Is there a gene marker for taste?

This is the "yard art" my sister put up for the holidays that made me (once again) wonder if I was adopted.Don't get me wrong; I'm not the Queen of Class or anything. I love a good hoedown, pig roast, or flea market. My plates are Fiesta Ware, not Fine China. My dining table is a formica number from the 50s. I have a snowglobe collection. I had an Elvis clock before I broke it in 2001 in a fit of pique. I'm not opposed to front-yard flamingos (as long as one doesn't leave them up for 20-odd years, put little seasonal outfits on them, and refer to them as "the Altman children"). I even own a pair of cutoffs.

For the holidays, I love a bit of kitsch. Lots of outdoor lights, a few reindeer, even a wonderland critter or an Away in a Manger yard tableau. I personally own a festive pink aluminum tree that I decorate with mirrored disco balls and proudly display in my bay window. But I do think one must draw the line somewhere, and I think Santa on a motorcycle with Frosty in the sidecar slightly crosses the line. In case the photo doesn't do it justice, it is HUGE. Taller than I am. Taller than my sister's husband. And it's hooked up to some kind of air filter thingy that makes it MOVE, you know, like Santa is revving the engine. The neighborhood children are terrified, but it could be worse. At least it isn't a 12-foot Jesus high-fiving Santa inside of a snowglobe on their front lawn.

I'm totally getting them a leg lamp for their front window for Christmas this year.

I am thankful for many things...

This little guy is one of them.

Since he's the only boy in the family, I am trying to teach him the Way of the Warrior so that he may survive his teen years living among Amazon women. So far, we've worked on his drool defense and high-pitched screaming.

Then there are the girls: My sisters, my nieces, and my mom, the women who never fail to make me laugh even when we have something to cry about. And my girl friends, some here at home, some close by, and some far away. The women I work with - brilliant, creative, funny, and, well, a lot like my family.

Also: My boy friends, at home (even when you don't call me for weeks) and far away. And my other kind of boyfriends, because you put up with a lot and know how to depart graciously. Miss Kitty. Winter in the south. My fireplace. Fresh cider. Clean sheets that smell amazing. A whole other week of vacation days this year. Holiday drop ins. My first book contract. Listening to Bruce Springsteen's "Thunder Road" (Don't turn me home again, I just can't face myself alone again...) on the road. Discovering that my BFF Amy and I both once had imaginary boyfriends named Ricky, except instead of having an imaginary baby, I broke up with his imaginary ass. Moosefest 2007 (I'm serious!). Cashmere socks. Public radio archives, especially "Writers' Views" on NPR and Studio 360 on PRI. Did I already say Miss Kitty? She gets awfully cute & cuddly when it's 50 degrees outside and I have the windows open.

Must be jelly because jam don't shake like that...

A must-stop when traveling back and forth from Charleston to Hilton Head (or Beaufort...or Savannah): the Carolina Cider Company . The original is in Garden's Corner, but I noticed while making annual trek to sister's house for T-Day that there's now a second Carolina Cider location just before 17 turns into 95 (on the other side of the road, perfect for stopping on a return trip).

My favorites: The blueberry fruit spread (made with juice and not sugar), and the whole cherry fruit spread (though I heat and use as topping for ice cream, not as a spread). I used to love the Nora Mill speckled grits, but they're a little too high-carb for me now. The nieces always love honey sticks. My mom loves pepper jelly (pour it over cream cheese and serve with crackers). Yum.

Must now figure out a way to lose 8 lbs. in two weeks while keeping blood sugar within acceptable levels, without involving too much exercise, and still allowing clearance for next holiday snarf-fest in less than a month. Meal planning is like advanced calculus. Or something else really hard.

First coherent thought of the day...

Oh, snow.

Big, fat flakes mixed with rain all morning. It won't stick because the ground isn't cold enough (and it is the south, after all), but still...

I've turned into one of those people...

Dear Kashi,

While I have enjoyed the tasty goodness of your TLC® Chewy Peanut Peanut Butter granola bars as my breakfast for many months, I have noticed the past two boxes I've purchased are not as chewy as bars from previous boxes. The expiration date is not even close, but every bar in these two boxes was more "crunchy" than "chewy." Actually, they bordered on stale. I ate them anyway, as they were still quite peanutty, but wanted the good people at Kashi to be aware just in case the lack of chewiness is related to a recipe or preparation change on your part.

Both boxes were purchased at the Meeting Street Piggly Wiggly, in case that helps you in your investigation. Additionally, allow me to anticipate your response: My answer is, "Yes, I do have way too much f*cking time on my hands."

Sincerely,

Kelly Love

Have my cake and eat it too...

I woke up suddenly at 2:39 a.m. this morning. Not exactly the hour I was born (I think it was 2:15 or something like that), but close.

Update: My mother told me I was born at 2:33am. And this isn't the first year I've woken up at that time on that day. Weird.

Answered door at 8am in robe with wet hair for HVAC guys I hadn't been aware were going to crawl under my house today.

