tag...I'm it!

So I hear I have been tagged...and now I am to reveal 7 deep, dark secrets that most people don't know about me. Man....this is tough, because I'm not one to keep much to myself, as you may have already noticed! But I'll give it a shot...

1. I only get dressed when I have to. No....I am not nude right now! But I am in my "work uniform" - black velveteen nightgown, beige fleece robe and warm suede slippers. (sigh...May temps in Seattle are akin to March's most everywhere else...)

2. One summer, I wired an old cow skull found in the southern Utah desert to the front grill of my car, then my daughter Katie and I (she was around 10 at the time) decorated the entire car with our hand prints dipped from a whole rainbow of tempera paints. We had semi trucks blowing their horns for us whenever we were on the freeway. Katie and I both had a blast with the attention! Eventually, it rained and washed all our fun away. (Meanwhile, my parent's wondered where they'd gone wrong...I'm guessing it was all somehow intricately tied to that aforementioned diet, don'tcha think?)

3. I sleep so impossibly soundly that I probably should have been reported to Child Protective Services at some point. When my kids were newborns, I would butt the cradle right up against my side of the bed so their heads were fewer than 5 inches from mine. But it didn't matter...I slept and slept and slept right through their cries, anyway. Poor babies...by the time I would finally wake up, it was always painfully clear that they'd been attempting to get my attention for quite. some. time.

4. I've had every utility turned off...most of them several times. There were eleven leeeeeean years post-divorce, until my first book was published. One time, I had acquaintances over to the house and when I used the bathroom, I discovered my water had been turned off. I'll never forget my horror as I realized I was going to have to get them out of the house RIGHT NOW before they needed to use the bathroom!!!

5. I don't watch TV. (Well, I mean, except for Survivor, Amazing Race, American Idol, Project Runway, The Apprentice, Dancing with the Stars and the news....)

6. In my 50 years, I've been in love with or married: a white man, a Japanese man, a black man 14 inches taller than me, and a Pakistani man 19 years my junior. Turns out none of those were really my type. Major problem - I'm fast running out of types!

7. In my opinion, toast is the perfect food. White toast....and for the following reasons:

• It's cheap.
• It's warm.
• It's quick.
• It's sweet - cinnamon, jam, honey
• It's savory - cheese, peanut butter, spaghetti sauce
• It's crunchy.
• It's buttery.
• It just smells heavenly....

I even have a fond childhood memory about toast. We grew up in Japan (Dad was a Lutheran missionary there for 10 years) and we had a housemaid, Hayano-san. She was like our grandma. I loved her inside and out. One day, when I was around 5, she took me with her on a visit to a friend of hers - a rare, rare privilege. I remember sitting on the tatami floor close to the warm, charcoal hibachi as the two women talked. A ceramic hibachi in the middle of the "main" room of the house was the only source of heat for Japanese homes back then. Soon, Hayano-san's friend asked if I wanted toast. I should first say that although we grew up in a small, rural town about 2 hours outside Tokyo, and although we were the only foreigners in the town (in fact, we were the only family in town with a car - an old military Jeep) and although all our friends were Japanese.....we actually lived in a western style home with hardwood floors, an oven & fridge, a sofa and beds and all the usual western stuff. In other words, toast was made in a toaster at our house.

But Hayano-san's friend put two, thick white, square pieces of bread (Japanese bread loaves are square!) on the small metal grill that rested across the top of the hibachi. I watched, fascinated, as she eventually turned the bread with chopsticks and I saw beautiful golden brown grill lines gracing the toast tops. After another minute, she used her chopsticks again to remove the newly made toast onto a plate, then buttered them and handed them to me. I literally remember all of this better than I remember this morning's breakfast. I remember the warmth of the hibachi, the heavenly smell wafting from the grill, the chopsticks turning the slices, how special and grownup I felt being on an outing with Hayano-san, and the perfect crunch of that perfect toast. Oishikatta, wa! (Delicious!)

See? Can't really blame me for having a warm spot in my heart for toast, can you, now?!

Done! That wasn't so bad. But now I'm supposed to tag 7 more????????????? How am I going to do that? Help!

Little Dutch Girl

I seem always to be writing in the few moments before a taxi comes to whisk me off to an airport. (Actually, I can't really say I "always" seem to be writing, when here lately, it's more like I "never" seem to be writing!)

