Check these out. The progression from first to last just kills me:
From Cute Overload.
Check these out. The progression from first to last just kills me:
From Cute Overload.
Oh, the things you discuss when in the car. Is it just us, or does the mere fact of being in a car create conversational weirdness? Because it’d better not be just us.
We were out and about in the car this weekend when I started the following conversation out of the blue. There was literally no segue into this topic. There had been a moment’s amiable silence where I sat looking at my hands and then, well, this:
ME: Hey, if one of your hands was cut off and thrown into a pile of similarly shaded man hands, could you pick out your own hand?
Now MB is a good sport. He utterly accepts almost any premise. He doesn’t fight it or say, “That is so stupid,” even when it is, like now. He actually considers it. Hahaha.
HE: Well, I probably could. (Looks at hands.) Yeah, I definitely could. I have a scar on this hand and another one on this hand.
ME: Okay. So out of a 50,000-hand pile, you actually think you could find your hand?
Notice how we never address the utter grotesqueness that would be the reality of the pile of hands. No, this is theoretical, you see, and can only exist on a theoretical plane with a pretend pile of hands.
HE: Yeah, I could. I know I could.
ME: Hm. I don’t think you could. I’m not sure I could pick mine out of a pile of women’s hands.
HE: Are you kidding me?
ME: No. I dunno. They’re just small white hands. Lots of women have small white hands. I mean, a 50,000-hand pile, that’s a lot of hands.
(What followed were numerous arguments by My Beloved as to why I could definitely pick out my hands because they’re so this and so that and so the other and, well, he just really likes my hands.)
ME: Well, still, I’m just saying I’m not sure.
HE: How can you not be sure?
Silence, somewhat less amiable now because of a pile of hands.
ME: Okay, then. What about your big toe?
HE: Sigh …..
Look at these photos of Owen, a baby hippo orphaned by the tsumani, and his unlikely best friend, Mzee, a 130-year-old tortoise:
Go here to read their whole story and see even more great pics! Oh, click on the link in the sidebar there that says “Owen and Mzee Book.” It includes their story, but also some blank coloring pages for kids, which I think is very cool.
Apparently, animal behaviorialists are at a loss to explain this bond between a mammal and a reptile. They say reptiles are only creatures of instinct, incapable of deriving pleasure from any signs of affection. But that’s not what the caretakers at this wildlife refuge say they are seeing. Amazing. I just love how God leaves scientists scratching their heads sometimes, you know? How He chooses the “foolish things to confound the wise” and all? He’s got a whimsical streak, that God.
Oh, and the “Owen and Mzee” book comes out on June 6th. I guess, too, there was a movie about them that was recently screened at the Tribeca Film Festival.
Go Owen and Mzee!!
(I’m frankly a little smitten with the whole arrangement here.)
UPDATE: More photos added. Keep scrolling down!
Piper, last Halloween. This picture kills me because it’s taken before she started losing all those little niblet teeth. And it reminds me of trick-or-treating with her and the way she would raise her right arm in the air like a “Price is Right” model whenever she said, “Frick or Freat!” (And I know she’s never seen that show.) Oh — and she didn’t just mumble the “Trick or Treat” like all the other inferior kiddies. Oh, no. She would singsong it, loudly, like this: “Frick or FREE-EEATT!!” The word, uh, “freat” was sung in two distinct, melodic syllables, higher to lower. My sister and I would stand back a respectful, non-controlling distance, you see, and guffaw with laughter at her “presentation.” Then somehow, my sister would start blaming me. “This is your fault,” she’d gag. “How is it MY fault?” I’d choke back. “Well, she’s just like you,” she’d gasp. “Huh, THAT’S good,” I’d counter.
HAHA! Sisters. So stupid. But look, LOOK at the poodie tat!
Joseph, her 11-year-old brother, last Halloween. He insisted his aunt (me!) do his camoflauge, Night-of-the-Living-Dead-Platoon makeup. Um, what can I say? I don’t have gifts in this area. Luckily, I don’t think he knows that yet. (Shhhh ….. ) I must say, I love the attitude he’s got in this pic. He’s sellin’ it, baby!!
Piper, Patrick, and Joseph, all together. Those boys dote on that girl!
