Coming Soon!

     Look forward to "The World's Worst Wrapping Idea" or "The Big Black Bag that Backfired." 

TSO=Christmas

     What's your holiday "thing?"  For many, it's the lights. (But too many flashing displays ignite my migraine fuse like a 4th of July gone very bad.)  For others, food is first on their list. (Holiday fare is a SERIOUS second place in my book.)  While for many people, OMG, it IS God, as that was the original point to the whole shebang, don't forget.  For me and my family, though, music is the number one can't-do-without element to the season.

     And thanks to my sister, Anita, we have a library of tunes for all our holiday moods.  She never fails to tuck a Christmas CD du jour into her Fed Exed box of gifts each year.


     Over the years we've selected a few favorites.  We pump up for serious shopping (online) with the manic Mack truck of a band Mannheim Steamroller and we listen to Lorie Line for laughs.  (She's a this-side-of-cheesy but good Minnesota pianist.) For the good old standards we enjoy "Harry (Connick, Jr.) for the Holidays."  And the Hanson's "Snowed In" brings misty middle school nostalgia for my kids.

     On Christmas Eve when we are quiet and reverent and half asleep from the feast of wild rice and wine and cookies and cocoa, we turn to the King's College Choir of Cambridge University (James bought it there on a college trip) and their truly glorious sounds.


     But reigning supreme over our family's Christmas music world is the king of all Christmas bands - Trans-Siberian Orchestra.  TSO is the best metal music/rock drama for Christmas ever.  Christian received our first TSO CD, "Christmas Eve and Other Stories" and we've been hooked ever since. One year Christian rocked our world with tickets to a TSO concert in St. Paul and Dad and Christian have a special tradition of playing Al Pitrelli's guitar extravaganza "O Holy Night" over the phone at midnight on the 12th day of Christmas.

     We are fiercely loyal to TSO and refuse to call the cheesy parts of TSO dramas "cheesy" and their political pursuits should win the Nobel Prize, for sure.

     So serious a TSO family are we that we all suffered a panic attack last year when not one TSO CD could be found in the house.  After an hour or two thinking the whole holiday had gone to hell and after many damns, F words and (my favorite,) this is a nightmares had been uttered, we finally found one.  Good times followed.  Good stuff.  Good stuff, indeed.

     So we wish you a metal Christmas and a headbanging New Year.  (That's another story and another CD!)

BLIP - Christmas Catharsis.

I've been wanting to say this in public for years and I do apologize to the faithful, some who upon hearing this admission have scorned me.  I hate the movie "It's A Wonderful Life."  There.  I have said it and it feels so good!

Honestly, Santa!

When my daughter was born in 1976 the mantra of most child psychologists was be honest, be honest, be honest. (So was no cookies and only PBS, so you get the idea how crazy ungenius this idea was.)  When Ingrid was three or so, Santa became an issue.  She thought he was great, of course, stealthily squirming down the chimney, dropping off Pound Puppies and My Little Ponies, then flying off to the next house. In other words, she was happy as long as she did not have to see the jolly old elf himself.

Not seeing Santa was a fine plan until we decided to do what all loving parents do in December (unless you are lucky enough to be a Hanukkah family), take an excursion to the nearest mall to wait on a line long enough to reach the North Pole for the "pleasure" of sitting on Santa's lap and, well, begging for presents.  This is usually done especially to acquire a couple of angelic pictures of the aforementioned little begger. (Pardon my cynicism.)

But Ingrid hated Santa Claus - every one of them - after her first episode spent whimpering through the ordeal on the lap of a pathetically skinny, more ho-hum than ho-ho guy.  We resolved to spare the tyke any more trauma.  So no more Santa.  Now what? It was then that I had the Christmas star brilliant idea and solution to the problem.

I reasoned that if honesty WAS the best policy, then telling Ingrid that there really was no Santa would do the trick and restore her to her original non-neurotic state.  So I told her that the real Santa Claus was a 4th century bishop who was a saint called Nicholas who gave children presents.  The child was perfectly content with this information.  In fact, it was a perceptible relief for her to hear this!  So, on a roll and excited to extinguish any remaining anxiety, I, with much too much enthusiasm, said that indeed Santa was gone, yep he died.  He was DEAD.  She was thrilled!  (Her brother, by the way, even after hearing this revelation went on blissfully believing in the fat man.)

Yes, there is a climax to this story.  It came the next year in a small department store in a mall in Brookings, S.D. We had taken brother Jamie to see the Most Jolly One and told Ingrid she did not have to participate.  And in a voice as loud as a child's could be in a place full of scores of adults and children, she stated: "But Mommy, you said Santa was dead!"  Oh boy.  Let's put it this way, many, many people turned around and I assume glared like ghosts of Christmas past although I could not face them.  All I could do was mutter "that's right, honey, he died in 346 A.D."  And we hustled away.

Blips

     Blips on the blog will be random ideas picked up on my mind's radar. (Not as SyFy as it sounds.) These will be bits and bytes of hints and helps to make this life just a little bit easier.  Here is an example and our first official BLIP. 

     HEAVY METAL for your CHRISTMAS TREE.  If the kid's kindergarten cookie ornaments are just a tad bit stale after too many years in the dark, put a little bling on your tree instead!  Raid your jewelry box and hang rings, bracelets, earrings and necklaces on ribbon, if you like, and deck the tree in royal splendor.  It's free and easy sparkle for one terrific tannenbaum.

Why "Muse?"

     The dictionary talks about The Muses - goddesses who inspired the arts.  (Calliope is the muse of music, for instance, and  that's very cool.) But once we get past the goddess thing, which I definitely am NOT, we have several definitions for "muse" that do apply to this blog and my ambitions.  To muse is to speak thoughtfully and a muse can be a source of inspiration.  To muse is to chew over, contemplate, or to mull.  Also to cogitate, ruminate, think and dream.  The best description, possibly, is that "muse" is from the Middle English "to mutter."  And there you have it.  Metal Mom will muse or sometimes mutter about Food, Family, Fun, Fashion, the News or just Life, in general.  A word of warning.  I love words!  Therefore, I may even try once in a while to a-Muse. And you will groan appropriately.

Welcome to Metal Mom Muse

Willkommen, Bienvenue, Velkommen, Bienvenido or for those of you basking on the luscious beaches of Tahiti - Maeva! At the risk of sounding a bit like Cabaret...Ok - Welcome. How did we arrive at this place?  Who is Metal Mom and how does Muse come into play?

Why Metal Mom? First of all, the tail has wagged the dog here, if that is a correct metaphor, as I believe I have been more influenced by my children, hence the Mom part, than they have been influenced by me.  Or at least, that is the way it has always seemed to me.

Long ago when my eldest son, James, was around 10 he received a Guns 'n Roses album for Christmas and the rest was history.  The actual tipping point came when his Middle School music teacher, Mrs. Georgia Taylor, asked his Dad and me if we would mind her teaching Jamie the bass guitar. 

And, again, not to be boringly repetitive, the rest was history!  Nirvana followed (Kurt Cobain not the state of being)  but Metallica made it all stick together and  bands were born and songs were penned and guitar picks littered the house.  I grew up on heavy metal, so to speak, (even though I am old and love the oldies best - Ozzy, you're the greatest) and am very proud of one point that defined my three beautiful boys and one gorgeous girl. Take this metaphorically AND realistically.  I NEVER TOLD THEM TO TURN DOWN THE MUSIC.  I never did!