But then there is Annie, the Norweigian Great White Hope for those of us who love the pop music and always have to apologize for it. She is completely adored, already, in NYC, and in June her record drops here. My son and I watch her video of "Chewing Gum" over and over and whilst he (and my husband) love her bottom, I love her hook. Take a gander and see what you think. And while you're at it, you might note that Missy is streaming her new single....thank goodness I have found some women to put on my iPod. I was getting a little worried.

LENA OLIN SHOWED UP! God bless America, why oh why didn't I haul my feverish ass downstairs to watch "Alias"? Oh, we know why...it has sucked, it has recycled plot lines, it has seriously flawed guest directors...but still, they had the decency to bring back Lena Olin despite salary disputes, etc. and I love those Alias folks for it.

It's times like this that you are so glad you know people who have TiVo, and you know who you are, and you know you are reading this, and you need to hook me up, girl.

This is funnier than the show, but ya gotta admit: the show was good. Ok, I'll admit it: it was beyond my wildest dreams. I had to miss the first twenty minutes but I'm assuming that it could not have been as great as when Britney tells her assistant that she has had sex three times that day and her makeup guy that her sex makes her full of ecstacy and when she tells Kevin to blow off the day and stay home to f*** all day. (Her bleeps, not mine).

You can't write this stuff!

The girl's downfall has been spectacular. I may even tune in next week.

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!!

My husband is not, as I had somehow determined, dead by the side of some California highway. In fact, he is happily adjusting to the Pacific time zone and jogging with MY NEW iPOD ACCESSORY and listening to Spoon and getting ready to go to a chi-chi conference. He could have called! Why am I such the worrywart?

Well, I'd explain it to you, but that would open a whole new can of Whilst, now wouldn't it? And part of the reason at this particular time in the month involves things not tasteful enough to discuss on one's website. Unless you really want to discuss them.

My computer went completely out when lightning hit the house or the power surged or something. (I'm not entirely sure my electricity situation in our darling ancient split-foyer is all that secure) BY MYSELF, I turned my darling Mac upside down, unscrewed its protective outer sheath, and pressed a magic, tiny button within the Apple's core.

And voila, another day of posting here at Whilst, another day of checking email and enjoying subject lines like HOT VIRGIN FREE TONIGHT and BUCKY NEEDS MEDS and FIELD DAY AT SCHOOL NEEDS VOLUNTEERS, another day of googling lyrics.I am a computer genius.

My cultural offerings this weekend included the bizarre and strangely cast "Kicking and Screaming". I agree completely with the Times review, and should say that Ditka really has about as much screen time as the stars. I should also say that I only laughed three times, and Ditka was involved in each laugh. I should also admit that I could not, yesterday, nor most of today, remember Robert Duvall's name, even though he is a huge influence on most of my moral beliefs.

The soccer in the movie was great. I can't wait for my little kicker to see it.

My other cultural outing was to church to see grown-ups in a musical. This was written and directed by a friend, who was also one of the stars. The talent was quite great in this thing, and I got to eat yummy BEEF (it's not what's for dinner here at the Lo-Cholesterol Cafe), and I enjoyed having some time to myself. But. I guess my main issue is that it is hard for this Rocker Girl to hear songs - even jazz standards - changed to reflect religious thought. Even if the songs may have had a religious bend to them in the first place.

I should now admit yet another thing to you: as a teenager, I developed a church talent show entry that was me singing "Like a Christian" wearing a lot of white lace and some army boots with a mini.

I didn't make it past the youth minister with that one. It was a bad idea anyway.

Sorry, I didn't post this on the right day, but S F/J has a new article, and it is about the Mountain Goats.

My son has a black eye. He got it from "wrestling" with the love of his life, a small boy with an infectious laugh whom we've known since infancy. Same boy was the one who "accidentally hit my son on the forehead full on with a baseball bat". And, sadly, the one who was in my car when I pulled in front of a speeding Pontiac Piece 0' Shit. (We were all ok).

My question to you, faithful readers, is this: do I need to stay away from this boy? Is fate or luck or coincidence playing too great a part in this friendship? I'm sure his parents are wondering the same damn thing.

It is now time to drive him home. I'll buckle everybody up good and tight. Wish me luck. It IS Friday the 13th, after all.

New music Wednesdays. Hello, KIDZ BOP! I might have to finally purchase one - after all the screaming, whining and begging, it took getting a band from the Scottish Isle on there to pique my interest.

I bought the new Spoon. Reviews coming soon. Won't it be a boon? To let you know if I swoon? When listening to Spoon.

I love you so so so much, Governor Easley. Just a day and 2 years after the guy nearly DIES on the NASCAR circuit, he gets back into the car in the maze of one-way madness that is the government sector of downtown Raleigh and has a near-miss with a Mercedes. It was probably a publicity stunt to almost graze that silver beauty but the press was fabulous. Go to http://www.newsobserver.com to find it - they won't let me link to them.

Said paper had an aritcle on my lovely but stagnant hometown this weekend, plus an article about this idiot. Well, maybe he isn't an idiot because instead of drawing more media attention he has wisely stepped down. He doesn't seem to love the limelight like others who shun my type do.

My husband and I are thinking of going and joining some congregation where there aren't any Republicans. What could that be? The Unitarians? Satanists? Nah, they are probably pro-death penalty. Well, we'll just have to look around. We'll probably find somewhere where we are welcome. As Misty Taylor, member of East Waynesville Baptist said, "I don't want to serve with the ungodly". WHATEVER THE HELL THAT MEANS.

