Not yet, Poppa, not yet

When Kris and I watch CSI: Miami, we always talk in repeating sentences, typically mocking the Horatio Caine character who repeats himself every other sentence. Every. Other. Sentence.

It's quite funny to add emphasis by repeating sentences. By. Repeating. Sentences. Especially when the other person giggles.

Today, when driving home from picking up Liza with Mike, Liza was telling us what town she lives in. She was quite talky, which contributed greatly to her cuteness of the evening.

At one point, Liza announced we were heading into town. Mike told her we were already in town.

At which point Liza channelled Horatio in a very adult voice, "Not yet, Poppa. Not yet."

 Looking over the fence

I'm a big fan of Freecycle. Freecycle is a movement to keep items out of landfills by offering unwanted items to the local community (typically by email postings via Yahoo! groups), and giving the items away. It's great for those people, like me, who have crap they don't want, don't use any more, but either don't want to go through the hassle of selling it on eBay, or realize the item has little value.

I like getting rid of my junk. I like that I didn't throw it in the garbage. I like that it can be used more.

Sometimes, the timing works out well where I'd like to pick something up from the list. Like today, for example. I'm trying to recover from an injury, so when a piece of exercise equipment was offered, I contacted the offerer via email. At the offerer's request, I called to arrange a pickup time for the item.

The call was a bit uncomfortable for me.

I tried to be cheerful. This person was giving me a relatively expensive piece of equipment. I'm going to be as excited as I can be on the phone.

The voice on the other end of the line, however, sounded depressed. It was also hesitant, and, crap, I'm not going to explain this well, and I'm probably projecting here, but also lacking self esteem.

The voice reminded me of a coworker back in L.A. This guy had everything in his life go wrong. Everything. His wife was a chronic shopaholic, spending so much money on credit cards that even the second mortgage wouldn't cover the bills. He never stood up for himself. He didn't trust his decisions. He couldn't talk to anyone above him at work. I'm pretty sure I intimidated the hell out of him.

Crap, I can't even remember this guy's name.

Before I met him, I believed that, with desire and a bit of effort, that people could fundamentally change; that people could break out of their shells and realize their potential; that people could learn, achieve.

I figured, if I could come out of my shell, do the things I do, learn what I've learned, and accomplished what I've accomplished, then anyone could. Right?

Well, after I worked with this guy for a bit, I realized that, no, there are some cases that even with a lot of work, won't ever break from that shell. I can't say "hopeless," but I wouldn't say "hopeful" either.

The voice at the other end reminded me of this ex-coworker. Reminded me of the people who don't have the resources and opportunities that I have and have had. Reminded me how much a desire to be more than this can drive a person.

Reminded how far I had come on my journey.

I'm glad to have made it this far.

 Need to learn to read the menu

I called up P.F.Changs to place a lunch order to-go. Mike was going to pick it up on his way back from his off-site client, so I ordered for Raphael, Chris, Mike and me.

Mike wanted "beef with scallions."

No problem. Standard dish.

After waiting on-hold for too long, I finally managed to talk to someone to take my order. The first item I ordered was the "Beef with scallions."

"We don't have any dish like that."

Um...

Okay.

Without pausing, I continued with the next item on our order, while simultaneously looking up the closest item from the menu. From the menu:

MONGOLIAN BEEF
Quickly cooked steak with scallions and garlic.

Hm. No dish like that, eh?

Lady, you need to learn your restaurant's menu better.

 Sam-a-rooni is coming to visit!

When I was 4 years old, my parents sent me on my merry way to visit my cousin Janelle and her husband Paul down in Kentucky. I remember much more about that trip than I suspect I probably should.

I vaguely remember the inside of Janelle's house. I remember playing in the back yard with the milkweed along the back fence. I remember looking up and seeing a jet and its contrails across the clear blue sky. I remember Paul coming home late in the afternoon.

And I remember taking my first shower. I remember it being strange to stand in the tub and have water fall down upon me. Janelle bathed me, so I wasn't taking one by myself, but it was still slightly frightening. The water - its moving! Really fast!

Mid-July, one of my two nephews is coming to visit me for a week. The journey will certainly be entertaining, and I suspect the week will be crazy, too. But I'm looking forward to spending the week with a 4 year old boy.

Admittedly, I'm a little nervous about being able to keep up with Sam for a week. How do I keep a 4 year old entertained? I can't bring all his toys over here, and I'm certainly not plunking him down in front of the television for a week. I wonder if he'd be willing to garden with me.

I talked to JenO about sitting for a week. She says we should schedule a play date between Cole and Sam. And that I can borrow various toys for the week.

I'll also have to put away all my clutter, child-proof the house. That's going to be a chore.

Oh, yeah, and buy a plastic mattress cover for the twin bed. The only thing worse than a dog pissing in a (read: my) bed is a little boy pissing in a (read: my other) bed.

 Remy

Remy started playing with Mischief a few weeks ago, and played with us a few weekends ago in Ashland at Cramp-Up.

That's pronounced like Amy, but with an R.

She's cute (if I were male, younger and not attached, I'd be asking her out), just a bit shorter than I am, and wears her dark blonde hair in a perfect bun when she plays. Now, when a woman (or man, for that matter, but I'm ignoring them for the sake of gender-correct pronouns in this sentence) can play ultimate and keep her hair in a perfect bun, she has really long hair.

And Remy does.

On Sunday, she pulled her hair down and began twisting it into a bun. It was the most gorgeous hair I'd seen a long while. Long, slightly wavy (probably from the bun the previous day), light and dark blonde streaks. Very pretty.

I complimented her on her hair. And, to my surprise, she responded, "Thanks. I can't wait for it to grey. I have two hairs that are grey and I'm excited about them."

Blink.

Blink. Blink.

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not."

"Oh, I'm not. That's the first thing I noticed about your hair."

Great.

She continued. "I love grey hair. I think it looks dignified. Classy. I really like grey hair. Paul has grey hair, too. It's cool."

Pei, sitting next to Remy, readily agreed.

What the?

I'm thinking of coloring my hair to cover up these shocking white hairs and everyone around me loves them? I'm so confused.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I'm not so confused about the white hairs as fascinated. Do they grow in white, or turn white? If they turn white, how? If they grow in white, why do I have hairs with white (and I mean white) ends and black roots? Do the cells responsible for color just take a break, then start back up again?

And is the amount of white dependent on my stress level? Because I started getting a lot of white when the girls showed up.

Odd.

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