My Grandpa - My Friend

So I just 'friended' my own grandfather on Facebook. He's 83 (I think, although it's possible I've lost count) and doesn't have a picture up, but there he is, in all his adorableness, friending me on Facebook like it ain't no thang. :)

I guess the next thing to do is wait for his first super-poke.

FACE THE MUSIC - SCAVENGER HUNT

Laura B chose the word FACE for this week's scavenger hunt. This picture is of my mom holding me as a small child. She is making a very expressive face. This may be the most expressive picture I own of her and the only one of her holding just me. (Being youngest of five means not a lot of individual shots!) My Mom is also celebrating her fake birthday this month, so I want to say a very Merry Un-Birthday to you, Momma!

Who Is My Second Cousin Twice Removed?

I've often been perplexed by the relations in my family that extended beyond the close-knit cousin circle. And to penetrate that mystery, I went, as always to the Internet!

My dad has a cousin. Let's say his name is Ben. Ben is
is my first cousin once removed. Ben has a son, Nathaniel. Nathaniel is my second cousin. Now if I had a daughter named Alice, she would be Ben's first cousin twice removed. Whereas Alice and Nathaniel would be second cousins once removed. My dad who is Alice's grandfather, is Nathaniel's first cousin once removed. But if Alice had a kid named Jack, Jack would be Ben's first cousin thrice removed and Nathaniel's second cousin twice removed.

Hope that helped you as much as it did me. :)

For a much clearer explanation, read this.

If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times...

Nagging doesn't work.

Best Comeback Ever?

When someone else's child in the grocery store says, "Can she be my new mommy?" As her dad blushes, what should a young woman say?

(Story from Marie over on Multiply)

Uncle Funk Hits the Internet

My Uncle Fred (in the cart) has been a musician and singer in Utah for years now. He sings gigs about town, mostly with a fellow named Dave Hahn (my adopted Uncle, pushing the cart) and I just found out their latest video is airing on the interweb. I'm so proud!

How To Find Gainful Employment

So I am trying to find a job, (due to my recent layoff from my boring and underpaid desk job at a local institution) and I am sad to report that after two and a half days of searching I have not landed one. I know! I'm as shocked as you are.

Immediately after receiving the news that I would no longer be required to show up and sit in a chair and amuse myself on the internet, the job offers started pouring in. Friends, coworkers, and mere acquaintances called and responded to my need with a variety of possible wage earning opportunities. Just to name a few of the things I could be doing right now:

• House Painter
• Lowe's cashier
• Florida Turnpike Toll Collector
• Med Rep for local Sales Firm
• Housekeeper
• (Unmentionable)

Having no luck finding the kind of job I wanted, I set about creating the world's best resume in order to find a job I could earn a living at. I got up early on Monday. I called references, I called friends, I roped in leads from the paper and the internet. Monday night I went to a job seekers Networking meeting at my church. I was doing the work. I expected a job at least by Tuesday morning. Tuesday morning: Still no job. So I got up again, at 6:30 this time, printed my resume and headed into my alma mater for a quick meeting with career services. (If anybody should be duty bound to find me a job, it's them) Then to the temp agency to fill out forms that indicated where I'd been for the last ten years, where I'd lived, who I lived with, my criminal, medical, and military records, what color my hair was, social security numbers, teeth prints, urine samples, fingerprinting, number of times I'd seen Anne of Green Gables... the works! I felt like I'd been dissected and catalogued, like a bug. So I said goodbye to the temp people and ran across half a mile of frozen landscaping to save my metered car from a fate worse than ticketing. And yet, still no job!!!

I returned to my parents' house (free internet, thanks, guys) and began again; resume rewrite, cover letters and references. My 7 yr old nephew was sitting behind me watching a World Cup game on tape when I turned and asked, "If this was my resume, would you hire me?" I expected a smile and an, "Aunt Sarah, you're crazy!", but instead I got a, "Well, what can you do for me?" I laughed. "I have a broad range of skills and qualifications. What do you need done?" He thought about it. I turned back to my typing. Ten minutes later, my nephew speaks up, "I'll pay you 50 cents," he says, "for every hour you spend talking to students, giving them advice." "50 cents an hour?" I ask. The offer sounds pretty good actually. "But you have to be talking to students. If there are no students, I'm not paying you to wait for them!" "Fair enough. So you want to pay me fifty cents an hour to advise students. On what?" "Advise them on their health." "Right." "In fact," he turns towards me, momentarily ignoring a bad call from the Polish referee, "I'll pay you 20 cents a person or fifty cents an hour." I mulled this over. "So, if I speak to three students in an hour I will actually be earning 60 cents not 50. Are you ok with that?" "Yes," he said. I told him I'd have to think about it. I don't even have any students to talk to anymore. I'd have to find students, but let's say I got a speaking engagement at a local high school - manditory attendance - and I talked to them for fifteen minutes about their health. If there were 300 students, I'd be pulling $60 bucks for a quarter hour's work.

