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Week Five of 52 Stories: Rex

Posted on 07. Feb, 2009 by Deb.

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This is for the 52 Stories group on Flickr where we take one picture a week and write a story. This is mine for Week Five.

All was quiet in the Smouse House.

I remember that it was a Sunday and the sun had barely peeked over the horizon and had not yet risen enough to bring light into the house through the micro-gaps in the mini-blinds. The girls, typical teens in their sleep habits, were still in that deep REM sleep. They wouldn’t wake for hours. Animals, as was there demand, had been given their morning meal and the coffee pot was dripping. I was waiting for my first cup of the French Roast mixed with just the right amount of milk. Patience is not always my friend during this wait, but I had been trying her out of late, and resisted my urge to use the “drip and pour” method as was frequent during a busier morning. But it was Sunday and I had no where I had to be at any particular time.

My head was still on the filaments of the dream I had woken to as I dug into my still sleepy mind to pick out more details beyond the feelings of softness and warmth. It’s harder to remember when you jolt awake. And the dream was too delicious not not savor as I would a fine piece of chocolate. So I stood in the dark kitchen with readied cup, waiting for the signaling beep as I took in the smell of the fresh coffee with the warmth of my thoughts. It was almost automatic pilot when I poured and mixed into my favorite cup of late, the one from Mystic Seaport. I took the first sip standing there at the counter before wandering into the living room to enjoy my first cup in the silence.

And as I sat on the love seat, hot cup of coffee in hand, my leg brushed something between the sofa and the love seat. My heart went up and my throat and all soft and warm feelings were gone in an instant when I realized that something was there. And then I saw that it was only Rex.

Damned. Kids.

Well, kid. As Rex belongs to my oldest. My oldest who, at 17, loves dinosaurs more than any 7 year old boy. And she had positioned this 2-foot high creature, in all his plastic glory, just peeking between the sofa and the love seat. Peeking just enough to cause me to startle.

The house was still dark and silent, but my head wasn’t. Lost was the softness of the dream and it was replaced with feelings of amusement and a different kind of softness. That love that a parent feels no matter how horrible she been the day before. Pieces of their personality that you always liked – like this love of dinosaurs at the edge of adulthood – pushing away the feelings of frustration at hormonal rants and refusals to take out the trash.

I patted Rex on the head and enjoyed my first cup of coffee in the quiet of the morning. Where everyone was sleeping. And everything was right.

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25 Things

Posted on 28. Jan, 2009 by Deb.

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It’s been ages since I’ve done a meme and I kind of got tagged for it, in that I was surfing through all the folks I link to, went to Michele’s, and she said that anyone who read the entry should consider themselves tagged. So here I am.

Rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you.

Alrighty, then.

