2011 Highlight Reel

What can I say about 2011?  It started out as one of the happiest years ever and ended with merging crap-storm upon crap-storms, all combining to create one giant fecal tornado.

They say the Lord never gives you more than you can handle, and I know that this is true.  He's proven it to me time and again.  It's just sometimes I wish He'd let me rest in my 2010-level of strength for a little while longer because, most days, I feel just about growed-out.

Although 2012 brings with is alot of uncertainty (and uncertainty is not my specialty) I know the Lord is laughing to Himself right now because He knows all the answers to the mysteries that lie ahead.

On this last day of the year I will try my darnedest not to let job-stress, health-stress or all-around-grumpiness taint my memory of the almost late, great, 2011.

After all, we did have all this fun:

Polar bear water ballet:

Communing with nature:

Foot-fishing (A hobby to be categorized under "Things Only an Aunt Would Let You Do"):

Fundraising Fun:

March of Dimes - March for Babies

New found appreciation for sports I thought I loathed:

Animals!  Animals!  Animals!

Dinosaurs!

 Dinosauria @ The Detroit Zoo

Cranbrook Institute of Science

Enjoying our favorite staycation spot over and over and over again:

 The Henry Ford

 Loving more of Michigan:

 Which includes bridges...

 ...boats...

 ...roadside Americana...

 ...rickety attractions much too high up in the air...

...all worth it to get this image of my nephews in print.

And a whole bunch of good ol' fashion family fun:

As, I bid adieu (ie. "good riddance") to 2011, I'd also like to thank you all for supporting An Aunt's Life this past year.  It's been another highlight to add to my reel and I wish you all blessings in the coming new year.

May the Lord be my rock in 2012 and my family be my happy pill.

Why I Don't Hate Santa

Santa Claus is coming to town.  Or, is he?

I never believed in Santa Claus growing up.  Being raised in a Christian household, my parents worried that once we found out "the truth" about Santa, we might also be mistaken that the Baby Jesus part of Christmas was also just a myth. 

I never minded this decision.  They still let us play along with the Santa games.  Gift tags under the tree would be signed by him (complete with the irony that his hand-writing looked suspiciously like my mother's.)  I didn't care who was bringing the presents, as long as they came!  And, we'd still get to go visit him at the mall every year to sit in his lap get our free candy cane.  I would never even tell him what I really wanted.  I knew that information was useless in the hands of a complete stranger.  I would just blurt out a generic answer like, "doll!" all the while fixating my attention on the elf with the peppermint stick prize in her hand standing at the exit gate.  It seems a little creepy now that I would willingly sit in a man's lap, that I knew wasn't Santa Claus, just for the free candy.  But, I guess candy canes were harder to come by when I was six, so it was okay. 

And, of course, there was the added fun of getting to ruin the Santa secret for all of my friends who did believe, no matter how much my parents lectured me not to.  (I guess here would an appropriate place to apologize to my grade school friend, Julie, for breaking the news that the jingle bells she heard Christmas Eve 1981 were most probably being rung by her older brother.)  I was a very practical and logical child.  It would frustrate me to have playmates that were too naive to take a look at the cold hard facts.

As I became an adult, I was still indifferent to the harm of believing in Santa Claus.  Plenty of Christians I know use him as a part of their Christmas celebrations.  But, then way on the other end of the spectrum, were the ones who claim that it's my spiritual obligation to "hate" him.  Maybe these are people who took Charlie Brown's lesson of commercialized Christmas-ism to the nth degree.  But, the one argument that helped me choose a side on the great Santa debate surprisingly came from an episode of Seventh Heaven.  One of the P.K.s (that's "pastor's kids", for the unchurched) had someone ruin the Santa secret for them on their very special Christmas episode.  And, like my parents predicted long ago, the child started questioning the reality of Jesus's birth as well. 

Well, Reverand Camden, being the wise soul that he was, sat the wee one down and found a brilliant happy medium.  He told the story of the real Saint Nicholas.  The historic St. Nick was born into a family of great wealth.  Upon his parents' death at his young age, Nicholas could have been set for life, but instead chose to share his wealth with the needy.  He eventually gave away all of his earthly belongings and became a bishop in the Christian church.  He was imprisoned during the Christian persecutions, but later released and continued on with his ministries.  The story of Saint Nicholas became elaborated throughout the years and he somehow, eventually, became mystified as Kriss Kringle and then Santa Claus.  So, as Rev. Camden would explain, St. Nicholas is a wonderful figure of Christian charity to accompany our celebrations of The Nativity.

