Life As a Pearl

I don't know exactly what age one must be to inherently distrust "newfangled" communicative devices to fulfill the communication errand to which they've been tasked, but my dad is most definitely whatever age that is. He's been that age for a long, long time. Such a long time, in fact, that I expect a phone call to accompany any email I receive, suggesting I read said email. If he didn't consider texting and Facebook threats to [his personal] national security, I'd be receiving notices that way as well. He recently decided to use all the antique stamps in his worthless stamp collection, so it's not out of the question that I'll start getting letters reminding me to check my voicemail--there's a message on there about an email. Now it's only fair that I 'fess up. Many years ago, I had to admit to my dad that I don't open any of his forwards. It was a forced confession. He couldn't understand how I wasn't deeply impacted by...

The stuff in my fridge Page 42 of Parenting magazine (actually, that just saw me topless) The carwash on 287 My crappy fan The shower curtain at the Sheraton I mean, that's obviously an incomplete list. And this is obviously a topic that doesn't have wings. But it made you open this post, didn't it? I have to give full credit to Ricka ( allthatscintillates.blogspot.com ). When we were talking about starting blogs, she suggested this as a possible post and I couldn't resist her brilliance. I've got a new FB page for Life As a Pearl (please like it!). If you were feeling awesome, you could go there and post a comment with something that's seen you naked. Make me laugh. Ok, enough fun. There's nothing funny about nudity. Except for the time my elderly next door neighbor asked if she could garden topless if she got her breasts removed. That was funny. If it were up to me, Florence could have skipped the mastectomy and just gone for it. But for whatev...

Today's Headline: [My] Baby Charms Starbucks by Ordering Soy Decaf Latte I'm not really sure there's an article here. It's just that it's only 9:17 and pretty much all that's happened today is Ayana ordering and drinking her usual at the Bucks--a Soy Decaf Latte. A few people usually think that's pretty cute, but today it was like the whole coffee shop wanted to throw a parade in her honor. She drank it all without spilling any on herself, and that  almost is a headline. This Week's Headline: Warrior Way on Lockdown for 12 Hours There is  an article here. There's a lot of them, actually, so I'm not going to reinvent the wheel. Type Centaurus High School in to Google or Bing or that ancient search engine with the dog--remember that?--and you'll read about a boy and his bomb. This boy and this bomb, unfortunately, turned up at the high school seven feet from my house on Monday. No students were hurt, the boy is in custody, and...

I have stuff to do today. Lots of stuff, actually. But that's true everyday, so sometimes I just have to pretend the list doesn't grow with every unencumbered breath I take and shanghai seven precious seconds of me time. Nine times out of ten, if I've managed to trick myself into taking a few minutes off, I'm going to spend that time reading. The good news is, I'm a fast reader. The bad news is, reading makes me want to write, and who has time for that? Apparently, this girl. I worked hard yesterday, really I did. And I rewarded myself with David Sedaris's new book ( http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780316154697 ) because I can read one paragraph (sometime two if I have the time) and still feel well read and inspired to write. You don't believe me? You don't think David Sedaris, or any author for that matter, could possibly be that good? WRONG. Allow me to demonstrate: "Never would they [David's parents] have blindly defended me or even asked...

Now before I post this picture, I want to give it the context it deserves. Here are the things you need to know. I have a grandmother. I wouldn't say we're close (because we're not--neither geographically, nor relationally), but we get on when we're in the same room. No one would accuse Grandma of being overly sentimental, but she has sent me many hand-sewn flannel pajamas and cigarette-flavored Christmas cookies over the years, and treated me well on the scant occasions our paths have crossed. Because of the distance between her and her children (I'll let you decide if that's geographically or otherwise), Grandma is a letter writer. That's something Grandma and I are of a mind on; we like licking envelops and trekking to the mailbox. For all my GF friends out there, don't worry. I don't actually lick the envelopes; I know better. Anyway, Grandma and I write--not to each other, of course; unless you count the occasional thank-you card. We write pe...

Oh, sure. It sounds  sweet: Therapy Llama Visits Children at St. Jude. Coverage of that might even include a picture of bandaged or bed-ridden toddler with his arms wrapped around a long, hairy neck--the perfect photo op. In fact there is exactly that picture, floating around in cyberspace, attached to an article explaining the benefits of therapy llamas. I want to be charmed--llamas are  cute, and I'm all for cheering up a sick kiddo. But honestly, I can't get past what a bad idea it is. Llamas are big. They're hairy. They're germy. They spit. They fight--brutally actually--with those huggable necks. I'll be the first to admit they're cute, and I can understand the temptation. They're trainable enough to forced into the drudgery of servitude (or is that alpacas?), and to stand still long enough to be woven into a lovely sweater (that might be alpacas too...); wandering around the sterile corridors of a children's hospital ward, then, shouldn't b...

"Evolution?" you say. "That seems like a bit of a touchy subject with which to reinvigorate your short-lived blog," you say. To which I respond, "When did your grammar get so good? Your avoidance of ending that sentence in a preposition was masterful." But you're right, of course. I didn't start blogging (see those THREE posts I wrote nearly a year ago) to stir up pots. I started blogging to, um, listen to myself talk in a whole new forum. The fact that some of you out there also listened was a delightful development. Not delightful enough to keep me blogging, evidently. And for that I apologize. In truth, if not for evolution, my life as a blogger would likely have been over for good. Two-year-olds generate an alarming amount of work, as do college students. Whatever worms of time I don't chew and feed to those greedy birds, I try to spend cutting my nails (sometimes I can even get a whole hand done in one sitting), unloading the di...