garish and tweed

new digs

2006-07-19T12:47:00.000-07:00

Out of nowhere I decided to try out a new place. I'm jumping on the bandwagon (is there a bandwagon? Someone tell me there is because I don't want to walk the whole way, I've got bruises, man) and can now be found at the new & improved garish & tweed.

I've managed to import all my archives except, mysteriously, July. And my blogroll is not what it should be, and I'm still messing around with looks and adding my flickr link and all that good stuff. But it has categories. Which is really what won me over. And using my own photo as a header is a Piece of Cake (which sounds really good - pumpkin bundt cake, in particular, although we really have about eight limes which need using up).

smiling in her sleep

2006-07-16T14:40:00.000-07:00

smiling in her sleep
Originally uploaded by jessmonster.

why I belong in a library

2006-07-12T10:01:00.000-07:00

Reason #2182: I'm excited about the fact that I use a typewriter in my new job. It's newish as typewriters go, but still has a delightful clunk and gives me the opportunity to mess up many labels in the process of getting one right.

Reason #834: When I look at the library catalog online (which, can we just pause for a minute to think about how stupendous an online catalog is?) I wish I were on one of the staff computers so I can check to see when a hold went in transit and whether or not I can expect it to arrive today. I also wish I could view circ stats from home.

Reason #85713: I shelf-read compulsively. I spent my last 10 minutes of Officially Working in Children's last week flipping through our paperback mysteries and setting things in order. Pulling out the j-fiction and the young teen and the scifi that mysteriously ended up there, putting them back in alphabetical order. Even on my way to lunch I'm scanning the shelves for something out of place. It's like reading shampoo bottles, I just can't stop myself.

Reading: The Thin Place. Which I'm enjoying muchly but abandoned for a day while I speed-read through How I Live Now (the 2005 Printz medalist). It's the sort of story that could just have easily had a more conventional, historical setting but instead is a sort of near-future type thing. The plot didn't really depend on that element, but it added a neat layer of suspense. Because if it had been set in WWII Britain, rather than near-future Britain with hypothetical war going on, we would've know How It Ended. But a fictional war? Anything Could Happen. But Meg Rosoff doesn't take it in any fantastical directions, it's very grounded. And the cover is spiffy. Although it's one of those titles where they did something totally different for the paperback.

Regarding Daddy Long Legs

2006-07-11T08:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Anne,

Upon receiving the recommendation to read Daddy Long Legs, I immediately placed it on hold at my local library. I spent several delightful (and at times tearful) hours with the contents of its pages. According to my notes, I finished it on April 18, 2006. Shortly thereafter, I purchased a copy for myself. Rather than attempting to justify the fact that I did not blog about reading or purchasing such a lovely book, I will merely take the advice of Sunday's sermon and say, "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I love you. (And your book recommendations*)."

Guilelessly,

Jessmonster/Library Girl.

*Naturally, that bit wasn't part of the sermon.

I'm sorry. Forgive me. I love you.

2006-07-10T11:24:00.000-07:00

Mollie is curled up under my desk with her head resting on my sewing basket and her eyes gazing longingly at me. I have financial matters to sort and letters to write and schedules to rearrange and I lack the ability to motivate myself. If someone offered me a slice of bacon I would take it, gladly. I've developed a mild addiction to Grey's Anatomy. Unfortunately I know a spoiler from season two. Two more months.

I'm thinking about painting my room. Maybe a sagey green. Maybe a cool blue. It's small and gets no direct sunlight - just light bouncing off the white wall opposite my window that is my only view. There's too much empty wall space and if I hang more pictures it will just look cluttered. And the living room/dining room/kitchen are all warm glowy colors, so some contrast would be pleasant. But I don't want it to feel dark.

I just finished The Goose Girl. Ever since Beauty (I always feel the need to link to the same cover that I read/own) I've had a soft spot for good fairy tale retellings. Not that I particularly recall the story of the goose girl from Grimm, but a delightful read nonetheless. I read Princess Academy by the same author as TGG for the mock Newbery (horrible, horrible title, fun read) and I think she does better with the fairy tale structure. The plot got a little thin in PA, although she has a lovely sense of imagery and language and imagined details. Anyway, recommended for all you fairy tale types.

I just started Kalpana's Dream this morning and I can't remember who recommended it or where I heard about it. Anyone want to fess up?

blah blah friday

2006-07-07T12:43:00.000-07:00

I suppose I have a case of the Fridays. The work-tomorrow Fridays. Not that I can really complain since (ahem) I'll have next Saturday off, and half of the Saturdays for ever and ever until the world ends or my schedule changes again (I give it a year, tops).

I trained for my new job this morning and I couldn't. stop. yawning. Slightly embarrassing. Linking records in cataloging. Thrilling stuff. Although it was kind of fun to wield the power of the barcode and the pencil - noting call number and author, purchase date and price in the book. In other words, writing in a library book. Awesome power and responsibility.

Then I did my holds sweep - pick up mine from children's (where my basket is still rather inconveniently but sentimentally located - I'm hoping no one notices and moves it because I need excuses to wander through children's now) and Kate's and Jeff's from the shelf behind the circ desk. I run quite the operation with all the to-ing and fro-ing of other people's library books.

Did I mention that I'm part of a book club? We're very casual. So casual that we barely discuss the books. Our first selection was Maniac Magee. Our second is The Phantom Tollbooth. (I have never read it. I need to erase this embarrassing fact from my life.) We have a Wednesday night 'meet after work and get some food and beer' ritual and one night Brooke suggested becoming a book club. And does that sound like something I'd pass up?

In other news, today I am a complete space cadet. I came home from training, but on the kettle, sat down at my laptop, and proceeded to completely forget that the stove was on. Kate discovered the smoking kettle after an unfortunate period of time. Time to go to the store, I suppose. Hmm, and maybe I should get some new sheets while I'm at it...

In book news, I'm reading Headlong, which is hilarious and profoundly irritating all at once. I'm lapping up the art history stuff, and it's cracking me up, but there is something so repellent about watching people making horrible mistakes. Even if they're funny mistakes and it's a farce. Makes me feel ill. But now I have to see how it ends.

turning black and white and yellow

2006-07-06T22:42:00.000-07:00

IMG_2340.JPG
Originally uploaded by joe.

Really, you've got to check out this kid's photos. His captions are the main reason I keep him around as a brother.

the man himself

2006-07-05T11:34:00.000-07:00

DSCN2937
Originally uploaded by jessmonster.

If you buy it you lite it

2006-07-05T11:32:00.000-07:00

DSCN2931
Originally uploaded by jessmonster.

How I spent my Independence Day
by jessmonster

hug point

2006-07-03T13:43:00.000-07:00

And now, just to make beege jealous, a shot of the Oregon coast.

bookish

2006-07-03T12:58:00.000-07:00

Lazy Cow just did a half-yearly reading roundup, which coincided nicely with my updated tally of how many books I've read this year.

January-June 2006:

children's fiction: 38
children's non-fiction: 5
adult fiction: 19
adult non-fiction: 3

Out of those 74 books, 9 were rereads.

I didn't break them down into more categories like Miss Lazy Cow, but it's very tempting to go back through the list one more time. I should really keep track of who recommended a book or how I heard about it, or maybe the year of publication so I can keep track of new titles vs. older titles.

I think there were only a couple of titles that I started and ditched...A History of Love is the only one that comes to mind.

I just found Nina's Newbery, which is "A compendium of comments for Mock Newbery discussions" and consequently right up my alley. She's got a Powell's wishlist going of suggestions for the mock Newbery (here go my google results for "mock newbery" again!) and, as you might remember, mock Newbery lists are a perfect motivator for me and my reading habits. Time for me to get to work. It's also particularly useful now that I won't be spending as much time in the children's library (sob). I shall now be forced to check out and read adult fiction because that's what I'll be exposed to every day. But never fear, my love of children's lit shall only grow stronger in the face of adversity!

Let's see, out of those six months of reading, 6 titles were Newbery Medal winners and 7 were honor books. One was a Printz medalist. In my lifetime, I've read 43 Newbery winners. So about half, I guess? 1922-2006. Eighty-four years.

saturday

2006-06-30T11:43:00.000-07:00

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.

Stimulating and Irresistible

2006-06-29T12:45:00.000-07:00

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?)

fruit smedley

2006-06-27T09:37:00.000-07:00

fruit smedley
Originally uploaded by jessmonster.

All eaten, except for the jam.

mad hot

2006-06-27T09:25:00.000-07:00

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.

days are getting shorter

2006-06-24T19:43:00.000-07:00

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.

pomp

2006-06-22T12:41:00.000-07:00

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.

this one kills me

2006-06-20T00:48:00.000-07:00

Mom in cherry bowl
Originally uploaded by kathy.