Anyway...I'm off to Utah today for my annual May workshop in Provo. I will enjoy my 3 days there, because I invariably do! It's sooooooo pretty in Provo...and by now, that group feels like family, since I've been doing workshops in Provo forever and ever.

But before I go...I found a photo my sister gave me recently, taken in 1966 on the front porch of the Lutheran parsonage - our home. I'm 10. I don't remember this dress (or those godawful shoes!) but good grief....it looks like someone thought it would be a good idea to design a dress that could easily carry a toaster in its pockets!

So. You tell me? Does it look like I needed cow urine injection intervention?

Personally, I think all I need is a little shoe polish, sun-glasses and a little loosening up. I am looking like such a very good little pastor's daughter here, aren't I??? :-)

I'll write again soon! I promise!!

(Nora and I made up, btw.....thanks for asking!)

Nora and the Breakup

NORA DIDN'T WORK FOR ME THIS MORNING!!! (see previous post)


I guess Dewey, Oklahoma is out of her range or somethin'...but I can't begin to tell you how disappointed I am in her.

Managed to find the workshop location anyway, on my own, but it took a couple of stops at convenience stores for directions, and the 2.2 mile trip took half an hour.

So Nora and I are on the outs for right now.

If she talks to me real nice later this week and helps me get to the Tulsa airport, I'll think about giving her another chance....

;-)

Nora and the Rattle

I finished teaching a 3-day workshop in Newton, Kansas yesterday afternoon, and today I drove south from Kansas to Bartlesville, Oklahoma so I can teach another workshop for the next 3 days. Kansas was a blast, and deserves its own post, which I'll write later...But today...

I have recently fallen in love.

You know that TV commercial where the men fall in love with their GPS systems because "she" finds them golf courses and great Chinese food? Well, I'm telling you, that ad's not that far off the mark! My cell phone is my GPS navigator (through Verizon wireless...it's called VNavigator) and my nephews and I decided last week that "she" needed a name. We decided to call her Nora, but her full name is Nora K. Best (the "K" stands for "Knows".) She gets me everywhere stress free. I really can't begin to tell you what a relief it is to get into a rental car in a strange town with Nora in hand. No more panic, stress, fear or time lost being lost. I love her.

So this morning, I left my Kansas motel to head south on I-135. The sun was warm, skies blue, breeze was light...a perfect spring day, and I was immensely looking forward to the 2 and a half hour drive to Oklahoma. I hopped on the freeway and as my speed hit 60mph, I started to hear a rattle to end all rattles. By 65 it was a rattle/vibration/buzz saw...and at 70 mph (the speed limit on the freeway) it was DEAFENING. Not to mention a tad bit scary.

I'm not going to bore you with all the mental machinations I went through in trying to decide whether or not to continue on my way, or to turn around and drive up to Wichita to turn it in for a replacement rental car...

Suffice it to say that I decided to keep going south since as long as my speed was around 55, there wasn't a peep out of the car.

Here's the cool part. Driving virtually empty roads at a leisurely 55 mph on a sunny spring day with Nora at your side is like....like a......like a gift. Normally I'd be speeding along, pushing 5 miles over the limit, just because I could, all the while in a mild state of panic that my MapQuest directions aren't right, and have I already missed that turn off???

I enjoyed every minute. Lots and lots of grass and flat. Lots of lines of trees with graceful bare branches. Lots of cows. I turned off the radio and rolled down my windows and heard birds singing. Pulled the car over once to watch a huge flock of some kind of white bird way, way, way up high in the sky. At 73 mph, I'd never have even noticed them.

By mid-afternoon, with no breakfast or lunch yet, I was hungry so I pulled over in charming Caney, OK at the Snak Shack for a cheeseburger and ate it on the bench in the grass in front of the joint, right along the main drag. The hamburger patty was hand-formed - by real human (I suspect female) hands and the bun was grilled and the onion rings had never lived inside a box in any freezer. It took 10 minutes to fix and she brought it outside to me in a pure white paper bag without a hint of a cool logo or branding on it anywhere.

Half an hour later I was in Bartlesville in my hotel - safe, sound, rejuvenated and happy. Nora and her calm, confident voice got me here without a single wrong turn.

I can only hope that once I get back home to Seattle I find that my own little Ford Focus has picked up a nasty rattle of its own. It was a genuine and surprising pleasure to slow down for a change....

cow urine & fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt

Months ago, I mentioned a "cow urine" diet...