I don’t like driving next to those concrete barriers that separate lanes on the highway. I drive in the MIDDLE lane if I can. In an HOV lane, where the concrete walls are on both side, I find myself slowing down.
I do, however, love to drive at the top of the speed limit on roads that have curves I can make my car HUG them. It’s exhilarating. Especially, with great music.
Speaking of music, I love to sing. In the car, in the shower, etc. Especially old country, folk and big band. Patsy Cline is magic.
I was offered a voice scholarship for college, though I didn’t take it, I didn’t want to major in music. And I can’t read music. I have always been someone who learned music by hearing it. I did, however, take voice lessons throughout college just because I loved singing.
I did accept the Theatre scholarship as well as an Academic one. My degree is in Communications and I have a minor in Theatre.
I am adopted. No, I haven’t tried to find my birth mother. But having some medical history would be nice. I wondered about it when I was pregnant. I worry about it as I age and deal with things like high blood pressure.
While I don’t feel old, at times, my age catches up with me. I have a very embarrassing yet funny story involving an age-thing that happen to women, popping a blood vessel in my eye and coughing. If you are smart, you might figure it out. Without me having embarrass myself. Or you can just ask me if you can’t figure it out.
When I had my hysterectomy several years ago, I got the before and after shots of my make-over…. Yes, I got the pictures to prove I am NOT a Stepford Robot Wife.
Speaking of my hysterectomy, since I have no girlie innerds, I do a hormone replacement treatment. I have tried the patch, pills, bio-identical hormonal cream and now monthly shots. The shots, while leaving a small – and itchy – knot in my hip for a couple of days, works. And is worth it. Trust me on that. Me without hormones is a weepy and cranky mess.
My food tastes have changed since my hysterectomy. I used to be a real chocoholic, but something changed in my late 30′s. If I get ice cream, I actually prefer vanilla. however, there is nothing like a single piece of really good chocolate, like Godiva.
My favorite Godiva? Currently, the Open Oyster though I tried some incredibly yummy orange filled dark chocolate crescent. They used to make a chocolate bar that was to die for. It was milk chocolate with coconut and macadamia nuts in it, but it was discontinued
I prefer Mayo, thank you. Burgers and sandwiches require mayo. Mustard is only for hot dogs and Ketchup is only for fries and onion rings. Oh, but when you make a sandwich, the mayo can only go on the MEAT side. It can never be put on the same side as the cheese.
I can’t remember the last time a man sent me flowers because he loved me. I think, maybe the year I turned 30 or was it for my last wedding anniversary in 2003? I think the anniversary ones don’t count since we filed for divorce two months later.
Since I sometimes like flowers and if I’m in the mood, I will buy them for myself. I typically buy daisies or those mixed-spring bouquets.
Cost-Co is a great place to buy flowers bouquets. They are usually fresh, pretty and inexpensive. When I am going to put flowers on graves at Arlington National Cemetery, I typically buy the flowers at Cost-Co. There is a Cost-Co two Metro stops from the Arlington Cemetery Metro Stop.
I try to be a tourist at least once a visit when I am in DC. I have spent the most time at the National Air and Space Museum, Arlington National Cemetery, the Lincoln Memorial. The absolute best walk is from the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial. In between Washington and Lincoln are the WWII Memorial, the Reflecting Pool, the Korean War Memorial, and Vietnam Memorial. The walk is a mile long.
When I was basically living in DC, I slacked a bit on lengthy visits to any of the tourists type sites, so I did some quickie visits – like a walk through the Smithsonian Gardens on the way to the Metro (across the street from the Department of Energy), walk to the hotel from the Navy Memorial (which was one stop and 4 blocks away), or run into the National Portraiture Gallery and American Art Museum for a quick visit. I appreciated that they were open until 7 PM every night. My favorite thing there is the Presidential Portraits.
I was incredibly giddy the day I got my very own Library Card to the Library of Congress. I carry it with me all the time, even when I am not in DC.
I used to read about eight to twelve books a month, but I have slowed in recent months. Work was sapping me and now my reading time is going to studying.
Since I am taking this class, I have realized that I prefer to read in silence. I used to study in front of the TV, but now I need silence. Is it age? Or am I simply out of practice? Or has my ADD and copying tools finally caught up with me? I wonder.
Sometimes I wonder if my inability to focus is because I have been in one place too long. I had gotten used to traveling and I miss exploration. I am also missing DC in a very big way, which at times, has felt more like home than home has felt.
Speaking of home, I have been in this house now for 22 years. This is the 4th address I have had in all of my 40 years and every single one of them has been in Tarrant County. My folks live in the same house that we moved into when I was six.
Sometimes, I think about relocating somewhere else, simply so that I can experience living in a different place other than DFW, Texas. This is home, but the wanderlust that has settled into my soul sometimes pulls a the deep roots I have in Texas.
My grandmother was born in Tennessee and actually traveled to Texas on a wagon. She considered herself a Texan. She was one of 14 children. Of the photos I have above my desk, a picture of her is one of them. It was a photo for a local paper that was taken of her canning fruit. I remember when it was taken because I was visiting her. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of spending time at her house on summer vacation. My grandmother was the daughter of a Baptist preacher. She didn’t dance and didn’t drink. Her grandaughter, on the other hand, does like to dance and I appreciate a good glass of wine.
My favorite wine is a Pinot Gris or a Pinot Noir from Oregon. I really prefer Big Fire from R.Stuart, but it is hard to find and when I do find it it’s about $40 a bottle. I have discovered that they ship directly to my house – so I don’t have to run around to find it and I save money. I love how the internet has stuff like that for me…

And that’s it. 25 facts. I think I am supposed to TAG 25 people, but I won’t push myself off on folks. Like Michele suggested, if you read this, play along…

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Week Four of 52 Stories: In Love

Posted on 27. Jan, 2009 by Deb.

