Hellfire and Brimstone

Last I checked, I wasn't working for the U.S. Marine Corps, or any other such corporate outfit that would restrict my ability to communicate with the outside world.

Alas, the company that gets my butt in its chair for eight hours a day has decided to cut off access to Facebook and Twitter.

Guess I'll have to bring a book to read during my downtime. Or blog to excess. Or post really awful phrases from my work on my blog so people can see the idiocy that I have to put up with.

I know, I know, it's a job. A job. Definitely not a career.

So, FB, I bid you adieu for now. Twitter, I hardly knew ye. Company, I did not sign up for military-like control over my surfing.

Struck

Today I'm struck by the random interaction that can lead to lifelong friendship. No, I haven't started writing for Hallmark. But sharing a class, a desk, or 10 weeks of rehearsal; or a chance meeting at Target, or being introduced by a friend of a friend, or taking the leap and making a phone call, or asking a new acquaintance if she would like to get together for coffee... these are the events that have introduced me to my closest friends. These are the women who know me best, who know that having to hang up the phone to deal with a child-related emergency doesn't mean that I don't want to finish the conversation or hear the end of the story, it means that I would much rather hear the end of the story but the screeching prevents me from doing what I would rather do.

These women, in the various circles I have run, know that I remain connected even when I am far away. They know that they are in my thoughts when I don't call or email. They are aware, through an "autre" female sense that I am experiencing something that makes me think of them.

The turtle, moving too slowly to dodge oncoming traffic....
The stack of carts in the supermarket, all decked in red....

There is more to say, but the child's emergency pulls me away again. Perhaps later I'll finish this thought.

Bend over, Mr. and Mrs. Consumer

Just heard about the new inanity of having to pay to pay to check bags. That's not a typo. Read here.

Remember when flying was something you dressed up to do? And looked forward to?

Those days are long gone.

[hands over her ears]

la la la la la

i'm not listening to you!

(channeling my inner 5 year old)

tee hee hee

My mind is in the gutter, apparently, this morning, due to lack of sleep. Here is a headline from my inbox:

SCOTUS Pulls Hand Brake on Chrysler Bankruptcy

Guess what I read that as?
:)

Potty Break

This morning
between packing his lunch and her snack
and my lunch

And making sure that her dance bag,
with patent leather shoes, tights, hairbrush, bobby pins, hair gel, and elastics,
stood ready and waiting for the growing feet
that would inhabit the not-so-tiny-anymore shoes,
yellow-sequined costume a bright spot in a dingy foyer

Checking that his lovey
and extra socks, extra pants, extra underwear, and diaper "just in case"
were safely packed away in his backpack

Jackets on hooks, ready for bodies
Shoes beneath, breathing in anticipation of being worn hard and long

And feeding all of us breakfast--
my whirlwind dance in the 9'x9' kitchen,
Fruity Cheerios down from the top of the fridge, plastic bowls in the cupboard, two down, one gets cereal, one gets cereal and milk
Fiber One, carefully weighed and measured, slurped with a spoon in between
making coffee, filling a sippy cup with milk and a plastic tumbler with water--

"Yes, it's yours."
"Yes, it's fresh."
"Wow, four cheerios stuck together. How about that."
"Yes, you have more stickers on your chart. But it doesn't matter. It's not a competition."

--opening the cereal bar, throw away the wrapper, wipe up the crumbs, dishes in the sink, no, dishwasher; coffeepot churning out the precious deep brown velvet that will get me safely from point A to point B to point C this morning

(Do I have a towel to shower at the gym? Are my sunglasses in my purse? Did I pack enough lunch? Do I need to stop for gas? What is the weather supposed to be today? Will she be cold in shorts? Is it okay for him to get paint on that shirt? What's happening for dinner? How many points do I need to leave for a trip through Wendy's?)

I wanted to sit for one second

Breathe

And release

(Please let me sit. Please let me just....)

"Yes, I'll untie the knot."
"Yes, your snack is in your bag."
"I won't forget."
"Yes, I want to see that."
"Yes, you are coming with me this morning."
"Yes, we will be on time."

(Thirty seconds without a question. Please.)

"It's downstairs."
"I think it's on your bed."
"No we will not be late."
"No, those aren't your pretzels. Yours are in your lunchbox. Get the food out of the bathroom right now!"

(Just ten seconds?)

"All right! I'm coming!"

Seven seconds. Not long enough.

Thank god I hadn't drunk the coffee yet.

Another list of 100 novels

This list is from an NPR writer. He says that these were the most influential in his life. I thought I'd add my two cents, and possibly some more to the list (it's a slow day at work). He welcomes comments. We'll see.

I'm starring what I've read, and putting plusses next to what I want to read.

1. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce*--this would be close to the top for me too. Very formative in its expression of alienation
2. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald*
3. The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger*--one of my all-time favorites
4. Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad*
5. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley*
6. The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck*--ick. But necessary, I guess. I would have put Of Mice and Men instead.
7. Angle of Repose, Wallace Stegner+--someone in the office was just talking about this one. Up until then I'd never heard of it.
8. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov*
9. Humboldt's Gift, Saul Bellow
10. A Passage to India, E.M. Forster
11. To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf*--I think A Room of One's Own was more influential, for me personally
12. U.S.A. Trilogy, John Dos Passos+
13. The Untouchable, John Banville
14. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee*--my favorite in 7th grade
15. Rabbit at Rest, John Updike
16. All the King's Men, Robert Penn Warren+
17. American Pastoral, Philip Roth
18. Beloved, Toni Morrison*--groundbreaking
19. The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro
20. Of Human Bondage, W. Somerset Maugham
21. Light in August, William Faulkner*
22. My Antonia, Willa Cather
23. The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway
24. A Lesson Before Dying, Ernest Gaines*--this was the Cincinnati Reads selection one summer. I heard Gaines speak. I might have even blogged about it. Great novel!
25. Rabbit, Run, John Updike
26. Babbitt, Sinclair Lewis
27. The Moviegoer, Walker Percy
28. The Jungle, Upton Sinclair
29. The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath*
30. Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie
31. All the Pretty Horses, Cormac McCarthy
32. The Sportswriter, Richard Ford
33. The Lay of the Land, Richard Ford
34. Sons and Lovers, D.H. Lawrence*--one of my first modern loves
35. Aloft, Chang-Rae Lee
36. Appointment in Samarra, John O'Hara
37. Atonement, Ian McEwan+
38. So Long, See You Tomorrow, William Maxwell
39. Winesburg, Ohio, Sherwood Anderson
40. Lucky Jim, Kingsley Amis
41. The Forsyte Saga, John Galsworthy
42. Franny and Zooey, J.D. Salinger--tried but couldn't get into it
43. A Soldier of the Great War, Mark Helprin
44. The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler
45. Animal Farm, George Orwell*--assigned. Ick. prefered Brave New World (different author, similar concept)
46. Charlotte's Web, E.B. White*--seriously? not so earth shattering for me.
47. The Good Soldier, Ford Maddox Ford
48. The Secret Sharer, Joseph Conrad
49. Blood Meridian, Cormac McCarthy
50. The Day of the Locust, Nathaniel West
51. Crossing to Safety, Wallace Stegner+
52. Felicia's Journey, William Trevor
53. Ironweed, William Kennedy
54. Lonesome Dove, Larry McMurtry
55. The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, John LeCarre
56. In the Lake of the Woods, Tim O'Brien
57. A Coffin for Dimitrios, Eric Ambler
58. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig
59. The Caine Mutiny, Herman Wouk
60. The Killer Angels, Michael Shaara
61. The Human Factor, Graham Greene
62. Tarzan of the Apes, Edgar Rice Burroughs
63. Paris Trout, Pete Dexter
64. Howard's End, E.M. Forster*
65. The Killer Inside Me, Jim Thompson
66. The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje
67. Portnoy's Complaint, Philip Roth
68. Fabulous Small Jews, Joseph Epstein
69. Tender is the Night, F. Scott Fitzgerald*--read half. Again, just okay.
70. Roscoe, William Kennedy
71. Charming Billy, Alice McDermott
72. Lord of the Flies, William Golding*--I liked thsi one more after teaching it.
73. Razor's Edge, W. Somerset Maugham
74. Lying Awake, Mark Salzman
75. A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
76. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey
77. Light Years, James Salter
78. Black Dogs, Ian McEwan
79. Spartina, John Casey
80. A Fan's Notes, Frederick Exley
81. Scoop, Evelyn Waugh
82. Blood of the Lamb, Peter De Vries
83. Empire Falls, Richard Russo
84. The Maltese Falcon, Dashiell Hammett
85. Double Indemnity, James Cain
86. The Sunlight Dialogues, John Gardner
87. The Ginger Man, J.P. Donleavy
88. Seize the Day, Saul Bellow
89. Rabbit Is Rich, John Updike
90. Deliverance, James Dickey
91. The Bird Artist, Howard Norman
92. Pnin, Vladimir Nabokov--never read but I dated a guy who did and he wouldn't shut up about it.
93. City Boy, Herman Wouk
94. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, John le Carre
95. Advise and Consent, Allen Drury
96. A Man in Full, Tom Wolfe
97. Sophie's Choice, William Styron
98. Breakfast of Champions, Kurt Vonnegut
99. The Godfather, Mario Puzo
100. A Rumor of War, Philip Caputo

Sparser than I would have thought, in terms of what we have in common. Here are some I would have added:

The Hundred Dresses, Eleanor Estes
Harry Potter series, J.K. Rowling
Six Characters in Search of an Author, Luigi Pirandello
Hamlet, Shakespeare
Ulysses, James Joyce
Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley
The Crystal Cave, Mary Stewart
Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
Going to Meet the Man, James Baldwin
Waiting for Godot, Samuel Beckett
The Lake of Dead Languages, Carol Goodman
Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
Henry and June, Anais Nin
Death of a Salesman, Arthur Miller
The Prestige, Christopher Priest
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Mark Twain
Contact, Carl Sagan


I'm sure there are others; these will have to do for now.

