I just have to say Wow! And Whew!
See. Several years ago we entered into a rough, rough season financially. Rental property can be a wonderful, lucrative, nest-egging kind of investment. It can also be a nightmare. We chose the nightmare route. And interestingly enough, the nightmare that goes with bad investments doesn't just touch the investment. It kind of sucker punches you right in the breadbasket of life.
Without all the horrifying and gory details I'll sum it up thusly. We were broke. Real bad. Foreclosures, unsecured debt, horrific debt repayment plans, zero credit cards, living on a budget that wasn't actually living, more like existing. In the hey day of this period, our beloved van, Chip, developed yet one more leak, and another rattle, his death rattle. Friends, kind friends, offered us, Bruce, the green, high-mile but more dependable van, for a small monthly payment and we accepted their kind offer.
Bruce took us all sorts of places, even after we paid him off. Even after he ate two transmissions, and praise the Lord, one was still under warranty. Within the past two years we had begun to really see some light at the end of the tunnel but also feared that our credit was still trashed for years to come, and we hoped that Bruce could still keep on, keeping on. Then last year Rob's source of income nearly dried up. We didn't have any other ideas. Our payments were still due. God intervened with the kindness of family members who helped us out, and then He sent Rob the perfect scenario job. Yes!!! This required a car that could travel long distances every day and do that inexpensively. Enter Little Blue who ate up over 300 highway miles a week and did it with a great attitude. But, could he do it again? And what about, Bruce? Is that his transmission slipping again? And that new chugging and clunking sound. What does that mean?
Then a "For Sale" sign went up at church. A small vehicle, less miles, decent price. We could maybe sell Bruce for a grand, but could we willingly sell a van that we knew wasn't feeling so hot and had a history of some serious surgical procedures? Little Blue would be a better car to keep, though. What to do? What to do? When investigating further, another family member suggested something so terrifying I nearly choked. The Cash for Clunkers deal. A new car. A car payment. Qualifying for a loan. Two of the four sounded great. But no way would be qualify. No way.
But we did. Rob put down the money he'd saved for the cheap used car he'd hoped to find. I offered up Bruce, the van, as the clunker and the bank actually approved our credit application. Wow.
So thanks, God. Really. Thanks wonderful family members and friends who encouraged us to keep plugging away and to trust in Your generosity even when the numbers didn't add up. And thanks, Bruce, for your sacrifice. May you rest in peace.
Thinking Cup!
Word of the day...
Courtesy of EER who is obviously enjoying said words and definitions. And beings that I'm always looking for easy ways to fill the Dregs that may alos bring a teensy weensy smile to readers, here goes.
calmorap n. ancient Egyptian custom that was the precursor to today's luxury spas, calmorap began in the hey-dey of Cleopatra's reign.
The ancient Egyptian slaves would feed choice female crocidiles an array of gourmet human-grade foodstuffs, mostly herbs, flowers and a now extinct rat-type rodent called the exrattus which was considered to be the tastiest of all rodents. Once the crocidile ate it's fill it was carefully led (many, many slave girls lost arms and legs during this process) to a holding pen. Inside the pen was a mud pit stuffed full of grape leaves and lavender. As the crocodile slept (and processed the heavy meal) nature would take it's course. The same pits would be used for weeks. As the products fused and fermented more and more lavendar and grape leaves would be stirred in until it became too hot to touch due to the fermenation process. Finally, the valuable ooze was removed and stored in clay pots for another three months.
Once this painstaking process was completed, the contents were mixed with fermented fruit and more lavendar and then slathered over the entire bodies of the royals. Large palm leaves were then wrapped around the luxurious mud mask and the royal was carted into the sun. Once temporarily mummified in the resulting cement-like body covering sleep was sweet and filled with magnificent dreams. Many suggest that the ideas of the pyramids and many of the gods and goddesses surfaced during this process. Finally, the covering was chipped away and after a refreshing dip in the Nile, the skin was said to be as soft as a baby's left buttock cheek.
