soap of the day: Cranberry Fig!

My son walked though the door after school yesterday and went, "MMMMMMMM - it smells SO GOOD in here!" Here's why:



They smell like ripe cranberries and fresh figs, and each bar comes complete with real cranberry seeds.

Oh, and have you seen my nifty new NaNo icon to the right? I'm official! Maybe I'll even buy a t-shirt to keep me motivated on Writer's Block days. Let me know if you want to do NaNoWriMo, too, and I'll add you to my writing buddy list on their site.

Also you may have noticed that I changed the font of my blog title. I like it, but I can't figure out why it insists on showing as all-caps when I change the font in Blogger's HTML editing window. If there are any HTML gurus out there who could help me with this, I'd appreciate it.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

be afraid. be very afraid.

Sign-ups for NaNoWriMo begin tonight, and I'll be a first-time participant this year. I try to tell myself, "50,000 words in a month? Pthhh. No problem."

After all, that's only...you know...a little under 2,000 words per day. I mean, what could go wrong?


Other writers I know have done this, so I take heart in that. It will be a nice boost to my segue into writing for the Young Adult market anyway, since 50K is a respectable word count for YA/Middle Grade books.

In other news, hop on over to my friend T's blog and congratulate her on her GAZILLIONTH (or maybe it's the fourth with a deal for the fifth as well? Seems more like a gazillion from where I sit) novel to be published in Spring of '09.

This woman was my office mate in graduate school, hailing all the way from Vermont. I remember hearing about her first published book when I was pregnant with my first kid. It would have been a lasting case of professional jealously (rather than a relatively brief case) if she wasn't such a dad-gummed nice, lovely person in addition to being a kick-*ss writer. Not fair, but there you have it. (Oh, did I mention her photography? Seriously, don't hate her for being beautiful OR talented. She's way too nice for that.) If you haven't read her other books, such as Undressing the Moon and Breathing Water, I highly recommend them.

Way to go, T!!!!!Follow @nicole_mcinnes

as if I wasn't losing enough sleep already

Headed outside for nightly rounds with the flashlight earlier this week, just because I like to check up on everyone before I go to bed. You know. Make sure no horses are cast against their corral panels, make sure no cats are in a stand-off with a coyote, make sure no chickens have already lost said stand-off.

Anyway, I heard a thump coming from the pump house. Instead of running inside and strongly suggesting to my husband that he investigate the source of the sound as I'd done the night before, I decided to cowgirl up and do it myself. I made some noise as I approached the door, and a fat ol' raccoon promptly scurried down from the window of the pump house, which we keep half-open so the cats can come and go as they please. Relieved that it was only a raccoon, I opened the door and shined the light in, just to make sure the cats were okay.

If I'd been thinking clearly I would've run inside for the camera so I could have gotten a picture of the TEN little beady eyes staring back at me like, "Lady, we're trying to eat here. Would ya mind turning off the flashlight?" Yup, that's right. Five raccoons were hunkered over the cat food, fattening themselves up for fall inside our pump house.

photo via myraccoons.com

Unfortunately, though, my brain was otherwise occupied with setting up the baby monitor near the chicken coop so I could hear the raccoon family when they moved the party over to the coop for a nice dessert of Silkie Hen Tartar. Yes, you heard me correctly. I use a baby monitor for night-time chicken surveillance.

Because I have become that person - only with poultry instead of felines.

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why do I do this to you?

Is it because I like to torture my little handful of faithful readers?

Is it because I am somehow channeling a flashy, gay man?

Nay to both. I can tell you why I do this in one little word...

MISHA!(even if he is wearing gold lame')

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doing my part

Found on the back of a Brach's candy corn bag:

"Did You Know...? Each year Americans consume enough Brach's Candy Corn that if laid end-to-end, would circle the earth 4.25 times...WOW!"

Punctuation issues aside, I'm glad to know I'm making my own small contribution to the accomplishments of humankind by just about EATING MY WEIGHT in candy corn for the past few weeks.

Somebody, please stop me.


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soap of the day

Pumpkin Spice. Mmmmm...you KNOW it's fall when I start batching Pumpkin Spice soap. At the craft fairs these bars sell right on through the Christmas shopping season.

And, okay, okay, they don't look that glow-y with that soap opera (no pun intended) lighting in real life. It's just that I've recently downloaded the free trial version of Photoshop Elements 5.0 and I've been adding that angelic halo to every photo I can get my hands on. (Thanks, Heather.)

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woo hoo!!!!!!

It's fall!

I love, love, love, love, LOVE fall!

