Author Archives: Debbie

Attracting Hummers

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Not so long ago, I was visiting at a friend’s house, and her backyard was abuzz.

Hummer after hummer flew toward her feeder, sucking greedily from the slots, then spinning off. They chased one another, hovered suspended in the air, chirped, and put on a fascinating show.

I was hooked. I had to have a feeder of my own.

So the next time I was in WalMart, I browsed through the garden and outdoors section, finally deciding on a hummingbird feeder.

With nectar to go inside.

The nectar was red when I bought it, though the hummers don’t seem to care one way or another!

I took my prize home, followed the directions for making the “food,” and hung the feeder right outside the kitchen window.

Where, I hoped, every time I washed my hands at the sink, I’d be able to watch the tiny creatures.

I waited. And prayed for the arrival of some hungry “guests.”

At last, I was rewarded! Hummers have found my feeder, and they’re coming often to eat.

I’ve since learned that these tiny birds (about 3.5 inches in length), flap their wings approximately 80 times per second (thus, the humming sound!). Unlike some other birds, they don’t mate for life; the mama birds handle all the nest-building and baby-raising. The nest is about the size of a ping-pong ball; the eggs, the size of a jelly bean.

Hummers migrate annually, spending winter in the warm southern climates. Prior to their trip, they must “fatten up,” nearly doubling their body weight. People can help by setting out feeders (1/4 c. sugar, 1 c. water, NO red food coloring!); if temperatures are predicted to dip in the evening, bring the feeder in so the birds don’t have to drink cold food.

For more hummingbird facts, check this out.

Teachers Union Strike in Chicago

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You’d have to be Rip Van Winkle not to have heard of the strike — currently entering its second week — by some 26,000 Chicago Public Schools teachers.

The walkout was supposed to have been resolved over the weekend, and 350,000 kids were supposed to be back in class today. That didn’t happen.

So once again, parents are scrambling to find child care, juggling their own work schedules, bringing kids to work, working from home, etc. — all because these teachers who say they want what’s best for the kids really want what’s best for themselves.

Now, I don’t live in Chicago. I don’t have a dog in this fight. I’ve never been a teacher, nor a union member. I’ve never had teachers in my area go on strike, either when I was a kid or when My Favorite Domer was in public school.

So while I’d like to be fair to both sides, I’m finding my patience stretched to the snapping point.

On what planet does the CPS Teachers Union exist?

Statistics show Chicago teachers currently average $76,000 a year, for nine months of work. By contrast, the average Chicagoan makes $40,000 a year, for a full year. Yet teachers want a 16 percent pay raise over four years.

You’ve gotta be kidding. In this economy?? When the parents of the kids they teach are cutting way back and scrimping on everything but necessities?

I don’t deny teachers have a tough job, especially in Chicago. And I’d never be one to withhold wages from anyone who does his/her job.

But it’s one thing to get paid a fair wage and another to demand more, more, MORE!

Chicago doesn’t have a money tree in its back yard. And Illinois, frankly, is flat broke. So where do CPS Teachers Union members expect this kind of money to come from?

Of course there are other sticking points, too many to go into here. But there’s a bottom line, too — teachers say they want to go back to work.

Well, if that’s the case, they need to concede on some points. Stop acting like greedy brats. Be grateful they have good jobs. Accept that no job is perfect, no working conditions are ideal.

That’s what it means to negotiate. You give a little, you get a little.

Every school kid learns that in Kindergarten, assuming their teachers aren’t carrying a picket sign and they get to go to Kindergarten.

Where’s Waldo? Or Debbie?

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Today I’m over at my friend Oma’s Blurt blog, doing a guest post.

Actually, I was supposed to be over there last week while he was keeping the streets safe during the DNC, but technology had other ideas.

I was crushed hurt disappointed when all the popular kids got to “play Oma for a day” and I didn’t.

Despite my having a popular name like Debbie.

But life goes on.

