Fuh fuh fuh four

Meme-snagger that I am, I found this one at Jen Gray's site. She didn't tag me (she doesn't know me so um why would she?) but I suspect that as much as she's into sharing the love, she won't mind my little swipearoonie just this once.

I thought that instead of blahblahtypingblah I might write instead. You know, that old fashioned thing that only squares do? Yeah, that. But uh, when I did what I thought was a superbrilliant scan of the two sheets of paper it took and then I reimaged them into one final image uh, well, the final product ended up on the hard-to-read side. Apologies.

The smartest thing to do at this point is to laugh - the best laughing is that version in which a raucous cackle reverberates in one's throat and one pointed finger extends in the general direction of one's monitor, but that might just be me. If you want to read it, go ahead and click your sweet little mousie on the image, which should in turn explode it into a readable version.
If that doesn't work then go get some compressed air and some computer cleaning wipes. Take a look at your keyboard and hey, whaddabout that mouseball ... they could use a wipedown, eh? Eh.


Four bloggers I'm tagging: eew. I don't like this part (do I *really* have to do this?) but for friendliness practice I'll try. How about Bakerina, Snowball, Incurable Hippie and The elder Eric, on behalf of Little O. Divergent paths and all that.
Oh, wait. Just for one last dose of interesting and for the sake of erring on the side of good juju I think I'll throw in an extra tag ... Jaanquidam, yerrrrrrit!

Hallelujah brothers and sisters!

Blessed is he among us who can both taketh our funds and passeth his gas:

The Farting Preacher 2

The airy sky has taken its place leaning against the wall.
It is like a prayer to what is empty.
And what is empty turns its face to us
and whispers:
'I am not empty, I am open.'

-Tomas Tranströmer

Toast the Earth with Exxon Mobil

Toast the Earth with Exxon Mobil

Go on, it won't hurt a bit. Put yer sheetkeekers on and let em tap like there's no tomorrow.

Then, like the commercial sez, you'll tell two friends. And they'll two friends. And so on, and so on, and so on...

late night on the street

"All life is short for the fortunate. But when men are unfortunate one night-time is infinite."
— Lucian

A shadow of her former self

Once there was a little girl who, after many years, got much older. She looked much older, she really did. Other people told her that she looked much older and she could see it for herself when she looked into her own mirror.

But sometimes if she lay very still in her bed at night while the darkness clung tightly at her, she was sure she could feel the shadows of the old her floating softly onto her shape. Sometimes it would take a while for the old her to get a comfortable fit onto the new her but they would lay embraced with one another, weeping and consoling each other through their sorrow and fright until they felt a little better.

The Glass Castle, autograph hound vers.

If you haven’t read Jeannette Wall’s heartbreaking book The Glass Castle shame on you.
Get it.
Read it.
Then come back here when you’re ready for a proper discussion.

Don’t worry, I’m only half-kidding. I myself have to do a re-read to acquaint myself with the kids and the family again though if memory serves me right I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with at least one of the parental figures and a little part of my heart wanted badly to forget them quickly after that first read. It’s been a while since I first grabbed it up on the ultra-brilliant suggestion of one of my sisters who makes such regular ultra-brilliant suggestions as though they were gas bubbles.
It was totally worth buying the hard copy.

Jeannette Wall spoke at a local women’s book store tonight (not a big box either, I’m pleased to add) so my girlfriend and I camped out stopped in to hear what JW had to say. She blew in on a fairy dust breeze right exactly on time looking just the right amount of apologetic balanced with a quarter cup of harried and three tablespoons of ‘Yes of course I’m here, let’s get started shall we?’. Wall is a striking woman, long-legged and slender. She sat with right leg crossed over her left while she was being introduced and the arch of her foot in that killer spike-heeled shoe arched like a dancer’s trained pointe. She is the woman I would have had a preteen crush on if I’d have known a woman who looked and spoke like her when I was a preteen. Well shucks, I did. Mrs. Riley taught 6th grade when I was in what, 4th grade? 5th grade? In the S.O.P. program, at any rate, yes those Special Opportunities for smartiepants years … as far as I was concerned Mrs. Heavenly Smile Riley did not walk she floated. She glowed. She was why lipstick was invented. I had forgotten about Mrs. Riley until tonight.

See what a good memoir can do for a person?

Hunh. It has just occurred to me that I’m not sure what to call this author. ‘Jeannette’ makes me sound a little too stalkeresque, as though we’re *tight* (in my own mind, if nowhere else, like oh, reality). I don’t think I want to characterize my fondness for her writing quite that way. Fine, no ‘Jeannette’. She’s married, so I’m not sure I could properly refer to her as ‘Ms. Wall’. Maybe she’d prefer to be ‘Mrs. John Taylor’ and by my misassumption and ill-fated attempt to free her inner feminist I might be stomping all over a very happy, very tender relationship she has with her husband. Oh dear, this isn’t going well at all. Fine, no ‘Ms. Wall’ either.
How ‘bout I stick with ‘JW’? Short, sweet, direct … good. ‘JW’ it is.

JW read a short section about Christmas (the section about how her parents taught the children that all the other kids were suckered by their parents into believing in Santa Claus and in elves, where their parents set them very straight about the holiday, and when her father takes each of the kids out to the desert to let them pick their gifts, if you’ve read it). She opened it up for Q&A time after the reading.

I forgot to bring my notebook along with me so, trying to think quickly and not particularly quietly, I dumped the four paperbacks I purchased before she’d arrived (The Best American Poetry 2005 (Paul Muldoon, ed.); interpreter of maladies (Jhumpa Lahiri); Maybe Baby (Tenaya Darlington), and I Just Hope It’s Lethal (Rosenberg & November) so I could use the plain brown paper bag to scribble miscellaneous notes that would brilliantly come to me. Because unless you’re poised for brilliance to strike, it never will; having the scratch pad ready is an important step.

Here are the notes I scratched out, in no particular order:

Q: How do you remember all these things that happened so long ago?
A: The mind glosses over to protect you when that’s necessary. I have memories from when I was the age of three, some of which my husband (brother?) suggested I leave out of the book, said I didn’t need to include everything. (diverted to slightly different topic) I didn’t show my mother the book ahead of time when it was first published (reference to chocolate scene in book) I wasn’t sure how she’d take it but I knew I had to tell it.

Q: It seems that it was when situations became stable that your parents leaned toward chaos, as if they needed that {chaos} more than they desired stability. How does that work for you now?
A: I lean towards stick-in-the-mud stability. I love it, I need it, I crave it.

