the danger in living life out loud

Hi....I'm back.........And kind of scared.

This blog has been my therapy and my confidant for nearly 2 1/2 years now. I have had periods of feeling held back as to what I could write based on people I knew who were reading--but they have been temporary. And somehow--SOME HOW--I have managed to live my life very candidly for this amount of time without angering anyone. I have gotten "blunt" comments before, but never anything that has downright hurt me. Until now........

"shocked and dismayed by the casual cruelty of those who publically humiliate and hurt people they *claim* to care about simply because they are absurdly self-absorbed and immature. Yes, I'm talking to you and your thoughtless and callous little Cosmo quiz blog."

That tongue lashing came from an extremely intelligent woman linked to

Green Eyes. One I didn't know well, though still thought highly of. And it hurt. Ouch. Did it ever hurt.

----I am not afraid of taking criticism. I purposely keep people in my life who tell me things like they see them. People who spoon feed me my medicine without the sugar. They're very grounding.----

Of course--I prefer and respond better to kind, constructive conversations that begin something like "I'm a little concerned with what you're doing and let me tell you why..." followed by caring, well-thought out words that come from the heart. I GUARANTEE you I will internalize anything told me in that manner. But...I'm willing to take the occasional "knock that off and get over it already" type of statement--as long as it comes from someone willing to see my point of view as well.

I don't think anyone has ever called me cruel, absurdly self-absorbed, immature, or callous before, and when I read those words--I shut down inside. It was hearing the very, very worst about myself and thinking...."oh my goodness--what if that's TRUE?" I went numb from the sudden probing into my soul I had to do.

Both Green Eyes and Ninja know about my blog. They both read. They both had an understanding that often times this is how I work through things. With my parents and other large numbers of relatives dead, with my siblings mired in their own struggles with alcohol and drama, and--in the case of wondering about Green Eyes and Ninja--my group of friends prone to choose Ninja because he was their friend too--I turned to my very diverse group of blog friends to help me. Green Eyes did express some hurt that I didn't write more about his level of faith, and that his ability to love me in the way he did (does?) came from a Source beyond his own. And so I put that out there for you now: Green Eyes is a spiritually solid man who lives his life seeking God's will. I saw that in him and hadn't seen it in anyone else.

I got what I'd set out to gather from the series of posts--which was a lot of helpful email and comments. I am a collector of other peoples wisdom and experience, and I have been doing a lot of thinking about what was told to me. My one regret would be wording the question "Team Green Eyes? Or Team Ninja?" What I was really looking for was not 'tell me who you like' but 'tell me what you feel is a greater stumbling block: a faith difference or an age difference?'. Most of you caught on to that, and again I thank you for your well thought-out opinions and stories.

As I scrolled through the list of commenters, I know most of you have been reading for a long, long time. A few of you are my real-life friends and family. A few of you were linked directly to Green Eyes or Ninja. A few of you I have had the privilege to meet personally even though we first met on the internet. I got Christmas cards and Birthday cards from a number of you. You are my friends. Though my blog writing can prove entertaining, it is more often than not a call for feedback to put words into my life that would otherwise be full of silence. Is that being self-absorbed? I don't know. Maybe. It's hard to look past the fact that this blog is, in fact, *all about me*

I took down the Green Eyes/ Ninja posts for now and continue to apologize to anyone who got caught up in it unknowingly. Green Eyes has forgiven me. In Ninja's words "Ninja's fear not these things". And now I hope the woman with the ability to prick at my heart with her words might look into forgiving me as well. And--if not--may she consider herself a success in the fact that she has caused me to do some serious, SERIOUS soul-searching .

And that's all I have to say about that.

an urgent matter

First of all, I wanted to thank all of you for the comments and stories you have shared with me over the last few days. I appreciate that you have trusted me with your wisdom and experience. Before I make a big decision of any kind I like to observe, gather information, study it out in my mind, and then pray. You have all helped immensely in that second step. There were so many more wonderful things I could have said about both these guys. They are both REAL people and both extremely important in my life. I do not want to pit them against each other, and no matter which one (if either) things work out with, the other will never be forgotten. As many of you caught on to--it will not be an easy decision for me to make nor to involve these special men in. It is difficult to write in a blog-length forum of the complexities of human emotions and relationships but I will continue to try and keep you updated on the situation between Green Eyes, Ninja, and myself. And again...thank you.

NOW.......

My dear long time reader Mrs. Morris has asked me if I might help her out with a cause near and dear to her heart by telling you all about a foundation desperately in need of your help. It is one that can make a difference in the lives of so many babies and families, and one that is very close to winning a LOT of money through the Chase Community Giving Program. Won't you please take a moment to read this.....and vote! It only takes a minute, it's free, and I promise you'll feel better after you do it. :


Please go to http://voteforsma.com/ to cast your vote to help SMA…there’s only 1 day left so they need all the support they can get.
It only takes a minute and it’s completely free.
Please consider helping out this foundation. Please help us try and save Nicholas and the other babies and children that have this disease.
Some facts about SMA:
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50% DIE before their 1st birthday, 90% by their 2nd. 1 in 40 people UNKNOWINGLY carries the SMA gene. That could be YOU. That could be YOUR child. There is NO treatment and NO CURE.
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Be part of a MIRACLE.
VOTE: Gwendolyn Strong Foundation.

and the soap opera of my romantic life continues, part 2

Let's talk first about Green Eyes.
--



I had a huge crush on him in high school and it picked right back up when our paths crossed again last Spring. He seemed just as out of my league now as he did then though-- with his suave, quiet exterior, his amazing singing and songwriting talent, and his cool car. He'd done a lot of acting too and turns out I'd watched him on local and regional commercials for years not realizing it was him!
--

We struck up a friendship based on our political beliefs and started to spend some time together. One night, he came over to watch a movie with me and another friend of mine. We were sitting next to each other. At some point, I stretched my arm up and over the back of the couch. Turns out he already had his arm along that spot, and our hands ended up touching. It startled me, and I went to pull back my hand. Yet, something about it felt reeeeally good too. I ended up leaving it there for just a second, and he grabbed it :). Yes--I know, I sound like I'm 13, but my insides went up in sparks at that moment. We were soon spending a lot and lot of time together.
--



In short: I have never, never been loved as intensly as this man loves me. I continue to refrain from sex until I'm married again, so I don't mean THAT kind of intense loving--but everything about him seems to be made to fit me. He knows just what compliments to give me. Just how to place his hand in the small of my back as we walk. Just how to kiss my forehead good bye before he leaves.


