Déjà vu

type 1.

2012-01-22T13:29:00.001-05:00

type 1., a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

At least this one has a name. At least this one has some answers...

While most parents reel with tragic heartache, feelings of guilt and grief, and mourn the sense of normalcy and health for the child they’re suddenly told is no longer just like everyone else, the diagnosis of Type 1 juvenile diabetes was just another drop in the bucket for me... I went through that process long ago. And continue to live in that moment every day, mourning the life my special child could have had, mourning all that she could have been, should have been, had she been born “normal.”

That is not to say that I don’t adore my child in all her quirky, exhausting, pain-in-the-ass glory. That is not to say that I don’t celebrate her milestones, victories, and achievements, albeit delayed. And that is not to say that I do not adore my child and love her more than life; I do. But raising a child with profound special needs is a life-long mourning process - despite the blessings, despite the love... Mourning for a living being is a quiet, secret process that special parents do not dare speak aloud; it conflicts with the emotional programming we work so hard to maintain - that we cherish this precious soul, that there is a reason this angel was born to us, that she is just as deserving of having a good life as anyone else, and that we love her no less... and we mean it, really we do. But to express grief over someone who we see and touch and love every single day seems hypocritical - and then we feel guilty about that too. So there it is, in all it’s ugliness; our big special secret.

There is not a special parent alive who wouldn’t cut off their right arm to make their child’s life easier... If I knew beyond doubt that my daughter could have the life of a typical 14 year old girl, painting her nails and texting boys and going to slumber parties - I’d saw it off myself with a butter knife.

Diabetes is nothing. Being insulin dependant for the rest of her life is nothing. Finger pricks, carb-counting, and 3-5 injections a day is nothing. I scoff at thee.

A few months back, we noticed that Bell was overcome with an insatiable thirst and peeing like a race horse. Naturally, the doctor wanted to rule out Diabetes... Diabetes? Ha. Are you kidding me? She weighs 60 pounds. She eats well, likes healthy foods, and gets plenty of exercise. Really? Surely, you jest? Turns out however that the doctor was right and I had a lot more to learn about yet another topic I never thought I’d need to know about...

The term “diabetes” is misleading when one considers that over 90% of diabetics in North America and Europe are Type 2 which, despite genetic predisposition, is generally preventable, and can sometimes even be overcome, with a healthy diet and lifestyle. Type 1 however, is an unpreventable autoimmune disease where the body wages war on the pancreatic cells which produce the Insulin needed to disperse sugar to the body’s tissues to burn as fuel. The healthiest person in the world can fall victim to Type 1 and, at present, there’s not a thing anyone can do about it.

It’s not been fun and certainly is not what I envisioned nor hoped for this new year, but Isabel has taken all this medical drama in graceful strides. Better than I ever imagined and most definitely better than I would have! --I firmly believe God instilled in me an irrational fear of needles to prevent me from being a Toredol junkie, not to mention, counting my carbohydrates?!! Cut back on pasta and rice and chocolate? Surely, I would wither and die.

While in the hospital getting Bell stabilized and learning how to do all this pricking and sticking, calculating and charting stuff from the nurses, educators, doctors and their gaggle of interns, I was horrified... and all I could think about was how I have failed miserably at every single fad diet that required even the most elementary of mathematical talents. Dear God, please help me not to kill my child!

Isabel, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed the rock-star treatment and being waited on hand and foot. She quickly figured out that a finger stick meant it was time to eat; never one to turn away from food, she was cool with that. And the injections, so long as she’s had her fill, it’s a small price to pay as far as she is concerned. The only rude awakening coming home for her was returning to a routine of doing stuff for herself.

True, I’ve been in survival mode; it’s what us special parents do. And there may be a moment somewhere down the road when I crash, the fog lifts, and I settle in for a brief pity-party (hey, we all do it, even those of us you perceive as invincibly strong), but for now, it is what it is and we’re all still alive... I’m even doing math.

About a week ago, I told Isabel that I was so sorry that this diabetes shit happened to her, that I hated that it was yet one more challenge and thing for her to deal with... I don’t know why this happened, I said to her, maybe mommie still has a few big important lessons to learn in all this... and in one of those rare and magical moments where the window of understanding is cracked just a wee bit and I am able to connect with my wonderful, beautiful, special angel girl, she smiled sweetly at me - the pure, good smile that lives in her soul and once in a great while, makes it out into the world - and signed, “yes.”

So I’m learning, yet again, and I’m grateful that it was just a drop in the bucket; thankful that this one has a name and some answers, because it’s a helluva lot more than I’ve gotten so far from anything Isabel.

Diabetes is nothing.

"We now accept the fact that learning is a lifelong process of keeping abreast of change. And the most pressing task is to teach people how to learn."

...Peter Drucker

1st dentist.

2011-09-13T20:03:00.001-04:00

Liam's 1st dental visit., a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

Today marks another first: Liam’s first trip to the dentist... It was a HUGE success. Of course it helped that the office was incredibly cool and comfortable, complete with big screen TV and video games and even flat screen TV’s in the ceilings above the exam chairs. Wow. Dentisty has come a long way since I worked the field... but then again, working for the DOD and civilian offices in the two most disgusting specialties in the dental industry (namely orthodontics and periodontics), anything else looks fun. Let’s just say, I was rarely inspired to take photos while working perio and generally patients came armed with Valium rather than cameras so as not to remember their visit...

"I'm as old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth."

...Jonathan Swift

oops.

2011-09-07T22:34:00.001-04:00

cuffs., a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

So recently, we had a client, a sweet older fellow likable in that good ole mutt kind of way, though clearly with some issues, who arrived at our office seeking representation for a misdemeanor possession of marijuana charge. Not uncommon.

However, the events leading up to his arrest is an entirely different matter... Hell, Cheech and Chong would have been proud because you just can’t make this stuff up!

It seems that Mr. Client had the misfortune of being robbed and severely traumatized by a home burglary a year or so ago to the point that Mr. Client felt it necessary to begin carrying an emergency 911 key fob with him on his keyring (similar to the “help I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” medical alert buttons).

Well, on that fateful day, Mr. Client was so stoned out of his gourd that he fell down his steps, landing on the 911 fob and placing a call to the police... who arrived promptly and arrested him.

As I said, you just can’t make this stuff up...

“When I was in England I experimented with marijuana a time or two -- and didn't like it -- and didn't inhale and never tried inhaling again.”

...William Jefferson Clinton

Easy Reader.

2011-09-03T22:31:00.000-04:00

Just finished watching the 2007 movie, "Evan Almighty" staring Steve Carroll with Morgan Freeman as 'God' (the squeal to the 2003 film, "Bruce Almighty" staring Jim Carey)... Cute film, but then I'll pretty much watch anything with Freeman as he is among my most favorite actors of all time, and well, I rather fancy the idea of Morgan Freeman as God. Much more so than George Burns or Alanis Morisette, but that's me.

As I am prone to spontaneous curiosity in this convenient age of information at our fingertips, I found myself suddenly wondering at how Freeman got his big break... so I Googled. --Interestingly, one of his earliest roles in the American media was in the early 1970's on the PBS kids' show "The Electric Company" as the character 'Easy Reader.'

Then it hit me like a recessed memory that bubbles up from the surface of nostalgia, Wow. I remember that! I grew up with Morgan Freeman!

How could one not adore the talents of a man who had once sang about words and reading over the television in that silky smooth, hip, jivin' voice decked out in gold rings and bell bottoms to a little country girl in her pajamas every morning?

"I always tell my kids if you lay down, people will step over you. But if you keep scrambling, if you keep going, someone will always, always give you a hand. Always. But you gotta keep dancing, you gotta keep your feet moving."

...Morgan Freeman

crabs.

2011-08-09T19:44:00.002-04:00

On our last day of vacation, we decided to have a nice family lunch to fill our bellies before embarking upon the 5 1/2 hour journey back to "civilization." Plus, this provided an excellent opportunity to talk Kevin into a quick trip to Forbidden Caverns before we escaped the 'southern charm' that is the Tennessee mountains. So we stopped at the Texas Steakhouse or Roadhouse or whatever it was.

Earlier in the week, I had sat salivating listening to Eve's tales of fresh Snow Crab legs on her assignment in Alaska, so when I saw the combination platter on the menu featuring filet mignon and Snow Crab legs for about $800.00, I HAD to order it.

"Please?" I asked sweetly, batting my lashes at my beloved.

"You're not going to stop thinking about them until you eat some are you?"

He knows me too well.

A short time later, our waiter appeared, his arms adorned with plates of food and began passing out the orders. Just as he sat down my platter before me, my young son jumped up excitedly and exclaimed (quite loudly) for the amusement of the entire resturaunt:

"Mommie's got crabs!"

To the waiter's credit, he did not even crack a smile until Kevin and I burst into hysterics. I'm just glad no one knew me there.

"Worlds can be found by a child and an adult bending down and looking together under the grass stems or at the skittering crabs in a tidal pool."

...Mary Catherine Bateson

jellies.

2011-08-02T23:01:00.005-04:00

jellies., a set on Flickr.

A set of black and white jellies taken at Ripley's Aquarium in Gatlinburg, Tennessee last month on our first ever, long overdue family vacation that I haven't had time to blog about (along with approximately 38,003 other things). --Curiously, there are somewhere between 1,270 and 1,770 different species of jellyfish. Who knew?

I'm quite pleased with these. =)

"The Internet is like a giant jellyfish. You can't step on it. You can't go around it. You've got to get through it."

...John Evans

independence day.

2011-07-04T19:57:00.006-04:00

fireworks., a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

All Americans know (or should anyway) that the 4th of July is the national holiday marking the long ago day (in 1776) when the Declaration of Independence was signed and adopted and the United States became the United States declaring its independence from English rule.

However, according to Wikipedia.org, there’s a few interesting tidbits I did not know:

"In a remarkable coincidence, both John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, the only signers of the Declaration of Independence later to serve as Presidents of the United States, died on the same day: July 4, 1826, which was the 50th anniversary of the Declaration. Although not a signer of the Declaration of Independence, James Monroe, the Fifth President of the United States, died on July 4, 1831. Calvin Coolidge, the Thirtieth President, was born on July 4, 1872, and, so far, was the only President to be born on Independence Day."

Things that make ya go, “hmmm.”

"Oh, great. This is going to be like shooting baskets with Magic Johnson watching."

...Bill Pullman (on watching Independence Day with President Clinton)

senseless.

2011-06-24T21:35:00.003-04:00

not so happy., a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

So the other day, I arrive at the daycare to pick up my young offspring and find that he is very excited to see me (which is always nice). However, his excitement quickly shifts into overdrive and he turns into a little lunatic jumping about and slinging toys. Quick to remind him of his manors, I firmly scold him and make him pick up the toys he was playing with and put them away as a good boy should. He does so and then begins to cry with all the drama and emotion of a child who has just witnessed his puppy get run over and clings to my leg burring his face in my crotch...

What. In. THE. World???

Okay, so I figure I’ve embarrassed him in front of his friends (hey, it happens) and attempt to comfort him while prying him off of my leg and lifting him up to console him despite my aching back (sometimes a mom’s gotta do what a mom’s gotta do, right?)

I carry him from his class with the scent of his sweaty little boy head tickling my nostrils, whispering, “Shhh, it’s okay,” and other motherly sentiments to no avail.

By the time we reach the parking lot, my patience is waning and I’m more puzzled than ever at the source of such a bizarre outburst. “Liam, what’s wrong? What in the world are you crying about?” He muffles something incomprehensible from the snotty warmth of my bosom and I try again as I set him down and turn his tear streaked face toward mine, “Honey, it’s okay. Mommie loves you. What are you so sad about?”

“I’m crying because my sense doesn’t make sense,” he stammers.

“Your sense doesn’t make sense?”

He nods. And I give him the biggest and best mommie hug ever because even though I still have absolutely no idea what he meant exactly, somehow I feel his pain...

Sometimes sense just doesn’t make sense.

From the mouths of babes...

"The sensual and spiritual are linked together by a mysterious bond, sensed by our emotions, though hidden from our eyes. To this double nature of the visible and invisible world -- to the profound longing for the latter, coupled with the feeling of the sweet necessity for the former, we owe all sound and logical systems of philosophy, truly based on the immutable principles of our nature, just as from the same source arise the most senseless enthusiasms."

...Karl Wilhelm Von Humboldt

disability etiquette 101.

2011-05-29T00:58:00.014-04:00

walkin'., a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

We’ve all heard it said, “It takes special people to do special things,” and while I tend to agree that not everyone in the world has what it takes to manage certain tasks, journeys, or responsibilities that many see as an impossible misfortune when outside looking into such lives of those who juggle everything life has thrown at them with the illusion of finesse, there are times when folks should just keep their mouths shut and maybe just offer a warm smile instead of some wise-sounding rhetoric... Often, this is a sentiment conveyed by well-meaning strangers when faced with the uncomfortable realization that they are in the presence of a parent, guardian, or care-giver of a person with special needs and feel the need to say something in lieu of, “You poor thing, I feel sorry for you.”

Yes, it’s true, unless you’re part of that inner circle of special populations, exceptional people if you will, (be it family, friend, fellow parent, teacher, therapist, or the like), such expressions, however well-meaning, come across as condescending in a manner not unlike rubbing salt in one’s wounds.

I personally do not need to be reminded of how “special” I am. I live it every day. And I can only imagine that other mothers who spend the bulk of their days having fun with G-tubes, catheters, braces, walkers, communication boards and devices, outrageous behaviors, attending IEP meetings, advocating for the rights of their loved one(s), meeting and communicating with a menagerie of doctors and specialists and teachers and therapists, learning medical shit they never wanted to know about, and wiping ass every single day after day, probably feel the same way. --I assure you, we totally get it.

That being said, I realize that most people don’t intend to be mean or rude (for those who do: go fuck yourselves) and can only act in ways in which their life experiences and / or education afford them. Therefore, I’ve compiled a little list of basic etiquette with regards to encounters with special populations for those nice folks on the outside with honorable intentions:

Don’t stare. --I would hope that this is self explanatory, but in case it’s not... staring at people disabled or not is in fact rude. You should teach your children this too, however, as a general rule, it’s not a child’s natural curiosity that bugs me so much as their parents... encourage your child to instead say hello, smile, or wave. And if they are curious about a wheelchair or such, allow them to ask; if they ask you within earshot, don’t drag them off, shush, or punish them... it’s how they learn that people with disabilities are indeed people too and everyone benefits from kindness.

Don’t ignore. --Many people feel uncomfortable when faced with a situation outside of their experience, even if that situation is meeting a person with a disability. Perfectly natural. But no one likes to be ignored. If my daughter waves at you, as she is prone to do, would it kill you to smile and wave back? She’s not asking for a loan or even a dinner invitation, just acknowledgment.

Never assume anything. --People are like fingerprints: each are special and unique. Disabilities are like fingerprints: each are special and unique. Just because a someone may have the characteristic appearances of someone with Downs Syndrome doesn’t mean the individual in front of you functions at the same level as that actor you saw in a TV show once (like actor Chris Burke). Just like regular people (not everyone is a PhD and not everyone can cook edible food), there is an enormous spectrum of varying abilities. In fact, people are most familiar with the term “spectrum” thanks to the public awareness of Autism; the autistic spectrum is a perfect example of extremes. There are persons with Autism who may be a bit quirky (who isn't?) but are amazingly gifted, highly intelligent productive members of society and there are those who cannot speak and live trapped in the darkness of their own worlds unable to dress themselves... even more rare and amazing are minds such as Kim Peek. Just like Autism, disabilities can be every bit as much of an enigmatic intellectual span. This includes issues such as ADD, ADHD, ODD, OCD, and a whole host of other fun stuff, all of which are real, legitimate, and can sometimes be just as debilitating.

But they look "normal". --See above.

If you feel inclined to speak, direct your conversation first at the person of interest before addressing the parent or caregiver. --It’s just common courtesy and though it’s not the case with my child, most people with disabilities, even intellectual ones, can speak and carry on a basic, albeit probably unconventional, conversation. And they appreciate the attention and exchange because unfortunately they are used to being ignored. It also makes Mom feel good because someone was thoughtful enough to make their kid’s day. Just don’t be disappointed or take it personally if the special person doesn’t outwardly acknowledge you back in a manner in which you are accustomed. Trust me, they noticed; they just may not be able to unlock what they need to access in order to show it.

Never underestimate. --I have had to learn this one myself, over and over again, with my own daughter and to this day, she continues to make a liar out of me (as well as many specialists!) should it dare be stated that she is unable to do something. Even for persons closest to an exceptional individual, who know their language, abilities, and behaviors best, it is impossible to know what is understood, unable, or merely defiance.

If you feel inclined to inquire, choose your words carefully. --For instance, rather than asking, “What’s wrong with her?” try instead, “What’s her diagnosis?” As a general rule of thumb, stop and think how you would feel if some random stranger walked up and said this to you about your child. Again, children are an exception... A child can only communicate with what vocabulary and communication skills they have acquired in their short little life-spans. When a child asks me why my daughter doesn’t speak or what’s wrong with her, I will happily stop whatever mad errand I am in the middle of, drop to a knee and explain as best I know how with all the patience of Saint Monica because that’s how they learn to become better world citizens. But as a perfectly functioning allegedly competent adult, if you ask me such an asinine question as “What’s wrong with her?” you can expect an equally rude and ridiculous response, such as, “Absolutely nothing; what’s wrong with you?”

Ask for help. --Most parents and caregivers don’t mind at all if you ask questions that help you to include their child and loved one. Perhaps they are deaf or do not speak and use sign language... I love when people ask me how to sign something to my daughter (though she can hear perfectly well I’m told; selective listening is another matter entirely) or if she needs assistance with a task... This shows you care.

Someone once told me that disability is not an "if" but a "when." Meaning, there will come a time in each of our lives when we are not capable of being independent to some degree, be it a broken bone, illness, old age, or dementia and will require the care and assistance of others in order to have our needs met... Think about that.

When all else fails, there is always The Golden Rule. Remember that one folks? It goes like this: “Do unto others as you would have done to you.” And by the way, that’s a good one to teach your kids too!

A public service announcement brought you to by yours truly...

"Special people were not born upon this earth to be tested, rather to serve as a litmus for humanity."

...Crystal J. De la Cruz, mother & advocate

poo.

2011-05-09T00:40:00.006-04:00

big potty boy!, a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

Mother’s Day, Sunday: In the afternoon, the children were playing out in the back yard while Kevin “supervised” from the deck smoking a cigar, grilling, and playing on his laptop. I was inside taking full advantage of the day with a Mother’s Day nap upstairs.

Suddenly, our son walks out of the “nature area” (the corner of the back yard that is completely out of control with briers, determined saplings, and overgrowth) and exclaims to his father, “Daddy! Piper is trying to eat my poo!”

Yes, our four year old son had gone behind a tree and taken a crap in the yard. He knows better of course and had done so completely covert, but was so taken by surprise at our idiot Jack Russel that he accidentally told on himself.

Try having that conversation with a straight face.

Of course the yard is much preferred to say, the air-conditioning shaft...

Once, when Liam was potty-training some time around one year of age, he discovered that he could lift the air vent covers off and put things down the hole such as toys, keys, clothing, paper, unwanted food, and anything else that would fit. I had been nagging Kevin to screw the vent covers down as digging out these treasures was becoming a real nuisance. Never did I imagine I would walk in the living room one day to find my young son taking a shit down the air shaft, but I did. And just as I spied him behind the couch taking care of business, he stands up butt-naked grinning and pointing to the open hole; “I poo,” he said proudly.

This was one such time I found myself too dumbfounded to take pictures. --Beneath the freshly deposited still-warm baby feces, were various toys and an old 35mm film camera - which all went straight into the trash. But at least the vents finally got screwed down, that day.

What in the world is with little boys and their fascination with poop? I’m beginning to think Freud was onto something...

"The act of birth is the first experience of anxiety, and thus the source and prototype of the affect of anxiety."

...Sigmund Freud

traveling with strangers.

2011-05-06T22:36:00.018-04:00

window seat., a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

Last month I managed to escape the clutches of North Carolina for a long overdue, albeit much too brief, getaway to Dallas, Texas to spend some quality time with one of my most favorite, life-long people in the universe - my dear cousin Greg.

Even as I excitedly counted down the weeks, days, and hours to departure, I was riddled with guilt over leaving my husband at the mercy of the children for a long weekend. Especially when they all came down with whiny, snotty colds. Although that did not stop me from getting on the plane... or trying to anyway.

March 31st, Thursday evening the clan dropped me off at RDU two hours prior, all packed up properly with travel-size everything in two carry-on bags. --An ugly floral roller bag for clothes, toiletries, etc. and a shoulder bag strictly for my purse and camera bag, least the airline nazis fine me for the extra baggage. It was all a pretty uneventful process initially; I checked in, took my shoes off, did the security thing, found my gate and settled in to read, “Night” by Nobel Laureate and Holocaust survivor, Elie Wiesel (a truly amazing and painfully poetic account; a definite MUST read).

Shortly before boarding, an announcement calling all final destinations for Dallas to the AirTran service desk... I approach and am told that my Atlanta connection has already been missed due to extreme weather conditions - you know, the hurricane-like precursor to the recent tornado epidemic up and down the southern coast as well as all the crazy winter-storms that happened up north. Yay. My choices were: 1) (have Kevin get the kids back up, turn around and come get me) stay the night in Raleigh and (get back up at 4 am with the kids and) fly out at 6 am to Atlanta, or 2) fly to Atlanta and stay the night in a partially comped hotel for a 10 am flight to Dallas... either way, I would arrive in Dallas around the same time Friday morning. --Kevin and I agreed the lesser of the evils was to stay the night in Atlanta and get a good night’s sleep.

Ha ha ha.

So I arrive in Atlanta, the airline equivalent of an overpopulated ZOO, on the last flight of the evening, call the number on the voucher, make a reservation for the Clarion (four start hotel my ass!) for fifty bucks, and then make my way to the other end of the earth to stand and wait a half hour for an over-crowded hotel shuttle bus whose final destination would be my good night’s sleep.

Ha ha ha.

In reality, the forty or so of us tired, hungry disgruntled travelers from a great number of flights were dumped off to form a long-ass winding line throughout the hotel lobby with our bags of crap for check in... I was finally assigned a room and given a room key around 1 am, wished the other weary souls well, got a glass of overpriced house wine in an unwashed glass, and went to my room... to discover the bathroom sink was leaking and I had no toothpaste. An hour later, wine finished, teeth brushed, and sink fixed, I crawled into bed utterly exhausted... only to be awakened not two hours later by a drunken middle-aged cat fight in the hallway outside my room. SERIOUSLY?!! We’re not on spring break here you assholes! WTF? --Normally, my inclination would be to step into the hall and yell at these two twats, but I was just too freaking tired and pissed at the whole scenario and the fact that I had already missed an evening with Greg and decided it would be a good idea not to get hauled off to jail in Atlanta so I lay there cursing in my room until I fell back asleep.

The next thing my barely cognizant brain registered was the sound of the hotel room phone ringing with my morning wake-up call and scaring the crap out of me. Holy hell. I felt like I had been run over by a truck. --The irony that it was then April Fool’s Day was not lost on me.

