Halloween 2010: A Picture Essay

I have been right at excited about Halloween for some time.  There are a lot of firsts for me this Halloween!

1. The first Halloween in which I've been settled enough in a home and had enough time to prepare for trick-or-treaters.
2. The first Halloween in years for which I have obtained a costume.
3. The first Halloween for which I have carved gen-yoo-WINE Jack O' Lanterns!

That was an adventure.  Let's experience it together, shall we?

Me and my pumpkin carving attire.  Yes, that is an apron emblazoned with pies.

I started with the hollowing-out process, protecting my coffee table with the pages from a fine publication (hence the photo of Jessica Simpson and Tony Romo making out.)  My whole house smells like gutted pumpkin!

The gut pile grows.

Ashley Pumpkin begins to take shape.

At this point, I turned my thoughts to means of illumination.  I had bought some little luminaries at Michael's...

...but they were wimpy.

So I turned to actual candles.  Problem: Lighting the candle.  If I lit it before placing it in the pumpkin, the rising smoke would burn my hand.  Potential Solution: Place, then light?  Perhaps with a sheet of the magazine?  ('Cause our faintsy long lighter is out of fluid)

So Much Fail.  But then, inspiration struck:

Tealight plus kitchen tongs equals win!

(Also, that's a from-behind shot of a shoulder and arm with a spaghetti strap top, not what you might think...)

Success!

Ashley Pumpkin gets her lipstick and she's ready to go!

Andrew Pumpkin needed to sit upside down because it's easier to carve his teeth that way.

At this point, he was almost done, just needed those teeth carved deeper.

Andrew and Ashley Pumpkin pose for a family photo.

Got the candy basket together!

A little mood reading while I wait for the kids.

Mr. and Mrs. Pumpkin take their spots on the porch.

And Mrs. Whelchel dons the costume.  Come one, come all!

Our Hope Endures

It has been some kind of week over here at UFC HQ.  Jam-packed full of extra classes, extra hours at my day job, and a scare with The Big C.

See, The Man had some funny blood tests, so they sent him for a CT scan on Wednesday.  That turned up a spot that was described to him as either a cyst or cancer.  I spent Thursday and today wondering what we would do if it were the Big C.  Fortunately, today's MRI revealed it to be a cyst.

At times like this, when so many tasks and stresses seem to converge, I'm grateful that a dear friend introduced me to this here song...

"Our Hope Endures" by Natalie Grand

You would think
only so much can go wrong.
Calamity only strikes once.
And you assume
that this one has suffered her share,
so life will be kinder from here.

Oh, but sometimes the sun
stays hidden for years.
Sometimes the sky
rains night after night.
When will it clear?

But our hope endures
the worst of conditions.
It's more than our
optimism.
Let the earth quake,
our hope is unchanged.

How can we
comprehend peace within pain?
Or joy at a good man's wake?
So walk a mile
with a woman whose body is torn
with illness, but she marches on.

Emmanuel, God is with us.
El-Shaddai, All Sufficient.
Emmanuel, God is with us.
El-Shaddai, All Sufficient.
Emmanuel, God is with us.
El-Shaddai, All Sufficient.
We never walk alone,
and this is our hope.

How to Spend a Saturday

Sitting on your couch watching German movies on YouTube.  Teh awesome.

A Post-All-State Monday and Guilt

Subtitle: In Which I Hope My Readers Forgive My Narcissistic Use of Self-Portrait

Friday Night -- Do not sleep.  Just can't.  Keep thinking, "What if I forgot to tell them something?  What if I didn't study the letters and rubrics closely enough?  What if they don't do well because of my inability to read or follow directions?"

Saturday -- Spend all day (as in 7:45 AM to 8:00 PM) judging All-State auditions and waiting on scores.  Also fail to sleep because of excitement.

Sunday -- help Chad lead at church, straighten up house, take short nap, go to birthday party.  Because of short nap, fail to sleep a third time.

Monday --

Such lovely deep valleys under my eyes. 

I think it's a side effect of living in this culture that I am never quite certain I am doing enough.  Even on days like this, I don't feel like my tiredness is really justified.  I think to myself, "Well, Mom held down a job, went to school and had two young 'uns and you didn't see her whining about how tired she was!"  I compare myself to other women with much larger stressors in their lives and feel like I'm weak or defective for not being able to handle my little plate of responsibilities any better than I do.  This afternoon, I came home with Tchaikovsky's piano solo setting of the Nutcracker suite with hopes of learning it so I'll have some fun pieces to play over Christmas.  I thought to myself, "The only thing left to do at home is dishes and they can wait until tomorrow."  Just to be sure, I went ahead and called Andrew and asked if he was cool with me waiting on the dishes.  He said, "Yeah, that's fine...I may go ahead and do them just to get them out of the way."

