It's My BIRTHDAY! (Almost!)

I'm writing this on Sunday evening, and tomorrow's my birthday! Wooo-hooo!

Actually, I'm not a huge birthday celebrant, but I've gotten some special stuff in the mail from friends, and that puts a big smile on my face and makes me want to celebrate!

My dear friend Eileen shares a birthday month with me--her birthday was a week ago. Back in March, I took one of Jo Morton's classes and made the Hattie's Baskets quilt. Eileen offered to hand quilt it for me as a birthday gift. Eileen does really lovely hand quilting, something I don't do, so this was a really special offer. This weekend I received a package from her with the quilt and a couple other birthday goodies--a charm pack and a nail file. Of course, I will always treasure this quilt, and I've never seen Eileen do a more beautiful job of quilting than she did with this. Here are a couple photos of my goodies from Eileen. Once I get the binding on the quilt, I'll try to get a better photo--the lighting just didn't do her quilting justice! Thanks soooo much, Eileen!

My friend Sharon from Red Geranium Cottage sent me a wonderful package of goodies about a week ago. After I wrote about the Susan Branch Summer book, Sharon sent me the Autumn book, which is just an awesome visual treat! I can hardly wait until the weather gets cooler and it really IS Autumn! The quilting book is excellent too, filled with pie recipes and quilts to go with them. She also sent me a winter stitchery, a pad (with my initial on it!), a pendant, and a cookie that's just waaaay to cute to actually eat! Thank you, Sharon--what an incredibly thoughtful friend!

Today my husband went to Costco and came home with a strawberry cheesecake--yum! And the best part is that he says I don't have to wait until my "real" birthday to have a piece.

I think I might take a day off from blogging tomorrow unless I just can't stand to not write! I'm working, though, and we have plans for dinner, so I may be pressed for time. If you don't hear from me, don't worry--I'm just celebrating! I'll tell you all about anything worth telling on Tuesday.

I Am SUCH an Idiot!

I think if you've been reading about me for any length of time, you know by now that I don't really "do" mornings. Or at least I sure as heck don't do them well. Over the Memorial Day weekend, I was in heaven, staying up until 2:30 or 3 a.m. and sleeping until 8:30 or 9 a.m. Perfect! Well, an end-of-the-weekend reality check meant getting back into my normal routine of rising at the crack of dawn (6:30 a.m. IS the crack of dawn, right?) for work.

Normally I get up around 6:30 (or 6:40 or 6:50 depending on how often I can hit the snooze button), wander into the kitchen, let the cats out, get myself a cup of coffee, and feed the pests pets. Necessities taken care of, I head back to the bedroom with my coffee, pausing along the way to wash my face (at that point, it's kind of reassuring to know I can FIND my face). Then it's computer time while I sip my coffee and wake up. After about an hour, it's time to get serious about getting ready for work. First I put on my make up. (Yes, I know it's really a weird quirk, but it harks back to the days pre-computer when I had to do something productive while sipping my coffee before stumbling into the bath and trying not to drown.) Then bath time, followed by getting dressed, and then fixing my hair. I guess I should mention that my hair is really, really long, and I normally get away with washing and conditioning every other day.

Okay, so this a.m., following my normal habits, life proceeded on schedule until I reached the hair-fixing stage. There I was, running a bit late for work by now (that's pretty much a given on any morning, particularly on the mornings I have to wash my hair, as I did this a.m.). Peering into the mirror, I thought, "My God, I'm pale! Am I ILL?!" After a little reflection, it hit me: While taking a bath and washing my hair, I ALSO WASHED MY FACE! I had washed off all the make-up I had just applied not ten minutes before!

Needless to say, I had to do the make-up thing all over again while wondering whether I might be losing my mind. I suppose, though, that if I'm going to lose my mind, I might as well look nice doing it. All I can say is I'm thankful I was awake enough by then to actually LOOK in the mirror and notice something was a little "off"! Life--it's always something!

Bridges and Overpasses and Freeway Interchanges, Oh My!

