Antique Allure

I’m not really big on collectibles or knickknacks, I’m not really into fancy or dolls, but this Christmas a forgotten childhood wish was fulfilled, I got a Lawton Doll.  Mom handed me my present with the words, “this is a frivolous gift, and it’s something you've always wanted.” I’m always skeptical when I hear those words, never quite trusting them. In this case the history was there to prove her right.

I grew up going to church with the designer/owner of Lawton Dolls, in fact Wendy was my high school Sunday School teacher and her daughters my friends. Every summer, my cousins, brother(s) and I attended an event called Fun in the Son. Fun in the Son (or FITS as it became) was a church day camp where you got to select, crafts, activities or field trips you wanted to participate in. Well, by select I mean raise your hand and hope you got picked for your top choices. But there were two things that became tradition, you had to do them; 1) tour the pizza parlor, 2) tour the Lawton Doll Company.

At the end of both tours you got something, at the pizza parlor you got to “make” a pizza to eat, and at the Doll Company, you got postcards with pictures of the dolls on them. In my family those postcards became collectibles; not quite as precious to baseball or football cards, but not all that different in some ways. (Although I will say I ended up with my brothers’ postcards and I have yet to receive his baseball/football collection). Some postcards were more valuable than others, and you always hoped for ones you didn't have yet.

Postcard storage: Nicole's Lawton Doll Collection.
Please don't touch, thank you!

When I turned 9 years old, my parents did get me a porcelain doll, (which I have since given to my sister to play with), but not a Lawton Doll. I remember feeling confused by the gift, I mean I was nine years old and a tomboy, but also oddly proud of it. In other words, I was my normal, confused self. According to family lore, I shared this news with Wendy one Sunday in church, telling her about my present stating my parents, "got me a doll I could play with, not one that had to sit on a shelf.”  I believe Mom was slightly mortified, yet has always secretly found my childish interpretation humorous.

The childhood importance and awe of touring the factory will always remain embedded in my memory, although, I cannot, for my life, tell you how it started. Over time it has faded, to become a pleasant nostalgic memory. However, my Mother never forgot, and when she stumbled upon a bargain she scooped the dolls up gifting me, my three sisters and herself. (Imagine my confusion when there was a gift to her from us girls I had no knowledge of).

The best part is how appropriate the dolls she randomly ended up with, the characters from Louisa May Alcott’s novel Little Women. 

I got Jo, (of course), Suzi got Meg, Mary got Beth, (we gave her a hard time about being the one whom dies), Heidi got Amy, and Mom of course gifted herself Marmee. Not only that, she picked up a copy of Little Women to read to my sisters who have not read it. I can’t say they were thrilled, I don’t blame them, for once I was glad I wasn’t going to be around to be read to. But then we discovered it was only the first half, and at least for me, the sun shone once again. The reason I can’t stand Little Women is because the second half of that book is just flat out depressing.  According to my memory, (it’s been awhile since I’ve read it) is the first half is brilliant and fun, but the second half, is dreary.

This Christmas I got a Lawton Doll, the childhood spell recast and I think strengthened over my sisters, who never got to tour or collect cards during the company’s hay day. So here’s to bonding over a tomboy’s desire of a porcelain doll, and the quirky adventures and antics of the March sisters.  

It's Official, We Have A Mascot

Aunt Judy is planning on getting dog food, so, until something happens to make it otherwise, the Home Ranch officially has a dog. (She's been sporadically feeding it cat food to this point).

For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, my previous blog post might be helpful  http://timbuktuconstantinople.blogspot.com/2013/12/soapbox-and-dust-mop.html.

For all those on this page, I have been informed Dust Mop is to unwieldy of a name, plus the dog doesn't know it, so we need to rename our little nuisance. Which brings us to our question, does anyone have any ideas? So far the most consistent one I've heard is Benji, which seems a bit lacking in the imagination or originality to me. It may be what sticks, I don't know, but both Aunt Judy and I thought we would consult you first, to see if you had any ideas. (Just so you know, Road Kill will not be in the final running brilliant though it may be).

What name would you give our "new dog?" Seriously, please someone suggest something, otherwise it'll remain Benji same as a million other look alike's.

Soapbox and Dust Mop

I have found my muse, at least for today, its name is Dust Mop; but first, a soapbox moment.

People have this bad habit of thinking it is ok to drop their unwanted pets off in the country. I’m not sure if it’s the idea that they won’t bother anyone or they can fend for themselves and have a chance to live or if it’s just that they’re cheap, whatever the reasoning it’s not ok.

Growing up we went through a lot of dogs and only one was a drop off we kept. The rest made their way to the pound. Thankfully the recent strays around the Home Ranch have been little dogs that you know a good kick to the ribs will deter.

To all the people out there who have, or are considering abandoning their mutts no matter how “friendly” and “loveable”:

1) I don’t want your dog, if I wanted a dog, I’d get a dog and it probably wouldn’t be your dog.

2) I don’t know your dog; to me it is a strange, potentially rabid beast.

3) I certainly do NOT appreciate being growled or barked out in my OWN YARD! Especially at night when I can’t see the size of the mysterious growling.

Dog's "bowl" and "cushion". Thanks cuz.

