Mocha-Latte's and Diamonds Don't Mix

Now, hold on. If you're like me, an avid espresso loving, coffee drinking, bean grinding, true Northwesterner, I know what you're thinking (cause you're like me) and we'll get there, oh believe me I've got your back on this one!
It seems that there are some non-coffee drinkers among us. Which is fine, to each their own. I'm not into forcing (wasting) good espresso on people who don't appreciate it. However, when these same folks start addressing us, as if they are one of us and throwing around the term mocha-latte, I have a problem. Besides the fact that it just grates on my nerves to hear someone say mocha-latte (for you non coffee drinkers who don't do this, there is no such drink!! There's a Mocha and there's a Latte) the context of them using it is usually something like this, "If you just give up your daily mocha-latte, you could save xyz, or you could afford xyz..."
Recently I heard this term used in just such context. It was in an ad on the radio by a well known business owner with a very distinctive voice...I don't remember which station but you can hear him on almost ALL of them I'm sure. I won't tell you exactly who it was, but I have a pretty good idea where you can find him Monday-Friday till 8, Saturday and Sunday till 5. As if that that's not enough of a hint, I can tell you that after hearing this ad, I didn't feel like making any friends in the diamond business.
The jist of the ad was that, guys if you're thinking of buying an engagement ring but are worried about the cost of a nice ring, well he (this unnamed business owner) did the math and if you gave up your daily gourmet mocha-latte for a year, you'd have enough to buy a very decent ring for your (PATIENT) girlfriend. Now, I say let's think about this scenario a little bit deeper. What am I really hearing when I listen to this ad? Something like this, "guys, if you're addicted to espresso and you're thinking of buying an engagement ring for your girlfriend, why don't you listen to a finance program put together by a non-coffee drinker who obviously doesn't have those crazy love chemicals running rampidly through his brain on top of the daily caffeine overload, because he seems to think that waiting a whole year to propose AND abstaining from espresso this entire year is going to have a happy ending.
Well, I propose that the ending would look something like this..."A very desperate, cranky guy walks into a jewelry store and throws down $1,095 and freaks out when he sees his very decent engagement ring, because well, it's just not big enough and shiny enough to win back his, well his estranged girlfriend.
I think maybe non-coffee drinkers shouldn't interfere with the bond/addiction between us and our espresso. We don't ask that they understand, just that they stop asking us to give up our daily mocha-lattes!

Nursery Rhymes

I am going to take a minute to record some of the darling little things Charley says/has said, especially when singing nursery rhymes. I try not to do too many cutesy little posts that few people beyond the grandparents would want to read, but everyone says to write this stuff down or you'll forget. So I figure this is as good of a place as any to do so.
So...

"Lemon bridges falling down, falling down, falling down, lemon bridges falling down, my friend lady!"

"Itchy, itchy pider..."

"Ba, ba black sheep, happy many wool! Yes sir, yes sir, three bags four!"

"Patty cake, patty cake, you're my man, bake me a cake as fast as you can!" (She's bossing her man around already!)

"Deedle, deedle dumpling my son John, went to bed with his trousers on. One foot off and one foot on, deedle, deedle dumpling my son John!"

"Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb...whose face was white as snow!"

And of course, her own spin on the old alphabet song, which seems to be her favorite thing to sing (next to Baby Beluga, which I may just have to film and post her singing that one in order to do it justice).

"Abcdefg...LellowMinnowPee...xyz no one knows their abc's, next time won't you sing wif me!"

"Don't Shop Home Depot"

Don't quote me on that, I'm just quoting the sign the strikers had displayed outside the store on the sidewalk. I don't know if they really feel that way or if they are just required to strike and picket as members of their particular labor union, but I honk for them as I drive by. I figure why not raise the morale a little. They have to stand in the rain for four hour shifts, the least I can do is honk. Maybe it gives them the allusion that they are being heard or change is coming. If nothing else it gives them something to think about over the next couple of hours. Did she honk because she's for us or against us? Well, I honk to say, "YEAH!" or "Down with the man!" or "You tell 'em!" or "That'll teach them to overhire underqualified people!" I don't know, it's open to interpretation. I'm not saying don't shop Home Depot, I'm just honking. You can too if you want.

