read this today and loved it

I miss my Dad.

Miss him all the time, but especially now that we're smack dab in the middle of the holiday season. Read this today, as the boys played in the snow with our neighbors and Greg, no surprise, swiffered the floors.

Thought I'd share...

THE SEND-OFF

My parents had eight kids: two boys, followed by six girls. Often, after dinner, Dad would allow us girls to do whatever we wanted with him...comb his hair, put it in curlers, or paint his toenails. He was like a real live doll for us to play with. He didn't mind, sometimes he even fell asleep during his beauty treatments.

Every summer his company had a picnic. One year, when it was time to go swimming, we begged Dad to get into the pool with us. As he took off his shoes and socks, his co-workers couldn't help but notice Dad's toenails were painted a bright shade of pink. He just laughed and said, 'Those darn girls.' I'm sure he didn't care who saw it, and he didn't bother to offer a fuller explanation.

This happened almost forty years ago. About ten years ago, Dad became very sick and had to go to the hospital. We agreed to take him off life support, and we arranged for it to happen when we had all arrived at his bedside. As the priest was giving him his last rites, we six girls agreed that it would be fitting for Dad to enter heaven with his toenails painted. Each of us painted a toe, and amid the tears, we all burst out laughing. The hospital staff must have thought we were crazy, but we knew something they didn't:

Dad would have loved it.

-Debbie Moore

from the book Wisdom of our Fathers, by Tim Russert

i've watched it 20 times now

Working in radio, I often come across a new song that I like enough to play over and over again. And then one more time after that.

And I love it when it's a fairly new act trying to get their name out. Let's face it, talented artists are everywhere and not everyone ends up on the cover of magazines or photographed while buying Starbucks. I also love it when it's an act just different enough to not blend in with all the others.

So meet Thompson Square.

I dig 'em.

20 years later...

Visited my old stomping grounds at Butler University last week.

I'd been asked by a former professor to speak to his class about my career in radio, and found the experience to be very rewarding. Sure, its been 20 years exactly since I first rolled on to campus in my parent's Explorer van with carpeted interior walls, but somehow time stood still and I found myself feeling like that big-haired freshman who wasn't shy but anxious all at the same time.

I met my prof in the C-Club, the place we used to grab a bite to eat between classes, the place I spent more money than allotted by my parents, the place decked out in Bulldog Blue and booths to avoid sitting in. It hadn't changed a bit.

Neither had my professor.

He looked exactly the same, though I love that he admitted to wearing a sportcoat he had worn when I was student. I, fortunately, had traded in the legwarmers for slacks, the White Rain hairspray for a flatiron, and we chatted about our lives, where I met my husband, the ages of our kids, and admired photos of the boys with toothless smiles. Eventually, I was handed his dreaded grade book from years gone by. Dreaded because though I was a decent student, those years are cloudy to me, possibly from lack of sleep these days or an attention span that is shorter than, wait, what was I saying? So imagine my surprise to find I scored a B in my professor's intro class, and an A- in his advanced class two years later.

Yay for me.

Speaking to his class was great, as I love, love, love my job and believe in finding personal satisfaction in what you do, whether it be radio or driving a school bus or staying at home. The fulfillment is what brings a smile to my face, though maybe not when the alarm first screeches me out of bed.

And so my visit proved to be more than educational for a classroom of glassy-eyed students, it was rewarding in other ways.

I appreciated comparing notes with my prof, from radio to parenting to the benefits of minivans. My visit also triggered flashbacks of the person I used to be, that worrisome girl who stepped into my professor's classroom with no idea of what to do with my life, and no idea of how to get there. Life has no checklists to follow, no guide to keep us on the right track, no map of how to reach our destination. Somehow, catching up with my professor in the very place I often lost my keys, ran across campus to turn in papers on time, and occasionally called my parents feeling homesick was like watching flickering slideshows of the former me. Me...the person who didn't know what to do with her life, but hoped I wouldn't fail trying to figure it out.

Not sure what to call it, but I drove away from campus with a big smile on my face. A big thanks to my professor, Scott, for the opportunity to catch up and see life sort of before and after.

Minus the big hair and hot rollers.

dentist=misery

That being said, I would like to immediately make it known that I like my dentist. But good dentist or not, a visit to their office is no walk in the park. I liken it to volunteering to have your fingernails ripped out. And PAYING for it. And that's exactly where I found myself last week.

I exited the office looking like I'd just tangled with that 8th-grade girl who threatened to beat me up after swim class, minus the chlorine-soaked swimsuit. Reading over my instructions to eat only soft foods for the next 48 hours, I jumped at the chance to suck down a milkshake. Liquid lunch, loaded with fat grams, and no guilt...after all, doctor's orders.

Big mistake.

