I've gotta get a message to you

I'm very sad. Robin Gibb died yesterday. He was my favorite Bee Gee. When I was a little girl, my mother loved the Bee Gees. I grew to love them too. In fact, aged approximately 10, I began writing a novel (haven't finished it yet) called 'Patti and the Bee Gees'. (For anyone who knows anything about me, the fact that a Patti was my protagonist way back then is more than a little ironic. The fact that I have yet another unfinished novel laying around somewhere will surprise no one). I loved the Bee Gees pre and post disco music much more than their disco sound. I didn't really 'get' disco. I'll hit skip to get from Jive Talkin' to Massachusetts any day. But anyway.

The Bee Gees were talented, brilliant musicians, amazing in concert and very funny, thoroughly nice, down to earth guys. I was blessed to have met Robin Gibb and his brothers Maurice and Barry a couple of times through my work over the years. I once had a very funny conversation with Robin about his checkered past as a teenage arsonist before he became famous. It was a stupid bit of trivia I had unearthed and during a press conference in Sydney, I decided to ask him about it instead of trotting out the extremely tiresome 'how are you are enjoying our beautiful city?' question. (This particular time they were in Australia as part of their One Night Only world tour in 1999). Let's just say it changed the tone of the press conference! He sought me out afterwards at an event the promoter was hosting and we joked about setting fires and other dumb stuff. Such as my unfinished novel featuring him and his brothers. It was sweet. (Shortly after this, in an ill-advised fashion move, I began wearing round, steel-rimmed, blue tinted mirrored sunglasses. They looked so cool on him. On me, as photographs from that time amply testify, not so much!)

I was setting tables in a Russian restaurant in London when I heard Andy Gibb had died in 1988. He was the youngest Gibb brother;  a musician but never officially a Bee Gee. For some reason, this stabbed me through the heart. I wasn't even a fan of his but something about his death really affected me and stayed with me for a long time. When I heard that Maurice (Robin's twin) had died, in 2003, I was trying on wedding dresses in a fancy store. I remember trying very hard not to cry but losing it when my aunt, who adored him, called me to ask if I'd heard the news. And last night I found out about Robin via a text from my husband while I was at a 7 year old's birthday party. Of course, I had known for a long time he was sick. I just kept praying he would get better. I had to leave the room before 20 kids wanted to know what was wrong with me.

Is it stupid to be upset about the death of someone you didn't even really know? I don't care if it is. I am upset. And I'm sad.

God bless you and keep you, Robin. Go set some fires in heaven. And make sure you find my mother and say hi. She would love that.

How to answer this question?

A conversation that took place last week. 

William: 'Mommy, do you promise you won't get mad if I ask you this?'
Me: 'Um. OK.'
William: 'What IS a somamabidge anyway?'
Me: 'It's something some people say sometimes that is not very nice. And I never want to hear you say it to anyone, OK?'
William: 'OK. Are you mad at me?'
Me: 'No'.
William: 'Somamabidge!! Somamabidge!! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!'

Say it s-l-o-w-l-y, people. So-ma-ma-bidge.

As in, 'I want my father back, you somamabidge'.

This is a direct quote from that winsome fairy tale for the entire family, The Princess Bride.

William's version may not be an exact translation but it's close enough to give me the heebie jeebies thinking about him potentially going to school and saying it within earshot of his teacher. Who is a nun.

Back track six months. We are on vacation in Australia when William first lets loose with 'you somamabidge! He's laughing since it's obviously the funniest thing he's ever heard. Let's just say I did not react well upon hearing these words come out of my then five year-old's mouth. And of course, I immediately blamed his father.

Me: 'Did you hear Daddy say that?'

William: 'No. I heard it on The Princess Bride.'

Me: 'No you did not. You're not in trouble, I just need to know where you really heard it.'

William: 'Seriously Mommy, it was on The Princess Bride. Seriously!'

Me: 'OK, show me.'

He did. Well, color me seven different shades of shocked. (Apparently this movie was released in 19freaking87. Somehow it had passed me by completely.)

So now I just blame his father for putting it on the iPad for him to watch. But honestly, what kind of family movie contains this kind of language? Or is it not really considered bad language to call someone an S-O-B these days? Or is The Princess Bride not really a family movie? I mean, you don't hear the Scarecrow or the Tin Man screeching obscenities as they frolic down the yellow brick road, do you?

What. The. Heck?

My name is Inigo Montoya indeed.  Not suitable for
small children no matter how many sword fights there are. 

Goodbye Nemo

He was a little fish who lived a long and (I suppose) happy life. But he died last week and it broke William's heart. Nemo is buried in the front garden. I felt sad that I never took any photos of him. So here is one I googled; it looks a lot like him, in happier days.  

Disclaimer: Not the actual Nemo. 

