book quiz results

You're A Prayer for Owen Meany!

by John Irving

Despite humble and perhaps literally small beginnings, you inspire
faith in almost everyone you know. You are an agent of higher powers, and you manifest
this fact in mysterious and loud ways. A sense of destiny pervades your every waking
moment, and you prepare with great detail for destiny fulfilled. When you speak, IT
SOUNDS LIKE THIS!


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at the Blue Pyramid.

Handsome

Went grocery shopping with my son yesterday. He eats in fits and spurts which I am to understand is normal for a 4 year old. Right now, he is eating.

He loves salad. I must remember to thank the school. We certainly don't eat enough salad at home for him to be a fan. I'm going to work on changing that.

So, we gather salad "fixins" and head to the dressings aisle. When I was a kid, I ate only French dressing. Every outing, every salad with a meal - French dressing. When I got a little older, I ventured to try my mother's Zesty Italian that she made from a dry packet and some magical ingredient (oil? water? what!) in the container that came with the packet. I later tried oil and vinegar because it seemed so sophisticated coming out of 2 glass vials that were then mixed together on the salad itself. And I could control the amount of vinegar! Then, voila, I realized that the special sauce on my favorite sandwich (the reuben) was Thousand Island. Yum. (I soon after realized that Thousand Island is ketchup and relish. yum?)

In my recent years, I've discovered Ranch. Put it on lettuce, carrot sticks, peppers...doesn't matter. I love the way it tastes, smells even the way it looks. I do believe that I have found my favorite dressing - finally.

So, in the condiment aisle we are confronted with 8 million choices for Ranch dressing (luckily it is my family's favorite flavor, too.) Staring out at me from the chest level shelf - Paul Newman. Yum. (and not just the dressing, if you know what I mean!) We put it in the cart.

"Who's that man?" asks my salad eater.
"That, my friend, is a handsome man."
"Did he make the salad dressing?"
"His company did."
"Is he a cook?"
"He is an actor...and a handsome man." (I couldn't help myself)

On the back of the bottle is a charming little story about the ranch recipe being part of Butch Cassidy's legacy, yadda yadda.

Later we found Paul, I like to call him Paul, on several different items - salsa, spaghetti sauce, popcorn. We didn't buy any of those but it did keep the conversation going.

(spaghetti sauce)
"Is he married?"
"Yes, to an actress named Joanne Woodward."
"Is she pretty?"
"yes"

(popcorn)
"Does he make movies?"
"Yes, pretty good ones, too"
"Have I seen any of them?"
"not yet"

(salsa)
"What else does he do?"
"He gives money to charity...and he is a handsome man." (it's a sickness, really)

Dinner was a success and lots of salad was eaten. It really is one of the best ranch dressings I've tasted. I think we'll stick with it. I hope my boy keeps eating healthy. He will be a handsome man.

You won't getting me to try Blue Cheese any time soon, though - I don't care who's on the label.

http://www.newmansown.com/

Low maintenance

I called up a friend and we met at the beach our two 4 year olds in tow.

M.E. is an "easy friend" one you can talk to and listen to for hours. We talked while the boys played. We talked in and out of topics like the boys ran in and out of the water. We talked relationships, children, work, television. We talked of how we will miss each other when I move.

When we were all just about starving, we drove to the burger place and talked and laughed some more over burgers, fries and chocolate pie. The boys entertained themselves on the freshly mopped slippery floor. They glided gracefully into each other just as these two people glided easily into our lives.

As we drove home 4 hours later, my son said, "I miss Charlie." Me, too.

Food for thought

I skipped lunch today.

I had to do a little creative scheduling to be able to pick up my son from school and still cover a storytime in the evening.

Luckily, he got "sick" and had to be picked up from school and I had to stay home with him. Parents are allowed to take sick leave to attend to their children. I also have a colleague who was willing to pinch-hit for storytime and so I was freed.

Once at school, I noticed a "Daily Wellness Log" and saw all of my son's classmates listed and a check mark next to days and times they are checked for temperature, etc. This seems like a good idea. Keeps the teachers aware and gives the parents a heads-up immediately.

On the way home, I asked him how the teachers check the temperatures. Do they put a thermometer in your mouth? Do they use the one that goes in your ear? Do they put that sticky thermo-tape on your forehead?