I was already set to be in a foul mood, mentally daring anyone to jack with me, and sulked back to the too small shuttle bus for the 10 mile ride back to the airport... where a handsome young man promptly gave up his seat for me. I was neither prepared nor accustomed to such chivalry (heck, even as a notably miserable pregnant woman, I don’t recall someone doing that; you’re lucky if they hold the freaking door) and softened my mood accordingly in gratitude. Then a middle-aged African American man boarded the shuttle bus with a warm, happy smile and plopped down in the driver’s seat announcing, “Okay folks, my name is Darryl and I am your driver this morning. I’ll be taking you back to the airport quickly and safely and want to make sure that you have as positive an experience with me as possible so maybe you’ll want to come back and visit the great city of Atlanta and not hate us for screwing up your flights.”

In spite of myself, I smiled inside. He had that infectious kind of happy energy that would not allow otherwise. And for the next ten miles he gave us a brief “tour” of Atlanta, the beloved city in which he had lived all of his life... He tossed out geographical facts and history lessons all along the way - everything from downtown attractions to MLK events and memorials. He told us where four-time World Heavyweight champion Evander Holyfield lives and how his mansion is now open to the public to supplement his cash flow in paying off his eight baby-mamas “but we aren’t going there ‘cause we don’t feel sorry for him...” And he pointed out the $159 million runway overpass at Atlanta airport which took ten years to complete and was only used once for landing causing a massive pile-up on 285 when several terrified drivers erroneously thought the plane was about to crash into the highway.

A hard-working father of two (one in med school and one aged 7), Darryl was a natural “entertainer” with a genuinely likable personality. He truly made my day, lifting my spirits in ways I did not realize at the moment until I caught myself chuckling later remembering his commentary.

By the time I checked in and trekked across the enormous airplane metropolis with its many concords and subways, my back was on fire from carrying the shoulder bag - which I saw as more than enough justification to pop into a baggage store and purchase another wheelie bag. Of course nothing I could afford came in just a simple black so I quickly grabbed a black and white giraffe print to compliment the ugly couch-looking floral I was dragging around, then made a bee-line to Starbucks for some desperately needed caffeine. --It soon became clear that I hadn’t thought this process through when I was handed my coffee and had not an extra hand for the new extra wheelie bag - which would not stand on it’s own and kept falling over. Doh! The man behind me kindly offered to carry my coffee and follow me to my gate. I was so tired and grateful, I almost cried.

Found my gate, sat down the flowery couch bag and my coffee and turned to a couple across from me to ask them to please watch my bag a moment as I went to exchange the other. They politely obliged. When I returned 10 minutes or so later (with a hideous, though better constructed, primary-color blue bag capable of standing upright) and thanked them, they smiled, said I was welcome and told me that they had been waiting at the wrong gate as they stood to leave. Even after their realization, they had sat watching my bag as promised and patiently waited for my return...

My former boss, Dr. Mary Ruth Coleman, truly one of the most remarkable human beings I have ever known, refers to such happy, uplifting surprises as “blessings” and believes that life is full of such if you're open to it... I felt then in that moment, truly blessed. --Sometimes it is the kindness of strangers that makes all the difference in our lives, and sometimes when we’re lucky, we get to be the strangers.

I remember the day in June of 1999 when I returned to the states from living in Germany, leaving behind my husband and father of my child, and the only place that ever really felt like home for me. It was probably the hardest decision I have ever made... I had my entire life crammed into three of the biggest, heaviest suitcases ever packed in the history of people packing things as they were each filled with the stuff that meant the most to me: boxes and boxes of photographs and other priceless mementos I thought I might never see again if I left them behind (I mailed my clothing). In addition to the mega-luggage, there were four carry-ons, a stroller, a car seat, one hysterically barking Pug in a kennel, and my 18 month old non-ambulatory, non-verbal angel of a daughter, Isabel. --I foolishly left Frankfurt with no money what-so-ever and by the time I landed in LaGuardia (where I was soon confronted with the absolute rudest people I have ever met in my life), my bank account back in Germany had been emptied. Realizing I had less than an hour to get to the opposite side of the airport, I desperately asked for help with my bags and was dismissively told that was not the problem of airport personnel. An older woman who had been seated near me on the plane overheard my situation, turned and gave me eight dollars, hugged me, and disappeared before I could thank her. Out of nowhere appeared an immigrant porter who offered to help me with my bags. He told me we had to hurry. I followed him blindly with swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks for what seemed like miles and into a tram. Halfway to my stop, another military wife who had been on my flight turned to me and said, “There’s twenty dollars under the lining of your daughter’s car seat,” and with that, she gave me a warm smile and exited the tram. --I have never ever forgotten either of those women. I don’t know their names nor do I even recall their faces, but I have never forgotten their immeasurable kindness on one of the worst days of my life... I gave all twenty-eight dollars to the porter.

Yes, MRC, you're right, life is full of blessings, often when you least expect them... I am grateful for all the blessings I have received in my travels through this life and I always try my best to pay it forward each and every time I am lucky enough to be the stranger.

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference."

...Elie Wiesel

picture day.

2011-05-05T20:29:00.006-04:00

...Bringin' Sexy Back (Yeah baybee), a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

Today was school “picture day” at Bella’s school, for the second time this year.

A lot has changed in the tradition of school pictures since I was in grade school needless to say. Like digital cameras for starters. Also, when I was in school, you only had one photo taken once a year with the same background and pose. We dressed in our best, or rather what our parents deemed was best -- I mean, this was the ‘70’s were talking about folks, so ‘our best’ was very subjective and should be taken into account. Many months later, we would finally get our proofs to order from which we had to return so the orders could be matched up and then a few months after that, our photo package would arrive and most of them would be gone, swapped out with friends, before even getting off the school bus.

We did not have different poses to choose from and there were no retakes for the yearbook because you didn’t get yearbooks in elementary school. We did not have cute little magnets or bookmarks or trading cards and we didn’t have our names printed on our pictures. Our parents scrapped together and bought the big packages back then with plenty to give away to grandparents and family, display on walls and bookcases, and wallet sizes that were actually carried in wallets because that was the one and only time a year that most of us had “professional” photos taken documenting our youthful existence throughout our educational career. --And we sure as hell did not have to pre-order and pre-pay for photos yet to even be taken as is the policy with Lifetouch Studios - who received a nasty letter from me with my minimum order today, but I digress...

I remember many, many years ago on picture days at Cleveland Elementary School, we would all line up and march up with our classes to the third floor auditorium where all the school photo equipment was set up on stage. --The same stage my father, his siblings, and parents of most of the rest of my classmates had once strolled across when they had once upon a time graduated Cleveland High School. (Oh yeah, my Grandfather went there too.) The background for the vast majority of my elementary photos was always some seasonally-inappropriate artsy spring/summer woodsy medley (seen here) and a fake “fence” which we were posed against year after year in the exact same arm-crossed fashion (and me with my pinky finger dangling off the edge awkwardly as though it were broken, every single year) - as if leaning against a fence in the woods smiling like a dolt was the most natural thing in the world. But then again, it was the ‘70’s man, perhaps our school photographer was a hippy?

The absolute worst school photo theme ever in the history of school pictures was the “library / reading a book” look. This theme was shot in front of a comically unrealistic backdrop painted with bookshelves lined with books and required sitting at a desk with a colorfully illustrated kiddie book open (and held down by our hands so the pages wouldn’t flop around); that was 5th grade I think. O.M.G. did those suck a big one. I’m not even sure any of those still exist; I think I burned them all. --Oh, and then one year, 7th or 8th grade I believe, as we moved into a new decade of horrid fashion and tackiness, the creative directors of school photography in a brain-fart of inspiration keeping with the times, incorporated a high-back wicker chair into the setting. You know the ones. ...Actually, now that I think about it, I think they used the "library" background for that one too.

Yes, picture day always yielded a surprise because you never knew just what kind of God-awful tackiness they might spring on you next until you walked into the auditorium and got in line with your class. Just when we got used to the fence in the woods and all the photos in our homes matched, they went and got all crazy on us.

I honestly don’t think I have a single decent school picture of myself but then again, isn’t that the point? Everyone looks awkward and clumsy with freakish growth spurts, bowl-cut hairdos, and zits. Not to mention the ever classic deer-in-headlights expression that inevitably happens after shooting a couple hundred kids and the photographer is ready to get the heck outta dodge. Some of my school pictures could most certainly rival the DMV’s most memorable shots. And that’s pretty much why we buy those stupid things -- for the nostalgia and comedy. Few things are more fun than flipping through years worth of bad hairdos, bizarre clothing, and perplexing expressions. I mean, nothing says comedy like a snaggle-tooth smile in an obnoxious big-collared nylon Saturday Night Fever shirt leaning against a fence in the woods with a broken finger... except maybe posting those same pictures of your friends on Facebook. ;-)

"Most things in life are moments of pleasure and a lifetime of embarrassment; photography is a moment of embarrassment and a lifetime of pleasure."

...Tony Benn

funny things.

2011-04-26T21:57:00.001-04:00

Without fail, whenever I see something really funny I am without my camera.

There was a time when I carried around a big honking purse (which was actually a stylish and expensive laptop bag) for the sole purpose of carting around my old Nikon D50 as well as baby wipes, diapers, toys, and other mommie items, but mostly to have my camera close. Of course this is not the best solution for one with degenerative disc disease and chronic back pain. So about a year ago (after shooting RAW with a DSLR for 3 years, I thought it would be handy to have a nifty little point and shoot that would fit conveniently in my change purse... I returned it the same day after a dozen or so crappy shots. Oh well.

And sure, I have one of those so-called "smart" phones with a camera in it but those images suck too. --Besides, after my smart phone navigated itself to my ebay application and purchased for me a watched item while deep inside my pocket, I decided to password protect the damn thing... which kinda hinders the ability to access the camera function quickly.

So last week, I'm driving my son to preschool when I take note of the car in front of me, an older station wagon, being driven by an elderly man with two passengers - a white-haired older lady in the back passenger seat and a gray-haired lady in the front with one of those poufy-old-lady-helmet-hairdos. We're stopped at a stoplight and suddenly the helmet-head lady turns to the driver to reveal the elongated snout of a giant poodle smiling smugly. I immediately burst out laughing driving down the road fumbling to unlock my damn phone to snap a photo of the funniest thing I've seen in a while... The car turned off (I almost followed them!) and I missed the shot. But I'm willing to bet money that the woman in the back seat was the wife!

Fast forward through the hysteria and Easter maddness to this week...

Monday morning I arrive at Liam's preschool to find, not one, not two, but three vultures perched upon the swing set of the school's playground, presumably awaiting for a wounded toddler to hobble out and fall over for easy pickings. That's never a good sign. But oh what a picture!

And me without my camera, again.

"He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad. And that was all his patrimony."

...Rafael Sabatini

NoH8.

2011-04-25T20:08:00.012-04:00

NoH8, a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

I met my girlfriend Felicia in kindergarten, lifetimes ago; she was one of my very first friends. And today, I'm happy to say, she's still one of my most favorite peeps.

Felicia is one of the most amazingly unique women I know... (and I am fortunate to know a lot of amazing women!) She has a heart of pure gold, an infectious laugh, loves Stephen King and the Beatles, is honest to a fault, a fiercely protective mother of three, a good wife, daughter, and sister, and is one of the most unconditionally loyal and selflessly generous friends I have ever been blessed to have in my life. --I have, on many occasions, felt less than worthy, but always thankful.

Of course, lots of people have good hearts, great laughs, and like the Beatles, but it takes a truly remarkable human being to give the gift of life as a human incubator... You see, Felicia is a gestational surrogate (pictured here in her third surrogacy).

Most of us hear talk of those freakish women who feel utterly divine during their pregnancy with the whole glowy thing and nesting instincts, baking and cleaning and multitasking like there is no tomorrow. --Personally, I was NOT one of those women; I was in fact a miserable cow and believed such women to be something of nonsense and myth conjured from a delusional male rumor mill... alas, it’s true, they are out there and Felicia is one of those freakish women. And, ever resourceful with her golden heart and generosity, she chose to use her powers for good, to help others who desperately wanted the family she has.

I won’t get into the details of the whole surrogacy process except to say, there is heck of a lot more involved than just sticking the proverbial bun in the oven; it’s impossible for me to imagine all the various testing, legalities, and poking and proding piled atop a 9 month sentence, but that’s why she’s the surrogate, not me.

This last pregnancy has a beautiful story, with a somewhat non-traditional twist... A tale of a loving and devoted, happily married couple unable to have a child of their own. Except that this baby has two adoring fathers. --That’s right, a happily married gay male couple - who obviously don’t live in California...

Which is what inspired me to do this shoot.

In November 2008, California passed the ‘Marriage Protection Act’ also known as Proposition 8, which declares that marriage is only valid between a man and woman in the state of California. As a form of photographic silent protest, The NoH8 Campaign was born, created by celebrity photographer Adam Bouska and partner, Jeff Parshley.

Personally, I am of the mind to live and let live and continue to wonder why we all just can’t get along. The reason boils down to the vast majority of people who vehemently believe that their way is the right and only way, forever and ever amen, period. Well, if that were so, then I think our Creator might have seen this coming, given pause in mid-creation of mankind, and went back to the drawing board. Besides, with regard to the Proposition 8 argument, heterosexuals in traditional marriages have no room to dispute who holds the title when it comes to domestic dysfunction... and after all, who produces more homosexual babies than heterosexuals?

A couple of weeks before she was due to pop, a small group of awesome people moved mountains and schedules to make this photo happen. Of course, I could have snagged any pregnant model and captured similar symbolism, but the legacy would not have been there... the legacy of love that is this baby’s life.

During make up, Felicia explained why she agreed to be a surrogate for this baby’s fathers as only Felicia could (to paraphrase):

“What is most important to me is that the baby is wanted and loved. When a gay couple chooses to have a baby, it’s most certainly not the result of a drunken one-night-stand or a failure in birth control. It’s not like a gay guy wakes up in a bad relationship and pees on a stick and oops, ‘I’m pregnant; we’re gonna have a baby’ and deals with it. They’ve thought about this and planned for a long time, they’ve gone through a lot, and spent a lot; that baby is wanted very much.”

And it’s true.

Shouldn’t the most important provision in any child’s life be that they are loved and wanted? Not race nor gender nor nationality, not faith nor social status, and not sexuality. If a child is loved and wanted, that is the foundation for a successful, confident, and genuine soul who will grow up to make a beautiful mark upon the world. Everything else is just a learning process.

The shoot itself was a lot of fun. More good times to add to my memory banks with Felicia. --As with any shoot, there is always one photo that stands out from all the rest. Often it’s not the one I originally envisioned, but it’s clear when I see it, it is The One. This photo is IT. And I love it. I love everything it stands for -- peace and love and hope - hope that one day, in spite of ourselves, maybe we can just all get a long.

Baby (boy) G. was born April 6th. Both of his fathers were present at his birth with front row seats, no doubt reaffirming their sexuality (anyone who has witnessed the miracle of birth knows exactly what I mean). I was fortunate enough to meet them both and Baby G. The love and excitement in the room was intoxicating and infectious. I felt like a happy spy witnessing something truly wonderful, special, and amazing, a historic cornerstone in our changing times, as I watched this new happy family discovering themselves, like any new family beginning the next chapter of their lives... And of course, Felicia was right, this baby is so loved, so wanted... and what a lucky little lamb.

Baby G. (NoH8 baby), a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

Then one of the dads asked if I’d like to hold him. Are you kidding me? What sane woman would pass up the opportunity to hold and snuggle a newborn? I practically threw my camera down. And then there he was, nestled in the crook of my arm, light as a feather and sleeping like an angel, smelling of Heaven.

He was beautiful and perfect. Just like love.

“They are preserving the sanctity of marriage, so that two gay men who've been together for twenty-five years can't get married, but a guy can still get drunk in Vegas and marry a hooker at the Elvis chapel! The sanctity of marriage is saved!”

...Lea DeLaria

Whataburger.

2011-04-14T07:34:00.005-04:00

Whataburger., a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

Considered by many to be a Texas delicacy, I could not resist snapping a phone photo of my Whataburger while in Dallas, similar to this one, and texting it to my favorite displaced Texans...

For years I heard my ex-husband (also a Texan) and friends talk about this great, greasy phenomena and I always thought "waterburger" was a strange name for a burger chain. It wasn't until 2000 when I drove from Raleigh to Brownsville with my soon-to-be-ex-husband (to say it was a hellish haul would be an understatement) to finally meet my soon-to-be-ex-in-laws that I first had a taste of Whataburger. Sure it's yummy, in that clog-your-arteries kind of way, but not sure it was worth all the hype, but then again, I'm not from Texas so I suspect I am somewhat immune to the nostalgia.

In any case, my husband was the first to reply to my taunting text visual, stating simply that I sucked. However, my favorite response came quickly from my adoring sister, Elvia:

"I would cuss u out but I gave up cussing for Lent! Enjoy and I hope you get diarrhea!"

"Sacred cows make the best hamburger."

...Mark Twain

happy Saint Birthday.

2011-03-20T22:53:00.008-04:00

the wreck. a photo by Luna Soledad on Flickr.

Kevin is a Saint Patrick's day baby and as is customary, we must have his birthday lunch at an Irish pub, so we closed the office for a leisurely couple of hours to try out a new spot that had just opened near by just in time for the mad Irish rush...

Ballymor Irish Pub sounded great, mouth-watering even, on the web and I suppose to be fair, I'll have to visit another day when they're offering more than their holiday menu of three whole items served in fine paper Chinet with plastic cutlery before completely dissin' them.

En route back to the office on Six Forks Road, traffic had come to a complete halt... I was just beginning to wonder if there was a wreck up ahead when I heard the screeching of tires seconds before being slammed into the driver's seat in front of me. Holy hell... there goes my back again.

Poor Partner Esq. (previously known as The Associate Esq.) -- we always make him drive when we go out as he is childless at present and therefore has the cleanest and roomiest vehicle. And apparently also the safer of the two vehicles involved in the rear-end collision as the car which struck us was pretty much totaled while the Explorer maintained its dignity with only some bumper scuffing and the dislodging of the spare tire beneath the rear end.

The other younger fellow was shaken up of course but very nice and apologetic. We all waited together while Raleigh's finest did their thing and the wrecker arrived hauling off the other vehicle. The fellow began chatting casually with the guys asking where we worked...

The Husband, Esq. gave a little chuckle and simply replied, "Just right down the street."

"What do you do?" he inquired.

The Husband, Esq. and The Partner, Esq. exchanged comical glances before The Husband, Esq. said, "We're attorneys."

"Oh nice," the now carless driver says, "I just hit two lawyers."

The look on his face was priceless. (No one bothered to tell him that it was The Husband, Esq.'s birthday too and The Partner, Esq. was now running late for court...)

An hour or so later, my back is already on fire and seizing up on me so I dip into my emergency stash of pain relief while trying to score a last minute chiropractic appointment. As a result, The Husband, Esq. is charged with picking up Liam from daycare... only to phone me 20 minutes later to inform me that he had gotten a ticket for expired inspection. Oh yay.

I asked him if he mentioned to the cop that he'd already been involved in an accident. No, he said, but he did ask the officer why he hadn't wished him a happy birthday... the cop smiled sheepishly and told him he hoped his day got better.

So probably NOT Kevin's happiest birthday, but definitely one of his most memorable. Love you anyway babe!

Such is life...

"The return of my birthday, if I remember it, fills me with thoughts which it seems to be the general care of humanity to escape."

...Samuel Johnson

life is an autobahn.

2011-03-14T20:50:00.008-04:00

This weekend was supposed to be my desperately needed Girl's Weekend, though not only is 'Law a jealous mistress,' she's also a trifling bitch who stacked this week's calendar for The Husband, Esq. with, among other festivities, a 2-day trial and 2-day mediation which meant either I gave up my Girl's Weekend or find myself a new job and a new place to live (read = hide) 'cause when The Husband, Esq. shifts into Trial Mode, well -- remember the Incredible Hulk Series when, in just about every episode, somebody would start some shit and David Banner would say, "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry." -- he doesn't turn green or anything, but my usually easy-going, joke-cracking, wise-guy hubby turns into a hyper-focused, ultra-competitive Pitt bull who is anything but fun to be around... SO, I packed up the offspring and headed to Virginia to play single-mom with my sister and left the hubs at the mercy of his Mistress...

His famous last words to me: "Don't get in trouble and if you do, make sure it's in North Carolina so it won't cost me as much." Doh, JINX!

Fast forward to Sunday's return trip back to Raleighwood...

On the NC border, Virginia State Route 85 is a nice easy stretch of divided highway cutting through miles of beautiful woods and farmland; not a bad drive at all really. Except for the numerous "Official Use Only" cut-thru / turn-arounds spaced every mile or two or three that just kind-of sneak up on you when you're barreling ass down the road. Sometimes with a car parked up in there. Sometimes the car parked up in there has little lights up on top, blue ones... like the one that pulled me over in Dinwiddie.

Once upon a time as a Criminal Justice student at WTCC, I incidentally discovered that having a stash of Criminal Law books in the front seat was a helpful gimmick for avoiding traffic tickets. Especially since, back then, most any badge carrying law enforcement professional in the greater North Carolina triangle area had studied under the much beloved Bob Decatsye and Mickey Williamson at one time or another. One peek in my window would strike a conversation about school on to, "How's ole Deke?" and end with a quick lecture on slowing it down and wishing me luck. Hell, it worked so well that long after I had left my studies to provide for myself, I kept a text book or two in the car for just such occasions... ahhh, those were the days...

As soon as I saw the Virginia State Police Officer sitting there in that little turn as I whizzed right on by in the bright red Jeep, I knew he had me so I went ahead and eased into the right lane and waited for him to catch up. Dammit! I thought. Great, I'm never gonna hear the end of it. I thought. Oh shit! What's the gun law in Virginia? I thought.

I dug my .38 out and placed it in plain view on the front passenger's seat in between my purse, camera, scratched CD's, miscellaneous junk, and kiddie provisions and prepared for the worst.

Hands on the steering wheel squarely at 10 and 2, I announced as the officer reached the driver's window, "I have a loaded pistol in the car."

"Is it registered to you?" he inquired without batting an eye.

"Yes sir."

"Not a problem," he said, "but ma'am, you were going 85 mph, and that's a problem."

He peeked in the car at the kids in the back seat at Isabel who smiled and waved and Liam, completely passed out, drooling on his seat belt. Too bad, he would have been much more excited about the encounter than I was.

The officer returned handing me my driver's license and the traffic citation for 85 in a 70 zone and proceeded to give me the court spiel and share with me tales of his last stop of two guys doing 90 mph who wanted to argue with him on the side of the highway, "I told him, 'Man I am not the person you need to be arguing with because you're gonna lose.'" --Yeah, I could tell that about him.

"Well," I said, "I know better, my husband is an attorney. Unfortunately, not licensed to practice in the state of Virginia though."

"I bet he's got some friends up here who can help you out," he offered.

"If he doesn't, he's about to be making one."

"A successful lawsuit is the one worn by a policeman."

...Robert Frost

(un)professionalism.

2011-03-02T20:30:00.009-05:00

attack., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

pro·fes·sion·al·ism
–noun
1. professional character, spirit, or methods.
2. the standing, practice, or methods of a professional, as distinguished from an amateur.

So recently, The Husband, Esq., had a Equitable Distribution mediation in yet another tedious, though not exceptionally complex, domestic matter... or at least it shouldn't have been all that complicated as The Husband, Esq. had figured on settling the remaining issues in around 3 hours considering that a threesome of experienced, heavy-hitter legal professionals were allegedly working toward a common goal: getting the parties to agree on stuff within the confines of the law.

