The Writing Nook- Pinto of a Different Color

The assignment was to "Write about a used car"

We had an old, used and very beat up Pinto when I was growing up. It was the second family car. It was the beater that Daddy-O took back and forth to work each day, while Mother drove the good old paneled station wagon, the reliable family car.

The Pinto was the colour of rust. Or maybe it was so rusty, that was its color? The Pinto also had a few other problems than its exterior. There was a large and rusted out hole on the floor of the front passenger side, so dad had laid a piece of wood on the floor and covered it with a floor mat since it was rather disconcerting to look down at one’s feet and watch the street whizzing by. And if he drove through a puddle, a good dousing would surely follow. The driver’s side door was also a problem. It wouldn’t stay closed. So Daddy-O used a bungee cord and once he was settled into the driver’s seat he tied the door closed across his waist to the emergency break in the center console. Otherwise, the Pinto was a perfectly reliable sort of transportation and got him to work and back, and a trip to the market for the occasional quart of milk.

The Pinto was a life saver once, rather than the life taker it sounds like it could be. It was Christmas day and we were hosting Christmas dinner for the family. My aunt, uncle and cousins were all here visiting from Texas and they were staying with my Grandmother F. They were all coming to the house, from a neighboring little town. BUT, it was cold. Lung shattering cold. Freezing cold. Nothing was running cold. Freeze the pipes in the house cold.Hurt to breath cold.

My mother was cooking up a storm and my brother and I were alternately playing with our new Christmas toys and helping Mother with setting the table and just trying to be out from under foot. Then my Uncle called. In an effort to try and make sure the cars would start, he lifted the garage door and pulled his car in half way. Well, the weather was so cold, neither his car nor my grandmother's would start and since they were hood to hood, they couldn’t even get an angle to jump start them. Uh-oh.

My mother said the F-word on Christmas day.

So, being the good eggs we all were, Daddy-O said it was no problem and said we would come to them if the stations wagon could start. It didn’t. Mother was fit to be tied with all this food and gifts and it was Christmas- the relation had come all the way from Texas for this event and no one could get to each other.

On a lark dad tried the Pinto, just to see if it would start, never thinking the rust bucket with the bungee door and hole-y floor board would even come close to remotely turning over… but it did. On the first try.

So my family of four piled into the car. My brother and I were crammed into the back seat, with all manner of food stuffs packed in around us. The hatchback was loaded with presents. Mother, who was still furious, sat shotgun, covered in a blanket in addition to her winter woolens- you know, because of the hole in the floor? And off we went in the rattletrap, to celebrate Christmas.

Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go… in one scary Pinto!

And don't forget to read Lakeland Jo and Hecate, who are participating in the Writing Nook this week!

I forgot! Oooops!

Holy cow! I forgot to post the Writing Nook topics for this week! Guess I've had a lot on my mind! Here they are, better late than never!

• Write about leaving
• Shadows
• Describe the Contents of someone's closet
• Write about a used car
• Write about "the sky you were born under"
• The end of the day
• "The first time I wore ____________"

Okay, there ya go, for anyone who is playing. Let me know in a comment if you write on one of these and I'll give you a link! Mine will be up tomorrow!

Forgetfully yours,
Maggie

Ugly Americans

The term Ugly American has nothing to do with how rude Americans are when they go abroad, I've decided. It may have first originated as a book title and then later became a film starring Brando, it might be appropriately used to describe John McEnroe or Bode Miller's behaviors, or even used because of American refusal to adopt the metric system. These things are most certainly ugly and deal directly with Americans, but this is not the real reason for the phrase. It's nothing to do with Americans being rude, expecting everyone world wide to speak English, to complaining about food and customs, being ignorant and un-accepting of the ways of other cultures in which we are guests- nope, the term Ugly American just had to be coined because of Passport Pictures. That's it! Passport pictures are the true meaning of Ugly American.

Since my time in Pittsburgh with AmericaninIreland Sam, he has urged me to get a passport, even at his expense so I can come visit his adopted home- and visit as soon as possible I might add. So, I have gone through the Passport application process this week and just now await for mine to come in the mail- which seems to be rather speedy right now, taking only 2-3 weeks if there's no trouble, but the applicant should allow 8 weeks. And 2 weeks seems to be true, according to the US State Department web site, and my local court house clerk.

But passport pictures are very very ugly. We are not allowed to smile. The picture must clearly show eyes and facial features. The background must be white. The photo must be 2x2, head shot. We must look miserable in these pictures, unhappy, even angry or put out. I think my picture is terrible! I went to my local Walgreens to have the picture taken and when she told me to NOT smile I couldn't stop. We attempted taking the picture several times, before one was generated where I looked miserable and unhappy enough to declare it a "perfect passport pictures!"

Why should American looks miserable or even criminal in these pictures? Mine is most certainly no better than a mug shot. And I don't want to spend any time in a European prison, thank you very much? Why instigate such thoughts into the subconscious of the customs agents- they see these pictures where we look like a gang of thieves, then no wonder we are so mistrusted and thought of as ugly!

