I didn't fall off the face of the earth

Although I might have come close.I spent the past three weeks entertaining my 14-year-old niece. We did a lot of fun stuff -- like driving to the top of Pikes Peak with the S.O., watching a professional soccer game in Denver and visiting the zoo.

Look out! It's coming right for us!

We also did some relaxing stuff, like painting ceramics at Puttin' on the Paint, shopping, watching movies and completing the "World's Smallest 1,000-Piece Puzzle."

It was really hard to send her home -- although I know she and her dad were ready to see each other again -- and I think even the dog misses her.

I sure hope she doesn't outgrow her aunt in the next year. I'd like to make her summer visits an annual thing.

Me = Happy

This person

(who is awesome, by the way)
is going to spend three weeks with me next month. Yay!

Animal tales

My dear and talented friend Lisa over at Grandma's Briefs is sending her grandson a tortoise -- no not a real tortoise -- a very cute plastic tortoise. It's in honor of World Turtle Day and ... oh just go read her post (if you haven't already). Her post led her to ask: "Did you or anyone you know have a turtle when you were a kid?"

Which got me to thinking about the animals we did have as kids. Because with three boys in the house, it seemed someone was always bringing home some kind of orphaned animal (and by "someone" I mean "Joe.")

I have vague memories of baby rabbits and snapping turtles and squirrels, but the most memorable was JoJo the Raccoon. He was orphaned (don't ask me to tell you how he was "orphaned," please) at our friend's farm and came home with us. It was like something straight off Wild Kingdom. And he was the cutest damn thing. Look.

Yep. That's me -- cuddling a wild freaking animal. And before you think my parents were irresponsible, he was actually quite tame. We fed him grapes and scrambled eggs. And somewhere in my old photos, I have a picture of him inside my Barbie camper. (It was quite traumatic for Barbie and Ken. Ken lost an arm in the attack.)

Unfortunately, as raccoons reach sexual maturity, they become more and more aggressive. Knowing this, we took him to a local petting zoo well before that day came. Technically, it's a turn-of-the-century replica farm and it's still operating today. And technically, no one was actually allowed to pet JoJo or his buddy Ricky. But we were able to go and visit him a few more times before he was released into the wild.

Well, that's what I was told. And that's what I still choose to believe. If you have other theories about "released into the wild," I'd prefer you keep them to yourself.

Hello, everybody!

Don't you just hate it when people don't update their blog? Yeah, me too.

So, to update:

• I am studying away to become a personal trainer, as well as working out more so I can be a good example to clients.
• I am still writing test drives but am feeling kind of burned out on them and am (still) seriously considering not doing any more after the summer. However, that means the only writing I'll be doing will be on blogs. But that counts, right?
• The S.O. and I are trying to decide if we want to return to my home town in a couple weeks for my niece's 8th grade graduation. We don't want to stay at my dad's house -- for a variety of reasons -- but also don't feel like having to explain that to him. Any ideas?
• Ripley is almost completely back to normal. Her hair has mostly grown back, and she's up to her old shenanigans.
• Saturday marks the six-year anniversary of my first date with the S.O. Time is scary.

OK, I think that brings us up to date. When I can think of something more profound -- or at least funny -- to write about, I will. But at least I'm not a total blog slacker.

UPDATE: Oh, and I'm playing with the blogs layout because I was tired of the generic template. if you like it, let me know. If you hate it, you can shut the hell up. (Oh, I'm kidding. Let me know if you hate it. It's a work in progress.)

One More Big Brother

I have one more big brother to tell you about. Joe was the middle brother of the three. And I think he watched one too many episodes of the Brady Bunch and took that whole middle child thing to heart. He always thought he got the short end of the stick. But he was also the trouble maker.

"Santa" had to start wrapping the presents he left under the tree or Joe would wake up early and announce to everyone what they got. Joe would find everyone's Easter basket and tell us where they were hidden. Joe would pick fights with Jim who was bigger and wasn't allowed to fight back -- until Mom finally had enough and said go for it. Then Joe moved on to Mike, who fought like the Tasmanian Devil and could inflict damage. So it was on to me who was too small to fight back and just cried to Mom or yelled, "Quit it!" a million times.

