Thanksgiving was wonderful but the best part was this^
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Although I am a couch potato with no equal, I love to read the sports pages and have been reading them for 30 years. I started when I found myself seated next to middle age men at dinner with absolutely nothing to talk about. These guys terrified me. I was 22. I assumed, mostly rightly, that they might like to talk about sports as their other interest, finance and investments, was not something I wanted to talk about at dinner. That was my twenties: small children and stockbrokers at dinner.
So I begin to read the sports pages and find out quickly that I can't just talk the latest information. If I am going to be a real talker, I must know the stats. Sigh. Okay, so I started learning the stats and with my fairly good memory, was able to talk the latest stories, opine highly on the portentions, and back up my keen observations with the stats. Such an avid sports enthusiast I am. Right. Well, it got me through another then another business dinner as my husband's career began to build. Good thing I'm not married to him no more.
But I still read the sports pages and even, no this is true, Sports Illustrated and that ESPN Magazine. I like 'em both. What I like is the poetry and the prose. Oh I hear you laughing and I hear those snorts, just don't think I don't. Snickers carry. But know this: I think sports writers are the best writers of any publication--this is something that I have watched and tested for 30 years now and with my sharp analytical skills and phenomenal expertise in sports, I tell you this with complete certainty: sports writers and the sports pages are the best.
They just call it--there is no couching what they saw, positioning the missed shot or lost opportunity, and no matter what, always, ALWAYS, someone wins, someone loses. Can't spin that. There is nuthin' gray about the sports. The writers know this and just lay it all down. Most of them also love the game and what they write about is the game so they don't take themselves seriously and THAT I really like.
Anyway, my beloved Portland Pilots Women's Soccer team finds themselves on their way to the College Cup, a carnation of the NCAA sports marketing group, as the Final Four, its previous name, is a thing reserved only for basketball. Let's just get all this straight, for crying out loud. And I think it's okay with the Pilots, because no matter what they're calling it, the Pilots just want to play. They've got a Dream Team this year; no injuries, no fights, no ambition in adequacies. They got a whole locker room full of MVPs. But there is one girl, a little, tiny girl, that really has climbed into my heart and wanders around my head still, even though it was last Friday night that I saw her play.
Lindsey Huie is one tough mama. She can make the big play, she can block the big shot, she can blast up, she can run right back, she can kick the length of the sideline. She is little tiny and has one great set of feet. The thing that's interesting to me about her is that she plays with marked dispassion. She doesn't scream. Her face doesn't contort; she rarely clenches her fists; she never spits. She moves though her game and plays team with a cold-bloodedness that is eery and a little unsettling. Soccer players are rock and roll folks; they sweat, they pant, they bite their lip, they yell, they wave their arms, they kick everything in sight. And that's either on or off the field. But not this kid. She just goes out there and guts out what needs to happen. And she knows exactly everything that her teammates need and sees that they get it.
A guy from The Oregonian writes a great story about her in the Sunday paper. Turns out "Huie's calm in the soccer storm stems from her tumultuous childhood; not much ratlles her on a soccer field." The guy then puts down what I think could be the quote of the century:
"I am thankful for the life I've had, she said. I wasn't spoon-fed like a lot fo private school kids who fall apart when things go wrong. I think I am more prepared to deal with things."
This is in the paper! Say, Lindsey, the guy asks her, What about the final four? What about the match up with Penn State, the only other unbeaten team in the nation? Isn't that going to be a really tough game? She replies,
"I say it's better to be us than somebody else."
He closes with the comment that it's good to be Lindsey Huie, too. Brilliant! He puts this kid and her story away with a finesse that only comes from telling it like it is. Win/lose. Missed/made. Bing/bang. And that's what I like about sports writers and the sports pages: it's just fine to be yourself and when it's working really well, it's better to be you than anybody else in the world....
for DFO, who reports back on the game and if the shot was made
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
So I begin to read the sports pages and find out quickly that I can't just talk the latest information. If I am going to be a real talker, I must know the stats. Sigh. Okay, so I started learning the stats and with my fairly good memory, was able to talk the latest stories, opine highly on the portentions, and back up my keen observations with the stats. Such an avid sports enthusiast I am. Right. Well, it got me through another then another business dinner as my husband's career began to build. Good thing I'm not married to him no more.
But I still read the sports pages and even, no this is true, Sports Illustrated and that ESPN Magazine. I like 'em both. What I like is the poetry and the prose. Oh I hear you laughing and I hear those snorts, just don't think I don't. Snickers carry. But know this: I think sports writers are the best writers of any publication--this is something that I have watched and tested for 30 years now and with my sharp analytical skills and phenomenal expertise in sports, I tell you this with complete certainty: sports writers and the sports pages are the best.
