The Food, The Jeans, The Challenge - Day 4

Here is what you should know about my annual Branson trip:

1. It's not all fun and games. But it is mostly fun.

2. I spend the week driving a van load of people from motel to show, to food, to show, to food, to show, to food before bed. At the motel. Our entire group varies anywhere from 23-60 people, depending on the year.

3. Sometimes I am expected to know the answers to unexpected questions like, "How much does a piece of land go for per acre around here?" Or, "What are all the Osmond kids up to?" I just politely remind people that I am not from "around here". Nor am I personally acquainted with the Osmonds.

4. A normal bus tour packs a whopping 7 shows into 5 days. The passengers are exhausted and feel like the tour people "keep them hopping".

5. My dad is not a normal bus tour. Because we see 12  shows in 4 days. And travel in vans.

6. The Brett Family Singers do a daily morning show in Branson. It is the BEST! Literally. They win awards and stuff. Like "2011 Best Morning Show" and "2011 Male Entertainer of the Year". And "2011 Female Vocalist of the Year". And "Best Patriotic Salute to Veterans".

7. I am closely related to The Brett Family Singers. One of them is my sister. Another one is my brother-in-law. The "Male Entertainer of the Year" is my nephew. And the "Female Vocalist of the Year" is my niece. Someday I will write an entire post just about them. Complete with pictures. Then you will want to go to Branson and see them. If you don't already.

Today we went to "The Wig Show". It's not really called "The Wig Show". My other sister and I just like to call it that.

Because...

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig 

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Not a wig.

Also not a wig.

Forgot a wig? 

All this in two fast-paced, high energy hours!

Hence, "The Wig Show." At least as distracting as the jackets with sparkles and fringe. 

Oh, how I love Branson! : )

Now on to the jeans report...

Day 4 - Newer Jeans

This morning they fit! So I ate popcorn. And fudge.

Only two days to go.

The Food, The Jeans, The Challenge - Day 3

I have a love/hate relationship with "theatrical haze".
I love it because it sounds cool.
I hate it because it makes my contacts feel gritty.
Or maybe that's sleep deprivation. I'm not really sure.

Today I...
Did not eat popcorn.
Did not go back for a third dessert.
Stopped by the Amish store to buy an unreasonable amount of freshly ground Honey Roasted Peanut Butter. Because I like it. A lot. And I like to share it. A lot. It's especially good with Pink Lady apples. Mmm.

Day 3 - New Jeans
And a new white blouse.

The jeans still fit. The blouse is high-maintenance.

(You have no idea how ridiculous I feel posting a pic of me in my jeans everyday. Seriously. My apologies for dragging you into my "Anti-Expansion Plan".)

Check this guy out. His name is George Dyer. If you're ever in Branson you should go see him.
He has an incredible voice!

Only narrowly surpassing the incredible hair.

The Food, The Jeans, The Challenge - Day 2

Today it rained. And rained. And rained, and rained, and rained. So my camera camped out in the car till the last show of the day. Where I learned that I am very easily distracted by costumes. Especially costumes that are sparkly.

And fringe-y.

Check out this collection of jackets. They are masterpieces.

Sparkly...

Fringe-y...

Sparkly and  Fringe-y!!

And the big finish...

So. Much. Sparkle!

And you should know that these costumes are always my favorite part of this show. Blame it on the Texas in me.

You should also know that I am really good at dieting. Until 11am.
And that there are some things I try once and then can never get enough of. Like sugar.
And that when your jeans get rained and rained on, they stre-e-e-etch. This is valuable information!

Day 2 - The Old Jeans
This was before the end of today's diet. And the sugar. And the rain.

Tomorrow I will run.

The Food, The Jeans, The Challenge - Day 1

This is what my life feels like about now.

A speeding train.

Partly because it's my birthday. Which I just had. About a month ago. Or so it seems.
And partly because I actually started this post more than 24 hours ago.
24 hours that I have no idea where they went.

(And yes, you do have to get this close to a speeding train to get a photo like this. At least I think you do. Or at least I did. It's loud and you can feel it rumble under your feet. And whoosh your hair. It's really cool.
Until the Sheriff comes. Apparently the railroad people have to call the Sheriff's Department when they see someone this close to the tracks. Who knew?)

