Just so

I'm sort of piecing things back together. Getting back to my usual routines, taking care of business, crying over The Tale of Despereaux and then laughing hysterically at lines like "Despereaux was filled with an icky feeling of despair." Because that's what it is. Icky. When you feel like that. The weather has gone from wiltingly hot to pleasantly cool to rainy since Friday.

There's also always processing to do after you see out-of-town friends. You fold your laundry and think about personalities interacting and changes and continuity.

It seems like whenever I get the urge to get rid of stuff and pare down, something comes along that requires me to acquire more. Why is that? And why can't the apartment have just one more closet?

You'll have to help yourselves, I'm out of control right now

I had zero desire to blog this weekend. It was a little odd. I think because I was constantly in the company of at least one more person. Usually three more people. And it was good. I've known these girls for almost six years. I met Toni & Lis when I got off work Friday at Cup & Saucer for dinner. I walked in wearing my work uniform (aka, the ugliest piece of clothing in my wardrobe) and as soon as T & L saw me they just cracked up, and I cracked up, and I'm not sure what was so funny. But our conversation had nothing to do with catching up on the details of each other's lives (even though some catching up was in order) and everything to do with just being friends having dinner together. We split 3 dishes in exact thirds and talked a lot about Little House in the Big Woods and fractions and laughed a lot. And on Saturday we picked up Laurel at the airport and we all just did our thing. Lots of laughing, and ice cream, and stuff like that.

I'm not feeling particularly eloquent at the moment. I'll come back later with, I don't know, something. The pictures below are from this morning, right before everyone left.

Feet 

B-22 Cult 

St. Bridget's Terrace

I just did a load of laundry and used the new detergent I bought yesterday (really, I need to start buying the natural kind again, I've gotten in a bad rut, this stuff freaks me out). As I pulled the sheets from the washer to the dryer, I thought "this smells familiar." And then it hit me. Its "original fresh" scent smells exactly like the stuff we bought at Lidl's in Galway. Whoa. That was four-freaking-years ago. Talk about useless knowledge.

It's easier for a rich man to go through the eye of a needle...

I do this thing where I'll wake up fairly early*, like 7:30, and think "oh my gosh** this is so early! Good for me!" and I'll lay in bed thinking of all the things I can get done. Especially today, while it's still cool out and I've got cleaning 'n stuff*** to do. But no! God forbid I actually do those things in that extra time. No, I use that time to:

1. Write in my notebook. Entirely admirable, but does it make the bathroom cleaner?
2. Check email. Communication is good, but does it get the sheets washed?
3. Blog. For the love of God, blogging does not remove strange odors from the kitchen.
4. Eat breakfast. Entirely mandatory, but it doesn't result in me being clean and ready to face the day like, say, a shower would.

I have, to my credit, started a load of laundry. I tidied my room. A little. And I've maintained my sanity by doing all 4 things.

Okay, to work!

*Considering my job doesn't require my presence until 3 o'clock in the pm.
**As Q would say.
***Footnote day! Do you remember where that came from, Bee? The whole "love 'n stuff" thing?

Can I sleep outside tonight Mom?

It's hot. So hot that I need to get this laptop off my lap so it will stop venting hot air at me. Sheesh. Who came up with a laptop that heats up your lap?? (Kindly forget how I loved this feature when it was cold out.)

Today, I was getting dressed (for work - I get dressed approximately 3 times per day) and I thought to myself, "Self, today you're going to find the ugliest piece of clothing in your entire wardrobe and put it on." And I did! It was so ugly it involved digging through the "I never wear this but can't throw it away" box. And then I wore it to work!

At my job, there are the people who wear shorts year round. And there are the people who wear them occasionally when it's nice out. And there are the people like me (and a few others) who groan on hot days and reluctantly show our glowing white legs to the world. And it's not so much the white legs as the shorts - legs - white socks - black shoes look. Such the classic look.

PS I cheated and wore not-black shoes. Because I couldn't handle it. But black shoes are regulation. If you wear pants, the socks have to be black. Shorts are worn with white socks.

B-22 Cult

This morning I woke up from a dream feeling like a little stone. You know the good old "if you have a pillow, replace it with a stone"? Not necessary. I make my own stone. My shoulder hurt from being pressed into the mattress. It was as though someone said "do an interpretive dance of being a stone" and my interpretation was to go to sleep like that. Also, I slept without a blanket. Just a sheet. Do you know what extremes it takes for me to do that? Summer Weather. Not summer, because there is no consistency in it, but Summer Weather. And I slept through the night without waking up and frantically pulling on my comforter. Maybe that accounts for the stony insensibility.

In other news, the weekend is rapidly approaching. That means that for the first time since September, Laurel, Lis, Toni & I will be in the same place at the same time. (Do we have a name, girls? I was going to call us the B-22 Cult but that's Bif, too. And we had Maren we lived together.) That same place will be the Meet & Greet section of the Portland Airport, where TnE and I will attempt to recognize Laurel and speculate on how she might have changed over the past 8-9 months. As in, "Maybe that's Laurel. If she had a baby and dyed her hair." Or, "Maybe that's her. If she got a mysterious disease that aged her forty years." You know, the usual.

I'm trying to muster some thoughtful, friendshippy words, but all it basically comes down to is that I can't wait to have us all together, and to do our thing. I'm not very eloquent at the moment, but I love them more than gold or silver.

[I interrupt this programming for a newsflash: I just discovered a rather large smear of butter on my arm. I have no idea how it got there. I haven't been near any butter. Katy, have you been laying butter traps again?]

