March On

Let's just pretend February never happened.

It's the first day of March and even though it's a frosty morning here in the Emerald City, there was plenty of bird song. Sure, the birds were no doubt saying things like, "Leonard, we should never have closed up the summer house so early" and "What did I tell you, Shirley? What? Another week or two in Miami woulda killed you?" but there was bird song nonetheless. And there are also blooming things. Of course, that owes largely to our nearly dry and completely snow-free El Nino of a winter but things are blooming and they are carrying spring in all their little green cells.

My sails were slack in February. (It's a stupid month. The only things it has to recommend it are Groundhog Day and my sister Audrey Hepburn's birthday. That's not much to go on). I am glad to see the backside of it and even if you don't join me, I'm going to ignore it completely.

Disclaimer: There are people all over the world who are in a really bad way right now. There are people in my life who are dealing with very difficult and scary circumstances. There are people in serious pain and I am very sensible of that when I tell you: ow ow ow ow ow.

I have been experiencing hideous pain from a tooth. I haven't had a lot of physical pain in my life. I had kidney stones once and THAT was a killer. I actually did think I was dying. Worst. Pain. Ever. Even more than childbirth, which is also on my list. But a couple of other times I've had reallyreally bad toothaches. You go around, minding your own business, brushing and flossing religiously and taking your calcium and avoiding the gummi bears and doing all that other stuff you're supposed to do and then one day a tooth just randomly decides that you haven't suffered enough in life; you need a root canal. Which is likely what is going on right now.

I have a call in to my dentist and hopefully she will call first thing this morning and she will fix me up. Or she won't call and I will go down to her office and sit outside the door and whimper until she pays attention to me. Either way, I'd better be feeling better tomorrow or it'll get ugly. (Although, on Sling's recommendation, I was applying whiskey to the affected area with a Q-tip and it numbed the pain enough that I could sleep. For which I was extremely thankful. But I can't walk around with a flask of Crown Royal at work all day so something more substantial must be done. Still, that was really good advice).

Copy Cat

Sling does very creative things on his posts and one of the things I like the most is how he signs each one. For me it evokes a pen-to-paper feel to the blog; you can imagine him sitting with a pad of paper on his knee, scribbling out his wit and wisdom. And he generously shared the website what done makes the signatures. It's http://www.mylivesignature.com/, if'n you want to play, too.

Picture This

Yesterday I wrote of the olives and cypress trees outside of O-town. Funny that this is the only picture I have of that particular combo, when the memories in my head are so much more vivid. That's what happens when you are busy driving and call to your kid in the back seat with a "Hey! Get a picture of that tree for me, will you?" Sling liked that picture. He did some tweaking of it in Photoshop and voila!

I told you it looked like something out of Van Gogh.

Of Church and Kisses

I didn't dream while we were in California; or I did but was so deep in sleep that upon waking I didn't recall them. Since I've been home I've dreamed every night about driving and food.

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Sunday morning dawned in fair and lovely fashion. I could get used to the notion of a summer full of clear, bright mornings. There was coffee, oh, excellent coffee, and the household puttering about in various stages of awakening.

Sling and I sat on the porch (of course), hands wrapped around our coffee mugs, and started talking about things like grace and provision, life lessons and gratitude, about God's love.

I'm not an evangelist in the strict sense of the word. I believe and own what I believe and folks either dig it or not. I have lots of dear friends who aren't particularly of the believing persuasion; they get that I do and I get that they don't and it's all good. But I admit to feeling a little sanctified, sitting there and talking with my good friend; there was a lovely communion about it all that words don't properly convey. Unless, of course, you're Sling. At one point he leaned in and looked at me and said, "You know we're having church right now, right?"

Wherever two or more are gathered, baby.

And to further sanctify the moment, in short order he and LK took us off to the casino for breakfast. Because there's nothing quite like taking the good Catholic girl and her underage daughter out for breakfast at the casino, now is there?

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Little Newt was busy with his camera all weekend. Kid has a pretty good eye, too. He and

The Child figured out how to take pictures on a timer and he gathered us all around for a shot. I'm still waiting for my copy or I'd show it to you. What's important about that particular photo is that all weekend Newt kept calling it "the picture of the family".

How sweet is that? What makes it even more sweet is that is EXACTLY how the weekend felt. We love our Sling and it was important and awesome to be able to be with him, to hear his laugh and guitar, to learn that he hums when he's happy and all the other little details that only meeting can reveal. But to also feel very much part of the family, welcomed and loved by all in his household? That's your ginger buttercream icing on the applesauce cake, my friends.

Our meal at the casino ended (mmmmm....coconut shrimp) we took a few more photos, and engaged in a round of hugs and kisses. Then Sling and Co. climbed into LK's big new shiny truck and we girls back into our little Fergie. LK led us out to the direction of the freeway and with a wave the boys turned to home and we were wending our way toward Alameda.

