Over Here, Mr. DeMille!

My youngest daughter is an aspiring actress.  When she first proclaimed this as her passion, I put on the brakes.

"This is a phase," I assured my husband. "She'll get over it."

A year later when she continued to persist, I said, "Okay. Maybe we should have some professional photos taken."

Thanks to the personal recommendation of the photographer, we snagged a face-to-face meeting with one of Atlanta's top agents.  I told hubby, "I visited his website, and I've warned Christina not to have high expectations.  He doesn't represent newbies.  This is just a courtesy meeting."

At the end of said meeting she had contracts in hand.  The photo above is her most recent head shot.

Since jumping into this she has worked a fashion show, performed in a stage show, done a number of taped auditions for TV and film, and just last week participated in the 48-Hour Film Project (details of which will be in blog post part deux, later in the week).  Her agent, to whom we pay nothing (as with literary agents, he banks nary a penny until she lands a paying job), says simply, "Persistence and talent.  She has both. It will happen."

She is only 16, so if she eventually moves on to another passion I won't criticize.  It took me thirty years to start writing again---and God help me, now that I've started I can't stop---so I'm not one to talk about taking detours.  She is tenacious, though, and showing no signs of wavering. She is meeting some terrific people and acquiring first hand experience about competition and working hard for something desired; she is gaining confidence and learning that persistence and talent, in that order, are key factors in turning dreams into goals, and goals into successful accomplishments.

Coincidentally, the same is true of writing for publication.  How would my life be different, I wonder, if I had learned that lesson at 16?

Check back for part deux---the 48-Hour Film Project!

Til next time -

Lisa

Ssssnakes Alive!!

My dogs cornered a copperhead snake last night.  The slithery booger stretched himself out against the edge of our patio and ended up wishing he'd picked a more favorable location to doze.  Rigby and Penny, our Lab mixes (and snake hunters extraordinaire) double teamed the slithery guy.  Rigby stood at his head and Penny at his tail.  They trapped him.

I'd love to say they wrestled him into submission with brute force, or tied him into square knots with their teeth.  Either sounds better than the truth, which is: they barked him to death.

Okay, that isn't literally true. Let's say they barked him into supreme annoyance.   He become perturbed that his nap was disturbed by two furry beasties who wouldn't stop screaming at him.  By the time my hubby investigated the incessant woof-woofing the snake was striking out with mean intent.  At my husband's command the dogs reluctantly left their prey and trotted into the house, leaving my manly man to dispose of the poisonous reptile.  Just like the dogs, he declined to wrestle the snake into submission or tie it into square knots with his teeth.  Drat. That would have been so cool.

The pups received an extra treat for keeping our little world safe from big, poisonous snakes. If that bad boy had managed to sink his fangs into either pooch that would have been the end of them. A youngster in a nearby neighborhood spent weeks in the hospital last year, courtesy of a copperhead, so we don't take such things lightly. 

With a large creek flowing at the back of our property we often see critters in the yard, most often of the toad and turtle variety.  This was the first creature capable of causing real harm. Kudos to my pooches for corralling the thing and alerting us to its presence. They more than earned their beloved rawhide treats.

Snakes beware.  Rigby and Penny live here.  They have a "woof!" and they know how to use it.

Til next time -

Lisa

Differences in Dads or How Chocolate Saved the Day

Chocolate rules, and I'm going to tell you why.

For the last six or seven years we've lived with two dads in our house:  my husband, Joe, and his dad, known by all as Papa. Their differences make celebration difficult.  For instance, lunch or dinner is always a question because Joe loves Mexican and Papa does not.  Papa loves Asian and Joe does not.  While that leaves a wide array of choices, neither will ever have his favorite on Father's Day in order to accommodate the other which means a second rate cuisine for both of them no matter where we go.

As for Father's Day activities that, too, is a problem.  Papa would love to browse through a museum or, better yet, attend the opera.  Joe would choose to be bludgeoned with egg rolls before spending even a second listening to Aida. He acknowledges the singers' talent, he just prefers to be elsewhere during their exhibition of it. Now, a trip to an electronics festival would put him in nirvana. All those computers and cell phones and gadgets, oh my!  Problem is, the only electronics Papa cares about are the ones operating his hearing aids.

So what is a loving family to do? How to show these two wonderful dads how much they mean to us?

As it turns out, the answer is pretty simple. In addition to lots of TLC, they both enjoy silly cards, hugs, and smoochies.  But the high point of the dads' day, and the one thing about which they both share a deep and abiding love, is a giant chocolate chip cookie cake complete with butter icing and chocolate sprinkles. This particular delight proclaims Happy Father's Day because, well, it's Father's Day.  The bakery had one that said Happy Birthday Rex and the dads would have liked that one, too, but it seemed inappropriate.

Once again, chocolate saves the day, proving my initial declaration that chocolate rules.  Everyone needs to remember that around my birthday.

Happy Faither's Day!

Lisa

One Happy Mama!

My son, Joey, lives in Florida.  He is 7-9 hours away, depending on who is behind the wheel (7 for him, 9 for us old baggers). Close enough for a long weekend visit, too far for a day trip.  The consequence is that we enjoy his company only a handful of times a year, and only for a few days at a time.