Story to follow.

I'm on the phone with Q

2006-06-19T14:27:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-19T00:47:00.000-07:00

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.

snob alert

2006-06-16T15:14:00.000-07:00

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"

2006-06-16T12:22:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-06-16T12:01:00.000-07:00

three going on five, according to Q

found

2006-06-13T10:57:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-06-12T10:23:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-12T10:17:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-06-11T13:08:00.002-07:00

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

2006-06-11T13:08:00.001-07:00

Sisters

2006-06-11T13:08:00.000-07:00

Me & Harry Potter (aka Joe)

pregnancy opreation

2006-06-09T09:12:00.000-07:00

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?

stewing in her own juices

2006-06-08T13:34:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-08T11:09:00.000-07:00

just about as yeomanly as a movie could be

2006-06-06T12:34:00.000-07:00

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."

pay attention, this is important

2006-06-05T15:46:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2006-06-04T19:37:00.000-07:00

"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.

M

2006-06-02T15:46:00.000-07:00

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.

hand-me-down

2006-06-01T13:46:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-01T09:42:00.000-07:00

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.

photo heavy

2006-05-30T10:44:00.000-07:00

I find it so much easier to blog when my life is boring. When I start doing things like going out of town for the weekend, I lose the ability to blog. I mean, who wants to read and me & my friends sitting around having a good time?

Based on the pictures, you would think that the weekend was spent crafting wedding invitations.

Dear Lis is one of the FOUR people I know getting married this August. Remember how I said that no one else I know can get married this August? And how there were three friends getting married? Now there are four. I'm serious now.

But, it turns out I'm an excellent paper folder. It's all those years of library volunteer work. It was very satisfying to fold & glue and chat with Miss August Fifth, seen here with the fruits of our labor:

After the invitations came a by-the-seat-of-our-pants batchelorette party for Miss August Fifth and Miss August Tenth that involved being the youngest people in a bar, dancing to a cover band and rocking out in a style unusual for us as a gang. Then we stayed up till 4 am, with both batchelorettes 100% sober.

When we get together for these holiday weekend reunions, we tend to go to the grocery store a LOT. At least twice a day. The local Safeway saw quite a bit of us this weekend. There was the time when Lis chatted up the cute little old men veterans handing out fake poppies. The time when Laurel bought Kleenex just because she needed $50 in cash. The time when we couldn't find the bubbly water for Laurel. The time we actually bought food for dinner (nachos, tomato soup, salad). The time we couldn't find film for Laurel. Well, it just took a while.

There was also the incident with the broken glass. See, Toni broke a glass. And we thought she cleaned it up. But what she really did (this was around 3 am) was carry it to the garbage can and sprinkle tiny shards on the rug in front of her sink. So that when I did the dishes the next morning, I kept stepping on glass. So Lis swept. And I kept stepping on it. And then we figured it out.

Then I drove home on Monday and lo, the sun came out and it was beautiful. And there was a turkey dinner at my parents, with a vat of mashed potatoes and a crock pot of gravy. And it was good.

And there was much wine, and many side dishes, and three birthday cakes, and one birthday pie.

And a Western Hero Indian Warrior Set, which I modeled. The end.

brighton beach

2006-05-25T11:36:00.000-07:00

A rock for show & tell. I was completely stumped when I learned this week's subject was "a rock." Because I have no interesting rocks. I was trying to think of interesting ways to shoot the rocks around the garden when I remembered this little guy. He hasn't really seen the light of day in four years, having been imprisoned in my raincoat pocket. I picked him up on Brighton beach in 2002, while I sat on the shore & ate fish & chips. And just never managed to take him out of my pocket until now. Also featured is a French lavendar that a Sunday Schooler left behind when we were doing herbs for Mother's Day.

who knows where thoughts come from, they just appear

2006-05-24T22:41:00.000-07:00

I really should go to bed but instead I'm watching Empire Records. Apparently we are special fans because this is the Special Fan Edition. I'd forgotten how much time they spend dusting the place. Oh, it's so high school (not the dusting, the whole thing).

Damn the man.

I finished Human Croquet. Now I want to play human croquet, although we don't have enough people. Pity. Maybe Monday. (Which, according to the news, should be "dry enough for a barbecue!" You know you're in Portland when that's the leading story.)

Now I'm trying The Eyre Affair. I've got Summerland and Headlong waiting for me on the shelf.

Coming up: Jessmonster has a weekend! A whole two days in a row off! Sunday AND Monday! My only weekend until...oh, God knows when. Maybe August when I get a week's vacation. I'm gonna celebrate by 1) hitting the open road 2) catching up with the girls and 3) eating turkey & giving thanks with my family. Wrong holiday? No. It's just the 4th Annual Turkey Dinner in May.

my cross to bear

2006-05-22T13:31:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking of taking up Kate's challenge with the scones and testing out a recipe of my own - hers were indeed too much on the cakey side. Naturally, like Kate I've been reading recipe reviews on Epicurious. Does anyone actually follow the recipe? Is that a fad that's gone by the wayside? Do we all just look up recipes online so that we can make something totally different but review that recipe anyway? I'm thinking of making these. But, I'm going to completely change all the flavorings - perhaps turn them into a mascarpone cheese torte instead, with essence of orange flavored cranberry and lime drizzled over the top. And instead of using half and half, I'll use orange juice. Instead of flour, I will decimate a young coconut and use my teeth to combine it with the butter.

In all seriousness, though, my favorite review is the one that says, "the only thing I did was change the half and half to non-fat half and half because everyone was talking about how fattening it was."

Excuse me while I piece back together my exploded brain.

1) Non-fat half and half. Such a thing cannot possibly exist, can it? If you take out the "half" that is cream, you are left with just milk. It would be like non-fat milk. The definition, the very essence of half and half is the FAT. It is there for a reason. First, milkfat is delicious. Second, it is useful to our bodies.

2) Do not eat a scone if you are worried about the fat content. In fact, if you're going to try subsisting on low fat anything, you might as well just die now and get it over with. Okay?

closest thing to rain

2006-05-22T10:04:00.000-07:00

Last night there was thunder, and then it sprinkled, and then lots of lightning, and a bit more rain, and we picked up Annie to go out for dessert, and then somewhere on Burnside it felt like the car was hit by a tsunami. We could barely see out the windows, the streets were enormous puddles with water leaping up onto the sidewalks, sheets of water were pouring off the buildings. And we were all wearing skirts and our most un-sensible shoes. I always wear sensible shoes. For some reason, I thought last night would be a good time to break in the wedding shoes. Thankfully it slowed to a heavy rain by the time we got to Kitri's apartment, but she did get her toes gritty in the process of leaping across the broad river that was the gutter. It was like the Oregon Trail game, where you have to ford the river and lose two oxen, a wagon, three sacks of flour, and one small child.

Today the house smells of wet dog and presently Annie will come over and we'll go for coffee and perhaps discuss further plans for our naming business. As Annie said, we'll have a cozy office with tea and I shall read aloud from the Prologue while Annie takes notes. Splendid.

Also, the rain just makes me want to curl up on the couch with a book. It's the perfect thing for a rainy day.

2006-05-21T20:15:00.000-07:00

Twenty-one years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night to find my parents gone and my world upside down. The next day, this little thing was brought home and I immediately began mocking her tiny baby hands. It was rough there for a while, but we still keep her around. Fittingly, Q just met a baby sister of her own. Welcome to the club, kid.

interrupted to bring you tidings of great joy

2006-05-19T12:57:00.000-07:00

Sal tagged me, and since she's irresistable, here goes:

I AM: creaky in my joints like a little old woman.

I WANT: a massage. Pure and simple.

I WISH: cups of coffee stayed hot while I write letters.

I HATE: my uniform shorts with their lovely rubbery waistband.

I MISS: taking the train from London to tramp around England.

I FEAR: I am not as clean and tidy as I'd like to think I am.

I HEAR: cars. And, if I lift my finger to turn it back on, the melodious voice of Josh Ritter.

I WONDER: what Q's sibling - no, SISTER - will be named.

I REGRET: not eating more cheese when I was in France and more gelato when I was in Italy.

I AM NOT: good on the phone.

I DANCE: best in my own living room.

I SING: along in a nutty voice.

I CRY: over books.

I AM NOT ALWAYS: right. I know, shocking, isn't it?

I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: half-finished quilts, hats that don't fit, and cookies.

I WRITE: letters sitting on the couch.

I CONFUSE: myself.

I NEED: lunch.

I SHOULD: turn the music back up after I turned it down to answer my phone & get baby news.