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This is for the 52 Stories group on Flickr where we take one picture a week and write a story. This is mine for Week Four.

I am having a love affair. It may be an unrequited love, though I have this hope that one day, my love will be returned. Well, if not returned exactly, at least rewarded. Last Sunday, after losing about half a dozen balls to the Golf Water God, my love gave me what I had been seeking. The flight of a little white ball up and over the twelve-foot creek. My love? My 7-Iron.

My clubs have only been with me for about a month. I purchased them shortly before the New Year. Oh, and speaking of love, I love how they look. They are beautiful, all of their shiny little heads connected by flexible shafts to lovely grips. I researched Ladies clubs and though I don’t quite understand every bit of science and mathematics behind their creation, but I do know that of the six sets of clubs I considered before making the investment, these sounded the best when I hit the ball. They are much nicer than my first clubs, a heavy iron set of Wilson’s. And the lovely sounding (and lightweight) clubs were packaged in a beautiful blue and green bag. Seriously, do I look like the kind of girl who would carry around a hot-pink golf bag? Do you know how hard it is to find ladies golf clubs that aren’t packaged in pink, hot pink, or purple?

On my first couple of outings with my new clubs, my hybrid 5-iron was my favorite. But the over-the-water shot moved the 7-iron to the top of my list. It’s place in my heart was sealed when I hit off the tee box on a Par 3 hole and made it over yet another creek. I am new at golf, so managing to get the golf ball airborne a feat, let alone combining it with distance.

I know, I know. Don’t tell the other clubs that I am having and affair with the 7-iron. I don’t want them to be jealous.

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Week Three of 52 Stories: Stop the Car!

Posted on 23. Jan, 2009 by Deb.

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This is for the 52 Stories group on Flickr where we take one picture a week and write a story. This is mine for Week Three.

It was day five of the longest week I’d experienced in ages. I am an experienced Road Warrior Princess and successfully (and usually happily) had lived out of a suitcase for much of the last two years, so three weeks of doing Public Meetings should be a cinch. I realized, however, that changing hotels each night was not as comforting as traveling in and staying put. We had flown into Midland, Texas and in two days had also driven to Hobbs, Carlsbad and Roswell to conduct three of the meetings. After Roswell, we drove to Santa Fe, where we had a break from Wednesday afternoon until Thursday at 2 PM.

After exploring the Plaza in Santa Fe, I wanted to get some posole for a Christmas gift. (Posole is New Mexico thing…basically hominy that is dried like beans.) My friend, meeting coordinator, and New Mexico Native Karen suggested we go to a regular grocery store. When we pulled into the parking lot there it was.

We had been snapping photos all week, like the presenters talking about Nuclear Reactors, the light posts in downtown Roswell and the beautiful Pecos River, but this was BIG. Not just big. IT was HUGE. And I had to get a photo. It was the Oscar Meyer Wiener Mobile!

“PULL OVER!” I said.

I knew I HAD to get a picture of ME and the HUGE Wiener. It had been a long week. THIS was my reward for being a Road Warrior Princess for having stayed in 4 hotels in as many days (one resembling the Bates Motel!). We got out and made a visit to this 27-Foot Long Piece of Americana. By singing the “I Wish i were an Oscar Meyer” song, I became the proud owner of my very own Oscar Meyer Wiener Whistle. She also took our picture. This is Wayne and I being Hot Dogs.

