I love the piano in this one. It's almost painfully old-fashioned, just as Q is almost painfully coy in church. I was trying to put this in the text of a blog, but it wouldn't let me use the black and white version. So here's a really long caption. It's pouring rain, mercifully, and I'm going to go around the corner and drink something hot and write letters. This morning I want to have time to scrub the house, write letters, bake cookies, go for a walk, and make a lunch just as smashing as yesterday's homemade pizza. Unfortunately there's never enough time for everything, even if one has all day. Which I don't. So I'd better get moving. 

yum 

Back to the books

I'm glad we got all that Eragon nonsense out of the way. It's out of my house and out of my life. Instead, we've got the pleasant and entertaining substitute of Gregor the Overlander by Suzanne Collins. Yay for children's fantasy! It's not "wow" but I am whipping through it, and it has charm.

I've got all these things to write about but nothing is really settling down in my head. On my trip to Seattle/San Francisco, we had some conversations about how amongst friends who've known each other a while, some topics just don't come up. Or you don't feel comfortable asking questions. Or you learn something new about a person unexpectedly. What should I write about? What am I leaving out, here? I want questions and ideas, pretty please.

PS Did you know you can have a wedding registry on Amazon? That could be dangerous. Would I rather have flatware, sheets & a food processor, or every book I've ever wanted? Good thing I'm not getting married. Katy, you should have an Amazon registry.

Glory

Am I the only person in the world who thinks, "thank goodness it's Monday, I can sleep in"? Cause I do. I had this Sunday deliciously off, but of course any Sunday off still involves getting up to teach Sunday school. But Monday? Monday I can sleep in. And Tuesday, too. And so on.

I had a dream where, if I remember correctly, there was some connection between rubbing my feet together and turning pages in a book. I get weird when I sleep, and any repetitive motion like that (or tossing & turning) takes on added meaning.

I can't resist with the pictures, so there will be more, okay? Don't try to stop me.

Sunday afternoon my sister called me from Strawberry Fields. Someone was playing "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" on his guitar, and when she heard "Lucy" she looked up before she realized it was just the song. Anyway, she called me, and I was at Saturday Market (and Sundays, too, don't you know) perusing some socks. The socks were intended for an internet friend. Don't make fun of me, I have internet friends. And we give each other socks. Anyway, I was suddenly overcome with sock altruism, and had Lucy pick out a pair of socks over the phone. The sister, she only wears Converse. She needs some good socks for the coming winter. So the socks are going with my mom on a red eye flight to New York, where they will grace my sister's feet. Ah, socks - how I love fall.

At the moment I'm celebrating the cool weather with domestic glory - pumpkin bread. My love of pumpkin bread grows by the season. I grabbed a bread pan off a high shelf (while wondering why the bread pan triplets had been separated) and discovered, to my shock and amusement, that it appears to have been unwashed after its last use. Um, Katy? I know you're engaged and all but I think we still need to wash our dishes...

Excuse me, but I must get back to my preheating oven.

Post-liturgical photo shoot

Can you tell I'm having too much fun touching up pictures on the computer?  

Recently fortified with coffee, Annie strikes a pose. 

One of those days when someone takes your picture and you think, "oh, THAT'S what I look like today. Huh." What does your son think of this one with glasses, Babelbabe?  

No, really??? PS, this is NOT our church. 

At last!

I show up on a google search for obsessive behavior! My life dreams have been realized and I can retire in peace.

As soon as I can pull myself up off the couch, I'll have some tidbits from a photo shoot earlier this afternoon.

Meanwhile, stories from Sunday school:

I have a new mix this year - some kids who were in 1st grade last year who I have again, some kids who moved up from the preschool/kindergarten room, and some altogether new kids. So I had them all introduce themselves - name, how old they are, and anything else they wanted to say. I said, "I'm 24" and you could see the shock on their little faces. She's old. Twenty-four? I'll never be that old. One boy announced that his father is 14. He then corrected it to 40. Neither number is correct.

