I said I wasn't getting married again... but....

That just proves you should never say never! Finally I find the right man for me so I am not letting him go!

Our wedding is set for March 3, 2007, one year from the day we laid eyes on each other at Conor O'Neills in Ann Arbor. Amazingly we met online, on MySpace, so I guess we'll have to send Tom a gushy letter thanking him for developing such a cool place to meet people.

So far, we are registered at Bed Bath & Beyond. We're still officially determining a reception site, although we think we know where we'll do that. It will be an evening cocktail and h'ors douerve reception, and we're asking everyone to wear "cocktail attire" - meaning little black dresses for the ladies (gloves optional) and dark suits for the men. Yes it is OK to wear black to a wedding!

Invites will go out probably around Christmas, so we have a lot of work to do between now and then. I've already purchased a few decoration items on Ebay (again, cheap and functional stuff... gotta love Ebay!) and my dress... then we have to talk about ceremony music, the DJ, get ourselves a photographer, get our attendant gifts, arrange a rehearsal dinner...well, I'm getting exhausted just typing all that. More updates as wedding developments fall into place!

Court, and other necessary things

Looks like I am now the owner of the house in Greenville, just waiting on the official signed judgement from the county, and an emergency quit claim deed from the area in which the house sits. My lawyer even said she appreciated the volume of information I provided to her, and that the judge had never approved something like this before without any changes to what we requested. So that made me feel good, like I coulda been a lawyer! Hopefully I can get the place ready to sell fairly soon and just get rid of it ASAP. Goodness knows I have some other debt and expenses to take care of instead of paying a mortgage payment on a house I don't live in. I keep saying I wish I'd gotten a lawyer way back when to take care of this before...but there's no sense in beating myself up now, it's mostly resolved at this point.

Reprinted from Snopes.com - Happy Friday the 13th

Legend: Friday the 13th is a day fraught with peril.

Origins: Although most of us would probably affirm that superstition's
role in Western culture is now a much diminished one, more a source of amusement than anything else, there are still those who allow their trepidation over particular days or dates to prevent them from engaging in their choice of activities. We may make jokes about Friday the 13th and only kiddingly instruct loved ones to exercise greater care on that day, but those who suffer from a fear of the number thirteen (triskaidekaphobia) or a fear of Friday the 13th (paraskevidekatriaphobia) may genuinely feel limited by the rumored potential for ill luck connected with the date.

The reasons why Friday came to be regarded as a day of bad luck have been obscured by the mists of time — some of the more common theories link it to a significant event in Christian tradition said to have taken place on Friday, such as the Crucifixion, Eve's offering the apple to Adam in the Garden of Eden, the beginning of the Great Flood, or the confusion at the Tower of Babel. Chaucer alluded to Friday as a day on which bad things seemed to happen in the Canterbury Tales as far back as the late 14th century ("And on a Friday fell all this mischance"), but references to Friday as a day connected with ill luck generally start to show up in Western literature around the mid-17th century:

• "Now Friday came, you old wives say, Of all the week's the unluckiest day." (1656)

From the early 19th century onward, examples abound of Friday's being considered a bad day for all sorts of ordinary tasks, from writing letters to conducting business and receiving medical treatment:

• "I knew another poor woman, who lost half her time in waiting for lucky days, and made it a rule never to . . . write a letter on business . . . on a Friday — so her business was never done, and her fortune suffered accordingly." (1804)
• "There are still a few respectable tradesmen and merchants who will not transact business, or be bled, or take physic, on a Friday, because it is an unlucky day." (1831)

Friday was also said to be a particularly unlucky day on which to undertake anything that represented a beginning or the start of a new venture, thus we find references to all of the following activities as endeavors best avoided on Fridays:

• Needleworking: "I knew an old lady who, if she had nearly completed a piece of needlework on a Thursday, would put it aside unfinished, and set a few stitches in her next undertaking, that she might not be obliged either to begin the new task on Friday or to remain idle for a day." (1883)
• Harvesting: "My father once decided to start harvest on a Friday, and men went out on the Thursday evening, and, unpaid, cut along one side of the first field with their scythes, in order to dodge the malign fates which a Friday start would begin." (1933)
• Laying the keel of, or launching, a ship: "Fisherman would have great misgivings about laying the keel of a new boat on Friday, as well as launching one on that day." (1885)
• Beginning a sea voyage: "Sailors are many of them superstitious . . . A voyage begun [on a Friday] is sure to be an unfortunate one." (1823)
• Beginning a journey: "I knew another poor woman, who . . . made it a rule never to . . . set out on a journey on a Friday." (1804)
• Giving birth: "A child born on a Friday is doomed to misfortune." (1846)
• Getting married: "As to Friday, a couple married on that day are doomed to a cat-and-dog life." (1879)
• Recovering from illness: "If you have been ill, don't get up for the first time on a Friday." (1923)
• Hearing news: "If you hear anything new on a Friday, it gives you another wrinkle on your face, and adds a year to your age." (1883)
• Moving: "Don't move on a Friday, or you won't stay there very long." (1982)
• Starting a new job: "Servants who go into their situations on Friday, never go to stay." (1923)

In some cases, Good Friday (the Friday before Easter) was regarded as an exception or 'antidote' to the bad luck usually associated with Friday beginnings:

• "Notwithstanding the prejudice against sailing on a Friday . . . most of the pleasure-boats . . . make their first voyage for the season on Good Friday." (1857)
• "It was accounted unlucky for a child to be born on a Friday, unless it happened to be Good Friday, when the event was counterbalanced by the sanctity of the day." (1870)

The origins of the connection between the number thirteen and ill fortune are similarly obscure. Many different sources for the superstition surrounding the number thirteen have been posited, the most common stemming from another Christian source, the Last Supper, at which Judas Iscariot was said to have been the thirteenth guest to sit at the table. (Judas later betrayed Jesus, leading to His crucifixion, and then took his own life.) This Christian symbolism is reflected in early Western references to thirteen as an omen of bad fortune, which generally started to appear in the early 18th century and warned that thirteen people sitting down to a meal together presaged that one of them would die within the year:

• "I have known, and now know, persons in genteel life who did, and do, not sit down to table unmoved with twelve others. Our notion is that one of the thirteen so partaking, will die ere the expiry of the year." (1823)
• "The old story runs, that the last individual of the thirteen who takes a seat has the greatest chance of being the 'doomed one'." (1839)

Superstition held that the victim would be the first person to rise from the table (or the last one to be seated), leading to the remedies of having all guests sit and stand at the same time, or seating one or more guests at a separate table:

• " . . . Miss Mellon always gave the last comer an equal chance with the rest for life . . . she used to rise and say, 'I will not have any friend of mine sit down as the thirteenth; you must all rise, and we will then sit down again together.'" (1839)
• "Every one knows that to sit down thirteen at a table is a most unlucky omen, sure to be followed by the death of one of the party within the year . . . Some say, however, that the evil will only befall the first who leaves the table, and may be averted if the whole company are careful to rise from their seats at the same moment." (1883)
• " . . . so far is this feeling carried that one of the thirteen is requested to dine at a side table!" (1823)

(The "thirteen at the table" form of superstition again harkens back to the Last Supper: the one who left the table first, Judas Iscariot, died at his own hand soon afterwards.)

