The Crab Chronicles

Mariachi Christmas

Christmas 2008 is just a few days away. I cannot wrap my mind around that fact. I see the Christmas tree, I see the checkbook, I see the lights at my neighbors’ houses, and yet, it seems unreal. However, Christmas seems to be getting closer.

I had a happy moment today at lunch. We were eating at La Frontera, and a mariachi band came over and serenaded our table. At first I thought it was annoying. I was trying to eat a Crazy Taco, and that takes some concentration, because I like to break off pieces of the bowl and eat it. They left. Then the mariachi guys came around again, and I thought what the heck, and I asked them to play Jingle Bells. They did a funny medley of that plus Feliz Navidad. I looked at my mother singing along and bopping happily in her seat next to me, and Iooked at my kids, and suddenly, I got some Christmas spirit. A big dose. A warm wash of Christmas happy.

We had been to church, where I had gotten a little dose. There was a beautiful handcrafted crèche on a small table in the back of the sanctuary, and it featured happy, joyous angels, and animals. I pointed out to Michael that the baby and Mary and Joseph were missing, but the setting was there. I’m sure the family will appear Christmas eve. I felt a little Christmas happy then. I try to remind my kids of what Christmas is all about, as often as possible.

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We got back from lunch today and I planted some tulip bulbs which have been in the fridge for months. I hope out of the 10 or so bulbs that at least a few will come up. While I was doing that, Michael dragged the pumpkin to the side of the house and hacked it up with the hatchet. He loved doing that and I put the remains in my compost bed over there. Why is it boys like to destroy things?!

Alesia has been in a mood all afternoon. She spent several hours sitting in the dining room cutting things out of magazines and pasting them in a scrapbook – like ads for shoes, clothes, etc. It seems kind of an odd thing to do, I know, but cutting things out comforts her.

Michael and I went to work making goodies. We made an Apricot Brandy Pound Cake. I didn’t have apricot brandy so I used peach brandy and it turned out fine. The recipe is below. We also made two batches of brownies – homemade, not from a mix. The homemade recipe my mother uses is very easy. We sent some goodies to the neighbors and kept some for ourselves. I’m also taking some to work tomorrow.

Alesia was in sort of a hyper mood later tonight. I don’t know what to attribute it to, but I’ve noticed lately Sundays are when she is not happy, and I suspect it may have something to do with the fact that I have to go to work tomorrow.

We watched an old movie tonight, Arsenic and Old Lace. Cary Grant was such a hottie. I hate that word, but he was the original hottie. If you want to show the kids a great, classic movie, rent Arsenic and Old Lace.

 

Apricot Brandy Pound Cake

• 3 cups sifted all-purpose flour
• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup sour cream
• 1/2 teaspoon rum flavored extract
• 1 teaspoon orange extract
• 1/4 teaspoon almond extract
• 1/2 teaspoon lemon extract
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/2 cup apricot brandy
• 1 cup butter
• 3 cups white sugar
• 6 eggs

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F (165 degrees C). Grease and flour a 10 inch tube pan. Mix together the flour, baking soda and salt. Set aside.
2. Combine the sour cream, rum flavoring, orange extract, almond extract, lemon extract, vanilla extract and apricot brandy. Set aside. In a large bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs one at a time. Beat in the flour mixture alternately with the sour cream and flavorings mixture, stirring just until incorporated.
3. Pour batter into prepared pan. Bake in the preheated oven for 60 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Allow to cool.

On The Air

Today’s quote was a great one, and so apropos for me:

Do not fear to be eccentric in opinion, for every opinion now accepted was once eccentric.
- Bertrand Russell

My horoscope, which lately has seemed to be totally off base, finally seems to be on point, too:

Choose a type of communication that's out of the ordinary, today. Not only will it get you noticed faster, it will help your message get across a lot more clearly. People pay attention to things that are new or different, so if you need people to really listen to what you have to say, speak up in a creative way! Use rhyming, singing, or slang to say what you want to say. Entertain people while you inform them, and you will always leave an unforgettable impression.

Why is that, you may wonder? Well, I got to go down to WABE and record a promotional commentary for NPR [National Public Radio] today. Yes, one day you might catch my goofy voice on the radio.

