Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!

The DH and I hadn't been to Seattle Center in several years and so we hadn't visited Paul Allen's music museum. We went early and got good parking right across the street and walked clear around the metallic lump of sea creature looking building before finding the proper entrance.

Admission set us back over forty bucks and we only had two hours parking, so we went for a strolling overview, which proved a sufficient taste. Though next time I'd rent the MEG headset to hear the audio clips about the exhibits. I was always a fan of the Wilson sisters (Heart), the one group I'd actually seen in concert. I was amazed how many groups got their start in the Pacific Northwest and not only Nirvana or Pearl Jam. I'm a Boomer and have always thought of Louie, Louie as a sort of anthem for my generation. Imagine my surprise to learn that the Kingsmen were a Tacoma band.

The exhibits of early electric guitars, basses and steel guitars was amazingly comprehensive and I saw my first Fender Stratocaster. There's an interactive exhibit about song writing with some interesting handwritten sheets of lyrics and a sound lab where you can record your own CD at a very small price. The On Stage area allows visitors to pretend to be rock stars and buy a memorial DVD or poster. Eeeeeeee. Yeah, there was a line of folks to get into that. The Jimi Hendrix gallery was full of people much younger than we who showed that Jimi or pictures and sound clips of Jimi can still mesmerize. Neither the DH nor I ever saw Hendrix perform but I wore out an LP, my favorite cuts being Foxy Lady and Purple Haze. In the rotating exhibit section were costumes of the greats--Elvis's leather jacket, KISS's costumes--those incredible platform boots!, Elton John's embroidered suit and other oddities. The DH remarked that the costumes were rather small, ordinary and undramatic without the rock stars lighting them from within.

If you plan on visiting the EMP, do a little pre-planning. Go early, take money, buy four hours of parking, rent the MEG and plan to have lunch there.

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMelinda

Hi Ho, MMMLOGerinos!

I've forgotten who said the following to me, but I do remember the sniffy censure with which it was said: "Do you know what people in Bellevue (WA) do on the weekends? They go to carlots!" I made all the "oh really" noises and moved along, because, while I don't live in Bellevue anymore, the DH and I do often cruise there starting with the Mercedes store then on to Beamer Land and Park Place, across from the Rolly and Bentley dealer, where used luxury and exotic autos await new owners.

So when the son of MMMMM suggested that his dad look to replacing the SUV with a midlife crisis Corvette, we had to find a Chevy dealer to have a look. And we did right here in Renton. The 05 silver rocket with a retro fastback back sat on the showroom floor with windows down and doors locked. We scared the saleskid so he brought in his boss who actually could answer our many questions, though we didn't like the first answer to our query about brochures. Instead of his offering us a latte and a glossy information packet like at Red Therapy's former home, he said we'd have to pay for them. Hmmmmmm. Not likely.

Let me say right now that he didn't make us pay for them and gave us all the information he had, including brochures. He was a fun guy who kept apologizing, so I teased him without stop, because the new Corvettes suck up battery juice and go dead with people opening and closing the doors if they aren't started or trickle-charged. The door locks won't disengage when there's no power, so they leave the windows down and you reach in for the door "release" lever on the floor. He talked up the OnStar program, which he also said didn't work if there was no juice and one would have to use their cell phone. Hooohaaa!

As we followed the guy to his office to collect our "free" brochures, he talked about the 06 Vettes and those that were on order we could come look at. Then he said, "Unless I can make you a smokin' deal on a car that doesn't start." We loved that and laughed it up mightily.

We left the Chevy store with visions of Vettes that did start and went like the wind with two Boomers inside, and the DH started making the "if we traded your SLK" noises. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Ciao, ciao, Mmmmmmmmmmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!

Have a good Christmas? The DH is off this week so I intend to get all those honey-do chores done that have accumulated over the past few months, and there are many! I'm sure the DH planned otherwise, such as playing with his Christmas toys, but he must take down those wretched series wired lights.

I usually de-decorate the house on Christmas day-- a habit learned from toddlerhood when Dad forced the issue upon us. If you weren't very careful and kept your gifts corralled, out something really good would go with all the boxes, wrapping paper and the poor tree that didn't even have time to drop needles in the house. Last night I moved the decorations into the dining room to be packed in the storage boxes. And today, Boxing Day, I'll finish the job, then get started on the 05 taxes and reorganize the files. Do I know how to have a great Christmas vacation or what?!