Lovely, Lazy Days

About the third thing that happened in O-town, after hugs and champagne, was that Sling asked me to autograph his copy of Unbound Press, volume alpha and omega. I was inordinately giddy, what with no one having ever asked that of me before.Newt, as you can see, wasn't that impressed.

After a leisurely afternoon of laughing and talking and repeating the mantra, "I can't believe we're here", we tucked into a very fine dinner of grilled steaks, salad and garlic bread. The Lizzard King is the Wizazard King when it comes to grilling. And Sling was careful to point out that they eat like that all the time, it wasn't just for show for the visitors. Lucky.

As the smoke-hazed sun sank over O-town we found ourselves with glasses of wine, back on the porch, as Sling picked and strummed his ol' guitar. Was it magical? Yes. Was it fun? Yep.

Did certain people spill wine more than once? Uh huh. Was that person me? No.

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While in O-town we did more than sit on the porch. But you must understand that the only expectation Hat and I had was just to sit around with Sling. Every post he's ever written strikes us as something that would be said over a glass of something while shooting the breeze on the front porch. A kitchen table would also suffice, but with temperatures lurking around 90, the porch was a fine, cool thing.

But yes, we got up long enough to fulfill some other vacation hopes. Oh, we are simple, simple girls. Do you know what we wanted to do, besides sit around talking? We wanted to eat breakfast where there were good hash browns and we wanted to see the park and gazebo that are often features of Sling's Twainesque posts.

Thus, we had breakfast at Barb's House of Waffles and One Hour Martinizing. Delicious, perfect hash browns. Sling bogarted the ketchup.

Hat felt that Barb's had the best menu in all the land.

There was a quick visit to the Salvation Army so Hat and I could buy appropriate summer clothes. People in Seattle don't have summer wardrobes and the coolest things we brought weren't quite sufficient for the heat.

Then we explored the lush beauty of Sank Park, which surrounds the historic home of O-town's founding mayor and original concrete shoe manufacturer.

The Child said it reminded her of "Gilmore girls". It was all very pastoral and made me want to sing selections from "The Music Man".

But there was more. Sling, ever the consummate host, made sure that Hat and I were replete in baby toes and sugar kisses.

Oh, they were delicious. (Lizzard King has a brother. Those are his spawn, Baby Eft and her big brother, Salamander.)

And speaking of delicious, Saturday afternoon was cooled down by the never-ending margarita pitcher.

(I'll have you know that Sling was exceedingly put out when he discovered that his local wine and spirits emporium didn't have any Triple Sec. "By jove!" he all but thundered, "What sort of wine and spirits emporium doesn't carry Triple Sec? I say". He intended, you see, to make the margaritas from scratch. But when it is very hot and one is spending the afternoon on the porch, the stuff made with a mixer will do).

For dinner LK grilled up some of the most delicious, moist chicken I've ever eaten. Bobby Flay can kiss his prehensile tail.Entertainment on Saturday evening consisted of play Guitar Hero with LK and it brought about the only case of "sheesh" I had all weekend. You see, LK destroyed me. He was killing on the medium level while I couldn't even manage songs on easy. Songs, mind you, that at home I score 100%. What was the trouble? I blamed it on the calibration of the XBox guitar. Which was actually semi-legitimate as The Child had the same problem. For a second, though, I was totally afraid that with my much ballyhooed Guitar Hero skillz being called into question, so would the legitimacy of all my blogging. (Well, except for the stuff about Hillary Clinton. I was totally right about all that).

Hat said I was silly.

And speaking of silly, she should know. Sling, gentleman that he is, gave over his room to we girls for the weekend. The Child tried to sleep on the love seat (and then made a bed on the floor of the cushions...she's getting long) and Hat and I shared Sling's bed. The good news is that neither of us snore. The bad news is she claims that I am a sheet thief.

Now, the Hat and I have a long standing tradition of laughter and general giggltry. There were more than a few occasions on the drive down when I was tempted to pull over and compose myself, she had me going so hard. But that was nothing compared to what happened when the lights went out. All of a sudden, no matter how tired we were, we'd start whispering and the whispers would lead to giggles and the giggles would birth into full blown guffaws, which we tried very hard to bury in our pillows but to little avail. The first night Sling called from the living room, "You girls settle down in there!" The second night The Child had to do the same thing.

But it was very hard to do, you see. Because when you are full up to the brim with joy and delight, laughter has to bubble out. Otherwise you might explode and that would be very unpleasant for everyone.

Of Front Porches and Family

Gizmo

There we were, in the arms of Sling, being told we were beautiful. Talk about making a couple of girls who are feeling plenty frowzy suddenly come back to life. Of course, cold champagne on the front porch helped with that, too.

