for town pocket

 
















I was just on the phone with Toni and told her that I was doing a little photo-shoot while we chatted. And that she could see pictures when she went home. Any guesses what this will turn into? (And if you already know, you're immediately disqualified.) 

can anyone tell me the name of this flower?

It grows on a shrub and isn't terribly noticeable except for the heavenly scent. I nabbed this on a walk Saturday and it's bugging me that I can't remember what it's called.

book report monday

Last week, on two recommendations (bookshelves of doom and our current wall display of "staff favorites: adventure" at the library) I picked up Megan Whalen Turner's The Thief. I'll say this: even though they are very different in a lot of ways, it reminded me of nothing more than The Blue Sword. And when I was a kid, I loved The Blue Sword. It didn't grip me right away, but by the time I got to the last quarter of the book, I had to stay up till oh, one-thirty or two in the morning to finish it. The landscape is fantastic, the retold myths are captivating. The characters are not characters - they are real. Aren't they?

Why was I not surprised last night when the same thing happened with the sequel? I would give you a little link or something but the reviews, damn them, give away the plot. Granted, they mostly give away what happens in the first chapter, but still! We like our suspense, please. The Queen of Attolia reminded me even more of Robin McKinley, except more serious. More political intrigue. A little romance. Difficult decisions.

Now - for some reason my county library system only has TWO copies of The King of Attolia, the newest one. Thusly, I have turned to the library that I do not work for, which is swimming in copies, none of them at my tiny branch. I'm tempted to drive across town to pick one up. There are two things holding me back: I currently have 2 adult novels, 3 works of non-fiction, and 7 children's novels checked out. What was the other thing? Oh yes - when I read The King, that's it. Unless she writes another sequel. But things tend to come in threes. I can hope, sure, but for the time being it's the end of the line. I might have to weep some bitter tears when I finish it.

twilight zone

It's 12:30 am. The police have been outside talking to our neighbor (the one with all the random two-minute car trips) for a while, but Katy can't quite overhear what they're saying. Neighbor's SUV was in a nasty accident in the last day, with a flat tire in the front and part of the hood all torn up. We have no idea how he got it home. I'm glad to see the police are taking an interest in him, whether it's for the accident, drugs, or blackmailing our landlord, but why in the middle of the night?

There's a crew in the street with a van marked "Pressure Washing." There are cones in the street and a man is hosing things down. On a Friday night, after midnight.

When I drove home from work tonight, there were three police cars blocking streets just a few blocks down, lights flashing.

Time for bed, as long as the pressure washers keep it down.

And? I was just checking my bloglines and there was a name I didn't recognize. I think bloglines is trying to tell me something because it decided to subscribe me to a blog called Weight Loss. Um? I know I didn't do that.

Cue the Twilight Zone music again, please.

show & tell soup

 


Show & Tell Thursday


You've got your onions, your bay leaves and chili powder, your 25 pounds of table salt.

Your buttermilk biscuits (because what is a biscuit without buttermilk?), your life imitating art - a pot of steaming soup underneath the Nikki McClure print of...lovely people eating steaming soup.

Your aerial view, your before, and your after.

I have to add this disclaimer: I almost never cook, especially soup. The occasional pot of chili in the crockpot, some salmon, chicken breasts in raspberry-balsamic sauce, rice & beans & sausage, a stir-fry. I probably bake two things for every meal I cook. When I do cook, though, I love it. I especially love phrases like "stir occasionally" which imply that you will spend much of the time reading a book. Or cleaning up, which I also strangely enjoy. Or preparing the biscuits for their transition into the oven. It just takes so much time. And planning. So I prefers things that leave delicious leftovers in their wake, like a ginormous pot of soup. 

jessmonster is stylish

I'm off to the Four Seasons to gather ingredients for soup, and in the meantime I leave you with this. It was taken last week on the frighteningly cold day when Kate and I decided to walk to Abundant Yarn (aka "that new yarn store on 17th").