More generally, groups of thirteen people in any context — at a table, in a room, on a ship — were believed to inevitably lead to tragedy:

• "On a sudden an old woman unluckily observed there were thirteen of us in company. This remark struck a panic terror into several who were present . . . but a friend of mine, taking notice that one of our female companions was big with child, affirmed there were fourteen in the room . . ." (1711)
• "Notwithstanding . . . opinions in favour of odd numbers, the number thirteen is considered as extremely ominous; it being held that, when thirteen persons meet in a room, one of them will die within the year." (1787)
• "Many will not sail on a vessel when [thirteen] is the number of persons on board; and it is believed that some fatal accident must befall one of them." (1808)

By the late 19th century the superstition surrounding thirteen had become even more general, with people going out of their ways to avoid anything designated by the number thirteen, whether it be hotel rooms, desks, or cars:

• "'Look at that,' said Parnell, pointing to the number on his door. It was No. 13! 'What a room to give me!'" (1893)
• "For some time before the late War I went almost daily to the British Museum reading room . . . I gave some attention to the desks left to the last comers . . . there was a very marked preference of any other desk to that numbered '13'." (1927)
• "The mechanic helped him get out [of the racing car]. 'May as well scratch,' he said. 'He won't be good for anything more this afternoon. It's asking for trouble having a No. 13.'" (1930)

Once again these ill omens were avoided through artifice, such as the renumbering of rooms in hotels and inns to eliminate any Room #13's, and misnumbering the floors above the 12th floor in multi-story buildings so that tenants could pretend 13th floors were really 14th floors.

Just as Friday was considered an inauspicious day of the week on which to embark upon a new enterprise, so the 13th day of a month came to signify a particularly bad day for beginning a venture. Although regarding the confluence of a particularly unlucky day of the week (Friday) and a particularly unlucky day of the month (the 13th) as a date of supreme unluckiness might seem to be obvious and inevitable, superstitions regarding Friday the 13th are not nearly as old as most people tend to think. The belief in Friday the 13th as a day on which Murphy's Law reigns supreme and anything that can go wrong will go wrong appears to be largely a 20th century phenomenon. (The claim that the Friday the 13th superstition began with the arrest of the final Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Jacques Demolay, on Friday, October 13, 1307, is a modern-day invention.)

Maybe I'm just homesick... but I like this a lot

We have a lot of neat memories from when we were kids, and my sister spent some time one day writing down things she remembered. I've made some of these more generic than her original document but the same flavor is there. My comments, added in, are in parens.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I remember enjoying the big brown “bear” chair at Grandma & Grandpa’s house in the den. (I remember dad fighting to light the fire in the fireplace at their house. It never lit on the first try!)

I remember watching Nova and Tiger Baseball with Grandma & Grandpa.

I remember eating saltines and peanut butter in the next door neighbor's kitchen when mom took us over there with her to visit.

I remember hating softball because the girls teased me. I played for 2 years anyway.

I remember rehearsing plays at school for hours upon hours, and loving it.

I remember clogging classes.

I remember listening to Aunt Sue tell stories about the farmer’s market and going bowling.

I remember Dad and Uncle Eric doing cannonballs in Grandma’s pool.

I remember singing while dad played the guitar. We sang, “I’ll Fly Away” and “Do Lord”.

I remember Grandma Newell playing “The King Is Coming” on the piano. She knew it by heart.

I remember having a cake fight in my friend’s kitchen.

* I remember the year that we only trick or treated to three of the neighbors because the rain was pouring down. That was the year I was a witch and my big floppy hat got soaked.*

I remember Dad drawing X’s and O’s on the ends of our toes with a ball point pen after we’d just gotten out of the bathtub.

I remember my best friend and I going through all the garbage at Ponderosa looking for the retainer I had accidentally thrown away, and finding it under a garbage can.

I remember sledding at the big sand dune by the lake.

I remember playing in the sand, and loving to chase seagulls and swim in the summer.

I remember the first patchwork quilt I ever made. It was for my best friend's baby when he was newborn. It was awful!

I remember playing “Choplifter” and “Olympic Games” on Uncle Bob’s Commodore 64 computer.

I remember listening to my dress shoes tap on the tile floor in the hallway at church when I was very small.

I remember loving my Raggedy Ann dress.

I remember peanut butter & jelly on a hot dog bun (and the song we had to sing when we made one!)

I remember the red flowered nightgown that Grandma Newell made for me. It felt like clean sheets. I loved it.

I remember having a special bed on the couch when I didn’t feel good. We always had jell-o, saltines, and 7-Up.

I remember the day I found out I was going to be a Mom. It was one of the very most special days of my life.

I remember not wanting to fall in love with Jason, but having no control over it. He was just the one for me.

I remember following Ann Pool home from elementary school, sharing a Little Debbie snack, and then her Mom gave me my piano lesson. She didn’t like me one bit.

I remember going to Alabama to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Mobile.

I remember Grandma buying me a Mexican Barbie when I learned my multiplication tables.

I remember devouring all of the Little House on the Prairie books. We watched Little House religiously!

I remember Shirley Temple movies on Sunday afternoons, and watching Sha Na Na.

I remember all of the musicals in elementary school. I loved them.

I remember our babysitter Amy washing our hair in the kitchen sink.

I remember mom checking on us when we were in the tub. “Are you ok?”

Sept 19th - Talk Like A Pirate Day

My pirate name is:

Calico Charity Rackham

Often indecisive, you can't even choose a favorite color. You're apt to follow wherever the wind blows you, just like Calico Jack Rackham, your namesake. You have the good fortune of having a good name, since Rackham (pronounced RACKem, not rack-ham) is one of the coolest sounding surnames for a pirate. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com

Dog sprayed by a skunk?

This is the fail-proof recipe for cleaning up a skunk-sprayed dog. I know because I had to do this one late night last summer.

• 1 pint hydrogen peroxide
• 2/3 cup baking soda
• 1 tablespoon of citrus-based liquid soap

With gloves on, sponge this mixture into the dog's fur, and rub it in down to the skin if you can. Let sit two to five minutes, then rinse with plain water. If a second batch is needed, use fresh ingredients.

If this mixture, or skunk spray, has gotten into the dog's eyes, use a wet rag soaked in milk to wipe the eyes. Wring the rag out over the eyes for best results (dripping it directly into the eyes) or if the dog will sit still, gently wipe around the eyes with the rag. Results should be immediate.

Update on the BS that continues

Well - my naivete and trust in people who shouldn't be trusted has come around to bite me again. Namely my ex, who we will refer to here as AzHol.

Not only did AzHol lie to me about the refinancing being possible, he said it could happen ASAP and that it would correct both of our credit scores. I talked to the refi guy he talked to and none of it's true (so many people told me this but I was SO hoping for an easy resolution here...) So I had to forward an email from refi guy to my lawyer, stating the truth, and figure out how the heck I am going to pay the already past due mortgage payments, along with the payments that will be due from this point on, since I am most likely going to be awarded the house in the court hearing in October... I am still trying to refi for myself, and hopefully with just a few ontime payments under my belt I can swing it sooner rather than later. An interest only loan would work best but you have to have pretty good credit and mortgage payment history to qualify.

It just pisses me off to no end, that I am making more money than I have in my whole life, and yet I have nothing to show for it... 1/3 of my income each month is going to a house payment for a house I DON'T LIVE IN!! I have no "extra" money EVER, no savings, and very little in the 401K. I might as well throw my money into a hole in the ground.

So I'm feeling pretty low today... and then I get a call about needing to have me sub at the local softball league... so after my 8 hour workday (2 of which have been actually on the phone with the mortgage company and lawyer and refi guy) I go to a 1-hour yoga class, then zip home to pick up the dog, and change clothes again for softball and have to take the dog with me. I certainly hope they are not expecting much out of me, I SUCK at softball worse than I do at golf.

