Things I Miss

Finding buried treasure....

The Hatteras Lighthouse at the edge of the ocean.

An amazing group of music makers.

Adventures in England.

Goth Rock Bands

Teeny TinyTuna.

Things I Miss

Finding buried treasure....

The Hatteras Lighthouse at the edge of the ocean.

An amazing group of music makers.

Adventures in England.

Goth Rock Bands

Teeny TinyTuna.

Why? Because We Love You!

This past Sunday, TeenTuna, along with another high-school aged friend, was asked to give a brief speech at church. Now, this wasn't a "testify, praise Jesus and do some Blues-Brothers back flips down the center aisle" kind of speech, though that would have been COOL in a very alternate-universe kind of way.






I repeat: It wasn't like this.

The assigned topic of the speech was "What does this church mean to you?"  This might sound oh-so idyllic in a very "what I did over summer vacation" kind of way, but if you stop and think about it, they were asked to answer the shortest and perhaps hardest question of all:  Why?

Why them?  Why now?  Why this place?  Don't just Testify...Justify!  And just to make it interesting, please keep the combined remarks under five minutes.  ReadySetGO.

Now, I can only speak for my child when I tell you she wasn't doing back flips when she was asked to do this.  "I don't like speaking in public!" wailed the Drama Queen.  "It's OK.  Do it anyway," I answered.  "I don't know what to say!" she countered.  "You'll figure it out," I said.  "Think about all the things you've done, and the people you know.  Talk about the things that are important to you.  There aren't right or wrong answers.  They asked to hear your thoughts...whatever those might be."

I lucked out big time on this assignment because for once I didn't have to remind her twenty seven million times to do it.  You see, there were several (yes, plural) terribly important social events the night before the speech, and with TeenTuna's ENTIRE DRAMA-FILLED FIFTEEN YEARS hanging in the balance, it was more than carrot enough.  Halloween was credited with the parental assist, and it was much appreciated.

The speeches that Sunday were forthright and honest.  Each truly represented the speaker, and they were in turn funny, moving, and thought-provoking.  And no, no, emphatically no...the parents did NOT write their speeches.  I can easily speak for both mothers when I say these kids were on. their. own.  My only request was a single read-through before Sunday, to make sure she wasn't declaring Beelzebub or SpongeBob Squarepants to be her Lord and Savior.  Even I have my limits.

Although at the time I downplayed the difficulty of this task, I am quite in awe of these kids for having the courage to answer "why" out loud. A teenager's personal belief system is less like Martin Luther's Ninety Five Theses nailed to the church door and more like Silly Putty smooshed against the Sunday comics.  Their beliefs are shaped, changed, skewed, forgotten and then abandoned, only (hopefully) to be found and reworked once again.  Like Silly Putty, if you examine these beliefs closely, it can be extremely difficult to get a clear picture.  You know something is there, but it's a little hard to tell what exactly it is.  Or was.  Or might become.

But they were asked, and, willing or not, they stepped up to the plate.  Standing in the pulpit amidst a menagerie of stuffed horses and sheep and cows that were serving as a visual reminder of the ongoing church sponsored Heifer project, these kids laid it on the line.  They answered 'why' without pretense or apology.  If asked, I would imagine that neither one of them would think of themselves as particularly inspiring or brave.  But if you ask me, to stand up and speak your own beliefs is one of the bravest things each of us can do.

I'm so proud of both of them for finding their own answers to the big "why" questions.  And I'm especially grateful for the people inside the four walls with the pretty windows who not only allowed them, but encouraged them to stand up and speak their own beliefs, and loved them all the more.

Why? Because We Love You!

This past Sunday, TeenTuna, along with another high-school aged friend, was asked to give a brief speech at church. Now, this wasn't a "testify, praise Jesus and do some Blues-Brothers back flips down the center aisle" kind of speech, though that would have been COOL in a very alternate-universe kind of way.






I repeat: It wasn't like this.

