What's Your NPR Name?

In the Twitter playground today, Mary Katherine Ham pointed out this old blog post, which asks "What's your NPR name?" and gives you the how-to of generating your very own NPR name. Mine?

Rauth Vaduz.

So I tweeted that. And behold, my Twitter pals played along. So thanks to the intrepid NPR reporters: Darrcy Oranjestad, Sijmon Cordes, Brucer la Bufadora, Rognald Windsor, and Randwy Bourton-on-the-Hill.

The Happiest Days are When Babies are Born

This blogosphere thing is the darndest place. In my first year of blogging, I was found by Kevin, because of a pun I wrote and he commented. Shortly thereafter, he and Maria were married and I added her blog to the blogroll. A couple deployments, a new job and a move to DC later and they created a new joint blog. They had their first child yesterday. Welcome to the world, Mia!

She's a beauty and known only to me via blog.

Welcome to the World, Wally!

Just got the tremendous news that Annie's physical therapist, Miss Ashley, and her husband welcomed their first child into the world. Going old school, they waited until he was born to see the wee of he. His name is Walton Lyle, and I'm told he's going to be known as "Wally". This wonderful young couple will make tremendous parents. We're glad that Wally is not an April Fool. Congratulations, Ashley and William!

Stumbled Upon

I was checking my SiteMeter and looked at the Google search that lead a reader to my blog. In that search, I stumbled upon an online article which quoted me. I puzzled over my name, lit up in cache highlighting, wondering how did this author got a quote from someone exactly like me without me knowing it? [Long pause for synapses to fire...] Several months ago, my blogger friend Rachel Balducci of Testosterhome conducted a telephone interview of me which I had forgotten. I never got a copy of the article in the mail and so I never saw the finished product.

Must be old age.

Beloved Furniture Maker

The wonderful fellow who made my kids a table and four beautiful chairs was featured on TV recently. He's the one wearing a vest ['to hold in all the awesome'] and distressing his freshly-made antiques.

In addition to the custom 5-piece set, we also own the 10 Fingers Stepper. I believe we own the first one he made in South Portland Straw and ours has no finger holes, because it was not available until he made our kids' chairs with finger holes like the four card suits. His work is superb and sturdy and charming. He hits all three requirements of good furniture and we are pleased to be his happy customers.

So go over and spend a few minutes to get acquainted with Mr. Sullivan of Sippican Cottage Furniture. Then buy something.

Battery-Powered Conversations

Lately I've been graced with many phone calls from dear ones. Often, the conversations go on and on in the most delightful way. They conclude not because we have run out of interesting things to discuss. No. They end when our phone batteries are spent.

I count myself very fortunate to have a handful of friends who drain my battery but never exhaust me.

Report from the Front

Tar Heel Mom, a long-time friend of mine, lives in Hope Mills, North Carolina and went to see former President Bill Clinton today in her small town. Her oldest son recently graduated from Carolina and is an artillery officer, stationed in Afghanistan. She is also a Mary Kay customer of mine. With her permission, I submit this from my embedded blogger:

Ever conscientious, I got the okay from higher headquarters to take some comp time before I left, so I could get down to Hope Mills for WJC's appearance. I left downtown at 12:35 and by 1:05 was parked in my driveway and trudging off on foot to the ballfield where he'd be speaking.

There was a longish line of people ahead of me. I chatted with the ladies in front of me, a nice pair of retirees. One of them remarked, "I didn't know there were this many Democrats in Hope Mills," to which I replied, "We're not all Democrats."

The line moved forward at a steady pace. Along the way were Hillary campaign workers hawking buttons, shirts, and hats. They passed out forms to us, with space for name, address, cell/landline phone numbers, e-mail addy, etc. At first they said that the Secret Service required this information, but one glance at the form told me otherwise: why would the Secret Service want to know if I was willing to donate time/money/effort to Hillary's campaign? Being the cautious sort, however, I filled in only the minimum info - no phone numbers or e-mail. Not gonna let Hill's Hags harrass me that way! Let them waste their $$ on direct mail!

So finally I passed through the perfunctory check point and got onto the ball field. The two bleachers that had been set up were already almost full. Many folks had brought lawn or camp chairs and there were about three or four rows of those set up behind the chain-link fence that surrounded the makeshift stage, where a local bluegrass band was playing. People were beginning to cluster and stand behind the seated folks, so I found a spot and planted my feet, about 40 feet away from the stage.

