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November 26, 2007

Tickets to Norway

Ten hours in the car is about 9 hours too long if you have two toddlers with teeth and claws traveling with you. The only thing that made the trip bearable was the big, greasy bucket of Colonel Sanders' KFC and sloppy mashed potatoes.

Bumbleboy likes mashed taters from KFC.

The vehicle's interior is now painted with mashed taters from KFC.

Whenever Brian and his friends decide to take a big trip, they do it with wild enthusiasm and absolutely no thought to budget, practicality or available vacation time. And anytime they've made these trip plans, they've committed themselve to it by immediately purchasing their airline tickets, with the notion that "If I have the ticket, I HAVE to go. There's no backing out now."

I've always envied his ability to do that - to travel on a whim and be completely at ease with that. The mere thought of spontaneous travel makes my OCD eyes twitch relentlessly. He's an amazing guy, and his ability to sieze the day is one of the many reasons I married him. I, however, could never bring myself to simply buy the ticket and go without spending four months of planning, scheduling and FREAKING OUT.

Brian looks at planning for travel the same way he looks at skydiving. Or marriage. Once you take that first step, you're committed to the jump. You can't back out. If you buy an airline ticket to Norway to go BASE jumping, YOU ARE GOING TO NORWAY. If you buy airline tickets to skydive all over Europe, YOU ARE GOING TO EUROPE. If you propose onstage to your girlfriend in front of a full house, dude, YOU'RE SO GETTING MARRIED.





For the week before we left for Thanksgiving for our trip to VA, I've been checking out reviews for a good pair of hiking boots. I learned long ago that you don't buy cheap stuff when it comes to sporting goods or ketchup. Case in point: My first pair of roller blades were about $29.99 at AMES. They sucked. They hurt my feet, offered no ankle support, caused blisters and I could only go about 100 yards before I had to quit. My second pair of blades ran just under $200, but they were WELL WORTH the price I paid. They're comfortable, I can blade for hours without blisters or ankle pain, and 6 years later, they're still in tremendous shape.

Second case in point: Heinz Ketchup. No other ketchup can compare to Heinz's ketchupy goodness.

I knew I would have to sink a decent amount of cash into a good pair of hiking boots in order to stay comfortable and not injure myself while hiking. I've worn hiking boots practically all my life, but I've never owned a pair of GOOD hiking boots. And because I'm going to be hiking in both summer and winter, I figured I'd have to buy TWO pair of good boots (winter & summer).

I've had no luck finding ANY decent boots here in Rochester. EMS closed. Dick's and Gander Mountain are the only stores in the area that could have carried the styles I was hoping to buy, and they didn't have them. So while visiting my sister in Virginia, I decided to check out her local sporting goods stores. Unfortunately they didn't have the boots I was looking for - but they had something better. Heh.

Originally I had planned to check out boots from North Face, but I wasn't completely sold on them after reading a few negative reviews.

Instead I found this pair of snow/earth-kickin' leather foot clouds. The guy who sold them to me swore on them, and told me he'd never hike in anything BUT those boots. After I tried them on, I was sold. They're EASILY the most comfortable boots I have EVER worn in my life, and I can wear them for summer and winter hiking, both.

As I hopped into the car, my sister asked, "So, what was the damage?"

"$214.99" I sighed.

"Dude," she said as she rolled her eyes, "you just bought an airline ticket to Norway. I hope you like hiking."

September 13, 2007

Jogger, not.

I caved on my diet tonight and ordered pepperoni on our Thursday night Mark's pizza. We've done really well on the mostly-vegetarian meal plan, and I've been behaving VERY well on my might-as-well-starve-myself diet of cardboard and grass. I felt so terrible about binging on two slices of pizza that I dug my jogging shoes out of the cubby, shook off the cobwebs and went jogging.

Kind of.

First I should explain that my jogging shoes are more like "lawn-mowing shoes." I wear them when Brian is home to bitch at me for not wearing shoes while I mow the lawn. (I think I've mentioned that I *hate* wearing shoes) Other than that, they sit in the cubby collecting dust.

Second, I should explain that I've never jogged before. Well, maybe I jogged a little before I hit puberty - back when I had all the energy in the world and was not an angsty teenager mooning over boys in my bedroom, silently cursing my mother for not letting me paint my walls black or allowing me to scribble the words to morose Marillion songs on them in secret black light letters. Things have changed since before those pre-pubecent days of yore.

