It's Official...

The world is full of weirdos and wackos, and they all listen to my radio station between three a.m. and seven a.m.

Seriously, some of the strangest stuff you will EVER hear on the air is on after midnight. And the shows have an audience to match.

We have one guy who routinely calls us to berate the on-air staff (the not-so-weird staff who are on the air after five a.m. but have to get here at three a.m. to prepare) for minor offenses like whether it's mostly clear or partly cloudy.

I've had little old ladies call me to ask for directions.

And people who want to know whether the Cleveland Kinsman-Redeemers beat the Peoria Holy-Rollers in overtime.

All of this, mind you, in the wee small hours of the morning. The listeners we have during daylight hours aren't any less prone to calling us, but they seem to call for more reasonable reasons. Well, usually. But I digress...

FIND THE INTERNET! It's the information super-highway. I don't call YOU at work to ask you stupid questions. Don't call me at work to ask me stupid questions! This is what Google is for, people.

Theater of the Absurd

This needs absolutely no explanation... you just have to see it.

http://storewars.org/flash/index.html

Yoda One for Me

Post this, I will. Yes. Hmmm.

Can I just say how done I am with the hype? I'm as much a fan of Star Wars in general as the average person (which is to say, I like the films, but I'm not a freak about it). I found Episodes 1 and 2 a little disappointing, but I didn't think they were total crap by any means. Just not as good as the originals.

But let's move on from the hype already. Go see the movie if you want to. Dress up in costume if you want to. But for pete's sake, QUIT TALKING ABOUT IT ALREADY!

Sometimes It Gets You Right Between the Eyes

In my inbox this morning: "Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it-he will be blessed in what he does." (James 1:23-25 NIV)

I subscribed to a Bible-reading-of-the-day e-mail service at http://www.ibs.org a while back, to help supplement my own studies. It's the kind of thing I do to try and make sure I at least get a little Bible study into my schedule, even if this verse is the only thing I manage to get read.

Can I just make myself a list now of the ways this particular reading is just absolutely speaking to me? Let me count the ways, please. Ouch!

Sometimes what you need to know comes at you out of nowhere. Now it's what I do with the reminder that's so much more important than the reminder itself.

Unbelieveable!

Have you been following the developments with the Newsweek story that may have sparked Afghan riots? (See the mag's apology here.)

I've been staying pretty quiet on this while I process it, but I can't really stay too quiet for too long. As a journalist, I am appalled. Even if the riots weren't caused by the magazine's report (which I suspect may be the case - the way terrorists work, it would make sense for them to comb through American literature and news print, looking for excuses to be offended and rile their people up)... even IF that isn't the case, it's incredibly irresponsible to report something you haven't thoroughly checked out.

Anyone of us could make a mistake. I know that. I've made them. But it seems to me on a story of that kind of magnitude, you double-check and you triple-check and then you check again... to make sure everything is exactly as it should be. It's too late to apologize once the damage is done.

End of an Era

You never like to think of your grandfather as frail or weak. At least, I never liked to think of him that way.

The man's in his 90's and he's always had spunk. He kept driving long after he should have, kept living on his own and making his daily foray into the bustling burg (not) to get groceries. He always drank RC cola and loved sweets, and spent hours on end in his easy chair watching wrestling matches.

No more.

Granddaddy either has Alzheimer's or something like it. At 93, you can't really spend too much time feeling bad about something like that, but nonetheless... it's not really something to celebrate. He's put on weight, stopped shaving, turned off the TV, and quit drinking RC Cola. He refuses to eat anything but cornbread and milk. The kicker - he didn't know where he was. I asked him whether he wanted me to go to the store and get him some RC, and he said, in typical Granddaddy style, "Nah. I used to drink that stuff up-to the house but they don't keep any around here."

Around here? We were at his house. True, my aunt is living with him now, but it's his home of nearly 10 years.

I really am grateful he's been as independent and strong as he has for as long as he has. As with everything else... life goes on, and it would be stranger if it didn't.

What Was I Thinking?

DH and the toddler wanted a boy's weekend out to go camping. No problem there - every once in a while it's good for us all to get a break from each other.

But I got the bright idea that I'd take off on my own to go visit some family (seven hours away) with the dog.

Obviously I haven't thought this through. How the heck am I going to use the bathroom when I'm traveling with a possessive beagle who doesn't like to sit in a car? I'm actually thinking about putting sunglasses on and wandering into the rest areas looking like a blind woman so I can keep Charlie with me. Otherwise, even with the car running and air conditioner on, the beagle will howl like he's being beaten. No joke - he went with me to pick up the toddler from day care the other day, and I thought he was going to commit doggycide while I was inside getting the boy. Nothing like a howling hound to get someone to call animal control on you. So I'm going to have to find pet-friendly rest areas... or pee in the woods... or go with my plan C, which is, again - to play blind.

Of course, my cover's going to be blown when anyone sees me get into the car and drive on. Details, details, details.