By the age of 14, I'd already been thoroughly through the diet wringer. Why I was put on so many diets so young is pretty much of a mystery to me, since I wasn't fat. Round, yes...but never so round that you'd even call me chubby. My parents are fine people, but they were pretty much nuts during much of our coming up years, and I guess, like, one of their hobbies was to try to make me thin or something.

By 1970, they'd tried the following in their fearless quest for a Twiggy daughter:

• 1961 - Changing the big meal of the day to noon, during which time I was at kindergarten.
• 1965 - Paying me a dollar for every pound I lost. I was 8 at the time. A dollar bought 20 candy bars in 1962, or two movie tickets. A dollar was sweet incentive...
• 1969 - Stillman's Diet. What every junior high kid wants to eat in front of her friends at school every day - broiled hamburger and a boiled egg. Oh yeah. THAT was fun...

Apparently none of these diets did much good. I do remember quickly losing weight on the Stillman's Diet...then gaining it all back in something like 3 and a half minutes.

So there was a fourth (but hardly the last) attempt. This one, the cow urine diet, involved Mom driving me to the local medical clinic every day for a shot of treated cow urine. It was supposed to help me shed pounds quickly. Hmmm...... Oh....and....well...just in case the pee shot didn't work, I was also simultaneously put on a rather restrictive diet. How restrictive? This restrictive: I was supposed to eat two cartons of yogurt a day. And that's it. Two cartons of yogurt! 500 calories.

Mind you, I was walking a mile to school every day and a mile back. I was 14 and a cheerleader and we practiced cheer for a couple hours every night after school, and when I wasn't walking or cheering I was playing badminton or kick ball in the church parking lot, or on my bike roaming the neighborhoods. Two cartons of yogurt a day. Ahhh....the enlightened 70's....

After 2 or 3 days of near starvation, I invented various and vital reasons to go down to the basement many, many times a day. Our basement was our pantry, and it was loaded with 10 lb. coffee cans loaded with Mom's reeeeally yummy homemade cookies. Peanut butter cookies, gingersnap cookies, chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal raisin cookies, snickerdoodles and shortbread and probably more that I've forgotten. No lie. There were never fewer than 6 giant coffee cans full of cookies downstairs. If the measure of a great mom is whether or not she stays home and bakes cookies, then my mom gets a perfect 10!

So, the cow urine diet was a bust. Two cartons of yogurt a day plus the crusts off Kim Harmon's tuna fish sandwiches at school lunch every day plus a couple dozen cookies every day pretty much negated whatever magical powers lurked inside that syringe. After a couple of weeks with no results, I remember the doctor's furrowed, accusatory brow as he actually asked me if I was cheating on the diet. If?? He had to ask if??????? I steadfastly denied it of course, probably while turning a furious red, as I was wont to do back then.

So there you go. That's my cow urine story. Not just everyone has a cow urine story. I'm rather fond of mine...

the buddy system

You know how when you scuba dive, you always dive with a buddy?

I'm beginning to think I need a buddy for every-day life! I'm in Keizer, Oregon doing a 4-day workshop. Last night, I got off the elevator and walked down my hotel hallway, stopping in front of my door to insert the key card. My card wouldn't unlock the door. That's because I wasn't at the right door, even though this was the third night I was in the same hotel room! Not only was I standing in front of the wrong door, it turned out my room was across the hall! Sheeeeesh....

So then last night, I had dinner with 2 of the women attending my workshop. We went to a Thai restaurant nearby, and I drove. We had a nice, long, relaxing dinner over delicious plates of curries and stir-frys. When it was time to go, I dug into my purse to get my keys ready. No keys. No keys in my coat pocket either, or under the table or anywhere in sight. So out we went to the car....and you guessed it. Keys are in the ignition, the doors are locked tight and the car is running! The car was running the entire 2 hours we were inside enjoying dinner.

Good grief.

I shudder to think of the quality of my life in another dozen years or so....

:-)

remind me again why I do art?

I've been working on my self-portrait the last couple of days.

Working on is the right term. It is such hard work, creating art, isn't it? Like pulling teeth at times. I miss cigarettes when I draw. I haven't smoked in over 2 years, and I won't again...but they sure did seem to help.

