hello, neighbor

One of my library coworkers and I own the same shirt, similar to this one but in bright green. So far we've avoided wearing it on the same day, but we both love the shirt and wear it a lot. We live within a few blocks of each other, shop at the same Columbia outlet, work at the same place, and go to Grand Central Bakery a lot. This morning I was walking to the grocery store, wearing my stripey green shirt, and I spotted Sarah going into Grand Central.

We wave, and she says, "I was thinking about wearing that shirt today."

"I was hoping weren't going to wear it, too," I say.

"Now I won't!" she says, laughing, and walks into Grand Central.

Have I mentioned how many people I run into on that street? So many. I see coworkers from both jobs, people from church, people from college, professors that I just had dreams about running into, and even old bosses that I would prefer to never see again, but who live only blocks away.

Comeuppance

At 8:30 every morning this week (and maybe last week, too) a troupe of kids walks past my window, maybe 10 feet from where I sit. They're all elementary aged, and there are 3 maybe college aged people with them. In a while, they'll all walk back, and most of the kids will have wet hair.

My theory: they're from the Catholic school down the street on a summer day-camp or in daycare, and they're all signed up for swimming lessons at the pool, down the street in the other direction.

1) the kids are really noisy, which is great. This morning someone was growling.
2) yesterday, on the trip back, one kid stopped to attempt to dismantle a spiderweb hanging from the tree outside my window. Then he saw me and scurried away.
3) the supervisors look exhausted, from some combination of minding such a herd and partying the night before, perhaps?
4) that's a lot of kids to keep an eye on.

In other news, I feel lazy this morning. I haven't even managed to eat breakfast in the 45 minutes I've been up, just a cup of earl grey. I've been trying to run for at least 20 minutes in the mornings, but when work is insanely busy and involves running to and fro from 5 till 7 pm, while the line of customers stretches out the door? (And the door keeps beeping because customers are standing too close to it (God knows why) and we keep saying "could you please move forward & away from the door" and no one listens to you. But my favorite moment of the night was when my coworker was trying to get the attention of the next person in line, who was on his cell phone & not paying attention, so my coworker says "I'll help you when you're done with your call" and motions the next, alert & rabid person forward. I believe that customer got, as one might say, his comeuppance.) I lose the will to run in the mornings after nights like that. At least this morning.

Whom? HOOM.

I found this little magazine in a bunch of stuff my parents unearthed while cleaning out the family room. Ah, cults. Gotta love 'em. This is what I was born into.

Redheads

Recognize anyone? Maybe the bearded guy on the right?

I have a blog?

Oh.

Hi.

I know, it's only been two days since I posted. But for me, that feels like I Haven't Been Writing Enough. I also haven't been writing much in my notebook, except for last night when I wrote a rambly response to something I read. Boring.

It's 11:30 and I have no idea how that happened. I got up before 9, and while I sat at the kitchen table sending about 2,000 emails to Town, time whooshed by in a huge wave and knocked me over.

I don't have much of interest to say, so let's resort to listing, shall we?

1. I have embarrassing stories about Katy.
2. I'm addicted to mango body butter.
3. Yesterday I was at the library, working the counter and checking for expired holds, and I said "It smells like it's raining." And I looked out the window, and it was. I love that smell.
4. The longest days of the year are squandering themselves on clouds and rain. I love rain, but I also love long sunny days. Let's strike some balance, shall we?
5. There are fresh raspberries and blueberries in my fridge. I'm in love. I'm going to pick more if it ever stops raining this week.
6. Nothing says "thank you, dear godmother, for your kind late-birthday gift of pink stripes" like ripping the dress out of your mother's hands as she tries to get you to say "thank you" and attempting to pull off your clothes to try it on right there in the parking lot. I'll take that over a simple "thank you" any day.

messy me! 

Today. 

Tiny me in salt-water sandals. 

BBB with little sister. Note salt water sandals. 

You were my Fiji

In celebration of the Two Year Anniversary of Me & My Car, today's Field Trip was to the DEQ. I have conflicting feelings about the DEQ.

On one hand, clean air! I like cleaner air! You can breathe, and the sky is clearer, and the water is cleaner, and people are happy! And the earth sings a little song of joy!

On the other hand, there's the nervous tension. Will my car pass? Crap. The car in front of me didn't pass. I bet mine won't either. I hope I don't burst into tears when they tell me. Oh please God, don't let me cry at the DEQ.

