Pure determination to get that last drop.

Apple is taking over my life, and I’m okay with that. I remember when I got my first Apple laptop. I was fed up with our PC and it’s chronic crashing tendencies. I lost a lot of work (I was an undergrad at that point) on that machine and had enough. A friend of ours was an Apple devotee and took every moment possible to sing the praises of his Mac. My girly side (sorry feminists!) was drawn to the pretty icons and sleek appearance of the Mac. It was love at first keystroke. And now I would like to own more from the Apple world, but as most know, Apple ain’t cheap.

My last iPod was having issues. I’m not sure what was going on, but it would often stop mid-song and either skip to the next song or freeze up altogether. Though we are usually adamant about keeping boxes and receipts, we were unable to track either down for my faulty iPod. I decided that I would simply endure the hiccup, but Joshua decided that it was upgrade time.

And tada! Here is my beautiful new iPod touch. See the joy emanating from my every pore as I bask in its fabulousness? It’s amazing. I can’t wait to discover all the glorious things this device can do. I’m pretty sure it will make my morning coffee for me. Mmmmm… delicious.

I look forward to working on a puzzle tonight with smooth-flowing music singing in my ear. Thank you to My Hunny for this gift.

I struggled with postpartum after the birth of Nolan. Depression and I have crossed paths in the past, so I was warned this might be an issue. Because I was nursing, I didn’t want to use medication unless necessary. I briefly tried therapy (so glad to have that chance to talk about my mother), but it was not effective. What was?

Craft time!

That’s right. Taking off my “mama” hat for a bit and delving into a creative activity helped me feel like a real person again. So I am eternally grateful for my friend, Amy, who scrapbooked with me. I told her repeatedly that she was better than Prozac. Since that time, I use crafts (Amy’s brought other crafts into my life - painting, puzzles) to get out of my funk. Over the last several months, another friend, Jackie, also worked on crafts with me. In fact we also want to do some knitting in the near future - a pastime I’ve visited time and again in the past. Amy likes to crochet, so we will probably have a skein party soon!

What would I do without these dear craft friends of mine? Well, I will have to find out in the all-to-near future because both will be moving in the next few months (Amy in late April, Jackie in late June). It’s one of the facts of State College life. Most of the population is transient. They will both leave to step into their next phases of life, thereby leaving me sans craft buddy.

…

HOW DARE THEY?!?!? How dare they leave me! Now I’ll have this HUGE craft gap in my life. I could DIE. Okay, so maybe that’s a bit far. I won’t really die. But I’m not stretching it by much. I will undoubtedly… uh… how do I say it?… metaphorically wither into a craft buddy-less pile of melancholy. Yeah. That’s it. And do they care? No. They are going to go “further their careers,” and “follow their dreams,” and “develop as human beings.” How selfish.

I ask you to pray for the hearts of these two women. They are obviously making the wrong choice. I mean, just because they’re brilliant, does that mean they should go “make the most of their talents?” Should they “blossom to their potential?” Or “take their genius to the next step?” Sure they’ve worked hard to get where they are, but does that mean they should ”enjoy the fruits of their labor?” I don’t think there will be any argument. The answer is easy. Of course!…not. They should stay here with me and craft, craft, craft!

If you know these women, I invite you to talk to them. Help enlighten them. It will really help me them.

Today is the service for my Grandpa Corky. My heart hurts that I was unable to visit him on our last abbreviated visit to Wisconsin. I wish I could be there to say goodbye, but am comforted in the knowledge that his spirit is everywhere, so I can send him my love surrounded by my boys. And as I sit here to reflect on how he affected my life, I am flooded with warm memories. I couldn’t come up with a bad memory if I tried. There simply isn’t one. This sounds unbelievable, but it is, nonetheless, completely true.

Shortly after high school I met my dad for the first time. Sure I knew him when I was little, but he was out of my life so early that I had no recollection of him. Occasionally random memories would pop in my head, but I could make no sense of them. Until I was twelve, my mom told me that my adopted stepdad was my biological father (I could come up with no reason to doubt her despite conflicting memories and name changes), so memories of my actual dad were merely confusing. I wrote them off as recollections of a man that made some impact on me as a toddler and left it at that.

