Before the tickle.

I love her.

(My sister made her. Good work there.)

It's rainy and grim looking outside but this little face has made the sun shine already today.

You can see another image here.

On the Occasion of His 94th Birthday...

Grandpa on his birthday, with his girlies.

***

"Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family."  ~Anthony Brandt

***

Today was one of those days that I wished I had a laptop, or even a scrap of paper, for a brain dump. All those hours in the car, coming back from LA, coming back from family, from the birthday and I had so many thoughts and ideas crawling around in my head and now they've disappeared like ghosts.

With my luck, they'll wake me at 3am and then I'll try to catch them, like fireflies.

We had a lovely time. Grandpa was happy. I think we tuckered him out but in a good way that I know he won't mind.

The girlies are beautiful and must be renamed as Little Curly Girl's hair is straighter now. Princess Chubness is getting long and lean and is not really so chubby anymore. She's walking and growing little teeth and is sporting about ten thousand long eyelashes.

It's raining and I'm home.

I'm going to lie in bed and listen to it rain. Nighty nite.

saying goodbye in our way.

My three girls together: my sister, Little Curly Girl, and Little Helen.

***

I never thought I'd laugh as often as I cried. But I did laugh. We all did.

We laughed a lot. We told stories. We still burst into tears at different times, depending on the person, but it wasn't all crying all the time.

When my mom and I went to the funeral home to iron out the details for the service, we couldn't help abhorring the depressing Muzak playing throughout the dim blandness. We resolved to bring our own tunes, music that Little Helen liked. We brought Harry James, Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw.

Before the service, Little Curly Girl wanted to dance. So I picked her up and put her on my hip, and we danced to Glenn Miller's "In the Mood."

LCG giggled as we danced and whispered in my ear: "Dip me." She likes to be dipped.

"Which way, front or back?" I asked. We dipped both ways.

Little Curly Girl went up to the coffin a few times, sometimes with her mom and once with me. She said to me, "I want to see her inside." I told her we can't do that but that Grammy's resting in there. LCG looks at me all serious and says, "I'm pretty sad that Grammy died." Nods her head. "I'm pretty sad," she repeats solemnly.

I said, "I understand. I'm pretty sad, too."

***

During the service, the rabbi had all of us go around the room and say who we were and perhaps share a story or memory about Little Helen. I really did not think I could do it. I was one of the last people to have their turn, and everyone kept saying, "Well, I met Helen through..." to start their story.

When it was my turn to speak, still not sure what I would say, it came to me... I said, "I met Helen through my mom." And got a room full of laughter. So then I could tell my story, too.

***

I didn't realize how long it's been since I really could remember my grandma in her good and sweet humor, her chubbiness, her funny way and how I used to tease her. When someone's sick for a long time, you can only focus on what is immediately in front of you and it's hard to keep it happy. I was so glad to recover the lady that I loved so well, through our shared stories, through our shared laughter last week.

A friend said to me, funerals are for the living. I didn't really understand what he meant until now, but it's true. That togetherness is what makes the loss and sadness bearable. It doesn't make it go away but it makes you realize that you will go on, and that others care.

***

One of my favorite songs is Kitty Kallen singing "It's Been a Long, Long Time." It just about killed me when I heard it played at the service, but when I got home today, I realized I wanted to play it here in this post. I found some old photos of Little Helen, ones that I had forgotten I had, photos of when she was young and voluptuous and lovely and newly married, and perhaps she danced to or sang this song.

Of course I cried my eyes out just putting these photos to music, but it also felt so right and sweet that I'm glad I did. And it is such a perfect song.

The Toddler's Blog

My blog is two years old today! I am officially a toddler.

Holy cow!

Who'da thunk it? 871 posts later, thanks for being here.

xoxo

***

ps.: As you know, I don't have an actual toddler so I borrowed my sister's. Plus, we haven't had a good LCG pic up here in a while.

The Unbirthday and the Ungoodbye

"I could tell you my adventures — beginning from this morning," said Alice a little timidly: "but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then." ~ from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Through the Looking Glass

***

Little Curly Girl is Three.
Very grown up.

***

We had a Very Special Unbirthday Party this weekend.

Little Curly Girl was our Alice and we visited Wonderland with her. We talked to the Cheshire Cat. (I was the Voice.) We wore all sorts of hats and had a Mad Hatter's Tea Party. We opened presents and threw colored tissue paper all over the floor.

"Well, if I eat it, and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door: so either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens!" ~ from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

We talked to the snapdragons and looked at the pansy faces in the garden. The snapdragons asked to please please have some Unbirthday Cake but Alice had to tell them politely that they wouldn't be able to eat any cake because flowers have no teeth.

The flowers were very understanding but you could tell they were disappointed.

