Got nothing

Okay, so today's post doesn't really have any kind of topic. Yesterday I was full of brilliant blog posts, but today, nothing. It's like an echoing cavern up there in my head.

I am feeling tremendously vain, however. I am wearing my cool $1 vintage dress and have gotten lots of compliments from folks here at work. I've probably checked myself out ten times today.

Tiny slacking moment

So I'm taking a moment to slack and post on this blog. I should be scrubbing screens to get them ready for some serious screenprinting--after all, I have 75-120 horses to print before Halloween. But dude, the Internet is so much more fun!

Anyway, this Friday, I had a wonderful pie moment. Pie is my favorite food. Scratch that. Pie is the single greatest food stuff ever created by man. It is a magical gateway to a world of gustatory oneness. When it touches my tongue, I can hear the OMM of the universe gently humming in my ears, translated from the gentle pulses of my happy cheeks and gums and tastebuds into sound by some miracle. Yes, a miracle. Pie is truly, blissfully miraculous.

Good pie, that is. Bad pie is like cardboard left out in the rain, topped with malingering fruit or an evil lunchlady's idea of pudding.

But this Friday, I had wonderful pie. Crisp, crumbling crust, gently salted, with the mellow flavor of fresh fat--perhaps part butter, but mainly shortening. The crust of my childhood. Not fancy, but right. The custard, soft and lusciously brown with dark corn syrup, cradled the perfectly salted and crunchy pecan topping. I closed my eyes and ate slowly.

Screw yoga. This is my gateway to the spirit.

Apologia

I love Blogger; Blogger is not evil; I retract all cruel statements regarding Blogger and its eating habits.

Things and Stuff

First off--an apology for last week's absolute blather. It was unusually lame. But here's a good quote on a similar subject, from a book I am reading:
"The current trajectory of globalization contains at least one very grave threat to the future of local community stability--namely, reduced legal capacity of localities to shape their own economic destinies." (27, _Making A Place For Community_, Williamson, Imbroscio & Alperovitz--emphasis mine.)

I don't know why, but I just love that expression: shaping their own economic destinies. It's succinct, it's beautiful, and it captures that sense of empowerment so many communities are starting to lose. Look at my hometown, Reedsport, Oregon. The entire town is fading away into despair, because the economic glue of the community--a lumber mill and a paper mill--bit it in the 90s. The town lost many of its most active townspeople (and towns need those busybodies and do-gooders!) and it still hasn't found another major employer. It's heartbreaking.

The junk dress is coming along. I hoped I'd have all the back issues worked out today, but I don't. I think I have a good idea to shape it so it's more flattering (i.e., less like a hospital gown) without using yawn-ish old darts, but I will need John's help. Speaking of John, he had a brilliant notion about our merry-go-round lamp, and I am super excited. It's going to rock.

Speaking of rocking, chicken-fried seitan rocks. It is sensational. I will recommend it to every single person I know--unless they have a gluten sensitivity. Other than that--yummm.

The Anti-Federalist

Okay, so I was reading the paper today and heard about a bill up in the senate (S 3128) which would "prohibit states or local governments from enacting any food-safety law that differs in any way from federal law, including setting more stringent limits on toxic substances.... the FDA would be the sole arbiter of permissible levels of toxics in foods, overriding hundreds of existing state and local food-safety laws," (Wolke, LA Times-Washington Post Service).

It's tempting to like the idea because then all the food safety issues in this motley nation of ours will be codified and made uniform. But I hate it. I hate the idea that my health and safety is even more dominated by the power of the FDA, an organization so heavily controlled by the chemical industry and the corporate food giants that we already can't trust them. I hate the idea that my state government, which shows a stronger connection to its constituents, will no longer be able to protect me from the FDA's blind and greedy grasp.

This law represents everything I hate about the United States and its current state of government. Lately, I've been thinking that we should de-federate our nation a little. Put more power in the hands of the states--localize it. Pull the teeth of big corporations by establishing tougher trade barriers between states and regions (not to mention nations).

Only by refocusing money and power to a regional level will we see greater citizen involvement and government that reflects HUMAN values, not corporate. Only by making the federal government accountable to local governments will we see the kind of development that we, individuals, desire.

Amen.

Reviewing the fridge

So it's fall now. We had our first big September rainstorm, and yep, it's fall. So what do I want--desperately, earnestly, painfully want? Pork, of course. Nothing says fall like bacon, pork chops, pork loin, pork ribs, pork fat in all its glorious, sticky-greasy-irridescent chip wonder. It hit me today, and I wasn't prepared for it. I mean, I nearly my footing in the kitchen.

I should have seen it coming. The last few days have been rough. I was reading a great book by Ruth Reichl (former NYTimes restaurant critic) called "Garlic and Sapphires: the secret life of a critic in disguise," and it was like 400 pages of the most beautiful food writing you could expose yourself too. At least ten meals included foie gras. And reading it was great, but also really horrible, because I had to remind myself that I have given all that up. I am no longer a gourmet eater. I am a conscientious eater, a healthy eater. I am an eater who weighs *70* pounds less I did when I was a serious gourmet eater-- and 15 less than when I was an amateur gourmet eater.

I have to bring an image of a long-lashed sweet-faced piglet into my mind to shake off the painful need for bacon.

Sometimes being a near-vegan is really hard. There is a certain lack of variety in my food world, because I'm still developing my recipe repertoire. And there is a difference in tastes. I made krautranzas the other day, and they were not the same delicious as the sausage-kraut wonders I created in my previous food life. Tempeh can do wonderful things, but when you are reaching out for the flavors of your childhood, there is so only so far you can go. I try to appreciate these foods as new foods, not replacements, but sometimes, it's hard. Lately, I've cheated a lot. Fiona and I had a milkshake yesterday. It tasted wonderful, with that salty, creamy, sweetness that only cow milk can provide. The most gifted blend of soymilk lacks that quality. Usually, I don't want the high sodium funk of cowmilk. Usually, I prefer rice or soy. But right now, I miss dairy. I miss the splendor of egg whites (although I don't miss the weird dry skin they give me). I miss the easy flexibility of baked goods with eggs. I miss the salty intensity that urea and hormones and enzymes give animal foods. Vegetables are just too damn nice tasting. I want to eat raunchy, damn it!

Is being a vegetarian with vegan intentions worth it? Of course. I feel so much better these days. I don't feel a secret well of guilt boarded up within me any longer. I have more energy. I am more in touch with my spirituality. I can taste and smell things with a newfound clarity. I can pet a cat, and not be completely creeped out by the similarity between a cat's thigh muscles and a chicken's.

I love animals and I love myself. If being a real foodie means giving up those things, then I'm glad I've put that behind me. Best of all, I know I'll never have to look a plate of foie gras and try to forget how it was made.

And now I'm back

... from September closure, if not outer space. It feels weird to be normal work after all the fun of cleaning and painting. But all the staff is more friendly and fun now. I am actually feeling like I love my job and my coworkers. Sniff. Sniff

John, however, does not feel the same about his workplace:
http://slvk.blogspot.com/

Computer talk

WoW! It's been forever since I posted an update on this baby. See, I dowloaded an update for McAfee, and since then, our computer crashes when we start up the internet. Oops. Also, I got a new boss at work, so I've been slacking much, much less.

Not that I slack at work. I am an excellent employee and constantly search for new projects and ways to maximize our visitors' museum experience.

August already?

Whoah. It's August. Where did June go?

So I finally met Elias, my sister's 2-month old baby. (See what I mean about 'where'd June go'?) He's cute. But just as importantly--drumroll, please--John met my dad!

See, my dad was spending the night at Kristina's, and she had us over for dinner. It was much fun. John and Kristina entertained my dad while Bert & I cooked and drank pina coladas. Yum, yum, yummmm. Then, after dinner, we all joined in a rousing game of chickenfoot! What a hoot.

Anyway, John said Dad was cool; Fiona and Amelia played dress-up; and Isaac pestered "Uncle John" non-stop. Good times.

Crazy cake

So yesterday I made my very first fat-free, sugar-free cake (and recipe-free, may I add). Okay, so it was more like a pumpkin bread. Anyway, it turned out pretty good, although I regret not adding any honey or apple-juice concentrate, because prune juice just doesn't make things sweet enough for my liking. Of course, that means it might be sweet enough for any normal person--you're talking about a woman who has been known to add 2 and 1/2 sugar packets to a diner-sized cup of coffee. But the cake is fluffy and tender and yummy, just as a good cake or quick bread ought to be, and boy is it yummy with the (sooo not sugar-free) frosting I plopped on top. It's the best of both worlds this way.

And of course, since it's sugar-free and fat-free, I didn't feel guilty about eating a big chunk for breakfast.

Bye-bye, SCSC ...