And the $75 fee.

I force myself to think happy, clean air thoughts. I write in my notebook while I wait, coffee-jittery hands clutching my pen. Note to self: healthfulness of oatmeal does not outweigh an overdose of caffeine. You will be jittery. You also might still think that going to Starbucks and using your gift card is a good idea. Make yourself come home and eat lunch first. Good girl.

In spite of having owned a car since I was sixteen, this is only my second trip to the DEQ ever. You might think, based on that sentence, that I have 1) rich parents who bought me a car and 2) parents who took the car to the DEQ for poor little unmechanical me. But you would be dead wrong.

My parents did buy me a car. That part is true. They spent approximately $200 on it. It was a '68 Dodge Coronet but deep down it was a Big Blue Boat. Being made before 1975, it did not need to pass DEQ. And I spent 6 blissful years driving it without ever encountering the DEQ. And then I grew up. And got a car made in my lifetime. (For the record, the goal with my next car is to have one that was made since I started driving - ie, since 1997.)

The features of my Big Blue Boat included, but were not limited to: an AM radio, wing windows, plastic seats, 2 doors, about 1,000 square feet of leg room, turn signal lights on the corners of the hood, a leaky gas tank, and a trunk that both leaked & could be napped on when shut. I was rear-ended twice and the only damage was a little paint scraped off. You could have killed someone with one of the doors. It looked the same dirty or clean.

Sometimes I see old cars driving down the street and I miss my boat.

Except when it's really hot and I'm driving around with the AC on and listening to a CD, a tape, or FM radio while using gas efficiently. In a car the passed the DEQ test.

Thrilling morning in the neighborhood

Our meter reader just ran by.

In my experience, the meter readers slowly approach your house. The only clue that they are a meter reader and not a burglar is the gadget they carry.

But this meter reader - he had a bright orange shirt with "meter reader" across the back - and it kinda looked homemade. And he darted. And scurried. And ran. Across the street. Up to Sweet Basil. Around the corner and out of sight.

Deep down

Let me tell you about Summer Reading.

Now, Summer Reading is one of the true joys of the library. You get rewarded (prizes, free book, etc) for something you already love to do & would do anyway - read. I'm sure there are children for whom the program is a bribe - "read 20 book this summer, sweetie, and we get to go to Oaks Park!" but frankly, we are not and never were those children. 1) we don't require bribes to read and 2) who wants the Oaks Park ticket anyway? Puke.

One of our volunteers in the children's department, Logan, has a little brother, maybe 8, who likes to read, who Logan brought in to sign up for Summer Reading.

Librarian: "Would you like to sign up?"
Brother: "Well...I don't know."
L: "You get a prize each time you visit & have read a new book."
B: "Hmm."
L: "You also get a pass to Obnoxious Family Fun Center, and a free book when you reach your goal."
B: "Well, I guess I'll sign up." And then in a whisper, "Deep down, my mom doesn't approve of Obnoxious Family Fun Center."

Logan reported back today that his brother ripped up his reading log. The kid likes to read. But I think, deep down, he doesn't approve of Summer Reading.

Oh, and then there are also the parents who don't approve of the theme. As you can see from my previous link, or any search for "Dragons, Dreams and Daring Deeds," we didn't come up with this ourselves. It's a nation-wide theme, and they pick the themes about 5 years in advance. They picked the theme before my library was even a part of this national group of libraries. We just had the Summer Reading 2007 theme emailed to us.

But there are parents - several that I've seen - who don't want their kids to write their names on a dragon (all the kids who sign up put their names on little paper dragons that get stapled to the wall). Gasp! My child's name will never be defiled by associating with a mythical creature! So we provide these parents with stars for their children. But seriously. It's just a dragon. It's not a witch or a wizard or a fairy or...even if it were, what's the big deal anyway?

Free love on the free love freeway

Well, there was my summer vacation. Rolled up into three little days of sitting on a quilt in the grass in front of Toni's house. We did other things of course, but what is more quintessentially Summer Vacation than that?

We also had conversations like this:

Toni: "We need to save the chit chat for after the sun's completely gone." This said yesterday evening, when we were outside reading & writing & fighting off mosquitoes.

"Not getting much work done," Toni says as we sit in Batdorf & Bronson* with our books in front of us, after being interrupted by a few dozen people that she knows who happen to stop in for coffee. "Work?" I ask, pointing to the book open in front of her.