They just call it--there is no couching what they saw, positioning the missed shot or lost opportunity, and no matter what, always, ALWAYS, someone wins, someone loses. Can't spin that. There is nuthin' gray about the sports. The writers know this and just lay it all down. Most of them also love the game and what they write about is the game so they don't take themselves seriously and THAT I really like.
Anyway, my beloved Portland Pilots Women's Soccer team finds themselves on their way to the College Cup, a carnation of the NCAA sports marketing group, as the Final Four, its previous name, is a thing reserved only for basketball. Let's just get all this straight, for crying out loud. And I think it's okay with the Pilots, because no matter what they're calling it, the Pilots just want to play. They've got a Dream Team this year; no injuries, no fights, no ambition in adequacies. They got a whole locker room full of MVPs. But there is one girl, a little, tiny girl, that really has climbed into my heart and wanders around my head still, even though it was last Friday night that I saw her play.
Lindsey Huie is one tough mama. She can make the big play, she can block the big shot, she can blast up, she can run right back, she can kick the length of the sideline. She is little tiny and has one great set of feet. The thing that's interesting to me about her is that she plays with marked dispassion. She doesn't scream. Her face doesn't contort; she rarely clenches her fists; she never spits. She moves though her game and plays team with a cold-bloodedness that is eery and a little unsettling. Soccer players are rock and roll folks; they sweat, they pant, they bite their lip, they yell, they wave their arms, they kick everything in sight. And that's either on or off the field. But not this kid. She just goes out there and guts out what needs to happen. And she knows exactly everything that her teammates need and sees that they get it.
A guy from The Oregonian writes a great story about her in the Sunday paper. Turns out "Huie's calm in the soccer storm stems from her tumultuous childhood; not much ratlles her on a soccer field." The guy then puts down what I think could be the quote of the century:
"I am thankful for the life I've had, she said. I wasn't spoon-fed like a lot fo private school kids who fall apart when things go wrong. I think I am more prepared to deal with things."
This is in the paper! Say, Lindsey, the guy asks her, What about the final four? What about the match up with Penn State, the only other unbeaten team in the nation? Isn't that going to be a really tough game? She replies,
"I say it's better to be us than somebody else."
He closes with the comment that it's good to be Lindsey Huie, too. Brilliant! He puts this kid and her story away with a finesse that only comes from telling it like it is. Win/lose. Missed/made. Bing/bang. And that's what I like about sports writers and the sports pages: it's just fine to be yourself and when it's working really well, it's better to be you than anybody else in the world....
for DFO, who reports back on the game and if the shot was made
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Sunday, November 20, 2005
My friend Robbie tells me that JIT has revolutionized the food bank business. But not in a such a good way. Back in the day, the food banks received most of their inventory from the local Safeway, Albertson's, Yoke's or Super One. But as costs rose, margins shrunk and profits became even more elusive in the grocery business, new inventory management systems emerged, most notably, Just In Time. Formerly the locals held a certain inventory and restocked their shelves from their back room. These days, the locals don't hold inventory and restock their shelves from the truck, when it arrives daily. So the ordering is done so the delivery comes, just in time. The local grocery stores avoid the warehousing costs, in fact transfer them to their supplier, and are able to more efficiently match their costs to their revenues. They of course, diminish their shrinkage and waste and eliminate possible donations to the food bank. Just In Time.
So now the local food banks have to maintain relationships with Rosauer's on a local level and more importantly, organizations like Heinz and General Foods and Kraft on a national level, who donate the majority of the food bank's inventory. It's a new day and a new deal at the food bank.
Our godson is working on a school-wide food drive and he tells me that this year, his homeroom is responsible for 8 families. I was stunned, as in the 20 years I have been associated with the food drive at this school, the most a homeroom was ever given was 6 families. I am reminded of when my oldest was delivering food to a woman who cried when she answered the door, "I went to your school and back when I was delivering food for the food drive, if I ever thought I would be the one needing food...." My youngest son tells the story of visiting a family of 8 whose furniture consisted entirely of seats from vans. He said the house was spotless and the children clean but they had literally nothing and the food they delivered to this family was the food that would sustain them through the Thanksgiving weekend. So many more stories and such a growing up experience this food drive is--it is a real blessing in my family's life yet the burgeoning demand is troubling and makes me really, really sad. We are making a difference, right? We can help the people that need it, right?
