It's Gonna Be A Good Day

Through my 6:30 a.m. drowsiness, I felt fat cat Slim Jim tense up on the bed next to me. Then he began to gag, graphically, right beside my left ear.

Fortunate for Slim Jim, his four plump paws hit the bedroom floor mere seconds before most of his predawn snack of mouse did the same. As I leapt out of bed, Slim Jim ran with his fat cat sides waddling, pausing once more to spit up in the bedroom doorway. I raced after him. Big Guy slept on.

In chubby cat fashion, Slim Jim dove awkwardly into the piano room--seeking to upchuck in comfort on the Oriental rug. I grabbed his right hind leg and tugged hard to drag him off the rug. Then, I threw him outside. 

In that moment, I knew my Friday would get better. Birdie and I are driving to Mizzou today to enjoy a Girls Weekend with Daisy. I can think of more pleasant signs of Good Karma and a great day in the making. But I'll take the sign Slim Jim provided, whole mouse tail and all.

Purposing Peeps

Say "No" to the Jelly Bean Cocktail. Jelly-bean infused vodka cut with half-and-half, topped with a yellow "Peep" marshmallow chick and served in a blue sugar-rimmed glass tastes really bad. I'm disappointed. I wanted to surprise the Easter Bunny and Jesus with a use for "Peep" chicks. Now the Peeps float forgotten in a bad concoction of bathtub flavors held within fancy crystal glasses. Unless Cracker the cat figures out half-and-half and a yellow chick make a fancy meal, nothing will save those Peeps from drowning. And I think Cracker understands the difference between a marshmallow chick and a real one. Jesus--I will keep searching for a use for Peeps as I know all things are made with purpose. Easter bunny--start hopping. Next year, I'm trying the Chocolate Bunny Martini. Take one bunny, chocolate not furred, shaken not stirred and blend...

The Masters

There's something to be said for boycotting The Masters. This morning I was reminded by NBC's The Today Show that Augusta National, host of perhaps the most prestigious golf tournament in the world, allows only men (of any color, now) to belong to its club. But setting aside my mini-rant, I admit: To walk the rolling greens of Augusta National as the best golfers in the world compete, produces a thrill that defies explanation. Lush grass, stately pinetrees and intensely bright azaleas vibrant enough to set my eyes to aching, team up to tempt me to frolick and roll like an uninhibited young filly. That explains why I'm not at the Masters, and Birdie and Big Guy are. To attend the Masters requires enough self-restraint to avoid breaking out in a chorus of "The Hills Are Alive...," as Tiger Woods tees off. Spectators also need to park their cell phones in the car and leave the azalea blossoms where they belong. To break the rules means losing Masters tickets forever. And forever would be very long time in a family that shares a set of tickets. The four-day Masters Tournament concludes as the winning golfer dons the ugliest, most sought after, green jacket to grace Georgia. At no point in the event do I think it's fair or right that Augusta National excludes women. But the unattractiveness of the jacket makes me feel a tad better. I wouldn't want to wear that shade of green anyway, even if I were invited.

The Unclaimed

A tiny forgotten Negro cemetery lies on the edge of land that used to be the family farm. I know where to find it because Mom pointed it out to me once. The casual eye would see a stand of pine trees and underbrush. But look close, and about six grave-sized dips add depth to the ground. The pine trees tower over them. Chances are, the ones who dug the graves and mourned their dead never had the money for markers more fancy than a wooden cross. None of those crosses remain. And even the mourners may now themselves be dead. Memories of this hidden cemetery popped into my thinking as I studied the long list of Missouri boards and commissions. I decided to apply to serve on the Unmarked Human Burial Consultation Committee. The committee, in consultation with the State Historic Preservation Officer, determines proper disposition of human remains, considers request by professional archaeologists for extensions of research time, and considers requests for methods of dating human remains. There are six slots on the committee. None is filled. I plan to wait patiently while Governor Jay Nixon considers my request to serve on the vacant committee. I know he has more pressing matters--like the quorum-desperate hair dressers. And I'm not the archeologist or Native American Indian that the committee creators really want. I'm a vanilla suburban mom with a wide streak of liberal. Qualified or not, this committee feels like a good fit to me. A remain that rests where it shouldn't be or where it has been forgotten deserves to be thought about. And I'm a thinker.

Boards & Commissions

Turns out, Missouri has a bunch of boards and commissions. At least 800 citizens serve as members. Many of them hold their seats for years after their terms have expired, mostly because no one steps up to replace them. A lot of position holders are attorneys. On some boards, including the three that are full-time salaried ones, the number of Republicans and Democrats serving is limited. So sometimes a governor of one party may have to appoint someone of another. My guess is that those appointments get made with limited enthusiasm. The governor appoints each member of every board, and new members attend a tea party at the Governor's Mansion once their appointment is approved by the General Assembly. So everyone gets a say--even if the board is one that oversees amusement park ride safety or hairstylist certification.  Some boards stayed filled with influentials, like the pardons and paroles board and the board of county sheriffs. Other boards teeter on the brink of losing their quorums and without a quorum, they can't make decisions. Missouri's two historically black schools Harris-Stowe State College and Lincoln University fall in that category--along with the hairstylists. If I can't get my hair cut when I want, it's a nuisance. If a newly minted hairstylist can't get her license, it's a crisis--ditto for colleges trying to function for their students. No one at the intro meeting jumped up to serve on anything--it wasn't a volunteer-on-the-spot situation. But the crowd asked questions, mostly about the background check required of applicants. "What if 'someone' has bad credit...a criminal record...owes taxes...is related to someone else who has a criminal record?" I left the meeting knowing that Missouri wants 'someone' to serve if they can get on the path to right with their finances and haven't personally committed a felony serious enough to embarrass the state. My finances are fine. My felonies are nonexistent. And Missouri is a lot more likely to embarrass me than I am to embarrass it.