Eventually, Oma saw the error of his ways and relinquished his digs to me, providing I don’t leave pumpkins around.

Or slugs.

So won’t you please drop by and leave a comment? Not that I’m begging or anything, but we bloggers are a needy bunch.

We can chat a bit. Get to know one another.

Maybe share a pizza and a cold drink.

Shoot, let’s us have a party on Oma’s dime!

Wouldn’t want him to think I wasn’t as popular as my name indicates.

Take a look around while you’re at it and catch up on some of his past posts.

He has a way with words. You’ll probably learn something. And enjoy yourself.

I’ll see you back here next week.

Now get clicking, friends!

Quick Trip to Notre Dame and Back

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On Saturday, I went up to Notre Dame (at Domer’s request) for the Band’s annual “Plaiding Ceremony.”

I didn’t stay for the game — didn’t have a ticket.

I didn’t spend the night — hadn’t booked a hotel.

But he wanted me there, and it would be my first chance to see him since he returned to the States from Ireland, so I went.

And I’m glad I did!

Before the ceremony, I wandered around campus, taking in the familiar sights and sounds.

People milling around, eating, tossing footballs, laughing:

I made my way into the student union and saw this cool T-shirt (it’s already personalized with Domer’s name, too!):

After I got back outside, I fell in love with this tree. Doesn’t it look like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family??:

When time neared for the Plaiding Ceremony, I caught up with Domer and we walked over to Bond Hall, the architecture building. That’s the site for the Band’s Concert on the Steps prior to every home football game, and it’s got a ginormous stairway — big enough to accommodate the entire Band.

Though they’re packed in like sardines! (If you follow the Photos tab on the Bond Hall link, you’ll see what I mean).

Anyway, the Plaiding Ceremony is one of the Band’s traditions. During Band Camp in August, students receive their uniforms, but the first-years don’t get a plaid.

Prior to the first home game, they’re called to the steps and welcomed. The upperclassmen, wearing the plaid of the freshman they’ve been assigned, climb the steps, find their freshman, remove the plaid, and affix it to the freshman’s uniform.

After pictures and hugs, everyone except the seniors vacates the steps, making way for the person the senior has selected to affix their plaid.

Which looks somewhat different from the underclassman’s plaid.

It’s got more “flash” and gold roping. It’s also theirs, purchased by them to keep forever.

You’re probably wondering what the plaid looks like. Well, excuse the sorry state of Domer’s dorm room door, but here it is:

It was specially designed for Notre Dame and is trademarked and copyrighted. It incorporates the school colors of blue and gold, green for the Irish, red for the Church and the Holy Cross Fathers, and black to tie it all together.

The plaid is outlined in gold and has the senior Band student’s name embroidered on the inside. It buttons to the epaulets on the left shoulder and drapes behind the student, providing an eye-catching shimmer when the Band spins and moves.

The ND Band is the oldest university band in continuous existence in the United States. Its traditions go way back, with even legendary football Coach Knute Rockne having been a flute player and former AD Moose Krause a clarinet player.

As I hugged Domer and headed for home, I took one more shot, over the lake toward the Golden Dome and the Basilica of the Sacred Heart:

Isaac Inspired Me to Create

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The remnants of Hurricane Isaac blew through my area over Labor Day weekend, giving us some much-needed rain.

Not what the old-timers call a drought-buster, but we’ll take what we can get.

It’s the “side effects” we can do without — you know, the lightning and thunder, tornadoes and wind.

Have you ever been in Church and heard the tornado warning go off? I hadn’t either, until Saturday evening. What better place to be during wicked weather?

Anyway, with a holiday weekend and bad weather roaming around, I powered down the laptop and turned to some beading. Without further ado, I present some of my new creations (and the stories that go with them!):

1) These dangly earrings each feature three 6mm denim blue cat’s eye beads, interspersed with a 4mm hematite bead, antique round silver beads, and an antique silver tube bead in the middle. They remind me of summer — denim usually does — and what better way to celebrate the end of summertime than with beads?

