The Crab Chronicles

Spam Outside the Can

Yahoo recently changed my email, and I hate it. I cannot figure out how to put it back to the old view. The new view, everything is tiny and hard to read, even though I have a ginormous computer monitor.

However, they did one good thing. Now all my spam emails get put into a spam folder. I take a look at that folder every now and then, although I don't open email that's clearly spam.Heck, I delete half the emails I get every day. If I read them all, I'd never get anything else done.

Thank God the emails about discount Viagra have stopped. Apparently those spammers finally figured out that sending those to women was a waste of time. Or else Cialis is just dominating that market. [I love the Cialis ads, where people with gray hair who like to hang around the house and give each other "come hither" looks. Can you say "Eeeeuw!"??]

Here's an interesting grouping of spam emails, one right after another:

Dog Food Coupons

Nutrisystem

Unlimited Free Tacos

Free Pizza

So I can eat all the Tacos and Pizza I want?! I can get the dog fat, too?! Heck yeah. Then when I have no pants that fit, I can get Nutrisystem to deliver all my meals to the house. That's a plan.

Not 5 minutes from my house is a restaurant called The Mellow Mushroom and right next door is a Weight Watchers. In Augusta, Mom and I used to laugh about Weight Watchers being right next to Cold Stone Creamery, the ice cream place. [I always referred to it as "Cold Slab Creamery" because that's the unappetizing moniker that came to mind every time I saw that place...]

There's a spam from somebody named "Hot Tub" and it says "Pick Up A Healthy Habit That Feels Good." Really?! I don't care for hot tubs. Big bubbling hot vats of bacteria, is how I view a hot tub. No thanks.

I can also get cheap Lasik. "Lasik special starting at $299!" Um, again, no thanks. Last thing I want is some ultra-cheap surgery on my EYES. Cutting my eyeballs, real cheap?! Great idea. Besides, I know several people who had Lasik surgery and then their eyes went back to the same poor vision as before.

I also love the ads that say "Meet Christian Singles Today." Singles who all opened a Spam email?? THAT is the caliber of date I want? I don't think so. Might as well say "Forrest Gump's dating service."

The only thing spam is good for is cheap laughs...

Look At My Beautiful Family

When I was a kid and walking down the street in either Augusta or Knoxville with my dad, it was always tedious. We couldn't go anywhere quickly. People Dad knew would stop him and want to chat. He was so well known, from the bank where he worked, or Kiwanis or the board of this or that organization, that he knew most of the other businesspeople in town.

I quickly learned that if he called a man "Chief" or a woman "Honey or Darling" that meant he couldn't remember their name.

My friend Cindy LaJoy lives in rural Colorado, and has three adopted Asian boys and two caucasian girls. I only say it that way because they get stared at a lot, out there, and it's gotten really uncomfortable for her at times. She posted about it on Facebook. I wished I could comfort her in some way, but of course I can't change public curiosity or opinions.

But at least I know what it's like to be stared at.

I also know how I felt sometimes with my dad. My father was a tall, handsome man. He was always well dressed. Next to him, I felt like the fat, ugly little girl, many times.  Sometimes people would look at dad, then me, clearly puzzled that such a handsome man produced a lumpish kid like me, but they could see the curly brown hair and high foreheads and know right away we were biologically connected.

So I know a little tiny bit of how Cindy feels, with her kids. A tiny bit.

To me, after reading her blog for so many years, and emailing, and Skyping, I feel like Cindy and her kids are family. One of my daydreams is to take a trip out west, one day, with Michael, to see the LaJoys, and see that part of America.

I wonder if people in Colorado will stare at me and Michael?! He is clearly part Kazakh. I am clearly not. He is missing his right hand. I am not.