I START: cleaning and get distracted.

I FINISH: anything chocolate.

is it friday yet?

2006-05-19T10:36:00.000-07:00

How is it that I have the energy to get up, go for a three mile walk with a dog pulling at my arm, unload the dishwasher, reload it, sweep the kitchen floor (okay, it's about two square feet, but still), clean off the counters, and fix breakfast, but then I can't manage to pry myself off the chair to go take a shower? Eh.

I finished A Thread of Grace a couple days ago, and I think my favorite part about it (and this will sound so so wrong) was the way she killed off characters. But you know? Some books set during wars are so predictable. The sweetheart will be killed, but not till close to the end. It will all build up to it. Like Cold Mountain (which I also happened to love) where you KNOW he will die - but of course not until the end. But in this one, you'd get an air raid and a stray bullet and torture and what have you - all spread out. Characters you were attached to and others that were on the side. Characters you thought would pull through. But real life isn't as well plotted, usually, as fiction - and that made the deaths feel so much more real. Also, I was pleased to see how much foul Italian language I remember.

Now I'm on to Human Croquet, which, I feel, should have a cover that has something to do with croquet. I like Kate Atkinson's wandery feel and her sense of time.

It is also time for Baby Watch 2006 - three women from church about to pop. As of yesterday, there were increased rumors of Q's mama being in labor. However, God only knows how much time will pass between the appearance of an actual baby and any phone calls to let people know. They might wait days just to torture us. I want to get my hands on that baby.

Also, I have Pomp & Circumstance stuck in my head and I would like to share it with you. No thanks necessary.

2006-05-18T09:52:00.000-07:00

for some reason this picture gets the song "sunrise, sunset" stuck in my head.

Perfidy...Pea...*

2006-05-18T09:12:00.000-07:00

We ran this morning. I feel like my muscles should make squeaky noises when I move.

Did you know that it's incredibly beautiful out at 6:30 am? It is. And cool enough to run. And there are lots of baby geese out on the pond in Oaks Bottom. And the air has a hint of swamp in it. And if I weren't running it would have been really really enjoyable. Okay, I admit that I like the after-effects of running, the endorphins and the muscles, the sense of accomplishment. But I would've liked to stroll and take some pictures.

Yesterday at work (library) I got to thinking about fairy tales. I adored fairy tales as a child - we had a well worn copy of the Brothers Grimm and I read my way through all the colors of Andrew Lang's collections. I watched every video of Faerie Tale Theatre that the library owned. Then I got sick of them. They seemed boring and repetitive and their magic was a false magic.

Then, somehow, I got back into them. I like the old-fashioned kind, where there is blood and gore and heartbreak. Where the Grandmother gets eaten and the parents die and heels are cut off. I also like the sharp new versions, where the characters have rapier wits and the illustrations are splendid and the details are all just so. (I abhor the soft focus, the characters without character, the dumbing down, the too-happy ending, the constant flow of tomboy princesses (they are legion), the unexamined cliche.)

I was covering Lauren Child's new version of The Princess and the Pea when it occurred to me that TPATP is perhaps really my favorite fairy tale. It's not too overdone, you know? It's still nice and juicy when you cut it open. There is no commercialized image, no tie-in toy. There is endless opportunity for wit and mockery.

It happens to be one of my favorite of the Faerie Tale Theatre productions, proving funnier as an adult than it was as a child. If you haven't seen it (or any of the FTTs) what are you waiting for?

My whole TPATP renaissance really started with Mini Grey's version. The characters have eyes like peas. They garden. They have fabulous vegetable print wallpaper. The pea whispers to the princess (who's really the gardener's daughter) to say she slept poorly. I am in love. Also with Lauren Child's which has cut-out characters against a doll-house scale set and a real princess. And a smart prince. And great fabric.

*Despereaux's cry as he is banished to the dungeon and the rats.

"we take the guess work out of naming your child!"

2006-05-17T10:31:00.000-07:00

In the course of several emails with Annie about the production of children, saints names of recent days (did you know there's a Venerable Dodo?) and raw milk, I found myself consulting our friend Sally and came across this little delight: "But modern man is highly peripatetic..."

First of all, this creates a spiffy mental image of Modern Man roaming the globe, unable to sit down and drink a cup of coffee in peace because he Must Keep Walking. Kind of like a super hero, eh? He would have "MM" stitched on the back of his Columbia all-weather jacket, his swift feet would ascend mountains and cross plains effortlessly. He would eat on the go, but they would be wholesome meals.

Ahem. Secondmost, the word peripatetic is one that only joined my vocabulary three brief years ago, in my senior seminar on that rascal Byron and that bore Wordsworth. In fact, I think one of my classmates wrote his entire seminar paper on peripateticism and B&W. (Is that a word? It is now.) Oh, B&W! How I miss them! Believe it or not, I still have fond memories of spending most of spring break in the library doing research. We took over a room and went to town. We brought in carts of books. Food, even though it was expressly forbidden. We read entertaining bits of research aloud to each other. Our professor would drop by and take us on walks around the campus to discuss in what direction our work was taking us.

I do some of my best thinking when walking. Unfortunately, at the moment I'm sitting at my kitchen table and not doing some of my best thinking and not quite remembering what my whole point was. Let's try to sum up:

1. New super hero: Modern Man.
2. I like the word peripatetic. And what it means.
3. I have disturbingly fond memories of doing research.
4. I never get tired of discussing names.
5. Walking is good. So is running, even if the effects of my run this morning have already worn off, leaving behind only stiff legs.

next time

2006-05-16T09:16:00.000-07:00

How could I have forgotten to write about this yesterday?

It is Saturday night. There's a big table of us at an ale house, having farewell drinks & dinner with a coworker who is leaving us (sob) to go across town where my mom happens to work. The ale house is crowded, there are other big tables with families and birthday parties, the place is loud, the waitresses are running around and charging us for the wrong things. We're talking, we're laughing, some of us are talking about work, some of us are doing everything we can to avoid talking about work, some of us are playing pool.

Towards the end of the evening, after part of the group has left and we're working on divvying up the tab, a wizened little old woman approaches the table and looks right at Brooke, the now dearly departed. "It's been a pleasure listening to you," she says in a hard voice that indicates the opposite of pleasure. Brooke gapes at her, and I'm sure I gaped at her, wondering, "what will she say next?"

"Next time, stay home!"

We all came up with a lot of good comebacks later, but we were all too stunned as she turned her heel and walked out the door. I'm pretty sure I gave her one of the signature jessmonster stares, but for once it didn't seem like enough of a gesture.

Oh little old woman with your heart of stone! Leave us be!

return of the shorts

2006-05-15T15:48:00.000-07:00

Currently 91 degrees. Finishing up a batch of potato salad with buttermilk dressing (making it, not eating it). Windows are closed, blinds are down, I'm pretending it's not really this hot outside and that I don't have to presently put on a polyester outfit and drive to work. And SHORTS. They are so embarrassing, but to not wear them is foolish when I get to work in a stuffy warehouse.

And I am all into A Thread of Grace.

The end.

2006-05-15T10:45:00.000-07:00

for my mom. it's too bad I don't have any of the pictures of my dad as a baby because I am the spitting image. scary.

sunday

2006-05-15T10:31:00.000-07:00

Confession from yesterday: the flowers I gave my mom came from work and were completely free. The one perk from working the manic Saturday before Mother's Day. We were awash in flowers.

Chicken basil sausages cooked on the grill. Potato salad. Desserts from Papa Haydn. Being teased by my family for dropping lemon tart on my skirt. Looking at old family photos for the hundredth time and talking about who got which nose and whose coloring and whose arms. Whose ARMS! Our gratitude for escaping great-great-grandmother Dora's nose. This is how my family spends the evening.

a you-know-what

2006-05-12T15:21:00.000-07:00

Kate and I are sprawled in the living room, faithful dog Mollie on the floor at our feet.

"I feel like a you-know-what," I say, mindful of Mollie's ever-alert ears.

"An ice cream bar?" Kate asks.

"Um, a you-know-what," I say again, eyeing Mollie significantly, "although I wouldn't say no to an ice cream bar."

"Oh," she says. "I was just thinking about how I wanted an ice cream bar and I assumed you meant the same thing."

Mission? Accomplished.

i hope it's already too late

2006-05-11T12:59:00.000-07:00

I had this weird spell of nausea this morning which compelled me to curl up in a blanket on the couch saying, "this will pass" and wondering if it was a psychosomatic manifestation of all the little things I'd woken up worrying about. I pulled out my book, thinking it would distract me from my woes. Naturally I was just at the part in A Thread of Grace where the German doctor is confessing to the priest about all the atrocities he's participated in and one feels overwhelmed by the magnitude of the evils people bring on each other and THEN of course the doctor becomes nauseated himself and throws up. You know, basically the perfect thing to read at the moment. So I shut the book and shut my eyes and proceeded to imitate Mollie and powernap.