By the time I graduated from high school my relationship with my adopted stepdad was filled with bitterness. My mom split with him, and due to reasons too complicated to explain here, I ended up with him along with my younger sister and brother. Life was difficult for my mom after the divorce, so when my dad (and his new family) offered to let me live with them, I was more than willing. Of course, I was so infatuated with him, and the promise of normal family life, that I believed it would be an easy transition. His wife, Deb, and kids (I inherited three new sisters!) were very kind and patient with me, but there was awkwardness. Over the years, we have grown closer. Deb is beyond incredible with my two boys and my heart is full. But this was a long, and sometimes difficult, journey.

In hindsight I laugh at my naïveté. I was an outsider intruding on an established family group. What about that says, “easy?”

There were cherished moments along the way, and today I want to focus on ones provided by my Grandpa Corky. He was Deb’s dad. As I reflect on his sassy personality, I search for the proper words to describe him. Cantankerous lite? Happy curmudgeon? His voice was gruff - with gravelly, harsh tones, but his words were all love. Early on in my transition he gave me the nickname Tuscon. He couldn’t remember my actual name, but this was a common issue he had with all the family. My sisters have their own nicknames. It was a moment of acceptance and I grasped onto it with all my might.

I also remember getting up early one morning so that he could teach me how to make breaded rainbow trout to go with our breakfast spread (so much delicious food!). He was incredibly patient with me. Once when I declared my distaste for venison, he tried to prepare it in different ways to sway my opinion. When after some tastings I refused to budge, he insisted I still hadn’t had it prepared properly. He was determined and cemented in his opinions.

He was also easy to rile. The mere mention of a spicy pepper would turn his face red with imagined heat on his tongue. His features would cloud over as if to ward away any unwanted peppers in the vicinity. My dad frequently tried to lure Corky unwittingly toward eating something spicy, and when Corky discovered my dad’s plotting, he would sputter and make a fuss. Discussion of football often garnered the same response. And being the loving granddaughter, I brought up the two topics frequently (with relish!).

During my last visits to Wisconsin I discovered banana cream pie. When my Aunt Sherry made this delectable dessert I quickly hovered around her with an eager palate. Corky shared my love of the pie and many (mostly) faux battles ensued. I would try to distract him in order to snag his pie. He would attempt the same. In time we would crouch over our respective pies distrustfully eyeing the other for suspicious behavior. Any limbs crossing over into the other’s jurisdiction would get jabbed by a protective fork.

These are only a few of my fond memories of an amazing man who made me feel accepted and loved. My spirits were always brightened in his presence.

I will miss you, Grandpa Corky. Thank you for all the smiles, the side-splitting laughter, the love and joy. You will always be in my heart.

-Tuscon

The birthday boy and his big brother in all their finery (thank you John & Rachel!).

Final plating of Julia Child’s beouf bourguignon. It was so yummy. Took forever to make, but I felt it was worth it!

Whoop de doo. I wrote 50,000 words in November. Now what?

Don’t get me wrong. I am so proud of my feat. I can’t believe I did it! But I haven’t looked at my story once since I crossed the finish line. And that saddens me. I didn’t write 50,000 words for the sake of writing 50,000 words. I was writing a story, and I want to finish that story. Granted, once I finish, I merely plan to get a copy printed for myself so I can hide it under my pillow, but it will be a finished copy bygolly!

So, now I need to find motivation. Maybe I can plot the final part of the book. Maybe I should just type until inspired. Maybe I need to set aside specific time every day that is “novel writing time.” I don’t know. I do know that if I don’t finish this I will be very disappointed in myself.

Also, once finished, I can use the accomplishment as a motivator for Joshua. I, the not-writer, finished a book. Now you, the faboo-writer, should be able to do the same. I am excited about the prospect of completing a book, but to see Joshua’s words published would send me over the moon.

So have at it, self. Get thee to a computer and finish that book! I do not want to have to use NaNoWriMo 2010 to finish it. I’m not even certain I have 50,000 more words to go. My goal for a first draft is 4/1/2010. That will give me three months to edit in order to meet the 7/1/2010 deadline for sending a draft to the printers (for free!). Doesn’t that sound divine? A free printed copy? Oooooh.

Now go for it. No excuses. Make it work. Git ‘er done. Ready, set, go!