So it's a little early for this but I think it's fun

Halloween being one of my favorite holidays (I'm a frustrated actress I guess), we were challenged during our department meeting a couple of weeks ago to develop a theme for Halloween for the marketing department. Our boss suggested When the Grinch Stole Halloween which I think is cool. So I wrote this up and gave it to her (yes she loved it!).

When the Grinch Stole Halloween

Copyright 2006 Shannon Edwards

There’s the time he stole Christmas, but it all came out right
Because of Cindy Lou Who, some roast beast and starlight
But the Grinch took another day -- it’s the worst thing we’ve seen
Come walk through Whoville, and try to save Halloween.

First he outfitted Max with devil horns and a cape
The poor thing looked pathetic, his head wrapped in duct tape
The Grinch himself got dressed up too
As a fierce looking mobster with a greasy hairdo

Then he loaded some bags and some empty old sacks
On that same sleigh and hitched up old Max
Then the Grinch said “Giddyap” - the sleigh started down
Toward the homes where the Whos were decorating the town

They were hanging up twine webs and plastic spiders
And other fun things that were sure to frighten
Like stuffed Kleenex ghosts hung from tree branches
And black cat cutouts raised up on their haunches

There were paper skeletons hanging on doors
And fog machines started, just like the moors
Pumpkin-face bags full of leaves all around
RIP tombstones and zombie hands stuck in the ground
Even a vampire’s coffin with authentic fake locks
And a seven-foot cornhusk tied to a mailbox

Then the Grinch swept in and yelled at the children
“Give me those jack-o-lanterns, wax teeth and black cauldrons!
The cider in jugs and caramel apples on sticks
All of the treats and all of the tricks!
I’m here to steal Halloween and I’ll do it right
So you Whos won’t eat any candy tonight!”

Just then Cindy Lou, and Cindy Lou’s brother
Along with Cindy Lou’s father and mother
Said “Wait a minute Grinch, it seems to us
That you’re a big bully and causing a fuss
Over a night that’s silly and full of sweets
You’re already dressed, so join us and see!”

Maybe it was the smell of the chocolaty Snickers
Or Max’s brown eyes pleading over his whiskers
But the Grinch’s plot was foiled again
By those nice Whos, who made him a friend.

Then Halloween night was a joy for them all
As they went door to door with that plaintive call
The one you can hear from down the street:
TRICK OR TREAT! TRICK OR TREAT! TRICK OR TREAT!

What's Been Happening

Gosh, it's been some time since I posted eh? Well, there's been some legal wrangling happening and it's just not going anywhere, so I've been entangled in that instead of posting clever things here. I see on my daily George Carlin calendar today something particularly poignant to the issues I'm dealing with lately: "Until you're a certain age, you don't have anything to 'put behind you.' That's what life seems to be: a process of doing things that eventually you just want to put behind you."

As much as I regret my recent divorce (not the loss of the guy so much, but the sadness it leaves like a pond wake for my family), I regret every day not having used a lawyer to do the divorce. This leaves me with financial issues that I am struggling with, including real estate, family law, mortgage companies, etc. So I am trying to get out of this with as little financial and emotional damage as possible...in a short period of time. NOTE TO SELF: Don't try to do anything legal in a quick amount of time, it doesn't work.

Amidst all the craziness and drama, though, small victories emerge. My dog is a lot more well-behaved now than he used to be, to the point that at some locations I can actually keep him off leash. I had a call from a publishing company that wants to interview me for a part-time job ... and I have a referral to a new lawyer who hopefully can get me everything I deserve and want out of this nightmare house situation. Work is going well, I am finding my strengths there finally, and feeling not so alone in the pace at which I am learning the things I need to know.

But the biggest blessing I have right now is Scott. He is a handsome and wonderful person I hope to have in my life a long time. He is an anchor, a funny-man when I truly need a joke, my support system when it's late at night and I am feeling the weight of the world, a supreme listener, a logical voice when I am not capable of that, an awesome hugger/cuddler, he teaches me things every day about nothing and everything, relates to me and my past as well as my present, is responsible when necessary and a lot of fun when it's not, is forgiving, appreciative, clever, intelligent, organized, considerate, generous, and makes me feel like I only need to be ME. Which is the best part.

So I guess putting things behind you, as difficult as it is, still paves the way for lots of new experiences and validates the good choices you have made.

A different kind of training

Preparing for the next relationship after a divorce (or a bad breakup) means training like an Olympian. (And by relationship, I am not referring to the “transitional” person you inevitably end up with for a short period. This can be a one-night thing or a couple of months, but it usually doesn’t last much longer than that).

First you have to get your mental game on. You know, the separation of head and brain. This is when the brain says, “I don’t need anyone in my life to be whole, I like spending time alone, I like my own company.” The heart and body on the other hand are fighting for someone to come along, ASAP. Their response is, “The hell with that, brain. We need some sex to feel attractive and intimate and less horny, even if it’s short-lived.”

Knowing that Brain is correct, but believing it and actually living it is another. As long as you have Brain’s message in there, and it keeps playing, you’re well on your way to getting past Mr. or Ms. Transitional/Mr. or Mrs. Wrong.

Part of the mental game preparation involves some practical stuff, too. Things like:

• Get financially set – Get into a routine of saving money and paying bills on time, particularly if you don’t have that yet. Talk to a financial planner or credit counselor, or a trusted friend about a budget, and then stick with it. This may involve looking for a new job, even. But the relief you feel just from completing this step will allow you the freedom to concentrate on other stuff. Keep reading.

• Get a support system – Should you need to talk, find out which friends or family members are okay with you calling in the middle of the night. Because you will need to at some point.

• Have fun – Do things you like to do regularly, so you can recharge your batteries. This helps you meet new people (platonic friends) and relax, and not think about Mr. or Ms. Wrong all the time. It helps keep those Pity Parties at bay. Remember that you have to have a reserve of happy inside you first, before you can give it to someone else.

• Make actual attempts to be healthy – Exercise and eat right, and get enough sleep. If you do nothing else on this list, you need these three, especially if you never have before.

Then the hard part comes. Get emotionally set – find a way to get your hands on all the tools to battle whatever comes your way. This is the only way to become strong enough to defend yourself appropriately from the No-Confidence and Disrespect monsters. Work out all those past angers, frustrations, trust issues, grudges, negative thoughts, nightmares, bad dates, things that set you on panic, whatever.

This means therapy, kickboxing, screaming at the top of your lungs, or lots of late nights talking to those friends/family while annoying them with yet another “What happened, why did this happen to me, why did this happen now” blah blah blah. Or all of the above.

One day, you will awake and the heart and brain will have signed a peace treaty overnight. This is when you will be truly ready to Go Look. This involves joining social clubs, online matching services, meeting those friends of friends on a regular basis for activities, hitting the gym more – wherever there are more single people like yourself, put yourself there. Take your time to review the available options. You may have to open your horizons to a different “look” than is your norm – or at the very least, hang out with people who have very different interests from yours and see what develops.

Then it’s Dating Time. Keep it on a platonic level for at least a couple of dates, and keep it in public view, during the daytime if at all possible. The reason I recommend these two things, is simply safety. You’re not stuck 1) in your nice clothes sitting in a restaurant for dinner for two hours with someone you have decided within the first few minutes is definitely NOT for you or 2) trying to get someone out of your house (or leave theirs) at night after some unwanted moves or disrespectful commentary. Ideas for the first few dates: go out for coffee, take walks, hit the museums, even shopping at the mall. You’ll also get a lot out of plain old phone conversations (or instant messages/text messages) in between those first few face-to-face meetings.

