Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Dust-busting Machine

Quick note before we get onto the subject matter at hand:

I hate hyphens. Just when I think I've mastered the wheres and whys, up pops a grammatical situation to prove me wrong. I hate them.

Anyway, so I'm getting ready to go to California for my much-anticipated(there you are again, you flat bastard) birthday trip. My parents will be here in 20 minutes to take me to the airport, and I'm hurridly shoveling a microwaved burrito into my mouth. It's really too hot to be holding, let alone sticking in a place with sensitive tissue, but oh well. What's a 3rd degree burn when you're at Disneyland?

Since my mom, aunt, cousin, and I are going to the Happiest Place on Earth, my dad generously volunteered to not go and instead stay home and take care of my home and pets. Linky (the cat) sheds a lot. I realize that dust is 99% dead skin cells, but the dust bunnies in my home are 99.9% cat hair. Every so often, a person can walk down the hall and spot a cat hair tumbleweed blowing across their path.

Thus, for Christmas this year my parents gifted me a brand-new Dustbuster.

I opened the box and looked at them.

"What?" Mom said, eyes wide with innocence. "You needed one."

Even though I'm on the cusp of 30, my definition of need is still somewhat different than my parents'. See, I "need" the latest stamping and scrapbooking stuff. I "need" to take baths instead of showers (less rushed). But a Dustbuster?

Last night I partook in a very dangerous activity in bed. It didn't involve whips and chains or anything, but it did involve a Rice Krispy treat.

And it got dirty.

Very dirty.

This morning, I woke up amidst a pile of crushed Krispies. They were stuck to the bedspread, to my pillow, and to my dog's head.

"You're a mess," I said to myself. I wouldn't accept this midnight plate-less snacking behavior from anyone else, so why do I let myself be such a grossy?

Grossy...dusty...Dustbuster!

I grabbed it from it's perch on the laundry room wall and went to my bedroom.

It sucked the crumbs from my bedspread without complaint. My dog, on the other hand, had a bit to say about it.

"Trumie, settle down," I said. "I'm helping you shed."

I'm sure my parents didn't intend for me to use the Dustbuster in such a way. Likewise, I didn't expect to find it to be so useful. Once again, Proctor and Gamble bridges the generational divide.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Green-bean Lothario

I was sitting around the dinner table with my parents. Mom and I are terrible and sneak our matching miniature dachshunds treats from the table, much to my father's chagrin.

"Why the hell do you think they beg and make such pests of themselves? If you would stop feeding them..." (insert head shake here) "Geez."

At the end of dinner, a few stray green beans littered our plates. Mom slipped one to her doxie, Susie Q.

I took one for Truman. Instead of handing it to him, I put it between my lips and leaned down.

"Oh my God," Mom said. "He's going to rip your face off!"

Instead, my little man wiggled his lips as he shoogled closer to me. Ever so gently, he took the green bean from between my lips.

I sat up, a triumphant smile on my face. "See? He took it with the utmost politeness." I thought for a moment.

"That was the first kiss I've had in 4 years."

Mom looked at me. "What do you mean? It couldn't have been that long. When were you dating Michael?"

"Summer of '08," I said.

She raised her eyebrows. "Wow. That is a long time."

And thus ended another normal dinner with my family.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Suspicions confirmed.

It's been happening for awhile now.

A cute contestant on "American Idol" would catch my eye, only for me to realize not only would it be barely legal for me to date them, but I crossed into "Eww. Weird" territory and somehow didn't even realize it.

I went to a musical at The Spokane Civic Theater. Before the show, I flipped through the program.

"Hey, who do you think is sleeping with whom?" I asked my friend as I pointed to the cast notes. I'm super-tight with my friend. We see eye-to-eye on almost everything. She's two years younger than my mom.

I turned a page and saw an advertisement for a photography studio featuring a good looking family.

"Oh my GOD!" I said. "See that guy?"

She looked over. "Yeah. Who is he?"

"He was the quarterback of the G-Prep football team this year."

She shrugged. "So?"

I closed the program. My voice was barely a croak. "Eighteen years ago, I used to change his diaper."

Final piece of evidence for the record: I'm turning 30 in a little over a week.

I feel like I was just starting to understand what it meant to be a young woman in her 20s. Maybe that's what it means to no longer be a "young adult" and to just be an "adult"? Just when you think you've got a handle on things, your landscape changes.

Thankfully, some things will always be the same. I'll always love being with friends. I'll always enjoy making fun of myself. Okay, I'll also always enjoy being immature. Whether it's laughing when I shouldn't or embarrassing myself and everyone around me, I'm only just now learning what it means when we say "Age is just a number."

So what am I doing to celebrate my 30th birthday?

I'm going to Disneyland!

Can you believe those jackwagons charge $77 for one day?! Why, back in my day...

Thursday, January 19, 2012

We're Goin' a-Eagle Chasin'

My dad and I had been hearing on the news about the eagles making their annual trek (do eagles trek? Or migrate?) to north Idaho to partake in the feast of upriver salmon. As one weatherwoman put it, "You don't even have to try to take a good picture - you just need to push the button."

We drove around the lake, stopping here, stopping there, wherever we pleased.

Despite the cold weather, we weren't alone in our quest for the perfect picture. The proprietor of a local Italian eatery, Capone's, was out, as was a young man disarmingly unconcerned about his equipment. He left a camera worth several hundred dollars on this ledge. North Idaho trust is so reassuring.


