the crescent moon is low in the sky tonight

It’s hiding in the canopy of the pine trees and peeks out between the boughs, a bright basin with all the stars above it.

The bright lights in the sky remind me of a time when I was kid. I remember going trick or treating with a lot of face paint, and I couldn’t wear my glasses without ruining the frightening effect that I was going for. The trade off, of course, is that I couldn’t see very well. Back then, the liability pretty much meant that I couldn’t see things that were very far away. Like, say, the Goodyear Blimp. This is important later.

I went around the neighborhood with the usual crew. Yuyi, Eddy, Patricia, Richard, and probably the Rocamoras, although I’m guessing we had to go to them, because they rarely left their street.  This was also the time in my life when I lived and breathed all thing sci-fi. It was some time after Star Trek was syndicated in the afternoons, but way before Star Wars and Star Trek: The Motion Picture. Maybe I was already a fan of Space:1999 because Gene Roddenberry had introduced it and Fred Freiberger was producing it (as a side note, Freiberger’s involvement may have been why I often felt that the Space:1999 shows were re-worked Star Trek sripts. Even as a kid I realized that there is nothing new under the sun). It would be many years before television sci-fi would get my attention again.

Anyway, tonight’s moon, the pine trees, and the airport holding pattern that brings so many planes across our neighborhood all came together to replicate that night so many years ago when I was absolutely certain I was witnessing a real, live, UFO.

I saw the lights through the pines on Drew Valley, swirling in all the primary colors, and flying low, dipping, gaining altitude, and then stopping. I think my heart skipped a beat and I had a moment of absolute terror like those folks listening to War of the Worlds when they were psyched out. My vision was blurred enough to see the colors, but not realize there were words. Speechless, I wildly gesticulated to my friends, hoping to save us all from the imminent abduction.

They, of course, only saw my childish fascination with the Goodyear Blimp, and laughed at me for pointing it out to them.

There was no way I was gonna confess that I thought it was a flying saucer. Nope. I just shrugged and popped some candy corn in my mouth.

check out this really fat bird!

Does anybody know what kind of bird this is? My answer is the kind that flies although that might be somewhat questionable with this chunky-butt.

facebook applications annoy me

Consequently, I ignore every single one of them. I didn’t always ignore them because like just about everybody else, I felt an obligation to respond. Okay, and if I am being brutally honest, also because they are kinda neat. Only, really, they can be very consuming so I took my kids’ advice and ignore them. Evidently it is very uncool to be tied to the apps anyway, so there. Y’all know how tied I am to the cool factor.

Anyway, lest you feel that I am giving you the cold shoulder or that I am somehow too cool for you when I hit that “ignore” button, know that I do stop and read what you’ve thrown at me, or sent me, or otherwise wish to share with me, and I appreciate it. Don’t stop sending me things, just know that like my father’s ad nauseum forwards (which are now a part of the family folklore and thus a necessary tradition) they will be promptly deleted.

With that explanation out of the way, let me share today’s facebook invitation, courtesy of my sister. This is the text of the invitation:

*Hey, I added you as my relative. Could you do me a favor and add this application, then add your relatives too? This way I can see who on facebook I am related to…

I don’t know how to respond to that. I figure, she deserves the public humiliation. Really, Christi, you need a facebook application to see who you are related to?

For the win, the grammar is awful.

*that’s from the app, not Christi’s text

Merry Christmas!

by the way, we live in the greatest country in the world

Don’t believe me?

Go here.

I love checking off things

It gives me such a feeling of accomplishment. I just love to get things done. Maybe because the list in freakin’ INTERMINABLE.

Yeah. What she said.

Terrorists in Small Town Hospital

or  How Crazy Rumors Get Started When People In Charge Are Not Forthright About What Is Happening

In an epic display of confusion and contained hysteria, we took off for the local ER shortly after dinner when we got a call that Christy’s best friend was in a terrible wreck. She was being transported by ambulance down the street from us, alone, while her father was removed with the jaws of life and taken into the city to the big trauma hospital. Her mom, of course, went with him, and so we rallied at the local ER to both calm and help the friend.

Hilarity ensued while entertaining poor Rachel and clandestinely getting updates about her dad, who at this writing is in stable condition with plenty of broken bones, awaiting surgery to alleviate something in his cervicals. That doesn’t sound very good but if pain is an indication that there’s no paralysis, then the poor guy is in bad shape, but feeling every bit of his injuries. It would be very cool of you to say a prayer for Philip. I’ll pause the story. While you’re at it his wife Nancy Jo could use some, too.