Anyway, about this time every year I get to accompany my dad and a whole batch of eh...older...people on a trip to Branson, MO for a week. This is very fun.

And very fattening!

Because this is the schedule:

Eat.
See a show.
Eat.
See a show.
Eat.
See a show.
Eat.
Sleep. For not long enough.

For six days.

And when I say, see a show, I mean, sit through a show. And when I say, sit through a show, I mean, eat through a show. Because theater popcorn in any kind of theater is impossible for me to resist.

The whole event is brutal on the waistline and marks the beginning of my holiday weight gain.

I usually am very careful about how I plan my wardrobe for this week.
Meaning that I pack my jeans planning to wear my tightest pair on Monday and my loosest pair on Saturday.
I call it "Expansion Planning".
Because my tightest jeans no longer fit on Saturday.
Until next February.

But I just got new jeans. New jeans that I really, really want to be able to wear again before February. So I've decided to plan my wardrobe backwards and wear my loosest jeans first. With the goal to be able to fit in my tightest jeans when I return home on Saturday.

This will be hard. Probably harder than stopping a speeding train.

So I decided to document it all for this blog. Because I like to think in my mind that doing something like that will spell success.

I know. Naive.

Day 1 - The White Jeans

I happen to really like my white jeans. I don't even know of they're in season in November. But if they aren't I will call them "winter white jeans". And then they will be.

The white jeans photo was actually taken at the very end of the day.
After hours of sitting in the car.
And driving.
And eating while driving.
And then stopping to eat at Lambert's. Where every dish is laden in frying oil or sugar.
Or both.

They should do something about their sign.

At Lambert's I ate a huge, hot, freshly baked throwed roll. With sorghum and butter. Yum!
And then I ate some deep-fried bacon. (Because bacon has to be cooked somehow, right?)
And then I ate some fried catfish.
And some fried okra.
A loaded baked potato, green beans, and fried apples.

And cottage cheese.

Do we see the irony here?

After Lambert's we went to my sister's house.
On the way there I ate a piece of homemade black licorice caramel that my other sister made.
(Heaven for my taste buds!  I might eat a piece for breakfast. And I do not like black licorice.)

And at my sister's house was a most excellent surprise!
A birthday celebration for ME!

Complete with this...

Smooth and Creamy, Chocolately, Pecany, Deliciousness of a Homemade Cheesecake.

Confession 1: My sisters are much better at this kind of cooking than I am.
Confession 2: I ate a larger portion of this cheesecake than anyone. Because it was just that amazing.

Then I snapped this picture.
And quickly put on something stretchy.

Today was wonderful. It really was!

But I am telling you, did you see that food log???

This is not looking good for Day 6.
Or my new jeans.

Tomorrow I will try Zumba.


(And as I post, it is officially no longer my birthday. Where does the time go?)

Friday Photos - The "Other" Race Day

Once upon a time there were three little races. Spring race, summer race and fall race.

Spring race and fall race were very good races. They were cool. And comfortable. Fun. And fast running.

But summer race was not so very good at all. It was hot. And humid. Hilly. And slow running.
It was not a sub-2:00:00 day.

Some race days are just like that. And that's okay.
Because you get to enjoy other things besides a good finishing time.

Like...

Inspiration.

Here's to those who remind us that our only limitations are those we set for ourselves.

Here's to those who set a healthy example for the next generation.

Here's to those who run to honor the memory of those they love. And have lost.

This family ran for their father who had recently lost his life to pancreatic cancer.

Their tees read, "Never give up, don't ever give up."

Here's to those who run for those who cannot run for themselves.

Here's to those who remind us that no sacrifice is too great, no pain too big, and no cost too high.

Every race weekend of the year this man runs a race with the flag. Sometimes he runs two.

And here's to those who start...

...and finish.

Whether they finish first or finish last, they all have an important story that saw them to the end.

All of them are winners.

And a profound reminder of why I love the race.

Have a wonderful weekend!