***

"At last the Dodo said, 'everybody has won, and all must have prizes.' " ~ from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

***

The best prize of all was to be in the Divine Presence of Princess Chubness, who is now six months old.

She embodies joy, wonder and happiness. She truly does.
No one can take their eyes off of her. She is the happiest person we've ever met.

***

"If you drink much from a bottle marked 'poison' it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later." ~ from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

The other part of the story is the visit to see Little Helen: a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother to us. We wished that part of the story was happy but it was not. And there are no pictures of it, because it is not something we would want a picture of.

It's a difficult thing to watch someone fade away. I've never done that before.

It's even harder when that person seems to be giving up on living and we can't figure out why. We were angry and frustrated. Our Unbirthday Girl was frightened when she saw Little Helen and then hid in her mother's arms. Her mom had to take her outside.

I think we all believed in the power and beauty of Little Curly Girl and Princess Chubness, having watched them laugh and play and be so alive, that-- in the whole wide world, these girls could work a miracle and bring Little Helen to her senses, to make her want to eat (because she won't) and get well. If not for us, then for her great-grandchildren. That we would have another happy story besides The Unbirthday.

But there are times when things will be the way they are and no amount of hoping can make it any different. Some people will go down a rabbit hole where we cannot follow.

The Boy has a saying that I always remember:

"You can't make unhappy people happy. You can only make happy people happier."

I wished things would have been different for all of us. I don't know how much longer Little Helen will be around, and this is probably the last time I'll write about her. It feels like she's given up on herself, and in doing so, has left us all behind much earlier than we would have wished.

***

'You are old, Father William,' the young man said,
'And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head —
Do you think at your age it is right?'

~ from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

dnr

on Haight Street

The days where you take one step forward, and then two steps back... this is one of those times.

Little Helen, my grandma, is back in ICU today as of 3:30am. She finally finally got out of the hospital just days ago (again), and was doing much better (again), and was looking forward to getting back home in time to meet Baby Princess Chubness for the first time ever, and hopefully going to LCG's birthday celebration. My little curly girl niece will be three years old next week.

And my poor Bunny. I won't even go into it but this is the first time the conversation contained the letters DNR. Do Not Resuscitate.

dnr dnr dnr

My brain is so tired. I'm still a little bit sick so it makes me even more tired. Some days you just want to sit in a corner and stare at the wall.

I wasn't sure what else I wanted to say about this development, because there's really nothing one can say, or do, about the situation. Little Helen will either get a tiny bit better and maybe she'll get out of the hospital, which is becoming more difficult with each return visit, or she'll get worse and then that will be it. DNR.

But I found this poem. And in keeping with the post I wrote on Sunday, I think it is a continuation on a theme.

The Dash Poem

by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end

He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

Fiddler on the Spoof

As a followup to my last post, I'm adding some more Fiddler on the Roof material here that I had forgotten I had.

For those of you who have seen the film or the play, or have ever been in a theatrical production or have been forced to attend your favorite drama geek's plays, then you will truly get a kick out of the following stories. Plus, you guys responded so well to the story about my dad that I figured it would be okay to post another family member's antics.

[DISCLAIMER: If you snort coffee out of your nose, wet your pants, accidentally swallow your chewing gum or wake the baby from laughing, I warned you right now... this is some seriously funny stuff.]

***

My sister is one of those people who knew what her true calling was from about the age of five years old. She always has been, and still remains, a very talented actress (and I’m not just saying this because she’s my sister. I have actually spied on perfect strangers in the ladies’ room and on the mezzanine at intermission during her performances and have heard other people say very nice things about her.) She even gets paid to act, so I guess that fact says something in itself.

When my sister got the part of Chava in her repertory company’s production of Fiddler on the Roof, it was the absolute best thing that could have happened to my grandmother all year. She had won a coveted role in the most Jewish of all stage productions; my sister was representing Her People. My grandma made telephone calls to people she hadn’t spoken to in years just to let them know about our family’s rising star. I don’t know if this pre-show hooplah was as bad as saying “Macbeth” backstage, but this production turned out to be one of my sister’s more challenging performances.

What you are about to read is a running account of Fiddler’s preview for a regional professional repertory company, performed during a summer season in an outdoor theatre. Forget rehearsals, these are real shows, with real audiences. My sister e-mailed these tell-alls to me after each fateful night.

***

“Fiddler on the Spoof is what last night's performance should have been called because it was actually more of a take-off on the original Broadway hit, as opposed to a true representation. If Dad had been there, we would be planning his funeral now. He would have laughed so hard that we would not have been able to resuscitate him. I told you that the only thing that didn't happen was the two-story set crashing down on our heads and I meant it.

