We gained a new addition to our household with the start of the New Year. No, I did not fail to mention the arrival of a pregnancy and baby (and do not hold your breath on that one people) .... I am talking Samson. Who is Samson? Well, he would be the latest in the fine dead animals I have gracing my walls. Yes, when you live in the Upper Peninsula and are married to a hunter you learn to accept a few things into your life. One: Rifles will be stockpiled in your house and you will come to view them as no more then exactly what they are, guns to shoot deer with. Two: Bullets and shot gun shells will end up in your washer because they were left in jean pockets, and Three: Dead animals or perhaps, more kindly, mounts will be hanging on the walls of your home. I admit, for a downstate girl this took a little adjustment, but I love Clay, and he loves hunting, and its a package deal.
And, in truth, it has been okay. The mounts are actually beautiful, and despite a few minor protests from Clay, they were given names. (I gotta have some fun, right?) It started with his bear mount, which is a three quarter mount (picture the bear coming out of the wall from about it's midsection, paws slightly raised, head-turned, mouth closed). Anything that huge in your house is quite the presence and sort of demands acknowledgment and a name, so he was dubbed Brutus. Then the first deer Clay had mounted was christened Bucky, obvious and cliche, but there ya have it. Now we have Samson, a very impressive 10 pointer my husband took with his bow this fall. Like his name implies he resonates strength with his well-muscled neck and a few battle scars. The really good part of the story though is from the night Clay shot this particular buck that now resides on my living room wall.
You see, Clay wasn't hunting alone. He was hunting with Isabelle, who let me remind you is three. It was nearing the end of the hunt, so her portable DVD player had used up the last of its batteries and she had finished off the last of her snacks and drink, and the light was starting to fade along with the last of her attention span. Clay informs me that she will sit on the floor of his blind with her head phones on and quietly watch her videos, periodically looking at the does in his bait pile, and for the most part just do her thing, but at that moment in the hunt he had taken her onto his lap and they were watching one or two deer munch in the bait pile when Samson came strolling in from behind his blind. Now I cannot begin to imagine the adrenaline rush Clay must have had or the thoughts coursing through his head during the next several moments, but he told me that he set Isabelle on the floor on her butt, whispered to her to not make a sound (remember she is three!) and got his bow and prepared to aim while this buck came into view. I asked Clay how long he figured it took him to shoot from the time he set Isabelle down, and he estimates less than a minute. I do not doubt he was trying to hurry in order not to risk Isabelle giving them away! I have to believe God was actually watching over Isabelle because if she would have made a sound there is no telling what her Daddy would have done to her!
After Clay shot, it is not clear what the next several minutes were like other than a lot of maneuvering, in order to get both of them out of the blind and onto the ground. Clay said he brought Isabelle down the stairs of his blind first and left her tottering around its base with a flashlight while he went back up to retrieve his bow and some equipment. Afterwards they found the arrow he had shot the deer with and that is when Clay got really excited, for it was well-covered with blood, which while sounding gruesome for you squeamish types is a good thing as it means a good shot and a clean kill. Deciding he did not wish to track the deer through the darkening woods with a three year old, Clay planned to tromp back through the field and call me on his cell phone to come and get Isabelle.
Now picture my dear husband, if you will, who has just shot the largest buck of his hunting career, so needless to say he is a wee bit pumped up. He has his bow and a back-pack and is jabbering away on his cell phone to me, striding down one rut of the two-track road that leads from his blind, barely even conscious of his daughter, who when he does look, is happy as can be, two hands grasped around his large hunting flashlight, hat crammed down over her head and trucking for all she is worth in the other two track trying to keep up with Daddy, but not a whine or complaint coming from her mouth. After Clay got off the phone with me, they reached the Jeep and just had to wait for me to drive out. That is when Isabelle informed Clay that she had to go potty.
Oh, boy. The only problem, of course, was that her little potty was in his deer blind..... way too far away. And now they were in the middle of a hayfield. So, Clay did the only thing he could do. He had her drop her drawers and forming a little "seat" with his arms held her up while she did her stuff. Isabelle handled it all like a great adventure, and Clay thinking that wasn't so bad asked her if she was done to which she replied, "Yes, but now, I have to go poop." Of course. Later, when Clay told me of their "bathroom break" in the field all I could think to say was, "Aren't ya glad I packed wipes in your bag of goodies for her?" Ah, life with a child is never dull, is it? But, then again if she is going to be a hunter and live in the U.P. she needs to now how to pee in the woods, right?
