new year mash-up. part 3.

May 2011
On Wednesday, May 11, 2011, I became an aunt to Eleanor Nadine Dusch.

Now having the title of "aunt" is pretty old news to me. I come from a rather unique family situation.
Here is the rundown-- dad marries once= 2 kids; divorce; dad marries again= 1 kid (me); divorce; mom marries again= 2 kids.  So I have two much older half-sibs and two much younger half-sibs... and then there is me in the middle all by my (okay, not so) lonesome. And there you have it: I am my dad's sweet baby and my mom's impressive (::wink::) first-born.

That being said, I think I became an "aunt" at age 5 or somewhere around there. I have memories of playing with my oldest niece more as a friend than anything else-- and it was always a little trippy when she would call me "Aunt Brittany." After that, along came 2 more nieces and a nephew-- the youngest of which is now in high school. Due to long distances and this age gap, I feel I've never actually made that aunt-niece/nephew connection with any of them, and I suppose that probably makes me the world's lamest aunt.

And then along came Miss Eleanor, showing up at my aunt-ripe age of 26.  Perfect timing. I intend to do it right and do it well this time around, now that I am a fully developed and cogent adult (or so I hope). It doesn't hurt that this little baby girl makes it easy as pie-- what with her sunny disposition and beautiful, round face-- to be the doting aunt that I've always dreamed of being. I aim to spoil her rotten sweet with gifts and hugs and cheek-to-cheek, heart-to-heart LOVE.

Blue eyes that sparkle with wonder. Rosy cheeks parenthesizing her sunbeam of a smile. Pouty-without-the-actual-pout lips. A shimmer of wispy golden hair. Softest of little pudge hands. Dainty toes that curl over my finger when I poke the balls of her teeny feet. And THAT smell-- that wonderfully babyish smell that can only be fittingly described as "you know, how babies smell" (I know, it doesn't do the smell justice, but how can you concoct and compare other smells to try to derive that singularly amazing smell?? What exactly is in that smell other than pure, wonderful BABY?). Needless to say, I love this girl from the top of her head to the tips of her little piggies. Smiles and happiness are sure to follow when I am around her (would it be bad to say she is kind of a drug?). She makes my uterus ache, that's for dang sure.

Not only do I get to be this wee one's aunt, but her parents also blessed me by allowing me to be her Godmother. Whoa. I am so incredibly honored to be a part of Ellie's spiritual growth. Looking back, it is so crazy and amazing (cramazing?) that I walked away from the Catholic church for 8 years, thinking I would never ever go back, only to find myself (360 degrees later) miraculously back where God had put me from the start (I should have known He had done that for a reason). AND in less than 3 years after coming back to full communion with the Church, I have gotten married and witnessed my niece/Goddaughter's baptism into this same wonderful religion. I promise to make sure my niece, as she grows, will always be given all the answers to her questions and the guidance that I never received growing up. She will know what it means to be Catholic, and I pray she will grow to adore the Church for the precious, multifaceted jewel that it is.

Love you, little Ellie.

This is such a Santa Claus is Coming to Town (claymation movie) face!

Baby blues.

Pure sweetness.

Presently...


I am in bed and Bonnie is curled into the side of my leg. Such a warm little pup.
Monday is our two year wedding anniversary. My how time flies when you're having fun. My mom bought us some dish towels (apparently the gift for two years is cotton). Love that lady.
Now 9-month old Eleanor is sicky (or so I hear) for the first time ever. Poor love. Hey, 9 months is a pretty good run if you ask me. Mad props to her mommy.
My house is so messy I could scream. But instead I will just do anything but actually clean it.
The Academy Awards presentation is Sunday, and for the first time in my history, I am not particularly excited for it. Well, maybe just for Billy Crystal. Bring it, Billy. Bring it.

new year mash-up. part 2.

To recall...

March 2011
We had always discussed getting a dog... trying to plan out the "when" and the "what kind" to the last detail.  The one thing that was non-negotiable was the fact that, if we DID get a dog, we would do so in the summer time, so that I could stay home and train it properly.