The assigned topic of the speech was "What does this church mean to you?"  This might sound oh-so idyllic in a very "what I did over summer vacation" kind of way, but if you stop and think about it, they were asked to answer the shortest and perhaps hardest question of all:  Why?

Why them?  Why now?  Why this place?  Don't just Testify...Justify!  And just to make it interesting, please keep the combined remarks under five minutes.  ReadySetGO.

Now, I can only speak for my child when I tell you she wasn't doing back flips when she was asked to do this.  "I don't like speaking in public!" wailed the Drama Queen.  "It's OK.  Do it anyway," I answered.  "I don't know what to say!" she countered.  "You'll figure it out," I said.  "Think about all the things you've done, and the people you know.  Talk about the things that are important to you.  There aren't right or wrong answers.  They asked to hear your thoughts...whatever those might be."

I lucked out big time on this assignment because for once I didn't have to remind her twenty seven million times to do it.  You see, there were several (yes, plural) terribly important social events the night before the speech, and with TeenTuna's ENTIRE DRAMA-FILLED FIFTEEN YEARS hanging in the balance, it was more than carrot enough.  Halloween was credited with the parental assist, and it was much appreciated.

The speeches that Sunday were forthright and honest.  Each truly represented the speaker, and they were in turn funny, moving, and thought-provoking.  And no, no, emphatically no...the parents did NOT write their speeches.  I can easily speak for both mothers when I say these kids were on. their. own.  My only request was a single read-through before Sunday, to make sure she wasn't declaring Beelzebub or SpongeBob Squarepants to be her Lord and Savior.  Even I have my limits.

Although at the time I downplayed the difficulty of this task, I am quite in awe of these kids for having the courage to answer "why" out loud. A teenager's personal belief system is less like Martin Luther's Ninety Five Theses nailed to the church door and more like Silly Putty smooshed against the Sunday comics.  Their beliefs are shaped, changed, skewed, forgotten and then abandoned, only (hopefully) to be found and reworked once again.  Like Silly Putty, if you examine these beliefs closely, it can be extremely difficult to get a clear picture.  You know something is there, but it's a little hard to tell what exactly it is.  Or was.  Or might become.

But they were asked, and, willing or not, they stepped up to the plate.  Standing in the pulpit amidst a menagerie of stuffed horses and sheep and cows that were serving as a visual reminder of the ongoing church sponsored Heifer project, these kids laid it on the line.  They answered 'why' without pretense or apology.  If asked, I would imagine that neither one of them would think of themselves as particularly inspiring or brave.  But if you ask me, to stand up and speak your own beliefs is one of the bravest things each of us can do.

I'm so proud of both of them for finding their own answers to the big "why" questions.  And I'm especially grateful for the people inside the four walls with the pretty windows who not only allowed them, but encouraged them to stand up and speak their own beliefs, and loved them all the more.

Party Like It's 1939

Much of my past year can be divided into two distinct eras: BC (Before crash (or cows)) and AD (After death).

2009 was blissfully "BC" until the beginning of May, when Bessie, my old computer, suddenly and most inconveniently died.  If she had had the courtesy to check the status of my calendar and my bank account (not to mention my sanity) she would have realized what a really REALLY REALLY REALLY CAPS LOCK LEANED OVER AND BOLD bad time it was to leave me in the lurch, forcing me to change over to both a new computer AND a new operating system.  All that was left of the old ways was a nearly defunct internal hard drive that was sitting -- quite externally and with cords akimbo -- on my desk.  This was not the way it was supposed to end.

Granted, computers, much like cars and most relationships, never stop working at a particularly GOOD or even convenient time.  If they did, country music might never have been invented.  But this crash was particularly bad because I was in the middle of a super secret project that had a deadline.

Flashback to February.

Chatting with my siblings, we decided we had better get on the ball and do something for GramTuna's birthday in May.  Of course, we do something every year, but that something generally consists of dinner and cake and presents and happy birthday and seeya in 365.  This year needed to be a great deal more, because it was one of those years.  Of course, it would be bad form to tell you exactly which one of those years it was, so I'll just say she was about to turn six trombones short of a musical.

