My Spidy, I love thee.

I spent my Sunday this past week, worshipping at Our Lady of Peter Parker. Usually the 3^rd installment of any movie is tired and just overdoing it. Even part deux is a little much for most, regardless of its original blockbuster. (Case in point: Christmas Vacation, then Christmas Vacation II starring Cousin Eddie in a Hawaiian Christmas.) But Spiderman 3 was awesome, amazing and exceeded any expectations I had going in. Stephen saw it before me and told me to not be surprised when Peter Parker has a sex change and starts a romance with his friend, Harry. I’m so relieved to tell you that he was LYING!!! I liked Topher Grace (Eric Foreman in That 70’s Show) and Thomas Haden Church (Lowell in Wings) as the newest bad guys. Topher creeped me out with his razor teeth. But in a good way.

So, go see it. I think Tobey McGuire needs the money. ;-)

Chatty-Kat Recommends . . .

I just recently finished reading “The Innocent Man – Murder and Injustice in a Small Town” by John Grisham. This is his first foray into the nonfiction genre. You probably know his work – “The Firm,” “A Time to Kill,” “The Pelican Brief,” and many other legal thrillers. In this book that was out last October, he studied the case of Ron Williamson and Dennis Fritz, who were both accused of the December 1982 murder of Debbie Carter in Ada, Oklahoma. Mr Fritz was convicted on circumstantial evidence, simply because he was a known “drinking buddy” with Mr. Williamson. A jail snitch traded information for a lighter sentence by saying that they confessed, so the prosecution team built their entire case around evidence meant to fit them. Mr. Fritz received a life sentence and Mr. Williamson got the death penalty. Both men were completely disillusioned that this could happen, based on the flimsy evidence. In 1999, with DNA evidence from the crime, they were both found to be innocent of the crime and the case was solved and proven to be Mr. Glen Gore – the last person seen with Ms. Carter before her murder.

I had some very naïve opinions about the death penalty, false convictions, DNA evidence and prison life. I read a lot of true crime stories, but this one has been the most impacting on me. If you are interested in this subject, I really recommend this book. And if you’re in prison, on death row, please leave my blog site immediately. You scare me. And if you “didn’t do it,” good luck to you.

Come on, get happy!

Way back in the ice age, when I was in 9^th grade, I had a big ol’ rotund teacher named Mr. Stone. I was one of the “new kids” in a pretty small school, so being loud, dramatic and the stereotypical blonde, it wasn’t hard to stand out. Our class only had 4 or 5 boys in it and a bunch of girls. Sheri, the other new girl, would later on become my sister-in-law, but we became very good friends that year. Jolene was one of my best buds – we couldn’t have been more opposite. I think her parents couldn’t stand me because I was so . . . well, all the stuff I listed above. I remember thinking that their home needed livening up. I don’t think they agreed or appreciated my efforts. Jolene and I were roommates off and on through our high school years at boarding academy. During 9^th grade, I also became good friends with Kelli. Kelli’s mom emails me occasionally and reminded me recently of the class trip to Seattle that year. As I remember, it was one shenanigan after another and,curiously, I was usually in the middle of it.

But back to Mr. Stone. One time I remember laying my head down on my desk during class. Headache? Tired eyes? I don’t remember. What I do remember is that Mr. Stone walked up to my desk and slammed a textbook down right next to my head. And when some guy in our class shoved me into the boy’s bathroom and down onto a toilet seat, Mr. Stone walked in, saw me, and accused me of walking in there on purpose. I don’t know if he disliked all girls or just me, but he did seem to always side with the boys. Like when someone chased me around the room with the class snake, I was the one who got in trouble because I was the one who screamed. Sheesh! I don’t know what ever became of Mr. Stone (I think he was 97 then,) but I can’t help but hope if he’s still alive, that the nursing home attendants don’t change his diaper very often. My memories of that school year aren’t terribly nice. Our English teacher was fired for being on drugs. Even in my very naïve nature, I thought he was an oddball. And one time he was mean to Jolene and I really disliked him for that. If I remember right, our band teacher left under the same pretense. Hey, it was the late 70’s. Didn’t everybody do drugs? Well, I didn’t either, but I guess in our church school, it was a super duper bad thing to do. I loved my bus driver (Kelli’s mom!)

