Occidental Tourist

Girl and Cat

2011-08-06T11:27:00.000-07:00

Natalie and Dewey in a poorly edited, strangely color casted photo...

Miles

2011-05-26T05:57:00.000-07:00

When Milo is ready to play he gets this certain look in his eyes that is hard to describe. If you remember the snake from The Jungle Book movie, the swirly, hypnotizing eyes. That is what I see in Milo's eyes.

Here, he is too sleepy to have full-on swirly eyes. This is more his, "I just woke up, give me a few minutes to catch up and then I'll kill you" face.

This is how he looks when he's about to attack my head. Why I let a cat who attacks my head also sleep on my pillow is called SUCKER.

This is typical of how Milo looks in action. This particular action is yawning, but the gaping mouth is impressive nonetheless.

The mice in the neighborhood don't stand a chance against The Predator. Except when he sleeps.

Mama sez ai iz so gud when ai sleep! Wut do u think that meenz?

Law of the Jungle

2011-05-23T17:43:00.000-07:00

The wild animal stalks her prey with stealth, often waiting hours for just the right moment.

The prey, meanwhile, is unaware of the danger that is about to befall him.

The wild animal in question wears orange sweatpants and no socks when stalking...

Dewey should know better by now.

Garfield Rules Mornings Around Here

2011-04-27T07:32:00.000-07:00

Every morning, OC eats her breakfast while reading the comics page. She is like me that way, can't sit there with nothing to read. Talk to your family? BORING. Where's the cereal box? Pamphlet of famous Jewish athletes? ANYFRIGGINGTHING?

Today's Garfield was a particularly good one, so she shared it with me, saying, "Jim Davis does a good job of coming up with new ones."

Sometimes I'm even called in to explain a pop culture reference. Thank goodness I spent my youth reading Archie comics and other kinds of things that would render me useful to my child.

More Kitteh

2011-04-26T07:21:00.000-07:00

Milo and Dewey proving we adopted the right kittens.

Milo and Dewey are the new Milo and Otis.

Superbad

2011-04-25T07:06:00.000-07:00

How quickly do tiny balls of fluff...

...become predatory furballs?

Superbad is Milo's nickname (he's the orange one with The Face). Here's why that is his nickname: because he has the judgment inabilities of an adolescent wrapped with the fearlessness of a toddler, equipped with deadly weapons. He attacks anything that moves. That's bad news for the mice population within a certain radius of our house, but also bad news for our feet, sweatshirt drawstrings, wiggling fingers, or anything else we might be dumb enough to move when he's in the mood to play.

How can cute be so bad?

She lyz. See mah fayc? I iz gud.*

* No, he's not.

Bottoms Up

2011-04-20T08:37:00.000-07:00

Nicholas Kristoff tells it brilliantly by example, that bottom-up movements achieve social change faster than pedantic and goody-two shoes campaigns. From Serbian dictator Slobodan Milosevic to teenage smoking, this is what works.

When the Debt Was Paid

2011-04-15T07:48:00.000-07:00

The last time the U.S. had a zero debt balance, Andrew Jackson was president. It was 1835. Is debt good or bad? Is some debt good, but a lot of debt is bad? How much debt is too much? Does it depend on GDP?

I have my opinions. I don't know if they are the answers. Maybe they are. Perhaps the secret lies inside the brain of a 37-year old softball mom...

Read all about it.

Happy tax day.

I am SO NOT Okay

2011-03-18T23:22:00.000-07:00

Evidence:

Friday, 10:14 pm
My Living Room

The family laptop has hulu playing the latest Glee episode. I am wearing headphones as a courtesy to family members who have already gone to bed. The sound seems low, so I turn it up...

10: 16 pm

Have solved the sound problem. It takes me two full minutes to realize the sound is not coming through the headphones because the headphones are plugged in to the wrong place. The last two minutes of Glee were blasted into my living room. How's that sleep working out for you, family? You're welcome!

Time for bed.

I'm Okay!

2011-03-04T05:47:00.000-08:00

The title of this post refers to what I yell at my family when, after skiing together, they find themselves sans mama farther along the ski trail, through the trees and around the corner, waiting and wondering what had happened to me.

There has been a little more of this activity (minus the funky bonnet):

I have stolen random half-hours to get some knitting done. I have projects left in various states of confusion and mistakes: a wrap that I messed up a simple cable pattern, so I have to tink back a few rows. A sock my cat put a hole in. Not sure what to do about that one. I jumper for The Girl in which all that is left is the neck; I'd better finish soon or else she'll grow out of it before it's done.

There's more. But, it's okay...

And, though it's not time to knit outdoors yet, this looks idyllic.

It doesn't address the problem of wind, debris catching in your yarn, or the chickens and cats that will inevitably attack your yarn. But, yes, lovely idea.

I recently read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, set in World War II. And, though not about knitting, is a harkening back to the time when resources were scarce and people banded together to help one another out.

People knit together, literally and figuratively, to pool their resources and skills in order to make things for all, and to take care of one another.

It's a nice idea, I think, although better not to have to face war in order to get to that point of togetherness.

Ouch! It's Hot.

2011-03-01T09:39:00.000-08:00

English presentation next week, history paper due soon (research barely begun!), piles of reading to do for class, kid to homeschool, bathroom to clean? what bathroom?....

If you need me, I'll be under the covers, facing things like a grown-up.

It Is Very Real

2011-02-03T09:10:00.001-08:00

I was going through my bookmarks and separating the knitting blogs into one folder, while simultaneously clicking random blogs to see what was going on.

IzzyMom had a post about retro ads that is too offensive and over-the-top campy to be real...but they are.

Especially the Tab video. I don't know about you, but if a woman's greatest aspiration in life is to be a "mindsticker" than I don't want the job.*

_ - _ - _ - _ - _

* Actual word used in the video. MUST BE SEEN TO BE BELIEVED.

Political Books

2011-01-28T09:24:00.000-08:00

My husband is much more political than myself. When it comes to political books or entertainment, I am interested.

Slate posted a story about favorite novels about Washington D.C. Cesspool upon the Potomac it may be, but intriguing nonetheless.

Now Reading

2011-01-18T09:14:00.000-08:00

On the needles: mittens with color-stranded heart for upcoming holiday revelry.

I've been reading Elizabeth Zimmermann's knitting books. Written in the middle of the last century by this famous knitter, they've been reprinted in recent years. My library lends them out. This is a fabulous system.

Knitting Without Tears is full of advice for simple techniques, how to make your own sweaters and things come out right. But most of all, a reminder to enjoy knitting without all the stress.

Knitting? Stressful? If Grandma can do it, how is it stressful? The two words seem oxymoronic, until you try to make something out of two sticks and some string. It's HARD. It's WEIRD. It ain't EASY. So yes, a book is a wonderful companion when you are near the tears. Elizabeth has a style that is something like, "Don't sweat it, I've got a fix for that." In her Knitter's Almanac she narrates one year while filling a book full of techniques for various projects. I loved reading about knitting at night in a dark car's passenger seat. Or, how the temperature was 20 below at 11 am, the fire was hot and it was good knitting weather. Might as well get to it. Besides, my great-grandmother raised six children with an alcoholic wife-beater on a remote farm, and lived to be a rather happy old lady. (He died.) THAT'S STRESSFUL. Knitting? Not so much.

This is the kind of thing that I like, people. If you do, too, then check her out. She's been in your shoes, and what is more comforting than someone telling you you're not alone, AND having something beautiful to wear at the end of it?

More BEES!

2011-01-05T18:36:00.000-08:00

I had written about honeybees and included a link to a video of swarming bees. Exciting!

Well, even more exciting than that is to learn from my mom that, "Swarming bees have stuffed themselves with honey prior to the swarm; it is physically impossible for them to bend and sting. While homeless, they DO have their queen to protect."

So, if you ever wanted to play with bees, find some that have just swarmed because they can't sting you. Although, I don't advise playing with bees because they don't need to be hassled by silly humans in need for entertainment while the bees search for a new home.

Go read a book or something!

Championship Grudge Match

2011-01-05T07:42:00.000-08:00

My inner voice agreed with this article, which said that we would be better off if we listened to our inner voices more.

This is the story of my life! I think this is especially an issue with girls, who are taught to be nice, don't argue. Nothing wrong with that EXCEPT.....yikes. This presents a huge conflict, not to mention the propensity for dubious persons (and even not dubious persons) to take advantage of nice girls who smile pretty and don't know how to say no.

It's interesting how the article addresses finding the balance between being vocal and going too far, which is being aggressive. Again, an especially fine line for girls to find, who are too easily called the b-word and worse.

My challenge in life is to teach my daughter how to listen to her own good sense, practice polite manners, and yet also stand up for herself. It ain't easy being sugar and spice. I'm still learning this for myself...

1-1-11

2011-01-01T20:27:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year!!!

Honeybees

2010-12-26T10:06:00.000-08:00

My dad retired to spend his time keeping honeybees. He was absolutely intrigued by them, and loved working with them.

In honor of dad, I bring you a link to Talk of the Nation Science Friday's video showing the activity in a beehive.

AMAZING.

Unless you are mortally afraid of honeybees, you are going to love watching the man poke his finger into the mass of bees. HE IS NOT STUNG. Bees are basically all about the love.

Does Alcohol in Egg Nog Kill Salmonella Bacteria?

2010-12-24T12:04:00.000-08:00

Talk of the Nation's Science Friday has a short video that documents the process to answer that question.

FASCINATING.

The Economics of Gift-Giving

2010-12-24T09:18:00.000-08:00

FANTASTIC.

It's a Good Time of Year to Read Something

2010-12-22T11:45:00.000-08:00

Pat Conroy is a really good writer.

That kind of generic praise will not win me a job as book reviewer, but it's true.

I'm listening to his South of Broad in audio book form and it's really, really good. It's the librarian in me that compels me to give you some advice. Although I'm not an actual librarian, I can parlay my love of books into a bossy post for this website.

Does his name sound familiar? He is the author of "Prince of Tides" which was made into a movie. Barbra Streisand starred, for those of you who know who Barbra Streisand is.

I should say I really enjoyed the first half of the book when it told the story of the protagonist's childhood. The next section is allright, but now it's dragging.

Anyway. It's dark and wintry out there, so why not cuddle up with a good mystery? Agatha Christie is the old standby, and for good reason. You could branch out with a new author, like Dorothy Sayers. She's not new, but an English author from early in the past century who wrote the Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries. My mother-in-law told me about Mary Roberts Rinehart, an American who published her first book, The Circular Staircase, in 1908. Back to English people with Arthur Conan Doyle. Who doesn't love Sherlock Holmes and his funny little hat?

I love the phrase "hard-boiled detective stories". I finished The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler earlier this year. All I could think about as I read were hard-boiled eggs.

The library abounds with lists of mysteries, and book stores have staff recommendations so you are sure to enjoy a good read without having to spend too much time searching it out. Don't forget about the internets! It is full of websites with more than enough information to get you on the path to a good whodunnit.

There's always the classic The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, credited with starting the thriller genre. (Mom, you're totally going to love this story! I hope you find the box it's in this year!)

What is it about England that is synonymous with murder mysteries? Is it the fog on the moors? The tea? Crumpets? The notoriety for bad teeth? I don't know the answer to this, but to say that plenty of great stories come from the isle. Even if you're not into mysteries, you have to be intrigued by the foggy moors in Wuthering Heights.

Turn off the tv, build up the fire, brew some tea, send the kids to bed early (with a good book of their own to read before turning out the lights), and get down with litrahtyur. Off you go.

Pedagogical Over Digital Surprisingly Liberating Idea

2010-12-08T08:23:00.000-08:00

The article below asks, what do the best classrooms in the world look like? First, we must ask what is meant by best. Second, what DO they look like?

Brilliance in the Classroom, by Amanda Ripley from Slate.com:

"Classrooms in countries with the highest-performing students contain very little tech wizardry, generally speaking. They look, in fact, a lot like American ones—circa 1989 or 1959. Children sit at rows of desks, staring up at a teacher who stands in front of a well-worn chalkboard.