Being one of four very busy children with obligations that included scurrying chicks and ducks, calendars chock-full of concerts and lessons and soccer and basketball games and lives that were continually interrupted enhanced by home improvement projects, we decided to divide and conquer the various components of the SURPRISE PARTY so we could get everything done.  My job -- the one I offered to do -- was to go through the family pictures...the boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes of slides and old photo albums and get them all scanned and loaded onto a digital picture frame.

I volunteered to do this first of all, because it was something we had talked about doing for quite awhile.  I also had the easiest access to the stash, because I live in such close proximity to the SURPRISEE.  So I took every possible opportunity to break into her house, grab some slide trays or photo albums, cover my tracks, and toss the loot under my bed.  I would connect the scanner at night and scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan as long as I possibly could.  When I finished a batch, I would replace the completed trays of slides and grab more.  Twenty one boxes of slides.  Times 100.  And those were just the slides.  I lost track of the picture albums, some with extra clingy plastic, and others with those infernal black corners holding the photos that you would have to remove as if it were the game of Operation!

Sure, they look all pretty and decorative here

but take it from me, they are of the devil.

With four kids and several decades worth of adventures, there were A LOT of pictures.  Sometimes at night I'd send select copies to my sister and we'd crack up about this that and the other thing.  

 

 My sister calls this my "short bus" picture.
I just happen to think I was special, but not THAT way

 This particular Easter propeller head-wear was in.

 

Shortly after this picture was taken, two people got in

HUGE TROUBLE

But it wasn't anybody wearing a red coat and

KNOWING BETTER

mwah hah hah hah hah

So, you can see where this is going, right?  I'm a couple thousand pictures into this project and then Bessie pulls a code moo and DIES....taking weeks of work with her to the big cow pie bog in the sky.  Seeing my life flash before me and having several litters of kittens over this one, I take her to the computer doctor at work and tell them I'll do whatever they want, no questions asked, if they can just get the damn pictures off the old hard drive because you know...there is this SURPRISE BIRTHDAY PARTY coming up and the ENTIRE SURPRISE PART is on dead disk.

So, a new computer was purchased ASAP.  There was no dickering, and no dealing.  There was no research.  There was just frantic me running into Staples yelling COMPUTERS! Once purchased, I had to deal with downloading programs, finding my way around Vista (no easy task even when you have your wits about you) and  whispering sweet nothings to the flat-lining old hard drive in an attempt to coax the pictures onto the new system.  I don't know how, but thankfully we managed to get most of the pictures off.  I've never begged, pleaded and bargained with The Lord God Almighty and my IT guy so much in my life, and I believe I still owe both of them something...I just can't remember if it is chocolate chip cookies or my first born.

Fast-forwarding to SURPRISE PARTY day, and everything went off surprisingly well.  We concocted a story that worked.  Nobody was the wiser.  The surprise party was an honest to goodness SURPRISE, and in a good way. Friends and family and other assorted distinguished guests came to help celebrate the day, the weather stopped sucking long enough to be nothing short of fabulous.

It ain't a party until Fabio shows up.

The digital picture frame was great fun, and even though I never completely finished the project, with over 5000 pictures loaded on it, it was enough to keep us all entertained.  As for Bessie, she and I made peace, and I still have the wreck of the Bessie Fitzgerald sitting on a shelf.  Although my new computer is shiny and wonderful and reliable, I'm happy we were able to transfer the pictures and the documents and family memories off the old computer.

Young heart, old soul. Just the way it should be.

Happy Extremely Belated Birthday GramTuna.
Seeya in 365.

Party Like It's 1939

Much of my past year can be divided into two distinct eras: BC (Before crash (or cows)) and AD (After death).

