When you squeeze an orange, orange juice comes out - because that's what's inside. - Wayne Dwyer

I’ve been reading Ayun Halliday’s The Big Rumpus: A Mother’s Tales from the Trenches. I read it before when Primo was small, but decided to reread because that’s about where my brain is right now. (This morning, I put the OJ carton in the glass cupboard and the full glasses in the fridge rather than on the table.) She writes a zine called The East Village Inky – I wish there were some back issues available on her website, but there aren’t. However, she has a few essays on the site, including this one on Powell’s. And this review for her book No Touch Monkey: And Other Travel Lessons Learned Too Late from Stephen Colbert of “The Daily Show:” "I laughed hard on nearly every page of this shockingly intimate travel memoir and deeply funny book." I had to do an ILL to get my hands on this and her other, newish, book, Job Hopper: The Checkered Career of a Down-Market Dilettante.

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I was pleased to discover other original author essays on the Powell’s website; especially Audrey Niffenegger who I think is a wonderful writer. Gina, there’s a Chris Crutcher and a Meg Wolitzer for you.

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A Death in the Family, by James Agee; I don’t know anything about it but came across the title in Ayun Halliday’s essay and now want to read it. Because my list of books to read and pile waiting to be read are not long or large enough. I got a couple Rachel Cusks at the library on Saturday, but can’t get into them. They read like weird, modern, badly-written, and stilted Jane Austen. How’s that for a bizarre description? But it’s the best I can do. Gina gave me her copy of Diary of a Provincial Lady which I will read after Big Rumpus. I also got Forrest Gump; rumor has it the book is better than the movie. Not that I’ve seen the movie (I know. I haven’t seen “Pulp Fiction” or “The Matrix” either. So sue me.) A book called The Leopard Hat, Kate Atkinson’s Human Croquet (her book Behind the Scenes at the Museum is a favorite), and Eve Adams’ Garden of Eden complete the list of checked-out books. Now if I can just stay awake long enough to read any of them.

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Snippets:

Starbucks peppermint mocha – go get one. They are wonderful. That’s what I’ll be wasting my three bucks on on my work days for the next few weeks.

November 30 – last day of street cleaning. So I can stop jockeying my car from one side of the street to the other in this ridiculous charade that the city actually has funds to waste on street cleaning -- which doesn’t really clean the streets. What we need is those old-fashioned chain gangs with those sticks with pointy ends, to walk around and clean up.

OK, any parent has considered - however briefly - the old whiskey remedy for a wailng baby (even if only some of us admit it); but I don’t know of any modern parent who’s actually ever done it. Until now. Sick. This gave me the same sinking feeling in my stomach that the laundry bag scene in Richartd Russo’s Empire Falls gave me – pure helplessness and despair in the face of parents’ stupidity and cruelty.

I think I am getting this baby doll for Segundo for Christmas. Thanks for the advice, Carolyn! It’s a far sight prettier than Mimi!!

This Princess Dora doll is so wrong, in my mind it completely defeats the purpose of the smart, independent, strong Dora persona. But then, what do I know? I played with Barbies.

Winter is nature's way of saying, "Up yours." ~Robert Byrne

This tidbit about yet another benefit of long-term breastfeeding comes at exactly the right time – today is my first day back to work after my seven weeks’ maternity leave. Granted, it’s only 16 hours a week, but the pump was debuted (or re-re-debuted?). Have I mentioned how much I loathe the pump? It hulks under my desk, leering at me, waiting for me to take it out and plug it in every two hours. Evil thing. (Good thing I don’t feel that way about the baby, eh?)

Notice I am not especially stressed about leaving the boys. I am fairly certain that they are in better hands with the babysitter than they are with me. She’s a heck of a lot more patient, if nothing else. And she probably won’t yell at them for rhythmically kicking the filing cabinet while they lie on the floor coloring, or for painting on the table with their yogurt spoon, or any number of other innocent acts that send my OCD tendencies into orbit.

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Gina is sick. Everyone send health vibes her way. No one should have to feel like there’s broken glass in their throat. Least of all Gina. Get better, dear! (So we can have lunch when I work next Tuesday : ))

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Re: The New York Times 100 Notable Books list – even Jessa Crispin of Bookslut said that she’d read only four of them. If she has only read four, then I am home free. And she mentions that some of the books she thought would make the list did not – specifically, Voices from Chernobyl which was one of the most devastating and enlightening books I have ever read. Now, however, we have the Christian Science Monitor list…. this list is more like it. I’ve never understood why the Christian Science Monitor is considered a reliable source for book reviews. Although I understand it is. Here is what I found out: http://www.csmonitor.com/aboutus/about_the_monitor.html. I sorta was under the misapprehension that it was like having the Mormons publish book reviews (they panned Under the Banner of Heaven and everything by Augusten Burroughs) or the Baptists (they panned everything except The Rainbow Fish.)

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OK, I like Nabokov. He was an amazing writer. Reading Lolita was a life-changing experience. If he willed for an unfinished manuscript of his to be destroyed, I trust him. Destroy it.

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I left the house without my camera this morning. On purpose. I feel as if I left a limb at home. Because there’s this student standing here in front of me wearing a hideous bronze-colored T-shirt two sizes too small, black culottes, and Uggs. I want to photograph her atrocious outfit and share it with the blog masses. There have been many other things I wished to photograph – is it illegal to take people’s pictures without their knowledge? - and I just can’t bring myself to bring the camera to work and take the photos. I feel like it’s unethical and not very productive. And maybe sort of embarrassing. But oh, some of the things I have seen today…do people not look in the mirror before they leave their dorm rooms? Kids today…

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I explained to Primo the meaning of “penultimate” yesterday, walking up to the coffee shop. It was in context, people! I fear for my ego when he is older. He’s scary enough now. Thank God his father was a math major in college, so I never have to tread the dark, scary path of calculus with that child. I failed calculus. I loved it, but it was like a giant puzzle that I COULD NOT SOLVE. And he will probably be solving differential equations by fourth grade. (Do you solve differential equations? See what I mean?)

Two Funny Things

This is from Bookslut:

A newly-revealed letter by author CS Lewis has shown he opposed the idea of a screen version of his Narnia books, now adapted for a major film.

You don't even want to know what Jesus thought about The Passion of the Christ.

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And this is from my mom (who's a nurse and actually heard this from a doctor):

Q: What's the difference between God and a doctor?
A: God knows he's not a doctor.

Man has turned his back on silence. - Jean Arp

Terzo is two months old yesterday, as of 3:57 p.m.
(Unfortunately this photo was taken AFTER we'd removed his black AC/DC tank top, due to extreme spit-up.)

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Happy (Actual) Birthday to Sarah Louise! (She’s been celebrating for a week now, but today is the day!)

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Camille Peri has a thoughtful article on Salon today, about her teenaged son’s bid to be a gangsta. I am completely engrossed. Go read it.

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Carson Kressley, of “Queer Eye” renown, has a children’s book coming out, just in time for Christmas shopping - You’re Different and That’s Super! I thought this was a joke at first – it is NOT. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, yes, but the book exists and is really, seriously, titled that.

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Joke, I have found a perfect Christmas gift for you: Apocalypse Chow: How to Eat Well When the Power Goes Out.

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I spotted the review for this book in yesterday’s paper, and thought it was for Jonathan Harr’s new book, also about a painter. This guy’s name is Jonathan Santlofer, and the book is called The Killing Art, its main character a former police detective turned art historian. His first book is called The Death Artist and it looks like fun. I could use a nice fluffy mystery right now.

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I don’t know quite what I expected from the New York Times’ 100 Notable Books of the Year list, but I think I expected more than this. Maybe some thoughtful reviews or comments, not just a rehash of the bestseller lists.

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Movie esoterica:
- “The Last Temptation of Christ” was directed by Martin Scorcese. I hate when I am wrong.
- I think Paul Rudd is a cutie.
- Brittany Murphy does NOT look like she did in “Clueless” anymore, more’s the pity.
- And Donald Faison is Turk in “Scrubs,” which is why he looked so darn familiar!
- I’ve never seen "Two for the Road", but since it stars my favorite actress Audrey Hepburn and a surprisingly cute young Albert Finney, the situation must be remedied.

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I saw this movie, “Noise,” at the library yesterday and considered borrowing it for Dan. The premise is that a young woman is being driven batty by her very loud neighbor. Of course, I am relatively certain that it ends with at least one bloody, psychopathic homicide, so perhaps it's better just not to plant the seed...

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Pittsburgh can boast of a Rhodes Scholar this year. Justin Chalker, from the University of Pittsburgh, was one of 32 selected scholars, from a pool of 903 applicants. He is the fourth ever from Pitt. Pretty cool.

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Yes, the child takes after me, in good ways as well as bad. Scattered around him are the secondhand books friends of ours gave Primo last night – Magic Treehouse books, Danny and the Dinosaur, Boxcar Children; books Terry’s now-teenaged sons had long ago outgrown. Primo could not believe his good fortune. At nine this morning, he still had not dressed or eaten breakfast; he sat on his bedroom floor, surrounded by his new treasures, and read Midnight on the Moon.

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I got to take a nice long walk yesterday with Terzo; here I inflict you with mercifully-unPhotoshopped snapshots of various trees, leaves, and dead plants, ‘cause, um, they interested ME. You will yet live to regret my ever having purchased a digital camera.

Is it Still Procrastinating . . .

. . . if you're doing something that needs to be done for Christmas, rather than doing school work? This is the first knitting project I've ever completed. It's not perfect, but I think the friend I've made it for will appreciate it.



Can you tell that it's a scarf? It's chenille, I think, and surprisingly heavy. It's about four and a half feet long, and wraps fairly nicely. Next time I think I won't make it quite so wide, so it can be a little longer.

Anyway, hooray for me! :-)

There is unrest in the forest, There is trouble with the trees...

"I'm not an owl!" - Hermione Granger

I began my Christmas shopping Friday. No, I am not one of those getting-up-at-6-am-to-shop crazies, although I was up at 6 am to feed the baby. But it occurs to me that Primo’s birthday is in two weeks and Christmas is in a month and I should immediately begin trolling the Internet for appropriate gifts. Especially since said baby is being held nonstop by his adoring uncle who is in town for 36 hours.

In the spirit of true romance, the digital camera was Dan’s and my Xmas gift to each other – never mind that the poor man has not even been able to get his hands on it since it came.

