THE DRAMA KING IS ALIVE

Dear Charmer Friends,

If you are still here, you get the medal of honor. A gold star. A big batch of homemade mac-n-cheese. What the hey, I'll even throw in some Velveeta.

Why?

Because last Sunday at church a friend asked me what I was reading. I mentioned the John Steinbeck book that I happily reviewed last dispatch. That's grim, he said. Evidently he knew the book, The Moon is Down. Still awesome, I think. I'm trying to talk Amanda into writing it into a screenplay, but she's not going for it.

Anyway, the thing is, he's right. It is grim. I was on the verge of Grapes of Wrath or The Iliad. Depression, despair, war. Why am I reading this kind of stuff??

Thank goodness for Kathy Lee Gifford (photo). You see, Aidan now impersonates her.

Shhhhhhhhhh. Tonight I was reading bedtime stories to Aidan and my ten-year-old secretly molded himself into his childhood position of cuddling inside me as I read to him in bed. But I realized that I could not see his face and these days that's a big deal. These days when I read to him, he listens with his Kathy Lee Gifford facial position. No, he doesn't know Kathy Lee Gifford, but he does know the Saturday Night Live comedienne who impersonates her and SNL is his new favorite show. (Gotta go to NYC soon and get tickets.) Anyway, it's all very funny.

Kathy Lee Gifford actually has a place in our family. Back in the good 'ol days when Bob was a full time stay at home father I would come home from work and he would tell me about the attempts to replace Kathy Lee on the morning talk show "Live with Regis and Kathy Lee." They were doing this contest thing and trying out a whole bunch of potential replacements for Kathy Lee when she resigned from the show. Every night I came home from work and my husband, Bob, would give me a review. Today's audition was pretty good, but not quite right, he would say. When I realized he was not kidding, I knew we were in trouble. This stay-at-home father thing was not working. In a big way.

That's when we decided once and for all, Bob would become a full time seminary student. The rest is history.

Don't get me wrong, Bob was a great stay at home father. It's just that full-time parenting of young children is really hard work. Best pastoral preparation anyone could ever have.

Anywho, it's late and I'm blogging on Kathy Lee Gifford. Actually, I found her strangely comforting when I happened across her back on morning TV recently. I think it's because I always contrasted her commute to Manhattan with mine. She in a chauffeured car from Connecticut. Me in a stinky humanoid subway from Brooklyn. Whatever. She was smarter than me. I saw her on TV in July while at the golf clubhouse place where Aidan was taking summer classes and I was waiting like a good mother.

If you ever wondered if the King of Drama is alive -- he is and he lives in my house. I read to him and tuck him into bed every night.

Thanks for coming over. More war-themed book reviews coming soon.

With love, T

Too Much Information

Friends, I'm telling you right now. Don't read this blog dispatch. You will regret it. I know I should not even write it except for that I have to. There are some stories that must be told. Dignity be damned.

There is an imaginary family who live in a midwestern suburb. An ordinary family. Mom, Dad, Sister, and Brother. And two kittens who are living on the edge. 

One member of the ordinary family who will not be named. . .well, Ok, let's just say that member of the family needed some immediate emergency attention by both Mom and Dad. In the bathroom. With the assistance of head lice shampoo and fine toothed combs. They say it takes up to three hours for this process. Especially if that un-mentioned family member has long and thick hair. 

Anywho, so it's a real family affair. The three of us in a small bathroom combing and picking and disguarding tiny little nasties. Search and destroy over the vanity sink.

Wait. 

Not three of us. Four. 

Because the more agresssive of the two cats has decided to do its yoga routine at the feet of the unmentionable lice victim. Languidly sprawling out on his furry little back on her feet, on the tiles in front of the heat vent. 

O no, not four. There are five of us. 

Because now the lice victim's brother has to pee and he's too scared to use the bathroom downstairs because his entire family and pets are in this bathroom. What can they do? He crawls past everyone and. . .you know. Make your own sound effect.

CRASH.

Darn. The ordinary suburban mother's wine glass just shattered all over the bathroom floor. That's right folks. This was the perfect setting for a smooth Friday night merlot. Wash the week away. Down the drain. Flush the toilet. Brush the comb. Disinfest the scalp. Sweep the floor. 

Human bonding, people. 

And if you actually did read this dispatch, I am very sorry for the truths you have just learned about this imaginary ordinary midwestern suburban family. And yet I'm so grateful that you came over because as you can imagine these people need all the friends they can muster.

Take care, T

Could be Worse in Detroit

If you happen to be in a cruddy little bar in the Detroit airport Best Western hotel and you see a lady sitting next to the juke box drinking by herself, crying over her laptop, accompanied by a basket of onion rings with ranch dip -- that would be me. At least there's big screen ESPN and fish tanks.

What, don't they know that women and cat people get flight cancellations too?

Once, just once, I wanna walk into a bar with big screen Oprah.

You heard what I said, a real bona fide juke box. They still exist and I'm looking at one. I'm searching for that country western song about how I've been done dog gone wrong. Since I can't find it I'm going to write one myself and dedicate it to Northworst Airlines.