The second shock to them was that I don't live with my parents and brother and sister. Gasp! Some of them have been to our apartment, but one girl, reeling from shock, asked "Why don't you live with your family?" Well, sweetie, you grow up and you get the hell out. I love my family, but there comes a time...

When it came time to draw pictures of our families, I gave them free reign with who to include. John's picture was of himself and three rather striking chickens.

I think I'll make it through another year.

Oh, Bartleby

Shh, don't tell anyone but it's 11 pm and I still haven't planned a Sunday School lesson for tomorrow. Will they fire me? Chastise me? I doubt it. There isn't exactly a waiting list for the job.

I believe we'll work on a family tree - the kind of vague, abstract family tree ("your family, or friends, or people from church, or your patron saint...or, you know, whatever you feel like drawing") which hopefully I have the butcher paper to create. If not, there's always a couple rousing renditions of Father Abraham to eat up the time.

I made the mistake of a Round Two sugar buzz after getting home - just when the milkshake & the scent of cherry almond body butter were wearing off, I dip into the Haagen Daz. A mistake, especially when you really should just be finishing off The Historian (am I the only one who suddenly became less interested when a certain significant character actually appeared in flesh & blood (and more blood)?) and getting in bed.

And why is it that whenever you decide, "okay, now I really have to pee and I'm going to get up off the couch now," someone else sneaks into the bathroom? Or when it's early in the morning and you're laying in bed thinking, "now I'll get up and take a shower," you hear the door creak closed and the shower start with someone else in it. Oh, the humanity.

Bridal Brie

Oh my goodness, do you have any idea how many ugly dresses there are in the world? I mean, I always knew there were lots of ugly dresses, and that bridesmaids' dresses were notoriously ugly, but try walking into the formal section of any department store. Come on, I dare you. Or rather, if you're concerned for your mental well-being - don't. The dresses? They are ugly.

In other news, I've been browsing through Target's guide to throwing a "fabulous" bridal shower. Things like "one month ahead, rent catering equipment." My favorite item, though, is day of: "pour yourself a drink!" Yes please!

Internets, I have a confession - I find this all fascinating. Like a sociological study. I may pretend to whine, and as it gets closer I may indeed whine, but right now, it's pure entertainment.

And oh my goodness, I just had a Coffee People milkshake way too fast and the caffeine is coursing through my veins. The caffeine and the sugar. And I am off to do a spa party. Fueled by caffeine and sugar!

Please continue the Anne/Emily & Teddy/Dean conversations - they are most enjoyable. I always sympathized with Emily more than Anne, but I never found her relationship as satisfying to read about. But her italics? Oh, I loved her italics.

Go on over and felicitate them

"You know what they say, Anne - two times a bridesmaid, never a bride!"

Jessmonster's Book Report (now edited!)

I can't decide whether or not to feel bad about not writing much (here or my notebook) because I've been unable to put down my book long enough.

When my hold came in on The Historian, I thought "ooof, I will never finish this in two weeks." However, given that I've read 383 of its 642 pages in the past six days (and most of it in the past three days), I think I'm safe. I got it on BabelBabe's recommendation, but I must admit that I was a little put off by the comparison to Possession. I could barely manage to slog through Possession. Am I the only one? I loved the idea of it - but it was just so hard to read. I found it easier to read War and Peace than Possession. But The Historian - no problems there. I can never quite tell which direction it will go next. If you like Big Books and History, and if Research thrills you, then what are you waiting for?

On a more disappointed note...Eragon. I'm listening to it on tape. Will someone please reassure me that it's just the interpretation that I don't like? I've heard good things about it. I want to like it. I can hear the well-read homeschooler in the author's voice (not the voice on tape - read by someone else). I get the feeling that I would've loved it right around the time I fell in love with The Blue Sword. Or maybe not. I'm willing to try a few more tapes - but I want reassurance that it will be worth it.

Finally, I'm watching the miniseries (not reading the books - horrors! Shame!) of The Forsyte Saga per Bee's recommendation (and I assume Sophie's was implied, too). I'm watching the newish version and am totally captivated by the first disc. It satisfies that craving for proper drama, costumes, London, and sentences like, "Should you ask me to marry you again, Mr. Forsyte, I would find myself able to accept."

