I was sitting outside under the patio cover, the ceiling fan providing just the right amount of cool wind to push the heat back. I was admiring the numerous pots of flowers surrounding the pool, the crystal clear water sparkling in the sun and the bright red cardinals enjoying a snack at the bird feeder,

Life was good. After several months of decorating and planting, the yard was complete.  The interior was also looking good and everything had finally found a place in this new home we had created in our little corner of the world.

When I heard Tom's car pull into the garage and the doors shut, I knew he would be joining me in a few minutes, probably ready for a quick swim  and a little relaxation before dinner.  We had finally settled into this comfortable routine and I saw no reason for anything different.

Which is why it struck me as odd when he opened the back door and asked me to join him in the living room for a moment.

I walked in behind him and came face to face with his ex-wife, sitting on the couch, sipping a glass of wine and smiling like a cat that had eaten the red cardinal I had just seen outside.  As Tom walked over behind the couch, smiled at her and put his hands on her shoulders, I shook my head, trying to clear this image and thinking 'what's wrong with this picture?'

When he looked up at me, he was still smiling.

"We want to thank you for all the time you've spent, decorating the house so nicely for us. "

He then kissed her hand, walked me to the front door, opened it and handed me my suitcase, saying "Keep in touch."

When I woke up this morning, I hit him.  He still has no idea why.

Reading FTS' blog yesterday got me to thinking.

I'm a native Californian.  Actually, I'm fifth generation Californian. My family tree reads like a weeping willow, true, but it also goes back to the time of the Spanish occupation of California.  One of those guys on a limb of the tree, way back there, was a guy named Andres Pico, better known as the last Spanish Governor of the Golden State ... his brother, Pio, was a missionary or some such person.**

There's even a rather large street in Southern California named after these guys: Pico Boulevard.

At least that was the story I heard as a small child.  I found out later that we had no connection to the Pico family but rather to a much more influential family named Moraga.  Someday, I'll find out what that influence was and just how, where and when the family connection to them developed.

Anyway, when I lived in California, being a native was such an oddity that when people asked where I was from and the answer was "Here. Born & raised," they were stunned.  It was as if nobody was actually born in California.  Every body was transplanted from some where else.

FTS' blog pointed out some rather rude behavior from Coloradoans toward people that had made the move to Colorado, Texans in particular.

Now I admit that I used to have a bumper sticker that read "Welcome to California. Now Go Home."  I carried a key chain that said "Native California"; My license plate frame said the same thing (as my license would have as well if the other native hadn't beat me to it); I was thrilled when I found another native. But I was never rude to some one just because they weren't from my state.

The whole point of this exercise in futility is this:  Just how many people out there actually live in their home state?  How many people actually live where they were born?  How many natives are there?

And if anybody knows, who in hell is Moraga??

**I finally Googled Pio and found that he was the Governor guy ... Andres was a General, and neither of them were missionaries (but they are associated with missions).  Which is what I always believed until someone in the family "corrected" me several years ago and switched them ... HA! I was right all along! 

Listen ... Hear that?

It's called silence. Better known as Peace & Quiet.

It's wonderful having kids and grandkids visit.  It's fun to watch little balls of energy run around until they're ready to drop from total exhaustion but unwilling to give up just yet.

Having Tom's son, daughter-in-law and 2-year old grandson here for a few days was quite enjoyable.  Along with having the rest of the family join in the activities, we had a pretty full house and there was not a square inch that wasn't subject to little fingers.  I stood in the living room at one point, looking around at the total chaos and thought 'nope, not gonna touch it. Not until every body is gone.'

My daughter would have been very proud of me, too.  I didn't once follow behind the little ball of energy wiping up crumbs or fingerprints.  I let the dog clean up the crumbs and not until the house was empty yesterday morning, did I grab the Windex and attack the glass-topped tables in the living room.

The only sad part of this visit was that it didn't include Michelle, The Monkey and The Bean.  I watched little Jacob running around, playing with the dog, playing in the pool, eating cookies for breakfast (in our bed, thanks to grandpa) ... and all the while there was a small, empty hole in my heart, wishing there were three other people here with us.

But I'm an optimist and I know that someday ... someday ... there will be a phone call and I'll hear those magical words.

"Hi, mom! We're here ... can we destroy your house?"

Bring it on, baby!

After a long silence, brother-Allan called yesterday.

This is the foster brother that was in constant contact when my mom died and I was the executor of her Will.  During that time, he had to make sure he was going to be receiving his "fair share" of both the Will and the Trust (long story short ... there were two separate parts to the estate, of which he was included in both but I was only in the Will) .... he also made promises to me that he would be sending me a portion of that "fair share" from the Trust because he felt it was so unfair that I wasn't included.