Which brings us back to Dust Mop; Dust Mop randomly showed up one night, and proceeded to announce its presence by barking and growling at me as I got out of my car, in my garage and went into my house. At first I ignored it thinking it was The Stud.

Studdly was a punting sized dog that showed up months ago with Drowned Rat dog. The Stud had the walk of a jock and the arrogance of a self inflated ego that was grating. Drowned Rat wasn’t so bad, hating Drowned Rat would have been like tripping a blind toddler and taking their toy away, it was so ugly it was pathetic.

As I said, The Stud was a different manner, it was self proclaimed “tough guy” and decided its job was to claim the yard for its own, especially from that threatening, afternoon book reader, on the lawn. So it would charge barking as fast as its little legs could carry it until I’d look up. Then it would stop and run back a few paces, until my back was turned or I went back to your book, then it had to prove its kingship once again. To make matters worse it would decide our lawn needed redecorating compliments of the trash bin, and would try to steal food from the co-op.

It was the Co-op looting that caught Drowned Rat, but Studdly, wilier, remained. On the brighter side, without having to constantly prove itself it became less aggressive and started to roam further, translation, I have to see it less often.  

Don't let the picture fool you.

So two nights ago, when I heard the barking and growling I assumed it was The Stud. But about half way to the house I realized the sound was wrong. (Yes that is how often the obnoxious pest has harassed me; I know its stupid little bark).  It wasn’t until the next morning I saw our new ragamuffin, Dust Mop. Like The Stud before it, Dust Mop has decided to claim the yard for its own.  And it’s gets worse, thanks to my cousins husband who brought dog food for it, it now thinks my parking space is it’s permanent home and resents the inconvenience of having to move when I return to the Home Ranch.

Aunt Judy claims she got to "pet" Dust Mop Sunday morning on her way out, but when she returned that afternoon it was back to barking and growling. I can’t say the same thing, the closest I’ve come to “friendly dog” was this morning when I went to get a picture. It got within 5 feet without barking or growling. I was stunned.

I know Dust Mop is someone’s pet. It has a decent collar. If you are missing your pet, or know whose pet this might be, please come get it. My Dad’s guys have a soft spot for dogs like this and it will be feed tidbits which means it will never leave. And I’m really tired of coming home at night, unloading my car, to be barked and growled at by an ungrateful mutt that’s confused enough to think I’m the intruder!

Sigh, one of these days a dog’s gonna be called Kicked in the Ribs. A name that sums up the story so eloquently.

As to what will happen if Studdly returns, I really have no idea. Only one can be King of the Ranch, of course that’s assuming Studdly returns while Dust Mop is still here. But this is the country, and if you learn one thing young, it's that an outside pet’s life is never guaranteed. 

Museless

It's amazing how the everyday mundane events can be a muse inspiring creative ideas that you'd just love to get to. However when you have extra time to actually get to those creative insights, the thoughts suddenly dry up and you're left bereft.

Giving voice to the multitudes frustration; lots of free time, with nothing to anchor your thoughts and give them substance, flat out stinks! Ah, thank you, I feel better now. Conclusion, I need a proper muse. Now there's something worth ruminating...

Anyone volunteering for position of muse is invited to post their resume below. The author of this blog is not responsible for any posted information remaining private, nor are they responsible for crushed dreams and/or broken hearts. This blog is not an equal opportunity employer and retains the right to be as bias as they please in the selection of muse.

If my childhood (life) were put into song...

.

.....this would probably be it.

My Aunt Susan Wilson sang Land of My Father at the fun-er-al. I have always loved and dreaded this song. Even as a kid it would choke me up because as Domi said when he requested an MP3, "Way too relevant; it's almost like she's singing about our childhood."

I will apologize for the quality, I was at a funeral so discreet was the watch word of the day. All things considered its not so bad.

So,  for all the Californians, especially those near Monterrey or in the Central Valley, here's Land of My Father. (It's not really a video, just audio).

One Killer Obit

It was a group effort;  a comportment of aunts, uncles, cousins and my parents; the result, a grand slam of an obituary.  Now, if I can not screw up the format...

OBITUARY FOR “SWEET POTATO JOE”

JOE F. ALVERNAZ

With a strong peace of mind and joy in his heart, knowing that he would be joining his beloved Florence again, Joe slipped away quietly at Grace Nursing Home, at the age of 93, following a visit with family members.

Known as “Sweet Potato Joe” far and wide, he filled his life with love of family, had the greatest sense of community service and unselfishly helped anyone in need.

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor in 1941, Joe felt a desire to serve his country and enlisted in the United States Marine Corps.  His nickname of “Sweet Potato Joe” was given to him by his fellow Marine, close friend, and actor Brian Keith.  Joe was the first farmer Brian ever met and Brian was the first actor Joe ever knew.  While in boot camp, he married the former Florence Cardoza of Merced in 1942.

After the war, and during his life as a sweet potato farmer, he served as President of the California Sweet Potato Council, and US Sweet Potato Council, where he was a Director for over twenty years.  He was the first California farmer to attend the National Sweet Potato Convention, among other industry firsts.  Joe served as President of the Merced County Farm Bureau, and was on the Board of Directors of the Nisei Farmers League.  He formed the California Sweet Potato Growers Co-op in Livingston, along with several other local growers, which is celebrating its 50th anniversary this year.