Spring break

When in doubt, take a right on E Street

April 1st, 2012.

I will confess here and now that I maybe misused the power of prayer today. I did not pray for world peace or for healing sick people or to be a better person. I prayed someone would magically offer me a ticket to tonight's Springsteen show at the Verizon Center that I'd been unceremoniously shut out of in the initial on sale many weeks before.

Then, when that prayer was answered at around 1pm this afternoon, (nothing like cutting it fine), I prayed for traveling mercies; no traffic snafus, no speeding tickets, no getting lost in the mess of downtown DC. And please let me make it there in time to get my general admission wristband because if I don't get that then I can't be in the Pit Lottery and if I'm not in the Pit Lottery then it's all been a stinking great waste of time.

Oh, and God, while you're busy answering all of THOSE prayers, could you please see your way clear to making sure my number actually gets drawn in the Pit Lottery? Yes, I know there are 22,000 other souls who may be hoping for the same thing tonight and I know they're only choosing 300, but God, this is ME. Remember, how you made me reeaally short? It's best for everyone if it works out this way.

No, you can't see his face but you can see the light.
That's why, when you are this close, you get Bruce Burn.

So I got my ticket, got there on time, no traffic, no speeding fine. Didn't get lost. Got my wristband. Had my number drawn in the lottery. Got My Elbows on the Stage. This is the important part, people. You can still be in the Pit and have a miserable time because when you're height challenged like me, there's always a chance some 450 lb., 6'5" linebacker and his buddies will be standing right in front of you swilling beer all night long and screaming out for Glory Days. Hey, it's happened a time or two.

I don't know. I've put in the miles, the years, the cash. I am no casual fan. This man is, after all, directly responsible for my marriage and only slightly less directly responsible for the birth of my child. And do I need to invoke that whole continental relocation thing again? So yes, I feel entitled, in some fashion, to prop up the stage whenever the opportunity presents. And, let's face it, someone has to be close enough to inspect the tailoring on the seams of the custom made jeans and verify that the boots are indeed Italian. It may as well be me. Because I sure as heck can't remember anything else after spending 3 hours at his feet. Setlist? There was a setlist?

So, for an awesome show from the best vantage point in the arena, a wonderful night with lovely friends and for getting me home again in one piece in the pouring rain through DC when my GPS failed me (when in doubt, take a right on E Street), I thank the Lord. For all the answered prayers, both big and small and for truly blessing me in so many ways, I thank the Lord. (And I also thank my gorgeous husband for supporting and enabling my habit with such grace and good humor. Even if he doesn't understand why I never remember the setlist).

Bruce and Patti during 'Easy Money'. You can't see her really but she's all kinds of beautiful. 

Taking photos of Bruce with my iPhone from 2 feet away is not my forte. But this one's ok. 

Somebody get these kids a wheelchair...

Took the kids for a stroll along the canal. It was a beautiful day. What's not to love about a walk through the forest? What could go wrong? Less than a mile in they began whining that they were tired. Their legs hurt. How much longer to go? Can we just sit down for a while? Upon learning that we were not even half way to Ohio yet, the moaning began in earnest. 

Please! We beg you! CARRY US!

I will do many things for these children. But I will not carry their 60 lb., six year old a$#es anywhere. 

It started out ok...

...then quickly turned sour.

You CANNOT be serious! We've been walking for 100 MILES!?! (This, upon passing the 100 mile marker on our little stretch of the C&O Canal)

How can you do this to us?!

The End. 

Eric Church - "Springsteen" (New Single 2012)

OK, so who here thinks that if this cutesy little country song by Eric Church was called say, 'Bon Jovi', or 'Aerosmith' that I would find it in any way endearing? Who here thinks I would purchase it from iTunes and play it on a loop on my iPod? No one, right? Because that would be nuts. Except it's not called Bon Jovi or Aerosmith is it? No. It's called Springsteen. I rest my case.

(By the way, not that I know anything at all about this, but the link below is not to an actual video of Eric Church performing this song, it's just the music running over this still picture. The actual video was shot last week in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. I have no idea how I know that.
  Next thing you know I'll be telling you he's performing at the Great Frederick Fair this year.
And I won't know how I know that either.)

To this day when I hear that song / I see you standin’ there all night long / Discount shades, store bought tan / Flip flops and cut-off jeans / Somewhere between that setting sun / I’m on fire and born to run / You looked at me and I was done / And we’re, we’re just getting started / I was singin’ to you, you were singin’ to me / I was so alive, never been more free / Fired up my daddy’s lighter and we sang / Ooohh
When I think about you, I think about 17 / I think about my old jeep / I think about the stars in the sky / Funny how a melody sounds like a memory / Like the soundtrack to a July Saturday night / Springsteen, Springsteen...