"Hopefully I'll look pathetic and likeable," she said, in reference to walking with her crutches. And the lovely friend that I am, I say, "You are pathetic and likeable." And Toni says, "Thanks" with complete sincerity.

She also liked to say things like, "Maybe we could light these candles," which really meant, "how about you get up and get matches from the kitchen and light these candles, because I'm sitting here on the couch with an ice pack on my boot."

I guess I just wrote down funny Toni quotes. Pocket, feel free to chime in with some of the nutty things I said. I also got caught this morning in the kitchen making pancakes, book in one hand and spatula in the other. I think there's a picture.

So it was summer vacation, and it was perfect, and now I'm home, with one day of work tomorrow (thanks to the job that doesn't provide paid vacation) and then two more days off. Beach anyone?

When I was driving up there, I didn't really mind being alone, except for that whole issue of not being able to safely unscrew the lid on my water bottle, and worrying that every sip would lead to a fatal crash. But on the drive home, I was missing having someone to talk to. Someone to hand me tofu pate on a savory thin, or a chocolate covered pretzel, or with whom to discuss the vast mysteries of life. You know, those vast mysteries that come to you on the open freeway. That's really one of the perfect things about car trips - when conversations happen that don't happen when you're busy and distracted by other things. But then I saw a van full of bored adults in frumpy clothes and I thought, "better me and my music than to be in that van."

*I keep typing "Batdork" instead of "Batdorf."

happy father's day, popsie 

Real time blogging

I arrive at Toni's, and we settle down on her bed, and start this conversation:

Me: "So while I driving up here, I saw this vehicle, and it had this 'just married' sign on it--"
Town: "You wanna eat some ice cream tonight?"
M: "Yes."
T: "Oh good. I'm going to have to change. I'd better do that right now."

You wouldn't want to marry a wicked man, would you?*

Have I talked about Anne of Green Gables lately? I don't think so.

The other night I watched the film version with the commentary. Now, you know you've watched a movie a few times when you cry even though you can't hear what the characters are saying.

I think I laughed a little too hard at what happened to Poppy, because fate found me today and dealt me a nice little blow. No panty issues, but that aspirin in the first aid kit at work does not cut it. Even four of them do not cut it. And try running back and forth while you hold down the front counter by yourself and the cramps attack and oh, the world gets a little woozy between hormones & aspirins.

So anyway, more Anne on DVD is a good remedy. I'm watching the sequel now & cracking up at all my favorite lines. And oh, when I get to the part where Anne pretends to sing the wedding song and they break Diana's bed? I will miss Laurel.

I was thinking, in the scene where Anne finds out that Diana is engaged, about being an Anne or a Diana in one's friendships. I think it depends on the person I'm with. I have a deep sympathy for Diana - for not being the one with the exciting life. For being the sidekick. Anne is who I want to be. Impulsive, creative, good with people.

*"I think I'd like it if he could be wicked and wouldn't."

"Pitching and mooning?"

"The over-particular ones get left behind!"

"I knew a girl who died in her sleep after being impertinent!"

Why don't you throw one more tub of animal crackers in the cart, sweetie?

At Costco today, they had samples of their delicious cream puffs. Those things are good. Why then, at Costco of all places, were they slicing the cream puffs in half before sticking a toothpick in them and offering them up for consumption?

I have a little love/hate relationship with Costco. First of all, I don't have a card. I borrow Katy's and sneak in - no one looks too closely, thank goodness, and we're both young women with dark hair. That's about all you can see in the picture anyway.

I go there from time to time to buy things like massive cubes of toilet paper, and bagels, and laundry detergent, and 24 hand towels and 24 washcloths. When I'm there, my urge to walk up & down every aisle starts to fight against my hatred for massive quantities of stuff and low-quality ice cream and non-organic milk.

The only way I survive standing in line is by examining the contents of my neighbors' carts. Today I saw a woman with six tubs of animal crackers in her cart. Six. Costco sized. I sincerely hope & pray that they were intended as snacks for an animal cracker convention and not for consumption by her family.

Or there was the man with a massive package of animal parts (pork maybe?) and some paper towels. That was it.

But then again, I suppose some people might be wondering what I intended to do with twenty-four hand towels.

Tagged

by receptionista


Three screen names that you have had: jessmonster, defyingnarration, and my very own name.