Well now... the heart wants what the heart wants, doesn't it? I had this nasty habit of perusing the Inland Valley Humane Society's website... with all the pictures of the sweet, homeless pups looking back at me. Masochistic in a way? Perhaps. Setting myself up for trouble? Well, I guess so. But I had been in this habit for months, never once being in danger of actually adopting a dog. Sure it was sad to see all those sweet little faces asking me for a home, but I knew our plan... plus I didn't really feel a "pull" to any particular dog... and I just knew there HAD to be some kind of "pull," right?  And I knew I definitely wasn't going to be pulled toward a chihuahua or a pitbull. I considered myself safe.

Until I saw her. A sweet little round fluff of a dog. A puppy's puppy. More a teddy bear than a puppy. This was her. She was mine and I was hers. I envisioned her toddling and tumbling around our small condo. Only a few weeks old (much younger than I had planned on), but no big deal. I checked her adoption date... it was the next day. I worked. Shoot. Wellllll... scribbled down her ID number and kennel... I would call after work... just to see... and if she was still there...well, it would just be plain fated to be.  3 o'clock arrived. She was still there! I flew down to the shelter where she awaited me. When she saw me, the whole world paused as she bounded into my arms and licked my face with her tiny pink tongue.  Okay, okay. In a perfect world, right? So 3 o'clock arrived. I called. She had been adopted earlier that day. Heartbreak. Probably a good thing though... seeing as how I had yet to even discuss with my husband the idea of suddenly getting a dog in March rather than the agreed upon June.

Told the Mr. about our close call with dog ownership. You did what? Reeelllaaaxxxx... see?... no dog... no worries............. but while we are on the subject.... what do you think about getting a dog now?  HAha. But I had the bug... the itch... the "disease" of (literal) puppy love.  The Where the Red Fern Grows Ch. 2 kind of disease. Yeah, that bad. And so it goes.... I pushed... he resisted... I pushed... he resis-- I pushed... and pushed... he?... I pushed. I can rationalize my way into or out of almost any situation. It is a flawed gift. A paradox. In this case, I rationalized us both right into owning a dog 3 months premature of that plan (what plan?) we once had.

To the pound! There were a few cute ones on the website (no "pull" though... but I didn't let that stop me! Nothing could stop me!)... so we decided to see what would come of it. We walked along the kennels... hearts breaking at every little face that looked our way. We made it to the very end of one long row of kennels and stopped to have a looksie. All the little terrier mix girl doggies went a little nutty at the sight of us... several barked to assert themselves... all eventually chilled out and scattered, paying us no attention... but only ONE quietly walked through the mass of wriggling pups, never losing eye contact with us, straight up to the chain-link fence, and put her little bearded snout through the gate that separated us, like she was just waiting patiently for us to get her the h____ out of there and take her home already. It was over. Even noble and wise Sir Steven couldn't ignore that illusive "pull."

We checked on her status... two weeks until she would be up for adoption. Mannnn. Oh well, we were a couple in love with a dog... so we did what we had to do and waited.. and hoped and prayed no one else would be there to claim or adopt her that day. We planned names (the pound had named her Zoe.. no thanks, not for me)... and decided upon the most perfect name for an 11-months old, blond-haired, floppy-eared, bearded terrier-- Bonnie Brae.  And she has been ours ever since.

Some things we have come to discover about our little Bonnie (or Bon-Bon as we have lovingly come to call her):
-Sometimes I think she is more human than dog.
-She has the best beard (for a girl).
-She has the softest ears. I want to eat them.
-She sheds like nobody's business. Seriously. We are talking covers-the-floor, covers-your-clothes, appears-in-your-food kind of shedding. All. the. time. I do not know how this little dog is not bald. Steven always says, "If I had known about this, we would not have this dog." Sure, sure.
-She is absolutely retarded when it comes to socializing with other dogs. Think high pitched screaming that sounds like she's being murdered every time she meets an untrustworthy dog (99.9% of the dog population in Bonnie's eyes). Yeah, she has issues. But we love her just the same.
-She has a serious case of "fishy butt" (anal gland problems). Luckily it only happens about once a month. But, again, we love her just the same.
-She dismantles and obliterates stuffed toys faster than you can buy them.
-We are pretty sure she has a bad case of separation anxiety.
-Bless her heart, she has the most durable bladder I have ever known a dog to have.
-She loves stealing Steven's socks.. and CDs when the opportunity presents itself.
-She used to have THEE worst eating habits. Up until a couple months ago, I didn't think I would survive her fickle eating.
-She used to be (and hopefully still is?) the best crate-trained little dog. Went (goes?) right in every night for bed and every day for work. It took us a while to get to that point, but I'm still proud.
-She uses reverse psychology techniques (in ways I will explain later).
-She is a lover. But she can be a hater (when it comes to other dogs).
-Her nose used to be black, but turned brownish-pinkish in August/September...? I miss that little black sniffer.
-Her first real doggie friend was a rottweiler, also named Bonnie, from puppy training class. Go figure (on both those facts).
-Her genetic composition perplexes me. I so very badly want to do a DNA test on her.
-I could kiss her all day long (except on fishy butt days).