The Times, they are a-changin'

The Globe? What's next--the Post? The NYT? Are all dailies doomed? True, I only get the Sunday edition of the WP, as it's the only one I have time to read in full. I get the rest of my news fix online or on the radio.

Silver lining--better for the trees?

Still processing this one....

Two comments from the peanut gallery

Two comments from my personal peanut gallery that had me in stitches today as we perused Eastern Market in historic Capitol Hill.

(At a coffee shop. Sign on the door reads "Restrooms for customers only." I stood in line to buy coffee so that my kids could pee--oh the sacrifice!)

Sam: (pointing to a giant jar on the counter in front of the register) What are those?

Me: (distracted) Those are... those are...

Sydney: I want a cookie! I want a muffin. Or a brownie? Can I please have one?

Sam: Mommy! What are those?

Me: Those are... dog biscuits.

Sam: Oh. (beat) Are they for dogs or for people?

Young man standing in front of me in line (who is clearly too young to have children): [snicker, giggle, snicker]

Later...

(Walking back to the car. Sam is tired so his father is carrying him. They are a few steps ahead of me. They are both in short-sleeved navy blue polo shirts and khaki bottoms--Sam in pants and his dad in shorts.)

Me: Hey! You and Daddy match!

Sam: (looking backward at me over his father's shoulder, he thinks for a minute) Well, our heads match, and our shirts match. But our bottoms are different.

Neither comment reads as funny as it struck me at the time, but they were both hysterical. Three-year-old are completely without guile and completely literal, in a refreshing kind of way.

Listen to that Ragtime

The crystal chandeliers were just as stunning as I remember them from my very first visit to the Kennedy Center more than twenty years ago. The royal red carpet muffled every footstep that could possibly have echoed through the enormous, cavernous lobby. There are actually at least four--maybe five--theatres in the Kennedy Center, and I have made it a small goal to see something in all of them.

When I visited the Kennedy decades ago with my family, during what was arguably one of the coldest, windiest, and snowiest winters on record, I remember asking my parents, "Are we going to see anything here?" The theatre bug had bitten hard, even then. I was disappointed when I was roundly dismissed, citing money, time, attention span, and the presence of other members of my family as a reason for the dismissal.

Last night, my desire to be a part of a theatrical experience at the Kennedy was fulfilled. Better yet, I was privvy to a scaled-back (but still vocally spectacular) production of Ragtime, the Ahrens-Flaherty musical originally produced by Livent that eventually bankrupted a company. I was fortunate to have been able to see the show with the original Broadway cast in New York, fairly soon after the show opened. I had read the book in high school and been intrigued by the Robert Redford film, but basically, after I discovered a few other novels and a play by Doctrow that didn't live up to my expectations, I forgot about the entire story.

Years later, a friend of mine more connected to the NY theatre scene pulled me into his car and played me a couple of snippets of songs from the score. "Isn't that amazing?" he asked me. I was more than interested. I loved the lush, building melodies, the trained voices that knew how to sing and project, not just belt out a couple of "money notes;" and the idea that a real story was once again going to feature prominently in a Broadway musical (Chicago, anyone?) My friend quickly dubbed me a copy of the album, which I later learned featured the concept cast and show from when it was workshopped in Quebec. Still, I was hooked.

The chance to see the musical in its big, bold, lavish glory at the Ford theatre in New York was a thrill. The original cast--Marin Mazzie, Brian Stokes Mitchell, Audra McDonald--all became theatre-household names. The show was huge and powerful. The sets were gorgeous. The costumes were spot-on. The choreography was interesting and expressive. The wall of sound that hit me when the entire cast of 50 was onstage literally blew me away. It was one of the best musical experiences I have ever had. And those who know me know that I am first and foremost a critic. Most people won't go see anything with me for all of my nit-picking and "suggesting."

Then the tour came through Cincinnati. I convinced DH to see it with me again (he had also been present in NY--the tickets were his birthday present to me). And it was a complete disappointment. Sure there were good voices. The costumes still looked good. And Jim Corti, who played Harry Houdini in the original cast, was taking on the role of Tateh. But overall, it failed to move me in the way the original had. It was a tour. My expectations were low, and it didn't do much to meet them. I missed the glitz and glamour and the wall of sound.

Despite the setting, I was a little apprehensive entering the theatre last night. Would it be a NY or a Cincy show? Would I love it? I knew that it had been scaled back--30+ cast members instead of 50 (which makes sense), smaller sets, less-expensive production values. We are in a recession, after all.

Last night's show did not disappoint. The vocals were "slam-me-against-the-wall" powerful. The cast stayed in the moment and their pain, joy, and disbelief were palpable. The story was the same story, without the trappings of a full-scale Model-T onstage. I quickly accepted the conventions of the basically "unit" set and settled in to let the characters tell me their story. Christiane Noll did a fantastic job making the role of Mother her own. Quentin Earl Darrington had an intensity and vulnerability that I don't recall Brian Stokes Mitchell having. Jennlee Shallow (Sarah) had pipes that went on forever, and put the requisite "F" in "Your Daddy's Son" in exactly the right spot--I wish more of today's theatrical singers could do it as well, as balanced as she did. Manoel Felciano (Tateh) brought a humor and a humanity to Tateh that other actors I've seen simply didn't have. Christopher Cox's deadpan was funny, and he didn't appropriate what other young actors have done, whether on cast recordings or elsewhere.

I loved the way cast members "hung out" on upper levels of the multilevel set to watch, at once becoming part of the audience and acting as a Greek Chorus. I loved that the levels represented class structures at times, and parts of a house at others. It was very fluid.

There were a few missteps. Bobby Steggert (Mother's Younger Brother) had the pathos that the role requires in his voice, but not his face. His suit was much, much too big for him, and the age difference between him and Noll made it a little hard to swallow that he was her brother and not her son. Of course, I might be slightly biased. Steven Sutcliffe, who originated the role on Broadway and is featured on the cast album, owned the role, and the songs were probably written to suit his vocal range. I've never heard anyone do any of Mother's Younger Brother's songs better. Ever.

Tommy Hollis as Booker T. Washington had the fire in his soul, but it came in such a tiny package, it felt farcical. Some gray in his hair might have helped me suspend my disbelief that he was any older than 20.

The choreography was, as in the original, interesting and expressive. The music, the pit orchestra, the vocal--all phenomenal. The wall of sound was there (which made me wonder if the cast was singing with a tape double--which happens sometimes when shows have to cut back on personnel). The scrim behind the set was well-employed, as an artist's canvas on which to paint the emotion behind the words emanating from the stage. In a few spots, body mics didn't come up until characters started speaking or singing, which made the extent to which they were miced up very noticeable. But hopefully those kinks will be ironed out during the run.

In short, Ragtime is still powerful--as a story and as a musical. As performed by the cast at the Kennedy, directed by Marcia Milgrom Dodge, it is still a force to be reckoned with. Reduced? In number and size only. The sound and spirit of show are as big as they've ever been.

stuff's falling out

beware.

i like the phrase "smitten kitten." i don't remember the first place i heard it. it surfaced in my head last night while watching "Grey's" (or today while reading a recap on TVOP--yes, i do still read those, even though they are out of vogue with the hipsters now). holy parenthetical, batman.

speaking of, and i'm not going to bother with a spoiler alert because about 1.5 people read this blog (according to google stats, anyway) except for some random person in Etobicoke (seriously) who has returned after hitting me once, presumably on accident, the recent development on Grey's with Izzie brought me to this thought:

if brain cancer can cause hallucinations, can it cause hysterical (or empathic) hallucinations as well? that would explain much about my mid-to-late teenage years.

i tried to figure out a way to make that status-worthy during my traffic-laden commute this morning, but can up empty-handed.

and, on said commute, it occurred to me that leaving a camera in my car and snapping pics, then labeling pics with ironic captions and posting them, might give me something else to do besides wait for the light to turn green and feel guilty about checking fb and playing bubble breaker when i should be concentrating on driving. some chick next to me was putting on mascara this morning in the lane next to me. this one light cycle is so short, and it is the last of a series of four lights in a tiny stretch of road--it took more than three cycles to make it through today. hello yawn. i'm not good at idle. except when there's yoga or cake involved. or yoga with cake. that would be a fun new exercise class. but i'd gain weight instead of toning up. and who wants to clean up cake crumbs off of yoga mats.

i learned "fragging" is actually a word and not something Legion made up as a euphemism or substitute for another f-word or "freakin'." who knew. and yes, i posted that on my status yesterday, but nyeah, i thought it was worth repeating.

statuses (stati?) are hard to come up with now that curb girl pointed out that most people write about their children, their illness, their children's illness, or what they're eating. i would add "random song lyrics that somehow match what is going on in their lives" to that list. i would rather be original. so, no status as i am not original in the slightest while editing lessons on the Depression, Great.


i could use random words for my status and really f*ck with everyone. fun times. i might throw some random dico crap up there and see what sticks. i'm too lazy (and tired) to compose at the moment. i miss my piano. not that i'm composing on it--or ever have, except once in junior high, when i tried to write out something on manuscript paper and it took too freaking long and then i couldn't read my writing.

i am out of practice, journal-wise. i need the structure of wwfac.

weird dream about a past house that i actually never lived in. very gothic, lots of rooms, very cool, multipaneled fridge and deck and bar--not sure what any of it means except that we are starting to think about house hunting again.

fellas next to me are discussing how Jesus looks like John Brown in "found items" like scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes, etc. as in, "how do they see Jesus? why not John Brown or Darwin?"

back to work before I....

i love this blog

Eavesdrop DC
I wish I would overhear something hysterical to add....

conspiracy

The universe is conspiring against me today. My Pandora channel has played two Barbra Streisand songs and one Neil Diamond (ack!) song--two of my mom's favorites. Then it moved on to musical theatre, where it's been for about two hours. And now I've got "Thank You for the Music" from Mamma Mia! which is what we sang at Leslie Knotts' retirement party.