2009 was blissfully "BC" until the beginning of May, when Bessie, my old computer, suddenly and most inconveniently died.  If she had had the courtesy to check the status of my calendar and my bank account (not to mention my sanity) she would have realized what a really REALLY REALLY REALLY CAPS LOCK LEANED OVER AND BOLD bad time it was to leave me in the lurch, forcing me to change over to both a new computer AND a new operating system.  All that was left of the old ways was a nearly defunct internal hard drive that was sitting -- quite externally and with cords akimbo -- on my desk.  This was not the way it was supposed to end.

Granted, computers, much like cars and most relationships, never stop working at a particularly GOOD or even convenient time.  If they did, country music might never have been invented.  But this crash was particularly bad because I was in the middle of a super secret project that had a deadline.

Flashback to February.

Chatting with my siblings, we decided we had better get on the ball and do something for GramTuna's birthday in May.  Of course, we do something every year, but that something generally consists of dinner and cake and presents and happy birthday and seeya in 365.  This year needed to be a great deal more, because it was one of those years.  Of course, it would be bad form to tell you exactly which one of those years it was, so I'll just say she was about to turn six trombones short of a musical.

Being one of four very busy children with obligations that included scurrying chicks and ducks, calendars chock-full of concerts and lessons and soccer and basketball games and lives that were continually interrupted enhanced by home improvement projects, we decided to divide and conquer the various components of the SURPRISE PARTY so we could get everything done.  My job -- the one I offered to do -- was to go through the family pictures...the boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes of slides and old photo albums and get them all scanned and loaded onto a digital picture frame.

I volunteered to do this first of all, because it was something we had talked about doing for quite awhile.  I also had the easiest access to the stash, because I live in such close proximity to the SURPRISEE.  So I took every possible opportunity to break into her house, grab some slide trays or photo albums, cover my tracks, and toss the loot under my bed.  I would connect the scanner at night and scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan scan as long as I possibly could.  When I finished a batch, I would replace the completed trays of slides and grab more.  Twenty one boxes of slides.  Times 100.  And those were just the slides.  I lost track of the picture albums, some with extra clingy plastic, and others with those infernal black corners holding the photos that you would have to remove as if it were the game of Operation!

Sure, they look all pretty and decorative here

but take it from me, they are of the devil.

With four kids and several decades worth of adventures, there were A LOT of pictures.  Sometimes at night I'd send select copies to my sister and we'd crack up about this that and the other thing.  

 

 My sister calls this my "short bus" picture.
I just happen to think I was special, but not THAT way

 This particular Easter propeller head-wear was in.

 

Shortly after this picture was taken, two people got in

HUGE TROUBLE

But it wasn't anybody wearing a red coat and

KNOWING BETTER

mwah hah hah hah hah

So, you can see where this is going, right?  I'm a couple thousand pictures into this project and then Bessie pulls a code moo and DIES....taking weeks of work with her to the big cow pie bog in the sky.  Seeing my life flash before me and having several litters of kittens over this one, I take her to the computer doctor at work and tell them I'll do whatever they want, no questions asked, if they can just get the damn pictures off the old hard drive because you know...there is this SURPRISE BIRTHDAY PARTY coming up and the ENTIRE SURPRISE PART is on dead disk.

So, a new computer was purchased ASAP.  There was no dickering, and no dealing.  There was no research.  There was just frantic me running into Staples yelling COMPUTERS! Once purchased, I had to deal with downloading programs, finding my way around Vista (no easy task even when you have your wits about you) and  whispering sweet nothings to the flat-lining old hard drive in an attempt to coax the pictures onto the new system.  I don't know how, but thankfully we managed to get most of the pictures off.  I've never begged, pleaded and bargained with The Lord God Almighty and my IT guy so much in my life, and I believe I still owe both of them something...I just can't remember if it is chocolate chip cookies or my first born.

Fast-forwarding to SURPRISE PARTY day, and everything went off surprisingly well.  We concocted a story that worked.  Nobody was the wiser.  The surprise party was an honest to goodness SURPRISE, and in a good way. Friends and family and other assorted distinguished guests came to help celebrate the day, the weather stopped sucking long enough to be nothing short of fabulous.