The weekend started here: The Cheesecake Factory :: Home :. Something for Everyone! What a perfect logo - this place was like a human outing warehouse. Give the people every little thing they think they might want, and tons of it, and they will wait for hours in the MALL.

I did, however, enjoy my massive artichoke. It gave me copious gas, but it was worth every little pointy leaf.

Now it is Mother's Day and I have been treated like a queen, or at the very least like a wife of a royal heir. I got Special K in bed and a card signed by my sweeties and lots of kisses and hugs. Presents too - iPod aCcessories for the car and gym, and some cool comfy clogs so I can fit in with my butch friends.

A very nice day.

More Coachella.

Someone asked me last night who I was listening to. I couldn't answer. I stammered, took a sip of wine, thought about tossing off the old Radiohead/U2/REM/PJHarvey answer, then paused.

"Spoon," I said. "This woman from Europe, Annie. She's going to be the thinking woman's Britney". (Though, as you all know, BRITNEY is this thinking woman's Britney. Eleven more days!!!) "Pedro the Lion, the Hot Hot Heat, The Mountain Goats."

After I got away from the question-asker who basically gawked at me like I was an android, I realized that I've been able to get back to my main passion. There is no need to hide it any longer. I spend a shitload of time researching music, listening to it, thinking about it. I was at a book club meeting when I was talking about music...and books are arguably a passion. So are movies. But nothing, NOTHING does it for me like music.

I'll never get into music like I want to - I like to sleep way too much and I don't smoke anymore. But if I need a shake-up or a melt-down these days I only have to turn to my mp3 collection and get rocking. May it ever be so.

Ah, to be young again:to know the feel of wet grass up your crack; to obsess over the 6'5" skinny dude standing in your line of vision; to inhale deeper than necessary of wafting weed smoke and tell yourself it doesn't count; to become confused by Coldplay and Keane's similarities and the differences between Spoon and the Stereo Machines; to not rememeber any Gang of Four songs from 20 years ago though YOU KNOW YOU SHOULD KNOW THEM.....to be young again and to tolerate that much humanity and that much ear-busting sonic reverb in one weekend.

I'll just have to live vicariously through my brother and sister-in-law, who attended last year, and through Bob.

What's wrong, honey? Was it the 14 bridesmaids? The reception at the Atlanta Athletic Club? Was it your groom's quiet, manly Christianity?

He's willing to take you back. That right there might signify a problem, dear.

Maybe its time to follow those dreams. Did you enjoy the great American west? Do you have a girlfriend you can talk it over with (because your mom and dad might be....disappointed...and less a bit of deposit money)? What can we do for you, except, say, LEAVE YOU ALONE?

Or maybe offer some advice: you don't have to get married. You have a right to be scared. And you would probably be doing a lot of people a favor if you just called it off right now. Ok?

Another celebrity run-in at the Quail Ridge Shopping Center. This time, it was the Guv's wife at the yarn store. I decided not to acknowledge who she was when she said she was "in heaven" whilst waiting behind a very slow-going customer with an ankle-length fringed cardigan and nails akin to Sauruman's. But, busy lady though she is, she is apparently a master knitter, and she seemed to enjoy the yarn store's dry goods and easy chatter.

Meanwhile, apparently the Guv was getting his hair cut next to my neighbor's son's chair. Guess it was errand day for the first couple.

Later that week, I threw up. And had the diarrhea. And other aches and pains and tales of woe. I'm better now, and I'm grateful for the patience of my throngs of fans as they awaited another entry here at Whilst.

I was so sick I couldn't even knit. Glad that's over with.

There is something So. Very. Wrong. about this guy And yet, what's not to love about a lounge version of Radiohead's "Creep"?

Did Britney really buy her some Radiohead? Is Kevin influencing her music taste? Twenty-one days and counting!!!

I have a new reader here at Whilst. She is a fan of the Whole Foods, though not an Indie-Yuppie. Well, I think she is, but she says she is not. She is a very accomplished woman and also, as I said, a fan of the organic grocer. I am a fan, too, but I am poor and a sucker for an advertised sale item. So what's a girl to do? I'll tell you. Use the plastic bags, but recyle them. Stick with that great smelling laundry detergent but find a green dish detergent. Don't clean your house too much. Switch deodorants. These things have made me feel better about myself and my environment and have not wounded my wallet too deeply.

We can all do our part to save the Earth and prevent cancer. Can't we now.

I am quite easily pleased sometimes. I can talk endlessly about the weather. And now I have Cumulonimbus Corner, a blog about local weather. I plan to check in daily!! I eagerly await the next entry!!

At my Grandmom's funeral weekend events I had to check myself several times...my desire to talk about the weather was great. Especially when, during the service, unexpected thunder came up. And when, during the luncheon following the service, the wind blew up a gust and the power went out. But I kept on talking about more appropriate topics and denied myself.

So as a little treat, I'll go stalk the weather guys.

Am I an Indie Yuppie? Read here to ponder. Yes, I use iTunes to discover new bands and I heart Sasha Frere-Jones....but I don't wear cool t-shirts at all. I eagerly await April 29, but I still am on my first and possibly only iPod. My hair is unruly and colored practically, and I do not shop exclusively at Whole Foods.

So perhaps Indie-Yuppie is not right. But I don't think I'm a full-fledged Yuppie either, mainly due to lack of cash and materialism.