He'll often come here during his lunch break and if I'm not home, he'll leave a note on my pillow. And since he's a songwriter and poet, those are some pretty amazing notes! He can unload my dishwasher and know where all the dishes go. He has impeccable taste. He hand made me a gorgeous jewelry box for Christmas. He spent New Years Eve with me....fixing my toilet. Last week I came home to find him insulating my windows for me because I had said (in passing) how freezing it was in my house.
--


He walks the walk and talks the talk. That's just who he is. Genuine. True to himself.
--


Plus he's got this whole Sean Penn/ Aaron Eckhart/ Rebel Without a Cause look going for him. This was a picture he sent me one night just to let me know he was going to bed and was thinking of me:
Yummy, right?

Yet--there's still that huge religious elephant sitting in the room of our relationship. We've tried our best to decorate it up really nicely or just ignore it--but it won't go away. I know when I first mentioned that potential problem on the blog, a lot of you said it wasn't that big of a deal.

But trust me, it is.

Having been married for 13 years to a man who at least went through the motions of being very religious (I sure was fooled!), I know how absolutely important a shared faith is. It's actually the very most important thing to me. And yet, there was sooooo much good about Green Eyes, I really thought that he and I could make it work. That we could somehow exist religiously *side by side*. It was worth the investigating anyway. But as our discussions on the subject now begin to end in hurt, confused tears--- we're learning that one or the other of us is going to have to budge to make it work. We're both so reliant on and comfortable in our personal relationships with God, that neither of us are ready to take that step. We both agreed a long time ago to put Heavenly Father first in our lives--and him converting to my faith, or mine to his seems to be asking too much of either of us right now.

I don't know what's going to happen, but I know for sure that we would be setting ourselves up for disaster if we attempted to enter into a marriage in this condition. It's only been 5 months, but we seem to be at that point where a decision of some kind needs to be made. Either what we have is good enough to give more time, knowing the risk of getting further tangled up with one another's lives and children and perhaps merely prolonging and enlarging the eventual pain OR we back away-- happy for the time we've had together, happy for what we've learned, sad that it didn't work out, but at peace knowing we made the right decision.

There's the first half of my dilemma....

Second half tomorrow.

and the soap opera of my romantic life continues

Being 34 years old and the mother of 4 children, I would so like my life to be about something other than romantic relationships right now. Actually, as I think about it--it mostly is. I feel very balanced. I pray and study my scriptures alone and with my children daily. I find ways to serve others on a regular basis. I do homework with my big kids and homeschool my 5 and 3 year olds. I work out. I go to school. I dance. I laugh. I write. Yet in the time left over.....

There is this relentless, gnawing, empty space in me still waiting to be filled. That divinely placed longing we all have to be with someone who loves, supports, and completes us. I sometimes wish I could make it go away. It can make me feel weak and helpless and less capable of just doing everything for myself, but I don't seem able to do much more than push it down for a time--and it keeps popping up. Like a person needing food, water, shelter, and sleep before they're able to progress, I am finding it increasingly difficult to settle into my life until I can get this issue of "love" resolved.

It's pushing right up against two years since my separation/divorce now. Any hopes I held on to of patching things up with Brad have evaporated. He has moved on....way, way on. I continue to extend the offer of "maybe, just maybe?" to him when I feel my heart telling me to do so, but he doesn't even respond anymore.

Here's my current track record and dilemma: Though we continue to maintain a friendship, the sting of having to let Haute Cakes Mystery Man go is still there. I do feel at peace with where I am now but it was sad to invest nearly 11 months into something I thought was going to end *happily ever after* only to have it cut short because I chose to put my boys' needs first (as it should be) and not move them away from their dad. Then--I knew it was a bit of a gamble to go into a relationship with Green Eyes knowing about our differing religions, but I decided it was worth the risk. (More on how that's all going later). And now, now another man has asked to have a chance with me....my best friend.

I was wondering if I should really write about any of this on my blog. Yet it is so pressing on my mind right now that it's hard to think of anything else. Besides, writing through things magically gives me more clarity than I can ever achieve just sloshing all this stuff around in my big bucket head. Any suggestions or feedback I get from caring readers who have been on all or portions of this journey with me is just icing on the cake.

So, over the next two days, I'm going to lay out the predicament I am in and hope that as I write.......an answer comes.

friday fotos: because it's been waaaay too long

Poor Friday Fotos. They've taken a hit lately. To my credit, I HAVE been writing in my journal to be able to remember daily events---but this is more fun :).

Here's what we've been up to these last few weeks....

A farewell party for my besty friend "the Ninja". He's going far away to do important things. In case you couldn't tell....he's the one in the tiara :). I'm a big believer in people wearing 'special hats' for special occasions.




What says "MERRY CHRISTMAS" more than me...in a vintage apron my mother-in-law made...and leather pants? Oh yeah! It was such a nice Peterson Christmas!Love that that side of the family still claims me.

Of all the photos I took on Christmas morning--this one is my favorite. J in what appears to be a candy-induced coma lying, half-dressed, in a sea of opened presents. Love it :)

Here's the boy squad decorating our gingerbread house. We had to decorate fast because J was devouring the mini-jawbreakers pretty quickly! I love when I can capture moments of them all together. They seem to be going in four different directions lately!

And here's THE BEST OF WHAT CAME OUT OF MY CAMERA PHONE..... Poor quality, funny shots :)

L on New Years Eve. There was fondue, hats, and much, much horn tooting......
J giving his best rendition of "We Will Rock You". I heart the look on his face! :)

Road construction by our house....so typical--one guy digs the hole, four guys watch him.....

Meet "Waaaay Too Short of Shorts Guy" at my gym. This is how he dresses every day. I have to avert my eyes to avoid seeing his bum. He is awfully proud of his legs, I suppose!

And that's all I have to say about all this!

~Happy Weekending!~ :)

happiness spreads like the common cold

It's true! At least that's what the PBS special I got sucked into the other night told me.