'In most of the highest-performing systems, technology is remarkably absent from classrooms,' says Andreas Schleicher, a veteran education analyst for the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development who spends much of his time visiting schools around the world to find out what they are doing right (or wrong). 'I have no explanation why that is the case, but it does seem that those systems place their efforts primarily on pedagogical practice rather than digital gadgets.'

And yet, when politicians and bureaucrats imagine the classroom of the future, they often talk about a schoolhouse that looks like an Apple store, a utopia studded with computers, bathed in Wi-Fi, and wallpapered with interactive whiteboards (essentially giant touch screens used in place of chalkboards in more and more classrooms nationwide)."

It's a fascinating question although who wouldn't be disappointed in Mr. Schleicher's lack for an answer for why it is the case when it is stated that he spends his time visiting classrooms all over the world. He should have some idea, or at least be able to speak more assuredly about hypotheses, as to why this might be the case.

But anyhoo.

The article looks at Singapore, Korea, Finland, and the United States in order to compare what they find insights into what works and what doesn't.

This is the coolest idea: "In Southeast D.C., Lisa Suben teaches fifth-grade math at KIPP DC: AIM Academy, one of 99 Knowledge Is Power Program charter schools around the country. When her students come into her classroom, they perform about two years behind, on average. By the time Suben has had nine months with them, they are mastering grade-level work."

I want to be that kind of teacher. That's the kind of outcome I want to see more of in this country. There is NO REASON why American kids should be behind grade level. There are more than enough people with knowledge and skills to share who can be in the classroom as volunteer tutors, available during the day and afterschool to every child who needs extra help. NO REASON! Not poverty, not lack of gadgetry, not due to chalkboards vs. whiteboards. It's a ridiculous notion to think that education is better when the classroom contains more electronics than a Best Buy. It doesn't take money to get a book from the library and read it, but it does take time and effort to teach a child to read, to encourage them to do so. Could it be that our education system ranks so poorly not for lack of money, but lack of effort? This is a multilayered cake without a single answer, but one of those layers might be easily changed. If it is the case, the good news is that there is something we can do about it at no cost.

Read the article and tell me what you think.

Harmony

2010-12-07T20:52:00.000-08:00

A flash mob surprised a food court one day last month. I forget where, but it's great. The crowd is smiling, whipping out their cameras to get it on video.

Where in the World...

2010-11-24T05:15:00.000-08:00

This is the forecast.

Not for Bemidji, Minnesota.

Not for Moose River, Maine.

And not for Fairbanks, Alaska.

The forecast for Bemidji, Minnesota is actually pretty cold. High of 15, low of 11.

If you were in Moose River, Maine, it's not a whole lot better. They'll get snow and then freezing rain later this week. Ice is the worst.

Fairbanks is actually the warmest of the three places, with their high temperatures getting into the 30s during the day.

No wonder people spend their time ice fishing. It's too dangerous to cross-country ski, but at least this gets you out of the house for a while. Not that I want to get out of the house this week...

Flying is No Vacation

2010-11-23T05:58:00.000-08:00

Now that we get to submit to full-body scans and along with it, a dose of radiation, traveling is becoming more of a chore with each new security threat. Oh, I'm sorry, there is the option to be felt up by a TSA agent. That used to be called date rape, now it's the scanning of millions of travelers for the sake of a few nasty jerks.

This is bad enough, but then there is the part when you're on the plane.

Some thoughts:

1. If you’re traveling with a small child and you keep hearing bells, bells, and more bells, please look to see if it’s your child playing with the flight attendant call button.

2. An all-too-common scenario: Flight attendant hands you a cup of coffee and says, ‘Cream and sugar?’ You say, ‘What?’ She/he says, ‘Cream and sugar?’ You say, ‘What?’ Come on, people. What do you think we’re going to ask after we’ve handed you coffee? Your favorite color?

3. The lavatory door is not rocket science. Just push.

4. Just in case you hadn’t noticed, there are other people on the airplane besides you. So don’t clip your toenails, snore with wild abandon, or do any type of personal business under a blanket!

Yikes. Who wants a 17-hour flight to Australia?

From Yahoo's website.

Thirty Seven

2010-11-17T09:02:00.000-08:00

The cake was chocolate, the candle was misleading.

Why does the candle say 8? It was the only candle in the house. Work with what you've got, that's our motto.

There is nothing misleading about chilled champagne.

Opening champagne is serious. You CANNOT SMILE or else the bottle will burst! People will be hurt! Champagne might be spilled!

This is SERIOUS, people.

I see your point: this IS serious. May your pour be true, my good man!

I have an idea. Wait, I need to eat this bite of cake...

...and, well, mommy needs a cocktail...

My idea: observe the effect of 3-D glasses upon the man of the house. The hypothesis? He will be disturbed.

(In all fairness, who wouldn't be? I'm no Elvis Costello. These things do not fly under the radar.)

It's as though you can read his thoughts...

tee hee hee!

After cake and champagne, the natural progression for us is....DANCE.

The song is "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun".

It was his idea.

I am not kidding.

Who looks like they're having the most fun?

This is competition!

It's Brittany v. Justin dance-off all over again.

Cake + endorphins + love =

A good night. Kind of takes my mind off of getting older.

Tastes Like Chicken

2010-11-15T05:39:00.000-08:00

It isn't clear where one body ends and the other begins!*

Not from the same litter, but brothers, nonetheless.

*Yes, I will be posting a lot of kitten pictures. It's just who I am.

Budget News

2010-11-11T15:16:00.000-08:00

Taxpayers are always complaining about the overblown budget of the Federal government, and how Federal spending is NUTS. The new plan to cut spending has been released. For you engineer-types, it's full of specifics. People are making fun of those specifics, but as the saying goes, the devil is in the details. Check it out.

Did you know $90 million a year is spent to restore beaches? And it isn't for oil spill cleanup, but to replace the sand that gets washed away naturally. NINETY MILLION. That's almost enough to give one person health insurance for a whole year.

Animated Movie II

2010-11-10T06:14:00.000-08:00

The sequel, Animator vs. Animation II by the talented Alan Becker.

It's the Economy, Stupid

2010-11-09T07:03:00.000-08:00

Not you! You're not stupid. The title of today's post is the catchphrase that Bill Clinton used to remind himself to STAY ON MESSAGE. (Remember when Democrats had a message, and worked together? The balanced budget of the 1990s seems so long ago...)

Anyway, how about a little story about a toxic asset? Hopefully, your investment portfolio does not include one of these little buggers.

From Planet Money, and This American Life. Check out the graphs on the Planet Money pages. You can look at a map to see where the mortgages contained in Toxie were located, and how they did by state.

A sad but catchy tune is, "Bet Against the American Dream....."

Bet Against The American Dream from Planet Money on Vimeo.

If you want to hear the story about Magnetar referenced in the song, here it is.

Start the Day With a Movie

2010-11-08T07:11:00.000-08:00

Animator Versus Animation.

The artist's website.

What We Did Last Summer

2010-11-05T07:04:00.000-07:00

At the very end of the summer, we went camping. Not so remarkable. The part that is worth noting is, we took kittens.

I know, who DOES that?

Catching trout in the lake meant DINNER! for poopooheads. They loved it.

Wat iz dat?

We spent a few cold nights at Delintment Lake, in the Malheur National Forest. People saw the kittens and were like, hmmm, as they walked past. It was weird, but yet, it worked. They stayed at the campsite without much wandering, mostly because that was where the FISH and the WARMTH were. They were barely 6 weeks old at the time.

Nom nom nom nom nom...

It's good to get out and do something new....

...makes you more appreciative of the comforts of home.

One of the More Stressful Colon Cleansings

2010-11-04T05:29:00.000-07:00

One afternoon this week, we arrived home from class and had just put down our bags before a flash of movement out the window caught my attention, followed closely by sounds of furious clucking. In a flash I was out the door, chasing down a black and white dog that was engaged in a game of Hunting after one of our chickens. It literally scared the crap out of her. The dog stopped as soon as I yelled a single word (NO) and he beat a hasty retreat. My voice, infused with adrenaline-charged authority was all I needed. If only I had the same affect on bratty little kittens.

The chicken kept running from me after the dog was gone, not caring what was chasing her. Poor thing. She made for some bushes and hid, while I gave her a minute to realize that it was only me, the crazy woman who tortures the girls with singing and affectionate kisses.*

Isabella (the chicken) escapes from the chicken enclosure on a daily basis because she is a wanderer by nature. I'm guessing here. There's no roof on the chicken area, which is getting to be a problem now that we have a chicken that knows how to get out. The others look at her like she's a magician. "How did you do that?" they seem to cluck, even though they have watched her do it. I haven't seen her in the act, but I imagine it has something to do with jumping or flying to the top of things until she can get over the fence.

The grass is greener, except when a predator comes along.

This is from the spring when they were babies. One of these turds is Isabella, named after the Queen of Spain, circa 1474.(The other is Elizabeth I, Good Queen Bess.)

* Yes, I kiss my chickens. But not on the lips.

Halloween 2010

2010-11-03T13:47:00.000-07:00

The costume this year came from the kingdom animalia, phylum chordata, class mammalia, order carnivora, family felidae, genus acinonyx, species acinonyx jubatus.

In English, she is a cheetah.

The process this year included nail polish in special "cheetah" effects...

...and makeup....

The cats were kind of freaked out by her ears. Milo kept staring at them, probably in order to attack them if they moved.

This isn't Milo. It's Dewey. He doesn't care about ears, he cares about food.

It was a big weekend. First a Girl Scout party, then trick or treating.

She's got the routine down by now. The way the candy is distributed as such: one for OC, one for mommy. One for daddy, one for OC.

Having kids is fun!

Living together in perfect harmony are acinonyx jubilata and feline domesticus.

Happy All Hallow's Eve!

Childhood, Illustrated

2010-11-01T05:49:00.000-07:00

Beverly Cleary gave kids a voice in her Ramona books. Finally! An adult who could articulate the frustrations of being little, and SO MISUNDERSTOOD.

Now, we have an illustrated version. Enjoy some cake, by Allie Brosh.

Happy Monday.

Appropos of the Season

2010-10-29T06:39:00.000-07:00

The fall is a wonderful time to begin a new mystery. Dracula, if you have not yet read the novel, it is a particularly good choice.

Bram Stoker was born in 1847 in Clontarf, Ireland. Dracula was published in 1897 while he was manager of a London theater. While he wrote the novel, the trial of fellow Irishman Oscar Wilde took place, to great scandal. This is high Victorian era, remember. Stoker reveals in the novel many of the anxieties that characterized the age, such as the repercussions of scientific advancement, the consequences of abandoning traditional beliefs, and the dangers of female sexuality. To this day, Dracula remains a fascinating study of popular attitudes at the end of the nineteenth century.

Wilkie Collins' superb mystery which is generally accepted as beginning the genre, The Woman in White.

"Collins composed his masterworks during one of the most tumultuous periods in the history of English literature. England's cities and industries were booming, poverty and crime filled the news, melodrama ruled the theaters, and newfound wealth made class barriers increasingly permeable. Dickens had just started his periodical All the Year Round, which helped to bring literature to a mass audience and blur the boundaries between highbrow and middlebrow culture. The new audience demanded a new type of novel, a novel as compelling as the scandalous headlines it competed with at the newsstands, able to keep readers in suspense from month to month and eager to buy the next issue."

----- Penguin Reading Guides

I have on my short list some novels by Agatha Christie, Raymond Chandler (The Big Sleep), and Dorothy Sayers.

And, why not, even some Poe...

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'....

(continued)

It's Winter on the High Desert

2010-10-27T22:56:00.000-07:00

In which case, these are my sentiments:

Preferably a handknit sweater...

M.S. Degree From the TeeVee

2010-10-14T07:23:00.000-07:00

I was at a friend's house dropping off our nut sales (no, I'm not selling my family members, it's for Girl Scouts) when she showed us part of an episode of "Hoarding: Buried Alive." Seeing the piles of junk lit a fire in me. When we returned home I began to attack my paper piles.

My mom might say I save too many things. My husband thinks it's too cluttered around our house. What do I see?