Then narrow it down. Pick a couple of people to keep seeing, a few more times, and get into the more date-like dates. Dinner, movie, dancing, a few drinks, play pool or darts or go to a sporting event. Bring some friends with you too, or hang out with their friends, and see how the new person interacts with others. This will give you depth of insight you never thought possible. Once you’ve had a few more involved dates, you’ll get a better idea who’s the most compatible for you. (Time is on your side, so use it.)

Only then will you be ready for a relationship - because when you find someone you’d like to spend some time with, exclusively, then the work really begins.

True loving is hard work. Your love test will come when you agree to do something you don’t want to do, but for that person you do it – including setting them free if that’s required.

Love is romance… but it’s also putting up with relatives on a weekend afternoon when you’d much rather be home vegetating on the couch. Love is worrying about the other person when you know they’re making a bad decision and your opinion mattered… but just not quite enough.

Love is not saying “I told you so” when they come back to you and say “I was wrong” or “I’m sorry.” Love is being honest with yourself, and with other people too.

Love is supporting your words with actions – being a loving person has more weight than telling someone you love them. Love is even agreeing to disagree sometimes.

Scott's birthday surprise

So some of you have met Scott...the guy I'm seeing. Here we are about halfway through an eventful evening at the Arena in downtown Ann Arbor.

I threw him a surprise pub crawl birthday party this past Saturday. We started off at Conor O'Neills, made it to the Full Moon, then to the Arena, Arbor Brewing Company, and then Goodnight Gracies to wind up the night (appropriately enough).

He was instructed to wear a white t-shirt that read "Hi, I'm Scott. It's my birthday!" and then anyone who felt like writing something on the shirt, we provided Sharpie markers to. It was a riot. We also made him carry a neon green plastic pail that said "If you have to spew, spew in this." And we had four helium balloons that said Happy Birthday on them to carry around from place to place.

He was instructed to conduct a scavenger hunt as well - find a coin with 1970 on it, order and consume an "umbrella" drink, get a coaster from a bar, collect a wine cork, a matchbook and a beer bottle top, and get a kiss from stranger. All of which he accomplished by midnight!

Refinancing hell

I am reminded of Matt Groening's comic strip from ages ago - "Life is Hell." Because I am trying to refinance my house and I am playing two companies against each other. They both want to convince me that the other one is messing with my head, when in reality both are. I am just trying to get the stupid mortgages consolidated into one payment, and get a lower monthly payment... that's it!! Agh.

Big trip to NYC

(L) Musician in the park playing an accordion

(C) A statue of Hans Christian Anderson in Riverside Park
(R) a view from their apartment (very hazy humid day)










(top L) art in their apartment I liked
(C) an ancient temple on display at the Met
(R) part of a cool display of arms & armor at the Met
(left here) City street



(L) Dim sum - could not believe how crowded!

(R) Ground Zero.

World Trade Center subway line/train station

I was fortunate enough to be able to go to NYC this past weekend to visit Jhoanna, a very close friend, and really spend some time with her.

Here I am in line at the famous Magnolia Bakery where we bought some of their delicious cupcakes...yes, it was worth the wait, even in the heat!
This is the view from their apartment on 106th St. looking down Broadway. (Hey mom I finally made it to Broadway, haha).Here we are at the famous Central Park "sailboat pond," featured in many movies. Weather was great...just a bit of rain both Friday night and Sunday night (we dashed between the raindrops to get home from our dessert stop and walk through Columbia's campus) but we didn't melt. Otherwise it was HOT and humid.

We did a 2 mile run through Riverside Park Saturday, walked in Central Park, then kept walking and walking; we walked through just about every neighborhood, so I could get the full experience of Manhattan. We ate dim sum, did lots of furniture shopping (yes yes yes that was fun, stop apologizing, Jho...), clothes shopping, window shopping, eating popovers (yum), grocery shopping, bakery shopping, street fair shopping, souvenir shopping, chocolate shopping...and of course lots more eating, reminiscing and girl talk!

I did the Met on Monday with Nina, while Jho and Will were in the ER with Ben (a birthday party, an exercise bike and a serious foot injury...but nothing broken thank goodness).

I learned a lot about NYC real estate and architecture as Jho is writing a column for New York Magazine now, on both topics. She also knows where the famous people live. No star sightings this weekend as all of them were off to the Hamptons for the holiday weekend. But I did see the coffee shop from "You've Got Mail," the "luncheonette" that Seinfeld and pals supposedly hung out at, and the spot where John Lennon was shot.

Tuesday before my plane took off I squeezed in a very fast tour of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, both great places to be when it's 95 degrees out, because you're on the water. I also stopped off at Ground Zero and was surprised at how much sadness was there.

Happy Post-Mother's Day

I found this poem on the Internet around December, and had it typeset and framed for my mom for Christmas.

A Mother

A mother’s love is unconditional
Right from the very start
Comforting, caring and supporting you
As she did her part
A mother’s love is true and kind
No matter what you do
Teaching you right from wrong
And she believes in you, too
A mother’s love never ends
She is always there for you
When you’re feeling happy
Or when you’re feeling blue
A mother’s love is unselfish
As she sacrifices so much
Giving you what she can
Even just a little touch
A mother’s love is strong with affection
More than you will ever know
A very special bond
That will always show
A mother’s love is filled
With hopes and dreams for you
As she sees you succeed
And supports all that you do
A mother’s love is unconditional
And special, it’s easy to define
I have that kind of mother
I am proud to say she’s mine

One of my favorite stories

This is a story I wrote many years ago but it's one of my favorites. I haven't gone back to change it much since I first wrote it, so that tells me I did it right the first time. Enjoy! - Shan

THE ARTIST by Shannon Edwards December 2000

Autumn is the season of death, Daniel said once. Driving, thinking about many things many people had said, Liz disagreed. It was a time of change. The old goes out and the new comes in, though you can't see the newness yet because it's still frozen, deep inside. The leaves were just turning, so the leaves on the trees were part green and part red; some tipped with orange.

The colors reminded Liz of "Fire," her first painting. One night after staring into the fireplace for too long, she realized not only did she want to, but she had to, express the colors she saw. She’d never painted before; in fact, she didn’t even have any supplies. She even showed up at Daniel’s at the end of the long weekend and asked if he had some paints and some extra canvas she could use. After two weeks of intense concentration, she produced “Fire.” The local critics at Daniel's gallery in St. Paul saw it as a sexual unity thing, but she would always think of it as the colors in the fireplace.

When she had finally shown her work to Daniel, he was ecstatic, hugging her and grabbing the sides of her face and kissing her forehead in his most energetic best friend way. He said he could get her a show in a small community center east of St. Paul. "A lot of local exposure, little initial cost," he said with a grin, convincing her as soon as it was out of his mouth. All along, during those long weeknights and even the fifteen-minute stints at the easel on the weekends, she knew inside that one day she could show her interpretation of the world to someone besides Daniel. It was just a matter of confidence.

Now Daniel was pressuring her to quit her full-time job to concentrate on her painting, but she wasn't sure she could give up the security yet. She told Daniel she'd wait to see how this show went. Daniel gave her one of his mischievous looks and said he'd invite all his rich friends to the show to buy all her paintings. “Then see how right I am, sweetie, you don’t belong in the catering business, really,” he said.

The gold sunset behind Liz disappeared quickly, but in its hanging glory, it glinted off each leaf on each tree. "Each leaf is a flake of gold in the crown of September," said Liz out loud. Boy, if anyone at the restaurant heard that … She wondered how the Budman reception was going, if they got the right centerpieces after all. Then she shook the thought away. I'm not thinking about work tonight, she told herself.