But Joe was also the star, earning Athlete-of-the-Week honors from our local paper for his pitching skills. I remember hearing how his fast ball was on par with professionals. And he and his beautiful wife produced the first grandchild of the family. (And yes, I do love his wife. She's been in the family longer than not and probably deserves her own blog post. And I'm not just saying that to suck up in case she reads this. I mean it!)

This photo (taken many, many years ago) shows four generations of our family: My maternal grandmother, Mom, Joe and his daughter, Heather.

It's true we fought a lot. A lot. But I think I'm tough because of it. With three older brothers I learned not to take crap from anyone.

Another Big Brother

A couple days ago, I told you about the oldest of my three older brothers. Now, let me tell you a little about the youngest of my three older brothers.

My niece and brother, high above the zoo.

We're separated in age by almost four years but were close enough in age growing up to have gone to elementary school together for a bit, walking to school together. And close enough to actually play together some. He might not remember -- or might not like to admit -- that he helped me set up a doll house at the top of the stairwell so my "Sunshine Family" could live next to a waterfall.

Me and Mike at our aunt's wedding. I didn't get to be a flower girl, thus the pout.

We were also close enough in age to have fights and arguments, but I must be getting old because I don't remember them ever being that bad. (Not like some of the other fights in our house that involved hammers and broomsticks. But I digress.)

Mike was always the handy one. He built end tables and lamps and other wooden items that are still in use today -- and that didn't look like they were built by a "kid." I wouldn't have admitted then how much I admired his skill.

Today, I admire him for his incredible parenting skills. He has raised my niece and nephew on his own and done a damn fine job, too. They're both smart and well-adjusted kids and somehow tolerate their aunt and her silliness. Their visit last year was the highlight of the summer -- strike that -- it was the highlight of the year.

Big Brother

No, not the giant talking face from "1984," but my actual big brother -- the oldest of the three. We keep in touch through (extremely) sporadic phone calls, but mostly through Facebook. We exchange comments and chat sometimes. I often think Facebook is evil, but in this case it's been great.

Jim and me and our dog, Herkimer.

We're separated in age by nearly seven years, so we didn't always do kid things together, but I can remember him taking me to see "The Rescuers" at the movie theater. And he was the epitome of what a big brother should be to a baby sister. He was protective. He looked out for me. And while he sometimes teased me (and still does!), it was always good-natured teasing and he was never ever mean to me.

With him living in Michigan and me in Colorado, we don't see each other often enough, but I know he's always there for me. He's the first person I wanted to talk to after Mom died.

He's been feeling a bit under the weather lately, so I've been thinking about him a lot and hoping my happy thoughts reach him and make him feel a tiny bit -- or a whole helluva lot -- better.

I hate cooking

But Mom tried to get me to like it. One of the things that made me want to cook was this book:Published in 1965, the book was around before I was, so Mom must have bought it for my older brothers. And it was marketed to both girls and boys, which seems pretty progressive for 1965. The book sits on my shelf now. I brought it from Mom's house for the nostalgia -- and because it's actually kinda fun.

The "Bunny Salad" (made with pear "bunnies") was my favorite recipe. I honestly can't remember actually making it, but look how cute.

And pay no attention to that "Rocket Salad" in the upper right-hand corner. I never noticed it as a kid but my (perverted) adult mind doesn't exactly see a "rocket" there.

Bonus:
I just found this cookbook, tucked inside the kids' cookbook: It's Betty Crocker's "Piggy Bank Casseroles; A Special Collection of Penny-Wise Recipes," copyright 1970. Betty writes, "Dear Friend, Feeling the squeeze from the high cost of feeding a family? (Who isn't these days!)"

Betty Crocker has always been relevant, hasn't she. With recipes like Bologna Biscuits with Vegetable, Frank-Bean Casserole and Bean and Wiener Bake (yep, two beans and wienie recipes!), she'll show you how to save money, because "Whatever the reason, when your budget cries 'Help,' it's casseroles to the rescue."

How cute is this?