Before I tell you the sixth thing about me that you didn't know, I just wanted to reassure you all that yesterday's post was a complete and utter fabrication. It was a funny thing but after I posted, I received outraged telephone calls, letters, and e-mails. Social invitations were revoked. The truth of the matter is that I have never in my whole entire life ever passed gas. So you can all rest assured that I truly am the perfect being you all thought I was.

Okay, maybe I'm not quite perfect because I do have a peculiarity. A tiny little fear. Just a little niggling worry. Yep, I'm fibbing again--it's actually a huge terror. I'm really bothered (to put it mildly) about driving over bridges, BIG, tall overpasses, and some freeway interchanges. It's kind of a fear of heights in a way, except I can stand on the edge of something high up and not be bothered as long as there's some kind of barrier between me and a fall to my death. When I'm traveling over a bridge or some overpasses, I have a sensation that I'm not in control of the car and once it reaches the top, it will just take off like an airplane. Or the steering will fail and I'll plunge over the side. Or something.

It's really not reasonable, and I know that, but I can't talk myself out of it. I've wondered whether I'm anticipating a bridge or overpass ahead of time and getting myself worked up before hand, but there have been many times when I don't even think about it until I find myself in the middle of one and suddenly the panic sets in. I can even panic suddenly while driving across the same overpass I travel each day without a twinge of discomfort. And it seems the older I get, the worse it is--I never had this fear when I was young.

That photo at the top is the Coronado Bridge in San Diego. I was on it once, and my husband was driving. I had to keep my eyes closed the entire way. My family thinks it's funny; I think it's funny when I put laxatives in their food. Same result, pretty much.

Living in Sacramento isn't a great thing for someone who doesn't like bridges, since we're located at the confluence of two major rivers, the American and the Sacramento. Luckily (although many who live here feel otherwise), we don't have a whole lot of bridges across the rivers. There is one bridge on Interstate 80 that goes over the Sacramento River, and why they had to build that darn thing so high, like McDonald's golden arches, I have no idea. It's not like we get the Queen Mary passing under the dang thing!

I really thought I was alone in this weird fear, but I've seen several times recently where Judy has posted about the same fear, and many readers have commented that they share the feeling. Sometimes, it's just good to know you're not the only freak on the planet! Judy even takes people with her when she knows she has to travel over a particularly scary bridge. When I can, I take my husband. Today, I'm traveling up to Oroville to pick up my mom and bring her here for the Mother's Day weekend; my husband will stay home and do some things that need to get done around here. I have to cross a few bridges and overpasses, but none are too scary. I'll look forward to stopping in Marysville at Starbucks for my latte though--that's the half way point and I'll get a little rest from bridge-crossing!

Do any of you share this insanity? Leave me a comment if you do--misery loves company! And if you don't, do you want to come drive me around? Have a great Saturday and stay away from bridges!

And Another Thing . . .

Okay, brace yourself for the fifth thing you didn't know about me.

5. Garlic gives me gas.

Shhh! It's not something I tell just anyone! And I'm willing to bet that whoever came up with this 7 Things meme really didn't think she or he would elicit this kind of confession, but you're all my close, personal friends now, having gotten to know me so much better in reading about the first four things, so I feel I can be honest with you. And really, the only reason I bring this up today is because I made garlic bread last night, so it's something that's been on my mind a bit.

It seems the older I get, the harder it is to just enjoy a good meal without worrying about the consequences. Just a couple months ago . . . . well, it's kind of embarrassing, but since we're such good friends and all, I'll tell you if you promise not to tell anyone.

My husband and I had gone to bed for the night, and he was sound asleep, snoring away, while I was reading. I guess I had eaten something garlicky that night because I was having a little bit of a problem. Still, I didn't think my husband would notice in his sleep, but I was wrong. Suddenly the snoring stopped and he sat bolt upright in bed and asked, "What was that?" You have to understand that my husband has a bit of a preoccupation with the sound of gun fire, but that's another story. Suffice it to say, he's not a real sound sleeper; me, on the other hand, wouldn't wake up if someone broke into the house and fired a shot into my pillow. Anyway, I guess he was a little confused by the sudden loud noise. When he figured out what had woken him out of his snoring-punctuated sleep, he said something like, "Oh, jeez," and started laughing. Then I started laughing. Every time one of us would stop laughing and it would get quiet for a few seconds, the other would start right back up. Guys are good like that. If it had been the other way around, him waking me up, I would have been pissed!

