Kim Basinger
In the post, “Who’s The Pretty Blond,” H alluded to Kim Basinger’s somewhat distracting and erratic movements during interviews. He said that she “shakes.” In the comment section, Carol wrote that she was “compelled to find an interview with Kim on YouTube to see if she actually does shake…” Ha.
Fidget may have been a better word, but she can’t sit still and is known for her discomfort during interviews. I found the following video of her with David Letterman. The quality is poor, but it illustrates how nervous she is in interviews. I once heard her say that she had difficulty leaving her house. For you Carol. Why is it that men love beautiful and fragile women?
Have you heard about the mammogram debate?
New York Times Article
The federal Preventive Services Task Force, the group that created a political firestorm this week with its recommendation that women get less-frequent mammograms, was created to be insulated from politics…continue
Veronica Lake
I have to write things down because I forget. I try to keep a pad of paper nearby. Before going to bed last night, I wrote two things on it – Goodwill and Firefox. I know this because I’m looking at it now. You would think that writing it down would spark my memory. You would think.
I quickly wrote the post about Firefox before going to bed, but decided to wait till this morning to write about Goodwill. Now I’m clueless. I believe a comment on the post about the room for the grandkids sparked it, but it’s gone now, left to wander around in the ether that used to be my brain. You see, it’s there, I just can’t access it. This is what short-term memory loss is all about, and it’s frustrating as hell. H is almost as bad.
We were watching television last night. A beautiful young woman appeared on-screen and this pathetic excuse for a conversation ensued.
Bella ~ Oh, oh. She looks like, um, like, um.
H~ Yeah.
Bella ~ Um, her hair reminds me of uh. Not Marilyn. The other one.
H ~ Yeah.
Bella ~ All long and smooth and a little wavy.
H ~ Yeah.
Bella ~ Jane Mansfield?
H ~ No… She was a brunette but hot.
Bella ~ No, she was a platinum blond. Jane Russell was the brunette.
H ~ They were both smokin’, but Jane Russell was kind of rough around the edges.
Bella ~ She looks like Jessica Rabbit…the hair I mean. Smooth and wavy.
H ~ Who? Oh, that cartoon.
Bella ~ Well not Jessica Rabbit but the one Jessica Rabbit looked like.
H ~ Who?
Bella ~ Lake…um…Lake…Jessica Lake?
H ~ Who?
Bella ~ Um… Lake…Oh, Veronica Lake. Her hair was all smooth and wavy at the same time. Her hair looks just like Veronica Lake’s.
H ~ Remember the one in that movie we saw in Myrtle Beach in the early 70s. On an Island. They were diving. All she wore was a t-shirt and the bottoms to her bathing suit. Then when she got wet…
Bella ~ Yeah. Jacqueline Bisset in the The Deep. There was a big uproar about it, and she said she didn’t realize how it looked. Nowadays no one would even blink
H ~ Nobody would even notice. Nothing is left to the imagination.
Bella ~ Her hair looks like…um…oh…in some movie…. I can’t remember…. the pretty blond who was married to Alec Balwin?
H ~ Yeah. The nervous one who shakes through every interview. What’s her name?
Bella ~ Um…
Silence as we sit in the quiet and think and think and think….
Bella ~ Her last name is pronounced incorrectly all the time.
H ~ Yeah. I almost have it.
Bella ~ Should we look on the internet?
H ~ No, we can remember it ourselves.
Bella ~ I know.
H ~ It’s just too damned easy to go look on the internet.
Bella ~ I know. Um, that last name. Always pronounced incorrectly.
H ~ I can see her. She’s pretty, fragile. I couldn’t believe Alec Baldwin and Billy Joel both dumped her.
Bella ~ No…No…She wasn’t married to Billy Joel.
H ~ Yeah.
Bella ~ No.
H ~ No?
Bella ~ No. That was the model with the apple cheeks….Cheryl….something.
H ~ No.
Bella ~ Yes….um….NO….NO.
H ~ No?
Bella ~ Not Cheryl…um…Christy….Christie Brinkley. She was married to Billy Joel and then that creep.