Race Day

At the beginning of each year I don't really make resolutions. Or set goals. I like to think more along the lines of "desired outcomes". And for this year one of my most "desired outcomes" was to run three half marathons. And to be able to finish one of them in under two hours.

Recently, I ran my last of those three races. I finished in 1:56:35. Yay!! And that means a sub-2:00:00 finish in two of those three races. Yay, again!!  I won't bore you with the details of this race. Mostly because my grandson is here and I don't want to take time to be clever. Or crafty. Or poignant. Or inspiring. Or any other time-consuming thing like that. I just want to play with him. But if you are interested in reading (a lot!) about this year's first race you can read this post.

http://pointshootspeak.blogspot.com/2011/04/groove-thing.html

It pretty much covers my first sub-2:00:00 finish... And the miserable week that led up to it.

For this year's last race I will simply say that I ran hard. And I ran well. I finished strong. But not too strong. I didn't have much left at the end. This is a good outcome. The best outcome, really. Bonus that I broke the 2-hour barrier. Yay!

And here are a few pics from the day. For your enjoyment. 

Because I know how much we all love enjoyment. And a blog with pics. : ) 

This is me getting ready. I am not stretching. I am putting my timing chip on my shoe. 

It is 6:43am. And way too early to stretch. Or wear a timing chip. 

I firmly believe that all good races should start at 7 o'clock....pm.

My race day mantra. I have a different one for every race.
I write it on my hand to take my mind off the aching legs.
This one says, "Conquer or Die". It is kind of dramatic. And makes me giggle. : )

This is me just before jumping into the start line. It is cold. And I am freezing. 

Lucky for me the start line is smack in front of The Man's office building. 

I walk outside 3 minutes before the gun, jump over gates, climb under guardrails,

 get in line, and I'm good to go. 

If I hear the National Anthem before I make it to the office building elevator I know it's time to hurry up. 

This has happened more than once. Or twice. Or five times.

This is me waiting in line for 2 minutes. It's not quite so cold smashed in between all those bodies. 

I am making a funny face. Probably to find out if I can see my breath in the air.

This is a shot of all those bodies. Thousands and thousands of bodies. 

This is a shot of someone faster than me. He's so fast that he gets a police escort. 

This is a shot of someone braver than me.
Feel free to submit your own commentary.

This is me just past mile three. When I still feel happy to be there. 

Also mile three. But not me. 

I just couldn't resist posting such a lovely fall display.

There were lots of miles between the last shot and this one. Because this is mile 11.
Where I skipped the aid station and passed the chick in green. And the 2:00:00 pace group. : ) 

I would have done the happy dance if it wouldn't have slowed me down.
(And please pardon the scary white belly shot.)

And the big finish. I am there somewhere.

A smile and a thumbs up.
Because it's over. And I made my time. Yay!

And this is where they remove the timing chip.
Trust me. This is not as easy as it looks. 

Because all the leg muscles are screaming. Loudly.
And you have to hold very still. It's torture.

And a lovely parting shot with The Man/Avid Supporter/Guest Photographer/Massage Therapist for the day.

The End 

Okay. So doesn't this just look like so much fun? I think that everyone should run a race. Because it really is so much fun! Besides, you get free food and chocolate milk at the end.

I am not making it up when I tell you that if I can do it, anyone can.

I am not built to run. But I am built to love the things I work hard for. 

I think all of us are.

And because of this I now have 8 half marathon finisher's medals that I proudly display. 

On my closet wall. 

Before I die I want to have 50. Or more.

And now I am going to go play with this crawling, climbing, exploring, giggling, happy little grandbaby guy that has found his way to my house for a few days.

Yay! = )

Bad Words

Words. I am in love with them. And each of them for a different reason.

I love what some words mean. Like "bumptious". One day this word showed up on my dictionary.com app as the Word of the Day. You should know that I am addicted to dictionary.com. And Word of the Day. I immediately liked this word. It's fun in every way! But it gets even better when you know what it means. Offensively self-assertive. Yep. That's the definition. Write it down. Add it to your vocab. It's pretty much
amazing. Because I've no doubt we all know someone who is bumptious.