Q: How were your siblings affected by the book?
A: Older sister didn’t want her to write the book because that time in their lives was so incredibly painful to her that she didn’t want to relive it. Her brother (a cop) was frustrated by their parents and supported JW in her writing and also served as fact verifier. She hadn’t been in contact with her kid sister for many years but only since having been on book tours, etc. she was finally able to reconnect with her, which JW considers a real blessing.

Q: Man in audience asked JW to comment on the distance she kept from her past/pain versus the distance she keeps from it now. He suggested the past was ‘Emotional distance’ and that the current is now a ‘Distance of Wisdom’.
A: JW referred to her father, said he was right when he talked about harnessing demons. “Taking off armor makes one more vulnerable but it’s also a lot lighter.”

Q: Nearly all child-rearing books indicate that children need stability in order to be successful later in life. How did she get successful after such an unstable life?
A: JW related a story about a very rich friend who invited JW along to an Outward Bound experience. JW hadn’t heard of Outward Bound and the friend explained that it’s a program in which you go out into the wilderness and have to rough it. JW said she thought ‘I lived that for my first 17 years of life! Dang, rich people have to pay for their hardships?!!’ And she realized how disadvantaged her wealthy friend was for not having some very basic survival skills and abilities because the friend’s mother had handed everything to the friend, how the friend had never had been in a position in which she’d had to figure anything out for herself. JW also related something shared w/her by a psychologist who had been interviewing her, that the worst form of child abuse is overindulgence. JW thought she’d agree with that; physical needs are very important, but emotional needs are bigger and if those can be met then the physical needs generally can take care of themselves.

Q: I can kind-of understand how you’d still feel fondness for your father, but your mother?! It’s hard to see how you could love your mom, especially after you were so deprived.
A: “I never thought of her as a mother.”
“It’s not a matter of forgiving her; it’s a matter of accepting her. It’s not that I’m a good person; it’s that I’m a pragmatist.” (she also related several incidents in which other women would demonstrate ‘maternal’ behavior toward her – like putting her hair into pigtails or fussing over her – and it would stymie her. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have someone doing that all the time because she didn’t have someone doing that all the time. IOW, you don’t miss what you don’t have)

And then the Q&A was cut short when the bookstore owner interrupted to let all know that JW had to go. Like NOW. She was headed to a local television studio and was scheduled to be interviewed by Larry King Live about another (infamous) memoir that is currently in the news. The fantabulous JW was whisked away, but not before I thrust my copy in front of her with a pleading look and a ‘if I stick my pen in your hand would you pleeeaaaaase sign this for me?’ and she did.

I have a little bitty crush. Unsustainable, certainly. Nice while it lasts.

Y’know, just like my old pal JW says, when she finally got brave enough to bare her heart and came out with the truth of her past she was scared that she’d clear out rooms, she was sure she’d lose all her friends and that nobody would ever speak to her again. But she discovered all sorts of people who said ‘You had it worse than me, but this happened to me too’. Strangers became friendly faces and she didn’t have to feel alone with her shame. I think that’s worth something, don’t you?

winter, accessorized in aqua

aqua tree by McBeth.

Dawn: 21 January, 2006

21 Jan., 2006: dawn by McBeth.

chill

chill by McBeth.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly
Blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night

moonlight ride

Clicking on the image will open a larger, clearer view.

Do not try this with a $100 bill

Wired News: Printing Organs on Demand

Need a skin graft? A new trachea? A heart patch? Turn on your printer, and let it spit one out.

A group of researchers hope printers' whirs and buzzes will soon be saving lives.

Led by University of Missouri-Columbia biological physics professor Gabor Forgacs and aided by a $5 million National Science Foundation grant, researchers at three universities have developed bio-ink and bio-paper that could make so-called organ printing a reality.

Variations on a theme: giving the turtle back, getting a ride and a wife

This 2.5" icon has a story. It goes like this:

To Japanese folklore, Urashima Taro, a simple fisherman, caught a tortoise which he kindly returned to the sea. The tortoise revealed herself to be the beautiful daughter of the underwater Dragon King. As a reward Urashima and the girl were married. Here Urashima rides his tortoise wife on a return visit to land, carrying the magic box she gave him. The original ivory netsuke is in the collections of the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts.

i TOLD you so

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

(un)true blue

I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.
e. e. cummings

it is found in the quiet unexpected

Several months ago I began losing things. Not completely unexpected and not exactly unlike me, I worried a bit because the items I'd misplaced had some personally significant value but I resigned myself to the 'oh well, there goes another one' that seems to follow me.

I lost my beloved PDA first. No idea where that went, though it had to disappear somewhere between my home and KD's. I think. Or it could have been at class. Or in a parking ramp. Or maybe I left it at a meeting. I first purchased it on a slight whim - but as far as my whims go I have to defend it as fairly well thought out.

I found a great deal through audible.com offering $100 off the cost of the PDA if I'd subscribe to Audible for a year.
'No problem, I'll be wanting to download audible books anyway!', thought I, and the cost of a refurbed Palm Zire 31 became immediately accessible for me as the monthly fee for the Audible subscription was to be taken from my financial account each month rather than in one big chunk. I could do that.

My sweet little Zire stayed by my side through my many sleepless nights. We listened to uploaded books and CDs and all sorts of recorded matter together. The Zire play innumerable games of Solitaire with me. Frankly, even if I could remember the numbers I would never reveal that particular detail, so embarrassed I am of my obsessive Solitaire playing during fretful uneasy nights. My Zire kept a backup copy of a few particular cherished emails and she'd memorized the entirety of my contact list - old folks and new. Everyone was in there. One of the features I miss the most is the calendar/reminder function. I had reminders for - well cripes, for just about anything I needed to be remembering! I took it along with me outside and used the fold-uppable keyboard (also huge discount find) to work on writing and email. I'd save story ideas. But geez, I'm shot down without the calendar to keep me going.

My favorite Zire moment was when I used her to catch a sneaky photograph while stuck on a hellishly long layover at an airport terminal along about 300 other people, including an asswipe of a contemptuous fellow. He was one of those 'my shit doesn't stink, I'm worth far too much for that to happen' sort of disdainfully attitudinally-challenged people. He bore the fine suit, the leather loafers, the soft buckskin attache case, the wristwatch that dripped 'don't touch me, don't so much as breath..my..air, peon'. Dickhead made someone watch his seat while he left to use the restroom (heavens no, wouldn't want the PREGNANT woman to be able to sit down or anything, noooo). When he returned he didn't realize he had a several-foot-long trail of toilet paper running from the back waistband of his pants, down the back of his leg, ending as a flapping tongue wagging behind him on the floor. The appropriate thing for a kind person to have done at the moment of noticing his potentially embarrassing moment would probably be to quietly have pointed it out to the fellow. I, however, thought the man a complete jackass and preferred, instead, to use the camera function of my beloved little Zire to snap a picture of the guy standing in line with his toilet paper tail while he, in turn, waited to crab at the helpless airline employee (again).