Which got rid of my nausea problem but for some reason wasn't very effective with the needing to replace the battery in my car problem. Which, why not? Why can't napping solve problems like that? I keep making tiny gestures in the direction of getting a new battery, like going to the auto parts store and saying, "this is the kind of car I have and this is the kind of battery currently in it, please sell me a new one so my car will start again." And they say, "there are several kinds, we would need to test them in your car" and I feel reluctant to have my car towed anywhere (towed! because of a battery!) but is that what needs to happen? And the people I call who are mechanics or aspiring mechanics do not return my phone calls. Oh well. Maybe another nap would do the trick? Or a walk to the grocery store for some oranges?

Q is skeptical.

on the phone: a photodocumentary

2006-05-10T10:24:00.000-07:00

Note: Mollie barked furiously at the woman with the stroller. She keeps watch by the window. Coffee courtesy of the Mug of Ugliness. Flowers courtesy of Trader Joe's. Facial expressions courtesy of one eight hundred apple cares and the apple store.

why do we remember the past, and not the future? [Edited for BabelBabe]

2006-05-09T14:26:00.000-07:00

While I count down the days until I find out if UW wants me to stay in Portland or move north, here's what I can recall of my high school reading lists:

Freshman Year

Teacher: the man built like a floppy daddy-long-legs, who covered the classroom walls with pictures of Germany and van Gogh's sunflowers, who loved Cancer Ward and Ken Kesey, who made us learn - and I mean really learn - vocabulary. Fifteen words a week? Twenty? Spoiler: he makes a reappearance junior year, and doubles the number of vocab words per week. I might mix up books between these two years.

Cold Sassy Tree. Why? It was decent but not all that great. I think ALL the freshmen had to read this, not just our lucky ducky honors English class. I can't imagine Mr. S picking this one on his own.

The Chosen.
Perhaps the foundation for all my ability to discuss themes in literature. I went on to read every single book I could find by Chaim Potok, and Bronwen and I have to been known to converse about becoming "the Chaim Potok of Orthodoxy." Mean, of course, Christian and not Jewish Orthodox.

A Tale of Two Cities. Ah, the French Revolution! Bastille Day! It is a far, far greater thing...

My mind is a complete blank on what the hell else we read that year. I think that was the year I did my big paper on Pride & Prejudice.

Sophomore Year

Teacher: one of the best teachers I've met. We read a huge variety of books, we tore them apart and put them back together, we did creative writing and real analytical writing. I could argue with him fiercely about a point I was trying to make in a paper. He had us organize a Heroes' Banquet at one student's house at which we, I kid you not, dressed up like real or fictional people who we thought of as heroes, and performed elaborate skits about our characters. My God, we got SO into that. I was Don Quixote. I have a group picture from the occasion.

The Odyssey. I am forever grateful for this because I certainly wouldn't pick it up on my own but it turns out that it makes for great discussion (was Odysseus really a hero? Or just a big jerk?) Plus, now my ears are attuned to mentions of wine dark seas and such, and it even made Joyce's Ulysses bearable.

Lord of the Flies. I blame this book for several years of disliking the color pink. Enough said.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I was always a sucker for Arthurian legend stuff - plus I believe I recall being in a play of the same story in middle school.

Cat's Eye (or was this senior year?) Either way, it got me reading Margaret Atwood.

The Great Gatsby. I've been meaning to reread this for ages - it seemed so perfect at the time. But I can't read any other Fitzgerald because the man only has one story to tell. I tried, believe me.

Junior Year: Mr. S makes a reappearance, with increased vocabulary. I perfect the art of "using the word in a sentence" by creating the most elaborate & unlikely sentences possible with the help of a dictionary of names. I've never looked back.

As I Lay Dying. And we all felt like the title was referring to US.

The Grapes of Wrath. Eh. Give me Travels for Charlie any time.

My Antonia. SORRY! Geez. I just remember stuff about fields and maybe a boarding house? And how to pronounce Antonia. I have neutral feelings towards Willa Cather, but then this is the only book of hers that I've read. I SUPPOSE I should read more, but with the reading lists you bloggers are throwing at me these days? No time!

Senior Year: Sweet Ms. A who always had a pencil in her hair and let us read contemporary literature and died a couple years ago of some unsuspected brain thing, leaving behind twins in grade school. It's so cheesy & trite but I wish I could send her a thank you for her part in turning me into someone with a BA in English.

The Kitchen God's Wife. Excellent tear-jerker.

A Prayer for Owen Meany. Okay, picture a classroom full of seniors who've been given time to read. Picture dorky 17 year old Jessmonster with Owen Meany in hand. Now, I'm known for the way I crack up while reading and startle other people in the room. Owen Meany practically had me in tears. I think there were points where the whole class stopped reading to watch me read. And the ones who weren't as far along as I was were wondering what on earth would happen next. I happened to finish the book in class, and that definitely drew some attention, although I wasn't laughing by that point.

Tess of the D'Urbervilles. For such a depressing, fatalistic story, we managed to get a lot of good laughs out of it. Crumby, anyone?

I know there are more and it's driving me up the wall that I can't remember them. You see, is why I obsessively note down all the books I read these days. Records, people, records.

blessed are the cheesemakers

2006-05-08T12:19:00.000-07:00

Kate just broke my blogger's block by, as it were, spoon-feeding me topics. "I should blog," I say. "but I don't know what to say." "Check out the operation on the counter," she says. "And maybe take a picture. I don't know, it's up to you."

Need a close up?

I now live with a cheesemaker. A cheese/yogurt/kefir/buttermilk making crazy woman with laptop deprivation.

Blessed are the cheesemakers, for they shall obtain mercy. And have their laptops returned unto them.

I happen to think that The Cheesemakers would be a great band name, with their first album being Blessed Are the Cheesemakers. And maybe a song called "Mercy." Or something like that. Maybe I've just been influenced too much by King Dork (which, if your name is Joe or Joey and you happen to be related to me, you must read. The rest of you can read it, too.)

In other news, Kate has been taking out her withdrawal on poor Mollie. It's a love/hate thing.

And now that Mollie is eight, Kate finally threw a party for her and Kitri, since they share birthdays. But Mollie wasn't allowed to have any of the cake or the gourmet snacks or the wine. It was rough, especially since Kitri was allowed more treats than Mollie. The rest of us lived it up, too.

And some of us, after a mere six hours sleep, staggered out of bed to teach Sunday School. At which I almost died laughing over the kids deciding who was going to marry who when they grew up.

"You're too wild, John," said Rachel. "I'm going to marry Elijah."

"But the boy is the one who asks! Girls aren't supposed to ask people to marry them," protested the boys.

I bit my tongue at this point to see what would come out of their mouths next.

Retorts Rachel: "But I can say no!"

2006-05-05T14:42:00.001-07:00

spring, park, almost three.

2006-05-05T14:42:00.000-07:00

little blonde munchkin of a god-daughter, about to enter the oldest child club. when i get a call from their number i now wonder "is k in labor or asking me to distract q while she gets things done?" so far just the latter.

2006-05-05T14:39:00.000-07:00

rosy rosy cheeks

keys to the kingdom

2006-05-04T10:49:00.000-07:00

Before I show & tell you my keys, I have to show you my shot glass, which was a Christmas present and has lately been put to good use.

What? You didn't know I like to do shots?

I would offer to let you guess what's in there, but I honestly believe no one would ever guess. Kate poured some in at, oh, 9 o'clock this morning and boy was it tasty.

See? You can't. Just give up. It's bacon grease. Don't worry, we weren't doing shots of it. It's just a very convenient holding space for the grease, inbetween its life with the bacon and its life with the French toast.

Also, I love that it's a shot glass/measuring spoon (measuring glass?) with all the delightful connotations that offers of a slightly lush baker. Except that I often forget I own it when I'm baking and it would come in handy.

Okay, my keys in their natural habitat (the bookshelf by the front door).