Our darling Sling, for we can't refer to him any other way now, has made a life for himself in one of the prettiest little towns in America. Oh, sure, it's got it's main highway filled with not so charming big box stores and such, like pert near any other place in America, but the main townie bit is full of sweet little mostly Victorian houses. And the streets are lined with trees. Beautiful, cool trees. I had a favorite spot on Sling's porch, from the top stair, where I could look out on the street. (Did I take a proper picture of it? No. There were always cars parked along the side. And it's funny how when you are looking down such a street you can ignore that but the camera not so much). There were orange trees on nearly every lot, which astonished us...especially when we saw over-ripe oranges just lying where they had fallen in the street or on the side walk.

The current price of oranges here at home made this all the more marvelous to us. I digress.

Part of the home Sling has made for himself includes the family he's chosen. He lives, as you know, with the Lizzard King, who is a quiet, unassuming, handsome young man who will kill you at Guitar Hero without making you feel like he's just killed you at Guitar Hero. We were also lucky that our visit coincided with the sojourn of Little Newt. He is 6. He has the vocabulary of a 9 year old. Unless it's that of a 12 year old. He is very expressive. He is beautiful. He couldn't think of anything more revolting than a kiss from one of his new aunties and yet, he managed to stick close no matter where we were. Hmmmm. Although, to be fair, the person who he was most inclined to shadow was The Child. If she was watching TV, whatever she had on was Little Newt's favorite program. If she was on the front porch, he was there, too. It was pretty adorable. He also enjoys hosing off the sidewalk. I don't know if he's just an exceptionally tidy child or if it was his way of preventing the spread of fire.

I came into the house after our first little foray into O-town and brightly asked him what he'd been up to while I was gone. "Well, I sprayed the area but don't worry." He held up his hands for emphasis. "I'm going to do it again later". I was glad. I didn't like to miss out on the daily spraying of the area. Rounding out the family unit at the moment is LK's mom, who is the most welcoming, kind, embracing woman I've met in a long time. She made us feel so welcome, wouldn't let us wash dishes (both Hat and I snuck into the kitchen to try but she always shooed us away with a "you're on vacation"). She doted on her grandbabies and attended to us in a most charming, open manner. We felt very much at home.

The Road to O-town

Sometimes, as I navigated highways and byways last week, I would think about how to present this trip. Should it be a day-by-day diary or a series of impressions? Should I approach it in catagories or just slop up a mess of pictures and let the experience speak for itself? Because, you know, that's what I do. Think about stuff like that.

Turns out, I really want to relive the experience because if I don't I'll forget stuff and when I journal about trips I have a whole other completely different approach to the process which is fun for me but not necessarily illuminating for others.

So to begin with, we drove to California. Once upon a time, when I was much younger and more foolish, I once drove with friends straight from Seattle to San Francisco. That's about a 12 hour trip, assuming you don't stop too much. Our road trip was slightly more civilized than that. The first day we drove from here to southern Oregon, where my much beloved aunt lives. We toddled along, stopping when we wanted, marvelling at the hawks that seemed to follow us down the road, appreciating the fact that the weather was balmy and clear.

I did all the driving, because I like to drive and I'm selfish that way. What I didn't realize (or had forgotten) is that extended periods of driving work muscle groups you don't usually use. By the time we got to Auntie's I was an exhausted, achy mess. Fortunately, The Hat has a way with the massage. That and dinner out (waited on by a charming chap who looked like a young Anthony Hopkins and got all our jokes) and some wine on the deck of Auntie's house, overlooking her calm and peaceful valley began to put me to rights. By the next morning I was fine.

Off we set, stoked sufficiently by coffee and pie, to gain California. It's rather mountainous through the last bit of Oregon and first bit of California and we learned that my car, Fergie, is not a fan of the incline. Without a good running start, the best she could manage on hills was about 40 mph. Strictly speaking there is nothing wrong with that. The fact that we were driving through Oregon made it more complicated. Those Oregonians are, uh, aggressive drivers. Aggressive as in you-are-only-doing-75-in-the-fast-lane-when-the-posted-limit-is-65-so-I'm-going-to-ride-up-your-arse-until-you-move-over-slowpoke sort of way. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time with the semi trucks. Nice folks.

The scenery was, of course, breathtaking. Trees and rolling hills, mountains, water falls and rivers. All very "golly, will you look at that".

As is the way of our people, we played car games like Slug Bug and the License Plate Game. We were very happy that, by trips end, we had collected 29 states.

The Hat was my navigator and she did a superb job. I am a good and fairly confident driver but I do tend to get a little anxious when I'm in new territory. Having The Hat to guide me along was a great comfort. Of course, we had our unplanned detours, but that wasn't her fault. We'd stopped at a very beautiful rest stop right inside the California border and called Sling to let him know our ETA. Then we hit the road again and all a sudden, I was HUNGRY. The delicious but illconsidered pie-for-breakfast had burned off and left mama with low blood sugar. Which isn't pretty. I announced that we'd be pulling over again the second I saw any indication of golden arches or other means of sustenance. Soon enough there were signs to "Yreka/Montague". We made Romeo and Juliet jokes. I took the exit. Signs for lodging pointed to the right, the sign - quite blue and prominent - for food pointed left. I turned left and drove. And drove. And drove. Mt. Shasta loomed closer but there was nothing in the way of food, unless (and I threatened to do it) we were to walk up to someone's door and say "What's for lunch?" There were only farm houses, no town. So we turned around and headed back the opposite direction. There weren't any fast food joints in Yreka either but the market boasted a deli so in we went.