It ain't a party until Fabio shows up.

The digital picture frame was great fun, and even though I never completely finished the project, with over 5000 pictures loaded on it, it was enough to keep us all entertained.  As for Bessie, she and I made peace, and I still have the wreck of the Bessie Fitzgerald sitting on a shelf.  Although my new computer is shiny and wonderful and reliable, I'm happy we were able to transfer the pictures and the documents and family memories off the old computer.

Young heart, old soul. Just the way it should be.

Happy Extremely Belated Birthday GramTuna.
Seeya in 365.

Three Short of a Flink**

In some aspects of my life, I am a creature of extreme order and habit. You'd never know it from looking at certain places in my house (basement, I'm talking to you) but I jealously horde those tiny pieces of ritual and order that I've managed to carve out of my oftentimes chaotic life.

My computer is a perfect example. Every day I have to open the programs in a specific order, beginning with my email. Email must be first, and no, I do NOT want to auto-archive my old emails. They are my babies and I have no intention of sending them to the old-email home where no one ever visits. My browser of choice is Firefox, and each tab is opened in a specific order: Blog -- RSS reader -- Gmail -- Facebook -- Twitter -- Other diversions as required. Thankfully, browser tabs can be dragged and repositioned, so if something happens and a program crashes or is mistakenly closed, it's easily fixed. There isn't the same happy ending if my prescribed task-bar caste system goes awry. Things have to be closed down and reopened in their proper order. Just as the online comics must be read after the New York times but before Huffington Post; Facebook only precedes Gmail alphabetically speaking, and never in my browser hierarchy.



For the past six months (I'M SORRY) I have opened my blog and been faced with the cold, angry, accusatory stares from of a bunch of cows. I think they've been lonely. And maybe a little bored. And I've been meaning to get to it, I really have. But blah blah blah excuse excuse excuse, and here we are, together again, six months later. During that time though, even when I was swamped at work, or chipping paint of of the last God-forsaken wall in my living room, or on vacation discussing monster trucks with a preschool expert, I still opened my browser and gave my blog the lead-off spot, despite the damn cows pleading with me to do SOMETHING. ANYTHING.

Too bad for the cows, they don't seem to have a Facebook page. I have been able to manage fairly regular status changes during my blog-hiatus. Let me assure you it's NOTHING profound, but if you've kept track of me through Facebook you know that I'm not dead, and I love the Internet too much to become Amish. I have a Twitter account too, though it's sadly obvious from my distinct LACK of posts that I enjoy browsing Twitter far more than I enjoy contributing anything to it myself. Maybe it's a lack of self-confidence, but if I don't care when I'm eating a burrito, I'm pretty sure nobody else does either.



I was ready to kick-start things again (for the 80th time) about a month ago, and just when I was ready to tell those cows to stuff it...they were gone. Every last one of them. In fact, nearly all my images were gone. My banner. My signature. MY COWS WERE GONE. I waited a day, and then two, and nothing changed. What had I done? My cows left and took the blog with them. Maybe to a different computer where someone would do SOMETHING. I even went so far as to send an email to customer support at the website where I store my pictures. I heard nothing in response. I guess the cows got to them too.

But then, just as mysteriously as they were gone, the cows (much like the cat) came back. And we're all back together again...staring at each other wondering what's coming next.

Well, coming next (which has turned to "now") Is NAtional BLOg POsting MOnth (NaBloPoMo), or "Oooo! A Pretty Button!" This is an offshoot of NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth (NaNoWriMo) which we all know is NOT going to happen, with or without the lure of pretty buttons or the idle threats of cows. So, I'm opting for the essay, not the novel, and I'm rather excited to get back at it. In addition to the here and now, I'm going to spend time this month doing some remembering, because there are some great stories that have not yet been told.



