BREAKING NEWS in Halfglassistan

Oh wow. Just wow.


TWHQ just got asked to be a part of something super-awesome. Wow.


It won't be a secret for long, and no, it's not a job (at least not in the way you may be thinking).


It's better.


As my sweet CVZ put it: 

"I get why you're so SQUEEEEEEE! about this. How many times in your life do you get to give an assist to an actual angel?"

Pretty much never, CVZ. That's why I'm gonna make the most of it.


Stay tuned, my friends. Something sassy this way comes.

Happy Ewwwwwwwww Year

Can you hear that? 


I can. It's God laughing.*


He likes to do that when I make plans — get all creative with the whole working-in-mysterious-ways thing He's got going on.


All TWHQ wanted to do was a big, snazzy, end-of-the-year blowout.


But, TWHQ contracted a big, nasty, end-of-the-year blowout.


I'll leave that last play on words open to interpretation, but yeah ... yeah ... it pretty much means what you think it might mean. And then some.


See you in 2K10, sports fans.


*or, He's saying, "What? You don't like this head start on your weight loss goals? You say violent stomach bug; I say motivation. Tomato, tomahto. WHOA! OK, too soon to talk about food ... I get it, I get it. Do you need me to hold your hair?"

We Wish You A Tilly Christmas And A Sappy New Year

Hullo, all!

Elf Tilly here. Mom is busy making cookies. And spinach dip. And a cheese ball. And a mess.

I offered to help, but she says I do not have the dexterity to roll one-inch dough balls. Clearly, she has never seen me rock the keyboard like I am right now. Huh! No dexterity, my sweet nub-tail!

If I don't look like my usual charming self in the picture above ... well, you try to be cheery with elastic pinning your ears down and tickling your chin, all while you're balancing the jingle-belled felt equivalent of a Vegas showgirl's headpiece on your noggin. I thought so.

Actually, this shot was taken a few years back, when I was young and naive and didn't realize I had a choice in the matter. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice ... well, no one's ever fooled me twice, so I don't know what comes next. Just shame on you if you try to dress me. I may be a licensed home healthcare worker, Broadway-caliber singer and dancer and quite the wordsmith — but wearing doll clothes is where I draw the line. (I do enjoy a snazzy little collar, however. I do. A girl has to be able to get her cute on somehow.)

Anyhoo — Team Wedding HQ is quite the place to be today — it's Cat Con's Christmas Rockin' Eve. While Mom is busy cooking and what-not, CC sits on the kitchen counter and serenades us — and clues me in when a drop or dollop of something edible (or not) hits the floor. CC and I have no "five-second rule." More like a "it-didn't-roll-under-the-stove-rule." 

Mom doesn't mind. That's one or two or 10 fewer things she has to sweep up. Just one of the many services I provide. Like being the ever-so-modest guest blogger extraordinaire.

May your heart be merry and light, and may all your Christmases be bright.

Merry-merry, happy-happy, and many, many, many blessings to you all,

Elf Tilly out.

Wordless Christmas-Bun-Fresh-From-The-Oven Wednesday

Ho-Ho Mojo

Merry Freakin' Christmas! (And I mean freakin' in the best way. Truly.)


As my dear old, i mean long-lost, er she was never lost, I just didn't know where she was, um, back in touch now thanks to facebook ... aw, screw it friend SPG said: "I heard a bell! You got your mojo back!"


Yes, I did, SPG. 
Yes. 
I. 
Did.


Keep that in mind, loyal subjects dear readers, this holiday season. It's not just angels and wings. Every time a bell rings, some royal pain in someone's ass procrastinating perfectionistic pessimist may just have gotten her groove back.


You never know.


Blessings and what-not to you all,
HRH Princess Snarkerella

Missing Ingredient Found

No-o-o-o-o-o. It's not white wine. But it was after a wee glass of Riesling, and a very short (that's all it took; he's that good) conversation with Mr. J, that I quickly was reminded of what's gotten us this far.