I miss these two women. I know I do. But the universe doesn't have to keep reminding me.

craving a cheesy burrito?

And, well, on little sleep, who isn't? I haven't seen a Taco Bell commercial in a while, but I stumbled upon this gem of a fake-you-out cheesy, meaty, burrito and indulged for dinner. Yum x 15. The site has some other good fake-outs, although the liberal use of sweeteners in the dessert section has me a little spooked. Still, who knew that brownie mix, pureed pumpkin and peanut butter could stand in for fudge?

80s fellas say hey-ya

This made me giggle a little, until I got to the third video and they spelled "pecs" wrong.

watching my language

DH actually asked me to watch my language around the kids. I guess all that swearing under my breath is not as under my breath as I thought. Oops. I haven't heard any of it directed back at me yet, thank god, but I'm sure that day is coming.

Nevermind that DH often shouts "Shut up _________!" from his side of the bed when we have put one or both of the kids back in their beds for the upteenth time and they won't stop screaming their heads off at 2 a.m. And I have heard "Shut up ______!" from at least one kid's mouth in the last month. I jumped on it, called it rude, etc., substituted language--but how much can I really jump on it when it's coming from a parent's mouth?

Modern parenting dilemmas.

I was treated to yet another episode of "Charmed" at the gym yesterday. At this point, I'm counting how many different hairstyles Alyssa Milano goes through. I think it's up to six. Yesterday she had bangs. And she was dressing a lot more conservatively--she had morphed from whatever she was, which required abdomen-baring clothing, to radio call-in host, which required more business-appropriate attire. One of the younger girls has now appropriated all of her abdomen-baring clothing.

I am learning all about Wikis for work, which has made me want to Wiki just about everything in my life, from grocery lists to recipes to recaps to blogs. Wiki overkill?

Someone in my office just posed a question about an ellipsis, and another editor said, "I had an ellipsis question earlier in the week too. I'm getting into these ellipses things. En-dashes and Em-dashes are so 2008."

Uproarious laughter all around. He's an Eagles fan. And spent some time in West Lafayette, IN, so we have bonded over Midwest snow horror stories. I am willing to forgive him the Eagles obsession because it is damned hard to be a Bengals fan in the middle of Ravens/Steelers territory.

Oops. I did it again.

movie queue

I don't have netflix--I simply don't have time, and sometimes my tastes change midstream. So this is my solution: a list of movies I want to see at some point, in no particular order or genre. It's more a note to myself than anything else. But feel free to ad lib about what's good, bad, oscar-worthy, or ugly, but don't be upset if I don't take your advice.

1. Milk
2. Doubt
3. Dark Knight
4. Sherlock Holmes (RDJr.)
5. Baby Mama
6. High School Musical
7. Mamma Mia
8. Wall-e
9. Slumdog Millionaire
10. A Christmas Tale
11. Religulous
l2. Cadillac Records
13. Frost/Nixon
14. HP and HBP

learning from the funnies

I learned something new today. Thanks NYT!

Apparently Schroeder was actually playing Beethoven tunes in the "Peanuts" cartoons. And, in a secret-code-like precursor to listening to the Beatles backwards for Satanic messages, the actual passages Schultz quoted in the strip "enhance" the joke or the emotion or the character.

Who knew?

migraines, twilight, and other assundry items

Today is migraine day #5 (out of seven). I am trying to figure out what is causing these. My gut says that I am not eating enough (especially protein) to outweigh (ahem) the increased physical activity I've been undertaking as of late. But I don't want to eat more, as that will negate any health benefits of the increased activity.
What to do.

There is no consistency on lobe from headache to headache. Some are left side; some are right side. Some affect my eyes (like I'm being stabbed through the eye from behind), some my jaw. I become hypersensitive to noise and light, and most often experience some sort of nausea. It doesn't matter if I wear my bite splint at night or not. The cumulative hours of sleep I've gotten doesn't matter nearly as much as the length of time I've been asleep without interruption. If I manage four-six hours without interruption, then the migraines are not as bad. Less than that and I can almost count on one interrupting my day.

My doctor switched me from zomig to maxalt--maxalt is a lot less expensive than zomig, which is probably the majority of the reason. I respond to maxalt but I wonder if the headache is truly going away (e.g. blood vessels are dialating sufficiently) or if it is just prolonging the inevitable headache (which might speak to the frequency). enough navel-gazing about my head.

i saw twilight this weekend with my neighbor, Kerry. It was the first time i have been out with a "friend" one on one since moving here. It felt good to chit-chat and do something so brainless; I'd been wanting to see the film since I finished the book, and although the book was better (of course) the film was pretty good. I don't know that I would have cast Pattinson--he's not who I see when I think of Edward, but I don't know whom I would have cast in his place. It was so nice to vege for a while and think about whether Bella would get Edward in the end (or vice versa). Brain candy is fun.

Hit the gym again this morning for a 45 minute run (well, 10 min warmup, 35 min run). I did it at what was my race pace for the 10K I ran over Thanksgiving, so that was good.

The gym in general is pissing me off, though. There are about six TVs along the row of windows; they are always tuned to CNN, MSNBC, ESPN, and TNT. That's it. No ABC, CBS, NBC, or FOX. I asked Matt, the boxer cum personal trainer cum fitness director if it would be possible to change the channel and was quickly rebuked. "Ask you husband," he counseled me. My husband technically is his "boss."

"I did," I explained. "He told me to talk to you."

"Well, have him ask his boss. If I change the TV for you, I have to change it for everyone. And I am not spending my time changing channels all day long. And I'm not listening to people complain about what you are watching on TV..."

Sigh. So I am resigned to screamy news caplets (MSNBC), Anderson Cooper's perfect hair with not-so-screamy news caplets, ten minute tickers of sports highlights (and lowlifes), and endless (and I do mean endless) "Charmed" reruns.

I never watched "Charmed" when it was on for the first run. I've pretty much avoided everything Alyssa Milano has done post "Who's the Boss?" And the presence of Shannen Doherty is always a deal-killer for me as well (like Kevin Costner on the big screen... if he's in it, I ain't gonna see it. and I'm not sorry.) but now i have no choice.

it doesn't seem to matter when I hit the gym either. morning, afternoon, or evening, "Charmed" is ready and waiting for me. i listen to my ipod, so I'm not privvy to all of the sniffling, sniveling, she-witch fiasco dialogue that Aaron Spelling chose to subject viewers to. but i can't stop reading the damned captions. and boy, are they stupid.

in dayton, at the y, i had my own personal screen on row after row of treadmill and elliptical machine. it was simply beautiful. i could catch "Real World" reruns, "I Love the 80s" marathons, Ellen's talk show, SNL reruns... whatever. But now--news caplet, Cooper's hair, athletes behaving badly, or "Charmed." I'm so not charmed by this whole situation.

when it warms up, i will return to the outdoors for all running and hit the gym only for strength and interval training. but even so, i'm sure "Charmed" will be there for me. oh joy.

Obama and his boyz

Love this. Love it. Laughed out loud and actually snorted, to the dismay of my co-workers.

China

"...all the way to New York.... I can feel the distance...."

Laura Bush just ordered new presidential china to the tune of $483,000.

How many people would that feed? Too tired to figure out the math....

At least it wasn't taxpayer money. But still... the private foundation that covers the cost of the new dishes would have done well to donate that cash elsewhere. I bet GM would have been happy to receive it.

Basketweave and magnolias? Not my taste. Somehow, I doubt it's Michelle Obama's either. It's so... southern.

The disconnect between those at the top and those struggling to find (or keep) work has never been more apparent.

[Stepping off soapbox now]

I am woman, hear me roar

It has been a super-fun-filled 24 hours of workouts. My thighs are complaining but hey, dems de breaks.

Last night, 6 p.m.: 15 min treadmill (walking) warm-up; 30 min resistance training; 30 min elliptical machine

This morning 8:30 a.m.: 5 min walk warm-up, 5 min run warm-up; 21 minutes intervals; 10 brisk walk cooldown; stretch

Hit my second WW meeting (in a week) afterwards to hear about the joys of eating broccoli. but hopefully it gave me my needed "shot in the arm" to stay on plan.

I don't have to think about running or strength training again until Friday. Say "hey" for a day off tomorrow!!!

Dear Daughter and I head to the National Gallery of Art, and I get an education

On Tuesday, dear daughter and I had a "Mommy and Sydney Day Out." We took the Metro into DC to grab a bite of lunch (Frank & Stein was her gourmet choice) and peruse the National Gallery. She had learned about Mark Rothko through a program at school called Grace Art, where parents volunteers come in and teach kids about different artists. This is what she has been/will be studying. I thought that going to the National Gallery would be something to capitalize on her interest in art, while at the same time being something special that she and I could do, since her dad doesn't have an overwhelming interest in visual art.

We arrived at the East Building of the gallery and asked at the information desk for things that someone of her age might find interesting. I shouldn't have bothered. We were directed to the Calder sculptures in the basement--an example is at the top of the post. Very cool. We had a nice conversation while examining a different, mixed-media sculpture about what kinds of things she would put in a sculpture of her own. Then we explored the next room. She ran right up to a huge canvas on the wall, similar in style to this one:



and said, "That's Mark Rothko! We studied him in school!"

Very cool. I was impressed but not overly so. I was glad she had enjoyed the lesson and paid attention. She told me about composition and shapes and colors. Exciting stuff.