I went to Costco today, where it's my habit to buy just about the same thing each year for the food drive: stuffing mix, tuna fish, green beans, corn, peaches, pears, spaghetti sauce, pasta, rice, pinto beans, peanut butter, jelly, oatmeal, Cheerios, ramen, potatoes, mac and cheese, cocoa and dried milk. I was startled several times by the remarks made and the attention our three heavily laden carts gathered. "Gee, you think you got enough?" "Are you going to leave any for other people?" "You gonna make it with all that?" and so on. In every case, I took the time to explain our mission and that Spokane has record numbers of hungry people--time I don't typically spend in response to basely rude remarks from people I do not know. From the encounters we had today at Costco, it's clear to me that the time has come to have a community wide converstion about hunger and to acknowledge that we don't have enough, we shouldn't leave a thing on the shelves, and that we just won't make it as a community until everyone is fed. And most importantly, Second Harvest Food Bank, Catholic Charities and the neighborhood centers should be only incidentally responsible in feeding all the people of this community; the real responsibility lies with each person that pulls out a cart as they shop in preparation to celebrate one of this country's most sacred rituals: thanksgiving. It's all too ironic.
And so I am grateful, but sad, and worry that the resources to fix the problem exist. And I hope, hope, hope that that one family, that one hungry family who has somehow slipped through the cracks, will have someone who will appear on their doorstep to help so that they, too, will sit down to a table of Thanksgiving plenty, just in time.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
So now the local food banks have to maintain relationships with Rosauer's on a local level and more importantly, organizations like Heinz and General Foods and Kraft on a national level, who donate the majority of the food bank's inventory. It's a new day and a new deal at the food bank.
Our godson is working on a school-wide food drive and he tells me that this year, his homeroom is responsible for 8 families. I was stunned, as in the 20 years I have been associated with the food drive at this school, the most a homeroom was ever given was 6 families. I am reminded of when my oldest was delivering food to a woman who cried when she answered the door, "I went to your school and back when I was delivering food for the food drive, if I ever thought I would be the one needing food...." My youngest son tells the story of visiting a family of 8 whose furniture consisted entirely of seats from vans. He said the house was spotless and the children clean but they had literally nothing and the food they delivered to this family was the food that would sustain them through the Thanksgiving weekend. So many more stories and such a growing up experience this food drive is--it is a real blessing in my family's life yet the burgeoning demand is troubling and makes me really, really sad. We are making a difference, right? We can help the people that need it, right?
I went to Costco today, where it's my habit to buy just about the same thing each year for the food drive: stuffing mix, tuna fish, green beans, corn, peaches, pears, spaghetti sauce, pasta, rice, pinto beans, peanut butter, jelly, oatmeal, Cheerios, ramen, potatoes, mac and cheese, cocoa and dried milk. I was startled several times by the remarks made and the attention our three heavily laden carts gathered. "Gee, you think you got enough?" "Are you going to leave any for other people?" "You gonna make it with all that?" and so on. In every case, I took the time to explain our mission and that Spokane has record numbers of hungry people--time I don't typically spend in response to basely rude remarks from people I do not know. From the encounters we had today at Costco, it's clear to me that the time has come to have a community wide converstion about hunger and to acknowledge that we don't have enough, we shouldn't leave a thing on the shelves, and that we just won't make it as a community until everyone is fed. And most importantly, Second Harvest Food Bank, Catholic Charities and the neighborhood centers should be only incidentally responsible in feeding all the people of this community; the real responsibility lies with each person that pulls out a cart as they shop in preparation to celebrate one of this country's most sacred rituals: thanksgiving. It's all too ironic.
And so I am grateful, but sad, and worry that the resources to fix the problem exist. And I hope, hope, hope that that one family, that one hungry family who has somehow slipped through the cracks, will have someone who will appear on their doorstep to help so that they, too, will sit down to a table of Thanksgiving plenty, just in time.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Silvie Ruth is getting ready for the Thanksgiving road trip. She has collected most of the balls into one dinner dish and says that packing is an art, really. Red Dorothy spends a lot of time at the den door and leaves me worried notes about not forgetting the Ball Park Turkey Franks, as she is the lean and mean Chow and really doesn't care to get involved in the turkey skin that has slowed up Pete and Cleo's ball game. I for myself have looked up every possible location that 'Walk the Line' is showing in Portland, Oregon because if for some crazy reason we miss the 5 pm showing at Pioneer Place, I want back ups in place. I also am thinking about my godson, The Most Fabulous Child in The Universe, and how wonderful it will be to see him watch the Christmas Light Parade in his new hometown of Redmond, Oregon. My other godson, The Most Seriously Wonderful Young Man in The Universe, will be calling soon to set a rendezvous at Costco sometime today, where we will ravage the aisles for food for the food drive at his school, the school all of the children here at Bellemaison attended and amazingly, were able to graduate from. His homeroom class will collect food for 4 families, assemble the food into individual family packages, then deliver the food themselves and visit for a few moments with the people whom they seek to serve. Powerful guys, these godsons of mine.