A brief but heartwarming article I found in Response magazine. See if that C.S. Lewis doesn’t just choke you up a bit here:
Among the many things for which C.S. Lewis is well known is his personal correspondence with friends, family, and readers the world over. He was most careful and considerate with children. To them, he often revealed a human and playful side, whether telling a joke, gently disagreeing with a particular point, or heartily commending a drawing or insight. One child received high praise for having sketched especially lively “snaky snakes”; to others he revealed his loathing for math and fondness for mice; and though he commended eight siblings in one family for washing dishes and reading at the same time, he wanted to know, “How many plates do you smash in a month?”
In “C.S. Lewis at the Breakfast Table,” Erik Routley said of Lewis’ letters, “They were always written for you, and no one else. I think that was his great secret.”
Perhaps no one knows this better than Laurence Krieg. Among his most prized possession are eight letters that he and his mother, Philinda, received from Lewis between May 1955 and December 1958. Now kept in a safe deposit box, they reveal the very real concern and deep responsibility that Lewis felt for his writing and his young readers.
It began when 9-year-old Laurence, an eager fan of The Chronicles of Narnia, confided to his mother that he was afraid that he loved Aslan the lion more than he loved Jesus. Did that make him an idol worshipper? Philinda prompty wrote in care of the publisher and told Lewis of her son’s confusion. So concerned was the author when he learned of Laurence’s distress that the Kriegs had an answer in just 10 days:
“Tell Laurence from me, with my love,” Lewis wrote in a detailed letter, “he can’t really love Aslan more than Jesus, even if he feels that’s what he is doing. For the things he loves Aslan for doing or saying are simply the things Jesus really did and said. So that when Laurence thinks he is loving Aslan, he is really loving Jesus, and perhaps loving Him more than he ever did before …. I don’t think he need be bothered at all. God knows all about the way a little boy’s imagination works (He made it, after all) ….”
Before closing, Lewis asked if the boy would pray for him: “It would be kind and Christian-like if Laurence then added to his prayer, ‘And if Mr. Lewis has worried any other children by his books or done them any harm, then please forgive him and help him never to do it again’.”
Krieg recalls being filled with excitement and wonder that someone who wrote a book would actually write to him. “As more letters arrived, the excitement didn’t diminish,” he says. “If anything, it increased. Everything about his letters shows Lewis to have been a man of great humility, wisdom, and sensitivity. The way he handled my anxiety at the time has been a real inspiration to me. I still find it more helpful at times to picture Jesus as the Great Lion when I worship or meditate.”
Krieg says his three grown children are “very much Narnians at heart.” Small wonder after growing up in a household where they heard their father speak of Lewis as a friend. “I still consider myself fortunate to have benefited from Lewis’ love and wisdom at an early age,” he says. “I often think of Jack Lewis as my guardian ‘angel,’ looking down with amused tolerance — and often concern, I’m sure. Someday, I hope to get to know him better in ‘Aslan’s country’.”
1) Meatloaf & Katherine, uh, singing. Well, it’s not so much singing as it is staggering and strutting and sweating and caterwauling. Although watching her desperately try to ignore him whilst singing a love song WITH him is amusing. And I usually like Meatloaf. The singer AND the tasty meat dish.
2) Puck & Pickler & snails & lobsters. She makes “icky” faces and screams a lot. You know, hon, you really should eat that lobster. I hear it’s brain food.
3) Seeing Li’l Woody Allen again. And I think I just saw him grab his crotch. Does that kid even know where babies come from yet?
4) These Brady Bunch singalongs. Sheesh. At least gimme back my Johnny Bravo. JOHNNY! JOHHHNNNY!!!
5) Oh, yes! These “Golden Idol Awards.” Oh, look. There’s that guy who sounds like Squiggy doing Michael Jackson.
Annd …that’s it for me! Here’s where I turn it to the season finale of “Lost.”
If Pickler’s on that, I’m killing myself and taking you with me.
Oh. Taylor won. But y’all knew that, right?
OH. And what was UP with the season finale of “Lost”?? I’ve about had it with this show. I think the writers have written themselves into Creepy Mystery Corner and can’t provide answers to even the smallest of plot points, so they just keep creating more questions. SO annoying. If you can’t throw us the tiniest bone of an answer, can’t give the merest bit of satisfaction, I think you guys are in trouble.
So here it is, down to Taylor, the chubby guy everyone loves, and Katherine, the pretty girl who loves herself.
Oh, and me. Let’s not forget about MEE! The somewhat bored girl who doesn’t love either of them and couldn’t give a rip who wins at this point. Well, maybe one little rip. I mean, I am writing about it, after all. Ah, what the heck. “Embrace the silly; don’t thumb a nose at it” is what I …… have never said before.