Note: I did not leave the house like that, although maybe I should've.

Wednesday morning tidbits

1. You know the point when you've had just about a tablespoon too much coffee? But it hits you too late and so you keep drinking anyway?

2. I want a recipe for delicious lemony muffins. I made some out of The Enchanted Broccoli Forest yesterday, and they were good but not very lemony and more nutritious/snacky with the whole wheat flour and all. I recommend them but I don't adore them. Muffins should be adored.

3. I've had Arthur and George out of the library for two weeks now and was slowly making my way through it, but I knew it was due today and there are holds on it so my one goal for the week was to finish it. And I did. I'm patting myself on the back. I can't decide how much I liked it - I went back and forth between utter absorption and dusty boredom.

4. We're going a little crazy with the lacto-fermentation here. Katy's got some links and all for you, and I'm going to report back once we start consuming these various beverages and yogurts, but here's what I think of when I see the little jar of kefir fermenting away on the counter.

in two parts

PART I: THE CORN OF FORGIVENESS

I've been blogging for a whole year and two days! I spent a little time the other day going through early posts - I think I mostly write because I like rereading it. Self-centered much? I like remembering things through writing about them. It's a nice gauge for seeing what's changed and what hasn't. I don't really know what's changed in the past year. But I always love seeing what I was thinking one year ago today, or two years ago, or whatever.

The other day I was thinking about all the funny church things I used to write about and feeling sad that I'd apparently lost my sacrilegious touch. But then the church in her wisdom provided me with the Prodigal Son. Theoretically, each week as we get closer to setting sail on the sea of the fast, the gospel reading will prepare us. It's all a lovely, gentle progression. You've got Zacchaeus, then the Publican and the Pharisee, the Prodigal Son, the Last Judgment and then Forgiveness Sunday with the red capital letters - LENT BEGINS. NO RAW MILK. NO TURKEY SANDWICHES. NO HALF & HALF IN GLASS BOTTLES. NO BUTTER. Ahem.



But as a consolation, like I was saying, we've got the Prodigal Son. You're a few minutes late for vespers and doing the "sing along without a book and pretend you know the words" thing (it's pretty easy to get about half the words - you can always see the last bit coming). You decide to take a handout for the special music of the week and your heart leaps as you spot - yes - your favorite! The corn of forgiveness! Lock me up in your storehouse and save me! Oh the joy. I take it as a sign. Just when you're getting down about Lent coming, you're reminded of all that's to come and you find yourself humming Holy Week music as you shuffle papers at work.

PART II: THE SUIT

My brother, he now owns a charcoal grey suit. And a nice greenish tie. And a taupe-ish shirt (except I dislike the word taupe). And the world of men's clothing? It's a whole other world. I kind of like it. I'm intrigued by it. We went to one of those places where you're accosted when you walk in the door and the salesman immediately whips out a measuring tape and directs you (or your brother) to the proper size and swiftly dresses you in one coat and then another and then whisks you off to the dressing room for pants and while you change he lays out a variety of shirts and ties on a little table. Then he forces you to make a decision even though you "don't care." And he asks your sister if she is your date and she laughs and then says, "no, I'm his sister" in her best "don't mess with me" voice. And then you hand over a credit card and are told to come back on Saturday! And your dad says it's like picking out a suit for your own funeral. And you probably won't ever buy another suit, being who you are, and will probably wear it to your funeral. The pants can be expanded, after all.

"but charcoal is white"

It's advice time, internets! Little brother is being dragged, I mean, is really looking forward to attending his first semi-formal. Oh, the joys of high school. I went over for dinner tonight (yay mashed potatoes) and somehow found myself offering to go shopping tomorrow with my brother and dad - a first - and being eagerly accepted. Dad is to advice on the purchasing of a masculine wardrobe. I'm to provide an eye for style. Right. Except I've never done more than walk through the men's clothing section.