-jessmonster, cult member

Boring post

Why is it that some things stick around and clutter up your brain, and other things that you would love to remember in clear detail get all fuzzy?

For instance, stupid things teachers have said to you. That you think of all the time.

1. I was driving to work on Monday and listening to Fresh Air* and one of the interviewees was named Rachel, which reminded me of this story I wrote about a girl named Rachel. Now, both of these Rachels, on Fresh Air and in my story, happened to be Christian. Nothing weird about that, right? You wouldn't be shocked to learn that someone named Rachel was Christian? But the teacher whose class I wrote the story for? She's Jewish. And she said, in a comment on my story, that maybe I should change the character's name because "Rachel" sounds more Jewish than Christian. Um, hi? A) I can name her whatever I want. B) Are you crazy? Yes, it's a Jewish name, but, and correct me here if I'm wrong, the Christian tradition came out of the Jewish tradition. We stole your names. Live with it.

2. When I was in 6th grade with the aforementioned Mrs. Neuville, it was the first time I'd ever been in a traditional classroom. Before that I was in a Waldorf-y school and then homeschooled. And Mrs. Neuville forever tainted my impression of her in the following incident. We had to write a book report. I thought this was pretty exciting. So I reread Anne of Green Gables and wrote my little report. You know how Anne lives in an orphan asylum before she's adopted? I mentioned that in my report. I used the word "asylum." And Mrs. Neuville marked me down because she didn't think "asylum" was the right word. I was flabbergasted. If it had happened later in my school career, I totally would've stood up to her. But I think I was in shock. That was the word that LM Montgomery, the author, used. I, the reader, was only writing a book report.

Why oh why do I hold onto these things? They make me laugh, sure, but really, I'd rather have better memories of say, anything else.

*Listen for worst explanation ever of living 'in the world but not of it.' Not like I would do any better if I were on national radio, but still. It was pretty lame and she just talked about 'in the world' - there was no 'not of it' discussion which I thought was pretty lame.

Once upon a time

"'Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning...Make some light.'"

-The Tale of Despereaux

Here is Lucy's dazzling smile. And an early incarnation of the infamous braids. 

Here I am in full big-sister mode. Witness the washcloth in my hand, ready to clean up after messy sister. See how the honeydew is bigger than Lucy's head?  

Here you can see a cult member offering beer to young Lucy, an example of how early introduction removes the allure of alcohol. Lucy doesn't really drink these days. 

My sister Lucy turned 20 yesterday. Here's a little photo montage of our early years together. Here, you can see an early example of jessmonster's ability to mock. Lucy is approximately one day old and wearing the rainbow covered gown given to her at the birthing center, and already I mock. Also, I display a shocking lack of modesty.

Stubborn

Once, when I was very small and lived in Indianapolis, I went to the cult preschool. We sat at little round tables and they gave us soup for lunch and who knows what the hell we did. I don't remember it, really. But my friend of approximately 22 years, Katy, mother of Q, loves to tell the following story:

When we were in cult preschool together, Jenny, who was older and very popular, decided to start a club. A very exclusive, special club, and us younger girls could be part of it. What an opportunity! Lucky us! To be welcomed into the fold by Jenny! The condition of being a club member was this: you didn't butter your bread to the edges. When they gave us slices of lovingly homemade crunchy wheat bread (or sliced whatever, I don't remember) you couldn't spread the butter to the edges. Doing so made you ineligible. Any sensible four year old would jump at the chance to be included in this fabulous club!

But not me. With my dazzling four year old mind, I knew it was more important to eat by bread the way I damn well pleased, with butter in the furthermost corners, than to belong to some club.

The way Katy tells it, she went along with the conditions. She wanted to belong. But when she saw my resistance, when she saw me stand up to the powers of girlish belonging, she respected me.

When I became Q's godmother, Katy joked that I was chosen because I buttered by bread to the edges. Because I refused to conform.

-jessmonster, who butters her bread to the edges

I think I'm falling in love

You know, I didn't really want to use my blog to talk about private, emotional stuff. I was going to avoid all the sappiness and heartbreak and general goo. But blog people? I'm in love. And I have to tell you about it. I hinted at it yesterday.

I want your advice, though. I'm a little out of practice with this whole "relationship" thing.

First, can I commit to this? Am I sure this is the one? I haven't really, you know, shopped around. Can I be sure?

This will only work if I stay in Portland forever. I love Portland, but someday I might want a bigger place to live, and the relationship just won't work if I move out of this apartment. Is it worth the commitment?

And my lover?* A little cheerful. I'm worried that on those sad days that come to all of us, that I won't be able to get the support I need. That all I'll get is damn optimism and perkiness. I can't take that all the time. I need a little sarcasm, and some tears, and you know, a range of emotions. Is that asking too much?

But I smile whenever we're together. My heart sings. The relationship is such a beautiful addition to my life. I've put a lot of work into it already. My roommate is supportive of the relationship. Everyone I've told about it so far is supportive, and can't wait to see us together with their own eyes.

Dear readers, I'm in love with our walls. Our beautiful painted walls.

*Thanks, Lis. I think of you every time I see this word.

Glory

"It smells like food in here."

Says Katy, as we sit at the dining room table while Teeth eats.

Get a grip, sweetie.