The voices in my head were started by the time I hung up the phone.  "What is wrong with you?  You can't take 20 little minutes out of your day to put some dishes in the dishwasher?  What sort of worthless wife are you?"  And so the guilt consumed me and I did them.  Now I feel a little more like a worthwhile person, except that there are still bits and pieces of clutter in our living room and I haven't really cleaned the hall bathroom mirror in a while and the kitchen floor could use sweeping and [insert a million other little things that anybody visiting my home wouldn't give a crap about].  The image of the coiffed and polished pearl-sporting homemaker of decades past hangs over my head beside the goal-oriented career woman of contemporary era.  Can I learn to buck up and satisfy both ideals like it seems so many of the women in my family do?

I sure hope so.  I hate feeling inadequate.

Can't Say "Tearjerker" Without "Jerk"

I heard me a song on the way to work the other day.  In the interest of not being libelous, I'm not going to say the title or artist, but suffice to say it's intended to be a heartwarming ditty about a high school sport and the camaraderie and memories and so on forevermore. 

I hate it.

I stocked a book of Christmas music at the store the other day.  The title song is a popular story-song regarding a child's aspiration to buy his mother a particular gift before she meets the Newborn King in person.

I hate it.

There's a certain author of a certain catalogue of books, several of which have been made into movies, that weave syrupy melodramas about lovers who sing, lovers who write letters, lovers who die, lovers who look penetratingly at one another as Chopin plays in the background.

I'm one of those who doesn't believe in hating people, so I don't hate the author.  But I do hate the books and the movies.

I'm pretty particular about my art and entertainment.  I'm not one of those that turns my nose up at anything that isn't classical and highbrow - shoot, I have two Ke$ha songs on my iPod.  Alls I want is for people to be committed to their particular artistic niche and to fullfill it with as much vigor and as little cynicism as possible.  And for me, songs and books like those above are heavy on the cynicism, light on the personal involvement.  They're cash cow works, written to dig at our emotions and earn lots of money for minimal effort.  Might sound harsh, but don't those works follow patterns you've seen all over the place?

Widely Admired Activity or Club + Nostalgia for Teenagerhood + Fortuitous Release Date = HEARTWARMING

Religious Holiday + Childhood Innocence + Possible Death = POIGNANCE

Boy From Wrong Side of Tracks With Heart of Gold + Uncertain or Hard-To-Get Girl + Deep Personal Tragedy + "You Have Changed My Life Forever" = MONEYS, Y'ALL!

The song or script sticks to the usual goalposts, occasionally making pit stops at such gems as "Acoustic Guitar Accompaniment for Intimate Feel" and "Let's Do The Dishes While Dancing Around to 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough.'"  What an insult to our intelligence!  These folks would do well to take some lessons from Fannie Flagg (Fried Green Tomatoes), Robert Harling (Steel Magnolias), and Tanya Tucker ("Two Sparrows in a Hurricane").  Now that's how you do emotional content.

Stole it from Sarah

I'm bored, but not sleepy.  Ergo, while archive-surfing through my favorite blogs, I picked up this meme from Sarah.