Rachel, on the other hand, didn’t sustain more than some bruising and banging about, so in her happy pill induced state will receive the brunt of my mockery. She’s sleeping peacefully now, and all I can say is it’s a good thing Christy doesn’t sound like Darth Vader anymore though I suspect Rachel could sleep through a hurricane right about now.

Anyway, we beat her to the ER, so we witnessed her arrival. For starters, there will be some letters of inquiry and complaint coming as a result of that arrival, which was ridiculous, but let me get on with the story of Her Royal Highness, emerging from the back of the ambulance with a gigantic gauze on her wrist, and an amazingly docile and complacent look on her face. Clearly it was shock, but funny nevertheless. She acknowledged the throng of admirers with a little sweep of her good hand, and acquiesced ever so genteelly as she was led into the ER. Imagine Gloria Swanson on the red carpet. We were all speechless at the grand entrance, but then again, anyone that knows Rachel could not possibly be surprised. She held court supporting the gauze precariously placed upon her bloody wrist. By the way, the cleaning up in the triage revealed the tiniest of little cuts.  Grand drama for the queen of drama. In the end we are relieved that she will be fine.

Nevertheless, seven hours in the ER was no joyful activity. It’s a good thing she had plenty of company, and as her pastor pointed out, the real spirit of community. The old folks came by to check on her before going to support Nancy, so we were left with the Frick and Frack travelling show of her friends. [as an aside, the claim that the Magnet school she attended and her brother now attends with Jonathan is a family rang very true last night. Those are some classy folks, even if they do need a GPS to get to the trauma unit they pass every time they go to a function at Ga Tech downtown. I'm just sayin'. LOL]

At some point the fire alarm went off and the minimum-wage-earning security guards pretended to be all about security, only, the chick was a little more like “Sahcurretee” and brilliantly stood in the middle of the ER where every ailing person could see and hear her, swept back her enormous weave and clicked on the radio clipped to her shoulder with her ginormous nails and announced, loudly, “There is a problem with terrorists.”

I swear that’s what she said. That’s what everyone around us heard, too.

Terrorists.

Only, I think she was trying to say “terrace.”

Well, anyway, it was more fun to hear terrorists. For the win, the firefighters that responded and evidently couldn’t turn off the alarm because they found no terrorists nor  fires in the terrace, were very attractive. Hot, I believe, is what the girls said. I have to concur.

Unfortunately, they were in no hurry to turn off the piercing alarm, and we were subjected to that interminable peal for quite a while. It was punctuated by vomiting man in the corner, and tuberculosis man in front of us. The highlight of the evening, however, was when I went to the restroom and walked in on an enormous man trying to produce a urine sample.

I am scarred for life.

it’s been a long day

So I was diagnosed in the sacristy at church with shingles.  A nurse friend of mine pulled me in a corner and lifted the corner of my blouse and said, “Yep, that looks like shingles to me.”

Besides the whole creepy aspect of the scenario, it was the bad news I was expecting. A trip to Dr. Mike’s this morning confirmed it, and I am on a delightful cocktail of steroids, anti-virals, and the drug of choice in the Johnson household: Vicadin.

And it still hurts like a bitch. I’m so sorry for the people who don’t figure it out for a while. I am hopeful that this will be done sooner than later.

Feel free to send chocolate. I hear it has medicinal values.

Bush Drafted By National Dodgeball Team!

I tried to assassinate the fish

The poor thing has a will to live like that unfortunate African violet I had when we lived in Germany. That plant lived in spite of everything I did to it, and even survived a week we spent in Berlin. I had set it on top of the radiator while I moved some things around, and forgot about it. When we returned, it was a crispy little mass of toasted leaves. I added water and put it back on the windowsill, and it recovered miraculously.

The fish must be channeling those vibes. The vase where it lives was getting pretty ripe, so I prepared a small, clean holding area in a mason jar while I cleaned up the algae. The problem was moving the fish to the mason jar because I couldn’t find the net.

I improvised.

I used a pasta strainer, only I didn’t count on the fish being unhappy and bouncing all over the place. It bounced right out into the sink and then stopped flopping. I was grossed out, but grosser still is the fact that my nails are long and I didn’t want to stab the little guy.

I was successful in my rescue mission and had to repeat the process to get it back into its home. The surprising thing is that this morning, it doesn’t look worse for the wear. Please don’t tell me these things are like cats and have like a bazillion lives.