I am also thinking about the patrons of the Women's and Children's Free Restaurant here in The 'Kan and hoping that the week will bring them enough food to feed their families, with some laughter and hugs thrown in, as that's what's been a really good thing for us here at Bellemaison over the years. I think, too, of the recently paroled convicted felons, and wish beyond wish for their successful reentry into the community, a place that they don't completely understand but yet has been so good to me and my children and family. I have always noted that at any given time, as you stand on the corner waiting for the light to change, there will be someone on either side of you with less, or more, and reconciling these differences will be critical in leading the kind of life you really want to live.
JBelle, with much love and gratitude to you all for all you have been and continue to be for me
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
I am also thinking about the patrons of the Women's and Children's Free Restaurant here in The 'Kan and hoping that the week will bring them enough food to feed their families, with some laughter and hugs thrown in, as that's what's been a really good thing for us here at Bellemaison over the years. I think, too, of the recently paroled convicted felons, and wish beyond wish for their successful reentry into the community, a place that they don't completely understand but yet has been so good to me and my children and family. I have always noted that at any given time, as you stand on the corner waiting for the light to change, there will be someone on either side of you with less, or more, and reconciling these differences will be critical in leading the kind of life you really want to live.
JBelle, with much love and gratitude to you all for all you have been and continue to be for me
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Friday, November 18, 2005
okay, okay, okay. I'm on the Christmas bandwagon. grrrr. Having said that, I think I have found the perfect gift: potato chip of the month club. serious. Famous Utz Potato Chips, featured at Yankee Stadium. www.utzsnacks.com When you're in the Club, you get BBQ, Red Hot, Regular, Salt & Pepper, Crab, Carolina BBQ, Salt & Vinegar, Sour Cream & Onion, Honey BBQ, Onion & Garlic, Cheddar & Sour Cream, and Ripple. 12 wonderful months of potato chips.
Is this the schizzie or what?
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Is this the schizzie or what?
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Timothy I, formerly Timothy II, brings some really good things to the gene pool of our family. Most notably this: those people of his can polka. We folks from North Idaho thought a cruel practical joke was in place when the DJ started 'The Beer Barrel Polka' up; we were shocked anyone could be so mean spirited and generosity challenged with the execution of such an heinous act. Turns out Timothy I's folks asked for it, because their intent was to polka. And polka they did. All of 'em. Another family tradition of the people from Canada is a certain rendition of 'Old El Paso'. We really couldn't figure it out as the bride called every last one of those Canadian relatives up on the dance floor and handed out sheets with the words on them. We were further perplexed when they all begin to sing, Our Girl leading them, with good humor and enjoyment. Anxiety set it rather quickly, though, because She was singing off key, actually pretty off key. They didn't seem to mind, though and noone cracked out a maple leaf and began to tell us what miserable excuses for humanity Americans are, so no harm done really. 'Cept we gotta make sure that Girl can carry a tune by the time she sings her babies to sleep and that she forgets that song and sticks with the standards, like Nessun Dorma and such. Another thing the Canadians did was tinkle their glasses. Turns out that's a demand for a deep dip kiss. Didn't know you could do such a thing. There was tinkling and kissing all night.
Tim's Other Sisters, now a sovereignty, formerly a monarchy, put together a video. Now videos at weddings and funerals are not at all uncommon. Yet this effort was completely uncommon and it's hard to say why. The music was familiar and unremarkable. The pictures the typical diarama of family life and growth. What separated this show from the rest? I don't know if I'll ever know but by the end of this extraordinary effort, we were all on the same page and ready to dance. And dance we did. For 6 hours? All in all, the Mueller Girls were happy to see each other again at last and to welcome another good man to our ranks. We wonder though; can he play softball? If so, we get him. If not, they get him. We're a pretty simple lot.
But at last, it was time. Time to go back. Time to acknowledge it was all done; but done just right. I dreaded saying goodbye to Our Girl, My Girl, My Mother's Girl, but do it I had to and she made is so easy for me by saying, "Aunt Jahn! Aunt Jahn! Don't go! I've got Jagermeister and heroin coming in 10 minutes!" We laughed and laughed and hugged and looked deeply at each other, no words necessary nor desired; both sated, yet both hopeful. For more, for much, for many. And so our paths diverged as was destined from the very beginning.
As I walked out of the ballroom and down the hall with her father and her second mother, I heard her scream, almost in terror? "Dad! Dad! Don't go!" And as her father turned and rushed to her side, a much smaller, little girl voice inside of an excruciatiatingly beautiful woman standing in a doorway clutching the air said plaintively, "I didn't get to say goodbye to Rhonda..."