As she passed a small car, Liz wondered what she would do if her show was successful. Would her family take her seriously if she quit her job? Would anyone take her seriously, besides Daniel? She turned on the radio. A familiar song was playing:

Every time that I look in the mirror - All these lives, my face getting clearer

The past is gone...It went back, like dusk to dawn

There's another way - Everybody's got their dues in life to pay

I know, nobody knows, where it comes and where it goes

I know, everybody sing - You got the nose to know, oh, oh.

Dream on, dream on, dream on, dream until your dream comes true.

Yeah, dream on, Liz thought sarcastically. The same worries crowded her mind again. A new artist is lucky to sell a painting to her own mother, even at a first show. Sixteen months to accumulate the work I’ve done, and all of it will be in the show tomorrow, some of the not-so-great stuff there just to fill space. What do I do after this? Wait another sixteen months for success, or failure? How can I compete with these artists who have shows every six months?

As she drove into the last of the sunset, she noticed that people were flipping their lights on in preparation for twilight. She made herself think creatively, hoping some new images would come to her. Okay, she thought, if you had a hat, an old man's hat, what would you do with it to make it alive, or dead? What color would you paint it? From what angle? Using what kind of light?

A huge brown blur, crunching metal, the crack of a rock, blood spattered. The car’s tires squealed against the roadway as she applied the brakes almost instinctively. Liz's forehead lightly smacked the steering wheel at the same time her seatbelt pulled at her groin. What in the world, she thought, looking into the ditch through a large crack in the windshield. Slightly dizzy, she managed to unbuckle the seatbelt and opened the driver’s door. Her car was at an angle to the road, pointed into the median.

Behind her were hundred-foot skidmarks, beside her was her car - the hood of which looked more like an accordion now - and on the ground in front of her car was a large, bleeding deer. Stepping carefully towards it, she could see that it was a doe. She knelt down next to the animal, feeling its warm side and jumpy heartbeat. It gave her a terrorized expression, as though it were trapped, then its eyes glazed over, still open.

Liz held back tears. "Oh God," she whispered several times. She fought with herself mentally for a moment, wondering why this had to happen now, while she was on the way to the show, but trying to calm herself down to think what to do next. Where could she get help? She remembered seeing an exit a couple of miles back. It couldn't be more than two miles, she thought. She grabbed her purse and keys from the car, shoved her hands into her coat pockets, and began walking.

The walk was cold, but it didn't seem to take long, because she was thinking all the way. She tried to continue the creative exercises, but nothing came to her but the sight of that brown shape hitting the bumper. The image tormented her over and over until she reached the Dairy Queen at the exit.

Liz used the pay phone to call for a tow truck. She had to wait because the nearest truck had another customer further down the highway: "Forty minutes away, to be exact," said the nasal dispatcher. Liz sighed and said she'd wait, telling the dispatcher that she wanted to be driven to Grand Junction, but wanted her car to go back to St. Paul. She hung up and called Daniel, but he had already left, so she explained the whole situation on his answering machine, saying she'd try to make it. Hopefully he would think to call in for messages.

Maybe I can still make it to the show on time, she thought. Then the doe’s blankly staring eyes came back to her mind and she shivered a little. She decided she would order a coffee.

An hour and ten minutes and a large coffee later, the tow truck finally showed. A large dark-haired man in greasy green overalls beckoned to her from outside, behind the gas pumps. She looked around the restaurant and realized she was the only one there, so she went out to meet him.

“Where'd ya get stuck?" he asked as she climbed a ladder into the huge truck.

“Two miles south,” she replied.

During the drive to her car, the driver said nothing. The radio played some twangy country music, faintly, seemingly from a distance. As he pulled the wrecker in front of the car to position it, Liz turned around in her seat to look again in disbelief, her jaw dropped open.

The doe was gone.

She sat down, sliding slowly on the vinyl. How did it not die? It was dead when she touched it, she was sure.

On the way to the Grand Junction Gallery, the driver started asking questions. “Never seen a deer hit that hard before and live,” he said. “My brother-in-law hit a deer once, and he swears it bounced back up and kept runnin'. 'Course, he tends to exaggerate.” He looked at her. “I'm Ray. Whatta people call you?”

"Liz," she answered in a soft voice. "And I've never even hit a squirrel. I didn't know animals could do such damage."

"Oh yeah, I'm surprised you could get out of the car. Coulda been much worse." He paused, then asked, "Why are you goin' on to Grand Junction when your car's goin' back to St. Paul? Got a hot date or somethin'?" He grinned and his teeth shone in the darkness, white and straight.

"No, I have a show. I'm an artist." She smiled at herself, basking in the warm feeling from saying that out loud.

"You do sculpture? Or paintin'?"

“Paint. Mostly oils."

"Hmmm. You do any nudes?"

"Uh, no. Just natural scenes, you know, trees and things."

"You always been an artist?"

"No; in fact, this is my first show."

"I knew it!" he said. He smacked the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "That's why I ask people if they been doin' something always, because they say no, I was a - whatever - once. I met a woman in Texas one time who used to be in a flyin' trapeze act when she was a little girl.”

Liz smiled politely. “I also run a catering service back in St. Paul.”

“Doin' a little moonlightin' tonight, eh?" Ray chuckled. " I won't tell no one."

She smiled at him again, then looked out the window, wondering when they'd arrive in Grand Junction.

“So, uh," he continued, "you go to college for this catering thing? They got a catering major somewhere?"

"No, I started working there when I was in highschool, and I just stayed on after that. I'm the manager now."

"I went to college once," he said matter-of-factly. "I was gonna be a stockbroker." She raised an eyebrow at him and he went on. "Oh, yeah, I was just gonna take this” - here he hit the steering wheel again - “as a temporary job, while I was in school, you know. But I took all the night classes they had, and I would have had to take time off work to get the rest of the classes. Well, I'd gotten used to the money driving truck, and when you get used to having money, you let go of some things. I let go of school." He laughed a little, saying, "But I was still tellin' chicks in bars that one day I was gonna be a stockbroker. Some of 'em even believed me." He shook his head. "I sure was a crazy one then. I figured out one day that the chicks liked me better if I just told 'em I was a tow truck driver." He paused, then said, "Helped me, too, because I knew way before that that I was only gonna get so far in life, then I’d have to settle into something.”

He looked to her for a response, but Liz said nothing. She was frowning out the window, thinking about how Daniel was explaining her absence to his friends. She hoped he wasn't telling them that she hit a deer. That would be really embarrassing.

Looking into the side mirror, she suddenly got an image so clear and full that it frightened her. She pulled a sketch pad out of her bag and flew the pencil over the rough paper. Ray watched her draw furiously, but wasn't sure what she was drawing. Neither of them said another word for the rest of the trip.

The tow truck slowed and then stopped in front of the community center. Liz unlocked the door and slid out slowly. Ducking her head, she smiled, then said, "Thanks for the advice."

"What advice?"

"Well, you helped me make a decision tonight. And I wanted to thank you. Here," she said, extending the piece of sketch paper to him.

The page was covered in round scribbles, like exhaust smoke, but under it all, was the back end of a tow truck, pulling a compact car, a doe running behind them like a wild horse.

New poem

Revealed

Tiny reddish kernels become green buds
Erupting from the branches
Day by day they advance in size

After a week they are enlarged nubs
A few days later, the smallest leaves have poked through
A month later and adolescent-size greenery moves in a slight breeze

Then full-size leaves reflect the pinkish light
Completely nourishing the branch it came from
With sunlight and sugar

Becoming part of a whistling tribe
Of leaves, branches and
Tree
Producing buds again

SME
4/21/06

Introducing Dudley!

