Archive for the ‘Nostalgia’ Category

hooplove So, I’m sitting here at work, basically just trying to keep myself sane until 5pm, when I decide it’s definitely time for a blog update. My poor bloggy has been so neglected, sometimes I think I should just give it up and hit the delete button, but then I remember all the really good stuff I’ve written here and I just can’t bring myself to do it. I tell myself that I’ll get better, and post more often, but as they say, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and apparently so is the internets. Good intentions and porn.

Things have not really changed too much since my last post. I’m still struggling in a job I can now say that I honestly hate. It’s not the position at all-I love my role as a receptionist. It’s actually what’s going on within the restructuring of the company as well as the behind the scenes drama-rama that’s just making everyone insane. It’s only getting worse with each day. Needless to say, I am looking for another job-no big surprise there, right?

I think I’d like to do something a lot less receptionist-y, and maybe more administrative. I have mad admin skillz! *sillygrin* I’d also really enjoy something in which I could actually use my college degrees-maybe editing or proofreading?

Of course, if I won the lottery and became a multimillionaire, this would all be a moot point and I’d be writing blog updates from Cabo, so maybe I should just better start working on that!

My dad is doing well, though we’ve been told he’s reaching the end of his physical therapies and will need to be moved to a permanent, semi-private room soon. He’s no longer a candidate for assisted living as he is still very impulsive about his decisions and is not very ambulatory by himself. What this means of course, is we’ll now have to switch to private pay and begin the whole process for applying to Medicaid. What a pain in the ass.

I just began another bellydancing session with Michelle at The Goddess Hour. Loves it! I’ve also been working a lot on my hoopdancing with the help of online tutorials and I found a wicked awesome online hoop community, Safire Dance, through Safire’s youtube hooping tutorials. I’m not brave enough yet to post my own hoop video-I fear I still look like a seizure victim at times and I’ve not lost that “learning a new trick” face of utter concentration. When I’m more confident in my skills and flow, I will definitely post some vids!

I have some new pics to post too, which I’ll try to do either tonight or sometime soon.



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escape.png I remember I was about thirteen or so, and on my way to NY to spend July with my dad and “Miss Piggy,” my stepmother. I was miserable, of course, with the prospect of spending 31 whole days with them, not to mention all that time away from my friends & the beach. However, I was resigned to the unavoidable, and so I filled the nine hour trip by staring out the window as I listened to my Sony Walkman, finding solace in the musical renderings of Winger, Def Leppard, and Ratt.

The backseat was my refuge and I fantasized as I watched the scenery fly by, daydreaming mostly about horses and boys and escaping to the freedom that lay just beyond the window glass. While my father navigated the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I flew just out of reach, my long tangled hair whipping my face as I raced on a stallion as dark as night, hooves barely touching the red clay ground.

As my eyes traveled over the wooded hills and cliffs that bordered the expressway, my thoughts lost in a different world entirely, I was slammed back into the present quite rudely by the sight of a teenaged boy about my age, high on a hillside, pants around his ankles, equipment swinging in the breeze.

He seemed to be exhibiting himself to the passing cars on the turnpike, but he was so high up, no one would have even noticed him unless they were staring out the window as I had been doing. He looked happy, as evidenced by the huge smile on his face, and he waved at us as we passed by, our eyes meeting for the merest fraction of a second. I was so stunned at the strangeness of such a sight, I couldn’t even began to tell my parents in the front seat what I had just witnessed. They’d have never believed me.

And I realized oddly enough, I didn’t want to tell them. It was almost like I shared a secret with this boy. Some weird kinship wrought from longing and the purest essence of freedom. Although I didn’t really understand what this strange kid was up to, I felt instinctively somehow that it went beyond an inclination for perversion, that this rebellious act was actually a grasping for some deeper truth or meaning in life. A one person riot in the face of conformity, he was expressing not only his desire for freedom, but freedom as he felt it to be.