I did love that Zire, oh yes I did.
And then ... one day ... she was gone. Forever.
I hope to replace her eventually - perhaps with her big sister the T/X.
Maybe...

The second strange batch of lost important things happened a few months after I misplaced the Zire. I think I must have been washing dishes or gardening; something that would have required me to remove my watch and two special rings. I remember little about the day other than a few details:
- I removed the fidgety ring first.

I bought that one in the Bahamas back on the first official vacation I ever took with a friend all by myself without my wee babe on my hip ~ circa 1994. The rolling triple gold banded ring was the one item I purchased just for me. I'm not generally a good me-bargainer but I managed to haggle the seller down to a reasonable price and I've proudly worn the ring nearly every day since. Because the yellow, pink and white gold bands are all interwoven it also makes a remarkably handy toy to have on hand (literally!) when I'm fidgety. Having this ring on my hand reminds me to be braver than I think I'm capable of being and it reminds me that I owe myself adventure --oh, and also of being grateful for whatever health care I EVER have in the U.S. after the vomitous night in the Bahamian emergency room, though that's probably a story best left for another post or, perhaps, not at all.

- I remember that I removed my so-pretty funky artsy S. ring next.

After meeting online, we had a long courtship during which I chased her through jungles and into outer space. We emailed and talked and IM'ed daily. DAILY. What a heap of amazing things I learned from, and due to, S.
I am so much more a global citizen because of her. I learned that 'liberal party line' doesn't necessarily taste the same in all countries. I got to love liberally and be loved the same way. I learned to read the temperatures in both Farenheit and Celcius (and to spell both words correctly). I visited Australia. She visited the United States. I found out what a mindfuck distance can be, how horrifying ones own mind can be in creating obstacles that might not actually exist, in an effort to cling to what feels like the only important thing in the universe. I learned to flex my ankles on those 26 hour flights across the US and over to Oz so I wouldn't develop DVT. I learned, possibly the hard way, that she was who she was and didn't want to or wasn't capable of changing as drastically as might have been necessary for us to be a successful coupling. And while I never did find the kind of end of sentence/end of relationship punctuation I so desperately sought, I can look back now and sorta see how she ignored a whole bunch of super important things like facts, but in the end she fell onto the sword for me. That might be the take-away.
That, and this lovely ring I picked out during her visit to Wisconsin. We both picked rings to have something to have of one another when we were apart, but because we had such very very (VERY!) different tastes, I picked mine and she picked hers. Then, the other person purchased the self-chosen ring and gave it to the wearer with some formality. We remain close despite parting as partners. She holds her emotional cards closer still to her than even I manage mine, so I cannot know how done with me she might be, how past my shenanigans she is, how much frustration I caused her. She has met someone new and is deleriously happy together with her new girlfriend, looking forward to sharing a home within the next few months. I think part of what was so important was the physical presence of a Someone Else. I could not provide that to S., something for which I will eventually forgive myself (what else can I do?) but I will most likely continue to regret for years. At any rate, we didn't work well together but I truly am glad for S. that she has found someone else with which she is comfortable and from whom she feels loved. And well, I suppose it goes without saying that I also have found someone -local- who loves me, with whom I am comfortable and with whom I will eventually set up a home with. In a couple of years, maybe. Yet being with and loving KD does not mean that I can't wear the ring that meant a lot to me, the prettiness of which becons me to distraction at times.
This ring I chose was a wide gold 'comfort fit' band with a narrow dotted "marching ants" pattern along the top and bottom edges of the band. In the center section between the marching ants dances what look to me like stars and moons and other astral fairies, all moving and active, proceeding around my finger.
I hold the universe in my hand just as The Uuniverse holds me in Its hand.

- I remember that I slipped off my gold wristwatch. I dangled one end through the center holes of the two rings and once it had passed through both I fastened the ends of the watch together.

- I remember putting the three items into some sort of a pocket that I thought would be a safe place for keeping them.

Days turned into weeks turned into I guess months and I realized they were really and truly lost. I checked through the zippered pockets of handbags and purses. I checked my backpack. I checked pants pockets and dresser drawers. No watch, no rings. Every few weeks I would re-remember that I had stopped looking and would take up the search with renewed vigor, but I'd never find what I was missing. I unearthed all sorts of interesting things I had no interest in finding, but I could not find those three pieces of jewelry.

Finally, after some Bad Days last week I decided to take a hot shower. I thought soaking off the sheister attitude couldn't do anything but help. Standing under the shower head, I wondered over and over where I possibly could have put the rings and watch that I hadn't already looked. I'd worried that I might have accidentally forgotten to check the inner zipper pockets of some purses I'd donated to Goodwill a couple of months back.
'Maybe someone else now has my rings and I will NEVER EVER SEE THEM, NOT EVER AGAINNNNN', I panicked. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

While water trickled down over the top of my head it occurred to me that I had reached a fork in this lost items road. It wasn't a remarkable thing, it was simply part of the process of thinking the thing through, y'know? There really were only two ways to handle this situation, I figured: continue panicking and freaking out over what I had fucked up and could not un-fuck or somehow try to figure out a way to let them go. Just let them go, out whereever they were - whether they were on a strange woman's arm or in the bottom of a garbage bin or in a closet or in the public landfill - I could lift up thanks for having had them and then let them go on.

And then I laughed at myself standing there in the shower thinking such hippy thoughts because c'mon, that's just too much even for me. Despite the audacity of the ohms, I couldn't shake that idea: Let them go. So I did.

I have no idea how or why or when exactly, but by the time I stepped out of the shower- and after having shed tears- I had said goodbye and be well to the three little silly but important-to-me pieces of jewelry and I was really truly okay with that.
They were gone and I was content to let them be that way.

Next lost item: Monday I was digging around in my school backpack, trying to find a scholarship check that I didn't know I had until only recently (Turns out, it helps to open the mail with some regularity. That's the lesson there). Not that I thought I'd stuffed the check into my backpack because I haven't opened the backpack since mmmm, some time in early December. But still, when you're trying to find Something Important, you cover all your tracks, right? Right.