There's a town in Massachusetts called Framingham where several thousand residents volunteered to be monitored for life as part of a study on heart disease. Starting in the 1940's, doctors kept thorough records of all these people-- not just their weight, exercise regimens, and eating habits; but they also tracked major life events--births, marriage, deaths, job loss, etc. In the 1990's, sociologists and psychologists realized they could tap into this reservoir of recorded lives to figure out something more than just heart health---they could use it to track HAPPINESS.

And you know what they discovered?

Happiness is contagious. Seriously. As contagious as any virus.

They mapped out people's correlations to one another and happiness levels using models such as this one:

Each of the colors represents a perceived happiness level--the dark blue being those struggling with difficult life situations. Do you see how they cluster together? In fact--it would take 4 degrees of separation before you weren't effected by someones happiness (or unhappiness). So if your friend's friend's friend that you didn't even know was happy---chances are YOU were going to be happy too.

Not only was I fascinated by this concept, but I felt a sudden responsibility to it too. I mean, when I'm sick--I stay at home as much as I can. I practically bathe in hand sanitizer. Cough into my sleeve. Wipe down my shopping cart after I use it. The whole nine yards! I do this out of respect to others in not wanting them to get sick. So, then, do I have the same type of obligation to "flaunt" my happiness so that it can spread? To speak more openly about the great things going on in my life? To remain as positive as I can? To dance down the aisles at the grocery store a little more often? My mama always did tell me that my attitude made all the difference!

Just a little thought for you today then: While we can't have a constant path of sunshine and roses in life, I think we could all do a little better to count our blessings and put a smile on our gorgeous faces. It's the best virus we could ever give one another :).

Start here: What's making YOU happy today?

how i risk my life daily in the form of the middle school parking lot

***First post of 2010!*** I'm patting myself on the back. It was a good vacation that consisted of sleeping in nearly every day and enjoying time with the boy squad. They're all getting so big so fast, especially this one....





He's 12 now. 12. TWELVE! Meaning he's in middle school. Further meaning...I get an awful lot of begging for a Facebook account, and a cell phone, and various wheeled things. I also find interesting searches in my Google history such as "How to get a girl to like you in the 6th Grade". But the real crown jewel of life with a middle schooler is.....I get to drive him to school every morning and risk my life in the half-circle drop off of death.





Does your kids school have one of these?





The elementary school has one, but there are a lot of crossing guards and teachers and such that keep that one nice and orderly. In middle school, the orange vested friendly helpers disappear, and it's every driver for themself.





And it. is. scary.





First of all, I'm really only half awake at 7:11 am when I roll out of bed, throw on my $12 Wal Mart Uggs-wannabes and stumble to my ultra cool mini-van. About 7 minutes later, I think I finally open my eyes and realize that "Hey! Look at me! I'm driving here!" That's a good thing too, because I need all my faculties to make that left turn into the school and GET IN THE LINE.





The line is very important. The line is everything.





The line is usually very long and takes at least 5 minutes to make your way through and get your kid somewhere near the front door. Most people are good and get in the line, and better yet--they keep the line moving. They understand that you're supposed to kiss your kid, throw them out the door, and keep going. If just one car stalls while the child fishes out an instrument or homework or whatever, the line falls apart. That's when the creepers come in. I call them....





"The Inner Line People". (dramatic dum, dum, dum, dum)





The Inner Line People come up from the back of the line and begin to form a second, inner line which then prevents the original line people from being able to get out and causes a nasty half-circle traffic jam. And there is honking. And there is screaming out windows at one another. And there are gestures made.





The school sent a letter out that said something to the effect of "Get in the Line. Make sure your kids exit on the sidewalk because the parking lot is slick. And please don't kill eachother. Thank you very much (also don't forget about the bake sale)."





So this morning, the line was moving along very well. Kids were leaping out of the backseats like graceful gazelles and the cars just kept sliding along. It was like a beautiful automobile ballet. I guess it still wasn't fast enough for impatient dad in the Land Rover though....the one who zooms up and starts forming the inner line. His daughter gets out...in the parking lot....like the letter said not to....and falls right on her hiney....because it was slick....like the letter said it was. Then, while the daughter is getting up (and yelling at her dad), the original line people move out and cut him off, and I'm sure a few of them flipped him off as well. If he had been a zebra, the lions would have devoured his carcass. Don't mess with the line buddy.





It's a blog fodder adventure every morning, I tell ya.





Get in the line. Wait your turn. That's beautiful life advice right there, isn't it ladies :)?






Tell me if you've had any adventures dropping off or picking up your kids from school.

i feel 2010 breathing down my neck

Anyone remember this creepy weird movie? Do you think this really will be "the year we make contact"? Hmmmm......

Wowie wow wow! Did I really go a whole week without posting? That doesn't seem like me. Except that I'm still busier than a one-armed paper hanger trying to make up for the 4 months that I neglected my house and (sometimes) my kids while swamped with school work. I'm hoping to come up for air around mid-next week. Next semester promises to be much more relaxed with only one Poetry class and my internship organizing a production of Shakespeare's "The Tempest" in a low-income school.

Anyway--that's where I am. It should be interesting to start reading blogs again since my readership has had a huge turnover and most of my bloggy friends have moved on to WordPress and dot coms now. Did I mention I knew the Nester and her sister Chatty Emily when they only had 3 or 4 comments? That I was one of the original SITStas? *sigh* Those were the days. I really wish there were two of me!

Now on to writing about my New Year's Resolutions. Last year I resolved not to resolve, and I'm happy to report I kept that one up 100%! I'm thinking I should do that again this year, but my brain is saying one year off is all we really needed. So this year, I'm resolving to.........

*Spend more one on one time with my kids. I'm going to rotate through the boys every other Friday and take an hour to do something special with them individually. We do a lot of family things, but I know it's important that they get some just Mom time too.

*Finish my poetry manuscript. "In Other Words" is more than 1/2 way done and I know if I can just buckle down and commit to it, I can get it finished. On that same note--at the encouragement of a professor, I'd like to try and get one of my stories ("The Wicked Men") published in a fiction periodical as well. Time to start getting my name back out there again if I hope to make a career of this writing thing!

*Improve my grammar. Yeah, I can write, but apparently my grammar (and I quote my grammar Nazi friend here...) "makes (people) cringe like a child biting into a freshly-cut lemon". That's not harsh at all, is it? So, guess I better do a little daily learning about my tenses :)!