His interests and community involvement were very diverse - from serving as a founding member of the Livingston Medical Group, to past-President of Livingston Rotary, to being known as the “Voice of Livingston.” From 1946 to 1996, he announced all the Livingston High School football games, lending his strong voice to the community by also announcing everything in Livingston from parades to radio programs. He served on the Livingston Elementary School Board and the Merced County Recreation Commission for many years. Joe’s acting skills even benefited the Livingston Little Theater Group, where he starred in several productions, most notably as Elwood P. Dowd in “Harvey”.

His love of baseball began at an early age and became a life-long interest that manifested itself into a devotion to the sport for over eighty years.  He organized the first kid’s hardball team in Merced County in the early 50’s.  He was particularly fond of American Legion Baseball, serving as a coach, sponsor, announcer and booster for over fifty years. This led to his being appointed the third Area Commissioner of Baseball.  All of these years of being involved in baseball in Livingston culminated in the community baseball field being renamed the “Joe F. Alvernaz Baseball Field,” something he was so proud of.

Joe was predeceased by his parents, Joe and Mabel Alvernaz, brothers, Arthur and John Alvernaz, and sister, Mary Geyer.  He was also predeceased by his oldest son, Joey Alvernaz, in 1980 and by his wife of 64 years, Florence, in 2007.

He is survived by five children, Judy Blevins, James (Colette) Alvernaz, and Benjamin (Debbie) Alvernaz of Livingston; Cecelia (James) Simon of San Diego, and Susan (Randall) Wilson of Mariposa, a sister, Cecelia Luker of Atwater, 17 grandchildren and 13 great grandchildren.

His light on earth has dimmed, but heaven is brighter as he has joined Florence, the true love of his life.

So long to our Dad, coach, neighbor and everyone’s friend.  He will be deeply and painfully missed, yet celebrated, honored and never forgotten.

Visitation will be at Wilson Funeral Home in Atwater, California on Sunday, November 10 from 4:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. Services are scheduled for Monday, November 11 at 10:00 a.m. at St. Anthony’s Catholic Church in Atwater with internment following at Winton District Cemetery. A reception will be held afterward at St. Jude Thaddeus Church Hall in Livingston.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations may be made to Grace Nursing Home in Livingston or to the Joe F. Alvernaz Memorial Fund to benefit youth baseball in Livingston.

Prayer of Fortitude

"'If I must die, let me not be afraid of death, but let there be a meaning, O God, in my dying.'" - a prayer of Gladys Aylward taught to her by Mrs. Lawson.

Thoughts?

The quote is found on page 170 in the biography Gladys Aylward: The Adventure of a Lifetime by Janet and Geoff Benge

I Can't Resist....

....although you probably wish I had.

Apparently our federal government decided it needs a break. Sitting on the tractor yesterday and realized how ridiculous the whole thing is. Everyone agrees a budget needs to be made, the problem is people can’t agree what to include and what to cut.

 It’s like when we were kids and Mom told us we could watch a movie. Do you know how hard it is to get five or six kids to agree on what movie to watch? We’d end up with factions and alliances, trying to sway the others over to your side. It could take an hour to chose a movie and sometimes we took so long Mom would nix the whole thing. (There were other ways of ensuring something you didn’t like didn’t get watched too. One sibling disliked My Fair Lady, so they would intentionally swear in front of Mom and then blame the movie. It was very clever, but really annoying).

As adults we still don’t always agree, but the days of storming out of the room and getting really mad have faded as we’ve become adults. Which brings us full circle back to today.

Truthfully, this strike doesn’t really bother me. It’s still harvest time and the crop still needs to be gathered. My family and friends are still around and the grocery store is still open so I can get food. The thing that does bug are the poor average blokes getting “time off” because their employers are acting like squabbling kids.

I could end there, but I have two more thoughts, and the second one will probably get me in trouble. I apologize in advance for any frustration my observations may cause you.

First off; Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the idea of budgeting to a) insure you don’t go into debt; or b) that you get out of it in a timely manner? So why does our government budget always have a growing debt attached to it? I mean, am I missing something here? I’m pretty sure business don’t like the debt category and usually try to avoid it, or if it’s necessary hope the rewards out way the risks.

I have seen friends live frugally on small amounts of money to keep themselves out of debt or to pay off debts in a timely manner. It’s not impossible to do. (Although we are talking about government and traditionally they have been rather lavish with expenditures and often in debt).

Secondly, I think the government should stop trying to play god. It’s not the government’s job to take care of people;  that is the churches job. I believe that’s anyone who calls themselves a Christian/identifies with Christ or is generally religious; I believe it’s their responsibility.

I’ll admit it, I agree with the idea, you don't work, you don't eat. (Shocker to those who know me, Nicole work?!?) I may not like it, but I am physically fit, of mostly sound mind, and there is no reason why I cannot provide for my own basic needs. I realize there are some people who truly cannot do this.

For example, my youngest sister is physically and mentally handicapped; if she learns to walk or talk it’ll be a big deal. She will always need someone to take care of her, and is fortunate to have my parents. I get the idea that some people cannot fully support themselves and that responsibility falls on those of us who can work. (My sister can help put her blocks away.  Sometimes…)

 I also understand there are times when people are down on their luck. (Believe me I get that). And we should help people get back on their feet. But there comes a point in time where we have to grow up, and take responsibility. On the record, working a minimum wage job with a college degree is disillusioning and sometimes stinks. But it puts food on the table and allows me to pay my bills.

