It's Just A Game

We road-tripped down to Wisconsin Dells today for double-header hoops action between Assumption and Barneveld.

This non-conference match-up is a huge rivalry for the girls especially, since Barneveld beat us by 4 points for the state championship in 2014 and we beat them by 4 points for the state championship in 2013. Always intense.

Now hubby and I had never been to the JustAgame Fieldhouse. (Cool name, eh?) Quite an impressive facility in downtown Dells. Depending on the event, it accommodates 6 full-length basketball courts or 10 full-length volleyball courts. Plus it has 4 locker rooms, a handful of concession stands, a sporting goods store and a Hall of History. They must haul in people (and cash) all year. Wow.

The Wisconsin basketball historic displays were pretty cool. They highlighted everything from last year's championship teams and all-state players, to Wisconsin high school kids who went onto college careers and overall lists of successful players and coaches.

In one of the hallways, Jim noticed this board, which included coaches with the most wins.

Upon closer inspection, you see why it is special? My old science and biology teacher – oh, and girls basketball coach – Mr. Messar made the board! He's been coaching since I was in high school so, yeah, that's a lot of years.

Not to age myself.

Back to hoops action...

As expected, the girls game was a close one with constant lead changes between the Royals and the Golden Eagles. Pretty darn nerve-wracking. But, Assumption came away with the win by 1 point! Awesome.

The boys game followed immediately after. The Royals jumped out to a quick lead but Barneveld closed the gap quickly in the second half. That became another nail-biter. Again, Assumption was victorious though!

Good times.

We had ridden with friends with a daughter on the team. On the way home we stopped somewhere south of Rome and north of Adams at a bar called Mo's. Excellent food! Pretty sure none of us needed supper tonight.

I felt like taking a nap but instead got motivated to get some scrapping stuff in order. Camp Crop-A-Lot is only 2 weeks away!

Time to get MY game face on!

MVP Network

There are a lot of different networks out there. For professionals, I am part of LinkedIn. For social networks, I am on Facebook, Twitter and, obviously, Blogger. But my favorite is my Mint Network.

As soon as February hits, I need to rely on the eyes, ears and taste buds of other Mint Freaks like myself who can't wait for Shamrock Shakes.

Tonight, hubby and I and a handful of other friends watched a double-header basketball game between Rapids (public high school) and Stevens Point (whose boys are ranked No. 1 in the state) – mainly to see our friends' daughter play.

Despite a dual loss for Rapids and major bleacher butt (and back), I came away with some MVP (Most Valuable Piece) of information. Shamrock Shakes are coming to town tomorrow. This according to a friend who heard it from her daughter who heard it from another friend.

Oh this is no ordinary network!

Then, just to dispel a rumor from a weak link in the chain of communication who "thought" we had to wait until Monday, I had it confirmed from our newest network member (whose daughter works at McDonald's in town) that Saturday is the day.

Whew. That's a lot of work. Good thing word travels much faster now thanks to all those other, less important networks!

Mint Freaks live to see another Shamrock Season!

An Apple a Day...

It would seem this is my approach to that novel I'm "going to write someday." Five minutes a day on my Apple will keep the doctor away... and keep me in writing shape until I "have time to really concentrate."

After nearly 8 years of daily blogging, I should be ready, right?

I do have at least 3 different "stories" in mind for books. I have started all of them. Ha. No really. I'm serious. I guess I just have to pick one and go with it.

Here is a sample of the one I may call Little House Out Back. It's fiction but will be based on some deep, dark experiences of childhood. Of course, I have to determine if I can bring more levity to it to balance it. That is my challenge.

In the meantime, read on and feel free to give me constructive feedback...

PROLOGUE

I’ve hated the smell of shit since I was 9 years old.

I can say that now that Momma’s gone.

“Shit!” It feels so freeing to let it out. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I say, pounding the steering wheel for emphasis. I glance skyward, assuming our generous God found a place for Momma’s wayward soul up there. I half expect her shaky hand to reach down and shove a bar of soap in my mouth.

