Pink Coupe Oblivion

Did you hear that?

Last week, millions of Twihards gasp in unison as news broke that Bella cheated on Edward Kristen Stewart cheated on Robert Pattinson with Jacob Rupert Sanders, a married man who directed her in her recent film, Snow White and the Huntsman, in which Stewart portrayed Snow White.  I know, I know, the irony is almost too much.  It's been referred to as the Twipocalypse, & as one clever individual noted on Twitter, As Syria descends into civil war, CNN asks 'Should Robert Pattinson forgive Kristen Stewart?'  

If you're wondering, & I know some of you are because it's been asked of me, no, I won't be removing my countdown (look to your right) to the final Twilight film.  While Summit Entertainment is probably poised to throttle Miss Stewart, I'm certain the movie will be released as planned & I'll be there in my Team Edward shirt (because, after all, he's not the one kissing someone else - in fiction or reality), popcorn & chocolate in hand, to watch the final scenes of this saga unfold.   I'll likely also pay a bit of attention to what is shaping up to be perhaps the most awkward film promotion in history.

Finding Faith

California Randomness

Magic Mike & Other Musings

Weather

Since political matters are the hot topic today, I'll stick with a more mundane one: the weather.

Weather is important.  Humans are vexed by weather, because we cannot control it.  We know a lot about how & why things happen, but we can't prevent them, or initiate them.  In any fictional setting that features humans playing God (The Truman Show, The Hunger Games), be assured, the god-figure(s) will meddle with the weather.  If you've seen it, you may recall Christof's line in The Truman Show, "Cue the sun."

God knows the significance of weather.  I think, aside from the flood, my favorite Biblical use of weather is when the Lord darkened the sky & shook the earth as Christ died.  Wouldn't every parent who lost a child do the same if they had the power?  God doesn't have to write His name in the sky to make Himself known; He created the sky, & He created the light by which we can see it, and He can snuff out that light at any moment.  He speaks, & the sun obeys, & the earth moves.  The Bible is, among other things, a wonderful piece of literature, & can be analyzed as such.  God appreciates symbolism, & it wouldn't have seemed appropriate that the sun remain high & bright in the sky given that the man who was present when the sun was spoken into existence was in the throes of death.

You know the significance of weather if you've participated in or are a fan of any sport played outdoors, or if you've ever planned an event to be held outdoors & then obsessively checked weather forecasts.  About ten years ago, I stood on the back porch at Squire Creek for the first time, looked out over the courtyard, & told my mother I'd be married there.  In 2009, I was (Trey also participated).  I'd always insisted my wedding & reception would be held indoors, because, while I am resourceful, I can't control the weather & I wanted to be able to control every aspect of such an important event (or relinquish control to capable people I trusted).

October of 2009 began as the rainiest Louisiana October I can remember, though unless you were planning an outdoor wedding in the middle of the month, or are a weatherman, you likely didn't take note then, & certainly can't recall now.  We were blessed with a beautiful day.  This was pretty much how I imagined it back in 2002:

If I were to write a short story about various significant moments in my life, I'd certainly include the weather (& then what I was wearing).  I know the weather is important, because I remember it, can still feel it in some cases.  It was an unseasonably cold May Saturday in Louisiana the day I graduated from college.  It rained the night my grandfather died.  It was hot the day I took my bridal portraits.  I'm not a fainter, but came as close as I ever have standing outside in the sun in my heavy dress, attempting to follow the photographer's instructions while sweat ran in sheets down my face.  It was chilly, variably cloudy, & not at all humid the October day Trey & I married.

In some novels, weather is so significant it could be analyzed as a separate character.  I like a nice description of the current weather when I'm reading; weather plays heavily into my mood, so I want to know how it might be affecting the characters whose lives I typically immerse myself in when I read.

 

At present, it's summer, & all the great writers had something to say about summer.

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.  

-Henry James

One must maintain a little bit of summer, even in the middle of winter.  

-Henry David Thoreau

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow fast in movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

I presume these men never spent a summer in Louisiana.  Great bursts of leaves may grow fast in movies, Mr. Fitzgerald, but in Louisiana they dry up & wither & die in the relentless heat.  Life doesn't begin over again during a Louisiana summer; life grinds to a halt while all living things attempt to wait out the oppressive weather.

I always seem to forget how hot it is here in the summer.  Every April, there is a moment when I'm excited about painting my toenails, wearing sandals, & doing other summery things.  That moment never lasts long.  I don't like the heat.  At. All.  I think John Steinbeck had the better idea . . . What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.  There are Colorado residents who've spent winter after winter digging out from under snow they'd love to be buried  in right now.

