And To Think I've Lived to Tell About It...

I'm getting to that weird age - where I can remember twenty years ago... Hell - that I have twenty years to look back on... I honestly never thought that I'd be one of those people who said, "Oh yeah? Well when I was your age, I walked seven miles uphill (both ways) in the snow - just to get to school, where we had to be three hours early - just to get a seat...

But today, I heard a news story that pushed me over that nostalgic edge - where I remember a lot of things that used to happen to me - and in light of what's going on right now, am amazed that I've survived.

A school in Colorado has banned the game of tag. I'm too ashamed to even provide a link here for you - but honest. You can google it. Tag no more. It's been banned... Okay, okay, I can't stand it. This is what apnews.myway.com had to report:

"An elementary school has banned tag on its playground after some children complained they were harassed or chased against their will.
"It causes a lot of conflict on the playground," said Cindy Fesgen, assistant principal of the Discovery Canyon Campus school.
Running games are still allowed as long as students don't chase each other, she said.
Fesgen said two parents complained to her about the ban but most parents and children didn't object.
In 2005, two elementary schools in the nearby Falcon School District did away with tag and similar games in favor of alternatives with less physical contact. School officials said the move encouraged more students to play games and helped reduce playground squabbles."

All of the sudden, I'm wondering how I ever survived childhood:

1) I played Tag...
2) I didn't use antibiotic dish soap
3) I walked on a roof without a harness
4) I ate trans fat
5) I also ate eggs and dairy - which depending on the year, may have easily led to possible demise
6) I was held responsible for my actions. It was usually not my teachers' nor my parents' fault
7) I graduated without the aid of "No Child Left Behind."
8) I travelled without the protection of the Patriot Act
9) I jumped on a trampoline.... Both in gym class and at summer camp.
10) I drank creek water.
11) I've eaten at restaurants (which I'm sure is consistently grosser than it sounds!)
12) I was vaccinated
13) We played a lot of contact sports in school - like dodgeball, Red Rover, Duck, Duck Goose - and (gasp) TAG.
14) I somehow lived through Scarlet Fever and Pneumonia without being hospitalized.
15) I've played on a see-saw (or teeter-totter)
16) I can drive a stick shift (Ok... This doesn't seem to be anything to inhibit my survival - but I like to tell people I know how the clutch works)

I could go on. Seriously - I don't know if I'm more interested in how kids are going to become even reasonably responsible adults today - or how I survived in the first place. What gives? How is it I'm not an over-bacteriad walking talking disaster waiting to implode at any moment? Or am I?

To think I've lived to even write this blog!

Twice as Cheap

A month or so ago, I made Dave join AARP (he's 14 years older than I am if you haven't been keeping up). I figured he'd get all kinds of discounts on travel and all that stuff - so I'd reap the benefits... I'm just that cheap.

They sent his membership card the other day... And somehow, it seems that I, at 36, have also joined AARP, very likely making me the youngest member of the American Association of Retired Persons...

Now, we're twice as cheap.

This Is Not a Post About Sex

Really.

It's a post about sleeping with my husband. I love it. Sleeping with Dave is so great - not at all because of all the dirty-minded crap you now have in your mind, either. Before you get too excited, know I keep my private life very private, so clean it up, gutter kings! Dig yourself out, ditchy queens - and try to enjoy the rest of my story.

I love sleeping with Dave - especially when he's asleep, yet chatty. Yes. Ocassionally, Dave will answer questions in his sleep. It's really fun, too. Last night? I woke up because Dave was squeezing my hand. "You okay honey?" I asked.

Dave grunted. He wasn't awake - but I wasn't sure yet. "What's wrong?"

I then knew he wasn't awake - because he told me exactly where he was...

"I'm on the Isle of Lost Banjos."

"Lost Banjos?" I asked.

"I'm on the Isle of Lost Banjos," repeated Dave.

Now, I love dreams - I used to - before I got lazy - actually write my dreams down when I awoke from one. I think they're the coolest, most creative things ever. Dave never ever remembers his dreams... That's why it's so cool to get to talk to him about them when he's not awake.

"Did you lose your banjo, honey?"