I have a friend who adopted a limb difference child from China a few years ago. My friend, Jim, lost one of his lower legs as a result of an accident, so he wears a prosthetic leg. One day at an outdoor cafe in China, a group of Asian ladies stared at Jim and his little 5 year old son so long, Jim finally got mad and went over to them, whipped off his prosthetic and put it on the table right next to them. "Yeah, I am missing my leg, and son is missing his arm. SO WHAT?! Don't you know it's RUDE to stare?" He berated them for a minute, grabbed his leg, put it back on, and walked away. They likely didn't speak English but his body language and tone spoke volumes.

In Asian culture, sad to say, kids with congenital limb differences almost always get put up for adoption. There are many little boy babies and toddlers with limb differences that are available. Some are so minor, maybe just a missing finger or a club foot. Those kids are all considered "special needs" which is so bizarre to me. (So... if you want to adopt a baby or toddler from China and don't feel like waiting around 3-5 years, look into special needs adoption. Much quicker process.)

I feel blessed that we live in a very diverse area. Michael's school isn't all white, by any means. In fact, you see just as many Hispanic and black kids, and some Asian kids, at his school.

Walking down the street in Atlanta, you are likely to encounter all races, and all types of families. There are 2 mommy and 2 daddy families. There are big families with many kids, and little ones, like mine.

In the law firm where I work, all three lawyers are married to a lady of a different ethnic background, and they all have children.

I wish Cindy could march up to the people who stare and say "Thank you for taking the time to contemplate my family. Aren't my children BEAUTIFUL?! They all came to me through the miracle of adoption, and I am so blessed to be their REAL mom. I hope you will spread the word that families come in all different sizes and races nowadays. Thanks and God Bless."

Then again, wouldn't it be nice if she never felt like she had to explain her family to anyone??

The two kids in the middle are Angela [Cindy's child now] and Michael, at their orphanage in about 2006.

8th Grade

Michael is in school the rest of this week and then next week, and he's done on May 25th. We have a serious case of school-itis around here. He wants to get OUT.Can't say I blame him.

I remember being in 8th grade and feeling so restless and just over the whole middle school experience. I had a good year in 8th grade, except for an uncaring math teacher. I got along well with the other girls in my class. (Our main activity was reading Seventeen magazine and having slumber parties at each others' houses.) But I was ready for high school, and middle school was just tedious that last year.

I well recall the crazy teaching I had to endure. Michael is lucky. Most of his teachers are decent, and he has learned a lot.

My math teacher in 8th grade had won all kinds of awards and was very highly regarded. She taught me NOTHING. She would give out the assignments and you just sat and did the work. She rarely explained anything, and then didn't answer questions if you were confused. The gym teacher was constantly coming into our room and she and the math teacher would sit and chat the whole time. If a child approached with a question she glared at them and was curt and dismissive.

Our school had a crazy grading system. Instead of A,B,C,D or F, you were graded simply on how hard you tried, not whether or not you learned anything. I tried hard in math. I got "AP" grades [average progress]. I started high school lacking all the math skills and nearly flunked freshman algebra.

My social studies teacher in 8th grade was a tall redneck man, Mr. Simpson, who constantly belittled all the girls in the class. He would say flatly, "Boys are smarter." Every test was a contest. He'd average the boys' scores and the girls scores and put the scores on the board. The ones who got the higher score got extra recess times, or some such. We had some smart girls, but there was one girl who was just not too bright and she brought down the average every time. I was tutoring the other girls, trying to get everyone's score up, since social studies was my highest grade and was easy for me.

I'll never forget Mr. Simpson telling one of the girls, who was a little bit chubby, "You know how you can lose 8 lbs. of ugly fat? Cut off your head." What a jerk.

I'll never forget winning an award at the end of 8th grade, and wanting to throw it at my Language Arts teacher's head. I got "Most Improved" in Language Arts. I had gotten a poem published in a national magazine. I was writing short stories for publication and competing in speech contests and winning. I made all "SP" [A+] grades in Language Arts. And then I got "most improved"?!

The guy who won the award for Best Language Arts student? He went on to become an Elvis impersonator. I notice he's not on Facebook, unlike a lot of my 8th grade classmates.