I am not an expert in world religions, but from the little bit I do know I’ve noticed something interesting; gods tend to demand some kind of sacrifice for their protection and favor. Government, I applaud your continual desire to recreate Eden. But maybe, just maybe, part of the solution would be giving us back responsibility, and letting us man up. At least that’s a sacrifice I understand. I can’t help but wonder what the cost of all this will be.

Awww, who am I kidding. Governments don’t relinquish power, and who wants to pay for what we can get for free anyway… Here’s to hoping they pick a movie soon. Although I’d hold off on the popcorn. It’s not so good stale.  

Nicole's Knife Rules

A month ago I gave a friend a pocket knife for their birthday. Since I trust this friend with sharp objects less than I trust my sisters at age 12, I wrote out some knife rules. Sadly, my friend seems to have misplaced this list, so I thought I’d put it in a place it could always be found.

I can’t say these are all, original to me, and I’ve added a few to the original list. Please note, these rules are meant in fun, so there will be some tongue in cheek.  If joking about such things bothers you, I would advise skipping this post.

1) A knife is a tool, not a weapon. A pencil can do just as much damage.

2) Never cut toward yourself. Always away from you.

3) Always carry a knife. (Unless it becomes your identity, or you work at a school, or are going on an airplane).

4) Never carry a knife to a gun fight.

5) Always maintain a sharp edge, a dull knife hurts a LOT!

6) Never take a large pocket knife to the Vatican. It’s considered military grade and will be confiscated as an illegal weapon.

7) Never run with an open blade.

8) Keep your knife blade clean.

9) IMPORTANT: NEVER threaten anyone with a knife unless you can pull off a menacing demeanor. If you can’t, spare everyone unnecessary pain.

The following passage from Tad Williams Shadowplay has always stuck in my head as a warning to being stupid with sharp pointy objects.

"They worked for another hour at least as the sun slid down behind the walls and courtyard filled with soothing shadows. Briony, who had thought she could not lift her arm one more time, instead found herself revived by the fascination of sparring with actual blades, of the weight and balance of them, the new shapes they made in her hand. She was delighted she could block Shaso’s own blade with the cross haft of her larger knife and then disarm him with no more than a flick of the wrist. When she managed the trick a few times, he showed her how to move in below that sudden flick with the small knife, stabbing underneath her opponent’s arm. It was strangely intimate, and as the point of the leather-clad blade bounced against his rib she pulled back, suddenly queasy. For the first time she truly felt what she was doing, learning how to stab someone to death, to cut skin and pierce eyes, to let out a man’s guts while she stared him in the face.

The old man looked at her for a long moment. “'Yes, you must get close to kill with a knife-close enough to kiss, almost. Umeyana, the blood-kiss we call it.'”

If you remember nothing else, remember rules 1 and 9.

I'm curious, what rules would you add?

Cutting Vines, Grace Portrayed

Cutting Vines

A week ago Dad asked me if I’d be willing to cut vines for harvest; I was surprised and a little ecstatic. To be invited to drive tractor, that’s the real deal. It’s not that he hasn’t had any of us drive tractor before, but he generally just has himself, his guys or someone needing a job, other than his children, do it. Being the cool person that I am, I calmly told him, “Sure, I’ll give it a go. Uh, you’ll show me first though, right?” To which he answered, “of course” which I think is similar to my cousin telling me “no duh Sherlock.

Field with cut vines.

My tutorial showing me how to do it lasted about 30 min to an hour, and resulted in a before bed list of 20 things to keep in mind. After showing me Dad asked me what I thought. I said it seemed simple enough…  My Father keeping things in perspective said, “It’s not too complicated; Kary (brother) did it last year.”  No pressure.

I am now into my 5^th day of cutting vines. Yesterday was not good. Actually the first several days didn’t go so well.

Day 1: It was ok, but the vines were slipping out a lot and brilliant me figured that was somewhat normal? WRONG!

Day 2: Better on the vines, (I think) but Dad had to come show me how to turn the tractor for the staggered rows without landing it in the canal. Praise the Lord that didn’t happen, I’d never live it down. Thankfully after he showed me I was mostly fine, although I may almost have gotten the tractor stuck once. But it didn’t so, since there are no pics, it didn’t happen.

Sweet potatoes pulled up, NOT GOOD!

Day 3: NOT GOOD. Let’s put it this way, I ended up missing beginner’s night volleyball and hanging out with friends to fix what I’d screwed up and finish that half of the field. Thankfully it went better at the end and by that time I was so exhausted, I didn’t care.

Day 4 – YESTERDAY: I cracked. I went out there on the note of things were going better when I left last night. Unfortunately that note did not carry over to the field or machinery. Row one went well, and then it started acting up. The right side kept getting jammed and I kept having to back over to cut the vines, and potatoes were coming up, because the stupid thing was pulling the entire plant instead of cutting them and……..after 2 hours of trying to make it work, I stopped the tractor, climbed off and sat in the shade. I didn’t want to call Dad out again, he’d had to help me the last three days, I was ready to throw in the towel, but couldn’t quite pull the trigger.