And a book update:

I love reading classics for the first time as an adult. It's an entirely different world than reading them as a kid or for a high school class. Those early reads are tinged with a sweet nostalgia and all the memories of your first impressions and are dear to your heart. But finding things as an adult? And having that delicious suspense of unfolding a story that's been read thousands of times by others but is completely fresh to you? That happened to me when I finally got around to reading (and appreciating) Tolkien. And George Eliot. And now A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Which, apparently, people are forced to read in high school? Not that there's anything wrong with being forced to read good books in high school, quite the opposite, but reading on your own gives a book so much more freshness and newness and you could imagine you're the first to read it. You don't know how it will turn out. But it's different than reading a newly published book, even one that's come highly recommended. That doesn't have quite the same perfect balance of new and old.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the books we were made to read in high school. I might try to work up a little list and come back with some thoughts on it...

tell me i got here at the right time

2006-05-03T10:11:00.000-07:00

It's May. The azalea outside my window is in hot pink bloom. I've got a slice of fresh bread with butter and honey and a cup of (here the image gets shot to hell) tepid coffee. In the oven is a chocolate sour cream bundt cake. This morning I arose, consulted the internets, showered, went to the Four Seasons to acquire bittersweet chocolate (which I always imagine to have been moistened with someone's bittersweet tears), and began baking. If you've ever seen me around chocolate and/or cake batter, you know what a mighty feat it was for me to sit down to bread & honey before licking the bowl clean. And what a bowl! (also at that link to Kate's blog you can see her version of The Shoes, in green, and a link to a site for anyone who needs a good t-shirt, a good cause, or wants to show their love of coffee - okay, I made it easy, I gave you the link myself.)

This is the first time I've used a stand mixer since I was in 4-H in middle school (let that be my belated Sunday confession) and I still have mixed feelings about it. It's great! Because you can wander around and clean up in 30 second intervals between each addition of egg! And the superior power, etc. etc. But! I find it damned obnoxious getting additional ingredients in and out - lots of spilling on the counter, brushing the other bowls (it being a 3 bowl recipe) against the raised beater, etc. The eggs did drop in nicely, though...

Anyway, the cake is for a coworker's birthday (as Kate commented, I seem to bake for a hell of a lot of coworkers' birthdays, but this is the last one for a good long time. Except, oops, I seem to recall telling someone at non-library job that he'd get cupcakes for his birthday...and I think it might be this week. Oh well. Between Kate's stand mixer and my brand spanking new Kitchenaid 9-speed hand mixer, I'm in business. Anyone else? Better speak up now.

Do other people celebrate birthdays as obsessively at work as we do at the library? We've got this elaborate system where you sign up for a date (with no name attached, but those who've been there for ages know them all fairly well) and then get a name and a list of what that person likes - favorite treats, colors, flowers, gift ideas. We each do one a year. Then we select new people the next year. It works out well and gives us a regular sugar kick in the breakroom. At my other job, it's very informal...one girl brought me a cake on my birthday last year, so I brought cupcakes for hers, but there's no system. Partly because there's about a hundred people who work there, and because most people leave the building in the line of duty each day, making parties tricky.

Is anyone else watching Texas Ranch House on PBS? I've caught bits and pieces...nothing beats a PBS reality show in entertainment value.

2006-05-02T11:57:00.000-07:00

For Di's sake, I tore myself away from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (hours by in mere moments when it's in my hands - it does seem like a page turner but somehow manages to BE one) to take pictures of my NEW SHOES. I'm really excited about them, can you tell? Guess what? I never used to be into shoes. Take 'em or leave 'em. I wore them, naturally, but I didn't drool or gush or spend much of my hard-earned cash on them. Then I got this Dansko addiction. And now - heels. Which I haven't worn in years. I've forgotten how to walk in them. But this pair - comfy. And, you know, cute.

2006-05-02T11:55:00.000-07:00

Here is a sneak peak of my outfit for Kate's wedding.

to my dear and faithful readers...

2006-04-30T22:27:00.000-07:00

Doesn't that title make it look like I'm about to quit blogging? As if. But, like my cousin Di, you may have rather desperately wondered where I've been. I pride myself on making people feel desperate. As if. No, I've just...not been blogging. Spending my time going on walks, getting sunburt, painting pots, gardening, working, working up a sweat, eating malt eggs, watching Q, shopping for shoes, and playing croquet. Or, as my dad in a toothache induced stupor called it, crochet.

I went over to my parents' for dinner, and one thing turned into another, and after a glass of wine, dinner, coffee, an ice cream cone, and beating up my not-so-small cousins for a while, I found myself playing croquet. At dusk. On the ever-so-smooth surface of my parents' back yard. How do normal people play croquet? I have no idea. Jon seems to pride himself on finding the worst terrain and oddest corners for wickets. Around the pine tree, across the cement walk, around a corner of each shed, through the raspberry bushes, up against the rhododendron, and across a stretch of bumpy grass. With each shoddy hit came Jon's exclamation, "Oh, it hurts!" But he got his dues when, nearing the finish line in almost complete darkness, he lost his ball in the heap of odds & ends under the pine tree. It hurt, but he had to forfeit. Strangely enough, the ball was later discovered under a bush on the opposite side of the yard. Cousin Donovan,* the competition crushed, rallied to finish first, and I managed to beat out Alexis in a last minute show of skill.

I promised Di I'd show her the shoes - but that'll have to wait until tomorrow when I've gotten some sleep. I swear, I can barely remember the days when weekends meant sleeping in. Now weekdays are my only chance, and not many of those if Kate & I take up running again. (Oddly enough, the shoes motivate us to run. Run for the shoes! You can do it! We begin tomorrow.)

*Being, of course, the cousin of our cousin-by-marriage. We feel that Cousin Donovan has a pleasantly Dickensian ring to it and usually employ the name in his absence.

"what's a pascha?"

2006-04-25T14:37:00.000-07:00

Easter was, as always, the same and different. It's one of those times of year when all the previous years come washing back over you. Like a piece of paper folded accordion style, and all the Paschas line up together, and you think, "remember last year when..." or "when I was a kid this was always my favorite part." And it's somehow larger than just a memory - the other years are right there next to you. You could maybe jump over and be seven again, fighting sleep until you give in and tuck yourself away under a pew.

Recipe for a good day:

Around 3:30 am, after a plateful of heavenly Ethiopian food, snag the first Welsh cake you've had in years. Sprinkle with nostalgia.

(When Bronwen and I were in middle school, we would take Holy Friday off and hang out at her house. We felt very virtuous, fasting, and would drink bowls of water with spoons, pretending it was food. And her mom would bake Welsh cakes to bring to the feast. The smell of them baking? Pure torture.)

Toss in a scant five hours of sleep, and awaken to the smell of cream-cheesey puff pastries baking. Pack your Batdorf & Bronson, your French press, the buttermilk, and the pasties. Proceed to your parents where you brunch upon buttermilk pancakes, pasties, bacon, melon, and potatoes. Have your dad tell a liberal dose of Old Order stories, like the time they were punished for leaving a door unlocked by spending the night guarding the dumpster, or how when they were novices and had to fast every Friday, they could smell the pizza that the house mother & father snuck in at night. Go through at least three pots of coffee.

Return home. Bake macaroons. Prepare strawberry-mozzerella-spinach salad. Proceed to Kate's mom's house.

Discuss invasion by aliens, chickens, women becoming fighter pilots, who took all the mozzerella balls from the salad bowl, the glories of lamb, and whether or not God answers prayers like "please send me a laptop."

Traipse across the street to the church for Agape Vespers. In other words, the rowdiest service of the year. Sing loudly. March across church lawn singing Christ is Risen. If you're too old for the Easter egg hunt, take pictures instead.

Oh, and hold some bunnies. You're never too old for that.

Then go to the basement and enjoy the bounty of the chocolate fountain - sticking the strawberries in is half the fun. And cheesy desserts, and ice creamy desserts. You must get chocolate all over your face. It's required.

confession

2006-04-24T15:56:00.000-07:00

I feel quite smug when the Orthodox Easter is gorgeous and sunny as all get-out, not a cloud in the sky, almost hot: weather that is clearly superior to that of the Other Easter (on which the sun was struggling to shine through and a sweater was essential). Because, you know, God is clearly on our side here and sends us blissful weather as a sign that we have used the proper guidelines to determine the feast.

2006-04-24T12:52:00.000-07:00

Egghunt, sunset, church lawn, Pascha.

holy saturday

2006-04-22T18:48:00.000-07:00

1. "WHAT? More church?" says Q.

2. Sisters whispering while vestments are switched from purple to white.

3. The infamous pond, wherein I was baptized. Sadly, after the demise of the pier, baptisms take place in a tub next to the pond.

strange things

2006-04-22T10:14:00.000-07:00

I just saw that Sal tagged me...and since I haven't done one of these in a while (and it's delightfully loose-ended), here goes.

Six Strange Things

1. Most years during Lent I have huge cravings for eggs. This year I'm fantacizing about deviled eggs, something I've never craved before.