Early runoff dripped into icicles across the cliff's face.



Around the bend, we came across two people staring up into the trees.
"See any good ones?" my dad asked.
The man shielded his eyes. "Yeah, there's one on the second tree there," he said, pointing.
I focused my camera.


I zoomed in, and presto. The sharp beak on that sonofabitch could tear my guts out in an instant. And those talons? {shudder}

Despite the breathtaking detail, he wasn't the shot of the day.


This was.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Levied Greatness? Or a Leveraged Cop-Out?

A good friend of mine knocked on my parents' door the other day. I happened to be over, as, well, I'm always at my parents'.

"Would you guys be willing to put a sign in your yard to support the upcoming school levy?" she asked.

My dad mumbled something, not looking up from the newspaper.

"Was that a yes?" she pressed. She's a freakishly upbeat person and nearly impossible to say no to. The CIA should hire her for Guantanamo.

My dad grudgingly nodded. "Yes."

She squealed in delight and gave him a huge hug, no doubt causing him to rethink his consent to yard defilement.

"What about you?" she said, turning to me. "Can we put one up in your yard?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Oh, come on. Why not? You went to the schools here. You support education, don't you?"

"Of course I do," I said. "But we've got the highest per student spending of any country and it doesn't seem to be doing the job. Plus, I read an article in the newspaper that listed the salary of our district's Superintendent. She made $214,000 last year. I don't support misappropriation of funds."

My neighbor rolled her eyes. "This isn't about the Superintendent! It's about the kids. The teachers. The librarians."

I shrugged. "If the Superintendent didn't make so much money, I would feel more inclined to pay more than the property taxes I already do, perhaps even extend the life of a levy. But for now, no sign."

We hugged and she left. But I still can't stop thinking about this! Why do I feel like I'm being "mean" (as she said : ) or unAmerican to not support this levy? School funds are being directed and re-directed until no one really knows who (state or local fundraising) funds what jobs and what resources, and then the students are punished when mean people like me say, "Enough."

In a way, it's a neighborhood-by-neighborhood version of what's going on in Washington, D.C. We've got the two entities of Wall Street (supremely well reimbursed administrators) and Main Street (teachers and people trying to provide good education). Programs are mandated but not funded, and textbooks are supplemented with cutting-edge technology. Let us not get me started on the use of iPads in the classroom. The above-mentioned newspaper article quoted this particular district's school board President as having acknowledged $214,000 is a lot to pay a Superintendent, but was necessary in order to lure the top talent.

Why don't we feel that way about teachers and their salaries?

Our education system a knotted skein of yarn, and no one seems interested in trying to unravel it so the yarn can actually be of some benefit. The problem is in all of our backyards, but at least I won't be perpetuating the problem in my front yard.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

A Response to a Previous Post

I am so excited! I got my first viscerally negative response to my writing!

I knew this day would come. Actually, there is a little part of me that's surprised it didn't come sooner.

The real surprise?

I feel good. Rather than this being a devastating experience, it's actually exciting! I'm being dead serious here. It means someone not only took the time to read my writing - they took the time to tell me what an awful person I am for it. This means that I once, however fleeting, harnessed the power of the written word.

Quick recap: My last posting was about my ambitions to have my writing reach the vaunted status of being Published. To flesh out my post, I put someone in the crosshairs of my mockery. I didn't reference them by gender or name, only a Facebook posting that they themselves created regarding their writing ambitions. A most important clarification to be made here: I did not mock the ambition. I mocked the pretention.

Never one to assume anyone reads anything that I write, I was surprised to see a comment left on the blog post, awaiting my moderation. It reads:

"I find it disconcerting that you're okay with tearing down another person simply because her ambition is in the same vein as yours. Even more so that you'd post it in such a manner so easily decoded - it's not hard to understand exactly about whom you are writing. Do you think that any of this tearing down of others may have contributed to the "story of isolation?" - anonymous

I am actually being sincere when I thank Anonymous for her comment. It takes great strength to stand up in the world and say, "Hey, I think you're wrong here."

Sometimes I write in a very complex manner. One pass at my written thoughts might leave a reader thinking I'm saying one thing, while the second pass (if taken) might reveal a completely different...shit, I can't think of the right word. It's late, and, after all, I am responding to a less-than-positive critique. Why strain the brain.

I'm going to make life easy on myself and go step-by-step:

"I find it disconcerting that you're okay with tearing down another person simply because her ambition is in the same vein as yours."

Crap. My writing failed here because I was not tearing down Would-be Writer's ambition. I was tearing down the pompous attitude and the complete oblivion about how hard it is to actually write well. I was tearing down everyone who ever calls themselves A Writer before they've earned the right to do so. And no, Anonymous, I do not consider myself as a writer. I am merely one who writes.

"Even more so that you'd post it in such a manner so easily decoded - it's not hard to understand exactly about whom you are writing."

My source came from The Writer's own Facebook update. Facebook is a voluntary and public forum. People who post stupid comments have no guarantee that their postings are not made fun of. It's the nature of the beast.

"Do you think that any of this tearing down of others may have contributed to the "story of isolation?" - anonymous

Good burn, Anonymous. : ) Hmm. Upon deep reflection, my answer to that would have to be "No".

PS-Thanks for reading.