So, that is the tale of the very first time Isabelle went hunting with Clay. He now believes she is sort of a good luck charm and one can kind of understand why. She refers to Sampson as both her and Daddy's buck and did go back out in the blind with Clay several more times during the course of both bow and rifle season. Although it did take us a while to make her understand that you do not shoot a big buck EVERY time you go hunting!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Gotta Love those Red Wings
I know I promised another entry on past events from the fall and that will be forthcoming, but today I must talk all things Red Wings, as in case y'all have not noticed they are kicking some butt! How anyone could not adore this sport is beyond me, but apparently many of you do not actually follow the world of ice and sticks and so may have missed last nights game in which the fabulous ones went and beat one of the best goalies in the league right now. Despite being 6'4" and something like 212lbs, Steve Mason could not keep his hefty frame in front of Pavel Datsuk's puck or Marion Hossa's. Of course, no one seems capable of stopping Datsuk (anyone catch the outdoor game at Wrigley field or Datsuk's overtime goal in the shoot out the other night? Stuff of highlight reels, really.)
And now Ty Conklin is coming into his own and starting to find that goalie radar the good ones all seem to get ..... the capability to throw some type of body part or piece of equipment out there and get it on the puck even when there seems to be no human way possible that he even saw the puck coming in that split millisecond. It isn't always pretty but it gets the job done, and I am liking the fact that I am increasingly comfortable with him or Osgood in the net.
So, it is all the more disgusting that none of the Red Wings were chosen for the NHL All Star game, but of course, it is selected based on fan votes a truly bias way to go, in which you have some cities essentially "stuffing the ballot box" to get particular players selected. All too often it can turn into a popularity contest. There are other arguments of course. Some say the Wings are just too good with too many good players and thus, no true standouts to garner votes. Or there is the argument that as a city the Detroit fan base is sadly lacking in enthusiasm (at least until the playoffs, perhaps once more because the Red Wings are consistently so good).
There is also a certain group of Red Wing, shall we say "Haters" out there. Rumor even has it that on the Pittsburgh Penguins website there was a link to the Hawks website with the express purpose to help vote for some of their players to put them in the All Star game and shut-out Red Wing players. Still harboring a little bitterness over last season Pittsburgh? Or are ya just ticked that Hossa decided he liked the look of our team more than yours? (For those of you uneducated hockey people Hossa was a member of the Penguin team last year and made a decision to come play for us and leave Pittsburgh because he wants to win a Stanley cup and he seems to think he has the best chance of doing that with us.) I guess ya can understand why they might be bitter. Today I hear that Lidstrom and Datsuk have been chosen as alternates or reserves for the All Star game, but they are chosen by the general managers and operations department of the NHL, not the fans.
That's okay. My boys can stay home and get the rest... they would probably prefer it anyways. Meanwhile, they will just keep doing what they do. Winning games and plugging away, biding their time until the playoffs roll around. I will keep watching and screaming and "woo-hoo-ing" (I mean Datsuk "soccer-kicked" the puck to Zetterburg last night when he lost his stick... CRAZY move!) Ya gotta love hockey.
And now Ty Conklin is coming into his own and starting to find that goalie radar the good ones all seem to get ..... the capability to throw some type of body part or piece of equipment out there and get it on the puck even when there seems to be no human way possible that he even saw the puck coming in that split millisecond. It isn't always pretty but it gets the job done, and I am liking the fact that I am increasingly comfortable with him or Osgood in the net.
So, it is all the more disgusting that none of the Red Wings were chosen for the NHL All Star game, but of course, it is selected based on fan votes a truly bias way to go, in which you have some cities essentially "stuffing the ballot box" to get particular players selected. All too often it can turn into a popularity contest. There are other arguments of course. Some say the Wings are just too good with too many good players and thus, no true standouts to garner votes. Or there is the argument that as a city the Detroit fan base is sadly lacking in enthusiasm (at least until the playoffs, perhaps once more because the Red Wings are consistently so good).
There is also a certain group of Red Wing, shall we say "Haters" out there. Rumor even has it that on the Pittsburgh Penguins website there was a link to the Hawks website with the express purpose to help vote for some of their players to put them in the All Star game and shut-out Red Wing players. Still harboring a little bitterness over last season Pittsburgh? Or are ya just ticked that Hossa decided he liked the look of our team more than yours? (For those of you uneducated hockey people Hossa was a member of the Penguin team last year and made a decision to come play for us and leave Pittsburgh because he wants to win a Stanley cup and he seems to think he has the best chance of doing that with us.) I guess ya can understand why they might be bitter. Today I hear that Lidstrom and Datsuk have been chosen as alternates or reserves for the All Star game, but they are chosen by the general managers and operations department of the NHL, not the fans.
That's okay. My boys can stay home and get the rest... they would probably prefer it anyways. Meanwhile, they will just keep doing what they do. Winning games and plugging away, biding their time until the playoffs roll around. I will keep watching and screaming and "woo-hoo-ing" (I mean Datsuk "soccer-kicked" the puck to Zetterburg last night when he lost his stick... CRAZY move!) Ya gotta love hockey.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Some of the Old Before we Ring in the New
After the insanity of the Christmas season has finally passed us by, and I have a moment to pause for breath and realize the New Year is upon us, it has dawned on me that I have neglected to share a few of my favorite stories from the fall/winter season thus far on my blog. So I might perhaps go backwards for a few entries before I go forwards in 2009 and take care of some housekeeping as I would be remiss in not sharing a few good laughs.