Pray for me, wouldja? And next time I promise to work out all the details before I do something dumb like tell my husband he doesn't have to take the dog camping with him. What was I thinking?

Mine! Mine! Mine!

Yep... he's two all right. The toddler has progressed from "No" (Do you want to eat dinner, Sam? "No!" Do you want to live, Sam? "No!") to "Mine."

This week alone, my socks, DH's computer paper, the dog and my dad have all become the property of one Sam the Man. Everything I eat... drink... or look at sideways... is fair game.

I never thought I'd say this, but... bring on "Why?" I'm ready to leave "mine" behind.

This Is the Book that Never Ends

I've been writing a book for what seems like 30 years now. Pretty impressive when you consider I'm not going to be thirty myself for another two-and-a-half years (but who's counting?).

This is rewrite number five. I'm not making that up. At this rate, it'll be published posthumously.

It's really easy to get discouraged looking at it like that, but isn't life the same way? You make mistakes, you try again. You fall down, you get up. And you always keep the white-out on hand.

I started this blog roughly a year ago, and I'm not much further along now than I was then. It's one step forward... one step back... and a shuffle to the side on occasion. But you know what? That's OK. I'll get there eventually. This has been a year of learning for me, a year of growth and change. And if the heroine of my novel and her sister never make up... well, at least I'm the better for the journey.

No More Bedtime Snacking

You'd think by now I would realize that anytime I eat something right before bed, I have bizarre dreams. Last night it was my mom... and my cousin... and a starving dog... all in the hospital with me. My mom was trying to get me to have some kind of procedure - like egg implantation or something, I don't know - and I was arguing with her about it. And there's this starving rat-dog in the bed with her. What does it all mean?

It means I had three cookies right before I went to bed, that's what.

"I" Before "E"!!!!

That's it. I declare war.

The local Hardee's sign says you can get a 10 "peice" bucket. What the heck is a peice, anyway?

I'm going to take this as a sign from God and plug my other website now, Choice Ink. I can't stand this anymore. I'm taking out my red pen and taking on the world.

A Mother's Day Reflection

Mother's Day is going to be hard for me this year. It's the first time the holiday's come around since my own sweet mother died last summer. And yet... Mother's Day is also going to be dear to me, as a mother now myself.

It still seems a little strange to think of myself that way. In my head, I still see the skinny, freckled, awkward teen I was... not the slightly overweight, freckled, more-confident woman I suppose I probably seem to be.

When does one first become a mother? Is it the moment she first holds her newborn? Or does motherhood creep up, bit by bit, until it bonds to her identity in such a way that she is never the same?

I tend to think it's the latter. It took me a long time to get used to saying "my son" in reference to Sam. For a long time, he was merely "the baby." Not that I didn't love him... oh, no, love was instant as soon as I heard his cry, before I ever held him. It was probably well into his second year of life before he'd been enough of a constant in mine to appear in my nighttime dreams. One thing's for sure, though... I will never be the same.

In that respect, I can now appreciate my own mother in a new light. I never realized how much she loved me before Sam was born. But I now know I could never have hoped to love her nearly as much as she loved me. And I know one day Sam will realize he'll never be able to love me as much as I love him. I'd do anything for him. My mother would've done anything for me. What a blessing of a legacy to leave behind.

I can still hear her telling me, "That's what a mother is for."

Happy mother's day, Mom.

The Bovine Beagle Strikes Again

Maybe I shouldn't find this so funny, but Charlie's way of mooing just cracks me up. If you haven't read about Charlie yet, scroll down to check out "My Dog Can Moo... Can You?" and Charlie's picture.

Had to give Charlie a bath last night. Beagles have what my husband describes as a "distinctive houndy odor". It's not exactly a bad smell... more of an earthy smell. Probably evidence of Charlie's love of the outdoors and rolling in the dirt more than anything else. Anyway, beagles don't need super-frequent bathing, but as I have family coming in this weekend... bathtime for Charlie.

I've never heard so much mooing in all my life. And there's not a cow in sight. And we weren't singing "Old MacDonald" with the toddler, either.

It's kind of a low-pitched grumble... not really a growl, Charlie's too gentle and laid-back to growl. He just grumbles, that's the best way I can describe it. Like a cow who's got a little attitude.

But what's so funny about Charlie is, he's a stoic. He grumbles... but he puts up with whatever we throw at him. Bath time, clipping his toe nails, brushing, even being moved off of my side of the bed... whatever we require of the pooch, he grumbles... but he lets us do it without putting up a fight.

Poor little fella.

The *Real* Afghanistan

Check out the blog of a coworker and friend, Dave, recently returned from a stint as a freelance journalist in Afghanistan. It's a lot of insight into what's happening in Afghanistan you won't read anywhere else. Dave's a former Marine and a darn good journalist - working on a documentary series about the Afghan elections.

Now I remember!

Now I remember why I left my home state behind. Man, it's pretty here in the spring!