While we wait for cooler temps, or even a cloud to provide enough cover for a nice walk, Reagan & I remain indoors most of the time.  We've been to the park a few times.  These below are courtesy of my sister, who took them on an unseasonably cool day in May:

We hang out at Newk's:

Make the occasional Sonic run:

Try on hats in the Cracker Barrel:

Roam around Target . . .

. . . and discover Archer Farms latest creations:

Drive daddy's truck:

Attend story time at the public library:

Visit Papaw:

Peek out the window at the patio furniture it's too hot to enjoy:

Trey & I recently saw Rock of Ages in the theater (a great place to get away from the heat, but one where Reagan is not yet welcome).  If you enjoy musicals, and/or think Alec Baldwin is hilarious, and/or enjoy boy band humor, you should go see Rock of Ages.  During the previews, I was given yet another reason to long for winter . . . a trailer for The Great Gatbsy, starring Leonardo DiCaprio as Gatsby, Toby Maguire as Nick Carraway, & Carey Mulligan as Daisy Buchanan.  Um, yes, please.  

I've never given my readers an assignment, but I challenge you to read The Great Gatsby before this film is released, which I believe will be around Christmas.  If you've read it, reread it, & then watch the 1974 film starring Robert Redford as Gatsby, Sam Waterston (aka Jack McCoy of Law & Order fame) as Nick Carraway, & Mia Farrow as Daisy.

I don't know how anyone who attended high school in America escaped without reading this novel, but it's one every American needs to read.  It should be required reading in both literature and American history classes.  I read it in high school, but it wasn't until I reread it in my American Novel class in college that I realized how grossly I'd underestimated Fitzgerald's work.  

Weather, of course, plays an important role in The Great Gatsby.  The novel opens as summer begins, and Fitzgerald correlates the rising heat with Gatsby's hope of a future with Daisy, his long lost love.  It's raining the first time Gatsby is reunited with Daisy, but as the awkwardness between them dissipates, so too does the rain.  Gatsby confronts Tom, Daisy's husband, on what the reader is told is the hottest day of the year.  You get the drift.

If things go as planned, The Great Gatsby will be the December book club selection.  I'll sweeten the pot: if you read the book, you can be an honorary member of the book club & come see the film with us & listen to me prattle on about symbolism.      

At its heart, Gatsby is a novel about the disillusionment that inevitably creeps in when people are motivated by material gain and relentlessly pursue pleasure, ignoring signs of disaster looming ahead.  What an excellent time to bring the novel to the big screen again.  

AZ

You're Not Special

A Moveable Feast

Never go on trips with anyone you do not love.

-Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

A Moveable Feast is a set of memoirs about the years Hemingway spent in Paris in the company of literary giants like F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, & James Joyce.  The title of the memoirs was taken from a quote attributed to Hemingway's friend & biographer A.E. Hotchner, who is credited with informing Hemingway that, "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."

 To borrow Mr. Hotchner's sentiment, my life is a feast, a constant, unending array of one delectable morsel after another, & last week the table was set in Destin, Florida.  For a week, Reagan had not only her father & I to look after her, but four grandparents, two aunts, & one uncle as we all descended on a rented home in SanDestin, a resort community in Destin I've loved a long time.

Free Lunches

In This World

I spent my freshman year of college at Harding University in Searcy, Arkansas.  As an English major, I was required to take a course titled "Introduction to Literature."  We read a little bit of everything, & even dabbled in some film criticism.  My professor, a film connoisseur, showed us clips of several movies, some of them 'R' rated.

Harding is a private Christian university.  Students are expected to attend chapel daily & enroll in a Bible class each semester.  It was not completely shocking that a young lady in my Introduction to Literature class raised an objection to the viewing of R rated films.  After politely signaling that she wanted to speak, she informed our professor, & the entire class, that she never watched any film rated R.  What followed was an interesting exchange between this usually soft-spoken young lady & our professor, the latter arguing that the young lady was needlessly keeping herself from an array of wonderful movies.  He cited several films that attempt to realistically depict war in all its brutality.  It's history, after all, he stated.  I was thinking more along the lines of how tragic it was that she'd never seen When Harry Met Sally, but I kept my mouth shut.

Introductions

What seems new is only new to us.

-Pearl S. Buck 

As Reagan's mother, one of my prerogatives is to introduce her to new things, inserting explanatory notes where necessary, & sneaking in a lesson when applicable.  Even before she was born, she was regularly exposed to the soundtracks from various musicals . . . Aida, Wicked, Mamma Mia, The Sound of Music, Phantom of the Opera.

