Blog Hunting

[whispered British voiceover]

Welcome to another episode of Mutual of Hama-O’s Blog Hunters. We now join our intrepid blogger as she moves cautiously towards the new visitor. The visitor’s silent comings and goings have been noticed over the past few weeks, but it (we have yet to get close enough to determine the sex) has yet to make its visits known publicly.

Our blogger is trying not to disturb the large tufts of free-growing binary grass that encircle the blog site. The visitor, which we think is a Surfericus New Jersica, is as yet too shy to move beyond the safety of the undergrowth. Can our blogger coax the visitor out into the open? She has begun the ritual of welcoming, but it is an awkward dance which can easily be mistaken for the ritual of taunting; only a confident blogger can attempt such delicate movements. Oh my! It looks like the visitor is taking some tentative steps towards the circle. Can it really be? Will the new visitor become known?

...Oh no! A flock of Robot Spam birds has decided at this moment to perch in the Comment Palms, setting up a squawking that has frightened the unidentified Surfericus deep back into the binary grass. Our blogger is distraught. Her shoulders droop. All that “welcome to my blog” shimmying for naught. Ah well, such are the trials and tribulations of a blog hunter.

As the sun sets on the whispering grasslands of the blogosphere, we are only left with questions. Will the visitor return? Have the Robot Spam birds scared it off for good? Or, perhaps, was the dance of welcoming too shoddy? Our blogger will contemplate her next move, and we shall see what her plan will be next time on Blog Hunters.

[deep American voiceover]
This episode of Blog Hunters has been underwritten by Mutual of Hama-O and their national subsidiaries, under the Parlin Merkins endowment. Mutual of Hama-O: For Today, and All of your Tomorrows.

Fat Knees

Oh. For. Crying. Out. Loud.
(GAAAAAAAAaaaaaaa!!!!)

It seems that some women now are getting micro-liposuction to remove the fat from places such as (get this) their knees.

One woman had a surgeon remove some fat from her lower back (note that this woman, before surgery, was trim and fit and getting whistles when she walked down the street). Another one, 5-foot 10-inches tall and 126 pounds, had liposuction on her upper arms. (I know, you can't get to the end of the previous sentence because you're shocked at the 5'10" and 126 lbs. [Even at my sveltest, say, in those wedding pics, there is no way my 5'9.5" frame was down as low as 126. No way.])

Why does our society exalt the enbalmed (via Botox) anorexic (via liposuction)? Why?

Personally, I think all those plastic surgery babes are scary-looking. Makes me wanna eat a brownie in defiance. (So there, scary skinny babes!)

Dill Days of June

Our garden is rather prolific in dill right now. See the green fuzziness in the picture? That’s not shaking on my part; that’s dill.

And I’ve run out of dill ideas. We’ve added dill stalks to our salads. We’ve been having lots of raw veggies with:

Creamy Dill Dressing
1/2 cup yogurt
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 tsp red wine vinegar
2 tsp olive oil
1 clove garlic
1T minced fresh dill
Fresh ground pepper to taste

1. Mix it up. Chill until needed.

And tomorrow I am making:

Quick Cottage Cheese Dill Bread

2.5 cups whole wheat pastry flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
2 heaping T minced fresh dill
1/4 cup oil
1/4 cup honey
3/4 cup milk
1 egg, beaten
1 cup cottage cheese

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Butter and flour a 1.5 quart loaf pan
2. In a large bowl mix the first 5 ingredients.
3. In a small saucepan combine the oil and honey, and heat until just blended. Remove from heat and stir in milk, egg, and cottage cheese.
4. Pour this mixture into the flour mixture and stir until just combined Scrape into prepared pan and press down on batter to remove any air pockets. Smooth the top, then give the pan a good thump on the counter. (You’ve got to wake those drowsy baking spirits).
5. Bake for 45-50 minutes, until golden on top. Or you can test with a knife. Cool 10 minutes on a wire rack before unmolding, and let it cool at least 1 hour before slicing.

I expect we’ll try to dry some, too, for Mother Wolf Soup in the winter. But I sure would like to have some other recipes for dilly stuff to make now. Anyone have any to share?

Happy Anniversary, Consort

Fourteen years. Two kids. Five Macs. Not a bad start, indeed.

You still make me laugh. (You still drive me crazy.) And that's the way it should be.

And for those who thought I was just making up the whole Imperatrix thing, I offer you this:

For my Secret Pal, But You Others Can Read and Commiserate as Well

Dear Secret Pal –

I’ve visited a few of the participants’ sites for SP8. And I finally got the questionnaire from my spoilee. And I feel I have to say: Sorry! I realize now that I am nowhere near as high a caliber knitting pal as many others. Now, I’m not saying this to get you to respond, “No, no, Imperatrix, you’re as fine a pal as anyone would like!” (Really, my ego got lots of stroking during the Home Tour, I’m fine.)

…But these people know the names of the specialty yarns they prefer. They have all sorts of fancy tools. They whip up entrelac sweaters in a week (—a week!). And here I am still chugging along on that pair of socks. Which I won’t post a picture of because I am getting close to finishing. And if I post it now, I won’t have anything to post then. I like that you come visit my site a lot; but I feel bad that my knitting posting isn’t up to snuff.

But I can share the following tale of woe. So here goes.

I think that all our good luck on the kitchen redo (everything in one piece, all the work done on time…) has sucked out any other nearby luck.

Somehow, during the 3 weeks of painting and renovations, I lost (where would it go, I wonder?) one of my bamboo double-pointed needles that I was using for my socks (and I think I mentioned that I didn’t really like them anyway, they were too long [8 inches] and too delicate [I had already broken one]). I needed to get another set.

On Saturday, we wanted to incorporate a few fun errands into my needle run, so we decided to visit the New and Improved Central Library for our city. Well, the lines were long (and mislabeled, so I waited 10 minutes in one that was supposedly “Help”, but when I got to the front they sent me to another line [!!!]). Then, because I hadn’t brought my keys, which has my library card fob on it, they wouldn’t let us check out books (even though I had my other ID with me in my purse). Yes, I took it personally. But hey, the old Library building was a 1903 treasure with lots of cool windows and beautiful tilework on the floor. And this is a copper monstrosity that they obviously spent too much for, because the carpeting and the shelving look like seconds from a discount office warehouse. It is not welcoming in the least.

So, we leave the library and drive to a craft shop. They don’t have any needles smaller than 3s (I needed 1s). Another wasted stop. Grrr. Then, Impera wanted to get a computer game, so we went to the CompUSA nearby, which stocks Mac versions of games. Did they have the game she wanted? No they did not. (Fer crying out loud!!!). We are batting 0 for 3 at this point, and I am disheartened. We stop by a housewares store for a new grater (we seem to have misplaced ours in the past 3 weeks) and some kitchen rugs. The rugs are OK, but not really what we like. We try another store. No better luck there.

On the way home, we stop at the specialty yarn store where I had bought the bamboo needles. I’m not very happy about having to buy a second set of needles of a type I don’t like, but what choice do I have?

A bit of luck now: They actually carry another kind of needles in size 1: Brittany birch needles! I used these when I made the Consort’s winter hat in December. They are much sturdier than the bamboo ones, and they are made in N. California from sustainably harvested domestic birch. How perfect!

Except, they are 5 inches long. Which is very puny. I feel like I’m knitting with Hobbit needles. Is it too much to ask to have 6- or 7-inch needles (but 8-inchers are too long, remember)? That would have been perfect. But at least now I have been able to continue on these socks.

I sure hope that all this bad luck has brought us back into alignment with the Universe. Because Saturday really sucked.

Things I Learned This Morning

1. Behavior Modification

If you want your kids to do their morning chores without sighing and to eat their breakfasts at a reasonable time (rather than have to be nagged at 10 AM that it is time to finally have breakfast, and yes I know it's summer vacation and yes, I know there are no plans today...), then have an argument with your spouse. Not a no-holds-barred shoutfest, just a serious disagreement. In the kitchen.

Then just sit back and watch those kids behave. Hoo-yah!

2. Voice of Wisdom

Michael Berg (father of Nicholas Berg, the young businessman who was beheaded on video in Iraq in May 2004 by a man thought to have been al-Zarqawi) is my hero. If you read the interview, you'll notice that he doesn't allow the CNN "reporter" to bait him in any way.

"Haste Makes ..." Well, It's a Bad Thing

So I moaned here about how our internet cable provider was on the fritz the past two weeks, and, after having dealt with their less-than-acceptable service for five years, we switched to DSL, thanks to a buddy (in the weakest sense) of the Consort. This buddy came over last week and got us hooked up. At one point as the Consort and the Buddy were changing pointers, etc., our password needed to be entered. Buddy offered to plug in the info if the Consort just sang out the password. Considering the Consort's anality about such things*, he just mumbled that no, it was OK, he'd plug it in. Buddy made some comments about that, implying he was joking, but really making it clear he felt snubbed (he's got the personality you'd expect from a computer guy).

Eureka! We had internet connectivity!

Except that my laptop, which we hadn't turned on during Buddy's visit, wasn't connecting the next day. This was crunch time for Home Tour preparation, so I put it on the back burner and just used our old iMac instead.