While we waited, I struck up conversation with some of the folks around me - one couple said that the mayor, bustling about near the stage, was their cousin, and they pointed out his wife and daughters sitting in the VIP area. Another woman and her husband seemed to be either Clinton groupies or really, really devoted voters. She was decked out in a pink Hillary '08 hat, her denim jacket was festooned with half a dozen Hillary buttons, and she had on a Hillary T-shirt. They mentioned that they had seen either Bill or Hillary in Goldsboro, Winston, Raleigh, Fayetteville, Greensboro....how do you get off enough time from work to do that? The husband had a 173rd Abn Bde patch on his hat; I mentioned that my son's currently serving with the 173rd, and he stuck his hand out to shake mine and said, "You tell him, from one Sky Soldier to another, thanks for his service." That was nice, I thought.

Clinton was supposed to talk at 1:45. at 2:00, the mayor read a proclamation declaring today Bill Clinton Day in the town. The JROTC color guard posted the colors. A bunch of schoolkids from the various schools in Hope Mills recited the Pledge of Allegiance. An a cappella group from the high school sang the National Anthem (rather well, as a matter of fact). And we waited. And waited.

Finally, at around 2:45, Himself made the grand entrance. I got a pretty good look at him, since I was so close. Impressions: His hair really is snow-white. He appeared to be in good spirits; he didn't seem too tired (this was at least the third stop of the day for him). He's a bit thinner than he appears on TV. And he's taller than I'd expected.

His talk was a boiler-plate stump speech, nothing less nor more than I'd anticipated. The only time he referred to notes was at the very beginning, when he thanked the local dignitaries by name. The rest was off the cuff, but polished and effective nonetheless.

It came down to this: "I'm here to encourage you to vote early for my wife. I enjoy these visits to small-town America, and so does Hillary [I think this was his way of positioning the Clinton camp on the side of the "regular Joes and Janes," not the elitist, out-of-touch Obama side]. Here are the reasons....blah....blah....blah....So vote for Hillary and get all your friends to do the same thing!" He wrapped up by about 3:40, and I walked back to the house, got in the car, and returned to work. I'd been standing outside for so long that I've got a nice rosy glow on my cheeks and neck. I'll be sure to moisturize before retiring this evening. :-)

Overall he's really impressive to watch, even if you're not listening to the words. He told a couple of jokes and talked TO the crowd, not AT them. He does have the common touch but is also able to dazzle folks by spouting off all sorts of statistics from memory, for example, how much less HillaryCare will cost than our current health-insurance arrangements. I, as a lifelong student at the Limbaugh Institute for Advanced Conservative Studies, was able to discern his selective and misleading use of stats, but I think he had most of the crowd eating out of his hand*.

I knew I hadn't come to hear what he had to say; I wanted to witness something historic and important for the town where I live, and to see a former President (the only one I wouldn't cross the street to see is that buck-toothed moron from Georgia). So for that reason, I'm glad I went. I think the sunburn was worth it.

Love,
Tar Heel Mom

*Speaking of which, did I ever tell you this one: Three Presidential mottoes: FDR - we have nothing to fear but fear itself; Truman - the buck stops here; Clinton - employees must wash hands before returning to work.

Festooning

I climbed up the creaky attic stairs ladder and retrieved the Christmas decorations today. Then I spent a goodly amount of time untangling the lights to put on the shrubbery out front. I took a break to talk to my pal, Kathie, and finished the job. Truth told: the phone call, interrupted by a dying battery on the cordless, took more time than the bush-lighting work.

I'm heading downstairs to set up the tree. Ssshhh. The children know nuth-THINK!

UPDATE, 11:30 p.m: Done. The new tree was easy-peasy to set up, the new LED lights [eat your heart out, Lileks!] were awesome, and I rediscovered old treasured memories. The ornaments from our first formal date [The School Brigade Formal, 1988] and the war [Operation Desert Shield, 1990] and our first Christmas together retrieved tender memories of young love. I found some cute little special ones from my single law school MaryTylerMoore days and also many unique hand-mades, stitched by my mom. I think I'll let the kids hang their own special ornaments that they've been receiving since their first Christmases.