What should he wear? We don't have any idea what his date is wearing, so I'm thinking neutral, yes? But the boy needs classy. I think charcoal grey trousers. Dad thinks a "sport coat," whatever that is. I'm thinking fun tie. Please throw out any tips, ideas, etc - and in exchange I promise a photo essay on the experience! This is going to be fun. I am going to die laughing if something else doesn't get me first.

mine, all mine

  Here's what you all really came to see. 

arctic birthday

Hokay, so, someone had a birthday. And there was much wine drunk, and many bad pictures taken, and in the course of 3 hours we went through a huge bag of baby carrots - so what does that say about us and our friends? We shall drink to excess, but damn it if we aren't going to get our vegetables along the way. Also, does spinach-artichoke dip count as a vegetable? Partial vegetable? Probably not because it was microwaved into gooey goodness, and, as my mother will tell you, microwaves are the root of all evil. Also, did you soak your oatmeal yet?

Thanks to a coworker to whom I am undyingly grateful, I was able to work yesterday from 2:30-7:30. Seven-thirty! Practically midday! Shockingly early! When my usual get-off-work time rolled around, I was in my own home, glass of wine in one hand and baby carrot in the other, and blissfully warm. Jessmonster's #1 tip for lowering your heating bill: have a bunch of people over and wait for body-heat magic to go into effect. Earlier in the day I had spent a finger-numbing hour and fifteen minutes in the arctic chill (the news is referring to this cold-spell as an "arctic blast" and I'm working "arctic" into as many sentences as possible) of the warehouse at work, the miniscule heater and the vents in the wall in fierce competition. Fierce as in fiercely cold. Why, why are there vents in the wall? I'm sure they're nice come July, but, um, no thank you. And since my job requires me to do paperwork in aforementioned arctic warehouse, gloves don't work. For the first time ever the idea of fingerless gloves appealed to me, and if anyone wants to knit me some then BZ to you.

Anyway, it was Katy's birthday! And she's 23! And I'm using way too many exclamation points! Birthdays are funny things, though. Or the random things we assign to certain ages. Like my sister? Because she won't be 21 until May, she can't go to see a cheap movie without our parents. And only before 3 pm. Stupid, yes? I mean, I understand why the cheap theaters sell beer and card you. Beer and movies are a great combination, if you like beer. Me, I just like $3 movies. Instead, Lu and I are forced (forced, I tell you) to go to spendy movies in the evening. Three months shy of her birthday, and we can't go see Harold and Maude together. Oh well. (We saw Brokeback Mountain - a lovely choice for Valentine's Day, don't you think?)

I'm not making much sense, am I? Let's move on to pictures!

not-so-arctic birthday

  

november

  

earrings

  show & tell - up close. Not terribly creative, but the gorgeous & deadly frost had melted by the time Kate & I finished our run, and took showers, by the time I heated up cinnamon rolls (courtesy of Kate's mom) (and yes, she soaked the flour & milk overnight in case you're wondering, Mom), by the time Kate went to the Mug of Ugliness and got stuck inside. I had to bring over screwdrivers. I think someone ended up getting the door open with a butter knife. Thrilling times. 

watch out

I swear that I posted this yesterday, Lu is my witness, I uploaded photos and everything and oh my God now you all have missed out on precious HOURS! Fortunately I can reproduce it almost verbatim.

This baby? Turned into this...












And then he started this.

eat them as a snack!

 


Now this is the kind of chocolate company I can get behind. It reassures me that my family is not the only one to eat chocolate chips, straight from the bag, as a snack. Also, I love the word dollop. This chocolate is long gone, most of it having been turned into chocolate pecan cupcakes (and the rest into a snack), but may I present the picture to you as a valentine? 

self-portrait tuesday

 
All is not sweet, all is not sound. My best efforts at capturing the infamous jessmonster face on camera. Not quite it, but a lovely face none the less. PS - the theme this month is "all of me." 

dansko love

I finally got around to spending the Christmas check from my aunt (I guess that means I should finally send a thank you, huh?) And what did I spend it on?

buttery yellow goodness

I blame Katy entirely for this new ebay addiction. Well, not quite an addiction yet. But the bad thing about it is that winning one thing makes me want to bid on more things. A Christmas check only covers one pair.