This is Dudley! I adopted him this weekend and we're getting along great. He's about a year old, and already housetrained. He's a husky, shepherd retriever mix. Note the one blue eye! He's very smart, very energetic and hopefully will be a good running pal.

Two more dogs die...reward up to $18K

2 pit bulls added to grisly count

Tips keep investigators busy around the clock in case of 9 slain dogs

BY TRACY DAVIS, Ann Arbor News Staff Reporter

Two more young adult pit bulls were found dead north of Ypsilanti on Monday afternoon, and animal cruelty officials said they expect they haven't reached the end of the grim discoveries that began two weeks ago.

The two dogs, found along Clark Road and MacArthur Boulevard, bring the total number of slain dogs to nine. Unlike the first four dogs discovered along roadsides in rural parts of Superior Township, these two dogs were not decapitated and the cause of death is unclear.

Like the other dogs, these two appeared to have been dead for a couple of weeks, investigators said, but they do not believe that the dogs were all dumped at the same time, given that they have been scattered across a three-mile radius in Superior Township.

Meanwhile, the reward for information leading to an arrest in the case has been upped to $18,000, thanks to donations from people in the area.

Update on the dog murders

The Humane Society of Huron Valley is now offering $12,000 for information leading to the arrest of the person or people involved in the killings of seven dogs found recently in Washtenaw County. If you have a tip, call 734-662-5585, ext. 127, anytime and ask for Julie Curtis, investigator.

This enrages me

Another dog found beheaded
Humane society raises reward offer to $5,000 - BY TRACY DAVIS AND AMALIE NASH
Ann Arbor News Staff Reporters

Another decapitated dog was found in Superior Township on Wednesday, and the reward for the information leading to an arrest in the case has been upped to more than $5,000, officials with the Humane Society of Huron Valley said today.

The 40-pound female terrier mix was found lying in a ditch near Gotfredson and Vreeland roads in eastern Superior Township. Officials were alerted by a caller after news came out Wednesday of a Rottweiler found decapitated with its feet bound.

Julie Curtis, animal cruelty investigator for the humane society, said the terrier mix, clearly a family pet, fit the pattern of dead animals dumped in the area since January.

Tanya Hilgendorf, executive director of the humane society, said the second dog's body was found about two miles from where the Rottweiler was located.

Hilgendorf said humane society officials are pledging to do everything they can to stop the killings of family pets. She said the society received more than 100 calls about the case Wednesday - including tips, offers of donations to support the investigation and concerns from residents about allowing their pets outside in that area.

The humane society announced a $500 reward Tuesday, and private donations had pushed that figure to more than $5,000 by this morning.

"Obviously we're very troubled and saddened by the pain and suffering these animals are going through and the brutality of the acts,'' Hilgendorf said.

The humane society has responded to four other calls since January, but the two latest findings are the only ones where a pet was involved. In the other cases, skinned and decapitated wild animals were found in trash receptacles and alongside the roads.

The female Rottweiler was found last week alongside five skinned coyote carcasses at Harris and Geddes roads, the same location where seven other skinned wild animals have been found since January. A dead deer was lying near the terrier mix, Curtis said, but the deer carcass was so old it was impossible to tell whether it had been trapped.

Curtis said the terrier mix died two to three weeks ago. Unlike the Rottweiler, the dog's feet were not bound by duct tape.

"It was in great health, it actually would have been a little overweight,'' she said. "Clearly, again, a family dog.''

Officials said the wild animals were likely caught in snare traps and skinned by part-time trappers who sell the furs to make clothes and other items. Trapping season for those wild animals runs Oct. 15 to March 1. Curtis said the dogs may have been accidentally caught in the traps, but it was impossible to see telltale marks on the dogs' necks because they were decapitated.

Curtis said it is unclear whether the dogs were alive when they were decapitated, or whether they had already died. She said older snare traps tighten so much the animal chokes to death within minutes, while newer ones do not.

Neither dog had identification, and owners have not been found, Curtis said. The fact that their heads are missing has made identifying the pets even harder, Hilgendorf said.

Mutilating and killing a domesticated animal is a felony punishable by up to four years in prison.

Anyone with information on who is responsible for killing the pets is asked to call Curtis at 734-662-5585, ext. 112. Humane Society of Huron Valley website: www.hshv.org

Why cats are afraid of water - story

This is something I would like to have published someday as a children's book. Anyway, let me know what you think. - S
-----------------------------------

WHY CATS ARE AFRAID OF WATER (As told to Katie, by Grandma)

One day Katie asked Grandma, who is the smartest person she knew, why her cat was afraid of water. So Grandma began:

A long time ago, in Egypt, the Queen Cleopatra ruled the land. She also owned all the cats in the world, and they lived with her in her palace on the River Nile.

Cleopatra loved her cats dearly, so she was afraid to let them out of the palace for fear they might get hurt or lost. The cats loved her too, but they always sat at the windows looking out, waiting for the day when they might be able to get out into the world and explore it for themselves. (This is why cats like to look out windows to this day.) They especially were curious about the River Nile and what was in it.

One day Cleopatra met a young man, and they decided to get married, so Cleopatra began planning her wedding. She was so busy choosing her dress and picking out what flowers she would like and what music there would be that she didn’t have time to play with her beloved cats at all.

The cats didn’t understand what a wedding was, so they didn’t know what was going on. The cats just knew that strange people were coming in and out of the palace all the time, and that Cleopatra wasn’t around much for them to play with. They were very sad, because they missed the cat games they used to play with Cleopatra. They started sleeping a lot, and playing by themselves, because they thought that she didn’t love them anymore. (This is why cats sleep so much and play by themselves to this day). But sleeping and playing alone was boring after a while, so they decided to do something about it.

The day before the wedding, the cats had a council. The oldest cat, Nefertiti, took charge of the meeting.

“Okay, everyone, settle down,” she said. “Now, we all would like to explore outside the palace, right?”

“Right,” said the cats.

“Okay, this is the plan. We will wait in the kitchen, and when the kitchen door opens, as many as can fit through the door will run out. Each time the door opens, a few more of you run out.”

One of the cats, Anthony, raised his paw with a question.

“Yes, Anthony?” said Nefertiti.

“Where are we running to once we’re outside?” he asked.

“We are going to the River Nile, of course, to explore what is in it,” said Nefertiti. “So run down the steps and go right to the river. Wait for all the cats to arrive, and we will all play together!” The cats meowed and meowed with happiness. They were finally going to find out what was outside the palace!

That night, the cats went to the kitchen to wait for the door to open. Sure enough, after just a few minutes, one of the cooks, who had armloads of bread for the next day’s feast, opened the door. Because she had so much in her hands she could not shut the door quickly, so all of the cats ran out together. The cook screamed in surprise and threw the bread all over the kitchen. She ran to catch the cats, but it was too late - they were already to the edge of the River Nile.

At the edge of the river, Anthony called the cats together. “I would like to say that because Nefertiti’s plan worked so well, that she should be the first to touch the river.” The cats all agreed, so Nefertiti went to the edge of the water and touched it.

It was very cold, and had a funny way of sticking to her paw. It made her paw darker, and when the wind blew against it, it felt even colder. She decided to lick it, and it tasted very good. (To this day, cats lick their paws often, trying to taste the River Nile again.)

Nefertiti then said, “Everyone, the River Nile is safe! Let’s play!”

The cats meowed with excitement and some ran into the river to swim. However, when they swam out far enough, the fish who lived in the river started biting their paws and tails, and they were afraid. They all ran away from the river, and to this day, that is why cats don’t like water. (This is also why cats like to eat fish, because they were so mad at the fish who bit them in the River Nile.)