The Language Arts teacher, Miss Gettys, is still teaching at the school, except now she teaches social studies. I sent her a postcard telling her I got my first book published. She was actually a very good teacher.

Well thank you very much...

Me in 8th grade, with the family, at a wedding...

Quickie Update

Yesterday was an incredibly busy day. I just finished writing a play review, and now I have to jump in the shower and then fix breakfast, so no blogging time is possible, but I wanted y'all to know I am still alive.

Michael got an email confirming he can go to the Adventure Amputee Camp this summer. YAY! He is so excited. It's a wonderful camp.

We have a bird feeder that mostly seems to be feeding creek rats. I filled the feeder with cayenne pepper and they STILL are eating our bird food. Any suggestions on how to stop feeding rats? Leave me a comment.

Michael wanted to eat everything in sight yesterday. I am hoping/praying he might be growing.

My friend Cindy's son wrote an amazingly touching story about his early childhood, and after a bit of editing by me, it's being published in installments over at Adoption Under One Roof. It's a very powerful piece of writing, quite remarkable for a teenager. I hope Chuy will keep writing.

My review of The Waffle Palace at the Horizon Theatre is here. I LOVED the show.

That's all the news I know. More later.

Rainy Day

I don't remember a day recently when we've had so much rain. There were a few periods of dry but it was almost all rain, all day long. Very dreary. My gardens loved it, though.

You see the little tomatoes there in the photo? I imagine they are bigger now. I ran outside yesterday and grabbed the rain guage and we'd gotten almost 1.5 inches of rain.

My brother sent roses to Mother, and the Fed-X truck woke us all up early yesterday morning.No sleeping in for anyone, except Michael, who has an amazing ability to go back to sleep.

I got up and fixed bacon and eggs for breakfast for Mother and me. I gave her the book I got her for Mother's Day, If You Ask Me, by Betty White. I read the entire book when we were at the DMV getting Michael's learner's permit. In my house we usually "pre-read" the books we give each other.

Michael finally got up and we went to CVS, then I let him drive a bit. I also showed him how to put gas in the car. I am letting him drive in traffic, a little, because he is doing so well.

We were coming back from the gas station to the haircut place, and there were fire trucks and ambulances up ahead of us. An old van was on fire in the right hand lane. It was chaotic there for a little while, as cars were jammed up. Michael kept his cool. I said "Haven't you ever seen a car-b-que before? An auto-flambe?" He smiled.

I got a haircut. Should have been a trim, but I got to talking to the stylist and it's much shorter now. Oh well. I look better with short hair and lord knows I don't want to spend more than 5 minutes fixing it in the morning.

Michael and I met Lesleigh at the movies and we saw The Avengers. It looked like a fun movie. However, there was almost no story. Stuff just blew apart or blew up constantly. I don't mind a lot of effects but the story was just inane. There were about 4 good laughs, and 3 of them were lines from Robert Downey, Jr. I was sorely disappointed, but Mike and Les loved it.

For Mother's Day, I asked Michael for fish. Nothing says love like fish, specifically lobster tails. We had lobster, fresh asparagus, and mashed potatoes for dinner last night. I made another blueberry cobbler. Major YUM.

Now, back to reality...

Mama Day

Over at my mother's blog she has her favorite saying, and it's one I share totally: If you don't laugh, you'll cry - Laughing's better. I am blessed to have a mother that shares her ideas and opinions freely, laughs with me a LOT, and who has discovered the joy of writing [blogging] in the last few years.

You see, my mother probably thought she was past mothering [heavy duty mothering] years ago, when Bruce and I left the nest, but now she is almost the co-parent with me in the raising of Michael. She also helped me a lot with Alesia.

Most grandmothers get to relax and just have fun times with the grandchildren. Not Elva. She is in there with me, in the trenches. I am a single mom, but not really a single mom. Elva has my back, and that has made a huge difference in my life and the lives of my children.