My son told me that his teacher places her hand on his forehead to "check if it is cool." The thought of someone taking the time and effort to perform this intimate act for my child daily was almost overwhelming. For a working parent, the word "caretaker" means so much. I realized fully what I had thought for some time: we have him in a good place with good people watching over him.

Because they do their job so well, I am free to do mine.

Last meal

Went to lunch with a colleague, Maureen, today. She was on the original hiring team that brought me to this job and over the years has become a good friend. I have grown to admire for her outspoken ways and straight shooting mentality. Her opinions have been known to get her into trouble. They also usually instigate change.

We went to an Italian restuarant in Lehigh Acres (of all places) and sat in a booth near the window. She knew the menu by heart and suggested several dishes that were great. I toyed with the idea of the lasagna but in the end I choose the Cajun Scallops with angel hair pasta.

While we waited for our food, our conversation was easy and honest and full of laughs. We discussed ourselves, our colleagues, our thoughts, our futures. It will probably be the last time I see her since I leave in a few weeks.

Soon I had a big pasta bowl full of aldente noodles and fat scallops in a cream sauce in front of me. It packed quite a kick.

It was alot like Maureen - saucey, spicy and almost too much. I loved it.

Have it your way

It was off to BK today. No, I didn't get the fish.

When I got out of the car the smell of grilled hamburger made my mouth water. I tried the Angus burger and was in for a treat. It is a big burger with bar-b-q sauce and onions along with the usual lettuce and tomato. I added cheese.

It was quite tasty.

The best part of lunch, however, was the service behind the counter. I did not order a value meal - I thought that with my rapidly approaching 40 body, not having fries was one very small thing that I could do for my well-being. Imagine my confusion when the set-up clerk asked if I wanted ketchup for my fries. "I didn't order fries." was my hesitant reply thinking that perhaps she had read my mind and was suggesting "but you really want fries, don't you? Have the fries!". She took a second look at her order screen and then looked to the order clerk. They both burst out laughing because the latter had pressed the value meal button by accident. I got the impression that she was having that kind of day. I had already paid for the thing so laughing I said, "sure, I'd like ketchup."

While mistakes are not particularly fun, this one certainly wasn't a big deal. What made it memorable was the genuine camaraderie of the employees and the good natured ribbing that went into the exchange. I was happy to join in their laughter.

The fries were perfect, golden, uniform in size and (as it often is with things) something I didn't even know I wanted until I had it.

Bigger building

I am changing careers. Same field, new direction.

I am leaving a job that is headed for changes in its own right and I am only slightly of two minds about that. It was an attractive offer: new building, promotion, team of my choosing. I used to be excited about the changes but have seen some of them already and am over that now.

Except for one thing. The new building. I will be leaving before the move. I will not see the new building finished.

But I knew I could do something about that, too. I called the Project Manager and explained my situation. He invited me over for a tour.

I took my lunch hour and drove to the site. The ceiling tiles are half in, most of the light fixtures are in and working. The windows are in and the walls are up but the drywall and paint and floor coverings have yet to be finished. For some reason this 40,000 square foot buidling looks smaller than I imagined.

I had been living and working in this building for the past two years in my head. I had furnished it with desks and books and kids running. It had puppet shows and computers and program displays. It had friendly staff and happy patrons and brand new books. It was beautiful. It was bigger.

I drove away from the site tour feeling less sad than I thought. I drove away from this "big" building and on to bigger buildings of my own.

From Russia with love

As a mother, I find myself doing things I never would have considered before.

One more day at the beach and my son is making friends with the boys on the next blanket. They become totally occupied and so their mom and I begin to chat. She and her husband have just moved here, have purchased what will be their "retirement house" and have these 3 kids under 7. They are all, she tells me, adopted from Russia.

The morning has passed and still the boys are busy busy but the 2 year old needs a nap. We call the boys in and start brushing off the sand. Her oldest asks if we can come to their house for lunch - without hesitation she asks us over. My response takes about 2 seconds longer and surprises me: sure.

So we pack up our treasures and head over to a neighborhood we never even drive through - much less visit. We round the corner, looking for their van and pull up in front of a mammoth house that sits on a corner lot of an intersecting canal, it has a circular driveway and impeccable landscaping - we are looking at 3/4 of a million dollars, easy.