This episode of Seventh Heaven is probably a decade old by now, but it fortunately stayed in the back of my head.  Because a few years ago, during one of my Bible lessons with my brother's kids, the confusion of Jesus/Santa/Christmas arose and Reverand Camden's message came rolling out of my mouth, much to my surprise, but with great thankfulness in my heart.  I even soon found this child-friendly animated version of the story of St. Nick that has now become part of our Christmas movie viewing tradition. (Click link for DVD info.)

So, at the end of this Santa-searching journey, my Christmas verdict has become crystal clear.  Jesus is the true reason for the season.  But, please don't ask your kids to hate a saint.

Sick as a Dog

Now, when I say I'm as sick as a dog right now, I'm referring to our family dog who is presently dead and buried under the garage of my childhood home.  That's how sick I feel.

Yes, that little stomach bug from a week-and-a-half ago was "just getting warmed up", as my doctor tells me.  It's now here, full-fledged, waving colored flags and parade-marching across my skull.  Not only do I feel as if I've been poisoned and beaten from head to toe but, being hypoglycemic, I also get to experience the sensation of being electrocuted every time my adrenal glands realized that my insulin levels are sub-par due to not being able to keep any food in my stomach.  Joy!

Oh yeah, and I'm also dehydrated, so I get to taste the drying skin that's peeling off of my lips 24/7.  And, I'm down to having only six hours of paid time off for the remainder of the year, which needs to be reserved for my remaining eye doctor appointments.  (Yep, still dealing with that!)

However, I'm trying to remain Job-like and finding ways to praise the Lord in my illness.  So, on that note, I'll focus on:

• My doctor took me off work for the rest of the week starting yesterday.  Thinking of those meager remaining six hours of time off I'm yet allowed the schedule off for the rest of 2011, I was blessed to already have today scheduled off as a vacation day.  Happy little accident found in my year's worth of vacation time that I scheduled back in January.
• My dehydration is at the serious level, but still one step away from being severe and putting me on an IV in the hospital.  Which means I get the chance to try and rehydrate from the comfort of my own flannel-sheeted bed.
• There's been lots of interesting weather to watch out of the window that's conveniently placed at the head of my bed.  Yesterday was in the high 50's (unheard of this time of year in Michigan!) with wild windstorms that I got to watch blow miscellaneous object to-and-fro across the backyard.  Today I woke up to cheerful sunshine, trying to lift my spirits.  Thank you Sun!
• My left eye, in the midst of all of this, is gradually starting to get it's vision back.  Hoorah!
• My sick days butt up to a weekend, giving me two extra days healing before I must return to work.
• My computer desk is located right next to my bed making this post possible.  Because, trust me, if my desk were two steps further, I wouldn't have made it!

Yeah, things could be better, but they could also be much worse!

Now I just need to ask for some prayers that I'm better by Monday.  I can't take any more time off and I'm committed to covering for a friend at work so she can be off Monday and Tuesday.  I'm still not able to eat anything and the hydration process is coming along very slowly.  Also, pray that my blood-sugar levels will find some way to maintain.  This is my Christmas wish!  (And, gee, I thought I wanted a Kindle Fire and a kitten this year.)

On that note:  Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's back to bed I go!

***Please also excuse any typos or punctuation errors... There is currently not enough nutrition going to brain to be concerned with proof-reading.***

Ebay Pet Peeves

Being under the weather this week, avoiding stores this time of year and being just an all around lazy person... I've found myself prowling around Ebay a little too much lately.

I go through phases where I absolutely must have as much 99-cents-with-free-shipping jewelry from China as I can possibly get my hands on.  Or, I feel I suddenly need to revamp 50% of my wardrobe while staying deeply beneath retail price.  Or, I've read through every book I own and need to restock.  (Ebay's Half.com is perfect for this!)  Or, sometimes, I just feel like there's too much Disney memorabilia out there that's begging to come live on my shelves.