Then I saw I had a missed call from Mom. Turns out, she'd called me with a question about butter the night before, by the end of the conversation I’d told her me cutting vines wasn’t working and they should see if Kary could do it again. In grief I drove the tractor back to the shed, parked it and went home. I was too ashamed to call my Father and tell him myself, I left that to Mom.

I went to my room devastated by yet another failure. The only thing I could think of was to get away. There are some things that are impossible to live down. I was a failed farmer’s daughter. I couldn’t even do a simple job, it was humiliating. Eventually I got up and started looking at hotels, far away from home. A drive sounded like a good idea. I even contacted Domi (another brother) to see if he could take the girls to Youth Group.

Dad putting on the new blades. "They're like shark teeth."

It was while I was curled up again, taking a break from trip planning, that Dad called me. He said it wasn’t me, it was the vine cutter acting up, I’d done nothing wrong. He asked if I was going to leave him hanging. With that statement alone he won me back. He asked me if I enjoyed it and I said “yeah, when it’s working.” He told me it was too soon to call it quits and that my problem was shaken confidence and asked me to meet him in the field in an hour.

Beautiful

How could I say no? I didn’t want to quit, I just didn’t want to ruin harvest or be useless. I felt bad for always needing his help, but I’ve realized, he doesn’t mind sharing his knowledge! In fact, he often goes into extra detail.

He met me in the field and first explained what he’d fixed. Next he drove two rows showing me it was working and explaining things as he went. Then he showed me a wonder that is up there with cut grass.  We went to another field where the sand is heavier and the vines are thicker, and when the vine cutter came through the vines fell away and laid out like a dream. It was truly beautiful. After a couple of passes he gave me the wheel and how well everything ran. It was like Christmas.

I wish I could say my confidence has been fully restored, but it hasn’t. It’s better; I can face my family and go out in public. I wish I could say it ended on that high note, but it didn’t. I went back to the field of difficulty that had me frustrated and cursing. But as Dad told me last week this job is “learn by yelling”. How well my father knows me.  

 I’m nowhere near my Da’s ability to cut vines. I can’t shift while sitting sideways, I can’t turn as tightly and I still mess up with the pole, but that’s ok, ‘cause I’ll learn. From the beginning Dad told me he wasn’t underestimating my ability to mess up, but here’s the kicker, he still chose me and gave me a chance. And instead of letting me fail and quit in shame, he’s working with me to help me get better.

Yesterday my FATHER'S grace was portrayed through a bearded man with rough work hands, and a red SPJ hat. Hopefully in the days and weeks to come, I’ll mess up less. And if a, heaven forbid, disaster happens (not that uncommon in the field); hopefully I’ll remember yesterday and take comfort from it.   

I have to say, today was a nice respite after the last couple of days. The vines cut like butter, and since I went out around the time the work day was ending it was so peaceful. As the sun started setting, making everything golden, life just sort of melted away. All the to do lists, failures, decisions, and plans didn’t matter as I sat on the tractor basking in the glow, cutting vines. 

Computers, Typewriters, and Hot Pink Elephants

Today’s Fun Fact: I learned how to type on a typewriter.

No joke. When I was in high school, Mom got a well known typing program for the computer. I HATED it. It made me want to chuck the computer out the window, or smash it with a baseball bat. (The theme of my adult life; in college, I had dreams of throwing my demon possessed laptop from my 3^rd story window and watching it smash into a million pieces. Someday…)

My Mother, the human recipient of my ire, decided a switch needed to be made. So she got out her old college typing book and the typewriter. I was much happier. I’d actually work on it and not just avoid/ignore it like math.

The interesting thing about typewriters is that your mistakes are harder to correct and much more noticeable. Even on the new ones that let you go back and white-out your mistake, there’s still an imprint of the letter. With a computer, you can erase mistakes like they never happened.

So much of our lives revolve around computers. Take me for instance, I’ve had extra time on my hands so what do I do, spend lots of time on Facebook, responding for once, and write multiple blog posts because it gives me something to do and lets me feel creative and connected.

But every word, even the tone can be edited and dictated. To be real, completely manipulating our image would be too much work for most of us. At least it would be for me, but we do it self consciously to a lesser extreme. We edit our lives, showing the fragments we want others to see; in both good and bad things.

If we decide a comment, status or photo was a mistake we delete it and hope not too many people saw it. Poof problem gone.

Sadly, life isn’t as convenient as a computer. People are more like typewriters. You have to adjust the tabs to match the form, and the mistakes never seem to fully go away. They may be covered and like a zit fade with time, but the evidence faintly remains.

My problem, I like being able to Photoshop my life, I’m afraid to be less than perfect. By perfect I mean, my life is together, I have a noble ambition and direction. I am confident in my ability to handle any situation that may come up in work or life. I have the answer you’re looking for, the solution. I’m the one you want on your team because I’m that dynamic individual who will get stuff done and always knows the right thing to say.

 But I’m not perfect. I might pretend to be, I might come across as sarcastically cocky or self-confident, ok, maybe I sometimes am, but I am also very aware of my faults. However dwelling on those in a job interview is not ok. The golden rule of interviewing, turn a negative into a positive. Let’s face it, who wants to hire someone with no self confidence, and is going to mess up all the time. That get’s you fired, not hired.