But then... I noticed something strange. Someone from Buddy's server was visiting my site... For hours and hours! And They came back several times a day!

This freaked me out because we never talked about my blog with Buddy, so the only way he could have gotten the link was if he had somehow gotten our bookmarks or something. Was this his way of getting even with us for not sharing our password? How much info had he stolen? Did we have to change all our passwords -- like to my student loans or our bank account?!

I was pissed. I was so angry that he would do such a thing (and he's a computer guy, so if anyone could suck someone's private info off a computer, it was Buddy). The Consort was surprised to say the least, but he was busy, too, so he didn't have the time to call Buddy and see what was up with this incident.

I figured the Consort would be too nice about it, so I should take matters into my own hands. I mean, it was my blog this guy had violated! I didn't have time to post anything other than place-holder posts (you all noticed that). But I was planning a post where I would get him. Oh, yes, he'd be reading along, thinking I was praising him, and then -- BANG !-- I'd let him and all my readers know that I knew what he was up to. In my daydream, you all would boo and hiss supportively, and I'd get even, yes I would.

Well, on Saturday morning, I'm elaborating on my payback post daydream in my head while I'm scrubbing the sink, and another explanation comes to mind. See, I've set up my laptop to be invisible to Sitemeter, so when I check my blog, it won't keep a tally of those visits. But my laptop was out of commission, right? So I was using the iMac ... which wasn't invisible ... and our new service provider's server would (of course) have the same name as Buddy's server ... so every time I visited my site, or the girls visited my site, the name would be .... THE SAME!

Serendipity is a wonderful thing. Thank god I didn't have time to put my devious plan in motion those first few days (although, as Buddy wasn't really visiting my site, he never would have seen it; but the Consort's plan of just talking to him would have shown us to be silly fools [so see, deviousness would have kept us safe!]).

Sometimes, giving our brains the time to catch up with our emotions is a good idea.



*When we moved to California, lo these 14 years ago, we didn't have internet connectivity at first. So the Consort took me to one of the student computer labs (which was a busy busy place full of students coming and going, not paying attention to what others were doing) and showed me how I could sign in under his grad student password to get online.
"Now, this is the password," he said. He looked around furtively and he slowly typed out N...E...B...U.
"Oh, you mean Nebu, the name of our parakeet?" I said (out loud, but now loudly).
He waved his hands frantically. "SHHHHHHHHHHH!" he hissed, a look of terror on his face.
We were newlyweds at the time, but I couldn't help laughing at the distress on his face.
You'd think I had shouted out our ATM passcode or something, sheesh!

The Home Tour

Let me tell you a bit about my neighborhood. It’s 125 years old this year. Development began when a new private university opened right here, which at the time was outside the city limits, but now is only 5 minutes from downtown. Advertisements from the late 1800s sell this area as a wonderful getaway from the city: a place where families (of lawyers and small businessmen) could live in the fresh air of the countryside, only a trolley-ride away from the hustle and bustle of the metropolis. It was a golden age.

Then, in the mid 20th century, life wasn’t so good. These old homes (Craftsmans, Foursquares, and a few Victorians) were big (many, such as ours, were built with a back staircase [servants’ staircase]). They weren’t insulated. Electricity and indoor plumbing were added after the fact. Not many people could afford the upkeep, so they were purchased by that bane of cities: landlords. These people came in a craved three, four, or more apartments out of these single-family homes, adding outdoor staircases to attic apartments, doing just enough maintenance to keep the city inspector from applying fines.

Needless to say, if the landlord doesn’t care about the property, neither will the tenants: as property quality goes down, tenant quality goes down, too. By the 1970s, the university was telling students to stay off the neighborhood streets, police weren’t very visible, and life around here sucked.

But a few tenacious property owners banded together and started a neighborhood association that worked with the city to fix the neighborhood’s problems. Once a few people start making a difference, more outsiders become willing to take a risk and purchase property in this type of neighborhood.

By the time we arrived in 2000, this neighborhood was up and coming. Many older homes had been renovated by adventurous home owners, and every year the neighborhood association sponsored a Tour of Historic Homes. In fact, the Consort and I decided to buy in this neighborhood because our house-hunting weekend happened to fall during the House Tour that year, and we chatted with people and decided we could make a go of it here. Don’t get me wrong: it is still a transitional neighborhood. But the city is actively involved in keeping it safe, and right now we have, all within walking distance, a drugstore/market, a video store, several restaurants (Chinese, Mexican, Greek, African, American bistro, barbeque), a one-screen movie theater, two sandwich shops, a coffee shop, two hairdresser, a couple of tattoo parlors, a live-music venue (OK, it’s called Hairy Mary’s and their acts are mostly punk, but still…), and lots more planned.

The Home Tour is a way for the neighborhood to showcase the great work people can do to fix up an older home, and to get people thinking, “Hey, I could live here, too!” Anyway, most of the homes on the House Tour have been renovated by couples without children (either before they have kids or with no plans of having children). We were asked to be on the tour for two reasons: first, our awesome backyard (because previous owners bought a condemned house, tore it down, and put in fruit trees; and because the Consort’s put a lot of time and effort into adding plants, bushes, and more fruit trees); and second, because we have kids (so the thought process can go from “Hey we can live here” to “Hey we can live here with our kids!”).

The House Tour is a great motivator: we redid the kitchen and repainted the living and dining rooms. It’s exhausting both before (trying to get everything finished on time) and during (standing up from 11 to 5 two days in a row, talking with people who walk through your house, all day). But it was so fun to hear the compliments from people when they saw the garden, the kitchen, the woodwork in the dining room that we stripped of paint and varnish. (And the color choices both in the dining room and in the kitchen; that made me feel good, too.) Lots of people liked the floating floor we installed in the kitchen, too. I forgot to add that picture in the kitchen set, so here is the vinyl before and the new floor:


It was also fun that one woman who came had grown up visiting this house weekly: Her aunt and grandmother lived here from the 1940s to the 1980s. She saw an article for the Houme Tour, which mentioned this house, in a magazine when she was getting her hair permed, and decided she had to see what the house looked like now. It was wonderful talking with her. And one of the two guys who did a lot of the renovations to this house and who turned our garden into the “oasis” that it is came on Saturday. On Sunday he returned with his partner. They told us all sorts of funny renovation stories, and gave us a duplicate set of pictures of the old condemned house and of them doing some of the tear down. As the Consort said, you never expect when you do the Home Tour that visitors will be telling you stuff about your house!

So I’m glad we did it. It made me feel proud to live in this neighborhood, and it made me feel proud of our home decorating accomplishments. And it made me remember how much I love our very cool garden, that makes living in the city bearable.

(I've posted pictures of the living room and kitchen below this post.)

The Kitchen

Warning: I'm not too happy with the pictures. But I really want to get this up, so here we go.

Before, the walls were beige, and the cabinets were large, but they were dark and had large gouge marks in the soft wood. We had a portable dishwasher. The Consort and his dad built a counter for us to slide the dishwasher under when it wasn't in use.

(And the kitchen was beige. Blech!)



We chose maple cabinetry because it is light and airy. And balanced that with dark green counters. We have a built-in dishwasher now, too!





We had so many colorful seed packets from the garden (Seeds of Change packets), that I said one day, "We should use these in a frame!" The Consort took me up on it, and he put it all together.


"Wait," you're thinking, "don't the colors look different in that last picture. Yes, you're right: three walls are a sunny yellow, the fourth is orange. Someone who came through the tour called it a "margarita kitchen" -- I guess he's right, although the runner on the counter is one we bought in Guatemala last year (not a traditional maragrita country, really).



You all should plan to come visit, so you can see what the colors look like in real life.

The Living Room

Before, there were multiple colors on the ceiling trim (red and gold) and the walls were a vibrant yellow. The fireplace surround was white. And that inset above the fireplace was so large that whatever we put in there looked dwarfed by the space.


Now, the walls are more toned down, and the fireplace matches the drapes (Pow!). And the Consort painted a piece that fills the inset, so no more big open hole.

Sorry I'm Keeping You Waiting

Putting a kitchen back together takes more time than taking it apart. Add in a spouse who does half the cooking, so expects to have input in where things go, and that makes things take even longer. But the end is in sight: the Consort is going to the office now, so I can make the final decisions myself (was it clear that we have very different ideas about where to put things that we use every day?).

Stories of the party hosted by our Somali neighbors (that's a Somali party) and the hour tour will come, I promise (and yes, KathyR, we let hundreds of people traipse through our house... it was more fun than I thought it would be!)

House Tour, Day 1

Wow! I didn't think we'd have things cleaned up and put away, but when 11 o'clock chimed, we were ready. Lots of fun, about 250 people came through on the tour on Saturday, and they expect 350 or more today.

I stood up most of the day, though, so last night I warned the Consort that wherever I sat down, there I'd stay for quite a while.

Two previous owners came through on the tour, so we were able to hear stories of the house from the 1940s plus we were able to thank in person the man who planted our apple/pear/cherry trees. (He was glad to see we were taking care of the trees and didn't cut them down!)

Photos and more lucid reportage tomorrow, I would venture.

(Tonight, the girls and I have been invited to a Somali party [women only, of course]. That should be interesting as well!)