Well, this has been one of those weeks.  Which has found me wasting hour upon hour on the auction site.  Which has presented me with the following list of Ebay pet peeves:

• Categorizing tube tops under the fields "Long Sleeve" and "Sweater".
• Posting a picture of an item of clothing which is spread out across an entire dining table, to fully display its amount of girth, and then having the nerve to also advertise it as "Sexy!"
• Saturating an item of clothing with any kind of perfume before shipping it.  Any kind.  Even if you think it's your "best" perfume.  I don't want to smell it and I certainly don't want to smell like it.
• Leaving a used tissue in the pocket of a clothing item before shipping it.  (Yes.  This has happened.  Took every ounce of willpower not to mention in my feedback.  "Great communication, fast shipping, seems to be suffering from cold or allergies.  Yes, I got your tissue!")
• Not listing the materials listed clothing are made of.  Yes, some of us shoppers have allergies.
• The fact that every adorably unique piece of clothing from Japan or Korea has my measurements falling under 3XL on their size chart.  (I'm an 8/10 here in the states.  Pre-holidays, at least.)  And, Asia never seems to have my ginormous size in stock.
• The need to list items as "Super cute", "Adorable", "Sooo hot" or any other adjectives attached to outdated and itchy-looking clothing.  Post a picture, I'll decided on the adjectives.
• Not posting a picture.
• Pop the head off of that mannequin with the early 80's feathered hair and blue eyeshadow.  It's ruining the whole effect of your photo.
• Don't say something is a "Medium" if you're going to post a picture of its tag which clearly reads "XS".
• "Vintage" does not equal five years ago.
• Pink is not "Red", Cranberry is not "Red", Burgundy is not "Red", Coral is not "Red" and Brown is not "Black".
• While we're at it, Mid-thigh is not "Knee length" and anything with an entire chest peep-hole should not be categorized as "Wear to Work".
• A knee-length gray hooded sweatshirt emblazoned with "LA" should also not be listed as a wear-to-work dress. Unless you're assuming we're all janitors at the Staples Center.

Well, that's all of my complaints for today.  I love my Ebay too much to bring up any more!  If you're an Ebay seller, please take note of the above constructive criticisms.  And, before you try to label me as a shopaholic, just keep in mind, my newest outfit probably cost less than your last Saturday night out.

"Wear to Work'?  Only if you earn your wages in singles!

Zynga is all up in my Facebook!

I love playing games on Facebook.  I don't even use any of my other PC games anymore, because it's so much easier just to click on a Facebook link and start playing, disc-free.

I've had my farms, my zoo, my city, my frontier, my military operation, my puzzles, my islands and my games shows... but the same thing always ends up happening.  Zynga goes and gets all up in my Facebook!

Anyone who's ever played a Zynga game knows exactly what I'm talking about.  You get your plantation, city or kingdom pleasingly populated and decorated, and suddenly you find yourself  unable to progress any further because ten friends must send you twenty different meaningless items before you can move on.  I'm presently waiting on "mystery meat", "rusty keys" and "regal hoes" (no joke) before I can progress in the two games I'm currently obsessed with, Castleville and Adventure World.

There's nothing more annoying than a wall full of game requests.  But then, there's nothing more addicting than a new Facebook game, so we make that compromise.  It's a quick way to get unfriended and unneighbored too.  Believe me on that!

So, as I soon as I get so successful in a game that the only challenge remaining for me is to pester my friends on a thrice daily basis (or pay actual dollars for the convenience of bypassing the friend-nagging. Augh!), that usually becomes the indicator in which I block that game.  Such a waste!

If only the farms of my past were real.  I'd be a millionaire!  And, my zoo was so awesome that I recall obtaining even mythical and extinct creatures for my collection!  I almost feel so confident in these skills that I could see myself applying for a zoo director's position in the real world.  "What kind of experience do you have that would qualify you to take over as our struggling zoo's Chief Financial Officer?"  "Well, have you seen how many coins I've earned on Zooville?" [slides over paper with coinage penciled on it] "And, I'm pretty sure if you would add a Pegasus and some dodo birds to your collection, you'd start to see things turn around, for sure."  Their jaws would drop.  I'm positive.