Information about this procedure was found on ancient tablets.
The Movie Review:
I've been eagerly awaiting Julie and Julia. Not that I'm a huge follower of Julia. I remember her from my childhood...the quirky voice, the occasional glimpse of her on our small screen television. My mom didn't own "The Book" (the 1961 version of Mastering the Art of French Cooking Volume 1) or if she did, I never was allowed to touch it. Julie Powell's book Julie and Julia enticed me. I'm a blogger so Julie Powell's blogging adventure intrigued me. I was disappointed in the lack of Julia in Powell's memoir. And a little overwhelmed by some of the things that took up space that Julia could've filled.
The movie. Ah. On one hand I can say that I loved it. Feel good? Check. Two women, different generations, situations and struggles taking life by the throat and just doing it. Check. Definitely feel good. I loved the supportive and loving men in the lives of Julie and Julia. Meryl Streep, in an enchanting performance, oozes goodwill and charm, embracing life as a generous and lifesized Julia Child. Several scenes were laugh outloud funny, others poignant, and I would have been content with the story of Julia Child. Period. The film even included a Dan Akroyd as Julia Child laugh moment and remake scenes of The French Chef ala Meryl.
Julie Powell's life, on the other hand, lacked a bit. Amy Adams, as Julie Powell, weeping on the floor was very amusing. But there was a disconnect somewhere... in the script, the interpretation, or the tainting in my own mind by having read her memoir. Julie Powell, on the big screen, came across as whiny, weak and fragile. The book Julie Powell (I've not read the blog, so I can't compare there) is a don't-like-it-then-you-know-where-to-shove-it woman with frequent outbursts that seemed to be rages rather than insecurities. The movie Julie Powell discusses her "_ itchiness" with a friend. But she doesn't pull off _itch, this character is not a mean girl. And that's probably really the issue. Powell is honest in her memoir, sometimes horrifyingly honest, but it causes a grudging admiration. And she's funny, witty, sarcastic and descriptive which makes her readable and likable on another level. The film didn't pull that out of the character and so we are left with kind of a "who cares" or "that's nice" secondary scenario in which a girl becomes a woman while following Julia's recipe for a full life. Kind of.
On the family friendliness of this film -- it earned it's PG13 with a few mild makeout scenes, a language list that included at least one each of all the major curse words without overly drowning the audience in expletives. One scene included a descriptive term referencing a male body part or rooster, if you will.
I can recommend it as an entertaining film full of delightful scenery and outdoor markets, laden tables, well-acted characters, charming interactions, and overall deliciousness with a tiny bit of aftertaste of something not so fabulous. Plan to leave the theater with the desire for food or an adventure or a great combination of the two.
The Book Revi
ew:
In anticipation of the movie by the same name and by a serendipitous sale while on a trip to a local bookseller I ended up with a copy of this entertaining memoir. I had not heard of The Project before seeing the film trailer. And once I saw the film trailer I was completely in love with the idea and the intersecting stories of the two women on separate but intertwined journeys. Buying the book seemed like the absolute best idea. Before I continue, though, I need to toss out some caution flags. Caution number one...based on the subject matter and charming cover you'd never guess this book would be full sexuality. It is. I'm guessing if you tossed a few seasons of Sex in the City into a crock-pot, added several chapters of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and folded in a few trade chick-lits, a tablespoon of assorted spices, and a few cups of wine you'd end up with a dish of Julie and Julia en croute.
In example, regarding Caution One, two friends actively engaged or toying with adultery, a friend with erotic dreams and lack of filter, a heroine who seems at the edge of her very sanity several times, raw, naked, food, mastering and manipulating and enjoying said food, a move, a despised job not to mention a syndrome and a biological clock clanging on the cusp of a thirtieth birthday, well, all lend themselves to frequent F-bombs and much sexual conversation and shared thoughts.