My sister was in 5^th grade in the same school and she had a very unkind teacher, also. The principal’s wife was a teacher/busybody who I always thought reminded me of a hippopotamus. And hippopotami scare me! My parents had just gotten divorced before we started school that year. Divorce wasn’t so common back then and because this was a church school, I think that my sister and I were lepers whose parent’s divorce might rub off on someone.

One of the most profound remembrances of my year in that school was that with the one exception of Kelli’s mom, none of the faculty/staff there had a sense of humor. Maybe they were all miserable there. Maybe they were all close enough to retirement to be burned out. Maybe it was me. But, I think when someone works with children, they MUST have a sense of humor. Kids are hilarious! Well, mine are. And all their friends. And I have such an immature sense of humor, I still appreciate it.

When Stephen was a freshman, I was volunteering one day a week in the school office. One of the staff members (who isn’t real popular with some students) came in to ask the secretary to get the custodian to clean off some words written in the bathroom about her. “Mrs. **** is a hooker.” So, inappropriately as it was, I started laughing my fool head off. I thought it was funny! Here are some very young kids who want to call her the baddest name they can think of, and they probably don’t know what a “hooker” is, but they know it’s bad. I know she had to pretend in front of the kids to be offended, but come on! In the office with no children present, we had a good opportunity for a great belly laugh! Nope, not even a titter outta her. I know it's no "Clean Barn Award" but geez! Stephen didn’t make any points that year when he was looking at pictures of past graduates with his friends. He pointed to one young man from many years ago and said “He looks like a cross-dresser.” Unbeknownst to him, this same staff member had walked up behind him when she heard him and said “Hey, that’s my husband.”

So that day in detention, Stephen learned to put on lipstick with his cleavage.

Sky Rockets in Flight . . .

Today I stayed home. To write. To be quiet and deep in thought. Stephen stayed home, also. To jam with the band. Not our best planning.

I could tune him out when he whined and cried and had temper tantrums. I could tune him out in the grocery store when he wanted one of everything. I could tune him out when he hated what I served for dinner. I cannot tune out band practice. My neighbors probably can’t either. Even if I didn’t hear it, I’d still feel it. Stephen doesn’t play classical music. Maybe that’s important to mention. I like the kind of music he plays BECAUSE HE PLAYS IT. Otherwise, I would grab a cross, some cloves of garlic and run if I heard this music. Sometimes it’s scary music. Sometimes it’s very depressing music. Young-person-angst seems to be a popular theme for the songs they write. In my day, we kept our angst buried deep where it belonged. We didn’t try to work through our life lessons in music. And we’ve made really terrific friends of our therapists!

“Back in the day,” my music was to inspire me positively or for pure entertainment. And my mom didn’t like some of my music either. I thought that “Afternoon Delight” was about a guy having an ice cream treat after lunch. Really!! I couldn’t figure out why my mom thought it was a bad song.

I’ve really learned a lot from my kids. One huge lesson I’ve learned is to look deeper than the surface. I mean, really. Body piercings, Goth polish and lipstick, long ratty hair, weirdly shaved hair, metal teeth and don’t even start me on dog collars! We’ve had it all in our house. But, not one young person in our midst has been impolite or disrespectful. And, no, I don’t believe that every one of the kids do all these things just to get attention or that they simply need a hug. Some of them actually like that stuff. And many of them just keep coming back. So, apparently we’re not too offensive as parents. It’s hard to know sometimes when to worry. We’ve worried that we should be concerned about influence. Both our boys are 19 and 20. Even though they live at home, we are giving them a very wide berth to figure things out for themselves. It’s hard sometimes. I have permanent teeth marks in my tongue. So, for now I’m doing my part and taking LOTS of pictures to remind them someday of their “style.” I’m thoughtful that way.

Well, I gotta go. I’m hungry for an ice cream sundae before my therapist appointment.