*Figure out how to make two of me. Didn't I already say I wished for that? If I can find out how to do it, I'll share the secret with all of you......for a price!

Finally, I wanted to share the quote I've chosen to guide me through my 2010. I'm putting it up by my bed and plan to read and ponder it daily:

"As a new year begins and we try to benefit from a proper view of what has gone before, I plead with you not to dwell on days now gone nor to yearn vainly for yesterdays, however good those yesterdays may have been. The past is to be learned from but not lived in. And when we have learned what we need to learn and have brought with us the best that we have experienced, then we look ahead and remember that faith is always pointed toward the future." ~Jeffrey R. Holland

Now, for the fun part. Tell me something you will NOT be resolving to do. For example, I will not resolve to give up my affair with Ben and Jerry. Nope. Not going to happen. I don't care how naughty I am for loving two men at once, their ice cream is worth the big scarlet "I" I must wear :).

****Happy 2010. May it find you healthy, happy, engaged in giving, and blessed with all kinds of pleasant surprises.****

an open christmas letter to my readers: the gift of belief

Dear Wonderful Readers and Friends,

This is going to be a very different post than it would have been an hour ago. I was quite prepared to sit down tonight and write about giving up. How I was so physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted that I was simply going to quit with all the stupid hopeful optimism already. It didn't seem to be getting me anywhere. How I felt so ugly and old and scared and especially incapable of the burdens laid on my shoulders.

Christmas is hard. It feels like someone is shining a giant red and green spotlight on the big void in my life--the one caused by the absence of Brad. This is my second Christmas without him, and it's still difficult. I watch the joy in our children's eyes as they decorate the tree ,or visit Santa ,or stick candy on the gingerbread house ,or tell me the story of the baby Jesus being born. I so badly want to look over into the eyes of their father and share that "we done good" smile that we'd shared a million times. To reach for his hand. To lay my head on his shoulder at the end of a hectic but wonderful day. Now, I can't even get him to look me in the eyes during the few minutes he spends dropping off or picking up the boys. In my heart, I still deeply love this man who is there....but not there for me anymore.

With that attitude of disparaging sadness, I was ready to let spill from my fingers what would have been probably the most depressing Christmas message ever! Then right before I did, a friend of mine caught me on the chat feature of my computer. She and her three boys lost their husband and father in September to a massive heart attack. He wasn't even 40. She asked me for some advice on if her life would ever feel normal again....on how to find hope during this bleak period.....on whether or not she would ever find someone to love her again.

And there I was--answering her questions while answering my own at the same time. My life was put into perspective in the act helping her to find some. It's true---It is not easy. There will always be that scar, that pain, that yearning for those we love who leave us--in whatever capacity that might be--but there will always be hope. It reminded me of some of the words penned by Francis Pharsellus Church, editor of the New York Sun, in 1897. A young girl named Virginia had wrote him to ask if there was really such thing as Santa Claus as her friends had told her there wasn't. To this he said:

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge......

......You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

So, this Christmas I have decided to give myself the gift of believing just a little longer. I don't know when or in what way I am ever going to get over the great pain inflicted on me in this life by the person I loved most, but I choose to continue to believe that I will heal. That there will be a time of sweet peace in my life again and even a type of innocence to be rediscovered. For now, I cling to the blessings I have. I breathe in the joy of the little moments. I take time to acknowledge my pain and cry through it, then to put myself back together and push on.

The future is as bright as your faith: May you grasp that message as I have and be showered with all that is good and bright this holiday season. Merry, Merry Christmas!

With all my love,

~Jennifer P.

that second sunday in october, part 5

I decided to just go ahead and put the remainder of the story up. I figured those of you reading this just want to have it finished already and don't mind how long it is! So, I present parts 5,6, and 7 (in order--just keep reading the next post till the story ends). Make sure you chime in at the end too :) !

Part I: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october.html
Part II: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-2.html
Part III: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-3.html

Part IV: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-4.html

I finished straightening the display of inserts. They always reminded me of blue fish on hooks, a very aquatic look to the gel they were filled with. I noticed we were running low on women's size 8's and bent down beneath the counter to check the stock. Somewhere nearby, I could make out the syllables of Anupam's words bouncing along in a rhythmic high-low pattern. He must have been talking to Charley as I heard her distinct laugh answer back each time his voice stopped. When I stood up, my hands full of the extra size 8's, Anupam was there--leaning over the counter as if he'd just been trying to look beneath it. His face was inches from mine.

My mouth opened as if to say "hello", but a breathy "huuuuu" was all that escaped.


"You are Jillian Bayne?" he asked.


I nodded my head, my mouth still hanging half open.


"Charley tells me your name" he said, waving two fingers in the direction of the avocado stand. "I am Anupam. I will be working here on the weekends for a time." I let my eyes follow the invisible path he had traced over his shoulder and met Charley's gaze. She smiled and blew me a kiss, clearly mouthing the words 'you're welcome.'


Anupam smiled, surveying the display of squishy inserts hanging behind me. "I might need some of these soon. I am not used to standing for so long. Do they work?"

I nodded again, struggling to find something--anything--to say. Whatever was going on in my head wasn't producing any words.


"Do you use them in your own shoes?" More nodding from me.

He stayed silent a few seconds longer, waiting--I'm sure--for me to speak. "Well, I best go make the popcorn" he said, pushing away from the counter and smiling again, "It was nice to meet you Jillian Bayne."


"It was nice to meet you Anupam," I finally managed, my voice sounding hoarse.


"Maybe we will talk more later?" he said. He turned and walked the few feet to the kettle korn booth, disappearing inside. I heard the heater beneath the big copper kettle click on and roar to life.

---

It was a busier than usual Sunday. The pumpkin vendors had joined the market, and I wondered if they had anything left. Everyone that day, it seemed, was hugging a fat, orange orb as they made their way around, or were dragging several behind them in Radio Flyer wagons. I saw the camouflage lady again, the one with the big back. She was wearing the same clothes, but this time riding a motorized scooter with a red Dauschund in the basket on front. I watched her feed it a bite of corndog then take a bite of the same corndog herself.