So, I'm re-reading one of my all-time favorite books (The God Particle, Lederman), and realized I hadn't heard anything about the super-colliding superconductor in a long time. So I looked it up.

Did you know they're just letting it rot away in the desert? ? ? ?

I mean, they never finished it. They never got the money, they threw their hands up in the air and they just left everything to turn into dust down there.

I am so worked up about this that I used a comma splice in that last sentence.

I know that some day, people will get their heads out of their asses about big science--big important science, like astrophysics and particle physics, not craptastic money-making environmental-trashing schemes like fricking genetic engineering. I know that someday, someone will say: let's get a bunch of money and smash atoms until we finally have some experimental proof that support GUTS. Or at least find the Higgs boson.

See, this is the kind of science that is important. It's not important because it leads to technological breakthroughs (which it does), but because it is the research that feeds the human soul. It represents humanity's great journey through the eons, a journey with but one end: to understand the universe, its beginnings and our place within it. Particle accelerators are not a tribute to the hubris of humankind, but a testiment to our desperate need to touch the miracles of God. The miracles get smaller and smaller the more we keep looking. Bosons and photons and gluons and quarks are truly miraculous.

Big science is like big operas, big orchestras and haute couture. People see all them as a waste of money, economic idiocies, and the toys of the privileged class. But anyone who witnesses them in action is awed.

We need awe. We need it desperately. And I wish with all my heart that we could move out of this period of puritanical, money-grubbing, soul-sucking thought--and get back to more human (and more godly) endeavors.

New Alchemy & Frustration

I started addressing this on my myspace blog, but that's my dumbied down blog. This is my more insightful page. Not that many of my insights have really been that great, for the most part, but what the heck, a girl's got to have standards.

ANYWAY, I've been reading a lot of great stuff about sustainable development, and the changes we need to make in our economy and the way we design communities and the way we think about resources. And our needs. It's great. Since Jarusha gave me this cookbook (The More-With-Less Cookbook--check it out), I've really been thinking about the expenses behind the littlest things we do.

It started with food, obviously. Basic expenditure was just the first step; then I read more, and I started thinking about the moral expenses behind my meals. That was when I decided I was definitely going veg, and I was going to seriously work to get rid of my use of dairy and egg products. I feel really great about that move. All the energies of my body are happier, and I feel less clogged up and depressed. Also, I know that what I'm eating is using a much smaller footprint than my old one.

Lately, still on the level of food, I've started thinking about the energy and waste behind the processed foods in my life. Not just convenience foods like frozen pizza, but other, more subtly processed things: soy milk; bread; sugar; maple syrup. Just about everything we eat, unless it's a fresh vegetable or fruit, is pretty highly processed. And there's a lot of waste involved. You definitely notice how much energy food takes when you start making more of your own stuff from scratch.

Hmmn, hold that thought. The kid is waking.

slackah!

See? I'm so busy slacking, I can't even be bothered to capitalize the title of this blog entry.

I haven't updating this blog very often lately because I have been so busy getting crazy with myspace. It can be a little ... time consuming ... but it has proved worthwhile, because I am reconnecting with my brother Jak. He is not having a good time in Lemoore, CA, and I really feel for him. Still, it's only for a few months, and then they will probably send him to sea.

I am working on the *3rd* reconceptualization of my little novel. I've been sitting on the second draft, not quite willing to commit to finish the fix (I needed to re-enter all the changes from the last half of the book after my ancient computer ATE them), and I was finally able to put my finger on the vague feeling of wrong which has troubled me for a very long time. So I'm completely revisiting the story and I'm really excited about it. Hooray!

Also cool and noteworthy: I am cutting out the pieces for a skirt I patterned myself and I finished a painting (which actually looks like a person). Oh yes: I've also been making my own breads, seitan from scratch, and my own rice milk. Whew! Good times this summer!

Word drought

I've got nothing lately, but this put a smile on my face!

Oh--we went to Blue Lake Park and had a great time today. They don't let midgets swim in the lake, but they had this awesome sandbox/water sprinkler play area that we spent about two hours in. It was so fun! We dug rivers, built castles and totally immitated the Army Corps of Engineers. Erosion really does suck.

ugggggh

I have a cold. Arggh. Sniffle.

Fiona has a cold. Arggh.

On the plus side, I got to watch Ghostbusters 2 twice in two days. Colds do have their perks!

Hero of the WEEK

Marisa, my totally cool co-worker was on the jump-rope team in elementary school, and here was her trick:

Jumping into the Double Dutch ropes, on a pogo stick, juggling scarves.

Oh yeah, people. This woman is my hero of the week.

I can't really be mad at Fiona just because she told me she loves John more than me. But I still want to go lay in bed and cry for the rest of the day.

Tee-hee

It feels good to give the old blog a facelift. I'm still not totally satisfied with it--I mean, where did that weird dot just above the photograph come from?--but I am leaving it as-is for a bit.

The weekend was ... rotten ... or at least contaminated. . . . A lot of family issues, none of them great, and a disagreement with the old sweetie pie. Nothing feels worse than a disagreement with the sweetie pie. Sigh.

I am currently haunted by a potential writing project. On one hand, it keeps sneaking into my head, taking up vital space. Irresistable. On the other hand, if there's one story I don't want to live with for months and months (and this story would take months), it's this story. It's the kind of story that makes you feel ucky inside. I just keep dragging my feet about it and not getting anywhere. Maybe this afternoon is the afternoon to start it. Or kill it, if that's possible. Somehow I don't think this one is going away. And I also have a feeling it's the story I've been practicing for.

Well, S.P. called in sick to clean house and find some curtain fabric. I should get off the comp and play with my boy!

Jak update

My life is boring (I mean, the biggest excitement was making my own seitan from scratch), but my brother's is going well. He called me today, in recovery from a 36 hour "Battlestation" drill. He'd been awake for 36 hours, maintained by one muffin, a bagel, and shouting some song for 34 of those hours. I missed the song title, because his voice was, unsurprisingly, mangled.

Anyway, he's graduating in a week-ish, top of his class. I am so, so proud of him!

PS on books

Here's what I am reading: Dominion

"Dominion is a horrible, wonderful, important book. It is horrible in its subject, a half-reportorial, half-philosophical examination of some of the most repugnant things that human beings do to animals.... The book is wonderful in its eloquent, mordant clarity, and its hilarious fillets of sanctimonious cant and hypocrisy.... Dominion is important in large measure because the author, an avowed conservative Republican and former speechwriter for George W. Bush, is an unexpected defender of the animals against the depredations of profit driven corporations, swaggering, gun-loving hunters, proponents of renewed 'harvesting' of whales and elephants and others who insist that all of nature is humanity's romper room, to play with, rearrange, and plunder at will.... This is a beautiful book, and a balm to the scared, lonely animal in us all. -- Natalie Angier, The New York Times Book Review

And it is SO SO GOOD!

A prescription for books

Earlier today, I was reading with Fiona and it suddenly struck me just how excited I am to read her some of my favorite books. I've thought that time and again since before she was born, but today, I couldn't stop thinking about great it will be to share Meg and Charles Wallace with Fiona. I just don't think she can be a fully moral human being until she has read those books. And I got to thinking about all the other wonderful stories that have taken up residence in my heart and mind and created me, and I just can't wait to read them with her--if only so that she can look back as an adult and say: "Ah. Watership Down at age 5. That explains everything." So here is a short list of some of the books I'd like to share with my child over the next ten years of her life. Please post any books that you think are great books for kids, and maybe a suggested age for exposure.

A Wrinkle in Time, A Wind in the Door, & A Swiftly Tilting Planet, L'Engle. Maybe when she's 7 or 8. What a wonderful portrait of doing right and facing down evil, no matter how much we might want to turn away.

Anne of Green Gables, Montgomery. 6-ish. Anne is just plain funny; I re-read her about once every three years. And she lives in such a wonderful, wonderful world that I wish I could move in!

Watership Down, Adams. 5-7. Because even rabbits can be heroes.

Charlotte's Web, White. 4-5. Eloquence is important. So is kindness.

Bunnicula, Howe. By the end of the year. If it had a few more pictures, I would have checked it out the other day. Under all the humor, wonderful messages of tolerance.

The Hobbit & The Lord of the Rings: it's hard to know when she'll be ready, but it's the most important adventure in print!

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone: 6? Some of the language is heavy, but the story kicks @!! The messages about friendship and love are important, too.

Alanna, Pierce. 8. My first introduction to chicks-can-kick-butt fantasy action, and I can't wait for Fi to check it out.

I can't wait to see what you guys will add to the list, but it'll be good. And just so you have a little bit of a grasp on Fiona's reading level/interests (no, she can't read yet, but she holds still very well), is that we struggled through James & The Giant Peach a couple of weeks ago. It took us about 6 days, and she kept trying to turn the pages to see the next picture, but it worked great in the car. She really liked it and followed the story well.