He plaintively mentioned he needs slippers, since our house is old and cold and due to the high cost of heating this winter, we have the thermostat set at some insanely frigid temperature. (I also might mention that, due to his neuroses, he refuses to turn the heat *on* when he’s home because the noise of the boilers bothers him.) At any rate, I have icicles hanging off my nose and earlobes as I type. So, slippers: I am buying him boring old grey corduroy moccasin-type slippers, with a rubber sole. But check these out: Brightfeet lighted slippers. Pure genius!

I am going to get this photo enlarged and framed for him. I of course know already where it will be hung but still it is ostensibly a gift for him.


Primo wants an “electric guitar with real strings.” His electric guitar is a little old plastic thing I bought at the Red White and Blue for two bucks two years ago. Dan thought he meant he wanted a real guitar and so therefore pompously pronounced that “any child of mine will learn to play on an acoustic guitar.” I patiently explained that Primo wants a TOY - he wants something he can strum and play as he pretends to be John Lennon or Jeff Tweedy or Joe Strummer. He’ll start piano lessons in kindergarten and guitar lessons when he’s a bit older, but for now, he just wants a TOY guitar with strings. Thank God women pay attention to their children.

I am however ignoring the request for a telescope this year, since even a toy telescope would run into the hundred-dollar range. But I will give him The Child’s Introduction to the Night Sky.

The baby is easy – he’ll get a few books to gnaw on and a Teletubbie, probably Lala, as Primo has Tinky-Winky and Segundo is a Po fan.

Segundo is a little tougher, mostly because I know whatever I get him, Primo will want. But I have some puzzles lined up for him, because he is a puzzle whiz. And this cool art book, Nature’s Art Box, with projects we can do together while Primo is in preschool. And some sort of sport-y equipment since he is my bruiser/athlete. Or maybe some Lincoln Logs. Buying for the second is harder because the first already has received many of the things the second would like anyway. Ergh. It might get easier when he gets older and they develop more disparate tastes.

Most of the Thomas the Tank Engine paraphernalia is being taken care of by the boys’ very generous aunts and uncles, who are buying them like a gazillion engines. And I don’t want to buy them any of the sets other than tracks and some signals, since they use their Legos and blocks and TinkerToys to build the water tower and the roundhouse and the big, big bridge now and I’d like to encourage that creativity. Also because have I mentioned that all our money is being used to pay heating bills this winter, and one of those Thomas sets could cover our gas bill for a month or two.

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Finished Prime. I liked it, as I said, because of the parts about G-Man. But the ending, similar to Liquor’s ending, was contrived and predictable. Still, I’ll read the next Rickey and G-Man book.

Also finished The Penderwicks - a pleasant little book but, really, worthy of the National Book Award? I’m not so sure. I will still look forward to more, especially about Batty, the youngest Penderwick who is charming and quirky.

I started Douglas Adams’ Last Chance to See then. It’s amusing in a chuckle, chuckle – Bill Bryson-y sort of way, but for whatever reason I was expecting laugh-out-loud funny (even though his other books aren’t really laugh-out-loud, either). Maybe it’ll pick up though, I am only in the first chapter. I am conscious of Adams *trying* to be funny, though, which can be the kiss of death.

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I saw “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” last night. My impressions, in no particular order, and subject to change:

• The first half of the movie was so concentrated on special effects that the dialogue and characters suffered, but it got better about halfway through.
• Although I must admit that most of the special effects were very cool – I especially liked the Yule Ball scene, and the underwater scenes.
  
• The actor who played Cedric Diggory was gorgeous.
  
• Ralph Fiennes was PERFECT as Voldemort.
  
• Ron Weasley’s droopy-mouthed, snivelly-nosed, long-haired whinyness just GRATED on me.
  
• Hermione gets prettier and prettier every movie. While I didn’t particularly love her Yule Ball gown, she looked wonderful in it. And her little giggle of pleasure and anticipation just before Viktor Krum leads her into the Yule Ball was spot-on.
  
• I loved Viktor’s transformation into a shark for the Black Lake scene.
  
• Viktor was cast all wrong – he should be dark and mysterious, not some bullet-headed thug. I never got the impression from the book that Viktor was dumb, and that’s exactly what impression the movie tried to give.
  
• Loved the French girls’ costumes, hated the Bulgarians’.
  
• I had a brief moment where I thought they’d implied that Fleur was a lesbian, until I remembered that her prize at the bottom of the lake was her little sister.
  
• I hated Rita Skeeter.
  
• I adore Severus Snape.
  
• My other movie option last evening was “Pride and Prejudice,” in which Alan Rickman plays Mr. Bennett. So either way, I couldn’t lose.
  
• What was up with that bizarre torture cage thing that Barty Crouch Jr was held in during the Pensieve scene? How very Inquisitional. All those spells and the best you can do is an Iron Maiden? And when Crouch tries to run, Mad-Eye is the only one who uses MAGIC to stop him – the rest of the wizards try to tackle him. Play to your strengths, people.
  
• I adore Neville Longbottom too. I foresee great things for him.
  
• That band – at the Yule ball – parts of Radiohead. I kid you not.
  From the Amazon CD review: …with three songs by the Weird Sisters, the group that performs at Hogwarts' Yule Ball. Led by Pulp frontman Jarvis Cocker, the ad hoc band also includes members of Radiohead [Jonny Greenwood, guitar; Phil Selway, drums -bb] and Cocker's side project Relaxed Muscle.
  
• If the rest of the movie’s music had been anything like the song that played through the end credits, we’d have been in trouble. It was AWFUL.
• I want Richard Harris back!
  
• I liked the idea that Mad-Eye’s eye was this cool camera-type thingey, but did it have to look so dumb? A reviewer compared it, rightly so, to Marty Feldman’s eye in “Young Frankenstein,” and I found myself wanting to say, “Hump? What hump?”
  
• Will Harry develop some gumption in the next movie? I hope so. For all his supposed wizardly skill, he is sort of gormless. He seems to be shaping up to be the milquetoast Christ-figure, and I don't like it. You figure JC must have had some serious gumption to get the Pharisees all riled up - so why can't HP have some too?
  
• And speaking of Christ figures, did anyone else see the preview before HP for the new Superman movie? What's with that? "I sent my only son to earth..." Weird.

I see something special and show it to the camera. - Sam Abell

Primo drew this when he was two-and-a-half, just before Segundo arrived, and I love it. It makes me happy to look at it. It's just about the most evocative portrait of me and my two older boys that I could hope for. It happened to be just good luck that he drew it with black marker on pink paper, making it quite the graphic statement into the bargain.




I love it so much I had it professionally framed and it hangs in my bedroom.

Every once in a while Primo will say, "That's MY drawing and I want it!" but I refuse to give it up.

Friday Show-and-Tell, courtesy of Blackbird

Lo, sifted through the winds that blow, Down comes the soft and silent snow, White petals from the flowers that grow In the cold atmosphere.

Prime is getting better the further I plow into it. It’s turning into more about G-Man who is a character I really like. So I suppose I’ll keep with it after all.

At the same time I am a third of the way thru The Penderwicks. Discussing this with Gina, I noted that it reads very much like the old-fashioned Elizabeth Enright/Melendy books, but then Penderwicks mentions something like the dad’s computer or the make of a car and you realize it is indeed a modern book. Which brings me to this question: what is the opposite of an anachronism? For example - if it were a typical modern-day book and the dad hauled his typewriter everywhere, then the typewriter would be an anachronism, yes? But the computer in the midst of the old-fashionedness – what is the computer?

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On the same train of thought - Gina and I were pleased to find that the meaning of “namesake” goes both ways. Terzo is named after his grandfather, so is his grandfather’s namesake. But turns out that Grandpap is also Terzo’s namesake. Thank God for Webster’s.

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I renewed my library card yesterday. Because we have the “DonorPlus” cards, I wrote a check and got to pick the new card – I stayed with my old fav, the frog. And I now have a keychain card – Segundo lost my keychain with the first one on it ages ago. The boys picked out their own cards, and we selected the old-time photo of Pittsburgh for the husband. And when I got home and found that somehow on my new account there was 24 bucks worth of fines and I called the library, my favorite librarian recognized my voice, fixed it all up, and was so incredibly nice. Is there anything more heartwarming than having your librarian recognize your voice? I am even more enamored of her now than I was before. And I was plenty enamored before, like a teenage girl; I want her to know that I am a librarian, too, see, I might be someone cool to hang out with, see, see? Did you see the cool books I checked out? Don’t you want to be my friend? Don’t you like me? Huh? See?

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Speaking of voices, is there anything more heartrending than a froggy baby? Terzo has lost his voice. He has the croup. (The croup. Why the article? I don’t rightly know.) It’s so pathetic to watch him cry with no sound coming out. And I thought listening to my baby cry was the most awful thing—turns out his NOT crying is oh so much worse.

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Primo asked me today if Bert and Ernie are brothers.

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It’s snowing here, fiercely at the moment.

Here’s the scene from my front porch (Dan has already swept the steps and walk, because that's what men do. I would have left it for aesthetic reasons.):



And here’s another simply because I am obsessed with taking photos of tree branches:

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I am thankful for my three beautiful, insane-making, and funny boys; my husband who, while completely exasperating much of the time, helped me produce said cute kids; my in-laws - always, if nothing else, utterly well-intentioned; my little brother, who is a star in my firmament, and his wife who might be the only woman on earth who deserves him; her parents, who are kind and loving to me and my husband and sons, wholly without any obligation to at all, just because they are wonderful, open-hearted people; even for my older brother who is nuts but I suppose I love him anyway; for Gina – words can’t even begin to describe how or why she puts up with me but boy, I am glad she does, since she makes my life more bearable AND more interesting; for my other friends – Leslie, Lauren, Christina, Sarah Louise, Lannie, among others – who all fill a little part of my heart that no one else can; and for my blogging buddies who are sometimes the only thing standing between me and my running out into the street screaming and tearing my hair out by its roots after a day alone with my children. Oh, and also, for the fact that it is Joke hosting fifty-plus people at his house for Thanksgiving dinner, and not me.

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

Show and Tell--Something Special

It occurs to me that I think many things are pretty special--I snapped pics of most of these things without even going downstairs. I hope I'm not violating the spirit of Blackbird's Youngest's wish when I present you with the following:


This is my mom and dad on their wedding day in August of 1969.


My friend Randy made me this box years ago, and when I opened it I found a note that said, ""Smell me! I'm cedar!"


This is my grandmother, my nephew and Teddy on my parents' back porch this past 4th of July.


My iPod. I hate the ear buds that came with it--they're too big for my petite flower ears--but I love this bit of technology more than almost any other.


I just made these winter curtains for my bedroom. They're courderoy, lined with flannel, and the little flowers make me so very happy.


We've been using this Lego Yoda on a bike to make our own movie.