Last year at this time, I whined about not getting a care package from my mom. My lovely sister-in-law took that as a challenge and sent me a box of goodies. Being the amazing people they are, my brother and sister-in-law once again sent a Christmas care package, stuffed with the World's Best Sugar Cookies, among other items. Tucked in the box was an ornament just for me.

Check out this guy, decked out in a top hat and Christmas scarf. He's like a little Bob Cratchit hippo rushing home to Tiny Tim.

Here he rushes to the Gingerbread Bakery for treats for his hippo kids at home.

You might notice my favorite book, peeking into the frame back there!

We haven't put a tree up yet (and may not), but Bob here will have a place of honor for Christmas regardless. He's so goshdarn cute. I can't stand it. And my family is so goshdarn good to me. I can't stand that either.

Why so serious?

My niece as The Joker. She looks amazing. Apparently, I have no Halloween pictures of her when she was little. Weird.

So, instead, here's her aunt -- yes, me -- age 4, in a homemade "gypsy" costume. I think this was my favorite Halloween costume of all time.

Resemblance

Thinking I'd get organized, I've been going through photos -- both on my computer and in old boxes. One of the features in iPhoto is something called "Faces." It allows you to put names to faces on your photographs. When you name someone, the program suggests other photos in which that person might be. I'm not exactly sure how it works (I'm thinking magic) but it's pretty darn accurate, finding faces that share a resemblance. Sometimes it finds a similar expression or hairstyle. It also allows you to confirm a number of faces at a time.

As I was adding my mom's name to old photos, these two came up:

The first photo is my 15-year-old nephew. The other is my mom. She was probably 7 or 8 here. I'd never noticed it until these pictures came up side by side, but they sure share some features.

My mom used to always say none of her kids looked anything like her. Actually, I think it was something along the lines of, "If I hadn't given birth to you, I wouldn't know any of you were mine." Yet, here's photographic evidence of a family resemblance.

And there are worse people in our lives to resemble.

We love the zoo

My brother and nephew drove out to join me and my niece for a few days before they head back to Illinois.

We went to the zoo again -- because I love the zoo and love sharing it with others.

Last time we were there the mountain lions were sleeping. It was a hot day and they were staying out of the sun. This time, a turkey decided to get the lions riled up. She was clucking and calling to her turkey friends, which drew the attention of the sleeping lions. My niece got some great photos of the now-alert lions, stalking the hapless turkey.
Lucky for the turkey -- and all the fascinated youngsters -- the mountain lions are contained within a fenced area with a cover.

It was the best part of our visit. It's also the closest I ever want to get to one of these powerful cats.

Playing tour guide

I haven't had much time to post lately because I've been playing tour guide to my niece. We went to Garden of the Gods. She took some really nice pictures. I took some pictures of her.

We also went to the zoo to feed the giraffes and laugh at parents who tell their children that emus are "ostriches" and gorillas are "monkeys." (Yes, I judge.)

I think I look sufficiently touristy in that photo.

Ever wonder who's really on display?

Thinking of you

It doesn't get any easier.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

Remembering the Cake Lady

Mom was always "the cake lady." Whether she was making cakes for her own kids' birthdays, graduations or weddings or creating elaborate cake concoctions for the celebrations of friends, neighbors and friends of friends, for several years there, it seemed like she was baking and decorating cakes 24 hours a day, seven days a week (she probably was!).

Sometimes the cakes were a source of fun and creativity. A lot of times, they were a source of headaches and annoyance. But everyone who knew Mom knew she was "the cake lady." And everyone always commented on how beautiful her cakes were.

This was long before Ace of Cakes and the dearth of fondant on cakes. Mom created scenes -- from roses to critters -- for the most part using buttercream frosting. Sometimes she would use royal icing, chocolate molds or marzipan when it was absolutely necessary.

Like so many of her talents, I didn't inherit the cake gene. I can bake a cake, but I can't make it look the way she did. She once made a cake that looked like a huge basket of strawberries -- the basket was "woven" with buttercream frosting, the handle was royal icing over wire, and the berries were made of marzipan. It was amazing.

