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Oh man… it’s Friday.  When did that happen? What do you loves this week?

Happy Friday! Love, Mae



What would have happened if she said “he’s adopted”???  Also, what kind of Dad are you, if your first thought is that…

Oye.  People are stupid.  I’m glad you guys aren’t!

 Troop 45487 of Hillsboro, Oregon- at Pike Place Market (c) D.Ortega 2014


If I drink my whisky straight will you think I’m too hard nosed in blue jeans?  Or will a skirt do to allay those fears?  If I use my fork and knife correctly am I too pretentious and unAmerican?  Will the heels that push me past 6 foot emasculate you?  Will eating carbs look fat?  Does my a** look fat in these pants?  Can I wear pants on the first date?  The second date?  The third date?  When can I wear a baseball hat?  Does having a condom make me look fast?  Or prepared?  Does the fact I don’t belong to a political party make me seem disengaged?  Or smart?  Is it okay that sometimes I am disengaged?  Does my English degree seem too girly?  Are my boots too masculine?  How much eyeliner is too much?  How little is too little?  Can we just eat in a nice resturant- is that too much to ask?  And can it have napkins and silverware, and not wheels underneath it?  Can you hold my hand?  Can I hold yours?  Can you not kiss me on the first date?  Can I kiss you on the first date?  Where is this going if you have a cat and I’m allergic?  Do you mind that I hate my job?  Do you mind if I actually like to shop?  Am I too much of a princess to want to stand in the rain to see a bad movie?  Could you put your phone down?  Is my phone really something you can judge me by?  Did you just stick your fingers in your water glass?  Do we have to see the romantic comdey?  Can I talk about super heros without being too much of a dork?  Can I hide my dorkiness forever- no wait- can you live with this level of dorkiness?

Because that is the real question…


I haven’t really posted this week, because my thoughts have been lost in a maze brought on by the events this week- Memorial Day, memories, and the sacrifices of those who serve in the world’s military’s.

Memorial Day is always a funny holiday for me.  By the estimates of flag waving, cemetery visiting, flower laying patriotism, I am a horrible American.  I say this because I do not flag wave.  I do not own a tee shirt that bears the American flag.  I don’t got to the parades, or watch the TV specials, and I never visit the National or Service Cemetery on holiday weekends.  I avoid bunting at all costs (that’s the swaggy stuff with red, white and blue stripes they hang off the tops of buildings), and I’m not of Facebook calling for our troops to come home, or for more funding for the war, or participating in the holiday support off of who can love soldiers more.

This is all true because I have known and loved service people all of my life.  I was born to two of them, the granddaughter of more.  I am a service brat, filled with connections across the branches, I have friends in regular active combat in places where we’re not even at war.  And so I do not need a handful of  holidays to remember them.  What I need on Memorial Day, is a day off, and so that is what I take. Army Pfc. Joseph Jeffries

10 years ago today a friend of mine, Army Pfc. Joseph Jeffries was killed in action in Afghanistan.  We call him Joey. And I remember him.  Not when I see flags at a cemetery, or when someone calls his name on the capitol steps, but when I see pictures of the son he never met, or ride in a truck on a summer day with the windows rolled down and the music turned up.  His life in the service was not tragic, his life in general was not sad- just as most military lives aren’t.  Joey was a young man, happy to serve his country, happy to love his wife, happy to know a a child was on the way.  Because that was his life, just like everyone else’s.  Sure there’s a higher risk of death when combat is a part of your job description, but that single part of life does not dominate your day to day existence.

And so, as another Memorial Day passed, with it’s flag waving and parade marching, I reject the notion of a somber occasion, filled with tears and the salutes by those who never served.  I reject the notion that we should remember those who have fallen by sitting at graves and weeping at parades.  I remember Joey as a friend.  An older brother who picked on me, and laughed at my singing, and would roll his eyes when he was forced to be our driver.  I remember him trying (and succeeding) to scare the hajeebeza out of me while I was sleeping in a tent alone.  I remember him covered in paint, chasing me to hug me in a nice church dress.  He would sneak me veggies off his plate, pick me up rather than say “excuse me” when I was in his way, and steal food from the Tupperware parties our Moms used to host.

And I honor him by living my life the way we would have lived if he was still alive.  Joey didn’t want our lives to be sad, or focused on war.  He wanted to help protect his country, his family, and the way of life his friends loved.  And so I remember, but I do not dwell.

Loves, Mae


First Friday of the Summer!  Time to break out the pick-up trucks, tents and BBQ’s!




Ya’ll I haven’t a night off this week.  As in the last time I wasn’t booked up being a responsible social person was last Thursday… and the next night off I can see is next Tuesday.  I’m drowning in the need to drown my exhaustion in some soy cream (which I don’t have time to pick up) and laundry doing (I’m about to be going commando if I can’t get it together real soon). from Summer Girl 101 at http://summergirl101blog.tumblr.com/

Hows your week going?  Are you getting any sleep?  Or sunshine at least?

Friday Loves, Mae