Dig-a, dig-a dig-a ... what's this?
Well, know how right there in the third zippered pouch there's that velcro flap? And what do you suppose I found inside that? Woohoo, if you said the check???? Wrong~

A watch and two rings, that's what.

Her brain broke breathtakingly on a queer quiz rampage

What Type of Lesbian Are You? (Inspired by Curve Mag.)created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as The Vaginal-Reference-Making Dyke. You are the lesbian who can connect your vagina to nearly every object in the entire universe, creative and a little creepy you always astonish your friends.

=========================

The Vaginal-Reference-Making Dyke 65% The Femme Fatale 55% The Student Dyke 55% The Surprise! Dyke 50% The Sprightly Elfin Femme 50% The Quasi-Gothic Femme 40% The Stud 35% The Bohemian Dyke 25% The Pretty-Boi Dyke 25% The Granola Dyke 15% The Little-Boy Dyke 5% The Hipster Dyke 5% The Magic Earring Ken Dyke 5%

*I rarely take issue with quizzes, especially these that are SO clearly for fun and um, entertainment. But come ON people, if you're going to quiz me on my lesbianism, at least give me a few questions that I can actually answer 'yes' to and not feel as though I've only managed to nubble together some sorta score as a feel-good consolation prize.

'The door to your dorm is plastered in gay pride paraphernalia.' HUNH? No. I answered that twice as absolutely not, and the second time I was clicking the 'NO YOU FUCKING MORON I SAID NO!' button, it was for the tie-breaker which then determined that - according to the responses I gave - I would be 60% likely to be a student dyke. Sigh.

'You own at least one black leather jacket.' Sure, why didn't I realize this sooner? After all, ones outerwear tells all sorts of squeamishly revealing information about a person, doesn't it?! Sigh.

'You secretly worship James Dean.' Go fuck yourselves. I keep my secrets SECRET and none of them, I assure you, NONE OF THEM involve James.

So I guess after all the other best and most real dyke characters are filtered down through, what we're left with at the bottom of the rusty strainer is me, the peculiar pfefferneus of properly pansified periveinous pussy.

SIGH.

No, really. I cannot in good conscience show you mine. At least not here.

You scored as Nipples. You're secretly kinky aren't you? I like you already. Don't let anyone onto your dirty side--it's more fun that way. Nipples 100% Dirty Piercings 90% Tongue Piercing 90% Cartilage Piercing 80% Lip Piercing 60% Earlobe Piercing 50% Labret Piercing 40% Belly Button Piercing 40% Nose Piercing 30% What Piercing Are You? created withQuizFarm.com

photos? what photos?

What's your ideal drug?
created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Ecstacy. Love, sex, parties, and DANCING! Just be wary of your mood coming down! www.dancesafe.org

============================

Ecstacy 81% Marijuana 75% Mushrooms 75% None! 56% Inhalents 56% Cocaine 44% Alcohol 44%

less photos, more quizzes

What Mythological Creature are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Faerie. Faerie: Aren't you a cute little flying person? Faeries are earth spirits. They live among each element completely hidden. They have cousins called Pixies. Pixies however, are very mischevious. They enjoy tormenting other creatures for fun. Little pranksters.. I hope you never meet one. Pixies have a bad reputation for finding a creature and clinging to them until death. Faeries can be somewhat close to a Pixie, but mostly they are loving, playful, and carry with them a child-like enthusiasm for life. Hide among the pedals of a Daisy, you are a Faerie.

===========================

WereWolf 75% Faerie 75% Mermaid 67% Angel 58% Demon 50% Dragon 33%

Let's take a photographic break for some stargazing

Which sci-fi crew would you best fit in? v1.0
created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Galactica (from Battlestar: Galactica). You are leery of your surroundings, and with good reason. Anyone could be a cylon. But you have close friends and you know they would never hurt you. Now if only the damn XO would stop drinking.

===============================

Galactica (from Battlestar: Galactica) 94% Serenity (from Firefly) 88% Bebop (from Cowboy Bebop) 81% Moya (from Farscape) 75% Millennium Falcon (from Star Wars) 75% Nebuchadnezzar (from The Matrix) 75% SG-1 (from Stargate) 69% Enterprise D (from Star Trek) 50%

================================================================
(And now, the sooper-dee-dooper ULTIMATE stargazer's quiz, updated and all)

Your Ultimate Sci-Fi Profile II: which sci-fi crew would you best fit in?
created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Deep Space Nine (Star Trek). You have entered the dark side of the Star Trek universe. The paradise of Earth is far from you and you must survive despite having enemies on all fronts. But you wouldn�t have it any other way because you thrive in conflict and will know what needs to be done to take care of those around you. Now if only the Founders would quit trying to take over the galaxy.

====================================

Deep Space Nine (Star Trek) 88% Serenity (Firefly) 88% Moya (Farscape) 81% FBI's X-Files Division (The X-Files) 75% Babylon 5 (Babylon 5) 75% Galactica (Battlestar: Galactica) 75% Bebop (Cowboy Bebop) 63% Millennium Falcon (Star Wars) 63% Andromeda Ascendant (Andromeda) 56% Nebuchadnezzar (The Matrix) 56% SG-1 (Stargate) 50% Enterprise D (Star Trek) 31%

Welcome back, Reub. We missed you so.

During a local newscast this evening, the tv crew was interviewing local Badger fans who have been celebrating along with the UW-Madison Badger football team in Orlando, Florida at whatever Bowl game they played today. (bad fan, baaad baaaad fan. I have slapped my hand just now for those gentle readers who might be locals and reading my complete disinterest in the Badger team for the first time. I try, I really do.
I just can't get excited about many sporting events.)

The thing that grabbed my attention was the super-excited woman in her ohh, fifties or sixties maybe. She appeared to be a really happy gal, smiling broadly and donning her reddest of Bucky badger-red gear, who described the scene as "boo-ee-yant".

In what universe does the word boo-yant exist?
I hadn't been watching the broadcast; I'd been listening though, and the fact that I could not identify the word she was using got my attention. So I turned around and started to play the 'name that...' game. Given the situation and the excitement and what I knew of the Badger's winnings, I suspected that the well-intentioned woman must have meant "boy-ant".

Buoyant.

No wonder we have a confused language and an even more confused population...
if you see a little floating bobbing bit of a thing out there in a body of water to mark a channel, well of course I'd understand someone referring to THAT thing as a boo-eee.

But to mark an excited scene as boo-ee-ant? I dunn'thin'so.

Next lesson: Kwik-E-Marts and why our children are slow.

To those on that side of the dateline:

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

This is a test. This is only a test.

