Friday, June 30, 2006

saturday

I just got a call.

From a woman who's known me since I was nine.

And I have a new job.

Which is a hell of a lot like my old job.

Same library.

Some of the same tasks.

But more money.

And responsibility.

And a different schedule.

I am now the proud owner of TWO WEEKENDS A MONTH.

If you've ever tried to plan anything with me, you might recall that I work every single Saturday. Half at one job, half at the other. And every other Sunday. Which makes for the classic thirteen day workweek. Have you ever tried it? It's really something. But now, I am to be ushered into the world of One Sunday A Month at the Library. I'm still stuck with every other Saturday at corporate job. But may hell freeze over before they discover that the library doesn't need me on Saturdays anymore, because before I could bat an eyelid, I'd be on the schedule for every Saturday.

Also, I'm going to the beach this Sunday. Let the wild rumpus begin.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Stimulating and Irresistible

Last Friday I worked at my library's book sale, which is really just an excuse to sit in a hot gym with a bunch of your favorite coworkers and shoot the breeze (really, where did that expression come from?) and alternate between tallying up people's totals (one woman spent over Three Hundred Dollars. I'm sure she's going to resell them, but still. At 50 cents to a dollar apiece, that's a hell of a lot of books.) and "straightening" the tables (a euphemism for browsing). I ended up with a modest thirteen titles, which I shall list for your enjoyment. Because who doesn't love $1 books?

In the "Silly Me, I've Already Read That" column, we have:

1. Animal Dreams &
2. Homeland and Other Stories by Barbara Kingsolver ("I've read everything...by Barbara Kingsolver." I will read anything this woman writes. And reread it.)
3. The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. (Worth a reread at some point.)
4. Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier. (I've already reread this once, and boy does he do a lovely book on tape, but it's a gorgeous hardcover. Could not resist.)
5. The Ear, the Eye and the Arm by Nancy Farmer. (It's fantastic. Newbery Honor. Enough said.)

In the "Um, Don't You Already Own That?" column:

6. The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood (It's nicer than the copy I already had, plus I lent that one to my sister and now she can just keep it.)
7. Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels. (This is to give away. Anyone want it? It needs a good home.)

In the "Venturing Into Untrodden Territory, Yay for Me" column:

8. Childe Harold and Prisoner of Chillon by Byron (It's a gorgeous tiny hardcover, and Byron cracks me up to no end - "And thus they plod in sluggish misery,/ Rotting from sire to son, and age to age." Allegedly I've read part of this, but not the whole thing.)
9. The Jump-Off Creek by Molly Gloss. (It was apparently an Oregonian Book Club Selection, and the previous owner was one Helen Keller. Too much to resist.)
10. Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak. (I'm not at all principal characters and begins with a funeral.)
11. One True Thing by Anna Quindlen. (Isn't this supposed to be a bit of a tearjerker? Worth a try.)
12. Adam Bede by George Eliot. (Because I loved Silas Marner and I haven't yet worked up the courage for Middlemarch.)
13. The Lifetime Reading Plan by Clifton Fadiman. (I once checked it out of the library and have had an eye to purchasing it ever since. It is "a stimulating and irresistible guide to one hundred books and authors which will help you, over the whole of your lifetime, to understand what the greatest writers of Western Civilization have thought and felt," according to the front cover. Because I don't have enough to read. And isn't Clifton Anne Fadiman's father?)

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

fruit smedley


fruit smedley
Originally uploaded by jessmonster.

All eaten, except for the jam.

mad hot

I'm going too long inbetween spurts of writing and it's making me feel that Everything Must Have Significance. Whatever.

If you're feeling nosy or know Kate or happened to be there, you can check out bridal shower photos on my flickr sidebar. I have to tell you about where we had the shower, because I'm having a serious case of house-lust.