H ~ Shit…I’ve been thinking of the wrong one. Okay…I know who you’re talking about though….The one who shakes in interviews….married Alec Baldwin?
Bella ~ Yeah. That’s the one. They pronounce her name wrong all the time.
H ~ You already said that about ten times.
Bella ~ Want to look it up?
H ~ Yeah!
Bella ~ Bet I can find it first.
I did, and it was Kim Basinger.
Then…
Bella ~ You think I can remember this conversation tomorrow so I can put it on the blog?
H ~ Puh!
When we first met, we both had a brain. Eventually our brains shrunk, but it was okay because between the two of us we still had
one brain. Now, if we want a whole brain, we’re going to have to consider bringing a third person into the marriage….maybe a caregiver.
…and excuse me, but Jane Mansfield was a blond. You all knew that, right?
This morning Firefox kept throwing me offline when I was trying to write a post. My computer actually turned itself off the third time. I mean it completely lost power ,and then turned itself back on immediately. Then the screen (I swear) said, We’re embarrassed.
Seriously, dude.
That’s what it said. We’re embarrassed. There was a problem with one of your tabs. Try to figure out which one is causing the problem…
Are you for real? I can hardly figure out how to turn this thing on. I hate to tell you, but if you’re depending on me, Firefox, you’re up the internet without a paddle.
My son’s shoes when he was a little guy…
We’ve been working on another project around here for the past couple of weekends. There was very little money involved. It was mostly about elbow grease. That seems to be the way with most of our projects.
On recent visits, my grandchildren have slept in the guest room with their parents. The youngest slept in my son’s old crib, and the 3-year-old used an air mattress. We’re hoping for more frequent and longer visits now that we’re home. This situation helped us choose our most recent project.
H and I decided to turn his workout room into a bedroom for them. H only took pause for a minute there, but he’s actually been working out in the bedroom since we returned home anyway. He left his television at Dad’s, and he needs a television to use workout DVDs.
The room was already a medium blue, and I already had a crib for the youngest. So we were halfway there. All we needed was a bed. I had just the thing.
When my son was almost 3-years-old, I went on a scavenger hunt because that’s what I always did back then. We didn’t have a lot of money, and it was cheaper, and I had a penchant for old things anyway. I (and sometimes H) would crawl all over thrift stores and junk shops in search of just the right thing.
In this case, all we had to do was roam around a dusty, mouse infested barn that belonged to H’s stepfather. When he realized I was looking for an old iron bed, he invited me to take a look. He enjoyed the fact that I had the druthers for old things.
We climbed up to the loft in his huge, old barn. H’s stepfather liked me very much, and I knew it pleased him to know that he had the precise thing I was looking for. Shafts of sunlight poured in through the gaps between the weathered boards. I peered through the diluted light as dust motes floated aimlessly in the air. When my eyes adjusted, I saw not one but at least half a dozen beautiful, old iron beds. He told me to choose the one I liked most.
Old relics are not everyone’s cup of tea, but they’re mine. I fell for this simple, old iron bed with lots of curly cues. You still see these beds around. They’re not the rarest of things, but I love mine, and I loved the guy who gave it to me.
I brought my prize home and proceeded to ruin it’s simple beauty by painting it a ridiculously bright red color. My son’s room had red and white striped shades and brightly colored curtains. It resembled a circus. I can say that it was cheerful.
Eventually my son got a bigger and newer bed. Over the past 30 something years, I’ve insisted and cajoled, and H has sportingly agreed to drag this bed from house to house as life changed on a dime, and we found ourselves moving yet again to new digs. I’d watch the movers or H load it on the truck, knowing it would end up somewhere in an attic or basement or garage at the other end. Even though I knew it would not be used just yet, I found it comforting that I still had it – a little bit of the past and a little bit of the future.
I continued to insist that my grandchildren would sleep in it someday. It’s very heavy, and I’ve probably paid more for moving companies to move it from place to place than it’s actually worth. But hey!