50 Questions1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? There are two answers to that question...one version claims that it's a Gone With the Wind thing between "Ashley" and "Tara."  The other (truer) one says that Mom picked a pretty first name and Dad picked the middle name after the prettiest girl he'd ever known.  No, the name "Tara" does not appear anywhere in Mom's name.  Little wonder they didn't last...
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? 1:30 today
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? yes
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? turkey
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? not yet, hopefully soon
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Considering Ashley Conway, I pretty much already am
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM? Do you ask questions?
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Nope, they were evicted after repeatedly violating my "No swelling and creating a perfect environment for strep" policy
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Nope. 
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? it varies.  Today, it's Lucky Charms
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Nope
12. HOW MANY CAVITIES HAVE YOU HAD? 10.  I have superb dental habits, but crooked and oddly shaped teeth.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? ben and jerry's birthday cake or ben and jerry's creme brulee
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? demeanor--whether he/she looks passive or assertive.  I tend to shrink around assertive people because I'm a wimp.
15. RED OR PINK? Pink (see, told you I was a wimp)
16. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? The fact that I am a wimp.  And my genetic predisposition to zits.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? at this particular moment, a mentor that has moved away
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO COMPLETE THIS LIST? No one follows my blog, and reading the answers of the literal "everyone" would take a long time.
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? blue and brown polka dotted pajama pants, no shoes
20. CAT OR DOG? dog
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? the faint echo of South Park as Andrew watches in the bedroom
22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? hot pink
23. FAVORITE SMELL? perfumes.  There's only one that Andrew isn't allergic to, so when I'm shopping without him, I sniff every perfume and body spray on Earth.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? The young man at Papa John's who takes orders
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? Was stolen rather than sent, but Sarah is pretty much my role model for family life and mommyhood when I get there someday.
26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Football!  If only the Dawgs would stop getting arrested and win some games already.
27. HAIR COLOR? Kinda depends on the lighting.  Some say brown, some say very dark blonde, some say red, some say auburn.  So it's Aublondrown.  Or something.
28. EYE COLOR? Blue
29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No, but I've always been curious about how it feels to wear them
30. FAVORITE FOOD? Varies.  Today, it's Poor Richards' French Onion Soup.
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?  Neither.  Light comedy with sharp verbal humor that doesn't get too melodramatic.  I'm hard to please.
32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? The Mystery Science Theatre 3000 take on "Puma Man."
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Black with the BigStuf Band logo for that year on it.
34. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer
35. HUGS OR KISSES? Both, though mouth kissing is reserved exclusively for Andrew.  If I had my way, everybody would hug all the time.
36. FAVORITE DESSERT? Creme brulee
37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Who's the most ambitious in a blog follower group of zero?
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Ditto
39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? I just finished "A Marriage Made in Heaven - or, Too Tired for An Affair" by Erma Bombeck.  Next on the list is "Shoot Low, Boys, They're Ridin' Shetland Ponies" by Lewis Grizzard.  See, told you I like sharp verbal humor.
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Is a laptop, so the "mousepad" is just a small gray square.  There's a green Skullcandy logo under my right hand as I type, though.  That's sort of interesting.
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? Scrubs reruns.
42. FAVORITE SOUND(S)? Good choral music that isn't flufftastic or opportunistically written (which, sadly, excludes great swaths of SSA literature). 
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Beatles.  I have never understood the allure of the Stones.
44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? California
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? On my left foot, when I try to spread out my toes, my pinky toe goes backwards and crosses over on top of the neighboring one. 
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Less than a mile from where I'm sitting now.
47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK? Nothing rhymes with orange.
48. HOW DID YOU MEET YOUR SPOUSE/SIGNIFICANT OTHER? At Lanier Hills.  I was 14, he was 25.  I had a crush on him from the start :)
49. CUP HALF FULL OR HALF EMPTY? Who's been drinking out of my glass?
50. IF YOU COULD SIT DOWN TO DINNER WITH FIVE PEOPLE WHO WOULD YOU CHOOSE? Jesus, i think that would do it.  <--I'm with Sarah on that one

Family Reunion

We had the yearly Garner family reunion today.  A billion eaters, talkers, singers, organizers, all converging in one fellowship hall to again laugh at the unending joke that is just how many of us there are!  We talked about long-gone relatives who believed in hard work and treating all people with respect when the prevailing wisdom said otherwise, we talked about fewer-than-three-months-gone relatives, we shushed babies and handed pens and napkins to restless children and made multiple passes at the dessert line and asked our aunts what everybody's name was.

At one point, most of our branch of the family went out to the playground.  After a few minutes of play, Daniel excused himself to the restroom...

...whereupon he locked himself inside and couldn't figure out how to get out.  He fretted greatly, believing we would leave him behind when we went home.  Finally, Papa (aka Dan, our grandfather) heard him beating at the door and freed him.  It was quite a study in generation gaps and family, this picture of a tall man in his Sunday suit carrying a weeping little boy in his church's T-shirt and silicon bracelet declaring the sermon series we're in.  There were no misgivings, no sneering at the one's staunch traditionalism or the other's loud contemporariness.*  Only sharing and security.

And they're both named Daniel.  How about that.

*Yes, that's a word.  I looked it up.

Introduction

My name's Ashley.
Two of my very favorite blogs just closed their e-doors and I am unhappy about it.
So I gots my own blog.  Yay!
Hopefully I'll post meaningful content.  Or maybe I'll just rant about french fries and busted laundry baskets and Draconian grammar rules.  We'll see!

Bits and Pieces

Classical guitar music is great for unwinding.

God wants me to go to the library.  I know this because the humorists are right beside the poetry.

You always remember that you need an oil change when you're late to an appointment that will last all day.

Music theory grammar has ruined me.  I used to be able to call E-flat minor "E-flat minor" regardless of the context because that's how everybody really thinks of it.  Now, if I'm in F# major, I just can't.

On crime dramas, you'll meet the perpetrator in the first fifteen minutes.

I identify deeply with the relationship between J. D. and Dr. Cox on Scrubs.

Who's buying Fushigi?  And the Shake Weight?  Dear actors in the commercials: You look ridiculous.

(Personal crap alert) We want a young 'un and I just got confirmation that we have again been unsuccessful in this endeavor.  So perhaps all these Bits and Pieces are less an effort to give any people who sniff out this blog something to read and more an attempt to cheer myself up.  Two birds, one rock.