Then we meandered into the next room, searching out a Lichtenstein that was on our "highlights of the museum" page. I was overwhelmed by a Pollack, and then I directed her to a Warhol.

"Look!" I said. Finally, something I vaguely recognized. "This is by Andy Warhol." I leaned down and started to use my 'teacher voice.' "Andy Warhol was...."

She cut me off almost immediately. "Mom," she said, rolling her eyes, "I know who Andy Warhol is."

"Syd," I said. "You're five and a half. How do you know about Andy Warhol."


"Mr. C. told us about him in art class. When we did printing."

I was speechless. I don't think I'd heard of Andy Warhol until well into my teens. And even so, I could probably spit out something about soup cans and Marilyn Monroe. I pushed on. "What do you know about Andy Warhol?" I asked.

"Andy Warhol used the same picture over and over again with different colors," she said, as if reciting her ABCs.

Without batting an eyelash, she dashed right up to another painting and said "Ooo! David Hockney!"

I glanced at the label next to the painting. "Actually, Sol LeWitt," I corrected. "But who's David Hockney?"

We found the Lichtenstein, which she promptly proclaimed was "so cool" and expressed a wish that her brother, age 3, could see it.

My jaw was on the floor for the next few minutes, until she returned to true five-year old form and said, "I'm hungry. Can we have ice cream? Please? Pretty please?"

Happy New Year! and guess what--big brother is watching

Happy New Year! If you trolled my blog in search of resolutions, you won't find any here. I'm already working on most of the stuff I want to change in my life, and to that effect, today is just another day. Still, I hope that the new year brings more financial health, better oversight of our regulatory agencies that are supposed to be protecting us from Madoff et al, and peace in parts of the world that are desperately in need (Israel, Gaza, and my living room, for starters).

This scary little nugget arrived in my inbox today. I'm sure that merely by posting it, I'll be picked out for extra security checks the next time I head overseas to the UK. But in the interest of spreading the word, I'll take that risk. Remind me I said that next time I'm subjected to an hour of screening because I forgot to remove a banana from my carry on bag when disembarking.

I know this stuff exists on all of us. I know that if I applied for security clearance, my blog would probably disqualify me from the get-go. I thank God that I don't live in the 50s, where my leftist leanings combined with my choice of religion and support of the arts would quickly land me on a blacklist or two. But I often wonder if it's better to be the ostrich with my head in the sand and not know exactly what Big Brother knows and tracks about me and my best friend from first grade (Jaina Lindauer--are you out there?)

Caffeine-free days: 5; Monstrous workouts: 1

I went to the doctor for a check-up this week, and she let slip a small bomb: apparently, new recommendations for exercise are up--way up. Apparently, we're supposed to get 90 minutes of exercise, five times a week. A quick web search turned up an article backing up that fact--but I didn't see anything on the American Council on Exercise's site about the new recommendation. It is always harder to swallow the news when the person delivering it is thin, most probably due to genetic makeup, and makes you feel bad for carrying 25 extra pounds. But I'm letting that go. The recommendation is there.

Since I had the day off yesterday, I dutifully trudged to the gym, after spending nearly two hours trying to reset at least a few of the rooms in my home to "zero." Present-opening and two full-time, working parents have made keeping the house picked up a challenge, and I needed at least one or two rooms to appear "picked up" in order to function.

According to my running schedule (which, up until yesterday I thought was plenty of cardio work in and of itself), yesterday was an interval training day. A couple of lurkers either here or on FB have asked about intervals. Although I am probably the farthest thing from an expert on the subject, I can say that my intervals are 90 seconds of running at a pace that gets my heart rate up near my max, followed by 90 seconds of running at a normal rate to get my heart rate back down to a more normal, working out level. Then I repeat the cycle five more times. Currently, I am walking at a brisk pace rather than running on the recovery portion of the intervals, as that is the only way to bring my heart rate back down within 2 minutes. I am doing all of this to get faster. I am a very pokey runner, and after three weeks of intervals I am seeing some small amount of improvement, which is encouraging.

So intervals. I walked five minutes and jogged five minutes to warm up, then did the intervals and walked to round out the 30 minutes.

Then I hopped on over to the elliptical machine and alternatively listened to my ipod and watched cnn to kill the boredom. my pace was definitely in the "fat-burning" zone. ho-hum. When those 30 minutes had crawled by, I picked up a People magazine from September 2008 and got on the recumbent bike. For 30 minutes I paged through old celebrity news and pictures of Ellen and Portia's wedding (at home, 19 people, calm, collected, blah, blah, blah) and kept my heart rate in the "fat-burning" zone once again.

After the 90 minutes of sheer bliss, I called it a day. Some light stretching and then off to shower and grab lunch with DH. And I was STARVING. I couldn't wait to get my hands on some chicken. I needed fuel in the worst way.

And I was tired. I wondered how I was going to get through the rest of the day (it being 1 pm when I finally emerged from the locker room). The thought of doing that five times a week while trying to fit in 40 hours at work, be a mom, and put meals on the table and clean clothes in the closet was enough to make me want to dive head-first into the nearest plate of Christmas cookies--which would defeat the entire purpose of the monstrous workout.

So I have decided to try 60 minutes instead of 90. I still don't know how I'm going to get 60 minutes of cardio in on days that I have resistance training (tomorrow), but I'm off again tomorrow so I can afford the time at the gym.

It's enough to make me want a grande white chocolate mocha. Oh wait, I've given up caffeine. And that mocha is about 8 or 9 points. And the sadist--I mean, doctor--told me to try to reduce my points as well.

The upshot? Other than the extreme fatigue yesterday (which eventually faded once I ate a meal), and some residual muscle soreness from the intervals, my heart is fine. I mean, I got through all that cardio. The last two segments were boring. I felt a little like I was working, but not so much. Not compared to running. If it weren't so boring... If I could do it while working... then it might not be so bad.

Then again, I'm off today (workout-wise). I bet I'll feel different in the morning, facing the resistance and 60 min cardio. But that's tomorrow. I'm going to try to enjoy today.

Oh, and for those of you who observe--Merry Christmas! May your season and New Year be filled with sweat, white chocolate mochas, and plates and plates of Christmas cookies.

a wordle i can live with

any takers?

She would have been 63

Next Tuesday... in one week... my mother would have been 63. It is hard for me to imagine her at that age, since she is eternally frozen at 44. She was very gray in her 40s, so I can only imagine that she would have gone completely gray by then. Would she still be coloring her hair? Her mother did until the day she died, so I can only imagine.

Although she had some age lines, as we all seem to accumulate across the 30s, she wasn't overly marked. She had beautiful Mediterranean skin. Would it have been wrinkled? So hard to imagine.

I was only reminded (not that I will ever truly forget) because an engine that reminds me of birthdays and anniversaries sent me an email, reminding me of both my brother and my uncle's birthdays (all on Dec. 23--she was a twin). Seeing the number "Your Uncle will be 63 on Dec. 23" was a bit of a shock. I know that it's been almost 19 years, but the idea of my mother at 63 isn't something I've pondered before.

Sixty-three. I wonder if she would have accomplished all that she wanted to, or if there would have still been dreams and goals unfulfilled. I wonder if she would still want to ski. I'm sure she still would have loved golfing, and playing with my kids.

She would have been 63.

so who knew pandora uses up bandwidth?

i certainly hadn't thought of it that way. it's a shame, really. the tech guy in da howse has been threatening to crack down on our use of itunes and pandora. i can see itunes, as it's a client, but pandora is not a download. apparently, though, the customization takes its toll on the server--and, weirdly, on the ftp site. not sure how all that works.

killing time until i can leave. a mere six hours today. sigh. is that even respectable? but there are only so many assets i can meta-tag, and so many lessons i can read against the chapter before my brain starts to go mushy. and only so many times i can listen to colleagues who are ill loudly clear their throats and suck their respective snot back up into their nasal cavities. lovely sound, truly.

but at least i have a job.

i want to knit curb girl a pair of wristlets, but by the time i would finish them, it would be the heat of summer. i am sending her warm vibes and safe space heaters.

congratulations to my stepsister, who apparently eloped this week (or is eloping this week). thanks for not making me deal with a wedding or formal dress for my family! i hope she will be happy.

read some of chuck lorre's vanity cards today. the censored ones were funny. i really like The Big Bang Theory. it's one of the only things on tv that my dh and i can agree on.

okay--enough time wasted???

Shattered

This blurb reminded me of 80s nights (wednesdays?) at Shattered.
Other randomness--
When doves cry
Sweating it out over a fever pitch
Watching others buy me drinks
crowded bathrooms
black walls

And now, i probably couldn't even stay awake long enough to go out to an 80s club....

Wordle

This is a very cool site that makes pictures like I used to make in France, when I had no TV or computer to eat at my time. The wordle it makes for my blog isn't so accurate ("Farmer" and "Dell" featuring largely into the mix) but I will hit it again sometime soon.

Thanks to Anna for calling it to my attention!

My son is going to be a cardiologist

Or maybe he's secretly been listening in to Grey's Anatomy from his little bed.

This morning at the breakfast table, he sang:

"The farmer in the dale
The farmer in the dale
Heigh-ho the angio
The farmer in the dale."

i wonder if it's the money

It's supposed to help those who suffer from the "winter blues."

i need good workout songs

if you have any residing on an ipod somewhere that you want to tell me about, that would be great. i'm getting a little tired of the 40-odd on my running list on my nano. i need new blood. and as it's a completely different feel to the pandora channels i have set up for work, i am at a loss for inspiration.

inspire me!

test post

just testing a new piece of code.

Thankfulness

Since work is slow (thankfully), I thought I'd put together a little list of what I'm thankful for right now, at this precise moment:

1. I'm thankful for my son's ability to make me laugh. His giggle is contagious and it never fails to shake me out of a funk.