And it's here! It's here! It's here (click the card on the top row that says "FALL")!Follow @nicole_mcinnes

pre-fall musings

One friend says she worries about me when I'm not blogging because that must mean I'm unhappy, or overwhelmed, or something. Lest anyone else has been concerned the past week or so, I'm not unhappy. Overwhelmed? Maybe a little. The work for which I get paid has picked up significantly, as has the work for which I don't get paid - mending fences (literally), whacking weeds, building chicken enclosures, picking tomatoes and lavender, painting the arena fence...and that's just the outdoor chore list. These days the inside of my house routinely looks like a hurricane has blown through. And, of course, craft show/soaping season is rapidly approaching, which means that soon I'll be elbow-deep in suds daily.

But I'm looking forward to fall's official start next week. This is, hands down, my very mostest favoritest time of the year. I don't know what it is. Something about the change of light - the way the sun hangs lower in the sky. Early mornings you can taste woodsmoke in the air, and the leaves. Oh, the leaves in northern Arizona are like nothing you've seen outside Vermont (which I understand is a fall-lover's paradise). Hopefully, we'll be heading up the peaks sometime in the coming weeks for a picnic in the aspens. The whispering of those newly-golden leaves set against the trees' white bark is something to behold, I tell ya.

Here's another sign of fall, spotted behind the house the other day:

I think this tarantula might still be a baby. But they do come out this time of year, all those males traveling sometimes in herds (for lack of a better word) toward the elusive scent exuded by a female. Or maybe I'm imaging that. I'm pretty sure that's how it goes, though. I wrote about in in-depth for my very first novel (which rests comfortably in the back of my closet).

Speaking of which, that's another thing I like about fall. Once that first freeze hits I'll be more inclined to anchor myself to my desk and get to work on my newest projects, which have been percolating inside my head the past few months as I've been outside in physical-harvesting-working mode. Brings things back into balance for a writer, fall does. Now I'm off to check in with some blogs I haven't read for way too long, like Heidi's and Ken's.

I'll leave you with this, which is just gritty, over-produced and Bob Marley-ish enough for me to go, Hmm. I like it.

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it's nostalic movies about the performing arts from the seventies Friday!

I've always been a sucker for movies about the performing arts world. There's a good chance it started with A Little Romance, which came out when I was just nine years old. Diane Lane was such a beautiful, fresh-faced young girl who later grew into a glamorous star (and dated Mr. Bon Jovi, incidentally. She also appeared in one of my favorite mini-series of all time, Lonesome Dove). Sir Lawrence Olivier shines in this film - simply shines. The Vivaldi concerto that serves as the theme music for much of A Little Romance had such an impact on me as a kid that I hired a solo violinist to play it at our wedding as I walked toward my waiting groom...

Then there was The Competition, starring Amy Irving and Richard Dreyfuss. I used to watch it back to back on the Showtime box that sat on top of our television. (Anyone remember the glittery spandex purgatory that was Aerobicise?) I love the scene where Amy Irving discovers during a tense competition that her piano has one out-of-tune key. The look of pure diva horror on her face is incomparable.

And who could forget the piece de resistance of nostalgic seventies movies about the performing arts - The Turning Point? Can anything generate a more hearty sigh than a topless Misha in his heyday? I think not.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

demolition boy

When the kids and I got home from School Day at the County Fair (it's always held on the first day, a Friday, from right when the gates open until the afternoon), we were full of news to tell Dad when he got home from work. First of all, the kids' Silkie pullet "Falanis" won a blue ribbon (which means the bubble bath paid off). Second of all, they had RABBITS at the fair. Third of all, the Demolition Derby was going to be held on Saturday and Sunday, and we actually SAW one of the cars - a Bondo and neon-spray-painted work of art - going by on a trailer.




Our son hadn't been to the Derby since he was a toddler and, really, I see now that we were jumping the gun a bit when we took him then, because it is inevitably a loud, hot and crowded affair, complete with beer-swilling rednecks wearing "Goat ropers need love, too" t-shirts with the sleeves cut off. Needless to say, I LOVE the Demolition Derby almost as much as I loved Willie Nelson's "Help Willie Pay the IRS" concert, which I went to in the late nineties.

Anyway, I told my husband when the gates would open on Saturday, and he actually looked at me and said, "Do you think he (our son) would really be into that?"

Hmm. Let's review. A bunch of cars racing around in what is essentially a mud pit, smashing into each other until only one car is left running.

Nah. An eight-year-old boy totally wouldn't be into something like that.