My first attempt at being crafty without my mother around to coach me. This was probably 1994, and irony was clearly king; I cut all of those ads out of the back of Cosmo. :-)


Teddy's first fingerpainting exerience. He's not going to stand for its hanging in his room much longer, but I'll get away with it while I can.


This needs no explanation.

That's it for now. I might post more things later, because I'm thankful for things, right? And if I'm I'm thankful for it, it's special!

"The buying of more books than one can possibly read is the soul's way of aspiring towards infinity."

My most recent blog discovery, and I fear I am dreadfully behind the rest of you: Fifty Books blog. I requested about five books from the library last night, and it’s all her fault! I am happily engaged in reading her archives now.

I will probably finish Prime but it’s not really about Rickey and G-Man so it’s not all that compelling. I have a pile of books to retrieve from the library today:

• The Penderwicks by Jeanne Birdsall
  
• Forrest Gump by Winston Groom
  
• Last Chance to See by Douglas Adams
  
• The Big Rumpus: A Mother’s Tales from the Trenches by Ayun Halliday. (I also want to read her new one, Job Hopper: The Checkered Career of a Down-Market Dilettante, but the library doesn’t own it yet.)

I am still waiting on Everybody Into the Pool and Diary of a Provincial Lady.

I am buying Audrey Niffenenegger’s Three Incestuous Sisters for myelf later this week.

Primo has discovered Babar. I thought the beginning, in which Babar's mother is shot by the hunter, might upset Primo but he seemed ok with it and is delighted by the rest of the stories. He's also been checking out the Madeline books. And he has informed me that he needs to get more books about the solar system when we go to the library this afternoon.

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I am dreading Thanksgiving. I get overwhelmed with the heat and noise and crowd of my in-laws’ holiday festivities, and generally just need to grit my teeth and get through the next two months. I may be the only person in the world who loves the month of February because all the holiday exertion is finally over.
My older brother is coming into town for this Thanksgiving. His visits used to be a nice thing but not so much now. I feel like he comes here to drink and sleep. I know he says he only really wants to see the boys but I can’t even take him at his word and leave him alone with them because he turns on the TV for them and goes to sleep. He’ll be here for a day and a half, and I have vowed to be nice and easy-going this time, but it’s going to not be fun.

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Segundo loves these little red berries and must pick some every time we go for a walk. (He doesn't wish to eat them, he just thinks they're very pretty ("Pitty, Mama? Pitty?"). And that they *smell* like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.)



Winter is really, finally, here.



I covet this stained glass window from the house on the corner. All of our stained glass was reportedly removed and sold by the owner’s ex-wife before the house went on the market. Thank God she was dissuaded from removing and selling the cherry staircase. Designing and building new stained or leaded glass windows is a task on my restoration list, albeit well under replacing the boilers and painting.



Primo made this “pinch pot” at preschool. I love it. Bring on the clay ashtrays!

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The church that runs Primo’s preschool has a little garden tucked into the nook between the main building and the offices. It has little stone benches and some decorations and it makes me feel peaceful just to look at it.
The rabbit plaque reads, "The finest gift is a portion of thyself."

Your friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you.

It has become quite clear in the past several days that I have a problem, an addiction of a somewhat unsettling nature: I have taken umpteen photos of my kids, of pretty scenes, of interesting objects. I have taken photos of animals at the zoo, objects around my house that please me, quirky little characteristics of houses in the neighborhood. But now…I go to a birthday party, a perfectly normal place to take photos, and indeed take pictures of the birthday girl and her friends attending the party. But I also take photos of THE FOOD - because the plates are pretty and I wish to share this fascinating fact with my blog buddies.
I long for my camera so I can share how I see the world, with people whom I have never physically met. I suppose this is the way people throughout the ages have made and grown friendships, we just happen to be doing it in a huge and anonymous environment. I wonder if any sociologists anywhere have done studies of the phenomenon of the Internet friendship.
Gina knows how I see the world already as she has been my physical, in-person friend for close to ten years [God bless her, I don’t know how she puts up with me sometimes]; I think I present myself fairly truly, don’t I, Gina? How do you think the process of becoming and staying your friend was/is different from whatever process is happening now, with people with whom we are building relationships online?

You see, this is what being awake at 3 a.m. with a hungry baby does to your thought processes.

Here are some of those photos of the food, in case you were wondering.
What they say about me, other than the fact that I am a loony, is that I have a weakness for 1) food, and 2) colorful plates, or maybe just plates in general.
And now YOU know.

I have an existential map. It has 'You are here' written all over it. – Steven Wright

Dan and I attended a fundraising event for the Union Project last night. It was an art opening of sorts, with proceeds from the art sale benefiting the project. Some of the stuff for sale was absolutely gorgeous – I particularly covet the wonderful swirly glass tumblers that I may go back and buy.

The Chamber Orchestra of the Pittsburgh Symphony performed, and they were wonderful. I enjoyed them more than the “real” symphony. The space provided such an intimate and immediate sound and feel to the performance, and the music was more modern. It was a totally unexpected bonus as neither of us had paid any attention to what else was going on at this fundraiser. We had almost just skipped it to go to dinner and I am so glad we didn’t. (We wound up at the Sharp Edge, a local bar/restaurant, for one of their luscious blue cheese burgers after.)

A very pleasant night, although I was at the UP all of five minutes before I wished heartily I had brought my camera. There were so many cool things to show you all – the tumblers I want; the yellow-glazed mugs Dan liked; the deep dusky purple color they painted the sanctuary; the bowls of gummy bears on the buffet table; the construction lights strung all over the ceiling to light the space, that looked cool and trendy, not dorky and unfinished at all as you might expect; the serving china from the old church – white with gold rims and "East End Baptist Church" stamped on it in gold; the same plates, topped by wine glasses holding orange sand and votive candles, surrounded by polished stones and chunks of amber glass as centerpieces.
Oh, how I longed for my camera.

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I finished The Thorn Birds and I did not want it to end. I want more Meggie and Ralph, and especially more Justine! What an epic story. Next up is Poppy Z. Brite’s sequel to Liquor (which I enjoyed very much), Prime. I started it last night (well, this morning at 5 a.m., feeding the baby) and it has the same easy, readable feel as Liquor. I like the characters of Rickey and G-Man even more.

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I am sure you are all aware that the next Harry Potter movie, “Goblet of Fire,” opened Friday. Stephanie Zacharek reviews it on Salon, with such talent that even if I didn’t want to see it anyway, I’d go see it. She’s an amazing writer. [Gina saw it – lucky woman! See her review below.] Every review – including Gina’s – has mentioned Hermione’s Yule Ball dress – I have to see the film if only to get a gander at this dress. But in a way I am sorta feeling like I am kinda over the whole HP thing. I will read the next two books to see what happens, but I am less than entranced anymore. Hmmm.

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I just requested The Penderwicks from the library. Jeanne Birdsall’s book has been compared to Elizabeth Enright’s Melendy books – enough of a recc for me. The fact that it won the National Book Award for young people’s lit is irrelevant after that comparison.

I tried to read Gregory McGuire’s Wicked but just could not get into it. However, my sister-in-law has seen the musical three times and offered me a ticket to the production that comes to town in March. I am going to go see it. Gotta keep an open mind about these things…

Larry David is one of the comedians featured in TBS’s comedy special “Earth to America” Sunday night. It is meant to raise consciousness about global warming, so a good cause, but frankly I would happily listen to David read the phone book. And probably laugh just as hysterically.

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Well, my father-in-law’s birthday cake wound up being chocolate with raspberry filling and chocolate frosting. I am sure it tasted just fine (I had to take the boys home before they got around to having cake last night) but in the 70-plus degree heat of my in-laws' house, half of the cake and filling slid off the cake, off the plate, and tried to escape off the buffet. Thank God my father-in-law appreciates the effort and love that went into its creation and does not care about the aesthetics. (Quite the opposite of my mother-in-law, but since I know this, I can be prepared : ))

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Where is my new, free calendar from the zoo? I need it now. I have events piling up in the new year that must be marked down. I am also obsessed with finding those little clippie things that are magnetized to hold it onto the fridge since the regular magnets are not doing the trick.

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This email came through our neighborhood list this morning:
Can anyone recommend a good house keeper…We would prefer someone who is courteous, pays attention to detail and does a thorough job.
Because a uncouth, inefficient, and sloppy housekeeper is really what most other people prefer? What if s/he’s rude but gets your floors really clean?

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It has come to my attention that the Italian for “third” is terzo. Ok. I was just messing with you, people. Like people who spell perfectly normal names strangely in their attempts to be “different:” Nychole, or Cyndee, or Kaitlynne. Or Madicyn - as if that real name isn’t horrible enough. Henceforth, Terce will be known as Terzo. Or Turtzho, whichever strikes my fancy. This has been a public service announcement.

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I hate my breast pump. That is all.

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This morning Primo and Segundo and I attended a birthday party at the zoo. (Terzo went to the Yale/Harvard fottball telecast with his dad.)I walked all around the zoo and am zonked out, as are the boys. But perhaps the walk cancelled out the birthday cake which was my breakfast. Sigh.

Here’s the birthday crowd.


“I am going to eat YOU.”



Wouldn’t you hate to have to bathe an elephant?



Or shave a baboon?


Although cleaning the shark tank might be fun.

My Show and Tell

Teddy and I took a little walk today, so here are some pics from my parents' house and yard. (I think this is my first Show & Tell!)

This is my dad's red wheel. We have no idea why he likes it so much, but he painted it and set it here. My mother indulges him, so it's been here for years.



Here's Teddy walking away from the wheel, just for a sense of . . . presentation.



These are just some pretty berries.



And now I'm going to eat some pizza.

Blogging in the Sticks

I'm writing from my parents' in Mt. Pleasant, PA. The zip code here here is 15666, which pretty much sums up this place--the town where you can get a varsity letter in drunk driving. (I'm kidding about the letter, but not the zip.)

I'm here because my mother had her gall bladder removed this morning, about 20 years after she was told she needed to have it done. My mom, you see, is a nurse. (And a martyr.) She's one of those medical professionals who will baby and care for and drug everyone in town, but won't lie down or take a Tylenol when something hurts her.

I have my own martyr tendencies, but I'm good friends with drugs and period patches and hot water bottles and Vick's Vapo-Rub. I carry Immodium and Advil and tissues and cough drops and lip balm and a plethora of other pharmacy aids in my purse: I am the lady to look for if something ails you.

Anyway, my mom is fine, and sound asleep in the only upstairs bedroom that has a TV in it. (This way she can be sure to watch Guiding Light live this afternoon, instead of tape on this evening. It's the little things, I guess.)

