Ride it Like You Stole It

Well it's been nice knowin' ya all. I've decided to ride my mid-life crisis out on the road. True, this was Steve's original dream, but I'm fairly certain the Regulators just liked a reason to meet for face stuffing. Sure they printed their routes and mapped out their destinations but it was all a show. A show that must not and will not go on. The hygienators, on the other hand, were born to be wild.
Why you ask? Maybe because the leak about Denver possibly trading Jay Cutler pisses me off to the brink. I shouldn't have expected much from a coach that is 4 years younger than me, but I had hope. If they trade Cutler than I'm going to take a year off Broncosmania and distract myself by chasing the pavement. Or maybe I'm gettin' outta dodge just so I can take a shower without any interruptions. Hell I'd be happy to be able to go to the bathroom in peace. Or maybe I'm fleeing because all the viruses seem to have left and I want to go before they make a comeback. Maybe I'll even grab a beer or two along the way. My possibilities are endless on the open highways. Leaving my worries to the wind and knees to the breeze, ten four good buddies.

No Arizona

All the talk of my new book has struck me with the classic writer's block. I want to pen about sun and heat but I look outside and the white sends me back to reality. Why would two Hispanic, Catholics want to raise a family in Utah anyway? If my Grandma didn't like to have everyone so close to her, I think she'd want us in Sedona, where it's warm and viruses don't come your way every other week. She'd probably actually want us in Parkview, New Mexico, where she was raised, but the town is so small that I don't even think it registers on mapquest.

So apparently when one has writer's block, they just babble about whatever's crossing their mind at the time. I could write about more serious things like Brooks' unpredictable blood sugar which is driving me absolutely crazy. Welcome to the life of diabetes Ang. As I watched him playing downstairs this morning, I remembered how I used to say that I couldn't wait for him to get out of that scary baby stage when he put all things little in his mouth and climbed anything laced with danger. I couldn't wait for the day when I wouldn't worry about him so much, but that's a day that will never exist for me now. And I'll probably never live near the grand canyon either.

Fortunate for me though, I have two beautiful children who love life in rain, sleet, sun, or snow. Emma is a master at wanting everyone to be happy. She's very patient with Brooksie and likes to make him smile, most of the time. E.J. gives in more than a sister should, but it's something she'll never regret when she's older. I'm proud of the big heart and the loving load she carries.

Tug doesn't care for winter himself. Making him a trail to the tramp ain't no party either. Thanks Babes for blazing him a walkway just because you know it makes me happy.

Don't poke fun at his Elmer Fudd hat please. I bought him this gem so the frost doesn't creep onto the lobes, they ain't no small potatoes by any means.

Since my blog is private now, I can say that this is what the Poll's see alot of this time of year. It might not be Arizona, but it's no Alaska either, and thank goodness for that y'all. I've seen enough snow and entirely too much Palin for one lifetime.

The Next Stephenie Meyer?

So apparently a few people think I is a good writer. Thank you, by the way, for the nice emails and comments. As for your recommendations and questions about me publishing a book, I'm now considering it. Here are some book titles I'm tossing around:

- Dysfunctional When Punctual

- All Flossers Go to Heaven

- Finding Peace in Peanut Butter Bars

- A Cuss Word a Day Keeps the Bishop Faraway

- What to Expect When Your 50 Lbs. Plus After Expecting

- How to Buy a Lot That You Can Only Dream of Building On

- Making the Best of Your Motorcycle Man and Other Fables on the Road Again

- My Book Club Kicks Your Book Club's Ass

- Why Middle Children are Smarter

- Become the Virus Within You and It Will Never Go Away

- Endocrinologist or Therapist: A Guide to Breaking Down at Every Appointment

- Cornflower and the Mile High Fan

- When Facebook Takes Ahold

- Raising Peter Parker (with art cover)

- Faux on Miss Beautiful (with art cover)
- Killing Me Softly with His Song (and art cover)

"Hide not your talents. They for use were made. What's a sundial in the shade?" ~ Ben Franklin

I always hate the part on a questionaire where it asks what special talents I have. I can see that it's an applicable question most of the time, but I never have a good answer. I don't play an instrument, I can't sing, and I'm not good at any sport. Instead of writing "none" like I want to, I end up making up some crap about talking easily with others.