2. I'm thankful for my daughter's love of reading. She reads to herself, and she reads to others, including her brother. The times that I read to her are the most peaceful moments between the two of us, and I treasure that time together.

3. I'm thankful for my husband's even-balanced nature and willingness to be a partner in our relationship.

4. I'm thankful for Pandora, for keeping me company on long, boring work days.

5. I'm thankful that gas is hovering around $2/gallon, meaning our trip back to Cincinnati won't break the bank.

6. I'm thankful that I have more than enough to eat, and that my legs work and take me outside to run off the excess that I consume on a regular basis.

7. I'm thankful that I have a job in this economy.

8. I'm thankful that my friends have remained my friends even though we don't share a zipcode anymore.

9. I'm thankful for the relative peace in my world--both inner and outer. I know there are many, many places on earth that are not peaceful right now, and I know I am lucky to have the peace that I do. I hope that those who are not as fortunate as me have peace soon.

10. I'm thankful that members of my extended family want to see me and my immediate family over the holidays. In lots of families, that isn't the case at all.

Happy Thanksgiving to my three or four readers. I wish you a full table, a comfortable belly, and a peaceful day with as much (or as little) football as you care to watch!

I shall give you roses

Phantom fragrances tickle my nose
Ghost-like fingers send icy shocks up my spine.
The powdered floral scent—
Always yours—
mixed with perspiration and undertones of high school angst
rubbed off on you when embracing your graduates, your alumni
who came to visit
like homeless pigeons
back to the sanctity of the nest,
the safe haven of the wooden floor, painted black
dim lights
orange couches
stuck-on chewing gum
and years of whispered secrets couched between the folded, cushioned chairs.

Your pale blue eyes
devoid of life
are closed now,
entombed in the pasty white of your stony face.
The chance meeting over oranges or potatoes is firmly in the past,
where you always wanted the past to stay,
but the ring of
“Hi Sweetie! Hi Cutie!”
still peals in my ears.

The last time I saw you—who knew it would be the last?—your clear eyes were tired,
the lines on your face more deeply-carved.
Your hug was still as warm,
but the bald head hidden under a black baseball cap,
the tell-tale one-sided sag of your sweatshirt told me.

I’d said my good-byes
Formally
when you had bid farewell to the life you’d once known
destined to go on with someone else at the helm.
And yet,
here I sit—it feels like a lifetime later—
immobile
as images from my history flicker by on a screen
reminding me how far I’ve come
and how much further I’ve yet to go.

The bubbled-up catch in my throat,
chokes my breath.
I swallow it down once more
and turn back to the task at hand,
mindful only until the next time the faded powdered roses float by,
plunging me back into memory
of you
of all that came before.

awj
17 nov 08

i agree, i agree, amen

From Carolyn Parkhurst's novel, Lost and Found:

No one ever loves you the way your children do when they're young. No one else will ever cry when you leave the room. I try not to spend too much time thinking about those days, because I know they're perfect only in memory, and I know I need to focus on the girl I've got in front of me right now. But sometimes I can't help but give in to it, to live inside the warm hues I've colored those moments with. To remember what it was like, back when she smiled just to see me, when she needed my help to move a spoon to her mouth or to walk down a flight of steps. Back when she had to reach up to hold my hand. Back when she thought I could turn on the sky.

Some days, I miss my babies.

Not every day, but some days.

Nasty

It's nasty outside, and it's nasty in my chest. They match. And I can assure, it's not intentional.

Listening to my "new to me" ipod with lots of fun stuff I uploaded yesterday. And I only used one gig! Whee-hah. Unfortunately, though, with the clarity of digital, I can now hear how incredibly scratched my older cds actually are. I will have to repurchase (or repurpose or re-something that is not hyphenated by Websters) my World's Best Opera Album Ever! Not that it really is, but it's a start when I'm jonesing for an aria (and coping with the fact that I'm no longer studying and no longer have a piano at my disposal). It's amazing how much you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone. So people--appreciate your musical instruments, because one day you will down-size and poof, they will evaporate like the mirage of wealth that was the stock market.

I'm waiting for my project manager to arrive (she never appears much before 10:30, and I'm usually here by 9:15--but I can't stay until 7 or 7:30 like she can) and tell me what she wants me to do with the audio files she dumped in my inbox last night at midnight. They are apparently elementary school level stories, and I am supposed to make sure that the text on the screen matches what students hear. Fun times. But at least it's not the Civil War. I was ready to pick up my own smooth-bore musket and hit the ground with Grant so that the damned war would finally end. And after one horrendous chapter, it has. So has Reconstruction. It's amazing how times flies when you're reading about the past.

To that end, I started Wicked a couple of days ago (got from Paperbackswap--love it!) and this time, I actually like it. I think the last time I tried to read it, I was too close to having given birth to cope with the way the adults all shun the baby with the green skin. But now I'm beyond that, and Galinda's idiocy is a real treat.

I also wanted to spread the word about this great song "One Sweet Love" by Sarah Bareilles. I discovered it via Pandora and it's a new favorite.

Just signed up for NaNoWriMo, which starts Saturday. I know, I'm completely insane, especially since I'm allegedly working full-time at the moment, but it might give me something to fill the empty hours with at work. So now I'm kicking around novel plotlines and characters. I know what I don't want to write about (war, politics, the election crap, medicine, plotlines from Friends) but not what I do want to write about. I've milked kids, Starbucks, my grandfather, my eating issues, my college years....maybe something corporate, like a story set in an office, temping.... boring, boring, boring. I hate plot. Does anyone else want to write plot for me? I can always great stellar characters and make them really quirky and fun, but plot...sucks. Maybe something about my Motley Fool interview process? I think I hit on interviewing in another story I started but didn't finish. Can't remember now. I haven't written consistently since I left Ohio. But there is time.

Okay, I'll stop subjecting you all (all two readers that I have) to my psycho-boredome waffle. Enjoy your Tuesday.

talking heads

Live debate blog:

Is Joe Plumber related to Joe Six Pack? I can only imagine who has the better body.

"i know how to save the taxpayers billions...." Okay, Sen. McCain. How are you going to reverse the deficit? I don't buy any of this. Blah, blah, blah. I wish I had a hatchet right about now. A scalpel wouldn't be bad either.

"Sen Obama, I am not President Bush." Well, not in name, but your policies sure as hell are looking like they're in line with his. Would you be okay with Bush Lite?

Woulda, coulda, shoulda--the bottom line is that this campaign is all blow-hard bs. Can someone please just direct these guys back to the economy and foreign policy? enough he said-she said and name-calling. what are you going to do to turn this ship around?

I miss Bill.

Bob, do your job. Please redirect these guys back to the issues. Who watches or listens to tv ads anyway? Who cares about personal attacks? Please just talk about what is going to happen if you get the job. Why should we elect you?

No. Seriously. He just brought up ACORN? Until a little while ago, ACORN was all about McCain. Sigh. Do we need to have permanent ink fingerprints at the polls? Is that the only way to avoid ballot box stuffing and other election corruption?

When I was eight years old, I hung out with Republicans' children. Has it influenced me in the slightest? Not at all.

Oh, our buddy Joe the Plumber is back.

McCain is really fighting hard. But he's coming off a little desperate. He's fighting for his political life.

Ooo goody. We're going to get to Sarah Palin. Schieffer, that was a loaded question. Of course Biden is a better running mate than Palin. Point to Obama, without even opening his mouth. Actually, McCain should get a point because the question is so underhandedly stacked against the Republican ticket. The "moderator" (and by extension, the media) needs to be impartial. Cmon. Give it a try. They'll fuck up on their own (the candidates).

Palin? A role model? Seriously? Not so much.

Senator Government? That was funny. Freudian.

Too boring to even go on....

Ostrich-like behavior observed outside the Beltway

I am going to have to stop listening to the news. It's just too depressing. I came away from my morning run today feeling sad and beaten down, rather than energized. I just can't start the day that way anymore.

I need some escapism. The Great Depression had (affordable) films. What will we in the 21st century have? And please don't tell me YouTube. I avoid it like the plague.

My question following the ho-hum debate of platitudes last night:
Both candidates, how do you intend to finance the tax cuts/government takeover of struggling homeowners' mortgages/other campaign carrots you are throwing out to win the election?

And don't use the old "I'm going to go line by line through the budget and eliminate pork barrel spending and programs that aren't working." I don't believe you. You only have four years in office and it will probably take at least two to read through the budget itself, much less writing a new, amended one and getting that budget through a sharply-divided, I-won't-cross-the-aisle-and-even-if-I-do-it's-only-to-look-good-to-my-constituents-so-I-can-be-reelected Congress.

Why would either of these guys want to inherit the quagmire anyway? Who would actually want this job?

I want a solid plan with definitive details. I want to know that you are going to be responsible with the money you have been given to get us out of this mess. I want transparency on the Hill.

[putting head back in sand]
That's all for now.

the snorefest that was the emmys

Yes, I watched, since there wasn't anything else on and I was knitting. Have to have something to take my mind off the monotony of stockinette stitch.

And I wanted a glimpse of Jon Hamm, a fellow Mizzou alum whom I did theatre with occasionally.

Anyway, loved this recap by Heather Havrilesky on Salon:

"Ah, but justice is never served during these torturous times of censorship, rampant idiocy and national decline, haven't you noticed? That's why, after HBO's "Recount" wins Emmys for made-for-television movie and for directing for a miniseries, movie or dramatic special, "John Adams" writer Kirk Ellis is cut off midway through his acceptance speech (writing for a miniseries, movie or dramatic special) just for thanking a few people "for giving me this amazing opportunity to talk about a period in history when articulate men articulated complex thoughts in complete sentences. They used words ..." Cue chirpy promo for the next segment. Yes, articulating complex thoughts and using words are strictly forbidden at these 60th annual Emmy Awards, just as in the mainstream press coverage of this presidential election. If you can't speak entirely in empty clichés, America doesn't want to hear it."