“The windows of my soul are made of one-way glass, don't bother looking into my eyes if there's something you want to know, just ask”
-Ani Difranco

Which of Santa's Reindeer Are You?

You Are Dasher

You're an independent minded reindeer who never plays by the rules. Why You're Naughty: That little coup you tried to stage against Santa last year Why You're Nice: You secretly give naughty children presents.

Which of Santa's Reindeer Are You?

Predator and prey

Theo samples Quinn by McBeth.

A predator is any animal that hunts and eats other animals, which are called the prey. Generally, carnivores are predators and herbivores are prey. Predators have adaptations to catch, kill, and eat their prey, and, in return, the prey have special adaptations to avoid being eaten.

Predators play an important role in nature. Many scientists believe they help keep the populations of their prey from getting too large and using up more food and other resources than their habitat can provide. To be successful hunters, predators need to be able to see, smell, or hear their prey.

Predators need feet and legs adapted to running down (pursuing) their prey or to sneaking up on them. Predators need powerful teeth and jaws to kill and eat their prey; many have sharp claws to help catch the prey. Predators do not chew their food but tear it off the bones and swallow it whole.

Good eyesight is important to help predators in locating food. Predators generally have both eyes in front of their heads, so that they are looking forward, which gives the animal binocular vision. Binocular vision permits an animal to judge the distance of an object accurately. This is important when a predator is trying to leap at or run down an animal. Cheetahs and hawks, for example, have binocular vision. (People also have binocular vision, as do other primates and climbing mammals, because arboreal animals need to be able to judge distances between tree limbs for jumping and swinging. Scientists believe that early ancestors of people were tree-dwellers.)

Newborn young of predators are usually altricial (helpless) and depend on their mothers for care. The young are hidden in rock cavities, thickets, and holes; and in the case of lions, cared for by the entire pride (family group). In contrast, the babies of prey animals are generally precocial; soon after birth they are able to get up and run. This is important, because the newborn herbivores are often hunted as food by predators. Baby zebra and wildebeest can stand up and follow the herd only a few hours after birth. The large herbivores of the savanna usually bear only one young, rarely two; in contrast, lions, leopards, and cheetahs can have one to six young, though two to three is normal.

Predators hunt to feed their young and in turn teach them how to hunt. It takes a lot of practice to become a good hunter. Predators hunt their prey in three ways: stalking, chasing the prey down, and attacking in a pack. Some predators, such as the lion and leopard, stalk their prey. They can outrun their prey only over a short distance. They first get close to the prey, moving quietly and staying low to the ground, hiding in the vegetation. When they are very close, they leap and ambush the prey. Lean, long-legged cheetahs first stalk their prey, but then outrun them and chase them down, running at speeds of up to 60 miles (100 kilometers) per hour for limited distances of up to 400 yards (366 meters). Some predators, especially smaller ones, such as hyenas and wild dogs, hunt in groups. When a prey animal is sighted, the hunting pack chases it down and the meat from the animal is shared. The advantage of hunting in packs is that different pack members can take turns in chasing the prey at high speed - expending the prey's energy but conserving that of the individual members of the pack. Animals that hunt in packs must work together to be successful.

-from Discover Africa

happy Chrisnukahkwanstice to you and yours.

Please accept with no obligation, implicit or explicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress, non-addictive, gender neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practised within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion or secular practices of your choice, with total respect for the religious/secular persuasions and/or traditions of others, and their choice not to practise religious or secular traditions at all... and a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2006, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make Britain great (not to imply the Britain is necessarily greater than any other country nor is it the only BRITAIN" in the northern hemisphere), and without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith, sexual orientation and choice of computer platform of the wishee.

By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wishee actually to implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others, and is void where prohibited by law and is revocable at the sole discretion of the
wisher.

This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year, or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.

what is your deepest conviction?

"A 'No' uttered from deepest conviction is better and greater than a 'Yes' merely uttered to please, or what is worse, to avoid trouble."

-- Mahatma Gandhi

I stabbed myself with my splayd.

Don't ever call this thing a spork.
It isn't one. This creature - the spoon/blade - was invented by WIlliam McArthur in 1943. I learned much about these beautiful creatures when I dated still-beloved-aussie-gal Sara for several years. I brought what I believe is this exact cased set of splayds home from Melbourne along with me. I'm sure it was my kid who lost the one which now remains missing - I was heartsick when I was no longer able to could six of them in the silverware drawer and he didn't seem to be the least bit concerned so sure, let's blame him for the moment.

Here's the important bit: do NOT attempt to use one of these to get food into your mouth if you are not fully and entirely awake with all your faculties to guide you (and the splayd).

They bite. And sometimes they'll even draw blood. It's true! I have a puncture wound in my upper lip where I made a wayward attempt to put lunch into my mouth to prove it.

I missed the hole in the middle of my lips. OW.

That's all. You are dismissed.

Not only does Santa distribute packages, sometimes he also has to adjust them

The Big Man himself paid a visit to a Dodgeville, WI Culver's Frozen Custard restaurant this weekend.

[side note: for those not in the know, frozen custard is just this side of heaven. If you haven't tried it, please add it to the list of things to do before you die. It's just one of those very nice things. Got it? 'K, good.]

Before making his grand entrance Santa prepared himself in his Santerly way, though he clearly didn't know that there were folks out in the dining area with cameras at the ready who could see him *koff* shifting his package around. After he turned to see me snapping away, he laughed a ho ho ho (kids at the next table donchaknow) and said "Don't you know that Santa likes to know when he's having his picture taken?". I winked back at him, replying "Oh yes, but I saw what Santa was busy doing back there."

I shook his gloved hand and we exchanged knowing smiles.

DING DING DING!

There's a contest going on here in the best local weeky paper to find the Gaudiest Holiday Yard Display.

Those of you who know me IRL can probably imagine the joy I've had trying to find them a few good contenders. We wouldn't want to leave any qualified people out, now would we? NO. We most certainly would not; especially after all the time and trouble (and electric bills) they've channeled into entertaining the public. Which I suppose also could possibly be perceived as wanking off for that slim minority who might find overindulgent yard displays uhm, overindulgent. But I digress. Thus far I haven't seen many entries (other than my own, I mean) but I think we may have our winner right here.

Subjective decision, of course, but hey I found it, I claim it. Isn't how that goes?

HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO

HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO

Though I must say the kid-mcbeth would have loved her own personal candy factory had her parents been more of the over-the-top yard decorator types. When I was very young (1st grade through 3rd grade, if wobbly memory serves me right) I used to walk to the house at the bottom of Davenport Avenue all by myself at night. That was still back at a time when parents had not yet been overwarned to never NEVER let their pre-25 year old children out of the house alone without a harness, a bell, a bottle of pepper spray, a cellphone, and a grownup with a concealed weapon. Ah well, that's what a girl gets for being born to Lutherans I guess.

At any rate, I meandered down to the house on the corner because the four or five times those neighbors acknowledged my child presence they didn't yell at me. They didn't frown. They didn't tell my parents I was doing something wrong. They just saw me, smiled a quick grownup smile, then went along with whatever they were doing. That was enough to endear them to me really, but what I truly appreciated about them was their Christmas display.

First of all, we were able to openly call it a Christmas display. Because geez, that's what it was: Their yard, Biblical carol and seasonal hymns piped through outdoor speakers, high cost Jesus junk scattered all over = Christmas display. Those were clearer times. Not necessarily better times, but clearer at any rate.

They never minded me standing on their sidewalk, just staring like a complete mini dope at the creche for nearly an hour at a time, singing along with the piped-out tunes. I've always preferred thinking that they actually saw me there and chose not to mind me rather than the alternative (ie: they never even knew a little kid was freezing out there in the cold in their yard, but was singing her heart out to their 'O Come, All Ye Faithful' until she took her last little breath and then broke into a million icicled pieces).

I liked those private moments alone. They made me feel so mah-tour. Funny isn't it? I don't nearly feel the need to show my adultness now, but I still crave those private moments. Candy factories and alone time ... I guess I'm a lot less complicated than I sometimes think I am.

Delicious

baked brie, bread and bruit. Fruit. by McBeth.

Sometimes I have a gut feeling that I should bring my camera along for odd trips or errands around town. Sometimes I listen; I'll slog my camera bag along with me even if I don't end up taking the little beaut out. Other times, like today, I ignore the feeling and end up kicking myself for second-guessing myself.

For example, had I paid attention to that little feeling today I would have been able to show you some really great examples of what I suspect was drunken collegiate snowperson building. One huge snowman had a traffic cone stuck atop his head (I unofficially named him 'conehead', which was followed immediately by a strong yen for the old SNL). A couple of downtown yards later there was another snow person - again with the fancy head decor seemingly considered extra-specially when final touches were considered. But instead of a cone on top, this fellow had a broom shoved into the top of his (her?) head and straight down what would be its snow spine, giving him that loveliest of hairstyles, the broommohawk effect.

I mentioned to KD (who was passengering in Scarletta at this time while I drove) after the second funky snow person that I had considered bringing my camera bag earlier and was now regretting the fact that I hadn't.

Not 20 seconds after saying this, we reached an intersection at which I had the red light. The cross street was a one-way heading right and to the right was a large delivery/cartage truck stuck in a very very wrong position across the right lane, pointed toward the left lane, with its hazard lights flashing.

Seemed a very strange thing for a truck to be parked right there on the side of an intersection and we quickly realized why it wasn't moving anywhere: however it happened to GET there in the first place, the truck apparently backed up into a fire hydrant and had hooked a large metal piece on its rear around a sticky-outy piece of the hydrant. I swear, the driver couldn't have tried to aim that big monster of vehicle onto that relatively teeny target if his life had depended on it.

Me without my camera. Argh.

So instead of sharing today's street scenes, I hope your taste buds can, instead, be tempted with the brie, bread and fruit that friends Barney & Goldy prepared for a recent party at KD's place. B & G both work other jobs but they're true foodies at heart and they try to land catering gigs whenever possible ... and they gig quite well I must say.

If your gut tells you something today - pay attention. Listen. Maybe you decide not to follow through this time, but it won't kill any of us to pause long enough to catch the message. That's the first step, right?

Never enough.

red and blue fence by McBeth.

Some folks like decorating the ol' homestead for the holidays. I've been watching to see if the current spike in heating and electricity costs would have a cause/effect dent in the number of people who do up their yards into freakish seasonal spectacles that they are. Don't get me wrong, I really DO enjoy a light display. There's something that draws me to a lit up yard like a two year old to an electrical outlet; like a moth to a flame, like Homer to a box of doughnuts.

There is a small 'bah humbug'ish chunk of coal inside me - and perhaps inside you too. If nothing else, maybe the joy we can take during this time of year is how fantastically over the top people can, and do, go. I mean... TIPPY top.

There's something quite respectable in their almost desperate and yet deeply committed yearning for more more more and in their indiscriminating decision to never stop until they've overdone it.

Red reindeer

...The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there...

Dairyland Dolls

Mouse, as 'Jammer', passes members of the opposing team (in this case, the Tent City Terrors), to score points for the Mad Rollin' Dolls. This weekend's game was exhibition only and was an exciting lead-up to the season opener, scheduled for January 2006. In the end the TCTs won the match, 116-105,

Yum!

quinn's apple pie

quinn's apple pie by McBeth.

This Thanksgiving my brother arrived with quite a surprise:

He'd developed a sudden yearning to bake.
Pies.
Many pies.

Seven pies, to be exact.

The five that I can remember were this pretty latticed apple (oh yum), a pecan, two different pumpkin versions, and a frozen peanut butter/oreo.

Heaven!

~*~ Happy Birthday Audrey! ~*~

She was barely two pounds when she was born; nearly 14 inches long.
Such a frail tiny tiny little human, she arrived far too early,
far earlier than her parents had ever expected,
earlier than anyone had expected.

She was baptized the day she arrived in the world, because there was a good chance that day might have been her only day.
The hospital chaplain - a kind man with a gentle smile, dripped individual drops of water onto her forhead from a shell and blessed her while her parents watched on.

She stayed in the NICU for months. Her momma and daddy became regular fixtures there.
She kangarooed, she slept, she ate, she grew.

And somehow the trauma and drama of her very youngest very earliest days passed. It felt raw and uncertain but she transformed into a newborn gerbil looking creature into a human infant looking creature. She was able to go home. She learned to hold her head up, to sit, to roll over, to walk. She ran and soon she ran faster than all the people around her. After a couple of years it seemed like a strange dream those early years, as though we'd all just made them up. And now we are, even a few more years away from those first frightening days.

I'm amazed and delighted that today is her 5th birthday.

She'll never be a four year old again.

My sister read to her last night and asked her what her favorite 4 year old memories would be. Audrey replied that swimming at a nearby lake was one of her favorite things to do, and also the time that Beppie (that's me) took her camping. My sis said "I think you went camping with B. and J. when you were three, honey". Aud thought it over for a few seconds and responded, "Well, can I still tell you about it? She took me camping at Blue Mounds State Park and Delaney was there -she's a kid- and ..." and she continued telling her momma alllll about it.

