Watz Up?

After suffering under a barrage of badgering, I’m back. Like I said in an earlier post, I’m busy. Or at least working hard at looking like I’m busy.

The current state of affairs at Le Praxium:
1. After a mission trip to Wyoming, the eldest has packed up and returned to fer parts North. Her second year of Grad School starts in two weeks.
2. The least’un returns to his school next weekend. There’s also a political event in his college town, so I hope to dump and run, then eat some BBQ, listen to speeches, talk to some grown-ups, and eat more BBQ.
3. For the hundredth time, we can’t put the house up for sale until it’s cleaned out. During the last month or so, there has been valiant progress, but we’re still not there yet. Remember, 20 years in one place is a long time!

During the last two months, I’ve driven to Albany, NY, when they were having their heat spell, then flew home. It was cooler in Atlanta.

Hubs and I/me and Hubs (help! Joy! Which is correct now?) attended the RedState Gathering in New Orleans. It was a great time away to rest and recharge the political batteries. And eat beignets.

The gastric unhappiness has abated somewhat, due to my general avoidance of wheat. Except when it is made into beignets. After all, exceptions can and must be made.

Politics is still politics and the country is still heading down the toilet. But more on that later.

Winter is coming won’t go away

Alas and alack, the gastric unhappiness that began last month (March actually) continues to slow me down. Add to that the fact that this May has started out as the coldest since my childhood, and it’s been raining for four days – you’ve got my mood.

It’s just the weather folks. Some years are colder than others. Some years are hotter than others. Some wetter. Some dryer. It’s just weather. However, for my personal amusement (I really need something to cheer me up) I’ll link to this old 1975 article from Newsweek archived by Sweetness & Light that predicted an impending Little Ice Age. The horror! We’re doomed! We’ll starve! We’ll freeze! Watch the liberal Gorite’s little heads explode!

Another factor, though not one that drags me down, is that I’ve been playing the part of Florence NightingMom. Friday NotSoWeeHighlander had his wisdom teeth removed. I wasn’t worried about the surgery, he’s a tough kid. And so far, so good. Very little swelling. Moderate, but manageable pain levels. Milk shakes and soups. Maybe I can get a grilled cheese down him later today. Since he’s recuperating, I have to stay close. We’ve been watching the first season of Game of Thrones.

Even though it seems our winter won’t go away, I’m very thankful our winter doesn’t last ten years.

Young Women, Pay Attention

The galaxy does not revolve around your girly bits. No matter what Glamour magazine tells you.

Toripundit gives Glamour the what-for regarding their recognizing Lena Dunham (remember the icky “First Time” campaign ad? Yeah, her.) as one of their “Women of the Year.” Seems she’s considered a “voice of her generation,” or something. Which generation, I wonder. The one desperate to find a job, any job? Or the one without a home in Long Island? Or the one buried by student debt and working three jobs, none of which provide benefits? Or the one that expects the government to feed, house, clothe, and provide free contraception for your multiple indiscretions?

Read the whole thing, and if you feel as insulted as I do by Glamour, send them a copy of Toripundit’s letter. I did.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Coming up for air…HornGirlGradStudent’s move to NY went off without a hitch. Now she’s home again for final goodbyes and end-of-work related stuff. All I got was a lousy T-shirt.

Truly amazing things happen when you go out of town and unhook the news feed.

VP Joe Biden plays the race card. The WH is in disaster recovery mode. And his Secret Service posse seems to be really sick of him.

The Farce known as the Clayton County Sheriff campaign continues unabated. Surely a better candidate can be found in that sad little county.

The tree-huggers are unhappy. Because they are wrong. Again.

What’s up with the ASO? Were local high choruses disinvited to the annual Holiday Concert due to their lack of pigmentation? Or do you believe the PC spin from the ASO? Considering that the leadership of ASO, including that on the podium, is some of the most liberally indoctrinated in the country, I side with the schools. Diversity trumps performance excellence.

The Cheesehead Prognosticator is at it again.

Olympic Women’s Fencing. Yawn. Hey, this makes it better.

Where in the World…

We arrived home Saturday night at almost midnight. RedState was a great success and soon, very soon, I’ll have thoughts and even pictures if I can only find the camera in this mess of boxes and bags and bikes.

In the meantime, for the next two weeks, blogging will be scarce to non-existent as we are packing and moving the younglings off to school.