First of all I will inform one and all that yes, indeed the tree did remain standing all season without a single tip over, which is a Peterson first (at least since Isabelle has been with us). I did take the darn thing down before New Years, however, since we got it fairly early this year and it was one crispy tree by the end and was shedding its needles, like a dog sheds its winter coat in the spring.
But for those of you who miss the "anger management" moments my husband, shall we say, finds himself in, I will relate the tale of getting our Jeep Commander stuck. Shortly after the conclusion of hunting season, Clay needed to return to his deer blind to pick up a few items like his trail camera, corn feeder, propane tank (yes, his blind is heated). He also does a few routine things to "lock it down" for the winter and puts out a salt block for the deer. Now here in the U.P. we had already gotten a fair amount of snow very early, and so while this was only the first weekend after the conclusion of rifle season, we had some question as to whether or not we would be able to drive back to his blind which involves driving across a portion of a forty acre field.
Now before we go any further you might ask why I was along for the ride in the first place, as normally I would have avoided this little activity. Simply put we were on our way to pick up Isabelle at my in-laws, who had babysat for her the previous night at their house and Clay's blind happens to be on the way there. Ya know, the whole "kill two birds with one stone idea," which sounds good in theory but not so much in practice.
Anyways, after stopping at hunting camp and pulling in and out of there with no problem whatsoever we drive around on the road and pull up to the gate of the field where Clay's blind is. Before us is a monstrous snow drift, and I am already thinking we should not drive through this, but Clay unlocks the gate in record time and is back in the Commander and gunning us through it before I can blink. The Commander cuts through the drift like butter, and I have to admit I am impressed. Wow, what power! The four wheel drive is humming along. Okay, maybe we are fine. After all, we did get in and out of camp, and that drift was huge and that was caused by the road plow so nothing that big will be in the field, and we just flew through that like nothing, right? Right? And so it seemed as we drove right by the old trailer, the white snow around us like a huge white sea ..... and then we stopped moving. Right smack dab in the middle of the field we bogged down and came to a halt. Clay tried the old rock back and forth bit to no avail, and as I tried to sink myself into the leather bucket seat and disappear I felt the tension rise inside the car. I watched him open his door and stifled the gasp in my throat when the snow was level to the door. Oh, boy. Then, of course, when he called his parents, his mother informed him that his father was not home, having run out to the store or neighbors. (Keep in mind where they live isn't exactly super close so it would have been a decent wait even if he had been right there). I decide to get out of the car and truly see how stuck is stuck.
I sink in snow up to mid-thigh, and silently curse my husband as I push through to the front of the Commander, where the snow has mounded up like a wave in front of the hood. I cannot even see the wheel wells let alone the front tires. Ugh. Standing in the snow I become well aware of the fact that I am not dressed for long term exposure clad in my slip-on Merrells (which are shoes, not boots) jeans, my Columbia jacket, thankfully, and only a pair of fleece gloves. I dug for a few minutes half-heartily, exposing the front passenger tire and watching it spin uselessly when Clay applied the gas then climbed back inside the car after seriously weighing the pros and cons of freezing to death or having to sit next to Clay while he fumed about being stuck. My lack of circulation won.
Back in the car I was informed that he had finally contacted a neighbor nearby who had a tractor (thank God for the local farmers) who would be coming to our rescue in approximately twenty minutes. What passed next was the longest twenty minutes of my life. We tried listening to the Packer game.... no good as the team was losing. (as you all know, not their best season, sigh.) I tried humor "Well, Clay you always make it interesting!" (met with icy stare and stone cold silence). And then as always it disintegrated into Clay bemoaning how things always worked against him and how was he ever going to get to his blind now? All I kept thinking was, Really? We are stuck in snow up to our asses, I am sitting here in soaking wet socks and jeans and still cannot feel my fingers and you are still thinking about getting out to the damn blind?! So, I suggested maybe on a return trip a sled and some snow shoes, but that, after all, it wasn't the end of the world. It wasn't like we were going out there to rescue a person. We were retrieving some belongings and "winterizing" the blind. A little perspective, please. I longed for my book, a person with a sense of humor, some dry clothes, a shot of tequila.
In what I am sure was a short amount of time (although it seemed forever) Greg showed up with the tractor and Clay hopped out to help him hook up to the Commander. I took a moment to call my mother-in-law on my cell and tell her that we would hopefully be on our way shortly. Helen's response to me was priceless. "Renee, I am so SORRY. Are you okay?" Can you tell the woman knows her son? I laughed and teased her about how I could feel her sympathy oozing through the phone from the first time he called her.