How am I going to feel at ease in an environment so foreign to me? I must remember to take off my $1.98 SprawlMart flipflops before I walk on the plush carpet. Should I remind my offspring to chew with his mouth closed? What am I doing going to a complete strangers house for quesadillas and grape tomatoes? Why was I so quick to commit the next 2 hours of our day hopping in and out of their jeweltone pool and playing fetch with the dog?

My questions are answered when we get out of the truck and kids and dogs spill out of the front door with arms open wide for a little boy they met 3 hours ago but already love.

Apple of my eye

Spent the morning on the beach. My son and I dug in the sand, waded in the water and made a temporary friend out of the 3 year old next to us.

We pack a couple of sackfuls of stuff every time we go: a large bag with dry towels (at least 5 if just the 2 of us are going), a small bag in the large bag with clean dry clothes, a mexican market bag of sand toys (buckets, shovels, dump truck, the usual) and a cooler with water, juice, fruit snacks and an apple.

Yes, an apple.
We have discovered that the sweetest thing (literally) that we do together at the beach is eat an apple. We take turns. We discuss the size of our bites, where they have come from, we even sneak two bites in if we can't help ourselves. Neither of us minds. We eat the whole thing - except the seeds. We bury the seeds under the sand, mark it with an X and dream about an apple tree someday springing up on the beach. Then we would have one less thing to pack.

Pizza/no pizza

In general I love the Fridays and Saturdays I work. The people I work with on those days are lucid and rational and, I'll just say it - sane.

Usually we all chip in and order pizza from a "bistro" down the street that one of my best friends introduced me to (I wonder if she misses Pizza 2000 since she moved away?) The pies are excellent - just like my staff on these days - spicy, delicious and more than a bit cheezy. When the pizzas come into the building, the patrons are jealous but these tasty treats are just for us and we gather around the tiny kitchen table (in shifts) and eat and talk and feel like family.

We'll miss out on pizza today. Everyone seems to have an appointment or no cash or leftovers that must get eaten. But we will still have a good day, it's not the pizza that makes us family - it's the people.

fish wish

today, today, today is Thursday and I work late.

And so, like so many Thursdays before, I went thru the drive-thru at the nearest BK and ordered the "Fish Sandwich with sauce only and a medium orange soda". Is it bad that the guy working the window recognizes me by my voice and order? Is it troubling that I have my $3.91 ready before I even leave the house? I mean, truly, I'm not crazy, I like to mix it up now and then - I sometimes order a medium cherry icee.

And, come on, what's with the fish? It's not Friday, I'm not Catholic. Maybe subconsciously I figure I need the "brain food." Or given the state of my current worklife - there is nothing subconscious about it.

For example: Why would someone who has their 1040EZ all filled out and done need, NEED, NEED to have the AARP folks e-file it on the last day of tax help in the last 1/2 hour of their appointments? When this person does not have an appointment! These poor imminently helpful tax people have been showing up here since February and taking appointments for 4 hours a day and have to deal with the lucy-come-latelies in the final hours!

Why not just stick it in an envelope, stamp it and mail it off? I mean, the form is already filled in for goodness sakes!

whatever. He should have had fish for lunch.

Chunky

lunch box

Well, today it was Chunky vegetable soup and some goldfish crackers. How old am I anyway? Perhaps it is comfort food because I am working in an environment that is not too friendly. It used to be a group of people working together but is now several groups of people working around each other.

New people in, old people out. You take things (people) at face value until you get burned and then start to build walls. Some call them cubicles. I call them defense mechanisms. Chunky defense mechanisms.

They get the big con going on and you think it is all charm and fun and then whammo! He said, she said, you did, did not, what do you mean? shape up! arg

so did I bring the soup to drown my sorrows? maybe it was all I had in the cupboard.

This Lunch Box

Is it what I'm eating or what's eating me?

Bothering me today is a tiny piece of frayed dental floss that has caught underneath my crown. This tiny piece of plastic string feels as big as a sailor's knot.

I managed to get an appointment with my wonderful dentist this afternoon but of course this plays into my lunch plans. Do I eat the pork chop and broccoli I brought for lunch and risk catching even more crap in the nooks of my molars or do I forego a meal and have a rumbly tummy all thru the proceedure? Regardless, I do not have a toothbrush with me.

hmmmmmmmmm, I am hungry.