But, all those skills gone to waste because a game, that should have remained between me and my PC, had to spread like the plague and effect everyone on my friends list.  Who knows what kind of Commander in Chief I could have become!  My success on Empires and Allies came to a screeching halt once I ran out of people to battle and materials that could only be provided by others.  And, I was thisclose to becoming the next Donald Trump.  If only, Cityville hadn't had a dozen neighbor-begging missions being demanded of me all at once.  I mean, my city had even begun to stretch across the river!  Do you know what it takes to build a bridge?!  But, oh well, I'm pretty sure that even The Donald refuses to have that much interaction with his neighbors.

Every few months another old game gets blocked, only to be replaced with a new game that's just been released.  It is fun to start again somewhere from scratch.  Once you've cleared so many trees and built up so many buildings in their place, success starts to get a little boring anyway and it just becomes time to start out on a new endeavor.

They say the average American will have seven career changes in their lifetime.  The average Zynga-player?  Probably thirty.

**Would this be a bad time to ask if anyone wants to be neighbors on Disney's Gnometown?  There's a woodland creature trapped in a locked box, and he can only be released with two neighbors' help!  Yes?  No?  It was worth a shot...** 

Holy Eyeball!

So, you've noticed I've been on a bit of a blogging hiatus.  All due to yet another pain in my eye.

Apparently, when I inflicted the scratched-up eye damage from a couple months ago, the damage was done to both eyes.  Problem with that: Only one eye was hurting at the time, therefore, only one eye got treated. 

Sooo, now my previously untreated eye has grown an ulcer large enough to make two grown men eye doctors blurt out hideous noises of fright upon first sight of it.  Large enough to make men whinny, but small enough to only be seen through a opthamolgist's microscope.  (Believe me, I've tried looking for it!)

I'm told it's an atypical ulcer because I'm not writhing in pain.  Apparently, my lack of writhing means I'll need to see a corneal expert if things don't start clearing up by Monday.  That should have been my cue to start "feeling" something torturous, therefore placing my ailment back on the typical scale, but I've always been one to miss my cue.  Maybe I just have a high tolerance for pain and  maybe for that I should be rewarded.  But, seemingly that's not how things work in the world of opthamology.  They like textbook.  I've never been textbook.

 

Strangely enough, ever since I drove away from the doctor's office, I've had the annoying sensation much akin to having a very large man is sticking his very large thumb into the top of my eye.  I'll have to remember to mention that on Monday, just in case it's some backward-to-me sign of progress.

I've been in glasses for about a month now, and you should know how that goes based on previous posts.  Besides still adjusting the the constant weight on my---already weighty---nose,  I'm having trouble getting past the notion that I feel I must dress much preppier than I'd like for the time being.  Glasses equals prep to me somehow, and this is one prep rally that has gone into overtime and needs to be ended real soon!

I keep finding myself on Ebay bidding on cable-knit sweaters that I suddenly feel I need.  (Although, I really could use some new sweaters, since Michigan winters get mighty cold.) I'm beginning to think the ulcer may spreading to my brain.  I keep finding myself stopping for a moment on the busy Cosby-era sweaters, and so have concluded that the hole has swallowed up the 00's and late-90's portions of my cerebrum.  If these eye drops don't start working soon, I may find myself on my next Ebay hunt for this jumpsuit from my past.

I'm the little one.  Don't worry, though, I inherited the bigger version by the early 80's

At that point I'll know the 80's portion has been swallowed up as well and the 70's is sure to be gone next.  That might be my time to start looking for a whole 'nother kind of doctor as well.

Well, my double and triple vision is starting to return now and I can't really tell what I'm typing, so I guess that means it's time for another dose and I'll make it an early wrap tonight.

If you ever hurt/scratch/upset your eye, or if it ever just doesn't "feel right", go to your eye doctor right away!  There's no sense in waiting, unless you too want to see how a hole in the eye can make a grown man whinny. 

And, if you feel so inclined, would you please remember my little eyeball in your bedtime prayers tonight?  It would be much obliged.

Holiday Munchies

Oh man, I've been so worried about Christmas shopping, making desserts for Thanksgiving and all other forms holiday distractions that I totally forgot that I was bound to be eating like a Stage 4 stoner by the end of the week.