Of course, as is so often the case in Clay's world things worked out just perfectly. The tractor popped us out with hardly a tug, and then Greg drove around us and proceeded to plow right out to Clay's blind and back. That's right. In the end, Clay got to drive out to his blind and do everything he wanted to do, picked up all of his paraphernalia left behind from a successful hunting season (more on that in another entry) and we were on our way to my in-laws, albeit two-three hours later then I had anticipated. All is well that ends well, right? In the future though I am going to stock the car. Isn't the Boyscouts' motto, "Be prepared?"
First of all I will inform one and all that yes, indeed the tree did remain standing all season without a single tip over, which is a Peterson first (at least since Isabelle has been with us). I did take the darn thing down before New Years, however, since we got it fairly early this year and it was one crispy tree by the end and was shedding its needles, like a dog sheds its winter coat in the spring.
But for those of you who miss the "anger management" moments my husband, shall we say, finds himself in, I will relate the tale of getting our Jeep Commander stuck. Shortly after the conclusion of hunting season, Clay needed to return to his deer blind to pick up a few items like his trail camera, corn feeder, propane tank (yes, his blind is heated). He also does a few routine things to "lock it down" for the winter and puts out a salt block for the deer. Now here in the U.P. we had already gotten a fair amount of snow very early, and so while this was only the first weekend after the conclusion of rifle season, we had some question as to whether or not we would be able to drive back to his blind which involves driving across a portion of a forty acre field.
Now before we go any further you might ask why I was along for the ride in the first place, as normally I would have avoided this little activity. Simply put we were on our way to pick up Isabelle at my in-laws, who had babysat for her the previous night at their house and Clay's blind happens to be on the way there. Ya know, the whole "kill two birds with one stone idea," which sounds good in theory but not so much in practice.
Anyways, after stopping at hunting camp and pulling in and out of there with no problem whatsoever we drive around on the road and pull up to the gate of the field where Clay's blind is. Before us is a monstrous snow drift, and I am already thinking we should not drive through this, but Clay unlocks the gate in record time and is back in the Commander and gunning us through it before I can blink. The Commander cuts through the drift like butter, and I have to admit I am impressed. Wow, what power! The four wheel drive is humming along. Okay, maybe we are fine. After all, we did get in and out of camp, and that drift was huge and that was caused by the road plow so nothing that big will be in the field, and we just flew through that like nothing, right? Right? And so it seemed as we drove right by the old trailer, the white snow around us like a huge white sea ..... and then we stopped moving. Right smack dab in the middle of the field we bogged down and came to a halt. Clay tried the old rock back and forth bit to no avail, and as I tried to sink myself into the leather bucket seat and disappear I felt the tension rise inside the car. I watched him open his door and stifled the gasp in my throat when the snow was level to the door. Oh, boy. Then, of course, when he called his parents, his mother informed him that his father was not home, having run out to the store or neighbors. (Keep in mind where they live isn't exactly super close so it would have been a decent wait even if he had been right there). I decide to get out of the car and truly see how stuck is stuck.
I sink in snow up to mid-thigh, and silently curse my husband as I push through to the front of the Commander, where the snow has mounded up like a wave in front of the hood. I cannot even see the wheel wells let alone the front tires. Ugh. Standing in the snow I become well aware of the fact that I am not dressed for long term exposure clad in my slip-on Merrells (which are shoes, not boots) jeans, my Columbia jacket, thankfully, and only a pair of fleece gloves. I dug for a few minutes half-heartily, exposing the front passenger tire and watching it spin uselessly when Clay applied the gas then climbed back inside the car after seriously weighing the pros and cons of freezing to death or having to sit next to Clay while he fumed about being stuck. My lack of circulation won.
Back in the car I was informed that he had finally contacted a neighbor nearby who had a tractor (thank God for the local farmers) who would be coming to our rescue in approximately twenty minutes. What passed next was the longest twenty minutes of my life. We tried listening to the Packer game.... no good as the team was losing. (as you all know, not their best season, sigh.) I tried humor "Well, Clay you always make it interesting!" (met with icy stare and stone cold silence). And then as always it disintegrated into Clay bemoaning how things always worked against him and how was he ever going to get to his blind now? All I kept thinking was, Really? We are stuck in snow up to our asses, I am sitting here in soaking wet socks and jeans and still cannot feel my fingers and you are still thinking about getting out to the damn blind?! So, I suggested maybe on a return trip a sled and some snow shoes, but that, after all, it wasn't the end of the world. It wasn't like we were going out there to rescue a person. We were retrieving some belongings and "winterizing" the blind. A little perspective, please. I longed for my book, a person with a sense of humor, some dry clothes, a shot of tequila.