A Birthday Balloon!

I would like to wish a Happy Birthday to a special person:

My Dad.
Many happy returns of the day, Dabu! Glad you are who you are. It's the reason I am who I am. : )

Like Mother Used to Make

So, I was actually instructed to make paper snowflakes for my office by my boss (this must fall into "other duties as assigned") and I diligently began folding six sided triangles of paper and cutting away bits and pieces to form snowflakes. After about four of them I realized something troubling: none of them looked as cool as the snowflakes my mother makes. This got me thinking about how the creative daughter of a successful snowflake maker was having unsuccessful attempts at making snowflakes and I think I have a reason. Math. I'm no good at math. My Mom is a frickin' genius in the math category and I think that has something to do with her ability to design them in her head, see them on the empty triangle and bring them into the world, perfect and desireable.

I'm gonna have to go get lessons again.

Update:

So I saw my mother last night and get this, she not only gave me a goodly sampling of fine little snowflakes (see below), she also gave me a snowflake starter kit, including dozens of prefolded snowflakes in various sizes, just waiting to be born. And I think I can finagle a few more lessons in flakeology. It's good to be daughter!

11/11 11:11:11

Today is Veteran's Day. It's about ten thirty here. At 11:11 am I will be sitting quietly at my desk thinking about the many men and women who have served, fought, and died for my freedoms. I am grateful to them and for them. Grandpa included. My Dad, too. All y'all.

Thank you.

Women and Men

My brother and I were having a discussion on how relationships are defined between women and men. I asked, "When does a couple know that it is a couple?" Here was my brother's response:

"Men and women are like a tetherball apparatus; the man is the pole and the woman is the ball. A man can't keep track of the woman as she swings wildly around him. It's impossible for him to figure out what she's doing, thinking, or feeling. So he just stands there and waits and when she finally winds around to where she's touching him, then he knows they're a couple."

At which point we both howled with laughter.

Yes or No?

Chez Joel writes on How to Find God in Three Arduous Steps.
I thought it was pretty well-formed. You read it and tell me what you think...

Wedding Question

Is it considered bad luck when the unity candle blows out the second it's lit and the bride and groom don't relight it?

How about if the bride forgets which hand the ring goes on her new husband?

And why is it that every single f-ing thing that happens on your wedding day is either good luck or bad luck? I mean seriously. Otherwise perfectly rational and non-superstitious people like myself suddenly turn in to old Greek women who curse and wail and tear their hair out if a bee stings the bride in the armpit or the father of the bride gets violently ill.

You just want to say, "Calm down, people. It's just a freaking wedding..."



So, how was your weekend?

Zardosi Unraveled

What is Zardosi? My sister believes it could be adequately described as the following, "it's when someone is sewing and they add fancy stuff", but she is uncertain. And her uncertainty has led to an unhealthy obsession with this word. She says it. Often. Especially when there is beadwork present somewhere in the room. Knowing how maddening it can be to have a foreign word stuck in your head (gewichteheben: three weeks) I set out to compile a dossier on Zardosi. Here's what I found:

Z A R D O S I

What: An intricate hand embroidery using gold, silver or multi-colored wire on a variety of fabrics. The name originates from the Persian word zarkas which means gold embroidery. Back in the day, the folks who attached seed pearls and precious stones to fabric were called zardos.
Where: Traditional garment work from India.
When: Dates back to ancient India.
Who: Worn by royalty back in the day. This craft still flourishes today. Used most frequently for weddings, movies and special occasions.
Why: Cuz it's perdy! Does there need to be another reason?
How: One fully-decked out sari or gown could take 300 hours of work. Originally real gold wire was used to fasten on the jewels. Now, of course, other metals are used. Sometimes also wrapped in cloth to give them a burnished look.

