Fierce!: Part Two

May I ask you to gather round?

I was concerned last week over Tim Gunn's concern over Christian's collection. And when Christian himself became concerned about his work, my heart sank a little. How could my fierce little sprite be lagging in confidence? But, I think it was all about the Bravo editing room having a bit of fun with us, getting us all worked up and fretting over the cohesiveness of Christian's collection.

But he did not disappoint. In fact, none of them disappointed. This finale was by far the strongest of any season. All three of the designers presented amazing work. I didn't feel like there was faltering point in any of the collections - not really a moment when I went, "Ugh! How could they put that on the runway?"

Jillian's collection was very powerful to me. I find the juxtaposition of Jillian's quietness alongside her subtle determination and her masculine/feminine point of view very intriguing. I loved the military inspired coats and pants paired with the more romantic knits. The black knit top with the gold-edged ruffled front was to die for. I actually faltered a bit in my undying love for Christian and sort of loved Jillian's collection. I know Rami's had more detail in a lot of ways, but her attention to fit and femininity and strength outstrip Rami's need to make us all Greek statues.

Rami surprised me because he didn't drape the hell out of everything. I expected a barrage of flowy Grecian-inspired gowns. But he showed restraint and elegance. I agree with Nina Garcia that his taste in color is really off - the pinks and the teals together reminded me of Maurice's and Paris Sport Club and wearing two pairs of socks at one time. Not good. But the dress made out of the antique lace - gasp! Perfection. Sheer perfection! The Violinist at work only wears black - and sometimes red - but she said even she would consider wearing its creamy deliciousness.

And Christian...wee darling Christian did not disappoint me. I know Nina and Tim thought it was overworked and overdesigned, but I loved, loved, loved the ruff collar with the giant black hat. In fact, I thought Christian's hats were fabulous. The fedora/cloche hat the first model had on? I totally want that! And I have to say, the dress with the feathered bodice that melted into the swirls of chiffon...the creams and whites that blended into caramel and sable...was exquisite. I think they purposefully avoided showing that full dress until it came down the runway, and the effect was dramatic. I'm not much for feathers, but I would swear I would wear that dress. So much gorgeousness.

For a moment in the end, I thought they were going to pick Rami. Christian thought so, too, with his wobbling chin and effort to hold back tears. But they picked - and they picked well. Throughout the season, Christian has had the strongest point of view presented in the most consistent - and diverse - work. I think that's the key for me. Although Rami's final collection was more varied in its offerings of separates and evening and Christian's honed in more on the dramatic presentations, I think that's what the collection is supposed to do. Christian has shown throughout the season that he can produce elegant, wearable and salable clothing. But all of that is boiled down from his big, beautiful innovative designs. And of course, his great har.

So, so, so fierce. And yes. I channeled Ricki and cried in delight. Way to make it work!

*****
And just for fun...I'm posting my original predictions from after the first episode (in black) and commentary on those (in green):

Carmen - I like her, but she also has that sort of aggressive Laura-vibe about her. I thought her design last night was interesting even if I didn't love it. Prediction: A strong contender to make it through to the late stages unless overconfidence or bizarre design get in her way.
Carmen was definitely aggressive, and I think she would've made it but she let the menswear challenge totally take her down. I'm not sure she would've made it to the final three.

Chris - A wild card. I liked his dress last night - I thought the purple fabric was gorgeous. He could also teeter toward one of those whose designs never have the wow factor. Prediction: Must wait and see.
Chris was a surprise to me - even in the end. I loved a lot of his work, and I loved him, but I was astounded how he always seemed to gamble in the right direction. I think some of the other designers - like Kit Pistol - had more potential but let challenges get the best of them.

Christian - The New Austin Scarlett. Love him. Love his wacky haircut. Love his sass. Love all of his interviews. And liked his design - didn't love the fabric, but I thought the design was interesting. Prediction: Strong contender for the final three.
Way better than Austin Scarlett. He's fierce. Still love him. Bought the t-shirt.

Elisa - Totally bizarre and over the top. I think she's the new Vincent. And not in a good way. Prediction: Auffed over extreme creative differences with the judges (but great television while she's still around).
Right on, spit mark.

Jack - Beautiful dress. I thought was lovely and wearable. Which may get him into trouble for not establishing a stronger point of view. Prediction: A strong contender, although from the previews, it looks like something horrible will be revealed by him at some point.
Jack would've totally been up in the top three vying against Rami and Jillian if he hadn't gotten ill. But I'm glad he did what he needed to do - and he hasn't ruled out a return for season five!

Jillian - I think Jillian has potential, but for some reason, I can see her being one that has a challenge where she totally flips out and doesn't get it done. Prediction: Auffed in the later part
Jillian definitely flipped out. And she definitely struggled to get things done. I grew to love her understated commentary. And I hope she continues - I loved her clothes and think she has something to contribute to the fashion world.

Kevin - He's trying to be the new Jeffrey/Santino with his elegance-with-an-edge. Didn't love his work last night, but I reserve judgment here. Prediction: Another wait and see.
Right on. I think Kevin way overplayed his punk elegance card.

Kit Pistol - I like Kit Pistol (just because I think that's an awesome name) and I think she has a strong and different POV. I could see her hanging in there into the late game. Prediction: Contender.
I actually liked the dress she made with Ricki, and I thought Ricki got a real steal on that challenge because he purposefully sat back and let Kit take charge - and take the fall. I'm not sure she could've stood up against Jillian and Rami in the late rounds, though.

Marion - I noticed last night that Marion was largely ignored in the storyline, which made me wonder how important he'll be. I felt totally blase about his garment a la Robert last season. Prediction: (Yawn) Auffed early
Right on!

Rami - Fabulous. Beautiful garment. I hope he doesn't get drape-obsessed like Uli did with the billowy dresses. Could be my one sticking point with him. Prediction: Definite contender for top three.
Right on the top three and SO right on the drape obsession. I thought if I saw one more goddess dress, I was going to vomit. His final collection was divine, though. We'll see him again.

Ricky - Three words: What happened to Andre? Prediction: Auffed, but not before a spectacular meltdown
So true, so true! The montage of him crying in the reunion special was hilarious.

Simone - Boring. Auffed. Reminded me of the first one to go in Season 2, who, sadly, was from Georgia.