Michael and I saw a delightful play last night, The Waffle Palace. Very funny. Lots of physical comedy, songs, etc. in an intimate space. Loved the play. Will write my review later today.

Coming home in the car, though, Michael asked me why it is that he makes other people laugh but none of his friends make him laugh. I pointed out that I make him laugh, sometimes. I wasn't sure where he was going with this but we kept talking. Teen angst is a constant presence in our house, now. 

When we got home, I spent a lot of time in Mother's room, talking to her about Mike's feelings and how to handle him. That's a typical example of how she helps me. Most single moms don't have that ability to confide in someone.

I was lucky to have a mother, growing up, who was able to often just listen calmly and without passing judgment. When I was a teen, especially, that was important.

I am not that skilled. I fly off the handle a lot. I am trying to moderate that.

Being a mother is the hardest job in the world, and it's also the best job in the world. There's nothing like it. I wish I had more kids. Then again, I think the Lord knows what he's doing, and we all get the right kids for us.

Just thought I'd share a few sentiments and photos on this mother's day.

Happy Mother's Day to my mom, Elva Hasty Thompson! You're the best and I love you a great big bunch!!

Farm Terror

I was peacefully eating my sandwich last night for dinner, chatting with Mother, and I looked up and saw, to my horror, what looked to my nearsighted eyes like a giant spider on the kitchen window blinds. I screamed for Michael.

Actually, I shrieked. It was terrifying. Any moment I feared the gaint spider would FLY [palmetto bugs do that and I totally freak].

Michael came running downstairs and saw the giant bug and scoffed. "Mom, CHILL OUT. It's just a stink bug."

'KILL IT!! KILL IT NOW!" I screamed.

"Mom, go into the dining room. You are acting ridiculous," Michael scolded me.

Mother, meanwhile, just sat at the table placidly. "Oh for heavens' sakes, just grab a big envelope there on the desk and whack him," she said.

I was still shrieking and jumping around. Michael grabbed the broom, knocked the bug down, and stepped on him.

"I hate killing things," he said sadly.

"HE WAS AN INTRUDER!! HE HAD TO DIE!" I screamed."Put him in the garbage and carry it outside!"

I was so upset I almost couldn't finish my gyro wrap. Almost.

Now, contrast that to how I acted about 8 years ago to being robbed at gunpoint in the parking lot of the condo complex where I was living. I didn't cry or scream. My main feeling was annoyance. My cousins and I were standing outside talking and this kid drove up in a big old car and stuck an old pistol out the window. I had no wallet, just my keys in my hand. So he didn't get anything from me. He got my cousin Susan's purse.

Point is, guns scare me a lot less than spiders.

My father and my brother collected guns of all sorts and were hunters when I was a kid. My brother still collects guns, and teaches people target shooting. He's an expert on all sorts of weapons.

Chickens, though? I fear them.

My aunt grew up on a farm in North Myrtle Beach. Years later, she and my uncle lived across the street from her parents' farm. There was a barn and a henhouse. I loved to go visit because you could walk down the street to the beach.

When I was in college I went to visit, and my aunt made me fried eggs out of the fresh eggs. WOW. I LOVE LOVE LOVE fresh eggs. I can still taste them.

One morning, my aunt asked me to go across the street and gather the eggs for breakfast. "Take Michael with you," she said. Now, I was in college so this was Michael Hasty, my cousin's son, who was about 10 years old.

I got across to the chicken house, and opened the door. I didn't see any eggs anywhere, just a bunch of annoyed chickens.

"How do I do this?" I asked Michael.

"It's easy, just reach under her," he said, demonstrating.

I approached a hen. She glared at me with hatred. I reached my hand towards her. She rose up, flapping her wings and squawking like the devil. I screamed in terror and ran out of there.

Michael got the eggs.

I was reminded of that a few days ago when my friend Paul said he and his wife are going to get some chickens and put them on their new property. "I will buy the eggs from you!" I said, delighted. "I won't go near the chickens, though. Keep them on a leash, away from me."