In other news...yesterday I described something as making my heart skip a beat, and now I can't think of what it was. If I said it to you, will you please remind me?

Edited to Add: Thank goodness it's not just me! Here's an excerpt of a review on amazon: "The story is cliched, formulaic and barely passable as are the characters and the language is simply what you would expect from a somewhat precocious teen fan of adult fantasy. If you have any experience in the field of fantasy at all, reading Eragon will feel like a visit to Las Vegas (though not so tacky)--sure you can see New York and Paris and Italy, but they are mere shadows of the real thing." I hearby give myself permission to put it down.

be fruitful & multiply

I just had the urge to compose a blog entry to the tune of a Cake song. You know, with all the funny emphasis on words? Not so much actual tunes or melodies. I was never terribly musical.

Yesterday I cleaned out my Sunday School classroom. In preparation for my third year of dwelling therein for an hour each Sunday morning. I removed staples from the wall with my bare fingers (I have had hankerings lately for my own spiffy staple remover, and I hope that they shall shortly come to fruition), I scrubbed glue and grime from low tables, I moved the heaps of random furniture that are fruitful and multiply whenever I turn my back...Seriously, what's up with the furniture? Each week last year I'd find something new dumped in my classroom. An ugly particle board shelf. Random pieces of wood. Mismatched chairs that don't fit at the table, and besides I already have approximately 25 tiny child chairs! For a class of 10, tops! Stop already with the furniture! I moved it all to the back corner, next to a cat-door sized opening labeled "emergency fire hatch." If there IS a fire again, I'd prefer to take the stairs or toss students from the window, rather than stuff them through a cat-sized hatch, thank you very much.

I also emerged from the cleaning session with a large & mysterious scratch on my arm - my annual cleaning dues, I suppose. Last year I emerged with blisters from sharpening pencils (don't ask) but that was my own fault.

And now, off to work!

Still life with Narnia, new mug that I can't put down, and Earl Gray. 

Flowers at the market in Seattle. I wanted to take some back to Lis, except we were leaving the next morning. 

produce, glorious produce 

obligatory Pike Place Market fish photo 

Jess & Toni, with ice cream and hippies, at the Power to the Peaceful concert in Golden Gate Park. 

Laurel & Lis 

peaceful jessmonster 

death by wooden spoon

I'm in the book zone. The "oh, I have a computer?" zone. Blame two days without wireless access and constant companionship, plus a couple of 6 am flights and the Vacation Recovery Period. I've kicked the habit I guess. Or maybe just the addiction? I'm still here.

On the coffee table: The Complete Cartoons of the New Yorker
In the car (on tape, but of course): Eragon
Waiting for me in bed: The Historian
Waiting to be returned to the library: The Wonder Spot

I've got pictures, I've got stories, and I don't seem to have enough time. Can I just say, though, that I love sleeping in my own bed. And sleeping in - something that didn't really happen on vacation. Although I did sleep remarkably well at Lis' - especially considering I spent most of the night in 1/3 of a queen bed, until I woke up and realized Lis was on the couch and it was just Toni and I, and why on earth was I sleeping in the middle as though the mustard in a sandwich?

Well, I slept well apart from the dream about trying to kill a cat. I was supposed to kill it - it was crucial. I'd pick it up by the scruff of its neck and it would scratch and claw and I'd throw it out the window, several floors up. It would sneak back into the house and I'd throw it out again. I got so frustrated that it wouldn't die that I picked up a wooden spoon and whacked it on the head several times. It wouldn't die. The End.

Evidence of boredom/obsessive behavior

Evidence of obsessive behavior in hotel.

What I found on my bed.

Don't you love Lis' tablecloth? Wait, what's that...?

Pigs like sushi, too, you know.

inbetween

I am now beginning the sightseeing portion of my trip. Cue the orchestra. Training was scheduled from 8:30 till 12:30 today. What time did we get out? 9:30. The world is a beautiful place.