A mediation, for those who don't know, is a costly process whereby the two parties involved in the matter come together with their attorneys in a common location (though in separate rooms) and a neutral third party attorney 'mediates' (between the parties' rooms) through their respective counsels in attempts to reach an agreement in what is basically a last ditch effort to avoid an even more costly court trial.

The specifics of the matter are mute in this story even if I could tell it; what is important to know is that there's a certain amount of ethics that go into how attorney's behave themselves and rules of conduct and such, like not directly speaking to nor contacting the Opposing Party who you know to be represented by counsel absent of the courtroom and only while they are on the stand. (For Pro Se parties, that is another matter entirely because then you are your own counsel... and we've all heard the phrase, "...fool for a client.") And of course, it goes without saying that as a professional, one is expected to conduct oneself as a professional, play nice, use good manners, and all the other life lessons learned in preschool.

The anticipated 3 hour mediation began around 9-ish... and ended approximately NINE hours later. Hardly a record, but, well, you can imagine the frustration and irritation after spending an entire day arguing with no real break to speak of, not to mention, the heightened emotional state of the parties.

It was near this time of day that the Opposing Counsel was inexplicably compelled to stick her head into The Husband, Esq.'s conference room to fuel the fire and verbally slight The Husband, Esq.'s client. WTF? (Anyone who knows The Husband, Esq. should know that challenge and confrontation doesn't end well.) After a brief exchange, The Husband, Esq. tells her to GET OUT.

Not one to be told what to do, the Opposing Counsel appears yet again in the conference room of The Husband, Esq. with more copies of more last minute changes and revisions that had not been on the table for discussion and commences to pass them out between The Husband, Esq. and his client. Words are exchanged loudly and she is told again to GET OUT.

(Here's the good part...)

At this point, having nothing left in her professional arsenal of assault, this 50-ish Doctor of Jurisprudence / Opposing Counsel resorts to hunching over and waiving her arms and hands wildly about in a creepy spell-casting fashion, not dissimilar to a 12 year old bully mimicking the legendary boogie-man, and in a juvenile taunt exclaims, "Oooooh, Keviiin's getttinnng maaaad!" while backing out of the room like a lunatic... leaving The Husband, Esq. sitting there with his mouth hanging open, utterly dumbfounded and speechless. --A rarity indeed.

Again, W.T.F.? Really???

The good news is that in spite of the antics, the parties somehow managed to settle and The Husband, Esq. had a jolly good time reenacting the episode for his darling wife that evening and his staff the next day.

Of course, my personal fun in all this was coming up with a list of appropriate come-backs:

"I know I am but what are you?" (submitted by Alvin)
"Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me."
In a Jack Nicholson impression from the classic movie, 'A Few Good Men,' "You can't handle the truth!"
"I'm tellin'." (again, Alvin) ...and when all else fails there's always,
Placing one's thumbs in each ear while waving fingers and sticking out one's tongue.

Just another fun-filled adventure from your friendly neighborhood law office! ;-)

"No letters after your name are ever going to be a total guarantee of competence any more than they are a guarantee against fraud. Improving competence involves continuing professional development ... That is the really crucial thing, not just passing an examination."

...Colette Bowe

happy 84.

2011-02-25T21:53:00.005-05:00

a lifetime of love., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Today is my Grandma's 84th birthday.

She has certainly seen better days. Visiting her now is always bittersweet for me as the essence of the wonder-woman I grew up with has all but moved on waiting patiently for her soul to follow...

She's tired, I know this, and is winding down. Her health is failing and her appetite gone. It's hard to convince her to eat anything especially when she's quick to argue about the big breakfast she just cooked and how she can't eat another bite, even though it's 6pm and she hasn't been in front of a stove in years.

She sleeps a lot these days, making up for all that she's missed in her long lifetime I suppose, but a couple of weeks ago she fell into a deep, sound sleep giving quite a fright to all who love her. When she finally woke in the evening, she indicated to my aunt that she was fine and had spent the day talking with the Lord. The Lord told her that soon he would heal her and take her home; she said that was fine by her.

That is so Grandma.

Grandma has always had a strong faith in God though she rarely went to church. Her church was the outdoors, her gardens, her flowers, the wilderness, and wildlife. I believe Grandma knows the truth. I also believe that her truth is one of many.

She died once, many years ago on the operating table during a procedure. She told me of how she watched from above all the commotion as doctors and nurses scurried frantically about her body in attempts to revive her. Like so many others have recounted of near death experiences, she saw the "tunnel of lights" and felt completely at peace, ready for the journey. She saw a hand move away from her and understood that it was not her time... She awoke later in the hospital with vivid memories of her encounter.

When I was young, Grandma and I had many conversations about death and dying and God and what we thought happened next. We made a promise to each other that whoever went first would try our best to come back and let the other know we got there okay.

I don't know how I will ever face it, but I know that time is coming.

Kevin, the kids and I went to see her recently and took some of her favorite foods in hopes that she would eat: pimento cheese (yuk!), fresh strawberries, applesauce, and a couple of new things to try - blackberry flavored water and a Starbucks coffee.

Grandma always loved her coffee and sweet tea (the mother's milk of the south). After more than eight decades, I decided it was high-time she had her first Starbucks. So I took her one: a sugar-free 1/2 decaf. Cinnamon Dolce with whole milk.

Each time she tasted it, she said it was downright delicious. She ate a quarter of a pimiento cheese sandwich before telling me again about her big breakfast. She tried the blackberry flavored water and told me how she could make it taste much better because it wasn't sweet enough, "All you gotta do is stew some fresh blackberries with a cup or two of sugar..." she said, which kinda defeats the purpose when you're diabetic but I'm sure she was right. After a slice or two of strawberries, she began trying to feed the children, who were happy to eat Grandma's strawberries and Grandma was happy to see the children eat them.

"Okay Grandma, how about you have the applesauce and Liam will eat the strawberries, he hasn't been eating well."

I turned to my son, "Tell you what, for every bite of applesauce Grandma eats, you have to eat a strawberry," I said as I was cutting the berry halves into minuscule pieces.

Worked like a charm and both Grandma and Liam finished all of their fruit while Isabel gobbled down the remainder of the uneaten pimento cheese sandwich. Grandma was very proud of Liam for eating all of his strawberries. ;-)

84 years: 1st Starbucks., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

"Oh Grandma," I said for the dozenth time, "I brought you a coffee to try. It's from a coffee shop called Starbucks. I think you'll like it; it has cinnamon in it."

And once again, she would try her very first Starbucks latte and proclaim in surprise, "Well Crys, I've never had coffee like this before but this is downright delicious."

Happy Birthday Grandma!
I love you! Always and always.

"Grandma always made you feel she had been waiting to see just you all day and now the day was complete."

...Marcy DeMaree

ice cream floats.

2011-02-21T13:16:00.004-05:00

Eve & me, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

IBC Root Beer, in my humble opinion, is the best stuff. And makes the most awesome root beer float, even with the diet root beer. Not sure why we fool ourselves with the whole diet soda bit when coupled with something like ice cream or a Big Mac, but we do. It's as if by shaving off a few soda calories we're giving ourselves permission to indulge elsewhere, but whatever...

So last night, I made myself a (diet) IBC Root Beet float with Bryers chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream. Liam thought it was the strangest concoction he'd ever seen until he tasted it. --My mistake. That's like feeding a dog from the table - then you have to listen to it whine and beg throughout dinner.

My favorite part of an ice cream float is when the ice cream freezes from the cold soda and produces those delicious little ice cream flavored icebergs in the mug - a cold crunchy delight. =)

I remember once back in Germany, hanging out with my sister Evelyn... We hit the Baskin Robbins on post at Leighton Barracks for ice cream floats. Oh the days of simple joys... As we continued our stroll across base, me sipping my yummy float and hunting for icebergs, Eve suddenly makes a mad dash for the nearest trashcan as if she would vomit up bile and spat out a mouthful of her ice cream float.

"OMG, it's ROOT BEER!" she exclaimed in utter disgust.

"Uhm, yeah, that's generally how ice cream floats are made," I replied.

"That's disgusting. I hate root beer. It's supposed to be Coke!"

"Coke? THAT'S disgusting," I said looking at her as though that was the craziest thing I'd ever heard. "A Coke float? On what planet?"

"Puerto Rico!"

"Age does not diminish the extreme disappointment of having a scoop of ice cream fall from the cone."

...Jim Fiebig

a perfectly good diaper.

2011-02-18T21:17:00.010-05:00

baby + prunes..., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

So yesterday I took a break from life and lost myself in the safe, soothing labyrinth of words, wisdom, and personal amusement commonly referred to as "the bookstore." --The day had been such a downward spiral of aggravation riddled with angst and irritation that I had no choice but to remove myself from the rat-race and fade into some deliriously enjoyable escape that can only be found in solitude between the covers of a good book... I collected a pile to review, found a lone vacant chair, popped a Klonopin, wrote a few lines of nastiness in my red Moleskine, and thumbed through my selections waiting for the daggered edge to leave me.

After an hour or so, I calmly, coolly, and collectively rose from my hideaway and made my way toward the register, only to find myself distracted en route by a book entitled, "Sh*t My Kids Ruined." How could I not pick that up?

I stood alone in the store flipping page after page through a glorious pictorial of the joys of parenting in its finest moments... and the wake of destruction left behind by our spawn. Photographs of everything from microwaved Barbies and Hot Wheels cars... strewn cereal, baby powder, flour, condiments, and nearly anything imaginable found in a household that comes in a box or bottle... a carpet cleaner filled with a gallon of milk... fantastic poop catastrophes... the artistic devastation that only Sharpie markers can create - on leather sofas, carpet, cabinets, and walls... broken windows, appliances, shower doors, plasma TVs and laptops... and my personal favorite - that literally had me laughing out loud: a photo of someone's hard-earned college diploma from Louisiana State University completely adorned in a toddler's scrawl!

It was exhilarating! Like an unmistakable sign from the universe that screamed at me: "YOU ARE NOT ALONE!" Yay I thought! =D

And this little therapeutic antidote began as a website started by a fellow frustrated and no-doubt exhausted mother, whose pain (and comedy) I deeply feel.

I mean sure, I could probably write my own book complete with pictorials of shit my kids have ruined over the years -- from clothing, food, and furniture to floors, carpet, walls, VHS tapes and DVD's... beautiful days and perfectly good diapers... not to mention my sanity, which leads me to this post:

Once upon a time when Liam was but a wee lad of 7 months, the family unit and I set out for some quality time on a lovely spring Saturday in April (because like pets, you feel guilty if you don't take them for a walk once in a while). We spent a few hours at a local carnival and as it was such a lovely day, we decided to ride out to the beautiful Duke Gardens in Durham, North Carolina for some fresh air and sunshine in a scenic atmosphere in hopes of capturing some life long memories in photographs.

Well, we certainly accomplished that!

We pulled into a parking spot and began to disembark though quickly discovered, much to our disgust and horror, that we had had a major blowout. "O.M.G." cannot even begin to describe the sight I beheld...

I called to Kevin, who, cued by the panic-stricken shriek in my voice, bolted over to my side of the car where we both stood, mouths gaping open like black holes of disbelief at our darling, happily-smiling cherubic baby son, completely covered from head to toe in SHIT. Yes, that's right, s-h-i-t. --It looked as if this child, clothing, car seat and all, had be dipped into a well-used septic tank. How on earth one tiny being produced such an explosion of foulness I will never know. Wow. It was truly impressive. Not a proud moment mind you, but impressive none-the-less. Holy hell.

"Give him prunes she said..." Kevin finally says in his best wife-mocking voice breaking the spell -- just as shitty happy baby stops flailing his fat little arms and legs in delight -- and completely in slow-motion to the viewing world around him -- reaches up with his little diarrhea-coated dimpled fist and plants it right in his mouth!...

I'm not sure if I gagged first or shouted, "Nooooo!" while leaping with the stealth of a Cheetah to grab his hand (again it was all a slow-motion blur) but irregardless, my prey escaped me and thus the day forevermore became known as: "The Day Liam Ate Poop."

As I said, it was a beautiful spring day. A lovely day for a wedding in fact, of which there were two. --Imagine the looks of horror, disgust, judgment, and pity on the upturned faces of many an old money wedding guest crossing the parking lot adorned in their finest formals, off to celebrate the blissful unions of their loved ones. And here we were laughing hysterically and taking pictures (memories to last a lifetime ya know) engaged in the shit-fest of the century, disassembling a crap-covered car seat, with trash bags full of dirty clothes and yucky baby wipes - and a naked, brown-speckled baby on the asphalt.

I don't think I've ever felt like such a hillbilly in my life, though we did have the good grace to deposit our abundant garbage in the proper receptacles - only after of course giving baby Poo-zilla a quick sink bath in one of the wedding reception hall's bathrooms...

And yes Liam, my little love, you can expect to see this photo again one day... in your own wedding reception slide show! ;-)

"Ninety percent of everything is crap.”

...Theodore Sturgeon

adventures in ALE.

2011-02-10T20:27:00.004-05:00

cheers!, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

A lot of people don't know this about me... I was once a "narc" - though the slang term is somewhat misleading. More accurately, I was an undercover volunteer with a Raleigh division of Alcohol Law Enforcement, interestingly enough during my aspiring underage drinking days of high school. Of course, I justified this hypocrisy with the fact that even as an young immature party-goer I had strict self-imposed rules about drinking and driving (riding with my lunatic alcoholic high school boyfriend Stephen was more than enough to scare anyone straight) and the fact that my life's ambition at the time was to join the DEA. Go figure.

Even then I was smart enough to know that such a gig would look great on a resume... and it came with an adrenalin rush all its own.

It all started one evening waiting tables at the little seafood and barbecue restaurant on 50 Highway (way before I-40), the Country Squire, where I used to work. I had a six-top of unusually mixed fellows who didn't look at all like they belonged together with some clean cut in suits and a a couple rough-neck-looking types in leather motorcycle gear. Naturally I was suspicious until a jacket fell open and I spied a badge. Aha. The curiosity was killing me so I just flat out asked who they worked for. The next thing I know they collectively interviewed me and I gave them my number. I was 16.

As an undercover minor, my job was to drive some piece of shit impounded drug car to various convenience stores and bars and attempt to purchase alcohol with my valid NC drivers license looking like the teenager I was complete with pony-tail and orthodontic retainer. I would drive up alone, go in the store, pick out a six pack of beer, and go to the counter to purchase it. Soon to be followed by an undercover ALE agent picking up sodas, snacks, and gum or whatever else was on our collective wish list. If the cashier asked for ID, I showed them and often they still made the sale. I was amazed how easy it was. I mean, I knew all the hot spots in Johnston County to purchase anything but that was out in the sticks; JoCo still had bootleggers for Pete's sake. But wow. --If there was a bust, we'd meet up and do paperwork, statements, etc.

I also acted in several service training videos over the couple of years that I worked for them, though I never saw them. Betcha didn't know I was such a movie star either. ;-)

The most interesting sting I was part of involved Fairlanes bowling alley in Raleigh which no longer exists. A bartender there served 12 pitchers of beer to three teenage boys one night... one of them never made it home. WTF? TWELVE pitchers?!! That's FOUR a piece. What makes anyone think that even a legal adult should be allowed to tank up like that and turned loose on the roads? Oh, I was all in for that one.

So the night of the Fairlanes bust, I went in alone allegedly waiting for my fictitious boyfriend and friends who would never arrive while the entire ALE division bowled at the other end of the alley. --A waitress came up and asked what I'd like to drink; I ordered some domestic beer or another as my taste had yet to mature so I didn't know any better. I see her at the bar chatting with a handsome young fellow obviously full of himself and checking me out (hey, I was purdy cute back then)... She quickly returns to tell me with a wink that I would have to order from the bar but not to worry he was cool. So I walk up to Mr. Cool Bartender and place my order. He asked for my ID and I handed it over. He takes a look and smiles at me, "I'm sorry sweetheart, you've got to be 21 to buy beer." Before I could even reply, he flips my drivers license over and slides it back to me across the counter. "Let's try this again," he says, "how old are you?" "Sixteen," I respond with my best retainer smile. He kind of shakes his head like he cannot believe how stupid I am and then decided to give me one more chance, "One more time. How old are you?" "Twenty-one." He smiles and pours my beer. I walk off and pretend to sip my beer as the agents conclude their game.

It was the same bartender who had served the teenage boys.

My first time ever in a court room was as a witness in the Fairlanes case and yeah, I was nervous as hell when I took the stand. Needless to say, the handsome bartender wasn't smiling at me then. The defense attorney was your stereotypical hard-ass and did his best to bully me into confessing that I had intentionally deceived the unknowing bartender so each question that he asked repetitiously five different ways was answered something like this: "After showing Mr. Cool my valid North Carolina drivers license stating that I am sixteen years of age and after verbally telling him once that I was sixteen years of age, then yes, I said that I was 21 as he indicated that's what he wanted to hear..."

He was convicted and Fairlanes was fined. I remember the judge saying something he thought wise, like the moral of a story in the even he ever was quoted for something great, such as, 'If we can raise our children with strong morals and values until adulthood and shield them from harmful influences, they will be better equipped to make mature decision and use good judgment as adults...'

I thought that was sound wisdom until I moved to Germany and realized that if you could reach the bar you could order a beer and that strangely there wasn't a huge problem with teenage alcohol abuse. I mean, even in a country which brews the best beer in the world, in a society where ale is traditionally a staple with meals and kids grow up with access, where's the fun in sneaking around and getting shit-faced when you can sit down and have a beer with your parents at dinner? Besides, the public transportation is so superior that no one need ever drive a car and cannot afford to really until well into their 20's when they've had time to save the $2000 or so it costs to get a drivers license. Sure, DUI's happen there too (and believe me, the Polezei don't play), but more often than not, they're on bicycles. --So sure, raise your kids to be good people, I get that, but I also believe greatly in the temptation of forbidden fruit.

Anyhoo... working undercover was an extraordinary (and dare I say fun?) experience and has been an interesting topic of conversation in job interviews ever since though ultimately my career path inevitably veered after my first born. --I'm always quick to point out too, that during this time period, I was also a full-time high school student, drove an elementary school bus, and waited tables 20-30 hours a week as proof of my ability to multitask with great efficiency... though again, this was once upon a time well before marriage and children another world ago. Most importantly, I gained a unique perspective into the working lives of the men and women in law enforcement and a healthy respect for the truly good guys. I did go on to major in Criminal Justice and had a heck of a lot of fun participating in Officer Survival Training playing the role of a criminal, not to mention DUI training... but that is but another blog...

And as it so happened, my connections got me out of a few traffic tickets over the years as well, but of course these days, I have The Husband, Esq for that. ;-)

Cheers!

"You can't be a Real Country unless you have a BEER and an airline -- it helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a BEER."

...Frank Zappa

Jabba the sub.

2011-02-07T15:34:00.012-05:00

Warning : "Explicit Lyrics" =)

So Monday is a dry, merciless Twat.

This morning started out with the alarm clock not going off because either there is a poltergeist in our house with a bad sense of humor or one of the small, furniture-climbing children turned the volume off, again. In any case, I woke just in time to bolt up-right, panic, rush to wake / change / clean / groom Isabel, and run downstairs to find a message on the machine from the bus driver saying that there would be a sub today at the regular time... No sooner than I had Bell’s sneakers on, I hear the bus pull to a stop outside and begin honking - at 0645. I dash out the door with daughter in tow and scale down that steep-ass cliff that is our drive-way to find Jabba the Hut at the wheel of the school bus. Holy shit.

I mean, I’m not one to throw stones here -- let’s face it, who doesn’t need to shed a few pounds these days? But when the seat belt which barely reaches around your massive carcus is lost in folds of blubber, I’m thinking it’s questionable whether you can perform any duties at all and it’s way past time for a life change. Oh, but let’s not pick on an obscenely obese person for being the size of a Volkswagen when we can skewer her for being a hatefully rude, nasty, disrespectful bitch and all-around miserable human-being...

I approach the bus with a confused look on my face as I see that Isabel’s assigned Transportation Assistant is also not on board but instead a older gentleman with graying hair and a cap. I politely inquire. Jabba yells at me and tells me, “She aint here!” Really, wow, because I thought perhaps that Ms. R. had had a sex change and grew a beard over the weekend? And why I thought it important to indicate to her the specifics of my daughter’s IEP regarding transportation I have no idea except that it was OMG-thirty in the morning and I had yet to have my coffee, but never-the-less I did and the response was more yelling, something to the tune of, “She aint here! It’s not my fault. What do you expect me to do about it? If she aint here, she aint here!” So I tell Jabba that I would just take my daughter to school myself this morning and I thanked her for being so pleasant about it all. Then asked if she would be driving again? And if so, could she please refrain from honking at 0645 in the morning?

“Ma’am, I can’t sit out here for five minutes waitin’ on you!” Jabba barked.

“You were not out here for five minutes,” I corrected Jabba, though what I wanted to say was: Look you fucking bitch, you weren’t out here for five minutes; you were not even out here for two minutes! My hand was on the fucking door knob when you pulled up and started honking your fucking horn. What’s your fucking hurry you inconsiderate cow?!! Is there an ‘all-you-can-eat’ special at Biscuitville this morning? or are you trying to make sure your bus hours don’t cut into your disability check for being the size of a Volkswagen?

But with that she began bitching about not having time for whatever and slammed the bus doors in my face and drove off with the older man standing there with a “WTF?” expression on his face.

Are you kidding me?!!

Needless to say, this little scenario inspired a phone call to Jabba’s supervisor who apologized that I had this ‘experience’ this morning. Fine, whatever; don’t ever send that woman back to my house again. Well what do you want us to do when your regular driver needs to be out? She’s the only sub we have... WHAT? Seriously?!! The only substitute bus driver in all of Wake County? Come on - I drove a school bus in high school and I assure you it’s not brain surgery. Yes, but not every driver is qualified to operate a lift bus. (This is where I started laughing...) IT’S A LEVER! My daughter could operate a lever! --And I am pretty darn certain that there is no way in hell Jabba could fit her enormous body down the bus isle to even get to the lift to begin with assuming she could walk three steps without getting winded and/or giving herself a heart attack. Are you people dropping acid over there? or do you just not give a shit?

So I tell her again, [paraphrasing] not to ever send that miserable bitch back to my house and to call me next time and I’ll take my own child to school... What in the hell makes her think I would put my child - who cannot even speak to tell me if something happens to her - in a vehicle with such a vile, disrespectful, and hateful person?

The supervisor apologizes again for the ‘experience’ and assures me that she will ‘speak’ to Jabba which I took to mean she would inform Jabba of how badly she pissed me off this morning. I mean, she’s the only sub they have right? What are they gonna do, fire her?

Oh, but I am not done yet.

What infuriates me most of all - on behalf of my own child and all of her sweet, simple peers and their dog-ass tired families who have more than enough bullshit to put up with every damn day and are so beat down by the system they think they have no choice and than to have to listen to shit like this from some ignorant, hateful person - is this : if that nasty cow would talk to a mother with her child standing in her own driveway like a damn dog, how in this world does she treat the special education students who ride her bus when no one is around to protect them?

Oh no: Fuck You Jabba! You done messed with the wrong mama!
I am not done with you yet...

"If we lose love and self respect for each other, this is how we finally die."

...Maya Angelou

this is not a toy.

2011-02-04T12:43:00.005-05:00

this is not a toy., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

O' how he makes my heart laugh! =)

"I think that children have a power to imagine that is almost magical when compared to the adult imagination, and this is something irrevocable that a child loses when he or she becomes bound by logic. We adults continue to have our children's power of imagination only in our dreams... Of course it's awfully necessary that children not run their entire lives on the basis of such thinking; they do need to learn how to think logically. But the world will soon teach that to them. And in overabundance. I think we should do everything we can to make it possible for children to hang onto the power to imagine in the almost magical sense for as long as possible."