And presently...
I am approaching a 3 day weekend. Been looking forward to this since Christmas break ended.
One of my students cheated on a test today. So sick sick sick of the cheeeeatinnnng.
My mother is taking me to see the musical, Wicked, tomorrow night. Hope it's a good one.
Going 2 weeks strong with NO TV. Not voluntarily. Not fun. Not love (=hate).
Going 2 months strong weak with no grocery store trips. We are dying here. In a literal sense, I'm pretty sure. Time to go order a pizza.... :-(
But to end on a brighter note... I've got my Bonnie bundle by side :-)

sweetness.

new year mash-up. part 1.

To begin...
I want to start with part of a post I made in August 2010:

2012... please hurry up.  Scratch that.  I don't want to be two years older and who-knows-where just yet.  How about this: science... please hurry up and invent a time machine so I can go ahead to 2012, buy the book, then bring it back to 2010 and read it.  There. Much better. 

So hey-- it's 2012. Whaddayaknow. Just looking at my blog, one might actually wonder if I did indeed end up getting my hands on a time machine. Although use of a time machine would have been rather nice for some parts of 2011... and would have been a nice excuse for the lapse of time between posts... alas, this was not the case. Poor 2011. It didn't even get one measly post.

So I've decided to pick out some of the highlights of 2011 to "catch-up on 2011" over the next few days. Addressing my fears of being "who-knows-where" in 2012... well, my work situation is exactly the same... and my living situation is completely different. All to be elaborated upon at a later date(s).  I'm gonna go with good old-fashioned chronological order on this task.

To recall...
January 2011
I turned 26. Two days later, Steven turned 24. Big whoop, right? Although, I'm a little jealous that he will pretty much always be one stage behind me within each age bracket.  While I am currently entering my "late-twenties," he is barely scratching the surface of his "mid-twenties." I surmise this "little" jealousy will only grow more pronounced in my 30s, 40s, 50s... and after 60 hits (God-willing I make it that far), well, I think it's probable that I will finally just stop caring.  Let's pause and have a moment of silence for 26. Just as it is finally getting the recognition due to it, 27 follows closely at its heels, preparing to take its place. Sneaky 27.

February 2011
I guess it's best to get the most painful month of 2011 over with... just rip it off like a band-aide,  hiss at the sting, then be grateful that the wound is healing pretty nicely, albeit slowly.

On February 14, good old Valentine's Day, I had pulled off the works when it comes to a home-cooked meal.  My first attempt at cooking steak was a tremendous success... and said steak was accompanied by roasted potatoes and asparagus. And the dessert... the dessert. Sweets are always what I consider to be my specialty, if I can even rightfully claim any kind of "specialty" within the culinary realm. I had managed to make these perfectly crisp pastry cups dusted with cinnamon and sugar... filled with banana ice cream.. and topped with chocolate shavings and chocolate drizzle. It was almost too pretty to eat. Almost. A pretty swell spread, if I do say so myself... candles, flowers, a pleasantly surprised and proud-of-his-wife husband walking through the door after a hard day's work... and I don't think I shall ever pull of such a V-Day dinner again. Not to sound dramatic, but I think Valentine's Day will henceforth be tinged with sadness for me. Luckily, this falls under one of those commercial holidays that Steven won't terribly miss celebrating to its fullest capacity (actually, I suppose we never really do go "all out" on V-Day).  After the 2011 dinner, the remainder of the night was a blur that fell under the shadow of a tearful phone call from my mother, who explained that my Aunt Cathy, my mom's only sister and best friend, had been struck and instantly killed by a car while walking along a road near her home. I will leave out all the sad (and, well, to put it bluntly, more private) details and events of the days that followed.  It was a devastating shock and a terrible loss to our family. Even today, it is so unreal to me. It's one of those events that you hear about the news.. always happening to someone else... but there's no way it could possibly ever happen to you or someone you love. Until it does. And it did. And it is just so... sad.