Memory Lane

My cousin and her husband and I ventured out this afternoon for a little local sight-seeing. We went to the Moravian cookie "factory" and also Dave's family homestead and a local vineyard [which was closed]. We finished with a trip to the teacher's supply store--a place that's very close, but I've never been to in the twelve years I've been in this town. As a schoolteacher, Anna was quite content to shop with me for some school items for the children.

It's not everyday you get to be a tourist in your own town. We hope it's not the last time they visit. Perhaps we'll visit Old Salem next time and spend a day in the colonial historical site downtown.

Pun o' the Day

How's your asphalt? Here's a pun, a sort of off-ramp from the "one for the road" pun of a couple days ago.

A six-lane highway walks into a bar and orders a drink. The bartender gives him his drink, and as the highway sits down, the door opens and a strip of asphalt walks in. The highway jumps out of the chair, leaps over the counter, and crouches down on the floor shaking in fear.

The bartender asks him, "Hey buddy, what's your problem? You're a six lane highway with broad shoulders and concrete dividers. Why are you afraid of a skinny strip of asphalt?"

The highway replies, "You don't know him like I do. He's a cycle-path."

And here's a cannibalish reply to my "does this taste funny to you?" one of yesterday.

One cannibal says to the other cannibal, "I don't feel so well. Last night we ate a couple of Franciscan missionaries, and they didn't agree with me."

The second one asks, "How did you cook them?"

The first replies, "The standard way. My wife just threw them in the pot and boiled them for a few hours."

The second says, "That's your problem right there. Everyone knows that Franciscan missionaries are friars."

Only Hugh can prevent florist friars. Both new puns, hat tip Dr. Matt [a real rocket scientist!].

Chai? *sigh* Aye!

My girlfriend of too-many-years-to-recall, Kathie, told me about a drink called "Chai Latte." She loves it and encouraged me to try it. She told me that it's sorta like drinking a slice of creamy pumpkin pie.

I called my favorite coffee joint on the way home. The barrista was not too busy and answered my questions.

Does it have a lot of caffeine? --Much less than regular coffee.
Does it really taste like a slice of pumpkin pie run through the bass-o-matic [mmm! that's great bass!]? --You can select vanilla or spice. Spice seems to be the favorite flavor.
Can I get curb service? --You bet!

Thumbs up, Kathie. [But, then again, she rarely steers me wrong].

Remembering COL Jerald L.Thompson, 1945-1994

~~~~~

I was reading comments on a blog I frequent and one of the more nauseating commenters remarked that we lost zero American lives in Iraq between April 1991 and March 2003 [really, it's only a tangential point in his mostly pointless ramblings, which I don't recommend you bother reading for many reasons]. He is quite wrong, but rather than waste pixels on him, I'll write a tribute here.
~~~~~

COL Jerald L. Thompson commanded a group of U.S. servicemen [jointly with Turkish forces] in the Kurdish area of Iraq, north of the Northern No-Fly Zone. He had served his tour of duty and was doing a change-of-command helicopter flight to acquaint his replacement with the area. They [all 26 souls on board two helicopters] were shot down by U.S. Air Force fighters who mistook the two blackhawks for enemy craft. I never met Jerry in person, but I knew his wife, Eileen. I attended his memorial at Fort Bragg at the Special Forces chapel on post and there was an outpouring of mourners that filled the chapel to overflowing.

Others who knew him will attest to his sterling character as a soldier. As I said, I never met him in person. I only knew him as a beloved husband to Eileen whom I met through Mary Kay Cosmetics. She and I shared a room at Career Conference in the early spring of 1994, while Jerry was still in Iraq. She is older than me, quite graceful, a lovely woman and a gentle mentor. During our time together, she found out that married life agreed with me, even only four years into our journey. She told me about a Worldwide Marriage Encounter that she and Jerry had made, years earlier, in a castle in Germany. She described how that one weekend changed their marriage and she encouraged us to make the weekend. I went home and sold David on the idea. We signed up for a weekend in the Raleigh diocese. That weekend was cancelled because of a military operation to Guantanamo Bay that pulled away several of the soldiers. I was righteously miffed. Eileen told me that the one we were meant to take is the the one we would take.

