Note From The Editor

The crazy state of constant daytime, with 24 hours of daylight throughout the summer have come to an end and the temperatures are dropping below freezing in the early hours out here on the farm. Summer is most definitely over.

With the harvesting of the potato crop and storing of wood for the long winter months, autumn also brings with it a time of introspection and contemplation. A time for remembering the year gone by and looking forward to what is still to come. A time to sit and organise one's thoughts so tell us, dear readers, what have you been thinking of this week? What is on your mind?

Write your post, post it on your blog and email me the url, and I shall add it to the list of posts below. Don't forget to include a link back to us here at TopBlogMag.

A Nation of Eclectics

by Liz Easterly of Spoonfed

In the Wall Street Journal this weekend, there was a story about a woman who discovers another side of her mother, after her mother's death from lung cancer, through her passion for collecting art glass on eBay. During her mother's final months, she would beg her daughter, from her hospital bed, to check her eBay account and make sure any auctions she had won were paid promptly. She had to safeguard her eBay reputation.

"How could that have been her foremost concern?" Her daughter wondered.

She discovered her mother had spent over $30,000 in three years buying Venetian, Steuben and Depression era glass tsotchkes. In her daughter’s opinion, these were worthless trinkets. Had the cancer consumed her mother's sanity?

After her mother's death, she began to wonder about all those glass pieces, and started to contact her mother's eBay friends.

She discovered that each of her mother's purchases corresponded to an event in her illness: the day she was diagnosed with lung cancer, her mother purchased a light green bud vase and sent it to her daughter. Her daughter promptly put the odd little vase in a cupboard and forgot about it. Another time, she purchased a cut-glass set of port glasses, after her son-in-law had ordered port at the restaurant the night before. She told the seller that she wanted a complete set of glasses to entertain her family.

Another man, her mother's "mentor" in the art glass world, gave her more insight. Her mother, he said, had bought each piece with her two daughters in mind; she was creating a legacy for her girls.

This story got me thinking about the worlds we can create for ourselves, outside of our normal lives, and how technology is affecting that. Are we using technology to isolate ourselves, creating virtual friendships and relationships that cut out the daily human contact with our loved ones? Worse, are we turning into a nation of eclectics?

We can find groups with any and all obscure interests online. Into Barbie dolls? There’s a huge group of those folks. Orchid and bromeliad collectors, Conspiracy theorists. Grobanites. Geyser Gazers, who are into the geysers of Yellowstone. Furries – folks who like to dress up as their favorite stuffed animal.

I saw Bill Gates the other night on “The Big Idea.” Host Donny Deutsch asked whether he was fearful of technology serving to isolate us. Gates seemed surprised by the question.

Technology, he said, allows us even greater access to finding others with interests like our own. Technology just adds to the richness of personal experience, giving us access to people all over the world we otherwise would never have met. It doesn’t take away our need for face to face relationships, and it can never replace human contact, but can only add to it.

There is something compelling in this utopian view of technology. After all, the Grobanites may unite online, but they meet face to face at Josh Groban concerts across the country. Geyser gazers keep in contact online, but they meet up on the boardwalks of Yellowstone National Park. And who can forget the Entourage episode where Turtle and Drama meet up with a furry?

And yet there is something heartbreaking about the woman who kept her passion for collecting art glass a secret from her family. Because they didn’t share her passion? Because they couldn’t understand it? Because they thought her a little crazy? (And let’s face it: $30,000 in art glass is a little excessive.)

In the end, the daughter went home, took out the step-ladder, and pulled the little green bud vase out of her cupboard. She poured in some water, put five pink roses in it, and set it in the living room.

Liz Easterly lives in Denver. Between her one year old son and black lab, there is no time for eclectic interests or collecting, although she does find the occasional chance to write about motherhood, marketing, and writing over at Spoonfed.

How Easy We Forget

Written by Feener over at Mommyvents

The other day I was reading Megan’s blog, Velveteen Mind. The post was dated August 29th. Now to me that date only means 2 days after my firstborn’s birthday. However, after reading Megan’s blog I realized it meant a whole lot more to people in the Gulf Coast area.