Now, I'm about as graceful as a badger stuck in a hammock. So I patiently waited until the more experienced joggers had made their way home for the evening (dusk) and slowly eased myself into the road, the road, which was apparently freshly oiled and stoned today. (Not THAT kind of stoned.) We're talking a hundred million pieces of tiny, wobbly, unstable gravel and slippery oil that tried to kick my legs out from underneath me with every fancy prance I took.

To those pesky stones I say, "HA! BASTARDS! YOU FAILED! I WIN!"

It was a dirty run, but I made it to the end of my dead-end road and turned the corner and stopped, completely out of breath, wanting to lay down in the grass and let the wild bunnies eat me alive. I immediately thought of my upcoming kickboxing class and how badly I am going to be beaten by it. I forged ahead, though, not willing to have my a$$ kicked by ROAD. Pffffffff.

Jogging turned to gallopping, turned to skipping, turned to walking, and in the end I walked two miles, jogged maybe 1/4 mile, but I savored every step. It's unbelievable how completely different everything is at dusk from the daytime. The daytime, on my road, smells like a combination of milkweed, sweet clover, dill and a hint of fresh hay, intensely warmed by the sun. At dusk all the musky-clean earth aromas dance in the cool evening air to mingle with the sounds of crickets and wild geese eating corn in the field. Over it all I could smell a hint of a brush pile burning in the distance - not too overwhelming - just enough to bring back campfire memories of my childhood summers spent on Lake Ontario. I glanced at the treetops, barely visible by the setting sun and noticed they've all changed to yellow. Autumn is here, summer is leaving and I'm sad to see it go. Every one seems shorter and shorter and I haven't quite figured out how to slow them down.

If you figure it out, let me know, because that's one secret I would hold dear.

September 08, 2007

Fetty

Are you all fetty?" Elizabeth always asks after we mow the lawn (on the "mow-lawner"). She has trouble pronouncing "sw" words.

Tonight I am exceedingly fetty. It's close. It's passionate. The temperature read 78 degrees at it's coolest moment during last night.

Now, I'm an Autumn gal through and through. I live in wait for fifty-degree days, leaf-swishing and cable knit sweaters.

The newsman tells me that tomorrow the heat will break with thunderstorms (which I adore), and if that's the case, Clan Piper is heading out to the riverbeds on Sunday for some child backpackin'. Apparently there's a great gorge nearby (one I don't have to drag my kayak up over two miles of vertical cliff - but that's another story) and at this time of year, the water is nothing more than a trickle, leaving smooth water-polished rock bed, perfect for hiking. I get along well with new territory to explore.

Pictures, I promise. Should be an amazing hike at this time of year!

May 07, 2006

Adirondack Weekend and Pictures

Congratulations to Jack and Ruth Wheeler (Jack is my cousin, Ruth is his new bride) on their weekend wedding in the Adirondacks! It was a beautiful event, and everyone had a grand time! My immediate family decided to head home a day early because of the chilly weather, and because Elizabeth is on the tail end of a second ear infection. We want to avoid a third.

It was really wonderful to see all of my relatives - I wish I had more time to spend with all of them. Uncle John - send measurements! I was absolutely serious about making a kilt for you!

My sister, Shannon and her husband Gary have been borrowing photo albums from various family members, and for the past year, I've been pestering her to put some on a CD for me. After I pinned her down and licked her face, she finally made me a copy (after kicking and swearing at me).

I spent an hour this morning going through each one. If I had to pick only one favorite, it would have to be this one:
papa02.jpg

This is my grandfather, William Wheeler. He was an amazing man, and this picture gives you a tiny glimpse into the life of one of the heroes from my family history. He was a New York State Trooper and a "Rough Rider" from Troop D, stationed in Oneida, New York.

That image really makes me proud to be a member of his family.

Elizabeth liked the picture too. She pointed at the horse and said "pppppppppppppp," which is her word for the sound a horse makes, and also her sign of definite approval.

Shannon provided me with hundreds of pictures, and as time allows, I'm hoping to post a few more for you all to see. For now, I'll leave you with the typical "Heather the Brat" family picture and story. For reference: I'm one and a half years older than sister Shannon.

Who: Me and gullible sister Shannon.
Where: The sandbox
What: A feast

The scene: Standing before my mother is a screaming Shannon and a guilty-faced me. She asks simply, "What happened?"

Between sobs, Shannon chokes a tale of woe. Somehow I had convinced her that my "Sandbox Surprise" was a giant, tasty pie.

With great compassion, Mom wipes away Shannon's muddy tears, and explains carefully, "DO NOT listen to Heather when she tells you that DIRT is PIE. It's not pie. It's dirt. Dirt doesn't taste good. So the next time she tries to convince you that she has made pie, DO NOT EAT IT."