Steven - Steven, Steven, Steven. Could be fabulous. Or take a total turn for the worst. I think, if Steven keeps his head together, that he could be a contender. Prediction: Possible maniac, possible fashionista.
I missed Steven's dry humor after his departure, but I can't say that I remember a single one of his designs.

Sweet P - Hmmm. I get a bad feeling about Sweet P - like she's going to annoy me to no end and produce clothes that she really likes and believes in and will justify til she's blue in the face even though we can all tell they're ugly. Like Angela last season? Prediction: Auffed at the halfway.
Sweet P...does the "p" stand for "panic"? She wasn't Angela - she was actually quite lovable but SO indecisive. Oy. Did she ever go with her initial design on something? I did find her elimination quite touching. And, as STGD pointed out, Tim Gunn's intonation on "Sweet P" is a phenomenon unto itself.

Victorya - She definitely got the Kara Saun/Chloe Dao vibe about her. She's very together, less eccentric than the other designers. I'm expecting elegant, chic work from her that I totally love. Prediction: Judges will coo over her consistency. Final three contender.
I was pretty close in my estimation of Victorya. What I did not scene is her tendancy to be the Ice Queen. Wasn't sorry to see her and her arch eyebrow get auffed.

And now that's it's over, carry on, friends.

Fierce!

I promise that this weekend, maybe tomorrow, I will try, try, try to compose a post about ProRun because I have so much to say, but mostly, I just want to say

I LOVE CHRISTIAN!!!

And his win was fierce.

Just the Five of Us: The Shape of a Family

On Friday night, from all different directions, we descended on Anna and Ronnie's house. I drove up from midtown after spending the day in the ATL office; Justin trekked from Buckhead. Dad made his way down from the northwestern part of the state. And around 9 o'clock on Friday evening, an anomaly occurred - as cosmically rare as the eclipse or comet tracks in the night sky. It was just the five of us.

Since Anna and Ronnie and Justin and Eva married in the same summer just a month apart six and a half years ago, I don't think we've had a single incident of pentagonal-ness.

Once upon a time, there were only five. Mom and Dad, of course. And then Anna, the oldest, Justin the middle, and me, the caboose. For the longest time, that was the way it was. With designated rooms and places at the table and roles in the family dynamic. We were inseparable -and I grant you, sometimes suffocatingly so - but even still, we were the Smash Family Five. And I treasured those times on family vacations, at the dinner table, in the backyard, when the laughter was riotous, the tears shared and the milestones celebrated together.

But when they married, the fold grew to seven, and the pentagon opened its sides, and we rearranged ourselves into a heptagon. Seven-sided. Shortly thereafter, I moved to Wilmywood, and the opportunities to regroup grew fewer. And the sides of our shape were scattered. And when we came back together, the shape had changed.

For the whole weekend, though, the pentagon reassembled. Eva spent the week in North Carolina keeping her brother while her parents vacationed. And while the circumstances of Ronnie's absence were omnipresent and permeating, the inevitable faltering of every conversation into melancholy silence or even tears, there were golden moments like threads of hope that reminded me how much I love these people. How strong the bonds of blood, so indestructible against the storms outside.

There's a reason that the most impenetrable fortress in this country is the Pentagon. With five sides, nothing can take us down.

Baby Got Back Pain

To add insult to injury (quite literally), cruel fortune has dealt me another blow. The chronic back pain that I've experienced for years, that seemed to have faded into a dull ache, has reared its head with wincing sharpness. Right at the base of my spine, it feels for all the world like someone has smashed me with a lead pipe.

It started on Saturday, a twinge here and there. But Sunday morning, I was stepping gingerly, and by the post-church walk to the car, I almost took Justin up on his offer to carry me. Every step sent shooting pain right up to my shoulder blades. I was holding my breath and my whole body tensed in an effort to keep me from moving in the wrong direction. The ride home yesterday was excruciating. I had no choice but to drive, having headed to Anna's house straight from the ATL office on Friday.

This morning, I almost couldn't get my socks off. I couldn't bend. I couldn't lift my leg. I went to work with an IcyHot patch the size of my lower torso stuck to the offending area and giving off an offending odor. I walked slowly and carefully today. And when I came home, I sat in the recliner on the heating pad. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to have to break down and call the doctor - even if the last place I want to be is a medical office of any sort. It's either that, or consider going House-style and picking out a cane for myself.

Corners

Dad sat at the computer last night, tense and pensive. I could tell by the grimace of his profile that he was thinking - weighing the events of the past two weeks, digesting them, working out how to get beyond all this.

"I know this sounds silly," he said. "But I can't stop thinking about it - and it's such a little thing."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Corners," he said. "Ronnie, when he was refinishing the basement - he didn't understand how to make his corner. He never could make the measurements work out because he didn't know how to make a corner." He stops and thinks, takes his glasses off and wipes a strong hand over his face.

"I was going to do that some time. I was going to go up there when I had the time, and I was going to teach him how to make a corner. I was going to show him how to do it right." He pauses, stares at the wall. "And I -" his voice breaks, he clears his throat, spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. "And I never made it."

Painful Reminders

Today I had a meeting with a client who happens to be from the local version of the place I spent last Monday in agony. A group of seven surrounded our conference room table and I was running the show. I was trying to make light chatter. I'd been prepping for this meeting in earnest before I left the office, and I felt the weight of it on me - the need to bring my A-game and push everything else to the side.

They began talking about having a full house because of the flu. One said, "We're starting to ask patients if they're lucid, and if they are, we send them home." It was a joke, of course. The kind of inappropriate joke that gets made about a serious subject to alleviate the tension.

These are not bad people; in fact, they're all quite kind people who believe in what they do. I've said the same sorts of things about my clients - without thinking, with utter flippancy. But I couldn't let it pass. I couldn't let the moment go by, couldn't think about people with the flu who get to walk out of the hospital. So I told them what happened, mostly to make it stop. But part of me, truth be told, wanted to zing them. Even though they weren't intending to be cruel or malicious, even though they were blindsided by my experience, I felt myself hurling out a little bit of my anger.

I felt contrite afterwards, wishing I'd have kept my mouth shut, not understanding my sudden need to share. Why couldn't I just keep it to myself and move on? My only excuse is that my befuddled emotions have me acting in befuddled ways. Untangling the tangled lines of anger, frustration, guilt that my life is going on, irritation at those for whom normal really means normal...inevitably, something is going to snag.