As I read this post, it made me realize how little I know about the lasting damage of Hurricane Katrina. I was not directly effected by this hurricane, nor was anyone close to me. I live in the Northeast. Although we saw the damage, heard the tragedies, we did not live through it, nor do we have to recover from it. How easy we forget.

I lived in NYC during 911. My father is a NYC police officer and at the time was headquartered in Police Plaza, which has a view of the towers. I was at my office in the east 50’s. I was watching the TV in the conference room, but running back to my office to make phone calls. I finally got through to my Dad. While I was talking to him, begging him NOT to go over to the towers, he made a groan. He watched in horror as the building fell down. I was crying for him to let the young guys go and that he needed to stay.

Little did I know my Father was already aware of friends and colleagues he was watching perish. My Father did not make it over there, he was spared, THANK GOD. However, many friends of friends, college friends, fiancées were not spared. Living in New York during that time made me feel detached from the rest of the world, because the rest of the world did not live through it. Yes people saw the horror, over and over, on the TV. But to live it, to breathe it, to search for friends, to see the flyers with all the missing people. It was heartbreaking beyond belief.

Friends who did not live in NYC called me, but it wasn’t comfort they offered. Sometimes it was more curiosity that they meet me with. I was hurt. It almost felt like it was gossip for some. I know that might sound rude, but it was just so hard.

The other evening I attended my book club. There is a new woman who joined, she is a 911 widow. Her story is tragic, and I leave it for her to share, not me. However, she is remarried and pregnant with her second child from her recent marriage. She has 2 kids from her first marriage. I left book club thinking about how hard this month coming up must be for her, and for so many. I realized that I, who felt so close to it all had forgotten. September 11th for me is my daughter’s first day of preschool.

It made me think of how easy we forget tragedy unless it was very close to you. I hope we can all take a minute to think of the folks that went through Hurricane Katrina, and to realize that they still need help. I also hope that we NEVER EVER FORGET what happened on 911.


Feener is a stay at home Mom to 2 beautiful girls, Sass n Frass. Sass is 3 and Frass is 1. She started blogging so she could vent away without annoying her Husband, D.

Paper, Pregnancy and the Princess

Written by Misssy M of The Misssy M Misssives

31st August 1997, 1am (Paris time): A Mercedes-Benz drives at speed through Pont de l'Alma tunnel. The inhabitants of the car are contract driver, Henri Paul; Emad El-Din Mohamed Abdel Moneim Fayed,also known as Dodi; Trevor Rees Jones, a body guard and Diana Princess of Wales, an icon.

In Aberdeen, Scotland a 28 year old woman lies awake next to her sleeping husband, Meeester.

The Mercedes crashes.

Misssy M is preoccupied.

1.30am: Ambulances arrive. The driver is dead. Dodi Fayed shows no sign of life but a resuscitation attempt is made. Trevor Rees Jones and Diana Princes of Wales are alive. Rees has facial injuries and is rushed to Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital. Diana is crouched on the rear passenger floor with her back to the road. Ambulance crews cannot remove her.

Misssy thinks she might be pregnant.

1.45am: News breaks of a serious accident involving royalty. Journalists everywhere are called into work.

2am: Diana is freed from the wreckage and is rushed to Pitié-Salpêtrière. She is alive.

Misssy wonders if she is ready. What time can she get a test? Do all night garages sell pregnancy tests?

2.15am: Surgeons discover that Diana’s heart has been displaced to the right side of her chest. Her pulmonary vein and the pericardium are torn. They operate immediately.

3.30am: Meeester gets up for his early morning shift.

Surgeons struggle to repair the damage in Diana’s chest cavity.

Meeester goes out the front door being careful not to waken his wife.

4am: Doctors pronounce Diana dead.

Meeester arrives at work at the same time as James Naughtie of the Radio 4 Today Programme arrives at his. The Radio 4 schedule is abandoned. Naughtie delivers news of a terrible accident.

4.30: Jean-Pierre Chevènement France's Interior Minister and Sir Michael Jay, British Ambassador meet with police to discuss the press release.

5am: Meeester phones Misssy.

“Put the telly on. Something has happened. I’m sorry. Happy Paper Anniversary by the way.”

Peter Sissons is on the BBC. Sissons on a Sunday? Diana has been injured. Dark footage at a tunnel shows chaos. It is light outside in Aberdeen. What is going on? What time is it?