I was planning on getting a nice, beautiful but sensible color but I thought what the hell. Yellow is fun. I will become one of those funky people who makes unusual shoes go with everything. They will be heaven with my blue and yellow and green striped knee socks.

(I think I've pretty much guaranteed that my brother will be bored/disgusted with my blog, yes?)

Now, as a little reward to myself for my new shoes, I shall sweep the floor! Oh! the joy.*

*Saying this makes me want to take a little trip to the coast, because I always think of William Clark and his "Ocian in view! O! the joy." Which is maybe my favorite exclamation in all of history.

gossip

Ah, gossip. What a way to pass the evening. Friends, food, and gossip. Endlessly entertaining.

How sad is it when you think, "thank goodness tomorrow's Monday and I can sleep in"? Because the only time I have to be anywhere before noon is the weekend. My new work schedule chez corporation? Four-thirty till nine-thirty. PM.

Arrested Development has me wheezing with laughter, but it doesn't quite get rid of my Lost withdrawal.

Oh, and I just gave my brother my blog address. Time to dig up some embarassing photos...

and just because I haven't put up a picture in a while

 
How cute is my not-so-baby cousin? Well, second cousin really. Who's got a brand-new baby cousin herself, and boy do we come out with a lot of hair in this family. New-baby Nadia has more hair than most grown men. 

I only have a minute

...as I guzzle coffee with raw milk because we're out of cream before I head to the library, but go check out this poem that jo(e) posted. Go. Read it.

curiouser and curiouser

A desperate need has come upon me to rearrange. Oh, the glory that is rearranging. In lieu of having actual money to redecorate, I learned this skill at my mother's knee. Well, she didn't do a whole lot of rearranging. It was probably mostly me. The same member of the family who obsessively arranged Christmas and Easter decorations JUST SO. Who could spend hours arranging the knickknacks on her dresser or changing the layout of her sock drawer. What, your sock drawer doesn't have a layout? Horrors!

Anyway, I want the house to look different. I don't know what to do with it. My boredom has left my body and become embedded in the walls and furniture. Also, I've had too much coffee. Katy left the house walking like a little bent old lady because her thighs hurt from running. She claims it doesn't hurt as much if she doesn't walk heel-toe and instead does a flat-footed bent-leg walk, slightly hunched over. I wish I'd taken a picture before she headed off like that towards the post office. Sadly I must now go to work and try to harness the effects of caffeine into productivity.

Also, I must add that the greatest point of curiousity in my life at the moment is what Q's sibling will be named. I'm unlikely to have an answer until days after this individual is birthed, likely in May. How do you top Q? And how will I live with the suspense?

update

Naturally, as soon as I have the first half of a batch of chocolate pecan cupcakes in the oven I want to leave. the. house. now. Suddenly I'm convinced that the sunshine is actually making things warm and I should be strolling down the street under a leafy canopy of trees, letting my pale arms absorb some sunshine as I hum a cheerful tune.

Oh wait. It's still too cold for that. I could stroll down the street under a rustly canopy of bare branches, huddled in my sweater and perhaps a light jacket and letting my two square inches of exposed skin absorb the sunshine.

Lately I've been missing the games that you play as a kid. I would love to put on some ratty sneakers and old jeans and play freeze tag until I dropped. You know? Just run and run and run and play. The other day I was walking to the yarn store* and saw a couple boys playing hide & seek in the field outside the middle school. Except, you know, it's a field. With a couple trees on one side. That's it. So one boy takes off running across the field, jumps up in a tree, and hides in the fork. The other one finishes counting and takes a look around. Clearly the hiding places are, um, limited, so he heads towards the trees. Basically the game takes as long as it takes two boys to run across a field. And I think, fun!