Last year, a family at church bought a lovely historic home outside of Portland. They were just about to move in...when it burned down. (I think it was a freak accident.) So on the same spot they rebuilt almost the same house. The same look & feel & style, but, you know, better. Because now they don't have to worry about old-house problems. And they have as much storage as they want. And modern bathrooms. And walk-in closets.

Plus, they happen to have just about perfect taste. If you're anything like me, you love to look at houses. And think, "I would keep that, and repaint that, and move that, and wouldn't it be better if there were a window right there?" I don't think I would change a single thing in this house. Paint, furniture, artwork, layout. I want to move into their lovely cool blue guest room. Which I'm kicking myself for not taking pictures of when I had the chance.

Anyway, throwing a shower is simultaneously a Lot of Work and Not So Hard After All. Because you really just need guest, and food, and a location. Check, check, check.

In other news it is still HOT. I work in a warehouse where the air does not move. Where it is still unbearably hot when I leave work at 9:30. Fortunately I also spend some time in an air-conditioned office, but by that point I am already sticky with sweat. I swiped the spray bottle used to mist plants in the office and took it out into the oven with me, where the water quickly reached room temperature and I could barely feel it hitting the back of my neck. I'm thinking of patenting a thermos/spray bottle for situations like that. Something to keep the water icy cold.

Yesterday I mainly subsisted on popsicles and pudding pops. I got up early this morning in the hopes of Getting Things Done while it's still cool, but I haven't made it any further than my desk. Oh well.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

days are getting shorter



According to Google, it's 90 degrees. In other words, summer has arrived. For the longest time it didn't feel like June. I'd say that, and whoever was around would say, "oh, but it's always cool and rainy in June." It wasn't that. It just didn't have that almost summer feel. Now it does. My hands smell like tomatoes and feta cheese, I've been laying on the living room floor, reading Spook and getting covered in dog hair from the rug. It's too hot to feel very hungry, and too hot to seriously contemplate the bundt cake I'm making for Kate's shower tomorrow.

I love summer, and I love to complain about it.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

pomp

A couple weeks ago, while I was sitting through my brother's high school graduation, I had this great blackbird-style post planned. There would be lots of photos

mixed in with commentary on what other attendees were wearing, and how you can pick out the recent arrivals from Eastern Europe by their faces and the way they dress (the boy below is no recent arrival, from the Ukraine or elsewhere).

And I would somehow manage to pin down all the thoughts about "are there any kids here who are desperately embarrassed by their parents?" Not in the way that all seventeen & eighteen year olds are embarrassed, but in deep, terrible ways. I hoped not. And there would be pictures (but there aren't, because this isn't the post I wish it could be) of the event staff at the university where this took place, fierce little old ladies who lived to track down all users of airhorns. Who created a human wall with their small bodies to prevent eager family members from jumping the graduates as they exited the building. There would also be observations about how many students I recognized from their volunteer work at the library, and the prominence of shaggy hair in the combined bands.

And oh, how I would rip into the student speeches. The boy who's heartrending tribute to the family of a dead classmate was horrifically marred by poor grammar. The speeches where, rather than continue to listen, I turned to the program and read every single name. There would have been a lot of mocking of names, but I had a desperate fear that the parents of Waldo William Wiffers (name invented to protect the innocent, but not that far off from the real thing) would be sitting behind me and would proceed to rap me over the head with their camera and blow their airhorn in my ear. (Fear not, the mocking was accomplished afterwards, over Mexican food.)

I would tell you about my favorite speech, the one where a bouncy young near-graduate announced, "We are about to enter the world."

I insert a paragraph break to let that sink in. Are you with me? We are about to enter the world.

That poor, poor boy. He has no idea that he's been living in the world for the past eighteen years (unless he is, perhaps, not of this world?) Oh, the youth of today! Are children really being raised to think that they aren't part of the world? That they are not part of the greater union of humanity? Oh, Bartleby! This, in my humble opinion, is precisely what is wrong with our society. And the educational system. That kids are so damn separated from what is going on.