Quirky-Yuppie? Conserva-Hippie? Mompie?

I know she's popular. YOU know she's popular. And this, my faithful readers, is why.

Shit, that is funny.

And boy, have I been there. Except not. Not really. Shit, I say again.

You are most like Robin! A leader and fearless by
nature, you tend to dive straight into
something without thinking. You have a hard
time trusting your friends sometimes and you
are extremely serious when you have to. You
don't like being compared to someone you are a
rival with and sometimes your temper gets the
best of you. Out of all of your friends you
might be the one who dreams to be leader or is
the leader. Whatever the reason sometimes you
need to look before you leap.


Which Teen Titans Character Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla


Lynn says it is all about the pizza...she may be right. I think I do prefer Raven's goth powers and prickliness, but I somehow always end up the leader. Even behind the scenes I am usually leading something. Unbeknownst to you all, I really want to shun the spotlight, in general.

There is just so much to learn from children and their poorly animated, badly written television shows.

I don't wear a watch. I tried, and when it broke, I just gave up. I do have a cell phone (that is called far too frequently - I'm going to have to change numbers) and it tells me the time...then there is the car, where I spend 6 months out of every year. Sometimes I am temptedby the style and substance of a watch....I am always intrigued by what the stars wear, too. But I never submit to my own intrigue.

Instead, I just wing it, day to day, hour to hour, often late and many times stressed, but blissfully unaware of at least one binding structure.

I am so, well, "Lost".
And not just about "Lost".

And there is so much going on you just would. not. believe.

But in the meantime, I miss out on why Hurley is a millionaire and that the preggy girl gave birth and that Boone is dead. WHO IS BOONE?

Off to pre-order the season 1 dvd....

I was trying to find a site about how much people love the Pope...and I found instead a dating service for the pontiff.

Sheesh, the Internet.

The Sunday School class I went to before I went deep into the bowels of our church to lead/referee the preschoolers often discussed topics of cultural reference. These topics usually had religious questions or meanings attached. This week the class will be ably led by our SuperTeacher in a discussion aboutGod and the tsunami.

I really must be a paegan because I don't understand where exactly God fits into the tsunami...except for the obvious places. Such as how the divine work of nature is so awesome and unimaginably complex that an earthquake under the sea could produce a wall of water thousands of miles across. Such as how the name of God, differently uttered in different cultures, was called on to ease horrid grief. And how God was prayed to by those of us not affected....as we hoped to ease the suffering of those whose loved ones were literally ripped from their arms.

But what I don't understand is how God's tsunami creation can be used - especially in a time of great pain and unbelievable loss - as a political platform. I don't understand certain folk who might compare the loss of thousands of people to the loss of unborn babies in our country. I mean, just don't do that. Really. It is NOT THE TIME. I also don't understand how the tsunami can be used as a way to witness to the unwashed masses. I might be wrong, but it seems like God was not sending a "message" to the thousands of impoverished Sri Lankans, Indians, Thai, and Indonesians who have lost so much. Noah built the ark and all, if you believe that sort of thing, but even then I don't think God was so freaking mean.

I also have a hard time believing, as Ann Graham Lotz does (and boy do I think she is an idiot), that this disaster was meant to show us that the afterlife is all that counts.

Instead, this disaster reminds me I am put here on Earth to support my fellow man. (It was one hell of a reminder, but still) That whilst I am not suffering, I should help those who do. That shit happens, dude, sometimes mind-boggling, nightmarish, more-than-we-can-fathom shit, and while it may ease my mind to pray or hope that it won't happen to me, it could, and tomorrow, and boy am I glad I don't have to deal with it alone.

Martin Buber explained - and this is my very simplistic understanding and description of it - that God is us. And so thanks, us, for helping out those people with donations, volunteer hours, and meditations. And us? Let me remember that I should be grateful, every single day, for a day without a tsunami. For a day without a choice to make about my loved one's medical status. For a day that I can make choices about my life and health.

For every single day.

Damn. When you have glory days in the eighties pop scene, is this just the de rigeur thing to do?

I love some Crowded House. I shared a love of it with a freshman that I dated as a last-semester senior in college. He had an obsession with all bands neat and tidy - and, as it turns out, pretty much every thing neat and tidy. Still, we had some good times watching the Beta version of "Eraserhead" in his dorm room, making out in his convertible Mustang, and going to see "Sex, Lies and Videotape" and "Batman" with Jack Nicholson. Crowded House provided the perfect soundtrack for those days. Innocent but edgy, tidy but energetic, over too soon but lasting too long.

I really don't know what to say about poor Terri Schiavo except, "Poor Terri Schiavo." I feel for her, for her family, for anyone who is losing sleep over this scenario broadcast across our lives each minute. I would register an opinion but I can't seem to find any agreeing information. Did she say she wouldn't want to continue in a vegetative state? Did she really only have about a third of her brain left? Did removal of her feeding tube truly equal killing her? Anyway, I'll have to fight befuddlement with humor, cause that's what I do, folks, so here ya go.

I enjoyed our mountain trip. Funny how I thought myself a beach girl...but am quickly finding the restorative power of the mountains equally alluring. I love going to see the elk herd, I love hiking, I love sitting around on the deck of my parents' mountain house with a cocktail. (Or, I remember liking that, a lot. And I will like it again. IN FIVE DAYS).