I turned around and witnessed the exquisite cameo of one last goodbye--one last set of kisses and hugs and strokes--etched in my memory for always, one more chapter of a family story, a definitive work in process. I turned back around and kept walking down the hall, the tears now freely flowing. As I moved closer and closer to Idaho, a tiny feather drifted off my sleeve and floated through the air, onto the path of the next person by....
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Tim's Other Sisters, now a sovereignty, formerly a monarchy, put together a video. Now videos at weddings and funerals are not at all uncommon. Yet this effort was completely uncommon and it's hard to say why. The music was familiar and unremarkable. The pictures the typical diarama of family life and growth. What separated this show from the rest? I don't know if I'll ever know but by the end of this extraordinary effort, we were all on the same page and ready to dance. And dance we did. For 6 hours? All in all, the Mueller Girls were happy to see each other again at last and to welcome another good man to our ranks. We wonder though; can he play softball? If so, we get him. If not, they get him. We're a pretty simple lot.
But at last, it was time. Time to go back. Time to acknowledge it was all done; but done just right. I dreaded saying goodbye to Our Girl, My Girl, My Mother's Girl, but do it I had to and she made is so easy for me by saying, "Aunt Jahn! Aunt Jahn! Don't go! I've got Jagermeister and heroin coming in 10 minutes!" We laughed and laughed and hugged and looked deeply at each other, no words necessary nor desired; both sated, yet both hopeful. For more, for much, for many. And so our paths diverged as was destined from the very beginning.
As I walked out of the ballroom and down the hall with her father and her second mother, I heard her scream, almost in terror? "Dad! Dad! Don't go!" And as her father turned and rushed to her side, a much smaller, little girl voice inside of an excruciatiatingly beautiful woman standing in a doorway clutching the air said plaintively, "I didn't get to say goodbye to Rhonda..."
I turned around and witnessed the exquisite cameo of one last goodbye--one last set of kisses and hugs and strokes--etched in my memory for always, one more chapter of a family story, a definitive work in process. I turned back around and kept walking down the hall, the tears now freely flowing. As I moved closer and closer to Idaho, a tiny feather drifted off my sleeve and floated through the air, onto the path of the next person by....
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Monday, November 14, 2005
Well those mojitos put us in a fine party mood and we needed that too, because 999 of the surprises waiting for us were FEATHERS. Not really. But there were lots of feathers. Most notably, in the centerpieces on the table. The centerpieces rose from the middle of the table as a opeened umbrella would, tall and slim then exploding into a shower of burgundy, gold, orange, deep-hued roses. And coming up the middle, reaching for flight in the sky were...wait for it...feathers. Pheasant feathers in fact. Hanging off the free-standing umbrella of flowers were little votive candles that twinkled like the stars, all over the room. Magic! They were sublime creations of fantasy, hope and drama that stood watch over a party that was wrapped and twined with laughter and tears. The last time I cried so much in one day was the day my mother died. The last time I laughed so much in one day was the last time all the Mueller Girls were together.
Okay, about the dress: it was freaking unreal. A silk sheath with a slight contrasting silk belt with a beautiful crystal buckle. The dress was form fighting to right above the knee, where it fell into a fabulous skirt, like a flamenco dancer. Of course, covered buttons ran the length of the sheath in the back. This was one serious dress. Vera Wang? Our Girl had her hair done up, back, smooth, to right above her neck, where an orderly bun of sorts served to anchor her veil, which fell from the middle back of her head. Words cannot describe. One of the best attributes of the dress was that it was fit to perfection. It stayed firmly in place all evening and I never saw her tug at it once. I have never, ever seen a bride so beautiful.
The bride's father provided a seminal moment for us all when he rose to give the toast to the bride and groom. When he said, "You are my treasure...." she sobbed and sobbed. We sobbed, too, grateful for all those memories of Russell Elementary, the St. Joe, Sun Valley, Grandma Jo's, and the image of tha little blond spitfire with the infectious laugh. Dad spoke simply, gently, genuinely--a man completely in touch with his feelings on his Treasure's wedding day. It was deeply powerful as much had been that day and this latest surge of stem cell emotion completely drained us. For the moment. Us Mueller Girls got it back when it was time to dance, though. Good thing we have each other.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Okay, about the dress: it was freaking unreal. A silk sheath with a slight contrasting silk belt with a beautiful crystal buckle. The dress was form fighting to right above the knee, where it fell into a fabulous skirt, like a flamenco dancer. Of course, covered buttons ran the length of the sheath in the back. This was one serious dress. Vera Wang? Our Girl had her hair done up, back, smooth, to right above her neck, where an orderly bun of sorts served to anchor her veil, which fell from the middle back of her head. Words cannot describe. One of the best attributes of the dress was that it was fit to perfection. It stayed firmly in place all evening and I never saw her tug at it once. I have never, ever seen a bride so beautiful.