I received an email today that has me thinking I may need to change my response. I'm still undecided whether I should put "Excellent missionary skills" or "Recruiting expertise", but for now I'm just content that I finally found something.

This hidden talent didn't surface until just over a year ago when I found out Matchbox Twenty was doing a benefit concert in LA. Steve had already taken off work to go see Rob Thomas with me that year so I called my sister to see what I could talk her into. With a little coercion and the gift of pirated CD's, Lyndee came aboard the groupie express.

I had to post a video because this night provided the first time I'd ever thought about how I'd like to die. The video doesn't show it, but Lyn and I were a few rows in front of this camera. We were in the loge which I guess is like a balcony except its lower and closer to the stage. The building was a hundred year old theatre that had closed for a decade but then recently revamped and reopened. As soon as the music began, the whole crowd (including us) started jumping and dancing. I am not exaggerating when I say that the entire balcony was quaking and I felt like we were headed for a crash at any given time. I looked at Lyn and told her that I couldn't think of a better way to croak, so we kept our groove on, unstable as it were.

Matchbox came to Utah a few months later and I handily talked Kari and Trav into going. Lyndee went also, of course. I will post video of this fabulous evening on its one year anniversary, but I also prepped Karianne with Cd's and such before the concert. To say that night at the E Center was one of the best nights of my life would be putting it lightly. I couldn't stand the thought of not seeing them for several more years so I smoothly proposed going to Reno the next week. Kari bit and we were off like the bra of a new bride. Lyn knew Jeff would not hear of it so she stayed behind to sulk. For the record, we also had tickets to see Matchbox in Cheyenne last July but the show cancelled due to Rob's stance against animal cruelty (did I mention that I love this man?)

A few months pass and I find my cousin, born fifth in line among us, persisting I make her a CD of Rob and Matchbox compilations. This would be the same cousin that suggested a possible intervention to control my following of the said band. I sent her an email today requesting her brother's email status. She forwarded the necessary information and added a sentence telling me she was listening to Robbie as she wrote, but the best part is that she concluded with a "ooh baby!" I then asked her if this meant she would be joining me and my roadies once Rob announces another solo tour. Her reply was that she'd love to and that she has really missed out.

So that's it! My unexposed talent has shown face after all these years in the shade. I cannot take full responsibility since Rob is the actual ear-melting songwriter and performer, but I will accept credit where due. And thanks to my devoted converts. I love you girls!

It's a Love/Hate Thang

Our laptop is officially defunct (waaaahhhhh!), so why I decided to go private this morning is beyond me. Our desktop computer is slower than a herd of turtles treading through a peanut butter track. I'm a glutton for personal anguish.

No matter, it's over and done. I will begin my search for a new laptop and move on with my private blog. There were some people on my facebook and email lists that didn't ask for an invite but got one anyway, so if you didn't really want one, don't tell me. I'd hate to shatter the illusion I hold that my life is eventful and worth reading about.

I also want to mention that I had fun last night with the blogger girls! I walked into the party thinking I was a fairly smart, well-rounded, confident woman. I left realizing I'm an under average gamer who dreams of protesting botox and acting like a grown-up one day. (insert chuckle here Jen!) Thanks Leesh, you know how to throw the perfect bash!

Brooks and Brooks

Two years ago this month we had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Brooks Robinson was speaking for a UofU baseball fundraiser, so we took our Brooks to meet the inspiration behind his name. Brooks will only remember this from pictures but we hope he will grow to appreciate this night as much as we did.

When I was still in Hygiene school, Steve and I used to talk about possible boy names even though I was not pregnant or thinking of becoming pregnant. We already knew that our first daughter would be named after my Grandma Emma, but nothing struck us profoundly in the male category. Then one day while watching a baseball documentary, Brooks Robinson was mentioned as one of, if not, the greatest third basemen to ever play the game. Steve and I immediately looked at each other and said, "That's it!" I asked Steve if he knew what type of guy B.R. was off the field, I didn't want my son having the same name as some arrogant, celf-centered baseball player just because he could play a mean game of hardball. Steve said he thought B.R. was a nice guy but didn't have details.