The news of Jerry's death spread quickly through the Mary Kay world. I went to see Eileen. That day she had received in the mail a gorgeous Persian rug that Jerry had selected for her and sent just before he died. She pointed to the bookshelf full of their dialogue books--daily love letters--that they shared for many years. She had no doubt of his love for her. She mourned him greatly, but never regretted anything about their relationship. She and Jerry made a choice each day to love each other. They fulfilled their marriage vows and were together until death parted them. She knows that he awaits her in Heaven. What a privilege it will be for me to meet him someday over there. I am profoundly grateful to him for his sacrifice to our country and his example of how to truly love your wife. That weekend which we made in October 1995 changed our marriage.

Thanks, Colonel Thompson, for everything.

Date Night: Not Too Pooped to Whoop

A Friday date night became a double date when Nanny and Mr. H's plans changed. We started off with a quick run through CostCo, then onto Jimmy's for fish. The discussion was so good, we didn't want to end. Next we were off to Fox and Hound and the guys spent an hour at the pool table while Nanny and I solved all the rest of the world's problems over an Irish coffee and Bailey's. I was surprised at how the time flew. Our poor sitter was not used to us being out so late [he was well-paid for his dozing]. Me either! I was up another couple hours, doing the blog thing. The children woke us, groggy, this morning.

I remember the times we partied quite late. Those days vanished many years ago. Our confreres are now empty-nesters. Perhaps there's a consolation prize for raising your kids successfully to adulthood?

Blogger Meet-Up

I know many bloggers. Some I knew as college friends. Some were my professors at law school. Some are related to me. But Sunday was the first time I ever met someone in person who I'd only known through blogging. I can tell you I was nervous. First impressions and one chance and all that. And then, being a little AR, I was concerned about the logistics. And then I was concerned about my family making a good impression, too.

When we travel, I like to stop at restaurants that are kid-friendly, but which have waitresses. [I'm on vacation. Why should I fetch the food?] That limits us to Cracker Barrels, Friendly's, and Bob Evanses mostly.

Annie and Jacques arrived as our food did. The first thing J did was point to his cheek, where I dutifully planted a big kiss. J, even in a wheelchair, is a big hulking bear of a man. Annie is lithe and trim and moves like a woman 30 years her junior. She is sunny and upbeat and delightful. We ran through conversation so quickly it amazed me. Perhaps there's something in a blogger's personality that borders on A.D.D. We never really finished a topic, but a new one would emerge. Dave quietly evaporated with the three wee ones to the van where an onboard DVD player and classic Looney Tunes were playing. We continued our conversation. Dave called me on the cell phone encouraging me to return to the vehicle for the last small push home. It had been over an hour. I swear it felt like 5 minutes. [I had a similar experience when I was on the phone with Sippican, ostensibly ordering my children's table and chair set.]

We lingered in the parking lot with pictures and what have you. Annie showed her prowess at putting J back in the vanishing iVan. He had to cooperate by leaning back in his chair at just the right time and she had to balance everything just right. It was a perfectly choreographed ballet.

And then we drove off, my mind whirling at the joy of meeting someone whose work I so admire, both on and off her blog.

Happy White Furniture

I ordered a special set of children's furniture, a small table and four little chairs, today from my favorite carpenter since St. Joseph. More than that, I got to speak to the craftsman himself as we discussed options. I want it sturdy, with a hint of whimsy. I want them to be able to have tea parties and do puzzles and learn to write on it. I want it to be special for them as they are to me. I asked for it to be color-coded, like they are and I was assured that would be no problem.