So, they went both days, and had a blast. Son called it the Damn-you-lition Derby in total innocent earnestness, which seemed so appropriate somehow.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

Falanis goes to the Fair!

If You Give a Hen a Spa Day

(with apologies to Laura Numeroff)

If you give a hen a spa day she's going to ask for bubble bath.

After the bubble bath she's going to want to be dried with an oversized Turkish towel

The towel will be insufficient, so she will require a hair dryer. And a comb. You will have to draw the line at styling products.

"Take me to the County Fair!" she will cry when the treatment is done, "So that my loveliness may be gazed upon by fowl far and wide!"

And you will have little choice but to comply.

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"How old are you, Mom?"

"Thirty-seven, Honey."

Sigh.




She's right. It is an awful lot of roadside flowers to pick while waiting for the school bus to drop Big Brother off at our stop.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

girls rule, boys drool

That's the word on the playground, apparently. Also, the other way around.

Yes, school is back, and all the hubbub therewith. I find myself with more free time than I've had in almost a decade (though "free" may be an overstatement. It would more accurately be described as time to put a dent in the mountain of tasks, large and small, looming before me. Can you hear the sad violins playing in the background?).

Yesterday I worked for hours on the new and improved Chateau Chicken, since some friends are giving us their pair of Leghorn layers (that's "Leggern" to those of you interested in improving your Chickenese). This could work out well for a couple of reasons: Leghorns are big layers (and I mean BIG - have you seen the size of those monsters?), but they're not so much into going broody (sitting on the eggs). Silkies, on the other hand, rarely get around to laying because they go broody so easily. They love sitting on any eggs they can find, even those of other hens. Silkie roosters are apparently the same way - they'll keep the eggs warm and help raise the chicks. How's that for the "sensitive male" so many women dream about?

Last weekend we did the horse show thing, and tomorrow's the County Fair show. Don't know if we'll be going though, since Zzari stepped on the boy's toe this week and it's still sore.
That's about it for this Friday - short and sweet. I'd like to add "like me," but I'm more the tall and cranky type.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

dresses all up and no place to go

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bite the wax tadpole

Okay, just this once I'm going to ask you to trust me. Do yourselves a favor and hop on over to Moronland.

And why is it that I suddenly have this song in my mind?

And...oh, heck, why not. Long as we're twangin' and redneckin', let's just check out ol' Bocephus as well.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

hand gallop, please. hand gallop.

That's what my weekend was all about - and I mean ALL about. From Friday morning at about 6:30 until Sunday afternoon I was Ms. Ring Steward, thank you very much. It was fun. I've done lots of different horse show stuff over the years - showing, judging, spectating, being there for students, etc. - but working as ring steward at a class A show was one thing I hadn't done. It was labor intensive, detail intensive and trying-my-best-to-take-care-of-our-top-notch-judge intensive, but it was also lots of fun and of course I learned a ton listening to Madame Judge and watching the exhibitors (the rider on the right put 60 days our young stallion who is now owned by a certain - ahem - photographer who felt compelled to take pictures of me in my funky Eddie Bauer hat). Hey, at least I didn't come home sunburned after three straight days in intense sun. So, here:

The turnout was pretty good for this show, too. Not as big as it's been in years past, but not as small, either. I like to think that Hubby and I were members of the local club back in its heyday, when it had a vibrant membership and show barns busting at the seams. We always get some great trainers from down in the Valley (Phoenix), and there were also several barns from New Mexico represented. One of the things that apparently hurt numbers a bit this year was the fact that Youth Nationals just recently got over with, and folks are still burnt out. The judge was super, though. She'll be judging at U.S. Nationals this year, so it's always good to know we can attract that caliber here at our little 'ol Flagstaff show. Now, of course, I'm itching to find me a young mare to bring up through the ranks. Here's another pic:

Our weather held off until today, when we've had multiple power outages, hail and rain slanting sideways. Some day I'll try to find some of my own glory days show pics and share them here. I hope y'all had a great weekend, too.

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blik

Generally used as a word for things I don't like. So, why do these wall decals make my heart beat a little faster? If only they had a horse-themed set. Well, they and Threadless come close with this. (via Neatorama).

So, now that the links in this short little post have officially reached the status of overbred, I will also include another one. Because, shortly before we left California this summer, a friend and I met with our kids at a local outdoor mall. There's a great toy store therein where they have a hunky-dory Hello Kitty display. The girls weren't half as interested in it as we moms were. So, while I feel for this poor guy, I also not-so-secretly wish I could come over and check out his wife's collection.