I see some clutter. It constitutes the things that I don't necessarily have a place for and don't know what to do with, so they sit out or get pushed into piles and forgotten. I also see changes that I've made to make it less cluttered. There is the huge basket that sits in the living room and looks nice, but it holds a bunch of yarn. The yarn is hidden, and it looks neat. I see the end tables I bought that have drawers and shelves so that books can sit in them. More examples abound. What I see are the accomplishments I've made in order to advance in the direction of an organized person, in addition to what I have yet to do. Seeing the things that don't have a place doesn't bother me so much probably because I know I will take care of it. I know it needs to be done, it just hasn't been done yet.

That sounds like an excuse. It would be, if I sat on the couch eating bonbons all day, but I don't. I do other things. What I need is to incorporate (better) the habit of organizing the oddball items that don't get into my daily routine of putting s#it away. Specifically, my problem is paper. There is my work from the most recent term of school, OC's school things, some random old mail, and other weird stuff that has no place. I have a big basket for the things I feel I need to keep for a month or so, then they can go away. The problem is that a month goes by and I don't revisit the pile. The piles multiply into hairy monsters that look too scary to go anywhere near.

The other problem I had was in dealing with things that were too painful. There are boxes filled with sad things like funeral notices, or pictures that I haven't been ready to come across. It is better now, because time has gone by since the sad events. And, I've recently reorganized and cleaned out one side of our attic area, including dealing with several boxes filled with emotional napalm, organizing what I'll keep and tossing others.

After OC saw the show, and when she looked at her room she told, "At least my room isn't as bad as those!"

She's right. There is no black mold in there. There are no pathways (although sometimes there is a crunching sound when one walks across her floor....) and she manages to keep up with most of the daily tidying up.

What is surprising to learn is that the hoarders tend to be perfectionists. It seems counterintuitive, but, they usually have some type of compulsion or depression. The stuff is there to either fill an emotional hole, or because they know it needs to go but they need to deal with each individual piece first, or there is a shopping compulsion, etc.

Myself, I'm no perfectionist. While I like a clean house, I don't like to clean the house. I like to have everything in its place, but I don't always know where that place is for some things. Where do I stash a flier for the High Desert Museum's programs that I might want to look at to schedule a field trip? Possibly that should be recycled and I could use the internet to look up the information. See? THAT'S PROGRESS RIGHT THERE.

I've come a long way from the days when I had emotional attachments to objects, especially those that were given to me. It would have constituted a personal insult to get rid of a gift until one day I realized that the person who gave me that thing would not want me to feel burdened by it. The idea clicked, and gave me what I needed to break that habit.

The decision-making process is what gets me. Where to put it once I know I actually do need it? I don't have a problem getting rid of things or organizing, but I get stuck when I feel overwhelmed by too many decisions. When that happens, I don't want to deal with it at all. The piles go untended and grow facial hair but I sometimes ignore that. This can go on until their voices change, then I figure it's time to do something.

I don't know if I have a problem, or am experiencing a normal amount of overwhelming indecisiveness? I don't think I'm alone in this. TheYarn Harlot posted recently about an unusual room in her house with an organization problem.

Me? I've got clutter but I'm also working to find places to put it all away. The reward is knowing what I have and where it is located. Perhaps a steady dose of the revolting visuals on "Hoarders" will propel action to become a good habit. It's not a bad way to feel better about one's self, anyway.

I'd like to think I'm normal, but I'm not asking for your opinion. Thanks, anyway. I'll deal with it before my piles ask for the keys to the car.

She Bakes

2010-10-12T05:54:00.000-07:00

Sometime in early September the weather turned cooler and OC decided to bake. And wear a hat.

Perhaps I encouraged her relentlessly, but for whatever reason, she made this fantastic batch of chocolate chip cookies.

You can never have too many chocolate chip cookies, nor persons in your house who will bake them. She really knows how to get on our good sides.

Not only are we suckers for kittens, we love us some fresh-baked cookies.

Now, if we could only find an enthusiastic dish washer. As much as I've tried to enlist their help, the kittens do not like water and are against the idea.

Sister Wendy

2010-10-08T09:50:00.001-07:00

Fridays are art and music days. Oh, did I mention, I'm homeschooling this year?

Cart before horse. Reverse that. Now you're all caught up.

One of the programs I remember seeing in college was part of a series by Sister Wendy. She's a fascinating art lover with a wonderful perspective on the pieces she presents. Orthodontically challenged yet wildly perceptive, the idea of a nun presenting art seems somewhat antithetical. Most stories about nuns include rulers and the rapping of the knuckles of little children. Sister Wendy is nothing like that. She exudes warmth and intelligence, attracting the viewer with her obvious passion and understanding.

The Cleveland Museum of Art has an authentic copy of "The Thinker" from Rodin's studio. In the 1960s as some sort of display, explosives were placed at the sculpture's base (it sits outside the museum building) and the explosion ruined the lower half of the sculpture. The museum decided not to fix it. Sister Wendy thoughtfully considers this:

"If one can draw any benefit from such an act of senseless vandalism, it's this. That here "The Thinker" isn't perched aloft, above human conflict, he's been plunged into it. He's exposed as vulnerable, as subject to the chaos of the world as we are, and that makes him peculiarly and tragically accessible."

-----Sister Wendy

I like this analysis because of the connections she makes between the reality of the world at the time, and the history of the sculpture and its time. Rodin's figure is pulsing with muscles that are tensed, as if thinking with his whole body (Sister Wendy's words). The piece was designed at about 27 inches tall and to sit above the viewer, as part of a large work that was never finished. In Cleveland it is much larger and perches outside the building on a kind of pedestal. Instead of contemplating those curled feet and toes, there is nothing. One must move up the leg and then the sculpture begins. But it isn't as it was meant to be, and that is her point. Isn't that fabulously astute?

Last week, we watched Sister Wendy at the Art Institute of Chicago where Grant Wood's "American Gothic" resides. Yesterday, I bought OC a Chai tea at a coffee shop that uses AG as their stylized logo. Instead of holding a pitchfork the man holds a coffee cup. She recognized it right away, remembering the painting's title and painter's name. A+!

Usually, one is at a loss to teach for lack of examples. Not so with art. It is a subject with an overwhelming plethora of styles, traditions, artists, symbols, elements, modes of expression, meanings, disciplines, forms, genres, and theories.

Still Life with Two Lemons, Pieter Claesz, 1629.

Queen Isabella of Spain's illuminated prayerbook, Ghent, c. 1497.

Standing Bodhisattva, 1st - 2nd century AD, or CE, Pakistan.

"[Still life] was considered the lowest form, the foot soldiers of the army of art, mean of spirit, who only painted things instead of people and events. And yet what hypocrisy, because everybody loved it, and we still love it."

----- Sister Wendy

Taking Ownership

2010-10-05T21:53:00.000-07:00

The thing about a cedar fence is that, unlike trees, it doesn't just sit there and look pretty for decades. In a few short years, the fence is going to need maintenance.

I went to Home Depot to find out what I needed to take care of my fence. We had just moved and extended the fence in order to incorporate part of the front yard with the back yard. Now, the big old elm tree was enclosed, and we were oh, so proud of our work. Look at all of the space we have! And, privacy!

So, back to Home Depot, port where the reality of home ownership smacks you upside the head. A helpful salesperson told me all that I needed to know, which was that I could look forward to applying a cleanser to the surface in order to open up the pores. After it dried sufficiently, I could apply my chosen oil-based sealant.

It almost sounds like a facial.

I bought a small bottle of cleaner, a brush, and a 5-gallon bucket of wood preservative and stain. $144 later, I was stocked and ready to get to work.

A project such as this is the kind of moment where the idea of teenage children is appealing. I do not yet possess one of these indentured servants, and the kittens are absolutely worthless at do-it-yourself. Unless you require a piece of furniture reduced to shreds.

The cleanser is serious. It requires watering your landscaping before use in order to avoid killing it, but after this process you can apply and hose it down without a worry. I watered, watered, watered.

My fence is getting better care than my face.

While washing sections of fence it is recommended that one keep these areas damp for the 10 - 15 minutes before rinsing thoroughly. I suppose this is what really gets the wood to open up its pores. What's weird is that after I rinsed, I could tell the boards were clean. The pores were open and ready to receive a protective coating to keep out the damaging rays of the sun and effects of harsh weather.

Not so much with my face.

Half the fence, both sides, were washed in one afternoon one and a half weeks ago. I finished the rest of it just the other day.

I do not like this, Sam I am.

The staining is going well. I'm almost one quarter of the way to halfway point. The threat of rain halted my specifically charted progress. It makes me feel like I'm getting a lot done when I count to the hundredths place.

Now that I think of it, 1,600 square feet of cedar fence is looking more and more like a decision made while drinking margaritas one summer night. It was like someone shouted, "Hey! You know what we need? A million board feet of cedar that needs to be washed and restained every couple of years!" And we were all, "brilliant!" and thought it was the most amazing idea, ever.

And you thought pot made you stupid.

This is What One Pound Looks Like

2010-08-31T06:25:00.000-07:00

The adults in this house are suckers. Give us a warm fuzzball that poops in a box inside our house, and we pay for the privilege.

When the Humane Society has a two-for-one kitten adoption sale, we think it's better than a free ice cream cone. Ice cream melts. Cats eat and poop and live for years and years.

Meet Dewey. This is OC's kitty.

She had the name all ready, was calling him by name before we arrived home.

Myself, on the other hand, had to think a while before Milo came to mind.

More cats. Just what we need!

"O hai. U have box for poop?"

In fact, it is EXACTLY what we needed.

The Nature of Words

2010-08-24T09:20:00.000-07:00

The following is a visual representation of the various meanings of words.

How many things can the word "run" mean? It can mean the action verb, to run; it can describe what happens to your nose when you have a cold, or describe what happens to a stocking.

With that in mind, what words go through your mind when you watch this? The most interesting part is to see how they change slightly when the pictures change, yet are all linked back together. You'll see.

First viewed on the blog Educating Alice.

The Moth Lady

2010-08-20T08:18:00.000-07:00

My day filled with wild animals concluded last evening with a moth that was practically stuck to my t-shirt. I was in the bathroom getting ready to brush my teeth when I noticed something fluttering. I pulled on my shirt and a moth fluttered for a second before settling back onto my shirt as though it were attached with a string. I pulled again, it fluttered again, then settled. Pull, flutter, settle. Finally I dramatically pulled and swished the fabric of my shirt and the moth flew off to settle onto the floor. As I brushed my teeth, I kept one eye on that crazy insect in case it decided to attack from behind. You never know, those things can be sneaky.

It feels like late summer. I put on a fleece jacket this morning, even though it's going to be near 80 degrees later on. I love that.

Too Much Life

2010-08-19T09:47:00.001-07:00

As a cat lover I'm also an animal lover in general. This morning's run-in with wildlife was a bit much, even for me.

2 a.m. Cat (Rum) is racing around bedroom playing. Crunching whatever plastic is in here, pouncing hard, obviously attacking something....uh oh. It has to be an animal. Please don't let it be a mouse. Doze....

4:12 a.m. Get up and deal with situation. It's a mouse. Rum is chasing it, but she's not killing it. Kill, Rum, kill the mouse! I hate suffering. I'd rather the mouse was either running free in some field, or dead. No in between.

4:15 a.m. Mouse has gotten free....in the house. I yelled at Rum to GET THE MOUSE and she lost it. Great.

6:30 a.m. Up and at 'em. There's no more sleep for me. But there is a freshly killed bird in the living room. W...T...F....???

6:32 a.m. Bird is gone, but I wonder where the mouse is? Either it's found its way outdoors, or there is going to be a nasty smell in a couple of days.

Yuck.

8:15 a.m. Chickens escaped into the garden. They must like the tall grass around the garden beds. Stupid birds.

I miss Sable and Dakota.

Day One

2010-08-17T12:56:00.000-07:00

I can't help it. Every time I walk into the kitchen, my gaze drifts to the kitty area. This is where the heater, their beds, food and water dishes are. It wasn't that long ago that they would have looked back at me, their eyes squeezing shut in contentment. Or, they would sleep through it. Sable, with his head curled under his paw while Dakota usually liked to rest his head on the side of the bed.

Yesterday, I avoided the kitchen as much as possible, but this isn't practical. I have to go in there. I have to see it.

It's just amazing that I still expect to see them there. After 16 years, a person gets used to these things.