Then there are words that just feel good when you say them. Like "pop". I don't know what it is about this word, but I honestly can't say it without making noises with my mouth. It's pathetic. But I love it. "Pop, pop, pop." And for just a few seconds (or eh...minutes?) I feel like a kid again. A very annoying kid.

There are also words that sound good. Like "celestial". Take a second to say this. Listen to it. And now close your eyes and feel it. It just kind of transports you to a different place, doesn't it? Mmm. Celestial.

Until your teenager slams a door and shouts, "I HATE YOU!" Which, by the way, means you are a very good parent.

But best of all are the words that feel good, sound good, and have great definitions. Like "serendipity" and "quintessential". If you don't know what these words mean look them up. It's worth the effort. And I feel quite certain they could be effectively used in the same flowery sentence.

Yep. Good words pretty much rock my world.

But all things have opposites.

Enter bad words. And I am not talking about swear words here. I am talking about regular words. Regular words that just should not be used on a regular basis. They aren't pleasing to listen to, they are challenging to say, and sometimes their definitions are just all messed up.

For example, take the word "moist". Ew. This is not fun to say. Or hear. And it leads the mind to all kinds of icky places. I know this because I used the thesaurus on dictionary.com to try and find a pleasant synonym to replace it with. There isn't one. I consider "moist" to be a very limited use word. It is only good when used to describe something like cake. Or...hmm. Nope. Just cake.

Then there is "condiments". Okay. Who came up with this word? Is there anything about this that screams mustard, ketchup, or relish? I think not! Please. Can we just call them "toppings"?

And how about "incumbent"? This word is just confusing to me. It's kind of neutral when it comes to hearing or saying it, which in and of itself puts it in the please-let's-find-a-different-word category. But it has several meanings. And they could not be more different. Check it out.

1. holding an indicated position, role, office, etc., currently.
2. obligatory (often followed by on or upon)
3. resting, lying, leaning, or pressing on something

Is anyone else bothered by how unconnected the definitions of this word are? I mean, honestly. This word just states, "I sure as heck hope I was listening to the rest of the conversation." Must. Have. Context.

There are other regular bad words out there. Like midst, Arctic, candidate, ordinances, clothes, width and prerogative. They are just So Much Work to pronounce! And all good words should roll out easily. These do not. I consider them to be high maintenance, low yield vocabulary.

And let's not forget about bad words like vacuum, broccoli, accessory, cemetery, mnemonic (okay, that's not really a regular word, but hang with me and you'll see where I going with this), knowledge, judgement, cantaloupe and absence. Help!! I am a really good speller. I am not making this up. But I have to Think So Hard to spell these words correctly! And spelling should be fun, not work. So I just want to know, who on earth decided how things should be spelled? Because sometimes it makes no sense at all.

And while we're at it, who gave the spelling-rule-breaking-words permission to break the spelling rules?

Annoying.

I know. It may seem a little irrational and absurd. But words are such an important part of a rich and interesting existence! So this is a call to everyone to step it up just a little. Expand your vocabulary. Learn a few new words. Good and bad. One day, I promise, they will come in very handy for effectively expressing yourself.

And let's not forget to thank our spell-checking devices everywhere.

Except for the one on my iPhone that randomly wants to change the spelling of my nickname "Kam" to Lam, Jan, or most recently Jam. I'll let you think in your own mind the problems that signing off as Jan instead of Kam could cause...

Autumn

Bittersweet October.

The mellow, 

messy,

leaf-kicking,

perfect pause

between the opposing miseries 


of summer and winter.

- Carol Bishop Hipps -

Monday Morning Music Moment

Ahhhhhh!

So I'll try and keep this short. Because the Monday Morning Music Moment is actually longer than a moment. By a few moments. Or minutes. My longest music share yet.

It's Little Man. At yesterday's piano adjudication. The one that I love because the parents get to go and watch. And videotape. Sadly, videotaping must be discreet, so as to not annoy the judges. Trust me. You do not want to annoy the judges! This means you can't walk around and position yourself to get video of the screaming fingers. But that's okay. Just take a listen. It's worth it.

And in case you're dying to know, he received a 4+ on this piece. The highest score possible. This comes on the heels of receiving a 1+ at District Auditions. The highest score possible there. I know. It's a little confusing. Like establishing the 1-10 scale and then working it backwards.