Now, I'm sure this poor boy didn't mean to imply what I read into his statement. I know that. But it's a symptom. Too bad I didn't have spare copies of the Teenage Liberation Handbook to hand out as they walked out the door.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

this one kills me


Mom in cherry bowl
Originally uploaded by kathy.

Story to follow.

Monday, June 19, 2006

I'm on the phone with Q

And I'm pretty sure she's reading me Green Eggs and Ham. She thinks I can see the pictures, though.

"Now I'm gonna read you another book!"

cherries & theft

It's 12:45 in the morning and I've hit that last little bit of wired energy before you crash and burn and sleep like a log. I thought I was really tired an hour ago but then I realized I hadn't checked my email in a couple days, and maybe the world had ended and I hadn't noticed, and then the computer sucked me in and chewed me up. And it says it won't spit me back out (I'm a little on the tough side) until I blog.

Unfortunately my brother hasn't downloaded the zillion pictures I took on his camera today, so I can't brighten things up with some quality self-portraits (taken while at the top of a ladder in a cherry tree - I was sure one picture would be of me falling backwards off the ladder). I came home tonight with cherries, a yogurt container full of raspberries, and two jars of homemade strawberry jam (courtesy of Kitri and her mother). It's fruit central.

I also managed to steal my sister's sweater (it went so much more nicely with my outfit than hers). I was wearing it, and talking about how I wished it were mine, and how I could steal it. And then I said goodbye and walked out the door and she didn't bat an eyelash. We'll see how long it takes her to notice.

Friday, June 16, 2006

snob alert

Apparently, I am a snob. Some of you will be rolling your eyes, thinking "of course she is, has it taken her this long to figure it out?" I've known for a while, but it really hit home yesterday when I turned up my nose at margarine and instant oatmeal. But, I'm not a snob just for the sake of being a snob. I'm not the kind of snob who insists on best quality, unsalted, etc. butter. But, I do insist on butter (okay, I put margarine on my bagel. I was desperate). I have standards.

Butter. No margarine. I need butterfat on my toast, not oil.

Raw Milk. I drink raw milk by the glass, but I can't imagine drinking a glass of pasteurized. I could use it on cereal, I suppose, but I don't eat much cereal these days.

Coffee. Strong. Half & half or cream. I could be worse on this. I might moan when I drink inferior weak ass coffee, but I'll drink it in a pinch.

Oatmeal. Real oats. With raw milk on top.

Stamps. I judge people who pick out tacky, cheesy stamps. Harshly.

Bread. I get it from the bakery around the bakery around the corner.

Shoes. If you look uncomfortable when you walk, 99% of the time, something is wrong. Hideous sneakers are also not the answer, and should be worn only when exercising.

Books. You can imagine.

Tea. None of that fruity nonsense. With honey. Sugar in a pinch. Boiling water is essential. Tea should not come in contact with a microwave.

"I am a bunny, my name is Nicholas"


Today I am torn between catching up on the blogs I haven't been reading over the past couple days (people! slow down! 126 new feeds on bloglines? this is out of control) and just spewing out a post myself. Oh, and finishing up Summerland, which, a coworker and I decided, is the perfect children's book for adults. I'm at the part where the Shadowtails are playing a game of baseball against the Big Liars (all your favorite tall tale characters) in an effort to prevent the end of the world. Can you resist a book with characters named Mooseknuckle John and Taffy the Sasquatch? Maybe, but it's not worth it.

Yesterday I visited Q & M & Katy and helped polish off Q's birthday cake (wheat free, dairy free, sweetened with maple syrup, and all Q wants to eat these days) and listened to Q read me The Very Hungrey Caterpillar. She's got it down. I'm so proud (sniff).