Three things you like about yourself: that I've been trying new things lately - things that are very un-me. My ability to whip up yummy baked goodness. That I only cried a little when the doctor did the scary puff of air in my eye this morning.

Three things you don't like about yourself: procrastination. Inability to cook dinner. Lack of sensititivity.

Three parts of your heritage: cult, French & English.

Three things that scare you: living alone forever. Locking myself out. People.

Three of your everyday essentials: something to read. Writing. Dessert.

Three things you are wearing right now: striped green knee socks. My glasses, unusually. Black Danskos.

Three of your favorite songs: favorite? I don't like this question. Howabout artists that come to mind? Yeah. Ben Harper, Iron & Wine, Josh Ritter.

Three things I want in a relationship: someone who'll let me read stupid things out loud. Make me laugh till I cry. Roll his eyes when I watch Anne of Green Gables. With the commentary track.

Two truths and a lie: I went to Waldorf school for 3 years. I stole Katy's chicken out of the fridge for my lunch. I believe popcorn to be its ideal self when accompanied by brewer's yeast.

Three things you can't do without: chapstick. chocolate. company.

Three places you want to go on vacation: the Aran Islands. A road trip. Greece.

Three things you just can't do: hold my breath under water. Cartwheels. Sleep soundly on an airplane.

Three kids' names: meg, jonas, adela.

Three things you want to do before you die: swim in clear salt water again. have a baby. write a book.

Three Celeb crushes: Lemony Snicket. The guy in The Motorcycle Diaries. The singer for Iron & Wine (just his voice though, I obviously know nothing else about him.)

Three people you want to know these things about: townpocket, Sal, Annie

mom & me. i look so much like my dad as a baby, it's not even funny. 

oh my goodness!

(As Q & Town would say.)

Steel cuts oats with whole milk & brown sugar are the best breakfast cereal ever.

So yesterday I went to the spiffy new playground at North Clackamas Park with Q & K. There were these cool funnel shaped things, where if you talked into one, your friend at another one across the playground could hear you, all echoey. You know, like a telephone, but low tech. K & I were talking through them & trying to get Q to join in, but she was all "um, I can see you right over there. Why do I need to talk to you through this thing?"

K & I started talking about birthdays (naturally) after another mom asked how old Q was and K said, for the only day that it is 100% true, "two." We've spent a lot of birthdays together, K & I, seeing as how we've known each other since we were two ourselves (oh, whoa. Crazy. We've known each other since we were Q's age? All of a sudden I can't wrap my mind around it anymore). But K was never that big into birthdays. And me? I loved nothing more than to pick a theme after careful consideration and plan as many activities around it as possible.

K doesn't like the idea of having traditional birthday parties. The attention focused on the child, lots of gift-giving, kids hyped up on sugar. She especially doesn't like the birthday gifts. She said a lot of it has to do with the feeling of disappointment - if you don't get what you want - that she hated as a child.

She would rather have a family & friends get-together, and make it a party without the gifts part.

I can see her point. Especially based on her own experiences. And Q is a reserved child and being the center of attention wears her thin. And I love how thoughtful K is about things like this.

But! What if Q wants to celebrate like the other kids? When she's this age, I completely agree - there is no point in showering a toddler with tons of toys & crap. But personally, I love to give gifts. I love finding something that I know someone will use or enjoy. I don't think K is completely against gifts - because, hey, who would turn down hanna andersson?

I guess it brings up a lot of questions in my mind about parenting. About which I don't claim to know anything. But, what if your child grows up to completely disagree with you on some things? Would you make birthday parties an issue? What about if you hate the public school system but your child decides she wants to go?

Okay, this is completely muddley and random. But I'm really curious to hear other people's opinions.

An open letter

To the parishioners of my church:

(Who, to my knowledge, do not know of the existence of this blog, but that's the beauty of a blog, isn't it? That you can write letters to people who will never read them?)

If you think I turned to you and scowled in church this morning, know that it was not you I scowled at.

If you think I winked at you, take not my wink personally.

If you think I waved at you, respond not to the wave.

If you think I wasn't paying enough attention to the service, well, you may have been right.

If you think I laughed at you, well, yes, I laughed at you. But I was also laughing at my baby girl, who thinks it's funny to jump up and down and giggle and say "it's funny!" and who will be Two Years Old tomorrow.

May 2005 on the church lawn. 