Our walls? They are gorgeous. I almost cried when I stepped back, roller in hand, paint dripping, fumes filling my brain. Katy is playing with her new laptop, trying to figure out how to get pictures from her camera to blog on it, and jealously guarding the photos. "But I want some!" I whine. I'm like that. I'm mean, and I whine. But our walls? They glow. They are un-fucking-believable.

(So, I just spellchecked, and guess which word it didn't like? I guess spellchecker doesn't appreciate profanity.)

I keep seeing this golden glow out of the corner of my eye and thinking "what's that?" and then realizing "oh, it's the wall."

Between the paint fumes and the wine, whoa. Now if I could just get a back rub...the day would be perfect. My blog, however, is not so perfect and rather incoherent. And that's just the way it's going to be. I'm lowering my standards today.

Quote of the day

"I was baptized in a creek. Wait...I wasn't baptized in anything remotely resembling a creek. I was baptized in a garbage can."
-Katy

Kitchen stories

As Annie mentioned, it's a lovely little movie. All I'm doing is stealing its title.

I'm hanging out in the kitchen instead of going to hear Donald Hall read. It was a tough decision, but chocolate chip oatmeal cookies won out over The Ox-Cart Man. Sorry, Mr. Hall. I don't feel like leaving the house at the moment. At least not any more than a nice stroll and perhaps a trip to the grocery store.

So I'm in the kitchen, in the middle of making cookies from the recipe I copied out in pencil when I was about 10. The original recipe called for raisins, but why do that to an otherwise perfect cookie? There's nothing wrong with raisins, but chocolate is just so...superior. I used to have this recipe memorized. That was a great period in my life. I think baking is what pulled me through the torments of middle school. Baking and books. Those were my main activities, that and ballet. And when I hung out with friends, we baked. And talked about books. On occasion, we read the book simultaneously.

Oh, that's its own story. The Giver. Our 7th grade teacher was Mrs. Morgan, who was this breath of fresh air after should-have-retired-10-years-ago Mrs. Neuville. Anyway, Mrs. Morgan, in addition to being generally wonderful, knew that 7th graders still like to be read to, even if they don't know it. So she read us The Giver, by Lois Lowry. And oh, how I hung on every word. And Bee and I, impatient children that we were, became so desperate after a few chapters that we went to the library, checked out the single copy we could get our hands on, and spent the night at my house, reading the book over each other's shoulders. Oh the crick in our necks. But oh, how it was worth it. Back at school, we were in the know. We smiled smugly as others discussed how it might end. And we heard the story a second time.

If you don't have a Mrs. Morgan to read it to you, I highly recommend the audio book read by Ron Rifkin. It's a great telling. A great book. It gets me every time.

Okay, back to those cookies.

wintergreen peppermint candies

I subscribe to the Powell's newsletter and today it told me that Donald Hall will be reading tomorrow. Now, I'm a huge fan of The Ox-Cart Man, and I was even such a dork as to read about the revision process for the poem that eventually became The Ox-Cart Man (for the New Yorker, natch). But readings? I've never been to one because no matter what my work schedule, they're always at bad times. But this reading? Where, granted, he won't be reading The Ox-Cart Man, but it's still Donald Hall? This reading is at 1 pm. And me? I work at 3. Thusly, tomorrow I shall behold the author of The Ox-Cart Man, and maybe I'll even like the memoir that he reads from.

Oh, and should I bring my $2 used paperback copy for him to sign? It's another one of those books where I'm forever buying a nice hardcover for someone else and have a wimpy paperback myself.

-jessmonster, Ox-Cart Man groupie

10 pm

Ten o'clock is nearing. The fateful hour when New Seasons closes, and my walking-distance ice cream source disappears. I'm not particularly craving any tonight, but it's one of those things that I think about frequently. "Is it still before ten? Could I go get ice cream if that's what I want?" Other things that cross my mind a lot are "what kind of chocolate do we have in the house?" and "I wonder if I got any good mail today." I'd say a good eighth of my brain is taken up with these thoughts, combined.

Katy has the notes for the Jessmonster Library Girl Action Figure with her, and she has departed. Hold your horese, folks...

Here is the rest of the wall, so that you can see the full extent of its disease. 

We ask your fervant prayer and guidance in the matter of deciding what to do with this wall. It has gone astray, it is diseased, it is boring. Pray, we beg you, and reveal any visions that you receive. 

Library Girl

Our newly painted chairs are so good I could eat them.

Me: "I know I had things I was going to blog about."
Kate: "Sitting in your car at work listening to your book on tape?"
M: "But that's not interesting."
K: "You subjected me to it."

Currently, Kate and I are sitting on our red couch. She's knitting, I'm reading her blog, commenting, writing my blog, she's telling me comments she's going to make after I post...it's a very dynamic relationship that our blogs have with each other. Sometimes, we have more blog-interaction than in person interaction.

Last week a family from church came into the library. Their oldest boy, E, is about 4 or 5. I've been over to their house but never really gotten to know the kids. His dad sent him over to ask me his question, so I guided him to the dinosaur books and left him to go to town pulling them off the shelf. Then he comes over and asks "can I take them home?" And I say "well, it's okay with me! But maybe you should ask your dad." And then before they leave he says goodbye. At church yesterday he spotted me (a librarian! outside of the library?) and said to his dad, "there's the library girl!"

That's my new name, if anyone needs to get in touch. Library Girl. Sounds a little bit like a super hero, doesn't it? I come to the rescue! With the perfect book! "Oh no! The books are out of order. What should we do? Call Library Girl!" Etc.