My Aunt Cathy passed away, but in her wake she blessed the the world with two amazing young men, her sons, and I am so proud to even be related to people of such high caliber.  She and her husband raised them well.  They are strong. They are kind. They will love her forever and tell their children stories about her. She will not easily be forgotten.

Below are two pictures that I find to be so very beautiful. The first is a group photo that I randomly came across but completely love. It's so happy... and in such a tragic circumstance, it's nice to see the happy that was there and still is there, only a little different now. The second is a picture of the memorial cross my uncle and their boys made together. It's still there. Sitting quietly, but beautifully, beside that narrow stretch of lazy country road... stirring memories of a shy, quiet woman who loved infinitely.

To conclude...
Fast forward to today... Thursday evening, the first Thursday of 2012. Today I taught some of my kids about Chapter 9 of The Great Gatsby.  One of them blurted out, "This is the saddest chapter." I agreed. Nick comes to the realization that he is the only one interested in finding Gatsby a peaceful rest... and Gatsby's father mourns the loss of the son he obviously did not know at all.  Among other things.

I taught some of my kids about a forgotten door and forgetting yourself, literally and figuratively.  One student begged me to re-read Ch. 1 because the substitute read too fast yesterday.  "Sorry," I said, "welcome to the end of the semester" (in other words, no time).  He got over it.

Some of my kids told me about their fears. Reluctantly at first, until I told them some of mine. I told them how I will not step one foot into a body of water of which I cannot see the bottom.  Lakes? Rivers? Oceans? All of the above. I told them I rudely shove my husband (or any other unfortunate soul who happens to be accompanying me at the moment) between myself and a bee or wasp that comes within a 10-foot radius of me.  And, finally, they told me they feared spiders, spiders, and more spiders. But also heights. And drowning. And at least 4 of them honestly admitted that their biggest fear was their mothers. Apparently Chinese mothers can be pretty terrifying? Interesting.

I sigh in relief as I remember oceans separate me from these women.
Parent-teacher conferences stand protected. For now.



P.S. Just minutes ago, my husband was laying on the carpet, quoting dialogue from Return of the Jedi, waiting patiently for me to finish this blog. This one-person conversation quickly petered out to silence, and has officially been replaced by snores. Poor, cute, tired husband. 

it's been how long? ::slaps forehead::

Too long.  That's how long.
No more using "there's nothing interesting to write about" as an excuse.
New Year's resolution... we're getting this baby back on track... if it ever was really "on track" in the first place?
I think I need to write.  My grandmother always tells me I need to.  Just write.  Even if no one ever reads it.  Especially if no one ever reads it.  It's time I listened to that smart lady.

Okay, okay... so not to make self-defeating excuses (already), but it IS my bedtime.  So rather than play catch-up in one glorious, multi-hour spew of information, I am going to break it up into manageable chunks (as teacher does for students, so teacher does for herself).  For tonight, I changed my header to match my domain name (seemed logical) and updated my "Reads" a bit. I shall return at a more reasonable hour.

Let's do this.
More later.  Promise.

spacial delivery!

Steven and I are watching an episode of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon from last week.  So Jimmy does this thing where he shows books you should NOT read.  This was one of the books (and it truly is a real, legit book!)... we couldn't stop laughing...

I looked it up on Amazon... the summary is pretty intriguing:


"HUMANS OR HEMNOIDS:
AN UNBEARABLE CHOICE!
Planet Dilbia is in a crucial location for both humans and their adversaries, the Hemnoids. Therefore making friends with the Dilbians and establishing a human presence there is of the utmost importance, which may be a problem, since the bearlike Dilbians stand some nine feet tall, and have a high regard for physical prowess. They're not impressed by human technology, either. A real man, er, bear doesn't need machines to do his work for him.
But Dilbians are impressed by sharp thinking, and some have expressed a grudging admiration for the logical (and usually sneaky) mental maneuvers that the human 'shorties' have used to get themselves out of desperate jams. Just maybe that old human craftiness will win over the Dilbians to the human side. If not, we lose a nexus, and the Dilbians will learn just how unbearable Hemnoids can be...."