So I asked H to go up to the attic and bring it down one more time, and that has been our latest project. Have a look, but please know that I’m aware that this is a room at Grandma’s house. My son’s room was never this neat and this room will not stay this way for more than five seconds after the grandkids arrive.
…the bed… 
~
A couple of coats of primer and paint, and look what we have.
…gathering all the stuff together…
I found a serious bargain on the comforter, pillow and red blanket at Marshall’s.
~
Then (just like old times) we went to Goodwill to look for shelves. ($5 for the small one and $7 for the long one) They were brown wood, but white paint solved that.
~
…and this is how it all turned out…
Ta Daaa…
~ 
I had coupons for the curtains. Lots of coupons. 
~
…and the finishing touches…
About three years ago, I found the print, Heads or Tails, at a thrift shop near Dad’s. $6.00
~
Noah was found at the same thrift shop as the print for a couple of dollars.
My Raggedy Ann when I was a little girl…
As soon as the baby is old enough to leave the crib, I’ll be on the hunt for another old bed. God, I love junk stores.
My little camera that I’ve had for seven years finally went kaput. H brought a new one home for me last night. First photo – building blocks that I picked up for the grandkids. A huge bag of 80 blocks for only 5 bucks at Goodwill.
Image: Alaskan Alpine Treks
We live on the outskirts of a city that’s spreading this way. We were out and about this weekend: doing errands, gathering supplies to wrap up a project, buying a few Christmas presents, etc. I lost count of how many dead animals we saw in the middle or on the side of the road. I just missed running over a dead skunk. Whew! That would have lingered for a while.
They’re punching through yet another new road. The animals are confused and have nowhere to go. H pondered where the beavers who used to inhabit the little creek may have gone.
What is one to do? Progress happens. We keep reproducing. Trees must be cut. Roads must be built. Subdivisions must be created. Sewage must be laid. Schools must be built.
I’m not wagging my finger so much. I realize we’re part of the problem too.
So H made a run to the grocery store last night. He returns and finds me in here doing a little paper work. He plops down in a chair and says, “You’re car is fine.”
That got my attention.
“A deer hit me.”
Note the passive admission here.
A deer hit me. Not, I hit a deer.
As it turns out, that’s exactly what happened. A deer bolted out of the woods. H slammed on breaks, and just missed her. A car was coming from the opposite direction. Confused, the deer turned around and ran smack into the side of our car. H said she was dazed. She then took off into the woods where she belonged, never to be seen again… hopefully. There was no damage to our car.
The plight of these animals is becoming a part of life out here. We both hate it.
Photo in Dad’s local paper
The doctor removed H’s stitches and all is well.
It is nasty outside. I was foolish in my choice of clothing. I didn’t know if I was going to freeze to death or drown, and I can’t tell you how windy it is out there. They closed schools early and canceled all after school activities. Trees are down around the city, and there are power outages.
The problem is the water. The storm isn’t moving, and it’s dumping huge amounts of water on us. It softens the ground, and the trees pull their roots right out of the ground. We saw a large tree that was lying across a yard at the end of our street. The roots were sticking up in the air. Even though this is not classified as a hurricane we are sustaining the kind of damage that you would expect to see in a category one hurricane – trees down, power outages, flooding, etc.
I talked to Dad. They’ve experienced significant flooding down there. The Brother’s business is on the water. There was over a foot of water in the building earlier this afternoon, and we weren’t even close to high tide yet. He moved all of his equipment, computers, generators, etc. to higher ground. Hopefully he won’t sustain too much damage. This is a recurring issue. He knows the drill and takes appropriate precautions. He rents the building; his landlord will absorb those damages.
The up side of this story is that the stores were deserted. We just about knocked out our Christmas shopping for my son, his wife and the grandkids. I’m still cold to the bone. I’ve already donned my softest sweats, and now I’m going to hunt down the heating pad and snuggle under the covers for a while. I didn’t make chili, but supper will be something simple and comforting. Chili soon.
Today: A wind driven heavy rain. High around 50F. Winds NNE at 25 to 35 mph. Rainfall over 2 inches expected. Winds could occasionally gust over 50 mph.
