Saturday Brain Dump

Yesterday was a daily day.  

Want to know what I did?  Absolutely nothing interesting.  Not even anything I can pretend was interesting unless you're dying to know that the tantalizing smells coming from the crock-pot were a constant distraction, or you have an inordinate fondness for the details of our laundry and vacuuming habits.  (And whoever decided that putting carpet in the dining room was a good idea, anyway?)  So I'll take this opportunity of blah nothingness to pat myself on the back for knocking six things off the Mother Load - none of which are interesting enough to tell you about - and then we'll move on.



1.  We were off to a blazingly early start at 6am this morning.  (Yes, in fact, it IS Saturday.)  Wyatt and Tate are helping at an airshow today and Did Not Want To Be Late.  I'm thankful for that attitude, truly, though they're a wee bit over-zealous.  At least their granny (or great-aunt?) won't tease them when they come to visit, with, "Oh look!  It's the Late G****s!"  (Kerry told me that story.)

2.   As I was driving home from dropping them off at the airport I saw two bald eagles.  I remember when I was growing up they were very rare, and now we see them all the time.

3.  So, hurray (!), all the boybarians are occupied this morning, and I am getting ready for a party tomorrow.  Wyatt is fifteen, FIFTEEN!  His real birthday was Wednesday, which we observed at Coldstone - thanks for the gift-cards, Aunty Tam-Tam :D  But, in keeping with family tradition, the real party is tomorrow.

4.  Each boy likes a different treat for his birthday.  Not so much cake.  And for Wyatt, it's raspberry pie.  In all humility, the BEST raspberry pie in the entire world.  Which requires the best raspberries in the entire world.  Good thing we live here, in the PNW.  This is berry-growing heaven.  Strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, huckleberries, marionberries, boysenberries, salmonberries... and more.

Sure, all year long we can buy berries... from California.  And we eat them.  But in the summer, when our berries are ripe we realize we've been duped.  Those California berries are practically flavorless.  Like berry-flavored water.  Our berries don't mess around.  The downside is that they have a shelf-life of about ten minutes (okay, a couple days, tops) before they'd better be frozen, cooked into something, made into jam, or eaten.  No problem.

This year I'll get pictures of the pie and share the recipe.  Promise.

5.  And if I forget we'll blame Motherhood Amnesia.  You know about this, right?  All you moms with kids underfoot, and hectic lives?  I can get so engrossed in the daily moments, and training, and cleaning, and schooling, and laundry, and everything, that I gloss right over what's happening in the world.  Oblah-blah?  Debt?  Royal wedding?  Wiener-gate?  Whatever.  I'm sure most of what's happening isn't worth remembering anyway.

6.  The things I WILL remember are more likely to be ridiculous.  Like the boys all dissolving into hysteria yesterday, thanks to this clip, which is totally safe for work and family, but may give you an ear-worm that will last All. Day. Long.  You're welcome.  I heard the boys, throughout the rest of the day, imitating Gimli - I've heard enough.  Shoot him.

7.  It's just possible that I'm not the most culturally sensitive person on the planet.  Because I really fail to see how this song could ever be a big hit.  Even in Russia.  Apparently the original lyrics are NOT tro-lo-lo-lo-lo, but Я скачу по прерии на своем жеребце, мустанге таком-то, а моя любимая Мэри за тысячу миль отсюда вяжет для меня чулок,  which translates, loosely (?) as:

I'm riding the prairie on my stallion, a mustang as such, and my sweetheart Mary now knits a stocking for me, a thousand miles away from here.

Well.  The artist claimed it was a naughty song (I don't want to begin to contrive how that works) and he couldn't publish the lyrics at that time.  Or we could infer that Brezhnev had a low tolerance for lounge singers.  You choose.


8.  Wait!  Something DID happen yesterday.  I received yet another forwarded email from an uncle I haven't seen in a couple of years.  It contained some Very Useful Advice, which I'll share with you now.  Because that's the kind of friend I am.  Are your ready?  Okay.

Handle every stressful situation like a dog.  If you can't eat it or play with it, just pee on it and walk away.

Alrighty then.  Now those are words to live by.

9.  Surprise!  My neighbor, whose husband manages a restaurant, has just invited Gunnar and me out to lunch, so I'm publishing without editing and heading out the door.

Happy Saturday, friends.