I posted back in September [9/5/08 post entitled Addicted to NPR] about how much I like to listen to NPR, and I sent them an email. I heard nothing back, which didn’t surprise me. Then on Monday I had a voicemail from a producer saying she would like me to read my post on the air. I have heard these little commentaries while I was listening to NPR but never paid much attention to them, unless they were funny. My post is funny, so I guess they are thinking it will be an attention-grabber at pledge time.

Of course, they edited it for time. I tend to meander off on verbal tangents on my blog. They didn’t really care about my opinion of Luther Vandross’ English grammar mistakes, or this entire paragraph:

I dare not look at the website too much. It would call to me with fascinating articles which make me want to write a rebuttal, like This one about 80's music being unpopular. Some of my favorite songs were hits in the 80's. I loved that decade - the big hair, the shoulder pads, the blazers and jeans look. I was in my 20's. It was MY decade. [I can sing all the words to Peter Gabriel's Sledgehammer, and I have no idea what that song means. Doesn't matter. It has a great beat and you can dance to it. I give it a 99....]

But that’s fine. All the edits they made were things I would have excised, too.

I recorded the Commentary at the local public radio station here, on my lunch hour. The studio was tiny, and had thick grey egg-crate looking foam all over the walls. The microphone was professional, and I could hear myself on headphones. That was a trip. I think I sounded very odd, but then nobody I know likes the sound of their recorded voice.

The producer is in Washington DC, and she coached me by phone. I read the piece several times, and added a few lines that punched up the humor.

The piece will air sometime in February, she said. That’s when it’s pledge time for public radio. If I can find out when it will air, I’ll post here so y’all can tune in.

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Michael is learning the recorder for music. There are some songs he just cannot play, which has caused him some anxiety, and the music teacher and I have traded some emails about it. She is going to switch him to the xylophone when they get to songs he can’t play. I would prefer the piano but she’s a hard person to argue with.

Anyway, tonight I picked him up from his first group tennis lesson at 6. When we got home I asked him if he had practiced his recorder and he said yes, and he played a song for me. I decided to play it on the piano. Our “Merrily We Roll Along” duet was very lively. He was tickled. Later, when I sang a very soulful rendition of it while fixing dinner, he was not as impressed. I can improvise a lot better vocally than on the piano. I sang it just like Aretha. [Well, sorta. OK, not so much. But we’re about the same size now..]

Our movie was The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. It’s such a nice movie. I usually cannot bear teen movies, but this one was nice. It celebrated friendship. I would recommend this to anyone with teens, male or female. Now I need to order the sequel to it.

Alesia feels like she is getting sick - headache, stuffy nose, coughing. I hope she's not. Say a prayer for her if you can, please...

Resisting Nerd-dom

I re-read yesterday’s quick post and realized it sounded like Mike never got to bed last night. He sacked out on my bed and fell asleep, and then I got him up and walked him back to his bed. When he first came home I could pick him up, but now he weighs close to 90 lbs., so he has to walk. He rarely bumps into anything and he has no memory of it the next day.

I put music on his CD player at night for him to listen to as he falls asleep. I have learned that he falls fast. Once he is horizontal and still, and we have had prayers, he is out in about 2 minutes. [Unless someone sends me an email of something screaming…] For the past week he has been listening to one of my all-time favorite artists, Mary Chapin Carpenter.

Mary Chapin Carpenter [MCC] is, in my opinion, one of the best songwriters and singers in the world. Her lyrics are always powerful. This is from her song Beautiful Racket, off the CD Between Here and Gone:

So your day begins like this

Wondering what might have been

Old regrets and chances missed

Borne away on some lambent wind

Her music is so powerful, I can listen to it all day, although that particular CD is not a favorite. She still has great lyrics but her recent songs sound like re-treads, musically. I have always loved singer/songwriters like MCC, James Taylor, and Paul Simon. I also like classic R&B. Yeah, I'm weird.

She did an early song called I Am A Town, which I saw her sing in concert some years ago, when my Dad was alive, and I later bought the CD and listened to it obsessively. The song talks in the persona of a small southern town. When my Dad was sick with cancer and I was driving back and forth to Augusta all the time I would listen to it and cry because it made me think of my dad and his life. It took about 500 listens before I was able to hear it and not cry. I had thought at one time I might sing it at his memorial service, a cappella, as a tribute, but when the day came I was barely functional, and singing anything was not an option. Mother had a service completely devoid of any music because she was afraid she would break down and sob in front of a packed church and so, no music. No sobbing either, not in public anyway. Mother has a horror of crying in public.