For Billy, who was a good little boy.

This happens every time the sun goes down
I can feel your burden, I can't breathe
My restless spirit brings me to my knees,
How can I intercede?

He says His yoke is easy and His burden is light,
But your eyes are tired, your eyes are dim,
It breaks my heart to see you deceived,
What will it take for you to believe?
Oh, how can I intercede?

But the tears I cry, they won't make you believe,
that the blood He shed is all that you need.

Oh Lord, let me intercede

Where I'm From

I come from sunshine on Christmas, mule skinner poker rides and free methodist campouts.
I come from a long boring stretch of highway, and a small hometown surrounded by one horse towns. I come from air that makes you wish you could inhale exclusivley.
I come from Awanas - the green team to be exact.
I come from Pasqualie's pizza and salt water sandals.
I come from brick and flannel.
I come from county fair elephant ears and the fondue of one very fine German restaurant.
I come from the warmth and sounds of California beaches and the smells and storms on the Oregon coast.
I come from the odor and eternal hauntings of numerous home perms, which jockey the smells of a skunk, of which I am also from.
I come from old rusty orange trucks and golden retriever pups.
I come from summer camps and Crystal Gayle songs.
I come from the Irish and also from those less lucky and proud.
I come from poison oak and the magical world of Disney.
I come from the taste of Lemon Custard and Praline Pecan.

I come from good times-great times and a place where God's grace covers everything else in between.

The Fruition of my Genetic Shopping Buddy

So, of course when I found out I was having a girl, a million joyous thoughts ran thru my head. One of which was how much fun it would be to shop together one day. I mean she's shopped with me since the begining but that was more of me shopping and her exisiting parralel to me discontent to be doing so and making my enjoyment of the experience as minimal as possible. We were by no means, "shopping together." But, one day I hoped it would happen.
I just didn't know that day would come so soon or so abruptly. Today we popped into Old Navy and as I sped shopped (a practice I've been forced to acquire since the day Charley discovered her lungs, hands, shoes come off and can be thrown and her ability to make me cave to peer pressure due to my fear of looking like a bad mom, which she soley has control of doing) glancing down aisle, after messy clearance asile I was forced to make a split decision on weather it was worth venturing down or not. I came across a table of cheap, cheap graphic tees all in a big pile of numerous colors and sizes. Normally I would have defaulted to the standard rule of thumb which stated that no t-shirt is cheap enough to stand and sort through, wasting precious shopping time only to most likely decide none of them were cute after you obsessivly located your size anyway and even if you did stubbornly purchase the shirt just to validate your time, you would never wear it and it would end up wadded in a drawer, taking up space until the cut, style or length is so out of date, it isn't even worth keeping to work out in for those precious few days you have time and are actually motivated to work out. I mean after all that, don't you at least want to look cute doing it?
What was I saying? Oh yes, the table of tees. As fate would have it there was a sassy print that stood out to me. So I grabbed it without actually stopping the cart and threw it on over my current shirt. I liked it, but the real clencher was the little voice coming from the cart that said, "Oh, cute shirt!" Except it sounded more like "Oh, tute sh*t!" And I thought, oh yes that was cute sh*t indeed and I bought the shirt.

"Ode to the Christine Anderson" - A Tribute

There is a place I know,
where the wind off the sea always blows.
It's there for the traveller and it's there for the taking;
for the ferry's a vessel that holds memories in waiting.
She ages with grace and her smile's never fading.

Anxious faces alike, new and returning,
she savors them aboard,
for she knows it's the island for which they are yearning.
But when they've swum their last swim,
and the sun's had it's turn - to warm, tan and burn,
they'll lick their last cone from the general store
and she'll be awaiting to take them ashore.