Basil the Great

I've been absent, but busy. Here's a rundown:

I finished several books: A Year Down Yonder (which made me laugh, cry and want a grandmother to spend a year with; also contains the sentence "She had eyes in the back of her heart." He likes to deliver up a hilarious story and then give you a little punch of heartaching connection) and Love That Dog (okay, I'm not a dog person, but this is just short and sweet and fairly perfect). So, obviously, you all need to go out and read these. They're both short. You won't regret it.

I accidentally went on a two hour nature hike. It all started innocently enough, with Q & K coming over to go for a little walk to the park (about 3 blocks away). So we walk there, and then we decide to take this little trail down to Oaks Bottom. It's a nice little trail, lots of families on walks with small children, wooded hillsides, a meadow, a pond, unbelievably fuzzy ducklings lined up on a log, the screams of children...but we're still in the city. I love this. That you can be in the city but in what feels like the countryside. Within walking distance of my apartment. Nothing is sadder than doubling back on your trail, so we figured we'd keep walking.

When we came out the other end (2.5 miles later, apparently, and with a nearly-two year old sleeping in a sling) we were excessively diverted by various eccentricities in the neighborhood. Such as hedges trimmed to resemble...is that a wolf? And a pig? Oh goodness. There are three pigs. Yes. The three little pigs. In the form of a shrubbery. And is that...a man standing in the intersection with a fishing pole? Casting? Yes.

Also, I love it when you're walking along and one of you says "that's an odd house." And the other says "yeah, the fake stone siding?" and you say "yeah, with the hideous paint over it." And then? Then you notice the owner of aforementioned "hideous" house standing in his yard. Hi neighbor!

So that was Friday, when the muggy heat descended upon us. And I got to run run run around at work. And then I had the most awful time sleeping last night. The mugginess was sickening. It was raining buckets and still it was muggy. So threw off my duvet, but then I couldn't sleep. Because I didn't have anything on top of me. A sheet, yes, but the sheet provides no comforting weight. So I'd wrestle the duvet on and off in an effort to put myself to sleep. Finally it worked, and I dreamt of lots and lots of cake.

This morning was spent in an activity that involved crossing four of the bridges that span the sweetly polluted Willamette. Four bridges! Two on car, two on foot. I like bridges.

At the library this afternoon, I was shelving picture books and this very outspoken young child, maybe three, kept talking to me. It was moderately cute. And then it was time for him to leave and he said "Bye! Kiss?" and puckered his lips. So I blew him a kiss, and he tried to blow one, too, so he missed catching mine, and I think it's still on the floor in the library somewhere.

Tonight Elizabeth and I went to Pix Patisserie and I ran into Melanie, of fiction and Byron fame, who's working there, so she served us and let me sample the port-fig and the basil ice creams before I made up my mind, and we chatted in between her running around doing her job, and that was lovely - I like finding people that you didn't realize still lived in town. And Elizabeth and I got caught up and enjoyed our toothsome treats.

Basil ice cream, in case anyone is wondering, tastes like a summer morning in a garden. With a little cream and sugar thrown in.

Being the story of...

I realized today that I've got my nose in three different Newberys, and only one intentionally. One I finished up with today, one I'm listening to in the car, and the other I'm almost done with. I didn't plan it like this, really. I also purchased a copy of this little gem.

I had a fantastically bizarre customer run-in at work today. I'm sad that I can't blog about it in detail. Suffice it to say, it involved the customer making an unnecessary trip to visit us, me trying to make sure things were okay with what had happened earlier in the day, him saying "no comment." And then "you owe me a big apology" (both in a very quiet voice) as he backed out the door. The other customer who witnessed this agreed with me that the man was a little crazy. Because nothing was wrong! Other than him making this trip! Which he needn't have made if he were a more observant person! And he had what he needed! Everything was okay! Oh, people.

I should start saying "no comment" more often.

For any inquisitive readers, it ended up being pancakes. With strawberries and Nutella. I have leftovers for tomorrow, thank goodness.

I was making myself a cup of tea a little earlier. Sometimes a solitary cup of decaf creme caramel is delightful, and sometimes the act of preparing tea just screams out for a fellow tea fiend to be wringing out tea bags thoroughly for.

The Motorcycle Diaries is on its way to us via Netflix. I have this recurring conversation with my family about this movie, and who it's about, and twice (twice!) I've had to pull out the G volume of the 1994 World Book Encyclopedia to show my parents who it's about. It's not like I know anything about him myself (the article was quite enlightening) but I at least recognize the name! But once, that was excusable. The second time? It was just plain crazy.

I just sang to myself "tomorrow's Friday!" Which, when you think about it, is crazy (I'm guilty, too) because to strangely-scheduled me, Friday is just the gateway into a weekend of work. But I'm okay with that. It's good work. And Friday still has that allure...

Oh help

The chocolate cravings are upon me.

I was standing at the stove, pouring milk to make cocoa (at midnight! why? oh why?) and I thought to myself "maybe I should have a piece of chocolate while this heats."

No, seriously. I thought that.

Send in reinforcements. Intervention required.

I already have breakfast planned. I'm going to make either pancakes or french toast or maybe even crepes again. And Nutella.

Reckless living

Your Birthdate: August 22

While sometimes employing unorthodox approaches, you are capable of handling large scale undertakings. You assume great responsibility and work long and hard toward completion. Often, especially in the early part of life, there is rigidity or stubbornness, and a tendency to repress feelings. Idealistic, you work for the greater good with a good deal of inner strength and charisma. An extremely capable organizer, but likely to paint with broad strokes rather than detail. You are very aware and intuitive. You are subject to a good deal of nervous tension.