I worked in the mountains years ago. I thought the area I was in was wet, cold, and lonely. On a sunny day it was too hot. And on my days off I was too busy smoking, drinking, listening to non-campy music and renewing my physical vows with my then-boyfriend (now-husband, don't worry) to notice my environs.

But now? I like the mountains. I like not having to slather on sunscreen to go out to the car. I like the quiet. I like the wildlife and the possibility of more (I am a hopeless optimist when it comes to a potential bear sighting).
I'll look forward to a beach trip this year, but I may very well think of the mountains when I'm there.

I had the pleasure of chatting up a local celeb at the bookstore today - the owner and Queen of Small Independent Booksellers. I had read an interview with her where she said that every year she re-reads Garcia Marquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude" and Austen's "Pride and Prejudice" - both favorites of mine. I told her that I felt like she gave me license to re-read old favorites and basically served as my therapist this winter by recommending that I read P&P again. Truly, a dose of Darcy is good for what ails ya. A heaping helping of Havordforshire and Hampstead-on-Heath is hugely healing.

The Divine Entreprenurial Diva also shared her love of Marquez and told me when reading "Solitude" to forget all the characters names and focus on prose and plot. Not a problem, as I've already read the book and couldn't begin to tell you one character's name. I'm reading his autobiography now and couldn't tell you anyone's name save his.

She also told me to be wary of recommending this book to my book club. So warned.

My birthday is Saturday. Happy Birthday to me! Faithful readers, your attention and devotion has been a gift to me like none other. I thank you.

An even weirder weekend. Plans were to fly out whilst delightful babysitting aunt and uncle flew in. To New Orleans, for a fabulous dinner and night (one) in a hotel.

Plans change.

We've lost some cash on this one, but it seems that we did the right thing. Baby boy had the flu and it was ugly - for about 2 days. Miraculously, he is almost right as rain. Thank goodness for the wonderdrug. Of course, had the flu started earlier and the wonderdrug been given on, say, Wednesday, we could have gone. Timing: it's what makes or breaks us.

As it stands, we had a nice weekend with the auntie and uncle and I even partook of my lenten sacrificial nectar a bit. THAT was fun, I tell you. Bring on Easter. Also, hubby and I got to go see an Oscar-nominated flick, bringing us within fighting distance of seeing them all.

But. Still. I'd like to be with my husband sometime without outside (young) influences. Maybe that will happen sometime soon. If not, there's always 2029 to look forward to.

A weird weekend. First the benefit premiere for the NASCAR IMAX 3D (CAPITALS GALORE) movie, complete with Viagra car that my friend and neighbor had the wherewithall to procure for the museum in question - and she footed almost the entire bill, too. Afterwards the girls and I ventured out of our comfort zone and into Hellcar where we met and chatted up one of our heroes. Saturday was the tile store, where I think we found something for our bathroom. No weekend is truly complete without a stop at the Lively Lebanese Location of Luscious Largesse where I branched out a little bit from my labneh/grape leaf sandwich. Dinner with the favored neighbors - kudos to my husband for letting the children run around with him during the hour-long wait whilst I had a virgin margarita and hilarious talk with my fellow Piscean.

Then Sunday hit - and the week loomed ahead with all sorts of Junior League horrors around the corner and my music lesson to plan instead of a nap and the kid in the back yard annoying me and bleck blah boo.

Thank God for Keane and a long walk up a flat road.

Mark your rock calendars! The Beckisode airs March 10. I think I can stand looking at Mischa Barton for an hour in order to get such an important sneak preview....

I googled "Belle du Jour" to see if they had pictures of her new book or her for that matter, and this is what I get. Now I'll have nightmares tonight, or at the very least, panic attacks this summer on my first beach trip.

More than likely, my maiden name's heritage is Irish. This research confirms my ancestory. Boy, am I having the hardest time. It has been two weeks since a drop of alcohol has entered my system. Well, I do gargle with Listerine, but still. The weekdays are the hardest. And I'm not sure if I suffer from a need not being met or a major longing/want. At any rate, I would love to sit back and sip a martini or linger over a glass of red wine. But I won't. Because I have something to prove to Jesus, or to AA, or to myself, but I do have something to prove and prove it I will.

I think I have about a month left.

My favorite show on the telly has been accused of anti-Muslim portrayals. Truth be known, I've been a little uncomfortable watching of late, myself. Navi, the Muslim father and the terrorist operative (dead as of 2/21's episode) is a cold murderer and an inhumane father and a righteous and faithful man who is disgusted by a show of flesh and extramarital activity. Pretty harsh. The writers have always been careful - for the previous three seasons - to avoid stereotyping. Once before they had a Muslim subplot but that was eventually revealed to be only a small part of a corporate web. After last night, it seems probable that the Arabic terrorists in this season might also be part of a larger scheme.

Regardless, "24" is still really great this year. Much better than my other nine o'clock date. If only I had more time for the eight o'clock obsession....

Speaking of sterotyping and racism, my daughter has to do a report on a famous African-American for school. For the first time, I've heard her identify a person as "black". And "white". I guess it took 6 1/2 years, but it is still bittersweet to reveal the world in full color to her. The person she chose was a first grader who heroically integrated a school. Ruby Bridges is a fascinating and impressive subject, but sadly, we are having to edit my daughter's research a bit. I don't have a problem with her learning that schools were divided in our country at one point, but I'm not sure what benefit my little girl would glean from seeing protestors carrying black dolls in coffins.