2) This pair is made of seven 4mm rose bicones, interspersed with silver spacers and a silver circle spacer in the middle. This color is just so flattering to most skin tones! They’re light and delicate, and I imagine they’d look perfect worn with shades of blue or black.

3) Native American cultures have long hung dreamcatchers over beds to catch bad dreams in the net and filter good dreams down through feathers to the sleeper. That lovely tradition is what this pair of earrings is based on. I used two faceted turquoise Czech glass beads with a silver spacer in each one and a leverback closure for increased security.

4) More feathers! I saw these silver “feather” dangles at Hobby Lobby one day and they spoke to me. These chandelier earrings are the result. They might look heavy, but they’re incredibly light and make the most delicate whispering sound in your ears when you move your head.

5) A bracelet/earring set in Hematite. This stone is incredibly slick to the touch and is the gem form of iron. When cut or ground, Hematite gives off red dust that runs like blood when mixed with water. People have used this “red ochre” for thousands of years to paint caves and tombs. Here, I separated the Hematite stones with 4mm silver beads on the bracelet and used a toggle clasp. Trust me, it’s heavier than it looks — that’s why the earrings are shorter than I’d usually make!

6) Can you tell the Fighting Irish have been on my mind this weekend?? This pair mixes several different shades and sizes of green beads, silver spacers, and of course, a lucky four-leaf clover dangle. They must have worked because the Irish beat the Navy in Dublin on Saturday, 50-10!

Bon Voyage

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Okay, this is a serious question: How does a mom-of-one deal with her son flying off to foreign soil and being out of touch for five days??

Yep, you guessed it — Domer’s on his way to Dublin, Ireland, for the Notre Dame v. Navy football game on Saturday, Sept. 1.

I’m ecstatic for him. He’s never been outside of the U.S., and being of Irish descent means this is a trip back to the motherland, of sorts.

But he’s going to be gone for FIVE DAYS!

“Ireland isn’t the end of the world,” he told me before he left. “We’ll be fine.”

But can’t you at least call or text me, to let me know you’ve arrived, I asked.

“International calls and texts are expensive,” he said.

Then how about e-mailing me when you get to the hotel, I suggested. If you get time.

“If I get time,” he agreed. “We’re going to be pretty busy, and our schedule is full.”

I know, I know. Just try.

Here’s the thing. I haven’t been a helicopter mom. Really.

I haven’t “smothercated” him with suggestions. Or advice.

I’ve done my best to ground him in the basics and gradually step aside so he can take tentative steps away. On his own path. Toward his own future.

But I’m just not ready to turn him loose completely. Is any mother ever ready for that?

My own mom would love having her “baby biddies” nearby, and we’ve been “adults” for a couple of decades now.

Domer’s 21. Legally an adult. He’s also got a sensible, level head on his shoulders.

And he’s thrilled at being selected to represent his university like this, playing his horn and cheering for his team.

The Irish are “coming home” to Ireland!

This is BIG. A never-before occurrence.

So I’ll do the only thing I know to do — put him in the hand of a loving God and pray Bon Voyage.

Or, in Irish, Go dté tú slán (May you go safely).

Wanna Buy Some Stuff? Huh? Pu-leeze?

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The other evening I was working at my computer when the doorbell rang.

I opened the door and there on the stoop was a tiny elfin child — no bigger than a minute, with long, Palomino-colored hair and immense blue eyes.

She squirmed a bit, then blurted out, “Would you like to buy some chocolate candy?”

No details as to the type of candy, the price, or which organization she was selling for.

I glanced toward the driveway and met the watchful eye of her mother, who was sitting astride a bicycle and waiting for the sales call to be over so they could move on to the next victim er, prospect.

As it turns out, I didn’t want or need any candy — chocolate or not — so I had to turn her down as kindly as possible. My days of purchasing useless stuff ended when My Favorite Domer graduated from high school. And I won’t have to be a sucker  customer again until Domer marries and has little Domers of his own.