In what I am sure was a short amount of time (although it seemed forever) Greg showed up with the tractor and Clay hopped out to help him hook up to the Commander. I took a moment to call my mother-in-law on my cell and tell her that we would hopefully be on our way shortly. Helen's response to me was priceless. "Renee, I am so SORRY. Are you okay?" Can you tell the woman knows her son? I laughed and teased her about how I could feel her sympathy oozing through the phone from the first time he called her.
Of course, as is so often the case in Clay's world things worked out just perfectly. The tractor popped us out with hardly a tug, and then Greg drove around us and proceeded to plow right out to Clay's blind and back. That's right. In the end, Clay got to drive out to his blind and do everything he wanted to do, picked up all of his paraphernalia left behind from a successful hunting season (more on that in another entry) and we were on our way to my in-laws, albeit two-three hours later then I had anticipated. All is well that ends well, right? In the future though I am going to stock the car. Isn't the Boyscouts' motto, "Be prepared?"
Friday, December 12, 2008
If You're Glad it's Christmas time say "Ho, Ho!"
It is now official. I have entered the world of Christmas programs. Isabelle had her very first Christmas program yesterday... her debut. At three years old it was pretty much hysterical as well as quick. Nonetheless, the church where her preschool is held was packed to the rafters (literally, the choir loft was full) with parents, grandparents, and siblings all anxious to watch their own "little person" in their moment of glory.
And sure enough, Isabelle paraded out in her brand new jumper and black ballet slippers, sporting a Santa hat that was crammed onto her head in such a fashion that I had a flash of her as a cross between Happy and Dopey of the Seven dwarfs (something with her big round cheeks and the way she was walking and her grin, big enough to light up the church by herself) Standing right in the middle of her fellow classmates, she sang all three of her songs, "Jingle, jingle," "Hat, whiskers, belt, and boots," and "If you are glad it's Christmas time say Ho, Ho!" She even did little bows in between the songs.
Of course, I turned into the typical fool of a parent and waved at her like an idiot, semi-stood to get pictures, craned my neck in various directions, oohed and aahed, clapped enthusiastically, and totally and utterly failed to even notice any of the other children at all. I had eyes only for my Isabelle. The whole program lasted maybe seven minutes. And it was totally worth it.
Our kids can turn us into complete morons and what perhaps is even better is that we do not mind in the slightest ...... so, what if you think I am a complete geek? I was watching my daughter sing about Christmas, and she is only going to be three once, right? Besides, someday when she is like twenty-six I am going to tease her about how big her cheeks looked with that Santa hat mashed on her noggin and how proud she was of herself standing up there (and then she is going to rip on me because I am going to get teary-eyed remembering it) and it will be great because that is what Christmas should be all about anyway. So, there is another really good Christmas memory to file away.
Tree Update: Will wonders never cease? For the first time since Isabelle entered this world our tree has thus far remained in the upright position without once taking a nosedive (pause to knock on all wood at hand) May I add that it is a truly beautiful tree this year, we picked exceptionally well, and I am remaining cautiously optimistic that all will be fine (barring any assaults upon the tree by the cats or Isabelle, of course.)
And sure enough, Isabelle paraded out in her brand new jumper and black ballet slippers, sporting a Santa hat that was crammed onto her head in such a fashion that I had a flash of her as a cross between Happy and Dopey of the Seven dwarfs (something with her big round cheeks and the way she was walking and her grin, big enough to light up the church by herself) Standing right in the middle of her fellow classmates, she sang all three of her songs, "Jingle, jingle," "Hat, whiskers, belt, and boots," and "If you are glad it's Christmas time say Ho, Ho!" She even did little bows in between the songs.
Of course, I turned into the typical fool of a parent and waved at her like an idiot, semi-stood to get pictures, craned my neck in various directions, oohed and aahed, clapped enthusiastically, and totally and utterly failed to even notice any of the other children at all. I had eyes only for my Isabelle. The whole program lasted maybe seven minutes. And it was totally worth it.
Our kids can turn us into complete morons and what perhaps is even better is that we do not mind in the slightest ...... so, what if you think I am a complete geek? I was watching my daughter sing about Christmas, and she is only going to be three once, right? Besides, someday when she is like twenty-six I am going to tease her about how big her cheeks looked with that Santa hat mashed on her noggin and how proud she was of herself standing up there (and then she is going to rip on me because I am going to get teary-eyed remembering it) and it will be great because that is what Christmas should be all about anyway. So, there is another really good Christmas memory to file away.
Tree Update: Will wonders never cease? For the first time since Isabelle entered this world our tree has thus far remained in the upright position without once taking a nosedive (pause to knock on all wood at hand) May I add that it is a truly beautiful tree this year, we picked exceptionally well, and I am remaining cautiously optimistic that all will be fine (barring any assaults upon the tree by the cats or Isabelle, of course.)