And then there's this. Ah, to be twelve again.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

I know why the caged bird sings

This is "Mathilda":

whose very life was nearly required of her this morning when she found herself trapped within the Jaws of DEATH:

(aka "Angel.")

Fortunately, we spotted the rotten cat trotting past the kitchen window with her new toy, then headed outside and found her under the horse shoeing trailer. The hummingbird (I think that's what it is, anyway) was predictably in shock. So, we put her inside the Last Chance Saloon (aka a big wire cage that's been useful for all sorts of things lately). After about five or ten minutes she was looking vigorous and healthy, with two clearly functioning wings and no puncture wounds to be found anywhere. So, we took her to a far corner of the property, faced the cage door toward the prairie, opened it up and watched her fly away toward a distant group of trees. Much better ending than we've been experiencing lately, but I still have to ask:

What the heck is the DEAL with birds around here lately?

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soap of the day

The holiday craft show season is rapidly approaching, which means I'll be soaping like a ... like a .... What IS the right analogy for someone who's going to be making a lot of soap?

Pictured above are some freshly-cut "I Love Lavender," bars which are very popular with people who, indeed, love lavender. I don't tend to be one of those people, though the scent grows on me as I get older. Well, it doesn't GROW on me. I mean, it's not like I just wake up more and more smelling like lavender or anything. You know what m'sayin'.

I do love the color lavender, and I do adore the flowers. Here's some I put in a big container outside recently:

So far the plants are surviving the direct sunlight and occasional monsoon hail.

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hey, you know what?

Chicken butt!!!

That was one of my son's favorite jokes last year. I think I almost get it.

Here's a sweet pic of SheDog the Aussie with the two remaining pullets. The container tomatoes I planted are visible, too. I salivate in anticipation of the day we finally get to pick some fresh 'maters.

Meanwhile, it continues to feel like the Avian version of Apocalypse Now around here.

This morning, Angel caught a bird. SheDog chased her (bird guarding has become very serious business to the Aussie since the chicks were little, though she slept right through the coyote incident. Shhhh. We've told her the two missing pullets moved to a nice, big ranch.) Angel dropped the bird. The bird lived. It sat for several minutes in a state of shock, during which I figured it was a goner. Then it took off running, unable to fly because of a broken wing. I spent the better part of an hour trying to catch the thing. Call it a personal demon in need of redemption. This bird is about three inches tall, and I - armed with my sharpest wits and a pillowcase - was completely unable to get close to - much less catch - it.

So, it, too, will no doubt meet its doom here at the Brackett Bird Motel, where "Birds check in, but they don't check out!"

Here's a nice picture of Mothra, finally located after all these years by a neighbor boy in our yard. Who knew she could fly all the way from Japan to Arizona? Though I guess a critter who's able to wipe out Battra can do just about anything.

Here. Check out some Maxfield Parrish clouds I found in the sky outside our window last week:

And here's a shot of the prairie set against a nice, black cloudbank:

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and then there were three

Harrowing night last night. I was awakened at about 1:30 a.m. by chicken distress signals - not a pretty sound, in case you haven't ever heard them right outside your window. Of course, by the time I got out there in my nightgown, flashlight in hand, it was too late. The beam shone first on my husband's old gelding who, ears pricked, was staring intently at the chicken coop. Walking out there I passed a great mound of feathers, and my heart sank. I moved the flashlight around a bit, and there they were, right on the other side of the fenceline separating us from the great prairie beyond: a pair of glowing red eyes staring me down until I made enough scary noise to frighten whatever it was away. Coyote or raccoon, I assumed. Whatever it was, it didn't help that my husband was down in Tombstone on business this week (yes, that Tombstone).

When I finally got up the nerve to look in the coop, I found two of the five chickens alive in there - Bootstrap Bill (the rooster), and one of the fluffy yellow Banties. The others were nowhere to be found, though I made a thorough, shaky search, hoping against hope that they were maybe hiding out. But chickens are light-activated, as my husband has always told me. When the sun goes down, they're basically in standby mode. Sitting ducks.

I felt heartsick and stomach-sick. After all, it had been my decision at feeding time yesterday to finally just let the chickens come and go as they pleased and to not lock them up as we always have. They've been doing so well in free-range mode during the day time, after all, as did the Aracona (sp?) hens we owned years ago. But those hens roosted high in tree branches, whereas these do not. It was a foolish decision, a foolish mistake, and a heartwrenching one, considering that two beautiful, sweet pullets had to pay with their lives.