Dakota

2010-08-16T12:30:00.000-07:00

Sometime after 3:30 this morning, Dakota died. This house feels empty and sad with his goneness. Where is he? I just want to hold his furry little body.

There is nothing malicious in his look, only love and want of petting.

A car alarm woke me at 2 am. Something told me to go and be with Dakota, so I did. I scratched his cheeks, I pet his head, I told him it was okay. I told him I was crying because I was really going to miss him. I carried his little weak self wrapped in a towel around the kitchen for a while. He cried. I realized he needed to go to the bathroom. I got a clean towel and wrapped him up again.

More crying. Bathroom again. No problem, got a fresh towel and we were snuggling again.

His eyes were open, he was alert. He knew. I knew. We were together.

Finally, I put him back in his fuzzy bed and covered him with a towel, the heater close to his head. He fell asleep. When I found him a few hours later, he was gone. Still warm.

I told him it was okay, and it is okay. He had his life and I was lucky to be a part of it. I just miss him terribly.

My heart is broken. There are no words. Unconditional love, warm and fuzzy love with four legs....

What a cat.

Space-Time Continuum

2010-08-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

Objects traveling at some rate of speed experience time at a slower rate than objects not moving, according to science and people smarter than myself.

I just saw "The Jane Austen Book Club". I have the book, tried to read it several years ago but didn't finish it. After watching the movie, I told my daughter that I had the book but I didn't finish it. She asked me when that was, and I told her that it had been a few years. She said that I should try it again, because sometimes you just need to pick up a book again to see if you're in the mood for it now, or not.

I felt like I was traveling at the speed of light the way time slowed down when she said that. Surprising, the way kids grow up on you.

New

2010-07-08T14:25:00.000-07:00

Dakota is back to his squeezy-eyed, purry, geriatric self. He's a fragile elderly kitty, but he's still here.

I began working on new socks.

The yarn is Three Irish Girls. Socks are comfortable, but homemade socks feel AMAZING. Hard to describe. Like a hug for your feet.

I'm actually farther along than this, but don't have pictures of the progress. I think the yarn is pretty. Like a smoothie.

The pattern is your basic rib-stitch and whatnot.

Went to a local nursery today. I recommend Plants-N-More on Canal, north of town (Redmond). They have only plants that actually grow in Central Oregon, unlike Lowe's, Fred Meyer, and some other nurseries. The couple that own the nursery are very, very nice. Also, lonely. I'm guessing they are lonely because they do an awful lot of talking while you are trying to browse and think about what to get.

I tried to give subtle hints that I just wanted some quiet: I looked downward in what I assumed was a thoughtful stance, I muttered to myself as if considering, and moved the plants around in the wagon. All the while, the nice lady watched me and then chattered on. She told me random facts about the plants I had in my wagon, or a funny anecdote about her grandson, or how often she has to water. Gah! I put a few things back because I couldn't think about what I needed for the spaces in my garden AND take in the chitchat. It was like shopping with a highly verbal toddler. They don't give a fat frog's fanny about your visual clues or your need for quiet, either.

OC knows to let mommy have a bit of time to think or else she (me) will go cuckoo. I can do a lot of things at once (walk and chew gum, drive and drink coffee, mow the lawn and make a grocery list) but thinking and listening at the same time just does not work.

I want to go back because their prices are reasonable and they look like they could use the business. It's just off the highway but I don't think people think about going there. They really are nice people. What can I do? I don't want to have an anxiety-ridden experience.

I have heard that people sometimes politely explain what they need, and so if I told her I wanted to look for a while, and needed to plan my purchase, that might work? Direct communication can be clear and effective. The problem is, it feels harsh to me. I worry a lot about being too harsh.

On the other hand, perhaps this woman thinks I've been rude. I've been looking at the plants in the wagon and talking to myself while she has been so attentive and helpful...

Option Two would be to never, ever go back to that place. Avoid! Problem solved.

Say, did you know that Larkspurs are one of the only true blue flowers? Most of the others that are blue are really more purple. Oi.

I'll be a grown-up and go back. But not today.

The Hits Keep Coming

2010-07-02T14:55:00.000-07:00

Dakota needed to see the vet this week. While OC and I were holding him and watching the vet insert a catheter for i.v. fluid therapy, OC fainted. I should have known better than to let her watch.

She was standing behind me, and so I didn't see it begin. She fell against me, rolled off and hit the cabinets and then the floor. It happened in a flash.

The vets and techs were quick. They brought towels, water, and crackers. One gave instructions to lie down and relax while elevating her knees, another brought crackers and water, and everyone reassured her that it was okay. OC wanted to sit up, but the vet spoke to her gently and said it was best to relax for several minutes. When she looked up at me I was a crying mess. So much for being strong for your kid. I told her she was going to be fine and that it just surprised me. I said it was going to be okay. And it is.

She's allright. We went home and made brownies, because no matter how bad it gets, desserts are always there for you.

Iced tea and odd French cartoon characters in English translation are there for you, too.

She might have been embarrassed, but so many people told her it had happened to them and so that made it much better.

All of us, including Dakota, are doing much better today.

Loss

2010-06-23T15:43:00.000-07:00

The day that Sable died, the peonies were in bloom. Pink and sweet, the pleasant scent mixed with the warm summer air.

Sable was my kitty. He was a silver-tip Himalayan with green eyes. Despite being petite he was filled to the tips of his beautiful white ears with love.

In the rare event that he became angry, such as, for combing him too long or pulling at a fur mat, he expressed his anger with a short growly meow, and immediately began purring again.

He had a particular way to place his front feet while he sat. It was as if they had to be just so in order to optimize his handsomeness.

He did not mouse, bird, or guard the house, but he provided an important function. His death is hitting me harder than I thought it would because I realized that he gave something that is more rare than his purebred bloodlines: unconditional love.

I was 20 when I realized I wanted a cat of my own. Dakota came home with me in early May of 1994, but it seemed lonely to have only one. He needed a buddy. He is a cream-colored Persian and such a cute kitten, settling in with me the moment I held him. I still wanted a silver-tip. My family had had one when I was a kid - Toby - and he was such a great, funny cat. I located a litter of silver tip kitties, and drove to pick one out. I thought I wanted the biggest and the whitest kitten, but when I looked at them, I chose Sable. He was medium-sized, with a lovely bit of grey on his back. His skin was dark, especially around the paws, eyes, and mouth. So adorable! He was exactly eight weeks old when I brought him home that day in late May, sixteen years ago.

He was a normal kitten, especially enjoying smelling fresh outside air and chasing cotton balls. All was fine and dandy for six years, until I brought home the baby. Dakota didn't seem to concern himself, but Sable did NOT like her! That unpredictable screaming thing was not his cup of tea, but he wasn't hostile in the least. He simply avoided her. He practiced the notion of live and let live.

When he was ten, he began to throw up blood. I found out he likely had Irritable Bowel Syndrome caused from a food allergy. I changed his food and all was well for a few years. He began to throw up blood again, or have bloody stool, so I experimented with various wet and dry foods that he would tolerate, while he tolerated the numerous car trips to the vet with their accompanying temperature taking and stomach-probing.

Keeping weight on him was a challenge. Dakota didn't have the type of sensitivity that Sable did, and because they shared the same food area, they had to eat the same kind of food. Believe me, I tried to feed them separately, but Sable and his amazing sniffer always found the dish I tried to sequester away for Dakota. When he knew I was feeding Dakota some tasty food, he looked hurt. It was awful, so I stopped doing it. Dakota was going to have to get with Sable's diet plan.

He couldn't eat any kind of grain, so I had to read every label. Vet-office cat food had corn. Grocery store cat food had corn or soy or rice. I cooked chicken thighs for him. I went through every possible combination of meat and vegetable I could think of. For a time, he ate baby food. This was the beginning of the newly-enlightened pet food industry that finally realized that pet food ought to contain only the kinds of food pets would eat naturally. The prices reflected this new revelation, and so the choices were more expensive than grocery store brands, but at least there were choices.

As the years passed, he became sensitive to foods much more quickly. The last few years have been particularly difficult. In the past six months, I had fed every type of grain-free wet cat food available and was currently serving the last option: turkey. If he grew intolerant of that, and every indication from past experience told me he would, there weren't any options left. I was worried, but I tried not to think about it. After all, just because a solution didn't present itself doesn't mean that it wouldn't at the right time.

Sable liked to eat. He was a relatively healthy, hungry cat who was interested in life and even a little bit of play. When I put the canned food out for them, he was there to shove his face in it and move it onto the floor before licking it into submission. He would end up with wet cat food on the sides of his face, and sometimes the top of his head. He had quite a bit of personality in old age, too. There were more than a few times when I went into the kitchen after hearing what I thought may have been a cat having a seizure, but it wasn't that at all. Sable would be playing with something on the floor. Paper, a bit of dust, or something. He would look up at me when I surprised him, immediately ready to abandon play for scratches and pets. He loved and loved and loved.

His last two days were obviously the end. He lay flat as a pancake on the floor, refusing food and drink. I even gave him a cheese puff to lick, to satisfy his craving for salt and processed cheese flavor, but he ignored it completely. That was when I knew it was the end.

I called the vet, but I was reluctant to take him in. I didn't want him to endure another trip to the vet's office, full of strange smells and scary noises. He was a nervous cat, and he was sick, so he didn't need anything else to worry about. As it turned out, the vet didn't call back until the afternoon and I missed the call. She left a message saying she had some ideas, but I knew it was not going to happen.

Yesterday, his last day, I was calm. I pet him, I combed him, and trimmed the fur mats I could see while he purred. I had given him a bath last week to wash the litter that stuck to his feet. He was having diarrhea, and throwing up bile, so I had to wash his face and his bottom again, too. I did that while disturbing him as little as possible. That last day, there was nothing left in his system. He was so thin.

After his bath, I wrapped him in a towel and held in over my shoulder, like a baby. He liked that. He rested his head on my shoulder and purred. He spent the day laying flat in the grass while I sat with him and alternately worked on nearby flower beds. It was a warm day, and the sun probably felt good. He would move a foot or so, then settle down again and sleep with his little face planted into the ground. He seemed okay. I felt okay, glad to be with him. I pet him, I talked to him. He purred.

Early this morning, he died in his sleep on the kitchen floor. He was still warm when I got up and found him. I pet him, told him I was so grateful that he was my kitty. I took a bit of fur to save. That fur was the most gorgeous fur in the whole world, attached to the body of the most loving being one can find in the animal world.

I wish I could have taken away all his pain, fed him until his stomach was as full as his heart. I wish I could hold him one more time, over my shoulder like a baby, rub my face against his head and hear his sweet purr.

I know he's out there somewhere, saying that it's okay; he's okay now. He is eating all that he wants and he feels no pain anymore. I want to tell him that I did the best I could, but that I know it wasn't good enough for him. I wish I had done more.

The bucket that I used for his last bath is still out in the yard, drying. I miss him more than words can say.

I gave him many nicknames, including Sableson plum, sugary little angel boy, pumpkinhead, bell-bells, bellie, Sabellie-bellie-bellie-bellie, ma cherie amour, and many more goofy things that I liked to say to him. He understood French. At least, it seemed like he did from the way he looked at me and blinked whenever I said French words to him. Perhaps he was humoring me. That would have been just like him to be so thoughtful.

Sable
3/19/1994 - 6/23/2010

Reality Fur

2010-06-22T06:26:00.000-07:00

Monday nights are not a good time to have a conversation with me. All I want to do is watch "The Bachelorette". Last night I sent an Estonian door-to-door salesperson away because the show was on. She is a college student in the U.S. selling education materials. I bought some books from a guy last year who was here doing the same thing. I realize now that putting her off one night so I can watch reality t.v. may not have been the smartest move, as I may purchase something from her to assuage my guilt. Bad television: it takes as good as it gives.

The saddest shot from this week's show had to have been Kasey standing alone on the glacier as the helicopter with Ali and Justin flew away. Kasey wanted to "protect and guard" Ali's heart, but I think Kasey missed something. He spent so much time being redundant that he forgot to be himself. He is a cutie, but has a strange voice. It's nasaly, and monotone. I kept wanting him to clear his throat every time he talked.

I know, as if I would come off without a flaw on highly-edited television! I would probably dangle a participle or something, and how embarrassing that would be.