W-a-a-y down the road!

Then it struck me — school hasn’t been in session two weeks and already, our little ones are being indoctrinated in the ways of salesmanship.

Armed with order sheets, their tiny heads filled with pictures of exciting things they can “earn” if they sell enough, they’re being turned loose on an unsuspecting public and encouraged to peddle.

Domer had to do it, too. But he was in so many activities that it became embarrassing to accompany him on the rounds of the neighborhood. So we purchased enough for him to get a small prize and, if he had to do without the “awesome light-up doo dad” or whatever, well, I knew he’d survive.

I had to do it, too, and hated it. My sister would go behind me, and the homeowners who told me they were on diets and couldn’t buy cookies or candy, mysteriously bought from her! She always talked a better game than I did.

It worries me to see a tiny tot on my porch trying to sell stuff, even with a parent along. The world isn’t exactly a safe place, and I feel we should protect our kids from harm as much as possible — for as long as possible.

Besides, aren’t we already paying enough to educate our kids without turning them into beggars?

Any thoughts? How does your community handle this?

Is Moving Ever Fun?

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Stupidity is one of my pet peeves.

So is disorganization.

Imagine my “delight” at finding both — in plenteous amounts — this past week when I helped My Favorite Domer move back to Notre Dame.

I don’t mean to sound petty. Truly I don’t. But the “powers that be” have known for a long time that these kids (and their parents) would be descending on campus this week. They’ve had more than a century to get the “move in game” down pat.

Yet they still can’t seem to make it work.

Picture dozens of cars lined up single file in a parking lot “staging area.” Said cars are loaded to the roof with Junior’s stuff — guitars, TVs, clothes, refrigerators, plastic storage crates — or with Princess’s stuff — ginormous stuffed animals, clothes, tennis racquets, futons, shelving, area rugs. You get the idea.

Now picture a bunch of elderly volunteers, walkie-talkies in hand, trying to move these cars from the parking lot to the dorms in a semi-regulated way.

Now throw in a major campus construction project, just to make the ordeal more memorable.

That’s what we faced. And Domer got to move in early because of Band Camp, so we didn’t even have to face the tsunami of regular move-in.

Maybe we were the guinea pigs.

The day we moved, at least five different “ushers” gave us five different sets of instructions on where to go to unload Domer’s stuff. One said here; one said there. Finally, another suggested we drive up a gravel road closer to the dorm. As we were doing that, we noticed cars that had been behind us in the parking lot queue were now ahead of us; in fact, many had already unloaded and were driving off before we even got to my kid’s dorm!

How had that happened?

To sweeten the experience, another usher was on hand to remind us not to leave our car unattended, to unload right onto the grass, then move the car to a faraway lot, return on foot, and haul the stuff inside.

Up three flights of stairs.

Without air conditioning.

And only a freight elevator that’s on the temperamental side.

Did I mention it was HOT, too??

Still, the kids were great — greeting friends and parents alike, offering to help, stepping aside for those carrying precarious loads. They lofted furniture, started setting up TVs and laptops, even hung up their clothing.

In preparation for a new school term.

New classes. New friends. New memories to make.

Perhaps it’s a bit like giving birth — you don’t remember the pain of move-in day, in the wake of the clean slate which awaits.

But honestly, couldn’t someone have done a trial run in a golf cart beforehand??

Six More Beaded Creations

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Who’s ready to see more of my beaded jewelry creations?

You are? Cool, let’s get started:

1) This is a pair of approximately 3-1/4″ long earrings with round, olive green faceted Czech glass beads, 6 mm in size. Also included are small barrel spacers, flat round spacers, and an ornate connector piece. I bought the green because it’s one of my favorite colors, of course!

2) I found these interesting connectors (the long silver portion) at Hobby Lobby. They remind me of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. I paired them with 6 mm white faux pearls and 4 mm dark grey hematite beads. Did you know that Hematite is a good gemstone for Virgos like me?? Hematite supposedly carries grounding and soothing energies to help you relax physically and mentally — all I know is, I love the way it feels. So cool to the touch!