Monday, December 1, 2008
Christmas Magic
I like to think we all still have that little thing in Christmas that is magic to us. Ya know, that one little item/tradition/habit that for even just a millisecond makes us forget the adult we have become and remember the kid we once were. In the movie, "The Polar Express" it is the little jingle bell from the harness of Santa's reindeer ..... for me it is and always has been the snow globe.
This came to mind this past Saturday as I began pulling out the Christmas decor, putting up my various Santas and snowmen and evergreen garlands around the house. The tree will be done later and will take much longer, getting its own day or days (as you all know from previous blogs on it! We will see how this year goes!) but what I really am always anxious to get to are my collection of snow globes. I began my collection after I got married, but my fascination with them started long before when I was just a girl. I cannot pin point when it began or even a particular globe. They were always just mesmerizing to me. I could sit and gaze into them, watching the snow fall silently down and imagine an entire little world encompassed inside, perhaps with its own set of little people. I would create entire stories in my head of what happened inside the snow globe.
Now as an adult I still find the same magic, carefully removing each from their box and examining them anew. Each is like a cherished friend to me and, indeed, many are from friends and family. One of my favorites, a huge silver-based one, holds three beautiful Christmas trees, unadorned except for white snow on their branches and the sparkling snow that falls in the globe. It plays "Oh Christmas Tree" as all three trees silently rotate inside the globe and was given to me by my dear friend, Mel. The first one Clay gave me is another cherished favorite and one that inspires many childhood fantasies within my head, for it holds a small cottage inside, complete with frosted windows that actually light up from a switch on the bottom. It also has a rock strewn stream, deer, and pine trees and plays "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas." And, of course, I have the whimsical ones, with Rudolph or a bear snowman or little ones, with a Christmas Mickey Mouse, and even an older one that had been in my Grandma B's possession. The water is murky, but the Santa and sleigh full of toys is no less dear. My brother and Chrissy even managed one year to find a Breyer horse Christmas snow globe, combining one love with another since when I was younger I collected Breyers (I still have all of them packed away and let me tell you that is a LARGE collection).
I have three or four from Eddie Bauer which makes lovely wood-based globes with cute log cabins inside. Last winter we woke in the dead of night to a crash in the kitchen to discover that a shelf had come loose from the wall .... on it had been my favorite Eddie Bauer snow globe, a simple log cabin which I had left out long after Christmas as it was truly more of a winter scene as opposed to a Christmas one. I recall picking up the tiny shards of glass and placing them in the trash with tears streaming down my face. I felt ridiculous for crying over a snow globe but somehow I just could not stop. I was sad because Clay had given it to me, but it was more than that. For me when that snow globe broke it was like losing a tiny piece of that Christmas magic or that childhood wonder, so I guess it hurt just that little bit more.
Of course, every year brings new snow globes to the collection and I eagerly await to see what "Santa" will bring me this year. I also am training a new recruit in the art of loving snow globes and Isabelle is an avid disciple. She begs me to play their music and all must be kept well out of reach of her three year old hands as they are just way too tempting. Of course, I completely understand. After all, I think they are magic too!
This came to mind this past Saturday as I began pulling out the Christmas decor, putting up my various Santas and snowmen and evergreen garlands around the house. The tree will be done later and will take much longer, getting its own day or days (as you all know from previous blogs on it! We will see how this year goes!) but what I really am always anxious to get to are my collection of snow globes. I began my collection after I got married, but my fascination with them started long before when I was just a girl. I cannot pin point when it began or even a particular globe. They were always just mesmerizing to me. I could sit and gaze into them, watching the snow fall silently down and imagine an entire little world encompassed inside, perhaps with its own set of little people. I would create entire stories in my head of what happened inside the snow globe.
Now as an adult I still find the same magic, carefully removing each from their box and examining them anew. Each is like a cherished friend to me and, indeed, many are from friends and family. One of my favorites, a huge silver-based one, holds three beautiful Christmas trees, unadorned except for white snow on their branches and the sparkling snow that falls in the globe. It plays "Oh Christmas Tree" as all three trees silently rotate inside the globe and was given to me by my dear friend, Mel. The first one Clay gave me is another cherished favorite and one that inspires many childhood fantasies within my head, for it holds a small cottage inside, complete with frosted windows that actually light up from a switch on the bottom. It also has a rock strewn stream, deer, and pine trees and plays "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas." And, of course, I have the whimsical ones, with Rudolph or a bear snowman or little ones, with a Christmas Mickey Mouse, and even an older one that had been in my Grandma B's possession. The water is murky, but the Santa and sleigh full of toys is no less dear. My brother and Chrissy even managed one year to find a Breyer horse Christmas snow globe, combining one love with another since when I was younger I collected Breyers (I still have all of them packed away and let me tell you that is a LARGE collection).