Now I don't know about you, but at the thought of traveling abroad makes me smile and jump up and down. I canNOT wait. I'm excited beyond belief and control. I'm happy as a lark- so wouldn't it be a nicer show of international friendship if we all were smiling at the thought of traveling abroad? Wouldn't a smile traverse all ill will? Turn that frown upside down for freedom?

Or am I just smiling because of Sam?

Your Smiling girl,
Maggie

I made a 7th grade boy cry- tales of substitute teaching

I didn't do it on purpose. It really was an accident.

I was subbing for a history teacher and the activity he left was good for a sub- read aloud and answer worksheets. But since I was an educator in a former life I thought I would make it a bit more fun. We did the reading aloud and then I made a game that would help reveal the answers on the worksheet. I was bored and wanted to entertain me and hell, it couldn't hurt the kids to have the information presented in 3 formats, right? (Okay and if the regular classroom teacher hates it then I'm sorry!)

So we read and then play. One of the rules of the game was to not cheat and I went over that emphatically. So what happens? A little spiky haired kid in the second row cheats. He looks over the shoulder of the kid in front of him to get the answer because he was talking when the right answer was given. And I had already asked him once and told him once to be quiet. I asked him if he was cheating and he said no. Then he did it again. I said "Spiky haired kid- cut it out! I told you to not cheat!" he looked sheepish and then, by goddess, the little turd did it again. I about blew a gasket.

So I told him I was writing his name down for his regular teacher. Well...

At that point he didn't say a word and we finished what we were doing. Then he came to my desk and asked if I really wrote it down and I said yes. Then the tears started rolling.

Well, I felt bad. I didn't know this kid from Adam and here I made him cry. I suck. I felt about *this* big. So I give him a tissue and tell him to go into the bathroom and calm down. The rest of the kids are freaking out- I guess this kid is an athlete and an honors students so it was really completely out of character.

So when he came back I told him I would cross his name off the list but I would expect for him to explain what happened to his teacher, himself. I told him I would leave his teacher a note that said "Spiky Haired Kid needs to talk to you."

He said thanks, his lip quivering and he gave me a hug. Then he showed up again after school and wanted to know what he should say to his teacher. I told him to tell him the truth and it should be fine.

So--- I left a note for the teacher and I hope he goes easy on the kid.

I wonder if they'll call me to come back after that?

Handing out tissues,
Maggie

Year of the Ox celebration very American

Since last night was the Chinese New Year, I managed to talk my family into going out for dinner at the local Asian buffet, where you can get a combination of Chinese, Japanese and Mongolian foods. I really wanted to go to Chicago to Chinatown for a real celebration but alas, after a drive to Pittsburgh I thought I should stay put. So, Asian Buffet it was.

I had a nice time with the family. We all passed The Divine Ms. K around and she was as cute as a button and pleasant as can be. She makes me laugh with her smiles. And she was teaching and grabbing for things on the table, which was something new. She's getting to be such a big girl! And then Mac held her. We had teased him off and on all night because everyone else had held her but him so when he finally held her she puked all over him, right down his arm and his leg. He said, "Did I mention I didn't really want to hold her?" And he laughed and wiped it all up. What a good kid.

Then Daddy-O and Mac started teasing me about getting married- which would be a miracle in and of itself. So the two of them started giving me native American Indian names- I have no idea why but here's what they came up with: Hunts Bear Alone, Woman Who Runs with No one, and Opens Casino Alone. All I know is that at one point we were reading our fortune cookies aloud, adding "in bed" to the end, and then next thing I knew I was at the end of the jokes.

And how did you celebrate the year of the Ox?

If you're going to talk the talk, be ready to walk the walk (or "why I went to Pittsburgh for 24 hours")

Spontaneity. I have always claimed that I'm a spontaneous person. Until last week, though, I would say that my spontaneity was usually on a small level. Dance in the rain. Midnight walks in the snow. Random trips to a movie theater. Small stuff.

My move to the Wild West was rather spontaneous to an extent-- the fact that it all happened so quickly was what made it seem crazy spontaneous, but I'd wanted to teach HS and had wanted to live in the Wild West for a long time so it was going to happen at some point in my life. The turn around was fast so I guess it was "organized" spontaneity, if you will.

Okay, now I need to tell you something else. Follow me here: some of you might remember that I signed up accidentally, of course, for an Irish dating service. It was free. So, what you might not know, is that I've been communicating via email with an American who lives in Dublin. He took a transfer with his company and has been in the Emerald Isle for about 6 months. He and I have been emailing and it had been great fun to talk to him- an American perspective of Ireland, a place I desperately want to see!