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Stole this from Receptionista etc.

Things like this always make me wonder: do we read it and pick out the things that sound like ourselves and say "Wow! That's so right on!" and ignore the parts that aren't 'us'? Or is there actually a little something to it? I was trying different dates, like my duedate and when my mom actually went into labor, and I could pick stuff out of them, but nothing quite as right as stubbornness, repressed feelings, organization...blah blah blah.

Here, for instance, is the day my mom went into labor (and when I might have been born had we been at a hospital):

Your Birthdate: August 20

Your birth on the 20th day of the month adds a degree of emotion, sensitivity, and intuition to your reading. The 2 energy provided here is very social, allowing you to make friends easily and quickly. Yet you are apt to have a rather nervous air in the company of a large group. You have a warmhearted nature and emotional understanding that constantly seeks affection. You are very prone to become depressed and moody, as emotions can turn inward and cause anxiety and mental turmoil. It can be hard for you to bounce back to reality when depression sets in. When things are going well, you can go just as far the other way and become extremely affectionate.

Depressed and moody? Not really. Very social? Um. Extremely affectionate? Not so much. Some of this reads like what I'd like to be - warmhearted, affectionate, making friends easily. Stuff I work on. But not qualities that are inherent to me.

In other news, I'm putting my guardian angel to work. I left my keys in my car. Overnight. In a neighborhood prone to petty theft. My old neighbors had their car stolen. People are always rifling through my car. But last night - someone was keeping an eye out. And when I panicked this morning when I couldn't find my keys, there they were. Safe and sound.

They will find you

Sometimes little things happen when you're out and about, like people doing odd things in coffee shops, and I think "I could blog about this." But I also always wonder, when I do blog about real, random people, what would they think if they found it? What would he think? The gentleman who, rather than asking me (lost in letter writing and unaware) to scoot over a little, squeezed into his chair in a way that put him into uncomfortably close contact with me? If I ridiculed him on my blog and he read it?

At this point, some of you may be scoffing, and shaking your heads, and saying "that is SO improbable, would you just get over yourself?"

And I say to you, oh unbelievers, stranger things have happened on the internet.

Once, about two years ago, I found myself in a coffee shop. In a slightly embarassing interpersonal moment. One of those moments when you'd rather not have been in public. One of those moments when you know that if you were in the shoes of the person at the next table, you would be eavesdropping and later telling your friends about this embarassing moment you were privileged to witness.

Only the person at the table next to me? Who I knew was listening? She didn't just tell her friends. She told the internet. (A really great little part of the internet, actually, that I encourage you to visit. The link isn't to my embarassing moment. Don't worry/get your hopes up.) In the release notes for a book, she mentioned the conversation she'd just overheard. And me? I happened to come across it the very next day. The very first time I went to that website. Because I wondered "were any books released yesterday at the coffee shop I went to?" And the answer was yes.

Which, of course, because it was so funny, led to me having to tell the story of my embarassing moment about 2,000 times. So watch out.

grandma and me, august 1981 

photos

What I intended to write about (see previous post) was digital photos. I read an AP article in yesterday's paper about how people are taking so many more photographs now, with digital cameras, than they ever were before. That there's this overload of images, and a fear that single images will lose their force & memorable quality when we are inundated with so many.

I'm not sure what I think about that. It's an interesting way to think about it - the single image losing its power. But I also think, on the pro side, that it makes it so much easier to document daily life. For anybody to do that. To make it easier to end up with a good photo and not a blurry, red eyed one. And to stay in touch with people - to put photos on a blog, or email them, and have friends across the country be able to see the Easter egg hunt at church. To me, all those benefits of connection between people outweigh any loss of memorability of a single image.

This format also lets us put up as many or as few photos as we want. Seeing them here, rather than just in an online photo album, makes them more indelible to me. I carry a lot of them around in my head, just like I do the pictures of me holding my baby sister, or Lu eating a honeydew melon larger than her head, or my family in the backyard.

It seems like, with all these photos at our fingertips, and the ease of sharing them, it's even more important that we pick good ones to share. Take more, end up with better pictures (because you can see the immediate results) and share the best. Not always the best composed, or best quality, but the most memorable ones.

Sacrificial lamb

Yesterday being Mother's Day, I had brunch with my family. Or rather, there was a slightly glorious cohesion of efforts between me, Lu & Dad that resulted in a meal of crepes with strawberries and whipped cream, and bacon. Warning: if you pile a crepe (flavored with amaretto because you did not have the "orange liqueur" that Julia Child called for) with strawberries & whipped cream and proceed to drizzle it with chocolate syrup, it moves from the realm of brunch to that of dessert. Try it. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Speaking of food, last night I was discussing Easter dinner with Katy, and how it was carefully arranged due to various eating habits of guests. Present were: 2 people who'd eat pretty much anything; 2 people who weren't eating any dairy or gluten; one vegetarian; one vegan. I wouldn't want to try & plan a meal like that, but it worked. Everything was delicious. And I would know, because I ate everything. Except when fasting, I'm not a picky eater. I don't like a lot of beef, but if you serve it to me I'll eat some. I don't like breakfast sausages. I don't like eggplant, so I'll avoid it if it doesn't look rude. I never have to worry about what I'll be able to eat when I'm invited somewhere for dinner. What's interesting to me is the number of people who choose dietary restrictions - of all kinds - for themselves. There's nothing wrong with being a vegetarian or a vegan, and there are some good things about it, but...no. Not me. I'd rather try to be aware of where my food comes from, but basically just eat what's good. Good for me or tasty. And go from there.