Boy, it's amazing what you can learn in first grade.

Jeeeeeeeesus I ain't smart when it comes to these here compoooters. I try and I try to blog, but blog I cannot. And then I lose a thought. Or I'm asked to open another box of Sweethearts. Or I actually attempt to straighten or clean my house, something I have time to do but somehow never chose to do? So then, no blog entry. To my legions of devoted fans, my apologies.

I'm back as of tonight, and I have much to say and not much time to say it in. I have a very pressing commitment and then I should probably try and say a few words to the spouse, and there's the planning for the weekend that I need to do. If I don't plan the weekend, we get caught unawares and end up having to do horrifying, unpleasant things like eat bad food with boring people. (As it stands, we are going to be seeing an Oscar-nominated film this weekend, watching my baby girl play soccer, and going to church. I am also helping to watch my friend's children and there is the Y-Princess thing. I guess we are, as usual, booked solid. Oh for a free weekend without fear of boring people and bad food!)

Shit! I seem to have a blog entry without having said anything at all. But boy do I feel better now. Just having typed some of this and relaxed for a minute with you, my adoring public, has soothed my nerves. Well done, Whilst fans! Thank you ever so.

Why didn't I find this site earlier? Awful Plastic Surgery was out there all along. It is disheartening - for example, I really thought Gwen Stefani wouldn't go there. And some folks I just can't even glimpse....Janice Dickerson, that woman from Desperate Housewives, The King of Pop.

I find that I am inextricably drawn to shows like "The Swan" and "Extreme Makeover". I've never seen an entire episode but I've watched parts of these whilst my husband sits in the corner and screams "Make it go away! Stop! Avert your eyes!"

I tried. I really, really tried, people. I tried to watch "Oprah" today.

I poured some lime spritzer, sat down, put my feet up, and put the children out. I turned on the telly. I gazed at Oprah's beautiful new svelte self and her impeccable makeup and hair. I felt slightly jealous of her exotic kicks. I was drawn, briefly, to my knitting project, left tantalizingly close to my chair, but NO. I was going to watch "Oprah".

I finally opted to turn the sound on when I saw the segment on Oprah's trip to South Africa. The AIDS patient she visited seemed truly excited to see Oprah and the ill woman's daughter gave O a big hug. So I suppose Oprah did some good there, bringing awareness to this issue. And I'm sure she's thrown some money at the problem. Oprah is really good friends with Nelson Mandela, it seems.

This show was a look back at Oprah's production staff's favorite moments. Kind of a variety show. But after the third death story, I started flipping (really racy movies are on in the afternoon! Don't they know kids are watching??). I tried to go back to Oprah, but when I did, they showed Gwyneth Paltrow cooking and talking about her nursing breasts. I just didn't think I was up to all that. How can Oprah be up to it?

So I failed. I'm sorry. I think I have failed my fellow SAHMs out there. (SAHM = Stay At Home Mom, or, according to Dooce, Shit Ass Ho Motherfuckers) I need to try harder.

Don't I?

Hello from the Raleigh, NC version of Larry David. I continue to get into scrapes that are so Curb-worthy that I should consider a move to LA and reap a creative consultant fee. The run-ins I have with people convince me that there are very few people that I actually LIKE. I'm also convinced that there is a conspiracy to keep me from spending my precious free time with anyone likable. Who is thwarting me? Why, the people I don't like!

On the bright side, season tres is out on DVD, it has been Netflixed and should be in the mailbox today. I'll be laughing along with Larry tonight, not at him.

Maybe the world is coming to an end after all. HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN? Sometimes when I am really missing Georgia I listen to Kate and Cindy's harmonies on a song such as "Song for Future Generation" or "Roam". Or I review the votes cast in Georgia in favor of a constitutional ammendment banning gay marriage in last year's elections. Both the song and the vote count can soothe my longings and massage my appreciation for my current environs.

Still, current environs are so much very like a third-world country sometimes. We made the news for an inch of snow, people!

I doubt I'll ever go this far to assuage my guilt for driving a big-ass car. Nor will I ever go as far as the purported eco-terrorists have.

But I'm having a hard time deciding what to drive next. It sure is fun to pack a bunch of kiddos in your car at one time. And four-wheel drive is a must to get to the place in the mountains.

If only Poppleton would consider my dream vehicle! You can RINSE IT OUT WITH A HOSE! What better car for my sloppy family!

At a fantastic dinner last night, my companion took me to task for my anger about the second-term Inauguration. I promise, if John Kerry was currently showing this kind of extravagance, in the face of war and natural destruction, I would be upset too. Really. Bush-bashing is real - but so was Clinton-bashing - and really, there are those of us who are not blinded by the pepper spray of election loss. There are those of us who just think throwing money on a big party is not the way the leader of a country at war and in debt should act.

Come on, at least walk the Inaugural route....

Thirty to forty million dollar budget. Nine balls. Parades. Well, at least he is making sure that his (second term) inauguration reflects a nation at war.

I'm really trying hard to be a voice of reason. I really am - I'm trying to give liberals a better, clean-shaven, white, upper-middle-class face. But damn do these people make it hard. Have a parade - that's fine. Just cancel all of the balls except the one for military personnel and veterans, and give the money to the families of the war dead.

Please?

My book club is in a minor state of disarray after reading and discussing a fairly political tome...at our last meeting a Bush-voter was attacked by a pack of wild dogs still hungry after TWO THOUSAND's election. Completely unnecessary. It is all silliness and hurt feelings and closed-mindedness but somehow important and needed...I do wish we could all find a common language with which to discuss this stuff....