First, as I'm parking my car, I see my friend Kent pull up. Kent's blond, as is most of this Hitler Youth cast, and they all have to dye their hair brown for the show. Kent dyed his yesterday, and I almost lost all of my marbles when I saw him. He had screaming fuschia hair. He babbled, ‘The color was called Chestnut—I mean, I read the box! I have no idea what happened. It'll wash out in a week.’ It was actually more red than purple really, and so we all kept rubbing his head last night and speaking in Irish accents. We called him Lucky the Leprechaun, and when he walked by I'd whisper, ‘Green clovers, blue diamonds...’ you know, like from the cereal commercial?

And Kent’s hair certainly didn't match his fake beard, which all of the men have to glue on, except that there was only one bottle of glue and someone spilled it all over the table, so they had to scrape out what was left and use it, but there wasn't enough left. So as soon as everyone opened their mouths to sing the first note of "Tradition," all the beards and mustaches came loose and hung off of their faces.

During the beard fiasco, I tripped over the set (a new piece had been added since yesterday), and fell against the back wall, taking down the two little girls on either side of me. After the song was over, I waited for my entrance into the next scene where I have to come in from the barn, through the front door, and kiss the mezzuzah, ("She's in the barn milking" is my cue line), and when my line came up, I walked in from the bedroom on accident (another new set change), realized that I was already in the house, said "OH!", backed up and walked around the back of the set, and then came through the front door.

Um, can anyone say professional actor?

Can anyone say out-of-work actor?

But Lucky reassured me and reminded me that it was just a preview, and I felt better.

But then we came out in our next scene to sing “Matchmaker” where we dance with these mops, and it was really wet from the fog, and the set people had finished painting the stage really late the night before, so the floor was kind of tacky and our mops stuck to the floor and so we spent the entire song trying to get them unstuck. We would tug and pull on the mops and pretend like it was part of the dance, and a couple of times we pulled too hard, and the mops slipped out of our hands and crashed to the floor. We would try to grab them before they crashed to the floor and killed the floor mikes and that didn't look very much like a dance.

In the next scene, my sister Hodel had a spider on her face. I tried to tell her and brushed my own face, but she didn't get it. So in the part of the scene where we're supposed to be quietly talking, I whispered to her, "There's a spider on your face." She totally screamed and started smacking her own face, trying to get it off. ("This is Tevye's mentally challenged daughter—even she gets married.")

Then there was the Sabbath, when we light the candles and sing the Sabbath song and it's very beautiful. Except for last night. After Hodel freaked about the spider, we all gathered around Golde who had the candles and the "Strike Anywhere" matches. "Strike anywhere" except for when it's not foggy and wet, I should say. She went through about fifteen matches, all of which broke, blew out, or never lit, and the audience roared. What a sacred moment.

Another tragedy was the bottle dance in the wedding scene. The costumer had set a foundation of hot glue on the top of the men's hats, and right before they were to go on, she hit their bottles with hot glue so that when they went on stage with the bottle and placed it on their head, the bottle would stick but it would look like they were really doing to dance (you see, the dance hasn't gone particularly well so far.) Anyway, the glue dried before the dancers could stick the bottle to the glue base on the hat, and because there was a big chunk of glue there now instead of a flat surface, the bottles wouldn’t stay on at all, and the dance ended up being about catching falling bottles. The audience laughed a lot, and so did we. The audience was very forgiving about a lot of things last night.

But soon, we'll be a little more polished, I hope. The set isn't finished and neither are the costumes. Rabbi's son, Mendel, wore his prayer shawl last night with jeans and hiking boots.”

***

“Opening night was a great show, and so was Sunday, although the energy level was a bit lower, it was still really strong. Friday, however, is Fiddler on the Spoof: the Sequel. It's entitled Fiddler Off the Roof, or Dead Fiddler.

Yes, that's right, folks, our littler fiddler almost bit it hard! Teetering on the edge of our two-story set, we thought for sure it was the end of her, but she recovered her balance and went right on fiddling. That would definitely have been a very tragic, and very abrupt, ending to Fiddler on the Roof.

The play also could have been entitled Dead Sister Hodel. As we were walking onstage for the Sabbath prayer, Hodel was in front of me, walking forward with her head turned back and talking to me ("la la la") and then SLAM! Walked right into the huge wooden pillar that holds up the second story of our set. She wavered a bit, and then I came from behind and led her over to the Sabbath table. Laughing hysterically, of course, but mutely also. You know, just silently convulsing?

So, after the scene, we are backstage, and everyone is really having a good laugh riot back there at poor Hodel's expense, and she's laughing too, now that she's got her vision back. She starts to focus for the next scene by touching up her makeup. I said to her, "Holly, that's a really pretty lipstick. What color is that?" and she says to me, "Why thank you. It's called ‘Blue Shed’."