Devastate, In All Its Forms

devastate
overpower
The fever escalates to 106 degrees and his body is packed in ice. The lungs labor, no longer able to pull breath in of their own accord. I begin to sense that we could lose this battle.

to lay waste; to render desolate
It is unstoppable coursing through the body, cutting a path through blood and tissue, corrupting organs. In order to focus the body's energy on repairing the rampant destruction, the doctors render him unconscious. The machines wheeze and click, the tubes snaking from both legs, both arms, the ventilator clamped loosely between idle teeth. By the time I see him, he is hovering on the line, fighting in still sterile silence.

destroy, sack, despoil, ravage
Most people look smaller in the hospital bed, shrunken and wasting, but somehow he looks larger and stronger, a mighty Goliath felled. Yet there are signs of the illness everywhere. The tape across his face holding the ventilator in place. The blood stains on his cheeks, pillow and sheets leaked out from his serrated lungs. The distended look of his body from the amount of fluid being administered. The tense, fearful pitch of the voices surrounding the bed.

I take his hand, and it is heavy and limp; the skin is dry and rough. I squeeze and nothing happens, but I believe he can hear me. I say, "Ronnie, I'm here. It's Ashley." I tell him to fight, to be strong, that we know he can make it. I tell him I love him. And all the while my sister is wringing his forearm and repeating, "Please don't leave me."

And the machine marking the line pitches, wails and I am pulled by the shoulders out of the room and into the hallway and they descend in the gauzy sterile covers and rubber gloves and the voices are urgent and I can't stop picturing the way he doesn't look like himself and the way my sister was pleading with him.

to confound or stun
They gather us in a small room on the other side of the ICU. Anna sits in a chair and I perch on the arm and methodically run my hand over her back and murmur nonsense in an effort to be soothing. Dad and Justin jangle restlessly by the door. Mom sits almost perfectly still - as though she knows what she must steel herself against. Ronnie's sister is there along with a former baseball player of Ronnie's that turned surrogate son.

The nurse comes in, addresses my sister and draws a breath. I want to yell, "Please don't say it." I know it. I know what's coming. And yet, when the words fall forward into the white space, "He didn't make it" my heart stops beating for a moment. There is a head rush, I lean forward and put my face in my hands. I think I cry. But in my head, all I can think is, "No no no no no no."

to overwhelm, as with grief
Anna says nothing. She leans back in the chair and blinks. I worry that she's going to pass out, and we ask for a cold cloth. Mom presses it to her forehead, the back of her neck, but she remains silent and immobile. Everyone cries and says it isn't so and that it can't be true. And she sits there, waiting. After a few moments, the room grows quiet, an eerie chord among the sounds of grief. Anna begins to cry, her face resting on her arms, resting on her knees, and her shoulders shake with the pain and the terror and the unfathomable sadness.

ruin utterly
As we leave the hospital, I turn to look at Anna. Her face is swollen, her eyes mottled. And across her cheeks are blue-tinged red patches where the capillaries have burst. She is only a ghost of herself. I feel hollow and shaky, so empty and terrified that I feel for a moment that I could die, too.

devastating
tending or threatening to devastate
The next morning, I wake and the world is still turning. Justin, Eva and I pile into the car and drive to Anna and Ronnie's house. In the car, I say to them that I'm going to be strong. I'm going to hold back the tears and support her. But when we get there, I walk through the garage pass the Tacoma and there are a pair of his shoes by the door in this way that I know he loosened the laces and stepped out of them. Just stepped out of them like he would be back.

I open the door and there is the smell of their house. The house they picked out together, whose back porch offered a view of the foothills in the distance. And through the kitchen, I can see Anna, looking thin and tired, and I lose my barely-there composure. I sob. She opens her arms and I go to her, and I weep and tremble. Because this is not the way it's supposed to be.

satirical, ironic or caustic in an effective way
He fought cancer, beginning just a year after they married. He took the chemo in stride, never missing a day of school. And in December, he underwent the semi-annual scan that revealed a clean bill of health and extended his green-light status to four and a half years.

We always worried about the cancer, that it would take him before old age. That he and Anna wouldn't get to grow old together. But after this much time, I grew complacent about it, felt like it was a hardship that had been overcome, dismissed it as a dark cloud that passed and gave way to brighter days.

wreaking complete destruction
He walked into the hospital Monday morning and in less than twelve hours, he was dead. It was surreal, unbelievable. Just the death, just the passing, the sudden and unexpected loss were enough to bring me to my knees.

In the aftermath, however, the extent of the damage only grew and became more pronounced. Anna, thirty-four and a widow. Anna with two houses - the one they left behind when they moved still on the market and this new house just six months into a mortgage. Anna rambling around the house they dreamed of, saved for, planned to fill with kids. Anna with the dog he had when they married, and the two he bought her when Ben passed. Anna with everything she built her life around swept out from under her with no warning and no mercy.

physically or spiritually defeating, as in a crushing blow
More than a thousand people come to the visitation, and somewhere between seven and eight hundred come to the memorial service. There are so many touching moments - wonderful stories shared, the comfort of strangers, the celebration of a life well-lived. There are the people who come for me, to give me a hug and a shoulder to cry on and the comfort of their presence.

And then on Friday afternoon, I sit in the living room with Ronnie's two best friends and we talk about Ronnie. And we laugh over things he'd done and said. And in an instant, I look up, look around, and I realize with piercing finality that he will not come back.

devastation
the termination of something by causing so much damage to it that it cannot be repaired or no longer exists
The world as we know it is gone. Anna is alone. Our family is no longer whole. And everything that happened just a day before is a lifetime away. I cannot think of what life was like before Monday. I cannot fathom what life will be like tomorrow.

Anna is...devastated. And yet so strong and so graceful that I can only be ashamed of my own weakness and frailty. My heart aches for her, and though I can't, I wish that I could ease her burden and take some of her pain on myself.

And I'm faltering. I stumble between grief and denial, anger and numbness. I try to think about life beyond this moment, and I find that I can't imagine the time when this tragedy doesn't color everything. All of our lives were touched by Ronnie. And all of us feel his absence profoundly, something held dear ripped so viciously from our hands.