2. I was raised in a cult. But that's old news.

3. I used to sing songs from musicals to put myself (and my sister) to sleep. She would make requests. We had a special fondness for Man of La Mancha. If I'd been my mom, I would've been dying of laughter in the next room.

4. I clear my throat a lot. Tiny little clears that don't really do anything. Kate likes to point it out to me. I can't stop.

5. I will recognize you as a kindred spirit immediately if you are willing to split dishes when out for brunch - one eggy dish and one pancake-y dish - because I find it impossible to decide between the two brunch genres.

6. After being known for the way I squeeze out my teabags thoroughly, I now feel guilty on the occasions when I fail to do so.

You - you out there. Yeah, the one snickering at me. I tag you.

Psalm to the Grocery Store

2006-04-21T15:30:00.000-07:00

The people were a hungered, and their stomachs didst cry out, and they said to themselves, let us go out and procure the fruits of the earth for the days that are to come, the days in which our stomachs shall be satisfied. And lo, they didst rise up and go to the grocery stores, which did yield forth their fruit in good season. Firstly the Trader Joe's, source of moderately priced cheeses, of provolone and cream and mozzarella, of butter and buttermilk, of heavy whipping cream and cream for coffee. Yea, it did yield also the fruits of the earth, spinach and cantaloupe. From thence they went forth to the New Seasons, which also in its turn did produce rich rewards. The chicken legs were laid out and weighed, even unto four pounds, and the bacon unto half a pound. The freezer cases poured forth puff pastry and the people did rejoice. The pints of strawberries were numerous, from generation to generation. The coffee aisle, source of joy, rained Batdorf & Bronson upon the heads of the believers. And they didst rejoice, they and their growling stomachs, for the feast that is to come.

interpretive scarf dance

2006-04-20T13:00:00.000-07:00

I don't feel like I've written much lately - just relying on pictures to pull this thing along - partly because I don't know what I have to say lately. My mind feels like a broken record - I woke up at oh-dark-thirty last night and couldn't the same three thoughts to stop cycling through my brain. That and I couldn't get church music out of my head. I kept trying to think of nice blank things, like a snowbank or clean white sheets, but that didn't really help. I shouldn't complain because I ended up sleeping something like a rediculous ten hours, minus the time spent tossing & turning & obsessing, which probably wasn't that long, but it always feels like forever when you can't get back to sleep.

Yesterday was a good kind of draining - but accounts for needing all that sleep. I came face to face with all the little ways in which I've been forgetful and lazy lately. The fact that I forgot to tell the library in advance that I needed to leave early to go to Pre-Sanc and Unction (something I could have told them this time LAST YEAR). The fact that it was my turn to clean the breakroom in March and I left it until yesterday. Etc. I feel so bright and happy when I'm on top of things and plan in advance and am orderly. It makes my head hurt when I pull shit like that and make people rearrange their schedules at the last minute just because I was lazy.

But then spending four hours in church put me right again. Go read Kate's account of the Tour de France - excuse me, Holy Week. I watched Q for part of the services, which is something I rarely do for any length of time because she tends to ping-pong between her mom & grandmother. But I was standing by a bench, which offers endless opportunities for diverting oneself excessively (especially if one is two-almost-three), and then I took her to the playroom during the gap between services, which pretty much sealed her affections in my favor.

During Unction she asked very politely if she could get a scarf, so we got one from the cabinet in the narthex which is filled with various hideous head-coverings left behind by other parishoners (or, more likely, secretly dumped there to get them out of their houses). Q chose a particularly lovely blue & red polka dot number, long enough to trail on the floor as she wore it. Back in our places, during particularly solemn moments of prayer, she took to practicing what I like to call her "interpretive scarf dance." It would start harmlessly enough, with her tossing the slick polyester over her head, followed by an effort to throw the ends over her shoulders. As soon as it was in place, she'd whip it off, flail her arms, hop a few times, perhaps throw herself on the floor, and start over.

Today I'm torn between weaning myself off food in preparation for Holy Friday's strict fast or taking this last opportunity for a few solid meals. Technically, no food from what, sunset tonight? until Saturday afternoon. Me, I need at least a snack on Friday night or Saturday morning. I'm not made of that strong a metal. I went with the "smoothie and a faux-chicken burger" option. Oh look, it's time to go to church again.

Show & Tell

2006-04-20T12:38:00.000-07:00

Via blackbird: Considering wearing this for Pascha - either Saturday night or Sunday day. Maybe, maybe not. Also a to-be-worn-to-a-wedding option.

2006-04-20T12:37:00.000-07:00

Last year's Easter outfit, courtesy of a sale at Hanna Andersson. Love it. It's become a little unflattering since I stopped, um, running, but hopefully will look good again by August, when I plan to wear it to one of the trio of weddings.

2006-04-20T12:35:00.000-07:00

This was yesterday's library/church outfit - thrift store skirt (it's got a Greek key pattern), white t-shirt, Old Navy sweater borrowed from Kate's closet. Q greatly enjoyed zipping & unzipping the sweater and trying to put the hood up.

2006-04-20T12:34:00.000-07:00

And this is what I'm wearing right now - Nikki McClure shirt, Gap jeans. And? It's warm enough to not need a sweater. Hallelujah.

the Other Easter

2006-04-18T10:03:00.000-07:00

As I was leaving my cousins' on Sunday, Di said, "I hope this makes the blog!" Are you kidding? Serve me heaven in a grape leaf and not make the blog? Impossible. For the record, there were 99 of those little guys to start with, and shockingly there were leftovers.

Adults chatted and drank wine in the kitchen, while legos were constructed in the dining room and Mr. I-Just-Turned-Seven good-naturedly beat up anyone who walked through.

We feasted (no pictures because I was too busy breaking the fast a week early). After the table had been cleared of lamb, dolmades, Greek salad, rolls, potatoes, and vegetables baked in a heavenly broth, Diane asked, "how soon do we want dessert? Because I need to know when to take the ice cream cake out to thaw." We decided to take it out in ten minutes, then it would take a while longer to thaw, then we'd be ready for dessert. But, Di went ahead and got out the baklava and the macaroons. You can imagine what happened next.

A side story about the ice cream cake (correct me if I mess this up, Di): the East Coast Cousins were in town a week or two ago on a business trip. It was Tony's birthday, so Di wanted to celebrate. "Chocolate cake is his favorite," said Chris. So Di whips up a chocolate cake and presents it to Tony on the big day. "I made your favorite!" Tony's face falls. "Actually, ice cream cake is my favorite." Now, I wasn't there for this part, but I can just see the expression on Chris' face as he says gleefully, "No, it's MY favorite!" So, of course, as soon as Tony's gone, what do we have? Ice cream cake. Coincidence?

sweet victory

2006-04-18T10:01:00.000-07:00

I am the ONLY result on a yahoo search for "a mean introvert." Oh yeah.

circa 1999

2006-04-17T15:50:00.000-07:00

joe and harrison: from this...

2006-04-17T15:49:00.001-07:00

to this...

2006-04-17T15:49:00.000-07:00

to this. 2006: just turned seven and almost eighteen.

the only thing I know to do is turn up the music

2006-04-16T13:47:00.000-07:00

I go in fits and starts with music. I can go ages without really listening to anything, and then I'll become obsessed with a certain album or song for a while, and then drop it all again. The Animal Years came in the mail this week and I don't want to stop listening to it. While standing in line at the coffee shop (wretch that I am) I want the line to move more quickly so I can get home and turn it on. I turn it on while I do the dishes and make macaroons (for the Other Easter Dinner at Di's) and read. Have you listened to Girl in the War yet? Why not? Go.

Last night I was walking home from the Four Seasons when I heard one of my favorite sounds - bells ringing. Church bells. I adore the sound. I sometimes hear the bells on Sunday mornings, from the Catholic church around the corner. But it took me a second to remember last night that, aha, it's the Other Easter. They rang for a good long time, which is always pleasing, but it got me thinking about how early they hold "midnight" mass. It was, oh, eight-thirty. I'm used to Easter bells at a more respectable time - the dead of night.

Instead of Easter bells today, we had the rustle of palms being spread on the floor during the Great Entry. And hot cross buns.

But back to those Easter bells - and the dead of night. Our church is on a good bit of property, but those bells carry. Especially at midnight.

One year, when the church calendar dictated that Orthodox Easter (Pascha) fall on a different day than Other Easter, we were new converts with strong arms and an enthusiasm for bell ringing, and the neighbors hadn't gotten used to our ways. One neighbor became, apparently, alarmed by the noise. What would you do if bells started ringing at midnight? This neighbor called the police. Who sent an officer over to investigate. Who found a packed church with sleeping children on the floor and enough candles to constitute a fire hazard. Now, the neighbors are used to us, I suppose.

