A question, gentle readers

If you were me, and this were your duvet cover, what color sheets would you buy? I've got white ones, which I like, but I can't handle the "one set" stress anymore. You know, where you decide it's time to wash them, and you throw them in the wash, and then you get home at 9:30 at night and eat dinner and watch some 24 (because you're addicted, yes?) and check some blogs and then it's time for bed and...the sheets are still wet and you have no back up set. Okay, so I'm not quite that bad, but I live in fear.

(A different picture so you can see the patterns up close.)

Only hours before succumbing to the fever/cold that has ravaged our household, I went on another walking tour of my neighborhood. 

Sellwood Bridge falls prey to photo touch-up. 

Oaks Pioneer Church (check out the link for some hideous wedding photos) 

Updated Show & Tell

A newer picture for Show and Tell...The night table is yellow - I painted it a few years ago with some leftover paint from when my sister went on a wild hare (hair?) and added some color to her room. The spread is actually a duvet cover, made by the lovely townpocket after a fabric miscalculation, and I LOVE the quilted effect. The books are from my book dedication project, and have since moved to a stack on the floor at the end of the bed. (And by "project" I mean that Newsy Notes blog entry from Thursday.) 

Show and Tell

I'm already a day late for Show and Tell so here's an old picture of my bed that I posted a while back, because frankly I'm wallowing in my own snot too much to get out of bed and find my camera and download the pictures I took.

Calling All Correspondents

From her bedroom in what has been affectionately dubbed "the Snothouse," a local blogger shares her take on dedications, fluctuations in temperature, and the distance between cleanliness and godliness.

Portland, Oregon - Although it is nearly midday, our source, who asks to be known only as "jessmonster," has yet to do anything with her hair. "I got distracted by breakfast," she says, "and then I just wasn't sure if I cared anymore."

Jessmonster struggles with feelings of accomplishment. Every dish washed, every cupboard door shut behind her, every bed made is a milestone to be celebrated. "Yesterday I even vacuumed by room!" she cries in triumph.

The changing of seasons is bittersweet for the jessmonster. For one, she can't decide if she's hot or cold. She opens and closes her bedroom window more frequently than she checks her email. One minute she is griping about the heat being turned on, "when it's only October!" and the next she's warming her hands on a candle, a long ago gift from a cousin. In a typical change of subject, she steers the conversation towards gift-giving. "I'm taking up knitting again," she declares, following a yarn-free summer. "I'm looking to make as many Christmas gifts as possible out of all my left-over yarn." She expresses a wish for friends to submit requests. "As long as it's for a baby hat or a scarf," she amends.

"Excuse me," she says with a shiver, and interrupts the interview to dry her hair. "It's not the aesthetics so much as the warmth. Is this interview almost over? I think I need another cup of Batdorf & Bronson." Saying she'll only be a minute, the jessmonster comes back with her third cup and a hankering for popovers. She shares her philosophy on baking: find three good recipes, and simply rotate. "You've got your chocolate chip cookies, your pumpkin bread, your popovers. The trick is to create an illusion of variety. One week, throw some coconut in the cookies. Try mango applesauce in the bread. Put Nutella on your popovers instead of jam. That way you're not messing around with complicated and unfamiliar recipes." She does like to keep herself on her toes, however, and admits a recent interest in carrot cake and lemon bars.

When asked about recent writing projects, our subject clutches a copy of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader to her chest and declines to comment. "I'd rather wait until I'm done."

She does, however, share a budding interest in dedications. "I think they're a really undervalued element of the publication process. Anyone can whip out a "For Elizabeth," but I think a good dedication is a sure sign of genius."

Leading the way to a large bookshelf, she roots around for several minutes before emerging with a stack and offering examples. Her favorites, she says, come from author Russell Hoban.

"For Barbara Alexandra Dicks, who often signs her name in lower case but is, in fact, a capital person." (A Baby Sister for Frances)

"For Julia, who likes to practice with a string bean when she can." (Bread and Jam for Frances)

She also raves over the following:

"As nearly possible in the spirit of Matthew Salinger, age one, urging a luncheon companion to accept a cool lima bean, I urge my editor, mentor and (heaven help him) closest friend, William Shawn, genius domus of The New Yorker, lover of the long shot, protector of the unprolific, defender of the hopelessly flamboyant, most unreasonably modest of born great artist-editors, to accept this pretty skimpy-looking book." (Franny and Zooey)

"To M. J.
Dear Jim,
This book is your fault. If it had not been for your brutal insistence, Lord Peter would never have staggered through to the end of this enquiry. Pray consider that he thanks you with his accustomed suavity.
Yours ever,
D. L. S." (Whose Body?)

Jessmonster is always on the lookout for something new to add to her collection, adding that the library atmosphere is particularly conducive to this hobby. "Obscure hobbies are underrated," she complains. We all need our little things to keep an eye out for..."