Poor Ali. She is continually described as being afraid to love. Chris, the armchair psychologist told her that. Ali herself talks about needing to "love more". What does that mean? Aside from sleeping around.

She's on a television show where she is dating many, many men at once. Every week, she needs to thin the herd. One of those guys that is sent home may have been a fantastic boyfriend, if it weren't for the show and the cameras and the competition. She is right to wonder about what she is doing. It makes for great television (great, as in terrible...) but who wouldn't be freaked out by it all?

Next week is the week where Ali finds out somebody has a girlfriend. The entertainment weeklies say it is Justin, and I can't wait for that fur to fly!

Do you notice how Ali seems to be reading names on the roses she hands out? Does she not remember who she has chosen? Does she need to read names in a specific order? Do the guys have to hand the roses back every time? I am a person who wonders about details.

The details of my weight loss saga (smooth segway!) are not that exciting. I'm holding steady at the same number as last week. I'm happy about that, because I indulged in some Mexican food (or, as folks in Mexico call it...food) and that included Santitas tortilla chips, salsa, and a shredded beef taco salad. The chips are not health food, y'all, but they were salty good eats. Also ice cream, which served to balance the Salt with some much needed Sweet.

Animal Planet House

2010-06-15T11:29:00.000-07:00

WEEK THREE: 157.0

There was another chicken adventure last night. The neighbor's chickens escaped their low-security enclosure for the unencumbered out-of-doors. This affects us because the neighbors are away for a day and we are in charge of their three chickens. I looked for them last night until it was dark, and then got up at 5 am (FIVE A.M.!!!) to look for them. I found one of them right away in their car port, but the other two were no-shows. I returned home for more coffee.

Later that morning, OC and I went out again and made fools of ourselves, calling for chickens. The elderly man next door said there were two chickens in his apple tree. The turds were there when I was walking by earlier, clucking like a crazy person. They must have laughed their chicken heads off at the ridiculous lady speaking nonsensical chicken early in the morning while they dozed until a more reasonable hour.

All I can say is, chicken pot pie sounds really good for lunch...

Wait how many calories are in that?

There Are No Calories in Water

2010-06-08T13:04:00.000-07:00

As a person on a quest to lose weight, I am a bit preoccupied with counting calories. This morning, for instance, I checked the package of coffee for nutritional information. Surprisingly, there was no chart.

Duh. It's coffee. Rather like tea, it's flavored water and unless you are a souped-up sports drink, THERE ARE NO CALORIES IN WATER. Perhaps you already knew that. I am a little slow.

Yesterday's breakfast was cereal with rice milk. I did not measure the portions, but this morning I did. I probably consumed close to 400 calories at breakfast alone! It's not hard to do. Once you start paying attention to calories and portions, you find it adds up quickly.

Wondering about the number of calories in coffee is a little nutty, but thinking about calories is a good thing. It's a new thing for me to worry about, because my attitude before last week tended to be something like, since I'm eating mostly vegetables, what's the worry? Except, the vegetables were nestled snugly beneath a layer of salad dressing, or cooked up in olive oil, and while there were vegetables, there were also too many calories.

Don't get me started about ice cream. Or chocolate. Or bread. I L-O-V-E bread! But things like bagels, those harmless, non-doughnut, morning-coffee-going-with bagels have something like 300 calories in them, and that's before the butter! Sheesh. No wonder I weighed 161 pounds. IT WAS THE BAGEL, IN THE KITCHEN, WITH THE DARIGOLD.

We had an away softball game last night. I had three girls in the car and we went to Subway for sandwiches. I had eaten a steak sandwich before we left (little bit of steak, lots of lettuce and cucumber), with my olive oil and lemon juice mayo substitute. I brought a granola bar and some crackers, and may have eaten some of the girls' Doritos...but that was it.

1400 calories a day is my goal.

Gwyneth has a video about preparing a Mexican dinner which makes me wonder, how many calories are in shrimp...?

Scales are Better Than Shingles

2010-06-07T09:15:00.000-07:00

Let's get right to it.

WEEK TWO: Weight: 159.6

It's fair to say I have traded fat for muscle. The number hasn't gone down very much but my clothes feel better already, and I'm feeling more fit. Party on.

Finished the Heaven Can Wait 5k yesterday with OC and a friend from French class. OC has never run that far before. I am so proud of her!!

Attack of the Woman of Ideal Weight

2010-06-03T12:27:00.000-07:00

Which is not me......yet.

The ideal weight for a woman of my age and build ranges from 122 to 149 pounds, the mean being 135 pounds. My goal weight of 141 will do a couple of things, one of which is to make my driver's license accurate. More importantly, it will make me happy.

I don't weigh myself often. Usually, I find out the number when I go in for a checkup at the doctor's office. Instead of weight, I gauge my body by how my clothes fit and how quickly I can run a 5k. Lately, my clothes are on the verge of not fitting at all, and I haven't run a 5k in nearly a year.

After two weeks, I am down to *&% pounds.

Breakfast is a fruit smoothie:

- frozen fruit of various types
- fruit juice
- 1 banana

The combinations are endless, and I love that.

Lunch is a sandwich or wrap:

- turkey, chicken, or roast beef (or, whatever)
- sliced cucumbers
- lettuce
- tomato
- olive oil and lemon juice (in place of mayonnaise)

Dinner is....various things. Steak and baked potato, salads, yogurt (when I'm going to class), a wrap, sandwich, or I don't even know what. Great tip!

I feel really good. I still drink coffee in the morning with my usual teaspoon of sugar, and eat a few semi-sweet chocolate chips for dessert. I don't feel like I'm on a diet, and it's really not a diet. Even though it is. If I tell myself I'm on a diet, I'll feel squirmy and tied down, and I don't like to feel that way. I like to feel that I have options, and diets are psychologically NOT about options.

So, on this diet/non-diet, I'm doing well because food tastes good and I'm eating plenty of it (low-calorie, especially). I'm not going to restrict myself from any kind of food, but rather, watch the portions and only concern myself about calories.

I figure this is the most reasonable way to not be on a diet, while on a diet slash lifestyle change.

Inspired By Pepper Botts

2010-05-30T06:46:00.000-07:00

So I was reading Gwyneth Paltrow's blog the other day, and she wrote about getting into shape for a movie role. I've been feeling overweight and gross lately, and something in me snapped when I read the words "kale juice" among the list of foods she eats. It sounded really good, this pulverized kale with lemon juice. Maybe it's the idea of spring, but "grassy" lemonade sounded refreshing.

Here's the deal: I've decided that I've got to lose 20 pounds. That's not just a round figure (pun! haha...) that I pulled out of the air. If I lose 20 pounds I will be at a fairly ideal weight for a female who is 5'7" tall.

I will write about my weight loss, for my own record and to inspire, maybe, someone else to do something to get healthier. I'm going to be honest and record my actual weight once per week, some of what I eat, and what I do for exercise. Some of you may be interested, some would rather watch paint dry. I understand. It won't be the only thing I write about, but this will be a good way to record what I'm doing and, if I am being completely honest here, you are my motivation.

And please, do not look at me eat a slice of pizza or a tiny bowl of ice cream and remind me that I am trying to lose weight. I know this. I believe in small rewards and realistic expectations. In other words, you do not have to ride herd. Thanks, though.

I have some really cute clothes that do not fit, and some that fit but do not look good on me right now. It's time to do something about that.

WEEK ONE:
Starting weight: 161.0

I can't believe it, but there it is. Let the weight loss begin!

Childhood Memory

2010-05-28T13:08:00.000-07:00

My brother used to fart into a band aid box in order to "save it for later". Later, as ammunition against one of his sisters.

Sure, I could have told the story about how, as an adult, he walked a friend home for a dozen miles in the middle of the night, and then walked home by himself. He was just that kind of a guy.

The band aid box story is funnier, and goes to explain a lot of things about us. For instance, it explains why we are glad the old metal band aid box style has been abandoned for a cardboard version, with its loose, folding joints that allow for breezy drafts...

Athleta

2010-05-24T05:52:00.000-07:00

I adore Gap's Athleta store. I only wish I was in a higher income bracket in order to indulge every whim.

No complaints. I'm happy to have an income at all, I'm just saying.

Is it spring yet?

Echoes

2010-05-22T18:58:00.000-07:00

My brother would've been forty-two years old yesterday. Instead, he died from Acute Myeloid Leukemia the day after his 34th birthday.

This was written by my mom.

I held my son’s hand when he died that morning in May. His left hand. When I wrapped my own hands around it, his bruised fingers fluttered faintly and I felt his response. “It’s alright to let go now, Ric,” I whispered to him. “Don’t worry. We’ll be alright.” A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. I watched the muscles in his body, tautly held so long against the pain of the leukemia, release their tension. His labored breathing stopped, and I knew he was gone. I wept then, wept and held my son’s hand.

He turned thirty-four years old the day before he died. He had resolved he would not die on his birthday. It was his gift to me, as our birthdays were only days apart. The Gemini sign linked us, and together this day we shared a gift. From our home on the hill, we watched a rainbow dance over a green pasture. Then I saw my son’s face soften as he slowly scanned the room, turning his head to capture every corner. He looked at me, our eyes met, and I knew on a primal, gut level that somehow we would be alright. He grinned his familiar, lopsided grin and said, with a twinkle in his eyes, “There sure are a lot of people in the room, Mom.” Physically, he and I were the only ones there, but I felt what he saw. He would not be going alone when he left us.

* * * * *

I chose my son. He came into my life when he was ten years old. He’d been in protective custody and foster care for six years, and had scars to show from those places. We had three girls who wanted a brother, and since my husband had been adopted, it felt like a natural choice for us.
We fell in love with Ricky the first time we saw him. We knew he would be our son. This boy, with the horror stories to match the scars on his body, now reveled in his adoptive status. He knew he had been chosen. At last he had a real home. His joy was contagious. I felt my heart grow with him.

Two dozen years later, at his funeral, someone – gratefully, I cannot remember who – said to me, “At least he wasn’t your real son.” I was too numb to respond. I knew it was meant to be comforting, but “not my real son?” If he wasn’t real, what was he? Ricky was the son of my heart, as real to me as any child of my flesh. I knew for certain: he was real, and he was my son.

* * * * *

Three weeks earlier, in April, the doctors told us they had exhausted all treatment options. We were still numb from that news when Ric turned to me and asked, “Mom, will you ever be happy again?” I looked him squarely in the face and told him – for we had agreed months before we would be brutally honest with each other during this journey – that I could not see any possibility of being happy again. My son, this wise old soul, turned his distinctive hazel eyes with the golden flecks in them at me and calmly said, “My life won’t count for anything if you aren’t happy.” I had no words, for I could not lie to this boy, this man facing his own mortality far too soon. Happy? I wanted to rant and rave and break something, anything, to release my terror at the idea of life without him.

* * * * *

Life was never dull with Ricky. This lanky young boy with the bowl-cut brown hair delighted in telling me how he tricked his sisters by catching his farts in a metal Band-Aid can and getting the girls to open the lid. I remember when he broke his arm playing football, when he wrecked his bicycle and needed stitches, when his skin turned blue from playing in the cold Oregon surf, all the while insisting he was fine. I remember those times as a teenager when he grew so fast he couldn’t walk without tripping until his coordination skills caught up. The daunting amounts of food he could eat. The fear from learning he might be epileptic, and the relief when the doctor said it had been a mistake. How do you wrap your mind around your child’s terminal diagnosis?

* * * * *

We brought him home to care for him those last weeks. We set up a hospital bed in the living room, and Ric laughed that the bed was standard sized while he was not, and his feet hung over the edge. He laughed when I cried at the unfairness of it, the bureaucratic bungling. He laughed and reminded me of how I had spent hours massaging his feet in the hospital with what I thought was lotion, and one day a nurse asked why I was using liquid soap. He had the cleanest, slipperiest feet of anyone on the oncology ward, and now they were hanging over the end of the too-short bed.