And speaking of garlic and marriage and stuff like that, see that billboard in the background of the photo? Christopher Ranch? They grow and ship minced, chopped, and whole garlic all over the country from their ranch in Gilroy, California. The ranch is owned and run by father Don and son Bill. Every time I see those little jars in the produce section of the grocery store, I pound my head against the wall, rent my clothing, and lament the fact that I didn't happen to snag Bill when we were in high school together. Dang! I could have hooked up with a rich family! Okay, probably not. He was a popular jock who just happened to be cute, smart, and motivated too. Which is pretty much the opposite of my high school self in every way but the smart part. In any event, I'm sure with this gas thing I'm plagued with, I would have been kicked out of the family anyway. Something like that probably wouldn't make for good PR.

Two Truths and a Lie

Have you ever played Two Truths and a Lie? My first experience with this game was when my husband and I were traveling through Oregon and made plans for dinner at the Table of Content restaurant located inside the Sylvia Beach Hotel, near Newport, Oregon. This is a wonderful place to stay and/or eat if you're in the mood for a quirky, charming experience. The restaurant serves a four-course, fixed price dinner, family-style, with tables usually seating 8 to 10 people. The owner, Goody Cable, started playing Two Truths and a Lie to entertain her guests and break the ice, so that strangers dining together began to interact. Each "player" starts out making three statements, two of which are true and one of which is a lie. It's up to the other diners to ask questions and determine which statements are true and which is not. Interesting stories are told, and you begin to learn a bit about the others at your table.

I next played it with my online quilting group a year or two ago. Our group is small, and over the years, we've gotten to know one another fairly well, so it was a little tough coming up with two truths and a lie that would stump them. A few people guessed correctly but most did not. My lie? I said that 20 years ago, I ran the California Marathon which runs through our city. Definitely a fib! Heck, I don't even run for a good fabric sale!

This Seven Things meme brought the game to mind, so I'll tell you my two truths as numbers three and four on my list of seven things.

3. I first met my husband in church.

This really stumped some of my friends who were amazed at the idea of me attending church. About the closest I get these days is watching Mysteries of the Bible on Sunday morning while I quilt. But at one time, I did attend church on a regular basis. My first husband Mike played guitar every chance he could, and one of the places he played was at Sunday morning folk mass. Much as I didn't enjoy dragging myself out of bed at the crack of dawn (8 a.m.) and getting dressed up for church (because you had to back then), I faithfully attended mass each Sunday and watched Mike play guitar with another musician, also named Mike. One day, I was introduced to the "other Mike's" family--a large, friendly Irish Catholic bunch consisting of a mom, dad, and their six offspring. The "other Mike" was the oldest; his slightly younger brother (11 months younger, an apparently common occurrence I've heard referred to as "Irish twins") eventually became my second husband, but I don't really remember him particularly. I probably wasn't fully awake yet--that's the way it is with anything that happens before noon in my little world. I know I met the family and he remembers meeting me, so odd as it seems, it's true!

4. I'm an award winning writer.

Okay, just a bit of backtracking. The point of Two Truths and a Lie is to tweek the truth just a bit so it become less believable--hence this particular "fact" about me. Yes, it's true. When I was in the third grade, I wrote an essay on fire prevention and won first place for our area. I received $25 in prize money (practically a fortune in those days, which I promptly blew on Barbie doll stuff) and I got to attend an award banquet with the school's principal. I've always enjoyed writing, and maybe that's because of my early brush with fame. (Oh, and did I mention there was a photo of me and write up in the newspaper?!)

So now you know a little more about me. Have I bored you to tears yet? I still have three more things to tell you about me, but those will wait until another day.

A Bit About Me

In reference to yesterday's post, although he saw past my thinly veiled scheme, my husband went along with my plan for him to cook dinner, but it wasn't anything fancy--grilled ham and cheese on grilled sandwich buns (leftover from Pioneer Woman's steak sandwiches that I made the other night) and a nice little pile of Tater Tots on the side. I don't mind that the meal wasn't a gourmet feast any more than I minded that the blueberry muffins on Saturday morning weren't served on pretty plates. As far as I'm concerned, it's just a nice little bonus whenever I don't have to cook but DO get to eat.