Even being extra busy, things went along smoothly until just before lunchtime. That's when I noticed the crowd thicken, all moving in one direction. Two security guards were acting as herdsmen behind them, waving their arms as they went and calling loudly, "There is a fire. We need everyone to evacuate the premises. Please don't panic." Don't Panic? That is a phrase you should never let loose in a crowd of people because they will usually do just the opposite.

One alarmed man screamed "Fire! Fiiiiiiiire!", and the rate and chaos of the evacuation kicked up a notch, increasing again as the shrill sound of fire engine sirens crescendoed in the parking lot.

I was in the middle of helping an extremely old woman select the right shoe inserts.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, throwing one hand over her wrinkle-chasmed cheek while the other steadied her against the countertop. "Oh!" she repeated, "oooooh! fire!" Her eyes searched the air for smoke and she started into a story about a fire that had occurred at the summer came she attended as a child. Something about it killing a counselor. I'm not sure. It was hard to hear over the half-frantic crowd. I could tell she was terrified though and was going to need some help.

I reached over the counter, placing my hand on her arm, "What's your name?"

"Eunice" she answered. I could feel her trembling.

"Eunice" I said, "are you here alone?"

"Yes. My granddaughter brought me and was going to pick me up in an hour."

"Well Eunice, let me grab my purse and I will get you out of here. You can use my phone to call your granddaughter when we get to the parking lot. Okay?"

She nodded.

"Just a minute" I said. I retrieved my purse from the corner and exited through the side door. Just as I stepped out, a teenage boy whizzed by on a long board. I felt the thick wheels roll over the top of my left foot, the the heavy impact of his body slamming into mine. My shoulder smashed against the door frame as the boy tumbled off his board and fell against my shins. I looked down at his face, a mixture of shock and disgust spread across it. "Sorry lady" he said, "There's a fire!" He stood up immediately and chased after the board which had crashed into a corner of the heirloom tomato seed stand. Hopping back on it, he joined the southward moving throng, leaving me rubbing at my throbbing shoulder. I remembered Eunice and limped my way around to the front of the kiosk. I wondered if my foot wasn't broken.

"Come on sweetie" I said, offering her my arm, "let's get you out of here." At that moment, Anumpam came jogging toward us.

"Are you alright Jillian?" he asked, "I saw that boy hit you."

I smiled weakly, wanting to say that it felt like I'd just been beat with a bat, but answered "I"m fine" instead. Anupam took Eunice's other arm, and the three of us made our way out of the chain link perimeter and into the parking lot. Vendors and customers stood milling about wondering what to do next. Eunice pointed out her granddaughter who was picking her way through the crowd toward us.

"Nana!" she called, running over and throwing her arms around her grandmother, "I was so worried! I heard about the fire on the radio and came right back." She nodded at Anupam, then me. "Thank you for taking care of her. Thank you very much." Eunice was led away, leaving Anupam and standing an old woman's distance apart.

that second sunday in october, part 6

"What do you think is going on?" I asked, "I mean with the fire?"

"I heard someone say it started in the churro stand" he said, "the whole back of the place was on fire and it had started to spread. Might have been grease or maybe electrical?"



I shrugged an answer, the act of doing so causing a wince of pain on my face. My shoulder and foot were still aching.



"I think you should go sit down" Anupam said, "that was a pretty bad crash."



"I think you're right" I agreed with a sigh. All the benches were inside the flea market, so I stated the only other option I could think of, "I'm going to go sit in my car." I lifted my had to wave good-bye, when he asked



"May I come along?"



I had already decided he would probably prefer talking to Charley or someone else and didn't even think to offer to have him go with me.



"Uh, yeah, sure" I said, fishing the keys out of my purse and attempting to keep my breathing steady. Anupam followed me to my car. The one I couldn't recall ever having a passenger in besides my mother.



We sat there for three hours, just talking. We talked like two people who hadn't had another person to talk to for a long time. About the flea market, about UC Irvine, about Indian culture, about the Anaheim Ducks, about music, about politics, about my two cats, about my sick mother. Anupam laughed in all the right places and nodded in sympathy at all the right things. Every 15 minutes or so, I would switch on the air conditioner and let it run long enough to cool the car down. I completely forgot about the pain in my foot and shoulder.



By the time we started to take note of our surroundings, we could see that only the vendors remained loitering about the parking lot--not wanting or able to go until they could secure their merchandise. Most were sitting in their cars like we were, smoking cigarettes or napping. I spied Charley by herself near the entrance. She had on a pair of headphones, her eyes closed, swaying back and forth methodically to whatever slow song was playing in her ears.



Finally we saw one of the security guards making his way from car to car. As he approached, I rolled my window down.



"You vendors?" he asked, removing his baseball cap and scratching his bald head beneath. Anupam and I nodded. "Well, the fire is out. No damage to anything except the place it started. We're closing down for the rest of the day to clean up though. Go lock up shop as quickly as you can and we'll be ready for you again by morning." The guard put his hat back on and walked off toward the next occupied car.



I looked over at Anupam who was looking back at me, our gaze locking for a second or two longer than one usually looks at another. He broke the silence,



"Do you like cinema?" he asked, "the movies?"



"Sure" I answered, "I like a good movie."



"Would you maybe like to go to a movie with me? Tonight?"



My head started nodding, slowly at first, then gaining certainty. "Yes" I answered, breaking into a wide smile, "yes. I think I would really like that."



He returned the smile. "Okay. Good. How about we take care of our stands and then I will follow you back to your house. You can leave your car and we can drive together. Are you comfortable with this?"



I continued nodding. Anupam reached over and squeezed my hand. "Thank you for keeping me company today. It has been a long time since I have really had a talk about my life with someone. I have lived in the U.S. off and on for many years, but I often still feel a stranger here." He began to rub the length of my fingers with his thumb, the motion setting my whole body humming, "It is nice to know that someone still finds my stories interesting."

that second sunday in october, the end

---

The sky was hanging in that orangey-gray state between dusk and dark when I pulled into the driveway of my house. I could see one of the cats sitting in the windowsill wiping at his face with a licked paw. Anupam's Jeep Cherokee pulled up behind me. He stepped out, resting his chin on the door frame, watching me as I approached. He looked happy.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the house, "I need to run up and check on my mom" I said, "let her know where I"m going. I'll be right out."