So we edit our resume, our Facebook, our interactions at work or church. Hide our doubts, fears and pain and turn that negative into a positive. Not that that’s a bad thing, trust me, staying cynical doesn’t help you move on. But the reality is my life looks more like a glue job by my 5-year-old self. The pictures are slanted and the paste is all over the page, and my mouth; (yes, I was the kid that ate paste), a page of crooked text, covered in mess ups, full of white-out.

The thing I can’t always wrap my head around is God is like a mega computer. He sees the mistakes, and doesn't mind. He doesn't expect us to be perfect, that's why Jesus died, to permanently erase the splotches. Instead of saying, "call me when your act's together" He proudly hangs my failed “art project” on the wall and says, “Now, draw me an elephant.”

I sit there wallowing, glaring at the garish eye sore I worked so hard on. “I can’t draw an elephant; I couldn’t even get the stick figure right.”

He grins, “But I can, I did invent them after all.”

“Even with your help, this is going to be a scribbled disaster.”

“Maybe, but I want you to learn to draw an elephant.”

“Why?”

“Character building.”

“Seriously?”

He simply smiles as I moodily eat the words I told my 10-year-old sister all summer in the field. “Fine, give me the crayon; I’ll try to draw a stupid elephant.”

He hands me hot pink. I shoot Him a glare that would have done my teenage self proud, “Pink, really? I hate pink.”

“This is the color I have chosen.”

“It’s a crummy color.”

“I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

Grumble, mumble, colorful metaphor or 6.

He ignores it and hands me a new sheet of paper. “Shall we begin?”

When Pictures Speak Wrong 1,000 Words

Several nights ago I was unfortunate enough to wake up around 4:30 am, moonlight shining brightly through the window by my bed. As my bleary eyes squinted at it I saw a jumble of what looked like 4  blurry, bright objects overlapping. Somehow, my sleep filled brain reached the conclusion that I needed to take a picture of this phenomenon because there must be some heavenly body shining near the moon, nearly as brightly, and how often to you see that!

So I rolled out of bed, grabbed my camera, and somehow managed to get several “clear shots”. For those who don’t wear glasses, this was no small feat, especially considering I was still half asleep.  Then I put the camera up, and went back to sleep, with pics to prove it happened….yeah.... Next day I was quite excited to tell my Dad and sister I had seen “two moons” in the wee morning hours. (Dad started humming Star Wars). However, I grew concerned when I realized I was the only one who had witnessed this. There were no pictures on the internet.

Confused and feeling like I dope, I was wise enough to quietly share this tale with the physics grad student (aka Leila) to see if she had an idea. Thankfully, after seeing my photos she was able to explain it was the reflection through the window, (something Joey basically said in 2 seconds said a day later when I showed him a picture) and admitted she’d been tripped up the first time she’d noticed something similar through a screen door.

Must admit, I felt kinda stupid, and rather disappointed, but I was glad to have discovered my mistake BEFORE I made myself into a complete idiot. 

Moral of the story, sleepiness, and blurry eyes can convince the brain of almost anything; even hours later when you’re more “awake” and “rational”.

On a different note, can I just say, every time I see how I reformatted this blog I get excited. Like a kid with a new toy, I can’t quite believe it’s mine.  Then again, as I can convince myself I’ve seen two “moons” I’m sure the disbelief will be short lived. 

Anyway, that's my story, and pathetic as it may be, I'm sticking to it. A picture does indeed speak a 1.000 words, however, in this case they were the wrong ones. I guess our eyes aren't infallible witnesses or the ultimate proof we tend to make them after all. 

Desolate?

Some days, the umbrella just hasn't quite gotten there yet. 

10 Years Back

In fine sister bonding, I dug out an early assignment to my English 1A class to show Suzi who's started her illustrious Merced College career this week. I'd run across the other day when weeding out old college papers and the post-it-note from the teacher caught my eye. It ran as follows:

8-21-03 (yes, I'm dating myself)

"Nicole,

Welcome to Merced College. You may need awhile to feel settled in as you make the transition from high school. Anyone who voluntarily reads Ivanhoe must really love to read!

Thanks for your comments."

(Suzi says Ivanhoe has to go in italics 'cause its the name of a book. Truthfully I forgot MLA format as soon as I possibly could. My poor English teacher would weep).

Naturally, this made me curious to what I actually wrote, and why in the world I mentioned Ivanhoe. I mean I like the book, but unless I had just been reading it, I have no idea why I would mention it. Sadly, I still have no idea because I don't have the answers to the actual survey, however assignment it was stuck to had some interesting, entertaining answers of it's own.

For those who didn't know me at that time, here is a glimpse of Nicole Alvernaz, barely 18, at the beginning of her college education, typed word for word. I even left the spelling the same.

6. Make a list of at least ten things that you are curious about:

I am curious of what my major is, how my grades will be in college, and will I attend a four year university.  If I do continue my education where will [I] continue it.

I am curious to know when I will finally get my licence. I wonder what color my parents are going to paint the knew car. 

I desire to know how car engines and other things work.

I am curious about what went on in my grandfathers life.

Sometimes I wonder what goes on in my baby sisters head. [That would have been Heidi].

Most of all I am curious to know what my next meal will be. 