It always starts with Thanksgiving.  Even though I hate turkey, (and really hate turkey leftovers), somehow my stomach still begins is unauthorized regimen of expanding and contracting around mid-to-late November.  By the last week of the month its new routine becomes strictly expanding and will remain so until the new year's threshold has been crossed.

Adding a ham to the Thanksgiving mix this year has only worsened my piggyness.  Thankfully we finished off the leftover swine by this evening, but the damage has already been done.  The starter gun has sounded and I've been eating all day.  (In fact, I just literally devoured an entire granola bar in order to summon the strength to type that first paragraph and upload the brownie pic.  Phew!  I'm hungry again.)  I've especially been enjoying the barrel of leftover mash potatoes and the last dozen of the soft wheat rolls.  Oh yeah, and the white chocolate-drizzled brownies which have been perfectly cut to hypoglycemic-friendly sized squares.  Mmmmmm...

I'm not opposed to eating, over-eating or even going up a pants size once a year.  (That's what the storage container in the basement stuffed with two different size options of pants is for.  Wink wink.)  In any given non-holiday month, I still usually eat six times a day.  But, man, there's something about post-Thanksgiving that's turns me into Cookie Monster, Jughead from Archie's gang and one of those disgusting hot dog-eating contestants all rolled into one.

I had intentions of taking a hike today to get some fresh air and to have a reason to have worked up such an appetite.  But, the most athletic exertion of energy I managed to muster up today has been 1) standing upright long enough in the shower to wash my hair and 2) continuously hitting the refresh button on my keyboard until the Black Friday internet crashes lulled and then post-victoriously checking four more names off of my Christmas list.  All while in my slippers and without tasting one breath of fresh air.

My body hasn't been in a total state of recline today.  I've been checking up with my kingdom on Castleville with such regularity that I think I may have convinced myself that my peasants and all of their livestock may starve to death once I return to work on Monday.  I've finished reading half a book, two magazines and rediscovered the PS2 console that I sometimes forget I own if there are not children visiting to remind me.

So, now that I remember my body is going to be convinced it's infected with a tapeworm for the next month or so, I will allow myself to overeat a little, as long as I can also convince my legs to journey further than the mailbox (to check for more magazines.)  I predict three more pounds of mashed potatoes consumed by this weekend's end with hopefully at least one hike squeezed in between servings.

Then again, it is supposed to rain, so maybe I'll just walk from the parking lot to the movie theater and call it even.  Popcorn, no butter?

Thankful

It's the day for giving thanks!  I was completely prepared to do that, but then my stomach became too hungry to function.

Let's try it anyways.  A little dip in blood sugar can't do that much damage.

I'm thankful for my family.  Large on both sides.  (In number not proportion, come on now!)  For cousins who are like siblings and for siblings who are like friends.  For my mom whose hip is healing right on schedule.  And, for my dad (even though he is currently in a "people are coming over!" tizzy.)

I'm thankful for my last living grandparent "Grandma Great" who is turning 92 tomorrow.  And, I'm even more thankful that the strange dream I had the other night of her and my grandpa (who passed away nearly 20 years ago) wasn't an omen.  In my dream she had brown hair and was giggling, so happy to be with him. I thought it was a sign of their heavenly reuniting.  What a relief that we didn't get that call that morning.  And, I'm super thankful I have no powers of premonition.  (The tip off should have been that, in my dream, they were also on the lam from the law.  Bonnie and Clyde style.  They fled to my house and I fed them pudding.)

I'm thankful for my job, even though I may complain about it to some extent the other 364 days of the year. Having a job in Michigan is truly something to be thankful for.

I'm thankful for the invention of Ebay, which through its wonders I obtained the shirt I'm currently wearing for about five bucks.  And, also the sweater I wore the other day with the $60 price tag on it, for $7.99.

I'm thankful for the invention of Facebook, for giving me a way to catch up with long lost friends and family,  minus the cost of airfare, hotel fees and long-distance phone bills.  Sometimes you don't realize how much you've missed people, until you find yourself clamoring for a status update.

I'm thankful for Blogger and all of you readers for allowing me the creative outlet that my brain has been starving for.  I'm especially thankful when you click "funny", "cool" and "interesting".  (But, a little less thankful when you click "weird".)