Um, that was NOT what I meant to blog about. I can't really remember what I started out with in my head. I guess I'll be back if I remember.

Raindrops on kittens

My family (well, just Lu, Mom & me) was doing a little Paschal rendition of The Sound of Music, and that's how Mom sang it. Forget the roses, it's all about the kittens.

Tonight was the first night of "the season." You know, the social whirlwind begins - children roll in the grass, god-daughters are twirled, babies drool, and the sun is still up when we get out of vespers. The only thing that makes it better is when the blueberries are ripe. "We'll eat blueberries this summer" I said to Q, and she said "blueberries" and then I ate her cheek in lieu of a blueberry. But seriously, there's something perfect about those nights when it's warm enough and light enough for everyone to congregate on the benches after church, and the children frolic and babies are passed around.

But my lips hurt real bad

My mind is fairly blank at the moment. There's some little thoughts of sunshine in there, and a stroll through the neighborhood. I'm looking at the tree outside my window that earlier some girls were trying to climb. We had a few girls from church over for a tea party. I started to feel like I was, oh, ten. I was even persuaded to try and jump to reach a particular branch. I failed, but the words that came out of my mouth were "I bet I could do it if I were wearing different shoes and pants instead of a skirt." Yes. I'm ten. Remember when I got my ears pierced and felt thirteen? I think I'm regressing. Anyway, put a plate of petit-fours in front of a six year old, a seven year old, and a ten year old and watch them disappear. And strawberries and cream...mmm.

I'm drowsy Saturday afternoon mood now...drinking a little coffee, curling up on the couch, the intro song from Napoleon Dynamite stuck in my head. What am I going to do with myself this afternoon?

Whatever I feel like I want to do. Gosh!

Amen.

One hundred things

1. I have a personal bubble
2. But please, come right in. I've been meaning to get rid of this thing for ages, but you know, it's hard to get things done. Just ignore it.
3. I'm mean.
4. I like to sleep with the window open.
5. I hate going to bed when I can hear birds singing.*
6. I was born into a cult.
7. The smell of beeswax reminds me of first grade.
8. My brother was born the day I graduated from second grade.
9. We didn't have a TV until I was 7.
10. I used to regularly dance until my toes bled.
11. I wore hideous glasses until halfway through high school.
12. I stole a raincoat from my mom and took it to six countries with me.
13. I used to belong to 4-H, the cooking and sewing kind.
14. The only thing I sewed was an apron and the strings were twice as long as they should be.
15. I am a classic oldest child.
16. So are most of my friends.
17. I try to write at least a little bit every day (as the New Yorker cartoon says, showing kids with sidewalk chalk).
18. I've only ever lived alone for two months.
19. At the time, I housesat, worked part-time, and didn't do much else.
20. I've only had my own room for seven years of my life.
21. Four being before my sister was born.
22. I miss falling asleep talking to someone.
23. I own more books than fit on my shelves.
24. Children's books make me cry.
25. But I keep buying more.
26. I laugh at things that no one else laughs at.
27. Sometimes I don't realize this until someone asks me "what's so funny?"
28. I learned to knit in second grade.
29. I still have the needles that I made from dowel rods.
30. And my original knitting bag. It's hideous.
31. I like to make scarves. Ask and ye shall receive.
32. I lived in Galway, Ireland for two months, with Bee.
33. We were starving artists.
34. I lived in London for 3 months, in the lap of luxury.
35. My housing was down the street from where Virginia Woolf was born.
36. And had a view of Hyde Park.
37. I went to Greece and crossed it off my master to-do list.
38. I love lists. Which is probably why I'm doing this instead of sleeping.
39. I make a horrible night owl.
40. I'm going to bed and I'll finish this tomorrow.
41. I'm back.
42. The best Easter candy is the malt egg. It is a thing of wonder.
43. I'm drawn to bookshelves when I visit people, and titles like "Books That Build Character."
44. Then I like to have a "have you read this?" "what about this?" conversation with anyone who's willing.
45. Particularly regarding children's books.
46. I love my neighborhood.
47. Sometimes I go to the park and swing.
48. I'm a writer.
49. If you tell me a story and I like it, there's a chance it could end up in a story. Just warning you.
50. I stole the name "The Magic Bean" from a restaurant in Ecuador, and used it as a coffee shop name in a story.
51. I've never been to Ecuador.
52. I majored in English.
53. I would've minored in Art History except they wouldn't let me. I could've minor in Art, but that would involve doing art. And not the kind that uses words.
54. There's this museum? In London? That used to be a man's house, in, like, the 18th century? And it's crammed full of sculptures and sarcophagi and paintings and mirrors? And I can't remember what it's called? But oh, how I loved it. Especially the convex mirrors.
55. I love things that are red. Like our couch. And the pants that Toni "borrows" from me. And this.
56. My toes are often cold.
57. A condition which is nicely remedied by a hot water bottle.
58. When I visited Bee & Soph, I had a cold and guilt-tripped Bee into lending me her hot water bottle.
59. I am eternally grateful to her, a true friend.
60. I lean towards obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, but my desk is a mess.
61. I love to organize things.
62. Did I mention that I work at a library? Yeah. I love to organize things.
63. When I was nine, I told my mom that I wanted to work at a library.
64. I became their record youngest volunteer.
65. Then I decided that even though I love libraries, it wasn't where I wanted to work forever.
66. Then I graduated from college and went back to the nine-year-old mindset.
67. Now I work at the same library I volunteered at. With a lot of the same people.
68. I have two favorite parts - when people ask for recommendations, and they get excited when you show them things, and...
69. Picking out books for displays, and then needing to refill the display because they got checked out.
70. I'm terrified of losing my teeth when I'm old.
71. I have a few gray hairs.
72. I've been told I look like my dad more than my mom, my mom but not really my dad, and both of my grandmothers.
73. I met one grandmother once, when I was three. I've never seen her since. She's still alive, apparently.
74. The other grandmother made my sister and I dresses twice a year, for Easter and Christmas, and we adored them.
75. Until the Alzheimer’s got bad, she and her husband came to visit and took my sister and I to the beach with them.
76. I can eat dangerous quantities of ice cream.
77. I startle people who think I'm shy by busting out some sarcasm.
78. One of my favorite things about my god-daughter is when she suddenly looks pissed off just because you looked at her.
79. I used to live in a house with a chapel and a sacrificial altar.
80. That was in college.
81. When I was a kid, in the cult, my parents had a communion kit.
82. We used matzo bread.
83. I tasted matzo bread in college and had flashbacks.
84. When I first read the Chronicles of Narnia, I was convinced they were true stories (aren't they??) and had day dreams about running into the Pevensie kids and recognizing them (natch) and saying "I know. I know about Narnia. You don't need to hide anything from me. I understand."
85. I want a house with a porch when I grow up.
86. I also want to acquire a green thumb and have a riotous garden.
*87. Not because I hate birds, but because it means I stayed up WAAAY too late.
88. That happened ALL the time in Ireland.
89. This may be unrelated, but in Galway we thought up this ruined cathedral. And in an eerie, but unsurprising at the time, mind meld, we both thought “no birds.”
90. Then we separately went to Tintern Abbey. “No birds.” Although, naturally, there were. Birds.
91. I have a fondness for inside jokes.
92. Not to exclude people, but they’re hard to explain. I’ve kind of given up on the explaining. But I love the way they’re an instant link to the past.
93. I often can’t tell if something happened in real life or in a dream, and I don’t realize it was a dream until something in real life proves to be contrary to what happened in the dream.
94. I don’t like the phrase “mind meld.” I apologize for using it, but I couldn’t think of anything else.
95. I was going to watch a movie tonight, but I did this instead. Aren’t I a good, self-obsessed blogger?
96. I love photographs, especially from my childhood.
97. I sleep on my stomach or in the fetal position.
98. I’m a late bloomer.
99. I write letters. It gets me through a lot.
100. I don’t like endings.