I got back to bed sometime around 2:30, and maybe got two or so hours of restless sleep, during which I dreamed (nightmared) over and over again about telling the children about their Easter chicks when they woke up. It was truly one of those "dark nights of the soul," and I'm not talking about the fullness of the moon.

The kids were okay about it when I told them. They immediately wanted to check out the scene of the crime, so we headed outside to a strange sight: What I thought was the remaining pullet was cruising around, pecking at the ground. I wondered how she'd gotten out of the coop after I'd secured her in there hours earlier, and then I thought, "Could it be?" We raced to the coop and saw the other yellow fluffball in there, just as alive as you please. So, a little miracle came out of the whole thing, especially considering the fact that the Mystery Pullet was running around out there for several hours, completely unprotected. I still don't know where she was hiding to have missed the flashlight beam during my search.

The kids set right to work gathering up memorial service feathers from the feather trail left by the varmint - from the entrance to the coop right out to the prairie. I got online and learned that raccoons and skunks will usually leave a big mess consisting of headless chicken carcasses, etc., whereas coyotes will leave nothing but feathers. I tried track identification this afternoon in vain - whatever it was moved too nimbly, and the ground was too dry, I think, to make an i.d. possible. But when my son looked out the kitchen window at about 11:00 this morning and said, "Hey, Mom. Is that a coyote out there?" I was doubly conviced that we were watching the felon trot casually right past our fenceline in broad daylight. He was a big sucker for a coyote, too, so I immediately implemented an indefinite, No-kids-outside-alone rule. Then I spoke to my neighbor - WHO SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS (lol) - and who mentioned the very real possibility of a local wolf population. So, I guess I can pretty much kiss any fantasy of a good night's sleep goodbye for the foreseeable future.

We'll see how tonight goes. The coop has been relocated, fortified, and hung with a set of lovely wind chimes I was given years ago after judging a horse show. I plan to keep one eye and one ear open, though if I know prairie varmints (and I think I do), they'll work in sneaky, swift silence. There's a lawyer or politician joke in there somewhere, I'm sure, but frankly I'm too fried to tease it out.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

as promised

So, there was birthday cake way back in late June (pre-Disneyland).


And then, come July, the birthday boy - the very fruit of my loins - was being used as a projectile with his cousin on the Delta in northern California.

There was this sexy lily:

And this wall. That I climbed. All by myself. Do you see the size of those little itty-bitty people standing next to it? There was a bell at the top for climbers to ring. It was my Oprah moment.

There was a trip to Santa Cruz, where I lived for five years during - and a little after - my undergraduate years. Oh, the stories. Oh, the humanity. (That's my husband on his sweet ride near Natural Bridges State Park. I lived just a couple of blocks from there for a while).

There was a pool, and there were children. Many, many children.

There was one of my oldest and dearest friends, and her talented, pie-baking hands.

There was nautical therapy.

And there was me, doing my thing.

Oh, look. My boy has inherited my freaky E.T. toes.

There was, in fact, MUCH nautical therapy.

And there was the Jelly Belly factory in Fairfield. Yes, People, there is a factory where those miraculous beans are born. Willy Wonka has nothing on this place, I tell ya.

And then it was back home to Arizona, where there was/is handiwork therapy.

Introducing Bootstrap Bill. Remember when he was just a little fuzzball?

My old dude, Zzari, should need no introduction, but perhaps he does anyway. I love the lighting in the evenings during monsoon season, which is in full swing now.

And that's about it for my summer thus far, folks.

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'nuff said

So, I'm not going to go into great detail about how the past month and a half has been one of the most difficult times in my life, mainly because those difficulties involve people who have a right to remain anonymous in every possible way. Suffice it to say I am feeling tired but cleansed from a lot of introspection and tears, and I am feeling renewed by friends and family who came to my aid in various ways and with the kind of love that can make you reel from its power to heal. (Hey, I made a rhyme that time; I'm a poet and don't know it).

There's a moment during childbirth when you enter a phase known as "transition." Every mother reading this right now is probably nodding and grabbing protectively at her nether regions, because "transition," though a benign-enough sounding word, might be more accurately described as "that period of time wherein the Evil One and his minions seem to descend upon your innermost ladybits with their pitchforks of fire."

However, once you're through it (in my experience, and especially if your epidural has not yet worn off) you find that the worst is behind you, and you finally get to push. That's where I am right now, in a non-childbirth-related sense. I'm on the other side of a life-changing trial with much work ahead and, finally, a vague notion of what that work might entail. So, in the spirit of feeling like the worst of this particular trial is behind me, I'd like to share a pictorial of some of the stuff I've been up to since we, Dear Readers, last communed via the Internet ether. Look for the pics in my next post, though, because at this moment I have to get to work.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

rain

Okay, okay. Natasha's a little overdone, I know. So sue me.

Can I help it if THIS is applicable to life in so many ways right now?

Crank up the volume, Baby. (And I dig it that she was, for years, a gospel singer).

Oh, yeah. Here's this evening at feeding time...looking up, of course:



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blog's going dark

for a while, at least. Got some figurin' to do.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

last night, looking up

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no words

I wanted to post the joyful story of our Disneyland adventure before sitting down and writing out this one. Truth is, I've gone back and forth, wondering if I should even blog about this subject at all, but since it's been weighing heavily on my mind since late last week, I'll go ahead and share it here. Warning, though: If you don't particularly want to learn of someone else's tragedy, I suggest skipping this one.

I got a call last Friday, just hours before we were to head home from Southern California, that a local family was involved in a horrendous accident in which three of their four children perished. They were also in SoCal at the time, not terribly far from where we were enjoying ourselves without a care. Now, I understand that this is a tragedy of nearly unthinkable proportions no matter where it happens, but when I say "local," I'm talking about a town that's not even a town, and that can't be found on most major maps. I believe we're called an "incorporated area," though the homesteaders and a well-known wagon party were here at least as early as they were in Flagstaff to the east of us. The enrollment at our little local school - once a one-room schoolhouse next to the railroad tracks - is up in recent years: I think they had just over a hundred kids this year, from Kindergarten through eighth grade.

Two of the children killed were students at the school.

A few weeks ago, our community came together for a spaghetti feast/Bingo night benefitting a much-loved employee at the school who is battling a serious illness. She was the first person I met there when I was still debating whether to homeschool or not, and her warmth and obvious love for the students was one of the things that convinced me that maybe public school wouldn't be so bad for our son.

I remember looking around the gym that night a few weeks ago, paper plate in hand, and agreeing with one of the cafeteria ladies who, with tears in her eyes, said something about what a special community we had. I remember thinking how hard it was to believe that someone we all knew so well was battling something life-threatening. I remember laughing with friends that night, all of us keeping an eye on each others' children to make sure they didn't fall off the bleachers or get too wild. We also watched those kids because most people around here seem to understand that life doesn't get much better than that. We cheer for those kids at games. We marvel at how fast they grow from year to year ("Seems like I saw your daughter just yesterday, getting on the school bus, and she was just a little girl. Now look at her!"). We open our doors to those kids when a family's at wit's end and needs extra help - or when the parents are just delayed in town.

Today was the last day of school, and no one knew quite how it would go, since everyone is still reeling from last Friday's news. It was debated whether the traditional Field Day - the tug-of-war, the basketballs-balanced-on-plungers relay, the barbeque - should be cancelled. It wasn't, and that was a good thing. Because despite the unthinkable enormity of what has happened here, those kids still need to be kids. They need to mark the end of another school year not just with tears and confusion, but with laughter, with the kind of joyous celebration of the start of summer at which schoolchildren excel. So, against the nearby backdrop of the growing memorial of flowers and teddy bears and posters of the three children's faces framed by notes upon notes from all the people who loved them, our kids laughed, and played, and leaned back against that rope as hard as they could until the other team collapsed, also laughing, onto the sand.

Another benefit dinner/Bingo night is planned for tomorrow in the gym, and it looks like the memorial service will be held at the end of this week, also at the school. This seems fitting, not just because the school is pretty much the central meeting place of our little "incorporated area" in the pines (the mercantile comes in a distant second). Mostly, it's fitting because the final farewell for those three children will happen where the heart and soul of our community - those hundred or so students - spend much of their vibrant young lives on this mountain.

There is a time for everything...a time to weep and a time to laugh...a time to mourn and a time to dance....
~Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

"Life is short. Shorter for some than for others."
~Augustus McCrae from Lonesome Dove

So, I suppose this post is mis-titled. I suppose there really are words that can be used to describe, to wonder, to grieve. It's just that they seem wholly inadequate for the task of comprehending how quickly life can change, how quickly this present world can matter not one bit, and how there had better be something else we cling to with all our hearts and with all our souls and with all our minds and with all our strength, if hope is to prevail.

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I'm baaaaaack

For those of you who have emailed, tried to leave comments, etc. for the past week or so, please forgive me, as I was working from a place that didn't allow me to access my Blogger account. Or maybe Blogger was just being bratty - I'm not sure which.

Anyway.


Since my last post I've been deeply immersed in birthday stuff for my son, which included the following: bringing cupcakes to his classroom, celebrating at a Flagstaff park with a bunch of his/our friends before heading to the movie theater to watch Shrek the Third (funny, but definitely the weakest of the three Shreks, in my opinion), hosting a slumber party, and then, on his actual birthday a couple days later, surprising him with a trip to the House of Mouse:

Say what you will about Disney. Despite the corporate shenanigans in recent years, and the schmaltz, I truly, madly, deeply love that Happiest Place on Earth. My first memory there is from when my parents brought me and my brother there when I was four, and I looked out through our hotel window at the late-night fireworks lighting up the sky. I also remember the Country Bear Jamboree (which is now where Winnie the Pooh and Friends is located) and that cool "Inner Space"-type attraction, where they shrank you down to the size of a bug (which is now Star Tours). The old submarines have been renovated, and will open this week as the new Finding Nemo subs.

Last year, while living in California, a big family group of us visited the park and upgraded our tickets to annual passes (a great deal if you've already bought multi-day tickets), so I wanted to get us there before our passes expired later this month.

And what a week it was. As if the surprise of the trip wasn't enough for our boy, we stepped onto Main Street that first day just as a huge parade with all the classic Disney characters in full regalia was approaching. Then (this was painstakingly arranged), I turned him around and said, "Who's that walking toward us?" as my mom and nephew (who is the same age, give or take a few weeks) approached. We haven't seen them since moving back to Arizona at Christmas-time, so it was quite emotional and awesome. Suffice it to say that the boy was stunned. He quickly got over it, though, and we spent the next five days in total, full-tilt Disney immersion.

Dude. It so totally rocked.

Last year we were there for the Pirates of the Caribbean; Dead Man's Chest premiere, and, while I didn't yet have the Nikon back then, I camped out next to the red carpet on Main Street for SEVEN hours just to get this picture of Orlando (insert dreamy sigh):

And this picture of Keira (gorgeous girl, but MAN was she wearing too much makeup that night):

The Governator passed right by...

As did Johnny, though he was bringing up the rear of the celebrity parade, and went by much too fast and far away for me to get a decent pic (he's the one in the fedora):

We missed the red carpet premiere of At World's End by a couple of weeks this year, which was just as well. And heading toward the park on Memorial Day might have been a bad idea traffic-wise, but it also meant that we didn't have to deal with any massive crowds for the whole week. That was cool.

I stayed with the boys most of the time, which meant that the week was filled with all the crazy, thrilling rides like Splash Mountain, the Matterhorn, Space Mountain, Indiana Jones and Star Tours. Meanwhile, my mom and daughter cruised through A Bug's Land via a Heimlich the Caterpillar coach multiple times, sailed through A Small World and joined us for rides like Pirates and Soarin' Over California (one of my all-time favorites in the California Adventure park). I had to go back to the hotel in the afternoons to log into work for a few hours, but it actually worked out fine, since the afternoons are generally when we'd start to poop out anyway. We ate way too much junk food, but since the train was out of service the whole time we were there, we walked most of it off. I'm hoping to post pictures soon, but we used only those throw-away film cameras, and I don't know if I'll be able to get them on a disc.

And now that we're back to "real life," I'm experiencing those familiar, post-Christmas-type blues that happen after a trip to Disneyland. Most people are probably relieved when it's time to leave the chirpy music and the cutesy facades of the Main Street stores, and the hordes of children on a communal sugar high, and the long waits to get on the rides (if you weren't smart enough to get your FastPass tickets).

Not me. I'd go back tomorrow if I could.

Come to think of it, our annual passes don't expire until the 20th.

Hmmmm....

If only my bank account balance looked as promising as the view from FantasyLand.

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I have to be honest

I really didn't know that Smokey Robinson was still alive. But seeing him on American Idol last night? It made me LOVE this country all over again, Baby!

I mean, okay. Let's face it. There's a good chance he'd been pulled out of the rest home to lip synch Tears of a Clown. (And more than a good chance that Gwen Stefani was doing the same with her new single, in my opinion - and I really like Gwen: I love running on the prairie to Just a Girl and Sweet Escape (a great "new mommy" number). Some day - I share this because I trust you all not to blackmail me with it later - I even aspire to be known as the Gwen Stefani of literary fiction). But I digress.

And then, good Lord, they trotted out Gladys. "I found a man who can put it all together," she sang, with the top several A.I. female contenders as her backup singers, and I thought, Ms. Knight must be about 103 years old by now, but by golly, I'll bet she's still gettin' busy. She belted out Midnight Train to Georgia, and I thought, I hope those young whippersnapper girls up there with her know just what an incredible honor is being bestowed upon them at this moment.