Right now, the world exists in shades of gray. Right now, my life is a strung-together series of moments that are categorized into thinking about "it" or not thinking about "it." Right now, my heart is broken. Right now, I know that we will get through - but I am weary. Right now, I know that we will carry on - but it will be heavy. Right now, I'm dealing with wounds that will leave scars. Right now, the devastation is so raw, so palpable, so complete, that it's hard to stand amongst the ruins and contemplate taking the first step toward rebuilding.

Ronnie: October 21, 1964 - February 18, 2008

We love you, and you will be missed.

Going Dark: Family Emergency

Until further notice, the blog is going dark.

My brother-in-law, Ronnie, is in the ICU with pneumonia. He's in critical but stable condition. Temperature 106 - he's packed in ice. An infectious disease unit has been called in to consult. He just started a combination of antibiotics that they hope will begin to fight the infection. The next 48-72 hours are going to be critical. I will be on my way to Atlanta later this evening. Please, please keep Ronnie, Anna and the rest of our family in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you in advance for your support from afar.

Love,
Ashley

Excuse Note

In lieu of a real post, you get the following excuse note:

* There was a tornado warning and we had to go to the basement for an hour.

* Justin and Eva's internet is broken.

* It was way more fun to take approximately 100 pictures of Dillon and the fam (see post below).

* My thumb hurts due to lacerations sustained during the administration of medicine to a cat (Poor Mr. Ranger).

* I was watching the episode of Scooby Doo guest starring Davey Jones.

* I'm three-quarters of the way through a book that I'm enjoying rather much.

* My back hurts from lifting the Chunk-a-Munk all weekend. (I know, Pen...lift with the legs. I simply must learn!)

* Tomorrow is Monday.

Perspective

Whip It

While I still think that Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is one of the worst titles ever and held out hope that maybe that was just the bogus title it was being shipped under, I can't deny a little thrill that Harrison Ford is picking up the fedora again for a little cine-magic. Check it out.

Some Thing Never Change

I'm in the shower and Mom yells, "Stick your head out!"

So I look around the curtain and she's standing there in that sort of how-do-I-look pose. She's wearing a cocoa colored empire waist shirt with pintucks around the yolk and a long olive green quilted jacket. I screw up my face. "It's all...too long."

She departs and I continue soaping and sudsing. "I'm back," she calls. I stick my head out. "What if I tucked it in?"

"Mmm," I say, eyeing it. "That's better." She bustles off to get her coat, and I carry on. Minutes pass.

"One more time," she calls.

I'm standing on one leg, razor handle clamped in my teeth, and I pull the curtain aside. The pintucked top is tucked in, khakis belted with brown leather and she's thrown a soft denim jacket with a mandarin collar and oversized buttons over it. "Perfect," I mumble around plastic.

"Thanks," she calls, already scooting down the hall. "I thought I might have to go to work naked just because I couldn't find anything to wear."

I finish showering, hoping that when I'm 63, I'm still spunky enough to discard four outfits to get it right.

All You Need is Love

Love is all you need.

Is it just me...

...or if you had one of those Bush/Cheney '04 stickers still on your bumper, would you consider removing the whole thing with a sledgehammer?

PSA: For the Jane-ophiliacs

Available on DVD today. I got my copy. You should get one, too.

The View from Here

* Work avalanche

* Sorry I'm blogging less

* Swing State - swung? No commenters, no motivation. Should we withdraw from the race?

* 401(k) decisions

* Still trying to determine the fastest way to get to work

* Working on a (one, just one) friend(?)

* Dinner with Atl coworkers last night at DePalma's...so lovely to have dinner with four women and gab

* Light fading, shadows long and eerie

* Pillows and good night

Old Lady Smackdown

For a hearty laugh, I recommend listening to this.

Throwdown on ProRun

Chris wins - which I kind of love - and Ricki is OUT (finally!). This episode, in which the designers created an "in-the-ring" look for the WWE Divas, was beyond fierce, and here's why:

"My wrestler name is Ferosha Coutura and my signature move would be to spray hairspray in the other girl's eyes." - Christian

"Jesus, talk about Ava Gabor on Green Acres!" - Tim Gunn

"She's one of the fiercest people I've ever met and that means a lot coming from me - cause I've had some fierce bitches up in my life." - Christian

"It's kind of stripper-tranny." - Chris

"It does not look like what I'd normally do as a designer. It looks like I've been smoking crack or something." - Rami

"We're going to Spandex House where you'll have $100 to spend." - Tim Gunn

"What are the judges going to say?! What is Nina Garcia going to say about pink spandex and rhinestones?!" - Chris

"I feel like a pope in a sex club." - Michael Kors

Spinning Plates

Work is going really well. I am two weeks away from the six-month mark. I have officially taken over the leadership role on two major accounts and am in transition on a third. I'm a second on one of the firm's most volatile accounts (The Client Who Shall Not Be Named), and I've been tapped to work on the creative concept development for a new client. The Big Boss stopped me in the Atlanta office the other day to personally applaud my work. People hug me when I arrive in Atlanta; the office banter is getting easier. And so rises the "Hallelujah" chorus to a grand crescendo...and then...

And then I realize that I'm working late a lot. When I'm not working, I'm thinking about work. My email is woefully neglected. I forget to return phone calls or else can't muster the energy for a real conversation. Yesterday, STGD suggested I post a photo of a cobweb on the blog. I was excited about Swing State and yet, I haven't worked on making it what I wanted it to be. I just...ran out of gas. And writing beyond that? Forget about it.

The money I've been saving for the Elusive House Purchase in the Nonspecific Future is sitting in my checking account - my non-interest bearing checking account - because I cannot wrap my brain around putting a chunk of it into the savings account that I set up months ago.

And while I continue to raise my hand for all sorts of charitable causes (an extension of work in many ways) my social life hasn't seen considerable growth in the months since my job began.

But this isn't a post about how I need to work less. Or even, really, how work is getting in the way of life. I actually enjoy what I do. I like my job. So what gives?

The delicate balance between applying enough force to maintain momentum and enjoying the spin is escaping me. Instead, I've got one plate in my grip, spinning it for all I'm worth while the other plates crash to the ground in a heap of fragments: unanswered emails, stacks of correspondence, phone numbers long since dialed, friends unmade. And on that one sharp point, dancing in a wobbling elliptical, is the dish in which I've placed my hope. But if I don't slow down, it too will shatter.