I have let myself into Lis' place, where I found a map and list of destinations I could persue on foot. I think I might walk down to Pike Place. Or just get coffee and write letters. The world is my oyster. Although it is, finally, raining (making the overpacking of a raincoat justified! Yay for overpacking!)

I love visiting former roommates and recognizing little things. A picture that was on our fridge in the big house. The same framed print. The chili pepper lights. All the details that were part of a home I once lived in.

I also feel frightfully boring, my mind dulled by sitting at a desk for 2 days in a row, so I shall leave you to entertain yourselves.

Overheard at the Hotel

"I just need to stop and rest for a bit. It's this damnable arthritis. Need to rest my hips."

Says an older woman, in heels. Honey, I think it's more than your hips...

Overpacking

I've never overpacked like this before. If I overpack, it's usually by bringing too many pairs of socks, or more shirts than I could conceivably wear, shirts for any temperature.

I've never overpacked on the electronics before. The cords I had in my suitcase? I felt very business like as I unpacked. I feel very business like as I sit here across from the hotel lounge, typing away.

But really, I was just exceedingly nerdy as I unpacked. Yes, I've been at the hotel a little over an hour, and anything I might need on this part of the trip has been unpacked. Hung in the closet. Arranged by the sink, on the desk.

When I was a kid, on the rare occasions we'd travel and stay in a hotel, I drove my parents crazy (I'm sure) by wanting to unpack every little thing. The drawers! I loved the hotel drawers. Even if we were just in middle-of-nowhere Idaho for a night on our way home from Utah. I thrilled to the bedside tables, the lamps, the cups with the little paper caps on them. I lovingly unwrapped bars of soap and arranged my reading material by the bedside.

Just imagine me now, as an adult. Actually, you won't have to - I've got pictures that I'll post later.

This hotel is enormous. There are 7 wings. Skybridges. Actually, it reminds me of our dorm in college. Except our dorm didn't have a heated pool (I'm assuming the pool is heated - we are in Washington). And it's that kind of well-cared for shabby - worn carpets, harvest gold tile in the shower, faded sofas in the lobby, a fake Northwesty look.

Aren't you all so glad that I brought the laptop? So that you can share ALL of this with me? Lucky you.

And yes, I went with "overpacking and not settling" and on the weekend I'll go with "overpack and check luggage." And Teeeka, darling, you underpack to excess. Remember the beach? I'm happy to report that I packed 2 sweaters, a rainjacket, and a fleece vest (company issue). If I'm bringing the big suitcase, I might as well fill it, right?

Adilos (as my small cousin says)

I'm packing it up, kids. Hopefully I'll visit you from my hotel lobby. Otherwise, this'll just be one more thing in my ginormous suitcase. Wish me luck.

I know I'm only leaving for a week...

But is it ridiculous to bring a suitcase that comes up to midthigh and is wider than I am? The same suitcase that I took on a 3 week trip to France and a 3 month trip to London? (Along with a huge backpack on the 3 month one - I'm not that light of a packer.) Can I be the Crazy Girl with Too Much Luggage? Will they let me bring it on the plane? Should I just say to hell with it and bring every last little thing I might need? I might need it just for the books, come to think of it...

I need quick advice, internets! I leave in 3 hours.

Labor Day

I went to the church picnic this afternoon. And by church picnic I mean the event at which I alternately marveled at the gorgeous, cool-yet-sunny weather, chatted with friendly folks (raising chickens, sending your 7th grader to school for the first time, grad school, libraries, cream puffs, Alaska, etc) and wanted to rip off heads for judgmental comments. You know, the usual.

It was gorgeous. Still is. I'm thinking of heading to the park with my book. I should've whipped out my camera, but there was no one I particularly wanted a picture of. I was also the sole representative of the 20-somethings (where's the love, girls?) and while there are some of the younger moms that I love chatting with, there was no one to run off to the blackberry bushes with.

In the parking lot, though, a certain matushka spotted my bumper sticker - "secret eating, idle talking, frivolous laughter." I could see it catching her eye and thought, hoo boy. Here we go. But I laughed and said, yes, Katy & Annie & I got those made, aren't they funny? And she laughed and said it's not everyone that has part of the evening confession on their cars. And Fr. K laughed too. And we all went on our merry way. There you go, girls, the ice is broken with the bumper stickers. They have arrived.