I have three or four from Eddie Bauer which makes lovely wood-based globes with cute log cabins inside. Last winter we woke in the dead of night to a crash in the kitchen to discover that a shelf had come loose from the wall .... on it had been my favorite Eddie Bauer snow globe, a simple log cabin which I had left out long after Christmas as it was truly more of a winter scene as opposed to a Christmas one. I recall picking up the tiny shards of glass and placing them in the trash with tears streaming down my face. I felt ridiculous for crying over a snow globe but somehow I just could not stop. I was sad because Clay had given it to me, but it was more than that. For me when that snow globe broke it was like losing a tiny piece of that Christmas magic or that childhood wonder, so I guess it hurt just that little bit more.
Of course, every year brings new snow globes to the collection and I eagerly await to see what "Santa" will bring me this year. I also am training a new recruit in the art of loving snow globes and Isabelle is an avid disciple. She begs me to play their music and all must be kept well out of reach of her three year old hands as they are just way too tempting. Of course, I completely understand. After all, I think they are magic too!
Friday, November 14, 2008
Spouting Off
Excuse me while I vent:
I came across a rather annoying piece on-line the other day. On Tuesday November 11th to be precise by one Jay Busbee who I guess is some self-proclaimed sports guy who thinks he knows a few things. (Don't we all!) Anyways, this little article was titled, "The Most Boring Champions Club Welcomes Jimmie Johnson," who frankly I could care less about as I do not follow Jimmie Johnson or Nascar, but I found some of the other members of his club interesting, including such people as Tiger Woods and recent amazing Olympian Michael Phelps. Also included in his list of so-called "boring champions" was my dear Red Wings captain, Nick Lidstrom.
Here's Busbee's take on Lidstrom: "The Detroit Red Wings' captain is a pleasant, exceedingly competent, soft-spoken gentleman -- which is exactly what you don't want in a freakin' hockey player! The defenseman is the symbol of the Wings' numbingly boring style of hockey, and making hockey boring is quite a feat in itself."
Excuse me!?! First of all, complimenting hockey while trashing the Wings at the same time does not make you okay in my book. Second of all, anyone who thinks the Red Wings style of hockey is boring is clearly not watching the same game I am. They are without a doubt one of the most highly skilled NHL teams out there with Datsuk skating circles around most other players so much so that the commentators have now come up with the phrase "Datsukian Deeks" to describe his moves! Hossa brings tears to your eyes with goals that make the highlight reels every night on ESPN for his artistry, and Zetterburg isn't exactly a slouch. And, while they are not exactly known for fighting, you all should have seen McCarty mix it up the other night in a very old school hockey brawl. No, they are not a bunch of "thugs on ice" so if Mr. Busbee is into that brand of hockey then perhaps they are a bit bland and he might look into a sport like .... say, roller derby.
As for Nick Lidstrom, yes he is a "soft-spoken gentleman" and isn't that refreshing in this day and age of me-me-me egocentric athletes who continually whine and play the diva. It seems a player like Terrell Owens cannot go a day without complaining to the media about not getting the ball thrown to him enough. We all know he has gone through a couple of teams and quarterbacks with his "it is all about me" antics. But, no, he isn't "boring." Or you could look at the many examples of criminal behavior among sports stars. Pacman Jones ring a bell? Or how about steroid abuse in baseball? But hey, the athletes aren't boring are they Mr. Busbee? Never mind that none of them have an ounce of class or honesty!
Give me the Nick Lidstrom athletes of the world twenty times over the show-boaters, Mr. Busbee. They are the ones who I can admire, the ones I can point out to my daughter as playing their sports in the manner in which they ought to be played.... not only with skill and talent and amazing athleticism but also with sportsmanship, class, integrity, and a love of the game, which is sadly missing in all too many of our professional sports athletes today. Bring on the "boring."
I came across a rather annoying piece on-line the other day. On Tuesday November 11th to be precise by one Jay Busbee who I guess is some self-proclaimed sports guy who thinks he knows a few things. (Don't we all!) Anyways, this little article was titled, "The Most Boring Champions Club Welcomes Jimmie Johnson," who frankly I could care less about as I do not follow Jimmie Johnson or Nascar, but I found some of the other members of his club interesting, including such people as Tiger Woods and recent amazing Olympian Michael Phelps. Also included in his list of so-called "boring champions" was my dear Red Wings captain, Nick Lidstrom.
Here's Busbee's take on Lidstrom: "The Detroit Red Wings' captain is a pleasant, exceedingly competent, soft-spoken gentleman -- which is exactly what you don't want in a freakin' hockey player! The defenseman is the symbol of the Wings' numbingly boring style of hockey, and making hockey boring is quite a feat in itself."