Four Eyes

I am now fairly recovered from The Yelch - which included a raging case of viral conjunctivitis. Or cold virus in the eye. Or weepy eyes all bloodshot and evil looking. This condition required me to wear my glasses to work on Friday.

I tried to be all chin-up about it, but I hate wearing glasses. The reasons are many - I don't see as well, tend to get eye strain, can't wear sunglasses. But the root of the problem is in the v-word. (Not that v-word.) Vanity.

I started wearing glasses around 2nd grade. Blue and amber shaded glasses with a tiny red strawberry on the arm for Strawberry Shortcake. The next pair of glasses were giant and pink, a la Sally Jesse Raphael (see photographic evidence). And then some over-sized gold frames, followed by a very studious pair of tobacco-colored wire rims. No matter the frames, how very cool or stylish they seemed when I picked them out, I was always four eyes.

It's my own hang-up, I know, for my glasses now are very lovely thin caramel rectangle frames that complement my face nicely. But I still hate them. Putting them on is like putting on an old identity - a Clark Kent persona of squareness. Being a nerd. Uncool. Overlooked. The smart girl, and never, ever the pretty girl.

Even when the coworkers told me I looked hip or writerly or smart...I just felt 13. Awkward and somehow shy. And like someone else. Not myself. I realize how silly it is to let some molded plastic change the way I feel about myself...but there it is. It does. I tried to tamp down the insecurity, swallow the feeling that everyone was looking at me differently (it was most likely the evil-veined eyes and not the glasses), but by the time I got home, I was ready to be rid of four eyes and go back to plain old two.

"Sick" by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Ah, Uncle Shelby.  If only I didn't actually have all these symptoms...

Winter Drive

Weak winter sun, a pale yellow egg yolk in the eastern porcelain sky. Lacy stamp of a half moon in the west. Cragged limbs of a tree filled with obsidian crows, eyes beady and glassine against the cold. Last vestiges of woodsmoke curl through the tight air. Bitter breath in tiny clouds after cautious sips of hot coffee. Skin dry and papery in front of the heat vents, fingertips numb - where are my gloves? No sunglasses this morning, crinkle my eyes against that thin creamy light flickering through the slats of pine trees edging the road, marking each second with light and shadow. Trees along the downtown streets strain their bare fractal limbs against the sky - now tinged blue or pink, the sun growing orange and somehow closer as I turn past the stacked brick building. I could keep going - keep driving in this solitary winter landscape - but I shut off the motor, go inside.

18th Century Jive: The Sequel

We just don't talk like we used to - or so it would seem from the pulp romance novels. I find myself developing a particular fondness for certain words and phrases. I confess, I'd like to bring a few back into vogue.

Exclamations
* posh
* bosh
* capital

Insults
* wiggy
* prig
* rakehell
* foppish
* doxy
* cad
* chit

Misc.
* frippery
* diamond of the first water

Cursing & Exasperation
* demmit (so much more refined, don't you think?)
* the devil take it
* dash it all
* bloody well

Chief Lionhead & Little Chief

I love my brother. That is all.

Seeing It Both Ways

Half Empty
* I had to get up today at 5:25 to go to the ATL office.
* On my way to meet The Goofball for our ATL trek, the full moon was still out.
* While handling the giant post-it note pad in today's meeting, I accumulated numerous paper cuts.
* I seem to have carried home Dillon's cold, manifesting in slightly stuffy sinuses and a niggling soreness in the back of my throat.
* Tomorrow I have to catch up on all the work that did not get done today or yesterday while I was in meetings.
* I must start thinking about having my taxes done.
* Control top pantyhose.
* Aching lower back from picking up Dillon a lot over the weekend.

Half Full
* After today's meeting one of The Clients asked me if I will be assigned to their account team long term.
* Everyone was in generally good spirits tonight at dinner, laughing easily.
* Rescheduling the daily dosage of The Medicine is helping me to actually sleep at night.
* Tonight is Pro Run.
* Excellent discussion with The Goofball about books to read.
* Tomorrow is THURSDAY.
* Elastic waistband pants
* Mom bought me a heating pad today for my aching lower back.
* Kudzu is snoring.

Are You a Donkelephant?

Because we'd like to rock the vote in our own way, Kim and me have started the new blog, Swing State. As a public service to you, dear readers, we will be posting what we know, what we'd like to know, and what we'll never find out about the candidates in this election year. In this election year - the first in a very, very long time (I heard when on the radio but can't recall...) that an incumbent is not in the running - the word CHANGE is the one to be pronouncing loud and clear at the podiums. We agree. Change is necessary. But for the right kind of change, you must have strategery or your mission will fail. We want to help, so that you can feel confident about your exit strategery when leaving the polls. Please check in for the on-going nonpartisan discussion of all things political from two of the least political people you will ever meet. Because if you're voting for American Idol, you should be voting for the president. We totally don't want to end up with a Taylor Hicks situation in the White House.

99aXed

It's the end of an era. As of January 25, 99x will no longer be on air. The 99.7 FM frequency is being given to what is now Q100, a top-40 rock format. The X will transition to 100.5, sans its morning show, marking the end of Leslie Fram's 15-plus-year run on the station's Morning X show.

For those of you who grew up in Georgia, listening to the Morning X was akin to watch SNL on Saturday night. It's just what you did. You tuned in to the legendary Barnes, Leslie and Jimmy morning show so that you could catch a few stellar lines and maybe hear the first spin of "Jeremy."

And then there was 99x Resurrection Sunday, which played chic rock and folk rock and folk infusion and was the first place I heard "Silent All These Years" by Tori Amos. I remember leaving Jenn's house and driving down a lonely stretch of road with Tori's voice reverberating through the old '92 Taurus and thinking, "Yeah."

99x sponsored the Counting Crows concert at Chastain Park Amphitheatre where I met Adam Duritz - who gave me his autograph while denying me me a hug. Somewhere, I still have photo of Niki, Tempe, Heather and me with the 99x poster we absconded with.

The X hosted the Jingle Jam that Sarah McLachlan headlined at the Gwinnett Civic Center where we had fifth-row seats.

And there was also Live X, which produced some amazing acoustic sets over the years.

99x has apparently fallen on hard times while I've been away. With the rise of satellite radio and the faltering popularity of alt rock against top-40 pop coupled with the departure of Barnes and Jimmy from the Morning X and difficulty finding a successful replacement combo, it looks like it's finally jumped the shark. Goodbye, 99x. Thanks for the memories.

