This is the time of year to reflect on the blessings you have been bestowed. For me in particular, I have really been spoiled. This year, I married my best friend. We had a gorgeous (not at all bias) wedding, surrounded by family and friends – many of whom traveled to help celebrate our love. Thank you.
I’m thankful that I married a man who doesn’t think twice when I ask him questions such as “Do butterflies have lungs?”
I’m thankful that The Husband and I were blessed with not one, but two vacations this year – a gorgeous, exciting honeymoon, care of my in-laws and our Arubatrip, care of Lady Luck.
I’m thankful that my sister moved fifteen minutes away from our house.
I’m thankful that I live in a (wasteful) country that allows me the opportunity to sample several different flavors of coffee every day. (Holla, Keurig!)
I’m thankful that my best friend and her husband made it through a very stressful pregnancy and had a beautiful baby girl. The frosting on the cake was when they made me a pseudo-aunt. (Mmm. Cake.)
I’m thankful for pineapples. (“Heather, what does that mean? Are you just really into exotic fruits this year?” No, Reader. That was a special little shout out to The Husband. Who claims to read this thing.)
I’m thankful that A Very Brady Christmas will be on tv TWICE this year.
I’m thankful that we were able to rescue little (huge) Bumble and that we had the opportunity to teach him that not all humans are bad.
I’m also thankful that our 15 year old Sadie pup made it through another cancer scare and another surgery.
I’m thankful for Frito’s jalapeno cheddar dip.
I’m thankful for the East Greenbush Library.
I’m thankful that General Hospital, my guiltiest of guilty pleasures, did not meet the same demise as the other ABC soaps.
I’m thankful that you have taken the time to read this list. I’m thankful that you have spent the year growing with me and encouraging me.
“Breathe (2 AM)” – Sara Bareilles
“I feel like I’m naked in front of a crowd ‘cause these words are my diary screaming out loud and I know that you’ll use them however you want to.”
Growing up, The Wizard of Oz was a favorite in our family. My sister and I would watch it every day. Every. Day. We’d act. We’d sing. We were Donny and Marie, but without all the weird, incestual tension. Eventually, I had to give up my daily performance of Dorothy, as the law said it was necessary for me to begin my academic career. However, my sister was a great understudy, and quickly made the role her own. She took her performance of Ms. Gale to a new level – braiding her hair every day, costume changes and the purchase of a Toto-esque stuffed dog, whom she carried around in a basket.
So, you can understand how, whenever Oz is on tv, Sara and I must watch.
It was on last night and, I have to say, it didn’t stir those familiar pangs of nostalgia. Instead, it created several questions, most of which neither Sara or I had an answer for.
First of all – the miserable Miss Gulch (Aunt Em may be too much of a Christian woman to say it, but I’m not. Homegirl is a bitch! I don’t know how she can even ride her bike, with that stick so far up her butt!) takes Toto. Toto returns. Then, 16 year old Dorothy’s natural reaction is to runaway from home? Runaway where, Dorothy?! You live on a damn farm in Kansas. Where are you going? And what did you put in that briefcase that you’re pawning off as a suitcase? You only have one good dress, and you’re wearing it. You didn’t even pack Toto any food.
Then, you come across what is essentially a large van, owned by someone who calls himself Professor Marvel. You then. Enter. The. Van. Again, I know that you live in a small town. But what about this appears safe to you? Obviously, Aunt Em is spending too much time writing about Elmira Gulch in her diary and NOT enough time teaching you about stranger danger.
Dorothy spins around in that house for who knows how long, and she’s not even a LITTLE dizzy when she stands? Toto is fine, too?
Glinda is a selfish bitch. She uses Dorothy to do her bidding. She knows all along how to get the poor girl home. Don’t even play, Glinda.
The people of Oz are sure quick to celebrate a murder. And, Mr. Coroner, can you please tell me how you thoroughly examined a body that is squished under a house? The Husband said that he watches CSI and sometimes they use ultrasounds, but I am skeptical that is what happened in Munchkin Land.
The Scarecrow doesn’t have a brain. Yet, not only is he NOT comatose, but he’s able to sing and dance amuck? “I’ll show you how to get some apples,” he whispers to Dorothy as he provokes and teases the trees until they throw apples at the duo. As The Husband said – “Damn. For someone who doesn’t have a brain, that’s some deductive reasoning skills he has.”
I still like the part during Tin Man’s song where the girl’s voice says “Where for art thou, Romeo?” He hears a beat. How sweet.
Text from Sara last night when we first meet Tin Man: “Everyone knows Tin Man is the sexiest. I’d oil HIS joints aaalll day loooong. Wink face.”