I can't wait to sing myself slightly hoarse.

And, I don't know if you've truly lived until you've directed a roomful of 1st & 2nd graders in re-enacting Lazarus being raised from the dead. And? Their ability to sit down and seriously discuss resurrection and the dual nature of Jesus ("It's hard to understand," says one) and the significance of riding on the foal of donkey constantly amazes me. And helps balance out the shrieking and running and so forth.

2006-04-14T15:11:00.000-07:00

Junk drawer - a day late and a dollar short. But I just paid my taxes, so I've got a good excuse. The closest thing I have to a junk drawer is in this dresser/bedside table. All are junky drawers, here is the junkiest...

2006-04-14T15:10:00.000-07:00

Ibuprofin, cough drops, flashlight, suede protector, packing tape, pens, earring boxes, German crayons from Waldorfy school, Theraflu on the top layer. Underneath are colored pencils, stationary (although most is kept elsewhere in a box), and craft scissors. You know, the kinds with the squiggly edges.

on tearjerkers, again

2006-04-13T23:51:00.000-07:00

Last night I watched the final episode of Six Feet Under, and tonight I watched it again with commentary (and still cried in all the same spots, although not as hard) and it felt so, well, good. There were a hundred and one thoughts going around in my head, about grieving in general, fiction and grief, good endings, etc. What sticks out, though, I think, is fiction and grief. Sounds like a term paper, eh? Only it would have to be "The Uses and Meaning of Grief in the Novels of Virginia Woolf" or something along those lines.

But - I love fiction (novels, film, etc.) for its ability to throw me into different lives. To feel different experiences. From the inside, the outside, wherever. Gathering up all these thoughts and reactions and lives for the sheer pleasure of it. And the usefulness of it, like referring to an example a friend has told you about. The "Well, my friend had this happen to her..." type of example. Or the usefulness of, apparently, grieving things you didn't know you needed to grieve. Nothing in particular, but it always feels healthy to have a good cry now and then (apparently every other day for me, lately). It's not generally smiled upon when you break down at work or in the middle of walking the dog or while you're picking up some bananas at the store (although some people find the shampoo/lotion/etc aisle to be very therapeutic), but sit down with a movie or a book and...well, some people still think you're crazy. I suppose what I'm so eloquently trying to say is that fiction pushes us where we need to go. Whether we know it or not. We gravitate towards what will serve us best.

In other news, I just started East, and ooh am I getting into it quickly. Lots of POVs, hint of mystery, a healthy dose of superstition, a polar bear, and names with significance. I always love books where the names are important.

2006-04-12T09:40:00.000-07:00

I've been in a weird reading space, a distracted one, where I don't feel like sitting down with any particular book. I'll read a bit of The History of Love, a bit of Consider the Lobster, a bit of Rasmus and the Vagabond, a bit of last week's New Yorker...What do I do to take care of this problem? Put four more books on hold at the library, including a couple of YRCA* nominees.

Has anyone read God Went to Beauty School by Cynthia Rylant? We were looking for items to put up on our staff favorites wall for poetry month and a coworker handed it to me. I read the whole thing there at work. I thought it would be something entirely different than what it is. I love it. Go read it, it'll only take a few minutes. I would describe it as "funny and heartwarming" if I were in a cliched mood. I can't think of anything better, though.

When I was in that half-awake state this morning, I thought that each time my snooze went off it was a signal that I had more work to do - work that I was doing last night, where I basically audit paperwork. Why? Why must I feel like I'm at work when I'm half-asleep? And why does my imagination so vividly fill in the individual quirks for each item I audit? And why the hell would work be brought to me in bed?

Why is it that I have the energy to go on a 3 mile walk but not to do my taxes? I know, completely different kinds of energy, but still. I don't so much mind paying taxes as I despise the whole "doing" of taxes. It's a pain in the ass.

*Young Readers' Choice Awards, duh.

sunday confession

2006-04-09T22:26:00.000-07:00

I cried harder watching Six Feet Under (episode ten, season five, if you must know) than I have, EVER, over a work of fiction. One solid hour (or is it forty-five minutes?) of tears streaming down my cheeks. Kate was the same. We were little wrecks, sitting here on the couch, clutching our tissues and glasses of wine. It started innocently enough, the kind of crying where you try to pretend you're not really crying. You're just, um, leaking a little bit. Maybe it's a little sad. Maybe you're developing allergies. But a few minutes into the episode we both gave up any pretension of stability and wept to our hearts content. Look up catharsis in a picture dictionary and you will find Kate and I on our red couch.

I'm a crier. I've been known to cry myself to sleep. I love a good tearjerker. I cried regularly through the last third of The Return of the King. I cry every time I read The Kitchen God's Wife. I cry during bad movies when they play the swoopy music designed to make you cry (and I resent it the entire time). But this, oh, this was crying. It was real life crying, pain & hysteria.

Is this healthy? And please leave any tearjerker suggestions in the comment box...

the mail, again

2006-04-07T15:13:00.000-07:00

I just finished a letter to Bee, sealed it, slapped a Wild Thing on it, and headed out to the nearest drop box, since our afternoon mail delivery had already come. I was walking along, thinking about the fine weather and about fond postal memories, places I've lived and the routines that went with the mail, when an oversize vehicle whipped out of the Starbuck's parking lot and stopped, nearly in the street, to wait for a break in traffic. Never once did he look in my direction and see me, innocent pedestrian that I was. I wanted to preserve my right of way on the sidewalk but I couldn't think of anything to get his attention short of slapping his hood or shouting "hey you, I'm trying to walk here." I was tentatively stepping out, thinking the movement might catch his eye, when, predictably, he nearly ran me over. Or would've if I hadn't noticed his complete lack of awareness. There I would've lain, on the pavement, envelope clutched in a death grip, waiting for a more kindly passerby to scrape my body from the pavement and drop Bee's letter into the box (I was nearly there). How sad that would have been, a posthumous letter. Thank goodness it didn't come to that.

So back to the topic I was contemplating before I was so rudely nearly run over - the mail. A favorite topic. In this apartment, the ritual goes thusly. A postal worker usually comes by in the early afternoon, one or so, usually before I've had a chance to finish a letter. I can hear the mail clank into the box by the door and sometimes I'm so quick to check it that the USPS employee is still stuffing things into our neighbor's box. There've been a lot of wedding invite reply cards lately, which makes it necessary to do a thorough swipe of the box for any stragglers. The box is three blocks down, a nice little stroll.

At college I would check my mail up to three times a day - the boxes were a flight down from the cafeteria and conveniently on the way from my dorm to meals. I never locked my box and always located it by the Tahoe sticker a previous student had left on the box. Using the lock involved an average of three tries, about ten turns apiece. More than it was worth. Sometimes it got locked accidentally and I had to go look up the combo in the mailroom. Pain.

Even worse was the set-up in London (and even greater was my thirst for mail). The mailroom was in another building owned by the same organization, the same building as the computer lab and the laundry room. In Galway the mail came with a nice thunk through the slot in the door and one of us would race down the stairs for it. I never tire of thinking about letters and their not-so-little journeys from mailbox to mailbox.

chocolate update

2006-04-06T14:57:00.000-07:00

So I never talked about how Green & Black's and I have been getting along. Well, last week (maybe Friday?) I went to the People's Coop which is in a lovely little building and is very tiny and has produce and bulk foods and a refridgerated section and about two shelves of other food. I procured a bar of Maya Gold, along with some soymilk. They didn't have any mint, which was what sounded really excellent, but the Maya was more than satisfactory. I'm limited to the dark chocolates at the moment, otherwise I might have deliberated for ages.

I managed to stretch that bar until yesterday. Five whole days! Then today I found myself at the park with K & Q. I'd brought a little picnic lunch, PB&J on sourdough and some grapes, and after lots of sliding and swinging and laughing as sliding about twenty times turned Q's hair into a mass of static, I thought to myself, "I'm halfway to Target. Might as well see what they've got." So after they went home, I headed out.

And in the parking lot of Target I ran into K's aunt & cousin who were running errands. "I'm actually just here for chocolate," I said, and we spent several minutes discussing favorite brands and flavors, and they accompanied me to the chocolate aisle where we all oohed and ahhed. K's aunt, who's undergoing treatment for breast cancer, said that she's not drinking coffee or alcohol anymore, and chocolate is one of the treats she still gets. We deliberated over their "suitable for vegetarians and vegans" selection and she picked out a bar Maya Gold, and I came home with another Maya and a Currant & Hazelnut to taste test, on Lily's recommendation.

words

2006-04-05T21:42:00.000-07:00

Why isn't the word verification ever an actual word?