“Why Cats Are Afraid of Water (As told to Katie, by Grandma)” -- Copyright 1996

Posting for this weekend

ESCAPE WITH CHOCOLATE

When she looked up from the rolltop desk where she sat writing yet another thank you note, she saw that the rain had finally stopped. Maybe we will get some sun today after all, Sally thought. Bending her head parallel to the smooth surface of the desk again, she wrote four more notes but could not write anymore because of the noise in the kitchen.

She entered the kitchen to see her daughter-in-law, Ellen, perched on a stool by the telephone, crying into a black lace shawl she'd bought for the occasion. Hearing her mother-in-law enter, Ellen looked up with disdain. Roger, Ellen's husband, who'd been left practically everything in the will, laid a comforting arm on Ellen's shoulder as he said, "Really, mother, I can't believe you're wearing that dress today."

Sally lifted her chin and replied, "For your information, this was your father's favorite dress and I wear it for him today, not anyone else." Then she went to the refrigerator for a frozen Hershey bar with almonds. Unwrapping it hastily and taking a crunchy bite, she said with her mouth full, "Your dad loved purple flowers." (The truth was that the dress was now one of the only pieces of clothing she owned, and her late husband didn't have any idea what her wardrobe consisted of, much less did he have a favorite. But her children never did know much about their relationship, so the lie was safe.) This morning she'd packed all the clothing Frank ever bought her - all the housedresses, especially that blue and brown one - into a grocery sack for the Goodwill. She moved her favorites - the yellow, purple and fuschia dresses that Frank had refused to let her wear after she'd had the babies - to the front of the closet again. She also threw away all but one pair of shoes - the yellow, purple and fuschia ones with the gold heels - for going to town. Otherwise she'd go barefoot.

Ellen, though she looked as if she might throw up on the linoleum, defended her mother-in-law, as she had for the past two days. "Oh, leave her alone, Roger. Sally can wear anything she darn well wants to."

With a nod to Ellen, Sally took another large defiant bite of her candy bar, and walked out to the front porch. She smiled as she heard Roger sigh in the kitchen.

She leaned on the porch railing, remembering the day she'd convinced Frank to move out to the "hills," as he called the area. It had taken some work even to get him out to see the house, because he said the dusty gravel road would scratch his car's paint.

Her favorite part of the house, the front porch, looked east over a lush, rolling countryside, and seeing it you'd hardly know there was a highway less than two miles west. The green, gentle slopes stretching almost to the horizon reminded her of England, especially in the spring when the wildflowers bloomed. The rest of the time, there were just weeds. It was so glorious to see the sunrise every morning...each day it was different; sometimes orange, sometimes red, some days it rose faster than others. But it was there every day, ready to be kind to Sally, comforting, telling her it would return for another secret rendezvous tomorrow. Even when an early translucent fog obscured her view of the horizon she sensed its sympathy. It calmed her, preparing her for the long day ahead. Frank never watched the sunrise with her.

She looked over the porch railing at the lawn, which came right up against the porch. He'd always insisted on that. Now she mapped out in her head a walking garden with flowering bushes and fruit trees. Maybe she'd even call that landscaping service to put in stone paths and hybrid roses.

Finished with her candy bar, she wadded up the foil and paper and played with the stiff ball, tossing it from palm to palm. After everyone left tomorrow she'd plant tulips and pansies by the front steps, and paint the mailbox orange, while wearing her yellow striped dress. Nodding to herself and smiling, she could feel the warmth of the early afternoon sun, which had finally come out from behind the clouds. Yes, definitely the yellow dress for gardening.

More poetry

Here are a couple more poems, ones I like especially. Enjoy. -S

Breakup poem:

Back In Michigan

Back then - back there

You loved me

Cried over me even

Now you are over those hills

Out of mind

You know who you are

Back then - back there

You smiled at those people talking

Laughed with your squinty moon eyes, even

Now you are in the movie theatre

Out of sight

You know who you are

Back then - back there

You made cheap fun

Tried to dance even

Now you are down the street with my twin

Out of sight and mind

You don’t know me anymore.

9/92

Observation poem:

School Bus Leaving

As I drive behind

The big yellow bus

Its windy wake

Shakes the last brown leaves from the trees

A storm of crispy flutterings

Ashes

Scatter in pursuit of learning

Round yellow rooftop

Bends branches forward

Forcing them to

Give up the final coverings

Scraps of deer-colored rags flying

Landing

A carpet for the following car

se

10/29/01

One of the funniest raps I've seen

Although I don't watch SNL as much as I used to, I caught this one weekend and it just about made me pee. Two white guys rapping about going to the movies on the weekend. Enjoy!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
An SNL Digital Short by .....Andy Samberg and .....Chris Parnell

Andy Samberg: Lazy Sunday, wake up in the late afternoon, Call up Parnell just to see how he’s doin’.
Chris Parnell: Hello?
Andy Samberg: What up Parnz?
Chris Parnell: Yo Samberg, what’s crackin’?
Andy Samberg: You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?
Both: NARNIA!
Andy Samberg: Then it’s happ’nin’.
Chris Parnell: But first my hunger pangs are stickin’ like duct tape!
Andy Samberg: Then let’s hit up Magnolia, and mack on some cupcakes!
Chris Parnell: No doubt that bakery’s got all the raw frosting.
Andy Samberg: I love those cupcakes like Madame loves Gosling!
Chris Parnell: Two!
Andy Samberg: No, six!
Chris Parnell: No, twelve!
Both: Baker’s Dozen!
Andy Samberg: Yo, I told you that I’m crazy for these cupcakes, cousin!
Chris Parnell: Yo, where’s the movie, playa?
Andy Samberg: On the west side, dude!
Chris Parnell: Well, let’s hit up Yahoo! Maps to find the dopest route.
Andy Samberg: I prefer MapQuest!
Chris Parnell: That’s a good one, too!
Andy Samberg: Google Maps is the best!
Chris Parnell: True dat!
Both: Double true!
Andy Samberg: 68th and Broadway!
Chris Parnell: Step on it, sucka!
Andy Samberg: What you wanna do, Chris?
Chris Parnell: Snack attack, muthaf-----!

Both: The Chronic- What? -Cles of Narnia!
Yes the Chronic- What? -Cles of Narnia!
We love the Chronic- What? -Cles of Narnia!
Pass the Chronic- What? -Cles of Narnia!

Andy Samberg: Yo stop at the deli, the theatre’s overpriced!
Chris Parnell: You got the backpack?
Andy Samberg: Gotta pack it up nice!
Chris Parnell: Don’t want security to get suspicious!
Andy Samberg: Mr. Pibb plus Red Vines equals crazy delicious.
Chris Parnell: Reach in my pocket, pull out some dough.
Andy Samberg: Girl actin’ like she never seen a ten befo’.
Chris Parnell: It’s all about the Hamiltons, baby!
Andy Samberg: Got the snacks in the bag!
Chris Parnell: And I’m ghost like Swayze! (Pause) Roll up in the theatre,
Andy Samberg: Ticket buyin’s what we handle?
Chris Parnell: You can call us Aaron Burnes
Andy Samberg: From the way we’re droppin’ Hamiltons.
Chris Parnell: Bust up in our seats, Movie Trivia’s the illest!
Andy Samberg: “What Friends alum starred in films with Bruce Willis?”
Chris Parnell: Answer so fast that we’re scary!
Andy Samberg: Everyone stand to know when we scream
Both: MATTHEW PERRY!
Andy Samberg: Now quiet in the theatre or it’s gonna get tragic.
Chris Parnell: We’re ‘bout to get tickets to a dream-world of magic.