Those weeks surprised me. I thought we would spend long hours talking about weighty matters, but what Ric wanted most was to watch one more NBA season finale. The Portland Trailblazer basketball franchise was only a few years younger than him, and he avidly supported his team. But the games were on satellite, and we only had a network antenna. I asked him, “You want to watch basketball???” “OK, Mom, here’s the deal,” he said, “The games give me something to hope for, and I’ve gotta have hope.” I called the satellite company. A man came and aimed a device at the sky and said there were too many trees and it couldn’t be done. Couldn’t be done? Couldn’t be done? I would cut down every tree on our property so my son would have hope. I had already heard “couldn’t be done” in the worst possible context, and this wasn’t it.
I would make it happen. I called my neighbor, a seventy year old retired logger. He quickly mobilized his heavy equipment: truck, loader, crane, crawler, winches, and chain saws. One sixty-foot tall Douglas fir tree fell, and the ground shook. No signal. He cut down another, then another, tears streaming down his face, until the satellite guy captured a signal and gave a thumbs-up. Ric had his basketball games. He’d felt the ground shake when the mighty trees fell. In his battle for hope, he knew there were other soldiers actively engaged with him.

One afternoon while Ric was resting the telephone rang. I answered it and a man’s voice said, “This is Bill Walton. Could I please speak with Ric?” Speechlessly I handed the phone to Ric. Bill Walton was the tall, red-headed center forward who had led the Trailblazers to their single World Championship against the Philadelphia 76’ers back in the glory days of 1977, when my little boy was nine years old. Bill Walton on my telephone? How had that miracle happened? I watched Ric’s face transform from tension into a loose, ear-splitting grin as he realized he was talking to his idol. Then he was asking me for a paper and pen, and wrote down Bill Walton’s cell phone number. When he hung up, he was still beaming. “Mom, Bill Walton said I could call him anytime, day or night. Bill Walton, Mom!” And my heart sang.

In the early stages of the adoption process, we took Ricky to visit friends. A local television celebrity lived next door, and casually dropped in to say hello. Ricky’s eyes got huge and his mouth dropped wide open. “You’re Ramblin’ Rod!” he shouted. Rod Anders, aka Rambling Rod, sat down with Ricky and told him all about his cartoon show, and invited him to be on it. Ricky told us the next day he would be the best son we could ever, ever have, if we would please, please adopt him. His joy, when we assured him he would be our son, was a tangible thing. It was his trademark. Like the time he laughed so hard on the Zipper ride at the County Fair that he swallowed his gum. When he stumbled across a skunk and got sprayed. The time he was home on a break from college, and my 6’4” son stood facing his 5’10” father, who looked up at him and said, “You’ve grown.” Without missing a beat, Ric poked his Dad in the belly and said, “So have you.” This boy – this man – lived joyfully. He wanted it to be his legacy. He had run his lap of life’s relay race, and was handing his baton to me. “My life won’t count for anything if you are not happy.”

* * * * *

In the hospital, Ric’s visitors had been limited because he could not risk catching an infection or cold. I knew my son had friends, but now I was learning how constant they were in staying connected. In these last weeks exposure no longer mattered, and on good days he held court. We carefully planned those brief hours when he would rally his energy to cheer his friends who came to cheer him. His room was filled with cards and photos, balloon bouquets, and banners scrawled with words and sketches. High school and college friends traveled hundreds of miles for a brief visit with Ric. They told stories, laughed and cried, and laughed.

Someone asked me during those weeks if it wouldn’t be easier to lose a child suddenly, in a car accident, rather than slowly to a devastating illness like leukemia. How do you answer an impossible question? Twenty years earlier I had sat with a friend whose son had died in a car accident the day before he was to leave for college. It was horrible. Are those my only choices? How about (c) never lose a child at all?

Time turned a precious commodity when its boundaries came into sharp focus. Once I had time to kill. Time on my hands. When it was Monday I yearned for Friday. When I was fifteen I longed to be twenty-one. Time had been like an artesian well, always there in abundance, a never-ending source. Now I scrambled to find the controls. Slow it down! Form a reservoir to store it up! Give me back the wasted bits and pieces!

We talked. As the days slipped past there was a point when Ric realized hope would not be enough, and we talked. As he fearlessly faced his own mortality, we talked freely about living, and dying, and what we thought came afterward. “Live your life joyfully, otherwise my life will have counted for nothing,” he said. I promised, even though I had no idea what that meant. I promised, because I still hoped to stop time and keep him with me.

* * * * *

At his funeral we were surprised at how many people attended. We hadn’t known Ric had so many friends. We invited them to share stories, and they showed me another side of my adult son: his loyalty to his friends. The time he walked a girl home after they got off work past midnight, to ensure her safety. She lived four miles away, in a remote area. He delivered her to her family, turned around and walked home. One man said Ric was the only friend he would ever let dance with his wife. Ric never forgot his foster care years, and counseled friends enduring their own tough times. He saved the lives of two people who had talked about suicide. The palpable elements of authenticity and joy, lived out in his own life, spoke to theirs and forever changed them. He had built a solid legacy. It wasn’t just words for him.

* * * * *

One afternoon during that last week, Ric’s girlfriend came to visit, and I slipped away to a mortuary to make plans. It was a surreal experience. He wanted a service that would celebrate his life. I wanted him to live. There was a lag time between his acceptance and mine, but I knew I could not let him down in his dying any more than I could in his living. The mortuary experience somehow brought his heart and mine into alignment.

I sat beside him that last night, holding his hand and talking to him. He was heavily sedated but never alone. My husband and I took turns, grabbing naps and keeping vigil. We were both with him when our well of time ran out. In the process of releasing his remains and preparing for his service, I thought the season of receiving any more gifts from Ric had passed, but I was wrong. His body went through the cremation process four days later, on my birthday. On Memorial Day.

* * * * *

When he was young his sisters called him “Ricky Ticky” and “Ricky Ricardo.” In middle school he shortened his name from “Ricky” to “Rick.” After college he shortened it again to “Ric.” I told him I liked it, but if he made any more changes, his options would be initials only, or lengthening it back to his given name, Richard. “OK, Mom, here’s the deal,” he said, “It’s just a name. I know who I am.”

* * * * *

Ric had been specific about where he wanted his ashes spread: the Oregon coast. Victoria, British Columbia. The San Juan Islands. A year after his death we met with some of his friends in Lincoln City, on the Oregon coast, to begin honoring his wishes. It was late May, cold and windy. There was a dark, heavy, low bank of clouds stretched across the horizon. Each friend had a vial of ashes, and we stood huddled together, quietly talking and waiting. There was speculation that Ric probably had something to do with the fact that the basketball season for the LA Lakers, Portland’s nemesis, was going badly. I checked my watch - 11:22 am. We had come exactly one year from his death. At that instant, a hole opened in the sky and a column of warm, sparkling sunlight descended, only on us, like a spotlight. “Ric’s here,” one of his friends said in a hushed voice. I could see my own awe reflected on the faces of the others. And echoing the cries of the gulls soaring overhead, I heard my son, laughing.

Amendment

2010-05-21T08:53:00.000-07:00

After drinking a big, almond milk-based smoothie and suffering a righteous headache, I now suspect my body is highly offended by almonds. The smoothie recipe has been amended to include no almond milk. Thanks a lot, Gwyneth Paltrow.

This week has flown by. We had a rained-out softball game on Monday, which I hurriedly rescheduled for Wednesday and called each team member, only to have it cancelled an hour and a half before game-time due to rain.

Tonight we have a game scheduled, and the forecast calls for rain.

I built a fire last night after it snowed a little in the morning, and hailed a little later on.

Today contains fun-filled activities: I need to take my cat to the vet to have her sutures removed, but I don't want to put her back in the cat carrier. Poor Rumsie has been through a lot, having a tumor removed from her shoulder and then the skin pulled up tight to close the hole.

Rum sez, "Who would take this face to the vet?

Last week I was giving pain medication to a cat, and penicillin to a chicken.

Yes, this is really my life.

In case you're wondering which animal was easier to administer to, it was definitely the chicken.

Hatshepsut sez, "Brrrrrrrrrt!"

Breakfast

2010-05-19T07:51:00.000-07:00

OC and I made some fantastic breakfast smoothies this morning. The combinations are endless, but ours were made with:

1 frozen banana

1/2 c. plain nonfat yogurt

1/2 c. vanilla almond milk

1/2 c. frozen blueberries

1/2 c. frozen raspberries

several small ice cubes

The resulting tasty beverage is quite tasty, and full of protein, vitamins, antioxidants, and is low in fat. What fat there is comes from almonds, which is a healthier kind of fat than the kind that comes from animal products.

I bought the yogurt, almond milk, and blueberries at Trader Joe's, and all were very reasonably priced.

It's coming on summer, which is a great time to enjoy smoothies of all kinds, all day long. Bon Appetit!

Quoth the Raven

2010-05-11T18:36:00.001-07:00

"Maybe you could be an art teacher. Well, if we still had art teachers."

----- My daughter, age 9

I've met more adults going back to school, and several who want to become teachers. When this recession lifts and jobs open up again, there are going to be a LOT of people vying for the same work. The veterans as well as the newly-graduated.

I went to the parent-teacher organization meeting tonight. The effort is to reorganize and regroup in order to accomplish the original mission, which is, to raise money for the school. A tough task, after the last president and parent TAMI ERIKSON, allegedly stole thousands of dollars in cash. The investigation is ongoing. Questions of restitution remain.

I wonder, how will the reputation of the PTO be restored? I know there are good people there, but the actions of one person can hurt the group for a long time. How can they ask the community for sponsorships, and the community respond after all of this? Hopefully, the result will be more involvement from parents, and more communication so that the community knows what good is being done on the behalf of children.

My daughter participated in a walk-a-thon which raised more than $10,000 dollars. It was a hot day, and the kids worked so hard and did a great job. And now, where is the money? The account has little more than $1000 in it. I wonder what Tami did with the money she allegedly stole from those kids?

List: des Livres

2010-04-15T12:02:00.000-07:00

As I wonder why I have a headache this morning (too much coffee, or not enough?) I keep thinking it's time to keep track of my reading. I've always meant to do this. I even have a notebook to record books and movies I've read or seen, in case I ever want to regurgitate the titles in my blog. I quite simply lacked follow through. No more...

Currently Reading:

The Iliad
Richmond Lattimore translation
Children of the Sun
Alfred Crosby
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
Carson McCullers

The mistake that I made: I watched "Love Song for Bobby Long" and THEN read The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. Do this in reverse. I recommend it highly.

It is interesting the way people come around to discovering certain books. I have had the idea of reading The Iliad and then The Odyssey, and finally realized it's not going to happen until I actually do it. Then there is the question of which translation? Don't get too hung up on it. I like the Richmond Lattimore fine, although he has chosen the funkiest spellings of Greek words. The Fagles translation or the earlier Butler version would have been fine, too. If you want to read it, then pick one and go for it.

Alfred Crosby is an author I first learned of in a history class to do with the Columbian Exchange. In a fascinating excerpt from that book, we read about plants, animals, and diseases and their transport to new places for the first time with the European explorers, and the myriad results. It's more fascinating than you might think. The title above is his new book.

I first learned of Carson McCullers several years ago when another book mentioned her name. I still didn't pick up one of her books until seeing "Love Song". Now, the movie has much more meaning, and the book was great. Well, so far it is. I'm still not quite finished.

I'd love to know what other people are reading. I don't have a wide enough readership nor know people in life who write a blog, much less about books they've read. It's weird that people know what's going on with me because of this urge to share with anyone who happens along, but I know so little about them.

Facebook doesn't count.

Now Reading

2010-04-14T10:50:00.000-07:00

Slayers and Their Vampires by Bruce McClelland. Everything you ever wanted to know about vampires, folklore, religiosity (what now?), witches, and more.

I'm not a Twilight reader, I don't understand the appeal of hairy, hairy Edward Cullen. I'd like to tie that character up to a barber's chair and give him a good buzz cut. But, I liked Buffy. If these names mean anything to you, here's something you might enjoy.

I could watch that over and over...

Lightening the Load

2010-03-30T10:22:00.000-07:00

I have just deleted more than 4,000 emails from my Inbox and Sent folders.

I feel 4,000 pieces of paper lighter, if that makes any kind of sense...

Love Chicken

2010-03-25T14:28:00.000-07:00

Today, we have a guest blogger. You may know her from such posts as, "Early Morning Quiz" , "Finally! Some Pictures!! , and "Forty Stone and Six Months Ago". OC is here to write about her chickens. Pictures by OC.