"Blue Shed!" I say. "What a weird name for a lipstick! Who makes it?"

"L’Oreal," she says. "It is kind of a strange name... Blue Shed." So then Victoria grabs the lipstick and looks at the sticker on the bottom, and says "Um, you mean Blushed?! It's called Blushed, for Chrissakes." Uproarious laughter once again.

I get up from my chair and start walking away, turn back to Holly and the others and say, "Why thank you. It's called Blue Shed" and ram myself into the wooden pillar in our dressing room and then we were off!! There was no stopping the torrent of torment! Holly took it well, but we were all in such a silly mood that anything would start us laughing hysterically. You know how sometimes you get in those moods? When Tzeitel was told that she had to marry the butcher Lazar Wolf, we laughed. When the pogrom ruined the wedding, we laughed. When Hodel went to Siberia, we laughed. When Dad excommunicated me, we laughed. And when Hodel crossed the stage, slipped on a wet patch, slid the rest of the stage, landed on her bum and kicked a tin milk bucket out into the audience, boy, did we laugh.

I can't remember much else happening but that was definitely enough for me. The Fiddler’s mustache was hanging by a hair, literally a hair, during the whole wedding scene.”

***

“Fiddler on the Goof was definitely Sunday's rendition of the Broadway original. The first two numbers were sung and danced to without any music at all. Well, the music was playing, but the monitors weren't hooked up correctly, so the microphones amplifying our voices were working but the monitors that amplified the music of the orchestra weren’t. So everyone danced around, thudding loud feet on the floor, and it looked absolutely ridiculous. The cast could hear a slight whisper of music when we were very quiet, but the audience couldn't at all. At one point, as we were singing and dancing around to nothing, we got off beat on the song, and everyone stopped singing and dancing and just looked at each other. Some tried to go on, some remained silent and frozen. We all looked at each other, and everyone got real quiet and listened to the music. When we got a listen to where we were in the song, we all finished off the number and ran for our lives.

I was freakin' after this, saying how I was not going to go out there and sing "Matchmaker" a capella because it's hard enough for me to even sing with the music. I might sing all the wrong notes and then I would have a nervous breakdown in front of all those people who paid money to take their minds off of having their own nervous breakdowns. As we sisters came out to sing our number, it was tense. You could cut the air with a knife. Our lines came out reading "dread, dread, dread," and as the song began, I bit my lip and told myself this was a sign that I should not be doing musical theatre! However, the moment I opened my mouth to sing my first solo note, there was a pop, and the music swelled through theatre, loud and delicious, more beautiful than the singing of angels, or those chicks from the Iliad, or the Odyssey, or whatever. You know, the sirens.

The little girl who plays my sister was being so loud and obnoxious before the show was to start that the props manager tied her to the prop table for a half an hour. She cried, but it was very funny and we laughed behind her back.

So, back to the show. At intermission, someone brought the actors a huge fruit platter to enjoy, and there was a swarm of people around it. One of the really big, fat, disgusting men in our show volunteered that there was also the Sabbath Challah to eat, the prop loaf of bread that we use in our show. I saw that he had already almost gone through half of the bread, and I said, "That's LACQUERED! You can't eat that—it's toxic...poison...bad." He looked at it, his mouth open, drool falling from the left corner of his mouth, shrugged and said "tastes OK to me" and finished off the chunk in his hand. Unfortunately, nothing bad happened to him, but he did seem to cough a few times, teeter when he walked, and make a few gagging retching noises. He does that anyway, but in this particular instance, it sent all of us who knew he ate the decoupage loaf into absolute hysterics.

The Fiddler's mustache fell off yet again, only this time it did not land in the hole in her violin. Too bad.

I've got to do a bit of work now, but there's another show tonight and I'm sure it was be chock full of humiliating things for me to entertain you with tomorrow.”

***

"Fiddler on the Doof: Well, unfortunately for my readers, the show doesn't stink like it used to. Actually, it only stinks in short spurts and then it goes back to being mediocre. Last night, however, it was both a full moon and the beginning of mating season for the dogs in the neighborhood of the outdoor Forest theatre. We actually had to stop at one point and wait for the dogs to finish. Not only could we not be heard above that racket, but we were certainly not the focus of the audience's attention either. I'd be pissed if I spent 15 bucks to see a play, and the only thing I heard were a bunch of dogs makin' it on the side of the theatre. Anyway, this happened three times. It was really like a part of the show after the third time, and we tried to get the canines to come and take a bow with us at curtain call, but they were shy.