The son of MMMMMM sent a replacement "boy's day" fish windsock from Japan as the old one was faded, tattered and had gutted itself repeatedly flopping over the trellis around the patio. Now the new bright blue-scaled fish with glittering eyes is sailing on the wet breeze all set to usher in the new year.

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMMelinda

Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!

I have a dear, dear friend with whom I exchange Xmas prezzies. This year I thought to make something really special for her as I remembered that I could crochet when everyone else is knitting their little fingers off. I've been working like mad to finish the project, but it's eyelash yarn and feather-like, very difficult to work up quickly. Took me five hours last night to work one little skein.

I learned to crochet from the almost ninety Polish grandmother of the Ex of Mmmmmmm back in the day of crocheted vest, hats and whatever else you could dream up. This drive to crochet the world seemed to occur just after the macrame craze, for me anyway. The Polish grandmother was a quiet, seen-but-not-heard little round woman who'd lived with the Ex's parents forever. As she grew really old and had difficulty walking and seeing, she did less housework and stayed mostly in her room where there was no TV, but she had her rosary and a very active interior life, I imagine. She fascinated me and I was determined to get to know her, for I thought she was lonely as no one seemed to notice or talk to her. Her Polish-inflected English was difficult to understand, but we persevered and I learned some Polish (especially a swear word or two). She showed me how to crochet with the tiniest of hooks and very skinny cotton doily yarn. I couldn't get the tension right and would consistently double wrap my left index finger with the yarn, cutting off the circulation. A busybody aunt of the family witnessed this and made a snide carp about my lack of ability. My goodness, that was the first and only time I saw that little Polish grandmother get angry. She snapped something ugly in Polish and the nasty aunt recoiled but didn't criticize me ever again.

I went on to crochet a vest or two and a hat. Then I saw an advertisement for a pattern and yarn with directions for a crocheted bikini in Cosmopolitan and ordered it. I then crocheted a neon yellow string bikini that I actually wore! Thing was, I did something wrong on the bikini bottom as the front and back were not particularly different and no matter which way I turn them, the front came higher up my stomach than the back. Weird. And yes, I said I wore it.

Here's a big Christmas hug to the Polish grandmother who passed away many years ago but I think of often, especially these days now that I'm crocheting again.

Ciao, ciao, mmmmmmmmmmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!

When the son of MMMMM was an English major in his undergrad work, he learned that J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis were critique mates rather like my friends and me who have been critiquing since the early 90s. Except that we aren't Oxford dons and our books aren't considered classics by many who matter in the literary world, nor have they been made into movies.

I'd read Tolkien's and Lewis's books to the son of MMMMM when he was little and discovered that I prefer Tolkien's The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings to Lewis's Narnia stories. I really love what Peter Jackson did with the Lord of the Rings movies and wasn't prepared to enjoy the Chronicles of Narnia movie as nearly as much. BUT I did and due mainly to the girl who played Lucy. She was absolutely fabulous and believable. Every expression, every gesture, every word she spoke was natural and engaging. I forgot she was an actress, while I was fully aware that the three other children were playing a roll and not really Zening or being the character from inside out.

The special effects and sets were flawless. The glorious lion was Christ-like, the witch coldly hateful, and the wardrobe filled with fur coats that PETA would love to throw paint on. The movie was great and people applauded at the end.

Of course, since Narnia was considered a kid's story parents felt they could bring their toddlers and preschoolers who talked, whined, cried and asked questions through the whole thing. Thank goodness for really loud, rib-shaking surround sound. One mother had the decency to take her crying child out of the movie, while others simply shushed ineffectively or ignored the jabbering kids. But then there were adults who talked through the movie, too. No wonder NetFlicks and On Demand are becoming so popular.

And besides that--paying ten bucks to sit cheek to jowl with a bunch of noisy folks and then be subjected to twenty minutes of commercials before the film begins, NO! I'm going to have to sign up for NetFlicks one of these first days. But I have some good books I need to get through first.

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMmmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!

Okay, you've got six shopping days left. Six days to ultra-max the credit cards to create enough new debt to worry the Federal Reserve and bring smiles to corporate America's board members. But if it makes you and the fam happy for a cheery moment, what the hell.