Shannon nods, sniffles, and heads back out the door.

Mom issues a warning to me: NO MORE MUD PIES ARE TO BE FED TO YOUR SISTER!

Five minutes later I lead a crying Shannon by the hand, back through the door. This picture was taken at that very moment as I delivered my sobbing sister to my mother.
sandh.jpg

Mom asks: "Shannon, what did you do?? I told you that she is feeding you mud - those are NOT pies! "

Defeated, muddy, and empty of excuses, Shannon cried, "But Mom, she told me they were COOKIES!"

March 29, 2006

Driving Aggression

Heather's Thick-witted Thoughts . . . .

As I was driving around the city of Rochester this morning in an ongoing quest to find a zillion pink feather boas for my new-redo of that sassy, sexy Moulin Rouge Pink Diamonds number, I once again noted the alarming number of IDIOTS on the road. It occurred to me that if all drivers would simply behave as though it was their own child in the vehicle in front of them, we would all be a Hell of a lot safer.

Well, that is, unless ALL DRIVERS = MEDEA. Then we're all screwed.

August 24, 2005

That's right. I fiddle.

That's right, folks. It's official: I'm a fiddler.

Today was lesson number two and I played my first tune. I broke my first string. I fiddle. Yeah, you can call me Fiddle Piper.

On my way to the lesson, I pass an enormous field of sunflowers. It's absolutely the most joyful scene to oncounter in the morning and it makes you forget about all the numpties in this world.

My fiddle teacher is a peach. He's jolly and perky and chipper. his excitement for fiddle playing can only be compared to a bucket of puppies. It's hopelessly contagious.

I sang "Boil Cabbage Down" all the way home (The song I learned). I will take my fiddle in tomorrow (hopefully) to have it restrung, buy new strings, rent a new one (while they replace the bridge) and then I'm gonna hike out back, sit on a stump and practice Boilin' Cabbage Down.

No more makin' babies cry. Nosirree. I'm a fiddle player now. Babies will smile when I screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech my bow. . . .

I hope. Or I'm gonna have the shortest-lived fiddle-playin' career ever.

Peace, till next

August 15, 2003

The East Coast Blackout, Russian invasion

Email from pregnant sister Erin:

-----Original Message-----
From: Erin
To: Very Merry Seamstress; Shannon
Subject: Shower (surprise shower)

Hey guys --

Just wanted to give you a heads up... the baby shower Angela is throwing for me is a surprise... so don't tell me!

She was worried I would go out and buy everything on my registry before they had it, so she told me about it. Now I get to act surprised! This will be all work people, so you don't have to come if you've got other plans.

We are all (including Dad!) planning on going to Mom's BBQ tomorow... are you guys going too? I would love to see you and Dad is very nervous about getting a head count, since he is in charge of bringing corn ;-)

Heather -- Glad to hear you are having "more fun than a bucket of neddies"!

(Side note from Heather: A "Neddie" is a very hyper dog I used to have - lotsa fun - very wiggly)

(PS.. that will become my new expression of the week!) Just be sure to let me know if you need me to remove stuff from the registry. PPS... I have been wanting to sell & buy stuff on e-bay, but I can't remember my seller name and/or password and it won't let me create a new one (it says I already exist) -- any ideas?

Talk to you soon!

Love,
Erin

My response:

-----Original Message-----
From: Very Merry Seamstress
To: Erin; Shannon
Subject: RE: Shower (surprise shower)

Hey, Erin!

Hahaha -

You're a geek. I *almost* emailed you yesterday and said, "Hey! I'm gonna stop buying stuff for you until after your shower!" and then I remembered it was a surprise just before I hit send.

*whew* I'm glad it wasn't MY fault that the cat's out of the bag.

I've got these big Russian dudes ripping out all the windows of my apartment. They have scaffolding set up outside all my windows and they sit out there smoking cigarettes, and saying stuff like this: "Iusyedtr vjehffeg dofghort oierkdsnf lnfoerh fvlneortg iretjjfng!!!! Hahahahaha!!!"

I spy on them. I can press my eyeball up to the window blinds and spy on them like TWO INCHES from where they are standing and they don't even know I'm there. Of course, since I don't understand what they are talking about, they are probably saying,

"Psssst, don't look now, but that BIG SCARY EYEBALL is back in the window again. This chick needs to GET A LIFE."

They are set up outside my SHOWER WINDOW alllllllllllll day. I can't pee. I can't poop. I can't shower because I've got Russian men in my shower window peeking in.