Faith. Gratitude. Love. 

And strength.

I've always wanted to be honest and authentic here in Halfglassistan, and just a few days ago, I was painfully true to that goal. What I lost sight of, however, was my greater goal of maintaining some measure (no matter how small it might seem sometimes) of positivity. It's easy to give in. It takes strength to keep faith.

I also lost sight of the founding tenet of life here in Halfglassistan: gratitude. I'm grateful for how far we've come. I'm grateful that throughout this whole journey,we've been able to say, "It could always (always) be worse." I'm grateful that every time we said that, it actually was true. I'm grateful that now, more than ever, it actually is still true. It's easy to see how much better things could be. It takes strength to see how good they actually are.


Perhaps worst of all, I lost sight of the fundamental core of Team Wedding. When Mr. J and I were first dating and low on funds, he turned to me and said, "That's OK. We'll live on love, baby." I think, at the time, it may have been said half (or wholly) in jest. The original intent doesn't matter. Twelve years later, and I've never forgotten the sound of his voice saying it.


That's my missing ingredient. It's not in the recipe, it's not on the shopping list, it's not in any freakin' store -- and it sure as hell isn't in Riesling. I couldn't find it anywhere I looked, because it wasn't hidden. It never has been. We eat it, we drink it, we breathe it.


We live on love, baby. We live on love.

Wordless More-Midwestern-Munchkins Wednesday

Still Sloshing

EDITED TO ADD: In which I found the words for all I had to write about ...

I find myself in a very strange state of mind, and trapped in a metaphoric limbo of my own creation ... (looking for) what's on the optimistic menu, the grocery list or (where) to even begin shopping ...

... and chose to enforce censorship for my greater good. Thank you. Carry on.

In Which I Write About How I Have So Much To Write About, I'm Not Sure Where Or How To Begin (or End)

Huh ... (head cocked, fingers poised over keyboard) ...


Nope. That title pretty much covers it. For now. 


Please be patient as I watch my water slosh about.

Wordless Windy-City-Snow-Munchkins Wednesday

Not So Very Wordless, But Certainly Shameless, Wednesday

Nurse Tilly Reporting for Duty

Hullo all. Nurse Tilly here.

Just taking a quick break from tending to Princess Funky McFunkenstein to help my loyal assistant Piggy reach the tissues off the shelf. Seems it was a better idea to send the 4-inch-tall purple plush pig to fetch them rather than the 5-foot-5-inch-tall grown-up.

While Piggy drags them back to PFF's lair, I thought I'd post a quiz for you dear readers:

WHO is a big ol' whiny crybaby when she's sick?

1. CCW
   
2. CatCon
   
3. Her Royal Highness Princess Snarkerella
   
4. NOT me (nor Piggy)
   
5. All of the above
   

DING-DING-DING! YOU ARE CORRECT.

Wait! What? You say you didn't choose an answer yet?

[sigh]

Like it matters ...

Nurse T OUT.

Thanker's Block

All day long, I've been trying to think of how to properly express everything I'm thankful for this year. 

I give up. I can't do it.

I can't find the words because there are no words.

I've never felt unloved in my life, and I know how very blessed I am to be able to say that. But — I've never felt more loved than I have this past year. 

And — it's ridiculous to even try to define the people who have held us up throughout this journey. Family, friends, caregivers, neighbors? Labels are insignificant. So many people gave so much of themselves, and sometimes when — and from whom — we'd least expect anything.

And, I will carry every last little bit of that goodness with me always.

Thank you.

CHARLESTON, NOVEMBER 2009: Mr. J snapped this pic of us. He probably won't like that I posted it, what with that fuzzy, chemo-hair, wind-induced-Mohawk he's sporting. I don't care. We look happy. We look strong. We look like survivors.

Wordless Charleston Wednesday

Damn Good Dawg

Rest in peace, Uga VII.

(Almost)Wordless Happy-First-Birthday Wednesday

One year ago today, John Conley Bowen joined us. 