On to more important stuff . . .
I have a very advanced and sensitive sense of smell. A couple of weeks ago I smelled burnt toast a couple of times when there was no reason, even in our neighborhood where there are often strange and exotic foreign aromas wafting over the fences. The DH, who can smell very little, said he couldn't smell toast, burnt or otherwise. And since I'd also been having an odd intermittent headache on the left side of the top of my head, I thought I should do a bit of investigating and indulge in the time-honored pastime of the matriarchal part of the family. I Googled "smelling burnt toast." Oh. My. Shouldn't have done that. Did you know there are thousands of references to smelling burnt toast? And neurologically speaking, none of it good. So, in view of my possible brain tumor, onset of epilepsy or migraine headaches, I did the only thing I could--I called my mother.

Mother is a great repository of medical knowledge. She has eighty years of often lousy health to draw from and is ever ready with a diagnosis and a huge dose of fear. Of course she'd heard of the smelling burnt toast not being a good thing, but she couldn't readily put her finger on the root cause or treatment. I didn't share with her what I'd discovered on the web as I didn't want to fuel that particular OH MY GOD fire. She wanted me to get myself in for an immediate neurological workup. I told her my gyn or my dermatologist didn't do that but I would discuss these symptoms, if I still had them, during my annual visits next month. That seemed to satisfy her for the moment and our conversations moved on to other topics such as her making her special Christmas fudge, which she hated to do because she would eat it and shouldn't because she's diabetic. Yeah??!!

I called the next expert in the family, my sister. Her answer was, "Never look up a medical symptom on the internet. It's just too scary." And we moved on to discussing our Med cruise next September. She rang off with a laugh about my smelling burnt toast. Ah well.

As luck would have it I didn't smell anything that wasn't "there" until Saturday when the DH and I went for breakfast at the Yankee Grill in Renton. Nice food and we always enjoy it. However, I kept smelling burnt toast. I began to worry until I saw them bringing out the food trays with, you guessed it, stacks of very dark toast. Yay!

There are certain angel theorists who say that the fragrance of roses accompanies angelic visitations or the Virgin Mary. And I got burnt toast . . . what's that about?

Ciao, ciao, Mmmmmmmmmmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!

The party week has come to a close and I'm resting up for the next round this week, which will not be at my home. I just get to go and enjoy myself.

Here's a little holiday hint for you--when I invite people in I like to serve champagne as a welcome to accompany appetizers. In spring and summer I've been known to add fresh strawberries or blueberries to the glasses. In fall and winter I drop 5-6 Craisins, sweetened dried cranberries, into the bottom of the glass and fill with champagne. The cranberries begin to rise with the bubbles to the surface then drop back to the bottom only to rise again like a Lava Lamp. It's very entertaining, pretty and tasty, too. Give it a try.

The DH had another round of @#$%!"+ freaking Christmas lights yesterday. The very end string of the random twinkling lights on the eaves went out in two foot sections. The DH got on the ladder while I stayed on the ground handing up tiny lights as needed. He couldn't get the bulbs out or in. Oh, was that fun. Finally, he got one section to work but the end part refused to comply. The clever lad pulled the whole mess taut and bunched up the dead part three inches from the end of the eave and called it good. He also proclaimed that the entire string would be going into the trash on December 26.

Earlier in the day when we were out walking the Airedale we passed a house where a single string of icicle lights where swagged from one corner of the eave to barely droop over the the door. I smugly said to the DH that the guy who threw those up in two seconds on the available nails had probably said to the wife, "Yeah, the f-ing Christmas are up!" and climbed back in his slackass recliner to watch the game over the top of a tallboy.

Then we get home, plug in our lights and the #$@%#^&& things aren't working--just taunting us that time and money thrown at something aren't necessarily worth it. Well, we don't have any slackass recliners to repair to enjoy a beverage, but I do buy those 1.5 liter Yellow Tail Chardonnay and our new family room furniture is proving to be quite comfortable. Even the Airedale has now decided to ooze upon the settee when she thinks we aren't looking. And after 1.5 liter of Chardonnay who cares about the naughty boots on the ultra suede or the #@$%^&& non twinkling Christmas lights?

Ciao, ciao, Mmmmmmmmmmmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!

It's party week here in MMMMworld, starting with the Eastside RWA Holiday Party tomorrow night. The DH and I really know how to have a good time and spent our weekend cleaning house and carpets and putting up Christmas lights outside--not his favorite thing.

Since our first Christmas together a light year or so ago, the DH has proven to be something of a reluctant Xmas celebrator and decorator. And when it came to putting up the lights outside, the DH and the teen son of MMMMM would engage. Then the Christmas ref would have to step in and get the boys to play nice. Thinking back on those thrilling holidays past, I should have hired the whole thing done so the Bah Humbug-possessed DH would just come home to a completely decorated wonderland of HoHoHoness. But apparently I'm not that smart or perhaps too cheap, which is probably the case. Or I like twisting the guy up.