The Number Six

Some of you may be faithful readers of my sister’s blog site. If you are one of those four, please understand that neither of us are copy-cats. We decided to BOTH post our responses to the following. Please share your own answers by cutting, pasting and posting to "comments." Thanks! These responses are in absolutely NO particular order.

Six things to do before I die:
1. Visit NYC
2. Write my books
3. Play guitar
4. Build another house
5. Vacation at a Mexican resort
6. Ride in an air balloon

Six things I won’t do:
1. Ignore messes
2. Eat the worm in the tequila bottle
3. Touch a snake
4. Go to bed without moisturizing
5. Read romance
6. Amusement park rides

Six things that attract me to my spouse:
1. He’s tall
2. He gets paid every two weeks
3. He makes me laugh
4. He kinda likes our kids
5. He’s a good guy
6. He’s a faithful trash fairy

Six things I say most often:
1. I love you
2. Drive safe

3. Eddie’s spending the night again??!!
4. Shelby? Need to go potty?
5. Gross!
6. This ain’t the Hilton!

Six authors I really like:

1. Stephen White
2. Ann Rule
3. Sue Grafton
4. Mary Higgins Clark
5. Jenny McCarthy
6. James Patterson

Six movies I would watch over and over again:
1. Gross Pointe Blank
2. Rent
3. Chicago
4. Disney animated stuff
5. Any DVD’s with Family Guy or American Dad
6. Most anything with Jackie Chan

The "Ain't" Factor

I know it’s wrong. I can’t help it. When someone says “ain’t” within earshot of me, I judge. And I’ve seen people with all their teeth say it. And I judge. Maybe not as harshly, but I definitely judge. I wasn’t more educated than most people. I went to high school in a boarding academy (which was like military school-lite or Junior College with Jesus 101) but in no way an advanced academic program. (Sorry, Mom, you paid WAY too much for it, but since I did meet my BFF there, it was worth every single required worship.) But even with my average education, I couldn’t say “ain’t.” At least I didn’t want to. Recently, I realized that sometimes when I use that totally sarcastic voice (most of you have heard it) to mock myself or someone out of earshot, I slip into an exaggerated hillbilly drawl and I say the “A” word. I almost never spit afterwards. (Well once, but I was super drunk!)

My oldest son tends to use a fresh bath towel daily and I get tired of washing them so often. I was lecturing (not exactly creating loving memories at that moment) about the art of making a towel last more than a day. I punctuated the end of my lecture with “This ain’t the Hilton, ya know.” For anyone not privy to my “sarcastic voice,” I sounded barefoot and bra-less. I’m so ashamed. I wouldn’t feel so bad if I knew that no one heard. Or if anyone did hear, they knew I was using the sarcastic voice. But nothing is guaranteed. Except death. And I can hear it now . . . (thoughtfully peering over my grave) “Sure she had some class, but I did hear her say ‘ain’t’ that time . . .”

PS: For the record, I have never opened a beer can with my teeth.

Pushing up Daisies . . .

This week in the news, several public figures died. And every once in awhile, when someone dies I start to think about my own death. I ask myself that most common question, "What kind of legacy do I want to leave?" When I lost my own dad several years ago, although I knew that he wasn't perfect, all I could think of was the kind of dad he was to me and how I was really lucky to have him, but needed him way longer. I still think that. When that day comes for me, I hope my children remember all the times I TRIED to be a good mom and TRIED to create loving and lasting memories. And even with all my failures, I loved them more than anything. So, I guess my legacy of choice is "She tried." My husband, my mom, my sis, my best friend, my nieces and nephs, my aunt and uncles, my special cousins and friends and others who crossed my path, I hope they realize that I tried with them all. I was me, but held the best parts of them in my heart. I tried to be truly me. I tried to make the best of the good parts and tried to work through and change the worst. I burned my candles and smelled my roses and drank water. I was a work-in-progress poster child. I knew a lot of people, loved a lot of people and buried a few. I never killed anyone (thoughts don't count!) and I cleaned up my messes.

But I'll admit, it would be really nice if once my daisies were pushed up, they changed my legacy to "She Succeeded." Yeah, that would be pretty cool.