Excuse me!?! First of all, complimenting hockey while trashing the Wings at the same time does not make you okay in my book. Second of all, anyone who thinks the Red Wings style of hockey is boring is clearly not watching the same game I am. They are without a doubt one of the most highly skilled NHL teams out there with Datsuk skating circles around most other players so much so that the commentators have now come up with the phrase "Datsukian Deeks" to describe his moves! Hossa brings tears to your eyes with goals that make the highlight reels every night on ESPN for his artistry, and Zetterburg isn't exactly a slouch. And, while they are not exactly known for fighting, you all should have seen McCarty mix it up the other night in a very old school hockey brawl. No, they are not a bunch of "thugs on ice" so if Mr. Busbee is into that brand of hockey then perhaps they are a bit bland and he might look into a sport like .... say, roller derby.
As for Nick Lidstrom, yes he is a "soft-spoken gentleman" and isn't that refreshing in this day and age of me-me-me egocentric athletes who continually whine and play the diva. It seems a player like Terrell Owens cannot go a day without complaining to the media about not getting the ball thrown to him enough. We all know he has gone through a couple of teams and quarterbacks with his "it is all about me" antics. But, no, he isn't "boring." Or you could look at the many examples of criminal behavior among sports stars. Pacman Jones ring a bell? Or how about steroid abuse in baseball? But hey, the athletes aren't boring are they Mr. Busbee? Never mind that none of them have an ounce of class or honesty!
Give me the Nick Lidstrom athletes of the world twenty times over the show-boaters, Mr. Busbee. They are the ones who I can admire, the ones I can point out to my daughter as playing their sports in the manner in which they ought to be played.... not only with skill and talent and amazing athleticism but also with sportsmanship, class, integrity, and a love of the game, which is sadly missing in all too many of our professional sports athletes today. Bring on the "boring."
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Does this Make Any Sense?
There are some days when I am certain I am doing it all wrong. The damage has been done ... I have wrought irrecoverable harm upon my child through my poor parenting skills and lack of patience. A better Mom would know how to handle the continual back talk and sassy behavior. A better Mom would not get frustrated with her child when said child yelled at her for the thirtieth time during a twenty-four hour period. A better Mom would remind herself that the child is just three years old and that all children must go through such phases. Apparently I am not a better Mom. Today and over the last few days I feel like a terrible Mom.
This happens periodically, at least it does with me, and it follows a pattern, as I have at times in my life also felt like a terrible wife, daughter, sister, friend, and about any other role I have played at one time or another. I assume most people feel this way, but then again maybe they don't. Maybe it is just for chronic freaks like myself or people who feel the need to try and be perfect as if that is somehow attainable. The truth is none of it is about other people, really, and it is all about me and my own pathetic feeling of inadequacy and self-doubt. And I hate how that sounds even to myself. I need to stop whining. I need to "cowboy up." I need to "put on my big girl panties and deal with it," as they say.
Now is about the time when I go and apologize to my three year old for being so crabby, tell her that I have never done this Mommy gig before just like she has never done this kid thing before so we are entitled to a few (trillion) screw ups and we will just have to try harder to communicate. Now is the time when I remind myself that I am the grown up and she is the child and maybe I should act like it. Now is the time when I choose to stay "in the game" not just when she is cute and fun for Halloween, but when she is making me want to yank my hair out and run in the other direction. Now is the time when I remember how much I adore her. And that is never hard to do. The truth is I will probably always struggle with my own personal feelings of self-worth and self-doubt, and I will probably always worry about messing things up as a parent. But I will never doubt my love for her, and in the end perhaps that is all that truly matters.
This happens periodically, at least it does with me, and it follows a pattern, as I have at times in my life also felt like a terrible wife, daughter, sister, friend, and about any other role I have played at one time or another. I assume most people feel this way, but then again maybe they don't. Maybe it is just for chronic freaks like myself or people who feel the need to try and be perfect as if that is somehow attainable. The truth is none of it is about other people, really, and it is all about me and my own pathetic feeling of inadequacy and self-doubt. And I hate how that sounds even to myself. I need to stop whining. I need to "cowboy up." I need to "put on my big girl panties and deal with it," as they say.
Now is about the time when I go and apologize to my three year old for being so crabby, tell her that I have never done this Mommy gig before just like she has never done this kid thing before so we are entitled to a few (trillion) screw ups and we will just have to try harder to communicate. Now is the time when I remind myself that I am the grown up and she is the child and maybe I should act like it. Now is the time when I choose to stay "in the game" not just when she is cute and fun for Halloween, but when she is making me want to yank my hair out and run in the other direction. Now is the time when I remember how much I adore her. And that is never hard to do. The truth is I will probably always struggle with my own personal feelings of self-worth and self-doubt, and I will probably always worry about messing things up as a parent. But I will never doubt my love for her, and in the end perhaps that is all that truly matters.
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