In typical jessmonster fashion, she lets the end of the sentence hang, and so shall this interview.

Inspired by blackbird who was led thusly by a humble blogger.

Self Portrait um, er, Wednesday?

I did my 'marketing' this morning with Katy's basket. I needed the eggs, you see, for popovers, and the rest of it just happened. We have: 'naturally nested' eggs, half & half, mushrooms & zucchini for a frittata, bananas, cottage cheese, butter, yellow potatoes, and honeycrisp apples, per Rayna's recommendation. I also received two compliments on the basket, which I shall pass along to Katy. One while waiting for the crosswalk, and one from an older woman who said I looked like I was going to visit my grandmother. I told her it was too bad I wasn't wearing my red coat.  

Popovers - Brony's Recipe 

And in case you were wondering, the recipe above is for playdough. I stole this one out of my mom's recipe box years ago. She used to make it when we were kids but I've never had the need to make it myself. Safe to eat! Add your own dye! 

Speaking of things that make you feel good

make stuff

Oh, the random stuff the internets come up with

Your 1920's Name is:

Rosalee Mercedes

What's Your 1920's Name?

three to ten things

tuckova said:

“'make a list of three to ten things that you could think about that make you happy, that are productive, that are worth pondering…. i PROMISE you that just because obsessing over something feels all torturey and Victorian and inflexible, arduous, racking, brutal, chastening, fatiguing, and hair-shirty doesn’t mean that you are living some dramatic passionate poetic life.'

claude le monde is the boss of me. therefore:"

and I add my own three to ten things. Not that I'm feeling particularly hair-shirty lately, but I do love a list:

1. That feeling I get sometimes in church, when I suddenly stop and pay attention and take a big breath and it feels like my little stone of a heart is being squeezed and twisted and pushed out to make room for more.

2. The way fall makes me feel more. I get all emotional. Some people dread fall, and winter coming, and I know what you mean. But summer just kind of knocks me out. Fall brings me back.

3. Houses. They make me happy. Walking around my neighborhood and admiring various architectural features and paint colors and gardens and windows. Happy! And being in various houses, and the way they feel. Some cluttered and lived in. Others just make me jealous. Family pictures on the walls. Mugs of tea. Poppy's dishes on display. Couches that you can sink into. Candles burning. Curtains. Signs of the people who live there. Kitchen tables.

4. Seeing other people happy. Engagements. Babies. Rings in toothbrush drawers and Sunday Schoolers who announce impending siblings by praying that "the baby stays in my mom's tummy until it's time to come out."

5. A recent shopping trip to Hanna Andersson and all the deliciously soft cotton and cheerful colors. A most splendid dress was purchased for a certain small someone, my mom bought some baby things for friends of my brother and sister who are expecting. (Those would be my younger brother and sister.) There was a particularly cute but spendy pajama set that my mom had her eye on, and she was heard to utter the words, "If it were my grandchild..." (Insert eyeroll.) We also found some candy cane striped long johns for Lulu, lucky duck. We'll blind the family with our stripedness on Christmas morning.

6. Baking season. Where you roll up your sleeves, pour yourself a glass of wine, and tipsilly throw together some Cowboy Cookies (plus coconut). On my list (because I have a baking list): peanut butter cake (once Poppy gives me the recipe), gingerbread (anyone have a good recipe?), carrot cake, and lemon bars. I'm also open to suggestions.

7. Getting into bed when I'm really tired. Maybe a hot water bottle. A cool room and a warm bed and knowing I don't have to do anything for several hours. I'm not supposed to do anything!

Edited to add credit where credit is due, because I was too lazy to follow Anne's links the first time around...

Overheard in Sunday School

Elijah, Toby & John run into the classrooom and promptly tackle each other. After I pull them apart, they spot the flock of geese out the classroom window and quickly become entranced.

"If I had my sling shot, I could hit one from here! Easy!"

"Hey Elijah, remember that dead bird we saw?"

"If I had my brother's BB gun I could kill one of those geese!"

"Remember that dead mole we saw?"

"Yeah, and Tony pushed it into the pond?"

"Gross!"

"Cool!"

Life and death, timely lessons for any second grader...

for now

How come my room is messier now than it was when I was in college?

How come my closet is too small for all my stuff?

What do I do with a CD/tape player/radio where the CD player doesn't work but I still want it for the occasional book on tape? (Stick it in my too-small closet being the "for now" answer.)

What do I do with my circa 1999 computer that has a million and two college papers saved on it, and nothing much else worth mentioning? (Take up desk space, "for now.")

WHY isn't there just ONE more closet in the apartment?