I'm losing my sense of what day it is, I'm impatient for the blueberries to ripen, I want to keep Kate's bridal shower gift for myself, I really really want to go to the coast, and I wish I weren't out of bacon. I've maxed out my holds at the library (which takes some doing, since we get more than twice as many as the normal patron) with things I don't have time to read. But people keep recommending things! And new things keep getting published! And people are horrified to discover that I never read Judy Blume! And I need to read a lot now before I go back to school! Also, I'm having trouble getting myself off the couch. And I'd like to snack on this baby for lunch.


three going on five, according to Q Posted by Picasa

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

found

I haven't looked at found magazine in a long time but bookshelves of doom just linked there and I started clicking on random finds (because I do so love those entertaining library book finds) and found this one about bacon which just kills me. "Hell, I'll even wash the pan afterwards."

Hmm, I think I might need to go fry up some bacon myself.

I've got some stuff in the works, a graduation tribute, some birthdays (Me: "Is today your birthday?" Q: "Yes!" Me: "How old are you?" Q: "Almost five!" (She's really three)) some books, the usual assortment. I'll get around to it later.

Monday, June 12, 2006


As one of Kate's babysitees would say, here's the back of Q's front. Posted by Picasa

she went from "I'm not going to meet your eye and acknowledge that I know you" to laughing her head off on the swing in about three seconds flat. Posted by Picasa

Sunday, June 11, 2006


Moments before she spit up on me. I am in love. Posted by Picasa

Sisters Posted by Picasa

Me & Harry Potter (aka Joe) Posted by Picasa

Friday, June 09, 2006

pregnancy opreation

Yesterday a little puppy came into our lives. It was so fulfilling. We bounced her on our knees and sang songs to her and coddled her.

What actually happened is that the most adorable Jack Russell followed Mollie & my mom & me home from a walk. My mom & I have a fondness for terriers (in as much as I can be said to have a fondness for any dog) due to our ownership of the dearly departed Max some years ago.

Kate immediately scooped the little collarless darling into her arms, at which point all hell broke loose in Mollie's eyes. She turned into the maiden aunt, the spinster who doesn't like small children, who surveys them from her vantage point of many dog years and says in ladylike tones, "In my day, a puppy knew how to behave herself."

Mollie was also, unfortunately, prone to snapping at the little one, spurning her own food dish in favor of the puppy's, and throwing herself into the farthest corner with a look of utter scorn and resentment.

So Kate & I took steps to track down the owner, out of respect for Mollie's long-term sanity. She posted a found pet entry on the humane society website, and I posted one on petfinder. Eventually Kate took her to the vet to see if she had a chip, which lo and behold she did. And the night-shift working owner lives only a block away. We turned the little one over to the neighbor with a key, rolled our eyes, and walked home.

BUT, this morning I find a delightful email waiting for me, from someone who found my email address on petfinder and apparently can't read. I do love me up some entertaining spam. I here reproduce it entirely for you:

I am interested in the purchase of your pet posted on Petfinder.com which i
will like to buy and i will also like to know if you would be able to wire
the excess fund to my cousin who want to do a pregnancy opreation which i
will send you my companys check if you agree to this i will want you to get
back to me with the total cost of the order your full name and address and
your contact phone number. mail me directly at skopido007@gmail.com


Sounds like a great offer, eh?

Thursday, June 08, 2006

stewing in her own juices

Lately I can't seem to handle getting my shit together all at once. I might go to the grocery store and buy most of the ingredients for chili. A couple days later I'll reluctantly throw them into a crockpot and bemoan the fact that I don't have everything I need. I'll leave it in the crockpot until one in the morning. The next day I'll have some for lunch, and the day after that I'll bake some corn muffins to go with it.

I'm sure there is stuff I'm supposed to be getting done right now, but I can't seem to figure out what.

I kind of feel like just baking a LOT. Although I don't know what I'd do with the fruits of my labor.

I want it to be sunny so I can sit in the yard and have slightly existential Virginia Woolf-y thoughts like I did the other day. But it's all overcast.

I woke up in the night with the worst charley horse EVER. I thought I might die, or maybe my leg would burst into a ball of fire and consume me like a phoenix, and in the morning Kate would just find a blackened spot where I used to be.