Sadly, so true.

Heroes is on the dvr, waiting for me tonight. Thank god the fall season of tv has arrived. I never thought I'd be saying that, but look, here I am.

Update!

Fairfax, VA--Knitting books unearthed in large, heavy box buried under two strollers, a bike rack, and a boxed surround sound system.

Owner ecstatic with news; immediately picks up needles and casts on full-length, intricately detailed, lace-weight cabled sweater.

------

Okay, maybe not the last part. But they have been found!

Sound the alarm

I don't know which to be more alarmed over--that she was using Yahoo for official business, that hackers were able to get into her account, or that the media is trying to use this whole thing to discredit her. There is enough to discredit her, I think.

what i lost in the move

lots of things, i'm sure, along with my resolve to eat more healthfully, but at the moment, the most pressing loss is my collection of knitting books and knitting patterns.

i have been through the storage closets and shelves in the three places in the house where we stashed stuff when we moved in, and though i can find boxes of toys, stuffed animals, hotspur bobbleheads and programs, videos, empty dvd cases, teaching textbooks, literature paperbacks, and more books on judaism than either one of us would ever want to read, i cannot find my knitting books. this is alarming to me; i feel as though i have lost an arm. i'm trying to put it into perspective and say, "well, at least it wasn't a box of journals." but i am hopelessly stationed between one sock syndrome and start-itis, and i was looking for a quick felt project to kick me in the ass. alas, i cannot find the books or patterns. i have a few i've downloaded, but one in particular, from One Skein is haunting me. i haven't given up all hope; this weekend i plan to enlist reinforcements to go through the video/dvd/book boxes and search again for the knitting and crochet books.

on another note, what does it say about me as a parent that both my children have voiced that they want to go as pumpkins for Halloween this year?

oh, the henry costume. must look.

and i suppose it is all normal and good that my son says that my daughter doesn't like him--and he wakes up in the middle of the night saying "no, Sydney, leave me alone! get out of my room!" and he's only half-awake.

freud would have a picnic with us all in this madhouse.

off to find henry. maybe i'll find the books in the meantime.

The pull of the tides

One of my closest writing friends, whose words have nurtured me for more than three years on an almost weekly basis, wrote in her blog of the pull of the tides. It was ironic, a bit, as I too felt a pull--back to Cincinnati, to the space in Silverton where women write, read, listen and breathe; where ritual is queen; and where for two and a half hours each Monday night, there is freedom to transcend the now and glimpse the essence of your soul. I miss Monday nights. I miss Annette and Inga, Naomi, Rita and Peggy, Eve, Sally--and all of the women's voices I have grown to love to listen to over the semesters.

This is a time of transition--one that I feel I should be documenting more closely in my journal or on my blog--as my oldest goes to Kindergarten, my younger one approaches potty training, I embark on a new career, and I learn to love a new city and a new home. So much change.

We just returned from a trip to Chingford to visit my in-laws. It was remarkable to me how much things have changed from our visit two years ago. There are more grey hairs and creakier bones. Smells that were once erased by vigorous cleaning have taken up permanent root in the fibers of the home they have owned for more than 30 years. Local shops have shuttered or been reborn, hocking new wares that no longer feel necessary to scoop up and carry home. Even the West End--usually one of the highlights of the trip for me--lost its luster this time. Perhaps because it was August--typically a holiday month in Europe before the onset of autumn and the new school term. Maybe everything was overshadowed by the Olympics and Russia's quick-quell of the Georgian rebellion. Maybe I've grown jaded, or maybe more cosmopolitan in my months' inhabitance in an international city (I doubt it seriously). Or maybe I'm simply preoccupied with all of the change in my life.

It was an enjoyable two weeks; it went quickly but not too fast. Enough time to reconnect with family and a few friends, to take stock of our new lives, to watch our children fall in love all over again with English chocolate and crisps, Nanny and Per, Uncle Pemper and the rest of the extended family.

We had a private tour of Abbey Road studios and photographed ourselves (like idiots) crossing the crosswalk as the Beatles did. My husband took our nephew and had a tour of the new Wembeley stadium. He went to a football match and was towed away... making it the most expensive match he's ever attended ($600 all told).

And today, when a toy played "Jingle Bells," my daughter sang:

"Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way.
Oh what fun it is to see Tottenham win away...."

without batting an eyelash.

I surpressed a laugh, and listened as she and her brother plotted out a new track for the trains on the train table, and then crawled into her bed. He asked if he could read her a story, and she said, "no, you can't read yet," and then relented--"well, you can try if you want to." He thinks he is going to Kindergarten with her next week, and no amount of explanation will convince him otherwise.

Off to finish the bedtime routine. There are more stories to be told, I am sure, but the pull of the children is stronger now than the pull of the tide, and I must obey.

follow up

It's a start!

hello mcfly?

In this miasmic mess of fossil fuels, rising gas prices and the like, I sit and wonder:

With all this concentration on alternative fuel sources, E85, hybrids, etc., why has no enterprising individual followed the lead of Dr. Emmett Brown in Back to the Future and figured out a way to provide fuel for cars and homes on garbage. Surely the technology can be created? Somewhere? Composting is one thing, but how much easier it would be to just chuck all of the weekend's non-recycleable waste into the trunk incinerator/disposal and fuel your commute to work?

Or what about solar powered cars? We wouldn't need constant sunshine--just enough to get the battery to turn over. As mine bakes in the driveway under sunny skies and 90+ degree heat, I've given up worrying about paint and bird droppings. Shouldn't there be a way to harness the sun's rays that beat down on the car, and turn those rays into energy? We do it for homes, after all. Why not make the roofs of cars solar panels? It would eliminate the need for a sunroof, right?

I guess all those who love their convertibles would be SOL then.

Thanks, curb girl, for getting my brain jump-started this morning.

Trash twice, recycling once and a lot less gasoline

Not a manifesto on what the government needs to do (or not do) to solve the "crisis at the pumps" as the media has titled it.

rather an oddity about life here in Northern Virginia, which, according to callers on the Kojo Nnamdi show last week, is a completely separate entity from the rest of Virginia, I am learning.

All trash collection here is privatized. Odd. There are companies competing for your trash business. The result is that they pick up trash two times a week and recycling once a week. Lawn and yard debris is on an entirely different day. At least the company we're with now picks up recycling the same day as trash (Trash is Monday and Thursday, recycling is just Thursday). The other company, who wanted $150/quarter for service, was "trash on Monday and Thursday, recycling on Wednesday." Marc's job just got infinitely harder, he says.

One of the perks of being here is that I am definitely driving less. Whereas in Dayton I used to fill up the minivan every six days or so, I can now go two weeks between heart attacks at the pump. No treks into Cincy to see my friends (sniff, sniff), and the kids go to school and camp right around the corner, instead of 15 minutes away. Of course I'm probably spending the difference on public transport but at least I'm saving the environment (or something).

Tuesday I met a friend in DC proper for lunch at Les Halles. Yum. Adult conversation and good food that I didn't have to prepare. It wasn't cheap but nothing is here. Then we headed over to the Newseum for a couple of hours to gaze on artifacts and headlines of bygone times, a twisted news antenna from the top of one of the WTC towers, a car that was blown up with a journalist inside and other random things that were decisively "historical." I wanted to spend a lot more time there, but unfortunately, had to get back. It was a $20 admission ticket--one of the only DC museums that isn't free--which I thought was expensive, even by DC's standards. I can become a member for $75 but as I would probably have to go alone, I'm not sure about that one. Entertainment dollars (?) can be finicky.

So while I didn't drive into the District, I shelled out $4 in quarters for on-street parking at the metro station and $6.50 for a round-trip metro ticket. That would buy me two to two-and-a-half gallons of gas, which was probably less that it would have taken to get into DC. But then there's the problem of parking. I will, at some point, figure all this out.

What preoccupation. I must go read, edit and proof--not my own stuff, unfortunately. That languishes in the drawer, waiting for me to rediscover it.

note to self

for characters, present and future (paraphrasing James Lipton in Inside Inside, who is paraphrasing Sandy Meisner, I believe):

What is the glue?

Example: Two brothers want different things in life. One wants to study art in Florence, Italy. The other wants to be an MLB player. Problem? They are Siamese twins.

What forces two characters who want different things to share the scene, to stick with it?

The answer lies not in plot, but in character--depth of character. Key to remember for writing or for acting, but not directing. Not the job of the director (or editor, or even reader, methinks). Job of writer.

Now back to our regularly scheduled program.

new yoga studio

Found a new yoga studio that does work exchange! This is very happy news, as a class runs about $120 for an eight week session. There is one work exchange slot left for the summer session (Sunday nights from 5:15-7:15) which would probably work fine. Lots of classes to choose from, although I will still miss Jennifer horribly.

Also corresponded with a fellow raveler today about a knitting group in fairfax. this was happy. yeay community!

jobs, anyone?

patience, daniel-sun (or as amy f. used to call me "daniel-daughter"). it will come.

in the cave

i am in the cave (basement or lower level) of the house, where we have set up our offices (ha! if you can call them that) and i am trying hard not to freak out over:

1. the lack of light in the house. lots of mature trees means lots of shade, which is great on some fronts but not for natural light (the stuff, not the beer) lovers like me. it is actually affecting my mood.

2. the closed-in feeling of being in said cave and trying to be creative and/or work.

3. that i don't yet have a job or really, any reliable job leads. i need to network to someone and i'm not quite sure how to make that happen. i've been talking to just about everyone i meet and making sure i tell them what i do. i had my temp interview and that went find, but now the recruiter isn't returning my calls, which does not bode well with me.