It makes my heart all warm and gooey to know I'm an important grownup to that kid.
She's an important kid to this grownup.

and the five shall become one

Hard to tell from the small image over there, but that'll be an example of the great magic that is Photoshop CS2 within a day.


That digital image actually began as five separate images. I merged them. Played with them. Removed the parking lot and a convenience store from the lower left and right sides, respectively. I cropped it some.


Keep an eye open and you'll see the transformation.

Here's a helpful hint (if you want to be able to view it up just a little closer): click on the image. Go on, you know you want to. Just do it. You'll feel so much better.

UPDATE: tah-dah. Lookie there on the right ... Neat, hunh?

Cupcakes and (de)composition

My niece came to my house to play with me today. You can call me a babysitter if you want, but I really dig the kid. She popped out of her momma three months early, weighing a whopping two-point-what's-the-use-of-counting-the-ounces-when-she's-this-small pounds.

She looked like a baby gerbil when she was born. Her skin looked raw and unfinished in that 'put it back, it's not done baking' kind of way. And she lived in a box with special lights and lots of tubes and soft touching and diapers made of gauze pads because that's how small she needed a diaper to be. I swiped one of her pre-pre-preemie diapers from the hospital during one of my visits there. After I left I put the diaper on a rubber chicken I had hanging on the credenza back at work so I could remember just how incredibly small and frail and alive she was. It was a good way for me to remember to keep the joy and sadness and fear and all those Big Human Emotions all together near one another in quite a physical way. If I ran into trouble with one I could always call on one of the others toot-suite. Yes?

So she's going to be five soon, this one. This kid who has the energy of 29 horses and the smile of several constellations' worth of twinkling stars. We have a certain way of doing things at my house. She wants to do six different art/coloring projects while watching Kid TV while playing a board game while building a Lego tower with her toes. Audrey has a tendency to be very much like her aunt in this regard and the primary rule of business came quickly for us both:

First things first, one thing at a time.

Today's first thing, we decided, was to be the cupcake making. We made a mid-cupcake-making trip to the grocery store when we accidentally ran out of vanilla. And because Audrey 'would really really love a little drink of the grape juice like that little girl on tv is drinking, but I prefer the purple to the see-through kind'. What can I say? I'm a sucker for her batted eyelashes and she needs nutritional juice products.

Cupcake making was good fun for both of us. She learned to crack eggs by herself today. I'd measure the other ingredients and she'd pour them into the bowl. I held the hand mixer (she can't stand loud noises) and she licked the beaters when the mixing was done. And when it came to decorating time, she had roughly 13 different shakers of varying sizes and shapes containing sugars and sprinkles and nonpareils and themed crunchies (four of the shakers had come together as a 4-pack... the Scooby-Doo theme, donchaknow: Scooby snacks, dog bones, dog tags and some other completely unidentifiable sugary shape in neon colors. That'smygirl though, going for the sparkly shiny neon bright whatever it might be.

We don't usually put frosting on our cupcakes unless it's a special special occasion, so I suggested that she put the sprinkles right on top of the batter and we'd bake 'em in. She took me seriously, opening every lid so she could get to aaaaaalllll the shakers without having to get mad if her fingers got slippery and she couldn't open one of them (yes, she said that was one of her big concerns). She used up several containers' worth of sprinkles and sugars on those 12 cupcakes and she had a ball.

We put the decorated cupcake batter into the oven, set the oven timer, and attended to the next two tandem items on our busy list: funeral and aquarium cleaning. I hadn't noticed that at some point during this past weekend one of my fish died. The four year old with hawk vision noticed immediately when she asked to help me feed them. I pulled out the net, tried my best to give her honest (honest, not scary and revolting) answers to the questions she asked about dead stuff. I showed her the tail section only when she asked to see the dead fish I had essentially scraped off the bottom of the filter, in pieces. I suggested that it might make her feel even sadder if she saw the whole dead fish (without adding the 'in 15 rotting pieces' part) so how about we just look one last time at the tail and I'll take it outside.

'How come you take dead fish outside?', she wanted to know. I silently asked myself whether answering 'well darling, anything larger than a rabbit turd will clog the toilets so out he goes!' would affect her adversely for the rest of her life. Yeah, probably.
Instead of insisting on absolute accuracy in my reporting, I gave her a short 'circle of life' lesson, at the end of which she insisted excitedly that she could help me dig a hole in which to bury the fish.

Cool. I'd appreciate the gravesite company.

A few minutes later the fish was buried. She added the sweet touch of childhood to our brief ceremony when she asked me to fill her watering can with some of the old water from the fish tank. I brought out a small plastic container of water which she poured over the buried fish.

When I asked her why she had chosen that particular spot on which to dump her water she confidently replied that she was pretty sure that giving some of that water to the dead fish 'it might get back alive'.

The post-funeral visitation took place in the living room. While nibbling cupcakes and sipping juice Aud decided that the remaining two fish left in the tank would both be named Oinky. We visited the fish store later, and she named one of the two platys 'Sleeping Beauty' and the other platy, Oinky. As are the two new tetras and the suckerfish.

So that's Oinky, Oinky, Oinky, Oinky, Oinky, Oinky and Sleeping Beauty. Alrighty, I think the system is simple enough for even me to remember.

The car ride out to her house after the post-cupcakes post-funeral post-snack post-fish tank cleaning was a deluxe guessing game. Here's how that game is played:

• think of an animal.
• give some semi-telling clues about what that animal looks like/says/eats/lives
• pretend you are that animal. Demonstrate the look/sound/etc.
• have the other person guess what you might be.
• it's extra funny if your aunt guesses a completely wrong animal. If you say you have a pouch on your tummy, she might say something like 'what? that pouch isn't to hold your groceries in?'
• if there are two animals you are especially fond of, keep using those two animals over and over and over and over. Like, say... oh, a puffer fish and a giraffe. Your aunt will never be able to figure out the 'I have a long neck' clue you give her, not even if you use that animal nine times in a row.
  

I hope we have more play dates soon. Its appearing as though Thanksgiving will be a kidtastic time. My two nephews (brothers, aged 6 mos. and 2.5 years) will be coming with their momma and daddy to the family gathering. I've already warned J. that he'd best stretch his back in preparation for the 'MYYYYYY turn to climb on cousin!' game. That's another especially fun one.