The bride's father provided a seminal moment for us all when he rose to give the toast to the bride and groom. When he said, "You are my treasure...." she sobbed and sobbed. We sobbed, too, grateful for all those memories of Russell Elementary, the St. Joe, Sun Valley, Grandma Jo's, and the image of tha little blond spitfire with the infectious laugh. Dad spoke simply, gently, genuinely--a man completely in touch with his feelings on his Treasure's wedding day. It was deeply powerful as much had been that day and this latest surge of stem cell emotion completely drained us. For the moment. Us Mueller Girls got it back when it was time to dance, though. Good thing we have each other.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
They had a cocktail party right after the wedding in the same courtyard as the wedding. The sun was going down but it was still hot and bright and they served mojitos. O my! Rum, sprite and sour, powdered sugar and lots and lots of fresh mint. These things are Cuban and unbelievable. The wedding party used this occasion to excuse themselves and picture away the time we spent sipping and nibbling wonderful little things like smoked salmon and caviar. It was great to visit with all the peeps afoot as they had come from Canada, Pittsburgh, Carolina, Florida, SoCal, North Idaho, Puget Sound and Oregon. Soon it was dusk and as the candles were being lit, a handsome man appeared in the courtyard, playing the most beautiful accordian music. As the evening deepened, we followed the accordian player in a procession to dinner, where 1001 surprises lay waiting....
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Lotta folks have caught up with me, saying, Whoa Whoa Whoa JBelle! Yer goin' way too fast! Back up, start at the beginning and don't leave a thing out! What happened at the wedding?! Well, folks, I'll tell ya; here's what happened:
It was a hot and sunny afternoon and we all gathered in the courtyard of this very posh hotel to witness the wedding vows between our MVP Mueller Girl and her very hott Timothy I, who used to be Timothy II but got sent up to the Bigs on November 12, 2005. Anyway, a couple of months ago, we received a wedding invitation that was BROWN. True story. I started to think to myself, I sure am glad my mother is not around to see this buuut, as the whole thing was pretty well done I thought, well okay, we'll see. The invite had a FEATHER on it! So we arrive at this courtyard, done up to emulate the sanctuary of a church (couldn't fool JBelle,though, it was a hotel), and strewn down the aisle in the most delicate of manner were feathers. uh huh. FEATHERS. The usher hands me the program and on the cover it says,
"It takes a special moment, a sacred space, to see the beauty of the feather, and if you have paused long enough to notice, and stopped long enough to pick it up, you can be assured you are on the right path. "
The plot begins to thicken. The bridesmaids come down the aisle in brown silk dresses, much like the prom dresses of the mid '60s; definitely a Jackie Kennedy/Oleg Cassini look. Their bouquets were the deep ruby, gold, orange of fall, but with nice, rich, garnet brown feathers. True! Then the bride comes down the aisle and the air, all of it, is sucked out of the courtyard at that very moment, with the vortex of this nuclear force right at Our Girl's feet. She was a vision. No exaggeration. No hyperbole. No shit. She was a vision. She floated down the aisle, deeply happy on her father's arm and he: serenely peaceful in turning her over and becoming Timothy II. What a way to retire. We all cried for the second time.
Well into the ceremony, a prayer of remembrance was issued for the people now gone who wait for us, including my parents. Never saw it coming. Tears for the third time. But we were just getting started.
There were, to be honest, some highly confusing moments that made me wonder if times have changed, if we have all gotten older, if we have mellowed? Take for instance, the end of the cermony, where the bride and groom release those doves into the azure of the Arizona sky. All those rednecks from North Idaho and not one 12 gauge shotgun comes out? Fifteen years ago, them birds never wudda made it.
Can you really take the North Idahoans out of the woods?