You draw a little and think it's all going well...and then you sit back and take a longer view of your work and see that something's wrong...(here's where you light up your menthol extra light 100) and you don't know what's wrong and so you look back and forth and back and forth between your art and photo and then you can't stand it that you can't see what's wrong so you get up for another cup of coffee/diet coke and then you come back and you think maybe you know what's wrong. So you draw a little and think it's going well...and then you sit back...and it all starts all over again.

What is fun about this? What about this process makes us so eager to do it as often as possible? We're all a crazy bunch of loony folks, I say!!!!

On the other hand, sometimes when I look at a few of my finished portraits, I can't quite believe my hands and eyes created such a wonder from colored pencils.

I guess in the end the agony is occasionally worth it. Maybe.

Back to work....

he was home...

On a happier note than that last post...

Yesterday I went to see Kevin. We went to our usual haunt. On the way, we got stuck in a traffic jam and I had my camera, so I took a whole series of pictures of him in the back seat. He was in a great mood, and seemed to like it that I was taking his picture.

We met my daughter and beau at McDonald's and Kevin had a great time watching all the kids bounce around the play area and a great time looking at all the pictures on the camera that I'd just taken of him. He especially loved the ones that his stuffed Barney had made it into.

After a couple hours, we headed back to his group home. We pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex and I parked the car and turned off the Disney Children's Songs CD we were listening to.

Kevin took off his seat belt without being asked, and he opened his door without prompting. He got out of the car and stood waiting for me to get out and close my door. We started to walk together back to his apartment....and that's when I knew something had changed.

Kevin was home.

I don't know how I knew...but I did. Kevin was home! Kevin was home and he wasn't unhappy that he was home! Kevin has his own home!

I walked him in, and we ended the visit as we always do...His bedroom is on the bottom floor, so after I kiss him goodbye in his room and leave the apartment, I always walk around the outside and knock on his window and tell him again that I love him. He sometimes smiles, but usually he just hangs out in his room until he sees me at the window, and then he walks back to the living room, and I walk away to my car feeling a little sad and guilty. Nothing different last night. Except that everything was different. Kevin was really home and he knew he was home and I knew he was home, and we were both completely okay with that.

I walked back to my car smiling.

Thought you'd all like to know that....

protect me from security

So two days after our dreamy Workshop Cruise, I was back on the road headed to a workshop in Decatur, Illinois. On the way there, I learned an ugly little lesson...

It began with a tardy taxi to the airport, leaving me a bit frazzled...a feeling that intensified as I began the airport security frenzied routine. Off goes the coat. Off go the shoes. Out goes the laptop. Into bins go all, plus my purse, plus my laptop case. Compliantly, I wait for my turn to go forward.

"Take your jacket off," I hear from the TSA agent as I get ready to step through the magic arch. I am wearing a rather heavy fleece button down shirt because I often get cold when flying. Beneath my shirt is a little camisole so tight and unflattering I wouldn't bare it in front of my own mirror, let alone the public at large. Foolishly, (but very politely) I decide to enlighten the agent that my "jacket" is a shirt.

"My jacket is in that bin. This is my shirt."

"Take your jacket off."

"But I hardly have anything on underneath," I say, rather feebly, sensing I'm about to lose this one.

"Take your jacket off or get checked."

Sigh. "Okay....I guess I'll get checked then..."

Isn't that something? How is it I'm so vain? My father warned my sister and me about vanity. In the throes of our pre-teen angst we naturally spent years in front of the mirror trying to make utterly recalcitrant hair behave. Meanwhile my father was absolutely convinced we were dangerously close to strangling in our own vile vanity and never missed a chance to warn us of said danger.

How silly, really, to care if a few dozen people see my well-filled camisole...

I walk through the metal detector to stand by his side, waiting for the female agents who will take me to a little "room", where we will together discover that I am no security risk. Just then, my purse went through the machine. Suddenly and without a hint of warning, another agent is yelling at me. Yelling. Yelling with a red face. Yelling with something way too akin to rage. Yelling with frustration and disgust and fury.

"IS THIS YOURS?!!"

He is 4 feet from me and is holding up above his head my fewer-than-3-ounces perfume bottle, safely encased in its own ziplock bag.

I reply in a confused daze, "Yes."

And then he erupted all over me - something about how I'd left it in my purse instead of taking it out of my purse and now I'd have to relinquish my perfume or check it. But he sort of went on and on and on about it all, yelling the whole time.