"Lost.... banjo."

He didn't say anything else... And this afternoon, while I was telling him about it, couldn't add anything outside of "I guess I was on some Island..."

"The Isle of Lost Banjos?"

"Yeah."

To Tell The Truth

Ok. It’s time to talk about the truth…

It’s something I like to tell – I like to think I’m getting. But truth be told, being honest isn’t always the prudent. I remember sitting in an ethics class, and being told it’s okay to lie on the following occasion: You’re standing on a corner. A woman runs by you with a pained expression on her face. She veers sharply to the right. Moments later, a man wielding a huge knife runs at you and yells, “Which way did she go?”

Ethics dictates that it’s okay to point to the left.

So if honesty is the best policy, it seems there are exceptions…

My friend “Reason 714” the German teacher tells this story: The bell rings to signal the beginning of class. R714 has gas, so he slips into the hall to purge while his students settle in to their desks. He reenters the classroom, only to notice two empty seats. A beat later, two students, both female rush into the room… late again.

They catch a whiff of the foul air dissipating in the hall. One girl makes a face at the other, “Ew! Mr. R714, Beckah farted!” Bekah, not amused, retorts, “You smelt it, you dealt it!” The ensuing argument continues for awhile… R714 says, “Kell, you know? If I liked those two girls better, I’d have said something… but since I don’t – and they’re always late, and always being disruptive, I allowed my class to believe one of them passed gas. Is that dishonest?”

A certain nephew of mine cries “Diarrhea” whenever he doesn’t want to go some place. It actually precluded him (in his mind) from helping me move into my new house… Lazy Git! That was definitely a time where lying was wrong – and problematic….

BUT – when I was six, and my brother, ten years my senior and 80 pounds heavier sat on me, it never seemed like a bad idea to yell, “I’m going to throw up!” just to get him off of me.

I guess there are rules – Self Preservation? It’s okay to lie. I don’t know if the fart “lies of omission” story falls under this category – but I guess it protected R715 from losing respect of his students…

What do you guys think? When is it okay to tell a fib?

Maybe I'm not the Black Sheep

Sometimes I get the feeling that my family is constantly at odds with me - for good reason - sometimes I can't always commit to weekend activites... (C'mon. I'm a wedding photographer, and I sing in a band... I guess it stands to reason that my weekends are full...) Sometimes I have to cancel, or can't devote the energy I need to write something on my calendar (yes, you can read that as pathetically as it sounded... I'm awful.) I'm ALSO awful about birthdays. It's not that I don't want to send cards - it's just that I seldom remember to send them on time. Honest. I mean well - but mostly, I feel like I let my family down - a lot.

And then there are the times when I stick my nose into their business and shouldn't. I recall a time when I was fairly certain my brother and his wife (this one) weren't getting along. I called my brother and asked if everything was okay in his marriage. I spent the next YEAR being mocked incessantly - "Doctor Planer! My marriage is falling apart..." You get the idea. Then there were days like THIS one (It's a long story - so you'll just have to go there and read about it.)

And don't forget how upset my sister was about my wedding - or the fact that she's insisting on throwing me a bridal shower - next week (I'm calling it a get together...)

I'm a pain in the ass.

Then a few things have happened that surprised me... Like last week. My family had their annual picnic - and of course, being the weekend worker that I am, couldn't go because the band played. After, I called my cousin, Deb, to see how it went. She reported, "It was no good without you and Gwen (my sister) there.... No one talked to each other. We needed you guys to spice things up."

I was beginning to feel only slightly better - and then - I remembered this:

A few years ago, my sister called me, explaining that my then 9 year old nephew had an assignment to write a paragraph on a family member, and he chose me - and would I mind answering a few questions... I agreed, so she put my nephew on the phone:

Ian: What's your full name?
Kell: (gave full name)
Ian: Where do you live?
Kell: (gave address)
Ian: What do you do for a living?
Kell: I make TV (which was what I did at the time - and it was easier than explaining what that entailed...)
Ian: Ok. That's all I need to know. Thanks Aunt Kelly!
Kell: That's it?
Ian: Yep. That's a paragraph.