...but I for one can only say DAMMIT TO HELL EVIL BUSH ADMINISTRATION WHERE DO YOU GET OFF when I read reports like this one. The media is so constantly labeled as left-wing and controlled by the liberals. The No Child Left Behind Act is constantly being praised as a step forward for our schools and educational systems. Now we see that all is not what it seems. Not on either side. Michael Moore may be a dumb fat idiot, but I seriously doubt that he is being paid by the DNC to rattle on about Bush's school library habits during major crises of national security.

I would type more but I'm too mad and as usual, not well-informed enough. Off to read and review this situation further.

Today I went ice skating with my two darlings. Poppleton had to go buy shiny shoes and cufflinks, etc. so he only joined us late. POINT OF NOTE: Poppleton, my dear husband, can talk about tuxedo accessories longer than anyone! He goes on and on! He can find no lack of interesting (or not interesting) points about the topic to share!

Anywho...

...skating, on ice, anyway, does NOT come back to you quickly. On the contrary, there are 5 - 10 minutes minimum of shooting pain, intense fear, and thoughts of death. There are tiny swears made in one's mind to never try this again. Tiny realizations that you are not only too old for this, but you will never, ever snow ski. Tiny observations about every spear of pain moving through your shin.

But, after a while, I admired the go-get-emness of my two young charges and got into it. By the end of the session I was even attempting some backward skating and a snow plow stop (I wasn't bad as a child). We may even go back next Sunday. As long as there is an NHL lockout, then perhaps we owe it to the fans.

I did something important today. I went to the Times web site and looked at pictures of the dead, the grieving, and the damage from the tsunami in South and Southeast Asia. I had to do it. I think that we are sanitized whilst watching telly news (and thank goodness, for my children do not need to see that stuff at this age) and listening to NPR just doesn't cut it all the time.

I also told my son about it. I tried to temper the tale with assurances that this can't happen here and I soft-pedaled the carnage. He is now obsessed with his own death, though, and continues to ask me about sharks.

Which, you know, probably have played a huge role in the inability to find the missing.

It is really too much to think about sometimes.

Make a donation if you can.

I was a knitting fool over Christmas. I knocked out half a dozen scarves and an iPod cozy for Lynn. So I need a new project. What is next for me? Hmmmm. Maybe not.

I was also a traveling fool over Christmas. I went to Cartersville (Bartow County), Atlanta (Fulton County) and Macon (Bibb County), and finally to Clyde, NC (Haywood County) for New Year's Eve....a night of silence at the dinner table and snoring parents on the couch...but a sweet family time with a beautiful night of stars and warmth.

I was a sick fool over Christmas, though I did not have strep throat like my dear Lynn.

I was a slavish fool over Christmas, serving everyone's emotional and mental needs...talking with quarrelling relatives about each other and about their feeble, old parent...then talking with said parent about her own issues. Its a tough row to hoe but someone has to do it. I've always thought my role in life is to be the supportive one. I don't feel up to it, but I prefer that to being the one in need.

All in all a good holiday. I'm really glad its over. I'm not really glad to be back in town, but as my New Year's resolution is to work on my house and home and stay there more often, I need to get over that feeling.

I know I'm lucky.

Yes, Virginia....

mascara DOES freeze. Solid. And does not apply to eyelashes in a familiar fashion at all once frozen. Also freezable is the sliding door of a Honda minivan.

Just FYI.

Yes, Virginia...

... tights do eventually disintegrate. Hot weather will do it, and apparently, so will keeping them in your closet for seven years or more without wearing them.

Did I realize they might disintegrate whilst shopping at the new Target? Noooo....

Did you know that it is possible to change tights, even if you have on knee-high boots, in the front seat of your car? Hey - I was at Target! I was able to save the day!

So what to do with all the pairs that I saved from pre & during pregnancy (i.e., when I was a working girl)? Sigh.

My hometown is often the site of bizarre incidents, including my birth and wedding. This article describes yet another strange happening. No one in Macon would yell "murderer" at anyone. At least not to their face.

Looks like its gonna be a white Christmas in my town this year. Boy, do I grow tired.

I'm enjoying my church a little more these days - we have a new pastor and he takes the job more than seriously. He's a hugger and his hair is really so very pastory but there is new life in the congregation and I'm not feeling like the lone voice of adventurous liberal-type questioning anymore.

I wish I were more thick-skinned. My neighbor and I have had a troubled relationship from the get-go, compounded by the fact that I cannot abide her child at all and am dismayed at his lying, his treatment of my children, and his destructive abilities (I thought this was MY problem, but other children have come over here with nary an incident, so there!). She is distancing herself now, which she should do, and for which I am grateful, but I never feel comfortable knowing there is someone out there not liking me. Why I give a shit, I'll never know. My plan is to drop this care once and for all when I hit 40.

The Christmas cards are almost done - nothing creative this year, just a cutie-pie picture of my girl with no front teeth and my boy loving on her. Being the family whipping post means that I mail to Aunt Alice and Uncle Arthur (who, I found out today, is dead. Will his card be returned? Forwarded to his descendents? What?) and Cousins Brenda and John. And John on the other side, too. I don't mind doing this - someone has to I guess, and I'm good at it. I just want to be thanked.