Mom and I would usually sit on her bed on Sunday nights, watching episodes of old TV shows on DVD--currently we were into season 2 of Barney Miller. Sometimes I'd make popcorn and malted milkshakes or paint her fingernails.

I wasn't sure what I was going to tell her about tonight. Should I downplay it all? Maybe even ask if she minded if I went with Anupam? Of course she would say yes, but at least it would let her know that she was still my first priority. Or should I jump up and down, squealing about being in love the way I wanted to?

I turned the knob and stepped inside the house, leaving the front door open behind me. "Mom" I called, climbing the stairs, "Hey Mom! I'm home!" The other cat emerged from the bathroom and rubbed against my legs. I quietly opened her bedroom door and stuck my head in. "Mom" I whispered, "are you awake?" The dim light coming through the window revealed her outline in bed, her back to me. I considered for a moment just leaving another note, but I didn't know if she'd heard anything about the fire and didn't want her to be worried.

Entering the room, I noticed the breakfast tray next to her bed. The half a bagel with cream cheese. The bowl of blueberries. The tail of an herbal tea bag trailing out of a mug. The note I'd scribbled on a yellow post-it. None of it had moved. I could see too, the baby blue tint of her pajamas in the semi-dark. The ones she had on when I left this morning.

My body locked in place. My voice wouldn't go above a whisper. "No,no,no,no,no" I repeated, a sickening shiver rattling through my body, "no,no,no,no,no" Then, as if shoved by an invisible hand, I was down on my knees at her bedside, my arms draped across her motionless hips. my face buried in the satin of her back.

"Mama. Mama. I'm so sorry!" I sobbed. A deep well kind of sob. The kind that came without promise of a bottom. "Oh God! I am so sorry! I should have been here! I should have been here!"

In its shock, my mind tried to grab hold of something besides reality, besides the flood of questions trying to drown it: Why did Jerry Ecker have to go to Sacramento? Why did it have to be so damn hot in October? Why did I have to be so unsettled by some dream I couldn't even remember?

It was then that the poem about going back for the book came to me again. I thought about the ghost of myself who hadn't chosen to get out of bed early that morning to go to work. The one not so enraptured with possibility. Where was she? Was her mother still alive?

A voice sounded from downstairs. That voice, Anupam's voice, coming closer. "Jillian? Hello, Jillian?" I could hear his feet bristling the carpet, "Is everything alright?"

My mind reeled again, drawing me through the timeline of the day, crushing me beneath the weight of all that it was. I was the smell of the ocean. I was a handful of size 8's. I was Eunice, terrified of fire. I was Charley swaying alone in the parking lot. I was my hand inside another. I was the cat in the window. Then I was just unbeautiful Jillian Bayne, embracing the body of her dead mother. With an intensity, my mouth remembered itself. It spoke the only answer I had to any of this, "Anupam Raju."

************************************

Hey Ladies who stuck with me! Thank you sooooo much for reading! This is the first story I've completed since highschool (a billion and one years ago!). I know it doesn't represent my finest writing, but it felt so good to get something out from beginning to end, and really develop a character plagued by the consequence of choice. I was hoping, by not revealing the exact tone of Jillian's voice as she spoke the last line to let the reader decide whether or not she sees ol' Anupam as a solution to the problem (as in, finally she's free to live her life type of thing), or if she sees him as the cause of the problem, being that it was her sudden infatuation with him that caused her to miss the moment of her mother's death. What do you think? Was Anupam the cause or the solution?

Thanks again---we'll get back to my regularly scheduled life now :) !!!

that second sunday in october, part 4

(Just a reminder that this is a FICTIONAL STORY here. Now let's pick up where we left off :O) ).
Part I: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october.html
Part II: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-2.html
Part III: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-3.html

---

Early Sunday morning found me in the driver's seat of my small, black Ford, steering in silence down 17th towards the flea market. I turned into the nearly empty lot and parked. It was still an hour before opening and I really didn't need to be here this early. It doesn't take much to open an orthopedic shoe insert stand. I reclined my seat slightly and rolled down the window, the car's interior filling with the sound of flower and fruit vendors setting up their tables--a combination of metal being drug across asphalt and garbled shouting--some in English, some in Spanish. Deeply inhaling, I tasted a slight tang in the ocean-flavored air blowing in from Newport.

Pink-tinged sunlight spilled across my lap, highlighting a few strands of gray cat hair on my pants. I methodically began picking them off holding them in pinched fingers outside the car window and watching as they rode the current of the slight breeze as I let them go. The movement of air against my hand and forearm felt good. It was still too hot. My mind stopped at the thought of heat. Heat...The image of Anupam and his sweaty brown-gold stomach, and the little fan, and that raised red polo shirt, and the heavy smell of meshed salt and sugar--all of it broke loose inside my mind. That is why I was here early. Because I couldn't sleep. I hadn't had any trouble sleeping....ever. Blissfully, I'd wake up with nothing on my mind except the list of things I had to do that morning. The list rarely or never changed: Take Mom breakfast, shower, dress, feed the cats, go to work. It was safe. It was predictable.

But at 5:30 this morning, I work up with an Indian accent lingering over my bed like it had moments ago been a part of me. I'd been dreaming, I think, though I never dream. There seemed something unsettling, almost dangerous, in lying there under the covers giving my thoughts any time to replay what they'd just experienced. I worked my way out of the tangle of blanket and headed for the shower--sticking to the routine of my day, just an hour and a half earlier than usual. I sat a tray next to Mom's bed with her breakfast and a note explaining my early departure, then paused to watch her for a minute--even working so hard for each breath, she seemed peaceful sleeping, her mouth pressed into a slight smile.

And now here I was, sitting in my car, an hour early for work, finding myself whispering Anupam's name again. The sound of it--the way it made me feel to hear it--activated something in me. Something spring-loaded. Something that was deeper than whatever attraction I suddenly felt for him. It came spiraling up through the center of me, hot and angry. I slammed my hands against the steering wheel, again and again, the wheel quivering beneath the blows.