So, for those of you who have periodically checked every now and again to see if I've posted, thank you. For those of you who asked loudly when I might DO SOMETHING, thank you. For those of you who wondered and decided to wait quietly until I decided to DO SOMETHING, thank you. For those of you who aren't familiar with me and my cast of characters, welcome. At The Tuna News, there's something here for everybody.

There's even a cow. Or nine.

**FLINK (n.) -- A group of twelve or more cows.

Three Short of a Flink**

In some aspects of my life, I am a creature of extreme order and habit. You'd never know it from looking at certain places in my house (basement, I'm talking to you) but I jealously horde those tiny pieces of ritual and order that I've managed to carve out of my oftentimes chaotic life.

My computer is a perfect example. Every day I have to open the programs in a specific order, beginning with my email. Email must be first, and no, I do NOT want to auto-archive my old emails. They are my babies and I have no intention of sending them to the old-email home where no one ever visits. My browser of choice is Firefox, and each tab is opened in a specific order: Blog -- RSS reader -- Gmail -- Facebook -- Twitter -- Other diversions as required. Thankfully, browser tabs can be dragged and repositioned, so if something happens and a program crashes or is mistakenly closed, it's easily fixed. There isn't the same happy ending if my prescribed task-bar caste system goes awry. Things have to be closed down and reopened in their proper order. Just as the online comics must be read after the New York times but before Huffington Post; Facebook only precedes Gmail alphabetically speaking, and never in my browser hierarchy.



For the past six months (I'M SORRY) I have opened my blog and been faced with the cold, angry, accusatory stares from of a bunch of cows. I think they've been lonely. And maybe a little bored. And I've been meaning to get to it, I really have. But blah blah blah excuse excuse excuse, and here we are, together again, six months later. During that time though, even when I was swamped at work, or chipping paint of of the last God-forsaken wall in my living room, or on vacation discussing monster trucks with a preschool expert, I still opened my browser and gave my blog the lead-off spot, despite the damn cows pleading with me to do SOMETHING. ANYTHING.

Too bad for the cows, they don't seem to have a Facebook page. I have been able to manage fairly regular status changes during my blog-hiatus. Let me assure you it's NOTHING profound, but if you've kept track of me through Facebook you know that I'm not dead, and I love the Internet too much to become Amish. I have a Twitter account too, though it's sadly obvious from my distinct LACK of posts that I enjoy browsing Twitter far more than I enjoy contributing anything to it myself. Maybe it's a lack of self-confidence, but if I don't care when I'm eating a burrito, I'm pretty sure nobody else does either.



I was ready to kick-start things again (for the 80th time) about a month ago, and just when I was ready to tell those cows to stuff it...they were gone. Every last one of them. In fact, nearly all my images were gone. My banner. My signature. MY COWS WERE GONE. I waited a day, and then two, and nothing changed. What had I done? My cows left and took the blog with them. Maybe to a different computer where someone would do SOMETHING. I even went so far as to send an email to customer support at the website where I store my pictures. I heard nothing in response. I guess the cows got to them too.

But then, just as mysteriously as they were gone, the cows (much like the cat) came back. And we're all back together again...staring at each other wondering what's coming next.

Well, coming next (which has turned to "now") Is NAtional BLOg POsting MOnth (NaBloPoMo), or "Oooo! A Pretty Button!" This is an offshoot of NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth (NaNoWriMo) which we all know is NOT going to happen, with or without the lure of pretty buttons or the idle threats of cows. So, I'm opting for the essay, not the novel, and I'm rather excited to get back at it. In addition to the here and now, I'm going to spend time this month doing some remembering, because there are some great stories that have not yet been told.



So, for those of you who have periodically checked every now and again to see if I've posted, thank you. For those of you who asked loudly when I might DO SOMETHING, thank you. For those of you who wondered and decided to wait quietly until I decided to DO SOMETHING, thank you. For those of you who aren't familiar with me and my cast of characters, welcome. At The Tuna News, there's something here for everybody.

There's even a cow. Or nine.

**FLINK (n.) -- A group of twelve or more cows.