Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Multiple Bang Style Personality Disorder



I'd like to show you the only movie star with whom I'll ever have a physical trait in common: Carole Lombard, who also was a Hoosier, by the way.

I bet you can guess what it is. It's certainly not a smoldering, sexy glare, now, is it.

It's that thing. That billboard over my eyes. "The Lombard," as I call it. I've disliked it all my life, along with other facial things (long nose, huge nostrils, moon face). In photos, I literally have to have George place his head BEHIND my head so that I don't appear to be two inches from the camera while he is at normal range. He knows the drill: we get a photo, he backs up a smidge.

 My head has always been big.


                             Exhibit A: Baby picture.
                   Dang. How did my neck hold that up?                                                                    

Normally, I wear bangs of some kind. Lately I've been sporting what would normally be a heavy, blunt bang, except 14 hairs that make up bangs can never look heavy:

But then I started to feel like I was reincarnating this:

I think I look rather pensive for a second grader, don't you? I was probably dreaming of being the line leader again, the best classroom job ever.

I'm not big on side swept bangs for myself. I think it reminds me of 8th grade. Yikes.



George never has much to say about what I wear or how I wear my hair. I just can't get an honest opinion out of him. In 29 years of marriage, the only preference he ever uttered was that he liked me with bangs better than without.

So I guess that's another reason I've kept the fringe.

But I just can't settle the issue, and every day of my life, I decide to let them grow out and then promptly trim them. Anyone else have Multiple Bang Style Personality Disorder?








Monday, August 25, 2014

Grandma Gets A Name


This is the story of the relative who would not be named until the time had come.

                                  ~~~

She's a toddler now and saying all kinds of words, which absolutely delights us. "Juice" is "geesh." Can't get any cuter.

She has been naming all things in her world, but one thing remained nameless; that thing was I, the maternal grandmother.

We would look at family photos, and she'd click off names: "Papaw, Meh Meh, Da da, Ditdin (Kristin)," etc. She can name objects in books, even some colors. But for the longest time, when I'd point to myself and ask, "And who is that?" She would purse her lips as if she were a prisoner holding a secret from an interrogator and with her little index finger swipe the page or picture on the phone and then begin anew exclaiming names for everything and everyone with a lot of energy. It was like the curtain of silence fell on her when my picture would show up. Once I was gone, the curtain lifted.

I started to get a complex. Maybe because George started calling me "Chopped Liver," just for fun.

I tried calling myself several cutesy names when I would talk to her: "Would you like Gramma to get your juice?" "Gigi loves you." Nothing stuck.

The only potential name I could not abide was "Meemaw." I think it sounds too much like "Heehaw" and brought up images of Cloris Leachman, "Mawmaw," on "Raising Hope."

Recently I decided to make a photo book for her on the Walgreen's site. I dropped in pics of everyone on both sides of her family, including great grandparents and family pets. Finally, it came to this: I had to name myself something.

I texted Katie, "I've got to call myself something. What should I choose for this book?" She replied, "Grammy. That's how I refer to you when I talk about you."

So "Grammy" was it. On July 30, 2014 I thought I became "Grammy."

On August 7, the book arrived. I was so excited to show her! I put her on my lap, opened the book and began to read about her mommy and daddy. She was very chatty about the pages, and when I turned to the page with my face on it, she took that little index finger over her shoulder and poked me under the chin, looked up and said as plain as day, "Nana."

"What? What did you just say, Child?!"

Oh, my heart leapt! I have a NAME! I am "NANA!"



And that is what I have heard all day long, every day that I've watched her since August 7. I was "Grammy" for about a week, just long enough to get it permanently into print. Looks like "Nana" is going to stick! I love it!




Sunday, August 24, 2014

On M&Ms

I just walked 2 miles to a Dollar Store to buy a bag of M&Ms that cost way more than one dolla.

I told myself that if I wanted them that badly, I'd have to walk.

I should be real with you and myself regarding this: when the M&M  mood hits, I'd crawl with my forehead scraping the sidewalk for that slick yellow package of sunshine in a candy shell. Truth is, I would've gotten to the candy by riding a dragon and wearing a fig leaf, if need be.

It's the peanut kind, in particular, my favorite. Now, I've purchased generic chocolate covered peanuts many times, telling myself they're cheaper and just as good.

Once AGAIN I "tell myself" something and am found out to be not just a liar but a crazy liar.

So I entered the store, turned off my music, paused my step counter, purchased the candy and a newspaper, then headed out.

I told myself I could wait until I got home to enjoy them during a movie or crossword.

Why do I keep "telling myself" things? No one is listening.