NotSoWeeHighander returns to his college in Rome, at least what’s left of it. He’s easy to move. Sheets, clothes, game system, laptop, TV, gallon of milk and two boxes of Chips Ahoy Chocolate Chunk cookies. Everything fits into the back of an SUV. Done.

HornGirlWithoutAGig heads off to grad school in NY. Besides all the usual girlie stuff, too many clothes, shoes, makeup, jewelry, books, trinkets, and a drugstore’s worth of shower/hair products, we also have a bike, a horn, a stand, four crates of music, various electronics including a new MacBook and five boxes of YARN. Yes, YARN.

Insert into this swirling sirocco of bedlam our ailing and ancient dog. Last week, Elizabeth/The Anchoress lost her beloved Allie. Oh, how I wept when I read her post. Now we face the same grief as we watch our little Chance fade away. I had so hoped he would make it until the kids were gone and we could handle everything quietly. This morning I’m surprised he made it through the night. He may take his leave of us before the kids ship off, which will make our partings even more bittersweet.

Pray for us.

Hair on Fire, Part 42

Yeah, I know. I have neglected the blog. I’m been busy. Too busy. Very busy. Very, very busy. Very, very, VERY busy. I haven’t been this overwhelmed since I planned my wedding. In three months. Yeah, I know, I’m insane.

Getting two (count em, TWO) kids off to college at once, a thousand miles apart, is a full-time job. One is returning to Rome for his junior year and my sweet Hornist-With-No-Gig is heading to New York to start graduate school. What most folks have had six months or so to organize, we’ve managed to pull it off in about six weeks.

Yeah, my hair is on fire.

I’ve been lurking about the internetz, though, snatching time where I could. Today I saw this and couldn’t resist:

I realized, for the first time I can recall, that the President doesn’t like me, or people who share my values. Not that he has simple differences, or thinks I’m misguided. He doesn’t like me, and if you’re reading this post on Ricochet he probably doesn’t like you, either. And it isn’t mild dislike: it’s utter contempt.

When has a president — any president — so thoroughly shown that he despises at least half the population of the country? Not Bush, not Reagan, not even Clinton.

It’s not just about policy or party. It’s personal.

Last week, at a fast food chicken restaurant with family values that will remain nameless until I get around to ranting about THAT issue, I overheard a table full of seniors (65+) whispering about the current state of American affairs. One even admitted, “I voted for the moron. But not this time.”

Then yesterday, when I voted early in the Georgia Primary, I had to wait in line. Unusual, yes, but there is a rather unpopular tax transportation referendum that has increased turnout. But there’s a something in the air.

Yes, indeedy. Something’s in the air and it’s not smoke from what’s left of my hair.

Gosh. Darn. Son of a Gun.

Well, the news is in, or out, I should say. The long wait is over. HornGirlWithoutAGig is going to grad school.

The details are still coming together. And we have to work out housing and transportation and MONEY and other such things. But my sweet girl is going to New York to further her education as the most awesome of horn players.

There are so many memories of band concerts, half-time shows, solo competitions, district bands, JanFests, All-State bands, Atlanta Youth Wind Symphony and ASYO. Dozens of auditions. Thousands of hours of practice. Aunt Peg, who put her horn in the hands of that young girl the summer of Ridgecret Music which we unfondly remember as TheTripWithNoAirConditioning and taught her her first scale. The years of lessons from CR, Master Horn Jedi and waker of dragons in the misty hills of Black Mountain, NC. Sweet and encouraging LH, who lent her Strauss No. 1 for the audition that landed her the spot at Governor’s Honors Program where she met Robert Rumbelow who led her to Columbus State. JD, who gently coaxed back into playing with the Sons of Jubal which led to remembering how much she missed it.

Her first year at UGA JanFest, as a tender high-school freshman, her group played Hindemith’s March from Symphonic Metamorphisis. She said it was the most exciting piece she’d ever played. The conductor told the band to play the last six notes as you would say, “Gosh. Darn. Son of a Gun.” Or maybe something else. (I picked this recording from YouTube because you can hear the horns the best. Gives me goosebumps every time.)

Lately, we’ve had some dark months here at the praxeum. But as Mr. Lundie told Tommy in Brigadoon, “Sunshine can peek through a wee hole.” And indeed it has.

Congrats, sweetpea. I’m so VERY proud of you.