My chicken Cleopatra loves shiny things!
Her head is in the way because she is trying to peck the camera when it flashes!

Hatshepsut is afraid to lay an egg in the picture because I'm taking a photo of her!

She is crabby because she wants to be a mom but we don't have a rooster anymore.

I put two eggs in the grass to make it look like a chicken laid two eggs there!

Smith Rock Is Near Here

2010-03-23T12:20:00.000-07:00

To start our spring break vacation, we went to Smith Rock for a hike.

I am a native Oregonian, but for years I did not know where Smith Rock was located. I'm not a rock climber, so that helps explain my ignorance. Now that I live in Redmond, I have noticed how Smith Rock seems to be everywhere. During the drive from Bend, you can see the rock pretty much the entire way. It's as though it were watching your every move...

In my defense, I did know some other things about Oregon. Such as, the girls grow tall here.

Also, it may be spring but it's still the desert. It is COLD in March.*

Amazingly, these limby Oregon creatures can fold themselves in order to explore "huts" along the trail. There were many huts. We did not go inside every one, but almost.

The footbridge back at the start of the hike looks like the trunk of a tree, when viewed from above. If you can manage it, the views are worth the climb. The river trail is flat and follows the river, coincidentally. There are other options, such as Misery Ridge and Burma Road. We took Misery Ridge, which meets up with the River Trail and makes for a decent 3-mile loop.

Spring break is not a good time to hike at Smith Rock if you are craving solitude. Dude, there were like, all kinds of people there and like, you know, youths or whatever. Most were good about watching their language around my kid, but boy did I feel like a grandma, being concerned about hearing a swear word or forty.

* That is okay with me. I am a knitter and have coping skills.

The Simpsons

2010-03-22T18:40:00.000-07:00

Ned: Jeepers H. Crackers. I'd better call the Reverend.

[pushes "Rev. Lovejoy" button on phone]
[the Rev is playing with a train set]

Mrs. L: Heh heh, Ned Flanders is on the phone.

Reverend Lovejoy: [groans] Mmm...hello, Ned.

Ned: [breathless] Reverend...emergency! I -- it's the Simpson kids -- eedily -- I, uh, baptism -- oodily -- uh -- doodily doodily!

Reverend Lovejoy: Ned...have you thought about one of the other major religions? They're all pretty much the same.

[hangs up]
[his train crashes]

Oh. Damn Flanders!

----- Season 7, episode "Home Sweet Home-Diddily-Dum-Doodily"

Welcome to Finals Week, and oh yes, the Ides of March.

2010-03-19T08:31:00.000-07:00

So, what are the Ides of March, and why do I need to beware? The Ides were simply calendar days (or, nights) on the Roman calendar when there was a full moon. It was a moveable date that happened every month. The need to beware of the Ides of March was attributed to the vision of a soothsayer in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, who felt the day was unlucky for one Gaius Julius Caesar of Rome.

March 15, 44 BCE: Julius Caesar is assassinated by fellow Senators, including buddies Brutus and Cassius. Poor guy, after all he had done for the Republic.

One perk to being the leader of Rome included issuing coins that carried your visage. In the fifth century B.C. (or possibly earlier) bronze began to be used in central Italy as a medium of exchange valued by weight. In the second century an annually elected board of three were tasked with the casting and striking of bronze, silver, and gold, created to control the issuance of the currency.

Under Augustus the mints and the entire monetary system were reorganized so that the emperor issued the gold and silver coinage, while the bronze was left to the senate to issue. Under this system, the money changed virtually every year. Sort of makes you glad that quarter, dime, nickel, penny situation need not be relearned every year.

In other words, coins were ancient Rome's People magazine.

----- directly quoted and/or paraphrased from Roman Civilization Volume I, Selected Readings: The Republic and the Augustan Age, Ed. Lewis and Reinhold 3rd edition (my textbook from HST414 which, of course, I kept).

Speaking of holidays, did you know St. Patrick was not Irish? It's always a school day around here.

Update

2010-03-10T07:20:00.000-08:00

LAST NIGHT: A five-minute presentation, in French, with pictures. At least there were cookies.

THIS MORNING: Cat poop smooshed under the back door. No cookies.

Bad.

THE END.

Physics

2010-03-04T09:13:00.000-08:00

Do you remember the Gravitron at OMSI? I loved that thing. It was a tall, rectangular space enclosed in glass that housed steel framed track that looked like a miniature roller coaster, where silver balls would travel. There were numerous different tracks, and little kids like me fascinated, watching the balls travel this way and that, going one way and then all of a sudden going another, with all of the twists and turns, the steel arms that would flip over and pick up a ball to take it to another track and then rest to wait for the next; the wheels that looked like miniature ferris wheels with spaces for the balls and when it was full it finally overturned the balls onto tracks to keep falling, down, down, down. When they got to the end, there was an elevator that brought the balls back to the top and it would do it all over again.

I was reading Dooce this morning and she featured this video. She's right, it is absolutely amazing. It is better than the Gravitron, and now you know how big that is.

Sunday

2010-02-28T12:34:00.000-08:00

I totally agree with my mom, who commented that the last post needed a picture. I don't have one, but when she wears it again - and we know that she will - I will take one of her in "the outfit" and post it.

In the mean time, here is her completely matching play outfit.

There are more pictures! Today felt like spring, and we were all outside in the back yard. Humans, cats, and chickens; the usual melange of characters.

I cleaned the laundry room, and so had the back door open to let in all the fresh air. The girl, chickens, and cats were taking advantage of the new shoots of grass and warm sunshine, depending upon their liking. Some were taking advantage of one another's snuggle factor. Especially her.

This is our biggest hen, Professor. She was not named after anyone in particular from history, she looked as though she could sport a pair of glasses and give a lecture about Boudicca, queen of the East Anglian Icenis. I guess.

History Professor!

Sunshine Kitty sez, "dont blok mai rayz, and meybe I wont poop on ur flor..."

Another Blog

2010-02-24T10:14:00.000-08:00

My daughter dressed herself this morning. After all, she's nine and quite capable. She likes patterns, and so she paired a patterned shirt with a completely differently-patterned skirt, and even more differently-patterned tights.

After taking her to school in her outfit loud enough that it could announce its own arrival, I came home and read about another mom's decisive daughter.

Like her, I also felt like pinning a note to OC to explain the colorful outfit, thereby absolving myself of responsibility and still being a "good mom". But I was also proud of my daughter for doing exactly what she liked and feeling good about herself. I like that more than I cared about precise outfit coordination at age 9.

In the same post, it was this sentence that struck most deeply: "I want to bottle my little girl’s belief in herself and give it back to her by the pint when she hits sixteen."

--- Jessica, at Balancing Everything

Too often we are concerned with how we look rather than what it all means. There is a time and a place to look "acceptable", of course. But when our children go through stages of trying out their own thing, it's good to remember that it is good for them. Do not crush this tendency, for one day it will translate well when, for example, their own thing will be to come home and do their homework instead of hanging out in front of a convenience store with their friends.

Rejoice in all-patterned outfits! They're not so bad.

Living With a Knitter Means Never Getting Cold

2010-02-19T09:41:00.000-08:00

In addition to the socks for OC, I have several other projects on the needles.

I like it when there are about three projects going at once. Generally, they are in different stages of production and require varying degrees of attention. This way, I have something I can knit while watching tv or carrying on a conversation, and something to travel with, and something that requires concentration.

OC is fun to knit for, not only because she is adorable but because she is so excited to have new things. Bonus: she is smaller than an adult, and so the projects for her knit up quickly.

OC picked out the colors for this cotton jumper for summer:

It will be knit in halves, then sewn together. I think the colors will suit her wonderfully.

There's a Learning Moment Here Somewhere

2010-02-17T17:45:00.000-08:00

Generally, this is not the most glorious of things to wake up in the morning and find in your laundry room:

Since it happened back in September, I can laugh about it. A little.

The bag of cat food sat atop the washing machine, its flat surface making a lovely storage area. Except when the machine developed a mind of its own and decided to shirk its encumbrances. Cat food bag, KAPOW!

This knitting thing is sticking with me, because the sock is finished. The last of the in-progress pictures:

I have started the other sock. Four inches into the leg ribbing have gone quickly, as other knitters told me it would. Now if only the child would stop growing so she can wear these hand-knit items forever.....

Little Red Hen

2010-02-12T07:44:00.000-08:00

This is OC and Boadicea.

Boudicca (also spelled Boadicea, Boudica) was the wife of King Prasutagus of the Celtic Iceni of East Anglia. She led a famous revolt against Roman rule in Britain in AD 60.

The Romans invaded England in AD 43. Unless the native population recognized the advantage of being part of the Empire, there could be no political security, and their interests, if not with Rome, would be with themselves. This principle of governance apparently was not appreciated by the procurator, who, as the chief financial administrator of the province, treated the inhabitants, instead, as a defeated enemy.

Tacitus recounts the complaints of the Iceni: the governor tyrannized their persons; the procurator, their possessions. "Their gangs of centurions or slaves, as the case may be, mingle violence and insult. Nothing is any longer safe from their greed and lust. In war it is the braver who takes the spoil; as things stand with us, it is mostly cowards and shirkers that rob our homes, kidnap our children and conscript our men."

Even the royal house of the Iceni was not immune. When the king died, the client relationship with Rome and status of the tribe as civitates peregrinae (Roman subjects, but not full Roman citizens) ended. Still, half the kingdom was left to Nero in the hope that the remaining possessions could thereby be preserved for his two daughters.

From Tacitus' Annals:
"Kingdom and household alike were plundered like prizes of war, the one by Roman officers, the other by Roman slaves. As a beginning, his widow Boudicca was flogged and their daughters raped. The Icenian chiefs were deprived of their hereditary estates as if the Romans had been given the whole country. The king's own relatives were treated like slaves."

Boudicca rebelled, and was joined by other tribes against the Roman army in the area at the time. The Roman soldiers took refuge in the temple (of Claudius), but after two days, it fell. Legio IX, understrength and marching south from its camp at Longthorpe some eighty miles away was ambushed and defeated. The procurator fled to Gaul, and Boudica marched on Londinium (London). As Tacitus records,

"Neither before nor since has Britain ever been in a more uneasy or dangerous state. Veterans were butchered, colonies burned to the ground, armies isolated. We had to fight for our lives before we could think of victory."

With her daughters in front of her, Boudica drove her chariot among the tribes, shouting encouragement as the assembled Britons, compressed in the defile, struggled to come onto open ground. The Romans waited, hurled their javelins, and then shouldered their way forward in wedge formation, hacking their way through the throng.

Later, the governor of Brittania, Suetonius Paullinus, lead a force that defeated the rebels. Lots of people died, end of local rebellion. It is thought that Boudica poisoned herself.

---- various articles, web

And so, we bestowed the honorous name to our biggest little red hen, who hopefully will have an easier life than her namesake.

The Occidental Tourist Discusses Hair

2010-02-09T22:39:00.000-08:00

My hair has gone several shades of ginger.

I've actually had it this way for a while, and no one noticed. Not even my mom. Cipher in the snow, much? I'm not crying, I did this for me. And if you don't notice my pretty new hair, well, then I'll take pictures and write about it until there are compliments.

If no compliments, then I'll talk about the weather and things will be back to d'habitude here at tourist central.

The red is really not that big a deal. My hair was never one shade to begin with, but it did start out a nice blonde color. Over the years it has gotten darker, much to my horror. Someone mentioned years ago that I should try red and I laughed at the time, happy instead to stick with light blonde highlights to keep up the charade that no, nothing has changed. Same old hair as always!

Boring.

Fireplace Kitteh (or, Dakota) pays you no mind. When you want to talk about things like how this week's turkey and salmon wet food is being received, then kitteh will look you in the eye. If you are lucky.

Also, someone should really clean the hearth. At least do a quick dust before taking pictures. Good grief. My mom will think I never clean this place.

OC has the same color hair that I had, so you can see it's a lovely mix of shades. Nice self-directed compliment...that was unintended but notice I'm not deleting it?

Sable likes it when you read to him. He thinks his hair is the prettiest of all.