...Joseph Weizenbaum, Out of the Mouths of Mathematicians

the rebirth of zen.

2011-02-04T12:36:00.006-05:00

the rebirth of zen., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

This is a photo taken from last weekend's collaborative shoot with my photographic partner-in-crime, Rob Miracle, and our lovely model Randi. What a fantastic shoot!

I hesitated to blog this one just yet because I just love the image and the symbolism of the finished product... I couldn't help feeling that it needed some magical words to accompany it, a story, a poem, fable, or at the very least, some pearl of wisdom from a true zen-master about finding peace within one's self and the world around. Alas, that is something I know both a lot and very little...

Peace is not a thing to be found, but rather a state of mind, heart, and soul which requires a lot practice and constant vigilance, much like a garden, in order to grow and cultivate and become something beautiful. Then seasons change and we must do it all again.

Easier said than done.

My Grandmother was the ultimate zen-master of all things green... A woman with only an eighth grade education, she was and is still, among the wisest women I've ever known, especially when it came to growing stuff to feed the body and feed the soul. She could grow anything from anything and her gardens would flourish in a symphony of life.

It amazes me still how she managed to juggle acres of vegetable and flower gardens in various locations around the 54 acre farm... rows and rows of corn, tomatoes, peas, squash, cucumbers, and melons, to name a few, and countless flowers that I don't even know the names of... anything that was rooted in the earth, Grandma could tell you all about it and even through the toughest summers, she could grow it and produce enough to can, freeze, and share. And somehow she always found time to do all that, keep the house, watch the occasional Shirley Temple movie, cook three meals a day, and never did anything go to waste. There was always a bouquet of flowers on her table and plenty of food to eat. --How she divided her time between all that demanded her constant attention (including me) on the farm is beyond my comprehension... I can barely find the time in the day to clothe myself, get the kids off to school, and accomplish a few menial tasks before picking up some fast food crap for dinner... but Grandma was Magic like that.

There isn't a doubt within me that her mastery of gardening fed her soul's splendor as much, perhaps more, than her plentiful yields fed the family and community.

It goes without saying that I inherited my love of fresh flowers and vegetables from Grandma, though the 'green thumb' completely escaped my genetics. Heck, I've been known to kill ivy plants and I'm told that is quite a feat. But that doesn't stop me from trying... Last summer I managed to grow from seeds, tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers in pots. --A small success but a success none-the-less, and such a success never tasted sweeter in a salad. Grandma would be proud. =)

Perhaps it takes a lifetime of practice, mindfulness, and dedication to overcome our lack of green thumbs and rediscover the art of life... to grow and become a thing of selfless beauty and substance...

Not unlike a zen-master and her garden.

"It isn't enough to talk about peace. One must believe in it. And it isn't enough to believe in it. One must work at it."

...Eleanor Roosevelt

NHL AllStars.

2011-01-31T20:27:00.005-05:00

Chara's record 105.9 shot!, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Working next door to and banking with RBC Bank has it's advantages... Aside from the obvious convenience, we were fortunate enough to win two tickets to the 58th annual NHL AllStar SuperSkills competition and game this past weekend! Wow!

Let me just say that I have never ever won anything in my life, except maybe a scratch off McDonald's french fry or something. This is the main reason I do not play the lotto. No sense in wasting my money given my track record.

In any case, both Kevin and I were super stoked though we quickly realized that we couldn't possibly attend both events on such short notice without locking the children in the closet for at least one night... So, we chose the SuperSkills competition on Saturday as no doubt it would be the less crowded of the two events and to say I don't do well with massive crowds is a gross understatement. (No worries though, the game tickets were happily used by another well-deserving sports enthusiast.)

We arrived early, made a quick stop for fried pickle chips and beer and found our seats up in the nose-bleed level just above the stairwell and just behind the big glass wall with the hand rail obstructing our view. --Considering that RBC purchased the naming rights for the building and has it's logo smeared throughout, one would think the seats would have been a tad better, but who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth? I mean, they couldn't very well expect someone to actually pay $165.00 a piece for those seats could they? Free is good. I'll take free.

I was reasonably content with my fried pickles and beer until some overly-excited southern heifer (who clearly does not get out much) sat down directly behind me and quickly began yelling, screaming, and hollering wildly (in my ear!) at absolutely everything. And I do mean everything: from the mascots mock game to mere mention of the Carolina Hurricanes and/or any of their players - well before the competition began. And dear me, I thought she would surely pee her spandex when Nicholas Sparks' pre-recorded "Welcome to North Carolina" message came on the big screen. O.M.G.

And it wasn't so much all the obnoxious, inconsiderate, loud hooting and hollering that was so damn annoying... it was the murderously shrill, skull-spitting pitch which escaped her. Like a combination of a cat in heat, a goat being slaughtered, inhaling helium balloons, and nails on a chalk board. Fuck me! And some poor soul had to listen to that every day. I'd shoot myself.

Granted, after I bore holes through her cranium a few times while plugging my ears with my fingers, she kindly took it down a decibel or so but Geezuz! The noise of that woman is permanently burned into my inner audio library now. --Add that to the list of tortures in my personal hell please.

In any case, I managed to capture Boston Bruins' Zdeno Chara's record speed shot of 105.9 mph on video from our perch which was pretty darn cool. And yes, you can clearly hear the bleating of my seatmate in the background over the announcer and the crowds... (Mind you, by this point, I had already moved into a vacant corner seat one row up and 3 seats over.)

All in all, it was a fun experience and everyone lived. =)

bring it! =P, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Yet, another perk of working next door to the bank. ;-)

"Ignorance and inconsideration are the two great causes of the ruin of mankind."

...John Tillotson

13 years.

2011-01-23T00:23:00.003-05:00

Baby Bell., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Thirteen years ago on a cold snowy winter's morn in Würzburg, Germany, my sweet little angel girl was born...

Thirteen years.

What a long road we've traveled since. There are so many words that there are no words -- save I love you baby girl and I am so very proud of you!

Always.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

...Emily Dickinson

anti-morning.

2011-01-21T08:27:00.004-05:00

pre-battle java.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

I HATE mornings... mostly because I have a passionate love affair with sleep and parting from my bed is sweet sorrow indeed - especially if it's before 8 am and involves an alarm clock. (Ideally 10:00 but that's not an option when one is a parent of small children.)

You may be wondering, well what about heightened blissful arousal of morning sex? Pfft. Not a chance. Groping me in the early down hours will only assure a top spot on my shit list for the day as a reward for depriving me of the precious extra moments of sleep I could have had, that is if the opportunity should even present itself which is not likely considering that there is still a small person still sleeping in a toddler bed at the foot of our bed. (Yes, and he's four now and almost too big for his little bed. *sigh*)

The only exception to my dread and loathing of mornings is being on vacation - without children, which happens like almost never. But on those rare miraculous occasions, I have been known to spring forth liveliness and energy that is all but lost to my younger days, ready for adventure... What's up with that? --I don't understand how that works. Really, I don't. One of the great mysteries of the universe I suppose, but I would very much like to experiment more with this phenomenon.

Bella's middle school schedule this year is killing me. Her school starts at 07:30 which means getting up at 06:15 to get her ready for the bus which comes at 06:45, though I'm not sure why considering that she is the last stop and I can get there in less than five minutes by car, but she likes riding the school bus and it took no less than four IEP meetings with WCPSS to get a county transportation assistant assigned to her as WCPSS found it more cost-efficient to pay someone's salary rather than reimburse me for mileage... but whatever. Who am I to question sheer genius?

In any case, I love my daughter very much; that is not the issue. But getting up with her every morning has become the source of strife between Mommie and Daddy. Neither of us want to do it. Instead we lay in bed in between hitting the snooze button and argue over whose turn it is and why, prolonging the agony.

This morning:
Me: "Honey, would you please get up with Bell?"
Honey: "It's your turn."
Me: "But I take Liam to school every day."
Honey: "I put the kids to bed last night and you went out to your photo meet up. It's your turn."
Me: "I get up with Liam on the weekends."
Honey: *silence*
Me: "Please?"
Honey: "No." And he rolls over.
Me: "Fine. Then you can drive Liam to school today AND get up with him tomorrow."

Then I lay there pouting until the alarm goes off again and sling my body pillow atop my husband's head for spite as I begrudgingly leave the warm, cozy sanctity that is my bed.

The biggest problem I have with getting up at O.M.G.-thirty with Bella is that after I've been up and about wiping butt and brushing teeth and hiking up and down that steep-ass cliff we live on, I am unable to go back to sleep for the remaining hour or so that's left until it's my turn to get myself ready to start the day. And when I try, I inevitably will toss and turn and eventually fall asleep for about 15 minutes. Then wake up pissed off about it. So I may as well stay up; power naps do not work for me.

If I were smart and motivated enough, I might consider utilizing this morning hour to get in some much needed exercise or at the very least do some cleaning... alas I am not, so I usually end up making a cup of strong black coffee and journaling, blogging, or editing photos... and then I end up running late, because as you know, I'm a perfectionist and whatever doddle I have thrown myself into at this wretched time of day has to be seen to fruition.

And away we go...

When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away,
And in a dream as in a fairy bark
Drift on and on through the enchanted dark
To purple daybreak--little thought we pay
To that sweet bitter world we know by day.

...Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Sonnet - Sleep

a dark winter.

2011-01-16T00:12:00.008-05:00

a dark winter II. Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

It was an unusually frigid and drearily overcast day in the quaint village of Woodman’s Hollow… A day for indoors – women engaged in the tedious tasks of darning socks, patching trousers, and making potato porridge that would feed their families for days, children attended household chores or played quietly with marbles and rag dolls, while the men folk communed at the local tavern and enjoyed pint after pint of frothy ale and the swaggering movements of the busty barmaid in an uncharacteristic celebratory break from manual labor.

Outside of the tavern, all was quiet in the village save the occasional bray of a donkey. Smoke billowed from many a stone chimney and the streets were clear of their usual working class bustle.

Not so far away in the edge of the great wood, a frail auburn-haired girl of eleven years walked, trembling in her thin fraying coat and Mama’s too big leather boots, searching for twigs and branches to keep the stove fire alive. Since Papa died, it was even harder to keep the farm going and provisions stocked. Even all the extra hours in the day since leaving school did not afford her the time nor the strength to fill Papa’s shoes and with baby Tobias still in diapers, he contributed little except more work.

Had she not been so very tired or known any better, perhaps she would have been more sad about her life and agreed to marry the greasy old butcher with a fancy for pretty young girls. No doubt, this arrangement would improve her dire situation as neither she nor what was left of her family would ever go hungry again (he had promised as much), but thankfully, Mother would not consent to his repeated requests. Sometimes when she thought about it, her mouth watered at the mere thought of tasting meat again – a thick, juicy roast, chicken stew, or hearty sausages – she fought her food fantasies with ideas of having to sleep next to such a foul-smelling, repulsive man with bad breath and an evil grin. She did not know what exactly took place in a marriage bed under the covers, but she knew one thing for certain, it was something that she wanted no part of with the butcher. And if that didn’t make her forget about her hunger, the bitter cold did.

She stooped to pick up a small hickory limb once, twice, thrice, as it slipped again and again from her frozen fingers when suddenly a dark chill shot through her in a most eerie fashion. Not a cold chill this time, it was the feeling of impending danger, that she was being watched, or as Grandmama used to say, 'as though someone had just walked over her grave…'

She turned with a start and saw him – long, black cloak spilling about his wicked frame as his hypnotic gaze met hers. Time seemed to stop and he whispered her name,

“Genevieve…”

She was not afraid. She was too tired to be afraid.

"Where there is no imagination there is no horror."

...Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

god & girls.

2011-01-11T23:12:00.011-05:00

candy lips.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Recently the topic of God's gender has been called to question in our home... Oh boy. --If you think the usual repertoire of 4-year-old questions are tricky, try answering the awesomely off-the-wall unique queries that only a little boy and the warped humor of his Creator can conjure!

Examples:
Where is God's house?... Why?
Can I go to God's house?... Why?
What does God look like?... Why?
Does God poot?... Why?
Does God poop?... Why?
Is God a boy or a girl?...

I remember being a little girl seeing stuff on the news about space missions and all the NASA hoopla and thinking it was such a waste of time and money when so many people were sick and poor and dying all over the world. What business did we have in outer space and why couldn't all those millions of dollars be used to help people? I remember asking my Daddy why God made people so smart?

"He didn't make people too smart honey," he said; "He didn't make them smart enough."

That was the wisest thing I think my Dad ever said. --Of course, I have since come to realize that compassion and intellect are entirely different things, but I digress.

So the God questions = not easy.

As much as I have tried at times, I have come to decide that I'm just not cut out to be a religious nor pious person. And I have tried. I have studied the Bible; read and studied the Qu'ran and much of the Hadiths; read about Judaism and Hinduism, am intrigued with the philosophy of Buddhism; have prayed in churches, synagogues, and mosques; and yes, have had my share of religious and even 'other-worldly' experiences; and passionately love religious history... and still I believe that there is more than one way to God and that ultimately the life journey for each of us includes finding what works for us, inside.

That being said, my hope for my inquisitive young son is that his genuine, compassionate nature and mind open with wonder be preserved and that he grows into a genuine, compassionate man with a mind open with wonder... a heaping helping of wisdom would be good too.

These recent God questions have caused me to start thinking about how to answer them. And I'm certain that God's gender is the least of my challenges to come, but to that, I simply replied that 'God is everything.' And miracle of all miracles, for once, that was enough. (Wow, I thought, I did good.)

Monday, here in the great state of North Carolina, the weather was calling for more winter magic and as is the proper southern protocol, everything shuts down, schools release, and everyone makes a recklessly mad dash for provisions to hold them over 'til spring.

I arrive at Liam's new school to fetch him and decide to take a spontaneous detour to explore Raleigh's new Euro-village and treat ourselves to some scrumptiousness that is Henry's Gelato.

First we check out an adorable little bakery and pie shop (could there be anything better?!) where the lady behind the counter presents Liam with a lollipop and tells him she has a nephew his age.

"Is your nephew a boy or a girl?" he asks.
"He's a boy," she replies laughingly.
"God is everything," he quickly responds. (Ahh, so he does listen!)

Next, we check out the little fresh market (bizarrely with biblical passages written on the floor) which much to my delight hosts shelves of German products and candies in addition to the displays of fresh meats, seafood, and OMG heavenly gourmet goodies. Seeing this as a fine excuse not to stop at the madhouse that is the grocery store, I grab a basket for a few "necessities" (cabbage, spinach, lentils, Scharfer Senf, Kindershocolade, marzipan, etc.) and accidentally purchase a freakin' $18.00 meatloaf (holy shit)... As we make our way through the store, Liam spies a beautiful "older woman" of about 5 or 6 years of age pushing a small cart - their eyes meet - and each time we pass, they exchange lingering glances.

At the register, I am speaking with the lady ringing me up and turn to find my young prince behind me shaking hands with the little girl and introducing himself. They begin chatting like long-lost college pals and though I couldn't hear the dialog there were lots of gestures, smiles, and nods going on. For all I know he was inviting her out for coffee and though it didn't occur to him to get her phone number, he excitedly tells me once we got outside that her name was Patience. =)

Next door to the ice cream store is a new South American wine bar... so I had to poke my head in there. I immediately meet a young sweet fellow with Downs Syndrome holding his favorite stuffed monkey. Liam begins talking with him about his monkey while the owner tells me about Argentinian wine. As we leave, Liam shakes the young man's hand. I could not have been more proud!

So we finally arrive at our intended destination for treats. Liam makes his selection, the lady dished up our gelato and I pay... and turn to find my son at the far end of the store in the process of pulling up a chair amid a threesome of young twenty-something hotties and talking about the weather. Really?!!

Only the promise of ice cream could drag him away.

"Those pretty girls are nice Mommie," he says.

We have our treats and talk about school. Afterward, we go to the restroom to get cleaned up; Liam darts out while I am drying my hands. A moment later, I walk out catching Liam giving a round of hugs to the "pretty, nice girls" which they enthusiastically reciprocated with lots of "awww"s and "how sweet!" and "he's so cute!"

O.M.G. I mean, wow. --I think I may have to take him down a notch or two before he reaches his teens!

...Oh and the $18.00 meatloaf? It was outta this world yummy!

"Of all the needs (there are none imaginary) a lonely child has, the one that must be satisfied, if there is going to be hope and a hope of wholeness, is the unshaken need for an unshakable God."

...Maya Angelou

happy everything.

2011-01-04T21:53:00.004-05:00

Happy Holidays! Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Happy Holidays, Happy Hanuka, Merry Christmas, Feliz Navidad, Frohe Weihnachten, Happy Kwanzaa, and a very Happy New Year to all, albeit belated. And while I'm at it, Eid Mubarak too!

2010 was a roller coaster to say the least, reaching it's steep crest around Thanksgiving and barreling downward at warp speed so that by Christmas, the phrase "stop the ride, I wanna get off!" bounced around in my scattered brain. I'm sure 2011 will be much the same when the last cans of pumpkin and yams are plucked from the grocery shelves with the madness of last minute holiday panic, though at present, I am more of the mind of, "Good riddance!"

Like most, I compiled a list of the usual new year's resolutions to include loosing weight, exercising, avoiding another back surgery, curbing my profanities (I know, go ahead and yuk it up friends), saving money, being a better mommie, a better friend, and a better housekeeper - okay, well a better mommie and friend (one mustn't set oneself up for failure), and blah blah blah...

But more importantly, I resolve to make more time for friends and loved ones, more time for love and laughter, more time for magic memories and the stuff that really matters in this world...

To all who love and support me despite plentiful flaws, who still take my calls and return my emails though it may have been eons since last we spoke, who have still made time to see me even though I have yet to make it out to Bertie county, and those sacred special peeps whose very presence, not proximity, in my life keep the wheels of my inner soul greased and in motion... I LOVE YOU and I THANK YOU. More than you could ever know.

Let the good times roll!...

"Our job is to love others without stopping to inquire whether or not they are worthy. That is not our business and, in fact, it is nobody's business. What we are asked to do is to love, and this love itself will render both ourselves and our neighbors worthy if anything can."

...Thomas Merton

bread pudding.

2010-12-10T12:56:00.002-05:00

Wednesday was the Family Sick Day at our house. W00t. Everyone was home coughing and snotty with sore throats so we all spent the day in our jamoos (a.k.a. pajamas) watching television, eating pizza delivery, and fighting with one another. The fun that was had cannot be put into words.

As the day's insanity began to slowly draw to a close and the kids were finally in bed asleep, I decided out of the blue that I wanted some bread pudding - the ultimate comfort food. Not having an award-winning secret family recipe or anything, I referred to the wise and wonderful oracle, otherwise known as the Internet.

I found several mouth-watering recipes, but quickly settled upon this one from southern soul-food goddess, Paula Deen. --I mean if it's a Paula Deen recipe, it likely will call for 3 pounds of sugar and 8 sticks of butter that will clog your arteries and put you into a diabetic coma faster than you can swallow the last orgasmically decadent bite, but you can bet your big ole sweet, jiggly bottom that it's gonna be a heaping helping of heaven!

The Best Bread Pudding by Paula Deen (appropriately named)

Ingredients

2 cups granulated sugar
5 large beaten eggs
2 cups milk
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
3 cups cubed Italian bread, allow to stale overnight in a bowl
1 cup packed light brown sugar
¼ cup (½ stick) butter, softened
1 cup chopped pecans [pronounced "pee-canz" not "pe-cons"]

For the sauce

1 cup granulated sugar
½ cup (1 stick) butter, melted
1 egg, beaten
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
¼ cup brandy

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a 13 by 9 by 2-inch pan.
Mix together granulated sugar, eggs, and milk in a bowl; add vanilla. Pour over cubed bread and let sit for 10 minutes.
In another bowl, mix and crumble together brown sugar, butter, and pecans.
Pour bread mixture into prepared pan. Sprinkle brown sugar mixture over the top and bake for 35 to 45 minutes, or until set. Remove from oven.
For the sauce
Mix together the granulated sugar, butter, egg, and vanilla in a saucepan over medium heat. Stir together until the sugar is melted. Add the brandy, stirring well. Pour over bread pudding. Serve warm or cold.

As I keep saying: it is cosmically impossible for me to follow a recipe to the letter... Thusly, you may note, I made this recipe exactly as it is written above, except I added a couple dashes of cinnamon, extra pecans, and raisins - soaked in the ¼ of brandy (which you will need to top off as the dried fruit will absorb the booze).

O.M.G. Delicious like nobody's biz! This is right up there with the Baked Apple Pancake in Gatlinburg! Outta-This-World Yummy! Make your eyes roll back in your head kinda good. Even better cold.

Maybe I'll make another one this weekend and share it with the kids this time. ;-)

"You can say this for ready-mixes - the next generation isn't going to have any trouble making pies exactly like mother used to make."

...Earl Wilson

'tis the season.

2010-12-07T21:48:00.005-05:00

holiday spirit. Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

It seems to me that every year is a roller coaster ride which picks up speed and plunges around mid-November right about grocery shopping time for Thanksgiving. By the time Christmas arrives, I am ready to get off.

Chaos is in the air!

A lot of stuff has been going on lately that I have wanted to blog about, though I've been a bit greedy with my oh-so-scarce "ME time"...

I'll try to hit the highlights and maybe get back around to elaborating, though don't hold your breath - the coaster just dropped:

Kevin and I finally signed up and went through the entire process of acquiring life insurance to include mounds of paperwork, interviews, and peeing in cups.
Recently, the younger brother of a dear ole kindergarten pal went Homeless for the Holidays, living in his car for a week in downtown Raleigh to help raise awareness of the growing issue of homelessness in the community.
I've been shooting a lot lately and have worked with some fantastic models (Danielle, Sonia, Joanna, and Christine) as well as my uber-talented fellow photographers, Rob Miracle and Tom Winstead.
Liam recently tested for his High-Green belt in Tae Kwon Do and was awarded the rank of 11th Gup.
And I have called a pre-IEP meeting with WCPSS for Isabel's services scheduled for December 16th to uhm, shall we say, poke the hornet's nest...

That may not seem like a long nor overwhelming list of stuff but add in 40-60 hour work weeks complete with daily crazy calls, deadlines, and dramatic emergencies from our usual suspects; over due doctor visits, forgotten appointments, grocery and holiday shopping, more little kid birthday parties, the regular array of miscellaneous errands; cleaning the house, clothes, dishes and making sure everyone is fed; more car problems, chronic back pain, a mile long list of overdue email responses, tantrums, and picking up little pieces of shredded paper from all over the house, etc., etc., etc...