I'm thankful that after thirty-seven years of wishing, I'm finally getting to enjoy a Thanksgiving ham today.  Which makes me a little extra thankful for my younger sister who is preparing it for us and that she isn't absent, sick, lazy or otherwise unable to cook it.

I'm thankful for my Lord and Savior, without whom my stubborn heart wouldn't even have the ability to be thankful.

And, I'm thankful for those eight little rugrats who rule my heart.  I'd have less gray hair and a lot more money in my bank account without them, but I wouldn't make that trade for anything in the world!  For they're the ones who have given me my "Aunt's Life". ♥

Muppet Mania

Why don't we get things started?

I.  Love. Muppets.  I love Muppets in all shapes and sizes and everything they encompass.  From Sesame Street to The Muppet Show to Muppet Babies to watching them take Manhattan. 

They were puppets!  (I loved puppets!  I had my very own cast of puppets that I'd fashioned out of used toilet paper rolls.  When  I'd run out of used toilet paper rolls, sometimes I'd be forced to slide the cardboard tube out of the roll that was currently in use.) 

And, they sang and danced. 

And, they sang about putting on makeup! (Makeup being a dream beyond my childhood reach in the late 70's/early 80's.  I learned this swiftly when trying to get away with sloppily applying my mom's bright pink lipstick, not only to my mouth, but to my cheeks and eyelids as well.  And, then following up that act by walking around the house like that as if no one would notice.) 

They had celebrity guest stars each week (I knew this because Kermit would cackle at the beginning of each opening number, "It's The Muppet Show, with our very special guest star, Ms. Madeline Kaaahhhhhn!!!!") but this went completely over my head because the real stars, as any dummy could see, were The Muppets themselves.

In fact, I loved the Muppets so much as a kid that I missed my aunt's bridal shower because... well, that's what you get for trying to throw a party on a Friday night!

My Muppet love has been newly restored by the debut of an all new Muppet movie that is coming to theaters this very week.  (One, two, three... Geek out!)  I've almost got my nephews talked into accompanying me to see it.  (Don't want to look like the weirdo adult going to see the kids movie without any kids in tow.)  Although, the five-year-old's initial response was, "Who are the Muppets?"  When I showed him Kermit on a magazine cover, his next response was, "Oh!  Those guys?  They creep me out!"

What?!?

I guess Muppets have always had a way of eliciting strong responses.  Although it was my most favoritest show on earth, I definitely had my list of felt celebs faves and the ones I only tolerated because they happened to turn up every week on my favorite show.

On the "Like" list were:

• Fozzie Bear:  How could you not love such a cuddly wuddly widdle bear whose one and only agenda was to spend his every waking moment trying to make you laugh?  Wocka wocka!
• Scooter:  I had a strange human-puppet crush on Scooter.  He was so adorable and helpful.  But, mostly I coveted his shiny windbreaker.  (And, girlfriends got to wear boyfriends' jackets from what I understood about dating at the time.)
• Janice:  My sister and I used to laugh at her and call her "spaghetti hair".  But, boy did I secretly envy that head of uncooked pasta that I publicly mocked.
• The rest of The Electric Mayhem:  Always a fan of rock and roll and anyone who could play "cool" instruments.  But, let's be honest, if puppets could muster the ability to inhale, these guys had it figured out.  I was particularly suspicious about blue-faced sax player.  And, just try and tell me that Animal hasn't been snooping around the medicine cabinet!
• Kermit: You'd have to be a terrorist not to love this sweet-hearted singing froggy.  Case in point, I played a violin solo of "Rainbow Connection" for my fifth grade music recital.  The audience literally gasped when the teacher introduced my piece as if Kermie himself would appear, swaying along in accompaniment atop my bow.
• Rowlf:  Another felt mammal too cute and cuddly not to love.  (And, I've always been a sucker for a piano man!)
• Beeker:  He seems incredibly annoying to me now, as an adult.  But, I thought I had my impression of him nailed back in the day.  (As if it were so complicated!)
• Rizzo:  Yes.  The rat.  I thought his "Rat Scat" in The Muppets Take Manhattan was the bomb.  "The coffee's fine.  Come on in!" one rat sings while skinny-dipping in a pot of coffee.  Cracked me up every time!  (Plus, to add to my jacket-envy condition, he usually wore a slick-looking Letterman's jacket.)
• Robin:  A mini-Kermit. What's not to love?