Mr. Bojangles, dance

I've just returned from a birthday dinner/charity fundraiser that not only involved my mom seeing people she's known for 25 years but hasn't seen much of in the past 10 (Mom: "Jess, you have to help me with names. You know I don't remember names. So there's Luke...and...um..." Me: "Susan." I'm surprised she remembered whose birthday it was) but also involved the most painfully slow yet beautiful version of Mr. Bojangles. As played by a young guitarist and a very patient vocalist. "Mister...Bojangles...dance..." It was like open mike night in the church basement! There was even a poetry slam!

But seriously. We need more dancing in the world. I kept hoping someone would roll up the rug (figuratively speaking - pushing back the tables would be more like it) and bust out some dance tunes. I used to dance till my toes bled three days a week,* and now...now I daydream of tangos and waltzes and anything to get my feet moving and my heart rate up. A nice Austen-y country dance or a ceili or some salsa (although that, I'm no good at). Anyone? Anyone? I don't want to be the only one on the dance floor.**

*I exaggerate. They didn't bleed that much, but they felt like they were.
**And none of this modern crap, please. That's not dancing, that's wiggling your hips. I'm a traditional girl.

Claire doing an interpretation of a roast pig. 

Claire & Stacey with some of Claire's notes. 

WHHYYYYY?

I've been trying to work last weekend into stories in my head. In fact, on Sunday night when I was knocked-out exhausted and finally in my own bed, I just stop running everything over in my head. Must've kept me awake for a good hour or so.

Toni asked me what the best part of my trip was. Now there's a tough question. Here are a few of my favorites:

1. Meeting Poppy and her daughter Clara Jane. One of the lessons I learned this weekend was that if someone brags about their children on the internet, believe them. They are not lying to you. Clara Jane loves to read, which immediately endears her to me. Plus, she wants me to read to her. I loved ALL of the kids at the gathering, but I probably ended up spending the most time with Clara because of our car trip (the non-puking leg) and staying at their house on Thursday.

2. Meeting Beege & Linnea. To my embarrassment, I didn't recognize Beege at first. Things were a little crazy, granted, but suddenly I found some woman hugging me and saying, "hi Jess!" and oh, it was Beege! I think I'd always thought of her as an "adult" because she's a preacher and a mom and all that, but sitting next to her on Cyn's couch she was just, you know, Beege.

3. Cyn's hospitality. Because even though she claimed to be freaking out and nervous, she was actually calm and totally fun to hang out with. Plus her whole family put up with us and her son has the most gorgeous eyes (see below).

4. Oh my God, this is going to go on forever, isn't it? And either you have no idea who I'm talking about and you're skimming over this whole thing thinking "boring!" or you were there and I'm not mentioning you and you are SO offended. Can you tell I just had a chocolate chip cookie and my energy level is going way up and I'm writing in run-on sentences and using exclamation points and gushing and...shut up already.

5. I felt taken care of the whole time. When things went wrong with my flights, everyone was ready to do whatever I needed. How many times can you say that about a bunch of people you met on the internet? That they'll take you home with them?

6. Which brings me to Stacey Fish and her journalist/daughter Claire. All weekend Claire had been taking notes. (She doesn't know how to read or write - shh...) When I rode with them to Sara's for the hog roast, Claire asked for paper and a pen and began a list of her mom's favorite books. When we were visiting Cyn's consignment shop, Stacey wrote the word "butt" on a piece of paper. Not letting her lack of literacy stop her, Claire promptly read it off. At which point I took a picture of the proud mother and daughter (to follow).

Stacey & Claire volunteered to take me to the airport on their way out of town. If I didn't get a seat on the flight to Dallas, they were going to take me home and put me on a plane in the morning. We drove through farmland in the greater Peoria area and I thought to myself, "self, if you don't get on the plane, everything will be okay! Sure, you might miss work tomorrow but you'll get to go home with Stacey and Claire." So my mind was at ease. I said goodbye to them outside security, thinking, "well, I'll probably see them again in a few minutes." Sadly, it was not meant to be. I got a seat. I called Stacey to let her know.

Claire is sensitive to injustice in the universe. When she learned that I'd made it on the flight, she cried, "But WHHYYYYYYY did the plane have an extra seat for her, so she isn't going to ride back to St. Louis with us, WHHYYYYYYYY?" (emphasis courtesy of Stacey).

I know Claire, I felt the same way.

to be continued...again...

don't ask me to explain

It's nearly midnight and I find myself googling scurvy. I'm not sure how I got to this point, but I know now that it's past time for bed.

The arch. Remember all those Lewis & Clark photos back in August? Here's the other end of their trip.  

If my memory serves me, this was the first bridge across the Mississippi. 

The freakishly flat drive from St. Louis to Peoria.  

Clara Jane ponders the mysteries of the universe as we set off to Illinois 

Connor hams it up when the girls come over to play. 

Linnea sports some awesome bed-head after a nap. 