The people there were super, super nice. Almost scary nice. They were having a cake walk in the store. The Child played but thankfully, didn't win. (We had no room in the trunk for a cake, thank you very much). The people were complimentary, helpful and made very fine turkey sandwiches. My mood improved immediately.

Of course, once back on the highway we passed not one but two exits which clearly boasted all manner of fast food but I chose not to concentrate on the fact that one more minute of driving would have saved us a good hour of time and celebrate instead the delicious healthfulness of my sandwich.

The other thing we figured out is that while Google maps are all very well and good, it is a better plan to have The Hat compare same to an actual map of California. Had we done so the first leg of the trip we would have shaved another hour, possibly two, off our arrival in O-Town. But it was ok. Sure, we made Sling wait, but anticipation is half the fun, right? Right?

There was a big ass grass fire burning up half the county as we finally wended our last miles to O-town. It wasn't close enough to O-town to cause major problems, but there was smoke in the sky and the next morning the sun was glowing an eerie shade of orange. That was all very interesting. Point is, after many dusty, sweaty miles, we found ourselves cruising the quaint, tree-lined streets of O-town and pulling up in front of Sling's. Oh, the rejoicing. Oh, the hugs. And then, glasses of champagne in hand, we rested on the front porch and entered into talks and jokes as if we spent every Friday afternoon that way.

California, Here We Still Are

Lordy.

You know how it is when you travel. There's so much to see and do, so many photos to snap, souvenirs to collect and stories to recount that one single blog posting can hardly do it all justice. Not to mention, you have to take some time to digest it all; for the real merit of travel lies not in the photos and historic sights and memorable meals but in the heart and soul behind it all.

Consequently, given that our trip is not yet over, this will be brief and cover only the highlights. You'll have to content yourself with that until I've had a chance to absorb it all.

Suffice to say, O Town is swell. Sling is a really lovely host. The first day he took us to the cannery, where we watched people skin stuff. We followed that up with a picnic by the smelter.
Later on, after a few beers, we went to the landfill and shot at rats.

It was awesome.

California, Here We Come!

Hat and I have just had our morning coffee and chitter chat. Now it's time to roust The Child, grab the electronics and hit the road. Whoo hoo! Count down to Sling: approximately 29 hours. Sooner if we have a tailwind.

Graduation last night was ridiculous and lovely and The Child looked very, very grown up. She's a giddy, happy 9th grader. There will maybe be more pictures later but here's the money shot from last night, her with my other daughter and one of the two boys in her class that she's going to miss.
Ok, one more...my happy girls after our little dinner celebration.

Yep, they're cuties, alright.

That's all for now, kids. I have to sort through the toiletries bag because it isn't closing. And I have to pack up the applesauce cake so it doesn't get smooshed. And I have to Superpoke all my Facebook friends.

Love you like my luggage!

Just Stopping In for a Moment

I've said it before but it bears repeating, blogging is awesome. It has become so much more than a way to practise writing. The abiding and completely unexpected gift of being a blogger is all the friends I've made. The crazy thing is that to date I have met, in person, 7 blog buddies and every single one of them was exactly who I expected them to be; no artifice or fakery. And while there might have been a little nervousness in the anticipation ("will they like me as much as I know I'm going to like them?"), all that was dispelled, every single time, the second we saw each other.

Within the hour I'll have my hatty Hat here. She's become one of my bestest friends in the world, a friendship which now has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with blogging. By week's end, we will have hugged the stuffing out of Sling. Now that we've done this "meeting blog buddies" thing, we're not even nervous. Excited, yes, but not nervous. It's Sling, for crying out loud. What you see is what you get with that man and more than anything else I'm looking forward to just hanging out with him.

I first found Sling in the comments section of one of Hat's earlier bloggy incarnations. One time she wrote something about how she wished she could take her blog friends to breakfast and in our comments, Sling and I pretended we were at breakfast with her. ("Are there more hashbrowns?" "Stop bogarting the ketchup"...like that, you know, the sort of thing we do now and again). I don't know what it was and of course, that blog is gone so the whole thing can't be properly entered into evidence but that was the turning point for me. That's when I started stalking reading Sling. And then, as is the way of our people, we started emailing. And now we are going to meet.