And now, as a little pick-me-up, here's some random photos from last summer.



Because I do smile, just with my eyes closed.

stewing in her own juices

Lately I can't seem to handle getting my shit together all at once. I might go to the grocery store and buy most of the ingredients for chili. A couple days later I'll reluctantly throw them into a crockpot and bemoan the fact that I don't have everything I need. I'll leave it in the crockpot until one in the morning. The next day I'll have some for lunch, and the day after that I'll bake some corn muffins to go with it.

I'm sure there is stuff I'm supposed to be getting done right now, but I can't seem to figure out what.

I kind of feel like just baking a LOT. Although I don't know what I'd do with the fruits of my labor.

I want it to be sunny so I can sit in the yard and have slightly existential Virginia Woolf-y thoughts like I did the other day. But it's all overcast.

I woke up in the night with the worst charley horse EVER. I thought I might die, or maybe my leg would burst into a ball of fire and consume me like a phoenix, and in the morning Kate would just find a blackened spot where I used to be.

And now, as a little pick-me-up, here's some random photos from last summer.



Because I do smile, just with my eyes closed.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

just about as yeomanly as a movie could be

I slept so hard last night that I wore myself out. There was a brief flurry of activity this morning that involved emptying the dishwasher and making French toast (from stale sourdough) and bacon, and now I want to DO something but I cannot seem to manage it. My real dream of the moment is to find lovely, cheap frames for 12x12 inch artworks and redecorate my room. Kate has one that she got from Ikea but I don't see it on their website and a three hour (each way) drive might be slightly foolish if my only goal is to obtain a picture frame. Basically I've just hit the point where I'm bored with the way things look.

The final baby tally from church was one girl, two boys, in the span of exactly two weeks. FYI.

I have the feeling that there is something I should be doing, but I'm not quite sure what it is.

I've been rereading Edward Eager (Knight's Castle) who is just too delightful.

"Now that he was eleven, he kept the soldiers just as a collection. But when he felt lonely or unhappy, or when things went wrong, he sometimes still secretly played with them, for all the world as though he were still only ten-and-a-half."

When Roger's toy soldier starts speaking to him, he remembers "from his reading that Psammeads and Phoenixes and Mary Poppins always had to be addressed with due deference."

Ivanhoe is declared "just about as yeomanly as a movie could be."

"Roger enjoyed science-fiction books, too, but there their father drew the line. He said they were like having bad dreams on purpose, and if the Flying Saucers really have landed, he didn't want to know about it. Roger called this Not Taking a Realistic Attitude."

I was just out in the garden visiting my dying azalea and attempting to mulch it when Kate watered me as though I were no more than a common garden mint.

PS - I am the #1 result if you google "interpretive scarf dance."

Monday, June 05, 2006

pay attention, this is important

Today is apparently one of those days where everyone is meant to come to great realizations or get in touch with friends you haven't talked to lately. Do you hear that? Even I, the jessmonster who is afraid of talking on the phone, talked on the phone for over an hour today. Two friends. So if I can do it, so can you. Go for it.

I called Brookie (dearly departed from work) today to apologize for the fact that my mother has turned into her gossip source (there's nothing wrong with gossiping with my mom, but Brooke shouldn't have to hear it from her) and she made the announcement that the universe is falling into place. So I'm just spreading the word.

As you were.

Sunday, June 04, 2006

"What do I want? I'll tell you what I want!"

"I want Ken Rawlings to walk in here right now and say 'Pam Short's broken both her legs, and I want to dance with you!'"*

Sorry, that came out of nowhere. Kate asked what I wanted, and the whole thing played through my head.

I haven't been very bloggity lately, although I'm sure I could dig up some gems of blog fodder if I tried. I've just been too busy being a mean girlfriend. It's time-consuming, don't you know. I've got lots of catching up to do.

Yesterday we had a whirlwind birthday dinner for my brother. He got a new camera.



Maybe now he'll update his blog every once in a while.