Did I mention I’ve hated the taste of Dove since I was 9 years old, too?

I pull into the old driveway, feeling the ruts jostle me around like the rickety roller coaster at the county fair. My hand becomes a human seatbelt for the goods in the passenger seat. It just wouldn’t do to have my rare evidence of domesticity all over the floor of the car.

With a grateful step on the brake, I park it in my old spot. I step out of the air-conditioned car and immediately feel two beads of sweat racing down my back as if the elastic band of my control-top panty hose is the finish line. It’s too damn hot to be wearing nylons, black ones to boot. And this black polyester dress – really, why must convention call for such nonsense when the heat index tops 90?

My arms juggle my purse and two pans of bars as I make my way up the front porch steps, carefully avoiding the creaky bottom one, a habit from my sneaky teenage years. I pause at the door, pondering a knock, which is fruitless at this point. I use my free hand to wrangle it open and go in.

Everything from the faded roses on the wallpaper to the worn-out carpet in the entry way is familiar to me. Yet I feel like an intruder. This is not how I wanted to return.

Voices from the kitchen beckon me to the back of the house before I sink into a bout of despair. A quick glance around the kitchen, though, tells me this would be the place to do it. Every available counter space is filled with comfort food – dessert pans, cookies, casseroles. It looks like a Lutheran potluck dropped out of the sky. And frankly, it sort of did.

I nod to the Ferguson sisters and search for an opening to add my pans to the mix. “Ooh, what have ya got there?” Do they really care what I managed not to burn? 

Now I see why they call it “comfort food.” To avoid dealing with the most pressing topic at hand, talk often turns to the neutral and comforting topic of food. I hand over the pans and let them decide if the contents are worth discussing further.

Sensing my chance to escape, I excuse myself and head down the hall to the bathroom.  The mirror tells me my clothes aren’t the only things melting. So much for the industrial-strength hair spray!

I sit on the toilet and glance up at the wall. There it is. That damn poem Momma insisted on hanging on the bathroom wall the day we got the “inside potty.”

The Little House Out Back

Among my childhood memories

One thing I can’t forget

It’s the little house out back

I seem to see it yet.

Out there beyond the lilac bush

It stood so drab and bare.

We never called it a bathroom

For no baths were taken there.

In summer there were hornets

In winter it was cold

But it served a useful purpose

For the ones who had to go.

Though many years have come and gone

I gladly would go back

And enjoy once more the comfort

Of the little house out back.

~ Anonymous

I was 10 years old when we finally got indoor plumbing. No, I wasn’t a child of the Depression, a Baby Boomer or Amish, for that matter. But our country had already turned 200 years old before we finally got flush toilets in 1978.

We weren’t dirt poor – just regular poor – though we did qualify for free lunches. We had always had running water, electricity and a big black-and-white television in a mammoth console that ate up half our living room space. I loved that TV. At the time of the "inside potty" appearance, I remember my heart was torn that year between Ponch and the Fonz, and sometimes Pa Ingalls. I could sure relate to those Ingalls girls and their lack of porcelain facilities.

But all that took second billing to the big arrival.

When we did finally add onto our house with its “full bath” on the main level and stand-alone pot in the basement, my mother hung up that poem on the wall of the bathroom as if to say, “Let’s not forget those wonderful, cozy memories of the outhouse.”

Looking at the poem still hanging there, I can’t help but conjure up nasty and painful memories of that stinkin’ place.

Oh, Momma. Did you think we could just flush away the past? Did you forget or did you just not care? Why is that damn poem still here and you’re not?

I miss you, Momma.

Shit.

 CHAPTER 1

The first time I got stuck in the outhouse was the day I came face to face with the devil.

I had just finished my duty in record time, which one tends to do when surrounded by stench and buzzing flies. When I opened the door to leave, I stared straight into the eyes of a red-haired monster. Just one glimpse of those fangs and I slammed the door in his evil face.

Great. Now what?

So... that's it so far! Thoughts?

Jump for Joy

I had occasion to do a happy dance today.