Once upon a time JP said something to me about how even if we never met, he considered me one of his best friends. Of course, we had every intention of meeting and, in fact, have met (and eaten Cheetoes and watched "Steel Magnolias" and other stuff friends do) but I knew what he meant. Meeting is awesome, but it actually is possible to get to know and trust someone through the ethers. Of course, the fact is, once the relationship gets to a certain point, meeting is pretty much inevitable, or at least, something that gets put on a list of "Things I'd Like to Do". But the point remains. I've considered Sling a friend, a good friend, for quite some time now. The actual meeting isn't going to be that big a deal. But I still can't wait to give him a big ol' hug and sit around eating applesauce cake and playing the guitar and laughing a bunch. Because I'm pretty sure there is going to be a whole lot of laughing.

New Baby

Get a Voki now!

I'm Going to Sneeze Six Times. Bless Me.

We didn't blow away or slide away or sail away.

Hurray.

I don't really know what else to say.

There was some sun today.

I want to play.

Hey!

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Right, so is anyone else watching "Tin Man" on the SciFi channel? It's awesome. It's a twist on "The Wizard of Oz", starring Alan Cumming (love him) and Zooey Deschanel (adore her). We're big fans of stories that turn fairy tales on their heads.

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I haven't started my Christmas shopping. That's semi-problematic, although I pretty much know what needs to be got. But still. Should probably get on that.

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I am decidedly less glumpy than I was yesterday. I'm not a very glumpy gal by nature. Stuff bothers me, but I usually don't take it into my bones and live with it for hours and hours. Yesterday's version of glumpiness was the sort that made me feel just exhausted and heavy. I couldn't really think or do or any of that. I pretty much just wanted to eat chocolate (we didn't have any) and sleep (I didn't). Today is much better. Although I have decided that I should keep a stash of M&Ms handy, in case of emergencies, you know.

And then Sling invited me over and he had played a Perry Como song for me. Here's what he didn't know when he did that: I love Perry Como. Have since I was too tiny to know what a crush is. Dame Judi and Sean Connery had records of all those great old black and white singers (I always think of them as being in black and white), but Perry was my favorite. He was so cute and his voice was so mellow. I loved looking at his album covers while he crooned. And I was a toddler. Seriously. It's like, my love of Perry Como is so ancient that I hadn't even ever really thought about how much I love him until I read Sling's post and listened to the song and then it all just came rushing back; it was very visceral.

Plus, Sling calls me "Rainey", which I love because not very many people do, but the ones who do are really special to me. Like my nieces. And really old friends. And in some cases, newer friends.

Thanks again for the perk up, buddy. You rock really super hard and I love you. Mean it.

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I got a call from The Child's math teacher last night. Apparently they'd had a super hard algebra test last week. Usually she's really good at algebra. It's funny because the kid still doesn't have all her math facts memorized (neither do I if the truth be told) but she has a real facility for (what I consider to be) the more abstract stuff, like algebra and Euclidean geometry and the Pythagorean theorem. But this test apparently kicked her arse, so much so that toward the end she put a Kleenex on the end of her pencil, waved it at the teacher and said, "I surrender".

That's hysterical.

What's not hysterical is that she needs to pass the test to get a passing grade in math this trimester and she needs passing grades since this report card is what the high schools will be looking at for admission. So the teacher is letting her finish the test this afternoon. Which is mighty fine of him, if I say so myself.

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High school. This application process is another arse kicker. I seriously didn't have to fill out this many forms when I was applying to college. It's insane. Plus, she has entrance exams this weekend and next. Fortunately, the schools to which she's applying don't use the exams for eligibility but for placement purposes (both schools have different learning tracks in their curriculum. Curriculi? Whatever). But still, it would be nice if she could do semi-well on them. Which, between you and me, is doubtful because she's one of those kids who doesn't test well. If you sat her down and asked her to explain a recently learned concept she could do it. Ask her the same question on a piece of paper while she holds a number 2 pencil and tell her she's got 15 minutes to answer and not so much.

It's maddening to have a kid who's bright as a button and struggles to prove it in any quantitative way.

The good news? If, by some chance, she isn't admitted to either school, I'm just calling our pastor. Seriously. A phone call from the Very Reverend to an admissions office would, I suspect, have some serious pull. Sometimes you gotta call in all your chips. This could be one of those times. Yeah. I'm a little worried.

Right, so I have a nice long day ahead of me and the will to do what needs be done so I'm off.

And the rain has stopped. Praise be.

God Baked a Cake Last Night

But then She felt lazy so instead of bothering with 7 minute icing, She just dusted it with confectioners sugar.
Someone isn't quite sure what to make of it.I was very excited when I woke up super early and saw the snow. I had reluctantly agreed to judge an all-day speech tournament and the falling snow hinted at a cancellation. Then we confirmed it was still on so I was sad. Then we got to the tourney and the coach (who is also The Child's home room teacher) said he was going to judge so I didn't have to if I didn't want. I told him he was a rock star, wished The Child luck and fled before Mr. R. changed his mind.

