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Showing posts from June, 2006

Potty Incident #2 aka Famous Last Words aka More Potty Humor

ACK! ACK! ACK! First, let me state that this is NOT my potty, not my house. We are visiting, accepting the gracious hospitality of our hosts. It is also not my food. This, of course, makes the entire incident worse. My sister, last night, said, "Your ONE CHILD is more trouble than all four of mine plus their four friends and the little boy from up the street, who is a preteen. She makes me tired." This from the woman who regularly has seven children at any given time in her house, at least six of whom are 7 and under. Let me recap my morning and tell you what the pitter patter of little feet mean around my house (again, NOT MY HOUSE): Scene: Mom and Dad in bed asleep. Mom has about three hours under her belt, Dad about one. The morning light has broken, birds are twittering. Act 1: Am awakened by slamming door noise and baby jumping on my chest, repeatedly. With giggles. She has emptied the armoire and the clothes are all over the floor. React 1: I crank open my eyelids, drag

Oooooooo HIGH Oooooooo where the wind comes sweeping down the hills

And the wavin' trees can sure smell sweet When the wind comes right behind the rain. Okay I took some generous artistic liberties...with the song. The photo is 100% fer real. It's really just like that, right there in Ohio. This? Is the upshot of RV travel. You get to stay in places like this, with other itinerant people who are all super duper friendly...just grateful to see another human, other than the one(s) they just spent 12 hours in a vehicle with. And you get to wake up in the morning and have this view. For only $20. And you get to talk to locals, who are more than happy to bend your ear as long as you like about their area. I like very much. By Julie Pippert Artful Media Group Museum Quality Digital Art and Photography Limited Edition Prints Artful by Nature Fine Art and Photography Galleries © 2006. All images and text exclusive property of Julie Pippert. Not to be used or reproduced.

Hey Jack daughter speaks in haiku

Each day that we drove during our road trip, it poured rain. One day, as we moved further east into a region with foliage and landscape, the rain gentled into a shower. With families of trees----parents, kids, aunts, uncles, cousins, even the lone black sheep of a different variety---bracketing us as we barreled forward, the rain droplets collected and skittered on our windows. The pattering water and road noise blanket us, a lullaby of white noise. We all felt like lazy sleepwalkers, not asleep but not awake. Eventually, the baby succumbed to it, first her eyes falling heavily down, then her head lolling to the side. One fist resisted, shooting upwards, then gently fell like an autumn leaf in resigned acceptance of hibernation. Her cheeks pinkened as she let air in and out of her open mouth and round nose. She pulled her lovey blanket---tofty on one side and toothey on the other---up over her face, leaving only one closed eye visible. She clutched her chenille pooh bear to her chest.

Living in a Faux Reality TV Show aka Everybody Loves a Road Trip

We all live in a big white RV, a big white RV, a big white RV. We all live in a big white RV, a big white RV...out in the big wide world. If you were ever thinking it made sense for a bunch of adults and kids to live in an RV...let me tell you: there are drugs that can help you. Really. Although---Honest Pete---it's not that bad. You can get food, and the bathroom is always there and clean, no more searching for some scummy food mart potty or a rest area or (in times of extreme desperation) a semi-private roadside tree. You can even nap without being in some neck-twisting position with your jaw all slack and drool oozing down your chin. The table area is nice for coloring and doing puzzles. But let me tell you, the time table is a max of three days. Even if you are all Very Nice People and Really Really Like Each Other. Past that and it is some Fox Knockoff of MTV Reality TV series about when "people stop being nice and start getting real." As it happens, Day One was a ch

You, madam, are Extremely Allergic to Everything and need to live in a Sterile Plastic Bubble

That magnolia photo is me these days: a little wilty and brown around the edges. I'm thinking of Anthony Edwards in Northern Exposure, living in his all natural, organic, Clean House and John Travolta, reaching to touch the hand of the Girl Next Door through his plastic bubble. Unfortunately, I'm not a boy, don't have endless supplies of cash to pamper my quirks, and who would care for the kids? Yes, people, I have moved to my Ultimate Death. My environment is killing me. My body is now so allergic to all flora, many fauna, and peanuts (holy crap) that it is over-reacting to everything. In technoterms I am having (strike that, say suffering instead) cross-reactive allergic reactions. This means the proteins I am not allergic to normally (such as melons, olives, nightshades---the plant family people, not something put over a lamp) are now provoking massive allergic reactions, mainly in my mouth. It's call Oral Allergy Syndrome (OAS). And it's made worse by the allerg

