Thar she blows!

So I've decided (again) that I'm just too fat and I'm trying to take measures to shed a few tons. This time, I've enlisted the help of Alli -- a fairly new miracle pill that promises to help you lose weight faster.

If you follow the directions -- eat way less fat and calories and exercise -- you should lose weight without the little blue pills. I know this. But the incentive for me here is two fold: 1. It says it'll shoot excess consumed fat (to a point) out of your body which is how it speeds the weight loss and 2. If you eat too much fat, it will totally embarrass you in public. I won't go into the details because I'm fairly certain you've figured it out by now.

This I know: I will eat myself to death if allowed. This I also know: I hate to be embarrassed publicly or just by myself. So I'm fairly certain I'll lose at least a little bit.

But tonight, I feared I might have a setback. You only take the pills when you're going to consume some fat calories. I had a banana for breakfast, so no pill. I plain forgot at lunch when I had a Weight Watchers calzone but it was followed up by fat-free pudding and a garden full of carrots. So I was OK without the helper.

For tonight, though I made nachos for dinner. It was healthier than it sounds, but it probably had too much sodium. I know this because I literally could feel my stomach start to swell up. Then I could see it. I was like some Macy's parade balloon. It was frightening.

So I thought, hey, a little exercise will help. Otherwise I'd put the family at risk when I, uh, blow. I'm telling you, I could feel the elastic on my panties start to call for help. So we got the bikes out.

While I pretend to be an environmentalist, I was prepared to pollute the atmosphere a bit. Better out on the bike than inside the house, I reason. Of course, I forgot that Alison was riding on the tandem right behind me.

We take a short ride over to the Ogdens to drop off an overnight bag for Ali. I confess my plight to Karin. She hustles us right out of the house -- no offense taken. I'd have done the same thing.

So I'm thinking along the route home that this has been a good plan. I hit a particularly rough part of the pavement and I twist around to ask Ali if she's still attached to the bike.

She says, and I swear I'm not making this up, "Well if I could just get rid of this excess flatulence."

"Excuse me?" I gasp. "Did you just say 'if I could just get rid of this excess flatulence?'"

"Yeah," she said. "I heard it on Chowder. It means farting. But I got rid of my flatulence. I'm OK now."

I thought I would fall right off the bike. Probably would have had I not still been a little inflated.

For the record, click on the hotlink to Chowder. It could be me in elementary school

See why I need Alli?

Something's Fishy at Chez Reed

Thanks in large part to Peter and David, we still have three fish swimming freely at the Reed house. Cleaning their three bowls has become a Saturday ritual.

She's named them Grace, Clementine and Alison. The two snails are Jennifer and Jenna. Jenna the gold fish, you may recall, didn't make it home from the Fair.

Ali thought Auntie Jen and Jenna Tokash would love having snails named after them, so I hope they understand the honor and aren't weirded out. Snails aren't really all that much fun, but they both are still alive, too... Well, I know one of them is alive because it sticks itself to the side. The other one sinks to the bottom. Alison says it likes it there. I'm not so sure it's capable of decision making.

Ali is really hoping for a big tank with more fish. I suspect if that ever happens, both Jen and Jenna will get better billing.

Alison is pretty good about feeding the fish only just enough, and we've both gotten better about making sure the gravel doesn't get into the garbage disposal. I still get the great duty of making sure the fish poo gets out of the rocks. No one told me about this part of motherhood... And if you don't know this already, goldfish poo a lot.

Alison is sure the amount of fish defecation is directly related to me over feeding them. But they look so hungry and bored just swimming around in circles. Sometimes I give them a little extra just to perk up their day. Ali puts her hands on her hips at least twice a week, cocks her head and says, "Mo-oom. Please tell me you're not feeding the fish again! It's not good for them!"

Um, they're still alive, I remind her. No one's jumped out of the bowl in a suicide pact. And as long as it's me pushing the poo out, I'm going keep on keeping them happy from time to time.

Ali thinks she's trained Grace (the Beta who arrived in January) to follow her finger.

I'm not telling her that when I walk by they all beat a path to the surface and start chattering to me by opening and closing their little mouths. I swear they make noise. "Feed me! Feed me! I'm going crazy in here!"

Election blues

As many of you know, I'm struggling to get excited about the election this fall. This is one of those times when I need my dad. I have a feeling he'd tell me to just stop fretting and support the Democratic candidate if I have a question. My problem isn't that I wonder if I still support the Democratic party in principal (I can't ever see that changing.) My problem is that I'm just not passionately moved by any of the individual candidates.