Also, this was in one of the customer reviews... which I love: 


"Fans of Dickson should be advised this book is an omnibus edition of three previously released works, 
'Spacial Delivery,' 'Spacepaw,' and 'The Law-Twister Shorty.'"


HA! :-)  This is for real folks... fo realz.  


So.... the question of the day.... what do bears do in the woods?

tinkering in santa monica...

So today is August the 20th, in the year of 2010.  Five years ago today, my husband asked me to be his girlfriend.  Well, that language usage sounds kind of weird... of course, he was not by husband at the time... nowhere near it.  The point is... we've been "together" (not married... still a few more days til the 6 month marker on that one... crazy) for 5 years.  Jeepers... 5 years... that is a whole hand... five fingers... a whole lot of time that has just flown by.  Anyway-- even though we agreed to not really "celebrate" the dating anniversary anymore (the marriage anniversary takes precedence now :-) ).... a whole hand is a big deal to me.  So I decided to come down to Santa Monica and visit my husband for lunch at his work (Fandango.com).  I actually drove to work with him this morning (trying to just worry about taking one car), then walked down the street to the local CBTL, had an iced tea latte, and read (one of) my current reads, Tinkers.  The author writes so beautifully... very poetic (in my opinion, anyway).  The perspective shifts back and forth between George (an old man who is dying) and his father, Howard, who suffered from grand mal seizures throughout George's childhood.  Here is an excerpt from a part from Howard's perspective as he has to go off to work each day (he's the local "tinker," doing odd-jobs for the village and selling random things when he can) and worry about whether or not he will have a seizure:

"Your cold mornings are filled with the heartache about the fact that although we are not at ease in this world, it is all we have, that it is ours but that it is full of strife, so that all we can call our own is strife; but even that is better than nothing at all, isn't it?  And as you split frost-laced wood with numb hands, rejoice that your uncertainty is God's will and His grace toward you and that that is beautiful, and part of a greater certainty... And as the ax bites into the wood, be comforted in the fact that the ache in your heart and the confusion in your soul means that you are still alive, still human, and still open to the beauty of the world, even though you have done nothing to deserve it.  And when you resent the ache in your heart, remember: You will be dead and buried soon enough.  .............. [skip paragraph]

Such vanity!  What gall to elect for yourself such attention, good or bad.  Project yourself above yourself.  Look at the top of your dusty hat: cheap felt, wilted and patched with scraps from the last wilted and patched felt hat.  What a crown!  What a king you are to deserve such displeasure, how important that God stop whatever it is He is tending and pitch bolts at your head.  Rise higher, above the trees.  Your crown is already hard to see amid the dust of the road and dirt of the ditch.  But you are still remarkable.  Rise higher, perhaps to the height where the blackbirds flap.  Where have you gone?  Oh, there you are, I think.  That is you, isn't it, that wisp inching along?  Well, rise higher, then, to the belly of the clouds.  Where have you gone?  Now higher, to where, if you are not careful, you might stub your toe on the mountains of the moon.  Where are you?  Never mind you; where is your home, your county, your state, your nation?  Ah, there it is!  And higher now, so that your hair and the lashes of your eyes catch fire from the sparks of solar flares.  On which of those bright bodies do you rule your kingdom of dirt, your cart of soap?  Very well, that one.  I hope you are right---there is little need for a tinker on Mars.  Now higher again, past the eighth planet, named for the king of the sea.  And higher again, past the shadowy ninth, which for now only exists in the dreams of men back on-- Well!  Where have you gone?  Which among those millions of glittering facets is where you belong?  Where is it you toil and drum and fall to the ground and thrash in the weeds?"

So yeah, I read some of that (good stuff).  Then went and had lunch (yummy) with my dear.  Then drove off in search of the hotel I booked a room at.  Missed the hotel, got a little lost, turned myself back in the right direction, found the hotel, checked in, and here I am passing the time until I will go pick up Steven from work at 8 pm.  The plan (if he isn't too exhausted) is to walk down to the Santa Monica pier and see what there is to see.  I haven't been there since I was a baby... so I'm a little curious :-).  Tomorrow we will (try not to) shop (too much) at the promenade.  Then back home to spend my last Sunday relaxing before baaaack to worrrrrk.  ::sigh:: Vacation?  What vacation?



