I would have voted for Governor Wyers…

As stated here before, I’m a big fan of PBS. This month they gave the gift of Colonial House to me and I very much enjoyed it. (Just as I did Frontier House, Manor House, 1940s House, and 1900 House.)

My only beef is not with the PBS producers but with the whining colleagues of mine that think these Survivor spawned shows should feature people who “know what they’re doing” (as opposed to the general populace that applies and is chosen for their own merit). And to that I say, resoundingly, that, uh, hello? we DO have that… it’s called living history sites.

I don’t want to watch a 8 part series on Museum people going back to a certain year… of course we could do it. That’s not the point. The point is “what happens to a person from 2004 when they enter 1628″… do they not listen to the kind narrator lady?

Sheesh.

If you didn’t watch then make up for it by getting off your duff and visiting a historic site this summer. Many of our nation’s finest places are in danger of closing. Support them.

And send in a pledge to your local PBS. Tom Hanks, host of this year’s Memorial Weekend concert on the Mall, thanks you and so do I. Besides, it will help support the airing of Regency House, due in the states this November…

The Duathalon that was nearly a Triathalon that wasn’t…

Went to Galena, Illinois this weekend to see our friend Chris compete in a Duathalon. He was to run some then bike some then run some again, crossing a finish line to our cheers then retire to a celebratory night of music, dancing and beer.

The amazing thing was that he did all of that and then some– clearly besting the entire pack of athletes in a finish that is sure to be replayed on ESPN as part of their “Victory!” coverage. A consistent 4 minute mile after 4 minute mile yielded amazing running results and he simply flew when it came to biking. I did not know one could travel so fleetly on a bike! It’s a sad day that the Museum field will hold him no more now that he’s in training to lead the US teams this summer in Athens…

No. What happened was a rain delay that turned into a rain-out of the race that had all the duathaloners, by proxy, becoming triathaletes in the insuing rain. (He may not have planned to swim but mother nature had other ideas?) Poor Chris returned to our pathetically sympathetic cheers that faded somewhat in light of his bedraggled, muddy self trudging up the drive. Dressed in his racing togs, with numbers on his limbs and chest, he wheeled his trusty bike towards us while we mustered cheery grins.

An hour later we were in a local tavern enjoying gyros and drink while he regaled us with tales of 1400 participants hopped up on energy boost gels being told (reluctantly) by the race officials that there would not, after all, be a race today. A year of training up and down the mighty hills of Galena down in the second pint of beer.

The best was made, however, and we heartily enjoyed the rest of our stay. Robby finally saw the beautiful Galena (or parts of it) and a chance to enjoy the company of good friends was had by all. We watched bad movies (for the love of everything holy, do not let your loved ones rent “Stuck on You”– it’s terrible. Really, really terrible.) and ate pizza and drank gin out of a corn pitcher (no, sillies, not me– I drank ginger ale).

So our trip was a success in light of the weather. We returned to our little burg that is strewn now with mighty oaks and maples… our little house intact and still with power (a happy miracle). And, really, all his training wasn’t for naught. When I met Chris he was at least 50 pounds heavier with a penchant for chain smoking. Today he’s lean and healthy and sits in the nonsmoking section. Go Chris Go!

You oughta be in pictures

Yes, we ARE perfectly aware that this is the most lovely batch of soundwaves EVER. Thank you for noticing.

Move over, Dr. Phil…

My mother-in-law has been coerced into making me baked chicked tonight. Yum. The following is a dramatization of the phone transcript yesterday afternoon…

M-i-l: Hello?

Me: Hi– how’re you doing?
(conversation regarding that occurs…)

Me: Hang in there… Hey! Do you know what would make you feel better?

M-i-l: (sounding hopeful) No, what?

Me: Making ME feel better…

M-i-l: (sighing) What do you want?

Me: Poultry. Can you make me some kind of poultry?

M-i-l: (sighing heavier) I have a chicken. How about baked chicken?

Me: Yum!

M-i-l: (laughing) Is there anything else you’d like, Princess?

Me: Mashed potatoes and gravy?

M-i-l: Okay.

Me: Can we have stuffing? Please?

M-i-l: (still laughing) Yes.

Me: Yay! We’ll be over about 7.

(conversation about selfish, hungry daughter-in-law insues…)

Nah! Nah to all of you out there– I’m having a yummy supper tonight.

