Making sense

Anne Lamott, on writing ...

"We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little. But we do. We have so much we want to say and figure out.”

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Spilling my blog guts!

One of my favorite bloggers, Audrey, has recently conducted an on-line interview. Here are the five questions she has posed in order to learn more about Mom Sequitur.

1. What film best reflects your life and why?
THE BIG FISH, by Tim Burton (based on the novel by Daniel Wallace). Because I'm a Leo and therefore enjoy (at times) being the center of attention, I've longed to be a big fish in a big pond.
As it is, however, I turned out to be a medium-sized fish in one of those murky goldfish indoor ponds frequently seen in Chinese restaurant lobbies.
I consider THE BIG FISH one of the finest movies I've ever seen. I recommend it to nearly every person I meet. And, it is true when I tell them that this movie made me feel comfortable with death and dying.

2. Do you have any unfulfilled childhood ambitions?
Definitely! I didn't have enough children. As a child, I wanted to be the quintessential Catholic Mama, a stay-at-home-barefoot-and-pregnant-meatloaf-mixin'-breastfeedin'-rosary-prayin'-mother-of-nine. The children would wear Saints medals and hand-me-downs that always looked spiffy because Catholic Mamas are superb laundresses. I would have Priscilla Presley hair and wear lots of eye liner. My husband, who'd be named Michael or John, or Michael-John, would delight in my perpetually swollen belly and kiss me often in church. There would always be enough money, even though we sent nine children through Catholic Schools, Grade K-12, because we tithed our full percent and were good stewards of the treasure God had bestowed upon us!
Reality: I have three children. Two of them have "left" the church. (They are, however, named after Saints ... Catherine, Thomas, and Elizabeth!) My husband did NOT share in my childhood fantasy to parent so many children. Sometimes I feel a little resentful, especially considering I'm in my forties now and the window of motherhood has closed.

3. What is the most important object in your house?
One of my 800 or so books. I am a true bibliophile. I love the smell of a book, the weight of it in my hands, the feel of the pages. Finally, after YEARS of begging and pleading and, oh, yeah, I'll say it: NAGGING!, my husband constructed built-in shelves for the living room. Whenever I walk into the house, I am instantly calmed by the comfort and wisdom emanating from the shelves.

4. Do you have any secret talents or skills?
For some reason, I excel at leg wrestling. I think I could take down a pro wrestler. Really.

5. If you could travel through time where would you like to go?
The Victorian Era! I'd like to be a wealthy woman, however, and have lots of embroidery to do to while away the hours. Bring on the patterned wallpaper and abundance of ferns, let me wear the corsets and hats with feathers! My favorite Web site is I peruse it frequently.

Would YOU like to be interviewed?
Write "Ask Me" in the response line, and I'll get some interview questions out to you!
Thanks for reading!

Thursday, January 22, 2009

I {heart} Obama!

He makes me feel hopeful.
He makes me feel secure.
He makes me feel positive.
He makes me feel humane.
He makes me feel optimistic.
He makes me feel happy.

I can't wait to see what good will surely come from this administration.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Yes! A "found" grocery list

There must be something wrong with me that I delight in discovering someone's left-behind-in-the-cart shopping list. It's just so ... so ... real, the idea that we're all connected by/through food and beverage and light bulbs, that someone else was using my shopping cart before me, and that someone else would be using that same cart after me. I know this sounds a bit odd. Anyone else enjoy perusing some other shopper's list?
Found Jan. 18, 2009, at a Target in Kansas City North; half a sheet of "Colorado" memo pad, a snow-capped mountain heading the narrow paper; the list reads exactly as such:

1/2 & 1/2
Dish Brush
lite Bulbs

Part of me wants to create a bogus list and then purposely leave it behind. Something like:

Weight Watchers frozen entrees
Chocolate bars (quantity 12)
Feminine hygiene products
Ben & Jerry's Phish Food (quantity 5)

Now who wouldn't want to find that list? Or, better yet, follow the woman out and invite her to an impromptu Bunco gathering.
I once had this delightful Price Chopper cashier ring me up, a middle-aged bespectacled gal, and with nearly item she scanned a comment came with it.
"Oh, I see you make your lasagna with ricotta, not cottage cheese. Good for you. As my Grand-Nana Bernadette always said, the "ri-cotha" is worth every penny. ... I've tried this brand of garlic bread ... a bit too greasy for me, if you know what I mean. Do you make your meatballs half Italian (she pronounced this like "Eye-talian") sausage, half ground round?"
Instead of being annoyed with her, I liked the conversation.

Sunday, January 18, 2009


So I walk oh-so-anxiously, this past Friday (having endured a white-knuckled spousal driving experience thanks to a morning snowfall) into a gastroenterologist's office in a busy hospital to have a tube the size of an average man's pinkie finger thrust down my throat, into the esophagus, into the stomach, and into the small intestine and, thank God for modern medicine, I have absolutely no memory of this invasive gastric procedure.
Needless to say, my husband has had great fun with this.
"You said you wanted me to go to that toy farm show in Minnesota," he told me, once I'd slept off the Demerol/Versed concoction and awakened, feeling refreshed and hungry, at 3 p.m. that same afternoon."You said all you wanted in life was to make me happy.
"And you know those Eagle concert tickets? You said to buy a dozen of them and we'd take the neighbors."
I tilted my head and looked at him sideways.
"Really?" I said. "I don't remember saying that."
"You probably also don't remember telling me that it's probably time for me to trade in the rusty old pickup and buy that Mini Cooper I've been looking at."
"You're making this up," I smiled. "Nice try."
"You can ask the doctor," my husband replied, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, and that nurse guy named Rusty. He was with you in the wake-up room."
Here's what I wanted to hear from my husband: Was I going to survive? My doctor had me all worked up, worrying about esophageal cancer and a mysterious malady called Barrett's Something.
"You're going to live," he said, reading my mind. "And the first thing you said after the doctor said 'You have a hiatal hernia, nothing serious, no surgery, here's a prescription to help you,' was
'Excellent. I'll be alive to go to a season's worth of baseball games with my husband ... Honey, go ahead and purchase that season package for $1,500."
I hadn't seen my husband look so serious since I announced I'd opened a credit card without telling him. Oops.
I was on to him now.
I shook my head. Found my reading glasses. Opened the day's KANSAS CITY STAR, turned to the Classifieds.
"Wait!" I announced, cheerfully, my memory suddenly restored. "I do remember saying all those things .... and, also, how you said, 'Sure, Honey, you can buy the King Charles Cavalier Spaniel puppy' ... here's one advertised for $700!"
He stood up, lowered his head, headed for the kitchen.
"How does chicken noodle soup sound?"