This AmericaninIreland Sam is funny and he is an excellent correspondent. Our email exchanges are fun and lively and full of wit and intelligence, sometimes reaching rather Tolstoy-esque lengths. He can write complete sentences. He likes to read and to travel. He's thoughtful. He's smart. He has a delicious sense of humour. He's a bit handsome, well, quite a bit handsome. He's well versed in politics- and is a Democrat.

He's such a Democrat that before he went across the Pond he campaigned for President Obama. He lived in DC so that was easy for him to do. He was such a supporter and believer that he traveled around the US to do some campaigning. He is such a supporter and believer that he came to DC last week for the Inaugural Festivities. He had Ball tickets and tickets to be on the Mall for the ceremony. So, he was in DC.

We chatted on the phone TONS once he got State side. And we emailed. And then we broke all dating rules. We talked and emailed all the time and said to hell with the three date rule- who can wait three days when he's only in the US for a week? And then he called on Tuesday night with a crazy proposal: Would I meet him half way between DC and Civilization? He priced plane tickets for both of us to any airport that lay between us and the most affordable plan was for us to meet in Pittsburgh, PA. That was halfway. For a date. Would I do it? It was crazy, silly, absurd-- but... since I've always claimed that I like to fly by the seat of my pants, that I've always wanted to be in love like a movie, because it felt right, all the elements came together, so...YES!

Yes, I drove to Pittsburgh, PA on Thursday to meet my AmericaninIreland Sam, for a 24 hour long date. We had from 3 pm Thursday until 2 pm Friday, when he had to get back on a plane, get back to DC so he could prepare to fly back to Dublin Saturday night. Yes, dear readers, I drove to Pittsburgh, PA for a date.

The greatest first date story in history!

Sam is as great in person as he is on paper- at least he was for 24 hours. There is a part of me which would love to babble on and on about how great he is then there's the other part of myself which I chide my naive thinking that he's great because I have such the terrible track record with men. But Sam is grand. Handsome, witty, so very smart, a gentleman, such a flirt, interesting, romantic, sexy, silly... ack- this could be very very bad since he lives in IRELAND, for goddess sake!

We had a great time and couldn't seem to stop talking. We stayed at the Pittsburgh Hilton and basically marinated in each other for 24 hours. We talked forever and listened to music and talked books, politics, life, past, present, future, work everything. We talked about everything and practically could finish each other's sentences. This was amazing and nearly perfect. He brought me some nice Inaugural gifts- a pink commemorative hat and sweatshirt. A button. A copy of The Onion. And-- well... he brought me a gourmet box of chocolates. Heart shaped. Since he wouldn't be able to see me on Valentine's Day. Yes, my darlin' readers, the man remembered Valentine's Day 3 weeks early since he knew we couldn't be together. I. just. about.died. on. the spot. from the romanticness of it all.

I had picked him up at the airport- in addition to his airplane ticket he also paid for the Hilton and all meals, so it seemed silly to have him rent a car. We hugged and kissed in the airport like long lost friends. Then we didn't shut up, hardly, for the next 24 hours. It was wonderful... and yes, I'm gushing with emotion here- and I don't care!

He's sweet, he curls my toes. I like him. So- what next? Well, we sort of developed a code word as to whether or not this was just a shot in the dark, a one time deal... or maybe should it be more. The code word was "passport"- since I don't have one. So we're standing in the airport preparing for his departure. We're talking and he leans close and whispers "passport" in my ear, very softly. So...

And- yes, I've heard from him several times since he left. Several emails and a very looooong phone call- in which we both agreed we hate the ocean that lies between us and the gods were certainly bored to do this- we have our own level of Dante's hell....

What do we do now? Other than he and I both have decided to hate the Pond...well, we both know this is insane and the distance is beyond terrible. The tentative plan is to meet in San Fransisco, CA in April when he comes State side for a business trip, for 10 days. Yes, that's 10 weeks away and we both know lots can happen between now and then. Hell, anything can happen between now and then. But right now, if all the emails, phone calls, texts, chats and letters go according to plan- then San Fran is the plan. By then my passport should arrive and we'll talk trip to Dublin in the summer.

This is so very, very bad. And so very, very good.

Long shots. Craziness. Insanity. Spontaneity. And I will say, I think I could be a fan of Pittsburgh, of all places. Other great romances have Paris, Rome, the Empire State Building--- well, no matter what happens with him, more or nothing... we'll always have... Pittsburgh.

Your adventurous one,
Maggie

Satchels & Shoes- I know they don't match

This little plaid bag was in my possession the whole time, and I had forgotten. For Christmas Daddy-O gave me some shoes that match this bag perfectly! I should have paired them together for a photo op, but I forgot about the bag. I was unpacking my boxes of purses and ran across this adorable little bag. I know it doesn't match the shoes I have featured today, but I thought the bag was just too fine to not show it all to you!


I love these copper colored and tweed heels. They have laces and even side zippers. Aren't they just so cute? They can dress up a pair of jeans of look fabulous with dress clothes, including my chocolate colored pants.

In Shoes We Trust,
Maggie