When Reagan was about a week old, I was home alone with her one night & The Sound of Music came on television.  She slept through most of it, & I just sat in Trey's recliner & held her while I watched & sang along when the mood struck.

Reflections

All Dressed Up

Last weekend, Trey & I traveled to New Orleans to attend the Louisiana Bar Foundation's 26th Annual Gala.  A gala is a far cry from the Friday nights Trey & I usually enjoy, which sometimes involve dinner plans, but never ones that require me to buy a dress & Trey to rent a tux.

Thursday night, Reagan & I joined my parents at the Hilton Garden Inn for our usual Thursday night rendezvous:

Friday morning(ish), Trey & I departed, our Gala attire safely tucked in plastic bags.

6:1

6:1

That was the adult to Reagan ratio when her four grandparents, her Aunt Deni, & I took her for a quick dinner & then to play in the park two weeks ago.  Yes, it's been two weeks & I'm just now blogging it.  I sat down to upload pics & blog about the whirlwind trip to New Orleans & Baton Rouge Trey & I took this past weekend, & realized I was backlogged.  While Reagan happily works on the couch at her desk, answering calls & making important notes on her etch-a-sketch, I want to share some pictures of her heavily supervised play day in the park.

Senses and Memories

I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers.  I remember where a toad may live, and what time the birds awaken in the summer - - and what trees and seasons smelled like  - - how people looked and walked and smelled even.  The memory of odors is very rich."

 - John Steinbeck, East of Eden 

When I teach developmental English, one of the few directives I'm given for the direction of the course is that my students write a minimum of three essays, one of which needs to be descriptive in nature.  When I introduce this assignment, I have to segue into adjectives.  I wait patiently while no one volunteers the definition of an adjective, hoping it's a fear of speaking up in class that's hindering my students, & that I am not standing in front of twenty-five college students who don't know what an adjective is.

When the blank stares continue, I give them examples of topics that lend themselves to description, & these are always memories of people & places seared in my mind because of the sensory details that remain vivid, despite the expanse of years.  We discuss the intricate link between our senses & our memories, & I usually ask them to close their eyes and think about the way their grandmother's house smelled, or the sound of their grandfather's voice, or the feel of the sand under their feet on the beach, the rhythmic lapping of the waves.  Usually, at least a few of their eyes light up at this point & I know I will soon read a few essays about grandma's chocolate chip cookies baking, or grandpa smoking a pipe while he told a story,  or read about a gaggle of cousins playing ball barefoot, the cool, crisp grass crunching under their feet.

Last week, my Aunt Donna returned from spending Easter with her daughter & granddaughter in Dallas, & brought with her a sizable load of clothes & shoes Marykate has outgrown.  I literally squealed with delight as I sifted through the goodies, immediately trying some of the outfits on Reagan, much to her chagrin.

A peek at the loot:

Box - O - shoes:

One of the first outfits I tried on Reagan, & her choice of shoes, black Crocs, which were by far the item that most excited her:

Like me, Reagan doesn't have an older sister, but alas, when you have cousins, you can still participate in the childhood hand-me-down ritual.  Growing up, I had three older female cousins, two who were just old enough for me to inherit their old clothes while I could still wear them (I eventually grew taller than both of them).  Both of them three years my senior, I remember feeling a myriad of emotions regarding them when I was younger, similar, I am sure, to the mixture of love & envy & general awe a young girl feels about her older sister as they grow alongside one another.  We played together, we fought, we had sleepovers, we shared birthdays & holidays, we greedily dove into our Mamaw's chocolate pie while seated at the kids' table, we welcomed new cousins to the fold, we vacationed together, we grew up, we fell in love, we married, & we began reproducing ourselves.

This pic is worth posting, if only for a glimpse at my mother's awesome shirt:  

That's me in the bottom left corner, curious about the two newbies:

I know my mother bought me plenty of new clothes when I was younger, but truth be told, I loved my cousin's hand-me-downs.  They were, in my young mind, obviously stylish since my super cool, wise older cousins had selected them & christened them for me.  At thirty-one, I cannot recall what any of the clothes looked like, & I have no idea where they are today.  I am sure my younger sister may've worn them after me, & after that, Goodwill, perhaps.  

What I do remember is the way they smelled.  I could open a trash bag full of clothes today & tell you whether they belonged to Jennifer, or Elizabeth.  I loved the smell as much as I loved the clothes themselves, & today, almost fourteen years after her death, I wish I could open a bag of Elizabeth's clothes & revel in that crisp, clean smell.  Like her, it was unique, & it could never be replicated.  I am thankful for a happy & healthy Marykate, & her mother, my cousin, & I hope in adulthood, Reagan has memories of her cousins that are as precious to her as mine are to me.