*****

Once we knew my mom was okay, Teddy and I (yes, I kept him home today because I didn't want to have him stranded at school in case something went wrong with my mom) went to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire at 10am! Huzzah! It was great! You finally, FINALLY start to see the kids as real people in this one. I'm going to credit the director for this, but the main credit has to go to the kids, who are finally learning how to act. And they swear a lot: "Bloody hell," and even a disgusted, "Piss off." Yes! Because kids swear! Imagine!

The movie is long--more than two hours--despite the things that are changed/rearranged/cut from the book. The story isn't damaged by some of these (somewhat major) changes, however, and the movie didn't *feel* long at all. Ted and I both want to go again.

Random things:

I noticed Fred and George Weasly more than usual in this one. They *look* perfect for the part, but they gave off an odd vibe. I kept thinking of a cartoon version of a drugged up Ringo Star, in a (mostly) good way.

Hermione at the Yule Ball=LOVELY. I was so happy for her! :-)

Snape is almost . . . benign in this movie. Alan Rickman nearly smiles in one scene.

Ralph Fiennes does a great job as Voldemort. His voice is perfect.

I cried during the scene in the graveyard and its immediate aftermath. Ted said he felt like he might cry, but he didn't. His knees were literally shaking, though.

The bottom line is that the book is still far superior, but this movie is fun and exciting, and I was sad that it was over.

We saw the trailer for Peter Jackson's King Kong, and GOD! I hadn't given this a second thought when I heard it was being made, but I will see it for sure.

And now I must scare up some lunch.

Red is the ultimate cure for sadness. - Bill Blass

I don’t really like red. I don’t wear it, it washes me out. I don’t gravitate towards it the way I do cobalt blue for my kitchen appliances or greens in clothing to complement my reddish hair or earth tones in home furnishings. But turns out there are many red things I like well enough, or at least notice.


Bertie the bus is the boys’ favorite red object...I despise these pants – sweats should be blue or grey – but Primo insists upon wearing them whenever they are clean...Mix with Bacardi rum and you’ve got one of my favorite things, even topping girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes...Po is Segundo’s favorite red object...We are big Radiohead fans in this house...These are my favorite pens. I have them in blue, black, and red...I purchased this candle from the cooking shop/bakery up the street (home of the butter cream experts). It was 75% off regular price; I paid three bucks...I seem to like red boxes. For soaps and extras toothbrushes and other odds and ends...Some wonderful and red books...I wore this dress for my friend’s wedding, and for my brother’s rehearsal dinner...the tile in the bathroom is one of the retro things I adore about my house...these great earrings were a Christmas gift last year from my brother’s wife, whom I love and I hope she loves me...another red box, for stray photos...my favorite book in life, conveniently bound in red...my globetrotting 84-year-old aunt gave me this matrushka...new eyeglasses – a departure in style for me. My previous pair were tortoiseshell...The Grinch Who Stole Christmas is my favorite Christmas story. “Little Cindy Lou Who, who was no more than two…”...I heart my hot water bottle. It keeps me toasty in the winter and is filled with cold water when I have a migraine...We had our gutters scraped and painted last weekend. We no longer need to fear a giant rainstorm...Segundo’s sparkly party hat, living on one of the computer speakers...Badger’s virtual pet fish Beelzebubbles makes me chuckle. Its name is one of those clever things I wish I had thought of but never could in a gazillion years.

But, hands down, my favorite red objects are these:



Friday Show-and-Tell, courtesy of Blackbird

Totally. Freaking. Speechless.

Really. Am I missing something? Is this supposed to be some kind of toilet training aid? Because if it is, I don't see the point. And if it isn't . . . I still don't see the point.

"The only way that I could figure they could improve upon Coca-Cola, one of life's most delightful elixirs...

"...which studies prove will heal the sick and occasionally raise the dead, is to put rum in it."
- Lewis Grizzard

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You need to check this out. I laughed myself simple(r).
http://www.lileks.com/institute/gallery/index.html.

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Emmy update: I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the cat, but truth be told, I did not have time to go looking for her this morning. Last night, however, she was sleeping on my dirty laundry pile AND she chased my mother-in-law, who for some reason is horribly afraid of cats, up the basement stairs. So I choose to infer from this that she is feeling at least marginally better.

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Other people find their signs in the stars or in their horoscope – I choose to take mine wherever I can get them. I saw two Guinness trucks while driving Segundo to daycare today. The first Guinness truck said, “Guinness: If only everything flowed this smoothly…” and the second one, following on its heels (tires?) said, “Guinness refreshes the spirit.”

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One surefire way to divine what sort of a morning you have had: if you walk into the Starbucks and say, “I’ll have a Bacardi and….um, I mean, a tall skim chai,” it’s probably been a less-than-stellar morning.

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This series of books (reviewed on Salon today) retelling the great myths looks really interesting, especially if they are written by the likes of Margaret Atwood and Donna Tartt. Karen Armstrong, who wrote the fascinating History of God writes the first book in the series, A Short History of Myth, introducing and exploring the concepts of the series to follow. (By the by, the review itself is an interesting read.)

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Gina finds Garrison Keillor insufferable, as do I. Although I wanted to email his story on the food of Thanksgiving to Joke, the gourmand.

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I must own this book, Mommy Knows Worst: Highlights from the Golden Age of Bad Parenting Advice RIGHT NOW.

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Childbirth seems to have destroyed my ability to properly use commas. Sorry.

Don't look so sad, Marina, there's another part to play...save it for a rainy day...

On my way to the vet’s last night, I was actually in a great mood. Dan got home way earlier than expected so I got to leave Terce home too. I stopped and picked up some groceries. I stopped at B&N and spent the gift certificate from my Perfect sister-in-law - I bought Colleen McCullough’s The Ladies of Missalonghi, Poppy Z. Brite’s sequel to Liquor, Prime, and a book about Bombay called Maximum City: Bombay Lost and Found, by Suketa Mehta. So as soon as I finish Thorn Birds, I have stuff to read. ‘Cause, you know, I didn’t before. Nothing just lying around my house, unread. Waiting to be read. Nope. Not me.

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What is it about large expanses of water that make me want to leap in and swim around in circles?



I would like to put some bird feeders up in our yard and then learn about birds that come eat there, but it seems kinda cruel to lure them in only to have Emmy rip their heads off, no? Maybe if she has a splint on, it’ll slow her down for a while, but still…seems heartless. So I just admire neighborhood bird feeders.



The intricate gate caught my eye.


Upon further snooping, I discovered the lovely garden and fountain – in the middle of the city. Cool, huh? The gardening/yard decoration feats around this neighborhood sometimes surprise me but always please me.



Sta’aka. (Read The Sparrow, it’s good.)

the feline debacle continues

I don't even know where to start...

I went to pick up Emmy and here's the first thing -
the bill was 400 dollars! I had *specifically* asked the vet the cost and he'd told me, a hundred and fifty, maybe two hundred. If she needed a cast, another 50.
FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS?
How can an estimate be that wrong?

I paid half of it and today I have to go back to talk to the doc and the office manager.

And then...the nurse giving me discharge instructions tells me Emmy has to be confined to a cage for several weeks. I will have to help her to the litterbox and make sure she gets her painkillers. If I religiously do all this, she will "probably" be just fine. Probably. This is not the cheerful prognosis the vet gave me.

We are talking about a cat who wanted to be outside, running and jumping -- not some docile animal. And if she's not ok -- then what? A lifetime of pain and limited mobility? I may still *have* to put her down, if her injuries don't heal properly.

I so don't know what to do. She is in serious pain. She can barely walk. She ate a little bit but is otherwise just lying there, no spark, nothing. Apparently she hurt badly enough that she just peed all over herself rather than get to the litterbox Saturday (necessitating sooner rather than later ripping out of the bedroom carpet -ewww). She's suffering and I don't know what to do and I feel even worse because I don't particularly like her and I so do not have time to coddle a convalescent cat along with my infant and two children.

She's in PAIN. I always get mad at people who keep their pets alive for their own bebefit; animals can't know why they're in pain. It seems heartless. I don't know what to do.

And Dan is not around at all this week. I have to do whatever it is I am going to do today or tomorrow while I do not have Primo and Segundo with me.

The problem with cats is that they get the exact same look on their face whether they see a moth or an axe-murderer. ~Paula Poundstone

One five-year-old who wants to sit on any body part but the one designed for it; one two-year-old who wants to lie on the floor in the vet’s office and who insists on bringing Mimi everywhere but then wants me to carry her, and who needed a nap an hour ago; one baby who won’t sleep in the car and wants badly to poop and go to sleep but can’t seem to do either; one pissed-off cat jammed in a carrier; one mama heading for a nervous breakdown. I am so having a drink tonight, nursing be damned. Maybe some rum will make the kid sleep.

We left Em at the vet. She needs X-rays. They thought maybe she’d dislocated her hip. Then they thought maybe she cracked her knee. Maybe it’s just a strain. They won’t know without an X-ray, for which they must sedate her. Here’s an idea: screw the cat and sedate me instead. They’ll call before five so I can come pick her up. Yep, load the whole crew back into the car and go get the cat. Stupid cat. Stupid vet. Stupid me.

Update: the cat has a bruised knee and a fractured pelvis. These injuries, probably due to being sideswiped by a car (shame it didn’t finish her off…oops, did I say that out loud?), will heal on their own, given time. She will have trouble with stairs for a while (did I mention the litter box is in the basement?) And I have to get some sort of painkillers from the vet to give her. So in addition to dealing with administering Zantac twice a day, Omnicef antibiotic once a day, and Nyastatin after every feeding, to Terce, my HUMAN infant, I now have to jam PAINKILLERS down my CAT’S throat.

Life is so not fair – I should be the one getting painkillers.

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I cannot read Wickett’s Remedy. I just can’t do it.I tried, I swear. The little annotations must be read, says my OCD, and they are annoying and uninteresting and useless. They disrupt the flow of the story. So there.

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Primo told his preschool teacher this morning that the pilgrims came to America on the “Cauliflower.” He also told her that, while she might think that he was just thankful for her as a teacher, he was thankful for the teachers at his old school too. Yep, he’s a charmer, that one.

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A baby was baptized at church yesterday. I managed to hear most of the ceremony before Terce woke up and I had to carry him out and feed him. It strikes me that the Episcopalian ceremony is incredibly similar to the Catholic one. We discussed baptizing first the baby, and then the two older boys. We realized we need godparents for them. Then I realized I needed to be baptized as well, if it came to that. I am not sure I am that invested yet. We shall see. I wonder if the grandparents will mind that it’s Episcopal instead of Catholic? Will they attend the service? Some of Dan’s family threatened to not come to our wedding because it was in a Methodist church; do the same rules go for christenings? Inquiring minds want to know…

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We call this one “American Gothic.”