"Damn it!" I yelled, "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" I could feel my heart thumping inside me, my chest heaving like a runner's. My hands stopped banging against the wheel and clutched it tightly instead. I glanced into the rearview mirror and saw my green eyes staring back at me. "What are we supposed to do with this?" I asked my reflection. The eyes blinked knowingly and then looked away. I wasn't ready for things to be different. I mean, things were good. Really. Just because I lived a simple life did not mean I was a simple person, but this just wasn't the time to build any more risk or potential for change into my life. I was needed. Right where I was. At home with my mother.

I drew in a sharp breath between clenched teeth, then blew it out slowly, releasing my grip on the wheel, "Why was I even entertaining these thoughts? What did it matter? Why would a reasonably attractive, educated man have any interest in the red-headed orthopedic kiosk lady anyway?"

The parking lot was starting to fill.

"It's just another Sunday" I assured myself, "get through today and go home. He'll be gone in a few days and then you've got all next week to get over it."

***TO BE CONTINUED***

that second sunday in october, part 3

(Just a reminder that this is the continuation of a FICTIONAL story. It's told in first person and though there are remnants of my own life woven in, the I in the story is not me. Happy Reading :] ).



Part I: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october.html

Part II:http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-2.html

---

After we closed on Saturday, I walked to the parking lot with Charley Star. She sells avocados two stands down and across from me. She's also the one who knows everything about everyone in our little flea market village.

Charley's the type of woman you can't put an age on. Her hands look wise, but her face seems timeless. She arrived here from Nebraska, as she says "a hundred years ago", to pursue a career as an actress. She had appeared on the The Dating Game and Love Connection, which she informed me were places new actresses went to be seen. I wouldn't have known that. Her hair was like long strands of bleached wheat, twisted into dreadlocks she wore tied back and fastened with a rubber band. Assorted sizes of silver rings adorned every one of her fingers except the left pinky where she wore a yellow twist tie. I tried not to sound too anxious as we made our way towards our cars,

"So, um, did you see the Jerry Ecker had some help in the kettle korn stand today?" I asked. Charley rolled her eyes at the same time she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth--both a gesture of "of course".

"I caught up with him buying a churro at lunch" she said, "his name is Anupam Raju. Said it means 'incomparable' in Hindi. He's been doing grad work at UC Irvine since last year. Engineering I think it was...or maybe Anthropology..." Charley's voice trailed off as she tried to recall the conversation; "Anyway" she continued "he's friend with one of Jerry's boys. That's how he found out about the job. I guess Jerry's looking to start taking weekends off on a regular basis, and after this week, Anupam will only have time to work weekends, so it's a good match." She gave a little chuckle and added, "I warned him to be careful and finish school though. Not to get pulled in permanently by this glamorous flea market lifestyle." Charley reached back and pulled the rubber band from her hair, shaking her dreadlocks free across her back. For a few moments she just stared into the gray evening sky, as though looking for something., then smiled, "you could probably say hello to him yourself tomorrow Jillian, you know. He does work right next to you. I think you might find him a bit easier on the eyes than old Jerry Ecker." She gave me a little salute one of her ring-covered hands, opened her car door, and slid in.

I continued my walk toward the far corner of the parking lot, though much slower than when I was trying to keep up with Charley. "Anupam Raju" I whispered. My mouth twitched into an immediate smile. I threw my hands up over it, glancing around to see if anyone had seen. When I saw I was alone, I uncovered my mouth and said it a few more times--a little louder, a little more purposeful, "Anupam Raju.... Anupam Raju...."

TO BE CONTINUED (...and I will keep posting this through the weekend. It's halfway done now)

that second sunday in october, part 2

(This is a continuation of what was started yesterday. This entry has the bulk of the back story in it so it's a little longer than I'd like, but still a quick read comparatively :) )

I retraced my course across the open market, weaving in and out of shoppers, back towards my booth. The afternoon heat had begun to push its way into our row of kiosks, unusually hot for October--even in Southern California. As I passed in front of the kettle korn booth again, I paused. I didn't really mean to, but the scene there held some kind of power of me so as to render my feet useless. There was the new guy, holding up the front of his red polo shirt about six inches. His bare stomach exposed to a small oscillating fan he had running in the corner. I could make out the little rivulets of sweat inching down his sides and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. The air at that moment was so thick and sweet it felt like I could hardly gulp it down. A customer approached his booth-- a girthy woman dressed head to toe in camouflage--her wide back blocking my view.

Somehow I willed my legs to move beyond the immense gravity that pulled upon that spot. I made it the few feet back to my kiosk and situated myself once again behind the counter. The rest of that day was spent selling orthopedic inserts, and wondering why I had born to such beautiful parents who had given me a name as beautiful as Jillian Bayne...and angry that there was nothing as beautiful about me to match.

My mother is naturally, gracefully beautiful--even being as sick as she is. She has almost black hair that she keeps clipped short like Isabella Rossellini's, and an intensely pink mouth that turns up at the corners. We have the same eyes though, bright green with a ring of gold flecks around the pupil.

Mom used to be very curvaceous too. One of the only things I can remember my father saying to my mother was: "You sure know how to fill out a sweater Lila." I was probably 5 or 6 when I heard that and can still recall wondering what it meant. Maybe I was more intrigued by the way he said it. How it made my mom laugh and tousle his already messy blond hair. How he then grinned and kissed her forehead.

Mom's probably lost 30 pounds since then. Her curves are pretty much whittled down to skin and bones now, and her sweaters hang rather than fill out.

My father was killed when I was 9 years old. He hurt his back while building me a playhouse in the backyard. A princess style one with a miniature turret that I had begged for for months. The doctor prescribed muscle relaxers to ease the pain. We're still not sure if the dosage was off somehow, or if Dad just reacted badly to the medication; all we know is that he passed out riding his motorcycle in the middle of a busy intersection. He was struck by a pick up truck and killed instantly.

Mom was devastated. She never locked herself in her room or checked out of life in any way, but it was though the light in her had the plug yanked. She still smiled--especially at me--but she didn't laugh much anymore.

I remember passing by the back window for days after his death and seeing that skeleton of a playhouse in the yard, the bent wood frame of the turret having just started to take shape. And then one afternoon I came home from school and it was gone. I found out later that my uncle had come and spent the day tearing it down--hauling the lumber scraps off to the city landfill. He said my mom needed as few reminders of my father around as possible.