This past Saturday our day looked something like this:

0800 Be awakened by small child; make coffee.
0815 Feed small child.
0830 Wake other child; feed.
0845 Dress children.
0900 Miss Kim arrives (Bless her!)
0910 Leave house late with two cars and one fed and dressed child.
0925 Jeep begins making a very loud grinding metal sound.
0930 Belt testing at Tae Kwon Do.
1030-1130 Special Needs Arts and Craft class at Library for Bell.
1030-1230 Four-year-old birthday party for preschool friend at Old McDonald's for Liam.
1045 Water pump goes out on Jeep.
1100 Photo shoot at my new "studio," a.k.a. The Law Firm's conference room.
1100-1130 Fellow photographers arrive; set up for shoot.
1110 Call mechanic.
1115 Call AAA.
1130-1230 Models 1 and 2 arrive; make up artist arrives.
1230 Jeep towed to mechanic.
1400-ish SNOW! =)
1630 Wrap up / clean up shoot; return office to order.
1650 Get ride over to mechanic to pick up Jeep and deposit a check for $333.00 in drop box.
1700 Drive home in snow.
1720 Collect children and husband and drive back to Tae Kwon Do, late again.
1730-2000 Belt presentation ceremonies, martial arts show, and pot luck reception.
2030 Dinner at North Ridge Pub.
2130 Home. Exhausted. Change children and put to bed without brushing teeth.
2200-0130 Load / process / edit a few of the 600+ photographs taken that day and email to models / make up artist.
0130 Take Ibuprofen and muscle relaxer. Crawl in bed and DIE.

the downside. Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Just shoot me.

"Chaos is the score upon which reality is written."

...Henry Miller

fun with Liamisms.

2010-12-01T22:17:00.005-05:00

"No matter how calmly you try to referee, parenting will eventually produce bizarre behavior, and I'm not talking about the kids. Their behavior is always normal."

...Bill Cosby

generation gap.

2010-11-30T15:42:00.005-05:00

6:356 | filthy habit.

Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Monday being what it was, I decided on my way home last night that I was not "doing dinner" and thus stopped off at Jersey Mike's for a couple of subs. (I highly recommend the number 43 Chipotle Cheese Steak by the way.)

Of course, Liam was with me and begun politely shouting to the fellow behind the counter as I was placing the order, "Excuse me! Uhm, sir, excuse me!" I quiet the child, complete the order, and then turned my attention back to the child curious as to what he had been so anxious to say... Turns out, he wanted to know about the deli slicer, what it was, what it did, and all that.

The young gentleman kindly explained and gave Liam a demonstration as he made our sandwiches. Then he added, that you had to be very careful and could only use the machine if you were a grown-up because you could get hurt really bad.

The man standing in line beside me said that it's now a law in North Carolina that you have to be 18 years old in order to operate a deli slicer. --WHAT? Seriously?

The Jersey Mike's guy replies that you have to be 16 in order to use the large serrated bread knife because they had a 15 year old girl working there who had to have a waiver signed by her parents in order to wield the big bread sword. --Dumbfounded, I just couldn't help but laugh...

I smiled at the young at-least-18-because-he-used-the-dangerous-deli-slicer man wrapping my sandwich and said to him: "See, this is the difference between your generation and mine. When we were 15, we had to get our parents to sign our smoking permits so we could smoke cigarettes in the high school smoking area."

He looked at me as though I were from another planet.

"Book is the new cool for the txt generation."

-Erica Wagner

my young playa.

2010-11-26T23:03:00.009-05:00

Daniel & Mallory.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Thanksgiving this year, like many fond holidays past, we spent with my 'sister-of-soul' and family up in Petersburg, Virgina.

It's an easy two hour drive, perhaps a bit more, however none to our surprise, Liam chatted away the entire drive. If no one is participating in his conversation, he's usually content to carry on with himself, though he does prefer a healthy exchange and will insert himself into whatever other dialog may be happening in the car. A perfect example is when I mentioned to Kevin that I had a headache and needed to eat something soon...

Liam: "I have a headache too."
Kevin: "No you don't. You're fine."
Liam: "Uh huh, I do. I ate a lot of food and it made my head hurt."

He's also getting a bit more brazen in his constant interruptions when we grown-ups may dare to get a word in edgewise... "Excuse me I'm talking!" he says.

Very excited to see Tio Juan, a Sergeant First Class and former Drill Sergeant in the US Army, Liam wore his "army pants" (e.g. camouflaged cargo pants) to show him. In the car, Liam also announced that he had a surprise for Tio Juan.

Kevin: "What's the surprise?"
Liam: "I can't tell you. It's a surprise for Tio Juan."
Kevin: "Well can you tell me?"
Liam: "No. It's a surprise."
Kevin (to me): "You try."
Me: "What's the surprise?"
Liam: "I can't tell you. It's not your surprise."

Alrighty then.

Recently, Liam has learned to count to 10 in Spanish (and German) and likes to randomly practice his language skills. Pausing in mid-count, he asked out of the blue, if Tio Juan spoke Spanish...
Me: "Yes, he does. He also speaks English."
Liam: "English? What is English?"
Kevin: "English is the language that we speak."
Liam: "What does English sound like?"

Hmmm...

A side note: En route, I saw a fantastic bumper sticker on a Volvo station wagon which read: "Honk if you love silence" ...Now that's just the sort of sarcastic wit I can appreciate in my world. ;-)

We arrive around 2:30, thrilled to release the children into the waiting audience that is anyone besides us and see if we remember how to carry on an adult conversation. --But first, Liam has to give Tio Juan his surprise... which turned out to be a cotton bowl and wad of cotton he had collected on our trip to Grandma's farm. Awww.

And then (my eyes are watering and heart bursting with pride writing this), we watched our sweet little four year old boy as he stood tall and saluted his Uncle. Juan beamed, returning the salute. Then he let Liam try on his Drill Sergeant hat and his Texas Calvary hat... then Liam wanted to know about Tio Juan's tanks...

These days with three teenagers, everyone has a boyfriend/girlfriend and so the house was full with young people and even friends and neighbors - which was great for us because it was like having a house full of unsuspecting babysitters. --Liam worked the house and monopolized everyone's time (particularly Nicki's boyfriend Jake) and honed in on Daniel's girlfriend Mallory... while Isabel, the unnaturally good and quiet child for a change, set about carving out her walking path, sampling the food being prepared, and decided who she liked best by swatting at them. --Oh, and getting the cap off of a two-liter of Coke and chugaluggin' it. (Why her Occupational Therapist thought it wise to teach her to unscrew lids is beyond me. Yeah, thanks for that.)

At last the smorgasbord of food was prepared, the table set, and per tradition at Elvia's, we all took turns telling what we were thankful for... Isabel was thankful for food and Liam was thankful for windows. Huh? --Anyway, Thanksgiving being what it is, we all gorged ourselves on the traditional favorites and had no room for dessert, though that didn't stop us. Isn't that what it's all about after all?

So, after a wonderful day with friends and family, wonderful food, laughter and memories... we were trying to find the energy to head back to Raleigh when we noticed our son busy rearranging the room of people by simply taking a hand and dragging that person to the spot he wanted to reposition them. Curiously we watched...

Liam then walks over to where Daniel was sitting on the love seat sofa with his sweet, pretty fifteen year old girlfriend and takes Mallory by the hand, pulls her from the couch and leads her over to a fold out chair just two feet away. On cue, she sits as the little prince then strategically places himself in between the object of his affection and her beloved and proceeds to serenade her with the most romantic song he knew... "Happy Birthday to you..."

O.M.G. We are in SO much trouble.

"The life of man is the true romance, which when it is valiantly conduced, will yield the imagination a higher joy than any fiction."

...Ralph Waldo Emerson

still got it.

2010-11-16T22:29:00.011-05:00

surf 'n' turf., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Facebook is a double-edged sword. It's amazing the people you find and that find you, people you never thought you'd ever see or hear from again, and some you never wanted to. Though I have to say that overall, it's pretty cool, in this small Internet world, reconnecting with old friends from elementary school, high school, even a few ex-boyfriends - people I've wondered about every since our paths crossed and they left a mark on my life... it's interesting seeing how people grew up, turned out, and what they've done with their lives. It's interesting how many unpopular oddballs turned into very successful happy people, how many dope heads and drug dealers turned into staunch right-wing Bible-thumpers, how many popular kids just grew up to be average ordinary folks, those that still march to their own drum, and some who had it all figured out from the get go and continued on their path to where they are now.

I'm not sure which category I fall into; I was neither popular nor unpopular, I had my share of tokes but was never a dope head nor did I turn out to be uber-conservative, I've marched to many different drums in my life, but I didn't have it all figured out then and even less so now.

Anyway...

Recently I was contacted by a fellow South Johnston graduate a couple years my senior, one of those guys who I think had it all figured out - at least in the way of what he was to do with his life... He grew up from a tall lanky kid I once knew into a body builder and personal trainer. No surprise. I remember as a freshman when I first saw him after several years how he'd undergone some testosterone metamorphosis and suddenly was sporting the bod of a well-built twenty-something year old.

As it turns out, he had been following my photo feeds, really liked my work, and wanted to know if I could do some shots for him while he still had it going on. Sure, I need some male models for my portfolio so, we met, caught up a bit and set a date to shoot at Fort Fisher this past weekend.

Spring and Fall are about the only times of year that I can truly enjoy the ocean and Sunday could not have been a more perfect day had I custom ordered it. Wow. Absolutely spectacular and wholly rejuvenating.

Fort Fisher is one of the few places where one can drive onto the North Carolina beaches, provided that one has adequate four-wheel-drive. Chris has a sweet Jeep and so off we bounced across the sands packed with gear, wardrobe, surfboards and other props until we could drive no further.

Aside from my cousin Jennifer (and the ongoing chronicles of Bell and Liam), this was my first solo shoot so I was rather stoked. We shot pretty much all day, breaking for a picnic lunch around high noon, and had a blast. The day produced some excellent shots and I'm happy to report that the "client" was most pleased with the product.

washed ashore., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

We wrapped up at sunset and I headed back to Raleighwood consumed of course with both gratitude and guilt for leaving my awesome hubby stuck with the offspring all day while I was frolicking about taking pictures of some hot guy on the beach. Kevin, bless him, he doesn't completely understand the whole old soul / poetic passion thing or how I simply must express myself in some creative fashion or I'll shrivel up and die, but he's a big fan and wholeheartedly supports me in my quests; I couldn't ask for anything more.

Arriving home around 8-ish, I was met in the garage by a pajama-clad midget jumping up and down excitedly disclosing that he had made me a birthday cake and I had cards and a balloon. Then I came inside and acted surprised all over again. A perfect ending to a perfect day. =)

And yes Chris, you still got it going on.

"Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars; and they pass by themselves without wondering."

...Saint Augustine of Hippo

the big surprise.

2010-11-09T07:57:00.008-05:00

NC Museum of Art., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

A couple of weeks ago, we took the kids out for a "surprise." --Well, I told Bella since they were actually her tickets but i knew she wouldn't tell anyone... and Kevin, not one for surprises, pestered me until I gave him enough clues that he finally figured it out (I sure could use a fixed aperture telephoto lens, a natural disaster, indoors) - so really I guess it was Liam's surprise... Yes, that's right, we went to a Carolina Hurricanes game. It was a first for the kids and they both loved it!

In spite of the loud-mouth jackass sitting behind us yelling the whole game with a scorn on his face like he was watching his girlfriend get it on with someone else in the rink.

No matter where you sit, there's always at least one isn't there? These are the same kind of guys who ruin little league games too with their explosive rantings. Key word folks: "GAME." This one had a supportive wife beside him egging her man on who actually said, "These seats should be filled to capacity! People just need to understand what an honor and privilege it is to come to a real NHL Hockey game?" Seriously??? Is the high altitude up here in the nose-bleed section getting to you or what? I mean come on, sure we enjoy going to a game when we can (Hockey is one of the only sports that Kevin and I can enjoy together after all) but there are a couple of reasons why we haven't gotten season tickets: 1) we don't have 2-5 thousand dollars lying around and 2) because with my luck, our seats for the whole season would be assigned right next to some loud-mouth inconsiderate asshole like you.

But I digress.

new lil' Caniac.., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

So Saturday we woke up, did our morning thing (coffee, breakfast, news, yell at the kids...) then got everyone ready and told them we were going somewhere and it was a surprise. --Yay! Everyone was excited. Especially Liam.

Every since Liam and I had played hooky one Monday afternoon from school/work and spend the afternoon gallivanting about the grounds of the newly expanded North Carolina Museum of Art (which I forgot was closed on Mondays), Liam has been asking to go back. So - surprise!

Ten minutes into the new building, Liam begins to cry, "I don't like this surprise. I wanna go to a hockey game!"

"If you make every game a life and death proposition, you're going to have problems. For one thing, you'll be dead a lot."

...Coach Dean Smith

CW: bumper stickers.

2010-11-02T11:11:00.006-04:00

broomstick.

Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Driving about town this past weekend, I was struck with a sudden inspiration for a new blog series: "Crystal's World" (CW)... how things would be in my personal utopia, who would be banished to other planets, how basic manners would be legally upheld, permissive acts that would entitle productive citizens to flog another for outlandish stupidity, acceptable acts of vigilantism, bumpers stickers, and so on.

And the beauty is, you don't have to agree with my opinions and twisted humor because after all, it is MY world. =P

You, if you so desire, can be the center of your own little universe too and even with reckless disregard for everything around you, but do allow me to warn you -- you've got a hell of a lot of competition orbiting out there!

Let's start with something simple: bumper stickers.

My husband is vehemently opposed to car stickers of any kind, while I on the other hand rather enjoy the comical antidote and appreciate self-expression with a few exceptions of course. Okay, here goes...

Absolutely NO freakin' political stickers after election day! I don't care what extremist wing you're on, whether you're still pining away for the fascist psycho who left office two years ago, or if you had Hope in '08 -- scrape the shit off your car and stop telling everyone what an asshole you are; they'll figure that out on their own soon enough without the temptation to key your automobile.
No ignorant hateful racist bullshit. Period.
No Americanized-mock-Euro stickers which have absolutely no rhyme or reason, from BBQ to OBX, for whatever alphabet selection someone has had printed inside a little white oval emulating the European custom of displaying one's country's abbreviation (i.e. D for Deutschland, GB = Great Britain, CZ = Czech Republic, etc.). Unless you're European or wanna-be, scrape that shit off -- nobody knows what the heck PBO, OKI, CLS, QIK, or MHD, means anyway.
No stick-people representations of your family. --No body cares if you're a successful breeder nor how many cats you have.
No artsy-fartsy window monograms. --Ever wonder why that monogrammed sweater phase died out? There is a reason for that.
Little boy peeing on Ford, Chevrolet, etc.: if you're old enough to have a driver's licence you're too old for this dumb shit. Scrape it off.
Flip-flops, bass fish, and deer head stickers: I find them all annoying, but in the spirit of self-expression, I'll let 'em slide.
Memorials: Frankly, I really don't get the new, bizarre tribute to love ones lost by pasting head-stone-like decals of names, dates, epitaphs, and praying hands on your back windshield but hey, whatever helps ease the pain. I'm not dissin' your loss, really I'm not; I just think it's an odd thing to do, but we'll file it under self-expression and let it go. However...
If you're one of those people driving around with a Dale Earnhardt sticker that reads, "God needed a driver... # 3" or some such nonsense and you're not related by blood to the man, scrape that shit off.
Anybody who has a sticker that reads in small print something along the lines of "If you can read this, you're too close," is asking to be tailgated. --Trust me, tapping on your breaks a few times is a much better deterrent.
And I'm all about being passionate about worthy causes, but let's put a limit on the stickers, okay? How about three? No more than three stickers per cause on your vehicle. Examples of overkill: a) the "Jesus man" who lives around the corner with his pickup completely covered in magnetic Biblical verses, religious exclamations such as, "Jesus is God!" (which I find nonsensical and a tad contradictory but whatever), and images of hellfire (great motivational; sign me up!... and by the way I'd just love to know how many times his giant burning-souls magnet has been stolen), and b) the pro-life-mobile I found cruising around my 'hood one day which was basically wall-papered with such over-the-top pro-life propaganda that it not only caused me to stop and stare (partially for fear that the driver could not see thru her windows) but completely betrayed any shred of credibility for her obviously passionate cause... So, remember, from now on, you can only pick three!
Humor, wit, and sarcasm strongly encouraged: bonus points for stickers, vanity plates, etc. that make me laugh. =)

"Half of the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important. They don't mean to do harm. But the harm does not interest them."

...T.S. Eliot

happy November!

2010-11-02T09:33:00.004-04:00

fall

Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Now that the 'month which must not be named' has finally been laid to rest, it's time to move forward into colorful, blissful chill that is autumn. Yay!

Long live November!

...Unless of course, you - month of my birth, of scarves and jackets, month of turkey and thanks, have turned on me too, in which case I think I may just have to find myself a dark hole and hibernate.

But let's use our imaginations and pretend for a moment that I am an optimist...

Happy November! =)

"There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!"

...Percy Bysshe Shelley

perks.

2010-10-27T22:29:00.002-04:00

Elizabeth., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

One of the few perks this ghastly month has been more shooting time... despite incurring more rental fees for lenses since mine has yet to find it's way back from Nikon repairs. Ugg.

This past Sunday evening, I had the pleasure of tagging along with fellow photographers, Rob Miracle and Tom Winstead, for some noir type stuff with Elizabeth (pictured here), a lovely young woman with notably killer legs. --And I finally got to put some of my recently acquired vintage hats to use...

(Yes, another eBay find.)

It seems that, based on this lot of hats, women back in the day had heads the size of cantaloupes, maybe even grapefruits.

I think that means we've all just gotten smarter. =)

"If we have to tell Hollywood good-by, it may be with one of those tender, old-fashioned, seven-second kisses exchanged between two people of the opposite sex, with all their clothes on."

...Anita Loos

gettin' that dragon.

2010-10-27T15:36:00.006-04:00

Goin' to see Papa, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

SO. This past weekend I picked up a DVD copy of a super cute movie we'd all watched in the theater, "How to Train Your Dragon," which we've now seen about twenty times so far.

As such, it was no surprise to find our brave little gentleman galloping about the living room the other night playing dragon and (here comes the 'surprise' part) exclaiming, "I'm gonna get that fucking dragon!"

Looks like Mommie and Daddy need to uhm, *cough* monitor Liam's television exposure a bit more closely... Yeah, we'll go with that.

Not that I'm proud that our toddler was caught using sailor words by any means (although he is a Pirate baby after all), but I have to admit it is damn impossible not to burst into spontaneous giggles every time I replay the scene in my head. --The hardest part of course was keeping seriously disappointed looks on our faces while explaining to a four-year-old why it's not nice to drop F-bombs.

Oops!

"Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer."

...Mark Twain

Oktober.

2010-10-26T21:16:00.004-04:00

20071013_035z.jpg
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

October has always been one of my most favorite months of the year. It's when the weather actually begins to cool off and the beautiful fall foliage blossoms. When being outdoors is its most pleasurable and when I feel rejuvenated, alive, and most content. When pumpkins spring up on doorsteps awaiting Halloween... I always loved October.

Until now.

This year, October has been the month from HELL. Bubbling over with chaos, drama, fatigue, tantrums, whiny complaining neighbors, bullshit, over-due bills and overdrawn bank accounts, things breaking down, going wrong, and general mayhem. Everything that is screwed-up, shitty, irritating, annoying, bad, rotten, chaotic, stressful, overwhelming, exhausting, depressing, infuriating, and homicide-provoking has come together for a big fall festival to reek havoc and play the devil in our lives. And it has spread like smallpox infecting both home and work, swallowing us up like a title-wave of shit.

Holy hell.

What on earth did I do to piss October off? October has betrayed me. October turned on me and stabbed me in the back like some narcissistic predator leaving me lying in the gutter as it strolls onward into November without a care in the world. October is not my friend.

Oh no, October is no friend of mine.

"October is nature's funeral month. Nature glories in death more than in life. The month of departure is more beautiful than the month of coming - October than May. Every green thing loves to die in bright colors."

...Henry Ward Beecher

all's Fair.

2010-10-19T18:35:00.003-04:00

fried oreos.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

It's that time of year again: the NC State Fair.

When throngs of people, young and old, make their annual pilgrimage to Raleigh to pay homage to ridiculously overpriced deep-fried foods, rides, and games all designed to drain fair-goers financially dry, fill your home with more cheap shit destined for donation, and raise your cholesterol by a thousand percent...

When traffic on any given day is completely constipated, interstate and roadway alike, within a five mile radius of this fiasco...

Where parking is a terrible joke, especially for handicapped patrons dumped like cattle for slaughter into the general traffic sometimes miles away while on-site parking is reserved for tractor trailers, campers, and monster trucks...

And every year we subject ourselves to this freak show, why exactly? Well, I'm not really sure. --For the sake of our impatient, over-stimulated kids who are so tired after an hour or two that absolutely everything invokes a tearful tantrum?

Example (upon having just had my son's face painted and him wiping his mouth with a baby wipe)...
My sweet angel boy: "It's uggeley!"
Me: "Let's go see if they can fix it for you."
My sweet angel boy: "No! (crying) I don't want it anymore! It's uggeley!"
Me: "Okay, well we don't have to. Want Mommie to clean off your face for you?"
My sweet angel boy: "No! (cries harder) I wanna fix it!"

It wasn't all bad however. The Fair is bubbling over with photo opportunities and it goes without saying that I took lots of pictures. I got to spend some time with one of my best high school friends, Karen, and her daughter Cheyenne, and saw my "other dad" Sammy. I had a turkey leg and stocked up on my usual stash of candied apples, fudge, and honey cotton candy and discovered the wonder that is "fried Oreos." I also discovered that my four-year-old is insanely terrified of heights - which made riding the Ferris wheel amusingly entertaining (although I have to admit it's hard to console a child when you're laughing uncontrollably). And when the kids weren't busy crying or sitting down without warning in the middle of the street, watching them laughing and giggling full of childhood wonder made me forget for a brief spell that I really hate massive crowds and thus the Fair.

Perhaps it's those blissful few moments that make us do such crazy things. Gluttons for punishment we are.

"The world is for thousands a freak show; the images flicker past and vanish; the impressions remain flat and unconnected in the soul. Thus they are easily led by the opinions of others, are content to let their impressions be shuffled and rearranged and evaluated differently."

...Johann von Goethe

rediscovery.

2010-10-14T00:05:00.005-04:00

muse., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

In my life, I have grown to believe and have often said that there is a vast difference between relatives and family... and that soul is much thicker than blood. Well, as everyone's individual perspectives are shaped by their own unique experiences, this is the lesson I have drawn from my life's journey...

Recently however, I rediscovered my cousin Jennifer... ever a lovely person, just six months younger than me, Jenn is someone I have known pretty much as long as I've been alive and yet, I never had any idea that we had so much in common. I won't elaborate on our shared personality quirks, genetic flaws, and other fun stuff except to say that it was a pleasant surprise. For the fist time in my life, I didn't feel like such the black sheep, just a different shade of gray.

I remember oh so many afternoons playing together at Grandma's with Jennifer and her older sister Renee. One very distinct memory is Renee instructing us how to make a bird's nest in a Styrofoam cup scavenging the farm for straw and twigs and feathers (not surprisingly, Renee grew up to be a college professor). Growing up next door to Grandma, I knew the farm like the back of my hand and was always excited to show my two city cousins the new litter of baby feral kittens I found beneath the seat of the old pick up truck or such... We three spent a lot of time making mud pies, cakes, and cookies which Grandma always pretended to eat with joyous delight and it was not uncommon that we found ourselves in trouble with Granddaddy for digging holes under the carport.

Once, my dad took the three of us to WRAL's television studio and we met Charlie Gaddy who autographed a picture for us. Because he only signed one photo for the three of us, Renee and Jenn had offered to tear off my portion with my name on it to take home with me. (Interestingly, I met Mr. Gaddy again in 2002 at my daughter's graduation from the Charlie Gaddy Center for Children; he looked the same as he did twenty-something years ago... I think it's time he went into hiding before someone stakes him.)

I remember Jennifer's Strawberry Shortcake collection that sat atop her dresser; she always let me play with them when I visited.