I'm telling you, I was stunned. I'm not even sure I understood half what he was saying. I remember just trying to figure out what he was actually telling me. I mean, what was going to happen to me, now that I'd sinned?

In trying to make sense of all this, I mumbled something like, "It's in a ziplock bag..." And that was the wrong thing to say. He exploded with renewed fury, starting the whole diatribe all over again.

Slowly, I came to realize that he really meant it. Perfume in ziplog bag outside purse? Cool. Perfume in ziplog bag inside purse? Very, very, very uncool. As the shock wore off and I began to realize I was about to lose my favorite, expensive, fraught-with-memories-and-sentiment perfume, I very quietly and steadily said, "I will not relinquish it."

His eyes bugged and he started to go from Crimson Red to Henna. "You're not going to relinquish it???!!!! You're going to check it???!!! You're not...you're going to...you're not..."

I swear he started to sputter. I just stood there, quietly.

He half threw it to the women who'd meantime arrived to take me to that private room where next I would succumb to a partial disrobing. Still mostly in a daze of shock, I followed them for the procedure, trying to figure out how I was going to save what was mine. In the end, exhausted but determined, I fell back on tears and sympathy and a good lie.

"I need to keep my perfume. My husband gave it to me and he was killed in a car accident a year ago, and I can't give it up."

They let me keep it.

I'd stood my ground. But what sad ground. How helpless I felt, knowing they had me. I needed to fly and needing to fly meant needing to succumb. I've since learned that I could have asked to see his supervisor. In the future, I will. But this isn't isolated. When we came back from Belize, my daughter put her new cell phone in her checked bag. When she got home, she had a TSA note inside her suitcase, letting her know it had been opened by them. Cell phone was no where to be found. Another friend traveled within the US in January, only to arrive missing a wrapped gift from her suitcase...a gift intended for her sister suffering from breast cancer.

What does it mean when we need security to protect us from security?

a nibble, a peek - Mexican Workshop Cruise

We're back! Of course, I leave again tomorrow morning for a workshop in Decatur, IL....but I've got half a minute to throw up a few photos! Our first ever Mexican Riviera Workshop Cruise was great! Everything went fine, with hardly a hitch. I found out I can do Cecile Baird's burnishing technique, which I thought was thrilling. I found out I can't do Linda Lucas Hardy's technique on sandpaper, which was no surprise! But it was fun trying. This silly shot is from our stateroom balcony. There was a strong reflection on the sliding glass door to our cabin. My sister was getting ready for dinner, so I took the picture myself. See all my silly costume jewelry? It was formal night!


I was too busy making sure everything was going smoothly to remember to take a group shot of everyone. Can't believe I did that! But here's a shot of a lot of us listening to Linda Hardy.





Class was held in one of the dining rooms, so everyone had plenty of room to spread out all their colored pencil stuff. The lighting was hit & miss, but the ship's ride was smooth, and the view out the windows fantastic. Cecile's workshop was first, and it was also the first workshop I've ever taken. I know how everyone feels now, when they take my workshops. You can't imagine how thrilled I was to hear Cecile say my project was "gorgeous"!!!! Was proud as could be.


Here's a shot from our balcony - we were pulling away from Cabo San Lucas. (click to enlarge any of these pix) Marylou (my sister) and I spent the Cabo port day on board...relaxing on a nearly empty ship. She sunned on the deck while I floated in the Lotus Spa pool, going into a trance watching in the breeze the furling and unfurling of the ship's flags directly overhead. It was a few hours of quiet in the middle of a week full of laughing, learning, talking, over-feeding and roaming the beautiful ship.



This is Stephen. He was our fantastic bartender at the Martini Lounge, where I celebrated my birthday on board. He was Scottish and had absolutely the most delightful accent.

These drinks were called "Flirtini's" ...but they came out as "Flot tini's" when Stephen said it! Marylou and I got to bring the pretty glasses home. I would just as soon have brought Stephen home!



We saw the cliff diver's in Mazatlan. Weather was soooooo perfect. Upper 70's and no humidity. These divers made me ill...just the thought of them being off by 6 inches or so. Really...they just barely clear the rocks!


Had to take at least a few artsy shots. These flowers were always on the dining room tables and I loved their cast shadows. I'm not sure what kind of flower it is. Do any of you know?