The new duvet, not fuzzy, in my very own room 

Shame

Katy has brought undying shame to our household.

She has absconded the tights. You know what I'm talking about, Town. Only you can feel my sorrow. Lucky are you without roommates to steal your tights.

At least she has left me with the earrings.

Oh my

I drank too much coffee. Well, just two tiny cups. But I can feel it coursing through my veins. This is what happens after you don't drink coffee regularly for over a month. I have this urge to run to the B&B-offering coffee shop next to the Yarn Garden (I refuse to call said coffee shop by name), drink myself into oblivion, and then buy a ton of yarn. Except, I'm in the middle of a project and have plenty of yarn. But they're having a sale! This weekend!

Other things are happening this weekend! Like Mother's Day (must confer with siblings on gift purchase - which is nearly impossible now that the three of us live at three different locations) and a Young Ladies' Tea. Yes, that's right folks. We's havin the younguns over to party. I painstakingly handwrote invitations to ten girls from church, and painstakingly mailed them. And now I am painstakingly accepting RSVPs. I love the sound of a seven-year-old's RSVP in my voicemail. "I can only stay for 45 minutes because I have a dance recital, but I kind of wish I could stay longer."

I slept under my splendid new duvet cover last night. It's an inspiration to make my bed in the morning, so I can see it all spread out. I'm using the quilt-style side up right now, but I also have a deep & bizarre fondness for the pink side. I say bizarre because, until recently, I've never been a pink person. I've never loved pink things. But it called out to me at the fabric store. I now own: a pink duvet cover, a pink shirt, a pink skirt, and pink socks, plus there's a pink dress that will never fit me hanging over my desk chair. And by 'never fit me' I mean it's size 2-3 years.

more joy, in katy's room because the light was better 

my joy, and the flip side of town's lovely work 

fuzzy view of new duvet cover in surprise pattern, thanks to town pocket! 

Fount of blogging

Ah, that's me.

Two things I forgot:

I almost told two different groups of people about my blog on Sunday. Almost. It just happened. In both situations it would have been so easy to say either "let me show you the cute pictures of Q on my blog! Oh yeah, I have a blog. You know, a website thingy." Or, in the second situation, a conversation ABOUT BLOGS, "yeah, I have one." I'm not quite sure why I didn't. The first group was my family, who would enjoy it if they read it, but probably wouldn't check in very often. The second was with Q's parents and some friends, who would also enjoy parts of this blog (geez, I hope I don't someday tell them about it and they come here and read this and think "wow, she really flatters herself to think we'd like it! What a waste of our time!") (But I also wasn't sure how Q's mama would feel about pictures of her being on the internet. It made me feel like I should have asked first, but that would require admitting to blogging, that shameful activity.) But you know, I think what stopped me was that what I write here is one part of my personality, and I think it would surprise some people to see it. Not shock them, but surprise them. But part of the whole reason I decided to give this a try was to become more comfortable sharing my writing, and this side of me. This writing side, and what comes out when I write. So I almost wish I HAD said something. Thoughts? Especially those of you who know the people I'm referring to?