I pull up to the drive-thru window, hear the request for my order, and proceed to rattle off which fat-laden flavor would suit me best:

Me: Yesth, I'd like a cookiesth-and-cweam milksthake, pleasth. With no whipped cweam.

Speaker guy: Um, excuse me?

Me: Yesssth. A cookiesth-and-cweam milksthake...no whipped cweam. Pleasth.

Speaker guy: Yeah...uhhh...I can't really understand you. Would you mind pulling around?

Mind? Oh, not at all. Nothing embarrassing about having you see me face-to-face and sounding like I still suck my thumb. And so I do, and thank you for not laughing, Speaker Guy, at least not until I pulled away with my shake in hand. I proceeded to take a bite with the provided spoon, miss my numb mouth by a good mile, and watch the shake dribble down my sweater. That's when I realized something very important.

Should've asked for a bib.

he wants to 'fuhgetabout' it

My husband's attempt to be friendly left him with the taste of a rubber sole in his mouth during a recent chat with a work associate. He called me afterward, feeling mortified and describing the very short conversation that had just taken place:

Him: Sooooo, when are you due?

Her: I'm...Not.

OUCH.

I've had library books longer

Well, howdy strangers.

I was given a friendly reminder that I'm overdue on posts, and well, I'm overdue on posts. Wish I had something creative to offer regarding my absence, like I forgot my password to this site or I've been trapped in tangled Christmas lights, but I got nothin. Instead, life just got busy.

I've missed writing.

It brings satisfaction to the end of my day, and I've made a point of pocketing daily observations to eventually share, including when my 5-year-old asked Indianapolis Mayor Greg Ballard last week if 'he had a girlfriend.' His response eased my humiliation: 'Well, if I do, I'd better not tell my wife.' Let's hear it for the Mayor's sense of humor.

Changing the channel, Thanksgiving came and went, happy to be with family, but a family that is incomplete without my father. Memories of dad were fondly recalled as we decorated our tree over the weekend. My son handed me an ornament with a photo of my father inside. He kissed Dad's face, saying 'I miss you, Papaw,' yet tears were quickly dried by Greg's frustration over the concept of a prelit tree, as in 900 lights, with 600 that work. My husband suddenly channeled a little Clark Griswold, slightly losing his sanity as he ranted about the two dark sections of our tree and threatening to throw the entire thing in the trash. I propose these prelit trees actually be called 'Prelit: But you'll still add lights, Moron.' Seems fitting, don't ya think?

So, we're the house with the tree that doesn't light up in the middle, at least for now.

Happy Holidays.

I always forget something

We are packed and heading for Nashville today. Just one problem:

I forgot socks.

So, after a quick run to the Walgreens down the street from the station, we're loading up the SUV and hitting the highway. Here's hoping the luggage will fit, considering Jim has a month's worth of hair product packed for two nights.

Lots to do!

We're on the hunt to find the cheapest souvenir in Music City, Jim will try his hand at playing guitar on a street corner for tips, and a friend of mine promises to show us Taylor Swift's new Penthouse in town.

More to come.

Music City or Bust

It's about that time of year again.

Time to pack up the van and road trip with the guys to Nashville for the CMA Awards. It's always a good time, despite the fact that we're working. We've gone for years, and always return with a memory or two, or one we'd like to forget.

Here are the highlights from the past decade:

Severe bronchitis left me sounding like Lauren Bacall and sitting in an ER for four hours. I found the guys patiently waiting for me and asleep in the hospital parking lot.

Breaking my wine glass in an apparent case of not knowing my own strength as I sat it down on the table.

Kevin and Gator locking themselves out of their room, and telling the front desk, 'We won tonight. We're winners.' Winners who couldn't find their room keys.

Gator pranking Jim by calling his room as a 'housekeeper,' instructing Jim to use the 'facial soap on your face, and the body soap on your body.' And Jim bought it.

Gator later calling me, posing as security, instructing me to keep the windows of my room closed and bolted because 'the hotel is located in a high crime area.' I panicked and called Gator, asking if we could change hotels, only to be greeted with hysterical laughter.

Jim having an urgent need to visit the men's room en route to Nashville while dining at Ruby Tuesday, only to find it closed for cleaning. He eventually gave up and walked, er ran, next door to the men's room at a local motel. The rest of us? We laughed till our stomachs hurt.

Taking a bus with other radio dj's to a party at Phil Vassar's house, in the middle of a thunderstorm. Once there, we were given a tour, where I hopped fully-dressed in Phil's shower to see what kind of shampoo he uses. We've since told Phil, who enjoyed the laugh.

More memories await. The CMA's are next Wednesday, and we'll be talking with all the stars, including Carrie Underwood, Brad Paisley, Taylor Swift and one of the night's performers, Gwyneth Paltrow.

Stay tuned.