I opened the candy, took a bite and noticed something slightly off in taste and texture.

I stopped for a second and considered whether something might be tainted or out of date or chewed on by mice already.

But as I said, I stopped for a SECOND and no more, then promptly ate the rest.

Walking along and chewing, I wondered about this. If I took one nibble of chicken and suspected it of ANY deviation from what I expect, I'd spit that sucker out. I'm completely scared of any food that just isn't acting right.

But M&Ms? It's not the same.

Look at the scientific data:

1 bite of questionable egg: GAG, spit, brush teeth, throw carton away
1 bite of questionable chicken: GAG, spit, brush, purge food from house
1 bite of questionable M&M: Keep on keepin on until it feels right.

In other data:

If I thought there was a 50/50 chance of the M&Ms being bad, would I, the subject, choose to refrain from eating? No.

60/40? No.

70? Yes. I'd have to go all the way to 70% suspicious before I'd abstain.

That's pretty serious.

So that's why I look like "Oh well," in the picture. "If they were bad and I'm gonna die, at least my last meal was my favorite. Worth it!"






Monday, August 18, 2014

Puppy Love Lives On -- Boy Bands


Forty-one years ago, about this time in the evening, I was screaming my little teeny bopper head off in the Indiana State Fair grandstand--one tiny, screaming ant-like creature with stringy hair and bell bottom pants, in the midst of thousands of similar screaming ants. It was amazing.

I was 11 years old. I thought I was 16.

Well, I got over Donny quickly in middle school because I saw boys I had never seen before, and HELLO, never looked back. Then when I was in high school and news broke of Donny's marriage, I had to suffer the indignity of all the teasing because I had carried that Osmond lunch box in elementary school like a purple metal engagement ring that always smelled like peanut butter. I deserved the teasing.

I still love purple, however. That was not a convenient adjustment of the moment just to win Donny. I have always loved it. I don't still love that jumpsuit, however.

I titled this post, "Puppy Love Lives On" because tonight, my youngest daughter is on her way to Nashville with a group of friends to see the biggest boy band in the world, One Direction. I almost typed "One Dimension," because I'm old and don't pay attention to boy bands anymore, but boy bands never die; they just reincarnate. There's just something about a boy band, isn't there?






This would be me at about that age. Note that I'm indeed wearing purple. Try not to note the white tennis shoes and socks.









That is also me in that second pic. Still wearing the purple. You won't believe this, but my picket fence teeth grew mostly together without braces. I have no idea.


Anyway, here's to boy bands, not as "Sweet and Innocent" as they used to be, but still charming and "Stil-ish." See what I did there? (That's Harry Stiles of One Dementia. I mean One Direction.)

Have fun, Kristin!


Sunday, August 17, 2014

Hi. So I've been taking a little break from Facebook for neurotic reasons, but I think I'll pick up my beloved quill pen and set to work at the old blog annals for a moment or so. I could hardly remember how to sign in.

Catching up:

-Still grandma-ing, three days a week, in my stretchy "grandma-ing pants," otherwise known as "yoga pants" or "yogurt pants," because my girl, JRoo, sneaks yogurt onto me which I notice later when I'm in public, of course.

-Still running. Have a goal of 500 miles in 2014. I'm half-way there, so a bit behind, but I'm not giving up.

-Embarking on new adventures in eating gluten-free and eating all-around healthier. Mainstay is a big old honkin' protein smoothie each day.

-Still daughter-ing my mom the two days of the week when I don't have JRoo. Mom has been a widow for a full year now. Mostly we talk about bodily functions. (Hers.) We also go to the doctor, the Walmart and the hairdresser.

-Sent my youngest back to college to begin her last year.

-Waxing nostalgic daily as evidenced my pinning vintage 1970s everything on Pinterest, even hair yarn and Liddle Kiddles. It's a midlife crisis.

-Reading East of Eden by Steinbeck.

-Hanging onto summer as long as I possibly can.

What were the things I used to blog about?
TV shows (American Idol, Lost) -- Current favorites: "Mr. Selfridge," "Downton," "The Voice," and my guilty pleasures, "Celebrity Apprentice" and "The Talk."
My kids, parents and dog (Still have the same ones.)
Walmart (I'd like to see the study that shows how much of our lives we spend there, like they tell you about sleeping.)
And my standby: "I Know You Think I Make This Stuff Up," posts about weird experiences, like falling one year ago today and breaking my arm because I thought a creepy man was after me while I was running. [Insert eye roll.]

Yep, this is it, the Seinfeldian blog about nothing--2nd Cup of Coffee.