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
It was a hot and sunny afternoon and we all gathered in the courtyard of this very posh hotel to witness the wedding vows between our MVP Mueller Girl and her very hott Timothy I, who used to be Timothy II but got sent up to the Bigs on November 12, 2005. Anyway, a couple of months ago, we received a wedding invitation that was BROWN. True story. I started to think to myself, I sure am glad my mother is not around to see this buuut, as the whole thing was pretty well done I thought, well okay, we'll see. The invite had a FEATHER on it! So we arrive at this courtyard, done up to emulate the sanctuary of a church (couldn't fool JBelle,though, it was a hotel), and strewn down the aisle in the most delicate of manner were feathers. uh huh. FEATHERS. The usher hands me the program and on the cover it says,
"It takes a special moment, a sacred space, to see the beauty of the feather, and if you have paused long enough to notice, and stopped long enough to pick it up, you can be assured you are on the right path. "
The plot begins to thicken. The bridesmaids come down the aisle in brown silk dresses, much like the prom dresses of the mid '60s; definitely a Jackie Kennedy/Oleg Cassini look. Their bouquets were the deep ruby, gold, orange of fall, but with nice, rich, garnet brown feathers. True! Then the bride comes down the aisle and the air, all of it, is sucked out of the courtyard at that very moment, with the vortex of this nuclear force right at Our Girl's feet. She was a vision. No exaggeration. No hyperbole. No shit. She was a vision. She floated down the aisle, deeply happy on her father's arm and he: serenely peaceful in turning her over and becoming Timothy II. What a way to retire. We all cried for the second time.
Well into the ceremony, a prayer of remembrance was issued for the people now gone who wait for us, including my parents. Never saw it coming. Tears for the third time. But we were just getting started.
There were, to be honest, some highly confusing moments that made me wonder if times have changed, if we have all gotten older, if we have mellowed? Take for instance, the end of the cermony, where the bride and groom release those doves into the azure of the Arizona sky. All those rednecks from North Idaho and not one 12 gauge shotgun comes out? Fifteen years ago, them birds never wudda made it.
Can you really take the North Idahoans out of the woods?
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Well, the Mueller girls got together this weekend. Met up in the desert, we did, to marry off one of our finest. I can tell you, objectively, that there never was a more beautiful nor happy bride. We Mueller girls are loud and proud and fabulous but this weekend belonged to our Beloved Brandi, who strutted around her reception, arms thrown wide out, proclaiming, "It's All About Me!" We Mueller girls left standing looked at each other and said, "Damn straight."
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Saturday, November 05, 2005
The venue has been set: Portland, Oregon. The event: Thanksgiving, featuring the kick off of The Godfather Holiday Film Festival.
The Chows say it's gets damned wet down there but they are happy to make the trip as they want to walk the legs off their Uncle Jonny, known elsewhere as The Christ Child. They also say their Auntie Angela is quite generous with the turkey skin and couldn't give a rip about their hips, their cholesterol, or their teeth. They love Auntie Angela. Cleo says he is looking forward
to meeting Buster Harrison, although he doubts they can spend much time together, as there is no way Buster can really keep up with The Chow Nation. Cle says Buster's a candy-ass daddy's boy who doesn't have a clue. And he says Buster's daddy is a candy-ass, too. The other Chows totally agreed.
The People's Choice entry into the film festival is now being deliberated; you can vote, too, by just commenting what you think the appropriate movie would be for the film festival. The film festival, now ten years old, features all three parts of The Godfather Triology. The festival runs from when people come home for Christmas until they leave again and features The Godfather every year. It's only been lately that the festival has started at Thanksgiving; with the early beginning, we now have been able to add a few movies each year. I just hope we get some good nominations this year and we don't have to watch that damn Sound of Music again. I don't happen to be among those who think it's the greatest story ever to float over the big screen. I much prefer Top Gun. That Goose is a cut up! I also like My Fair Lady--Rex Harrison, *two sets of eyebrow raises*. One of my newer faves along with Billy Elliott is Finding Forrester. That guy I sleep with on a regular basis says he going to nominate American Treasure. I can live with that. Without Pacino or DeNiro or Andy Garcia, it offers Cage and Voight: ecclectic but interesting, a off-beat combination yet pleasing to the palate.As for the menu, it'll be a variety of least effort/best taste offerings that are back by popular
acclaim. We're not going to try anything new this year. And we're not going with Grandma Jo's Eternal Pleasers that take 3 weeks to produce and 2 years off your life to do so. This is so we can concentrate the off-film-viewing time to two things: dominoes and running around. Oh, the great American holidays: 4th of July and Thanksgiving. When you can be yourself and that puts you at your very best.~for my family, in anticipation
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Autumn
When
"the landscape yields....We go to sleep with the peach in our hands and wake with the stone, but the stone is the pledge of summers to come..." Emily Dickinson
When
"cider light opens the deepening woods" Phillip Booth
When
the rains and the snow begin in the Pacific Northwest
When
"times in the morning early
when it rained and the long gray
buildings came forward from darkness
offering their windows for light " William Stafford
~with thanks to Brian Doyle
PORTLAND Magazine
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
All Souls' Day. I had planned to go the Cathedral tonight to hear the Gonzaga Choir sing Requiem Mass. I had planned to write about my Aunt Winnifred, Winnifred Ames RN, and how she inspired me. I had planned to say a rosary in honor of Anthony. I had planned to reserve this day to think about people who were genuinely special to me and to do only really special, indulgent things like treat myself to Mass in the middle of the week.I read this morning that 5 children were killed on Highway 395, riding with their father to meet their mother. The other motorist involved crossed the center line, collided with the pick up full of family, and killed all the children, causing the father to be air lifted to Sacred Heart where he is in critical condition. Alcohol was not a factor. And so I start the day instead, in tears and grief for those poor parents, facing a new life without their lifeblood.