What, I can’t hear you, I have a pacifier in my ear!

Catching Up with Gina (Rather than with Depeche Mode)

Exercise! Vigorous! Before work! I feel like a yapping terrier, and I'm not sure when/if the high will wear off. I adjusted my work hours slightly so I can exercise in the morning without having to wake up before the crack of dawn. Yay me!

*****

So Saturday? I was getting ready to go to a party at a friend's that I'd been looking forward to all week. I took a shower, shaved my legs, blah, blah, blah . . . and then I attempted to get dressed. This lead to a combination nervous breakdown/panic attack/pity party. I cried, threw clothes that didn't fit or looked terrible, and generally indulged in childish antics the likes of which I haven't seen since Teddy was two. (Ted was at his dad's, which gave me the freedom to freak out like that. It was kind of nice.)

I put on my fat-lady pajamas, ate some Peppridge Farm cookies, and went to bed with a book. I'm not proud of myself, but it wasn't all for naught. Did you see up there what I did this morning? Cardio and weights! Weights, people!

*****

I finally finished The Alienist, which I liked very much. It reminded me a little of The Silence of the Lambs, especially in certain parts, tied in with an old-timey-Sherlock-Holmes-but-in-New-York sort of feel. That Caleb Carr isn't the handsomest guy in the world, though. The author photo on the book flap made me laugh out loud; the Steve Perry circa "Oh, Sherry" look is a killer, especially when you throw in a resemblance to Stephen King. Wow.

I also read two books for school yesterday, Nory Ryan's Song and Meet Molly: An American Girl. Nory Ryan's Song is set in 1850s Ireland and made me cry. And the American Girl book? As much as I wanted to loath it for its ties to the American Girl Money-Making Machine . . . it wasn't bad. The writing was fine. It was light on actual history, but factual. And considering this is a book for girls in kindergarten or first grade, I won't complain too much about the lightness. In all, it was more than tolerable.

*****

And now, we dance. Okay, no we don't. We work. Or at least I do. For a while.

Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.

Emmy the cat was missing. She didn’t show up to eat or to miaow annoyingly and plaintively to be let out then let in, then out, then in, ad infinitum. I know I am on record as saying I really wouldn’t care if she got hit by a car, but then I started to feel guilty. Is it wrong to love Seppie and not his sister? At any rate, I found her last night around midnight, just late enough to prevent me from doing one single thing until this morning – she was curled up under my bed, where she’d apparently been all day, and she was dragging her right rear leg. It appears to be unbroken, but she can’t put any weight on it. Fortunately, not more than two weeks ago, I asked for vet recommendations on the neighborhood email list and was inundated with responses. So off to the vet we go, hopefully as soon as possible, and I hope it won’t cost too much to fix. I may like my animals but I have no intention of spending hundreds of dollars on this cat. Just so you know. (I have had cats whom I would have spent that much money on, no question. But with three kids, sorry…and keep in mind you’re dealing with the woman who wouldn’t even spring for a an aquarium and bubbler for the goldfish…)

I’ll keep you posted. And let me tell you, if Emmy was miserable and unlovable before, she’s in pain now and is even more so. Seppie has nearly had his head bitten off several times now. I am hoping it’s an easy repair, for her sake and for mine.

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My exercise log per Mistress Mary’s instructions:
Tuesday – walked 1-1/2 miles
Wednesday – walked 1-1/4 miles
Thursday – walked with the boys and played some soccer/kick the ball around the backyard. Also, for God knows what reason, vacuumed all the carpets downstairs and then washed the hardwood floors and two levels of our oak staircase. Trust me, this is exercise; I broke a sweat.
Saturday – walked forty-five minutes, roughly two miles


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My father-in-law’s birthday is Thursday. I am pleased to be making his cake for him. But I have never worked with butter cream icing before, and that’s what I have to use since I am the only family member that prefers whipped cream icing. This ought to be an adventure. I am planning to make a chocolate sheet cake, split it, fill it with strawberry or raspberry cream filling, and ice it with vanilla butter cream icing. (I may even – gasp, heresy – use a cake mix as I do not have a whole lot of luck with chocolate cakes being moist, from scratch. Which is weird since I can bake pretty much anything else with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back.)

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I am reading nothing. I haven’t even picked up The Thorn Birds all weekend. I barely glanced at the newspaper. I am sick (sore throat, hurting ears, runny nose), I’m not sleeping much because Terce is having intestinal issues, and I am facing a week without Dan at home. He has some big, prestigious thingey on at the office, and plans early mornings and late nights every night this week. So I am essentially it this week. Pray for my children : ) Or me. Your pick.

How I long to fall just a little bit, to dance out of the lines and stray from the light...

In a nutshell: I love Dar Williams. It is simply that simple.

But here are the details:

Dar’s opener was a band called Girlyman. Now, I admit, while sitting at the bar next door to the Byham gulping down a Bacardi-and-coke, no lime, I toyed with the idea of having another drink and blowing off the opening act. I am glad I didn’t. Girlyman started off with a kick-ass rendition of Paul Simon’s “Never Been Lonely” and got even more interesting from there.

Girlyman is three people – Doris, who has a pure, clear soprano voice that just gets you in your bones; Nate, who is very funny (I spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out if he was wearing makeup and I am pretty sure he was. It suited his slightly pudgy yet devilish looks); and Ty, who I immediately became entranced with. I do tend to like those androgynous, small, dark girls: Ty (she’s the one on the right), Sarah Siplak playing a man in “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” heck, even the coffeeperson at the local coffee shop, Erin – small, thin, dark, boyish. I suppose if I were to be a lesbian, I’d be the girly one? Funny thing is, I like my men thin and dark, too, but tall. Anyhoo...

Dar opened with her version of “Comfortably Numb.” She did a number of songs from her new album, “My Better Self,” which I bought last night. The song “Beautiful Enemy” is what convinced me to buy it then and there. She sang two of my three favorites – “Mercy of the Fallen” and “Iowa” both of which just ROCKED. Unusually so, as most people are probably familiar with Dar as a folk artist, but she had a full band last night, and both songs just blew me away. She also sang “Alleluia” and “Beauty of the Rain” and “The Babysitter” and a haunting, goosebump-inducing version of “The One Who Knows.”

The crowd was a fairly typical Dar crowd – in other words, lots and lots of lesbians, a smattering of kids. Crunchy folk. And I must say that last night, in one room, was the largest collection of the homeliest people I have ever seen. I am not talking just not gorgeous, or interestingly ugly – I am talking in-your-face plain homeliness. It was astounding for its depth and breadth. Everywhere you turned, there was another. I don’t claim to be a beauty or anything close to it, but wow. Just wow. It was like the Western Pennsylvania Home for Homely People had sponsored a field trip. ("Everybody got their permission slips? Good. Now, everyone got their paper bags? ... oh, damn.")

The Byham is an intimate venue with good acoustics, but there was no dancing. And especially Girlyman required dancing. As usual, it astounded me how out of an entire auditorium of people, I am the only one jiggling and leg-shaking and head-bobbing to the rhythm. Maybe everyone else took their Ritalin before the show.

After the show I skedaddled home to another night of feeding the Terce-monster, and being spit up on more in one night than in the past six weeks combined. Oh, and an incredibly vivid dream involving Thom Yorke, Radiohead on tour, and me.

When I am king, you will be first against the wall.

I love Mimi Smartypants. Today's “Decaf grande products-of-conception mocha!” is wonderful. I spit tea out my nose.

I also particularly enjoyed Sueeeus’s “consumption receptacle” turn of phrase in her show-and-tell. You all are brilliant writers. Or at least you make me laugh. Same thing.

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I would like to direct your attention to our exciting new feature, the photo homage to our lovely Mimi, on the left sidebar. Mimi was mine as a child, I am responsible for her lovely coiffure, and Segundo discovered her during our move last year. It was love at first sight. (Perhaps we should have the boy's eyes checked...)

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I am LOVING Thorn Birds so much that I do not want it to end, although I know where this “Meggie has a son who she absolutely adores more than anyone in the world except his father, who just happens to be a cardinal in the Roman Catholic church” plotline is heading.

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I am rereading old “Brain, Child” mags. Very entertaining. Reassuring to realize I am not the only conflicted mother.

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I dig polar writing. Fiction, nonfiction, doesn’t matter. And not that I have any interest in exploring the Arctic/Antarctic. I just want to sit on my ass here with a hot mug of tea in my hand and read about other people freezing their asses off. This sentence alone from the above site is enough to make me trust this reviewer: “He wrote like a thesaurus suffering an attack of hysterics in an abattoir, but is still thoroughly readable and enjoyable.” Isn’t that just terrific? I mean, how could you not want to read something this person thinks is good? And apparently, for the complete bibliography of Antarctic works, see this web page: http://www.antarctic-circle.org/fauno.htm. Cool. In so many senses of the word. Ha.
What have I read in this realm? Hmm…Andrea Barrett’s The Voyage of the Narwhal. Ice Blink (botulism killed the radio star…erm, Franklin’s expedition). South. Endurance. Of course I also heartily enjoy survival writings like Nathaniel Philbrick’s In the Heart of the Sea and its source material, Owen Chase’s The Wreck of the Whaleship Essex so perhaps I am just hopelessly warped. You decide.

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I am vindicated. Jennifer Aniston does indeed rock! Number Seven, people. (Our diaper backpack, purchased when Primo was on his way, is monogrammed not with our last name or his name, but with “Kid A.” Because he was, after all, Kid A. And it’s a terrific album.)

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Yesterday the boys and I met Sarah Louise at the coffee shop for hot chocolate and donuts – in other words, yes, I fed my boys sugar, sugar, and fat for lunch yesterday.
Because it was Veterans’ Day, the public schools were off, and there were two little girls- maybe nine or ten – sitting in one of the big armchairs, reading. One was reading Judy Blume’s Are You There, God, It’s Me, Margaret, a classic, and I will bet every woman could tell you when she read it – I was thirteen and was NOT supposed to read it.
The other was reading Katherine Paterson’s Bridge to Terabithia, one of my all-time favorite books. I said, “Excuse me, but …you’re reading Bridge to Terabithia…I love that book. I sobbed and sobbed reading it but I love it.” The girl’s eyes lit up. “I love it too. You cried when Leslie dies, right? Me too!” I love that two people twenty-plus years apart in age can bond over a book.