It was bittersweet for me to dig through Marykate's clothes, & being me I thought of the closing line of The Great Gatsby, "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." 

It's a bit shocking what will pull you, sometimes reluctantly, into your past, but I'm learning that watching your child grow has a funny way of triggering your memory.  Thanks for the clothes & the shoes, Jennifer & Marykate, & may there be many happy years of hand-me-downs.  

AZ  

Easter Musings

So, Reagan's second Easter has come & gone.  To use her new word, "Wow."

Aunt Jessica was in town for the weekend, so Reagan & I joined her & my mom for lunch at The Olive Garden Friday for some pre-Easter mac & cheese:

Messiness

Trey & I go through a lot of paper towels.  Between the paper towels, Reagan's diapers, & Trey's affinity for styrofoam cups, we are the people who inhabit tree huggers' nightmares.  Throw in Trey's NRA membership & the fact that our firstborn is named after Ronald Reagan, & I bet our names are on a list somewhere.

But, I digress.  The paper towel rolls flow like a river in our house, partly because Reagan creates genuine messes, & partly because I am as anal retentive as they come.  Here's a few of her most recent creations:

A yogurt/cheerio bonanza:

A red popsicle (note that red popsicle stains everything in its path, including the child eating it):

As much as I hate food messes, they're almost always easy to clean up.  I always think about that Bounty tag line, "Life's messy; clean it up."  Kudos to the ad people who thought that one up, because it's certainly the only paper towel ad slogan with which I'm familiar.

Life is messy, & most of the messes can't be easily sopped up with a few paper towels, & this is, I've discovered, a source of great consternation not only for me, but for other young mothers.  For the past few months, I've attended a ladies Bible study on Wednesday mornings.  We're all married & have young kids, & as I've listened to them share, often hearing someone else verbalize my own thoughts, the overarching theme that has emerged is that we all struggle with a desire for control that, if unchecked, can become crippling.  It's nice to know that I'm not the only young wife & mother who wants to play puppeteer, but, nonetheless, it's a desire that can have dire consequences.  Often we discuss our greatest fears, and all of them boil down to situations in which the tenuous control we think we have over events & people in our lives is stripped from us, which would basically reveal the truth that we never had the control we were clinging to in the first place.  We talk about our prayer lives, & one day, a wise member of the group stated that she used to constantly pray that "such & such" would not happen.  You can fill in the blank with all the things we "pray away,"  - cancer, death, etc.  - & she stated that now, while she prays for her loved ones' health & safety, she always prays that no matter what happens here on Earth, she will one day be reunited with her husband & kids in Heaven, where there will be no need to pray the fervent prayers for safety every mother knows by heart.

In my three decades, I've witnessed situations over which I had absolutely no control, or rather, I was smacked upside the head & reminded of the powers that war for control, namely, the Lord & Satan.  A cousin who died at twenty, a dear friend who died young, leaving his two-year-old fatherless, my parents losing their parents, my friend's marriage imploding through no fault of her own, leaving her to pick herself up after being dealt a hand I wouldn't wish on anyone, my aunt diagnosed with breast cancer . . . this is my list, but we all have one.   We like the illusion of control we have when things are going well, but it is an illusion, and it's an attempt to fill a need that only faith & trust in God can fill, trust that, regardless of what happens (which we have no control over, anyway), all things work together for the good of those who love Him.  That's all things.  All things, even the ones Satan throws our way.  Jesus died a cruel death on a cross, which was the ultimate victory, seemingly, for Satan, but Jesus rose, because there was a greater plan in place.  All things.

I know I will reread this blog in the future.  Here's a small glimpse into the future.

This is Reagan doing her imitation of the Occupy protestors after being denied her daddy's cell phone:

If she sees these pics in the future, I'm betting her dad's socks & crocs combo will embarrass her far more than her behavior.

Believe it or not, having a child is helping me slowly let go of some my controlling (anal retentive) tendencies.  I do clean up the food messes immediately, but at night, I get in bed now (rather than straightening all the toys, finding the puzzle pieces, etc.).  I am still anal about some things, but, I've always been a big proponent of self-awareness, so it counts for something that I am aware of my tendencies (right?).  I pray that as Reagan ages, I learn when to exert my control, & when to relinquish it & allow her to make her own decisions.  Striking that balance is going to be perhaps the greatest feat I'll endeavor, especially if she hasn't inherited her father's passivity.   