As if that wasn't all reason enough to be gladsome, I stopped by Hat's to inspect her holiday finery and man o man is it superfantastic. Plus she has a link to a site where you can make snowflakes. It's too much fun and nearly as addictive as Speed Scrabble. I've already make 3. There's a link on my sidebar, because I'm a big fat copy cat, and I plan to make a snowflake every day this winter. You should, too.

Then JP called to say he was in the club and we made all sorts of plans for a "Here's the 80s" Christmas party (next weekend - make a note) and so now I have all sorts of things to do. I have to make sure Sling can bartend, order liquor, hire a caterer, line up the bands. It's a lot but I can do it because I'm warm and cozy in my little kitchen instead of sitting in a high school classroom judging largish children. Yippee to the skippy!

One for Sling

Sling likes strings. The soulfully evocative "ping" of acoustic guitar strings, the stirring melodies of string orchestras, large balls of string which he keeps on his coffee table, string theory. He likes spaghetti. It makes him happy that his name rhymes with "string". Yep, he's all about the string.

So I thought I'd send out a dedication to O-Town today. This one's for you, buddy.





The Beatles "Eleanor Rigby"

That Was Close

Last night it looked like my blogging days were over. Not in a "I'm over this and have better things to do with my time and blogging is so 2006 anyway" sort of way. No, it looked like my blogging days were over in a really final, "You are so denied entrance, what are you, kidding me?" sort of way.

It made me have a little panic attack.

So I called The Hat, which is one of the things I do when I panic. (Also, when something makes me laugh, when it's time for a second cup of coffee, or when I hear/read/observe something interesting in the universe. But also, when I panic).

So I call her and tell her, with no ceremony, that my blogging days are at an end. And she, being the sort of squenchy wench that she is said, "Oh...(with that really sweet and sensitive "I'm listening" voice)...what happened?"

Here's what happened:

I have my blog set up so that I get an email whenever someone leaves a comment. You probably do it, too. It's a useful device, especially for those of us who like replying to comments. Saves you checking your blog every five minutes to see if anyone has read it. Right. So a few months ago, I got one such email, clicked on the link and that stoopid "Security Information" screen pops up. I click on it and it went away, for a nanosecond, and then popped up again. And again. And again. Didn't matter if I pressed "yes" or "no". It wouldn't go away and I couldn't get to the comment box.

Fine. It was annoying but I entered through the Blogger dashboard and it was all good.

Last night I get an email. I went to my blog to respond (not through the email, mind you. Because that didn't work. I went straight to my blog). I COULDN'T GET IN. I was at the sign- in screen and it sat there, blipping and blipping and blipping. I couldn't type in my email address. I couldn't do anything. I COULDN'T GET INTO BLOGGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My entire bloglife passed before my eyes. There were at least 3 months of posts I hadn't yet backed up. My morning ritual of blog reading with coffee, gone. Oh, sure, I could spend 412 hours of my day typing every one's blog title into Google but that was going to get old. Plus, the blipping thing was going to keep me from commenting.

It would look like I was disappeared. One day here, the next day gone. No note, no explanation as to why there's a full pot of coffee and not a bite out of the delicious pie on the counter. Just G.O.N.E. Only I wouldn't actually be gone so much as locked out of Blogtopia. And, I might add, in a really passive-aggressive way. "Oh, I'm still here," says Blogger. Blip. "And all your blogs are here," blip. "Everything you've ever written" blip. "You just can't get into them," blip. "Ever, ever again," blip blip blip.

(Please note, "blip" it is not a euphemism for a vulgar word. (In those cases I say "frak", like they do on "Battlestar Galactica"). No, I mean what I say. Blipping. The screen was blipping. It was even making a little blippety blip of a sound).

I begin to mourn. I rue not backing up my archive. I keen the loss of Blogtopia: the give and take of commenting, the in-jokes, the nicknames, Pop 101. Sure, I have the emails of my bestest blog buddies. Their phone numbers, too, for that matter. It's not like I'll lose them forever. But Blogtopia will be gone. On a technicality.

Hat listened to my woe. She said something along the lines of "No, I'm not going to let this happen". She said, "Try this" and I did and it didn't work and she said, "What if you..." and I did and that worked but it was a really backasswards way to beat the system and then she said, "Do thus and so" and I did and not only could I log into the dashboard but it fixed aforementioned email problem, too.

Then she laughed at me. And Sling brought sandbags. And all was well in my bloggy little world again.

---

Learn from my experience. If the weird blipping thing ever happens to you, here's what you do:

1) Go to a blog where you have commented. Find yourself on the comments page, click on your name, which takes you to your profile and click the "big B" in the upper left hand corner. That gets you to the dashboard.

2) Go to "settings" and scroll down to where you have the email address to which comments should be sent. Delete the address. Save your settings. Go back and re-enter your email and save again.

If that doesn't work, I have no frakking idea what you should do. Probably call The Hat and tell her your blogging career is over. Worked for me.

