A kiss is still a kiss

Today's assignment was "Reflections".

Miss Ky kisses everything: flowers, rocks, clothes, spiky plants and her own reflection. I'm just happy that she's happy with the image that stares back at her. I wonder how long that will last before the media tells her she's not thin enough, beautiful enough or talented enough?

THIS is an American Rambling Season 2

Since we're on the subject (American Idol, keep up people), what was wrong with Adam's version of "A Ring of Fire"?

Seriously, I like Johnny Cash (especially when he looks like Joaquin Phoenix) as much as anyone, but I wouldn't want to hear his song sung like him by anyone but him.

I kind of liked the acid-trip slant Adam had. It reminded me of my teenhood. Not inferring I was tripping on acid in my teens, but be realistic, the rest of the world around me was and there was some great tunes born from it. Starship anyone?

Music has a way of catapulting me into memories I thought were long forgotten.

Never mind whatever "Midnight At the Oasis" was about (what was it about?). Play that song and I'm immediately thrown back in time lying next to my dad's battery operated radio staring at the stars in the night sky (because in the day sky they're harder to see).

Helen Reddy? I was ready to roar and burn my bra. It was just poor timing since I didn't even own one yet.

"Bennie and the Jets".
A movie. I'm watching a movie in the dinky theater of my small town.
A movie I didn't quite understand but it had a heavy feeling to it. Anyone have any ideas what that might have been? I remember rain and maybe a teenage guy and girl.
I watched a lot of movies I didn't understand, I'm thinking a little more adult supervision might have been good.

"Magnet and Steel". I'm around 14-15 and my best friend has met an older guy that went by the name of Steel. He used to sing "You are a maggot and I am Steel". I never met the guy, but his version is stuck in my head.

Michael Jackson's Thriller album.
Sigh.
Dreamy David Chavez is standing at my front door holding his newly purchased MJ album, nervously saying goodnight (will he kiss me? ) and that prized album slips from it's cardboard cover (showcasing Michael's shining white socks) and rolls haphazardly down my front lawn. The magic of the moment gone.


So Adam Lambert is not Johnny Cash. Was it really so surprising?
The things is, he evoked a reaction. Good or bad, you remembered him. I'm just happy to be remembering.

I downloaded it. It's fun watching my kids watching me, wondering why I'm smiling.


Addendum: The movie was Aloha Bobby and Rose. Tagline: "Bobby has a '68 Camaro. Rose has a five-year-old kid. On their first date, they become lovers and fugitives". Now there's a good movie for a 10 year-old to see. Please refer to earlier comment of maybe having more parental supervision? Sorry if I just filled up your reader with two of the same post.

THIS is an American Rambling

In all of my spare time, I found another place I think you should visit and you should visit before Thursday so that you can all participate in:





I Should Be Folding Laundry speaks to me in so many ways, but I'm linking you in particular to her American Idol post.

It's titled "American Idol Recap, 24 hours late" which I find funny because I WATCH it 24 hours late... hold on a minute, I think I watch it 48 hours late and I can NOT phone in and stop you crazy Americans from keeping people like Tatiana on the show.

Useless trivia about me that may surprise you, since I know I emanate peace, harmony and patience (did you just spit your pepsi on the keyboard?):

I don't wait for the show to come on to tell me who has been voted off. I cheat.
I go online.
Then I fast-foward Ryan's silly stalling tactics feeling all smug and warm inside.

Several times I have decided that I'm over American Idol (maybe from
my experience of NEVER picking the winner) (ok, I did pick last year's but
they both had the same name, how hard was it?) so I go into each season
thinking I'm just going to watch the auditions.
It's a guilty pleasure isn't it?
Laughing at people who have more courage than I do to follow their dreams.

And does this year really have some amazing talent, or is it just me-- desperate for entertainment?

Also fast-forwarded are performances that make me uncomfortable. You know, the song you're holding your breath all the way through because he/she just doesn't seem to be in sync with the band, or maybe a little flat.

I never watch the group's lip-synced performances or the pompous peacocks ("stars") being spotlighted (Randy Travis is exempt, I was thinking in particular of one diva from last year whose name rhymes with Pariah Hairy).

Sometimes I fast-forward through the judges comments (please Paula, just sit and look pretty. I really don't want to hear you talk anymore until you're off the painkillers, k? Just sayin'...).

Oh, when you call in, are you really thinking, "She looked good tonight so she has my vote!"? (sorry, another dig at Paula).