A month or two later, Mom came down with Rheumatic Fever--a result of untreated strep. I overheard my uncle talking on the phone: "She's not taking care of herself. Not fighting it" he was saying, "She survived this illness as a child but who knows if she'll make it again. They won't know the extent of the damage for another week." She did make it, but the mitral valve of her heart was in bad shape, leaving her weak and easily tired. The doctors recommended a valve replacement, but said she'd have to get stronger to be able to withstand the surgery. Every cold or flu that came around plagued her and she had countless bouts with pneumonia. She never did seem to get 'strong enough'.

My help was never asked for, but I took it upon myself to become her personal caretaker. By age 10, I could cook breakfast and dinner, keep the laundry and dishes washed, and even learned how to run the lawn mower. "It's too much Jillian" Mom would say, "bless your heart, but you need to have a childhood."

Despite how horrible I knew she must feel, she never complained. She was as cheerful as a woman in her situation could be. During times she felt well enough, she would take in alteration work from a seamstress friend of hers, or volunteer at the library. She never missed a night of reading to me until I was 16 years old. We covered the entire Nancy Drew series twice. I always loved her not for what she couldn't do for me, but for everything she still could.

When high school graduation came, I watched the kids I had grown up with head off to college. The ambitious one going to Berkley or UCLA, and the not so ambitious ones driving the 15 minutes to Golden West.

And I chose...I really did, too, choose to stay at home with my mom. I couldn't imagine her there all alone, trying to do the sewing and keep up with the house. She would never ask for help from anyone else either, I knew it. Only when I promised her I would take some classes by correspondence did she agree to let me stay home with her and go to work for my uncle. I've never taken any classes, but shes' never asked--so we just maintain this comfortable silence between us concerning the state of my life. Mom and I need each other, and somehow that was--and is--enough.

TO BE CONTINUED

that second sunday in october

So--as promised, get ready for a week or so worth of a short story I wrote this semester. It will give me something easy to post while I get through finals! As a small warning, the story does contain the word d*m* -- which I hardly ever say myself, but which no other word worked quite the same as in the story. You'll probably also recognize some of my own personal stories (Rheumatic Fever, my father being killed in a motorcycle accident, etc) that I've shared here on the blog as being traits of various characters in this piece. Anyway, hope you enjoy the read :) . And now I present.............

THAT SECOND SUNDAY IN OCTOBER

I read a poem once about a man on his way to the doctor's office and how, at the end of his long country driveway, he remember he forgot his book and decides to back for it. From that moment, he begins to see a shade of himself everywhere he goes--the man a few people ahead of him in line, or the one just slipping out the door before he does--his double, just bumped an inch into the future; the one who didn't go back to the house for the book. I've spent a lot of time thinking about that poem. About the outreaching effects even the smallest decisions we make can have. Like the one I made that second Sunday in October. The weekend Anupam Raju sold kettle korn.

---

I sell orthopedic shoe inserts in my uncle's kiosk. We operate seven days a week in a large outdoor flea market in Costa Mesa--do very well too, as people ten to think about their feet and how much they hurt when they're walking around outside for hours. It's a fitting job for a single, 30 year old woman who lives with her mother.

Our kiosk is situated between the heirloom tomato seed stand and the one selling kettle korn. Jerry Ecker is the popcorn man. We talk often, when things are slow. Mostly about how slow things are. He's in his early 60's with thinning black-gray hair and oversized glasses. Even away from the popcorn, he smells persistently of warm sugar.

Half-way through October, Jerry decided to take the whole week off. He was going to go to Sacramento for his niece's wedding and staying to visit family, maybe tour a winery. I figured he'd just close down for the duration of his trip like he had the few times he'd been gone before. He hired someone to take his place instead. I couldn't see the new guy at first, but I heard him. He spoke with the thick, lilting Indian accent that seemed to enter through my left ear, sprinkle some glittery stupidity on my brain, and slide out the right. All morning long, that song of a voice vibrated the thing walls of my kiosk.

About 11, I left to use the restrooms, purposely taking the long way around to cross in front of the kettle korn stand. And there he was. The voice. Standing over a massive copper pot, stirring syrup with a long, wooden paddle. His arms moved in a wide circle, muscles flexing and releasing through the motion. His jaw set firm, his dark eyes intent on the work. He had perfect skin--an even brown-gold, glowing as the sun wrapped itself around him and scattered light of the glassy black of his hair.

I finished in the bathroom, taking a minute to study my reflection in the cloudy mirror hung above the sink. My red hair--half-curly, half-straight--was tucked behind my ears, a slight sunburn pinking up my flour-colored skin. My hands smoothed over my plain white shirt--down the narrow of my waist and over the ample of my hips. Using my fingers, I started to try and manipulate some sort of style out of my hair until I remembered that no one who buys orthopedic shoe inserts really cares what you look like anyway.

TO BE CONTINUED...

friday fotos: i finally took a months worth of pictures off my camera. but i'll only make you look at a few of them.

One final down...two more to go. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Come on semi-Genius--don't fail me now!!! I did manage to get one of my poems published this week. It's in the English majors magazine, but since English is the most populated major at my school--there was a lot of competition..... so I'll call it a little victory :).

Anyway, here's what we've been up to these last few weeks:

I celebrated Festivus with my friends. This has to be my favorite picture from that night. My friend wore her ugly Festivus sweater and posed for me near"the pole" which was covered in grievances to be aired. ... It was a Festivus miracle! :)



Got the old Christmas tree put up. I keep thinking I want to mix it up--try pheasant feathers and tortoise colored ornaments, but I just go back to the same way of decorating...because it makes me happy....

The boys get to eat the animal crackers off it on Christmas Eve:
After Thanksgiving, I swore I'd never eat again. But looking at all the food again, I take it back! I'll be hungry again by next November for sure!

Mmmmm.....my turkey. We never eat more than the breast. We're ham people. But this was tasty too!

The Thanksgiving table:

Green Eyes and the boys playing a few games Thanksgiving morning:

SOOOOOO many leaves to rake. Ethan was a real trooper. My Ninja friend came to help too. The next day I rented a leaf vacuum. The day after that, I couldn't lift my arms. Man! What a workout....but for someone who loves to vacuum like I do, it. was. AWESOME!

Whew! That was quite a month!

I have a lot of baking to do this weekend. Tell me your favorite Christmas-time treat!

and..... ~ Happy Weekending! ~