About a hundred years ago I told my dad I was thinking about voting in the Republican Primary because I wanted to help a weaker candidate win so my Democrat candidate would have an easier time in the Fall, he said, "Oh, honey. You don't want to blemish your record." I didn't, and my candidate still won in the Fall, but I was worried the whole time.

This year, I'm unhappily in the position of casting my support against candidates I really don't like rather than for those I do. (And yes, I'm sorry to say this extends to the state races. Heavy sigh.) I like to love my candidates.

Nearly all of my "D" friends are excited about Barak Obama. But he's taken on that most popular boy in school feel for me. People seem to be flocking to him because everyone else is. I still want to know what he'd do. Specifically.

I like his position on women's issues a lot, and I like the way he and Michelle appear to relate. There's a great piece in Ladies Home Journal that has both of them talking about some of the issues I care about. MarieClaire carried a similar piece. Sure, they're PR pieces and not exactly hard hitting, but there's some depth there that had started me toward the excitement door.

I have to say that I was nearly over my heartbreak about Hillary not winning the nomination, and I was nearly ready to "do the right thing" by fully accepting him. But her speech was just tremendous, and it just made me remember why I like her so much. And she did it again when she released her delegates. Sure, she's made some mistakes through the years, but she's tried really hard to help those who need it the most along the way, and I give her points for that. I think she's learned lessons from her past failures, and I think that painfully won knowledge would help us now.

I'm afraid that Mr. Obama hasn't had time or opportunity to learn so much from failure. As one who's failed spectacularly, I respect the lessons you learn from boneheadedess.

I also point to Chelsea Clinton when anyone takes potshots at her mother. Just look at that young woman. By all rights, any kid who grew up with her parents in the White House with all that occurred there would be a drugged-out, trust-fund baby. She's poised. She's smart. She's compassionate. Even with all the pressure she was under at the time, Hillary Clinton played a huge role in helping her to be who she is right now, and I just refuse to lose sight of that.

I was glad to see Time magazine give Evangelicals credit for seeing the hypocrisy in the discussion over Sarah Palin's daughter, Bristol. If she was Hillary's child, the pregnancy would be because of bad parenting. And, as John Stewart so succinctly pointed out, Sarah says Bristol "chose" to keep this baby. All well and good. But Sarah doesn't want to give anyone else the opportunity to make that same choice. And that's not good.

There's been a ton of stuff written about Ms. Palin lately, and some of my friends are worried she's going to re-energize the GOP. My hair stylist (yes, I know it's shocking that I have one.) is a Sarah Palin supporter solely on the choice issue. We talked a little about it while she covered up my gray. I respect people's beliefs, even if they differ from mine, and I think it's possible to have reasonable discussions. I'm not sure I moved her, but I think she was open to listening, at least.

My hair came out great -- so maybe I wasn't as eloquent as I thought....

Anyway, I'm hoping Time has it right and the evangelicals won't blindly follow. If you want more on Sarah Palin, check out this and this.

I'm not saying she's evil. But for those of you who hate Hillary for being ambitious and gutsy, um, you might want to learn more about little Miss Alaska.

OK. I'm off my soap box.

Family Fun is no labor

We've started off our Labor Day weekend slowly -- in part because on Friday, Amer tipped me off to the fact that the Stephenie Meyer book we've been waiting for has been put on hold because the author's manuscript was leaked onto the Internet. She's so angry about it that she posted her most current version of it on her Web site and is asking folks to read it there rather than the pirated version.

So rather than do something fun for everyone Friday, I sat glued to my computer to hear what Edward had to say in the Twilight series. Jeff and Ali didn't seem to mind, and I got my fix. (Thanks, Amer.)

On Saturday we headed down for a too-long-awaited trip to Columbus to see Uncle Larry, Aunt Shirley, Lori and Allyssa. When I reminded Ali Saturday morning that we were making the trip, she looked up from her Mac where she was playing a Webkinz game, frowned and said, "Do they have technology?"

I didn't spell out for her that no, she wouldn't be playing computer games on our visit, and when we got there, it didn't matter. She attached herself to Allyssa like a chimpanzee. Thankfully, 'Lyssa didn't mind and even seemed to like the company. Between the ribs, playing in the country grass and hanging on Allyssa, Alison had a great time.

We did, too. I discovered that rather than being named after my Great Aunt Ann (a woman we'd never been close to and who busted Lori and me every time she caught us being bad at Grandma Bickel's house) I was actually named after Shirley Ann -- my mom's younger sister. Yeah, I'm 44 and discovering this now, but hey better late than never.

