2, 4, 6, 8...

Who do we appreciate?
The Jay Hawks, (clap, clap) The Jay Hawks!

Now, you may be wondering if there is a real school in Arizona that is referred to as the The Jay Hawks. The answer is no. But, after watching a few college football games he came to me with an idea,


"Mom, can we make up our own colleges? You know, with posters so that people will want to come to our school?"


"Sure, James, that's a great idea. Can we work on something together, though?"


"Okay. I'm going to make the sports poster for the Arizona Jay Hawks. You make a list of all the classes...make 'em hard, mom, because, you know, college is a higher level of learning."


A higher level of learning? I think this kid has seen one too many a college commercial. Every Saturday he has a new school he has to go to (and we don't watch that much football). So far he wants to go to: Duke, Stanford, BYU, Kansas (the real Jay Hawks), and Marquette (he wants to be a Golden Eagle). The mascots are big deciding factors - and why not decide your college based on what costumed creature will be energizing your cheers...and fears, for that matter.

sytycd

i wish i could dance, but know that i can't. but, watching these people perform makes me want to get up and shake my groove thang. i missed them on tour last year, but not this year!

i only recorded a part of the dance, but its Hawk, Sarah, and Dominic doing a choreographed break dance routine...

I am Thankful for Verbs

For my birthday, I got a new camera that can actually capture action! So, here are my boys in full action at the Marine Reserve. And speaking of action, I'd like to wish you a Holiday full of some of my favorite verbs:

cooking, eating, laughing, smiling, hugging, helping, greeting, sauteing, reuniting, smelling, stirring, sipping, story-telling, and of course more eating

Think, Think, Think

I can't stop thinking about a recent article in the National Geographic. Joshua Foer explores memory and raises a serious question...

He suggests that "over the past millennuim, many of us have undergone a profound shift. We've gradually replaced our internal memory with what psychologists refer to as external memory, a vast superstructure of techonolgical crutches that we've invented so that we don't have to store information in our brains." Everything from computers, to calendars, to post-its allow us to remember awfully little.

I think he's got a point...I can still remember the phone numbers of girls I would call in eighth grade; but I've got no clue what my sisters' cell numbers are right now. The numbers are happily programmed into my phone; safely stored so that I don't have to use my head.

The great storytellers, like Homer, memorized the epics Iliad and Odyssey. I, quite frankly, don't think I could retell Goodnight Moon without forgetting the mittens or possibly the kittens.

And while I may remember every detail of this week's Gossip Girl, I can't possibly remember my own drama. The stories of who I am: freshman year antics, high school pranks, and even early mothering moments. Hearing things I said or did seem distant; familiar, but oddly separate sometimes.

I guess I am making a plea to myself. To stretch my brain. Realize that I have to make an effort to remember. That my re-remembering is up to me. And that ultimately "in the archives of [our] brain, our lives linger or disapper."

In the words of Winnie the Pooh: Think, think, think, think...and I just may memorize a phone number this week - to see if I still can!

Sculpture: The Thinker by Auguste Rodin

The Return of Mr. Potato

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who loved potatoes. He would eat potatoes. He would pile potatoes. He would mash potatoes.


On one crisp fall day, he found himself in tears. Books couldn't soothe him, cars and trucks couldn't soothe him, not even Thomas the famous Train could soothe him.


Fortunately, his mother had a bright idea. She remembered another very desperately sad day and the solution then. Could it work again? Certainly it couldn't. Or could it?


She tried. And taking Mr. Potato into the shower to wash and cradle and care for was the answer, again. So, here's to the little boy who loves potatoes so much he actually bathes with them.

The End.

Click here to see what happened last time.

Bravo for Bravo

Tonight the new season of Project Runway starts! I just can't wait - I've missed my weekly dose of design and drama. All I can say is, it's about time. I think they reran each season 9-10 times. Hooray for a breath of fresh fabric air!

(Oh, the sketches are Laura's - she wasn't my favorite designer, but she uses more color in her sketches than some of the others)

Barefoot at Bookclub

We read the play Barefoot in the Park for bookclub...and we discussed the Twilight Series to get it out of the system. But, let me just tell you that when I went to snap this photo (after noticing that most people were barefooted), the laments of chipped nail polish and unmanicured toes filled the room. Isn't it funny that we can feel silly about the silliest things. No one will even know whose toes are whose - but somehow we seem to care just enough...

At the end of the night I had a full stomach and a lighter heart. I just love chit-chatting and bookclubs.

Should I or Shouldn't I?

Someone recently asked me to do the flowers for her wedding...

I've done two wedding this year, but just for fun and favors. No one paid me - I just got to play flower shop. And truth be told, I'm getting all the credit but my mom deserves much of it.

So, here's the question: should I do it?

I've never done the boutonnieres (and I told her that). I'm not professional - opinionated and fine taste, yes - but professional I am not.

I am very good with my use of curly willow.

Oh, and she wants all green flowers - which would be a dream.
I don't know.

But, it's a pretty tough scene to fail at...

For Abbie

I Did It!

My first half marathon!

And They're Off

Wish me luck. My Asics and I are off to run the Big Sur Half Marathon I signed up for (I'm wondering why at about this moment). Anyhow, I'm about to be left in the dust by my sister, brother, brother's girlfriend, and father. My only goal: to finish.

Seniors Rule!

I met with some friends over burgers and fries. And chit-chatting with my high school friends, prompted something unexpected. I got out my high school yearbook and read the old notes. That's right - I walked down memory lane. And suddenly, a decade doesn't seem so far gone. The silliness still bubbles from within and I certainly haven't gotten any taller. I even examined the yearbook page we made with our memories -- and what memories. So many firsts.

Of course, now there are new and bigger trials; fragile babies, lost love, and future uncertainty. But, there is hope too. I admire these women and feel glad to know them; then and now.

Goodbye, Cheese House

Misty water-colored memories of the way we were...

When we went to The Village Cheese House yesterday to buy our old-fashioned turkey sandwiches on light rye, the owner told us that it was the last day...and with a bit of a stutter, I said, "Bbbbut your signs all say that you are remodeling."

"Well, the new owners didn't want the community to get upset or really even know."

"The new owners?!! Are they going to keep the imported chocolate treats? Are they going to make the sandwiches the same? Are they going to change the decor?"

"They have to keep the name the same, and the sandwiches."

But, with a shift in ambiance, I doubt the sandwiches will taste the same. I met the new owners and they miss the European flair and roots. I'm sorry, but uptight and snobby jeans just isn't the Cheese House style. Its closed until February. And the other people in the store and I were near tears (no joke). I am so sad about this. The Cheese House is just a part of Palo Alto - the part with character and yumminess.

I feel like I have been mourning so many of my lost dreams and hopes lately, that I just don't want to have to mourn my sandwiches. And if you think I am being facetious, I'm not. The Cheese House is the kind of place you miss when you are away, and think of it fondly every minute until you return.

Goodbye, Cheese House and the yummiest sandwiches I've known.