Water and Webcams

2010-02-03T09:56:00.000-08:00

Central Oregon is a high desert, and I carry water with me everywhere I go. I have an exaggerated fear of dehydration.

When I drive between Redmond and Bend, there are no gas stations or public areas. It is 15 miles of wilderness! What would happen if your car broke down in the summer? Think about it.

In town, it doesn't feel the same way. There are trees, lawns, and buildings, so there must be water. But the highways and open areas....those are deathtraps.

That's why it is interesting to me that, just as one could get lost in the sagebrush, it's possible in any environment.

I wonder, are there webcams in the Badlands?

Knitting Shapes

2010-02-01T09:19:00.000-08:00

I've turned the heel on my first sock. Forget about wondering what the purpose of life is. That is nothing compared to the magic that is turning the heel. It blows my mind that someone came up with a sock pattern in the first place.

Whoever did so was a really smart lady. I assume is was a woman, anyhow.

You are looking at the sock from the underside. That triangle shape is where the heel will fit.

The foot is not the most straightforward of body parts. You want a blanket? Knit a rectangle, and there you go! Warm. How about a sweater? Two rectangles plus tubey things with decreasing, boom! Warm. But a sock...

...that's an odd shape. What you start with (in this case) is a tube for the ankle. When you reach the heel, you have to knit straight down in a kind of wall called a heel flap. Then, you form a triangle for the heel. Once you get a certain number of rows, you pick up stitches and knit in the round, while simultaneously decreasing. Simple!

It doesn't sound simple, but when you're doing it, it is.

Superradioactive ultrawhite thumb highlight:

Fly to the Moon with Jake and Let the Cliches Flow

2010-01-30T20:46:00.000-08:00

Get your Bachelor update before Monday night!

Yes, the Bachelor, that train-wreck of a reality show where one man is set up with a train-load of women who want to be his wife. Who can admit to watching such a pathetic display?

Me, that's who. For some reason, this season has grabbed my attention. Perhaps it is the witty recaps of Mamarazzi which have made me want to see the original episode, perhaps it is the glimpses of life as paleolithic humans that is so intriguing. Many women compete for the man. It's disgusting, it's base, it's shallow....

...the next episode is Monday, 8 pm. Spending the evening in the slimy depths of television may not be respectable, but it sure is entertaining.

Rumbunny

2010-01-28T21:31:00.000-08:00

We have three cats, and one of them has not been featured on this website in the way that showcases her lolcat personality.

Rum is an 11-year old female. She likes to be scratched, not held. She decides when, not you.

And now, Rum says:

Gravity Cat can holds lawndree down dis way...

...or dis way. Kitteh is versuhtyuhl.

Iz reddeh for mah clows up so u mai admyur mah byootee.

Ur not clows enuf. Clowsr, plz.

Iz bettr. Now u seez mah pretteh. Iz mor pretteh than u iz.

Sawree.
One more lolcats. Another lolcat. And this one, too. We love the lolcats.

More With the Sock

2010-01-26T06:37:00.000-08:00

You know what's fun? Taking breaks from knitting with yarn the size of angel hair pasta and seeing what it looks like when you use it as a viewfinder.

I see a kitty. He is not amused.

I see a girl. She is highly amused, and more than a little confused at what her mother is doing at the moment. Bad news, OC, you are related to me.

She's rather patient, as I mess around not knitting her sock.

New Project

2010-01-25T07:06:00.000-08:00

Socks!

Well, A sock. And it's not done yet.

I have to knit this part to six inches. Since this is fingering weight yarn (thicker than sewing thread, but not much) it is taking forever.

The yarn is Tofutsies a unique blend of wool, soysilk, cotton, and chitin. Chitin is material from shrimp and crab shells, and is naturally antibiotic. This is one of those times that I ask myself, "Self, who thought of grinding up shrimp shells and adding it to yarn? And, how did they figure out it was antibiotic?" And I cannot answer myself because I DO NOT KNOW. But it is cool nonetheless.

(I am not being paid to endorse this product. But I have to tell you, if someone sent me free yarn and asked me to give my opinion, I would do it. I would be honest. Hello, Debbie Bliss...Rowan tweed...)

My child anxiously awaits her sock. And as soon as I finish the first one, it's more than likely that she will want the other one.

I Like to Make Things

2010-01-22T12:46:00.000-08:00

This morning was delightful. I sat by the window watching the snow come down while I felt the cool air from the outside on one side of my body and the warmth from the cozy room on the other. I read a book by the natural light and had a cup of warm coffee. Unfortunately, it had to come to an end.

I like the rain and clouds, or snow, because it makes me feel creative. I don't know why, that's just the way it is. I don't make the rules.

It wasn't long ago that I began beading, and OC wanted to bead, too. I even have pictures of her when she was four, beading away along with me.

Speaking of four, remember this?

I have to be careful when scrolling through the archives for 2005. There are plenty of funny, happy memories, but also land mines such as, "After the funeral for..."

It's hard to go back and read some of it. I won't link to any of that, for today is Friday and I think we all would rather see pictures of adorable blonde children than contemplate death, for now.

I remember this whirlwind trip. And after rereading that, I asked myself, "Self, why are there no pictures?" And I refused to answer myself because I don't know why there are no pictures accompanying this post. To have them would have been nice.

WARNING: Some older posts include curse words. Sorry. I can't help myself sometimes. It must be the merchant marine in me that caused the salty phrases to come out.

As of November 27th 2009

2010-01-18T07:09:00.000-08:00

Tooth # 8 is so outta here...

Frost

2010-01-17T07:22:00.000-08:00

The weather has been a tad cold in recent weeks.

Moon Day: 6

2010-01-16T05:59:00.000-08:00

Pine Mountain Observatory is operated for research through the University of Oregon's Physics Department, and is open to the public on the weekends during the summer. OC and I headed there on the last weekend before it closed for the season.

Located one hour east of Bend, the dirt and gravel road takes you to the site at the top of....Pine Mountain. What a suprise. At 6300' the air is cooler than the surrounding desert.

It was SO COOL. Evidence: OC kept saying, "This is so cool!"

It was fun. They have big telescopes inside buildings with movable roofs. Plus amateur astronomers with their telescopes set up, and people will answer all your silly questions without laughing at you.

ADVICE: bring warm clothes. No kidding. Even in summer, it gets cold at night. Bring a flashlight and snacks.

Get up there this summer and we'll geek out together.

Nine

2010-01-15T07:35:00.000-08:00

Birthday Girl

Before fancy father/daughter dinner at Juniper Hills Golf Club.

Among the many thoughtful birthday gifts was this giraffe water bottle, her favorite animal. She was excited to dig into the birthday gifts. Getting dressed and brushing hair are hassles that can wait for later.

Imitation is the best way to goof off.

What tongues? There are nothing serious picture-takers in this house.

Breakfast

2010-01-14T09:36:00.000-08:00

Let me ask you something: how often do you clean your toaster?

I had been tasting an essence of "burnt" on my toasted foods lately, a lot like the "smoked" flavor we pay a lot for at restaurants. This morning I thought about the last time I had cleaned the crumbs out of the toaster. The answer? Never, or at least, close to never. Maybe once.

I pulled out the tray on the bottom of the toaster, and wow! That's a lot of chicken food. There were enough crumbs that if one were to add a few drops of water, one could form an egg. It wouldn't taste like egg, but it would be the same size as an egg. That's a lot of crumbs.

Our five hens will recycle those crumbs into an egg, and it saves one day's worth of chicken feed. And for us? No more "blackened pop tarts" for breakfast.

Sounds expensive, tastes bad.

Fifty Years Ago Donald Hebb Proposed a Rule

2009-12-10T22:22:00.000-08:00

The Hebb Rule says that if an initially weak synapse repeatedly fires at the same time that the postsynaptic neuron fires, the synapse will become strengthened. After several firings, the synapse becomes strong enough to fire by itself. LEARNING HAS OCCURRED.

Hebb was unable to determine if this was right or wrong. Can you imagine the suspense?

Learning is happening all over the place right now, in fact. Five chapters left plus twelve cranial nerves (and their functions). My dysfunctional dalliance in biopsychology officially ends tomorrow at 3pm. I can be drunk by 4, removing most residual knowledge with the destruction of a few million brain cells. Hey, math major: with 16 upper division credits, how much tuition is lost from the consumption of one twelve-dollar bottle of rum?

The economics of that plan aren't looking good...

Global Cooling

2009-12-09T09:51:00.000-08:00

Did you know, there are places in the world where the winters are commonly harsh? This may seem obvious, but think about it. When we get a bad week or so of very cold temperatures, it's pretty unusual. It only lasts for a few days. We complain for a while, turn up the heat, and except for a higher electric bill, nothing really bad seems to come from it.

As I walked to my French final last night breathing air that, at 4 degrees farenheit, froze whatever mucous could be found in my nose, I thought about people in the places where this kind of weather was normal. There are places where it is not unusual for people to live in apartments with little heat, who do not own clothes that are warm enough. There is a lot of suffering.

People die all the time from the cold, but we never really think about it. The other night, I thought about it.

Our forecast will warm up in a couple of days. We have enough money to pay the electric bill, and there is a large stack of firewood outside to keep the woodstove going. I have a pile of wool yarn that I can make into socks and scarves, but in the mean time we have a closet full of clothes to wear.

I think it's time to be grateful for what we have, and to share what we can. Spread the love, be nice to one another, because life can be tough.

Economics Solves Crimes

2009-11-30T20:33:00.000-08:00

I remember hearing about the case of Kitty Genovese, but I didn't know the story behind the story.

I read Freakonomics and found reading about the application of statistical analysis to everyday conundrums more interesting than you might think. For example, have you ever wondered why, if drug dealers make so much money, why do they still live with their mothers? The answer is, it's not all that different than Amway.

Halloween

2009-11-21T10:13:00.000-08:00

Four hours before dark, this is what lay on my dining room table.

A cape in colors excitedly chosen by a little girl in a fabric store in an enthusiastic bout of 'we've got so much time!' kind of shopping trip one month prior, her mother confident in her ability and time frame to sew a simple cape. Now, H-Day, it sat waiting to be completed as the minutes ticked by.

Four hours before trick or treating commenced.

Four hours to determine whether a child would be disappointed or elated with their halloween costume. Would this child learn to depend on her mother to provide, as promised, or were mommy's promises nothing but hot air?

As it turned out, the Vampiress was happy.

Happy Halloween, All Saint's Day, Marine Corps Birthday, Veteran's Day, My Birthday, and Thanksgiving.

Sing it Like You Mean it

2009-11-13T12:52:00.000-08:00

Good Morning!

2009-11-09T12:36:00.000-08:00

I started my day by bathing my 15-year old long-haired cat's behind that was covered in diarrhea. And then, I trimmed the long hair around his behind.

How was your morning???

Every Other Word Is Capitalized, But I'm Not Screaming

2009-11-06T15:40:00.001-08:00

I keep meaning to learn how to knit socks. I think that learning requires a class for me, because I can't learn from a book. I need to be shown.

Earlier this year I was busy with school, then it was summer and who wants to knit with wool in the summer? Now it's fall and I'm busy with school again. What a broken record. Then I found this on the internet, which is a VIDEO that SHOWS you HOW to KNIT socks.

WOW.

Murphy Forgot To Include This One

2009-11-04T10:10:00.000-08:00

The law of When You're In a Hurry says that when one is trying to check something online quickly before rushing out the door in order to be somewhere, that will be the exact moment your computer decides it needs to perform an update and restart itself.

Be Patient With Your Cell Phone Signal

2009-10-27T13:27:00.000-07:00

It has to go to and then return from space! Maybe give it a minute before you start complaining. Remember the rotary phone? Yeah. How about the guy with two zeroes in his number, how much did you hate calling that person?

Louis CK talks to Conan about the miracle of technology, making some great points.

From me to you. Or actually, from my French class friend, Emily, who sent me the link, to you. Enjoy.

It Was Awesome

2009-10-26T09:03:00.000-07:00

Giving my child a classical education while she attends public school means we do a lot of work at home. School homework and home homework. Poor girl.

We began with the moon, learning the difference between orbit and rotate. We've moved on to the planets, the study of which will culminate in an artistic rendering of a 2-D model of the solar system.

All of this to say that today we found a really cool website that shows the solar system in motion.