Lucy Edelman married Don Bickel and had six other children before me in 1964. Shirley Edelman (Lucy's sister) married Larry Bickel (Don's brother) and had Lori in 1965. So Lori and I are double cousins and just 11 months apart.

Many of my childhood memories are of hanging out with Lori, Aunt Shirley and Uncle Larry. Our cousin, Beth, who's even closer to me in age, was with us a lot, too, but her family moved to Columbus before Larry and Shirley left, so Lori and I had more time together as little kids. Plus, I'd get to go along when my Grandma Iris (my mom's mom) visited Shirley after they'd movedto Columbus.

I was 16 or so at their house when Lori and I returned from the movies one night to learn that my Dad had had another heart attack and was in the hospital. It was at least 10 o'clock, and I wanted to go right back home. Larry insisted on going with me. It was the first and last time he'd driven with me.

You can't really get from their house in Columbus to my hometown except on twisty, two-lane country roads. Apparently I took liberties with the speed limit. I remember him sitting there, holding on to the door like it was moving, chain smoking and saying, occasionally, "Kid, you might want to slow down."

We got to the hospital. My dad was OK, but Larry swore he'd never ride with me again. And he 's been true to his word.

Shirley has always been the aunt who smacked me around when I needed it or hugged me when I needed that. So to find out my middle name was for her was really special.

Anyway, we ate great food, laughed at each other and had a great time. Makes me ashamed of myself for staying away so long.

You can tell I had had too much wine because I was quizzing Larry and Shirley on their early years.

They'd grown up about 4 miles apart, he in the country and she in town but I knew they'd gone to different schools that later consolidated with yet another to form the school we all went to.

My mom and her sisters grew up in Jasonville, so they were sophisticated city girls whereas my dad and his brothers lived out in the country.

Come to think of it, Uncle Ed married a town girl too...something about those country boys liking townies, I guess. Uncle Bill brought Aunt Gudrun back from Germany, and I'll have to find out the rest of that story one day...

In the photo above, my mom is on the left (pregnant, of course, Grandma Iris, Aunt Shirley and Aunt Jiggy are beside her.)

So back in Aunt Shirley's dinner table, in between the ribs and pie, I continued my look back in time. I took another swig of wine and said to my aunt and uncle, "So how did you two actually meet?"

I don't know what I was thinking -- except that I was having this image of a teenage Larry bumping into teenage Shirley at the movies (Jasonville actually had two movie theaters back in the day; it only went to hell in my generation) and getting dazzled by the red-headed beauty.

They both just stared at me like I was an alien. Larry couldn't even speak. Shirley said, "Well, duh. Think about it."

"Ah, yeah...." I think they were 5 years old when they "met" because my parents were dating and then married. Have another drink, Cheryl.

Shirley claims Larry was a mean little boy, and it's believable. He and Uncle Ed used to steal dynamite and blow stuff up and jump on the train for trips to Terre Haute. You can see why the ladies liked them later. But as little boys, they were probably little David Whittamores in training.

In the photo to the left, are my dad, Uncle Ed, Uncle Jack, Uncle Bill and Uncle Larry -- lookers, aren't they? I think James Dean must have used that picture as inspiration...

I'm also including a hunting shot of my dad, Jack, Larry and my Grandpa Layman Bickel for two reason. 1. I think it's another bad-ass kind of picture and 2. My city friends will freak out a little bit to see the prize and the evidence of the hunt that's staining clothes, car and gear. Plus, it's fun to see my Grandpa looking just like I like to remember him -- tall, kind of scary but an incredible story teller who you just want to be around. (If you click on the photo, it'll enlarge.)

Anyway, it was a fun trip to Columbus. Today I think we're going to take a long bike ride along the canal tow path. I'll be sure not to drive off into the abyss this time.

Happy Labor Day!

2nd Grader

Alison started second grade yesterday with nary a problem or a bit of reluctance to leave her silly, sentimental mother.

It was actually a lot of fun. She's abandoned her pink backpack for an LPS special that her Aunt Margaret bought her. She loves it, and it's the perfect size.

We rode over to school on my bike and her tandem to find the parking lot full of uniformed kids happy to see each other. In addition to seeing her classmates again, we got to welcome Helen Grace Mansfield to Christ the King. She'll be next door to Alison, in first grade this year.

Fletcher rounded out the Team (John) Vielee CKS continent, starting kindergarten today.

It's good to get back into the school routine, but man did summer go quick.