And then....really, it was almost too much...Tony Bennett came back to the A.I. stage to sing - of all the perfect, wonderful, tear-inducing things - one of the most gorgeously joyous Stevie Wonder songs ever: For Once in My Life. This is one of those songs I like to blast at eleven on the PowerStroke's stereo while fishtailing around the dog-leg turns at 50mph on the cinder road heading toward home. Tony is the kind of guy who makes you realize that your parents and grandparents (depending on your age) came from a generation So. Much. Cooler. than your own that you might as well just give up now even trying to aspire. Even Simon looked moved.

But were the A.I. producers going to stop there? Oh, no, Missy, they certainly were not. Because then my favorite contestant of this season (other than Jordin, an Arizona girl who is darned hard not to love) - Melinda Doolittle - sang some butt-kicking modern Gospel with BeBe and CeCe, for whom she has apparently been singing backup until now. I really applaud Idol producers for airing such a blatantly Christ-centered song: I very simply DIG that about them.

Okay, three words to describe the embodiment of the un-self-conscious joy I strive to someday achieve: African Children's Choir. I mean, there they are, in this big concert hall, on this big. momentous night in American music history, and they're all like, What's the big deal? They asked us to sing, so we're singing. Isn't this fun?

And, did I ever think I would actually laugh out loud for joy at a Sanjaya performance? Well, I did laugh. (Aerosmith's Joe Perry actually made an appearance in an early version of my newest novel draft, so it was pretty cool to see him rockin' his Sanjaya cameo so hard).

The Divine Miss M. came out a bit later. I love Bette. Who doesn't? She's like everyone's favorite wacky drama/dance teacher from high school - complete with leather mini-skirt and amazingly well-preserved/surgically-enhanced face. Another joyful gal who makes me smile.

I mean - Lord have mercy - did all these established and soon-to-be superstars just look around at each other backstage and say, "This, right here, is what it's like to be blessed," or WHAT?

Okay, so then there was this sort of tweaky Beatles tribute/fugue...but it didn't last too long.

Look. I fully understand that American Idol is, first and foremost, a big, contrived, corporate form of dopamine for the masses. I do. I also know full well that there's more than just a little of the "Sing out, Louise!" element to the whole thing. But does it make me a complete schmuck to say that I like it? Call me David Hasselhoff, but not once have I heard someone say, after finishing their performance, "Oh, and by the way, I really HATE George Bush,"...or, "Those evil Democrats are ruining EVERYTHING." And I believe our country needs more of this right now. So, the show has that going for it.

And, then?

I don't know. Because, while the kids and I were driving home from a Little League game near the Grand Canyon, my lovely Dish Network DVR decided to STOP RECORDING about 10 minutes before the end of the American Idol finale.

So, you tell me. Who won?Follow @nicole_mcinnes

so, me and my bad self...

...sat ourselves down in a dental chair first thing this morning to get an ancient filling (one that's been causing me grief for several months now) replaced. I was nervous enough about this simple procedure, but was completely unprepared for The Dentist to tell me that, if I was interested, he had time to go ahead and also do that ROOT CANAL he mentioned yesterday - the one I'd need on another tooth that I didn't even know had problems until they showed up on the x-ray.

Gulp.

I was so nervous last night about the root canal, and about the very real possibility of losing the tooth, that I called my oldest friend ever (not oldest as in she's old, but oldest in that we grew up on the same street). She's a dedicated dental hygienist, and managed to settle down my neuroses considerably (so, if your reading this, C, you ROCK). I'd never had a root canal, but just knowing what it entails has always been enough to make me shudder in horror. Suffice it to say I lost a little sleep last night, wondering how long I'd have to wait in painful anticipation to get it done.

I was also planning to enjoy a little sedative or nitrous oxide aperitif when the big event happened, but since I was already in the chair with one side of my mouth numb, I figured what the heck. And you know what? It wasn't bad at all. In fact, the worst part of the whole procedure was feeling like my mouth was some kind of construction zone, with all the metal and latex and heavy equipment moving about in there. It'll probably feel sore at some point, I'm sure, though it's already been several hours and the filling is bugging me more than the root canal.

Of course, it didn't hurt that the dentist is a dead ringer for Joaquin Phoenix. I mean, if ya gotta have someone drilling away on your teeth...

(If you're reading this, Dr. O, you and your staff rock, too!) :-)

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