* For you OC kids, I couldn't find the old logo - the bright yellow 99x on the black background. You know what I'm talkin' about!

Snow: Southern Style

It doesn't snow much in these parts. If you're from a part of the country where snow is a normal occurrence, and you've been lucky enough to experience it in the south, you know that we buy milk, bread and eggs, and take cover in the shelter of our homes. We do not, under any circumstances, attempt to travel during treacherous snowfall, particularly if accumulation exceeds half an inch. That's why I was marooned at Justin and Eva's on Saturday after taking refuge there following a day in the ATL office.

Snowfall started early Saturday morning and continued through the afternoon. And it was beautiful, deafening snow, soft and powdery, falling in big papery flakes. Enjoy.

They Say It's Your Birthday!

Happy Birthday to the somewhat-newly-married Kim! On the official birthday call, we had a serious conversation about football fandom, insurer's insurance, Albert Bell's baseball card, and coming clean to our parents about our voting preferences. That means we're old.

Kim, I hope your birthday is as full of joy as a day spent solving mysteries with Lavar Burton in a red car! Here's to an odd-numbered age - your favorite - full of impossibly good things like finally getting George Clooney to sign on for The John Boston story. Love you!

Still Counting on the Crows

After years of silence - 5 1/2 to be exact - Counting Crows is making some noise. Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings is dropping March 25.

The band's last effort, Hard Candy, debuted back in July 2002, back when I was still in grad school, and I remember walking across the sizzling hot Best Buy parking lot to get the album after work. It was uneven, fluffy and poppy in all the wrong places. A couple of gems emerged like "Holiday in Spain" and "Goodnight L.A." but others like "New Frontier" were utter disaster. The band had brought Immy (Dave Immergluck) on and Ben Mize, the band's second drummer was clearly on the way out - he departed the band shortly after the Candy tour. I saw the Crows on their swing to promote this album, and the show was just as uneven and disappointing as the album.

When Dreams About Ghosts came out, I snapped it up in hopes that the two new tracks amidst the greatest hits would be worth it. But they were lukewarm at best, and I hardly ever pick up that album.

The new album's cover is reminiscent of Live Across the Wire, which is such a great mash up of their work in acoustic and rock format. And the two songs being previewed are as different as the red disc/blue disc of LATW. "1492" is all guitars and drums layered and clanging against one another - and has a Recovering the Satellites feel. And "When I Dream of Michaelangelo" is obviously a sequel to "Angels of the Silences" (from which the title comes) but it hearkens to the acoustic version.

I liked both songs first listen, but I have to say the Crows have let me down a little with their last couple of offerings. But maybe I'm just feeling slightly miffed after recounting to The Rockstar that Adam Duritz wouldn't hug me when I met him at 17. The Rockstar found this unacceptable.

I'll still pick up Saturday...& Sunday... - for old time's sake. And in the hopes that the threads of "Rain King" and "Omaha" that were in the undertones of "Michaelangelo" will be elsewhere on the album...and I can pretend to be 14 again and feel like he's singing to just me.

One

One year ago, he arrived. Tiny and perfect.
There's so much I could say...but there are no words.
He's no longer so tiny, but still perfect.
Happy Birthday to my favorite Little Monster.
A story in pictures.

The Birthday Boy in full regalia, getting a lesson on paper blowers from Aunt Anna.

The Puppy Cake - yes, Eva made it - carved in the image of Dillon's nighttime companion.

Little fingers testing the cake.

First taste and going back for more.

In with both hands.

Packing those cheeks with yellow cake, butter cream icing and blueberry filling.
Don't worry - Aunt Ashley gave him a thorough bath afterward.

Mayer's Manners

Wow. John Mayer's latest blog entry. I kind of...does this...sort of make John Mayer a little bit of a stand up guy? I'm just asking...and p.s., I totally sent a tip to Perez Hilton.

DON'T EX WITH TEXAS

Dear Dallas and Surrounding Areas,

This isn't a sports blog, and it isn't a publicity stunt. (but have at me if it feels right.)

This is about doing what I think is right as a person, in this case speaking my mind.

I have never known anyone to have more pride in their home state and their upbringing in it than Jessica Simpson has in Texas. I don't really follow sports, but I have played some of my biggest and best concerts in your state, and having witnessed how dynamic the spirit there is, I'm betting emotions are running high right about now.

All witty barbs, blogs, and fashion policing aside, that girl loves Texas more than you know. It's one of her most defining traits as a person. So please don't try and take that away from her. (You probably wouldn't be able to, but it's less work for all involved.)

I just thought it would mean something coming from the guy who has the absolute least to gain from this. And if I'm out of line in having written it, too bad. I can spare a Wednesday's worth of bad press if it means sticking up for a good soul.

JM

Wide Awake and Dreaming

Wide Awake
The last few nights, the moment my head hits the pillow, my brain wakes up. I can suddenly feel the contour of the pillow in minute detail under my head. Eyes open against the darkness, I imagine my pupils dilating to great black discs pressing away the hazy brown to a slim, neat circle. I blink. Feel my lashes against my cheek. Blink harder. Contemplate the length of my eyelashes. Be still. Try not to look at the clock. Think about warmth and quiet and drifting instead of cold rigid silence above the seismic hum of my mind.

Dreaming
Reoccuring now, this dream that I am in my apartment on Grace Street. Sometimes, it is the apartment at Abbott's Run. There is confusion. Am I supposed to be there? I walk through the room. These things are mine - this chair, this clay pot, this painting on the wall. But everything is not here. Some of my things are missing. Where are they? And then I remember that I don't live here...but I still feel...like I could...or I do. I'm not sure whether to pack or unpack. Stay or go. As the confusion reaches a fever pitch, I seem to recognize that I am dreaming and slowly lift toward wakefulness...eyes open, pupils bleeding across the brown.

Measuring Up: In Praise of Junk in the Trunk

"36-24-36? Yeah, only if she's 5'3"." - Sir Mix-A-Lot, "Baby Got Back"

It goes without saying that as a woman, I'm supposed to be displeased with my body. Whether in some small way - a certain attribute like flabby thighs or crooked nose - or whether with the overall figure, it's the American way for us to hate ourselves just a little (sometimes a lot) for our physical shortcomings.