When the Husband and Kids are Home Alone

Lest you think that the crazy daisy life is unique to me in this family, let me share my husband's Friday morning. Also, this proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the act? It's ALL the kids. They would do as they do regardless of who is in charge so WHEW blame is off of me. First, as usual with me, a little background. All week long, actually two weeks with this past one being the worst, I have been questioning how much life likes me in this town. I’m liking it fine, but so far, so sick. As a dog! After a series of unfortunate events and doctor interactions, it was universally agreed it was time to Escalate my Case to the Experts. So Friday morning the allergist, his nurse, about 65 needles and I spent some quality time together, seeing how many huge welts we could create on my back (for the record, quite a few!). This meant my husband, the actual father of our children, was left Home Alone to get himself and the children ready to go for the day All By Himself. Never mind I d

Stand up comedy? Oh no, no, I don't have an act, I am the act

I wonder, sometimes, whether I'd be a rich source of material for a stand-up comic. Everybody Loves Raymond was very much a "strumming my pain with his fingers, blah blah blah something about my life and his words" show. It was so very much our life, I laughed and laughed while watching it, and so did my husband, but every now and again, we'd slant a glance to the other person and say, "Humph, well, humph." Nevertheless, clearly, this must mean our life was not only common, but funny, right? Sitcom level funny. Here, let me give you an example. This is my morning, and it is a typical morning. This story takes place within about a five minute period of time. That should be about as long as it takes you to read so WOWZA, I'm all 24-cool, in real time. Scene: our house, early morning, all people and animals awake and preparing for departure “Okay,” I say to DH, “Can you grab that and bring it downstairs because I need to get the daybags for the kids to go t

ICC2: Watch those cognates, they are FALSE FRIENDS

Any time I travel, especially to a foreign country with a language not my own, I insist on researching and studying the culture and language extensively, so I can try my best to fit in, by which I mean, be well-liked. My theory here is that if I am well-liked, I won't have things like this happen: * receive the entire head of a cow when ordering beef * get spit on * have vegetables hurled at my vehicle with shouts of what sounds like, "Bologna Merry Kin!" * get apples instead of potatoes * get a ticket to Lyon instead of Marseille * have to hand over a suspiciously large amount of "checkpoint" fee money and my watch to machine gun toting "state officials" All of which are true and have happened. To me. Once again I am left with the lingering suspicion, however, that my foreigness was being taking advantage of, much like some evil people prey on the simple and naive. In the US, I am big, brave, smart and aware. Abroad, I am...well, lacking anything clev

Launching International Culture Clatch undefined period of time

I almost used the word clash, but you know, that's not what it is. It's not quite an exchange, either. So I'll play on the idea of a coffee clatch, where gossip and misunderstanding can take you on a surprising turn. (And I won't define how long this will go least two times, wihtin some span of time. LOL) I've decided to explore some central culture issues, across cultures. I decidedly do not live in a homogenous society. In fact, homogenous societies sort of make me feel a little uncomfortable. It's all in what you are used to and I am used to a society of differences. Even so, sometimes it's easy to get all caught up in our American-ness and forget, oh yeah, the rest of the world doesn't have a celebration on July 4th, although everywhere in the world does actually have a July 4th. Actually, July 4th is why I was thinking about my Norwegian friend, the one who questioned me about Greeks. The other day I was talking, so to speak, to a friend ab

You passive guys ROCK! You are what makes this country PROUD!

My friend who I like to quote so often and who nominated me for Perfect Post so I love her FOREVAH AND EVAH even if she does mock my ACK! ACK! ACK! (and I just typed Doe Smock there. That's even better than Doe Sin. That "does" word can really slew me loopy.) just gave me the Best Post idea I've had in oh, a couple of days (when did I blog last?). She got that Red Friday e-mail spam. You know, those "RAH RAH RAH Be An Armchair Activist" mass forward e-mails that incite you to do very little at all and somehow be a part of a mass effort that does very little at all but gives each Passive Activist a very warm fuzzy glow inside like they've been a Part of Something Big and Done Some Good In the World for a Change. All without lifting their asses out of their computer chairs, or putting forth any effort at all. Here's my secret truth: if it seems to good to be true, it usually is, or it's not meant for me at all. This is the sad truth---mainly to my