Then there was our high school years, me in the country and Jenn in the city, when we were socially awkward and trying to figure out who we were in our own lives... I was the wild-card who wore too much make-up, spoke my mind, and came home drunk and Jenn, well she was always a good person who was always nice to everyone and secretly, I suppose envied her.

It's funny the things we store in our memories - the stuff that actually sticks. And now, a lifetime later, though it all seems like a blur, deep down in the sediment of my mind, there are still things that make me smile in spite of it all.

Jenn., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Not so long ago, after so many years, we all reconnected on Facebook of all places.

Though anonymity has it's perks, I suppose it's high time I stop hiding from people that were once such a big part of my world.

After much conversation, I managed to talk Jennifer into humoring me for a photo shoot in an effort to further develop my craft with someone I wouldn't have to worry about catching me refer to my cheat sheet for exposure settings. Essentially, Jenn was my guinea pig but I had no doubts I'd get some great shots - she is a beautiful woman, inside and out... I wanted to capture that, the beauty of my cousin, my family.

I think I did.

"A family is a place where minds come in contact with one another."

...Buddha

murderous.

2010-10-12T20:10:00.007-04:00

murderous., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Wow. October 12th already and where have I been?!! This month has thus far been a murderous blur of chaos, insanity, stress, and I don't even know what all. So far, the only really pleasant aspect of this month is the weather... Yay for Fall!

Other notable highlights (and lowlights) include:

Irritations with the NC Division of Motor Vehicles - oh let me count the ways... Seriously, has anyone EVER had a good experience with the DMV? I predict the next postal breakdown outrage will involve the DMV as a center stage.
Shopping for Halloween costumes with the kids - as nerve-wracking as it was fun.
Numerous crazy calls at the office of course, including: a) a fellow interested in voluntarily terminating his parental rights to avoid paying child support for a child who hates him... sorry dude, sucks to be you; North Carolina don't play that way - you're in it for the long haul! b) some jackass wanting emergency representation for a DUI he got a week prior... the emergency part comes in because not only was he driving drunk but hit and nearly killed another driver, not that he was concerned for the victim of his idiocy but what if he sues him? Can he be arrested for murder if he dies? c) a couple of folks frantically seeking representation against the Department of Social Services in their salacious efforts to play God with other people's lives because there aren't enough real child abuse emergencies being reported to keep them busy and thus not enough "hero badges" to go around, and d) a guy charged with Assault on a Female for a spat with his wife - literally. Their fight began by them spitting on one another which, as you can imagine, quickly evolved into a smack-down.
Taking a day off to photograph my beautiful cousin, Jennifer.
And spending a wonderful albeit exhausting day with my best boy - seeing "Nanny McPhee Returns" at the movies, gallivanting about the grounds of the NC Art Museum and getting a front row seat to a song and dance routine at the amphitheater, and ice cream from "Old McDonald's."

Just to name a few... Whew!

"There is no order in the world around us, we must adapt ourselves to the requirements of chaos instead."

...Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions

a killer shoot.

2010-09-29T07:47:00.004-04:00

"did that hurt?" she says..., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

This past weekend, Rob Miracle and I set out for the North Carolina mountains for some photographic therapy with three fantastic models, Lindsey Jane, Mary Ashley Knight, and Logan, and the fun and talented make-up artist, Moira Hassler.

They were each killer shoots... and we had a devilish good time!

devilish smile., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

"I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move."

...Georgia O'Keeffe

birds.

2010-09-23T21:38:00.003-04:00

birds.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

I'm not a member of the National Audubon Society nor have I ever been out bird-watching for the sole purpose of watching birds, and unless it's a Parakeet, Cardinal, Robin, Crow, Blue Jay, or some sort of farm foul, well I couldn't tell you what is what. But I do like birds.

As a little country girl, when I wasn't helping Grandma in the gardens, I could usually be found out exploring the vast acreage and wilderness that was my grandparents' farm. I often found stray animal and reptilian babies who had lost their way or fallen from their nest, and they all came home with me: dogs, cats, possums, turtles, snakes, frogs, squirrels, and birds... lots of birds.

Once I even found a bird egg toppled from it's nest and despite my mother insisting that it wouldn't hatch, I brought it in, made a bed for it in a paper cup, and kept it warm... Not only did it hatch, but the tiny naked creature grew and thrived and eventually, fully feathered, would fly around the house following me on command until the day we finally set him (or her) free.

I remember going to visit my Aunt Buella and Uncle Zinnie (yep, those were their real names) who raised Peacocks. There was nothing more beautiful to me than to see those magical birds spread their magnificent plumes. --Besides the big brass spittoon that sat between their chairs, the only memories I have of my great aunt and uncle are their wonderful birds.

So yes, I do like birds. --If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I think it wouldn't be such a bad thing to come back as a bird... to soar above the world and taste the sky...

A recent addition to my growing (ebay) art collection are these three mixed-media paintings from the uber-talented Jenny Berry which now adorn my wall. I especially like the bird on the telephone pole; that particular painting is like a memory captured. Her stuff is amazing to me and makes me smile inside... and isn't that what art is all about?

"Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them?"

...Rose Kennedy

birfday weekend.

2010-09-21T15:41:00.011-04:00

the NEW Super Friends., Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

The weekend, jammed packed with all kinds of birthday fun and surprises, was a huge success! Liam is now officially a FOUR-year-old... and I am still exhausted. I need a weekend just to recover from the weekend. Whew!

Saturday, Grand Master Jun and Master Kim of Champion Jun's Taekwondo Academy hosted Liam's super-cool Taekwondo party for the birthday boy and his preschool friends... We arrived to find the studio completely decorated with balloons and banners; Liam was over the moon. --The bouncy house went up, the awesome Spiderman cake was delivered, friends began to trickle in and the bouncing began... And Liam got to be a Black Belt for a day! Wow! Could the day get any better?

After bouncing their little heads off, the kids all got a Taekwondo lesson where they did exercises, ran relays, jumped hurdles, and even broke their own boards! They each did so well and enjoyed themselves immensely! --I've always been so impressed at how well the Masters work with small children; especially Master Jun. I swear, it's like he's a "child whisperer." Kids just magically follow along and do as he instructs eager for his approval and praise, which he showers upon them liberally because they all do their very best for Master Jun. He just exudes that kind of energy. And in return for sharing his vast knowledge and experience in TKD, they make him laugh. Yes, the two-time world champion and 7th degree black belt has a big ole soft spot, and that soft spot is children.

And then, who should appear, but SPIDERMAN! =)

Now, I have to say, as Spidermen go, this wasn't the best costume ever, but then again, didn't Peter Parker make his own suit in the movie? Irregardless, it was all very exciting to the little people. One by one the children trotted, skipped, and ran over to the 'webbed ranger' to show Spidey the boards they had broken, at which the super hero "Oooh'ed" and "Aaah'ed" and told them how strong they were.

Next, using my recently acquired background stand, I had set up a "photo booth" in the corner of the studio where I took photos of each child with Spiderman and with their friends.

Then it was time for cake!

let them eat Cake!, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

What an awesomely delicious cake it was (made by April Florence of Raleigh)! A layer of vanilla on top, chocolate (my fav!) on the bottom, edible buildings, and cupcakes too. We sang the obligatory birthday song, ate buildings, blew out four candles, and then Master Jun helped Liam cut his cake with a Korean sword.

It was a really cool party if I do say so myself and I do so hope that Liam will always remember what a great, fun-filled, and all-around happy day he had with his friends... and if by chance he doesn't, well, I have plenty of photographs!

Speaking of photos...

look ma, no hands!, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

At my house, I have an annual tradition: each year I do a birthday photo shoot for my kiddos on or about their respective birthdays, and being that Sunday was Liam's, we turned the back deck into a photo studio and let Liam put on a fashion show of sorts (and Bella too, though she wasn't as enthusiastic about all the hoopla as her brother). Kevin was in charge of "wardrobe" much to his chagrin.

You see, I just love dressing my little ones up in various outfits, costumes, and ethic garb from around the globe -- and this year's line-up included western attire (with his first Levi's and first real cowboy boots), silk Chinese pajamas (from Hong Kong, Thanks Aunt Martha!), a beaded and embroidered Pakistani salwar kameez, authentic German lederhosen (a gift from Dr. Kerry Orsingher and possibly the last time his big-boy self will be able to wear them), and his Spiderman boxers posed on his Schwinn trike. --At each change of clothes, he would ask if he could wear the outfit when we were done?

"It's your birthday baby," I told him, "when we're done, you can wear anything you want for the rest of the day."

Later in the afternoon, we grilled out with a few of our favorite peeps and Grannie and Papaw. Gathered around the dinner table, Aunt Martha was inquiring about the exciting surprise visit from Spiderman at his Taekwondo birthday party and wow, how cool, etc. when Liam matter-of-fact-ly informs her, "He wasn't the real Spiderman, he was a man wearing suit like Spiderman because Spiderman is real busy and has a lot of people working for him." --Though this was news to me, I can't say I was surprised. That kid misses nothing.

Liam showed off his birthday loot and added more to his spoils. Among his favorite gifts, was a blue ceramic piggy bank with his name on it made by his sister (with help from Miss Kim)... He loved, loved, loved it! and immediately began depositing quarters he'd previously swindled from Papaw while Bella grinned and beamed and giggled as everyone clapped and told her what a great job she did. --Those are the little moments that just make my heart beat. ...And of course, we did cake again, this time with sparklers and trick candles, though Liam was not nearly as amused as we were. I think it is safe to say that once again, a good time was had by all... just grillin' and chillin' and watching one little boy have the best birthday weekend of his life - all four years of it.

And true to my word, when we were done with photos, I allowed him to wear whatever he wanted for the rest of the day... SO, he spent the entire afternoon dressed in his multi-color Spiderman comic strip boxers, brown/black leather Justin cowboy boots, and his favorite brown/yellow/orange Jimi Hendrix T-shirt (and if you ask him, he'll tell you, "Jimi Hendrix was the greatest guitar player EVER!")... He was a site to be sure, but after all, he was the birthday boy.

Life was good. =)

"There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million."

...Walt Streightiff

4 years ago.

2010-09-18T00:21:00.007-04:00

the last shot.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Four years ago, I was as big as a whale and counting down the miserable seconds until I would have my body back again and the yet unnamed alien being housed within my stretched-to-the-max belly would be unleashed upon the world and take his first breath...

It's almost impossible to image now and seems so foreign to remember a time before Liam.

My first pregnancy crept up on me like a quiet thief. Like many first-time unintentional breeders, I was clueless as to my condition until I was entering my second trimester. I had been told by a couple of different docs that I would likely never conceive as my uterus is basically somewhere up in Egypt.

Well, I sure showed them.

1997-98: I had a typically healthy pregnancy, was 5 months along before I graduated to maternity clothes, progressed well, gained only 20 pounds or so altogether, ate well, slept a lot, had crazy dreams, kept Tums in business, and drank more milk than I had in the entire rest of my life put together... and I hated every moment of being pregnant. --Besides being bitchy and miserable from inconvenience and heart burn however, I gradually got over myself and was able to wrap my mind around the idea of being a mother before I was due to pop -- and secretly even began to look forward to the whole mommie/baby experience.

Then came Isabel.

No one enters parenthood for the first time fully prepared for what is in store. But absolutely nothing could have prepared me for the journey of having a child with special needs...

Don't get me wrong, life with Bell has left me with no regrets and I love her more than I ever imagined, but Holland is much, much different than Italy after all.

I never dreamed I would have another child. But nine years later the reality slapped me across the face like a frozen ham. I knew instantly. Before the pee-stick would even collaborate. And I was terrified.

My first call wasn't to my doctor nor to an OBGYN. My first call was to the UNC Genetics Clinic... I was over five months along (and showing) before I even told my family, friends, and coworkers. Five months along before our fears were finally laid to rest and I learned that I was carrying a healthy baby boy.

In retrospect, I can only guess that those around me must have thought I was really packing on the pounds because, unlike my first pregnancy, well, let's just say I was a healthy as a horse, and quickly grew to the size of one as well. --My God, by the time I hit my third trimester, I had no knees.

I craved red meat like there was no tomorrow and let me tell you, there were quite a few life-or-death steak emergencies. Kevin jokes that no hooven beast was safe around me, but it was nearly that bad. And Tums, yes... I devoured them by the handful around the clock. I drank ridiculous amounts of milk and Oreos never tasted so good.

To this day, probably the ugliest fight Kev and I have ever had involved my midnight Oreo craving and finding the empty cookie bag left atop the refrigerator. But I digress...

2006: Because of the difficulties in my first labor, I was scheduled for a second cesarean (which was perfectly fine by me!) I remember joking with the anesthesiologist as my beautiful, wonderful surgeon made her first incision.

"You doing okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

He indicated that they had begun and I let out a loud, "Oww!"

My doctor overheard and nearly had a heart attack... I'm not sure she forgave me for that one. Oops. =)

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard Dr. Jackie Newlin exclaim, "Well hello handsome!" and I knew that he was here.

I can still hear his incredibly pissed siren newborn wail in the recesses of my mind... and it still makes my heart flutter to replay it.

1st photo., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Four years ago tomorrow, I became a first-time mom all over again.
...And every day it blows my mind. =)

Happy Birthday baby boy!

"When I was a young man, I didn't think about having a family. My wife and I were too poor to have babies. Then all of a sudden, one came along and scared the hell out of us because we had no money. Once the baby arrives, you make do somehow. You fall in love with the baby and life adjusts itself. You find you don't need as much money as you thought. When that happens, you can ask the questions that should have come before the baby."

...Ray Bradbury

my funny boy.

2010-09-16T20:04:00.007-04:00

everyone loves a clown., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Today produced more fine "Liamisms." --I've always loved a man who could make me laugh and truthfully none have conquered my funny bone (nor my heart!) so completely as my son. He is truly the funniest little person I know and tickles my soul on a daily basis.

Good thing for him too, because his gift for provoking laughter often prevents me from wringing his little neck at times.

Today Daddy took Liam to preschool. Upon arrival, the sweet smell of cinnamon wafted through the center... the yummy fragrance of french toast sticks. Kevin walks Liam into his room and spying the kids' breakfast says, "Wow, french toast sticks! Mmmm. I might have to stay and have breakfast. Can I stay and have some french toast sticks with you?"

Liam promptly responds, "You'll have to go to your own class Daddy. This is MY class."

Fast-forward to the afternoon:

I fetch the child and we're heading out to the car when Liam stops to chat up the director.

"Are you going home?"

Liam nods.

"What are you having for dinner tonight?"

"I don't know," Liam replies shrugging his little shoulders.

"Do you want some suggestions for dinner?" she asks.

"No," he says, "we don't have any of that at home."

"Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh."

...W. H. Auden

double tired.

2010-09-16T08:55:00.007-04:00

child safety.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Yesterday afternoon, I picked Liam up from preschool. He was happy to see me, which is always nice, as opposed to the days when he's so engrossed in his Lego's or such that he cannot be bothered to fain excitement when he lays eyes on the woman who gave birth to him.

We say our goodbyes to our friends and walk out to the car. Liam opened his door and climbed into his car seat.

"Put on your seat belt and buckle yourself in," I tell him.

Usually this is not an issue as he insists upon doing it himself, big boy that he is and all, especially when we're running late as we are prone to do. But this particular day he tells me he doesn't want to. He's tired he says.

"Well Mommie is tired too and you're a big boy. Put your seat belt on please."

He huffs. "I don't wanna put my seat belt on. All day long I'm putting my seat belt on. I'm tired of putting my seat belt on all day long!"

What? Where did all this griping come from?!! And not even four years old yet. Good grief.

"Liam, you're a big boy. Mommie has to put on her seat belt too and then I have to put on yours, and that makes me doubly tired," I mindlessly blabber as I give up and buckle him in.

Not to be outdone, he replies, "Well I'm a whole lot of doubly tired."

"It goes without saying that you should never have more children than you have car windows."

...Erma Bombeck

Miracle League.

2010-09-14T22:36:00.012-04:00

high five? maybe., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Saturday was Bella's first baseball game... Yep, that's right: baseball, the favorite all-American pastime. Or so they say.

Frankly, I hate baseball - and (American) football. Most especially football. --How Kevin and I ever got together in spite of this ginormous clash is truly a mystery to me?

I mean, this man o' mine could sit and watch football for days, possibly weeks, on end smoking his big ole stinky cigars - and during football season, it seems to me that that is exactly what he does, although he will beg to differ citing that Tevo recordings and distracting babysitting and domestic errand breaks don't count. But hell, one game lasts a minimum of four long-ass, grueling hours of huge, sweaty slabs of beef playing human bumper cars back and forth across a big patch of expensively manicured grass while listening to the non-stop, irritating chatter of the meat-head commentators yucking on and on about utter nonsense because after the weather, there really isn't much of substance to discuss regarding football. But that's just me.

Sure I've attending football games before -- I called it "tailgating" and that was the whole point. After an hour or two partaking of parking lot beverages, I would happily stand up and cheer or do the wave when prompted by my surrounding college patrons, but I didn't have a clue what was going on nor did I care. I still don't.

Baseball I mostly detest because it's a freaking hot season and the unbearable torture of baking in the stands really distracts me from caring about anything else other than putting an end to my misery and finding the nearest air-conditioner.

I'm not all anti-sports however. Kev and I have managed to find some common sporting ground much to his delight, albeit small. --I enjoy college basketball occasionally, depending on who is playing (UNC and/or NC State); World Cup Soccer (I pull for Deutschland - yes, even against the US); and Ice Hockey (Go Canes!), but, what's not to like about ice hockey? A bunch of guys skating gracefully around a rink and clubbing one another with sticks... that's entertainment! --Oh, we also discovered on a fluke, that we both derive much amusement from watching sumo wrestling. =)

And while my husband will watch just about anything in the way of competitive sporting events from football to squirrel wrestling (Thank God he's not into NASCAR), that's pretty much it for me...

Until recently, when our son began taking Tae Kwon Do and our daughter joined the Miracle League of the Triangle...

Established in 2006, the Miracle League of the Triangle, is an amazing non-profit organization orchestrated by an extraordinary group of dedicated volunteers whose goal is simply to provide children with special needs an opportunity to play baseball.

There are numerous teams each with their own jerseys, hats, and coaches. There are bats and mitts, concession stands, a real ball field, bleachers, and dugouts... just like in baseball. There is even a proper baseball announcer and coolest of all, every child has their own "walk out" song.

Kevin and I had a lot of fun picking out songs for Bella to choose from for her walk out song; "Hells Bells" being the first to pop into my mind, followed by "Rebel Yell," "Brown Eyed Girl," and "Rebel Rebel"... However, Bell chose Eddie Murphy's rendition of "I'm a Believer" from the original Shrek soundtrack.

Watching the faces of all the kids out there playing ball... some smiles couldn't be missed and some wore theirs on the inside... some ran their hearts out around the bases, some walked slowly with braces and had to be carried to home, some made it on wheels, and one kid rounding second that just decided to sit down and take a load off mid-game (yep, that would've been MY child)... But no one struck out and everybody won... because they each were a part of something bigger than themselves, something fun and spirited and above all, something that included them, counted them, and recognized them... cheered for and acknowledged them and for an hour, gave each child a sense of normalcy within their own diverse community of teammates, coaches, buddies, parents, friends, and even strangers where no one stared, no one ignored them and pretended that they weren't there... and everyone celebrated the fact that they were.

So as it turns out, I'm a baseball fan after all. =)

“Being disabled should not mean being disqualified from having access to every aspect of life."

...Emma Thompson

last week.

2010-09-14T20:06:00.008-04:00

20091030_1300z-R.jpg
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

So last week, after the "long weekend" (I'm of the mind that weekends are only long if one doesn't have to spend them with small children), our office server crashed first thing Tuesday morning.

Crashed as in died, bit the dust, kicked the bucked, pushed up daisies, croaked, expired, passed away - or to barrow a phrase from HBO's kick-ass hit series, True Blood - "met the true death."

Without having ran its back-up of course.

To be fair, to say we knew that we were pushing our luck with this temperamental, archaic Windows piece-of-shit is putting it mildly. The truth is, we'd been operating on borrowed time for a while now. And although it came as no big surprise, being "dead in the water" was a huge, inconvenient pain-in-the-ass nonetheless.

The week went downhill from there, needless to say. Yippee!

"Computers are useless. They can only give you answers."

...Pablo Picasso

Tae Kwon Do!, etc.

2010-09-14T19:29:00.008-04:00

Tae Kwon Do!, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Friday, September 3rd, Liam was awarded the rank of 10th Gup in Taekwondo and was received his "High Yellow Belt" from Champion Jun's Taekwondo Academy, as well as a certificate and his very first trophy.

Yay Liam! =)

After the belt presentation while packing the offspring and camera gear into the car, I promptly knocked my camera to the ground (again) and damaged my favorite lens (again). Grrr... At least the D200 survived.

So, the following week, the hubs takes the lens to our friendly neighborhood camera store... The helpful fellows in the store take the lens and begin to mount it on another body saying, "Well, maybe it's something we can fix; let's take a look... what happened?"

"Uhm, she dropped it on the asphalt."

"Oh," was the only response as the guy quickly set the body down and began wrapping the lens to ship back to Nikon for repair (again).

Hey, when I screw something up, I do it well!

So then I had to rent a replacement lens.

It's nearly impossible for me to walk into Southeastern Camera (and sometimes Peace - if Geoff is working) without buying something... Dangerous. --This time I found a nice used background stand that managed to find its way home with me despite my husband's famous last words, "Don't buy anything."

"But it was a trade," I argued (which never works when you're married to a man who argues for a living).

"And what did you trade for it?"

"Uhm, money."

"That's buying."

Sheepish grin.

And then (bless his heart) he helped me set it up on the back deck for an impromptu shoot of the kids in bad late-day lighting with the lens I had just rented... The lens which I used all weekend and now simply MUST have.

And lighting... I could really use some lighting equipment too!

"Giving a camera to Diane Arbus is like putting a live grenade in the hands of a child."

...Norman Mailer

cowgirl diva.

2010-09-08T07:39:00.004-04:00

One Spot.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

So this weekend I was eating out with the family unit when I noticed a young teen-ish girl sitting near us who clearly did not want to be misclassified as a city girl...

She was decked out in cowboy boots, a pair of Wranglers with that sharp blue "back-to-school new jeans" look to them, leather belt complete with her named tooled on the back and large western buckle, and a camouflaged hunting T that read "Southern Cowgirl" on the back adorned with a rebel flag. The only thing missing was a hat and some chew.

Now I have nothing against western attire; heck, I admit that I have owned my share of cowboy boots... that's the thing about boots, they're classic, stylish, and fun, and come with their very own attitude when you put them on and seem to magically transform your gait into a swagger with the timeless, unmistakable rhythm of well worn heals clomping across a wood floor -- not to mention they protect from snake bites and keep your feet and calves clean when wading through rivers of cow poop and such while working the farm.

But unless you're working a farm or are on the rodeo circuit, I'm thinking a superficial statement of self-expression like this is a wee bit over the top if it's not authentic... and while your french-manicured acrylic nails looked very nice and all, they gave you away.

This farm girl could not help but be amused. =)

"There are only three things that can kill a farmer: lightning, rolling over in a tractor, and old age."

...Bill Bryson

legal curiosities.

2010-09-04T22:27:00.007-04:00

Kevin's home away from home.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

This past week, I had a fellow phone up to inquire as to the classification of the crime "Common Law Robbery" because it popped up on his employment background check many years after the fact as a now responsible adult.