On Second Thought

The Hat and I had many interesting conversations yesterday. There were themes. It all owed to the fact that both of us wrote posts yesterday about which we felt awkward. She deigned to step outside of her light and fluffy box and comment on politics. I confessed to hating a kid.

Hat and I have talked before about our tendency to "self-censor" on our blogs and sometimes even our comments on other folks blogs. There are things I choose not to discuss in my blog. That's one thing. But there are other things that I sometimes want to say but don't because of what I'll call the Kerfuffle Factor. It's not that I'm so insecure in my nuanced views of some issues that I couldn't debate them, but I'm disinclined to debate. I'm afraid of a smackdown if someone disagrees with me (well, maybe a little I am, but just a little). Rather, it's that I find the forum of bloggy comments to sometimes be limiting in regards to real, authentic debate. What happens is this: you write something on your blog. I don't agree. Am I really going to come over to your house and tell you that I think you're a fundamentalist atheist or a wild-eyed liberal or a neanderthal wing-nut neo-con? Of course not. It's your blog. You have a right to your opinion. But the fact is, if I read your blog every day, it's because I like you. I enjoy your presence in this bloggy little community of ours. I'm not very often inclined to challenge your stated views because I don't want to rile up anyone. What's the point?

Discourse in Blogtopia is, I think, a different beast than in real life. If we were sitting in my living room having wine and you said something to which I took exception I'd be more inclined to offer a different view. But that's because we could look each other in the face, hear each other's tone, access all those physical clues that make it possible to disagree and still like each other. The black and white of the comment section makes that all a little more difficult. For me, anyway. And for The Hat, too. Which is what we talked about.

There was some rousing conversation on her blog post yesterday. None of it was mean or ill-intentioned (although I did take exception to the accusation that all Americans drive Hummers. I so don't. And neither do you). But it was rousing. A good bit of back and forth. And it made The Hat edgy. Because she likes everyone to be happy and get along. And again, people were getting along, but the mere fact that she'd opened things up to debate made her uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, over here, I vented about a horrible little girl. You all came along for the ride, imagining with me her deserved and bleak future, pledging to join a bitch slap party. It was gratifying. Until I started feeling bad about it. I mean, yeah, she probably isn't going to amount to much if she keeps this up but holy cow. I'm a grown up, allegedly. I'm a Christian. I'm supposed to be all about the tolerance and forgiveness and peacemaking. And I didn't do a very good job of that yesterday. Which started making me feel bad.

I am, I admit, a bit excitable. I can rant and rave with the best of them. I've never liked that about myself, but it isn't something I've been able to get much of a handle on even as I've gotten older and supposedly know better. Self-restraint, calm in the face of agitation, I admire that in a person. Being able to not get kerfuffled is an art. It doesn't mean one doesn't care or isn't passionate. But it is possible to feel deeply and still act and speak in a way that is thoughtful and has the power to ameliorate, to pour fragrant oil on troubled waters.

Two people did that yesterday. On Hat's blog it was Sling, who said:

Great post Hat! An Edwards/Obama ticket would be great way to bring this country around to the idea that the status quo needs to change....However..I'm too damn old to wait!I would love to see an in your face, break all the rules, flush the whole damn thing and start over, Hillary/Obama ticket...Really. I agree with you that fear breeds fear, which is why I think electing those two would get the people of this country back on the offensive where we belong. A statement that says that maybe we actually practice all that tolerance and equal rights rhetoric we preach. (any room for me behind that curtain?).

On my blog, it was Iwanski, who had this completely humbling thing to say:

Don't worry about slapping the princess. The universe will slap her around plenty. Hopefully, she will take her slaps and learn from them, becoming a great person and one of the Child's future best friends in the 12th grade.

Now be clear: I love all of you. I love what each of you offers, whether it is passion, support, edge, humor, recipes and/or outrage. I learn from it, am challenged by it and think you should all just keep keeping on with whatever you are doing in your bloggy world. I'll bring pie. But that said, I have to give snaps to those two guys for their roles here in Blogtopia.

Sling strikes me as a very calm fellow. He thinks plenty deeply and a strong sense of right and wrong. He'd kick your butt if you truly deserved it. But he has a way of expressing his views that is not confrontational or arrogant or self-righteous or any of those other sorts of things. With love and quiet humor he respectfully says what he thinks and then blithely moves on.

Iwanski is one of those rare folks who manages to always see the side that no one else bothers to mention. His perspective is unique. He can get his Irish up as much as the next guy but he is so kind-hearted, so self-deprecating, so humble that he rarely ever makes you feel a fool. Or rather, I felt like a complete fool after reading his comment yesterday but only because I had the good sense to see the error of my ways, not because he was pulling some holier-than-thou schtick on me.