These little people, they grow and leave and do what all young who survive nest living are meant to do. Seems to me that the flash of those tender little childhood moments are just like the Scoobysnack sprinkles that Aud so generously covered the tops of her cupcakes with ... sweet, crunchy, and I can't possibly seem to get enough of them to fit on the top.

Two - two - two treats for one

The Williams-Sonoma shop, despite being a very pretty and oh-so-kitchenlicious store, did not have the rubber plunger ring I have been seeking to replace on my French Press pot -and now with a greater renewed fervor since the plastic began breaking off so I drink itty bitty slugs of stained plastic along with the dark roast I've just brewed and stewed...

Instead, while meandering around the store touching and oohing and feeling and aahing and 'ooh lookie here'ing at KD, I found something new and altogether different: liquid Turbinado sugar.


I am a huge Turbinado sugar fan. I like the larger sugar crystal size (why? who cares. I just do.) I like the depth of the molassesesque flavor. Raw sugar is one of the few things I actually make a point of finding... I very rarely use refined white sugar in the beverages I drink.
This was a long time coming. I finally got to thinking: I'm a product of my society and I am what I put into myself. SoooOOOooo, perhaps I could try a slower more thoughtful pace and more natural foods. I feel a little embarrassed about the whole munchy-crunchy-granola-ey attitude but never fear, I'm nowhere near ready to build a cabin in the mountains and cease bathing 'for the good of Mother Earth'. I started small: honey in tea, turbinado in coffee.

So yeah. This sugarshots stuff is like a new toy. An expensive new toy at $9/bottle, but I suspect it will probably last longer than I think it will; cane sugar is sweeter and therefore I'll use less to get the same sweet as its refined white sugar sister. I tried in vain to find a Will-Son. link; it's only available for purchase in-stores.
However, here are a couple of places you can go to buy the good stuff online if you can't wait:
There's that bastion of good taste, or you might try the pillar of tempting teas, or if you're reaaaally tweakin for it, go straight to the crack dealer.


Oh noooo, don't you even feign thinking the treat-doling is over just yet.

Nope nope nope~


Ginger Almond dish soap.
I sniffed at least six of the varieties they had and, in the end, this was The One.

It's another outrageously expensive item (for dish soap?!) but I felt lavished tonight. I suppose I should say 'further lavished', after two cocktails and a tasty salad with KD at the new employer of the mutual friend who introduced us just over a year ago.

Want to hear my rationalization for this purchase?
Okey-dokey, here ya go:

I do dishes. I do a lot of dishes. J. has helped with dishes and decided that he'd rather scoop the litter boxes than do dishes. That's how much he dislikes dish washing. I'm with him... sometimes I find it calming but generally speaking it's just a major pain in my ass and a mess across the available counter space.

Why NOT find a pleasant bottle of dish soap that will take me to a happy place each time I have to wash another sinkful?

Why not indeed.

the kids finally got on God's last nerve

Last night's discussion on the local news about the high winds warnings was no joke.

Our condominium association handiman happened to notice this tree - ripped right from its base but without the root ball - down near the smaller of our two playgrounds this morning while he came to our property to take care of something altogether different.



The power lines had been ripped down due to the felled tree and were laying across the ground near the playground, just waiting to electocute the next unsuspecting fun-seeking child.

Thankfully, it was at such a time that no children had seen the fun new natural play structure laying between their playground and the fence. The past few hours have been filled with Large Trucks, menin warm outdoor clothes carrying chainsaws and no electrical power.

But no minipeople were harmed, and all should return to normal very shortly. As the handiman and I chatted and exchanged information we agreed that if it isn't one thing it's another.

It might be official...

I am temporarily and slightly unwell.

My mind is giving me fits. Noisy one moment, not letting me sleep, not permitting me to get one thought flowing before it sends another to interrupt.

And then - and so rudely then - closing up shop early. A siesta, so to speak, only not selectively cited for the searing spike in afternoon heat (because at this time of the year in Wisconsin there may be a peculiarly permissive unseasonably warm front floating blissfully by, but I can assure you there is most definitely no afternoon heat spike).

I'm frightened, a little.
I'm tired of the nutsness, a medium amount.
I'm worried that I might need to shrink away from people, a lot.

Because people are people are people and there must be a proper explanation for everything, donchaknow. Why am I where am I what am I doing/hiding/seeing/hearing whatever it is that I may be, they'll want to ask.


I'll want to strike out at them and they won't even know it.

I don't want to cause harm. To anyone.

I just need to get through it in one piece.

Fidget, boxing

Just look at the wonderful freebie pre-fab home that came (no further purchases required) with the new bathroom sink yesterday*.


*occupant not included

The evil behind a smile

From the Walmartmovie site

Everyone has seen Wal-Mart's lavish television commercials, but have you ever wondered why Wal-Mart spends so much money trying to convince you it cares about your family, your community, and even its own employees? What is it hiding?

WAL-MART: The High Cost of Low Price takes you behind the glitz and into the real lives of workers and their families, business owners and their communities, in an extraordinary journey that will challenge the way you think, feel... and shop.

If you live in the United States, please find a local screening in your neighborhood and ATTEND!

Outside of the United States? Not a problem.
Canadians can grimace along with us.

And even if you live elsewhere on the globe, you still might be able to share in our dismay.

So what are you waiting for?
GO!
GO!
GO!

golden garlic jelly

we stopped at the final booth this weekend at this season's outdoors Farmer's Market. I was occupied with hemming and hawing over the sweet dills or the regular dills. I asked the seller the difference ("sugar", he replied with a chuckle)

KD? She made a beeline for this beautiful garlic jelly, which she plans to enjoy with a dab of cream cheese on some good wheat crackers eventually. If I smile beatifically and use my very best manners I might be able to have a few nibbles also.

I pulled out cash to pay for our purchases and looked into the face of the gentleman selling the goods.

I said to him (mostly out of nowhere), 'Oosterwyk?!'
He looked at me with a confused smile. Was he supposed to know me?

"You were one of my high school teachers!" I gasped. It was only as I said it that I realized it. Isn't that strange how sometimes you can't even identify what is happening until you begin putting the words to it and then it all unravels, or re-winds, or whatever it needs to do to make sense again?

"Chemistry?"
"Yes. I did very poorly in your class. But it was certainly not for lack of trying on your part."

"The real zinger is seeing my old OLD students. They've grown up ... but I haven't!"

What a hoot. Twenty years ago he was teaching me chemistry; now he's using his chemical knowledge to make some beautiful jellies, preserves, and pickled goods.

Some days it's worth getting up just for the surprises that might happen.