4. that i have nothing on my to-do list today (well, other than laundry, which i don't want to do right now, and going to the dmv to register cars etc, which i have to wait for marc to do so we can go together, and pick up the kids from camp and feed them, etc. because marc has a late meeting). i am idle and it feels uncomfortable. wwfac-ers would tell me to write about that uncomfortable feeling. it feels like i have bees buzzing in my fingers. they are itching to get out and fly away, but my skin is holding them in. i don't want to sit still. i don't want to read or knit. i don't want to do anything. except find a job so that i know that we will be able to afford to live here.

calm down. breathe.

i need to find a consistent yoga class. i miss jen at the y! i have been following my run-walk program consistently, but now that yoga is missing, i find i really miss the balance. i was counting on yoga at the j, but it is only offered on monday nights and marc has monday night meetings every other week. that in and of itself feels like an intrusion of sorts, as monday nights have always been "my nights" away for writing class, etc.

i need to find friends. i have been looking into knitting groups. now i suppose i should check out writing classes. but gainful employment seems so much more pressing. i know there are jobs out there that i can do, be successful at, and enjoy. i'm just not sure how to find them.

big sigh.

took the kids to the national zoo yesterday. it was fun, but i won't be repeating that experience in a hurry. very hilly, sydney refusing to get out of the stroller and walk, even though sam really needed to be in it, heat was 90 degrees plus and sunny. i am not a zoo person, i have decided. i have never been an animal lover (or hater, for that matter). i am indifferent. and i don't feel the need to trudge around in the heat, pushing a five year old in a stroller (who is TOO LAZY to get off her ass an WALK!), gawking at elephants throwing straw over their backs, or meerkats or prairie dogs or hippos. i just don't care that much.

sometime i will write in a more positive way about my experiences of moving here, but the zoo is too fresh in my mind (and muscle memory--ouch) to do so. i will have to snap some pics of the wooded areas around the neighborhood that make me sigh with contentment when i pass them on my almost-daily walk/runs.

i am not miserable nor depressed. i am just a little bored. it will pass. so i keep telling myself, anyway.

Vote for GEAR

Cool art campaign in Kansas City area. There are four days left to vote (you can vote once a day & have to register email addy to do so). Read GEAR's statement under his billboard submission; vote for that if for no other reason. How cool would it be if the 'Nati did something like this???

http://artthevote.com/view-and-rate-billboards/

Best exchange of the week

This made Marc and I laugh out loud.

Syd: Daddy, what are those hooks for, on the ceiling?
Marc: For hanging plants. Like baskets of flowers and things.
Syd: Oh. (Long pause) I thought Captain Hook lived here.

Gotta love the 5 year old mind.

you know you've entered the digital age when...

You text GoogleText for the nearest Costco store, and then use your GPS system to find it.

God bless Garmin.

sleepless but not in seattle

it's way way waaaaaayyyyy past my bedtime and i've crossed the realm of tired to exhausted to too revved up to sleep. so much to do, think about, see... sigh. facebook flashes long-forgotten faces in front of me, and i begin to wonder--what happened to chris lucas who moved into the district in 7th grade and was in my science class? where are all the really smart people working? what are they doing? what about the ones who were off-kilter and not concerned about it? are they still off-kilter and still not caring? are the fat ones skinny and the skinny ones fat? who is married? divorced? what happened to my crushes from high school? college? the hot guy from the pool that one summer?

and what about my camp counselors? teachers? older friends of friends? younger siblings of people long ago forgotten or off the radar? did chris become a writer? a teacher? an engineer? is josh still out west smoking pot and driving a delivery truck (as was rumored at our 10 year hs reunion)? is julie in politics? what did maude decided to do with her life? what about weighlifter matt? and footballer matt? and techie rebecca who was "bests" with gina? what are they doing? did vanessa make it big time on the stage or screen like jon? did dan ever stop looking like dudley do-right? who moved to chicago? new york? l.a.? minnesota? are they happy there?

and do they ever wonder about me... what i've become, who i've become, what i do to fill my days? or does my face never cross their minds, forgotten in the abyss of memory that for some reason grows sharper still every day in my own person.

the memory of frozen turkey slices, aluminum covered burger king crowns, musty acorn books, white pillars and green letters... all sharper in focus than they were yesterday.

does wendy still make puppy chow and keep it on top of her fridge? what did julie do with her peace studies major? did elena ever move back to the states? is jennifer happy with lily and natalie?

still tired, still awake. still remembering....

Gratifying

Sadly, seeing this article "in print" on the web is gratifying for me. Don't know why. And ironically, we are setting off on a road trip tomorrow morning. Guess I should take my own advice, eh?

Sucks that it isn't signed, but "them's the joys of freelancing."

A Web Site for Avid Readers

I found this today and immediately signed up. It sounds almost too good to be true, but if it works, I'm way excited!

Why Starbucks Costs So Much

I'm sure fair trade has something to do with it. But consider:

When I went to Starbucks today to get a tall skim chai (no foam)--Yes, Lucy, we were of one mind today, apparently--there was a trainee barista working on the chai. She asked her trainer how much milk to pour in to steam for the drink, and was told "a little more than that, since she doesn't want foam."

Chai made, the trainee asked her trainer what to do with the extra milk in the silver container used for steaming milk. Her trainer said "throw it out."

My eyebrows shot up. Milk in the grocery store is now $4/gallon for non-organic in our neck of the woods ($6/gallon organic if it is on sale), and I've heard nothing but bad news about food prices due to shortages world-wide. I'm not sure if milk is included in those shortages, but there has been lots of talk about the price of milk, eggs and of course, rice, going up.

"Throw it away?" I asked in horror.

The trainer looked at me, somewhat apologetically. "Yes," she said. "We can only use milk for one drink. So we have to throw it away."

I was beside myself, but it dawned on me as I floundered, dumbstruck, trying to find the car, that this might be the reason Starbucks is so unbelievably expensive, especially with their non-drip coffee drinks. I hesitate to think how much milk they are throwing away.

Does anyone out there in the blogosphere know why they have to throw perfectly good milk away? I know that in other coffee establishments, like Barnes and Noble (which "proudly serves" Starbucks coffee, but is not a Starbucks franchise), the milk is saved for a period of time, and more is added to the carafe as needed for the next drink.

I wonder if there is a way to stop this wastefulness--especially with the cost of milk on the rise. I know that my boycotting the institution won't make the slightest dent in their bottom line--I only go there once a week at most, and it's usually just for chai, as I think their coffee is bitter. I am much happier with the local institution Boston Stoker, and once we move, I will try to find a local coffeeshop (when I can't/don't have time to brew at home) to patronize.

But I just had to share how shocked and surprised I was by this practice, by a corporation I have long-admired for their practice of extending healthcare to employees without them having to work 40 hours a week.

Nothing nefarious after all

The black pick up belonged to a neighbor, who was very apologetic and moved it yesterday afternoon. So we now have a free and clear view of the house and the sign.

hello little blog

I've been absent, I know. Please forgive me. It has been a rocky road the last few weeks (months)--not in a bad way, just in a busy way. The kiddos are happily watching Cars for what seems like the millionth time, so I thought I'd take a minute (or four) and update on various parts of the craziness that is my life at the moment. And I'll do it in a list, since everything I do seems to be in lists now (Cue music from Ragtime, "You left me lists, everything in lists, but your little lists aren't very helpful, I fear").

1. We are moving. Again. MOVING. As in, 13,000 lbs. of stuff on a huge truck driven out of state. It is sudden, exciting, crazy, stressful.... The last move (less than two years ago, ahem) was more or less local. This one is to northern Virgina, which I am quickly learning is abbreviated NOVA by locals--a suburb of Washington DC (but again, DC or "the District" by locals). New job for DH, hopefully a full-time job for me, new schools for the munchkins, and some sort of new abode for us. I don't yet have a forwarding address but hopefully I will after Memorial Day, when we all pile in the minivan for a short eight hour hop over to NOVA to search out a suitable dwelling place that won't break the bank. Good luck.

We have lots o crap to get rid of before we head out, so if anyone out there in blogland is interested in two full-size arcade games (Track & Field, Circus Charlie), a full-size pinball machine (1976), a full-size slot machine (Japanese), a recumbant exercise bike, or other assorted furniture, please let me know. They are all for sale, and we can hopefully make enough to buy a new flat screen TV for our NOVA pad.

2. My step-grandfather died yesterday. He was 89, sick, had pneumonia, hospice, etc, but it is still sad. He is hopefully at peace now, but I feel for the wife of 50+ years he left behind, and the extended family who have memories of him in a better time. His death is of course making me think about the others I have lost (mom, grandpa, nona, david, leslie) and making it harder to swallow those feelings back down.

3. DH is in Miami at a conference. Single parenting sucks, but fortunately I have great friends who are allowing me to lean heavily on them and go in for some "group parenting" with their children.

4. Sleep. Or lack thereof. We sent DS's pacifiers to the "babies who don't have binkies" last Saturday, via US Mail (thanks to the kind lady at the window who didn't bat an eyelash at our request and took the unmarked envelope full of eight used pacifiers and actually smiled and told my son what a "big boy" he was), and allegedly, via train after that (because all things train-related are comforting when you've said goodbye to the binky). This has resulted in a week of little to no consistent sleep. I thought he was doing better--he slept 13 hours without waking on Friday night, but last night he returned to his former ways and was up at 2, 4, 4:30 and 6:15. Ack. At least we don't have to show the house today, so I can take it slow and easy.

5. The black pick-up truck. It has been parked in front of our house since Thursday, with, apparently, no intention of moving. I wrote down the license plate, but I am unwilling to fork over $30-79 (depending on the site) to determine the ID of its owner. I am planning on knocking on neighbors' doors when the hour becomes a little more sociable (and perhaps after church time--we are a very church-y neighborhood, well, town, it would seem) but my brain was telling me at 4 this morning that the extended cab pick-up is there to hide our "for sale" sign from passers-by. This seems nefarious, I know, but as there are an insane number of houses for sale in our neighborhood (and lately, on our street), I think people will use any tactics to take out the competition. If I can't ID the owner, I will be calling the cops. I want the thing gone by the time open houses are in swing this afternoon (2 p.m.) so that potential buyers can actually see that our house is for sale. Yes, I am slightly freaking out about this. It's the coffee.

