Here's the one great picture I got on my digital camera before the battery died. Forgot to charge it last night. But this one's worth it, right?
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Seven Balloons on Dawn Patrol
Here's the one great picture I got on my digital camera before the battery died. Forgot to charge it last night. But this one's worth it, right?
That looks exhausting
Now many people are using the break in the action to sleep in their chairs or on and under blankets.
Others are exhausting their children to ensure later naps.
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Dawn Patrol
Good job, Jenny, for getting out to see the balloons for the first time in six years. Good job for being out here in the cold by yourself; extra kudos for doing it even while you're sad. You don't have to do anything brave tomorrow.
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Dueling Balloons
"Now we're going to do a sequential glow in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... GLOW! Ok, or don't."
Now they're trying to play Dueling Banjos with light.
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Abbreviated Glow Show
"You are welcome on the field, but remember, there is no smoking."
"Also, please don't lose your children."
(And that's an overturned Wells Fargo stagecoach- they are apparently too close together for it to fully inflate.)
5... 4... 3... 2... 1... and GLOW.
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So much to see and buy!
ATMs, Walmart, woodworking, and Boopie's Mini Donuts. Hillbilly funnel cakes. Full pancake breakfasts.
Macy's is out here with a mini store in their tent, selling fleece jackets and blankets. 50% off!
There are exits coned off and manned by officials with flashlights to let the chase vehicles out quickly.
People on their phones, saying "Where did you guys go?"
"Free" gifts!
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Anything mildly balloon related
Ancient 80s hot air balloon puzzles for $16! Fleece blanket, indeed.
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Good morning!
Set the alarm for 3:30, thought I'd be reluctant to go. Instead, woke up often and wondered about finding change for the bus and what bag to bring. Gave up on sleep at 3.
Didn't need to worry about waiting at the convention center parking lot at 4- there were already other lunatics waiting. Caught the first bus to the park and walked in.
Some people brought flashlights, some brought blankets, some brought McDonald's. There are lots of vendors, the busiest ones are selling coffee, donuts, and hot chocolate right now. To my left is the Maverick's stand- normally a gas station in town. They have an amazing array, including the hot dog grill turner thing and a coffee/cocoa bar that is stocked with marshmallows.
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Friday, September 6, 2013
Recipe to Cure a Sad Night
Cry for a few minutes.
Reheat spaghetti.
Congratulate self on tasty, homemade meatballs.
Drink a beer with dinner.
Watch two Ted talks and a Frasier episode.
Appreciate funny, well-written truths with some belly laughs.
Read Gatsby in a hot bath.
Total time: two hours. Serves one.
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Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Very Short Important Blog
I can't be on here long, because I just left the animals alone for a long time tonight while I was at my crochet class! I walked into the classroom right behind the other student. "Here for crochet?" I asked.
"No, beading."
Uh-oh.
The beading teacher, her student, and I looked at my syllabus, my receipt, and the class schedule.
What day is it? Is it the 4th? What time is it? Is it the right store?
We could find nothing wrong.
"Well, I'm a few minutes early," I said.
"Come sit with us to wait," said the beading lady. "Don't be a stranger."
I sat and tried not to look terrified. I really need this right now, I told the universe. I might not have been as concerned, but both my teacher AND my classmate were missing. NO.
Five minutes later, I went to go find a manager. She checked the book. "It is the 4th, right?" Yep. Then, in walks my classmate, identified by her plastic grocery bag of yarn and questioning expression. "I'm here for the crochet class?" she says. Yes.
We go into the classroom to wait for our teacher while the manager calls her.
"I found a classmate!" I told my beading people.
"Come join us!" they said. But we were too busy chatting. The manager came in to tell us the teacher was on her way. Apparently no one has signed up for the crochet class all summer, so the teacher gave up on checking. While we waited, we walked next door for water and chatted some more. The teacher arrived, apologized, and class began.
I had a good time, the class flew by, and I have a start on what will be very large squares for my eventual afghan.
Recently there have been distractions threatening to derail me. Tonight I got clear messages from the universe beckoning me along the scary, unfamiliar path that I suspected was the right direction in the first place. Not only was the class still on- yes, you are in the right place, and you are welcome here- but also in an immediately comfortable conversation with a stranger, I got encouragement, understanding, and parallels. In about five minutes, I got several confirmations that came like gentle V8 thunks to the forehead that I can have all the things in life I crave, but only by doing the things that I really want to do.
Don't cater, don't settle.
I started my chain. I worked at the stitches, undid many. I picked it up fast, and felt happy with my yarn choice. Instead of doing the prescribed projects, the teacher talked with us about what we wanted to make. I found out I can make an afghan pieced together with all kinds of squares: different kinds and colors of yarn, different patterns, different stitches. It will have my first crocheted square and the latest ones as I learn new types of crochet. I can make it bigger as I go. I need no grand scheme. And I can start immediately.
Somewhere in the fourth or fifth row, I found a hole that gaped a bit wider than the rest. "Did I mess that up?" I asked. "Yup," she said. "Do you want to go back and fix it?"
Hell, no.
"No, beading."
Uh-oh.
The beading teacher, her student, and I looked at my syllabus, my receipt, and the class schedule.