These Muppets and skits were on the "Dislike" list and I merely tolerated their presence out of my undying love for the show:

• Miss Piggy:  I never understood why Kermit put up with her.  Even as a small child, I understood that this was an extremely unhealthy relationship and I secretly wished that her Pigs in Space costar, Link, would find some way to seduce her away.  I never understood how a frog with a heart so golden could tolerate a such a bossy sow wearing way too much mascara.  And, just so we're clear, Hoggy... nobody believes that you're actually French.
• Sam the Eagle: Sam's largeness, both in stature and eyebrows, frightened my childhood self.
• Swedish Chef:  Memorable, but pointless.  He brought much shame to myself and that whopping 25% of Swedishness that makes up my heritage.  Nothing he said was at all discernible and nothing he cooked was even close to being edible!
• Pigs in Space:  To me, Pigs In Space rhymed with Bathroom Break.  And, it was a very good time for one.
• Lew Zealand:  You may not know him by name, but you'll recognize his face to the right.  He sat in the audience obnoxiously tossing fish around for no apparent reason.  Being raised with manners, I thought he was incredibly ill-behaved to be sitting in such a posh setting as Muppet Theater.  I hated him.  And, now I hate the fact that his face is posted on my blog.  I'd like to take him off of his puppeteer's hand and donate him as a chew toy to the pit bull sanctuary. 
• Statler and Waldorf:  Again, with the manners.  I thought heckling was highly inappropriate behavior.  Especially when aimed at such a sweetheart as Fozzie.
• Behemoth:  Behemoth may have been a frequent character in my childhood nightmares.  But, he did set the perfect visual image to the tuba solo in the opening number.
• Dr. Bunsen Honeydew:  Where are his eyes?  Did he even have eyes.  I could tolerate Dr. Honeydew, though, because with him came Beeker.  But, geesh!  I can't help it!  Science teachers are soooo boring!

But, I guess even the most disliked of felt figures left their imprint on my psyche.  Love her or hate her, I doubt there's anyone of my generation who can honestly say they've never "Hi-yah!"ed a younger sibling.  And, poor Sam couldn't help his eyebrows.  Is that any reason to loathe our nation's most patriotic of birds?  As an adult, I even came to find a comic appreciation for the heckling old timers.  They had to enjoy the show a little bit.  They're the ones who kept buying those box tickets and coming back!  And, Lew... Nah, I still hate Lew.

I could go on and on all night, but I'll wrap up this post with a few of my favorite Muppet moments.

The Opening Number:

They'd change around the theme song a little every year.  There was one version of the opening, I remember clear as day but can not find it anywhere... Where there was a puppet couple ballroom-dancing during the instrumental bridge of the theme song (The melody that eventually became Statler and Waldorf singing lines) and when their bodies came together, the female puppet's chest fit into the male puppet's pot belly like perfect-fitting puzzle pieces.  I always thought that was so clever!  Does anyone else remember this?  Leave a message in the comment field below if so, so I can prove I'm not crazy!

"Rat Scat" from The Muppets Take Manhattan:

The first Muppet Babies appearance (also from The Muppets Take Manhattan):

We cooed over this for months wearing a constant rewind on our VHS cassette until, lo and behold, they made the Muppet Babies into an official Saturday morning cartoon.  Bravo!

Bird Watching

Our backyard was such a flutter this afternoon with all of our favorite colored Michigan birds.  Bright red cardinals, blue jays of all sizes, woodpeckers, robins, chickadees.

They inspired me to go outside while the laundry was running and try my hand at bird photography.  By the way, my little point and shoot camera only zooms to 8X, so I didn't have the highest of expectations when trudging outdoors.

My first shot: I can't tell if it's a quickly moving bird or a leftover dead leaf that couldn't bring itself to take its plunge to the ground yet.  Sigh...