Why does nobody pay attention to where Toto is? When the trio hits the forest, Tinman nonchalantly mentions all the veracious animals lurking in the shadows. First of all, Scarecrow, why are you scared of lions, tigers or bears? He didn’t say “horses”. Pretty sure you’re safe. Secondly, Dorothy – don’t you think you should gather up, oh, I don’t know, your tiny, delicious-to-carnivorous-animals dog? Where is Toto, Dorothy? YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW! He’s sitting down in the middle of the damn yellow brick road, while you’re hiding behind a tree (awesome hiding spot, b.t.dub. NOBODY could find you there!)
They (the establishment. The man.) want you to think Dorothy is this innocent farm girl, but the second she gets a taste of the good life (at the beauty shop) she asks “Can you even dye my eyes to match my gown?!” Wow, Dorothy. Did your deep conditioning treatment wash away all of your morals and self-esteem, too? Who are you trying to impress? Hot damn!
Also, let’s take a moment to contemplate a day in the life of the people of Oz, which is described to us in the lyrics they sing. “Get up at 12 and start to work at 1. Take an hour for lunch, and then at 2 we’re done. Jolly good fun!” Heck yeah, that’s fun. I want to work there. Just laughing the day away in the merry, old land of Oz. All of the ladies at the Wash & Brush-Up Co are very pretty and well dressed, so they’re getting paid somehow. (Which may give an alternate meaning to what they sing to the fellas – “A pat, pat here and a pat, pat there … a rub, rub here and a rub, rub there…”)
Why don’t you just surrender Dorothy? She’s nothing to you. Why risk upsetting your lavish lifestyle by inflicting the wrath of The Wicked Witch?
I like how Scarecrow earns an honorary degree, just like celebrities who did nothing to work for it. And anyone who’s anyone knows (from watching tv shows on Wizard of Oz trivia. Not from schooling.) that you did NOT recite the Pythagorean Theorem correctly. (“Um, I know Mel Gibson accurately, and he didn’t say that. That Polonius guy did.” Sorry. Wrong movie.)
How come when Dorothy arrives in Oz, it is obvious that she notices all the color, but when she wakes up in Kansas, she happily accepts her life of sepia?
Dorothy would love Instagram.
It’s been two months since my last post, and that is because I’m a selfish jerk. And I’m sure you’re saying, “But Heather. Nobody cares if you write in this or not, so if you choose not to, it’s not really hurting anyone but yourself.” First of all – how dare you?! Secondly – you’re so off base. I have tens of readers who look at this thing and to them, I apologize.
So, since last writing, I made the four hour trek across New York State to Rochester, to meet my precious, little Lemon and, let me tell ya, it was worth the eight hours in the car. She is so precious. Allee and Ryan selflessly let me snuggle her the whole time I was there (With the exception of one time when she started fussing. I handed her off to her Daddy and, within minutes, poop exploded out of her diaper. So, at least I know they’re teaching her manners over there, because she didn’t want to defecate on her guest.) I have taken to showing her off as if she is my own. Whenever Allee posts or sends a pic, I demand that everyone around me ooo and aahh over it. We plan on going back out in a couple of weeks, to help Caroline celebrate her first Christmas. I’m counting down the days.
In October, Jason and I also took a very low-key trip to this little place you may have heard of – Aruba. “But Heather, you guys just went on your honeymoon! Did you suddenly turn into rich jet-setters?” you ask. Rich – no. But jet-setters? Apparently. We were lucky enough to receive an all-expenses paid trip to the Riu Palace all-inclusive resort in Aruba. If we DID have to pay, it would have been worth every penny. Any place that gives me a rum punch cocktail minutes after I walk in the door can have all my moneys.
I know you must be thinking (Do you like how I’m doing your commentary? ‘Cause I do.) “Wow, Aruba, huh? It must have been gorgeous there. I bet you woke up, ate a delicious breakfast buffet, went to the beach where you started drinking frozen margaritas at 10:00, stayed there until 1ish, when you moved to the pool which is closer to a bar. Then, I bet you grabbed something else to eat, went inside to get out of the gorgeous sun for a bit, then came back out a couple hours later and did it all over again. I bet you saw amazing, romantic sunsets – both on the beach and from your room balcony. And, I bet when you were watching the World Series in the resort’s Sports Bar, you drank rum punch and helped yourself at the make-your-own-nachos bar. And, I bet you did that every day, for five days.” Wow. You are spot on. One thing you left out, though, was the horrible, worst-I-ever-had case of food poisoning I came down with the night before/day we left.
I’m hoping I never again have the privilege of spending an hour in customs and flying on an international flight while throwing up approximately every thirty minutes. If I ever DO have to do that again, I hope that we don’t land in Philly in the middle of a hurricane, and watch as our flight goes from On-Time to Cancelled.
But that’s a blog for a different day.