It seems that many years ago as a foolish teenager, the guy was hangin' with his peeps when they happened upon a pizza guy and thought it would be funny to rough-up the pizza man and steal his pizza.

The much older and wiser man wanted to know if it was a felony or a misdemeanor? Well, as the boys were both out of the office and I am not an attorney, I had not a clue.

As it turns out, Common Law Robbery is a felony... and cannot be expunged from one's criminal record. So essentially, this poor guy has forever screwed himself due to the fact that he once kicked some pizza guy's ass and made off with a pie. --Not that I am condoning nor defending violence nor thievery but let's face it, just because our country says we're old enough to vote and go to war does not necessarily mean we possess the common sense to make intelligent decisions nor fully understand the consequences of our actions. We're not talking about rape or murder, it was a tussle and a pizza.

But here's the kicker... Had it been merely an assault - say, he kicked the pizza man's keister and did not take the pizza - he would have been charged with Simple Assault, which in North Carolina is a Class 2 Misdemeanor. The difference is the pizza.

For comparison, possession of one and a half ounces of marijuana or less is a Class 3 Misdemeanor, however, possession of the same marijuana and paraphernalia in which to consume/smoke it (i.e. bong, rolling papers, pipe, etc. - though I'm not clear if Brownie mix and baking supplies fall under the legal definition...) would win you a Class 1 Misdemeanor in the great state of NC. (For the record, speeding is a Class 2 Misdemeanor.)

A charge of Driving Under the Influence (DUI) kinda falls into it's own black hole of crime and punishment but I am told by The Husband, Esq that one fairs far better in the courts (and on one's criminal record) to be charged with possession of small amounts of illegal drugs and paraphernalia than driving after having consumed several legal alcoholic beverages. Go figure.

So I suppose the lesson we can derive from this little lecture is this:

If you must partake of the herb, leave your pipe at home, and
if you're gonna kick somebody's ass, don't take anything from them.
And above all else, don't drink and drive.

Seriously, just don't. While driving drunk it may be good business for your local law firm, it's a really dumb thing to do. --Personally, I could care less if you have pot in your car, but the rest of us driving around out there appreciate your sobriety while you're on the road.

A public service message from yours truly. =)

"I've heard that while the show was on there were no reported crimes, or very few. When The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan, even the criminals had a rest for ten minutes."

...George Harrison

Fall.

2010-09-04T21:14:00.004-04:00

Fall palette., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Fall. I can almost taste it. So close, yet so far away... and these 70 degree teasers just before the temperature shoots back up into the '90's are driving me nuts! But I'll take what I can get. At least my glasses no longer fog up from the hellish humidity when I walk out of the house in the mornings.

I love Fall. It's my most favorite time of year. In part thanks to the cool splendor and beautiful Fall palette that slips quietly into our surroundings as summer succumbs to its miserable death and the reign of the mosquito comes to an end... but for me, Fall also makes me giddy with nostalgia for my most treasured memories...

Four-wheeling on country back roads and fields in my old Jeep with the doors off, cruising in my friend Karen's gold LeBaron convertible mooing at cows, sitting in the parking lot of Cup-A-Joe's at 2 am reading poetry, riding motorcycles in the rain, camping at my Grandma's pond with friends and singing songs around a fire, school night visits to NC State and driving back the next day for class wearing the same clothes from the day before, impromptu parties at Sammy's and him coming home in the middle of the night using a flashlight to make his way through the minefield of bodies sleeping on his living room floor, and the oh-so-many adventures at ECU... Oh those were the days!

I remember hanging out at Fort Bragg with my dear friend Trawick and some other army buddies one Friday night bored. We decided on a whim to take off and go somewhere... We ended up camping at Lake Lure in a freshly cleared logging area on a mountain top and sleeping beneath the stars. We sat up all night talking, drinking, and laughing while Maloney ran up and down the steep hill on all fours howling at the full moon and Rosenburger ate cold beans out of a can. --The next day we made our way across a rushing mountain stream and went repelling down a cliff.

One night, my friend George and I followed a big water pipe beneath the town of Smithfield for what seemed like forever until our backs ached to the point we could go no further... Why you ask? No particular reason aside from the fact that we could and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

And Halloween... Long before there was the tedious task of walking around with small children begging for candy from our neighbors, All-Hallows-Eve was a night filled with mischief, costumes, and scaring the crap out of one another.

Oh the memories, and so many I dare not share here.

And then comes Thanksgiving, my most favorite holiday of all and of course that has nothing at all to do with the smorgasbord of delectable food -- honest. ;-)

Yay for Fall!

"Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay."

...Robert Browning

belt testing @ TKD.

2010-08-28T22:18:00.004-04:00

belt testing @ TKD., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Today our little tike had his very first belt testing in Taekwondo. The youngest in his class, he did so very well! We could not have been more proud of our little guy... and more surprised... Who knew he'd actually been listening and paying attention all this time?

"A child's education should begin at least one hundred years before he is born."

...Oliver Wendell Holmes

movies.

2010-08-28T21:36:00.002-04:00

MO > IE?
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

I'm sure there are more, but here's one hundred and thirty of my all-time favorites...

A Walk in the Clouds (1995)
A Woman at War (1991)
Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Amistad (1997)
Amélie (2001)
As Good as It Gets (1997)
Avatar (2009)
Benny & Joon (1993)
Bill (1981)
Blood Diamond (2006)
Catch Me If You Can (2002)
Cars (2006)
Casablanca (1942)
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)
Chitty Chity Bang Bang (1968)
Chocolat (2000)
Crash (2004)
Dead Poets Society (1989)
Dogma (1999)
Don Juan DeMarco (1994)
Donnie Brasco (1997)
Donnie Darko (2001)
Dracula (1992)
Driving Miss Daisy (1989)
Drop Dead Fred (1991)
Dying Young (1991)
East is East (1999)
Edward Scissorhands (1990)
Elizabeth (1998)
E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial (1982)
Ever After (1998)
Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009)
Finding Neverland (2004)
Fried Green Tomatoes (1991)
Forest Gump (1994)
Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003)
Good Will Hunting (1997)
Gran Torino (2008)
Groundhog Day (1993)
Grosse Pointe Blank (1997)
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (2001)
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002)
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2007)
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (2009)
Hideous Kinky (1998)
Hotel Rwanda (2004)
House of Fools (2002)
How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Immortal Beloved (1994)
Into the Wild (2007)
Juno (2007)
Kiki's Delivery Service (1989)
Kingpin (1996)
Labyrinth (1986)
Life is Beautiful (1997)
Like Water for Chocolate (1992)
Little Miss Sunshine (2006)
Lost in Translation (2003)
Mama Mia (2008)
Mary Poppins (1964)
Mask (1985)
Milo and Otis (1986)
Monsieur Ibrahim (2003)
Monsters, Inc. (2001)
My Neighbor Tortoro (1988)
Nine Months (1995)
North Country (2005)
Office Space (1999)
Pan's Labyrinth (2006)
Patch Adams (1998)
Powder (1995)
Pretty in Pink (1986)
Pretty Woman (1990)
Pulp Fiction (1994)
Roommates (1995)
Run Lola Run (1998)
Serendipity (2001)
Scent of a Woman (1992)
Shakespeare in Love (1998)
Shrek (2001)
Shrek 2 (2004)
Shrek the Third (2007)
Shrek Forever After (2010)
Shindler's List (1993)
Sixteen Candles (1984)
Slumdog Millionaire (2008)
Spirited Away (2001)
Temple Grandin (2010)
Steel Magnolias (1989)
The Black Dahlia (2006)
The Blind Side (2009)
The Bucket List (2007)
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008)
The Doors (1991)
The Fisher King (1991)
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2009)
The Green Mile (1999)
The Hangover (2009)
The Hurt Locker (2009)
The Legend of 1900 (1998)
The Matchmaker (1997)
The Miracle Worker (1962)
The Other Boleyn Girl (2008)
The Pianist (2002)
The Princess Bride (1987)
The Professional (1994)
The Reader (2008)
The Red Violin (1998)
The Ref (1994)
The Saint (1997)
The Shawshank Redemption (1994)
The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
The Truth About Cats & Dogs (1996)
The Usual Suspects (1995)
The Waterdance (1992)
The Wedding Singer (1998)
The Wizard of Oz (1939)
Thelma & Louise (1991)
Thunderheart (1992)
Titanic (1997)
Tombstone (1993)
Up (2009)
Wedding Crashers (2005)
Whale Rider (2002)
What Dreams May Come (1998)
What's Eating Gilbert Grape (1993)
Whip It (2009)
Zombieland (2009)

"The difference between life and the movies is that a script has to make sense, and life doesn't."

...Joseph L. Mankiewicz

chinny chin chin.

2010-08-25T22:09:00.004-04:00

43:365 | hair.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Okay, I know I'm getting old and quite frankly it sucks. --If the aches, pains, slowed metabolism, wrinkles, and failing eyesight (and memory) wasn't a clue, well, I don't know what would be. And we've all heard the complaints of those who have braved this territory before us enough to know that it's par for the course, haven't we?

But what I find most irritating of all is abundant presence of wild, unruly random chin hairs! WTF?

Okay, granted, I couldn't earn a living as a bearded-lady carnie or anything (I mean exaggeration does have comedic value here), but holy hell, it seems like I pluck those little bastards every day and like a magic paper towel dispenser that never needs refilling - ka-ching! - a new one pops out right in its place by the end of the day. Grrrr.

I was never one of those freakish women who's beauty was enhanced with a "heavenly pregnancy glow" and I think at this point I may as well just accept defeat in the "aging gracefully" category as well and pick up an extra pair of tweezers for my purse.

"Old age is far more than white hair, wrinkles, the feeling that it is too late and the game finished, that the stage belongs to the rising generations. The true evil is not the weakening of the body, but the indifference of the soul."

...Andr

1st day of school.

2010-08-25T07:53:00.006-04:00

1st day of school., Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Early this morning, at 0:OMG-thirty, I sent my little 12 year old princess off to her first day of Middle School on the big yellow school bus...

Bella was both happy and excited to be going back to school and make new friends. How I wish it was as easy for her as it is for Liam...

My head is swimming in memories of how far we've come, how hard we've fought to get here, how much my little girl has grown - and thoughts of Special Education, middle school, middle schoolers, school assignments, Special Transportation, WCPSS, administrative politics, advocacy, lame-ass administrators, and people who just don't "get it." --I'm hoping I'll be pleasantly surprised this year despite the flashbacks, but I'm not holding my breath just yet.

We've been very fortunate over the years with some amazingly wonderful teachers, therapists, support staff, and most administrators but we have fought a good fight. It's what we special parents do. --I think we've lucked up and got another good teacher this year, though the rest remains to be seen.

The fish rots from the head down.

It's too early in the morning to write more than that without coffee. =)

"The difference between school and life? In school, you're taught a lesson and then given a test. In life, you're given a test that teaches you a lesson."

...Tom Bodett

mess makers.

2010-08-21T21:17:00.004-04:00

mess makers., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Yet another example of why my house is a wreck...

Here we have my two feral children engaged in water play... and happily flooding the guest bathroom by clogging the sink with toilet paper and my son's feet.

...Wall paintings were askew, an inch of standing water on the floor and in the bathroom rug, a role of toilet paper lost to the flood waters, the hand soap dispenser empty (I have yet to find the top), clothing soaked, and Vaseline and butt cream in their hair.

Sigh.

"Even though your kids will consistently do the exact opposite of what you're telling them to do, you have to keep loving them just as much."

...Bill Cosby

hear me ROAR.

2010-08-21T12:48:00.017-04:00

comparing eggs.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

A parent's job is to raise their children to become kind, compassionate, and considerate little souls with good manners who will hopefully grow up to be well-rounded, successful, productive people striving to make a positive difference in the world. Easier said than done. Sometimes we just have to do the very best that we can and hope against all hope that something sticks.

And above all else, our job as parents is to protect our little ones from negative influences and other people who do not have their best interests at heart or otherwise just suck.

I've been told that I can, at times, be aggressive and intimidating and I suppose it is true. But keep in mind that in raising a child with special needs, I have spent twelve plus years of fighting and lobbying the system, countless hours in IEP meetings, and being (for more than half of my daughter's life) her sole provider and biggest advocate... so I am now wired that way. It's what I know, it's what I do, and it's who I am.

This past week, something happened at my son's daycare which provoked my inner proverbial "mother lion"... Those who know me, know beyond a shadow of a doubt that when it comes to someone I love, namely my children, I am not one to turn the other cheek...

Wednesday morning, when we arrived at Liam's daycare, he insisted upon taking his Chick-Fil-A kids' meal book to class to share with his friends... I began by trying to explain that it wasn't "Show and Tell" day but then realizing that this was a teaching moment in sharing and giving (not to mention, an opportunity to unload one more insignificant item cluttering up my car), I quickly changed my tune and suggested that perhaps we could donate the little book to his class and all his friends could read it anytime they wanted to while at school. Liam was happy with this idea and was very pleased and proud about this generous gift. Yay!

Upon entering his classroom, I explained to the teacher that Liam wanted to give his book to the class. "Oh thank you Liam. That's very nice of you. Go put it on the shelf." Liam beamed.

Fast forward to that afternoon... Kevin picked Liam up from school and en route to his Taekwondo lesson, was told some very disturbing news... His teacher, Ms. T., had thrown his book in the trash. WTF?

Because he was running around with the book, not listening as three-year-olds are prone to do, Ms. T. took the book from Liam and in front of him and all his friends, threw the book in the trash to punish him. He said that it hurt his feelings and he cried and cried...

Okay sure, it was a cheap little kids' meal book of no monetary value, but that is totally beside the point. It was important to a little boy who thought he was doing a good thing by bringing it and giving it to the school to share with his friends. Whether or not a child is behaving does not make it appropriate to purposefully hurt their feelings and embarrass them in front of their friends! What in the world is wrong with you?!!

Have I thrown away cheap and broken toys before? Sure, every chance I get, otherwise we would be swimming in cheap plastic junk. But NEVER in front of my child (I wait until he is asleep and has forgotten about it). And if he's misbehaving, then yes, toys get taken away but they're put on a shelf and he understands that he is being punished and when he learns to play nice, he gets it back.

What upsets me most is that my son is truly a very sweet and loving child. Granted he can be an obstinate handful at times, but he is genuinely a giving little person, shares well, and is as considerate as a child his age could be. He loves to make other people happy. The very idea that he took a cruel and unnecessary blow to his self-esteem and had his feelings crushed due to the misguided, inexcusable actions from an authoritative adult who is supposed to be his role model and teacher unnerves me to no end.

There is NO EXCUSE for being mean to a small child.

Thursday morning, both Kevin and I had a chat with the director. There were other issues that needed to be raised as well, and have been, by other parents. But this was, for me, the straw that broke the camel's back so to speak. The director indicated that she was arranging training for the teacher as she is inexperienced... There is no amount of training nor experience, as I explained, that can instill in someone the instinct to nurture and be genuinely kind.

Most of us (myself included) recognize that we are not equipped with infinite patience and therefore it is not productive nor healthy to choose a profession which requires forty hours a week's worth of exposure to energetic, rambunctious young people who need constant supervision, interaction, and attention in a positive, consistent, and caring manner. However, there are those who clearly lack the common sense and self-awareness to see this in themselves and continue to ignorantly trudge on toward carreer suicide. The problem with this is that while these folks are bumbling along figuring out the hard way that perhaps they're not cut out to work with kids, they have already left their mark on the young hearts and minds that have been entrusted to them.

I'm sure we can all think back over our young school years and recall at least one teacher, maybe more, who still, many years later, causes us to recoil at the mere thought of. I know I can.

I'm not sure whether or not Ms. Teacher still has a job after this week (studies have shown that Fridays are the best day to fire people after all) and frankly I don't care as - long as my child is no longer in her class.

I am Mommie. Hear me ROAR.

"Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them."

...James Baldwin

good service.

2010-08-17T19:19:00.008-04:00

Hallo?
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Working with the public in any capacity creates a unique opportunity to enrich one's life with interesting, often bizarre, often crazy, and sometimes frightening experiences designed to make one question the stability of the world around them and pepper any optimism toward ideas of peace, love, and happiness with doubt and a general sense of "what the hell?"

I'm of the opinion that everyone should have to wait tables at some point in their life, if for no other reason than it is a truly humbling means of existence and an exercise in patience, tolerance, good manners, and the value of a hard-earned dollar. Not to mention, working as a server prepares us for good-tipping habits later in life... I assure you, few things in the working world will make one appreciate good service like receiving a two dollar tip after running your ass off for a six-top table of cheap church ladies.

I've had my share of other humbling public service/customer service jobs as well, from elementary school bus driver and Glamour Shots photographer to nurse aide and dental assistant, just to hit the highlights -- and lemme tell ya, I have seen and heard some crazy shit, but absolutely nothing compares to working in a law firm that serves both domestic and criminal clients!

While it goes without saying that there are lots of people in the world, in this country, and even within the state of North Carolina who desperately need help of various sorts, and many who could greatly benefit from the aid of an attorney, there are some folks out there who are just beyond help. (e.g. Ms. X.)

For instance, neither a lawyer nor the court can make your wife get back together with you nor stay in a marriage of which she wants out... I am still dumbfounded and disturbed that anyone would make such an inquiry, but they did.

Also, just because you are married to a lying, cheating scumbag, this does not qualify you to receive an annulment in the state of North Carolina unless the scumbag happens to be your first cousin... Remember folks, this is the Bible Belt we're talking about not the Catholic Church.

And chances are, if you're wanting to sue someone for slander and liable for defamation of character who has been spreading rumors that you're a drug dealer, you're not going to have very much success with that in court if you were with the blabber-mouth when you both were arrested for felony drug possession, intent to sell, and trafficking.

Also, if you want to sue your dad for bothering you, paying your neighbors to wake you up and disturb you, and putting drugs in the ventilation shafts of your apartment (not to mention your hotel room), you'd probably be best served by calling somewhere other than a law firm. Just a hunch.

Oh and by the way, since I'm setting records straight... Good service is kind of a two-way street. If you call a place of business with a desperate plea for help and are a rude, belligerent asshole to the person answering the phone, there's a snowball's chance in you-know-where of getting through to the person you want to speak to or gaining any sympathy for your problems. So no matter how ridiculous your dilemma, remember: Be nice. We did not do this to you!

You really do get more flies with honey. And that's a good tip.

"Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use."

...Emily Post

today's model shoot.

2010-08-14T00:15:00.013-04:00

20100813_0067zB-R, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Anyone who is around me for any extended period of time knows to expect having a camera in their face at some point. That's just the price you pay for being my friend, loved one, or even just a random person who crosses my path and has something about you which I find interesting. --I just really enjoy taking photographs and people make such fascinating subjects!

Among my most enjoyable pass times, I love getting out with fellow photographers for shoots -- be it a walk about historic downtown, exploring old abandoned buildings, or creative staged fashion/glamor photography complete with model, hairstylists, make-up artists, and loads of camera gear... And while I have had the opportunity to shoot in a studio or two, absolutely nothing beats natural light so I really like shooting out of doors. (This is one of the rare few activities that can drive me from the sanctuary of my air conditioner aside from a medical emergency...)

As for me, I often receive compliments and praise on my photographic work, and while it's always nice to hear, I by no means consider myself a professional nor do I pretend to know what I'm doing all the time. In fact, while I would very much like to eventually master all the bells and whistles on my professional equipment, I don't really aspire to be a professional photographer. Mostly I have a really good eye for shots and am pretty darn handy when it comes to digital processing. I do occasionally accept gigs to photograph people/events for folks I know, but the bottom line is that I do what I do because I enjoy it, on my terms, and don't want to burn out on something that both feeds my creative passions and provides invaluable therapeutic benefits to my mind and soul.

That being said... I do have my own "corporate identity" however, mainly because 1) my hubby is an attorney and did the paperwork for me, and 2) purchasing really nice frames, supplies, and other professional services at wholesale prices requires a tax ID. But I digress...

One of my favorite peeps to shoot with is Rob Miracle (a.k.a. Miracle Man) for a number of reasons, namely he let's me tag along, he's a super nice fellow and talented photographer, and he's a good teacher.

So today's tag-along shoot with Rob was of a great gal named Pam Perry who is usually involved in the behind the scenes action as a talented hairstylist and make-up artist. Today, she thought she'd give modeling a whirl and see what the experience was like from another point of view.

20100813_0104z-R, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Despite the unrelenting heat, dripping sweat, and ravenous mosquitoes, a good time was had by all -- and we got some great shots of Pam! =)

"Photography records the gamut of feelings written on the human face, the beauty of the earth and skies that man has inherited, and the wealth and confusion man has created. It is a major force in explaining man to man."

...Edward Steichen

at Taekwondo.

2010-08-12T23:28:00.006-04:00

@ TKD., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

I think I enjoy watching the kids more than the kids enjoy themselves at Taekwondo...

This evening there were a few new folks there watching their kidos from the wings. I overheard numerous "oooh's" and "awww's" and comments about how precious, how cute, how adorable the littlest boy was. They laughed and clapped for him and I secretly beamed - for the precious, cute, adorable littlest boy was mine... all mine. =)

"I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times."

...Bruce Lee

Nutella monsters.

2010-08-10T23:28:00.012-04:00

Nutella., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Here we have a perfect pictorial of rotten little kids left to their own devices without adult supervision...

So as days go (in the circus that is my life), today was relatively uneventful. I went to work, had coffee, and my sweet husband brought me a Bojangles chicken biscuit for breakfast. I did stuff and was fairly productive, taking only a few crazy calls, and I stayed away from eBay. I skipped lunch and left early for an appointment, treating myself to a soft serve ice cream cone en route.

Kevin took Liam to Taekwondo and we met back at the house where Liam walks in the door holding a Diet Coke in mid-explosion that he'd been shaking which sprayed all over the kitchen, the floor, Liam, and his clean white TKD uniform. Welcome home!

Then per protocol, Kevin and I engage in our traditional "what's for dinner" dance, domestic planners that we are.

Me: "Want me to make some more arepas?"
Him: "No."
Me: "How about rice and vegetables?"
Him: "No."
Me: "Zucchini pasta?"
Him: "No."
Me: "Chinese food it is!"

And so I retreat to the office to place the delivery order while Kevin, struck with the sudden inspiration to clean the dog-pee-stained carpet, sets about doing his thing.

(Since food seems to be the reoccurring blog theme of mine this week...) We usually order from Peking Garden as their cuisine is good albeit unpredictable as it seems the Mexican cooks in the Chinese kitchen have adapted my way of cooking and the inability to follow a recipe so rarely does the same dish taste the same way, but as I said, it's most always good, and more importantly, they deliver and they're quick.

While in the office, I check my email, check Facebook, check Flickr and before I know it, the delivery guy is knocking at the door. I'm in my pajamas already so I task Kevin with getting the door while I collect our offspring for dinner. --A quick look around tells me that the children are missing and therefore up to no good.

They're not downstairs. Not upstairs. Not in the attic (yes, I've found them in there before too). Not in the back yard and they couldn't have gone out the front. What the hell?...

I open the back door to the garage and what do I find but the little monsters hiding and sitting as happily as pigs in slop on the back stoop in their pajamas eating Nutella straight out of the jar with their grubby little hands!

Holy hell.

"When children are doing nothing, they are doing mischief."

...Henry Fielding

dog v. carpet cleaner.

2010-08-10T22:40:00.005-04:00

dog v. carpet cleaner.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

So the puppy potty training isn't going as well as we would like, to say the least. There's an on-going rivalry taking place between Piper and the carpet. Kevin decided to bring out the heavy artillery tonight but the little mutt held her ground in defense of the territory she has clearly claimed.