Q & Mama, May 2004 at the Rhododendron Garden. 

July 2003. Q, 40 days old, is fast asleep and has no idea what is about to hit her - three dunks in a tub of water, and a lifetime of me as her godmother. Visiting Fr. Neo featured to right. 

Wet Floral Parade

As is traditional for the Rose Festival parade here in Portland, it's raining. Pouring in fact.

Katy, Melanie & I went for a run along the waterfront (opting out of taking our walk breaks on the ships) thinking that the parade is tomorrow. Apparently not. The weather was perfect & cool while we ran, and as soon as we got in the car (shortly after the parade began) in started to pour. Not your usual Pacific Northwest drizzle, but real rain. HA! Take that, parade.

This is what happens when you start cleaning out your closets. You find things like the bag you used in high school, which is approximately 1/100 of the size of the bag you use now. Also, the wallet, it has swollen as well. The real question, though, is why I still have them. And why there was one contact lense, in its little jar, in the bag. 

I touched this puppy up. 

Note a) the home altar & communion kit in the background b) the baby quilt that was made for me and c) the afghan crocheted by my grandmother 

Only from Lacuna

So I sit down to watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I saw it awhile ago, so I think "maybe I'll watch it with the commentary."

Bad idea.

Once you start the commentary, there is no going back. There is no way to turn the commentary off on any of the menus. I turn off & on the DVD player. I eject & reinject. No luck. Finally I take out the disc, put in a different, undesired disc, and then reinsert the desired disc. At last.

How ironic, huh? Considering the plot?

I need another brownie.

Going underground

I just got a package from Laurel (a skirt to be exchanged at Saturday Market) and it included a note with her new mailing address for the summer.

Folks, the street? It is named "Puppy Smith Road."

I kid you not. She said it out loud while she was here, and it sounded funny, but nothing can rival seeing an address like that in print.

Puppy Smith.

If I ever need to start an underground blog - if I get ratted out and they come after me for irreverence and I have to go undercover - look for me at puppysmith dot blogspot dot com. That'll be my new alias.

Picture time, kids!

Stolen from the past 20 blogs I've read. Man, these things get around fast.

Use Google's image search to find images of the following and then link the first image you find (or your favorite).

Your Grandmother's name (my favorite, NOT the first. The first was a little inappropriate)

Your name (I googled my real name and I couldn't handle it. Not one bit. There were other people with my name. So I went with my nickname instead.)

Where you were born

Where you live now

Your favorite drink

Your favorite song (points to anyone who can guess the song. I don't have a favorite, but this is a good one)

Your favorite smell

Lucy and me. I'm wearing a bathrobe that my grandma made for my dad. I think my brother wore it at some point. 

Cheap date

Um, I'm feeling a leetle bit tipsy. Not on purpose. I came home from work, started some corn on the cob, poured myself a glass of wine...but the cork broke taking it out, so I've got to drink both glasses that were left in there, right? And I eat this weird early dinner at 4:30 on Wednesdays so my stomach didn't have much to pad it. I'm such a cheap date.

I want to bake but we're out of eggs. And really, baking isn't practical at 10:30 pm, especially when you're tipsy.

I've decided that Tuesdays are Field Trip Days. This week I went to the Chinese Garden with Elizabeth & her boyfriend. Thanks to the cultural pass from the library, we only had to pay for one person and could splurge on delicious tea in the unbelievably relaxing tea house. If you're in Portland, go.

Next week I'm going to the Oregon Zoo (I love those sea lions) with the extended Q family to celebrate her birthday. She'll be 2 on Monday, and Tuesday is Two Dollar Tuesday at the zoo. I'm looking forward to it.

What next, you ask? What next indeed! I guess it depends on the weather.

I'm listening to The Chocolate War on tape. It cracks me up. What is up with the slapping each other on the ass? As a macho football thing? (Oh God. I can't believe I mentioned asses and football in the same paragraph. Help.)

Jessmonster is stylish. 

He winked back using both eyes

I'm working on my second bowl of steel-cut oatmeal this morning. Or rather, oatmeal made from steel cut oats. Normally one bowl will do me in, but today my appetite is back. And normally I always have an appetite. Witness Easter Sunday, when I crammed three Paschal meals into 6 hours.