T - 48 Hours and Counting

On Saturday at this time, we will be opening our door to strangers, and I know the house will still smell of paint. As I write, two Bosnian counter men are in my kitchen, installing the counter, and the Consort is in the bathroom, installing quarter-round.

I had to come to the cafe so I could upload digital "before" pictures to our local Walgreens Pharmacy so I can pick them up in an hour (ain't the Internet swell?). I figure I had a couple of minutes to post a quickie for you all. (Hey, KW, do you think using a word like "quickie" in a post will get me some x-rated google searches?)

I promised KathyR I'd tell my plumbing with lumber story, but I'll have to do that later, I think.

I will finish off by presenting you all with the photo of the Hellmouth I promised:

There is the overturned compost bucket, held in place by the cement block. If you look closely at the roll of toilet paper, you will notice it is shredded. That's because before the cover was in place, a demoncub shot out and tried to make it into our Midwestern Sunnydale. As we were beating it down, it grabbed on to the toilet roll, thinking it could just hang on with its superior strength. Little did it understand the concept of a toilet roll!


(Actually, it was the cat who did that. He does it whenever we forget to take the roll out when we put him in the bathroom at night. It's his way of marking his displeasure with the whole situation.)

Hey!!

My first reportable blog google search: how to get rid of a capricorn woman.

You Houston, Texas, folks are weird.

We Capricorn women are worth holding on to. Sheesh.

New Floors: It's a Snap! ( ... Yeah, Right)

I have been living, sleeping, and breathing (literally) home renovation for the past few weeks, and if you, dear reader, are getting tired of it, remember that I am that much more tired of it than you can ever be. No, really—I’ll win. You can skim my comments here, comment (if you’re kind), and then click on the next blog in your bookmarks. I am stuck living above the new, post-Buffy (yes, we are still making our way through the seasons on DVD) Hellmouth.

The cabinets are all installed. Except for the crown molding, of which they delivered too little and scratched half of what they did bring. No big deal, it’ll arrive soon. But they also didn’t deliver the toe-kicks. Also, really, no big deal. The counter man has come and measured, and made it sound so easy. This morning I got a call that a lot of what he offered to do to work around our less-than-flat walls is considered “custom work”, so that has upped the cost. (Stegbeetle, I hope you are reading and learning, preparing yourself for what is in store for you as your addition is put in!)

This weekend, we installed snap-in flooring. You’ll see pictures soon enough. But in a 100-year-old house, no wall is straight, no room is square, no floor is flat. What we naively thought would take us one full day of installation became two full days of work spread over three calendar days (they don’t call it Memorial Day weekend for nothing—I’ll be remembering this weekend for a long time to come). During that time we removed the toilet from the half-bath off the kitchen and discovered the 21st century Hellmouth. The sewer gases rising from that thing were just incredible. But with a little ingenuity, we were able to temporarily plug it with an overturned compost bucket and a cement block. (Take that, you creatures of demon-dom!)

The Consort’s skill with circular saw and jigsaw reaffirmed the rightness of my choice for lifelong partner. But the dust! Readers, the dust of those laminate pieces stink! As the official “piece-holder-for-the-sawing-Consort ”, I was often in direct line of dust spewage. After several pieces, I thought I had the smell pinned down. By the 44th piece, I was sure of the smell: scallops. “It’s been a while since you’re eaten scallops,” the Consort dissed. But no, really: imagine a sickly-sweet meat (either scallops or monkfish [ugh!]) cooked in a thin cream sauce that has no herbs or other savory addition. That’s what I inhaled throughout the weekend.

And let me tell you: What is the one thing I can’t live without. Can it be my children? Absolutely not. They can visit relatives, go to camp, I won’t miss’em. Air conditioning on a steamy 90-degree weekend? Heck no. Just give me a fan and a basement to suck the cool air out of, and I’ll be good to go. The Consort? Well, not if it isn’t a DIY weekend. What I have realized I must have, and cannot live without, is a kitchen sink. Life without one just sucks. If the plumber doesn’t come on Thursday, I think I’ll kill someone.

2nd Friday Post: Update

Here's the scoop:

Our cable connection is dead. The MediaCom guy came, he said it worked fine. It waited until he was gone, then cut out on us again. We are sick to death of this, so the Consort called a buddy of his that does something DSL-ish, and they'll be switching us to DSL sometime soon (next week I hope?).

Anyway, the kitchen guys were at our house yesterday and today (so I couldn't go out, and I couldn't get online). I don't like these two (they giggle when I leave the room; I don't like men who giggle). But their work is fine. The cabinets look really good!

The counter man is coming to measure this afternoon, so we should have a counter on Tuesday (Monday being a holiday). The drywaller will be building out the existing soffit on one side of hte kitchen on Monday (self-employed folks and university profs don't often take those federal holidays, as I know so well). The Consort would like us to put in the new kitchen floor this weekend. I need to paint the fireplace wall. And some of the living room trim. We need to reinstall a new door mirror in the living room. We may restain the dining room floor. We need to get rid of all the dust.

Trixie's dance recital is tonight.

So, I may not be able to post reliably. But I am posting. So don't give up on me, readers!

The Back Porch

For five years, we had a square platform just hanging off the back of the house. The only ones who used it were the dog and the cat, as they revved up for a squirrel chase:



Now, it's a real porch!



I was planning to help the Consort with it (I had even written it in on the calendar). But then I got the sinus infection from hell, so he started on his own. Then I painted for a week straight, so he did it while I caught up on actual paying work.

Dining Room, Before and After

This is what it looked like before:


Now, some shots of the new, Aztec Brick walls. I don't know if the color will come through true on the web. But we all in the realm love it!

What is that pumpkin doing there? Yes, I've got to bring it down to the basement, but right now it's hiding my stash of chokotoff candies, so it ain't goin' nowhere.


I still plan to paint the inside of the built-in, but I don't know what color to use. White seems so ... trite. (And yes, the dining room is already stacking up with papers and such. No neatness allowed here!)


I just love how the color pops out our dark cherry-stained dining room set. (If I do say so myself.)


There are a few more photos on my flickr site. Good thing I took these shots this weekend, because now the dining room is filled with kitchen cabinetry.

The living room will have to wait, because there's still some trim work I have to do, and you can't see it before it's done. But the Consort finished the back porch railing yesterday, so I'll be posting those maybe tomorrow.

Secret Pal 8 Questionnaire

Secret Pal 8 has started! And my SP is very cool -- she's already sent me a funny card about women wielding drills (for home improvement purposes). As part of SP8 we are supposed to fill in a questionnaire for our secret pals to get to know us. Mine is very late, but here it is. (Also, I've made a new list of posts that have mentioned knitting, etc. on the left over there.)

1. What is/are your favorite yarn/s to knit with? What fibers do you absolutely *not* like?

Hmm. I haven’t worked with fancy yarns enough to have a favorite. I’m in the process of making a pair of socks with Trekking, and that’s been fun. I don’t think I like yarns that have too much hanging off of them (like fun fur type stuff).

2. What do you use to store your needles/hooks in?

Nothing fancy. They roll around in the bottom of one of my craft drawers, so when I need a pair I dig around until I find two of the same size. (Pretty pitiful, I know.)

3. How long have you been knitting? Would you consider your skill level to be beginner, intermediate, or advanced?

My godmother taught me to knit when I was about 12. Then I did nothing for years. When Impera was a toddler, I wanted to knit her a sweater (a Debbie Bliss pullover with ducks, boats, rocking horses, and other little images), so my friend Leanne re-taught me, including how to cast on and bind off, and how to switch from one color to another in the middle of a line.

I am comfortable with knits, purls, yarn-overs, tbls, and dropped stitches (Those done on purpose, like in the clapotis! Accidental dropped stitches make me shout and growl.). I’ve used circular needles and I make socks with dpns. I feel prepared to try cables, but I haven’t yet done it. I don’t know about those bobble thingies.

I would classify myself as intermediate. But maybe that’s too cocky.

4. Do you have an Amazon or other online wish list?

Well, yes, and if you want it, I can give it to you. But I use my Amazon wish list kind of like a “to think about” list, for me and the others of the realm. So not everything there is for me. I really ought to clean it up.

5. What's your favorite scent? (for candles, bath products etc.)

Lemon verbena, lemongrass, … citrus-y things that don’t smell sweet. It has to be subtle (My mother is shocked that I don’t wear perfume and that strong perfume on anyone around me makes me gag. “You used to like perfume!” she says. Well, yes; I used to pee in my diaper, too, but I don’t do that anymore, either. During my pregnancy with Impera, I became highly sensitive to smell, and that hasn’t left me. I am the family canary.)

Oh, I don’t take bubble baths. They have undesirable consequences.

6. Do you have a sweet tooth? Favorite candy?

Chocolate. ‘Nuff said.

7. What other crafts or Do-It-Yourself things do you like to do? Do you spin?

Impera has a drop spindle, but we haven’t been able to get it to work. So, sadly, no.

I have made little folded books, I’ve done latch-hooking, quilting, sewing, other needlecrafts (cross-stitch, etc.). Now I’m into things that are portable (socks, crochet squares like for the hoodies I made for the girls). Quilting and sewing take too much time to clear off my work space, cut, sew, trim, hem, … oof!