During the wedding scene, this huge white moth (let's call it a bat for descriptive purposes) kept swooping down onto the stage and up into the lights and causing a general distraction (not like the dogs weren't bad enough). Well, at one point, the moth dive-bombed Tzeitel, the bride. The moth fell to the floor, staggered a bit, and then flew up her dress. I should have truly just left the stage at this point, but I persevered. As she started to shift and wiggle, I stared straight ahead and thought of dead puppies.

Then, as Tevye started to sing his solo in “Sunrise, Sunset,” I noticed him get really stiff and tense. Now, let me preface this by telling you that before the show, when Tevye was putting on his makeup we heard him say "Oh WOW!" and he came out to tell us what an amazingly huge spider there was in his dressing room. We could really call it a bat, too, except it doesn't fly, so we'll just call it a cat for descriptive purposes. Anyway, he held tours and took admission, and we all filed in one-by-one to see this monstrous “cat.” It was on the wall, right next to the black robe he wears in the wedding scene (the plot becomes clear now, yes?) So back to the song... Tevye was singing, he later recalled to us, when he felt a tremendous bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck and into his shirt. He thought, "Wow, I'm really sweating."

"But then," he said, "the sweat started to go back up my neck and I thought sweat rolls down, not up!!!" He pondered this freak of nature for a moment and then fear just slapped him in the face. "Oh my God! It's that nasty spider! I'm going to die!" He continued with his song, but truly freaked out and stripped down at intermission. What a professional.

In spite of the hopes and dreams of the entire cast, the lecherous twisted man who ate the lacquered Challah bread did not die. He didn't even get sick. However, he did give such a terrible performance last night he didn't stay for curtain call, which is the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me because it was the one night where I didn't have to hear the sound of his zipper as we all undress after the show. I didn't have to try to stop myself from picturing him standing in his nasty underwear behind me and feeling the tickle of his crusty leg hair as he got as close to me as possible while he was changing. It was a banner evening.

Okay, there's the brief (speaking of underwear) and now I've got to go!”

***

You don't know how much money I would have paid to see these shows, but even laughing about it here, years later, is almost as good as being there. I hope you enjoyed these too.

Right now my baby sister is a mommy with two little babies of her own (Little Curly Girl and Princess Chubness) but perhaps when they get a little older, someone in that house will make it back onto the stage (LCG is looking promising) and then I'll have more theatre stories to share with you.

At least my aura is glowing...

In a serious attempt to avoid throwing up-- People, please. I'm asking you a huge favor... if you ever hear me say that I'm going to have popcorn again for dinner, STOP me. I don't know how you'll do that, but I know in my heart that you want the best for me and you will try to keep me from making bad food choices... like having popcorn for dinner, which leads to the inevitable tummyache and we are OUT of Pepto-Bismol and yes, it's my own damn fault. So just promise, okay?--

Anyway, to keep my mind distracted, I decided to re-read an email I got from my sister today, regarding my niece, Little Curly Girl (you all remember her...):

"Wish us luck--we're potty training. She got married this morning in my black spiky heeled boots and black cocktail dress. She peed in the dress and into the boots... But she was a beautiful bride. Pictures to follow..."

I think the gist of the email is clear but what you don't know is that my sister and LCG had their honeymoon in Fiji, before the peeing incident. I think that is so romantic. I wonder what the pictures will be like.

(I guess the potty training train derailed a few months back when Princess Chubness was born-- who has been renamed The Forgotten Child because being the second, totally chill and happy baby that she is, no one is taking any photos of her-- anyway, having that kind of distraction kept LCG's Potty Training Train from leaving the station. So my sister thought to tell LCG that brides know how to use the toilet [that's a ruse, certainly] but unfortunately the idea of being a bride and then going on a romantic honeymoon with her mother to Fiji was not enough.)

See, just in writing this and laughing, I almost am forgetting about my poor tummy and what I've done tonight. Perhaps I've cured you of some small ill, too.

***

If I have not cured you (and you needed curing), I want you to know that there is a product that will improve the appearance of your aura. I bought some body oil today, by the brand Aura Glow. (I think body oil is way better than a moisturizer after a shower--okay, maybe that's a little too personal but I am always trying to provide you with helpful and inexpensive beauty advice).

Anyway, I didn't think much of the brand name, until I read on the label that the formula was recommended by none other than Edgar Cayce, and it "has actually been shown to brighten the physical aura when it is used."

To quote the inimitable Dave Barry: I am not making this up.

So now my aura is lavender scented and obviously brighter, even though I can't tell (does this mean I can read in the dark without my booklight?). I do have to say that I sincerely wish there was a Carl Sagan body oil because I'd be all over that sh*t.

Okay, I think between making fun of my new body product AND picturing my niece peeing in my sister's black cocktail dress and high heeled boots, dressed as a tiny Goth bride, is totally better than downing a couple spoons of Pepto-Bismol.

And on that note, my aura and I bid you a fond adieu.