What day is it? Is it the 4th? What time is it? Is it the right store?
We could find nothing wrong.
"Well, I'm a few minutes early," I said.
"Come sit with us to wait," said the beading lady. "Don't be a stranger."
I sat and tried not to look terrified. I really need this right now, I told the universe. I might not have been as concerned, but both my teacher AND my classmate were missing. NO.
Five minutes later, I went to go find a manager. She checked the book. "It is the 4th, right?" Yep. Then, in walks my classmate, identified by her plastic grocery bag of yarn and questioning expression. "I'm here for the crochet class?" she says. Yes.
We go into the classroom to wait for our teacher while the manager calls her.
"I found a classmate!" I told my beading people.
"Come join us!" they said. But we were too busy chatting. The manager came in to tell us the teacher was on her way. Apparently no one has signed up for the crochet class all summer, so the teacher gave up on checking. While we waited, we walked next door for water and chatted some more. The teacher arrived, apologized, and class began.
I had a good time, the class flew by, and I have a start on what will be very large squares for my eventual afghan.
Recently there have been distractions threatening to derail me. Tonight I got clear messages from the universe beckoning me along the scary, unfamiliar path that I suspected was the right direction in the first place. Not only was the class still on- yes, you are in the right place, and you are welcome here- but also in an immediately comfortable conversation with a stranger, I got encouragement, understanding, and parallels. In about five minutes, I got several confirmations that came like gentle V8 thunks to the forehead that I can have all the things in life I crave, but only by doing the things that I really want to do.
Don't cater, don't settle.
I started my chain. I worked at the stitches, undid many. I picked it up fast, and felt happy with my yarn choice. Instead of doing the prescribed projects, the teacher talked with us about what we wanted to make. I found out I can make an afghan pieced together with all kinds of squares: different kinds and colors of yarn, different patterns, different stitches. It will have my first crocheted square and the latest ones as I learn new types of crochet. I can make it bigger as I go. I need no grand scheme. And I can start immediately.
Somewhere in the fourth or fifth row, I found a hole that gaped a bit wider than the rest. "Did I mess that up?" I asked. "Yup," she said. "Do you want to go back and fix it?"
Hell, no.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
A Better Daughter
I should brush her- especially her back legs. She's like your favorite stuffed animal that looks normal to you, but a little ratty to everyone else. She'll be turning 13 this month. I'm looking forward to celebrating with her.
Yesterday I tried on about 40 bras at JC Penney. While in the fitting room, I listened to the poor, suffering mothers trying to deal with their asshole young daughters. It's back to school clothes shopping time, a time I'm sure we all remember unfondly, whether as mothers or daughters, or both.
What made this especially fun to listen to was 1) the daughters' lovely, flowing names used in a less than flowery context and 2) not having a daughter.
One mother was trying to not to be aggravated by the number of times her teenage daughter's cell phone buzzed.
Another mother was coaxing her much younger daughter to show her the clothes she was trying on.
"I can do it myself!"
"Ok, but I need to see them," her mother said.
"These are fine, these don't fit."
"Ok, but I still need to SEE them."
"Fine!"
Silence.
"CLOSE THE DOOR!"
"Nobody's looking, Madison. Try them on again."
Then, "Honey, those are too tight."
"No, they're not!"
"Yes, they are," said with a tone of exasperation, the tone that says they've been shopping for too long and need to stop before they strangle each other.
Now back into the second pair of pants.
"See, those fit fine! What's wrong with those?"
"They're too long."
"So you can fold them. You're a 10, not an 8."
"I don't like them folded," Madison mutters quietly.
Suddenly we all hear a baby crying, only it's not crying. It's angry- wailing, choking, sputtering, yelling. "Ok, ok, ok," calms mom as she quickly moves down the aisle to find an open fitting room. "Ok, ok." They are hushing, reassuring oks, but the baby only increases in volume. "OK," she says, like I'm working on it! The crying quiets slowly as the baby is fed, and Madison's sister, who has been crawling underneath all the fitting room partitions, pipes up. "Who's crying?" she asks.
"Would you get in here?" her mother demands.
Another mother comes in with another daughter. "Come over here with me, Ariana," she says.
"I SAID I'LL SIT HERE."
Then the lovely Ariana turned up the the volume to her earbuds and serenaded the fitting room.
I SAID WUH WUH WUH WUH
I SAID WUH WUH WUH
I looked in the mirror and exchanged a bemused glance with myself. I thought about shopping with Ant. He rejected a lot of what I picked out, especially as he got older, but I could also let him go find what he wanted. He was conscious of price, and was allowed to reject anything he hated, but had to show me the clothes he wanted to get. I doubt it's a boys vs girls thing- Mom says I had a little more distance than biological mothers have, so maybe that was it. I know that Ant learned quickly how to catch my attention with words like "sale" and "coupon." All I know is that I stood there looking in the mirror, asking myself to be grateful that I didn't end up with a little girl, because I'm pretty sure those girls were princesses compared to me.
I do have a daughter, but she is a lovely, fun little dog, who depends on me, is always happy to see me, and even at 13, is a delight to be around. Blessings counted and apologies given. Sorry, Ma. :D
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