8. What kind of music do you like? Can your computer/stereo play MP3s? (if your buddy wants to make you a CD)

I like all kinds (isn’t that what they all say!). World music, folk (maybe bleeding into country, but not really), new age, medieval, jazz, soul, electronica, urban, classic rock (badwidaba, baby), rave, …

But NOT Brittany Spears type of pop. 1980s pop, for sure.

9. What's your favorite color? Or--do you have a color family/season/palette you prefer? Any colors you just can't stand?

I like blues, greens… not teals, though. I wear reds & oranges, too. I’ve got brown hair, brown eyes, so most colors work on me (My sisters might claim that’s only because I have no sense of style [and they may be right, who knows?].)

10. What is your family situation? Do you have any pets?

One spouse, two girls (soon-to-be 10 and soon-to-be 12). As my masthead says: a dog, a cat, a rat, and a bird.

11. Do you wear scarves, hats, mittens or ponchos?

Yes!

12. What is/are your favorite item/s to knit?

Like I said, I’m into portability. Socks is what I’m doing now. Scarves, hats, …

13. What are you knitting right now?

A pair of lace knit socks. On size 1 needles (teeny!)

14. Do you like to receive handmade gifts?

That’s the best kind.

15. Do you prefer straight or circular needles? Bamboo, aluminum, plastic?

Straight for sweater pieces, double-pointeds for hats & socks. I use circulars for necklines, but I just don’t like the feel of circulars for tubes (like socks and hats).

I’m using bamboo for the socks, and I already broke one. (they’re 8-in. long, so maybe if they were a bit shorter?). I’m worried that plastic would bend, I don’t know, I’ve never used them.

16. Do you own a yarn winder and/or swift?

No.

17. How did you learn to knit?

My godmother as a pre-teen. My friend in my late 20s. I taught myself to crochet this past summer.

18. How old is your oldest UFO?

I’m single-minded, so I don’t usually have a UFO (for my regular readers: this means "unfinished.. um, object?"). I guess there was the pair of socks for Trixie that I finished in the winter (that had been a UFO for about 18 months).

19. What is your favorite holiday?

I guess Christmas?

20. Is there anything that you collect?

Not at this time. I used to collect miniatures, and when my mother downsized a few years ago, she sent me all the little things (but she kept the cool antique printer’s drawer I had used to display them, darn!).

21. Any books, yarns, needles or patterns out there you are dying to get your hands on? What knitting magazine subscriptions do you have?

I’ll have to get back to you on that. I have no subscriptions. I borrow library books when I need a pattern, or I buy the Family Circle knitting magazine if I see something interesting (I don’t allow myself that very often, though). I’ve been getting patterns online from knitty.com lately, too.

22. Are there any new techniques you'd like to learn?

I think I’m up for cable knitting. (As soon as I finish those socks!)

23. Are you a sock knitter? What are your foot measurements?

My previous responses make it clear my answer is, yes!
From center heel to big toe, 10 inches.

24. When is your birthday? (mm/dd)

January 17. Me and Ben Franklin go way back.

On Home Improvement and Broken Modems

Folks, I haven't been able to post because my modem has stopped working. And with the kitchen cabinets arriving yesterday, and the new dishwasher arriving today, I couldn't slip out to my local coffeeshop with wifi until now. Things are looking up (knock on wood). The cabinets arrived all in one piece, the contractor has not canceled the scheduled work date (Thursday AM!)

I promised my secret pal I would post the questionnaire on Monday night, but that was before I know my modem was striking. So that'll come first.

Then I'll post some before/after painting pictures!

Chew On This

For every $1 of oil imported from the Persian Gulf, the Pentagon takes $5 of the federal budget to "secure" the flow of that oil...

Did I mention I took on a last-minute proofreading gig from a colleague of the Consort's? It's a book on the economic implications of US militarism, and I kept gnashing my teeth as I did it. Partially because of the awfulness of the offshore copyediting job, but largely because of gems like this one.

Grrr.

I Am Alive

No, I am not dead (although my body would disagree). And, hey, it's only been two days, right? But this week I have been painting the living room (17 x 17 ft) and the dining room (14 x 14 ft). The rooms were Bright Yellow and dark Apothecary Green, respectively, so I have had to do one coat of primer (to block the original color) and two coats of new color (Classic Taupe and Aztec Brick [aka terracotta], again, respectively). Three coats per room, people! (Actually, I still have one coat of Aztec Brick to do).

As I did all this painting, I listened to NPR. So I have:

Heard Seamus Heaney recite his poetry

Heard astronauts chatter ebulliently on the moon (you should listen, it's pretty cute)

Heard a recording of WB Yeats reciting one of his poems (he sounds like Gandalf!)

Heard about the new digging for Jimmy Hoffa's body

Heard Nicholas Kristof tell harrowing tales of his visits to Darfur

Randomness

May 2006 will be remembered to me as "The Month of Antibiotics." You know that sinus infection that knocked me out the first weekend of the month? Well, the amoxicillin I was prescribed didn't work at all, so on Tuesday the 9th I was started on the 5-day Zithromax antibiotic.

Well, that got rid of the incredible tooth pressure, but since that first weekend, I haven't been able to hear out of my right ear. I went back in this morning, and yes, I am still congested (oh, really? Ya could've fooled me!). I have just begun a 2-week run of Augmentin (aka, "the horse pill antibiotic.")

The Neighborhood House Tour is in 2.5 weeks, so although the painting of the living room and dining room is going well, I can't really dilly-dally (have I mentioned that the Consort would like to put up a railing around our back porch next weekend, and maybe squeeze in refinishing the wood floors?). I expect to hear from the kitchen cabinet manufacturer today about the delivery date for our new cabinets (it is supposed to be next Tuesday).

Oh, and last week I agreed to take on a proofing project for a prof at the Consort's university. Which I haven't started yet. And is due on Monday.

Sorry I'm not a more thrilling blogger these days. But I will post before and after shots once the new colors are on the walls!

Dante's Inferno, 21st century version

If, when I die, I find I was wrong, and there is a god who extracts pleasure from the eternal suffering of those who, for 80 years or so, did not believe in it, then I know exactly what my punishment will be:

I will, for time everlasting, have to spackle and sand ceilings. Bending my back further than is good for it, just because I am too lazy to have to get off the ladder and move it 6 inches. Almost falling (because of such irresponsible behavior; and more than once), and realizing as I teeter that the Consort is away on a business trip, the girls are in school, so the soonest my dead body would be found is 3 o'clock. Having to get down every 3 minutes and pressing the cancel code on the fire alarm system because of the unbelieveable amount of dust produced by the sanding (or by the amount of plaster spackle needed to fix the damn ceilings). (And even when the system is on "test" -- meaning they won't call the fire department -- it still beeps.)

If there is even a speck of pity in this god, maybe my experiences today (after I clean up all the dust that is on every surface and plaster wall) will get me some time off my eternal suffering. ("Eternal torment on the installment plan".)

An Apology from a Bush Voter

From a real, live, conservative talk show host in LA:

"...So, I’m saying today, I was wrong to have voted for George W. Bush. In historic terms, I believe George W. Bush is the worst two-term President in the history of the country. Worse than Grant. I also believe a case can be made that he’s the worst President, period."

Read the entire apology here.

I don't agree with his take on Gore, BTW. But I *do* agree with his take on Democrats in general, and the state of the two-party system in the US.

Let's Hear It for Music Teachers Everywhere

You have to respect music teachers. Well, we really ought to respect all teachers, but music teachers have to travel. In our district, music instruction is offered from 4th grade onwards, and in order for music teachers to earn their keep, they have to travel to several schools throughout the week (between 5 and 8; so many of them have to cover more than one school per day).

Trixie, being in 4th grade, chose the clarinet this year. She's been doing very well, if I do say so myself. Now, the music teachers in this part of the city run a 5th grade band every year (but Trixie's teacher invites the 4th graders to participate). Practices were once a week after school. These teachers were able to get 70 -- that's right, seventy! -- 4th and 5th graders to play five pieces, pretty much all in tempo. Look at them all:


The kids had a ball. It's a great experience. And these teachers don't have a home base, they don't have a permanent desk anywhere; they just love the music. They do deserve our appreciation and our respect. So go give a music teacher a pat on the back, and say "thanks".

The concert was fun. The kids played the ubiquitous Queen medley (Another One Bites the Dust + We Will Rock You). It's funny because I don't think any of the musicians had heard the original, so although they enjoyed the foot stomping and the hand clapping, there wasn't as much oomph! to that piece as to the rip-roarin' March they performed, or the Latin-rhythm piece. I think I'll see if I can borrow a Queen CD from the library, so Trixie can get a sense of the greatness that was Freddie Mercury.

Earth Day Should be Every Day

You know the saying, "Buy local"? Well, there's a group at Iowa State University, called the Leopold Center for Sustainable Agriculture, and they've been doing all sorts of research that bears this saying out (surprise, surprise).

Sierra Club magazine did a short piece on the fuel impact of different foods. It's pretty interesting, and they use pictures, so anybody can figure it out.