The HotDogger in Charge told me that she and a partner drove the amazing vehicle for a year, attending events and doing appearances. She loved what she did, met a lot of wonderful folks, and was getting to see the United States! Call me simple, but it seems like it would be a pretty cool job.

Who ever said the life of a Road Warrior Princess wasn’t glamorous?

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Week Two of 52 Stories: A Guy Named Dave

Posted on 18. Jan, 2009 by Deb.

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This is for the 52 Stories group on Flickr where we take one picture a week and write a story. This is mine for Week Two.

I love talking to Veteran’s, especially those from the WWII era. They proudly wear their hats that announce them a WWII Vet and are often willing to spend a few moments chatting with a stranger about life. I also find that the veteran’s from that era are often ready to easily talk about their time during the war. I don’t know if it’s the time distance from the war, their age, or a combination. Maybe it’s the fact that few people are willing to take the time to listen to what they say.

December 7, 2008 was a bright but cold Sunday. I happened to be in DC and wandered own to one of my favorite spots to people watch: The Navy Memorial. The Navy Memorial is on on Pennsylvania Avenue at 7th Street. There you will find a granite sea and the Lone Sailor Sculpture staring across the sea. When the weather is warm, the fountains are flowing, surrounded by bronze plaques representing different communities of the navy as well as different events. I always remarked that the only idiosyncrasy is that the fountains smell of chlorine, and they should really smell of salt. But it was Pearl Harbor Day and the fountains were empty due to the chill in the air. I would be unable to stay for the wreath laying ceremony honoring the victims and heroes of “The Day that will Live in Infamy”, but I was fortunate enough to watch the rehearsal.

And that’s where I met Dave.

He was a proud WWII Veteran wearing not only his WWII Veteran Baseball Hat, but a photo of himself in his Navy Uniform. I smiled at him, and the gentleman he was with, telling him I wanted to shake his hand and thank him for his service. He introduced me to his friend, Bill, a Korean Vet. After I shook hands with Bill, Dave took my gloved hands in his and in that moment, I could see the boy in the photo in the eyes of the man before me. Without me needing to ask many questions, Dave began to share part of his story.

“I grew up in Maryland, and when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, I didn’t even know where Pearl Harbor was – I had to get a map and find it. But I joined up – all the kids I knew joined up. I remember this one kids down the street tried to change the date on his birth certificate, he was only fifteen. Me? I was seventeen.”

He looked over my shoulder and motioned to the statue of the Lone Sailor.

“My mom took a photo of me – just like that – right before I shipped out. I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find it, but wondered the first time I saw that statue, if it was me. Then I realized, it could have been any of us. But I had a bag like that, and a was so young and excited, like he is. I remember that Garrick coat. It was so warm. “ Then he chuckled. “I actually lost the first one. Well, didn’t lose it, someone else took mine and left his older one in it’s place. It wasn’t quite as warm as it had seen some time.”

We chatted more, and as I always do, I ask about life after the war. He worked for a machine shop and as time passed, he became a manager. The bonus of management meant a membership at the country club. His wife, who had passed on several years before, had loved that. He also told me about his children and grandchildren, especially his son, currently serving in the navy. He stood a little straighter then, as the told me about his son – he was an officer and was in and out of war zones and loved what he did.

As we parted, I asked him what he remembered the most. “It was an adventure. I learned that I could have fun and I loved it. Maybe I’m not supposed to say I had any fun at all, going off to war. But I did”.

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Week One of 52 Stories: Chuckie.

Posted on 09. Jan, 2009 by Deb.

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This is for the 52 Stories group on Flickr where we take one picture a week and write a story. This is mine for week One.

I had admired her from a distance, lusting after her and her sisters through various photographs I had seen over the years. Coming face to face with her was a defining moment, though and I believe it was then that the feelings of lust became the beginning stirrings of love in my heart. In thinking about that moment, I believe that the erotic scent hit my nostrils before my eyes could gaze upon her and seductive curves. There she was, right in front of me: an operational B17 Flying Fortress named “Chuckie”. Of the 12,726 B17’s manufactured between 1935 and 1945, only 12 have been tenderly restored to a condition in which they were meant to be in – and that is in the condition to fly.

