I celebrated the 4th of July by declaring my independence from a POS car.

Fergie the Focus, which has by and large been a good little car, has been in decline for some months now. Among her many troubles was a leaking manifold, which The Mechanic said wasn't worth fixing given it would cost more than the value of the car. He gave her a few tweaks, enough to squeeze a few more months outta her. And, frankly, that probably cost more than she was worth as well. But she drove ok, provided you didn't mind horrible grinding noises & rumbles when stopped or the"check engine" light that randomly came on and off or the front bumper that was nearly off because of the accident a few months back or the 10 years of accumulated kid crud that I had just given up trying to keep clean.

The other day I was on my way to work and the car started to fish tail. I pulled over, thinking that the tire with the bent rim that is always leaking air (see? POS) had gone flat. But it, while low, was not flat. The right rear tire was, however, tilting at a very odd angle. I called a friend to come look at it; he judged it a problem with the axle and gave me a ride in to work. The nice AAA tow truck driver who later pulled it up to the house said that the bracket for the axle had broken.

That is when the skies parted and the car gods spoke unto me and say, "Yea, verily, this car is a POS and it is time to replace it and aren't you just thankful to your very good car angels that this axle thing didn't happen on the frakking freeway?" to which I responded, "Yes, lord".

And so it was that Saturday found The Spouse and I at the Ford dealership buying a Fusion hybrid. Which looks like this:


Isn't it beautiful? (And don't be one of those party poopers who tells me that black cars are hard to keep clean because I don't care and if you can't be happy for me just be quiet; which, btw, is exactly what I told The Neighbor when she started in on the whole black-car-hard-to-keep-clean thing).

There is a whole lot about this car that is way cool. Like being able to plug in my iPod and then give voice commands. (Except the car hears "Lady Gaga" as "Abba", which I think is just hysterical). Or the fact that my mobile phone is synced up to the car for hands-free "call home" kinds of communication (except I haven't quite figured out how to make that work). Or the lighted cup holders (I have the light set onto a kind of disco pink). Or the fact that there is, per cubic inch, more storage space in the car than in my house. And then there's the leather seats (I said it was a hybrid, not a vegan) and the retractable moon roof and the new car smell.

But coolest thing of all, seriously, is that driving this car is kinda like playing a video game. The display on the dash shows you all sorts of awesome stuff (the more leaves, the greener you are driving). And it calculates you overall mpg, which is slowly creeping up by 1/10th increments with every trip. It is, The Spouse said, like unlocking achievements in a game: "Whoo hoo, I unlocked the 'Smug Hippy Achievement! Now I can upgrade my weapons!'"

Actually, that's pretty great but truly the best of the best things of all is the reliability of a new vehicle. For the last 6 months any time I got in my car I got knots in my stomach, wondering if this would be the trip when the old girl would finally give out. It's a relief to not have that concern now; and if something does happen Ford has to fix it for free. That is one of the best feelings in the world.

Anyway, I have the day off and some errands to run so I'm gonna go see if I can unlock the "Smug Yuppie Achievement".

Pft

PR Recap:

Jonathan won, Ben was aufed. Yeah, I don't really care today.


Last month we poured $1000 into my stoopid car in hopes of keeping it running for another year. It's going back to the mechanic tomorrow. I am extremely annoyed.

I need a serious attitude adjustment right now.

Maybe a bagel would help.

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?

Bread Makes Me Ramble

I still love my niece Jane Austen but she stood me/us up last night. She says she's going to come over next week though. (holds breath) Kids.

---

There is a little bakery in the next 'hood over that I have come to like very much. I treated myself to a visit there this morning. (I had to take my car in because it has a tire with a slow leak that has become a fast leak. Fortunately, the road hazard warranty was still in effect and the new tire + repairs to another+ rotating and balancing my tires only cost me $26. We love you Costco, oh yes we do-o, we love you Costco and we'll be true). I was, of course, very pleased by this but I still had to kill an hour at Starbucks while the work was done and it was a little boring because I didn't feel like reading and I wrote a blog post but then I didn't like it much and I didn't have my laptop because even though it's supposed to have a wireless watchiwoozle, I can't figure out how to activate it.

An aside: It is possibly a little sad that I found that hour at Starbucks to be something I killed rather than nurtured. I mean, normally, a spare hour in the middle of the day like that should be some sort of respite or something. But I guess my life is so full of respite at the moment that sitting idly in a coffee shop kinda because I had to as opposed to because I wanted to didn't have the same resonance it might have otherwise had.