But after the run on Saturday, my appetite took a little vacation. Anyone who saw me eat dinner on Sunday will know what I'm talking about. Granted, I ate my first dinner (and first real meal of the day) at 4, but at 7:30 when we sat down to eat, I couldn't touch a bite. Katy tried to feed me like I was a toddler. "It's the airplane!" "Why don't you try a train? Choo choo!" Etc. I ended up eating one bite of chicken and rice. Yesterday I would get hungry, but the smallest meal would make me feel like I'd overeaten.

Okay. Now that feeling is coming back. Sorry, second bowl of oatmeal. No more love for you.

Mom & me. 

A classic cult moment, dancing at a wedding. 

For Town Pocket - Library Girl in her cowgirl boots. 

Caution, contains profanity

I've always hated running. In middle school, when they made us run the mile for the Presidential Fitness Whatever (I'd like to see the president run a mile while we're at it), I was the last one to finish. I had a huge stitch in my side and it felt like pure torture. Freshman year of college, I dated a guy who loved to run. I thought it was crazy. I shook my head. I had a dream where I outran him and I laughed in the morning. The summer after junior year, it Bologna with Bee, we would run around the park down the street, in serious humidity. I thought I would collapse every time. Senior year, Laurel convinced me to take a fitness walking/running class with her. At 8 am. I survived. I shocked myself by running as much as I walked.

And now? I did a 5K run last night. With the tiniest of walk breaks. What have I turned into?

First, Maren, Katy, Delicia & I got together, wrote our running nicknames on bright green shirts, and did facials. We had it all worked out to get downtown in plenty of time to pick up our numbers and start the run at 8 pm.

Haha.

7:50 pm. Maren, who already has a number, drops us a couple blocks away from Lincoln High School, where we start, so she can park. We run. Delicia loses her green polka dot/striped bandana on the way. We sign in, we check our bags & jackets, we pin on our numbers. The run is about to start. But there is no way that I'm starting without a trip to the bathroom. No way.

Katy and I run to the bathrooms behind the bleachers and join the line of women, while Delicia and Maren's dad wait for her to show up from parking. There are two bathroom doors next to each other. Women are going in one, and men are coming out the other. The men all look sheepish. As the line moves up (what is it with women taking so long to pee? Just get it over with! We're in a hurry!) we see that the room the women are entering is the same room the men are leaving. That's right. We've co-opted the men's room. Who knows where the women's room was, but there was no way any of us were giving up places in line to go look for another bathroom. So the women used the two stalls, and the men used the urinals on the opposite wall. We tried to keep our backs turned, but you could tell it was making all those guys a little nervous. Whatever. We had co-ed bathrooms at my fine alma mater (well, with no urinals. Just stalls). Get over it.

We run from the bathrooms (notice how there's a lot of running in this story? And we haven't even started the run yet?) to join the run. The other three are no where in sight. The "start" line is gone. The crowd is gone. A couple stranglers run in front of us. Three people fall in behind us. We're the end.

A police car, clearing the route for the parade that follows, pulls onto the road behind us. At first it's just a little annoying. Especially with the huge fucking hill the run starts with (okay, like 2 blocks. But steep!) After a couple more blocks, as we steadily jog along and my heart resumes normal beating after the hill, the car really starts to annoy me.

Finally I can't take it any more. I can't hold back.

I stop, turn around, pound my fists on the hood of the car and yell, "Will you fucking get off my heels before you run me over? Or before I having a fucking heart attack and you just turn me into road kill on the parade route?"

Don't you wish I had? I really wanted to say that. Apparently, running - the aggressive sport that it is - brings up a lot of anger in me.

This is what actually happened. The runners ahead of us dart around a corner and we follow. Never mind that we're taking a short cut - it's all worth it to get that cop off our heels. We're now that the end of the crowd, but not the very end. The rest of the run was relatively uneventful. I never thought I would die. My leg hurt, but I could still run.

However, we did have an opportunity to contemplate the life of Christ, and the suffering he endured as he went to his voluntary passion. There's a costume competition, you see, since the run is the pre-show entertainment before the Starlight Parade. There was the complete cast of Napoleon Dynamite, a horse, some clowns, etc. And a man dressed as Jesus carrying a cross. A big cross. He ran with it.

Afterwards, we were discussing how he could manage to run with it. "Jesus could barely walk with his cross," one of us says. "Yeah, but he was beaten ahead of him," says another. "And I don't think he had running shoes." "And the crowd was booing him instead of cheering."