Calls are placed to next of kin by police and diplomats.

5.10am: Misssy thinks about chemist opening hours, but sits glued to the television. Journalists interview other journalists. Misssy clicks on Radio 4. Naughtie? On a Sunday? She puts the kettle on, then switches it off again. It’s too early for tea.

Sissons is interviewing Jennie Bond, the BBC’s Royal Correspondent. She knows nothing and is talking about Diana and Dodi’s recent holiday in the South of France.

5.20am: Misssy turns the TV up as she puts the kettle on again.

5.30am: Diana’s death is announced to the world’s press. The BBC are still saying Diana is seriously injured.

6am: Misssy gets dressed in front of the television. Diana’s death is announced. Half dressed, Misssy sits down.

More journalists interview other journalists. Paparazzi apparently ran the car off the road. Stock footage of Diana is shown being hounded by press when she was nineteen, holidaying with her children and getting married to Prince Charles. Sissons is looking tired and upset.

9.30am: Misssy leaves the house. The streets are empty.

Tony Blair is interviewed outside his local church.

9.40am: Safeway is open. There are six cars in the car park. Misssy feels weird. Oh my god, her kids. She is not a royalist, but she might be a mum. She starts to cry in the car.

Finding out about new life doesn’t seem right today.

10.15: Misssy returns home and turns on the television once again. She reads the instructions on her pregnancy test and pees on a stick.

10.25: Sissons is speculating about the Royal Household. The Queen is believed to be in Balmoral.

Thirty miles from Balmoral, Misssy looks at two little purple lines side by side. On the television people talk of nothing ever being the same again.

Misssy starts to cry with happiness.

It’s a strange day.

******************
Every year, this is what I think about this week.



Blog Blurb: I am Misssy M of the Flying Martinis. I write true stories.

Think: Now.

Written by Lavender of The Birds & The Beads

I never thought Id leave the United States. I loved everything about the Northeast, especially the land itself and its seasons. Lush green mountain forest filled with the scent of pine needles crushed underfoot. The hush that falls with a heavy snow, so nearly silent that the beating of a birds wings overhead seems nearly a roar. The way a tree trunks’ bark becomes so dramatically dark when soaked with rain, as if only to better show off its wonderful canopy of leaves. Springs’ perfect glory, a miracle which my words could never hope to adequately express. Many little things like these, I quietly observed and hoarded in my mind as treasures.

Then it came to pass, that I met and fell in love with a man from Australia. In time we married and the decision was made that we would reside in Australia. As in ten-thousand miles away. A twenty-one hour plane ride. In other words: Australia - its on the other side of the planet, Mate!

I knew Id likely be homesick from time to time. But having found my one true love, I buoyantly dismissed it as something Id “get over“. Talk about your “famous last words“. I had no idea that homesickness could feel so much like having your heart broken. More than once over the years I have sobbed myself to sleep, wishing I could “go home” like a child at their first slumber party. And I am so past childhood. The depth of the loss truly surprised me.

Its not that Australia or her people were mean to me, well, except maybe the people at the Immigration Department, but that’s their job. It’s a wonderful place to live, with exciting places to see and exotic flora and fauna to marvel at. And I do marvel at them, every single day.

But it wasn’t home. For example: birds here don’t sing as sweetly. In fact, the Little Wattle Bird that “sings” outside the bedroom window (just before dawn) doesn’t sound like a bird at all, but rather like a Volkswagon Bug refusing to start. In autumn, the leaves stay on the trees, while the bark falls off. Weeds sprout in the garden all year round. Roses blooming in summer are dried on the bush before midday. When you walk across your lawn, a thorny weed stabs the sole of your foot. The grass makes crunching noises as you hop on one foot off the grass and onto the searing hot concrete footpath. When in the summer you dry your laundry on the outside line, bring it in and take a great big sniff. Mmmmmmmm, Bush Fire Fresh!

Now, I’m the kind of gal that likes to use logic to solve problems. This constant comparing of ‘home of old’ to ‘home of new’ was making me miserable. There was only one real solution. I needed to change my thinking and find acceptance within myself that Australia is now my home.
It didn’t happen overnight, and I still catch myself comparing and judging from time to time. I try to be gentle with myself. (Slow and steady, wins the race!) But by being aware of my thoughts, I have been able to allow myself to love Australia just as much as my original home land.