Both: The Chronic- What? -Cles of Narnia!
Yes the Chronic- What? -Cles of Narnia!
We love the Chronic- What? -Cles of Narnia!
Pass the Chronic- What? -Cles of Narnia!

Shaking my head over this one

From the AP wires today:

A defiant Saddam Hussein admitted in court Wednesday that he ordered the trial of 148 Shiites eventually executed in the 1980s, but he insisted that doing so was legal because they were suspected in an assassination attempt against him. "Where is the crime? Where is the crime?" Saddam asked.

I'll answer that one. When you're randomly razing the land and killing poor farmers because you want their property, just because you're the President and you can, that's a crime against humanness.

Here's some of the gals from the marketing department and me (in the red dress) having a good ol' time on the dance floor.

Two more poems

Flag

Fluorescent orange flag
At the top of the hill
screams for attention:

“I am dying!”

We glance
But no sooner we see it than
The flag has only its stem
Spokes of bones;
When it has disrobed its life
draped on the ground at its roots

10/91


Sleepy Day on the Water

I let
The boat
Rock me
To a
Dream state

When you
Caught fish
I woke
To see
Your smile

Think of
The tap
Of waves
On hull
Or beach

To help
Sleep now
Tonight

7/16/02

A poem by a friend of mine - reactions?

Everything and nothing
Talk. Talk. Talk.
Comfortable silence holds the sting
Of love

Awkward and elegant at once
They fumble for words best left alone
Just a touch, nothing more
It can speak more than a library of books

And it's that couple that draws the envious looks
They enshrouded in their invisible bliss
Their hearts carry others' hopeful hooks
That they will also know such love and not miss

Some more poetry

Fog

Fog lay high over the road
A bridge for the ghost pets
So they can be safe crossing
Turtles, frogs,
Cats, dogs
Even the snakes
Saunter over and disappear
With the sunlight

10/11/05
sme

In-between times

Stars still twinkling
Moon shining bright against the black center

But twilight sky has edges of palest pink
That hopes to become peach, then light orange
Morphing into the full arching
Warmth and blue of day

Sunset sky grays the light
Cools the air and brings up wet smells
Browns the earth
Gradually becoming blackness of evening

You and I live in those in-between times
A few minutes out of the twenty-four hour days
When the light on the horizon pushes the stars away
When the dark holds the moon until it is overwhelmed with sun
You can’t watch the twilight leave
Or the sunset come
It’s constantly moving, faster than we can see

sme
10/18/05

Essay on being short

I wrote this many years ago and after looking at it today, it made me laugh. But it's still true. So enjoy, and viva las short people! - Shannon

A SHORT EPIC

I looked up at The David. The muscled marble towered fifteen feet above me. One oversized hand drooped gently on his leg, while the other hand sagged over his shoulder, holding the stone that would kill the giant. I marveled at the artistry for a moment. Then my gaze came back to the other tourists standing near me, and I smiled in satisfaction that everyone had to look up to the statue. They were all experiencing what I must every day - being short.

I was born 16 inches long, six pounds, four ounces. Dad could place my head in his palm while my feet barely brushed the inside of his elbow. My mother and aunt had to buy doll clothes for me, because there weren't any infant's clothes small enough.

Elementary school was difficult for me. Every day in second grade I remember running in from recess crying, because someone had been teasing me about my height. I could never think of anything horrible enough to say back to them, so I just cried. I didn't think there was anything I could do about being shorter than the rest of the class.

It wasn't until junior high that I finally got defensive about derogatory comments regarding my height. It had been so frustrating for so long that suddenly all I could do was strike back. I developed a stunning repertoire of smartass comments that always shut people up. Though I don't remember any of these comments now, I recall that they usually consisted of an inventive rumor about the object of the insulter's desire, some habit of their mother's, or a remark about the way they dressed. It was junior high. Insults didn't need to be fancy then - just very embarrassing.

In high school, I dreamt one night that I was tall – about 5'10" or so. I was the tallest girl in my class. My shoulders were wide, proportional to my waist and hips, but my head was the same size as when I was short. In the dream I was hanging out with friends by some lockers, and they were all ignoring me because I was towering above them, and they couldn't look into my face to talk to me. I was hideous. I vowed from then on to love being short, accent being short, even, because if I didn't, I might wake up one morning tall and horrendous. If I'd been fat during high school, I probably would have seen the dream as a positive sign, but as it was, I was a bony, shapeless 15-year-old. Being tall and thin would have been a living nightmare.

Worse than anything else are the questions I get. I'm so tired of answering the same old questions all the time. I think I'll have a t-shirt printed up that says, "I am five feet tall, and I weigh 100 pounds. I wear a 6 1/2 shoe, and no, I don't buy clothes at children's stores."

Some of the worst questions are, "Are your parents short, too?" (Not when I need money, they aren't). One thing I hear a lot from people of average height is, "I feel tall when I'm around you." I usually respond with something creative like, "So?" I also get a lot of, "So, have you ever gone out with a tall guy?" Yes, I have. It was hard to kiss him but we got over it. "Shorty" has been my obvious nickname ever since I can remember, along with "little woman," "midget," "welchkin," (when it was found out that I am of Welch ancestry) and the ever-popular short shit." But the worst statement of all is, "Boy, are you short!"

It was only recently, in an Dear Abby column, that I learned an appropriate response to "Boy, are you short!" A woman wrote in saying she was 200 pounds overweight and she liked herself that way. When people asked her why she didn't try to lose weight, she'd reply, "I just lost 20 pounds." That shut 'em up, she said. And to the really rude people who said to her, "Boy, are you fat!" she'd reply, "Boy, are you rude!"

I've never used this reply, but I did have the opportunity to a few months ago. While waiting in line to talk to a professor I knew, a guy I'd never seen before, walking in the hallway, stopped next to me and gasped, "Boy, are you short!" The fat woman's reply popped into my head, but I didn't say it for some reason. Instead I rolled my eyes (which someone told me I do professionally). The rude guy turned to Kurt, a friend of mine standing in line, and said, "That probably wasn't the right thing to say, was it?" Kurt shook his head, bugging his eyes in amazement at this guy's audacity. Apologizing and introducing himself, ironically, as David, the rude guy, tried to make it better by telling me I was very cute - for a short girl. Over his shoulder, I made a furtive face at Kurt that said, "Help me get rid of this guy!" Kurt only shrugged.

However, I defeated the giant by throwing the rock of superiority in his face. Just then, it was my turn to see the professor, so I went in, chatted with him, and got a favor out of him because we were old friends. I made sure all of this conversation was just loud enough for David to hear. Poor David had to wait in a very long line to see this professor, whom he didn't know, and who probably wouldn't do him a favor, when I only had to stand in line two minutes and got exactly what I wanted. That was sweet enough revenge for me.

I have found some definitive advantages in being short, however. No one ever asks me if I play basketball, or encourages me to do so. I don't have to worry about hitting my head on doorways. And I thank fate that adjectives like "lanky," "gangly," and "ungainly" cannot apply to me, nor can the nickname "beanpole," or the phrase "You've grown like a weed." I revel in the fact that my younger sister and my friends can no longer borrow my clothes or shoes, since they're all at least two sizes larger. I win limbo contests. I love singing "Kiss Off" to people who sing me the song “Short People Ain't Got No Reason." Ten bucks can usually get me drunk, no matter what type of alcohol I buy. I hardly ever use the whole towel to dry off with, and I can fall asleep - horizontally - in a recliner quite comfortably.

But I smile widest when I see someone taller than me grabbing a chair to reach the top cupboard in the kitchen. No one can say they have never come up short at some time in their lives.