I woke around 4:00 this morning. It’s chilly in here. I’ve pulled a soft blanket from the linen closet and wrapped myself in it. I’m listening to what remains of Ida’s wind as it buffets the house. We’re only getting her residue, a mere whisper of her damp breath. It rained all day yesterday, and it’s suppose to continue through tomorrow.
It’s still dark. I can’t see, but I know my neighbor’s tall, bendy, pencil-thin pines are tossing their heads and arching, arching low, low, down, down, almost to the point of snapping, then whipping back up again just before break point. Then I tell myself, probably not. It’s not that bad. Not like the last time one of them fell over my fence and across my yard.
I give considerable thought to the possibilities though. Pines snap like toothpicks when their miraculous engineering is tested beyond it’s ability . I’ve been in their way when they’ve snapped. So I give a little extra respect to my neighbor’s pines when the wind blows.
While some people think of pines as nothing more than a nuisance, I actually like them when the wind isn’t blowing, especially when they’re in the company of others. I do love a grove of pine trees. I only hate them when they arch over like a crescent moon. It doesn’t take all that much wind to make them sway impressively. They are so limber, like babies who suck their toes without the slightest groan.
H is taking the day off. We’ll venture out into this boiling soup to get his stitches removed this morning. Then we’ll go somewhere for breakfast and then a little Christmas shopping for the grandkids. It will be nasty, but who cares. It’s only rain….and wind….but not too bad. Hope you’re having a fine Thursday. I think I’ll make chili tonight.
…was executed by lethal injection in my state last night. While Maryland and D.C. both had reason to lay claim to the dispensing of justice to John Allen Muhammad, Virginia is less squeamish about executing folks. So this is where it all ended.
Capital punishment – I hate writing about controversial things because I’m a pleaser and a wimp, but even the most mealy-mouthed among us is not without an opinion about the taking of a man’s life when there is certainty that he took the life of another. I stand with those who believe that until we come up with a way to remove human error and prejudice from the system, we should suspend executions by the state. Even if hell froze over, and we suddenly found ourselves in a world in which human error no longer existed, I still say lock ‘em up till the sun don’t shine. The state should not be in the business of executing people.
If you believe that I harbor sympathy for John Allen Muhammad, you are profoundly wrong. On an otherwise uneventful fall evening in October of 2002, he terrorized my neighborhood by shooting a gentleman as he left a steakhouse just a couple of miles from my house.
H and I had only moved into our house a few months earlier. It had been the hottest and driest summer in recent memory. It was miserable. The heat bugs screamed for rain every night, air conditioners chugged along trying to keep ahead of the unbearable temperatures, and everyone held their breath in anticipation of fall.
But when fall arrived, there was no relief. The heat bowed only marginally to the season, the rain never materialized, and we watched in disappointment as a large percentage of our leaves shriveled up and dropped to the ground before they could turn red and gold and orange. The root waterer was hunted down in hopes of saving a few of the most threatened trees.
Then he showed up, and for three weeks we were drawn to our televisions as unbelievable events unfolded. The first victim was shot at a Michael’s craft store on October 2, and the last shooting took place on October 22. As details were revealed daily and the number of shootings grew, some began to speculate about where the next shooting would take place – especially after the shooting in Fredericksburg. He was moving in our direction. Patrol cars took up permanent positions at the exits and entrances to I 95, and a noticeable increase in general police presence was obvious.
Then it happened. Helicopters swarmed over our houses, and spot lights roamed the neighborhood throughout the night. Finally we learned that the Beltway Sniper had shot a man only a few miles away. Even with all the preparation, he escaped apprehension, but not for long. On October 24, police captured him and his teenage accomplice, Lee Boyd Malvo. They were at a rest stop northwest of Washington D.C.
John Allen Muhammad caused immeasurable anguish, and he took the lives of innocents – something he was not. I do not weep for him, but rather for those he harmed and their loved ones.
Paul Ebert, the Virginia prosecutor who won the death penalty conviction, said…
“He died very peacefully, much more than most of his victims.”
While I have other reservations about his execution, I can not argue with that.