But then again, maybe he was just some whack job exposing himself. Who knows.


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dinos.gif I’m totally having an RA flare in my right wrist, so this will be a really short post, not like I haven’t been phoning it in the last two weeks already, right?

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since NaBlo started, and while I really haven’t been giving my all to this blog for several months, having to post something every day has just really made me realize it even more so. I’m really unhappy about that. I love my blog, but we’ve kinda drifted apart. *cutegrin*

Tonight, I came to the conclusion that some changes need to be made to Terminally Cute. I don’t have a solid plan in mind at the moment, but keep your eyes peeled & hang on to your popcorn…


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Food & Family

kitkat.jpg It’s funny, how we remember people. A snippet of music or a familiar scent can send our brains into a cartwheel of memories, half-forgotten and yet somehow made more whole, more tangible, by the very act of remembering.

I was very young when my granny, my mother’s mother, died, and yet I cannot make a fried egg without remembering her. A finicky child when it came to food, I was hard to please, but Granny knew. She would make an egg over easy insuring plenty of thick, golden yolk, and a white that was firm, but not overcooked. She would then put this perfect egg into a bowl and decimate it with fork and knife, adding afterwards a single piece of buttered toast, cubed, of course, along with a slice or two of bacon, crumbled. After mixing it altogether, it certainly looked a mess, but it tasted delicious!

My father’s mother and the matriarch of the Sinclair family, Grandmother Sinclair, having lived all her life down South, was the very epitome of that genteel culture and lifestyle. Think Steel Magnolias. Iron fist in a dainty, velvet glove. Food plays a huge part in down home Southern hospitality, and my Grandmother was no exception. She was sure to lay out a spread for anyone or any occasion, she really didn’t need any excuse. Every meal was ginormous and would include two or three different meat courses, several vegetables, stuffing usually, biscuits, as well as a couple of salads, maybe a casserole or two. Dessert consisted of at least 2 different pies, a cobbler or tart of some sort with ice cream, and a constant stand-by, chocolate cake. Her cooking was phenomenal, and nothing I can even attempt to duplicate. As a child, and a carnivore, what I remember most was the way she cooked her meat–ham and goose so tender it melted in your mouth, chicken and turkey that just fell off the bone as soon as you looked at it. Even the taste of the meat was just different in a way I can’t begin to explain. OMG, it was sooo good!

They say, whoever they are, that mom’s cooking is always the best, no matter where you roam. I am certainly a testament to that. My mom’s cooking was fantastic! Roast chicken with Southern-style slippery dumplings & gravy, scrambled eggs with scrapple & toast, sweet tea, strawberry shortcake, BBQ chicken on the grill with corn on the cob, peaches & cream pie—all of these remind me of her. Even now, I have her cookbooks & handwritten recipe cards and I treasure these little bits of her-they are pieces of love that I can hold & taste.


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For Chris

That summer
smells of chlorine
and freshly mown grass, still.
Our laughter melting each day,
a golden grace of pinky swears
and crossed hearts.
Spilling wine sweet secrets,
we rinsed away the bitter bite of dark hours
with naive tongues.
Strangers, then sisters,
then strangers again,
we promised the constancy of stars,
and yet as greens burnt to golds,
we gave away pieces,
too heart scarred to hold tight,
and soared as sparrows into the crisp autumn air.

~TC 4/12/07

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del.gif Today’s been kind of a weird day. I’ve been feeling very nostalgic today. Then tonight, I was online, cleaning out some files and doing some organizing while listening to Stevie Nicks, when I ran across a link, which like the yellow brick road, led me to some old friends, and a place far away that was once a home, of sorts.

Very cool.

Now, I find it’s just after 1am, and I’m still sitting here at the compy, still listening to Stevie. Tried to reach a dear friend of mine for a chat, but we’d just missed each other. Our timing has always been off.

Eh, I need to go to bed. I haven’t stayed up late like this in forever.


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