T H E L O O K

Fountain of Youth

Standing half in half out of the kiddie pool,
Limbs delicately poised on its edges,
he reaches out to take the water hose
and sprays down everything in sight.

(a little poem in honor of my nephew)

Pointless Points to Ponder

Point #1: My left sock keeps twisting sideways when I walk creating wrinkles in the fabric under my foot making me feel like an old, saggy, unkept woman. The monkey stopped to pull up her sock many times today.

Point #2: My sister tasked me to pull a stunt. Another one, that is. Different from the Joey stunt, but the same. She wants me to call up some guy I know and propose marriage to him over the phone and tape the (immenent) rejection. It is tempting. Seeing as how he's already written me off, I needn't fear acceptance. I just don't know how to audioblog when I'm on the phone with someone.

Point #3: I'm nervous when I go out because there is a student who feels I have ruined her life and is violent and angry. Friday she was on the back stairs cutting herself. Today a bloody knife was found on top of one of the lockers. She blames me for telling my boss of a potentially harmful situation with one of the staff. Hurrah.

Point #3, no wait, we're at 4 now: My brother Joel got his blog smashed to bits under the weight of popularity after being published in Dawn Eden's column in the New York Daily News. I would link to my brother's blog (poor dear) but what's the point? Looks like someone needs to invest in a bigger server...

Point #5: Humans are the only species on the planet that have face-to-face sex. Just thought you should know that. In case you really only come here to learn something new everyday. Which, frankly, I am beginning to doubt.

Point #6: I wish my blog would entertain me. I wish it would do tricks or write random thoughts or something cool and interesting. It's sad really when you think about it, because I'm just writing this blog to amuse myself. I might as well make a sock puppet to play with...

Photography

Impulse and Impulse ContrOL

I'm huddled unceremoniously at the cold computer in my parent's home, rounding up my shoulders trying to reach the keyboard which seems about seven inches too high. Tom Waits is singing about how my body will decompose to the score of atonal drums and saws. My oldest brother is walking through the door. Incense is burning. Water is heating for a pot of tea.

It's been several days since I've been able to post any writing. Work is too busy. Internet is hard to find on the weekend. I don't know what I'm learning, but I'm learning it.

The lake outside the window is frozen in big, cracking sheets which sometimes groan and shift. Geese come and go, speaking of Michaelangelo. The light of the sky goes from grey to black. The lights in the parking lot shine a stunted orange. The cat is using his best green eyes to stare at me.

Nuggets of Wisdom

(or "bring back the fun blog")

I talked to wiser, older sis on the phone briefly in the midst of my harried and extremely busy work day (haha). I had just reread some older posts and a wave of nostalgia hit me when I saw how many warm and wonderful moments we've all shared on this blog. The banter, the cheer, the laughing at old defenseless men. Good times. I told her I missed that. When readers were aplenty and the comments ranged all over. Those, my friends, those were the days. And she told me that if I would just stop writing so much about myself, especially about how pitiful I am and returned to the happy-go-lucky contests and elephant trivia days, the readers would come bounding back. I had to agree. I know quite well I've been digging deep into unpopular and pitiful land lately. I would apologize, but what's the point?

Little White Different

So, my sis and I are driving somewhere when I see a little white desk by the side of the road. A little crappy, plywood desk that someone is getting rid of and has left out in the rain and falling leaves. "A desk!" I say. Well, actually it's more of a plaintive wail. All my previous attempts at getting a desk had been thwarted. I'd tried to beg, borrow, buy and steal and thus far I had no reward for my endeavors and here all of a sudden is a little white desk on the side of the road. It's too good. My sister, very kindly doubles back in her rental SUV. I jump out and assess. It's small and fairly clean. It's missing the keyboard tray, but otherwise intact. She rolls down her window. "Well?" "I'm gonna take it," I'm smiling. "It's ugly," she says. I look down at the little white desk. "You're not ugly, you're nice." I hoist it into the car, only marring the plastic interior a little in the process.

Once home I clean off the dirt and leaves that have collected on top and wipe down the sides and the cpu shelf. "Do you think it smells?" asks my sister. "No," I say defensively. "Don't worry," I whisper, "You don't smell bad." I set it against the window and pull up my plastic lawn chair. I place my laptop and important papers on top and sit down.

No more checkbook balancing on the bed, no essay writing in the armchair.

At last. I feel like a person.