Finally, a note about my husband's bad behaviour this week. He wanted a snack. Did he go for a sandwich, a bowl of cereal, some nuts or an orange? NO! He opened the delightful baguette toasts for appetizers I was saving and ate them. All. And then for snack dessert, opened a jar of frosting. This sounds gross, but sadly it is one of my serious weaknesses so I am currently nursing a stomach heavy-laden with lardy icing and wondering what exactly I was thinking marrying a skinny man with a tapeworm. Love him though I do.

I had a car accident. Kind of my fault, kind of the fault of the humongous Suburban that kept me from seeing the speeding red car headed right at me (it is no secret that I do not care for humongous Suburban-like cars). The car accident has made me think so much that my brain hurts and that I need a nap.

The guy's car was totalled. My car, not so much. Me, the well-off young white girl in the minivan with a boy and his friend, not having to work because my husband does so well. He, the man just getting off from work whose registration was not current, whose license was expired, who may very well not have insurance. And who now does not have a car. At least he has a caring girlfriend, who, in her phone call to me today, identified herself suddenly as "fiancee". Lynn thinks they are going to shaft me. She's probably right.

Last night was bleak as all hell. I had to make a thousand phone calls to the thousands of people who were relying on me for something. I had to make my husband come from work. I had to rely on a stranger to change my tire (who did so despite his distaste for the constant stream of foul-smelling gas emitted by my son). I had to call the mother of my son's friend, who has already dealt with a year and a half of chemo for her child and now has to worry about letting her children ride with people.

Of course, had I not been so completely giving and maybe a little selfish on behalf of my family, I would not have been out driving at a busy hour at a bad intersection. I need to learn to say NO and say it often.

I had bad dreams and visions all night - of what could have happened, about what might have been, about where I might have ended up instead of in my bed, cozy and warm. I am lucky as all hell.

In the middle of the night, I went to check on my son - out of guilt, fear, whatever. I tucked in his covers and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. He woke up and said, "Mommy?" Yes? "I love you." I sure have a lot to be grateful for and I'll try to take more time and more opportunities to do just that.

Hello again, hello. I just wanted to say, "hello". I've been gone for such a long,long time. Mainly because of problems with the blogger.com site. I really need someone to sit down and give me a tutorial on how to get my computer back to the pristine, lovely, spam-free creature she used to be.

READING: "To America" by Stephen Ambrose. Poor guy. I'm not a history buff, but I am a prose buff, and so far it is sloooooow going. Also reading a gift from my very favorite Republican, white, wealthy, religious, educated female of a certain age who is married with children (but she's so much more than that): "Barbarians at the Gate" by a bunch of guys. It is pretty interesting, but I have a lot to learn about big business.

WATCHING: "A Lion in Winter" with Kate. Ah, Kate. "Bruce Almighty". Oh, Jim. And with my daughter, "Samantha: An American Girl Holiday". A charming, heartwarming, tearjerking tale about a girl in upstate New York around the turn of the century. Great acting, very moving animated Tide commercials featuring American Girl dolls, and enough sweet plot twists to make my cry several times and for my husband to laugh at me.

LISTENING TO: "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" by who else. I mean, come on. If you can't love this album, then you don't deserve to call yourself a rock and roll fan. It has it all: ballsy vocals, layered production, "rifferama" as Bono called it in the Times,, Interpol-inspired bass, classic U2 drumming, and lovely lovely melodies with lyrics that are incredibly thoughtful but not so preachy.

I'm also way into Interpol, but you guessed that. I missed seeing them in NYC...can you imagine? It would be like seeing REM in Athens in the 80s. Oh yeah, I did that.

So we have a Republican House, a Republican Senate (what happened, Erskine?), and possibly a Republican president.....are the Dems starting to think about the future? Sounds like it. And what of my hometown boy, Edwards? He is standing by his man. What must he be thinking? At ten a.m. today are we going to see him concede and then start the wheels rolling?

Will the President, should he win Ohio, realize that he has a delicate, wounded nation to run?

Will the eleven states that agreed to consider banning same-sex marriages - by law - crow and cheer that they kept the cruel but necessary institution of marriage so sacred and so rigid?

It's raining here.

New verb: "Netflixed". To receive dvds of one's choice, via electronique "queue", in the mail, complete with pre-paid return envelopes. Usage: "I 'Netflixed' the latest Merchant-Ivory vehicle and was entranced by the pastoral scenes of undiscovered Italy."

New noun: Pod. Slang for "iPod". Usage: "Where in the hell did you put the 'Pod'? Where did you leave it? Is it in your CAR?"

Per their usual, The Onion has it just right. I think back to the halcyon days of watching Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, or Peter Jennings call the damn thing by 9:30 p.m. so I get out to the club in time for a show. And now that Arafat is sick, well, who the hell knows anything anymore. Life is just one big question mark. Just like George always said.

Just to quote "The Onion", Holy Fucking Shit! I'm thinking that we are going to be all ok on election day but things could go rapidly downhill by 1 a.m. on November 3. Hold on, buckle up, and shut up. It's time to ride.

Ooooooooo.........scaaaaaryyy!

Finally got our pumpkins, at the old pumpkin patch in the 'hood. I was grumpy, dinner was burning, he was late and focused on work, but once we saw two little forms running about in the midst of so much warm orange, everything melted into happy.

Big time fun in the Belle Household recently - when my children discoveredmy own childhood obsession. Cloris Leachman as the Amazon Queen (a sour and drunken queen - bril!), Lynda Carter's gorgeous gams and strangely effective expressions, and Lyle Waggoner. My God, Lyle Waggoner.