She has a new CD out, a compilation of Christmas music and I would love to get that for Christmas. Hint. Hint. 

MCC gets labeled as country, but she's not really. I know country. We saw a lot of country music concerts when we lived in Knoxville, I guess because of the proximity to Nashville. Bruce used to take a flashlight and read a book. He always said he didn’t like country. Years later, I found a George Jones CD in his truck. You can’t deny your roots.

Then again, we are 50% mother and she was a professional singer in her youth and has a deep love of classical music.

When we are driving around downtown Atlanta and spot a pretty older church, Mother almost always says “I’ve sung in that church.”

Mother and I have talked about her death several times. She wants to be cremated. I am fine with that. I’ve told my kids, cremate me. No need to pay for a ridiculously expensive funeral. [The ridiculous cost of funerals is one of my soapbox topics, so don’t get me started…] Anyway, I’ve told Mother we WILL have music at her memorial service and I will choose it. [She won’t be there to protest. LOL] I am thinking about a nice eclectic mix, maybe something by Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, Placido Domingo, Willie Nelson, Rod Stewart, Leontyne Price, and of course the B-52’s. Wouldn’t be a party without the B’s…

I was in the car with Mother once and put on a CD I thought was pretty neutral, Aretha Franklin’s greatest hits, and as soon as Mother heard the first song she hollered “Get that crazy rock and roll music off there!!”

“But she’s the first lady of soul,” I protested weakly.

“Then just stop this car because I am getting out!” she barked.

“OK, OK, calm down…”

[I think I’ll start the memorial service with Aretha’s version of Dr. Feelgood…. ]

When I die, I don’t want the kids to pay for a funeral or a cremation. Donate my body to science. I should provide great research opportunities for the cure for cellulite. Maybe they can find a cure for fat thighs and Hobbit feet, too.

For me, no funeral. Just have a big party. Play lots of Stevie Wonder, KC and the Sunshine Band, The Temptations, The B-52’s, Marvin Gaye, and any other good party music [excluding rap of course]. Think of me and smile. Tell funny stories. Eat chocolate cake and lobster tails. Read out loud from my collected works, and marvel at how many typos I committed in my lifetime. Instead of having a “viewing” of my body [a custom I’ve always thought was barbaric] instead have a screening of one of my favorite movies, Groundhog Day, which teaches good lessons about happiness and morality and it’s also funny. 

I think death can be quite funny. I love black humor anyway. When my great uncle Jake died, Dad got his few personal effects from the funeral home, and stored them briefly in the storage room of our garage. I was 8. I walked in there one day and saw Jake’s false teeth gleaming at me from the shadows and nearly wet my pants. I ran out screaming. I adored Jake but those teeth were not my favorite part of him. Now, the memory amuses me.

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We were in an awkward moment last night just before dinner, when Alesia sang a snippet of melody and asked me what the name of the song was. “You know this, Mom? What’s the name of it?” I froze like a deer in the headlights who has spotted the muzzle of a double-barrel shotgun. “Uh, I’m not sure, hum it again?” I said weakly. She hummed it. I looked at Mother, who also looked horrified. “I, uh, don’t know, sorry kiddo,” I said lamely. “Mom, you know that song!” she said. This time she hummed a different melody. She has no ear for music. She could’ve been humming the Russian national anthem for all I knew. Fortunately, food was imminent and she dropped the line of inquiry.

Alesia may not be good at music but she's a fierce little warrior woman when it comes to those she loves, and I love that about her. Michael read a story yesterday for language arts about a deaf child with an older sister, and how the sister took up for him. When Alesia got home, Michael said to her “If someone called me a freak, what would you do?” Mother said Alesia looked extremely ticked off and said “I would beat their BUTT!” or words to that effect. “Beat butt” is how she remembered it later. She is very protective of Michael and just adores him. Of course, he gets on her nerves, like any younger brother, and they argue and fuss. They are close, though. When we go on long car trips and they are stuck in the back seat together they almost never fuss.

Michael is my resident clown, sometimes inadvertently. When Michael got home from school today I was dying to hear about the program the boys saw at Fernbank. I asked him what the program was and if he liked it. He answered this way, his voice dripping with disgust: “It was boring. They just talked about armpit hair and pimples!” I could hear Mother in the background laughing. Turns out they didn’t tell Michael anything he didn’t already know. We’ve talked about puberty and how that affects boys, here at home, several times.