***

UPDATE 5:02am: There is really no good reason for me to be awake this early, but I wanted to add that right now up at the top of my gmail inbox is an automated link (you know how Google thinks it knows what you want to read about?), and it's a recipe for:

FRENCH FRY SPAM CASSEROLE

(Again, I am not making this up.)

The secret ingredient (no kidding) is Corn Flakes.

I guess I could have had that for dinner instead of the popcorn..

Misdirection by Cuteness

Green Play-Doh ice cream, anyone?

All good magicians know that misdirecting the attention of their audience is a key part of performing effects.

I'm a really bad magician but I do know the value of a little well-placed misdirection...

***

Yes, I'm shamelessly using photos of the tiny, cute people in my family to distract you so that you won't notice that I haven't answered your emails or visited your blogs or finished those darned interview questions in the last couple of days...

It's late (so what else is new?) and I'm trying to finish some prints for my mom and grandma because I'm going to be spending a few days with them back at the homestead. And of course I'm running out of the only ink cartridge I did not buy today.


I might end up sleeping at my desk.

I hope this will distract you long enough until I get back.

I probably won't have much internet access while I'm away but I'll try to catch up with you in a couple of days. Otherwise you can try writing to Little Curly Girl and see if that helps.

xoxo

The Gift

I think this is a good omen for the Staycation. It may even be a good omen for the new year, who can say.

When I got home last night this mysterious box was waiting for me on my desk.

But before I can tell you what was in the box, I have to tell you another story.

***

Once upon a time, in one of my other incarnations, I was the 1-800 skin care expert for a small natural skin care company. I was the person that you would speak to if you bought our products, used them unwisely or without reading the packaging, and then called the 1-800 number to complain.


(BTW, we had very nice products. The company no longer exists in its present form and was bought out by a much bigger company and everyone lost their jobs. But what I did learn was that 1. people are silly and have greatly exaggerated dreams of what a jar of face cream can do for them, 2. people don't read labels or instructions, and 3. when I say "people" in this instance, I mean women.)

Anyway, this is only part of the story. Because we were such a small company, when I was not on the phone with customers, it was part of my job to help figure out marketing angles for our products. The boss really wanted to get us written up in InStyle Magazine and other beauty mags (and to my credit, I once got us a mention in Harper's Bazaar by pulling a very large string from my days in the cosmetics world).

But more than anything else, the boss really really wanted us to get our products in those Oscar bags. You know, the bags full of shwag. Bags loaded with expensive skin care and fancy cell phones and jewelry, the bags they give to the presenters at the Oscars. Like Gwyneth Paltrow really needs your product. Or gives two hoots about it.

Anyway, we never did get our products into an Oscar bag. The closest we ever got was that a supposedly fancy shmancy salon in Beverly Hills stocked one of our facial masks for a while, but that's it.

The purpose of this post, however, is not to go on about the inner world of the skin care business. It's to tell you that I got my first piece of shwag. And unlike Gwyneth Paltrow, I'm going to keep my shwag and not give it to my personal trainer who will then give it to her assistant who will then sell it on eBay.

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My schwag comes in the form of a jar. A jar... some of you might be savvy enough to guess what it is... are you guessing?... of Baconnaise!

SCORE!

One of the nice things that happens from time to time when you have a blog, besides the other nice things you might already know about (friends, connection, creative expression), is that you will get a random email from someone who found your blog because it mentioned them in a helpful way.

Which is why I got a very nice email from Dave, the self-described Bacontrepreneur of Baconsalt.com. When he offered me my very own jar of Baconnaise to try, of course I jumped up and down and was very excited about it. (In hindsight, I should have asked him for some food to go with the Baconnaise, because we have none and now I have to go to the store and get something to put the Baconnaise on, but that's entirely my fault and the way things roll in Casa Tangobaby and is not really his concern.)

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For those of you who still are not quite sure what I'm talking about or don't remember reading my post about Baconnaise, let me tell you that Baconnaise a spread, thick like mayonnaise and smells like heavenly, delicious bacon. Ostensibly the idea is that you can put Baconnaise on sandwiches, burgers, etc., but I can see where I'd be sampling it out of the jar straight and also dipping vegetables I don't normally eat into it because it would even make celery taste good.

Despite the lack of things in the fridge to put my Baconnaise on, I found some Triscuits and did a taste test. And the findings? YUM!

YUM, like in:

1. I'm definitely going to the grocery store asap with the sole intent of procuring foodstuffs that I can put my Baconnaise on;
2. If I was a NASCAR, I would be the Baconnaise Car.
3. If Baconnaise was skin care, I would put it all over my body as a moisturizer because it's THAT GOOD, even though it doesn't say to do that on the label.