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Phrases I never expected to hear in a Thomas video:
“An angry farmer was telling Mavis just what she could do with her train…”

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Survey from Jess at Garish and Tweed:

First fictional character who made you swoon?
- Nicholas Nickleby, due in great part to Roger Rees in the miniseries - but I did read the book

First fictional character you were SURE you'd meet someday and become friends with?
- Mary Lennox, from The Secret Garden

First book you cried over?
- Bridge to Terabithia

First book you stayed up all night to read?
- Pride and Prejudice

Book you give most often as a gift?
- Ursula Hegi’s Stones from the River

I take the liberty of posting Gina’s answers, from Jess’s comment section:

1. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but Christopher Dollanganger, from Flowers in the Attic. I was *way* too young when I read these books, but OH how I loved him.
2. Harriet the Spy
3. Bridge to Terabithia
4. The Outsiders
5. Naked - David Sedaris

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I see Dar Williams tonight at the Byham. I am so excited! She hasdn't been here since a few months after Primo was born, so...2001. I feel I have been VERY patient...

Find yourself a cup of tea; the teapot is behind you. Now tell me about hundreds of things. ~Saki

This green mug with the yellow stegosauruses (stegosauri?) was a flea market purchase more than 10 years ago. I saw it, I wanted it (like just about everything else at the flea market, I couldn’t articulate exactly why), but at that point in my life I was perpetually broke enough to dissuade myself from spending the dollar. My friend Lauren bought it on the spot and handed it to me. Every time I use it, the cheery colors and the perky dinos make my day just a bit brighter, and I think of Lauren (who now lives way too far away for my taste and whom I don’t see nearly often enough), and thinking of my dear, funny, smart, caring, and wonderful friend also makes me smile.




This mug with its square-ish handle I found when I was clearing out my parents’ house. My dad worked for RCA, but not as anything more exciting than a bookkeeper, so I have no idea what a Trident translator is – I just think the mug is way cool, it reminds me of my long-deceased dad, and I dig the funky handle, the heft of the mug, and its wide mouth.
(My dad had a mug we got him for one Father’s Day - a nice weighty white mug with its printed “#1 Dad” long ago worn all the way off. I wish I had kept it instead of putting it in the Goodwill box when we were getting rid of stuff. Stupid me.)




This dark blue mug we got as some sort of freebie when we renewed our ACLU membership. I like how heavy it is, I like the color, and I like the quote on it:
"The boisterous sea of liberty is never without a wave." - Thomas Jefferson
- it reminds me almost every morning how important it is to develop my social conscience and that working to preserve our rights and civil liberties is necessary. Sort of like how the prayer of St. Francis tucked into the side of my dresser mirror helps remind me everyday to try harder to be a kinder, gentler, more loving person.



But my favorite – for no reason other than it is the perfect size and shape and weight - is my ancient Philadelphia Flyers mug. It does serve to remind me of my South Jersey roots, of which I am proud (have you ever met a Jersey girl who wasn’t *proud* to be a Jersey girl? Bruce sings it for us, you know).

So much for all the sentimentality, it all comes down to which mug holds my tea best, which one comforts me most when I wrap my hands around its soothing, rounded warmth.



Friday Show-and-Tell, courtesy of Blackbird

I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighbourhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets. ~ Longfellow

Houses like these abound in my neighborhood. And they can be had for a (relative) song.



Some of them are in terrific shape; some of them need work. Some of them were carved up into rental units and are being restored to single-family homes.



Some of them were owned by old people who did not have the money or ability to keep them up.



Some of them used to be crack houses. (When my neighbors gutted their first floor, they found spent syringes and crack vials under the floorboards.) We got incredibly lucky, when my year-and-a-half of real estate trolling, greatly taxing my agent’s patience, paid off and we found our big old house – and it was the bargain of the century. It does need work but the infrastructure is pretty solid and it still has most of its original mantels, moldings, and leaded glass, not to mention a fabulous staircase and plenty of bathrooms.

We are within easy walking distance of a beautiful 500-acre city park, with several playgrounds, a public swimming pool, tennis courts, trails, and a reservoir at the top of it all.



The uncovered reservoir is a mile around so if I run up to the park, around the res, and back down, I can get in a healthy workout. The entrance to the park was refurbed this year; it sports a multi-pool fountain, surrounded by benches, and lovely flower beds full of tulips, daffodils, lilies, and other glorious flora spring and summer.



The park backs onto the city zoo - you can sometimes hear the lions roaring, or catch sight of a stray peacock wandering the hills the encircle the park. There are always runners, walkers, cyclists, skaters…sometimes people practicing tai chi…lots of kids and moms.

















Primo’s preschool is half a block away, in the church we have recently started attending. St. Andrew’s is very community-oriented and sponsors all kinds of groups, among them AA, OA, the community council, and Meals on Wheels; in addition to offering various music recitals and lectures open to the public. It’s a lovely old stone church with beautifully-maintained stained glass and woodwork, and a pretty churchyard full of trees and flowers.



The neighborhood coffee shop is one of my favorite places.



We know most of the staff – they give my boys cookies and extra whipped cream on their hot chocolates. I send them a Christmas photo-card of the boys; it is on the shop fridge. The owner is active in the community, hosting debate-watching parties, forums with elected officials, and Q-and-A sessions with political candidates. They maintain a rotating art show featuring mostly local artists; I purchased a delicate and wonderful watercolor gelee print there last year as Dan’s anniversary gift. I am a regular there, and it’s nice to see the other regulars. I run into other moms, friends from school and church, neighbors; it’s easy to strike up conversation with random strangers there – it’s a very friendly place. And the coffee and food are good.

There are funky apartment buildings.



There's a little “main street” with a convenience store, a auto shop, a bakery/cooking store, an Indian restaurant, a pizza place (worst pizza I have ever had, like ketchup on matzoh, but still…), a high-end French restaurant, and a community center type place where I take yoga classes.

There’s a neighborhood listserv, for event announcement, want ads, community awareness, and public safety issues. There’s a house tour every fall, a harvest festival, weekly guided walks on the trails in the park.

The Union Project is the restoration of an old church building smack in the middle of the neighborhood, run by a group of young Mennonites. They offer stained glass restoration classes - a clever way to raise money and get the dozens of original windows rebuilt fairly cheaply, selling Christmas trees at the holidays, hosting several church groups and community organizations. They plan another coffee shop and offices and meeting rooms in the space when it’s ready. It will serve as an anchor in the neighborhood and I believe the activity will also serve as a check on some of the less savory activities occurring on that corner right now.

I enjoy the people: my next-door neighbor who will call from the grocery store to see if I need any of the “sale” bananas; the teenager who lives right up the street who watches my kids; the crazy guy who lives on the corner with his crazier sister and can be found on any given morning throwing tennis balls at the stop sign and who shovels the snow out of his backyard in the winter; the 90-year-old man who lives across the street and who goes out walking every single morning (rumor has it that even at age 90, he employs an escort service now and again…ahem…); our priest who lives down the street and walks by every morning, lunchtime, and evening; the super-organized woman who lives down the alley, who just had her fourth baby and home-schools the other three; the delightfully loony couple we met on the house tour and who spent several hours at our house one evening drinking beer and discussing religion.

I’ve gotten to know other moms I see out walking with their children, I say hello almost daily to a friendly daycare caravan of kids whose caretaker always jokes about the number of charges I am herding, I have met lots of dogs, out with their owners: Vishnu, who frequently sports a fruit-sticker bindi and whose owner plays with the symphony; Alex and Magic, who walk with a former prof of mine who always stops to chat and let the boys pet her dogs; Ginger, a Shih Tzu I met for the first time yesterday when her owner stopped to admire the baby. There’s also a neighborhood cat, Socks, who lounges by day in the churchyard and some nights sits on my back porch and yowls at Emmy.

People here are socially aware and active, they watch out for their neighbors and keep an eye on the street activity. They run the political gamut. They vote.



There are students, families with kids, lots of professors, musicians and artists, people who have lived here for fifty years and people who just moved in. We all are excited by the vibrancy and potential of the neighborhood.

Suburbia is where the developer bulldozes out the trees, then names the streets after them. ~Bill Vaughn

I went for a long walk this morning, Terce in the Snugli. I wished I had brought the camera with me as I seemed to see lots of things I wanted to share….because my life is so enthralling…

I first walked up to the polling station and voted. I voted for the Green Party mayoral candidate because I just could not bring myself to vote for the Democratic candidate who is sure to win in a landslide, perpetuating the political machine that has been running and ruining the city for years. As far as judges go – anybody but Tom Flaherty, who has never actually practiced law, is not recommended by the PA bar, and is running solely on name recognition for judge. Kathryn Hens-Greco is my favored judge candidate, and I went to vote really just to vote for her.

My parents never would tell me who they voted for, I never understood that. If you are voting for someone, you should have good reasons, and probably good reasons for who you are not voting for, so why not be open about it? I didn’t understand it then and I don’t understand it now.

I ran into my mailman while I was out walking. He will be retiring soon and I will miss him. He’s such a nice cheerful guy and I adore getting mail anyway. I love paper and envelopes and stamps, recognizing someone’s handwriting, opening a package, even if I know what’s in it. The potential of the catalogs, the efficiency of paying bills – it’s all encompassed in the daily mail and I love it.

I passed several gingko trees on my way from the polling station to the coffee shop (skim mocha latte, no whip). Who thought these were good city trees? They reek, and the little ball thingeys squish underfoot and make the sidewalk and your shoes all slimy. My brother told me the city of New York is plagued with them as well. They must grow well under city conditions. Sorta like the cockroaches of the tree world, I guess.

Dan is tired of living in the city. He wants to move, to someplace where there are no renters, where there are no loud car radios, where there is not trash in the street. I want to stay here – I love the excitement and the potential of renovating our beautiful old house, of being part of rejuvenating and revitalizing this beautiful and vibrant neighborhood. I love walking to the coffee shop, to the bakery, to the little convenience store. I love that I can walk Primo to preschool. I love that I run into people that I know, even if only to say hello to, everywhere I walk around here. I love looking at other people’s old houses they are renovating and seeing what they are doing. I love being involved in the community, trying to make it a better, cleaner, safer place, making a difference however small. I am nervous about the public schools, yes; I get tired of having to ask people to turn down their radios, yes. However, I love the life here and I don’t ever want to move. But we might have to, solely for Dan’s sanity. It may turn out to be the single biggest sacrifice I make in my married life, to leave this house and neighborhood I adore for the quiet and cleanliness - the stultification and sterility - of the suburbs.