Thursday night is ALWAYS date night, and Brian and I were going to go to dinner and see a movie. I needed to go to Rite Aid Drug Store to get some girly aloe/moisturizer soothing cream 'cuz between the heat, humidity, chafe-y shorts and my sensitive skin, my upper thighs had gotten sweaty and chafed, and I needed relief - not IMMEDIATE relief - but some *eventual* relief.

FINALLY the Russians moved their scaffolding from the window at 3 pm. I needed to color my hair because I look like Gutter Trash Ho, Inc.

I squirted and lathered and basked in ammonia-stink-ooze.

Ten minutes later, at a little after 4 pm yesterday, my power went out. I was miffed, because I was totally grooving on a website all about the Kennedy assassination and the REAL alien autopsy and I lost it.

I figured that the Russians had accidentally cut the power to the apartment, and I was going to give them just a few minutes to fix it before I went Medieval on their hides.

I figured I'd better hog the entire apartment complex water supply in a hurry, because I'll be buggered if I'm gonna lose all my hair from not washing all that goop out of it, simply because the people next door stole all the water first.

I hopped in, lathered up, rinsed off, and was able to hog ALL the water to myself. I exited the bathroom, (still no power), threw on some clothes, headed out to Rite Aid Drug Store for my personal needs, and off to find an ATM for some date night spending scratch.

The Russians said hi as I left and then added, "uhfdrf djnfvouerh sodfhowuef sfmniwhr - Hahahahaha!"

Translation: There's that freaky blonde who keeps staring at us out of her window blinds - Hahahahaha!

Bastards. I hate it when they talk about me.

Anyway, I pulled into Rite Aid and FREAKY-END OF-WORLD GUY is there. The bugger is standing in the door, screaming at the top of his lungs:

IT'S HUGE!! IT'S HUGE!!! THE WHOLE U.S. IS WITHOUT POWER!! THE ELECTRIC COMPANIES HAVE SMOKE BILLOWING OUT OF THEM!!! IT'S GOING TO BE WEEKS BEFORE WE GET POWER BACK!!!

I started to freak. With this revalation, I realize that I can't get my feminine moisturizing cream because the power is out; you can't use debit cards when there's no power; I have no cash.

I drove home, can't find a radio station with an update as to why the world has come to an end - none of the radio stations have power.

I arrive home, called Brian - his phone is dead. And by now, I'm sure he is too.

I ring my mom. Mistake? Maybe . . .

Mom: Hello?

Me: DON'T USE YOUR CORDLESS PHONE!! THERE'S NO POWER!! (not really sure what the hell I was thinking)

Mom: (totally confused) Wha?????

Me: are you on your cordless?????

Mom: ummmmm, yeah? Why?

Me: MOM !!! IT'S HUGE!! THE ENTIRE UNITED STATES HAS LOST POWER - - EXCEPT YOU!!!!!!!

Mom: What???? (clicks tv on)

Me: You got the tv on???? What's happening???? MOM?? IS SOMETHING HAPPENING?????

Mom: (distracted) Yeah, it's on! It's on the news! Quick, turn your tv on!

Me: I DON'T HAVE ANY DAMNED POWER!

Mom: (giggle) Oh, yeah. (giggle)

Me: MOM!! THIS ISN'T FUNNY!!! I DON'T HAVE ANY CASH, THERE'S NO POWER, AND I GOTTA GET A TUBE OF FEMININE MOISTURIZING CREAM 'CUZ I'M ALL CHAFE-Y DOWN THERE!

(silence)

Mom: Busts out laughing

Me: IT'S NOT FUNNY! THIS IS REALLY SERIOUS!!!!

(silence)

Mom: (Busts out laughing again) Ohhhh, honey. It's ok. Just wait till Brian gets home and you two can have a nice romantic evening (trying to control fits of giggling) OH, WAIT!!! (giggle fit) You CAN'T have a romantic evening!! (giggle fit) YOU COULDN'T GET YOUR FEMININE MOISTURIZING CREAM!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA . . .

Me: (Waiting for mom to settle down with her laughing fit)

So that's how my day went yesterday - I hope you didn't lose power, and if you did, I hope you didn't call mom.

For the baby shower - don't care - just let me know if I'm supposed to be there or not. I already told Angela that Shannon (other sister) and I will be there, and we will bring food, because mom told us, "Erin is your baby-est sister, and this is very important to her, and if you don't go, it will be just like you've chewed off her feet and made her walk to the nearest homeless shelter without sandals."

So that kinda meant Shannon and I *had* to go - but I don't think we mind. Afterall, I can entertain all your work friends about my feminine moisturizing cream story, right?

See ya tomorrow at Mom's BBQ!

Love,
H
***************


Peace, 'til next.