So, in conclusion, if I were you and I really liked bacon, I'd get a jar of Baconnaise, either by visiting their website or asking your local market to get some for you. And tell them tangobaby sent you. ;-)

And Dave, thank you for my treat/shwag. I promise to get some sandwich fixins asap and make a proper Baconnaise sandwich! I was just too excited to wait....

***

ps.: This is probably old news to some, but have you seen Gwyneth Paltrow's blog? "I have this incredible, blessed, sometimes difficult, very lucky, very unique life, and I've gotten to travel all over the place and to work and live in different cities...and sometimes friends need help finding a sink that looks midcentury." (You know I don't make this shit up.) This makes me dislike her even more than I already do, which I did not think was possible. Gwyneth, honey, leave the blogging to the little people, and you just go back to ironing your hair and making sure Madonna's okay.

pss.: I think I have scientifically proven that there is a Bacon Loving Gene (BLG). Very recently my niece, Little Curly Girl (LCG), was asked by her mother what her most favorite thing was in the whole, wide world. Being only 2.5 years old, of course she did not say her new baby sister, Princess Chubness. She answered "pudding." But when asked if there was anything she loved even more than pudding, LCG gave it some serious thought, and then said "Yes, bacon." So even though LCG is not a child that sprang from directly from my loins, we are related by blood and therefore I think I have proven the existence of the BLG. I am going to get LCG her own jar of Baconnaise to further my scientific research.

While in Babyville

We conducted our very important drawing today.

The drawing was supposed to happen last Friday, but when you're in Babyville, life happens at a different pace.

Luckily we had a crisp white chef's hat for the occasion.

And LCG chose very carefully that one special name out of the hat...

And the winner is...

The Elementary!

Thank you for being part of our day!

It's time for grilled cheese and maybe a trip to the park before I have to go to the airport. So I'll catch up with you all later. But here's a little preview, and some songs and kisses.

I'm Off to Babyville

“Unfortunately, many people do not consider fun an important item on their daily agenda. For me, that was always high priority in whatever I was doing.” ~ Chuck Yeager

***

Just kidding. I'm not really flying on the X-1 tomorrow morning. That's just a fantasy remnant from watching and reading The Right Stuff often when I was a kid.

However, it would be super damn cool to go Mach 1 instead of flying coach. There just aren't enough lifetimes, are there?

So I'm off to Little Curly Girl Land and the Kingdom of Incredibly Cute Babydom where, apparently, LCG is going to teach me ballet. So you might not see or hear from me for a few days (except for the book drawing--I'll find a way), but that doesn't mean I don't love you.

Catch you on the other side of the sound barrier.

You'll Never Guess Who I Saw Friday Night

10:30PM. I'm on the N-Judah train coming home from downtown. Sarah Palin herself is about five feet away from me, wearing her red skirt suit, black pumps and trademark sexy librarian glasses. In her folksy manner, she's identifying the mavericks on the train, and the passengers are loving it. They're asking her about where the real Americans live (her answer: Alaska) and what she likes to read (her answer: everything). She's also talking about the Communists in America.

And you'll never guess who was sitting next to her! You guessed it: Joe the Plumber. But he had grown a head of dark, thick hair so I didn't recognize him until he pulled a wrench out of his pocket. (I thought he was Todd.)

Yes, Halloween night on the N-Judah. I also saw Amy Winehouse, Gwen Stefani, a cute girl bee with a skateboard and a pregnant nun, just to name a few more revelers.

However, I did not have my hands free to take photos of them for you and for that, I apologize because everyone looked festive and wild and was having a rollicking good time.

***

Returning home, my hands were full of books and information from the second installment of my Mental Stimulus Package (man, I forgot to tell you about the first part with Ben Frankin and the glass armonica. Next time.).

I went to The Leakey Prize Laureate Lectures, honoring Dr. Jane Goodall and Dr. Toshisada Nishida, at the Herbst Theatre. From the program description: The Leakey Prize was established in 1990 to reward intellectual achievement and express appreciation for research performed with courage and perseverance in the fields of ape and human evolution. Both Dr. Goodall and Dr. Toshisada Nishida will discuss the highlights of their pioneering careers. Through their diligent work, these scientists have shaped the field of primatology and uncovered pivotal findings that help us better understand one of our closes living relatives, the chimpanzee.

I don't even know where to start in describing the feeling of seeing Dr. Goodall on stage, speaking in her trademark calm, collected yet passionate story of her early years, her tutelage under Dr. Louis Leakey and the incredible faith he placed in her, and her deep desire to help reverse years of environmental damage and endangerment of many animal species, not just her beloved chimpanzees of Gombe.

If you're like me, you grew up reading Jane Goodall's books, watching her on National Geographic television specials. I also was secretly envious of her son, Grub, who got to spend his childhood living amongst the tribe of chimpanzees that Goodall studied for almost 30 years.