I'm not sure if it was so much the offending carpet cleaner that upset Piper so as the fact that Kevin was undoing all her redecorative signatures...

"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read."

...Groucho Marx

shitty restaurants.

2010-08-09T23:58:00.017-04:00

when good fruit goes BAD...
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Speaking of food... a list of my all-time least favorite eating establishments (a.k.a. places I do not recommend):

Applebee's -- Oh how I loathe Applebee's. Any and all Applebee's. Their food, all of it, quite simply just SUCKS a big fat one. I have never eaten anything at an Applebee's that did not leave me thoroughly disappointed, disgusted, and still hungry because I couldn't force myself to eat the crap I ordered. I would rather eat dirt.
Domino's Pizza -- You'd have to be really drunk, stoned, or starving to death to enjoy this nasty, greasy foulness posing as pizza. And their "new recipe?" Not long ago, I fell victim to this misleading hype and decided, after nearly two decades, to give them another try... It's still shit. Again, dirt is a good alternative.
Fox and Hound -- A small notch above Applebee's. Their food is bland and barely mediocre at best; everything. Cardboard has more flavor. A total waste of eating out.
Kanki -- Well, that was a great place until I got food poisoning from a batch of bad shrimp about 15 years ago. It happens. But a night wrapped around your toilet dry heaving up the lining of your stomach will cure you of ever wanting to eat there again (and we won't even talk about what was going on at the other end...)
Sushi Thai -- I used to eat there quite a bit; heck, I should have had stock in that hole as much coin as I dropped there. And as a should-be stockholder, one would expect more courtesy, professionalism, and a bit more couth from the owner when one gets a an order of Pad Thai that tastes sour (and judging by the wilted, dried out lemon on the plate, has been sitting in the hot window pre-made for the dying-off lunch rush crowd for who knows how long) than to accuse me of trying to score a free meal. Excuse me greedy, crazy lady? --I now happily take my business to Thai House when I need a Pad Thai fix and when I'm craving sushi, there's no place (in Raleigh) better than Waraji's. Both Thai House and Waraji's are far superior to Sushi Thai in their cuisine and service.
Taco Bell -- What can you say about Taco Bell really? It's cheap, nasty Tex-Mex wanna-be, poor excuse for something edible. I've seen canned dog food that looked more appetizing. --I'm pretty sure I haven't eaten at a Taco Bell since one opened up on base in Würzburg around 1997 and that was purely out of nostalgia... I remember the day it opened at the new PX; there was a 3 hour wait line wrapped around the building. Holy hell, it was nuts -- and there is absolutely nothing at Taco Bell worth waiting for.

Okay, I'm done... but I reserve the right to dislike and bitch about other places too.

Dine at your own risk.

"If you're going to America, bring your own food."

...Fran Lebowitz

arepas.

2010-08-09T20:03:00.008-04:00

arepas.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Never do we leave a relationship without taking away something - usually it's baggage, but occasionally we're left with something worthwhile: a lifelong friendship, fond memories, furniture, maybe even some great jewelry or a child... and sometimes, as in this case, a great recipe!

Once upon a time while in college, I had a roommate (turned psychotic boyfriend) from Venezuela... I'll call him "Francisco" (because that was his name). --It was an absolutely disastrous relationship from the get-go, from the point we crossed that treacherous roommie line until I finally threatened to have him deported and married someone else. Ahh the memories...

But I was young and resilient back in the day and quickly moved on to the next romantic catastrophe without looking back.

Besides some fantastic material for my memoirs, the one thing I took away from that relationship was the addictive taste for arepas and the talent to make them.

Arepas are flat, unleavened gordita-like patties made of white cornmeal which can be grilled, baked, boiled, or fried. (I prefer to bake mine.) They are far easier than buttermilk biscuits to make, are very hearty, and can be stuffed with a variety of foods to be eaten like sandwiches or as an accompaniment to a meal.

To make arepas, you need only find a small yellow bag of Harina PAN (if you're lucky, you might find it in the Hispanic section of your local grocery) and follow the directions on the bag, or follow mine...

Ingredients:

2 cups Harina PAN pre-cooked cornmeal
1/2 - 1 teaspoon Salt
2 1/2 cups luke warm water

Directions:

Preheat oven to 400ºF. In a large bowl, mix together the cornmeal and salt. Pour in and mix with clean hands to form a mass. Cover with a towel or plastic wrap and set aside to rest for 5 to 10 minutes.
Using wet hands, form balls of dough out of about 1/4 cup of dough and press to form a cake about 3 inches wide and 3/4 inch thick. (If the dough cracks at the edges, mix in a little more water and then form the cakes.)
In a skillet over medium-high heat, lightly brown arepas on one side then flip and brown on the other side (most recipes instruct to sauté in hot oil although a nonstick pan works just fine and the arepas are just as tasty sans grease).
When all the patties have been browned, transfer them to a baking sheet and bake in the oven for 15 to 20 minutes, or until they sound lightly hollow when tapped. Serve immediately.

Arepas make great picnic food and can be stuffed with anything that you might put in a biscuit or sandwich or anything that just sounds good to you. Enjoy!

"There is nothing to which men, while they have food and drink, cannot reconcile themselves."

...George Santayana

Beauty & the Beast, Jr.

2010-08-07T20:54:00.004-04:00

20100807_1328z-R, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

Today's family outing included a play: "Disney's Beauty and the Beast Junior" put on by a marvelous cast of young volunteer actors and actresses from the Towne Players of Garner at the Garner Historic Auditorium.

Though I had attended past productions, I had completely forgotten about this group. So glad I was reminded (Thanks Kim!)

Despite the uncontrollable excitement of our two little ones - Isabel who simply could not resist touching the poor lady in front of us and licking Liam's head throughout the entire performance and Liam who talked, yelled at Isabel, and was waving his light up "enchanted rose" in the air as though he were landing an aircraft - it was a great show.

I was especially impressed with the beautiful voice of Belle, played by aspiring vocalist and 2010 high school graduate, Arlie Honeycutt. I seriously thought she was lip syncing when she first began to sing; she was that good! I would not at all be surprised to see her name again one day as a new up and coming somebody.

But I have to say, all the young performers did an outstanding job. I enjoyed the show as much as the kids did, perhaps even more. =)

"We all know that the theater and every play that comes to Broadway have within themselves, like the human being, the seed of self-destruction and the certainty of death. The thing is to see how long the theater, the play, and the human being can last in spite of themselves."

...James Thurber

KISS.

2010-08-02T20:42:00.006-04:00

KISS.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

I remember being six or seven years old when I inherited my first musical 8-track tape from a much older cousin - KISS's "Destroyer" album which I listened to religiously on my 2XL toy robot. (Hey, 2XL was THE stuff back in the day!) I knew all the lyrics to every tune on that album and used to perform song and dance routines for anyone I could coerce into witnessing the insane display, which usually was my Grandmother. (Hey, give me a break; I was a bored little farm girl back then.) --Oh those were the truly ignorantly blissful days...

I LOVED KISS. I had a KISS black light poster on my bedroom door (although I had no idea what a black light was). And while most girls my age were fawning over Scott Baio, Shaun Cassidy, and The Bee Gees, my crushes were Paul Stanley, Peter Criss, and Gene Simmons.

I've been to my share of concerts: Hank Williams, Jr., The Black Crowes, Def Leppard, Melissa Etheridge, Robert Plant, Van Halen, Blink 182, Dave Matthews Band to name a few... Though I'm not really one for big crowds (I can pretty much guarantee you will not find me anywhere near a mall November through December).

But back in 2003, when my favorite local foreigners, Karl and Thorsten, invited me along to the KISS / Aerosmith concert... How could I possibly say no?!!

Nearly three decades later, KISS went on tour with Aerosmith. I can't even begin to describe the nostalgia! What a crazy déjà vu standing there with my two German counterparts, memorable worlds colliding in untouchable, unspeakable ways. And then, there they were, smoke rising as "Detroit Rock City" sounded off and throngs of seventies survivors, many sporting clueless grand-kids upon their has-been shoulders, cheered and raised lit cigarette lighters of tribute into the air while the sweet fetid stench of marijuana wafted through the night. I felt the rippling chill of "once upon a time" wash through us all, like a big magic wave, wistful. And then, as quickly as it came, dissipated into the present moment, when I saw them - my childhood rock stars, jamming fast and furious, as grand as they ever had been in their glory days - larger than life... even as their flabby beer guts hung over too tight leather chaps, even as Gene's heavy caked-on stage make-up and fake blood oozed into the cracks and wrinkles of his forlorn face, even as the guitar didn't break apart on the first slam upon the stage or even the second, even as the crowd absent of screaming, half-naked, sexually-liberated hippy girls - stood hollering, mesmerized and lost in time, wanting more, just a little more, to return, for just one more song, to their lost bittersweet youth, where ever they were. --Something about the near-geriatric rock-n-rollers parading around in their leather and studs, 'shouting it out loud,' wasn't quite the kinder-euphoria I remembered, however, I had to smile in spite of myself, returning, if only for an instant, to simple happy days past.

Though it seems that no concert is complete without an annoying drunk or two hundred and of course, one lone inebriated fellow found us. --Karl, never one to be impolite, befriended the poor soul while Thorsten, ever the gentleman, claimed me as his "wife" when the guy began beer-goggling me. All in all though, me, Karl, and my "concert husband" had a blast. That was the last concert I attended to date and I'm cool with that... it was a perfect note to end on.

And it was an incredible show!

"Flaming youth will set the world on fire"... and they always do... then you grow up, like it or not, and hopefully learn something useful and good and maybe have some interesting tales to tell.

Oh yeah, and Aerosmith kicked ass too. ;-)

"Nostalgia keeps dissolving the ironic narratives in which I have contained my past."

...Mason Cooley, City Aphorisms, Twelfth Selection, New York (1993)

Chris.

2010-08-01T01:19:00.019-04:00

the last time i saw him..., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

I once had a friend named Chris... He was a soldier stationed at Ft. Bragg; we met back in the day when Benson, North Carolina was the "cruising capital of the south."

Chris was an amazingly fun and charismatic fellow who was as funny and entertaining as he was handsome. It was impossible to not have a great time when he was around and we spent a lot of time together watching movies and stealing into matinees for free second shows, camping and fishing in the middle of the night, rappelling off of base towers and being escorted off post, visiting my friend Karen at ECU, and just generally goofing off. He was a great friend and perfect gentleman and though we never dated, I always thought he would be a great catch for some lucky girl. Life was one great big adventure with Chris and everyone wanted to be along for the ride. To know him was truly to love him.

Once, Chris, his friend Mike, and I set out for a weekend at ECU to see Karen and partake in a bit of East Carolina's infamous college life. It was a hysterically crazy fun weekend until Mike, having exceeded his limit of alcohol, puked all over Karen's laundry. Furious, Karen made us spend the bulk of the following day at the laundry mat washing her nasty, chunk-covered clothes while she went to work at the mall where we were to meet her later. --Even doing laundry was a riot with Chris modeling for us one of Karen's pretty floral sundresses...

"I triple-dog dare you to wear that to the mall!" I said.

And he did. --It was a Sunday afternoon, the mall flooded with nicely dressed couples and families just out of church who all just stopped and stared, mouths hanging open, at this 6'2" smiling soldier with hairy legs and armpits sticking out of a very feminine summer dress sauntering his way through the mall and into a kitchen ware's store.

Karen beet red from embarrassment, could barely contain her laughter as she mustered up her most scolding motherly tone and exclaimed, "You go take MY dress off right now!"

I still have the pictures.

There are so many memories flooding my mind now as I type this and even if I wrote them all down, I still would not be able to sum up the essence of Chris.

Back then, there were no cell phones and no email, and gradually we lost touch as we both began dating other people. He left me a few messages on the answering machine and I tried phoning him a few times too -- which was a challenge calling the barracks because whether or not you actually got through to the person you were trying to reach depended solely upon the willingness of whatever CQ was stuck answering the phones to get up, walk down the hall, and go check their room... But we never connected again.

May 27, 1993 -- For no particular reason, Chris popped into my head that afternoon and would not leave. I dreamt of him that night, and the next... Strong, vivid dreams of nothing specific, just his haunting presence. Something wasn't right and I felt it in my bones.

The following day, I called his barracks and explained to the CQ that I desperately needed to reach my friend, that I was calling long distance and wasn't even sure if he was still stationed there or if he'd already left -- please, please, please see if you can find him... I gave his name. Silence. The First Sergent took the phone and began quizzing me on how I knew Chris, my relationship with him, and when I last spoke with him... My mind was racing - I was thinking, oh no, that crazy-ass went AWOL, but no such luck...

May 27, 1993, just three days after ETSing on permanent leave, Chris was shot in the head at point blank range while visiting a friend in Indiana by some unprovoked, deranged bastard who said he felt threatened by the "military look" in Chris's eyes; his friend, Denise, was also murdered.

I felt numb, empty, in shock. --I spoke to Mike, who gave me Chris's mom's number... Though I'd never met nor spoken to her, she knew exactly who I was. We talked and laughed and cried for hours. --Perhaps that was what he wanted, for me to comfort the mother he loved so much.

Shortly after his death, the girl Chris had been dating found out she was pregnant; she had twin boys - who look so much like the father they would never know.

It's been 17 years and I still think of him.
I still miss knowing him...

A Trick I Learned In The Philippines--

I can see your mouth smiling
At my brain,
As clear as the last photo I took--
that devilish grin
of a boyish man,
full of mischief,
full of life!
--You are still the fun
In my fondest memories
And I miss loving you,
my friend.
They say you're dead.
He stole your mischief--
the fucking BASTARD!!!
But for me,
You will always be
full of life;
it's in your smile,
hiding in my brain...

Love,
Crystal.

CLJD 25 January 1994

homesick.

2010-07-27T20:43:00.005-04:00

Home Sweet Home., originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

I miss the days when life was simpler... When I lived abroad in a town that was older than country I was born in, full of enchantment and adventure and kind-hearted care-worn people who enjoyed life's simple pleasantries... working to live, not the other way around.

Where every morning a bread truck came by delivering delectable pastries and fresh baked bread. Farmers tended to their livestock and gardens and I bought fresh eggs every week from my landlords for the equivalent of a dollar. Elderly people swept the stoops and sidewalks every day and cared for the graves in the local cemeteries. There were times when I was even late for work because a Shepard was herding his flock down main street, but no one complained and no one minded.

At nights I slept with my windows open, even in winter, and at precisely 3 am a train would pass in the distance bellowing its soft whistle... that was the only sound the nighttime held. I've never slept so soundly since.

I miss the walk from Bibergau to Dettelbach each weekend with my Chinese Pug, Paco, and how we would sit for hours at a sidewalk cafe dining on Goulash soup and Bacchus wine.

Where fests were frequent and drunks were happy. Friends gathered often and unplanned for coffee, dinner, or just a long walk through the scenic wonderland that is Germany.

In spring, there were Federweißer and flower stands aligning the streets of small villages. And summers were never very hot; no one had air conditioners in their homes because a fan or a fresh breeze from open windows worked just fine.

Winters were often hard and always cold with the biggest snowflakes I've ever seen... a cold that would bite through whatever layers you could pile on, but there was always the fragrant aroma of sweet Glühwein in the air to warm your insides.

And the most dangerous thing that ever happened to me (short of driving on the Autobahns) was opening my front door one morning to find a neighbor's escaped goat who was just as startled as I was.

There is not a day that has gone by since that I haven't missed, ached for the only place that ever truly felt like home. When life was simpler and we worked to live, not the other way around.

"The worst feeling in the world is the homesickness that comes over a man occasionally when he is at home."

...Edward W. Howe

...words.

2010-07-20T23:23:00.007-04:00

...words.
Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

Sometimes there are no words.

Sometimes there are too many and they back up and congest as if in a traffic jam, all competing to arrive at their destination, their purpose, whatever that may be... incomplete and jumbled; some stuck on a round about, distracted, "Hey look kids, there's Big Ben..."

It's frustrating, this brain constipation, especially for one who writes. --Needs to write, like one needs to breath.

"A scrupulous writer in every sentence that he writes will ask himself... What am I trying to say? What words will express it?... And he probably asks himself... Could I put it more shortly? But you are not obliged to go to all this trouble. You can shirk it by simply throwing open your mind and letting the ready-made phrases come crowding in. They will construct your sentences for you — even think your thoughts for you to a certain extent — and at need they will perform the important service of partially concealing your meaning even from yourself."

...George Orwell, "Horizon", April, 1947

some days...

2010-07-16T21:51:00.015-04:00

5:366 | Some days..., Originally uploaded by Luna Soledad

You know it's gonna be a great day at the office when you have to call the "Po-Po" before you've even finished your morning java!

Yessiree Bob. It was that kind of day.

It all started in 2008 when a PhD-clad native foreigner comes in for a consultation regarding a complex domestic/business matter involving such nonsensical details as murder, terrorism, and a lot of money. The Husband, Esq informs her that it's not something that he can help her with and wishes her luck. Though apparently, "No" is not in her vocabulary.

So she calls and calls and calls. Sometimes once a week, sometimes every two weeks, sometimes months pass before she comes out of remission and begins her crusade again.

When I first began working at the law firm last year, I unknowingly made Ms. X an appointment and asked her to send over copies of the documents pertaining to her matter for review. The Husband, Esq immediately recognizes the paperwork and meets the woman in the front office on the day of the appointment to politely inform her once more that he is not interested in perusing her matter and that he cannot help her. That's when all hell broke lose. Ms. X became highly irate and began yelling about justice and us protecting murderers and other such outlandish insults while being repeatedly asked to leave.

Yet she continues to call, asking for The Husband, Esq, and leaving lengthy unintelligible rambling messages in very poor English.

It's as if shortly after each conversation, she simply "resets" herself retaining no information what-so-ever other than a fixation on The Husband, Esq and an obsession with this matter of hers. And the scene plays out over and over and over again like some bizarre broken record. --I mean really, what sane person would continue to stalk a lawyer who has many times made it clear that he will not take your case and who you have continually accused of being in cahoots with murders, terrorists, and the opposing camp? Why on earth would you want someone like that representing you in the first place? --Somewhere along the way, this lady clearly fell off the turnip truck.

A few weeks ago, The Husband, Esq made the unfortunate mistake of answering the phone himself (which, like, never happens) and who should he find at the other end of the line but Ms. X wanting to talk again about her case. More persistent this time, he tells her again that he is not her attorney, is not going to be her attorney, and cannot help her. In between insults and insane accusations, she asks "How much are they paying you to do this to me?"

This morning, yet another call... The Associate, Esq answers and the same ole song and dance begins. She is told to stop calling our office. You can't make me she says and why is The Husband, Esq plotting against her?

Not 15 minutes later, guess who shows up? That's right, Ms. X.

The Husband, Esq tells her to leave and the high-pitched murder of the English language commences as she begins her conspiracy tirade about us protecting murderers, working for the other side, and not upholding justice and so on. Meanwhile, I'm on the phone with a client who I promptly interrupt and hang up on to phone 911.

The Husband, Esq states once more that we will not pursue her matter, cannot help her, and that if she continues to contact us in any manner then we will be forced to file a Harassment suit and seek a Protective Order against her. Further, if she comes to our office again, she will be arrested for Trespassing. Hysterically pissed, she finally departs.

Next comes a real estate attorney who shows up for a 10 o'clock closing. We don't do real estate law; never have. I finally determine that he is looking for an attorney who used to occupy our current office space 4-5 years ago so I kindly look up the address, write it down, and call the other office for him. Then he says to me, "This is why I have a full time person in my office to make sure things like this don't happen and waste my time. I don't know why she couldn't look up the correct address but I'm not happy about this." Oh pu-lease, you're a real estate attorney, get over yourself!

There is a reason that lawyers have such a bad reputation.

Anyway... A police officer arrives moments later responding to our call. The Husband, Esq and I explain the circumstances and events, describe Ms. X and provide her name. Interestingly, though not surprisingly, the officer knows Ms. X as he just arrested her two months ago for pulling a similar stunt showing up at an IRS building alleging that the government owes her hundreds of thousands of dollars.

The police officer leaves and would you freakin' believe it? Ms. X calls again (Thank God for caller ID)... three times. I let it roll to voice mail where she screams out yet another crazy-ass message that I cannot fully make out... Something about assisting hiding murderers, China, Korea, and we better not call the police on her telling lies.

All this before 11:00 am.

Okay, really, I have nothing against crazy people in general (hey, most of my best friends are crazy people!) and I do greatly sympathize with those struggling with mental illness and emotional crisis. I've (half-jokingly) suggested on more than one occasion that perhaps we should consider an on-staff shrink or at the very least subletting some office space to a mental health professional... But give me a break; I am human and my sympathy only stretches so far. STOP INVOLVING US IN YOUR PERSONAL PSYCHOTIC HELL AND GET SOME FREAKIN' HELP.

...Just another day in your friendly neighborhood law office!

"I doubt if a single individual could be found from the whole of mankind free from some form of insanity. The only difference is one of degree. A man who sees a gourd and takes it for his wife is called insane because this happens to very few people."

...Desiderius Erasmus

the giving tree.

2010-07-15T19:55:00.005-04:00

the Giving Tree, originally uploaded by Luna Soledad.

I remember the first time I heard that poem. I don't recall how old I was nor what grade I was in, but I do remember I was young and in elementary school and my friend Amy had brought in Shel Silverstein's book, "The Giving Tree," to share with the class...

Instantly my young self fell in love with the poem thinking about the sweetness of magical friends and what a good tree it was to the little boy...

However, age and experience does tends to change one's perspective doesn't it?

I remember a couple of years ago when I was hit with a sudden burst of nostalgia for The Muppet Show and purchased several DVD's to watch with my daughter, containing fantastically classic episodes with stars like Carol Burnette, Peter Sellers, Steve Martin, Elton John, and Julie Andrews... I was amazed at the amount of adult humor each show contained -- stuff that had sailed right over my head as a child. I had watched The Muppet Show faithfully as a little girl (back before remote controls when the TV Guide told you what was on and when) and each episode was new to me all over again and I still love it. But, some thirty years later, I am watching with a different pair of eyes...

And The Giving Tree, well, it's no longer that happy childhood poem for me. --It's a sad reality. It's life in full circle. And as we age and endure all that life throws at us, our experiences deepening in steep gashes, that circle repeats: as the boy, as the tree, as the boy, as the tree...

The Giving Tree
by Shel Silverstein

Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, "Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy."
"I am too big to climb and play" said
the boy.
"I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?"
"I'm sorry," said the tree, "but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy."
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, "Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy."
"I am too busy to climb trees," said the boy.
"I want a house to keep me warm," he said.
"I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house?"
"I have no house," said the tree.
"The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy."

And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
"Come, Boy," she whispered,
"come and play."
"I am too old and sad to play,"
said the boy.
"I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?"
"Cut down my trunk
and make a boat," said the tree.
"Then you can sail away...
and be happy."
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.

And after a long time
the boy came back again.
"I am sorry, Boy,"
said the tree, "but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone."
"My teeth are too weak
for apples," said the boy.
"My branches are gone,"
said the tree. "You
cannot swing on them - "
"I am too old to swing
on branches," said the boy.
"My trunk is gone," said the tree.
"You cannot climb - "
"I am too tired to climb" said the boy.
"I am sorry," sighed the tree.
"I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry...."
"I don't need very much now," said the boy.
"just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired."
"Well," said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
"well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest."
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.