Point is, after I got my tire situation all tidied away I headed home by way of Columbia City so I could indulge in some baked goodness. I bought a pain de campagne for dinner tonight and a babka for breakfast tomorrow. It made me very perky, partly because I really love the notion of bakeries and there are actually very few in Seattle that are independent and worth the bother. I mean, if you are going to make a special trip to a bakery, it oughta offer crispy, yeasty goodness that can't be found just anywhere or what's the point? And also, slipping into that little bakery is the closest thing to pretending I'm in France that I have within a 5 mile radius and I like pretending I'm in France.

If I lived in Paris I really would go out to do my marketing nearly every day because I could. Here that just isn't possible. The closest thing we have to that sort of opportunity is the Pike Place Market, which I did frequent several times a week when I lived downtown, but now it's not close enough. The co-op down the street doesn't feel remotely European, plus everything there is organic and seems to cost entirely too many dollars a pound no matter what it is. Plus, while they do have a decent selection of artisanal breads, they are produced by a bakery whose market is places like the co-op and no matter how fine the product, there is something about mass produced bread, over a certain quantity, that just ends up missing something.

I am only just discovering aforementioned little bakery. On Sunday I purchased the most perfect apricot danish I've ever had and a roasted potato loaf that was exceedingly delicious with steaks that evening. I've decided that I'm going to become a regular there and sample all their offerings and decide on favorites. Which means, if I'm really going to do that, I will have to begin walking there and back, rather than stopping on my way home, because too many pastries will interfere with my other goal of not becoming a completely rotund person.

Once upon a time I thought about starting my own bakery. It just seemed like a very delightful sort of way to make money. But aside from the fact that bakeries aren't necessarily known for making people wealthy there's also the whole thing of getting up before the crack of dawn to get the loaves formed and fill the pastries and fry the fritters or whatever. And I don't love anything enough for that. But that does remind me that we have discussed building a bread oven in our back garden and it really would be a superfantastic thing to do. You can't get a really decently crispy crust on bread baked in a home oven unless you are willing to fuss with all sorts of stuff like stones and boiling water and I'm usually not. But a nice brick oven in the back that could get all hot and fabulous and that I could bake in even when the weather is too warm for indoor baking? That could be cool.

Hi! I'm Having a Pity Party. Wanna Come?

I've been putting off blogging today because I don't want to tell you what I'm really thinking lest you find me lame beyond belief. But then I thought, "Hey, like they haven't figured that out already. The kids are alright".

It goes something like this:

A friend sent me a link to an article in the local paper about these two women, one in Seattle, one in Paris, who both have blogs (about food) and both just got book deals. I know my friend's intention was to show me what is possible, to be encouraging and all that but the net effect was flaming green-eyed jealousy and a whole lot of "pft"ing.

Now here's the thing: I didn't start my blog to get a frakking book deal and I'm perfectly happy with my 110 hits a day (on a good day) and the handful of faithful readers who comment. (Because I like the back and forth of the comments and, as has been noted before, sometimes the comments are better than the initial post. It's fun. And if I was getting thousands of hits a day, like those stupid book deal women, it might translate into more comments and then I wouldn't be able to answer them all and that would stink).

I pretty much have abandoned the "discovered in a soda shop" route to any sort of success. It's all about plugging away and risking and all that "up by your bootstraps" stuff. But still. Sheesh. Stupid book deal women. We hate them. (Even though I'm pretty sure I'll end up buying at least one of the books).

The Neighbor asked if I'd read the blogs and I muttered that I wasn't going to give them another hit, silly women with their stupid book deals, especially the one who lives in Paris which should be gift enough for a person for crying out loud. But today I did. And they are good blogs. I didn't read them, however, and say, "Oh. My. Lord. Well, that explains it. Of course they got a book deal and not only that we should all stop writing because they are saying with eloquence and beauty everything that ever needs be said". They were good blogs, I repeat. But on a good day mine is just as good. So bollocks.

And then there was other stuff: a friend who just got a superfantastic new job and I couldn't be happier for her for she truly is deserving but part of me was all, "Well, crap" and jealous. Because there is one iron in the fire that might be very nice but it's one of those deals where if someone special takes a job I'll have a job and if he doesn't than I won't. It's just a possibility. Which essentially leaves me in the same frakking place I've been since February of wanting a job but not wanting just any old job for the sake of having a job and trying to figure out what's next. I do not do well with uncertainty. Which is unfortunate, given that not much is certain. Ever.

I started my pity party last night with The Neighbor, giving her strict instructions that I was NOT looking to be encouraged or jollied out of my mood or given stirring speeches. I just wanted to vent. And she let me. But we got into the notion of success and how I would count that. In most areas of my life I'm perfectly content, yea verily. But when it comes to writing, I do have some nebulous goals. I don't write for the sake of art. It isn't enough to craft a particularly elegant sentence. At some point along the way, I want it to be read. I don't need to be on the New York Times best-seller list for 6 months. But published would be nice.

"You are published," she said.

"Yes, but one article in one literary journal isn't enough", said I. Because it's not. It was all very thrilling and affirming and all that but it's not like I said, "Excellent, that's one off the short list. Now all I have to do is learn to make chevre and I'll die happy".

But blah blah blah. We've already established that my musings about being a writer are utter twaddle. There's more:

1. I had a profound conversation last night with The Child which made it clear that she is at the point of considering Deep Things. She's thinking for herself, questioning for herself, making things her own. Which is lovely to see. And a little scary. We set her on a path, which is our job, but she'll be travelling it in her own way. She's growing up and that makes me feel shaky sometimes.

b. We're planning this boffo trip to Chicago in July and someone was going to come and now he can't. Which sux so much it isn't even funny. When The Child found out she wailed, "Well, then I'm not going either". Yes, she is, because we've already bought the tickets, it will be fun and she'll get to meet other people but still. I'd be bitter® about it but I don't own the rights.

3. My stupid frakking car stalled on me twice this morning so as soon as I got the kids to school - by the grace of God and all the archangels in charge of all things automotive - I had to take the piece of crap to my car guys. Again.

So grumbled, grumble, fuss, fuss, fuss.

I'm in a valley time and have been for a while. I'm so over it but as I don't see an incline in the near distance, I'm forced to look for whatever beauties the valley might afford. And there is, at least, some dappled light on the path:

• We had our first al fresco family meal last night - chicken with chutney crust, moist and delicious.
• There's plenty of wine in the house.
• I started watching "Battlestar Galactic" (the mini-series) again.
• I got an email from Dariush this morning. (Oh, btw, I'm jealous of him, too; but he's not stupid). It had nothing to do with any of this but managed to be encouraging and stir me to action on a little project I've cooked up.
• The car guys just called and the problem appears to just be some silly wire so it probably won't cost $412,000 to redeem my piece of crap vehicle. (2000 Ford Focus - worst car since the Edsel. Just saying).
• I had a nice chat with Payson.
• JP called and made me laugh, plus I think I've convinced him to come for my birthday in September.
• The weather is very beautiful and it's hard to be completely poo-headed about everything when the sun is shining.
  
  I think it was Julian of Norwich who said, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well". I believe that. Even when I'm in a pissy mood.

Chicken with Chutney Crust

1 c. fresh breadcrumbs
¼ c. dill weed
½ t. dried basil
¼ t. salt

chutney (Major Grey's is yummy but any sort will do)

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

olive oil for drizzling

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Combine breadcrumbs with seasonings.

Pat dry chicken breasts. Spread both sides with chutney. Dredge in breadcrumb mixture and place on a rack in a baking dish. Drizzle with olive oil.

Bake for about 20 minutes, until chicken tests done.

March Comes In

To the north and south there is lots of snow and ice. Right here, in the little pocket of urban bliss that is Seattle, there is bright spring-like sun, fluffy white clouds in the brilliant blue sky and the sound of crocuses popping from the ground. Decidedly lamb-like for my neck of the woods but far more liony for the rest of the region. Should make the 31st very interesting.

While dusting some very grimy books this morning I had a revelation-that's-not-so-much-a-revelation-as-a-reminder: I am good at many things. Waiting is not one of them.

This has been a very productive week and that just thrills me to no end because so often I'm much better at laying plans than actually executing.

We finally got around to watching "Brokeback Mountain" last night. Meh. Meh to the 10th power. The Spouse liked it. But then, as I'm wont to say, he likes everything. Never met a movie he didn't like. He will even find the one thing that works in a movie that is universally held to be horrible. I like that about him. Although if he says a film is "great" you should get a second opinion.

Did I mention that The Child's class is reading Romeo and Juliet? They have all signed up for different parts and scenes...she's going to be the Nurse, in Act II, Scene iv. The parts have to be memorized and performed near the end of this month. We started running lines this week, one 15 minute session a day. Oh. My. Gosh. She already has all the little lines memorized and she's working her best British accent. She's also rolling well through the various modes of expression required in this particular scene...indignation at saucy Mercutio, feigned hurt at Peter standing by while Mercutio is saucy, not to mention warning, conspiring and encouraging Romeo...all in the same speech. She really is going to be amazing. And you just haven't lived until you hear her said "Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skainsmates!"

I think she's going to be a method actress because after we practised she changed into an old Halloween costume that has a renaissance thing happening and asked, while she was making splendid BBQ chicken sammies for dinner, if we could please try to talk like the Nurse and Juliet.

In other news, my car has decided to make some sort of horrible grinding noise that sounds like I'm dragging a piece of fuselage. This is perfect timing because the extended warranty I bought on the thing 2 years ago is no longer in effect. The good news is that there are really good mechanics just down the street. The bad news is there will be a car repair bill. That is never a good thing.

And now I must away. Fair jocund day salutes my eye and...and...that Elizabethan crap is hard.

The Art, and it is an Art, of Avoidance

I was on my way to a meeting last night (which, of course, I resented because the only thing worse than an evening meeting is one on a freaking Friday night) when I blew a tire. As you can imagine, I was really disappointed because it meant limping the car back home instead of going all the way to school. Darn and darn again.

The Spouse put on the spare for me this morning but the original tire is beyond repair and I must get myself to Costco for a replacement. I can think of better things to do with a glorious Saturday morning, a glorious morning burnished to perfection, by the way, because our coffee grinder part arrived yesterday.

But first I read my blogs. My reading inspires me to add every available 21st century "Battlestar Galactica" episode to my Netflix queue and find out what my cyborg name is. Then I have to tell you about it. Then I go back to the fun site and learn my monster name:



How funny is that?

The Simple Life

The volunteer intern at the Cantwell office is a guy named Phillip. He just got back from a trip to Sri Lanka, working as an observer for their recent elections. (Just so you know, when I was his age I was figuring out how much money I needed to party on the weekend and still have enough for the Nordstrom half-yearly sale). We had a good catch-up chat yesterday and he was talking about the more profound lessons he reaped from his trip...like how much stuff he has, how much more simply he wants to live now, how even staying plugged in all the time via cellphone and Internet has lost some of its allure. I can't personally see taking it that far but I admire those sorts of life altering revelations. We experienced something similar when we got back from France...we were watching less TV, having apertif every evening and eating smaller portions more slowly, that sort of thing. The trick, always, is to stay mindful of those commitments and not get sucked back into the madness of American culture. Which is more or less what happened to us. Although we still eat later than most Americans and we still say "D'accord", when we think of it.

Anyway, that sort of "how the other half lives" eye-opening is what is great about travel, if you want it to be.

We got a mild little wake-up last evening. We were sitting in front of the Food Network eating pizza (a treat for a mid-week evening) and all of a sudden the power went out. There wasn't a storm or terrorist attack. But the whole 'hood was plunged into darkness. It was a little freaky at first, as those things are, but it wasn't that big a deal. We had candles and flashlights. Most of our clocks are battery operated. I tried to do the Abe Lincoln thing and read by candlelight but after a few squinty minutes decided that whole thing was over-rated and just went to bed early.

The power went back on around 10:30 or 11. There were no major inconveniences. "Gilmore girls" was a rerun anyway. And let's face it, one of the perks of living in the Big City is that the grid is pretty solid. Power was restored in no time so there was fresh coffee and the NY Times on line in the a.m. just like every day. Still, it was good to be reminded of the conveniences of life, to realize how easy we really have it and how truly great it is that we don't actually have to study by candlelight (although God knows we looked mighty attractive in the soft glow).

I am also experiencing the minor inconvenience of being carless as Fergie is in the shop having that stupid emissions issue addressed. But I got a shuttle home and The Neighbor is picking up The Child from school. I'm not crazy about this or about the cost of the repairs (which are still unknown but with my car luck will be far more than I want them to be). But there's room on the credit card to deal with it, which is a blessing. The Neighbor is a generous person, which is a blessing. The dealership has a shuttle, which is a blessing. I'm home in front of my electrified computer, which is also a blessing. I'm not starving, chronically ill, cold, naked or homeless. Just a good thing to reflect on such things every once in a while.