I am really looking for some suggestions of books on that level or a bit easier so we can start diving into meaty reading!

Rant

Why is it so hard to find videos of whales and dolphins swimming around and being cute? Here I am, trying to brainwash my child and boyfriend into being animal-loving freaks, and I can't find any movies about animals being cute and adorable and heroic. Sheesh. I guess I'll just rent Free Willy.

Full brain

My head has been so full of thoughts lately. Some of the thoughts are simple: must finish reading Nevada Barr mystery, NOW. Must eat chocolate ... Some of the thoughts are ugly: I'm going to strangle that kid if she doesn't leave me alone/be quiet/stop [insert irritating behavior]. (I think that one a lot lately.) Some are useless: Why can't I get Fiona to bed by 9:30? (Usually linked with previous thought.) Some are painful: They do WHAT to pigs who are too skinny? But all the thoughts are crowding together and hurting my head. I feel like my skull is just too small for all of them. I am tired, tired, tired of thinking. I just want to curl up with a (soy) cocoa and read a novel and be lost for a little while.

On the other hand, here's a thought WORTH thinking about, and I really hope I can go down and visit this place: http://www.lighthousefarmsanctuary.org. This is a farm in Salem that rescues animals from abusive situations and gives them a new life. And boy are the critters KEEY-UTE!

Get your bonsai on!

John bought me a bonsai yesterday! It is soooo cute--it's a dwarf Japanese Holly tree, and it has these tiny little shiny green leaves, and I love it. It is still in its baby pot, so now I can start browsing for a cooler pot. I've probably got a year before it'll need replanted. Also, it looks like it's already developing little exposed, fat roots at the top of the soil, so I am very happy.

We really looked like Japan nuts yesterday. I was wearing my Japanese clogs and buying shiso seeds, and John was buying bamboo stakes and two baby bonsais. Wow. We're seriously geeks.

Puttering

Today, while puttering around in the potted plants, I decided to take the shears to the bee balm. I mean, 2 foot tall bee balm is just ... unnatural. Creepy. And smothering the dill, too. Anyway, I think that plant is possessed. I put the cut parts in water and within half an hour they were just as perky as they were on the plant. It's a little disconcerting. I've never even fertilized the dang thing!

Speaking of fertilizer, I've decided that's just what my baby apple tree needs. The poor thing has spider mites and looks kind of terrible. I'm going to make it some seaweed plant food and see if I can perk it up any.

That's right, I said 'make it some seaweed plant food.' I went online and looked up vegan organic fertilizers, and that's the quickest, least stinky one I found. See? I'm serious about this no animal business. And while I've had some unsuccessful cooking experiences this week, I am still feeling pretty good. The first day, I just focused on the fact that beer is vegan, nobody has ever made genetically engineered barley, and that hops prevent osteoporosis. Then I cheered up when I discovered that tofutti cream cheese is signicantly tastier than nonfat cow cream cheese. Then I tried my first 'cheese' sauce made from soy milk and nutritional yeast. Um, yuck. (Although I'm blaming the soymilk. 8th Continent = weird tasting) But today's pancakes totally rocked, and the vegan corn chowder I made for lunch was great, too.

While I'm really excited about this new cooking experience, I do want to make it clear that my family is not going straight-up vegan. John gets to eat eggs, and I'm not going to fuss about them too much, especially if they come from less-cruel sources. And we're still eating cheese, just not as often. And when we're out, nobody is going to flip out about non-obvious animal products (such as those in baked goods and dressings and the like). So the goal is about 95% vegan, which still isn't great, but is obviously way better than our mostly lacto-ovo-vegetarian-but-once-a-week-or-so-meat-eating past.

One side note about veganism: I have always found vegan cooking fascinating and attractive. To a food-nut like me, it's like the haiku of the culinary arts. You purposefully limit the possibilities to spur creativity. Now that's beautiful.

On my mind

Animals have been on my mind lately. I haven't been up to blogging about it--I still don't feel ready to write it through--but I have come to one certain conviction: it is wrong to eat animals. There are times and places where necessity can override right and wrong, but we lucky 21st century humans have the luxury and wherewithal to choose our foods. Maybe Ice Age people lacked vegetable foods, but we don't. And for us to torture, rape, maim, confine, cut up, brutalize and deform creatures who share 90+% of their genetic matter with us--for us to do such terrible things to life forms that are all but our family members--for us to do such terrible things for the sake of flavor and fun and convenience is completely sick, fucking sick.

I've spent the last couple of days having spontaneous sobbing fits about it. Oh, and spending a lot of time on http://www.theppk.com.

Eek, eek, whew ... yum?

I have spent my life feeling iffy about fish. There were fish dishes I tried and enjoyed, but there were also bad memories of aging smelt and dolly vardens that I usually just try to push out the back door of the mind. Suffice to say that as a child, I learned the hard way that there are some flavors nothing can aid or cover up, not ketchup, not tartar sauce, not even Tabasco. Now that's knowledge I'd spare my kid.

That said, Fiona likes fish--she gorges on tuna salad and fish sticks, the fish things I can be persuaded to cook. So I walked down to New Seasons last night and let Fiona pick out some fish for dinner. She picked a trout. With its head still on.

The fish guy obligingly cut off the head and threw it away, and we finished our shopping. Fiona wanted to carry the fish packet for a while, until we picked up a cucumber, which she adopted as a new baby doll. The I brought the groceries home, whipped up a salad and prepared the silvery swimmer of lakes.

I rinsed it and patted it dry and seasoned it with kosher salt and pepper and placed some onion in the cavity and wrapped it in bacon and placed it under the broiler. I only gagged twice (and my friend Elizabeth, a vegetarian, was kind enough not to laugh at me as she listened on the telephone). Discarding the wrapping from the fish packet was pretty ugly, but I kept my gorge controlled.

It actually tasted pretty good. Bland, but good. John loved it. Fiona ate a couple of bites. I even had seconds. So I guess I'll try making fish again some time, although next time, I'm putting parchment paper down in the broiler pan.

No way am I scrubbing fins off of that thing a second time.

Hummingbird

This morning's coffee, and I am sipping from my special hummingbird mug. It has a lot of history. My friend Katie, who has a special talent for gifts, gave it to me when I left I home for college. She had filled it with quarters--enough for a term's worth of laundry. It was a brilliant gift.

I kept my laundry money in it for years, but the mug was updated at one apartment to holding toothbrushes. The delicate shape and beautifully worked design brought a touch of class to the bathroom. It stayed in the bathroom through several moves, but when I moved in with my mother, the hummingbird mug was packed carefully and I didn't see it for a while.

On my most recent trip home, I found the mug and brought it to my new place. It was crusted with years of mineral build-up, and I imagined it would remain only decorative. But with enough soaking, and John's tireless scrubbing, it came clean, and now, for the first time in its history, it is coffee mug. It is light, and it is beautiful. It brings a touch of class to my mouth every sip.

You say it's your birthday

Okay, so it's not my birthday. It's not even Fiona's, not really, but since her birthday is on a Sunday (my work day), we're letting her think it is.

The family came and ate sandwiches and strawberries and strawberry cake, and drank strawberry-pineapple-apicot fizz, and doled out presents. Fiona's favorite present was the doll crib from Aunt Kristina and kids, although Amelia was heart-broken to leave it. She nearly pulled her mother's shoe off in an attempt to keep them here longer. Pretty clever kid!

Now Fiona is painting with her new watercolor set. This is her second painting of the day. The first one took two sessions to complete. During the earliest, John went down, asked her how the picture was coming along and she told him "it's not where I'd like it be yet." Wow.

Then after she got up from her nap she asked to watch John's Craftwerk video and got started on another painting. Is she cool 3-year old or what?

Anadama

Yesterday Fiona and I made Anadama Bread (from a Martha Stewart recipe), and it turned out phenomenally. It's the best bread I've made in a very long time, although I imagine part of it is that I really kneaded the bejeezus out of it.

I thought I would write a fantastic post about the joys and wonders of bread making, but I can't bring myself to put two words together this morning. I think I am still routed to music. John gave me a lesson about his sound-editing program, so I was mixing up some tunes. Okay, one tune.

It is amazing how long it takes to edit music. I am taking two tracks from a videogame soundtrack and editing them together to make a soft, electronic song. It's my lullabized version of Ico (that's the game). It's not as easy as you'd think! Lots and lots of cutting and pasting; lots and lots of listening. My ear muscles are so flabby--it almost hurts to tone them up. Also, I'm sure there are a lot more features on the program that I just don't know how to use yet that would make the process more fun. Still, it's addicting!

Kinda like making bread.

Thought

Has anybody else thought that when it comes to money, the flimsy one dollar bills have men on them. The long-lasting coins are women!