Philip Pullman is Redeemed (For Me, Anyway)

I just finished Philip Pullman’s I Was a Rat!, and I must say I was pleasantly surprised. I mentioned a while ago that I gave up on The Scarecrow and His Servant, because I just couldn’t feel the love, but I highly recommend this one to anyone who’s got a 2-4th grade reader to buy or borrow books for. [Note: This isn't in line with His Dark Materials--it is clearly for younger readers.]

The book tells the story of a boy who turns up at the house of a childless old couple, lost and proclaiming that until three weeks ago, he was a rat. He is clueless about how to behave like a human, and makes many terrible (and quite humorous) mistakes on the road to learning how to be a good boy. (Good, here, in both the sense of being a convincing example of a boy and in behaving properly.) It turns out that the boy, who comes to be called Roger, was one of the rats a certain fairy godmother turned into a footman; he ran off to play soccer while waiting for the ball to end, and missed his chance to be turned back into a rat.

Roger’s story is furthered along by excerpts from the local paper, The Daily Scourge, where Pullman’s wit and opinions are clear to cynics in training and the adults who love them.

This is going into my book talk for Resources for Children for sure. Two thumbs up!

Springer, Anyone?

Thanks for all the kindness, you guys. The wedding was harder on me than I thought it should have been, so I was sort of reeling there for a while. I’m better now.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how so many of the people I know—certainly myself included—are mere fractions of vestiges of good taste away from being guests on Springer. I think, in fact, that most of us would make for better entertainment than many of the typical guests, because our appearances and speech are so deceiving.

R, for example, is a gorgeous blonde who runs a very successful business. She kills in business suits and has mastered the pinned-up hair that says, “I am more than capable of kicking your ass, but DAMN: I’m sexy, too.” She’s all kinds of crafty, and regularly makes elaborate trick-or-treat bags and party stuff. She organized crafts tables at her own wedding, for crying out loud, so all the kids there would have something fun to do.

And yet she’s literally dying. She gets through the day by snacking on various prescription drugs and longing to be able to sleep. She can’t drive anymore, because of the drugs, but when she did drive, she kept a tambourine in the front seat, on which she would beat to keep from screaming profanities at other drivers. And her family is the horrid bunch or loonies I reported on earlier.

R looks like the perfect combination of successful businesswoman, wife and mother, but she’s filled with rage and fear, and would probably make Jerry Springer cry if he pushed her too far.

I’m much R’s polar opposite. I look like an uber-feminist with soft, Mother Nature sorts of edges. I take my boy rafting and can change a tire. I can bring home the bacon and/or tofu, and fry it up in a pan. I’m dealing with a full-time job, six credits a semester toward my MLIS, and single motherhood. I’m capable and caring and everyone seems to think I’m very grounded and trustworthy and reliable. And yet, I married a gay man, thinking I was lucky to be marrying my best friend, and then spent ten years wondering what was wrong with me, and why my husband didn’t want to have sex. I can’t face a confrontation without crying and automatically taking the blame for whatever is the problem. Because no one can convince me that I don’t suck. Issues? Oh, I’ve got spades. I’d be the Springer guest with her face in her hands, sobbing.

There are more, of course, just within my own family. Put us all in a room together, and we look like a respectable bunch of women with various talents, passions, skills, and interests. Put our psyches in a room, however, and we’re little more than piles of cellulite, smoking cigarettes and quivering with rage. Our mascara is running while we cry and bash one another over the head with our wedding albums.

Or is that just me?

When you have a patient with lists, you have a patient with migraine.

And here all this time I thought it was OCD.

I did something today I have only done twice before in our 12-year relationship – I called Dan at work and asked him to come home a little early. A blinding migraine developed sometime between lunchtime and naptime, with none of the usual triggers – too much chocolate, red wine, or certain cheeses, or stress – identifiable. The two older boys were trying to be very good but I just could not function. When Dan got home, I crawled into bed with a pillow over my head and a cold pack on my temples and wished for death – or at least sleep. Because I am nursing Terce, I still can’t take any Imitrex but managed to swallow three extra-strength Tylenol and a very strong cup of tea before passing out. And now here I am, at ten-thirty, wide-awake and in that manic post-headache phase. My body hates me. So does my brain.

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Literary snippets:

I started reading Anne Roiphe’s Marriage: A Fine Predicament and suffice it to say that I am pleased I only paid a dollar for it from the clearance table at Half-Price Books. She’s not, in my humble opinion, a particularly adept writer. (Also, I had her confused with Katie Roiphe, of The Morning After: Sex, Fear, and Feminism fame; does anyone know, are they related?)

The cruise ship that fended off pirates made me think of Robert Girardi’s inventive book The Pirate’s Daughter. It also brings to mind one of my favorite non-fiction writers, William Langewiesche, whose piece on modern-day piracy in The Atlantic Monthly I was unable to put down. I now most definitely plan to buy his collection of articles about piracy and the high seas, The Outlaw Sea: A World of Freedom, Chaos, and Crime. (Incidentally, he also wrote an article about the Columbia tragedy, “Columbia’s Last Flight” - see below.)

I want The New Garden Paradise. My admiration for Dominique Browning, editor of House and Garden, is well-documented. I think this will be a Christmas present to myself.

I am finally buying Michael Lee West’s quirky and wonderfully readable Consuming Passions, as I have been called upon to produce some sort of sweet potato dish for Thanksgiving, and no one eats the traditional canned-sweets-with-marshmallow-topping crap anyway, so I am going to make the most delicious sweet potato dish I have ever had, from this book. (There is also a killer chocolate sheet cake recipe; I remember it well because Dan loved it because of its overtones of cinnamon and fudge-like but not-too-sweet frosting.)

Jonathan Harr’s The Last Painting came out October 25 – I must request it from the library.

Runner’s World has a feature article on heroes this month, one of whom is Willie McCool, one of the astronauts who died in the Columbia space shuttle accident. The guy was really – amazing is the wrong word – he was just clearly a stand-up guy. What an inspirational story. He seemed like someone you would be pleased and proud to have in your life.

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Dan and I attended a friend’s 35th birthday party last night. I went to undergrad with Deb but she has since run screaming away from the theatre world (where she was an incredibly successful stage manager), like anyone with any brains, and successfully reinvented herself as a family doctor. She is one of my oldest, and over the past several years become one of my closest, friends.

At her gatherings, I am generally one of very few medical professionals in attendance (Didja like that medical humor? Huh? Didja?); also one of very few Gentiles (I really should learn some rudimentary Hebrew, it would make certain moments at these gatherings much more comfortable for me and then I’d also be able to understand what Deb’s saying when she reprimands her kids…).

Dan almost never goes to my friends’ parties with me (for a variety of reasons, not least of which is because I think most of my friends either annoy or bore him – undeservedly if I may say so, because *I* think my friends are interesting and fun). At any rate, Dan went with me this time – and not only that, but I believe he had a good time. We met a really cool new couple – neither of whom are doctors – and Dan got to stand around and discuss politics with the husband all evening. So he was in his element – not something that happens often to the man who is not even in his element among his family!

I *know* he likes Deb and her husband, but sometimes I think he is uncomfortable around any of my old theatre buddies. Theatre folk are so much more open than many people, and Deb even more so than most. (Dan once remarked that Deb has a look that says, “We’d be having sex RIGHT NOW –except I don’t want to.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that that was more or less the theatre professional’s mantra when I was in school.)

And the birthday cake – from Whole Foods - was chocolate – with raspberry filling. Oh-my-God delicious.

When we arrived at the home of the person hosting the party, she welcomed us and asked us to please remove our shoes. Dan said it was the perfect Larry David moment – he wanted very badly to say, “I think I’ll just keep my shoes on.” I think I might have laughed until I peed myself if he had. But he meekly removed his shoes instead.

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Snippets of another nature:

Sarah Louise has a T-shirt I covet. I do so love librarian humor.



Speaking of, Terce just spit up all over my “Go to hell, I’m reading” El-Jay’s Books T-shirt.


The governor of Nevada should be impeached. Perhaps we are living in Afghanistan, or maybe Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale?

For Gina, who does not give herself nearly enough credit and who I am sure looked lovely in her bridestroll dress:
http://www.uglydress.com/

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I have been eating a lot of these – conventional wisdom says oatmeal boosts breast milk production.

2 cups sugar
¼ cup cocoa
½ cup milk
½ cup butter
1 cup peanut butter
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups oatmeal
1 cup coconut

In a saucepan over medium-high heat, combine the sugar, cocoa, milk, and butter. Stir constantly to keep from burning, bringing the mixture to a boil. Remove from heat and stir in peanut butter and vanilla. When smooth, stir in oats and coconut. Pour into a greased 9x13 pan and let cool. Cut into bars.

Some people think these are too sweet; they are sweet, sort of fudge with stuff in it but not as rich or heavy. A friend I made some for said they took her back to her grade-school cafeteria where cookies like these were a big hit with her and her friends. Food as nostalgia trip. And I have reached the point where I can make them in my sleep -- and pretty much do.

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Crouching Baby, Hidden Dragon

This is Going to Be Long--Sorry

I had kind of a rough weekend; I was a bridestroll in the wedding of a very good and very old friend, R.

First of all, no one should have to serve as a bridestroll after the age of thirty. Seriously. I’m too old to wear a stupid dress-—especially strapless—-and be required to wear that much make-up and hairspray. (Please note that I typically wear glasses, Birks, clothes with elastic waists, and no make-up. I dry my hair in the morning, but only because it’s too cold to go outside with a wet head. I am not good with the girly fussing, and I don’t like it at all.)

Okay, but that stuff is really all minor. This wedding was in no way about me. I was there to support R, and look the way she wanted me to look. I didn’t *like* looking like a shiny red apple in a strapless dress, but whatever. It was her day.

Here come the hard things: R has two sisters; one is my age, and one is my sister’s age. (R is three years older than her sister and me.) We all used to be a big happy friendship family filled with sisters. And then R’s two sisters kind of went berserk and turned into horrible, wicked witches. They don’t talk to my sister and me at all anymore, and they don’t talk to R or any of their cousins. They are evil. Did I mention that I’ve never felt more betrayed by people of my own gender than I have by those two? They’re awful.

Anyway, they weren’t at this wedding. Instead, my sister and I (in our fifth wedding together, including our own weddings) filled their places. It’s horrible for me to know that my sister and I had to fill in for her living, breathing sisters, even though they’re hags.

Why so horrible? Because R is dying, and the sisters don’t care. R has something called Scleroderma, which is scheduled to kill her in about five years or so. Imagine hearing the husband vow to love and honor and what-not “until death do us part”, knowing that death really is imminent. AND that R has three kids (two with her ex-husband and one with the guy she just married.)