Michael just looked at me like I had lost my mind. "You fear chickens?!" he asked me. "Yes! I will tell you the story later," I hissed.

Another time, I was about 7, and we were visiting my mother's cousin Jack up at his farm in North Georgia. I went into a fenced pasture to see the cows, which were a safe distance away. Suddenly, they turned and started walking towards me. Dad and Jack were nearby but not paying any attention to me. The cows were trotting closer and closer to me.

I was terrified. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. Cows are HUGE. Especially when you are 7.

Of course, nobody told me I was standing right next to a huge block of salt they liked to lick. I thought they were going to lick me.

Finally, Dad heard my screams and came and grabbed me up, just before I was trampled to death.

I'll never forget it.

So, to recap: bugs, chickens, and cows scare the living daylights out of me. Muggers with loaded pistols? Nope.

These are my favorite cows, the Far Side cows..

Driving Through Grief

Michael drove for more than thirty minutes yesterday, and did very well. When we got home he kept asking how he'd done. I kept reassuring him.

I really think he is going to be an excellent driver.

I told him, truthfully, that when I was teaching Alesia to drive every episode ended with me terrified and screaming, because she didn't pay attention to what she was doing.

It's sort of an analogy to what's happening now. We're connected by text messages only, and when I think of how she's driving herself through her life, I am terrified and I want to scream.

I have a friend who is going through a crisis, and that was brought home to me yesterday when I talked to him. He got very angry at me, for no good reason, and he upset me. I had to sort of think about it later and try to figure out what was happening. I always do that, in all my relationships, I probably over-analyze everything.

Out of respect for his privacy I can't share the details but I will say this; relationships are always hard, always, even ones that are outside of family.

I can also say this, which I have learned throughout my life: I attract people to me who are needing reassurance, and some kind of mothering, because that's who I am, basically. I mother everyone.

I think my friend wanted me to yell and cuss and be confrontational, and that's really not who I am. I hate confrontations. The only time I will voluntarily wade into a fight is when I am defending one of my children. Then I become a mama bear, and God help anyone who tries to cross me. I scare myself sometimes.

My basic nature is not to confront, though. I just sort of freeze up. Then later, I cry.

Sometimes grief comes out in strange ways. After my uncle Lewis died I went through a period where I lost my voice, a protracted episode of laryngitis. My body was grieving. I'd lost my grandfather, my dad, and then Lewis, three men who loved me and cherished me.

I am having a lot of trouble with my left hip. Getting out of bed in the morning hurts. I wonder if my body is manifesting my grieving for my daughter? I don't know.

Now to make breakfast for Michael.

I am so glad the weekend is here.

Tennis Banquet

The highlight of yesterday was Michael's tennis banquet. I couldn't believe how much it didn't suck. I got a little tired of the "awards" given out at the end, to the varsity players [Mike was JV] but overall it was a really pleasant evening.I enjoyed talking to the other parents and getting out of the house.

Sweet Melissa's is a restaurant on the square in Decatur, which is a lovely small town a stone's throw from Atlanta. I had never been to Sweet Melissa's but the food was delicious. For $15 each person got: 

Menu: 

-          Caesar salad

-          Pesto chicken (Lightly breaded sautéed chicken breast topped with pesto, pine nuts, artichoke hearts and Parmesan cheese.)

-          Garlic mashed potatoes

-          Sautéed squash, zucchini 

-          Dessert and soft drinks

 

When I was a kid, sports banquets were held at local hotels, and the food was usually very blah, at best. Sometimes it truly was "rubber chicken." Not so last night. Very tasty food.

Michael won an award as the "most improved" and the award was a Lakeside folding chair, which I thought was a cute idea. The varsity kids gave the JV kids little gifts, too, which was nice.

That's Mike in the pink shirt, on the end. The shot below was made outside the restaurant before we went in, and I am so tickled at how well it turned out. It's Lydia [Colton's cousin], Colton, and Mike. All the kids look beautiful - three of my all-time favorite youngsters.