This weekend was one of those handfuls. I'll call it a bouquet of offspring instead, because another benefit of Joey's visits is family time.  Having all three of my offspring in the same place at the same time doesn't happen very often these days, so when it does I'm one happy mama.  I've been grinning all weekend!

Last evening, after a wonderful day spent boating, tubing and swimming at the lake, we ate dinner at our favorite family restaurant.  We have been dining there as a unit for almost two decades. If the place ever closes down I'll need therapy and psychotropic drugs to cope with the loss. The above photo was taken last night as we left the restaurant.

Joey headed back to Florida this morning, and I performed the mommy ritual of fighting back tears while waving goodbye and trying not to make him feel guilty for growing up and flying away. Why should I be unhappy, after all, when he has successfully accomplished that for which his dad and I prepared him?

I've been sitting here thinking about the weekend and how blessed we were to have our kids together, laughing and teasing and having fun; how blessed we are just to have our kids.

Gotta tell you, buttercup, I'm one happy mama!

Til next time -
Lisa

Sibling Stuff

Yesterday I talked on the phone with my sister, and tonight I chatted with my brother.  Hearing their voices buoys my spirits. 

I'm the baby of the family, and had anyone divulged to my 7-year-old self that I would adore my older siblings one day, I would have contemplated wedging a ginormous wad of abc green apple bubble gum right up his/her nose, because gum up the snout is a suitable punishment for people who lie to children.

Obviously, I would never have actually performed such a heinous act, because I was an angel.  Honest.

At the age of 7 I didn't care much for the pecking order.  In retrospect, it turned out to be a good deal having two people who believed protecting me was a directive straight from God.  Yeah, I survived the usual torture doled out by older siblings, but it was a small price to pay for the blessings that ran alongside it.  

All those childhood arguments and fights and disagreements and rivalries that comprised every day living were stepping stones that gave way to hugs and kisses and laughter and shared tears and grief and memories of things so good that it aches to remember them. 

We can't pick our siblings. They are given to us without our input or permission. But if we are very lucky and all the stars align, we get to grow up with our very best friends. 

Til next time -
Lisa

Small Bites, Knucklehead

Do you ever have so many things clogging your to-do list that the idea of hiding in bed under a mountain of blankets sounds like a good plan? 

I'm type-A, ergo I have a list, spreadsheet or calendar for everything.  Some of this listing and compartmentalizing is part of the formula that comprises my type-A personality; the rest is because I'm an old bagger who forgets everything if it isn't written down.  To that end, I opened my Franklin Planner to Monday, June 7th and began adding to tomorrow's to-do list. After finishing, I reviewed the list to ensure no oversight. Yeah, well, there was no oversight, and I'll need a battalion of minions vying to do my bidding if I hope to even come close to accomplishing everything on my list, all of it in black and white right there in my beloved FP.

Alas, I have no minions.  Not a one.  Well, maybe one, if you count my dog Penny, but her enthusiasm for gaining my approval will never extend to an ability to drop summer camp forms at the doctor's office.  She is likewise unable to assist with bill paying or contract review.  I ask you, what good is having a minion if the only commands she recognizes are "sit" and "hey, drop that sock"? I'm doomed to face the to-do list alone.

As I write this, I'm feeling the presence of good and evil sitting on my shoulder.  The angel is saying, "Small bites, dear.  Small bites and the next thing you know the whole cake is gone!"  The devil is saying, "You're doomed, knucklehead."  Fortunately, as food is one of my best things, I'm listening to the angel. Small bites.

The good news is that I do have a list, so I won't forget anything. The next step is prioritizing, and as we all know, that can change with a single phone call from one of our children. I still sort of like the hide-in-bed option, but I don't think that one will pan out. I'll probably spend multiple parts of the day dreaming about it, though.

Hope you enjoy your week, and may your to-do list be blessedly short.

Go accomplish stuff!

Lisa

Clip art courtesy of hasslefreeclipart.com. 

Busting Out All Over!

Happy June!

June is a wonderful summer month that gifts us with Father's Day, June bugs, and blooming gardenias. This year, Joe and I celebrated its coming over the Memorial Day weekend with a wedding anniversary trip to Asheville, North Carolina.  That's us in front of the sign at the Wright Inn, the bed & breakfast where we were spoiled for three days. I fussed about this pic because Joe is hiding behind my hair.  He told me to quit whining. So much for romance.

When our beach plans fell through we thought of Asheville where we had, many years ago, spent a fantastic family vacation. Our visit over the past weekend only reinforced our affection for this quirky little mountain city.

We cruised the Blue Ridge Parkway, hunted waterfalls and hiked.  We had so much fun I didn't complain even once that the moist air Brillo-ed my hair, or grumble about my butt muscles aching from climbing mountain trails. (There are, like, actual muscles back there. Who knew? And where are they usually?) 

When not discovering aching body parts about which I was previously unaware, we explored downtown Asheville.  The stores and restaurants are unique and the people pleasant. Also, Asheville is an unusually dog friendly city.  Leashed dogs visit stores and curl up by their owners' feet at outdoor cafes.  As dog lovers, this feature of a city we have grown to love only serves to enhance our desire to return.

In the meantime, June is, as Rodgers and Hammerstein so aptly put it, busting out all over! Asheville or Atlanta, June doesn't care. She is bursting with explosive colors and heady, sweet scents, and demanding that we bask in her glow.

Off to bask -
Lisa