Happy Mother’s Day

Letter from a Mother to a Daughter:

“My dear girl, the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through. If when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand times, don’t interrupt to say: “You said the same thing a minute ago”… Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story night after night until you would fall asleep. When I don’t want to take a bath, don’t be mad and don’t embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl? When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don’t look at me that way… remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life’s issues every day… the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through. If I occasionally lose track of what we’re talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can’t, don’t be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you. And when my old, tired legs don’t let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked. When those days come, don’t feel sad… just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love. I’ll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I’ve always had for you, I just want to say, I love you… my darling daughter. “

Happy Mother’s Day!

(Hint: This heartfelt plea also works equally well on SONS…)

Breaking Weather Records

I’m not talking about x amount of days of sunshine here.

For those not in Georgia, Kirk Mellish is the meteorologist at WSB Radio. His track record beats most of his peers, in that he’s almost always right. He has a detailed analysis up the storms that hit Georgia Wednesday.

As bad as it was here, our neighbors in Alabama had it worse. To paraphrase Charlie, The National Weather Service deserves a big pat on the back for not only warning early, but accurately. Since the p-rnification of weather shows, we’ve become numbed to weather warnings. While most alerts start out as “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”, the event usually ends up as a little rain, a little wind, nothing to see. On Wednesday the sky did fall in the South. Their timely and precise predictions saved many, many lives.

Please keep the affected families in your prayers.

(Aside: Many thanks for the concern shown for my son, who is a freshman at Shorter University in Rome, GA. Their campus was hit hard just as finals week was starting. The power was restored last night, and after two days, finals resume today. He is safe and has a new-found appreciation for the breathtaking force of weather.)

A Name, A Name, What’s In a Name?

Sorry so quiet. Hip-deep in post-production troubleshooting, so will probably still be apologizing for even more silence into next week.

But say “BABY,” and you’ve snagged my attention, even if it is for just a minute.

Smitty is imploring the internetz to help him name the younger Smith due later this summer. I left my suggestion, go leave yours.

Now read this…

Elizabeth Scalia discusses how small things matter. We share the bond of being mothers of young men who sometimes surprise us with their depth and compassion in an increasing vulgar world. They are starting on their journeys of being great men you may never know. And that’s just the way they’d want it.

BOLO – Marizela Perez

Have you seen University of Washington undergrad Marizela Perez? She is Michelle Malkin’s cousin and has been missing since Saturday afternoon.

I know Georgia is a long way from Seattle, but there’s always the chance that someone has seen her between here and there. Pray for this young lady’s safe return and especially for her frantic parents during this frightening time.

Birthday Festivities Continue Apace

Our Wee Highlander, who we now refer to as College Boy Who Needs a Shave, is home for his birthday.

Thanks to the economy, et al., he’s not getting the Mardi Gras parade he’s come to expect as in years past, but just a card and some cash. And his usual favorite chocolate cake.

Our College Girl, who we now refer to as Recent Graduate Without a Gig, should heed to the following two articles and realize that dear ol’ Mom is not as nutzo as she thinks when stressing the fact that yes, her current employment situation is less than ideal, and please keep the icky job you have while you look for another, better, job: (wow… that was a really bad sentence! Sorry Mrs. Wier!)

Long term unemployed now considered “the New Irish”

No unemployed need apply (I wonder if Moe would come and deliver this lecture over my kitchen table. I’ll even cook him dinner. And pie.)

Or, as our friend who graduated this week from US Army OCS at Ft. Benning said, “Embrace the suck.”

Things will get better the next few years, especially if we can get AmericaDestroyer-In-Chief out of office. Otherwise, well… try not to think about how bad it will get.

What Robot Said

Yet another Righteous Rant from a fellow Patriot – Mind-Numbed Robot.

He was hollering the T word days before Newt played the pandering (and predicable) impeachment card. Just read it. It’s a heartfelt cry that is a work of art.

I always hoped my children would have a better life when they reached adulthood. Now I’m just hoping there will still be an America for this family to defend in the next few years.

Ice 1, Atlanta 0

North Georgia had an ice storm last night. Not enough precip for a Yankee to sneeze at, but when the ground has been uncharacteristically frozen for a week, well, it doesn’t take much.

According to this morning’s news (WSB), there were around 900 over 1000 accidents in N GA/Atlanta metro last night. 300 350 or so were in Cobb County. One of those was my boy. That’s the one that matters. College Boy has a new found appreciation of (not) driving on icy roads and of listening to his parents/girlfriend’s parents/every adult within earshot’s admonitions of staying put during bad weather. He is fine, just a few scratches. Sweet Girlfriend has a bump on her head. The verdict is still out on his car.

As for me, well, there goes another five years off my life. Between him and his sister, I must be nearing my expiration date.

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