I am loved

I never meant to upset anyone or make anyone feel sorry for me, but after my wonderful sister-in-law read this post from earlier in the month, she sent me a care package to let me know that three people in Michigan love me. I'm not ashamed to say the gesture and her accompanying note made me cry. In a good way, of course.

I'm also not ashamed to admit that I will probably eat every one of those sugar cookies all by myself. My sister-in-law's sugar cookies are that good. Too bad the significant other wasn't here when I opened the box.

I grew up without sisters, but my sister-in-law has been in the family for a while now, and I think I should start considering her an actual sister. Especially after this.

I think my mom must have rubbed off on my sister-in-law as much as she did the rest of us kids. And I like to my sister-in-law rubbed of on Mom a bit, too. I'm pretty sure Mom got a lot sassier after Melinda married my brother. And that was a good thing.

Trimming the tree

It's hard to think about Christmas without my mom. Even though I haven't been home for the holidays in several years, Mom was still a part of my Christmas. She sent care packages with her homemade peanut brittle, cookies and gifts -- usually at least one of which was handmade. Mom's peanut brittle was legendary. Even people who claimed not to like peanut brittle were won over by her recipe -- handed down to her from my paternal grandmother (the secret is the cooling and pulling process).

This year, there will be no care package. As I hang the ornaments and put out the decorations, there are plenty of things to remind me of Mom: Santas and ornaments she made and ornaments and decorations from when I was a kid.

While it makes me sad to not have her around any more, the decorations also make me nostalgic. And I'm thankful to have the things she made, items she created with care and love, items that can't be bought or duplicated.

And maybe someday, I'll figure out how to make peanut brittle the way she did.

On my mind

Today would have been my mom's 71st birthday. This video, with images of her through the years, is for her and everyone who loved her.

A day late and a dollar short

I called my dad yesterday for Father's Day and I sent a card. So I didn't completely forget Father's Day, but I didn't write anything about it.

I've been so focused on losing my mom that it took yesterday to make me focus on my dad for a bit and to remind me my significant other lost his dad last year. This is our first Father's Day without him.

We honored our dads the best way we could -- by sitting in front of the TV for hours watching the US Open. I'm sure that's what my dad was doing, anyway. If I'd made the 16-hour drive to spend the day with him, we would have grilled steaks in the backyard and sat in his air-conditioned living room watching Tiger Woods struggle to end the day at one under par, along with Rocco Mediate. I'm not much for watching golf, but it seemed like the right thing to do yesterday (and it was actually kind of exciting).

The picture above shows my mom and dad as new parents back in 1961. That's my oldest brother, Jim, in Mom's arms. The picture was taken at my grandparents house just after Jim's baptism. My parents look happy and just a little scared. They went on to have three more kids, so it must not have been the worst thing they ever experienced. But then Jim was never the problem child.

Nope, I'm not going to say who was. (But it wasn't me.)

Mother's Day

This picture of my mom qualifies as a glamour shot in my book. I think it is her high school senior portrait, but to me she looks like a movie star. Mom always had an inner beauty but in this photograph it shines straight through and comes out as physical beauty. She's gorgeous and not just because she's my mom. There's something of a young Elizabeth Taylor about her -- all pale skin and dark hair and soft shoulders.

This picture is rivaled only by one from her wedding day. In it, she is in the back seat of the wedding car. We see her in profile while my dad looks at her with pride and love like I've never seen on his face. And it's no wonder when, even in profile, my mother glows with such hope for the future.

I wonder if marriage was a disappointment. My dad couldn't have been the Prince Charming he seemed that day. I know from my time at home he wasn't. He wasn't an ogre, but he certainly wasn't a prince. But still, pictures of her holding her newborns show a beaming smile full of pride. Later pictures of her with her grandchildren show a similar happiness.

Her children and grandchildren were obviously a source of joy. She wanted to be a teacher but wasn't allowed because her father didn't believe college was for girls (thank goodness my parents didn't feel the same way). She would have been a great teacher. She was a great teacher in her way. Many things I learned from her I didn't realize until much later. Chief among them is how to care about other people.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.