Received calls from mother (asking where her flowers are), sister (asking again why I'm not taking the day off from work), and Michael Monkey...all the way from London!

Discovered favorite flowers (stargazer lilies) on desk from editorial assistant Stef. Thai all around for lunch; received stunning neck wrap from all and Jolly Roger letterpress cards (thanks, Katie!).

Lovely co-worker Julie made angel food with strawberries and whipped cream for the birthdays (I share a b-day with lovely co-worker Abby). We even had candles to blow out.

Anyone want to guess what I wished for?

(And yes, this is my birthday outfit for the evening).

(And no, my birthday date is not one of the HVAC guys, though I think I did accidentally flash one of them when I caught robe on door handle).

I'll never be as young as I am right now...

But I'm not going to have a b-day freakout. Rather than worry that I'm going to wake up tomorrow with my ass two inches lower than it is today, or send myself off into full existential crisis mode by trying to get my mind around the fact that everything is meaningless and I'm just crawling towards the abyss, I decided not to waste time on brooding this year. Besides the fact that 40 looks pretty darn good from this side of 30, I have more important things to think about, such as:

* Join yoga studio. I want Pilates abs by this time next year. Plans made; abs already planning steady resistance, possible mutiny.
* Increase Netflix three-at-a-time to four-at-a-time. I know this is actually counterproductive to item one, but I hate to wait between Netflixes and I hate Blockbuster.
* Semi-drastic haircut. I like it long, but I actually shut my hair in a door last week. Time for a color change and a few inches off. Appointment scheduled.
* Book to be published (you can't see it, but I'm doing a little dance about this one). It's nonfiction, based on an essay I wrote earlier this year, should be out by fall of 2007, and details will follow. I have a lot of work to do before my March deadline, but still, BEST b-day present to myself EVER. It was the last item on my "By Age 35" milestone goals list.

Onward.

I love you goodbye...

Four years ago...

I remember him telling me that he steals time away from his world to spend it in mine.

I remember him telling me that, while he is talking to God, he sometimes wonders if he is losing his mind, if he had already damned himself beyond salvation.

I remember telling him that I worried about him. That I had been there too, once, sitting in the silence, waiting for God to answer. And that sometimes silence is our answer.

I remember him telling me that he wanted to take care of me, that he wanted to be the one to worry.

I remember telling him that I didn’t think he knew me well enough to know what I needed.

I remember him telling me, “don’t worry. We’ll still be friends,” he said, “even after you don’t want to talk to me anymore.

Had I been paying closer attention, I could have written the script for everything that happened later. Instead I said what I always said:
"I love you goodbye."

Under a Cajun moon I lay me open
There is a spirit here that won't be broken
Some words are sad to sing
Some leave me tongue-tied
But the hardest words I know
Are I love you goodbye
I love you goodbye.
~Thomas Dolby

I gazed a gazeless stare...*

*from "The Man Who Sold the World," David Bowie

Thinking about: The book I'm working on, the work I'm working on, the workshop I just finished, switching out all of my pens for number two pencils, Northern Exposure, whether Eggland Best eggs are better than plain eggs, firewood, flu shot, arm hurts, Amanda, student loans, Adrienne Shelley's murder, honey on toast, another year's passing, purging my files (since I still have records that date back to the car I had in high school), my essay for the December issue, fear of failure, raw oysters, making room, dinner parties, my mid-life crisis, stargazer lilies, what happened to our love, writing you down and letting you go at the bend in the river, a haircut, a nap, night birds.

With curious art the brain, too finely wrought,
Preys on herself, and is destroyed by thought.
~Charles Churchill, Epistle to William Hogarth

If I had a million dollars...

* I’d have three or four more Himalayan cats and a cat nanny (a “canny”).
* I would also have some flat-faced dogs and a dog nanny (a “danny”).
* I would have a home in Connecticut where I have dinner parties and keep horses (they too would have a nanny - a “hanny”).
* I would spend an entire weekend, maybe even a week, shopping online. I would buy every single thing on every single wish list I have, even if I didn’t really want it anymore.
* Then I would feel guilty for having a lot of stuff and donate a bunch of money to charity.
* I would worry about how much of the money I donated was actually used to help the starving and uneducated, so I would feel compelled to start my own trust to be allocated directly where it will help the most.
* I’d hire an accountant because I hate to pay bills even if I have lots of money.
* I would marry a stay-at-home-dad so he could take care of my adopted gay teenagers (I’ve always thought I’d like to adopt gay teenagers whose families rejected them because they were gay).
* I’d buy a rink and start my own roller derby team so I could be a Roller Derby star.

If I had a million dollars
(If I had a million dollars)
Well, I'd buy you a fur coat
(But not a real fur coat that's cruel)
And if I had a million dollars
(If I had a million dollars)
Well, I'd buy you an exotic pet
(Yep, like a llama or an emu)
And if I had a million dollars
(If I had a a million dollars)
Well, I'd buy you John Merrick's remains
(Ooh, all them crazy elephant bones)
And If I had a million dollars I'd buy your love.
~Barenaked Ladies