Last Tuesday – yes, a full week ago – my computer at work got inadvertently fried. When you rely on a computer for your job, the timing is never good. I worked on my home computer one day and had a "temporary" computer by Thursday. Meanwhile, my computer was sent to our home office in Cincinnati for an I.T. guy there to take apart, attempt to extract my hard drive and all my data (aka files).

It wasn't until this afternoon that a flash drive showed up with everything they could extract. I wasn't getting my OLD computer back but they did manage to retrieve all my files. Wow! Jump for joy. That was unexpected. I mean I hoped for it, but it rarely happens they can save what was on the "desktop". Very nice, I.T. Gods!

Now, all I have to do is get my fonts in order and, of course, redo all my Internet bookmarks and attempt to remember all my login user names and passwords. Already hit one snag there today and I sure hope the answer comes to me in a dream because it is not written down anywhere. Grrr. Sucks to get old.

On a positive note, I survived another day of cardio kickboxing despite the fact my hips and glutes were hurting. Too many squats yesterday.

Good thing a little jumping for joy loosens that right up. Everything is good as new again.

Knock on wood.

'80s Live On

You can run from the '80s, but you can't hide them!

I don't know if I should be offended or honored that the teenager next door thought of ME when she needed some '80s clothes for a school project.

Pretty sure she just knows a fashion icon when she sees one!

Since it was a last-minute request (as all teenagers with homework tend to do), I could only gather two neon graffiti shirts and spandex shorts, a rare GUESS sweatshirt, a Luck Cardinals painter cap (those rocked), my coveted sunglasses collection (which seems to be in style now), and the little Lynn Dickey and Tommy Kramer jersey shirts my twin sister I wore, respectively. Oh, and a t-shirt from the '84 Olympics when my sister lived in L.A.

In case you're wondering, there is probably more where all that came from. Probably best I didn't have more time.

I had to race into school for a senior class registration meeting. At the end of this year, Carter will actually have enough credits to graduate. Crazy. But he's not sloughing off his senior year. He'll have fun stuff like physics, calculus and stats. Yikes.

We also learned about next steps for college prep – from ACT testing to campus visits and admissions applications. Gonna be a busy 2015. But while there seems to be more to do than back in "my day," there are more helpful resources, too.

If I flounder, I'll just ask other parents who have experienced this recently. Or, if I see a spot of neon or some totally tubular outfit, I'll ask that parent. They obviously know everything that matters.

Like, totally.

Cruisin' into Spring

I don't know why we listen to a furry rodent for the seasonal weather forecast. It's pathetic really.

I can't recall a time Punxsutawney Phil didn't see his shadow and predict 6 more weeks of winter.  So his prognostication is not new. But boy,  the timing is awful. It just happens that Feb. 2 is frigid and windy and the last thing we want to hear is more of the same.

For too long.

I am so grateful my mom got to spend a month down at my sister's in southern Texas. She'll be come home this Saturday but had had a very nice time. I talked to her tonight and got to hear about her first - and quite enjoyable - cruise!

How nice! They sure looked relaxed. I'll have to take a cue and find a way to cruise into Spring myself. I guess the heat from my electric mattress pad is a start.

Now who's pathetic? 

Just Desserts, er Deserts

 
There's nothing that illustrates gluttony like a Super Bowl party.

Seriously, the annual party we attend has now expanded its food table to a table and a half and added another two card tables for just desserts!

Hungry anyone?

I was full before game time. Then later, naturally had to sample the "new" selections from the late comers.

Uff da. Somewhere in there I watched the game a bit, commercials when I could hear them above our crowd, and crossed my fingers that some numbers on any of my boards would match up.

I was thiiiiiiiiissssssss close.

But in the last half minute... Simultaneously the Seahawks are denied a ring and I am denied $50 final score win. Stupid play call!!

Have to admit that even though I didn't care who won, I was glad the desert provided a close game. Much more interesting to watch – and more chances the numbers will change and possibly go your way.

While I didn't come home with any cash, thanks to such a large spread of food, I did return with plenty of leftover peanut butter cookies.

Winner, winner.