I cry for them, for me, for my Aunt Winnifred, for Mike and Brandi, for all the people who step up daily to help people and families battle against the Great Separation of Death. Brandi, who
facilitates lung transplants, primarily for victims of Cystic Fibrosis. Mike, who facilites the in-home care of lung transplant patients, most of whom are pediatric. Aunt Winnifred, a career Red Cross nurse, when women did not work outside the home even though they were educated. For this darling family, just living an ordinary day, only to have it be the abrupt ending to a beautifully framed beginning. I cry for all the unfinished songs, half-eaten cakes, half-formed wishes, interrupted ambitions, and thwarted attempts. I cry for the mothers and fathers whose memories torture and comfort them at the same time. I cry from pain, from joy, of living and loving and staying open to all the possibilites. I cry in thanksgiving and in shame--for my own exquisitely beautiful family, knowing fully that I am inadequate and not worthy.And try as I might, I can't make any more sense of it than that. I can't understand why all five of the children of hard-working, loving parents can't stay for a little longer. I can't understand the logic of children suffering from hideous medical malfunctions. I can't begin to understand the bravery of the relief workers worldwide, who truly make a difference, when the rest of us just talk about it. Is this the sorrowful mystery of life? The agony, the ectasy? The pain, the joy? The hope, the sorrow? The full range of motion that Anthony pursues day after day? This is it?
So I offer a prayer, the only thing that someone like me can bring; hoping that tomorrow will be warm again and soon, not too soon, we will all be together again.
"The challenge for people of faith is to be fully present in the moment and not despair." --The Reverend Bishop William Skylstad, D.D.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Well, the party is a bit of a blur now. Met alot of nice people, washed and dried about 500 serving bowls, platters, plates, pans and pitchers. One thing I remember is requests, then pleas, for recipes. Guess I'll post 'em one day soon. I clearly remember Mike the Bike Stud and his gorgeous bride, very happy, chatting, laughing and really enjoying their friends. They were everywhere at once and were utterly lathered in the love and regard of all. For me, that was like a favorite birthday present. That and eveyone eating like pigs. It was quite a night because we had between 75-100 trick or treaters. ! People were posing their kids in the graveyard and photoing them. ! (This graveyard has been an annual event for the better part of 10 years; what's the big deal now?)
Best costumes: this is tough. The costumes were smokin'. I would say...Charlie Chaplin. The guy was awesome. And Cynthia the witch. Long silky purple hair? Can ya argue with that?? Best hor d'eurve: Garlic/Pesto/Sun Dried Tomato torte. Favorite person: Seamus the bartender! Favorite gift to Mike the Bike Stud: jar labeled 50 reasons why you are my friend containing 50 really sweet personal observations (sigh) Best Realization: we are now old enough to have the oldest child of among us tend bar for us (long sigh) Best Surprise: the enormous pumpkin, carved "Happy 50th Annual Glock-o-ween!" sitting on the front porch (I thought, I am SO damn tired. I don't even remember buying that pumpkin. That's because I didn't buy it. Mike the Bike Stud brought it from his work, where some highly talented co-worker presented it to him. It was so cool!) Best these times are a-changin': not one pumpkin in the graveyard was taken and smashed on the road.
It's now one for the books.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Best costumes: this is tough. The costumes were smokin'. I would say...Charlie Chaplin. The guy was awesome. And Cynthia the witch. Long silky purple hair? Can ya argue with that?? Best hor d'eurve: Garlic/Pesto/Sun Dried Tomato torte. Favorite person: Seamus the bartender! Favorite gift to Mike the Bike Stud: jar labeled 50 reasons why you are my friend containing 50 really sweet personal observations (sigh) Best Realization: we are now old enough to have the oldest child of among us tend bar for us (long sigh) Best Surprise: the enormous pumpkin, carved "Happy 50th Annual Glock-o-ween!" sitting on the front porch (I thought, I am SO damn tired. I don't even remember buying that pumpkin. That's because I didn't buy it. Mike the Bike Stud brought it from his work, where some highly talented co-worker presented it to him. It was so cool!) Best these times are a-changin': not one pumpkin in the graveyard was taken and smashed on the road.
It's now one for the books.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
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