I started doing some research and kept finding quote after quote, story after story about what a great man Brooks Robinson was and still is. There were numerous stories of him signing hours of autographs for kids and fans, and several accounts where B.R. would pull a child from the stands before a game and ask him to play catch or pepper with him. He was always overly nice to the media and to people in general. I couldn't find one tale of him believing he was better than anyone. He's been quoted as saying that he's just an average ball player who was lucky enough to play games for a living. Basically, he had it in perspective. He knew that being a great player didn't mean beans if he wasn't an even better person outside the game. These are my two favorite quotes written about Brooks Robinson-

"There's not a man who knows him who wouldn't swear for his integrity and honesty and give testimony to his consideration of others. He's an extraordinary human being, which is important, and the world's greatest third baseman of all time, which is incidental." - John Steadman of The News American

"How many interviews, how many questions - how many times you approached him and got only courtesy and decency in return. A true gentleman who never took himself seriously. I always had the idea he didn't know he was Brooks Robinson." - Joe Falls of the Detroit News


After I read that B.R. was held in the highest respect by everyone, the deal was done. When I was pregnant with Brooksie, I went through a phase of wondering if people would think it was a girl name and started tossing around other names, but Brooks always came back to me. I think it's because Brooks is the perfect name for our sweet boy.

The above picture is Brooks Robinson signing Brooksie's baseball. He asked our Sweet Boy what his name was and Brooks just looked at him silently, so I smiled and nodded to B.R. as I said, "His name is Brooks." Mr. Robinson's reply almost brought me to tears. He grinned at Brooks as he sounded out what he was writing on the ball, "Brooks, I'm honored." There was something indefineable about that moment. B.R. went on to talk a little to Emma and signed a book for her and then we were about to leave when I said to big Brooks, "Thank you so much, you are everything they say you are." And then he hugged me.

Steven still says to this day that I hugged him, but B.R. was sitting down so I think he stood up to hug me! We will contest each other forever about this one but I thought it was funny when we got to the car and Steve said it would've been nice if he'd been able to talk to him as well. He said I was hawging all of B.R.'s attention! I told Steve that if he wouldn't have been there staring in awe, like he'd seen the light of heaven, he could've said whatever he wanted. I wasn't standing guard over the 16-time gold glover for bleeps sake.













I'm a quote lover so here are 3 of my favorites from Brooks Robinson -

"Whether you want it or not, you do serve as a role model."

"It's a pretty sure thing that the player's bat is what speaks loudest when it's contract time, but there are moments when the glove has the last word.”

"Fifty years from now I'll be just three inches of type in a record book."
Norman Rockwell was picky about who he drew, but held such high regard for Brooks Robinson that he made him the subject of this painting titled, "Gee thanks Brooks." I don't think even a handful of players can say they have their own Rockwell. Here are 3 quotes that explain what type of defensive player B.R. was -

"He's not at his locker yet, but four guys are over there interviewing his glove." - Rex Barney to reporters looking to interview Brooks Robinson after the 1970 World Series

"I'm beginning to see Brooks Robinson in my sleep. If I dropped a paper plate, he'd pick it up on one hop and throw me out at first." - Sparky Anderson

"I will become a left-handed hitter to keep the ball away from that guy." - Johnny Bench

A link to one of my favorite B.R. kid stories -
http://www.royfirestone.com/img/v1/The_Kid_Who_Never_Forgot.pdf

Next stop...Jay Cutler, baby. Count on it!

Confessions of a Cantor

I saw my aunt driving on main street just after I got my license. I wanted to show her that I was behind the wheel so I sped up to honk and wave. As I neared her car, I saw that she was singing, and to herself no less! I'm sure it was simple tenor but in my exaggerated teenage mind, it looked like a one woman opera. I was so embarrased for her that I thought I would die. I remember trying to think of a way to tell her that it was only cool to sing in the car if you had a passenger, but I never did.

A couple years later I'm driving solo on main street in the evening, and I badly want to sing along with the radio. I reason with myself that nobody will see in the darkness and set the vocals free. It feels good but I pause when I hit an area with better lighting.

Spring forward to daytime 2009 and I'm running errands sans others in the car. Robbie is blasting my speakers and not only am I blaring the lyrics, I'm tappin and slappin the steering wheel like its my last gig. I start to wonder what Zak would think if he pulled up next to me now. Hmmm funny...I don't really care and if I stop here, I'm going to miss belting my duet on the best part of the tune, so I carry on with confidence.

Why do I divulge such addle? Because I need to know. I need to know if my carelessness will create substantial setbacks in my children's future. I need to know who amongst you does the same. Forget further rationale, I just need to know...