Kara and I do the blogger-photo thing 

Oscar flew across the Atlantic for his first hog roast. 

you can't talk to me like that

Well, I'm back. I really should've blogged from Cyn's yesterday, when my wrath towards American Airlines was at its peak, but American Airlines had already made us all late for brunch. Did I mention yet that I hate American Airlines?* Cause I do.

*In the interests of fairness, I must say that all American Airlines employees that I encountered in person were lovely people. And they did end up getting me home in the end, so I can't hate them too much.

Here's my American Airlines story, and then we'll move on to happier topics, like becoming a deity, pork and beans, Stacey's habit of stashing extra cans of beer in her pockets, elf ears, eye rolling, and the fact that the first thing I did this morning was make a cup of Earl Gray, courtesy of Sal, and pull my laptop into bed with me.

Why I Hate American Airlines
by jessmonster

I was flying standby, a situation which basically doesn't give you any rights as a flyer. I knew that from the start, but I was expecting just your garden variety politeness from the airline. I've flown standby with my beautiful friends at Southwest several times, and they've been incredibly friendly. The reps at the interline number always go out of their way to check all possible connections and make sure I have as much information as I need.

I called American Airlines early last week to put myself on the list for standby. The very curt American rep said that the 6:30 pm flight from Peoria through Dallas had the best availability, and she put me on the list. She was about to hang up when I said, "Do I get a confirmation number??" I ALWAYS want a confirmation number because I never trust anyone to spell my last name correctly and find me in the system again. She begrudgingly gave me one.

On Sunday morning, before our group headed out for brunch (right after Beege and Linnea hightailed it home) I called to confirm that I was on the list and that it was still the best flight.

By some miracle, I got the one polite phone rep hired by American Airlines. Turns out I'd been given my confirmation number wrong. And that I'd been listed for a 6:30 AM flight, not pm. A flight which had, of course, already left. She was just starting to help me figure out other flight options, when we got cut off. Um, thanks.

I call back. I hold for several minutes. I say that I just called and was cut off. The new rep very impatiently puts me down for a flight. She says it has poor availability. I ask, "how many seats does that mean?" She says, "I can't give out that information." (But Southwest, my usual buddies, CAN tell me? Sure.)

I ask, "Is there anything that can be done since I was given misinformation?" She says, "No, you're only flying standby, there's nothing I can do."

"I understand I'm flying standby and can't be given a definite seat, but I was basically just bumped down to the bottom of the standby list because someone at this number told me the wrong information. I'm just wondering if there's anything else you can do since I called last week."

Just because my ticket was cheap doesn't mean you can lie and get away with it, right? A lot of businesses will often do things for you if you just ask. If you don't bother to ask, nothing can be done. Can't hurt, right?

Want to know what she said?

"I'm going to end this call now. You can't talk to me like that."

Everyone who was listening on my end literally gasped when I hung up the phone and told them.

I work in customer service. I know that customers can get pretty nasty on the phone. I regularly hear a coworker end calls to foul-mouthed customers with, "alright sir, I'm going to terminate this call." But those are people who are cussing her out and yelling. I may be the jessmonster, but I don't have it in me to be rude on the phone.

I was SO pissed off. Throw in a little PMS and saying goodbye to a bunch of people and I was a little bit of a wreck when everyone saw me at brunch yesterday. But then, as Cyn and her mom and Kara will tell you, I drank a ton of coffee and got a little crazy and energetic and wouldn't stop talking. And Cyn said, "You're not as quiet as I'd expected."

To be continued...

jessmonster's grand adventure

Where am I writing from? Not my trusty laptop! Right now I am at Poppy's computer. I just read a couple books to Clara "read it again-again" Jane.

Yesterday morning, as my half-awake dad was driving to the airport, we got to talking about times he's been to Missouri and Illinois. Stories like, "there was that time I hitchhiked from there to there." He tried to remember all the places there had been world fairs. "They stopped doing those...I'd forgotten about world fairs." When did they stop doing them? See, this is where I take after my dad. A vague interest in world fairs and the history of the cities I'm visiting, check.

Anyway, here I am - Stonecutter Tour 2005.

Self Portrait Tuesday

My mom doesn't think I wear bright colors enough, so she got me this skirt in New York. Little did she know that I would be wearing my most colorful socks the day she presented me with the skirt. I rather like them together. 

A Walking Tour

Leaving the art museum on Sunday. Aren't I so cultured? We saw the modern art exhibit in the new wing which was free and crowded and a little claustrophobic, but I saw several things that I had every intention of taking home and hanging on my own wall until that pesky guard stopped me. 

Here's the space inbetween the two wings, with a building in progress on the left. I liked the tree. 

Then I went on a walking tour of my neighborhood. Here's another tree, although I had to wonder why it was bare when its neighbor is still green. 

I went past the park where I had swimming lessons as a child.  

This walking tour could be called "Porches and the People Who Love Them." 

I mean, I really love porches.