*$%! Technology

So the computer is having a little trouble with the Internet at home. I have thought of a couple of super posts, but they'll just have to wait until I'm not illicitly posting at work.

Ahh. The slow beauty of a spring day. So many people want to go to the zoo--the museum is quieter than the library. My boss is taking a one hour lunch. I am slacking. And boy does it feel great!

A fine, fine day

My boss bought us Easter candy! We are chowing down on Robins' Eggs. Aren't those the single best reason to celebrate Easter?

I used a clever line today: I don't celebrate Easter, but I do celebrate chocolate. Actually, I love Easter. My family never, ever made a fuss about the Jesus side of things (since neither of my folks are Jesus followers), and always made a point to focus on the important side of the holiday: eating. Always lots of chocolate, lots of eggs (deviled, of course) and either ham, or lamb. Usually potato salad, peas and some kind of green veg--in good years, asparagus.

The beauty of spring vegetables can not be over-praised. Delicious, tender, brilliantly hued and green! Freshly green, and not the whites of starchy roots or the yellow of the squash family. For the first time in months, green is dancing on our plates.

Happy spring! Happy Easter!

Wicked

Today, a book review/rant. I finally read the book Wicked, by Gary Maguire. [I might have his name wrong, because I am typing this in a hurry, and don’t have the book handy.] What a disappointment! Maguire took a thrilling, menacing figure of children’s lit and turned her into a flat, neurotic mess, the product of a broken family and personal disfigurement. Elphaba–his name for the Witch–is powerless, defanged (literally losing her dangerous baby teeth and growing only standard-issue chompers), and merely reactionary.

All the critics said this was such a fantastic portrait of evil and wickedness. I felt completely let down. Elphaba was no more evil than my shoe, stinking after a long walk. If Maguire had written a story about a truly cruel and dangerous woman, and not the passive, flopping green thing he created, he could have made a really great book.

Oh! I almost forgot! Maguire also ruins Oz. All its creepy, wonderful enchantment is smoothed over into an unhappy America/Kafka realm. I liked it, actually. It was a dark and dangerous place to visit–and it was the right realm for Elphaba. It’s the sort of place that encourages re-acting and not acting, paranoia, not proactivity.

So I guess my problem isn’t that "Wicked" sucked or was crappy. It’s that it’s a fine tale on its own, a fine tale that didn’t need to stand on the shoulders of any other book. There was no need to lift Glinda, Oz or the lamely applied "Wicked Witch" labels–his characters would have been fine on their own. Better off, really. It all comes off as a lame marketing attempt that waters down the real story, which is neither wicked nor witchy, but simply sad.

Wicked

Today, a book review/rant. I finally read the book Wicked, by Gary Maguire. [I might have his name wrong, because I am typing this in a hurry, and don’t have the book handy.] What a disappointment! Maguire took a thrilling, menacing figure of children’s lit and turned her into a flat, neurotic mess, the product of a broken family and personal disfigurement. Elphaba–his name for the Witch–is powerless, defanged (literally losing her dangerous baby teeth and growing only standard-issue chompers), and merely reactionary.

All the critics said this was such a fantastic portrait of evil and wickedness. I felt completely let down. Elphaba was no more evil than my shoe, stinking after a long walk. If Maguire had written a story about a truly cruel and dangerous woman, and not the passive, flopping green thing he created, he could have made a really great book.

Oh! I almost forgot! Maguire also ruins Oz. All its creepy, wonderful enchantment is smoothed over into an unhappy America/Kafka realm. I liked it, actually. It was a dark and dangerous place to visit–and it was the right realm for Elphaba. It’s the sort of place that encourages re-acting and not acting, paranoia, not proactivity.

So I guess my problem isn’t that "Wicked" sucked or was crappy. It’s that it’s a fine tale on its own, a fine tale that didn’t need to stand on the shoulders of any other book. There was no need to lift Glinda, Oz or the lamely applied "Wicked Witch" labels–his characters would have been fine on their own. Better off, really. It all comes off as a lame marketing attempt that waters down the real story, which is neither wicked nor witchy, but simply sad.

The Lonely Doll

About a year ago, Fiona and I checked out a book from the library. It was called Edith and Mr. Bear, and I was immediately enchanted by the story. Edith could have been me as a child: a natural liar, fearful, pouting, charming. She was an utterly believable child. And the photographs looked so real that I had to marvel at them. We sought out other Edith books, and bought the first in the series, The Lonely Doll, for Christmas.

On that shopping expedition, I found a book I couldn’t afford at the time. Called The Secret Life of the Lonely Doll, it was a biography of the enigmatic photographer who captured the story of Edith and her bear companions. I finally read it this weekend. I was blown away by Dare Wright and her life’s story. It was not a happy life, but it shared something with the lives of other women I have admired, and I found it inspiring.

Dare, like my heroes Tasha Tudor, Georgia O’Keefe and Frida Kahlo (of course Frida, and always Frida!), crafted a world that supplemented her own specially grown identity. She spent her lifetime carefully pruning her self to make a creature as desirable and as adorable as a doll, and she tweaked her surroundings to support that fantasy creation. And while that eventually led to her own miserable ending, I can’t help but admire the achievement. What strength of will to change the world to suit yourself!

Side note: I began painting yesterday and could do no wrong. Today, I practically butchered the damn thing. Why, why are hands so hard?

Loose thoughts

Not a good day to generate a real post. Fiona has a cold and I have brain scramble. I start a project, forget it, remind myself about it, forget it again. I did manage to get my beebalm planted and mix up some homemade cereal. It smells good, but so far tastes bland.

I'm trying to get back into my old writing project, but the going is rough. The old computer ate about 8 chapters (the best ones, of course), and since I haven't done any writing in about a year, I am rusty as all fong. It hurts to be this lame again.

Well, that's it. Sort of a jive first post, but what the heck. At least it leaves the door open for improvement!

Back in the Saddle Again

Wow. After a whole year, I'm back in the Internet business, and ready to get going on some serious Blogger butt. Sniff. I've missed it.

Oozing pustules and Sugary snacks!

So I learned the hard way that strep throat can actually happen to me. I was under the impression it only happen to other people, people who go to doctors and put up a fuss about stuff like a sore throat. You know, chumps. I finally caved when the glands under my tongue were so large speaking and breathing were difficult, and the nastly white spots on my tonsils were oozing green pus down my throat. It is horrible to choke on your own ooze.

Anyway, after being dosed with foul antibiotics (my guts are soooo miserable right now), I felt up to the big trip South, and am posting from my mom's house. We have already had doughnuts, and are prepping for a trip to Pie Heaven. I have so missed home!

A Stable Internet Connection

Finally! I can get on-line! I will try to make it a weekly post.

The last few months, I've been painting a lot, dabbling in writing (essays and philosophical thought, primarily) and helping my sister with her laundry. That's how I keep the kid in diapers: I help my extended family with household chores. It's a living! I'm thinking about taking up palm reading on the side. Sure, it's just a step above pan-handling, but I REALLY need to make my September student loan payment.

greensnot

(to the tune of "Greensleeves")
Alas, my nose you do me wrong
to swell and puff discordantly.
To choke me nightly with nasty stuff
and drip down my throat so often.

Green snot was all I sneezed.
Green snot was all I sniffed.
Green snot was everwhere--
oh where is my Vick's Vapor Rub?

Well, tomorrow I move. I won't be posting very frequently for a while, because my sister's house is not internet compatible at this moment. I'll miss blogging a lot!

Wish me luck!

Mugs

Man, whoever invented the mug was such a genius. You've got a smoking hot ceramic vessel of delicious beverage and suddenly you think: how am I going to get this in my mouth? Or heck, even to the table? And then somebody--somebody with vision, somebody with passion and courage--put a handle on the dang thing. Wow. Thank you, whomever you are. You have saved the morning.

A Great Eve

Man, I can't think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve than watching all 3 Matrix movies back-to-back. I mean, Neo and Morpheus and Trinity--they're like family after these years. Family.

Actually, now that I think about it, no. And I'm pretty sure I'm glad about that, too.

random happy thoughts

"Toaster foods" is apparently a new culinary term, encompassing Pop Tarts and toaster strudels and whatever else goes in the slots of joy.

There are 2 grams of fiber in half an ounce of baking chocolate. That's 8% of your daily RDA!

Dudu

Fiona came up with her first toy name yesterday. It was so cute. She named her stuffed dog "Dudu," a combination of "Juju" (her godmother) and "Deedee" (the dog down the street).

She's just the coolest kid!

Have I mentioned recently that my daughter is the single cutest life form on this planet?

Secrets of the master

Okay, so the secret to parenting and the secret to being a writer are one and the same. Lean in close now, I don't want everybody to hear this--it's (furtive glances all around) time to yourself.

Yup, Virginia Woolf was right. You need a room of your own, or if not your own room, then at least a few hours when there's no one around, pestering you, throwing things at you, biting you, hugging you or just plain whining.