Jewelry Hound

Some people spend their extra money on cars - some on banjoes (like Dave) - some on mortgages they can't afford... Me? None of that. I am constantly in the pursuit of the perfect piece of jewelry. I think I do a pretty good job too - I like to have pendants made - it's kind of fun... This is a photo of a necklace made by Wendy Willis - at the time from Gypsy Hearth... She might still be there, I'm not sure. Originally, I ordered something entirely different - but as we talked, we came up with this lovely thing, made from lapidolite and african turquoise:
This cool thing is Pyrex - and was made from a vendor I camped next to at a folk festival. I wish I could remember her name - she was a cool girl.
This is one of my recent acquisitions. My mom likes it - and so do I:
But my favorite of all recent jewels are made with COLORED PENCILS - done by this wonderful artist named Jen Maestre. Check her out!!!! Here are mine - I just got the green ones today - and couldn't be happier!!!



Husbands! (Particularly Dan) - Buy one of her necklaces for your wife. She'll love it.

Leaking Freakitude

Ok. There's a quarter on a glass table - and it gets slowly pushed, pushed, pushed from one end of the table to the other. As long as it's on the table - it's fine - but eventually, one of the pushes will send it over the edge...

Yesterday, I was the quarter... and the last little annoyance pushed ME over the edge... I'm sure we all have our days like this - and I was so bummed and so down - it was hard to really get a handle on myself... I really hate myself when I get like this. It feels hopeless and endless... and well - (Like Lucy Van Pelt - on her eight-millionth parried advance to Schroeder at the toy piano... "My Aunt Marion was right - never fall in love with a musician)

No - my day had nothing to do with Dave, the musician...

Ok. So I go home, thinking, "Wow - it'd be really great to have a glass of wine right now..." - so I open the cool, organic wine my friend had given me the last time she was at the house.

I screwed in the corkscrew - and then... the cork disintegrated - the corkscrew emerged spilling bits of cork dust everywhere. I tried another angle - corkdust. Then I really embarassed myself - in the middle of my awful day - and my inability to drink cool, organic wine, I fought the urge to throw the bottle across the room. I actually fought with myself for a few seemingly endless seconds. Throw? Not throw. What's really embarassing is this: The reason I didn't loft the bottle? I didn't want to clean up the wine...

Enter Dave, several hours later. "Dave, can you open this?" I told him what happened.

"Did you freak out?"

"Well, I didn't throw anything." (I was trying to preserve what was left of my wounded pride, you see...)

Dave plunges the corkscrew into the battle-scarred cork. More dust.

"Let's forget it and open another bottle..." I suggested. "It's not worth it."

But now, Dave's on a mission (we're alike this way). He gets his multi-tool and begins hacking at the ever-disintegrating cork with the pliers. I leave the room to put wash in the dryer.

Suddenly, I hear, "ARRRRGH" or some other sharp, pointed explative.

"What happened?"

"I lost the cork in the bottle - and it went all over."

This was just one of those days - that I was destined to eventually calm down - only to spread my freakitude to poor Dave... I was, by this time, over my day - over the fact that I couldn't open the wine, and was ready to face the fact that where no, I didn't throw the bottle, there remained a mess... Dave, on the other hand, was newly annoyed...

So I did the only thing I could. I told him it was okay - and I cleaned it up...

This is why the soda industry invented pop tops... and why perhaps - I should start drinking Sofia - the carbonated wine that Francis Ford Coppola named after his daughter. I wonder if the pop-top was to alleviate bad corks - bad days - and the fact that bad moods can spread so easily.

How Could I Forget THESE?

I swear I'm not one of those women who go on and on about her wedding - but I totally forgot to show you the amazing wedding favors my friend Stephanie made me - Rice Krispie guitars and banjoes... They're so very cool - And garnered some of the best reception talk ever...

Kellincatty's Friend Mark (Picking up a banjo): These look like Chocolate Penises.
Kellincatty's Husband, Dave (who loves Mark): Hey! Yeah! Banjo Penises!
Kellincatty's Stepdaughter, Paula (talking to her wedding date): Oh! I'm so embarassed. My dad just said Penis.