So that was another hard thing.

Top it off with this: R still loves her ex-husband. They got divorced because he’s an alcoholic, and because he wouldn’t do anything about it. He was irresponsible about it to the point where he was pulled over with the kids in the car.

He’s come a long way since then, and I know they still love one another. He was at the wedding (along with most of his family), and I almost had to run from the room in tears when he and R danced. I don’t know what they were whispering while they held each other, but the whole scene made me even more sad than I already was.

Sigh.

And there you have it. Poor R.

I spent most of yesterday recovering from a sinus headache that I’m sure I brought on to myself by smoking cigarettes at the wedding. But can you blame me?

Sorry to go on and on. This has been bugging me, and I just had to get rid of some of it. You know?

Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing. ~Phyllis Diller

My house is a freaking disaster area, and my lovely little pills seem to not be working quite as well as they should, so my OCD is kicking in big time. This post is for those of you who said how at home you’d feel in my house – if you could stand the mess, you are welcome anytime! But instead of cleaning up and straightening, what did I do? I sent the boys and Dan off to the Harvest Festival in the park, and I put Terce in the Snugli, took a long walk, and stopped at the coffee shop for a yummy cup of Indian Spice tea. I am trying out all their different types of tea, and this was a black tea with cinnamon and nutmeg. Yummy, especially with milk and sugar. Then I broke out my gardening gloves and pruned back brutally all my roses so they’ll come in nice and thick and lovely next spring. I admit, I inherited these roses from the previous owner, but they are gorgeous, and they line our yard on the alley side. The sky is clear blue, and the sun is shining, and the air is warm – it’s a perfect Indian summer day.
So the house remains a wreck.
As do I.
And so I run around taking pictures of the chaos instead of trying to rein it in.

I did manage the following:

Take down the Halloween decorations on the door

Put in a load of laundry from the mountain in the basement


Clean the upstairs bathroom

What remains:
Oh God, it’s too daunting to list.


So trust me, it’ll never all get done. The porch furniture needs to be covered and the cushions put away for the winter.The laundry must be folded and put away (although why do I bother? I should just make them dress themselves out of the laundry baskets, that’s how fast it turns around.) The downstairs needs to be vacuumed before all the loose fur self-generates into a third cat. Drapes must be measured and sewn for the living room before we get our first winter heating bill. The couch slipcover must be completed so people don’t assume that I think the red plaid matches the chocolate paisley rug and pale green armchairs.

The mail for the past two weeks needs to be sorted.


Things need to be returned – to the shoe store, to Amazon, to the daycare, to people who cooked us things in their very own nice pots.

An organ we were just given (don’t ask; because, yeah, we need more things that make noise around here…) needs to be cleaned and moved to its living spot, which means the toys need to be redistributed rather than just heaped in the middle of my dining room.



I believe this evening I am mixing a nice stiff Bacardi-and-Coke and writing thank-you notes for baby gifts:

Dear Aunt Mark and Uncle Betty, Thanks so very much for the loverly sleeper/creeper thingey for what’s-his-face, you know, that third kid of mine. Really appreciate it. He looks really adorable in it, if a bit blurry at the moment. Love, Us

Dear Grandma/pap, Thanks so much for the baby blanket whatsit. The cats love it. When I put him under it, they just lie ON TOP OF HIM. They apparently just adore the little tyke. Love, Us (but not the cats because I know how you hate the cats.)

Dear Cousin Myrtle, Thank you so very very much from the bottom of our hearts for the crisp new two-dollar bills for el bambino, and also for the gift certificate that expires at the end of this month for that flashy new restaurant. Perhaps if I did not have a baby attached to my boob 24-7, we could actually use it but I believe the maitre’d there might mind if I whipped out a breast to feed old squalling Jimbo right there among the starched white tablecloths and crystal stemware and filet mignon. I think. Thanks anyhoo. Love, Us

What? You think I’m not grateful? I am, so very. I’m just tired and trying not to rip my hair out because I cannot scrub my house from top to bottom. Shame I don’t have any Xanax to go with that rum…(kidding, kidding…)

"See, Meg, things always work out if you just do whatever you want without thinking about the consequences."

I laughed out loud.

Courtesy of Sarah Louise: Librarians rock!

Lauren Weisberger’s new book Everyone Worth Knowing is, in my humble opinion, unreadable. The Devil Wears Prada made me insane with the spinelessness of its – can I even call her this – heroine, but this – this is baaaad. So it’s back to The Thorn Birds for my brain candy.

I used to read Runner's World to be inspired, now it just depresses me. I will never ever qualify for the Boston Marathon. But I still like the monthly profile of a famous person who runs, and Haruki Murakami was last month’s. He even talks about his running in his lectures. I’ve read elsewhere that Joyce Carol Oates runs something like five miles a day and claims she can’t write until she gets a run in. I can't stand JCO, so am plotting to steal her running shoes.

I want this game for Christmas. And my nearest-and-dearest-and-most-well-read friends to play it with me.

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The monster, it is alive!

Let's ride that one again!


Jude-ipus Rex:


Septimus was a dog in a former life:

Jane says, I'm done with Sergio...

"..the truly cultured are capable of owning thousands of unread books without losing their composure or their desire for more." - Gabriel Zaid



"All the books we own, both read and unread, are the fullest expression of self we have at our disposal." - Nick Hornby



"The surest way to spot a non-reader: someone who comes into your house, looks at your books, and asks, 'Have you read all these?'" - Nick Hornby

"A room without books is like a body without a soul." - G.K. Chesterton

"There is no mistaking a real book when one meets it. It is like falling in love." - Christopher Morley



"I've never known any trouble that an hour's reading didn't assuage." - Charles DeSecondat

Sleepy, Dopey and Grumpy

I am 3/7 of Snow White's dwarves.

*****

The weather is beyond beautiful, and I just came from running some lunch time errands. It killed me to come back to work, not because I disklike my job, but because I dislike having to have a job at all. How I envy the stay-at-home-moms, now that my kid is in school all day. I *was* a SAHM until Ted was two, and by that time I couldn't wait to get back to work and be among adults. I spent two years working part-time, and that was perfect. Americans work too much and have too little leisure. Blah.

*****

I read Gregor the Overlander yesterday, and it was . . . nice. I recommend it for kids, but it's certainly no His Dark Materials or even Harry Potter. I'm just saying.

Speaking of Harry Potter, I just listened to The Goblet of Fire so I'll be ready for the movie. I know I'm a dork, but it'sfun stuff. Poor Cedric. It seems like the movie might be pretty scary, and I'm thinking maybe I should see it without Ted to make sure it won't freak him out too much. (It's PG-13.)

*****

My brother-in-law took Teddy and a friend to Family Day with the Steelers. The boys had a good time despite the fact that the STEELERS NEVER SHOWED. Can you tell that's Ted's head on the QB's body?

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all. ~Stanley Horowitz

I bought Kurt Vonnegut’s A Man Without a Country for my father-in-law for his birthday. (It was really Dan’s suggestion, he’s the huge Vonnegut fan.) I was leaning towards a book I heard about on NPR yesterday morning, James Geary’s The World in a Phrase: A Brief History of the Aphorism. Because I’d like to read it too, so -- I will buy it for my father-in-law for Christmas and then borrow it.

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We had about twenty trick-or-treaters, even if you count the gang o’ teenagers who showed up dressed cleverly as…teenagers who are way too old to trick-or-treat! What is wrong with them? The only ones who annoy me more are the moms with babies in strollers who are trick-or-treating “for the baby.” (Granted, in my neighborhood, one person can fall into both of these categories.) Dan brought home vanilla Charleston chews and Junior Mints to give out. I ate about a dozen Charleston Chews in the first half hour because we got no t-o-t’ers till around 6:15 or so. Yuck. Gross. And they do not go well with Bacardi-and-Coke. At the end of the night I was giving away handfuls of the things so they would not sit around and tempt me to eat their mediocre little fake-chocolate selves. We bought candy for around a hundred kids; we had about seventy last year. This year, as mentioned- maybe twenty. Because of the Steelers game? The weather was gorgeous, so that’s the only thing I can think of, is that parents stayed home to watch football. We did not even break into the Junior Mints – and I adore those. So they will got to work with Dan tomorrow so I do not eat all of them.

My boys got enough candy to make them happy but not so much as to make me rip my hair out in frustration. We even let them each eat some last night. Ooohhh, we’re slipping as parents! Jude was an adorable Dalmatian, and Si made a cute Peter Pan. But the winner was Mimi as Tinkerbelle. I made that thing look downright cute. Now Jude is asking for a wig for the doll – long and light brown, please. I wonder if that can be done. I should call a doll hospital and find out. Although she might look even freakier then (if such a thing is possible).

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I am really enjoying Poppy Z. Brite’s Liquor. Who recommended this to Gina? Thank you! It reads like Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential (a book I love) crossed with John Kennedy Toole’s New-Orleans-based classic, Confederacy of Dunces, which I enjoyed well enough, although Ignatius is one of the most obnoxious protagonists I’ve encountered. I think Liquor is dedicated to Toole…

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Snippets:

I have been singing “Que Sera, Sera” to the boys lately, I was tired of all my other songs. So I broke out that (Doris Day’s version, probably I was inspired by The Thing About Jane Spring), and “Shanghai Breezes” by John Denver. Also “Sweet Baby James” (of course) and “Hackensack” by Fountains of Wayne. And Perry Como’s “For the Good Times” which my mom used to sing to me, only we always called it “the warm and tender body song.” At any rate, Si just asked me to sing the “hurrah, hurrah” song. I clearly need to work on my enunciation while singing bedtime lullabies.

I purchased a digital camera, and I am so excited. So I will regale you all with random pics of my boys and whatever else catches my fancy. As if I am not meandering enough…I’ll read the manual tonight and get right on that. I ordered it from Staples yesterday and it came via courier today. And S&H was free. How’s that for service?

Have you tried Reese’s Take Five bars? My little brother told me about them, and I filched a couple from Jude’s trick-or-treat bag. God, they’re good, and this is coming from someone who generally doesn’t eat regular candy bars anymore (if it doesn’t have weird spices in it, I am not interested ; )) However, I do adore chocolate-covered pretzels, and that’s what these taste like, but with a hint of peanut butter. Remember how I said I was skinny-like and all now? I can tell it isn’t going to last very long…

Although I went out for a nice long walk both yesterday and today, toting James-monster on my chest in the Snugli. I am trying to soak in all the gorgeous, crisp, clear fall weather before our typical grey, godforsaken winter kicks in.