Caution Number Two. I expected more Julia. Julia isn't absent but a bit anemic and in a ratio of about 10% Julia, 90% Julie. Julie's life is definitely one that kept me turning pages, sometimes with apprehension, but turning nonetheless. But if you are seeking half and half or heavy on the Julia you might be disappointed.
Julie is clever and writes some terrific sentences. Some of her descriptions are deliciously hysterical. One little tidbit about her poor, sweet husband as a butter mule brought tears to my eyes. Also, Julie gets a little or a lot political and is definitely not a fan of religion and/or God depending on the rants I encountered. Anger, though amusing much of the time, still comes across as anger and added a bitter aftertaste. I loved Eric and the fact that though there were times I wondered if their marriage would survive the slinging, the cursing, the thoughts, in the light of day Julie always managed to find the good and the right in her marriage and attempted to speak positively about her husband, painting him as an unconventional hero.
Sarcasm lovers. Those who like underdog stories wherein beaten down and depressed person picks self up by boot straps and through some quirky, self-imposed lifestyle choice ends up changing need to look further into Julie and Julia. The unfolding story is a painful process to watch. But there is something grandly delicious about the final multicourse meal on the cosmic table of a hard won success. Though a thick fuzzy blanket of dust lies beneath the dining room table covering and spiderwebs bind the candle sconces to the wall and each other, though the sink gurgles in protest and the pans cover all available space in the kitchen, the meal ends up being very much like life. Delicious and decadent mixed with sparse and stringy, washed down with joy and tears, and shared with people just as stinking messy.
EER challenged me to look up the following words:
pildappi
resheine
Well...after checking a few on-line dictionaries and finding nothing even close to these two words...which I'm assuming are European in origin...I'm forced to make up definitions.
Both words were presented during an earlier post wherein I debated the joys of pleasing my bosses by my exemplary behavior vs the challenge and buzz of a good old-fashioned firing.
That said. I'm sure the word challenge is related to this post.
So.
Pildappi n. 1)the lines formed on your face after falling asleep on your computer keyboard. 2)the form used to write-up above infraction of workplace rules.
Resheine v. 1) the activities performed to get back on your bosses' good side after receiving a pildappi warning.
Kaplooey.
How's that for a random shot?
Kidding.
Rob had a burst of energy, and his burst required the removal of "STUFF" from the previous storage room. Twenty-two and I packed, hauled and sorted a pile of household accumulation into three piles and got rid off, or stored all of it.
Nice. Feels extremely nice.
We now have only ONE room that hasn't been gutted or remodeled yet.
During the gutting this outdated blue room became the beautiful gutted one also known as a future office.
: ) This makes me happy because...the only place to go from here is rebuilding. YAY!!!
Back in the swing of life as normal now. Suffering a bit from post-vacay ennui.
But office reentry has been bizarrely easy. I expected multiple phone messages as indicated by the red glow under the collapsed stack of paperwork. Nope. I had one. A moderate pain in the neck but only one and only moderate. The paperwork stack has already been wrangled, hog-tied and sorted. (Thank you for your LACK of contribution there, EER, I appreciate your restraint.)
And another surprise at the office. Today I received an “AWESOME!” and a “PERFECT!” (punctuation, caps and enthusiasm mine). See, I’ve been collecting firings (I believe I’m the owner of nine different firings) wherein an employer is offended by some smart, snappy comeback, lacks the wit to retaliate and threatens to withhold paycheck or have me escorted from the premises by security. (This in itself is funny. Really. Trust me.) But the awesome and the perfect came with the erasure of two firings each. Yeah. That’s kind of nice.
Conundrum of the day. Should I change my tactics and go with helpfulness and uberefficiency vs the quest for the most firings?
Wait. One would require helpfulness and efficiency. The other sarcasm and mocking.
Oh well, the kudos were nice while they lasted.
