Sweet Dreams

OK, I will warn you before you read this. It's going to be weird.

I awoke from the strangest dream this morning. In my dream, I was very, very thirsty, parched you might say. I walked in the kitchen and opened a cabinet to get a glass and everything in there was crystal. It was a beautiful sight. I spotted Lauren's sippy cup from when she was a toddler, and it was beautiful, cut glass crystal as well. I picked it up, and breathed deeply, thinking it still smelled like apple juice. I filled it with water and tried to take a drink. I was so thirsty, but I couldn't get the water in my mouth. I tried over and over again, but still nothing. Then, I woke up.

I don't know why I am writing about this, except maybe I'm hoping someone will have an interpretation. I'd love to here from you if you do.

Glad To Be Home

We had a good time in Red River but I am so glad to be home. I don't think I want to go anywhere else for a while. I like staying at home more than most people. I think I'm like my Dad in that way.
Last night we went to another bar / steak house to hear two guys play and sing. I swear every business in Red River is also a bar. They do this really cool thing called torch light. After dark every evening, all the ski instructors come down the ski slope with a torch in each hand while fireworks go off. We stood out in the cold waiting for it to start and it was pretty impressive. However the sarcasm from all the drunks surrounding us sort of ruined it for me. Being the sober one among the drunks is hard. Is this how Jerry feels at our family reunions?
So anyway, the guys we heard last night were pretty good. This one guy, Mike, was an incredible guitar player and knew every song anyone threw at him. Two little boys walked up to him and asked if he knew any John Denver. He said, "What's your second choice?" Everyone laughed but he played a John Denver song for the kids. Later they came up to him again and asked him to play some Conway Twitty. He grimaced and asked them where they had heard such music but ,then played one for them anyway. I told him he had to redeem himself and play some Grateful Dead, so he played Friend of The Devil. He had a notebook 2 inches thick with lyrics of all the songs he knew.
On the way home today, we stopped in Santa Fe and I realized after all these years I still don't like Santa Fe. I don't think I'll ever go back voluntarily. It's just a tourist trap for the very wealthy. We stumbled into a row of store fronts belonging to a family from Afghanistan. They thought we were rich, stupid Americans. One wanted to give me a great deal on a 9,000.00 rug for only 3,900.00. He said it was handmade and hundreds of years old. That meant his great grandfather's grandfather couldn't unload that rug either.
Another one tried to sell me a shawl that was beautiful, but 900.00. He put it around my shoulders and said "You must have this" I started to say my husband would kill me, but stopped when I realized he might take the statement seriously and offer to help. "Achmed, bring me some stones. We have a wife to kill!"
I walked next door and bought a shawl for 18.00 and I think it came from World Market in Lubbock, Texas. But I like it.
I didn't buy anything from the Native Americans on the square either. They were all just a little too pricey.
Anyway we are home, and I am glad, even if I do have to go to work tomorrow.

Red River and Bluegrass

I am sitting in a coffee house called Robin's Nest, in Red River, New Mexico. It is beautiful here. There's lots of snow and mountains, just what we were looking for. This is one of those spur of the moment things you do when you're married to a retired man.
Yesterday we watched people ski. That's what we do. We go to the beach to watch people surf and the mountains to see them ski. If I were 20, no wait, 30 years younger I might try it myself.
Jon likes to ski, and always wanted me to learn, but for years I got out of it by having a baby to watch. Then when the kids were older we were too poor. We did, however fork out big bucks for them to go with church groups now and then. It's an expensive sport. We were never able to keep up with the Jones', until it came time to send our kids to college. Then we kicked the Jones' butt. Did I mention we had three kids in college at the same time?
Last night we went out to see some live music. We found this fun little place right by the ski slopes. They called it a bar and grill but, it was mostly a bar, as more alcohol was served than meals. There were a lot of children there, so I guess it was a "family" bar.
Anyway we got to hear this terrific little Bluegrass band called the Squash Blossom Boys. First let me get this out of the way. I am a huge Bluegrass fan. I know that makes me pretty uncool, but it's one of my very few guilty pleasures, along with pancakes for supper. And by the way, I have found the perfect wine for a pancake supper, so that and soft music and candlelight makes it socially acceptable.
Back to the Squash Blossom Boys. They were young, late 20' or early 30's. I am always impressed by young people who take an interest in any other kind of music besides the top 40 junk on the radio, or country. It's not that easy for them with peer pressure and wanting to get rich and all.
So you might be wondering what the big difference is between Country and Bluegrass. Mostly it's talent. I know a lot of great guitar players who can't keep up with Bluegrass pickers. Along with the guitar, which was great, these guys played a do bro, banjo, and stand up bass. I love a stand up bass. Fiddles and mandolins also. The other thing is lyrics. I can write you a Country song in about 10 minutes that would turn Toby Keith green with envy. Bluegrass music is about real life, from, I stabbed ole Joe and now I must hang, to, Jesus forgave me for stabbing ole Joe.Which makes me think, I highly recommend the new Patty Griffin CD, Downtown Church. I know she is more Folk than Bluegrass, but she does some great work on this one.
I think the Squash Blossom Boys will do well in spite of not playing a particularly popular style of music. They are just too talented. I have their information if anyone is looking to book a great band.