I decided to take pictures of our hotel room; it's a nice, cute lil room.   Not that anyone cares... but like I said, it passes the time.

This is where I am blogging from... so professional 

Comfy bed... cute chair & lamps... cute pillows too ;-)

oh good... there's the bathroom 

There are these old photographs of Santa Monica that are in frames on the wall.  I love old photographs.

Santa Monica Pier... old school

These are my kinda beach people ;-)... is it really so weird to be fully clothed at the beach??

whoaaaAHHH

“It happened fast. 

Thirty-two minutes for one world to die,

another to be born.” - The Passage

So this is the novel I just finished.  I'm no book critic... but this book was just sooo.... hmmm... cool.  Thrilling.  Depressing.  Mesmerizing.  Long. Very long.  It probably could have done without a couple hundred pages or so of "not-really-all-that-necessary" stuff... but hey.. it was still good.   If you're not into reading books just shy of 800 pages... then you'll probably avoid this one.  Also, if you are easily scared by things that go bump (or bite!) in the dark... then this may not be for you either.  But anyway... I'm not a critic.  The funny thing that I wanted to blog about was how the end of this book was (for me).  So it ends... and it is mad crazy cliffhanger city... like 4 different completely unresolved situations... not-a-clue as to what has happened or will happen to some of my favorite characters.  I was under the impression that this was a solo book.. self-contained... destined to just chill by itself on the shelf.  So I pretty much freaked out and got (maybe a little too) upset when I finished the last page.  I probably worried Steven (just a smidge... maybe... well maybe not... he knows how I am with "my books").   So I immediately went to the internet to do some research and hopefully find some consolation.  Success!  There will NOT be just one book... but three!  I can now rest easily.  But alas... I then discovered that the next book (to be titled The Twelve) is tentatively scheduled to be released sometime in 2012.  2012!!  Maaaaaan.  Lame lame lame.  Come ON Justin Cronin... give me a break.  I'm going to forget everything before then!  ::sigh::  Well, on the brighter side of this dark tale, I did discover that Ridley Scott (Gladiator) purchased the rights to make all 3 books into movies.  If everyone plays their cards right here, they should turn out to be delightfully (not to mention terrifyingly) promising films.   I'm just going to have to distract myself with other books in the mean time.


Oh, and how did I find this big lil nugget of reading pleasure?  Barnes and Noble and its mysterious ways has decided that I like science-fiction and has continuously sent me emails throughout the summer with "suggestions" for reading material.  I can't resist.  


Curious about The Passage?  Here is a short (really short... soo much missing!) summary from the author's website:

"First, the unthinkable: a security breach at a secret U.S. government facility unleashes the monstrous product of a chilling military experiment. Then, the unspeakable: a night of chaos and carnage gives way to sunrise on a nation, and ultimately a world, forever altered. All that remains for the stunned survivors is the long fight ahead and a future ruled by fear—of darkness, of death, of a fate far worse.
As civilization swiftly crumbles into a primal landscape of predators and prey, two people flee in search of sanctuary. FBI agent Brad Wolgast is a good man haunted by what he’s done in the line of duty. Six-year-old orphan Amy Harper Bellafonte is a refugee from the doomed scientific project that has triggered apocalypse. He is determined to protect her from the horror set loose by her captors. But for Amy, escaping the bloody fallout is only the beginning of a much longer odyssey—spanning miles and decades—towards the time and place where she must finish what should never have begun."


In my "research," I came across a random book review and really liked this description of the novel:  


"Imagine Michael Crichton crossbreeding Stephen King's The Stand and Salem's Lot in that lab at Jurassic Park, with rich infusions of Robert McCammon's Swan Song, Battlestar Galactica and even Cormac McCarthy's The Road."


2012... please hurry up.  Scratch that.  I don't want to be two years older and who-knows-where just yet.  How about this: science... please hurry up and invent a time machine so I can go ahead to 2012, buy the book, then bring it back to 2010 and read it.  There. Much better.