This is also the brother that I helped numerous times when he was broke or couldn't get a cell phone because he managed to screw up his account so badly.  He ended up owing me over $700 for that phone bill and the only way I got him to even return my calls was to shut off the phone ... then it took him about five minutes to call me back. However, he never did pay me everything he owed.

After he received his portion of the proceeds under the Will, I guess he decided I was no longer of any significant use and the contact stopped.  When I reminded him of his promise, he became silent; he wouldn't return phone calls; there was nothing in it for him.

The annoying part is that his sister pulled the exact same thing on him when their uncle died a few years ago ... she promised to share Joel's estate with both Allan and their other brother, Michael.  After she received the money, she denied ever saying that and never gave them a cent.  Needless to say, Allan was rather incensed. And I heard all about it. For a few years.

Now, a phone call. Why? Because his son is graduating from high school in two weeks and he wants me to fly out to California for the graduation.  And if I can't afford it, he's willing to help me.  He even called back a second time to ask if I would call Michelle and see if she could fly out, too.

Sure, Allan.  You make the reservations ... and pay for them up front.

Oh, and I prefer First Class.  On the Concord. Via France.

It was titled “We Regret to Inform You …”

Puppy-Angel is no longer a puppy.  She is an official teenager now as she started her first “heat” this week.

I have never had a female dog who wasn’t spayed.  Therefore, I have never had to deal with “puppy-periods” and “doggy-diapers”.

There is a gazillion dollar market out there for doggy-pads and doggy-diapers.  I came to this realization yesterday when I went to PetSmart, where the ‘Training Aids’ aisle had a small selection of  items including pads.  The prices were not so small and I picked up a package of these “pads”, curious as to why they were so expensive.  I figured they must be special, unique to the female-dog-body-style or something.  Someone before me must have curious as well because there was one package that had been opened, so I peeked inside.

It’s friggin’ Kotex old-fashioned sanitary napkins, for cripes sake! And Panty Liners! Granted, it’s been many years since I had to buy any Kotex feminine protection products, but I doubt if Kotex sanitary napkins are up to $20 for a package of twelve!

And since dogs aren’t prone to wearing underwear, there is nothing to stick those things to once you rip off that neat little paper strip.  Unless you have a doggy-diaper, which is an additional $30. This in itself is a real pain in the ass treat to put on an active, fifty-pound puppy teenager.

Speaking of Spam emails, apparently someone, somewhere, got ahold of my Yahoo email address and thinks I need some rather strange products. 

Tianna Johnson wants to send me “romancer irresponsibleness strips” (say WHAT?!);  Barney Ryan thinks “intermediately quicken problematically” will be a huge success (Sure … if I could only figure out what in the hell it is!);  Loreta is definitely on to something with her “churns abjectly biologists” (On “to” something or just “ON” something?); Anton O. Brown wants to send me “commons algaecide volunteered” (I dunno … doesn’t sound too healthy to me!); and my personal favorite, Rosa Y. Lee, wants to interest me in “Citizenship Herrings” (I’m thinking of a number between 1 and 2 ...).

Yahoo allows you to filter spam so the majority of this goes into my “bulk” folder.  You can also block certain phrases or words in the subject line but these people have figured out how to get around that, such as the ones I received from Marhta Johnson (“fnq vtwvhu”) and from Clarice Klein (“cchkgeeg thbysk oiug”).

Tom’s son, DIL and grandson are flying in tonight from New York and of course everybody in the family wants to get together this weekend (at our house, of course). I just  love it when the guys put this stuff together … and guess who actually gets to do all the work?  The guys are all going trap shooting. They said they’ll be back in time for dinner.

Everybody have a great weekend and enjoy the holiday!

Ask most two year olds what they want for their third birthday and they'll say something like "A Pony!" or "A baby brother!" or "That doll that cries and wets and throws up and poops her diapers!"

As soon as I saw the picture of Sasha-Monkey at 16 months old, posing in front of Tiffany's and holding that blue Tiffany bag, I knew she was going to be different.  This is not your average child, by any means.  

Sure, she has the standard traits of any child … the temper tantrums, the sugar rushes (do not believe those recent reports indicating sugar doesn't affect two year olds. I can attest to the fact that it does!), the stubborn I'm-not-ready-to-go-to-bed-and-you-can't-make-me episodes … all of those wonderful, unforgettable moments that cause baldness in parents and make grandparents beam with delight.

The Monkey is different in other ways however. She has been known to take her own "time-out" when she knew she was doing something wrong (her words: "Sasha bad. Time-out" and ran to her chair in the corner before Mom could even say anything); she doesn't want the standard birthday party (she wanted a Penguin party at one point, complete with snow and fishy treats); she only drinks bottled water ... Pellegrino bottled water (she calls it "Green water"); and she collects Tiffany boxes. She has an entire collection of those little blue boxes with white satin ribbon.