Happy Birthday!

It's funny to me how differently people look at birthdays. When we were growing up, I don't remember a big emphasis on birthdays for any of us. Consequently, the Bickels don't do much for each other come birthday time, though we do think about each other and send the occasional card or pick up the phone.

I do remember when I turned 13, though. My sisters Debbie and Nancy made a big deal of it, setting the table with Mom's Depression glass and inviting some of my friends. (Donna and Diana had long fled the coop by the time I hit my teens or I'm sure they'd have been in on it.) My birthday is in the summer -- it was Friday -- and usually just before the school year started. We lived out in the country, so getting friends together was kind of tricky.

My parents gave me a box of books that my dad had scored at an auction. I still have them; a nearly complete set of books written by Carolyn Wells and copyrighted in 1916. I just found a blog about the series and I might have to see if I can fill in the holes I have.

The books are about a rich young girl named Patty -- an only child -- who cavorted around New York City doing good deeds and enlightening her world. I totally wanted to be her. She was Paris Hilton but without the sex, drugs and with panties. OK, so maybe she wasn't Paris Hilton. Hell. It was 1916. Today, she'd be a pantiless slut hanging out with bad boys.

Generally, our birthdays were small affairs celebrated with cake and family. One of my sisters took this non-event status to an extreme. She used to just look at the return address on birthday cards before throwing them away without ever opening them. She just didn't care about her birthday, and just the knowledge that someone cared enough to send a card was good enough for her. She liked getting them; opening them was a little bit too much effort, though. She's mellowed in recent years. She opens them and actually reads them now. Don't worry, Donna, I won't 'out' you.

While I still don't seek a huge party or a lot of attention, I'm touched beyond description when people give me a call or send a card or email to note my steadily increasing age. I have kept every birthday card I've ever gotten. I make fun of Jeff for his box farm, but he rightfully points to my collection of cards. I don't know why I keep them, but they're great to stumble on when I'm rummaging for stuff. Makes me remember how many great people I have in my life.

Anyway, once I moved away from home, I discovered that some people make a huge deal of birthdays. One of my friends always takes that day off from work. Others celebrate the entire month of their birthday and force everyone around them to celebrate, too. Others take trips.

Jeff's family is great about remembering birthdays. Jennifer and Peter presented me with an early gift last week, one that my sister Debbie was immediately jealous of when she called today: a very subtle Harley tee-shirt. I'm going to have to get some leather now.

I make a big deal out of Alison and Jeff's birthday, but can't seem to generate the energy to push them to do the same for me. It's not that I don't want to be celebrated -- it's just not something I'm used to, so I forget to ask for it.

My actual birthday was very low key but great. My friends at work decorated my desk and brought in a light-up tiara to wear. I put it on and wore it for while, but it kind of dug holes in my skull, so I had to give it up.

Another brought in a yummy birthday cupcake, Jeff took me out to lunch, and my Bunconians blessed me with a series of truly raunchy poems. I'd share them, but this is a family blog...

Alison made me a beautiful butterfly card and worked with her dad to get me some earrings I'd wanted for a while. My mailman is cursing my name after hauling in all the lovely cards, and I might be over my minutes due to my yakking with great friends and family.

Oh! I have a lovely new necklace from my BFF, Karin, too. It came from Global Gifts, a great shop that buys stuff from third world countries and sends some of the profits back to the people who really need it.

Special note to Gary (You are far too generous and I'm still a little teary after reading your card.) His generosity was quickly invested in even more jewelry today at a Premiere Designs Jewelry party hosted by Lynda Ruble.

My investment helped Lynda increase her jewelry collection because it was one of those "the-more-guests-buy-the-more-free-stuff-the-hostess-gets' deals. Some of the proceeds also go to help ministries around the world, so Gary's gift to me actually got spread around as gifts around the world.

The celebrating was extended to Saturday when Jeff took me out for drinks and dinner and to see my all time favorite Bravo TV host, Kathy Griffin. (I'd agreed that he could play poker on my birthday, which apparently has won me great kudos from his poker buddies. I got Kathy Griffin out of the deal, so it's not like I suffered.)

Ali was with the Ogdens who took Dale down for his annual dig of a southern Indiana cave. They spent part of the time crawling around the cave, which isn't open to the public but has been a sort of Indiana State Museum work-in-progress for the past 20 years. They had a blast.

Kathy Griffin rocked. She even had Jeff laughing out loud. He barely tolerates my fascination with her, so it was extra fun to hear him spitting out his drink when she got particularly snarky. She was riffing on Paula Abdul, who apparently once complained that she wasn't being treated as" the gift" that she is. We laughed and laughed, but I've totally taken that over now.