Matters weren't helped by the fact that a noisy blue jay alerted the avian world of my presence with his rude warning cackle.  I quickly learned the bigger the bird, the bigger the brain.  All deliciously chubby birds of color quickly fled, never to return, leaving me with nothing but a tree full of dull, tiny, chattering sparrows.

One brave cardinal decided to dare the berry-lined fence that divides our backyard from our neighbor's.  But, he was stubborn enough to stay twigs-in-face, apparently fully aware of my mission.  It's a camera, not a gun, Mint!  (Oh yeah, "Mint" was my childhood nickname for every cardinal that lived in the woods behind my family home growing up.  I would pretend there was only one and his name was Mint.  I'm guessing "Mint" came about when I was at a loss of words when searching for "Cinnamon".  I'd beg my mom to let me adopt Mint and keep him in a parakeet cage, but she never gave in.  To this day every cardinal is still Mint.  And, today, Mint was gorgeous, although a slight pain in the arse.)

There was also a chickadee who braved a safe distance, staying high enough out of reach and far enough to not quite capture by lens.  This led me on a goofy game of "What Part of  Being Human Makes the Birds Stay Away?"

Since I had been using my soft-footed "Indian Walk", I knew is wasn't my noisiness.  So, I then decided that the problem had to be: 1.) Me being an obvious large blob moving around a large open space and 2.) My eyes. 

To resolve issue #1, I moved my search up against the storage shed.  I leaned against its yellow wall and tried ferociously to blend.  #2's conclusion was drawn because I was bored enough to allow my brain to wander to the remembrance of that butterfly we once learned about in long-past science class, who has the natural defense mechanism of bearing spots on its wings that resemble an owl's eyes.  This makes birds think twice before diving in to eat it.  Since my own eyes are especially googly, I decided that birds must be equally intimidated by mine.

As a solution, I created this method of preventing my eyes from seeming like a threat: Don't look up for too long.  Looking up makes you eyes too big.  Hood your eyes between glances.  You might look half-sedated, but only the birds are watching and they don't know of these things.  Then cautiously glance again in the other direction.  Eyelids up.  Eyelids down.  Eyelids up.  All around.  (There was a little photo journalism initiated here to document the theory, but I decided it best not to share...)

Did I think this strategy would really work?  Eh, I was willing to pretend.  The day you give up playing make-believe is the day your eternal state of boredom begins.  Boredom, I resist.  So, I will play the eye game. 

And, soon came closer another chickadee.  Not afraid because of my eyelid shields.  Right?  Well, he soon flew away too and I felt defeated.  There was this baby blue jay with a tiny little tuft that I was really  hoping to get a shot of but, like I was still coming to terms with, the smart birds kept away.

I tried the front yard.  Eye game in play, trying my best to look bored and nonthreatening... No dice.

Changing subjects, I briefly tried to lure a frisky black squirrel from the neighbor's yard.  If you just asked, "Black Squirrel???", you must not be from these parts.  Whenever someone visits from out of state or even from outside our ten-mile radius, they're always taken aback by our squirrels.  Yes, we have your everyday grey squirrels too.  But, the sight of one painted black causes some to ask, "What is that?  A skunk?"  Yes, around here we're into removing skunks' white stripes, giving them lipo, and teaching them to climb trees.  And, with that I hand them their free pass to the 21st century.  Metro-Detroit: Our wildlife as diverse as our schools.

Well, my squirrel buddy seemed to continue to favor the neighbors yard, so I decided my best bet was the whistling tree of sparrows.  It was becoming pretty populated by now.

I then decided I wanted to catch a bird in flight, so more games of attraction ensued. 

A round of "Eye Game" followed by a round of "See the grass. Be the grass." All the while whistling a melody that may have sounded more like the theme from Close Encounters of the Third Kind than any known bird call, but lo and behold...

There it is.  Right of center.  "Bird in Flight".

Shortly after, a round of fireworks/semi-automatic bullet-shooting went off in one of the neighbors yards, causing even the dumb sparrows (and me) to flee in every direction!

On my way to take cover, I found one last non-moving target of proof of active bird life.

Call me weird, call me Crazy Bird Lady (even though I've been openly campaigning for the "Crazy Cat Lady" title for the past several years...) but one thing you'll never be able to call me is bored.

P.S.  And, I guess it's safe to say that I'm a terrible bird photographer.