There you have it. Contemplation of spiritual labors. Some healthy exercise. Colorful shirts. Profanity.

All starry-eyed. Back when he was cute. Notice the lack of recent pictures? I don't have any goods ones. Sorry. 

1988, or the Year of the Swing. Lu (featured on the left) and I loved nothing more than to crank up his little swing and let him fly. We all have trauma in our childhoods, don't we? 

Yesterday my brother Joey turned 17. Here is a picture of him and me, shortly after Lu & I named him after one of our favorite books at the time, Watch Out For Chicken Feet in Your Soup. "Hey Joey, Eugenie, how nice you come to see Grandma!" At least we didn't name him Eugene. He thinks his name is Joe now, but it's not. It's still Joey. 

Library Girl to the rescue

Another day, another book rescue. I walked to our neighborhood bookstore to get a gift certificate for my brother's birthday, and while I'm there I might as well browse the children's section, right? It's this old house turned into a bookstore and crammed full. The kids' books are in what used to be the garage.

I'm standing there on a stool, reaching to the highest shelf to grab Walk Two Moons, when the clerk and another male customer begin consulting in the corner next to me.

"I think this one is the first one," the clerk says.

I look down & see that he has The Magician's Nephew in his hand.

Time for an intervention.

"The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe was the first one he wrote," I say. "The Magician's Nephew is the first chronologically. Within the world of Narnia." I gesture to indicate the magnificence of the world I refer to, the world where times moves differently than in our own.

Poor people, confused by newer editions that renumber the books. Just stick to the original, why don't you? It's things like this that keep Library Girl in shape. She's always there when you need her.

It proved to be a huge, stranded whale

I watched Whale Rider for the first time the other night and was pleasantly surprised. I guess I liked how dark it was. Not dark dark, but it wasn't sappy. There was crying, and grunting, and beached whales.

Speaking of beached whales...when I was maybe ten, my dad read The Swiss Family Robinson to Lucy and me. I was disgusted by scene where they cut open the beached whale. I made Dad skip that chapter.

Fast forward to a few years ago, when Lu and I are standing on the beach and she reveals that she has an irrational fear of beached whales. Immediately my mind hits on the picture below. While I was grossed out by the blubber, Lu developed a fear of whales beaching themselves. She gets all squirmy if you talk about it, and says it's the first thing she looks for when we go to the beach.

I can't wait to show her Whale Rider.

I really think she'll love it. Especially when the whole pod beaches itself? Yeah. And when she rides the whale?

Although, I'll have to get her past the title. I doubt she'd watch anything with "whale" in the title.

"Isn't he a frightful great brute!"

In which I use a lot of parentheses

The other night I was a dinner guest at Bee & Soph's parents' (which is always just odd without Bee & Soph there, but with random things still there like a rubber duckie in the bath - whose is that?) and so was another Jess. Let me tell you, if you're not used to being around someone with the same name, or a similar name, it could drive you crazy. I don't really interact with other people who go by Jess very often. Not on purpose or anything, but I just don't know any.

We had coffee instead of tea after dinner (which is a sure sign that B & S weren't there). So Theresa asks Fr. M to check the half & half and see if it's still good. He smells it, and Jesse smells it, and they both pronounce it good. "What's the expiration date?" I ask. "I never look at the date," Fr. M says. "I just use my nose." So we all sit down and Theresa puts some in her decaf and says, "it separated." So she pours out the h&h and gets the milk. And I drank just milk in my coffee. And it was good. Usually I don't like that. Katy has turned me into a cream fiend, but it was good. Of course, we were having ice cream with it so I was still getting my ration of cream for the day.

Do you like how that story didn't really have a point? Just some observations.

So I didn't really take pictures over the weekend, but I've been thinking about what things I would want pictures of. Not possible pictures, but imaginary pictures:

1. Laurel, Toni & on the swings in the park. We left cripple Lis to read her book & went for a walk, and when we got to the park we went on the teeter-totter (is there a more official name for that? See-saw? They're all goofy), the merry-go-round (where you push each other), the slide (just Laurel) and the swings. We went so high it looked like we'd go over the top, or brush our toes on the trees. And those are tall trees. I'd like a picture of that.

2. The view from the sidewalk at night, when the blinds are still open and we're all in the living room.

3. The house when we were all snug in our beds, talking, half-asleep.

PS I baked pumpkin bread this morning. Come over and have some.