I suppose it should have come as no surprise then, when asked what she wanted for her birthday,  her reply was "A credit card!"

Ah, makes a grandparent so proud!

Okay, on to the lighter side of the visit to Vegas.  Yes, we played the slots (which is the first time I've spent a dime in any casino since Steph & I drove across country almost three years ago) and yes, we came home ahead of the game! Not a lot, granted ... but it was positive cash flow none the less.

The hotel was great nice. Okay, except that the air conditioning had to be turned down to 60 before the room reached a comfortable 70.  And you had to flush the toilet twice to make it really flush everything away (obviously one of my personal pet peeves). Other than that, it was reasonably nice.

I came to the conclusion (again) that I never want to live in Vegas and G*d willing, I never will.  Between the incredible mass of humanity (and I use that term lightly), the heat, the traffic, and the price of eating out, I really ... truly ... dislike hate that town.

I remember a much smaller Vegas.  I remember when Caesar's Palace was the "end of the Strip" and was THE place to go; I remember 99„ breakfasts and $2.99 buffets; I remember all of this being almost within walking distance from home … and you could walk from one end of the Strip to the other without developing baseball size blisters on your feet or celebrating two birthdays before you got back to your starting place.

Yes, Las Vegas has changed over the years. Caesar's is now larger than the city of Dallas; Breakfast is up to $12.00 for your standard eggs/bacon/hashbrowns/toast (add coffee and OJ to that and you've just spent $20 … with no slot handle to pull); Buffets are considerable, both in quantity and dollars; There is a tram that will take you from casino to casino and the shows outside the casinos are sometimes better than the shows inside … and they're free (if you stand around for an hour before they start and just happen to snag a place in front, you can actually see the show, too); traffic, not only on the Strip but all over town, is horrendous.  What should have been a quick ten minute drive took close to an hour.

I didn't get to spend as much time with my daughter as I would have liked but I cherish every minute we do spend, so it was well worth it.  Of course my granddaughters are absolutely precious and beautiful and intelligent and full of energy.  Sasha-Monkey absolutely loved Grandpa Tom and wouldn't water her little garden until he was there to help.  He made her promise that she would water it every day so the plants won't be sad and thirsty (I give it a couple of days week). Jordan-Bean watches every move made and I'm sure she is going to be the one following the Monkey around, telling her that she shouldn't be toilet-papering the neighbor's house at midnight. Yep, those two are going to be a real handful.

I always told my daughter that I hoped she grew up and had ten kids just like she was (she always told me I was sick).

I think these two will do nicely, though.

Home.  It's always nice to go away for a few days but it's so very nice to get home, too. And after a hectic weekend dealing with my daughter's in-laws, "home" takes on an even nicer feel. Peace and quiet become a much needed indulgence.

Don't get me wrong here. I like these people. They just drive me crazy!  They are the type of people that no matter what you are doing or what you want to do, they insist that it be done differently.  And if you don't do it their way, they pout.

 I've always been the understanding mother.  My SIL loves me (supposedly) and my daughter knows that I will be the one to say "yeah, whatever ... I'll understand", something her MIL doesn't know the meaning of or has never attempted.  I know I may piss off my daughter here but sometimes ya just gotta say it. Ya know?

They are a very close-knit family ... which is nice, and something I certainly didn't grow up with, nor did my daughter ... but in that closeness, they tend to alienate anybody else.

I was thrilled that my brother and SIL just happened to be in Vegas this weekend and were able to come over for The Bean's birthday party.  I hadn't seen Thom & Nancy for over a year (and then it was only for a couple of hours) so it was a real treat.  Plus, they got to meet my guy for the first time.

After the party on Saturday, we agreed to meet for breakfast the next morning before Tom & I went to the airport - Michelle & Randy, The Monkey & The Bean, Thom & Nancy, Tom & me.  What a new experience!  MY family, meeting together for a little while, without any nitpicking or complaining or whining. 

As it turned out, the entire clan was going.  And of course, the in-laws (which includes a sister, brother and sister-in-law), didn't want to go to the restaurant in the casino where we met. They wanted to go to the buffet instead.  Thom & Nancy had already put our names in for a table and we had about a five minute wait so it made no sense to me to trudge over to the buffet and wait in line ... again. Especially since Tom & I had a plane to catch.

Begrudgingly, they all stayed at the restaurant with us.  And the way the booths were set up, there was a clear line between the tables.  With one family on one end and the other family at the opposite end.  And never the twain shall meet.

They may as well have gone to the buffet. Which I would have suggested except that my daughter and granddaughters were on their end of the table.   At least I got to smile at her once in a while.

Gosh, it's nice when families get together.