Did I say two things? I can't remember the other one.

Oh! Pigtails! I'm addicted. As you may have noticed, all recent photos are of me in pigtails. Soon, I think, my hair will spring forth fully formed in pigtails when I emerge from the shower. I'm just too lazy to do anything else. And Annie, don't be jealous, but I had a customer at work, who was Indian, tell me that my hair looks very Indian this way and complement me on it. Okay, be jealous.

Let me get out my notes

While stopped at a red light yesterday, I whipped out a scrap of paper and a pen and furiously began taking notes of things to blog about. I had a feeling I wouldn't get around to doing much of a blog yesterday. When the light turned green, I proceeded to drive the remaining blocks home with an uncapped (and very inky) pen clutched against the steering wheel.

I went to the library yesterday, on one of my days off, to pick up a book I needed and I experienced one of the great joys of books. Remember when you were a kid, and your parents still drove you around, and you'd just been to the library to stock up, and you start peeking into all the books on your way home? Maybe you're in the middle of another book already, but you can't resist just reading a few pages on the way home? I love that. Now that I have to drive myself around, I have even less time to dip into them. Again, the red lights. Just enough time to get a feel for the book in your hands before the light turns and the cars behind you start honking and...well, it's almost better that way. Like the book is contraband. The world doesn't want you to have books. Not the car-driving, high-speed world at any rate. They don't understand your need to get a glimpse of that first sentence before you go any further. The world and I are at odds. I butter my bread to the edges.

One of my favorite things about fasting, and fasting being over, is that then you remember, sometimes gradually, all the good things you can eat. I tend to obsess over a few items each Lent - generally eggs, or ice cream, or what have you - but other delicacies slip my mind. Yesterday, again driving home, I was thinking about lunch options and suddenly remembered a little food item known as pepper turkey. At it's best on a sandwich with avocado, sprouts, cheese, and mustard. I'd forgotten that turkey sandwiches even exist! But oh, the joy of remembering!

On Sunday (Pascha) I had brunch with my family. No meal with my father is complete without a nutty story. This is especially true when there's company, as many of my friends can attest. No company being present, it was fairly tame, but I still enjoyed this story about bike riding. We were discussing bikers following pedestrian rules vs driving rules, the terror that would be biking across the Sellwood Bridge, and so forth, when my dad came out with this story about when I was a kid. He had a bike with a baby seat on the back, and would take me out for rides ("to give your mom a break before she went crazy") around downtown Indianapolis. One time, he lent the bike to a friend, who removed the child seat to use it, and then put it back on before giving it back. The friend, however, neglected to screw the seat on all the way, so it was just attached at the bottom and not secured at the top. So, my dad is taking me for a ride. We're in the alley behind our apartment building, and he swings his leg over the bike ("it was a girls' bike") and kicks off. Naturally, as soon as he started moving the seat tips back and out I spill.

My response? "I think this explains a few things."

Finally, I think, I am coming to terms with the (unknown) trauma of my childhood. I want to start riding a bike on occasion. I haven't since I was a kid - I never got a bigger one when I grew out of the 7-year-old-sized one. The whole thing about cars being on the road with me is a little scary. But doesn't it sound like a fun thing to do on a sunny Saturday?

Oh, and if you've had a chance to check out Tyka's photos of Easter, imagine the whole church processing across the church lawn at the end of the most rowdy service of the year (except maybe for the banging of the pots and pans on Holy Saturday), and me skipping along (literally), holding hands with a Sunday school student on one side and the four-year-old I've been babysitting on the other. Good times.

Okay, here's a cute one - Nature Girl in the blueberries. 

What I purchased on Holy Friday. Also known as Pure Torture. All those little tubs? Cheese. See the yogurt? And the nutella? And the cream? Yeah. And then I made a tiramisu. And could not lick my fingers. 

We need to have a serious conversation about having pictures taken from a different angle. 

It's not all fun and games. Behold, my god-daughter, Katy's god-daughter, and Q's mama's god-son.  

My little Gorey child 

Nothing says "Resurrection" like a light saber

I have a million and two little things I've been meaning to blog about. For the time being, divert yourselves with Katy's little photo collection from yesterday afternoon. She's got some good ones. I've got some leftovers while I eagerly await my film being developed.

I'm slightly brain dead from my ever-changing sleep schedule, so I think I'll save actual thoughts for tomorrow morning.

Oh dark thirty

There's only one night a year when I get home at 4:30 am and don't feel like going to bed. That's tonight. Or this morning. Or whatever. Your sense of time gets all warped, and things that happened this morning feel like days ago. And you walk to your car and you say "see you tomorrow...uh, I mean later today!"

I napped from about 6:30 till 10. That was delicious. I think I'll go take another nap now.

Also delicious was the Ethiopian food I snagged at the potluck. Mmm, meat. I didn't even have any dessert. Uh-oh. I might have to remedy that now. Although, really, I'm totally full. I'll just wait till tomorrow and have candy for breakfast. After a delicious cup of creamy B&B, that is!

More tomorrow I hope, but I really have a rather Maren-ish social calendar - I've been invited to three meals within a 5 hour time frame, followed by a dessert potluck. Life is rough, isn't it?

Christ is Rice!

Oops, I mean Christ is Risen!