Peace In The State Of Mind

Today I was at work thinking about my latest diet and feeling sorry for myself for having to eat such tasteless food. I looked up and standing in front of me was a young man with a strange tube strapped to his face one end running up his nose. He said, and I'm sorry but I had to ask, that it was his feeding tube. He had been wounded in Iraq and no longer had a stomach and much of his intestine. He had a slight limp as he had lost most of his calf muscle in one leg. We talked for awhile and he said the hardest part was the way people looked at him. I said to me it would be not being able to taste food. He said yes, that was pretty bad too. He had spent many months hospitalized in Germany, before he was flown home to San Antonio for a year long stay at the army hospital there. Now his life is spent at different Veteran's hospitals trying to find someone who can help him. I thanked him for his service and told him I would pray for him.
I felt silly thanking him, but I meant it and wanted him to know.
I'm not a peace 'nic or anything, but I do hate war. I hate seeing strong, disciplined, young people going off to war and coming home in pieces. I know they are the reason we live so freely, but I still hate it.
If you think about it, say a prayer for my new friend, Albert, before you doze off tonight. I know he would appreciate it.

A Christmas Story

I watched the Jim Carey version of A Christmas Carol the other night. It's a lot scarier than the one with Mr. Magoo. Of course Mr. Magoo was the first one I ever saw and, at 6 years old, it scared me silly.

I remember I was in Arlington, Virginia with my mom, and my sister was having heart surgery at Walter Reed army hospital. My niece, Jeanna and I were left with a Nazi baby sitter that night. Oh yeah, she was all sticky sweet, pony tail, Bobbie sock girl, while my mom and Si (my sister's husband) were there. But as soon as they left for the hospital she started treating us like, well like children. This was something I was not used to. The baby of a large family is always treated as an equal. Better, but equal. I didn't take naps and I was certainly never on a schedule. I was a princess and Jeanna was royalty, being my niece and all, and this sitter was just plain wicked.

After watching the terrifying, yet animated tale, we were promptly sent to bed. We didn't get to discuss our fears or how the story affected us. No prayers or drinks of water, nothing. Just go to bed. But worse yet, she made me sleep in Jeanna's baby bed. I was 6 years old. I couldn't even stretch out my legs. I lay there while Jeanna cried and looked at the bars all around me. It was like prison. Then suddenly I smelled something. I thought, it couldn't be, but it was. The wicked Nazi baby sitter was having POPCORN!

Finally, Mom and Si were home. The sitter talked about what good children we were as she fell all over herself flirting with Si. I hope she had popcorn stuck in her teeth. Mom rolled her eyes at the girl and under her breath said "good Lord" when she saw me in that baby bed.

Later that night Jeanna and I would sleep snug against my mom in her tiny bed, and all was right with the world.

Today I watched Prancer for the first time. It's one of those movies I always intended to watch, but just never found the time. It made me cry. It had all the things that make a great Christmas movie. A small snow covered town, reindeer, a sweet, misunderstood little girl, Sam Elliott...Oh I love Sam Elliott.

I don't know why there aren't any good Christmas movies on television. There are a few newer ones. They're usually an adaptation of some classic, It's A Wonderful Life or Dickens's Christmas Carol, and they all star Tom Arnold or Tori Spelling. And, they are all really bad.

We had open house last week at the bank. Little kids from all over town came to serenade us with Christmas carols like, The First Noel. The words had been changed to The First Snowfall, which has nothing to do with Christmas or Jesus but, was less offensive than the other big number, Joy To The World, My Shopping's Done. Even sadder, I think most of the children don't know the difference. Their parents are too lazy and apathetic to take them to church, so they wouldn't know who Jesus is anyway.

I can't imagine my own childhood without God. I saw him in everything. I prayed whenever I was fearful or anxious, which was a lot for some reason. I can't see how a child survives the day without him. There is so much violence and hatred in this world. Television and video games look so real, who do these kids cry out to when they are afraid?

Tis' the season. The cold and allergy season, that is. And it's one of those especially dry seasons here in West Texas. I feel miserable, congestion, coughing, sneezing, itchy watery eyes. I feel so sorry for myself and then I get to work and find everyone feels as bad or worse. My department sounds like a TB ward.

Yes, it's that time of year when we all walk around in a drug induced stupor. Not the kind of drugs we experimented with in high school. No these are much more expensive, harder to obtain, over the counter cold medications. I am forced to stand in line at the pharmacy and ask for my nonprescription Zyrtec D, show my ID and wait while they check some data base to see when I last purchased it. All this, to make sure I am not cooking meth. I think to myself, I don't even want to cook supper.

I can kind of understand. I must look like an addict, red eyes, chapped lips, reeking of Carmex. And maybe I shouldn't have yelled at the clerk for being out of my favorite nose spray. And maybe I am addicted to Carmex and nose spray. So, send me to rehab....maybe on some beach somewhere....