The only thing I didn't like about our first workshop cruise was that it had to end. Here's a shot of Marylou and I at the airport hotel in LAX on our last night before coming home...

I can not WAIT until our May Alaskan Cruise!! We had a couple cancellations, so there are still a couple spots open. If you want to join us, you have to hurry as the ship itself is nearly full. There's info here:
www.annkullberg.com/cruise.php

pink pills

Hello, from Puerto Vallarta!!

The workshop cruise is going great!! No big snafus, and everyone seems to be enjoying both the classes and the cruise.

Just wanted to pop in real quick and share this "Lucy and Ethel moment...

Today is our first chance off the ship. We'd planned a lovely excursion to a gorgeous beach for snorkeling and swimming and lounging. My leg hurt this morning because I hurt myself last night on stage in the big Princess theater, where I got myself hypnotized. More on that later. So, my sister hands me 3 pills right before breakfast and says they're Ibuprofin.

An hour later, as we are getting ready to get off the ship for the excursion and I realize that my mouth is talcum powder dry and I am sleepier than I know how to describe. I mention this to Marylou.... Her hand flies to her mouth as she exclaims, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god".

Turns out I'd just taken 3 Benadryl. I'm a medication lightweight. 'nough said.

I spent the first 5 hours of the 7 hour excursion dead asleep in a beach chair. Dead asleep.

Expensive sleep. But the last 2 hours were fantastic!!

More on Lucy and Ethel later!

am i in a movie????

It's possible I am no longer sane.

With only 7 and a half hours to go before my taxi comes to whisk me off to the airport, I decide I want to clean off my desk a little before I go.

On my desk is a mid-sized box from Amazon.com. I am always ordering books, then forgetting what I've ordered, and sometimes the boxes just sort of sit around for a while before I get around to opening them....

I decide to open the box...just in case there's a really juicy book in there that would be perfect for the cruise. I slit the tape and pull open the flaps and pause. I see a beautiful white box nestled inside. This is no book. The box says "Omega". My heart beats a little faster and my brow furrows a bit in confusion.

I pull out the white box and lift it's elegant lid, and inside is a most gorgeous cream-colored box tied with a satin red bow. What the heck is going on? Do I have a secret admirer?

I pull the smaller box out of the larger box and open it's hinged lid...and gasp. Gasp, I'm telling you.
I gasp.

Inside is an Omega diamond-studded woman's watch. A $2000 woman's watch. (I only know this because I just now looked online.) I know I do not have a secret admirer who would send me a $2000 watch. No one does.

I scrounge around the shipping box for a clue - there are authentication cards...but no personal notes or messages....Then I see the packing slip! Surely that will solve the mystery...

It sheds no light whatsoever. None. Zero. It only makes me doubt my sanity.

Under Billing Address is a woman's name I do not recognize from a city I've never been to. Under Shipping Address it says "Ann Kullbert" and my correct shipping address.

I do not understand. I can't understand. There's nothing here to help me grasp the meaning of this.

When did I slip over the edge???? I always thought it would happen more gradually, you know?

In all seriousness, though...if anyone has any idea what this is all about, or any suggestions as to what I should do, please let me know. Obviously I can't keep a $2000 watch from someone I do not know.

Meanwhile, I don't have a juicy book for the cruise....

this isn't a pity party...

I am supposed to be packing my workshop suitcase right now.

But I owe you a post or two, don't I?

This is my family. Katie on the left, her boyfriend Nathan's three children, Nathan....and then my son Kevin on the right.

Tonight, I picked up Kevin from his group home and drove to McDonald's where we met with Katie, Nathan and his kids. Kevin loves to watch the kids play in the playground area, and he can eat McDonald's burgers (he can't chew most foods) so it's his favorite place. He had a good time tonight, laughing at the kids as they jumped and twirled and slid down the slide. And after a couple of hours of hanging out, I took him back home.

That's the part I don't like. He maybe hangs his head a little as I get ready to leave. Or does he? Am I just so afraid that he might be sad that I imagine it? Am I just so afraid that he might be sad that I gloss over a truly hanging head, imagining that I am just imagining it?

There is no end to guilt when you have an autistic child. Kevin is 22. He's never spoken a word. He's still in diapers. He laughs when nothing is funny and cries when nothing is hurting. He giggles when you cry. He finds other people's sneezes knee-slappingly funny. He watches Barney & Seseme Street....he's been watching the same videos for 17 years. He bites his fingers - they are scarred with swollen callouses. He wouldn't see anything wrong with walking around naked, but if you happen to run out of diapers and you just have to put his pants back on without a diaper, he'll fight you tooth and nail. If there is no diaper, there will be no pants.