She's sleeping! She's really sleeping!

WHOO-DOUBLE-WHOO!!!!

Wow! I love this new template for my blog. It's just so much more ... me!

Many thanks to Jak and Erin (I borrowed some code from her page; she's my blogging role model) for all their coding help.

Now I might design some cool buttons to put on some links, and then tinker and tinker some more. Mwhah-hah-ha-ha!

that skunk!

blogger ate my sidebar and cool picture!!!! the template just ... stopped. it was there last night and now it's gone. i am super irked,

whoo-hoo!

Wow! I love Photobucket! Check out the cool new website medallion on my sidebar--I am now officially a blogger. I have changed my template.

Isn't it funny how one compliment about your hair can change your entire mood?

perspective

I was about to write a ferocious post about rage, because these past few weeks, I have been full of it. Everything makes me angry: my credit history, my wisdom teeth, my general poverty. The sounds the neighbors make. Fiona's sleeping habits. Fiona's temper tantrums. The fact my former boss didn't leap to re-employ me. The fact I have to get a job. My hair. My hair. Losing a hairclip. I am so angry I just want to scream. I want to throw things. I want to go back in time and club the Dean of Students at Pacific U over the head so she couldn't convince me to finish my degree there.

But here was today's horoscope:
The challenges you face aren't insurmountable, but they might seem that way in the beginning. Break your biggest problems down into smaller, more workable components so that you don't feel too overwhelmed as you begin to solve them. Looking at your dilemma from a different perspective can have a favorable outcome as long as you don't get too far off track.

And today's fortune:
You are caught up in trivia.

Sigh. It's true. But it doesn't really make me feel any happier.

In Defense of Christmas

Last night I spent an hour on sites like the Buy Nothing Christmas and Steve the Pro's Anti-Christmas page. And I have to say, I agree with all of it. They're right on about so very much, especially Buy Nothing, which doesn't condemn the season, just its rampant consumerism. But in my heart, I know we need Christmas. Not as Christmas, but as a season of pure holiday. In fact that's what I've started doing: making the entire month of December a holiday.

A month-long holiday? Is that nuts? Well, first of all, I want to suggest celebrating is as a Holy Day (ok, Holy Month). Holy days are about filling yourself with joy and wonder, reaching out for what is good and meaningful. It means looking into the Great Ineffableness and saying "Wow!" and "Thanks!" and "Blessed Be!" And I think I need a whole month of that.

Even as a pagan, who tries to maximize the presence of the sacred in her life and promote her connection to the wowness of the is (I paraphrased that from one of my favorite quotes about geology), I feel like modern life sometimes comes between me and holiness. The government, clocks, cars, microwave ovens, the internet and my daughter's poopy diapers can all spur me into a zone of jittery grumpified contemporary-stuporism (I refuse to say modern, because the modern period, as defined by the beginning of secular humansim, is one of the most hopeful and holy periods of humanity. Unfortunately, two world wars gave it a big-ole kick in the pants). I can get myself back on track, but what I need is an excuse to laugh at that world-view, to eat a lot of chocolate and escape from it.

So I say embrace Christmas. Even if you're not a Christian, throw your arms around it. Pagans were celebrating the same season long before some lousy Pope co-opted it. If you are a Christian, reach out to Christ and his messages. Heck, even if you're not a Christian, reach out to Jesus's messages, because he's one of the best, kindest philosophers of all times--right up there with John Lennon, in fact.

Put some love in your heart. Play with children, because the season is all about our hope for them and the wonderful things they might accomplish. Eat some fruitcake. Sing a silly song out loud. One month of that, and we might all feel more peace and joy.

Odd thoughts

I have to keep wearing a scarf on my head, because if I don't, I will just keep cutting my hair off.

Would it make me a blog-whore if I nominated my site for "Best of Blogs 2004," not because I think my blog is good, but just because I want more people to read it?

Why does my computer drop me off-line just when I've typed the most perfectly worded message begging my old boss for a new job?

Why do our neighbors have the loudest vehicles in the known universe?

So many mysteries, so little time.

fruitcake

okay, there's a reason people make fruitcake in loaves, not muffins: it's too damn easy to eat. Yummmmmmmmmm. These things are supposed to be aging, but they might not last the recommended two weeks.

In the meantime, my little sewing project is okay. The stuffed animal, for secrecy's sake, is super-duper cute. I can't believe I used the sewing machine today and it didn't blow up!

chef baby

We must watch too much of the Food Network. Today I had some vacuum-packed steaks out on the counter to defrost, and Fiona was playing with them. She just kept turning them over and over, saying: "Flip. Flip. Flip." I explained the steaks were for dinner, and she became very excited. When I tried to sit her in her high chair, she insisted on bringing one of the steaks to the table with her. She continued flipping it for a while in between bites, then began drizzling tomato soup over the package. She was very careful to cover the entire surface, and I heard her mumbling: "Good eats."

At least it wasn't "BAM!"

PS: I asked her if she was making a sauce and she said "Ooooh," which is Finnish for "yes." Then she flipped the steak and sauced the other side with equal care. She rubbed her chicken salad into the mess and ate some of it and then left the thing to marinade. Thank goodness it was vacuum sealed! I just washed the package off and put them all in the fridge, far from little fingers.

all i am saying

Well, he was on everyone's minds yesterday, but Erin spoke it well. I wasn't going to write my thoughts about John Lennon, but when I saw Erin's thoughtful post, I remembered the burst of emotion I felt the day before the anniversary, when I kicked off the holiday season with a dose of the John Lennon Collection.

To me, the holidays are about John Lennon. I remember gluing myself to the radio on Christmas, listening to the first half of a 30-hour Beatles-marathon with the volume turned down low enough not to bother my father's Blazer game or my anti-Beatle sister (yeah, there's something wrong with her. She doesn't like the Doors, either). I remember Christmas eve, all alone, playing every Beatle album and Lennon CD I had, reading a British magazine Shayna'd found for me that was a tribute to his life. It was one of the most pure Christmas's ever.

So Tuesday, without thinking, I threw on a CD, ready to plunge into the holiday spirit. Fiona and I were rocking around the kitchen, scrubbing dishes, singing at the top of our lungs. It felt great, until I got to the song "Imagine," and thoughts about our country, our stupid war, our unjust prisons, the globablization and corporatization of the world, and then ... I just ... started bawling. I could only think what would John Lennon think if he was still here? What would he write? What would he do?

And I wonder, sitting here, reading about new money for the intelligence community and Bush's plans for another year, What should I think? What should I write? What can I do? And I worry that instant karma has gotten us, and that this country at least will never give peace a chance.

Happy pecans

My mom made me a pecan pie for my b-day, and it's the funniest pie ever: the crust had a hole in it, and all the custard oozed out underneath it. So the pecans are floating on this sweet bready crust, and then the goo is stuck to the bottom.

Wow! This was a great birthday. I heard from a lot of my friends and all of my family, and everybody was so positive. I'm so lucky! I know the coolest, nicest people in the world!

they say it's my birthday...

so happy birthday to me!!!!

Wow--the big 26! I'm entering my second quarter, the big, responsible one. Do I feel ready for it all? Hmmmn. Mostly I'm just mad because I can't afford to get my wisdom teeth out and my entire mouth hurts. It's really not cool to face the prospect of blackened, rotting hick teeth, but according to my last dentist, that's what I can start to expect soon. Great. As if it's not hard enough to get a date. Or a job.

F*cking oral surfeons and the g*dd*mned insurance companies!!

plymouth rock

So i read the other day that the reason the pilgrims settled on plymouth rock, and not some further area, is that the sailors on the ship were worried that if they didn't turn back pronto, they wouldn't have enough beer to get home.

Oh, and Samuel Adams planned the Boston Tea Party!

Speaking of the BTP, I am preparing for a little tea party on the 16th, in honor of the event.

Important discovery

I learned today you can not recrisp Cinnamon Toast Crunch in the oven. Everything sort of melted into this glossy, greasy goo ... ewwww ...

Actually (crunch, crunch)--it tastes pretty good. Now it's Carmelized Toast Crunch, Wendell's dressed up cousin.

Millstones

Last night we were at Safeway, and Fiona found the dropped coffee beans under the Millstone coffee dispenser. She scooped up a big handful and popped them in her mouth. She was really happy until she choked on them, and then threw up all over herself, me, and the floor.

Yippee! Puke!

Astrology quiz

Okay, so this is dumb, and I don't even know if it will work, but I was happy to take this silly astrology quiz.

You are 87% Sagittarius

How much do you match your zodiac sign?

almost two...

already terrible. anybody want a toddler? she's cute, really.

Thanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving, and today I am thankful for so much. I'm thankful for an extra year with my baby--and I'm thankful to end that year. I'm thankful for all the help and support I've gotten from family and friends and even complete strangers this year; without that support, I wouldn't have been able to make this year work. I've had a wonderful time with Fiona and my family. And I've had enough to eat, and a roof over my head, and those are things I'll never take lightly again. When you don't have them ... it's bad.

So thank you, world. Thank you, good people. Thank you, mom. Thank you, Shayna. Thank you, E-liz and Juju and Kurt and Katie and Erin and Patty and Jennifer. Thank you, sisters. Thank you, Jak. Thank you, State of Oregon and even the whacky federal government. Thank you, planet. Thank you, Goddess. Thank you, God.

Or to put it succinctly:
Rub a dub dub,
Thanks for the Grub.
Yea, God!

Shameless Product Plug

Have you tried the new Kashi "7 in the morning" cereal? It's just like Grapenuts--only on sale at Fred Meyers.

bit lame around here

There was a ton of grocery-shopping on Thursday and a bit of writing yesterday, but by & large, things are lame. Oh, I have been cooking up new book ideas like crazy--had a wonderful notion for a SF novel and then really got a clear vision of the old sorcery/American Revolution story that's been lurking in my brain. I wouldn't be able to pick a project to write on even if I was free too--there's just too much going on upstairs.

Maybe I should cut back on the coffee...

ethiopian harrar

today, i drank the best cup of coffee i have ever consumed. it was ... extraordinary. good body, nice hint of acidity; berry, chocolate and cinnamon overtones. there were none of the distracting off-notes you get in a cup of coffee that send you reaching for the sugar dish. that said, when i added a touch of cream & sugar, the results were awe-inspiring.

all i can say is: thank you, kt!

Joe

Writing has been a little better yesterday and today. But I have to admit I've been sidetracking my own self with coffee.

Yes, I said coffee.

I started thinking about the damn stuff--I read a dumb mystery set in a coffeehouse--and now I've been reading up on it, and it's my new current obsession. I tell you, it's hard to focus on little things like writing when your brain is saturated with roasting, plantations, extraction ... sigh.

See, for me, writing is kind of like burping. It's not something that I'm crazy about or obsessed with, but I can't get by without doing it. I know you're supposed to speak highly of the craft and they say you'll never become a true writer unless it's the most important thing in your whole life. But I don't feel that way about writing. For me, it's not the driving passion of my existence. But then again, things that have been my driving passion have just flickered under the blowing gale of my life, faded out, gone away. Writing, which I'm not passionate about, never leaves me. And I can't stop doing it. No matter what I do, stories jump out of my brain and spin out in long streams of words. It's just what I do.

I've accepted it. I suppose it doesn't sound like much to the Ernest Hemingway/Virginia Woolf school of writing. But it's me! Right now I'm crazy about coffee. But I'm living writing.

downer day

Today was sort of a downer. I feel extremely negative about my book right now--I feel so yucky about the characters, the plot, the setting, the language. Oh yeah, I guess that's pretty much everything about the damn thing. I hope I've learned something about writing, because I'm tempted to call it a learning experience and toss it in a drawer, never to be seen again. And then I'll wait a few years before I even think about writing another word.

Sigh.

It doesn't help that politics suck and my kid is in a hitting-and-biting-mommy phase. Life just feels ... kind of empty right now.

Ragin' 'Roids

I apologise for the grody turn in my blog's tone, but I believe every woman needs to hear about this topic: hemorrhoids. They are one of the most taboo subjects in American conversation (I mean, worse than gay marriage!)--Preparation H is tied with the pregnancy test for most shoplifted item. People don't even want faceless store checkers to know they have hemorrhoids.

But I have message. If you ever have a baby, you will have hemorrhoids.

Now, they tell you that pregnant women sometimes, maybe, might possibly get hemorrhoids, but they will go away. That is a big fat lie. I never got a single one while I was pregnant. It was the six hours I was pushing an object the size of a watermelon out of an orifice the size of a lemon that gave me hemorrhoids. And you know what? Every woman I know got them that way, too!

Today, a year and a half later, they still pop up from time to time. Riding in a car for more than an hour, if I'm wearing pants, will do it to me every time. Remember that six hour flight from DC?

Anyway, I feel strongly that we need to stop treating hemorrhoids like a repellant disease, and start treating them like the minor nuisances they really are. And feel better, fellow sufferers, knowing that one good-looking 25-year old is out of the 'roid closet. =)

yikes

Well, i did a little crying yesterday. What liberal in this country didn't? What person with sense or concern for the future didn't cry? And then today I did a little laughing, reading some great ideas about counting Canadian electoral votes and seceding from the US.

Still, around here, morale is ... okay. I'm pissed off as hell our state could vote for a measure that would essentially end zoning. I'm mad that anybody could vote for an amendment that would enforce exclusionism (that's not the word I want, but you know what I mean--meanness to the LGBT folks I know). But I'm still alive and Fi is alive, and there's always the chance we can move to Canada. Or New Zealand. =)

Halloween

Things are really starting to take off on our Halloween preparations. Today I carved a jack'o'lantern (Fi calls them 'junka's; it is beyond cute), and last night made her a pair of fairy wings. The monkey costume has flopped to due lack of sewing interest--I still have to sew Jak's cloak together. Uggh. Hmmn, would hot glue work? =)

Explosions

Well, the Monster finally left the house. He and I had a little showdown over my disciplinary techniques after he whacked Fiona with one of her toys. I blew up at him; she was already acting really scared around him, and she was really tired and wound up. I can see why he got upset with her (she threw a toy at his head), but come on! Who's the adult? [Actually, my dad mostly acts like a big infant.]

When we were kids, Dad always exploded when we did something bad. He never separated the behavior from the person--just yelled and screamed and flailed. And I remember always feeling on edge around him. Never trusting just what he'd do or what I would do to set him off. And I've never felt truly comfortable around him--or any other man, for that matter. They are untrustworthy. They are scary.

What I know is that I don't want Fiona to grow up with those feelings. I am glad there are men in her life who are not my father.

Wedding

Kurt and Juju's wedding was amazing. She looked so beautiful! He looked so handsome! They both spoke beautifully and filled our hearts with hope for the beauty of love.

Needless to say, I've been a complete sucker for romance the last few days. I've been emailing the old Chump, who might come for a visit, and of course started daydreaming about reconciliation possibilities. I know there's no chance, but once you get in a romantic groove, there's not much you can do to shake it off.

Sigh.

You know, I don't even know I'd want the Chump and I to reconcile. I like being a single parent. I like knowing that I can date anybody I want to, and not worry a second about commitment. Not that I'm dating anybody nowadays. But I could.

On the other hand ... I miss him. I miss the things we used to laugh at, adn I miss how comfortable it was to be with him and how sweet he could be, and probably more than anything else, I miss his cooking. He's the best cook I've ever met.

Damn Kurt and Juju!

trip!

Wow! I'm back from the big wedding adventure!

Stay tuned for updates ... the baby is screaming.

trip!

Wow! I'm back from the big wedding adventure!

Stay tuned for updates ... the baby is screaming.

Yikes

Jesus, I tried on some older pants of mine that were in the rag bag, with the unhappy hope that they would fit. They're cute pants, and I want to have some more pants to wear on this trip, but they were discarded because they were ... too big. And now ... they fit. I was a size eight when I got here (mom's house), and now I'm a 12/14.

That's bad. Really bad. I've got to do something!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Everybody out there, please send me willpower and a dislike for sweets. Thanks.

Brown v Jackson

I had an outstanding realization last night. The two guys on extended basic cable that I spend my drooling time drooling over are ... gasp! ... freakishly similar. I'll do the breakdown to fully explain to continuum of beauty that makes up Alton Brown and Daniel Jackson (as portrayed by Michael Shanks, not the equally h-h-hunky James Spader).

Alton's Physical Cuteness Quotient: blue eyes, glasses, blondish hair, perfectly kissable lower lip.
Daniel Jackson's Cuteness Quotient: blue eyes, glasses, blondish hair, perfectly kissable lower lip, plus rippling biceps.

Alton's Brainiac CQ: Incredible knowledge of food and science.
DJ's Brainiac CQ: Incredible knowledge of history and ancient languages.

Alton's Personality CQ: Ferocious wit and delightful patter, plus silly props.
DJ's Personality CQ: Bumbling manner veils insightful wit, plus fights evil aliens.

Alton's Negative points: Receding hairline.
DJ's Negative points: Nagging suspicion the actor who plays him is a poopy-face.

Wow! They're twins, separated at birth!

Now I just need an atom smasher to combine them and create THE PERFECT MAN. Or mincemeat, one of the two.