So Hat and I were discussing all this last night and going on for some minutes about how much we love and respect these two guys and then it hit me. We live in such a bitterly divided society right now. Everyone is right, everyone is wrong, the vitriol flies and the vast majority of us in the middle sit quietly on our hands because it seems impossible to engage in a meaningful way. We are desperate for leadership, desperate for truth telling, tired of feeling horrible and embarrassed by what our nation has become. We are exhausted and a little sad. We need someone to lift us up out of that and push us on to being better than we've become.

There are good candidates on the Democratic side and I suppose the Republicans in the group feel equally confident about the worthiness of some of the folks on their slate. But there is still plenty of time between now and the first primaries. I would like to propose a new ticket, a ticket composed of good men, well-intentioned men, men who drink beer, make people laugh and have sweet, shiny eyes. Ladies and gentleman:

And You Thought All That Blogging Wouldn't Amount to Anything

Just the other day Red, in a random act of largess, handed me a Thinking Blogger Award.

Me likey shiny things.

Technically, he gave me the award for my food blog, but I'm celebrating here because I need something to write about that doesn't have anything to do with Chicago.

One apparently receives this award by doing nothing other than making a reader think. I'd have thought "Here's the Dish" makes you want to eat, but I learned a long time ago that when someone pays you a compliment you smile sweetly and say "thank you". So thank you, Red. Sincerely. I'm flattered.

Of course, with privilege comes responsibility. I must now give the award to 5 other bloggers who make me think. And I can't give it back to Red, although that would be fitting. And he already gave one to JP so I won't, although I could, because he gets way too distracted if there are too many shiny things.

It's fair to say that everyone over on that there blogroll have made me think from time to time but I guess if I have to pick just 5 they would have to be:

Lex at Gladly Suffering Fools. He was one of my early blog finds and I find him to be thoroughly entertaining as well as frighteningly intelligent. He's got a lawyerly brain and so brings a rigorous analysis to the issues of the day, something I missed dreadfully when he went on a bloggy hiatus. He re-emerged just last week and I hooted and hollered when he did. Then I told The Spouse he was back and we did a little dance. That's how good he is.

Jon at I Laugh, Therefore I Am. Jon is properly described as a gentle giant and his blog reflects that. He is an excellent story teller and fine observer of daily life. And even when he's writing about something as simple as riding the train or being in a fourth grade math class, he always manages to say something that makes me go, "I never thought of that before".

I have a label that reads "John Iwanski is brilliant". Nuff said. Iwanksi is deep, marvelously funny and has the ability to look at things in a way that is wholly unique from any perspective you have encountered before. If you don't read him, what's wrong with you?

My favorite bartender is entirely too self-deprecating to regard himself as someone who makes you think but a visit to Sling's Domain is like hanging out on the porch with a good friend. You sit there and swill a beer and eat some chips and laugh a lot and then he says something profoundly poetic or poetically profound and you just sit there stunned. And then he hands you another beer.

It isn't just the boys who are brilliant. If you don't make your way over to Bad Alice you are missing out. She's a fascinating woman who writes with profound honesty about her past and her present. She's funny, intelligent, wise and very often the only comment I can ever find to leave on her blog is "Wow".

So these deserving recipients now have the opportunity to present the award to 5 bloggers who make them think.

The rules are:
1. If you are tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).

Now I have to dust the mantel and find a spot that will show off my shiny thing to its best advantage.

My Mother's Day was Lovely, Thank You

I appreciated all the comments wishing me a reduction in snorkiness levels and a happy Mother's Day. It was very kind. The snorkiness is on it's way out and Mother's Day was awesome.

It began with a nice lie-in until I couldn't lie-in anymore. Then The Spouse presented me with a dozen beautiful roses and made a luscious breakfast of Eggs Benedict and mimosas. Possibly of greater importance, he then cleaned the kitchen. We all played a game of Scrabble, which The Spouse won and then The Child went off to play with friends. It's an irony, but the best mother's days seem to be the ones when no particular mothering is involved. I spent the day in my jammies, playing videos and throwing, with Sling, a virtual party at "Here's the 80s" for JP's birthday.

The Spouse made a yummy dinner and then we sat around the table and read aloud "Rikki Tikki Tavi" by Rudyard Kipling. I'd never read the story before and it turns out that it was one of The Spouse's favorites growing up. His mom, may she rest in peace, used to read it to him all the time so it was a nice little way to honor her mothering as well.

The day was wrapped up with The Child and I watching "Iron Chef: Battle Garbanzo" on the Foood Network. Good times. Good day.

Of course, now I'm the Worst Mother in The World again. She just called and asked me to bring her a CD for use in the talent show. She doesn't actually know that she needs it but she wants to be prepared. And I replied that it was the sort of thing she really needed to be responsible for and that I didn't really have time to run it over to her. She was not pleased but there you go. Could I have actually bothered to run that errand for her? Sure. But at 13 it's time she learns to look after the bits and pieces of her own day. It's my job to teach her that.

The best part of being sick is the renewed sense of energy when the illness passes. I expect to be a very productive little kitten today.