Oven Pancake

I'm making myself late for a picnic to post this delicious recipe, lifted from Betty Crocker herself.

2 Tbs butter
2 Tbs brown sugar
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1 apple, peach or pear, sliced (about 1 cup)
2 large eggs
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup milk
1/4 tsp salt


1. Heat oven to 400. Melt butter in pie plate in oven; brush butter over bottom and sides.

2. Sprinkle brown sugar and cinnamon over melted butter. Arrange thinly sliced fruit over sugar.

3. Beat eggs slightly in medium bowl with wire whisk or hand beater. Beat in flour, milk and salt just until mixed (do not overbeat or pancake may not puff - the horror). Pour batter over fruit.

4. Bake 25-30 minutes or until puffy and deep golden brown. Immediately loosen edge of pancake and turn upside down onto heatproof serving plate.

Heaven. Sheer heaven.

I heart Post Secret

This hadn't occurred to me. Brilliant. Now I need a duck to steal...

self-fulfilling prophecy

My brother just called. At 9:30 on a Sunday morning. I didn't even know he got up that early. I asked what was up.

"I've got a homework assignment," he said, "and since mom and dad just told me that we're having a barbecue tonight [and hence the legions of cousins and friends]I need to do it today."

Poor Joey, only one left at home and no one tells him what's up.

Wait, homework? I thought school hadn't started yet. Apparently they have to turn stuff in on the first day. Someone is going straight to hell for that idea.

"I have to find a book that references Shakespeare and talk about 'thematic influence.' No movies. And I can't think of anything. Mom and Dad said to call you."

Thanks, English degree.

"Okay, what Shakespeare have you read?"

"Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth."

The conversation then turned into me thinking hard and saying "um" a lot and "I'm trying to think of what books you've read that might be influenced by Shakespeare." Because, hey, isn't everything? But you have to think of one! What was our solution to this problem?

"So in Macbeth there's that whole destiny/fate thing..."

"Self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Have you read anything with a self-fulfilling prophecy?"

"Harry Potter."

Yes, folks, my brother is off to write a paper comparing Macbeth and Harry Potter. A round of applause for him, please.

old friends

Go read Bread & Jam For Frances (not the book but a perfect title) and sing-sing. I would blogroll you ladies but the blogroll, she does not cooperate.

peaches & cinnamon

I'm officially addicted to oven pancakes. Have I mentioned this before? I'm on to peach ones at the moment. Beautiful, peachy pancakes.

I get a two day weekend. I'm inordinately excited, considering most of the country gets a three day weekend. Two day weekends are so last year. What can I say, I'm behind the times.

I've now gone to New Seasons four days in a row. Today was because I realized I needed milk for my pancake. I feel very chic doing my marketing thusly.

I finished Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Read it.

Then I started reading Alice Munro's Runaway. I was distracted from the first story by the names.* I'm working on developing a theory about books & names. I don't know what I'm trying to prove, but this is my observation so far.

In some books, it feels like all the characters were named by one person: the author. While the author does in fact name all the characters, some books feel this way and some do not. Some feel like the characters were all named by different people: their parents. And they become real, breathing characters.

I guess it also comes down to this: in some books, the character and its name become as one. They are indistinguishable. In other books, they never quite meld.

(I will admit that this is perhaps not quite fair of me, to pick on writers for this. Maybe I just have unusually high standards for naming. I don't have to like the name, it just has to fit the character.)

Examples?

*We had Carla, Sylvia, Clark, Leon, Ruth and Joy. It just felt like she was trying too hard. Or maybe I just didn't like the story? Who knows.

real-time photo blogging

I was sitting here, listening to NPR's hurricane coverage, when I noticed that there had been bells ringing for a solid hour or so. Bells? I looked out the window.

Are those Buddhist monks? What are they doing outside The Restaurant Formerly Known As Thai Basil?

You know, give a blessing, ring some bells, and hit the road with your takeout.