Nanny McPhee sings first. That Black Horse in a Cherry Tree song. It was good with a small “g” according to Simon. In the post-sing interview, Ryan mentions the “thousands of roses” in her dressing room. She says they’re from her McFans. She SAYS this. Her McFans. I guess that’s what they call themselves. Still ….. it’s just geeewww….
Taylor sings “Just Enough for the City.” My Beloved says this while he sings: “The difference is Taylor loves music and Katherine loves the spotlight.”
He’s gonna win this. Even though when he repeatedly chants “Soul Patrol Soul Patrol Soul Patrol!” he sounds just like Mama Klump clapping and chanting, “Hercules Hercules Hercules.”
Judges say Round 1 to Taylor.
Her turn. “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Her dad was bawling. That’s what got me more than the song.
His turn. “Levon.” Randy says pitchy, but I liked the feeling behind it. I really did. I really felt that his name SHOULD be Levon.
Judges say Round 2 to Katherine. It’s a TIE, people. Oooh.
Then Ryan says, after the break, Katherine is singing her “debut single.” Wha?? Is this an original song? Oooh. Goodie. But goodie in I’m kinda hoping for a baddie way. (Forgive me, Lordie. Schadenfreudie.)
Her turn. A ditty with the wretched title, “My Destiny.” I hate it already. She hasn’t sung a word and I want her to shut up, because don’t we already know just hearing that title that it’s going to be epically stupid? Oooh. See what I’m sayin’? It has lyrics like “you were always by my side” and “you believed in me.” Wow. Someone who really dislikes her must have written this song. Hm. Did I write this song without knowing it?? She sings “can I get any higher?” The question is, babe-o, can you get any LOWER?? ACK. SHE JUST LOST. I can’t watch. I’d rather be looking at the ACTUAL Nanny McPhee with that dreadful snaggly tooth than this musical horror. With schlock like this, honey, your Destiny is a Carnival cruise ship. Buh-BYE!! The judges are FAR too kind to her. It was a trainwreck, but they can’t say that at this point. I don’t think they can actually admit that one of their finalists TANKED. The whole thing loses credibility. And did I just use the word “credibility” in reference to American Idol? Hahahaha! Speaking of credibility, Trace ….. No, I just mean that their goal has to be to buoy this moment, make it BIG, create momentum, so that everyone buys albums once it’s all over, right? So they can’t say someone was gut-rippingly awful. They should have, but they simply can’t.
Taylor sings an original, too. “Do I Make You Proud?” No, Taylor. You just make me barf less. A LOT less.
So here’s a tip ‘o’ the bucket to you, Taylor, the next American Idol.
…. with this blog.
So I’m seizing this opportunity to write because I was completely frozen out of my blog for the last day and a half and I don’t know if/when it’s going to happen again! ACK!!
I received some error message about the PHP missing My SQL?? What the L?? I don’t even know what that means! Anybody?
I deleted the most recent post with all the images thinking maybe it was that. Hahaha. I actually thought it was THAT. Because I’m just that techno savvy.
Anyway, this is giving me the impetus I need to make a change — a change I’d just been toying with, but one I now think really needs to happen. So a heads up to you — I’ll be moving from here within the next few months. New digs, new name, everything. I’ve got a design idea for a new place that I really like. Time to DO it!
Just hoping THIS one doesn’t crash on me before that!
….. or anyone ….. do you know the answer to my AI question in the comments of this post?
I’m just curious.
My Beloved just found this Piper post from last year and read it to me, laughing about her little observation here. This was from the weekend she stayed with us. There’s also a post about that weekend listed in the sidebar under “Favorite Tales.” Oh, and she’s not talking about birds in this post. I remember someone thought that when I first posted it. She has a little speech problem and it’s getting better, but she was only 4 at the time, too. I just do my best to write her how she actually sounds.
Anyway …… the brief post …
Here’s something I learned from my niece Piper last weekend.
When I put her to bed, she wants me to climb in with her, you know, to chat. So I do. We lie there, facing each other, chatting and giggling. Oh, and we hold hands, because she insists on it.
So part of our conversation goes like this:
Piper: Gulls are moe special den boys, Tee Tee.
Me: Oh? Why is that?
Piper: Well, gulls have special fings.
Me (Kinda hoping a kiddie anatomy lesson was forthcoming): Really? What things are those?
Piper: Well, gulls are sparkly and softie and boys are just haiwy.
Truth is truth, people.
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