Someone expressed amazement at the thought of a man willingly cooking. My husband's actually a good sport and really doesn't mind cooking occasionally. In fact, he likes to bake--cookies, bread, and pies. After all, that's why I married him in the first place! Well, that and the little fact that I was pregnant at the time.

Connie tagged me with the Seven Things You Didn't Know About Me meme. I've thought about it a bit and decided that over the next few days, I'll reveal a few things about me. Some of it might be downright boring and some of it might be interesting.

So, number 1: I got married because I was pregnant.

My husband and I seem to be a remarkably fertile couple. I've gotten pregnant three times, all while using some type of birth control method. The first time I got pregnant, we had been dating for three or four months. After some deep thought and soul searching, for a number of reasons I decided to have an abortion. (That's fact number 2.) It was a hard decision to make and there have been times I've had regrets--who wouldn't?--but then had I not had an abortion, our son wouldn't have come along.

Yep, crazily fertile couple that we were, a few months later I got pregnant again--this time while on the pill. I swear I was taking the pill without fail because I sure didn't want to go through that ever again, but darn it, it still happened!

Let me give you a little bit of background here. When my husband was about eight years old, he was terribly ill with mumps and some other undiagnosed ailment; one night, he had a high fever and died. Totally stopped breathing, according to his father, saw that bright white light down the tunnel, according to him--all the stuff you've heard about. His father did whatever the early 60s version of CPR was, and my husband started breathing again. When I first heard the story, I thought it was kind of weird/cool/freaky. This man, I thought, must be destined to live for some purpose.

Okay, now flash forward to the second-pregnancy-despite-precautions time. Was this the hand of God? Destiny? Maybe our child would save the world. Become president of the US. Cure the common cold. Maybe having a child together was absolutely preordained.

One evening, a day or two after we learned I was pregnant yet again, while sitting on the bed, changing his socks after work, he asked, "So, do you want to get married?" There it was. Did I want to get married? No, I didn't want to get married. Not that way. I wanted romance and Prince Charming; I didn't want a guy who thought it was okay to propose with sweaty feet while changing clothes. So I said no. Eventually he persuaded me that I really did want to get married--to him even! We did and our son was born seven months later. He's 26 now, and although I've watched carefully with a mother's attentive eye, so far I haven't noticed any heroic character traits or the likelihood of impending scientific breakthroughs. He is growing into a person I really like and enjoy, though, and believe me, there were a couple times I had my doubts along the way. Like when he accidentally broke his sister's arm. Twice. Or when he stole tennis shoes for his high school girlfriend from Sports Authority. But I think he's outgrown all that now. Or gotten better at it, but we won't think about that.

My daughter came along three years and one day later. Again, we were using birth control. The really weird thing with her is that I knew--absolutely, positively KNEW--the moment I got pregnant, despite the fact that I told myself it wasn't possible. It was Mother's Day 1983 and my sister-in-law came over to pick up our son early and take him to grandma and grandpa's house. So really it was all her fault, as you can plainly see. How ironic is it to get pregnant on Mother's Day? And is it a coincidence that I also must have gotten pregnant with our son right around Mother's Day, since their birthdays are only a day (and three years) apart? No, so far my lovely daughter doesn't look like she'll be saving the world either, although she's big into tree hugging and wants to buy a truck she can convert to run on biofuel, so maybe she WILL end global warming or something. It's a nice thought anyway.

If it was our next child who was destined to save the world, then the world is surely doomed. After that Mother's Day 1983, my husband and I made a pact to stay as far away from each other as possible in May of each year. And although my husband will never be the typical Prince Charming type, he does cook dinner occasionally and bakes some darn fine cookies. Oh, and I found out his feet aren't really all that sweaty--I guess he was just nervous that night. As far as what his purpose here on Earth might be, maybe it's just to cook dinner for me when I'd rather quilt. That's good enough for me anyway!