And since I'm on a roll of preaching to the converted (mostly), you might want to check out the trailer for a new Al Gore movie (yes, Al Gore; meaning he's in the movie, not that he's director or anything). If you have QuickTime (and who doesn't?) you can view the trailer. The movie's called An Inconvenient Truth.

I still don't agree with the economists who urge the conservative position that we'd waste money trying to fix the problem (global warming) before it's a problem. But that's just me, a "stitch in time saves nine" kinda gal.

The Sickness Unto Death

So. Some thought I was exaggerating. Well, if you consider being unable to sleep because of intense tooth pressure on one side, and excrutiating ear pressure on the other exaggerating, then yes, I suppose I was exaggerating. I wasn't able to sleep soundly for four nights.

Others offered sympathy. And I thank you. When I went to submit the first prescription, and they told me there'd be a one-hour wait, I cried. It really was that bad. I'd have watched one of the black & white movies you suggested, but I couldn't concentrate for more than 15 minutes.

It was very very terrible.

Luckily, my mother, who was visiting, was OK with that. She took the girls to a movie, kept them company all weekend, and wasn't a burden. Only, every day she asked me if I wanted to go to grab a coffee at the local coffee shop (I don't think she understood how bad the pain was).

Anyway, I'm climbing out from under the work I postponed over the two almost-back-to-back family visits and the sinus infection, so I hope to be back on the blogging track tomorrow.

I'm still congested, though. And I can't hear well out of my right ear. And I have lost a measure of energy. And the ringing in the ears ... it just won't stop. Sheesh.

Telegraph From the Front

MAJOR SINUS INFECTION FRIDAY PM STOP VISITING DIGNITARY OK STOP FUTURE LOOKED GRIM SATURDAY PM STOP IMPENDING DEATH EXPECTED STOP VALIANT COUNTER-ATTACK SUNDAY STOP IMPERATRIX WEAK BUT RECOVERING STOP MORE DETAILS TO FOLLOW TOMORROW STOP

Schedules

Did you know that there is a problem when someone wants to take you out to lunch?

Oh, yes, there is.

See, when someone comes to visit you, and they are "on vacation" while you and yours are still in "school mode", then, whereas you wake up at 6:30 and have your bowl of cereal right away (because if you don't, then watch out!), they don't wake up until 8. And chat on their cell phone for a while. And then they take their shower, get dressed, and read the paper. By 9:30 you insist they have something to eat (I am a firm disbeliever in losing weight by skipping meals).

By 11:45, you start thinking about lunch. But they don't (it's only been 2 hours since breakfast, right?). So you know you're going to have to wait until that ungodly hour of 1, or even 1:30, before lunch is had.

And as you try to focus on work, or chatting, or anything, you realize that yes, there is a problem when someone wants to take you out to lunch.

For My British Readership

Cowgirl passed this link along yesterday:

Study Says Older Americans Are Less Healthy Than British

"Americans 55 and over are much sicker than their British counterparts even though the United States spends more than twice as much per person on health care as Britain, researchers said Tuesday.

Writing in The Journal of the American Medical Association, researchers from University College, London, also seemed to confirm stereotypes tossed across the Atlantic, concluding that Americans are prone to obesity while Britons drink too much."

As some of the characters say our favorite role-playing game (Baldur's Gate): "Bring me some ale!"

Word Wednesday: The Importance of Spaces

From Impera's Middle School:

REMINDER: The Book Swap is Next Week

*Be sure to turn your books into your Language Arts/Reading teachers as soon as possible!

Sigh. 'Nuf said.

A Post, with T-Shirts and Bumper Stickers

The Roman Catholic Church is considering allowing married couples to use condoms to prevent the spread of AIDS. Some people do that already (and with a sense of humor, to boot).

You know, terrorists can be pretty darn tough to get rid of.

Maybe if we just get together, we can get rid of the bad guys. We can stand up for true moral values, not Republican swill.

So, be proud! And don't be afraid to tell people what you think.

Visit Recap

We had a Munchkin and a Sweet Pea visit us this weekend, and we had lots of fun playing with the elder and getting to know the younger. Much cuteness abounded.

But we felt very bad that we did practically nothing. We were able to go for a walk on Friday morning, but Sweet Pea had a cold, and the weather was rainy, rainy, and more rainy, so Sweet Pea’s mom didn’t want her out. (Plus, when southern folks come to the wild north they often don’t realize that we are several degrees colder than their balmy land [And put their faith in weather.com. I only put my faith in NOAA {that’s “Noah”, and NOAA knows from rainy weather!}]).

The Munchkin did come out in the pouring rain on Saturday morning with her dad and helped the Consort and I man the water station for a half-marathon that passed through our neighborhood. (Yeah, we all laughed at the silly athletes running in the rain, but after an hour of standing in the rain, we realized we were the silly ones: at least the runners stayed warm!)

Anyway, we four of the realm enjoyed the visit (now we know how to do the toddler tap move “Squash the Bug”!), and we hope this experience didn’t turn out to be a very expensive dud for our cool and hip urban relatives.

Story of a Month in 2,000 Words*

April 1:


April 28:


*Really, it is 2,041. Because the Consort snorts that Boswell is a Republican in Democrat's clothing, but hey, we were at a parade, and no matter how bad he is, he isn't as bad as the Republican, so Impera and I took the darn stickers.

World Music Site

I probably won’t be able to post much in the next few days: we’ve got houseguests!

In the meantime, may I suggest you all go visit calabashmusic.com. It’s a fair trade music site, and they specialize in world music. Their stuff is compatible with iTunes, and you can buy $20 worth of songs (99 cents a song) for $14.99 (not a bad deal!).

Plus, every week, they have a free download. Who can argue with free music? Sometimes it isn’t so good, but sometimes it’s very very good.

When you’re there, check out the video from Sara Tavares (on the main page). I listened, and I liked it so much I bought the entire album. I’ve got a thing for Cape Verde women artists (Cesaria Evora is also high on my playlist).

I’ve also added Stegbeetle’s site Solid Gone to my Links list.

That’s all for now.

A Scene: In Which Imperatrix Realizes that the Consort Must Be a Brave Soul

The Scene: Last night, I was with a group of older women, at the home of one who in her demeanor and personality I would have to say is a veritable Nanny Ogg, and, as is the case when folks get together, we were talking of things. Somehow, someone made mention of Capricorns. (Keep in mind that, being a January baby, I am a Capricorn.) Now, I don’t know these women very well, and, being in a different arc of the life cycle than all of them (let’s just say that they’d all be happy to hear tomorrow that they are to be grandmas; I would not), we don’t have that much in common. Although they are all very nice. But they do like to talk. And sometimes it’s hard to get a word in edgewise.

Nanny Ogg: “…very organized, you know, like a Capricorn is.”
Me: [Chuckles.]“That’s funny, I’m a —”
No. 1: [Cuts in, doesn’t even register my speaking.] “Ooooo! I dated a Capricorn for seven years, and he had me wrapped around his little finger…”
Me: [Continues] “—and I definitely like things organized—” [Realizes with a start what’s being implied; fades out.]
No. 2: “Well I was married to a Capricorn for 28 years, if you can believe it.”
Nanny Ogg: [Interrupts.]“The first husband or the second?”
No. 2: “The first.”
No. 1: [Continues, oblivious to No. 2]“He had a day and an hour for everything. [Pregnant pause.] I mean, ev-er-y-thing.” [Wiggles eyebrows.]
No. 2: [Refuses to be outdone.] “Talk about control issues! I didn’t even know who I was anymore until I left him.”
No. 1: “Goodness, he had no creativity at all, that man—and you know how creative I am; I’m an art teacher for heaven’s sake!”
No. 2: “The sooner you get rid of a Capricorn, the better off you are.”
Me: [Silent. Tries to look inconspicuous.]
No. 1: “Absolutely.”
[They all nod in agreement.]
Nanny Ogg [to me]: “I’m sorry, hon, did you say something?”
Me: “Oh, no." [Brushes off the attention.] "Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Who scheduled this? Just last week, it was over 80 degrees and we had to accomplish creative home-cooling without AC. Today, it is raining snow.

Big, fat, clumps of snow.

Harrumph!

Water, Water, Neverwhere...

There’s a new book by Fred Pearce about the impending water crisis: When the Rivers Run Dry. The interview at Salon.com [note: you'll have to watch an ad if you aren't subscribed, but then you have a day pass to read whatever you like -- and you can get a day pass over and over] notes some facts, like:

Brushing your teeth with the water running wastes 4.5 gallons of water.

It takes 40 gallons of water to grow the ingredients for two slices of bread.

You need 250 gallons of water for a glass of milk, and 650 gallons of water for a pound of cheddar cheese.

It will take 800 gallons of water to produce the meat for one hamburger.

Yeesh! Wasteful use of resources is the number 1 reason why the Consort and I made the choice to become vegetarians, lo these many years ago. (You can get more info at the EPA Web site [and yes, I’ve already alerted them that there is a typo on the page].)

The majestic rivers of the United States are running dry so that farming conglomerates can make another fast buck, and regular Americans can “live the American Dream” in a fabricated suburb in the desert. And let’s not forget all those gamblers in Las Vegas; they need lots of flushing power in those palace-themed mega-hotels!