I was on a total roll mocking my family. I was unstoppable. Inexhaustible. I was delirious with mocking.



Fortunately for them, they all had places to run off to. Jeff, however, had to put up with me & go through the trauma of introducing me to his friends. (I'm so embarrassing to take out in public - the heavy drinking, the karaoke - I just couldn't be stopped.) Fortunately, we all emerged unscathed. It was a close call there.**

*Strictly Ballroom

**This is a 99% inaccurate description of the evening.

Friday, June 02, 2006

M

This morning in the shower I was thinking about Q & her new sister and feeling that very special kind of emotional that goes along with inhaling ice cream bars and craving chocolate and inexplicable tears and irritability. And I was trying to picture her, this new person who exists but because I haven't met her yet, it's like she doesn't really exist yet to me.

And when I got out of the shower my phone was ringing and (after a little heavy breathing and some thumps) it was Q asking in her goofy little voice, "would you like to come over to my house and play?" So I said yes, and we chatted, and I said I'd be over soon, and asked to talk to her mom, at which point she hung up on me.

So I went over and Katy was surprised to see me because apparently she hadn't been paying attention to what Q was asking me, and oh my God there was the tiniest little dark haired girl curled up in Katy's arm. And she has no quirky letters in her name, like Q, so we'll just call her by her first initial - M.

Q said, "do you want to go to someone's room and play?" And I said, "sure, whose room should we go to?" And she said, "oh...mine?" So we did. And I presented her with Charlie Needs a Cloak, which features some hilarious sheep and is an old favorite. And then I wrenched M's name from her mother (you'd think she didn't want to name the child) and M turned to stare at me and pucker up her mouth and I fell in love. And Q pressed herself against the screen door as I drove away. She's still my first love.

No pictures yet, but later I'm sure.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

hand-me-down


For show & tell, my least favorite piece of furniture. Not a hard choice. The first thing I will replace. It does have a good story, though, because it came to me from Bee & Soph's parents, who got it when they were married. After they upgraded, it sat on their back patio. And molded. And the hinges rusted (the sides swing down, why? why? Who would ever want to make it so tiny?) And it needs to be refinished, except it's not worth refinishing. See?



And one of the legs is wobbly, so the whole thing isn't very sturdy and you have to be careful moving it. Four people can barely squeeze around it, but you can really only pull two chairs up to it at a time because of the way the legs are arranged. The other two chairs just hover near the table. But this is what happens when you buy a nice couch - you put up with the crappy table. It serves its purpose.

this has been a public service announcement

I just had a moment of panic as I realized that I'm not reading anything right now. As in, I don't have a book going. Not a book on tape, nothing. My shelves are full of options, naturally, but I'm inbetween.

I just finished The Eyre Affair, which I thoroughly enjoyed, although really the best parts were the ones inside Jane Eyre, and What My Mother Doesn't Know, which had me laughing.

Now you all know. I might try Summerland next, or Headlong, and I just picked up two books on tape from the children's section because I was trying to shelve and it was just too jam-packed. Our entire children's library is pretty jam packed, come to think of it. We just started a weeding project in all the fiction sections which I strangely love. I don't love that some books don't get checked out and are terribly dated and need to be discarded, but I love the process. I run around the library with a list and a cart, grabbing books and saying prayers of thanks that my favorites are still in favor. Then my supervisor makes all the executive decisions, and lest you're fretting about the state of public libraries and classics being tossed, she hangs on to good stuff that hasn't circed in nearly a decade. But it's hard. So make our job easier and go check out those really good old favorites, so they don't even show up on our list.

Today it is pouring rain and soon I'll take Kate to the airport so she can go hang in sunny southern California with her almost-inlaws and then it'll be me & Mollie. We've got a couple dates planned out, some nice dinners together, maybe a couple walks to the park. We'll cuddle, and she'll cry a little because she misses Kate, and I'll give her an anti-anxiety pill smothered in cheese, and everything will be okay.