Aunt Susie

Our Aunt Susie died rather suddenly this week. I say “our” but of course, technically, she is Robby’s Aunt and not mine. I met Aunt Susie long before we were married when Robby and I were teenaged “best pals.” Her girls, now my cousins, were on the verge of teenagerness themselves. They called me, in their polite southern fashion, “Miss Terri” and I adored them instantly for it. By the time Robby and I married I had claimed, wholeheartedly, that family as my Aunt, Uncle, and Cousins.

There are a lot of parallels in the way that Aunt Susie lived and loved and died with my own Dad. My sister’s girls were only older by a few months when Dad died suddenly leaving a hole in the family– and it was them and their funny little ways that reminded us that you don’t ever lose anybody that you really loved. (Though it completely, and utterly, stinks that you can’t pick up the phone to chat or meet for a lunch.) And while that first year was rough– all the anniversaries and holidays and empty table places–are sore and raw– there was also so much unexpected joy. Things I’d took for granted that I notice now. Like spring flowers poking up. Strange little moments that seem as though Dad has had a hand in making things work out somehow.

So it hit me, stepping off the plane in Atlanta, that, for the first time, there would be no Aunt Susie waiting for us. That there wouldn’t be any more late night discussions with glasses of white wine or afternoon clandestine trips to the Dairy Queen. She would not be there to play Gin Rummy or to point out interesting little side trips in the area. Her raised eyebrows and low laugh would not punctuate anymore statements or stories. What a strange emptiness suddenly after all the flurry of arrangements in getting us down to Georgia for the funeral and thinking about her girls and our Uncle and my mother-in-law.

And then again, as the weekend went on, Aunt Susie was everywhere.

Her girls are as gracious and funny and kind as you could ever expect to be. They’re completely different– like my sister and me– but at that same time, so completely the same. (Like my sister and me.) I am glad that we will have babies close in age– that the shadowboxing creature in my tummy will have Miss Alice and Mr. Jones as playmates when they come north or we go south.

Sitting on Cousin Beth’s deck while the family ate dinner and talked and laughed in the easy way that families do, I realized that the magnolia trees were covered in nearly opened buds– a few early ones here and there provided a preview of what was to come. I’ve never been in Georgia when the magnolia trees are in bloom. What a magnificent show that must be. Magnolia trees with their thick glossy leaves and yummy smell always make me think of Georgia but now they’ll make me think especially of my Aunt Susie.

Bitter much Tom?

So Survivor ends on a high note with the last Tribal Council & reunion show easily the best ever… As cheesy as it was I still enjoyed Boston Rob’s proposal and Amber’s silly “I (heart) Rob” tee. But here are eight other highlights:

1. One last chance to ask each other “What the heck did he say!?” of Tom. The man has a ridiculously thick accent as it is and then, apparently, sucks on about 15 marbles. Thank goodness for TiVo’s back up feature… “Nope. Still didn’t catch it, try again…” That speech at the last Tribal was something else. Almost makes me forget Sue “Look at me! Look at me!” Hawk’s rat & snake number from Season One. You’re an adult, Tom, remember? That junior high “Stupid” nonhandshake was too much even for you. And dear Lord, don’t you have anything but bibs to wear?? Kudos though, on the weightloss.

2. The completely open wounds of Lex, Alicia, Tom, and Jerri (!?) whose combined bitterness was embarrassing to say the very least. Good grief people. It isn’t life… it’s a game. Lex, you are the proverbial black kettle smirking at the pots– what, exactly did Boston Rob do unto you that you hadn’t already done to Colby? Ethan? Jerri? Hmmm. And Jerri’s priceless, teary theatrics that “people think this is entertainment– our lives are entertaining to them” was beautiful in light of her greed to go after a million bucks not once but twice. Oh wait. That’s right. She was forced to sign up for a reality television show. And she was forced to milk what should have been 7 minutes of fame into 3 years of acting jobs and appearances… Get over yourself. Go coat yourself in chocolate and whine to the mirror that Colby doesn’t love you. Sheeesh.

3. The awkward romance of Jenna M. & Ethan. While Jenna gushed over the lovely soccer playing millionaire he merely looked as though he wanted to catch Jeff’s helicopter ride out of there.