Get it. Rent it. Oh, and did you see this? We were one step away from canceling when the Amazon god(desse)s smiled on us once again.

Not that I'm a fashionista, not even in the least, but I do agree with this article. I think my FOP (Fear Of Poncho) began on the day I walked into Belk's and saw the poncho-only department as described by Ms. Fortini. I love a trend, but too much of a good thing scares me. Like Dr. Scholl's sandals...no matter how cool the pair, I just don't think I can follow the trend, now that it is so very much a trend.

Its not that I don't buy into fads - I have a bunch of animal prints this fall, I'm dying for a round-toed pump, and I really, really want to knit my daughter a poncho. But more than likely I'll still be cowering in the cold wearing last year's Target suede jacket whilst the rest of the population snuggles into their armless covers.

I really have no problem whatsoever with this. So sue me. I am not an equal-opportunity player hater when it comes to selling out. I respect bands like REM and Neil Young for not every doing it and for railing against it, and then sometimes I think it is tastefully and carefully done. Other times, not so much.

I just read an interview touting Dylan's new book where he said Bono would have been a cop if he had come to America in the early part of the century. Apparently they drank a case of Guiness together. There was no mention of cigarettes but one would think they smoked a case of those. I just like to imagine these evenings when icons get together and discuss banal things. Peter Buck apparently got the idea to tour with two nannies from Bono. Maybe Dylan got the idea to do the Victoria Secret ads from him, though I doubt it. As the beer got low, there might have been comparison notes about various IRAs and investment opportunities. Sports? I guess not. Best hotels to stay in whilst in the Midwest? Home remedies for guitar callouses? Surely some religious discussion though God knows what.

Gracious. I had no idea that every single relevant topic could befodder for the fighting. I generally haven't thought this election as contentious as some - after all, I moved to my fair city in the midst of a Jesse Helms election. But lately Messers Bush and Kerry seem to be slinging it pretty regularly. Even people who wanted a decent, kinder campaign season were bitching that Johnny Edwards was too easy on Cheney.

But I shouldn't comment about anything relevant or timely, as I am completely out of it. I didn't even know about poor Christopher Reeve. I remember a New Yorker article from a year or two back that outlined the advances that Reeve's advocacy had made possible for people with paralysis. The article - and Reeve - both stated that he would walk again. I am sorry that didn't happen. Still, I salute someone who used his celebrity only for good and whose actions created real improvements and treatments for a tragic condition.

Finally, the Braves are on my mind. I've watched approximately one inning of the playoffs - baseball is one of the sacrifices I've made for motherhood. By the time the few of you who read this do read this, it will be over, for better or for worse. I can only hope that I am in for a few more nights of my husband lying on the couch for hours and a few more mornings of finding an empty beer bottle on the side table.

I had an appointment at the Carolina Ballet today. In preparation for interviewing a prima ballerina, I took my four-year-old to Bojangles where I delicately consumed a chicken filet biscuit and sipped down a cup of sweet tea the size of a traffic cone. I rubbed my hands with some antibacterial foam and sucked on a splinter of a breath strip, grabbed my boy, and strode into the offices of the company.

After I had a coughing fit due to the large fog of smoke that encompassed the entrance, I was delighted to meet both the handler and her ballerina. They were very kind women, very lovely. And very thin. We walked past a couple of freakish looking women and some slight but beautiful boys. To my son's delight, the handler showed him the gingerbread men's costumes from "The Nutcracker".

All in all, the meeting went well. I had to wonder about that life, though...I can't wait to see The Company (currently midway down in my Netflix cue). And I may very well attend another ballet. But it seems a harsh life, with stringent guidelines, and a limited window for achieving anything. I don't have the artist's heart so I can't really know. But I can gawk and wonder, and watch these dancers, right through the cloud of smoke that obscures them from my view.

This is the eve of an REM album release. So different, this time! First, we have the single released well ahead of time (and before that, a snippet released), and lo and behold you can even listen to the whole album right this very minute! Wow! The Internet! Wonders of wonders! But guess what. I don't know if hearing "Around the Sun" two days ago was all that. Was it because I wasn't sitting in a late-fall sun-filled room, with friends, with a beer or two, listening on my stereo? Was it because I didn't really like the record (gasp)? Was it because I was exhausted from running around after my two darlings and perparing for my music classes? Why, dammit, why?

Ah, let's just hope the album holds promise and will hold my attention. Maybe tomorrow, on its official release day, I'll fall in love with a new REM record. Just like I have so many times before, in so many different rooms, with so many different people.

A few blogs I've read today refer to being tired of their online selves. Or not just their online selves, but every other thing about themselves. I understand, really I do. But is there something in the air? Like me, are others lives running at fever pitch and finding no time to just stop and sniff the blog? No time to sit at the computer for anything other than work, volunteer work, coersion of parents into school requirements, Halloween costume shopping, and reviews of your latest book club selection?

There is plenty of time in my day, and some of it is spent in boring, rote, trite activity. Some of it is spent in anger. Some of it is spent in the car, where at least I can listen to music. Some of it is spent working out my body, some spent working out my brain. I'm very productive. But I refuse to feel guilty when I'm not. So maybe I won't blog a lot. No one reads this anyway!

(To those of you who do, of course I'm grateful. But don't expect an apology after an absence.)