Happy Thursday!

The Man in My Life

I just realized tonight, that I am now living with a MAN. I was pretty startled to come upstairs tonight and find Michael shaving his face. "Getting tired of the chin hair," he explained casually, wielding the razor like an old pro.

"Did Uncle Bruce let you watch him shave?" I asked.

"Yep," was the reply."I don't even cut myself," he said proudly.

In two months my little boy will be 16 years old! This is hard for me to wrap my brain around. You see, I look at Michael and see this little guy:

My little 10 year old "baby" is gone now, though. He has a deep voice, and he's learning to drive, and getting ready to go to high school. Wow. The last 5 years passed in the blink of an eye. Last Sunday, May 7th, was the 5 year anniversary of the day Michael actually landed in America and joined our family.

I told him tonight while he was shaving and I was taking vitamins, "You know, you have to get in the habit of doing some things a man does. When you leave the house you need to get in the habit of taking wallet, keys, and phone."

Those are man habits. He needs to develop them.

I got to thinking, what qualities should Michael have, as a man? What qualities make for a successful man? I don't measure success in terms of money, I measure it in terms of character. Also, some basic life skills.

For instance, a man should know how to turn on a grill [or light a fire] and cook a decent steak.

A man should always be kind to small children and senior citizens.Actually, he should be kind to everyone, but particularly the very old and very young.

So I started thinking, why not go ahead and start a list of characteristics of the man I want to see  Michael become?

I was thinking of the list of traits that Andie McDowell spouts off in the movie Groundhog Day, as how she sees her Perfect Man: he's humble, intelligent, supportive, funny, romantic, courageous, has a good body "but doesn't have to look in the mirror every two minutes," ALSO - kind, sensitive, gentle, likes animals, children, and 'will change poopy diapers." "Oh, and he plays an instrument, and he loves his mother."

Bill Murray replies, "I am REALLY close on this one!" - which is a blatant lie, of course, which is what makes it funny.

I agree with everything on the list except that I don't care if Michael learns to play an instrument.

He has almost all of these characteristics already. He adores his mama and granny, and little Coco. He's courageous, humble, etc.

She left out funny - and Michael is funny. He was cracking jokes in English within a few months of coming here. In fact, I still laugh at how he described the Atlantic ocean the first time he saw it - "Cute" - a word his sister had taught him, with great delight, when he'd been here just a few weeks.

One thing I want to see in him is Confidence. Not arrogance, confidence. Huge difference. I want Michael to not let his missing hand make him shy. I want him to know and accept that he is very, very smart, and be confident with anyone he meets.

I also want him to have a strong faith in God.

A good work ethic.

The ability to admit when he's wrong, and the desire to then make things right.

The ability to truly relax.

And one really important characteristic - the ability to get along with difficult people. He has a teacher he is at odds with, and I've warned him several times, in life you will always encounter people you don't care for, people who may be rude or thoughtless, or snobby or just plain mean. Those people are everywhere. To be successful, you can't let those folks freak you out.We're working on it.

I also want him to have certain life skills, and he's got most of these:

the ability to cook a decent meal for himself [we're working on this one]

the ability to do his own laundry [he can do this]

the ability to manage his money [he has the right instincts in this already]

a concern for the environment [he already has this]

the ability to dress decently and appropriately [working on it]

Pride. I know, it's one of those seven deadly sins, but a certain amount of pride is a good thing. I want him to be proud to be a Kazakh-American. I want him to be proud of his family, his school, his talents in school and on the tennis court. The more proud he is, the more confidence he will develop.

Since I am raising my son without a man in the house, I've thought [and will continue to think] What sort of MAN do I want Michael to be?

I welcome comments about this, especially from guys. What do you think are the most important characteristics/life skills/accomplishments for a successful man?? Please leave me a comment.

"Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me. Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful, that's what matters to me."
Steve Jobs