Yes, they are different, completely different. But how lucky have I been! I’ve hand fed wild parrots and wild kangaroos. Spent days being tumbled in the sea, roasted in the sun, and then slept on the beach beneath a blanket of stars. Every time we venture out of the suburbs, my husband has something new to show me about this land, and it is as if we are discovering it together. And all I have to do, to enjoy every moment of My New World, is think about where I am NOW.


Now enjoying her life in Australia, Lavender share her photos of the interesting animals and plants from the land ‘down under’ in her blog, The Birds & The Beads.

What Exactly Are You Watering?

Written by Sarah from In the Trenches of Mommyhood

Dear Homeowner:

I admit. I am jealous of your lush, green lawn. I admire the fact that you take such good care of your property by fertilizing, weeding, and most importantly, watering your tropical paradise.

But I have a question for you. Why are you watering the sidewalk and road with your complex irrigation/lawn sprinkler system? Now, I’m no professional, but I would think that the spray would be better served on your grass instead of concrete. Just a hunch.

You see, I run. At 6a.m. Because it’s the only frickin’ time I have alone to do so. I enjoy the serenity at that hour. However, your sprinklers? Are on. And are spraying me. As I run past your house IN THE ROAD.

So could you do a little maneuvering maybe? Save yourself a little money and have your sprinklers actually water your grass?

This cranky soaked wanna-be runner would sure appreciate it.

Sarah knows she had a mind once. Now she has children. She’s a mommy to 3 adorable, loving, loud, impatient, only angelic when sleeping, little boyz. And a wife. And a part-time corporate paralegal. Although life is hectic, demanding and downright crazy In the Trenches of Mommyhood, Sarah thinks that life is still good…Especially after she’s had a few glasses of pinot grigio.

Just Yesterday

Written by: Jen E of Sunny With A Chance of Clouds


Just yesterday I held her in my arms for the very first time. I touched her tiny hands and counted her tiny toes. Just yesterday she was at my breast, nursing and falling blissfully asleep. I cherished that time. I could have held her forever. Just yesterday she was scooting across the floor, exploring her world on her own for the first time. Then came her first steps. Watch out world, here she comes!!! She was sneaky too. I watched her during one particularly tempestuous tantrum where she would calm only to rev it back up again when she caught me looking. This one was almost too smart for Mama! Back then I knew what to do. I could hold her, walk her, nurse her and all would be alright. It all came naturally.

Just yesterday, she quietly clung to my leg as we entered new places—timid and shy, afraid of new experiences. She never liked to get involved—no sports, no dance, no gymnastics—a total wallflower. Even in school, she was very reserved. But each year brings her a tiny bit more out of her shell. As she grows and matures, I find myself less confident. The times of being able to hold her close and make everything alright are slipping away.

Time flies so quickly. Today, she is nearly 7 years old going on 17 with hair of fire and a temper to match. She’s quite the drama queen. The tiniest scratch is tantamount to a mortal gaping wound and unmelted butter on her waffle is a disaster! But she’s blossoming, too. I love to hear her sing and watch her dance around the living room. I cheer as she steps out of her comfort zone and tries T-ball and takes swimming lessons. I envy her love of roller coasters as I won’t set foot on one. I love watching her “mother” her little brother and hope that I’ve made an impact on her as a mother.

When I see this picture, I see my baby girl emerging into an independent young woman. Seeing her peeking out from behind the cap shows me she is beginning to be more confident. She’s ready to start stepping out. She also doesn’t need me like she used to. Yes, just yesterday, she was my baby girl. Today she still is—and will always be—my baby girl. But watch out world, here she comes!!!


Jen E is the author of Sunny With A Chance of Clouds where she tries to juggle 2 typical kids, a busy husband, a crazy dog and a wild job while maintaining some sense of sanity and sharing it all with you.

Blog Review: Thinks By Me

The Blog: Thinks by me

The Reviewer: Omega mom from 3 kids No Job

First impressions:

It took a while to load so I had to time to ponder the enigmatic title. A song, maybe? Then I got to the profile. “A kickboxing Mum of 2”? “Recovering Type A personality”? Wow! Blog as energy bar. I’m interested.