Anyway, he will play this song and the one posted at http://pointshootspeak.blogspot.com/2011/09/friday-photos-recital.html for State competitions the first weekend of November. No parents or video allowed.

So this is the one chance, and one chance only, to listen to Little Man and Chopin. 

Nocturne in D flat, Op. 27, No. 2. 

And then tell me, is there anything more satisfying than a teenage boy that is so talented and so attractive? 

I think not!

And you should know that under the right circumstances Chopin can make me cry.

So can tickling.

Crack Fries

I run. And once a week I run long. And by long I mean anywhere from 8 to 15 miles.

I know. If you usually count your daily walk to the freezer for ice cream as exercise, this sounds a little crazy. But the truth is I do it for one reason.

Crack Fries.

Well, that and cute jeans. But mostly Crack Fries.

If you live anywhere near me you know what I'm talking about. If you don't live anywhere near me, but talk to me, you still know what I'm talking about. Crack Fries are the absolute best use of your weekly allotment of calories you could possibly imagine.

Close your eyes and think in your mind...

Hot, crispy skinny fries...
With lightly seasoned saltiness....
Covered in creamy, marginally spicy, cheesy sauce.

Mmm...

Breathe in deeply. Exhale.

Open your eyes. And lament that Crack Fries are not sitting in front of you.

Okay, if you're anything like me this actually doesn't sound that good. I mean, honestly, I really don't like cheesy sauce on much of anything. And when Kid Four told me about Crack Fries and insisted I try them, I was skeptical at best. But because I like to help my kids think I'm interested in what they are interested in, I tried them.

Two bites. That's all it took. Two bites. And I was hooked.

Lucky for me, Crack Fries live a mile and a half from my house. Even more lucky for me, I run long once a week. Because I am not making it up when I tell you that I cannot pass them by. Ever.

I don't know what they put in the seasoning or in the cheesy sauce. Or what kind of special dirt they grow those potatoes in. But whatever it is, it calls my name. In my sleep. I dream about Crack Fries. True story.

Today I had some. Again.
They are messy. They are delicious. They are completely addictive.
And they are the best reason ever for the long run.

Well, that and cute jeans.

But sorry, no pics today. Trust me, they would turn out to be nothing shy of insulting. Because Crack Fries are just that good.

The Funk...and Then Some

Sometimes I get in a funk. Sometimes I know why. And sometimes I don't. But it's there just the same, gnawing away at my insides, leaving me unmotivated, uninterested, and generally feeling...funkified.

I have an acronym to go with this idea. I made it up one day. Impressive, I know.

This is it:

PSFS.
Short for Post-Stress Funkification Syndrome.

It happens after long periods of stress subside,
Or when people you know move away, 
Or when you've had company for a week and a half and even though you're a little glad they've gone you feel a little empty, 
Or after the holidays you worked so hard for are over, 
Or when your last child moves out of the house and you find the quiet walls shouting at you,
Or when you lose love, or a loved one, and you are so busy with all the losing details that you don't get a chance to feel the pain till everything is quiet, and it is winter, and you miss them so much.

In my world, that is Post-Stress Funkification Syndrome.

I have experienced this kind of funk a few times over. In very real and profound ways. And I continue to be a little surprised by how it hurts. It is different than just about any kind of pain I know. It is not your average every day funk that is bettered by a good pedicure or a box of chocolates. No, this is the kind of funk that requires much more.

It requires attention. And care.

I especially remember feeling this after my mother passed away. It was November, just before Thanksgiving. Road trips, funeral arrangements, family gatherings, preparation for the holidays, and life took over all of the space for feeling.


And before I knew it, it was January. Cold, harsh, dark, and empty.
And vividly mirrored by my heart and soul. Deep aching feelings that would not be ignored.

I have learned that usually there is only one way for me to effectively manage PSFS.
It is to "Face the Funk". 
Look it squarely in the face and let it be what it is. 
Cry, scream, throw stuff (but only soft stuff like pillows), lock yourself away, indulge, wallow. 
Feel.

And then stand.