The DH has mellowed over the years. He still hates it, precious, but he sets his chiseled jaw and grumbles, "Let's get it done!" through clenched teeth and we string lights from hell to breakfast. Speaking of hell, I bought 10,000 feet of new lights of the random twinkling cluster garland type. Can you believe it, there were broken and dead bulbs, so part of the string didn't light. Eeeeeee. What new, no, continuing misery is this? Lights wired in series are the DH's special torment and instead of singing Christmas carols, he mumbles, "@#$!)(_& %^+, why can't they sell sensible parallel wired lights?"

Now the decorating is all done, or as done as it's going to get, 'cause I don't wanna torture the DH further. So, let's party!

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMelinda

Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!

Yesterday I posted about my encounter with Santa Claus in the Albertson's parking lot. And now for your reading and much hohohoho pleasure I offer the Kansas Heckler's response to my Santa story:

"The reason old St. Nick's eyes were twinkling is because he is a pervert taking advantage of ladies who want to sit on his lap! I remember being in the bar at the old musicians' union hall with my 5'10" friend Penny, and this very short, creepy guy next to her announced that he would like to crawl all over her body like a big bug. She actually dated him for awhile. A line like that should have brought forth a fly swatter not an exchange of phone numbers."

Got a tender Christmas story like the Heckler's and want to share with Mmmmmmmmm? Email me and if your story is published in MMMLOG, there might be something excellent coming to you for your Christmas stocking.

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMelinda

Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!

No kidding, I did see the real jolly old elf getting out of an equally old and rumpled Toyota pickup. Actually, he's quite short, wears short jeans with a BIG waist, a short T-shirt and a flannel shirt-jacket. His white hair was long and flowing over his shoulders, flapping, really, and a little wispy as was his beard, the bottom of which was as long as his hair. It was all real, honest.

So I stared at the man as I walked across the parking lot of the Albertson's grocery store. I tried not to, I really did, but it's not everyday that you actually see Santa sans costume and getting out of a ratty import. When he passed me, his blue eyes were twinkling and a little smile played across his red lips. And what did I do? Well, I fought the urge to ask to sit on his lap, for one thing, as well as the wild laughter and crazy comments trying to blast out of my tightly clenched teeth. My mother will be glad to know that I managed, just, to hang onto my self respect and decorum. But, dang, it was hard!

I climbed in Red Therapy and hooohaaaed all the way home. Okay, yeah, so I'm easily entertained and I've got to get out more, but I'm a writer and my chosen place is here at the puter creating stories. Like this one. But this one is TRUE and maybe all my others are, too. So just think about that . . .

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMMMelinda

Hi ho, MMMLOGerinos!

I Won!!!
That is, my website www.melindaruckerhaynes.com won FIRST PLACE in the Professionally Created category of the Sacramento Valley Rose Silver Rose Award contest for Web site excellence.

And how did this happen? It started with my dear pal Connie Coleman, a professional photographer whose massive talent can be seen on the homepage image on the site and those are her fabulous photos on the Reflections on Love downloadable wallpaper pages, too.

Then the fabulous Willa Cline put it all together in a beautiful, dreamy, easy-to-navigate feast for the eyes. I'm very grateful to Willa for her intuitive design and nearly instant updates and improvements. The latest addition to the site is a cool Flash animation on the Book and Workshops pages.

A dear friend of mine, Cassi Slay in Bullhead City, Arizona, designed and operated my first website back in 1999. This early-twenties something woman with four children and having completed as many books decided that she wanted to learn webdesign. She got her site up first and then put one up for me, wrote several more books while raising her darling children and helping her husband in his business,then she dropped out of sight. My website lay fallow until Sharron McClellan kindly spiffed it up at bit for me until I could find a designer whose work resonated with me, but no one seemed to be able to "get" me or what I wanted to achieve in my cyber home with Connie Coleman's beautiful photographs. Out designer hunting one day on the web, I happened upon Susan Wigg's site and loved the "feel" of it. That's where I found Willa Cline and zoomed up to her lovely site that even has a "tea leaves reading" page. Now we're talking!

Many, many thanks to the Sacramento Valley RWA chapter for their website contest and for awarding my site first place. More smoochie thanks to Willa and Connie, too!

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMMMMmelinda