Yippeeeee!

Nineteen years ago, on the Autumn Equinox, I woke to a very foggy morning. Around noon the fog lifted to reveal the most gloriously perfect fall day. So I got all dressed up, walked to the Cathedral with friends and married The Spouse.

How, you ask, will we be marking this ocassion? The way all 19th anniversaries should be celebrated: with some chicken curry, Veuve Cliquot and the season premiere of "Glee", of course!

I love you, Spouse. I can't fit into my wedding dress anymore, but other than that, I'd do it all over again.

Traffic Circles are a Good Thing

It is an absolutely glorious spring day outside. Alright, it isn't technically spring, but you wouldn't know it to be outside in the sunshine with the bulbs bursting all over, the scent of fragrant blooms everywhere and the very busy birds.

But I'm not out in it preparing garden beds or checking the progress of the lilac. I'm feeling kinda drained. So far this weekend has been a bit fraught.

First

Yesterday I had a little accident. I'd picked up The Child and her Best Friend from rehearsal and I was giving a ride to another kid. We were entering an uncontrolled intersection only blocks from his house when I saw another car barrelling down the street toward us. I slammed on my brakes and frankly, closed my eyes and braced for impact. Dude was totally going to T-bone us. But my car angels - who happen to be really, really good car angels - saw to it that the other driver just hit me on the driver's side fender. (They also shoved him up over the curb and blew out one of his tires).

After checking that everyone was OK, I got out to exchange information with the dude. Who was totally belligerent and accused me of running a stop sign. I pointed out that there was no stop sign, that he was doing 30 on a neighborhood street and that he, in fact, was supposed to yield to me. He got on the phone to the cops and I heard him saying that I'd run a stop sign. Dude hands me his phone with a gruff, "They want to talk to you" and the cop asked me what was going on. I told her my version, gave her out license plate numbers and such and handed the phone back.

While we waited for the cops to arrive I called The Spouse to tell him we'd be a little late. After a concerned, "Oh, no! Is everyone OK?" he asked "Whose fault was it?" Later that evening I pointed out to him that, really, one shouldn't go straight there in a situation like that. Sheesh.

Anyway, the cop shows up and dude is all, "she ran a stop sign" and the cop pointed out there was no stop sign. He got my story and dude's and then very matter-of-factly said, "She had the right of way. It's your fault". Then he asked if we'd like him to facilitate our exchange of information and while he was doing that dude suddenly became all, "I'm glad no one was hurt, I'm glad I didn't hit your door", like that. Yeah. I was frakking glad he hadn't hit my frakking door either. Idiot. And, btw, he never actually apologized for hitting my frakking car. Whatever. He got a ticket and a flat so there is justice in the world.

Now my car, which already had a dented driver's door from another little altercation several years ago, has been officially declared, by MAB, as a hooptie. Given that it is 10 years old and has a leaking manifold which causes it to frequently rumble like an active volcano, I think that's fair. Good thing a new car purchase has already been a topic of familial discussion.

Second
I got to visit with Suzanne, mother of my god-daughter Kiki. She is recovering from surgery, following her recent diagnosis of stage iv ovarian cancer. She'll start chemo next week. She's bearing up well, all things considered, and she gave me a little job to do for her which makes me feel like I'm being useful (besides praying, of course). And, of course, I got to spend time with the gorgeous Kiki, most-beautiful-god-baby-in-all-the-land. When I left I told her that I was going to give her a kiss and she lifted up her little blossom of a face and pursed her lips. Ad.or.a.ble.

But it is hard. I love this little family so much and the road ahead is going to be very difficult. I believe in miracles because they happen every day. But that doesn't negate the reality of just how hard the coming months are going to be. Thank heaven we only have to take one day at a time.

So now all that is said, I'm now going to motivate myself. I'm going to clear away piles of paper and sweep things and put clean sheets on the bed. I'm going to start pizza dough (mmmm...pizza) and I'm going to take my camera outside and make pictures of buds. Because buds are one of the most hopeful things I can think of. Then I think I'll make myself some sort of old fashioned sort of cocktail, like an Old Fashioned maybe, and read something uplifting. That sounds like a good idea, doesn't it?

Obligatory First Blog Post of the Year

Lord knows I love the holidays but it's nice that a little window of normal is opening up before the not normal of the family being temporarily being increased by 1.

The Child will not get up happily this morning, of that I am quite sure. She went out on New Years Eve and had a sleep-over with BFF #2, came home around 5 on New Year's Day and then went to a birthday party on the 2nd which also included a sleep-over. She was veryvery tired last night and veryvery grumpy about my "forcing" her to finish the paper on Macbeth that she had all holiday to work on. (To be fair, it was mostly done but for the tidying up of editing but still). Point is, she will be suffering from the cummulative effects of her weekend.

The Spouse is just now leaving for his first day back at the office in 2 weeks. I think he's ok with it, so long as he can make coding seem like playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare or Fallout.

On Saturday I was feeling a little resentful about my minimal amount of holiday time and about having to spend the weekend running errands, per usual, while The Family played and thinking about how I always have to spend the weekend running errands, per usual, while The Family plays and then it hit me. "Hey! I'm earning leave". So I decided that I'm going to take one Friday off every month. And those days are going to be just for me and whatever I feel like doing. (MAB won't like it. She hates it when I'm out of the office. But that's okay because I hate it when she is out of the office). The very thought of such a plan immediately brightened my mood and I finished all my errands quite happily.

So that's my number 1 resolution for 2010. The other is to keep using my wonderful little Wii Fit to get myself ready for meeting Michelle Obama in May. (Meeting Michelle Obama is resolution #3). I love playing with my Wii. I love that I've already lost a pound and am feeling more limber. I love that it is easy to stay committed because it's fun. Technology is a good, good thing.

So we're "back to normal" for a bit. Until Friday, when we receive our Australian exchange student for 2 weeks. The Child and I connected with her on Facebook and her mum friended me. We've had some delightful chats. I knew it was meant to be, though, when she referred to herself as "the worst mother in the world". "Oh, no you're not," I replied. "I am the worst mother in the world and I have the theme song to prove it!"

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime

And at first I wasn't so sure that would be the case. It is, I suppose, silly to think that people will be nice to each other just for the sake of the day. I mean, I think they should make the effort but that's just me. Point is, yesterday was not a banner day in the household and I was beginning to think that calling off Christmas this year would be a good thing. That or running away to Italy. By myself.

From what I understand, it is perfectly normal for a father and teenage daughter to go at it hammer and tongs. Lord knows, I did with my father, Sean Connery. The problem is, aside from the noise level and the vibes of acrimony, most of the time it just seems so unnecessary.

But just when I was thisclose to despair, quite sure that no civil conversation would ever again be heard in our home, people calmed down, had that civil conversation and spent what was left of the evening in harmony and peace. Which is sort of the point of Christmas and since we are a family that claims to care about that, it was nice to see us actually acting like, uh, Christians.

And at least for this moment (because we must remember that expecting consistent maturity from a teenager is just plain silly) The Child is being quite lovely. Like instead of waking us at O-dark-thirty she got up, made coffee and unloaded the dishwasher. And when I got up she asked if she could help me finish the brioche. Love. That.

Anytinsel, I must away to the one grocery store that I know is open to fetch just a few things for tonight's dinner and then I'm going to take my traditional Christmas nap.

I hope you are all merry and bright and that your Christmas is white, in moderation. (A wish that is already too late for those of you under the Christmas Blizzard of '09. I hope all of you stay especially warm and safe today!)

Happy Christmas.

A Public Service Announcemnet & Some Other Things

This morning a cursory glance at my calendar informed me that Christmas is on Friday. For many all over the world, this is a day of joy and feasting. Owing to the particular nature of the feast, something of a fuss is usually made. If you haven't already, you might want to get started on that.


Recent Accomplishments:

The Child's God-mom had called a few days ago and I only called her back on Friday. And left a message. So she called me back on Saturday. First words out of her mouth were, "Is everything ok with you guys?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, you're usually so good about returning calls and I started to worry".

"I was good at returning calls right away when that was all I had to do," I replied. "Since I've gone back to work I've gotten good at returning calls sometime in this decade".

Fortunately, she understood.

That said, I did manage to accomplish some not-work-related things this weekend:

I reviewed all the Christmas presents that have been purchased over the last 2 weekends and have everyone covered. (I also, truth be told, picked up a few little stocking stuffers for myself because I am so easy to buy for).

The menu for Christmas dinner is planned and groceries purchased.

I took the pile of hand-wash-only laundry that has been sitting on my dresser for over a week and laundered it. (In a pillow case, on "delicate"...I"m not insane).

I cleaned my room. (It's his, too, but the mess was mostly mine...which is kinda amazing, giving The Spouse's propensity to just drop stuff wherever. (A trait, btw, which is genetic and has been passed on to The Child).

I put new flannel sheets on the bed; sheets that I purchased for a screaming deal at Costco last week and which have been sitting in their package, on the dining room table for that long).

Sent out evites for Sing for Your Supper.

****

We watched "Clueless" last night, as that is the only movie with Brittany Murphy in it that we own (or, frankly, that I have seen). She was no Heath Ledger, but it is very sad when any young person goes before their time. Last I heard prelim reports were that it was natural causes and sad as it is, I hope so because it's one thing to die tragically and quite another to die stupid.

***

I thought I'd lost my iPod but I didn't. That made me really happy.

***

19 years ago today The Spouse asked me to marry him. Spoiler Alert: I said 'yes'.

***

Both The Spouse and The Child are now officially on holiday until the 4th of January.

I am not.

***

Happy Winter Solstice!

We Gather Together Again

I'm thankful.

I'm thankful for The Child even though she hates me because I made her change her clothes before we went to dinner (cleavage).

I'm thankful for The Spouse even though he never had any intention of putting the giant turkey carcase we scored into the garage which meant I had to because I care more about the potential for food poisoning than he does and doing so put my dress at risk of a good greasing.

I'm thankful my dress didn't get greased.

I'm thankful that even though this was technically a day off I live close enough to work that MAB could call me, twice, to bring kitchen implements that were required and not available. (I'm also thankful for my work and for MAB).

I'm thankful that there are left-overs sufficient for a evening turkey sammie.

I'm thankful for Blogtopia and all her inhabitants (well, at least the ones on my block. Not so much the wing nuts or the spambot who has been littering my posts with Russian ads).

I'm thankful that Barack Obama is my President, that it's almost Advent and that I hid the cinnamon crystal cut candies.

I'm thankful for cold water that isn't diseased.

I'm thankful.

It's Almost Time for the Macy's Day Parade! (And if you say it like that for real I will mock you mercilessly).

My Facebook account is "temporarily unavailable". I know what that means....more frakking changes to the site that I am not going to like. Stoopid Facebook and their constantly-changing-stuff-all-the-time-when-I-liked-it-just-fine-the-way-it-was.

So I'll blog.

The Spouse is making dinner (Alsatian Choucroute...which is about the farthest thing from turkey that there is). The Child is "cleaning her room".

Tomorrow we will dine at The House with MAB and the families. Both The Spouse and I have to work on Friday so we don't have time to go be with all the fam (much to the chagrin of everyone but there it is). But we had fun at The House last year so we're going again. Plus the food is going to be spectacular and hello? I don't have to cook any of it. Gotta love that.

The Spouse just waved a smoked pork chop under my nose. I am not a fan, generally speaking, of the chop. I'll deign to eat it, mostly because The Spouse loves a good chop. But let me tell you, the smoked pork chops from Bavarian Meats are pink and meaty little slices of heaven. Heaven, I tell you.

On Friday I shall wear jeans to work and spend the day hiding in the office while MAB decorates for Christmas. She brings to that process a rabidity that is rivaled only by the likes of Martha Stewart. In fact, when it comes to Christmas decorating, MAB makes Martha Stewart look like a hack.

And speaking of Martha Stewart, my sister Martha Stewart mailed us a shoe box stuffed to the gills with her home-made holiday candies. There's English toffee (for The Spouse), and peppermint meringues and fudge and peppermint bark and she even remembered the cinnamon crystal cut candies that are my personal favorite. Isn't she the best?

I shall leave you with a little Thanksgiving question: what is your very favorite must-have food for Thanksgiving?

I'll start.

For many years I'm quite sure my answer to that question would have either been dressing (not stuffing....I don't like the stuff from inside the bird) or cranberry sauce. But one year a friend and I were invited to a couple's home for Thanksgiving dinner. These women were famous in our circle for their foodiness and wine connoisseurship so we were pretty jazzed about the invitation. When we came to table the food looked and smelled fantastic. We had grace and a toast and I brightly said, "Pass the gravy, please". "Oh," said my hostess, "we didn't make gravy. We didn't think it was necessary. I mean, who eats gravy?"

Oh. My. Yord. Who eats gravy? WHO EATS GRAVY?????

That was the year I learned that my favorite food on the Thanksgiving table is gravy, the luscious stream of goodness that unites all the other goodness on the plate, bringing out their essential and truest natures and lovingly encouraging them to sing. I am always and forever thankful for gravy.

Feastin'

The Autumnal Feast is tonight. It usually takes place in October but with The Child's play and such we had to move it back.

One of the many areas of life that have been neglected since going to work is entertaining. We hardly ever do it anymore, and it used to be we'd have at least one dinner party a month, even if it was just pizza with another family. But it takes time to plan menus and issue invitations and iron napkins and hello?

But in my new found attempt to not suck at everything but work I spent some time thinking about this meal and planning. It might not be quite as elaborate as previous feasts but this is not about impressing the crap out of people. It's about gathering the usual suspects to celebrate the harvest and the change of seasons and 20 years of friendship. So the menu will be simple but it will be, I suspect, delicious.

The Boys always bring the first course, so that will be a surprise. For soup we're having pumpkin chili soup with pepitos and Parmesan crisps (nearly done). Salad will be butter lettuce, radicchio, bleu cheese and cranberries in a shallot vinaigrette (also nearly done). The entree is roast goose (The Spouse is in charge of that). Sides will be a fun little roasted potato thingy (Nigella), Brussels sprouts with bacon (the only recipe that lures me to actually eat Brussels sprouts) and a mixed grain pilaf (Trader Joe's - come on now, mama is not above letting someone else do the work if it's tasty). Dessert is, as always, apple Charlotte and The Child really wants to make it so I'll let her (with some supervision....caramel is involved).

Plus, I got my hair did today and it's awesome. I love my stylist. She's the best little hair cutter in all the land. Maybe there will be a nice picture tonight...I was thinking that my profile pic is getting pretty old.

Must toddle off to the co-op. Have a tasty day.

Or Words to That Effect

"Do me a favor," he said last night. "Pimp my blog".

"But you never write on it anymore," I said.

"I've been writing on it lately but no one comes any more," he replied.

"Hey, publish or perish, dude. If there's one thing I've learned about blogging it's that people don't come by if there isn't new content. I've lost a ton of readers".

"Really? What's your hit count?"

"40".

"What was it at it's height?"

"Over a 100".

"Is that because you weren't writing for a while or because you were writing crap?"

"Both, I think. Point is, you lose 'em if you don't keep it up".

"Well, I only get 3 hits a day. I want more. But be subtle. I don't want it to be obvious that I asked you to pimp my blog".

Oops.

Just for You, Honey

This morning The Spouse woke me up and said, "Time to get up, honey. You need to go blog about your game".

Why he thinks the rest of you would give a mole rat about my game is beyond me but he so rarely asks me to blog about anything specific that I feel I must. So here's the thing: I'm addicted to a new game.

My gaming experience is limited. I'm pretty much either an arcade game sorta gal (Tetris, Bubbleshooter, Pathwords...like that) or I'm into things like "Sims", which for me is just about decorating houses I've built, hooking people up so I can throw them weddings and getting them to have babies while achieving enough cooking points that they can dine on Lobster Thermidor every night if they want. And I haven't even done that in months and months because my laptop doesn't really support the game.

When we got an Xbox at Christmas I regarded it as a present for The Spouse and generally that was true. Then he taught me how to play "Left 4 Dead", a game where you slay zombies. That was satisfying. But the game only has 4 maps and after a while it was pretty much the same game every time. Then he showed me how to play "Fallout 3".

O my yord.

It's all over now.

"Fallout 3" takes place in a post-apocalyptic world. It's a first person shooter game; you create a character and escape "The Vault" only to find a bleak landscape through which you must travel to find safe havens. On the way you accept various quests, which lead you out to discover more of a huge map. There are good guys and bad guys. Your choices influence your karma. Your karma begins to dictate your experience (certain bad guys start to chase you, other characters befriend you (or not) because of your goodness (or badness, I suppose, but I'm going for the good karma). On your travels you pick up weapons and schtuff (that you can use yourself or sell for bottle caps - the coin of the realm, as it were). If you disarm a bomb in one town they reward you with a house which you can then decorate with certain themes (mine is pre-war...very retro). You collect bobbleheads. It is, in short, just about as dense a game as anything I've ever played. There's no set path you have to travel so each gamer's experience is going to be a little different from everyone else's.

It is thoroughly addicting. Hours pass before you realize it. Saturday morning I thought I'd play for an hour before going out to run my errands. 5 hours and still in my jammies later I had to force myself to stop, only to get back on the box as soon as I got home. Conservatively I'd say I've spent 24 hours playing this game and I'm only on level 7. I don't even know how many levels there are.

I have a couple of big challenges (besides just turning off the demmed console). One is that I'm not a very good shot and some creatures are really hard to take down. I prefer to go out into the Wasteland with a flame thrower...that seems to take care of everything from mad Brahmin cows to Mirelurks but I never have enough fuel to just flame through the world. The other challenge is that every structure, cave or tunnel I find is a freaking warren and I get veryvery lost (even though I have a Pipboy which, among myriad other things, contains maps). Inevitably I have to ask The Spouse to come guide me and then am blown away by his memory..."turn left, schooch around that ruined train car, hop up there, turn right"....his memory of that game map is encyclopedic, let me tell you.

Anymutant, it's just about much fun as a person can have with her clothes on and despite the fact that I sometimes have a fleeting thought along the lines of "Geez, if you have this much spare time maybe you could finally crack open that copy of War and Peace and do something useful with yourself" I expect I'll keep playing until I have discovered the whole map, finished every quest and earned a million bottle caps. I also want to collect all the bobbleheads. They're cute.

Got Ham?

Easter was lovely, thanks. Rained like a son-of-a-gun, prompting The Child to crack wise with the ark jokes, but still. We all went to the Easter Vigil, which meant that we could leave some room for the C&E Christians on Easter morning, which further meant that we had a long, lovely leisurely day before needed to prepare the Easter feast. It was a very good strategery and one that will be repeated in years to come. We planned on 12 for dinner and were 9 instead, meaning that there is a plethora of ham in the freezer.

And I, having refrained from sweety treats for 40 days and 40 nights very much enjoyed the triple coconut cream pie.

Yesterday was the beginning of Easter break for The Child and The Spouse had also arranged to have the day off. When I returned home from work they had restored the living/dining room to order, cleaned the kitchen, stowed the left-over ham AND The Spouse was busily preparing a big pot o' chicken cacciatore and risotto for dinner.

I told him I was gonna have to buy him somethin' pretty.

---

In other news, I would like to make some remarks regarding pirates:

Hi, pirates. Rumor has it you are a little miffed that the US retrieved one of her captains by shooting to death 3 pirates. Now you're saying that you aren't going to play nice anymore when you take Americans hostage. Because apparently holding people for ransom is the civilized thing to do. Um, hello? You're pirates. Taking anyone hostage for any reason is an act of provocation. That's a big word so let me explain it this way: You started it. You don't want to be shot at? Stop taking people hostage. For that matter, stop being pirates.

Oh, and another thing, pirates. You've seen our ships. You've what kind of shots those Navy Seals are. I know you've got this pirate-y image to uphold and everything but if I were you and I saw a ship running with American colors, I'd pretend I didn't see it, gently hum a sea shanty while looking the other way and keep on sailing.

Old Habits Die Hard

The Spouse is in LA this week. The Child and I are commemorating the event by eating things for dinner that he doesn't enjoy...things like macaroni and cheese and avgolemano soup.

Last night I was all excited to have the bed to myself. I snuggled up smack dab in the middle, with a good book, thinking how great it was going to be to be able to stretch out anywhere I wanted.

I woke up on my side of the bed.

My Bad

When The Spouse and I started dating he was intrigued by the fact that I kept a coffee maker in my bedroom. It acted as my snooze alarm. The night before I'd set it up with fresh ground beans. Then when my alarm rang in the morning I'd roll over and turn on the coffee maker. When the last gurgle of steam hissed and the fragrance of fresh coffee filled the room, then I knew to get up. Which I would. Right after I had my first cuppa.

The Spouse thought this was pure genius, so he married me.

With two people drinking coffee in the morning, we needed a bigger coffee maker, which moved into the kitchen. But being able to have that first cup right away was still vital so we'd take turns setting it up the night before. One night it was his turn but I did it, telling him that it was my privilege to serve him. (Newlyweds). He latched onto that and coffee duty became The Privilege.

(You do not, however, have to do The Privilege on your birthday. We even have a song about it).

Well, ever since The Spouse started taking the bus to work, he gets up way earlier than me and somehow or another it evolved that he did the Privilege during the week and I did it on the weekends. I don't really know how that happened; there was no reason why I couldn't do it. But then, I think that was emblematic of a lot of things around our house. As an at-home mom, I started doing a lot of things that we used to share because I was here, he wasn't and it just made sense. And if someone starts doing all the laundry it's easy for the other person to stop thinking about doing it.

The other night The Spouse told me that, with me working, it was time to get back to the way we used to do things: trading off cooking dinner during the week, sharing the household responsibilities 50/50, etc. He even said he'd go grocery shopping with me. (He hates grocery shopping and frankly, I don't think we have to take it that far; I happen to love grocery shopping). I'll be honest with you, it rather blew me away. Oh, you better believe I had every intention of broaching that subject but for him to offer it like that was the best "going back to work" present I could have been given. In that spirit of cooperation, I told him that we should also return to sharing The Privilege.

It was my turn last night and I totally forgot.

I'm glad it's a three day weekend. We're meeting some old friends for dinner tonight and one of The Spouse's on-line buddies is coming to stay. But I hope to use the time to get our new systems in place, put away the laundry that was washed days ago and generally try to set it up so that household-y things start functioning a little better. I'm also going to remember to do The Privilege.

All that has absolutely nothing at all to do with today's musical selection. I just happen to think it is a terribly delightful and quite sing-a-longable and it makes me happy.




The Dandy Warhols "We Used to Be Friends"

Ancestry

Thanks, everyone, for coming to the party yesterday. That was way fun. Place is a mess, but way, way fun. Y'all rock.

---

I think the stress of impending high school is starting to get to The Child. She's been rather, uh, testy, the last couple of days. I can tell by the way she's turning the simplest of situations into gut-wrenching drama that this is so.

Know what bugs me? Not the fact of her being stressed out; that makes perfect sense. Rather, it's simply that my little chatterbox who used to ask anything, who used to say, very matter-of-factly, "Mommy, I need a bed talk" (meaning, let's go sit on your bed while I unload) is starting to clam up. She's bottling things up until they explode. And while I know that teenagers are not universally known for their forthcoming and cheerful demeanor, what makes me wonder is if this is all a prelude to her becoming more Norwegian.

The Spouse is descended from mostly Norwegians. Nice people. They have a way with fish and lye and they look good in sweaters. In fact, over the years, some of my best friends have been people of Scandahoovian ancestry. Why, The Neighbor is the product of Finns.

But (and yes I realize I'm generalizing but it's my blog so deal) people from such places are, as a rule, not the most forthcoming of folk. They keep things inside. Everything is always "just fine", even when it isn't. Displaying emotion is a sign of weakness. Now, why in heaven's name would you bother someone with your little problems? Who does that sort of thing? No, we're going to just have some more coffee and maybe a bite of lutefisk and everything will be just dandy.

Ya sure, you betcha. You can always jump off a cliff later.

The Spouse has gotten better about being open. Better, at least, as compared to his brother, who is the King of Denial. But to the degree that he expressed concerns and feelings, there is still a deep place inside where he keeps a lot of stuff. And I don't want The Child to find that place. I don't want her to be one of those people who denies her fears or worries, who refuses to think anyone, professional or otherwise, could be of any help, who thinks she just needs to gut through it and maybe tomorrow it'll all be better.

I am descendant from wilder folk, emotional people. We talk. We yell. We find relief in bad language. We tell our troubles, ask for help and aren't embarrassed by that. This method has its drawbacks, too, of course. But I so hope The Child is going to end up more like my side of the family than dad's in this regard.

I wonder if she'd be up for a bed talk this morning.

You Should Feel Very Sorry for The Spouse

First Reason

The other night I was sleeping soundly, dreaming of James McAvoy, when all a sudden I heard the most ghastly thump, followed by sustained groaning. The Spouse had fallen out of bed. As you can see (Exhibit A),
our bed is rather high. This owes to the fact that our box spring and mattress came free from friends who were moving. We did not then know that there are two sorts of box springs, high profile and low profile. Obviously, with a sleigh bed, we should really have a low profile box spring but as it was, as I mentioned, a gift, we've made due. Up to this point it has not been an issue. But when your husband rolls over and finds himself no longer snuggly but writhing on the floor in pain, it is perhaps time to reconsider.

I had to help the poor man get to his feet. He was sure he'd cracked a rib. The Child, hearing the noise and thinking it was a burgler came rushing in. When she was told what happened she laughed hysterically. I don't think she was being entirely unkind. Papa did blame The Dog for plotting against him, for one thing. Then there could have been the relief of all that mayhem not in fact being a break-in. Although, really, I guess when you are 14 there is something pretty funny about your dad falling out of bed.

The Spouse didn't crack any ribs, thank heaven, but he did mash himself up quite nicely. The doctor says it will be a couple of weeks before the muscles and cartilage and other mashed bits stop hurting.

He is being a very good sport about it, even though it literally hurts to laugh.

Second reason:

He spent all day yesterday and is spending all day today sitting around waiting to see if he'll be called for jury duty. He actually doesn't mind so much. Civic duty and all that. But still; even with an iPod, a book and a $10 stipend (whoo hoo!) it all sounds a little boring and not very "Law and Order".

---

If you live in Washington and don't vote absentee remember to get yourself to the polls for today's primary.

There. Now I've done my civic duty.

A Few Things I Forgot to Mention

I'm going to be a great aunt. ("Or not so great," says The Spouse). My eldest niece, who's been married for a couple of years now, is popping out the 4th generation this fall. At her birth she was the first grandbaby on either side and now she's about to repeat the trick. Isn't that something?

Needless to say, we are all very excited.

---

I joined Facebook. Generally speaking, blogging is about all the "social networking" I need. I never use my Myspace account, especially since one of the 2 nieces for whom I joined in the first place deleted her account. (She's all graduated now and doing her student teaching. Some of her kids found her Myspace page and she decided to dump it. Not that there was anything remotely incriminating on it but still). A friend from church invited me to "be her friend" and I thought "what the hey hey" and then, of course, it turns out that there are a bunch of blog buddies who have Facebook accounts and then I found my college room-mate and then some other friends from church found me and then I forced The Neighbor to join and, well, you can imagine the mayhem. I like Facebook better than Myspace because it's way more straightforward, plus it has all sorts of fun and random groups (like "Jamie Bamber is the Hottest Actor You Don't Know" and "I Flip My Pillow Over to Get to the Cold Side" and "No, I Don't Care If I Die at 12AM, I Refuse to Pass on Your Chain Letter" and "I Love Mr. Darcy enough to make Jane Austen Uncomfortable"...groups that speak to my heart and deepest held values. Sfoofie encouraged me to find the most random groups I could and we all do well to heed Sfoofie's advice).

My favorite thing about Facebook, though, is the Superpoke option. There are all these crazy little things you can do to your "friends", like send them beers or bake them a cake or pinch them. On Tuesday and Wednesday we were all throwing Obama and donkeys at each other. It's fun.

Who said "get a life"? Trouble maker.

"Why did you get a Facebook page?" asked The Child.

"Because your mom is a 14 year old," sneered The Spouse. This from a man who has a Myspace page. Pft to him and again I say "pft". If Facebook is cool enough for John Iwanski, Dan Winter and Miss Healthypants, it's cool enough for me.

Anybuddies, if your on Facebook go find me. I'll totally be your friend. And then I'll throw the Stanley Cup at you.

---

Yesterday was the baccalaureate Mass for The Child's graduating class. The Spouse and I don't much enjoy liturgies at St. G's. We're pretty much high church people and not giant fans of guitar masses with songs we've never heard of that all sound the same. Plus, the priest there has a tendency to go on and on, being one of those folks who never says anything once if he can say it 6 different ways. Double plus, they crammed all sorts of stuff into the service...renewal of vows for a couple who'd been married 40 years (God bless 'em) and a tribute to the teachers who are moving on, not to mention that when it came time for announcements Father pretty much read out every blessed thing in the bulletin. Hi, that's why you have a bulletin, so you don't have to do that. Then when he was done with that he was asking who was celebrating an anniversary, a birthday AND who was visiting for the first time. I half expected him to ask, "Now let's see a show of hands...who had oatmeal for breakfast this morning?" It was a bit much.

But all that aside, it was a moment for us and The Child. I got varklempt when they processed in, wearing their gowns. The Spouse got all choked up when she went up for Eucharist. And we were both very proud during the Liturgy of the Word, because she'd been asked to do the Prayers of the Faithful. She wrote them herself. Would you like to know what her prayers were? 'Course you would:

For Archbishop Brunett and Auxiliary bishops Esabio and Tyson, that they may lead the church responsibly.

For the victims of the earthquake in China and the cyclone in Myanmar, that they will be able to recover and rebuild.

For the conflicts in our world, especially in Iraq, that there will be peace and our troops can come home safely.

For the teachers of our school, those leaving, those staying and those coming in, that they will be blessed and have a great experience.

For the graduating class of 2008, that they will know God's love and care as they move on to bigger and better things.

How adorable are those? How adorable is she? (Even though, at the moment, she thinks I'm more irritating than she's possibly ever thought I was before).

---

It's totally raining and nasty here today, pretty much like it's been most of the month so far. Somehow I must capitalize on the random sun breaks to turn my garden beds and install the tomato and basil plants I bought this weekend. It doesn't look like this is going to be a good summer for tomatoes but hope springs eternal.

Yes, Honey, That's Exactly What I'm Going to Play

Most weeks I have selected the Friday video with great care and well in advance. It could be a new song I've discovered (thank you, Guitar Hero), a blast of nostalgia or a tune that provides the soundtrack for musing or current situation. And sometimes, like today, it's the first thing I hear in the morning.

Both The Spouse and I have clock radios. The reception in our room is weird. It's fine on The Spouse's side and his radio wakes us to the dulcet public radio tones of Steve Inskeep. Then I fall back asleep for an hour, until my alarm comes on with the tinny squawk reminiscent of a transistor radio. And the only halfway decent reception I get is on some weird "oldies" station.

My alarm goes off about the time The Spouse is leaving for work. He brings me a cup of coffee, gives me a kiss and tells me to have the best day ever. (He does pretty much the same thing for The Dog, sans the coffee). That's the ritual. But this morning he brought the coffee and said, in a high pitched "mom" voice, "Come on, Lori. Time to get up for your first day of high school". Because this is what was on the radio and it shot him back 35 years.

This artist is way bigger in the UK than he ever was here. This song was, in fact, his only Billboard hit in the US. But he started out in the UK as a wisp of a lad, playing the lead in "Godspell" when he was only 23. He has had a mess of pop hits but is probably even more well known (again, in the UK) for his musical theater work. He's done quite a bit with Andrew Lloyd Webber, for example. I was looking at some stuff about him on line and am happy to report that he's aged extremely well. Which is nice because golly gosh, Preppie, was he yummy back in the day.



David Essex "Rock On"

Born Not Made

I have strong evidence to suggest that geeks are a fundamental result of nature rather than nurture and further, that the geek gene does not skip a generation.

Let's start with The Spouse's parents. His father was an engineer at Boeing from the day he graduated college until the day he died. The man owned a slide rule. His mother met his father while working at Boeing, as one of the first women engineers in the company. See? Brainy people. (I never knew these people but I do count among my acquaintance any number of engineers. I love them. But they are definitely a little geeky).

Along came The Spouse who is, without question, a geek. He was one of those guys who had a personal computer when the monitor ran in orange. He programmed stuff and fooled around and one day he loosened his tie after church, sat down with the want ads and said, "Hey, there are a lot of computer jobs in this town".

Yep. And coffee on every corner.

He also reads science fiction, watches science fiction and, for what it's worth, his aunt is best friends with the woman who wrote the Clan of the Cave Bear books.

Me? I never considered myself much of a geek. I wasn't good at math. I've read some science fiction and enjoyed it but it was all pretty mainstream stuff: the CS Lewis trilogy, Madeleine l'Engle, Dune. I even took science fiction in college, but that was because it was one of those seminar classes that was structured so geeks could take it for English credit and English majors could take it for science credit. And sure, I was a little pissed when everyone started using Windows because by then I'd figured out how to manipulate my computer world in DOS. (I still kinda miss DOS if the truth be told). But that owes more to my not liking to learn new ways of doing computer related stuff than to any actual geekiness. But otherwise, not so much a geek. I know 0s and 1s manipulate the computer landscape but I don't know how. (I know how to write the html code for italics but I don't know how it works. And I don't care. So long as it does work).

Plus, there are those (Iwanski) who call me a geek because I watch "Battlestar Galactica". Although, anyone who has ever watched "Battlestar Galactica" knows that it is a show about race, politics, religion, sex and the meaning of civilization which just happens to be taking place in space, which hardly makes it geeky but you'd have to watch it to know that (Iwanski) and besides that, anyone who ever dreamed of writing for movies/television (Iwanski) owes it to himself to watch it before he shoots off his mouth anymore (Iwanski).

So The Spouse is pretty much of a geek by all the standards commonly accepted for geekdom. (He doesn't wear a pocket protector. He does have a slide rule, but only because I bought it for him at the Rummage Sale from Hell). I am a nominal geek. (My numbers amp up a bit if you factor in computer games).

The Child comes along. A child who consistently gets Cs and Ds in math. A child who claims to hate science because "it's boring", although she thinks that growing up to be an archaeologist might be cool. Ah. The chain is broken.

Hold on there just a minute, Mr. Tesla. Not so much.

The Spouse had to stop watching "Battlestar Galactica" about halfway through last season because SciFi switched the air time to 10pm on Sundays. So we've been watching Season Three for the last week, to catch him up for tomorrow night's season premiere. That's a lot of episodes. And The Spouse gets up pretty early. So for the last two evenings we have gathered as a family in the kitchen, held hands to say grace and then The Child has taken her food to her room and we've gone into the family room to watch "BSG".

(I can't believe I just admitted that to you. It goes against my nature, against everything I believe about the importance of the family table blah blah blah. But there you go).

So yesterday The Child says to me, "You know how sometimes you really become a fan of one thing? Well, I'm really into "Star Wars" right now".

Yep, while we've been watching BSG she's been reacquainting herself with Luke and Leia. But that's not all. She and a friend have decided to start a newspaper. She's written her first article. "Aliens: True or Hoax?" in which she argues, fairly effectively, that alien life is a strong possibility. Ask her about Area 51 sometime. She can tell you way more about it than I know.

When she's been all het up about Harry Potter, with a rabid attention to detail that would serve her well were she to apply the same to academics, I just figured it was a kid thing. It is arguably the defining book/movie series of her generation...what The Wizard of Oz or Tolkien's Ring cycle were to previous generations. But now I'm not so sure. Hello? Wizards? How geeky is that? Coupled with her new found interest in interplanetary life forms, the conclusion is inevitable. My child is a geek. Like her parents and grandparents before her.

I don't know whether to hang my head in shame or get her a poster of the Very Large Array.

Carl Sagan, here she comes.

Marshmallow Fluff

The Child wanted to be pranked bad yesterday. So for dessert last night I made her a fried egg sundae

Chocolate ice cream, of course, with marshmallow fluff for the white and some vanilla pudding with extra color for the yolk. It was disgusting. The Spouse and I had whites only sundaes. Yum.

I was talking with The Spouse about yesterday's post and the comments. It always amazes me what all y'all attach to in any given post. Some of you picked up on the trading spouses thing, and some on "How I Met Your Mother". Others of you weighed in pro or con for coconut and some got more specific relative to the merits (or not) of German chocolate cake. This could speak to a decided lack of focus in my writing but I prefer to think of my blog as a playground. Y'all climb on whatever rides you want and then we'll have a snack.

And speaking of fluff, dear Danny issued this Musician Challenge. Picking only one artist, one must answer the following questions using only song titles with no repeats.

And just because I love JP so much, I didn't use the Jonas Brothers.

1.) Are you a male or female? She Brakes for Rainbows

2.) Describe yourself: Quiche Lorraine

3.) Describe your day: Too Much to Think About

4.) Describe where you currently live: Dirty Back Road

5.) If you could go anywhere, where would you go? Downtown

6.) Your best friend is: Queen of Las Vegas

7.) Your favorite color is: Topaz

8.) You know that: There's a Moon in the Sky (Called the Moon)

9.) What's the weather like? Breezin'

10.) If your life was a television show, what would it be called? Is That You Mo-Dean?

11.) What is life to you? Cosmic Thing

12.) What is the best advice you have to give? Work That Skirt

13.) Describe your ex? Ain't it a Shame

14.) Your current relationship status? Good Stuff

15.) What's your favorite hobby? Runnin' Around

16.) When you think of your friends: Hero Worship

17.) What do your friends think of you? Keep This Party Going

18.) What does your current love interest think of you? Dance This Mess Around

19.) You always travel with: Legal Tender

20.) The best way to end a long day? Dancing Now

21.) Your occupation is? Housework

22.) When you grow up, you want to: Roam

23.) What does your family think of you? Tell It Like it T-I-S

24.) Your favorite food is: Rock Lobster

25.) You want to be remembered as: Song for a Future Generation

I think I gave it away with the first question. Whatev.




B52s "Deadbeat Club"

Someday I'll Write a Post That Will Be Nothing But Parenthetical Statements

As you know, The Spouse and I have a running joke about Steve Martin being my second husband. (It's not a joke. If Steve Martin showed up at the door right now I'd grab my tiara and leave a note. I guess the joke is in the fact that Steve Martin isn't going to be showing up at my door). But this is an equal opportunity marriage. The Spouse too gets to pick a new partner. But it turns out that whereas I have pledged my undying love for Steve Martin for over 30 years now, The Spouse is motivated by a more flexible standard.

We'll be watching a movie with, say, Zoey Deschanel, and he'll say, "She's going to be The Child's new mommy". (When she was little that would make The Child cry. Now she says, "Sweet!") For quite a while there Sandra Bullock was the new mommy of choice but apparently he's got an age limit.

Last night we were (ironically) watching "How I Met Your Mother" (which, btw, included a classic Doogie Howser reference and that they've waited this long to do so shows remarkable restraint). I asked if Alyson Hannigan was going to be The Child's new mommy and he replied, "Naw. She's getting a little long in the tooth".

"But she's America's sweetheart. And besides, I want to know that the new mommy will be nice to The Child".

"Oh, that doesn't matter," he replied. "You're taking The Child with you".

Boy, was he disappointed to learn that the whole premise of the "new mommy" thing implies at least shared custody.

---

Remember that time The Spouse came to me and sweetly asked, "Honey, where do we keep the German chocolate cake?" That question has haunted me for months. In the first place, he claims not to be a huge fan of cake. We had apple pie at our wedding reception, that's how much he is not a fan of cake. I was sure he was joking but at least once a week now he says something about German chocolate cake.

I finally decided to make him one. Got a mix and everything. The Child actually baked it. It's been sitting on the cake plate for four days because I haven't frosted it yet. And why, you ask? Because, you, I was looking up recipes for German chocolate cake icing and, as I suspected, coconut is a major player.

Well, says you, that just sounds yummy. Coconut is awesome! Remember that gorgeous triple coconut cream pie you had for Easter and ate for breakfast for 3 mornings straight, you fat tub?

That was not kind, says me, but yes, I remember. And I also remember that The Spouse didn't eat a lick of the pie and when I asked him why not he replied, "Really not a fan of the coconut".

What? 16 years of marriage or whatever it is and I didn't know this about him? He eats Thai food, which by law requires coconut milk. I'm pretty sure I've seen him eat a Mounds bar. (Or was it an Almond Joy?) I know he doesn't care for macaroons but that's just a small character flaw. But if he is, in fact, not a fan of the coconut then what does he think belongs on top of a German chocolate cake? I sure wasn't going to commit if it meant the thing was going to sit and molder on the counter.

So last night, after we settled the whole "new mommy" thing, I asked if he was aware that German chocolate cake icing involves coconut. "Oh, yeah".

"But you don't like coconut".

"Context is everything," he said.

Oh look! Here in the dictionary, next to the word "fickle":