I clearly need to get out more. But, there will be no painting with my teeth. Ever.

Basically I'm just typing while I wait for the cupcakes to cool enough to take out of the tin. I don't really have an agenda here.

This morning, over an apple pancake and the world's best cup of coffee, Katy asked what I would do if I were on Lost and only had a couple books with me. I love any question that starts with "what would you do if you were on Lost and..." I think my answer was "go slowly insane. Or memorize the books and start an oral tradition for the island." We also discussed not being able to read vs not being able to write (using up all the paper). I think I would do better with reading material and no writing material. Because I can write pretty well in my head. I do it a lot in the car, compose little essays. I love having writing to flip back through, or sending letters or what have you, but I believe true insanity would come from being deprived of the visual stimulation of reading. Especially if I were stuck with a group of people like on Lost - reading would be the source of all privacy.

Wanna come over for a cupcake?

*Don't I sound all energetic and sporty today? All this talk of games and running and walking to the yarn store? I'm just bursting with fitness and good health! And cupcakes!

boredom

I'm bored. The kind of bored where lots of things sound like fun but you can't commit yourself, and you really just wish that some significant warmth came with all this sunshine so you could just spend the day sitting in the grass reading. But really it's still February and cold. The kind of bored where you don't really want to do anything productive. Where you want to hang out with your sister in a coffee shop but she's not answering her phone because (in order of likelihood) a) it's noon and she's still asleep b) her work schedule changed or c) she can't hear her phone ring. Where you have all this excess energy on account of going for a run this morning. Where you want to do everything at once (read, get some work done, bake, listen to music, knit, walk, talk, drink coffee) or nothing at all (apparently). Where you could make lunch and some chocolate pecan cupcakes, but maybe you want to do something else first.

Ah, the boredom of the overprivileged is rearing its ugly head.

um, thanks

Q just called me. After I'd talked to her mom about coming over to visit this afternoon, our conversation went something like this:

Q: [heavy breathing]
Me: Hi! What have you been doing?
Q: [mumble mumble] toys!
Me: Playing with your toys? That's great. I'm going to come over and visit!
Q: [chortles] You're funny!
Me: Am I? [laughing]
Q: [strange noises]
Me: Are you still there? Hello?

Silence.

Idle talking

I've always had a hard time with the whole "telling people how I feel" gig. It's part of that whole personal bubble, you know. And while what I write here isn't particularly intimate, the simple fact of typing and publishing in such a discoverable way is a challenge for me. I have to turn off the part of my brain that worries what others will think of me. I keep a blog because I enjoy the writing. But the real product of all of this is that I'm peeling back the layers of what I'll let other people see. Even if it's just thoughts on books or the walk I took or what I thought was funny today. I'm committing my thoughts and opinions to paper, as it were, and leaving them around for people to read.

Not to imply that each little post is this struggle of creation and revelation of self. No, it's more the whole concept of it. And as more and more people that I know see this and read it, I have to think about what they will think of me.

And I've decided I don't care. If this perceived is frivolous or profane or a false search for intimacy, I don't care.* I don't want to be evasive or defensive or worry about who tells who about my blog. I don't want to require anonymity to be able to say what's on my mind.

This is good for me, and damn it, I'm going to keep writing. Right here.

And I think I might even tell my family about it.

*Not you, my dear blogger friends.

I can only laugh at myself

I've been reading Out of the Dust
and it makes me think and write
like this, in lines instead of sentences
Robin says it's spread and my God,
it has, but today is all sunshine and yarn stores.
I combatted (is that even a word?) squalor by clearing the weeds away from my succulent.


warning: I'm working on a (ha) thoughtful post about 'why blogging?' and 'do I care who's reading this?'

Show & Tell Friday

 
This is my fabulous one of a kind hand made bag, made by Kate. You can read about the agony of its creation. Yes, I have other purses, but I rarely use them now. Sometimes I even need more than a purse. 

watch out

That baby? He turned into this.
And then he started this