And it's just occurred to me that my birthday was really a global gift itself. Karin bought me a gift that helps third world countries; Gary's gift bought me jewelry that helped Lyn get more baubles and helped poor women around the globe; and Kathy Griffin helps anyone who can get her more PR.

I am a gift to the world! I should totally make a bigger deal of my birthday....Maybe next year I'll celebrate for a week. Imagine all the good I can do. Mark it on your calendars!

Reed East meet Reeds West

Team Reed of the East came West last week and it was so much fun I can't even begin to describe it.

Highlights:

From James: "There is no "i" in team, but there is a "u" in suck." (I don't remember the context, but I'm sure he's aimed it many, many times at deserving weasels.)

From Jen: "Fat people are hard to kidnap." (Sure, she read it on a tee-shirt at the Indiana State Fair, but she remembered to repeat it.)

From David: "There are fewer fat asses in Indiana than in Maine." (I think he can't have been paying attention because he said it at the Fair and there just had to be more here than there, including my own. Thanks for introducing me to the fried cheese, Lyn.)

The fun got started Thursday afternoon. Jeff had a softball game so James and David (new the city but hardy travelers) were assigned to airport duty for the rest of the gang. I had to take Ali to dress rehearsal so it was a bit tricky getting everyone together for dinner.

To say the dress rehearsal was a disastrous would be too mild. Amy and I kept looking at each other in horror as the practice dragged on and on, getting worse instead of better. I gave everyone from out of town a free pass if they didn't want to sit through the real dance recital on Friday.

Gary was a real trooper and went along with us, though, and lo and behold, the dancers were actually quite good. Amer and I aren't sure what happened overnight, but when the lights went up and there were people in the theater, everyone literally stepped up their game.

Afterward, we all met up at Mama Corolla's for a late dinner. So late, in fact, that my ballerina didn't make it to dessert. It was not one of my finest parenting moments, but the food was great and the company even better. Jeff and James took turns lugging her home. I'm pretty sure she played possum for a while just to get the mile-high rides.

We all threw caution to the wind and broke the law to walk the Monon Trail back home. No one was robbed, murdered or otherwise molested. That I know of. Peter and Jen were walking together and out of my sight...

We did very little but laugh, eat, drink, and walk around the city looking at fine art, huge pigs and the fun little village of Broad Ripple. Peter braved crazy long flights (not to mention four straight days of Reed after Reed) to even get here and then helped save my dead disposal without even one complaint. David saved Alison's goldfish from certain death, shaming Jeff into not using live bait to teach Ali and me a lesson about how to properly care for aquatic life.

The fish nearly died but then lived while Jen, Ali and I got our toe nails polished. Alison had initially balked at getting a pedicure and is apparently too young for the full treatment, has pledged to return and this time get "that hot tub" treatment Jen and I had.

We spent most of Saturday at the fair, with Ali cajoling James and her father to ride those crazy rides with her. Grandpa took a turn on the Tilt-a-Whirl before deciding that the harness racing was more attractive.

We patronized quite of few of the local eateries before Jeff broke down and grilled for a final gathering Sunday night. Again, the food was great. Farm fresh tomatoes, peach crisp, tenderloin and a bunch of other treats washed down with gallons of Swampwater, beer and wine. Thinking back, we may have gotten a little carried away.

Late Sunday after everyone had gone, Jeff, Gary and I were sitting in the dark, savoring the silky evening and the good company. Marian's birthday was to come two days later, and we'd all been thinking of her throughout the weekend. Gary mentioned that he'd gotten teary and we all agreed how much she would have enjoyed the time we'd all had.

Talking later about it with Alison, we agreed that she was really there all along, and that we knew she was looking down, laughing along with us, shrugging her shoulders if anyone noted that we were being too silly or indulging a bit too much.

The weather was amazing for August in Indiana and while I'm glad of that, I did sort of think the Mainers deserved to feel at least a few moments of a real Hoosier summer. But there was no scorching heat, and just enough of a breeze to discourage the mosquitoes. Jeff built a roaring fire in the chimenae to keep them fully at bay, and while he nearly roasted his father, the flying varmints didn't feast on any of us.

So it was a good trip. Some of our friends got to say hello again or meet the East Wing of the Reed family, and that made it all the more special.

David, I need your photos! I didn't get everyone, and I want to show you off.

We miss everyone already and can't wait for Christmas.