And speaking of words, The Meaning of Tingo just came in on hold for me.

Tingo (Pascuense, Easter Island) to take all the objects one desires from the house of a friend, one at a time, by borrowing them.

what's with today, today?

2006-04-05T10:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was one of those days that started out in an excellent fashion - sunshine and walks in the park and finishing the quilt top and going to the fabric store to indulge in more gorgeous colors. And then work, which wasn't so bad at first, with cupcakes I made for a coworker's birthday and daylight savings, loathsome though it may be, providing more light to stream through the skylights and light up the warehouse. And I had plans to head over to my cousins, where it would be a regular cousin-fest with even more cousins in from out of town, and dinner to look forward to. And then I was overcome by raging PMS and my complete inability to solve a complicated timecard mess (even though I've been shown how several times, and each time it makes sense until I actually try to fix a real one) and the fact that the minutes were ticking past and I still had work to finish and it was already 9:30 and I just wanted to GO. So I rushed through the last bit of work, didn't clean up after myself, stormed to the bathroom to change into my civvies (ie, out of the uniform), stormed to my car, laden with my (previously containing cupcakes) Pyrex which I was sure I would drop in the parking lot and watch it shatter into a million pieces.

I was shaking with fury (who knows at what? that doesn't matter) and not feeling terribly social, but I thought I'd do a drive by and see if my parents' cars were still outside my cousins, it being now 10pm. They were, and all the lights were on, so I went in and my almost-seven cousin pulled me aside to play a game he'd made in school, which he rigged so that we tied instead of me losing. Then he offered me a choice of prizes: a shell with small change in it, a wallet with assorted papers, or a plastic box that had something to do with plastic fish. I don't know. I said I'd decide after I ate, and went to devour a plate of tamales. And all was well with the universe again.

Except for the incredibly freakish and disturbing dreams I had, which involved dead bodies, decapitated antelope (you were responsible for that part, Di), and spending the night in the library as a flood raged outside.

sidetracked

2006-04-04T13:48:00.000-07:00

I'm finding the sewing machine quite addicting. But, like any drug, there are the downsides, my frequent battles with the bobbin, the breaking of threads, the getting the pins caught in my blouse as the fabric whips through. It's easy sewing, just long straight lines. I pick up a row of squares, do a visual check to make sure I'm not screwing up the pattern, line up the edges neatly, pin every couple squares to keep things steady, roll up the finished rows so they don't drag on the not-quite-clean floor, pull the pedal back towards me (I'm in a constant struggle with it to keep it in just the right spot), flip the foot down, and hope for the best. I'm not really caring if the corners aren't neat. The blues and greens and browns are soothing and make me want to take a nap with it.

My main problem is that I'm so easily distracted. I'm used to multi-tasking - having a snack, listening to music, flipping back and forth between email and blogs, getting up to clean for a minute, sitting down with a cup of tea, picking up a book - it's heard to just sew. I could listen to music or my book on tape, but once I start a seam I'm in the zone and can't really hear it above the machine. But as soon as that row is sewn on - I have to get up, move around, have a bite of chocolate, write a little blog entry...

Oh, and I finally caved in to the whole flicker thing, and it's down at the bottom of my sidebar. Templates are like a maze to me and that was the only spot I felt safe sticking it without messing the whole thing up.

2006-04-03T15:19:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we were feeling restless, so Lu & Mom & I hit the gorge. One of the top reasons to live in Oregon.

2006-04-03T15:18:00.000-07:00

We hit all the waterfalls along the historic highway. No hiking, since Lu was feeling poorly, but we could take in the roar and the spray and so forth.

2006-04-03T15:17:00.000-07:00

This plaque cracked me up. Especially the bit about the drama and poetry of the highway. I mean, the scenery has drama and poetry in it, but not the highway itself.

2006-04-03T15:14:00.000-07:00

Clearly, Lucy needed to get out of the house. She claimed she had three days left to live.

smoothies

2006-04-03T10:12:00.000-07:00

I just got back from taking my sister to visit our family naturopath (for a persistent cold/cough/something (by "family" I mean that he was the one who delivered my brother, and the one whose office we went to as kids). Lucy was there last week to get antibiotics, and while she was waiting for him to finish up with other patients, he handed her a twenty and told her to go around the corner and get some yogurt. "Two big ones, plain, and a bunch of those little flavored Brown Cow yogurts." "That's a lot of yogurt," she said. And he said, "I'm going to make smoothies for everyone. Oh, and get some food for yourself, too."

Today she had blood drawn, and left her half-eaten banana behind on the table. While she was filling out paperwork, he comes out to the front office, holding up the banana, mischievous look in his eye, waiting for her to notice. Which takes about, oh, five minutes because she's fairly oblivious. "This is unsterile," he says with a straight face. Then he goes back and brings out the sweater she left behind. "This is unsterile, too."

My favorite story, though, is about when my mom was in labor and Dr. Dan and his wife (a midwife) were at our house, and their kids, naturally, were playing in the front yard (what, doesn't your doctor bring his kids along to births?) And my mom screamed at one point and startled his son so badly that he fell out of the walnut tree.

Time for a smoothie, speaking of...

books, books, books

2006-03-31T12:43:00.000-08:00

I just spent the last half hour or so in incredible nerdiness, and now feel compelled to share it with you all. First, since I was putting away my new book purchases, I thought it would be as good a time as any to rearrange my bookshelves. I've been feeling a sense of shame over them not being properly organized* so I had at it. Paperback fiction in order by author, then title. Hardcover fiction, children's paperbacks, children's hardcover, ditto. Picture books, poetry, ditto. Non-fiction grouped by subject, in no particular order. Some paperbacks aren't in order because they're stacked on the bottom, dusty shelf so I can squeeze more in. I realized I own a shocking number of books that I've never read (either given to me or picked up at the library booksale for $1 each) and am determined to do something about that.

Then, while I was on the subject of reading, I thought I'd tally up how many books I've read recently. I started writing down each title in my notebook around December of 2004, I think, maybe a bit sooner. Anyway, the grand total for 2005 was an even 80. Forty-seven were children's items (not counting picture books, I'm not that bad) and 33 adult. Thirteen were books I was rereading. That's a book every four or five days, if I do the math right. In the first three months of 2006, I've got 37 titles - 23 juv, 14 adult, and 5 of those rereads. A book every two or three days, I believe. In other words, as long as I don't slack off, I'll beat my 2005 record.

The funny thing is that I know some people will read this and think, "oh my God, she spends so much time reading." And other people will think, "so what? I read 365 books last year." Some people will roll their eyes at the fact that I 1) keep track of what I read and 2) spent the time tallying it up. Others will think, "ooh, I should tally up what I've read!" Please proceed with whichever reaction is appropriate. Have some chocolate, while you're at it.

Has anyone read The History of Love? Should I make an effort to get into it?

*Totally, completely, 100% kidding about this.

snippets, a la babelbabe

2006-03-30T15:40:00.000-08:00

Is there a correspondingly pretentious word (for a school you are about to attend) to alma mater? I'd like to start using it, if there is. Also, it would save me the hassle of deciding whether or not to publicly declare where I intend to enroll and save any privacy hassles.

I find it almost physically impossible these days to not round out a meal with a cup of tea. Breakfast just isn't the same without (in the absence of coffee). Perhaps a cup of Earl Grey. After lunch, a cup of English Breakfast it nice for clearing the palate. And what is a slice of wacky cake (studded with chocolate chips) without a cup of decaf Irish Breakfast? (I choose to ignore the strangeness of drinking "breakfast" teas after noon.)

The one nice side effect to your pregnant friend suffering from back problems is that her daughter becomes much more eager for you to pick her up. Q likes to ignore me in church these days, or limit herself to casting icy glances in my direction. In her own home, it's another story. Read her Fox in Socks and Goodnight Moon and The Maggie B. Swing her around the room. Cuddle her. Play catch with a stuffed cat. Make her laugh by swiveling around her baby doll's head to face the wrong direction. Get a couple kisses as I leave.

I remain on pins and needles about what they will choose to name the baby currently residing in an alleged three cups of amniotic fluid.

On Tuesday I dropped some books off at my neighborhood library (not my place of employment) and just kept walking until I was at my friendly neighborhood used book store, an exceedingly dangerous little house stuffed full of books. I have this problem where I only buy books I know and love. I don't like to take chances. But, I did manage to pick up Motherless Brooklyn - which had better live up to all the glowing praises of bloggers - as well as The Thief in a cheapo paperback and Beauty in a gorgeous hardcover, identical to the copy I first read at the library as a wee thing.

I would rather keep blogging than go to work.