Internationally, water-use rights fuel conflict in the Middle East, Northern Africa, and Asia.

I’ve requested the book from my local library, and I’ll let you all know what I think after I’ve read it.

Links for Monday

I have things to do today, people. (And, Blogger was acting all paranoid earlier—this was ready to go at 8:30 this morning!) So instead I offer you things I've cribbed from other sites:

Children ghost-write a speech for President Bush. Only in San Francisco, folks.

Then, if you promise to put down the coffee/tea mug before you read the next one, you can visit "Remove Me from Your Rooster!"

I was going to try to find a third link, but -- nah, the Rooster one is too good.

Links to Laugh At

I have things to do today, people. So instead I offer you things I've crbbed from other sites:

Children ghost-write a speech for President Bush. Only in San Francisco, folks.

Then, if you promise to put down the coffee/tea mug before you read the next one, you can visit "Remove Me from Your Rooster!"

I was going to try to find a third link, but -- nah, the Rooster one is too good.

Violet Jelly

I made a batch of violet jelly yesterday, and, in honor of Earth Day, I present it to you here.

2 cups violet blossoms

2+ cups boiling water

Pour boiling water on blossoms and cover 12-24 hours (If you can't get to the cooking within 24 hours, store in the refrigerator).

1/4 cup lemon juice

Strain the petals from the infusion (make sure you have 2 cups of infusion; the petals will absorb a tiny bit), and add the lemon juice.

On the right is the strained infusion, on the left is the infusion after addition of the lemon juice.

1 pkg. powdered pectin

4 cups sugar

Dissolve the pectin into the liquid and bring to a rolling boil (one you can't stir down) in a large pot. Add sugar all at once and bring back to rolling boil. Boil for 1 minute. Remove from heat and let boiling die down. Skim off foam with large spoon.

Pour immediately into hot sterilized jars and seal. Makes 4-5 cups of jelly. Enjoy!

A Brief Public-Service Announcement

When we bought this house, our yard looked like this in the Spring:

My mother said, “Get some Round-Up!”
The Consort’s mother said, “Water your lawn!”

Now, our yard looks like this:

Did we toss our environmental tenets to get this dandelion-free lawn? No! Our secret weapon in the War on Dandelions (some lawn enthusiasts may call it the War on Terror) is this handy little tool:

Yep. That’s it. See, if you can stop the dandelions from spreading their seeds or regrowing from their roots, then you’re home free. Yanking out the blossoms is easy, but dandelions have very tenacious taproots that can easily grow back, again and again. Hence, the looooooong stem on the tool. You can get down deep without making big holes in your yard.

Because of the Consort’s expert wielding of the dandelion tool, we have never had to use any poisons on our lawn, which meant that every Spring I’ve been able to make violet jelly from blossoms carpeting our yard without worrying that any of us would sprout an extra nose on our elbow.

While you are pulling the dandelions, you can meditate, zone out, contemplate the universe, compose a sonnet, whatever; it's great "me time". And Impera has found the peaceful half-hour or so a couple of times a week that the Consort would be pulling dandelions a good time to chat with her dad about anything on her mind.

So if you have a dandelion problem, get one of these dandelion tools. You won't regret it. (And you'll save a bunch of money, to boot!)

Word Wednesday: Tests and Talks

Remember our discussion of a couple of weeks ago? Well, I’m trying to expand my client base, which means I have to take each company’s editing test (harrumph). And last week I came across one which had a series of sentences I was supposed to either fix or note that it was fine as is. And you know what one of the sentences was? Yep: “Hopefully John will make it home in time for the party.” I almost gave the the link to the blog entry. Heh.

And now, because I have no other inspiration, I offer you this brief exchange, which includes some tasty morsels of GWB language (Note: Yesterday, George Bush was shouting at reporters. I was shouting at the radio):

"Don Rumsfeld is doing a fine job," said Mr. Bush. "He is not only transforming the military [Into…? What? Transformation isn’t necessarily a good thing, y’know], he is fighting a war on terror [All by himself? And, hey—how many wars on terror have you got going there, George?]. He is helping us fight a war on terror. I have strong confidence in Don Rumsfeld. I hear the voices [Does it not frighten you to know that the president of the United States hears voices?]. And I read the front page [At last! Some honesty! He reads the front page. But not the continuation of the story on page A13. So he never gets the full, nuanced story]. And I know the speculation. But I am the decider. And I decide what is best […for Dick Cheney’s cronies. Oh, and me and my cronies, too.]. And what is best is for Don Rumsfeld to remain as the Secretary of Defense."

Yes, George, you are the Decider. Gods help us all.

Bosoms

The Consort is good at many things, but he is not good at recognizing people. And because the nature of his job implies that every year he will have to recognize an additional 200 or so students, you can imagine that this sometimes turns out to be trouble. Compounding this is the fact that the Consort, who doesn’t like to lie, is very bad at pretending to remember people. He can’t fake it very well.

Last week as we were leaving Home Depot we hear, “Hi, Professor! How are you?” So we stop and go over to the young woman in the ubiquitous orange apron who had called out.

“Oh,….hi?” says the Consort.
“How are you?” The perky young woman continues.
“Yes,” says the Consort.

[awkward silence]

I break the silence to say that we are finalizing a kitchen redo, and then the Consort is able to jump in and begins chatting about different flooring options, and the conversation is saved. But he still has no idea who this woman is. [I can tell. After 13 years, you can read these things.]

We extricate ourselves, and continue on to the car. The Consort admits that he still can’t remember what class she took from him.

“Her name is Deanna,” I tell him.

“Oh! Deanna! Yes, now I remember. I just couldn’t place the face.” We segue into a conversation about how there are only about five “ style types” of college women, and even fewer—maybe three—“style types” of college men, which makes it difficult to sort out who is who when you run into them outside of the classroom.

“But her name was on her apron,” I tell him. “Didn’t you see it?”

“I can’t look there,” he tells me. “Then they’ll think I’m looking at their breasts.”

“But that’s what I did, and I don’t think she thought I was ogling her,” I reply. “That’s why people wear name tags, so you can learn their names!”

“They’ve done studies, you know, and it seems that women can gather information more quickly from a glance than men can. That’s why women may be more adept at reading feelings from body language than men.”

“Because evolutionarily, it hasn’t been necessary for men to be able to read feelings?”

“Yeah. If all you’re going to do is swipe the stranger with your club and bash their brains in, then who cares what they’re feeling at that moment?”

“So modern society creates a barrier for men—even the sensitive type, like you—to be able to feel completely at ease.”

“Precisely. Now we worry about getting in trouble for looking at women’s breasts.”

“Where their name tags are.”

“Right. Which we can’t read fast enough.”

Damn those nametags. Maybe we should start wearing them on our foreheads.

Huh.

We’re all very excited in the realm because the planned visit of Sis No. 2 and her family is coming up soon. On Friday I reminded everyone that it was a Big Clean weekend (an every-other-week occurrence) so that everything would be ready for the arrival on Wednesday of their aunt and cousins. Bathooms were scrubbed, furniture was dusted, refrigerators were cleaned out (OK, actually, we only have the one, but I was going with parallelism here, people). Yahoo!

Yesterday afternoon, I’m on the phone with Sis No. 2, and we’re getting excited about the visit coming up and I’m listening to all her stories about their Easter fun and dead-rodents-in-the-crawlspace unfun this weekend, and she mentions that she hopes to have all the icky stuff cleaned out by this coming weekend, because she wants to get new insulation in the crawlspace over the weekend.

“But…” I said.

“I just can’t wait until this whole thing is over. I’ll take cockroaches over rats any day,” she continues.

“But…” I try, more urgently.

“From now on, my sweet spouse is just going to have to check the crawlspace out more often. Yuck!”

“But!” I cry, “you all will be at my house this weekend!”

“No, we’re arriving the 26th,” she says.

“I wrote it down months ago when we talked about it first,” I reply.

“I e-mailed you the airline itinerary, didn’t you read it?” she asks.

“I checked the arrival time,” I tell her. I also noticed it confirmed a Wednesday arrival, so I looked no further.

“Well, it’s the 26th,” she says again.

Oh, OK.

(I swear she changed the dates after we first planned the visit!)

I Joke About Tornados, But...

...they are definitely serious business.


This one touched down on the east coast of Iowa, and we live in south-central.

The Tale of Black Beauty: Or, Why The Consort Mocked Three of Four's Suggestion

Once upon a time (about 3 years ago), picking videos to watch as a family was going through a rough patch. Impera was ready for some more character-driven full-length movies, but Trixie was still happiest with a short feature (those 1970s era Snoopy TV specials were her favorite). So we started a rotation. Impera would pick what to watch one week, Trixie the next. When Impera picked, Trixie would invariably wander off halfway through the movie and play quietly with her Little People (playmobile). When Trixie picked, Impera would watch, but not get much pleasure out of it.

Then, a day finally came when, for some reason or another, neither girl could go with her father to the video store, so he went alone. He comes back with Black Beauty. “It’s got animals—Trixie loves animals!” he thought. “And it is a real genuine movie, so Impera will love it as well!”