The smell that sent my olfactory glands into a twitter was the combined scent of oil, high octane aviation fuel and waxed aluminum….climbing inside the nose of the plane and putting myself into the position of the bombardier was exciting…and then moving into the cockpit where the navigator, pilot and flight engineer worked was close to orgasmic.

When it gets down to it, I’ve always been interested in history. The lives of Henry the VIII and Thomas Jefferson were equally fascinating to me, but nothing held my interest like the stories of World War II. Then, about three years ago, the seduction of the War birds of the 1940’s turned to lust and a bit of an obsession.

Yes, I said the “o” word: obsession, but perhaps a better word would be passion. My exploration into the aviation of World War II was something I could really sink my teeth into as I discovered Aviation Museums where the stories I read about suddenly became something real to me as I found these remaining aviation marvels just waiting to be admired. With friends, I began to plan weekend getaways centering on the chance to gaze upon the polished aluminum and bubble canopy of a P51D Mustang or khaki painted B25 Mitchells.

Nothing spoke to me, though, like the sheer power of a B17.

The best collection of planes I had the chance to gaze upon was in Polk City, Florida at the Fantasy of Flight museum. During that visit, I realized that all of the other women on the tour were tolerating the trip because their husbands wanted to visit while I was wondering if I needed clean underwear because of the excitement.

Part way through the behind the scenes tour, I realized that some of the men were watching me more than they were listening to tour guide. I couldn’t tell if the men on the tour were watching me because the level of my breathing, flush faced and dilated eyes reminded them of a woman in an orgasmic state, if they were staring at my cleavage, or if it was the shock that I knew the difference between a Rolls Royce and a Pratt & Whitney engine. I was amused at their distraction, but soon I forgot them as I became lost in my lust for polished aluminum, camouflage paint, and the sexy sweet spot where the wing merged with the fuselage.

In a static display, the B17 owned by the museum in Florida, I climbed through. Twice. The plane had been damaged during Hurricane Andrew and the entire left wing was mangled. It was my first up-close-and-personal with a B17 and I was incredibly saddened that it would never feel the breeze of the sky against her belly. But, it (the Piccadilly Princess) was given as much love as it could be given – in a beautiful display with the interior restored – and the right engines were dripping oil. In my obsession….er…..research….I have learned that those old engines have to constantly drip oil to be lubricated enough to work. Dry engines can be the death of a vintage engine just as much as dry cuticles can be the end of a successful career in hand modeling (I’m trying to put it in girl-speak).

But back to my visit with Chuckie. All four of the beautiful engines were dripping oil into bright yellow barrels, which told me that the engines were functioning. I could actually run my hands along the polished aluminum and get a close-up look at the repaired bullet holes. She was being lovingly restored with the markings of the 8th Air Force, a very historic unit from World War II.

I got a personal tour from the gentleman responsible for Engine Number 4. He’s promised me that I can come out the next time they start the engines so I can hear her. He’s also offered to let me go for a ride if I’d like. Like the men who watched me in Florida, I couldn’t quite tell if he was looking at the excitement in my eyes – or checking out my boobs. It doesn’t matter what made him ask. I’m more than happy to take him up on his offer.

I simply can’t get that scent of airplane wax, oil and aviation fuel out of my mind. I’ll need fresh panties for the ride, thank you very much.

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Three Little Words for 2009

Posted on 02. Jan, 2009 by Deb.

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As I’ve mentioned over the past few days, my focus for 2009 would be forthcoming and today I finalized my column, meaning it’s time to share the focus here as well: Following My Heart, Retaining My Spunk, and Being Constructive. Though maybe not as easily understood as my words for last year, the choices of heart, spunk and constructive for me are right on target, fishtailing right in line with my goals for 2009.

Besides my column, there are some other wonderful things in this issue of All Things Girl. Please, do, check it out…. And on that note, it’s time for bed. Sweet Dreams.