6. I miss Miss Doxie. Where oh where has your little blog gone?

Everything else in life is on track. I am writing, both for profit and not, which is why I haven't been blogging much. Kids are good, other than the binky thing. I am making time for yoga and cardio occasionally, filling in with DDR when I can't get to the gym or outside to walk/run. I am trying to eat right and sleep enough, and I'm using my pedometer like a mad woman. Packing is, for the most part, under control. Grey's Anatomy is back on TV, which gives me a welcome respite on Thursday nights. I'm almost done knitting the second sock of the pair I started a while back, I've done one baby sweater for a friend who is due in the next few weeks, and I'm almost halfway done with a second one for another friend who is also due in the next few weeks. I'm regularly checking MLS and Craig's List for affordable rentals in our target area, and Monster for possible jobs opps. I need to revise my resume. And sleep. Sleep would be good. And fewer baked goods would probably make my fitness goals easier to achieve. But.

Incidentally, on a final note, there was an NPR call-in show on Friday afternoon about words and linguistics. It had something to do with the campaigning and primary season, etc, and I didn't get a chance to listen because I was in the dr's office for an hour (routine check up--all is well), but they were asking for listeners' thoughts about words, language and phrases and how well people are using them these days. This actually interests me (sadly?), since I am a closet linguist, and since I couldn't call in, I thought I'd post my comment here.

I AM SO TIRED OF "IT IS WHAT IT IS." I wish people would stop using this phrase. Seriously. (That's another one that's getting old, but I use it, so it would be hypocritical to complain about it.) The Buddhist thought that spawned this evil offspring has been so far corrupted. I would go as far as to say "It is what it is" is what is wrong with our country (mounting soapbox)... People use it to remove themselves from the responsibility of caring for what is going on around them and for actually doing something about it. Yes, it's true that there are some things we are powerless to control (thank you, Aristotlean Primary Unmoved Mover and company), but dismissing children's behavior, general lack of social or customer service skills, sad news, twists of fate and other things that occur in life as "it is what it is" is a cop out. I am working on what I will say to someone the next time I hear this (be forewarned). So far I have come up with:

It is what it is not.
Why must it be so.
(Yoda voice) You think. So it is not.

Other suggestions?

(stepping off soap box now--incidentally, when is the last time anyone actually saw a soap box used for public fora? wasn't the last one used for firewood back in 18-- when William Jennings Bryan went off on his last opponent?)

(tossing camera in air, a la Austin Powers)
I'm spent.

blog tag

Tagged by Caryn. Sadly, this will probably be the most interesting part of my day.

Two names I go by:
1) Allyson
2) Al

Two things I am wearing right now:
1) Socks
2) Pedometer

Two of my favorite things to do:
1) Sleep
2) Write (I'm so boring!)

Two things I want very badly at the moment:
1) For my house to sell at a good price
2) A big hot fudge sundae with no consequences on the scale

Two favorite pets I've had:
1) None
2) None--i'm not an animal person

Two things I did last night:
1) Made spaghetti bolognaise that went UNEATEN
2) Worked on a sweater I'm knitting for Shoshi's impending arrival

Two things I ate today:
1) Fiber One with milk
2) Banana

Two people I last talked to:
1) Marc
2) Sam

Two longest car rides:
1) Cincinnati to Ft. Myers FL (ugh)
2) Cincinnati to Columbia, MO

Two favorite beverages:
1) Venti Caramel Frappaccino (again, with no scale consequences)
2) Alice White Lexia

I tag (if you haven't been tagged already): sidewalker eater, legion, these darn writing shoes, lucy

Sam-ism....

The kiddos had a "Passover Experience" at school today and came home with "plague bags," which had plastic bugs, stretchy frogs, sunglasses and rubber-like large stones/pebbles that are to represent hail.

Which led my two year old son to ask "What the hail?"

The Mother's Decathlon

The Mother’s Decathlon

Event #1: Five Plate Dinner Dash: Prepare five different meals for five picky eaters, in less than thirty minutes.

Event #2: Creative Cookoff: Create as many meals as possible from one bowl of pasta, using ordinary ingredients. Bonus points for including a green vegetable. Triple bonus points if children actually eat the food presented.

Event #3: The Hurky-Jerky: Simultaneously haul two children from minivan to sidewalk and back again, without letting their feet touch the ground. Repeat for the number of errands in any given morning.

Event #4: Supermarket Sprint: Select and purchase one week’s worth of healthful groceries with two children in tow, before naptime, without giving into the “cookie chant.”

Event #5: Shower Skill: Shampoo and condition hair, exfoliate body, cleanse face, and shave legs in between commercial breaks on the Disney Channel or Nickelodeon (or between baby’s cries, if child is under the age of one).

Event #6: Morning Sprint: Clothe children in clean articles suitable to be worn outside the home (e.g. no pajamas), provide breakfast, pack lunches, eat something yourself, and kiss husband, in less than 30 minutes.

Event #7: Bath Balance: Bathe children and shampoo hair while avoiding tantrums for getting water in eyes and fights over squirty bath toys. Bonus points for staying somewhat dry and for getting older children out of the tub before the water temperature dips below 70 degrees.

Event #8: Seatbelt Samba: Strap children into carseats before they successfully remove cotas, hats or mittens. If any article of clothing is removed, you must begin again.

Event #9: Music Mayhem: Maintain sanity during two hour car trip with children listening to one CD (their choice) the entire time.

Event #10: Motherhood Marathon: Complete events 1-9 every day for ten (or so) years.

Awj
3 march 08

I can't wait for Monday

I know that's an odd title, but the last five days have held (in no particular order):

1. Two sick kids who were home from school Wednesday-Friday
2. A trip to the ER
3. Lots of ice and snow (conveniently coming at the same time as the trip to the ER)
4. A kidney stone
5. A trip to the pediatrician, resulting in antibiotics for 1/2 of the family
6. A trip to the Newport Aquarium
7. More TV than I need to ever see again (Amnesia, anyone?)
8. Copious amounts of carbohydrates
9. No cardio or weight training
10. A visit from the plumber to replace a water heater

On the (happy) flip side, tomorrow I can look forward to:
1. Writing time
2. Gym time
3. A voice lesson!!!! (maybe)
4. Writing class
5. Menu planning (to put an end to #8 on above list)
6. A nap
7. A quiet house
8. Scouring my kitchen
9. Washing sheets in hot water
10. A nap (so important, it had to be on there twice)

Ah well. Back to kid TV, supervising color projects, and doing laundry.

it's no out there

It's cold. I have coffee. The kids have a snow day because, as my son so astutely observed, "it's no out there." He apparently indiscriminantly doesn't have an "s" at the beginning of his words, which is unfortunate, since his name is Sam.

He also is having issues with "r" in the middle of words, which means that Percy, one of his favorite trains on the island of Sodor, becomes "Pussy." Which is hysterically funny that a two year old is running around saying "I like Pussy, Mommy." To which his grandfather replied, "well, at least he's starting early." Well, there's an image I didn't need. But given the indiscriminate "s" dropping, "Pussy" actually sounds more like "Puthy." Really, it's amazing we understand the little guy at all.

My house is sticky. Every single surface I touch seems to pull back. I'm not a dirty person. I might be a slightly messy person (in that I can't control the clutter that is EMANATING from every room and closet in my abode), but I've never stood for being a dirty person. But I moved the coffee maker this morning and... ewww. Grey stuff that didn't easily wipe up, even with Lysol and repeated scrubbing. I handed my son a cup of yogurt out of the fridge this morning and on the bottom of the cup... eeewww. I closed the silverware drawer after retrieving a spoon to stir my coffee and my hand grazed the underside of the counter... eeewww. I wipe the counters about twelve times a day. Guess it's time to give the fridge interior a scrub down. Just what I wanted to do on a "no day." Add it to the list. And I won't even begin about the crumbs. Maybe I need to find a cleaner.

Or maybe I need to buck up and do it myself. We'll see about that.

novel madness

I'm drafting a novel, as part of NaNoWriMo, and so I have been ignoring my blog.

I did, however, find this little gem in my inbox this morning, grace a Garrison Keillor:

Voltaire said, "Let us read and let us dance — two amusements that will never do any harm to the world."

Amen to that.

Happy Thanksgiving, and write on!

randomness

So the video link in the last entry isn't working. I tried uploading twice. A file format problem? I don't know. It doesn't even come up on my computer when I'm on my own blog, which isn't good. Maybe it's a way of telling me not to post vids of the kids on the blog.

Finished the 1st draft of Vidui, the one act I'm submitting to the Cincinnati Fringe Festival on or around Dec. 7. Hoorah.

Decided (stupidly?) to undertake the insanity of writing a novel in honor of National Novel Writing Month. There is a nifty web site here where you can create a page to monitor your progress, chat with other insane asylum escapees who have decided to devote way too much time to idle whitter, and generally stew about being a writer in the world. Today I wrote 1,088 words. I started today; I'm 6 days behind everyone else. And to my chagrin, I found out that I can't use my WIP as part of the 50,000 word count to "win." So I've embarked on a new story. It should be an interesting ride. Like I don't have enough to do right now.

My son just came up to me and said, "Mommy, I want a pretzel. Come on!" and pulled at my sleeve. He is holding part of a banana in his hand. "Hey mom, I'm very funny," he says, trying to pull me away from the computer. "Get up, mom!"

Okay, I'm taking the hint!

my little'un sings a song for you

My lovely daughter has been bitten by the performance bug. Wonder where she gets that from? :)