I've spent most of my life riding that train of thought. I've only ever owned three bikinis, one which I never had the guts to actually wear out on the beach. Neither of the other two would be in my repertoire of items to wear to the beach now. In high school, I mostly dressed like a lumberjack. But then again, it was the era of Grunge. By college, I was slowly easing into wearing clothes that were actually my size instead of a men's large.

These days, I've given up on the perfect body. Achieving ideal proportions and weight require way more work than I want to do - and denial of things I truly enjoy. Like bread. And chocolate. But there's still opportunity for a best case scenario with what I've got. And what I've got is some juice in the caboose. This baby's got back. And I am not ashamed. In fact, when a recent purchase required my measurements in that arena, I was a little bit proud of my bootyliciousness.

And the rest of me too. I am currently a 34-32-40. Remember the 34 is the band size...I'm not posting the cups. I'm not that brave. I have no desire to run, skip and jump my way down to a below-30 waist size. And as for the junk in my trunk? I plan to keep packing. I find my shape sort of glamorous at the moment - old Hollywood, curvaceous, smokin'. The hour has finally arrived for me to like my hourglass. I hope it lasts.

Outside Looking In

Resolutions in the Pot Nine Days Old

I recognize that we've already bypassed the first week of January without me posting any New Year's resolutions. Last year, I had a clear resolution - a resolution that was important enough to me to keep. And I did - at least, I committed to my very best effort to find the place to be happy. Not physically...not in the sense of moving or staying, of where I am...but more a state of being. And now that I'm there, I'm resolving to stay there. So this is less about resolutions and more of a to do list for staying the course I chose last year.

* Get my passport

* Travel more - am already tackling this by planning trip to SF with Nik and Jenn and Cleveland Rocks with Kim

* Practice my photography (on subjects including and other than Dillon)

* Stop being afraid of new people

* When I say, "Someday, I'd like to..." really think about when someday might be and how to get there

* Buy (yipe!) a house

* Be kind to other people

* Have perspective - about blessings, about all the things that could happen that don't, about all the places I'm not, about all the places I am

* Learn

* Get to work on time more often; leave work on time more often

* Snuggle Kudzu every day

* Blog it out

Tickety Tack

"Some of the designers were excited...but I think prom is horrible. And tacky. And gross." --Christian

Tonight's prom dress challenge brought the designers to that place - the one where they're lost. Where the challenge is so far out of their point of view that they don't know how to reconcile what they usually do with what they've been asked to do. And with the more-than-usual involvement of the models (a.k.a. 17-year-old giggleboxes with very definitive ideas about prom dresses), the intensity of the challenge - and the volume of the workroom - were ratcheted up several notches.

Usually, I agree with a lot of the judges' assessments. But this week? I don't know. I was at sixes and sevens with the judges' decisions, including:

* The censure that Christian got from Nina about his comments regarding his client. Perhaps there was further commentary edited out, but I thought Christian was merely stating that his client was difficult. And she was! Nina's fury about it seemed out of proportion. Maybe I tend to side with the designer's too much though. Remember Angela's mom?

* Auffed Kevin? In light of that atrocity Ricky sent down the runway? Don't get me wrong - I love Ricky for his Andre-esque waterworks, but that dress was drab, dowdy and dismal. The color was a wash and the bunchy fit on the top only made her look broad and lumpy. I agree that Kevin's dress was not the best, but the worst? Ricky's pale insinuation of a dress was much worse. Molly Ringwald could've come up with something better.

* Chris...I know they can't talk about all the dresses, but I thought Chris's dress was pretty promtastic. And I wanted them to talk to his model about how much she liked the dress. Because as much as the other designers imposed themselves on their clients, I thought Chris worked to give her a dress she felt lovely wearing.

* Victorya for the win against Sweet P. I thought Victorya's dress was okay. And I get that Sweet P's dress was a little bit more sophisticated than most 17-year-olds. But it was tasteful and elegant and draped beautifully. You could tell that the girl felt absolutely glamorous wearing it. I didn't think they gave Sweet P. enough credit because that fabric is the kind that shows every flaw, but she fitted it in such a way that it looked stunning. And I couldn't quite see what Victorya's bedazzled bubble-skirted frock trumped that.

I was sorry to see Christian not feeling fierce - he really did suffer terrible on this challenge. I held my breath during the auf moment in desperate hope of one more week of snark and sass. Looks like I get my way.

SNEAK PREVIEW: Who fears from the previews that they'll be making wedding dresses in groups next week???

Say What You Need to Say

That's right, kids. It's time for the first John Mayer post of 2008. Okay...I'm sure there are many among you who think John Mayer is lame and that I'm lame for my insanely freakish fandom. But I highly encourage you to take a listen to "Say", written for the new movie The Bucket List, with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson. I found it to be a great sort of anthem for starting off the new year. Listen. And then say what you need to say.

Return to the Potterverse?

Mike sent me this article a week or so ago from The Daily Mail that references J.K. Rowling's interview with Time Magazine. Time interviewed her for her third-place finish in its Person of the Year issue. In the interview, she alludes to having had "moments of weakness" since Deathly Hallows in which she has considered an eighth Potter book. Although, I'm not really sure that I should say it would be a Potter book as Rowling indicates that the book would not, in fact, center around The Boy Who Lived. After all, his story has been told. But just as she slings it out there, she snatches it back by saying, "Let's talk in ten years."

I've mulled this one over...and, well, it makes me nervous. Rowling undoubtedly penned one of the most beloved, most captivating, most iconic showdowns between good and evil in history. The universe she created is certainly rich enough that we all want to go back there. The number of tears I shed over leaving is proof enough of that. But can we? Can we recapture the magic? And would a story from the Potterverse that was less than the ultimate meeting of good and evil, less than the entire world at stake, less than the triumph of love over despair, be as satisfying?

Plus, there's the absence of Harry (and therefore, likely Ron, Hermione and Ginny) at the core of this new tale. It's not that I doubt Rowling's ability to craft new and compelling characters. But I do think it will be hard to go to Hogwarts without the same cast of characters. Those second rounds of characters - the next class, the new generation - never seem to quite capture the allure of the initial characters. One could consider, too, that Rowling might go to a totally different landscape and pull it off with great success.