You're liable to find him in the morning with a different pair of pajamas on then when he went to bed - and usually inside out. I even went in one morning to wake him for school years ago, only to find him fast asleep with his tennis shoes on. At 3, he was a pro at assembling his toys into groups - trucks in one pile, cars in another, Seseme Street figurines in a third. At 22, he is a pro at stacking piles of videos, then re-stacking them (loudly) and re-stacking them, and re-stacking them, and re-stacking them. Hours on end of rearranging stacks of videos.

There is no end to guilt when you have an autistic child. No end. He shouldn't just be watching Barney videos. But he loves Barney videos. I should have done more. I couldn't do more. I should have given him every minute. I couldn't give him every minute. I should talk to him more. It's too hard to talk more to someone who doesn't seem to hear you and who never, ever answers. He should be at home with me. He can't be at home with me. But he should. But he can't.

Is he cold? Should I put a sweatshirt on him? Is he hot? Should I take off his sweatshirt? Should I give him the blueberry yogurt or the lemon yogurt? Would he like a chocolate milkshake more than a strawberry one? Are two burgers enough? I wonder if I should get him a cookie? How can I ever know? What's the right answer? How is it that it always comes down to me feeling like somehow I should know?

Maybe if I were just a little bit better at all of this, I'd know whether he prefers chunky peanut butter over creamy....

He's in a fantastic group home. It's a 3-bedroom apt, and he shares it with two other non-verbal residents. The caregivers are kind, and the supervisor is amazing. There is an aquarium in the living room, a Christmas tree during the holidays, home-cooked meals and outings 3 or 4 times a week. He should be home with me. He can't be home with me. I don't want to leave him there. I have to leave him there.

I wonder if he knows how much I love him. I wonder if he cares that I do.

I'll never know.

i know, i know!

I know, I know! It's like I up and died, huh? I didn't!!! It's just I had to complete 2 issues of FMP , answer the 200+ emails that were in my Inbox when I got home, plus get ready for the Mexican Workshop Cruise...which sails in 5 days.

So I have been quiet. Silent, actually.

But not in my head! In my head I've written several stunningly mesmerizing posts! Why haven't you been reading them? It's your fault if you haven't!

I still have no time...but here's a teaser. I've put up a few pix from the last "resort" we stayed at in Belize, called Singing Sands. Resort is a term used quite liberally and loosely in third world countries....so don't think 5 star.

Do, however, think absolute heaven. We four (I went with my mom, daughter Katie, and her boyfriend, Nathan) were the only people there the 5 days we stayed at Singing Sands.

Nirvana.
Peace.
Just me and the pelicans day after day....
I nearly didn't come home again.

See pix HERE.

i'm off!

I leave for the airport in 5 hours! We're going to Belize for a couple of weeks of lounging on the beaches, trekking through the jungle and checking out some Mayan ruins, jaguars and Belizean Rice & Beans (or Beans & Rice - those two are apparently two different dishes!)

I may have internet access now and then...and I may not. Even if I do, I may just break character and not take advantage of it! (wonder what the odds are on that???)

So...stay warm, stay safe....see you when I get back!

i'm as done as a 50's Beehive

I am done. For 3 months I've been working on this big, huge, secret new project. I had to do most of the work in the last 2 weeks, though, because I needed to get it done before I leave for vacation this Thursday. I've been glued to this computer and the phone for what feels like 24 hours a day, but has really been around 14 hours a day.

And now I am done. I've uploaded the new web pages, checked everything and checked everything again. I've written contracts and made schedules and made pretty pictures prettier and I'm done.

Done, done, done. I'm as done as a 12 minute egg. I'm as done as a 50's beehive. I'm as done as Brad and Jennifer. I'm as done as nehru collars and pink sponge curlers and yesterday's lunch. I AM DONE!

Are you maybe getting a sense of how happy I am that I'm done??!

What was the big secret project? Oh man. This is it. This is just the coolest thing ever, I swear. It's an Art Business Conference on a Caribbean cruise! I mean, dentist's and sales people and lawyers get to go to cool places for conferences...why shouldn't we?