It's nice to know, that no matter the passage of time, some things remain the same. I know the answer to some of these questions, others I may have given up on, like Heidi's head, but I still can't spell and I still wonder about food. 

Copy Cat

http://godlovesleila.blogspot.com/2013/08/life-stinks-by-nicole.html

Dang right I'm being a copy cat. Since I wrote it I can re-post it. But for those of you who already have seen this, which is most of you, an extra nugget.

A quote for digestion, told to Roy Hobbs in The Natural. “I believe we live two lives. The one we learn with and the one we live with after that.” 

My Blog is Making Me Face Palm

I hate to say this, and they will probably hate me if they ever find out, but some of my brethren are anime freaks. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Despite what some of them try to claim in ridiculous fashion that, “they’ve seen the least, and they don’t know what you’re talking about…”

The bug apparently bit in college, I’m not sure what started it, but it became very infections. When I found out I said “WHAT?!?” I’ve never desired to watch it; the drawings themselves made me dislike it and the few random episodes I watched with a friend I didn’t really appreciate. I mean it was ok, but not really my cup of tea.

But as time went my siblings started nagging me to watch it, I didn’t want to, but they were inviting me in so, in solidarity, decided to give it a try. I wouldn’t call myself a “fan”, (of course some may say I’m simply in denial), but true confession, I’ve actually found myself enjoying it some. (Insert face palm here). 

I have now seen enough episodes that I understand why people like it. It’s because if you can get past the drawings and silliness, anime has a lot of depth to at least the ones I’ve seen. (Unfortunately some of the series are very long. Very, very long, unending as it were, like the Wheel of Time, but it does allow for a lot of character development).

Most of the characters have pain somewhere in their back story. You may not know it at first, they may be the “privileged” or “lucky” one when first introduced; an “antagonist” to the main character who’s trying to overcome the crazy odds, (the main character always has something tragic in their story). But as the tale unfolds, you learn most characters have pain. The stories are generally along these lines: No family, a loved one has died, they are ostracized in fear, they never felt loved, they’ve failed to live up to expectations, they’ve become cynical and jaded, they are rejected, want revenge for the hurt, they have no talent and just aren’t quite good enough.  

They are trying to find somewhere they fit in, to be accepted, and that’s the other half of the show. Someone reaching out to them, making them feel valued. Whether it’s a bad guy who twists that affection and warps the person (usually as a child) or the hero reaching out and “rescuing” people from the darkness and solitude.

In essence, anime depicts living in community with people who care about you despite your quirks, (and some of characters have some really, really annoying, borderline disturbing quirks), who you might fight with, but when push comes to shove they’ve got your back, who challenge you to excellence and encourage you to go beyond your breaking point to get stronger.  

It’s a reminder of people’s stories may not be what you think. Everyone has baggage they carry with them, some is just darker than others. People crave community; everyone wants to be accepted. In short, it’s a picture of “the Church”. 

Don't believe me, I can't blame you. But I can challenge you, watch a few episodes and see. You might be surprised at what you discover. 

Oh and for the record, if you do try it and don't like it it's ok, really. In this I will support you fully.

Sun Baked

Ah, the things that eventually click.

As I drove Domi home a couple of days ago we started analyzing the sweet potato fields we were passing. Catching glimpses and instantly saying, "That's a nice looking filed", or "I'm sooo glad I don't have to weed that." In the midst of our critique Domi basically said, " You know, most people wouldn't be able to do what we're doing. We can look at a field and from a distance know how bad it would be, but most people wouldn't be able to do that."

I realized (almost a week later) what an oddly profound observation this is. It's true, through years of work we've learned to identify a weed from a sweet potato plant. (It was that or Dad stopping the truck and making you get out and get the solitary survivor sticking up on your way home. And as a kid, after 5 hours in the field in the summer, the cool floor of home was heaven). Over time we even learned names to identify what we were pulling.

But even with this experience and knowledge a field can be deceptive and lull you to sleep until you wade into it.  No matter how clean or weedy a field looks, it doesn't always tell you what's lurking under the plants. The little one's you can't see 'til you're up close. Sometimes the worst looking fields are the easier ones. Sometimes what you think from a distance is a weed turns out to be an extra bushy potato plant. People (and situations) are a lot like the field.

A day or two after this discussion we were chatting while weeding, and started talking about psychology. Domi made this statement, "When we see a stranger do something rude, or wrong, we instantly blame it on some internal character flaw. But when we're rude or wrong we blame it on external circumstances."

Here's the example he gave. "You see someone cut off an old lady on their way out the door, you instantly think, 'what a jerk' or 'someone never learned manners'. But if you did that you would justify it with something like 'I"m in a hurry because my wife's having a baby'".

You can't see the inside of a person until you get to know them. (Or often in a situation's case until you're in the midst of it).

The other thing about the field is, it can look pretty, but you never know what the crop will look like 'til you harvest.

Oh and for the record, that's not my hula-hoe. Mine is definitely much more battle worn. And if you think we can't tell who's is who's, think again. Someone else's hula-hoe just doesn't feel right.

Remember p 357-358

I am a pack-rat that squirrels away some of the most random stuff. Recently, I was inspired to (consider) sorting and ridding myself of unnecessary items. As I was slogging my way through 'round one of papers, I came across a quote I had written down. I'm not sure why, or when, I scribbled it down, but I did, along with the word REMEMBER. It's an interesting quote.