Have you ever stood and clapped...

all alone in your living room?
Yeah, I feel stupid afterwards, but sometimes, I can't help it.

I love my SkyPlus box (Tivo equivalent). I never knew American Idol could be so fun (when you eliminate the ridiculous bits).


Bet you sometimes wish you had a Skybox blog reader to forward through my ramblings...

When Computers Collide

Karen at The Rocking Pony needs to see garden pictures, but my macbaby and her computer aren't compatible.
Therefore, we're all taking a tour... you don't mind do you?

Just think of it like being the younger sibling again. You know, the poor kid that gets dragged to every piano recital, band performance and horribly boring basketball game (what IS that smell?) and gets told, "Just hush, we'll be going home soon" (soon meaning within the week).

The tour:
Let's look out over the garden from upstairs first:

This is from Miss Ky's room looking down on the center point of the garden.

Look a little to the left...

and a little more to the left...oooh, ahhh.

If we were magic and could fly down there, this is what it'd look like from that angle.

BUT we can't fly, so quick!

Back downstairs.

This is one of the little "paths" that have been created with the shrub features...

There's several of these maze-like hiding spots and they all have something different to reveal. One has an apple tree, one has a huge flowering bush (which at the moment is NOT flowering and in need of a haircut), and one has a large twisting tree with a bench just underneath waiting for me to plop a squat on it with a great book...sometime around August.

Let's head back to the house.
stinking moles.

Now we'll start on the patio area.

Seriously, you're already tired? Have you seen a doctor about that?

(we're walking backwards, but you'll be fine, I moved the balls out of the way)

If you go to the right and walk up the steps back to the garden level, you get here:

On the right of this is the other pond-- very overgrown with water lillies and pampas grass

from above that pond.

Can you imagine what it will look like cleaned up and blooming?!

And isn't the weather crazy here, sunny one minute and frosty the next?

No, these pictures weren't from the same day, or even the same month for that matter.

See, it didn't take that long and you didn't even have to suffer that sweaty sock smell from the gymnasium.

I'm still taking reservations for the summer.

LIGHT The Corners of My Mind

Mother's have terrible storage capacity for memories.

I dare you to challenge me.
How many of you swore at the Hubby during a 12-hour labor, only to then swear your undying love as you both held the newborn close and happily sobbed?

My first labor (nearly 21 years ago) started Thursday and ended Saturday morning-- with forceps and a fourth degree tear, after Pitocin was administered half-way through.
Sunday morning my doctor laughed when I said, "NEVER AGAIN" and in his patronizingly, yet fatherly way pronounced, "In six months you will have forgotten all of this".
(Six months postpartum I made sure that I informed him I hadn't forgotten. TEN YEARS it took me to "forget").

But in contrast, I look forward to every weekend. Every school holiday. Summer vacation.

Friday afternoons I'm giddy as I contemplate skipping down the lane with my children in anticipation to "popcorn and movie night" and a lie in the morning.
I calculate the saturday morning chores that we will tackle as a team before 9 am, leaving the rest of the sunny day to play in the garden, explore the countryside or sit on the seashore. I envision a clean house and happy children hosting hoards of smiling friends.

But saturday rolls in and I have been joined by not one child before 7 am, but 2.
I then have to groggily dive into the breakfast chaos, but hurriedly because we have to be driving away for swim lessons by 8.30.

Saturday is also the only day to get everyone's hair cut since all other days someone has some commitment elsewhere. Three boys with haircuts takes quite a bit of time (and no, we don't cut hair every saturday, but some saturdays are filled with football games).

By noon they are "bored", rude and insolent, but their hair looks good.

I get eye-rolling responses at my brilliant idea to sweep through the house like Mary Poppins to complete tasks at hand and even a full-on argument of why it's too much effort for the 5 year-old to carry that one dropped sock the rest of the way to the laundry room.

After I have watched their brains travel as if by a Star Trek transporter beam into the tv and I insist they head out into the sun, I become public enemy number one.

I can remember all of this now because it is 5:39 pm on a beautiful Saturday of heavy sighs, bickering and boredom.

Tomorrow, on Mothering Sunday, this memory will be gone because I will open my eyes to smiling, laughing children that have cooked my breakfast and painted wonderful cards for me to treasure into my old(er) age. I will then have 6 days to prepare for all of the glorious things we can do and see over the weekend.

...misty, water colored memories, of the way we were..."