If she attempts to turn seven into eight, I hope she's more successful a concocting a worthy follow up than Neville in potions. I don't want to buy into Felix Felicis and end up with a melted cauldron. And most of all, I don't want to be disappointed. Although, I imagine if she had a boggart, it would be an eighth book that was a colossal failure with fans. Other magical thoughts?

A Conversation on Shoes

I wore these shoes today. My new black patent leather Mary Janes of which I am much enamored. The Goofball came into my office to ask me a question whilst I was sitting with on leg tucked under me, the bottom of my left shoe facing out.

The Goofball: "Those are new shoes. Very few scuff marks on the bottom. Did you get those for Christmas?"

Me: "Indeed I did. This is the first time I've worn them."

The Goofball: "Are they comfortable?"

Me: "Gosh no. They're actually pinching my toes a bit."

The Goofball: "Let me see. Is it because they're pointed toe? Or are they peep toes?" I wordlessly held out my foot for inspection. "Ah," he says. "Round toes. You're just going to have to stretch those out."

He leaves my office, and for a second, I try to think of any other straight man I know who might know these terms...no...there are none. And just for the record, I should not have tried to stretch the toes out by walking ten blocks to the post office and back.

Good and True News

Please welcome to the blogiverse some Good and True Things as penned by Jenn. If you're lucky, she'll eventually recount some highly amusing and slightly embarrassing stories of my earlier years, seeing as how we were fairly inseparable during that time. Hence the listing under Hometown Jungle Cats.

As the blogiverse expands, the world gets a little smaller, bringing all of us far-flung friends a little closer together. And that's a good thing.

Absurdly Pleased With...

* What I wore today - very simply, new jeans, a navy sweater with a button-up underneath and my new quilted vest and cowboy boots

* Almost being done with a good book and knowing I have another waiting upstairs

* A new episode of Women's Murder Club tonight

* New organic cotton bathrobe

* Kim's admission last night that her career aspirations as a child were to solve mysteries with Lavar Burton

* The size and shape of me...no more, no less

* Cherries

Splish Splash

I love my new camera.

Sweetness!

When I realized the nature of the challenge on tonight's ep of Project Runway, I had to concur with Christian: "Oh, great. We're going to make sh*t out of candy." I'm always leery of the challenges that involve edibles or flowers or garbage (remember that?). The designers tend to get frustrated about the poor materials and it shows on the runway.

But tonight, the designers totally surprised me. With just five minutes to gather materials from the Hershey's store in Times Square, the designers came up with some pretty scrumptious garments. How brills was that skirt and corset top Jillian made out of Twizzlers? I was so impressed. And Rami's dress looked delicious - that shiny plastic with the paper skirt. So well made. And I concur with the judges that it fit the model impeccably. I give Michael Kors credit for recognizing the restraint that Chris showed - and I give Chris credit for not going totally Macy's Thanksgiving Day with this challenge.

And then there was Elisa...I kind of want to root for her in all her airy-fairyness, but, well, as Christian said, "And the sleeves? They looked like swimmies that you would go swimming with. That dress was a hot mess." I believe Kors referred to the sleeves as silver shower caps. And Heidi Klum called it a sad brown dress. (See how sad her model looks wearing it??) Truly, she wanted to send a deconstructed Gretel down the runway and out walked bad bridesmaid circa 1998.

Sweet Pea? Oh, dear, Sweet Pea. She's always running around in desperation. Flustered and down-to-the-wire. What was she thinking gluing pottery to that dress. Yelch. I'm glad she didn't get auffed, though. I love her soundbytes.

Victorya's ruffled mess, which she deemed an Ice Princess gown...well, I'm not even sure that Tonya Harding would be caught with the lead pipe on the ice in that dress. And the weird walk? How great was Zac Posen's face when the model turned the corner? It was stiff and distracting and didn't help the ruffled dress one bit. What did help was Michael Kors euphoric shout, "She works at Dairy Queen!"

And while I agree that Rami's garment and Jillian's were the front runners, I confess I truly loved Christian's. I love his snark, his sass, his hair and his style.

Also, Ricky didn't cry this week. But don't worry, kids. It appears that his runway meltdown is a-comin'. As predicted.

Auf wiedersehen. I'm out.

Sucked into an Alternate Universe?

It is 9:36 p.m. I hear the vacuum running. I peer up the stairs to see Dad pushing said vacuum down the hall. I look in their bedroom, where Mom's brushing her teeth. "What-?" I begin.

She shrugs. "I have no clue," she says, all frothy.

Dad reaches the end of the hall, looks back at me. "What?"

"Well, it's just...it's...what inspired this?"

"I don't know. I just saw some stuff in the floor, I guess."

I resist the urge to say anything else. Particularly, "I have never seen you thus inspired in my life."

A New Year's anomaly, it would seem.

Good Fortune vs. The Omen: A Collard Green Showdown

In this here southern part of the country, you're supposed to eat collard greens at the new year in order to boost your wealth and good fortune in the ensuing twelve-month. I'm not sure where this tradition stems from exactly - collard greens southern-style were introduced to high society by slave cooks who had learned to make do with the greens boiled in water and flavored with ham hock (a less than desirable part of the pig). But nowadays, collard greens are one of those delicacies we Southerners hold up with pride.

We had a late Christmas on Saturday to accommodate all families and in-laws and work schedules. Instead of the traditional holiday fare, we opted for soul food and our Christmas spread included collard greens, pinto beans, homemade cornbread, beet pickles and coleslaw.

Yesterday, at The Grit, vegetarian eating establishment of fame right next to The Office, I had lunch with family and had a little more collard greens. Last night at dinner, I had some of the leftovers from our Christmas meal.

So imagine my surprise, with all of this laying the groundwork for good fortune in '08, when I was awakened very early this morning by the unpleasant and all-too-familiar sensation in the pit of my stomach. After retrieving a crying Dillon from his crib (I mean, let the parents sleep. Only one of us should be up at such an ungodly hour) and administering his morning bottle, I passed him off to a just-waking Nana before heading upstairs to toss it all.

Perhaps it was just a pile up of holiday and year-end anxiety. Perhaps, as Eva suggested, it was as though my brain had been collecting these little pieces bit by bit until they became too much. Whatever the case, I was a bit discouraged by the inauspicious start to my new year. But, in the vein of being wholly optimistic about the delights of 2008, I'm going to look at it as a monumental last-minute purge of all the bad things about 2007. And hope that, with all my collard green eatin', this will be a year that I can stomach.