“The most important thing is to actually think about what you do. To become aware and actually think about the effect of what you do on the environment and on society. That's key, and that underlies everything else.” ~ Dr. Jane Goodall

I saw Dr. Goodall speak once before, when I was in college and she visited my university. Then the talk was about the chimps, and her work with them. The talk this year was different. Dr. Goodall travels about 300 days of the year, all over the world. She talks about preserving animal habitats and shared stories of the villages that her foundation has helped, encouraging safe farming habits, microloans to women, keeping girls in school and reforestation techiques, all of which have greatly improved the lives of villagers that had been deforesting areas of Tanzania and endangering the habitats of chimpanzees and many other animals. Her talk focused on how improving and educating the people has only served to enhance and improve the lives of the animals she struggles to save. Through the Jane Goodall Institute and her outreach program for children called Roots and Shoots, she has been doing extraordinary work outside the forests of Tanzania.

I could not help relating her talk to the tempestuous presidential campaign and the incredible need for effective and immediate science and math education for our kids to maintain our standing in the world as a leading nation (I won't even begin to address that Sarah Palin fruit fly debacle) not to mention the important contributions that studying chimpanzees, our closest living relatives on the evolutionary ladder, holds for the understanding of our own species.

It became vitally clear to me that not only are we poised to destroy an amazing link in evolutionary biolology (over 1,000,000 chimpanzees in 1960s down to about 200-300,000 today) but we are losing such a stronghold by not teaching our children how important science is in the real world to protecting the only planet we have. Our presidential election only emphasizes the polarity in our approaches to these crucial subjects.

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From a recent speech: “What gives me hope,” Dr. Goodall says, “is the amazing capacity of the human brain to come up with innovative solutions, the indomitable human spirit that fights back, and the resilience of nature.”

“It’s time to recreate the age of wisdom when elders would gather and ponder how any decision they would make would affect our future seven generations down the line,” says Goodall. Quoting the words of an Eskimo leader, she concluded: “Up in the north, the ice is melting. What will it take to melt the ice in the human heart?”

***

After the talk, I stood in line for almost as long as the talk, to have a chance to finally meet Dr. Goodall. While in line, we all shared stories of growing up with Jane, what a powerful impression she had made on us, and what a singular experience it was to hear her speak. I signed up to become a member of both of her organizations.

While we waited in line, servers carrying trays of cookies and Halloween candy and apple cider kept us full of sugary treats. And then finally it was my turn to stand next to a childhood idol, have her sign my books and try not to be overwhelmed and cry.

She first signed a chimpanzee mask for Little Curly Girl, my niece. I told her the LCG was recently just two years old, so she signed it "with love" because in her words, "Being two years old means she should get lots of extra love." (Almost cried but didn't.)

Then she signed my books. I told her what an honor it was to be in her presence and then we had our photo taken together (which I'll post when I find it on her website). And then I walked to the train station in a bit of a wistful mood.

As I waited for the train, I looked at what Dr. Goodall had written in my book.

For Julie
Follow your heart.
Jane Goodall

And surrounded by crazily dressed adult trick-or-treaters, I did cry a little bit. Happy/sad crying.

***

"Change happens by listening and then starting a dialogue with the people who are doing something you don't believe is right." ~ Jane Goodall

Like Jane, I keep our fingers crossed for us primates. All of us primates. I think we can still pull it off and I think President Obama can help us get started.

Little Curly Shutterbug

Things we learned this weekend:

Laughing is easy and should be done for any reason, no matter how tiny.

You can never watch Little Nemo too many times (if you are two years old, that is).


Green Eggs and Ham is always fun to read, and if you have the entire book memorized, it's even better.


Your toes are never too tiny to get a bright pink pedicure.


Pretend food always tastes better than real food, and you can always have as much ice cream as you want.


Anything can be counted.


There is such a thing as a perfect egg beater.


You are never too young to adopt new technology and amaze your family.


A real camera is way more fun to use than a pretend plastic one.


An expensive camera is more exciting to play with than a cheaper one.


Auntie Tangobaby is a good sport.


Auntie Tangobaby will let you take a picture of her while she takes a picture of you. She'll let you use her camera if you're very very careful.

The world is full of all kinds of things to take pictures of, like stuff on night tables.

Use your flash if you need it. (Just don't blind bunnies and other things with eyes if you can help it.)

Some people like sharks.

Someone can take a picture of you while you are taking a picture of a picture of yourself. That's kind of trippy if you think about it.


You can never be too sweet and loving. If you are two years old, you can teach big people a lot more than they can teach you.

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I love you, my little curly girl shutterbug. Remember always that I helped you take your first picture.