For the better part of the past year, I've been writing a book.  It's nothing earth shattering, just a little fictional world I've created where I spend time when the mood strikes.  I don't know that it will ever see life outside my MacBook (but still, that's a good life), but if it's good for nothing else, it's teaching me that one way to safely exercise my need for control is to write.  I've created characters, & they do everything I want, say everything I want, & go exactly where I will them to go.  If I want two people to fall in love, they do.  I create messes in character's lives, but take great joy in painstakingly righting wrongs and restoring order.  It's a bit of a power trip, but I think it helps me let go a little in the world of nonfiction, where I only control myself, a skill I continue to fine tune.  

AZ

Climbing the Rungs

Fixations

The past week, Reagan & I spent a lot of time indoors as I began my yearly struggle to cope with the pollen.  Green grass & flowers are nice & all, but they come at a price, & I pay through the nose (literally) every year.  Reagan & I filled the hours in the house with our fun new fixations - small appliances for her, The Hunger Games series for me.  

Between my sinuses & my full fledged obsession with The Hunger Games novels, I've neglected my blog.  I typically blog when I happen to be online doing other things, & between blowing my nose, nursing a hacking cough, & spending time with Katniss & Peeta (*sigh* . . . how I love the boy with the bread), my MacBook has taken a backseat.  

Rear View

It's been another eventful week for our little family.

Reagan vomited all over herself & her car seat.  Yeah.

I watched it all in my rearview mirror.  She coughed a little, & then once, twice, three times she vomited.  I gagged all the way home, hoping she didn't have a stomach virus (which she did not, thankfully).  Naturally, I took Reagan inside immediately & stripped her down & cleaned her up.  What I didn't do was thoroughly clean her car seat . . . fast forward to a few days later, & picture Trey opening the car because he plans to take it to Baton Rouge.

Animal Farm

No, we're not reading Orwell . . . yet.

No metaphor.

Real farm.

Real animals.

We experienced both this past Saturday.  Reagan was invited to a friend's birthday party at Papa Simpson's Farm in Arcadia.  My parents & I were hoping she'd sleep some on the drive over, but of course, she didn't, so we hit the farm sans any nap.

This goat greeted us upon arrival.

Once all the party-goers arrived, everyone was herded onto this trailer.  This hay-filled trailer . . . in anticipation, I'd already taken a Benadryl.  

Putting on our coat:

Reagan loved riding in the trailer, likely because it mimicked the rocking motion she so loves, & she wasn't required to be strapped into anything to ride. 

First stop: baby chicken.  Anyone who wanted to got to pet a baby chicken, & then get doused with hand sanitizer.

Baby goats . . . they were really cute.  Even though all the children were gentle, Mama goat was not happy, & I totally sympathized with her.  I have come perilously close to raising my voice to complete strangers in the grocery store who, though they are complete strangers, touch my child.  These are likely the same people who thought it was appropriate to touch my belly when I was pregnant.

That's me (above) in the background photographing it from this angle:

Next up: Maze-o-Hay:

Bored with the maze, Reagan set out down the path.  If you weren't already, now you can hum John Denver's "Country Roads," which is what I was singing as I followed Reagan.

She quickly separated herself from the group, clearly feeling no pressure to rush, or even stay in the general area of everyone else.

Country rooooads, take me hooome . . . 

Papa trying to persuade her to join her friends . . . 

To the plaaaace I beeeloooong . . . 

Taking her time . . . 

Next stop: feeding the sheep . . . again, no metaphor.

Reagan & Elizabeth, two of the younger members on the farm tour, contemplating eating the corn intended for the sheep:

After feeing the sheep, several members of our group were released into the hills to 'catch a goat.'  Reagan continued to wander on her own elsewhere, while I switched from "Country Roads" to "The Lonely Goatherd" from The Sound of Music.

Next up: chickens.  I know, gag.  I could jump in the shower just looking at these pictures. 

A study in contrast: My mom's Kate Spade purse resting on the fence post.

Reagan longing to return to the comforts of home:

Next up: Shetland Pony

Despite an escort, she was skeptical:

Last stop: Cake, finally!

Reagan was fascinated with this ice chest:

Ready to board the trailer again:

Swinging while everyone finishes their cake:

Our escort for the tour:

Last shot of the day:

It was a long afternoon, & Mama's Benadryl kicked in . . . 

It was a unique experience, & one the kids all seemed to love.  I am glad I went, if only to watch several members of my church chasing goats, but I believe I prefer metaphorical farms & animals.  They're much cleaner.  After a nap on the drive back, Reagan & I both enjoyed a pleasant Saturday evening at home surrounded by all the sanitary, electronic gadgets we love.  

AZ