Michael had an eye exam today. He was very grumpy and apprehensive before going in, as usualy with any new experience. He asked me last night why he had to have the exam and I explained that Granny and I are concerned about his eyesight. To prove my point, he had just tried on my regular glasses and instead of wincing and pulling them off his face as quickly as possible, like most folks, he said “Wow, I like these. I can see out of these.”  After I told him he might need glasses, though, he drew back, frowning. “You’re not gonna make me wear NERD GLASSES?!” I tried to think what he was talking about. All I could come up with was the poster for the movie Revenge of the Nerds. “No, they will have a lot of frames to choose from, and you can pick what you like,” I tried to reassure him.

The optometrist found that Michael is far sighted and has astigmatism. We ordered a pair of glasses. Michael is intrigued with the idea of wearing the glasses. I sure hope they help him to see better. Maybe some of his recent fussiness is frustration with his sight. He picked out non-nerd frames, fyi.

IN OTHER NEWS

We finished Mike's big social studies project after getting home from the eye doctor. I am dead tired.

My friend Cindy [Big Mama Hollers is her blog] is going through a terrible ordeal with two of her children who are exhibiting severe behaviors, plus other difficulties. Please say a prayer for her and her family.

We heard from Bruce that he was catching a plane for Kuwait tonight, and hoped to be home Saturday or Sunday. Yay. Mother and I are both anxious. Say another prayer for his safe and speedy travel, please.

Bongo Mama

Michael played in his first tennis tournament this morning. It was a round robin tournament, against kids in the neighborhood. He did well but he didn’t make it to the finals – as Coach pointed out, all the kids who made it are the oldest in the group and they have been playing the longest. Michael has been playing about 5 weeks.

He was not pleased about his poor showing, however. Logic had nothing to do with it. he plays to win.

 

He almost didn’t play. We had a real shouting match over his shirt. He wanted to wear a long tee shirt and I said nope, you need a shorter shirt so you can retrieve your balls from your pocket quickly. He refused, even after the coach told him he had to wear a shorter shirt. I was so ticked off. I finally realized, Michael was nervous. The way he copes is that he gets very obstinate and cranky. I gave him some TLC and cajoled him into wearing the right shirt.

Next week at their first official match they are supposed to all have team shirts, thank God.

 

It was almost 2 by the time we ate lunch. We went to the fish store, and the produce stand. I got some fruit for tomorrow. I am hosting a MAPREC pool party and I wanted to take a fruit tray. Alesia cut up watermelon and I cut up a cantaloupe and washed some strawberries.

I must admit something here - I occasionally spend some time surfing YouTube and the kids and I watch various videos, almost always funny ones. [They have NO access to the internet at my house without my direct supervision.] While Mike and I are watching, Alesia comes in carrying a huge bowl of what I think is just cut up fruit - apples, plums, etc. Then I notice at the bottom she has a number of tiny tomatoes from our garden, and cucumbers, cut up! It's a fruit AND veggie salad. Great snack. She just sat there and methodically ate it. If I ate something like that I'd have to sprint for the bathroom!

 

Oh, I forgot to mention something interesting. I stopped on the way home yesterday and bought Michael a recorder, for music class. I kept forgetting to give him the money and he needed to work on the fingering, I felt. I didn’t want to come home with nothing for Alesia, so I got her a set of bongo drums that were on sale.

 

Mike loves both instruments. Alesia looked at the bongo drums like, are you kidding me?! She has a great sense of rythm but she just didn’t get into the drums. I have to confess something here – I LOVE the bongos! I had such a good time this afternoon playing music and playing the drums along with the music.

 

I felt very primitive. I had this funny image of my Celtic ancestors with blue faces talking through my DNA going “Aye girl!!” or whatever. Somehow when I hear my Celtic ancestor voices in my head they sound disturbingly like the little cartoon characters on the Lucky Charms commercials….   

 

Mike likes to beat the bongos too. We found he does best with an old toothbrush. Very therapeutic.

His favorite way to hang out around the house is without a shirt. He likes to bop around in his boxers, too, and leave his shoes everywhere. He also likes to pour hot sauce all over his meat. Reminds me soooooo much of his grandfather it's eerie...