I know only enough about furniture to be dangerous. I dozed through the 'New Yankee Workshop.' Mostly it was a ruse for me to snuggle with David as he gained an appreciation for furniture he would prolly never make. [Somewhere along the line, though, I learned what a router was, and even, when David was in a quandry about what tool to use when he was making his first workbench over 15 years ago, I suggested he try a router and take several passes. He looked at me with the disbelief one gives to an idiot savant when they confirm the multi-digit calculation is indeed correct.] I was informed that the chairs are similar to pouting chairs which have a Germanic or Scandinavian origin [like my kids]. The table is modeled after a Hepplewhite style, with tapered legs. The top will be stained tiger maple. It will mostly be painted white and made extra durable for them. I'm guessing the kids will call it their happy white table with Tigger wood top.

~~~

2097: Antiques road show. A great grand will schlep it in to be evaluated and tell the story of how it came to be and how many generations of little Adamses used the piece. The expert will marvel at the durability and workmanship and search for the maker's mark. Then, upon discovering that it's not just a Sippican original, but the original that spawned a craze for happy white furniture, will give it an astronomical price tag and my heir will cackle something like 'Granny always said it would be very valuable someday!'

Livin' on the Edge

If you haven't noticed my friend Sippican Cottage on my blogroll, please do so now. He's in vintage form with his Bordeline Sociopathic Book for Boys, an answer to the recently published Dangerous Book for Boys.

He's happily married and a father to two boys and he's a furniture maker. That's right, folks, testosterone and power tools.

Date Night: Big Shotz/Pool

We had a big ole time for date night. We had dinner out with another couple and then, when the restaurant got too loud, we went to shoot pool. It's just lovely to never run out of conversation with friends. We are blessed to have a few double date couples like that. When we were first married, I didn't really realize that our socialization might change too. We sort of naturally gravitated to other married couples who we met through work or church. And our marriage encounter friends have been great mentors to us. I believe that you become like the people with whom you spend most of your time. Why not choose happily married couples with similar interests?

Family Fun Outing: Pizza Pool Party

Our friends invited us to their neighborhood pool for an evening swim and a pizza party [Papa John's delivers right to the pool]. We went and had a lovely time and the pool nearly to ourselves. O.K. There were 15 of us, but it was mostly just us.

Rookie mistakes: telling the kids about the plan earlier today, and not telling the kids the specific exit plan tonight. They were having too much fun and did not know the full consequences "everyone out!" I have pretty maleable kids. They do resolidify after melt-downs.

Officially Concerned

Regarding the 35W Bridge tragedy in Minneapolis today: I have a very dear college friend who lives in the Twin Cities. I've called and left three messages. I haven't heard anything. Now I don't know if they're off for a family vacation or something else that's completely benign, but I am officially concerned.

So, keep a good thought or two for my friend and the whole family. And for all those in the Twin Cities.

UPDATE: 8/2/2007 11:22 p.m. EDT: I feel like Dory, the forgetful blue tang in Finding Nemo. I remembered!




They're at a conference this weekend out of state. But just to be double-dog sure, I tracked them down at the hotel and we had a good chuckle at my doofiness.

Witness to a Baptism

7/11 was a special day. My friend's newest child [her eighth!] was baptized at our church. I offered to do a 'stealth reception' for them. Channeling my inner Martha, [the sister of Mary, not Stewart, though that might be apt, too], I brought in a large cake, a few balloons, flowers, tableware, drinks and set up in the concourse at church as if I owned the place [hey! I contributed to the capital campaign!].

A dear friend of theirs is a priest from the Vatican-approved order which promulgates the ancient Latin rites. He knew them back in high school...before he was even a Catholic, much less a priest. He did the 'bilingual' service [Latin/English], hit on all the lovely rituals [to include putting salt on the baby's tongue and the churching blessing ] and even had a vestment change midway [he wore the purple stole for the 'exorcism' and when that was complete, he donned the white stole for baptism]. Many of the young boys, including mine, thought that baptismal font was just about the coolest thing to splash around in. Fortunately, it was high enough that they could only dangle their little sticky fingertips in it. The priest didn't seem to mind one bit. It was, after all, holy water.

Being related to a great photographer, I was given picture-taking duties. I tried to be unobtrusive and ready for the moments that need capturing. I know I caught the pouring of the water over his little head. I had three chances for that and I was ready.

The reception happened and the children devoured most of the cake. I was feeling magnanimous and if they wanted it, they got it. I knew I'd need Nanny's help and she kept my three in tow quite well. Mary Jo and Annie, mimicking the Spratts, ate one piece of cake. Annie got the frosting; Joey got the cake.

I thought this thought: I belong to a Church upon which the sun never sets. For the briefest of moments, little Anthony James was the newest Catholic Christian in the world. He now has his name on the reservation list at God's Pearly Gates Cafe. Let's hope he has a long, long wait and an abundant life of grace in the Sacraments before his name is called on high.