Design:

What a nice, easy design to follow. There was a good, clear layout and excellent, and restrained, use of graphics. She is somebody who clearly has a strong visual sense and it really shows. There was only one small disappointment: that relaxing picture of a coffee cup suggested a mid-morning break while the kids are at school, rather than manic, kickboxing energy.

Content:

She’s a regular blogger – 25 posts in August – not easy with the summer holidays, so well done. Posts go up every couple of days, so lots of fresh content. That coffee cup visual is an accurate reflection of the content. I was imagining a manic, Type A blog kick-boxing its way through cyberspace. In fact, it’s essentially a ‘What I did’ diary that records the everyday niggles and triumphs that characterise life with children: vans that break down just as you’re planning a holiday; the trial of back to school shopping expeditions and so on. It’s all pleasant stuff, if undemanding.

Depending on where she wants to go with her blog, something to consider might be a bit more development of some of the themes she raises. For example, http://jjecolsen.blogspot.com/2007/08/different-looks.html tackles a subject of great interest to a lot of women – why men on the whole prefer their partners to have long hair. Judging by the comments she got for this post – the ‘stinking men’ one made me chuckle - the topic arouses strong feelings. She could do a lot more with it.

Similarly I was intrigued to note that she really enjoys shopping with the children for their school uniforms. http://jjecolsen.blogspot.com/2007/08/school-shopping-ya-poo.html If I told friends I enjoyed shopping with my children for their school stuff, they’d lynch me and it’s something I’d simply assumed was universally loathed by everyone. Again, it’s a topic that might be worth developing because she has a different take on the subject.

Best and worst:

Super design. No real worst. At a personal level, the Christianity, though prominent in the sidebars, didn’t dominate the content, which I find a comfortable arrangement.

Blogrollworthy:

I’d certainly consider coming back to this one, if only because I’d love to know where the kickboxing comes in! She has an interesting perspective on aspects of family life but I’m not sure she realises this. If she takes a step back once in a while and maybe looks at writing about a few more of the ‘whys’ in her life, rather than just the ‘whats’ she might end up with something quite special.

Score:

Music Review: Carrie Rodriquez

Written by John from Altjiranga Mitjina

This week’s voice to hear hails from the state of Texas. Carrie Rodriquezwas born in Austin and started playing the violin at the age of five. By the age of ten she had already played Carnegie Hall in New York City. At this point she was playing classical music, a far cry from what she is currently playing. In her teens she started playing with her father, singer-songwriter David Rodriquez, in clubs around Austin.

In 1996 Carrie went to college to study classical music, but soon discovered that she wanted to stretch her playing abilities to other styles of music. She decided to drop the violin and pick up the fiddle. She quite the college she was going to and enrolled in Berklee College of Music in Boston and studied bluegrass, jazz, swing and everything else she could.

During a South by Southwest show with another band Carrie was seen by Chip Taylor, writer of “Wild Thing” and “Angel of the Morning.” He was knocked out by her fiddle playing and invited her to tour with him in Europe. It was during their touring in Europe that Chip convinced Carrie to sing. Up to this time Carrie had considered herself a fiddle player and not a singer.

Before long the two found themselves in the studio recording a duet album. Their album Let’s Leave This Town was met with great critical acclaim. Their second album The Trouble With Humans went to number one on the Americana charts. After their third album Red Dog Tracks Carrie decided it was time to do a solo album.

Last year she recorded and released her first solo album Seven Angels On A Bicycle. The new album ranges wide in style, from Americana to Jazz to Folk. Her old partner Chip Taylor doesn’t abandon her for her solo outing. He helped co write many of the tunes and produced the album with her. Carrie’s voice is tender and seductive and flirty, sometimes all in the same song.

Carrie Rodriquez is a voice that is going to go far, she is still young, in her twenties and has the talent to carry her far.

If you're reading this it can only mean one thing, that John from altjiranga mitjina has once again forgotten to provide a blurb after whatever it is he wrote for this issue and Heather is quietly cursing him whilst cutting and pasting this from last weeks review. All he can say is that a mind is a terrible thing to waste. He'd write more but he'd just forget whatever it was he wrote.