"When everything hurts too much, you want to get away from it but you can't, because it's inside you. So you do something drastic because you know it will change everything." 

She shrugged slightly, her eyes on the street. "Doing something drastic like that usually does."

 p 357-358. The Wizard Hunters by Martha Wells

Now if I could only remember what exactly the characters were talking about, and why that caught my eye. 

Family Film Fun

For those who may miss this on Facebook, Casey made another movie and I'm FINALLY in it! Not that you'll be able to tell most of the time. I'm a "Bob". That means look like one of the masses and die multiple times.

We shot it on a hot Sunday. It was an all day extravaganza here at the Home Ranch. The bins and sheds were the perfect "set"). I cannot imagine being in the military, decked out and in the heat. The costumes were bad enough.

My only gripe, he should have added "On Set Chef......Nicole Alvernaz" to the credits.

If you have Facebook and want to comment, that would be great, I'm sure Casey would love feedback. Or you could share your thoughts here or on YouTube itself.

So, if you want to watch my siblings and a family friend die (some multiple times), or enjoy Kary's one liners, (although Suzi's one about Custer's good too) Oh and the rock debris they cower from toward the end was real. I got to admit throwing rocks at my brother was quite satisfying, although I didn't hit them, unlike some people (Tempting though it may have been)...

Anyway, here's the latest creation. Enjoy!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TNuFHDfZhc

Fair Enlightening's

Today's Life Lesson With Nicole.

Chocolate dipped bacon on a stick is AMAZINGLY FANTASTIC! Why has it taken me 27 years to try this?!?

Conclusion, fairs have fabulous food. If you're down with deep fired, fattening, sugar and bbq. If not, well, um I'm sorry, you're out of luck. Even the vegetables (minus corn on the cob) are fried at the County Fair.

"A Picture Is A Thousand Words"

But I say pictures are misleading, I think most people would agree. They capture a specific moment, or event in time and that's it. Possibly the best moment of a week. And we cherish those, laughing, grimacing, or crying, zooming in on a few pixels leaving the rest of the image out of focus. 

I know this is true, but I can't help myself. I keep catching glimpses of photos and find myself wishing for those times. Not because I want to relive or live in the past, but because they are proof I did something, that I lived. 

How does one go about living in the present, enjoying the mundane, while processing the past and planning for the future without going crazy? Or at the very least becoming dissatisfied and frustrated, missing out on the rest of the painting? 

Memories......That's a Song Title, Right?

Memorial Day weekend, extended joy, fun, and relaxation. Gotta love the thought. To get into the festivities I decided to kick off my Friday with a tad of light yard work, before packing, watering the garden, pulling a few weeds, playing in the dirt, oh, and of course, hauling rocks. (Dissonance, cue minor chord, or whatever it is).

I didn’t wake up thinking, I feel like moving large rocks today. I didn’t plan it, but when I was outside the impulse imp reared it’s head and said, “Wouldn’t that be cool? And it would use the rocks…”

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but we have a LOT of rocks around the Home Ranch. My Grandma used to collect them. I’m not sure how or why it started, but as she told me “every rock has a face”. A lot of hours were spent finding faces. (Side note: Mom never quite got it; depending on the color she tended to see deserts. No joke, one of my favorite conversations was Grandma Alvernaz trying to show Mom the face and Mom just seeing a piece of cheesecake because of the color). Over time people brought her some real cool looking ones, but most of them are just plain river rocks that we don’t know what to do with.

Friday I was outside, looking at the new flower bed area, (not my doing, I came home and the work was done), trying to figure out the best way to a) contain the dirt from flooding the asphalt again, b) level it off, c) keep the weeds from our budding bed.

And I knew the answer, ROCKS! So without consulting my Aunt, I rashly decided to lay the basis for a retaining wall.

May I just state the obvious, rocks are heavy! Since I’m lacking in upper body strength, (as the nurse said when I got a flu shot, “because you have little arm’s you’ll probably be sore.” WHAT!?! I mean I know but really?) and really didn’t want to bend over all morning and roll heavy objects I needed a creative solution. The wheel burrow was out because, let’s face it, pushing it around with heavy things isn’t much better than carrying them, and then the heaven’s parted and light shown down. Well, not really, but I did get a brilliant plan, my Subaru.

Load the rocks into the back, drive the Sube over to the new location, then drive it back and load up more, comfy seat included. So that’s what I did. (My poor car, it’s been commented on before now that I treat it like a truck…..Don’t worry, she’s had a bath and been vacuumed since). All things considered, it worked great. The only down bit was the lifting rocks part.

Tada, several hours later, a wall is formed. We actually had less big rocks than I thought, which was both a relief and a tad sad, since I’d had visions of Jericho. But considering how things turned out for that city…

Thankfully Aunt Judy did not hate it, in fact she had had a similar idea. What can I say, great minds think alike. Does that mean we have rocks in our heads, prbably, but crazy does love company.  

 As to the rest of my vacation, what can I say, I got sick on day one away from home, and fried my face dozing on my back for two hours, (can you blister a zit?) but it was still fun.  And honestly, what else are vacations for?