And our speakers! Holy cow. I started off shooting for the moon by asking speakers & experts I was sure would turn me down. Know what? Not one did! The coolest people are going to be speaking and the knowledge and experience base on board is going to be phenomenal. Simply phenomenal.

I am so excited it's not even funny. (OK...now there's another one of those truly goofy phrases. why would it be funny if I were less excited?)

So.
There.
Now you know my big secret project.
Come on the cruise and eat blueberries and Greek yogurt with me, ok?

much better than cow urine

I am right now eating a bowl of blueberries, sliced banana, fresh California strawberries, raspberries and Greek yogurt. The stars of the medley are the blueberries and Greek yogurt. Are you kiddin' me?? How do they get that yogurt so thick and creamy?? Why would anybody eat any other kind of yogurt? It's like the difference between. . . oh, i dunno. . . I'm too tired to think up some clever analogy. It's just a really big difference, ok? Huge.

I have eaten a bowl of blueberries & plain Greek yogurt with other scrumptious fruits every night now for 12 nights in a row. I'm an addict. It's cool, though. Now that I'm settling into singlehood, it gives me something to look forward to every night. It's not quite as good as snuggling in bed, but it beats acquiring a cat. (not really too crazy about that whole litter box routine....)

This fruit & yogurt thing started when I was reading another blog, and they mentioned SuperFoods Rx and liking the sound of food that is super, I followed the link to Amazon, whereupon the book leapt into my shopping cart (clearly I am too tired to be blogging tonight...my self-edit button has already gone to sleep!) and bought itself before I had any say in the matter!

So, what could I do but read the darned thing once it arrived? One of these days I'll tell you about the first diet I was put on (I was 4) and then maybe the second one ( I was 8 ) and so on. Maybe I'll even let you in on the cow urine diet (I was 13). But not until I can trust you enough to not feel sorry for me for being chocolate-deprived at such a young age.

Anyway.....back to Superfoods Rx. I love it. I am cooking again. Banished from the freezer are all those little boxes full of almost-food! My pots and pans have been dusted off and the pantry is full of beans and whole grains, soups, vegetables and fresh fruits. And I love it. I mean, I love it. I love it because there's not a word in that whole book about what I CAN'T HAVE!!!! There's just a list of 14 foods exceptionally high in nutrients, and a bunch of stuff about what nice things they are willing and waiting to do for me if I eat them.

And that's making me pretty happy.

Sooooooooooo, I've got the list on my fridge of all the superstars. Next to that is a chart I whipped up so's I can check 'em off as I eat 'em. I aim for 10 of the 14 each day. In the 12 days, the least I've checked off in one day is 8. Most days I make it to 11. I feel really good. It seems the body senses the difference between a spinach salad with wild salmon with cauliflower with sweet potato dinner and a Lean Cuisine.

Go online. Oh wait...I guess you are online....well ok then, go to Trader Joe's online. Find the nearest store. Drive there as soon as possible. Buy a lot of blueberries and Greek yogurt. If you're single, buy even more.

unloading

How long does it take to unload a full dishwasher?

At my house, the average time it takes is a day and a half.

Almost every person I know is weird about unloading the dishwasher. If you timed it, most dishwashers can probably be unloaded in 5 or 6 minutes. It's like, nothing. Nada. No sweat. It doesn't cost any money to unload a dishwasher, it doesn't hurt to unload one, it doesn't require muscle or flexibility, it can be done in the comfort of your own home in any attire, it can be done morning, noon or night and the benefits of unloading a dishwasher far outweigh the consequences of leaving the clean dishes unloaded.

So why are they so darned hard to unload?

I'm going to bed now. And no....I am not going to unload my dishwasher before doing so....

(and speaking of unloading, don't you think "unloading" is a pretty industrial word for taking plates out of a box???!!)

polly wants a square!!

It's 3 am. I'm tired. It's been such an icky 4 days without the internet. There is little that is more difficult than running an online business without the "online" part! I felt like a plumber called onto a big, messy job - and then told the only tools I could use to fix it were scotch tape and kleenex.

But I hopped on here because I have to share this:
http://www.sheldrake.org/nkisi/nkisi1_text.html

Be sure to listen to the audio tape. It blew me totally and completely away. You will not believe it's a parrot talking!

I'm going to bed. I'll write again soon. Honest I will....

g'night, blogosphere...