3) Don’t you just love this shade of turquoise? They’re called fiberoptic or cat’s eye beads because they have a tiny white line running around their circumference (sounds like I was listening in Geometry class after all, haha!). They also feature long, antique silver tube beads. Anyway, true story: I wore this pair to a first meeting with a potential new client for my Web Design company. Everything went well until I got home and realized (gulp!) I’d lost the entire bottom half of one of my earrings! I checked throughout my car and retraced my steps to the garage, to no avail. I can only surmise I lost it at the guy’s office (sure hope he doesn’t have a wife or girlfriend who’s the jealous type because nothing happened. Promise!!)

4) These silver earrings are almost long enough to brush my shoulders! They’re made with twisted silver tube beads and an ornate connector piece. I love finding earrings that are as light as these are, too! They don’t yank your earlobes, but that means I’m checking periodically throughout the day to make sure they’re still there (unlike the previous pair, ha!)

5) Another piece in green! This one is a bracelet featuring bamboo-shaped tube beads, interspersed with crystal spacers and fastened with a toggle clasp. Perfect for St. Pat’s Day or the Irish in you!

6) Generally, I work in silver-colored metals because I’ve found it to be more flattering to my skin tones. However, sometimes a girl’s just got to try her hand at something yellow-gold, and this is what I came up with. I used the same olive-green beads from photo #1, along with faux white pearls and gold-colored daisy spacers. I have no clue what that weird round shadow is at the bottom of the green beads — must be some kind of reflection I didn’t notice until now. Trust me, they’re pretty!

If we could get an entire day with a steady rain, just imagine how much beading I could get done!

P.S. Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho, it’s back to school we go! I’ll be taking a few days’ off this coming week so I can accompany the Domer back to college. I’ll catch up with everybody when I return — please don’t abandon me entirely, ‘kay??

What’s a Writer Worth?

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Domer just loves to push my buttons.

Recently, I was bemoaning an article in Writer’s Digest magazine, where author Jane Friedman discusses the basics of e-publishing.

“Independent novelists charge very little for their work, usually between $.99 and $2.99,” Friedman wrote.

‘That sounds about right,’ Domer said. ‘Nobody knows you. Why should they pay good money for your book? Besides, wouldn’t it be better for you to charge $1 for a book and sell a million copies than to sell only 10 copies for $30 each?’

Not necessarily. If “nobody” knows you, how are you going to sell a million copies?

More to the point, I for one haven’t labored the better part of six years on my series to sell each book for a measly dollar. It’d be too demeaning.

Look at it this way: To become a doctor in the U.S., a person must spend four years in undergraduate university, four years in medical school, three to five years in residency, and two to three years in a fellowship. Nobody does all that and charges each patient $2 per visit!

Why should what I do be of less importance?

True, writing novels isn’t exactly saving lives, but how many doctors are saving lives? Honestly, don’t they sometimes make people sicker — from worry and fear, from side effects of medications or procedures?

Domer is looking at it as a numbers game. Fair, since he’s studying Business. And you can’t argue with his math — one million copies at $1 each totals $1 million, whereas 10 copies sold at $30 each amounts to only $300. That’s a big difference. Huge, even.

But how many novelists are trying to “get rich” from their work? Isn’t it more likely that we can’t NOT write? That we believe we have something to say, something that might change another person’s life? That we might take our readers on a thrilling journey, far from their possibly mundane existence? That we might scare the socks off them — and ourselves — through the power of our written words? That we might inspire them to be their best, to unshackle themselves from burdens they don’t need to bear?

I say creative people have endured far too much devaluation over the centuries of civilization. It’s time we appreciated our own worth and realized our world would be a wretched place without writers, musicians, and artists. If we don’t believe what we do is worthwhile, how can we expect others to believe it? And, believing it means rewarding it.

Any thoughts from my fellow creators?