You have probably figured out by now that I am allowing a full fledged pity party and if you would just give me these few moments to reject my Lutheran tendency to believe that things could be worse and fully immerse myself in how much this sucks. I know things could be worse but I'm not going there right now. Maybe tomorrow.

Tomorrow as in, that's when I'll be home instead of today. Because Northworst Airlines cancelled my flight to Des Moines with no explanation and with no redirection so by the time they figured out what was going on every potential alternative route to Des Moines had already departed. It wasn't actually a flight cancellation -- I'd call it a flight that vanished into thin air. They simply changed the gate announcement screen to another city. Birmingham. Des Moines no longer existed.

Luggage? What luggage? Who do you even ask about the luggage? I don't care about luggage.

I've already yelled at the lady on the other end of the 800# who was lucky enough to disconnect with me as I entered the tunnel to get from terminal B to terminal A. The tunnel that I had run through merely 6 hours earlier in order to catch my close connection. Hindsight is so clear. Why didn't I just rent a car and drive to Des Moines? Hitch hike? Crawl?

I don't believe in yelling at the ticket counter people because it's obvious that they are mere subjects and have no idea what so ever on the current status of anything. You just feel sorry for them. And you remind them that you are entitled to food and lodging vouchers. And yes indeed, after the poor ticket counter people telephone the secret Northworst illuminati people to verify the voucher thing, you get vouchers.

And wala, you are blogging in a cruddy little Best Western bar in Detroit with $13 worth of deep fried dinner.

*

Meanwhile, there is an empty seat in the Jordan Creek movie cinema in West Des Moines where my daughter and the screeming teaming tweens are set to see the opening night of Twilight. An event that Amanda and I had planned to do together for months. I was to serve as a driver for Amanda's pack of girlfriends who pine over Edward the impossibly beautiful vampire. The pre-paid tickets are in my purse here in Detroit next to the jukebox and topical fish. I called the theater and they honored Amanda with a new ticket -- thank you! thank you! thank you! I was nearly over the top with emotion at gate 35 when I realized that I have the tickets and that perhaps Amanda would have to be excluded from this girls night out. Isn't that silly? Bob and Aidan gave up their bowling date to tow tween transportation in my stead.

Anyway, whatever. Thank you for granting my inward looking self indulgence. I promise to get over this and to get to the things could be worse place.

Could I please take this opportunity to wish my husby a Happy Birthday? Happy Birthday, sweetie. This onion ring is for you. . .

Take care everyone, T

Fishing for It All

Instead of doing Saturday morning chores, wouldn't it be better if I posted pictures from our fishing trip last weekend? Adventure comes with thanks to fabulous friends, Ed and Mary, who are such interesting people about whom I could say so much.

Aside from Middle Eastern food, well actually most any kind of food, I will mention another of our many common interests -- the Mexican artist Frida Kahlo. You see Mary is a painter and when I toured her studio I was delighted to see evidence of Frida. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised because if anyone has any kind of feeling at all, Frida is a likely icon.

It seems that most people I chat with here in Des Moines are artists or musicians. Serious ones with studios and bands, multiple bands. Writers too. Would like to meet more of them. All around just a lot of really fascinating folks here.

For example there's a guy at church who plays in a renouned blues band and I am dropping hints to Bob like crazy on what a nice surprise birthday outting that would be.

While at LWR HQ in Baltimore a couple days ago a colleague mentioned that she was recently in Des Moines for a wedding. Don't tell me, I already know. I said. It was an artist or musician. Indeed, it was. The groom is the manager for the band, the Nadas, who I hear all the time on the radio. They're big.

After a day at the lake, Ed and Mary took us to a pizza place where Bob and I ate one of our best pies ever. Half meat lovers, half margarita. Perfect.

Got me to thinking how truly amazing it would be to be, say, the woman who wrote the Harry Potter series. Or the woman who wrote the Twilight series. I mean, those ladies have 100 tickets to paradise and all they have to do is write. All day. Everyday. Evidently, it's possible.

OK, I promise now I will get back to household duties and the even greater drudgery of pushing on the kids to do their part. Bribery tool for today: Halloween costumes after chores. Dorothy and Storm Trooper are the going ideas.

Thanks so much for coming over, friends. I wish you all a lovely fall weekend.

With love, T

Dancing with Barak

So the next president of the United States of America is a couple miles down the road making history. NOW. He's here NOW. Why did Barak Obama decide to come to my present home town on the same night as the grand finale of Dancing with the Stars?

If Kristi Yamaguchi doesn't win, it will make no sense. She's charismatic, inspiring, and she transcends race. Plus she can dance. I mean, Hillary did a great job and all. I didn't caucus for her but let's hand it to her for what she has accomplished. Girl power! But evidently men tend to always win the dance competition. I don't know why, maybe people just like watching big football players do ballroom dancing. There is a charm to it, I admit.

But how can anyone beat a Olympic double gold medalist?? Even John McCain, who has an amazing history with being a war hero and all -- which I highly respect. And up until recently he actually was an independent thinker. Eight years ago I would have voted for him. But now, well, he's got problems, for example finding out that one of his top aids has ties with Burma's military junta. Now that's a catastrophe.

Mr. President, thank you for coming to Des Moines, yet I hope you called in last night to vote for Kristi.

Thanks for coming over, friends! Take care.

With love, T