4. Rupert’s silly chortle at nearly everything. He’s such a happy chap. (And my vote’s for him for the extra twist million…) He’s about 20 seconds away from gleeful clapping. I adore Rupert. I would like to have seen him walk away as the Sole Survivor but, let’s face it, it wasn’t going to happen. Only a fool would go up against him.

5. The utter transformation of Single Mom Jenna. Wow. Move aside Extreme Makeover Sue– you’ve got nothing on the amazing u-turn taken by Miss Jenna. Holy cow! Everytime she had access to makeup on the Island/Jury she came out looking like a cross between an 8 year old playing streetwalker and a drag queen worried about stage lights… and then last night, hair straight and sleek, face properly painted, she came off looking, well, pretty.

6. Amber & Boston Rob’s parents seemed genuinely pleased for their children. Good for them. Say what you will about the weird chemistry between the final two, or the fact that they’ve dated now for a mere 5 months–and that with the understanding that they had already won 2 veee-hick-les (thanks, Big Tom) and were guaranteed, between the two of them to walk away with 1.1 million dollars… Or the utter lack of trust displayed when Jenna (idiot) handed them the last Immunity… Still. They have had their moments. Best wishes to them.

7. The over-the-top segment where the final 3 walk the long path of “those that came before” and have to summon up something to say about each of their coplayers when they reach each torch. Amber managed most of it (she should win for that alone) and at least this time we actually remembered the first five to fall (usually it’s a matter of “Who?” since they are so quickly snuffed out). And LOVED the dramatic prone torches of Jenna M. and Sue who’d voluntarily left the game. So silly.

8. Jeff Probst. Increasingly he gets thinner, tanner, more sculpted and lovely to behold… but he’s also grown much more snarky and sarcastic. God bless him. It’s dear of him to call them out on their own weaknesses… it’s almost as though he watches it with us and speaks on our behalf. Jeff Probst is, hands down, the very best of reality show hosts. He’s the Carson of his genre.

Bring on Season 9!

Gunther, we’ll miss you most of all

Friends ends a 10 year run tonight on “NBC Must See TV” and I am not ashamed to admit that it makes me very sad. Rob and I have had a date on our couch every Thursday night since we were married to see our six pals and their adventures… (Until the blockheads at CBS put up Survivor against Friends and made us choose what to watch live and what to tape or TiVo.) We’ve been watching most of the hoopla as the lights go down on Central Perk and Monica’s fabulous apartment… and of all the Friends will miss the most I think it will be loyal old Gunther who’s been in nearly every episode pining for Rachel and dispensing coffee (and barely contained rage toward Ross) with little fanfare.

Thanks for the laughs Gunther.

Thanksgiving in May

Yay! All hail my mother-in-law who is making a turkey dinner for all of us tonight. Is there anything better than gravy, potatoes, and stuffing? (oh. Yes. And the turkey. Whatever.)

Six p.m. can’t come soon enough.

Happy Birthday Mads!

Madelyn Esther, or Magdalena Hoophensteiler as I call her, is my oldest niece. She turns 11 today.

On the night Maddie was born I was just a few weeks away from graduating from college. I was up in the student publications lab editing the paper. (Well. Actually, if I recall, we were still writing that issue. We tended to procrastinate a lot. Scott’s Mystery Science Theater tapes generally always seemed more pressing than any stupid deadline.) The phone rang and there was the happy news that sister Trish was on her way to the hospital. Maddie was the first baby born in our family since me so this was a huge deal for our little family. By the time Dad and I assembled at the hospital, where Mom waited for us, there was this dearest little creature waiting with large, sober eyes taking us all in. We gingerly passed her around while my sister sat in a daze and my brother-in-law, in a striped shirt that came straight out of Peter Brady’s closet, beamed.

I was very lucky with Maddie. For her entire first year I lived at home student/substitute teaching. She and I spent Wednesday evenings together while my sister and her husband went to Bible Study… and a good deal of Friday or Saturday “date nights” were ours to spend together, too. We got to know each other in those evenings– for example, neither of us like Barbara Streisand. I tried to watch “Yentl” but Maddie howled her fool head off until I switched it to something else. I still haven’t seen the end. And I learned that it’s okay if your niece throws up on you. It’s not nearly as awful as if it’s a drunk friend from school.

As cousins go, this gestating little lump of ours is quite lucky. He/she will only have two first cousins– but they are first rate.