And try again the things you used to love.
And surround yourself with those who can move you forward. 
And try to push through every day.
And when that is not enough, start the process all over again.

What I have learned is that
there is cleansing in the feeling,
repair in the standing,
and building in the pushing.

Sometimes this takes longer than others.
Sometimes it takes going through the process again and again. 
And invariably it is very hard work.

But always, if I allow, it leaves me better than I once was.

Life was not meant to simple,
or easy, 
or neat. 
It was meant to grow us in ways we cannot grow ourselves.

So I will embrace the fertile growing ground that PSFS has to offer.
And then rejoice when it has passed.

Friday Photos - Recital!

Today is Friday Photos. And by photos I mean video. Because video is really just a bunch of photos all smashed together, right?

But first you should know that sometimes I am the luckiest girl alive. It is fall and at our house that means piano adjudication time. Two big events right in row. And one of them is a big State competition. So our very gracious (and perky!) piano teacher plans a practice recital to help the students prepare to be in front of the judges. And last night was practice recital night.

Okay, if you've ever been to a piano recital (especially a practice piano recital) you might think I'm making up that luckiest girl alive part. But I'm not. Because I get to listen to music like this every. single. day. And then share it with you.

So sit back and enjoy Little Man playing Norman Dello Joio's Piano Suite IV. 

But beware. It sounds a little like barely organized chaos. Maybe that's why I like it. It's kind of like my life.

Have a Fabulous Friday!

PS. Here's a little hint. If you click on the YouTube icon in the box you can watch this vid on YouTube. 

And then make it full screen. And then see his hands reflecting in the piano. 

Aaaa! It makes a girl crazy! In a good way.

September is Sunflowers

I like flowers. 

Especially when they are freshly cut and come in a vase for my kitchen or bedside table. 

The reasons for this should be perfectly clear, right? 

I mean, you don't have to plant them, or water them, or prune them. 

Or kill them. 

They just die on their own like they're supposed to. 

There are no unrealistic expectations for cut flowers. 

Or for me and my inability to keep plants and small children alive at the same time. 

And bonus!! They are beautiful and bursting with cheeriness! 

One day I thought it would be fun to come up my very own Flower of the Month Club. 

You know, for when I live in a mansion with a butler. 

And a personal chef. 

And my own full-size gym, equipped with a very attractive personal trainer. 

When I get flowers in a vase for my kitchen or bedside table delivered to my door several times a month. 

Some of these were really easy to figure out.

Like April, August, and November. 

But I had a lot of trouble with others.

Like October, January and February. 

For a full year I paid attention to every kind of flower everywhere, as I tried to finish my own game. 

(Obsessive. I know.) 

September was one of those months that started out being hard to find a flower for. 

Until one day, on a run, I rounded a corner and saw man sprinting up the trail with a big bouquet of sunflowers. 

I was surprised to see that they were not cut. 

Instead they had been dug from the earth. 

And their dirty roots were flailing in the wind. 

I have no idea where he got these flowers. 

I don't usually take time to dig up flowers while I'm on my morning run.

But apparently he did. And he was grinning ear to ear about it. 

So were the flowers. 

And that's when I decided it...

September is Sunflowers.

That was a year ago. 

It's September again and sunflowers are growing wild just about everywhere I turn. 

I have been watching them very closely. 

And they are truly remarkable! 

You should know why...

Even at a time when the change of seasons can bring damaging winds or hail... 

     they stand strong. 

If temperatures dive to thirty-five degrees or rise to ninety-five degrees...

      they stand strong. 

When it rains too much or doesn't rain at all...

      they stand strong. 

They are bright. 

They are cheerful. 

They are beautiful. 

And as summer closes, fall settles, and winter approaches, they are hopeful.

      They are everything I want to be.

I have not cut any sunflowers for my table. 

I thought I wanted to, but every time I have tried, something deep inside cries resistance. 

So instead, I have quietly watched them thrive.

      And be all that they were meant to be.

Soon it will turn cold. Too cold even for sunflowers. 

But I know another September will come. 

And when next summer leans into fall, 

Instead of lamenting, I will rejoice.

Because...

September is Sunflowers.