We sit down to watch it. First, we get to know the characters. Isn’t it sweet—Black Beauty is born to such a happy family. La la la! And he’s got friends: the stable boy, a little pony, the goose, the dog; and the children so love their horse! But then—the boy gets sick. His family doesn’t know what to do! They have to move away from England. Everyone is sad, and Black Beauty gets sold to a hoity-toity family. Trixie gets silent. It is clear that the lady of the house keeps the carriage horses’ leads too tight, just to “look better.” But BB makes a friend: Ginger. Ah! She is the love of his life, even though she is not the most trusting of horses.

Then the evil son of the family races Ginger too hard: he breaks her. Trixie is tense. Bad, bad man. More happenstance, and now BB finds himself alone in London, as a cab horse. Life is hard, but the cabbie, although often sick, is a kind man. And so is his family. Trixie relaxes. BB even glimpses Ginger! She is a cab horse, too. She is unhappy, but we all know BB can raise her spirits (maybe BB’s owner may even buy Ginger one day and they’ll all live happily ever after). But then—O! Fickle fate! Ginger is seen, dead, carried away to the glue factory.

At this point in the movie, we have to pause it. Trixie is sobbing, Impera, who has been silent the entire time, has weepy eyes. This is not turning out to be a good movie for anyone. “Things get better!” soothes the Consort. “Your aunt loved this book when she was young!” (And now this aunt owns a stable and teaches dressage, so you can make of this information what you will.)

We return to the movie. The cabbie gets sick, thanks to some very unsympathetic rich sons a’ britches. We hear sniffs. The family has to sell BB. They can’t afford to keep him with their papa sick. We hear muffled weeping. BB gets sold to a miller. (What is a miller? The children learn from this movie that miller is an old English word for “evil horse torturer”.)

Finally, Black Beauty, now a bag of bones and sores, gets saved by the grown-up stable boy from his first family. All is good. He lives the last years of his life in happiness. Black Beauty eventually dies, and as he dies, we see him envisioning a field where his mother, the little pony, the goose and dog, and Ginger—sweet Ginger!—are all waiting for him. What a glorious montage with which to end the movie.

But we cannot enjoy it, because both girls at this point have broken down into full-throated sobs. Impera curls in on herself, crying, and Trixie is clenching the Consort’s side, wailing into his ribs, “I KNEW we should have rented a Snoopy video! Nobody ever dies in a Snoopy video!”

After we calm them down and put them to bed, the Consort turns to me and says, “It was bad luck they only had my second choice at the video store. I had wanted to rent Old Yeller, but it was out.”

Help Needed: Debunking "Classics = Sad Ending"

Remember how a few days ago I mentioned that teen books had a tendency to have depressing endings? Well, maybe you don't, but I did. Anyway, Impera wants to know if any classics have a happy ending. I suggested A Christmas Carol, but that didn't seem to do it. I also said I thought Treasure Island might have a happy ending, but I think there were some peripheral deaths? (It was never one of my favorites.) Jane Eyre turns out happy for *Jane*, but at the expense of that poor mad wife; Wide Sargasso Sea did nothing to change my views on that. (Although I will admit I went to see that movie *without knowing what it was all about* -- it just seemed like a neat way to spend an afternoon. My gasp at the end when it becomes clear who these characters really are was audible. I may have embarrassed my friend Jen, but the Consort was unruffled by my outburst.) Even Little Women is bittersweet.

So, help me out folks. Any classics with happy endings? I'm sure I'll have alot of "d'uh" moments as I read your suggestions, but I just can't wrap myself around this one.

Oooo! And as I write, I realize we can put Jane Auten novels in the happy camp. Next?

Undocumented Workers: Continued and Edited

I’m really pleased that people are taking the time to give their opinions on my illegal immigrant post. I want to reply to everyone, and thought it might make more sense to continue in another post rather than stuff a very long response in the comments.

First, the whole “Are they criminals?” thing. Consider if you will an interracial couple. In the 1950s, in many places, the two people involved would have been considered criminals under the law. Were they criminals? I would argue not. Similarly, if we agree that the law has to change for undocumented workers in the US, then calling these workers “criminals” during the debate is naming them based on a system that we want to change, and that makes no sense, and wouldn’t be very fair. It is also lumping all these people in with another large group that crosses the borders illegally; namely, drug smugglers. Using the term “criminal” for both groups merges them in the societal unconscious (ooo, she uses fancy terminology!). And exacerbates the racism that is within easy reach when it comes to someone with a different color skin, a different culture, or a different language.

I agree, Cowgirl, that seeing “Viva Mexico, Down with the USA” signs doesn’t help their side. I think part of that is just the fact that whenever there is a rally, there will be some jackasses who come without any respect for the topic at hand (at an anti-war rally we participated in two years ago, there were some people who marched with pro-Kucinich signs[for all you non-USians, he was one of the Democratic contenders for president in 2004]; this really bothered me because it implied that all of us were Kucinich supporters, but I wasn’t, I was an anti-war supporter—and that is a BIG difference). But I think that some of it is in response to the racism that these people are sensing (both in words and in actions [such as the building of a wall near populous Mexican border cities]), and using a sign like that may be their way of saying, “Hey, I’m proud of my heritage!” Also, this is a debate in which there isn’t an easy catch-phrase, such as “pro-choice”, “women’s rights”, or “anti-war”. Do you see what I mean? Just don’t lump everyone at the rallies with the people holding those signs, just like I hope no one at the anti-war rally lumped us all in with the Kucinich folks.

I also agree that we shouldn’t let someone who came in illegally “cut in line”, so to speak, as Sis No. 2 noted.

As for Ally’s question about the children of undocumented workers, I don’t think we shouldn’t let the kids go to school or even stop them from receiving subsidized healthcare. That would be a terrible idea: We don’t want to create a worse kind of underclass than we already have. And that is why I think we should somehow make the workers legal so that they pay *federal* taxes (because even with taxes withheld, they’d be making more than they could make in their home countries). That way the parents are paying into the system for social assistance and special needs programs.

And to clarify, the illegal immigrants all the hoopla is about here in the US right now really should be rightfully called undocumented workers. The terms aren’t interchangeable, although we have used them that way here in the US. These are the 11 million workers (I think I’m remembering the number correctly) who come to the US for work, not asylum. Our main asylum seekers are Cubans, and that's a whole nother political kettle of fish!

And now for something completely different: Our Battle of the Books team came in 5th, out of an original 43 teams (I had thought there were 41). The kids were so happy to be able to make it to the final eight (and are looking forward to moving up next year!). The top two teams who battled it out in the final oral round were two homeschooling teams, and the winner was the team of kids we know very well, so Impera was happy to be able to cheer them on.

We’ve got another high intensity storm coming though “capable of producing tornadoes”, right now, so I’ll be signing off here (and probably heading off to bed soon). Keep the discussion going!

Illegal Immigration (Edited 4/12/06)*

“Sandra, 19, an undocumented immigrant from Waterloo, feels like her life is on hold. Her family moved to Waterloo from the Mexican state of Michoacan when she was a young child…Growing up, she went to Waterloo schools. She earned good grades and ran track at West High School, where she graduated in 2005. She dreamed of going to college and becoming a doctor...Her life is on hold because her immigration status disqualifies her for federal student loans, grants and scholarships.”

You can read the entire story here. The way the immigration debate has been framed the past few weeks has really left me fuming. And this article is just another example.

Now, the Consort and I are probably so leftist we scare many Democrats. And we consider that a good thing. In regards to illegal immigrants, here is what I believe:

1. Illegal immigrants should be treated like people, they are not criminals.

2. Those damned Minutemen should be forcibly removed from the borders and shot told not to come back.

3. Building a wall is not going to work. (Here in the US or anywhere else in the world, for that matter.)

4. I’m not sure the whole “give them drivers licenses” thing would work, but I am willing to give it a try.

5. Most importantly, we need to figure out a way to get these people integrated into society.

Why? Because of stories like Sandra’s. Stories like Sandra’s do not elicit sympathy from me. Darn it, she went to public schools (great) and was able to participate in track (wonderful). And now, we’re supposed to feel sorry for her that she has to put her college hopes on hold—and they are on hold not because she can’t get in (she can) but because she can’t take advantage of federal student loans? (Something funded by federal tax money.)

Some communities are struggling to meet the special needs (English as a Second Language) of a large influx of immigrant kids in their schools. And they have to do that with an already strapped budget, which, yet again, I remind you is partially paid for with federal money and federal grants, a tax fund that illegal immigrants do not pay into. We can’t keep doing this, people.

Give them permits, give them guest worker passes, come down really hard on businesses that hire undocumented workers, and for god’s sake get them paying into the system.

This is very quick & dirty, because I just had to say something even though I’m going to be leaving in a little while for the Battle of the Books. I may clean it up later. Please weigh in.

*Thanks to KathyF, who noted that in paying rent, everyone pays into property taxes, and that by buying anything, everyone pays into state taxes. And a portion of both of these go to pay for k-12 education. However (this is me again), at least in Iowa we are also dependent on federal monies and grants to keep our school system going. And this federal money is collected via federal income tax, which anyone who gets paid "under the table" or "in cash" does not contribute to. I note again that the article that sparked all this does focus on the fact that the student in question cannot receive federal student aid.

