Open Thread Friday

My apologies for having not much to write about. Between having friends from out of town, especially the kind that convinces me into buying more Trollbeads, and getting school supply lists done, back-to-school clothes shopping for kids, and registration and transfers, I am finding nothing to report at Casa de Aggie. It’s a desert here.

My lawn, only not as pretty, or with suck a fantastic view

So, to my few readers I ask: are there any topics you would like me to write about? Feel free to make suggestions!!

And also, feel free to do a raindance or two 😉

Thursday Sithy Funny

Ok, have lots to do today, and haven’t the time to write nonsensical musings, so I will leave y’all with the funniest sign ever:

And though I have a mild language preference for the blog, I could NOT pass this up.

Courtesy of my friend Darkwolf 🙂

The Stuff of Nightmares

I don’t have nightmares very often. Once or twice I have woken up in tears, and those were bad. I can even remember them vividly. But usually the so-called “nightmares” I have don’t involve death, dismemberment, blood, guts, gore (Al Gore, yes, but that’s a subject for another post), or maiming.

I know…I’m doing it wrong.

No, what I classify as a “nightmare” usually leaves me feeling anxious and overwhelmed, like I’m drowning and can’t get to the surface. This time was no different. I had a bad dream where I was travelling with my family to another country, and was at the airport going through screening, and the TSA agent asks for our ID, which were our Social Security cards, and my son forgot his at home, so Hubby had to go to the Justice of the Peace (I don’t get that either), and get a facsimile for the agent, while the line got longer and longer, and when he returned, the agent used it for HIM, not for son, and I told her she made a mistake, and she yelled, “WE NEVER MAKE MISTAKES!!!”, and a guard came over and took me to a holding cell, and Hubby said he would take the kids on the vacation, and would pick me up afterwards, and the agents then proceeded to tell me why they don’t make mistakes, and all the time they were cutting Eldest’s birthday cake and eating it!!!!

Like this, only with TSA gloves.

I woke up anxious and scared, and the first thing to go through my mind was, “I better not have to go through TSA screening when I go pick up the cake.”

Which on the surface is ridiculous, but scaringly possible. About the TSA checking other places, not about them eating the cake.

Yet.

State of Panic

Yes, I am in a state of panic. Eldest’s Sweet Sixteen birthday is coming up, and she wants a party, but her lazy gene decided to act up, and we haven’t done any planning!! Ok, that’s not entirely true. I have made plans, but she has neither approved or disapproved of them. She sort of likes the cake design….. she sort of likes the menu…. she sort of likes everything.

She just can’t decide on the incidentals.

She did decide on a theme, though. We are going to have a Paint Party! I will have a canvas tarp set up outside on the fence, and her friends will be able to paint or write anything they like (as long as it passes muster with me).

Like this, only legible.

Of course, that means no dressing up, which every parent considers a total win. It also means they will leave through the side gate, and not through the house. One thing I am not sure about is whether or not to have party favors. It’s a tradition in Puerto Rico to do so at every type of party. I even gave favors at my wedding. But kids might consider that uncool, or something. If anyone has suggestions, let me know 😉

So, this weekend will be spent planning and screaming, and hopefully it will get done!!

Keeping Busy

Life always intrudes, doesn’t it?? It never fails…. you go to the craft store, you find something new to try, and as soon as you come home you put it in your craft area, ready to start on it, only to find you need just one more thing, so you wait on in until you get it, then you forget where you put something else you need, so you keep putting off the project until you can’t remember what you were going to make.

That happens a lot to me. And no, it’s not senility.

Anyway, I finally found the item I needed: a miniature canvas. Those are a bit hard to come by, since most artists prefer to paint on a full-sized canvas, I imagine. And why would I need a miniature canvas? To make something similar to this:

Mine won’t need so many canvases, and will be smaller in size. I hope to have it finished by this evening, because I just know something is going to come up. Again…

I figure I may finish this project in time for school to begin 😉

Letter to the Person in the Mirror

This is the final letter to the month-long Letter Challenge. I was supposed to have this done on Saturday, but I seldom post on the weekends, and then Monday was Independence Day, so naturally this got bumped to Tuesday.

This is not an easy letter to write. I am….not fond of looking too closely at my visage. Things tend to glare back at you harshly. But I’ll try.

To my reflection,

I used to see my father there all the time. As I grew older, and became a mom, I started seeing more of my mother. That dreaded “eleven” showed up between my brows, and I remember crying, thinking how angry it made me look. I paid attention to the mirror less and less, hoping that the person in it would no longer change. But that was futile, because you were there every time I walked past. But I started to see things differently.

I see the grey hair, and I think of the times my children drove me insane with worry.

I see the wrinkles, and think of the laughter they inspired.

I see the bags under my eyes, and remember staying up late with them, watching movies, rubbing tummy aches away, or searching for snakes.

I see chipped nails, and think of them asking for help with projects.

I see stretch marks, and think of the joy in earning them.

And now, every time I look in the mirror, I don’t see age. I see happiness.

At least until a fight breaks out, and the “eleven” comes back.

Sincerely,

The Me in this Universe

To a Person Who Changed My Life

I have the unique ability to imprint habits from others. Some would say that is the hallmark of a weak personality. I never claimed to have a strong one, but in my defense, all of my “imprinting” has been of good habits for the most part. The chocolate habit I got from my sister-in-law, and some would argue it’s not such a great habit.

I disagree wholeheartedly.

So many people have changed my life. But one person stands out above the others:

Dear June,

You epitomized what motherhood and feminism meant to a whole generation of women, at least until the hippie flower children found LSD. You had class, style, and grace, and I wanted to be just like you when I grew up. Really! I even begged my mother for a cheap string of dimestore pearls so I could pretend to be you while I washed the dishes.

I learned how to be a mom from my mother, but I learned to be a domestic goddess from you.

Pinky Promise

I have a couple of confessions to make.

I skipped a day in the challenge. The letter I skipped was to someone who was going through the worst of times. Usually I am the last to know about any drama. Most of the time I find out about it weeks after the fact. Sometimes even years!!! So, I decided to skip it due to lack of knowledge 🙂

The second confession is the letter for today. I can’t recall ever having made a pinky promise to anyone. And if I have, I must have kept it to myself so well that I will never break it.

So, if anyone remembers the pinky promise, I hope you see how trustworthy I am!!!

Sithy Frippery

Well, today’s letter was to someone to whom I want or should give a second chance. Seeing as I give everyone and everything a second chance (yes, even menudo, both the band and the stew), I decided to do something more frivolous here.

It’s my blog and I post what I like 😀

A friend of mine happens to be addicted to shoes. And by “addicted”, I mean ADDICTED!! There is not a day that goes by without her checking out Jimmy Choo and Louboutin, and whatever shoe designer she comes across. And it had me thinking…. I quite like shoes, too. Not to the extent of paying $400 for a pair, you understand. But I do like a nice pair of heels!

And if you think I just get them for looks, think again. That heel can do some serious damage 😉

To a First Impression

Gawd, I’m a Pollyanna. I am! I’m a trusting soul and pathetically naive. But a letter I must write.

Dear First Impression,

You are like a Monet painting. From afar, you make sense. You are beautiful, and serene, and full of joy and color.

What you don't see is the pack of wolves about to pounce....

Up close, you are a blotchy, unrepentant mess, screaming for attention. As naive and well-intentioned as I am, I just can’t afford to take you at your word. I must examine you closely, looking for cracks in the veneer (Yes, I almost typed Vermeer). I never much cared for Impressionism, really. I’m more of the Modernist school. I like to know that what I’m getting is what I am seeing.

Sincerely,

Me