Sex and the City

Okay, I'm addicted to "Sex and the City." I never saw it when it ran on HBO, but I love it on TBS (and don't mind the cleaned up versions. I like sex, but come on, who needs soft porn). The clothes, the drama, the friendship--it's all great. Carrie is my hero right now. She and I are wardrobe twins, separated at birth by a fluke of bank accounts. And fat cells. But still, if you want to know what kind of clothes I'm drawn to, just watch an episode of SATC. You'll see the crazy stuff I'm into.

Back in high school, I came up with some amazing combinations--pajama bottoms with body suits; silk shirts with wool shorts *and* leggings; men's hats and boys' blazers. And it usually worked, in my own whacky way. Then I went to college and got more conservative, although not too much more conservative, when I really think about some of the quasi-pirate outfits I pulled off my sophomore year. And then the year before last, when I made the Victorian-style skirt (with petticoat). But my inner fashionista is still champing at the bit. I need ... Gaultier. Fendi. Vintage. Or at least more hats!

Kissing Woolie Bears

Fi is so cute. The last couple of days, we've had great luck finding cool bugs on our walks. And what's really cute is that she wants to kiss them all. You have never seen anything more adorable than a toddler smooching a woolie bear caterpillar.

No, don't worry--I didn't let her lips actually touch it. I think they're poisonous or something.

When Night equals Day

Last night was incredible. Fiona and I went out for a walk around the neighborhood just as the sun was setting. The moon was already up, a perfect half-circle in the sky, and in the west, a peachy stain colored the odd wisp of cloud.

It felt so amazing to stand in the cemetery and watch the sun give way its hold on the world. It hung an extra wistful moment at the brink of the hills, then, in the moment I turned my head to watch Fi scrabble up an uneven step, plunged behind the trees. The moon was suddenly much brighter. All around, the world held its magical breath. And the seasons turned.

Tonight we stepped out for our stroll, the same sunset moment as the day before. But this evening's magic was a different shade of magic. The Crone stood unabashed in the sky, moon-face broader than the night before. Her cold wisdom was evident in the crushed leaves beneath my sandals, and the cruelty of our cat's snatch at a fat, grey mouse. The little animal shrieked with pain and fear as Omega danced around it; then, as we drew near, he snapped the creature up, not trusting us too near his treasure.

My heart shook inside me, aching to save the poor little mouse. But logic stilled my hand. Once bitten by a cat, there isn't much hope for an animal--there's just too much damage. But I felt winter-worn as we picked our way home. I can respect the Crone and her ways, but I do not love her.

A very cool boy

If you want a little inside glimpse of my life, check out my brother's webpage. He's such a groovy dude!

Safe harbor

Erin and I hooked up on Saturday, and when she wrote it up in her blog, it was amazingly touching. It hit a chord in me--that "she understands!" chord. The reasons she came home: they're mine. We came home to find safe harbor.

After years on my own (I started college at 16, and except for a handful of holidays, pretty much stayed out in the world), I felt so worn down. There were the overcomeable difficulties, like troubles with jobs and cramped, dingy apartments, and then there were the deeper scars, like the crippling loss of confidence after quitting music. It was starting to get harder and harder to get over the little slings and arrows of my fate (you know, dumb stuff like losing my boyfriend of 4 years); I was just too emotionally exhausted. And I guess I knew deep down there was no way someone as soggy and miserable as me could possibly do any justice to the sweet baby I was given. So I fled.

It's the best decision I've ever made. Sure, I don't have any money, and I feel like a mooch. But I'm whole again. Happy and confident the way I haven't been since I was in high school. And I've broken away from all the crap I've absorbed out there in the world. I'm writing; I'm living; I'm smiling.

happy reunions

Wow! I just had lunch with one of my oldest friends for the first time in years. It felt good. It wasn't like we were exactly the same people, but we had kept the same old connection. Sometimes when you get together with long-lost pals, you feel horribly uncomfortable. Not this time! Erin and I had a pretty good time.

I hope she feels the same way!

Really bad stuff

So I know it's wrong, but somewhere between July and Now, I've just become incredibly disillusioned with this year's election. Oh sure, I'm still going to vote--I'm not suicidal, after all, and I want to do something to get rid of Bush. But I just don't feel like there's much of a point in getting worked up about politics right now. When the choice is Turkey Ham or Turkey Salami, you just get sad thinking about all the turkey farms out in the world.

Mean Reds

I watched "Breakfast at Tiffany's" a couple nights ago, the first time since I'd read the story, and felt a big surge of disapointment over the ending. I knw it's Hollywood, but the happy ending was so unbelievable. How could Holly Golightly ever settle down with any man? She's not even alive.

The mean reds--what a beautiful term, so eloquent, so evocative--ate Holly alive. She was an empty shell, just clinging to the world for her one last connection: her brother, Fred. With his death, she was cut loose. No man could bring her back from that abyss.

Sorry. This was a bad aside, poorly written, tres lame. But I've been thinking about the mean reds a lot lately. Sometimes they pick me up and swallow me whole. I worry I'll never be able to be a good mom because of them. They unhinge me, untie me from my mind. I hate to see myself swimming in a mean red sea.

But there's no Tiffany's on Oregon coast.

ewww

Just a humorous note. We have a standard desk chair in front of our computer, and the seat is stuffed with foam rubber. If you fart in this chair, is soaks up the smelly gases, releasing them in a revolting explosion when the chair's next user plunks down on the seat. I am frequently the target of this nasty prank.

My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag!

Not a lot

I can't think of much to write about--there's sort of an empty spot in my brain today. I guess it's because we went shopping, so I'm totally off schedule and a little bit drained. Isn't it funny how shopping will do that to you?

What was I shopping for, you ask? Why, shoes, of course. Something to go with the Pleasant Peasant dress I'm wearing for the Pennsylvania Wedding. It actually came the other day, and I had to send it back--much too big. Horrendously, nastily too big. I hope the small size gets here in time!

We found no good shoes (big surprise). I wanted a pair of little China-doll flats, which are easy to find in Portland, but a rare commodity on the coast. I thought maybe some whacky embroidered slippers would do the job, but they didn't even have any at the import store. Fred Meyer didn't even have any of those Isotoner ballet-style slippers. A complete strike out.

So I wasted a whole day on nothing. Well, not entirely nothing. I got a new sweater (orange!), a shiny skirt, and two black shirts. That has to count a little.

I suppose I should try writing, but I might just slob around and read a little. My brain just isn't up to my imaginary world right now.

The Dress

I have vowed not to get too fat for the bridesmaid dress. Operation Diet is in order. It already is bad!

Damn reading, anyway

So last night I was reading a book called "Consuming Kids: The Hostile Takeover of Childhood," by some lady. It was a very insightful examination of marketing for children, and I honestly thought I was having a heart attack as I read it. My chest knotted; breathing was a struggle. My stomach twisted and heaved. Reading her words, I just couldn't see any hope for my child. How could I, a single mother with few resources, hope to shield her from a society bent on turning her into a mindless, heartless drone? A monster?

I thought about throwing all her toys away--at least all the silly ones that talked or sang or squawked. I thought about blowing up our tv. I certainly regretted buying her the "Sesame Street" overalls I'd picked up at the consignment store that afternoon. What was I doing to my baby, teaching her to love Elmo and Big Bird and all those other fuzzy puppets? Sixteen months old, and I have already failed her.

Maybe it's silly to fall into despair, but I honestly can't see any hope for a good life when society works so hard to undo everything good for human beings. The government serves the corporations and the corporations want nothing more than for us to buy, buy, buy--with no concern for our hearts or minds or expanding waist lines.

Damn reading, anyway. If I hadn't read that book, I wouldn't be cursing myself or predicting a new dark age. I'd have my head back in the sand, as I prefer.

Horoscope

Sometimes your horoscope tells you just what you need to hear. Take today's from Excite:
Counter your tendency to rehash the past -- instead, begin your day with a list of your hopes and dreams.... Now take this list in your pocket and refer to it often during the day. Make sure not to lose it. Look for signs that you are manifesting the future you desire.

I read it just before setting out to type this message, and it changed my post for the day. I was going to set out a rather depressing list of all my bad memories of poverty, all those sundry reasons I'm living with my mother (top of the list: a working washer and dryer--try living without one for five years, and you'll know what I mean). But now I think I'd be better off burying those in the back of my mind.

Maybe the future won't be as bad as the past. Maybe this spring, when I return to Portland to earn $$ to pay my wretched student loans, I won't have to live in poverty and stinking laundry and stomach-grinding fear. At least I'll hope so today.

Learning to fly

Okay, that's a cheesy title, but I loved the Rocky reference. Blame the cheese on my lunch (pizza) and the rust in my brain. This sick momma/sick baby business is for the birds.

Today's post will not wax philosophical, metaphorical or political. Instead, I'm discussing a topic large in my mind: house keeping. You see, after all my mother's grousing and back-spearing comments, I'm turning myself around--originally as a way to say "nyah-nyah!" to her, but now for my own edification. My lovely sister (the perfect one) turned me on to Flylady, and now I'm hooked.