Afternoon Update

The garden photos are up. I had fun with the Notes feature of flickr.

Slow Start Monday

What a gorgeous weekend it was! Spring weather (a bit chilly on Saturday, but at least sunny), so we spent a lot of time outdoors. I'll be posting some of our seedling pictures later. On Sunday, the Consort played with the city Ultimate league, as he does most Sundays (and Wednesdays, too). I decided that instead of making the rye bread I had planned to bake, we would all go spend a few hours in the park. While he ran and ran, we took a walk along the river, stood on the bridge, and watched the water flow beneath us. Today promises to be nice and warm as well.

Impera is wearing a skirt to school (!! -- Back in 3rd grade she only wore skirts. I had to make the rounds of the consignment stores in the area to get enough long skirts for her [they had to be long because a lot of Montessori work is done on small rugs on the floor, so comfort and modesty were a must]. Then she swore off skirts completely for the past 3 years. I would buy one a season, so in case she had to "dress up" [rather infrequently with our lifestyle], she'd have something. But now, in the Spring of 6th grade, she mentioned that she might like to have a couple of skirts. !!)

Tomorrow I won't be around most of the day because Impera's team has made it to the final round of the Battle of the Books. The kids are all very excited. So are the teachers; this is the first team Impera's school has ever had for this competition. I've been having a lot of fun meeting with the kids on a weekly basis, chatting about books. It looks like we will at least continue next year as well. Huzzah!

Sorry for the randomness. I'm sure I had tons of more pertinent things to say about heavier topics, but that will have to wait until later, I suppose.

Substituting Links for Actual Blogging

Sorry, people, my energy level is still too low from the cold to write up my usual pseudo-humorous drivel, so instead, check out the newcomer to my links list (ducking for apples [but I haven't OK'd that addition with Ally herself yet...]) and my new list of food blogs. I put KathyF in the food blogs section too because on Wednesdays she usually does a food post, and they are always tasty-looking vegetarian recipes.

On Wednesday I made the papaya-coconut cupcakes with ginger-lime frosting by Chockylit, and they were delicious. Click on the link if only to see the gorgeous picture of the cupckes (no, I did not frost mine so fancily, but I did garnish each with lime zest --pretty pretty).

I'll have to blog about the kitchen redo later... *achoo*!

News and Achoos

So what's your favorite remedy for getting over a cold? I've got one (a cold, that is), and that's the "achoos" of the title.

Well, today, the remedy I followed was "Spend two hours with the consultant finalizing the plan for redoing the kitchen" (need I say, it wasn't very successful?*). But that's the "news": Hopefully by the end of May, our 1960s outdated and awkwardly set up kitchen will be new new new!

We figure that either: (a) The Consort won't get tenure, in which case a kitchen redo is a very good investment when preparing to sell a house, or (b) The Consort will get tenure, in which case the teeny tiny increase in pay from Assistant to Associate professor will help us pay off the new kitchen. But even if (b) turns out to be true, we might not stay here past 3 more years, hence we're back to the reasoning behind (a).

Now, excuse me while I go stick my head above a bowl of steaming water.

*The remedy, not the consultation. That went fine.

Word Wednesday: Why Would I Want That?

There is a sign at the counter of my local Walgreens pharmacy. It has been bugging me and bugging me for a few months now. It says:

We Sell Diabetic Shoes
Ask Us About Them
This Purchase Might Be Right For You

And I can’t help but wonder: Why?

Who would want to buy footwear that has a chronic disease? I have a thing about feet (I’ll have to blog about that at some point), so I certainly wouldn’t want special needs shoes—I can barely stand taking care of my perfectly healthy feet. Yuck!

And what kind of special care would they require? When you’re diabetic, you have to regulate you sugar intake, right? So, would my diabetic shoes need me to regulate their sweat (which follows one set of pronounciation rules to sound “sweet”) intake? Gross!—Don’t even think about that!!!

And would my diabetic shoes need diabetic socks? (I’m pretty sure I saw an infomercial about them at some point.) And would the tingling that affects 60% of diabetics affect the shoes? (More importantly, would the tingling transfer to my feet while I was wearing the shoes?)

And how would I know if the shoes were getting worse, or if they were stable? And if they were getting worse, how much would it cost me for the inevitable amputation? And then, would I be required to wear shoes that are missing the front third, with my toes wiggling out there for all to see? Or could I "retire" them at this point? (Dare I say, shoe euthanasia [I mean, are shoes considered on the same level as humans?])

This is what happens when a meaningless sign is put up in a public place.

"The politics of taxing / The politics of ooo paying out"*

Huzzah! Huzzah! Our taxes are done, and I will pick them up today. —What’s that? How much are we getting back? Why, nothing, of course. We will owe around $400 all told (federal and state).

That’s good for several reasons. First, it’s been typically closer to $1,000 owed, so only $400 is fantabulous (this “owing” is, I believe, due to being a freelancer, where no two years are exactly the same, income-wise). Another reason it’s a positive thing is that it means I did better than we thought I would. And the fact that we’re getting closer to zero owed also means we’re doing a better and better job of guesstimating correctly on what I should be paying in estimated taxes (yeah, flip side of the coin).

But the strongest reason for owing rather than getting a refund is this: Sure, you’re psyched that you got $2,423 in tax refund (that’s the average tax refund so far this year, according to Time magazine). But that’s a $2,400 loan you gave the government this year, interest-free. Imagine how powerful that money would have been if you had been able to keep it in your own bushel basket (well, I’d hope you’d do something better than keep your talents under a bushel basket, but…). At least you’d be able to get some interest off it. Do you realize that Americans overwithhold $10 billion annually? Ten. Billion. Golly gee willikers!

Now, before you go off thinking I’m turning libertarian, I’m not. I still believe that our responsibility to our community (for education, health care, welfare, etc.) includes paying a heck of a lot more in taxes, and I would pay more willingly (as long as we could stop insisting that so much of it should go to paved roads and corporate loopholes). But it makes no sense whatsoever to give money interest-free to the government (one that lately is using my money in terrible terrible ways).

So, how much did you get back? Are you still as excited about getting a refund? Enquiring minds want to know…

*Sorry, I've had "The Politics of Dancing" plyaing in my head for the past 24 hours. I don't know why. I took it to be a sign.

Imperatrix, Bully Extraordinaire

The other day I couldn’t find my tea mug. The Consort helped me look (by searching in all my recent pre-Alzheimer’s favorite forgetful places), and even working together we couldn’t find it anywhere. Now, before you say “Pshaw pshaw, mugs get lost and mugs get found. It’s no big deal,” let me show you a picture of my mug:

Arrgh! I can't! Because Blogger won't let me! Grrrrrrr.

As the lovely Vanna White Barbie can attest, it is VERY BIG (about 6.5 inches tall and 4 inches diameter). So this is not some dainty eggshell china teacup that can be easily mislaid. This is a Mother of a Mug. So where could it be? It just made no sense that something that big could continue to conceal itself from two intrepid mug-hunters.

“I think I’m going to have to ask Bendita,” I said. “Yes! Yes!” shouted the children. “If you want to,” said the Consort. (I should have wondered then about his less-than-enthused reply.)

Who is Bendita? She is a house fairy. And she helps you find things. I don’t remember where we learned about her. A few years ago, we had lost something (I can’t remember what), and until we found it we couldn’t get on with our evening. So after looking for a while, I gave up and went upstairs to take a shower, which I needed to do anyway. When I had dried off and gotten dressed, the girls ran upstairs shouting, “It worked! It worked! Bendita helped us find it!!” They explained about Bendita, in little-kid terms, and whatever they said sounded fine to me, but I quickly forgot the details (something about writing her name on a piece of paper, tossing it into the air, and looking for the paper but finding your missing item?). And we haven’t had cause to use “The Bendita Trick” again for the past 3 years.

So back to my mug. This was becoming quite a bother, so I decided that yes, I had nothing to lose, I might as well give Bendita a shot. I asked the Consort what I was supposed to do.

“Well, you write her name on a piece of paper.”
“Okay.”
“Then you fold it up.”
“Got it.”
“Then you call out ‘Bendita, I have caught you here and won’t let you go until I find my missing item!’”
“'Bendita! I have …' uh … erm … So what you’re saying is I have to take her hostage?"
“Yup.”
“…And threaten not to release her until I find my mug?”
“That’s the extent of it. But don’t forget to put the folded up piece of paper under a chair leg while you’re searching.”

Now, readers, I’d like to say that I decided not to do it. But I was missing my mug!

So I rationalized it as a National Emergency, and went through with it. But it isn’t like you find it right away, oh no. She’s a tricksy little thing, is Bendita. She makes you work for it. And while you search, you feel more and more guilty.

“Maybe I should just let her go. This is ridiculous.”

“But if you do that,” warned the Consort, “it’ll be that you went back on your word.”

“Right. With children and house fairies, you can’t ever go back on your word. You lose street cred that way.”

So I dejectedly continued searching. I felt like the worst kind of bully, holding an innocent fairy captive until I got my way. I felt dirty in my soul. And, people, I don’t know why I did it, but I opened the microwave door.

And there was my mug! Halleluiah!

Thank you, Bendita!

But I don’t think I’ll be finding things this way again.