In no particular order (because it's more fun that way), a year in the life of JC:

I love you so much, sweet boy.

Happy Birthday.

Chucktown

So. It turns out TAHITI* bears an uncanny resemblance to Charleston, South Carolina.

Huh. Who knew?

Charleston was a favorite jaunt of ours back in our dating days, and we didn't realize until we were making our plans for TAHITI* that we hadn't been there since before the Wedding Wedding. 

Over the years, we'd spent time in the mountains, and at various beaches, sure. 

But not back on cobblestones of old Charles Towne? Not listening to the water beat against the retaining wall as we gaze out at Fort Sumter where that Citadel cadet fired the first shot in the War of Northern Aggression? Not listening to the ghosts whispering in the Live Oaks in Battery Park? Not reveling in the architecture, and breathing deep the air of courtyard gardens on Rainbow Row?

Well, that just needed fixing — and quick-like.

So we sauntered on down to the Lowcountry ... OK, we didn't saunter, we zipped down the interstate in a Toyota truck. (But doesn't it seem like we should have sauntered? I thought so.) No worries, though. We slowed our steps and strolled at the appropriate pace once we arrived in the Holy City.

First stop was James Island and Folly Beach because Cat Con was with us and we were forced to obey her Saltwater Proximity Axiom. The law simply states that if an ocean shoreline is within 32 (give or take) miles in any direction, she must go to it, strip down (at least her tootsies) and become one with the beach. 

Hours, days, weeks, all are preferable timeframes for worship, but a surprisingly small exposure can actually get the job done:

Cat Con has been known to admit to depression, frustration, melodrama, fear, angst, insecurity (Yes, really. Her ego does have some boundaries.) and all forms of melancholia at many different points in her life. 

But she has never, never, never — never — been anything but at peace on a beach.

[sigh]

As for all those other Charlestonian delights mentioned above, I've got some sweet pics of those, too.

I think (if we're lucky) Miss Almost-Boundless-Ego might be done gazing at her toe ring in the sand before Wordless Wednesday rolls around, and I can wrest the images from her (if we're lucky).

Stay tuned.

You Knew What You Were Getting Into When You Married Me

... is pretty much what I say every year to Mr. J when he would just as soon let the 8th of November pass without fanfare.

But birthdays? Are not ignored in my world.

I don't care how old you are, Mr. J; and I sure don't care how broke we are, 'cause I don't need money to make a fuss. I only care enough to never have anyone sing to you in a cheesy restaurant, and to never (never, I promise!) throw you a surprise party.

And that's only because I expect the same in return. The only cheesy singing on my (oh, and yours, too) birthday shall be done by me. And the only surprising on my birthday shall be done by you. We agree on that.

But that's it. 

I will never ignore a birthday (I might forget, but that's a whole other story), because I am exponentially cheesetastic like that. I will never stop being grateful that one day in November, 1962, you happened. I may have taken another six years to show up, and then another 29 to find you, but none of that's important.

It was always meant to be.

What's that? Er, no. 

No. It's not easy being this cheesy.

Below, birthday happiness 2009:

Nom, nom, nom ...

One dozen little cups of happy.

Red velvet.

Caramel apple and chocolate peanut butter.

The black bottom, a brilliant concoction of dark chocolate cake with chocolate chip cheesecake and cream cheese frosting.

Nurse Tilly, asking for the 4,782nd time, "Why? Why can't I have a little happy cake of joy?"

Why? Because you can't have chocolate. And there'd be fewer for me. But mostly the chocolate reason. Really.

Thank you, Cupcake, for coming to Columbia. And thank you, anonymous college girl (ACG) working at Cupcake for your validation when I picked these out.

ACG (smiling): "Are these for a special occasion?"

ME (drooling): "Yes, they are. My husband made me promise not to get him anything for his birthday, and this is the anything I'm getting anyway."

ACG (seriously): "Ma'am, you did the right thing."

Yes, I did, ACG. 

Yes.

I. 

Did.