I don't jibe with all the Flylady's notions--nobody is going to get me to put on shoes first thing in the morning--but she is very encouraging and just plain smart. Her ideas make house keeping fun and easier. I've loved Martha Stewart for years, but she couldn't get me to organized, and no wonder: she has three houses to stash all of her crap. Flylady understands how yucky life can be when you've stashed too much in your little two-bedroom.

Anyway, besides wrestling a feverish toddler, that's what I'm been doing. Cleaning house.

uggh

We are all sick here. Yesterday Fi was really unwell, with a bad fever, and now I am yucky. Ugggh. Pray for better news some other day.

i have tons to write, but it will have to wait.

Blog clog

Man, I've been trying to cook up a really great entry about how inspired I've been since reading "On Writing," but unfortunately, trying to be really great is a certain death blow for me. Just thinking those words--really great--ices up my fingers and turns my toes frostbite-green.

Yes, frostbite is green. My mother suffers from some post-frostbite circulatory disorder (like Reynaud's syndrome, I think), and when her fingers/toes get cold, her skin turns the nastiest green imaginable. It is actually the same olive-gray color as a corpse.

I know this because we went to the wrong funeral home. When I was a freshman in college, I took a class called "Death and Dying." The prof was about to retire in order to focus on his own literary work, and this was his last foray into morbidity. (He had actually broken new ground in the field--our school was the first to offer a class on D-&-D, which is now a common topic. But then, the man used to keep a coffin in his office and give out extra credit points to anyone willing to shut themselves inside.) Every year, the class organized a field trip to a nearby mortuary to experience first-hand the preparation which goes into a person's last party.

Our class screwed up. The girl in charge called the new funeral home, the one three blocks away from campus, not one. These people were educators in their field, eager to share their knowledge. They showed us every aspect of their work, from the emergency refrigerators in the basement to the frilly chapel. They showed us the cardboard boxes used to take bodies to the crematorium (Yes, you have to be in some kind of coffin to be burned. It's a law. But cardboard is okay for the uberfrugal). And we even got to see the embalmed bodies waiting for the makeup artist's touch, perched on beautician's reclining chairs.

One body--heavy-set and large--sat under a sheet, like a man relaxing at the barber's office before a shave. He hadn't made it through the embalming process yet, and the staff thought we might find him disturbing. (Although if the detailed description of how they suck out blood and replace it with toxic chemicals didn't bother us, I don't see how an ordinary dead guy would really shake us up.)

Anyway, what we could see of him was gray-green. Like my mother's hands, like my own, clenched on the keyboard in the desparate attempt to type something REALLY GREAT.

I'll settle for a tangent.

On Writing

So I noticed Erin was reading a Stephen King book called "On Writing." I'd never heard of it, but it piqued my interest. I'm on a big writers-on-writing reading jag. I started it 2 days ago, and let me tell you, it's amazing!

okay, i finished "O.W." and it is terrific. the awesomest book ever. i want it for xmas. i intended to write a great blog about it, but instead of writing a great blog entry, I've just had this one sitting around in the draft pile for about a week.

Sometimes you put too much pressure on your brain to be brilliant, and it spazzes out.

PS: I made plum jam last night, and not only was it delicious, all the jars sealed. I feel like a domestic *goddess*.

Inspirational Ladies

Just a quick note here. Gotta get back to work on THE BOOK. Lately I have been reading some great webpages by my favorite authors, soaking up some of their great wit and wisdom. Or something like that. Anyway, here are a couple and the lowdown on what makes them rock:

Jane Yolen: This is particularly good because she has a cool weblog, and also because there's a photograph of her on the site where she looks like my college writing professor (who made a huge difference in my writing and thus, my life). Jane is so awesome. I remember reading her stuff when I was just starting to read, shortly after the miracle-reading-breakthrough-of-second-grade. Her book, "Heart's Blood," rocked my world. The cartoon wasn't so hot, though ... Anyway, Jane is full of brilliant words and is really one of my personal heroes. Rock on, Jane!


Rowling Rock--sorry for the pun. No, J.K., the woman who brought us Harry Potter is tres cool (much better than the beer I just punned). This webpage discusses a bit of the logic behind the writing and editing process--it's very intriguing and helpful for those just starting to get a handle on character management and story development.

Cecilia Dart-Thornton is a brilliant writer, and her work inspired me to take a bold change of direction in my own stuff. The world she creates is just ... amazing. Even her webpage is breathtaking!

Tamora Pierce was the woman who made me a writer--damn her hide, anyway! Her book Alanna was the first fantasy novel I ever read, and also the first book where the point of view shifted between two characters. It about knocked me on my *ass*! But after that, I paid attention to the tools the author used in a story--not bad for a six-year old.

Well, to steal one of JY's ideas, it is now time for some BIC time: BUTT IN CHAIR time. She is so brilliant!

Discipline

I don't believe the word "discipline" is used properly when it is a verb. It suggests uptight schoolmasters and wooden paddles. Chew-spattered Southern baptists taking their children out back, shouting "I'll larn ya!" followed by the crisp sounds of leather on flesh.

Discipline should be a noun. It's a state of being, an achievement wherein one restricts the behavior into focused, functional activities. It's what happens when you learn to restrain all those beasty impulses and become civilized. Discipline should be the gift you offer your children and slowly teach them to appreciate.

My sister uses the word "discipine" every time she sees me and my unruly child. admittedly, this has only happened once. So far. She offers me suggestions on the phone, and has offered to buy me copies of the books she has found useful as a parent. They all sound hideous, with titles like "Think Space," or "The Dog-Trainer's Guide to Raising Children." I don't want to raise my child like a dog, even if she does need it!

My sister comes to visit tomorrow. I'm petrified.

Losing the Color Smog

I realized last night that there really was a reason for all my foolish depressive drooping this weak, and that I'd been blocking it from my head like an idiot. Or maybe I was just too wrapped up in Fiona and plans for the October trip and Crystal's wedding and writing and fighting with my brother, and oh, a thousand other things I'd rather think about. But there I was, laying in the darkness while Fi struggled against sleep, and it hit me: Smog is leaving me this week. I'm losing my best friend.

Best friend is an understatement. We met through our sorority, a nominal sisterhood with ties as strong as blood (that sounds dramatic, but watch a group of elderly women at a college reunion, and you'll see what I mean). We were roommates for 6 years, and in that time period, we took most of the same classes, and then upon graduation from school, worked forthe same company. We shared a library card. We watched most of the same movies and read most of the same books--if one of us saw/read something without the other and liked it, we shared it with the other one. We had the same friends. We spoke in unison. At work, we emailed each other over 30 times a day to exchange ideas and thoughts about customers and co-workers. We shared holidays with each other's families. We had the same haircuts, the same glasses (not exactly, but near enough to creep us out--and it was unintentional!). People called us twins.

We have the basically the same ethnic background (Germans from eastern Washington), and shared academic interests (music, living history, literature). Because we started in similiar places, and filled our lives with all the same details, we shared one world. One world for two people. And it was cool, because we understood each other effortlessly; we each knew just how the other person would react to any scenario; we knew just how to make each other happy. We could also exclude everybody else, who didn't know our little language and who couldn't take part in our universe.

Sometimes I was desperate to get away from Smog. It was hard to create an identity for myself within our little world, and it was hard behave sanely within such a closed circuit. And then I had Fi, and I was thrown out of my tiny universe into a much smaller one that only occasionally intersected with anyone else's. But Smog was there with us a lot of the time. The connection--the shared world--still existed. We just had to schedule visits to it.

But now she's crossing the country to start her new life, and she'll meet a ton of new people and learn a ton of new stuff. It's wonderful. I've been so excited for her, and happy for myself, too. I knew we were separating into our own special selves, and it seems right. We'll always be friends--we're certain of it. There's no way we'll let ourselves completely drift apart. It's only our planet that will crumble.

Without the constant reinforcement of shared experiences--one cast, one crew, one setting--there's no way our little world can maintain its borders. It's already mostly gone; I just hadn't checked before. The landmarks we built together are no more than nostalgic memories. Palio, Caswell, Cactus Club, Papa Haydn, Arco; Todd, Charles, the funny man at Laurelhurst, Mr. White Keys; little cookies, breakfast ring, lemon bars, taco night with the Anderson's. The Flys, Soul Coughing, and ever and always the American Girls. They fade away like smoke after closing time, leaving only the faint whiff of history behind them.

Well, every band breaks up. They leave their old albums behind them and go forward to create something new, something more meaningful to their artistic vision. But their legacy lives on in our CD collections and our hearts. So I'll throw on the Glory Daze soundtrack and think of the times we've spent together, my best friend and I. We were the best band of all time, black and white keys on the same keyboard.

Good luck and love, Smoggi.